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breakingsomething · 4 years

Text

the fall part thirteen - the storm (part two)

basic summary: the storm continues. anti's still a bitch. henrik works through some stuff.

trigger warnings: seizure, suicidal ideation

tagslist: @synonymsforzombie @spicydanhowell @skyewardlight @dreaming-of-stories-and-stars @cest-mellow @graveyardlettuce @lower-your-expectationss

half an hour after the blackout

anti was still on the floor.

marvin hadn't been able to move him. he'd gotten his wet hoodie off, leaving him in a plain black shirt, but he'd refused to change into the new clothes chase had brought him. he hadn't even spoken since his original outburst, instead opting to press himself against the cupboards and lash out numbly whenever marvin tried to get near. "come on, you fucking cunt, you wanted me to let you inside," marvin sighed, exasperated. "the least you can do is cooperate."

anti shook his head wildly, eyes black and wide, lips slightly parted. marvin could hear his breathing, loud and raspy. "hey," he said softly. "anti. this fucking sucks for all of us, k? but you're gonna get even more sick if you don't get changed out of those wet clothes and that'll be miserable for all of us."

"still being a bitch?" chase asked, walking into the kitchen with a bundle in hand. he sat down cross legged next to marvin, tossing a towel onto anti's lap. "here. take. use. and also -" he unfolded a blanket and tossed that at anti too. he didn't catch it, just stared straight ahead, twitching slightly. chase frowned. "jeez, did being in the rain for an hour do this to him?"

"dunno," marvin murmured. truth was, he thought it was definitely more than that. he reached out and shook anti's shoulder gently, causing him to flinch even within his mostly unresponsive state. "an-ti. come on, man. fuck, what am i supposed to do - anti!"

anti shook his head again. he opened his mouth, making a strangled sound in his throat, then promptly began coughing again, clutching at his neck frantically. he made a deliberate sign that marvin didn't recognize, slicing his left hand up and round his shoulders.

"i - i don't know that one, anti," marvin said helplessly. anti gave up, sinking down and coughing again. marvin nudged the blanket and towel closer to him. "here. dry yourself. i'm gonna get you water, hang on."

he did as he'd said and handed the glass to anti, making sure to partially keep ahold of it as he remembered anti dropping his cup at the hospital. while he did that, chase tugged marvin's phone out of his jeans pocket, sliding it over to anti. "here. you need electricity, right? drain marvin's phone if you need to."

"hey," marvin protested. "at least use your own if you want to sacrifice, dickwad."

chase shrugged. "he's your friend. besides, i'm texting lucas."

marvin blinked as he took that in, then nodded. "ah, yeah, fair. lucas is… a pretty cool guy." fuck, how was he going to bring up the fact that he knew chase liked him? marvin was very bad at this.

"he is, yeah," chase murmured. he was on his own phone, texting as anti clutched marvin's in his hands. "we might go to costa this weekend if this storm blows over by then."

"oh," marvin said. "as a - as a date, right?"

wow. way to be subtle. marvin mentally kicked himself as chase spluttered, face going visibly red even in the darkness. "i - what - no! dude, i'm straight. stacy, remember? i had a wife, marvin."

"bisexuality is a thing," marvin argued. "i'm bi. jackie's - i know lots of people who are bi. you could be bi."

"i'm not - marvin, give it a rest!" even as chase turned away from him, marvin could hear the anger in his voice. "i'm not bi, so lay off it. fuck's sake."

a hot vat of guilt swirled in marvin's chest. he hadn't meant to upset him. "sorry," he said, voice small. "i just thought - i'm sorry."

chase snorted. "well, your thought was wrong." then he hesitated, still turned to face the wall instead of marvin. "why did you - think i liked him?"

marvin hesitated, wondering how much to say. eventually he decided to go easy. he didn't want to pressure chase into talking about anything he didn't want to talk about. "i don't know. i guess i just thought you looked sweet together."

chase rolled his eyes and mimed gagging. "ew, boy cooties!" he said in a childish voice, and the two of them giggled.

anti suddenly groaned loudly. when they turned to him, they could see him rolling his eyes clearly. "hey there, glitch bastard. have you recovered from your angst coma?"

anti snorted. he sat up properly, wincing as he pressed his right hand to the floor without thinking. "fine," he signed, yet again. he picked up the towel from the floor and buried his face in it on his knees. marvin and chase exchanged glances.

"well, here's some clothes for you to change into," chase said uncertainly. he nudged the clothes over towards him. "i'm gonna go - do… something else. that's not here. bye."

wait! came a voice. marvin and chase yelped with shock. the voice was flat and electronic, and also sounded australian, for some reason. it seemed to be coming from chase's phone, which anti was resting his hand on. where's my scarf?

"you can talk using a phone?" chase asked, amazed. "why didn't you do that before?"

anti sighed through his nose. because it takes a hell of a lot of energy. i can barely sign and just wanted to get your attention.

he started coughing wildly into his arm again, and chase's phone screen darkened. chase raised an eyebrow at marvin, who shrugged and looked back at anti. "your scarf is being washed, with your hoodie. we can wash the rest of your clothes too, i guess, if you go to the bathroom and get fucking changed. and for a shower too if you want. actually, i don't know where you've been staying, but i'm gonna say it. you stink. go do that or i swear we'll kick you out again."

they helped anti stand shakily, swaying on his feet. once he was up, he pushed the other two off, leaning against the kitchen counter. "did i die and go to hell?" he signed. "i hate this."

"we hate it too, don't worry," marvin said, not so gently pushing anti towards the kitchen door. "i'll walk you there to make sure you don't do anything. now go."

and he did. one step done. fantastic.

forty five minutes after the blackout

there was a knock on henrik's door.

"it's me," chase's voice said loudly. henrik groaned and pulled his covers further over his head. "can i come in?"

"please don't," henrik said in a small, wobbling voice. he scrubbed at his face, turning to bury himself in his pillows.

there was a brief moment of silence. "ok, i feel like i should come in anyway, cause you sound really upset and you always tell me you don't like to leave me alone when i'm upset, so i'm coming in. just a warning."

henrik didn't even have the energy to protest. he kept his face covered with his blankets like a child as the door creaked open and chase padded inside, clicking the door shut behind him. henrik held his breath, barely moving at all. the quiet was deafening.

a hand appeared on top of his blankets. it waved before pulling the covers away from henrik's face, slowly enough that he could stop him if he wanted. chase's face popped up, grinning. "hello down there," he said cheerfully. henrik flushed and turned away, embarrassed.

chase walked round to the other side of his bed and climbed on, much to henrik's dismay. "hey," he said, quieter and much more serious sounding. he pushed himself under the covers with henrik, rolling over and smiling softly at him. then his smile faded slightly. "you've been crying."

henrik huffed, covering his face again with a pillow. "well spotted, genius."

chase breathed out through his nose, probably thinking about what to say next. "anti's in the bathroom getting changed or something," he murmured. "marvin's dealing with him cause i bailed. can't be bothered with that shit right now." he gave a soft laugh. "anyway, marvin's the one who's so determined to be friends with him, so. he can do all that shit."

henrik hummed under his breath. he didn't want to think about anti being in their house, no matter how sick or hurt he was. didn't want to think about how they'd spent years trying to keep him away from them, jackie included. how they'd put up spell after spell, made fun of anti and made up dumb names for him, talked about what they'd do if he wasn't there, cried over the things he'd taken from them. so much time wasted. it physically hurt to think about, to remember. henrik felt like there was a rock of grief in his chest, aching and dragging him further into the bedsheets.

"i don't want this," he whispered, and more tears were building up and spilling over before he could even finish. his voice broke. "it hurts and i don't want this. this all fucking sucks and i'm sick of it, i just - i - this isn't right, it wasn't s-supposed to happen like - chase, chase, i -"

chase grabbed one of his hands, holding it tightly in his own. "hey. i get it. i get it, henrik. look at me. look at me, henrik."

he did. his little brother looked so fucking exhausted. bags under his somehow still bright eyes, his beard grown longer than he usually let it, blonde curls escaping from their ponytail and falling in his face onto the pillows. henrik couldn't see the right side of his head as he was laying down, but he knew there was a gunshot wound there, a scar where hair couldn't grow anymore. henrik's breath hitched, hot tears trailing down his skin onto his hand, resting underneath his face. he needed to stop thinking like this or he was going to start bawling like a child and never stop.

"i'm sorry," chase said softly. he squeezed henrik's hand. "i miss him too. i - i do. it hurts to think about and i miss him, so much. i miss jackie. i miss… i miss jackie. fuck, i…" he let out a choked laugh, eyes wet. "man, it sucks absolute ass right now. but henny? you've still got us. i know it's not much. and i know we miss jamie and jack too, and everything is sucky, and i'm probably not reassuring you, but... you have me and marvin."

he sniffled, tears falling suddenly and sobbing. he laughed as he did so, wiping his face with his hand. "fuck!" he giggled, and henrik suddenly found himself laughing too. "ah, fuck, look at us. big ol' crybabies. i mean, god, if anyone has any reason to cry i think it's us, eh?"

"i would say so," henrik agreed. he pressed the blanket over his eyes. "scheisse, this… this sucks. i'm sorry for -"

"no," chase interrupted. he glared at henrik, blue eyes stormy. "you don't let me apologize when i'm being a little bitch. i'm not letting you."

he shuffled closer to henrik, almost knocking their heads together. "there's nothing we can do to change the situation right now," he said firmly. "anti's not gonna stay long, alright? as soon as the storm ends, he's gone. we'll put the wards back up again and then we'll - we'll - do whatever comes next. i'm… i'm so sorry it's come to this, henrik. but i swear on my goddamn life, i will never let him hurt you again."

"you were going to make another suicide attempt, weren't you?" henrik whispered suddenly. he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the look on chase's face, but he still heard his breath hitch, still heard the small noise of upset in his throat.

"yeah," chase whispered back. "i was."

henrik swallowed back dry bile that was rising. "when?"

"henrik, we don't have to talk about -"

"when?" henrik demanded, eyes flying open again. chase crumpled under his gaze, drawing even further into himself. he suddenly looked so small.

"i had it planned for… for, uh… a couple weeks after everything with jackie happened," he said, voice breaking. "i - i was - henrik, i -"

henrik shook his head wildly, and without warning, pulled chase into a proper hug. he could feel chase crying softly into his t-shirt. his brother's hair tickled his face, and henrik buried his face in it, trying to be as close as he could.

"why didn't we know?" he cried. "we didn't - i never even - i should have saw the signs, you're my brother and i couldn't even tell -"

he couldn't believe he'd been so close to losing him. his mind raced with possibilities, making his head ache. if marvin hadn't found anti, if all that hadn't happened -

"promise me you won't," henrik insisted. "promise. don't say you can't. i want you to fucking promise."

"i promise, hen, i promise, i promise, i do, i swear i won't."

they stayed in each other's arms for a while. eventually, someone knocked lightly on the door, causing henrik to stiffen defensively. "it's me," marvin said from the other side. "left anti for a sec to see if… if you were ok."

"we're fine," henrik said stiffly. he ran his fingers through his little brother's hair, knocking his hat aside. "just fine. go deal with anti."

marvin hesitated. "i'm - i'm sorry, henrik."

henrik didn't bother replying. marvin left after a moment, and henrik closed his eyes against the glow of the lightning outside.

an hour and twenty minutes after the blackout

marvin was starting to regret letting anti inside.

"are you - fuck, are you ok?" he said, again, for what felt like the five hundredth time in the past twenty minutes. he'd eventually persuaded anti to get in the shower, which had been a task in itself, but it seemed he also had to babysit him to make sure he didn't fucking die. which was definitely something he hadn't thought would be necessary until anti had somehow managed to knock over every single shampoo bottle in the bathroom in one fell swoop and almost accidentally drowned himself. marvin was now sat grumpily outside the bathroom on his phone, texting alice to get an update on naomi. apparently she was doing a lot better and wanted to apologize to marvin for her behaviour, which marvin had said he appreciated but didn't need. he definitely knew about how mental illness could affect someone and how they interacted with people. he didn't say that, though. he just told alice to send his love and then the conversation ended.

he wasn't sure why he kept asking anti if he was ok. he doubted that he'd answer even if he could. eventually, he heard the sound of the water cutting off, and sighed with relief. the risk of anti accidentally killing himself had just been halved.

it was maybe ten minutes later that the door opened and anti stepped out. "i hate you," was the first thing he said. he was now wearing an oversized ac/dc hoodie and black jeans. marvin frowned. he hadn't realized how goddamn skinny anti was until he saw chase's clothes on him. "i'll - get you a brush," was all he said. marvin tried to hold back a smirk at anti's explosion of curly hair, long enough now that it came down to his chin. anti didn't smile. even in the darkness, marvin could see how dazed he looked, eyes unfocused and flickering from colour to colour. eventually they came to rest on a silvery grey, and he blinked wildly, clinging to the doorway with white fingers.

marvin's chest tightened. "here, come on, you fucking…" he trailed off, sighing as he wrapped an arm around anti's waist and helped him down the stairs to the living room. anti groaned, falling over a few times before marvin could help him up again. "fuck's sake, you're so incompetent. did jamie have to see you like this on a daily basis? i don't understand how we never defeated you, i don't."

anti stiffened at jamie's name, making strange noises in the back of his throat. "d-a-p," he signed as soon as he was sitting down on the couch. "brother, my brother."

"yeah, sure, whatever," marvin mumbled, barely listening. anti's stomach rumbled, and he wrapped his arms around himself tightly. marvin resisted the urge to scream. "ok, you need food as well. what do you even eat? human meat? blood? doritos? come on, help me out here."

anti had curled up on the couch, ignoring him. marvin sighed yet again. "ok," he said aloud to no one. "i'll make you a fucking piece of toast. that's what you're getting."

by the marvin had made the toast and come back to the living room, however, anti had fallen asleep completely.

"oh, fuck you," marvin groaned, tossing the plate down on the glass table. "you're an asshole. i hate you so much. do you know how much i hate you? it's a lot. so goddamn much. i'm gonna pick you up and throw you the fuck outside again."

anti obviously didn't respond. even in sleep, he looked distressed, face scrunched up and holding both his arms to his chest. marvin just looked at him for a minute, frowning. anti's hands were red and scratched up still, his right wrist bruised. marvin also wondered about the white scars that trailed from his eyes down his face. had jackie done that too? or had anti had those scars when he returned chase's kids? marvin couldn't even remember.

he went upstairs again and knocked on henrik's door. "helloooo, bastards. anti's sleeping. are you two ok?"

no response. marvin peeked inside, shining his torch, only to see that chase and henrik had fallen asleep in each other's arms. marvin watched their chests rise and fall in unison, both their faces tear stained but calm in their sleep. marvin closed the door again.

he texted alice. any updates? no response yet. that was ok. she was busy. marvin could wait.

and wait he did.

two hours after the blackout

being alone with his thoughts for so long was absolutely, definitely not good for him.

marvin wasn't sure how he'd ended up sitting in the kitchen closet on top of the christmas decorations, curled up with his knees at his chest. every single inch of the house was somewhere he associated with jackie, for whatever reason. the bannister on the stairs they peeked through when they were about to pull a prank. the kitchen counters jackie always sat on when he ate because "tables are for pussies, marvin." the living room window that jaffa liked to sleep in and jackie would stand next to so he could pet her while scrolling through his phone. the shoe rack where jackie went to when everything became too much, and one of his brothers would have to help him calm down with his weighted blanket and some calm words. marvin was beginning to feel sick thinking about it, hand clamped over his mouth as guilt sank down in him like a ball and chain attached to his heart.

it felt like a constant ache that wouldn't go away. please, make the hurt stop, his mind screamed. but he wouldn't break down. he'd come this far without breaking. he wouldn't cry. he wouldn't scream and slam his fists against the wall. he wouldn't. he was the oldest now. he had to look after his brothers. and fuck, if marvin didn't let out a small wail of pain at the thought of them clinging to each other like they were the other's anchor, but he wouldn't break, he wouldn't. he'd hold on because that was his job and he knew he had to be strong.

something crashed in the other room.

marvin was on his feet instantly. he shoved the door open, boxes falling behind him, and raced out the kitchen into the living room. anti had fallen off the couch and was thrashing on the floor, crying out in his sleep. marvin was at his side in an instant. "anti? calm down, shit, calm down."

it took a moment to realize anti wasn't just having a normal nightmare. he was convulsing, his head slamming against the floor, trying to scream but unable to. marvin lifted anti's head and grabbed a cushion, sliding it under him and shoving the table to the side. "shit, shit," he cursed silently. that was all he knew to do when someone had a seizure. he thought about running to go wake up henrik, but another second considering that brought him to the realization that maybe that was dumb. instead, he stayed by anti's side until it passed and anti was left panting, whining in pain and breathing heavily.

marvin closed his eyes and leaned against the armchair, not even moving to sit up on it properly. thunder rolled outside, and anti flinched in his sleep. marvin, tired from suppressing his panic attack and dealing with the everything of that evening, eventually found himself drifting off as well.

"i'm going out today. are you coming?"

dapper didn't answer. he was pretending to be asleep, anti could tell. a small smirk spread across his face, and he poked his brother's forehead gently. "dap-per. wake u-up," he singsonged. he could see him holding back a smile, the corner of his mouth quivering.

"leave me alone," he signed, rolling over and raising his hands up dramatically. anti laughed and collapsed across his chest, causing him to let out a loud "oof." anti turned his face toward dapper's, sticking out his tongue at the grumpy look on his face.

"morning, bitch boy," anti grinned. dapper flipped him off, his face scrunching up in an effort to keep from smiling. "i asked a question. do you wanna go out today?"

dapper rolled his eyes and nudged anti to get off his arms. "tired," he said once anti had moved. "you go by yourself."

anti frowned. "are you feeling ok?" he asked, running a hand through dapper's hair. his brother closed his eyes, just breathing for a moment, him and anti in time.

"i'm ok," he said. "just - i'm ok." his hands flopped down onto anti's chest. anti watched his face, trying to figure out what he was thinking. dapper's expression was unreadable.

"are you sure?" anti questioned, tapping the other man on the nose. dapper didn't smile this time. "come on, dap. we can get food. and i was gonna get you another present."

"aren't presents supposed to be a secret?" dapper said, raising an eyebrow. his eyes were more silver than usual. anti had been paying too much attention to his hands to notice, but now, it was all he could see.

"if you care about such things," anti retorted. "have you rewinded today? you're glowing."

"no," dapper said, far too quickly. "i mean… kinda. i spilled water on one of my sketchbooks earlier and i rewinded that. sorry."

anti shook his head. "that's fine. i was maybe gonna get you another sketchbook while i was out anyway." he widened his eyes, staring deliberately at dapper. "if you wanted to co-ome..."

dapper practically deflated. "no, not really," he signed. "still don't feel well. sorry, anti."

anti pressed a hand to his brother's forehead. "you do feel warm," he murmured. "have you thrown up or anything? is it your magic? do i need to find that doctor again?"

dapper giggled, pushing anti's hand away gently. "i'm fine, i am," he signed. "you go. better get me good presents. also chocolate. lots and lots of chocolate."

"ok, ok, ok." anti sat up on the bed, ruffling dapper's curls. "i'll do that. although stuff like that is gonna be expensive, today of all days. so many people forgetting to buy presents for their loved ones and all that shit. imagine that, dap! i would never forget." he jumped off the bed, adjusting his yellow scarf in the mirror on the wardrobe. "how do i look? fantastic?"

dapper pushed himself up on his elbows, considering. "h-m-m," he signed, then twirled his mustache, pretending to be deep in thought.

anti threw a penny from the spare change he'd pulled out his pocket to count at dapper's head. "are you kidding? did you just fucking sign the word "hmm?" seriously?" he laughed and pulled on his jacket, flipping him off. "you're an asshole. i'm gonna assume i look wonderful as usual and i'm eating all your chocolate myself. bastard man."

