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soundcrusher · 1 year

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Of Plants and Freedom

I did it cuppa! I wrote the second part! Wohoooooo!

(Sould anything be off, please tell me. I'll change it as soon as I can. ^^)

IDW version of Lord Imperious by @cuppajj

Quick Search is my boy

Either way, please enjoy!

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It was another good day on board the ‘Wandering Scholar’. A day which Quick Search spent like every other since Imperious accidentally woke him up.

The first thing on his list was making sure the ship didn’t have any ‘nightly visitors’ who tampered with its machinery. He nearly caught one visitor who tampered with the ships engines, but Quick Search was too slow to capture them. Both physical and on camera! All he had was a blurry picture of something long and green slithering out of his ship. A picture he kept to himself, because he didn’t want to bother his new friend with his troubles.

He was the security system after all, and this wasn’t the first time someone snuck onboard the ship and tampered with the machines. There once was a weird organic who managed to come on board and stow away until the next planet. Granted, Quick Search was the one who kept the existence a secret from the rest of his crew, after finding out that the organic was running from bad people, but still. It was a security breach, and one the small cybertronian patched himself.

But then again, letting Imperious walk around the ship with security level 1 was also, in some way, a breach of security. And then there was the fact that he managed to enter the ship in the first place. Yes, Quick Search was in stasis, and that pretty sure means that he’s nothing more than a control terminal/computer when in that state, but still. The security protocols should have still been activated, unless they got somehow damaged, or someone disabled them. But the only one who’s been messing with the security mechanism was Imperious as he came on board. And Quick Search was too much of a people connoisseur to actually accuse Imperious of partly disabling the security system, that he himself is.

After all, that would mean that Imperious a.) knows his way around machines, and b.) messed his programming up or worse, his processor…

Either way, after finishing step one, Quick Search started with the next thing on his list. ‘Checking the ship overall’, which often included things like cleanliness or sources of danger that have gone unnoticed as of far. But after checking the cameras twice and thrice, Quick Search hasn’t found anything out of place. Except for some dust still clinging to some of the machinery, research and laboratory equipment. But he couldn’t really clean that himself, not with him having to stay on the bridge in case of an emergency.

So, onto step three then, which was remaining on the ship and making a report, before transforming back into a terminal/computer and waiting for the next time someone needed him… But that was boring, and Quick Search had already recharged longer than what was normal for a cybertronian.

With that in mind, the little mech walked over to the communication terminal and sat down on the chair. Making sure his connection cable was still connected to the one from the ship, before spinning around in the chair. It was funnier than just sitting around and doing nothing, but considering how quickly things got boring when no-one was around, Quick Search found himself growing tired after half an hour of just spinning and letting his thoughts travel.

But he wasn’t bored for long, as he heard pedes walk down the halls, and with a quick look at the cameras, Quick Search found himself jumping out of the chair and rushing over to the bridge’s entrance. Or, at least as far to it as the connection cable allowed him to go. Halfway to the door, it grew tight and pulled him back, reminding the small mech that he couldn’t truly leave his place unless he had a good reason. And with disconnecting and leaving not an option, he went back to sitting on his chair. Optics trained to the entrance, as his whole frame started to shake from excitement.

He already called himself lucky when Imperious showed up for the first time. Despite his initial distrust, Quick Search was quick to warm up to his newest visitor. Especially after he came back the next couple of days. Bringing and sharing new stories from outside Quick Search’s little world. Stories, the smaller one soaked up like a wilting flower in desperate need of water. Hanging on Imperious’ captivating words, unless he had a question or his own opinion to give.

After all, despite finding the stories interesting, Quick Search was still someone who would much rather make his own opinion. Especially when he had access to the cybertronian version of the Internet and could read up on things regarding a certain topic. Also, Quick Search’s captain once told him to never blindly trust anyones words, unless they are his. And the small terminal always listened to his captain, even when he wasn’t around.

Mostly because his captain was the one to find and save Quick Search from wherever he came from. Giving him a purpose, a home and companionship the little terminal has never known before. Although, hasn’t Imperious kind of given him the same? His captain never bothered with giving him a name, an actual name, Imperious did. He has given Quick Search a name and didn’t want him to constantly stay in his alt-mode.

Well, Quick Search will think about this later. Maybe when his captain finally answers the messages he’s been sending him ever since Imperious accidentally woke him up, he’ll be able to ask him about that.

“I am still surprised that you haven’t left the bridge, despite being able to do so.” Said Imperious as he entered the bridge. Which caused Quick Search to stop his musing and quickly rush over to the taller mech. Although, the second he got too far away from his place, the cable connecting him to the ship pulled him harshly back. Tripping the small mech up and making him land face first on the floor. He was quick to get back up though.

“Why should I leave it?” Asked Quick Search, before tilting his head at the question. ‘Leaving the Bridge’, what a strange idea. “My duty is in here. Keeping the ship running and making sure no-one gets in, while also taking care of the ship’s and, in extension, my database. So, there’s no need for me to leave.” Said the smaller mech, as he shrugged his shoulders. “And even if there wasn’t any work for me, even if I was allowed to walk outside, why should I?”

“Why shouldn’t you? Aren’t the Autobots alway preaching about how all sentient beings have a right for freedom? Doesn’t that mean that you should also have the freedom to leave this room whenever you want?” Asked Imperious. “Then again, maybe you are right to stay inside. The world outside is surely boring, with all the interesting things to discover and sights to see.” Imperious already had Quick Search’s interest, if the way the smaller mech’s catlike helmet-decorations perked up was any indication. It was always easy to get the little one’s attention. Just one small story about the outside world here, a little bit of praise there and a willingness to listen to his rambles in return. And if Imperious played his cards right, Quick Search was easily convinced to share some more informative stories about his crew and their research.

He was especially interested in the research the small cybertronian was hiding about the different races, planets and cultures his last crew had compiled. But sadly, with the way the security system was built around Quick Search’s database, it would take some time to break through it. Unless he managed to convince him to willingly share the research. Which might take some time, but Imperious was patient. After all, slow and steady wins the race, not rushed and unbalanced.

“Now then, how about I tell you about one of my latest quests, unless you have something to share?” Said the taller mech, as he placed a hand, he had to slightly lean down for that, on Quick Search’s shoulder. Carefully leading the little terminal towards the captain’s chair, before letting go and sitting down on the only chair big enough to fit him. With one leg folded over the other and his hands resting neatly on said knee. Watching Quick Search like a dragon guarding its horde, as the smaller one sat down on the floor cross legged. His own optics trained on Imperious’ face, as he recounted his day so far, before starting to talk about the only hobby he could do outside the bridge.

Helping out with the plant related research. A topic Imperious found rather dull, but gained information is gained information, and it made Quick Search happy. Which was only helping him with gaining his trust. Although, listening to the small one talking about the lab with such excitement sure enough gave him an idea. “Why don’t you show me the plants, Quick Search?”

“Sh-show you the plants?!” Quick Search jumped up while widely waving his arms around. “I can’t show you the plants! It’s a restricted area!” Huffed the smaller mech, as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned around. “Also, captain’s orders are captain’s orders. I can’t leave the bridge.”

“Why not? I don’t see any problem with it.” Countered Imperious as he stood up himself, and walked over to Quick Search. Planting his hands on the small mech’s shoulders, while leaning down far enough to whisper into his audials. Even though there was no need for that. “As you said, your captain allowed you to help out with the plant related research, didn’t he? And who’s taking care of the plants now?”

“N-no… No-one?”

“Exactly? How would we know if they are still thriving, with you stuck here and me not allowed to set foot in the lab?” Imperious had him. He just needed one more push, and Quick Search would play into his hands. Maybe he wouldn’t give away all his cards, but this decision felt like a good one. Perhaps even one that would reveal the rest of his hand. “Oh, but if you don’t care that much about the plants, then maybe I shoul-”

“NO! I care about the plants!” Shrieked Quick Search, as he pushed himself away from Imperious. Frame trembling as his mind was racing. On one hand, his orders were clear, on the other, Imperious made a good point. There wasn’t anyone around to take care of the plants. No-one. And while the camera feed was showing him that everything was okay, Quick Search couldn’t ignore that Imperious had a point. Just because they looked fine didn’t mean that they were. Plants were delicate, especially the ones they had on their ship.

“I… I care about them… I care, but I can’t just leave the bridge… Who will take care of it? What if my captain finally answers my messages? I need to be here when that happens. I… I need…” There was a headache forming, Quick Search could feel it. It was against his captain’s orders, no matter what he did, and that alone was causing his processor to work overtime to figure out what to do next. But without his captain, it was too hard. He needed his captain to tell him what to do. He needed him. Where was his captain? Why couldn’t he be here?

“SCREW IT!” And with one final yell, which surprised Imperious a little bit because he didn’t really expect such a small mech to be this loud, Quick Search pulled one of his keyboards forward. Typing something quickly into it, before it snapped back onto his back. He then turned around to look at the two connection cables and waited for some minutes.

And with a mechanical hiss, the connection cable from the ship detached from Quick Search’s cable. Causing him to let out a relieved sigh, because the small terminal didn’t really expect this to still work. “Alright! The wireless connection has been established!”

“I fear I don’t understand Quick Search.”

“Oh…” The smaller mech looked a little bit dumbly at Imperious, before grinning. “Oh! Yea, you don’t know that. I can disconnect from the bridge, while still maintaining my connection to the ship. But I can’t do it for long without risking losing my connection to the ship.” Quick Search explained, before marching over to the bridge’s entrance. Turning around and waving at Imperious excitedly, “Come on! We have to check on the plants!”, before running outside. Not even waiting for the other one.

And with nothing better to do, Imperious followed Quick Search. Smirking internally, because the little mech, without knowing it, has just revealed one of his trump cards.

A trump card, Imperious could take advantage of.

#part two!#cuppajj #lord imperious delirious #this is cuppajj's version of lid #transformers oc #quick search #fic #boy howdy; I'm not proofreading this. I'm too tired for that. XD #but I skimmed it every now and then when writing. so. it should be fine?

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therealvinelle · 3 years

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I know this is like taking a bat to the beehive but... I really wanna hear your opinions on the whole... Imprinting thing

(Note before we go any further: this meta is written purely about the shapeshifting aspect of the Quileute characters, I don’t at all get into the racism in Twilight or any kind of social commentary. This is a purely watsonian meta. Others in this fandom have already addressed the racial dynamics at play, far more eloquently and knowledgeably than me. If I say something in here that’s in any way offensive, that’s not my intention and I’m open to criticism.)

Ooh imprinting.

I touch upon it here, basically I hate it.

The imprinting is part of this theme where the shapeshifters lose their free will and autonomy, and I find it tragic, cruel, and unnecessary.

First of, the fact that they have to phase at all.

They’re made warriors to protect their tribe. There’s no choice involved, only genetics and magic irrevocably changing their lives, and at a ridiculously young age, too. Sam is the oldest of them, and he is 19.

Violence is an inherent part of what they become. Their purpose is to protect the tribe, by fighting vampires. Not only is this insanely dangerous (we see Jake get so injured by a single vampire that he’s bedridden for weeks), but if they succeed, they will have killed. In the singularly brutal manner of tearing apart and burning someone who looks a lot like a human, who talks and might beg for their life, at that. And I remind you, most of these shapeshifters are literal children. They might not see vampires as people, but all the same, killing one can’t be good for their mental wellbeing. (Thought: Perhaps an argument can be made for Laurent’s death having a part in the turn Jake’s personality took? Some, though not many, of the symptoms for PTSD do fit. I don’t know enough about PTSD to pursue this train of thought, but it occurred to me just now, in particular he becomes quite aggressive and prone to outbursts after that incident, so into a parenthesis it goes)

Not to mention how inhumane that responsibility is. Vampires in the Twilight-verse are terrifying, and the shapeshifters might have the power to fight them. But (and this is where I plug one of my all-time favorite animes, Puella Magi Madoka Magica, as it asks the question “Is it okay to sacrifice yourself for others?” because that’s... well there’s a parallel to be made to the shapeshifters. It’s on Netflix!) does that mean they should? Is it really their responsibility? Again- they’re kids!

Then there’s the time Sam lost control, and accidentally mauled the girl he loved. And it’s so cruel to both him and Emily. Sam never chose to have to control himself in the first place, he never chose shapeshifting. He didn’t choose to imprint on Emily either, and he didn’t choose to lose control that day. At no point in the series of events that led to Emily being mauled did Sam have any real choice, and yet he will shoulder the guilt for what happened for the rest of his life.

These kids get superpowers, and several of them seem to enjoy being shapeshifters, but the fact remains that they now carry this huge responsibility to protect their families and homes, doing so is incredibly dangerous, they lose out on their regular lives, and they can’t opt out of it.

This all sucks, but then we get to the fact that they are deprived of their free will, as their alpha can issue an order they physically can’t break. The alpha becomes alpha because of bloodlines, not because of a democratic election. Jake got a mockery of a choice in that he could choose to become alpha himself, or let Sam continue, which was really just choosing between a rock and a hard place. There is no limitation to what this order can be, from “don’t say X to person Y” to “let’s kill someone you love”. Jake has to struggle to break that last one, and he’s only successful because of the bloodline thing letting him become his own alpha.

Oh, and there’s the massive invasion of privacy when they have a hive mind. Cool concept, less cool to have it be reality. Leah is the poster child for how a hive mind can backfire, and they can’t opt out of this.

I’m not good at gifs, but the shapeshifters just make me think of that gif of someone flicking a lightswitch on and off, “WELCOME TO HELL!”. Of course, Twilight in general is a pit of despair for everybody, so I suppose that gif really is... well it sums up all of canon.

So, we have these kids aged 19 or younger, as of Breaking Dawn they skew as young as thirteen, their lives are turned upside down by something they can’t opt out of, they must shoulder this huge responsibility to protect their homes and families from the terrifying threat of vampires, and on top of all of that, they must obey orders that are so irresistible, they can compel them to harm someone they care for.

With all of that in mind, you’d think that the shapeshifters had enough on their plate. That through all of this they would at least retain their selves, and be able to look forward to a future where they could stop phasing, and go on to live normal, human, lives.

Yeah, NOT IF THEY IMPRINT.

I’ll just quote Jake’s description:

Everything inside me came undone as I stared at the tiny porcelain face of the halfvampire, half-human baby. All the lines that held me to my life were sliced apart in swift cuts, like clipping the strings to a bunch of balloons. Everything that made me who I was—my love for the dead girl upstairs, my love for my father, my loyalty to my new pack, the love for my other brothers, my hatred for my enemies, my home, my name, my self—disconnected from me in that second—snip, snip, snip—and floated up into space.

I was not left drifting. A new string held me where I was.

Not one string, but a million. Not strings, but steel cables. A million steel cables all tying me to one thing—to the very center of the universe.

I could see that now—how the universe swirled around this one point. I’d never seen the symmetry of the universe before, but now it was plain.

The gravity of the earth no longer tied me to the place where I stood. (Breaking Dawn, page 237)

Everything that made me who I was disconnected from me.

Jake’s love for his father, his home, his very own self, it’s all gone now. And while I have thoughts on the authenticity of this imprint, whether it was organic, the description above is apparently how imprinting feels. It’s along the lines of what Sam, Jared, and Paul all describe.

I don’t think I can put into words just how devastating I find imprinting, I think the above quotation speaks for itself. And as with all other shapeshifter things, there is no choice involved.

We see its devastating effects in the Emily, Sam, and Leah debacle. Sam and Leah were serious together, so much so that they were engaged. Sam had fallen for and chosen to be with Leah. Perhaps they would have broken up eventually, but Leah was still the choice he made. Then he imprints on Emily, and all that is for naught. He had to break up with Leah, who if she hadn’t phased never would have learned why, Emily and Leah’s relationship is ruined, and Emily must forever live with the knowledge that if Sam had his free will intact he would be with another woman.

Then there’s Jared and Kim. Kim crushed on Jared, but Jared never noticed her. The fact that they were in the same class is damning: if a boy is attracted to a girl, he's gonna notice her. Jared never did.

Quil imprints on Claire, who is a toddler. That’s just a recipe for misery and disaster all around.

And I’ve only touched the shapeshifter side of things. They lose their autonomy and freedom, but the imprintées draw the short straw too. They’re now responsible for this other person’s happiness. Sure, having someone who’ll be whatever you need them to be sounds nice (well, it sounds horrifying, but I’m playing ball) on paper, but you can’t opt out of them being like that. The imprintée can’t say “Sorry, not interested,” and she certainly can’t shut the imprinter out of her life, not without irrevocably ruining the imprinter’s life. The imprinter needs her. She’s the center of his earth now, but she didn’t choose to be.

Imprinting is a liferuiner for everyone involved.

Then we have the question of what imprinting is even for. I’m afraid I agree with Billy, that it’s for procreation. We see Sam, who was dating a woman about to phase (even if Leah isn’t infertile, she’s a warrior now. She can’t run in the woods and fight vampires, and gestate and nurse a child at the same time) conveniently imprint on her cousin, who as cousin to Leah is from a shifter bloodline. Claire, as Emily’s cousin, has those same genetics. Paul imprints on a woman from the Black family line. Jake is the outlier, but either Renesmée’s gift helped that imprinting along, or he imprinted because of the offspring they could potentially have (I firmly believe it’s the former because the latter... NOPE. Also, I can’t imagine whatever magic drives imprinting would want vampiric progeny for the future generations. Regardless of Renesmée’s person, her biology is wired to desire human blood. That’s exactly what Jake is supposed to protect people from. Bad match.).

I just.... ughhh. God, I hate imprinting so much, and on every level.

To me, everything about the shapeshifters is about free will, autonomy, and the loss thereof. And it would have been beautiful if their story was about reclaiming that, but it isn’t. None of this, with the exception of the alpha orders, is even acknowledged.

So, in summation, yes I hate imprinting, but it’s only the horror cherry on top of a very sad and problematic cake.

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

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Hey Neighbor (Epilogue)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3498 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: This is it 🥺🥺 I’m so sad we’re at the end but I couldn’t be happier by all of your reactions, even when things weren’t at their best I loved hearing your screams. Now we can all cry together as we say goodbye. Thank you so much for reading their story. Btw I started a Patreon for those who would like to support me.

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 25 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Breath fogs the window as you stare out of it, a grey haze has rolled over the city, the sky a sunless landscape of thick clouds and cold winds. It snowed the other day and what remains on the streets has become soot covered or murky slush. It’s nicer to stare at the white dusting on the branches of the trees below, taking in the soft peace of the afternoon.

The world has grown quieter over the past few weeks, your world at least. You can’t say the same for the hoards of people in Times Square, packed like sardines as they count down the hours for the ball to drop.

Graduation was behind you. Nearly two weeks ago you finally crossed that stage to receive your diploma. Technically the real one was still coming in the mail but it’s the symbolism that counted. All of your friends cheered as your name was called, tears of joy and relief welling up in your eyes as you did it– you finally did it!

Wanda hugged you tight afterwards, both of you letting your tears fall. She adjusted your graduation cap, decorated with a lightning bolt for Pietro. It was the first thing you did when you received your garments, to make sure a part of him was with you on such an important day. You left her arms for Peggy and Steve’s, then Sam, Natasha and Clint and then there was Bucky.

He grabbed his crutches, lifting himself up from the chair though you didn’t make him walk. A few steps closed the gap between you and you held him, your arms securing around him as a precaution as he balanced on one leg.

His smile was so beautiful as he murmured, “I’m so proud of you,” holding his gaze before you kissed tenderly, humming against his lips.

You’ve been dating ever since that day in the hospital and life couldn’t be better, especially since you and Bucky laid out some terms. From now on you would always be honest with each other, never holding back your feelings. You were a team who loved and respected each other to talk and more importantly listen.

Bucky managed well on crutches but there were still things he couldn’t do, taking for granted days he could have gone outside for a walk. Sure he had muscles, but his arms were killing him, especially on the days he had to go to the doctor for a checkup. He started physical therapy too, to keep up with strength and flexibility for the rest of his body.

It was exhausting but you were there to help him almost every step of the way. Showering was a pain though Bucky insisted on some independence, wrapping up his cast as he sat on a cold plastic chair that extended over the tub. It made him feel like he had aged 80 years but he got over it.

You did what you could to help him heal but the greatest comfort Bucky found was when you were cuddling together. He cherished those moments the most, when you held him, resting your head against his chest, or when his head was in your lap as he stretched across his couch, your fingers lazily combing through his hair.

It was the quiet moments together, crossing the threshold of intimacy in new ways. This was the slowest Bucky has ever gone since he was in middle school, swallowing a nervous gulp before asking if it was okay to hold a girl’s hand.

Life after had been a blur; his guard up, women in and out, no chance to settle, in and out, no connection, faces blend together, names are nothing more than letters on his phone for a good time, in and out. It was all noise, a constant buzzing in his head until you came into his life.

You’ve opened Bucky’s ears and the noise became sweet music. You’ve opened his heart, the melody it sings is a love song and he’s soaring. He doesn’t waste time on regrets, instead he spends each and every day getting to know you and love you in new ways.

You celebrated Thanksgiving together, with his parents coming to your apartment so Bucky didn’t have to travel. George brought most of the food over, it wasn’t barbecue but it was just as delicious. And this year you had the time to bake a pumpkin pie.

Your days were spent working at The September Foundation up until graduation. Elena hired you for Metro-General and you start there on the first Monday of the new year. Ideally, you’d like to still volunteer when you can and knowing Tony it’s something he fully supported. Things couldn’t be better.

“Doll, are you ready?”

Bucky’s voice pulled you away from the window and you climb off his bed and into his waiting arms. The basketball shorts he wears reveals his skinny left leg, paler than the other thanks to the dry flakiness he’s still working on remedying. He was in a cast for almost three months and just got it off a few days ago. You went with him, holding his hand as he beared weight on his weak muscle after so long.

He just finished the strengthening exercises he was supposed to do every day and now he needed to shower. You both did actually since tonight was Natasha and Clint’s annual New Year’s Eve party. You pull your shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind you and Bucky follows you to the bathroom. He can shower without his seat now but it doesn’t mean he didn’t want help and you happily obliged. The water ran cold by the time you actually finished and you really didn’t mind at all. Now that Bucky’s cast was off you were looking forward to getting even more physical again.

Though you showered at his place you finished getting ready at yours since you could. Living next door to your boyfriend was obviously convenient. You were able to be together and still have the space you needed. For now it worked though you can see yourself moving in together. A smile stretches across your face when you think of it, Bucky playing his music, no walls in between, a far cry from how things began.

You open your closet to find a dress that would work for the theme of this year’s party which they claimed was winter except they asked all their guests to wear either red or green. You bit your tongue, thinking that sounded more Christmas than winter but you didn’t argue, it wasn’t your party. You pulled out a crimson colored dress that had a beautiful lace overlay. The back was sheer and though it was a little short you felt it was seasonally appropriate with its long sleeves. You finished your hair and makeup, finishing off with gold chandelier earrings and peep-toe heels.

A rhythmic knock rapped at your door and you knew it was Bucky. Opening the door your jaw dropped. Maybe it was the fact that you had mostly seen him in shorts and sweatpants over the last three months, and not that he didn’t make those look good, but the outfit he was wearing now looked incredible. He looked sharp in a juniper green suit with a soft tartan design, a brighter green patterned tie stood out against his light shirt. His shoes were dark brown with a hint of mahogany that reflected in the light and even though he looked amazing you were surprised he didn’t opt for sneakers to be more comfortable with his leg.

“Fuck, you look beautiful,” he spoke first, biting his lip as he looked at you up and down.

He shaved since you left him and your hands went to cup the smooth skin of his cheek. “Not more beautiful than you.”

You pressed your lips to Bucky’s, deepening the kiss with your tongue which was probably a bad idea since it only increased your urge to rip Bucky’s suit off and take him right there. You forced yourself back from him, walking towards your couch to grab your bag.

Bucky followed you as quickly as he could considering walking still felt a little strange. His arms went around your waist pulling you closer to him as his lips began to kiss your cheek, trailing down your neck. You hummed in delight, exhaling stuttered breaths, almost losing yourself to his touch before you pulled yourself out of it.

“We can’t,” you stressed, reluctantly. “We’re gonna be late, come on.”

