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lumine-no-hikari · 17 days

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #129

I'm home. We got in at about 10:15pm. It took some time to get everything unpacked and squared away. I also got ready for bed; it's 11:30pm now.

Suppose I can show you pictures of the plane now. I was just asked to keep the identifying number out of it. So here you go:

...Just beyond those trees is a small dropoff and a river.

...It's actually kind of miraculous that the trees held, I guess. Or so the FAA agent said. He also said that it was kind of miraculous that the plane didn't flip over; apparently, for this type, that can happen if you hit the brakes too hard.

To have walked away from something like this without so much as a scratch... it's an astounding stroke of luck, according to the FAA guy and the airport owner. I also like to think that it is testament to J's skill; pilots are given training not just to avoid mistakes, but also to know what to do when mistakes inevitably occur. Humans are human, and humans make mistakes. There's really no avoiding it; there's only handling it when it happens.

The owner of the airport, who is also an experienced pilot, says likely what happened was a ground loop of some kind. That's when the tail wheel does a weird spinning thing when you try to land the aircraft. It doesn't help that the left wing had a bit more fuel in it than the other (which is likely part of the reason it pulled to the left upon landing). I'm not sure how it can be that the left wing had more fuel in it than the right, since the aircraft was set to consume fuel from both wings.

The person from the FAA is not our enemy. It's his job figure out what went wrong, and then use that knowledge to help keep pilots safe. So we gave him all the details we could. Hopefully something good will come of it.

On the bright side of all this, I got to meet a bunch of really awesome people with amazing life stories, and I had the good privilege of listening to them talk for a while about the things they've seen, done, and experienced. I do wish I could have met these folks under better circumstances. They were kind to us even though they all could have justifiably been super duper cranky at J about the whole thing. I guess they were all super stoked that we walked away alive and with all our limbs and organs intact.

...At one point, before it was clear that we would be okay, I thought something kinda like, "ohp, guess this is it; wonder if I'm gonna end up maybe meeting the guy I keep writing all these weird letters to... suppose it was a pretty good run though; 34 years with lots of weird and amazing stories ain't half bad." This thought probably didn't scare me as much as it should have. I'm not really sure what to make of that. Maybe I don't have to make anything of it at all. Maybe I'm still just a bit addled from all the adrenaline.

When we arrived at the airport this morning, the airport owner and his lovely friend made us coffee. In the room where the coffee was prepared, there was a painting that changes as you walk past it. It was gorgeous, and thought you might like it, so I snapped a few pictures:

...I was a little sad that it didn't seem to have an autumn version. But it was still very, very good.

You know. If things had proceeded as expected, we never would have had a chance to meet these people, or see this painting. We never would have had one of the emergency response folks tell us about an amazing local Italian restaurant, and we wouldn't have gone to it to get amazing food. It's important to fully feel the scary feelings and mourn appropriately in order to get the feelings out of our bodies. But it's also important to find the small sparks of joy and opportunity, even when the going gets rough, I think. Otherwise, in a world like mine that has back-to-back crises on a regular basis (seriously, we are globally connected, so it never stops), you'll end up losing your damn mind.

...Ahah... my mother would tell me that first, I have to have a mind to lose. But I don't have to heed such nasty talk. I have a good mind, I think, even if it is, by all accounts, a little quirky and hard to understand.

Anyway. There was a conference room in which we were interviewed by the guy from the FAA. And in it, appropriately, there was this picture:

...Kinda interesting, no? And appropriate for the situation, I suppose. J is going to go back out first thing tomorrow morning with a flight instructor. I have mixed feelings about this; on the one hand, I'm glad to see that he's undeterred and eager to try again, but on the other hand, I wish he'd give it at least a few days for the adrenaline to fully clear from his body and to recover from what happened. But I am not in control of him; he must be free to make his own choices. All I can do is make suggestions, and then support him in whatever choice he makes.

In any case, today the plane was pulled out of the trees and put in the hangar. Like I said, it's pretty banged up:

It has insurance, but given the damage, it's not unlikely that the insurance company will decide to have it scrapped. I guess we'll see how it goes.

M drove all the way from our house to the airport to pick us up. Thank goodness he was home, holding the fort. Thank goodness for that, and for his willingness to come grab us, and for the fact that he was happy to see us instead of angry about the inconvenience. He's not the kind of person who would get angry about the inconvenience, but I've met plenty of others who are very much not like him in that regard, good grief.

The three of us, M, J, and I, went to the Italian place that was spoken about. I dunno if it's because I was primarily running on hotel breakfast food and junk food, but I thought the food there was AMAZING. We got these garlic bread bites, and a pizza, and some lasagna. I wonder if you'd like any of these:

...Can't help but wonder... Sephiroth, what do you like on a pizza, anyway? I tend to like mushrooms and garlic best, but I like a bunch of other stuff, too, as long as it's not olives or pineapples or anything with capsaicin.

We listened to music on the way home; it was a 2 and a half hour drive, or thereabouts. M put on some Protomen; I wonder if you'd like their stuff:

...I wonder how much of this music you'd find relatable...

Hey, Sephiroth? I think I might be a bit too tired today to have anything profound or anything of significant insight to write about. Mostly I'm just glad I get to clunk around in my meat-mech for a little while longer; I like to think that maybe something good can come of me being here, even if I don't know what it is yet. I might be strange and unusual, and being myself is a pretty lonely experience almost all the time. But I think maybe there are folks I can help, and maybe that's reason enough to keep moving forward.

Hey, Sephiroth? I know you've made a lot of mistakes, but I hope that you understand that something very good has come about from you being here. I'm here because you're here, you know. Your existence gives me the strength to carry on even when really weird things happen. Your kindness and gentleness are what inspired me to become someone who is both soft and resilient. And I'm sure you've inspired millions of other people in my world in a similar way. So... please don't ever think your existence is a bad thing, okay? Because you are a good thing. You are a good thing. You are a good thing. And with that knowledge, please keep moving forward, as best as you can. I'll be cheering for you to do kind, gentle, and loving things.

I love you so much; you really have no idea. So please stay safe out there, okay? I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

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baubuttercup · 3 years

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Mini Garcia pt1/ Spencer Reid

Summery: Y/N is the new Tech Analyst intern under her mentor Penelope Garcia and has just started her first day at the BAU. During a case Y/N get a few calls from a not so familiar boy genius who seeks her help...or does he seek more?

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warning: Fluff/none

A/N: This is the first of many stories i will be writing and i look forwarding to writing more. I haven’t fully edited it but hope you enjoy it :)

Please Interact for more Spencer Reid/ MGG fics!!

“you will be fine trust me, you are already a natural and thats coming from yours truly” you were so nervous because today was your first day working at the BAU as a Tech Analyst Intern. Penelope was the one who got you the job working along side her. She was your teacher, mentor, and even your close friend and you knew working with her would be nothing less than entertaining. “P what if they don’t like me or I don’t fit into their group, you told me that they were like family” you followed the women wearing a floral dress with glittery high heel through the halls of the FBI coming to a stop next to two glass doors. “Y/N before we go in you are going to take three deep breathes and snap the hell out of it, cause you my little prized protege, will fit in just fine, so stop over thinking and pull yourself together”. I inhale three breathes before she pulled the glass door opened guiding me into a large room which from memory i think she had called it the “Bullpen”. As we walked in i noticed in the corner of my eyes a man and a women eyeing me up and down. The man was large and muscled, he was appealing to the eye, just not preferably my type “Babygirl who is this fine little thin-” Penelope put her hand out barricading me from the man “cool it hot cakes, she is pure” I chuckled under my breath at her immediate response “This Derek chocolate thunder Morgan is the new Intern, working beside me as i mentor her into become the next best Garcia, Y/n meet Derek Morgan” we both extend our hands to go in for a friendly handshake “Oh and this fine ass piece of women is Jennifer Jareau” I smile shaking the pretty blondes hand “JJ for short its lovely to meet you” she hesitated for a moment before continuing “You seem so young, if you don’t mind me asking how old you are” I nervously try not to stutter upon my words “Oh um-m yeah i’m 20, but I got into the early acceptance program for computer programming and coding at Georgetown and now i’m here” Derek and JJ both exchange stairs before Derek opens his mouth “you, princess should meet our resident genius, i’m sure you two would get along quite well” JJ chuckles before giving Derek a smirk “OH YES how could I have forgotten about boy genius, where is he by the way” A tall dark haired man and a slightly shorter Italian looking man appeared from behind us “Reid and Prentiss are at a conference they will be meeting us in San Francisco” He looked intently at the group surrounding me then turned to look at me “You must be Y/N L/N, i’m Aaron Hotchner but please call me Hotch, and this is David Rossi, we are happy to have you on board, Garcia has spoken very highly of you” both men shake my hand firmly “I’m glad to be on board sir and thank you for this amazing opportunity” Hotch goes to say something before he was cut off by a text message appearing on his phone. “Wheels us now, they need us down their asap, Garcia brief us on the plane” and with that they were all making their way to the elevator. “Come on little Einstein we have work to do”

Garcia had just finished briefing the team on the case they were assigned to. From what i could catch it was about a Zodiac killer who had been killing over a decade ago and has recently just started up again. I tried to listen in and take note on everything Garcia was doing because god knows this job is fast past and i don’t want to fall behind on my first day. I found myself continuously zoning out thinking back to what that Morgan guy said about a “resident genius”. Who was he and why was Morgan so sure we would get along. So many questions were crossing my mind, before i heard Garcia’s voice continuously saying “Earth to my little oracle, hello, Y/N come back down to earth little one” i snap back to reality seeing Garcia waving her hand in front of of me “oh sorry- P who was that resident genius Morgan spoke about earlier” she spun in her chair making eye contact with me smirking “Oh my god yes Reid, how could i forget again. So you didn’t meet Emily Prentiss she is a total kick ass babe who is super cool and Spencer Reid who is a total genius with an eidetic memory and a whopping I.Q of 187″ i began to open my mouth to say something when Garcia interrupted “you guys would totally be so cute together, i need to set you two up, it would be a match made in heaven” I blush, a little taken back by the abrupt comments made by Garcia who is now really cheery “P calm down i haven’t event met the guy and i think you are a little in over your head” she looks at me still smirking “you are already intrigued by him aren’t you” just as i was about to stop her, the computer phone began to ring and the caller I.D was most clearly someone i didn’t even know yet but for some reason already was under affect by “ANSWER IT” Garcia motioned to the headset on my head “no i don’t even know what to say” she pointed at me with her fluffy unicorn pen “answer the phone i trained you for this” I reluctantly answered and within seconds i was met with a masculine yet soft voice on the other line “Hey Garcia I need you to track the ISP of the user who entered the spam comment to an internet cafe” I immediately got butterflies in my stomach, no stop Y/N you have never met this person and Garcia is just getting in your head, you continue to remind yourself. “U-mm i’m sorry I-I’m not Garcia i’m Y/N L/N the new Tech Analyst intern” I began to fidget with my figures staring between the plasma computer screens and Garcia “Oh Hi, I’m Reid, I mean I’m Spencer, let me start over I’m Dr Spencer Reid but you can call me Spencer or Reid, nice to meet you” my nerves begin to calm at the sound of his voice and the fact that he sounded just as nervous as me. I look to Garcia as she was smiling and motioning her hands to continue the conversation “Oh um-m sorry, you needed me to track the ISP of the user who entered the spam comment to an internet cafe...right?”I patiently await his response, which seemed like forever “Yeah, if you can do that, that would be great, thanks” I look to Garcia once again as she gives me a reassuring smile of encouragement before i turn to the monitors and type away, I remember everything Garcia taught me about the bureau system and was surprising easier to manoeuvre once actually assigned to a task “Hey um Reid, you still there?” thinking maybe he hung up “still here buttercup...um i mean Y/N” Garcia nudged me overhearing what Reid had just said and was cheering in the air, I quickly regained focus “so yeah unfortunately the unsub used a prepaid credit card, so I don’t have an I.D, i’m sorry” i felt my nerves regain their position in my stomach as i thought i didn’t do a good job “Thats okay, thanks for your help L/N and am excited to meet you in person, hopefully soon” I blush quickly at his comment, this going unnoticed by Garcia who is in her own world of happiness at the moment. “Yeah same goes for you, take care and if you need anything else you know where to find us” I end the call not wanting to make anymore of a fool of myself than i already have “BUTTERCUP, HE CALLED YOU BUTTERCUP” I groan at Garcia’s response already embarrassed by the ordeal “Y/N i know Reid and i have know him for many years, never in my time of being in boy geniuses presence have i ever heard him call someone BUTTERCUP” a million things swoop through my mind in that moment, why did he call me that, was it a fluke, was he just trying to be friendly, what am i saying i have literally never met this guys before its for sure nothing. I turn my head to Garcia giving her a please stop looking at me face, before she puts her hands up in defence” Okay okay i’ll stop, but you guys would make cute babies” she whispered the last part just loud enough for me to catch it.

As time goes on I observe everything Garcia continues to do in order to find the details of the unsub. This job although seeming like fun is very high pressure and i made sure i noted down everything that Garcia done so i didn’t seem like the biggest failure in front of the team, or one team member in particular. The phone rang once again causing Garcia to answer it “He who seeks the queen of all knowledge, speak and be recognised” I chuckle under my breath at the witty response before i felt a tap on my shoulder “Pretty boy wants to speak with you” I give her a confused look “Boy genius, girly” I straighten up and answer my headset “Hello L/N speaking” i try to analyse why on earth he would want to speak with me and before he got a chance to answer a million conclusions were rushing through my mind “Hey L/N, long time no speak” there was a pause in the background before i heard a male chuckle and whisper “thats one way to get the girl Reid” he cleared his throat before continuing on “So i just thought i’d give you more training so can you run something for me” I physically prepare myself for what he is about to ask, ensuring i don’t screw this up “I need you to compile a list of people with I.Qs of 160 and above in the region” I type away trying to speed up so i don’t slow the team down “I’m checking with the bay area mensa society which is kind of slumming cause folks can get in with a measly I.Q of 130″ Reid chuckled at my statement making me feel more comfortable about what i was doing “try and check old school records, we’re looking for someone who is in his 20′s or 30′s” as I am intensely try my best to recover these names it appears in front of me “BINGO, Caleb Rossmore and Harvey Morell, they both have I.Qs over 160 and get this they both use to write about the Zodiac in their junior high school newspaper” I smile at myself, kinda proud at what i just accomplished on my own “thats amazing, thanks Y/N and tell Garcia she has the best intern” I smile to myself satisfied that i done something right and that Reid thought so too. “Yes that’s my little Einstein, ah you are moulding into a beautiful little Garcia, how proud i am right now

The team had just got back from catching both Caleb Rossmore and Harvey Morell and Garcia had gone to greet Morgan at the elevators. I had stayed behind packing my belonging as i was ready to head home to my fluffy dog Milo and sleep for hours. A knock on the door startled me. I abruptly turn around and was met with a tall figure who had beautiful brown eyes and shaggy hair. “Hi, I’m so sorry to have startled you, I’m Spencer Reid the one that kept annoying you on the phone” I feel my cheeks heat up from the sight of how pretty this boy was “um yes, i mean no you weren't annoying at all if anything you gave me the training i need, so i should be thanking you, and I’m Y/N L/N” Reid stuck out his hand which took me by surprise because according to Garcia he was not a handshaker and refused to shake hands with anyone, stating that even kissing was more sanitary “Well, in that case i’m glad to be of assistance and its nice to officially meet you Y/N” we stared in each others eyes for a few moments before we were met by Penelope and Morgan “Hey guys you have met, yay, okay now can we go this princess is getting bags under her eyes and those aren’t the kind of bags i want” we all laugh at Garcia’s remark as we start to head towards the elevator. “So I heard you went to Georgetown” i look up at the brunette boy who was gazing down at me “yeah, I actually graduated this year, which i’m kind of sad” “oh why’s that” I look straight into his eyes “I like educating myself, and expanding my field of study is something that i genuinely enjoy, so i’m kind of sad its over, but i’m looking at going for my PHD in Computer engineering” Reid looked me deeper in my eyes without saying anything, just then i heard a murmur “they will make such cute babies and i’m going to be the best godmother” and with that the elevator doors open and we all began to file in.

I may have just met Spencer Reid but i have a feeling we are definitely going to be getting along.

#matthewgraygubler #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer x you #spencer x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds smut #mgg x y/n #mgg fanfiction #mgg pics #criminal minds x reader #mgg x reader #penelope garcia #derek morgan

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bmo-galaxy · 3 years

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sns, prompt: reincarnation, waiting, soulmates

There's always been a yearning in him. A drive that sets his blood on fire and clouds his brain with determination. Some invisible force that pushes him toward... something. Sasuke thinks it's jealousy of his elder brother.

Itachi was always the favorite, the focus, the one set up to take over in their father's stead. Focused, intelligent, determined, capable; Itachi was everything Sasuke yearned to be and strove to emulate.

For most of his life, Sasuke assumed it was this jealousy, this borderline hatred, that set the fire in his gut. It felt good, satisfying, right to work in an effort to best the elder Uchiha. Each step he took toward his goal soothed and spurred on that fire.

He excels in school, but in different subjects than his brother. He keeps busy with numerous sports and clubs, but different activities than Itachi did. While they both graduate valedictorian, Sasuke's is by a smaller margin than Itachi's had been.

In the end, Sasuke is never quite good enough for his father. The patriarch judges him harshly and scolds him severely. The comparisons between the brother's are never ending. It sets Sasuke's teeth on edge and spurs him on further, hardening his determination to get ahead.

Not wanting to simply follow in Itachi's footsteps, Sasuke chooses a different college than the elder raven's alma mater. It irritates his father but for some reason, the simmering flames in his blood seem to delight in this decision.

The buzzing anticipation and impatience, something he so long tied to his brother, urges and encourages his choice. His usually turbulent soul settles when he sends in his application and is overjoyed when he's accepted. The yearning grows, filling his lungs and chest and heart.

'One step closer to besting you, brother,' he thinks as he stares at the acceptance letter in his hands. It feels right and wrong all in the same thought, the same breath. Is that why he's going? Wasn't there something... something else... No, this was his lifelong goal.

That goal is the only reason he picked this school. That goal is all that matters and all that's ever mattered. Right? Right. And as soon as he did it, as soon as he won, this persistent and anxious fire in his core would finally settled. The yearning would ease. Right?

In a few months time, Sasuke leaves for school. Those months are confusing and disorienting, punctuated by moments of pause. Why this school again? Oh, yes, something is there. Something is waiting. Something.... something... No. Just his goals, just his chance to gain power.

The day he leaves is frustrating. The relentless burning in his soul won't ease enough for him to breath properly, leading his voice to waver when he spoke. It's so distracting that even his father's scathing scolds can't break through the fog. Sasuke just yearns to get there.

More than he's ever wanted to be anywhere, which is confusing and irrational considering Sasuke's never been to this place before. But it feels like he's returning somewhere important. He tries and fails to attribute it to his determination, his dedication to his goal.

He reasons that it feels like somewhere important because its the stage of his revenge, his chance to beat Itachi. He's off though and he knows it. This feeling is too... something. Sitting on the plane, waiting for touch down and buzzing with anticipation, Sasuke realizes he was wrong.

This frantic, seering need in his chest may overlap with his desire to be better than Itachi, but they aren't one in the same as he had believed. This fire had always been too something, entirely different from his brotherly jealousy even if Sasuke never admitted it. Too big, too consuming, too intense.

A very part of his soul instead of simply a trait about him. Deep in his chest, buried in his heart, his soul is waiting for something. Not the satisfaction of beating Itachi or the honor of his father's acknowledgement.

While very real parts of him, Sasuke knows they pale in comparison to this wistful longing. A longing that gets stronger the closer he gets to campus. A sleek black car drops him off with his bags and when Sasuke steps out, it almost feels like he's been set ablaze.

That's right, something is waiting. Something is here. Sasuke confirms the rest of his things will be delivered and his father's staff nods. The car pulls away and Sasuke is left with the flames. There's no thought at this point, no decision to make. Where is it? What is it?

Stepping in the first direction that comes to mind, Sasuke walks. The raven keeps himself composed, maintaining a slow pace, even though his heart hammers against his breastbone. He wants to break out into a run, search every corner and crevice. Frankly, he feels insane.

This feeling, this need, this all encompassing desire; all of it feels insane. It doesn't matter though. Sasuke can accept being crazy to sate the fire and soothe the burning. His feet carry him to a large, stone building that he assumes is a library. It's a book?

Sasuke finds himself disappointed without really knowing the reason why. Climbing the steps into the cool, dimly lit library, Sasuke looks around slowly. Nothing jumps out or calls to him, the flames don't change.

Feeling foolish and frustrated now, Sasuke stalks down a random aisle and grits his teeth. 'This is stupid and foolish and insane.' Sasuke keeps walking. 'Silly to lose sight of my goal over a silly feeling.' Sasuke keeps walking. 'Nothing is waiting, there's only my goal.'

