#i just like connecting the dots. and then smashing the dots together in an image

[penaltbox]

no promises - cole caufield

here’s a little fic that i’m actually pretty proud of and i owe so much credit to @puckyess​ for always helping me get these ideas rolling. if you like it let me know! feedback and reblogs are much appreciated!

word count: ~5.9k

__

The image of the gold chain he always wore dances behind your closed eyelids for the third night in a row. You swear you can hear his ragged breath in your ear, his mumbled profanities mingling with the gasps you let out when he checks to make sure you’re still okay, and the brief mentions of something gone wrong during the game. It’s like he’s right there, pushing you both closer to a release of emotions that you played no part in aggravating. You’re ready to lose it when you shoot up in bed, your phone lit up on the side table next to you with a notification. You take a deep breath and steady yourself, not even realizing that you’d fallen asleep. You rub your hand over your face and grab the device to check who was contacting you at such a late hour. You had a feeling you knew who…

‘Speak of the devil’, you thought as you unlocked your screen and tapped on his message. You realize then that it’s just past one o’clock in the morning and you connect the dots that he’d probably just gotten back from their trip to Ohio State. 

‘come over’

Never a please. Never a ‘would you like to’. Never a doubt that you wouldn’t do exactly what he asked of you.

And you had yet to prove him wrong. You slip out from under your covers quickly, grabbing some clothes and sneaking into your bathroom with your fingers crossed that your roommate wouldn’t hear you. You shower quickly and shave, slipping on the lace underwear that he’d probably hardly notice and some comfy clothes before brushing your teeth and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Your roommate asks, head peeking over the back of the couch as you jump in surprise. She was rarely up late, but of course, some west coast hockey game had kept her up well past her bedtime on that night of all times. You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed the TV still on when you walked out.

“Uhm, nowhere,” you lie, knowing she’ll see right through you, “I’ll be back tonight though.”

She sighs and turns back around, “you know he’s just going to hurt you.”

And that… that was probably true, but it’s something you refuse to think about in that moment. Instead, you slip your shoes on and grab your keys, heading out just as suddenly as his request had come in. You made a half-hearted mental note that this needed to be the last time you did this.

__

You hate how quickly you get to his place but you can’t help it. It’s like second nature at this point and you could get there on autopilot if needed. Some nights it felt just like that but tonight you had a weird buzzing under your skin. It wasn’t like you were doing this for the first time or anything. Far from it, in fact. You try to brush the feeling off as nerves and stop two doors down from his actual apartment, sending him a text that you’d arrived, just like he always asked you to do. 

It takes a few minutes but his head pops out of the door suddenly and he smirks, “about time.”

You roll your eyes playfully and walk towards him, leaning in to kiss his cheek before making your way towards his bedroom. Brock barely spares you a glance from the couch, focusing his eyes on the TV as he watches the replay of the game your roommate had caught earlier. You blush and turn towards Cole’s room, but manage to catch Brock telling Cole to keep it down in a less than pleased voice. 

You ignore it and make your way into Cole’s room, peeking out the window at the city below that was much quieter than you were used to with it being such a late hour. 

“Miss me?” He calls from behind you, catching your attention.

You turn and find him still donning the smirk he’d formed when he first saw you that night, “wouldn’t you love to know.”

He scoffs a little and you watch his demeanor start to shift. Cole never called because he wanted to see you. No, it was more that he needed you to be there. Cole had a short temper ever since getting to Wisconsin. He found himself easily agitated and regularly frustrated at how his game had gone from smooth and easy with the NTDP to always struggling with the Badgers. 

And then one night he met you. He didn’t mean to start hooking up with you but you knew enough about hockey that he could talk about what went wrong if he wanted to, but you also knew when you just let him have his turn to get his frustrations out. His mouth turns down in a scowl as he locks his bedroom door and closes the gap between you two. His stare is constant and you feel your cheeks heat up almost instantly. He had control over you that you’d never given up to anyone and it made for addictingly good sex. 

“This last game sucked,” he mumbles, backing you against the wall and resting a hand on your hip. He’s so close you can feel his warm breaths as he seems to disconnect from the world suddenly. 

He goes silent but you don’t need any other explanation. You’d watched the game and saw he got his shit rocked on a couple different occasions. You would bet there was a bruise somewhere under his clothes that you’d be finding in no time. 

He presses his lips roughly against yours as his free hand comes around your waist, holding you tight against him. His hand slides up from your hip and slips under your shirt until he gets up to your bra… or where it should be. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling back and lifting your battered Wisconsin crew neck over your head, “no bra? I love it.”

Your heart stalls a little at the l-word, not expecting him to say that. You don’t get time to react though as he kisses you again, slower this time, and angles you over towards the bed. He lets you fall back on it and you smile, reaching a hand out for him. He takes it, giving you a grin back that makes the buzzing under your skin worsen. 

Cole was always different once he got you in his room. He didn’t say much when you got there or left, but when it was just the two of you? He was all hands on. He was vocal; he checked in on you, he praised you, and he always made sure you finished. But he never looked at you when he did. 

He’s quick to shed his own clothes and tug your joggers off, wasting no time as his lips found as much skin as they could. He left a couple marks, but not anywhere they’d be visible. You did your best to keep up, gripping his shoulders as you rolled your hips up against his. 

He’s settled into you and creating a pace before he says another word, his tone strained as he says, “can’t believe that goal didn’t count. Fuck that ref. We hardly got enough chances on net. Shit, I’m getting close, baby.”

“Just a little longer,” you squeak, digging your nails into his back as the pet name rolled through your thoughts. He never called you by name during sex. It was a red flag that stood tall but you still ignored it every time it happened. 

You could feel every failed play in the way he moved. You knew there were missed shots and poor passes that resulted in them losing. You watch the wheels turn in his head as he holds you down just a little harder, blunt nails digging into your skin. His left bites the skin above your collarbone and you know it’ll leave a mark but it still pulls an obscene noise from your lips. 

He presses his forehead into the crook of your neck, lips melting against your warm skin. He slips a hand down to help you along and it works much faster than you expected. You hated how he knew what would make your body react fastest as you tumble to your end. You try to catch your breath below him, knowing the hold he had on your hip would leave bruises. It usually did. He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling for a couple minutes when he’s done. 

He looks over at you, the corner of his lips just slightly pulled up, “are you good?”

“I’m good,” you laugh, still a little out of breath, “just don’t make me stand up right this second. My legs feel like jello.”

“Deal,” he laughs, letting his hand slide over, hooking your pinkies together in the small space between the two of you. 

Once you finally feel up for it you slide out of his warm bed, grabbing your clothes and sliding them back on. Cole pulls sweatpants on and waits until you’re ready before walking you out. He stops at his own door first though and leans down, giving you a much more gentle kiss than the first that night. He lets you both linger, arms wrapped around each other, and leans his forehead on yours when he finally separates his mouth from yours. 

“I’ll see you next time?” He asks, but you both know the answer. 

“Yeah, of course.”

His demeanor turns back to friendly versus affectionate as he walks you to the front door. You notice that Brock is no longer taking up space on the couch and you feel embarrassed when you think of what he must have heard. 

Cole tells you goodbye, but there’s no hug and definitely no kiss this time around. He watches until you get safely into the elevator and leaves you with a nod of his head. You really wondered why you stuck around but when you remember the last kiss he’d given you, you can’t help but press your fingers to your lips as the buzzing under your skin heightens again. 

—

You watch the time tick down off the clock, wincing when you watch Cole smash his stick off the wall at the buzzer. They’d gotten destroyed by Minnesota and you already knew what type of mood he was in. The announcers make comments on the bad attitudes the Badgers were toting, mentioning multiple things they’d done wrong that night. You mute them but leave the feed running just in case they interviewed someone you’d want to hear from. 

It was a home game so there was no flight to wait for but you had a good feeling you’d be getting a text in an hour or two so you moved from the couch to your bathroom, not wanting to make him wait with how he was acting already. 

As soon as you wrap the fluffy towel around your body and tap the screen you see three messages waiting from Cole and one from a number you didn’t have saved. You frown and open it quickly, tapping the unknown number first. 

‘Hey it’s Brock. Sorry if this is weird but the doors unlocked and I’m gone for the night so deal with my brother please and thanks’

You laugh a little, knowing he must be way more worked up than you expected. ‘What a shit show this is going to be’, you think to yourself. You skim Cole’s messages next that range from ‘come over’ to ‘I’m dead serious get over here’. You’re about to type out a response when his contact pops up on your screen. He’d never called before. 

“Hello?” You answer, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Why are you ignoring me? Get over here,” He grits out, sounding so tense your jaw drops a little. 

You sigh, tucking the phone between your shoulder and cheek as you hurry to your room to grab clothes, “I am, I promise. I was just in the shower.”

“We don’t make promises, remember? The front door is open when you get here.”

You’re about to tell him you knew that but the line goes dead, leaving you to stare at the blank screen in your hand. You’re baffled at the attitude he was projecting onto you but you get your things together anyways and finish getting ready. ‘

You don’t hurry to his place this time, knowing he was on edge either way, but you still get there in under 20 minutes from when he’d called. You bite your lip as you try the door handle, finding it unlocked just like both Caufield boys had said. You take a deep breath and walk in, locking the door behind you

“Cole?” you call out, looking around the small space. He’s not in the kitchen or living room so you head down the hall. His room is dark, leaving you confused, but then you hear the shower. You tap on the door and peek your head in, “Cole?”

His head pops out from around the corner, a frown so prominent his forehead was creasing. It eases off his face a little when he locks eyes on you as he calls for you, “will you come here? Get in with me.”

Your face heats quickly. You’d never done something so intimate with him and you were wondering if it was really the best idea. Your skin starts to get that all-too-familiar buzz under it now and you were starting to think it was permanent around him. 

“Are you sure? I just took one and I don’t mind waiting in your room until you’re done.”

He sighs, pouting a little, “please.”

You really wished you had more willpower in that moment but when it came to him you just didn’t. You nod and make your way into the small room, striping your clothes off as he watched. It makes you feel so much more exposed than usual but somehow it’s not uncomfortable. You push him back gently as you go to step in, smiling a little.

“You better make room if you want me in here,” you tease, putting your hair up in a bun to keep it dry.

Cole smirks and pulls you into him, eyes still scanning your body, “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

You snort at that and roll your eyes, “we both know that’s a lie. You’re the one who calls the shots around here.”

He’s silent for a moment before he smirks and leans down, kissing you hard. He bites gently on your bottom lip, much to your surprise, and lets a hand trail down the side of your thigh. He looks like he’s up to no good when he pulls back, making you let out a little laugh. You knew when you were in trouble with him. 

“Let’s see what it’s like in the shower. I bet you sound amazing in here,” he says, his tone low enough to make you shiver a bit. You didn’t hate the idea. You were pretty sure anywhere the two of you chose would be worth your time, but the bathroom was… well lit. He’d see every inch of you and you were pretty sure he hadn’t yet.

“Are you sure?” you check in, half hoping he’ll change his mind for some reason. 

“Yeah I’m sure. I think it’ll be fun,” he nods, but stops when he notices your hesitation, “unless you’re not cool with it?”

“No! I’m okay with it! I just was thinking we’ve never really done anything with so much, you know, light and stuff,” you blush, looking down at your feet then and feeling a little silly for your admission. 

Cole reaches out to tilt your chin back up towards him, “I’ll let you call this shot.”

And you agree. You end up losing your footing a couple times, he has to hold your waist almost always, and you can’t help but laugh at the awful noises that are being made at an awful volume in the tiled area. It’s simultaneously the worst yet most fun sex the two of you had dealt with yet. It takes longer than normal to finish for you both so you’re exhausted by the time you both lean on each other to catch your breath. 

“Wonder what time it is by now,” you mumble, cheek pressed against his chest as you hug his waist tight. 

He looks down and leans to kiss your forehead so gently you can’t breathe suddenly, “probably pretty late. Did you just want to spend the night?”

You sigh and try to step away but his arms hold you tightly in place. You give him a look, trying to remind him that you both know better than to even think about doing that. This was still just a hookup. Or at least it was supposed to be. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you sigh, leaning your cheek back onto his chest to listen to his heartbeat rather than catching his stare. 

“You’re right,” he agrees, but he doesn’t sound very convincing. 

He carefully slips from your arms and out of the shower, grabbing his own towel before searching for an extra for you. He shuts the shower off and wraps the towel tightly around you, giving you another forehead kiss. He was really pushing boundaries for the night and you were struggling to keep saying no. 

You both dress in silence, but it’s far from awkward. You can see the tension is gone in his shoulders and he just looks exhausted now. You’re still determined to leave and keep things casual, but if you weren’t, you’d have him wrapped in your arms in his bed while you played with his hair. Luckily, or maybe not, you’d never know that was struggling not to think of the same thing. 

He catches you by surprise yet again that night when he kisses you at the front door. He usually played it cool and acted unattached in any of the common spaces but tonight was much different. You had so many thoughts in your head from the way he was treating you and you knew you needed to go. 

A quick goodbye and one more fast kiss, or you wouldn’t leave, and you were walking a little quicker than usual to the elevator. Maybe it was time to start telling him no. You laugh at your own thoughts immediately. You were way too gone for him to ever do that.

—

‘Let me know when you land and I’ll get ready’

You stare at the words that you’d texted, wondering if you blacked out when you sent them. You can’t take it back, unfortunately, and you’re left with the gnawing feeling that you shouldn’t have done it. Cole was always the one to ask you over. 

“You sent him what?” Your roommate asks, her eyes wide as she leans over your shoulder to read it, “oh my god, are you in love with him or something?”

“What? No!” You yell back, but truthfully you weren’t sure about that, “I just figured I’d check in with him first? I don’t know, I guess I just thought I’d get the ball rolling earlier today.”

Your face feels hot to the touch as you press your hand against your cheek. You know you must look like a lost puppy because your roommate wraps her arms around you immediately, rubbing your back soothingly. 

“Just be careful, okay? I know you have fun when you’re with him, but boys suck. You can’t trust him.”

You swallow hard and nod, knowing she was telling the truth. You nod as a silent agreement and tell yourself you need to start pulling away. It’s not that you want to. You always enjoy being with Cole. It’s more that you need to. 

Cole turns his phone on once the flight lands. A few messages popping up right away. He’s about to ignore them all when he sees your name ding on the screen right before he can lock it. He feels a little tug in his chest as he reads the words you’d sent him. He tries to shrug the feeling off but the smack on his shoulder grounds him more than anything. 

Brock stares at him, an almost knowing look on his face, “is that who I think it is? I thought you were the one who always reached out first.”

“I mean, I usually am. This is a first,” Cole says, looking back down at the message that has his face quickly turning up in a smile. 

“You know this isn’t a good idea,” Brock mumbles as he gives his little brother a side eye, “when are you going to stop playing with her emotions and make a decision? Because it sure looks like you’re getting your own feelings involved at this point, too.”

“I’m sure she just sent it because she knows by now. We practically have a routine at this point so she’s really not out of line or anything,” Cole justifies, starting to type out a message right away.

Brock laughs a little before standing to get off the plane, “just don’t come crying to me when things go wrong because you two wouldn’t talk about things and one of you ends up heartbroken. Or both of you.”

Cole sighs and tries to shake off the words from his brother because honestly, he knew what Brock was saying was the truth. He’d always said he wasn’t going to get into anything serious because everything until the NHL was just a short-term stay. He hadn’t listened to that rule in high school though and so far he was having a hard time listening to it at college as well. Despite the advice from his brother he texts you back, wanting to just go with what made him feel good. 

‘Don’t be late’

He throws a winking emoji on at the end, quickly softening the formerly demanding message. You nearly choke on your own breath when it comes in on your phone. You’d spent the last half hour pacing your apartment and overthinking the worst case scenarios that could come from your choice to text him first. You’re surprised that he’s so casual about it, if you’re being honest, but you chalk it up to it being a routine thing that you guys did after his games. It’s all you need to hear though and you finish getting ready while trying not to think too hard about what it meant that you were both showing a desire to be together. 

Cole barely drops his backpack down in his room when his phone lights up. He smiles subconsciously and opens your message as he’s walking back towards the front door. Brock happens to be walking in the opposite direction and gives Cole a solid shove on his shoulder, mumbling something about how soft Cole was getting. He ignores the comment and pulls the front door open quickly, looking over at you.

“Well look who it is. Get over here,” he says, directing his smile at you.

You blush when you see how happy he looks and it makes your stomach flutter. That couldn’t be a good sign, but you can’t help it. You walk over and lean in, testing to see where the boundaries were that day. He leans down easily, kissing you gently, and making your brain go haywire. He’d never done that in the common space. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and giving a little squeeze as he takes the familiar path to his room. You were pretty sure you could walk the apartment with your eyes closed by now and you mark another little red flag in your head. They were tallying up faster and faster lately.

“You split the series, huh?” you ask, needing to break the silence with something to stop your thoughts from scrambling any longer.

Cole grins back at you, “yeah, they were decent so I’m glad we got that first win yesterday. Is that what it takes to get you to text first? A split?”

You can hear the teasing in his voice and it makes you blush, leaning your forehead on his arm, “stop, I thought you were back already. I didn’t mean to text early.”

He laughs, kissing your forehead and shutting the door behind him, “it’s okay. I didn’t mind it. We do kind of have that routine by now.”

“Yeah, we kind of do, huh? I just didn’t want to step over any lines with it,” you mumble, looking down where your hands are still connected.

“You didn’t,” he says quietly, grabbing your other hand and putting them on the back of his neck so he can wrap his arms around your waist, “don’t be afraid to do it again.”

You can’t form any words, opting to give him a little nod as your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck instead. He kisses you then and it takes your breath away. It feels like more than the ones you’d had before and maybe that was from his confession that he didn’t mind hearing from you whenever you pleased, but it’s a lot. In fact, the whole night is a lot.

He takes his time once he lays you down, picking you apart and finding every soft spot on your body. It isn’t rushed and aggressive like the hook ups usually were and you both were well aware of what you were doing. You even take a chance, tracing a bruise on his side with kisses to see if he’d let you. Usually he took charge and did things his way, but he lets you do what you want, making him whine and squirm like you’d never seen. You’re both exhausted by the time you’re done. You’d spent time, and for once, a lot of emotion on each other that wasn’t how things used to be. He pulls you against his chest after as he gently dances his fingers up and down your back.

“Same thing next weekend?” he jokes, getting a laugh out of you instantly. The sound makes the tug in his chest come back and he tries to push it away.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you say and pretend to think about it, “what if I have other plans or you guys win both games?”

“Why don’t you text first again and we’ll see what happens?” 

You bite your lip and start to sit up, knowing you needed to leave before you got too tired or lost your willpower to tell him no. Cole frowns immediately and you catch the look right away, teasing him, “you aren’t so tough after all, are you, Caufield?” 

“Just stay,” he says, his tone low enough to make your stomach flip as he catches your wrist, “you already broke your rules once today. Do it again.”

You toss the idea around in your head, knowing this would go much farther than it should. It would step over so many lines, but your composure wasn’t very good around him anymore. You nod, leaning down to kiss him before settling back against his chest. He wraps his arms around you and kisses your temple. You hate how happy you feel with him as you remember all the red flags he’d given you in the past. You close your eyes and just try to relax. Next time you’d discuss what was going on. That was one promise you wanted to keep for yourself.

__

You and Cole go silent for the rest of the week after spending the night, but that was normal. You two didn’t talk any other time and you didn’t reach out unless it was after a game to sleep together. Still it manages to nag at you and you kick yourself. You caught feelings. You should have known better and cut things off weeks ago when you’d first started to get butterflies. Now it was too late and you knew you needed to have the ‘what is this’ talk with him sooner rather than later. You couldn’t keep wasting your time on someone who wasn’t going to stick around. You manage to make it through the week without reaching out to him, saving the interaction in case they lost their games that weekend and you’d inevitably hear from him then. 

Except they win.

Except he texts you immediately after the game with a message you’d never gotten from him.

‘Can we talk tonight?’

Your heart hammers in your chest as you read the four words over and over and over again. They’re burned into your memory by the time you look up, realizing your eyes had begun to tear up. You knew you needed to talk but you weren’t ready for the request to come from him. You send back a thumbs up emoji, not knowing how to string together any words that would make sense. You go on autopilot after that as you play through every possible situation that could come from this. 

Realistically it could either go really well or really poorly. He could say he also had feelings for you and that he wanted to make things work. Or, the worst option, he could tell you he didn’t have any feelings and he was done hooking up for good. You run through both options until your mind goes static and you have to force yourself out of the shower that’s run cold from being in it so long. You go through the motions of getting yourself to his place and sending the ‘here’ message that was customary at this point.

When he opens the door he doesn’t give you a smile, but waves you over. Neither of you go for a kiss and the air feels heavy around you both. It does nothing to calm your nerves or the churning in your stomach. You knew you weren’t there for a hookup that night, that much was obvious. It’s Brock standing in the living room that surprises you most. You catch his gaze and the soft, almost apologetic, smile he gives you sends you into overdrive. What the hell was going on?

With a hand on the small of your back, Cole ushers you towards the one room that usually offered privacy and relief, but this time it looked like a death sentence prison cell. His hand feels hot on your back and not in the good way that it used to. You lean against his desk when you get in there, immediately crossing your arms across your chest to get away from him. He shuts the doors softly and shoves his hands in his pockets as he stands in front of you. He still has his game suit on, minus the jacket, and you let yourself look. He looks ridiculously handsome and you commit the image to memory, having a feeling this was the one and only time you’d be getting that view. 

“Would you just tell me already?” you whisper, knowing that the worst was coming. 

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, nodding, “I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t. It’s exactly why I’ve always said we can’t make promises to each other.”

You frown at him, “so then don’t. It’s literally that simple.”

“It’s not though,” he says with a little laugh, “I already made my promises to someone else.”

Your blood runs cold at that and you realize you hadn’t thought of one very awful possibility of why he wanted to talk. He had someone else already. Your throat feels so tight that it’s hard to breathe and you try to suck in a deep breath that doesn’t help at all. You shake your head and tighten your arms more across your chest, praying it helps hold your heart together for just a little longer. 

“Who is she?”

He hangs his head like this entire thing isn’t his own fault, “we were together in high school and now we go to separate schools. I didn’t want to hold her back but I don’t know how to let her go either.”

“So you’re a cheater,” you spit out, tears falling fast before you can even try and hold them back, “you’re cheating on her and I’m the other girl. What the fuck is wrong with you, Cole?”

“It’s not cheating!” he tries to justify, holding his hands up and stepping closer to you, “we’re not official right now.”

You push him back, hand firm on his chest to give yourself space, “fuck you. You’re as official as you can be and you still slept with me for the last four months. You knew what you were doing and you didn’t care. You didn’t have her here so you found a good substitute. That’s awesome, thanks for fucking up my life and emotions in the process.”

“Stop, I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s why I’m being honest right now.”

“Honest?” you raise your voice, well aware that Brock could probably hear everything at this point, “you call this honest? You’re a liar and a cheater, Cole Caufield! I can’t believe I let you play me for this long.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I swear I didn’t mean for this to be the way it is,” he says, practically pleading at this point. 

You shake your head, bottom lip wobbling as much as your voice, “you broke my heart. Are you happy with that? Was everything a joke to you? Sleeping together, forehead kisses, holding hands, spending the night? Or did you just picture her the whole time and I was just a stand in?”

“No,” he mumbles, trying to reach for you, but you smack his hand away and start to back yourself towards his door, “I swear it was real with you. I didn’t mean to take it so far but I started to like you, too.”

“You are unbelievable. I can’t believe I let you in so easily. I hate you.”

He swallows around a lump that appears in his throat suddenly. This wasn’t at all how he’d planned things. They were never supposed to go this far with you, but he couldn’t let you go. He couldn’t but now he had to. He had no options anymore and he would probably lose everyone in the process. 

“I promise I will hate you for the rest of my life,” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears despite your best efforts to try and rid yourself of them before you left. He didn’t deserve to know how much he was breaking you.

You rip open his door and all but run out of the apartment. Brock catches your gaze from the living room as you open their front door. Immediately his heart breaks a little. He knew the entire time and never saved you from this. He was just as guilty as his brother was. Cole stays frozen in place where you’d left him in his room, heart hurting despite everything. He’d let you keep your promise about hating him. That was one he deserved to carry with him.

#cole caufield #mine #my writing #wisconsin hockey #usa hockey #team usa #hockey fic #college hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #if you know him pls leave lol

[marvelousell]

The Agreement (Part 12.)

Pairing(s): frat boy!fwb!Tom x reader, frat boy!Harrison x reader

Summary: Tom is a typical frat boy, his love for partying, drinks and girls are bigger than his ego. Y/N is a whole different dimension, she keeps her circle small, and even though she knows her best friend Tom is a total douche, she can’t say no to the little deal that was sealed between the two of them.

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: First of all thank you! Thank you for understanding that I needed to postpone this chapter. Thank you for all the love and wonderful feedbacks on this fic it means everything to me it keeps me going, you are all amazing! I’m currently writing the ideas for the end and I will most likely do 2 different endings just to make everyone happy. I would actually love to hear what you think about that? Once again thank you for everything.🤗

Warnings: Angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death, heartbreak, all in all sad af at least for me

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“I really want to kiss you, at least for the last time. Please.” He whispered, the pad of his thumb running up and down your rosy cheek. The thought of him reading your mind and body language made you tremble.

“Do it.”

Tom was a professional with girls. His flirtatious nature was something he was very proud of. Seducing a girl was something that he was the best at, always giving advices to his frat members how to be like him, how to act like him and how to get any girl they liked. Everyone saw him as a magnet for ladies, Tom was an idol for them all. Parties, gorgeous girls attached to his hip, innocent whispers and neck kisses was a tradition he didn’t want to change. The morning after full of whistles and cheering that came from the frat boys, while he was coming from his room were pumping his ego, made him feel like he was someone that could get anything and everything he wanted with his charm. Tom loved the attention both from his friends and girls.

He realized that nothing before was worth it now that breathing around you seemed so difficult and that his hand was shaking on your skin. If someone saw him at that moment they wouldn’t see the Tom who would smash his lips instantly with the girl’s in front of him, but a Tom who was so lost like it was his first time sharing a kiss. His shallow breathing and accelerated heartbeat were making him even more nervous than he already was.

Your glossy eyes and a small grin hypnotised him, the only thing moving was his thumb against your cheek. He let out a breathy chuckle after he connected the dots, feeling dumb how much time it took him to finally see how the lousy popularity and unfamiliar bodies in his bed every night were nothing in comparison with you and with the feelings you gave him. Tom felt his heart clench from the thought of the late realization, he wished that the relationship between you and Harrison wasn’t what made him get his shit together.

The fear of you turning your head, rejecting his touch terrified him, so waiting and thinking wasn’t a good thing in this particular moment.

His lips were on yours, still not moving. It was a last kiss, rushing it was not what he wanted nor you. The sad smile against your lips formed a mess inside of your body. You didn’t want to be a last one either as much as it needed to be. You were furious, disappointed because of the image and thoughts in your mind from Harrison and Emily but this kiss wasn’t because of that.

It was a pure moment, a moment that you both sought after a long period of time. Although you could get caught, you didn’t want him to stop. You owed him and he owed you.

The soft I love you was echoing in your head, making it impossible to move any muscle in your body. You loved Harrison, you tried to remind yourself but each time you tried to repeat that in your mind it got harder.

Tom’s eyes closed, inhaling the fresh air before he pressed a short kiss on your lips. They were warm just like he remembered. After he felt the tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach just from a peck, Tom realized that kisses were more like an obligation for him when he was with someone else. He loved this novelty, it made him feel like a whole new person. The change made him breathless, but in a good way.

“Hope you never forget what I said.” He spoke, voice almost cracking when the last words were said.

You didn’t respond, placing a hand on his that was resting on your burning cheek spoke for you.

It felt like an eternity, your forehead pressed against his, both of you frozen not wanting to make the first move, afraid of the separation again. Small smiles on your faces that were honest but still full of some kind of melancholy were making you question everything. You were afraid that you might break if he didn’t do something.

Tom could feel your lower lip quivering, he didn’t want to see you cry because of him. You probably shed to much tears because of him and he sure wasn’t worth them.

The light grip on your neck and delicate kiss was enough to make you feel better. He lightly swept his tongue between your lips, tasting each other making up for the time you both lost while his hands cradled your small face. You shivered from his touch, moving your body closer to his. Tom wanted to make sure he poured all the love and passion into this kiss so you could at least feel everything what he didn’t say tonight. Hands were exploring your skin, memorizing every part like he won’t see you ever again. Tom enjoyed the kiss way more than any intimate moment he had with you if he could even call it intimate. This was special, he knew that this won’t let him sleep tonight. He read your desire, lips moving a bit faster against each other, however if he didn’t stop he would break the promise. Just one kiss.

You were making this extremely difficult, your grip on his hair and lips practically glued to his didn’t let him move away.

If only he wasn’t that blind, now you would be his and nothing would matter.

His words and Harrison’s image were distracting him, he promised that he will let you and him be happy, no one deserved it more than his best friends.

“Y/N.” He murmured in a low tone, bringing his other palm to cup your cheeks. Tom’s forehead was still against yours and you both breathed faster.

The lump in his throat didn’t let him speak, he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the big gorgeous eyes that drove him insane.

Tom chuckled once again, fighting back the tears that pooled in his eyes. If someone told him he would be the one crying over a girl he would laugh at them and the statement. Look at him now, he laughed at the karma that hit him. He was the one that left girls crying because of him and now you will need to let him.

Tom deserved it, he knew that. If he could he would take it all back, not letting a girl mess with his mind in the past making him all insecure and building a person he definitely wasn’t.

“Tom.” You responded, knowing how everything more than a friendship ends right here.

“Don’t forget what I said, but please don’t let that affect what you have with Harrison he deserves your love.” He said truthfully, rubbing his nose against your slowly.

“I won’t.” You chocked out, your voice so small almost unrecognisable.

“And don’t worry about tonight, Harrison is all about you. He may be a bit clumsy about things like these but believe me Y/N he is so in love with you.” Tom admitted, smiling genuinely for his friend that was always like his brother.

You just nodded, grinning after hearing the happiness in his voice while he talked about his friend. You liked Harrison without a doubt, you tried the best to keep this little deal that was messing with you from the beginning in the back of your head. Looks like it was unsuccessful after all.

Tom avoided your gaze, drawing his lower lip between his teeth.

“Guess I was the first one to break the rules huh?” He joked, trying to blink away the tears that were burning in his eyes. The famous ladies man crying over one that is taken would be a great story the whole college and his frat.

“You stupid, I broke it before we even started anything.” You thought, just giving him a half-smile to his statement.

“I-I need to find Harrison and Anna.” You responded, feeling disappointed because you didn’t express your feelings, but that wouldn’t be fair to your relationship and Harrison.

“Yeah, you should. Coffee t-this week?” He stuttered, unsure if you will accept it immediately.

“Deal.” You stroked his hand once more before you stood up on your legs that felt like jello.

Tom wanted to say something more, his mouth was open but words were not coming out. He knew you needed to go, but he still didn’t want to end it here. He looked at you walking slowly into the direction of the blasting music, not capable to stand up and go back as well.

-

Harrison was enjoying his evening, a few drinks, reuniting with his friends and frat pals. It was good, he felt complete he had a exquisite girlfriend that he could only dream of, that treated him just like he deserved. Even if he was with his company, Harrison’s eyes were glued to the group of people in the house desperately searching for the beauteous girl in the red dress that never left his mind.

He was truly happy, sipping the beer from the bottle not listening to the conversation the boys had. Who would have thought that his mood would change after he saw someone that he hoped to never see again. It was the short curly hair that was once long and the eyes that made his heart beat faster the first time he saw them. Now his heart was beating because he was shocked, his eyes were on her and he couldn’t stop staring.

Harrison didn’t feel the same butterflies he felt before with her or the same he had when he would be near you, he was just hoping that it’s the alcohol that was messing with him, that maybe it wasn’t her, that maybe he made a mistake.

His lips were dry, his eyes wide open, and when she finally looked to the couch from where she could feel someone’s eyes on her it just got worse.

That really was her. But why here? And why now?

Harrison didn’t want to see her, everything was perfect at the moment and he knew that Emily will not bring good into his life. After he said to himself that he won’t let Emily and the thoughts of her ruin his life and evening, Harrison stood up making his way to her. He still didn’t know why.