He sighed acceptingly, waiting for you to unplug your phone and grab your keys. Just before you were ready to leave his arms wrapped around your waist one more time and Bucky spoke before you could say anything.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The swell of your heart reached your lips as you gazed into Bucky’s eyes repeating the same words you’ve known and felt for so long. After another sweet kiss you locked up your place to take the long trip up one flight.

Clint greeted you at the door, his arms pulling you and Bucky into warm welcoming hugs. Unlike his guests, Clint was dressed in a white suit jacket, with black pants and a matching bow tie. He welcomed you into the apartment that was not filled with as many people as you expected.

There were familiar faces in your friends, including Sam who was able to take off this year. Right away Bucky teased him about his red suit calling him Elmo.

“Yeah whatever Kermit. And what about this one?” Sam teased, pointing at Steve. “That’s all you had?”

Steve blushed pink, feeling insecure about his outfit choice, a cozy forest green cable-knit sweater. “Like I’m supposed to have a fruit punch suit in my closet?”

“It’s cranberry and I look good,” Sam declared, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket.

You let the boys continue to have fun as you said hello to Wanda and Peggy, both looking beautiful in their dresses. “Where’s Natasha?”

They shook their heads. “Haven’t seen her,” Wanda said, heading towards their marble island to grab a drink.

It was decorated with a row of mason jars, each filled a quarter of the way with coarse sugar mimicking crystal snow, with a candle in every other one and a chunk of bright red cranberries and sprays of cedar leaves sticking out of the others.

“But we just got here, so I dunno,” she finished.

You were looking around for familiar guests, surely the partners of her law firm would be coming again. An older woman sat on the couch talking to another unfamiliar face, the back of their heads glowing thanks to the curtain of twinkle lights that decorated the large walls of the living room. In the corner was their Christmas tree, a tall spruce decorated with frosted pine cone garland, matte red ornaments and thick burlap ribbon.

Clint brushed passed you, kneeling in front of the older woman who looked curiously familiar. Nervous energy was pouring off of him, from the way he kept chewing his nails to the constant tremble of his leg. He smiled as he passed you again standing near the door. With Natasha still not in sight you decided to do a little digging, by way of introducing yourself.

You walked over to the woman Clint had been speaking to, standing in front of her and the two people she was mid-conversation with. The man was big, his Santa-like belly was testing the buttons of his red shirt as it stretched across the material. His eyebrows were bushy and his brown hair was long in the front, looking a little messy as if it had been brushed through with only his fingers. He had a long beard that matched the color of his hair though it had a lot more grey in it.

The woman was beautiful. The emerald top she wore brought out the green flecks of her hazel eyes and her red lips drew you right into her beautiful smile. Her dark hair was braided with a crown, the rest of the locks falling onto her shoulders.

You caught their attention, extending your hand with a smile as you introduced yourself. The older woman spoke first, her voice as soft as a songbird as she told you her name, Edith, followed by the fact that she was Clint’s mother. Well, that explains it. You see the similarities now, the glasses she wore didn’t hide the fact that they shared the same eyes. Even her mouth was the same, thin lips that grew into the same beaming smile.

“I’m Melina,” the beautiful woman said with a Russian accent. “This is Alexei.” She pointed to the man who smiled at you. His grip was strong as he took your hand in his meaty paw. “We’re like family to Natalia,” he grinned proudly.

“It’s so nice to meet you all!” you said, sitting beside them to talk all while in the back of your mind your brain was working to put together why they were here. Sure it’s a holiday but family members have never come to Clint and Natasha’s for New Years before. In fact, Natasha doesn’t even have family. The only “family” you knew of would have to come from Russia to–

Holy shit.

You find an acceptable way out of the conversation, rushing over to Bucky and pulling him away from his conversation. Your hands are jittering with excited energy, eyes as wide as your mouth is open.

“Bucky, don’t you see what this is?!”

He looks confused for a moment before his attention is diverted. Bucky looks past you to another unfamiliar person that walked in. It’s a man with brown skin dressed in all black. A dark goatee framed his face and the straps of an eye patch secure comfortably around his hairless head. Though Bucky tried not to stare he couldn’t help but notice the veining of scars stretching out across his temple and cheek. He stands tall and silent with his arms clasped behind his back waiting.

Clint cleared his throat, a nervous smile settling on his face. “Now that everyone’s here I’d like to welcome you to… our wedding.”

Gasps of surprise fill the room with everyone rushing up towards Clint as he tries to field questions, hoping no one was truly mad at the abrupt announcement. “I knew it,” you whispered under your breath, gently slapping at Bucky’s arm.

The man in black walked towards the front of the living room, clearly the officiate who asked everyone to get settled as they were about to begin. Clint knocked once on his bedroom door, before taking his place beside the man who introduced himself as Nick.

A young woman with blonde hair slipped out of the door. She nodded to him, cracking a hint of a smile before she settled next to Melina. A moment later everyone’s eyes were drawn to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open again.

Natasha stepped out looking like a dream, in a floor length shimmering ivory gown that showed off her well sculpted shoulders with its high halter neckline, embellished with beautiful beading. She clutched a delicate bouquet of white roses and winter greens with cranberry sprigs woven throughout. Natasha walked up to Clint without fanfare, just the audible sighs of those around her admiring the back of her dress, dazzling and tasteful cut outs that showed off more of her toned body. The fabric cinched above the small of her back, a small train sweeping around her feet.

She handed her bouquet off to the blonde girl, her “sister” you presumed, remembering an old conversation with Clint. Brushing back a loose tendril from her face, Natasha smiled widely as she stared at Clint, bringing her hands forward to connect with his.

Nick began speaking and you took out your phone to capture a quick picture as the impromptu ceremony began. Bucky’s hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as you watched your friends exchange their vows.

Clint’s hands communicated his words in sync as he spoke them. “Natasha, what more can I say to the person that knows me better than I know myself. Because of you the sun shines a little brighter each day, flowers have a sweeter fragrance and my heart is filled with treasured memories. Even the not so great ones like that time in Budapest that I know we remember very differently.”

A chuckle simmers amongst the small crowd and Natasha dips her head down to laugh.

“Because of you my heart found a home, and like my stomach, it will never be empty...” Clint smiled, taking Natasha’s hands in his. “...because it will always be filled with your love, a love that I promise you I will never let go.”

Natasha sniffs, brushing aside a tear as she gathers her thoughts. “Clint, you’ve given me a second chance in life, you’ve shown me what friendship and love truly mean. I promise to trust and respect you and give you the best of myself. I promise to always fight for you, never against you, to be by your side through whatever life brings. I promise to make sure we always have snacks in the house and to clean up all the stains from your shirts when you drop food on them.”

Clint’s shoulders shrugged with acceptance as he chuckled under his breath, “It happens a lot.”

“Yes it does,” Natasha repeated, smiling wider. She exhaled a deep breath before continuing. “I promise to love you through the good times and bad and to choose our love every single day. You are my best friend, my soulmate and I'm the luckiest person on Earth to be able to call you mine.”

You felt Bucky press a kiss to your temple, leaning his head against you as the ceremony continued. When it was time Alexei dug into his pocket, pulling out the rings. With Nick’s concluding words Natasha wrapped her arms around Clint’s neck, and his held her waist; their love sealed with a kiss as everyone cheered in celebration.

They pulled back from each other, Clint resting his forehead against Natasha’s. He brought his hand up, bending his middle and ring finger into his palm. Natasha did the same, their fingertips touching as they signed “I love you” before turning to face their friends and family.

Edith was the first to hug the newly married couple who made their way through everyone until they got to you. Bucky and Clint hugged as he congratulated them. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can.” Natasha laughed, pressing her cheek to Bucky’s as they hugged. She moved to you and you wrapped your arms around her tightly. “We’ve been planning this wedding for so long it was never going to happen unless we did it this way.”

“It was perfect,” you said, pulling back from your hug with a huge smile. “Congratulations, I’m so happy for you both.”

As the night went on you formally met Yelena, the blonde who Natasha grew up with, and learned about her exciting work. You were in similar fields as she worked to free people of human trafficking, mostly young girls that were to be indoctrinated into radical terrorist groups for forced marriage or even espionage.

Her work was more hands-on as she physically raided underground bunkers or warehouses. It made you feel like you weren’t doing enough even though you knew that wasn’t true. All the years spent working towards your goal reaffirmed that, and in just a few days you’ll officially move into your office in Metro-General, across from Elena’s as you begin doing what you’ve always wanted to do, help people.

You’re lost in a comfortable stare as you look at the Christmas tree, realizing the countdown to midnight had begun.

Ten! Nine! Eight! ...

You turn around, looking for Bucky in the small room that was crowded with everyone standing so close together, huddled around the TV that showed the view from Times Square.

Seven! Six ...

The shimmering ball was descending and you were alone until….

Five! Four! ...

“Hey neighbor…” A voice called and you spun around relieved. Bucky smiled, bringing you close into his arms.

Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!

He leaned in, his lips hovering above yours, pausing as you spoke above the roar of cheers. “Have I ever told you how happy I am that you moved in here?” you purred.

“Every day. It’s like music to my ears.”

Bucky smiled tenderly, sealing the small gap between you, kissing you softly as he poured all the love from his heart out and into yours. Your hearts beat to the rhythm of your own symphony, a song that had a rocky beginning of notes that stretched high and low, but now it was a steady ballad you would continue to create together with your love.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff

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sunlit-squid · 3 years

Note

I don't care about everyone else! i care about you, SQUIDWARD! (simping softness asks)

For those who don’t know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I’ll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

so, uh -- i might have gotten a bit carried away with this prompt. it’s definitely longer than a ficlet, but oh well. either way, it was a lot of fun to write! selfish spongebob is so rarely explored.

fic under the cut. also, just in case, cw: drinking, drunkenness, etc.

Spongebob rose bright and early, long before his foghorn alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. With a cheerful shout, the poriferan jumped out of bed, earning a disgruntled “mrow” from Gary, who was still asleep nearby. Stretching vigorously, the sponge leaned down, planting a soft kiss atop the snail’s shell.

“Gary,” he whispered, practically vibrating with excitement. “Today’s the day!”

Turning away, Gary simply replied “mrow”, in a disdainful way that most certainly meant “whatever.”

Undeterred, Spongebob ran to his calendar. Sure enough, the day’s date -- July 14th -- was circled in bright-red, permanent marker, with the words “My birthday!” written neatly across it. And just below those words, was a tiny drawing of Squidward’s face, with dozens of little red hearts surrounding it.

Making his way over to the window, Spongebob gazed out at Squidward’s moai in the distance. He sighed, dreamily. What was Squidward doing right now? Probably sleeping, in that adorable dress of his.

The sponge lingered there, staring dazedly out at the moai, for perhaps a moment too long. Then, remembering himself, he sprinted to the bathroom. Once inside, Spongebob pointed a finger at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Enough beating around the bush, Mr. Squarepants!” he yelled -- much to Gary’s annoyance. The sponge lowered his voice down to a soft whisper. “Today, you tell him how you feel.”

His reflection simply shrugged. “I mean, okay,” it said. “But this is like, the 57th time you’ve said this.”

“Oh, shush.”

-0-

The party was supposed to start at 6:30, but Spongebob, in a manic cleaning fit, had the entire house ready by noon. This year, the party was themed around As The Tide Turns, a very polarizing-but-popular soap opera, especially in Bikini Bottom. If you were a Bikini Bottomite, you either watched the show genuinely, or ironically -- there was absolutely no in-between.

Spongebob and Squidward both genuinely enjoyed the show. It was one of the first things they bonded over, back when Spongebob started working at the Krusty Krab. Through the window to the galley, the two coworkers would talk for hours about the show, and whatever drama was center-stage for that season.

It got to a point where Mr. Krabs -- who only watched ATTT ironically -- got on them both, for shirking their duties.

“If yer gonna flirt,” he’d said, “do it on yer own time.”

So, Spongebob started coming over to Squidward’s house on Friday nights, when the new episodes would air. In fact, even when the show was between seasons, Spongebob still came over, just to watch reruns. It was one of the few times Squidward would (begrudgingly) let Spongebob inside, with no complaints.

Spongebob hummed softly to himself, his eyes scanning the small clipboard in front of him. Food, decorations, party games … Check, check, and check. Everything was present and accounted for -- and he had to admit, the house looked spectacular.

Every room was themed around a different, iconic arc in the ATTT series. His living room, filled with chalk drawings, crime scene tape, and red-string boards, was inspired by the murder mystery arc. His kitchen, decorated with leftover Halloween gear, was inspired by the vampire arc … and so on and so forth. Each and every room had its own particular, careful design -- and in all, it was probably Spongebob’s most intricate and detailed party to date.

That was because it had to be. Spongebob had a plan, a carefully detailed plan -- one that was sure to sweep Squidward Tentacles right off his … er, tentacles. And it went like this:

Squidward and Spongebob’s favorite arc, in all 42 seasons of As The Tide Turns, was the murder mystery. In the arc, the dashing Detective Heartthrob, accompanied by his sidekick-slash-lover Joey, must bring a heinous mass murderer to justice. At the climax, it is revealed that Detective Heartthrob is the true killer -- having been hypnotized by a witch, who was also his evil twin sister, for some reason. In the end, Joey must kill Detective Heartthrob, in a tragic display of love and sacrifice.

The season was thrilling, silly, and emotionally traumatizing, to boot. For months after the finale, Squidward and Spongebob would not shut up about it -- much to the annoyance of Mr. Krabs.

Either way, Spongebob had set up an elaborate, original mystery game, inspired by the events of the show. Each attendee would get a “random” card, assigning them a different role in the story. Squidward would be Detective Heartthrob, and Spongebob would be Joey.

Together, they would embark on an original mystery, one that Spongebob had devised all by himself. After he and Squidward solved the mystery together, and the party was over … Spongebob would finally, finally confess his feelings.

Of course, Spongebob had, more or less, rigged the game to ensure this would happen. Which was cheating, sure, but this was for love! So it couldn't possibly go wrong.

-0-

It went wrong. Almost immediately, in fact.

For one, the party started at 6:30 -- and, nearly two hours later, Squidward had yet to show up. Spongebob spent those first two hours lingering by the door, staring out the window towards the moai, and forgetting to refill the punch bowl. Sandy, ever the observant one, noticed immediately.

Pulling Spongebob aside, she asked, in a hushed voice, “Hey, partner. You good?”

“Oh, I’m -- I’m great!” chirped Spongebob, putting on his worst, most unconvincing smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sandy, flatly. “This about Squidward?”

Spongebob blushed, immediately. The squirrel sighed.

“I thought so,” she mumbled, folding her arms across her chest. “Did he say he was gonna come?”

The sponge nodded. “He said, ‘I’ll see if I can make it work’, which in Squidward-speak, is practically a yes!” groaned Spongebob, staring up at Sandy with his huge baby blue eyes. “He’ll come, right, Sandy?”

Sandy hesitated. She didn’t really know Squidward that well … but he did seem to have a soft spot for Spongebob. Awkwardly, she replied, “I mean … I can’t say for sure, but he did say he would try. Let’s be patient, okay, Spongebob? Maybe he just got caught up with something.”

Spongebob sighed, then repositioned his face into its usual chipper smile. “Alrighty. You do usually know what’s best, Sandy.”

“I sure do,” she giggled. “Oh, and Spongebob?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t cut his cable this time,” she said, before walking off to get more punch.

-0-

By 9:30, the party started to go a bit haywire. At this point, practically all of Bikini Bottom was at Spongebob’s house, except for Squidward -- and Larry thought it would be a great idea to play Truth Or Dare: Extreme Edition. The rules were pretty much the same as Truth Or Dare: Standard Edition, but with one exception: each subsequent truth or dare had to be more extreme than the last.

It started off alright. A few people were dared to take off their pants, or do a somersault down Conch Street while blindfolded. However, as the game progressed, the stakes grew astronomically. At one point, Patrick was dared to eat half of Spongebob’s pineapple. Later, Sandy was dared to juggle three of Plankton’s bombs, while riding a unicycle. Even later, Larry and Mr. Krabs were dared to switch shells and wrestle -- which wasn’t really destructive. Just disturbing.

The dares were stupid, but if there was one thing Bikini Bottomites had, it was a complete lack of common sense. Or any sense, really.

It certainly didn’t help that as the night progressed, the partygoers grew more and more … inebriated. The punch itself was non-alcoholic, but apparently, Karen and Plankton had taken it upon themselves to bring their own alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

By 10:30, Squidward still hadn’t shown up yet. Several people had either passed out or thrown up. And the pineapple was a complete disaster.

Spongebob sighed. He was seated on his living room sofa now, watching as the partygoers reveled inside (and outside) his home. Of course, the sponge was happy they were enjoying themselves -- but this day was supposed to be about him, and … well, nothing had gone as planned. His entire house was destroyed, it would take days to clean up the mess -- and Squidward hadn’t even bothered to show up! The nerve.

“Hey Patrick,” muttered Spongebob, waving a tired yellow hand at his drunken best friend.

Immediately, the starfish stumbled over to him, drink in hand. “Wha… haha … whasss’ up, Spunchblarb?” he slurred.

Spongebob pointed to the drink in Patrick’s hand. “Could I have that?”

Patrick grinned widely. “Yeeeeeahh! Now -- now, yer talkin’, buddy!” And with that, the starfish handed Spongebob his first drink of the night.

-0-

About three drinks in, Spongebob Squarepants was well and truly intoxicated. Which was nice, in a way. Now, the world was a weird, misty haze, and he didn’t have to worry about his pineapple being destroyed, or his party being ruined, or Squidward, or whatever. Now, he could just be peacefully drunk and stupid, just like everybody else in his house. Blissfully unaware of the world around them.

As the night went on, Spongebob began losing track of time. What time was it? Midnight? 3:00 a.m.? Did it even matter?

Over the course of one very stupid evening, Spongebob made more than a few bad decisions. For one, he bought like, ten mops online. Which was both counterproductive (he was a sponge) and financially irresponsible (he was also a frycook). Later, the sponge swam to the surface of the ocean to see how long he could breathe without water. He fainted within the first ten seconds, and had to be retrieved by Larry. After that, the night became a dizzying blur. Spongebob was certain he had been driving, at one point, and also dancing, and maybe singing?

Either way, several hours later, Spongebob was still dancing in his living room, a lampshade stuck on his head, when he felt something on his shoulder. Turning woozily, the sponge tried to get into “kara-tay” position, and ultimately failed.

“Who -- what -- stay back! I’m warning you!” shouted the sponge. “I know … er, kar .. karat … carrots?”

There was a familiar sigh, then a soft chuckle. “Oh, you moron,” came a voice, a voice that Spongebob loved so dearly, even in this drunken state. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Squ … squib … ?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward, wrenching the lampshade off of Spongebob’s head. “It’s me. Sorry I’m late.”

Spongebob looked up at Squidward -- and in his inebriated, hazy stupor, he couldn’t take it. He loved him so much, and for so long. It hurt. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Squi -- Squidward, you -- you came,” the sponge stammered, his bottom lip quivering. “I -- I didn’t think …”

“Hush,” said Squidward, looking around the room. “This is, uh … wow, you really had a rager, huh? I didn’t think you had it in you, Spongebob.”

Stepping away, Squidward began picking up random items off the floor -- the punch bowl, some photographs, and a spilled carton of milk. The octopus had to step over and around several bodies, which were lying passed out on Spongebob’s floor.

“Listen, I’m gonna try and find a way to get everyone home,” said Squidward, sifting his way through the pile of garbage and bodies. “Everyone else is knocked out -- ”

Spongebob had had it. He’d had enough. He’d planned out this whole day perfectly, just for Squidward to not show up, for his whole house to be demolished in the chaos. Sure, he was glad everyone had a good time, but deep down, Spongebob was a little selfish, and deep down --

“I don’t care about everyone else!” shouted Spongebob, clenching his fists at his sides. “I care about you, Squidward!”

Squidward, startled, nearly dropped everything he was holding -- and before he could properly respond, Spongebob fell over, unconscious.

-0-

For once, Spongebob didn’t wake up to the sound of his foghorn. Instead, he woke up to the sound of the television nearby. Very soft dialogue wafted its way over to the sponge, bathing him in its pleasant familiarity.

“Why, Joey, I think you’re right -- the killer is closer than we seem to think!”

“Then we best get cracking, Detective Heartthrob!”

Groaning, Spongebob sat up -- a dull, throbbing pain coursing through his skull. Dear Neptune. What happened last night? There was the party, the drinking, and … Squidward, maybe? Spongebob felt his heart drop at the thought of his neighbor, and sighed. He hadn’t gotten to tell Squidward how he felt. Attempt 57 had failed. Miserably.

Blinking slowly, the sponge looked around, and with surprise noted that his bedroom was not a mess, like it had been during the party. In fact, it was squeaky clean. The only thing out of place was the living room television, which had been moved to the end of Spongebob’s bed. The TV was playing an old rerun of As The Tide Turns, from the murder mystery arc. A smile tugged at Spongebob’s lips. How ironic.

Wait a minute. Who moved the TV?

Just then, there were footsteps on the stairs -- the tell-tale pat-pat-pat-pat of someone with four legs. Squidward. He was still here! Steeling himself, Spongebob sat at attention, gripping the blankets tightly.

When Squidward entered, he was holding a tray of food and wearing a long pink apron. When he saw that Spongebob was now conscious, the octopus jumped, nearly dropped the food, then steadied himself just in time.

“Squidward!” said Spongebob, cheerily. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, you nitwit,” muttered Squidward. “Who else was gonna clean up that messy party of yours?”

Squidward crossed the room to place the food tray on Spongebob’s nightstand. Once there, the octopus shoved a glass of water and two pills into the poriferan’s hands, with one simple command: “Drink.”

Spongebob did so, gratefully. Then, he asked, “The party … what all happened?”

“I don’t know, but it was a mess,” sighed Squidward. “I’m pretty sure half the town was completely passed out by the time I got here. I’m surprised the cops didn’t get involved.”

“Oh,” said Spongebob, feeling very guilty all of a sudden. “Did -- did everyone get home okay?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward. “Listen, don’t -- don’t worry about it, okay? I took care of everything. Your house is clean, Gary is fed, everyone got home. That’s all.” Squidward’s cheeks were stained red.

Spongebob smiled, his heart jumping happily in his chest. “Thank you, Squidward.”

After a moment of silence, Squidward brought the food tray up to Spongebob’s lap. “You should … you should eat that,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “Look, I … I’m sorry I was so late, alright? The truth is, I … I got caught up.”

With a mouthful of food, Spongebob asked, “Wif whaf?”

Squidward grimaced. “You’re disgusting,” he snapped, then looked away, blushing brightly. “Anyway, I … was trying to get ahold of your birthday present. It was supposed to be delivered here, to Conch Street, yesterday -- but I guess there was a mix-up, and it was instead delivered to Conch Road, which is … in an entirely different town. Several hours away.”

Spongebob blinked. “You drove all the way to get it?”

Squidward scowled. “Whatever,” he snapped, pulling a small red present box from beneath Spongebob’s bed. “Either way, it’s here. So, I guess … open it, maybe.”

Shoveling down the rest of his food (much to Squidward’s disgust), the sponge quickly shredded the pristine red wrapping paper to reveal -- a boxed set of the entire As The Tide Turns series. The extended edition, with all the bonus scenes and commentary tracks. And to top it all off -- the box was signed by the stars of the show.

Spongebob looked up at Squidward, eyes shimmering with shock and awe. “Squidward, this is -- this is amazing, I thought they didn’t sell these anymore!”

“Oh, trust me,” said Squidward, shuddering. “You have no idea what I had to do to get my hands on that.”

“Let me guess,” said Spongebob, holding up two yellow hands to form finger-guns. In his best Joey impression, the sponge said, “You had to kill a lotta folks, didn’t ya, Detective Heartthrob?”

Squidward chuckled immediately. In one suave motion, he leaned against Spongebob’s bed, and pointed a finger-gun of his own. In his best Detective Heartthrob impression, the octopus replied, “I did, and I don’t regret it at all, Joey!”

