#i wish i could invent a machine that i could plug in to him like a charger

[hyunpic]

#🧼 #HE SAID WORK HARD PLAY HARD #ahHhhhhhh just keep recharging.. it’s what u deserve ☹️😞😭 #he’s been working so hard for so long so he deserves all the rest #i wish i could invent a machine that i could plug in to him like a charger #where he could get charged and feel like a vacation.. #even at times he can’t take time off like this ;__;

[beetlegoose01]

Frostbite- Recovery (Chapter 3)

It was a decent day outside after a long, boring day of school. Crisp, clear, the sun peaking out from behind the canopy of clouds scattering the periwinkle blue sky. Casey strolled through the crowded streets of New York, thrilled to hang with his best (non human) friends.

"Casey, wait up!" Riley whined, blowing a huge bubble of pink bubblegum. She trailed behind her older brother with less pep in her step, due to her lugging a heavy backpack. She was a short middle schooler, with a jet black pixie cut and dark almond shaped eyes. Freckles dotted her fair cheeks. A complete pain, but he would be lying if he didn't say he cared for the little squirt.

"Sorry kid." Casey said, ruffling his little sister's hair, much to her annoyance. "I'll walk slower."

"So what are we gonna do today?" She asked eagerly. "The sky's the limit!" She flashed him a cheeky, braces filled grin. Riley didn't really have any friends of her own. Too shy, and a bit strange around her classmates. Her love of sports made her an outcast with the girls, and none of the boys wanted to hang with a 'weirdo'. Luckily, Casey would be her best friend for life, he had vowed that.

"You said it!" Casey checked his phone. A text from Raph asking if he was joining them for patrol.

Riley frowned. "Is that one of your friends again? The super weird ones?"

"Er...yeah." He pocketed his phone. "Boring friend stuff."

"Yeah, your gang."

"They're not a gang..."

"Mhm. Sure. I won't tell dad you're a drug dealer if you tell me the truth." She sang.

"I'm not a..." Casey said. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" She looked mischievously at him, winking.

Laughing, Casey flicked her nose.

Riley looked at him seriously. "You're not gonna ditch me for them, again, right?"

"Nah, don't worry. Come on, let's go to the rink."

But Riley seemed distracted. She trailed ahead, following something that Casey didn't see.

"Hey, Ri! Wait up!" He panted, raising an eyebrow. "Riley Elizabeth Jones! You can't just run off..." He was starting to sound like her mother- which was enough to make him stop talking.

"Look at it..." She crouched down, cooing at a little racoon blinking and twitching its nose at her. "I'm gonna call you Sparky."

Casey winced, reminded of rats just by looking at the weird creature. "Ugh, no you're not- come on before the rink closes, pipsqueak."

"Aw, okay."

~•~

Evening drew quicker than he expected, and before he knew it, the sun had dipped down the horizon and the sky was a peachy orange. After making sure Riley was safe at home, he ducked through a manhole cover and climbed into the depths of the creepy sewers. The sewers weren't terrible, but he would be lying if he didn't have to plug his nose in order to prevent the foul odors from entering his precious nostrils. He didn't know how the turtles managed it. Wait...do turtles even have noses?

'I'll have to Google that later.' He thought to himself, trudging through the mucky waters, trying his best not to think about what exactly was in the water. Though he already knew the answer, it wasn't fun to dwell on such disgusting matters.

No, Casey Jones could handle the smell. But what he couldn't handle was...

A rat scurried past him and he let out an involuntary squeal of horror.

Rats still gave him the creeps.

Sighing, Casey stumbled his way into the lair, where he was pleased to find Raphael hunched over a game of pinball, deep in concentration.

"Hey Raph." He greeted, leaning forward to get a closer look.

Raph only grunted in response.

"We're still on tonight to ride our bikes?"

"No, Dr. Frankenstein still hasn't fixed my bike."

"Ah jeez. We can still hang though tonight? At patrol?"

"Ha, I wish! Nah, Leo wants us to go searching for the mutant tonight." He grumbled back. The ball spun around and fell forward, the brief moment of distraction causing the turtle to lose. A big 'Game Over' in neon lights hung mockingly over his head. "Argh...damnit!" He punched the arcade machine so roughly it nearly toppled over. "Whatever, that game's stupid anyway."

"Where is Leo anyway?"

"Doing some meditation shit with April and Sensei." Raphael shrugged. "To focus their minds. I dunno, I wasn't really listening. I tend to tune Leo out, y'know?"  He gave a wicked grin. "Say, we might have some time to read some comics or-"

An aggressive, distorted guitar riff interrupted their banter- followed by what sounded like a man screaming like a banshee.

"Woah!" Casey exclaimed.

Raph grimaced. "Not again. He's always playing it at the worst possible moments."

"Mikey?" Casey wondered, thinking the genre of music must be the orange clad turtle's choice.

"Mikey?" Raph repeated, shaking his head. "Nope, that's all Donnie. When he needs to 'unwind' he plays it as loud as possible. Even without headphones!"

"Donnie?" Casey said, flabbergasted. "But he's so-"

"Geeky? Yeah I know. I can't believe he of all turtles thinks that crap is real music."

"Hey, it is real music!" Casey said defensively.

"Oops, did I strike a nerve?" Raph teased. "Didn't know you liked it."

"Well yeah! The Electric Skullz are legendary!"

"Aw, nerd bonding." Raph held a stubby hand up. "Please save me the embarrassment and go talk with someone who cares." He gave Casey a condescending pat on the head.

"Maybe I will." He said gruffly, following the noise.

Raph chortled with laughter, only stopping when he realized Casey was serious. "Wait- come on, man. I thought you and Donnie hated each other? Let's go do something- and he's gone."

Realizing he was now alone, he crossed his arms. "Eh, I'm gonna go watch Full House."

~•~

Casey hesitated, but ultimately his love for the heavy metal tunes was enough to follow it.  He felt awkward, like he shouldn't be doing this. Casey Jones was no snoop- he just was embarrassingly curious for his own good.

Passing Leo's room, then Mikey's, he finally found the last room in the hall. He creaked open the door, peering inside.

Donnie's room had clearly not been slept in very often. It was neat, but not in the same neatness as Leonardo's, who frequently cleaned his room but it still looked used. This room looked barely touched, and the bed had no creases or anything proving a living being had slept in it. A folded tatami mat was poking under the bed. Posters of scientists, newspaper clippings and photographs were decorating the dull grey walls, strung together with such precision. Some inventions were scattered on the floor, clearly failed ones as they had wires sticking out.

But what caught his eye was the turtle in the middle. He was...dancing. Every movement he made was precise, delicate. Of course, the skills of being a ninja helped, but each step was to the beat (well, less beat, more of intense screaming). It was surprisingly adorable.

Wait...adorable? That couldn't be the right word. 

"Sick moves!" He said, hoping his voice was loud over the music.

Donnie froze, suddenly aware he was being watched. His expression was a mixture of being mortified, then slowly switched to horror and anger.

"Wh- I- I wasn't-" He sputtered, blushing and stumbling over to shut the stereo off.

"Hey, hey, chillax." Casey raised one hand to show he meant no harm. "I love the Electric Skullz too!"

Donnie looked puzzled. "Y...You do?"

"Heh, for sure!" He replied genuinely, a smile revealing itself.

Donnie smiled back, finally relaxing. "And you're not just pulling my leg?"

"Nope. I'll prove it to ya. In 2012, the lead singer of the Electric Skullz was Nova Kun. She then stepped down after mysteriously disappearing. And then was replaced by-"

"James Mercedes!" Casey and Donnie finished in unison.

"Woah..." Donnie's eyes sparkled with delight. "My brothers always hated heavy metal. I don't even think they consider it real music!"

"Not even Mikey?"

Donnie shook his head. "He likes that bubblegum pop stuff. It's okay but..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not really my thing."

"Me neither." He agreed. "Don, you shouldn't be embarrassed or ashamed. This stuff's cool."

"You think so?"

"Would I ever lie to you?"

Donnie looked at him wearily.

"Would I ever lie to you about music?" Casey said. "I'm very serious when it comes to good tunes."

He thought for a moment, then smiled. "I guess not."

Casey returned the smile, bumping his shoulder playfully. The turtle's cheeks warmed, chuckling.

"Maybe you aren't so annoying."

"Gee, thanks, I'm touched." Casey said sarcastically. "You aren't so terrible either."

The bedroom door slammed open abruptly, causing both human and turtle to jump. A stoic Leonardo was behind the door.

"Patrol time Donnie." He said simply, his arms behind his back. "...and Casey?" He squinted, trying to process what he was looking at. "Uh...what's going on guys?"

They exchanged looks.

"Nothing!" lied Donnie.

"Just a couple of dudes being bros." Casey said, draping his arm around the tall turtle's shoulders. "Amigos, chum of chums..."

"Not there yet, Jones."

"Eh, he's warming up to me. We're like comrades...buddies..."

"I think I get it." Leo smirked.

Casey found himself leaning against Donnie's closet after he was pushed aside. "Say...why do you even have this? You guys don't even wear clothes..."

"That information is classified." Leo narrowed his eyes. "So, patrol?"

"No problemo Leo." Casey said quickly, stepping away to leave the room. "Are we partnering up again?"

"No, this is a solo stake out mission."

Casey looked back at Donnie who's eyes flickered in ...disappointment? The action was so brief, he barely caught it. No doubt Donnie was just upset about not being partnered with April. Yes, that had to be right. Why else would he be disappointed? Though Casey would be lying if he said he didn't want to talk about the Electric Skullz some more.

"You coming, Don?" Leo glanced back at his younger brother who hadn't moved from his spot.

"Yes, of course." The blank stare from Donatello had switched to a serious, determined one.

"Let's go."

~•~

Leo climbed out of the manhole cover, followed by Raph, Mikey, April, Casey and Donnie. He scanned the area, checking for anything suspicious. As the oldest brother and arguably the most mature, he had a duty to protect his family. So far the only suspicious activity was a raccoon rustling through a trash can. But he would never let his guard down for anything.

"Mikey and I last saw the mutant near Eastman and Laird. I'm thinking we scope around, keep our eyes peeled. If you see anything- and I mean anything, contact one of us and we'll come for backup. Your T-Phones are there for a reason."

"I dunno, Scalysnout was pretty tough!" Mikey said.

"Scalysnout." Raph repeated.

He looked sheepish. "Eh, it needs work." 

"A lot of work."

After each member was assigned locations, Donnie started his mission alert and focused. Though he liked working with his brothers, April and to a lesser extent Casey, he was more in his element when he worked alone. It gave him time to breathe. Of course, the return of a dangerous mutant wasn't exactly comforting.

Climbing the roofs, the mutant ninja concentrated on making sure he wasn't being followed. Which involved him frequently checking behind himself.

'It's not paranoia, it's called being sharp.' Donnie silently quoted Leo under his breath.

The night was oddly quiet though. One would breathe a sigh of relief at the prospect of an early night, but Donnie still felt uneasy. He glanced around, the full moon glistening in the sky over a blanket of stars. Peaceful, if one wasn't anxious about a rampaging monster patrolling the dark streets.

Still...it didn't seem like anything was happening.

"Hey, let go of me!"

'And once again, I've spoken too soon.' Donnie thought bitterly to himself, but he followed the sound of distress.

He slid down the fire escape, landing in a dark alleyway. Turning the corner, but still hiding in the shadows, he found the source.

A girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old was furiously fighting off two Purple Dragons with her fists. Her attacks, though admirable, were completely useless. The gang members merely jeered and pushed her effortlessly to the ground. The girl was definitely a bit strange, especially with the racoon perched on her shoulder- but Donnie didn't have time to judge her.

"Ha, got it!" One of the members snatched her phone, tauntingly holding it over her head. Because of her size, she had no chance of grabbing it back.

"Give it back, creep!"

Donnie had to act now or this girl was toast. Raising his bō in front of him, he whacked one of the members to the ground with a swift movement.

"What the-"

"Who did that? Show yourself!" One of the men demanded, swinging his switchblade defensively.

The other lay on the ground groaning in pain.

Donatello knew better than to make himself seen- especially in front of the girl. But that didn't stop him from defending her. He jabbed his staff directly in the other man's solar plexus, knocking him down instantly. 

Realizing their invisible opponent was fierce, the Purple Dragons made a hasty retreat.

"Wow that was nuclear!" The girl exclaimed, eyes wide. "Thanks, er, whoever you are."

"Not a problem. Do you need help getting home?"

"Yeah, my brother would probably kill me if he knew I was walking home alone. I just came to pick up some food from Murakami and then those creeps attacked me."

"They're known for that." Donnie agreed. "You really shouldn't be walking alone at night. It's dangerous for a kid." He hadn't meant to sound condescending, but the girl bristled anyway.

"Hey, I'm thirteen!" She paused, biting her lip. "Almost."

Donnie chuckled lightly. "Still, I'll help you get home."

"Thanks...erm...?"

"Donatello." He supplied.

"I'm Riley." She started to walk ahead, but realized her new friend didn't seem to be following her.

"I'm behind you, don't worry." Donnie said. "Just have to keep my distance."

"Ain't ya gonna show yourself?"

"Better not. But if anyone comes at ya, I'll help."

Riley stopped, now suspicious. "Come into the light."

"Riley I..."

"Do it now."

He could hear Master Splinter's scolding as he stepped out of the shadows in front of the streetlight. He held his breath, awaiting a scream. A little girl seeing a giant humanoid turtle was destined to end horribly. But she had a gutsy look in her eye that comforted him slightly.

"Woah..." Riley uttered. "You're a ..."  She reached a shaky hand to lightly touch Donnie's bicep. "You're real?"

Donnie nodded slowly, his brown eyes looking gently at the little girl. "I am."

"Are you an alien or...is this a costume?"

He chuckled. "Not quite."

"Either way, I owe you one for saving me. I don't care what you look like. I've seen weirder."

Donnie had a faint suspicion she was referring to the Kraang invasion.

"Besides," She continued. "No one will mess with me if you're by my side." She smirked, and Donnie swore her cheeky grin looked strangely familiar.

~•~

By the time Donnie had returned, the other three brothers were already at the lair. To his surprise, it wasn't Raphael who was in a sour mood. It was Leo, who stormed over with the rage of someone who was told Space Heroes had been cancelled.

"Where have you been?" He demanded, cutting any small talk.

"On...patrol?" Donnie stared down quizzically at his shorter brother. "Like we were supposed to."

"Don't sass me. You had us worried."

"I wasn't worried." Raph replied honestly. " "Chill, Mother Hen. Donnie's a big boy." Raph rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, Raphael."

"We all came back half an hour ago." Leo crossed his arms bossily.

"Don't mind him. He's just grumpy because none of us found Scaleysnout." Mikey murmured, eyes glued to the TV screen.

"That's not why I was...I was concerned, is all."

"I wasn't aware there was a curfew." Donnie shot back irritably. "Something held me up."

"Like what? A stop sign?" Mikey said, collapsing into giggles as if it was the funniest joke. When nobody laughed he scooted back to the television set. His oldest brothers stared at him for a moment, before looking back at Donnie.

"Explain?" Leo asked.

"The Purple Dragons attacked some kid. I couldn't just stand there so I defended her."

"Nice work D!" Mikey praised.

"How admirable." said Raph sarcastically. "You saved one person. Do you want a gold star? We save people all the freakin' time, genius. Except we don't usually gloat about it."

"I'd hardly call that gloating." defended Donnie.

"Besides you should really talk. You gloat, like, all the time Raph." Mikey teased, bracing himself for Raphael to slap him on the head. "Uncle, uncle!" He wailed. "I'm sorry! Raph, stop!"

Leo stayed silent, analyzing the situation. 

"She was just a kid. I didn't know what else to do." Donnie said, reading Leo's unimpressed body language. "And she didn't freak out when she saw me...so that's always a plus."

"She saw you?" Leo repeated. "Donatello, that was completely foolish! You know Sensei always told us to stay in the shadows."

Donnie hung his head, already preparing himself for a lecture.

"When I tell Splinter..."

"You wouldn't, Leo." Donnie interrupted. "Because that would be so hypocritical of you, and you know it. Showing myself was the only way to save her- Riley. And who's going to believe that a giant talking turtle saved her from a gang? Be realistic."

Leo's lips twitched, ready to retort, but didn't. "Fine."

Raph looked up, releasing Mikey from a chokehold. "Did you say Riley? That's weird."

"It's a fairly common name Raph."

"Well, yeah. It's also Casey's sister's name. He's mentioned her a few times to me."

Donnie perked up slightly. "Oh...that's interesting."

"Could just be a coincidence. New York is a pretty big city."

"I guess so."

"You need to be more careful, Donnie." Leo scolded. "You were lucky this person you saved was related to one of our friends. If she even is."

"Jones and I aren't really friends." He thought for a moment, remembering just a few hours ago when they bonded over music. "It's complicated."

"Aw no way!" Mikey complained. "I thought you two were finally getting along! This is bogus, dude!"

"Why do you even care?"

"Because you two have a lot in common!" Mikey scooted over. "I thought you guys would be bros in no time." He pointed at the screen. "Watch this for a sec. See, these two characters Ripjaw and Ellie hated each other!"

"Yeah, and?" 

"I remember this episode." Leo said fondly.

Donnie watched the television moodily. Two heroes in spacesuits seemed to be arguing about something.

"Stop following me, you fool! You're always getting in my way."

"So?" He said, hands on his hips. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Keep watching!" Mikey snapped, uncharacteristically harsh. "Look!"

"We have to put aside our differences!" Ellie yelled. "If we don't, the evil Slothman will kill our friends!"

"I'm not working with you!" Ripjaw sneered.

"Stop being selfish! Why do you even hate me so much?"

"Because...I love you."

"You...do?"

"More than anything."

"I love you too!"

Donnie made a face of pure horror as the character's embraced. "No. No way!"

Leo and Raph meanwhile seemed to find this extremely amusing.

"See what I mean?" Mikey pointed out, oblivious to the implications.

"Oh you bet we do." Raph sneered. "Can I plan the wedding?"

Leo batted his eyelashes. "I'll be the best man." He concluded.

"I'll be the Flower girl!" Mikey chimed in, eager to be included.

Donnie's cheeks turned beet red.

"Well I didn't mean you two kiss or anything." Mikey said sheepishly. "But you could totally be friends!"

Donnie shook his head furiously. "Over my dead body. I'd rather eat raw sewage than be friends with him. Let alone-" He blushed.

"Aw, love is still alive." Raph rested his head on his palms.

Donnie scowled.

Leo frowned. "Come on Don, you know we were only teasing."

"Whatever. This show is clearly for kids. I've got work to do."

The three remaining brothers looked at each other uneasily as they watched Donatello storm away to his lab.

"That ...didn't exactly go to plan." Mikey said nervously.

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows XXI

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Warnings: Feels (hopefully this gives you feels😅)

Notes: Hey, guys sorry for skipping last week. Werds was hurd, so I decided to post this a day early. Enjoy!

On Wattpad –> Here

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint sat alone in the observatory area looking over the training area. The twins were doing their training exercises on their respective sides of the room. He was lost in his thoughts. Ones he desperately wanted a map for.

"Well look who it is." Natasha walked into the room from the door behind Clint.

Clint didn't acknowledge her presence; he just sat in silence, staring at the young pair below him minding their own business.

"Miss, Mr. Barton currently does not have his hearing aids in. He cannot hear you."

As Friday was talking a light blinked in Clint's line of vision. He perked up and looked over his shoulder to see Natasha walking around the chairs to sit by him. His eyes flicked from her mouth to her hands, waiting for her to talk.

[You're having a bad day] Natasha signed at him once she sat down and twisted to face him.

[I guess you could say that] Clint paused, not sure what else to say, but eventually continued on describing the thoughts and feelings swirling in his mind. He first jerked his head to the side towards the window facing the training area, [Doesn't that look familiar? A young agent in the training room, training with hardly any attention put on the world around her? All she wanted to do was succeed, Nat] Clint's head and eyes hung heavy with sorrow and regret.