“Harrison.” She said lowly, trying to hide the smile on her face. She didn’t want trouble, she didn’t even know he was going to be here, but when she saw his eyes looking at her and not some horny frat boy’s eyes Emily almost fell onto the ground.

“What are you doing here?” He was direct, trying to end this as soon as possible.

“This is a birthday party? I was invited, I came I think it’s pretty clear why am I here.” She was awful to him, of course he won’t be all sweet and lovely towards her tonight. He wanted to marry her and she blew him off like a fool.

“Oh you know Amelia? Cut the shit and answer me truthfully, at least once.” Harrison’s eyes were on her, he fought with himself to look somewhere else but that was a failure.

“Met her in my class. She invited me since I was new here.” It was the truth, she wanted to finish college here but after her father’s death she moved away with her mother. Now she came back, trying to accomplish the thing she wanted here in her town.

“New? Who are you kidding here? What do you want Emily was the past not enough for you?” He was a bit rough, he wasn’t usually like this but he didn’t want her near. Especially after you were by his side now.

“Look I don’t want to make things awkward for you, I don’t want to fight or cause a scene here but I’m back and that’s it.”

“And I won’t interfere with your life.” She added, still a bit disappointed to see a new Harrison.

“I don’t want to sound like a dick, but good, because I’m really doing great.” His tone softened at the thought of you. He needed to tie up the loose ends with this, for your relationship.

“I’m sorry for everything Harrison even if you don’t want to hear it. Probably changed your thoughts on love and I-I’m sorry.” Emily did feel the warmth around her heart, but she couldn’t explain from what it was.

“I think we need to finish this right now and here. Whatever happened, happened. We were dumb and rushed into everything, and the mistakes can’t be fixed now.” He was like that, he never blamed others completely for the actions they did, he was too nice to do it even if he was the one that got heartbroken in the end.

“I have a wonderful girlfriend now, she is uh wonderful.” He chuckled at how he got nervous only because he was talking about you. Harrison repeated the same words, it looked like he didn’t know what to say but if he began he knew he would not stop until tomorrow.

“I really do love her Emily and nothing will change that. I don’t want us to look at each other with hate and guilt, as much as our relationship didn’t let me live it doesn’t mean I can’t forgive you.”

Emily just smiled, that was the Harrison she knew and liked. He gave all of him to her and she didn’t appreciate it, and he was the one apologizing now. Harrison was that person that couldn’t hate anyone, no matter what.

“I should be the one apologizing, I am sorry. And I know you love her, I hope you two will share endless love and happiness together.” It stung, but it was a normal feeling. That’s what she thought. Harrison could feel it stinging as well.

“It’s fine. We shouldn’t discuss the past anymore.” They smiled, not knowing what this was now. Friends? They didn’t know and they didn’t want to talk about it either.

Harrison was talking, giving her a lopsided grin not knowing that you watched all of it, that you disappeared and that you now saw him still after leaving for a while, standing with her in that corner. He didn’t even saw you approaching.

He panicked, finally looking at the red dress that he searched for the whole night.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt Anna is going to take me home now uh, see you if I don’t fall asleep.” You didn’t know what to say, you could feel her and Harrison staring.

“Is everything ok? Don’t be silly we’re going home together.” He tried to take your hand, but after he failed he knew that you saw it all, misunderstanding everything.

“No, stay. Tom is here as well he didn’t see you in so long.” You didn’t want to say much, but you squeezed his shoulder before going away.

“Y/N..”

“I’m sorry, I-I should get going too.” Emily spoke, knowing she was the reason to mess everything up again.

“You are such an idiot Harrison.” Tom’s voice stopped both of them that tried to leave from the corner.

Of course Tom was pissed, he collected himself and went back to the house. What if you couldn’t do it alone? He needed to be close to you just in case. He was looking at you coming close to Emily and Harrison, he couldn’t hear what you were talking or what he responded. However after he saw you leaving and Harrison staying with Emily, for Tom it was the last straw.

“Tom I-” Harrison began, trying to explain what was really happening here.

“I just want you to go after her, go Harrison. I swear whatever it was you don’t owe me an explanation, at least for now.” He was speaking with his arms, glancing at Emily every now and then kind of angry to see them together.

Harrison just nodded heading to his car hoping he will find you home when he comes. He never did something, he didn’t even think about it even when his mind was playing games with him and he was feeling stupid for making you think something like that.

-

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Anna asked, stopping at his place. Your stuff was there and you weren’t angry, just feeling a bit down after this night.

“I am, don’t worry I know Harrison I won’t act all crazy because of that. I am just tired.” You rose your brows, trying to show her how this wasn’t a big problem like something else was.

“Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

The evening was both a failure and excellence. You were looking forward to him arriving tonight, you wanted Tom to return into your life, and maybe sorting things out would finally let you be, however it wasn’t that easy. His words were so loud in your ears, and after you saw Harrison and his ex lover being close to each other it didn’t make the situation you were in any better.

You wished for a calm night, you wanted to renew a friendship and enjoy your boyfriend’s company.

And now you’re just in your bed, craving someone’s touch and presence. You were in a dilemma after your encounter with Tom and after everything he said, trying to focus on Harrison but every time your eyes would close he couldn’t make you calm like he would before.

The front door opening could be heard even in the room, and your body shifted on the other side pretending to be asleep like a little child.

Harrison was fighting with himself for the last fifteen minutes, practicing what he would say. He took a deep breath before twisting the doorknob to enter the bedroom. It's a weight off his shoulders knowing that you were on his bed, back facing him. Harrison didn’t know if you were sleeping or just pretending, but he still won’t be silent.

“Y/N.” He tried, walking slowly to his side of the bed where you were laying on. There was no response, and when he kneeled in front of you he could see that your eyes were closed.

“I don’t know if you’re sleeping or just pretending because you’re angry, but you have full rights to be.” He massaged his knuckles trying to suppress the nervousness in his body.

“Probably someone told you who she is, and I just want you to know that nothing, absolutely nothing happened between us tonight. Emily told me that she came back here, and that she doesn’t want to cause troubles and I said the same. I told her about you and how happy you make me feel, God it never crossed my mind to try and flirt or do anything with her.” Harrison was scared, he knew that he didn’t do anything and that you might not be even mad, but it still scared him knowing that if he saw a scene similar to his he would feel the same.

“I’m sorry beautiful if it made you feel shitty in any kind of way, we just wanted to leave all of our shit in the past and nothing more. You are the one I love.” His index finger went up to your cheek stroking it gently. He hoped you heard everything.

You were listening patiently, waiting for him to finish. Harrison was a guy everyone would kill to have. Caring, tender, benevolent he possessed so many good features that it was impossible to name every single one of them.

Your heart was clenching, both from happiness and sadness. He still thought you were sleeping, exhaling a shaky breath that was in his lungs for a long time.

He was so gentle with you, your palm reached out for his that was on your skin, caressing it slowly.

“You’re awake.” He mumbled, bringing his face close to yours.

“I am, and I am not angry. I was a bit insecure and shocked in that moment, but I trust you.”

“I’m sorry once again baby, you know how much I care about you.”

“All good love.” You smiled, bringing him close to your lips.

“If it isn’t me then what’s bothering my beautiful girlfriend?” Harrison could see that something was on your mind.

“I don’t know about you but for me it was more than just sex. I really love you.”

You felt nervous, Tom’s words repeating constantly.

“The fact that you need so much time to kiss me is bothering me.”

Harrison just laughed, cupping your face and kissing you as gently as possible.

“Is that good princess?” He questioned, pecking your lips in between his words.

“Come to bed and I will think about it.”

“I just need a second to undress myself and I’m all yours after it.”

His long, passionate kisses were not distracting you like they should. You were debating whether to send a message or not. Not saying what you felt was eating you up, even Harrison saw it. Your fingers slid up and down the bright screen, hoping to see a notification from him.

“I just want to cuddle.” Harrison pouted, ready to feel your arms wrapped around him, keeping him safe.

“Come here.” You said, locking your phone and placing it on the nightstand.

The message was sent and Tom’s eyes were fixed on the screen for God knows how much long, unable to type anything.

I broke the rules way before we even set them and before we agreed on anything.

-

Tag List

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[wonderlander-i]

How to nail a study date when you’re not even dating

Pairing : Beckett Harrington x f! MC (Eli Russell)

Warnings : none, it's pure fluff (if you exclude one bad word... Or maybe two 😂)

Words count : 2,5k

Author's Note : The world needs a little bit of domestic love and well... I'm an emotional ball of drama who'd rather spend a week working on this than read my school books.

*sends virtual hugs to everyone*

On the afternoon of a rainy autumn day, Eli stood by the closed window of her dorm room, watching the clear water droplets hit the glass then race down to the wooden frame. She smiled to herself. Being a sun att and all, she loved the summer. But there was something about the rain that calmed her buzzing mind. This whole season brought her soul to an unusual peace. The mixture of the earthy sweet smell rising from the ground, the unanticipated flashes of the lightning followed by the roaring thunder in the darkening sky, the steady beats of the drizzle when it meets the window. She hugged her arms tight, humming to herself a song. She barely noticed when the door opened, and Becket stepped in with a pile of books in a hand and a dripping umbrella in the other. He set the books carefully on her desk and looked around. She already had her hanging lights on the wall next to her bed, and they were casting a soft glow across the room. It smelled the gentle spice and freshly baked cookies. That was no mystery to him; she had something baked for him each time he visited.

Finally, his eyes landed on her. And he chuckled when he noticed that she was wearing a pink cotton onesie. He walked to join her by the window, where she was deep in her thoughts.

“It’s beautiful” He mumbled, looking at the rain pouring from the grey clouds.

“Yes” she sighed wistfully “And you’re late” She turned to face him, poking his chest.

“I had to fetch my umbrella”

She shrugged “Still not an excuse”

“I brought us some hot chocolate”

“That’s a damn good excuse”

He clicked his fingers, and two mugs appeared on the desk next to his books.

“I couldn’t carry them all the way to your room, it’s too cold outside”

“And you wouldn’t miss a chance to show off your powers” She rolled her eyes, amused.

“That’s nonsense” he objected, swishing his fingers to channel an air current around her. She crossed her arms over her chest as the air pushed her straight to her bed, making her fall on top of the mattress.

“you pretentious little–” She got up, but he was already sitting down next to her. He handed her one of the mugs, and the rich smell of chocolate persuaded her to let this one slip through. He opened one of the books on his lap.

“I found this one is the hidden aisle in the library, I thought you’d find it interesting”

“Pendragon: a history of mythical fire breathers” She read out loud “You mean to tell me that dragons are real?” her eyes lit up as she flipped the pages, stopping at the drawn image of a burgundy creature with fire bursting from its mouth. “The Morelth Nighthowler” She ran her index finger under the name “Burns his victims alive after trapping them in…”

“Slow down” He interrupted her laughing “You didn’t know?”

“How am I supposed to know?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “It’s not like I walk around asking people if leprechauns exist. Or how the dwarfs keep their beards perfectly trimmed”

“To answer your questions, yes and dwarfs go to barbers like anyone else would do”

“That was sarcasm!” She exclaimed “Wait are they really that short? do they really have a hidden pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”

A strange warmth invaded his chest when he looked at her excited expressions. Born to a magical family, nothing was unusual or unbelievable to him. All the things that made Eli’s eyes go wide were mere facts to him. To be the one who introduces her to these small fragment of their world, of the world she lived far away from for most of her life, was an honour he didn’t believe he deserved. He shared all his knowledge with her, not holding back anything. And it made him... Proud ? No... Happy. Happy that she’d listen to everything he teaches her. Happy that she was passionate about those things the same way he was. Happy that she understood him.

“Eliana, your curiosity is a breath of fresh air” He chuckled “Let’s start from the beginning now shall we?”

She nodded, scooping closer to him so she’d get a better view as he flipped to the first page and started reading to her “Chapter one... “

Many hours later, he was halfway through the book when something clicked inside her head. She picked up a sharpie and looked at him with a strange glow in her eyes.

“It has been proven that his scales could be useful to treat battle wounds if they’re properly smashed and mixed with Hooded Skullcaps at high temperature to make a salve–”

He stopped reading when Eli leaned forward and started drawing lines from his cheekbones to his nose.

“What are you doing?” He asked her, crinkling his nose as he felt the ink running across his face.

“Playing ‘connect the dots’ ” she replied, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“On my face?” he arched an eyebrow, still confused

“Yes”

“With a sharpie?”

“Yes” she huffed; blowing away a strand of hair that slipped from her bun and fell on her forehead

“May I ask why?” He shook his head, waiting for her answer.

She didn’t reply, biting her lips instead as she studied his face, contemplating her work. After few moments of silence, she mumbled.

“Orion”

“Excuse me?”

“Orion, the hunter” A grin broke into her face. “Your freckles match the constellation”

He was speechless. He looked at her, his jaw dropping. How does she manage to make everything poetic? Moreover, for how long did she need to gaze at his freckles before she could join them up into a constellation? Did the Eli Russell really pay him that much attention?

“Right” He cleared his throat, looking away blushing. He took a sip of his drink “Maybe you can focus back on your lesson now?”

“You’re so bossy” she rolled her eyes, shifting her gaze back to the page he was reading.

“The Cordonian Gronkaloth dragon” He carried on “Though it was thought to be a descendant of the latter, was nothing compared to the Corpsebreath Pelagius, which was last spotted in the Irish highlands in 1783. With its ability to change the colour of its scales to fade in the surrounding environment, this beast represented a major threat to the kingdom…”

Eli smiled to herself, looking at him recite the history passages as if they were poetry. She loved the way he was passionate about it, as if he was lost in the words that ran from his lips like a sweet melody. Everything makes sense when it comes out of his mouth. It was his secret talent perhaps. His eyes twinkle with every name of a forgotten king he reads. The corners of his lips lift up to a discreet smile whenever he stumbles upon a reference from an ancient historian. Sitting there beside him, with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands and a blanket around their shoulders, was her favourite getaway spot. Just seeing him all relaxed in his world made her heart flutter. And she felt grateful that he never rejects her when she asks him to come over. Little did she know that he’d throw away any plans he had scheduled for the day each time she’d call him, that their study sessions meant more to him than to her. She was roughly the only person he’d be willing to read to.

“The prohibition law came afterward on January 1863” His voice ran through the room “banishing every act of… Eli, are you following?” He paused, looking at her from the corners of his eyes.

“You aren’t wearing a blazer” She ran her fingers across his arm, caressing the fabric of the dark green wool sweater that replaced his usual button-ups and blazers.

“I’m not” This came out more like a question than a statement, looking down at his sweater. “This is more suitable for the season isn’t it?”

“Well” she chuckled “It’s refreshing to see the ‘Always-put-up-together-Beckett’ cozy up”

“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow “Are you saying that I’m uptight?”

“Of course not!” She exclaimed “More like…constipated” She giggled, covering her mouth with her fist.

He glared daggers at her, but the smile that he was fighting to hide gave him away eventually.

“Very funny, miss ‘I wear pink more than I wear my own skin’” He smirked.

“That’s not true!” She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, which he easily caught before it made contact with his face.

“And you’re not wearing a pink onesie” He pointed out “With this... unicorns and rainbows pattern”

“But... It’s cute” She pouted, giving him the biggest puppy eyes she could manage.

Don’t say it Beckett.

Don’t give her the satisfaction of hearing it from you.

Her eyes grew more insistent, and he sighed defeatedly .

“Yes, it is cute”

Her face light up, mischief gleaming her eyes. “Hum...” She tilted her head to the side, looking at him thoughtfully.

“Eli, why do I feel like you’re going to make me regret saying that?”

“No reason”

Three minutes later, he was standing in a pair of pyjama pants that were identical to her onesie.

“Don’t say a word.” He said through his gritted teeth.

She was in the middle of forming a snarky comment, when loud music blasted from the room next door.

“Shreya!” Beckett groaned and walked to the wall, knocking on it furiously “We’re trying to study here”

“Can’t hear you over the sound of my one person party, you loner nerd” Shreya’s voice echoed over the song.

Eli exploded laughing and he turned back to face her.

“What’s funny?”

“Dance with me, Beckett” She smiled, offering him her hand.

Eli wasn’t the dancer, and he knew it. He pursed his lips, studying her facial expression to detect any ulterior motive behind her request. And when he found none, that she genuinely just wanted to dance, he gladly took her hand, joining her in the centre of the room.

“Don’t step on my toes” he warned her as he moved them both, guiding her around in swift movements.

“I make no promises” She twirled, her hair completely breaking loose from the bun, flying around her with each turn, then landing back to her shoulders. She looked up to him, biting her lips to cover a giggle as he missed a step while looking at her.

The song came to an end too quickly; the upbeat vibes were replaced by a softer serenade. They slowed their pace, and suddenly aware of how close they were, they stopped dead on their tracks. Eli looked down, a million thoughts rushing through her mind and each time she’d try to grasp them they’d fly away, leaving her heart in utter confuse.

Beckett Harrington was a handsome man indeed. Even if it took her a lot of time to realise it. He wasn’t just a pair of beautiful eyes, a strong jawline and the body of a Greek god in tight jeans. He wasn’t just the sum of perfectly crafted parts. He was more than that. He was the smartest man she’d ever met, with the heart of a lion and the good manners of a prince. And for the flicker of a second, she saw the heaven in his eyes.

He brushed his knuckles under her chin, and then lifted her head up to meet his gaze. She blinked, then looked up, her mouth gapping. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers running through the strands of his soft hair.

“Hello” She smiled shyly.

“Hi there” He breathed out. He clutched her hips gently, his eyes widening at how perfectly she fit between his hands.

He swayed her slowly from side to side, the soft light of her pink lamps reflecting on her eyes, turning the whole room into some sort of pink/purple-ish wonderland. She smelled like wild lavender and white honey, and he inhaled deeply, letting the scent flood his senses, making it even harder to focus.

It was like a snow globe. He wished he could be stuck in a glowing snow globe, dancing with her to the endless song his heart was beating to.

But why was he thinking this way? What has gotten into him? She’s just Eli... The same Eli he shares all his secrets with. The same Eli he’d give the last slice of his blueberry pie. The same Eli he knows like the back of his hand. The one who makes him feel ever so... Alive?

She was always something else, something extraordinary. With the way her face lights up when she walks by an ice-cream shop. How her eyebrows crease when she’s so focused. When she tears up after laughing too hard. The way she blushes when he pokes her little nose.

She lived with her head over the clouds, just like the golden sun. Always so warm, so dreamy. Nothing was so far beyond her reach. She believed that everything was possible. What was impossible is the way his heart raced with her in his embrace. It’s like a wave of sunlight was rushing through his veins. This newfound idea thrilled him in the most delicious way. His shoulders relaxed, his mouth curved into a euphoric smile. He gazed at her eyes, at the dilated pupils which starred right into his soul through her batting eyelashes. And he knew. He knew that these were the eyes he wanted to be lost in forever.

He blushed, muttering the first question that popped in his hazy mind.

“Did you put something in my drink?”

“No I didn’t”

“Then why am I feeling so... light headed?”

“I may have bewitched you” She whispered, her cheeks burning to match the shade of his.

Too shy, he stutters after planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“That, you did”

The next morning, Atlas walked into Eli’s room to wake her up for their usual training. And she was greeted by the sight of her sister and Beckett in a deep slumber. They were curled up together on the blanket fort they made last night with a lot of bed sheets and pillows. With her head resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her smaller body, they were holding into each other like nothing else mattered. It was only them, snuggled up in their little world, surrounded by the open books of last night, the papers they scrabbled together, and Eli’s million sharpies.

Atlas groaned, slamming the door shut.

“Fucking teenagers”

#Beckett Harrington #beckett x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play #Choices

[despairforme]

His single eye cracked open, slowly, slowly. The first thing that met him was a PANG of pain through his head like someone had just taken a sledge hammer and gone to town. It briefly made him squeeze that eye shut again, and a pained noise escaped him, while he instinctively reached for his head. Nnoitra knew a thing or two about headaches. He had, after all, gotten SHOT in his head at one point. What he remembered the most about that was the moment before the gun fired. He remembered thinking what a freaking rare and awesome weapon that was. He stood by that statement, even if said weapon had literally given him a hole through his head. That made for plenty of good jokes about him being stupid and missing half a brain. The pain he was feeling right now wasn’t the same as it had been when he got shot. The pain was ringing through his entire skull. Another groan. He told his body it was time to attempt to sit up straight, but it woudln’t listen. He managed to keep his eye open this time though, to look around. Where was he? What had happened? He remembered... What was the last thing he remembered? He forced his aching head to cooperate. He had been playing cards with his crew-mates. That was the last image he could clearly bring forth. Yeah, he had been about to lose big time. A per usual. Could he have possibly started a fight because he was about to lose at cards? That did sound like some stupid shith he could pull. But, there was something not quite right here. He hadn’t noticed it before now, but the scent in the air was NOTHING like the smell onbaord the ship. On the ship, there was the very distinct smell that came when men who didn’t care too much about their personal hygine lived together in close-quarters. The scent he was breathing in now was fresh. It smelled like a forest. The air was moist. He could smell dirt and flowers and grass. Was he outside? His curiosity inspired him to try to push his body again, and this time it allowed him to sit upright. The world started spinning, making him dizzy. It was light here, now that he thought about it. Bright, white light was shining down. So he was outdoors then? Had his crewmates finally gotten tired of him, knocked him out and dumped him off on a planet? Was he marooned? If he was, then traditionally, he should be left with a gun with single shot in it. However, when he looked down, his weapon was gone. What the fuck?

He looked around some more, and saw why everything smelled like he was outside. He was surrounded by plants. Plants of different sizes, types, colors. More variety than he had EVER seen in his life ( and Nnoitra had traveled quite a lot ). Close to him there was a large, orange flower that at first glance looked almost like it was on fire. It was giving off the most alluring scent, and Nnoitra almost wanted to plant his face into it and just inhale. On the ground, where he was sitting, there was grass, or at least what appeared to be grass - except it was blue. Above him were white lights, but also plants growing in what he thought he could make out to be a ceiling. Okay - so he wasn’t outside then. That only puzzled him more. Where the fuck was he then? In the distance he could hear the sound of running water, otherwise everything was quiet. No, wait, there might be a buzzing of some insects nearby too. He made yet another attempt to stand, but it just made him feel more dizzy, and he groaned again.

“You should lay still. You are still recovering.” Nnoitra literally JUMPED in his seat, and yeah, that made his head spin. He had not expected anyone to speak to him. The voice had been deep and calm. A man’s voice. When the world stood still before him again, he turned his head in the direction of the voice.

His eyes were glowing. That was the very first thing Nnoitra noticed about him. He had large, yellow eyes that glowed like distant suns. They were regarding him from behind long, purple eyelashes. He had skin the color of steel, and on the top of his baled head there were two small, curved horns, almost like spikes. He must be tall, though it was hard to tell just how tall since Nnoitra was sitting, but he would guess he was even taller than himself. He was wearing a large, black coat that appeared to be made up entirely out of pockets. Was Nnoitra’s gun in one of them? The next striking thing about him, was the CRACK in his head. Maybe Nnoitra noticed it especially because he, himself had a hole through his own. It looked like someone had SMASHED this guy’s skull. The left side of his head looked almost like a broken mirror, except the cracks were filled with what literally looked like gold. It was bright and shiny, and extremely visible against that grey skin. Nnoitra had met a great deal of beings throughout his time, but usually he had a vague idea about what kind of species they were. This time? He had no clue. Whoever this guy was, he had to be something incredibly rare. The pirate side of Nnoitra briefly connected the dots between him being rare and him being worth a lot on the creature-market. That thought was pushed aside. Nnoitra had traded creatures before, but it was always risky because he, himself was an extremely rare ( if not unique ) human-insectoid hybrid. He had to be careful about appearing in the wrong circles. And in any case - there were more pressing matters than him SELLING this guy. Like, for example -

“What ‘da fuck happened?” He asked, his voice just a little pained while he looked over at the stranger. The other didn’t appear hostile, he noted. Not even vary, as if he knew that right now Nnoitra posed little threat to him. He probably wasn’t wrong about that. Even if Nnoitra hadn’t been injured, he didn’t know what kinds of powers this alien possessed. He might be incredibly strong.

There was a pause, before the alien looked away from him, and turned his attention to the nearest plant. He brushed the leaves with a finger, almost similar to how someone would lovingly caress a partner.

“Your ship collided with something. I received the distress signal.” Another pause, or was this more like hesitation? Then he continued - “When arrived, you were the only one I could find. I don’t know if maybe someone was there before me and picked up survivors and simply didn’t see you.”

That was a lot of information. Nnoitra tried to process it. HOW could they have collided with something? If they really had, then chances were there weren’t many survivors. Most of the crewmates were human, and they were just genetically fragile. Nnoitra’s hybrid genes made him a lot more durable, which was most likely what he could thank for being alive. Nnoitra DID have people he’d consider.. Well, not friends, but... Yeah. People he had known a while and who tolerated him ( and who he tolerated in return ). Were all of them dead then? Just like that? People he had been traveling with for years. People he had just been sitting there with, playing cards. Had they been ripped from life at the moment of impact with whatever it was the ship had crashed into? It was so INCREDIBLY rare to actually crash in space. It was fucking ETERNAL after all. One would think there was enough space for a shitty, little space-ship. Nnoitra realized something - there was a chance they had been shot down. They were pirates after all. The distress signal that the ship had sent out was something that happened automatically when it sustained too much damage to be saved. There was no way this man would know what kind of ship had sent out the SOS. If all he had arrived at was a total wreck, then he really had no way of knowing that Nnoitra was a pirate. Nnoitra looked at him. He was still busy with the plant. Nnoitra thought he could see the plant turn slightly towards those glowing eyes, as if it was looking back at him. Freaky.

“So everyone’s dead, except me, huh?” Nnoitra didn’t sound like he was mourning, and neither was he. He wasn’t going to be upset about those guys dying. They wouldn’t have given a shit if HE had died. And, in any case, some of them might still be alive. The alien was looking at him again, probably as a reaction to the coldness in which Nnoitra spoke about his dead crewmates.

“In all likelihood, yes. I’m guessing it’s because you are not fully human. In my experience, humans can hardly survive anything.” Oh, that was a sharp observation. Seemed Nnoitra wasn’t the only one who thought humans were weak. He nodded.

“Yeah, I guess ‘daz why I ain’t dead. I’m surprised ya figured out I ain’t fully human. Most people can’t tell, ‘cause I look like one.” A vague gesture was made towards his general appearance. Nnoitra really did appear fully human ( except for the hole in his head, which he always covered with an eyepatch as well as his hair anyway. Nnoitra DID have the ability to grow an extra set of arms, but he very rarely did so, as it was very painful for him. “I bet it ain’t ‘da same ‘fer ya.” Basically, Nnoitra was asking him - what the fuck are you. A subtle expression of surprise settled upon the other’s face, and he tilted his head just slightly.

“You don’t know what I am?” His voice was partly confused, partly suspicious and partly surprised. Nnoitra furrowed his brows, and looked him up and down as if that would somehow magically make him know what kind of species he was. He really didn’t have any idea. Apparently, he SHOULD know.

“No? I don’t go ‘round studyin’ every fuckin’ species in ‘da universe. Ya know how MANY that is?” He.. Didn’t know how many there were, but since space was infinite, it was safe to assume that the amount of different species of aliens was beyond count. Nnoitra was used to how his rude approach to conversations was off-putting to others, and more often than not, he got himself into trouble thanks to his mouth. The alien didn’t seem annoyed at all though. If anything, he looked reassured and almost calm. 

“You can call me Fowkwer.” The alien introduced himself. That name wasn’t too difficult. Nnoitra often met guys with absolutely freakishly long names that he could never in his life hope to remember. It DID seem appropriate that he should at least manage to remember the name of the dude that had saved him.

“I’m Nnoitra.”

“Welcome aboard my ship, Nnoitra.”

“So this is a ship? I was kinda wonderin’ ‘bout that. It looks more like a jungle.” Which he absolutely loved. This was the nicest ship he had ever been aboard, and all he had been doing was sit in this one spot in the blue grass. He had no idea how large the ship was, but he would guess it was fairly big. This room alone seemed to serve no other purpose than as a storage room for these plants. Then again, it was RARE for one person to operate a large ship. Were there others onboard here, or was Fowkwer the only one? He seemed to be the Captain at least, since he had referred to it as ‘ my ‘ ship. 

“Yes, it’s built that way. I don’t have a guest room, as I rarely have guests onboard. It’s usually just me and the plants.” So he was alone then.

“Yer lucky. Havin’ a whoel space ship ‘ta yerself that looks like a jungle? Fuckin’ livin’ ‘da dream. How much ya chargin’ ‘fer tickets?” It was a half-joke. Nnoitra had learned from his life as a pirate that NOTHING was free, and he was pretty sure the same went for getting your life saved by a glowy-eyed alien whose name was FUCKWHERE. No -- Fowkwer. Well, close enough.

“I wasn’t planning on charging you anything. You have nothing I want. All I ask is that you do not harm my plants. If you do I won’t hesitate to dispose of you.” His tone up until this point had been calm. It was still calm now, but there was an added seriousness and a coldness that hadn’t been there before. As his voice turned colder, Nnoitra thought it looked like his glowing eyes became less luminescent too. As if they too got colder. Nnoitra’s expression was once again one of those where you could almost see the question marks pop up over his head. Okay.. Was he dealing with some kind of... REAL weirdo here? Maybe he had been traveling so long with only his plants as company that he had started to think of them as his friends. Nnoitra had heard stories like that before. People getting lost in space of years and turning bat-shit crazy, talking to their helmets and shit like that. Was this a similar thing? Fowkwer looked serious. 

“Hands off ‘da plants. Got it.” Nnoitra held up his hands, as if to surrender. Seeing as he actually LIKED nature, he had no wish to uproot the plants or whatever. The only thing he did want to do was put his face inside that orange one that smelled like heaven. He had to wonder how Fowkwer would dispose of him. Just how strong was that guy? It didn’t feel good, not knowing whether or not he could overpower someone. And, also, it didn’t feel good to be unarmed. But, he could hardly ask for his gun back, could he? That would be too suspicious. Some of what he was thinking must’ve shown on his face.

“You can have your weapon back. It’s not of any threat to me. I just took it from you to ensure you wouldn’t start wildly shooting around and damage my plants.” Nnoitra’s beloved gun ( he had had it for years, okay? ) was pulled out of one of those deep pockets of the other’s coat. Fowkwer walked over to him, and bent down to return the weapon to him. Now that he was closer, Nnoitra could tell that Fowkwer was definitely taller than him. He had a bigger build too. Broad shoulders and a wide chest, and strong, muscular arms. Nnoitra’s skinny fingers accepted the gun, and he strapped to his belt where he always kept it. The other had said it was no threat to him. Did that mean his skin could withstand a shot then? Honestly it seemed like all the guy cared about was his plants. 

“So yer pretty tough, huh? But that - “ He pointed to the other’s head. He was certain that those golden cracks were actually a scar, and a gnarly one at that. “That looks like it hurt.” Was this his way of finding out Fowkwer’s weaknesses? Oh, absolutely. It wasn’t like he cared here.

“No more than yours. These are just cracks after all.” He touched the golden scar with a hand, and then he gestured to his own eye, as if acting as a mirror for Nnoitra. “You’ve got a hole.” Oh, so he had seen it then? Mah, that was fine. It explained how he could tell he wasn’t human. That was the only reason why Nnoitra kept it hidden.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ don’t recommend gettin’ shot in ‘da head by a BG-2000. Unless yer a badass motherfucker like me.” He grinned, cocking his head back. “I don’t recommend bein’ in a crash either, even if I’m pretty surprised I’m still in one piece.” His head hurt and he felt terribly weak, but that was about it. Considering he had been knocked out upon impact, his injuries seemed minimal.

“You looked far worse when I found you.”

“But ya did some magic-shit ‘n now I’m all good?” There were many different healing methods out there, and the best ones were very expensive. Mah, maybe this guy had some sort of healing plant here or something? Seemed likely.

“Something like that.” One thing that Nnoitra had noted was that Fowkwer had yet to smile. Not all species could, of course, but generally that was the one universal thing that everyone had in common. As long as you had a mouth, you could smile, and Fowkwer had a completely normal mouth, though his lips were a strange shade of purple. He probably just hadn’t warmed up to him yet. Was he suspicious of him still? Maybe.