The two laughed for a good long while. Then, suddenly embarrassed once more, Squidward looked away. Taking a deep breath, the octopus said, “Look, Sponge, I -- last night, you said something kinda weird, and I wanted to know if -- if maybe --”

“Huh?”

“You said -- you only cared about me, not anyone else, and I -- I wanted to ask,” stammered Squidward, “... what exactly … you meant by that.”

Spongebob’s eyes widened. Oh, barnacles. Did he really say that? Well … there was no hiding it now. Gripping his sheets tight, Spongebob steeled himself for what was to come. “It means I … I wanna keep hanging out with you, Squidward,” said the sponge, staring down at his yellow knuckles. “I wanna hang out with you more than anyone else.”

Squidward swallowed, hard. “Sponge, what are you saying?”

Spongebob looked up. Their eyes met. “I like you,” said the sponge, smiling nervously. “A … a lot.”

A long moment of silence passed. Spongebob’s heart hammered furiously at his chest. Then, Squidward sighed, and picked up the ATTT boxed set. Walking over to Spongebob’s TV, the octopus inserted the first disc, grabbed the remote, and returned to Spongebob’s side.

Lifting the blankets, the octopus said, “Scooch over.”

Spongebob blinked, then did as instructed. “Why?” he asked.

“You really are an idiot,” muttered Squidward, climbing into bed with him. “It’s a Sunday, the Krusty Krab is closed, and we have a whole boxed set to watch together. Might as well start now.”

Spongebob smiled, happily. “So -- so you -- ”

Squidward rolled his eyes. “If you must know, yes, I … I like you,” he snapped. “I’m not gonna drive halfway across the ocean floor for just anybody, you know.”

Spongebob grinned stupidly. “I guess not.”

With that, the show began, its melodramatic theme tune echoing pleasantly across Spongebob’s pineapple home. And just below the bed, Gary let out a soft, contended meow -- which almost certainly meant “finally.”

-0-

References:

The line about cutting Squidward’s cable is a reference to the episode “Party Pooper Pants”, in which Spongebob cuts Squidward’s cable to get him to come over for a party.

#sbsp #my fics #spongebob squarepants #squidbob #spongeward #spongebob #squidward #ask #asks #sunlit-squid

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

Small Gods: Lost Objects - 1

Lost Objects: A Thor Fanfic

Lost Objects Masterlist | More Small Gods

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Thor x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1831

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, Grief (smut on series)

Synopsis: Thor has lost a lot in a very short period of time and he’s worried about losing himself too. He goes to the one person who understands loss.

A/N: Reader is a minor god.

Chapter 1

Thor was lost.

He had been for a while now, though it was hard to measure. Partially because he had lived such a long, long time and most of it had gone by without much disrupting his enjoyment or general world view and then all at once it was just one thing after another and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath.

Perhaps it had begun to lose himself back when his father had first banished him to Midgard. He had certainly felt lost for a while there, but usually, he looked back at that as the start of finding who he truly was. Becoming worthy of Mjolnir and meeting Jane had been so significant, even when he had been forced to destroy the Bifrost and watched his brother fall to what he had thought was his death, Thor has still felt himself.

After that, it was one thing after another. A barrage of pain and loss and he couldn’t keep up with it. His mother, his brother, his relationship, his father, Mjolnir, his friends, his planet, his brother again, half of the universe, more of his friends. Somewhere in all that loss and grief and guilt, he’d lost his direction and that core feeling of who he was, and he didn’t know what to do so he could stop feeling all this pain.

Then, in one single moment of clarity, he thought of you.

Midgard was not a world of gods. Gods would visit, of course, Thor himself favored the small blue planet, but the line between science and magic was large, and rarely were gods born on the planet.

Yet sometimes the magic would seep through. Maidardians liked to pray even when they didn’t know they were. They would wish for certain things or give worship to them. If enough did, then a god would be born. They were minor deities and rarely held much power. Yet they served their function and grew with the population's devotion.

None were prayed to quite as often as you.

You were not an easy person to track down. Thor knew that he had to find you in the last place he looked or else it would be not at all.

So he started at the finish. Going to the last conceivable place on the planet you might find a minor deity and announcing loudly that he would give up looking after trying the small cabin on the side of the hill. Just as he put his hand on the door handle it swung open and he was greeted by you.

Along with the cable knit sweater that was three sizes too big, spotted with holes, and frayed at the hems, you wore a pair of jeans that were obviously someone’s favorite but based on the fit, that someone was not you. You had a pair of mismatched socks on your feet, a single fingerless glove on your left hand, and a ring on every finger on your right, most of them the engagement variety.

You looked up at him and smiled. “Thor,” you said warmly. “Are you lost?”

He smiled, trying to put on the brave face he wore for everyone. He was strong after all. The strongest Avengers. If he showed weakness, then he’d be someone who wasn’t Thor, the god of thunder.

“Yes,” he said. “No. That is… maybe.”

You stepped aside and he ducked his head under the door frame and entered your cottage. It was impossibly large inside what had seemed like a tiny building. It was cluttered in the sense that a hoarder who hadn’t left the house for fifty years except to bring more things in, is cluttered. There were stacks of parcels that were addressed to other people, baskets full of socks that lacked a pair, toys, and pacifiers that looked sad and weathered, bowls sat on top of every flat surface full of jewelry in many shapes, sizes, and styles.

Thor wound his way through until he found a couch. It had seen better days and he had to move a one-eyed teddy bear to take a seat.

“Can I get you a drink? I have tea or coffee? Not much else I’m afraid,” you offered.

“Coffee,” Thor said. He wasn’t sure he really wanted it, but he was grateful for the opportunity to get his thoughts in order.

The sound of you puttering around in the kitchen was the only sound at all. Thor thought of all the things he had lost and exactly why he had come here. When you returned he still wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say. You handed Thor a mug. It was black with the silhouette of a penguin on it with the words ‘LINUX, open mind, open-source’ written on it. You had a teacup, it was floral and had gold around the rim.

“The coffee is Kopi Luak,” you said as he took the mug from you. “It was confiscated in New Zealand customs and ended up here.”

“Kopi Luak?” Thor asked.

You shook your head and sat down beside him. “The beans are passed through the stomach of an animal called a Civit before being harvested and roasted. I can’t say I approve of the process, but I am limited to what passes through here,” you explained. “Now, what is it you’ve lost?”

“My brother…” Thor said, the word coming out quickly like it was determined to jump its place in his mental queue.

“Oh, Thor,” you said, putting your hand on his. “I deal with lost things. People? They are above my jurisdiction. The prayers for lost people are more for your realm than this one.”

Thor sagged and put his cup down. He ran his hands through his hair the pain and frustration he felt almost overwhelming him. “There’s been so much. Too much. My whole family. My friends. Asgard is gone. I don’t know where to go or what to do. I feel lost and I don’t know how to find my way back out.”

You took his hand. His large palms dwarfed yours. “Thor, I am a minor god,” you said. “What you have been through is awful and if I could help I would, but I deal in socks and loose change. Your identity is yours. You still have it. It’s here -“ you touched his forehead and moved your hand to his chest just above his heart. “- and here.”

Tears pricked Thor’s eyes and he wiped them away in frustration. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

“That I can understand too well,” you said. You wrapped your arms around him and very gradually he let himself sag into your arms. “You are very young,” you said quietly. “It is a large burden to carry. Can I give you some advice? I can’t promise it will be good.”

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking with the desperation he felt.

“Grieve, Thor,” you said. “It isn’t weak to love people. It isn’t weak to feel pain at their loss. Let yourself have your sorrow. Feel it. Let it out. I am a god on a planet of mortals. I have lost more than has ever come to me. They were your parents and your brother. Your friends. Your home. You loved them all and now they are gone. That is terrible. It’s terrible, Thor. They didn’t deserve that and neither did you. Grieve. Feel sad. Cry. Wail. Scream. If you don’t experience your grief, you lose more of yourself than you can possibly know.”

“I am the strong one,” Thor said. “I can’t show such weakness.”

“There is nothing weak about experiencing your emotions,” you said gently, your fingers tangling into his hair and massaging his scalp. “Besides, who do you need to be strong for now. It is just me here, everyone else is gone.”

He wrapped a large arm around your lap and he started to cry. It started small and silent, his tears just running down his cheek as he pressed his face into your lap. Soon he was crying in big wracking sobs. He cried for his mother and his father. He cried for Loki. For Jane. He cried for Heimdal and Fandral and Volstagg. For Asgard, the home where he grew up and had so many happy memories. He cried for the people he couldn’t save and for the ones he did that he let down when he didn’t have the strength to lead them. He cried for dwarves on Nidavellir and for Mjolnir the weapon they had forged him and was like a friend in of itself. He cried for Natasha and Tony. And for the fact that one day he would lose all the rest too.

You held him, never once telling him to quiet. You just let him cry in your arms, your fingers moving over his scalp and caressing his hair.

As the tears slowed and then stopped he felt a strange sense of relief. He didn’t feel better, but lighter perhaps. He sat up and wiped his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for,” you assured him. “Come; there is something I have which might interest you.”

You got up and he followed after you. You led him past more parcels and piles of letters. They started to appear yellowed with age and as he wound through the room the artifacts got older too. Barrels of spice and coins from countries that no longer existed. Looms of silks that had been damaged by saltwater. You stopped at a table. It was remarkably bare except for a piece of velvet draped over a small pile in the middle. You lifted the plush fabric and revealed a pile of broken metal and what was clearly the handle of Mjolnir. He knew it better than he knew himself. The length that was too short due to Loki’s meddling. The intricate scrollwork on the cap that held the leather strap he used to keep hold of it. The dark wood with the silver swirling up its length. It was his hammer, broken but his.

“Each time you prayed that it could be returned more of it came to me. There is still some missing but if you want you can stay. Pray for it at night and I think together we can repair it,” you explained.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Thor asked as he ran his hand over Mjolnir’s handle.

“It would be an honor,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had company and it’s never been from someone of your status.”

He turned and looked at you, a frown forming on his face as you smiled up at him. “I am not a king.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” you said. “But if you believe it is, then you are one step closer to finding what you’ve lost and I guess I can help after all.”

// NEXT

#thor #thor x reader #thor odinson #thor fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #lost objects

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fizzingwizard · 4 years

Text

Frantically playing catch up because I’m gone the rest of the weekend so here’s day 6 after all! Blatantly Takari. This one surprised me by how easy it was to write so it got a bit longer than the others. I’m sure there are many typos, please overlook. Also has two quotes, one in the text and one at the end, from my long-time favorite poet, Walt Whitman. BTW, I don’t really get everything that went down with Ordinemon, but I did my best to fit canon.

One month post-Bokura no Mirai, Takeru and Hikari go on a date and Hikari encounters something unexpected, which leads to a very overdue conversation with her brother.

Warning - there’s mention of the death of sick baby. It’s not huge but it matters to the story. I don’t want to shock anyone.

---

Tri week day 6 - Journeys - Death of a Comet

"How are you?" Takeru asked, watching her carefully.

Hikari only smiled and pretended not to notice. "I thought we'd known each other long enough to skip the niceties, Takeru-kun," she quipped. It was a far cry from her old playfulness, she knew, but she also knew he wasn't going to call her out for it it just yet.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Takeru rolled his eyes with an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. "I didn't realize relationship length was proportionate to amount of shits given."

"It is, at least when the last time we talked was an hour ago over text."

"Duly noted."

"Let's go?"

He nodded. He was wearing another hat she'd never seen before, a dark blue beret that looked about to tip off the side of his head with a light breeze. She wondered if he went out and bought a new hat each time before they went out together. Like how a girl shouldn't be caught in the same outfit twice. He probably did. That was Takashi Takeru, vain as fuck. But there was also something kind of adorable about it.

They'd "officially" been dating for a couple weeks, and Hikari wasn't sure yet how she felt about it. Of course, she'd agreed to it when he asked her. What else could she do? They'd been flirting and toying with each other off and on for years, in a childish way, but she couldn't pretend she didn't know full well what she was doing. She'd even sometimes daydreamed about what dating him would be like. Mostly she imagined it would be a lot of sitting in the bleachers at his basketball games.

She didn't consider Takeru the most mature of the boys in their year, but he wasn't as bad as some. Plus, they'd been through a lot together, so she knew what he was made of. And he really liked her. And she liked him. It seemed unavoidable. She'd said yes because she had no good reason for saying no.

It still felt a bit weird when he reached to hold her hand. Two weeks in, and they had yet to kiss. For the most part, it felt like nothing much had changed between them, except that Takeru no longer tried to hide his excitement when she was near. That was... flattering. And she had no qualms with taking it slow either.

They got on the Yurikamome train and stood together by a window, watching the Odaiba waterfront speed by as they traveled over the Rainbow Bridge. The sky was blue and cloudless. It was the kind of weather Tailmon loved, but Hikari had already talked to her about why she sometimes couldn't come along when she and Takeru went on an "outing." Tailmon had blinked lazily and said that was alright, and given her claws a long, purposeful lick. ”But if he ever hurts you, don't you dare hide it from me.”

Hikari promised, but thought the reverse scenario was far more likely.

Takeru had a more difficult time explaining it to Patamon, she'd heard. Supposedly, after Takeru had given his spiel about how growing up meant needing more time to oneself, Patamon had blurted out, "Are you going to kiss Hikari!? You've got to kiss her, Takeru!" loudly enough that some boys at school had overheard, and as a result everyone knew that they were an item before they'd even been out on a single date.

Such was life with Digimon.

"You know where it is, right?" Hikari asked as they got off the train.

"Yeah, I've come here with my mom for other exhibits," Takeru said, leading her out the exit and onto a busy street. "Mom's really into modern art. We've gone to see Kusama Yayoi's sculptures on Naoshima like four times. I'm pretty sure she goes whenever she breaks up with a boyfriend."

Hikari laughed. "Wait, really?"

"Well, she never introduces them to me, but I can tell when she's seeing someone. She touches up her roots more often."

The art exhibit they were going to see was some sort of interactive light show. Hikari had seen pictures online and thought it looked beautiful. Her father was of the opinion that they only ever put the best pictures on the website, and the rest of the exhibit was probably in some big, white-walled room that smelled like someone had microwaved fish for lunch. Her mom had been more enthusiastic, and added that, if the art did turn out to be a dud, it was as good an excuse as any to sneak off somewhere quiet with her Romeo and, you know, romance him.

Hikari was definitely not going to do that.

She'd timed things with care. Taichi had morning soccer practice until ten. After that he'd come home for lunch. The exhibit opened at eleven, but her concerns about there being a line fell on deaf ears, since Takeru claimed he knew this museum and it was never crowded. (Which didn't do much to mitigate her concerns about the exhibit being any good.) So the earliest she could convince him to catch the train was ten fifteen. So if she left right at ten and headed directly to the station, she ought to be able to miss her brother coming home completely.

It felt like fate was laughing in her face when she ran into him on her way out.

Her shock was mirrored on his face as they both stood in the doorway, staring at each other as if unable to understand why their biological sibling would be there, in their childhood home.

Taichi spoke first, if speech it could be called. "Uh," he said.

"Oniichan," she stammered back, "why - how - you got home fast."

"Yeah... Yamato was having band practice and he gave me a ride on the scooter," Taichi replied.

Hikari kept her mouth shut. Had Yamato orchestrated this? Was Takeru in on it? She knew it wasn't likely in either case, but her hackles were raised. "Oh," she said.

They continued to stand in the doorway. This was, Hikari reflected, the longest conversation they'd managed to keep going in almost a month.

"You... going somewhere?" Taichi asked after a while, tilting his head and looking up and down.

"Museum. With Takeru-kun."

"Oh. Well, have fun."

"Thanks."

As if suddenly realizing he was blocking the exit, Taichi stepped to the side, and Hikari barely restrained herself from running down the hall. The damage was done, though. The minute the elevator door closed, the tears started leaking down her face. Dammit. She'd been so careful.

She'd had to stop off at a nearby convenience store to hide in the restroom. She splashed her face and dabbed her eyes with her hand towel until they were less red, until the evidence of the havoc wreaked just by seeing her brother was hidden under a fresh layer of make-up. She never even wore make-up much before - after all, she was fourteen and blessed with good skin. Dating Takeru had been a convenient excuse to explain to her mom why she suddenly needed extra allowance for concealer, despite having no acne.

She wound up ten minutes late meeting Takeru and still, he could tell right away that something was wrong. She'd managed to deflect, but...

Hikari had never been any good at lying, even to herself. But she was surprised by her own cruelty, dating Takeru because she needed the distraction, an excuse to be anywhere but home. His feelings for her were genuine. She was a monster.

"Hikari-chan?" Takeru gave her a nudge that jolted her into the present. There was, indeed, no line to get in at the art show, and Takeru was trying to hand her a ticket. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

She nodded resolutely. "Yeah, of course."

"It's just, you're being kind of quiet."

"Well, sorry but I'm not a professional entertainer."

He didn't reply to that barb. Hikari felt even more miserable. If only Yamato's stupid motor scooter had broken down on the road...

They handed in their tickets and went through a pair of double doors, into a wide room lit by myriad streamers of blue and purple lights wafting on the air like strange, hypnotic jellyfish. No pictures were allowed, so Hikari kept her camera stowed, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Any pictures she tried to take while in such a stormy mood were bound to end up in the trash bin anyway.

They followed the path laid out through fiber-optic tallgrass in silence. Takeru was still gripping her hand, even though her own hung like a dead fish. The next section was a blacklight room with an even more obvious sci-fi vibe, bright cables painted brilliant colors in the impression of sea snakes creating circuitous archs on the walls and ceiling. The heat-sensor flooring lit under their feet as they walked.

Takeru leaned towards her, the blacklight setting his white T-shirt aglow. "This is like some disco-era alien planet," he joked, offering her the olive branch.

Well, she owed it to him not to let this date be a total disaster. "The room before reminded me of the tree in Avatar," she said.

"I bet the next one's gonna be something from Fifth Element."

"No way."

"Could be."

"Completely different aesthetic."

"It's gonna be that giant McDonald's sign made of stained glass. Wait and see."

It wasn't, of course. Takeru continued to insist they'd see the sign in the next room, and the next, until they reached the end of the exhibit, where he finally admitted defeat. At least room four had clearly been lifted from Finding Nemo, he said.

The final room was, in fact, an open space with white walls, but Hikari didn't notice any stomach-turning smells. A combination of 2- and 3D works of art were mounted around the room, and they took their time browsing, continuing to try to outwit each other with their increasingly outlandish, and even somewhat insulting, art critiques. It was a lovely show, Hikari thought. If she'd come to see it in a better frame of mind, she would be raving just now. But though she'd recovered her ability to match Takeru quip for quip, she still felt heavy with gloom. Geez, why did he want to date a rain cloud like her?

"Want to go for lunch?" Takeru asked as they took in the last piece of art, an abstract mosaic made of vibrant, blinking lights laid into a glass frame on a large tabletop. Hikari circled it slowly, watching lights ripple across the frame, stitching the full picture together bit by bit.

"Sure."

"There's a cafe my mom and I go to nearby. It does amazing pancakes."

"Sounds good," she said vaguely, her brow creasing in thought. She took a step back, gazing at the table from what she'd discovered was meant to be the foot, where you could see the picture in full if you craned your neck just so.

It wasn't abstract art. It was Ordinemon.

Her whole body stiffened.

"The orange marmalade pancakes are my favorite - you listening?" With a confused look, Takeru glanced from her unchanging expression to the table. His eyes went wide. "... Let's leave, Hikari-chan."

He gave her arm a tug. She didn't budge.

"Hikari-chan, there's no need to stay here. Come on."

"Why," she said. It came out in a harsh whisper, like a frozen wind. "Why would someone make art of... that."

Takeru didn't answer for a minute. "Because... they saw it," he said after a while. His grip on her arm tightened, as if expecting her to try to break away. "So they want to express what they saw."

"It's an abomination," she choked out. Humiliating tears welled up in her eyes.

Takeru seemed to hesitate. Then he stepped back, and his arms circled round her shoulders, locking her in a tight hug from behind. The warmth of his body flowed into her ice cold one, solid, real. Her mind flashed to another day, with a roiling sky black as night, when she'd come to in an unfamiliar bed with Takeru at her side and known, with a rush of deadly certainty, that she'd destroyed everything she ever cared about.

Her brother. Her beloved partner. Her friends.

By her own will.

She didn't know what she'd done. Or how. That almost made it worse, the not knowing. Her heart broke, watching her brother disappear in the earthquake. That was all. Her heart broke and she... stopped. And when she started again -

It was too late.

Tailmon had told her she didn't regret the fusion with Meicrackmon, that she'd been able to hold poor Meicoomon together, just a little longer. There was nothing for Hikari to regret, she said. Powers beyond her control. Yggrasil and Homeostasis felt they could wage their little war and pick their champions, and dispose of them when they felt like it. No sooner had she shaken off Homeostasis's hold over her that Ordinemon happened.

Hikari hated that once upon a time, she'd believed Homeostasis was a benevolent presence. That she'd willingly let her into her mind.

Now she didn't know what to believe.

Rage flared, hot as ice. Her whole world, none of it made sense anymore. She was adrift, she was unmoored, there was no safe harbor, not even in the brother who she loved like no one else. He could make a choice like that, to kill Meicoomon, to kill their friend's irreplaceable partner. The one person who deserved the most to be saved. And she'd helped, because that was what you did, on a team, at least, if you couldn't come up with a better plan yourself.

She realized she was shaking. Takeru only held her tighter, his nose buried in the crook of her neck.

"Hikari-chan," he said, and he sounded - terrified. "What if - what if it's not, though. What if it's not an abomination. What if..."

"How can you say that," she hissed frostily.

"I mean - I'm not saying it was good. I'm not saying I don't wish none of this had happened. But - I think - Ordinemon, she was created from despair, yours and Meicoomon's. She was used, and it tortured her. We freed her from that. She would have destroyed everything, even though it's not what she wanted, and she was in so much pain -"

"Stop!" Hikari yelled, pushing away from him. There was enough strength behind her need to get away and he was not expecting it, so he toppled to the floor while she raced out the exit. She kept running, hardly aware of dodging people on the sidewalk, and ran until she found herself in a small park with nothing but a two-seater swing set and metal slide. She sank into one of the swings and dropped her head in her arms. And cried.

Cried for Meiko, for Meicoomon. Cried for the future they would never have.

Cried for her brother, who had changed, and she understood why, but she still missed the way he used to be. Her guiding star.

Cried for herself, a lost comet streaking through an unfamiliar galaxy, wondering if she would vaporize shooting too close to an alien sun, or if she'd putter out slowly until she was nothing but lifeless, crumbling stone.

Her phone buzzed in her purse - Takeru, surely, trying to find her. On top of everything else, she'd ditched the boy she was stringing along, who cared about her, and who had tried so hard to let her know she wasn't alone. She didn't deserve Takeru. She would break up with him - she had to. He should be with someone stronger than her, who wasn't going to fall apart at the seams just from a silly piece of art at a museum gallery.

After a while the sobs let up enough that she could see without tears clouding her vision, and she figured she should at least let him know she was okay. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her messages.

12:35: Takaishi Takeru: i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to upset you.

12:35: Takaishi Takeru: where did you go? someone said you ran past the 7-11 but I have no idea where you went from there

12:37: Takaishi Takeru: please tell me where you are. If you don't want me to come, I won't. I can call someone if you want.

12:38: Takaishi Takeru: I just want to know you're okay

12:40: Takaishi Takeru: hikari-chan PLEASE respond

12:45: Takaishi Takeru: I asked at the 7-11 but they said they didn't see you. am walking around aimlessly now. no idea where to look.

12:48: Takaishi Takeru: hikari-chan if you don't reply soon I'm gonna have to call Taichi-san

12:52: Takaishi Takeru: wound up back at the train station, if you want to meet me here.

12:55: Takaishi Takeru: if you don't respond in five minutes I'm calling Taichi-san, I mean it.

12:58: Takaishi Takeru: I love you, by the way. think I always have. thought you might want to know

Fresh tears pricked her eyes. Leave it to Takeru. How could he pick now to spring that on her?

She should be happy. She wanted to be happy.

13:02: Me: I'm okay. I'm sorry. Go home. I'll talk to you soon.