"you look absolutely incredible, anti, a right king," dapper giggled. "look at that beautiful scarf, so bright against your black outfit! i mean, probably, i'm colourblind. tell me, brother, where did you get that gorgeous accessory?"

"a smartass cunt bought me it," anti said with a smile. he opened the bedroom door, clicking his tongue and miming finger guns. "ok, i'm going. stay here, don't answer the door, stab anyone who tries to come in, rewind if you have to, ect, ect. you know the rewind password. see you in a few hours."

dapper's smile faded. "wait," he signed, and swung off the bed and over to anti, pulling him in for a hug. anti's breath hitched, and his arms slowly came down to rest on his brother's back.

"you sure you don't wanna come?" he mumbled, forehead resting on dapper's shoulders. his heart was racing, and he couldn't tell why.

dapper nodded, then pushed himself away. "yeah, sorry, yeah. see you in a few hours."

anti forced a smile, then raised his hands to sign the next few words. "don't forget."

dapper hesitated, not looking at anti. "don't forget."

anti stepped out the door, starting down the stairs. then he stopped. "oh! and happy christmas, dap." he smiled up at him. "i'll get you something good, i promise."

dapper nodded, face blank.

anti shouldn't have left him alone.

six hours after the blackout

this wasn't jack's house. this wasn't the flat. this wasn't the waterworks.

once anti had gone through the list of places he definitely wasn't, he sat up, head aching like he'd been struck. had he? probably, actually. a sharp taste of copper lingered in his mouth. had he bit his tongue? where was his brother, what day was it, why was it so dark?

a quick memory evaluation reminded that he was in jack's boys flat, dapper was gone, it was wednesday, it was dark because of the storm, and no, he definitely had not bit his tongue.

the cat was asleep leaning against an armchair, head on his arms and legs folded beneath him. there were actually two cats that anti could see; one appeared to be a real cat, small with black fur and vivid blue eyes. it stared at anti disapprovingly as he sat up, wincing as he yet again forgot about his fucked up arm. he was starting to really regret glitching the x-ray that hecate used to trick them into taking the cast off. it had been really annoying, sure, but the fact that he couldn't lift anything or sign with his right arm was starting to piss him off.

the cat suddenly mewled loudly, leaping off its perch on the chair and slinking over to anti's side. he flinched, smacking the floor. "go away," anti signed, like the cat was going to understand british sign. "i don't like you. fuck off."

the cat just stared. anti stared back.

"are you have a staring contest with jaffa cake?" someone yawned, and anti jumped. the magician was sitting himself up fully, rubbing his eyes. "morning, jaffa. morning, anti too, i guess."

"it's four am," anti deadpanned. "also, you named your cat jaffa cake? seriously?" it was only after he'd signed all that that he realized the other man probably couldn't see his hands in the darkness.

"how do you know it's four am?" asked the magician, to anti's surprise. "also, this is chase's cat. her name is jaffa. say hi, jaffa."

"you can see my signs?" anti asked curiously. "also, i always know what time it is. probably so much time spent around -" he cut himself off. he didn't want to say his name.

"i can see in the dark," the magician said, grinning. "i know, i know, i'm awesome. magnificent, some might say." he laughed, filling up the silent room. then he yawned again. "did you eat the food i got you?"

"not hungry," anti lied. he didn't trust anything jack's boys might give him, especially with the doctor here. "i - did i have a seizure?"

"in your sleep, yeah," the magician confirmed. "were you having a nightmare?"

he had been, until he'd started dreaming about dapper, which was arguably worse. he didn't respond. then he suddenly realized the odd blood taste was because he'd bitten the side of his mouth. how annoying. anti quickly ran a hand through his hair to soothe himself. he'd almost forgotten about his shower, and his hair felt much nicer, somehow even curlier. no blood on his neck. something ached in his chest.

"i'm going back to sleep," he signed. his eyes fluttered shut. "talking takes so much effort. my arms are tired."

"ok," the cat murmured. anti could barely see his outline in the darkness. "ok. uh. anti, is it ok if… if i talk to you? in the morning? i just wanna ask some… some stuff."

anti turned his head away. "ok."

the cat brightened. "oh, good! ok! i'm - i'm also gonna go back to sleep, cause i've barely slept, and i'm tired as fuck. g'night - or, well. g'morning." he lay his head back on his arms, smiling softly. "night, anti."

he fell back asleep. he fell back asleep with anti watching him. was he an idiot? was he seriously a fucking idiot? did he forget what anti had done - things anti had done to his own brothers? how could someone forget that?

anti stood up calmly and went into the kitchen. they hadn't hidden the knives well. they were in the bottom drawer of the cupboards underneath the tea towels. anti picked the largest one. it was a dull orangey red colour, and the handle was cold.

he padded back into the living room. the man hadn't moved. he had genuinely fallen asleep, anti realized with a jolt. he trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. how pathetic, how sweet it was that he thought anti had the potential to be a good person. anti had stabbed the magician on his very first day of existence. he could do it again. he would. he'd wanted this for years.

so why was he hesitating, why was the knife hanging above the man's neck but not touching it, why was he shaking? anti sat back in disbelief, heart racing, mouth hanging open. he needed to kill him. he wanted to. why couldn't he do it? why was the bastard still sleeping, smiling from within his doze, hair falling into his face and eyes? why were anti's eyes burning, why did this hurt? why did this hurt?

the closest sound to a sob that anti could manage fell from his mouth. he stumbled back, away, needed to get away. he shouldn't have come here. he should never have come here.

eleven hours after the blackout

marvin awoke to a gift. the storm was over, and all of their kitchen knives had been stabbed into the table. all but one. the biggest one, the red one, which was missing. underneath the knives, in almost illegible handwriting, was written, "you should hide these better next time. ps. alice says your girlfriend is fine. stop texting her, for fuck's sake."

anti had left and taken marvin's phone with him.

"i told you we shouldn't trust him," henrik said drily when he saw it. chase silently began yanking the knives out of the wood. and marvin just stared, reading the message over and over again, feeling like an idiot.

maybe he was too trusting after all.

#jacksepticeye #boop writes #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #jameson jackson #the fall

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smkkbert · 5 years

Text

Time for a story - Intoxicated

Once she had gathered the courage to take a look at the latest data, Felicity released a breath of relief. There was still a lot of room for progression.

“Why are you sighing like that?” Bruce asked, the confusion quite audible in his voice. “This isn’t what we hoped for. Actually, it’s quite far from what we have hoped for and it means that there is a lot of work ahead of us.”

Felicity smiled to herself.

Bruce was right. It wasn’t what they had hoped for. The closer the moment of truth had come the more Felicity had realized that she wasn’t ready to let go of this project. As long as there was work to do on it, she had something to focus all her energy and all her skills on.

Felicity knew it was stupid. There were so many new things to discover as the technology branch was basically still in its baby shoes if you compared it to most other fields of work. Without thinking about it for long, she could name at least a dozen of projects she wanted to approach in the next ten years.

Still, working on these bio-stimulants with Bruce held a special place in her heart.

“We are geniuses,” Felicity said. “We will make it work.”

“I hope so,” Bruce said. “I mean the short-time results were incredible. Now we just have to enhance the longtime results.”

“Absolutely.” Felicity nodded her head. “But we already knew that it would take at least one more generation of the bio-stimulant to make it fit for the requirements of its users. Our first focus was to make it walk again. Now we have to find a way to give people the same flexibility as people who aren’t in need of this little help.”

As the results of their latest tests and surveys had proven, the users of the bio-stimulant were more than happy with the flexibility they had gained through the bio-stimulant. There were still things they couldn’t do because the current functions of the bio-stimulant didn’t allow them to.

“I am going to quote you when I will issue the press release tomorrow.”

“I have no problem with that at all,” Felicity replied, “as long as you are the one who talk to the press in the first place.”

Bruce chuckled while Felicity was leaning back in her chair with a content sigh. Working with Bruce was making her feel incredibly good. They were quite similar and yet different enough for their skills and complement each other’s.

“I think we should be bold and place a deadline for our first improvements by the end of June.”

“June?” Bruce blew out a breath. “That’s just three months from now.”

“We are on a good way with the bio-stimulant,” Felicity said firmly. “We can do this.”

“Still, it’s a little crazy. Don’t get me wrong. I want these enhancements to be done as quickly as possible too, but I think we shouldn’t put too much pressure on us or our employees.”

Felicity bit down on her tongue. She understood where Bruce was coming from and she even had to agree with him, at least partly.

“Okay, let’s compromise,” Felicity suggested. “At the beginning of July, I will come to Gotham for a couple of days and we discuss the progress we have made and what specific parts we have to work on more thoroughly. Deal?”

With almost held breath, Felicity waited for Bruce’s answer. She knew she could have easily invited him to come to Starling City, but she was almost sure that he would have found a way to avoid it at the last moment. Although they had worked out most of the tension that had been between them, making sure they were both feeling comfortable knowing that he had feelings for her that she would never require, it still wasn’t the way it had been between them before she had found out about his feelings.

“Are you sure Oliver won’t mind?”

“Oliver is not the boss of me,” Felicity replied firmly. “Besides, we trust each other like a hundred percent.”

Still, Bruce stayed quiet for a moment. He was taking his time to consider the honesty of her answer. From the look on his face, Felicity guessed that he wasn’t completely convinced.

“Feel free to call him and ask him about it.”

Bruce shot her a brief glance through the camera, messaging his neck uncomfortably like Oliver did when he was feeling uncomfortable. Felicity cocked her head, watching Bruce on the monitor of her computer.

“I guess that won’t be necessary,” Bruce replied eventually. “If you say it’s okay, I guess it is okay.”

“It is okay,” Felicity assured him, “and I think it’s-“

When Emily stepped into the office, Felicity stopped to look at her assistant.

“Sorry, Felicity,” she said with quiet voice, “but William’s in the line.”

Felicity frowned slightly. William was out with some friends. They wanted to check out the perfect spot in the forest to camp for a night once it was a little warmer. Admittedly, it had sounded far-fetched when he had told Oliver and her about that, but they had both decided to stay quiet about this. They knew they could trust William.

“We are finished here anyway,” Bruce said quickly. “I will call you once I briefed my team.”

“Alright. Bye, Bruce.”

“Bye, Felicity.”

The display went black and only a moment later Emily put William’s call through. Felicity shot her assistant a grateful smile through the large glass fronts before she took the call.

“Hi, William.”

“Hey.” William sounded off as Felicity noticed immediately though or maybe because he cleared his throat quickly. “Can you pick me up?”

Felicity frowned, glancing at her watch. It was barely three p.m., and he had told her and Oliver that it might take until after nine for him to be picked up. It didn’t exactly make sense.

“Are you okay?”

Worry was audible in Felicity’s voice since that was exactly what she was feeling. Being a teenager was rough as she knew from own experience. At the same time, being a teenager of parents that had never really been together and having four little siblings that were a lot younger had to be extra sucky at that age. William was torn between the love to his family and the need to distance himself and gain a little bit of freedom. It was a hard line to walk.

Felicity remembered her own youth and the bad decisions she had made back then all too well. She had become a Goth and she had dated Cooper. None of it had been good for her, and she had actually known about that. Yet, she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She had needed to know how far she could take it even though it had almost destroyed her.

“No, not really,” William admitted eventually. “I smoked a little bit of pot, and I am freaking out. Is that normal? I don’t feel normal. I feel nervous. Have you had pot before? I feel like you haven’t which is smart. Bot, you know, you and dad told me that, uh, we should call if we ever needed a ride home. I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry. I-“

“No, William,” Felicity replied quickly, making sure he wouldn’t hang up the phone. “I’m glad you did.”

She felt the honesty of her words washing through her chest. She knew how hard it was to reach out to a parent if you felt like you really messed up. That he was calling her and not Oliver meant a lot to her. She often felt like she was the bad cop in the family though she knew it wasn’t fair. She and Oliver were both quite consequent, and they agreed on most decisions when it came to educating their kids.

“Okay, just listen to me,” she added soothingly. “Some people can get anxious or paranoid. You never know who it’s going to affect you. When I first had a pot brownie, I was feeling dizzy and disorientated. Do you feel dizzy?”

“Yeah.” William sighed. “I feel terribly dizzy.”

Felicity nodded her head. “It’s going to go away. With time.”

“Is that how you got rid of it?”

“No.” Felicity smiled almost a little with a little bit of nostalgia. “I was brought into the hospital because I had an allergic reaction to the peanuts in the brownie, so my first and only high really didn’t end well.”

William chuckled, but it ended in a groan soon. Felicity didn’t need him to say it to know that another wave of dizziness was making it hard for him to stay focused. He was probably feeling terrible.

“It’ll wear off, but until it does, I am here for you, okay?” she asked. “Just tell me where you are.”

→ → → → →

As soon as Felicity saw William sitting on the fallen trunk of a tree, his elbows propped onto his knees and his face lowered into his hands, she felt incredibly sorry for him. She might not exactly remember what it felt like to be high, but she did remember what it felt like to be a little more drunk than was good for you. She hated the feeling with passion.

She stopped the car right in front of him and got out slowly. She knew that quick movements were only making the dizziness worse. There was barely anything to make it better.

“Hey.”

Her voice was soft when she crouched down in front of him. Her fingers touched his knee briefly until William’s eyes finally found hers. Felicity could see that he wasn’t really focused. His dizziness was basically showing in his eyes.

“Felicity.”

She smiled at the way he said her name, almost the way Oliver did when he realized she was right there after he had just woken up from a nightmare.

“I know you are feeling terrible,” Felicity told him. “We are gonna get you through this.”

William needed a moment until her words seemed to catch up with him. As they did, he nodded his head repeatedly though and whispered, “Okay. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Felicity smiled at him. I’m your mom. This is what we do.”

She said it because it was what she was feeling. She had been feeling like it for a long time now. She knew she wasn’t his mom the way Samantha was. She hasn’t raised him since he had been a baby, but she had been a part of his life for a very long time now, and she hoped that she had had a good influence on him and his life. She was his mom, at least one of them.

William nodded slowly. The movement seemed to make his vision blur because he squeezed his eyes shut and took in some deep breaths.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Felicity gave William the time he needed. He took some more deep breaths before he looked at her again. His eyes were still unfocused. He looked like he wanted to say something, but another wave of dizziness seemed to keep him from doing so.

“Come here,” Felicity said and put her hands under William’s elbow to help him up onto his feet. She linked their arms and led him over to the car. “I’ve got you.”

“Are we going home?”

Felicity chuckled. “No. We are getting Hawk out of the trunk and then we will take a little walk.”

“What?”

“Trust me,” Felicity said, squeezing his hand. “I know what I am doing.”

William nodded his head slowly and released a long breath. “Okay.”

They did exactly that. Felicity opened the trunk and let Hawk jump out. He waggled his tail and Felicity could almost see at the tip of his nose that he wanted to jump up at William. Since she wasn’t sure that she could hold William upright if he lost his balance, Felicity told Hawk to keep down with a gesture of her finger. The puppy, who was as much a puppy as Baby Sara was still a baby, stayed down though it made him release a dark, little growl.

Slowly, they started their way down the large path through the forest. Neither of them said a word. Felicity doubted that William would be able to say anything as he was completely focused on taking deep and even breaths.

“I apologize in advance if I throw up.”

Felicity smiled and nudged William’s ribs playfully. “Don’t worry. I have raised a handful of kids. I have seen vomit more than once.”

William groaned and rested his head against Felicity’s shoulder. She smiled, stroking her hand up and down his arm soothingly. There wasn’t much she could do other than that anyway.

They continued their way in silence for a little longer. Felicity felt the fresh air clearing her head. She had sat behind her desk for too long today. William’s call had basically come just at the right time.

“Have you decided what to do with your life yet?” Felicity asked eventually. “You are turning eighteen at the end of the year and you are starting college next year. Not long and you have to apply for colleges. So, any plans yet?”

William sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Felicity waited for him to add something, but he stayed quiet.

“I guess that is a no then?”

With another sigh, William lifted his head from her shoulder. Felicity looked at his face, seeing him frown for a moment before he looked at her.

“Honestly?”

Felicity smiled. “Of course. It’s me, Felicity. You can always tell me the truth.”

William nodded though it started to look like he was just moving his head back and forth almost like without control.

“It’s why I called you. I mean I could have called dad, but I know he would just flip out about it though he certainly consummated heavier drugs than just a pot brownie. Mom would have been so worried that she would have taken me to a doctor. And Thea… yeah… I could have called Thea.”

Felicity chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

“I really hope there won’t be a next time.”

Felicity swallowed down another chuckle. She was sure William was feeling back enough as it was. He didn’t need her to enjoy his intoxication when he was already feeling so miserable as it was.

“I think I am going to go far away from here.”

William’s admission made Felicity stop and look at him. She felt an ache in her heart at his words because there was no reason for him to leave here just for the sake of being away if he was feeling happy. So far, she had believed that he was happy, but apparently she had been wrong.

William almost looked ashamed about his words because he lowered his eyes quickly. Staring at his feet, he pulled his hand from the pit of her arm and pushed them into the pockets of his jeans.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Far away? Why?”

William still didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes low and shuffled his foot back and forth.

“William,” Felicity whispered. “If you aren’t happy here-“

“It’s not that,” William interrupted her quickly. “I am happy here.”

He was still breathing heavily though he tried to take deep, even breaths. He was sweating and dark rings were forming under his eyes. Felicity guessed that his body was working on getting rid of the toxin now.

“Then why do you want to leave?” Felicity asked. “I mean if it was because you wanted to go to a specific college, okay, but why leave just for the sake of it?”

“Because I love you guys so much,” William said. “I love you guys, but I need to be a normal teenager that goes to colleges and does things guys do in college. I can’t always be the big brother of four little siblings. I love being that, but I have to try other things.”

Now it was Felicity’s turn to nod her head. Since William had stepped into their life, he had been the best big brother she could have wished for her kids to have. Once he had moved in with them, he had never complained when they had asked him to take care of his little siblings or when family days had been limited to childproofed activities.

What he said made sense to her though. She doubted that most teenager boys rather spent their evenings watching Disney movies with their siblings rather than partying with their friends. William had always tried to keep a balance. Felicity knew that his desire to spend more time with Audrey and his friends had made him feel guilty lately. When he was leaving Starling, that would be different though.

“We will all be sad if you leave,” Felicity told William, pulling his hands out of the pocket of his jeans and squeezing them, “but, whatever you decide, just know that you have my full support.”

Only know William lifted his gaze. He looked a little more focused now, allowing Felicity to see the insecurity in his eyes.

“Really?”

Felicity smiled. “Of course. I will always support you. I will always have your back.”

“Because you’re my mom.”

Felicity’s smile widened even more when she nodded her head and whispered, “Yeah. Because I am your mom.”

They both moved into the hug at the same time. Felicity’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as William’s arms wrapped around her waist.

“Thank you, Mom.”

Felicity smiled. “Always, William. Always.”

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @muslimsmoak @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @arrowsalways @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @queens-of-arrows @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @paarti12 @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @cutearrowgirl @mrt2501 @mecha1330 @arsipaci14 @mzminx @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafra @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @navyaarsha @fandoms-breathe-life @simone4mcswarek @olicity-in-the-heart @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @itsmagnoliagirl @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @javinancupil @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @thats0klaroline @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @peterpanslostgirl666 @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @soaring-cities @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @felicity087 @i-claim-only-emily @pattid1 @westallenandolicityshipper @babyolicityandwestallen @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @olicity5ever @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04 @24karatgem

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dat-fandom-losertown · 5 years

Text

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 3: I’ll Do Better

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor and Gavin Reed x RK900

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: I think I’m just gonna stop putting swearing as a warning? Cause it’s in literally every single chapter Lmao, Arguments, a moment with PTSD and anxiety

Word Count: 8,739

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

“What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Tina teases with her signature smirk as Gavin sits down next to her at their table.

“Fuck off, Tina.” Gavin shakes his head, knowing that his words don’t have the venom they would if he were to say them to anyone else.