“Mah, whatever ya did I’m.. Ya know -” He gestured between the two of them, the word ‘ grateful ‘ getting stuck in his throat. Fowkwer arched his brows slightly.

“Thankful?”

“Yeah, that.” A grin. Yeah, he WAS glad to still be alive ( oddly enough, he had never really thought he valued his life all that much ). The next question was - how long would he have to stay here? Actually, he wasn’t in any rush to have that answered. Compared to most of the shitty places he had visited in his life, where he was right now was kinda nice. He doubted Fowkwer would want to have him onboard longer than necessary. Who knew how long it was until they could land on a planet.

#[ completely self indulgent ] #[ letting space pirate Nnoitra meet my alien oc ] #[ it's just for my wordcount ] #[ i say even tho i could write about Nnoitra meeting my ocs all day every day ahahaha ] #[ i miss writing my ocs sometimes ] #ᵈᵉˢᵖᵃᶤʳ ;; ic. #ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳˢ ;; au.05. #ˢᵗᵒʳʸᵗᶤᵐᵉ ;; drabble. #longpost //

[skrltwtch]

iMessed-Up

Prompt: Person A means to send a message to Person B saying, “I love your hair” but accidentally sends “I love you”. It turns out Person B loves them back. Not wanting to break the latter’s heart, Person A asks them out. They date for six months before Person A realises they’ve fallen head over heels for Person B. (Source of prompt in link at bottom of post.)

Word count: 1,430

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Y/N, 8:05 p.m.: Geoooooorge

George, 8:05 p.m.: Yes, hi it’s me.

George, 8:06 p.m.: What’s up?

George, 8:06 p.m.: Honestly, this doesn’t sound good.

Y/N, 8:06 p.m.: Shut

Y/N, 8:07 p.m.: Up

Y/N, 8:07 p.m.: I want to share pictures of last night

Y/N, 8:07 p.m.: And …

Y/N, 8:07 p.m.: I know you’re not on like, anything

Y/N, 8:08 p.m.: Weird flex, but okay [smirking face emoji]

George, 8:09 p.m.: It’s not weird.

George, 8:09 p.m.: Is it?

Y/N, 8:10 p.m.: Nope. It’s commendable, really

George, 8:11 p.m.: You can quit, you know.

Y/N, 8:12 p.m.: I can, but do I want to

George, 8:12 p.m.: [man shrugging emoji]

Y/N, 8:14 p.m.: Anyway, what I wanted to ask was — I wanted to run some pictures of last night by you because you’re not on anything and I don’t want to be that person who uploads terrible pictures of their friends, especially someone who can’t defend themselves

George, 8:15 p.m.: That’s … sweet.

George, 8:15 p.m.: Thank you.

George, 8:15 p.m.: But I’m certain I look good in all of them.

George, 8:15 p.m.:

Y/N, 8:16 p.m.: You’re grossly photogenic

Y/N, 8:16 p.m.: And I hate you

George, 8:16 p.m.: LOL.

Y/N, 8:18 p.m.: Ok, incoming pic spam. Don’t say I didn’t warn you

Y/N, 8:19 p.m.: Pick three, please?

Y/N, 8:19 p.m.: The best

Y/N, 8:19 p.m.: Your favourites

George, 8:20 p.m.: Bring it on.

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:24 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:25 p.m.: I picked the best of the bunch. There were more

Y/N, 8:26 p.m.: Lots more

George, 8:28 p.m.: These look great.

George, 8:28 p.m.: You look great.

Y/N, 8:29 p.m.: [blushing emoji] [blowing a kiss emoji]

Y/N, 8:29 p.m.: Thank you!

Y/N, 8:30 p.m.: You look smashing, too

George, 8:30 p.m.: Thank you.

George, 8:31 p.m.: Um … I’d go with these.

George, 8:32 p.m.: [image]

George, 8:32 p.m.: [image]

George, 8:32 p.m.: [image]

Y/N, 8:33 p.m.: Yeah, I was thinking of those, too

George, 8:34 p.m.: Don’t we just look cute together?

Y/N, 8:34 p.m.: Absolutely

Y/N, 8:35 p.m.: Ok, I’ll share them — slap on a filter or two first — and I’ll show you the comments

Y/N, 8:36 p.m.: Like I always do [smiling emoji]

George, 8:37 p.m.: I bet most of it will be ‘Why isn’t George on here?’ and ‘That wanker George doesn’t know what he’s missing’.

Y/N, 8:38 p.m.: Eh, that’s about right

Y/N, 8:38 p.m.: But it is your choice

Y/N, 8:39 p.m.: Some people really could afford to not be on Instagram

Y/N, 8:39 p.m.: Not that you’re one of them. But I’m glad you let me post stuff of you

Y/N, 8:40 p.m.: Especially since, you know, you’re in movies now

George, 8:41 p.m.: That doesn’t mean anything will change.

Y/N, 8:42 p.m.: I know

Y/N, 8:42 p.m.: And I’m really happy for you

Y/N, 8:42 p.m.: And proud of you

Y/N, 8:43 p.m.: I like this picture a lot

Y/N, 8:44 p.m.: You’re right. We do look cute together [smiling face with hearts emoji]

George, 8:45 p.m.: Have I ever been wrong?

Y/N, 8:46 p.m.: Shut up

Y/N, 8:46 p.m.: God, I love you

I put my phone down slowly, knowing that all I needed to do next was absolutely fucking nothing. Stupid fingers. Stupid, stupid fingers. I didn’t not love George. I loved him — as a friend. He was nice, and he was so lovely, and so sweet, but it never once crossed my mind that we could be … more than. I hadn’t even finished processing the fact that he’d still hang out, and want to hang out, with me and our other, childhood friends after having landed a couple of roles in which he received top billing. Damn it. ‘Your hair’ was how that sentence was supposed to end. Now I had no idea what kind of end I had sentenced our friendship to.

His sudden reticence after providing such swift responses wasn’t helping. He had read the message. For once I’d welcome the ominous pulsing three dots, just so I’d know he was still there and hadn’t — I couldn’t imagine how he might’ve reacted, and I didn’t know either what kind of reaction I wanted him to have. I did know that what I had to do next depended on his response. And damn it, I needed it now.

‘…’

Look at those dumb dots, bouncing away without a care in the world.

‘…’

Imagine being on the verge of an anxiety attack because of three damn dots. And because the connection between your brain and your fingers picked the best moment possible to fail you.

‘I love you, too.’

My face drained itself of all colour.

Be careful what you wish for, am I right?

He followed up with a heart emoji. No, two. No, three.

I screamed into the nearest pillow. He was serious. This was serious, because he tended to use emojis like they were rare, precious resources on which the world was running low.

I hadn’t a clue what to do. The state of things was undeniable: I was now living in a universe where I told my best friend I loved him when I didn’t, not in that way, and he told me he did, too, yes in that way. I needed counsel. And the one person I could turn to in times like this, and come away enlightened and empowered, was what I happened to need help with. Of course. There was no second best. There never was.

I sighed; my phone felt like a brick in my hand. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t break his heart. I didn’t want to. I’d never dream of it. But would leading him on amount to the same thing? I had seen and read plenty of stories in many forms of media about people who’d chosen to tell or fudge the truth in similar situations, and guess what? Neither course of action culminated in happy endings. If there were any that didn’t make it to online forums about laughable or cringe-worthy attempts at backpedalling, I wasn’t aware.

I needed space. I needed time. To think. I needed to see him. His presence would be calming, even if he’d caused this state of emergency in the first place. I’d know what to do when I see his face — in person, because the sight of his contact picture on my phone and the photos I’d filled our chat with were, for some reason, sending all the circuits in my brain crashing into one another.

I released the breath I’d been holding since the third heart emoji made it from his phone to mine.

I sent him a heart emoji, and I asked him out.

Not like, you know, on a date.

Just out.

✦✧✦✧

I pulled my chair closer to his, leaned into his shoulder, and shoved my phone in front of him. ‘Look at this,’ I said, ‘this’ being a photo of us on our most recent date: our third visit to the Barbican Conservatory after my blunder — one of the classics, just next to getting involved in a land war with Asia — saw us fancying ourselves as a couple.

‘That’s us?’ said George. He took my phone and stared at the picture. ‘We’re fucking adorable.’

It could be the 7,827th time he’d say that about us, and my stomach would still find itself host to a kaleidoscope of butterflies. I’d come to love the idea of an ‘us’. And so did everyone in our social circles, apparently, some well before George and me being an ‘us’ turned out to be one of the rare positive outcomes of me being an arse. He didn’t know about that, and he’d never know about that. I wasn’t in the business of being cruel — I’d clearly never been. Hell, after a certain point, I started to count my blessings daily that I took this gamble: it wasn’t long before I found myself falling head over feet for him. I remembered berating myself once for not seeing this sooner.

‘Everyone agrees,’ I said. ‘Read the comments.’

‘I am,’ he said. ‘It never fails to amuse me how people make such a big deal about me not being on Instagram or whatever. I’m perfectly fine raking in social clout by proxy.’ He took a sip of his salted caramel mocha. ‘Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be on social media now, not when I’m about to start this new project. I think it could be big.’ His fingers interlocked themselves with mine.

‘Of course it’ll be big. It’s with Sam Mendes.’ I grinned. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ I said into his ear.

He leaned in to thank me with a peck on my cheek. That simple act warmed me up better than my pumpkin spice latte.

He passed me back my phone, after which I went back to mindlessly scrolling through my profile, a careful curation of photos of us, food, my outfits, my cat, and just about everything else. It didn’t take me long to reach the catalyst of our relationship: an innocent wefie at Columbia Road Flower Market, where I’d spotted the most beautiful peonies and couldn’t pass up the chance for a commemoration of my latest purchase with my favourite person in the world. My heart swelled. The one visible comment on the photo, made judiciously by a friend, read, ‘Fucking hell, get together already, you two. And tell George his hair’s out of control’.

I put my phone face down on the table and turned to George. ‘I love you,’ I said, ‘and your hair.’

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay fanfic #george mackay imagine #mine

[starscheme]

With All My Heart

Chapter Five: Good intentions gone wrong

In the last couple of days, Spinel had been trying to keep herself busy. Her space in the temple was pink of course. The room used to be like a playground, but after Rose vanished to give birth to Steven and Spinel changed, she smashed most everything and Pearl had long since cleared the mangled things from her room. Now, her space was mostly empty save for a large wooden chest. Spinel never felt the need to add much to her room. After all, she preferred to spend her time in the main house with Steven now.

The empty room didn't really matter to her until now. For the past two days, she was left alone there, having nothing but time to think about what happened. Spinel was simply sitting on the floor, her back against the wooden chest as she stared up at the ceiling. How long was this going to go on? Surely Garnet wouldn't punish her for too long, right?

Still, even if it had only been a couple of days, it felt like torture. All she could think about was how much she missed Steven. She was stuck in here while he was out there and able to have fun without her. With Connie.

Spinel shook her head, trying to get the image of the two out of her head. Nothing could make this punishment worse than thinking of Connie taking her place. It made her think of that terrible dream. The longer she was in here, maybe the more Steven would realize he didn't need her.

"He wouldn't do that..." spinel whispered into the empty room, trying to convince herself that her fears wouldn't come to pass.

As Spinel sat in thought, a door appeared at the far end of her room and Pearl stepped in. With a smile, Spinel leapt to her feet to greet her friend.

"Pearl," she exclaimed, rushing over to her. "I didn't think I was allowed to see anyone."

Pearl had stopped by just as she told Steven she would, but it wasn't just for his sake. Besides, Pearl was the only one that could enter Spinels room without permission since their spaces were connected. Something Pearl had made sure of when the temple was created. Mostly to keep an eye on Spinel and to make sure she had a way to come and get Rose if they had lost track of time playing around. Pink said it was Pearls job to keep Spinel responsible after all.

"I wanted to talk...and see how you're doing," Pearl greeted, glancing around at the empty space.

"You still haven't done anything in here? ...what happened to all the furniture I brought you?"

Spinel thought for a moment, "oh, you mean the tea table and stuff? I put them in the closet."

"That's not a closet," Pearl groaned, walking to the wall and pressing her hand to it. A door appeared and slid open, revealing a room packed with loose furniture, armor and weapons.

"...why do you keep everything from the war as if it were junk?" Sighed Pearl as she began to pull some rather elegant looking wooden chairs from the pile.

"...I don't like remembering the war." Spinel answered, sitting down on the wooden chest now, her smile gone.

Pearl had already taken out a table and two chairs, solid wood and carved meticulously with roses and vines around the legs. No doubt something Pearl had picked out for Spinel.

"Well...be that as it may, those weapons and your old things are a part of history and should be kept in better shape. Certainly not treated like a mere closet," lectured Pearl as she sat down in one of the chairs and gesturing for Spinel to take the other.

"...then why don't you just keep them...?" Muttered Spinel irately before she sat down across from her guest.

Pearl didn't reply, but instead her gem began to glow and out came the bag of marshmallows that Steven was hoping to give Spinel.

The pinks Gems eyes brightened and she leaned up in her seat. "Ah! Did Steven tell you to—"

Pearl looked a bit nervous now, but she smiled and shook her head.

"N-no, no," she insisted, cutting Spinel off before she got any further.

"I just thought you would like a snack. As a...reward for taking your punishment so well," Pearl lied.

Sinking back into her seat, Spinel held out her hand for a treat. She had hoped that Steven was thinking about her. It would have made her feel better.

"...so...what is Steven up to?"

"Spinel..." Pearl began, almost as if to warn her about the topic. "...you and Steven are not supposed to see one another. I think it's better we don't talk about him either."

"That's not fair!" Snapped Spinel. "I've been in here all alone! I haven't tried to escape or anything!"

"Calm down," said Pearl sternly. "This is exactly why we're doing this."

"...what do you mean?"

Pearl took a breath and placed the bag of sweets on the table.

"Spinel...when Rose...gave up her form for Steven...you changed. Not just your appearance...but your personality. It alarmed all of us. I'd never heard of anything like that happening to a Spinel. Or any Gem for that matter."

"...yeah. So...?" This was not a topic that Spinel liked. She was rather self conscious about her transformation. The only reason she didn't worry about it where Steven was concerned, was because he hadn't known her any other way. Still, she knew that Pearl saw her as...broken somehow. "We waited all that time to see if something was wrong with my gem...and it wasn't cracked or noth'n."

"I know, but Spinel...after talking with Garnet yesterday...I think we have more reason to be concerned. ...I blame myself mostly...for not noticing all this sooner."

"Noticing what? I haven't hurt humans before. Well...unless you count that time on Halloween when Steven was little, but how was I supposed to know that humans dressed as monsters for candy at the time?"

"...I mean, I didn't notice how attached you had become to Steven. I was so lost in my own grief and regret, that I didn't see how losing Rose affected you. I'm sorry."

Spinel was getting confused. Why was it a bad thing to be attached to Steven. Weren't they all attached to him? Didn't that just mean that they loved him? "I don't get it. Is there a problem with me being around Steven?"

"When he was little...it was fine, but I think something has changed. Garnet noticed it of course...but I guess I just wasn't paying close enough attention. You've become overly possessive and with how emotional you can be...it may lead to more problems like this. ...mostly with Connie."

The mention of Connie soured Spinels mood once again. "I'm gonna apologize when I see her..."

"But what about next time?" Insisted Pearl, reaching over to place her hand over Spinels. "You have never liked it when she is around Steven and it's gotten so much worse. This time, you just pushed her, but what happens if next time you do something you cant take back? We are so much stronger than humans, you could end up really hurting her."

"I won't. I promise. She's important to Steven and I'm Stevens friend. It's my job to keep him happy and be happy for him. I-I don't know what happened before, but I'll do better next time. I'll be better."

"...that's the problem Spinel. You keep saying it's your job. After everything that's changed here...I think you're the only one that's stuck. ...you still think your only purpose is to be Stevens friend and I think...that's what's going to make trouble later on. I mean, what are you going to do when if you see Steven hold Connie or kiss h—mph!"

Spinel had covered pearls mouth with her hand, staring down at the table to hide her face. "Y-you don't have to say that stuff..."

Pearl steeled herself and pulled Spinels hand away. "Yes I do. You need to understand that even though you're his friend, you might not be the most important person to him. You have to learn to accept that Connie might be that person. After all, Steven is most likely going to be with a human and no matter how you feel about it, it's better if he lives a normal life with a human."

"You don't know how I feel!" Spinel shouted now, slamming her fist against the table.

"Yes I do! I know exactly how you feel because I've felt it too!" Pearl shouted back, rising from her seat.

Spinel stopped and stared up at Pearl, surprised by her outburst. What was she trying to say?

"You may not even really see it yourself yet, but I know you feel exactly what I felt back then! It's better for you to let this go now, before you get hurt! I don't want you to break even further! Please Spinel, we've been together for more than six thousand years. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too. If you keep acting like this...if you don't realize it...or even if you do and try to pursue it...you'll only get hurt. Steven is going to choose Connie in the end. She's human. Isn't that the natural way of things here on earth? We have to accept that. ...I don't want you to go through something painful again! Who knows what it will do to you this time! What if...what if it really breaks you...to where I won't be able to help you anymore?"

As Pearl ranted, tears began to pool at the edge of her eyes. "...this is my fault! I should have noticed how things were going and stopped it sooner. So now...please Spinel...I can help you fix things. Everything can go back to the way it was and I'm sure you'll get along with Connie after that. ...I'll be there for you every step of the way."

Spinel stared in stunned silence, taking in every word Pearl was saying. The more she listened, the more she thought on what Pearl was trying to convey, the dots began to connect and Spinel felt the walls close in around her. Was Pearl trying to say that Spinels feelings for Steven had changed beyond friendship? Is that why they think she attacked Connie? That couldn't be possible.

"N...no," Spinel started quietly, standing from her seat as well, staring at the floor as she desperately tried to find an argument for what Pearl was saying. "Y-you're wrong! I can't...be in love with Steven," Spinel demanded, meeting Pearls gaze now. "I'm his friend! I'm supposed to be his friend! ...loving him...like that...that's not what I was made for. If he finds out that I—-if I really—-it would would ruin everything!" Spinel cried, tears flowing down her cheeks as she shook her head, unsure how to process all this.

Pearl could tell that Spinel didn't really understand and she was still talking about her purpose as if that was all that was important. However, Pearls goal was to get Spinel to let go of her feelings for Steven. It was probably the wrong way to go about this, but she was so desperate to keep Spinel from anything else that might change her again, she would do anything to make sure it didn't get that far.

"It's okay," Pearl started, wiping her own eyes before she stepped towards Spinel and grabbed her shoulders to get her attention.

"We are going to get through this. This...maybe this is just because of the change you went through when your Gem turned around. You can easily go back to being just friends with Steven. ...but this is why I think some time apart is the best option right now. I'll visit you everyday and we can talk this out. We'll sort out your feelings so that we can make everything go back to normal. You'll go back to being Stevens best friend...and You'll finally get along with Connie. That will make Steven happy...and everything will be okay again."

Being away from Steven even longer? Spinel hated the thought, but if it meant that she could fix this, maybe it was a good idea. She trusted Pearl. Besides, if she really was feeling something more than friendship for Steven, there must have been something wrong with her. She was made to be a friend, nothing more. All she wanted was to see Steven again. To be his friend again. She had to fix herself.

"...okay Pearl. ...I'll do whatever you think is best..." agreed Spinel with a forced smile. There was a terrible pain in her chest, but once this was over, all that aching would go away, right?

#steven universe #su #su fanfic #stevinel #stevinel fanfic #with all my heart #chapter five #steven and spinel #pearl #spinel #cg spinel #my story #fanfiction

[jobethdalloway]

Did a riff on the first prompt of @thepriceisrizzoli‘s list here! Hoping to get to more soon! Academy-aged Jane agrees to go to Frost’s family’s Thanksgiving dinner as his fake date, but is sidetracked by the presence of a certain med student...

~*

“Soooo, Jane.”

“What do you want, Frost?”

“What makes you think I want anything?” 

Jane swiveled around in her chair to face him, and he was relieved to see that despite her deadpan tone, she was at least smiling. “Whenever you come in like that, like saying ‘so’ with a bunch of O’s on the end, it’s because you want something. So let’s just cut the small talk and get to it.”

His shoulders slumped, but he stayed resolved. “What’re your Thanksgiving plans? I promise this isn’t just small talk.”

“Oh, Uh, I dunno, I kinda figured I might just go to Boston Market.” She shrugged. “My family’s going to Maine to spend a few days with my aunt’s family, and on top of being really obnoxious, they’re homophobic as hell so I may have told Ma I was gonna be way too busy studying up for our written exam to take a vacation. Even a short one. Took a lot of convincing, but to let her feel okay with leaving me here alone on a family holiday, but she knows how important this test is.”

“Oh, and I bet you’re planning to study real hard,” Frost chuckled.

“For sure,” Jane said with mock seriousness. “Gonna, you know, kick back with a beer and really hit the books. And by books, I mean ESPN.”

“Cool, sounds good, sounds good...but what if I had a counter-offer? At least for the holiday itself? Like, say, an undercover mission?”

Jane frowned thoughtfully. “I’m listening.”

Encouraged, Frost grabbed a nearby chair and sat down to be at Jane’s eye level. “Speaking of obnoxious relatives, my mom invited my aunts’ families for Thanksgiving, and if I show up to another family function without a girlfriend, my cousins will eat me alive.”

“You’re afraid of your cousins, dude?”

“They’re teenagers, Jane. Merciless. I am still getting guff about an unflattering pair of pants I wore to my uncle’s wedding three years ago. Pants that, say, a girlfriend might’ve warned me were unflattering. If I had a girlfriend. Isn’t it so sad that Barry doesn’t have a girlfriend? What’s wrong with Barry? Have we tried setting up Barry with Miles’ neighbor’s niece’s single friend?”

Jane held her hands up, trying to keep her friend from spinning further into a tizzy. “Okay, okay. So.., you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend,” she deduced.” Frost nodded mutely and Jane leaned back, putting the tips of her fingers together. “Interesting proposition. Haven’t pretended to be straight in like, three years. Maybe it was the same day you wore an ugly-ass pair of pants and I saw you while I was crossing the street or something and I was like, that’s it. I’m ready to declare my intent to swear off men altogether.” 

Frost laughed in exasperation. “Sure, let’s say it was that same day. Now what about this upcoming Thursday?”

She pretended to think about it for another minute. “Hmmm. Sounds like it’d be extremely difficult and dangerous. But Jane Rizzoli never backs down from a challenge.” She reached over to grasp his hand, as if they were making a solemn oath. “I’m down, man, let’s do it! And afterwards, if you want to spread it around how great I did on an undercover assignment with you, well...”

“Everyone will know you’re a pro!”

Unfortunately for Frost, things did not go quite as smoothly as he’d hoped.

He and Jane made a great first impression on his family, His mother Camille made a fuss over them, and Frost was almost a little alarmed by how smooth a liar Jane was, coming up with creative answers to all of Camille’s questions about how they’d come to start dating. She had her arm looped through Frost’s, and would swing them or squeeze his hand at choice moments in certain anecdotes when his aunt and cousins come by to also pester the new couple with inquiries. His cousins thought it was "so adorable!” that they’d come wearing matching football jerseys, an evaluation Jane had been banking on, which came with the benefit of not having to wear a nice dress.

“You’re doing good,” Frost whispered in an undertone in a rare moment alone—they had volunteered to go to the kitchen to get more appetizers out for the endlessly snacking children. “Maybe laying it on a little thick, though?”

Jane whirled around from the fridge, slamming her hands on the counter on either side of him and leaning in close. “Sorry, baby, this is what you signed up for,” she said in the huskiest voice she could muster.

“You...almost had me,” he squeaked. “But then you said ‘baby.’“ 

“Oh. Too much?”

“Little bit.”

They resumed their work of emptying bags of candied nuts. “You’re just lucky there’s no single or age-appropriate women at this party,” Jane said with a smirk. “Otherwise, I mean, I don’t know if I could reign in all this Rizzoli charm. But just to clarify, you said your sister was coming, right? She’s very cute...”

“Yes, she’s coming, but I regret I have to remind you she’s straight,” Frost snorted. “So it’s gonna be no dice with Abby. I guess there’s that friend of my mom’s we met. Robin? I think mom said she’s recently divorced, although from a husband. Could be bi, though.”

His tone made it clear he was teasing, and Jane opened her mouth to reply, but didn’t say anything right away. She was pretty sure she had picked up some heavy vibes between Robin and Camille, but if Camille hadn’t said anything to Frost yet, Jane certainly wasn’t about to speculate. “Yeah,” she eventually said. “I dig older women, for sure. But uh, I’ll keep my raging attraction in check for the sake of the mission.”

Her commitment, however, only went so far. When a woman showed up who was single and whose sexuality was undetermined, all bets went flying off the table.

Some of the cousins had started a football game in the backyard, and Jane was fast to get into the fray. Some were surprised to see that the composed young woman they’d been introduced to turned out to be one of the most aggressive in the game, tackling guys twice her size. Jokes were made about her and Frost trying to out-perform each other. Jane was running to catch a pass when the porch door opened, and Frost’s sister Abby walked out with a friend. Jane did a double take, locked eyes with Abby’s friend, and the football smashed her in the face.

She wondered if she’d blacked out for a second, because it seemed very all of a sudden that she was on her back on the ground, and this beautiful girl was hovering over her. Frost had come to her side as well, but it sounded like the game was still going on without them.

“What the hell happened there?” Frost asked, trying not to laugh. “That catch was yours to lose!”

“And I did,” Jane groaned, sitting up and instinctively shifting to touch her nose.

But the girl gently took hold of her hand and said, “Leave it alone for now, let’s get it cleaned up.”

Jane looked at her as if still very much in a daze, and Frost frowned, connecting the dots. He cleared his throat loudly, giving Jane a pointed look. “So, Jane, this is Abby’s friend, Maura. They’re classmates. And Maura, Jane is m-”

“Abby’s classmate?” Jane asked with a smile, which Maura reflected. “Med school, huh? So, you could tell me if this is broken?”

“I’m inclined to say more like a fracture,” Maura said, helping Jane to her feet. “Why don’t we get it washed off first, though? Then I can give you a more proper diagnosis.”

Frost half-heartedly stood up with them, but stopped at the porch rather than follow them inside. Abby was sitting on the steps, and she got up to give him a hug. “Do you know if your friend is like, available, and/or interested in women?” Abby asked. “Because mine is, and we both went to help when she went down and I’m pretty sure Maura tripped me on purpose to make sure she got there first.”

A flurry of concerned Frost friends and relatives surrounded Jane and Maura once they got back inside, but Jane reassured them all that the bleeding made it look worse than it really was, and Camille was proud of the chance to remind everyone that Maura was a classmate of her daughter’s from BCU’s medical school. She steered them to the nearest bathroom to clean up in, and handed Maura a dish towel she was prepared to sacrifice to a bloody nose.

“Normally, I’d prefer something sterile, but I think in this case beggars can’t be choosers,” Maura said, shutting the bathroom door after herself. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You look very flushed.”

“I’m...yes, I’m fine,” Jane said, clearing her throat.

The problem was that she’d seen way too many movies where people snuck off to bathrooms at parties to make out, and it was a hard image to get out of her head, and that had made her blush and it got worse when Maura had commented on it. As Maura set about dampening the cloth, Jane rolled up her sleeves as best she could and leaned against the wall, trying to strike a pose that was casual but also showed off her arm muscles in a not-too-obvious way. She shifted a few times, and couldn’t help flexing as she crossed her arms when Maura looked back at her. Maura’s eyes indeed lingered on her arms, and Jane tried to mask how pleased she was.

“So!” Such a declaration obviously required a follow-up, but now that Maura was looking her in the eye again, Jane’s stomach flipped and she could feel her bravado slipping like air out of a balloon. “You...come here often?”

“Abby’s mother’s bathroom? I’m afraid not,” Maura chuckled. She wiped away most the blood, and Jane flinched a little. “You should hold this, I mean, you were pinching your nose before, and you ought to keep doing it for a minute to make sure you’ve stemmed the blood flow.” Jane hastily obeyed, but neither of them was good with silences, so Maura asked, “Have you been here before? The house, I mean?”

“Actually, no—”

But answering while pinching her nose meant that Jane’s voice came out in a muffled nasally register, sending them both into peals of laughter. Maura tried hard to get a grip on herself because it was clearly hurting Jane to be laughing so hard; Jane winced as she tried to control her wheezing, grasping onto the sink to steady herself. They couldn’t look at each other, because the giggling was contagious, and just seeing Maura smile made Jane want to laugh at how stupid this all was. Finally they’d had enough time to regain their composure, and Jane said she was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped.

“So where are your folks?” Jane asked, focusing on the mirror as she cleaned herself up. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I mean, you’re not with your family for Thanksgiving.”

Maura shook her head to clear it. “Yes. Oh, right. My parents are traveling; they’re often abroad. What about you?”

“My family’s out of town. I stayed home to be studious, but I’d just have been at my place watching the game alone if Frost hadn’t invited me over. You like football?”

“Mm, not much, to be honest.”

Jane shrugged, dropping the towel. “Not for everyone, I guess. Phew. Doesn’t look too awful, right? What’s the proper procedure from here, like, do you think you could fix this for me?”

With a delicate touch that sent shivers up and down Jane’s spine, Maura took her face in her hands. “I think so, yes.”

Eager to prolong the conversation as much as possible, Jane bit her lip as Maura continued to assess her. “Um, so, if football is off the table, can I ask what you do like?”

“Hm. While as far as I know I don’t like sports, I’m open to having my mind changed because I really like learning. I like poetry. I like going for walks in the rain. I like modern art and going to zoos and I like when girls wear baseball caps backwards. And...” She popped the hairline fracture back into place, prompting Jane to squeak “ow!” but before she could lodge a formal complaint, Maura said, “I like brunettes.”

“Whoa,” Jane breathed. 

It seemed like her turn to add something to the conversation, but then Maura seemed to remember herself—or rather, remember her medical responsibilities. “We should get some ice on that,” she mumbled, as if embarrassed all of a sudden by how forward she’d been. “Or you’ll start to look like Mike Tyson.”

“Hey! Nice sports reference,” Jane said. 

Trying to assure Maura that she hadn’t found the flirting weird (in fact, quite the opposite), Jane reached around her to open the door for her. They were back in close proximity now, and Maura might’ve been ready to close the door again to see what might happen if Frost hadn’t seen his window to barge in.

“SWEETHEART!” he boomed in a theatrical voice, Jane assumed was intended to be loud enough for relatives down the hall to hear. “Thank goodness you’re all right!”

He put his arms around her, and in a moment where it might’ve seemed appropriate for an actual couple to kiss, he suddenly looked weirded out and Jane looked disturbed. Maura noticed the oddness of the exchange, amplified by the fact that they seemed frozen in awkward position, but she was nonetheless mortified and ducked out of the room.

“Dude!” Jane hissed, pushing him away. “We were vibing!”

“Dude, you’re supposed to be here as my date!” Frost whispered back. “Can’t you just keep it in your pants for one day?!” 

“Frost, you don’t understand, she flirted with me!”

“Oh, you are so toast if you ever have to deal with a hot girl while you’re actually undercover.”

Jane gave his arm a light punch. “Okay, okay. You’re right, I’m sorry, I did accept this invitation on the promise that I’d convincingly act like your girlfriend. And I will continue to do so. But... aw, man. Can I please at least tell Maura? If she sees me being all cute with you, I dunno, I don’t want her to think she messed up trying to make a move on me.” 

Frost glanced down the hallway, checking to make sure no one else had wandered over. When he looked back at Jane, she was giving him the bambi eyes and puppy dog pout combo that meant instant death to any and all ill will. “Ugh! Okay, fine, I don’t wanna crotch-block you. But make sure she’s the only one who knows!”

Jane grinned and gave him a real hug. “Ahh, thanks man! Oh, and I gotta borrow this. Don’t worry, people will think it’s super cute.” She nimbly removed his baseball cap as she walked by, and flipped it around backwards. Camille directed her to the kitchen, where she had sent Maura to get an ice pack. Frost was hot on her heels, and as his mother had started bringing food out into the dining room, he loudly insisted that she relax while he brought everything in—to ensure no one else overheard whatever conversation Jane and Maura were about to have.

“Here,” Maura said, handing Jane an ice pack with a dish towel wrapped around it. “That should help. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What’re you sorry about?” Jane asked.