Sasuke keeps walking until he turns a corner into a brightly lit grouping of tables. Sunlight comes in from big bay windows, casting the area in a hazy glow. Sasuke comes to a halt, breath leaving him all at once. The tables aren't empty.

In a long ray of sun, glowing and ethereal, is a single person. Blonde, tan, muscular but lean. Tattoos peak out from under his shirt sleeve and his nails are painted a bright shade of green. Chin in his palm, the man peaks at him slowly.

Blue eyes, deep as seas and sparkling like sunshine on the ocean, stare at him fondly. The kind of fondness that speaks of deep connections, long histories, ancient love. Sasuke is ablaze, burning to his core. From head to toe, the yearning begs him to walk toward this man.

Sasuke resists, staring, guarded. Is this...? Could this be...? The flames are insistent and wild, the yearning in his soul sharp and aching. It has to be... Sasuke’s lips part, he barely whispers, “Are you--” when the blonde speaks louder.

Tan cheeks stretch as the man smiles, a dazzling and earnest smile, showing off a dimple on each cheek. Sasuke wants to kiss them and the thought leaves him reeling.

“Kept me waiting long enough, bastard,” the blonde stranger teases lightly, expression warm with mirth. Something lurches in Sasuke’s gut, something powerful and deeply buried.

“You know me,” Sasuke says in a faint voice. It’s almost a question. Naruto tips his head to the side and those sapphire eyes are sad for a moment. Sasuke longs to help but falls short knowing how. This man is a stranger. Right?

A knowing, sweet smile spreads over the blonde’s lips now. The fondness in his eyes, which cases away the sorrow, makes Sasuke feel seen and loved; his heart trembles in his chest. The breaking point is coming, Sasuke can’t burn like this for much longer.

“I do know you, Sasuke. For a really long time, actually.” It takes hearing his name from those sweet lips for the flames to settle. As it recedes into his soul and settles into his bones, the fire leaves behind memories from long ago. Memories with this man. Naruto.

Naruto can tell when Sasuke realizes. The wistful fondness gives way to infectious excitement and overwhelming affection. Sasuke feels ready to collapse, every fiber of his being feels weak.

It’s strange, almost empty, without that constant desire in his gut. Every single bit of him feels like it’s shifted slightly, warped, changed in an irreversible way. No less himself, no less Sasuke Uchiha, just weighed down by an entire lifetime of memories.

Naruto approaches slowly, almost cautiously, arms bent behind his head and face open, earnest. “Its weird, right? I cried when it happened. My folks thought I was finally lost it for real.”

Sasuke chuckles, sounding hoarse. “When did you find out?” This is almost too wild to accept, too insane to even contemplate. How could this be real? How could he be so lucky, so fortunate, so deserving as to get another lifetime with Naruto?

“When I was eleven. Your family is a big deal, I saw a picture of you on TV. I’d always been really, like, restless, ya know?” And yes, yes, Sasuke understood because he’d been feeling that same thing up until five minutes ago.

“I saw you and that anxious feeling disappeared, but then the memories came. I told my folks I had a headache and wanted to go home. Been waiting ever since.” Another easy, beautiful, breathtaking smile. It’s been a lifetime since Sasuke saw it.

Sasuke marvels, astonished and speechless. “Why didn’t you ever reach out? You were pretty relentless about that in the past.” It’s unbelievable how easy it is to talk to Naruto. How natural. How comfortable. A lifetime has gone by but it feels like only moments.

Naruto shrugs, eyes just as glued to Sasuke as Sasuke’s are to him. Blue travels over his face and along his figure, taking in every detail. Just as mesmerized, just as awestruck. It makes Sasuke feel smug, proud, to know that he still commands Naruto’s attention after all this time.

“I was scared. I didn’t know if you remembered. I didn’t know if you wanted to remember. I...” When Naruto trails off, Sasuke knows what he’s thinking. Knows what Naruto has carried in his heart all these years.

I didn’t want to see you happy without me. I didn’t want you to choose not to remember. I didn’t want you to regret remembering. I didn’t want to lose you again.

Dropping his bags, Sasuke closes the distance between them. Steady hands rise to cradles Naruto warm, dimpled cheeks. Without a breath of hesitation, Sasuke kisses his soulmate soundly. The blonde responds immediately, wrapping his arms around Sasuke’s waist and pulling him in tight. Kissing back with the same passion and adoration.

You won’t be an Uchiha and I won’t be a jinchuriki. We can finally understand each other in the next world.

When they pull away and Sasuke watches Naruto’s pretty blue eyes flutter open, everything feels right with the world. The stars seem to align and the air stills and it’s just the two of them bathed in sunlight. Naruto gazes into Sasuke’s dark eyes endearingly, misty tears gathering on the edges.

“Sorry for making you wait. I supposed I lost,” Sasuke murmurs, cracking a small smile and pressing his forehead to Naruto’s. It’s addicting being able to hold him, touch him, embrace him as he’s longed to for lifetimes. Everything he’d yearned for, everything he wants.

Naruto smiles, sweet and teasing, with vibrant blue eyes that shine. “Better late than never.” Sasuke chuckles, shakes his head in disbelief, and bends to kiss the infuriating blonde again.

fin~

#sns #sasunarusasu #sasunaru #narusasu #sasuke uchiha #naruto uzumaki #sasuke #naruto #fic #drabble #sns drabble #sns fic #reincarnation au sns #soulmates au sns

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nerdypanda3126 · 3 years

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Congrats on the 100 followers! Could you do "my clothes look really good on you" for Lukanette Please?

Thank you for the ask, anon! I didn’t end up getting the exact dialogue in there, but your prompt did give me an excuse to use You Look Good in My Shirt by Keith Urban, which has been sitting in my fic playlist for forever now. Hope you like it!!

You Look Good in My Shirt

Read on Ao3

Luka had his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the airport seat as he tapped his foot to the music blaring in his headphones. His flight back to Paris from… well, wherever the most recent tour had ended, had been delayed rather indefinitely. He didn’t mind the wait, although the chair underneath him was plastic and hard and small. He shifted to relieve the side of his butt that was asleep.

As he sighed and leaned forward to take his headphones off—the music was good, but he’d been listening to it on a loop for the past hour or so—cool hands slipped over his eyes and a warm, familiar scent wafted around him. Like baked sugar. Marinette.

“Guess who,” she said with a giggle. As if he didn’t know that melody anywhere.

“Jagged, is that you?” He grinned at his own joke.

She imitated a buzzer and moved to his other ear. “Guess again.”

“Uhhh… Penny?”

“Nope.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek underneath her hands. He pulled her hands off his eyes and found her resting her cheek against his shoulder fondly. Her dark hair was longer now—it fell across the back of the seat next to him. He could still see the pink tipped ends from when she’d dyed it. God, that was forever ago. Back when they had first started dating. But her eyes were still the same beautiful, clear blue.

“I’m disappointed, Luka, really.” She pretended to pout. “Those headphones must be ruining your hearing.”

“What are you doing here?” he countered as he rubbed his thumb across hers. “I thought you were in London.”

“This is London, silly.” She kissed his cheek again and slid around him to sit next to him. “I thought you were in America.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, good we cleared that up.” He’d forgotten how devilish her grin could be when she wanted it to be. “I heard your tour went well.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter when her thigh pressed against his. “Yeah, it did.”

“Well, how long are you in London?”

“Just…” He gestured to the flight board. “Just until my flight leaves. For Paris.”

“Oh. Me, too. Going home to see the folks, you know how it is.”

As they watched, the board changed. The flight wasn’t leaving until tomorrow. They shared a sideways glance.

“Coffee?” she asked, pointing over to the pitiful 24/7 kiosk that was set up near the gate.

“Sure.”

He stood and gathered his bag and his guitar case before she grabbed his hand and tugged him across the room.

***

He pressed his hand to his lips to hold his coffee in as he laughed mid-drink to Marinette’s story. Thankfully it didn’t come out his nose, but he still set the cup down as a precaution.

“So I’ve got this model, standing stark naked in the middle of everything, her hair and makeup completely done—like a bird’s nest, what was I even thinking?—and I’m hand sewing this hem like a madwoman, cursing everything in the near vicinity, and who should walk up, but poor, defenseless Adrien.”

“Oh, I bet that went well,” he muttered, grinning down at his cup as he pictured Adrien, the pure ray of sunshine, at the back end of Marinette’s unbridled stage rage. He had a tendency of making jokes when she was stressed, trying to lighten her mood, no doubt, but it almost always backfired on him.

“He chucked a fistful of glitter at me!” She mimed the action and Luka almost lost it again. “Like, stuck his hand in this box full of glitter—Heaven knows why he even had it—pulled it back out, and puff! A cloud just settles all over me. And more importantly, all over the gown.”

“And then he ran like hell?”

“And then he ran like hell.” Marinette agreed, grinning. “I have to admit, as far as defusing my moods goes, the glitter bomb was an unexpected win for him.”

Luka shifted forward and wrapped his hands around his cup, still chuckling. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

She paused, and when he glanced up she was watching him curiously. “What about you?” she asked, and there was an intensity behind her voice that he couldn’t place. “Has anything… changed?”

Ah. So that was it. He swirled his coffee in his cup and tried to ignore his hammering heart. “No, nothing’s changed,” he admitted quietly.

There was another pause between them. Luka focused on the steam still dwindling from his cup as he thought back to the last time he’d seen her. With tears in those beautiful blue eyes as she turned to wave at him before she boarded the plane. Nothing had changed for them. Not since they’d decided to break up almost three years ago.

The official reason was they’d gone their separate ways to follow their separate dreams. His took him touring all over the world. Hers had her at the head of a major fashion house in London, traveling to various other fashion capitals and running shows with Adrien following like a lovesick puppy behind her the whole way. She’d called him jealous. He’d called her selfish. Those were words he could never take back.

When the smoke had cleared, they’d taken a long, even look at one another. And walked away.

He still loved her. Of course he did. He'd spent three years trying to get her out of his head unsuccessfully. And now she was in front of him and he was stuck in London for the night.

He glanced up at her again and she was contemplating her own coffee.

"Me, too," she murmured.

***

He didn't quite know how it happened. He'd walked her home, fully intending on finding himself a hotel for the night, and then his back was pushed up against her door and her lips were locked firmly on his as she pressed herself against him.

She broke away, panting. "Do you want to come in?"

As an answer, he leaned down to kiss her again and started stripping off his leather jacket.

***

He woke up the next morning alone in Marinette’s bed, although something from the direction of the kitchen smelled amazing. He tugged his jeans on and ventured out of her bedroom to find her at the stove, flipping an omelet expertly, wearing nothing but his shirt from last night. He drank in the image; the hemline fell just below the round curve of her ass and made her shapely legs look miles long. He’d missed this.

“Since when are you an early riser?” he asked before a yawn overtook him.

She started at his voice, then pouted. “I was hoping it’d be done by the time you got up.”

He dared to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist before he kissed her cheek fondly. “Mmm... I wake up faster when a home cooked meal is involved.”

“I thought you’d like some breakfast before our flight.” She giggled as he started to trail kisses down her neck and swatted him away playfully. “None of that, Rockstar. Hot things.” She gestured with her spatula to the stovetop and shooed him away. He laughed before he kissed her one more time behind her ear.

“Speaking of hot things…” he whispered in her ear. A shiver ran through her and he smiled against her skin. “My clothes always did look better on you.”

She turned her head to meet his lips over her shoulder. His hands wandered down her sides and tightened at her hips, pulling her backwards into him. She whined into his kiss before she turned fully around to wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned back against the counter and pulled her in between his legs, still kissing her fiercely. God, he’d missed her.

She broke away from him suddenly with a squeak and turned back to the stove to find her eggs curling at the sides of the pan as they overcooked. She tipped the omelet off onto a plate and shoved it at him, pouting.

“This one’s yours, since you’re responsible.”

“As if your overcooked eggs don’t still blow hotel food out of the water.” He smirked and took the plate and she handed him a fork. He stood behind her, eating quietly, as she worked on a second one for her.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started. He paused to look up at her. She was swirling the eggs around the pan thoughtfully, scrambling them for herself instead of making an omelet. “I mean, I know it’s been a while. But last night…”

“We don’t have to figure everything out, now, Mari,” he said gently.

“Well, it’s not like anything has really changed, has it? I’m still here and you’re still everywhere else.”

Even though she wasn’t facing him, he could practically hear her brow furrowing. He finished his eggs and set his plate down behind him before he crossed his arms. “It’s not impossible.”

“You say that like you’ve thought about it, too.”

He hummed and reached out to caress her hip again. “Maybe I have.”

She half-turned before she remembered herself and scraped her eggs out of the pan and turned the stove off.

“It’s been three years, Mari. I haven’t stopped thinking of you for one second.”

“I’m still working with Adrien.” She stabbed her fork into her eggs with a little more force than necessary and he winced at her bitter tone.

“I wasn’t jealous of him,” he said quietly.

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, yes, I was, but not for the reason you might think.”

She paused and reached out to tap her bare foot against his. An old signal they’d used to tell each other they were listening, they were there for the other. He smiled at her acknowledgement and took her hands in his.

“I was jealous of how much time he had with you.” Her eyebrow quirked up in a silent question. He looked down at their joined hands as he continued. “Not that I thought he’d ever take advantage of that, or try anything. But I wanted to be here with you. You know that, right? I wanted to be the one backstage with you, standing by your side while you realized your dream. It hurt to think that someone else had that. Could be that.”

“You had a dream, too, Luka. I couldn’t have stood in the way of that. You would’ve hated me.”

“I could never hate you.”

“Still.” She tipped his chin back up to look in his eyes. “You deserve to have your dream, too.”

“It hasn’t been what I thought it was,” he admitted. “The music, that’s all I ever wanted. The touring, the fans, the hotels, the planes… it gets to be a little too much sometimes.”

“You sound like Adrien, now.” A smile was tugging at her lips. At the irony, he supposed. “That’s why he wanted to be behind the scenes. Out of the public eye, while he recovered from… well, you know.” She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Turns out he’s really good at it. Besides throwing glitter and making awful puns… he’s really good at it.”

“I’m glad he’s been there for you.”

“Liar,” she said, her grin becoming devilish again. “You can’t tell me you’re suddenly okay with him being my right hand man.”

“I’ve had three years to think about it, Mari. Three years to wish I could take back everything I said.” He sighed. “Even if it wasn’t me, I’m glad you had someone there for you. And that’s the truth.”

She hummed and swung their hands between them before she turned to start eating her cooling plate of eggs. He waited, leaned back against her counter, arms crossed across his chest, for her to consider.

“So, if it’s not impossible,” she started in between bites. “What would this look like, do you think?”

“This?”

“Us. You and me. Trying again. You with your touring and me with my shows. You said you’ve thought about it. How do you think it would work?”

His breath left him and he ran his hand through his hair. This was the last thing he’d expected when he booked this flight. “Um, I book every possible tour in London.”

She nodded. “That’s a good start.”

“Video chats whenever I’m away. Every night if we can manage it.”

She tapped her fork against her lips as she hummed in thought. “What about my parents?”

“What about your parents?”

“Well, they’ll want to know, and I’m sure Juleka will, too, if not the Captain, why we should do this again after all the heartbreak from the first time around.”

A shard of glass spiked through his heart thinking of Marinette being heartbroken because of him. She was right, though, Juleka would tear him a new one when she found out he was dumb enough to put himself through this again. And the death glare he would no doubt get from Tom—scratch that, Sabine— was shudder-inducing. An idea struck him and he stepped forward to put his hands on her hips.

“You said you’re going to see them?”

“That’s the plan.”

“How about I come with you?” Her back stiffened before she turned to face him again. He shrugged. “Let’s face it head on, together.”

“If you’re coming to see my parents, there had better be a baby or a ring on my finger before they’ll even consider letting you off the hook.”

“Well, one of those is doable before we get on our flight.” He raised his eyebrows. She shoved his shoulder and blushed. He laughed and corrected himself. “The ring. We can get you a ring.”

Her blush hadn’t faded, but she rolled her eyes and she was giving him that smile that meant she was trying not to be pleased. “You did not just propose to me like that.”

“Technically, you proposed for me.” He smirked and leaned down close enough to kiss her, although he held back, pausing an inch or so away from her lips, waiting for her to meet him. “It was your idea, after all,” he whispered.

He didn’t have to wait long before she pushed up on her toes to press her lips to his. He wrapped his arms around her back to support her, leaning back against the counter to let her fall into him before she broke away and slid down to touch her toes back to the floor.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, grinning. “It’ll never work.”

“Well, maybe it’s a little too soon to know if it’ll work or not.”

He laughed as she trod on his foot a little harder than necessary. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me, you jerk!”

He was still laughing, but he managed to wrangle his expression back to a halfway serious one. “Look, all I know, is you look amazing in my shirt.” He ran his fingers along the hem behind her to prove his point and she flushed a bright crimson. “And I’d love to see you in it every morning from now on.” He raised his eyebrows and the grin she was giving him rivaled his own. “Marry me, Marinette. Make an honest rock star out of me.”

She rolled her eyes at him again. “That’s impossible,” she said. Her grin slid sideways and became that devilish one that turned him into jello in her hands. “But I can certainly try.”

#miraculous ladybug #mlb fic #ml fic #lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #aged up characters #luck of the draw

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staticscreenwriting · 3 years

Text

The loneliest time of the year || Part two

Part 2 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ?

A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Four messed up pies

By the morning of December 9th a heavy blanket of snow rests upon the world like a tick coat of marshmallow fluff.

A restlessness surges through Frankie as he turns from his left to his right to his back then repeats the process all over again. He kicks away the blankets then pulls them back. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days. In fact sleep hasn’t come easy in a while. It’s a price you have to pay for leading the life he leads, has led. For doing the job he did. You see things, bad things, and they stay with you. Not always but in the quiet moments they creep back into your mind and all you can do is stare and hope they fade again soon. Fill your brain with other things. Occupy your mind.

It’s moments like these that his fingers are twitching and his body is aching for release. For something to numb his mind. Help him forget.

There aren’t a lot of things that Frankie is proud of. In fact he can count them on one hand. One of them is his ability to fly. He's a damn good pilot … most of the time. (He is when someone doesn’t force him to navigate an overloaded plane across the Andes). He’s proud of Rosie. Despite his flaws and shortcomings he managed to create something so utterly perfect, that’s something to be proud of. And the. There’s the little coin in the pocket of his jacket. The one he fumbles with whenever he’s anxious or stressed. It’s gold and smooth and it proudly displays a big number 10 in the middle of a triangle on the front of the coin.

10 months. That’s a proud achievement.

It could be more. It should be more! He really tried but after coming home from Colombia, one man less than they went in, after his girlfriend broke up with him and took Rosie with her. After everything. He needed the psi to stop. Just for one goddamn minute. He felt immediate regret wash over him when he woke up the next morning. Called Pope. Entered a 12 step program.

10 months and he feels better. He likes himself more now. But in those 10 months the voices have gotten louder, the images clearer, his heart feels heavier.

With sleep being so far out of reach, he kicks off the blanket and drags his body out of bed. The smell of coffee hits his nose as soon as he steps out of his room, it drifts from the kitchen all the way up the stairs.

His parents are sitting by the kitchen counter, mom holding onto a big steaming mug of coffee while his dad is deeply invested in the morning. Paper, glasses perched low on his nose. This is home, it sends him straight back to his childhood. If only, he thinks, if only he could provide this sense of warmth and domesticity for his own child.

A knock on the front door shakes him from his thoughts. As he swings it open, a sharp sting of cold winter air whips at him, nips at his nose, his ears and his bare feet.

“Frankie hey, oh sorry did I wake you?”

(Y/N) is once again bundled up in layers of cozy clothes, keeping her warm and sheltered from the harsh weather. She looks cute. Absolutely fucking adorable. But in that moment, he doesn’t really notice that. Doesn’t notice Leo standing behind her either. His entire attention rests on the steaming pie she holds in her hands.

“You made a pie?”

“She made 4.” Leo speaks up, his voice dripping with irritation and annoyance.

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, dude!”

Frankie regards the exchange with a fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips. There’s something so distinctly familiar in the way she interacts with her son, so unapologetically her. The way she’s always been. But now grown up entirely. A mother.

“Why did you make 4 pies?” He asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Well I didn’t plan on making 4. The first one I mistook salt for sugar so you can imagine how it tasted. The second one I put way too much sugar in, might’ve been trying to compensate for my mistake with the first one but yeah that one did end up in the trash as well. The third … well I got pretty invested in an episode of unsolved mysteries and forgot it was in the oven so it turned out um — “

“Black. It was burned to a crisp.” Leo chimes up again, this time more amused than annoyed by his mother’s baking escapades.

“Yeah. It burned. But number 4 is looking pretty good.”

She looks up at Frankie with a smile so radiant it rivals the sun reflecting on the snowy ground. Pride shines in her eyes as she holds the pie towards him.

“Did you make me a pie?”