“Aw, come on! You look even more bothered than usual and you’re not gonna tell me what happened?” The woman doesn’t give enough time for him to reply before continuing again. “I have ten bucks in my pocket that says it has to do with the new trainees roaming around.”

“That and Hank fuckin’ Anderson.” He begins around the food in his mouth, “Didn’t even know he could be awake at this hour anymore, let alone be sober enough to pull the ‘my old partner’s the current marshal’ card. I mean, he didn’t use it on me, but I heard him use it on one of the new fuckers.”

“One of the trainees? What’d they do?”

“For once in my life I was just mindin’ my own fuckin’ business, when two newbies come around the corner. Of course, I’m just trying to get to lunch, right? So I plan on just walking around them, but this kid fuckin’ tries to shoulder-check me! And when I didn’t budge he started acting like I started it!”

“So you picked a proper fight?” Tina’s turned towards him now, engrossed in Gavin’s story.

“No! Like I said, I just wanted some fuckin’ food! So I threatened the guy a bit and... gave a warning, you could say. I could immediately tell he had an ego larger than my ass, so I couldn’t just let him walk away, ya know?.”

Another woman’s voice pipes up, “Wait, you said there were two trainees. What about the other one?” Gavin doesn’t know when she got here, but now she’s sitting across from Tina.

“It was the same dude I saw daydreaming in the hall yesterday, and he kept trying to get the other dude to just walk away like the fuckin’ coward he is. He even got the shit beat outta him sometime after dinner yesterday. He was all bandaged up and limping a bit. Anderson rounded the corner before I could even start with him.”

“And you said he was awake, walking around, and sober earlier? Wow.” Tina leans back in her chair. “I’m impressed. That’s the second time this month he’s been sober and calm so early in the day.”

“You think he’s finally coming to terms with whatever happened to him?” Tina’s official partner– Angie? Allie? Amy? Who fuckin’ knows and who fuckin’ cares– asks, sounding genuinely hopeful for the washed up drunkard.

Gavin barks out a harsh laugh, “Nah, there’s no way. His hangover probably just woke him up earlier than normal.”

“What exactly do you have against him, Gav?” the same lady asks.

“What do you mean ‘what do I have against him’? He’s done nothing but sit around on his ass drunk as hell for the past couple of years and no one’s done anything about it because he’s the ‘oh so great Pilot Anderson’ and his fuckin’ bff is the one in charge of this shit hole!” Gavin leans back in his chair with crossed arms, his food already scarfed down and tray empty. “If any of us acted the way he has been for even a month we’d be kicked out of here before we could even pack our stuff! Besides, isn’t he too fuckin’ old to pilot anymore anyway? Why in the hell is he even still here?”

“He’s only barely in his forties you know,” Tina informs patiently, having heard this rant a hundred times over by now, “He started going grey in his early twenties, something about genetics. Can’t imagine the stress and grief helped at all, either.”

“Grief. What could have possibly happened to make him ‘grieve’ for this long? Like, don’t get me wrong, I get it, but it’s been fuckin’ years of this shit. He needs to get it together, ‘cause at this point he’s just dragging us down.”

Gavin lowers his head and averts his eyes, enviously thinking about how he wasn’t ever given the kind of treatment Anderson is given on a daily basis. His face must start looking softer because Tina looks at him with a sort of concern and confusion. He scowls at her and shakes his head with a huff in dismissal.

All throughout training, each pilot is taught that no one can hold back any memories from their partner while in the drift. While that fact was usually used to keep trainees in line since everything they do will be seen by another person eventually, it was true. Mostly. After certain things took place long ago, Gavin accidentally stumbled upon a way to keep memories from whoever was his partner. From the complaints he’s heard in the past, it’s just as uncomfortable for them as it is for him, if not more so. So far, only Tina and her new partner have been able to put up with it more than twice..

The whole point is, no one here truly knows his story. The people who did have either retired, or they were killed in action, or their name is Jeffery Fowler. No one knows what kind of life he had growing up, if he has siblings or not, how long he trained to be a pilot before arriving here; and nobody knows if Gavin’s “pissy, jackass attitude” is a result of something or if that’s just who he is.

Spoiler alert: it’s just how he’s fuckin’ been his entire damn life, and he has no intentions to change any time soon. Even if Gavin wanted to, he doesn’t think he could actually change enough for it to matter, anyway. So fuck it.

“You don’t know what happened!” Tina’s partner sounds thoroughly offended on Anderson’s behalf. She must be newer or more empathetic than he thought. “They said this started right after a particularly big battle with a kaiju, he probably lost family or something!”

“I lost my family and my home when I was 17, and no one’s ever seen me moping around, constantly high as fuck and unable to do my job! ‘Cause heaven knows I wouldn’t get drunk of all things to forget my problems, I still have some self-respect.”

He must have said something wrong because the looks on both women’s faces make him feel like he’s the main attraction of a pity party. He scowls again and is about to snarl out “what?” when Tina finally speaks, albeit softly, as if he, Gavin Reed, a man tougher and more stubborn than the most overcooked jerky, would break.

“You were only 17 when..?”

And just like that, it clicks.

“No, you fucks!” he exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, “I was kicked out by my bitch-ass mother. They haven’t died or anything like that. At least, I don’t think they have…”

Both women relax, Tina already going back to her almost finished meal as if nothing happened, knowing full well that they weren’t going to get anything else out of Gavin for the rest of the week. However, her partner seems a bit more adamant on knowing the story, if the look in her eye is anything to go by. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, Gavin abruptly stands up. It’s time to get the hell outta dodge.

“Well, as much as I’d like to say it was a pleasure talking to you asshats, I can’t.” Tina’s smirk is enough to let Gavin know that she knows he’s just messing around now. “Don’t have a sucky ass day, I guess. Or do, I’m not your fuckin’ parent.” He promptly turns with his empty tray in hand and leaves the food court area after putting everything in their designated places.

Whenever Gavin gets worked up, going to the gym usually helps. Growing up, the only way he learned to deal with his short temper was to let it out through physical exertion. When he was younger, that meant getting into fights and punching walls until he felt calm and safer to be around again. Now, though, it means going to the gym and showing anyone else who may be in there how it’s done. Not only does he feel better about himself– contrary to popular belief, punching the nearest person or thing had never done well for his conscience after all was said and done– he also gets some of the best scores in fighting skill from his admittedly excessive training. To be completely honest, those high scores are probably the only thing keeping him here at this point.

Gavin takes his sweet, precious time getting to the gym. He meanders through the endless, reinforced halls until he gets to his room. They placed him right across from Tina’s room since she’s the only one who can tolerate him and is the only one Gavin doesn’t regularly want to deck in the throat. Even though she has an official partner now, that girl’s still relatively new and Tina is a better match in the drift for Gavin than anyone else is. Now that he thinks about it, he may not be able to slack off like Anderson, but he can admit that the higher-ups of this place have done a lot more to keep him here than they likely would have for anyone else. Not even he had to do “intern work” for Fowler during his first week of training, and it’s that one assbag’s second day here and he’s already managed to fuck it up.

He changes into his work out clothes quickly and grabs the wraps for his hands. He puts them on expertly on the way, having gone through the wrapping process much more often than anyone he knows has. Gavin’s about to turn into the gym when he hears the voice of that daydreaming coward coming from around the corner.

“Connor, would you stop your whining. Do you want what happened today in class to happen again?”

Gavin quickly backtracks to hide behind one of the support beams on the wall. He wants to know what happened during their class, because he has a feeling it has to do with how fucked up the guy was this morning.

“No I don’t,” the same voice replies? Is he talking to himself? Is this another case of Fight Club? “But we just got told to lie down and relax today since our hands are too bruised to hold pens. I don’t think it’s wise to go in there in case–”

“–In case we’re found here while this injured, I know.” Well, it’s definitely not the same person, since there were clearly two voices talking over each other just then. “You’ve said that only a million times now. We’re allowed to be in here, we just won’t be using the equipment.”

Gavin takes a chance to lean his head out and look at whoever is talking. He immediately recognises daydreamer on the left by the light grey shirt he’s wearing, which means his identical twin is wearing the black shirt. The doppelganger– apparently named Connor– looks slightly worse off than his twin.

These pilot wannabes just got here recently, right? So they must have been paired up for the initial evaluation and roughed each other up good. Maybe the twink-looking asshole isn’t a coward at all. Maybe the dude is just confident that he could win in a fight against Gavin. Although, that doesn’t explain why he was so certain that Gavin could win against that other fucker– was it Alex?– in a brawl just earlier. Maybe it’s more of an “You can’t beat me, but you can win against him” kinda deal.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum both enter the gym, still continuing on with their conversation about morals and finding loopholes within rules and orders, and Gavin takes that as his cue to follow them inside.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

“I still think we shouldn’t hold back around the instructors. They’re here to evaluate us, right?” Connor asks, still very much concerned about hiding things from the people who are above them in rank.

It’s just that, what if they get caught holding back and are punished for it? Connor doesn’t even want to think about the times that had happened while training with Amanda, let alone repeat it. He knows logically that Luther wouldn’t dream of doing something like that to his students, but the inconvenient part of Connor’s head is not letting him actually believe it. It’s better to expect the worst and get better results than assume decent results and get blindsided.

“Yes, but if we don’t hold back, then they’ll probably make us graduate much earlier, which means less time to find new partners.” Ritch hisses at him.

Connor just sighs, knowing he’s right but not liking to go behind instructors’ backs, even for something as important to them as this. Ritch likely knows what kind of war is going on in his head right now, which is probably why he’s being much more patient with him than usual today.

“I know you don’t like this, but it’s necessary.”

“I know. You’re right, as always.” Connor relents finally, sitting down in the far corner of the gym where it will be obvious that they’re just sitting there, watching everyone else train and work out. They need to get a feel for how much they should be holding back for now, and how fast they should progress throughout training.

A few minutes pass of silently watching a man on a treadmill, another at a punching bag, and a woman lifting weights before Connor leans over to speak into Ritch’s ear.

“Are we going to match their skill? Or are we going to try going weaker than them?”

“After the show we put on earlier, I don’t think we can pull off playing as much weaker or less skilled than these people without the others becoming suspicious.” he answers immediately, eyes never leaving the tiring man on the treadmill.

Connor nods silently, leaning back into his own space again. It isn’t long until Ritch is leaning over to whisper in his ear, this time.

“Do you see the guy at the punching bag?”

“Yes?” Connor confirms, watching the man go to town on the hanging bag.

His technique is very good, and he has a lot of power behind each punch. It’s obvious that he’s tougher and stronger than he looks, not unlike Ritch and himself. Connor wonders if Ritch is going to suggest matching with him. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all, seeing as how he seems to be at almost the same level as them. Plus, judging by the scars littered around his face and arms, he has real experience in combat, which gives him a leg up on the other trainees.

Actually… That might be Pilot–

“That’s Gavin Reed.” Ritch unknowingly confirms his thought. “He’s trouble, so just try your best to avoid and ignore him. I’ve already run into him twice and both times he’s tried to pick a fight with me.”

That wasn’t what Connor was expecting. He knew the rumors of Gavin Reed being testy and short-tempered, but he’s picking fights with Ritch of all people so soon after their arrival?

“Really? It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.”

“Yea. The first time he shoulder checked me while I was walking on the correct half of the hallway while he was going the opposite way, and the second time happened just before lunch. Apparently Alex bumped into him but he–” he nods to Gavin “–was adamant on finishing what was started. Mr. Anderson had to come and diffuse the situation.”

Connor turns to face Ritch. “Mr. Anderson was there?”

“Yes.”

“Did he seem okay? He seemed to have a terrible hangover this morning at lunch, and I’m sure any yelling that was happening wasn’t helping.”

Now Ritch turns to him. “Why do you care? He hasn’t been in a jaeger in years. Unless you became much more attached to who he once was than I thought.”

Connor huffs out what could be considered a growl and turns back to Gavin, “Can’t a guy just care about someone else’s health?”

“Not you.” Ritch follows Connor’s gaze, “When you care about someone’s health, it’s one of the first signs that you’re getting attached to someone, and I really don’t believe that Mr. Anderson is someone you should be getting attached to.”

“Why do you think that?” Immediately defensive.

“People talk, and he isn’t–.”

“Just like how they used to talk about us?”

“This is different than us.”

“How so?”

Ritch sharply turns back to his twin, irritation causing his eyebrows to set even lower and his mouth to thin. “Look, I don’t give a damn about who you imprint on or whatever anymore. I am trying to help you out here, because unlike the times people have talked about us, what people are saying about Mr. Anderson are all factual and we’ve both seen the proof. You need to lay off of him because not everyone feels the incessant need to not be alone.”

Connor finally allows himself to snap back. “Maybe you’re wrong this time. Yes, he drinks and he’s a miserable human being who doesn’t like other people, but how do we know that just who he is? What if he’s just like how we were way back in the orphanage, where everyone treated us like glass or ruined goods all the time? What if he wants– needs someone to be fuckin’ normal around him for a change to bring him out of his pit, and no one is there?”

“If he wanted someone, he would have found someone. He had plenty of friends before he started this!” Ritch raises his voice from a whisper, and Connor can already tell that this isn’t going to end well, especially since he isn’t willing to roll over and surrender this time.

“We had plenty of friends too, but they just didn’t understand once they found out, huh? They ended up just making things worse until all we had was each other. And there’s the thing! We still had one other person who understood! We had each other! And we’ve never remembered whatever trauma we’ve been through! He remembers it probably like it was yesterday and he is completely alone!”

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Connor! This is real life, and in real life you can’t just swoop in and save the depressed, rumored suicidal alcoholic through the magical power of friendship!”

“I don’t plan on saving anyone!” Connor shouts. The entire room becomes silent all of a sudden. He takes that moment to take a breath and continue at a normal speaking volume, “This is what you and everyone else don’t understand. I don’t want to save or fix people! I just want them to realize that there’s still hope for a somewhat normal life after their entire world shifted on its axis!” Connor takes another breath, recognizing that the three people in the room are no longer hiding the fact that they’re listening to him.

“I know I’ve said before that people can’t ‘fix’ or ‘save’ other people. They can only ever offer hope and a sense of normality among the chaos and hope that person finds enough of their own strength to fix themselves. And go ahead and make fun of me for being ‘naive’ or whatever you want. This is what I’ve always thought and this is the one thing I will not let anyone change about me. Now, I’m going to go take a nap. Enjoy your people watching.”

With that, Connor calmly makes his way across the gym area, a contradiction to the anger showing on his face and burning in his chest. He needs to calm down, and the best way to do that is to curl up in a calm, quiet place. He nods a silent greeting to the supposed troublemaker, Gavin Reed, on his way towards the door. Mostly to spite Ritch, but also because the guy had a really good form and the strength to back it up, and that deserves some kind of acknowledgement in Connor’s opinion.

Connor vaguely hears his name being called by Ritch as he steps out of the gym area, and normally that would be enough to make him pause, which then gives him think over the argument. Nine times out of ten, during this process of thinking things over, his brain somehow convinces himself that the entire fight was his fault and the person won’t ever forgive him. This time, though, he doesn’t pause. He doesn’t give his messed up head a chance to twist things on him. Connor knows he’s right this time, and he’s not going to allow himself to bow down to Ritch about this topic. In this case, bowing down to Ritch would be the equivalent of bowing down to Amanda, and she isn’t here to control him anymore.

No matter how far Connor was pushed during training as punishments, he never let her think she brainwashed that part of him, and she had not gone easy on him whatsoever.

Call him naive, childish, innocent, too optimistic, whatever. He’s heard all of that and much more and much worse from countless people. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, he likes giving people second and sometimes third chances (but only if they truly deserve it, and never a fourth). He likes to think that most people in the world don’t mean to do harm, and if they do they have a reason behind it. This way of thinking is the only thing that keeps him going some days, and on the days he’d temporarily forgotten how to maintain that mindset were the days that not even threats and cruel promises from Amanda could get him out of his bed. Mr. Anderson may have been able to get away with staying in bed most days, but that’s because he was once a decorated jaeger pilot. Connor is barely an official trainee, he can’t afford any more missed time.

“Connor!”

The familiar, gruff voice snaps him out of his thoughts. It doesn’t sound like that’s the first time he’s tried calling Connor, either.

“I apologise Mr. Anderson,” He starts with, turning on his heel quickly to not keep the older man waiting for his full attention a moment longer, “I was a bit lost in my head there for a few moments. I won’t let it happen again.”

Mr. Anderson makes a face that falls between scowling and confusion, “Must’ve been deeper in there than you thought ‘cause this ain’t close to any place you’d be needed.”

Looking around, he’s right. Connor doesn’t recognise these walls at all. There are different pipes and the floors are a slightly different texture than the rougher, more worn down metal or concrete of the other places he’s seen. He’s definitely in a bunker area, though, just not anywhere he’s been before, which means he’s probably in the area meant for more experienced pilots. Their bunkers are placed closest to the jaeger loading docks for faster take off. Connor must have taken a wrong turn at some point, still not completely used to this place’s layout.

It was probably for the best, though, since the first place Ritch would surely check for him is their room (especially since he claimed that he was going to take a nap), and he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in the gym nor a chance to apologize to his brother for the sake of ending the fight. Both options are equally possible at this moment, so plan “get back to the dorm to calm down in the quiet” changes to plan “avoid Ritch while finding a good place to calm down in”.

“Fucks sake, Connor!” Mr. Anderson calls again, once more sounding like that wasn’t the first thing he’s said to the younger man since he had zoned out.

Connor immediately tenses, not liking when people start raising their voices at him, and snaps out of his thoughts again. Here he is, causing problems and inconveniences for people again, just like the fuck up he’s been lately. He needs to find a calm, peaceful place to relax sooner rather than later; he can’t be in public any longer like this.

“I’m sorry,” Connor takes a step back, then another, all while curling into himself, “I must have taken a wrong turn, I apologize for taking up your time,” He takes a few more steps back, not lifting his gaze from the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave now. Sorry again–” Connor finishes weakly and darts out of the area, giving Mr. Anderson no chance to say anything to him.

He tries to force his head to stay in the real world so he can actually register where is and find out where he’s going, but it’s slowly getting more difficult. He speed walks through the huge jaeger storage room, easily dodging all of the busy people moving about and doing their jobs. After a particular quick change in direction to avoid the woman with her nose in her clipboard, Connor is painfully aware that his leg is still throbbing from this morning, despite the painkillers he was given.

At the reminder of the training room, he quickly finds a safe spot to stand in then checks the time. He hadn’t realised how much time has passed since lunch, and he isn’t sure how long of the past hour and a half was spent in the gym people watching and how much of it was spent wandering around aimlessly. He supposes it doesn’t matter at the moment. What does matter is that the training room should be empty by now, since everyone should be taking the written part of the exam so they can get a break from the physical exertion.

Connor eventually makes it to the vacant room successfully. No one else tried to stop him or talk to him. No one else seemed to take any particular note of him at all. There was no sign of Mr. Anderson, Gavin Reed, or Ritch that he’d been able to find. He should be safe here.

The first thing he does when he enters the room is find the best spot to spend over an hour in. He decides to camp in the left corner of the room, leaning against the wall the doorway he entered from is on. A minute or so of sitting and bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers pass before Connor decides to do some stretching. Yoga has always been his guilty pleasure and one of the few things that calmed him down completely. Besides, Amanda never complained about him being more flexible during fights. She said it complimented Ritch’s more solid technique.

Why does every little thing bounce back to her? Stop that. She’s gone now, so stop thinking about her. Stop thinking…

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he knows he’s been in the Child’s Pose for a fair amount of time, if the pin pricks in his calves and feet and the ache rising in his knees and lower back have anything to say about that. With a quiet grunt, he rolls onto his back and straightens out his body, trying to stretch out all of the aching joints and muscles. Connor doesn’t think it would be as bad if it was his entire body that ached, because then it would be easier to ignore it and move on.

“Oh shit. Connor, what are you doing in here?” North asks, making Connor jump.