Her finger hovered uncertainly over the keypad. She typed:

The real abomination is me.

Then she deleted it, and pressed Send.

---

Little though she wanted to go home, Hikari didn't have an excuse for staying out past dinner. She stayed in the little park until it started to get chilly. A couple times, the occasional grandma stopped to ask if she was alright, but she smiled and waved away their concerns. Finally, when twilight fell over the park in a gossamer curtain, she stood and stretched out the kinks in her back before heading back to the station. It felt like she'd been out much longer than a few hours. She thought briefly of asking a friend if she could spend the night, but didn't like the idea of needing to pretend to be peppy and cheerful.

On the ride back, she did a search on the artist who'd made the Ordinemon mosaic. Why, she had no idea. Some self-hating side that wanted her to hurt, she guessed.

The artist's name was Matsuyama Risa, a Tokyo-based sculptor, whose partnership with Fujii Fiber-optics had given birth to the displays they'd seen today. Hikari let her eyes skim the article, categorically uninterested in the number of lights used or how they were installed. What she wanted to know appeared like magic, tacked on at the very end of the article.

Art of Nippon Now: The last room in the showcase features a magical light-up mosaic of a subject that could be disconcerting for some viewers. What led you to recreate the monster that much of Tokyo watched terrorize the sky last month?

Matsuyama: I put that piece together in a feverish rush. Most of these installations took weeks to install, but I insisted on this one, even though it was such short notice. I had to have it. I heard that many people never saw more of her than her massive wings, but I happened to have a very clear view at the time. It made a huge impression on me.

ANN: You said her?

Matsuyama: It was a she. Or, perhaps it's better to say she might not have a gender, but she deserves better than the pronouns we use for inanimate objects, things without personality.

ANN: Are you saying this monster was a person?

Matsuyama: I don't know if you heard her cries, but they were deafening. They reminded me of how my son wailed in the night when he was first born. We didn't know why he was so colicky. Nothing we did calmed him. I was so afraid that he wasn't getting enough sleep. It turned out he was very sick and we just didn't know. The illness was hidden. We spent many nights in the ICU, holding out hope that he would be alright. I remember thinking, if he wasn't, it would destroy our marriage.

ANN: That sounds like a terrible experience.

Matsuyama: When our son died, it was terrible, but it also came as a relief. At least we knew he was no longer suffering. I was depressed for months. I couldn't make any art. Every day I expected my husband to leave me. The first day I pulled myself together enough to sketch something, he said I should sketch our son sometime.

ANN: So your husband didn't leave?

Matsuyama: No. He stayed by my side. When I cried that he deserved a woman who could make him happy, who would give him healthy babies, he told me I was the strongest woman he knew, and that I'd given him the best son in the world.

ANN: Wow - would that we all meet men like that.

Matsuyama: And women. That's why, although the creature that appeared over Tokyo was very frightening to look at, when I heard her cries all I heard was suffering. I thought, that is a real creature, who wants her pain to be understood. She represents something. Perhaps she was sent to show us the harm we do when we choose not to act to help others. She shouldn't be forgotten.

ANN: So you memorialized her in this mosaic?

Matsuyama: Yes. It was the right moment, even though I had no time. I wanted to recreate her likeness using lights. I set her into a table, because I felt that putting her on a wall would be too imposing, and viewers would only remember the fear she engendered. Lying down, it would seem as if she were in a coffin, finally laid to rest. But she's lit from within, and it's the light of life, desperately clinging on till the final moment, the same as any being with a soul.

ANN: Did you ever complete the sketch of your late son?

Matsuyama: No. I never did. But I think I will soon. I want to lay him to rest in my heart.

ANN: It's interesting that when you say 'lay to rest,' you seem to mean we should remember them.

Matsuyama: Our memories make us who we are. The past is always with us. My son, that creature, they are both part of my journey, as an artist of course, but also as a person in the world. You could say my son is the light of the world and that creature is the darkness, but I hold both light and dark in me, just by existing and being human.

ANN: You added a quote to the piece that said something of that nature.

Matsuyama: Yes, from a Walt Whitman poem, 'Song of Myself.' The quote reads: "I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also."

ANN: Maybe Whitman never expected his poem to be used in this way.

Matsuyama: That's the nature of art. It is a journey in and of itself. It fluctuates and changes to nourish the times. I hope everyone who sees my art understands that they are on a journey as well, and everything they do creates the work of art called "the future."

ANN: Thank you for your time, Matsuyama-sensei.

---

Her brother was home, but her parents were not. The arrangement of shoes in the entryway said as much. Taichi was seated at the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of noodles and reading something. He looked up when the door opened and pushed his seat back.

"Hikari - you okay?" He peered at her, concerned. "Takeru didn't do something stupid, did he?"

So Takeru hadn't told her brother that she'd run off. Gratitude flooded through her. "No, of course not."

"Good." Taichi's hand rifled through his hair, the other planted on his hip, and he looked perplexed. "Then why do you look like you've been crying all day?"

Hikari walked inside and sank down on the couch. "Because I have been crying all day."

She could feel his hesitance as he wavered in the hall, trying to decide if he should press her for more. If that was still something he was allowed to do. She knew he would try. He wouldn't be Taichi if he didn't.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, moving to sit on the arm of the couch, but he didn't relax, as if expecting her to tell him to leave her alone.

"No," she replied.

He nodded. "Okay." There was a pause. "You're sure Takeru didn't -"

"No, Oniichan."

"Okay, okay."

She sat there for a few minutes, staring blankly at the black TV screen. Soon Taichi slid off the arm into the seat beside her, allowing several inches of space between them. He didn't try to talk anymore. Didn't even get up to bring his bowl of noodles over, even though it was going to get cold.

Hikari tilted her head ever so slightly to peer at him. Dark circles ringed his eyes. She knew he hadn't been sleeping well. Something about his face looked more defined, less roundness to his jaw, starker cheekbones. Hadn't been eating much either, she guessed. It gave him an oddly grown up look. She would have to call him on losing weight from not taking care of himself, but that could wait for later. She was struck by how little he looked like their father. Everyone always said Hikari was the spitting image of her mom, so it seemed natural that Taichi should take after their dad, but though she searched she couldn't find many similarities. Taichi was just Taichi.

He gave a start when she leaned toward him and settled her head on his shoulder, but didn't say anything.

Hikari thought about many things.

How unbearable it was to feel helpless. How much she wanted everyone who cared about each other to be together, and for no one to suffer who didn't deserve it. How deeply she loved her friends. How easy it was fall apart.

Maybe all that meant was her worldview had been too delicate to begin with. A painting on a porcelain vase wouldn't stand the test of time unless handled with the best of care. The real world was too chaotic, too disordered. She could wrap her dream in newspaper, cover it in packing peanuts, tape it into a box marked "Fragile," and it would still end up in shards. She would try to put it together again, but the pieces were sharp, and she kept cutting herself on them.

She still wanted it. So, so much.

"You stay that way. You can hate me if you want," her brother had told her. Trying to put everything on his own shoulders, as usual.

"I will probably never forgive you," she'd said, and wouldn't let him. "But that's why I'll fight with you."

"Oniichan," She slipped off his shoulder, buried her face in his chest. She didn't know how she could still have more tears, but they darkened her brother's shirt as her hands hugged him tight. "I'll always fight with you."

Surprised, he didn't move for a moment, but then his arms wrapped around her the same way they always had, ever since she was small. His grip was sure, but not out of naivety. Yes, he'd lost his innocence. It wasn't coming back. But what grew in his place, she realized, was his choice. And she got the feeling he'd already decided.

"That's good to know," he murmured softly, lashes brushing her cheek, and she thought they might be wet as well. "Because I'm never going to stop fighting for you."

They held each other for a long time.

---

The next day, Hikari showed up at Takeru's door with flowers and a box of chocolates. He made a funny face, looking her over.

"Flowers and chocolates? Shouldn't this be reversed?"

"Didn't know you were such a traditionalist," she joked. "But I'll eat these myself if they hurt your manly pride."

A hesitant grin spread over his face. "To hell with convention. Those are my chocolates, keep your paws off them."

It was silly, and cliche, but this was her life. She could be as silly and cliche as she wanted. She pulled his shoulders down and kissed him. It was light and quick, but he still looked flustered when they parted.

"My mom's home," he said with an unmistakable note of regret.

Hikari only nodded. "Figured. Video games and chocolates?"

The grin unfurled for real. "Yeah, that would be great."

Nothing had ended. She hadn't gotten over anything. But she felt, for the first time, that now she could accept it. It was a piece of who she was, and it would be a piece of who she became. But just who that person would be, she intended to decide for herself. Even if her path got buried under mountains of broken shards of glass, that was just a part of being Yagami Hikari.

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes)."

#triweek2020 #takeru takaishi #hikari yagami #taichi yagami #takari #digimon adventure tri #fizz writes #digimon

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Weed (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Weed Rating: PG-13 Length: 4600 Warnings: Potential triggers if you have toxic family members and/or triggers difficult child hoods. Also recreational marijuana use and fluff! Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set November 2nd 1998. Summary: Reader goes to therapy and Javier tries something new.

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“I was quite surprised to hear from you again.” Nancy remarked as she shuffled papers in her notebook, peering up at you from the rim of her eyeglasses. “When last we met, you seemed to be well on your way.” She took her glasses off and sat them on her desk, “Have we had a setback?”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you stared across the room at her, “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a setback.”

“What would you call it?”

“I was doing really well. After everything with the articles, Javier and I went on vacation together and things felt…” You sighed. “I felt like I had finally hit my stride. You know?”

“Perhaps you should elaborate.”

You and Javier had already decided that Nancy was a safe space to discuss your elopement. It wasn’t like she could tell anyone about your sessions. Not to mention the fact that you had discussed your aversion to the whole concept at length in previous sessions.

But it still felt wrong to tell her.

“Well,” You drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Javier and I got married.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, picking a piece of fuzz off your leg. “It was perfect. I finally realized I had reached this point in my life where I wanted that. I wanted this thing that was just ours.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I mean, you know that Javier and I are private people. Having our lives splashed across newspapers was daunting. Which… that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Your marriage?”

“No. My mother.”

Nancy’s brows rose upwards and for the first time she seemed shocked by something you had to say. “Your mother?”

You rubbed your lips together and nodded a little. “She showed up this weekend. Halloween.” You laughed quietly, staring at a spot on the floor. “Seeing her again… it brought up. A lot.”

“Would you like to discuss what it brought up?”

“That’s why I’m here,” You retorted, before you sank back against the sofa, raking your fingers through your hair. “For a few fleeting seconds I let myself actually believe that maybe she had changed. That maybe rehab had cured her. Finally. But… then I was thirteen again. I felt so small and… scared.”

“Scared?”

“I’ve worked very hard to make sure my girls have a safe, loving, harmonious life. I even came here. I recognized I had a problem after Sofía and I… handled it. That’s what I do. I handle things.” You swallowed thickly, feeling a knot form in the pit of your stomach. “This isn’t new. We’ve talked about her before.”

Nancy flipped through the pages of her notebook, “Yes. I recall our lengthy conversation about her addiction. You made a lot of progress, grappling with those difficult emotions that grew from a difficult situation. How did this encounter make you feel?”

“I don’t think I’ve slept since Friday night.” You shrugged a shoulder, “Javier’s been great. He’s… always been understanding.”

“But you’ve never fully discussed the details with him, have you?”

You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because it’s a lot. We used to talk about it… before we were together. It’s come up before.”

“You once referred to her as a shadow on your life. Does it feel like that shadow returned?”

“Yes.” You rubbed your hands together, leaning forward on the edge of the sofa. “That’s exactly how it feels. She’s gone — I hope she’s gone — but I still feel…”

“Small?”

“She pulled all the same tricks. She tried to make Javi think I was crazy. She pulled the tears and the blaming and… I genuinely don’t think she realizes how traumatized I was as a child.”

“What stands out?”

You laughed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “God, I don’t even know. There was so much.”

“I would like to try something, if you’re open.” Nancy suggested, “Would you be comfortable laying down?”

“Sure.” You kicked off your shoes and stretched out lengthwise on the sofa. “Is this the whole… introspective breathing exercise?”

“Yes.”

You dragged your hands over your face, trying to will yourself to relax. “Alright. I’m ready.”

“Focus on your breath. In and out. As you feel the air rushing into your lungs, I want you to think back to your childhood.” Nancy advised you. “Pinpoint a moment. Just one.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing just as she had told you to. You pictured your lungs filling with air and deflating as you exhaled. How many times had you used breathing exercises to manage anxiety?

You let your mind wander back — at first you thought of Javier. Those were easy memories to reflect on. Safe memories. The way he’d held you this morning, the way he tried to chase away all of the bad memories that had returned with your mother. But you weren’t sitting on Nancy’s sofa to think about Javi.

“What do you see?”

“The house I grew up in,” You answered, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you settled into that memory. “We lived in one of those one-level post-War houses. It was identical to the one next to us, except… we had a blue front door. She painted it when she was high, it was… It was poorly painted.”

“Who painted it?”

“My mother.”

“How does that blue door make you feel?”

“I used to dread it. Every time my dad would bring me back after a weekend with him…” You sighed heavily. “It wasn’t a welcome sight.”

“And what was beyond that door?”

“The place I lived. It was never home. It was just the place I lived.” You weren’t sure if you’d ever really had a home before Javier and the girls. They felt like what home had always looked like in books and movies.

“If I was coming back from dad’s house, I knew I was going to be met with hostility. She treated me like a traitor every time I came back to the house. If she had gotten high while I was gone, she was usually passed out on the sofa — that was the best time to come back.”

“Tell me about your room.”

“There was a mural on one of the walls. A butterfly.” You shook your head slowly as you pictured the poorly drawn butterfly. “I used to pretend I was the butterfly, that I could just fly out the window and never look back.”

“Did you feel trapped?”

“Always.” You shifted on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I never felt safe.”

“Why?”

“There were always people in our house. Strangers — a lot of strange men.”

“Were you ever harmed?”

“No. I’m certain I’m lucky in that regard. I slept with a chair in front of my door. My dad told me to do that. Even though he wasn’t there, he tried to protect me.”

“Do you think these experiences have played a part in how you approach your life?”

You laughed bitterly, “Every day. Not even consciously. These things are so hard wired into who I am.”

“How so?”

“Before Javier and I were together, I was terrified that my daughter would be brought up into a life like my own. Torn between two people who couldn’t get along. I knew Javier was a good man, but I still feared that. It makes life very confusing for a child.”

“Let’s touch on those fears. It’s very common in adults who have suffered from upbringings like your own — they fear repeating the cycle. Is that something you find yourself faced with?”

“All the time. Everything that happened with Sofía’s birth brought up a lot of those emotions. I was afraid it would be the trigger. I had never felt that way before. I felt like a stranger in my own body.” You focused on your breathing again, trying to push aside the panic you felt. “Seeing her again this weekend, definitely brought those emotions back to the surface. Javier tried to reassure me. He was great — so great.”

“What emotions?”

“She got under my skin.” You admitted. “I have worked so hard to provide everything for my family. We have a home, we love each other, the girls are safe and loved.”

“How did your interaction with your mother go?”

“She showed up Saturday night. We had plans for Josie — a school Halloween party. I let Javier handle it because I just didn’t have the emotional bandwidth. I guess she said some shitty things to him, I’m not surprised. She skirted around it with me on Sunday.”

“Why did you speak to her on Sunday?”

“Javier had to reason with her. To get her to leave, you know?” You swallowed thickly. “So she came back on Sunday and we talked. She made excuses, she blamed me, she lashed out. I was thirteen again.”

“Why thirteen?”

You opened your eyes, turning to look at Nancy. “What?”

“You mentioned thirteen twice. What happened when you were twelve?”

“Oh,” You rubbed at the spot between your brows. “My mother and her boyfriend — I think it was Greg… there were a few at the time — but, they had this party…” You closed your eyes again. “Drugs everywhere. My mother was drunk, on top of whatever she’d snorted… she hadn’t even bothered to make dinner for me. So I was in the kitchen, it was in the back of the house, and I was trying to make something to eat. There was this woman who was there and I guess she had wandered away from the rest of the party—”

“Take your time.”

You covered your face, “She was nice. Obviously very high, but she liked my shirt. It had a butterfly on it.” You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. “She sat down at the kitchen table and she… nodded out and then she made this sound.” You sat up slowly then, pushing your fingers through your hair. “It was like a death rattle.”

“Did she die?”

You nodded, “Right in front of me. I tried to call 911, but…” You looked at a point somewhere beyond Nancy. “My mother threatened me. She said if I told anyone what happened, she’d make sure I never saw my father again. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

“You have gone through a considerable amount of trauma at a very young age,” Nancy surmised, closing her notebook as she leaned against her desk. “Yet you have overcome it. You have a healthy relationship with your partner, you put tremendous consideration into your relationship with your daughters. But I do think there is more work to be done. You are not an island. You are no longer isolated.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded slowly as you weighed her words. “I know I’m not. And I do talk about these things with Javier. I always have.”

“It is okay to let go of the past. You don’t have to carry that baggage with you.” Nancy smiled at you kindly, “This is a minor setback, that you cannot let affect the progress you’ve made.”

You chewed on your thumbnail nervously, “I know. And I am aware that I’m a work in progress. We all are.”

Nancy nodded, “Exactly. Focus on today, on the here and now. Don’t let yourself get trapped in this moment. Your mother has no control over your future.”

“I tell everyone that it’s okay to cut toxic people out of their lives, but when it came to my own mother I hesitated.”

“We all want to believe the best in someone. But some people aren’t wired to be their best. There’s no shame in disconnecting. Focus on your own family.”

You smiled back at her, “Thank you. I do think I’m going to start having sessions again. I want to get through this—“ You gestured to your chest. “I have a lot of pain that I’m still carrying. I would like to work through it with you.”

“I’m here for you. And, of course, Javier if he decides he’d like to join us.”

“I’m sure he will,” You laughed softly. “He was willing to come today if I needed support.”

“Our regular appointment time is still open. Feel free to call and get yourself back on my books.”

“Thank you.”

——

Talking about your past hadn’t necessarily managed to cure your mild malaise, but it has helped to an extent. You felt lighter. You didn’t feel afraid that you’d see Rebecca standing outside of your house when you got home.

Maybe a few more weeks of talking with Nancy — before you packed up the car to head to Laredo for Thanksgiving — would do you good.

You peeled off your coat as you walked through the front door, hanging it on the hook. “Should I be afraid? It’s awfully quiet.” You called out, glancing around the empty family room.

“In the kitchen!” Javier called out and you followed his voice. “You got home sooner than I expected.”

Your brows rose upwards as you looked at the bags of chips sitting on the counter. “Are we having a party I was unaware of?”

“No,” Javier grinned at you, shaking his head. “Connie’s keeping the girls another night. She’s off today.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head to the side. “Bags of chips, no kids…”

He sat a familiar box down on the counter between the two of you, “I’m finally ready to bite the bullet, baby.”

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth and laugh, “Javier!” You moved around the counter, wrapping your arms around him as you continued to laugh. “You really don’t have to try weed, just because I’m having a shitty couple of days.”

“But I want to,” Javier ran his hand down your back. “You said before that it helps with stress and… I think we’re both pretty stressed right now.”

“I agree with that, but you really don’t have to try something you don’t want to. I know how you feel about it.”

“I had a really long conversation with Nadia about it at the party Saturday night. She laid it all out pretty clearly,” He rocked his jaw as you pulled back to look at him. “I can see the merits of smoking occasionally.”

You smiled up at him adoringly, “And here I thought I couldn’t love you anymore than I already do.” You rose up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Better watch out,” You teased, cupping his jaw. “I might have to marry you.”

“Did you tell her?”

“I’ve never seen her so surprised.” You told him as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip. “It was a good session. I think I’m going to start going again.”

“Good.”

You ran your hands over his shoulders as you leaned against him, “I can’t believe you’re willing to smoke. Finally. God, I hope you love it.”

“I like the prospect of being pain free for an evening.” Javier leaned down and rested his forehead against yours. “How are you doing?”

“I’m here.” You curled a hand around the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. “A lot of bad memories got dredged up.”

“I know you didn’t sleep last night.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, giving your hip a squeeze. “You gonna fall asleep on me if we smoke?”

You snorted, “Probably.” You watched him as he moved back to the grab the box off the counter. “Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

“I’ve assigned it a research day. They’ll be working on the proposals.” He answered smoothly. “They need the time to work anyways.”

“I’m touched that you did all of this, Javi.”

He shrugged, “I wanted to do something that would cheer you up, baby. You were pretty out of it last night.”

“Last night was rough,” You admitted as you took the box from him, “Grab the chips.”

Javier followed you into the bedroom, sitting the chips down on the foot of the bed as he watched you open the windows to let some fresh air in.

“What should I expect?”

You paused, hands on your hips as you turned back towards him. “It’s different for everyone, but for the most part… You’ll feel like you’re drunk, without feeling drunk. Warm and fuzzy.” You shrugged. “I just know it makes me feel really calm.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he nodded, “This can never get out. They won’t let either of us teach.”

“Marriage, pegging, and weed. Our three dirty secrets.” You wiggled your brows at him as you moved to join him at the foot of the bed.

You sat the box on your legs, opening it and pulling out the neatly rolled joint from the last time you’d taken a hit. “It’s a lot like smoking. Same in and out.” You explained, sitting the box aside and holding the lighter out to him. “The key is that you have to let go and enjoy it.”

Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded, “I think after the year we’ve had, I can let go and have fun.”

“And that’s growth.” You laughed, before tucking the joint between your lips. He flicked the lighter on, bringing it to the end of the joint and lighting it for you.

You pinched it between your fingers, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. This was exactly what you needed. You could already feel the first tingles as it settled.

“Ready?” You questioned, holding the joint out between you. “You don’t have to, Javi. I don’t mind smoking if you just want to lay here with me.”

He shook his head, taking the joint from you. “I’m willing to try it, baby. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you do.”

Javier brought it to his lips, tagging a drag off of it before passing it back to you. “What am I supposed to feel?”

You snatched it from him and took another breath, “Just let it happen. Don’t overthink it.” You held the joint up, smirking as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around it.

He had really nice lips.

Javier rubbed his lips together thoughtfully, “I feel a little tingle.” He admitted, taking it back from you after you took another hit.

“Just sink into it,” You advised him as you took the little ashtray out of the box, leaving it on the bed as you rose to your feet.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” You gave him a look as you sat the box down on your nightstand, before returning to him to take another drag off it. “I’m just making more room.”

Javier laughed as he exhaled. “More room for what?”

You shrugged, “I was thinking a pillow fight.”

“Oh really?” He laughed again, watching you as you picked up the bag of sour cream and onion chips and sat them on the nightstand too. “Why a pillow fight?”

“Because it sounds fun.” You plopped back down beside him, taking the joint from him and take another hit off it, “Javier Peña is smoking weed.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ve been corrupted.”

“Corruption looks good on you,” You told him, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. “I miss the hair.

Javier grinned around the joint tucked between his lips, “I didn’t let it go until you got your wish.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek, ruffling your fingers through his hair. “You look good when you’re getting fucked.”

“So I’ve been told,” He said as he exhaled a puff of smoke between you, before passing it back to you. “I haven’t got a bad word to say about it.”

“Good.” You scrunched up your nose and laughed. “You’re so good to me.”

Javier beamed, “Have you met you?”

“I don’t know if I have.” You tucked your leg beneath you as you angled yourself towards him. “Tell me more.”

“Well,” He offered you the joint again. “I do feel tingly!” Javier snorted, “Is this what it feels like?”

“I don’t know. How do you feel?” You questioned, toying with the third button of his shirt. “I feel warm.”

“I feel warm too!” He clasped his hands together, looking towards the open windows. “I feel good.”

“That’s all I want,” You admitted to him, sitting the smoldering joint in the ashtray. “You know what?”

“What?”

“You’re hot.”

He laughed loudly, sinking back against the bed, his legs still draped over the edge. “Yeah?”

You nodded emphatically. “I remember… my first day.” You swept your hands through the air dramatically. “I walked into the office and saw you and just thought — hot!”

“Oh, was that your first thought?”

