#I’m currently in the middle of a lab so I cannot read this because I know it’ll make me cackle

[victorianoruben]

{Untitled yet}

Ruvik X F!Reader

Chapter 1

Warning: none, I guess?

Written by: me and @another-bryk-in-the-wall

(thanks to my best friend for beta-reading it!)

Sometimes the hours are blurring together on nightshifts. Sometimes they are extremely stressful. Emergencies where there are only two people on a shift.

Other times you have 6 hours of complete rest and boredom.

That day it was the latter.

You haven't been working here for long and already find this hospital to be “different from others".

Many employees were emotionally cold and absolutely not interested in anyone, while just some liked to make jokes with you and treated you like a normal person. Also, the whole atmosphere here seemed very private. There weren’t too many patients who were going out of their way to socialize or make friends inside of the hospital. Hell, most didn’t even leave their rooms.

You sat bored in the lounge with your mobile phone in hand until you suddenly heard footsteps. They reverberated eerily in the long hallway and you turned to face that direction, startled. It was rare that anyone was wandering the halls this late at night. You saw a man in a tight red uniform aiming to walk past you, not even acknowledging your presence.

Only when you took a closer look at him, did you notice his burn scars. They were covering half of his face. When he noticed that you were looking at him from head to toe you decided to greet him, instead of just awkwardly staring at him. A relatively meek "Good evening, Sir" came out of you. You felt very overwhelmed by his dominant presence, which intimidated you a bit. That feeling only worsened when you let your eyes wander to the top of his head... Was that his brain surrounded by glass? No, that couldn't be. You were surely imagining things. But, what if you weren’t. Oh god damn it, what had he been through?

He emanated a unique self-confidence unlike anything you had ever seen in anyone with facial scarring. Usually patients like that were unsure and shy, afraid of being judged over something they had no control over. Human beings could be downright nasty to anyone with a scarred face. Something about facial scars disgusted people and the victims could clearly feel the contempt of others and as a result, they tended to lose all confidence.

This man, however, seemed to practically ooze confidence, which you respected and you caught yourself of being fascinated by or more like interested in his presence. You felt how your heartbeat rose from 0 to 100 when you both made eye contact, though you tried all your best to keep yourself collected and professionally polite. But that didn't work that easily.

"Good evening.", the man replied, his face completely blank and his voice monotone. He was just looking at you without a friendly gesture, without a smile. The man was simply studying your appearance as well. One of the many abilities he gained over the years was that he could read people like an open book, left open for him to peak in. Someone had longer fingernails on their right hand and short on the left? Guitar player who doesn't want to destroy the neck of said guitar. Some dog owners always carried treats with them, even if the dog wasn’t coming along. All those little clues told him enough about a person before they even spoke their first sentence.

But you. He couldn't read you yet, and this peaked his interest.

You hadn't been here for a long time, because he knew all the long-term workers and their darkest secrets.

"Are you busy right now?", the man pointedly looked at the phone in your hand, currently playing a silly cat video. Truth be told, he enjoyed that kind of content, but would he ad this? Never. Absolutely never. He would rather get the other side of his brain exposed than to admit that he liked cat videos.

"I need some help with my studies. Care to join me?", that was a big lie but he was curious -

Who were you and why did you peak his interest more than the average nurse in here? He'd find out soon enough.

Only now did you wonder what he was even doing here during these late hours. He didn’t look like a doctor. Was he a lab assistant? He certainly looked like some sort of scientist.

Pressing your lips in a thin line with a weak smile you put my phone in your pocket and nodded, slightly mortified that he had caught you watching cat videos of all things. It surely didn’t look professional.

"No, I'm not really busy. I’m just having a long boring night- I mean, not that I’m complaining... I wouldn't wish for emergencies either. So, yeah… I’d be glad to help you," You fumbled a little over your words, still slightly unsettled by his presence.

You’d do nearly anything to escape the boredom of a quiet nightshift, though. And you weren’t really worried about him being some kind of serial killer. Sure, your colleagues were weird, but they weren’t really the kind of people to chop you to pieces and bury you in the closest forest. Weird didn’t equal serial killer. Besides, you were curious about the man.

You were walking next to each other in silence that was quickly going growing awkward. Nervously you were fumbling with your hands in your smock overall, thinking of starting any conversation just to get out of this uncomfortable silence.

"I've never seen you before. I'm still pretty new here. Do you work here as a laboratory or doctor assistant? Also, with many nightshifts? Is that really that common in this mental hospital? " You had narrowed your eyes questioningly when you looked up to him. By reading his facial expressions it didn't seem like he liked to answer you. His forehead was wrinkling in silent contemplation, which made you suspicious. It was unusual to have an assistant running around here so late at night.

Maybe you weren’t so far of with the serial killer suspicions. You actually contemplated hightailing out of there.

'Quick, think of an answer. She is just a pretty and naive nurse'

But even a little slip up could cost his head. He could tell by her tensing posture that she was seconds away from fleeing the scene.

‘That could end badly’

"I mostly work nights," he tried to keep his answers short and to the point. Laying on a confidence in his answer that he didn’t actually feel. He made sure to look her in the eye shortly and casually avert his gaze back to the hallway. If he didn’t look her in the eyes at all he would look like a liar and if he stared at her too much he’d look like one too. It was a delicate balance, that he had mastered over the years "That is because the nights are quieter and I can focus on the patients better this way."

You took a glance at him, still wondering about what his actual job was. His answer was too vague for your taste. But the curiosity was still grown inside of you.

You had decided to work in a mental hospital because the human psyche had always been kind of a mystery to you. Mental illnesses were both fascinating and tragic in your eyes. The mind was even more delicate than the body, in your eyes. It was so easy to break and healing it was a true challenge. It was your goal to help people with mental illnesses like depressions, dissociative disorders and PTDS.

So, you really wanted to know what this scientist - or whatever - was working on.

You both arrived at the door to his office. You signed an NDA before, but who knew what could happened once you opened mouth. He didn't trust anyone in this damn hospital.

"Do not be surprised by the sight in front of you once I open this door. All I am asking you is to check the vitals of the patients in the bathtubs. I want to make sure they are doing well but I am not entirely sure how to do that.", he lied through his teeth, ready to push you into one of the bathtubs once the chance was there.

Or could you be useful to him in the near future?

When you entered his so-called office after his warning you had expected anything - but that!

Never in your life had you seen a machine this far developed... It looked like something directly taken out of a science-fiction movie. The construction filled the whole room. There were wires everywhere, all connecting to a weird sphere in the middle of the room. Completely gob-smacked by the strange… whatever that was you took a while to take notice of the bathtubs. When you did, though you froze up immediately. There were people - no patients - in lying in the bathtubs, connected to the cables, which were attached to the back of their necks.

Like a statue you stood there for at least 20 seconds. Staring at one patient, you slowly went to him just to check his state. Curious to see if he was aware of his surroundings or if he was unconscious – maybe asleep . What was this system?

Could that reach possibilities to help several people out of mental illnesses or was this just a machine designed from a psychopath just for his own use?

And why would he need help from just a nurse like you?

You let out a sarcastic laugh, "Looking at this huge thing… I highly doubt that you don’t know how to check vital signs ", you shook your head and crossed your arms, taking several steps back, out of his direct reach. No way would you let him put you into one of these tubs!

You really wanted to run away and never go to the hospital again.

"So, tell me. What do you really want from me? Do you expect me to go into one of the bathtubs? Gotta tell you, that’s not gonna happen. I mean... not to sound judgmental. Because technically this could be something to help our patients. But I gotta tell you, this,“ You gestured towards the patient that was laying in the tub right in front of you, “looks quite suspicious and not very save. I hope the patients volunteered for this, because if they didn’t I have to report this. Don’t get me wrong, you seem to be quite intelligent and this looks interesting, but I cannot allow something like this to continue without - "

"- You are annoying. All I want you is to check the vitals of the patients and you are throwing a whole speech at me.", he shot back, not amused with your behavior.

"I am a scientist, not one of your doctors. What I am doing here could change the world forever. It is a system which helps people with heavy trauma to forge new memories and get rid of the trauma. Do you understand me?", the scientist continued to spit out. There was a look of passion in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. They had looked quite dull and emotionless up to this point. It was clear to you that he truly cared about that project of his.

What you weren’t aware of was that the man had a plan. He'd snow you . Make you feel comfortable. And then, he'd put you in the bathtub too. The next one on his list would be Tatjana from the reception area. And then it was your turn.

What even was your name? He chanced a quick glance of your name tag, just enough to read "(Y/N)" on it.

"Listen to me, (Y/N). This is a top-secret project. If I find out you talked about it outside of this room, I will make sure you suffer great consequences. And trust me, I have my eyes and ears everywhere. Now go and check on the rest of these people before I get angry. Then, you may leave."

Author's Note:

I'm still unsure if I keep making this as a slow-burn whole Fanfiction or just cut the whole thing I'm planing into single parts like One-Shots

[magebastard]

think of everything you’ve got

characters: detective lane wheatley, rebecca wheatley

rating: T

word count: 1.9k

warnings: allusions and references to panic attacks, and description of a panic attack, negative mother daughter relationship

notes: this isn’t what i wanted to write! but the more i rewrote it the more i wanted to write about a confrontation! am I projecting? do I need catharsis? we’ll never know! this is lightly edited so I’ll probably reread and continuously edit it because I’m a nightmare alive

She should have known.

Lane decides on a day of romance. After a kind, if uneasy, conversation over the phone with Adam-

“I don’t want you to think I’m not taking my position seriously. I am, you know? Always.”

“That’s not in doubt, Detective. There are no pressing matters to attend to. We’re seeing a lull in cases that need our full attention urgently.”

“Though you and I both know I should be training, or in the lab, or the library or-“

“And I won’t argue that. My job is to care for the needs of the team, even if I’d recommend otherwise. Take the Saturday, Detective.”

A tense pause.

“Thank you, Commanding Agent.”

Lane would swear she’d heard a huff of laughter.

“Notify us if something comes up.”

Lane decides to treat herself to a day of being loved and cared for. A day to woo the good detective.

It starts with a long walk to the lighthouse, then a trip to see Haley for a cup of coffee, a bath with a second mug of coffee, a movie marathon that will play in the background as she restores a busted casiotone found unloved and abandoned on the side of the road with an additional two cups of coffee.

She’s halfway through coffee number three when she hears the knock.

Lane isn’t paranoid by nature. In fact, some would say she’s overly trusting. The way she cannot help but squash her face against the peephole with abject discomfort at the sound of a rapping at her door is new, and stands out in the way that it feels unnatural. She’d never had a reason to fear before.

In this moment, the new habit is one that she’s grateful for. Standing so tall with her shoulders squared so straight, stoicism and edge in equal, unsettling measure right outside of her apartment door is Rebecca. Fuck, actually.

Lane is wearing a ripped t-shirt from a pizza place in the city and paint stained utility overalls. She is winded from brushing the dust from individual keyboard keys. She is hyperaware of how sweaty she probably is, and that her apartment may look like a mess because it absolutely is one.

A showdown with Agent Wheatley was not on her agenda.

To not answer the door would be the obvious maneuver. Crouch down, not unlike a gargoyle and wait out the danger until it’s safe to move again.

The wonder of why Rebecca is here in the first place is a jarring thing.

It hasn’t been the most comfortable situation; constantly rebuffing her attempts at motherly affection. In all honesty, it’s been harrowing in just how awkward it’s made Lane feel.

She doesn’t know what was expected of her. Rebecca has made it painfully obvious over the years. All twenty seven of them. No calls, rare visits, stunted conversation, general lack of interest. Lane can read a room.

Rebecca is not her mom. She wasn’t when Lane needed her to be, she’s certainly not going to reap any of the benefits of Lane’s company now. That ship sailed.

Yet here she is, again, waiting dockside.

If there’s an emergency, surely she would have called. Surely someone else would have been instructed to call. It’s got to be something benign. Something uncomfortable. Lane could ignore this. She could ignore this and get away with it. She could and should ignore this.

Weighted moments pass. There’s a decision made and a plan already enacted to wait this out.

Lane unlocks and opens the door.

There’s a disconnect between the woman, posturing and severe in the peephole and the slight woman wearing mom jeans and the lines of a worried frown etched so deeply in her face who stands nearly hunched before her. Chalk it up to perspective. There’s a realization that no one has said a word and seconds are passing between them.

“May I come in?”

“You’re wearing jeans.”

“I am wearing jeans.”

“I didn’t know you owned jeans.”

Barely the quirk of a brow. “Some of the more delicate aspects of my private life should remain as such.”

It’s horrid and hilarious that Lane almost remembers her this way. Dry wit. Photographs of a woman who looks like her, wearing jeans. A man she cannot recognize in the countless stories she’s heard from neighbors and friends. These images and ideas of people who were her family. Ghosts.

Lane steps aside, allowing Rebecca to pass.

It doesn’t escape her, the way she assesses the space. It’s not the first time she’s been around, but the mess is new. A shuffle of furniture. Decisions to change everything made in the clawing heat of panic.

“Is something wrong?” The effort to keep impatience out of her words seems too pointed to be professional.

“I thought I’d say hello while I was close by.”

“Interesting.” There’s ease in familiarity. The breaths they take are short and punched, the taciturn ebb and flow of their understanding each other. There’s nothing polite about it and it hangs over them like a storm ready to crack open. Somehow it’s easier.

Lane wishes Rebecca had worn a suit. There is something clinical and apart about her when she wears a suit. A silhouette and an authority. Now, she’s a mother wearing jeans, with shaking hands. It’s real, that she’s here—that she’s around. It’s not supposed to be real. A drop-in from Mom isn’t supposed to level her this way. Was finding out that vampires existed this much of a revelation? She cannot remember now.

“Well, hello to you, too. As you can see I’ve got a lot going on.” Lane gestures, vaguely. “I should get back to it, so-“

“Do you need help?”

“Absolutely not,” she says it before realizing it might be cruel. Rebecca winces in a way that suggests that the suits may be the secret to her armor, after all. It’s a separate jarring thing that Lane is nearly desperate to get her out of the apartment after barely minutes.

“Look, it’s just-“ she breaks off with a heavy sigh bringing her hands to the back of her neck, gripping. “It’s my day off. I don’t want to think about work-“

“We don’t need to talk about work-“

“No.” It’s a hard line. It’s heavy in her mouth. Lane does not hold grudges. They’re exhausting and you’d give yourself less ache clinging to a barbed wire with both hands.

“I’m tired,” Lane says because it’s true in so many ways.

“Me too,” Rebecca replies and, yes, she can believe that.

This is exhausting.

“You came to say hello and then, what?” She drops her hands. “What did you want?” What do you want from me goes unsaid, again and again.

Shifting from foot to foot in the most unprecedented display of visceral uncertainty, Rebecca looks unfathomably human.

“I just want to be your Mom,” she says quietly, pleadingly, and it’s frightening—the way that Lane’s vision goes near completely white for a moment. It’s a blistering anger and her blood rushes like a rapid tide. It’s a thin sheet of ice cracking over a rolling current. She thinks she kicks a wall. She doesn’t remember.

“You can’t be!” And Lane doesn’t mean to shout. She hates feeling this way. There’s a helplessness that accompanies rage—surrendering to it doesn’t feel like a choice. Only a realization, after the fact. It’ll be disappointing to Lane, later, that her years of carefully cultivated numbness were completely dismantled by a quick check-in from Rebecca.

“Why not?” Is shouted back, like guiding breath to a lone ember. Lane begins to pace, taking short strides.

“You don’t get to choose between the child and the twenty-seven year old, you know? You didn’t choose me, then. The time, and time again of then, you didn’t call, you let me think that I—a child—meant nothing. I had to work on healing from that. I think I did an alright job.” She’s rambling. Rebecca looks about two feet tall. It hurts. It feels like she’s going to be sick but she cannot stop.

“I ended up just like you. Sometimes I think I recognize you because of that. Sometimes, I missed you so much, I couldn’t breathe.” She blinks against the burn in her eyes. Rebecca has stepped toward the door. She looks afraid. Wounded. Ready to bolt.

“I still feel like the kid standing in the middle of the street, screaming for my Mom—I still have to feel that way!” Stop shouting. Someone’s going to come check on you. You’ll have nothing to say, no way to explain yourself. Lane swallows around the pit in her throat.

“But I don’t-” she tries. “I don’t miss you. I don’t know you. I let myself be happy. You—who chose—you have to live with that.”

The paleness and thinness of Rebecca’s skin is suddenly alarming. Lane feels like a monster. Guilt coils around her in thick tendrils. Holding her.

“You have to understand-“

“You have to understand!” A heaving breath. “I didn’t choose. I never got that chance. I’m choosing now. You don’t want me. You don’t care about me. You want a second chance,” Lane throws her arms out. “I’m just a person.” Rebecca looks briefly like she wants to argue, but she sees it. Lane sees, with a painful, unmistakable clarity what she’d been equal parts terrified of and anticipating; uncertainty. Debate. Conflict. It’s reassuring and gutting all at once. The risk of being right has never had such high stakes.

“There’s no second chance. I’m an adult, with my own life. Seized and uprooted by vampires, literally, but a life that’s mine. That I found,” she lays a hand, gently over her chest. Her heart slams against her sweating palm. “I made this. It’s my choice, now.”

Her mother swallows hard. The visage of Agent Wheatley festers in terrible silence. It’s a croak when she speaks again. “Can I be here—in your life, at all?” It’s a plea. She’s begging. “Somehow?”

An open door is a delicate thing. Vulnerable, breachable, terrifying. Lane clenches her hands tightly into fists. She can be brave. Whatever she chooses, she can be brave.

“I need time. More of it.”

Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut. It’s wrenching. She looks so unbelievably small. This is the most like her Lane has ever felt.

“Okay.” Rebecca’s voice is quiet. It feels like a step has been taken somewhere in some direction. Just vague enough to be uncomfortable.

She goes after that, brittle, giving short nods as if she’s speaking a usual polished ‘goodbye’. The effect is lost in the sickly expression on her face.

Lane feels like she could be carried off by the wind. Her heart feels less like it’s beating than it’s throbbing in her chest, ready to burst. Water. She needs water.

Moving to the cupboards and the sink, her phone is a rattle in her shaking hands. She dials.

“Not that we don’t miss you terribly, but some of us are working, Detective.” Tina’s voice is bright, and warm and Lane realizes with new levity that her feet are still planted on the ground.

“I think I’m going to come in. You can head out for patrol once I’m there, alright?” There’s an understandable pause. A hint of palpable disappointment.

“You’re supposed to be taking a day for yourself, Lane.”

“I know. I was. I need to work.” She hopes beyond hope that Tina does not press for an explanation.

“Sure.” Hesitant, but final. Asked and answered.

“Thanks, T.” For so much more than I can say.

“Always. Haley’s date soon?”

Lane takes a gulp of water, lets the residual anger sit like a stone in her stomach.

“Pick a day. I’ll be there.”

The call ends with pleasantries exchanged. A new knot between her shoulders, and a faint queasiness accompany Lane as she gets ready for work.

[riotwritesthings]

Baby Crazy

WinterIron, 8k, E, crack | AO3

This is partially because of that video of Sebastian Stan being cute with a kid, and mostly because my friends are terrible influences. By which I mean they’re the best and I LOVE THEM. Here’s some crack. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. No shame 2020.

-

For some reason, the children of New York love Bucky Barnes. It’s heartwarming to witness, and it’s making it really hard for Tony to ignore his gigantic crush on the man.  Especially because Tony can’t stop suggesting they maybe have a baby together. The rest of the Avengers just want a vacation.

-

Despite popular belief, Tony does actually think before he speaks the majority of the time. Maybe that doesn’t include when he’s a little slap happy after a fight, but he feels like that should be forgivable. Especially when he’s watching Bucky oh so gently hand a sniffling toddler back to a sobbing mother, and Bucky has to extra gently loosen the kid’s tiny fingers from his tac-vest. There’s only so much Tony can be expected to stand before his brain just checks out.

Tony leans heavier against the concrete barricade in the middle of the street and, completely without thought, quietly sighs out “ugh, just put a baby in me already.” Apparently not quietly enough though, because Bucky’s head snaps up and around to look at him, eyes wide and, if Tony’s not mistaken, the faintest hint of a blush across his cheek bones. Tony, on the other hand, has a horrible feeling that his own face is bright red as he ducks down behind the barricade with a grumble of “stupid enhanced hearing.”

It would be so much less suspicious if Tony could just play it cool, wave and wink and play it off as a joke instead of some kind of weird gut reaction that he really has no idea where it came from. But no, Tony has a big stupid crush, even worse, he has actual adult feelings, and he has already proved himself incapable of ‘playing it cool’ around Bucky. Mostly at this point Tony is just aiming for ‘not a complete idiot.’

He has a terrible feeling he’s failing miserably, and not just because he’s currently crawling away along the ground behind the barricade. “Don’t judge me,” he says as he crawls past Natasha, because he really does not appreciate the scathing look on her face. Then she shakes her head sadly, which is somehow worse, and Tony pouts as he continues his totally manly and mature crawling flee.

He spends the rest of the day avoiding Bucky, telling himself it’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s just because his head got rattled around in that last fall, he’s not obsessed with the idea that Bucky would make a great dad, that Tony would really like to see that up close and personal. Nope, not even a little bit. This isn’t a problem.

-

And it wouldn’t be a problem, right, Tony says weird shit all the time, it should be swept away under a constant stream of other weird shit, except... Tony can’t seem to stop doing it.

No one is exactly sure when or why it happened, but somehow the Winter Soldier has become the favorite Avenger among the children of New York. Tony gets it, he really does, Bucky has the whole ‘strong silent’ thing going on most of the time, he’s cool and sweet and just the right amount of a smartass. (It’s possible Tony is projecting, just a little bit.) But then the problems began when the kids actually started to approach Bucky, because nothing could have prepared Tony for the sight of Bucky crouched down and patiently letting a bunch of kids poke and prod at his arm.

Tony was already compromised, how could he not be, watching as Bucky smiled gently at an adorable group of children, but then Bucky had looked up and met his eyes, looking confused and excited and terrified and a million other things all at once. A million things that Tony could read in an instant and he’d immediatly lost himself in about a thousand different day dreams of raising a family together, what the fuck.

It had really forced Tony to deal with the fact that his ‘stupid crush’ is more ‘actual adult feelings that will never go away and will probably eventually ruin his life’, because there’s nothing like watching the man he’s terrifyingly in love with interact with small children to finally and officially ruin his denial. Tony had spent two days locked in his lab stress-building after that little revelation, ignoring the fact that apparently he’d been spending so much time with Bucky lately that Tony was missing him after even a couple hours, and come out of the whole thing almost convinced that he would be able to handle this. He could act like everything is normal, like nothing had changed.

Tony had been very, very wrong. He cannot handle this, and he absolutely cannot act normal. How can he possibly act normal when the second they leave the tower to get some lunch Bucky is swarmed with excited children, and Tony gets to watch Bucky’s small grin bloom into something wide and warm and soft? Tony is only human, okay. One of the kids tugs at Bucky’s pant leg until he kneels down and lets the kid whisper something in his ear, and Tony whines under his breath as he clutches at his stomach.

“Bruce help,” he mutters, quietly enough that he almost definitely won’t be overheard this time, “I think my ovaries just exploded.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Bruce responds absently, and then apparently actually registers the sentence because he looks up from the takeout menu he’s been pouring over to fix Tony with a flat look. “You need help,” he says seriously, “please just talk to the man like a reasonable person.”

“About putting his baby in me?” Tony asks hopefully, then pouts when Bruce just shakes his head and walks away.

“I’m going to get lunch, you can join me when Bucky’s done with his newest fans and you’re ready to act like a human,” Bruce calls over his shoulder, heartlessly.

Tony’s head whips back around at the sound of Bucky’s quiet, rumbling laugh just in time to see the kid’s face light up proudly, and Tony makes another strangled sound deep in his chest.

-

As a general rule, Tony does not enjoy PR stunts. He just might be able to excuse this one though, seeing as how it is in Central Park, and he gets to actually enjoy some sunlight rather than being shoved in another room full of socialites. And this one is for children, who Tony generally like way better than socialites or the press anyways.

It is both a gift and a curse, really, because now Tony is sitting at a picnic table watching a bunch of giggling kids braid flowers into Bucky’s hair under a tree about thirty feet away. Flowers. Into Bucky’s hair. Tony is charmed, and a little jealous, sure, because he wants to play with Bucky’s hair too damnit, but mostly Tony is just hopelessly charmed.

Tony groans pathetically for the third time in as many minutes and slumps down across the table, barely avoiding face planting into a half eaten cake that, ironically, has all their faces on it. "Real question,” Tony says out loud to no one, “do you think he'll have my babies?"

"I don't... think that's possible, Tony," Steve says slowly, and Tony jumps a little because he maybe forgot Steve was there. When he looks up Steve is making a weird scrunched face, like some kind of prude, as he says “what-"

"Then I'll have his babies, I don’t give a fuck," Tony huffs, dropping his chin to his crossed arms and fixing his eyes back on Bucky. Who is now letting a beaming little girl place a flower crown on his head and Tony doesn't even care that he’s probably going to have to pay for all those ripped up flower beds.

"I don't... think that would work either,” Steve says, breaking into Tony’s swooning again, “seriously, what-"

"But,” Tony interrupts, raising one finger as he turns back towards Steve, “what if he fucks me really, really hard?”

"I don't think you know where babies come from," Sam says and Tony jumps again, because when did Sam get here?

"You wont know if you don't try," Clint points out cheerfully, and when did that asshole get here?!

"Don't encourage him, I don't want to think about any of this," Steve says with a groan, pushing away his plate of food.

Tony finally sits up properly to look around the table in confusion as he asks "when did you assholes get here? Don’t you need to go charm parents or something? I already did my shift.”

"We've been here the whole time, man," Sam says and great, now they're all giving him weird looks, "you need to get it together, there are kids around."

"He needs a basic sex ed class," Clint says, and when Tony looks over Clint is rearranging the remainders of the cake to Frankenstein together what’s left of their faces. Tony doesn’t understand how he’s the weird one here.

Tony has a response to all of this negativity, it is a clever and scathing response and he forgets it instantly when Bucky turns towards the table, waving at them with the chubby little fist of the kid he’s now holding in his arms.

Tony slumps back down across the splintery wood with a garbled groaning sound that turns into a sigh of "fuck I want his babies inside me so goddam bad."

"Gross," Sam says while Steve makes exaggerated gagging noises and pushes his plate further away. “Man up,” Sam says cryptically, patting Tony on the shoulder and Tony groans again. At least it’s followed by the sounds of everyone getting up and finally leaving him alone to his misery / daydreams of how adorable babies made by Bucky would be.

At the sound of approaching footsteps Tony looks up again to ask if they’re sure he can’t have Bucky’s babies only to squeak instead because oh look, it’s Bucky. Still holding a child, both of them smiling hopefully at Tony and Tony’s heart lurches dangerously in his chest.