Connor should have realized that he wasn’t alone in the room. With how tired he was, and still is, there’s no way he would have woken up on his own while the sun was still up.

Connor notes the random sounds of concern and confusion and the footsteps growing closer to him. He decides to go with sarcasm and humor, rather than the blunt truth. He’s already caused enough inconveniences today, and he knows this group well enough to know that they won’t somehow be offended by it.

“Oh, you know. Just doing yoga. I don’t recommend falling asleep in the middle of a pose though…” Connor fails to cover a groan as he sits up. His legs have gotten a bit better, but his back and ankles certainly haven’t yet. “Yea, definitely not the best position to fall asleep in.”

Markus offers a hand to lift him up to his feet, and Connor gladly takes it. “Why are you doing yoga in here of all places? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

“I didn’t even know you did yoga,” Josh jumps in.

Connor elects to ignore Markus’ question for the time being, “It’s always been a guilty pleasure of mine, and once my… Once the person who was taking care of me and Ritch figured out I was doing yoga in my spare time instead of doing extra studying, she didn’t actively try to stop me.” He starts leaning and twisting his torso in different directions to try to stretch his back, grimacing at how it pulls at some of the bandages and injuries on his torso. “She actually said that my flexibility and fluidity in fights complimented Ritch’s more rigid and solid form.”

“Jesus,” Simon breathes out, “The way you and Ritch describe– Amanda was it?” Connor nods, “Makes it seem like she wasn’t your stepmother at all.”

One would think that Connor would learn to think before replying.

“That’s because she really wasn’t.” He finally straightens up for good, his back better, now. “I think she only adopted us because we said we wanted to become jaeger pilots when we grew up. Well, I did, anyway.” Connor adds that last part softly, massaging his left palm with his right thumb.

“Wait,” Josh blurts, “You said her name was Amanda?”

“Yes?” Why does Josh look like he’s found the missing last piece to a 500 part jigsaw puzzle?

“Amanda, as in, Amanda Stern? Do you share her last name?”

Seeing how everyone’s eyes light up confuses Connor even more. He’s definitely missing something here.

“Yes? Have you met her before or know somebody else who has?”

“Have we met her!?” North suddenly exclaims, “Are you kidding me!? Only a small group of people have met her, everyone else just knows of her and her work! She’s a fucking legend among the jaeger pilot and special forces trainers! She always trains the best fighters! No wonder you two are so far out of our league! Especially if you’ve been in her care for so long!”

“I didn’t realise she was popular.”

“She’s more than just popular. She’s downright famous within the jaeger and military community.” Simon corrects.

“I’m actually shocked you didn’t know. Did you never question what those gatherings were, as you and Ritch call them?” Josh asks.

“Uh, no? Asking particularly dumb questions usually meant more work the next day for us, so neither of us wanted to ask. We just knew that wealthy people came over for conversation and drinks and we had to stay out of the way unless sought out and spoken to.”

Markus seems to snap out of his silent contemplation then. “More work for asking dumb questions. A life wearing nothing but uniforms and sleepwear, little to no toys and electronics growing up despite her having the funds for more than enough. That mixed with how you guys are pretty much soldiers already and claim to have learned most of it on your own… She does not sound like someone who deserves the high praise she gets. It all sounds questionable at best.”

“I mean… I guess? But she was only trying to get us used to following orders and stuff so we wouldn’t get in trouble here.” Right? “I don’t think she wasn’t a bad person? She just liked having things a certain way and was very determined to get it that way. We just weren’t good enough pilots for her in the beginning, is all. She was very nice and pleasant to us when we did something right, and always was to other people, too.”

Whatever Markus is thinking, Simon catches on too. Maybe they have the telepathy thing that Connor and Ritch have, too. “Were you and Ritch holding back this morning?”

Connor doesn’t know where this is going, but he doesn’t like it.

“What do you mean? We were told to go all out so we could be evaluated properly.”

“That’s what you were told to do,” Markus puts a kind hand on his shoulder. It’s oddly and undeniably comforting. “But did you actually?”

“No. We held back.” Ritch’s voice says from the doorway, having just popped in, “We had to be at least a little more gentle than usual because we were on those thin mats, and not mud or thicker foam like we’re used to. But after seeing everyone else’s skill levels this morning, we decided it would be best to blend in and hold back more.”

“What happened to keeping that hidden? What if Luther and Chloe find out?” Connor steps towards his brother, causing Markus’ hand to fall from his shoulder.

“I see no reason to hide that from this group in particular.” Ritch remains as stoic and unbothered as always. “They’ve proven themselves to be trustworthy, and at least two of them had already figured it out. It’d be more effort to try to continue hiding it from them.” Connor goes to retort, but Ritch continues, “Why are you getting upset? I thought you wanted to come clean?”

Connor has to curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw to keep the angered words and growls from leaving his mouth. It doesn’t help in the slightest that he never got to properly calm down from the fight earlier. He just fell asleep on the floor.

“What brings you here, Ritch?” he asks calmly, instead.

He rolls his eyes– a thing he would have gotten smacked for if they were still under Amanda’s roof, Connor’s brain supplies. “Well, you kind of stormed out earlier.”

“That generally means that person doesn’t want to be in the other’s presence anymore.”

“Oh would you stop being a child for two seconds and come with me to eat dinner. You need to eat and we can finish talking then.”

Connor sharply looks to the side. “I’ll be there in a few. Go ahead without me.” He continues as Ritch opens his mouth to say something, “And if you just stay here and wait for me I will purposely skip dinner and breakfast tomorrow. And you know I’ve lasted longer without food before and it won’t faze me.”

“And you know it won’t faze me either.”

“Won’t it?” Connor usually lasted just over three days without food before giving in during Amanda’s “survival evaluations”. Ritch only lasted one and a half on average.

There’s a heavy, tense silence where Connor is painfully aware of the other four’s presence, and that they have no clue what to make of this or how to handle it. Thankfully, Ritch caves first with a sigh.

“Fine then, but I don’t want you near Mr. Anderson.”

Connor clenches his fists and law. “Good thing you’re not my guardian or superior then.”

“He is, though. Your superior.”

“And he hasn’t kicked me off of his table yet. And don’t even claim that he could be letting me stay just to be polite or whatever. We both know he isn’t like that.”

Another silence, less tense and much shorter this time, though. Yet it’s broken by Ritch’s sigh once more.

“Fine.” He snaps, shaking his head, “It’s your life, your downfall, your embarrassment, and your panic attack when he comes to dislike you.” He turns around and starts walking out of the room. He doesn’t pause as he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t come crying to me this time. This will be all your doing, and I am not your guardian.”

“Wasn’t going to.” the other half calls back.

Well that was a disaster. Well, not so much of a disaster as a wreckage of notable size. Here Connor was, thinking that it would be himself that would ruin his relationship with Markus, North, Josh, and Simon, but oh no. No, it was going to be Ritch that destroyed it in the end. That robotic asshat.

Well, time to do some damage control.

“I am so sorry you guys had to see that–”

“Are you two like this all the time?” Josh interrupts.

His question makes him freeze and stumble over his previous thought. Why would he care how he and Ritch act around one another?

“Yes and no? I mean, when we’re not talking business, we’re either doing our own thing and leaving each other alone or training together, but our arguments don’t usually last this long. It’s usually solved one way or another by now.” Connor takes a deep breath, and finally relaxes his fists and stature, not realizing he was tense for a fight. He turns to the group that is now cautious, not unlike treading on eggshells, but not treating him as if he were delicate or unpredictable. More like unsteady, if he was forced to choose a word. “You guys know how siblings are, after all. This will pass.”

No one says or indicates anything. Are siblings not usually like this?

Markus takes a step forward. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but were you and Ritch pitted against each other often?”

Connor almost considers leaving the room right then, making use of the out he was given. He’s been talking way too much today, anyway; he feels the way his throat is getting hoarse with how much he’s been using his voice. On top of that, he just doesn’t want to go into detail about their training. He doesn’t want their opinions of him or Ritch to change because of what they’ve done in the past. Although, if his twin didn’t feel like waiting until they were alone to continue their dispute, then why should Connor spare him of this?

“I was under the impression that everyone fought against their partner in order to train. It helps both trainees’ styles to be either complementary to one another or near identical, and it helps them think in similar or complementary ways during battles, too. Did you guys not spar against each other regularly?”

“There’s a difference between sparring against your partner and being pitted against them, Connor.” North responds this time, uncharacteristically subdued.

“Well, yes, I suppose so…” There are so many regrets right now. After this, he’s just not going to talk anymore. It’s not worth it.

Simon takes a slow step forward, watching his reaction, “Stop me if I’m going too far, but were you guys ever told to fight with the intentions to harm or subdue each other, rather than just to train? ‘Cause that is usually considered illeg–”

–hand in his hair, boot digging into his back. He can’t breathe, he may as well be drowning on the mud he’s being pushed into–

“No.” he says with a sharp shake of his head. Whether it’s an answer to Simon’s question or a reaction to his thoughts, not even Connor himself knows.

–he takes the knife from his leg, wincing and hissing as it tears through–

No.

–loses his grip, causing him to be pinned again. He can’t move his arm. Why can’t he move his arm?–

No, no no no no no–

–it’s cold in summer..? Why is my vision so blurry? Wait, why am I alone now? No, wait! Don’t leave me! Please! I’ll do better! I promise I’ll do bet–

“Connor?!”

Connor finally snaps out of it with a small gasp, realizing that his vision really is getting blurry, but for a different reason. Crying is extremely disgraceful and impolite, especially in front of others. You have to be on your best behavior in front of people, and crying and curling up on the ground is not good behavior. He straightens up and forcibly relaxes his posture, using a single knuckle to wipe the threatening tears in the corners of his eyes. It’s now that he realizes he was beginning to hyperventilate. He needs a minute to be alone and calm himself, but he doesn’t want to be left alone. He really doesn’t want to be left alone–

Ah, but he isn’t alone right now and they won’t be leaving him, he can distantly hear them telling him that right now. Maybe there’s a chance they won’t completely avoid him in the near future. Although, for now, he needs to be fine, and his small group of allies certainly don’t see him as fine right now. He needs to calm down. He’s making a fool of himself in front of them. He needs to reassure them that he’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll definitely be fine–

“Connor, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault. I apologize for the way I reacted just then.” Manners are key, especially when forced to cut a conversation short. He bows his head with practiced grace, “And to answer your question, no, we weren’t ever told to fight each other with such an intent. Honestly. It– ah– we weren’t technically against each other…” He looks up at the clock on the wall; it’s nearly dinner time. “Ah, you guys came in here earlier for a reason and I just keep getting in the way. My apologies.” Markus opens his mouth to speak, but Connor doesn’t give him time. “Thank you for keeping me company, though.”

“Connor, I’m sorry for asking–”

No no no. Can’t think of that. Don’t think. It never happened. It was just a bad dream. Just think of it as a bad dream. Ritch said it would help. Amanda may lie, but Ritch doesn’t. Does he?

“No no, you’re quite alright. You didn’t know, it wasn’t your fault. It’s natural for people to be curious, and it really wasn’t that bad. I simply have a habit of over reacting to things.” Connor tries to make his following laugh sound genuine, but falls short. “Well, I should go now. Dinner will be starting soon and you still have business to attend to. I’ll see you guys later if you’re interested.”

Connor finally manages to shuffle out of the room, but he never makes it to dinner that night, even if he told Ritch he would. Despite what he just claimed, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk to them again. People hate when others are large burdens, and that’s exactly what he’s becoming for them. He thought he could be better with fresh, new faces, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. It’s not how it works. It won’t ever be how it works, so it’s better to just leave them alone and let them have peace.

Ritch was right. He probably needs to start leaving Mr. Anderson alone. He understands now. Maybe he can still sit there to be alone? But why would he stay here at the base just to be alone? If he can’t even handle getting casual friends, how will he ever find a partner? And Connor’s replaceable in a way the ex-pilot is not, so they would not be nearly as patient with him.

Does that mean he needs to quit after all? What could he even do if not this? What would Ritch do? Connor’s the reason he’s even here in the first place. He’s the reason Ritch will be stuck in a life style he never particularly wanted growing up. Why can’t Connor ever do anything right? Everyone is right, he’s too naive, too childish, too quick to get too deep into things. It needs to stop. He’ll pack his things tomorrow and tell the instructors about all of this and he’ll be gone by tomorrow evening or the next morning, whenever Ritch isn’t around. If Ritch finds out he’ll definitely blame Connor and make him stay with him as payback or something. Connor can’t stay, though. He’s useless.

His room’s door opens with a creek, causing Connor to instinctively curl into himself, but he forces himself to relax and slow his breathing. If Ritch thinks he’s asleep when he gets back, he’ll leave him alone. With every footstep, adrenaline rushes through Connor. He’s distantly aware that he’s being like this because he’s afraid Ritch is going to pop out of nowhere and confront him, knowing he won’t have the energy to fight back now. They’ve been arguing all day and a good chunk of yesterday too, it’d only make sense for Ritch to try something like that.

Instead of doing so, though, Connor simply changes into sleeping clothes and climbs into bed. The main light was never turned on, so the room has been coated in darkness from the start. After some time of resting, though, there’s the creak of the door, then a click accompanied by a soft, yellow light flooding the room. It stays on for a long while before Connor hears Ritch shifting around again. This time, the other twin climbs out of the lower bunk and sounds like he’s about to put on his real clothes again, but pauses in the process.

“Connor.” The man in question can hear the stern frown in Ritch’s voice. He uses all of his self control to not stiffen because of it, but it apparently wasn’t good enough. “Connor, I know you’re up. Why didn’t you eat?” that same stern frown is likely still on his face.

Connor doesn’t move, hoping that if he keeps up the act and ignores his racing heart, Ritch will convince himself that he was just seeing things. He knows it’s not a realistic thing to hope for, but still.

“Connor, even if you weren’t up before, I know you would be by now. Why weren’t you in the food court? The others were.”

No response. He remembers what he said before in the training room, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone anymore. It just makes things worse. Besides, his throat is still a bit scratchy.

“Fine. Be a child. I don’t care. I’m not putting up with this shit anymore.”

No, wait, please don’t leave. I take it back, I’ll get better at talking so I can do it without messing up, like you can. I’ll teach myself how to respond better so I don’t have to worry about making things worse anymore. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want anyone to hate me. I don’t want to be alone again. Please–

“Connor?” Soft footsteps creep closer. “Are you crying?” If Connor didn’t know better, he’d almost say that Ritch sounded concerned.

Before responding, he takes a shaky breath so he can speak without too many tremors in his voice. “I’m not crying.” Another, shorter breath. “It’s impolite and childish, especially in front of people.” The next breath is shakier, and definitely a give away that he’s slowly failing his attempt at not crying. “I’m fine. You need rest.”

“Connor–”

“You’re not my guardian. You don’t need to babysit me. Just let me self destruct like you said you would. It’s not even anything serious. Goodnight.” Just because his sleep schedule is going to be completely ruined, doesn’t mean Ritch’s has to be as well.

“Connor…”

He doesn’t respond.

There’s a shuffle of Ritch sitting down on the bed as he asks, “Did they ask more questions?”

“Yes, but you were there for them.” Maybe he’ll let him go to sleep if he plays along.

“Was that the only thing they asked?”

Connor sighs, annoyed. “Yes.”

“What did they ask?”

Connor finally makes himself sit up. “Ritch, I just said–”

“Connor.” If a tone of voice could paralyze, Connor wouldn’t even be able to blink.

He sighs again, this time in defeat. “If I tell you, would you let me sleep?”

“Depends on if what I’m told and if it’s a lie or not.”

Connor hesitates.

“...if I promise to tell the truth, will you leave me alone?”

“Depends on what the truth is.”

“Then no.”

Ritch jumps up from where he sat on his lower bunk. “Connor! I swear to god–”

“They brought it up, okay? God, are you happy now?”

“Brought what up, Connor? Use your words–”

“It.” he snarls, “They asked a question that made me think of when it happened. And I know you aren’t as affected by it as I am, but I can’t handle anything like you can. I just can’t...” Connor finally lets himself fall back down on his bed in a desperate attempt to hide the silent tears that are finally falling.

This time, Ritch is the one that doesn’t have a response. Good. Let him think about when it happened. Let him suffer just like Connor was trying to avoid because he’s a nosy prick.

Ritch heaves a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I can talk to them about it tomorrow, try to calm them down. They’re probably very worried about you or both of us now.”

Connor grunts. They probably should be worried, but he knows that leaving things as they are now would only make things worse for himself in the long run.

“Connor.” Another grunt. “Please try to eat something tomorrow. I’ll talk to Luther to see if you can take tomorrow off. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I’m not a child anymore.” he grumbles.

“No, you’re not.” he agrees softly.

Another grunt, this time followed by a heavy sigh. He won’t be getting that break. Even if he did get it, the chances of him being put in the danger zone of being sent home are more likely than most of the other trainees. If he can’t even handle being here for two days without becoming so completely and utterly useless, then what business does he have trying to be a fully-fledged pilot? None, that’s the answer.

He is distantly aware that Ritch has started trying to talk to him again, but Connor really just wants to go to sleep and forget about today, and so he does. He assumes his twin goes to bed soon after he did, though, because when he tries to wake Connor up for breakfast the next morning, he appears to be well rested. No obvious dark circles or bags under his eyes, no sluggish movements, his eyes clear. That’s good. Ritch will do just fine here. He knows how to talk like a normal human being and responds to others well. He’ll definitely find a new partner in no time.

Ritch walks out the door. Connor almost tries to get up to get ready for class, then figures that if he’s actually going to quit soon, then he may as well just stay put. Therefore, he’s still in bed by the time breakfast ends and the first class begins. No one tries to come get him. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting. He tries to convince himself that it’s just because Ritch told everyone that he needs a day off, but, if anything, that makes the sting in his chest worse for some reason.

He’ll try going in after lunch, after he’s had some time to settle down a bit.

After deciding on that, he goes to his dresser drawer and pulls out the small bottle of strong sleeping essential oil that Ritch and Amanda have no clue he has, let alone needs often enough for it to maybe be unhealthy. Here, he has it stuffed in the back of his dresser-locker under some clothes. He rubs a bit of it onto his foot then pulls a sock on because he doesn’t want that horrendous smell getting all over his sheets. His head doesn’t even quite make it onto the pillow properly before he’s out like a light.

Sleeping means no thinking, and no thinking means no stressing, after all, and that oil does a damn good job at knocking people out.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait! I promise future updates won’t take this long! I’m just in the middle of a move and life kinda bitch slapped me outta no where there for a hot minute, but I think things are going better now. The next update probably won’t be as soon as I want it to be, but y’all won’t have to wait four months again Lol. Thank you to anyone who stuck around this long, despite me being new Heheh 😄 Thank you for reading and I hoped y’all didn’t hate it!! I absolutely promise that next chapter will be filled with lots of comfort and fluff!! 😄💖💕

#reed900 #gavin reed x rk900 #reed900 fanfic #reed900 fanfiction #reed900 au #hankcon #hankcon fanfiction #hank x connor #hannor fanfic #hannor fanfiction #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction #hannor au #hankcon au #slow burn #pacific rim!au #The Drift Between Us #Chapter 3

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undertalethingies · 3 years

Text

Don’t Forget Me (Please)

A twelve year old Sans sat on a bench.

He wasn’t supposed to be there, of course. He was supposed to be in lockdown like everyone else, hiding from the human who’d apparently already proved that they had no qualms about killing monsters.

He personally thought that they probably wouldn’t be doing much killing if they weren’t being attacked on sight. It seemed really dumb to try to kill someone for their soul and then get mad when they fought back.

And whatever, right? He was safe anyway. No one ever found this bench, since it was in a weird place and kinda out of the way. A human wouldn’t find it because they’d be too busy trying to get to the castle faster so they could try to leave.

That was another thing Sans didn’t get. Why have the Royal Guard running around like headless chickens to try and capture a human when they’d have to pass through the palace to leave anyway?