“F-for...” Maura rolled her eyes, sighing. “Abby just told me you’re her brother’s girlfriend, and I totally threw myself at you and—”

“No, no, no,” Jane whispered. “It’s cool, it’s cool, um, it’s not real. Me and Frost. He’s my bro and I love him, but not like that.”

Maura raised her eyebrows hopefully. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he was self-conscious about coming home without a girlfriend, like, I guess it’s something his family ribs him about a lot so I agreed to come along and kinda help him out. Just this once,” she hastened to add. “Like, just for today. Come tomorrow, I’m gonna be free as a bird. Hell, come tonight. As soon as we leave.”

Her eagerness was obvious and flattering. “Oh, thank God,” Maura sighed feeling much lighter. “It wouldn’t have been the first time I misread a social cue, so I thought maybe you weren’t...” She trailed off, and they exchanged a shy smile. “I may not know a lot about football, but I do know that you looked pretty good out there. Really nice form, for a few seconds.”

Jane snorted. “Yeah, well, I do like to think I’m pretty good. But, uh, turns out I can get distracted pretty easy when there’s a beautiful woman around.”

“That’s going to make your mission of acting as Barry’s girlfriend pretty difficult today, then, isn’t it?” Maura asked.

Following Maura’s line of vision to the counter she, Jane, was leaning her arm on, Jane finally noticed that instead of casually resting her hand on a hot pad like she thought she’d done, she had accidentally let her fingers slip into a cooling pan of baked macaroni and cheese. They both stared for a few painfully long moments as Jane cast about for some witty remark she could make about this situation. That option was not afforded her, though, when Frost came hurrying back in and saw his friend’s hand in a dish. He pulled his sweater up over his mouth to muffle a shriek, which jolted Jane enough to yank her hand out. 

“You useless lesbian!” he said, voice still muffled by his sweater, as he ladled out the portion of the macaroni that Jane had touched.

“Hey, wait,” Jane said, stopping his hand as he prepared to toss the contaminated food into the sink. “That’s still good, don’t let it go to waste, I’ll eat it.” 

Grumbling, Frost grabbed a spoon to smooth over the mussed mac & cheese, and took it out to the dining room. As Jane cleaned the ladle she had just eaten out of, the last of the straggling kids had come running in from the backyard, and she figured it was probably time to make good on her word to Frost and go make a show in front of everyone else. She turned fully away from the sink only to see Maura standing much closer.

“You’ve got some cheese here,” Maura said, pointing to the corner of her own mouth. She held out her thumb before Jane could do anything about it, though. “May I?”

“Sure,” Jane said, hoping she sounded much cooler than her dangerously thundering heartbeat would’ve implied. 

Unbeknownst to either of them, though Jane had kept her word by making sure Maura was the only person she told about her and Frost’s secret plan, they were sharing this cutesy moment in full view of Camille and Robin, who could see it all unfold from the dining room through a small wall opening over the kitchen sink.

“Hmmmm,” said Robin, watching as Maura made the quick but obvious gesture of licking the cheese of her finger. “So, uh, Barry’s girlfriend...?”

“Oh, she’s gay as hell,” Camille whispered. “Mm. This is gonna be rough. I know I said I wanted to tell Barry about us tonight, when everyone’s gone, but it might be too much to hear about his girlfriend and his mom on the same day.”

“What makes you think he’ll find out about Jane today?” 

Jane and Maura came into the dining room chatting animatedly, and Frost rolled his eyes but managed a small smile as Jane blindly reached for his hand. With her other hand occupied holding the ice pack to her nose, Jane used her foot to nudge a chair out for Maura.

“Hm. Y’know, maybe he already knows,” Robin mused. 

#rizzles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #rizzoli and isles #oneshot #ficlet #thanksgiving

[groggycascade]

Breaker Campus - Frosh Week, Pt. II

All credit to Sean D. 

Kelly, Sarah and Beth walked over to the next station. There was little doubt in their mind about what "Handball" would entail. They giggled. "Can I ask you girls something?" Said Sarah.

"Sure" they replied. "Do you get wet when you rack a guy?" Beth replied without hesitation. "Oh absolutely." Kelly had been too caught up with all the different feelings coursing through her body to really think about it. But there was no doubt she felt a heavenly feeling of elation. "Yeah, I suppose it does turn me on," she said, as much to herself as to the others. The girls approached the next station, which was inside the campus clinic. This one was managed by Dr. Carla, a medical doctor who taught courses at the campus and ran its clinic. "Cool," said Beth, looking around at all the technology. For her part, Sarah noticed that all the boys were completely naked. And they were connected to monitors. The girls sized up all of their packages. Having been turned on from the last station, Sarah wanted to simultaneously ride them hard while also smashing their balls into smithereens. "That one's mine,"'said Kelly, who was thinking something else. She wanted the biggest pair of juicy nuts to torment. "Ladies," she said, ignoring the boys present as Professor Smith had done at the last station. "Welcome to my lab. You are going to assist me in furthering my research. I would not expect any of you to be familiar with my work because until recently taking my position at this college, my work was classified. Suffice to say that I helped our country get the information it needs to keep itself safe from the bad guys - and she stressed the word GUYS. I am a leading expert on the testicles, having conducted hundreds of... experiments. And last, and certainly not unrelated to the other two, I am an expert in the study of pain. She smiled and the girls all giggled along. "So cool," said Beth. "I want her job." Doctor Carla slipped on a white latex glove. Well it was sort of a latex glove but looked different. She explained. "You see that there are these ovals on the finger tips. These are a group of tiny sensors" - each oval was made up of many small dots that were each a small sensor. "When I press my fingers together like this" she pressed them, "this monitor here records the amount of pressure being exerted." She looked over to the boys, who were standing with their hands handcuffed behind their backs. They had straps around their chests holding them to the wall. They each had some cables connected to them and monitors beside each of them. "This is to monitor their pulse, blood pressure, and rate of breathing." She grabbed a camera sitting on a swivel arm and brought it down to the level of one of the boy's testicles. "Aah" he said as he flinched in fear. "Haha, calm down young man, I haven't even touched you - yet." There was now an additional image on the monitor. As plain as day, two orbs. The camera was working like an ultrasound or CT scanner. The girls were all mesmerized to actually be seeing his testicles inside the sac. Doctor Carla slapped on another glove and rubbed her hands together. "Now, a short demonstration." She put her thumb and forefinger from each hand on his dangling gonads. "Now, we start out with some light pressure." "Boy, tell me what you feel." "Uh, err," the boy stuttered. What should he say? She literally had him by the balls. "This is important for my research boy, you should tell me what it feels like." "Well, it is uncomfortable. There's this dull ache in my abdomen." "Do you feel any pain directly on your testicles?" "No." "Ladies, that dull ache is being caused by nerve strands running from his testicles into his abdomen. With a strong enough force applied to their testicles, this is why you may have seen some boys throw up." "Eeeeehhhh!!!!" A high pitched scream pierced the room. The pressure number on the monitor was now red. Doctor Carla was pressing down - HARD. "What about now?" She asked the boy. Her voice as calm and soothing as before. Her face betrayed no emotion. It's as if they were talking about the weather. The boy's eyes were shut tight. He banged his head forward and back. "Gaaahhh!!!" "WORDS boy. Put it into words. If you don't, well, I can always squeeze harder." "No,no,no," the boy managed to say hastily. "Gerrrr...aaaahhh...." he opened and then shut his eyes and was intensely trying to concentrate, desperately trying to prevent any more pain. "Lightning, electricity... gaaahh.... shooting from my balls." "Shooting where?" "My stomach... aaaahhh..." his voice raised an octave. "And my head... I, I can't see straight." "Ooofff" the boy shot out a burst of air as Dr. Carla released his balls from her death grip. He was silent and motionless. No one in the room moved. His face was frozen. His eyes wide with terror and pain as his body absorbed the pain. His face was turning redder the longer he went without air. Finally, there was a loud gasp as he loudly inhaled. "Now ladies, was anyone looking at the monitors?" Beth's hand shot up. She nodded to Beth. "Well, I noticed that his balls started to change shape. It was really cool!" The girls all laughed and Doctor Carla smiled. "Indeed, it is very cool. Well ladies, take your boy and we'll get started." Kelly went straight for the big-balled boy she had spotted earlier. "Hello," she said with an evil grin as she approached him. He looked down meekly. All ladies got into their positions. "Alright, you'll receive a range of instructions, and please follow along. The machines are recording everything and this live test will add to my database." "Instructions will be passed through to the monitor. I find it better when they cannot have any anticipation of what is coming." Kelly's monitor flashed - "Squeeze the left testicle hard for 10 seconds and then release. Commence in 5s...4s..." Kelly readied to move both hands to his left nut. The gloves were fairly thin and she could feel well through them. She could feel the warmth of his large ball, and could even feel his heart beat through his nut with the rhythm of the machine. "START" Kelly quickly switched her grip and brought both thumbs and forefingers to bear on his left nut. She squeezed hard. Her fingers and thumbs digging down into his hefty nutmeat. His hazel eyes seemed to turn a shade greener as his eyes opened wide. He made no sound. It was as if the breath had just been knocked out of him and he couldn't breath. His mouth opened as if to breath, but he couldn't. His face was getting redder by the second. For her part, Beth didn't even notice her boy, who was screaming at the top of his lungs as she brutally compressed his left nut between her thumbs and forefingers. Her concentration was on the monitor. She could see his nut becoming longer and thinner with each passing second. It was so fascinating. Dr. Carla was taking note of the heart rate of Sarah's boy, whose heart monitor was squeeling as his heart raced. She observed the boy and took some more notes. He was gritting his teeth and moaning loud. An alarm beeped signalling the girls to stop. Kelly reluctantly pulled her fingers from deep inside his nut. After she let go, Beth watched the monitor with fascination. His orb, which had become more elongated, slowly regained a more circular shape. Although she could see it becoming a darker shade on the monitor. Looking at his sac, she could also see it was becoming purple. "What's happening?" She asked. Dr. Carla approached. "The trauma just inflicted is causing minor blood pooling and you should start to see swelling..." Sure enough, his ball was growing in size on the monitor. "Cool!" Beth said again. "I love science experiments." Dr. Carla chuckled. The already big ball of Kelly's boy was also getting even bigger, to her satisfaction. "The intent of this first test was to go from a resting point to extreme pressure quickly. I will be fascinated to review their vital signs later and see how quickly their bodies reacted to the introduction of immediate and severe pain. "Now please look to your screens for some follow up questions." The first were for the girls to answer. The questions pertained to the boys' reactions, their facial expressions, noises, etc. They reviewed standard responses in a drop down list and could choose one that fit or they could add in their own response if they wanted. "Let's see, did your voice go up one octave or two?" Sarah asked her boy and giggled. "You have a beautiful singing voice when your nuts are in a vice. "What is it they used to do to get good male singers? Cut off their nuts? You should think about it, you could really go places." He looked at her with an expression of fear and horror, as if she were about to pull out a knife from behind her. "Ahaha ha," she laughed. "You're cute when your scared." She looked him up and down. He was tall, dark hair and brown eyes. And with a nicely sculpted body. Her heart began to beat a bit faster. She brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, "Don't worry. WHEN I castrate you, it won't be with a knife. I am more partial to stilettos." She pulled her face back and they locked eyes. She winked. Next the girls asked questions to the boys to try to understand the level and type of pain they had experienced. Again, there were options to choose from on the drop down menu. They also had to rate the degree of pain. They all rated it a 10 on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the most painful. That made Kelly happy. "Well let's see what's next my boy. You never know, you may surprise yourself and feel even more pain next time." The next message popped up on their screens. The next test was a slow and steady increase of pressure. They should roll the balls around in their fingers as they do it. They should do green pressure for 30 seconds, then yellow for two minutes. The girls would ask them questions as they went and their answers would be recorded. They began. The green eyes of Kelly's boy were staring ahead with great concentration. He was trying to steel himself for the next round of torture. Kelly liked the grip that the gloves gave her. Like latex gloves, they stopped any slippage and allowed for a firmer grip. She painfully massaged his big balls, with his left one having swollen to now be even larger. Even at green pressure, he was wincing as she squeezed and rolled around his swollen ball. Beth watch the small dents that her rolling created in the balls' outer layer of her boy. "Do you feel anything?" She asked. "My balls are more sensitive now," he replied. "So it hurts a bit." Beth was a bit disappointed. Sarah loved rolling her boy's nuts around in her fingers. She eyed him seductively. What would she do next, he thought? Beyond hope, he wondered if maybe the next test would be a blow job. He imagined her mouth running up and down his cock. He started to get hard. "Naughty boy," Sarah laughed and stroked him a couple of times, encouraging him to get bigger. His body shuddered as she tightened her grip to yellow pressure. The pleasant massaging he felt before was now incredibly uncomfortable. He started breathing hard, trying to catch his breath between muscle spasms as his body tightened each time she would shift finger position and press down on a new area of his balls. His hard cock started to soften. "If you had to compare this pain to a throbbing headache, would this be worse or better?" Kelly asked her boy. "This is worse!" He shrieked. That made her feel all warm inside. "Does it feel like someone is sitting on your stomach?" She asked the next question. "It feels like someone is twisting my balls!" He shrieked again. She gave a good twist in response to his attitude. "It feels like someone has their hand IN my stomach and is playing paddy cake with my intestines!" He replied. Beth could see that with the pressure she was giving now, the outer layer of his balls were compressing in a significant amount. And they were getting darker as more blood pooled. She wondered if she were permanently damaging his balls. And that made her wet. For his part, he went from screaming and was now crying uncontrollably. Now came the final test. "You bitch," Kelly murmured under her breath in a light hearted way as she saw the next set of instructions. "What a tease." The instructions were that the girls should try to flatten the boys' balls to the breaking point - without breaking them. The school couldn't have all of their boys nutted in the first week. It would defeat the purpose behind the school. START Kelly nearly had to cover her ears as the screams erupted around her. She squeezed hard into his swollen nuts. His nutmeat shot outward as she pressed down on the centre of his big balls. Then she decided to switch grips, holding them around the sides, cupping them, and then squeezing her hands into fists. "Mmaaahhh!!!" He screamed so loud. "No, no - STOP!" He yelled. She loved the feeling of his nutmeat being compressed into an ever smaller space. She could see them getting smaller on the monitor. The pressure he must have felt was enormous. Beth had tried a different approach. She placed his nuts on her left palm and then placed her right palm on top and then pushed down hard. Her boy kept opening his mouth, as if to say something or maybe to catch his breath, she couldn't tell. He just kept trying but he couldn't breath or speak. She was so excited to see his nuts flatten out like pancakes on the monitor. They were nearly black on the monitor now. "Like juicy plums about to burst!" She said with excitement. Sarah squeezed her boy's balls between her thumbs and fingers. The gloves gave her such a firm grip. Balls that would normally slip one way or the other stayed perfectly in place under her latex grip. It was such a satisfying feeling to have his balls right where she wanted them. Her thumbs and fingers could nearly meet now. She pressed her body against his and could feel his writhing muscles, his pain racked body convulsing. "This makes me so hot," she whispered. She soaked in their close bodily connection. Her pleasure and his pain. She moved her mouth to his other ear. "I'm going to pop your balls now." Then she moved her face back and locked their eyes. Sheer terror was all over his face.    "Please, please, pleeeeaaassee! No!" Sarah felt so close. Any second and his balls would explode. A cold voice spoke from behind. "Don't you dare young lady. You rupture his balls and you won't be so much as tapping a nutsack for weeks." It was Dr. Carla. Sarah weighed her options for a moment and then slowly loosened her grip. But only a little. "Next time. I don't have my stilettos here." She winked at him. The timer sounded. The experiment was over. For the time being...

#ballbust

[erikchamber]

Fox’s Blaster (Super Smash Bros Ultimate)

This is my first finished prop and I am incredibly proud of it. It is not my first prop because I’ve started a few in the past and just never got around to finishing them either for complications, not enough skill, or just boredom; but it is the first prop I’ve completed. I intend to finish all those other, but I just wanted to ride the motivation for this one and it certainly paid off.

For anyone interested in how I made it, please continue reading.

(Tried to edit which messed up my post so most of the pictures are unreadable. Trying to fix, but connection is shoty. Check out someones reblog to see all)

Step 1: References and Drafting

First I needed to get some reference images for the blaster. Thankfully, Smash Bros has a convenient in-game camera mode so I was able to zoom in and take screenshots of the blaster in any frame of gameplay. 

I briefly considered making the blaster able to open up like in the second image above, but I had no idea how to do that and figured it’d take too long to figure it out, let alone actually make a prop capable of that. So, I decided on a single piece prop with nothing moving. Better to keep things simple when you’re starting out.

Now I had to draft outlines for it. I use Rhino 3D for all of my drafting, whether 2D or 3D.

I imported my reference images and traced them as best I could. Unfortunately, since there’s no option to turn off perspective in Smash, some dimensions were a bit off, but hardly an issue.

Before I went any further, I needed to make sure I had the right scaling, so I made a mock-up. Since I needed the handle to fit my hand, I made it out of layers of PVC foam board and just used cardboard for the rest of the gun.The sizing was actually perfect by coincidence, but I needed to determine the best thickness. I tried out a few thicknesses for the handle with different numbers of layers and found 5 layers of 6mm foam board was perfect. 

Next I made a 3D model to make sure all my dimensions looked right when put together.

Step 2: Materials

Before I did anything to start making the physical prop, I had to plan out all my materials and cuts. I did some adjustments to my traces so that a length wise cross section would fit into several pieces of equal size. Below, to the left of the yellow lines, are one of each kind of cross section I need. There are 7 total layers. The largest pieces are within layers 2-6, comprising the main body of the blaster and part of the handle, as well as support for the laser-sight barrel. After those are the two outer layers for the handle which will have some beveling, and then layers 1 & 7 include a few smaller pieces to add bulk to the two bulging sections at the top of the gun.

The section to the right of the yellow lines are for planning out how many cuts to fit into each board of material (For some reason I doubled a few layers on the right sheet, not sure why).

Materials (everything in the finished product):

6mm PVC foam board (celtec)

1″ PVC pipe

1.5″ PVC pipe

PVC cement

Spray paint

Acrylic paint

Tools and disposable materials:

X-acto knife

Straight-edge of some kind

Sand paper, both fine and course versions

Blue painter’s tape

Brown paper

PVC pipe cutter (any kind of saw will also work)

Thumbtack (or something with a fine point)

Large piece of cardboard (painting surface; can use whatever you don’t mind being spray painted)

I spent some time debating what I wanted the blaster to be primarily made out of. I had worked with PVC foam board before and I knew it was high quality and would provide a good weight to the prop. I also considered EVA foam which I’d just heard about at the time, or just plain cardboard. PVC foam board was the best choice, though I does take a few passes with an X-acto knife to cute through 6mm, but if you’re patient it’s worth it.

Step 3: Cut and Assemble

Now comes the tedious part.

Since I had digital plans I printed out full-scale outlines of each part. I then taped the sheets down on the PVC boards and used a thumbtack to poke the corners of the outlines and leave small impressions in the board. Then with a straight-edge I used my X-acto to connect the dots and cut out each piece.

Below is layer 5, i.e. the middle most piece of the blaster.

The PVC board is pretty dense, which adds to it’s quality, but like I said I had to run through each line several times before cute when all the way through. Do not rush this part. I may have been a bit too anal about it, but I did not want any mistakes at all.

Some pieces required beveling. I do not have any kind of table saw or other tool made specifically for beveling so I did it all by hand with my X-acto knife. This requires even more patience than the last part. Once you cut too much, you can get it back on and look the same. I recommend listening to some music or have a show play in the background, just be careful with the knife and always cut away from yourself.

Once all the board and pipes where cut I cemented everything together. You can see the other parts which have beveling. Again, takes a long time, especially when it’s circular.

What I found is despite my best efforts, not all the parts where exactly aligned and flush with those next to it. this part was 0.5mm too high here. This one was 1mm too thick there. I spent a lot of time sanding everything down so the edges were all aligned. I didn’t get everything perfecting flush due to my limited tools, but I was happy with it. This actually killed two birds with one stone because I would have needed to sand it down anyway so the paint would hold onto it better.

Step 4: Painting

Now for the fun part.

The base of the blaster is black so I can paint the whole thing a black coat, but for the grey on parts like the outer handle I’ll have to tape sections off to protect the black.

As you can see, the only thing I taped off from the black coat was the Star Fox emblem on both sides of the barrel. Since it’s small with lots of curves and made of tape, I had to be delicate with cutting it.

But I think it worked out. Just a little tap residue to wipe off.

The grey was fun because of how I had to weave tape between all the joints and crevices. As you can see, used brown paper and taped that on, rather than cover the whole thing in a layer of tape. Just tape along the edge of the paper and attach.

Lastly, the finer details, i.e. anything orange or blue. I did all these details by hand, again using painter’s tape to make sure my lines were exact. Don’t forget to sand whenever you put on a new layer of paint. I forget to sand for the orange on the picture below the first time and the acrylic ended up peeling off. Sand so the paint can grip onto something rather than a smooth surface.

And voila!

Pretty damn close to Nintendo’s replica (below), don’t you think?

From start to finish, this took me about 2 months in my down time. 1 month drafting and obsessing over how every detail needed to be replicated perfectly, and 1 month of actually building it. I should have paid a little more attention to the spray painting, though. I’ve never spray painted before I had trouble figuring out the right distance to hold the can, and some of the grey paint found it’s way under some edges of the tape, but not a big deal. And maybe some time spent to texture the handle.

Overall, I absolutely love it! It’s got a great weight to it, feels wonderful in my hand. I don’t think I’ll ever cosplay as Fox, but this has been a wonderful use of my down time rather than just web-surfing and video games all the time. I built something with my hands. There’s nothing quite like it.

If you enjoyed this, consider supporting me on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/erikchamber

#star fox #fox's blaster #smash bros #super smash bros ultimate #ssbu #smash bros ultimate #gotta blast #cosplay #prop #cosplay prop #sci-fi #pvc foam #first cosplay #blaster #nintendo #fox mccloud #spam b

[alphawave-writes]

Evil actions and good intentions chapter 13: ‘Charon and Sigma’

Synopsis: The penultimate chapter. The climactic battle to end all battles, as Harold, Sigma, Symmetra, and Winston face off Harold's mysterious imposter. But who's really behind the mask?

Read it here or find it on AO3. You can find me on twitter @alphawave13 or on my Sigrold discord server. 

If you like my stuff, please do support me by asking about my writing commissions, or by supporting me on ko-fi.

-

It’s almost like gazing into a phantom. For the longest time, his mind adrift in that accursed facility, he often wondered how Harold would look like if he were alive. That was long before he knew Harold was alive, of course, long before he had any control over his abilities and long before rescue would ever come for him. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, having someone on the other side to comfort him. He knew Harold’s mannerisms well enough. It was a simple thing of transplanting that to a new body. The Harold his mind concocted was not unlike the one that stood before him right now, a voice as soft as silk and eyes that perfectly reflected the stars in the sky.

It’s a stark contrast to the Harold by his side, scarred physically and mentally by the Earth and the Moon and the space in between. This Harold, who has lost the innocent naivete of his younger years, who dirtied his hands with blood in a moment of fury, who chose the moniker of Charon and has stuck by his side all this time. This Harold stares at his counterpart in absolute hatred.

“Don’t play games with us. Who are you really?”

“I think you’ve got other things to worry about other than my identity. Your reputation, for example, if you attack me. It won’t look good on Overwatch if you do anything. And that’s not to mention this.” He puts his hand into the pocket of his lab coat and reveals a small USB. Sigma is only able to catch its bright purple colour before the imposter pockets it once more. “You’ll be wanting this, won’t you? All the files have been backed up in here. And you know what, I’ll do you a favour. I’ll do what you want, and we can all leave here in peace.”

As he says that, there’s a large creak as metal breaks. Computer screens all around them begin to fizzle. The server is down. All communication systems are down. No one can contact Horizon ever again.

Winston’s brows wrinkle. “What do you want?”

The imposter smiles impishly. “What I just said. No one will ever know the truth about Harold Winston. The only remaining evidence of your existence and your research is on this USB. You have what you want. Let me have what I need.”

“You know we can’t allow you to do that. That research is important,” Winston says.

“You really want to stand in the way of science?” He shakes his head. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

“You are not me,” Harold growls.

The imposter stares at Harold for a few seconds before chuckling softly. “No. I’m not. I am Harold, but you? You’re the Jade Hare, Specimen: 31. If you really are with Overwatch, I bet you’ve been given another codename on top of all that.”

Harold grits his teeth but says nothing. His cheeks are slightly pink in anger, or perhaps shame. Sigma glares at the imposter.

“The world wants me to return to Earth, I want to return to Earth. They don’t want this Jade Hare nonsense, and they certainly don’t want Overwatch because they are looking into the future. I can give them that future because I see it too. I share their vision. And I will do anything to make sure it comes true.”

Sigma wants to fight back, but his allies do not move and so he does not either, not even to protect Harold’s honour. Even if he was not part of Overwatch, he does not know if he has the strength to fight even a figure in Harold’s image. He wants to hate this man like Harold does, but he loves Harold too much, and that love extends to people that bear his appearance. He's not strong enough, of mind and spirit.

Beside him, Harold crouches down and drops the files on the ground. He holsters his jet injector and walks forward purposely. The other Harold quirks an eyebrow behind his rectangular frames.

“So, I’m not Harold then?” The real one asks.

“You don’t have to be. Not anymore,” the imposter says.

Harold’s lips pull up into a smirk. “Good.”

Suddenly, with ferocious speed he dashes forward and shoves his palm into the imposter’s frames, disintegrating before his very eyes. The imposter steps back, falling to the ground in surprise as Harold grapples him, punching once, twice, before the imposter disappears, leaving behind a robotic endoskeleton. The USB clatters harmlessly onto the ground. The imposter reaches for it but Harold is faster, hissing loudly as he shakes his hand, when suddenly Sigma hears a metallic whirr followed by the clang of metal against the hard floors. Sigma turns around, just barely avoiding a lunge from his imposter. With his powers, he breaks bits of the floor, smashing them together into a boulder before flinging it at his opponent. The imposter is smashed into smithereens, reverting back into its original robotic appearance. A third robot behind it takes his appearance.

“What are you?” Sigma growls.

There’s the puff of an explosion as Symmetra zaps another robot. “Cease your games this instant.”

The imposter laughs maliciously. Their voice has taken on a metallic tint. “Still haven’t figured it out, Satya? It’s a shame. I thought you were much better than that.”

“What…?”

The imposter laughs again, but not in Harold’s voice. The illusion flickers as their appearance morphs and warps. His hair turns into a lighter shade of brown while his skin turns dark as mocha. Their face twists and turns until it no longer resembles Harold, clothes transforming from a lab coat into a familiar looking uniform made of purples and whites.

“Sanjay Korpal?” Symmetra gasps.

“I didn’t want to have to do this,” Sanjay says. “You had so much potential. You could’ve grown to be a great agent for Vishkar, possibly even the best. We could’ve helped the world be reborn. Make sure no one ever has to suffer like we did.”

“You are not the real Sanjay.”

“Of course I’m not. I’m back down on Earth, but I’ve got my helpers up here.” Sanjay smiles. “Funny what a bit of connection can do for you. Hard light and space technology really do go hand in hand. Perhaps the next step for Vishkar is to collaborate with Lucheng Interstellar more in the future.”

Sigma stares at the robotic endoskeleton, vaguely human in shape, a camouflage device imprinted on their head. Beside the device was a flickering dot. All the other bodies have their own flickering light, beating to the same rhythm. A rhythm that does not repeat. Sigma’s seen this technology before, when Lucheng first tried to establish contact with Horizon shortly after the gorilla rebellion. The robots worked on the same neural network, not unlike a hive mind.

“We are meant to bring peace and order,” Symmetra says. An orb of hard light penetrates through a mob of robots, collapsing in a line like domino pieces. “This is not the way of Vishkar.”

“No, Satya. This is the way of Vishkar. You just never saw it for what it truly is.”

The other robots charge at Winston, who stands his ground, ready to fight, only for the robots to all run past him. They smash their heavy bodies to the glass. An alarm whines in the background, an automated voice calling throughout the speakers warning people to avoid damaging the glass. The robots ignore this, charging again and again, the voice repeating its warning again and again. Winston takes off his glasses, growling menacingly as his skin turns crimson, swiping the robots away with his arms, but it doesn’t work. There’s too many of them.

Sanjay smiles cruelly as he turns to Sigma, eyebrows raising as if daring him to attack. Sigma’s lips twist into a scowl as he hurls the hyperspheres at him, destroying the robot, but soon another robot takes his appearance, and then another. The laugh that Sanjay gives is cruel, almost mocking.

“He’s trying to trigger a lockdown!” Harold shouts. “Stop him from destroying the glass. If he breaks it, we won’t be able to get back to the spaceship.”

“You’ve got other things to worry about,” Sanjay says. “Did you really think that USB has what you’re looking for? I’ve got copies. All I need to do is get the encryption key and transmit it back down to Earth, and soon we will know all about your secrets.” His eyes flit to Harold. “You really want to risk that?”

Harold shoots electricity from his jet injector, frying Sanjay. The other robots all begin to take the appearance of the fake Harold as they continue to ram themselves into the glass. Sigma joins Harold, Satya, and Winston in destroying as many as they can, a mountain of bodies by their feet, but the robots still come. It feels endless. Tiring. Sigma can feel his grasp over his abilities slip in exhaustion.

“Please avoid damaging or tampering with the gla—please avoid damage—please avoi—please av—ple—ple—ple—”

The voice dies, and the alarm stops for a second. The lights power down, the only illumination coming from the glowing lunar surface outside and the brilliant blue Earth. Then a new sound echoes, and the world is bathed in blood red light.

“HORIZON LUNAR COLONY INTEGRITY BREACHED. INITIATING LOCKDOWN. INITIATING LOCKDOWN.”

The sounds of shutters rolling down masks the cruel laugh Sanjay gives. Winston is the first to act, leaping out of the way of the robots, glasses returning to his face. He grabs ahold of Satya, and leaps forward back to the observatory and the spaceship.

Sigma is about to follow them when he hears Harold yell. The robots, having completed their job in initiating the lockdown, are now mobbing him. With a wave of his hand, Sigma breaks the chains of gravity and lifts them above Harold. He rushes over, helping Harold stand.

“We have to get on the spaceship before the shutters close. We don’t have time,” Sigma orders.

“I can’t,” Harold says.

“Why not?!”

“The gorillas. They’ll die if we don’t stop the lockdown. The shutters will corner off each individual section of the colony. If they’re relying on the self-sufficiency stations, the farms, the medical stations, they'll all be locked off. No one else will be able to get back here to save them in time and if Sanjay has corrupted all the robots, they won’t be able to do any repairs. I have to help them.”

“Those damned apes have done nothing for you, there is no need to sacrifice yourself for that selfish lot.” Sigma gingerly cups Harold’s face. “Don’t do this. I’m not losing you again. Come back with us before it’s too late.”

Harold frowns. “Siebren,” he starts.

“D-don’t do this,” Sigma whispers. “I’m not as smart as you. Not as strong. I can’t do this.”

“Help me, Siebren. We can do this together.” He takes Sigma’s hand and grips it firmly. Amidst the red, Harold’s golden eyes are as warm as the sun. “My nanobots and your powers, we can be unstoppable.”

“Dr. Winston! Dr. de Kuiper!” Winston calls.

Sigma grits his teeth, tears beading from his eyes. He turns to Winston and Satya, a pained expression on his face, his throat impossibly tight.

Harold smiles bittersweetly. “Get to the spaceship and get out of here, sport. Before it’s too late.”

Winston’s eyes widen in understanding, then horror. “Dad!”

“I’m sorry, champ.”

Sigma opens his hand and uses the force of gravity to push Winston and Satya away, back towards the door to the observatory. Winston stares at Harold for a few seconds from the other side, just as the shutter closes over the door. Winston bangs frantically at the door but apart from some small dents, it does not budge. There is no noise for a minute or two, and then there is the sound of the spacecraft disembarking, blasting off into the cold regions of space.

By Sigma’s side, Harold gives a small smile. Sigma huffs. “I am going to regret this.”

“I know.” Quieter, he says, “Thank you.”