“Hunter here has something for you,” Bucky says, his voice soft in a way Tony has never heard before and the kid nods eagerly before wiggling around to dig his little hand into the giant pocket on his tiny little cargo pants. Bucky has to shift his grip constantly to keep the kid from tumbling out of his arms as Hunter pulls out a sheet of paper folded over itself multiple times and Tony’s not about to sob, he’s not. Everything is fine.

It’s a welcome distraction when the kid abruptly throws his weight forward, arms outstretched, and Tony has to reach out to grab him as Bucky makes panic face and just tries not to drop the over-excited kid.

“Woah, okay, what do you have for me?” Tony asks, twisting sideways on the awkward picnic table seat so he can settle the kid in his lap and then help to unfold the paper.

It turns out that what Hunter has is an impressively and hilariously accurate drawing of their fight with the giant frog last month, and Tony instantly loves it. He loves it more and more as the kid stutters through an explanation of every painstakingly included detail, like Thor covered in slime, and the exact moment Tony came bursting out of the frog’s chest in a spray of red crayon.

“Hunter, I can’t lie to you,” Tony says seriously once the kid has finished explaining that the Hulk is purple because his dog ate the green, “this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Amazing. Are you sure I can keep it? This should be in museums.”

Tony grins wide when Hunter bursts into delighted laughter, pushing the paper harder into Tony’s hands. When he looks up again Bucky is still standing there, smiling down at them all soft and warm, purple and yellow flower crown sitting a little lopsided on his head, and Tony’s heart lurches again.

-

"Are we ready to go?" Tony asks, looking around one last time even though FRIDAY has already confirmed they’ve successfully rounded up all the tiny, vicious alien mice.

"Almost, Bucky is taking pictures with a couple kids who snuck past the police barricades," Natasha says, looking entirely too proud of random thrill-seeking kids as she points somewhere behind Tony.

Tony does not turn to look, because that sounds dangerously adorable, and instead just tips his head back with a heavy sigh as he asks "but when is he going to give me a baby?"

"What was that?" comes a voice from behind him, and Tony spins on his heel so fast the armor gouges into the street a little to find that yep, Bucky is right there with an expression that Tony kind of wants to call bemused teasing. Or maybe just confused amusement.

Tony definitely can't run away this time, mostly because the stupid tiny alien mice got into his boots and chewed up the important wires. He’s also pretty sure he can hear Natasha snickering at him, so he figures hey, fuck it, might as well double down. “I said," Tony repeats with an over-exaggerated roll of his eyes, "when are you going to give me a baby?!”

He’s not sure how he actually expects Bucky to respond to that, because Tony has not thought this through at the fuck all, but he’s definitely not expecting Bucky to look surprised for a split second before giving Tony a smirk that is honestly filthy, how dare he make that face in broad daylight. “Maybe once things calm down at work,” Bucky says lightly, patting Tony on the shoulder as he walks past on the way to the transport vans.

“Some of us aren’t getting any younger here!” Tony calls after him, and it’s probably ridiculous to want to pout just because he couldn’t actually feel Bucky’s hand on his shoulder through the armor. He is anyways though, because frankly it’s way easier than dwelling on the fact that okay, apparently they joke about this now. That definitely won’t make Tony’s problems worse or anything, not a chance.

“Well you certainly look like ya are,” Bucky says, pausing to toss Tony a wink before clambering into the back of the van.

Tony is too busy stuttering and blushing to notice he’s moving, and then he’s walking straight into the side of the van with a tellingly loud clang of armor against metal. Natasha outright laughs at him, and Tony is pretty sure he can hear laughter from inside the van, too. Life is so unfair.

-

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Steve demands with slowly dawning horror.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bucky says flatly, but Steve is not an idiot, and he absolutely sees the way Bucky keeps glancing across the road as he hoists a laughing child up to sit on his shoulder. In fact, Bucky appears to be staring straight at Tony, who’s slumped back against his parked car with an expression that Steve wants to call half pain and half longing. And half stupid.

Steve has already had more than enough of this, thank you very much, but his attempt to storm off down the street is thwarted by Tony chasing him down, clutching at his arm, and frantically whispering “I want his baby.”

“It doesn’t work like that Tony,” Steve says miserably, trying and somehow failing to pry Tony’s grip loose, “that's my best friend, please stop saying these things to me.”

“Okay, but I want it,” Tony whispers back, clearly not listening at all and still staring at Bucky with wide eyes, “I want his baby inside me, and I want him to put it there. Vigorously.”

“Please go back to whining about how pretty his hair is, that was way better than this,” Steve begs, which are some words that he never thought he’d say and these pining morons might actually be the death of him. He never thought he’d miss the days when they just silently made heart eyes at each other from across a room.

As they both watch Bucky boosts another kid up onto his other shoulder while their equally excited dad snaps approximately a million photos on his phone, and Tony nearly sobs out “fuck me, I just love him so much.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a sigh, then snaps his head around to stare at Tony with one eyebrow raised. “Wait,” Steve says slowly, a smirk growing on his face because this is certainly a new development, “what was that last part?”

Tony blinks dumbly at him for a second, like he legitimately hasn’t been listening to himself when he speaks, and then his eyes go wide. “I said he’s hot and I want to have his babies!” Tony says, probably too loudly considering they’re still standing on the street and Steve has to resist the urge to laugh. “I didn’t say that I have feelings! There are zero feelings here, fuck you!” Tony continues, looking more and more panicked by the second and Steve almost feels bad for him. Except for the fact that he does not, not even a little bit.

”Very convincing,” Steve says, patting Tony on the back. Down the street Bucky carefully sets both kids back on their feet and waves goodbye, and Tony makes a strangled sound.

-

Sometimes, Tony thinks back fondly on when things in his life made a single bit of goddamn sense. Mostly though, he’s accepted this interesting new form of insanity.

Like when he walks into the kitchen to find Bucky and Peter sitting at the kitchen table, Peter giggling to himself as he sticks what appears to be Mario magnets all over Bucky’s left arm. Why wouldn’t this be happening?! Tony can’t help the short laugh that bursts out of him before he manages to smother it down, and Bucky turns to him with a baleful look.

“I’m not crazy about the kid from your first marriage,” Bucky says flatly, and Tony loses control of his laughter again as Peter makes a squawking sound caught somewhere between offended and confused.

“Well, he’s part of the deal,” Tony says with a shrug, and smiles brightly as Peter makes a couple more meaningless noises. He refills his coffee mug, then fixes Bucky with a serious look even as he starts backing out of the room and says “you want some better ones, we better get started on making them.”

“I’ll put it in m’ calendar,” Bucky says with a wink, and Tony pretends to swoon so that hopefully no one will notice that he’s actually swooning a little bit, cheeks warm and everything.

“I am scared and confused,” Peter volunteers, green shell magnet still clutched between his fingers, and Tony laughs his way out of the room as Peter squeaks “am I being adopted?!”

-

Steve walks into the living room to find Bucky sitting on the couch in the near-dark, face buried in his palms, and is instantly on high alert. “Bucky?” Steve asks, looking around the room, but the TV is currently showing a geico commercial and somehow Steve doesn’t think that’s the problem. “What’s going on- what’s wrong?”

When Bucky lifts his head and looks up at Steve his eyes are wet, and Steve is about to panic right up until Bucky opens his mouth and says “Steve. He’s so fucking precious, Steve. What the fuck.”

“What,” Steve says flatly, because what the fuck is Bucky talking about. He looks around the room again, hoping this time he’ll find some kind of answer, and oh look at that, the commercials have ended and apparently Bucky has been sitting here watching the highlights of last night’s press event. More specifically, the interview Tony had done with a tiny well-dressed child outside the actual event. Because of course that’s what Bucky is nearly crying over. “I hate you both,” Steve says with a sigh that feels like it comes from the very depths of his soul.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, eyes back on the TV, “Steve, do you think Tony’s kids would be as pretty as him?”

“I want to disown both of you,” Steve says, and then huffs in annoyance because Bucky is clearly not listening.

“He has an entire wall of art and letters from kids in his workshop,” Bucky continues on, completely unphased by Steve’s hate, “he can still tell the story behind each and every one of them. Bet he’d make the prettiest fuckin’ babies.”

“I’m leaving,” Steve says, but before he can actually move Bucky is whipping his head back around with a distressingly hopeful look on his face. “No-“ Steve tries to say, because he has a terrible feeling he knows exactly where this is going, but Bucky talks right over him.

“Steve,” Bucky says and completely ignores Steve’s desperate head shaking as he asks “do you think Tony would have my babies? We would make the cutest little babies on the entire fuckin’ planet, I just know it.”

“Nope,” Steve says loudly, finally spinning on his heel and stomping out of the room, “nope nope nope, I don’t want to be a part of this. I’m taking the quinjet, if anyone needs me, don’t, because I will be back in the damn ice.”

“Steve!” Bucky shouts after his retreating back, “don’t you think our babies would be cute, Steve?!”

-

Tony isn’t sure why people seem so determined to hand Bucky their babies lately, but he’s certainly not complaining. By which Tony means that he is absolutely complaining, because just once he would like to go out for dinner with his teammates without his heart exploding over the sight of Bucky cuddling a chunky little infant close to his chest.

“I want to have his babies,” Tony sighs, hands clutched to his chest, and it really should be more concerning that he’s barely even aware he’s doing it anymore, doesn’t realize the words are out until Steve sighs heavily beside him.

“Tony please, stop,” Steve says, eyes closed and expression pinched like he’s getting a headache, “why can’t you just talk to each other like normal people.”

“I talk to Bucky all the time,” Tony objects, because he really does, he spends more time with Bucky than just about anyone these days. He just doesn’t talk about pointless, useless things, like his feelings, or the fact that his biological cock is apparently chiming like Big Fucking Ben.

Steve just sighs again, looking around like he’s trying to find help but Rhodey and Sam had left them behind almost as soon as they had stopped, the bastards. Tony is helpless to look away as the baby raises one tiny hand to pat at Bucky’s cheek, and when Bucky turns his head, meeting Tony’s eyes as he pretends to bite and then gently kisses that chubby little baby fist Tony makes a squealing sound deep in his chest that finally has Steve walking away too.

Tony goes home at the end of the night and sobs into his pillow. More or less. He collapses across the couch in his suite and presses his face into the armrest as he whines “it’s like he doesn’t even care that I have a heart condition! How am I supposed to live like this?!”

“Then fuck him or die already,” Rhodey says heartlessly, sprawled across the armchair and flipping obnoxiously through a magazine. Tony doesn’t even know where he got a magazine, because it’s certainly not Tony’s.

“It’s like you have no sympathy for my pain,” Tony says, finally pulling his face away from the arm rest to glare at his so-called best friend.

“Ran out of it months ago,” Rhodey agrees, loudly turning another page and Tony is pretty sure he brought that magazine himself, just so he could do this. Tony has to admire that level of dedication.

-

Tony blasts one of the flying monkeys, actually, real flying monkeys, out of the air as it tries to swoop down at Bucky, and this is one of the times that the insanity level of their lives is a little too high for even Tony’s standards. It’s almost worth it though, because Bucky looks up at him with a quick flash of a grin and his voice is warm through the comms as he says “thanks sugar.”

“You know how you can make it up to me?” Tony asks, ignoring the flush working its way across his face in favor of smirking widely because he can already hear the rest of the team groaning in protest. And hey, great thing about a metal suit, no one can see you blush.

“How’s that, sweet thing?” Bucky asks, also ignoring the rest of their team and Tony can hear the grin in his voice even as Bucky leaps over to the next rooftop and takes aim at another swarm of flying monkeys. Flying. Monkeys.

“Don’t,“ Sam says, and there’s a grunt as he kicks one of the pests out of the air, “this stopped being funny so long ago.”

“You could put a-“ Tony starts, only to be cut off by a combination of his own laughter, Sam’s protesting sounds, and one of the monkeys crashing into him and trying to pry his helmet off.

“Tony please I am begging you-“ Steve tries, and Tony would swear he can actually hear Steve’s soul leaving his body.

“Put a goddamn baby in me!” Tony finishes with maybe a little too much emotion, knocking the monkey and away and blasting it with great prejudice.

“Alright it’s funny again,” Clint says around a burst of giggles, but Tony is much more interested in Bucky’s quiet laugh. It has him smiling all through the rest of the fight, even if it is with goddamn flying monkeys.

-

“Bruce, I need to ask you something,” Steve says, bursting into the library and he feels bad when Bruce startles hard. Bruce nods though, still looking a little rattled, so Steve decides to launch right into it. “So you know how Tony and Bucky are being extra obnoxious with their super obvious pining lately?”

“Unfortunately,” Bruce says with a pinched expression that Steve knows all too well. He’s pretty sure that’s what his own face looks like all the time lately.

“So I realized, there’s still a lot I don’t know about the world these days, I am constantly learning new things, and it occurred to me-“ Steve pauses, chewing on his lip for a second before he decides to just blurt it out. “They can’t actually make a baby, right?! Because I’m pretty sure they’re just being dumb but I also don’t want to be wrong, and- Bruce, am I going to be an uncle?!”

Bruce just blinks at him for several long, silent seconds. Then he shuts his book with a decisive thunk, pushes himself to his feet, and firmly says “I need a vacation.”

“That’s not an answer to my question!” Steve protests, because at this point Bruce is basically the only person Steve can trust to not fuck with him about this. And Steve has learned his lesson about diving too deep into google looking for answers. That way lies madness.

“Vacation,” Bruce says again, then politely but firmly elbows his way past Steve and out the door.

“I’m not ready to be an uncle!” Steve calls after him, and pouts when Bruce refuses to come back and answer his questions.

-

Tony did not start the day thinking he’d end it getting crushed by an air-born taxi during what should have been a routine fight, but it looks like that’s what’s going to happen. Because of course the latest bad guy just has to go down in a blaze of exploding glory that knocks Tony to the ground, disables his suit, and flings every vehicle parked along the block flying.

The taxi is just a blur of yellow as it approaches, and Tony squeezes his eyes shut. He peeks one open hesitantly when several seconds go by and he still hasn’t been crushed, and then chokes on his breath at the sight of Bucky standing above him, holding the majority of the car off the ground with no apparent effort.

“Please put a baby in me,” Tony blurts, entire body flushing hot and he’s so far past caring if that’s somehow become his gut reaction to just about everything Bucky does, he’s never meant anything so much in his life.

Bucky smirks slow and filthy, which is unfair to begin with, and then holy mother of god switches to holding the taxi with one hand so he can pretend to tug at his belt with the other as he asks “right now?”

“No!” Comes several shouting voices through the comms, and Tony laughs weakly. It’s probably a good thing the fight is over, because he doesn’t think he has the brainpower to even stand right now and wow, this armor is not erection friendly.

When Tony looks around it’s to see Steve sitting on the curb with his face in his hands, and if he listens closely he can just barely hear Steve muttering something under his breath that sounds like the word ‘stupid’ over and over again. Clint is standing nearby with what appears to be his phone held out, like he’s recording Tony’s mini-crisis here, and Tony would be upset if it didn’t mean there might be actual footage of Bucky catching the car. Which Tony would really like to see. For reasons. Natasha is just shaking her head like she’s ashamed of all of them, and from the looks of it Sam has already flown away.

“Maybe later,” Tony says regretfully, and tries not to moan out loud when Bucky easily shoves the car away.

Bucky offers him a hand and Tony to his feet, steadying him when Tony’s legs threaten to give out and Tony really hopes he can blame that on the unpowered suit.

-

“This is why I can’t have anything nice,” Tony says with a heavy sigh as Clint tackles Sam off the couch, one of their controllers flying across the room in the process to clatter loudly into the wall.

He turns at the sound of quiet laughter from behind him, because Tony would know that laugh anywhere, and sure enough he looks up just in time to watch as Bucky launches himself over the back of the couch and lands right beside him, arm still stretched out along the back and so close to being wrapped around Tony’s shoulders.

“I don’t know why you want more kids,” Bucky says, grinning over at him before shooting a pointed look at the oversized children still wrestling on the floor. “The ones we already have are terrible.”

“I resent that,” Natasha says from the safety of the armchair, easily winning now that all her competition is thoroughly distracted, “some of us are perfectly pleasant.”

“You’re on thin ice,” Tony tells her, punching absently at the buttons of his own controller because he can’t look away from Bucky’s stupid beautiful face, and his stupid gorgeous smile. Finally he gets it together enough to tell Bucky “that’s why we need more, these are the worst children. We need to replace all of them. If at first you don’t succeed try, try again, and all that.”

Bucky turns back to him with a toothy grin that has Tony flushing hot all over and says “wanna replace all of ‘em, huh? Sounds like a whole lot of tryin’.”

“Get a room,” Clint says, voice muffled because his face is currently stuffed into Sam’s armpit, his own finger shoved into Sam’s ear for some reason.

“That’s what we’re trying to plan here,” Tony says, but it gets drowned out by Natasha’s cheer of victory and the ensuing fight as Clint tries to tackle her out of her chair too.

-

“Bucky,” Steve says, as reasonably as he possibly can, “you gotta put the baby down.”

“No. Why?” Bucky demands petulantly, clutching the baby closer while it giggles and coos.

“Because Tony is in the corner literally sobbing and looking at cribs online and this is getting out of hand,” Steve says, and when he looks over at where he’d left Tony all he sees is the top of the man’s hair where it’s peaking up above one of the tables lining the edges of the room, and apparently Tony is now hiding behind furniture. That might actually be better, somehow. At least he’s not wandering around asking people for input on baby clothes anymore. “Please put the baby down and just go ask him out like a normal person,” Steve begs.

“I’m not putting the baby down,” Bucky says stubbornly, even as his attention is now firmly fixed on the top of Tony’s head, “did you even see his tiny little bowtie?”

“I did see his little bowtie,” Steve says, taking a deep breath and trying to summon all of his patience. He can’t start yelling in front of a baby, in the middle of a black tie charity gala, no matter how much he wants to. “I also saw Tony basically burst into tears the second you picked up the baby, and if the two of you don’t get it together soon you’re going to drive us all insane. Please just ask him out.”

Bucky looks down at the baby again, bouncing it a little in his arms and Steve kind of hates that Bucky still manages to find a way to look unsure about this. “What if he says no?” Bucky asks, barely loud enough for Steve to hear him.

“Are you fu- are you fooling with me right now?” Steve demands and there he goes, he’s about to completely lose it in front of all these nice because because his best friends are just so stupid.

“Don’t swear in front of th’ baby,” Bucky chides him.

“I’m not swearing in front of the baby,” Steve grits out, “now go ask out the man you’ve been offering to impregnate for longer than any of us are comfortable with.”

Bucky still isn’t looking at him, barely even manages a smile when the baby tugs at his tie and makes an unbearably adorable gurgling sound. “He’s just kiddin’ around,” Bucky says, voice quieter than Steve has ever heard it, “he- he doesn’t mean any of it.”

Steve glances over at the corner again, where it looks like Natasha and Rhodey are trying to talk Tony out of whatever online shopping spree he’s on. Then Steve takes a long, deep breath. “Put the baby down,” he says to Bucky calmly, “so that I can punch you in the face really, really hard.”

-

Tony knows Bucky is in the living room watching old cartoons for some reason, because he always is on Thursday afternoons, so Tony pours a second cup of coffee and carries it in from the kitchen.

“Coffee for you, oh father of my disaster children,” Tony announces as he rounds the couch, Bucky’s favorite mug outstretched, “I even made it disgustingly sweet the way you like, even though it actually hurt my soul a little bit. I felt real pain.”

“Thanks doll,” Bucky says, easy as anything, leaning forward to take the mug from Tony’s suddenly numb hand. His smile is warm and happy and gorgeous and it makes Tony’s heart start beating triple time in his chest.

“You know how you can make it up to me?” Tony asks, and his own voice echoes hollowly in his ears because he has an idea, and it’s probably a terrible one, but he thinks he might just go through with it anyways.

“How’s that, darlin’?” Bucky asks, grinning wider and he’s waiting for the same old joke but there’s something in his eyes, something Tony knows. Something that has him stumbling a half step closer, licking his lips nervously and shivering when Bucky’s eyes track the movement.

This is it, this is Tony’s last chance to chicken out, to not ruin his friendship with a sweet, clever guy that Tony’s not sure he could actually live without at this point. Tony doesn’t back out. “You could kiss me,” he says instead, voice shaking, clutching his own coffee mug to his chest like it could possibly protect him.

Bucky blinks at him slowly. “You know that’s not how babies are made, right?” He asks, one eyebrow raised, expression slowly shifting from confused to hesitantly hopeful.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, nodding a little wildly, “but, I thought- you know, I figured it might be a good start.”

Bucky calmly sets his coffee down the on the table. Then he surges to his feet, takes Tony’s face between his big palms and finally, finally kisses him deep and hungry. Tony’s own mug goes crashing to the floor and Tony does not care at all, not when he can finally wrap his arms around Bucky without wondering how long is too long, without worrying that he’ll give himself away. All of Tony’s cards are already on the table here and Bucky is apparently right there with him, fingers sliding back into Tony’s hair and a low, desperate noise rumbling through his chest.

So Tony just holds on, tangles his own fingers in Bucky’s hair, digs his fingers into the thick muscle of Bucky’s shoulder and kisses him back. Tony kisses him back for all he’s worth, because if Bucky still thinks this is a joke then Tony is at least going to pour everything he can into it, going to do everything he can to memorize the feeling of Bucky’s lips against his, Bucky’s nails scratching at his scalp when Tony teases his tongue along the roof of his mouth.

Except Tony is starting to think this was never a joke, not to either of them, because when they break away panting Bucky’s just drags his hands down Tony’s back, pulls him in closer and sighs out “oh- Tony-“

”Also, you should put a baby in me,” Tony blurts, because how can he not, laughing giddily.

Bucky does not laugh. Instead Bucky lets out a low groan, hands sliding lower to palm at Tony’s ass as he growls “I’m gonna fuckin’ try.”

Tony is still laughing as Bucky pulls him into another kiss, and then he stops laughing, gets lost in just trying not to melt as Bucky licks into his mouth, kisses him deep and filthy. Tony completely fails, melts easy as anything under Bucky’s attention and the next thing he knows they’re on the ground, barely avoiding the spilled coffee as Bucky shoves his way between Tony’s thighs.

Bucky bites at Tony’s lip and along his jaw, slides a hand under the small of Tony’s back and hitches his hips up so Bucky can grind against the curve of his ass as he growls out “fuck, babydoll- you been tryin’ to make me think about fuckin’ you all the damn time?”

“Were you?” Tony asks, breathless and delighted, arching his back harder and grinding up against Bucky’s stomach with a shaking moan. “Because that was not an intended side effect, but I am also not complaining.”

“Still thinking about it,” Bucky says on a soft groan, nearly shoving them both across the floor with how hard he’s grinding himself against Tony, “fuck, sweet thing I have been dyin’ t’ get inside you.”

“Then fuckin’ do it,” Tony moans back, fingers scrambling at Bucky’s shoulders, yanking him into another kiss and moaning again when Bucky’s fingers slip down the back of his sweats.

Tony doesn’t even notice the approaching foot steps until he hears the voice of patriotic disapproval, screeching out “hey Bucky are you still in- oh what the fuck guys?!”

“Get the fuck out, Steve!” Bucky yells, voice rough and it sends a shiver all down Tony’s spine.

“We’re trying to make a baby here!” Tony shouts at the same time, tightens his thighs around Bucky’s hips and doesn’t stop grinding up against him.

“I hate you both and I’m so happy for you!” Steve screams back as he high tails it out of the room.

They both dissolve into laughter, and it warms Tony’s heart as much as his pants to feel Bucky’s quiet laugh rumbling through his chest and into Tony’s. He kisses Bucky again, light and sweet even though they’re both smiling too wide to really make it work, and then says “we should probably get out of the living room. I propose my bed, it’s the best.”

“Counter proposal,” Bucky says and then stands up, lifts Tony straight off the ground and up into his arms, “we find the closest room with a fuckin’ door.”

“Hnng,” Tony says in response, and Bucky laughs against his throat, digs his fingers into Tony’s ass.

They end up in the pantry, which is not ideal but definitely the closest option. Bucky presses him up against the shelves and it’s not exactly comfortable but Tony doesn’t care, because Bucky kisses him deeply and starts tearing at both their clothes. And Tony can grab ahold of the shelf above his head, try to rock himself down into it as Bucky starts fingering him open with some kind of oil from a bottle that’s currently abandoned on the floor, spilling everywhere.

“C’mon, fuck-“ Tony gasps out, thighs shaking around Bucky’s hips as Bucky’s fingers press into him again, deep and demanding. “Fuck- please hurry the fuck up, I have been- ohh-“ Tony gets a little distracted from what he’s saying when Bucky finds his prostate and decides to play with that new discovery for a minute, doesn’t let up until Tony’s entire body is flushed hot and tingly, ragged whimpers tearing from his chest and already embarrassingly close to the edge.

“What was that, sugar?” Bucky asks and oh, Tony can just hear the smirk in his voice even if he can’t see it because Bucky is doing his best to turn Tony’s neck into an impressionist painting. When Tony opens his mouth to reply Bucky slides a third finger into him, sucks hard to Tony’s pulse and it turns his words into more garbled moans.

“Fuck me already,” Tony finally manages to snarl out, digging his heels into the small of Bucky’s back and tugging him closer, “god- please honey I have been going crazy thinking about getting your cock in me and- ah, yes fuck god- and I swear if you don’t hurry the fuck up-“

Bucky cuts him off with another kiss, sloppy and breathless and Tony whines as Bucky spreads his fingers a little more, stretches him a little wider. “Been thinkin’ about this too,” Bucky says, swipes his tongue over Tony’s lip and growls when Tony shakes and clenches around his fingers, “spreading you open jus’ like this, fuckin’ you every possible way, stuff you so full you get every one of those damn kids you want so bad.”

“Bucky-“ Tony whines desperatly as every word sends another hot spike straight to his gut and fuck that shouldn’t be so hot but fuck it really is. “Please, please- fuck I swear I’m ready just fuck me open already-“ Tony trails off again when Bucky withdraws his fingers, makes whining noises of protest until the head of Bucky’s cock nudges against him, slick and huge.

And then Bucky starts pressing into him, cock spreading Tony open a little more with every hard roll of his hips while Tony moans his head off, knocking everything off the shelves as he tries to brace himself, tries to shove himself further down onto Bucky’s cock, tires to take him deeper.