Sure, the humans overall seemed pretty warlike, considering how many separate nations and stuff they had up on the surface, but that didn’t mean that any given member of the species was just some crazed murderer. Judging by the kind of trash that fell into the underground, they had to be pretty technologically advanced, especially since they didn’t have any trash to copy. They had to do it all themselves, so at least some of them must’ve been smart, right?

Sans took a whoopie cushion out of his pocket, inflated it, and blew it at the echo flower next to him so it would make fart noises forever.

That was another thing. Humans had invented whoopie cushions and most of the associated gags. That meant humans couldn’t be all bad, because bad people would never invent something as awesome as whoopie cushions.

Sans continued to idly contemplate humanity, fully believing that his conclusions would never be tested.

Sienna rested in the room with the bridge puzzle, her signature cowboy hat tugged low over her eyes. She took a polishing cloth out of her pocket and ran it over her gun a few times, a nervous habit her mom had never been able to break her of.

She was starting to think she might not see her mom again. She’d do everything in her power to get through the underground alive, of course, but some of the monsters down here were really strong, and the sheer amount of people that wanted her dead was terrifying.

Even scarier was that she was almost out of bullets, even though she’d never planned to use any at the start of this.

Her favorite poncho was stained with dust, that clingy white stuff monsters turned into when she shot them. She didn’t regret it, no. Every kill she’d made had been in self defense, but she still hated the necessity of it.

Looking around the room, she didn’t see any monsters anywhere, though she knew there could be some hiding in the reeds. She also knew she’d encounter more if she continued on, and she just wasn’t ready yet.

She decided to mess around with the bridge seeds instead. Maybe if she could get all four of them into the water fast enough, she could ride them down the river to some nicer place.

Carefully, she took each seed and placed it on the edge of the water, just barely balancing on the small ridge that separated Waterfall’s spongy earth from the flowing water.

All at once, she pushed the seeds off. They sprouted into a bridge and she hastily leapt on before it could be washed down the stream.

Sienna cautiously got to her feet on her improvised boat, holding her arms out to keep her balanced. She was doing it! It had really worked!

She let out a laugh of pure joy.

Maybe now she could leave peacefully!

Just as she was getting excited, her seed bridge came to an abrupt stop, causing her to tumble forward.

Before she hit the ground, a blue glow enveloped her, stopping her momentum entirely.

“geez, i don’t even know you and you’re already falling for me,”

Sans was still sitting on the bench when he heard a wild laugh from just outside the room. Curious, he turned his head, just in time to see some kid falling over from where they’d been standing on some bridge seeds.

He knew faceplanting was bad for those fleshy types, so he grabbed their soul with blue magic to stop their momentum. Because he couldn’t resist, he coupled his timely assist with a pun.

“geez, i don’t even know you and you’re already falling for me,” He said, winking and finger gunning.

The kid got shot back to their feet with a wild look, pulling an actual gun out of a holster at their side and pointing it at him.

Sans was confused, to say the least. “uh, normally if people don’t like my jokes, they just groan at me. no need to start taking out the weapons, y’know?” He gave them some side eye that they one hundred percent deserved. Seriously, who pulls a weapon over a joke? Who down here even had a weapon?

“Are you gonna try and kill me?” They demanded, and he noticed that their arms were shaking just slightly.

Sans tilted his head. “why would i do that? it’s not like you’re a-” Sans paused for a moment, taking in the dust on their pocho and the fear in their face. Suddenly, he remembered that there was a human in the underground.

“oooooh. you’re the human, aren’t you?”

“Yeah! What’re you gonna do about it?”

He deliberated for a moment, bringing his hand up to support his chin. His eyes narrowed and he made a long “hmm” sound.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, making a bony clacking sound.

“i know!” The human tensed. “i’m gonna do absolutely nothing.”

Their jaw fell open, producing a comical expression of surprise. “You’re not going to try and kill me?”

“nope,” he popped the p.

Their eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’re not going to try and capture me? Not going to shoot magic at me or try to break my legs or set me on fire?”

“did people actually do that? you look like, eight,” Sans couldn’t imagine what he would have done if people had done all that to him. He felt somewhat horrified, but he kept it to himself, hiding it behind a jovial grin and a friendly tone. He didn’t know what people had done to this human, but they were pointing a gun at him with their finger on the trigger and he knew all too well that it would only take one shot.

“Of course they did! Monsters have done nothing but try to kill me since I fell down here!” There was something raw in their voice as they said it, and he couldn’t suppress a pang of sympathy.

“that does sound pretty sucky,”

The human rolled their eyes. “Gee, you think? I just want to go home and see my mom again, and there’s literally only one monster in this whole place who’s been actually nice to me,”

“wow, is it me?” Sans asked, fluttering his eyesockets.

“No. You’re weird and suspicious. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell you’re trying to sell me here,”

Sans mimed a dramatic gasp, placing his hand over his heart and looking to the side. “how could you, human whose name i don’t know. i thought we had something special here, with our forty seconds of interaction,” Dropping the hurt tone, he said in a more serious manner, “and of course i’m being nice to you. you’ve got a gun pointed at me and you look like the twitchy type.”

The human gave him a searching look, like they were trying to telekinetically implode him, before nodding, flipping the gun’s safety back on, and sticking it back in the holster all in one fluid movement that made him question how a little kid knew how to operate a handgun in the first place.

“That’s fair. You planning to attack me now that I’ve got it put away?” They asked.

“i don’t really see the point, to be honest. you’ll die pretty much irregardless of my actions, so why should i get blood on my hands?”

They glared at him. “So you’re only refusing to fight because someone else’ll do it for you?”

Sans thought for a moment, and shook his head. “not quite. more like… i dunno whether i agree with killing every human who falls down here, and it’s not like the king is gonna listen to some kid about it, so i can at least make him face the consequences of that decision himself,” He explained.

“and we have to get to the surface somehow, right? the underground can’t support monsters indefinitely. the clock’s been ticking since we got sealed down here.” It was wrong to kill kids for freedom, it had to be. But what other choice did they have? It was seven humans measured against thousands of monsters, and while both options sucked, there was a pretty clear winner, in Sans’ view.

The kid’s eyes widened. “So you guys are gonna die if you stay down here?”

“not all of us, necessarily. but monster society as it is will probably completely break down within fifty to seventy years, going by the ratio of population growth to how many farmable fields we’ve got,”

“Why not just stop having kids?”

Sans blinked. Then he flashed back to a human book he’d found in the dump a few years ago and was pretty sure he knew the source of confusion.

“monster kids don’t work like human kids. they kinda just pop up wherever there are large concentrations of magic. that’s why we know there aren’t more than a handful of monsters living on the surface, is because the barrier sucks up all the magic on earth to stay powered,”

“That’s so weird, dude.” They looked like they were about to ask follow up questions, but Sans didn’t want to talk more about the inevitable decline of his species, so he spoke before they could.

“what’s the surface like, anyway?”

The human raised their hand and made an a aborted gesture, before flapping their hand. “Uh. It’s, a lot of things? It’s kinda big, so there’s a lot going on,”

Sans was absolutely floored by this stunning revelation. He’d never guessed that the surface might be large, of all things. “i was kinda hoping for specifics, kid,”

They shrugged “It’s hard to sum up, okay? I guess the country I live in has a lot of parks and stuff?”

“i’ve heard of those. they’re like big areas of land cordoned off for animals to live in, right?”

“Some of them are, I guess. I think most parks are just big tourist attractions, though. But I guess they have to be? Since it’s not like the government’s gonna give them enough money,”

??? Sans was confused. What did they mean, the government wouldn’t give proper money? Wasn’t that the whole point of having it in the first place?

“the government won’t give them money?”

“Well yeah, bastards are too busy lining their own pockets to give proper funds to necessary amenities. Even insurance is privatized,”

“what’s insurance?”

The human looked at him, and blinked very slowly. They raised their hands as if to gesture a point, before once again lowering them to their sides.

“Monsters don’t have insurance?”

“i mean, we might. you still haven’t explained what that even is,” Judging by their vaguely shell shocked expression, he was guessing it was something pretty universal.

“Insurance is like… If you get in a car crash, or your house burns down, a company will give you a payout based on the damages, and in exchange you give them a set amount of money, which they put into a pool, which is where they get the money to pay their clients from,”

“that’s just a pyramid scheme with extra steps,”

“How do you know what a pyramid scheme is but not insurance?”

He shrugged. “monsters have scammers too. ask me about jerry sometime,”

They gave him a dubious look before continuing. “Anyway, insurance isn’t quite a pyramid scheme, mostly because it’s pyramid schemey-ness pretty much only exists to combat the healthcare system, which is infinitely, infinitely worse. Also, what do you guys do if you have a disaster you can’t pay for if none of you have insurance?”

“why would you have to pay for a disaster?”

“The people doing the repairs have to get money from somewhere, right?”

“the government???”

“Your government actually cares about you?”

“yours doesn’t?”

“It’s the government? Wouldn’t that be obvious?”

Sans could clearly see that this line of questioning wasn’t going anywhere, so he decided to ask about something else confusing they’d said.

“what did you mean when you said your healthcare system was a pyramid scheme? how does that even work?”

The human made a face. “Lemme just give you an example. So, some humans have this disability called diabetes, and they need to inject a chemical called insulin semi-frequently so they don’t die,”

Getting a sense of where this might be going, Sans prepared his sense of horror.

“Insulin costs about $2.50 per bottle to manufacture. I know you guys probably don’t use the same monetary system, but just try and guess how many dollars it costs to buy,”

Sans figured that it must be bad, given the human’s seeming assurance that this would prove their point handily, so he guessed high.

“fifteen dollars?”

The human chuckled without a trace of humor. “Try 50.”

Sans was physically incapable of paling, but he gave a valiant effort. “but you said they need it to not die,”

“Yep,”

“and 50 is a lot?”

“Yep. Especially since they end up needing a lot of it.”

The rictus of a grin on their face raised another question in his mind. How did some probably-eight-year-old have this nihilistic an outlook on life? (Later he would look back on this thought and giggle to himself)

“how old are you, anyway? you seem to know a lot about this,”

“I’m twelve,”

Sans blinked. “wait, we’re the same age? that feels so weird, i’ve been calling you kid this entire conversation,”

“You’re twelve too? Damn, you act like you’re thirty,”

“i could say the same to you,”

“Why’d you assume I was younger than you anyway? I’m way taller than you,”

Sans sniffed. “i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear that,”

“Why? It’s true,”

“i take everything nice i thought about you back. you’re by far my least favorite human,”

They rolled their eyes. “And how long ago did the last one fall?”

“like forty years, what’s your point?”

The two snickered.

“you know, it’s kinda a shame there’s a war. i think i would’ve liked to be friends with you,”

They smiled, the motion bittersweet. “Yeah. Same to you. I should go,”

The human turned, walking from his life as quickly as they’d entered it.

“wait!” He said just as they were about to turn out of sight.

They rotated at the waist so that they could see him without turning all the way around. “What?”

“you said your mom is on the surface, right? if you tell me your name, i could make sure news of you gets to her, in case… you know.”

They looked slightly touched. “Yeah, okay. If I’m gonna die, let me be remembered as Sienna Auren, instead of just ‘the girl with the gun’,”

Then they paused. “You should tell me your name too, so I can think of you as something other than ‘that weirdo who gave a pickup line to someone he was actively at war with’,”

He winced slightly at the distinctly unflattering description. “sans.”

“Goodbye, Sans. I’d say see you, but I probably won’t.”

And then she left for real. The only human he’d likely ever meet, in and out of his life in less than twenty minutes.

Sans sat on the bench, his head tilted back to regard the only stars the underground could lay claim to. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and flipped it, but he didn’t catch it and it landed in the river.

How long would she live? How many more times would she fire that gun? how many times would she have no choice?

Each second she spent in the underground, each step she took, was a countdown ticking to the demise that awaited her in the castle with the king. Her poncho was stained now with dust, but how long would it take for that to be mixed with blood?

How long would it take for the sixth human who fell into the underground, the girl the same age as him who hated those who ruled the world she came from with such ferocity, who searched for the surface so her mother could see her once more, how long would it take for Sienna to be nothing but a body in a coffin and a soul in a canister?

What a world, where children were sacrificed at the idol of freedom.

Sans couldn’t cry. He wasn’t capable.

He hugged his knees to his chest and wondered why it was him who was left with her memory.

“i guess…” He began, his words directed at nothing more than the knowledge that he now must grieve for someone he didn’t even know, because no one else would.

“i guess i just…” He broke down laughing midway through the sentence, and for someone who couldn’t cry, his giggles sounded remarkably like sobs.

He pushed himself to his feet, the rough wood of the bench scraping at his fingers. He tore his gaze from the lights above, for he had no wish right now that was in their power to grant. He pulled his hands to his face, covering his bone dry eyesockets from the judging view of the stars above.

“i just wasn’t ready for the responsibility.”

He went home like he knew Sienna never would.

#undertale #undertale fanfic #undertale fanfiction #sans #sixth human #angst #humor #remembered that i'm allowed to finish fics in more than one sitting

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scifrey · 7 years

Photo

I'm super pleased to announce that my satire novella THE DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS is returning to print as CITY BY NIGHT, published by Short Fuse.

The Cover Reveal is on its way, but in the meantime, how would you like to read the first three chapters for free? They will be released one at a time on Wattpad this week, leading up to the October 6th publication date. And if you'll be at Con-Volution on October 7th, join us for the release party!

This is a story about Mary, number one fan of the hottest cult vampire detective TV show, City by Night...until it becomes all too real.

An accident with the Craft Services truck sends her hurtling into the world of the show, and Mary is thrilled--who wouldn't want to live alongside their favorite TV characters? Unfortunately, living in TV-land isn't all that Mary thought it would be. The charm fades when Mary realizes that the extras still don't speak, the matte paintings don't become real, and all the infuriating flaws in the writing are just amplified when you have to try to interact with the shallow characters. And then, of course, the lead character Richmond DuNoir falls for her!

Sure, fine, he's hot...but he's also a bit, well, poorly written. And his admiration comes with its own set of problems: Antonio, Richmond's psychotic stalker, has a habit of killing off the girls-of-the-week. Not only is Mary disillusioned with what she thought was a lush world until she had to try to maneuver in it, now she's about to be murdered by one of the stupidest clichés in the history of television in a world that, pardon the pun, totally sucks.

A loving satire of the Toronto film industry, vampire-cop television, and what it really means to be a "fan" from award-winning science fiction author J.M. Frey.

READ THE FREE PREVIEW ON WATTPAD | PREORDER THE NOVELLA ON AMAZON

Chapter One : Concerning Rabbit Holes and All That

When Mary comes to, she is lying face down in the grass beside the road.

Her first conscious thought, beyond Ow ow ow, is How long have I been lying here? Followed closely by Ouch and Am I really so unimportant that nobody has helped me? and Ouch and Where am I? Followed again by Ouch as she tries to get her hands under her shoulders and push herself onto her knees.

Rain has pooled in her upturned left ear. Her toes are frozen. Everything aches. Her head throbs. Her knees and her palms burn. Her left arm and left leg are bleeding, both from jagged gashes right above the joint that look way, way grosser than anything she's ever seen people sporting after a visit to the Effects Makeup trailer. There's grit in the long cut, and when Mary flexes her fingers, she can feel the sickening grind of grains of dust against her muscles. It feels disgusting, the way that frogs squashed by a little boy's shoe is disgusting, with that sort of oozing pop.

The Craft Services van that hit her is nowhere to be seen. The studio is gone, too, even though she was pretty sure she hadn't run that far. Something warm and salty stings her left eye.

She's on a street she doesn't recognize, at night, with streetlamps that only mostly work. They cast an amber glow over the glistening pavement, so perfectly moody that it looks like something out of a cinematographer's wet dream. There's grass between the sidewalk and the road, and it's wet from a storm that must have passed over her while she was unconscious, if her wet hair and ear are anything to go by. The air smells of...nothing.

Nothing at all. For reasons Mary can't fathom—reasons which make her heart beat faster, her shoulders ratchet up to her ears—this unnerves her. It's unnatural.

There's no one on the barren street. It's a strangely harmonious mix of residential and storefronts made out of the converted ground floors of houses, all dark and closed up for the night. There is, by some strange cosmic luck, or fate, or universal synergy, a phone booth less than a block away, on the corner. Mary hasn't seen a phone booth in years, but she doesn't own a cellular phone herself because she never wanted to be distracted at work. She hates her coworkers when they tap away with their thumbs, instead of paying attention to who is going in and out of the studio gate like they're being paid to do.

It takes Mary a few minutes to get upright. She is reminded unpleasantly of the cliché about the wounded gazelle on the Serengeti: weak and tottering, but too afraid of attracting the wrong attention to bleat for help. Her head throbs again, and then a very stupid realization bubbles up to the surface of her muzzy brain: she is alone.

Totally alone.

There is no one on the street. There doesn't even seem to be anyone in the houses. The Craft Services van driver, her boss, and her co-workers have all just abandoned her, left her for dead on the side of the road. Clearly, nobody came after her. Nobody even stopped to make sure she was alive, as far as she can tell.

That says a lot more about how they think of her than Mr. Geary's horrible insults about her scripts. The ungrateful...jerky jerks! Mary thinks, clutching at the gash on her arm.

She has given City By Night two goddamned years of her life. She just wants the show to love her in return. Is that so very much to ask?

Apparently, it is.

Anger fuels her enough to get her over to the phone booth, helps her exchange pain for momentum. Clutching at the scarred metal frame of the door to stay upright, she stares in stupid incomprehension at the coin slot for a second. Her left hand dips unconsciously into her empty pocket, which is its own sort of special agony. She nearly cries when she realizes she has no quarters. It takes her a few more fuzzy, swimming moments to realize she can probably make emergency calls for free. Hopeful, she fumbles up the handset and dials zero. The operator—female and far too perky for Mary's dark frame of mind—comes on and asks what she needs or where she would like to be connected. "I need help," Mary says into the handset. She can practically hear the operator frowning, because, duh, why else would she be talking to one? "I was...I think I was hit by a car. A van. Whatever."

"Holy sugar!" the operator says, all professionalism thrown out the window. Mary wonders if the operator calls her husband punkin. "Stay where you are, ma'am. We're tracing the call and an ambulance is on the way."

Mary winces; she's too young to be called "ma'am" just yet, and it's another dig at her self-esteem that she really does not need today. It's pretty thoroughly dug already.

"Thanks," she says, and lets the handset clatter out of her grip, relieved because it was pressing into her road burn. She slumps down the side of the phone booth to wait. She folds bruised elbows over bruised knees and rests her head back against the Plexiglass and tries to stay awake. She read that you're not supposed to go to sleep if you've hit your head, and she thinks getting smacked in the skull with a Craft Services van counts. The cord for the phone handset isn't long enough to reach all the way down to her ear, so she just lets it dangle, detachedly amused by the way the operator's voice is squawking out at her. She's pretty sure that she's probably in shock. She's also pretty sure that the fact that she's in shock isn't supposed to be funny, but she realizes belatedly that she's giggling all the same.

Hysteria makes Mary drift for a while. She's aware of closing her eyes, of replaying every time Crispin Okafor winked at her from the back seat of his car, the way she received the cast photo poster after the Season One wrap party, already signed with what she assumed at the time was a personal message. She thinks about how much she threw herself into the show, and how she's never seemed to notice or care that she has been bouncing off of brick walls.

It's a sucky thought. She stops giggling and lets herself be sad for a little while.

She might have even cried, but by then, her head is pounding and her whole body is like one stiff, hot rip. She thinks maybe the wetness on her face is tears, but it could also be rain, or blood; it's hard to keep track, especially when the liquid feels so warm, and her skin is getting so cold.

She wonders if she should be mad for a bit, just to change things up, keep her life interesting until the ambulance arrives, but she isn't sure whether she should be madder at the crew or herself for being so gullible. That spirals her back down into depressing aching sadness again, so she decides to stay there.