Natasha, as quick on her toes and tongue as she was, had to think about what to say to him.

She didn't get to answer before Clint began to shake his head with an obviously forced smile and airy chuckle, [How long has it been? 5 years?]

[6 years 1 month 11 days] Natasha quickly signed to correct him.

There was a pause, Clint blinking at her, before he signed back, [You're having a bad day too.]

Natasha bit her lip, feeling a bit foolish. [I think everyone is having a bad day.]

Natasha would be right, as always. Throughout the compound, the team was dealing, somewhat poorly in some cases with the various feelings of loss. There were only two people who were blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil rolling around the building and they were in the training room.

Luckily, most of them weren't alone. Even if they wanted to be.

It's both amazing and sometimes scary how in sync the Avengers are with each other. I'm not even sure who or what triggered it, but nearly the whole compound was feeling the absence of a particular young woman.

They could all be found in separate spaces, some started off alone, but didn't stay that way. Clint in the observational area with Natasha coming to join.

Tony was working in his workshop on some new groundbreaking invention when Rhodey knew he didn't want to be alone. Eventually, they flipped through some pictures. Rhodey didn't get to know her since he was so busy in the military at the time, but he knew how much she meant to Tony. To everyone.

Steve could be found in his room next to a desk. He's been picking up drawing again these days. He was particularly broody which caused Bucky's Steve sense to tingle. Bucky was sitting on the bed, watching Steve doodle, as Sam tried to push him off so he could sit down. Their bickering left Steve with a grateful chuckle. Bucky and Sam never got to meet her, but the way the team talked about her made them smile.

Many would have thought Bruce would be working himself to sleep in his lab, but even doctors need some fresh air. He was outside lying in the grassy field. He liked to watch the consistent repetition of Thor and Vision passing each other Mjolnir. Repetition was good for their minds. It was mechanical and didn't need much, if any, thinking. They seemed to forget sometimes that Vision remembers Y/n. He is so much different than Jarvis, after all.

And that accounts for everybody... except for one.

I don't wish you to think bad of him. Or to pity him either.

Instead, I want you to be proud. Loki has bonded with the team enough to be in sync with them. The team trusted him enough to leave him alone and knew when he needed to be.

He tended to wander around his room. His pride was large, but even he had to break down a little. Eventually, he couldn't take it any longer, so he opened a drawer and pulled out a little box stuck in the back corner. He rarely looked at it anymore, but he could never become even close to getting rid of it.

Lifting the lid, the shiny surface of an old smartphone looked back at him. He wiped the dust off with his pants and sat at the head of his bed. Before he turned it on he examined the corners and edges of the case. The color was worn, fading to the white plastic underneath.

He flipped it over a couple more times before turning it on and unlocking it. Y/n was smiling up at him, surrounded by the goofy faces of the Avengers. Loki was not included in the picture. He couldn't remember why anymore. Knowing himself, he probably rolled his eyes at the time.

He smiled a bit bitterly before opening the music app. He put it on shuffle and let the soft notes of the opening chords play out through the speakers. Listening to her music left him feeling like he was getting to know her better even though she wasn't there.

I thought I knew you well But all this time I could never tell I let you get away Haunts me every night and every day

He opened her gallery and started to scroll through the pictures. A lot of them were pictures of the team having fun. Even more pictures were of seemingly random objects, but no one could deny they looked cool or pretty. Loki smiled when he would get to a picture that had both of them in it together.

You were the only one The only friend that I counted on How could I watch you walk away I'd give anything to have you here today

He missed her. There weren't very many times they were together alone, but he finally thought that he was building friendships when Y/n disappeared, and hers was one he really wanted to cherish. He thought he was making things right. He wished she hadn't been taken or left, or whatever happened to her. Whatever the reason, Y/n was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But now I stand alone with my pride And dream that you're still by my side

But that was yesterday I had the world in my hands But it's not the end of my world Just a slight change of plans

He sighed when he scrolled through all the pictures. He had his nostalgia. He knew there was nothing to be done. He has to move on, he has moved on, but a day of remembrance to keep everyone sober is appropriate. Maybe even necessary.

He quickly looked at the battery to see it was running a bit low. He pulled out a charger he got from Tony and plugged in the phone, shutting it off in the process. Loki made it so the phone could charge while still in the box and closed the lid. He placed the box gently back in its place in the drawer.  He closed it softly with a sigh.

That was yesterday But today life goes on No more hiding in yesterday 'Cause yesterday's gone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arguably, the worst part of this whole ordeal was the deafening silence that I experienced. The natural noises of civilization, of people, of, anything living, in particular, was absent. I couldn't even hear the rumble of a machine, the beep of the camera (yes, there is still one in my room. Don't ask me, they're creeps), or the settling of the building.

The way I tried to overcome it was to use my vast knowledge of music to sing to myself. Some people have said that music was the only thing I used my head for, but I didn't really mind. Look what it's doing for me now, it's keeping me sane.

Music and just burying myself in the memories. I had to block out reality somehow, and my imagination was severely tainted with my inner turmoil, so I settled on the Avengers to bring a smile to my imaginary face. Ya know since I can't use my own.

Love, my love I gave it all Thought I saw the light When I heard you call Life that we both could share Has deserted me Left me in despair

Sometimes they made me sad. I took what I had for granted, now I have no idea if I'm even going to see them again, let alone get to talk to them, laugh with them, cry, smile, do anything. Sometimes I wish I would never see them again. It's obvious that I'm not going to break free of whatever mad science/voodoo they put on me. I really don't want to face them.

But now I stand alone with my pride Fighting back the tears I never let myself cry

I vaguely heard an alarm going off, it was different than any other alarm I'd heard. I knew it wasn't a fire alarm, I had heard that one plenty of times. I didn't pay much mind to it, there wasn't anything I could do anyway. The equivalent feeling of my heart clenching came to mind when I knew my daydreams wouldn't continue. It's been a rough... Forever.

But that was yesterday Love was torn from my hands But it's not the end of my world Just a little hard to understand

I told myself I was going to make it. I don't know for how much longer, but I was going to make it. I started to pay more attention to the groups of running soldiers, armed with weapons I had only caught glimpses of. Noxy suited up into her protective white jumpsuit. The sleeves only went to her elbows to show off her powered up black-gloved hands. I couldn't deny that I liked the combat boot style they gave me, but I didn't understand Henry's obsession with the color white.

It's been talked about how some of Henry's bases have been put under attack. Most were of rival organizations. You'd be surprised how many there are. From the looks of it whoever is attacking, out of all the bases available, had the luck to choose the one I was kept in.

Noxy walked the power walk of all power walks approaching the sounds of gunfire. The lights flickered and dimmed as she past. I felt the power within me surge as they did, the shadows powering me up. There was a group of agents just down the hall and they were under fire. Agents rushed by me as reinforcements. I couldn't see who the attackers were yet, but I could see debris flying from around the corner of the T in the hallway.

The agents had a strange mixture of fear and respect as Noxy approached. Another day at the office. They were dropping like flies and I could hear that the intruders were breaking down the defenses very quickly. The few agents who could, moved out of Noxy's way so she could stand in the middle of them and face the attackers.

That was yesterday But today life goes on You won't find me in yesterday's world Now yesterday's gone

She reached the center of the group and turned a perfect ninety degrees in the open hallway. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as I saw who was on the other side of the flashing lights that promised pain. I was only prepared for the physical pain of gunshots, but instead, I got the agony of heartbreak.

There was a moment where Noxy stood and assessed the situation. At that moment, so many things flashed across my mind as I soaked up what was in front of me. Familiar faces looked back at me and I had never felt more trapped. They froze when they looked at my face. All hands started to lower for a second, but only one.

The Avengers all had mirrored expression of horror, shock, disbelief. I wanted to cry, laugh, collapse. I wanted to do anything. Anything other than what my body showed. Noxy's gaze remained stoic as she maintained eye contact.

I don't know if it was something in the shots they gave me, or how wide they were stretching their eyes, but I could see the whites of them, even if they were at least 20 yards away. I tried to memorize the shades of blue and green looking back at me. I only wish I could have seen Tony's eyes, but he had his helmet on, the only reason I could tell he recognized me was the repulsors in his hands dimmed.

The moment came to an end all too quickly. Without batting an eye Noxy formed a plate of darkness and sent it to push the attackers back. She then hit specific points in the walls causing the ceiling to collapse. The way was blocked off completely.

Just like the physical walls of the building, it felt like the walls that were holding me away from control started to contract. For the first time in months I screamed; I cried out for any type of deliverance. I wanted to curl up into the fetal position with tears rolling down my face as I yelled until I was too tired to stay awake any longer.

I felt numb as Noxy walked away and the agents rushed around her to start the evacuation process.

For the years, I'm sure it's been years now, I've been stuck in this place I've relied on the happy memories to try and drown out the horrors I've seen. I didn't know for sure, but I had a feeling that it wasn't going to be like that anymore.

Goodbye yesterday Now it's over and done Still I hope somewhere deep in your heart Yesterday will live on

I just hoped I would be able to see anything other than betrayal painted on their faces.

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrqPZFNrqCA

#loki x reader #loki odinson #lokilaufeyson #loki fanfic #loki #avengers x reader #avengersfanfiction #Avengers #clint barton #natasharomanoff #Steve Rogers #tony stark #thor #bruce banner #vision #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #rhodey #james rhodes #bucky barnes #sam wilson #x reader #song fic #that was yesterday #foriegner

[fanfictionaries]

Where the Green Grass Grows - Part 2. All My Exes Live in Texas

Summary: After leaving town in 2001, Marianne Grace Barnes swore she’d never step foot in Texas again. She was happy with her life in San Francisco. She had great friends, a great job, and a loving boyfriend. But when her mother insists she come home after six long years away, Marianne comes face to face with someone she vowed to never lay eyes on again. Now the questions arise: Is he so different from the man who broke her heart? Is she so different from the girl she used to be?

And most importantly, is she as happy as she really thinks she is?

A story of love, heartache, and that special feeling of being home.

MASTERLIST

Prompt: Sweet Home Alabama (2002) 

Pairing: AU Cowboy!Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: NA this chapter I think? ANGST! 

Author’s note: It’s easier if you imagine everyone with a southern accent except for Marianne (Pronounced Mary Anne) who has a slight southern accent but’s lost it’s strength over the years. Also, how sexy is it to imagine Sam, Bucky, and Steve with southern accents?!?!?

My goal is to upload two parts a week for this series! Please bear with me, schools starts back up next week! xoxo

***

“Married?!”

“Mama—”

“You’re getting married?! And I had to find out through the paper like some stranger?”

“Mama, please. I said I was sorry—” Marianne tried to apologize once again but was drowned out by the hysterical cries of her mother through the phone.

“Marianne Grace Barnes, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you will wait till I am good and finished talking before you interrupt me,” scolded Winifred Barnes.

“Yes ma’am,” grumbled Marianne, cursing every member of the staff at the San Francisco Chronicle.

***

It seems as though San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor, Tony Stark (32) is officially off the market amidst the announcement of his engagement to a Marianne Barnes (24). Mr. Stark, heir to the Stark fortune and founder of Stark industry met Ms. Barnes, middle school art teacher, a short ten months ago at an art show for the now celebrated artist Aldrich Killian. Sources say the pair hit it off almost immediately, and this can be confirmed by the fact that Barnes was rumored to be living with Stark in his sprawling San Francisco townhouse a mere two months after meeting. Since then, the two have been inseparable. Barnes and Stark have been spotted together at multiple Stark Industry events and frequenting many of San Francisco’s hottest spots. No matter the location, however, it is clear that the pair are deeply enamored with each other.

No details have been released on the exact date and location of the wedding, but our sources say they plan to marry soon in anticipation of the expected merger between Stark Industries and Pym Technology. Needless to say, we at the San Francisco Chronicle expect the event to be as lavish and opulent as the man, Tony Stark, himself.

***

Truthfully, she had no idea that they would do a piece on her and Tony’s engagement, although in hindsight it didn’t really surprise her. He was one of the most wealthy and successful men in California, why wouldn’t they? However, what really surprised her was that her parents were subscribed to the newspaper. Why they felt the need to keep up with the going-ons of San Francisco life from all the way in Texas, she had no clue.

“You know there’s this nifty little invention called a telephone missy and I know you have one of those fancy cellular phones with you all the time. And don’t for a second say that you called but we didn’t answer, because we even have an answering machine now. James went and got us one for Christmas so that we could stop ‘accidentally’ missing all those ‘calls’ you’ve been making—” Her mother’s tone was accusing and rightfully so. It was true. Marianne had a nasty habit of not calling home and lying about it later, but she had found over the years that things were easier when she spent less time thinking about home. Unfortunately, she did not know about the answering machine and now she had nothing to say for herself. “And to think we spent 18 years feeding you and raising you and giving you everything we could just for you to go and get engaged to a man we’ve never even heard of, let alone met!”

“Tony and I were talking about flying you, daddy, and Bucky down a week or so before the wedding, so you could spend some time with me and Tony. You know, get to know him and all,” said Marianne sheepishly, suddenly feeling so dumb she could throw herself on the ground and miss.

“A week?! Honey, I know you don’t think we’re gonna’ wait a week before the wedding to meet this man. You realize he never even asked your daddy for his blessing? He’s none too pleased about it neither. The man’s got a bur in his saddle so large you could see it from Houston.

“Mama, I’m not property. Tony doesn’t need daddy’s—”

“Nuh uh, you zip it right now missy. At the end of the day, it’s the principle Marianne Grace. Now, we wanna’ meet this man. Soon,” said Winifred so sternly Marianne could just envision her pacing the kitchen in a rage.

“Okay, I’m sure we would be more than happy to fly you all over whenever you like,” stated Marianne, standing and looking over to where Tony was fully engrossed in his work at his expansive glass dining room table. She tried to catch his eye, but he had yet to unglue his eyes from the screen of his laptop and the stacks of paper around him. Marianne was halfway to him when her mother’s words stopped her in her tracks.

“Your daddy can’t get a day off from the ranch any time soon since Sam Wilson fell off the barn roof and broke his arm; and Bucky’s busy with his practice and helping to fill in for Sam.”

Marianne swallowed thickly, “So what do you want to do?”

“You two will come here,” her mother stated flatly.

“Mama, I don’t think that’s a good—”

“No arguing with me Marianne,” interrupted Winifred before continuing in a softer tone. “You haven’t been back home in almost six years. It’ll do you some good to come home and spend some quality time with your family. We miss you honey.”

“I miss you too mama, but there’s absolutely no way Tony and I can make it down to Texas before the wedding.”

***

The air was hot and muggy in the small plane as they sat docked on the tarmac at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. They’d been sitting there waiting for an open terminal for nearly an hour, but it felt like four. Marianne was ready to open the emergency exit herself and face homeland security if it meant getting a breath of air that wasn’t shared with a hundred other people. Therefore, she was in no way ready to hear the news that Natasha had for her when she turned her cellphone back on.

“What do you mean Montecito fell through?!” exclaimed, smiling sheepishly to be the people around her in apology before turning towards the window and lowering her voice. “Please telling me you’re joking Nat. I really can’t handle any bad news right now.”

“I wish I were Mari, but unfortunately it wouldn’t matter if Tony had more money than God. There’s no way you two are finding a decent venue in California until at least next summer,” said Nat, only adding to Marianne’s stress level. She ran a hand through her brown curls, already feeling them begin to grow and frizz in the dry Texas climate. Yet, another reason to hate it there.

“Are you sure? Did you try Fairmont?” Marianne asked in desperation.

“Sweetie, I’ve tried Fairmont, The Langham Huntington, Montecito, Sherwood, Oak Mountain…you name it; I’ve called and been told no. Are you sure you guys can’t put off the wedding till next year?”

“No, Tony is dead set on having the wedding in June and seeing as it’s April, well…” Marianne trailed off, unsure of how even to end that sentence. Two months. Tony had given her two months to plan this wedding and she was scrambling. She felt the plane lurch forward as it began a slow crawl across the asphalt. The overhead intercom crackled before announcing they would be departing the plane in ten minutes. The plane erupted into a smattering of applause that seemed to rouse a sleeping child as a high-pitched cry sounded soon after.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were knocked up,” laughed Natasha, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“At this point, a pregnancy would be the least of my worries,” sighed Marianne, leaning back in her seat and plugging her free ear with her finger. As the plane continued to move towards its gate, the space filled with the sound of passengers gathering their things and chatting excited.

“Where are you? It sounds like a carnival on your end.”

Marianne laughed bitterly, “A carnival would be more fun. Unfortunately, I’m currently stuck on the world’s most uncomfortable airplane.”

“An airplane? Where could you possibly be going right now?! We have a wedding to plan in less than two months!” exclaimed Natasha in exasperation.

“It’s less where I’m going and more where I am, actually.”

“Okay, well then please, enlighten me. Where are you?”

“I’m in Texas,” confessed Marianne, unbuckling her seatbelt and standing as the plane door finally opened and the deboarding process began.

“Oh no…”

“Oh yes.”

Two hours later and Marianne was convinced that her luck couldn’t get any worse. As if Texas itself was punishing her for six long years away, the airline lost her luggage indefinitely and her taxi driver got lost, twice, before they finally pulled up to her parents’ home in Georgetown, Texas. The farmhouse was small; built in the 1800s as a place of residence for the ranch foreman, it still held its original purpose. White with baby blue shutters and a large wrap around porch, Marianne had many memories of sitting on the porch swing and watching the time inch by. Stepping out of the air-conditioned sanctuary of the cab, the full force of southern heat hit her square in the face. Before she could even turn to close the car door behind her, her mother’s excited cries floated through the air. The screen door squeaked and groaned as the greying woman heaved it open and ran towards her daughter with open arms.

“My baby is finally home! Hallelujah!” cried Winifred, engulfing her daughter in a tight hug. Winifred Barnes, standing a few good inches shorter than her daughter, hugged her with surprising force. Years of helping out on the farm left her figure lean and muscular, while years of good ol’ southern cooking left her with a pair of hips that still made most of the men in town turn their head when she passed by. Of course, none of that was new to Winifred. In her day, the woman had been the bell of the ball in Texas society. A former debutant and pageant queen, she had the pick of any wealthy Texan she came across, but when it all came down to it, she had chosen George Barnes – a lowly ranch hand with no prospects outside of roping, riding, and herding cattle.

“Hi mama, it’s good to see you,” said Marianne, feeling her heart clench slightly as she hugged her mother tightly. She was surprised to see some grey in the blonde, pin straight hair Marianne had always envied growing up. The lines at the corner of her mother’s eyes and mouth made her wonder for a moment if she truly had been gone for too long.

“Do you need help with your things?” Winifred asked, looking between Marianne and the taxi driver who was currently making no move to get out and help her daughter with her luggage.

“Oh! Hold on—” Marianne leaned back into the taxi and dug into her purse before pulling out cash for the driver “—Sorry. Thank you so much.”

With that she exited the cab, purse, and small carry-on in hand, slamming the car door behind her. The cab took off with a cloud of dust that sent Marianne and her mother into a small fit of coughs.

“They lost my luggage. I’m supposed to be hearing from them some time in the next few days, but they told me not to get my hopes up. Apparently, my bags never even made it on the plane,” Marianne told her mother.

“Oh dear. I hope they find them; it’d be a shame for you to lose all those fancy clothes—" her mother took a moment to take in Marianne’s outfit, an outfit Tony had bought her for her birthday actually. She thought the black pencil skirt, white Calvin Klein button up and thick chunky belt cinched at her waist was a cute ensemble, but judging from the way her mother appraised her, perhaps she was wrong “—we’ve still got all of your old clothes. I’m sure they’ll fit you. If anything, they’ll be too big! You are so skinny; do they not eat in California?”

“Yes, they eat plenty mama. Don’t worry. Now, where’s daddy?”

“Well he should be coming in soon. He found a section of fence down up past the crick, so he took the boys up with him to fix it,” said Winifred, looking out into the distant pasture.