“Patience, babydoll,” Bucky says, breath shaking against Tony’s jaw, “gonna fuck you just the way you want I just- damn you feel good- just gotta do this part nice an’ slow an’-“

“Fuck that,” Tony decides, finally gets his hand braced properly and shoves himself down hard, wailing breathlessly as his Bucky’s hips slam against his ass, his cock sliding so deep that Tony swears he can feel it everywhere. “Yes, god, fucking perfect,” Tony sighs and yeah that burns a bit, and yeah he’s definitely going to be feeling it tomorrow, but it is so worth if for the feeling of Bucky’s cock throbbing inside him, the slightly dazed look on Bucky’s face even as he grinds a little deeper.

Bucky’s grip is bruisingly tight on Tony’s hips, pulling him into it as Bucky rolls his hips a little harder. “Wanted it that bad, huh?” Bucky asks, scraping his teeth over the shell of Tony’s ear and tightening this grip to stop Tony from trying to fuck himself on Bucky’s cock.

“Yeah, let me have it,” Tony whines, tightening his legs around Bucky’s hips and he doesn’t care that Bucky’s jeans are digging into his thighs, that his own sweats are still hanging off one ankle, that they’re still in the goddamn pantry. All he cares about is getting properly fucked, the way he’s been dying for, and the fact that Bucky isn’t just giving it to him. “Please honey, fuck me already, make me feel it, fill me up and then fuck me again, gimme everything you got.”

“I’ll give you everthin’,” Bucky promises, warm and earnest against Tony’s lips, then withdraws and thrusts back into Tony fast and hard, knocking a loud moan out of his chest that only gets louder as Bucky immediately starts up a brutal, perfect rhythm. “Gonna give you exactly what you want,” he growls between thrusts, dropping sharp, toothy kisses along Tony’s jaw, “fuck you so full you’re leakin’ with it, an’ then do it everyday ‘til I knock you up good and proper.”

“Holy fuck,” Tony groans, finally releasing his hold on the shelves to grab for Bucky instead. Something goes crashing to the ground, definitely breaking, but all Tony can focus on is the aching pleasure of Bucky moving inside him, thick cock rubbing over his prostate and pressing so deep inside him that his every breath comes out as a warbling moan. “Please, please- oh fuck that’s perfect, you’re so perfect-“

Bucky’s next thrust is hard enough that everything on the shelves rattle, a couple more things falling to the ground and Tony nearly screams before Bucky smashes their lips together again. He licks hungrily into Tony’s mouth and pulls him impossibly closer, until he’s basically just fucking Tony up and down on his cock while Tony wails and clenches around him.

“So fuckin’ good,” Bucky gasps when they break apart again, his thrusts going short and uncoordinated, hips slapping roughly aginst Tony’s ass, “so tight and warm, take me so fuckin’ perfect, tell me you’re close sweet thing, wanna feel you come on my cock.”

“I’ve been close since the living room floor,” Tony says with a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair and pulling him into a kiss that more sharing air than anything, “please, please-“

Bucky presses him harder into the shelves and gets one hand between them, rubs his thumb over the head of Tony’s cock and Tony is fucking gone. He comes with a loud, garbled moan that was intended to be Bucky’s name, orgasm washing through him in heated waves until everything goes a little warm and hazy.

“Tony, Tony- fuck-“ Bucky groans, fucking Tony into the shelves with short, hard thrusts, grinding deep and Tony can feel the way Bucky’s cock twitches inside him, “Tony-“

“C’mon honey,” Tony slurs out, rocking his hips into the next thrust and tugging at Bucky’s hair, “put your fuckin’ baby in me.”

Bucky laughs roughly against his throat, both arms wrapping tightly around Tony and grinding into him hard. “Fuck yeah doll, gonna fill you up so good, knock you right up.”

“Ohh fuck,” Tony moans, shaking as Bucky continues to rub against his prostate mercilessly and it sends shock after shock of agonizing pleasure up Tony’s spine, “c’mon, give it to me.”

“Shit,” Bucky gasps, then sinks his teeth into Tony’s shoulder and comes with a low groan, shelves rattling again as he shoves into Tony hard, comes inside him with several hot pulses that have Tony shaking and whimpering all over again.

“Fuck,” Tony says eloquently, finally going limp in Bucky’s hold and letting his head thumping back against the nearly cleared off shelves as he tries to catch his breath and let his heart rate slow back to something a little more reasonable.

When he forces his eyes open Bucky is right there, smiling at him warm and fond and Tony doesn’t know how he’s just now recognizing all the love in that expression. He really hopes Bucky can see it on his face too, because Tony doesn’t have the breath or brain power to try and put it into words right now. Bucky must get it though, because he smiles wider and cups Tony's cheek again, kisses him soft and sweet like they have all the time in the world. He doesn't seem to be in any hurry to actually set Tony back down and Tony is not complaining. Mostly because he can't quite feel his legs. Partially also because he’s still enjoying the feeling of Bucky buried deep inside him.

They break away from the kiss slowly, still sharing the same air, right up until Bucky shifts his weight and something crunches loudly beneath his foot. Tony giggles, which quickly turns into a pained groan when his head thumps back against the shelves, and then a happy groan when Bucky laughs and it shifts his half-hard cock inside Tony, messy and amazing.

“Can’t believe we finally did that,” Bucky says with another soft huff of laughter, nudging his nose against Tony’s with a goofy grin that Tony can now absolutely admit makes him go all soft and wobbly.

"Neither can I!" Comes a muffled shout from the other side of the door, and Bucky’s metal arm tightens around Tony’s waist as they both jump slightly. Then they’re both laughing, nearly drowning out the sounds of Steve’s All-American Offense as he basically screams “we can all hear you in there!!”

“In front of literally all of our food?! Really?!” That would be Clint’s voice chiming in, and Tony has to tuck his face down against Bucky’s shoulder to try and smother his combination of laughter and breathy gasps.

He can feel Bucky’s come starting to leak out of him, and he tightens his thighs around Bucky’s waist in an attempt to pull him closer. And they’d been having such a nice moment before the assholes arrived. Tony figures the least he can do is talk some shit. “Hate to break it to you puritans,” Tony calls, lifting his head again, “but this is far from the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“That’s what I told them,” comes Rhodey’s voice, and he does in fact sound unphased. Thank god for college friendships. “Please at least put your pants back on before you come out of there, I know how you are.”

“I just want my Oreos,” comes another voice, and that would be Natasha, and Tony winces because Natasha’s special peanut butter Oreos are definitely one of the things on the ground.

“We were here first,” Bucky points out, voice still low and rumbly in a way that is giving Tony ideas.

”It’s the communal kitchen!” Steve shrieks, and if he doesn’t calm down soon his poor old heart might just give out on him.

Tony laughs, only wincing a little when he hits his head again. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he calls gleefully, “did the community want to get in here then, get in on this?”

“Fuck no,” Bucky snarls against Tony’ throat, arms tightening around him and Tony would swear he can even hear the low grumble of a growl escaping Bucky’s chest.

“Oh ho ho, possessive,” Tony says, delighted, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair and tugging slightly, “I can work with that.”

“Give you somethin’ to work with,” Bucky grumbles and Tony can feel his smirk as Bucky rolls his hips, cock sliding through the slick mess of his come, teasing over Tony’s over-sensitive prostate and almost fully hard again.

“Fuck- yes,” Tony gasps and he’s not sure Bucky even actually went soft, and they are going to have so much fun. “Want it- want you to fuck me so full I can’t move with it- Bucky-“

“Anything you want,” Bucky promises, kisses him again and thrusts his hips forward, presses Tony back into the shelves with a slick, obscene sound and swallows down Tony’s shaking groan.

On the other side of the pantry door, Rhodey shakes his head and says “we should just leave.”

“But-“ Steve starts, only to be cut off by a loud moan that he could have gone his whole life without hearing.

With one last look at each other, everyone scrambles to get out of the kitchen as fast as they possibly can. Steve is going to make them run so many drills for this.

[trensu]

Episode 43: The One where WWX is Soft for Children and Bunnies

we're still in the forbidden chamber

wwx has his detective cap on and is being clever

the lan bros are listening attentively as they should be

wwx: jgy is a sneaky conniving bastard blah blah he vandalizes evil music books blah blah

lots of boring plot talk basically

i'm sitting here like, *sigh* so pretty wwx so pretty

which is what i imagine lwj does all the time...

lol wwx goes to lxc and is like, no offense bro but jgy was a skilled spy during the war who was able to infiltrate and memorize wen ruohan's stuff in their secret chamber. invading this one would've been a piece of cake for him

and lxc is like well damn, guess i better test out all this evil music and see if it actually works

lxc: i'll just test the evil magic music on myself. yep. that way no one gets hurt and that couldn't possibly backfire on me at all

lwj: bro

lxc: bro. i gotta do this bro to clear my bae’s i mean friend's name

LOL lxc is like you all see jgy this way but i see him in a totally different way

YEAH WE KNOW, THAT'S THE PROBLEM

LOLOLOL OMG

lxc turns to gaze off into the middle distance and is like, the jgy in my heart is kind and benevolent blah blah

and behind him wwx crosses his arms and all but rolls his eyes LIKE DUDE YOU'RE COMING TO THE WRONG PERSON FOR SYMPATHY. I'M THE ONE THAT GOT KILLED FOR THINGS YOUR BF DID

oh this moment's interesting

lxc is like, can't you allow me to be cautious about making this decision? 

and lwj takes a step towards him, ready to speak but wwx grabs his upper arm and stops him with a shake of his head

the look lwj gives him just before that was like why are you stopping me?

but wwx knows this isn't something you can push

lwj trusts wwx's judgment and holds back whatever he was going to say

i'm curious as to what he WAS going to tell his brother tho

now lwj is leaving to talk to their uncle and lxc is like, sure i'll take your soulmate back to your room for you

WE'RE GONNA GET SOME BABY!LWJ FLASHBACKS SOON OMG

IT'S GONNA HURT

wwx: since lan zhan isn't here, i wanna ask you about something

lxc: tell me

wwx: what are the whipping scars on lan zhan?

lxc: you don't know?

AND THEIR SONG STARTS PLAYING

wwx: i asked him but he didn't wanna say, so i'm asking you

lxc: yeah, if he doesn't think it's necessary he'll probably never talk about it so i'll tell you instead of respecting my little brother's decisions about his personal life

AND OKAY I'M GLAD HE DID BC IT GIVES US WANGXIAN MOMENTS BUT STILL!! 

lxc: do you remember that one time when wn shot and killed your sister's husband?

on the one hand, HOW COULD HE FORGET but on the other hand, he forgets quite a lot of things actually...

lxc: after wq and the others turned themselves in...*cue flashback*

we're at the burial mounds, lwj is standing by himself before wwx's cave facing down a whole freaking squadron of cultivators

su she: *runs his mouth as if we actually care what he has to say*

lwj: *completely unfazed and expressionless* you are not qualified to speak to me

HELL FUCKING YEAH

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW EPIC THIS MOMENT IS

LOOK AT LWJ OWN THAT ICE PRINCE PERSONA TO STRIKE DOWN AN IMPUDENT ANT OF A PERSON

su she goes to draw his sword AS IF HE HAS ANY REAL CHANCE OF DEFEATING HANGUANG JUN IN A SWORD FIGHT

but jgy shows up with even MORE cultivators and then does that thing where he compliments the person inconveniencing him and takes control of the situation

jgy: oh hanguang jun is so honorable let's not search wwx's secret cave lab right now

BUT THE GREAT THING IS THAT LWJ DOESN'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE HIS PRESENCE

HE DOESN'T LOOK AT HIM OR SU SHE AT ALL

bc lwj is forever Better Than You.

fuck jgy

jgy: even if wwx is alive, the burial mounds is surrounded so there's no way he could come here without us noticing

he says this to lwj all mildly BUT YOU KNOW IT'S A THREAT

He bows (lwj STILL doesn't acknowledge him and it's GREAT) and walks away

then pauses (bc Drama) and is like oh, almost forgot, your uncle is waiting for you at the cloud recesses. And then he just leaves with all his cultivators

this is when lwj finally looks at jgy (or his back, at least since jgy is leaving)

We cut to the next scene that has lwj slamming the point of bichen in the the stone ground, arm bleeding

HE IS VISIBLY SWEATING AND TREMBLING

lxc: lwj made a mess and fought against everyone there

AND WE SEE LWJ FALL TO HIS KNEE, ONE ARM USING BICHEN AS SUPPORT WHILE THE OTHER RESTS ON THE GROUND

but the fall was gradual and jerky, like he was fighting it the whole way down. 

As if the only reason he fell is bc he's used up every ounce his strength and energy he had in his body

lxc: uncle burst into anger and took him back home, punishing him with 300 lashes and repenting in the cold pond cave for 3 years

we cut to the cloud recesses, camera shot from above making lwj, who is kneeling before his uncle and surrounded by disciples, look small AS ~THEIR SONG~ STARTS PLAYING ON THE CELLO 

his uncle orders them to start beating lwj

AND LWJ TAKES IT LIKE A CHAMP

he barely moves with each strike and MAN THAT DISCIPLE IS NOT HOLDING BACK

oooh, we see him do that fist clench thing which looks even more painful without bichen to grip tbh

dude lwj is clenching his jaw so hard. 

like, he refuses to cry out in pain and it's gotta hurt bc he's bleeding already

lqr: what is rule 52 of the lan clan?

lwj: do not befriend evil

NO HESITATION. SAID IN A STRONG FIRM VOICE

AS IF HE WASN'T CURRENTLY GETTING BEATEN WITH A NIGHTMARE STICK

and lqr is all you have forgotten the fundamental laws of our clan, how can you have the nerve to face your ancestors like this!!

BUT LWJ IS NOT HAVING THAT

HE'LL TAKE THE BEATING BUT HE'S GOING TO MAKE HIS POINT

lwj: i dare ask you, grandmaster, who is right? who is wrong? what is black? what is white?

Bc our boy has learned! He’s learned NUANCE and CRITICAL THINKING and the existence of GRAY AREAS

BC WTF IS THE POINT OF ALL OF THESE STUPID RULES IF THEY DON'T PROTECT THE INNOCENT AND DEFENSELESS?

Bc his soulmate was right all along and he didn’t stand by him when he needed him most and now his soulmate is gone. His soulmate is gone. He’s GONE.

I'M GONNA MAKE MYSELF CRY

lqr: perfect! that's my good student

he does not say this happily. he is in fact SHOUTING this VERY ANGRILY

and here i wanna say, hey lqr, what's that rule about excessive noise...?

cue lwj's fist clench again, which sounds just as painful as the beating tbh

lqr: wangji, you have disappointed me

NOT AS MUCH AS YOU AND YOUR DAMN RULE-BOOK HAVE DISAPPOINTED HIM, YOU JERK

and here we see an ACTUAL VISIBLE SCOWL on our beautiful hanguang jun's face as he continues to be beaten

HOW ANGRY AND TORN UP MUST HE BE TO ACTUALLY SCOWL LIKE THAT??

cut to lwj kneeling at the ice table thing in the cold pond cave, robed in white and face blank but somehow still projecting an aura of cold fury

probably bc the rulebook open in front of him says "eradicate evil, establish laws, and goodness will be everlasting" and he knows that’s bullshit now

but actually this scene is visually very beautiful. 

It’s all in misty shades of pale cold blue and white and everything’s spaced out in a way to emphasize how very very alone lwj is

cut back to the present with wwx and lxc

wwx grips his flute with both hands and looks down like he can't believe what he's hearing

lxc: when lwj was imprisoned i tried to persuade him...but he told me he considered you his confidant soulmate and believed in your integrity

wwx: why would he bother…?

his brow is furrowed and his voice is soft like he truly doesn't seem to understand why lwj would bother to do all that

and on the one hand i wanna scream IT'S BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU, YOU MORON

but on the other hand, everybody else in wwx's life, everyone else he loved, turned on him or died 

and he probably truly believes he deserved all that, and that he is undeserving of lwj's unwavering faith

and then i cry

lxc: do you know what this place is?

shot of the entrance to the silence room aka the jingshi aka lwj's room

wwx: i don't

lxc: it's where our mother lived

wwx is hanging off his every word

lxc: you might find it strange that the wife of the clan leader didn't live with her husband in the frigid chamber

with a name like that i wouldn't want to live there either...

lxc: you might know that our father used to isolate himself for years, not caring about anything...

Not even his sons, apparently!

wwx: i do

and he explains that his father isolated himself bc of his mother or whatever

lxc: this place was more of a prison than a home

It was his mother’s prison. When did he figure that out? Was it when HE WAS STILL A KID??

DID HE FEEL GUILTY FOR SPENDING TIME WITH HIS  MOTHER KNOWING SHE WAS LOCKED UP AGAINST HER WILL??

THE LAN FAM IS SO FUCKED UP OMG

now he's telling us the whole tragic love story

it was love at first sight, he says and wwx is like ah yes, a typical romance

and lxc is like, uh no, she didn't love him back and she murdered his teacher, idk why tho

lxc: but i guess it's all about right and wrong, love and hate

Which is a major theme of the whole show, tbh

OH DAMN

now he's telling wwx about how his dad took his mom to cloud recesses and married her against the clan's approval and that he told them that this was the person he would love for a lifetime, that “whoever tried to drive her out would have to go through him first"

DOES ANY OF THIS SOUND FAMILIAR TO YOU, WWX?

RINGING ANY (WEDDING) BELLS?

DOES THIS REMIND YOU OF ANYTHING AT ALL, WWX?

"after the wedding my father built this house, and locked my mother up"

lxc says this all so calmly and gently, as if he were reading from a story book rather than reciting his immediate family's history

Which is probably a coping mechanism, tbh

this fam is so fucked up, have i mentioned?

lxc: do you understand why my father did all this?

wwx: *nod*

lxc: and do you think he did the right thing?

wwx: i don't know

well, i mean, he married her and locked her up against her will

granted she did murder someone but i get the feeling she probably had good reason to

and now he's telling wwx that they basically had no parents bc they were given off to others to raise them until they were old enough to attend their uncle's lessons

FLASHBACK TO BABY!LWJ READING TO HIS MAMA FROM A LAN CLAN BOOK

HE'S SO CUTE AND TINY AND HIS MAMA IS SO SOFT AND PRETTY. 

SHE LOOKS AT HIM WITH SUCH LOVE, AND RUNS HER HAND THROUGH HIS HAIR SO GENTLY

lxc makes a point here to say that their mother never complained about her imprisonment or how painful it must've been to be trapped like that

BC THEIR MAMA LOVED THEM

lxc: lwj never said anything, but i knew he looked forward to the day we visited mother every month

HOW AWFUL IS THAT, TO BE RESTRICTED TO ONE DAY A MONTH TO SPEND WITH SOMEONE YOU LOVE???

Lxc: he did (look forward to seeing mom). and so did i.

cut to baby lwj kneeling in the snow, all little and by himself IN FRONT OF THE JINGSHI, AKA HIS MOM’S PRISON AKA PROBABLY HIS FAVORITE PLACE IN ALL THE CLOUD RECESSES

lxc: one day, uncle told us that we didn't need to go there anymore. mother had gone.

I'M GONNA CRY

HE'S SO LITTLE AND SAD AND HE'S KNEELING SO STILL WITH HIS TINY HANDS IN HIS LAP

like even lqr is moved bc he goes and puts a hand on his shoulder

lxc: we were too young to understand what that meant.

lxc: no matter how others consoled us or how uncle scolded him, lwj still came here every month. he would sit on that porch and wait for someone to open the door.

I'M SOBBING

LWJ HAS SPENT HIS WHOLE LIFE WAITING FOR THE PEOPLE HE LOVES

He’s kept himself still and stalwart ever since he was a kid so that if his loved one chose to come back, he’d still be there for them 

I'M HURTING SO MUCH

HE JUST WANTED THEM TO COME BACK AND THINK HE WAS WORTH STAYING FOR. 

GOD I HATE CRYING. I'M A SNOTTY MESS RN

Lxc: when we got older we realized that she would never come back. that no one would ever open the door for him. but he still came.

FUCK

GOD DAMN IT

STOP HURTING ME SO MUCH, WHAT THE HELL

lxc: lwj has always been stubborn since he was very young

lxc: back then, he watched you learn crafty tricks. he didn't say anything, but i knew...that the pain and confusion in his heart was the same as what he felt for our mother

MY GOD, JUST BEAT ME WITH THOSE NIGHTMARE STICKS INSTEAD. THAT WOULD HURT LESS THAN THIS.

wwx's eyes are all red-rimmed and his brow is all pinches and HE JUST SWALLOWED BACK THE LUMP IN HIS THROAT

THE SAME ONE I HAVE RIGHT NOW AS I CRY AND CRY AND CRY

and lxc is like, well, that's enough intense conversation for now, imma do a flute solo

~flute sounds~

and now he's like i tried to persuade lwj before but now that i'm in his shoes it turns out making a decision isn't actually easy to do?? who'd have thought?

oh here comes lwj, all straight-backed and regal as always but no jewelry in his hair! no topknot! he looks so different this way

AND HE HAS TWO JARS OF EMPEROR'S SMILE WITH HIM

AND ~THEIR SONG~ IS PLAYING AGAIN

oh, the way he holds it out to wwx, like an offering at an altar...

cut to inside the jingshi, we get to see him uncap one of the jars and pour a drink out for his soulmate. 

like, the camera is specifically focused on his hands

which, hey, i’ve seen the tags ppl, i know some of you are Into That so take the time to enjoy this

then we get a shot of all of him and he looks so so soft and exposed and vulnerable  here?? with his hair down in his own room, pouring a drink for his wei ying

it's beautiful

wwx walks in and watches as lwj starts to pour himself a cup of tea

THIS IS A LOT. 

~Their Song~ playing sweetly, no other sounds except the quiet clinks of the cups and teapot. And all of lwj’s actions are just...light

wwx: lan zhan…

GOD I JUST WANT TO SCREENCAP THIS WHOLE SCENE

the shot of lwj here, while he’s focused on pouring his tea. 

the way his head is angled and the wisps of his hair frame his face. 

he takes up a good portion of the screen without seeming domineering or forceful, just...peacefully existing in the space

and then we cut back to wwx's face, his mouth open as he takes a breath 

He wants to say something, anything, but you can see on his face that he can't make the words come

Like he doesn’t want to disturb the moment with whatever he was going to say, bc it’s a fragile moment

and then this brief literally-2-seconds shot of lwj to the right, sitting at the table 

the table is set up so beautifully with the jars of emperor's smile and their cups. and he's looking up and the lighting AND AHHHHHH

IT'S JUST A VERY BEAUTIFUL TWO SECONDS AND I'VE STARED AT IT FOR MUCH TOO LONG ALREADY

lwj: what?

and wwx can't even really return his gaze. he looks just as vulnerable here but, unlike lwj, he also looks awkward, like he’s nervous in his vulnerability same ,wwx, same

wwx tries to say thank you but it comes out stuttered and soft while lwj watches him patiently

wwx mumbles to himself "it's awkward to say it out loud" and his eyes flicker back and forth for a second as his mouth pinches, agitated 

BC IT IS MEGA AWKWARD

FEELINGS ARE AWKWARD

AND AS LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS WWX CAN BE, IT'S NEVER ABOUT HIS FEELINGS.

wwx: *clears throat* i mean...the burden on your brother's shoulders is tremendous

smooth transition, wwx, very smooth

but at least it allowed him the chance to sit at the table with lwj

wwx: after all, jgy is his sworn brother. if i were him...

he trails off awkwardly and it feels even MORE awkward bc the background music just ends suddenly and it's silent for us, the audience

lwj doesn't say anything and instead gently moves the cup of wine towards wwx.

once that's done he says "if there's evidence, my brother won't tolerate it."

but he doesn't look at wwx and his face is somber

wwx: that's true. he's got his principles

finally lwj looks at him

lwj: you didn't tell him.

wwx: tell him what?

lwj: about the flute on qiongqi way

wwx: you know about that?

lwj: i asked wen ning. he said he heard a second flute

wwx: i thought i was hearing things until nightless city *insert flashback here*

cut to next scene. wwx is standing just outside the jingshi doors with a jar in his hand as it snows

lwj steps up next to him and ~THEIR SONG~ STARTS PLAYING

they're still talking about the flute and how wwx is confident now that there was a second one used to frame him basically. he's quietly angry here.

lwj immediately says it was jgy but wwx responds with "maybe, maybe not"

lwj looks at him, "you don't want to know the answer?"

bc lwj does. he wants to know who framed his soulmate, causing the suffering that lead to his death

wwx: at first i really wanted to but now i just want to say, 'whatever. screw it!'

he says with a laugh and then takes a swig from his wine jar

wwx put down that wine jar, you've obviously had too much already.

wwx: lan zhan, i actually think whether i know the answer or not won't be of much importance for me. after all, in ppl's minds, the yiling patriarch did bad things. even if i expressed my grievances, people still won't trust me

and he smiles

MY POOR SUNSHINE BOY

He says, "Sometimes the world only needs an excuse or target that everyone can hate"

PAINFULLY TRUE

and then he says something along the lines that it doesn't matter, if he wasn't made the target, someone else would have been

BASICALLY HE'S JUST VERY DISILLUSIONED HERE 

THE WORLD SHOULD FEEL ASHAMED FOR DISAPPOINTING HIM

now we hear the sound of a guqin playing ~Their Song~

lwj at his guqin playing their song to soothe his soulmate

wwx: *voiceover* i was lonely back then. the few who believed in me were dead, wen ning, jyl. Luckily…

and here we get the crescendo of the opening theme as we cut to lwj. 

the voiceover changes from wwx to lwj

lwj: in this world, there is still someone who trust you

I'M HAVING A LOT OF FEELINGS RIGHT NOW

voiceover switches back to wwx and we get a shot of wwx watching lwj play

wwx: lan zhan, i toast to you. i'm glad to have one true friend

SO MANY FEELINGS

and then i get distracted as wwx does that thing where he pours wine into his mouth and spills half of it down his VERY INDECENTLY EXPOSED THROAT

shot of lwj thinking: for nothing else but a clean conscience

shot of wwx thinking: no matter how they slander me, i know i have a clean conscience

EVEN THEIR THOUGHTS ARE IN SYNC OMG

AND ~THEIR SONG~ IS STILL PLAYING BUT NOW IT'S THE GUQIN AND THE FLUTE COMING TOGETHER

wwx gazes tenderly at lwj and whispers: lan zhan. i'm sorry...and thank you

AND WE GET THE ACTORS’ VOCALS ADDED IN TO ~THEIR SONG~ AS LWJ LOOKS UP AND SEES WWX WATCHING HIM

AND I'M HAVING SO MANY FEELINGS

I WOULD LIKE TO GET DISTRACTED BY WWX'S INDECENTLY EXPOSED THROAT AGIAN PLZ

cut to the next day with lxc meditating and our boys hiding behind a privacy screen

lwj is in perfect posture, eyes closed and meditating calmly while wwx keeps listing to the side and jolting awake bc meditating IS FOR NERDS

lol except this time he lists to the opposite side and falls into lwj's shoulder with a cute little gasp

lwj gives him a look and wwx quickly arranges himself into a sloppy lotus pose

jgy walks in and our boys are immediately on alert peeking through the privacy screen 

(which actually isn't all that private. you can see through half of it??)

now we get a moment for lxc and jgy in which jgy returns the jade token and it’s, like, a Thing

BUT WE DON'T CARE ABOUT THEM

LET'S SEE OUR BOYS' REACTION TO WHAT JGY HAS TO SAY

wwx is watching lwj as jgy says something about how they don't have info on lwj and wwx yet and lwj closes his eyes against the news

i think he's upset he's placed his brother in this position...

now we're informed that there are active puppets in the burial mounds

lxc is like, well it can't be wwx bc he was stabbed

and jgy is like he's been stabbed before and controlled puppets alright then!

meanwhile wwx behind the screen scoffs and thinks "they think too highly of me"

also, like, jgy was trying to get lxc to give them up by saying how lwj would be safe bc of his great reputation

Honestly, it really just goes to show that these people don't actually care about your actions. they've made their assumptions and they'll stick to them no matter what and IT'S SUPER FRUSTRATING

plot talk plot talk sworn trio moment plot talk

now lxc is off to carp tower while our boys prepare for a field trip to the burial mounds

LIL APPLE AND THE BUNNIES!!

our boys are by a stream and there's bunnies all over the place and wwx is telling lil apple they're leaving

~THEIR SONG~ STARTS UP AGAIN

AHHHHHHHHH, LOOOK!!! THERE’S TEENY TINY SMILE ON LWJ'S FACE AS HE PUTS DOWN BICHEN TO PICK UP ONE OF THE BUNNIES

EVERYTHING IS ADORABLE

WWX GETS THAT LITTLE MISCHIEVOUS SMILE ON HIS FACE AS HE GOES TO POKE THE BUNNY

AND HE MAKES SILLY NOISES AT IT AND IS ALL INSULTED THAT THE BUNNY DOESN'T REACT

SO CUTE!!

wwx: see? they only like you *pout* they're only loyal to their owner

so lwj wordlessly hands over the bunny BC IF HIS SOULMATE WANTS BUNNIES, HIS SOULMATE IS GETTING BUNNIES

the bunny wriggles and wwx is like "don't try to run. you can never run away from me. stay here bunny!"