One side of Sigma’s lips quirks up as he brings the robots down to the ground, smashing them into bits. With his powers, he clumps them all up into a ball and hurls it at the shutter to the next sector of Horizon, cracking it open. They run through the wreckage and into the next section.

Harold runs forward, Sigma using his powers to destroy the shutters that block their way. He can see Harold’s eyes flit through the different sectors, mind racing.

“What do we have to do, Charon?”

“We’ve got two options: seal the glass or stop the emergency lockdown. Even if you destroy all the shutters and unlock all the different sections, the base will be losing oxygen. Depending on how much oxygen is leaking, we’ve got anywhere between minutes to weeks.”

“And how much oxygen is leaking?”

“I don’t know,” Harold says. “All I know is we need to head to maintenance. Sector 02. Best case scenario, one of the systems might be able to put an emergency seal in. Second best, there’s a kit for us to do it manually.”

“And if neither of those things are possible? If we can’t get there for whatever reason?”

Harold glances nervously at Sigma.

“Harold,” he utters slowly, “there is a way for us to get back down to Earth, is there?”

Harold doesn’t respond. He keeps his head straight as Sigma blasts down the next shutter doors.

As they race forward, Sigma sees glimpses of the other primates, staring curiously at them. He sees the different sectors, once built for human research and human needs, now repurposed to suit primate needs. Farms are at maximum capacity, growing a variety of fruits and vegetables, the auto-dispenser distributing the rare bit of meat. Clothes are ripped to make hammock nests. And there are so many more of them, so many young ones that can make even his heart melt at the sight. He has to admit, he’s worried that he may have to fight them off, but they’re all looking strangely at him.

No…not at him. At Harold. They’re looking at Harold like he’s a stranger.

Harold glances over his shoulder. “Keeping up?”

Sigma huffs. “May I be the first to say that Horizon was structured horrendously? Why have all your departments in specific sectors?”

“Blame Lucheng, not me,” Harold laughs.

When they finally get to the maintenance sector, Harold immediately dashes for the main office where the computers are. He fiddles with one of them for a minute, his face lighting up.

“The system is still in place," Harold says excitedly. "And not just the one to cease the lockdown, I can stop Sanjay too. All I need to do is—”

Sigma is about to join Harold at the computer when suddenly he feels a pair of strong arms shove him forcefully to the wall, one hand clamped tightly over his neck. His eyes widen as he takes in the massive gorilla holding him like he weighs nothing.

“Simon?!” Harold shouts.

“Why are you here?” Simon’s gorilla eyes narrow on Harold. “You,” he seethes.

“Let him go!”

Before Simon can respond, Sigma hears the distinct clank of metal on floor as multiple robots charge in, bearing the imposter Harold’s appearance. Harold tries to get his jet injector ready, but it’s swiped out of his hands. He’s shoved to the floor, fists desperately trying to get some damage on the metal surface underneath, only to return battered and bruised. Simon doesn’t react, just stares at the scene with mild confusion.

Sigma’s not sure if the oxygen rapidly escaping his body is from Simon’s grip or from the colony itself. He hears another siren, a different warning blaring over the speakers, which he assumes it about the oxygen levels. All he can concentrate on is the area where that little flickering dot would be behind the camouflage. He wants to fight back, but he can't. His powers are failing him with every breath he attempts. His body gets weaker with every second that passes.

“You want to be dead so bad, don’t you. You really have a death wish,” one of the imposter robots snarls.

Harold doesn’t look at the robots. He’s staring at Simon, making a complicated hand gesture. Simon’s grip weakens slightly. Harold’s doing his own plan, Sigma realizes, but is it the same as the one he’s thinking? What is Harold thinking? Why can’t he figure out what Harold is thinking?

“I should have done this earlier," the robots say simultaneously. "Back when you were in Oasis. I chose to keep you alive, because I thought you’d be more useful alive to us. But that’s my mistake, one that I shall rectify.”

“S-Simon,” Harold gasps. “A-air…lock.”

Simon’s lips twist into an unreadable expression, and then his skin turns crimson, letting go of Sigma to swipe at the imposters. Harold is able to scramble free, racing to the computer. His fingers dance on the keyboard while Sigma catches his breath, trying to make sense of this battle between robots and gorilla. Nothing makes any more sense. But then when did anything make sense in his life? Harold types away, “One moment, give me one moment…yes!”

With his words, the lights go out once again. When it returns, everything is the same clinical white. From Sigma’s angle, he can still see the shutter to the next section still firmly in place. Sanjay turns to Harold, shoving Simon away to race after Harold. He is fast, able to close the distance quickly, only for the robot to stop dead in its tracks mid-stride. It falls down with a heavy thud by Harold’s feet.

Sigma turns to Harold, not sure if the expression on his face is amazed or terrified. He assumes it’s the former when Harold chuckles quietly. “These robots are still the original service bots from decades ago. No matter how much Vishkar or Talon might have tampered with them, you can’t get rid of that killswitch. They won’t be moving or transmitting anything anytime soon.”

“You noticed the hive mind network too?” Sigma asks.

“You’re not the only smart guy here,” Harold chuckles.

Simon is still staring at Harold. His skin returns to a dull grey as he brushes himself off. There’s no more anger in his expression, but his face is not entirely kind. “I have built up my people here on this land. If you think we are giving it over to you—”

“I’m not here for you or the others,” Harold replies. “This is your home now. If you know how to get us back to Earth, I’ll make sure no human will ever disturb you.”

Simon gives a soul-piercing glare at Harold for a few seconds before retreating. His expression is stoic. “Fix the mess you made and get out of here. This is our territory now. The moon belongs to the animals.”

It’s not the peaceful conclusion Sigma hopes for, but considering this was the very gorilla that threw Harold out of the airlock the first time, he thinks it’s as much as he can hope for. He's not sure even he can win in a fight against gorillas, much less genetically-engineered ones with a vendetta against humans.

Sigma rounds up all of the robots into a pile near one of the airlocks while Harold undoes the lockdown and seals the crack in the glass. With Sigma’s abilities he forces the weight of gravity on the endoskeletons, crushing them beyond repair and recognition. All except one, that is. There is one endoskeleton that is still maintaining the Harold disguise. Using the pieces of the other endoskeletons, Sigma is able to take a rudimentary picture and send it back to Lucheng Interstellar. The assumption will be that Harold Winston is dead for real this time. Sanjay won’t be able to use Harold’s appearance for his own purposes anymore.

They have a small audience now comprised of the other test subjects, all bigger and older than when Sigma last remember seeing them, silently judging from a far distance. Sigma catches Harold gazing upon them sadly but it is clear there is no love lost between the animals. Though Harold loved them like family, they only saw Harold as the torturer who got away. One wrong move and the animals will attack again. Sigma would comfort Harold, but he knows it's not necessary. This life is no longer his. In more ways than one, the Harold Winston that Siebren de Kuiper fell in love with did die on the moon.

The glass sealed, a warning sign of common lexigrams placed next to the crack, Harold helps Sigma push the robot pieces into the airlock. Harold puts in his code, and the pieces fly off into the moon, scattering across the crater. Not the most environmentally friendly way of disposing the robots, but the safest given the circumstances.

“There is one escape pod in the Hangar,” Simon says. “I do not know if it is functional. You will have to repair it yourself.”

“And if it can’t be repaired? If it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll throw you out the airlock just like last time.” His voice is neutral but the way his brows lower make it clear he will make good on his promise.

Slowly they make their way to the Hangar. The escape pod in question is in fact an old satellite. There is no propulsion system, and very little in the ways of comfort and safety, but it can be repurposed to be habitable and be directed to Earth. With the combined efforts of their powers there is a possibility they may be able to survive the impact. It’s far from ideal, and the chance of death is high, but Simon’s threat still hangs in the air. There is no way that Overwatch will be able to requisition another spacecraft in the near future.

“It’s funny, being up here, fixing this up. Wouldn’t have considered doing this the last time I was up in space,” Sigma says.

“How so?” Harold asks.

“The last time I was away from Earth, I was trying to harness a black hole. It was all to do with space travel, actually. Considering what I know now, I probably harnessed something more akin to a wormhole than an actual black hole. I saw it both in reality and in my mind’s eye. If I try, I can almost hear its melody.”

“You think you could do that? Make a wormhole to get us back home?”

Sigma frowns. “You don’t know what it was like when I had my accident. Everything happened all too fast and then far too slow. I felt like I spent a second and a million years trapped in that moment,. I don’t know what will happen if I try to summon it again. I have to get the math right, I need to make sure all the equations are correct.” Sigma gazes at the floor. “Truth is, I am afraid of that thing. Have been ever since.”

Harold puts a hand on Sigma’s shoulder. “Let’s get this thing done then. We’ll keep it as a last resort.”

Sigma smiles. “Sure.”

They continue working side by side on the old satellite. Sigma doesn’t know how much time has passed, just that his body is slow to respond when he hears the ringing alarms of the hangar doors open. Outside is a construction robot, designed for the continued repair of Horizon Lunar Colony, but it’s long since been dormant since the rebellion.

Or at least it should. But all too fast and all too slow Sigma realises that it's moving. And it's charging at them.

Harold whips his head around, readying his jet injector, but he’s too slow to react. He’s pinned to the ground, heavy metal trapping his leg with an audible crack, making his shriek in guttural pain. The gorillas hoot and screech in anger, going red in rage as they try to attack this new intruder, but the construction robot swipes them away with ease. Sigma fires a volley of hyperspheres at the robot, but he’s also shoved to the ground. The voices in his head are drowned out by the alarms blaring above his body and the weak groans that escape his lips.

The construction robot picks the two of them up like they weigh nothing, rapidly moving to the hangar doors. Air is rapidly escaping from them, gravity threatening to pull them out into the moon’s atmosphere. Sigma needs to concentrate to use his powers, but he needs one look of Harold, blood oozing out of his leg, and his breathing gets heavier and quicker. Gravity is fluctuating, but it doesn’t affect the massive construction robot, built specifically for use in multiple different gravity conditions.

The voice that comes out of its voice box is filled with static, crackling noisily, and barely audible. “You make my work worthless. You ruined months of work and years worth of research, and for what? To hide your precious little nanobots for a little bit longer?”

Harold punches until his knuckles are bleeding. “Siebren!”

"If you want to be dead, Harold Winston—"

Sigma desperately flings whatever piece of equipment his powers can raise at the robot, but it only dents it slightly. The construction robot is still functioning.

“—then I’ll make your wish come true.”

“Siebren, make the wormh—”

The construction robot throws them out into the cold reaches of the moon and shuts the door. Even if the door wasn’t locked, they’re floating uncontrollably, the low gravity propelling them far away, too far away to get back in time. They make no sound when their bodies finally hit the coarse surface of the moon. No sound can be transmitted from this world without air. The only thing Sigma can hear is not the universe’s whisperings, not the incessant voices in his head, but his own thoughts, as clear as crystal.

We’re going to die.

Harold stares at Sigma with golden eyes as he tries to crawl to him. It’s not easy in the microgravity, but he floats over, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Sigma feels the soft glow of the nanobots surround his body and enter his bloodstream. Suddenly his one breath feels like it can last so much longer, but it will only buy him seconds. It’s lunar day on the moon, and the temperature is so hot it feels like he’s melting. His skin is sticking to his armour. He's burning alive from the intense heat.

Harold is mouthing some words at him. The same thing he was trying to say before they got sucked out. In this moment, time all too fast and all too slow, he’d tell Harold his greatest fears if he could. He’d tell Harold that the only reason he’s never tried to summon the black hole is because he’s afraid. He’d tell Harold the only reason he never tried to summon a worm hole is because he’s afraid. So much of his life after that tragic accident has been dictated by fear, both the ones he acknowledged and the ones he didn’t.

He almost expects the universe to whisper its dark magic at him and tell him to give up his mind once again, but it remains silent this time. It’s his decision, the universe says in its silence, to die on the moon by the side of his beloved or risk his mind once again and open up the wormhole and take them back to Earth. He wants to give up. He wants to be weak by Harold’s side one final time. He wants to, because he is a villain who has done nothing good in his life, regardless of his intentions. Villains deserve to die at the edge of space, boiled and frozen alive.

But he’s not a villain anymore. He has people who love him. People who care for him and about him. People who look up to Overwatch and its members as a symbol of hope. If he inspires just a little bit of heroism, just enough of a spark to incite curiosity in just one person out there in the world, he can’t be a villain.

He wraps his arms around Harold, humming a noiseless tune that no wind can carry. A wormhole appears, growing between their chests, threatening to consume them. In that wormhole he sees the bridge between time and space. He sees the infinite realities and the infinite version of himself warped and changed through the efforts of infinite realities. Except it’s not just infinite versions of him, but also infinite versions of Harold and Overwatch, all smiling brightly. He thinks of Watchpoint: Gibraltar and the medical wing with Mercy and the training areas with the practice robots and that comfortable king-sized bed and the glimmering waters of the sea, the moon high above their head.

In a flash, they are gone, disappearing from the universe for a moment.

-

When Sigma wakes up, he thinks he might have died for real. All he can see is blinding white surrounding his vision. He sits up, wincing as pain shoots up his back and all throughout his skin. He glances down, his body wrapped in bandages like a mummy, drips attached at his forearm. Slowly he peaks under the bandages. His skin is noticeably burned, but in the final stages of healing. In days, maybe a week, it'll look like normal flesh once more.

He's alive, he realises slowly. He's alive and breathing and safe.

“Dr. de Kuiper,” a voice sighs. “We were so worried about you.”

Sigma blinks as the light fades into acceptable levels. He’s in a hospital bed, surrounded by many of the members of Overwatch. Mercy is there, as is Tracer, Symmetra, Genji, Sojourn, and many others. He's almost certain the entirety of the reformed Overwatch team is there in this room, except there are some noticeable exceptions. Winston is not here. Neither is Harold.

“Where…?” He coughs loudly, his throat impossibly parched. On instinct, Mercy hands him a glass of water with some kind of tablet fizzing inside.

“Drink,” she says.

He nods slowly, being careful to down it all. He wipes his mouth, relieved that the skin on his face feels relatively normal.

“We found you both on the cliffside here on Gibraltar, unconscious. A gust of wind could have blown you off the cliff altogether if we didn’t catch you as soon as we did. You had severe burns on your skin and a few of your internal organs. I had to work day and night to save you both.”

“He’s…he’s alive, isn’t he?”

Mercy’s face falls for just a second. The rest of the crowd glance nervously at each other.

Suddenly there’s the sound of the door opening loudly, crashing into the wall. Mercy glares at the intruder.

“S-sorry about that,” Winston smiles nervously.

Sigma turns his head slowly to see Harold himself, scarred but smiling, tears beading in his eyes. With Winston's help, he slowly approaches Sigma’s bed, putting a hand on his leg.

“Thank god you’re OK," Harold says.

He can’t stop himself. He turns his body and pulls Harold into a crushing hug. Harold’s laugh turns into a groan as he pats Sigma incessantly. “O-OK, big guy, let me down.”

There’s a few quiet chuckles from the others as Sigma hesitantly lets go of Harold. When Harold relaxes, Sigma punches him lightly on the arm. Harold yelps, more in surprise than pain.

His gaze sweeps over Harold, from the nasal catheter and his grey hair down to his casual clothes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes settles on the newest addition on Harold’s person. One of his legs is in a cast, messages written out on blue and green marker on the bandages. The wheelchair he’s sitting on is old and decrepit but usable. “Turns out nanobots can’t do much about broken bone,” Harold explains. “Compound fracture like you wouldn’t believe. I saw my leg in the x-ray and it was like a jigsaw puzzle. But I’ll be good to go in a month or two, depending on how fast the nanobots work.”

“That is if it sets in the correct position,” Mercy counters. “You must be very careful to ensure that the bone does not set in the incorrect position. If it does, you won't be able to walk or run properly ever again."

"I'll be fine," Harold insists. "I'm sure I will with your nanobiotics. I've been doing some reading on them, and I'm thinking it might be possible to combine them with my nanorobots. Nanobiotic nanobots. Has a nice ring, doesn't it?"

Mercy gives a hint of a smile before it gives way for professional stoicism. Sigma turns to Mercy slowly. "Is it possible I can talk to Harold? Alone?"

Mercy isn't even able to open her mouth before Tracer blinks forward, pushing Mercy towards the door with an overenthusiastic grin. "Not a problem, Doc, we'll get out of your hair. Come on, everybody. Hut two, hut two. Leave the space dads to do their space dad things."

On Tracer's orders and her incessant shoving, everybody crams themselves through the door and shut it behind them. Harold looks up at Sigma, his soft smile growing coquettish. "Guess we're alone now."

"Indeed," Sigma says softly.

There are a thousand different things Sigma can say to show his appreciation and his love and his relief and his hurt. There are so many things for him to say, but he doesn't say them. He just takes Harold's hand into his own, feels the warmth spread through his body, and knows deep in his soul that this is the man he loves, and whom he will love in return.

"Never make me do that again," Sigma whispers. "And never risk your life like that again."

Harold grips Sigma's hand tightly, his smile as bright as the light of a 1000 suns. "No promises, big guy. I'll always help the ones that I love and care about."

"Does that include me?"

"That will always include you," Harold says. He places a tender peck to the back of Sigma's hand. "From now till death do us part."

Sigma laughs weakly. "I don't think even death can tear us apart."

Harold stays for the rest of the day, chatting about everything and nothing. Sooner or later, the two of them fall asleep, Sigma in his bed, and Harold in his wheelchair, their heads leaning towards each other.

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de Kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #Oh god this chapter #The penultimate chapter had to be the most action packed that's why it took so long #But it's finally finished #So now I have the epilogue to do and the story will be done #Thank you to everybody who's been supporting me on this journey #Still can't believe all the Sigrold I've got over the months #I'm probably still gonna write stories for them but like one-shots #But before that I owe you all a nice fluffy ending #Stick around for that because something tells me I'll get that done real quick

[biandlovewifi]

Oneshot

Ship: Birdflash

Characters: Dick, Bart, and Wally (mention of Artemis and Zatana)

Warning: small make out but all well

Third Person~

Dick glanced up at the holographic image. It’s been over a year since it was actually put up and Dick could barely believe it. The air in the newly rebuilt cave chilled around him when he dropped his mask and just stared at the yellow and red colors in front of him. It’s been so long he almost forgot his voice.

Suddenly a door opened to the memorial room and he bent down t grab his mask. He still hasn’t told the majority of the team his identity, but he feels safer that way. Like he wouldn’t be losing another Wally if he lost one of them. Almost like keeping this distance allows him an escape.

“Oh.. uh Hey Di-Nighting. How are you?” The voice made Dick sigh and turn to face the new Kid Flash. He almost looked identical to the original and it annoys the ebony. He is proud of Bart for honoring Wally’s memory, but it really does sting to see that suit.

“Hey Bart. I’ll was just about to leave if you want to be alone.” His voice didn’t waver like you’d expect it too. He knows how to keep his emotions hidden. Unless, it was with Wally. Why did his best friend have to die?

“No. It’s fine. I mean if you were going to leave I’m not gonna stop you but I... uh. I had a question and I think only you can answer.” Bart was glancing around nervously until he made eye contact with the holographic image of his cousin. His expression softened a bit and he felt a sense of guilt overwhelm him.

“Sure. What’s going on?” Dick knew the pain that Bart had been going through since Wally’s sacrifice. He also knew he didnt just lose another hero. Though they barely knew each other, Bart was family. To Bart it was like losing a Brother he just got back.

“Wally. I need to know if he would be proud of what I’m doing. I also want to know if you had feelings for him?” The whites of Dick’s domino mask notably got larger. Bart was never one to cut corners but that was still very blunt. Dick smiled warmly and put a hand on Bart’s shoulder.

“He would be prouder than Iris. It would mean so much to him to see you wearing those colors.” He wasn’t lying either. Dick one Wally better than anyone, he knew how much he wanted to leave a mark on the world.

Bart’s face lightened and he shifted his eyes to smile at Dick’s face brightly, before cocking his head to the side and giving a questioning glare. “But the other thing I mentioned?” Dick stiffened and turned his head to look back at the hologram. It flickered a bit but didn’t move or look back.

“I regret not telling him. He was happy with Artemis and I would never ruin what we had. That’s all Bart.” Dick made his way out of the memorial room not sparring Bart or any of the holographic images another glance.

Time Skip~

‘I really need to stop staying so late at the mountain, Blüdhaven needs a hero. It’s so selfish of me to stay so late.’ Dicks thoughts were interrupted when the window to his apartment slid up enough for him to slide in. He glanced tiredly around his apartment before heading to his bedroom.

“Wait a second.. why’s the kitchen light on?” Making his way to the kitchen he gripped onto the weapon on his back.

“Oh hey Dick you’re out of beer, might want to fix that.” Dick’s moving froze and his eyes widened. He felt his eyes water and the disbelief flow through him. Standing before him was the speedster who died a little over a year ago.

“Wally...?” The ebony had stopped breathing. Losening his grip on the stick to put his hand to his side. He felt as though if he made any sudden movements the speedster would disappear like before.

“Hey Dickie! So Barry and Iris know I’m alive and I was about to tell Bart but I thought I should come see you fi-“ Suddenly they were latched onto each other, Dick was clinging to him harshly and desperately as to not let him leave. Wally just froze for a second before smiling warmly and gently wrapping his arms around Dick.

“You missed me that much huh?” His humorous tone was barely acknowledged, Dick’s mask was slowing getting soaked from fresh tears getting caught.

“God Walls it’s been hell. I’m just praying your real and it’s not stress messing with me.” At the sound of Dick saying his nickname he laughed and let out a sigh. Dick definitely believes he’s dreaming or hallucinating.

“Dick look at me.” Wally pulled away to stare at the sleep deprived bird. He shook his head and grabbed Dick’s hand moving it to his chest. “You can feel my heartbeat. You can feel my breath. You can feel my warmth. I’m here Dick I’m alive.” Dick’s focus went from his words to his senses. He could hear the heartbeat loud and clear, feel Wally’s breath on his face from the closeness of each other and feel the warmth in Wally’s hand over his own.

“Oh my god Wally.” He breathed out a sigh and closed his eye. Enjoying this moment as long as he could.

Wally reached up with the hand not on his chest and pushed Dick’s mask up. Smiling lightly at baby blue eyes shining with a child’s like happiness. “You’ve been crying haven’t you?” The speedster gently moved his thumb lovingly rubbing Dick’s cheek. Dick’s eyes were red contrasting heavily with the blue hue, and their was a dampened area around his eye.

“I wonder who’s fault that is.” Guilt rose in Wally and he frowned at Dick’s joking tone. He was joking. Wally knee that, but the guilt he felt was too much for him.

“God I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Dick immediately shook his head at Wally’s words.

“I didn’t go through that much. You should apologize to Artemis...” that seemed to connect the dots and he shoved Wally off of him in a rush. “Oh my.. does she know? Wally you have to go see her she-“

“Is with Zatanna now.” Wally’s voice went cold and his expression dropped.

“No she’s not she..” Dick looked at him in disbelief.

“Dick who do you think I went to first?! I walked up to Artemis only to see her hug and kiss the girl I thought was just a friend!” Wally’s voice rose and he clenched his fists. Dick started at him and sighed.

“I knew they liked each other. I just thought Artemis would wait for me.” Dick looked at Wally with empathy and shook his head, at his words. Dick new they were together, but Artemis still went through the pain of losing a lover, and should know he’s back.

“But-“

“No I’m not going to see her yet. Until I see the people that actually want me back right now. Alright?!” Wally was yelling. He seemed more frustrated then fully angry. “Dick I want to talk about something with you right now!” His voice wavered and he glared at the superhero in form of him to make sure he didn’t finish the thought.

“Ok. What is it?” This felt like deja vu for Dick.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had feelings for me?” Dick’s eyes widened lightly and he looked down at the floor. This definitely felt like deja vu from the talk with Bart.

“How did yo-“

“Dick I know you. Of course I could tell. It just took me a while.” Dick huffed and looked up at Wally.

“You were happy with Artemis.”

“I would’ve been happier with you if you told me.” Wally didn’t miss a beat in replying. Glaring at Dick with a stare that could crack the Batman.

“So that’s my fault?! I didn’t even know you were interested in guys!” Dick clenched his fist and raised his voice enough to anger the neighbors.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I complimented your eyes every other day! TAKE A HINT!” Dick was fuming at Wally’s arrogance to his side but Wally was just fustrated and petty. He could have been with Dick all this time.

“How did you even know I liked you.” Dick said it more as a statement then a question. But Wally just huffed in annoyance. Dick at this state wouldn’t be much help. “Hello Wally!? I asked you-“ Dick was smashed against the wall faster than he couldn’t blink. Wally smashed their lips together harshly, Dick responding with just as much force.

“You. Are. The most. Frustrating person. To confess too.” Wally grabbed at the secret zipper in Dick’s suit and pulled down. Biting and sucking on Dicks neck searching for something.

“You’re one to talk. You flirt with everyone and expect me to know that you actually like me. Moron.” Dicks breath hitched and he arched his back, biting his lip. Wally just found what he was looking for and but down to surely leave a mark.

“Dick will you go out with me?” Wally backed away from Dick and let out a goofy lopsided smile causing Dick to grin childishly.

“Dude. Duh.”

#birdflash #dick grayson #flash #kidflash #nightwing #robin #wally west #young justice

[artificialqueens]

Powerless Part 2 (Branjie) -athena2

A/N: Here’s part 2! Thank you to everyone read Part 1! 

Vanessa settles onto her couch with a bowl of chips so large it almost takes her super-strength to hold it.

Please let things be quiet tonight. Please let things be quiet tonight. She repeats her mantra as Netflix queues up. She needs a night off, her entire body aching from last night’s drug-ring takedown. Unfortunately, super-healing didn’t come with the whole firebug package.

Netflix just flashes onto the homescreen when her bracelet beeps. Silk insisted they were better than phones, and untraceable to boot. “For fuck’s sake!” Vanessa growls. “Can’t these people keep it together for one night?!”

She reluctantly receives the call. If only she could harness that untraceability. Sometimes she wishes she could just disappear and never be found.

“We got trouble, Vanjie,” Silk’s voice booms.

Vanjie now, she tells herself, flicking off the TV and almost shedding a tear as she puts her chips down. No more Vanessa tonight.

“Of course we do. And I just wanted to eat some damn chips,” she replies. She shoves the communication device in her ear and tugs on her crimson red bodysuit, giant V across the chest.

“Chips gon’ have to wait. It’s that Frost bitch. She’s at the science lab on 29th. You might want to hurry.”

“On it.” Vanjie ends the call, steps into her knee-high black boots, and fixes the black mask over her face, not that her identity is even worth hiding. She didn’t have anyone left that she cared about, that she needed to protect her identity for. And it’s not like her identity mattered. She could announce her full name on the news and no one would care. No one even knew she had survived the fire. Vanessa didn’t matter. Vanjie did. It was Vanjie people called for when they needed help, when they wanted someone to save them. Vanjie who they trusted to keep them safe and wipe out the bad guys.

Vanessa was nothing. Vanjie was the hero.

She’s on her motorcycle and down the street like a bat out of hell, reviewing what she knows about Frost, which, admittedly, isn’t much. Silk ticks off the points in her ear comm: ice powers, destroyed two science labs in the past month, sent three people to the hospital with hypothermia last week, associates unknown. Silk suspects she works for some secret organization, which could be helpful information, but the whole point of a secret organization is to be, well, secret, so they had no leads on that either.

She slams on the brakes in front of the lab, her match-stick short legs getting caught on the seat as she dismounts and sending her sprawling on her face. At least no one’s around to see her look so un-like a badass.

The front doors are shattered into a pool of twinkling glass and shiny ice crystals.

“She froze the security system,” Vanjie tells Silk. “No cops yet.”

Vanjie struts through the broken glass like it’s a runway, excitement coursing through her veins.  No cops, and Frost is inside the building like a rat in a cage. Maybe this could be the night she finally nabs the bitch.

She tears down the hall so fast she runs right into the ice bitch, who towers over Vanjie even in her heeled boots. A chill spreads across Vanjie’s chest as Frost’s coldness seeps through the blonde’s royal blue spandex suit that wraps around her like a second skin. She’s got a nice body, Vanjie admits, admiring the green utility belt that cinches her waist. The obnoxiously bright neon green mask distracts from the soft green of her eyes, rising to a smooth, pale forehead and short blonde hair.  

“‘Sup, Snow Queen?” Vanjie teases. “Whatcha’ been up to? Stealing? Killing for fun?”

She is met with silence as Frost shoves her to the ground. Frost’s hand unclenches, and Vanjie glimpses blood staining her fingers and smeared across her palm. What’s the bitch been up to?

Vanjie picks herself back up, grinning broadly. “You know, I gave up chips for this. You could at least play along to make it more fun.”

“Would you like me to call you Hephaestus?” Frost inquires, casually dodging Vanjie’s fist.

“Who the hell is Hep-hepatitis?” Confused, Frost’s next hit lands square in her chest and takes her breath away.

“The Greek god of fire and the forge.”

“Alright, you know what, blondie, just go back to being quiet,” she jabbers, finally landing a punch that sends Frost to the ground and should bruise, Vanjie thinks proudly.

Frost leaps to her feet, and there’s a certain grace to the way she moves. Even scraping herself off the floor, she’s almost…elegant, those long limbs flowing like they’re meant to do something else, something beautiful and exquisite. And then that long, graceful arm lobs an ice blast at Vanjie, and her legs are frozen to the floor while she curses and heats her hands to melt it. By the time she’s free, Frost is already out in the street.

“Don’t run away from me, Elsa!” she screeches the lame insult, a product of her frequent hours binging Disney movies in an effort to feel normal again.

She shoots a fireball at Frost, watching in awe as she twirls out of the way like a fucking ballerina, the awe turning to horror as the fire hits a streetlight instead, cleanly separating the heavy metal from its support base. The rest happens in slow motion. The severed light teeters and begins a descent to the sidewalk. There’s a kid standing in its path, because there’s always a kid where they shouldn’t be– Christ, didn’t people watch their kids anymore–frozen on the spot, and Vanjie runs but she knows she won’t make it. She sprints down the sidewalk, the light just feet away, closer, closer– she won’t make it–but it doesn’t matter because–

Vanjie rubs her eyes, checks that this is reality. Frost stands in front of the kid, holding the streetlight in her bare hands like it’s made of paper. She drops it effortlessly on the sidewalk and stares at it, both hands pressed tightly to her head, then vanishes into the night.

Vanjie doesn’t bother to chase after her, knowing she’ll be gone. She goes to check on the girl, who is young, maybe 15, with long black hair.

“She-she saved me,” the kid whispers incredulously.

“Go home, kid,” Vanjie mutters. She wishes she could take her own advice, but there’s more work to be done.

“Frost got away. I’m gonna search the lab before the cops get here,” she informs Silk over ear comm.

“Don’t be too long,” Silk cautions.

She searches the room Frost came out of, but nothing’s disturbed, except for a random mound of ice on the floor. She observes bits of bloody glass and a cork topper mixed in, but she has no idea what they used to be, what secrets they might hold. The cork, though. Maybe a vial? But why smash it on the floor and freeze it? Everything else seems intact, so Frost was either careful about what she did and took something unnoticeable, or she didn’t take anything.

But what about the ice on the floor? Why was her hand bleeding? Why come here for nothing?

“Bank robbery on 36th,” Silk buzzes loudly in her ear. One of these days Vanjie’s gonna rip that thing out and smash it under her boots.

She races to the bank and surrenders to the monotony, lets it become white noise. A punch here, a jab there, a kick here. She doesn’t think, doesn’t banter or taunt. She barely even registers the black-masked criminals as she kicks their asses. Every night the same. Every night stopping bad people, thinking she had done some good, only to go back out the next night and stop more bad people.

She never thought the superhero gig would be so exhausting.

It’s not until she’s home and in the shower that she allows herself to ask the real question. Why did Frost save that kid? It didn’t make sense. Frost hurt people. She destroyed buildings, and stole from people, and she had tried to kill Vanjie dozens of times in the past few months. So why had she saved a random kid?

The water drips down her bruised body, slowly washing Vanjie away and letting Vanessa come back. The grime and despair and misery cling to her stubbornly, lasting longer than the bruises do.

It’s hard to get Vanessa back these days.

She falls onto the couch, too tired to eat her chips, and calls Silk.