And somewhere in all of that, she thinks she sees Crispin Okafor. Crispin—the damnably beautiful lead actor who knows just the right way to smirk at a paparazzi camera, what angle he should hold his head and shoulders at—is sticking his face into the phone booth. He's dressed in his costume; that black leather jacket that Richmond DuNoir favors (whose style Mary has copied), in the signature red silk shirt that makes his smoky dark skin take on the depth of velvet, that fake look of honest concern.

"Miss?" he asks softly. "Miss, are you all right?"

"Fuck off, Crispin," she says back. At least she thinks she says it. It might come out just as a slur. Her mouth feels full of marbles and cotton now, and it's getting harder and harder to do anything as simple as moistening her lips. Of course, Mary very rarely swears, so it could be that, too.

She feels like this is an appropriate time to start, though.

"Miss, I think you're pretty badly hurt."

"Go away," she says, miserably. "You're the last person I want to see right now."

He startles visibly, dark eyes becoming dramatic white spots on his shadowed face. Overdone, she thinks. You're trying too hard to emote. Retake.

"You know me?" he asks.

"Seriously, I said go away."

He looks like he wants to argue with her, but cuts himself off, halted by the sudden approaching wail of sirens. The ambulance screeches to a halt beside her, washing the interior of the phone booth red and blue by turns, painting the already pale skin of her arms with deathly tints: blood-red and dead-flesh-blue and back to skin-colored before alternating again. Crispin is gone between flares, melting artistically into the darkness.

Mary's head starts throbbing worse in the flashing light, and she is pretty sure she's going to vomit any second now. She wishes Crispin had hung around long enough so she could do it on his goddamned shoes.

KEEP READING

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spacepandastories · 5 years

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Big TML update

01/08/19

Tomorrowland is one of the biggest music festivals in western Europe, and thanks to my student job I've been working there for the past three years which is really fun, but so much happened this year it's been the weirdest two weeks in a while.

It started the first day when I had to do top-up (people pay with their bracelets, we were the people who put your money on there). This is a job I knew very well since it's the most common job to get when working at TML so I was really laid back. After unpacking and staring up my system however, I found out it wasn't working because of a connection error between the card terminal and my pc (to save you more technical detail, there was a very limited amount of things that could cause this). So I basically let my supervisor know and after some calling around a tech guy was on his way. Instead of just waiting and doing nothing I kept myself busy helping out some people who didn't know the system very well as well as helping out some of the visitors with common problems because as I said this was my third year so I actually know some things about the festival now.

After about an hour the tech guy arrived and after looking at the pc for a bit he decided he wasn't the man to fix it. He then called his supervisor who would check it out as soon as he could, which was apparently another hour and a half after that. Day long short: I started my shift at 3pm and had to wait for almost 6 hours to get my system fixed. Apparently it takes 5 tech guys to change a broken cable. The last dude to come fix it was a guy I remembered from when I had a similar problem last year, he fixed it in less then 10 minutes. So I was finally up and running at about 9 in the evening. That day we closed up at 21:30.

So to me that was as weird as it gets, literally working for only half an hour during a full day shift.

Afterwards I went to hang out with the gang. Caught the second to last train which gave me enough time to play along, sleep for a bit and catch the next train at 7am to be at work at 8:30.

We arrived at the festival at 10am so we still had to wait an hour. During that time no more than ten people including myself were called to the side by let's call them the big guys, which usually means bad news, but this time it was to tell us that we'd be working at a VIP area and that we would be taken separately from the rest of the group shortly to get a special briefing. Let me tell you, when working at a festival you don't want to be a part of a special group, you just want to do the same job everyone is doing because that's why you work at a festival; it's easy money.

So there we went to the VIP towers, I was already looking up to it. We get assigned to our places in the weirdest way, it seemed like nobody really knew what was going on and what needed to happen. So we are sent to our bar, get taken back immediately to attend a little demonstration of the new software we were about to use by the guy who developed it, which was actually really cool. He tried to explain the technical terms the best he could so I could be the nerd™ to talk tech with him which was nice because I got to understand the system to a deeper extend and also I got to feel smart at the beginning of my day.

Now I'll save you the details but literally everything that could have been broken was actually broken. We basically had 4 different systems for 3 different things of which 1 was working, but we still couldn't use it because it was dependent on one of the other systems that was not working. Over that day they start gradually fixing things one by one until at the end of the day almost everything worked the way it was supposed to. Over that day though is a lot of frustrations of the waiters because our system doesn't work proparly, frustration from their supervisors and the people responsible for all the VIP stuff. So VIP day one sucked absolute balls. After talking with everyone that worked VIP as well we establish that everyone had a sucky day and literally wanted to cry at least once because of organisation and some bad superiors.

When packing our stuff to go home at some point between one and two at night we see one of the people we served that night get carried out by four guards. He looks bad.

The next day at arrival we immediately group up with all the VIP people to discuss the previous day. Basically everyone would rather do the usual register job so we're a little grumpy. When the big guys arrived they called us to the side again. They acknowledged things were set up and handled badly the day before, but people were talked to and things should be set up a little better that day. When we started talking about other employees being pushy, unfriendly and some of them just crossing lines, they said we as employees at music festivals we should be mentally up for it. They came off a little harsh but we'd kind of gotten used to that kind of behaviour, people simply don't have time and get annoyed.

Some time later we get on our way to the main stage which is where most of the VIP areas are. At the first tower where we have to split up we took a little break tot sing happy birthday to the sad soul who had to work a fourteen hour VIP shift on his birthday. Afterwards our supervisor takes our sandwich order which consists of a lot of cheese apparently, when he mentions the guy who got carried away yesterday had passed away that night.

With our stomachs turned we walked to our section where the waiters are already setting up. Over that day we talked to some colleagues about the man who died. At the time there was no mention about it online and this is the information I gathered: they carried him away as far as they could before he went out. Then they tried CPR on him where one of my colleagues was present as well for some reason. Instead of looking away he watched the life slowly drain from a person at like 2 or 3am. With that on his mind he had to go home and sleep for three hours before going back there again. Honestly I'm just glad I wasn't him. Also I heard it was probably waterpoisoning, which sounds believable knowing how much cocaine goes around there.

The rest of that day was better though. We started out kind of relieved because things actually were set up much better, also the waiters were a lot nicer and the few things that still weren't working got mostly fixed over that day. Not much happened for the rest of my time at the VIP area. I will say the coke usage only got worse. At some point when I had to go to the bathroom I couldn't find a single toilet without blood in it (god bless the two cleanup dudes who had to take care of two areas at once, literally running around to keep up with these people's messes), so because of hygienic reasons I decided to go at some other time maybe at some other place and went to just wash my hands where the guy next to me is shamelessly washing the blood out of his nose. However friendly our customers were, I always wanted to stay as far away from them. Whenever I had to be on the other side of the bar like when I had to pee or when I had a break and I had to pass these people I just didn't feel safe, especially later at night when they were really fucked up. I saw girls in their twenties gone out of their mind, struggling to hold attention and wobbling on their legs while their eyes occasionally rolled back into their skull and everytime I had a second of panic because they might just collapse and not stand up again. Might I add these girls were always accompanied by older men.

So on the last day of that weekend I was glad it was over. After that shift I went to hang out with Tigger. It was nice to be in the real world again. In hindsight I'm glad those days were so long and I got that little sleep because if I'd had a chance to process what was happening while I was working there, I really wouldn't have wanted to go back.

The next weekend was like the opposite of the previous one. I was working in the moneyroom for the entire weekend which means you can sit inside, chill out on a big ass couch, have a cold drink anytime and you have a view over a big part of the festival. Also you get a lot of breaks because you have to literally sit and wait for work. As it was pretty uneventful, here are some highlights: We found a conference room that was empty at all times and had lots of windows, so we spent our break during rainy days stuffing our faces while waving at flocks of people outside. Also at some point when the money people came to get the little money boxes to put in their money van, something went wrong while taking one of the boxes from the rack. Like I'm not sure how this stuff works but they couldn't get it out and tried a little too hard and set it off. Now when you set one of those things off there's no turning it back. There was just a few loud beeps and one red LED flashing after which the money people say that it's gonna blow. Like that's actually how they said it. So they knew they had some time to at least secure out stuff and put plastic and tissues around the box because apparently these things can actually blow and splat ink in a few meters radius. Luckily this one was a little tame and just let out a loud pop before gently leaking lots of purple fluid. That night when we were ready to leave in the parking lot (you still have to wait until the parking lot opens to get home. It closes from 11pm until 3am because during that time, the streets are full of drunk people they don't want you to run over), we turn out of the parking space when the car next to us decides it's a good idea to start moving when a car is right in front of his. So we silently freak out because well, it's half past 2 in the morning and we're driving a rental car. So he gets out of the driver's seat to talk to the driver of the dumdum car while I get out to see if we have any damage, which luckily we don't. Dumdum smells like alcohol and even though I don't speak french that well I can clearly hear him trip over his sentences. My driver boy however speaks fluently French so I don't have to interact that much with dumdum. The only thing I pick up from their ten minute conversation is that dumdum has a little scratch on his mercedes, of which I suspected it'd been there for a while, also it was easy to fix using that infomercial gel stuff. But he had to make a problem out of it so we went to fill out the insurance papers. Let me tell you that takes a while, besides having to write down all the personal information and that of the insurance company itself, which was hard enough driving a rental, you also have to make a sketch of the situation, like pen to paper on your leg drawing out two cars and a parking space. He also wrote down that dumdum had obviously drank, so I was kind of nervous when handing him the copy, but he didn't even look it over. We wait in our car making sure he leaves first and keeping our distance while he cuts corners over the boardwalk and eventually takes a different turn. I got home by 4am.

All by all working at TML is fun. You meet a lot of people and immediately spend at least 10 hours with them so you actually bond with some of them. But it's also nice to sleep again.

Things I forgot to cover:

-During the first or second night at VIP Paris Hilton came by our section. I just came back from a short break and saw a cloud of people with their phones out. I honestly didn't care about anything that happened on the other side of the counter, you'd see a lot of shit there. But after a while I saw this vaguely familiar face at the bar, picture exactly Paris Hilton in the nineties, add some wrinkles and there you have it. Huge sunglasses (I remind you it is dark outside) and leather barret and all. By the time I saw her she was leaning on the bar, at the verge of bursting out in tears when three waiters hurried a bucket filled with bottles of liquor to her. Next thing I know she's dancing and walking around, trips and falls Hard. But like actually face first SHLAM into the floor. I wish people had put that on their instagram stories instead of the weird posey shit she did for like 5 minutes, the rest of the night was straight up embarrassing.

-Everyone at VIP was so goodlooking it was intimidating. The hostesses wore tight pink dresses, the waiters were all dressed up and everyone looked like they were casted to work there. It was just weird to me. Imagine being somewhere where every single person is so beautiful you're just questioning it.

- Our superior at VIP got fired after the first weekend because he spend too much time drinking with the customers.

- Like Mike is not a nice person.

-I brought my gameboys to the moneyroom job because I knew I'd have a lot of spare time. Thus I came known as gameboyGIRL to the people there and their families (I've seen a lot of people calling their wives/ girlfriends/ kids at least once during the weekend). Now I really got to build backlights in them because gen z kids be asking how to turn the screen brighter 'so they can see'.

-The night when I planned to go to Tigger after my shift the tire of my bike was all fucked up. The inner tire was empty and the outer tire had partially come off. Not sure why this happened bet oh shit I still have to bring that thing back home hope I do not forget that. (I ended up walking and met him in the middle)

That's all as far as I can remember right now. It's been eventful, and absolutely different from what I was expecting.

0 notes

bahannah01writes · 7 years

Text

Bring Me a Dream (Pt. 4)

Summary: It’s night and it’s time for you to work your magic- literally.

Heyo! I’m a little late, sorry! Wifis been uber sucky at my house for some reason?? I’m not sure, it’s frustrating though, but hopefully you’ll all still love the chapter even if it’s two hours overdue!

Previous Next

Check out the masterlist is here :)

Tags: @kourt-kay @boots-jpg @bananakid42 @mtttme @let-it-go-and-live-again if you want to be on the tagged list, just message me and it shall be done!

Enjoy!

~~~

Papers scatter the floor with runes and cryptic messages hiding their meaning from any outsiders as the gentle chirps of a cricket from outside your window brings you a sense of serenity. The moonlight shines in through the curtain and while alone it’s not enough to illuminate your room, when paired with the bedside lamp, it proves to be just right. The orange and blues hues melt together to create interesting shadows amongst your artifacts and along your walls- yet they fail to catch your attention as you have something of much greater importance at hand currently. The safety of your Dreamer, which is above any sort of distraction that’s thrown your way.

All while wearing the PJs Mark had lent you the first time you arrived, which was delightfully and magically reclaimed, you study the words in your books with utter concentration. They rhyme and create darling spells one uses for such instances like your own, or offer information from the history of your kind and the others who have developed alongside it. Both are fairly helpful, though you’re focusing more so on the spells before you get into studying the creature inhibiting Mark’s mind. Your finger skims across the pages and once you repeat the mantra enough to memorize it, you get ready to begin the spell properly. Hopping onto the bed, you reach over and turn off the light and air seems to go quiet- your cricket buddy apparently missing, you inhale and exhale deeply. Eyes shut, you sit with legs crossed and your elbows rest on your thighs; the position resembles the one seen in the book and in a soft, hushed voice the charm rolls off your tongue.

“Yosia kellum o mitisia,” Keep them safe in the night,

“Ui pulitzia r’obellae,” When we cannot,

“Ryndo kellum o mitisia, ui denri sezas lot harenae.” Protect them in the night, when their enemies are in sight.

As the words linger in the air, your eyes open again with a lavender glow shining from them against the darkness of the room. You begin to feel a wave of peace wash over which spreads a victorious smile onto your lips- though the war is far from done, this is a great step in the right direction. That beast is still here nonetheless, but for tonight, he’ll have no effect on your Dreamer. From this point on though, you’ll have to up the security each time with that thing being able to learn and adapt to such things. Turning the light back on you calm down prepare to stay up the rest of the night- which will consist of reading up on your history on how past Dream Makers dealt with threats. Though, the history of Dream Makers is something that’s always interesting amongst many present Dream Makers.

After all, the tales of the Dream Makers beginnings have been oddly plentiful; each one differing from the last to the point where we don't even know ourselves which version is true and what's not. Though, if one thing is certain, it would be that Dream Makers were not always around. The Avant Period, a time in which there is no record of Dream Makers, was dark in terms of dreams, no matter how scarce they were back then. Creatures of the night would infect the mind and torment the Dreamers, occasionally driving them to pure insanity. They would make reality and fiction cross in the worst way possible, teasing their victims with deadly and sorrowful imagery. Perhaps, that is why the Dream Makers came about- or, at least according to one theory that is. The only resource Dream Makers have of their first presence amongst Dreamers is, peculiar as it may be, from the Dreamers.

They started to write about us during Ancient Egyptian and Greek times, with characters like The Oneiroi and the god Tutu- both of which granted dreams. Tutu was said to protect against bad dreams and one of The Oneiroi, specifically the one made of horns, was said to be the source of prophetic dreams; as the other, made of ivory, was the source of meaningless dreams. Although, both were still rather different than yourself and other Dream Makers.

There was little doubt on the idea that Dream Makers had changed as the Dreamers had, slowly becoming closer to strengthen the link between a Dreamer and their Dream Maker. Somewhere during that time, it was decided that each Dream Maker will have only one Dreamer. This was good and bad; when Dream Makers fell they were easy able to adapt and due to our curious nature, explore alongside their Dreamers. Yet, this also resulted in the phenomena of young Dream Makers being inexperienced and more mistakes being made. This is still prevalent to this day.

Dream Makers have come along way, but they weren’t the only ones who continued to advance. But strategies of how to defeat these creatures in the night, rose up and for each type of creature, certain methods worked better than others did. Some would be short and sure while others are long-term and can always change, you're currently looking for one that's long-term and sure. Of course, you're not opposed to returning after this trip, but you hope it wouldn't be for this reason.

The piece of glass you found early sits on the table and you pick it up swiftly before plopping down on the floor. You study it curiously, the beast it belongs to probably already upset with the current spell; but, that's what happens when you're an evil jerk who messes with Mark's dreams.

Its orange hue reflects the light across the tiny room, sighing, you clasp your hand around it and cease its rays, the shard slices into your palm ever so slightly causing a small droplet of blood to rise. The pain is hardly noticeable as you open your hand, with your non-bloody hand you pick up the slight stained red glass and set it aside as you reach into your bag, grabbing a piece of cloth and wrapping it around the little room if only to assure that there’s no blood stains anywhere else. That would be an odd thing to answer to, after all.

Your now bandaged hand reaches for a certain book with a dark green cover with a golden pattern on the front, it resembles the pattern of celtic knots with a large branching tree in the middle- it’s honestly quite beautiful and pleasing to the eye. Flipping through the pages, you finally find the one you need and begin to read through them; the information it holds prove to be necessary and helps to build your mental library on the subject. You decide to continue building upon the information for the rest of the night and go from one book to another out of your eleven books to find out the most that you can. In the end, you stay up until the sun’s rays shine through your curtains and make you realize just how long you’ve been up. Eyes scan over the floor, which is a mess by now, and you decide to to clean up before you have a quick charging session. You hide your supplies away in your bag and get under the blissfully comfy blanket, shutting your eyes, your thoughts fade as your mind rests from all the work. You’re happy to say that the first night back has been a success for both you and you Dreamer, you hope it will continue that way.

“You already packed everything?” You question bewildered by his readiness, it’s not even ten in the morning and yet he has everything needed for the trip already packed up and ready to go.

“Of course, not everyone sleeps in like you do,” He teases, his smirk threatening to show itself.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you sigh and poke his arm, “I had a rough night,” an excuse that is an extreme simplification of the truth.

“Sure,” Mark chuckles and pokes your arm back after tossing a bag into the trunk of his car, “Excuses aside-”

“Oh hush, I’m telling you-”

“Excuses aside, you have anywhere you want to go first?” He shuts the trunk and leans against it to patiently await your answer.

Shaking your head, you simply drop it and ponder as to what you wanted to do, it isn’t long until you come up with an answer. “Can we get some slush before we go? That’s all I want, everything else can be up to you!” You chime with a bright smile spreading across your cheeks.

He laughs but nods nonetheless, “I should’ve known that’s what you were gonna say.” Mark throws an arm around your shoulder and rubs your arm, his own smile mirroring your own, “How do you love slushees so much?”

You raise a brow as you start to ask the real question, “How do you not love them that much? They’re such simple treats yet they’re so delicious and chilly! You could even say, I think they’re the coolest!” You offer a playful wink after that little pun- to which he responds with a groan and begrudging laughter.

“And you still make really bad puns,” Mark runs a hand through his hair and despite his complaint, he continues to laugh.

“Then why are you laughing? Huh?” Your lips don a cheeky smirk as you poke his stomach, proceeding to mess with the sweetheart.

“Because they’re so bad and stupid!” He explains and you begin to laugh with him, his reasoning is obviously flawed as you know very well that you’re puns are just punderful!

“Sure,” You playfully repeat, hugging his waist, “Now, can we go get some slush already?”

“If that’s what you want, chickadee,” His voice rings out cheerfully- a light laugh still lingering, he presses a kiss to your head, “Go ahead and hop in the car.”

Your smirk settles back into a smile and you do just as you’re told, hopping into the passenger seat and excitedly await your kingdom of slushee to come.

The chilled but divine taste of blue raspberry greets your tastebuds in the most splendid meeting. Mark ends up deciding that the park would be a relaxed but enjoyable day out and so, the two of you are now catching up on a blanket beneath a shady willow tree. Your cooled treat keeps you cool as well and Mark sips on his own, in between sips, the two of you go back and forth with simple questions.

“Are there any new games you’re really into?”

“Yeah! One called ‘Prey’. It’s just amazing- everything from the game play to the graphics. Plus, it’s in space! I love space!” His voice wistfully explains his adoration for the game, “I’ll have to show you, I think you’ll really like it.” Mark turns his head over to yours, his eyes holding a soft gaze with your own.

You giggle and nod in agreement, “I’m sure I will, Mark. Space is pretty cool,” you agree with a beaming smile. Although, the Dream Maker realm isn’t exactly space, it’s also not not space- rather just in space but on a separate plane possibly. A plane that’s abundant with clouds yet still has the stars watching from above.

“Where have you gone while you were away?”

You hum in thought and shrug, “Maine, obviously,” you remember that’s where your ‘family’ is, and begin to list off a few more places you hope he wouldn’t be able to poke holes through, “I’ve been through quite a few states of course but I stayed the longest in Maryland, Wisconsin, and Oregon.”

He nods and before you can slip in a question, he adds another one, “Did you meet anyone there?” While he attempts to ask it nonchalantly, you can sense a nervousness in his voice- which you can’t quite understand. There’s millions of people, how couldn’t you meet at least one person in one state-nevertheless three?

Yet, Mark’s only asking in a hope to be subtle about a topic that’s been in the back of his mind since you arrived, did you meet someone that charmed their way into your heart like he has? Is there still an opportunity for a relationship to bloom or have you gotten in one since you’ve left? To say the least, Mark’s a bit jealous and paranoid around this subject.

“What exactly do you mean by that, Mark?”

He exhales deeply and his eyes shift to yours, holding curious but calm emotions within them, “Were there any others that you had a relationship with?” It’s a simple but troublesome question, because if there’s a chance that your feelings have minimized while his has stayed just as strong as they were before- the joy in his heart would dampen and tear apart like a piece of paper being dropped into water.

And as much as you want to keep this a somewhat serious moment, you couldn’t help but laugh at that preposterous idea. Setting down your blue beverage, you turn to face him with a crooked smile on your lips, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is someone jealous for no reason?”

Of course, Mark scoffs and chuckles, “What? No, no, not at all!” He tries to convince though fails to, his arm reaches back to scratch the back of his neck and ease his nerves. He’s been caught, hasn’t he? Though, it won’t stop him from trying to blow it off, “I’m not jealous, just curious.”

Raising a brow, you shoot him a questioning look and begin to think of a mischievous plan. “Oh really?”

“Really.”

“If you say so…” You trail off and then proceed to lean into him, a coy smile crossing your lips as you look up him, “Then what about you, Markimoo? Did you meet anyone while I was away?”

Mark laughs and shakes his head, “No, between projects and work I don’t have much time.” Which is quite reasonable, Mark can be a bit of a workaholic and you can see how that may interfere with meeting new people outside of his career web.

You nod and bite your lip, “So...Just wondering, how would you react if I did meet someone?” Are you pushing it a bit? Maybe, but only slightly. Besides, you’ve never seen the jealous side of Mark and out of pure curiosity, you now want to see that side of him.

His brows furrow as his cool brown orbs move to yours, “Why do you wanna know?” A becoming smirk on his expression gives away his own growing interest in the conversation.

Deciding to be honest, you shrug simply and answer truthfully, “‘Cause I’m curious to see you jealous-”

“-I don’t get jealous,” Mark interjects though it only convinces you more of his possible jealousy in situations.

“I’m not really getting that vibe, Mark. If anything, you’re probably a pretty jealous person, huh?” You tease, fighting back a giggle as you watch him shake his head with a sigh.

“I am not.”

“You totally are.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Mark chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, “What about you?”

His questions catches you off guard, you tilt your hand and repeat his question, “What about me?”

It’s now his time to be overconfident, which isn’t exactly a rare occurrence to begin with. “How jealous do you get?”

You think for a moment and begin to realize that, in fact, you would be rather jealous if Mark had found someone. Though, you aren’t quite sure if that’s due to the celestial bond, a Dream Maker’s natural possessiveness over Dreamers, or just your own personality- or possibly a combination of the three. You laugh and nod, “I think I would be fairly jealous, not gonna lie.”

Mark chuckles and smiles happily, “Then, maybe, just maybe, I think I may have been a bit jealous if you had met someone.” To know that you’d be jealous if he had found someone, well, it actually makes him delighted and hopeful that you do still return your feelings for him.

“Good! I think I’d love to see you being jealous,” You admit, as you find yourself being pulled closer to him, his arm settling around your waist.

“I think I’d like to see you jealous too,” Mark agrees, another chuckle flowing sweetly from his lips, “It’d be funny!”

You roll your eyes playfully and poke his chest, “You’d be the funny one, if anything!”

“No,” He ‘corrects’ as he then uses an oddly high pitched voice to say the rest, “Oh Markimoo! Stop talking to her! My heart, I can’t stand it! Markimoo, no!”

Your eyes narrow as you watch this peculiar mockery of his, you groan and run a hand through your locks. If he’s going to play this way, then so are you. In the best baritone voice you can do, you start, “My chickadee stop talking to him! I’m way more handsome and funny than he is, guaranteed! Baby, no!”

This eventually progresses into a playful banter and somehow ends up with the two of you running from each other in the park; namely, you are running away from Mark. Yet, the two of you never seem to stop laughing even if it causes you to lose your breath quicker, it can’t be helped.

A pair of strong arms lift you up and throw you onto their owner’s shoulder, “Mark! Put me down!” You try to be demanding but your bout of giggles make it hard to do so.

“Never!” He screams, and while you can’t see his face, you can hear that boastful smile in his voice and a similar one begins to spread onto your own lips.

“You’re such an idiot!”

“I'm your idiot, baby!”