IT'S SO CUTE I'M GONNA DIE

HE'S JUST PETTING THE BUNNY ALL OVER AND USING A PLAYFUL VOICE WHILE TALKING TO IT AND EVERYTHING IS WONDERFUL

Don’t be jealous of a bunny don’t be jealous of a bunny don’t be jealous of a bunny

wwx looks over to lwj: lan zhan, it's so strange. i know we're going on a dangerous mission but i don't feel scared at all

then he goes back to the bunny and wiggles it around SO CUTELY: do you think it's strange too? what do you think?

AND HE'S GOT THE BIGGEST SMILE

lwj: it's getting late. let's go

wwx: okay *pets bunny* little bunny, we're leaving~

THIS SHOW SHOULD ONLY EVER BE ABOUT BUNNIES, I'VE DECIDED

BUNNIES DON'T HURT ME 

now we cut to them at the entrance of the cloud recesses

lil apple is being stubborn and the bunnies are on the steps

wwx: they hate to see you go.

and wwx looks at lwj all playfully

wwx: i never thought that hanguang jun would be so popular among the little animals

and then he finishes with AN ADORABLE LITTLE POUT: bc i'm not

lwj: why not?

wwx: all little animals regardless of their habitat run when they see me. isn't that right lil apple? *proceeds to bully the donkey*

lwj: *walks off bc he does not condone animal abuse or smth*

wwx: wait for me hanguang jun!!

NOW WE'RE ON A DIRT PATH

LWJ IS HOLDING THE LIL APPLE'S LEAD WHILE WWX RIDES LIL APPLE

HE’S PLAYING HIS FLUTE AND THEN STARTS PLAYING ~THEIR SONG~!!!!

AND LWJ LOOKS TOWARDS HIM HIS EYES ALL TENDER AND FULL OF LOVE

WWX IS SMILING WHILE HE PLAYS

EVERYTHING IS STILL WONDERFUL

LWJ HAS ONE OF HIS ALMOST-SMILES ON HIS FACE

wwx: lan zhan, i wanna know, back in the murder turtle cave, what was the name of the song you sang to me?

lwj: why do you ask?

wwx: just tell me the name. i think i've figured out how you recognized me

wwx: tell me what song it is. who's the composer?

lwj: me

wwx: so you composed it?!

lwj: hm

wwx: what's the name then?

THIS IS SUCH A CAREFREE PLEASANT CONVERSATION AND I LOVE IT

lwj: what do you think?

wwx: you're asking my opinion?

he gets this huge smile on his face and giggles

wwx: i think i'll call it...

lwj: i'm thirsty, let's look for water

IT'S RUDE TO INTERRUPT LWJ

they find a random house and wwx proceeds to steal a melon

but they're interrupted so they hide like the CRIMINALS THEY ARE lol

and we see mr & mrs mianmian with little mianmian!!

mr mianmian is all if you run off again the yiling patriarch will eat you!

little mianmian is like I'M NOT SCARED, mama says the yiling patriarch doesn’t bully good people

and that's how mianmian and her husband and daughter get guaranteed invites to their future wedding

we cut to wwx and lwj 

wwx is nodding enthusiastically like THAT'S RIGHT, I DON'T HURT INNOCENT PEOPLE, IT'S ABOUT TIME THAT'S ACKNOWLEDGED

ohhhhh really liking how mianmian draws her sword and demands the criminals to show themselves

Lol, she's like WHO'S THERE? and wwx literally answers, UM, NO ONE??

lwj purses his lips like, really?? and comes out of hiding

Mianmian is shocked to find hanguang jun hiding on her property obvs, but is also excited to recognize wwx

wwx: *internally* why does this lady know me?? did she have a problem with me or did i provoke her??

then wwx recognizes her!! he's very excited about it!

and we end the episode on a high note there!!

We get to see the only functional, happy (and alive) marriage in the entire cultivation world!!

And yeah, we got our hearts torn out by kid!lwj but we were rewarded with soft domesticity AND bunnies right after!!!

Overall good quality wangxiantics

Return to Masterpost

[stingray-stories]

Day 16 7/13

Yes I’m the posting day of. Don’t get used to it. Hi. Miss you all!

Weehoo! Ray Ray here. This morning I did a very short workout which was a very nice way to start the day. After breakfast and our morning meeting, Ben and I headed to the lab to gather all of the things we need to do a seabird monitoring plot. We then set off on our bikes down North beach road which was quite the time since we had to dodge fallen nuts, fronds, crabs, tree roots, and slow mud. It was very very very cool though! As we navigated through the rain forest, we got closer to our coordinate so we hopped off our bikes and headed into the lush forest. It took quite a bit of trudging and an occasional machete swing from Ben to get us through the thick coconut palms. Once we arrived at our spot, we set up a huge square plot which took some time because it’s hard to make perfect shapes in the middle of a jungle. After finishing, we went to the center of the plot to monitor for any bird activity beneath the canopy. Seeing nothing, which is pretty expected since we were in an area dominated by coconut palms, we grabbed our gear and then rode back to get some lunch. Following some grub, we headed to the lab to enter some data and read some reports. We also organized some sciencey items that came down on the last flight including a new barometer yay! It’s very gorgeous. After sitting for way too long, Ben and I decided to practice our slingshot skills. No joke…we have a giant slingshot that we are planning to use when we start setting up mosquito traps high in the trees. The goal is to shoot the rope about 10 m up which is pretty high so we want to practice a lot so we get really good and limit our damage to the trees and any surrounding organisms. It was very very fun. And Ben and I are naturals. I really think angry birds (a phone game where you slingshot birds at structures to knock them down) helped me with this task. After practicing for an hour or so, we called it and I headed to the swimming hole to take a dip. I did climb the tree (like a monkey because I’m too scared to just walk across) and jumped off into the water. This was my first time jumping off and it showed. I had a big splash (which the judges, being some fish nearby, did not like and took a ton of points off for) and got a lot of water up my nose. It was still very nice though. And then I had an early shower and then we had tacooooossss on taco Tuesday! I’m currently writing this out right now at 7:36 PM HST. Wow I’ve never been caught up on these. I’m very proud of myself. Also, I never really mentioned my accommodations here. They are very nice. I have my own room (which is not typical but COVID) with two whole twin beds and a little shelf unit to store my clothes. I also have a really nice fancy fan that keeps me nice and cool at night. We also have a shower and toilet block with all running water. I can shower everyday since we have a ton of water (no more drought!) which is sooo nice. In the galley, there are snacks, lots of tea, and, Papa Perkins you’ll love this,…..duh duh duhhh an ice machine. I mean it cannot get any better than that! I’m very comfortable here. It’s hot and sweaty during the day but I can easily take a dip or get nice and clean. So overall I’m happy! Okay time to chill and read. Goodnight!! or good morning depending on when you read this :))).

First picture: A particularly magical section of North beach road. Second: Our first stake/corner of our big square. Third: Swimming hole. I jumped off the left palm (ps it’s higher than it looks in the photo)!

[voltrontranscript]

VLD S8E13: The End is the Beginning

Season 8 Episode 13: The End is the Beginning

Transcript by @dragonofyang

Summary: As the Paladins and Honerva battle, they find themselves at the source of all realities in the final showdown for the very existence of the universe.

[Google Doc]

Keith: We have to take the fight as far away from here as--

Allura: Now let’s finish this!

Lance: Incoming!

Shiro: We can’t let this happen. She can’t get away. 

[Transition to the Atlas-Voltron mech floating in a black abyss lit by glowing white tendrils.]

Keith: Is everyone okay?

Lance: Yep.

Pidge: Here.

Allura: Yes.

Shiro: Does anyone have eyes on Honerva?

Lance: What is this place?

Allura: I--I’m not sure.

Honerva: This is the beginning. And the end.

Allura: Can--can you all feel that? These strands are…

Lance: The only remaining realities left in existence.

Pidge: This place is the source of time, of space, of…

Hunk: Everything.

Honerva: I will end this once and for all!

Allura: She’s destroying… all realities!

Keith: She’s destroyed everything. There’s only one reality left.

Allura: No, please. If Honerva destroys this final strand, all of existence will end with it!

[Scene change to a white abyss not unlike the rift, but it’s the source of all realities.]

Honerva: Where are we?

Allura: The connected consciousness of all existence.

Honerva: You think you’re safe here? Soon all will cease to exist.

Hunk: You have to stop this. All these worlds, all these realities, they deserve to live.

Honerva: Those realities are flawed and weak, living out the same pathetic cycle of war and pain.

Allura: There is beauty in their flaws. I lost my father, my mother, my planet to this war, but I’ve gained a new family and a purpose stronger than any I could have imagined.

Pidge: Humans began very flawed. There were wars, hate. But with each mistake, they learned and grew.

Shiro: And now we reach out to other worlds to pass on those same lessons and spread them across the entire universe. Like your people once did.

Hunk: And with every new world touched, the message grows.

Keith: Every world, every reality. We wouldn’t exist without the others.

Lance: Our differences are what make us stronger.

Honerva: You think your words mean anything to me? I’ve lived multiple lifetimes, and all of them filled with pain and loss. If I cannot experience the simple joys of life, why should anyone else?

Allura: There was a time when you loved more than just your family, a time when your fascination with how vast the universe is gave way to your desire to help and uplift others.

Lotor: The beginning of Altean alchemy.

Honerva: You tried to help him.

Lotor: ...the tales you grew up with…

Honerva: He was happy. He deserved better. Better than I could give.

Allura: Lotor may have been misguided, but ultimately he wanted to preserve life. Honor your son. Help me change this.

Honerva: I’m sorry, but the damage is done. There’s nothing left to save.

Allura: I can change the quintessence within your vessel. Your son helped me learn how to transform it from a destructive force into a life-giving force. But I cannot do it alone.

Honerva: But, that would require…

Allura: I know the risks. I’m afraid this is where we part ways.

Hunk: Wait, what?

Keith: Allura.

Lance: What?

Pidge: No.

Allura: This is our only chance to undo what has been done, to save all of existence. I have to take it. It is my purpose. Your paths go on. Mine ends here.

Hunk: But there is no Voltron without you.

Allura: Voltron isn’t needed anymore. The rest of the work is up to the people. And they’ll have you to guide them, Hunk. Goodbye, Pidge.

Pidge: I’m gonna miss you, Allura.

Allura: Remain curious and fearless.

Shiro: Most of them won’t know the sacrifice you made so they could live.

Allura: And they’ll never need to. Your selflessness taught me that. Thank you.

Shiro: You never have to thank me for anything.

Allura: Keith… I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve given me.

Keith: Allura, when you accepted me, it helped me to accept myself. Thank you.

Allura: There is greatness in your heart and in your actions.

Lance: No. Allura, there--there has to be another way.

Allura: There is no other way. This is all we have.

Lance: But you’re too important to the cause. You’re--you’re too important to me.

Allura: I’ll always be with you, Lance. And I’ll always love you.

[Transition to the two mechs once more as all realities explode from between the two of them and the paladins wake up.]

Keith: Is this…? Are we…?

Pidge: Yeah. It’s our reality.

Lance: She did it. She saved us all.

Hunk: I don’t remember that planet being there before.

Lance: It’s Altea.

[Timeskip transition, with the text reading “One Year Later…” as we open on the flame of Feyiv.]

Keith: With the return of Planet Daibazaal, the Galra Empire is at a crossroads. For too long, the people of this extraordinary civilization have been manipulated by a dictatorship that placed a misguided sense of self-preservation above all else. It was a tragic, unfortunate series of events that led us down this dark, never-ending path of power and greed. But now we, the citizens of the Galra Empire, have an opportunity to make right all of the injustices set into motion by our forefathers. Because of the sacrifice made by Princess Allura, we have been given a second chance to come together in rebuilding the Galra Empire by joining the Galactic Coalition and ushering in a new era of peace across the universe.

[Scene change to the IGF-Atlas flying through deep space.]

Male Chancellor: Your armies have attacked us at every turn.

Female Chancellor: If you had just agreed to our terms, the attacks would not be necessary.

Male Chancellor: You are occupying a peaceful settlement!

Female Chancellor: Our people were starving!

Hunk: Chancellors. Please, sit. Dinner is served. The filet of bandrillo, spiced with the seasoning from the plains of planet Mabo, alongside pilaf of long-grain forlongian brill from the vast fields of Antidoll. And it’s accompanied by a cider made from the petals of the Altean juniberry flower. Bon appetit.

Female Chancellor: Delicious.

Hunk: And it wouldn’t be possible without the cooperation of all three planets of the Xritoo system. Much like my cooking crew, comprised of aliens from all across the cosmos working together to bring you this delicious meal. Princess Allura, the very person we celebrate on this day, once said, “We are always stronger together.” If the people of your planets work together, so much more can be achieved.

Shiro: Honor her by following in her footsteps and walk in the path towards peace.

[Scene change to Pidge and Matt in a robotics lab as they build an android.]

Pidge: All done.

Matt: So, have you been thinking of any names?

Pidge: Yeah, I was thinking of Chip.

Matt: You and your puns.

Colleen: Katie, your father’s got the teludav all warmed up for you. Better get going. You don’t want to be late.

Matt: Don’t worry, Pidge, I’ll have Chip all ready to go by the time you get back.

Pidge: Just don’t initialize until I return. I want to witness Chip’s first moments of consciousness.

Sam: Have a good time, honey.

Pidge: I will, Dad.

[Scene change to New Altea, where a new Castle of Lions is being constructed.]

Merla: Construction is on course.

Coran: Ah, most excellent! How are the preparations for tonight’s feast coming? It has to be perfect. It will be the first Celebration of Allura. The first of many to come.

Merla: As soon as we can get access to the location, we can begin setup. But it’s currently occupied by your friend, sir.

Lance: And had Princess Allura not seen that there was still good left in Honerva, we most likely would not be sitting here today. She grew to understand that there is good in everyone.

Balmera Girl: Even Emperor Zarkon?

Lance: Yes, even Emperor Zarkon.

Balmera Girl: Do you miss her?

Lance: I do. Very much. But I’m reminded of her everywhere I look. So in that way, she’s still very much with me. With all of us, actually.

Altean Child: Now that you no longer pilot the Red Lion, what do you do?

Lance: Well, I help run a small farm back on my home planet with my family. It’s a simple life, just the way I like it.

Altean Instructor: Alright, everybody, I think Paladin Lance has somewhere to be in a few doboshes, and you all have class to get back to.

Kids: Aw!

[Scene change to the paladins and Coran all sitting at a table loaded with food in front of Allura’s memorial statue.]

Pidge: I mean, seriously, though, Earth has come a long way. It’s a hub for all alien activity now that my dad’s stabilized his teludav technology.

Shiro: That’ll make travel on the Atlas much easier. We’ll be able to reach so many more sectors with the improved mobility. Not to mention the supplies we’ll save with the shorter journey.

Hunk: Yeah, yeah! We’ll have so much more room for the cooking ingredients. People are just so much easier to reason with when they’re full. Man, this diplomacy thing isn’t nearly as easy as Allura made it look.

Keith: Right? But then, she did make everything look easy.

Shiro: Speaking of which, how are things going on Daibazaal?

Keith: We’re calling for an election to select the Galran representative for the Galactic Coalition. So that’s a step in the right direction.

Lance: Let me guess, they asked you to be their leader and you said no?

Keith: Yeah, pretty much.

Lance: Classic Keith.

Coran: Allura would be proud of your decision, Keith. I think she knew that you would always be the key to the Galra’s future. Just around this table, I see so many lives touched by her actions. For some of us she was a diplomat, a teacher, a leader, and a friend. But to those of us around this table, she will always be family. To Allura!

Paladins: To Allura!

[Scene change to Lance’s quarters in the middle of the night.]

Lance: Huh?

[Scene change to the epilogues, which are without dialogue. The text narration follows in order.]

The Holt family established the next generation of Legendary Defenders.

Hunk created a culinary empire, bringing the universe together, one meal at a time.

Lance continued to spread Allura’s message while surrounding himself with the things he loved.

Kolivan and Krolia became the Galra representatives to the Galactic Coalition.

Keith helped transition the Blade of Marmora to a humanitarian relief organization.

Shiro found his happiness and finally left the battle behind.

End.

[brandilovevip]

What I Believe About Coronavirus

It’s been a HOT topic on Twitter...

So what do I think is really going on and what do I think about Coronavirus? 

Read on.

WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON

When health events like this happen ( and they happen often ) 

there is always some fear and trepidation.  In recent times however it has become an obsession in the media to track and breathlessly report the number of deaths especially with the flu and/or any other viral outbreak.  They don’t do this with any of the actual leading causes of death in the USA which are:

1. Cardiovascular Disease  deaths each year 647,457 2. Cancer deaths each year 599,108 3. Accidents deaths each year 169,936 4. Respiratory Disease deaths each year 160,201 5. Stroke deaths each year 146,383

So every flu season, despite the flu not making the top 5, we are fed a steady diet of fear and mounting death.  When you add in a “rogue” virus like the Chinese Wuhan Coronavirus, things get really out of hand. You would think that they believe The Walking Dead and Outbreak are documentaries.

This FEAR drives ratings and the progressive left’s globalist agenda. This agenda is the agenda of 90% (+) of the global media,  the EU , China etc.  There are few countries left in Europe and Asia that don’t want globalism. They have already been pacified.  The great spirit of America however has not. Donald Trump’s election was a shock to the globalist agenda which is clearly on display in the democratic party.  They are now out in the open as unabashed, socialist/communist “progressives”

meaning… globalists.

There are a number of “conservative” publications out there that believe that Covid-19 was created in a lab an purposefully unleashed. I do not believe that is the case,  although I do think it is possible.  I do however believe that they had foreknowledge of the virus and it’s potential spread & impact.

Why do you believe this Brandi?

Because of Event 201.  If you haven’t read about this, you need to educate yourself. This ACTUALLY took place. The “players” and sponsors should be looked at closely.

Only a few months ago, in OCTOBER 2019, Johns Hopkins, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and the World Economic Forum (a fraternity of self-professed globalists) ran a “pandemic simulation” called “Event 201” specifically focused on CORONAVIRUS.  Not Ebola, or Swine Flu or even Avian Flu – but CORONAVIRUS.  The simulation features the spread of coronavirus in South America, blamed on animal to human transmission (pigs). The conclusion of the exercise was that national governments were nowhere near ready. 

Event 201 played out almost exactly as you see it in the world today.  Even their propaganda pieces are eerily similar.  

Some very disingenuous or perhaps rather stupid people have been arguing that this kind of thing is “normal”, claiming that we are “lucky” that the elites have been running simulations in advance in order to “save us” from a viral outbreak.

I believe that Event 201 was not a simulation but a war-game, played out to study the possible outcomes of an event the globalists already knew was coming. They played it out to see how to use it to their advantage.

In their simulation 65 million people died worldwide.  A number they knew was false but it would certainly scare the sheep into submission.

Does anyone really believe that Event 201 is pure coincidence? Does anyone really believe they left up their “findings” for any other reason than to frighten readers?

But what do globalists have to gain directly from a coronavirus pandemic beyond simple chaos that can be exploited?

Interestingly, a representative from Johnson and Johnson, one of the companies that may end up designing a “vaccine” for the Coronavirus, suggested during Event 201 that a “centralized” global economic authority in charge of funding and procuring vaccines for various nations in crisis was an option for solving the pandemic.

The reason why globalists want a collapse is simple – They need crisis in order to manipulate the masses into accepting total centralization, a global monetary system and global governance. They are also rabid believers in eugenics and population reduction.

Regarding a “centralized” global economic authority  and a global monetary system ...  did you notice the Democrats included language pertaining to a digital currency in their bloated, globalist agenda filled coronavirus bill after pulling the rug out from under America.

The US and China are still currently in the middle of a trade war. This trade war has been demonized by Democrats and RINO’s alike. And despite it being the right thing for America, the Phase 1 deal was always a joke because it demands that China quadruple its purchases from the US within the next 1-2 years. This was never going to happen. 

The Chinese cannot be trusted.  They are the most evil, unfeeling regime in the world. They are cold , calculated and intelligent. They have made, through money,  slaves of many of the worlds largest, most influential and wealthiest corporations and people.

Now, because of the impact of the Chinese Wuhan Coronavirus,  there is no chance that China will meet the requirements of the Phase 1 deal as China’s economy will slow under the weight of the pandemic.

Coincidence? 

If Trump continues tariffs against a nation in the state of a viral emergency, he will look like a monster.  If he doesn’t continue the lockdown and one person dies thereafter, he will look like a monster. They have him in an almost impossible situation. He knows it, which is why he looks so somber & frustrated.

Another advantage of the viral crisis is that the globalist establishment will undoubtedly blame “climate change” for its impetus.  Even though there is absolutely no concrete evidence linking human carbon emissions to climate change or viral outbreaks, given enough public fear, globalists will attempt to link the things together as if it is a proven fact. 

 Not only will they have a rationale for an economic collapse THEY created, but they can also present a virus as an “act of nature”, and use it as a rationale for implementing carbon controls. (ALSO PRESENT IN PELOSI’s DESPICABLE BILL)

So what is really going on:

The globalists are using COVID-19 to their advantage to wrestle back control and complete their globalist mission. They know that if Donald Trump gets re-elected their horror of a dream is over.

BUT BRANDI THIS IS A DEADLY VIRUS, YOU ARE BEING STUPID.

It is a deadly virus. It is highly communicable. But is neither as deadly or communicable as the fear mongers want you to believe. I’m not going to go through all of the FACTS here. But I would encourage you to read this excellent article:

http://archive.is/yuaUq

If the USA follows the pattern in SIMILAR countries with similar population demographics and geography then we should see maybe 250,000 total who have contracted this and a death rate of 1.5% for total deaths around 3,750

We have all been around death. Iv’e lost most of my family and it’s always gut wrenching. But if the numbers hold true, the 3750 deaths due to Coronavirus are about 5x less than the number of homicides we have every single year.

Where do I agree with the trolls that bombard my Twitter account?

I agree that we need to have a far better protocol in place for WHEN pandemics happen and I believe we need to make a HUGE investment into our healthcare system. Some things I would love to see them consider:

1.  Everyone wears masks during a “Pandemic Protocol”  I know , I know…  surgical masks don’t stop the virus from getting in.. but if EVERYONE is wearing them it does stop a lot of the virus from getting OUT.  Japan has an 80% adoption rate for masks.  They have major population centers and yet.. their numbers remained low.

2. Have tests ready.  Jesus. Everyone on the planet seemed to have more tests than us.  That’s embarrassing. Test everybody.

3. Isolate & quarantine the most vulnerable to death, first.

4. Immediately close borders and international travel

5. If needed, in extreme situations impose a reasonable self isolation and social distancing period not to last longer than 21 days.  

6. Have teams at CDC ready to collaborate with local and international physicians to discuss treatment modalities & vaccines.

7. Build regional medical facilities in conjunction with private, non profit health care systems to handle sudden increases in medical emergencies.

This closing down of the country however and spreading fear the way they have is grotesque and evil. Do you think it’s any less horrible to die from  Cardiovascular Disease , Cancer an Accident, stroke, suicide or murder?  No. Death is horrible and sad.  But it is in fact part of life.  I don’t want to die, I’m not looking forward to death but I do know that at some point, it will occur.

I’m ever thankful that in addition to my thirst for facts vs fear, I also have contacts across the medical landscape. In every single case, they tell me the same thing. If you don’t smoke, If you don’t have major underlying medical conditions and are in good health… then you have very little to fear even if you do contract the virus. Yes, it may have a 1.4% - 2.0% death rate but those numbers are skewed toward those 65+ and those with major medical issues.  Regardless of age if you are generally healthy, you are looking at a death rate equal to or less than the common flu.

And they also tell me that if you do get it,  demand that you be treated with the combination of Hydroxychloroquine and a Zpack unless there are contraindications.

Lastly…

Some things that have become perfectly clear:  

1.  Socialized Medicine would be a Disaster 2.  Open Borders = Complete Insanity

References: 

https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/leading-causes-of-death.htm

http://archive.is/yuaUq

https://www.europereloaded.com/how-viral-pandemic-benefits-the-globalist-agenda-event-201/

https://docplayer.net/11605196-Foreign-affairs-april-1974-the-hard-road-to-world-order-richard-n-gardner-volume-52-number-3.html

https://www.technocracy.news/globalization-faces-disaster-with-supply-chain-leaving-china/

https://meaww.com/wuhan-coronavirus-warned-2017-lab-wuhan-deadly-diseases-escape-lab-level-4-safety-scientists

[kafeuka]

[1/1] colour me blue

He doesn’t only just want the sex – he wants to hold his hands, to kiss him, to embrace him.

He wants the whole world to know.

But most importantly, he wants Taehyung to know.