“I thought Sam broke his arm.”

“He did, but the damn fool still insists on helping where he can. Couldn’t get him off that horse if I tried and the good Lord knows I have. Still, your daddy won’t let him do much. Till then Steven and your brother are putting in extra work to fill in the gaps.”

Just the utterance of his name was enough to throw Marianne for a loop, “I didn’t know Steve worked here now.”

“Oh, he doesn’t dear. He’s just helping out. He’s still over at—oh there they are!” exclaimed Winifred, pointing out in the far distance where the silhouette of four men on horse back could be seen against the setting sun.

They should have been indiscriminate from each other from that far of a distance, but Marianne knew without a doubt which one of the men was Steven Rogers. Larger and thicker than the rest of the men, he held a certain grace in the saddle that most professional riders lacked, but Marianne would know anywhere. As they got closer, approaching at a well-paced canter, she couldn’t help but keep her gaze trained on the man in question. The one person she was least excited to see upon coming home. It was no secret how she felt about him. Everyone knew her disdain for the man ran deep, however he was unavoidable given he was her brother’s best friend. Spitefully, she imagined that after all this time he would have gotten fat or perhaps lost all his hair – anything to cut back the enormous ego he possessed. Yet, as they approached it was to her dismay that the exact opposite was true. Not only was he not fat and bald, but he was probably more muscular than he’d been the last time she saw him and his thick, dirty blonde hair was thicker and longer than ever, hanging down to the nape of his neck under the brim of his tan Stetson. To top it all off, the bastard had a beard so thick and rugged, it put Kenny Rogers to shame…bastard.

She had no time to focus on the way the sweat glistened off the exposed skin of Steve’s neck or the way his thick thighs gripped the leather below him, because the moment they were close enough her older brother of two years was launching himself out of the saddle and onto her. His large, strong arms wrapped around her middle and hoisted her into the air, spinning her in the air and nearly causing her ankle boots to fly clear off her feet. When he finally placed her back on the ground, his grin was as wide as the Mississippi and as bright as the blinding Texan sun.

“There she is!” he beamed before looking all around her. “Where’s that fancy fiancé of yours?”

“He’s not coming till Wednesday, remember?” called their mother over her shoulder as she made her way back to the porch steps.

“He had some business to take care of before he could come down. Figured I’d come down ahead and let you get all of your crazy out before you meet him. That way you don’t scare him off,” teased Marianne, punching her brother’s arm in good spirits. “You look good. How’s the practice?”

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was the most accomplished of the Barnes’ children. After undergrad at the University of Houston, he went on to become a veterinarian and take over the old clinic right in town. Of course, that couldn’t be enough for the young Barnes man. No, he had to be annoyingly handsome as well; possessing the same brown curls as her, his boyish smile, tall height, and muscular stature always seemed to work in his favor. “Oh, it’s great. Busy as all get up,” he answered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dirty wranglers.

“What? Your old man doesn’t get a hug as well?” asked George Barnes, handing his and Bucky’s reigns over to Steve before walking over to her and engulfing her in another hug. A feeling of safety and serenity washed over her as she hugged her father tightly. In truth, she’d always been a daddy’s girl. Never did she miss a moment growing up to help her father on the farm right alongside her brother. George Barnes, while coming across as stern and taciturn at times, was nothing more than a soft, kind-hearted man.

“Hi daddy. I missed you.”

“I missed you too pumpkin. My successful, big city daughter has been away for too long,” her father teased, an edge of sincerity to his tone. She gave him one last tight squeeze before releasing herself and turning her attention away from her father’s comment and instead to Sam Wilson. Sure enough, there he was, cast and all, sitting high and good-naturedly on the back of his Appaloosa. He was everything her mother described, kind brown eyes, a sweet gapped smile, cropped black hair, and deep tawny skin that glistened in the warm setting sun.

“You must be Sam!” Marianne said enthusiastically, crossing the distance and holding her hand out to him. Sam came to work on the ranch a few years after she left and while she’d never met him, she had heard quite a bit about him. Originally from Alabama, Sam Wilson moved out to Texas chasing a girl and fell in love with the open range and rolling river of Georgetown instead.

“And you must be Marianne. Pleasure to finally meet you,” Sam greeted her, taking her hand in his good one and giving it a gentle shake.

“Please, call me Mari. How’s your ar—”

“I’m gonna’ go put the horses up, George,” the gruff timbre of Steve’s voice interrupted her, the sound both grating to her ears and causing her heart to leap in her chest.

“Oh, alright. Do you want any help?” asked George, turning away from his daughter as Steve began to ride away, leading the other two mares along with him.

“Nah, you stay and catch up. I’ll only be a minute.”

“I should probably go and help him,” said Sam, grinning pleasantly at them before righting himself in the saddle and turning his horse back towards the barn.

“Why don’t you get settled in your room, while your brother and I get cleaned up for supper?” her father suggested, breaking Marianne out of her stupor. She only realized then that she’d been watching Sam and Steve intently as they rode away and disappeared into the large, red barn.

Marianne’s room hadn’t changed a bit. Apparently, her mother had never even given a thought to redecorating or repurposing the room and for that, she didn’t know whether to be grateful or concerned. The same baby pink covered the walls and stuffed animals adorned the surface of her flowery bedspread. Posters littered the walls showcasing the stars of her youth including The Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain, and, embarrassingly, Randy Travis on the ceiling above her bed. Trinkets of her childhood remained on shelves and her desktop. 4-H ribbons and trophies sat in all their glory, reflecting the days in which she put more stock in goat wrangling and horseback riding than watercolor technique and Renoir’s crippling arthritis. It was like walking into a living memorial of the late 90s in the loudest and most obnoxious way possible. She placed her purse and carryon on the bed when a thought popped into her head. Rushing to her closet, she pushed through the clothing, shoes, and a few boxes till she found the special hiding place she created all those years ago.

“Aha!” Marianne exclaimed when her fingers wrapped around the binding of her old diary. Suppressing a childlike giggle, she sat down on the thick carpet of her bedroom floor and opened the dusty journal to a random page.

Dear Diary,

Last week Mrs. Darlene said she was bringing in an older student to fill in for her and teach some of the class and you wouldn’t believe who it ended up being. That’s right. Steve. I mean, I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’s like the most talented artist in the school. Clint reckons he’s going to Julliard or Paris or something when he graduates. Too bad I still have to deal with his annoying face till then. It’s bad enough that I have to see him all the time at home with Buck. Now I have to see him in my classes too? Of course, he just had to get on my nerves too. He couldn’t just leave me well enough alone. He kept leaning over my shoulder and telling me my shading needed work. Sorry we can’t all be artistic geniuses. Some of us are just okay.

After class Clint kept saying how he thinks Steve has a crush on me. I said if that were true then he wouldn’t spend every waking moment with his tongue shoved down Sharon Carter’s throat. Of course, Clint had to go and rile my feathers by saying I was jealous. AS IF! I wouldn’t want Steven Rogers’ tongue within spitting distance of me, let alone in my mouth.

I mean, sure. He does have nice eyes and I can see how some people might think he’s handsome, but he’s no Tom Selleck. I wouldn’t kiss him if someone paid me $1000. Anyways, that’s all for today Diary.

Till next time,

Mari Grace xoxo

“Marianne! Supper’s on!” called Winifred from down the stairs, sending Marianne into a spiral of déjà vu. She shut the journal tightly, throwing it back into her closet before standing and heading downstairs. The expansive kitchen was everything she remembered from the olive-green cupboards to the faded pine table sat on a threadbare rug. She was the last to arrive, finding the table full and the setting across from Steve the only available spot. Begrudgingly she sat, purposefully avoiding any and all eye contact with the man sat in front of her. Instead, she opted to turn her attention to the delicious food in front of her.

Her mother had gone all out cooking her favorite foods: fried chicken, new peas and potatoes in cream sauce, corn on the cob, ham steak, green bean casserole, salad, fresh rolls, corn bread, and if her intuition was correct there was sure to be a peach cobbler sitting  in the oven at that very moment.

“Wow mama, I hope you didn’t cook all of this on my account,” said Marianne, grabbing a chicken leg from the platter in front of her.

“Well it’s not every day my only daughter decides to grace us with her presence. I didn’t know if you still liked the same things, so I made a bit of everything,” said Winifred, helping herself to a bit of salad.

“Yea, we didn’t know if you’d become one of those vegetarians like all those hippies in California,” laughed Bucky, cutting a large piece of ham steak, and shoving it in his mouth.

“They’re not all vegetarians and they’re not all hippies. But even if they were, there’s nothing wrong with being morally and environmentally conscious of what you consume,” remarked Marianne putting a bit of potatoes on her plate and picking up her fork.

“Yea, a consciousness that could put all of us out of work,” said Steve bitterly.

Surprised at his comment, Marianne glared at Steve in annoyance. His face was tilted down towards his plate, but she didn’t need to see his eyes to know that he thought she was all hat and no kettle. She felt a heat begin to bubble just below the surface but bit her tongue. Turning to her father, she asked him how things were going around the ranch.

“They’re as good as any. Flannigan is thinkin’ of sellin’ again, but he’s promised if he does, he’d put it in writin’ that they have to keep me on as foreman. Looks like this ol’ place isn’t rid of me yet,” laughed George.

“Have you thought about buying the ranch yourself daddy?” asked Marianne, who’d never understood why her father never took the next step.

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“Sure, you can daddy. You definitely have the know how and I bet you and mama could qualify for some kind of loa—”

“There’s a lot more that goes into buying a ranch than you know, Marianne. It’s not as easy as snapping your fingers and having your rich fiancé get it for you with daddy’s money,” interrupted Steve, now looking up from his plate at her with a superior expression.

“Yes, I’m sure you know all about success what with going to college and—oh wait. You didn’t. You’re just still working at the Double R for old man Jackson like you were almost ten years ago. My mistake. And it’s Mari to you,” bit back Marianne, angrily stabbing into the food on her plate.

“Marianne you don’t—” began Winifred, stopping when Steve held up a hand.

“That’s alright Wini. She said what she said. I’m sure it’s easy to look down on all of us from such a high and mighty position as a middle school art teacher. Isn’t that right, Marianne,” said Steve smugly.

Marianne’s blood boiled, a red-hot rage heating her face, “At least I actually did something with my talent, Stevie.”

“That’s enough you two. If ya’ll can’t act civil at the table, you can just leave. Steven, you’re just as much a part of this family as anyone else, but you’re also a guest and you know better. Marianne, your mother worked very hard on this meal and we’re all excited to finally have you home. Don’t make us change our minds,” George scolded them, the kitchen going quiet as Steve and Marianne hung their heads in shame. It was silent for a while, the sounds of forks and knifes scraping their plates filling the air before someone finally spoke up.

“I was vegetarian for a while,” remarked Sam, putting his corn cob down and wiping his hands on his napkin.

“What?!” asked Bucky in surprise, “When?”

“I think I was…twenty? There was this new girl that started working down at the local diner in Mobile that was vegetarian. Rumor had it she only dated other vegetarians, so I came every day and ordered a veggie burger for lunch hoping she’d notice and we’d strike up a conversation,” Sam told them, reaching forward and grabbing a roll. “Turns out, she wasn’t a vegetarian. She was an Episcopalian.”

The table erupted into a fit of laughter, Marianne herself giggling so hard tears were brought to her eyes. “How long did you go in before you found out?” asked Marianne, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her napkin.

“About a month.”

The group laughed even harder.

“See, that’s the difference between you and me Sammy. I’ve done a lot of stupid things for girls, but I’ve never let them change me,” said Bucky resolutely.

“Nah man, it’s not changin’ yourself. It’s takin’ a chance on love! You’ll never settle down if you aren’t willing to risk it all for the woman you love,” Sam put wisely, earning him a fond pat on the cheek from her mother.

Marianne smiled happily, missing the gentle banter that a meal at home could bring. She felt the prickle of gooseflesh rise on her neck and the looming sense that someone was staring a hole in the side of her head. On instinct she turned to find Steve’s stormy blue eyes trained on her in solemn concentration. Their gazes locked for a moment, a strange mix of emotions flooding from Steve that made her heart clench in her chest. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. Steve was the first to break their connection, turning to George and beginning a quiet side conversation about the new cow horse he’d just bought.

“Don’t listen to this liar Sam. Buck has definitely changed himself for a girl,” said Marianne, shaking off the strange encounter and turning back to the rest of the table.

“What are you talking about girl?” asked Bucky in exaggerated confusion.

“Oh, you don’t remember Suzie Quentin?” Marianne questioned, knowing Bucky remembered exactly who Suzie Quentin was.

“Now wait—” began Bucky, shortly being cut off by Marianne as she turned to Sam to regale the tale.

“In the eighth grade Suzie Quentin said she thought Louis in Interview with a Vampire was hot and so Bucky spent a whole year growing out his hair so he could look like Brad Pitt!” said Marianne with a loud guffaw, moving away as Bucky tried to cover her mouth to keep her from talking. “Except, he didn’t know how to take care of long hair so—”

Bucky was successful the second go around, managing to clamp a hand over Marianne’s mouth so that the only sounds heard from her were a jumble of muffled words.

“Don’t listen to her, Sammy. She’s got a head full of stump water.”

When Marianne had finally managed to wrangle herself out of Bucky’s hold, she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at her older brother. Quite the opposite really. A sense of sadness filled her at the realization that for six long years she’d missed out on this. The lightness. The familiarity. The happiness that only her family could provide. And for what? Taking another glance towards the large, sun kissed man across from her she felt a renewed sense of bitterness towards the man.

Once dinner finished and everyone was full on peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream, Marianne excused herself from the table, standing and making her way to the porch. The sun had set. The brightness of the moon, hung fat and heavy and almost full in the sky, lit up the night. More stars than she could ever remember shone brightly from above creating a familiar wonder she often felt growing up. She never felt that in San Francisco, where the stars were constantly shrouded by heavy clouds and the lights of the city.

Reaching into her skirt pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and was surprised to find only a single text from Natasha informing her that their caterer had backed out. Nothing from her fiancé who promised to check in on her the moment he could. Of course, he probably was too busy with work. Sighing, she tried not to think about the wedding for at least one night and instead dialed Tony. The phone rang for a few moments before he picked up. From the other end she could hear the raucous sounds of people, music, and laughter blaring through.

“You’ve reached Tony: multimillionaire, genius, extraordinaire,” answered Tony, his voice vibrant and jovial.

“Tony, hey,” said Marianne feeling slightly confused. She thought he had a late-night conference call with Tokyo that night.

“Mari! Hold on one second—” the boisterous noise began to fade and then a door clicked shut before Tony spoke again “—sorry about that. How was your flight? Did you make it to Texas alright?”

“Yea, I did. Unfortunately, they lost all of my luggage, but it could be worse. My mom still has pretty much all my stuff here from high school still,” Marianne laughed lightly, leaning against the railing of the porch, and gripping it tightly. Her palms were slick with sweat despite the temperature cooling exponentially with the setting sun. Why on earth was she so nervous?

“Do you want me to have some of your things express shipped over to you?” asked Tony kindly.

“No, no need. I can get by. I suppose if I really need something that badly, you can pack it when you come down later this week.”

“Well, don’t go without it you don’t need to. You have the card I gave you. Don’t be afraid to buy whatever you need,” remarked Tony in the offhanded way in which he solved almost all of his problems. Normally this kind of answer wouldn’t make her think twice, but that night something about it irked her.

“Right. Hey, I thought you had nonstop meetings all this week. It sounds like you’re at a party.”

“Oh right, well, you know. Sometimes a meeting is a room full of boring people in suits and sometimes a meeting is cocktails and firebreathers on a rooftop,” joked Tony. Marianne could just envision the charming, devilish smile on his face. It usually did a fine job of getting him out of most trouble, but Marianne found that her inability to see it in person left her feeling put off. Before she could open her mouth to say as much, Marianne heard the sound of a door opening and then muffled voices. “That would be a business associate wanting to talk to me about reactor batteries. So…” Tony dragged out the word, waiting for her to make the decision on whether their phone call was about to end. Marianne paused. In this moment she could get mad, or she could let her fiancé continue to ride the high of a successful business for a while longer.

“Go. Have fun changing the world over flaming tequila shots,” sighed Marianne in good humor. Who was she to rain on his parade?

“God, I love you. Wednesday can’t come soon enough.”

Before Marianne could even get the words ‘I love you too’ out, the line went dead, and she was left standing alone on her parents’ porch in the deathly silence of the country. Or so she thought.

“Big city boyfriend too busy to talk?” asked Steve, sidling up beside her and leaning against the porch. He placed all his weight upon a single veiny forearm laid upon the chipping paint, crossing his long, lean legs, and cocking his hip to the side. It was the familiar ease in which he held himself that while normally made her skin itch, instead filled her with a weighty exhaustion she hadn’t felt in years. It had been a lot for a first day back.

“Fiancé and it’s none of your business,” spat Marianne, her tone barely holding half of the harshness it held earlier when they argued. She folded her arms around her like a protective blanket and looked out on the darkening fields ahead of her.

“Oh, come on Marianne—”

She sent a bone chilling glare in his direction that stopped Steve in his tracks. He let out a long breath.

“You’re right, it’s none of my business. Look, I just came out here to apologize. I didn’t mean to start a fight in there. God knows Wini and George wanted things to go well tonight and I’m sure us bickerin’ didn’t help any. They’d be devastated if you decided to wait another six years to come and see ‘em.”

“Don’t for a second think you have any right to talk to me about my family. Or to try and make me feel guilty for being gone. Not when you’re the reason I stayed away so long,” scoffed Marianne, taking one last glaring look at the man above her and storming back into the house, making Steve the one alone in the deathly silence of the country.

Taglist:

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

@caffiend-queen​

@grincheveryday

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers #cowboy au #steve x ofc #tony x ofc

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

I keep seeing something about writing three lines for a WIP? Posting three lines from three fics? Anyway I’ve seen it so many times at this point it’s become one big GO WRITE SOMETHING YOU ABSOLUTE NINNY for me, so here I am with three short-ish (~600 words each) segments from three tragically neglected WIPs that have nothing to do with each other. Very rough and rusty, but I hope you still enjoy these glimpses.

1. Bispearl week “swords” prompt ficlet I didn’t manage to finish back then, or: Bismuth and Pearl invent rubber ducking.

The first few swords were a disaster.

The Forge was rudimentary still - early days - didn’t look like much, but it was a start. Bismuth did her best: all of her hard-won knowledge, scrounged up information not meant for her or her kind, going towards building what she thought they would need to get weapon production up and running. Materials gathered at a great risk - Snowflake had chipped her gem during the last of the supply runs! Tools for Bismuth to try to replicate and experiment with, and a raided armoury with a wide variety of weapons for Bismuth to learn from, to suit every possible rebellious inclination. All arranged to enable what she judged might be a sensible workflow.

She decided to go with a simple, plain, straight-edged sword to start with - mid-length to her, meaning a dagger to some and a hefty two-hander to others. The sheer variety already present in the rebellion was half of its charm and point, wasn’t it just? And Bismuth wanted so very badly to fan the flames of it, to do everything she possibly could to see it, to see all of them, flourish and persevere and come out on top for once.

Bismuth tried, and tried, and tried again. Considered her mistakes, weaknesses, what she knew (or, doubt never failed to creep in, thought she knew) she was supposed to be doing and achieving here.

And failed.

The first blade that at least looked right shattered in her hands when she tried to force its tang through a guard and into a handle to put the whole thing together. The rest of its batch became hopelessly crooked when she quenched them.

She crushed the latest useless ingot she’d clearly gotten ore ratios wrong for in her fist and tossed it against the wall with a frustrated cry.

And of course, of course, that was the moment Pearl chose to walk in.

“Bismuth?”

Her voice was filled with concern as she inched closer from the entrance, but there was a glint in her eyes that made it clear Pearl would not be deterred.

So, figuring she had nothing to lose, Bismuth allowed her shoulders to sag and let her misery show.

“I’m not cut out for this. Literally.”