“You got any info on that lab? Maybe it’ll tell us why Frost was there.” Vanessa privately decides not to mention the broken glass, the bloody hand, or Frost saving the kid. They feel connected but she just can’t see how, missing however many pieces she needs to put the puzzle together. She wants to keep it to herself for now.

“Memstar Labs. Specializes in memory drugs. Been working on this new one named Memoriax. Supposed to restore memory loss. It’s really new. Like, no one even knows they’re working on it because it’s so new,” Silk rattles off. “But I got my ways of knowing,” she adds proudly.  

“Got it. Let me know if you hear anything,” Vanessa signs off and rubs a hand over her face as she sighs.

So the science lab experimented with memory drugs. They had a brand new drug that no one could possibly know about, unless they have the kind of connections that Silk has. That Frost probably has. Could the drug have been the reason for Frost’s visit? Could she have taken something that would go unnoticed, like the drug formula?

Vanessa groans in frustration, shuffling off to her bedroom. New bruises bloom over her petite body and the numbness of sleep is all she has to look forward to. She falls into a deep sleep that is dotted with images of Frost elegantly moving through the darkness, and wakes up inexplicably sad that the dream is gone.  

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #superhero au #powerless #athena2 #tw violence #tw blood #tw mild injury #concrit welcome #submission

[spaceiplier]

Ocean Man (oh and Blank’s here too)

Ethan sat back in his seat. The hum of the ship filled the relatively silent room. Stars blurred past them, the dusky expanse of a nebula quickly approaching. His hands were clutched in the folds of his hoodie. Slowly flexing his fingers, Ethan stared at the wide empty space around them.

Space was so big. He had never given it much thought. It just was. Now that he had something to look for, however, he found himself lost in the stars. It was too vast, and the thing he was searching for too small. Like finding a needle in a haystack.

“You doing alright?” Mark asked, entering the cockpit of his own pod. He sat, the holo image of him flickering a bit as he settled into his seat. “You haven’t said a word since we left.”

“I’m just nervous, I guess,” Ethan said, finally letting go of his hoodie to run his hands through his hair. “What if he’s not there? What if he’s hurt? What if we can’t find him, and then we do, and he’s- he’s dead? Mark, what if he’s dead? What if it’s not even him?! What if someone just thought they saw Blank? It could be just some random android who kind of looks like Blank. What if—”

“Hey,” Mark interrupted him, holding up his hands. “Calm down, alright? Nothing is going to get solved by panicking. If he’s hurt, we get help. If he’s not there, we keep looking. He’s not dead.”

Ethan opened his mouth to protest but Mark shut him down quickly again.

“He isn’t dead, Ethan,” Mark said, taking on a softer tone of voice. Ethan looked up to see Mark smiling at him. “The GAAP confirmed he’s alive. He’s out there, and we’re going to find him, no matter how long it takes. Don’t give up so soon, alright?”

“Okay,” Ethan said, letting himself sink further into his seat. “Just… it’s been so long. And with everything that happened to us… we thought we were going to die. And then he did. I gave up on him and ran away. And now I have hope that he’s alive, but he might not be. I might be holding onto something stupid.”

The green and yellow nebula was slowly fading away, replaced by a wide field of asteroids. Not close enough that Ethan could make out details. The wide belt of rocks filled the area, growing closer.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Mark said. “What you two went through was horrific. Nobody should ever experience that. It’s okay to be scared. That’s what makes you alive, dude. Just know that we’re going to do this.”

“Thanks, Mark,” Ethan smiled back, even if it felt weak. “You’re a good guy when you’re not being a fucking dick.”

“Anytime,” Mark waved him off. “Now pay attention. We’re getting close to the Seupeullis Asteroid field. We might lose communication while we’re going through there, but you need to keep going. We’ll meet up on the other side.”

“Roger that,” Ethan said, setting his feet firmly on the ground and steadying his hands over the controls. “See you there.”

As the asteroid field approached, Mark’s holographic image went fuzzy before disappearing completely. This shouldn’t take too long. Ethan focused.

He and Mark entered the field.

A few alarms blared as asteroids cut too close to Ethan’s pod, and a small, shaking diagram of the pod showed a large red dot at the top of the ship. Ethan remembered what it meant a moment too late as a larger asteroid scraped the top of the pod. Ethan flinched as several more alarms started screaming, and red lights flashed behind him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, managing to avoid a few more hits. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mark doing much better than him, narrowly avoiding an asteroid twice the size of his pod.

The comm flickered back into range as they were forced closer together.

“How -re you… up? Do you… get out… broken…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Ethan shouted back, diving down and out of range again. As he dove back up, Mark’s panicked face flickered back into view.

“They’re denser than predicted!” Mark said, his voice distorted by static but understandable. “How are you holding up?”

“I got hit,” Ethan said, pulling up his diagnostic. “Just a scrape, but I can’t take another hit like that. How are you doing?”

“A couple… all.” Mark’s voice faded out again as a few smaller asteroids flew between the two pods.

All of a sudden, a large green blip appeared on Ethan’s screen. It was close, and growing closer. An alarm went off, and green light filled both Ethan and Mark’s pits. They shared an alarmed look before the asteroids began being dragged in the opposite direction.

“What is a wormhole doing out here?” Ethan shouted as Mark’s screen went dark. Ethan pulled back on the controls, swerving around a series of hurtling rocks. Dodging one, another smashed into the side of his ship. He was sent flying away, farther and farther from Mark.

Managing to get the shaking pod back under control and out of the wormhole’s pull, Ethan swung back around.

He was ready to keep dodging asteroids, but they were no longer crashing around. They hung, stationary. Ethan let go of the controls and threw his hands in the air.

“We made it!” he yelled, his voice still half drowned out by the alarms. “Mark, we— Mark?”

His face still hadn’t reappeared, and the large green blip had vanished. Ethan started flicking through his controls, attempting to reform the connection. The alarms stopped. Now that everything wasn’t happening at once, Ethan looked outside, hoping to find Mark’s pod.

Panic shot through him when he didn’t see anything. Was he still stuck in the field? Ethan swung his pod around shakily, tracing the edge of the asteroid field as he scanned for Mark. Nothing came up.

Mark was gone.

.

.

“MOTHERFUCKING FUCK WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS NOT OKAY ETHAN WHAT THE FUCK!”

Mark screamed, cussing out anything he could get his hands on. His ship spun through a vortex of colors. All he could do was hold on as he was tossed about, rocks crashing into him. Both wings were torn off the pod, and an engine was in flames. The alarms were screaming, but one had shut off. The wiring was damaged too.

Great. Everything had gone to hell.

“FUCK!” Mark pulled a few levers, hoping one of them would do something, but before he could find out, something large, flat, and metal slammed into the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

.

.

“... BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Mark came too, vision blurry and head pounding. The alarm was going off, but it sounded like it was a thousand miles away. Mark reached out to his the snooze. Just five more minutes. He’d never been drunk, but he imagined that this was what hangovers were like.

His hand hit something hard and covered in controls. Blinking, the control dash came into focus. Why was he in a pod? And why was the air so thick?

Heat licked at his leg. Looking down, the floor was on fire. A few patches of flames had consumed the pit.

“Fuck!” Mark attempted to leap back, but he was strapped to his seat. He frantically clawed at the belts, releasing himself and stumbling out of his chair. His hand landed on the latch to the emergency exit. Without thinking, he pushed.

FWOOMP!

Water rushed into the pod, completely burying Mark in frigid water.

His first instinct was to flail. Find some handhold. Find something to get him out of the fucking water. Everything was dark and cold. He could barely see, and the sudden rush of water forced his air out in a panicked scream.

His hand hit something. The ship. Grabbing hold, Mark used it to hurtle himself up. Out of the water, and towards the faintly glowing surface.

Mark hit the surface with a sputtering gasp. Hands paddling to keep himself afloat, he coughed, retching up the water he’d swallowed. His chest hurt, and the cold was quickly sinking into his skin. He shivered.

“Wha… where… Ethan!”

Mark threw himself around. The tip of his ship stuck out of the water, but there was no sign of another pod. The sky was dark, only illuminated with a clouded over moon. Too dark to make out any other defining features around him. No ships. No land. Nothing.

Just… ocean.

“ETHAN!” Mark shouted, his voice cracking from the water and smoke inhalation. His chest seized with panic and cold. His teeth chattered as he swam back to his pod. He wanted out of the water as quickly as possible.

He pulled himself onto the tip of the pod, and the wind hit him.

Oh, this was much worse.

From the top, however, he could just barely make out a landmass. Maybe a dozen yards away, but close enough to swim to if he didn’t die of hypothermia first. It was better than staying out here.

Taking a deep breath, Mark jumped back into the ocean.

Fuck, he hated the ocean. It was dark. It was cold. There were several bioluminescent plants lighting the sandy slopes, and a few schools of fish swam through the looping coves lining the bottom.

Death. Just pure death.

Mark rose back to the surface. The Academy had required passing a swim test, and with Mark’s Ir’al father, he’d seen enough lakes and pools to be a decent swimmer. He had never liked those swimming trips. Thomas, his brother, had always liked the water much more than him.

He didn’t know if he had always hated water. What Mark did know was that when he was younger, he’d tried breathing underwater. Stupid, yeah, but he was young. All he had wanted was to be more like his dad, and his dad could breathe underwater. Mark had nearly drowned, saved only by his mother yanking him out. She’d yelled his ears off about it as she held him close, wrapped in a towel.

It was his earliest memory of water. Painful, cold, and crushing in on him as he was powerless to stop his own death.

Mark took another deep breath as he paused, looking up to see if he was any closer to the shore. Just a few more strokes and he’d be there. Now that he was closer, he could see towering trees and thick underbrush. A few birds circled overhead. The island didn’t look big, but it was better than water.

He took off again.

Mark hadn’t inherited much from his Ir’al DNA. Stronger, and a better resilience to injuries, but none of the gills or fins. Not even webbed fingers. Still, he’d inherited a strong resemblance to his father. His dad always used to hold him on his shoulders as they walked down to the market. He’d comment to anyone who’d listen about how much Mark looked like him, pride in every word.

And Mark would always beam. He loved his dad. He always wanted to make him proud and do right by him. It was half the reason he aimed to join the Academy. Mark had always taken his father’s lessons to heart. He’d always tried to be someone his dad would be proud of.

When he was younger, Mark had wanted that, but he’d always felt like he was missing something with his dad. At first, he thought it had been because he wasn’t Ir’al enough. He didn’t like water, he couldn’t do anything like what his dad could do. He wasn’t enough.

Over time he’d come to accept that he was good enough as who he was. But there was always that nag in the back of his head that he was missing something with his dad. When he’d died, Mark knew that that was the end of it. He’d never get an answer to why he felt so lost with his dad.

He couldn’t change the past. All he could do was keep moving.

Mark’s hands touched coarse sand. He pulled himself up and out of the water, breathing hard. His flight suit was soaked, and his hair clung to his face. The wind sunk its teeth into him, causing him to shake and hold himself.

He needed to find shelter, and he needed a heat source.

.

.

“Amy? Tyler? Kathryn? Anyone? Come on, guys. Answer!”

Ethan jammed the radio furiously, but no one responded. He’d managed to quiet down the alarms, and the ship was completely silent now. Other than his own quiet and desperate requests, it was mind-numbingly silent.

Alone.

Quiet.

Lost.

“Answer me!” Ethan begged and smacked the comm. For a moment it buzzed with static, but then was gone again. “Fuck!” Ethan tossed the comm away, hearing it clatter behind him. He had no outside communication.

What was his best chance? At this point, he was lost. Mark was nowhere in sight. Probably got sucked into the wormhole and spat back out god knows where, if anywhere at all. Ethan was out of the asteroid field, but his pod was badly damaged. At least his tracker was still working. Blank’s location still pinged steadily, a lonely blue dot on the map.

Ethan couldn’t make it. Not in this ship. He’d crash before he even got close. There were three planets between him and Blank. Two were uninhabitable, and the other one had just recently been introduced to the GAAP. They’d just started venturing out into space. Would they have the capabilities to get him off world if he stopped there?

He had to take that chance. Ethan’s only other options were a gas planet or a planet covered in a raging sandstorm.

Janky backwater planet it was then.

Ethan started slowly towards the planet, hoping his shuddering pod didn’t collapse around him.

.

.

Mark’s stomach growled loudly.

His shoddy lean-to provided cover from the wind, and a small fire was keeping him reasonably warm, but any food Mark had packed for his trip was stuck in his pod and probably completely soaked. With his ship sunk into the ocean, comm stuck inside, and no means of escape, time seemed to escape him. The sky seemed to remain an overcast gray no matter what. Heavy fog lay over everything, covering everything with cold moisture and obscuring any view he might have had.

The wind picked up suddenly, and Mark shifted closer to his fire.  

The planet he was on was mainly ocean, as far as he could tell. Miles upon miles of cold, dark, miserable, unforgiving ocean stretching as far as he could see. It blended with the clouds on the horizon, making it seem even more infinite. The only other life he could see nearby were a few large, slick birds flying overhead, and the copse of trees he was barely sheltered by.

He hadn’t gone back into the ocean. No way in hell was he going to set foot in that expanse of death. He’d found enough supplies on the tiny island he’d set up camp on to last him at least another day. Maybe farther inland he’d find some ways of communicating off this planet? Or maybe some way of speaking to a sentient species that lived here. Maybe something to eat. Either way, the last thing he wanted to do was go back into the ocean.

One of the large birds that had been circling Mark’s location suddenly dove toward the ocean. It plunged beneath the icy surface and reemerged with a medium-sized fish in its beak. It landed on the edge of the shore, carrying its prize proudly.

The bird seemed to look over at Mark with its catch before swallowing the fish whole.

Mark’s stomach rumbled again.

No. Nope. He wasn’t going in. No way.

The bird hopped away and took off.

“Stupid bird,” Mark muttered. The wind picked up again, and with a sharp crack lightning illuminated the sky. Rain slowly started falling, drowning his pitiful fire. Mark huddled farther under his shuddering shelter, praying it would last through the increasingly heavy downpour.

It didn’t. With a clatter, the shelter fell around Mark. Whatever sort of dryness he had attained was instantly taken away as he was soaked by the rain. Thunder roared all around, causing Mark to yelp and scamper on all fours back into the trees.

Well, it was at least slightly better than the empty beach. Mark glanced around at the closest trees, hoping for a small hole or cave he could hide in, but nothing presented itself. The trees were all tall and thin, with only a small clump of branches at the top.

Fine. Farther into the trees was the only logical place. The center rose slightly, forming a series of cliffs, covered with dense fog. Maybe there was an outcropping, or some shallow cave to hide in. Anything to last him through the night so he could gather his thoughts and make it through this nightmare.

He stumbled to his feet. Mark hurt. The crash had bruised what felt like every inch of his body. Each step sent fire racing up his right leg. He must have sprained his ankle. There was nothing to do about it now. Just keep walking. Keep moving forwards and survive.

As he walked, Mark huffed with laughter. He remembered another stupid idiot in a situation much like this one. Hurt and alone. Running off by himself. History really did have a habit of repeating itself.

Just keep walking.

He could survive this.

Mark missed Chica.

Mark was soaked, cold, and completely miserable when he nearly walked right into a large flat wall. It seemed to stretch miles upward, and he wasn’t quite sure how he’d missed it. Its top had to have been buried somewhere in the fog.

He kept one hand on the wall and followed it to its edge. Peering around the corner, Mark’s spirits rose when he spotted what appeared to be an entrance. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he half jogged, half limped to the large gateway. Deep blue curved markings curled around the frame, giving off a dim glow slightly refracted by the rain. The door was solid black with two large blue handles.

Mark stumbled forwards, grabbing onto the handle. As he touched it, the glow faintly pulsed before fading again. He struggled briefly trying to pull the door open, and he almost believed it was locked before he leaned against it and it started to shift open.

Of fucking course.

The moment he was inside the door closed behind him, plunging him into a nearly pitch black room. All sounds of the ocean and howling wind were cut off. It was replaced with dry air and a crushing feeling of being watched.

Mark yelped as his vision was cut off. His hands flung out, and he backed up until he was pressed against the door. As soon as the light was gone, however, the room was dimly illuminated. A few barely-lit blue lamps sat around the circular room. They weren’t bright enough to show Mark the room in full detail, but it was enough to give him an idea that this room was huge, and it wasn’t natural.

Someone had made this place. They had carved it out intentionally.

“Hello?” Mark called out, hesitantly at first, but then with feeling. “Hello?!”

The only thing that answered was his own voice, echoing off against the curved walls.

Mark shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

.

.

Ethan flipped his hood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. Keeping his eyes focused on the ground, he left the alleyway. Part of him wished he’d worn a less obvious hoodie than his bright yellow one, but he didn’t really have many options at this point.

“Sir! Pfirone! Can I interest you in some fresh pfirone?”

“Come get your Visba!”

“Hey! Give that back!”

Ethan forced his way through the crowds, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Swarms of children found their way through the legs of the adults. A few small canid animals yapped at each other. The adults shouted and argued, haggling over prices, talking above the dull roar of crowds, shouting at their disobedient children. It was a mess, but somehow managed to find its own order.

“Watch it!”

Ethan was shoved from behind as a large man walked past, holding a giant crate of something sour smelling. He stumbled into another man, his hands instinctively coming out to catch himself.

“Hey, are you okay…” the man started to ask, but then his eyes landed on Ethan’s metal blue hands. His eyes widened. Their eyes met and Ethan cursed himself. He yanked back, shoving his hands into his pockets again, and took off running.

The shouts of the man were lost in the crowd as Ethan put as much distance between him and the man as possible.

He only stopped running when he finally managed to reach the edge of the market. The crowd was considerably thinner as a few small groups of people entered and exited the expansive marketplace, chatting amicably among themselves.

Of course he had managed to crash land on a planet where there were no androids. The most advanced technology here were robots, and they sucked! Ethan knew some badly programmed robots, and these were worse.

The first town Ethan had stumbled upon had nearly taken him apart. They all were grabbing at him, trying to touch him. The metal guy who could speak like them. A marvel to them, obviously. Ethan had taken the first chance he got to bolt.

He kept his head down as he walked, only glancing up occasionally to make sure he wasn’t going to crash into someone. He just needed to find somewhere safe to spend the rest of the day, and then he could keep working on figuring out how to get off of this trash heap of a planet.

It had only been three days since he’d last seen Mark.

Three days, and Ethan was already sick and tired of being alone. He wanted to be home on the Barrel. He wanted to go out and explore new planets with Kathryn and Amy. He wanted to lose at every game with Tyler and Mark. He wanted to program Bing to learn new skate tricks and karaoke songs. He wanted to cuddle up with the dogs.

He shook his head. No. Ethan was here to find Blank, and he wasn’t going to stop until he had found his brother. He had to get off this planet. Blank was the one who needed him now. Not Mark, not Amy, not the dogs, and not Bing. Blank.

Well… maybe Mark. But he wasn’t the main concern right now. Mark could take care of himself.

As Ethan passed the edge of town, his eye was caught by a poster attached to a brick wall coated in numberless other signs. Calls for work, signs for lost pets, but most importantly: a poster with the location of a GAAP station.

They’d have a way off this planet.

.

.

The entire building was dead.

Mark had been wandering its halls for what had to have been hours, and he’d found nothing but winding hallways and more dim lamps. His eyes, adjusted to the darkness, now managed to make out that the walls were covered in strange glyphs. There were several outlines that looked like doors, but none opened. He’d finally managed to get back to what he assumed was the room he started in, and slumped against the wall.

At least he was mostly dry now, and out of the rain.

“Wonder what Ethan is doing?” he asked himself. Nothing answered, but he kept talking. Something to fill the emptiness around him. “Probably safe and cozy in some GAAP building, if he hasn’t found Blank already. He’s probably at least around other people. People who can talk to him. Not some birds and an empty old building.”

“Bal’leo loll...”

Mark shrieked, jumping to his feet and pressing his back against the wall. The deep voice, as soon as it had spoken, was gone again. The room was empty and silent again. Mark looked around. Where had that voice come from?

“Who’s there?” Mark called out.

Nothing answered.

Then, the lamp sitting against the far wall began glowing brighter. The blue light washed over everything, giving it a haunted, almost underwater appearance.

This was a bad idea.

Mark turned around and tried to open the door. Nothing.

Fuck. This was a really bad idea.

Turning back to the light, Mark took a deep breath and walked towards it. The closer he got, the dimmer it grew. Reaching it, he saw the light sinking into the floor. The glyphs glowed as they ran towards the wall. Then, the outline of the door glowed. With a snap the door opened, dust falling as the stone broke after years of no use.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Mark told himself.

And he walked through the door.

.

.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

The lobby of the GAAP office was tiny. A single Nelidi man sat at the desk, two hands poised above a comm keyboard, one scribbling out notes, and the last holding a mug of steaming dark brown liquid. His long hair was pulled back into a high knot, and his four eyes blinked out of sync.

“Uh, yeah.” Ethan pushed back his hood. The Nelidi gasped, all four eyes widening in shock, and Ethan winced. “I’m looking for a way off planet. I crashed here a few days ago and I need to leave.”

“Oh,” the man said, hands instantly reaching for forms and a pen. “Please, have a seat! Fill these out, and we will see about getting you a ship off-world. If you don’t mind me asking though…” He looked around before leaning towards Ethan. “What are you doing back here?”

“What?” Ethan took the form and began filling out his information. “Dude, I’ve never been here before.”

“Are you sure?” the Nelidi man took a closer look at him. “I swear you look like that android that came through here a few months back. Shakey fellow. I covered the ID code for him. I know all too well about those rich scientists who abuse androids off-record. Understandable to run away like that.”

He clicked his tongue.

Ethan was frozen. Blank… Blank had been here!

“Tell me everything,” Ethan said forcefully as he slammed the form down, staring the shocked Nelidi down. “When was this? Where did he go? Did he look okay? Are you sure you covered his ID code? Did he have anyone with him? What—”

“Hey, hey!” The man held up his hands. “I don’t know much, okay? I just know the poor kid was on the run and needed to disappear. I’m not the best GAAP agent. Clearly. I’m stuck out on this backwater planet. He just came through about two or so months ago. Needed a ship off planet and didn’t want the GAAP on his tail. That’s all.”

Ethan clenched his hands, crushing the pen.

Blank had been here.

Blank was still running.

“Can you at least tell me where he was headed?” Ethan asked hopefully.

The man looked him over. “You got the same creator?”

Ethan nodded.

The man sighed. “He was headed to Paisine. I don’t know if he’s still there, but that’s all I know. The next ship headed there leaves in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said, leaning heavily on the desk. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of him. He had a lead, and that was all that mattered. “Really, thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said, curiously looking Ethan over. “Oh, and don’t worry about filling out that form. The GAAP never has to know you were here.”

Ethan nodded, then moved to collapse on one of the seats. He began absentmindedly picking stuffing out of a tear in the cushion as hope filled his entire being.

“I’m coming, Blank,” he said. “I’m almost there.”

.

.

It was like a bad game of tag.

Lamps would light up, and as soon as Mark got to them they’d die and the next one was glowing just down the hall. Lamp after lamp, glowing and fading as he tried to catch up. They led him farther into the building, sometimes through doors that it seemed hadn’t been opened for years.

The voice hadn’t spoken again, but Mark was on edge. There hadn’t seemed to be any malicious intent in the voice, but it hadn’t seemed kind either. Just a voice, saying words that echoed around his brain.

There was someone here. Or an echo of someone, at least.

It was something.

As Mark rounded the corner, he stumbled to a halt. There were no more lamps. Instead, the hall opened up into a giant room that pulsed to life the moment Mark entered. The ceiling stretched so far up Mark could barely see it. Tubes ran down the sides of the walls, water rushing through them. In the center of the room sat a series of interlocking stone pieces forming a long pillar. It looked like a giant three dimensional puzzle. The glyphs around it glowed softly.

The voice spoke again. Mark jumped at the sudden noise, but as it continued to speak the nonsense slowly began to make sense.

“... have come to my home? Alone it seems.”

“Who are you?” Mark asked, slowly moving towards the stone.

“The Collective,” the voice said. This time the voice was no longer deep and menacing. Instead it was several soft and feminine voices, all overlapping. “I am the minds of every being of my home.”

“Wait… what?” Mark came to a stop before the pillar. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I am everyone, and yet I am myself,” the voices hummed and shifted to an overlay of deep and soft. “I am my home, and yet I am a stranger. Who are you, is the question? Why have you come here? No one has come to my home in nearly a thousand years. You are not part of the Collective.”

“I’m Mark,” Mark answered. “Just a person. Human and Ir’al. I crashed here a few days ago.”

“Mark,” the voices mused, repeating the name through different voices. A few of them chuckled. “You are like us. A stranger to yourself. How amusing.”

“Yeah, ha ha,” Mark huffed. “I’m hilarious, I know. How do I leave?”

The voice was quiet for a moment, before breaking out into laughter. It grated on Mark’s ears. Multiple laughs falling over each other, somehow a cacophony of shrill and dark noises. There was no joy in the laughter. No emotion. Just noise. As soon as it started, it ended.

“No one leaves,” the voice said. “I am the Collective. The Collective of all who lived here. All who have ever lived here. The Collective of the minds of my people. You cannot leave, because leaving means leaving behind our purpose. My mission to save.”

“Could you be creepier about that?” Mark asked.

The pillar flashed. “When you eventually meet the end of your life, you will become part of the Collective.”

“Oh.” Mark blinked. Then something clicked. “Wait… you’re made up of everyone who used to live here?”

“Find out for yourself,” the voices said, shifting to something childish and youthful. A piece of the ground broke off, rising up. As it reached the height of the center of Mark’s chest, a hologram appeared, flicking with blue light. “We hold the minds of many. I know all of my home. Anything you wish to know is ours to share with all.”

This felt wrong.

Mark didn’t feel as if the pillar had sinister intent towards him. It wasn’t trying to kill him. It was just speaking of an eventuality as a certainty. It was doing its job. Even if its job was to eventually absorb his brain into a hivemind-like entity trapped in an ancient alien building.

Not evil. Just wrong.

Tapping on the hologram, it expanded. Line upon line of text that wiggled around until it was in Common.

Great, it was already in his head.

For a few minutes he read. The pillar remained silent, letting him be. It was a little confusing at points, but it was fairly simple. An outline of the final moments of this planet’s sentient species.

The lives, the people… this planet had been alive. And now it was crumbling around itself. Doomed to fade away.

“You were dying,” Mark said as he finished.

“We died,” the voices said, and for the first time Mark heard emotion. Sadness. “I am continuing to die, and I cannot stop it.”

.

.

Ethan tapped his knees, staring straight ahead as the transport ship gave a worrying rattle. He glanced at the robot piloting the thing, but it didn’t pay him any attention. Crates surrounded him, strapped down, but still bouncing worryingly with every jolt. Only a few had supplies, as they were going off-world. Ethan was the only person on board. Nobody to talk to. Nobody to take his mind off where he was going.

He’d been traveling for two hours and forty-seven minutes now. Ethan hadn’t thought about how quiet traveling alone was. He’d only done it once, and that was when he’d left his creator. After that he’d always been with Kathryn, and then the Barrel.

It was so quiet now.

No jeers thrown back and forth between him and Mark. No tech talk with Kathryn or Tyler. No Amy to hang out with and chat about news from all those inner city tabloids. No Bing to mess around with.

Just him, and the looming fear that he would fail.

The small ship took a sharp turn as they approached the planet’s outer moon, causing a loosely-strapped crate to press Ethan into the wall. Ethan attempted to push it off of him, but seemed to have gotten lodged in place. Oh great. Just fucking perfect. He shifted slightly and rested his head against the wall.

It felt like the trip would never end.

“Are we there yet?” Ethan asked loudly, not expecting a response.

He got none.

“Cool, thanks,” Ethan said.

There weren’t any windows, so Ethan closed his eyes. He let his data banks fill in the blanks. Images of planets he’d seen. Moments with the crew. A few dog videos he’d recorded. Anything to distract him.

It was only another hour, but it flew by quickly. The ship rattled to a halt, and the robot beeped.

Ethan thanked the robot quickly and slipped quietly out of the GAAP docking station.

There was nobody there. Thank god. He’d be in a lot of trouble if someone asked for his forms. Ethan quickly slipped out of the station, flipping his hood up and avoiding eye contact with the robots taking crates from the ship.

He couldn’t get sidetracked. He’d wasted enough time as it was. Being stopped by security would only put Blank further out of reach. He knew where Blank was. Despite being so far away, he knew where he was and he was going to find him. The sooner he could find him, the better.

Ethan instinctively shoved his hands back in his pockets as he emerged onto the streets. They were narrow and crowded. The sky was overcast, the threat of rain not far off. Not many people walked close to the docks, and the few that did only gave him a couple odd glances before carrying on with their business.

Ethan gave one of them a cursory nod before pushing into the crowd, more careful this time to follow the flow of the traffic. It wasn’t too far to Blank’s last known location. It wasn’t likely that he was still there, but it was a good jumping off point.

Looking at the street signs, his data banks filled in the rest.

“I’m coming,” Ethan said quietly, and began walking.

.

.

“You need to eat.”

Mark yawned and stood up, rolling his shoulders to work out the knots from sleeping on the hard floor. Sleep blurred his eyes. That, or it was his contacts shifting in his eyes. Blinking a few times, the room came into focus. The glyphs were glowing, slowly bringing the room into a soft light.

“You need food,” the Collective said, sounding slightly impatient.

Mark’s stomach rumbled in agreement.

“Don’t you want me dead or something?” Mark grumbled. “Why do you care if I starve?”

“Gods, no,” the Collective gasped, several voices high pitched in horror. Mark didn’t know a hivemind could sound offended. “You still have a life to live. You joining us is inevitable should you die here, but there is still hope for you. The Collective does not want death. I want to continue. Death now would be pointless.”

“Well, do you know where I could get something to eat?” Mark asked, craning his neck to watch the flowing blue lights. “I didn’t see any fruits or anything on the surface- just a few birds.”

“The ocean is life,” the Collective said. “That is where you shall find sustenance.”

Mark’s stomach dropped and he groaned, “I was worried you were going to say that.”

“Why?” several voices asked in chorus. “The ocean was our home. It sustains this planet. It gave my people-”

“-us-”

“-me-”

“-purpose.”

The voices overlapped, saying different things all at once. It took Mark a second to figure out what the Collective had said.

“Look,” Mark said, “I don’t know what ocean you’ve been swimming in, but the ocean isn’t ‘life.’ It’s the opposite of that. It’s death. Pure, terrifying death. I’d rather die than go out in that murder trap.”

The voices were silent for a moment.

Mark stretched, cracking his back. There had to be something on this planet above ocean level. Maybe he could get one of those birds, or maybe there was something edible he would recognize.

“You mind letting me out?” Mark asked, gesturing at the sealed wall. With a crack the wall split, and the door swung open. The lamps began to glow outside of the door, leading him away.

“Thanks,” Mark said, starting to walk away.

“The ocean is your only hope,” the Collective murmured, for once sounding united, the voices solidifying into one.

Mark ignored them and kept walking.

.

.

Ethan frowned up at the gently swinging wooden sign. In blocky, straight lettering, the sign read: The Sleepy Zmezy. A two headed snake-like animal curled in between the letters, a stein lifted in between its two tails.

The rest of the building looked sturdy, but old. The roofing was wooden tiles, covered over with patches of moss. The walls were made of thick slabs of rock and concrete. Through the cloudy window panes a warm orange glow came. Every time the door swung open, music flowed out and loud laughter followed.

This was Blank’s last known location? Ethan checked his tracking. Yeah, this was it. His ID code had been pinged here. GAAP agents had been called on him, but the android was gone by the time anyone had arrived.

He wouldn’t be here, but maybe someone would know where he had gone.

Ethan pushed open the door. A rush of warm air and the smell of meat and homemade beer wafted through the room. It was filled with locals, a species with curled horns and pale skin ranging from brown to green to pink. They were loud, and a small band played in a corner.

Despite the noise, the whole place had a rather relaxed atmosphere. That was, at least, until Ethan saw the sign.

No Androids Allowed.

“Motherfucker,” Ethan muttered under his breath. That’s how the GAAP found Blank. Someone must have activated his ID long enough for a ping to form. They were probably trying to collect some bounty on him. Sell him off, or take him apart.

Ethan tugged the hood lower over his head and moved towards the back of the room, keeping to the walls. As long as nobody paid him mind, he could get a quick scan of the place and then be out.