“Not exactly. It’s mostly for your folks. They agreed to watch this one while I got shopping for his Christmas presents.” (Y/N) explains, her tumb motioning towards the little boy over her shoulder. “This is a thank you to them for being literal angels. “

“Oh man you wouldn’t be saying that if you had to live with them growing up. I can’t tell you how many times dad unplugged my console while I was in the middle of a game.”

It’s a joke, of course it is. He really lucked out in the parents department and he’s not too proud or too shy to admit it. Maybe, he thinks, the good parent gene might’ve skipped a generation with him. His ex will surely agree with that statement.

“Hey uh — you mind having some company while shopping ?”

“You wanna go shopping for toys?”

“I need to get some presents for my daughter.”

“Oh that’s right, you have a kid too. “

He doesn’t blame her for not remembering. He doesn’t strike people as the father type. And really, he hasn’t seen his little one in quite some time.doesn’t see her during the entire Christmas time. Is he really much of a father anyway?

“Sure yeah! I’d love some company.”

Maybe, Frankie thinks, this will help him drown out the voice. Those that tell him bad thoughts, whisper mean things. Maybe it will help him filter out the images. The blood. The suffering.

Frankie was never overly fond of the extreme commercialization of what should be a peaceful family holiday. But maybe this year he is,a little bit at least. Because those bright colors, the loud noises, the crowds, the ads assaulting you from every corner, that all will help drown out the dark. At least for a moment.

“Alright lemme just get changed real quick.”

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Five days a week

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s uh … it’s a … a game?”

“A game where you have to catch a piece of … poop.”

A wave of laughter tumbles from (Y/N)’s lips as Frankie holds up the brightly colored box, proudly displaying a drawing of a smiling turd.

“It’s so dumb. And that says a lot coming from me, I can appreciate a good fart joke. But this is …. this is just dumb. “

“ It's what the kids these days want. I guess …”

“Would you buy this for Leo?”

“Absolutely not,” (Y/N) replies before taking the box from his hand and placing it back on the shelf between several more games of a similar kind. “But he wouldn’t like it anyway. Leo likes books and animals and fantasy movies. He’s so smart sometimes I wonder where he got it from.”

“You kidding me?” Frankie exclaims, “you’re so smart and if I remember correctly, you always carried around books when you were younger.”

(Y/N) just shrugs at his words though Frankie can’t make out a faint blush of red dusting her cheeks. “Leo is such an easy kid, always has been. Sometimes I wonder if that’s really the way he is or if he just tries to be that way because of me. Because he knows that I have to do all the parenting by myself and he feels he’s responsible for helping me along.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re doing good with him. Least you know what to get him for Christmas, what he cares about, what he’s interested in.”

His heart feels so heavy. His words seem to weigh down on his tongue like a stack of bricks. To admit your own failures to yourself is one thing, to admit them to someone else is quite another story.

“What do you mean ?”

“I — I have no idea what to get for Rosie. I don’t even know when I’ll see her next. She stays with her mom 5 days a week. I only get her on the weekends and even then her mom often finds a reason not to let her stay. Special occasions? I don’t get to spend those with her. Bet she doesn’t even recognize me anymore next time. She’s just a baby …”

This can’t be happening. He’s not going to start crying in the middle of a Toys R Us like a hyperactive toddler on a temper tantrum. Not in front of a beautiful girl who has been nothing but kind to him. This can’t be happening.

(Y/N)’s hand settles on his arm with a gentle touch. Almost as if she’s afraid he’ll break any minute now. And honestly, he might.

“Tell me about Rosie. I know she means the world to you and that’s all that matters Frankie. You’re trying. You’re trying so hard and I’m sure there’s lots about her that you know that no one else does. She’s your baby too. So tell me about her and we’ll figure out what to get her.”

And so they sit down on a swing set, one that’s definitely not meant for adults to sit on and have deep discussions, and Frankie starts talking. Once he starts it’s like a cork has been popped. It pours out of him, all of his pride and admiration and love for Rosie. All that has been brewing for so long now bubbles over.

“... and she, she loves cuddling onto my chest and just listens to me. She doesn’t understand a word but she looks at me with her big beautiful eyes and it feels like I’m telling her all the biggest secrets of the universe the way she looks at me. Sometimes I sing and she — she falls asleep immediately.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Nah I think it's because my rendition of Eric Clapton is just real bad and boring.”

Their laughter is quiet, almost as if they are afraid of breaking the spell of this moment. Sometimes you find yourself at your most vulnerable during the big moments of your life and sometimes you do in the middle of a Toys R Us, sitting on a swingest that just barely holds your weight while a plastic giraffe looks over your shoulder and Kacey Musgrave’s rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas” plays over the same overhead speakers that have been installed there in 1983.

“I just don’t want to disappoint her.”

He’s already disappointing himself and that hurts bad enough.

“Frankie, let me be honest with you. She’s a baby, she’s not gonna care what you get for her. This is more about you than her. Whatever you get she’s gonna like it. Babies are easy to please, gets harder the older they get. We’ll find something cute for her but um … I think you should call her.”

“She’s a baby, she doesn’t have a phone yet.”

“ Really? I had Leo on a newborn data plan the second he popped out.”

Frankie raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“I was joking you dingus. Of course you’re gonna call her mom. There’s this thing, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, it’s called FaceTime. You can actually see ther person on the other side. “

“ Very funny. I know what facetime is … “

“ Then call them. You said it yourself, the little one doesn’t understand a word of what you’re saying but that doesn’t matter. You’re there. You’re showing interest and taking initiative. It shows you care. And I think seeing her might be good for you too, even if it’s not in person.”

“ You know, that sounds like a pretty good plan. “

“ Yeah? “ she asks him, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, in her voice, in her entire being.

“ Yeah. “

“ Alright! Now let’s go find some presents for the little princess. May I suggest a cellphone? “

This time her laughter isn’t quite. It’s loud and radiant and the way her own joke amuses herself, is so goddamn endearing to Frankie.

“ Ah shut up. “ he replies though his voice too is dipped in amusement as he throws his arm around her shoulders and they walk down the shiny linoleum floor, past dolls and teddy bears and Star Wars action figures.

And it feels right. Like the fit together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place.

And that feeling is damn scary.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Six-hour flights.

The floor of (Y/N)’s living room is covered in wrapping paper. Reds and greens and silvers and golds hide what once was a nice dark cherry wood floor. There are bows and ribbons and gift tags in all shapes and sizes and colors.

“ Looks like Santa’s workshop in here, “ Frankie exclaims as he drops down on the floor next to her. All the presents they’ve purchased, neatly lined up in front of them, ready to be wrapped. Though to be fair, Frankie is quite sure he’s not gonna do a lot of wrapping himself. Sometimes you gotta admit defeat. And he ain’t too proud to admit that he is a horrible, horrible wrapper.

“ Yeah, I know I’m making a big fuss over things like this. Wrapping and the tree and stuff like that. I just — I don’t know it just makes me happy when I see that my actions put a smile on the faces of the people I love. “

“ Oh I wasn't judging. It’s sweet. “

For a while they stay in comfortable silence. Just them and the radio playing old Christmas songs. (Y/N)’s hands do quick work on the presents, Santa’s elves would be jealous.

It’s the first time in a long time, that silence doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable. That it doesn’t open up the gates for the voices to grow louder and the bad images to consume his head. No, this silence feels comfortable. It’s soft and warm. It’s tinted in golds and reds.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe seeking the company of someone who exudes joy and warmth does him good. Someone who knows him but not the bad. Never the bad. The faults, yes, the fears even, but not the blood that stains his hands or the vices he so desperately tries to fight.

“ What was the best Christmas present you ever got? “ (Y/N) speaks up as she glides a pair of scissors along the ribbon turning it into shiny curls.

“ Millennium Falcon playset.”

“ You and a million other little boys. “

“True. What can I say, I was easily pleased. What was yours ?”

(Y/N) thinks for a moment before a wistful smile settles on her face.

“My bubblegum pink roller skates.”

“Oh, I remember those!”

And he did. Squeaky pink roller skates with 4 pastel blue wheels and glittery silver laces.

“I remember the following summer all you did was skate up and down the street. “

“Yeeeah but that wasn’t entirely because of the skates.”

Frankie combs his hair from his face, he really needs to get it cut, and looks at her in confusion. “Huh?”

Another chuckle falls from (Y/N) ‘s lips. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“ Notice what?”

“That I had the biggest crush on you.”

Frankie is grateful for the fact that he’s not taking a sip of his drink right then, it surely would’ve ended in a spit-take. He was a nerdy kid, a nerdy teenager too. Kinda shy, a little lost. He wasn’t usually the boy that girls fancied.

“Me? You had a crush on me? “

It doesn’t make sense, not really. She was the one that was fascinating and exciting. Though he didn’t think of her that way when they were kids, he knew she was beautiful even back then. He hadn’t been interested in her romantically because she was a few years younger but that didn’t meanie didn’t realize the magic she held.

“Yes, you. You were cool, Frankie. You were older and you knew stuff about cars and planes and you could name every Star Wars spaceship and you had a skateboard. “

“I was a horrible skater.”

“Sure but it wasn’t so much about the skating as it was about the aesthetic. You were cool and you still are cool”

Frankie shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. She thought he was cool, still does. No one ever thought he was cool. He isn’t a smooth talker like Pope and even he himself can admit that look wise he isn’t even playing in the same league as Will and Benny. But if (Y/N) thinks he’s cool that must mean something. Right ?

“You were the one traveling all over the world with your dad and you thought I was cool?”

She sets down the scissors, let’s her hands rest on her lap. There’s a sense of nervousness exuding from her now. Like the words she wants to speak are resting on the tip of her tongue and yet they are so difficult to speak.

“Maybe that was part of it too. I never had a real home. Nothing stable at least. Except for my grandparents’ house. This was home and you were, you are, forever entwined with my idea of home. Sometimes I missed this place so much that I’d sit in my room and my little brain would think of all the fun adventures we could go on if only I was old enough to hop on a 6 hour flight by myself. I’d ask grandma about you every time I called and she always told me what trouble you got into.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah and that only made you more exciting in my eyes. Then she’d offer to let me speak to you but I was too chicken shit to do it. Thought you might look right through my facade and realize how into you I was.”

“I was so oblivious, I can assure you I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Well … it’s too late now.”

“I guess so. Just — next time you fall in love with me let me know, alright.”

Her laugh rings through the room like bells, like songs, like whispers of a childhood magic long forgotten.

“That only sounds fair. It’s a deal.”

“Good, now …. would you mind wrapping my gifts for Rosie?”

“Nope, but in return would you come see Leo’s play with me next week? My dad can’t come and I think Leo would like to have some more people there that support him. And he seems to think you’re cool so …”

“Huh guess if you both think so it must be true.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Of course I’ll come. “

She smiles and it sends a weird flicker through him. Like fire, like electricity.

“ Now let me teach you how to curl the ribbon properly.”

#francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #frankie morales x you #francisco morales imagine #frankie morales imagines #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier imagines #catfish imagine #catfish x reader #catfish x you #jos2020xmasspecial

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ot3tropetober · 4 years

Photo

Eliot and Hardison are travel journalists for rival publications who keep showing up in the same places

Fic for this (~3500 words) is below the read more! Some notes:

[backstory on why Hardison is writing these comes from this post]

[Eliot, Parker, and Hardison are all commenting on this document, think of it like the chat in Google drive? In-document comments from Eliot are italicized, from Hardison are in bold, and from Parker are plain text]

By the time Will Coffey stepped off the plane in Dallas, all he wanted was a nice long shower and to sleep in his own bed for once. Being a travel journalist for a leading travel magazine had its perks– a month-long trip across Mexico, for example, all expenses paid or at least reimbursed – but after a month on the road he was dead tired and ready to be home.

Is this supposed to be me? Why am I living in Dallas?

Yes, and also, you don’t actually live in Dallas, Eliot, you live here, in Portland, with us.

I know that, I just– you know what, never mind.

Well, Will Coffey likes Dallas.

I am Will Coffey!!

That’s the spirit.

The other thing about being on the road for a living was that sometimes it felt kinda lonely, and as relieved as he was to be home, the first couple of minutes after he walked in, turned on the lights, and looked around at an empty place, that was always a little bittersweet. But the only other person he’d really seen in any kind of serious capacity the whole time he’d had this gig was a fellow traveler who spent just as much time on the road as he did, so it just kinda was what it was. He set his keys and his bag down and headed to the kitchen for a beer, but he hadn’t even opened his fridge when his phone buzzed a couple times. It was a text from Sarah, his editor. He’d known her forever– they shared a couple classes in college. Now they shared the stress of managing a print publication in an increasingly digital world.

“Did you see this?” she had written. There was a link in the next message. “How does this guy get this stuff up so fast?“

Will already knew what he was gonna find before he clicked the link, and sure enough, it directed him to a popular travel blog called The Travel Geek, which was a ridiculous name for a travel blog but people absolutely went wild for it. Will liked it too, not that he would ever really admit it, but that probably had more to do with the guy who ran it than anything else. They had…not a thing, exactly? It was hard to explain whatever was going on with Jeremy Edwards, who by rights Will should probably hate for stealing his stories and his audience. But the problem with that was mainly that the guy was so goddamn likeable.

I’m guessing that’s you.

You would be correct.

You think I think you’re likeable?

No, I know it.

he is pretty likeable

Yeah, yeah.

Will had met Jeremy a couple of years ago, right when he was just starting out with his blog. Jeremy said he’d been reading Will’s stuff for a while and would love some advice from a pro. It wasn’t like Will didn’t know it was a little bit of flattery, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know it was a little bit of flirting, either. It also wasn’t like Jeremy was bad to look at. So Will said sure, he’d be glad to, and they were in Belgium, so they shared some beers, ate fries from a baraque at one in the morning on a park bench, shoulders pressed together, while Will tipsily rhapsodized about gaufre de Liège while Jeremy laughed and laughed.

I have never *rhapsodized* about anything in my damn life.

Have you heard you talk about food? This is not a criticism. I could listen to that all day.

Nothing really happened, in the end, just a good conversation and the promise to keep in touch. That turned out to be easier than it should have been, because they started covering the same damn things, all the time. One big world, and somehow they were always sharing part of it: Will was in India on a camel safari through the Thar Desert, and Jeremy was there, keeping Will up at night tappity tapping on his keyboard. Or Will was in Oatman, Arizona, for a piece on Route 66, and there was Jeremy, taking selfies with the wild burros roaming the streets of the town. Or Will was traveling around Japan, doing a feature on onsens, and Jeremy was there, too, acting like he wasn’t looking in Will’s direction while they sat, very naked, in the soothing hot water. It went on like that for a while until finally one night in Barcelona, in front of Sagrada Familia, he looked at Jeremy, tall and handsome in this absurd brightly patterned scarf, and said, “This is ridiculous, man,” and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss.

Do you honestly think it would have taken me that long?

I don’t know, baby, it took your cowboy ass five years in real time, so Will’s doing a lot better than you.

OoooooooOooo

We had a lot goin on!!! And what is that supposed to be, parker? are you some kind of ghost?

it made more sense in person

I’ll take your word for it.

It wasn’t a relationship, exactly. It was just something they did, sometimes, if they happened to run into each other on the road. It wasn’t like he was getting invited home for the holidays, or anything, and he was fine with that, really. The long and short of it was, they’d basically been circling each other for years now, professionally, personally, whatever, but the professional stuff was definitely getting in the way of anything else. Because Will would sit down and write out his long, detailed articles with carefully selected photographs that would look just right on the page, while Jeremy had already turned out quick blog entry after quick blog entry, listing off places people should visit with witty little one sentence summaries, and people just ate it right up with a spoon while Adventure., Will’s magazine, slowly saw its sales circling the drain. It stung a little. Maybe more than a little. It wasn’t like he could say the guy wasn’t working hard, but damn. Hell, the best selling issue they’d had in a couple years was the one where Sarah had masterminded a collaboration between Will and Jeremy. Blogging was definitely here to stay.

That night in Belgium was five years ago, and at the time it seemed impossible that the internet would ever really fully overtake print. But bloggers and phones had both gotten smarter over the last five years, and now everyone wanted their news in little chunks that they could read on a screen during their commute, so travel blogs were the hot new thing. Will grimaced as he looked at the blog entries Jeremy already had up from Mexico, where they’d run into each other at least half a dozen times.

Five Reasons You Need to Visit Mexico City Right Now; What You’re Missing Because You’re Not in Monterrey; Everything You Wanted to Know About Agave But Were Too Afraid to Ask

“You gotta be kidding me with this,” he muttered, staring at his phone and thinking about the half-written article he had saved on his laptop detailing the history of agave and how to experience Jalisco as more than just the birthplace of tequila.

He pulled up Sarah’s number and dialed.

“I don’t know how we can compete with this,” he sighed, when she picked up.

“We’re going to have to adapt,” she said. “You know that. I can hear you making a face."

"I don’t want to blog,” he complained. “I like print."

"I know,” she sighed. “I’m working on it. Anyway, I’m glad you called, I was going to call you. I need you to go to Italy. Flight leaves tomorrow."

"No way. Not interested,” he told her. “I just got back to my apartment, Sarah, I’ve been in Mexico for a month. I’m beat."

"It’s not my fault that you spend half your time on extracurricular activities,” she teased.

“You can just say sex,” he said. “I won’t be offended. And it’s not half my time. Like, maybe twenty-five percent. Anyway, I get the job done."

"Yeah, and you’re very good at it, which is why I need you to go to Italy,” she said.

“I’m not saying yes,” he told her, “and I’m not interested. But what’s in Italy that’s so important for me to get to?"

"You’ll love this one,” Sarah promised. “It’s a food festival."

Okay, maybe he was a little interested. "Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said. His phone buzzed in his ear. “I just emailed you the details. Including your flight info."

"Dammit, Sarah–"

"Oops, emergency, the printer’s on fire, gotta go!” she chirped, and the line disconnected.

Yeah okay that’s Parker huh

Yep!

I do know y'all a little bit.

“Dammit,” Will said again, and opened Sarah’s email to read up on his next destination.

The food festival turned out to be a week long international celebration of local food from around the world. It only happened once every few years in October, when a world of people descended on the city of Torino, and more specifically the park by the River Po, where they set up tents and stands and served pretty much every kind of food you could imagine, and Will loved food and could imagine a lot, so that was saying something. It was pretty cool, seeing all these people from all over the planet showing off food that was important to them, sharing it with strangers. It really was the whole planet, too, the way the park was set up you could walk through a continent at a time, with all the countries on it represented at their own space. He figured he’d pay his respects to the hosts first and start with Italy, which was definitely the largest section. Halfway through the displays he found a stall with some folks from Campania selling fresh mozzarella di bufala the size of his fist for a Euro. It was speared on a stick like a candy apple so he could walk around with it, nibbling on the sweet cheese as he checked out the festival’s other offerings. Aged cheeses covered in mud and straw from a little town in France. A swanky tent with wood plank floors where the Filipino agriculture offices had a set up with big displays dedicated to traditional food and heirloom crops. Six different kinds of wild rice were layered in a glass display bottle in the booth dedicated to Indigenous agriculture in North America. There were folks from the Yucatan peninsula displaying cured meats and wild honey. There was a whole series of displays about preserving, protecting, and raising Maasai red sheep, from Kenya. The whole event was really impressive, actually, and even though his body had no idea what time zone he was in, he didn’t feel too tired– although that might have been more because he’d been downing every cup of coffee from anyone selling it.

Okay, this actually sounds pretty cool. But now you gotta fake a whole food festival like this if we ever use these aliases.

I don’t have to. That’s a real thing. Happens every couple of years. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the next one. Parker can probably find us a job after, anyway.

I’d love– like that.

Hardison. HARDISON.

Why isn’t this deleting the things I tell it to delete???

Ooh, forgot to tell y'all, this chat records your keystrokes? You know. Just in case you happen to type something sappy about how much you love me, and then delete it before you send it in the chat. Pretty much exactly what just happened.

Dammit Hardison I’m gonna delete YOU

Baby, that doesn’t even make any sense.

im w hardison on this 1. it’s ok if u love things eliot. especially food . or us

Just let me finish reading Hardison’s make believe story so I can get back to dinner prep, ok?

(he loves us)

I know :)

Will strolled around the park, snapping photos here and there, jotting down notes. He talked to folks from all over who came here to run their country’s booths, locals who had come out to enjoy the day, and people who had traveled long distances to be there. After a couple of hours and a really good lunch, he found an unoccupied bench near the river and posted up there for a while, notebook open next to him as he flipped through photos on his phone, the story he could tell about this event already starting to take shape in his head, and he had to admit, at least to himself, that Sarah had been right about this one. Nobody else on their staff knew food enough to get this right. But even though he had a good idea where to start, he couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed, too. You could spend two weeks here and still not talk to everybody, and it seemed important to try, somehow.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice, and Will looked up from his phone and his notes to see the tall form of none other than Jeremy Edwards.

“Dammit, Edwards,” Will swore. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Again?"

Yeah it’s pretty much EXACTLY like that every time

Mmmhmm. You talk a big game, man, but no one here believes you.