Pearl snorted, hopping up onto the anvil with a deliberate and highly unconvincing casual air. “Tell me about it.”

Bismuth sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a tiredness she wasn’t sure she was supposed to be capable of, and leaned next to her.

“I ever tell you of my first actual visit to a forge?”

Pearl shook her head.

“Wasn’t that long ago. I took the chance and snuck into a weapon production plant when the hematites weren’t around. Me and the other bismuths had been working on some training grounds right next to it and I’d wanted to see one for so long, so one day I just went for it. And it was... Well. The last time that place had seen a bismuth was when it was being built. I didn’t even fit in there, Pearl. I was too big for the bellows and too small for the anvils, and I could barely walk around the quenching baths they had set up. It was all just… wrong. The whole place was screaming at me, telling me I didn’t belong there and couldn’t if I tried.”

“You’re still trying, though, despite that,” Pearl pointed out, and swept an arm out to seemingly encompass the entire Forge. “And look at all of this! You’ve been working so hard to make it your own.”

2. That HDM/Daemon AU that desperately needs updating - I AM SO SORRY - but here’s some actual (distressing) plot from the underground resistance meeting.

Pearl led Rose to a chair at an empty table near the wall, but didn’t sit down herself. Instead, she went over to the centre of the room where someone had brought out a projecting lantern and several small reels. Aristobulus stood tall at her side, stretching his long neck, and Pearl squared her narrow shoulders and cleared her throat.

The room’s attention was fully on her within moments. Pearl wasn’t what one would ever call a commanding presence, but there was an odd air of almost-imperiousness to her now that made both Rose and Neshu want to stop and listen - not their usual inclination at all.

“As you’ve no doubt heard, 37 people have been arrested by the Consistorial Court of Discipline in the last two months, including two of our own,” Pearl began. “After a cursory sentencing for heresy, all trace of them had vanished. We have now found records of the fates of some of them. I will warn you that these recordings are…” Pearl’s hands folded on each other nervously, “extremely distressing.”

At her nod, someone dimmed the lights and the projection started with the flick of a tiny switch, and all the murmuring that Pearl’s grim warning had prompted died down.

The silent scene hanging in the dusty air seemed to be the inside of a highly advanced laboratory, mostly taken up by strange devices Rose couldn’t fathom a purpose for. The only occupants of the room were a woman a little older than Rose herself, and two dour-looking men in long white overcoats, suggesting some sort of doctor or scholar.

Both the woman and her kestrel daemon were strapped into a particularly large and ominous-looking contraption, with odd metallic coils surrounding the bird. As one of the men approached and expertly plugged in the connectors on a series of cables, the coils started to vibrate and rapidly heat up - enough to emit a glow visible even in the grainy monotone of the recording.

Before their eyes, the kestrel seemed to take on a glow, too, thrashing about as much as the restraints allowed. But then its body started to elongate, its shape twisting and stretching in ways that should have been impossible, losing wings but gaining countless insect-like feet, the beak looking more like mandibles by the second.

Then- sparks, and sudden darkness, and the horrifying experiment cut short by what appeared to be a power outage, with the recording cutting out soon after.

The room was deathly quiet as the projection lit up again. The scene changed, but the same woman was the focus of the projection, now struggling against half a dozen uniformed guards.

The kestrel - back in its original form, it seemed - fought valiantly, leaving deep gouges for many of the guards to remember him by. His human kicked and bit and struggled. But ultimately it was in vain, and they were outmatched and outnumbered, and soon enough thoroughly overpowered and shoved into separate chambers of yet another machine.

Silver grates closed and locked behind both of them, while a similarly silvery guillotine shone above and between them menacingly, and seemed to hum in anticipation.

Pearl looked down at the floor - she had to have seen the recording before, and looking at her and the way Aristobulus was subtly nudging his head against her hand, Rose felt a dawning fear she, too, knew what was coming.

The blade came down.

The woman didn’t die, and the daemon didn’t disperse into so much dust. But they both looked like they wished they had as they were dragged away in opposite directions, without even a whisper of strained bond between them.

Rose struggled to force her fingers, clenched tightly in Neshu’s mane, to relax their grip even a bit.

The scene changed again, and no matter how much she wished she could, Rose didn’t look away.

3. The huge, huge Pearl/Rose fixit-ish fic that I started as an attempt to deal with the gag order mess when ASPR was still fresh. In this excerpt: some Rose/Pink sky arena angst that probably makes a lot more sense in context.

She still looks the part of the fierce rebel leader as her solid, quartz-heavy fists smash into the perfectly hewn pink stone over and over and over again (just the pink, only ever the pink). But her diamond-hard knuckles don’t bruise, don’t bear a trace even as the first floating insignia cracks and shatters into haphazardly hovering fragments.

And why would there ever be any mark left on her? She is, after all, just a spoiled, untouchable princess in disguise, playing a losing game that’s costing lives, making others dance a deadly dance to her self-indulgent little tune. And she could declare herself bored of it, give it all up and abandon them to horrible fates and go home whenever she wanted to in order to be relieved of this burden she clearly wasn’t ready for after all, such a shame... and they wouldn’t even know…!

The weight of the thoughts sends her spiralling back down to the pockmarked floor of the Arena, her landing nothing approaching elegant. A voice she knows she can’t possibly be hearing because its owner is in a (pink, always pink) bubble, hidden away, calls her a coward and a traitor.

She kneels in the ruins of her own making and wonders if Bismuth had a hand in carefully carving out what she has just smashed to pieces. If Bismuth would have cheered her on in this highly symbolic bit of destruction, in what is obviously a very defiant, political act with no practical or tactical purpose but with such a clear and pointed message. Everyone will readily believe that - why would they not?

Everyone except Pearl.

Pearl, who she has now so unthinkingly cruelly reminded of her station, reduced her (reduced them both!) to what they have supposedly been working on growing past and leaving behind. And for what? Because she was terrified, in that moment, that Pearl would find out the truth? That, inevitably, no matter how many Homeworld bases she snuck into and how many of the Moonbase’s systems she scoured, she’d find no trace of Bismuth anywhere, and she’d turn to Rose with those eyes large and shining with betrayal…

Just like they were earlier today, after I forbid it and I order you to stop.

The illusion and the beautiful make-believe are as broken as the symbol - the symbol of her - and how can she even think of considering herself any different from White now, demanding and taking and having her way, draining colour and will and personality to make way for the obedience due a Diamond? Pearl had gone so still, in the wake of the Order, all of her gestures, from nervous to exuberant, gone without a trace, posture stiff and perfect. It all seems a negligible step away from an empty smile on a newly bleached-white face and perfectly poised, outstretched arms; from being faced with an eerie automaton in the place of someone she dared to consider a friend.

She- oh, she wants to call herself Rose but she can’t, she’s not, she’s failed at that every step of the way so far. Pink curls her pristine hands into her fanciful dress nobody sensible would think to fight a war in, and cries, useless miraculous healing tears that couldn’t ever hope to begin fixing what she has so carelessly broken.

#oathkeeper writes things #steven universe #pearl #rose quartz #bismuth #yeah that's supposed to be centi/nephrite #i'm sorry #long post #in case the cut doesn't work #fanfiction #daemon au #those stars of brightest magnitude #bispearl #pearlrose #i'm alive i swear #feel free to validate me and such

[phantomphangphucker]

Gray's A Ghosties Host - Phic Phight

Prompt Creator: @latterdaysaintvampire​ Prompt: During a high-stakes chase, Danny’s parents’ newest invention has shorted out all his powers, except one - possession. Summary: What to do when the boy who possesses your heart is literally possessing your heart?

No warnings Italics means thinking that the other can hear

“What are you doing, Phantom?”, The Red Huntress watches Danny Phantom carefully as he falls out of the sky onto her board. “Uh, not a whole lot of time to explain but you see that”, Phantom points aggressively to the faintly glowing red centipede as he continues, “yeah needs to be stopped and my shit ain’t working, so could I jack your body for a bit?”. Red opens her helmet to gape at him, to which he just sighs, while the centipede draws closer, “over-shadowing, get with the program. All my other powers are fried”. Red throws her hands out to the side, “why the hell would I! I could beat it with my own body better than you could!”. Phantom groans and flails a bit as Red swerves to avoid the centipede, “because you don’t know how to beat the thing and I don’t have time to explain!”. Red glares at him and he makes a pouty face at her, Red facepalming, “fine! But don’t turn off my consciousness or whatever!”. Phantom groans again but nods, quickly slipping inside.

“You know that unconscious shit happens naturally, pretty damn hard to force it not to”

“I don’t care, my body not yours”

“Yeah yeah, now how do I use your goo blaster thing?”

“Right elbow, twitch like you or I or whatever, have an inch”

“Well that’s vague”

Phantom can feel Red mentally glare at him but he just rolls her eyes. Shooting her board forwards and maneuvering it with ease, as he chases after the centipede; which has unfortunately gotten pretty far away by now.

“Phantom, how do you know how to use my board?”

“Uh, I’ve done it before. That and it’s pretty straight forward”

“What! When?! And bullshit I took days of practice to maneuver it this well”

Phantom quickly jerks to the right as the centipede tries to smash his tail into them.

“When I got us out of the zone, when Skulker abducted us. I got you home my way, which yes, meant over-shadowing”

“You ass! But fine, good enough reason”

“And Red, your board is way easier than my tail and that’s attached to me”

Phantom manages to use her blaster after a few tries which he can feel her snickering about. Shooting off the goo to melt away some scales on the mid-back of the centipede. Ducking low on the board he flies them in. Phantom’s kind of glad for the full body suit right about now, since this thing is dripping ectoplasm all over them. Red pipes up again as Phantom is flying them through twists and turns of what’s basically a giant maze, all lined with what’s basically egg sacs.

“Okay this is disgusting, you are helping me get this off my suit”

“It’ll be a lot worse if those sacs burst, which will happen if I, or I guess we, don’t find the right one in about 30 seconds”

“Well you fucking better, driver”

Phantom mutters out loud, “that’s what I’m trying to do”. Flying past one of the offshoot hallways Phantom jerks to a stop, flies backwards and speeds down the hall. Smirking the whole time, “found you”.

“Care to explain why I couldn’t just play scavenger hunt myself?”

“One, I could sense about where it is. And two you can’t just shoot it, that’ll make everything way worse”

Phantom feels quite satisfied with himself at Red mentally grumbling to herself. Phantom starts rubbing Reds hands on the sac and a bunch of lights show up in it. He starts tapping the lights wildly in a specific pattern, that he forced himself to memorise after one too many unpleasant encounters with this thing.

“How many times have you had to do this?”

Phantom completely ignores her, which she mentally glares at him for. But watching the sac turn green and liquify, Phantom grins, “Hell yeah!”.

“More times than I like and here comes the unpleasant part”

“Um what?”

After about a second or two the entire ghost just liquifies into very wet jello like green ectoplasm. Half climbing and half swimming, Phantom gets them to the surface and sits them down on Red’s board, shaking the ectoplasm off her hands.

“This is disgusting, again you’re helping me clean my suit”

“Try doing that without a helmet. Shit gets into everything. And yeah sure, I’m not an ass”

“Well, could you get out of me now?”

Talking out loud, “yeah yeah, sure”. But before he has a chance Red’s suit electrocutes him and results in him knocking Red out cold, accidentally. “What the fuck!”, shaking her head he tries to actually hop out of her but nothing happens. “Oh fuck”, mentally poking Red back into consciousness.

“What the hell Phantom!”

“Your suit shocked me, or us, lost my grip on the not knocking you out thing”

“Fine”

Phantom shifts a bit awkwardly on her board.

“There’s uh, a bit of a problem though. I can’t seem to get out now”

“What! Did you even try?”

“Of course I tried! I’m not an asshole and no offence but I like my own body. Preferably not inside someone else’s, even if it’s you”

“Uh, you’re not half bad yourself but seriously, you can’t get out?”

Phantom nods her head but tries again anyways, this time Red can actually feel him trying to get out but both can tell that somehow the suit is stopping him. Frowning, Phantom flies them into an alleyway.

“Okay that’s weird, it would be really dumb for my suit to have a feature like this. I’m guessing we’re in an alley so you can deactivate my suit?”

“Yup, not about to reveal you in broad daylight”

“I don’t even know how I feel about that, you’ve revealed me before”

“Only to your own dad. To stop you from a damn suicide mission”

Phantom shakes her head and deactivates the suit, or at least attempts to. Talking out loud, “uh, unless this works differently from last time, we’ve got another problem”.

“Oh come on! I bet you anything that weird ectoplasm is at fault here”

Sighing, “yeah probably, I swear I had no clue though”

“I believe you, this doesn’t really benefit either of us”

With a groan, Phantom summons Red’s board out again and flies them both to her place. Landing in her bedroom,

“I’m guessing you have suit repair stuff”

“Yeah, though my suit’s self-repairing, usually. Just grab the diagnostic machine from my closet. It looks like a PDA but red and pointy”

Phantom chuckles as he pulls it out, looking exactly like what she described. Thinking to himself about how Tuck would love to get his hands on this. Flopping down on her bed,

“Now open up the panel on the underside of my left arm and plug it in. It’s just a push and pop, I’m sure you can do that”

“What do you take me for, a moron? Well, you’re absolutely right”

“You’re awful”

Phantom leans them back on her bed as he waits for the machines results. He can’t help but smirk at a couple of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the roof.  

“You know, I can fell what you’re doing with my face. What? My stars not to your liking?”

Phantom can feel the sarcasm there and chuckles almost loudly at that.

“Red, my ceilings covered in them. Hell, I’d stick these fake ones on everything if that wouldn’t make me look insane”

“My knowledge on lairs is pretty small, Phantom. Couldn’t you just make literal stars everywhere?”

Phantom laughs again as the machine starts beeping, grabbing it as he responds to Red.

“Pretty sure Amity Park would have problems with me doing that. Might make it hard to drive or live with literal balls of flaming gas everywhere! Even fake ones would make things difficult, for everyone involved”

“Wait, all of Amity is your lair?!”

Phantom nods as he stares at the screen, “Uh, the hell does any of this mean?”. Rubbing Red’s neck, “and yes all of Amity is my lair, though I have my own little room inside Amity as well”.

“That’s major contamination, need a system flush. We’re stuck for a bit and seriously? Why is there such a ghost issue then? Shouldn’t you be able to keep them out or whatever? And you better not be messing with people”

Phantom can feel her glare, though he can tell she’s more curious than genuinely angry.

“You can’t just keep ghosts out, all you can do is make your lair a place they really don’t want to go. Tons of humans is pretty well attracting them, looking to mess around with them. Amity would be a very unpleasant place for anyone but me to live, if I went out of my way to make Amity unappealing to ghosts. And there’s nothing wrong with a prank or two”

Phantom rolls her eyes at Red’s continued glaring, “I don’t mean anything nasty, so chill. You know me better than that, I’d hope”. Sitting up and glaring at the little device, “so system flush?”.

“Just push the green button, red one and blue one, at once. And you’re right, I do know you better than to be mean. Thanks, I guess, for not screwing with Amity. Lots of folks live here. You really are as protective of the people as much as the town, aren’t you?”

Phantom nods and smiles warmly as he pushes the buttons. Jumping a bit at the sudden weird tingling and movement in her bodies veins, but shaking his head a bit amused at Red’s mental laughter.

“Trust me having two or four bodies feels weirder, that was just unexpected. I forget your suit is literally inside you and part of you. And what? You gonna sue me for being a protective little shit. I care more about the people than the town. Buildings can be fixed, people just can’t”

Phantom can’t help but shiver at some old memories. He could feel Red’s shock, though he’s glad she seems kind of happy.

“I’m not sure I want to know what your sudden disturbed feeling was. But that’s good you care about the people. Man, I really used to be a dick to you”

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t really care much about myself getting hurt. And no you don’t, I wish I didn’t. Well, sorta; it’s complicated. Anyway, how long does this take?”

“We are both messes, but about six hours”

Phantom flops them back down on the bed and fiddles with Red’s fingers in front of Red’s face. Blinking her eyes a bit before muttering, “oh well that’s, uh, not actually good, shit”.

“Oh now what?”

“Well, the stupid weapon that shorted my powers is gonna wear off in about an hour. And they’re going to be a bit squirrely”

“So what? You’re just going to use them at random?”

“Pretty much, only easy to use ones though. Might fall through the bed a couple of times or start sneezing ice”

“That is going to be very weird, it won’t hurt me will it?”

Phantom rubs her neck and chuckles awkwardly,

“Uh, can’t say I know for sure. But it is safe to use my powers in someone else’s body. This really isn’t a power I use much”

“That’s just great. Well, try not to hurt me”

“Of course, and I’m guessing you’ll  need to sleep at some point?”

Thinking to himself, about how he really needs to himself and he’s not even a regular human.

“Duh, which is going to be a whole new level of weird. Do you even know how to sleep?”

Phantom can’t help but start laughing his ass off, putting Red’s arm over her eyes. “Sometimes I think I don’t, god! But yes, hell yes”

“Not sure why that’s so funny, ghosts don’t sleep so it’s a damn valid question”

“It just is. Just chalk it up as another weird aspect of the enigma that is Phantom”

“How do you manage to be so powerful, horrible and cute”

Phantom coughs, caught a bit off guard, “what was that?”.

“Uh”

Phantom laughs playfully at that complete lack of a response, “well then”.

“Jerk”

“Oh come on, you’re all those things too. I’m just not embarrassed to say it, well, think it; in your general direction. But at least you weren’t 24 years old this time ”

“What? What the fuck? You’re less of a jerk now, but what?”

“What the fuck is a pretty accurate way to describe time travel. You look pretty good with a buzz cut by the way”

“That’s insane, what uh, what was I like?”

“Pretty much the same, didn’t really talk much. You realised I was from the past, called me cute and then passed out”

“Wow, somehow that feels really lame”

“That was the only real highlight of that day. Pretty shit day. Come to think of it, every-time time travel is involved shit gets really messed up”

“You really are a mess”

Phantom scrunches her face up a bunch before lifting her hand to her face, completely invisible.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. How did neither of us feel that”

“My powers are extremely natural to me, like blinking or breathing to you. It can be harder to not use them than to use them”

“That’s weird even if it makes sense, I guess it’s like how I don’t notice my suit doing its thing in me anymore”

Phantom shakes her head but feels a fair bit embarrassed,

“Even from the very beginning, it was like that for me. Half the time I was using my powers on accident and usually didn’t even notice”

Phantom can feel her snickering at him

“Goddamnit that’s adorable, oh hell”

“I like how you go from mocking me, to being embarrassed”

“Oh shut it”

“I don’t think I will”

Red mentally yelps as the two phase straight through the bed and floor. Phantom has to latch onto a ceiling light to keep them from crashing into the living room. Phantom silently watches Mr. Gray walk from the living room into the kitchen, before phasing then back into Red’s room. “Well, that was eventful”.

“More like nerve-racking”

“Eh, nothing much phases me anymore”

“You’re awful”

“Then you must have awful taste in men”

“You’re a child!”

“So are you!”

“You’re a ghost...”

“So what? Why care?”

Phantom sighs a bit as he sits them down cross-legged on her bed, she doesn’t think anything at him for a bit.

“We’re not the same, you’re literally possessing me right now”

“No one is the same, and you have a nanobot suit in your veins. How is that not just as weird as my powers?”

“You, you’ve thought about this before”

“Like I said, or thought, I’m not embarrassed by my interest. Hell, most ghosts and even a few humans, know how I feel”

Phantom rubs Red’s neck, “though I’ve been called an insane idiot many times for it. I guess it is kind of absurd and stupid to be interested in someone who’s trying to kill you”.