He was halfway there when he tripped.

A coat lying on the ground had tangled around his foot. Ethan yelped, hands flying out to brace his fall. He bounced off the back of one of the Laemran, landing on the floor with a worrying crunch.

“You okay, kid?” the Laemran asked, leaning over to help him up.

Ethan curled over, hiding his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. His system was racing, trying to identify what he’d broken. The Laemran was tapping his shoulder. Nobody else seemed to have noticed his fall. Too busy with their own nights. They’d notice sooner or later, though.

“I… I’m fine,” Ethan managed to respond, attempting to shuffle away. “Really, I was just clumsy. I’m fine.”

“Here, let me help you.”

“No, wait!”

It was too late. The Laemran grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to stand. He towered over Ethan by a foot, long carved horns curling under his ears. Ethan’s hood fell back. He winced, his artificial features exposed.

The Laemran gaped at him, eyes going from worried to shocked.

Ethan stared back.

As long as he didn’t move, nothing would happen. They’d just stay like that, and nobody would notice. This was fine. Totally fine. One hundred percent fine.

“Android,” the Laemran said, shocked out of expression emotion.

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but instead of anything he would have wanted to say, his system took over. “Broken finger joint. Circuits needing replaced.”

“Hey! That’s an android!”

“What?” “Android!”

“Over there!”

Ethan yanked back, using the element of surprise to wrench himself free. The Laemran attempted to reach out and grab him again, but Ethan was gone. He bolted towards the back of the bar, the exit closer than the entrance he had come through. The others in the bar made a mad dash towards him. Swarming, attempting to grab him.

It wasn’t any use. There were too many between him and the door. They grabbed him, yanking him back.

“Let go!” Ethan cried. “Fucking fuck off! Let go!”

For a moment, he struggled.

BANG!

The room went silent and everything froze as a gunshot went off. Ethan’s head whipped around. The bartender - an elderly Laemran woman - held a long gun. A hole rained down little bits of wood and stone above her from where she had shot. She glared at the bar.

“No fights in my fucking bar,” she snapped. Her voice was deep and gravelly, like she’d gargled nails.

“But, Ovtsa!” a Laemran holding Ethan’s leg protested. “It’s… it’s an android!”

“In my bar,” she retorted. “Now hand him over.”

The patrons grumbled, but a sharp cocking of the gun had them scrambling to push Ethan towards her. He attempted to struggle, but they easily passed him from hand to hand until he stood before her. Ovtsa lowered her gun until it was pointed between his eyes.

“Go back to your drinks,” she addressed the bar, keeping her own eyes trained on Ethan. “You. Robot boy. Into the back room.”

“I’m not a robot,” Ethan muttered, but did as she directed. The others glared at him, but begrudgingly went back to their meals and drinks. The gun was pressed into the small of Ethan’s back, and the two went into the back room.

As the door closed behind them, locking with a loud click, a lamp turned on. The room was small, covered in papers and books. A thick desk sat in the center, an even thicker chair behind it. A few barrels sat in the far corners of the room, each labeled with different dates.

Ovtsa walked past Ethan and took a seat in the large chair, making it creak slightly.

“I presume you’re looking for the other one.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Ethan blinked. “Wha… what?”

“The android. Blank, if I remember correctly. You look exactly like him.”

“He’s my brother,” Ethan said. “I’ve been trying to find him. There was a ping from here with his ID.”

Ovtsa huffed and nodded slowly. She leaned back in the seat, templing her fingers. “Yes. Unfortunately for him, those bastards out there got their hands on him before I could. They managed to turn on his tracking. Always eager to sell off an android.”

“Isn’t… that’s illegal. How do the GAAP not stop them?” Ethan asked.

Ovtsa huffed again, this time with a grim humor. “GAAP doesn’t give a flying fuck. We’re a small trading planet on the outer rim. GAAP only cares that we keep up trades. Doesn’t matter what we’re trading as long as money is moving along. And androids? Out here, they fetch a pretty manieta.”

Ethan gulped. “Are you going to sell me?”

“Fuck no,” Ovtsa said, spitting on the floor. “Unlike the rest of my miserable species, I tend to see the life in your kind. I refuse to partake in this bastardization of existence. Any android who comes through my doors will be helped to the best of my abilities.”

“What about Blank?”

“Got him off world,” Ovtsa answered. “A bit uncomfortably, seeing as he had to be stuffed in a crate to avoid any prying eyes, but he got out. Avoided those idiotic GAAP robots too. Best I could do for the poor kid. Sent him off to Sharjól. Those people have a good android community. Someone who could help.”

Sharjól.

Ethan nodded. “I need to go there. Now.”

“Hold your damn cavolli,” Ovtsa said. “I’m going to have to arrange this. I run a fucking tavern, not a trading shop. You’re going to have to wait until I bribe my usual to help get you out of here. In the meantime-” She opened up a drawer. Pulling out a box, she pushed it towards him.

Ethan hesitantly took it. He turned it around, and opened it. His stomach dropped.

“No,” he said. “I’m not doing that.”

“It’s not real,” Ovtsa said. “It’ll look like an inhibitor, but it won’t track you and it wont shut you down if you leave. It’s just to fool those idiots out there. I don’t have any spare rooms to hide you away in, so for the meantime you’re going to have to play the part and help me until I can help you.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Ethan picked up the small band, looking over the interlocking green and silver metal.

“You don’t have a choice. It’s either me and a chance to get off this planet, or them. And believe me, kid, they won’t hesitate to sell you off for parts.”

Ethan hated this. He was completely helpless and at the hands of a grouchy, ancient Laemran who kept spitting on the floor. He was so close to finding Blank, and yet he had never felt farther from him.

Letting out a resigned sigh, Ethan took the hopefully-fake inhibitor and clamped it over his wrist.

“You’d better be right.”

.

.

Mark stood at the edge of the beach, just out of reach of the gently lapping water.

His stomach twisted painfully.

The wind had settled down, and the clouds thinned just enough to let a few rays of sunlight dance on the ocean’s surface. The birds circled something in the distance, taking turns diving into the water before resurfacing and going again.

Mark looked back at the island.

He could see the top of the Collective’s building peaking out from the tops of the trees. The barren, fruitless trees. He’d searched for something to eat as long as he could, and all he’d managed to find was a small, bowl-like plant that held a small reserve of freshwater.

At least he wasn’t dying of thirst anymore.

The ocean playfully splashed Mark’s feet. Cold.

He could see the point of his ship still sticking out of the ocean. Closer than he thought he had crashed. Doubtful, but maybe he could salvage a comm. Contact anyone to get him off this planet.

And with the lack of food… it seemed like the Collective was right after all. He was going to have to take the jump into the ocean.

Fuck.

Mark took a deep breath.

And he stepped off the edge of the island.

It wasn’t as deep as he’d thought, but he still sank all the way over his head. He quickly swam up. He sputtered and coughed, paddling quickly to keep himself afloat. Something brushed against his foot, and it took all his self control not to go scrambling back onto the island.

“It’s fine,” Mark told himself. “It’s the shallows. Nothing here. Nothing creepy here.”

He took another breath, and ducked under.

With the daylight streaming down, the ocean looked much less threatening. Still an open void of death, but at least he could see it. A few schools of fish swam nearby. Colored blue and pink, they dove through the tendrils of vines and arcs of glowing rocks. A shelled creature slightly larger than Mark’s head approached him curiously, short tentacles reaching towards his face.

Nope!

Mark frantically ducked out of the way, swimming under the animal and towards his ship. It seemed to lose interest the moment he was out of range of its grasp. After a few more quick kicks, Mark was on top of the ship. He dove up to get one more gasp of air, then dove down.

The door laid on the sandy floor nearly a yard from where the ship was. The pressure had blown it off. Peering inside, Mark winced. It was trashed. Scorch marks marred deep into the dash from the flames, and technology had died the moment the water had hit it. There was nothing salvageable.

Mark still grabbed his travel bag. Soaked, but it still had a few things in it that might help. Spare change of clothes, and maybe some food. The comm might not be too damaged. That is, if he remembered to put it in an airtight container.

He slung the pack over his shoulder and pushed off the sandy floor, quickly swimming back to shore.

Once back on dry land, Mark dumped the bag on the ground and began looking through its contents.

“Clothes… okay good, food…” Mark held up a soggy sandwich by its corner, “destroyed… too waterlogged... oh!” He pulled out a ten minute meal. Its packaging had saved it. He only had one, but it was better than nothing. “Good, good. Now I swore I put it in here…”

After a few more seconds of pawing through the bag and tossing out soaking wet clothes, he pulled out the comm. It was in a waterproof casing. Mark could have cried.

“Oh thank fucking god!” Mark yanked the casing off. Flipping it on, He turned on the SOS.

For a moment, it blinked. Then it said, “Signal Lost. No Transmission Available.”

Mark stared.

He was too far away. There was nobody close enough to pick up his signal.

He was completely alone.

Mark resisted the urge to throw the comm as far as he could into the ocean. Instead, he tossed it on the ground and yelled. Yelled and yelled and yelled until his throat was hoarse. When he didn’t feel like yelling anymore, he grabbed his things and stood. Mark stalked back to the Collective’s building.

He was going to make this stupid meal and then he was going to figure this out.

He would not be stuck here to die.

Mark Edward Fischbach would not die alone.

.

.

Ovsta handed over the pack, gnarled hands shaky slightly. She smiled quickly at Ethan. “Here, boy. Take this.”

Ethan took the pack and peeked inside. An assortment of basic tools and circuitry that was easily replaceable. A few little odds and ends, but basic equipment to help if he got damaged again along the way. Ethan closed the pack and returned the smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

“Oh, shut your yap,” she said, huffing and pushing him towards the shuttle. He did see a hint of a smile on her wrinkled old face, though. “It’s the least I could do.”

Ethan climbed aboard. He turned and waved as the door closed, giving one last beaming grin to Ovsta before the door closed and he was left in darkness.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the light. Coming up behind him was a robot, light green markings running down its arms and face. “Please, follow me. I shall show you to your place.”

Ethan followed the robot. It moved between the crating until they reached a little alcove for the two to sit, letting Ethan sit alongside it as they took off. It was better than being stuck in one of the crates. Ovsta had managed to find another sympathetic Laemran who agreed to smuggle Ethan off world. Not to the planet he needed to find Blank, but close enough.

He was on his way.

“We’re approaching a debris field,” a soft, deep voice said from overhead. “I’d recommend you all find something to hold onto. It’s going to be a bit bumpy.” The robot Ethan had followed quickly held onto a railing along the wall, and Ethan followed suit, glancing around to find where the voice had come from. He’d met the Laemran that was piloting, but this wasn’t his voice.

“Hello?” Ethan called, not quite sure where to direct it. “Who just spoke?”

“Oh!” The voice seemed to be coming from a speaker in the ceiling. “You’re new, aren’t you? I suppose I should introduce myself, then, yes?”

“Yeah, where are you?” Ethan asked, tightening his grip on the railing as the ship jolted.

“I’m afraid I don’t really have a body like yours,” the voice hummed apologetically. “My name is HAGIS, and I’m this ship’s AI.”

“HAGIS?” Ethan echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Handling and Guidance Instructional System,” HAGIS explained. “Pleasure to meet you, er, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“I don’t think I dropped it,” Ethan teased. HAGIS was silent. Ethan cleared his throat. “I’m Ethan.”

“Well, it’s delightful to meet you,” HAGIS said politely. “If you ever need anything, simply call, and I’ll be sure to do what I can.” The ship jostled again as it dove underneath a large chunk of debris. Ethan yelped and clutched the railing. “Sorry,” HAGIS said once the ship had steadied. “I should have warned you about that.”

“It’s okay,” Ethan said, still gripping the rail tightly with both hands. “So, uh, what’s your job, HAGIS?”

“Well, like I said earlier, I’m the ship’s AI,” HAGIS began. “I make sure everything’s in working order, and help guide us to our destination. Luvtos has been my companion for as long as I’ve existed, and I keep an eye on things that he cannot.”

Ethan nodded as HAGIS spoke. “So you’re just… part of the ship? Like, it’s your body?” Ethan hadn’t gotten to meet many AIs since, well, ever, and the only one he’d really gotten to know had extreme murderous intent.

“I… I suppose you could put it that way,” HAGIS answered. “It feels more like the ship is my- my home. I move around inside her systems. We’re part of the same whole, yes, but we’re also two different entities.”

“Can you talk to the ship?”

“Now that’s a question I haven’t heard before,” HAGIS chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. Not in the way that you and I are talking right now, that is. I simply understand her. I just know when things are wrong or right, and then I can communicate them to Luvtos.”

“Would you-” Ethan hesitated. “Sorry if this sounds rude, but do you ever want a real body? Like, one you could walk around in and stuff? I think I’d get cramped being stuck in one inanimate object all the time.”

“And you don’t get cramped inside your body?” HAGIS countered. “No, I’ve never wanted a ‘real body,’ as you put it. I don’t feel confined inside the ship. I still get to travel around and meet people, same as you.” He paused. “Brace yourself. Debris on the left.”

Ethan hugged the wall as the ship dove to the right, and stumbled when it reoriented itself. “Do you ever get lonely?” Ethan asked, looking up at the speaker.

HAGIS hummed and hawed for a second. “No, I don’t think so,” the AI responded finally. “I’ve always had Luvtos, and when he leaves, the ship powers down. I think that would be comparable to organic species’ sleep.”

Ethan shuddered at the thought of being put to sleep every time he was left alone. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with. “Did Luvtos program you himself?”

HAGIS laughed, a low, jittery laugh that echoed around the ship. “Heavens, no! Luvtos can hardly work a microwave, let alone program an AI!” He let out an amused sigh. “No, I was pre-programmed and then installed into the ship. And I’m very grateful for where I ended up. I very well could have ended up on some GAAP ship, and I’ve heard plenty of how bored those AIs get. Almost nothing to do on those ships, just steer and make sure they reach their destination. I’ve heard-” HAGIS lowered his tone, almost conspiratorially- “I’ve heard that the AIs are hardly even spoken to unless need be, like they’re not even there!”

Ethan nodded knowingly. Not being able to speak without being spoken to first… it was a lonely life. He’d been lucky to have Blank, even if it was just for a short time. “You really got the luck of the draw, huh?”

“I’d like to say I did,” HAGIS replied, and Ethan could practically hear the pride in the AI’s voice. “I’m very fortunate to have a friend like Luvtos.”

“Yeah, he seems-”

“Hold on tight!” HAGIS interrupted frantically. “Heavy debris incoming!”

Ethan wrapped his arms around the railing as the ship flew every which direction, threatening to slam him against its walls if he dared to even loosen his grip a little bit. The robot looked almost bored with the whole thing, and only held on with one hand. Ethan frowned. Probably had magnets or something.

Ethan shakily let go of the rail as the ship finally steadied and slowed down. He could hear HAGIS’s voice somewhere in the back of the ship, muttering what sounded like ingredients to some pastry to himself.

“HAGIS?” Ethan called, taking a hold of the rail again as the ship lurched left.

“Yes?” HAGIS responded almost immediately, his voice suddenly directly above Ethan again. “You didn’t get damaged, did you? You look fine to me, but you’re not connected to the ship, so I can’t really tell.”

“I’m fine, I think,” Ethan said, soothing the worried AI and running a quick system check. Yeah, he was fine. “How’s the ship?”

HAGIS let out a tired sigh. “She’s alright. Caught a few scrapes, and a couple crates got jostled around more than I’d like, but she’ll make the rest of the trip just fine. She’s gotten through worse.”

“That’s good,” Ethan said. He wondered what it would be like to be able to get such a quick assessment of damages. Whenever the Barrel got hit, they’d have to stop their trip and all check around to make sure that they’d be able to keep going without having to make repairs. They usually didn’t have to check often when Tyler or Kathryn were piloting, but Mark tended to be a bit more reckless, despite being the best pilot of all of them. They’d had to stop on an asteroid hardly larger than the Barrel itself once to fix a few vital panels, just because Mark thought he could squeeze through a donut-shaped asteroid.

“We should be touching down on Vox’pra in just a few minutes,” HAGIS announced suddenly, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts. “It’s been lovely getting to talk to you, Ethan.”

Ethan smiled up at the speaker and steadied himself against the rail as the ship began to descend.

“Nice talking with you too.” He pulled the pack onto his shoulder as he stood. The ship landed with a thud. The robot next to him didn’t move, and Ethan moved through the crates towards the end of the ship. The ramp slowly cracked open, lowering to reveal a bustling hub of robots and beings alike, rushing about their jobs.

“Take care,” HAGIS said. “Don’t become uncomfortable in your little body.”

Ethan saluted and stepped off.

The crowds were dense, but Ethan reached out and snatched a spindly robot from among them. “Hey, sorry. Can you tell me where the nearest transport station is?”

“That way,” the robot pointed down the long hallway lined with ships unloading. “Take the very last right onto the mainway. It is labeled clearly.”

“Thanks!” Ethan said, and took off.

He was getting closer.

.

.

“Does that taste good?”

Mark grumbled around his little pre-prepared meal. It didn’t taste good, but it had stopped the incessant growls of his stomach, so he could deal. The Collective took his silence as room to ask more questions. Mark shoved more food into his mouth as they continued.

“You did not receive food from the ocean. I suppose a substitute was found aboard your ship. It does not look appetizing. Is it to your kind?”

“Not really,” Mark said around a mouthful.

“Then why do you eat it?”

“Because I don’t want to die.”

“Ah,” the Collective said. “I suppose your kind is prone to fighting to the end. Never giving up, as it were.”

“Did you give up?”

“There was a point of no return. There was no reason to keep fighting for the continued survival of a few dying beings. We retreated to who we are now. It was not so much giving up as realizing that we had no other option. But you do not seem to share those thoughts.”

“Not especially,” Mark said, finishing off the last of the pre-prepared meal. “I don’t intend on dying here, or in the near future. I have a lot I have to do. There are people depending on me that I cannot let down. And I kind of like living, despite how shit it is right now. So no, I’m not giving up.”

The Collective seemed to think about that for a moment. Mark leaned back against the wall. It was strangely warm. Like there was something else just below the surface, like hot water or lava. It was comforting. As he relaxed into it, letting his eyes slowly close, the Collective dimmed as well.

“What do you intend to do with your life?” it asked quietly. “Who can you not let down? There are millions of others out there who could replace you. Why not just stop? Let go and sleep on forever?”

“For one, I got a doppelganger of mine that needs to shut the fuck up,” Mark said. “He’s going to do a lot more damage if I don’t do something. I can’t just let him do that, especially when I have a chance to help others. He’s not going to stop, and neither am I.”

Mark looked down at his hands. “And I got friends. Family. People I care about that I need… I need them. They need me too. One of my friends is out there, looking for his brother. Hopefully he’s not in a situation like this.”

Ethan had to be okay. He had to be. Mark refused to believe that Ethan had died in that freak accident. If he had made it, then so had Ethan. He had survived and was looking for Blank. And soon Mark would join him again. As soon as he figured out how to get off this dumb planet.

“You care for the individuals?” The Collective sounded confused.

“Of course,” Mark said. “Nobody is ever nothing. I used to think that, but not anymore. I’m not nothing. I’m not nothing, and neither is anyone else.”

Mark looked up at the Collective. It did seem like it was made of living stone, but there was technology under it. There was a way this all worked.

“I’ve been trying to call off world,” Mark said, pulling out the comm. “But its signal isn’t reaching any planets nearby. Is there anywhere I could boost the signal?”

The Collective was silent.

“Hey, come on!” Mark said, not bothering to get to his feet. He was too tired for that, but he always had the energy to yell at unresponsive assholes. “I need to get out of here. Do you have any comm boosters?”

More silence.

“Fine, don’t answer,” Mark huffed. He folded his arms and tucked himself into a corner. “I’m going to take a nap, but when I wake up I’m getting answers.”

The lights steadied at a barely visible glow as Mark drifted off, mind racing with all his plans to get off this planet.

.

.

The planet was completely mechanical. Ethan had never been on a man-made planet, but it was freaking him out. He could feel the entire planet humming beneath his feet, large gears and circuits working constantly beneath the surface. Buildings were attached to the ground, traveling miles below the surface or miles above. Transports ducked and weaved through it all seamlessly. All lights came from the city. The planet was too far away from their sun to gather much natural light. So far, Ethan had seen nearly no organic beings. At least, none that lived without mechanical assistance. He’d even seen dogs with cyborg replacements, like Henry. The entire place seemed to run on the objective of creating more and more.

It was amazing.

After asking around a bit, Ethan found that everyone who lived on the planet was registered at the planet center. Fortunately not literally at the center, but close enough. It was far enough away from him that Ethan was going to have to take transport.

Stepping onto one of the hovertrains, Ethan automatically reached to pull out his credit card. The driver - a sleek robot with golden seams and bright yellow eyes -  made a confused whirring noise.

“I am sorry, sir,” it said. “We do not accept currency.”

“Oh, I got some outer rim coin if that…”

“No,” the robot said. “We do not accept currency. All is paid. Enjoy your ride.”

Ethan was taken aback for a moment, but moved to take a seat near the doorway.

The train started moving seamlessly along an invisible track. Not a jolt or sudden movement. Just smooth. Through the windows that stretched from roof to floor, Ethan saw the city move by. A technological masterpiece. A well-oiled machine. It was breathtaking.

As Ethan glanced around the train, he realized few others seemed to be as stunned by the scenery as he was. Most chatted idly or glanced down at screens in their hands. A pair of older, rustier-looking androids, though, were pressed up against the windows, mouths agape in awe. It was obvious who was from Sharjól, and who wasn’t.

Ethan glanced down at his comm.

0 New Messages from Mark Fishboy.

He sighed and tucked it back in his pocket. Every night since the accident, he’d sent a message to Mark. Asking him where he was. If he was okay. Did he make it out okay? Was he alive?

There was never a response.

The train began slowing down as it started pulling into the station. Ethan got to his feet, joining the small crowd gathering around the doors. He ended up wedged between a small black and teal Korop with cybernetic legs and a towering android in a model he’d never seen before. The moment the doors opened, the Korop darted through them. Ethan followed the other android into the city.

It wasn’t hard to spot City Center. It was labeled with large blocky letters, sitting in the center of a metal garden. Fake plants with silvery leaves decorated the entrance. Ethan shook out the tension in his shoulders and walked forwards.

Inside it was quiet. Nearly nobody else sat in the waiting room. A slender android woman with tendril-like hair attached from her head to her desk spoke into a comm, answering questions while several other strands of her hair wrote things down. As Ethan got closer she looked up and smiled. Her name tag read: Juno Argenti.

“Hello,” she said, her voice light and pleasant. “How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for my brother,” Ethan said. He pulled out his comm, tapping through it until he found Blank’s file. He showed it to her. One of her tenderals reached out and took the comm, taking the information. “He’s the same make and model. First one, actually.”

“Ah, yes,” Juno said. She smiled at him and handed the comm back. “Blank has taken up residence in our lower city. He should be getting done with his shift down below in just a few minutes. I can arrange a transport to take you to his living quarters if you would like to wait here.”

“Sure,” Ethan said, letting out a breath of relief as he pocketed his comm. “Thanks.”

“A pleasure to help.” Juno smiled.

Ethan turned back and walked a bit away. He sat down on a large black cushion. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to yell with joy or tap his foot off with nervousness. He was so close. Ethan hadn’t been this close to Blank in… well… years. Not since he’d shut down and Ethan had run away.

Within a few minutes, Juno told him his ride was here. Ethan thanked her again, and walked outside to find a small car waiting. No driver. Ethan hesitantly climbed into the chair. As soon as he strapped in, the car began to move.

“Uh… do you have an AI?” Ethan asked, feeling a little stupid.

No response.

“Cool.” Ethan sat ramrod straight in the seat. “Cool, cool, cool.”

The car moved through the streets, but soon was entering the underground. It was just as illuminated as above ground, but there was no expanse of artificial sky above now. Just metal walls on all sides.

They traveled for a long time. A lot longer than Ethan had been expecting. They went deeper and deeper, past endless rows of buildings. Ethan could feel himself wearing a hole in his shoes with all the nervous tapping.

There were even more people down here. They didn’t look as immaculate or presentable as those above ground. He saw a few cyborgs with what looked like self-replaced parts. A robot missing half its arm leaped up on legs made of rickety springs, into the air to catch a ball tossed by a small group of children. They didn’t look entirely worse off. Nobody was missing vital parts, and no cyborg appeared worse for wear than those above. It was just obvious this was where the manual labor of this planet happened, and they didn’t care to put on a show of cleanliness.

It was like a clock. A smooth, beautiful face, while underneath was where all the gears were that made it work, seamlessly ticking away.

Finally, the car slowed to a stop in front of a smaller apartment building. A few windows glowed with light from the inside, but most were dark, indicating that a majority of the residents weren’t home. Most likely they were working, or just out running errands.

The door snapped open. Ethan stepped out, shouldering his pack. The door closed, and the car pulled away.

It wasn’t a bad house. As Ethan looked up at it, he realized how personal it felt. Above ground everything had been streamlined and clean. These houses down here weren’t as uniform. Each one had its own unique style and appearance. It felt homey.

Ethan walked up and knocked on the door. No answer. He hadn’t really been expecting one, so he turned and plopped down on the front step.

How long had Blank been living here? He’d escaped off of Dommal nearly a year ago, but for how long had he been a normal person here? How long had Blank been free to find his own work? How long had he had the ability to choose how he lived?

It had taken Ethan a while to figure out how he fit in the world. Kathryn had helped a lot with that, but it was still a learning curve. Blank hadn’t had anyone.

Being alone like that… Ethan couldn’t imagine it.

He stood up and knocked again, hoping that at least one of the residents would answer the door.

Nothing.

Ethan groaned and sat down again. A small trickle of people had started walking past. Ethan saw more organics in the crowd, mainly ones with replaced limbs, but a few without. A fair amount of robots and androids as well. Several gave him wary looks as they passed. They knew he wasn’t one of them.

Ethan waved as they passed. He wasn’t here to cause trouble.

The crowd grew in size. Not a single blue and gray android among them. Several groups split off towards their homes, but not one came near Ethan.

Ethan let his head fall onto his knees. God, he hated waiting.

“E-Ethan?”

Ethan’s head snapped up.

Blank stood at the foot of the stairs, staring up at him slack jawed. His whited-out eyes were wide. Grease stains covered his overalls, and his hair was mussed up. He looked… he looked good. An android had no organic ability to look healthy, but there was something about him. He looked so much more alive than he ever had before. Awake, and alive.

“Blank,” Ethan breathed back.

For a moment they just stared at each other.

Then Ethan launched himself off the steps. He crashed into Blank, his arms wrapping around him and pulling him close. Blank’s own hands clutched the back of Ethan’s hoodie. They held onto each other, slightly rocking with the force of Ethan’s leap. Their hands were tightly clenched into each others clothes.

Neither wanted to let go.

“I missed you,” Ethan said, voice choked.

“I missed you too,” Blank said back.

Neither let go.

.

.

“Mark.”

“No.”

“Mark.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Mark.”

“Five fucking minutes.”

“Mark.”

“Goddammit, what do you want?” Mark rolled over, glaring at the Collective. It pulsed slightly brighter as his eyes adjusted.

“We have something to tell you,” it said. It paused, several voices murmuring anxiously. “I- we- have decided to let you leave- go- go home.”

“Oh, thanks for your permission,” Mark said, grumpily pushing himself up. “How am I supposed to leave?”

“By summoning help with your communication device.” The Collective paused for a moment. “It will be able to reach help. The planet has been blocking the signal.”

Mark groaned.

Of course it had been blocking his call.

“Can you just unblock it?” Mark asked.

“No,” the Collective said apologetically. “You must travel to where the last of us- of me created the blockage. It shall be easy to disable with my help, but you must do this.”

“Great,” Mark said, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. “Where is it?”

The Collective hummed for a second. “It- it’s on the next island,” they said softly, as if they knew Mark wouldn’t like the answer.

They were right.

“And where’s that?” Mark groaned. He had been hoping it would just be on top of the Collective’s building. Swimming across the ocean was definitely not going to be a fun trip. “I haven’t seen any other islands since I landed here.”

“About a day’s travel from here by our estimates,” the Collective answered. “Due east.”

Mark pulled out his comm, wacking it a few times until a small compass wavered above its surface. Stupid thing was running out of charge. He’d really have to be quick if he wanted to get out of here. Due east was the opposite side of the island from where his ship had crashed.

“I can’t swim for a whole day,” Mark pointed out, stuffing his comm back in his pocket. “I’ll-” He shuddered- “I’ll drown.”

“You are part Ir’al, are you not?” the Collective asked.

Mark huffed. “Yeah. Unfortunately I only got my dad’s rugged good looks, not his swimming abilities.”

“Of course,” the Collective replied, a few quieter voices chuckling just loud enough for Mark to hear. “There should be an old transport a few levels below. It might be able to take you part of the journey, although we doubt that at its age, it will be able to take you all the way to the other island unless you repair it.”

“Okay,” Mark said, slightly reassured. He’d probably be able to figure out how this pod or whatever worked. “What if I get lost? I’ll be completely alone out there. I could get turned around, and then not be able to find my way back at all.” Mark shivered as he thought about being completely stranded in the middle of the ocean in an ancient dive pod.

“We will be able to communicate through the transport,” the Collective assured. “I understand you do not love the ocean as we do, and I will not leave you alone.”

A smaller door behind Mark suddenly slid open, disrupting any further questions he may have had. Soft blue lights flared to life, descending down a spiral staircase. Mark squinted up at the Collective before starting down the steps.

Fortunately, the door did not close behind him, and the lights stayed on until Mark reached a large, dimly lit room. A single orb-shaped pod, barely larger than Mark, sat at a single dock, a dark red moss covering its top. A few blue, curved markings decorated the border of a single window. Mark placed his hand on its side, careful to avoid the moss, and the markings illuminated, giving off a pleasant blue glow. A hatch opened on the top, causing the moss to slide off and a putrid smell to be released. Mark took a step back and covered his mouth and nose while the pod aired out. This thing was really old.

“It is perfectly safe,” the Collective said, voice echoing from both the top of the stairs and from inside the small pod.

“You sure about that?”

“Certain.”

“Didn’t you say it’d probably break down halfway to the island?”

“We said I wasn’t sure,” the Collective corrected. “Now that you’ve woken it up, we can tell that it is in perfect running order. It should get you to the island and back with no trouble, so long as you drive carefully.”

Mark hated when people told him to do anything carefully, but he hated the ocean more, and this thing was his only protection from the crushing blue death only a few feet away.

“Fine,” Mark sighed. He wafted away what remained of the musty stench before stepping inside. The interior was cold and slightly damp, and the same red moss covered the steering and a few panels. Mark yelped as the top suddenly slammed shut and the pod sank into the water with a muffled suctioning sound. He quickly brushed the moss off the wheel and panels - one of which showed a helpful compass - and steered the pod out of the cave and into the open ocean.

“It is lovely to see the ocean like this again,” the Collective murmured wistfully as Mark glared at the tentacled creature from before. “It has been so long since we have been able to see it for ourselves.”

“I’d consider that lucky,” Mark huffed, pushing the wheel forward. The pod jerked slightly before picking up a little more speed.

“This will be a long journey,” the Collective said, the blue lines on the interior of the pod pulsing as they spoke.

Mark nodded, regretting not packing something to eat. It wasn’t like he had much of a beach to throw a makeshift rod from.

“We… we do not know that much about you,” the Collective began hesitantly. “You have friends and family, yes? And a, er, ‘doppelganger’?”

“Yeah,” Mark answered, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness as he pictured his crew. “There’s my girlfriend, Amy. She’s really smart and talented and beautiful. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Then there’s Tyler, who’s been my best friend since I was a kid. I think I’d be dead if he weren’t around. Ethan’s an android. He’s a pretty good doctor, and right now he’s looking for his brother, Blank. I- I hope they’ve found each other. There’s Kathryn, too. She’s super smart and really good with computers. She can also beat everyone at any board game ever. Oh, and Bing, too. He’s a robot my friend Jack built for me. He’s supposed to be an intelligence robot, but mostly he just hangs out with Ethan and makes a mess. He’s really good with my Dulcosi, Chica, and Amy’s dog, Henry. Jack’s a self-proclaimed pirate, and he’s got an entirely homemade crew. He also- well, I probably shouldn’t mention that.”