(or: Detective Taehyung and Army Doctor Yoongi are best friends & flat mates. That's what they are and yet, Yoongi knows that just best friends don't look each other like that. Like they'd hang the stars and craft the moon with their bare hands.) read on AO3

Yoongi wakes up on his side and finds the bed is bigger and colder than the night before. He sits up, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he forces himself to stand up. Scratching the back of his neck, he makes his way towards the window before drawing the beige curtains.

Light floods the bedroom, and Yoongi squints his eyes as he slightly turns away. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness and when he does, the morning greets him with clustering clouds and singing birds.

He half-expects to find Taehyung on his chair, still clad in his nightwear, scrolling through his phone but Taehyung isn’t there. He should have known better, but he still hopes anyway.

Yoongi’s phone is still on the coffee table where he left it. He ignores the notifications and emails, and go straight to the messages. Taehyung has left him three messages, all signed with his initial as if he doesn’t know Yoongi has saved his number from the very first day.

 ✉ From: Taehyung

Got to go to the precinct. Namjoon told me he has a case for me. I hope it’s a serial killer this time. - KTH

 ✉ From: Taehyung

Not a serial killer, but it’s quite interesting. Inheritance, distant family and a dead, rich grandfather. Oh, how marvellous. Wish you were here. - KTH ✉ From: Taehyung

We ran out of biscuits, by the way. - KTH

 Yoongi smiles, shaking his head lightly before clicking the reply button.

 ✉ To: Taehyung

Could’ve woken me up, Tae. Have you figured out who did it yet?

  Yoongi barely makes it to the kitchen when his mobile dings twice.

 ✉ From: Taehyung

Of course. It was the eldest son, it was obvious.   - KTH

 ✉ From: Taehyung

Get the chocolate ones. The mint ones makes me dizzy. - KTH

 Yoongi rolls his eyes, immediately typing in a reply.

 ✉ To: Taehyung

Alright.

 Three heartbeats later, and Taehyung still hasn’t replied. Yoongi takes it as a sign that Taehyung has reached the Lab and is most probably more invested in whatever experiment he’s currently conducting than shooting Yoongi a reply. Yoongi presses his lips into a thin smile, locking the device before grabbing the kettle. It’s only nine in the morning, but he already wishes for the moon and stars.

  -

  They met through a mutual friend who introduced them. They barely knew each other, and yet they decided to become flatmates in less than two hours. Taehyung isn’t like any other person he’s met before — direct, observant, and though Yoongi would never admit it aloud, he is the cleverest man Yoongi knows.

Their connection was instant and Yoongi finds himself being pulled towards Taehyung so naturally, like gravity.

They fit each other so well that it’s a wonder why it took them this long to meet.

It’s a bit exasperating at first, how everyone who come across them thinks of them as a couple, but with time, Yoongi learns to ignore it. There’s no use arguing with others that they’re just best mates, but it’s even more infuriating when Taehyung never seems to correct them. It’s always Yoongi who had to explain that it isn’t like that, and deep down, Yoongi knows it probably never will be.

The attraction is there, sure, because how can one not be attracted to a charming human being that is Kim Taehyung? He’s fucking brilliant in every way possible, and he’s got this mysterious aura going on that the ladies seem to like but it isn’t handsome, sculpted face or his ability to change his persona in matters of seconds that draws Yoongi in.

It’s how Taehyung trust no one but Yoongi, how he easily let Yoongi in, how Taehyung has a smile that he reserves only for Yoongi, how he steals glances when he thinks Yoongi isn’t looking, how Taehyung remembers Yoongi doesn’t take sugar in his coffee.

Before Yoongi can stop himself, he’s already falling.

And he knows, falling for Kim Taehyung is like falling into a deep well— it’s terrifyingly dark and you’ll end up drowning in your own screams and tears.

  -

  “You’re being a pushover, Yoongi. What does he want this time?”

“For fuck’s— I’m not a pushover, Namjoon. You know how he is; you’ve known him for years.”

“Yeah, I do, but it’s not an excuse to—”

“Oh, shut up. You literally let him go around the crime scene like it’s his playground. And I’m his best friend, so it’s my obligation to go when he needs me.”

“Needs you as in he wants you to make tea?”

“Precisely.”

“Jesus… the things you do for that maniac.”

  -

  When Yoongi comes back from work, he finds Taehyung lying on the couch with his bathrobe on in the same exact position when Yoongi left that morning. Yoongi shrugs off his coat, hangs it on the rack before walking taking a seat across of him.

“So…” Yoongi begins. “I take that Seokjin still hasn’t given up?”

Taehyung grunts.

Yoongi chuckles, leaning back against his chair in amusement. “You’d get paid handsomely, Tae. We can get a bigger fridge, you know. Hell, we can move to a bigger flat with the sum.”

“I’d rather have the mini fridge and stay where we are rather than work with that git, thank you very much.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Taehyung. His eyelids were shut, brows furrowed and lips are pulled downwards. There is something else that’s bothering him.

“What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“The usual.”

Yoongi raises a brow. “Not Seokjin.”

“Oh,” Taehyung murmurs, cracking an eye open to look at Yoongi. “Just thinking about the case I received earlier.”

“Yeah?”

Yoongi is aware that Taehyung enjoys having a person listen to him talk and with his new job, Yoongi doesn’t have the time to accompany Taehyung to the crime scene anymore. Taehyung would sometimes talk so fast he forgets to breathe – as if his brain is going way too fast and his mouth cannot keep up – and Yoongi is always there to remind him to slow down. Sometimes, in the middle of his rant, Taehyung’s eyes would light up and Yoongi knows Taehyung has the answer, that by then, the case is already solved.

Taehyung lets out a breath as he brings his fingertips together, placing his fingers underneath his chin. “There is nothing that connect the victims together, Yoongi. Seems like it’s done at random. But why? There are no prints, no cameras, nothing. It’s like… a ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“Ghost. No traces of the murderer. They said suicide, but it’s impossible. Three deaths in a row? This person is smart, Yoongi. They’re smart, oh, they really are.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk at the amazement in Taehyung’s voice.

“Hm. Even a smart person makes a mistake sometimes, don’t they?”

“They do, hm, of course they do. But what exactly?”

Yoongi’s eyes soften as Taehyung hums, and when his eyes brightened, Yoongi finds his heart skips a bit.

“That’s it! Let’s go, Yoongi. I’ll explain on our way!”

   -

  “God, you’re fucking brilliant, Taehyung. A fucking genius. How’d you know all that just by looking at me?”

“Now, that’s a first.”

“Sorry?”

“People don’t usually compliment me when I observe them. You’re the first one to be… impressed, Yoongi.”

“They don’t?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d they say?”

“Fuck off.”

 -

  Neither of them were drunk when their lips crashed together. When Taehyung willingly opened his mouth to let Yoongi slide in. When Taehyung’s hands were everywhere but where Yoongi wanted them to be.

It was the night Yoongi was strapped with explosives.

The mastermind behind the murders and digital crimes made an appearance that night, making himself known, no longer he desires to be in the shadows. Of course, a brilliant man like Park Jimin wants an audience. And he wants no other than Taehyung, whom he proudly declares his nemesis though it was their first time seeing each other face to face.

Yoongi saw how taut Taehyung’s jaw was, how there were flames gleaming in his midnight eyes.

Yoongi had an awful lot brush of deaths before; hailing bullets in a battlefield, knife against his throat and fists painting his body bruises but none of them makes fear crawl under his skin at the thought of Taehyung being shot first before Jimin could press the button.

Perhaps it was luck that they managed to leave the place unscathed, not even a single scratch on their bodies.

They walked back home not speaking about the incident. While Yoongi had his fists shoved in his pockets, Taehyung kept his distance a few steps behind. Yoongi resisted the urge to turn to ask, to make a conversation because the silence was suffocating him but he found himself holding back his tongue.

As soon as the door was closed, however, Yoongi mustered all his courage to speak, only for the words to remain at the tip of his tongue when without warning, Taehyung pressed his lips against his. It was a bit odd at first, a little bit clumsy, but when Yoongi managed to overcome the shock, he returned the kiss.

He pulled Taehyung closer, hands cupping his face and he remember thinking, ‘Finally.’

Taehyung’s touches were like fire against his skin, setting him alight and he found himself wanting more of his touches, more of this, more of Taehyung.

The next morning, when Yoongi woke up with marks all over his body, Taehyung was already in the kitchen sipping his tea.

  -

  “I see that my brother has decided to keep you around. Or are you a stray?”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced friendship before, but your brother’s my best friend, Seokjin. And seeing as you come and go into our flat as you please, I hope you’re also aware that we are flatmates.”

“Taehyung doesn’t make friends. He doesn’t have friends.”

“Well, he does have one now.”

“Huh.”

“If there’s nothing else, I’d like to show you the door.”

“Yoongi, wait.”

“What?”

“Look after him, will you?”

“Course I will.”

 -

  Yoongi is falling.

And he is falling hard.

It is as easy as breathing when it comes to their arrangement. They never speak of it, never discuss what they are or where they are, but occasionally they would have mind-blowing sex without uttering a single word afterwards. As if it’s natural for them to do so, as if it’s what is has always been from the start.

Taehyung likes tasting every inch of Yoongi’s skin, likes to be held close and he likes the sounds Yoongi makes and Yoongi thinks Taehyung is the most beautiful when he quivers, eyes shut in bliss as Yoongi’s name leave his lips.

It is a privilege to see this side of Taehyung, the vulnerable side of him that he keeps from everyone else and yet, he lets Yoongi in and he lets Yoongi stay.

Yoongi doesn’t have any intention to leave, never have and never will. He likes where he is but he also loves to be more, to know where exactly they stand. They don’t address each other with sweet nicknames, they don’t hold hands or hug or kiss in public, and while Yoongi knows Taehyung has a different way of showing affection, Yoongi wants more.

Despite being demanding and irritatingly meticulous, Taehyung never voices out what he wants for this, for them.

Yoongi sighs, leaning back against his chair and massage his temple. He has at least five minutes of break before the next patient enters, and the last thing he needs is a distraction.

And Yoongi frowns as a thought comes across his mind.

Is he just a distraction for Taehyung?

   -

   “You know that I’ve got an older brother. That I’ve fought in wars before. That I’m an army doctor. All by just looking at me—”

“Not just looking. Observing, Yoongi, observing.”

“Right. Observing. And you deduce all that with one glance in less than two minutes of our meeting. So, why don’t you tell me about you? It’s only fair, isn’t it?”

“Why? What is it that you want to know?”

“Everything, I suppose. Why you’re so adamant on not working with the government. Why you have a love-hate relationship with your own brother. What’s your mummy and daddy like.”

“Nothing interesting.”

“Come on, Taehyung. We’re mates, aren’t we?”

“Alright. First, I don’t want to work with the government because Seokjin is there. Secondly, Seokjin is always competitive ever since we were younger and though he never admits it, he sees me as an archnemeses. And mummy and daddy? They ship us both to boarding school by the time we turn seven so they didn’t have to deal with children.”

“Wait, Taehyung… I’m so sor—”

“Right, we’re here. You do bring your pistol with you, yeah?”

  -

  Taehyung usually has two moods:

1)      Silence – being so deep in his thoughts that everything around him needs to be quiet. A bit infuriating, really, because he’d shoot Yoongi a glare even if Yoongi sneeze.

2)      Loud – Desperately trying to stop his brain from working too much so he resorts to mindlessly consuming crap shows, which usually ends with him shouting at the telly.

Yoongi isn’t sure which one he prefers better, but after four years of living together, Yoongi learns the best way to handle the situation is to leave Taehyung to it. Sometimes he’d find himself shouting too, and sometimes he’d find himself meditating by the window. It isn’t all that bad, really, because he knows Taehyung.

He knows what he likes and what he doesn’t like.

But there are still bits of Taehyung that he still hasn’t uncovered, bits that Taehyung purposely hide and not ready to show Yoongi. A mysterious piece of him that he keeps only to himself and while Yoongi is fine with it, he can’t help but wonder – what is it that Taehyung is so afraid of?

  -

  “For fuck’s sake, Taehyung. You don’t just fucking jump in front of cars like that! You don’t fucking run off somewhere without me, and not explain shit to me! Do you know how bloody worried I was? What if you’re jumped on? What if… what if you’re dead?”

“You were right behind me, Yoongi. You always are. I have nothing to worry about.”

“But what if I wasn’t? What if I couldn’t keep up? What if I lost you?”

“You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t. Have some sleep, Yoongi. They’ve all been caught and we had a long day. You’re exhausted.”

“Fucking hell, Taehyung, listen to me—”

“Have some rest, please.”

  -

  Taehyung doesn’t have that many friends and it’s not that difficult to guess why. He can be a tad obnoxious sometimes (though Taehyung would defend himself by saying he was simply blunt, not mean) and Taehyung absolutely detest dull conversations.

So, it’s a bit curious that Taehyung and Yoongi become best friends. They are not exactly alike, but they are not exactly different either. Yoongi doesn’t mind listening to Taehyung prattle on and on about experiments and the chemistry journals he finds intriguing and Taehyung, on the other hand, doesn’t mind Yoongi feeding him and forcing him to go for walks in the park.

Despite the sign saying not to feed the ducks, Taehyung would always have some bread crumbs in his coat to give the ducks. Yoongi supposes it’s one of the things Taehyung come to enjoy – that doesn’t have anything to do with science or critical thinking – and Yoongi often find it difficult to tear his gaze away when Taehyung is this calm.

Sometimes, they would talk about anything and everything.

Sometimes, they would sit in silence side by side, simply existing.

Taehyung did admit that Yoongi is his only best friend, and while he felt warmth tingling all over his body, he also felt something akin to sadness as he heard Taehyung uttered those words.

There is a vast void inside of Taehyung. Yoongi can see it in the way Taehyung’s eyes would flicker when he spots a family, couples in honeymoon phases and a group of friends enjoying themselves. Yoongi knows that although Taehyung grew up surrounded by people – nannies, butlers, housekeepers – he does not seem to have any connection with any of them.

Yoongi can’t help the pang in his chest as he thinks of young Taehyung, all alone in the library, flipping through textbooks to keep him company.

As insufferable Taehyung can be sometimes, Yoongi knows he would never want to leave him. He chose this life, chose to be with Taehyung.

But having got a taste of Taehyung, Yoongi craves for more.

He doesn’t only just want the sex – he wants to hold his hands, to kiss him, to embrace him.

He wants the whole world to know.

But most importantly, he wants Taehyung to know.

  -

  “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything, Taehyung. It won’t change the fact that I thought it was my fault. It won’t change the fact that for two fucking weeks, I blame myself. I mourn for you, I cried for you. I fucking prayed, Taehyung, and I don’t even believe in God. You couldn’t fucking text? Couldn’t fucking phone me?”

“I can’t risk it, Yoongi. Jimin’s men… they’re everywhere.”

“So what? I’m just supposed to think you’re dead?”

“I can’t bear to lose you, Yoongi. That’s why I had to do it. I’ve come back now, haven’t I? I’ll always come back.”

  -

  Taehyung always say “thank you” after they had sex.

As if Yoongi is doing him a favour.

He doesn’t even thank Yoongi after Yoongi made him tea.

  -

  Taehyung never stays. He waits for Yoongi to clean both of them up before he thank Yoongi and walk out of the room without looking back.

Yoongi knows of post-coital bliss, it’s the part that he looks forward to the most; the relaxed limbs, the sleepiness that comes afterwards – but with Taehyung, Yoongi finds himself fiddling with his fingers, mouth open but no words leaving, hand reaching out to someone so distant.

He doesn’t sleep well after he made Taehyung moan his name.

   -

   “You impress me, Min Yoongi. A man like you, saving my brother from himself. Who would’ve thought?”

“Have you ever actually not spoken in riddles, Seokjin?”

“You may be best mates, but don’t ever think for a second that I will let you hurt him even the slightest.”

  -

  It is a miracle that Taehyung, the cleverest man in possibly the whole world, does not use his intelligence for murder or something similarly horrible. But there are times when Yoongi think the man will be the cause of his death one day.

Like when Taehyung overdoses himself, and would have been buried six-foot underground if it weren’t for Yoongi who found him stranded in an abandoned building with all the other users.

Yoongi had been disappointed and terribly angry, but most of all, he was utterly terrified.

Seokjin was in the waiting room with Yoongi that day. His usual collected demeanour was replaced with evident anxiety, his foot tapping restlessly against the tile as he gnawed on his bottom lip. Any other day, Yoongi would have said something snarky to rile him up but he couldn’t find the energy to even speak.

He knew both of them were thinking of the same thing and have the same fear: will Taehyung ever wake up again?

  -

  “Bastard. You gave us a scare there. I really ought to raid your room one of these days to throw that horrendous stuff away.”

“Yoongi, is that… is that you?”

“’Course it’s me.”

“You’re back?”

“I suppose you can say that, yeah.”

“Took you a while.”

“… Taehyung.”

“Don’t.”

“Why are you using again?”

“I think I’d like to have some rest now. That alright with you?”

  -

  Taehyung’s touches are agonising, the sweetest torment, and Yoongi finds himself wanting more, more and more.

Taehyung is riding him, head thrown back and lips falling, looking like an angel as his skin glistens in the afternoon light. His fingers grazes Yoongi’s neck before they rest on Yoongi’s shoulder, and it takes all Yoongi’s willpower not thrust vehemently into Taehyung.

Instead, he reaches out to Taehyung’s hand on his shoulder and brings it to his mouth, kissing the palm lightly once. Then, twice.

Taehyung looks down on him as he does so, hooded eyes filled with lust but there is something else in his eyes. Yoongi can’t really tell what it is, too distracted with Taehyung clenching around him. He cups Yoongi’s face, and Yoongi feels the tingles all over his skin again.

“You…” Taehyung manages before he grunts, increasing his speed and his hands find Yoongi’s shoulder for support.

Yoongi doesn’t get to hear the rest of the sentence as it ends with Taehyung whimpering before his body gives in to the pleasure, limbs quivering and eyes squeezed shut. He collapsed against Yoongi then, his hands gripping onto Yoongi so tightly that Yoongi’s sure it would leave marks.

But Yoongi doesn’t mind.

If it’s Taehyung, he is always fine with it.

  -

  “You… shot a man for me.”

“That’s what mates do, right?”

“Yoongi, you—”

“He was going to hurt you, Taehyung. I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Well then.”

“Well.”

“… Thanks.”

“No worries. It’s like, we’re indestructible together, aren’t we?”

“You’re saying that as if we’re super heroes.”

“Maybe we are. I did just save you from that man though.”

“Well, I’m not. A super hero, I mean. But I am starving. How do you feel about Thai food?”

  -

  Taehyung is utterly and devastatingly beautiful like this — when he writhes underneath Yoongi, letting Yoongi touch every inch of his golden skin, lips spilling the most obscene yet wonderful noises, trusting Yoongi and only Yoongi to take care of him.

Taehyung comes first, back arching and thighs trembling as he paints his stomach and chest white. Yoongi pulls out, knowing how terribly sensitive Taehyung is and touches himself. His elbow is propping him up on Taehyung’s side, knees on the mattress in between Taehyung’s legs.

“Let me,” Taehyung pants, hand enveloping Yoongi’s cock. “Let me help.”

Yoongi groans when Taehyung begins to stroke him, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he buries himself in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. He kisses the skin there, inhaling Taehyung’s scent, restraining himself from biting as he knows Taehyung hates having marks on his body.

He moans Taehyung’s name like a mantra, and he is unable to stop himself when he feels it coming.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he murmurs against Taehyung’s skin and for a moment, Taehyung’s hand stills.

He collapses on top of Taehyung when he comes, kissing Taehyung’s jaw before forcing himself to move to the side. His chest is heaving, lungs desperate for oxygen and when his breathing is steady, he swallows before turning to Taehyung.

Taehyung has his gaze glued on the ceiling, but Yoongi knows his mind is somewhere else.

He takes the chance to go to the bathroom and wet the towel to clean both of them before he wears his shorts.

He waits for Taehyung to say his usual thanks and leave, but he doesn’t.

There’s a small spark in Yoongi’s chest. Hope. Maybe Taehyung wouldn’t be so quick to leave this time

Yoongi sits on the bed, looking at Taehyung whose brows are furrowed in concentration. He’s thinking. Deducing. Yoongi rakes his brain for the cases Namjoon handed to them this week and wonder which one is so challenging that it made Taehyung stay rooted in bed after they had sex.

Yoongi’s about to leave Taehyung to his thought, when Taehyung voices out, “Stay, please.”

There’s the spark in his chest again. Growing bigger this time.

Yoongi stays.

“I can’t, you know.”

“Sorry?”

Taehyung still has his eyes on the ceiling, refusing to look at Yoongi. When he does turn to Yoongi, he swallows before saying it again, “I can’t.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, confusion written all over his face. He waits for Taehyung’s usual, “Think, Yoongi! Use your brain!” but it doesn’t come. It must be a miracle that Taehyung is holding himself back from scolding Yoongi. He is about to ask when it hit him.

Oh.

There’s a lump in Yoongi’s throat, and he tries to blink the wetness away from his eyes as long as possible.

“I can’t lose you, Yoongi.”

“You won’t, I promise.”

“No, it’s not—” Taehyung sighs, sitting up. He looks much younger like this, worries etched in his brows and lips parting slightly. “Don’t promise me, Yoongi. Please. I…”

There is a flicker of vulnerability on his face as he looks away and Yoongi sees the fear that he tries so hard to hide.

What is it that you’re so afraid of?

“Do you… not feel the same way?” It comes out as a whisper, and Yoongi internally winces.

“No, no. I do. In fact, I really do. But,”— And there it is, the but — “we can’t. You don’t want me like that.”

Yoongi isn’t aware that he’s holding his breath until he feels the need to inhale. He was not sure of Taehyung’s feelings before – the man rarely shows emotions unless it’s frustration or anger – but after Taehyung admits it, he feels a small wave of relief washing over him but it is red that Yoongi sees.

Just as it comes, the spark of hope in his chest vanishes.

How dare Taehyung tells Yoongi what to feel?

“I do want you like that. I’m,” Yoongi stops to take a deep breath, his fingers twitch on his thigh as Taehyung looks up. He fights the impulse to run his fingers through Taehyung’s curls. He swallows, voice on the edge of pleading as he says, “I’m fucking in love with you.”

“I’m not the one you want to be with, Yoongi.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Yoongi’s shouting now as he stands up from the bed, startling Taehyung. “You don’t get to tell me who I want to be with, because I know. Because I know it’s you. For a clever person, you can be so daft sometimes. How can you not fucking realise that I’ve been in love with you since forever?”

Taehyung’s jaw tightens, scrutinizing Yoongi’s move. Yoongi waits for him to reply, burning rage hissed through his body and he realise that he’s panting.

“I know…” Taehyung answers, voice so soft that Yoongi is slightly taken aback. He’s always clear when he speaks, and hearing his voice being lowered to a whisper causes a pang in Yoongi’s chest. “It dawned on me when you kissed my hand. That day, on your armchair. I see the way you look at me, Yoongi. When you think I’m not looking. I… I see you too, you know.”

Yoongi’s voice breaks as he asks, “So why?”

“I’d get bored of you, you know how I am. I’d grow to hate you for holding me back. I’d hate you with my whole being for being such a waste of my time.”

“You bloody liar,” Yoongi chuckles, but it’s laced with pure dejection. “You’re lying to me, Taehyung. You’re slipping into one of your fucking personas. I’m not a victim, Taehyung. What the fuck are you lying for?”

Yoongi sees how Taehyung’s adam’s apple bobs, and yet he can’t seem to find it in him to relish this rare moment where he manages to properly shut Taehyung up.

“You desire having a family. I can’t give you that.”

“Can’t we think of that when the time comes? I do love a family, yeah, I do but that’s not important now.”

“Not ever, Yoongi. I can’t— I can’t.” Taehyung slumps his shoulders in defeat, pleading eyes looking up to Yoongi.

Yoongi manages to restrain himself from holding Taehyung’s face, from peppering kisses on his cheeks, from embracing him. He looks much younger, the vulnerability evident in his face.

“You deserve that, Yoongi. Just not with me.”

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers, feeling the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t realise that he’s already sitting down again, fists gripping on the sheet of the mattress.

“I know.”

“Can’t we… make it work?”

“One day, you’ll decide you don’t want me anymore. One day, you’ll realise how dull your life is. You’ll decide that you’ve had enough, that I’m not enough. One day, you’ll leave me and I… I can’t take it. You’ll break me, Yoongi. You’ll… you’ll destroy me.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches, the words he wants to say get caught in his throat. He reaches his hand out to caress Taehyung’s cheek, and when Taehyung opens his eyes, he sees longing and fear there.

“I won’t, I promise. Hey, we’re indestructible together, remember?”

Taehyung huffs a weak laugh, there’s mistiness in his eyes now. With a smile, he murmurs, “How can we, when you’re the only one who can destroy me?”

Yoongi’s lips part slightly, the words that leaves Taehyung’s lips knock the breath out of Yoongi’s lungs. And there it is, the truth. The thing that Taehyung is so afraid of.

Taehyung holds his hand that’s still on his cheek, before pulling it away.

“Thank you, Yoongi.”

Without looking back, Taehyung walks out of the room, leaving Yoongi alone to collect bits of his shattered heart.

   -

  ✉ From: Kim Namjoon

Is Taehyung OK? He’s not replying to any of my messages and he hasn’t pestered me for cases at all

  -

  Taehyung doesn’t come out of his room for three days. His bedroom is locked, and he doesn’t answer when Yoongi knocks. Yoongi still has work, so he wakes up in the morning as he usually does. He used to love the mornings, but now he dreads it. The living room is too quiet, and Taehyung isn’t there.

The kitchen is the same as it was three days ago; Taehyung’s microscope and experiment jars are still on top of the counter. Yoongi doesn’t dare move them, not after he and Taehyung had a row that one time Yoongi moved a beaker slightly to the left.

He’s worried that Taehyung isn’t eating, but after seeing the cups and plates on the dishwasher, Yoongi surmises that Taehyung does feed himself while Yoongi is away.

On the fourth day, however, Taehyung finally comes out of his room.

Yoongi is surprised, but mostly relieved when he sees Taehyung in his chair, seemingly to be deep in his thoughts.

“Morning,” Yoongi greets as he puts the kettle to boil.

He supposes that he might as well pretend that nothing happens, knowing that Taehyung hates bringing up the past.

“I had agreed to be involved with government matters from now on.”

Yoongi raises a brow, opening the cabinet to grab two teacups. He clears his throat, putting a teabag in each of them. “That, um, great.”

“It requires training. It’ll take months. I’d be relocated somewhere far after it ends.”

“Sounds confidential,” Yoongi replies, pouring hot water into his cup. “Seokjin must be thrilled.”

“There’s a chance I am never to return back home. Ever.”