What he said ur like that stuff u put on the dessert u made 4 us last wk

Stuff on dessert– the Italian meringue? You really comparing me to Italian meringue?!

Is that the stuff that was kinda hard and crunchy on the outside but actually really soft and sweet inside?

Yep that’s the stuff

This is the worst conversation we’ve ever had.

It’s weird how I can hear you smiling right now, though.

Shut up, Hardison, I’m reading.

Got him! XD

"Looks like it,” Jeremy said. He took a seat next to Will on the bench, despite the fact that Will had absolutely not fucking offered it to him. He grinned. Will looked back at his notes before he smiled back. “We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, well, trust me, I’m working on it,” Will grumbled, and risked a look at Jeremy again. Still handsome, and still smiling, unfortunately. He thought about the blog a little and made himself frown. “So, you’re here to blog about this, huh? How many blog posts have you done already?"

"None so far,” Jeremy said, scratching his chin, “but I am working on one right now. Tentative title, How to Tell The Guy You’re Casually Seeing And Have Been Chasing All Over the Globe That His Boss Sent Me Here To Work With Him."

Well, there was a lot of information there, but Will decided maybe sticking with the professional stuff was better for now. "I’m sorry, you’re here for what?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Sarah really liked that collaboration thing she got us to do last year, I guess, wanted to try it again for this. I said yes. It’s good for your magazine and it gives my blog some credibility with all you snooty print folks."

"We’re not snooty,” Will said, although that wasn’t exactly true. Maybe they were, a little. He unlocked his phone and saw the email from Sarah, the subject line of which read: “DON’T ARGUE IT WILL BE GOOD FOR YOU/US/THE MAGAZINE.” He sighed and looked back at Jeremy. “I can’t believe she sent you to a food thing."

"I’m offended,” Jeremy said, although it didn’t much sound like it. “I know food."

"Oh really? So last year when we were in Beijing and you were looking for a McDonald’s that was just you knowing food, huh,” Will drawled.

“Sometimes you just really want a Happy Meal,” Jeremy joked, and Will just shook his head.

“I guess we should figure out what we’re doing, then,” he said, and Jeremy raised his eyebrows.

“About the story,” he said, “right?"

"Yeah, about the story,” Will grumbled.

“Whatever you say,” Jeremy said affably, just like always.

It was actually pretty easy to figure out how to cover the festival now that he had a partner in crime. They worked out a plan that afternoon, sketched out a couple of pieces, a collab for Adventure., a short guest piece for Will on The Travel Geek, and a short story in the magazine for Jeremy. Sarah signed off on everything from afar– “What time is it where she is? Does that woman ever sleep?” Jeremy asked, as they both got email after email. “I don’t think she does, man,” Will laughed– and they got to work pretty quick. There was plenty to do and they were both here for a few days, so they wandered through the park as they worked, stopping occasionally to sample food or take photos. Eventually they walked all the way out of the park and into the city, up to a big plaza, Piazza Castello, in the center of the historic part of town. They got gelato from one of the many carts set up nearby for the festival, and sat outside, eating and talking as the sun set.

It was nice. It was always nice, when they ran into each other. That wasn’t the problem. But they’d been stuck in the same routine for years now: they’d find themselves in the same place, Jeremy would laugh, Will would pretend he was annoyed, and then they’d spend a good chunk of their time together enjoying each other’s company in as many ways as they could find, and then they’d head to the airport and go their separate ways. And that was that. This shouldn’t be any different, but somehow it was. Maybe it was the sunset lighting up Jeremy’s skin, or maybe he’d just been lonely too long, but maybe they needed to figure out what they were doing with more than just the stories they were here to tell.

“You wanna get dinner?” Will said, before he could talk himself out of it.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, smiling again, and this time Will let himself smile back. Just a little.

They asked around for recommendations and ended up at a little restaurant in the city, a few blocks from the Piazza. They split a bottle of wine, a margherita pizza, and some perfectly fried fish, and they didn’t really talk about work at all.

“You know,” Jeremy said, about halfway through the wine, “not for nothing, but I’ve gotta say, this looks and feels a lot like a date."

"I wasn’t under the impression that you’d be opposed to that,” Will said.

“Oh, I’m not opposed,” Jeremy told him, “I’m just a little surprised you’re asking. I figured at this point it was gonna have to be me who said something."

Will eyed him carefully, thought back to a lot of nights on a lot of trips. "How long exactly have you been waiting around?"

"I mean, don’t get the wrong idea, here, I haven’t been pining away for you like some Victorian in a bad novel,” Jeremy said, and Will snorted. “But yeah. I played a long game, man. I gotta say, though, after that fishing boat incident in Guyana I really thought you figured out we had a thing."

"Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to notice, I was too busy taking pictures of you hiding behind that skinny British guy when that big old fish jumped out of the water,” Will snickered.

“Big old– that thing was two-hundred and thirty-four pounds of ichthyological torpedo headed straight for yours truly,” Jeremy said, and Will chuckled. “Big doesn’t really describe it.”

“Hmm. It was kinda wild he thought we were gonna get in the water with it,” Will mused. He winked. “Glad you finally remembered you owed me dinner for keeping him from pushing us into the river."

"Ha. You know Sarah wants us to work with that guy again, right?"

"Aw, hell,” Will said. “Really?"

"Yeah,” Jeremy confirmed. “She said she was gonna talk to you about it when we got back from this. Canada this time, so when Mister Fisherman tries to throw me in the water at least the hypothermia will probably get me before the monster fish does."

"Nah,” Will said. “Don’t worry about that. Nobody throws you off a fishing boat. Except maybe me. No. Well. Maybe. No,” he concluded.

Hah. I mean, okay, that does sound like me.

Oh, I am aware, trust me.

“Sarah maybe also mentioned we might do a few more of these little…collaborative things,” Jeremy said, drawing invisible circles on the table. “Maybe even in a more formal capacity."

Will raised his eyebrows. "No way she talked you into giving up the blog."

"Oh, definitely not,” Jeremy said. “But funnily enough, people keep sending me emails about wanting a print version of some of my photographs? But I don’t really have the publishing connections. A magazine, though…” he shrugged. “Me and Sarah figured we might come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement, somehow. Might be seeing more of you, is what I’m trying to say."

"Can’t say I mind that,” Will said, and reached out across the table to cover Jeremy’s hand with his.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Jeremy answered, and this time Will didn’t try to hide his smile.

/end

Okay?

Okay, what?

Well where the hell is the rest of it?

What rest of it? It’s clearly implied that they’re dating now. They’re dating, they’re happy, they’re gonna work together for real, happily ever after, et cetera.

they should have at least kissed. i would be into that

This is what I’m saying. Where’s the resolution, here?

Baby, anytime you want a kiss, you know where to find me.

What I want is for you to take this seriously since you’re making us read all of it.

Wow, okay. Here:

They walked around the city for a long time after dinner, still holding hands, and the kiss they shared later under the moonlight felt like a promise. The Actual End.

Y'all happy?

too sappy 4 me but idk what eliot thinks

Not your best work but it’ll do, I guess.

Are you still in the kitchen?

Yeah, why?

I’m gonna come give you a demonstration of my best work, that’s why.

Bring it on, man.

do i get a demo too

You know it.

#author: coffeesuperhero #leverage ot3 #parker x hardison x eliot #hardison x eliot #leverage #ot3tropetober #submission

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himbeaux-on-ice · 3 years

Text

Can I just say that Habs “fans” who act like Carey Price’s contract is somehow patient zero of all this team’s problems drive me absolutely fucking insane? Seriously. Buckle up. This is about to be a rant.

Now. First things first. Is it ideal that the $10 million goalie is currently uh, not doing very good? Fucking NO! I am disappointed as shit with that and I don’t like seeing him struggle. I know he can be better. He has to be better. Obviously.

However. That being said.

Do I think it’s an incredibly stupid look to spend several tweets complaining about all the issues Habs defence have been having, and then also griping that they haven’t started Jake Allen enough for how he’s performing, only to then for some inexplicable reason state that the FIRST THING, the first thing that needs to be dealt with after the new coaching staff have had ONE GAME (and zero practices) to work on things, is somehow “well, the ten million dollar man in net is weighing them down, that contract has gotta go!”?

Yes! That’s stupid!!

I think that’s a very ice cold small-brain take, and not just because Price is my favourite of favourites for as long as I’ve been a hockey fan! I have reasons, dammit!! I put THOUGHT into this!!

Here, dear ppl of Habs twitter who will never read this, are some reasons why this narrative you’re concocting is dumb, and why management/coaching are unlikely to think of trying to ditch Price mid-season to fix the current problems:

1: Time. It has been one (1) game under Ducharme. He has been able to run zero (0) full practices on off days with the team. We just changed up a major piece on the Habs chess board — why don’t you give it a minute to see what fresh eyes and minds can do with this roster before you decide we are fucked? This season is fast-moving, sure, but there is time for us to ride out some little bumps here and still make a playoff spot in this Canadian division. Have patience. Do you remember what patience is? Dom is a new head coach, not a wish-granting fairy godmother. Chill. Do you remember chill?

(rest of this under a cut because I actually LIKE Habs Tumblr, and I want to be nice to you all by not making you scroll past all of it if you don’t want to)

2: Jake Allen exists. There are a couple of things I like for what this means for the Habs. Firstly, for basically the first time in his NHL career, we are not in a situation where if Carey Price is in a slump, we have to go “Ah, shit, so now our options are let his stats tank while he tries to get the groove back in net, OR throw whoever the poor backup is out there to get murdered while we plummet through the standings.... 😬” We don’t have that problem right now, because the backup is... actually good? Oh my god, the backup is actually good! Thank fuck! We’re not doomed. If I’m Ducharme, I put Allen in net for a few consecutive starts to put a solid backstop behind all my fun experiments I’m probably planning with the skating roster (to catch their slip-ups, while also giving Carey lots of time and rest with which to work hard on sorting out whatever his issue is along with the goalie coaches).

2b: Jake Allen exists and is competition. Hell, if I’m Ducharme, maybe I even play a little hardball and say “Look, Carey, I don’t want you to be an expensive benchwarmer, but if things don’t pick up soon I am going to start whoever is doing best and you will have to compete for that net.” Related to my last point, when was the last time Carey Price had to push himself to compete for net time against anything other than his own injuries, and wasn’t simply always the default starter? Has that EVER been a thing? Honestly as much as I love the idea of him being The Goalie for the Habs, I also kinda like this idea a lot because I think it could really push him to a higher standard of performance. Maybe that kind of high-pressure situation (given how much he thrives in the pressure-cooker of the playoffs) could be what he NEEDS in order to Be Carey Price again. Worst comes to worst, he doesn’t respond to that challenge, and I am very sad but the Habs have a good goalie in net anyway, because Hallelujah, Jake Allen exists! God, isn’t it nice to have Jake Allen? Bless him.

3: Money. Guys, this league is so broke right now. Seriously. Seriously. Nobody has any fucking money. The Habs probably have more money than most teams, and that does not help when it comes to offloading large contracts. Trades are a NIGHTMARE both because of the flat cap but also because travel is complicated (especially cross-border) but also nobody wants to trade within their division if possible because all your games are against them. Who in the name of fuck do you think is jumping at the idea of taking the $10 million per through 20-lots-and-lots-of-years-from-now contract of a goalie who is currently struggling, impressive past record aside? What kind of astral plane of fantasy hockey are you on to think there’s a trade out there for that within this season. Shut up. And no, don’t bring up the expansion draft, this post is a rebuttal SPECIFICALLY to the people who think that Price and his contract are the biggest problem that needs to be dealt with RIGHT NOW and first on the list of ways to immediately remedy the team’s struggles.

4: Spite. Specifically to piss you off, bud. You personally.

5: Knowing how to troubleshoot properly. Fellas, if my computer is running slowly and freezing up a lot, do I immediately decide the first step to fixing it is to crack open the chassis, remove the hard drive, and try to sell that hard drive to someone to see if I can enough money back to somehow get a better hard drive for less? No, dipshit. That’s not how troubleshooting a complex system works works. It’s the same with hockey teams. Ah, my star goalie is not performing great. This situation is deeply less than ideal. If you’re actually good at troubleshooting, the first thing you do is not “WELL. I GUESS WE’LL HAVE TO THROW THE WHOLE GOALIE OUT. HE’S TOAST.” The first thing you do, if you’re a smart coach, is you say “Okay, what are my defence doing in front of him? What are they doing to reduce the amount and quality of our opponents’ scoring chances? Oh. Oh, they’re taking a lot of penalties, and... oh, uh, some of this is very not great. Yikes.” And then you start your work by trying to make the defence actually work instead of running the same Pairs That Everyone Is Very Much Over And Tired Of, because your goalie is actually supposed to be your Last Line of Defence. And maybe during that time you give more starts to Goalie Who Is Absolutely Slaying It, so that when you start trying new D-pairs and they inevitably have some mistakes, it doesn’t immediately turn into an Oh God Holy Fuck moment every time, because that last line of defence backstopping them is solid. The reason you need to deal with defense first is because a) You know you have a reliable goalie (Allen) in your pocket right now if you need him. What you don’t have is a whole-ass proven and tested and practiced Backup D-Core you can swap into the roster in front of your goalies to make their lives easier. Fix your defense and it WILL improve your goalies, even marginally. Defrag the hard drive before you ask why it’s not working. and b) If you need to go looking for any new D-men to solve the issues, those are WAY easier and cheaper to find than top-tier goalies, and you always want to start any troubleshooting process with trying the simplest solutions first to hopefully save time and money. The better that D-core is, the less it fucks your team over if the goalie isn’t feeling themselves, because the D is going to stop more of those pucks before they ever even become the goalie’s problem. FIX. DEFENCE. FIRST. Then try to train your goalie back into top form. THEN explore your other options.

6: The vicious cycle. Guys. We literally do this once every year or second year. EVERY time Carey Price has a slump, this fanbase gets into a tizzy like the Bell Centre is burning down and he was the one with the matches. And what ALWAYS happens literally within the year, every single time? He gets his mojo back like he did last summer in the bubble and goes on a heater and everybody goes “JESUS PRICE!!!! 🙌” and is ready to name their firstborn kid after him. Until eventually that performance becomes unsustainable, and he becomes mortal again, and suddenly he’s The Real Problem With This Franchise once again. I know he’s the guy they chose to build the team around instead of a superstar forward, but oh my god folks. You’d think he was the only player on the team. Guys, I feel like fucking Sisyphus pushing a blue blanc et rouge boulder up Mont Royal once a year with this shit. This man’s entire career has been a constant seesaw narrative between “Carey Price is our saviour!” and “Carey Price should be exiled to Nome!!!!” from parts of this fanbase, I swear. Look, slumps suck, but for once we are actually lucky enough to be in a position where this team, for the first time in YEARS, does not solelylive or die by the inscrutable magical cycles of Carey Price’s goalie powers — because when he has to step back and work to get back into his groove, there is FINALLY a SECOND GUY who is GREAT. Honestly, given that the state of this team for so long has been “they will go as far as Carey Price can take them” and he has put in a pretty fucking decent job of it despite all of the team’s other struggles, I feel like it is owed it to the guy to be like “Okay, well, we have somebody else solid to fill the net right now, and a chance to really figure out our defence and special teams with this new coach. Why don’t you take a step back and work your ass off at trying to get back into the form I know you can still perform at, and we’ll go from there?”

Anyway. Some parts of this fanbase have been waiting for a fresh excuse to claim Price is overrated, washed-up, and to blame for all of this team’s flaws and ills ever since he signed that contract, if not since the start of his NHL career. Just unreal how nasty some of this fanbase is willing to be about a player who is ON. YOUR. TEAM.

Am I saying he is beyond critique of his play and can do no wrong and his contract is perfect? No! I want this team to have the best goaltending it can get, and I want them to kick ass and take names. The difference is, I still believe Carey Price is a part of that winning formula, and I also think Twitter is overflowing with idiots who just repeat what everybody else says. He’s still a better goalie than your ass would be if I stuck you out there to stop shots from Mark Schieffle, for crap’s sake.

“The first thing that has to go is Carey Price’s contract 🤪”. Shut the fuck up. You are actively making other people stupider by talking. Go eat sand. Good day.

#It’s Time For My Opinion #I put so much time into this I hope it’s coherent lol #habs #Carey price #montreal canadiens #long post

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thelastspeecher · 3 years

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Stanuary ‘21 - Week Four: Future

So, do y’all remember a while back, when I asked for scenes from the Stanley McGucket AU that you wanted to see but I didn’t write? Well, that’s because I had decided to choose that OG AU as my AU for this week, but was struggling to come up with how to handle the prompt.

Luckily, I managed to come up with an idea for it that I hope will bring the feels. The first part takes place at some point in the “Stan Pines, Farmhand” sequel to “Stanley McGucket”, while the second part (which was inspired by the sub-theme of “Epilogue”) takes place immediately after the last chapter.

Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

The pickup truck came to a stop.

“I’ve got some chores to finish up,” Pa McGucket said. His voice was thick with emotion. At the airport earlier, he had put on a brave face, but once Angie’s plane took off, he immediately burst into tears.

Can’t really blame him. I felt the same way. Pa McGucket got out of the truck and headed for the barn. Ma McGucket, sniffling softly, exited the truck as well. With a sigh, Stan got out and followed Ma McGucket inside. Ma McGucket promptly disappeared into the kitchen. The clattering of pots and pans soon sounded. Stan had figured out early on that Ma McGucket liked to bake when she was upset or stressed. Hope she’s making cookies this time.

Stan trudged down the hall sadly. He came to the stairs that led to the second floor. After a moment, he began to climb them. The carpeting muffled his footsteps. He walked to Angie’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open the rest of the way. The room looked as it normally did. The bed was neatly made, books organized in a particular manner on the bookshelf, tchotchkes artfully placed on the dresser. Even the floor had been recently vacuumed. Despite everything being in place, it felt wrong without Angie, scolding Stan for peeking into her room.

Well, looks like we’re back to the house being empty. While Angie and her siblings had been visiting for winter break, the house had felt full and happy, like when Stan first moved in. But gradually, each sibling went back to school or their home, until Angie, whose spring semester started the latest, was the last one. She’s so energetic and loud, I could barely tell she was the only one here.

Stan stared at the empty room for a few more moments before sighing and closing the door. The sound of Ma McGucket’s new stand mixer – a group Christmas gift from Angie, Lute, and Stan – carried to the second floor. However, the radio kept in the kitchen hadn’t been turned on. Curious, Stan went back downstairs and into the kitchen just as Ma McGucket turned off her stand mixer. Ma McGucket looked up.

“I ain’t even put it in the oven yet, how’d ya know I was bakin’?” she asked. Her eyes shone in a way that suggested she was holding back tears, but other than that, she showed no signs of sadness.

She’s always been better at hiding her emotions than Mearl.

“You bake when yer upset,” Stan said. Sally pointed a wooden spoon at him.

“Watch what ya say, Stanley.”

“I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

“Hmph.” Ma McGucket crossed her arms. “I’m beginnin’ to regret makin’ yer fav’rite.”

“Chocolate chip cookies?”

“Yep. But I could easily change it to be raisins instead,” Ma McGucket said, raising an eyebrow. Stan held up his hands in surrender, eliciting a smile from her. The smile quickly faded, however, as she searched his face. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

“No, it, uh, it’s just weird havin’ the house be quiet and empty again.”

“Yes, it certainly is,” Ma McGucket said softly. She dumped chocolate chips into the mixing bowl and stirred. “But I don’t think that’s the only reason yer lookin’ down in the dumps.”

“I…” Stan trailed off. Ma McGucket set the wooden spoon down. She walked over to the kitchen table and sat.

“Sit ‘n chat with me, Stan,” she said, patting the chair next to her. Stan sat next to Ma McGucket. She fixed her brilliant blue eyes, the same as Angie’s, on him. “What’s goin’ on, son?” Stan looked down at the table. He idly traced the scratches in the wood, which he had been told Harper made shortly after getting his first pocketknife. “Stanley, talk to me.”

“What am I s’pposed to do, Sally?” Stan asked finally.

“Yer goin’ to need to be more specific.”

“I just-” Stan sighed. “All yer kids went off to college. All the friends I made in school are at college. Ford’s at college. It feels weird bein’ the only one still at home.” His volume dropped sharply. “But, I guess I can’t really do anything else but stay at home.”

“Ah.” Ma McGucket leaned back in her chair. “This isn’t just ‘bout secondary education. This is ‘bout yer future.”

“Well, yeah,” Stan mumbled. He continued to resolutely avoid eye contact. “I don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do now. Can’t have a future if I don’t have a plan fer it.”

“Now, that just ain’t true,” Ma McGucket said sharply. Stan looked up in shock. “I was older ‘n ya when I fin’lly figured out what my future was goin’ to look like. And plannin’ didn’t have anything to do with it. Heck, the day I realized what my future was, that was the day I threw out the plan I’d had since I was a kid.”

“Whattaya mean?”