“Wait, so you’ve been, interested, in me since almost the beginning? Yeah that is pretty stupid, I really was trying to destroy you”

“Heh, yeah I know. My self-preservation was pretty well butchered by the time you popped up”

“Can’t really say mines all that intact either, but this is just so weird”

“Red, for as different as we are, we are also very similar. Hell, our “jobs” are basically the same. And we’re both out to lunch compared to the rest of our kinds”

“True, I don’t know if this would be more or less awkward face to face”

“You’re the awkward one here, I’ve been owning this shit pretty well publicly for years”

Phantom can feel her embarrassment as he rolls over to stretch out a bit, blinking at the layer of ice they’re laying on, “well there’s an ice breaker for you”.

“Pft you’re awful, it’s not even broken”

“Oh you know better than to tempt me”

“Don’t you dare!”

Snickering, “I’m the scary ghost boy! I do what I want!”

Phantom flicks a corner of the blanket, shattering it off, “HA!”. While Red mentally laughs.

“So, you going to own your shit now too? Or do I need to make more horrible puns for you actually admit you like me”

“God damn you, how are you so just out there? With everything? And yes I’m still hung up on the ghost thing, but you really don’t care do you?“

“Nope, I really don’t. Two humans, two ghosts, a ghost and a human, or something else entirely; I see no real difference. Though, I’ll never get over Boxy getting with the Lunchlady. They're going to be so confused at the baby shower, I fist fought their kid before they even started dating”.

“Oh my god, that is really ew. I think this kind of shit is why you are so self exposed. No matter what weird shit you show publicly, there’s something weirder unsaid or did”

Phantom scratches Red’s head with her hand, “you might just have a point there”. He then flings her hand over the top of the garbage can, clearly seeing the glowing green forming ectoblast.

“Well I hope nothing was hidden in there”

“Why would I hide stuff in a garbage can? That’s asking for it to be thrown out”

“Must you insult me so”

“Seriously? What even are you?”

“A mess that’s what. A spooky mess”

“The spookiest”

“A spooky that you likey”

Phantom puts her hands behind her head and smirks while Red mentally groans.

“So...”

“Oh my god”

Red doesn’t get to properly respond as Phantom snaps her head to the side, ghost sense going off. “It’s been all of three hours”, with a groan Phantom flings them up off the bed and sticks her head out the window to look around.

“What even was that? And what are you looking for?”

“Ghost, that was my Ghost Sense. Goes off whenever a ghost is near”

“Oh my god, you have built-in ghost radar and ghost tracker”

“So do you?”

Phantom jumps about a bit, making sure he can make her body float reliably, as Red thinks at him.

“From nanobots, not my own natural body, but point. And you know none of my suit is usable right now, right?”

Phantom smirks, “yup” as he vaults them out the window. Flying low to the ground, off to where he can sense what turns out to be a snake ghost.

“Please don’t crash me”

“Flying might as well be my number one skill, Red”

“And your powers are being crazy right now, so your point?”

Rolling Red’s eyes, “oh please, have a little faith”. As he shoots off an ectoblast at the snakes head, “that’ll give ya something to sink your fangs into!”. Only to snap Red’s head towards Skulker as he shoots a capture net around the snake. The two, technically three, float there for a bit while Skulker slowly tilts his head. Until Skulker smirks, tosses his catch over his shoulders and gives the two of them a thumbs up, “well whelp, that’s not how I’d go about snagging a lady but a fellow hunter always congratulates another on a successful hunt”. Phantom, snapping back at the retreating ghost, “I asked first, you metal ass”.

“You really weren’t kidding about that either. Am I seriously the only one who didn’t clue in?”

Snickering as he flies them back to her place, “well most humans don’t know and ghosts are horrible gossips, but I’m pretty sure you knew; sort of”.

“That makes no sense”

“I’m an enigma remember”

Flopping down on Red’s bed and crawling under the blankets, “comfy”.

“Glad you approve, not sure how you’ll handle sleeping for the first time in however long”

“Like a very scary baby”

“More like a cute one”

Phantom raises her eyebrow, “Oh is that so”

“Alright fine, I like your ghostly ass ok? And not in the just friend's way. The interspecies thing is still a mind trip though”

Smirking contently into her pillow, “well now I can die happy”.

“Don’t you dare”

“Be happy or die?”

“You’re awful and we’re a mess”

“Well then, I’ll remind the reaper to bless this mess”

“You are an affront to god, now let me or us or whatever sleep”

“Oh you have no idea”

Red wakes up after only an hour or two of sleep, thinking to herself, she’s mentally blaming that on Phantom.

“You still here, Phantom?”

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me quite yet”

“I think I’m ok with that”

“Same, but I’m still jumping this body-sharing ship when I can”

“Good, cause we so need an out of my body talk, you cute ass spook”

End.

#phic phight #phic phight 19 #Danny Phantom #phantom #fan fic #phan phic #Valerie gray #romcom #romance #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #team human #possession #over-shadowing #gray ghost

[digikate813]

Power Down: Chapter 1

Ducktales Fanfic

Now that Fenton has officially become Gizmoduck, Duckburg’s newest protector, he is not holding back. Giving everything he has to being the greatest hero he can be. But how much can he push himself to do more before he starts to fall?

Based on a random request by @zefive. Not to me directly, but when I saw the post, this idea flooded into my head, and I couldn’t resist. Enjoy!

He is Gizmoduck. He was a hero. He still couldn’t get over it.

For most of his life, Fenton had just been someone who’s energy and aspirations got him in more trouble then he wished when he was only trying to help. Being helpful. Making a difference. That’s all he ever wanted. And with the help of Mr. McDuck, he was going to make all his dreams a reality. Fenton always did burst with energy and ideas, and now there was an avenue for them. With every sign of trouble and problem to solve, his rapid thinking that used to be annoying was utilized to the fullest as he rapidly entered the role of Duckburg’s newest protector.

With Mr. McDuck away with his family a lot of the time, there would be constant patrols for signs of trouble and distress. But Fenton didn’t care. In fact, he felt like he thrived on it. His mind always ran at a mile a minute, but now he was so full of adrenaline at even the idea of answering someone’s call for help that he could hardly sleep at night. In fact it had been a few days since he had spent a full night at home. He was always on call, and even during his down time, he was usually in the Money Bin’s laboratory fine tuning the suit itself.

He may be Gizmoduck, but it was still Dr. Gearloose’s invention, and even if he was no longer his intern, it sometimes felt like he spent more time in the lab then when he was. But he was okay with that. With all of the changes made to the suit in such a short amount of time, it was like a completely separate adventure. Now with his brain as the core processor, it almost felt like the suit and him were one. Which for Fenton was exciting, and for Dr Gearloose, was less then that.

“Alright, now see how far the new extend-o arms can reach.” Gyro requested as he continued to right down the results of the previous test, and glancing up at the dent in the ceiling caused by Fenton’s head when testing the length of the Flexer Extend-o Abs. “If you can manage that” he grumbled under his breath.

Fenton rolled back to the farthest wall of the lab and shot out the Extend-o Arms. Quickly flying right over Gyro’s head. He ducked just in time, but his hat was grabbed and pulverized into the adjacent wall. Gyro was furious and shouted at him to retract the arms. Which Fenton was able to do as quickly and smoothly as they shot out.

“Ha Ha” Fenton exclaimed. “Much smoother on the new model Dr Gearloose!”

“Of course my hero armor has improved with further modifications.” he said in his typical condescending tone, walking to the opposite end of the room to grab his hat, and smooth it out after just being crushed by his former intern. “Now maybe if the pilot had better aim, it could actually reach it’s full potential.”

“Well, when you think about it, the suit didn’t run this well until my brain was plugged into it.” Fenton commented confidently, until his supervisor swung his head towards him and glared daggers at him. “Uhh, sir.” Fenton added, sweating under his helmet.

Gyro scoffed “Never mind that. You should probably step out so Manny can clean the rocket launchers. Wouldn’t want something to get stuck and have you blowing up my life’s work. Again.” Gyro commanded.

“No need for that Dr. Gearloose. Everything in the suit was charged and polished just this morning.” Fenton corrected with pride. The suit might get banged up in the line of duty, but Fenton was always ready to fix it up as soon as could. Making sure everything was up to the high standards he wanted Gizmoduck to meet with every mission.

“When did you find time to do that?” Gyro asked. He saw on the news that he answered at least 4 distress calls before he came in today. He may not be crazy about Cabrera flying his armor, but he was still keeping tabs on how it was functioning in the field.

“Oh you know. Here and there.” Fenton replied. “And while I was charging the weapons, I noticed we could amplify the Finger Gun Lasers power level. I thought if someone was trapped in a car or a giant novelty safe or something, they would be an excellent escape tool”

Gyro stuttered at the mention of upgrading anything before testing all the new functions and how Fenton’s brain could handle processing them. “I don’t think so.” He argued abrasively. “You may be the face of Gizmoduck, but I am the chief inventor. And I don’t want you messing with anything until every function is properly stress tested. Remember.” Gyro stood on his tip toes and knocked on Fenton’s head. “All of this is running through your head. And Mr. McDuck would have mine if anything happens to it. He sees something in you, for some reason.”

Fenton sighed and let the suit disassemble around him. “Very well Dr. Gearloose.” As Gyro walked away to clear away the work bench for the night, Fenton added “But would you object to me jotting down a few blueprints for future upgrades? Once everything been securely tested of course.”

“Do what you want. I’m not your boss anymore.” Gyro replied dryly. “I’m going home for the night. Lock up when you’re done. You remember where the keys are.”

Dr. Gearloose and Manny both entered the elevator to head home. Leaving Fenton alone with only his thoughts. His many, many thoughts. Yes! Like a rocket, he ran around gathering up all the materials he’d need to fiddle with to get an idea of how the upgrades he had in mind will function. He spread all of the papers and equipment out on Dr. Gearloose’s work bench. He had to admit, it was nice to be working on something for Dr. Gearloose without fear of his schematics falling in the toilet.

He sketched and tinkered for what turned out to be hours. When he was finished with one idea for an improvement, another popped into his head, just begging to be brought to life. It was almost like his own body was becoming the machine. Always operating. Always thinking. Always coming up with new ways to improve Gizmoduck and protect Duckburg. Even if it was into the wee hours of the night. Even if the sun was unknowingly rising outside the Money Bin, Fenton didn’t care.

He was going to be the hero Duckburg deserved. A hero worthy of Mr. McDuck’s trust and funding. A hero worthy of the name Gizmoduck. Those spots in front of his eyes were probably just from taking the visor on and off so much. Adjusting to the light and all that. That was the last thing Fenton remembered thinking before he passed out on the work bench.

A/N: Yep. I’m writing Ducktales fanfiction now. I just can’t help myself. Not much to add in terms of notes for this one, but there will be a few more chapters to go, so look out for those. Hope you enjoyed the start!

#ducktales #fanfiction #fenton crackshell cabrera #gizmoduck #gyro gearloose #scrooge mcduck #fanfic

[ndx94]

I swear I want to play the lottery or something; if I won 152 million dollars I'd immediately write a check to the Republic of Korea general fund or ministry of education or maybe just buy a bunch of hanbok for myself tailor-made in Pocheon, Uijeongbu, Seongnam, somesuch place.   I'm so tired of giving rich gifts to my biological family.. I want to go on a long journey in KR, maybe every hamlet and village and town and small city and all of Seoul someday. Sometimes I think of the end of the world / End of Time as "transmillennium" in a way like cities that exist now will gradually accommodate / fuse with New Jerusalem when she / it descends from the sky / Heaven.  In that case the most "plug-and-play"-worth city / metropolis is surely Seoul or Namyangju or something.  Like a lot of angel construction unions will be annoyed that Koreans took their jobs and finished their work. I live in Babylon Milwaukee where no one seems to have a plan for anything or anyone.  I keep promising myself I'm not going to drive around here but more and more have a 5-D map of this (accursed?) city.  The one good thing about this place is the Little Free Libraries in Shorewood / Whitefish Bay as well as the free books at Whitefish Bay Library at least in past were golden, to me. I'm trying to practice self-denial and take up my cross. I had an idea for a novel or "record" in the Chinese sort of sense about the Korean ideal of the teacher (as I understand it / him / her). Just to remember at all times that the greatest mercy has already been done on the Cross by Christ and the greatest demand for justice - divine punishment 10,000% appropriate for Man's evil - has already been paid.  I am almost eternally frustrated by other people's desire to re-discover Original Sin and re-invent Christology by crucifying their children.  If I could castrate myself and become quadriplegic, if I could donate both my kidneys and die in a couple weeks or something, to stop this Moloch-machine I would pay for the privilege of doing so.  Alternately I wouldn't mind teaching either fourth grade, high school, or anything because at this point I don't even like sleeping or eating anymore; though I do wish I were married, just as I wish I had trusted in the Father's intimations and His perfect gifts above and beyond any human "help" I might've received in or throughout life so far. A brace of fun quotes from my good neighbors: 1. Socialism is a philosophy of failure. 2. Work is love made visible.

[timetospy]

Contents: 00q, Q-branch sabotage, disgruntled employees

Warnings: canon typical violence, suspense

This one got really long on me, so I’ll put most of it under a cut.

“At about waist-level, you’ll see a switch, I think,” Q says, speaking to Bond over the comm.

Bond on mission is equal parts focused intensity, snark, and improvisation. It’s been a wild ride for Q learning how to roll with his punches. But also entirely worth it--

“Mm. Something else I’d like to have at waist level.”

--for the perks of the job. Namely dating one James Bond, 007.

He’s well aware that not everyone would consider this a perk. High likelihood of tragic endings, package deal with traumatic stress disorder. But what they don’t know, and Q does, is that the insufferable menace of 007 isn’t all he is.

“Finish the mission and bring back your equipment and maybe there will be something waiting for you at waist level,” Q replies.

“I hope it’s pink,” James returns, and Q can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You’ll have to wait and find out. Did you find the switch?”

“Flipped. Nothing happened.”

Q frowns. That switch should have powered down the external cooling system. He scans the schematics he’d retrieved weeks ago and swears.

“Problem?”

“There’s a backup system. It’s on the other side of the building.”

“I could have told you that,” Bond says.

“Shut up. Look, I think you can work around it--”

Q talks Bond through shorting out the system without actually blowing it up, and the agent does an admirable job. A job made much easier, of course, by the fact that this is a nearly-abandoned server farm and Bond has already incapacitated the two guards.

It had taken months of following traces almost too small to notice, but once Q had gotten the grains of rice lined up, he’d discovered that the bulk of the organization’s transactions flowed right through a server farm under a parking garage in New Delhi. Not exactly a target they could just blow up. And besides, if Q could hitch a ride on some of the outgoing packets…

So, 007 was sent out. In theory it was a simple mission, but Q knew how simple missions tended to become complicated and require explosions in Bond’s case, so he wasn’t holding out hope that this particular suburb of New Delhi would remain unscathed.

However, so far, so good. So maybe, for once in his life, Bond would get in, get out, and bring himself and his equipment back in one piece.

“Alright. The failsafe should have triggered, you should be able to access the machines now,” Q says, pulling up the external surveillance to make sure Bond is still within acceptable threat range. The streets appeared just as peaceful as ever.

“You’re sure the door’s unlocked this time?”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you.”

“You nearly get hit by a train and see if you forget.”

“But you don’t have to bring it up every---”

A burst of static interrupts Q. Simultaneously, every light in Q-branch, every screen, even the emergency back-ups go dead. Q branch is plunged into inky blackness.

“Bond?” Q calls, uselessly. The comm is, like everything else, completely dead.

The branch descends into pandemonium. Q’s main objective shifts to restoring some kind of order to his office. He sticks finger and thumb into his mouth and whistles. Silence falls.

***

A deafening shriek blasts out of Bond’s comm, and he pulls it out of his ear and stars at it. He tucks it back into place.

“Q?”

No response.

“Q?” he tried, a little louder.

Silence.

“Shit.”

Bond throws the earpiece on the ground and crushes it beneath his heel. So much for bringing equipment back. But Bond has never been on a mission where his equipment malfunctioned - not while Q has been head of the department - and something twinges in the back of his mind.

He makes his way by memory back to the armored door of the interior of the server farm and it opens, just as Q promised. The entire room is floor-to-ceiling flashing lights and tangled wires, and Bond sighs. Q’s no good in the field, Bond knows that, with his fear of flying and other assorted personality quirks - most of which Bond finds oddly charming - but he’s always in his ear, guiding him through whatever disaster he’s found himself in this time.

There’s a very big part of Bond that wants to set his watch - a personal birthday gift from Q - in the middle of the room and beat a hasty retreat. But another, larger part of him knows that Q is counting on the intel he’ll get from whatever Bond has on the tiny speck of plastic Q handed him when he left.

Bond pulls the case out of his pocket, along with an adapter, and starts scanning the aisles for something that looks like he should be able to plug into.

It doesn’t take long, actually, to find an out-of-the-way spot to plug in, insert the plastic chip into the adapter, and tuck it away. Unless someone were looking for it and knew where to look, it would live there quite happily for some time. Without any further instructions, Bond has to assume that the thing will do its work itself, and finds his way up and out of the server farm, none the worse for wear.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Q.

No answer.

The twinge in the back of his mind when his earpiece shrieked becomes a full-blown niggling, and as he in turn tries Moneypenny, M, and Tanner with equal success, the niggling becomes a suspicion and then a certainty that something has gone wrong in London.

As a last-ditch effort, he calls Tanner’s wife.

“Hello?”

It’s her. Bond’s shoulders relax a fraction.

“Hello, Moira. This is James.”

“Oh, hi, James. What’s up?”

“Is Bill around? He’s not answering his phone.”

“No, he’s at work. I just talked to him fifteen minutes ago - told him to bring milk home.”

“Oh, well, I suppose he’s just in a meeting then,” Bond lies, his hackles rising. He’s looking at a 10-hour flight to get home, plus however long it took him to get to and from the airport, and chafing at the thought.

“Probably. Next Thursday is your golf round, right?”

“Hm?” Bond had been thinking about logistics of travel and had barely heard her. “Oh. Yes. That’s right. At Sunbury, I think. A full round.”

“Of course it is. Start early, will you? I need him home for dinner.”

Bond smirks as he flags down a cab. “Beatrice coming over, is she?”

“Like I’d tell you. You’d putt the 19th hole for three hours.”

“I like to help out a friend when I can.”

“You’re awful, James!” Moira says, laughing. “See you next Thursday.”

“Bye, Moira.”

Bond tucks the phone back into his pocket, and not for the first time wishes that Q had invented teleporting.

***

By memory and feel, Q makes his way slowly around his desk and along the back wall of the bullpen to a small trapdoor.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” The voice floats out of the inky blackness and Q hears several audible gasps.

“Higgins. I’m only going to re-start the emergency generators. You’ve already done your damage, at least let’s have some light.”

“H-how did you--” And for a split second, Q thinks that Higgins will just give up. Q takes the opportunity to open the panel and fumble for the handle. “Don’t do it! I’ll shoot you!”

Q closes his eyes, even though there’s nothing to shut out, and takes a deep breath.

“What are you doing, Higgins? You’re in the middle of Six. How long do you think you’ve got?” Keep him talking. Just keep him talking, the longer he stands there talking the longer security has to---

Q freezes. Security couldn’t get in. It was one of his own personal failsafes, though he never thought he’d actually have it triggered. In the event of a complete power outage, every single door in Q-branch locked. And he had personally seen to the composite steel bolts himself. It would take security an hour or more to cut through them - if they weren’t too busy controlling chaos elsewhere in the building.

“What am I doing?” Higgins chuckles, his voice pitching a little manic. “I’m having a little revenge, Quartermaster! Did you really think you could relegate me to obscurity, with your little coding projects and your patches? Did you really think I’d let you?” Higgins laughs, and Q hears him start to move. He must have FLIR goggles, because standard night-vision wouldn’t work in the complete darkness that Q-branch had been plunged into.

“Well, you got the drop on us Higgins. What did you use, an EMP?”

Higgins giggles. Q hears him walk across the floor, and then there’s a crash and a scream from near Robinson’s desk.

“Painfully simple, really. What use is a lab constructed as a Faraday cage if the pulse comes from inside?”

A few more steps, another crash, a muffled shout of panic.

“Truly brilliant, I’ll admit. What’s next? Now that you’ve got your revenge on us, what’s next?”