Ah.

Yoongi freezes, finally piecing it all together. He nearly wants to laugh at the irony of it all— how Taehyung gladly accepts a job offer he’s been pressured to take for years, just so he could leave Yoongi. Just so he could fucking leave Yoongi first.

Yoongi placed the kettle back down on the stove with more force than necessary before swivelling to face Taehyung, one hand on the counter and another on his hip. He feels the anger rising inside him again, and the memories from the past few days emerges, making his chest clench.

“Fuck you.”

Taehyung closes his eyes as he inhales.

Tea forgotten, Yoongi stomps towards Taehyung, his blood catching fire with rage and knuckles turning white on his sides. “You’re such a fucking coward. A bloody idiot. An asshole,” he fumes, rage coating every single syllable.

“I’d be gone in the afternoon,” Taehyung informs. He isn’t looking at Yoongi as he does so. “The rent will be paid in full every month, so you’d still be able to—”

“For fuck’s sake!” Yoongi groans exasperatedly. “For once, can you stop being a dick for a second?”

Hearing Taehyung letting out a sigh only makes Yoongi’s blood boil even more. But he should have known that he can never stay angry at Taehyung for too long, he learns that he’s just unable to. Yoongi unfurls his fists as his eyes softens, the raging fire in his chest dissipates, and all he feels is the weight of despair threatening to crush him to the Earth’s core.

Don’t go, please.

Yoongi swallows down the pleads that are working their way to his throat, willing the tears he feels forming to not fall.

What Yoongi wants to say is this: “Stay, please, I need you here.”

But instead, what comes out his mouth is, “Do as you please.” Yoongi’s voice is brittle, and he abruptly turns to leave before he could let the pressure building behind his eyes break him.

   -

  ✉ From: Kim Seokjin

Min Yoongi, I’ll have you know that my brother is in good hands. - KSJ

  ✉ From: Kim Seokjin

I will make sure he’d be back unharmed and not for long. It might take a while, but do not worry about it. - KSJ

  ✉ From: Kim Seokjin

I must say I am impressed how you manage to convince him to finally put his skills to good use.

For that, I thank you. - KSJ

     -

   Yoongi moves out of their shared apartment a week after Taehyung left.

He can’t bear to sleep in a room that smells like Taehyung, can’t sit in his own living room because even if Taehyung is not there, he is there— his armchair, the bullet holes he put inside the walls, his collection of limited first edition books, his microscope, his experiments and even his damned violin. There are still two toothbrushes in the bathroom, Taehyung’s hair products are still taking up space in the cabinet, his expensive fruit scented wash is still at the edge of the tub.

How dare Taehyung leave all his stuff lying around, as if he’s going to come back?

He always does come back to Yoongi, he knows. But not this time. Yoongi knows Taehyung is never coming back again.

   -

  Days move slower without Taehyung and slowly, Yoongi pieces himself back together. Work is a perfect distraction, now that he moves to a hospital where he has his own office and perform a couple of surgeries in a day.

He tries not to think about Taehyung that much, but there are nights where even the littlest thing reminds him of Taehyung.

He doesn’t want to count the days he spent without Taehyung, because as much as he hates it, he knows a small part of him still hope that Taehyung would come back. Finding Yoongi would not be difficult; Seokjin has control over the security in the country, and from the texts he sends, it implies that Seokjin knows exactly where he is.

But still… still, he locks that piece of hope in a box and buries it deep down.

No use crying over spoilt milk.

Over a person who’s scared of their own feelings.

Over a person who leaves without a proper goodbye.

Over a person who leaves because they’re afraid to be left first.

  -

   Yoongi’s Sunday morning is interrupted by the buzzing doorbell. He’s about to do the paper’s crossword puzzle when he hears it. He assumes it’s Namjoon, but Namjoon always text before he comes over. He stands from his chair and hope that it’s not his date from Friday. He had forgotten to inform her that it just won’t work.

But the person standing in his doorway isn’t a petite girl with luscious brunette locks.

It’s a man with ridiculous, branded coat. His curly hair is a tad longer now, almost reaching his shoulders but Yoongi can spot him from a mile away.

Yoongi’s heart stutters, and Taehyung has the audacity to give him a small yet apologetic smile.

“I’ve done calculations,” Taehyung begins. Yoongi nearly chuckles, his heart already soaring from the eccentric greeting. At this point, it doesn’t even faze Yoongi anymore. “I’ve run all the possibilities in my head, and there’s not… there’s not one where I didn’t see you there.”

Yoongi folds his arms, shaking his head and gives Taehyung a long look. He should be angry, shouldn’t he? He should start throwing punches and hurl Taehyung down the stairs. It’s what he ought to do, it’s what he should do. Instead, his heart swells twice its size, the warmth in his chest spreads all over his body.

Taehyung doesn’t say it, but Yoongi knows what he means.

I love you.

“Good morning,” Yoongi says. “How long has it been?”

The reply comes in a heartbeat, “A year, three months and four days.”

Yoongi tries to tamper his smile, but fails as it reaches his ears. Taehyung always comes back. Always.

“Come in.”

   -

   ✉ From: Kim Seokjin

I believe my brother is safe with you? - KSJ

 ✉ To: Kim Seokjin

He always is when he’s with me.

   ✉ From: Kim Seokjin

Good. Even the other agents cannot stand his sulking and brooding.

Your absence has affected him rather greatly. - KSJ

  ✉ From: Kim Seokjin

I don’t usually say this but thank you. - KSJ

[crownandmaker]

IVF

I don’t know where to begin. All I know is that as I type, I want to do the littlest editing possible. I want to post everything that I feel so if it can help others who can identity with me, then great. So if this doesn’t apply to you, still read on and pray for me. This is my current situation: starting IVF again.

What is IVF? 

IVF is short for In-vitro Fertilization. I’m no expert so the technical term is found on google, but my own simple definition is: when you can’t get pregnant because of infertility issues, IVF is a way of helping you (lab work) get pregnant through the process of  injecting sperm into egg, let it grow for a few days in the lab so the cells can grow and reproduce, then transfer it into you a few days later in hopes that it will stick and you can be pregnant. Of course it involves tons of medications, needles and other processes but you can read about that too online. 

We got pregnant this way in 2017. My baby girl is a true miracle. (Story for another post)

What’s going on?

I won't get into the details, but both my husband and I are having infertility issues...hence the need for IVF but this time we might require a different procedure than last time. We have an appointment next week to discuss bloodwork and treatment options but the wait is killing me. I’ve cried it out, took it to the Lord because even though I’m a believer, I’m no super-human. No one is exempt from hurt, pain, and suffering. That’s part of being in this corrupt world. I need prayer and God in my life.

So as with anybody, I have So many questions, fears and doubt.

Is this a sign that we shouldn't try to have kids anymore? 

Will the process be more intense this time around? (last time wasn’t too pleasant, I HATED those painful injections that lasted for about 5 months)

Will the cost be higher for a different treatment? (It cost as much as a new car)

Is this my last chance to get pregnant? (I’m almost 35)

Faith vs Reality

I’m Christian. Faith is what moves me to do things that I cannot in my own strength be able to do. For example, when I did IVF the first time, it took me TWO YEARS to finally say yes and have peace about it. IVF can be intimidating...well the needles and the pain 😩

Needle-less to say (get it? needle? IVF...😏its an IVF joke) I decided to take it day by day and trust that God was with me in the process.

So what's different this time? If I trusted God, why can’t I do it again? 

Like in all difficult decisions, there's always uncertainty but then there's faith.

REALITY says: we are infertile and unless a miracle happens we won’t get pregnant naturally. THAT alone was hard to let it sink in. THAT reality was hard.

Those who have gone through infertility know all the feels..anger, shame, incapable, useless, unworthy, low-self esteem, sadness, hurt, hopeless..

And now they are saying that our prognostic is worst than the first time😭

BUT GOD.

FAITH says: Nothing is impossible for God. He is the miracle worker and loves to create something out of nothing. We have nothing. No chance of getting pregnant naturally. This is where I strongly believe that if God wanted to, he could make us get pregnant with or without any medical help. 

Do I question why he doesn’t just miraculously allow me to get pregnant? “Lord, outdo yourself. Show your power to the world!” I used to say that, but The Lord doesn’t need me to be like Moses, who pretended that it was because of him that miracles happened and he struck the rock instead of speaking to it as God commanded. God doesn’t need anyone to challenge him to do miracles. I don’t need to put God on the spot for people to believe. He will glorify himself anyway without my help.

I used to wonder why so many women who are bad mothers get to have tons of kids and I didn’t. I used to wonder why I had to go through this process: costly, long and painful to get pregnant when others didn’t. But I changed that mentality. Boy did I change. This process has transformed me into a new person.

It’s difficult to explain, but I now understand this life isn’t about me. This life of mine belongs to God, and I want to live it out just the way he intended me to. I’m just figuring out right now if

a) God will make me stronger and better in this process and allow me to conceive or 

b) God will make me stronger and better in this process and won’t allow me to conceive. 

I have to be ok with either. Either way, my life belongs to him. I am grateful for Him being with me in the valley highs and valley lows. His enduring love embraces me, holds me and if I have God, I have everything. 

Our appointment is next week guys. Pray for us. Pray for calm in the middle of the storm.

[besidemethewholedamntime]

For spring prompts - 13. Working in the garden, only to start a water fight + FS if you feel like it? 😊♥️

hello! I’m so sorry it took me so long. Just a quick warning for mentions to current events but it’s nothing too depressing and it leads to a really sweet family moment with Sarah!  I hope you enjoy it :)

water fights and saving the world

{Read on Ao3}

“I can’t believe we’re stuck here.”

Jemma looks around their garden which is roughly the size of a football pitch, the rolling hills stretching into craggy mountains beyond it, and tries to see what her husband is seeing, and fails. “Oh, yes,” she says drily. “Because it’s so tiny.”

He looks up at her from where he’s unspooling the hose. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

No, she supposes it’s not, and she can understand his frustration. After years of being stuck places, whether it be the Bus, or the Playground, or the Lighthouse, or in Space, or the Past (the list gets exhausting to think about after a while), their freedom found in Perth was something they had certainly enjoyed. The ability to go places wherever you felt like it, take a trip to the supermarket without wondering if someone wanted to kill you for it,  to buy  maltesers and chocolate hobnobs just knowing they would be on the shelf was something they swore they would never take for granted again. They will always be agents, it’s in their bones, but it appears they’ve let themselves slip.

“A bloody virus,” Fitz continues to mutter. “After everything we’ve been through, this is what finally does us in? You’ve got to be having a laugh.”

“Fitz,” Jemma says warningly. “Don’t go there again. Please.”

He sighs and nods, remembering, as she is, the conversation they had last night. The promise that that they wouldn’t get dragged into the bitterness. That they wouldn’t be afraid. “I know, I’m sorry. I just feel so bloody useless.”

As does she. If this were any other time in their life they would be on it by now. But it isn’t just them anymore. They have a family to think of and it is their duty above all else to keep that safe.

“We’re leaving on Thursday,” she says, but she is trying to convince herself more than anything. “Isn’t that enough?”

“You were the one who told me it wasn’t. You wanted to leave today.”

They were further out of the loop than they had realised, and the news of the virus had long since become a dominant feature on the news before other, more unofficial channels, reached out to them. Yes, they had retired, and yes, they had focused on bringing up their daughter, but she had still thought that she would be… well, it doesn’t matter, because she hadn’t been until it was too late for many, many people.

“But I know we can’t,” she tells him. “We can’t rush off into the night anymore. We have to do it properly.”

They’ve been doing their own research, of course, but without the equipment and supplies that she once had, Jemma’s been finding it rather slow. Every idea is one another has already had, every method is something somebody else has already tried. She needs to go back into a lab and she needs to bury herself in it and not emerge until she finds a solution. They need to become who they were then, but it’s so hard when she so dearly loves the life she has now.

Fitz is doing his very best to hold it together, but he is in danger of coming apart at the seams. She puts her hand on his shoulder and he grabs onto it as though it is the only thing keeping him afloat.

“We solved an alien virus, Jemma,” he says quietly, his voice dangerously close to breaking. “We solved that and we can’t-”

“Don’t. Please.” But only because she cannot bear it. She takes a deep breath. “That was different. This isn’t just us and you know it. Everybody’s trying. Science can’t be rushed, it takes time. You know that.”

They both do, it’s just the fact is rather inconvenient now.

“I’m scared,” he had told her last night, while they were pressed together in the middle of the bed, the dark a comforting blanket around them. “I’m so scared.”

“Me too,” she had told him, snuggling into him further, and allowing the weight of his arms around her waist to ground her. “But we’ll get through this. We don’t know any other way.”

Jemma knows he remembers her falling out of the plane, that it is, in fact, one of his recurring nightmares. It’s returned with a vengeance, recently, and he wakes up gasping for breath and sometimes not even Jemma is enough to calm him down. The only thing that always works, without fail, is when he stumbles to their daughter’s room and watches her sleep. She is what reminds him how far they have come, no matter what.

Jemma has dreams, too, and they are different, but it’s always their daughter that brings her back, too. If she’s terrified enough then Fitz can be an illusion, the right face but the wrong mind. Sarah is Sarah, a salvation, and she is always the same. It’s the only way to know the dream is truly over.

“I want to protect you both,” he tells her now, and he looks down at the grass but Jemma knows there are tears in his eyes. “I just don’t know how and it makes me feel even more useless.”

“Hey,” she says softly, kneeling down next to him. Gently, she places two fingers under his chin and forces him to meet her eyes. “It’s not just your job. It’s our job.”

He sniffs. “Yeah, you’re right. And we’re going soon. We’ll help.”

“That’s the spirit,” she says, and kisses him quickly before standing up. “Come on then,” she says briskly, trying to restore some sort of normalcy in this crazy world. “We better water the plants now, while we still can. It looks like it will rain soon.”

Fitz stands up, too, and she watches as he rearranges his face. “You do know that if it rains that kind of makes this pointless, right?”

“The rain doesn’t get the plants in the greenhouse, and it doesn’t get the plants in that corner because of the trees.”

“I actually had a plan for that-”

But he breaks off, because they don’t know when they’ll be back here to enact any plan they may have for their garden. They stand dumbly for a moment, completely at a loss for what to say.

Luckily Sarah breaks the silence with a wail and Jemma mutters, “I’ll get her,” before darting inside the house, swiping tears off her cheeks as she goes.

“Hello, there,” she says to her daughter, who’s standing up in her cot, gripping the bars and casting her mother a mournful look. “You’re awake, I see.”

Sarah isn’t even a year old yet, and already her life is being uprooted. She may not remember it, true, but it doesn’t ease the guilt any. Jemma picks her up and holds her close, feeling, not for the first time, that desire to press her into her heart and keep her safe there forever.

“Come on,” she says, faux jovially, desperate to keep some semblance of normal in these last few remaining days before they’re brought back into the fold. “Shall we go and help daddy with the garden?”

Sarah giggles happily and begins to play with Jemma’s necklace, clutching it in her tiny starfish hands. Jemma’s so absorbed in trying to gently tease it from her that she doesn’t look where she’s going and as soon as she steps out the back door into the garden she’s immediately sprayed with a burst of freezing water.

For a second she can’t move, can’t believe it’s just happened. Then she turns to Fitz, who stands there with a horrified expression on his face, the hose dangling guiltily on his face.

“Oops,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Was trying to, um, wash the windows and must have missed it by a bit.”

She could be angry, but it’s not his fault and Sarah laughing away and trying to clutch at the water droplets still falling through the air is enough to dispel any negative feeling. Still, there’s no reason not to have a little fun. Keeping her face blank, she spins on her heel and marches back into the kitchen.

“Aw, Jemma!” He calls after her, and she’ll have to be quick for in a minute he’ll come looking. She begins to rake around in the kitchen drawer for those water balloons that Daisy bought the last time she came to visit and manages to fill a few up one-handed, before scooping them up and tucking them between her and Sarah and miming sh to her daughter, who looks absolutely delighted at this kind of clandestine operation. It takes an effort but Jemma manages to make her face stony and blank, and when she appears in the garden once again, Fitz is looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.

“You’re not that mad about it, are you?” He asks and when she shakes her head, using all her energy not to laugh at his wounded puppy expression, he peers gently forward and says, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” And when he turns momentarily away from her she takes the opportunity to pick a balloon and launch it at the back of his head, where it lands with a smack and bursts fantastically, instantly soaking.

There’s a few seconds of silence, as Fitz goes through what Jemma went through only moments earlier, and it’s only when Sarah claps her hands together and wiggles in Jemma’s arms that the spell is broken and Fitz turns around, eyes wide with betrayal.

“I can’t believe you,” he says, voice nearly an octave higher with outrage. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Jemma shrugs. “I can.”

“You made me think you were mad!”

“You inferred that on your own. I never said a thing.”

“Which implies that you were mad!”

“Oh come on,” she wheedles, not worried for a second that she’s genuinely upset him. Over a decade of partnership and she can read him like a book in the time it takes her to blink. “There’s no need to be grumpy about it.”

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “You’re right, there isn’t.” He holds up his hand, which still contains the hose. “I have this.”

“And I have these.” Her water balloon arsenal seems mildly pathetic in comparison, and it takes a split second for the grin on Fitz’s face to grow even wider and for her to realise quite what it means before she’s showered in water once again.

It’s a gentle spray, because she still holds Sarah which gives her a slight advantage, but it’s absolutely freezing, of course their baby doesn’t seem to mind. She laughs and squeals and tries to catch the water droplets, clapping her hands together and looking down in disappointment when they don’t remain.

“You’re going to regret this!” Jemma yells, as she attempts to throw another water balloon which lands not as impressively on Fitz’s arm.

“Maybe!” He yells back, still spraying them. “But not right now!”

They both run about the garden, ramping up their yelps and squeals for Sarah’s benefit, who seems to think this is the best ever moment of her life. At one point the water balloons empty, and Fitz grants her a two-minute reprieve in order to restock her ammunition. It is time she doesn’t waste, and when she comes back into the garden again, she carries an entire bucket full of the things (the pack from Daisy having been a bumper pack of 1000). The look on Fitz’s face is priceless.

“Not regretting your weapon now, are you?”

“Never,” he says, though he swallows audibly. “The hose won’t run out.”

“Yes, but how long can you take being pelted by these?”

“Pft. No problem. I could last forever.”

His eyes are shining in the sun and water drips off his hair and down his face. In this moment he looks like a combination of all the Fitz’s she has ever known; that young boy that she met when she was sixteen, that young man that screamed at her through a glass wall and begged her not to give up, and that man that held her hand and told her that she was the most precious thing in the world to him, and that he could never give her up for the world even if he tried.

In this moment she feels such a love for him, such an expansive, all-encompassing love that threatens to make her heart burst out of her chest. In this moment she could hug him so tightly that she could fuse his bones with hers, she could kiss him so passionately until they both see stars. In this moment she loves him so much she doesn’t know what to do with it, so she does she only thing she can do, and throws a water balloon that hits him directly in the face.

“Oi!” He yelps, after he splutters water out of his mouth like a fountain. “What was that for?”

She smiles as she shrugs. “Because I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he tells her, and turns back on the hose.

The water fight lasts a while, and Jemma encourages Sarah to get a few good shots in with her father, much to Fitz’s chagrin (That’s dirty, Jemma, turning her against her father. That’s really dirty). They play until the garden is sufficiently watered, even the plants under the trees, and they are both soaking down to their underwear. Eventually the water balloon supply is exhausted and Sarah is starting to droop against Jemma’s shoulder. When Fitz turns the water off, they both sink down onto the grass that’s littered with the neon remnants of the balloons, look at each other, and burst out laughing.

“What a day,” Fitz sighs first. He swipes water from his face. “I didn’t expect this.”

Jemma surveys the garden, the rivulets of water running off everything as though a rainstorm has passed through. “We made quite a mess.”

“Ach.” Fitz waves his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. We’ll clean it later. There’s no rush.”

The reality that they’ve managed to avoid suddenly comes back and settles between them, but it doesn’t seem as big as before. Perhaps she’s just tired and can’t find the energy, but she doesn’t feel as afraid in this moment. She feels invincible.

She chooses not to mention the ticking clock, wanting only to live as she is right now. “At least it’s warm. We’d catch our deaths if we tried this any other time.”

He chuckles. “You’re the one that wanted to move here. I told you it was colder than what you knew.”

“I know.” She shuffles closer to him, until she can feel his body heat radiate through his wet clothes, instantly warming her. “I think there’s a burst water balloon down my top.”

He turns to her in amazement. “How does that work? I didn’t throw one at you.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“To us, definitely.” He holds out his arms for Sarah and Jemma passes her over. She’s so sleepy she goes without complaint, and she presses her face to her father’s shirt and instantly begins to snore, making both her parents laugh.

“I wish she’d stay this size forever,” Fitz murmurs, running his thumb gently down the side of Sarah’s face. “I know she can’t, I’d just like her to.”

“Me too,” Jemma hums, leaning her head on Fitz’s shoulder.  “She’s getting so big.”

Once upon a time Sarah was a tiny little thing who couldn’t even hold her own head up. Now she’s solid, and she frowns deeply when displeased, and a crease appears in her forehead when she’s thinking deeply, for example when she’s puzzled by her own reflection. She will grow up one day and Jemma knows both she and Fitz will be entirely unprepared for it. One day they’ll be sitting here, looking back, and wondering at how it could have happened without them realising.

The sun is setting over the hills, a yellow ball in the sky that’s basking the world in miraculous shades of orange. It occurs to Jemma that she never wants to leave, and suddenly there’s an intense attack of homesickness even though she hasn’t yet left.

“We’ll come back here, won’t we, Fitz?” He cannot give her anything more than she already has, she knows, but she just needs to hear him say it. “When all of this is over and the world has calmed down again. We’ll come back?”

He swallows audibly, and turns his head from the sunset to kiss her softly on her hair before turning back to it. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, voice thick. “We’ll come back.”

“I like the life we’ve made here. I don’t think I could bear to give it up.”

“Just for a little bit. Then we’ll come home.”

There’s milk in the fridge that needs to be used up, and there are eggs in the cupboard that go out of date next week. There’s a to do list of all the rooms they want to redecorate that they are only halfway through. The bedding was meant to get washed this weekend. The plants on the windowsill are supposed to get watered on a Monday. There are things they have ordered online that they now won’t be in to collect.

This is their life. This is their home. And while she knows they have to do this, of that she has no doubt and no qualms, it is still so hard to give up this peace that they worked so hard for. A normal life. But they are Fitzsimmons. Normal has never been a concept for them.

“We do this together,” she says decisively. “The three of us. We do it together or not at all. We can fix this as long as we’re together.”

She feels Fitz nod at her side, knows that he can’t speak, knows that his biggest fear is them being separated irrevocably, just as it is her own. She will not let that happen, though. They will fix this, side by side, with their family, as they always have done, and nothing will tear them apart.

Until they have to leave, though, she is quite happy to just sit on the grass with Sarah asleep between them, watching the sun set gently behind the hills as though they have all the time in the world.

[skyerana]

tagged by @ashipwreckcoast​ for a question thinger. I’m bored out of my skull and I like these questions so here you go. You should do it. Yes, you. Why? Because? I don’t have real reazons.

Putting this under a cut because its long and I don’t want to clog up your dash.\

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? Black, specifically Pilot G2 pens. But really? I like a good dark dark green. My dog ate my favorite pen and I haven’t been able to find one in that color since.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? I’ve sort of done both. I love living in a city, with all the vibrancy and life that it entails. There’s public transit, arts and culture, so many kinds of food, interesting people and always something going on. But for the last few years, I’ve been wanting to get back to something like where I went to school, where I lived for 7 months on a lake and the next closest people (besides us 9) were 5 miles away (the road up to the field station was 2 miles by itself and we got snowed in and flooded in on more than one occasion). I miss being close to deep nature and the peace that comes from being alone.

So which do I prefer? I don’t really know. I’ve been living back in a city for the past eight years but I’m feeling like its time for a change. I don’t think I’ll leave cities forever though. I like people and diversity too much.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? For fun, I’d want to pick up leatherworking, blacksmithing, and/or woodworking. I’m currently not set up well to do any of them though. For practicality though, I’d want to learn general house maintenance.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Depends on the tea, but often yes. Coffee gets an obscene amount of hazelnut creamer because I hate coffee but I love caffeine.

5. What was your favourite book as a child? The Hobbit. My dad and step-dad both read it to me at different points of my childhood and my dad gave me his copy (The Hobbit or There and Back Again, 1977 Illustrated edition)

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Showers. Baths are well and good if you have a big enough one (which I don’t) and you don’t stay in so long it gets cold (I don’t).

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Upon reading this question, every single mythical creature that I’d ever read about immediately vanished from my memory. I’m going to have to come back to this one.

I came back to this one and I still don’t know. I like the idea of flying. But I don’t really want to be hunted out to extinction.

8. Paper or electronic books? I love paper books, but I read much better via ebook. I still haven’t read Gideon the Ninths because the pages are so soft I just sit and pet them instead of read.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? BOXERS! Or rather, boxer-briefs. I know this sounds weird but bear with me. For some reason, when I started transitioning, it did not occur to me to buy mens underwear. When I finally did, It Was Amazing. I looked great. I felt great. I finally understood why so many people had “fun” underwear that they liked. Before, I had like one or two that had patterns/stuff on them. Now? I’ve got Star Wars and Captain Marvel and Deadpool and mountains and mushrooms and one with boxers that makes me laugh because there’s boxers on boxers!! And I can wear them whenever the fuck I want! So I always have something fun on, even (especially) if other folks can’t see it. Switching to boxers was such a weirdly affirming thing for my gender and I love it.

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? This is complicated. I like my legal name, sure, but its not me, not really. I did get the spelling updated on it legally when I was 16 so I could actually get my driver’s license. I haven’t had a chance to change my legal name since transitioning (between the election and COVID, I don’t know that I’d get through all of the legal rigmarole in time to vote in November), but I really like my chosen name and an altered version of my legal name will be my new middle name.

11. Who is a mentor to you? I’ve had so many over the years. I learn so much from people, but I had so many great mentors when I worked at the museum. Timshel stands out. If I can be half the mentor she is to someone, I’ll have put some real solid good into the world. 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? No. Not in the everyone knows you sense. That’s not my jam. I wouldn’t mind having fame more in the sense of within a tiny field, being well known and respected.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? Yes... to the point where I’m seeing a sleep specialist in a month to sort it out.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Very much so. But there’s so many different ways to be romantic.

15. Which element best represents you? I hate these questions. I see bits of myself in all of the elements. People often associate me with air or water though.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? Distance wise, my family in California. I come from a bunch of very close knit families and so having folks on the other side of the country that I’m super close with is ihard.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? “Everyone. Being solitary by choice as opposed to demand is a big difference.” I’m just going to leave @ashipwreckcoast​‘s response here because it fits. I’m very lucky that I am still working in a (relatively) safe environment, but we’re all missing out on things like throwing a housewarming party for one of my closest friends/coworkers. Even though we see each other almost daily, we’re still missing out on a lot that we’d normally do. That’s even worse for folks I’m not seeing at all because of COVID.