“To be fair, the plan weren’t really mine. It was my parents’. From birth, they planned on me gettin’ a law degree and then settlin’ down with some high society feller that they would choose fer me. But then the plan went off the tracks when I met Mearl at college. I started thinkin’ that maybe I didn’t want to do what I had always been told I would.

“My relationship with Mearl got serious. Serious enough that I decided to finally tell my folks ‘bout it. They…didn’t take it well. They told me, in no uncertain terms, that they wouldn’t support my relationship with a poor farmer who barely graduated high school. That day, I came to my crossroads.”

“Crossroads?” Stan asked. Ma McGucket leaned in, her eyes warm and wise.

“Everyone walks their own path. Ya come across a lot of opportunities to go a dif’rent direction, but they’re optional, where ya can stay the course instead of go somewhere else. Most of the time, those optional routes ain’t that far from yer original path anyways. But in every path, there’s a crossroads. A moment where the road ‘fore ya fully diverges. Ya can’t keep goin’ the same way anymore. Ya have to make a choice.

“When I came to my crossroads, I saw two futures ahead of me. In one, I did what my parents wanted. I would continue to live a high-society, comfortable life where I didn’t want fer anything. But I wouldn’t be happy. I wouldn’t be fulfilled. In the other, I stayed with Mearl, and let my fam’ly disown me. Money would be tight, I would have to work harder than I ever had just to get by. But I’d be with the person I loved.” Stan nodded.

“Yeah, you told me before that ya gave up yer cushy life to marry Mearl.”

“Only partially,” Ma McGucket said softly. “I didn’t just leave my fam’ly fer Mearl. I left ‘em fer myself. When they told me I couldn’t stay with him, that I would have to be with one of the suitors they already had lined up fer me, everything came crashin’ down. It was like I had been in a fog my whole life, only fer it to suddenly disperse, revealing everything I couldn’t see before. I saw just how much I had been under their thumb, under their control. I saw my future clearer ‘n ever ‘fore. And I saw the crossroads up ahead.

“I knew that if I left my fam’ly fer Mearl, there was a chance Mearl ‘n I wouldn’t stay together anyways. But even if we broke up, I would still be free. I’d say that it weren’t a choice at all, with how easy it was fer me to make it. But that would be minimizing its importance.” Ma McGucket met Stan’s eyes squarely. “I chose my path. I walked down it. I never looked back.”

“Why…why did you tell me that?” Stan asked, feeling slightly numb from the intensity of Ma McGucket’s story.

“Because one day, you’ll come to yer crossroads. You’ll see yer future ‘fore ya and have to make a choice.”

“But what am I s’pposed to do until then?” Stan demanded. He could feel frustration growing.

Just give me a straight answer!

“What do ya want to do?” Ma McGucket asked.

“I don’t know!” Stan raged. “That’s the whole point, it-” Ma McGucket held up a hand, silencing him.

“Are ya happy ‘n healthy now?” she asked. “Are ya content in yer life?” Stan opened his mouth. “Don’t give me whatever answer ya think I want to hear. Give me the truth.” Stan closed his mouth and stared down at the table again, the gears in his head furiously turning. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Then there’s no reason to change things, is there?” Ma McGucket said simply. “You’ll know what you want someday. You’ll see your future ahead of ya. But until then…” She placed her hand over his, smiling. “Just stay the course until ya come to yer own crossroads.”

-----

Finally, soft snoring sounded from the passenger’s seat. Stan glanced over.

It’s about time Ford fell asleep. Ford’s face was smushed against the window, his glasses askew. His snoring almost harmonized with the snoring coming from the back seat. Speaking of… Stan looked in the rearview mirror. He smiled. The source of the snoring, as he’d expected, was Emily. Even though she was much bigger than Angie now, she still had defaulted to resting her head on her mother’s shoulder while sleeping. To his surprise, Angie was asleep as well. Or is she?

“Ang?” Stan asked quietly.

“Shh, I don’t want yer pomegranates,” Angie mumbled. Stan chuckled.

Yep. She’s asleep. He turned his attention back to the road. With no conversation to hold his focus and the radio stations fading in and out, Stan’s mind wandered. Eventually, it settled onto the day Angie had left for college, decades ago. The conversation he’d had with Ma McGucket about his future.

“Just stay the course until ya come to yer own crossroads.”

“Never did find those crossroads, Sally,” Stan said out loud.

Unless…

Another memory resurfaced. Sitting on the side of the road, his back pressed against a tire, gravel prodding his legs through his worn jeans. A man walking over, crouching down, watching him with an expression so fatherly it felt foreign. An offer.

“We're lookin' fer a new farmhand. We're gettin' on in years, and our kids are gone most of the time. They can't help out as much as they used to.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm sayin' that if ya want a job, a nice bed, and three square meals a day, we can give that to ya.”

“What's the catch?”

“Only that ya work hard.”

“…Okay.”

The beginnings of tears pricked the corners of Stan’s eyes at the memory of Pa McGucket’s kindness and warmth. Ever since he had passed away, remembering Mearl made Stan wistful, no matter how positive the memory was. Stan hurriedly wiped the tears away. He smiled despite the sudden sadness.

The only thing he knew about me was my name, and he still took me in. Stan glanced in the rearview mirror again. More memories bubbled to the surface. First meeting the girl that would eventually become his wife, as well as his future brothers-in-law. Making up with Ford. Graduating high school. Getting married. Becoming a father. None of that woulda happened if I had turned down Mearl’s offer. Stan looked back at the highway, his smile broadening.

Y’know what, Sally? It happened a long time before we talked about it, but I did reach my own crossroads.

And I think I made the right choice.

#Stanuary #Stanley Pines #Ma McGucket #Angie McGucket #McGucket Family #Stanley McGucket AU #my writing #my stuff #I actually came up with this idea while I was at work #and mentally wrote like. the whole thing.#but by the time I got off work I remembered the outline and like none of the great lines I had come up with :/#(btw I did actually get an ask for a Stanley McGucket thing and am working on it)#(and if anyone has any other Stanley McGucket things feel free to shoot them my way #it's nice to go back to the OG AU sometimes y'know?)#speecher speaks

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an-orca-on · 4 years

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So, funny story ... I’m the Indoraptor from Jurassic World.

Or rather, I’m an Indoraptor. And I knew long before I ever saw the movie.

I thought it might be interesting to tell this story, so that folks out there could see there is a range of experiences to fictionkin just like there are in every other type of kinmunity.

First off, a bit of my personal opinions on the spiritual basis of otherkin. For me, being kin is mostly a spiritual thing. There’s the odd case out where it’s a comfort/coping thing, but for the most part the kintypes I have are based in alternate lives of mine and I have discrete and specific memories of them, which is why I feel comfortable calling them kintypes. Not everyone is like this, and that’s fine! You do you. This is just my process. Now mylo, why did you say alternate lives and not past? Because I believe that we are connected to our other selves throughout time and space. Bits of the larger energy we call “me” can distribute through many planes of reality and many spaces in time. So they’re not always this plane of reality, and they’re not always “past”. You can tap into other energies and experience things from that life strongly enough to affect you now.

Okay, enough of that. You said the Indoraptor, right? As in the genetically engineered monster dino from InGen?

Yeah, I did. The story starts way the fuck back in about 2010 or so, way before it ever existed as a piece of media. (It actually goes back even further to when I thought I was dragonkin, but that’s too much to even write about here.) I started having these very specific, strange auric shifts. They were strong enough that it changed the sensory perception of my body, which is not very common for me. I did a lot of meditating on it, trying to piece together these sensations into a coherent shape. The more I let myself sink into the mindset of this mystery creature, the more I started to sense the environment around it and get small glimpses of what life was like for it. This took several months, a ton of talking with friends, journalling, meditating, journeying, etc.

Now, it wasn’t exactly 100% clear. There were something that I just couldn’t rectify with any creature I knew of, and I’ll get to that in a second. What I knew was:

1: Deinonychus shaped body and posture. 2: The muzzle is kinda stubby and rounded at the end and has many teeth. 3: Raptor feet 4: Long hands with three fingers and a thumb, very dexterous 5: Not the best eyesight but great hearing 6: Big tail 7: Quills along the head/neck but not full feathers 8: Some sort of sunlight/gold color dappling

And I had some inklings about its personality, environment, and memories:

1: Violent. Not like a predator, but vicious. 2: Lived in some sort of laboratory. Lots of white and glass. Very few windows, but they looked out on tropical plants. 3: Kinda sickly? It never really felt well, or right. 4: The Goo Tubes. It’s a classic sci-fi trope, you know the ones I mean. 5: Got a lot of attention when it was smaller, but it grew rapidly and people became scared of it quickly. 6: Was intelligent enough to understand more words than they thought it could. It knew a lot of what they were doing to it. Definitely self-aware. 7: Great climber. 8: Did not live as long as it should have, for health reasons.

I had a lot of trouble with the “health reasons.” I could tell that it wasn’t well, and that it struggled with pain and strange sensations in its limbs and potentially experiments and surgeries. Because I’m me and I love robots, somehow my brain translated this as meaning this creature was a cyborg. Yes, I thought I was a cyborg dinosaur for awhile. There’s a reason I didn’t really talk about this kintype, lmao. At the time this made sense from a psychological perspective, because I was going through a lot of shit and “creature that’s been made from a bunch of parts that don’t really fit and suffers for it” was something I could really identify with. I knew it was probably super unlikely, but I didn’t have any other answers at the time.

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom came out in 2018. When I saw the indoraptor for the first time, I almost hollered out loud in the theatre. If you don’t know what it looks like, here’s a great render from Arrancon on DeviantArt:

Holy SHIT.

It hits EVERY ONE OF THE EIGHT POINTS on the first list.

And then they talk about it being completely designed in a lab.

As a vicious weapon.

Using sound.

And it knowingly tricks someone into opening its cage.

And it scales a building a roof like nothing.

Oh holy shit that’s me.

This is THE most sudden and visceral Awakening I have ever experienced. I barely remembered the end of the movie after seeing the Indoraptor for the first time, I was just so shocked and emotional. That’s me.

However, there’s one big glaring difference between me-Indo and the movie-Indo. Spoiler alert: movie-Indo gets loose, kills a bunch of people, and dies in spectacularly gory fashion. Even with the limited scope of my memories, I knew this wasn’t what happened to me. What I figured eventually was that there had to be other attempts at the Indoraptor. Other experiments or previous versions that didn’t work out so well and didn’t make it. Maybe not in the movie-universe, but maybe in others.

But way, way before I ever knew about this movie, I had these feelings. Finally having a framework to put them in was awesome and exciting, even if I didn’t feel comfortable sharing with many people, because... well, y’all know what fictionkin culture can be like. However, I think it’s extremely important to realize that there are people who have this experience all the time. It’s not by any means the only way to experience fictionkin, but I think it’s more common than a lot of non-kin realize. Respectability politics are BS. You can be a Serious Therian and also be fictionkin, and both can be fun.

If you made it to the end of this LONG ASS POST, congrats! I don’t usually write posts this long. If you have any questions feel free to send me an ask or @ or whatever. This blog is gonna remain orca stuff, don’t worry about it turning into a Jurassic Park blog. ;p Have a great day!

#otherkin #fictionkin

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ninjakitty15 · 3 years

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Cold As Death (Loki)

Chapter One: Looks That Could Kill

By all accounts, today should've been like the countless other days before it. Just another day stuck in a glass cell with the occasional "scientist" trying to figure out how to harness something no regular schmuck or mortal could hope to grasp by poking, prodding, and bleeding me. But this was Hydra for you, try to change one idiots mind, and several more idiots tell you you're wrong. German, American, or other, there are evil idiots in every corner of every world, that's for damn sure. At this point I couldn't figure out why they still kept me here, locked away from everything when they couldn't what they wanted from me. They already tried torturing it out of me like pain would make me crumble, I just ended up wincing or laughing depending on what they did as there were times I actually wasn't sure I felt anything, not because they did it often enough or it was that bad, I was just sorta dead inside so some nerve endings didn't always work.

The only thing remotely unusual about today though was it wasn't as busy where they stashed me, hands locked in power dampening shackles and a metal muzzle to boot. At some point earlier they attempted to keep me sedated and unconscious but I woke myself back up once they left me alone thinking I was no longer a problem. Amateurs. As I sat in the middle of the cell, eyes closed but fully alert and coherent, I felt before I ever heard a presence that felt otherworldly to me. They were silent, seeming to observe with caution as I felt it get closer and start to circle the container then pause right where I knew the controls of the cage to be. There was a fifty fifty chance this presence would let me out, the other half being they come in and another round of human pinata would start but instead of candy it would just be blood and a lot of bad puns and jokes falling out of me, maybe drop a few s/m mentions. Serious folks tend to get real uncomfortable when you get sexual on them. If you can't laugh about sex, you don't have a sense of humor. A button was pressed on the panel and a door formed in front of me where the glass was and I got a stronger feel of who or what was in front of me on the other side. They were definitely not your average Joe, probably not even human and flowing with a lifeforce not even mutants could possibly obtain. An immortal for sure. They took one step toward me and because this wasn't something I'd encountered since my containment, I instinctively tensed which made them pause again.

"You're awake?" A smooth almost british accented voice, noted softly yet curiously.

I opened my eyes then just to confirm that as the muzzle was holding back my usual smartass responses. They was actually one tall man clad in leather and gold metal, watching me carefully with piercing blue/green eyes. Maybe it was seeing the same ugly mugs every day for gods know how long I've been down here and finally seeing a new face, maybe it was the fact he was wearing my two favorite colors and pulled it off better than anyone else I've seen try that. But damn did he look good. It might also be the killer jawline and physique too. His eyes fixated on the muzzle for a moment and a hardened scowl formed for some reason, surprisingly not twisting the dashing look like it does most angry men. And then suddenly I could speak again but opted to gasp like a dying beached fish because damn did it feel good to not have airways being blocked anymore. Vaguely I wondered if my lips were chapped from the damned thing before smiling maniacally.

"Finally, oral freedom!" I cried overdramatically. "I don't usually offer though unless its returned, all's fair in love and fun stuff."

The man cracked a small smile and ventured a step closer to me. "What are you? And why are you in here?"

"Could ask you the same thing, hun," i quipped. "And seeing as I was here first, you should answer first."

He chuckled and took a more confident step toward me though his lifeforce strengthened like a guard around him. Before he could answer himself though, a booming and somehow familiar voice called out. "Loki, have you found anything down there?!" Which caused the dude now named Loki to cringe at the interruption and sigh.

"No one here but us ghouls," I told him in answer.

"They have a prisoner down here, brother!" replied Loki though his eyes never left me.

"Prisoner's such a harsh word, I prefer forced resident or illegal obtained house guest," I informed him. "You answer his questions, but not mine. It's because I'm black, isn't it?" I was actually what one would describe in terms of skin color as not recently dead pale white.

"I thought he was answer enough, I'm sure you know of Thor, he likes to play the hero of this realm," Loki replied to me, an eyebrow arched.

"The Norse God of shitty weather? Y'all aren't busy with cooler realms?" I asked.

"This wasn't my choice," was his dry response, making me smile more.

I snickered. "Spoken like a true sibling. So you came down here, an alien immortal, because your big brother told you so. My heart bleeds for you really."

He glared at my unabashed sarcasm and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now answer mine before he comes in and makes a great mess of this place."

"More than the people that came with this building already have? That's gotta take talent. But I'll bite. They hunted me down gods know how long ago and attempted to extract something from me that makes me awesome, didn't work obviously or they'd make a mess not even your brother could trump and we wouldn't be here talking. Too valuable to be killed, though they couldn't if they tried, too stubborn to be experimented on. Where'd they go anyway? Are you guys the reason I didn't get my daily prodding?"

"My brothers...friends dealt with the ones they could find, if they're anything like their namesake, I'm sure there's more in hiding waiting for reinforcements or something like that."

Another man leaped down out of nowhere that definitely wasn't Thor as he didn't have long golden locks or a beard, his head and half his face were actually covered by a mask and instead of a hammer was a shield in one arm.

"Thor failed to mention it was a woman," the new dude noted.

"And my gender matters because...?" I wasn't actually offended by this, just messing with him to get a reaction which worked as he genuinely looked bashful, making me cackle. "For all the armor you people wear, it's still surprisingly easy to get under your skin. Maybe I've just been here so long, they're just fashion statements now, if everyone's wearing leather armor count me in!"

"Sorry to disappoint, but it's just us," Loki told me.

"She tell you why they're holding her?" the new man asked him.

"They're trying to steal her powers though I'm not sure what they are yet."

"Only the best kind of course," I told them. "It's all the rage these days, all the Hydra agents gotta have it."

"Well they can find it somewhere else as you're free from them but you can tell us all about the what and why, if you don't mind," the new man said.

"You say that so politely but I'm getting the sense you weren't asking. I'll comply if you give me a hand here, mine are a bit tied up at the moment." I raised my shackled hands as high as able since they were chained to the metal floor beneath me.

The new man was quick to break the chains connecting me to the floor before Loki waved a hand like Jedi Knight and the shackled sprang open, dropping to the floor with a loud clang. I flexed my hands and shook them a bit to get feeling back with them being cramped and slowly got to my feet, staggering a bit as my leg bones cracked from the sudden use and weight. I sighed in sweet relief and relaxed with a slight grin. "Alrighty then!" With my hands free, so was my powers just a bit more and I could collect and stretch it out, testing the waters. That seemed to be enough for Loki to notice being a power person as well and both eyebrows shot up as he probably felt what I was doing. I winked at him before turning to the other guy. "Onward and upward!"

With the new guy leading me out of the building and Loki being my tail, I was on my way to freedom for good before being nearly blinded by that god awful ball of fire in the sky, everyone else calls the sun. I recoiled and refrained from hissing like an angry vampire, stumbling back into Loki in the process who steadied me and smirked at my reaction to daylight. The new guy looked back hearing me cursing at it and raised an eyebrow in question but didn't actually ask anything.

"What? I'm not a morning person," I responded before straightening up but subtly elbowing Loki in the stomach, causing a soft grunt from behind while accidentally hitting my funny bone which wasn't that funny at all as my entire arm went numb and tingly at the same time. "Stupid toned god with your stupid abs of granite."

The new guy stopped walking and pressed a hand against his ear. "We're out, all the agents we could flush out are dealt with. A ride would be nice." Ah he was talking on a com of some kind it seems. How high tech yet old school. Within a few moments, an even more hightech fighter plane of some kind hovered low enough for him to climb in first then offer his hand to pull me up as I was unfortunately not remotely as tall or long legged as either man near me. I looked around the plane curiously to see another man and a redhaired woman at the front as pilots, the woman looking back and landing her eyes on me as well.

"Are you the prisoner Thor spoke of?" she asked.

"I'm the illegally obtained house guest, yes." Loki snickered behind me and I reminded myself not to elbow him again as my arm still hadn't gotten proper feeling back.

The woman smiled as well and nodded. "Buckle up then, we're heading back to base, could get bumpy. All good back there, Steve?" she called after the first new guy who was now Steve.

"Ready when you are," he answered, sitting at the tail end of the machine.

The plane rose up and shot forward at an illegally unsafe speed above the city. Loki had settled across from me, eyes ever studying me but unlike the agents that actually did and more, they weren't malicious or power hungry, just cautious and curious. I decided to test his resolve then and locked my eyes on his in an unwavering staring contest. "First one to blink loses."

"Is that why they muzzled you? Because if you're not under their skin, you're cracking jokes?" he asked.

"If you don't have a sense of humor you don't have much to live for and that's how they win. Also no, it's not how I talked, but who I talked to or when it wasn't them."

"To contain your powers, like they did your hands then. And they didn't get anything from you?"

"What I have can't be drained or pulled out or copied, it's not specifically found in something like DNA or an organ or something physical even. Those guys claim to be scientists but real scientists accept facts as they are when proof is found and I'm living proof they're all frauds with no results. I bet they don't even have a Ph.D."

"They're Hydra, they're funded by power and money, not degrees and universities," Steve spoke up.

"So you're telling me they just pulled a few crazy people with crazyass theories on things from a hat and told them they're scientists now? I should've gone to college there, I wanna have money and be told I have a job with more money. All I got from mine a piece of paper saying I know some things and then years of disappointment from being unemployed. I probably look good in a lab coat too."

"A stark difference from your current attire of all black and hooded," Loki pointed out.

I snorted. "All they let me wear after ruining the one I was caught in from their experimentation, they thought the attire should fit the power, how unimaginative is that? Let's just advertise exactly what I can do to everyone around me, that'll throw them off for sure."

"And what can you do?" he challenged.

"Uh-uh, spoilers sweety. A preview of which will cost you extra."

"But we just gave you a free ride," chipped the male pilot.

"Hey, you're not part of this conversation, and I don't even know where we're going, this could be a free ride to something worse. Like Shield or the dentist."

"Bad experience? Ate too much candy as a kid, didn't you?" the pilot guessed.

"If you think there's such thing as too much candy, then your childhood sucked and I pity your past."

"Tony's gonna love this one," mused the female pilot. "What's your name?"

"I've been out of custody for like 15 minutes and finally someone asks! It's Noelle, Nell for short. And you pilots are...?"