You laid back in the bed, settling into the crook of his arm, “Mhm.” You sighed happily. “And then I quickly realized what a dick you were.” You pressed close to him, nuzzling at his neck. “That’s how I knew I was screwed.”

Javier laughed, rubbing his hand down your arm, “We were both screwed.” He hummed, his lips still drawn into a smile as he stared up at the ceiling. “Do you remember New Years?”

“Like eleven months ago?”

He shook his head, “Before Josie was born.”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to focus on the specific moment he was referencing, “I broke my wine glass.”

“Yeah!” He nodded, tilting his head to look at you. “Steve’s a funny guy.”

You shoved him playfully, “Are you going to rhapsodize about Steve now?”

“No! No.” Javier made a sound that very nearly sounded like a giggle. “He swears he didn’t know that we were orbiting each other.”

“Orbiting each other.” You mocked, sitting up to grab the joint, taking another hit as you laid back on the bed.

“He swears he didn’t really know just how bad we had it for each other—“

“Bullshit!” You called out dramatically and you both started laughing.

“He knew. Of course he knew. That jackass.” He took the joint from you and took two puffs off it. “But that night — son of a bitch — he told me I was holding you back. That as long as I acted like I had feelings for you, you weren’t going to ever look for someone.”

You frowned, “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Made me feel like an asshole, baby.” He rubbed his hand over his chest, like he’d been injured. “It's why, I…”

“Was that’s why you wanted to drive me home?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, “He made it sound like I needed to set you free and…”

You dropped the joint back into the ashtray and cut him off before he could finish. You planted your hand over his mouth and scrambled to straddle him. “No. We’re not doing sad.” You warned him. “Wanna know a secret?”

He licked the palm of your hand.

“Javier.”

He nodded.

“I wanted to go home with you.” You confessed, leaning forward so your nose brushed against his. “I got myself off thinking of you.” You slowly pulled your hand away, “I was so certain 1992 was going to be a shit year. They were thinking about leaving and everything was falling apart but, I thought — I didn’t fuck it up with Javier, I’ve still got him.”

His hands went to your hips, “And you do. I could never up and leave you, baby.”

You leaned in and kissed him, “If we weren’t married, I’d marry you all over again.”

“Yeah?” Javier grabbed at your hips and you shivered, you loved how much more every little touch felt like. “I can’t wait to tell pops.”

You grinned as you laughed, “He’s gonna be so fucking excited.” You nipped at his bottom lip. “I hope we run into Lorraine at the toy store again.”

“Jesus Christ.” Javier groaned, “Why bring up her? I’m feeling good baby.”

You bumped your nose against his, “Because I’m vindictive.” You grinned down at him. “And I love proving people wrong.” You traced your finger down his nose. “But I know the Javier that no one can see.”

“You do.” He parted his lips as you ran your finger over his lips. “We both know the real us.”

“I really like us.” You mused, “I think we’ve done really well for ourselves.”

Javier nodded his head, “I do too.” He played with the hem of your sweater, “Didn’t you say you were warm, baby?”

“Trying to get me undressed?” You questioned, giggling as you let him peel the sweater off your body.

“Maybe.”

“Turnabout, babe.” You quipped as you wrestled with the buttons of his shirt until it fell open.

“You know… my knees aren’t hurting.” He pointed out, running his hand over your bare arms as he looked up at you. “But I can’t tell if I want to fuck your or just hold you.” Javier laughed and you couldn’t help but join in on the pure joy that was in his laughter.

“It’s funny isn’t it?” You questioned, playing with the hair that fell against his forehead. “Am I horny? Or do I just want to be held?”

“What do you want?” Javier questioned, running his hands over your skin anywhere he could reach. Which you definitely enjoyed.

“As tempted as I am to take advantage of your very exuberant self,” You leaned down to kiss him, playing your tongue over his bottom lip. “I just want to be held. Right now, at least.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Javier promised you, leaning up to meet your lips again.

Somehow he managed to maneuver both of you up the bed with you still on his lap, while you clutched at the ashtray so you could stick on the nightstand.

You rolled onto the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling as you sank into the warmth of the high buzzing through you. Your eyes felt heavy, but you ignored it — you really did need to sleep tonight. But it wasn’t tonight yet.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s different.” He held his hands up in front of his face. “I feel like there’s this… space in between me and me.”

“Weird, right?”

“And my pops does this?”

You nodded, “Your body gets used to it after awhile. You’re still high just not quite as… tingly.”

“It’s nice though.”

You rolled onto your side and draped your arm over his chest. “I want you to feel good.”

“I do.” He brushed his fingers over your hair. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” You grinned, meeting his gaze before you both descended into laughter. “You’re so dorky.”

“Who me?”

“Yes. You’ve got this dorky face thing going on.” You gestured to his face. “You’ve taken five years off. At least.”

“Mmm, that could work in our favor.”

You swatted his chest and snorted, “Please. No. I can’t believe she even insinuated that! What a bitch.”

“You were incredible yesterday.” He told you warmly, stroking his fingers through your hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” You sank into his side. “I’m just… if I rest my eyes for five minutes will you still hold me?”

“I’ll hold you until the end of time, baby.”

“That sounds like a long time.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s forever.” He kissed your temple. “Relax, baby. Just sleep. And then we can… I’m a little tired too. Hungry and tired.”

“That’s nice.” You mumbled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, before two sleepless nights got the better of you.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

21_Weaving Paths and Turbulence

First

The buildings began to blur together as he searched endlessly. Rotten carpet, leaky walls, hollowed out ceilings or collapsed floors. Some areas held together better than others, some skyscrapers he didn’t make it to the second floor, due to a dense presence of the Viewers. The clusters flocked for the televisions, rooting for the escape that was the signal in the static.

They didn’t bother him at all, but it was unlikely that the child would risk the thicket for any shred of shelter. There was no such safety in the heart of insanity.

This most recent building he entered into the old fashioned way, seemed promising. Yet, he had been at this for who knows how long, usually hitting false leads or incurring a cold trail. Sometimes it was an old thread from one of the television units, and he might find – say – evidence that some child had been present. Speek on a wall, warning of some threat or another, a ransacked kitchen with everything from within the cabinets dumped across the floor.

He typically deduced how far off he was by such patterns. For instance, if Mono found the tools, he would tag a wall with the image of a boy in paper mask. If another child was recounting an interesting story, they might do a picture on a piece of paper, but it was typically a boy in a trademarked coat and a hat.

This was all optimistic, but the speek was not in a localized location. He had hoped Mono would fold in with another group of children. That’s what children did, they packed. It was… what he wanted. Mono didn’t Fall, not the same way he did. This iteration of his youth was not scorned or dispirited, as he had been. He did not see where the pit would take him.

The upper floor caved into the lower level, spilling a bed and other furniture into the formerly lavish kitchen. With each gust of wind, the building groaned. A hard storm beat at the window set into the side of the kitchen, threatening to tear out the last few glittering teeth. Outside the window a shattered television hung from its cable. He wondered if—

A mournful crash ignited from somewhere within the building, causing the lights to douse from the portal going into the next room. Everything shook, from the walls to the air itself. A huff of dust swept through the pale vapor of light within the corrupt kitchen.

Flickering through a hazy ripple, the Thin Man relocated to that portal and stooped. Not this room, the next one over. He wound around discarded packing boxes and stacks of bedsheets, his reach pricking through the transmission. The frequency becoming more condensed, promising.

In the next chamber, the timber persisted to creak and yowl from the abrupt disturbance. The source was apparent, by the meager light blazing from the room above. A chunk of wall took out a banister, but for now the floor should hold.

What piqued his interest was the ruffled shape clawing its way up the remnants of the stairway, from a height that would be fatal if not incapacitating. The Thin Man inched out, raising his hands in case the child lost grip. Those concerns were unwarranted, given that Mono had reacted to destruction before disaster could claim him.

The child continued scrambling up the remains of the rail, until he was safely settled on the crossing flat above. He glared down from his perch, clearly annoyed by the cataclysm that could have ended him. That irritation shifted to the tall dark figure poised below. He tipped his head one way.

The Thin Man tipped his head the other. It seemed Mono had finally shed his hats. For him, the boy wasn’t too far away, but he wished he could get a better look at that face. If he offered his hand, the child might be encouraged to come down.

Before he could kindle a word, the child stood up and turned away. And like that, he was gone.

To be honest, the Thin Man was a little stunned. Not a word, not even a hiss. He didn’t expect the child to be receptive to his presence, but expected something more, such as drawn-out scrutiny or a lingering glare.

With a surge and crackle, he relocated to the top of the floor where Mono had been. The time that elapsed was short, but the presence was already fading. He recalled it had been impossible to capture Mono, if not for interference of some sort that caught him unaware. He began prowling, searching for the least obvious crevices and breaks in the corroded wall, though it would have helped if he saw which direction the boy had fled into.

He all but tore the building to pieces, but it became apparent only later, that Mono was long gone.

The window was open, which begged him to climb in and get out of the rain. It must’ve been a place to get stuff, though it seemed okay. A lot of the stuff was worthless, such as clothing and things with wheels.

A shoe with wheels. He could get on it and it would roll across the floor. Neat. But this didn’t seem like the place that would have foods.

He stood on a stack of collapsed boxes, the tower folding and turning lumpy as he climbed on it. He needed to get a better look around, know this area and get a sense of his location. That was when he saw it. Something on a shelf, behind a counter, and it looked like a foods container. He wasn’t sure. This place didn’t have foods, it had shoe wheels, and board with wheels, and just… boards. And clothing. He needed to find his way up there. But how? He left the lumpy stack of boxes and crept around, poking the fringes of shadows and climbing shelves. No ledge or height was near enough to get him to the basket shelf, except….

To one side of the room sat a stack of cages, all empty. Whew. The cages rose high enough, that he could reach a ledge – and if he jumped well – he could get to a crumbled and sloping ceiling/upper floor. It took more effort than it should to climb up the cages, despite them being the easiest to scale of anything. Plenty of hand holds, sturdy, etc.

From there, he climbed onto the crossing beam nearest to the crates, walked out to the end of a plank, and then sprang to the sloped floor/ceiling. He gave the room a sharp examination, listening for noises beneath the effort of stealth. When assured this space was safe, he carefully navigated to the end of the inclined floor. It shot out a bit higher than he anticipated, above the metal basket which held the mysterious it-looked-like-foods artifact.

He jumped down to a lone crossing plank of wood, and swayed when it creaked under his weight. This is okay, this was fine. He crouched down and centered his gravity, winding up his muscles. And… hesitated.

It’s not that far. This would be okay. He dropped from higher.

Mono gulped down a few firm breaths. This was okay. It would be fine.

But he could still see her face. She glared at him, unmoved. We need to go. We need to leave. Please hurry. Please. Six. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please, take me.

He swayed and shook his head. No! He could do this! Go! Just go!

Without a thought he leapt out, and in the next instant plopped into the mesh of the basket. He was shaking. He clung to the container in the shelf basket, and he was shaking, breathing. It was all right. He was okay. It’s okay. It would be….

What is?

Pop lid. He gripped and prodded the container all over, searching for the mechanism to figure out what the contents were. Carefully, he eased the lid back and snuffed at the seal underneath. No smell. Good. No smell from seal, was best. It had a pull tab, but that broke. He was forced to gnaw at the seal, but carefully. No noise. Silent.

A swell of aroma puffed from the pressurized top. Smelled all right. He carved the seal out more and dug into the container. It was indeed foods. He pulled out a bit of what might be meat, he thinks. It didn’t smell like any meat he knew. He gave it a tentative try.

Was good. Actually made his mouth water, as with his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to place the flavor, but it actually had flavor – and he hoped it was supposed to taste like this. Or, maybe he went that long without food.

He tossed caution aside and began digging out more of the foods stuff, going to town on whatever he’s stumbled upon. Something he was actually enjoying, which was completely bizarre. He felt secure in this little perch, chewing on whatever the heck he found. He kind of wanted to keep on chewing, he stuck his tongue out, content. He opted to shove as much into his mouth and enjoy it all the more. So yum. Nice. The container was can and its sides smooth, he could roll it. If it didn’t make a lot of….

It all changed in an instant. His eyes snapped open, and he sniffled. The foods had a very vibrant odor, very good, but he could push past that. His pulse began spiking, his heart ached in his chest. Something was wrong. He was on immediate alert and the tasty foods forgotten. He edged forward on the mesh basket, struggling to understand what was there, what he tuned into. The building was empty save for him, devoid of presence or resonance. This didn’t change the fact that something was there, and he couldn’t directly see nor pick out where. He knew without a flutter of a doubt, he was in danger.

He pitched out of the mesh basket and hit the counter below – the distance from his perch and the landing was still much too high. He sprang to his feet and swept sideways, dazed by the sharp numbness in his leg but unwavering in the escape. He tried to tend more caution as he scaled down the side of the counter, first dropping into a cylinder wire basket full of ratty cloth, then flopped out onto the floor.

The shadows soaked the craft of concealment through his shoulders and coat. He ducked under tall aisles and scuttled behind lopsided boxes, scoping the dark depths for hint or indication of a threat. Was it another beetle? It didn’t really matter, no one shrugged off a scare like this. Don’t make noise, don’t ignore intuition. Something set him off.

At some point, as he crept through a patch of mossy tendrils, he chanced a look back toward the counter. All in time to view a stringy figure materializing from the shadows and dust, and coalescing into an imposing shape. The nightmarish image stood there, head tilted.

H̸́I͞͠͠M̸̴͘͠͡!̨̕͡

With dire purpose the figure rotated and fixed its haunting gaze upon him. He could see him. He knew where he was. The Thin Man always knows! WHY? NOW? WRONG! THREATTHREATDANGER! FLEE!

He came from the window, but didn’t figure a way out! Was door? Where door? TRAPPED! LOST! TRAPPEDLOSTDANGER!!

Upon getting pinned among a collision of shelves, he scrambled in an erratic circle clawing at supplies, before plowing through a small nook he could squeeze into. The buzz of static pricked at his skin, he lost track of where he was let alone where the man in the hat was. He didn’t care what he was crawling over or through, he barely had a conscious thought of where he was going – purely guided by the intensity of his bones humming.

No hide! NOHIDENOHIDE!

He could only hope this twisting pathway delayed his pursuer. But eventually, all good things must come to an end. A wall reared up in his path, and he nearly collided with it in his blind panic. He took the direction that felt favorable, not the easier, and kept going. Through the gloom of the building, a mass fluttered, the static rustled. Mono nearly choked… trying to head him off.

Something caught his foot and he toppled. OW! He curled up, cupping a hand over his face. When he looked back, he perked. But the grate he tripped over was latched tight. No, wait…. He scrambled around, searching through the muck on the ground. There was a lot of pieces, parts… his palms snagged something thin but hefty. Weight. He hauled it over to the grate and swung it down.

The slates in the vent creaked. He wound up, and again slammed the bar down. Once more! And again! Don’t stop. Don’t look BACK!

He dropped to his knees with the last deafening crunch, and the bars splint apart enough he could drop through.

In time for the buzzing and distortion to skitter through the space he stood. He wasn’t certain from where, the Thin Man might try to close in fast. Without a moment wasted he dove headfirst through the gap and skidded down a short incline, tumbling over gunk in the dark. When he managed to his feet he kept hunched low and hurried, one hand glanced over eroded metal. He lugged out the flashlight and clicked it on, the light flickered but held steady.

A large break opened above his head, from where plaster and splinters spilled down. He checked the access with a brief glimpse, before dragging his body up. The passage wound and narrowed, he didn’t know where he was going. That was the least of his woes.

He was limping. In his panic he hadn’t realized, the pain barely registered. It didn’t feel that serious, not like falling. A light twinge in his knee and thigh, the joint stubborn with his weight crammed up like this. He’d have to be careful, more cautious. This couldn’t slow him down.

Then, a cold fear settled over Mono. Why does the Thin Man seek? What want? To taunt? The man in the hat didn’t want anything to do with him. Suddenly, wanted to steal. This was very terrible, and he cued in on something… sinister. He knew the Thin Man usually didn’t hurt him, but in other ways… he did. It was a struggle to explain, for now he gave up and focused. He was certain something was very wrong, to make man in the hat seek. Something painful would come of this, it always did. Stay away. He was in danger. And the Thin Man always knew how to find. There was no hide. Only flee.

Tight and inhospitable crevices, the narrow passages, forgotten spaces in desolate locations. The deep, dark fractures the adults could not reach into. This would be his safe. And never relent focus. Always watch. Never waver. Only one set of eyes. Only him.

Light fluttered from the end of the duct. A mass of wadded paper crammed the opening, but enough space was allotted that he could peer out without disturbing it. He tucked away the flashlight – the batteries were going bad, or it got too wet. He blinked out the fuzziness when the scratchy light hit his eyes, it looked like an ordinary room. More tables and furniture, and a television set seated on a chair.

Rest. He needed hurt rest. But television is a way out. The Thin Man will find. The Thin Man will set a trap. He is too cunning. Too dangerous.

Mono’s lip trembled. Flee. There is only flee. No hide. Flee.

He shoved the gummy paper out of the crack and let himself down, careful. Cautious. He heard the Viewer. Somewhere. The adult groaned, not near but coming? Lost.

Where they are doesn’t matter. He hauled another chair over to the television and climbed up. Despite the whirring of the device and its call, the air was calm. Good. He slapped his hands onto the glossy surface and let himself tear out of there.

This… aggravating child.

No matter his carefully sheltered stealth, the caution he pursued, how he lingered out of range awaiting the opportune time to creep in. The boy would NOT let him get near. He wasn’t certain if the child’s skills with the transmission were only now beginning to refine, or if Mono had become so attuned to the hostile reality of the world, in the absence of a friend. The Thin Man only held knowledge to the point of his own shelter and isolation within the Tower, thus all that transpired hereafter was an unknown.

If the child was developing higher sensory, it would be impossible to get close enough to intercept him. There persisted no delusion in him that Mono was in a listening mood, if he’d regressed to hyper-survival. It was dispiriting. If he could stumble upon a chance to move in close enough, he resolved to simply capture the boy.

However, this proved more difficult than initially afforded credit. On numerous occasions, he managed to track the boy down with relative ease. Still, the grasp of the child’s attunement was more outreaching than anticipated. The Thin Man could only arrive a step behind, ironically as that was. Creeping in, closing distance mere moments following Mono’s departure.

In one tower office complex, he tracked the boy through the television signals. It persisted that the smaller one didn’t grasp that the easiest way to give out his location, was through utilizing the transmission. A secret he hoped endured longer, while the boy began utilizing leaps more and more often. Nonetheless, the Thin Man seemed only able to arrive and assess the scattered fragments indicating the boys presence, and nothing of it to benefit his self-imposed mission.

As he scoured the room over for a hint of the boys endless course, the static bristling and his shape intermingling with the fringe of shadows, he stumbled upon a toppled pan of water resting face down on the floor. The liquid swept from the sides, still in the process of intermingling with the silt collected from rainwater settled on a drenched magazine. A few inches away, muddy footprints faded out across a soaked patch of carpet. The most incriminating, was the hat discarded on the side of a crumbling desk. All of this, yet it did not enlighten him to where Mono had vanished off to.

When he pursued his younger-self to the tower, it was a centralized and concise path. The boy’s pattern was easy to track, if he so desired, he could have waited to confront him at the Signal Tower’s doors. But an attempt to break the cycle was impossible to resist. It was tradition, was it not?

For now he pocket the lost token, and settled to explore the building through once more. The effort would prove a waste of time, and once more he returned to the transmission to conceal himself until the child made another reappearance.

The light throughout the cloud canopy shifted either three days or a week, but discerning time between bouts with travel through the transmission was at times fickle. He didn’t pay much mind to it either, for him time was as ambiguous as was the cycle they would remain shackled to.

It was a nondescript length of time before he sprang upon another flicker in the transmission. The trace was strong, and relatively near to his current post. He crept through the television, and as he surfaced on the other side with the usual disruption to the environment nearest the unit, he plucked out the detached clatter of items tumbling to the floor.

When he emerged fully, he glanced up in time to witness a coat tail flashing out of view around a slanted doorframe.

He was right there!

The Thin Man hauled his legs free and uncoiled, barely sparing a moment to solidify his form before he tempered time. With quiet caution he eased through the narrow portal, careful in case the child was underfoot and his location an unknown.

A portion of the room had fully collapsed at some point, and ironically the few patches of floor remaining against the walls had some furniture situated there. His gaze swept to the hurried child, dulled as time was, but racing headfirst to the edge of the ruined void to the side of the room. Fearing that perilous desperation, he hastened his pace, struggling to get near and draw the child back from certain destruction.

The boy broke ahead, skipping the last few inches. He swung around and hopped over the edge, falling entirely from view.

Stunned, the Thin Man dropped to his knees and peered over the side, reaching….

A pipe extended beneath the crushed portion of floor, fading into the gloom swirling below. The boy was able to wrap his body around this asset and slide down, by the time the Thin Man recovered from his initial shock, the child had already vanished into the murk.

For a spell he debated the practicality of phasing down, along with the complexity of that. In the end, he decided not to risk it. Leaving this alone for some time might be the most practical tactic, give the situation a chance to settle the static. He would need a new strategy, but there was still time.

Nonetheless, this was all confounding. In the hindsight of his last (direct) interaction with the boy, he speculated it would be simple to rejoin with him. The child seemed receptive to his presence, unafraid even, bold enough to touch him without prompt.

This was foolish of him to think; children were far more suspicious of things they did not understand – more so of adults, who would not tolerate the presence of a child. He was no exception, and it was his error to believe anything but. Despite the reassurance of the boy’s distrust, this was becoming a persistent nuisance. At this point, he was uncertain what he wanted to check the child for, he was quite capable of handling himself.

He returned to the room with the television, and knelt in order to check the scattered items. Some foods, but that was about it. Surviving by the most fundamental and base methods. There wasn’t much point to continuing this. The boy was not remarkable or unique from any other child, aside from his connection to the transmission. He was entirely capable of figuring this out on his own. It was the way he managed, after all.

#little nightmares #mono #the thin man #the man in the hat #little nightmares fanfiction #fanfiction #little nightmares fanfic #fanfic #mono having the worst time

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

Starstruck: Part 7

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 7 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 6 / Part 8

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, angst

Historical Inaccuracies: none that I can think of!

Word Count: 4.3k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The sun made you wonder. Made you wonder why it was shining in the first place. How wretched of it to shine so prettily when you felt so miserable.

It was a misery too out of reach to be pacified, for it was not the obvious sort, the kind in which you cry and shudder and feel like you’re suffocating. This was the kind of miserable in which you mope, staring out the window in a daze, and the only thing you are aware of is the frown on your lips; you opt for bitterness with every word and thought. This is the miserable where you feel detached and lost, like you exist in one universe and your feelings in a neighbouring dimension.

Brian hadn’t spoken to you for over a week.

It had rained every day since.

When classes had resumed the following Monday, Brian didn’t smile at you when you chanced a ‘good morning’. He merely pressed his lips together and ducked beneath his curls. That was how you knew he was avoiding you.

On Tuesday, Brian failed Carmichael’s test. This you knew because he ripped it in half as he stormed out of the door, following the lecture And he was glowering. You’d never thought that timid Brian could even have the ability to glower.

On Wednesday afternoon, Deacy called you.

“I was wondering if you’d like to join me and Rog for tea today?”

You bit your lip slowly. “Just you and Rog?”

“Yep!” he said. “I’ve told you that Veronica’s just gone up to see her parents for a couple of days, and that I’m working so she thought it best for me to stay behind, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you’ve told me,” you replied. “And Heather went with her.” Heather and Veronica had grown up in the same town, and so Heather, behind due to visit her own parents, had boarded the train with Ronnie.

“Oh, yes.” John paused, then asked hesitantly, “Are… are you okay with just me and Roger, for tea I mean?”

You breathed quietly in relief.

“Y/N? Who are you avoiding? You haven’t fallen out with Heather, have you?”

“Oh, no no,” you assured him.

“With Veronica, then? Surely not.”

“No, Deacy, she’s lovely.”

“She likes you too. You get along well. Maybe you should go shopping together or something sometime,” he babbled.

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly.

“Well, you have our number. And you know you’re always welcome over.”