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. I legit thought I was a wolf and would howl at the neighbors when mom packed me into the wagon to go do laundry at the laundromat. The neighbors, being good people, howled back.

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? There have been a few times where I wasn’t sure what I was eating. One was at a wedding with 10 or 12 courses (I lost count) and some of them were foods I’d never seen before. I know jellyfish was on that list but there was a bunch of other stuff that I don’t know what it was. The few times I’ve been out of the country, I ate stuff I couldn’t identify (often due to language barriers). The seafood soup at the one place was just whatever they caught that day and it had a lot in it. I remember being disappointed in my fellow grad students when some of them turned it down. You don’t turn down food when you’re a guest unless you have a medical reason for doing so. But the thing is, none of these are strange, except by the US standards. So if that’s true, then the deep fried dragonfly should also be on this list. 

20. What are you most thankful for? Most? That’s so hard to quantify. If I really think about it, it’s things like having a loving partner and a home and food and the ability to pay my bills, I guess.

21. Do you like spicy food? I do not like capsaisin related spices but I love horseradish type spices. I do liked well spiced, but not necessarily spicy, foods.

22. Have you ever met someone famous? A few times. Sometimes at the museum (worked with some of them). Sometimes at special events, like attending lectures.

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? Generally no. I do sometimes get the urge to write and reflect on stuff, so I’ll do that when the mood strikes.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? I’ve been trained to use pens for everything (I work in a chem lab). Pencils are fine, but you need the right kind for the satisfying scratchiness. I cannot abide scratchiness in my pens.

25. What is your star sign? Cancer. Why is this important?

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Not super soggy but not straight out of the box crunchy. Does that make sense?

27. What would you want your legacy to be? I  want my legacy to be built on kindness and helping others. I know that’s cheesy and cliche, but I have so much privilege that I want to use to benefit others.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I love reading. I’m on book 30 for the year. The last one I finished was Starsight by Brandon Sanderson, which is book 2 of 3 of the Skyward series and HE HASN’T STARTED BOOK 3 YET!! I read Skyward and Starsight in four days total.

29. How do you show someone you love them? I often cook for them.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Only for certain things. I don’t mind drinking most drinks at room temperature and ice waters stuff down. It’s good for iced tea though, but only if you need to cool it.

31. What are you afraid of? This isn’t a fair question. I’m afraid of being abandoned or fucking things up. I’m also afraid of spiders and the milk in my fridge expiring. I’m afraid of filling out forms (forms are really hard and make me extremely anxious). I’m afraid of phone calls, but I’m good at them. I’m afraid of public speaking, but you’d never know it unless I told you. I’m afraid of losing the people I love, of dying without having put some good into the world. I’m afraid for my neighbors, for my brothers and sister, for my niece. The world is overwhelmingly scary right now.

32. What is your favourite scent? Campfires, the smell of a fresh spring rain, leather, the weird musky scent of my kitten, of garlic and onions cooking low and slow. There’s too many.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? Depends on who and in what context I know them.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I’d travel a lot more. I’d donate to a lot of things. Museums, arts, individuals. I’d love to just go on to gofundme and just straight up fund folks to their goals plus a bit extra. And then go figure out where the systematic failures were that lead to them not being able to afford it in the first place.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Ocean. Absolutely. But this is also lake and river erasure.

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? I guess exchange it for USD.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Yeah. They’re magical every time.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? Be kind. To yourself and others.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? I’ve got several I want. I was supposed to get an anchor with an octopus chilling on it on my inner forearm for my one year anniversary on testosterone but then COVID hit and well... who know when I‘ll get it.

40. What can you hear now? Mostly just the AC and the tack of the keys on the keyboard. Occasionally a particularly loud vehicle makes itself known.

41. Where do you feel the safest? Curled up with my partner and dog.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? Probs my anxiety.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? 

44. What is your most used emoji? The crying laughing one. I survive on sending stupid memes and shit back and forth with too many people. After that, the heart.

45. Describe yourself using one word. Oof

46. What do you regret the most? Not trusting myself when I figured out I was trans back in undergrad. That whole decade of burying it all and internalizing a lot of transphobia really did a number on myself.

47. Last movie you saw? I think it was Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn

48. Last tv show you watched? Rewatching Avatar with my partner right now. We just finished She-Ra.

49. Invent a word and its meaning. I just... I don’t know. I’m a Webster. I just compile what other people say in a book.

[lynneshobbydomain]

Vengeance Chapter 8

(Thank you all so much for the reblogs and the likes, you guys keep inspiring me to create this story. It’s a very intense and taxing story, and I still admire those who can write thrillers and mysteries. If you have any comments or suggestions, I’m always thrilled to listen.

Thank you @sinfulwonders for betaing me. You always manage to reign me in and point out when I get to excited and go down a plot hole I can’t get out of!)

Rated: Mature (Themes of kidnapping)

Summary: Amateur Detective Shuichi Saihara knew that searching for the “Usual 16” wasn’t going to get him anywhere. The disappearances weren’t being tracked in any news outlet, and very few families even tried to come forward to ask for help, let alone to report them missing. Yet, Shuichi can’t shake off the feeling that there’s a reason behind the disappearances, and he’s close to the answer.He just didn’t realize that the answer was going to hit close to home, in more ways than one.

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You can read this under the cut or at A03

[Seeker: Shinigami-san, I have a question I’d like to ask you, if it’s at all possible. ]

[Shinigami: I can attempt to answer. ]

[Seeker: Is it common for them to forget their names in the game? ]

Shuichi held his breath as he watched the chat log fly through different people’s opinions. He had managed to get into a DM with Shinigami, and somehow Loki managed to invite himself into the chat as well. He supposed that while he had been watching the recorded episode, something must have changed between the two users. He wasn’t about to press and pry however, he had bigger fish to fry.

[Loki: Yeah I was wondering that myself the other day. I thought it was common, so I didn’t ask. Haha. ]

Shinigami did call out Loki as a person who was new, but Shuichi wasn’t too certain about that. Maybe not new in the sense that he just got into the game, but maybe new in the sense that he had been in and out and was just recently back in? It was hard to tell. Some of these users had been around for years. Some of them griped about how different the chat log was, and how the rules were stupid about not complaining. Of course that instantly got them banned. Shuichi glanced over at the episode that was playing. Currently, Rantaro was making his rounds, checking in on the other players.

Currently, Rantaro was conversing with Yadori as they walked down an overgrown hallway. “I got into it when I was really small. I guess I just liked that I felt like I was flying, I could do anything! Every single spin and twirl, I always want to try to go higher, last for longer.” Yadori explained, as they turned a corner. “One day, I hope to be in the Olympics!”

“Sounds like you have a lot of work cut out for you, Yadori-chan.” Rantaro gave her a lazy smile, but it was full of pride. A type of smile a brother would give to a sister. “When we make it out of here, I’ll be sure to swing by one of your performances. I bet watching you would be a treat.”

“Mhm! Yes!” Yadori beamed. “I’ll have to make sure to save you a ticket.” She tugged on a strand of her hair as she smiled shyly. “It’ll be nice to have a friend support me in the stands. I’m used to it just being my parents, and people who I thought were my friends.”

Rantaro frowned, folding his arms as he spoke. “That’s not cool.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so either. I broke off with them a long time ago. Still...it hurts thinking that they were hanging around me for my fame. Rather than because they actually cared about me. I tried teaching one of my friends how to skate once.” Yadori tugged her hair sharply. “It didn’t work.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” The silence was heavy between them for a moment. Shuichi could feel the tension between them. Awkward and tight. If he could leave that situation, he would’ve, but the cameras were still rolling. Clearly there was either more to say, or they were waiting for some sort of bombshell. “You know...I admire Yuya-chan.”

“Yuya-chan?” Rantaro was  bit taken aback, and Shuichi couldn’t blame him. “Why?”

“She’s fearless.” Yadori gave a nervous giggle, pulling her hair and then twirling it from left to right between her fingers. “She has this “I’m going to do what I want” type of personality. All you can do is watch her go after it. I got to go into her lab the other day. I never saw so many explosives and different fire hazards in my life. I told her she could burn that lab down so easily...she said that she knew.”

“I’m going to have to keep an eye on her.” Rantaro mused. “Last thing I want is for her to get hurt.”

“I think she’s very used to getting hurt.” Yadori commented. Rantaro sent her a look and she wilted a little. “I’m not saying that’s a good thing, Amami-kun. But I am saying that she’s used to it. Probably a bit too much.”

“Like an addiction?” Rantaro frowned. “I wonder…”

“You two!”

Both Yadori and Rantro looked away from each other to see that Ajishi was coming towards them, looking fierce and red. Her hair was a mess, her ponytail was falling apart. Her goggles were slipping off of her head and her mask was down and under her chin. “I would like to ask you to meet me in the dining hall ASAP.”

“Uh...why?” Yadori blinked.

“Just do it!” She snapped before she turned on her heel and walked off.

Shuichi blinked slowly. That wasn’t typical Ajishi behavior. Rantaro folded his arms against his chest, his eyes narrowed at Ajishi’s retreating back. “Something has her twisted.”

“That was terrifying.” Yadori pursed her lips together. “I wonder what happened...do you think everyone’s going to be there?”

“If it has something to do with the killing game, we probably should go.” Rantaro agreed. “I doubt anyone wants to go up against her wrath right now.”

“Oda-kun might.”

“Oda-kun’s reckless in his own right.”

Shuichi turned his attention away from the conversation and looked over at the chat log. He knew that when Shinigami had a lot to say, it was best to let him type it all at once, rather than trying to get a word in edgewise.

[ Shinigami: I understand that I should probably keep this brief as there is a character limit and it took me sometime to figure out what facts I should omit. Allow me to preface this with, it is not uncommon for Danganronpa to want to do something new with their series. Like I have stated before, they usually change it up by themes, but they also change it up by talents. There has been a case where a class has effectively stalled the game, only for them to wind up dead. But that is not the question you’re asking and I’m digressing. ]

[ Shinigami: Usually the gimmick is that there is a person within the group that does not know what their talent is. Their memories are usually a little more jumbled than the rest of the groups, but other than that they are in the same boat. No advantage, but plenty of disadvantage. Many times, those who have that gimmick are treated like the “mastermind” of the game. The entire reason that they are playing. Of course that has only been done once and with success. Other times, it has not been done, due to its predictability. You can imagine the ratings went down. ]

[ Shinigami: Most people again who have this gimmick can remember basic memories. Some of them can remember if they had family and friends. Some of them can remember nothing. It really depends on the person. That being said, this is the first time where they have done a gimmick where the person has no idea of their identity, but knows their talent. Not only have ratings gone up, but a lot of people are speculating over the fact that she may be the next one to die, or the next survivor. As everyone likes an underdog to win. ]

More entertainment. Shuichi frowned deeply as he read Shinigami’s words.

[Loki: We’re still not going to get a TLDR version of that are we? ]

[ Shinigami: I believe Seeker-san was the one that asked the question. ]

[ Loki: I’m calling favoritism. ]

A loud slam startled Shuichi into looking back over at the episode, jarred out of his thoughts. Everyone was seated at the long table, besides Ajishi who was looking livid standing at the front of the dining table, her hands flat on the surface. “I have a strong hypothesis as to what this is.” She said darkly, “But if you confess now, your sentence will be light, I assure you.”

“Oh no!” Oda spoke up. “Whatever are we going to do?! What’s our punishment, Ajishi?” His school uniform, aside from Shirogane’s, was plain as it possibly could be. Easily mistaken for a popular middle or high school depending on his age. The emblem of Danganronpa was on his left breast pocket. The only thing that seemed off about him was his actions and his words, they were far too comfortable in a killing game.

“I have yet to decide but it will not be pleasant.”

“I think we should know what it is we’re about to be punished for.”  Yadori spoke up, leaning back and staring at Ajishi. “You can’t just accuse people and tell us that we’re going to get hurt.”

“No that is accurate I cannot.” Ajishi took a deep breath. “Who broke into my lab to steal a valuable set of chemicals? Specifically, chemicals that if you use the wrong proportions, will turn into a hazardous gas that can kill us?”

Everyone froze.

[Shinigami: Oh that would be a new way to murder someone. I don’t think anyone has attempted a gas as of yet. Though then again, the victims are usually limited to one person until Monokuma gets bored and gives a daily double, so to speak. ]

[ Loki: Sooooo the gas would be technically breaking school rules. Right? ]

[ Shinigami: Depends on how they use it. They can use the gas and lock a room. They can use the gas in someone’s lab. It’s not illegal until someone spills their plans to Monokuma. ]

“What’s this? A gas? Wohohoho! How exciting!” Of course, speaking of the devil would make him appear. His kubs weren’t trying too hard to be a part of the show, then again, Shuichi had a feeling that they were a recent gimmick and they were trying them out slowly. Introducing it to the crowd, gauge the audience's reaction to them, before adding them more and more. “That is a way to cause a murder!”

“That is if they use the wrong proportions!” Ajishi cried out, slamming her hand against the table violently. “If you use the chemicals correctly and with care, you can knock people out instead.”

“That is interesting. So someone’s wanting to knock someone out then.” Oda spoke up. “Who here has something that they want so badly in the outside world, that they’d straight up try to kill all of us all at once?”

“Hahaha! If that happens, that’d be too boring. You’re only allowed to kill one person. One murder for you!” Momokuma spoke up. “After all, we can’t have a class trial if no one’s there to point fingers and accuse each other. That would make me a very sad bear.”

“So we have to kill one person, survive being accused, and we get out.” Chatani spoke up, her pen up against her bottom lip. She looked among her peers. “So then getting those chemicals was a worthless idea.”

“Getting, Chatani?” Oda echoed. “Do you have something to hide, sweetheart?”

“Call me that again and I may just ask whoever stole them to use them on you.” Chatani replied, her eyes narrowed at Oda. Shuichi shrunk in his chair at her gaze, knowing full well it wasn’t at him, but still feeling it’s effect. Oda, on the other hand, laughed as though she was just making a joke.

“Pupupupu! Looks like you all are in trouble! Don’t forget that you’re all underneath a time crunch.” Momokuma teased, but clearly knew that his presence was no longer needed, and disappeared as fast as he reappeared.

Shuichi pursed his lips together as he watched everyone else look at each other, or stare absently at the table. “M-maybe you should tell us how the chemicals work?” Maeji offered hesitantly, her usual chipper demeanor was subdued and hesitant. “That way if someone did grab them, and were going to use it correctly...they know how?”

“I’d much prefer to get them back.” Ajishi frowned deeply. “It is irresponsible for me to just leave it like that.”

“Don’t you think it’s irresponsible to let us play with them without knowing the instructions?” Oda asked lazily. “Because that’s what I’m thinking is happening here.”

“Well now you’re just making me hypothesis that you are the one that stole the items.” Ajishi snapped at Oda. “Where did you take them, thief?”

“I admit I am a thief, you got me there.” Oda grinned, all teeth and too wide for anyone’s comfort. Shuichi wanted to back away from the computer and away from him. He was a dangerous individual. “But giving something back ? A little naive of you don’t you think? Consider them a loss and move on. Just tell us how to use them properly so we don’t accidently kill everyone here.”

“Unless, was that the point?” Rantaro questioned and the room went still. Not a single person wanted to open their mouths, everyone once more were looking at each other with suspicion and with hesitance. Anyone could be a murderer, and now someone had the means to become one.

Ajishi whimpered, falling back away from the table. Her earlier sign of aggression disappearing at the admission. She looked around at the table, her eyes welling up with tears and her cheeks turning a bright red. “You are all awful people.” She finally said, her voice cracking. “Using chemistry to hurt people rather than to save.”

“We are in a killing game.” Ougai spoke up, his voice cold and distant. He leaned back, arms folded against his chest as he leveled his gaze at the chemist. “Not a single person here can be considered innocent. Not even a doctor. Not even you.”

“I would never kill!” Ajishi shouted.

“Says the chemist who doesn’t know that her own little hobby’s being used.” Oda taunted. “It appears that she doesn’t-”

“Half of the blue. A couple of drops of the pink!” She suddenly held her head, gripping at her strands. Tears streamed down her face as her shoulders hitched in time with her sobbing. “Just...please don’t use them to kill people! I’m begging!” She whimpered. “You don’t need a lot to knock someone out. A fast...a fast dab on a cloth will knock them out for approx-approximately ten minutes.”

“See?! Was that so hard?!” Oda beamed.

“I hate you!” She screamed. “I hate all of you! I hope you all rot in hell!” She suddenly stormed out of the dining room, slamming doors behind her as she went. The echoes rang against Shuichi’s brian.

[ Shinigami: So I was wrong in my assumption that she might be the murderer. Unless that was an act. Then that was well performed. ]

Shuichi didn’t have any words to describe how he felt about that. He was positive that Ajishi so far wouldn’t commit a murder. If she was going to, then she would clearly stay away from her hobby, which was smart. It would cast a lot of doubt off of her, and she might be able to buy herself some time. If she was good at framing people, her chances of survival just might increase.

“So.” Rantaro spoke up. His tone and the way he spoke was casual and laid-back, but Shuichi could hear the sharpness in his voice. “Does anyone really want to confess who took that set of chemicals, or are we going to be playing hard to get?”

“She might’ve misplaced them.” Yadori shifted in her seat uncomfortably, her gaze turning to the table. She didn’t look like she wanted to be there any longer than she had to. “I don’t know why she thought accusing us was going to get anywhere, or threatening us. Punishment? That’s just too cruel. We’re already being punished enough, aren’t we? Just by being here?”

“We didn’t ask her where they were stolen from.” Aki’s finger curled against her chin. “We didn’t ask her if it was from her lab or from her room.”

“Oh? And why does that matter?” Oda asked, a languid lit to the words.

Aki didn’t spare him a look. Instead, she turned her attention to Rantaro. “I think that her chemicals are taken from the lab. Her lab has a lot of ventilation going through the ceiling, so if anyone knows the pathway up in the ceiling, or even knows the keycode that she has on her door, it’s easy to get in. I know that Ougai-kun has unlimited access, but he wouldn’t steal.”

“Already striking him off from your-”

“You would though.” Aki’s attention turned to Oda. “You and I both know the air ducts. I know because I saw you go through them.”

“....” Oda’s face went carefully blank.

“I don’t know what you plan to do with them,” Aki said slowly, “or if someone begged you to steal them out of a dare. But I hope that you can live with yourself with whatever comes next.”

“Are you threatening me, pretty bird?” Oda asked, his voice low and quiet.

Shuichi’s attention turned towards Yadori who suddenly had frozen. Her eyes were wide with shock, and she was quietly trembling. He wouldn’t doubt that she was squeezing her hands into fists against her skirt underneath the table. She was sweating at the accusations that Aki was flinging. He leaned back slightly in the chair, pursuing his lips. If he didn’t know better, Oda got those chemicals for a reason. Yadori somehow knew something, or she was afraid that she was going to be the next victim. He didn’t recall Oda and Yadori conversing much through the few episodes that he saw, but at the same time, Shuichi didn’t catch most of the live-version. The edited version probably snipped all of that out. Trying to make it look more exciting than it was.

“No one is threatening anyone.” Rantaro quickly interfered. “Knock it off the both of you.”

“I dink y'all need da cool down,” Kokai said, folding his arms against the table. A lot of energy looked as though it was being drained from his very being. He slumped over the table and Shirogane who was sitting next to him this time patted his back kindly.

“I think that we all need to settle ourselves too. This is just like Detective Conan! We just have to retrace our steps and everything will work out. Besides, I don’t think any of us really have it to murder anyone.” Shirogane agreed cheerfully. “We should keep our heads up high and beat this game using peaceful measures.”

“Well. I’m done being accused of doing something I didn’t do.” Oda snipped as he stood up. “Later losers.” He walked out of the dining hall, and little by little everyone trickled out besides Rantaro, Shirogane, Aki, and Kokai.  The four of them sat in the dining hall, silent.

“What are your guys thoughts?” Shirogane asked. “I’m thinking that we should do something to lighten the mood. It’s a bit heavy right now. I wasn’t expecting that sort of confrontation. I thought I was being forced back into an EVA.”

“I have no idea what that is, but you’re right we can use a bit of a break.” Rantaro laughed. “You know a lot of anime don’t you?”

The conversation dissolved into nothing but chatter, and Shuichi’s mind was still swirling around the mystery. He knew that there was really no point in trying to solve it right now. That was their mystery. He couldn’t go through the screen and tell Aki whatever answers he came up with, even if he wanted to. God did he want to. This wasn’t her forte, this wasn’t...she wasn’t like her dad or like him. She stayed away from detective work.

Yet somehow, Dangaronpa took one look at her and thought that she was a good candidate for whatever that they were planning. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen and saw that it was starting to get late. Soon enough the school announcement would come on and say that it was nighttime.

[ Loki: Mayumi-chan sure has some balls on her doesn’t she? To call him out like that? Oda-chan wasn’t expecting that much was he? ]

[ Shinigami: I may have to revise my thought process on who the two survivors are going to be. She’s smart, as though she hangs around thieves often. She also explored the air ducts, something that not very many participants ever do. No one ever sees any reason to go up there unless the riddle tells them that’s where the next flashback light could be. ]

[ Loki: Want to ramble on what a flashback light is? ]

[ Shinigami: How about I make you suffer instead, and you get to find out for yourself? We’re almost at the crescendo. I have no doubt that tomorrow morning, we’ll be looking at our first class trial. Most people are probably already calling in to work as we speak, only if to get to be a part of that glory. Humanity is beautiful when faced with an adversary and I have yet to be disappointed in how the participants of the game react to it. I wonder how they will fare when faced with death and uncertainty? ]

[ Loki: Not sure, but I bet Mayumi-chan has a few tricks up her sleeve to keep her alive. ]

[ Shinigami: I see. So if you were someone that took gambling pleasure, your money would be placed on her, yes? ]

[ Loki: I’d go a bit farther and stick my life on it. ]

It was a bit strange to see that exchange. Shuichi didn’t really get the hunch as to who Loki could be. At first he thought it was Kokichi, but he again decided against that theory. It could be Takahashi, taking on some of Kokichi’s traits in hopes of throwing off suspicion, but he doubted that too. He didn’t want to bring attention that he might know someone in the chat, as he knew too well that it could be used against him.

Just because Danganronpa went after people in newspapers and local celebrities, didn’t mean that they didn’t look at the chat logs. It didn’t mean that every word Shuichi typed was a step closer to them thinking about using him, or him getting closer to Danganronpa. This was the closest he ever had gotten to closing a case. He just needed to keep his cousin alive for a bit longer, and to figure out where Danganronpa’s headquarters were.

He had to figure out how Aki went missing. Where they picked her up, and began the trail where her’s ended.

Without saying too much of a goodbye, Shuichi closed the website, and leaned back against the chair, trying to gather his wits. One thing at a time. The mystery that was happening in the school couldn’t be solved right now. That was on the participants to figure out.

Right now, Shuichi got up from his chair and grabbed his hat from the bed, tugging it down harshly. He had a trail to track.

                                                       X

The city at night was always a strange sight to be around. There were little to no people that lingered on the sidewalks or walked down the streets. The white noise of different conversations blending in together was absent, making every noise amplified. Shuichi could hear the sounds of a cat running through an alleyway, knocking things over. He was certain there were raccoons as well trying to make some mischief. The police might’ve already scoured the area that Shuichi was heading down, but he didn’t care. If his theory was correct about Danganronpa, then the investigation wasn’t as thorough as it could have been. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, unfamiliarly familiar with the route that he was going down on.

He only walked Aki to school a handful of times. Each time was strange to him, like he was going against his nature. It was new, shiny, and it made his heart race despite that there was nothing that could harm him. It went against his routine and his nature, so he was always struck dumb at the twists and turns that the path took. His school was more heart of the city, while hers took shelter away from the main streets, nestled in the outskirts of residential areas. The apartments and houses that lined the streets showed off a different spirit than the neon signs and the flashing lights of main streets and shops.

The silhouettes that were cast by the buildings made the streets feel empty and abandoned. There were some houses and apartments that still had a soft yellow light glowing from their windows, but with the curtains drawn so that no one was looking outside, and Shuichi couldn’t look in. He didn’t mind that all that much, but he still felt as though there were eyes that were lingering on his back, watching his every move as he walked through the streets, trying to keep his mind focused on what he was there for.

The moment he got to the intersection, he looked around. It was a tight spot where the cars could only go in two lanes. There were usually more people riding bicycles going down this way. He had seen cars have a few jams because of how slow the lights were to change from red to green. He watched the walk sign turn on and he ignored it.

Shuffle told him that Aki didn’t make it to school, and he knew that this was where they would have met. Shuffle just lived down the road if he turned a hard left. Widow was in the opposite direction on the right. Widow didn’t usually go their direction for school, she normally took a different route. However, with the cars going by and Aki was paranoid, he didn’t doubt that Widow woke up early to walk her and her girlfriend to their school.

Which told him that she didn’t make it to the intersection. That was fine. It was good to get familiar with the old route. To get familiar with the surroundings before he decided to dive in. He walked back towards the beginning, right where he and Aki would normally split off. He closed his eyes, he took a breath, and then he started walking, his hands still stuck into his pockets as his eyes stopped taking in the sights, and starting taking in more of the nooks and the crannies. He let his feet carry him to where he needed to go while his mind sharpened, trying to think of what could have happened that day. Aki didn’t make it to school. She had no idea that she wasn’t going to see the gates. Which means that wherever she had been taken, it was quick and it was somewhere along this stretch.

Every alleyway that he crossed, he stopped momentarily at the mouth of it, peering in the darkness like he could peel back the layers and see what happened. Usually nothing. A dumpster if he was lucky. Usually it was just clean with some vandalism that wasn’t D.I.C.E’s doing. He made mental marks that they might want to hit these spots a little more than the outlandish “let’s vandalise near a hospital” plans Kokichi sometimes put up with.

He walked up the street and then pretended to freeze. If anyone was going to be following, they would start soon after the third or fifth alleyway that he passed if not just randomly turning from a storefront or from around the corner of the houses. Instincts were ingrained in both of them to be aware of their surroundings. To check in with their vibes. A gut reaction of “something is wrong”.

Aki would use a compact mirror. She’d pretend to fix her hair. She probably saw the black car, or someone behind her that immediately turned alarm bells on. Shuichi glanced over across the street. There could be a way to get to school from that direction. He didn’t know. Aki might’ve thought. She could have taken out her phone, plugged in her school address and tried to find a new route that way, or she could have gone on whim and prayed for the best. He looked to the side, a convenient alleyway, with a turn.