"About to land for starters," the man said. "I'm Clint, she's Nat, and we're at base so everyone out of my plane."

"That's Tony's plane actually," quipped Loki as the plane landed and everyone unbuckled. "Come along, meet the rest of my brother's friends."

#cold as death #immortal peril #lokifanfiction #lokifanfic #loki x oc #loki x original female character #lokixNell #nellthenecromancer

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edmund-valks · 3 years

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Ilandreline - Just One Cookie

(( Part I: The Call ))

(( Part II: A Compound Beginning ))

If you listened closely enough, you could hear the emptiness breathing.

It was fascinating to consider, or would have been if it weren't also slightly terrifying. There was no reason for this space to sound like the lungs of some unutterable beast, yet it did. Everything she knew about the Shadowed Path said it was empty, that nothing dwelt here and nothing could. Perhaps nothing did. What if the very substance of the Path was alive in some fashion? The implications were-

Not important right now. That was her mother's voice, reminding her that there would only be time for later speculation if she lived to do it. Smart folk did not dally on these roads, even those who knew how to walk them. They were treacherous, and Ilandreline did not mean their terrain. She'd lost a distant cousin to them more than a century earlier, and supposedly even the one who'd known enough to open the First Tree to the darkness at its roots hadn't known enough to come back.

But they were fast. She'd used them to get to Kalimdor in a few days, or to get from Tirisfal to her family's lands in an hour. Time and distance worked differently here, or perhaps they worked exactly the same and locationality was the odd one. There were multiple frames of reference to choose from, but they all boiled down to the same result: travel here was vastly more efficient than on Azeroth. Which is why you need to get moving instead of standing around!

Her feet started moving again, picking their way over what she assumed counted as "the ground". It was definitely dirt-like, and there were… grassish things… to either side, but it didn't smell quite right. Not for nature, at least. Most plants didn't smell so strongly of iron. No, not iron. She sniffed again, trying to place it. Ah, right. Blood. Fresh blood, at that, before it dulled to a brown stain on the stones. She wondered what this place would look like in sunlight. Would its appearance match the sharp scents? Could it even exist under such harsh light?

Despite carrying no torch, Ila was grateful for the sun's absence. Her sensitive eyes could remain free of the goggles for a little longer, taking in all the subtle variations of shadow that were lost in the harshness of day. She hadn't noticed how much she'd missed living with naked eyes until she'd started visiting with Granny Laine. The Respite was a lot of things, but even Silverpine gloom didn't compare to the tranquil shade of their forest. When she’d left the Ghostlands a few years ago, she’d felt like she had no home; now it seemed she’d found two. Ilandreline smiled at that, letting her mind wander as much as her body.

Time definitely didn’t function normally in the space. The pocket watch she’d made in her early days with the Fence told her it had been an hour, but her legs said it was much longer than that despite only feeling like fifteen minutes had passed. She pushed on, digging into her snack bag to put some energy back into her muscles. An hour later by internal reckoning -- and half that by the watch -- she stumbled out of sheer exhaustion and decided maybe it wasn’t time to get back up just yet. Had it been two hours or twelve? How far had she gone? Why were her first days’ meals gone already and how was she still hungry?

Her eyelids were heavy, far heavier than they should’ve been. “Fuck it, nap time.” The words came out slurred. It was a struggle just to move her pack beneath her head, to use it as a pillow. Before she drifted off, Ila stuffed one of her grandmother’s cookies into her mouth, figuring there was no better time for some homemade coziness than immediately before passing out to sleep entirely unprotected in the nightmarish wilderness-phase running tangent to her plane of origin. Aurelaine often joked she’d baked quite a few dishes with a lot of love in her younger days, where love was a euphemism for any number of exciting poisons. As she swallowed the last of the cookie and drifted into the deeper darkness of sleep, Ilandreline was quite positive she could taste some of that same love now.

***

Waking up felt surprisingly pleasant and not at all terrifying. Granny Laine was there, looking amused, and a vine had grown over her, but otherwise everything seemed… fine. Good, even. Ila stood and stretched, yawning, considering the last time sleep had left her so refreshed. Never? That sounded right.

"Couldn't help sneaking a treat before bed, eh?" Her grandmother's voice was mock-chiding, the only good kind of chiding to receive from her. "I should've known."

The vine tried to slither back around her leg, so she kicked it. "You didn't give me cookies to not eat them. It was lonely and I thought a taste of home would be nice. Didn't expect it to, I dunno, summon you or whatever."

"Is that what you think they did?"

The young elf shrugged, gathering her gear and preparing to get back on the road. "You're here, aren't you? Shall we?"

Her grandmother made an indeterminate noise in her throat but began walking beside her nonetheless. It was nice, really. They'd gone for a few strolls back home, but there were always people around to cause trouble. Not here. It was just the two of them and an entire ecology built on what sure seemed to be carnivorous plants.

They walked in silence for some time, only pausing for Ilandreline to sip the water she'd brought, trying to get the leftover tastes from the night out of her mouth. Everything, even the air, had an unusual taste; not of decay as she'd expected. Instead it was something remembered from childhood, one of those memories that hid if you looked straight at it. She'd have to sneak up on it by pretending to be interested in something else.

"So is this one of those things where we walk and you point out little things I need to know to survive or grow or whatever?"

She saw the cryptic smile from the corner of her eye. "Something like that, perhaps. Do you still need me holding your hand?"

"What? No! I just… not all of this comes easy, you know that. I'm fine with making things up as I go, but that's really dangerous with… this stuff." Ila gestured broadly, encompassing their entire surroundings. "I like to have the numbers on my side. There aren't any numbers here, no science. It's all, I don't know, epistemological gradients or something."

Aurelaine laughed, a gravelly sound bordering on coughing. A chortle! That's what one sounds like. "You're not wrong, child. I'm only along to observe. Maybe I can point something out that helps; maybe I even will. This is your journey, though, not mine. I've had my share already, paid the prices."

That made sense. They continued, once more quiet, moving too fast and too slow at once, causing everything around them to be in perfect detail as it warped under the effects of tunnel vision. The metallic taste remained in the back of her throat, tickling the corners of recollection. She refused to focus on it, knowing that to do so would ensure she never remembered the answer.

Everything changed from one blink to the next. The landscape was even darker now, near blinding to her gifted sight. Her nostrils flared, the distinct aroma of blood foremost in the air, enough to make one hungry. Or perhaps that was unrelated; journeys required food. As she went for her trail mix, something caught her wrist, stopped it entirely. Frowning, she glanced down to find a rubbery tendril wrapped around her arm. "Fuck off," she said, getting no reaction. The next best idea would be to cut it, but the only knife she had at the moment was not one she was willing to risk on a simple tentacle. She looked over to her grandmother instead. "Any chance you can do something about this?"

Grey eyebrows arched as eyes flicked from Ilandreline’s face to the appendage and back. “Of course I can.” She paused then deliberately added, “I won’t.”

Should’ve expected as much. “This one of those ‘your journey, your problem’ moments?” When Aurelaine nodded, she sighed. Time to figure it out then. There was a way; she was supposed to find it. Trial by fire and all that.

“If I go solving your problems,” the predictable lecture began, “you’ll keep expecting me to give you the answers. We both know that’s not how you learn. You want to see the whole process, derived from first principles. That way you can extend the logic as far as it goes, come up with your own hypotheses. It also ensures you aren’t limited by the pace of your teacher, doesn’t it?”

The fraction of her consciousness paying attention laughed. “Sure does. Saves them the trouble of trying to answer all my ‘why’ questions, too, so it’s really a service when you think about it. Don’t have to ask why if I’ve already done the math.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware that you’re infuriating, Lina, you don’t have to remind me.” Dry humour ran in the family even if it skipped a generation. “Getting back to the matter at hand, I’d simply remind that little pest about the order of things. It’s a remnant, a cast-off, a weak afterthought of a failed god’s stray thoughts. A pale imitation of the majesty to be found in the Great Dark, yearning to be more than it ever could. I’d simply banish it and move on.”

That was one possibility then, banishment. And how did banishing work? Ila tried to dredge up the memories of mostly futile arcane schooling, seeking the bits that had remained. Summoning circles… banishing circles? An inversion of process, though the commanding nature remained constant. How did that work for her, though? She knew how to draw the runes, but had never been able to power them independently. Blood would work, of course, had she prepared the circle already. There had to be another way.

She rolled back through the words, sifting through them more by “feel” than analysis. Hunches were the backbone of discovery; you felt something would be the answer, so you thought through the possibility. What else had been hinted at? Remnant. Afterthought. Failed. Imitation. Yearning. Afterthought-Imitation-Yearning. Was there something there? She ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth, tasting iron and arsenic and something more as her mind kicked into gear.

The order of things. These paths were bored through the near-realms of Azeroth by the so-called Old Gods, the entrapped dwellers-between-stars her grandmother held in such low esteem. A trapped god was no god at all, for a proper god could not be limited. That meant any of their leftovers were inherently inferior to the powers receiving her family’s offerings. Not that creatures spawned from the lesser entities recognized Glimmerbow authority, but they should have. There was that connection, like distant cousins where one is heir to a throne and the other is a cast-off from some hedge knight.

Oh, is that it? Connectivity? Like to like? The tendril tightened, squeezing her bones. It was starting to hurt. If she waited too much longer, she might have to finish her trip with a shattered wrist. Time to see if I learned anything.

Ilandreline focused the entirety of her consciousness on the wriggling mass, willing her vision to bore through the layers to see down to where it was no longer a physical appendage. Deep down, it was a thoughtform, a psychic remnant, a projection, and she needed to see that. How long it took to finally happen, she didn’t know. She was drenched in sweat, and shaking from the effort, but she could see it clearly.

Banishment would require antithesis, but… that’s not what this is. We’re the same, aren’t we, cousins from the same blood? I can’t banish myself. So what if… She turned most of her attention inward, leaving only enough out to keep firm mental grasp on the essence of her assailant. There was this dead-end creature left behind by one of the Four… and then there was her. They were different, except where they weren’t. Similarity was what she needed now.

She burrowed into herself, pushing through the layers of supposed sophistication. On the lowest level she was not an elf, or even something shaped. She was an extension of the universe’s primal forces, a conduit of the Eternal Dark. At that point, she was what the tentacle thought itself to be. Letting herself dwell entirely in that space, she lost her self and called out to this distant cousin. See me, her mind cried, know me for what I am!

Their sameness was her focus, to establish communion. Something resonated -- somehow -- drawing the psychic echo toward her. She could feel its alienness, the oil-slick of fractal madness in its relict consciousness, just as surely as she knew her own essence was vastly more potent. What others would call the taint of her heritage was a strength here; she formed a pseudopod of self, vibrating midnight purple, and whipped outward. The sensation of startlement rippled across her mind, followed immediately by the primal panic of something being drawn to its inexorable demise.

The tendril was swallowed within her, its corrupt form dissolving within her purity of faith. A priest of the Glimmerbows was an architect of dissolution, a bringer of endings to foster the chaos of the new. What she hadn’t expected was the way it became a part of her.

Ila had never been at war in her own mind before. This severed piece of a dead un-god struggled with all its might to avoid being broken down, flailing every which way. For a moment she worried she might lose and end up a prisoner in her own flesh. Then reason reasserted itself, and the flexibility of mind her grandmother had praised made clear its value. She bent without breaking, absorbed the harshest assaults, returned to form without permanent deformation. And then she swallowed it whole, allowing the thing to be torn apart and joined with her essence.

Shaking so hard she couldn’t have written a single legible letter, the elf opened her eyes. Her grandmother faded from sight, though her approving gaze lingered. The overlapping flavours of multiple poisons lingered, dancing over her taste buds and scratching at her throat. She had no idea where she was, though she knew she had been walking all this time. The ligature marks of the tentacle remained on her forearm, though, proof that something had happened, that she had conquered the smallest challenge.

Several deep breaths later, the shivering stopped. Her whole body still tingled, the aftereffects of an adrenaline overdose, but that was manageable. She took a swig of water to put moisture back into her body, then pulled the “map” from her inside jacket pocket. It was more algorithmical than cartographical, but she read it as easily as Thalassian. There was… a place to be, and she was much closer now than when she had started.

Through an act of will, Ilandreline set her legs in motion again. There would be others, she knew. This realm was made from the dreams of god-corpses, an afterimage of what they’d tried to make real. But she had proof they paled before the strength Aurelaine had cultivated in her. Let the dead gods try their worst.

Stretching out through the mental channels her hallucinations had opened, she tasted the planar gradient and turned toward her destination. Plum was home and nightmare was the enemy, but blood and bone and leaf and light showed the way. Not entirely certain the poisons had actually left her system, Ila climbed toward her destination unaware of the horrific grin on her face.

#ilandreline #ilandreline glimmerbow #fence macabre #wow rp #warcraft rp

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #8- I’m Sorry, the Domain Name thebomb.com is Already in Use

It’s been a hot minute since we last got to focus on the Scavengers- ah, the chaotic nature of comic print schedules! Luckily, we’ve got a Story So Far to remind us where we left off.

Our issue starts 10,000 years in the past, where Fulcrum is riding in a plane and preparing to drop with his fellow K-Cons. It’s crowded, there’s a guy crying in the corner, everyone’s wearing the same outfit, and no one’s got time to go home and change. How embarrassing!

Torque’s never heard of personal space, as is made apparent by his power-stance pelvic thrusting here. Fulcrum is less than impressed by this show of bravado, but there’s no time to dwell on it because it’s time to jump the glory of Megatron.

At least one of them is having a good time.

In the present day, the Scavengers are freaking the hell out, because as it turns out, it’s THEM who’re afraid of the DJD.

Krok keeps trying to reach his old squad, as if anything short of Megatron himself would be able to save them from the horrible death coming their way, while Flywheels grapples with his faith and inferiority complex at the same time.

Spinister brings up a decent point, despite Misfire’s earlier claim that he’s the stupidest creature in the universe- Misfire is kind of an asshole, so anything he says involving just about anything should be taken with a grain of salt- but the problem is, nobody in their right mind would incriminate themselves to the DJD if they could help it. Also, everyone knows that Tarn’s got his head way too far up his own ass to have any sort of rhyme or reason for anything he does beyond the 𝕒𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕔.

Krok leans on his career as a military strategist to come up with a few ideas, and the boys decide to fight the DJD, after so much bitching and moaning.

But the DJD… the Decepticon Justice Division… are also Decepticons. Crankcase, are you gatekeeping here, my dude? Because I don’t think this is an internet debate you’re going to win.

The fellas decide that they’ll do what they do best, and use what’s been laying around in the dust and blood for thousands of years to fight off some of the scariest folks in the galaxy. What could possibly go wrong?

Over on the Lost Light, Chromedome and Skids are having a secret rendezvous at the oil reservoir, in secret and behind Rewind’s back, as Chromedome proceeds to call Skids handsome. No, they aren’t having a secret love affair, but are instead going to mnemosurgery the shit out of Skids. Rewind doesn’t like that Chromedome is still doing this, but what Rewind doesn’t know won’t hurt him, surely. We’ll find out just why exactly Rewind isn’t a fan of Chromedome’s line of work later on, but for now it’s time to dig around in a hot guy’s brain.

Just kidding, it’s Scavenger time.

The Scavengers have set up a trap for the DJD, and that trap is Grimlock; still locked in his stasis pod, they’re pulling a “rigged box and stick with a piece of cheese inside” maneuver. Let’s see how this plays out.

Hmm. That’s not a great start.

The Peaceful Tyranny lands, Tarn transforms, comes down the gangplank, transforms, waxes poetic about the brilliance of the Decepticon copy writers, transforms, drives 15 feet, transforms, then, after clearly stating that the big stasis pod in the middle of nowhere is a trap, opens it anyway.

Never has a nut-punch been more deserved than in this exact moment.

Grimlock has a strong start, but almost immediately begins to flag, as he’s put down by Tesaurus. This is why we do warmups prior to rigorous exercise, people!

Misfire tries to sneak off while Tarn’s distracted whispering into Grimlock’s ear like one would a lover, but that doesn’t really work out.

Back over on the Lost Light, Chromedome’s having a time and a half trying to parse just what the hell’s going on with Skid’s head. All his memories from the last year aren’t lost, but rather destroyed, which is concerning to say the least, only leaving a need to escape. There’s also some nasty beast in Skid’s more distant past that Chromedome can see. However, it would seem that Skid’s brain took the out when it saw one and buried that nightmare so deep it’ll take multiple sticks of dynamite to wiggle it loose, so Chromedome’s leaving it where it is.

What this tells me is that Rung has no business referring patients to Chromedome for treatment, if this is how we’re meant to handle repressed memories. Remember back in issue #6, when Fort Max claimed he didn’t remember what happened in Garrus 9, and Rung was all “oh let me just call my guy Chromedome and have him stir your brain around like a martini”? Turns out, either that’s a terrible idea and Rung hasn’t paid attention to the work that half his coworkers on Kimia were involved with, or he was making an empty threat, which doesn’t seem like great practice for a therapist.

Pretty fucked up of you, Rung.

Anyways, Skids is less than thrilled by this, and demands Chromedome do it anyway, which Chromedome promptly refuses. He’ll play around with his own life, but not his friends’. Skids walks off in a huff, because I guess no one’s ever refused his pretty ass anything before, but asks a question before he leaves.

Well, I’m sure that won’t be a major plot point later on.

Let’s check back in with the Scavengers.

Between Tesaurus’ line here, Tarn harassing Grimlock, and Skids’ asking Chromedome why he pulled out during their secret meeting, this is probably the most sexually-charged issue of MTMTE so far.

Flywheels’ only purpose as a character was so that Roberts had a stand-in for the word “fuck” last issue. Sorry, dude, you’ve done your job. Off to the shredder with you!

No time to worry about him, Krok, because it’s time for your face mask treatment at the universe’s shittiest spa.

The worst part about this is the fact that he’s being held a full nelson by the DJD’s record-keeper, who turns into a fucking chair and doesn’t even have eyes. Oh, the indignity of it all.

Misfire tries to save Krok, but all he manages to do is prove that his nickname isn’t ironic in the slightest. Then he’s attacked by a dog.

That shadow being tossed towards the horizon in the background is Crankcase, who lands right about where Fulcrum’s been hiding this entire time, like the giant coward he is, as he watches these guys who tried to steal his organs get murdered to death. He runs off, and Crankcase plays to stereotype and gripes about the whole situation, until he notices something above him.

Then he immediately drops dead, because as it turns out Misfire wasn’t exaggerating when he said Crankcase would die if he ever even thought about smiling.

Over in Tarn’s soliloquy corner, he’s managed to stab his thumb so hard into Grimlock’s throat it’s literally bleeding, as he trash talks the Scavengers, calling them the “six biggest failures of all”. Harsh. Grimlock’s not contributing to the diatribe, probably because there’s a hole in his throat that’s about where a trach would go.

Then Tarn has a bit of a problem, as he’s stepped on by a robot that’s roughly twenty times bigger than him.

I guess Crankcase must be the sixth worst Decepticon, because he’s gotten himself hooked up with this massive Jaeger Cybernought, one of the many that are strapped to the back of the Worldsweeper they found last issue. It’s a big friggin’ ship, we can forgive the oversight.

The DJD aren’t impressed by this new toy, and almost immediately take it down. Tarn, really starting to get peeved off about not getting to what they actually came here to do, yells for Fulcrum to show himself. Fulcrum, as it turns out, has managed to climb on top of the Worldsweeper, and is at least a few hundred feet above them. Because none of the DJD can fly, they have no choice but to listen to Fulcrum’s little speech.

Fulcrum was forged at the height of the Decepticon Empire, when the rhetoric was more “space eugenics sucks” and less “murder everything while Megatron has weird sexual tension with Optimus in the background”. Of course, they were still hunting organic species to flex, so maybe things weren’t perfect… though it isn’t like Fulcrum minded that aspect. Dude’s a little space racist.

Spacist.

The way Fulcrum sees it, folks like Tarn went and fucked up a good thing by being all murderous and violent just because they could, unlike his good pals the Scavengers, who are only murderous and violent when it’s necessary. “Necessary” is a word that’s played with kind of fast and loose with them, mind you, but they seem like pretty swell guys to Fulcrum. They’re definitely better than the DJD.

With one last “fuck you” to Tarn, Fulcrum takes a running leap off the top of this astonishingly huge ship and finally reveals just why exactly K-Cons aren’t known for doing fear.

Because who the fuck has ever asked a bomb how it’s feeling?

Everyone clears the area, as he hits the ground… and nothing happens. Fulcrum is marked off the List, the Scavengers are added, and the DJD fuck off without checking that their target is actually dead so they can go find Overlord and kick his ass.

Fulcrum’s fine, by the way.

This is why we check our work, Tarn.

Fulcrum, who is, again, a bomb, is a bit curious as to what’s happened here. Turns out, prior to the boys riffling through his torso for spare parts, Spinister- master surgeon Spinister- removed the explosive charge tucked up against his robot liver. Fulcrum is amazed by this news, because it’s apparently a super hard thing to do.