~~~

If you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a comment or a like! Either are wonderful and motivate me greatly! :D

#markiplier x reader #mark fischbach x reader #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier imagines #bmd #bahannah01

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secretlystephaniebrown · 7 years

Text

Time’s Running Out: Delta

Gah, sorry for the delay on this chapter; things got a bit hectic. I ended up writing a surprise AU. Thanks everyone who left a comment! You guys are the best <3

Summary: The Reds and Blues; and their respective Freelancers, find themselves stranded on a strange planet named Chorus. Secrets, lies, and the unexpected seem to lie around every corner, and there might be even larger threats looming over the horizon.

They’re possibly even less ready for Chorus than Chorus is for them.

Pairings: Lots of friendships, Suckington, Yorkalina, Chex, eventual Yorkimbalina, possible others.

Start

Ao3

Church fucked up, okay?

He knew that.

He knew, in his bones, that the crash was his fault, somehow. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d been poking about in the ship’s systems, trying to figure shit out, because hey, what was the point of being a kickass AI if he couldn’t digitally snoop sometimes, and before he knew it, all the alarms were going off, and the ship was crashing.

And now everything had gone to hell.

It had taken them days to bury the bodies, and those were just the bodies on their part of the ship. Tex and Carolina (and Epsilon, Church admitted begrudgingly) were out of range by now, and the entire world had become a canyon again. But it was hard to concentrate. Tex was gone, and there was that terror, that never-ending, constant terror that he still got every time Tex was too far away, the fear that she was gone, and never coming back, and it was worse because she was with Carolina, and what if they both didn’t come back and—

It was a vicious spiral. Church got caught in it a lot, these days. York wasn’t even around and Church felt fucking awful about that, because it was his fault, and if something had happened to York, Delta and Tex and Carolina would be fucking upset, and it wasn’t like Church even liked the guy. But the others would be upset.

It was awful.

And then he fucked up again.

He yelled at Caboose, because Caboose still couldn’t tell the difference between him and Epsilon half the time, and insisted on talking with Church about all the fun adventures he’d had with Epsilon, and all it made Church want to do was scream. Because they weren’t the same, he hadn’t torn up Wash’s brain for kicks, he hadn’t implanted in Carolina—he’d never implanted in anyone, not really, because he’d been torn to shreds before he’d gotten the chance—and he hadn’t listened to Caboose telling fairy tales for hours and hours on end while lurking in a containment unit.

And so he’d yelled, and Caboose had gone all awful and quiet, which was the worst, and then Caboose had disappeared, and Church had been looking all day, and there was no sign of him. He’d even checked Red Base, and dealt with Grif and Simmons being idiots arguing about something stupid like laundry.

And Tucker and Wash were fighting too, always yelling about bullshit like drills, and sometimes Kai got in it too, so there was no peace at Blue Base, and even worse was the makeup sex, and it was obnoxious and ridiculous and…

He missed Tex. This shit would be a lot more bearable with her.

And then, when he finally found Caboose, it turned out that Caboose had replaced him. With a giant, angry, killer robot.

“Hey,” Tucker said practically. “At least this version of you can do shit. Like Epsilon, when he was in that laser-ball thing!”

Church didn’t look at him. “Shut the fuck up, Tucker.”

“Dude, seriously, why do you care? You’re always the one that says that you don’t like him. It happens every fucking time. You can’t wait to get away from him, but the second he finds a new best friend, you get all sulky and jealous.”

“I don’t hate him!” Church snapped.

“Sure. But what do you want to bet he knows that, when it finally sinks into that thick head of his that you don’t want to spend time with him? He’s not a mind reader, dude. And you’re pretty hard to read.”

Church didn’t even have anything to say to that.

They get the news when they’re raiding one of the strange bases that the pirates seem to flock too.

They picked up a healing unit at the base—it’s similar to York’s, but shiny and new and more efficient. Mass produced, streamlined, and although an AI helped, it wasn’t necessary.

These people weren’t just dealing in Freelancer equipment. They were experimenting and improving on it.

That was… worrying.

Carolina turned it over in her hand; they had torched the rest of the shipment, but this one remained. “Should we… bring it back to the others?” She said tentatively. “I know Kaikaina had that broken leg…”

Tex frowned and tried to do the math. “She’s… probably better by now,” she said. “Besides, there’s not much danger for them in that canyon. You’ll need it, if things go south for us.”

Carolina nodded. “Would it even help you?”

There was still a tension in the air, at the reminder that Tex wasn’t quite human. They still were dancing around the subject—all of the subjects, really. York, the Director, their own partnership… all of them were surrounded with a lot of question marks, and Tex wasn’t sure how to even begin to address them.

But they were fighting well together now, slowly learning each other the way that Tex had learned to fight with York and Wash, previously. Now it was easy, the two of them working together like a deadly, well-oiled machine.

“Never needed it enough to try,” Tex said. She cleaned her gun again; a nervous habit, if AI could get those. One jam in a lifetime was more than enough. Tex couldn’t afford to get sloppy, not when she had a partner with fleshy, vulnerable bits. Even an AI and an armor enhancement couldn’t help a sniper shot—

Tex pushed aside the thoughts of that dark, alternate world. Years had passed. York was still alive. Worrying did nothing to help.

“How much further to Crash Site Alpha, Epsilon?” Carolina asked.

“Straight shot? Another day or so. But…”

“More pirates?” Tex said, looking up. “They’re concentrated here, aren’t they?”

“I think so,” Epsilon said, hovering above Carolina’s shoulder.

Carolina tapped her fingers against the wall. “Do we know what we’d be dealing with at the next base?”

“Nope,” Epsilon said. “Don’t have anything on this server.”

“Hang on,” Carolina said suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

Tex flicked her eyes towards a nearby screen. “It’s from there,” she said, reaching over to turn up the volume.

It was localized radio chatter, close enough to be picked up by the pirate’s equipment.

“I can’t believe it,” a deep voice said. “Private Harris!”

“General Kimball will be tho excited to meet him!”

“I thought the Reds and Blues were like, a bedtime story,” another voice scoffed.

There were several horrified gasps at that, but Tex didn’t hear any of them.

“He’s alive,” Tex breathed.

“Kimball…” Carolina said distantly. “She’s the leader of the New Republic, right?”

Tex shrugged.

“That’s right,” Epsilon said, because he was a know-it-all at heart. “Vanessa Kimball.”

“Well, we’ll keep an ear out,” Carolina said.

Tex blinked. “You don’t want to go check on him?”

Carolina’s hand clenched into a fist. “He’s okay,” she said softly. “And the pirates…”

“Have the equipment,” Tex finished. She looked at the healing unit in the middle of the table, and spun it like a top. It spun a few times then fell onto its side. “We’re in deep shit here, aren’t we?”

“Probably,” Carolina agreed with a sigh. “If Kimball’s interested in the Reds and Blues, she’ll go fetch the others soon enough. They’ll all be in one place.”

Tex nodded. “Well. I guess if we’re no longer headed for Alpha…”

“We can check out that mountain base that was too far off,” Carolina said.

Tex cracked her knuckles. “Sounds like fun,” she said.

Shit was really, really fucked.

That was a fucking scientific term, Tucker was pretty fucking sure about that.

Stranded in a canyon after a ship crash was sucky at the best of times, but Tucker had figured hey! At least he had his kickass boyfriend and girlfriend to keep him company.

But he hadn’t factored in a lot of things. Like the crash convincing Wash that they were all about to die again, so he was pushing Tucker harder than ever. And Kai’s leg was still healing, so she couldn’t even help take some of the attention off Tucker. Which like, on the one hand was kind of sexy, the intense way Wash kept pushing him, his hands on Tucker’s body as he corrected Tucker’s stances, but it was also brutal, and not in the kind of bow-chicka-bow-wow way.

And on top of that, Church was pissy and fighting with Caboose, because even after all these years, Church still didn’t know how to handle him.

The Epsilon thing was confusing at the best of times, sure, and Caboose was easily confused…

But Church was still being a bitch about the whole thing, and what was worse is that the guy knew it.

So really, when Caboose responded to the whole situation by bringing home a killer robot with an even bigger boner for the chain of command than Wash, Sarge, and Simmons combined, it really was just the cherry on the shit sundae.

“Wash,” Tucker said, sitting next to Wash, Kai leaning on Wash’s shoulder. Even between the two of them, Tucker could feel that Wash was tense. “Wash, nothing bad is going to happen. Just watch, Tex and Carolina will be back soon, and York’s gonna be with them, and you’ll help them kick the robot’s ass, and things will go back to normal.”

“We should have been found by now,” Wash said, staring at the sky. “We should have been found by now, and they should have been back by now, and we still can’t get a call out—why aren’t you worried?”

“Because you’re here, duh,” Tucker said. “You’ll look after us. Like you always have.”

Wash let out a little broken laugh. “Tucker…”

“We’ll be fine,” Tucker insisted. “Look, I get it. The crash fucking sucked and a lot of people got hurt.”

“You two got hurt,” Wash said fiercely.

“We got hurt,” Kai said. “And like, it fucking sucks because I can’t my ping-pong ball trick with my leg in this cast and I know you missed Tucker’s right hand even more than he did but like, we’re still here. We’re still together, which means that as soon as I get out of this itchy thing I’m gonna fuck you so many ways.”

“Fuck yeah,” Tucker said, reaching over to high five her. Kai grinned at him, and Tucker decided there had been enough sulking and climbed onto Wash’s lap to kiss him, tugging the helmet off.

“Dude,” Tucker said, dropping his forehead against Wash’s. “You’ve got us. We’ve got you. That’s how it works, remember?”

“… right,” Wash said, and then he caught Tucker’s face in his hands, kissing him gently. “Right.”

A few days later, Wash was in the crosshairs of a sniper. It was only luck and Felix that kept Wash alive, and Tucker nearly vomited at the thought of it.

Maybe Wash had a point about training after all, Tucker thought, his blood pounding in his ears as he glared up at Locus and tried to think of how he was going to hurt him for trying to kill Wash.

What a fucking creep.

Church hated Felix, and Tucker wasn’t even remotely surprised.

Kai flirted with him, and again, Tucker wasn’t surprised. If he wasn’t so distracted with keeping an eye on Wash (he switched back to grey armor for some reason, and he wouldn’t give Tucker or Kai a straight answer about why, which was driving them both up the wall), he might have even joined her on that front. Felix hadn’t taken off his helmet, but the guy had a decent voice and Kai was… well, Kai. Hot voices were a huge part of it for her.

“Seriously Tucker,” Church said, giving Felix a proper stink-eye from across the canyon. Tucker was pretty sure that if they’d had milk, it would have curdled by now. “Something’s off about that guy.”

“Church, when was the last time you liked someone we met?” Tucker asked, rolling his eyes. “You hated York. You hated Wash. You hate Epsilon.”

“I liked Carolina!” Church protested, crossing his arms.

“Carolina’s like, your sister or some shit, and you remembered her from Freelancer,” Tucker argued. “She doesn’t count.”

“She totally counts!”

“Church!” Tucker snapped. “The guy saved Wash’s life. If that’s not a good guy move, I don’t know what is!”

Church let out a scoffing noise. “This civil war’s not our problem,” he muttered.

“Did you hear any of us disagreeing? Fuck that noise man, we’ll get out of here as soon as we meet up with Carolina and Tex.”

“And York,” Church added reluctantly. Tucker wanted to laugh. Even now, Church was still grumpy about admitting that he might like the guy. Then again, Church hated admitting he liked anyone. It was like pulling teeth to even get him to admit to liking Tucker, and the guy was practically his best friend.

Tucker elbowed him in the side. “We probably should get ready,” he said quietly. “You heard Felix. Locus is coming back. With an army.”

“You know, I really hate snipers. They’re such dicks.”

“Dude, you literally refuse to let anyone else carry the sniper rifle.”

“Fuck.”

Kimball almost couldn’t believe it when she got the call.

They’d heard the story, of course—the Reds and Blues, the heroes who had brought down Project Freelancer.

And they’d landed on their planet.

Private Harris, she knew from glancing at the article, was a member of the Red Team. Jensen told her he had one eye, and had a bad concussion. So bringing him back to base was slow work. Felix beat him back by a day, and she sent him to the located second crash site to recover the others right away, not wanting to waste any time.

Matthews had said that there had been Feds at the scene, who had killed the other survivors.

Felix had returned with Andersmith, Palomo, and the other two survivors. Beatrice Martinez and Jessica Nguyen; two soldiers with actual skills that could be of some use. A mechanic and a pilot. Kimball knew they’d gotten very, very lucky.

And, from what Nguyen and Martinez were saying, Harris was a large part of that luck.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Martinez said. “Dumbass, don’t get me wrong, but he got us out of that ship. If those Feds had caught us in there, it probably would’ve been a kill box.” She made a finger gun with her left hand. “Bang. That Locus guy’s one hell of a shot.”

“He is,” Kimball agreed, trying not to seem too impatient as she waited for Harris to arrive himself.

Jensen was driving, which made Kimball wince, but they’d all made it back in one piece, so she probably hadn’t been driving for that long.

Harris held his helmet on his lap, and as he got out of the vehicle, Kimball could see why. The visor had been completely destroyed, jagged edges the only thing that remained. The scar over his bad eye was old, but it was clear the sight was mostly gone. He must be thrown off balance, without the HUD of his helmet to help him compensate for it, she realized. She’d have to get someone to help him with repairs or acquiring a new one. The rest of his armor was a dusty, tan color.

“You must be General Kimball,” he said easily, saluting. “Private Nick Harris.”

“Just Kimball,” she said, reaching out to take his hand instead. Pausing, he shook it, but there was a lift to his eyebrow that told her he considered the choice odd. “It’s good to meet you.”

He grinned at her, wide and confident in a way that meant that he thought he was charming.

“Would you walk with me? You probably need to have that concussion checked out,” she said.

“Oh I’m—” he stopped and made a face. “Good point,” he said.

She smiled to herself. Not used to actually admitting he needed assistance, it seemed.

“Felix went ahead to retrieve the rest of your friends,” she said, as they started to make their way through camp. Everywhere, her people were pointing and whispering, fascinated by what they were seeing.

There was a faint buzz in the air that Kimball could feel, and it made her hold her own head just a bit higher.

Hope.

Harris paused. “Felix went on ahead?” He said, sounding slightly faint.

“Yes…” she said, puzzled by his reaction.