“Thanks, Deacy—”

But Deacy was still trying to work out who it was you were supposedly at odds with. “Not Roger!” he cried. “That’s why you’re not sure about lunch. You and Roger are arguing, aren’t you?”

“No, Roger and I are fine, John.”

“Oh, good,” he sighed. “I was worried for a moment. And I’ve already had to diffuse so many fights this week, in the band, y’know.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “you wouldn’t believe it. So many. It’s like cats and dogs at the moment. Not sure why. Yelling and throwing various instrumental gear. Drumsticks, microphone stands, cables… clumsily. Almost an amp, yesterday.”

You winced, “That sounds, uh, violent?”

“Actually,” he considered, meanwhile you pondered the reason he was jabbering nineteen a dozen, “they’ve all sort of been started by… Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, Y/N, dear,” he said in a pitiful tone. “You’re avoiding Brian.”

“Am not!” you exclaimed.

“Are you not?” He sounded genuinely surprised this time.

“If anything, he’s avoiding me,” you grumbled, because at this point, Brian deliberately turned his head away when you passed him in the mornings. He seemed so pained by your presence that wondered if perhaps there was something more to the death of his aunt, if you had unknowingly poured salt on a second wound.

“Well…” began Deacy, seemingly at a loss. “Well, why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You rubbed your eyes tiredly. You’d not been sleeping well for the past few nights, awake and alone with your pestering thoughts. “I asked where he’d been, when he disappeared off to god knows where the other week.”

John’s puzzlement was apparent. “And?” he said.

“And nothing. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“That’s terribly odd, Y/N. I asked. We all asked. He said he’d been up to visit his parents when they lost power in a storm. Whole phone lines came crashing down, apparently. Too much of a mess to get any sort of communication through to anywhere, and he figured we wouldn’t worry badly.”

You shook your head, then remembered that you were on the phone. “That can’t be true, Deacy. And even if it were, we did worry, remember?”

“I suppose we did worry,” Deacy conceded. “But what do you mean, that can’t be true? Did he not tell you the same thing?”

The air gasped from your lungs.

He hadn’t told anyone.

Except you.

“No, Deacy,” you said. “He— he said… His aunt died.”

“What?”

“His aunt died.”

“Yes, I heard you, Y/N, but… He lied to us?”

“Or he didn’t tell you the whole truth,” you suggested. It was something you did often; you didn’t like to lie, but naturally, you didn’t want everyone to know everything.

“I suppose. That’s just so terribly unlike Brian,” John said concernedly. “He doesn’t like lying.”

“Um… who do you know that actively enjoys lying?”

“Oh, Freddie’s near-pathological,” Deacy said off-handedly. “But Brian’s got more of a moral compass than I have!”

“That’s slightly concerning…” you remarked. “So, how is Freddie?”

“I talked to him and he said he was well,” Deacy related, “but now I’m not so sure. He’s seemed a bit off lately. Something to do with Mary, I think.”

You frowned. “Yeah, I think something’s wrong.”

Deacy sighed. “I’m beginning to think the only people who are okay are Veronica and myself.”

“Roger isn’t okay?”

“He’s usually the person Brian takes his temper out on.”

“Oh.”

“Tell you what,” said Deacy, “come to tea at mine at seven tonight and we’ll talk more then. I imagine you’ve got lectures to get to.”

“Just finished with the last one for today, but some studying wouldn’t hurt,” you replied. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“Okay, see you at seven. Bye bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Deacy.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You spent the rest of the afternoon studying. Or rather, you tried to study. The formulas and theories and diagrams mostly swirled across your page today, as much a spiral galaxy as the Milky Way. You speculated your lack of sleep and your lack of water could be the cause. Or maybe your lack of interaction with other humans. No Heather, no Freddie, no Roger, barely John. And no Brian. It was a wonder you’d not yet become a total hermit.

At six thirty you threw on your scarf and coat and went out the door, a bottle of wine in one hand.

At six thirty-two, you had boarded the tube and remembered that the scarf wasn’t actually your own. It was the rainbow scarf. You nestled your face into the wool and fibres tickled the tip of your nose, subtle scents of coffee and lilies shrouding you in their homely warmth.

You missed the owner of that scarf.

At seven precisely, you rang the Deacon-Tetzlaff doorbell.

The door swung open and John Deacon beamed at you. “Ah, Y/N! You’ve made it to my little party.”

“Careful, Deacy,” you admonished, “you’re beginning to sound an awful lot like those old film villains.”

“I think I’ll need more evidence than that,” Deacy kissed your cheek in greeting. You returned the gesture and went on inside, offering the wine bottle which he accepted cheerily. He was just closing the door when there came a shout from the street.

“Hold the door, will you, Deacy?”

Roger had arrived, dressed extravagantly in a fur coat and thin, orange-tinted sunglasses.

“Bit over the top for tea at mine, Roggie?” Deacy laughed.

You nodded to Roger’s sunglasses. “Surely those aren’t necessary.”

“They just complete the look. And honestly, you two are daft. Coat’s for warmth. It’s bloody well snowing.”

“Snowing?” you and Deacy repeated, leaning out the door.

Roger was right; little flakes fluttered down from the dappled grey sky, dusting his hair, and now yours as well.

“And so it is,” John said with another laugh. You held out your hand and let the glittery while specks fall into your palm. Despite your love for warmth, you liked snow. It was like catching stardust.

“Brimi would love that analogy,” Roger kissed your cheek as well, and you realised that you’d spoken aloud. You swallowed, settling your features back into a mask of nonchalance.

“He wouldn’t love that fur coat, though,” you tapped Roger’s sleeve.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” grumbled Roger.

“At the moment, he doesn’t love much at all, really,” Deacy remarked as he shut the door when you were all inside.

“Yes,” Roger echoed the sentiment, “can we discuss that? He’s a right bore.”

“More than usual?” John joked.

“God, yes. Thinking of throwing my bloody hi-hat at him next time.”

“He didn’t get the message from the drumsticks?”

“Apparently not. Went past his house this afternoon. He’s still moping.”

You tried not to think about the fact that you were the reason why Brian was moping. Meanwhile, John and Roger bantered on as you hung up your coat and— and the scarf.

You missed the majority of the conversation, having drifted into the abyss of your own thoughts once more. It was becoming a bad habit.

“Champagne? Oh, perfect!” John was saying. You’d reached the kitchen. “And it’s Moët et Chandon, too. Fred would be proud of you.”

“Funny, it was actually his idea,” Roger mused, closing his sunglasses around the collar of his shirt.

Deacy’s eyes widened as he pulled a tray from the oven. “Freddie better not have suggested anything else.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “What would he have suggested, John?”

You wondered whether Roger was alluding to Freddie’s dampened temperament of the past many days, his tearfulness on the floor of a public bathroom, his obvious discomfort when you spoke of Mary.

Deacy waved an oven mitt and squinted through the steam that rose from the loaf of bread he had pulled from the oven.

“Deacy?” you said when the latter did not answer.

“Food’s ready!” he said brightly, and you all gathered around the kitchen table, Roger’s question forgotten.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You’d eaten your fill of John’s homemade risotto and bread, which was quite a large portion. Deacy was an excellent cook, in contrast with the likes of Freddie and Roger, neither of whom knew how to boil an egg.

“That was lovely, Deacy,” you said, positioning your knife and fork at twenty-past four.

“Agreed,” Roger nodded from beside you. “I’d ask you to give me the recipe,” he addressed Deacy, “but you know I can’t cook.”

“Oh, yes, we all know, Roger,” John sniggered.

“Freddie can’t cook either,” Roger pointed out petulantly, as though this made up for his own downfalls as a twenty-four-year-old who had moved away from home without learning certain basics.

“So, why are we here, Deacs?” you said.

“Mm,” said Roger. “You never call meetings, John. That’s always Freddie. And if it was about Queen, you would have actually invited the other two idiots over. Not Cinderella, here,” he elbowed you in the ribs.

“Ow!” you yelped. “Better Cinderella than an idiot, though.”

Roger narrowed his eyes at you. “Then dress the part. Otherwise I’ll have to take back the title.”

“Dress… in cinders and dirt, like you have?”

“This is an expensive shirt!”

“Hey!” Deacy interjected, but you and Roger only paid attention after he stood and tapped his knife to his wine glass.

You looked at Roger and grinned. Roger waggled his eyebrows; he had the same idea. You took a breath—

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” you cried together.

Deacy rolled his eyes. “How I put up with any of you is a wonder. Might as well not tell you, now.” He made to sit down.

“Well, I wanna hear it,” Roger pouted.

“Yeah, go on Deacy,” you patted his side of the table.

He tried not to smile, but he couldn’t. He glanced down at the tablecloth instead, adjusted the cutlery on his plate with two fingers, then inhaled slowly.

“You’re not dying, are you?” said Roger. You elbowed him to shut him up.

“Right then,” Deacy straightened up. “Y/N, Roger,” he toasted you each with his glass and you smiled back bemusedly. He paused for dramatic effect. Then, “Ronnie’s pregnant!”

Your mouth fell open.

“Oh, Deacy, you sly bastard,” Roger stood and clapped his friend on the back.

Deacy rolled his eyes again, but he was still beaming.

“John, that’s wonderful!” you said. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Deacy replied, pleased as punch. “Freddie and Brian found out by accident, and they were both busy tonight anyway, and I wanted to tell you before Veronica came back because she was going up to tell her parents,” he gushed, “and by then Freddie wouldn’t have been able to keep the surprise a surprise anymore.” Deacy practically shone, he was truly so happy. You couldn’t imagine more of a family man than John Deacon would be. He doted on Veronica and would dote upon his children even more.

Roger suddenly laughed, and you and Deacy looked at him. “Now I get it,” he said.

“Get what, Rog?”

“The champagne.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Thursday, you woke up with a violent headache. You had definitely overdone the champagne last night.

You rolled over to turn off your alarm clock, but instead rolled over the edge of a sofa.

And kicked Roger Taylor in the face.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Roger groaned, pulling his fur coat up over his face. He had used it as a blanket for the night, rejecting Deacy’s offer of actual bedding. “If you wanted to sleep on the floor, you could just have said so, not kicked me awake to take my spot.”

“I was perfectly fine with the sofa, thanks,” you mumbled, rubbing your temples.

Roger sat up blearily. “God, what a headache,” he complained.

You nodded in agreement, your eyes screwed shut.

“Good morning!” John appeared in the doorway to the living room.

“Shhhhh,” Roger hummed.

“Not my fault you never learnt to be responsible,” Deacy shrugged. “Can I interest anyone in coffee?”

“May I order some silence?” you asked. “And a black coffee, please.”

“On my way,” Deacy left for the kitchen.

“Yes please, I’ll have a cup,” Roger called hoarsely after Deacy. “With one and three-sevenths sugars.”

“One black, one with one sugar?” John called back.

“One and three-sevenths sugars, please.”

“Three sugars, Rog?”

“No, one and three-sevenths.”

“Seven sugars?!”

“DEACY. One and three-sevenths!”

Laughter trickled through the kitchen door. “I’m just winding you up, Roger,” Deacy returned to the living room.

Roger sighed. “Well, thank god. I was beginning to rethink our friendship. You should know how I take my coffee.”

“We’re not married, Rog. And if you really felt so fondly about me, you should have told me so before I took my girlfriend to bed sometime last year.”

“Which was far too long ago.” Roger took his mug of coffee when Deacy offered it to him. “You take a long time to fall in love with, Deacs. Couldn’t possibly have beaten Ronnie to that chase.”

“Speaking of rethinking our friendship…” John muttered.

After finishing your coffee, you swore at the time the clock on Deacy’s mantlepiece displayed, made your apologies, and rushed off to your morning lecture.

And still Brian would not even look at you.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

At nine o’clock that night, you sat down in your armchair by the fireplace and made two phone calls.

First, you called your mum.

Then you called Brian, who had neglected to turn up for the evening’s derivatives-and-guitar session.

Three guesses as to who took your call and who did not.

You went to bed soon after that, but sleep would not draw you away until two hours past midnight.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

On Friday evening, two of your housemates decided to get shit-faced. As Heather and Roger had taken up residency in your room, you decided to join in the getting-shit-faced.

Joan and Paulie were waiting for you in the kitchen and cheered when you entered.

“Our favourite Y/N!” Paulie hugged you, and Joan grinned from where she sat atop the kitchen counter, already holding a poured drink.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked. But this was apparently the wrong question, because Paulie’s bright eyes turned suddenly tearful.

Joan hopped down from the counter and wrapped an arm around Paulie’s shoulder.

“Just some hypocrite called Paulie a slag,” Joan sipped her drink. “Now we’re celebrating the fact that little Pauline here packed her first punch, eh, sweetheart?”

Paulie blushed crimson, and it was clear that she was not on her first drink either.

She turned to you, “What’ve you come to celebrate, Y/N?”

You laughed bitterly. “Perhaps my wasted heart.”

“It’ll be a large drink, then?”

You nodded, and Paulie frowned sympathetically. Joan stuck you a glass, filling it to the brim with alcohol.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

It was midnight, but tonight, there was no magic in the hour.

You sat in the window seat and leaned your head against the wood of the window frame.

The heating was broken and it was raining ice outdoors. Sleet. Yes, that was what it was called. Your muddled brain struggled to keep up with your racing heart.

You’d left Joan and Paulie in the kitchen, because the thing about Joan and Paulie was that they were mad for each other, though they appeared to be the only two people in the world who were blind to the phenomenon. Tonight, however, they’d made some discoveries regarding that area of their lives. They’d stopped drinking early on and had begun snogging instead, so you’d taken a bottle of mulled wine with you to the window seat and now sat drinking alone in the darkness.

Or perhaps the darkness was what you were drinking, and what was drinking you.

From the cinema next door to the house, you could vaguely hear laughter, and the smell of popcorn lightly permeated the air that drifted in through your open window. It was no longer raining, and the sky with its spatter of stars was once more dimly visible above the silhouettes of London in the nighttime. The mulled wine was made of elderflower and blackberries, and it had heated your cheeks and filled your head with poetry and your eyes with a mist.

Swirling the wine in your glass, you imagined this was what it would be like to live on the cusp between tragedy and comedy in a Shakespearian work.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” slipped the words of Hamlet from your lips, “doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

You sighed and wished for the night to grow day as you stared out the window, searching for planets and solar systems you knew very well could not be found by the naked eye.

The rainbow scarf warmed your skin.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Saturday, as went without saying, was characterised by a fierce headache. Again.

And with Sunday came the Sunday Blues.

Well, really, you’d had the All-Week Blues, but Sunday did not care about this; you could now add the coming week of studying and assessments to your list of worries.

You listened to Freddie’s records and mindlessly memorised every word, every line. The music was your anchor, as it had always been. But it was now more so than ever.

You hated feeling worthless, but there was nothing you could do to not feel so.

Freddie and Roger and Deacy and Brian, they had each other. They wouldn’t have missed you, you told yourself, and it was only fuel to fire that Freddie did not trust you enough to tell you what it was that was going on with him. Then there was Heather, and Heather had Roger. And then Joan— Joan had Paulie. And Kate’s friends were Amélie and Jenny. No one was yours alone.

No one was yours at all.

And the fact that Brian May so actively avoided you just proved it all— who needs you?

Who needs you, it was in his lowered eyes.

Who needs you, it was in his silence.

Who needs you, it was in your head.

It was all only in your head. But sometimes, it was difficult to discern the world from your head.

So you picked up your guitar to prove your head, the world, wrong.

The strings stung your skin, and the memory of gentle smiles ghosted along your pulse where fingers had once applied their tender touch.

Your misery rose a wave and crashed as anger.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Two more weeks cycled past on bell-less bicycles; they passed utterly without consequence.

February had yielded March, and snow had melted to an incessant rain. But the rain fostered new leaves and flowers, and turned London to all the colours of the rainbow in the glory of Spring.

It would have been pleasant, to leave classes and hurry through warm, sprinkling rain and spots of sunshine, for but the claustrophobia that the gaze of a tall and blushing young man provided you with, in every waking hour of your life, whether in person or by way of imagination.

You waited for everyone else to enter the lecture hall, hanging back so that you would be the last.

When the final dawdler had passed into the hall, you approached Brian, who, of course, was holding the door.

“Bri,” you began gently, willing him to look at you. He didn’t. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.” He radiated hostility, but you felt uplifted by the fact that he’d acknowledged you at all.

“I know. But I meant it. And I mean it.”

His eyes flicked over you. “We’re going to be late.”

He let go of the door.

You grasped the handle before the frame could smack you in the face. The edges of your patience were tampered with by his gaze; they had now become short and sharp.

If he was going to behave so pettily, then you would stoop to his level.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

It began as stealing Carmichael’s questions before Brian could answer them.

Then it was politely saying ‘good morning’ to everyone you encountered, except Brian.

Then you temporarily overcame your hatred for mornings in order to arrive at the lectures early, before Brian. You held the door for everyone. Until he arrived. Then you let go and went inside.

On the third morning that this occurred, Brian glared at you and you sneered back.

How quickly you had gone from friends to… to rivals was slightly disconcerting.

Freddie seemed to think so too. He invited you to rehearsal one evening, and though you clenched your jaw at having to be in the same room as Brian Harold “Petty” May, Freddie begged and pleaded and wore you down.

But when you arrived at one of Imperial College’s unused lecture halls that evening, Brian was the first person you saw, and at the sour twist of his lips, you huffed and stormed back out the door.

Freddie and John were calling after you, and you vaguely heard Roger ask Brian what the hell was wrong with him. Yet, you kept walking.

And then you ran.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

I’d had it with Brian. I really had.

So caught up in that bloody head of his, and for what? What had Y/N even said? What could have been so bad? She, like the rest of us, had naturally been worried by Brian’s disappearance, and he owed it to us, to her, to let us know that he had been at least physically all right.

I’d gotten it out of Deacs that Brian had lied to us about where he was the other week, and I’d been furious— how could he lie to us? Brian never lied.

I’d been good and well ready to knock him about a bit, that was what I’d been, and I had threatened to do just so, before Freddie materialised, as he often did, and pushed me back onto the drum stool before I could go anywhere. He demanded to know why I was so pissed off, and John explained.

Freddie frowned. “Yes, that is rather unlike him. And he’s utterly miffed, constantly. Looks about as cross as a cat caught in a rainstorm. Has done for fucking weeks.”

“Yes…” John folded his arms over his bass. “It’s got to stop. We’re not getting anything done.”

“We need to start working on the next album, and with him in this state, he won’t write anything of use,” said Freddie in agreement. “His muse is sadness, not anger.”

“That makes one of us,” I grumbled. “Gimme his guitar and I’ll write you a song, right here and now.”

“I would, darling,” Freddie sighed, “except that you’d probably destroy it, and you know he never lets it out of his sight anyway.”

“Hmph.”

Deacy ran a hand through his hair. “We have to intervene.”

“Mm,” said Freddie. “There’s only room in this band for one hysterical queen.”

“Any ideas?” Deacy asked. “Freddie?”

“Not a thing, dearie. Got enough troubles of my own, right now.”

“Rog?”

I was about to shake my head, no, when I remembered a trick I’d pulled on two of my mates back in school, years ago.

I smiled. “Oh yes. I’ve got a plan.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: I definitely wrote Joan and Paulie to resemble John Lennon and Paul McCartney, oops :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks @hgmercury39 @stardust-killer-queen @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 6 / Part 8

#tina’s writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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huntsman-ash · 4 years

Text

RWBY V8E4 LiveThoughts

And were back at it again, this week with turkey and Italian preserved sausage as a snack! Lets see what RT has for us this week.

Oh, 20 minutes. Are they normally this long?

Oh, wait, the openings almost 2 minutes long. Thats more like it.

And now to Robyn and Qrow. Seems Robyns actually liking Qrow a little bit now.

Guess the cells aren’t secured if a fly got into Schnee’s. This a “Fly on Mike Pence’s face” reference?

Qrow sounds more growly again. Did he get smacked back two seasons by Clover dying?

If by “darkness” you mean “Tyrian” then, yes. Also dude, its Clover. He was shit anyway. All the Aces are shit. Dont feel too bad about him.

And he’s got a point too. If Clover had thought with his head instead of his dick (yes, Im sure they were gonna fuck, Fair Games totally a thing), he probably wouldnt be dead now, and Tyrian would be the one with the sword through his chest.

But of course this is RWBY and V7/8 so things cant go their ways.

Ouch. Deep thoughts of Qrow. And some interesting stuff from Robyn too. I still think I’d prefer hopeandharmonizing’s Briar, though.

Marrows glare gives me life. Hare’s just a moron right now though, but thats no real surprise. She’s immature emotionally. Honestly, shes...kind of like a less bad version of our current President. Always has to be the best at everything, fastest, leader, whatever.

Thats probably why this is grating on her so much. Even though shes TECHNICALLY the Ace’s leader now (I think? Seemed like she was Clovers lieutenant, so by rate of succession she’s in command now)

A glance at the little floating control pad... “Clerance access only”. Okay, that...seems weird. Shouldnt it say something like authorized personell only? Maybe it means access by clerance only or something.

Then Robyn’s name, and then process ID 4591-27. No idea what thats useful for but its there.

Also Marrow seems to be the only competent member of the Aces rn.

Ah now we get to see some of the hills around Atlas. For those of you who have seen my headcanons on the Hunter-Killers and their base of operations, Fortress Academy, its out in these hills somewhere.

The music sounds like a boss fight.

The screen on Ren’s hoverbike reads “HVB Rhino” and “HD5800″ I can only assume HVB stands for “hoverbike” and Rhino must be its name, like how the dropships are Mantas. No clue what the number is.

Also apparently the cold in Solitas is so bad it corrupts machinery?

Ahh, good, some action. Lets see what we get now. Ohh, teamwork. And again, signs that aura allows you to move faster and farther than a normal human

Heh, it really is like a boss fight, like the chase scene at the end of the first Viking level in For Honor.

Oh, and it can call for reenforcements literally out of nowhere? Or is the whole tundra of Solitas just CRAWLING with Grimm?

Yes, yes it did just call for backup, Yang. Maybe these are all forward scouts and ambush units from the Grimmstorm. They did say its the biggest...

Another banger from Casey Lee Williams...

What the hell happened in Solitas to cause this geography? Seriously, its a line of bridges over a gap in two cliffs...that cant be natrual, not that equal in distance.

Man, those bikes didnt even last half an episode...I guess thats fair, they are facing obsurd odds. Or maybe they just want Yang to be the only one with a bike.

And there goes the dropwall. Woops.

Also you can just kinda see it but they bounce off the rock and thats why they slow down. Useful.

Also this part with them falling off the edge reminds me of the ending cutscene of Halo 4s Forerunner level, where Chief flies out of a portal and almost goes sailing off a cliff in a Ghost. Except here, the bike stays on the land and THEY go off the cliff.

I paused at just the right time cause YANGS FACE XD

Holy shit what are Ren’s weapons cables MADE OF? The one atop him is holding him AND the weight of his two teammates. And the one below has both Jaune and Yang. No sign of slippage or breackage at all.

Ahhh there’s the whaleship (Monstra? Fuck it Im gonna keep calling it the whaleship). So yeah my headcanon now is the mountain its right next too is Menachite, where Fortress is.

Oh hey back to the Schnee manor of all things! Does...this mean military invasion of the Schnee grounds. Hey Whitley. Lesbians are here.

Someone make a video cut of Weiss banging on the door to the “Knock knock open up the door its real!” part of that one song.

Hehehehhe. Nice Weiss.

Also convenient about the house staff. Good thing RT doesnt need to animate them or Willow now...

I hope the staff took some of the silverware and some paintings on the way out.

Why is MAY the one carrying Nora.

Ah so now they’re stuck out there with no cell service. Hehe.

Ah okay so the cold in Solitas DOES eat aura. Good, my headcanon still kind of stands.

I wonder, does wearing proper cold weather clothing (like bundled up stuff) help? Or does it cut right through...

Why is JAUNE the one hauling the bike? Isnt Yang the strongest? Or maybe they take turns.

Ahhh inter-team talking. Also, outpost. Hmm. Atlas one? Overrun if I had to guess. Unless he saw Fortress. Which I doubt.