Are we sure that Spinister isn’t just super nearsighted? The world’s been described as a series of vaguely hostile shapes, is he playing it safe and attacking the things he can’t figure out within a few seconds? Maybe all that hand-staring he does is to gauge how shitty his vision is on a day to day basis, and everyone just assigned him Stupid At Birth because trying to understand our friends is for losers.

Then again, we should also remember that everyone in the Scavengers is so incredibly stupid, they couldn’t figure out between the five of them that Fulcrum had been alive while it was happening. Spinister probably wasn’t gentle with that procedure since he thought he was working with a corpse; for all we know, Fulcrum’s got his sparkcase inside-out now.

Crankcase carries poor, faceless Krok over, and Fulcrum laments on the fact that Krok’s squad never turned up. Crankcase implies something ominous about Krok’s method of communication with his old squadron, then we get the skinny on Fulcrum’s whole deal.

Yes, yes, I know B’lahr 39 is a reference to Wizard of Oz actor Bert Lahr, who played the Cowardly Lion. I caught that one before I’d even checked TFWiki for interesting notes on this issue. I was a film major in college, I’m legally required to know every single bit of trivia about the Wizard of Oz. It’s the second thing they beat into you, right after watching Citizen Kane for the 87th time.

Also, how many nerds are going to be in this series? Fulcrum’s a technician, Krok’s a strategist, Spinister and 3/4 of the Lost Light are doctors in some form or fashion, Tarn’s a friggin drama kid, the list goes on.

When Fulcrum was caught, the original plan was to have him tortured and killed at Styx, a Decepticon penal colony, when plans changed and he got reformatted along with everyone else in the joint to be a suicide bomber.

If Fulcrum seems like a bit of a generic name for a giant space robot, it’s probably because it is. Fulcrum’s original alt-mode wasn’t a bomb- in fact, I have no idea what it’s meant to be. Word of God makes the claim that he turned into a leg prior to getting K-classed, but since Combiner teams have to be made in this continuity, that’s not what he came into being as. He’s got a tiddy window like Rung- something that will be more apparent when Josh Burcham is replaced by Joana Lafluente as the primary colorist for the comic run- but that seems more indicative of having minimal armor than any sort of alt.

Anyway, there’s something in the reformat to K-Con that compels one to switch to bomb mode when you jump ship- but it didn’t happen for Fulcrum, because he was so unbelievably terrified that he might have actually defied biology.

The others have stopped listening by this point, and have joined Spinister in poking the still-prone Grimlock with a stick. Misfire, in the first show of something like empathy we’ve really gotten from him, asks the fellas to help the poor guy up.

Sure, make the guy who’s a stiff breeze away from cracking in half lift the biggest motherfucker on this planet. Sounds like a plan.

Misfire does his damnedest to communicate to Grimlock that they come in peace.

Behold, the price of nostalgia!

This isn’t exactly where we left Grimlock last time he was in an IDW publishing. The last guy to have his hands on everyone’s favorite dinobot was Simon Furman, and he was a lot more well-spoken there. It would seem that no one got out of Garrus 9 unscathed.

This development is a bit of a problem for the Scavengers, who now aren’t quite sure what to do with a infamous warrior-bastard who’s mentally regressed to the point that he’s got to think about what his own name is. To be fair, most people wouldn’t know what to do in that sort of situation. Doesn’t help that the guy who usually has the braincell is currently passed out from face-based puncture trauma.

Misfire decides that they’ll take Grimlock along with them for collateral, and everyone is so impressed by him actually planning something out, they forget to think about the logistics of housing a whole entire T-Rex.

The guys, I guess just leaving Grimlock and the unconscious Krok in the dirt, go to find what’s left of Flywheels- basically the hips down is still intact. After a few kind words, the final rites are performed.

You will be missed, Flywheels, clearly.

You never see the Autobots resorting to cannibalism like this. Maybe they’re just better at making it not look like a vulture swarm.

Many, many months later, long after the Scavengers have left the planet of Clemency, a lone figure visits what’s left of dear Flywheels- it’s the Necrobot. That’s right, the Robo-Reaper is real, and it looks like he’s been busy.

…Spoilers, Necrobot! Come on!

After the story proper, we get a Meet the ‘Cons page. Let’s take a gander, shall we?

No.

NO.

NO!

I draw the line at this motherfucking sniper rifle having a college degree. What possible scientific field of study could he possibly-

It’s ballistics. He studied ballistics, didn’t he?

You know what? Fuck this, actually. See y’all later.

…Fuck you, Vos.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 8 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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tropicalfreckles · 3 years

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Friends Again CH 5

MASTER LIST found here

SUMMARY: A new dilemma has risen in Lydia that she takes to the only one she can talk to about it.

SOLIDARITY

B**TLEB*BES DNI

(TW mentions of J*no, mentions of murder(no murder tho), mentions of bullying, mentions of the wedding death scene)))

Another day of school, another day of Lydia having complex feelings bubble up in her stomach. This was getting borderline exhausting with all the thoughts she kept bottled up inside. Even though she had become more comfortable with her therapist, she still wasn't sure if she wanted to just spill her guts out about these thoughts. Closing the front door behind her, she swung her backpack off while exhaling a long groan. No one was home yet except for the Maitlands, of course. They were probably upstairs since she didn't see them after scanning the living room. Rummaging through her backpack on the table she pulled out things she needed for homework then sluggishly retreated upstairs. School wasn't engaging and often times left her yearning for more. The Maitlands had recently found a way to help make her learning more simulating through their ghostly powers. They were still learning themselves. They tried learning more from the Handbook for the Recently Deceased. However, as Adam put it, it 'read like radio instructions'. Lydia didn't have too much of a hard time understanding it personally. Though that probably was because she loved deciphering the nonsensical text.

Should she let the Maitlands know she's home?

She usually would announce herself. Yet, that feeling wasn't leaving her stomach. It dampening her mood. Lydia didn't want to bother the ghostly couple with her problem. Since she still didn't understand it entirely herself. It was days like these she wished her mom was still alive. Regret wove itself in her every once in a while for leaving the Netherworld. Missing her chance to reconnect with her mother again. She knew deep down it was for the best. She would've also liked it if Delia and her dad had waited for a while before getting wed. She understood though they felt the fleetingness of life and wanted to make the best of it as long as they both were breathing. That would be another can of worms for Lydia to tackle another day. Lydia tossed her things on her bed when she entered her room. Closing the door behind her then took off her shoes. Her nerves were starting to get the best of her when she walked over to her mirror and gazed at herself.

"Why are feelings stupid..." She muttered. Grabbing a hair tie off of her stand, she ran her fingers through the raven locks tying it up.

"That's because you breathers have too many feelings; It makes shit complicated." A gravely voice chimed in. Lydia flinched for a moment then turned to scowl at the older man.

"I told you that you couldn't come into the house yet!" She snarled at him. Lydia began rubbing the pads of her forefinger and middle in circles against the temple of her head. Beetlejuice snorted then crossed his arms.

"You ain't exactly the boss of me kid. I do what I want. Within reason of your dumb rules. Besides, I was bored waiting in the stupid cemetery. There weren't any breathers to mess with today so I couldn't get anyone else to say my name." Beetlejuice rambled on, giving Lydia a shrug. The young teen threw herself face first on her bed. She thought over for a moment how risky this was.

"You didn't let Barabara and Adam see you, right?" Lydia questioned, sitting up a little on her elbows. Beetlejuice hummed while pulling his eyes out from their sockets.

"Nope, not a peep!" He snickered while tossing them in the air like a pair of die. Lydia looked on unamused before rolling on her back to stare up at the ceiling. The demon popped his eyes back in.

"Oh boy, are you having one of those angsty teen moments again? Am I gonna have to leave while you recite goth poetry or some shit?" He floated up from the ground then whipped over to her. Lydia inhaled deeply before giving a loud groan.

"Go away if you're gonna be an ass." Lydia reached out for a pillow to grab. Beetlejuice tensed up as he knew it was meant for his face. He deflated a little when he saw her hug then bury herself against it. Just as the teen hated when he would get moody, he felt the same about her. Though it was strange, the past three months now that they've been hanging out he has started to feel something he never had before. Was it that gross thing called empathy? He sighed deeply while busying himself with picking at his nails. This was going to require some finesse.

"Alright, you twisted my arm Lyds. What's bugging ya? What can your ol' pal Mr. Betelboose do to, ugh, 'help'?" He peered from the corner of his eye to see if she'd budge. She did not. He did get a grunt in response. Some progress was a win for him. Lydia flailed her legs a little as a muffled groan rose from her. The demon patiently waited for her to speak.

"As bizarre as it is to say.." Lydia dug her fingernails into her pillow as she pulled it away from her face finally. Her features scrunched up, her lips pursed. Relaxing after a moment of what looked like deep contemplation from Beetlejuice's perspective she finally spoke. "I think you might be the only person I can talk to about this." Lydia softly spoke.

Now, this was interesting.

She was actually being vulnerable to him. He only saw her do that once and that was when she summoned him back from the Netherworld. That was because of everything that built up from before. This seemed to be a new dilemma on the young girl's mind. He waved his hand to let her know she could continue.

"Beej. When did you discover that you had feelings for guys, too?" Lydia drawled out while shiftily gazing around the room. Anywhere other than making eye contact. Beetlejuice stroked his scruffy chin while trying to figure out what she meant by that. Was there a boy she liked? Did his stoic bratty friend actually have sappy feelings as well?

Wait.

"You're asking how I knew I was into more than just women? Well, first off, there is one thing ya gotta know about the Netherworld. Most folks swing both if not all ways." Beetlejuice jokingly conjured up a baseball bat and took multiple swings in different directions with it. It earned him a snort which he grinned at before continuing.

"It kind of came as an easy realization for me. I know that the stupid shit you breathers go about here on the mortal plane carries off into the Netherworld sometimes. It doesn't stick for long cause who the hell are you gonna complain to? No one." He rolled his eyes remembering all of the bigoted folks that would come through and get their panties in a twist at how the rest of the Netherworld was. While he wasn't the biggest fan of staying there all the time it wasn't always horrible there. The world of the living was more of a party for him.

"How did you really know, though?" Lydia hugged the pillow closer to her while sitting up. Beetlejuice plopped himself onto the bed next to her. Lydia had a surprisingly smart melon in that goth head of hers. He was curious why she was doubting herself so much.

"Probably when I made out with that one famous painter." He picked at his teeth. Lydia arched a brow.

"Which one?"

"You know me, scarecrow, don't kiss and tell." He grinned at her. Lydia gently smacked his knee.

"Oh BS, you always name drop famous people." She snorted. Beetlejuice snickered, moving his hands behind him then slid back more on the bed.

"You're right, I just don't remember the guy's name right now. Listen. I guess I get it. I've been observing you breathers for almost a millennia. Feelings are gross. But I know when it comes to this stuff it can be hard. Especially for kids. If there's something ya gotta blab to me about." He tilted his head in her direction while making sure he had her attention. She gave a slow nod for him to continue, "Then I'm listening."

Lydia inhaled deeply. This was nerve-racking. She just didn't know how to even express herself.

"I... I might have." Lydia banged her head into the soft pillow and gave a small whine. "I might.. like a girl at school." She spoke barely above a whisper. Beetlejuice leaned over since he could barely hear her. Lydia wrinkled her nose at the smell yet allowed him to do so.

"What was that kid? Gotta speak up." He gave a coy smile. Lydia scowled at him then looked away.

"I said... That I might like a girl at school. I'm not repeating myself again." Her cheeks were heating up at how embarrassing this was. Not so much expressing her feelings. It was more talking about a damn school crush to her stupid demon friend she was starting to make amends with. She looked over to him after a moment of making sure he wasn't going to tease her then noticed him grinning wide.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. HA. Of course, you're into girls! Look at you, you're tiny, snarky all the time and goth." Beetlejuice yammered on as he elbowed her side.

"Ha-ha, is this amusing to you or something? I just spilled my damn guts out." Lydia frowned, her cheeks flushed. Beetlejuice shook his head.

"Eh, maybe a little, I just find it funny that widdle Lydia has a crush. Always figured you were too feral and hated people too much for that." He pinched her cheek. She was close to snapping her teeth at his fingers. She opted for batting his hand away. Lydia wiped her cheek with her sleeve. He snickered in response then rested his elbows on his knees.

"Call me 'widdle' again and I'll throw you off the roof as I did before." She stuck her tongue out at him then took note of him smirking at her. "What?"

"Nuthin'. Just weird seeing you actually act like a teenager instead of your usual dry, deadpan self." He patted her hard on the back to which she grunted at him. "Good for you! Better to be your real self than locking that shit away. Dolores and Chuck'll probably be. I don't know, what's that word you breathers use now? 'Woke'? About this. I know the Maitlands will be. Ugh, they are just soooo supportive it's disgusting." He gagged at his last sentence to which Lydia rolled her eyes.

"I don't know if I'm going to tell anyone. At least not yet." Lydia softly spoke as she played with the pillow resting in her lap. Beej quirked a brow at her then snorted. He gave a soft bap on her head with his fist.

"Listen. I don't normally give pep talks that aren't about scaring, murder or crap. I guess I can try to understand. Daphne might be too intrusive about it. Chuck might just be super awkward about it and say something embarrassing. The other nerds are definitely gonna dote on you." Beetlejuice picked at his teeth. "Eh, take your time if you wanna. Just know that the Netherworld when ya shed your meat-sack body is gonna be fine with who or what yer into. Fuck what anyone else thinks." He let out a long yawn then stretched a little. "Trying to be nice makes me wanna take a nap or doing something nasty. Or hurl. Can't decide, this is gross."

Lydia looked over the demon while taking note of his words. She snickered at him dramatically pretending to upheave then shoved him.

"Stop being gross for five minutes." Lydia snorted then sat back on her bed finally letting go of her pillow. "Honestly.. My stomach is in a knot still. Part of me kind of wants to tell her however I don't want people to.." Midway through Lydia trailed off into a soft whisper. "I just don't want more of a reason for people to target me at school. I can handle myself for the most part. Just kind of hard when they gang up on me." She tugged at the edge of her school uniform. Without skipping a beat Beetlejuice responded.

"Want me to kill 'em for ya? I mean, if they're that big of lil assholes I'd probably be doing their parents a favor." Beetlejuice grinned while taking out a knife from his sleeve. "I'll 'cut' them down to size!" He cackled while swishing the knife around. Lydia ducked down then snorted.

"No. Murder isn't the answer to everything, BJ. Those girls are jerks but they aren't the root of the problem. Kids don't naturally act like bigoted brats. It's probably coming from their parents or something, to begin with." Lydia grabbed his arm to make him stop swinging the knife. Beetlejuice clicked his tongue then thought over what she said.

"Alright. Kill the parents and the brats. Two for two-plus no sad little orphans!" Beetlejuice hovered off the bed in glee while throwing his arms up into the air. "It'll be a real scream Lyds! Just let me loose on 'em! Come on! I haven't killed anyone since Juno!" He flexed his fingers while looking to her like an overjoyed child in a candy store. Lydia raised her hand up with a shake of her head.

"Didn't I just say murder wasn't the answer to everything?" She answered dryly while quirking a brow at him.

"I don't know, you murdered me pretty fast to try and kick my ass into the Netherworld," Beetlejuice muttered. Lydia inhaled deeply through her nostrils then slapped his thigh with her pillow.

"I'm serious. No murdering people on my behalf. I appreciate the enthusiasm but I don't want the cops on me. Making people suffer is more fun anyway." Lydia dropped the pillow then stretched her legs out. Beetlejuice floated back down to the bed then gave a little pout.

"Bah. Thought you were more fun than that, kid. Though torture also sounds like a blast." He stroked his scruffy chin. The goth teen kicked her feet against the edge of the bed.

"I was thinking more about pranking." She chuckled. "You know.. I might try talking to that girl. Just not yet." Lydia lulled her head against her shoulder to peer back at the demon. "I hate to stroke that big ego of yours. I wanna tell you that I kind of appreciate you talking to me about this. It's nice to talk to someone else who is attracted to the same gender." She took out her phone then opened the browser.

"Plus I see myself as more than one gender. Though that's a topic for another time, kid." He waved his hand as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Lydia swung her head up to stare at him.

"Oh; does that mean you're genderfluid?"

"Gender what now?" Beetlejuice quizzically stared at her while scratching the top of his scalp. Lydia quickly brought something up on her phone then showed him.

"You identify as more than one gender. See?" Lydia began scrolling through a website about the LGBTQ+ community while Beetlejuice crossed his arms and tried reading over it.

"Huh. Well shit. Guess so? Then what's being attracted to more than one gender?" He quickly snatched the phone out of her hand to look over it more.

"Well, that is a broader category. You could be either Bisexual or Pansexual." She sat up on her knees as she pressed the pad of her forefinger into the screen. Slowly she scrolled back up on the browser and pointed out the two. Beetlejuice hummed then plopped the phone back into her lap.

"Learn something new every day!" Beetlejuice grinned. The two froze when they heard the familiar voice of a woman echoing through the house.

"Lydia?? Are you home? We can get started on your homework if you want!" Barbara's hand began phasing through the door. With that Beetlejuice flung himself out the window as Lydia swatted grave dirt he left behind on her bed.

"Coming Barbara!" Lydia called.

She couldn't keep hiding him forever.

#beetlejuice #lydia deetz #chaos siblings #beetlejuice bway #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice musical #friends again #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic #my writings

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rocksandrobots · 4 years

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 21 - Fishing Trip

"So what do you wanna do this weekend?" Hiro asked Varian.

The other boy only shrugged his shoulders as he had no idea.

It was Friday and they were both walking home from school while trying to make plans for the weekend. All of their other friends were either away or busy due to Father's Day coming up. Fred was going to accompany his dad on a mission. Gogo was driving down to her father's for a few days. Wasabi had bought plane tickets to fly back to his hometown of Seattle. Karmi went back upstate for the weekend with her parents, and Megan was still grounded, but had a full day planned to butter up her dad. Even Honey Lemon was going home to spend time with her abuelo.

This left Varian feeling a little awkward. In Corona they had a Guardians Day, which was meant for both parents or caretakers in general, but for Varian it was always a day for just him and his dad to spend time together. One of the few times in the year when his father wouldn't work in the field, or go to market, or have business at court.

Varian knew precisely what a day like Father's Day meant and how special time spent with the man who raised you could be. He envied his friends, but mostly, knowing this would be the second year without his dad pained him.

In a way, he was thankful that Hiro shared his delima. Though he certainly wouldn't have wished his predicament upon anyone, it was still somewhat comforting to know that he wasn't alone.

They were a less than a block away from the Lucky Cat, still discussing things to do, when a sleek car pulled to a stop beside them. The window rolled down to reveal a man with blonde hair, a large nose, and a wide smile. He was wearing a plaid shirt and a tan floppy hat.

"Hey Hiro! Go grab your overnight bag and some sunscreen!" He joyously ordered. "Your new brother, cousin, thingy too. We're going fishing!"

Varian could only look on confused, he didn't know this man nor why he wanted to him and Hiro to go on a fishing trip with him. However, Hiro apparently did know him and was also apparently not onboard with this idea at all. He stood with his mouth a gape with a look of horror in his eyes.

After processing this terrible news, Hiro could only sputter out, "But.. but why?"

The man in the vehicle began to offhandedly list his reasons. "Because fishing by oneself isn't any fun unless there's someone else around to show off to. Because I had an awful childhood, whose own father would never take fishing, and now I'm living vicariously through you. Also, you're still my intern and for the rest of the year, I still own you."

The man flashed another wide grin and Varian began to put the pieces together. This must be Krei. Owner of Krei Tech, the man in charge of the portals that brought him here, and also Hiro's boss. Though, this new revelation did nothing to stem the confusion in his mind. He couldn't for life of him see why he was being invited along on the trip nor did he understand Hiro's objections.

"But...but...b, but…" Hiro suttered desperately trying to think of way out of going.

"No buts! I've already talk with your aunt and got her permission, reserved the campsite, and I even bought you both fishing poles!" Still grinning, he reached down beside him and lifted the new poles up for Hiro and Varian to see.

Hiro let out a wordless half groan, half whine in defeat, before turning around and slumping towards the cafe. Varian blinked and looked back and forth between the two of them unsure what to do. Krei waved to him cheerfully, clearly excited for the upcoming trip, and Varian numbly waved back before deciding to follow Hiro and pack his own bag.

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

Varian found himself enjoying the fishing trip more than he had expected. The first day was spent mainly getting there and setting up the campsite. The second day was spent fishing, exploring, and just taking in the scenery.

Varian had been allowed to bring Ruddiger along, as Hiro had also brought Baymax. His pet was overjoyed to be back in his natural environment and Varian had to admit that he felt more at home here in the great outdoors than in the crowded streets of San Fansokyo. The big city was fascinating but he'd always be a simple farm boy at heart.

Krei felt much the same way. The businessman hadn't been raised in the countryside the way Varian had, but he had a great love of camping, fishing, and being out in nature. His passion stemmed from childhood summers spent on vacation at something called 'summer camp'.