The footsteps stop.

“Why, so you can tell your part-time boyfriend my plans and sic him on me when he gets home?”

Q bites down on a retort - it’ll only make the situation worse and it’s already bad. But the damage is done, because Q remembers that James is in the field with zero backup and no way to ask for any. Q pictures explosions, gunfire, get-away chases, narrowly slipping into the airport ahead of pursuers. He has to get the branch back to some semblance of operation, even if he has to move the entire thing to Whitehall and run it on M’s personal mobile - which as far as Q knows is three years out of date and has little more functionality than a flip-phone.

The footsteps start up again, headed away, and Q takes the opportunity to slide his hand over the breaker switch and get a good grip on it. He takes a deep, silent breath and pulls the handle down as quickly as he can. There’s a clunk and a whoosh… and nothing.

“Buggering fuck,” Q mutters. Of course the backup lighting would have been knocked out - Q had never planned for the EMP to be activated inside the branch. Well, he’d fix that on his next round of improvements, if he ever got to make them.

“Oh, sorry, did you think I wouldn’t know to cut the backup emergency generator?” Higgins is back in his element - thinking he’s superior. But Q might have a small surprise for him, after all. He leans back against the panel, as though defeated, letting his left hand drift slowly, ever so slowly, back and under the breaker panel.

Higgins may have fried the circuits, but the wires were still live. If only he could… Q grins in the dark as he slowly begins unseating the feed wire from the breaker box. It would be tough in the dark to keep from electrocuting himself - he can’t see which wire is which - but if he plays his cards just right he won’t have to.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Q admits. “But you still haven’t told me how you’re getting out of here. The doors are all locked.”

“I have a little trick up my sleeve,” Higgins coos, really starting to get into it now that he feels he’s truly won.

“Oh really?” Almost there - just another minute or so and then Q will have it separated.

“Restore full electrical current to the lock and it disengages. Easy when you have a shielded, modified portable power bank.” Higgins’ footsteps are coming closer again, and Q honestly prays for the first time in his life that he’s got the distances calculated correctly in his head, because otherwise they’re all fucked.

“That’s ingenious, actually.”

“I know, I was wasted as a code patcher, honestly. Should have been in R and D. But I was passed over so many times. I’d had enough. And now you’ll have enough too.”

Three more footfalls, and Q can nearly feel Higgins looming over him. The cable comes free just as Higgins comes to a stop, and Q lunges, shoving the bare wires through Higgins’ trouser leg and into his flesh. Sparks fly and a bizarre purple glow sort of surrounds where Q has the cable shoved against Higgins’ leg. Q pulls back and Higgins falls, and then Q shoves the wires against Higgins one more time for good measure.

He only stops when he can smell the stench of burning polyester and hair.

Higgins is dead, and Q falls back against the wall and breathes.

***

Bond’s nerves are shot to hell when he lands. He’s had ten hours in the air to imagine every worst-case scenario, and all of them end with Q’s lifeless eyes staring up at him from the floor of Q-branch.

As soon as the wheels of the airplane touch down, he’s on his phone, trying every number he has - Q first.

The boffin picks up on the third ring.

“You’re alive,” Bond says first thing, and the relief is instantaneous. He nearly falls back into his seat as he queues for disembarking. “What happened?”

Q’s voice is shaky, but he laughs. “You’d hardly believe me if I told you.”

From this.

#00q #007fest #team00 #timetospywrites #this one got really really long #and i don't know why #but here you go

[badly-drawn-piplup]

Looking Past It

My sister recently helped me move into my new apartment. After getting a few boxes in and getting my couch, a few chairs, and my table all set up, we decided to take a break. She packed a sandwich she had made from her own home and peeled a banana. While she ate, I took it upon myself to walk around. I was feeling unusually restless. It could have been an anxious spell, a sort of excitement, anything, really. Whatever sense of curiosity befell me, I opened the closet door in my living room, and to my surprise, there was a box taped shut.

It must have been leftover from the last tenant, but there was no name or address. Nothing written on the box. I brought the box out into the living room.

″What you got?″ My sister asked, mouth full of banana.

″Someone must have left this here and forgot about it after they moved out,″ I explained. Against my better judgment from all the horror movie scenarios I've seen, I posed the question: ″think I should open it?″

She shook her head. ″What if they come back asking for it? Pretty rude to just peek into people's stuff, don'cha think?″

I ignored her. Without even bothering to get a knife, I ripped the tape off of the box and opened it up. In retrospect, I don't even know why I asked her. My impulses were stronger than her suggestions. It's always been this way with us, though. Advice just goes right out the window.

Inside was an old cassette player. Or, at least, that's what it looked like. I guess what it more closely resembled was a Nintendo 64, right down to the rectangular, yet curved shape and the cartridges. There were a few scattered cartridges, in fact. I thought of calling them cassettes, but I didn't see any tape. Rather, what I saw on each one were dates.

7/7/1968, read one. Another, 10/8/1968. The dates ranged from 1968 to 1969. My sister leaned over and saw what I was holding.

″That's a long time for those to just be hanging around a closet,″ she observed, snorting and making a chuckle.

″Maybe it was a keepsake the previous owner had and just kept in the box. Or maybe they got it at an antique shop,″ I speculated.

″Maybe it's a bootleg video game console and the games are super bad,″ my sister also suggested.

She threw her banana peel in the trash. It was at this point that curiosity got the better of both of us and we threw caution to the wind. We plugged the electrical cord into the nearest wall socket and inserted the cartridge with the earliest date on it, labeled 5/7/1968. It (possibly) being so old, we weren't very sure what would happen. Some audio playing, some recording, perhaps? Most likely static and stuttering, then the machine turning off and us left to wonder what it would have played...

But no, instead, when we put it in, a tiny screen opened up. We weren't sure what to do next, so I pressed play. As soon as I did, a video played in black and white. In it, someone in a lab coat stood next to a table full of random trinkets. They started to speak, their voice muffled and filled with static, but we could still make out what they were saying:

″What you hold in your hand is, what I hope to be, the first device that allows you to go forward and backward through time. Due to the size, it only allows for one person and has yet to be tested. To use this device, press the rewind button to go backward in time and the fast forward button to go forward in time.

″Currently it's only set to go to a fixed point, the date on the cartridge. If you are from the future and you press rewind, it will take you there. If you are somehow in the past, you would press fast forward. A word of caution, as unfortunately I have no way of knowing where it will take you if you press fast forward from the future, or you are from before the date on the cartridge and press rewind. This device is still a work in progress and I hope to perfect its functions in later models. I hope that improved models may fall into your hands as well, whoever you may be.

″And to my daughter, wherever you are, I love you, and I'm sorry I get so absorbed in my inventions. I hope you see this one day.″

My sister and I turned to each other. We weren't sure how to react. Whether to laugh or be amazed. Then there was the message at the end, but it didn't seem to have any importance.

″Should I press rewind?″ I asked. ″Do you really think we'll go back in time?″

″You heard the guy. Even if this thing works, you'll be the only one going. I don't think that's very fair.″

″How about this? If it works, I'll come back and tell you about it, then you can try it. Deal?″

She smiled. ″Deal.″

″Well then, be right back,″ I mused, smiling as well before pressing rewind.

I left the house and into the darkness of the world outside. There, I ran out into the fields, past the cul-de-sac and toward the van where my girlfriend lived. She had her lights on and could hear me running. The stars were in full view, ripe for a calming moment for the two of us where we could lay on the roof and forget things for a while.

But tonight I had too much on my mind. After climbing up to the roof of her van and next to her, she could tell I just wasn't feeling the night's air like she was. When she would look over to me, I would turn my head, and when she pointed toward constellations, I would only nod and not be as amazed as usual.

″What's wrong?″ She finally asked, not wanting to keep up a silence that signified anything but peace.

The bubbles rose to the top and I couldn't help myself. Once I started, I knew I would be in a frenzy.

″My parents, they're so square! They don't dig the way I dress! They call me 'dirty commie!' just because I can't stand unnecessary war! They see my flower crown and my earrings and shred me to pieces over it!″ Every other word I spoke seemed to carry a growl along with it. She knew how I could get and she gave me a kiss on the cheek.

″Thank you. It's just...how can they be so anti-peace? They act like everything is dandy as long as it's 'for the country',″ I continued, using air quotes while doing so.

″They just don't vibe to the same tune, dear,″ she comforted.

″Ugh! Tell me about it! Tired of school, in all honesty! I just wanna take this van and live off nature with you!″

Her smile gave me warmth, even in the cool air of the night. ″And maybe we can.″

I sighed. I should have been calmer, but I was still so full of worry. ″I want to, but I'm worried. What if I'm not ready? What if I regret it?″

She laughed a little. ″Your parents really did name you after an active volcano, huh?″

I started to blush. ″Wha...What of it?″ I turned away, asking.

″You're hot like one!″ She yelled, then formed her hands into claws and tickled my sides. If she (and I) weren't careful, I could fall.

Sometime later, while still late in the night, I crept back into that same house. No lights on, save for one: the door to the garage, where my father spent his time making things. He spoke so in favor of 'Nam, both him and my mother, that it was any wonder how he had such a knack to make trinkets. I never thought much of it, but I knew when he wasn't ranting about how right our government and its killings were, he was busy ranting about how he was one day going to make it big. Revolutionize the world or something.

Rather than go to my room and sleep, I took it upon myself to crack the door open just a sliver more. What I saw was just the dim light of a flashlight. He himself, was nowhere to be found. No other sign of life. Shelves full of unfinished toys and metal parts that didn't seem to fit with anything. On one  of the tables, in the middle of everything else, however, was a rectangular box with some kind of cassette tape on it, although lacking in actual tape, and instead had the date 6-8-1983. That year hadn't happened yet. My guess was that it could have been something he was planning to have made by that date.

Curious, I pressed play. Expecting sound, instead a screen opened up. How he had managed that was somewhat of a feat I never saw him capable of.

On the screen was an image of my father, pacing across the garage, smoking a pipe.

″Ah, hello there. If you are watching this, I expect you wish to travel to the future? The very place we find ourselves in every second of the day. Who knows what might await us there? I've set a fixed date to where you will find yourself in if you so choose to press the fast forward button. If you wish to go to the past, press rewind. Be warned that I have yet to coordinate a specific date before 1968, so if you choose to visit the past, there is no way of telling where you might end up.

″One last thing: hold onto this device. Whether you press fast forward or rewind, this device goes with you. But if you aren't holding onto it when you move, it will move elsewhere, and you will have to locate it if you wish to go back to your own time.

″And to my daughter, I love you, whoever you may be and wherever you may go in life. Even though we don't always see eye to eye, my one wish to you is that you may find happiness.″ He took a puff from his pipe and the recording ended.

I wondered if this was his way of apologizing without saying it face to face. It felt too sappy, too sentimental, for him. I shook off the last message and focused on the first two: the possibility of leaping so far forward in time. It made me chuckle, but once again, curiosity got the better of me, and I pressed the arrows pointing forward.

At first nothing looked different until I realized I was outside. Not only that, when I turned around, I didn't see an apartment complex, but instead a suburban jungle – houses sprawled in a circle. When I there were houses lined up every which way, in every which shape. All I knew is that those homes were things I would never be able to afford. My credit was too poor and I wasn't one to be scammed by a subprime mortgage.

There was a newspaper on the sidewalk, the date saying July 7th, 1968.

I wanted to explore, immerse myself in the experience that was this era, but fear began to take hold: I didn't know how I was going to get back to my own time. Anyone else would have forgotten that little detail and went exploring, but it was already at the forefront. I didn't have the device with me. Without it, I couldn't imagine any other way I could go back to my own time. Panic set in and I went on autopilot, wading through the streets of this neighborhood.

Street names were the same. Alder, Hawthorne, Birch. If I wasn't mistaken, this was the same place I knew, but a setting I was unfamiliar with. Some things remained the same: a corner store, a post office, a museum. One building I passed by held a tinge of familiar and yet was certainly a piece of the past: a red bricked school building. Nowadays I knew it for being renovated into both a bar and a movie theater. Back then, it was a high school. Teenagers were crowding around the building in their school uniforms. There were a few who weren't wearing their uniforms, and I thought of how lucky I was for never having to wear one when I was in high school.

Some of the students were wearing tie-dye shirts and some in flannel. Some in overalls. I noticed a girl pass by, blonde hair, wearing a beret, hooped earrings, and the signature tie-dye shirt a few other students were wearing. Some were sitting outside the school in the lawn, with signs protesting the Vietnam war.

I didn't have the heart to tell any of them how it would turn out. I didn't even know if I should meddle in a time that wasn't my own. There were rules that were never explained, ones that I never thought I would have to follow. So instead I prayed that they saw me instead as a passerby, or didn't see me at all.

Days passed and every now and then in cafes I would see the paper. Sure enough, it was 1983. Things were different, but...not enough. The war ended as a disaster. More losses, nothing to gain. My eyes were weary, not the free spirit I used to see myself in mirrors. My whole self was defined by coffee and stale toast in diners, mooching off food from whoever would give some to a young girl like me.

Of course, I still had the device with me. I held on, just as my father instructed. I didn't think anything of it until I actually realized that I was still holding the device and in a time that wasn't mine. For whatever reason, I didn't return just yet.

It wasn't until a following morning, in an empty cafe, that I let out a deep breath and pressed the rewind button. Seeing how the war ended and my disillusionment for it all, I felt a stronger desire to return. I would return with a new confidence, resolute to run away with my girlfriend, in my own time, and not wherever she may have been here. But before I were to spend my life with her, I wanted to see my father one last time.

″What took you so long?″ My sister asked. I gulped. The truth was that I broke into someone's home and found the device. It took me a few tries. Once I was in the 80s. Then I was in the year following the great recession. After, I found myself right outside the apartment complex.

″How long was I gone?″ I asked, not answering her own question.

″Only about a few minutes. Finished my banana while you were out. So did you travel through time or just go outside for a few minutes?″

″A little of both,″ I admitted.

I decided to go for a bit of a walk. She could mess with the device if she wanted to. Outside, things were more how I was used to seeing them, but I still got  blurred visions of images in 1968. I felt a migraine coming along and I would have to go to the nearest Rite-Aid and pick up some excedrin to deal with it. For a second, as I passed by the movie theater, I thought I saw the same girl walking by on the sidewalk, the one with blonde hair, hooped earrings, tie-dye shirt. But instead, it was someone else, wearing an overcoat, despite it being the middle of summer. Or early spring.

My brother just got back and already went back outside. We still have all this unpacking to do and I'm not going to do it for him. I felt like napping on the sofa, figuring I would wake up by the time he got back. I was just about to drift off when I heard a knock on the door.

I lazed out of the sofa and opened the door. There was a girl in a thick overcoat. It wasn't a particularly hot day, but it seemed out of place.

″Hey, I just moved out. I fear I may have left something here,″ she explained, voice cracked and shaken.

″Uh...″ I stalled.

″Excuse me, can I help you?″ I heard my brother's voice behind this stranger claiming to be the former tenant. The stranger in the overcoat ignored this voice and leaned her head through the door. I wanted to yell ″hey!″ but it was too late, she had shoved past me and ran over to the sofa where the device was sitting.

My brother gasped, and pushed his way in as well.

She started shuffling through the cartridges, going through different dates. I heard her mutter about how the one she had was labeled ″1983″ but the latest these ones went to was only to the year ″1969″.

She found one, however, dated 11-10-1969.

″This is the earliest one here.″ She looked over to us. ″Hey, mind if I plug this in?″

My brother and I exchanged glances. He turned back to her. ″Well, if this is your stuff...″

″You already helped yourself...″ I groaned.

We all sat down at the table. She put the cartridge in the device and pressed play.

It began, once again, with an image of her father. Black and white.

″My daughter, I'm sorry. I failed.″

She started to tense up. I could already feel the air different. Before she had a sense of urgency, curiosity, but this other feeling I couldn't place so easily. She wept, placing her head on my chest and tears catching on my turtleneck.

I looked up across the table and saw my brother. He shrugged and gave an awkward look befitting for such a position.

The video continued. ″I made a grave mistake. I cannot see you anymore.″

She leaned up and wiped away her tears. ″It's okay now. I know you're in a better place, wherever you are. I've grown. I just want you to know that I love you too, dad.″

That should have been the end of it, but while she was composing herself, the video kept playing. Rather than the black and white, it tinted to a dark reddish color, and the image of her father, the inventor, went warped. His eyes were all blacked out and everything went fuzzy. The static was more pronounced. His voice spoke, though for the most part, incomprehensible.

″Consume. Eradicate. Devour. Rupture. Ravage. Scratches. Shreds across the universe.″ Were words that could be made out from the demonic voice that seemed to now make up his voice. Her previous calming went back to an upset and she leaned back into my chest. Yet again, I didn't know what to make of the situation, but fear overtook me as it must have her.

My brother got up and turned off the tape.

#short story #time travel #based on a dream I had #writing #stories #epwrites #however the ending may come across #even though it isnt really an ending #I couldnt really imagine any other way for it to end or even continue #so many unanswered questions #but im kinda okay with that

[theroseandcrown]

The Rose & Crown: Chapter Fourteen (Part One)

Rating: M Chapters: 14/24

Summary: The Doctor explains the concept of a bootstrap paradox and sends the TARDIS to a very familiar place.

Read this story on another platform: Archive of Our Own Fan Fiction WattPad

“Has it always been this cold in here?” Clara asked as the Doctor led her through the threshold of the TARDIS.

He raised his brow at the question, concentrating all of his energy on delicately guiding her towards the seat as if she would shatter at any moment. “Ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to fix that,” he lied. He helped to situate her on the cushioned chair then headed through the door into her flat once again. “Make yourself at home, I’ll only be a minute!” he called from outside.

She took this momentary time to herself to scan the familiar room for anything that might have been out of sorts since the last time she was on board. So many memories, this place, she thought as she reminisced every encounter both within the ship and wherever it had taken her. It had become a part of her heart, the missing piece to the puzzle that was her existence. She couldn’t imagine what her life would’ve been like had the Doctor not shown up on the doorstep of the Maitland household that day. She wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for him. Her consciousness would have forever been lost inside the digital world for all of eternity without him there to pull her out of it. The woman she used to be was consumed by the never-ending desire to travel the world, filling the pages of her scrapbook with her extraordinary journey into self-discovery and exploration. He offered her the universe.

Upon her observations, she noticed the work table, normally reserved for engineering all of his oddly structured gadgets and inventions, had been repurposed as a drawing board for several dozen different sketches and mathematical calculations. Her curiosity got the better of her and she stood to gain a better look at his project. Sifting through the pages, she encountered numerous models of planets and solar systems charted throughout the galaxy. Each location had been given a precise numerical equation and symbol beside it. “What have you been doing in here?” she called to him.

After a few moments, he re-entered through the door holding a travel bag full of maternity clothes and the warmest throw blanket he could find. “I wasn’t sure what you would need,” he gestured to the articles in his hands. “I hope these will be sufficient.” He placed the bag on the floor and began unfolding the blanket.

“What is all this?” she asked, holding the drawings up to the light.

“Ah, I see you’ve discovered my battle plans,” he answered, gracefully placing the blanket over her shoulders.

“Have you been scheming to start a war I don’t know about?”

“We’re already at war, and I intend to stay one step ahead of it.” He moved to the table and spread the pages out in front of him. “According to the charts lining the walls of Quynn’s battle-room, these are the exact locations of her bases of operation.”

“Wait, hang on. Did you seriously memorize all of this from just one glance?”

“Of course I did. What else did you expect me to do while she tangentially rambled on about herself, make tea?”

“What are you planning to do?”

“In order to gain an advantage over her forces, I’ll need to disrupt the inner workings of her infrastructures. Even if it means I have to take them out one by one. The weaker her hold on the planets she controls, the easier it will be to bring her down.”

“And this is what you needed my help with? To go into battle with you? Have you seen me lately?” she gestured to her appearance.