I do love the circling shot here, with the light on Yang’s hair and the shadows on Ren. Its...really artistic and emotional. GREAT WORK RT.

Rens got points. And hes saying stuff I myself have been saying for ages, which is good. I wonder why this is how Ren is now...working with the Ace Ops? Being afraid of loosing Nora? No one tell him what happened last episode.

Also, Jaune’s hair seems to have gotten less crazy in recent episodes. It looks less like a banana and more like a close tactical cut.

Yangs got a point.

Ahhh and now we get to see the inside of the whale.

SALEM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP SHOWING THE FUCK OFF. SERIOUSLY. WE GET IT.

...this is gonna be a really criingy torture section, isnt it.

Someones gonna take that “hound didnt break you” line in the WRONG direction

It is amusing the only thing holding Oscar down is the Hound actually.

Ah so they’re still searching the remains of Beacon.

Also I like how Salem calls them “her forces” as if its anything but a random bunch of expendable monsters. Like, bruh, you cant search anything with THAT.

Ignoring the boring chat between these two, notice how the Hound’s shoulder literally flexes and shifts when Salem touched it. I dont think this thing is solid at all aside from the head and the bone claws...the whole thing is just amorphous Grimm material that can adapt to whatever situation it requires. A specialist unit. A...Hunter hunter.

Yo what the fuck was that. Magic? Huh. Did we actually SEE magic for once in the show? Only took us 8 FUCKING SEASONS...

Doesnt seem to be anything but an energy blast/pain never firing though. I assume his auras still gone, cause its completely singed his shirt, but it didnt do much else.

...Im not impressed.

She really needs to stop touching his face, its creeping me out.

HAHA SHE CANT DO IT HERSELF SHE HAS TO RELY ON HAZEL BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF HIM. I think we know where she stands now, doesnt she...say what you will about her letting Hazel have his vengeance (which is very valid, even he admits hit), but me? I think she A) cant actually beat up on Ozma herself because she still cares and B) shes almost out of magic too. Its weakened as the Gods have been gone and shes been forced to rely on the Grimm and on pawns. Basically, once she and Oz are both gone? That’s it for magic. Remnant will belong to the Grimm...and to technology.

At which point without Oz around to hold them back Atlas is going to go fucking BONKERS and basically ensure the Grimm get pushed back into a corner and then finally permenantly STAMPED OUT.

More Whale insides. Seems like most of its empty grandious spaces. Or possibly muscle? Hard to tell. Either way theres a lot of open air in there...with tight corridors. If you fired a thermobaric warehead into one of the chambers the resulting blastc could possibly blow the doors off and send a raging fireball through the entire thing...Hmm. Filing that away for later.

NEO IS SO SHORT ITS FUNNY TO ME. I know its just positioning BUT SHE LOOKS EVEN SHORTER IN THIS SHOT THAN USUAL.

More note on the Hound; the “flesh” around its right shoulder spike actually sinks down when it stops moving. Its neck shifts and moves too, like the material isnt solid, but recirculating.

I also dont see any eyes. And it looks like it has some kind of...forehead mouth? Def looks like teeth down the ridge of its spine.

Oh boy yeah that...whole thing is basically melting in on itself.

I wont lie; hearing Cinder get berated by CORTANA (and yes, I still hear Cortana in Salem, espeically now that the two characters are kind of one and the same, both megalomaniacal leaders of giant armies, bar the fact that one of them is about a TRILLION times more dangerous than the other because one of them has access to Guardian Custodies and the other one is...well kind of lame and has to have beefy dudes beat up on small children etc) is pleasing to me.

Get fucked, Cinder.

And THERE is Cortana again too.

Neo Marry Popins’s Ya’lling is fucking CUTE. And I love her little smirk.

Wait the whale’s that close?

..oh my...hold on.

...thats it. THATS ATLAS’S AIR FLEET!?!

12 AIRSHIPS? 12? EXCUSE ME!?

ARE YOU LEGITAMETLY TELLING ME THE BIGGEST MILITARY ON REMNANT HAS FEWER AIRSHIPS THAN THE SMALLEST NAVY ON EARTH HAS FRIGATES? YOUR FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT? THERE HAS TO BE MORE SOMEWHERE. THIS IS A JOKE, A STRAIGHT UP FUCKING JOKE.

...

No, thats...thats it. Thats Atlas’s airfleet. 12 tiny vessels. I swear it was bigger last season...

...HA! HAHA! HA! Oh, Ironwood, and Atlas as a whole...you deserve everything your about to get. I hope you die SCREAMING, and that when your bodies fall bleeding and shattered to Mantle, the people down there will realize that, no. You cant just assume Hunters will do all the work for you

THIS IS REMNANT. ITS KILL OR BE KILLED. YOU EITHER MAKE A FORCE POWERFUL ENOUGH THAT THE GRIMM RUN FROM YOU OR YOU DIE INSTEAD. ATLAS FAILED. NOW THEY SUFFER.

Emerald stop simpin.

Also that is...the SHITTEST outpost...I have ever seen in my life. My overall thought process of Atlas is...sinking even LOWER than before.

Though it seems more like a waystation. Bed, Dust, some dudes coat on it. Dead heater. Its probably a rest spot for Specialists out in the tundra.

Ren does the emo sit. Lol. Yang even says it. Brood himself to death.

Alright whats this now...something forcing itself out of the tundra?

And thats it for today! Cool ass concept art at the end there too.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #spoilers #rwby v8

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

How did 9/11 affect the American psyche? I’ve heard people say that 9/11 is when America went insane, but I was born into the post-9/11 America, so it’s a bit hard for me to wrap my head around.

Oh man. You kids are asking the easy questions tonight, I see.

I’m not even sure I can adequately describe the effect that 9/11 had on the American psyche and the ways in which the entire world would be massively, almost unimaginably different if it had never happened, but here goes.

Basically, in the almost exactly ten-year period between the final collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the terror attacks in 2001, life for Americans was pretty damn good. They had won the Cold War, the economy was doing great, everybody was feeling rich and optimistic and like there was nothing but blue skies ahead. (Side note, I wonder if this resurgence of ‘90s nostalgia has to do with the fact that that’s the last time that we collectively felt safe.) The Columbine school shootings happened in 1999, back when that was completely still a shocking thing that nobody would expect, and not a semi-regular feature of the news every few months. I was 11 years old. Littleton was about an hour from where we lived at the time. I spent the whole morning crying about it and insisted on organizing a memorial service for the victims. The 2000 presidential election was bitterly contested between Bush and Gore, coming down to a handful of votes in Florida and the Supreme Court decision. Man, you also have to wonder how all of recent American history would have gone differently if Bush had lost.

Then…. 9/11. I was 13. It was an ordinary, sunny Tuesday, my dad came upstairs with a funny look on his face, and said that apparently the World Trade Center had been attacked. We didn’t have cable TV, so we didn’t watch any of it live, but I don’t remember that we discussed anything else for the whole day. We were at home, which was far away from the East Coast or where any of it was happening, so I don’t have any dramatic memories of seeing people freaking out or anything like that. At dinner that night, THAT NIGHT, my mom said that Osama bin Laden had probably done it. I repeat: everyone knew on the same night that it had happened that Osama was almost definitely responsible. You may note that Osama bin Laden was a Saudi national, all the hijackers were Saudi, and al-Qaeda was an organization with deep Saudi roots. (Remember the part where America attacked… Afghanistan? Yep. Seems legit. Then again, they weren’t the biggest oil producers in the region and a major US ally.)

It is impossible to overstate the shock that this caused. This had never happened. Even through both world wars and the long, dangerous 20th century and the turbulence and tension of the Cold War, there had never been an attack like this on mainland American soil. (And on that note, America got into World War II, despite all the heroic mythology about freeing the world from tyranny, because of the attack on Pearl Harbor, which in 1941 was an American territory. There were plenty of Nazi sympathizers among the establishment and government, and as soon as the war was over, America brought plenty of Nazis, including Wernher von Braun, to work in the space program. To say nothing of our problems with Nazis NOW. So yes.) The psychological effects were literally devastating for both Americans and many other people. Not to downplay the obvious horror of what happened on 9/11 and the people who were killed, but it turned America into a siege state. Everyone was terrified, and yet now we had a War on Terror, helpfully called a “crusade” by President Bush before European allies forced him to walk it back. His approval ratings hit 90%+ in the days after 9/11, and support to bomb Afghanistan – again, not in any way directly connected to this, aside from the fact that it was where Osama bin Laden had been active, and when the US government had armed him and fellow mujahadeen in the 1980s to fight against the Soviets, who had invaded in 1979, making it a Cold War proxy battlefield, and anyway – was MONUMENTAL. The whole public was behind this. International sympathy for America was incredible. Everyone was on our side and willing to say that we had been wronged. It didn’t really matter that Afghanistan was not really connected to this. Someone needed to suffer for this outrage. And boy, did they suffer.

Then came March 2003, and the infamous declaration that we were now going to invade Iraq, because Saddam Hussein (supported by the US in the 1980s Iran-Iraq War, in retaliation for Iran overthrowing their puppet shah in 1979, after CIA and MI6 staged a coup to remove Iran’s democratically elected prime minister in 1953 to protect their access to oil) apparently had weapons of mass destruction and was about to use them to kill more Americans. Everyone knew at the time that this was pretty much bullshit. But boy, did the Bush administration go hard to work selling it to us. The Department of Homeland Security was founded in 2002, after the attacks. The Patriot Act and other intrusive new surveillance methods and measures were quickly authorized. Americans became watched, spied on, mistrusted, and suspected of wrongdoing in ways never really tried on a large scale before. Any dissent was framed as taking the side of the terrorists; couldn’t you see that we needed all this to be safe? The state of national emergency that was declared after 9/11 was never actually revoked; we are all still living in it 19 years later. The culture of hyper-militarism, all these huge flags at sporting events and the visibility of these “Salute to Service” months and this aggressive fasciso-patriotism all grew up directly from the seeds of 9/11 and the sense of unforgivable affront to America, which could do what it wanted anywhere else in the world but could never forgive anyone for inflicting it in return.

It’s a mark of how badly all that public sympathy was mismanaged that by the time 2003 rolled around, the international community (except for Great Britain and Bush’s loyal compadre, Tony Blair) was… to say the least, skeptical of this Iraq adventure. It was pretty clearly a pretext to resume the Gulf War from Bush Senior’s tenure, unrelated to any actual justification or revenge for 9/11, and demonstrated the fact that far from resting on our laurels and feeling safe after winning the Cold War, America was now locked in mortal combat with an enemy that could be everywhere at any time. Nobody should feel safe, because the terrorists were out there. Despite the condemnation, Bush got re-elected in 2004, in part by painting his opponent, John Kerry, as someone who just couldn’t be trusted on national security. In short, Kerry, a Vietnam veteran, was “Swift Boated,” though he also did run a pretty wooden and uninspiring campaign. I just missed being old enough to vote in this election, though my parents and older sister all voted for Kerry, and Bush’s failings were a frequent subject of discussion in our house. He was getting more and more unpopular, was a figure of national ridicule, and yet this never actually discredited the whole War on Terror and the apparatus that sustained it. There were reports of war crimes, including Abu Ghraib, committed by the American forces. The indiscriminate torture and murder of detainees at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba was also an object of national concern, but allowed to keep happening. Less than 5 years after 9/11, and all this sympathy for America, America had… well, lost its mind.

So… yes. There’s an entire generation now that is too young to remember 9/11 and thinks that America has always been this way, but it is, again, completely impossible to overstate how 9/11 turned this sense of comfortable complacency and national prosperity upside down. Everything was now justified in the name of freedom, and any disloyalty was suspect. Our “The Greatest!!” state had to be repeated and reissued and emphasized at every point. Many innocent Americans died on 9/11, sure. But the way that it was turned into the worst violation that any country had suffered anywhere, led to the death of thousands of Afghans, Iraqis, American servicepeople, Muslims, and everyone else involved in the wars and the system that was built to sustain them, and turned America into this paranoid, brutal, out-of-control war-machine juggernaut is, it can be well argued, its worst and most lasting tragedy.

#politics for ts #anonymous #ask

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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Melt VI

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Kayo Kyrano, Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Brains, Grandma Tracy, Scott Tracy

Part 6 of my entry for @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Smell. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I give up. This fic wants to do its own thing and I am simply the helpless scribe.

A soft hand on her arm alerted Kayo to the fact she was trembling. Not from cold or fear, but anger. She knew Brains, trusted his genius; their Pods were all well-tested and reliable. John said something was afoot, and she fully agreed.

If Grandma hadn’t put her foot down and firmly request she stay and keep her company, she would have been on the mountain by now. John hadn’t been able to find any sign that anyone else had been there, but there was only so much a space station could do, even if that space station was Thunderbird Five. Some detailed scans of the area using her own hand-held scanner, and they’d find something. What that something would be, Kayo didn’t yet know, but it would be something and they’d have a trail.

Someone had tried to kill her brothers. Of that, Kayo had no doubt at all. The question was who, and how?

She rested her hand over Grandma’s, and waited. They hadn’t been able to see Scott before he’d been taken in for surgery, despite John’s guidance through the corridors, but Grandma insisted that she wait for him to come back out before ‘haring off’ on her investigations. Despite her fury that anyone would dare attempt anything like this, the little sister in her wanted to see him for herself, and she’d agreed.

From what she’d gathered from John, Virgil was in no hurry to rendezvous with her, anyway, and Thunderbird Shadow was both faster and closer. She had plenty of time to sit with the elderly woman who had lost so much but refused to give up yet, and wait.

Hospitals were unpleasant places, full of the sick and dying. It tore at her every time one of her brothers ended up in one – this was not the first time, and nor would it be the last. The sterile stench of antiseptics couldn’t quite disguise the prevailing illness of the place. It was almost certainly her imagination, but she could even pick up the congealing scent of burnt flesh, taunting her with the knowledge of what had happened to her brother.

Kayo wasn’t naïve. With her estranged half-uncle and many years investigating the underbelly of the world, she had seen many things that a woman of her age could barely imagine. She’d seen men and women with horrific scarring, with stories of fire to go along with them. If it was so bad that Scott needed surgery – and he did, was in there right now – all the money in the world wouldn’t stop this incident from adding another collection of scars to his skin.

A nurse approached them, informing them that Scott was out of surgery, and despite her clear intention of keeping them away from him for a while longer, there was no arguing with Doctor Sally Tracy. Kayo slipped into the room on the heels of the diminutive yet formidable lady. It was a private room; the boys might dislike using their money for privileges but this was something instilled in them by her father long ago. It was easier to maintain security that way.

Scott was still asleep, too soon out of surgery to have shaken off the anaesthetic, but that made it easier. If he was awake he’d be arguing, refusing to let her go back to the mountain and throwing an absolute fit over Virgil also going back. In an induced sleep, there were no nightmares plaguing him, and the ever-present frown that seemed to be settling as his permanent expression these days was gone.

She ran her fingers through his hair, gel stubbornly clinging in there but losing its battle to keep his preferred hairstyle intact after the day it’d had. If not for the bandages on both his fingers, she might have held his hand, but that wasn’t possible and besides, she had places to be. This visit was a quick one of simple reassurance for her; he was alive. A more sentimental, emotional, visit could wait until she’d got to the bottom of what had happened.

“I’ll be back,” she promised. She met Grandma’s eyes, got a nod, and left.

“Virgil’s fifteen minutes out,” John told her the moment she left the hospital, appearing above her wrist uninvited. He didn’t ask redundant questions – how is he, how did the surgery go? Like her, John had one priority – find out what happened, and make sure it wouldn’t happen again. He probably already knew the answers to those questions, anyway. Kayo had long since accepted that the combination of Thunderbird Five and John Tracy was enough to terrorise anyone who knew the full extent of their reach, and that was before EOS entered the equation.

She didn’t know how much John saw, but she trusted that he saw enough, and that he ensured she knew everything she needed to.

Closer and faster, she got to the mountain first.

“Don’t land or leave Thunderbird Shadow until Virgil arrives,” John told her firmly. Even if she didn’t know the Tracy’s personal history with avalanches, Kayo would have been wary. As it was, she appreciated that their already fierce protectiveness was ramped up to the extreme in this environment and additional situation. She could handle this herself, but out of respect to a family that had never fully healed, she didn’t.

Instead, she had Thunderbird Shadow lazily circle the peak, keeping far enough away that her engines wouldn’t trigger another avalanche, and set the scanners going. Immediately a signal jumped out at her, Thunderbird Shadow locating her buried sister. That was where Scott and Gordon had been found; presumably, that was also where they and the HeliPod remains had landed.

She spiralled down lower, until she could see disturbed snow with her naked eye. Tell-tale signs of something heavy on otherwise loose snow told her where Virgil had landed to retrieve them, with the hole he had melted leading down towards Thunderbird One’s signal.

Her brothers had been buried there. She tightened her grip on the yoke.

“Thunderbird Shadow, I’m on final approach now,” Virgil said, his hologram appearing above her console. He looked tense, and she remembered John mentioning the family bear being unhappy with the return mission. That didn’t seem to have been an overstatement – in fact, from the look on his face it was almost certainly an understatement.

“F.A.B., Thunderbird Two,” she responded, turning her ship around to see the green craft appearing on the horizon.

“What’s our plan?” he asked her. His voice was clipped; no, Virgil was not happy.

“I’ve already done a fly-by of the mountain. No signs of anyone except our climbers,” she reported, scowling at the peak. There had to be something. There was no way Brains’ well-used invention would have exploded like that otherwise. “I’ll keep looking, unless you need a hand with Thunderbird One?”

“Keep looking; I’ve got MAX with me for extra hands,” Virgil grunted. “Brains also wants him to retrieve or at least scan the remains of the HeliPod once we’ve got Thunderbird One secure.” Kayo rather suspected that Brains’ priority was less the Thunderbird and more the HeliPod, but said nothing. There was a time and a place to poke an angry bear with a stick. This was neither. As long as they got all the information they needed, the order in which they gathered it probably wouldn’t matter.

“F.A.B., Virgil,” she said instead. “I’ll leave Thunderbird Shadow hovering and-”

“No,” he interrupted. “Stay in that cockpit.” The glare she got through the hologram told her that if she even tried to leave Thunderbird Shadow, she’d find herself plucked out of the air by a grappling cable.

She’d forgotten just how touchy Virgil could be when Scott was hospitalised. Their brother’s hospitalisation, combined with their current location, had him entirely on edge. If it was Scott, she’d have argued. John could be dealt with via a ‘communications blackout’, while Gordon and Alan were straight-up ignorable as long as it wasn’t their speciality environments.

When Virgil was in this mood, it was best to just obey him no matter how much her instincts screamed that she’d get better information if she went EVA.

If push came to shove, she could always come back again later.

As it turned out, push did not come to shove.

Her circling remained fruitless all the while Virgil and MAX worked together to extract a battered Thunderbird One from the snow – it was a good thing Scott wasn’t there to see the damage the avalanche had inflicted on his precious ‘bird. The side facing the downslope was near enough intact, but from the sky it was painfully obvious that the perfectly cylindrical shape of the main fuselage was no longer perfectly cylindrical. The right wing was crooked and clearly wouldn’t be retracting into its sheath any time soon, and the side of the hull looked like it had been punched repeatedly by a giant.

There was a painful symmetry in how both the right side of Scott’s body and the right side of his bird were injured. Kayo immediately decided not to dwell on that and watched from a hovering position higher up the mountain as the silver Thunderbird was hauled clear of the snow by her big green sister.

“MAX is scanning now,” Virgil told her after a moment. “Is something wrong? You’ve been hovering in the same place for a few minutes.”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she assured him. “Just-” An unwelcome thought struck her. “Virgil, where were the climbers trapped?”

“You’re hovering right there,” he told her, and the unwelcome thought spread wings.

She was hovering here because it gave her a good view of the mountainside and the crash site.

Neither she nor John had found any evidence of anyone else anywhere near the mountain.

“Virgil, where did you drop off the climbers?”

“The hospital,” he shrugged. “Didn’t have a chance to check them over myself, and we were going there any- Kayo?”

Dammit.

She gunned the full throttle.

“Kayo?” John had joined in again, and she caught a glimpse of Alan behind him. When had John gone home? “What’s going on?”

“Brains, once MAX is done scanning the HeliPod, have him scan the mountain immediately below where the climbers were rescued,” she ordered.

“W-What? W-Why?”

“Think about it! We’re not showing up evidence of anyone else, and the climbers could see everything in the valley from where they were,” she pointed out agitatedly. “We were so busy looking for something else-”

“We forgot about the climbers,” Virgil finished, his face a dawning horror.

“Put me through to Grandma,” she told John.

“Already done,” he said, as the older woman appeared over her console.

“Dear, what’s going on?”

“Don’t leave Scott’s side, and don’t let anyone you don’t recognise in,” she said quickly, pushing her ‘bird to go faster. Someone had tried to kill Scott and Gordon, and if she was right that same someone was in the hospital with a now unconscious Scott, whose only protection was his grandmother. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You think they’ll try to finish the job?” Alan asked her, his voice small. She’d forgotten he was with John.

“I’m not taking chances,” she replied grimly. No point sugar-coating things at this point. “John, my ETA’s two minutes; what’s EOS got from the security cameras?”

“Nothing yet,” he said, equally grim. “But we’ll keep looking.”

“Let me know what you get,” she replied. “Brains, what’s MAX found?”

“MAX is still w-working on the scans of t-the HeliPod,” he said somewhat apologetically.

“I’ve got Thunderbird Two scanning,” Virgil interjected. If she’d thought he was angry earlier, now he was downright thunderous, not that she could blame him. “You’re right, Kayo. There’s something here that doesn’t look like it should be.”

He didn’t share the scan results with her, but John and Brains simultaneously let out noises that could almost be hisses.

“That’d do it, alright,” John muttered darkly. “This whole mission was a trap.”

The hospital loomed in front of Kayo and she grit her teeth.

You should never have left Scott and Grandma alone in an unsecure hospital. That was a rookie mistake, Tanusha Kyrano.

She just hoped it wasn’t a mistake that would cost a life.

Part 7

#sensorysunday #sensorysunday2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #kayo kyrano #virgil tracy #john tracy #brains #grandma tracy #MAX #alan tracy #scott tracy #eos #melt

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jonathananubian · 4 years

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Te Dralyc Kar Ch 4 [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

Jango isn’t quite sure how he came to adopt a blonde slave boy after a job on Tatooine went sideways, but he honestly couldn’t complain. The boy is a little genius, brimming with compassion and a willingness to learn. The only hiccup, as far as Jango is concerned, is the fact that his boy is a naturally powerful force user. Someone the jetii would want to get their hands on.

Of course- he’d just like to see them try.

[This story isn’t linear. More like a series of snapshots. At least until later chapters.]

Ch 4: Kir’manir

Setting Anakin down he smirks as the blonde runs excitedly into the room, laughing happily. “Auntie Roz!” The pink Toydarian smiles and lands, opening her arms so the little blonde can give her a welcoming hug. It was nice to see that his treatment by his previous master hadn’t colored his son’s view of all Toydarians. Then again Anakin had a deep capacity to care for others, a compassion that at times made him feel ashamed of his own actions, or inactions.

“Hello again Anakin, have you been a good boy for your buir?” He smiled and nodded, looking back at Jango for confirmation. He couldn’t help but snort in amusement.

“He only got up to the usual amount of osik.” Except for one thing, but that wasn’t really his son’s fault. “An’ika, go put your bag in your room. I need to talk to your aunt.” With a small pout at his greeting being cut off early his son took the duffel bag stuffed full of his things, including his tools and a gutted datapad he’d been trying to get working again. With one last look back at the two of them his son slinked off to the guest room Roz always kept for him.

Stars. He didn’t want to leave his son behind but where he was going it was far too dangerous for a seven year old, little genius or not.

“What happened Jango?” Roz’s voice brought him back from his musings and he sighed. Setting his helmet down on her desk he took a seat and ran a hand through his short, curly, hair.

“Slavers, Roz. They had my boy.” Stiffening, her eyes going wide, Roz looked at him in horror.

“What? How?” He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. A muscle along his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth hard enough to feel them grind.