He shook his head. “I just—some of the guys are paranoid, that’s all. I just hope your guy has fast reflexes!”

“He’s very good at what he does,” Kimball said, reassuringly as she could.

“I’m sure,” Harris nodded, giving her a slight grin. “So, uh, was everyone there? Is everyone okay?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “The reports mentioned several of them, but not all, but I’m afraid it was short and to the point. They didn’t stick around to observe for very long. Locus was spotted in the area.”

“Locus?” Harris said, and there was something off about his voice. “Like the armor?”

“He’s another mercenary,” Kimball said, pretending that the thick knot of dread in her stomach whenever she thought of that murderer didn’t coil tighter. “He works for the Federal Army.”

“The people you guys are fighting?”

“That’s right.” She paused. “He’s probably the one who killed the rest of your group.”

Harris bowed his head. “Jesus.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly.

He shook his head. “We were lucky to get off that ship,” he said quietly. “Guess luck can’t stretch forever, huh?”

Despite his words, there was a hollow look on his face. He’d lost people before. This was just one more blow, one more loss, more people he’d failed.

Kimball knew that feeling very well. She had to stop herself from reaching out. He didn’t know her. He wouldn’t want comfort from a stranger.

“Can Felix take this Locus guy?” He asked abruptly. “I mean, if he was seen in the area…”

“Felix has a lot of experience with Locus,” Kimball said. “They fought together in the War. From what he’s said… they used to work together. But something changed.”

Harris nodded. “War tends to do that,” he said, with a levity that was so blatantly false that Kimball almost wanted to laugh.

“Do you want me to see if we can requisition you a new helmet?” She asked him. “When your friends are here we can discuss things further.”

He shook his head. “If you can scrape up a few parts, I’ll fix this one myself. I’m pretty fond of it. And no offense, but your guys’ style doesn’t match my color scheme.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that broke out at that. “I’m sure,” she said. “I’ll see you later, Harris.”

He offered her another grin, but somehow this one felt… solider.

“Same to you, General.”

The battle was chaotic on the surface, but in reality it was perfectly controlled.

Disposing of a portion of the Federal soldiers sent to accompany him was easy, and replacing them with the pirates was easier still. It was imperative the Red and Blue soldiers survive, after all.

Locus had watched them through the scope of his sniper rifle, and wondered.

Who were these men—and woman? What hidden skills did they possess, so that they had survived so many misadventures.

In the end, Locus supposed it did not matter. They would all be dead soon enough. They would die with this planet. But Locus could not help but wonder if it would be possible to get answers out of them before they died. Washington in particular intrigued him; the sole Freelancer remaining in the canyon. Agents Carolina and Texas were missing—Felix had not been able to get a clear answer about their location, only that they were not present, and unlikely to return.

Locus took aim at Washington.

The man went down hard, and Locus heard the aqua soldier yell. The level of attachment in this unit was ludicrous.

Felix began to herd the ones still standing towards the exit. Over the radio, he heard Felix demanding explosives. It was time to begin cleaning up.

Locus decloaked and began to move towards the rebel soldiers who were guarding the fallen simulation troopers. Franklin Delano Donut, the robot known as Lopez, the man called only “Sarge”, and, most curiously of all, a blue soldier who answered to “Church”. A name oddly similar to the deceased Director of Project Freelancer.

He snapped the neck of one rebel, knowing fully well that the simulation troopers who would be with the New Republic soon were watching him. They would fear him, and this fear would fuel their need to reunite with their teammates. It worked best. Intimidation was a tactic like any other, and one that Locus was used to using.

Finally, he made his way towards the place where Agent Washington had fallen. The man was on his knees, being helped to his feet by the woman in yellow—Kaikaina Grif. She looked at him, desperately trying to help Washington up, but refusing to flee herself. Foolish.

Locus did not waste a bullet or a shot from his concussive rifle. Instead, he lashed out with his foot, taking advantage of her vulnerable position helping Washington. She fell to the ground hard as his foot connected with her chest, and Locus moved past Washington, slamming his rifle against her helmet to knock her unconscious.

“Kai!” Washington shouted. Apparently Washington was as susceptible to attachment as the rest of the soldiers. Unfortunate. He’d expected better from a Freelancer.

Locus turned towards Washington, mentally weighing the pros and cons of leaving the man alive. As a Freelancer, Control would understand if Locus said that killing Washington was necessary.

Washington was leaning heavily against the crude barricade they had constructed, staring over Locus’s shoulder, towards Kaikaina Grif and the cave in the distance, where the others were making their escape. His hand curled around the edge of the wall, so tightly that the material crumpled slightly in his hands.

“Freckles!” Washington yelled, his voice surprisingly strong despite his head injury. “Shake!”

Before Locus could move, could do anything to try to destroy the robot, the machine let out a bizarre noise, and slammed a leg down towards the earth, causing a tremor powerful enough to collapse the tunnel the rebels were using.

There was screaming from the direction of the caves—one of the other simulation troopers was protesting Washington’s decision.

Locus was nearly incredulous, but it did not matter. The separation was complete. The fact that it had been Washington’s decision when to do so instead of Felix’s made no difference, in the end. The split had already been decided by then. The only thing that might have changed was the possibility of one of the others being caught in the rock slide.

A message from Felix, however, quickly contradicted that.

An admirable attempt, to be sure. Washington was going to be… interesting.

Now there was only one thing to do.

“Call for back up,” Locus ordered the Federal soldiers who had survived the battle, before slamming his gun against Washington’s face, causing the man to crumple to the ground.

“We have five survivors in need of immediate assistance,” one of the men said, voice shaky. “I repeat, we have five survivors in need of immediate assistance.”

Private Church, Private Donut, Private Grif, the Sergeant, and Agent Washington. Lopez spared no glance for the two robots, both of which were broken into parts.

“Make sure the docs are ready. He really did a number on them.” Locus was not supposed to hear that part, clearly, but he was distracted by Washington stirring. The man, it seemed, was determined not to stay down.

“Kai?” The man was struggling to sit up, to turn towards where Kaikaina Grif had fallen.

“She's not dead. ...Not yet,” Locus said. He wondered how would Washington react to her death. Through his scope, he had seen… moments, between the two of them. He suspected that Agent Washington’s feelings might not be platonic in nature.

“No,” Washington struggled upwards, as if he thought he could prevent a threat against her in his weakened state.

“I warned you, Agent Washington,” Locus said, moving closer. He nudged Washington with his foot, and the man gasped in pain. Broken or cracked ribs. “I gave you a choice. But you chose to fight.” He fingered the trigger of his gun, considering if the man was more trouble than he was worth. “… I admire that decision,” he said, finally, as he made up his mind. The man had a concussion. And given the sensitive nature of the Freelancer implants, that might be enough. Anything more, and Control would have questions.

“Fuck—you—monster,” Washington growled. Every sound cost him, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling far too rapidly. He had sustained other injuries during the fight.

Locus shook his head. “No. I'm not a monster. I'm a soldier. Like you.”

He moved away to check on the others, and he heard Washington groan again as he passed out.

It was time to begin a new chapter of this game.

At least Locus’s role did not involve old acquaintances, Locus thought, glancing at the message from Felix in the corner of his helmet, ranting again about the presence of “Private Harris”.

A soldier did not think about could-have-beens, Locus reminded himself as he pressed his fingers against Franklin Donut’s pulse. But things would have been simpler had the crash gone according to plan.

#Steph Writes #The BFF Verse #Leonard Church #Alpha #Agent Texas #Vanessa Kimball #Lavernius Tucker #Locus #Agent Carolina #Agent York #Red vs Blue

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bomberqueen17 · 7 years

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There were times when I seemed very "absent-minded." I'd forget my keys, or accidentally lock myself out, and so on. My counselor figured out: I was having obsessive thoughts about a certain topic, that making it hard to think about anything else.

Oh that sounds really awful. At least that’s not what’s going on with me!

girderednerve replied:

it could be depression? mine is inconsistent & doesn't really announce itself, and sometimes i get like, reduced cognition first. i hope it wears off, i guess, that sounds sucky as hell

icantbearsedtothinkofone replied:

lo! I can write applications and do super-complicated shit with spreadsheets and I fixed all the shit in the office Monday morning despite having never been shown any of it, but I haven't put my washing away in weeks, I've lost most of my work trousers and I forgot I hadn't finished with a customer for Friday because of internet problems because I'd slept since then. Adulting is a myth, I'm sure.

My problem is that this has been going on for years. It gets worse or better incrementally, but the fact remains that I can’t really read books anymore, when I used to be voracious, and I can’t keep motivation for complex tasks because I literally forget what I was trying to do, and I just-- I feel like my brain’s just got big gaping holes in it and I complain about it a lot but fixing it seems out of reach.

I did manage to find that there’s a live chat help option on the NYS of Health website, and a lovely faceless person named Tyler talked me through what was wrong with my application (it literally does not say anywhere that I cannot use the form of documentation that I tried to use for my specific situation, you just have to know that) and wrote a template for me to use to create the documentation I do need, and confirmed that the open enrollment period does not apply to me and so I can do my application whenever, and if this is rejected, can just reapply. They were also very concerned for me and when I said that calling on the phone was a recipe for disaster in my case because I apparently can’t follow a conversation (I’m still so scarred from the Wells-Fargo disaster, that’s the last time anyone really made me use the phone and they’ve insisted that the issue is that I didn’t follow the directions they gave me on the phone, so you can imagine how eager I am to do anything actually important in any way that’s not in writing) and gave me a ton of other options. So... we’ll see.

I like to think that after struggling this hard to get health insurance I’ll use it to see a professional who will attempt to actually solve my enormous brain fog problems, but we all know that’s never going to happen and I’m going to spend the rest of my life semi-non-functional and scraping by.

The worst part is probably when people give me beautiful, well-thought-out, well-intentioned advice, that I literally just can’t understand how to apply to my own personal situation. I don’t know! I don’t know. Guess I’ll die!

#that's not a self-harm mention #i'm just referring to the meme #i literally do not understand how to reality #i'm not asking for advice #because it will take you too long to think about it and type it #and i won't understand it #because i'm really exceptionally stupid and don't know why #and it's not anything i'm demanding help for #i'm just pointing it out because it's frustrating me and i want to say it #because sometimes complaining about things helps #that's all #what are psychiatrists #we just don't know #again i'm referring to a meme but i'm also genuinely saying i cannot figure out how to work that entire concept #i just want to go back to bed #everything is terrible #don't worry about it #Anonymous

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thecoroutfitters · 7 years

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Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

5/5 (4)

Whether they’re solely companion animals or serve some level of function, many of us have animals. In some cases, they are members of our families as well as partners. Having accepted responsibility for them – simple companion, paddock pony, pet horses, livestock guardian donkeys and llamas, barn cats, or working dogs of various types – we are responsible for their welfare in a disaster. I’ll start with some of the tough situations first, and then list some tips for evacuating with animals or temporarily surrendering them to a shelter for a natural disaster.

When it comes to disaster planning for pets and livestock, we tend to have a lot of choices in North America, especially the United States. More and more human shelters are accepting crated and kenneled animals. Animal shelters and rescues also accept cats, dogs and other small companion animals in advance of hurricanes or when flood evacuation orders are issued. ASPCA barnyards will commonly work with owners as well, given enough of a head’s up. We have enough advanced warning of storms — and even wildfires to some degree – to heighten awareness and choose to evacuate them if it looks at all sketchy.

There are a few steps we can take to make evacuations a little easier.

One thing we should not do, ever, is leave them to fend for themselves, whether we think we’ll be back in a couple of days, or we’re thinking of setting them “free” or dumping them on somebody’s property.

Short-Term Emergency

If we evacuate, we need to evacuate our animals.

Following ever major hurricane and regularly after fires out West, people flood shelters and help lines because they’ve left pets and companion animals behind, and now roads are closed or completely washed out, bridges are missing, and roads are blocked by downed trees.

Private and public-funded rescuer organizations go out in force to try to save as many as they can, but animals perish. In some cases, they wind up far from home, never identified, and never adopted.

Some time on the phone ahead of a disaster, attention to weather news, and pre-packing for animals can mitigate some of the complications and make it possible for us to get our animals out of harm’s way before highways and roads become clogged or impassable.

If we act early, we can also work through local shelters and rescues to leave our animals with them while we evac or take refuge in a storm shelter.

Long-Term Disaster

In a long-term disaster, stray animals are almost guaranteed to increase in number. In some cases, it will be because they got lost and without infrastructure, were never returned. Unaltered animals will increase, and then further multiply, adding to the loose animal populations.

And then there will be the people who dump their animals.

Nine times out of ten, a pet is ill-equipped to survive on its own. A cat that seems to be an excellent hunter and one that is already outdoors may seem like a good candidate to take off somewhere and leave to fend for itself.

Don’t.

There are a lot of ways to die in this world, especially for animals, many of them slow and painful. They’ll be in competition with other animals. Coyotes and cougars already kill and consume even sizable canines every year – deeper and deeper into residential areas. Livestock owners are going to be totally justified in shooting animals that could menace their own either through predation or the spread of disease.

It’s already heartbreakingly common for people to dump dogs and cats across a gate in rural properties, especially if they see there are already dogs or cats.

Resist that temptation, too.

One, a lot of us in rural areas have dogs that double as flock and herd protection. Those dogs will attack and kill strange animals, especially if the newcomer chases or bristles up at them.

Two, it puts the “strange” cat, dog, bird, or goat at risk of fighting with existing dominant animals, or a whole pack of them, and it puts our animals at risk, makes us pay for meds and vet bills after a fight, even if there’s no death.

Three, some of us have donkeys that will stomp a canine and even the odd cat to death. Our dogs know to avoid them, or we have a hot line or fence you may not see to keep them separate.

Four, chances are good we are already at our carrying capacity for animals, well ahead of a crisis, and have not planned to feed an additional dog or cat or five. That means we’re left with the sad duty somebody else is dodging, and have to take it in to a shelter (now) or, in the future, may have to choose between chasing it away and hoping it doesn’t starve to death or run afoul of a local stray pack, and killing it so that at least it doesn’t suffer any more.

Those are sucky choices. They’re really sucky to lay at somebody else’s feet.

We need to plan to do the responsible thing and take care of our animals ourselves. In some scenarios, with no shelters/rescues/vets available, the kindest thing we can do will be to cull our herds and-or euthanize our companion animals.

Personally, I think everybody who considers getting livestock or a companion animal should have to volunteer at a shelter. They might weigh out the financial and emotional costs associated with animals – and the trials of disaster planning and recovery for them – a little more closely. There should be a lifelong commitment to that animal, and to treating even livestock respectfully.

End of Life

No matter how well we plan, our companion animals will end up with low quality of life from age, disease, or severe injury.

With any luck, we’ve considered that and are prepared to end their suffering.

In most situations we’ll face, there will still be options. Some pre-planning and supplies can prevent the need to choose between keeping a healthy animal and leaving it at a shelter permanently or long-term, or having to euthanize at home due to widespread, long-term crises that leave them slowly starving.

Evacuating with Animals

It’s not the easiest thing with multiple animals, especially larger livestock, but just as we have BOB’s and evac kits, multiple methods of evacuation, and plans for our families, we need to have the same for the critters in our lives.

When the authorities say it’s time to go, go.

Yes, sometimes to regularly it’s no big deal. There’s a lot of moving parts with animals, though, especially larger livestock. Hotels and campgrounds that accept dogs and cats are more common now, but in an evacuation, they’ll be getting picked over. Especially with livestock, whether it’s fire or flood risk, don’t delay.

Waiting too long puts animals and rescuers at risk after the fact. It’s easier and safer for everyone just to get them out early.

Trailers & Crates

If we have livestock that won’t fit in the backseat or pickup bed, we need a trailer. It’s almost that simple to me.

We need something we can rig with a ramp and cattle fencing even, and we need to train livestock to ascend and descend. Horses, goats, and cattle are lost in every wildfire, from Fort Mac to California and Arizona, because they won’t load when seconds and minutes count.

People in Fort Mac were supposed to have been safe, so some of the ones who ran out of fuel and rode their horses out or lost the seniors and slow ones to lung damage later have an excuse, but by and large, we can pay enough attention to cut and run. If we have to call around finding trailers and vans first, we’re already behind the curve.

If we have cats and dogs, we need to socialize them and we need to train them to go on trips or to load in crates, too.

If we have multiple small companions, sheep or goats, it may be absolutely necessary that we have enough crates and kennels on hand to move them at once – and thus, a vehicle or trailer capable of holding those crates and kennels, even if we have to stack them.

Animals that are friendly when loose may become aggressive with each other when stressed and over-tired. One trick is to keep cardboard, plywood or blankets on hand that we can arrange around, over and between crates if we need them. The visual barriers can help keep the peace.

Data Prep

Attach information about the animal to that animal, as well as to their crate or trailer. For dogs and cats, and even goats, that might be a collar or harness with a standard tag on it.

On their leads, crates, or trailers attach a larger card or sheet that’s cased in plastic with primary and secondary contact information, and a second point of contact.

Note any behavioral issues or medical needs. It can help keep others and the animals safe.

If the animal is being surrendered to a shelter temporarily, include the same and make sure there are updated photos for claiming them after the disaster.

There is livestock marking ink that can be used to write a name or number (or both) on even medium or large dogs as well as hoofstock. In an evacuation scenario, it’s not a terrible idea to use them.

For smaller animals, it’s easiest to have a pre-cut stencil that says “Baby Parris – ###-###-####” and color the fur through it with the sticks or spray.

Go Kits for Critters

Just like humans, animals should have a go bag or go kit.

When I had larger animals, hefty rolling trash cans that I could lash to the very front or the very back of the trailer(s) or run off the porch onto my tailgate and pickup bed were handy. I could carry several days of grain feed, a set of tack, electric fencing and battery/batteries, long-lines and short leads, shipping blankets and booties, and the Old Man’s old-horse mash mix and supplements in a couple of trash cans.

I also had a rolling trash can with a portion cut out near the bottom and a board blocking the hole that I could fill with hay and bring with us, then just haul down about a square bale and a quarter if I needed to. Both the ponies and the goats could feed from it.

They were easy to grab and pre-load if things started looking iffy, so that I could just load the animals when we made the call to cut and run.

For smaller companion animals or just a couple of goats, life can get even easier.

Several days of water and-or food and-or dishes can just wait around in rolling coolers. Coolers lose some space efficiency, but they’re nice and sturdy (and usually make handy seats and umbrella props). They can also be made water-resistant pretty easily with a roll of duct tape. Rolling luggage and storage totes offers a lot of the same advantages.

With kits pre-packed and ready to go, all we do is rotate the contents.

As with humans, they’ll need shelter and water, which can be wow-painful for large stock. Research the area and contact the ASPCA or Humane Society, Sheriff’s department, or animal rescues within your county and area to find out if they have ideas or resources you can tap. Do it well in advance of an emergency.

There are some parks that do still allow livestock. Another option is to work through the county extension, farm bureau, and county co-ops to find somebody at 20-50-150-300 mile intervals who would be willing to let you camp on their properties and pump or haul water.

Preparing for Furry Friends – Leaving Home

It can be difficult to deal with everything in the moment of a crisis. There are fifty-five things to remember to do and load. Make a checklist to make it easier, and have a way to stick it right by the door.

When we make our lists and plans, hopefully we’re preparing for our animals. With any luck, we’re taking them into consideration for the everyday and seasonal/annual occurrences that strike our modern world regularly. Planning for long-term care of pets and livestock can be difficult, especially if we’re not yet where we want to be for our human families.

It needs to be done, though. Like our children, our animals are helpless in a world we create for them. They count on us to be the responsible party.

Sometimes that can mean we have hard choices and tough actions that we need to be ready to take. Just like in our modern world, at some point a working animal or companion is going to be gray and pained, overcome by tumors, or crippled with disease or injury. Right now and in a lot of situations, shelters are available if we have no recourse left. If we’re planning on some WROL, nation-altering event, we need to plan to deal with those scenarios ourselves.

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