“No, no. Your job is much more important. And far less dangerous,” he assured her.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked. He reached into his pocket pulling out a pair of small audio devices and held them in front of him. “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” she began, hesitantly taking one from his open hand. “You want me to stay here on the TARDIS while you charge straight onto the battlefield, alone?”

“Precisely, I need you to be my eyes and ears. We have no idea what could be out there, what dangers we may face. This is the best alternative we have for keeping you safe.”

“And what about you? What if you end up getting yourself killed out there?”

“The TARDIS safety features will be activated in the event of my death. She will take you back home and dematerialize, hiding herself away so that she doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Clara sighed and brought her fingers to her temples in mild frustration. It certainly wasn’t the first time she considered his reckless plans to be positively suicidal, and it wouldn’t be the last either. “And what about the TARDIS, isn’t she still being tracked? Won’t they know we are coming?”

“Ah, I’ve thought about that.” Heading to the console, he pressed a few buttons on its interface then grabbed a handle-like apparatus and pulled it towards him. The time machine suddenly began to shift its power as the emergency lighting activated and flashed all around them.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m switching off the safeguards, turning off the navigation computer.”

“Right, okay. And why are we doing that exactly?”

“If I had to guess, I would say Quynn has been tracking our movements via a tracer attached to the nav-com. It must be broadcasting our time vortex signature directly to her and she’s been using it to follow us through the wake we leave behind. I’m simply interrupting the broadcast. The TARDIS is equipped with certain safety measures to ensure that flight is still possible in the event the navigation computer became damaged. Remember, we’ve done this before. We plugged you into the TARDIS telepathic interface.”

“You mean the squishy thing?”

“Clara. This is the most advanced ship in the entire universe, equipped with more scientific technology than any other race in the galaxy will ever possess. She’s a living breathing machine able to psychically translate millions of languages directly into your mind. The sheer complexity of her very existence and capabilities would take me an entire lifetime just to explain to you.” He removed a panel from the console revealing the gel-like material that formed its telepathic interface. “And yes, the squishy thing.”

“Doctor,” she started as she watched him head to the table and proceed to look over his plans. “Exactly how do you intend to take out her forces? We’ve seen their defences, their weapons. We know how powerful they are. Let’s just talk this out a bit. Do you honestly think you’ll defeat them all by running straight into battle armed with only a screwdriver?”

“Every army has its weakness, the key is simply finding it before they discover yours.”

She sighed concededly and began to accept that his mind had already been made. “Are you sure about this? What if Quynn is there waiting for us? What if this plan of yours doesn’t work? What then, Doctor?”

He sighed and turned around to face his companion. The emotions he protected inside himself had begun to bleed out. The more he tried to bandage them, the larger the wound had become. The greatest truth he had always been haunted by was the fear of failure both in himself and anyone who had ever counted on him. The fear of failing his title when challenged by the never-ending threats that seemed to find him at every turn. And yet, there wasn’t a single thing that could compare to the fear of losing the one person he loved most of all. The fear of not being able to protect her from the dangers of the universe, nor even himself. As she looked upon him with considerable apprehension in her gaze, he couldn’t help but feel defenceless against each passing moment as if it would be her last. Attempting to raise her spirits with calming conversation seemed even more irrelevant the closer they came to fighting back against the unknown dangers they now faced.

“I wish I could tell you there is nothing to worry about, that I could guarantee our success. For all I know, this could very well be the single most devastating risk I’ve ever had to take. As hard as it has been for me to admit, you were right. Whatever your fate may be cannot be avoided nor can it be predicted. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit here and allow it to happen without a fight.” He approached her slowly, suddenly breaking free of the petrified state that kept him bolted him to the floor. His words became more intense as he drew closer to her. “I will not allow the mistakes I’ve made define who I am or what I am capable of. There are people out there suffering and it is all because of me. The universe is being torn apart. History as we know it is being rewritten. It all comes down to one small moment, one fixed point in time occurring over and over again. Every action that has been taken, every word that has been said, even this very conversation. It has all happened before. A continuous loop. An infinite amount of scenarios all leading to the same outcome.”

She suddenly felt so small in front of him as he towered over her, trapping her between himself and the console. “I don’t understand,” she started, almost too afraid to speak. “What do you mean this has happened before?” She could sense the tension rising between them at their closeness to each other. She felt both cornered and protected all at the same time, a strange combination of uncertainty.

A grin formed on the Doctor’s face at the question. It had been far too long since he was last able to explain the laws of time and the universe to anyone. He removed himself from her personal space and quickly headed to the upper platform. The thoughts in his mind were bursting their way out in all directions. “Every causal loop is caused by an unchanging self-originating constant, some thing that must exist simply because it has to. Time travel can be a very tricky, very dangerous thing if you don’t know what you’re doing.” She watched as he hurried along the railing and stopped at the familiar stone bust of a man which sat on a small table near one of the bookshelves. “Take, for instance, Ludwig van Beethoven here,” he employed her, delicately placing his arm around the shoulder of the bust as if they were long-time friends.

“The composer?” she asked with mild confusion.

“No, the astronaut. Of course the composer! Now, let us also imagine there is a man who has a time machine.”

“I’ll give it a go.”

“Up and down history he goes getting into scrapes. Another thing he has is a passion for the works of Beethoven. And one day he thinks to himself, ‘What’s the point of having a time machine if you don’t get to meet your heroes?’ So off he goes to eighteenth-century Germany before the very thought of a musical masterpiece was even a figment inside the composer’s mind. But when he gets there, he discovers Ludwig has fallen upon dark times and refuses to ever compose another piece again. This didn’t happen, by the way. I’ve met Beethoven. Nice chap, very intense, loved an arm-wrestle. No, this is called the Bootstrap Paradox. Google it. The time traveller panics, he can’t bear the thought of a world without the music of Beethoven. Luckily, he’d brought all of his sheet music for Ludwig to sign. So he copies out all the concertos and the symphonies then promises to give the composer back his inspiration if he passes off the music as his own. Ludwig accepts and history continues with barely a feather ruffled. Until one day those copies reach the time traveller’s future self which prompts him to travel back in time to meet his hero. A never-ending loop. But my question is this, who originally put those notes and phrases together? Who really composed Beethoven’s Fifth?”

“You’re doing that thing with your face again,” she informed him through her puzzled expression.

“What ‘thing’?”

“That look you give when you’re trying to explain something that makes my head go fuzzy.”

“It’s called a smile, Clara. It’s what people do. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Right, wouldn’t want anyone to see passed your clever disguise. Anyway, what exactly does Beethoven have anything to do with us?”

“Nothing, and everything!” he exclaimed, heading down the stairs towards her. “All this time I’ve been blaming myself for picking up the phone, for believing myself to be solely responsible for what has happened. But I’ve realized my focus has been concentrated in the wrong place. In the end, it doesn’t matter who wrote the music. Only that it exists.” He felt himself being pulled towards her as he approached. The force that bound them together was unmistakable. The connection shared between them could never be simplified to emotion alone. They were two parts of the same mixture. No matter what they had experienced in the past, there was an unbreakable trust keeping them bound together. A trust he could see in her eyes even then as he stood as close to her as physics would allow it. “Whatever has happened to us may never have a true beginning nor an end. The only certain thing is the existence of the constant that binds us together. A constant which now rests between us, quite literally.” He smiled and peered down the length of his companion to where her body met his own.

“So you’re saying all of this is her fault? That she has trapped us in this loop, or whatever it is, forever?” she asked, placing a hand on her middle.

He snickered and rested his hand atop her own. “Not even born yet and already a trouble maker,” he teased, maintaining the grin on his face.

“She must take after you then,” she replied with a smirk.

“If we ever make it out of this alive, I’d expect we’re going to have our hands full.” He made his way towards the console’s telepathic interface.

Clara felt her smile begin to fade at his words regardless of how harmless his intentions were. There was more truth to that statement than she even realized. A great cloud of doubt arose over his hubris in their success of this potentially suicidal mission. What if he was right? What if none of what they were trying to accomplish would even matter in the end? There was no way of knowing if this plan of his had already been tried and failed a hundred times before. No way to know if they would be altering their daughter’s future or simply allowing it to happen. What if there was no way out?

The Doctor rubbed his hands together in preparation for their departure to the first location on his list, then hovered them over the interface as he looked to her for support. “Are you ready?” he asked nervously. The reluctance in her nod was as transparent as the room they stood in. He couldn’t help reminiscing over the liveliness she once displayed towards him whenever they found themselves embarking on a new adventure. It was as if the fire inside of her had been left to die out. He took a deep breath and slowly lowered his hands towards the gel-like interface.

“Doctor, wait,” she spoke, freezing him in place as she placed her hand upon his forearm. “We’ll do it together.”

He braved a smile her way, then closed his eyes and dipped his fingertips into the cool substance below. He concentrated all of his thoughts towards their destination, allowing his mind to focus on a singular image. His senses began to paint a picture of the tangible dampness of the controls, the feel of its material on his bare skin, the grip of her fingers around his arm, the rhythm of her heart beating through the palm of her hand. He tried to ignore the distractions surrounding him and his concern for his companion’s wilted form. To land safely at the correct location, his mind must first be completely relieved of any attachments he held inside of his aching hearts. The gel forming around his fingers connected to every fibre of his skin as if they were the same being. He thought about where they needed to go, what they needed to accomplish, and above all, the importance of being successful in their mission. As he focused on the image of the planet in his mind, sending it through the interface like coordinates on a map, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the strong vision of his fetal daughter calling to him through her mother’s touch. His mind was redirected towards the love he shared for her and his determination to save her so that one day he would be able to hold her in his arms.

His eyes flew open at the sound of the time rotor starting up. The mechanisms inside the centre chamber began to ascended and descended back into itself. A look of concern passed over his face at his lack of concentration during the interlinking process. There was no way of knowing if the destination had been correctly received by the interface. The only certain thing was that the TARDIS began to materialize into action as her signature time-travelling clattered chorus sounded all around them. He hastily shifted his focus toward his friend. The look of surprise confined in his expression at their departure was matched only by her uneasiness of what they were about to encounter once they had landed. “I’m suddenly having my doubts about this,” he admitted.

“Well, the TARDIS seems to think she knows where she’s going,” she countered, trying to remain positive.

“One can only hope.”

#12th doctor #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #twelfth doctor #the doctor #dr who #dr who fan fiction #dr who fanfiction #twelve/clara #clara oswald #whouffaldi

[bumpsweat]

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[glittership]

Episode #74 — "Best for Baby" by Rivqa Rafael

Direct download here!

And here’s the RSS feed: http://glittership.podbean.com/feed/

Episode 74 is part of the Autumn 2018 issue!

Support GlitterShip by picking up your copy here: http://www.glittership.com/buy/

    Best for Baby

by Rivqa Rafael

When I jack in, I shove the plug into its socket harder than I should. The disconnect–reconnect tone combination sounds; the terminal is as grumpy as I am. Who wouldn’t be? I’ve been kept back late in the lab to finish a job. Which was stolen from me. By the person who asked me to do this, as a “favor.” Who also happens to be my supervisor, so I can’t say no.

I load up the interface, drilling straight down to the zygote’s chromosomal level. Hayden’s been a bit careless, like he always is on the rare occasions he actually gets in the wet lab. I get to work, fixing his mistakes. Back in my body, I’m grinding my teeth and hunching my shoulders. Before I sink deeper into the VR, I take some deep breaths and roll my shoulders the way Lena showed me. Her yoga obsession has fringe benefits for me—my body needs to be relaxed if I’m going to do my job properly. Just for a moment, I’m back in our living room with Lena coaxing Kris and me to stretch with her. It’s enough to refocus me.

For all that it’s a science, there’s an art to working in the interface. The prion scalpel is tiny—obviously—and delicate; it needs to be handled with care, the type of care that only comes from being completely in tune with your neural implant and the system it’s connected to. It’s something Hayden seems to lack. Keeping my movements graceful (thank you, Lena), I begin to repair the damage. In here, I’m both the pipette and the hand depressing the button; I’m the prion scalpel; I’m the machine. The translation overlay is just a guide; I’ve been able to recognize bases by shape for a long time now. When I started, I thought I’d never remember the sequences, but I know our most common mods by heart now.

[Full story after the cut.]

  Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 74 for June 17, 2019. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you. Today we have a GlitterShip original, which is available in the Autumn 2018 issue that you can pick up at GlitterShip.com/buy, on Gumroad at gum.co/gship08, or on Amazon, Nook, Kobo, and other ebook retailers.

If you’ve been waiting to pick up your copy of the Tiptree Award Honor Listed book, GlitterShip Year Two, there’s a great deal going on for Pride over at StoryBundle. GlitterShip Year Two is part of a Pride month LGBTQ fantasy fiction bundle. StoryBundle is a pay-what-you-want bundle site. For $5 or more, you can get four great books, and for $15 or more, you’ll get an additional five books, including GlitterShip Year Two, and a story game. That comes to as little as $1.50 per book or game. The StoryBundle also offers an option to give 10% of your purchase amount to charity. The charity for this bundle is Rainbow Railroad, a charity that helps queer folks get to a safe place if their country is no longer safe for them.

http://www.storybundle.com/pride

Our story today is “Best for Baby” by Rivqa Rafael, but first, our poem, which is “Aubade: King Under the Mountain” by Tristan Beiter.

    Tristan Beiter is a poet and speculative fiction nerd originally from Central Pennsylvania. His poems have previously appeared in GlitterShip, Eternal Haunted Summer, Bird’s Thumb, and Laurel Moon. When not writing or reading he can usually be found crafting absurdities with his boyfriend or shouting about literary theory. Find him on Twitter @TristanBeiter.

  Aubade: King Under the Mountain

by Tristan Beiter

  I wake to the crackle of the thousand-year hearth in the center of the room, to the bells tolling. Never church bells, but the deer harness hanging on the wall.

I stretch towards his space, removing my earplugs—which I have taken to wearing since even the tomtes snore something terrible. Luxuriate in the furs: big piles of wolf pelts and

bear skins that make up our bed under the intertwined roots of these seven great pine trees which are our roof, warm, with the wind through them and older than even Klampe-Lampe,

who has risen already and left. But he’ll be back soon. I can see the pile of battered, burnished gold and silver, still waiting to bedizen him, bracers and torcs and earrings

and necklace upon necklace—careless ugly riches that have lasted generations of trolls living hundreds of years, all mounded up and displayed on knobbled bodies

and in untamed hair. I pluck my earring, bracer, heavy silver beads from the ground and put them on. When he returns, he’ll carry me in his left hand to the throne room under the mountain.

    And now for “Best for Baby” by Rivqa Rafael, read by A.J. Fitzwater.

Rivqa Rafael is a lapsed microbiologist who lives in Sydney, Australia, where she writes speculative fiction about queer women, Jewish women, cyborg futures, and hope in dystopias. Her short stories have been published in Defying Doomsday, Crossed Genres’ Resist Fascism, and elsewhere. She is co-editor of feminist robot anthology Mother of Invention.

AJ Fitzwater is a dragon of repute living between the cracks of Christchurch, New Zealand. Their fiction appears in such venues as Clarkesworld, Lackingtons, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and Glittership. A collection of their Cinrak the Lesbian Capybara Pirate stories will be out in May 2020 from Queen of Swords Press. Their stranger than fiction can be found on Twitter @AJFitzwater

    Best for Baby

by Rivqa Rafael

When I jack in, I shove the plug into its socket harder than I should. The disconnect–reconnect tone combination sounds; the terminal is as grumpy as I am. Who wouldn’t be? I’ve been kept back late in the lab to finish a job. Which was stolen from me. By the person who asked me to do this, as a “favor.” Who also happens to be my supervisor, so I can’t say no.

I load up the interface, drilling straight down to the zygote’s chromosomal level. Hayden’s been a bit careless, like he always is on the rare occasions he actually gets in the wet lab. I get to work, fixing his mistakes. Back in my body, I’m grinding my teeth and hunching my shoulders. Before I sink deeper into the VR, I take some deep breaths and roll my shoulders the way Lena showed me. Her yoga obsession has fringe benefits for me—my body needs to be relaxed if I’m going to do my job properly. Just for a moment, I’m back in our living room with Lena coaxing Kris and me to stretch with her. It’s enough to refocus me.

For all that it’s a science, there’s an art to working in the interface. The prion scalpel is tiny—obviously—and delicate; it needs to be handled with care, the type of care that only comes from being completely in tune with your neural implant and the system it’s connected to. It’s something Hayden seems to lack. Keeping my movements graceful (thank you, Lena), I begin to repair the damage. In here, I’m both the pipette and the hand depressing the button; I’m the prion scalpel; I’m the machine. The translation overlay is just a guide; I’ve been able to recognize bases by shape for a long time now. When I started, I thought I’d never remember the sequences, but I know our most common mods by heart now.

Finding my rhythm, I begin to work a little faster; I’ve almost forgotten about Hayden and his insistence on getting his grubby hands all over this project. I don’t have forever in here—the zygote needs to go back on ice—but I’m in the zone now and there’s still plenty of time. I’ve got this. Sure, I’m not going to get any credit for it, but Hayden’s going to owe me. I’m logging everything, so he can’t conveniently “forget.” If I play my cards right, this might be the last step to me finally getting a promotion. Goodness knows I deserve one. Maybe Hayden would even back me up.

I zoom out to look back at my work so far, and gasp. Something’s wrong. I should be about halfway done, but it’s like I was never here. No, worse. There are deadly cancer mutations here, lots of them, right where I was working. All types that wouldn’t show up until later in life, too. None of it was here before, and time is short.

  You had to know Hayden pretty well to pick up his aura of desperation as he talked up the state-of-the-art equipment. PCR machines and centrifuges just look like boxes with touchscreens if you don’t understand what they do, after all.

The couple lacked the air of anguish that infertile couples usually have when they walk through. Or the wonder often displayed by more-than-twos and gonadically incompatible—my heart panged as I thought of what it would take for us, how we’d—stop, it was pointless even to think about it, I told myself for the millionth time. I just worked here; I’d never be a client. Kris had already banned me from talking too much about work. Like me, she was implanted. You grow up knowing your place, not rocking the boat, aiming for what’s feasible. Lena was more willing to indulge me the fantasy; would we split everything evenly, or would one of us provide the mitochondria and the other two a set of chromosomes each? Both could work. I snapped myself out of it. Kris was right about this one; I just wished I could convince myself to believe it as thoroughly as she did.

These two eyed the machinery with indifference. Probably here for mods, and mods only. If they weren’t using a surrogate, I’d drink my Taq polymerase.

“Impressive. How do you guarantee your results, though?” Mom-to-be glittered with diamonds—genuine, I could only assume. Closest I’d ever got to any, anyway.

“As I already explained…” Hayden caught my eye before I could look away. “Perhaps you’d like to meet one of our geneticists? Merav can answer your questions in far more detail.”

Dad-to-be’s suit was so well-cut and so fine, it might even be real wool. His hair was immaculate and he smelled of expensive cologne. His HUD glasses were shiny, a model too new for me to recognize. “That would be excellent.”

Setting my face into a neutral expression, I swiveled on my stool to face them properly while Hayden introduced them as Mr Blake and Dr Ashdowne. The names rang a vague bell and they were obviously capital-I Important, but I didn’t work it out until later. Hayden scolded me later for not standing up, but it just didn’t occur to me. As it was, I was going to have to start mixing my reagents again by the time this interruption was over. “I’d be happy to.” I did my best to distill and explain the years of research into genetic variables, what we could reliably reproduce and what we couldn’t, how we managed successive generations of mods, and how we tested each zygote’s chromosomes before allowing it to progress to blastomere—all non-invasive.

They nodded along as I spoke; I couldn’t tell if they really understood, but Hayden smiled at me, which was a rare occurrence, so I was lulled into feeling grateful.

At some point, they started talking to each other, right over the top of me. They dithered about hair color, wondering whether the stereotypes about blonde hair still held. Did they notice the irritation in my voice as I tried to explain how many other variables might be at play in their child’s success?