The Collective hummed softly. “You care. Each one of them, you care for them.”

“Yeah,” Mark said, feeling suddenly defensive. “Is that a problem?”

“No?” the Collective responded, sounding confused. “Caring- it is a wonderful thing. Those who do not care… they live an unfortunate life.”

Mark chuckled darkly and steered the pod around a school of thin gold and red fish. “Sounds like that doppelganger I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Mark continued, “His name’s Dark, or at least, that’s what he told us. I don’t know his real name, and I don’t really care to know. He’s a Xanhull, and he took some of my DNA one time and so now he looks like me. Exactly like me.” Mark shuddered with disgust. “It’s freaky.”

“You mentioned he was going to do damage,” the Collective prompted. “What is he going to do?”

“I- we don’t know,” Mark sighed, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “We just know that he wants something to do with a Celestial, and he’s going to hurt a lot of people if he gets his way. He did a lot of bad stuff in the past too, and my crew is in charge of catching him and turning him in to the GAAP.”

“What did he do?”

Mark opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. What had Dark done? “He- well, he attacked me for no reason,” Mark said, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “Oh! He killed a bunch of GAAP personnel too. He stole my friend, Sean’s, robot too.”

The Collective hummed thoughtfully. “He sounds… unpleasant.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Mark huffed. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, and he wants to destroy the GAAP. He hates them for no reason, and he refuses to see the good that they’ve done. I get that he’s, like, super fucking old, but that doesn’t give him any excuse to be a stuck up bastard. He hates androids, too. He thinks they’re just tools.”

“That sounds terrible,” the Collective said. “Why would he want to destroy so much?”

“I don’t know,” Mark said. “Probably just because he’s a bitter piece of shit who can’t see past his own nose. I wish I could never see him again, but if I don’t track him down, then he’ll kill even more people. I can’t let that happen.”

“It is unfortunate we did not meet sooner,” the Collective sighed.

“Why?”

“I think you could have saved us.”

Mark hesitated. “You said when we met that you were dying. You died and you were continuing to die.”

“The Collective will continue on as long as our system stands,” they said. “But there is nothing here for us but continued existence. I am nothing but my people, continuing on as a collection. I shall not die, but all that means is that our culture will eventually fade.”

For a moment, the Collective paused.

Mark stared out at the ocean. This used to be someone’s home. And now it was just a cruel reminder to a shadow of those people of what they used to have.

“We never valued the individual as you do, Mark,” the Collective said. “To us, it was our entirety that mattered. Before we were this collective, we cared for the masses and not for those belonging to them. When we started dying, we resorted to this. Never mind those of us who remained. They joined the Collective. We survive on as a group.”

“No offense,” Mark said, wrinkling his nose, “but that sounds terrible.”

“To you, perhaps. But to us it was only natural. It is strange to see one like you value the bricks that make up the house. Why not just admire the house, instead of its many details? In the end it makes the same house.”

“And without all the bricks, there is no house,” Mark said.

The Collective was quiet for a moment.

Mark leaned back, his arms folded. Despite his thrilling existential moral debate with a bodiless collection of thousands of dead people, Mark was terrified. His fingers were digging into his arms. This pod was holding steady, but he couldn’t help but feel it was about ready to break at any moment.

“You are strange, Mark.”

“I’ve been told that a lot,” Mark answered. “How close are we?”

“It will be a while. Please get comfortable.”

“Yeah, right,” Mark said, snorting. Still, he leaned back and watched the ocean go by.

Just a few more hours, and he’d be off this horrible planet.

.

.

“I’m sorry it’s not much.”

“It’s great,” Ethan said, turning around in a circle. Blank smiled as Ethan darted about his room, looking at all the plants sitting under their lights. The room was shabby, and barely disguised as habitable. Most of it was covered in plants. A small charging port was shoved up against a back wall. A small shelf held a collection of holo-books. The rest was cement and shitty wallpaper.

“It’s hard to get water for the plants sometimes,” Blank admitted softly. “The organics are a little more understanding about them than the other androids and robots, though, so they’ll help me get it when I need it.”

“Where’d you get them all?” Ethan asked, gingerly rubbing the leaf of a larger plant. He hadn’t seen any living plants on the surface, or on his ride down.

“Visitors,” Blank answered, sitting down in front of a small flower with a single yellow blossom. “They’ll bring plants with them sometimes, or just seeds. Usually they don’t last, but I rescue the ones I can.”

“I never knew you liked plants so much,” Ethan said, feeling slightly ashamed of himself. How well did he know his own brother?

“You never really got a chance to,” Blank said reassuringly. “He- he didn’t really let us figure out what we liked. I’m glad you got out of there when you did.”

Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets so he didn’t rip the leaves off of one of Blank’s plants. “I left you behind,” he mumbled, staring down at his feet. “I- I didn’t even look back. I thought you were dead. I didn’t think you would come back. I didn’t even think you could come back.”

Ethan didn’t hear Blank stand up and walk over to him. He jumped when his older brother placed his hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t know,” Blank said gently. “That last time I shut down, I- I remember thinking that I was never going to come back. I was scared. I was so afraid, because I knew if I stopped working, he’d work you even harder, and I didn’t want you to die too.”

“I ran.”

“Good.”

“I was a coward. I left you behind, when I should have known that you would have come back eventually.”

“No,” Blank grabbed Ethan’s shoulders, forcing him to face him. “You did the right thing. You left. We should have left so much sooner than you did. You did what was best for you, and now you’re safe. We’re safe.”

Ethan reluctantly smiled.

Blank let him go and stepped back. “I… I do still shut down sometimes. I can’t control it. Something up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “It just broke. I’ve had a few android mechs look at it and they can’t fix it. Well, they can, but it’s bonkers expensive, even here. It’s fine, I can get by. But I am still… I am still broken.”

“I’d rather have you broken and alive than broken and dead,” Ethan said.

Blank smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You have to come with me,” Ethan said eagerly. “I found a family. They’re great, and they’re waiting to meet you! There is Kathryn, and Tyler, and Jack, and Mark, and Amy, and the dogs, and…”

Blank continued to smile as Ethan rambled on and on about his new family. He told them all about them. The adventures they’d had, the things they shared, the sense of belonging that Ethan had finally found. That feeling that he wanted Blank to have. As he talked, he saw Blank slowly brighten.

“You… you really think they’d have me?” Blank asked, hesitantly.

“Of fucking course!” Ethan said. “These guys are just as fucked up as we are. Come on. Come back with me.”

Blank hesitated, looking around his little room.

“We can take all the plants too, if you want,” Ethan said.

Blank shook his head. “No. I can find others later. These belong here. I have a neighbor who will watch over them. They like them too. I… I need to leave my past behind me. I want a fresh start. Just like you.”

Ethan nodded, a broad grin splitting his face as he grabbed Blank’s jacket and dragged him into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re alive. Everything is going to be just fine from now on. I promise.”

Blank hugged him back.

Ethan finally had his brother back.

He finally had the last piece of his home back.

.

.

Mark stared up at the sheer cliff face.

“I’m supposed to climb that?”

“Well, there should be a path if you dive under the island, but climbing is certainly an option, should you chose it.”

Mark shook his head quickly and pushed down on the wheel. The pod hiccuped before diving. He’d caught a glimpse before, but he hadn’t realized until now that the island was supported by large columns, not unlike the one the Collective lived in. Was ‘lived’ the right word?

It didn’t take him long to find the cave’s entrance, and he scrambled out of the pod as soon as he could, eager to get out of and away from the ocean. It lapped threateningly at the rocky shore, and Mark stuck his tongue out at it.

Suddenly, the whole island hummed, and blue markings that had previously been hidden suddenly pulsed with a bright blue light.

“The blockage is just up ahead,” the Collective’s voice hummed around Mark, echoing through the cave. “It is easy to get lost here, so make sure you follow our lights.”

Mark nodded and started walking. The cave veered off into several winding paths, but only one was steadily illuminated by the blue glow. The farther Mark got from the pod, the more lonely it felt. The Collective’s presence was left behind in the ship; now it was just him.

The tunnel, after several divergences and twists, came out in a small room. In the center of the room was a console. As Mark stepped into the room it came alive. Blue markings all over it lit up, and a soft hum filled the air.

“Guess this is it,” Mark said to himself.

Stepping forward, Mark placed his hands over two hand shaped dips in the console. Instead of five fingers, though, there were only three. Lifting only three of his fingers, he placed them on top.

“Identify yourself.”

“Uh, Mark Fischbach,” Mark said.

A pause, then a sharp noise echoed throughout the room.

“State your command.”

“Deactivate the comm blockage.”

“Understood.”

The hum intensified for a moment, and then the entire console powered down. Mark pulled his comm from his pocket. The formerly weak signal now blipped strongly. He had a connection. He could get out of here.

Mark sent out a call: “This is Mark Fischbach, Captain of the Barrel. I am sending out an SOS as I am stranded on this planet. Sending coordinates.”

Mark let the signal go out. Within a few minutes, another ship pinged back.

They were nearby and they were coming to get him.

He was going home.

Mark slipped the comm back in his pocket and started running back down the tunnels towards the pod. He couldn’t wait to see Amy and Chica again.

.

.

“Blank, this is my family. Guys, this is Blank.”

Mark looked the android up and down. He looked exactly like Ethan, but a washed out, quieter version. His white eyes, jittery hands, and the way he stood slightly behind Ethan all gave Mark the feeling that there was something broken in him. Still, Blank smiled nervously at them and Mark smiled back.

“Welcome aboard the Barrel,” Mark said, extending a hand. Blank took it, and they shook. “Glad to have you with us.”

Chica slowly approached, sniffing at his knees and wagging her tail low to the ground.

As the others gathered around Blank, welcoming him, Mark pulled Ethan aside.

“I’m glad you found him. You didn’t run into any complications, did you?”

Ethan laughed, “Other than the wormhole? Just a few anti-android rights people, but other than that it was smooth sailing. Heard you got stuck on an ocean planet.”

Mark shuddered. “Yeah. Bad shit, man. There was this weird AI there, except it was basically the entire extinct species that used to live there. I don’t know, really. It was kind of a dick though.”

“Can’t be any worse than ANTI,” Ethan half-joked. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Mark smiled and clapped a hand to his shoulder.

Just then, the comm buzzed overhead.

“Uh, guys?” Sean’s voice crackled through the comm. “I have some information I think you need to see. I’m boarding.”

Mark and Ethan shared a look.

“Get the docking port ready,” Mark called out to Kathryn and Tyler. “Let’s see if this brings us any closer to catching that bastard.”

#official story #markiplier #crankgameplays #ethan nestor #blank

[thevoilinauttheory]

Prompt #22: Acceptance (Extra Credit)

( For @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast‘s FFxivWrite2019 )

( Warnings for mentions of depression, and little lore-bendiness. )

( Dark!AU where Lothaire went mad with grief over the loss of his husband. It’s complete now! Prompt 15: Denial Prompt 15 1/2: Anger Prompt 2: Bargain(ing) Prompt 18: Wilt (Depression) There’s the links, all in order! )

This begins the story of acceptance. Lothaire spent weeks with his grandfather and his daughter, trying to give himself a will and reason to live. For if he was dead, could he not just be with his husband? They would not let him join him so easily. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with his life.

There was no point in continuing his studies on crystals, for the last piece of information regarding his latest subject was gone with his husband. Studies on dark magicks? The very idea sent him into a shock like no other - he still retained the memories of what he had done before. He could help his grandfather with preparations for the resurrection, but...it seemed he had that covered to a T. Maximiloix had spent the day smashing purified crystals into the tile of his upper floor. They created a pattern usually used for summoning. Caromont helped him as well, by chiseling lines between each crystal in a darker - less legal and childish - version of connect the dots. They spent the day keeping to themselves. So Lothaire spent the day with his daughter. She was just as heartbroken as he was. Not only had she lost yet another parent, she lost him to the same man who tried to kill her. Those images never leaving her mind. They spent the day in silence, holding onto each other, sharing tea and cookies, reading old children's books. But a word was never spoken between them, even when either of them had burst into tears. There was always something that had reminded them of Misha. Be it the tea that had Lothaire sobbing in his daughter's shoulder; or the books that had Camilla clinging onto her father. They cried until they had headaches, until they had hiccups, and sniffles, the gross sobbing that only ended when the brain shut off to sleep. -- "Lothaire." It was the only word he heard. Before even his eyes opened, his mind had come to the conclusion that this was his future and life. Filled with death and pointlessness. This is what the gods had in store for him. This was his life now, and he had to live with it. The small wordless bond Camilla and he had shared, was enough to make him realize that she could not live without him. His daughter would likely turn into a rampage of anger and self-doubt, she would become just as dark and maddened as he had. "Lothaire, wake up." He didn't want to open his eyes, he was rather comfortable in the chair meant for one now shared by two. His body was twisted awkwardly to accommodate Camilla's tendency to sprawl out when she sleeps. He groaned in protest, accepting his fate to live life tired and apathetically. If only things could return to how they were...before he got that aether. When he could be happy and hide the sadness and darkness inside of him. When he could brighten lives instead of ending them. When he wasn't so prone to anger and rage - now the world will only know him as the one who barely makes it by each day. Dragging himself to places he can't even remember why he needed to be there. Sleeping past the sunset and staying up past the sunrise. "Ugh, Lothaire - wake up, seriously." A hand had shook him. He recognized the voice finally, it was Caromont's. He groaned again as he forced his eyes open. "What..." "Maxie needs you upstairs now." "Mmn?" He carefully rolled off the chair onto the floor with a thud, making sure not to disrupt Camilla's sleep by knocking her over as well. He laid on the floor for a few moments longer before he started to literally drag himself across it to the stairs. Caromont couldn't help but laugh at the sight. "C'mon, Lothaire...get up." "I can't. Help me." His body was so sore from the twisting he had done, he really couldn't move much. Caromont helped his grandson off the floor and up the stairs. It was a slow process, but they had made it. And the sight, well, it wasn't what he had expected. In the middle of the ritual circle they had prepared, was the crystalline structure that Misha was kept in. The room was reorganized to accommodate for the space needed - their desks were pushed aside, papers were tucked in safe places, books were stacked in unorganized piles to keep everything out of harm's way when they decided to continue with the spell. "There you are...I need your help, one, the crystal - I'm fairly certain you don't want him coming back suffocating in his own aetherial prison. Two, the spell itself. After Caromont's, another one like that may not be successful. However, it should be easier since...well, since Misha's body isn't rotting like his was. Come now." He nodded his head towards the circle, inviting Lothaire to him, whom had only responded with a nod. Lothaire worked on releasing Misha from the crystal - as soon as he did so, they would have to work fast lest his aether completely escape. The crystal chipped and broke apart chunk by chunk, until his husband's body was lying on the floor itself in the center of the circle. Lothaire sat on the other side of the circle as he grandfather and followed his instructions. The crystals that made the circle began to glow with White Magic, so pure that just the warmth from it was enough to soothe souls. However, the chiseled lines between each one seethed with the darkness of Black Magic, it seeped out an ink-coloured fog that crept over the floor looming just an ilm off the ground. The two casting the spell raised a hand towards the ceiling, a prayer, a summon, a plead to the gods - which was responded in kind with bright lights that had marked themselves in the air around the room, constellations of tiny stars, a call for the power of Astromancy, the power to change fate's design. And lastly, those hands pointed towards Misha's body - fingers etching the graphical calculations of arcanimic studies; an equation to combine these types of magic together. Each twist of their fingers would have the magicks meld into Misha's flesh. Their own aether was taken as well, the final piece of the equation. Much to Maximiloix's excitement, the spell did not backfire in the way that it had with Caromont's resurrection. There was no over abundance of aether in the air, and none of it was forced to enter someone's body. There was no impact, no explosion - one might even consider the spell rather underwhelming in terms of appearance. However, coming back to life was not as pleasant as one might think. There was no light to chase, only a comfortable darkness to be dragged out of by force. The first breath was like breathing ice, the flesh felt like a million hot brands searing into it, the mind was muddled for memories and left with only confusion at first. The world was hell. And being brought back to life only solidified that statement.

#FFxivWrite2019 #prompt 22 #phew #managed to get this one done before work #unfortunately #my make up one will have to wait until after #about: Lothaire Voilinaut #two worlds #in thick ink

[bclaar616-blog]

The Youtube Reflex - Ben Claar, Media Diet

It’s not a conscious decision anymore, it’s just a reflex. I call it the YouTube Reflex. If I have free time to scour the internet for pleasure-inducing entertainment – and even when I really don’t have time, I make time because by now I’ve whittled away so much of my self-control – I type in “y-o-” in the search bar and press enter to open YouTube. Or I just click the YouTube logo on my MacBook touch bar or use some other shortcut. The navigation requires zero cognitive brainpower because it’s total instinct at this point. If I’m not making the conscious effort to do something productive with my open laptop, I’m going to end up on YouTube. If I finish a paragraph of an essay I’m writing and don’t have the willpower to keep grinding… YouTube Reflex. Recently, I’ve noticed the YouTube page shows up at the front of my browser and I have no memory of navigating to it. It’s the dangerous “one more video” mindset that convinces me one more Wisecrack video essay — or Super Smash Bros gameplay video, or Nigahiga comedy skit, or Honest Trailer, or Screen Rant Pitch Meeting, or CinemaWins, or movie trailer, video game trailer, or Saturday Night Live sketch, or lightsaber duel, or random Trending video — couldn’t hurt and I can stay in the leisure land of YouTube. Thus, the YouTube Reflex.

FaceTime is a new fixture in my life. I know it’s been around for a while, and I know for a lot of people my age its been a defining pillar of social life. What changed for me? I have a girlfriend now, and it’s how we stay connected when we’re not together. So I spend at least an hour every day now trying to decide whether my eyes should be focused on Marissa’s image or my own little image in the corner of the FaceTime screen, or whether I should look directly at the tiny green dot. Marissa and I both have our own FaceTime style. She’s usually under her sheets in bed, talking on her phone, so I only see half of her face. I’m usually talking from my computer – my iPhone’s mic has been dysfunctional for about a year now – so I’m upright and seen from the shoulders up. 

FaceTiming is not a continuous action like talking on the phone usually is. It’s always broken up by something. Often physically, because the WiFi in my apartment is pretty crappy. But Marissa’s screen will pause while she checks her texts, or she’ll send me a link to some funny video that I’ll react to. We switch to Snapchat and to Instagram, and sometimes I use my phone or iPad to communicate with her on two devices at once. Yes, a lot of my life is seen through the lenses of Apple Products nowadays.

Let’s talk about memes for a minute. Recently I tried to explain to my grandma what memes were again — and it occurred to me that, about 6-7 years ago, I would have answered with: “it’s like a popular picture of a character that people put different captions on to tell a joke! Like Philosoraptor or Bad Luck Brian!” But that’s not what memes are at all nowadays, and if someone shows you a meme of that type, you assume they’re doing it ironically or don’t actually understand what a meme is. The best way I could describe a meme now is an “internet joke. A shareable internet joke.. A trending social media joke?” You know it when you see it. Instagram’s my go-to place for them now. When you follow enough meme accounts, you can basically do infinite scrolling. I scroll on the way to classes, on car rides, and just in general when I’m waiting for something and my phone is the only way to entertain myself. If I don’t actively search for memes, they end up getting sent to me through text or GroupMe some way or another. 

If I had it my way, I’d sit down each day and binge movies and entire seasons of interesting TV shows. I’m way behind on The Flash. But there’s just not the time during the semester. Instead, I basically spend the equivalent time that watching those movies and shows would take, but with memes, YouTube, and FaceTime. Fantasy Football too, but only in the Fall. 

And if you think this post was written without at least three YouTube breaks in between, you are quite mistaken. Youtube Reflex.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to FiveThirtyEight’s weekly politics chat. The transcript below has been lightly edited.

micah (Micah Cohen, politics editor): Welcome, all! Our topic for today: President Trump’s endorsement of Alabama Senate candidate Roy Moore. (And the Republican National Committee decision to support him again.) My question is … what gives? Is this a political mistake?

First, takes?

harry (Harry Enten, senior political writer): I think it’s a stupid move. Trump is clearly trying to score a “win,” but it’s far from certain that Moore will get him one. All that’s happened in that case is that he’s endorsed an accused child molester.

julia_azari (Julia Azari, political science professor at Marquette University and FiveThirtyEight contributor): It’s not … not a mistake. It likely won’t substantially change anything, but it’s hard to see what good it could do for the president or Moore.

natesilver (Nate Silver, editor in chief): Trump coming out to endorse Moore is extremely … unsurprising. And, yeah, I don’t think it will change very much.

julia_azari: I don’t mean to underestimate the moral outrage at stake. It’s just not clear to me that moral outrage outweighs many other factors in contemporary politics.

harry: I guess my question is: What is it that made Trump go from mostly endorsing Moore — essentially by attacking his opponent, Democrat Doug Jones — to fully endorsing him. Why do that?

natesilver: Have you ever known Donald Trump to take a half-measure? Everything plays out into the most extreme possible version of itself.

micah: He may have half-colluded?

harry: LOL.

natesilver: The collusion was spectacular, I’ll tell you that much.

harry: He ordered the code red!

micah: You’re goddamn right I did!

julia_azari: So the “I hate political correctness” narrative seems to have worked out well for Trump in general. I wonder if he thinks this can be filed under that somehow — i.e., liberals are going after someone for accusations that either didn’t happen, or were a long time ago, or weren’t as bad as they sound (to gather up a range of talking points made in Moore’s defense).

micah: Yeah, I buy that.

Supporting Moore fits snuggly into Trump’s larger message and image.

natesilver: It might also be more personal than that:

If Moore wins, I wonder if Trump would instinctually come out against expelling him because he'd see it as foreshadowing an impeachment proceeding.

— Nate Silver (@NateSilver538) November 15, 2017

And Trump might see himself as being unfairly attacked by the liberal media, just as Moore has been.

micah: No self-tweet-quoting allowed here.

julia_azari: Dammit. I saw Nate’s move there as an entree into quoting my own favorite takes of mine.

micah: LOL.

harry: I was reading this great book … “The Signal and the Noise.” Perhaps you’ve heard of it?

natesilver: Now available for just $9.99 on Amazon dot com.

micah: OK, so Nate and I had an argument about this the other day, but how about this theory: Trump moved to a full-throated Moore endorsement because he has internal polling that shows Moore’s lead increasing and so wants to hop on the bandwagon.

Any takers?

natesilver: Oh god.

julia_azari: It’s nice and simple, so that’s a point in favor.

natesilver: That line of thinking is like always wrong. If people start talking about Moore’s internal polls, I’m going to bet heavily on Jones, and vice versa. Also, the public polling tells a fairly confusing story.

The Emerson College poll showed the race moving slightly toward Jones, although Emerson has been on the Moore-leaning side of the consensus recently. And the Gravis Marketing poll showed essentially no movement and Jones still ahead.

julia_azari: When coming up with explanations like these, I tend to think the one with the fewest assumptions that we can’t really prove is the best one.

harry: Trump is likely looking at public polling. So it’s simple, and I like it.

natesilver: The simplest answer is that Trump supports Moore because birds of a feather flock together. And then the RNC backtracked so as to stay on the same page as Trump. Also, the GOP brand was already going to take the PR hit once Trump endorsed Moore, so why not drop a few bucks on him?

harry: If they’re so similar, then why in the heck did Trump not endorse him in the primary? Honest question.

natesilver: Endorsing Luther Strange was one of the most out-of-character things Trump has done.

And he might have felt a little burned by the experience when Strange lost.

julia_azari: The Strange endorsement was … please stop me before I make the joke.

harry: Haha.

julia_azari: I’m not sure how to say this politely, but I think Strange sucked up to Trump effectively and that explains the endorsement.

natesilver: Or maybe Mitch McConnell convinced Trump that Strange was a key vote on health care and taxes (which is not a totally crazy notion).

But, anyway, I think the media has a pretty big bias toward seeing all actions as deeply strategic. When sometimes, it’s just Trump mashing buttons and everyone else playing cleanup.

micah: So, do you think Trump or Republicans will pay a political price for supporting Moore?

julia_azari: It’s hard to see the case for a big short-term impact. There’s already a significant gender gap in the national vote. And there’s so much news, including many sexual misconduct revelations on the other side of the political spectrum, that it is easy for things to be drowned out.

micah: Yeah … that seems right to me.

Anyone want to make the case that this endorsement hurts Trump and/or Republicans?

julia_azari: I will say that presidents getting involved in congressional elections rarely goes well or adds anything

micah: Say more!

julia_azari:

1. It’s kind of a norm violation, although that norm is eroding. (See my piece about FDR from last week.) Congress is a distinct and co-equal branch.

This race is messy for Republicans (see my piece about their lack of good options for dealing with Moore), and as Nate has pointed out, Moore has lost a lot of support in a very solidly red state. Why highlight the party connection as Trump has?

Relatedly, it illustrates just how nationalized party politics are. That offers some advantages for presidents, who get to set the agenda for their parties. But if members of Congress are always running with the party’s national brand on their backs, it washes away some of their independence — their distinct, district-based political support because of relationships they have there.

I don’t think Trump endorsing Moore is a huge turning point for that phenomenon, but it doesn’t do anything to enhance the independence of Congress.

natesilver: It’s also one of a large number of factors that could have a drip, drip, drip effect on the Republican Party brand. And there’s some precedent for this sort of thing mattering, e.g. with Mark Foley. With that said, it’s going to be pretty hard to pick out the effect of Moore from everything else.

And seeming Democratic hypocrisy on Sen. Al Franken and Rep. John Conyers might dull the effect some.

micah: OK, so … speaking of Conyers. He announced on Tuesday that he’s resigning (well, sorta). Does that put the Trump endorsement in a different political light? Or does it help Democrats have a sharper, more coherent message on this issue?

julia_azari: I don’t know. That Nancy Pelosi clip (in which she called Conyers an icon when asked about the allegations against him) might be forever.

harry: Well, there’s still the Franken situation and the initial response to Conyers, but … what a contrast. On back-to-back days, you get the president endorsing Moore and Conyers being essentially forced to resign.

natesilver: Yeah, part of my critique of how Democrats handled the issue is that it felt like the discussion had reached an inflection point when the Franken accusations hit, and Democrats had an opportunity to claim the moral high ground, which they declined to take.

You can attempt to regain the moral high ground, I guess, but it isn’t as easy as keeping it in the first place.

We’ll see if there’s renewed pressure on Franken to step down, though.

micah: And the moral high ground matters, obviously, but does it matter politically?

julia_azari: ^ strong candidate for the 2017-est sentence ever.

But of course, Democrats — including prominent feminists — didn’t take a hardline with Bill Clinton back in the 1990s. As long as these misconduct cases are treated as individual problems, I think the broader political agendas will prevail.

micah: Wait, so imagine a world where Democrats have forced out both Franken and Conyers. Is the party better off in that world?

I’m trying to get at whether the moral high ground is important politically? Whether message coherence matters, basically.

harry: I don’t think they’re worse off.

natesilver: I think Democrats made a political mistake, yes.

micah: Nate, you’re not explaining how the mistake hurts them.

natesilver: Because they look like fucking hypocrites, that’s how.

harry: ANGRY NATE SMASH.

natesilver: And looking like hypocrites makes it easy for a Republican to default to partisanship in rationalizing a vote for Moore.

Or Trump for that matter.

micah: Couldn’t I argue that the default to partisanship is so strong that it would happen anyway? So why play by a different set of rules?

julia_azari: I can see both sides of this — to the degree that Democrats lose out politically because of an “enthusiasm gap” or a decline in support from people to whom consistency is important, I could see a case for this mattering on the margins.

Because a lot is happening on the margins now. (Because the country is closely divided.)

But mostly I assume that partisanship matters and the state of the economy matters and the duration of incumbency matters. Racial attitudes matter.

Everything else has a high burden of proof with me.

natesilver: For one thing, Micah, the Democrats are supposed to be the “woke” party on treatment of women (and good for them). So they look more hypocritical if one of their members abuses or harasses women, in somewhat the same way that an anti-gay-marriage Republican would look more hypocritical than a liberal (ostensibly straight) Democrat if they had a gay affair.

micah: You can tell Nate is mad when he uses my name in his response.

julia_azari: So I’m also certainly angry at the situation. It would be nice to think at least one party had consistency on this issue. And as a woman in a male-dominated field, yup.

harry: I tend to think about politics in this way: When you can do something that is morally correct and isn’t going to hurt you politically, why not do it? What’s the argument for keeping Conyers and Franken around?

julia_azari: But Democrats have consistently been inconsistent, and this has included women.

I’m getting into territory that’s not quite my expertise, but I’ve thought a lot about this lately. I think the answer to Harry’s excellent question is that the assumptions about these kinds of accusations run deeper than the more immediate political ideologies. It’s possible that Democratic women find it difficult to believe that people they like and respect and who champion their issues are engaged in truly wrong behavior.

micah: Yeah.

So it’s hypocrisy, but unintentional, sorta.

OK …

Back to Alabama. Let’s take Trump’s endorsement from the other side: Does it help Moore?

julia_azari: I find it hard to imagine that it will bring back Republican voters who decided to back Jones instead. Might it encourage people who had decided not to vote? That’s more plausible but not an obvious conclusion by a long shot.

harry: Remember when Strange got endorsed in the primary by Trump? That didn’t help Strange. Granted, it was one of the weaker endorsements I’ve seen.

natesilver: I guess the answer is … sure? Trump’s still reasonably popular in Alabama. But I kind of think a Trump anti-endorsement (coming out against Moore) would have mattered more than coming out for Moore, if that makes sense.

In other words, I think voters assumed that Trump implicitly backed Moore already. The only way it could hurt him, though, is if Alabamaians feel like it’s national politicians interfering in their election, which they don’t like.

But that explanation feels too cute by half for me.

micah: Yeah … that’s an easier line for a Republican to sell than it is for a Democrat, IMO.

julia_azari: So when I wrote that piece about the party not being able to get rid of Moore, I was surprised at how much discussion it provoked about national vs. state party organizations and interests. But that convo was mostly among party politics scholars on Twitter, not rank-and-file voters in Alabama. A national politician doing something unexpected might be seen as interference, but a Republican president endorsing a Republican Senate candidate is not that wild on its face

micah: We gotta wrap … so, before I ask for final thoughts, one more question: If Jones wins, does it hurt Trump? Or does it tell us anything about Trump’s standing with GOP voters? (Trump would have backed the losing candidate in the Alabama primary and general elections.)

harry: I have a very hard time believing that a generic Republican would lose in Alabama, even in this national environment that so favors Democrats. That said, if Jones were to win, it wouldn’t have been possible without the national environment being where it is — it’s a combination of Moore’s crummy candidacy and Trump’s low national standing.

julia_azari: I basically agree with Harry and would add that Trump’s political influence is maybe a bit inconsistent.

natesilver: I’m not quite sure what the narrative is going to be if Jones wins. Part of what I was trying to argue on Monday is that it’s really, really hard for a Democrat to win in Alabama — even against a candidate like Roy Moore! — so Jones coming close is a pretty impressive outcome. But I don’t know that I expect the mainstream media to interpret the race that way.

I do think Trump has mildly raised the stakes, though — a Jones win will be seen as reflecting the limits of his powers of persuasion, when it might not have been before.

julia_azari: Trump is unpopular generally, remains fairly popular with GOP voters, has prominent defectors like Sen. Jeff Flake — that is not normal — and has few real political alliances, which limits his influence.

micah: So a Trump endorsement is worth less than your average presidential endorsement?

julia_azari: The thing that strikes me about Alabama is it’s not a close state at least in presidential elections — it went from solid Democratic to solid Republican. This race being close could signal that Moore is a crappy candidate, but he is a crappy candidate who won the primary and maintained local party support. This could be evidence of the general crumbling of governing majorities in the country, if that makes any sense.

On balance I’d say yes, Trump’s endorsement has below-average value. He doesn’t have deep political roots. If he endorses you, it’s not clear exactly who comes along.

micah: Any other final thoughts?

natesilver: It’s a really weird dynamic — (i) lower turnout gives Democrats more of a chance (if the whole electorate turns out, we know Alabama is a really red state), but (ii) it’s good for Moore if the harassment/molestation allegations stay out of the news. Trump’s endorsement could help with GOP turnout, but it also sort of puts the race back in the news, which is risky to Moore. Still, I say it’s helpful on balance.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #A FiveThirtyEight Chat