“Drugs and an accomplice. One minute he was there and the next minute…” He’d been talking to a potential client and warned Anakin not to go far. By now the guilds knew he had a kid and word was spreading fast about Anakin but it seemed that the scum of the galaxy were sorely lacking both information and self preservation instincts. His son had been across the street in a droid shop. He should have been safe! But they’d drugged his son and smuggled him out a back door. Jango felt no remorse for torturing the bastard who’d sat back and let some slavers steal his son.

“They have a whole operation going. Dealing in kids.” His entire body burned with fury as he stared Roz in the eyes. “I’m going to dismantle it.” Roz grinned at him, yellow eyes filled with understanding. “Mando’ad draar digu.” He said with conviction.

A Mandalorian never forgets.

[Anakin]

Anakin liked Auntie Roz. She was very kind, even if she didn’t let him get away with some of the things his dad did. She gave him access to everything on the station except the parts that his dad said were too dangerous, like the fighting pits. He was allowed to watch the swoop races if he went with a bodyguard though so he didn’t mind. He didn’t like the fighting pits anyway, they reminded him of Tatooine.

Looking around at his room he thought back to the first time he’d set foot on the station and just how scared he was. It felt like so long ago, like the Anakin from before was someone else. Well, he guessed he kind of was. Anakin Skywalker was a slave boy from Tatooine with a mom and a master. Anakin Fett was a Mandalorian, the son of a bounty hunter who traveled the stars.

He didn’t remember how he’d been adopted, not completely. It always came in confusing flashes that hurt his head and made him crawl into his father’s lap, shaking. It wasn’t often that he had those moments any more but every once in a while something would happen and he’d just flash back to that moment.

He remembered turning a corner and running right into the man who would become his dad. He’d been carrying some cables… he didn’t remember why. Behind him his mother was struggling a little with a heavy basket and calling for him to slow down. There was a flash and a scream before the air was filled with the sound of blaster bolts. The cables tangled in the man’s legs as Anakin tripped, startled by the sudden noise. An explosion went off behind him and he remembered clapping his hands to his ears as large gloved hands pulled him to an armored chest. The next thing he knew he was scrambling over to his mom, who’d fallen to the ground. She was bleeding heavily but her smile and kind eyes were the same as always. She looked up at the armored man, who had blasters in his hands and was crouched next to him saying… something.

“Please…” His mother had begged, her voice raspy. “Take care of my s-son.” The last thing he remembers from that day was her telling him she loved him and then seeing her soulless eyes. Everything from there was just… blank. Dad didn’t tell him what had happened after that except to make sure he understood that he was free and that he was being adopted.

On Tatooine it wasn’t rare for someone to be adopted. Slaves often had a wide network of people they could call family. But he and his mom had been newly sold and hadn’t earned the trust of the others yet. He’d had no one but his mom. But then Jango called him his son. Said words that Anakin still didn’t quite know the meaning of and taken him far away from Tatooine.

Then he’d met Auntie Roz and she had practically cooed at him when she saw him. Unlike Watto she wasn’t gruff and didn’t yell at him and his dad. She made snappy remarks but his dad just seemed to think they were funny and would roll his eyes.

Speaking of Watto. He wasn’t sure how Roz knew about his old master but she’d said something to Jango that had left Anakin confused. Something about his dad owing her a favor for helping him with Watto. Which made no sense since Auntie Roz hadn’t been on Tatooine to help… unless that was one of the things he couldn’t remember.

“An’ika! I need to leave soon, come say good-bye.” Leaving his bag opened but unpacked on his bed he rushed out into the living room and hurried to give his dad a hug. Jango picked him up with a smile and Anakin threw his arms around his neck. His dad had only ever left him with Auntie Roz when his job was so dangerous that even the ship wasn’t considered safe. Even though Anakin was learning how to pilot it, and his dad called him a natural, he still wasn’t old enough to help. Not yet.

“K’oyacyi!” Jango pressed their foreheads together and Anakin beamed. His dad had told him it was the Mandalorian equivalent to a hug, something that you only do with family and close friends.

“K’oyacyi, ner shu’shu’ika. Don’t cause too much trouble for your ba’vodu.” Although his voice was stern Anakin could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Lek, buir!” Jango set him down on the floor and grabbed his helmet. They shared one last look before his father was turning and heading out the door. Anakin stood there for long moments, staring at the doorway his father had left through.

“He’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about it, sweetie.” Anakin grinned up at his auntie.

“I know. He’s the best!”

Mando'a Translations:

Osik- Shit K’oyaci- Has a few different meanings depending on context. Anakin is telling his dad to come back safely and Jango is telling Anakin to hang in there while he’s gone. Ner shu’shu’ika- My little disaster. Ba'vodu- Aunt Lek buir- Yes dad.

#fanfic #mandalorian culture #mandalorian anakin #young anakin skywalker #jango fett #parenting #adoption #past slavery #force sensitivity #mando'a #star wars #found family

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darkestwolfx · 4 years

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Power Play - Re-Review #41

Woah, I honestly didn’t expect to get this far! I know I haven’t been able to reply to everyone individually last week, but I’ve read every piece of feedback/comments that came my way. Seriously, thank you all so much for supporting this series, because else the Re-Review’s would have died out long ago! Anyhow, here we go;

Doesn’t thisstart make the episode just look lovely?

Attack of the giants! It’s like someone’s found and used a growth serum- oh no, we have to wait another two episode for that!

Honestly though the behind the scenes features for this episode did look pretty awesome.

But the actual episode is what we will now discuss.

Oh, lookie here, a problem! Send in the Thunderbirds (like with most episodes)!

“What’s going on down there?”

“I’m not the one in charge of the floodgates! You tell me.”

And what a response that was. Almost typical really.

“You’re going to have to close the floodgates manually.”

“Wait, something’s here. What is that thing? We need help!”

“This is International Rescue. Help is on the way.”

So we’ve got a dam that’s on the way down and some strange presence within it... interesting.

I can’t keep up with Brains and type so basically, it’s one of the largest dams in the world and it’s cracking!

“This will need all of us.”

Family outing!

I’m sorry to say it though, but did Scott wobble in his launch sequence? Seriously I’m hyper aware of it at the moment for some reason. I blame @tsarinatorment - stop putting ideas in my head! (I’m only kidding, please don’t stop). But I think you’ll find there was a wobble there.

Playing skipping rocks with Thunderbird Four? Seriously boys, hold off on the Gordon cruelty! After all, that’s the job of us fanfiction writers.

Interestingly, Alan was playing skipping rocks in the 2004 ‘Thunderbirds’ movie.

“I just have one question. If you drop me off, how are you going to get the pods out?”

“Glad you mentioned it. Better hold onto something.”

“Hey! What are you?”

“Ok, that was awesome, but a little more warning next time.”

“It was Alan’s idea. Sorry Gordo!”

Nicknames are back! And that little bit of music accompanying it was perfect! One of my favourite moments for sure!

At least Gordon was planning on going for a swim, unlike Scott here.

“What’s the next fastest way inside?”

“You’re looking for the auxiliary entrance to number six.”

“I wasn’t planning on going for a swim, John.”

“My scan say it should be dry.”

“Ok.”

The should gave it away for me.

“I wouldn’t want to be in here when someone turns on the tap.”

That for me was Scott really pushing his luck.

“Ur... guys, I think I’m about to take that swim after all.”

Well, you did push your luck.

“Meaning?”

“Something inside that turbine room is taking all the power!”

And who else could that be, but this guy.

“This means The Mechanic is here.”

And um, he’s still got that hacked link into their systems from ‘Up from the Depths’. Seriously, I thought Kayo was on that? Do a better job the second time around please?

“We need the GDF here and fast.”

“They’re arriving now.”

“You gone up against this Mechanic guy before, Captain? I hear he makes The Hood look soft.”

“The Mechanic will get what’s coming to him.”

Yes, I’m sure he will. Especially with the return of Captain Foster... Did anyone else worry at seeing her face?

“We’ve got nothing to fight these things with.”

“Speak for yourselves.”

Did anyone else feel the suspicion in that as well? I know ‘she’s’ a Captain, but the GDF wouldn’t only arm one person if they had the weaponry to fight The Mechanic. At least, my logic tells me they wouldn’t.

“I’m not waiting any longer. I need to get these people out of here.”

“Thanks. Scott Tracy, International Rescue.”

“Captain Foster. I got you covered, Tracy.”

Good deeds! Captain Foster helping with a rescue. That would’t normally be a new thing for the GDF.

“Looks like the GDF got some upgrades!”

Yeah, one person, Scott, and really did that not set alarm bells off? Who (other than Brains) is the only person we know capable of fighting The Mechanic? And um... who was wearing Captain Foster’s face the last time we saw him? I mean, there was of course every chance the real Captain Foster could have showed up and forced him to chance faces, but I think The Hood is more practical a thinker than that.

“No matter. I got what I came for.”

And that fact really does set off alarm bells. What does The Mechanic want super-super-super-super-super-super-super-super-super... imagine the rest- super-charged batteries for?

“So did I. We’re leaving!”

“I’ll take care of The Mechanic.”

“It’s not worth it. You don’t have to be a hero.”

“I’ll leave the hero business to you, Scott Tracy. My business is a very different kind. Unfinished.”

“The Hood!”

But, oh no, green is so not his colour!

It’s like Battle of the Bad Guys - I imagine that is actually much better than battle of the bands too...

And maybe a little bit like an episode of Eastenders..? I’ve honestly never watched it, but I’ve seen trailers in between other programs, and this first part of dialogue just seems like the sort of conversation that might appear in an episode. Let me know if you have seen it.

“You’ve been mascaraing as a GDF officer all this time just to find me?”

“I consider it a public service. Though I admit I expected more of a challenge when I did.”

“Now that I know what I’m dealing with I’ll make it one!”

After their ‘break up’ at the mid-point of Series Two, I suppose a scene like this was inevitable. The big thing is, however, we still don’t know entirely what set these two against each other. Okay, The Hood’s horrible insults might make it onto that list, and obviously we know there’s some kind of influence/control going on with that golden eye of his (nice little nod to TOS there, even though they’ve taken all the magic and wonder out of it by replacing it with ‘cybernetics’). Big reveals are on the way though!

“Sorry pal, but I don’t want to stick around for the light show if you know what I mean.”

“Brains, I need you to keep an eye on things here.”

“R.A.D.”

And here’s the big reveal I mentioned;

“You should have left well enough alone.”

“I never forgive and I never forget. But I have to give you credit, whatever you have planned has made me quite curious.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet? It was your idea.”

“Project Sentinel?”

“Sentinel?”

Sentinel you say, Brains? Sentinel was the original name of the US Navy ship which shot down Thunderbird Two in the TOS episode ‘Terror in New York City’.

“You must be joking. I decided that was far too extreme. Even for me!”

The Hood thinks something is too extreme for him to use even though he originally planned..? Interesting.

You see - this debate will be fully taken up in that other post I keep talking about, which will appear eventually - this is where my issues with The Hood’s ultimate ending in TAG come around. There’s a great bit of writing here, with two feuding bad guys, which I’m still completely believing. I can’t quite remember what I felt the first time I watched this episode, but having seen the final and knowing how The Hood’s big career speech turns out, this loses all potential power for me. Someone who was just out for revenge and always seemed to never have a conscience compared with the great Jeff Tracy doesn’t seem like the sort of guy who would say this.

Also, with the great revelations we get on The Mechanic, his reply also seems out of place to me now. Okay, we could claim it’s because The Hood’s control over him is driving him mad, but even so, the fact is that they’ve shown The Mechanic to be able to think of his own accord still and he’s had other opportunities to get The Hood which wouldn’t have involved endangering the planet. I don’t know, it just seems to me like someone crossed their wires when writing these characters, or just forgot to re-watch Series 2 before writing series 3..?

“I, on the other hand, have no such reservations. It would have been building it for you after all. Now there’s nothing to stop me picking up from where we left off.”

“Except for me!”

“He’s fighting The Hood in there, remember?”

“As if this day couldn’t get even more interesting.”

Yes, so let’s take a look at the rescue effort for the dam in detail;

“Virgil, are you sure you don’t want me to take the pod?”

“Not this time.”

Wait, Virgil’s willingly handing over Thunderbird Two? Get the record books out. And all because he wanted to inspect the damn personally... He really is a structural expert.

“It’s pulling me off the dam!”

“Bulls-eye!”

“Nice going, Alan.”

So Alan gets Scott’s aim as well? Seems a little unfair.

“It seems to be working. I just hope I don’t run out.”

We went a couple episodes without jinxing things, and so now we’re back at jinx central.

Meanwhile whilst Gordon is fighting mechas underwater whilst trying to attach cables to the damn, Virgil is sitting pretty here... until... down they both go!

“Fancy meeting you here.”

I think that’s pay back for the dropped landing earlier.

“Alan I sure hope you’re in position. Things are about to get wet!”

I’m guessing this wasn’t the ultimate end game plan though... You okay chilling down there?

“I’m ok. I think.”

Okay, we’ll just leave you there for a minute then, so that the battle of the bad guys scene can happen.

P.S. Look at poor little beached Thunderbird Four.

In fairness though, probably neither was this;

“This stuff washes off right?”

The fact that Gordon has asked that immediately gave me the answer.

No.

“Um, no, that’s the point.”

“Oh, ok, just checking.”

“You didn’t get any on Thunderbird Four, did you?”

“Let’s focus on the positives!”

Which means: yes.

“We can’t let him or The Mechanic leave with those power cells!”

“Seal off the area. Nothing gets in or out of here!”

And bye-bye goes The Mechanic.

Another job well done by the GDF!

Scott’s face as The Mechanic’s ship vanishes.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to help Alan.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Alan?”

“Oh nothing.”

This Kayo and Scott exchange reminded me a little of conversations in TOS episodes ‘End of the Road’ and ‘Attack of the Alligators’ - you know where the big brother’s are doing the thing of wondering about the younger brother’s dating prospects.

And just a question, do we think that guy in the green shirt who came out to go fishing at the start of the episode has just been sat there watching the whole time? Because I do. Trainspotting? How about IR spotting?

So, humour aside, let’s explain what Project Sentinel is;

“What is it? Some kind of engine?”

“It’s a laser. The most powerful one I have ever seen. In the wrong hands it could be dangerous.”

This is a great episode, don’t mistake me on that. It’s got a nice rescue, balanced out with some smashing moments and a bit of bad guy brawling... but somehow, even though this episode is lighter, it’s not all fun and games. It’s a filler really, but it doesn’t portray itself in the typical way we usually see episodes of that type done. It pushes the plot forward just enough without giving away everything and ties up the remaining lose ends from ‘Escape Proof’. The comedy hits and it’s definitely less tense than some of those before it, but it’s still ultimately setting up some serious events to come and that always makes me a little worried.

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mvssmallow · 4 years

Text

Blood and Dust: Prologue

Whoever controls the Water, controls everyone.

My name is Chan. In a former life I was the son of a farmer and soldier. After the World fell, the War for Dust and Water began, claiming every weak scavenger without loyalties and eliminating those without the right ones. There was no room for autonomous thought, only universal law enforced by Haelend and his anaemic army of psychopathic War Dogs.

After they claimed the Eastern Oil mines, they came for the Northern Greenlands that my Grandfather protected. Few of us were spared in the war, they killed the men and mothers and branded all the children, the ones they didn’t kidnap and torture. They took whatever viable seedlings there was and only fled when a resistance led by my father staged a stealth attack at the last minute. But we were not a district of War, not back then anyway, and there was no victory march in the aftermath. There was only death and loss.

Those who were left behind were driven mad by either grief or anger. Many left for other territories, trekking across the Dustbowl like lost immigrants, but I stayed behind, vowing to rebuild and replant on the Earth where my ancestor’s blood and ashes had fallen.

That was 8 years ago. Not much has changed. It’s hard to grow much when there’s only dirt and sun.

Whoever controls the Water, controls everyone.

And right now, Haelend still controls the water.

But he doesn’t control everyone. Not yet.

****

“Chan! Visitor at the gates.”

“How many?”

“Just one. I disarmed him already. Don’t know how the hell he got past the spikes but he’s covered in whole lot of blood.”

Chan looks up from the radio transmitter he’s been trying to fix for the last 2 weeks and sighs wearily in Changbin’s direction. “Aren’t they all?”

“Not all of them.” Changbin shrugs with a smirk, “The last stray we took in was covered in fur.”

“That mutt better not have chewed the cables again.”

At the mention of his (alleged) crimes, a black Akita-Wolf huffs indignantly but tries to push his nose against Chan’s fingers as he follows them dutifully down the corridor.

He’d been against taking it home but Chan had seen how dangerously closed off Changbin had gotten over the years and before Felix had collapsed at their gates last winter, he admits it had been a lonely existence with the two of them. Loneliness was so deeply an ingrained and accepted normalcy for Chan that sometimes it’s easy to forget that not everyone could survive like that. Not even grumpy guarded ones like Changbin.

“Bear doesn’t do that anymore.”

“He did it last week.”

“He was bored.” Changbin says dismissively, reaching down to scratch behind Bear’s soft furry ears. “He thought he saw a rat.”

Chan looks over quizzically, about to ask his best friend when he started talking to animals, but decided this probably wasn’t the time to hear about ridiculous anecdotes.

Felix is already waiting for them, crouched in his bird box look-out with one hand on the scanner and one on the trigger of his sniper rifle, poised for orders like the loyal kid he’s always been. He eyes Chan and gives the ‘ok’ signal to move ahead.

Before any further words are uttered, a wet cough draws their attention to the stirring bloodied figure Changbin had tied to the weathered stone pillars by the gates.

“You disarmed him before he passed out?”

“Yes.” Changbin replies, “A few knives hidden in his boots and an old rusty shooter. Magazine was empty.”

“How’d he get past the spikes?”

“Felix is trying to figure that out. Sandstorm last night might have jammed the cogs?”

“Fuck.” Chan mutters in frustration. It’s always the sandstorms. “What else?”

“Young. Male. Early twenties maybe. Too bloody to see any markings or inkwork. Defensive wounds all down his arms though.”

Unarmed, bleeding, injured or not, all visitors are treated with the same level of caution Chan reserves for War Dogs. Though, this one wasn’t nearly pale enough to be one, which meant that the majority of the blood on him wasn’t actually his own. The fact that their visitor was even alive means one of two things: he’s one hell of a fighter (there’s no such thing as luck in the Dustbowl) or he’s bait.

The thought prickles the skin across Chan’s neck and as he tightens his grip on his double-barrel shotgun and pulls up the scarf covering the lower half of his face he can hear the tense heavy loading of Changbin’s crossbow as he does the same. Bear is, as always, hovering behind them, his menacing rumbling growl is enough to stir the visitor back into consciousness.

Chan takes a step forward and nudges a bare bloodied foot.

“Wake up sunshine.”

There’s a heavy pause before the visitor rolls over with a pained groan before gasping for breath like all his ribs were broken and he was suddenly hungry for air.

“What’s your name?” Chan asks, his shoulders are aching from the anxious tension he always gets every time they have to do this.

There’s a wet splutter in reply and the visitor blinks blearily at them for a few slow seconds before the realisation of his precarious situation suddenly dawns on him all at once. “Are they gone?”

They?

They means plural.

Nausea churns in Chan’s gut as he straightens to take in their surroundings. Looking up at the Bird Box, Felix is already scanning the perimeters with hurried efficiency, it isn’t until there’s a thumbs-up thrown in their direction that Chan breathes a sigh of relief.

“Who is they?”

“East Block. War Dogs. Desert Snakes. Take your pick.”

Chan looks down at their visitor with a mix of disbelief and awe. “They were all hunting you? Why?”

“They don’t need a reason.”

There’s truth in that statement. There might be Haelend’s universal law but outside the central citadels, in the vast expanse of the Dustbowl, it’s a lawless state. Few reasons are needed to justify kill. Sometimes no reason at all.

That being said, to piss off three separate factions is a rare unenviable feat that Chan wants no association with. That fact alone sets off alarms bells and the only logical decision here is to cut their visitor loose and send him back into the desert.

Changbin hasn’t moved or taken his eyes off the bloody mess on the ground, his crossbow remains loaded and aimed at the visitor’s head. Subtlety was never his strong suit.

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying not to die for a few hours?”

“How’d you get past the spikes?”

“What spikes?”

Chan can feel the frustration creeping into his head and when he looks across, he can tell by Changbin’s tense jaw that his patience is also fading by the second. They don’t kill unnecessarily and Chan doesn’t want the bad karma on his territory but there are exceptions to every rule.

“Listen mate, unless you’re gonna answer the questions, you’re welcome to spend the next week back out in the Dustbowl.”

That seems to shake their visitor out of his stupor. Chan knows all too well that the only fate as bad as captivity in a citadel is to be let loose in the desert with no water or supplies. Death is all but inevitable.

“No! Wait. Don’t send me back out there by myself again. I swear, I didn’t mean to do it!”

“Do what?”

The visitor pulls himself to sit down against a pillar and when he looks at Chan in the eyes, there’s a hard defiant glare there that is completely unexpected for someone with three weapons aimed at their head.

“I tried to take an oil rig over in the East Block.”

There’s an uncharacteristic snort of disbelief to his right and Chan isn’t even sure how to respond himself.

“You and what army?”

“Just me.”

“Are you crazy in the head or you just got a deathwish?”

“It was mine! I won it fair and square!”

“You won an oil rig?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty good at Desert Poker.”

He blames it on being around each other for far too long but Chan can tell the exact moment when Changbin has heard enough and is ready to kick the visitor back into the desert and bolt the gates behind him.

But Chan also knows that Changbin is nothing if not a pack animal.

And pack animals always wait for the pack alpha, so Chan presses on.

“You can drive a rig?”

“Of course, I’m not stupid.” Comes the snotty reply and Chan has got to hand it to their visitor, this kid has balls of steel.

“How many kill switches are there?”

“Six. But the newer models can go up to eight, if you got the money for it.”

“What are you, some kind of annoying mechanic?”

“Yeah.” The visitor grins at him, black eye, split lip and all. His outward cockiness cracking for a moment to reveal the uncertain smile of a lost kid.

“Cut him.” Changbin whispers beside him. “This isn’t worth it.”

9 out of 10 times Chan would agree. 9 out of 10 times they think alike and execute the same plan. It’s how they’ve been able to survive and maintain their meagre territory. It’s not very much, and probably deemed worthless by the bigger factions, but 9 out of 10 times their teamwork and partnership is how they’ve managed to have anything at all.

But this is that 1 out of 10.

There’s something different Chan sees in the visitor’s eyes but more than that, there’s something very familiar. He saw it in Changbin then Felix. He’s seen it in himself. It’s not desperation, he sees that all the time, everyone is desperate in the Dustbowl. This is longing. For safety. For protection. For peace. For belonging.

“Which district has your loyalty?”

“The one that doesn’t take a pint of my blood every 3 weeks.” The visitor pulls up his shirt and scrubs at his skin to reveal a dark black “B” inked onto this chest.

A phantom ache surfaces along Chan’s forearms. “You’re a War Dog Bio-Donor.”

“Ah, so you heard of us. You gonna try and blood bag me? Because I gotta tell you, they kinda bled me dry last time.”

“No, we don’t do that here. Whose blood is on you?”

“My sister’s.” The visitor says too quietly. “I buried her yesterday.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Changbin curses beside him, taking a step back and lowering his crossbow a fraction before signalling Bear to heel.

Chan pulls the scarf off his face and has to agree with the sentiment.

“I’m sorry.” He says, his mind already made up now. “You got a name?”

“Does it matter if you’re going to kill me anyway?”

Chan smirks for some reason, maybe there’s something in him that enjoys collecting broken strays like this and seeing them learn to become human again. He’s down it twice now. He can do it again.

“No name, no entrance mate.”

There’s shock in the visitor’s eyes, followed by confusion, conflict, trust and anti-trust. But in the end, shelter from the Dustbowl is too powerful a hope.

“It’s...Han.”

#Stray Kids #Stray Kids fic #well this is a Mad Max AU #kinda sort of #the terminology and politics are from the movie Fury Road #which i totally reccomend #Bang Chan #Chan #Changbin #Han Jisung #Han #Seo Changbin #I'm just trying ideas out

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