Varian found he got along with older man well. They spent the ride up chatting about science and it's more practical applications, spent the trip sharing wilderness tips, and fishing out in Krei's boat. Fishing had never been Varian's favorite activity, but he now found a new sense of nostalgia for it and the praise Krei would send his way whenever he caught one helped to fuel his enjoyment of the sport even more. Plus he got a chance to show off his cooking skills after they had cleaned their catch. Not the most pleasant task ever, but Varian could stomach it much better than butchering other kinds of meat.

Hiro however did not enjoy fishing, or camping, or anything to do with the outdoors really. The other teen mostly sulked the whole trip. When he wasn't busy gagging at the worms used for bait or getting scared by the unfamiliar sounds of the local wildlife that is. Mainly he stuck close to Baymax and the tent, bored out his mind and annoyed he had been forced to come long. Varian's enthusiasm only aggravated him further and, if he was being honest with himself, he was a little jealous by how easy things came to the other boy. He'd spent half a year trying to get on Krei's good side and impress him, while Varian had managed it in mere minutes of meeting the CEO.

The only time Hiro came out of his grumpy shell was at night, when they built a campfire and roasted marshmallows. Varian had never had smores before, but they were tasty, if also sticky and a little too sweet. Ruddiger however went nuts over the fluffy sweets and had to be kept from stealing the whole bag of them. Hiro didn't really care one way or the other about the traditional treat, but was more than eager to share ghost stories with the rest of the group. Gleefully recalling with gory detail about the spirit of an ax murderer who apparently stalked the woods. Perhaps it was a little vindictive of him, to try his best and scare the other teen, but Hiro couldn't help filling a little thrill whenever Varian gave a little jump or clutched his pet raccoon even tighter in comfort.

Keri was only amused by the story. He'd heard similar ones growing up at camp. He laughed at the end of Hiro's tale.

"Ha! Kids are still telling that one? Let me tell you a real horror story."

It was about tax audits.

Both boys could only shrug at each other.

"I do not understand the purpose of a 'ghost story'." Baymax observed.

"It's suppose to be for fun." Hiro informed him.

"I see; an adrenaline rush within a safe and controlled environment can be considered a pleasant feeling for some people. However I do not understand how taxes figure into that."

"Uuuuh, neither do we." Hiro admitted, "but I guess fear is subjective. Do you have any stories to share, Varian?"

Varian had to rack his brain on that one. His own life was more of a horror story then most ghost tales he knew, but he didn't want to devel into that. Instead he told a folk legend that his dad had once told him. It had been an old story from his home country; a parable about a rich man who was so greedy that he hoarded a well from the poor townspeople during a drought. Forcing them to pay him tribute lest they die of thirst, but he made the mistake of refusing water to a witch and so was cursed to become a vampire. To spend an eternity in thirst himself and to be forever alone, because he could no longer get close to other people without risking harm to them.

"And so a leader must care for his people, son," he remembered his father instructing him at the end of the tale, "He must share and give back to the community. He who sacrifices love for his fellow man in exchanged for selfish possessions, forfeits his right to live among mankind and to even be called a 'man' himself."

If only his father's words had been true. If real life had been as simple as stories, then Corona would have sided with him and not the evil king who kept the wondrous healing flower hidden away and who turned his back upon people need. But Varian conveniently left out this more personal anecdote.

"Wow." Hiro said flatly. "That's deep."

He wasn't used to horror stories having explicit morals attached to them and didn't know how else to respond. The tale hadn't been scary so much as eerie with an unnerving ending. Unlike his serial killer story, it wasn't anything you could be afraid of happening to you, yet questioning your place in the world was somehow more off putting than simple dismemberment.

The mood was broken however, by Ruddiger stealing Hiro's marshmallow off his roasting stick. It turned out to be last one as Krei had spent the majority of Varian's story battling the gluttonous raccoon over their food stores.

"I know racoons aren't 'mankind', but does this mean he's doomed to be a marshmallow vampire now?" Hiro joked as Varian got onto his pet.

"I don't know. Your robot looks like a walking marshmallow though." Varian shot back good naturedly.

Now out of food, save for leftover fish, they all decided to tuck in for the night.

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

Hiro hated the woods. He hated how unfamiliar everything was, how inconvenient it was, and most of all he hated how gross it was. He woke up irritated and sore from sleeping on the thin sleeping bag inside the tent. He couldn't find anything decent to eat for breakfast. He never stopped grumbling while he was forced to use the bathroom outside. To make an awful morning even worst, he couldn't shake the feeling of being stalked as strange animals hooted and howled. One bush in particular shook right when he pasted it. He nearly jumped out of skin when Ruddiger pop out of it holding the last of the fish in its mouth.

He groaned as he watched the raccoon scurry away and climb up a tree a little ways off from the campsite. He didn't much care for the creature, or for wild animals in general, but he knew how important the pet was to Varian and so had tried to be polite about having it around. Still Hiro's patience was wearing thin. The walking bottomless pit had eaten practically everything in the camp.

Hiro reluctantly followed after, debating if it was worth trying to get the fish back. Probably not, he didn't even like the taste of fish all that much to begin with. He stopped in surprise when an apple core fell from tree and nearly hit him. He looked up and found Varian sitting in one of the top branches, raccoon by his side, and reaching up to pick another apple off the tree.

The other teen paused when he saw Hiro. "Hey! Morning! You wanna an apple for breakfast?"

Hiro's stomach growled in response but all he actually said was, "How did you get up there?"

Varian laughed, "Climbed up here. How else you do think? Fly?"

Hiro looked up at him blankly. It was an obvious answer, of course, and he felt silly for having asked it.

"Come on up!" Varian encouraged. "There's plenty of apples to go around."

"I..I can't." Hiro admitted sheepishly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know how to climb a tree." He mumbled.

Varian looked surprised by this revelation and before Hiro could do anything else, the other boy quickly climbed back down to join him.

“You never climb a tree before?”

‘Well, I did once, with Baymax’s help.” He rubbed the back of his neck self consciously.

“It’s not like there’s a whole lot of trees in San Fransokyo to climb.”

“Oh, well, it’s easy. Here, I’ll show you. Just put your foot there, in that knot, and place your hand here on this bump in the bark.” Varian instructed, helping Hiro find the footholds. “Now you see that groove up here, place your other foot there, and as you hoist yourself up grab that lowest branch with your other hand, like climbing a really uneven ladder.”

Hiro did so, though not without some struggling, but eventually he pulled himself up onto the lowest branch.

“Great!” Varian cheered and followed after with practiced ease. “The hardest parts done. Now all you gotta do is swing up the rest of the branches, like so.”

Varian took off, showing Hiro the best way to navigate the tree top. Hiro followed him, mimicking the other boys actions. With great effort he hauled himself up onto the final branch and heaved a ‘wooooph’ in relief of having made it up.

His sigh quickly turned to awe though when he caught sight of the view. The early morning sun sparkled on the lake. Further out a misty fog was beginning to disperse and you could see the opposite shoreline reflected in the water like glass. Beyond that giant redwoods poked out of the canopy of trees and way, way off in the distance you just about make out the tips of blue mountains.

“Woah.” He breathed. Hiro had to admit, you didn’t get scenery like this in the city.

‘Here.” Varian handed him an apple. It was smaller than the ones you’d buy in the store, with pink and yellow skin. Hiro tentatively took a bite. It was crunchy and very tart, but edible. Not to mention it was practically the only food they had left in the camp, so Hiro wound up eating it all and started in on a second one.

“So, where did you learn to climb?” Hiro asked taking another large bite of the wild fruit.

“Oh, I’ve been climbing trees since I could walk.” Varian laughed. “We owned an apple orchard along with the farm. Also the forest is right next to my village.”

Ruddiger joined them, procuring his own apple and sitting right on Varian’s lap to enjoy his meal. Varian scratched his pet’s ear.

“Does he ever get full?” Hiro asked.

“Nope.” Varian replied, and then they both broke into giggles.

Once the laughter had subsided Hiro commented, “I guess that’s why you’re so good at this outdoors stuff. This is the first time I ever been fishing, and with any luck, it’ll be my last.”

“My dad taught me.” Varian quitely confessed. “He’d take me on trips like this sometimes. Try to teach me how to hunt and fish. The fishing is a lot better than the hunting, let me tell you. I never could fire an arrow right and I can’t stand the sight of blood.” He cringed as if recalling a gruesome memory. “But, I guess he was just looking out for me. He taught me the skills he had to live on to survive. Apparently there were no farms where he grew up, the land was always baren. I guess that’s why he prefered gardening to being a knight.”

“Wait, your dad was an actual for real knight?”

Varian nodded, “Yeah, I found his armor after...after the accident. Along with a bunch of other important stuff he never told me about.” He added bitterly.

Hiro didn’t know how to respond to that. So he stayed quiet and let Varian dictate the conversation.

“Anyways, it worked. The fishing did come in handy. I had to do a lot of that, when.. when I was on my own.” He worked his jaw as he mulled over that last confession, his eyes gazing out to into the distance, clearly not seeing the breathtaking view before them.

Hiro’s heart dropped. He had a vague idea of what happened to Varian, but this was the first time it really hit home just how messed up the other’s teen’s life had been before now. He could empathize with losing a loved one, but he had always had his aunt and his friends to depend upon. If nothing else to be there and take of him as he sank into depression. But Varian had to do everything for himself, even while battling that same depression. The idea of having to catch or scavenge for your own food on top caring for you ill father was a nightmare that Hiro could barely comprehend. A nightmare that only somehow got worse.

“Fortunately, there’s a river that runs through my village, and I could set up lines overnight and just go check them in the morning, and we had food stored up for winter. Like oats, bacon, dried peas, that sort of thing. That is, until spring rolled around and the king's guards run me out of my house.” He said irritably.”Then I just had to forage or steal to survive.”

“Be...because you stole medicine?” Hiro asked disquietly. He couldn’t imagine a world so cruel and yet to his surprise the story got even worse.

“Oh no, this was before I stole the flower.” Varian said matter of factly and Hiro just stared at him in horror. Varian heaved a heavy sigh and went on to explain. “My father was the only other person who knew about the sundrop. The king kept it hidden from everyone. I guess when he found out that my dad, was, was ‘gone’, he decided to try and remove me from the picture, so as to keep his secret safe. He made a bunch of false charges about me ‘attacking the princess’ so that no one would believe me when I asked for help or told them the truth about the flower. Then he sent his elite guard to arrest me and I had to run.”

Varian gave a little shrug and added, “I guess after that, ‘treason’ didn’t seem like that big of deal. I mean they were going to throw me in jail either way, and not many people leave those dungeons alive.”

Hiro could barely process what was being told to him. He didn’t know what to say. His stomach churned and his breath shallowed. Varian’s past was far scarier than any ghost story.

Then suddenly he felt guilty. He’d been so caught up in his own grief and his own struggles with readjusting, that he hadn’t actually stopped to think about things from Varian’s perspective. He had thus far grinned and bared the discomfort of having his life turned upside down, because, well because that's what he thought he needed to do in order to be a mature decent person. And while that was true in part, it never occurred to him that this move was yet another upset in Varian’s life, in a long, long string of seemingly never ending upsets.

Hiro found himself so easily annoyed by the other teen, yet he really had no right to be. Varian was readjusting to whole new culture and way of life in addition to struggling with his grief and trauma. So what if he cooked weird food sometimes, didn’t always know the appropriate conduct to certain situations, or was so super confident in nearly everything he did that it made Hiro self conscious and a little jealous at times. Deep down, Varian was suffering through something that no one in Hiro’s little corner of the globe could fully understand, and the least that Hiro could do was try to be a little more patient and a little more open about letting Varian into his life.

“You know,” Hiro slowly said, trying to ease the conversation and offer a little understanding, “I never really knew my dad. I was just four when he and my mom died. It was always Tadashi who taught me things, like how to ride a bike or how to hotwire a robot. Though he never taught me to climb to tree, so I guess that’s one I owe you.”

He smiled encouragingly at Varian, who nervously returned it. Once again Varian wasn’t used to praise or acknowledgement that he anything ‘right’.

“Maybe, you could teach me more outdoorsy stuff.” Hiro offered. “And I can teach you more about more modern stuff, like how to play Mind Smith II Turbo .”

“That..that’s that video game you like, isn’t it?” Varian asked as he tried to remember what Hiro even talking about.

“Yeah!” and with that Hiro eagerly launched into a detailed description of the game.

Soon the boys were interrupted by Krei emerging from the tent. He stretched sore back and tried to reheat the leftover instant coffee he’d brought. He then promptly spit it back out in disgust. The boys tried their best to suppress their snickers. Keri spotted them anyways.

“How ‘bout we pack it up and go get tacos instead?” He asked them.

“Yeeesss!” Yelled Hiro, who was more than ready to go.

“Sounds great!” Agreed Varian. “We’ll be right down!”

Keri went back in the tent to start packing and Ruddigger scurried down after him, hoping to maybe steal another treat from the camp.

Varian stood up and started to also make his way down when Hiro’s voice stopped him.

“Ummm...Sooo how do you get down exactly?”

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

The day ended with a trip to Yaki Taco and a huge feast of fast food nachos and deep fried burritos. Rudiger was once again confined to his carrying cage, but was allowed a cup of some cheese sauce to snack on. Baymax was let out of his charger case to kept an eye on the mischievous raccoon. All agreed it was actually the best part of the camping trip.

“Say, ‘cheese’.” The robot said, as he took a photograph with his internal camera.

The three guys sing songed the the word even as actual cheese dripped off the burritos they held in their hands, plastering on dopey grins for the camera. Then a few more pictures with silly faces to complete the set.

“Fantastic!” Krei said. “I want copies for the office.”

“Why?” Hiro asked.

“So if any clients come in I show off ‘my family’ to them instead just the photo of my mother. I love the woman but she doesn’t necessarily impress the image of ‘family friendly company’.”

“I knew there was a catch.” Hiro scoffed.

Keri looked wounded. “Hey, I told you, my employees are my family.”

Hiro rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help giving a little smile at that. He knew Krei well enough by now to know that, underneath his seemingly conviving self-serving self, he had a heart, and he wouldn’t have invited Hiro and Varian along if he didn’t care.

“Aunt Cass put you up to this, didn’t she?” He prodded.

“I’m sworn to secrecy.” Krei insisted and they gave Hiro a knowing wink. Then more seriously he said, “I know what it’s like not having your dad around on Father’s Day. So, I figured, why not a fishing trip? It’s better than being stuck at home while your father’s away on a business trip to Tahiti that weekend.”

Hiro raised in eyebrow. Keri had a tendency of oversharing at times.

“Buuut, enough about me. Who wants dessert!?”

#big hero 6 #varian #Hiro Hamada #tangled #ruddiger #krei #BH6 the series #tts #rta #tangled the series

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multimask · 3 years

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Alright buckle up we got a lot of questions: 13, 14, 16, 25, 26, 33, 37, 38, 42, 63, 68, all for my wonderful friend The Head of Coin! 👁👁 show me the forbidden information

ALRIGHT LONG LIST HERE WE GO (love that you’re asking Coin, who is supposed to be good at keeping Secrets, all of these questions, and so soon after That Chat with Von Kri, too)

13. What do they dislike about themself? Why?

I'm honestly not sure. Coin's been running around my head for a good number of months now, and I don't know if I've ever heard him say anything about something he doesn't like about himself. He's a cocky cheerful bastard, and I'm *still* trying to figure out if that's honest to god Him or if that's a façade he puts on. I'm not sure Coin completely realizes this - though he's definitely noticed after That Chat - but he's somewhat careless when not sworn to secrecy, is a way to put it, I suppose. If he's made a deal or an agreement then by the gods he will follow it, but if not? He can be unfortunately loose-lipped, as we discovered in that chat with Von Kri. If it involves his Own, then he is... better at being tight-lipped when not sworn to, but he can be careless when it comes to others he doesn't have any formal Deals with (like the main party...). He knows this isn't necessarily favorable, but he's also not sure how, or even if, he wants to really change that

14. What is something they love about themself?

Coin loves his surefire confidence. He’s a cheerful bastard, and a cocksure one at that. Until That Chat, I don’t think Coin’s been really shaken or felt out of control of a situation in a good long while. I still need to really sort out his backstory, and his early early life, but I don’t think that this cocksure attitude was always the case for him. It’s something he developed and worked for and... well, you heard it here first, he was *so awkward and shy* as a kid, a total wallflower. He's able to slip into the unnoticed wallflower easy enough, but it's not something he tends to do much these days. He was always watching, listening to others growing up, and he managed to basically turn that into his job?

16. What are their feelings on the people who raised them?

Alright, going to be copy/pasting this Q&A for Coin into one of my hidden DM channels so I’ve got this on record there lmao. The people who raised Coin. . . Hm. Coin was born to eladrin parents on the Material Plane, and he was not born with the “name” of Coin. I have that name written down in my notes, but that is not information I will lightly give where other players might see. The Name/Title of “Coin” he took on after he made his way to the Shadowfell, but that was later in life. His parents were kind folk, and they raised him best they could, but there was only so much they could do for the shy wallflower of a child he was. He doesn’t think badly of his parents, when he remembers them, but it’s been so long since he’s seen them that he rarely thinks about them. He knows his parents have passed away, but he doesn’t know where they’re buried or else he would visit their graves while he’s on the Material Plane right now

25. What stories do they like to tell? What stories do they like to hear?

Coin *loves* to hear stories of all sorts. He trades in information, among other things, and stories can tell you so much about an event and about the people telling you the story. He especially likes the “stories” that are basically someone catching the new person up on all the office gossip & drama. That’s always fun to listen to when they bring someone new into the offices and he gets to overhear the latest rendition of the complaints about Ayen’s Code that no one can understand. Stories that Coin likes to tell? Hm. Whatever kind of story he thinks his audience would like, something to keep them engaged and continuing to trade stories with him. I’m not sure I could get more specific than that, since what sort of story he’d tell depends on who his audience is and if he’s looking for information

26. Who do they miss?

Really digging at the backstory here, I see. *Any* information I’m giving here that pertains to before Coin joined the Shadow Court is new information we’re spinning up to answer these questions lmao. I don’t think Coin misses anyone, not seriously. There might be some old warlocks of his that have passed away that he misses, but there’s always someone new to meet. Perhaps his parents? When he remembers them, of course. It’s been *centuries* since he last saw them, and he has less and less reason to remember them as the years pass by

33. What makes them cry?

As much as I wanted to try and find a possible backstory scenario or something on something that makes Coin cry, I couldn’t think of anything, so we get a funny answer here. What makes Coin cry? Get him drunk enough and he’ll cry over the funniest things, like snakes not being able to walk because they don’t have legs. S&C have both seen this from him on numerous different occasions, I believe, and C will *gladly* offer up facts and info like that if he’s gotten over snakes but needs something continue to cry about. And also drops information like that around Coin when he's sober to add to the list of topics to cry over when drunk. Simply stating “The point is dolphins” around a drunk enough Coin will send him crying about dolphins bc 1) “so long and thanks for all the fish” (Coin: why would they abandon us!?!) and 2) dolphins attacking pufferfish to get high (Coin: they’re so meeeeannnnn why would they do that 😭)

37. What is their favorite thing to hold?

A pen or a coin. When he’s not running around watching the party in their chaos, he’s often found with a notebook or at a desk working on notes or ledgers. He keeps records, and so he’s often found with a pen in hand. He’s also almost always fidgeting with like a silver or copper piece. I think the cool metal of the coins helps ground him, and, as some other characters have seen, he will occasionally hand them out, so he’s always got a coin on hand.

38. What do they smell like?

Musty, like inks and papers of a records room full of books. There’s also a sharp metallic edge to him, as well, that smells like copper pennies or blood

42. What are three words they would use to describe themself?

Sure-footed, Watching, and Energetic (and, of course, Cheerful, but I call him a cheerful bastard enough that that one’s a given at this point lol)

63. What fight has scared them the most?

A fight with the Baron, back in the early days of this Shadow Court. Things were rough going until everyone settled into their places and got used to each other. Fighting the sorcerer wasn’t that much of a problem, the magic he could handle, but the *blankness* of the Baron was incredibly unnerving. Coin is normally good at reading people, in both combat and conversation, but he’s never been able to read the Baron in either. There was a disagreement between Coin and the Baron about something or other, probably something pretty petty and insignificant looking back, but the fight scared Coin. He’s fought mages before, and can hold his own against them, but he wasn’t able to read the Baron’s movements or his casting, and that was the first fight he nearly lost in a long while

68. What was the best moment of their life?

Watching the party kill the Sage? Hearing that the Sage, Father, and Templar were all three dead? I think that second one, since that signaled him becoming the head of the Court. If there’s another moment, I haven’t mapped out his backstory too seriously, so I couldn’t tell you

[If you want to ask me questions about my characters, the post can be found here!]

#asks #coin #head of coin #my campaign #ask game #ask meme #questions #sarcastic-fandomtastic-dragon #isa babble

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