“We just want the best for our baby,” Ashdowne said, almost pleading, but there was an edge to her voice that made me think that “best” meant something different to her than it did to me.

“Of course. But this is just the beginning. We can’t control much of growth and development when upbringing plays such a large part. And epigenetics have an effect as well.” Keeping my voice even and patient was hard; there were only so many ways I could say the same thing. “Think of it as… venture capitalism. You’re making the best possible investment with every tool at your disposal, but that doesn’t guarantee that things will work out exactly how you planned.”

Ashdowne nodded, but Blake’s eyes were flinty. “You’re saying our child might crash, and it won’t be your responsibility?”

“I’m saying your kid might dye their hair one day, and that’s not something we can control for. We’re very clear about what we promise and what we don’t. It’s in the contract; I assume you’ve read it. It’s up to you.” Maybe it wasn’t the right PR line, but I wasn’t PR.

They signed the contract.

  I put the zygote back on ice and try to log into another. This couple only wants one child; that’s part of why they want it perfect. Still, each client typically has more than will be used; we need that margin for error as much as the IVF specialists do. There are four more zygotes. This should be salvageable. But each one gives me an “unavailable” notification. What is going on?

Returning to the first zygote, I allow myself a tiny sigh of relief when I can still get back in. It’s a mess, but I can fix it in time. I think. I set up an extra firewall, the best I can code on the fly. We’re down to the wire here. Last chance to get it right, assuming the other zygotes are gone for good. If this one doesn’t work, doesn’t stick, we’re going to have to fess up and get more samples—if they don’t cancel the contract, which wouldn’t surprise me. I’d heard that Ashdowne had found the induction and retrieval unusually difficult, and it wasn’t fun at the best of times. So much for the Important clients. Fucking Hayden, honestly.

Working in the same order I always do, I begin cleaning up the chromosomes. Again. It’s almost easier this time. The errors are so obvious, it would be comical if it weren’t so dire. As though someone used a pickaxe instead of a prion scalpel.

I’m wincing, I realize, just looking at these errors. I’ve never seen so many cancer mutations in one place. Forcing my body to relax, I get back into my rhythm. This is definitely within my capabilities to fix, and with the logs I have running, maybe I’ll get some recognition for it. Maybe even that bonus Hayden had hinted at, even though it’s seeming less and less likely that it’ll be him authorizing it.

My firewall pings; someone’s trying to log in. Hayden.

“That firewall is going to look very suspicious to the auditors,” he says, using a private channel on the company comms.

“Standard protocol when there’s a security breach, which there certainly seems to have been. I hope you’re looking into it, Hayden?” I’m pretty sure he isn’t, but I choose my words carefully, aware that my logs will pick this up along with everything else.

  Hayden added me to the team officially, and I had to sit in on endless meetings when I should have been doing real work. He assured me that it would be worth it; that there were bonuses for jobs like this. That is, jobs for billionaire corporate royalty like Oliver Blake and Penelope Ashdowne. So I did my best, and that seemed to be good enough. From what I could tell, they liked having an “expert” on board, even if they didn’t actually listen to me very often.

But then one day, Hayden was in the meeting before I arrived, chatting to “Oliver” about the stock market and complimenting “Penelope” on her outfit. After all these weeks, I was still calling them by titles; Hayden had said it was important I was respectful. That didn’t seem to apply to him, though. He ran a hand over his sleek hair, as though checking it still hid his neural implant. “Oh, Merav, didn’t you get my memo? I really need you on that rush job. I’ll take this from here.”

“But—” I bit my tongue quickly. Hayden was my supervisor and he was within his rights to do this. Outside the room, I checked my work datapad.

I hadn’t missed any messages.

  “Oh, this doesn’t look like a security breach to me. Seems like an internal error.”

Staying quiet, I carefully roll chromosome 19 back up while I think through my options. There’s no way an audit would incriminate me; my logs are streaming as they should. What is Hayden playing at? “Have you checked on the zygotes in meatspace?” I ask finally.

“Some kind of lab mishap. Terrible, isn’t it?” So that was why the other zygotes were “unavailable,” with this one only missed because I’d been working on it.

My heart thunders in my chest. “That’s going to suck for whoever made that mistake. What’s worse, do you think, the docked pay or having to apologize in person to the parents?”

“Tough one. Sure is a shame for that person.”

“Still, one zygote is better than none.”

“Fuck me, you’re actually trying to fix it,” he says. It takes me a second to notice he’s swapped to socmed comms, the one that’s supposed to be the most secure on the market. No logging options at all.

“No, I am fixing it. It’s my job.” Frantically, I switch to loudspeaker mode, and my datapad to record ambient sound. It’ll catch all the lab noises as well, but it’s the best I can do. The red light blinks at me; I allow myself to exhale and return to the chromosome I was working on.

Instead of replying, Hayden changes tack. “You have a long-term girlfriend, don’t you?”

“Two, actually.” In ordinary circumstances, I’d enjoy flustering Hayden with that. It’s not a secret and we encounter plenty of polyamorous folk in our line of work, but I’m completely unsurprised that he hasn’t paid attention. But I’m too stressed and wary to enjoy the moment.

“I, ah, huh.” He falters for a second; I hear skepticism that I, of all people, could possibly have not just one but two lovers. But he’s clearly a man on a mission and plunges on. “Ever wanted a baby of your own? The… three of you?”

I finish up the short arm of chromosome 2; no colon cancer on my watch. “We might adopt one day, if we can afford it.”

“What if you could, though? Have a biological child, I mean. You’d want to?”

“I don’t want things I can’t have. Waste of time.” I borrow Kris’s words for this lie, but it’s hard to imagine a person I’m less interested in having this discussion with than Hayden.

He does this fake laugh, short and barking. “Lots of other things to spend that money on anyway, right?”

“Sure, if you had it.” Just a couple more silent mutations and I can move on to cleaning up the epigenetic layer. Time to work out the end game. “What’s this about, Hayden?”

“What if I told you there was better money in just… stopping now, if you know what I’m saying?”

I recalibrate the scalpel and begin clearing the methylation around the DNA; there’s way too much, because of course—Hayden fouled up everything he could. “No, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Jesus, are you stupid, or are you being deliberately obtuse?”

I take my time replying. I’m working, after all, and this part is fiddly. “You’re going to have to explain yourself either way.”

He only hesitates for a moment. “I know some powerful people. People who have an interest in seeing Blake and Ashdowne suffer.”

“They’re last names now? You were such pals.” Methylation is at regulation levels now. Next, I sculpt the histones to the shape that centuries of research has determined to be ideal. Working quickly, I correct the errors to the surrounding proteins. A perfect zygote.

“You know what your problem is, Merav? You have no idea how to play the game. You think hard work is rewarded. It isn’t. You have to be daring. Take a risk. Not as though the modded are ever going to give us a hand up, right?”

  That first meeting. “You’ve got one of those implants, I see,” Ashdowne said, eyeing the side of my head, where my undercut showed off the neural implant. Like my early adopter parents, I was proud of my body hacks and what they could do. No gen mods in the world can tune you into tech like an implant can. Wearables? VR headsets? Ha.

Blake dragged me back to reality. “They’re illegal if you’ve been modded, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Unfair advantage to have both, right?” I struggled to keep the sarcasm from my voice. A thousand years on my salary, and, by inference, my parents’, wouldn’t be enough to pay for mods. I might like my implant, but I didn’t like being treated like dirt for having it.

Hayden was all polite formality. “Merav’s implant allows her to interface directly with our machinery. We couldn’t do what we do without our ‘planted staff.” Hayden was quite willing to keep his implant covered to keep the clients happy, and he was pretty enough to get away with it.

“Ah.” His expression didn’t change, but the sneer was evident anyway.

“We just bought that little company that makes this brand, remember, dear?” Ashdowne raised an eyebrow at her husband. “Whatever it takes to get the best.”

“That’s right!” Hayden said. “You get what you pay for in this industry. It’s a cliché, but it’s true. If you’ll come this way? You haven’t seen the clinic yet.”

And then they were gone, leaving only the scent of cologne and perfume.

  They’d deserve it. They would. They care as little for me as a person. For a terrible, shameful second, I’m tempted. I imagine it; going off the grid, doing illegal mods for the rest of my life. Holding a baby, my baby, our baby, in my arms.

I zoom out and look at the zygote in its entirety. Regardless of how horrid this baby’s parents are and my dead-end job that undervalues me and underpays me, after I’m done, doctors and nurses will make every attempt to give this tiny clump of cells the chance to become a person. And these days, they tend to get it right, especially with a proven surrogate. The mutations that are left won’t kill this child, only make their later life a misery of radiotherapy and chemo. Teach the parents empathy? I don’t think so. In an instant, it’s clear what I need to do.

“You’re right, they want us right where we are.”

He chuckles with relief. “I knew you’d come around.”

“But I’m pretty sure assaulting their offspring isn’t going to change that.” I terminate the call with Hayden and send everything to head office; the logs of my work on the zygote, all of today’s communication between the two of us. Everything. Highest level alert, coded “suspected bioterrorism”; that should take care of it. They’ll deal with him better than I can.

“Time check,” I command the interface.

“Five minutes, twelve point four seconds.”

It’s enough time. Carefully, making sure not to introduce any last-minute errors, I unwind one 3p25 and fly up to OXTR. Just a couple of small changes are enough; a haplotype here, a couple of extra copies of an allele there, and I’m done and zipping the chromosome back up.

It’s a tiny change; there’s so much beyond one gene at play here. Goodness only knows what kind of methylation, and socialization for that matter, lies ahead for this kid. But the way I see it, a little extra empathy never hurt anybody.

  END

    “Best for Baby” is copyright Rivqa Rafael 2019.

“Aubade: King Under the Mountain” is copyright Tristan Beiter 2019.

This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.

You can support GlitterShip by checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, leaving reviews on iTunes, or buying your own copy of the Autumn 2018 issue at www.glittership.com/buy. You can also support us by picking up a free audiobook at  www.audibletrial.com/glittership.

Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint of “The Chamber of Souls” by Zora Mai Quýnh.

Episode #74 — “Best for Baby” by Rivqa Rafael was originally published on GlitterShip

#GlitterShip #lgbtq fiction #queer fiction #short stories #science fiction and fantasy #podcast

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The Melinda & Bill Gates Foundation is dedicated to helping the world be a better, safer place. Tbh, I’d rather read about this article than read yet another terrorist related article.BBC the leader of the opposition met with Terrorist MEND, An organisation that praises Loan Wolf Attacks, calls to JIHAD and Traitior status against our war dead. But the BBC are talking about and Effin suit case in Nepal. FFS. I want my Licence fee back.

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Become their CHINA’s gang of influence of “international beggar states” venezuela, sri lanka, Azerbaijan, Greece, Romania. US energy secretary would prefer you lug around a suitcase of coal instead! It’s a really sad situation. I wish more people understood what brain dead really means….I know it’s different when it’s your baby though. Chas, he’s being kept “alive” by science. Without machines, his heart would’ve stopped long ago. I believe in God, but people need to accept fate.

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Regardless if he was brain dead or in a persistent vegetative state, the doctors were not correct in their assessment. They tried to pressure his parents into removing him from life support so that his organs could be harvested and he would save other people.A couple of years ago i watched documentary where a guy that had had a very bad accident was declared brain dead by the hospital and they asked his family to turn off life support the family refused.

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Working in the medical profession I see this often, the Thin Blue Line Pro Police Shirt can not, or is not prepared to let go. But this young man is brain dead, and the machines he is attached to are only prolonging his death, let him rest in peace. How can you say science doesn’t trump faith, when it is only science that is keeping him alive. God is far more powerful than people give Him credit for, even some Christians. God can work miracles if people would just allow Him. Ive witnessed it first hand. Science may be keeping this man alive, but God could completely restore him.

[genforwardlegacy-blog]

Ever done something, well, stupid that’s changed your life??

http://genforward.org/blog/what-if-how-one-decision-can-change-a-life/

Ok, let’s start today's GenForward blog here by saying that I’m pretty happy in my life right now. Yes it would be great to have a bunch more money, and to maybe have to do a bit less work, and maybe have a bit more in the way of actual family time, but hey the big things outweigh the little things.

I sometimes sit back and think about the madness that has been my life. Of how I went from being a small boy growing up in a small town in the county, to where I am now, sitting here in the USA, married to someone from another different country in Europe, doing what I’m doing and being happy. The odds are ridiculous.

My past has been filled with good times and bad, smart decisions and even more poor ones (but usually made with reasons of good intent). I have earned money in the hundreds of thousands per year, and I have been practically homeless. I have travelled all over the world and lived like a rock star, and more often I’ve barely scratched my way though to the next week.

All of it is what’s made the “me” that I actually like today. Much as some of the bad stuff I may fleetingly wish to change, I understand that it cannot happen and still give me the same end result. So instead of trying to change my past (when my son finally finishes inventing the time machine he’s been working on, with Lego and bits of cardboard box, then I may actually have a choice in changing the past, but for now...), I embrace it. I try to see what lessons can be learned and maybe passed on.

All of that being said, there are certain moments that I look back on and can see how they would have potentially changed EVERYTHING. Moments when my life would have gone on a track that was 180 degrees from where I ended up heading. Who can say where the journey might have ended in that case, maybe better, maybe worse. I think ultimately I would probably have been happier in my work for many years, however that’s by the by.

The incident in question was when I was 17 years old, shortly before I moved out of home (which is another story altogether). I had been born into the home computer revolution. All of my life I had been involved with computers, video games and electronics.

I got my first system in about 1976 or 77. It was a Binatone game system that you plugged straight into the TV.  Using this wonder of modern technology, me and my brother were able to battle it out in various “sports” involving a court with various bits filled in or missing.  There were 3 sides for squash, 2 sides with open ends for tennis, 4 sides with a hole at each end for football (soccer), and the game involved bouncing a square dot of a “ball” around with a stick of varying lengths (long for normal setting, short for pro).

Over the years I had exposure to everything from the Spectrum ZX81 with it’s amazing 1k of inbuilt RAM (you could upgrade by plugging in a small suitcase sized brick that gave you 16K), through my BBC B with which I started to learn BASIC programming, then to a series of Commodore machines (which were practically impossible to programme but had the best games).

I had always loved these things and could regularly be found down the local computer/CB radio store, acting as a pretend employee, technology expert and general gaming guru. When I hit 16 and left High School, I then picked up Computer Science as one of my Advanced Level subjects. I found it easy but didn’t do particularly well at the exam, primarily due to the mark being about 50% based on a programming exercise.

I had proclaimed that I would write a programme to catalogue my ever growing record collection. It was supposed to be carried out over several terms of homework assignments. Due to my usual fascination with beer rather than schoolwork, I ended up sitting in a corridor finishing off my project (18 months work condensed into 4 days) just as the envelopes were being sealed to send them off for marking. Needless to say, “Not his best work”, would have been a fair tagline.

So, next step was either university or work. Given that I had just spent 2 years avoiding education, my parents didn’t want to back me in going to university, to just bum about and throw away another two years or more. Besides, I wanted to go and earn some money. I had had a taste of proper money (well, over 100 pounds a week) working in a local bacon factory over the summer holidays, and I liked the feel of cash to burn.

My Stepfather was and IT Director for a big multinational firm at the time, and he was good enough to pull a few strings to get me an interview as a trainee computer programmer/systems designer, at a small IT firm about 15 miles away. This was right up my street, so I was well chuffed with the whole idea.

I went along for the interview which really consisted of a bunch of people being sat in a room and given an IQ test, followed by a 5 minute chat where I could impress them with my 3 week A level project, which had barely qualified for a grade, written in a coding language that they didn’t use.

Next thing I hear is that they want another talk. I am told when I turn up that although I had no experience, they were talking to me because I had scored higher in the IQ test than the guy who was running the company (had no idea what that meant then but it sounded good). I am also sure that my Stepfather probably had a finger in greasing the wheels. I was to join them and start the following Monday morning at 9am, sharp.

Well, I was there by 9am, but I wasn’t exactly “sharp”. You see I had been out to celebrate my new job on the Friday......and the Saturday.....and the Sunday night. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the Sunday night had involved crossing paths with a young lady, with whom I became quite smitten (not sure if alcohol was at play here but I had been smitten by her sister 2 nights earlier as well). Being naïve teenagers, living in the country and with no place to go, we left the pub (well after closing time as we were both regulars and the landlord was a believer in after hours “lock-ins”).

She was a little older than me and actually had a car (of sorts), so she drove me home and we parked outside my house. Then, how shall I put it, time kind of got away from me. By the time I could drag myself away, I had about 20 minutes to go and get showered and dressed, and to catch the bus that would take me to my new job. At this point, sleep was simply not an option. But hey, I was 17 and could officially handle anything.

I arrive at the new job and a complete doomsday scenario unfolds.

Instead of the engaging induction into the world of the company, and computers in general, that I had been expecting, I was greeted with a book. They explained that as I knew nothing, I should start by reading bit about the basics of programming in “C”, and that till I had an understanding of that they really couldn’t do anything with me.

I was led to a room where a couple of what looked like 20 somethings, clicking away at chunky computer keyboards. Apart from the click of the keys, there was silence. The room had no windows. Air conditioning in the UK is still few and far between; in 1987....well, just no, so it was hot. The book they gave me might as well have been titled “1001 ways to be certain not to stimulate any interest at all in your reader”. It had to happen.

I probably managed about 30 minutes before my eyes started to sting and get heavy. I made a trip to the toilet to splash water on my face. Good for maybe another 15 minutes, by now the room was spinning. More water. HELP!

Next thing I knew, I was prodded awake by the HR person who kindly informed me that, due to the fact that I had fallen asleep twice, and that my snoring was interfering with the other coders, my services were no longer required. They took back their book, and I was thrown out unceremoniously into the street, to wait for the next bus home.

My Stepfather got on the phone to the firm, and tried to explain a bit and fight my corner. It got to the point where it was conceded that the boss may have overreacted a bit, but now that he had, he wasn’t backing down. That couple of hours signaled the end of my career in computing.

Although I did have a genuine passion for computers and computing, as was generally the case back then, the education we had received bore no relation to what was wanted in the work place. Although I applied for other jobs, the next thing I got offered was a job in a local supermarket. To be fair, not exactly the toughest job to land. However it was money, and given that I had just decided to move out of home (and in with the girl whose attractions had so distracted me, so maybe it wasn’t just the drink), money mattered in a big way now as I had bills.

From there, I got promoted within a week, and that was the beginning of a long and varied path to where I am today. Although I do look back on that moment as pivotal in my life, and it’s one of those where the “If you could do one thing differently” question raises its head, as I have mentioned before, I don’t regret it. It would have changed a great many things in my life I’m sure, but that’s not my story now.  It’s done. I’m happy now.

Despite this, the reason I relate this story, and I have told this to my son as well, is to illustrate how one stupid decision (and lets face it, sitting up all night before you’re about to start a new job is pretty stupid, whatever the “excuse”), can change the course of a person’s life. Fortunately for me, it worked out ok in the end and it only really affected me.

The kind of bad decisions I really worry about my son making, are the ones like taking a drink and getting behind the wheel of a car, or not having the ability to say “No” to his friends, when every sane bone in his body should be screaming at him that what he’s getting involved with is wrong.

The kind of things that really have to take-backs, no do-over’s, it’s done. The problem is, you can tell your children all day long, but at the end of the day, there’s no reason they are likely to be any smarter than you or I were at that age. It’s kinda tough to explain to them how little they really know, especially as they progress though the dangerous teenage years with temptations of alcohol, drugs and sex lying there in front of them. That's a big part of why we came up with GenForward, to have the answers there for them without having to ask directly. You might not be lucky enough to get the question from them till after it's too late so some advice beats none.

They are already struggling to create their own personality and be their own person. Old enough to think they know everything, yet young enough to know next to nothing. Well, that was me at least and, though the world has changed a great deal since those times; people haven’t so much I think.

#kermit #genforward #funny #life #learning #job #fired #alcohol #stupid #history #genealogy

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