She would run down here, she’d toss her bag because she would want some piece of evidence of her disappearance somewhere. The bag would land somewhere against the wall. The pursuer already knew of that plan of action, probably knew that she was going to bolt. They had been silent, trying to stalk, but she’s too observant and they took notes on that. She was going to make it hard on them if she was just kidnapped off the street. It was easy to herd someone to go down an alleyway. It was easy as making them feel as though it was their only option of escape.

She didn’t even make it to the cross section. His eyes dropped to the ground to see a broken charm bracelet. Before he picked up the charm bracelet, he took out his new phone and got to the camera section. He snapped a few pictures of the charm bracelet and the location before he bent down to make sure that it was safely back in his possession.

He looked around the alleyway, trying to envision the scruffle. Shuichi wouldn’t call himself paranoid, but Aki had her moments. She lived looking over her shoulder. Whether she was trying to run a shoplifting heist with D.I.C.E, or was dragged into tagging a wall or a building with Deuce and Kokichi, she was always on alert. Kokichi complained about it sometimes, about how she didn’t let herself go and have fun. Like everyone else was supposed to. Shuichi never saw her relaxed unless she was playing on a stage, or...if she was in the killing game.

Which was why he decided it was odd that there was no caution tape around the area. Which made him suspicious about why he found the charm bracelet, when the police should have easily spotted it first. Spurned with that idea in mind, he walked over towards the dumpster, not needing to pull it open to verify his thoughts. Aki wouldn’t throw away anything. She would hide it.

He got on his hands and knees, mindful of any glass that was shattered around him and looked to see that there was a backpack wedged tightly against the wall and the dumpster. It was being squashed, the fabric wrinkled and looked as though it was tempted to tear. He scooted himself up close against the wall and weedled his arm through the opening. His fingers brushed against the fabric a few times before he managed to catch a bit of it. With careful and patient pulling, he coaxed the backpack out from its hiding place. He could hear the wall catching onto the fabric, scraping it loudly against the silence of the alleyway. It made him wince at the sound, but he didn’t want to get distracted and lose what grip he had on it.

It popped out after a while and he made a soft noise in the back of his throat as he looked at the backpack’s fate. There were some holes, some tears. The backpack was scruffed up, the brown leather didn’t want to hold up against the weight of a heavy dumpster and the wall. He carefully unbuckled the backpack and upturned it to see that her things were still in there. Her phone, her D.I.C.E scarf that had been hastily thrown in. Sheet music scattered about along with her homework packets and notebooks. Pencils threatened to roll back underneath the dumpster, but Shuichi caught them in time. They were cutesy and usually disallowed in school, but Aki was careful to keep her head down low. Her notebooks were covered in stickers that she didn’t care for or wanted to keep. Her student I.D., her wallet with a bit of money still tucked in, it was all there.

Shinigami said that it was a gimmick. Shuichi covered his mouth with his hand thoughtfully before adjusting his hat, unsure. There were too many possibilities. He wanted to believe that it was just a gimmick, that Danganronpa was just having a little too much fun with the idea of having someone not know who they are. The other possibility is that they were using that as a cover. Just because he was having a hard time figuring out where they heard of her didn’t mean anything. Chances were, they knew exactly who they took. Whether it was to appease the police force that they were so tied up with, or whether it was for saving their own necks, they thought it was best to conceal her identity, and with it, anything that she might’ve held dear.

The second thing was that since Aki was so paranoid, she clammed up. She gave a false name to Danganronpa. She told them that they got the wrong person, and without her student I.D, they couldn’t confirm or deny her claims. Shuichi couldn’t really buy into that theory, but...if she was paranoid...she might’ve stuck with the idea to stay silent about herself anyway. He covered his mouth as his mind spun. He closed his eyes, trying to get a clearer, better picture.

It could have been all three events. Aki staying silent, Danganronpa decides to go her route because of entertainment value and it would keep the police off their back. Aki didn’t know that they were going to do that, and accidentally helped them create the perfect alibi. Her stuff was missing, which was no skin off their nose because “Aki” was missing. Everyone else in the world would look for “Aki”. With the blouse, the clean jeans, who spoke her mind but was mostly quiet.

They weren’t looking for Mayumi, with the messed up hair, the mismatched arm warmers, the torn jeans, the quick to accuse.

How much of that was Aki acting? He never thought his cousin could act, let alone keep up a facade. Kokichi could. Kokichi was a master at it. Most of D.I.C.E were. Maybe she picked it up from them?

How much of that was Danganronpa trying to make a quick buck? What was the purpose of taking these kids and putting them into a killing game? A snuff film sure, but Shuichi had his own suspicions that there was something more deep in the rabbit hole too.

There was a soft throbbing that was starting to hit just behind his right eyebrow and Shuichi winced. There were too many unknown variables, and there were too many questions that were starting to surface again. He could only go with what he knew, and that meant taking the bag with him. It meant telling his uncle what he knew about Danganronpa and seeing his thoughts about it.

Shuichi carefully gathered up the papers and the pencils and placed them inside the backpack with care. He made sure to fold the D.I.C.E scarf as well as he could and tucked it in there as well. Once he was certain that he didn’t miss anything, he slipped the charm bracelet into the bag as well. He shifted onto the balls of his feet and hauled it up and over his shoulders, putting it on. He left the alleyway behind, knowing that he was going to have to come back to it another day and see if he couldn’t figure out what direction they might’ve taken her.

[alphawave-writes]

Play me a memory--A sigma fic

Summary: Sigma hopes to transcribe the universe's melody, in hopes of awakening his true powers, but gets more than he bargains for when the government facility he has escaped from has found him once again.

Read it here, or find it on AO3

-

Sigma sits in front of a piano. Not the Bechstein studio grand piano that used to sit in his apartment in The Hague but a cheap, upright Yamaha instead. He knows it is old just from the touch, the damp thud of the keys and the slow responsiveness of the pedals. Most aggravating of all is the tuning, the way the notes sound off to his ears. He does not have perfect pitch, and he never will, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the shape of a note. Middle C is a yellow circle, and if he rises it up to a D, it transforms into an orange triangle. He hypothesizes that his abilities over gravity have given him a sensitivity to the electromagnetic waves that make up sound, but he cannot test this without rigorous testing. The beauty of these powers is that there are so many potential experiments and possibilities.

It’s been a long time since he’s played. Or at least, he thinks it’s been a long time. The last time he had touched a piano was one week before he went up to the international space station that caused his accident, but time is no longer linear and memories no longer make sense and he cannot say how many years have already passed since then. Has it been three years or longer? He cannot say.

He very much prefers listening to music rather than playing it, but he does not have that luxury. Talon is many things but it is not a musically inclined organization. His previous request for an parabolic microphone must have fallen upon flat ears for the next day he gets a regular microphone, the kind used for karaoke parties. It didn’t even have the batteries in it. So it is a miracle of sorts that his request for a piano got through. It was probably salvaged from a nearby dump, but it is still in working order, and he is grateful for whatever gifts Talon bestow upon him.

His body suddenly stiffens as he feels a shift in the air. He turns his head slowly, eyes wide as he finds himself staring back into his face. Only it’s not his face but another version of him, decked out in the orange jumpsuit that government facility crafted specifically for him. His copy smirks sinisterly.

 “Gravity is like sanity. All you need is a little push.”

“W-w-what?”

 “They called the geniuses of old insane back in their times.”

He is frozen in fear, staring into a face that is his but not his. The other approaches him and places his hands on his shoulders. He can feel the energy being sapped away from his body, his twisted mirror image growing larger, impossibly larger than him. As the energy leaves his body, he can feel his mind clearing. As his mind clears, he can see this twisted alter ego for what it truly is. It is sin, the devil in disguise. And behind that disguise is the black hole that destroyed his career and his mind. And it laughs. It laughs so viciously.

He feels his body suddenly being rattled back and forth, and his mind is clouded once more. The cloned image of him is gone, replaced by an annoyed woman with chocolate skin and purple lips. Her hair is parted to one side, showcasing the cybernetic implants glowing on her skull.

“Are you OK, old man?” She huffs.

Sigma is about to say “no” but he shakes his head and clears himself of the hallucination. It is easier to keep the fractured pieces of his mind together when he has a familiar face by his side. “Y-yes, I’m OK. Sorry if I scared you, Miss Olivia.”

“Ay, don’t call me that. Call me ‘Sombra’ like everybody else.”

“Sorry. I’ll…try and remember for next time.”

“I give myself a cool name and no one takes it seriously anymore,” she mutters to herself. Her eyes fall on the piano. “We have a piano? When’d we get one?”

Sigma smiles, relieved for the change of subject. “I asked Talon to provide it for me. I told them it was necessary for my experiments.” He raises his eyebrows. “I guess you could say this is an instrument in more ways than one.”

Sombra makes a face that is a cross between a cringe and a wince. A lot of people make that face when he tells jokes. So many years later and people still do not appreciate a good pun.

“A-anyway, I had a breakthrough last night,” he continues. “I have harnessed the harness that is gravity, but I have yet to maintain it in whatever shape and form I desire. I was at a roadblock. Then, it hit me! I’ve been thinking about it all wrong, you see. I’ve been trying to use my equations and quantum instruments to further my research, but I’ve yet to use the most important tool at my disposal.” He smiles in excitement. “I’ve got the universe’s melody in my head, playing on repeat. I’ve heard it so many times before, so I must be able to play it in the real world. If my theories are correct, it is as simple as transcribing a piece of music by ear.” He plays a chord and frowns. “Unfortunately, it seems music appreciation does not equate to music composition.”

“Wait wait, so you’re telling me that playing the piano,” she gestures wildly at the object, “is going to help you create a black hole again?”

His eyes brighten. “Yes. That’s precisely it! I knew you would understand.”

Sombra raises her eyebrows in disbelief. Out of all the Talon operatives that Sigma has encountered, she is the least judgmental—or rather, she is the least likely to dismiss his ramblings completely. She can be rather judgmental when she wants to be, often when it comes to Reaper and Widowmaker, but she makes no remarks about him. Perhaps she thinks it is bad taste to make fun of a man crippled psychologically like he is. Or maybe she doesn’t care enough to say anything about it.

He turns back to the piano and starts playing discordant notes. It has been years since he played but he remembers how to lie his hands, where the keys were, how to make his fingers glide over the faux ivory. He’s almost startled by the ease in which he remembers, because he knows he cannot account this for mere muscle memory alone. There are some things people do not forget, he knows that, but it’s unnatural how comfortable he feels in front of the piano.

It’s almost as if he is supposed to be here. Like the universe is calling to him from within the hidden strings. His fingers fly across as if in a trance. He hears the whispering in the air, but he’s not sure if it’s the benevolent universe or the demonic other or some other creature outside the confines of time and space that have decided to play their games with him. He listens and copies their words. A dark expanse of his own creation surrounds him as his eyes turn cloudy.

He hears someone snap their fingers impatiently in his ears, and turns to find Sombra next to him. She looks annoyed but there’s a familiar shimmer of pity in her eyes. It betrays her, just like his mind betrays him.

“Earth to Sigma.”

He winces. “My apologies.”

“I don’t know what goes on inside your head. You have the thingy on. The pedal. You’re pressing on it.”

He glances down at his feet, which are currently covered in pink wooly socks. They are expensive, and currently his only frivolous purchase since joining Talon. He does not remember putting them on, or when he bought them, or why he chose pink of all colours. On closer inspection, he sees that his foot is firmly pressing down on the right pedal.

“Oh,” he says, surprised himself. “So I have.”

Sombra groans loudly. “I don’t know why they tell me to watch you. I just wanna go back to my computer and watch some videos. Play some games. Hack some dudes or something.”

Sigma frowns. “You do not have to supervise me if you don’t want to, Miss Oli—I mean, Sombra.”

“Nah, the boss will kill me if I do that. I gotta make sure you don’t get yourself into danger.” She walks over to the side and leans dramatically over the top of the piano. “C’mon, piano man. Play a song.”

“This piano is for research. It is certainly not to be played with.”

“But I’m so booored.” She rests her head on her arms. “You must know some song, right? Play me one.”

“I shouldn’t…” he begins to say, but his mind is already buzzing with the songs of his past. One sticks with him, imprinted in his soul. A song from his past that spoke of simpler times.

He looks up into her eyes and falls victim for her doe eyes. He takes a deep breath, composes himself as best as he can, and begins to play Erik Satie’s Gnossienne 1.

It’s not long before he gets lost in the melody. Music is a language as easy to speak as English and Dutch. Sentences flow from his fingertips, time condensed into notes and sounds. Dark magic threads and twists from his wrist as gravity lifts up and away from his body. His mind drifts away to become one with the song, splinters of his childhood resurfacing. Images of his piano instructor in his majestic home, stern and imposing. His father falls asleep for the last time in his study, the sky outside the window going from day to night, the stars twinkling in rhythm to the invisible song.

Objects float and fly above him. Particles transform into one-dimensional strings that ascend into higher dimensions. The piano rises with him. There’s a yelp of surprise. “Let me down, let me down!”

His eyes widen as he finally notices Sombra, flailing her arms as she floats helplessly in the air. In that instant the spell is broken and the world returns to clarity. Gravity returns with a shuddering thud as the two of them crash back down into orbit. He is able to land gently. Sombra does not have the same luck.

“D-Dios mio, you’re going to kill me!” She hisses, rubbing her backside painfully. He doesn’t want to tell her how lucky she was. A few centimetres to the right and she would have been trapped under the piano. On one or more occasion, he has commended Talon for having the mindfulness of nailing everything in his lab down. It has prevented more than a few accidents due to his ever shifting powers.

She looks at him sternly, fire in her eyes. He shrinks a little.

“I’ve theorized for a while that my abilities are linked to my mental and emotional state. It seems music is able to amplify my abilities.” Sigma puts his hand on his chin and frowns. “Perhaps later I can determine the source of this ‘amplification’ and utilize it myself. Right now, however, it is an unfortunate complication to my experiments.”

“I’ll say. You’re going to hurt yourself at this rate.”

“I realise that, but I am close, I can feel it.” His hands glide over the dusty top of the piano. “If I can just find the correct song, I might be able to harness the fullest potential of my abilities.”

“Then maybe put the piano in a different room? So you don’t destroy everything in this room if you do find it?” She suggests.

“No, I…it’s better that I am here, where I cannot hurt anyone.”

Death has unfortunately become the new norm in his life. As payment, Talon tasks him with going on missions with their officers, and that often leads to a battle to the death. No one expects an old man like him to fight, and they definitely do not expect to be flung around like paper ragdolls in the wind. It’s frightening how the guilt washes away easier the more blood he must spill. During one such mission, he almost found himself enjoying the violence.

He places his fingers back on the keys. Sombra takes her place in the far corner of the room and watches warily, away from danger. There are no more fluctuations in gravity that day.

-

He plays and he plays, morning day and night, but he is no closer to his goal. He has continued his normal experiments, with the piano experiments continuing during his break. He eats and drinks and sleeps, but it is at a bare minimum. Why is it now, when he seeks out the song does it decide to run away? Why is this silence louder than noise, overwhelming him with nothingness? Why is it when his mind has never been clearer does a part of him yearn for the spark of insanity?

There is madness in his actions, but it is controlled and tempered. His equations are correct, as they always have been. He has ripped out a bit of paper to write sheet music on and has done his best to interpret the song. He can only work through sound. If only he knows an expert in music composition, or sound engineering. His understanding of sound is limited to his extensive knowledge of electromagnetic waves. Tonality, timbre, chord structure, they are patterns he hears but does not understand.

It’s late at night but he presses onward. He’s close, so very close, and he must work now while his mind is still whole. The pieces never hold together for this long, and sooner or later it will fracture, but he must press onward while he still has control. He wants to feel normal, and to feel normal is to surround himself in his research, pushing forward to new limits and new heights. The stars call out for his name. First he must understand and master his abilities. Then he can continue his original dream to see the stars outside their humble galaxy and walk on the surface of planets that are not his home.

He doesn’t hear the thudding footsteps approaching in the dead of night. He doesn’t notice the red light on the security camera suddenly go dark or the crack of his lab door breaking open. It’s only when he hears the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being taken off that he finally notices that he’s no longer alone. Three men stand before him, each training their guns on him. The sigil of the government facility he escaped from is displayed fully on their uniforms. It taunts him in a way that a gun to the head cannot. His heart leaps out from his chest.

“Subject Sigma,” one of them barks. “Come with us quietly, or we will shoot.”

Despite every instinct in his body, he cannot move. He is frozen in place in front of the piano, trapped, as if he is still tied down to that accursed bed, like his freedom and everything since is a dream he has conjured. He can imagine their hands forcing him into horribly itchy orange jumpsuit, the unprofessional way they injected their sedatives into him, the way they talk about him like he’s beneath humanity, a hideous creature without thought or intelligence.

“Didn’t you hear what he said?” A second soldier growls. “Get a move on!”

His eyes glance around, desperate for a way to escape, but there is none. The exits are watched by more soldiers. The very safety features within this room, designed to minimize the harm he can cause with his powers, are now the portents of his doom. In this section of Talon’s HQ, no one will hear him if he screams, and even if someone does, he will have less than a second before he’s shot dead. He might be able to block or absorb most of the bullets, but it will be futile. It will buy him seconds, maybe a minute. It’s not enough.

Even the voice that screams for violence in his ear is unnaturally quiet. It knows that taking the offensive will not help them survive in this situation. They’re trapped.

The third man steps forward, a curious smile spreading across their face. He orders the other men to stand down. As Sigma watches, he sees that this man is not dressed like the others. He wore glasses over his eyes instead of the tactical masks everyone else did, and his uniform has the markings of a combat medic rather than a soldier.

“It’s good to see you again, Siebren.”

The realization floods him with a feeling of terror but he hides it behind his gritting teeth. This is the doctor that was in charge of him back then. This was his torturer above torturers, Satan amongst the demons. “Dubrovnik,” Sigma spat.

“You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? A nice fancy lab, some powerful friends on your side,” His eyes glance down. “Loving the socks. Really sells the old man look.”

“What do you want?”

“To finish my job, and that is to keep you contained,” Dubrovnik said.

“You cannot stop progress.”

“You are a threat to humanity.”

“I am in control.”

“Until when?!”

Sigma stiffens. Dubrovnik puts his gun away and approaches slowly, the hunter coming to collect his prize. Sigma doesn’t react when Dubrovnik tugs his chin forward, jerking his head up to look into those cold, black eyes. Dubrovnik is significantly shorter than him, but in his seated position, their heights are roughly equal. It’s a frighteningly familiar feeling, being manhandled like this, like he is just a piece of trash on the ground.

He wants to choke him, make him suffer, make him hurt in all the ways he has been hurt, but he can’t and Dubrovnik knows this. Dubrovnik relishes in it. He was, and still is, a sadist.

“Out of the oven and into the fire, right, Siebren?”

“What are you talking about?” He rasped.

“You don’t know what Talon is?”

“They saved me!”

“You never thought why?” Dubrovnik’s lips curl. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because they want a weapon. They want Excalbur, and you happen to be the one who pulled it out of the stone. They want war, Siebren, they don’t care about you. As soon as they can wield Excalibur for themselves, they will throw you away like trash. And when they have Excalibur, no one will be able to stop them. They are terrorists. You know this.”

He wants to tell Dubrovnik that he’s wrong, that Talon is an organization of intelligent men and women who want to help humanity take the next big step, but he sees the heat in Dubrovnik’s eyes and he cannot help but take pause. Dubrovnik truly believes this. But why? He is needed, he is important. They will not go through the trouble of saving one man unless he’s important. They have been so kind to him, provided so much for him. They will not abandon him…right?

Dubrovnik takes a step back, Sigma rubbing his neck self-consciously. He’s not sure he imagines it but there’s a flicker in Dubrovnik’s eyes, almost like he pities him.

“If you come with us, we will help you subdue these powers. No one will hurt you or use you. I promise.”

“How can you promise that, you Croatian hypocrite?” Sigma snarls.

“Because no one should wield the powers you wield. Not you. Not Talon. No one.”

Dubrovnik puts his hand out and Sigma is left dazed. He glances around at the guards, emotionlessly watching the exchange. As far as Sigma can tell, Dubrovnik is sincere. And that terrifies him, because Dubrovnik knows something he doesn’t. About Talon, probably.

Sigma realizes in that moment how little he knows about Talon. All he knows is that they support cutting edge research, and have a private military to protect themselves. What is Talon’s goal? Why did they bother with an old man like him?  

He almost reaches for that hand, but Dubrovnik’s form swirls and shifts and suddenly his mirror image is standing there, orange jumpsuit and bitter smile and all.

 “Will you really submit yourself to him again?”

“What else can I do?”

 “You know what to do.”

The mirror image gestures behind Sigma, pointing at the piano. His skin pales.

“I-I can’t. I need to hold it together.”

“A little push,” they say as Dubrovnik appears once again from the smoke. The mirror image is no more.

“If you’re done with your muttering, would you kindly come with me, Siebren?”

Sigma turns back to the piano, his eyes wide. He can hear the melody again. The universe is speaking for him again. It asks him to play its song. It shows him the chords. It tells him the price it will wreak upon his mind.

It’s a price he is willing to pay this time. He turns around and opens the lid for the piano.

“What are you doing?” Dubrovnik asks.

“Let me play one more song before I go,” he says. “It’s my final request.”

He sees the blank faces looking at him in the reflection of the lacquered wood. In the darkness he finds his place on the faux ivory easily. He presses his foot lightly down on the pedal, spreads his fingers on the keys, and pushes his fractured mind off the cliffside. With perfect precision he plays a song of his own creation, a tribute to the song the universe sings.

Memories of his past resurface. The bitter judgment of his academic rivals, the callous disregard of his piano instructor, the stars in the sky, the sorrow of losing his home, the rage of knowing no one cared enough to find him. Dark emotions coalesce into space as gravity releases itself from its chains, sending everyone in the lab flying. There’s screams and shouts as guns are ripped from people’s grasps. Dubrovnik is saying something to him. A plea, a beg, something along those lines, but all Sigma can see is the cosmos expanding, with him at the epicenter. He’s no longer playing the piano; gravity is doing the work for him. He flies above everyone else, his hand outstretched. With every bit of himself he loses, he gains control. The dark voice in his brain laughs in murderous glee.

“D-d-don’t do this, Siebren, please! You’re better than this! You’re not a murderer!”

Alarms are going off above his head, painting the room a bright red. People are holding onto each other, trying to hold on. They know what is coming before he does. Despite the chaos and turmoil before him, he is strangely at peace. The universe sings its lullaby to him from the piano. There is no time signature, no bars, no rhyme or reason. It should not work, but it does.

A placid smile escapes his lips as he brings everyone crashing down. The crunch of broken bones is followed shortly by the bellows of pain. The dark voice takes over, grabbing one of the guns, still hovering up in the air. He shoots—not accurately, but he shoots. There is silence, save for the klaxon above his head and the whimper of one more person.

Dubrovnik crawls towards the door, broken. His left shin bone is sticking out from his pants, trailing blood. Sigma calmly floats forward, the dark voice in control as he pushes the might of gravity upon Dubrovnik’s head. There’s a gasp of air, and then the crunch of bone, and finally a squish. Red liquid oozes out of every hole of Dubrovnik’s head.

It’s not long before Talon realizes the reason for the breach in their HQ. Reaper and Widowmaker are the first ones there, guns at the ready. They round the corner to Sigma’s office down, ready to fight, only to discover the aftermath of a bloodbath. The entire lab is splattered in crimson, dead bodies lying in crooked angles and twisted postures. A pile of guns are stacked in one corner, all crushed and broken. By the door, a man's head looks to have been squeezed together.

Sigma sits alone on the piano stool in front of the cheap, upright Yamaha piano. He is perfectly clean, as is the piano. As they tiptoe over the bodies, careful to not step on the blood, Sigma turns to them with a stern but relaxed expression.

“You’re late,” he says, before waving dismissively. “It’s fine, though. I handled it. I think I even learned a new trick or two.”

If Reaper is not wearing his mask, they would see his mouth open and shut. He’s speechless.

“Since you’re here, how about a song?” Sigma cracks his knuckles and places his fingers on the keys. “How about ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel? An old classic.”

No one says anything. Reaper and Widowmaker stand there while Sigma plays and sings along from memory. They do not move. Their eyes are concentrated on the swirling dark energy hovering over the piano, bopping in tune to the beat of the song.

[inversionimpulse]

“but isn’t Akatsuki a nazi?”

okay so I may not be the ideal person for this explanation on account of never having played Akatsuki Blitzkampf, having only a periphery connection to it via UNIB, and not knowing enough Japanese to understand the story outside of what scraps of translations I can find on the internet

in fact I probably shouldn’t even be trying on account of those details, because the chances of me being completely wrong aren’t exactly small

but here goes anyway, because this misconception annoys me and I’m pretty sure I’m about to see a lot of it, with Akatsuki being added to BBTAG

the answer to the question in the title is “no.”

Allow me to give you a quick summation of Akatsuki’s story:

A super-soldier, “Experiment 1,″ codenamed “Akatsuki” is created by the Imperial Japanese army. A device called the “Blitz Engine” is implanted in his body which gives him incredible power over electricity.

Right at the end of World War II, Akatsuki embarks on a mission to the arctic, ostensibly to carry the thus-far produced Blitz Engines to safety. In truth, however, he planned to destroy them. The submarine carrying Akatsuki crashes, and Akatsuki is frozen in the arctic ice, surviving only due to his superhuman nature.

Fifty-ish years later, Imperial Japanese year 266X (200X AD) Akatsuki breaks free of the ice, arriving in a “present day” quite unlike our own - the Japanese Empire still being around, at least in name, for one thing. He immediately resumes his mission. He travels south and heads for Japan.

Arriving at Mt. Fuji, where there was once an important research lab, he comes into conflict with an Imperial Japanese agent with “cancellation orders.” As far aw I can tell, that means either “take him into custody by force” or “kill him.” Either way, Japan wants the Blitz Engine back and Akatsuki isn’t about to hand it over. After defeating her, and in doing so effectively defecting, Akatsuki moves on to the peak, where he encounters an old friend of his, an army surgeon curiously named Fritz despite being Japanese.

Acting on information given to him by Fritz, Akatsuki makes for Tibet, where a secret society called “Gesseleschaft” composed of Third Reich remnants opereates in secret. There, he does battle with the Elektrosoldats and Blitztanks, mass-produced soldiers fitted with imperfect reverse-engineered Blitz Engines. At the head of the Gesseleshaft conspiracy, he finds four figures: Adler, a nazi scientist who stole Fritz’s research to re-create the Blitz Engine; Mycale, a body-hopping witch who has been manipulating human history since the Middle Ages; Perfecti, who unfortunately I’m not really clear on; and Murakumo, “Akatsuki Zero,” the prototype.

Murakumo, who had sent Akatsuki on the Arctic route knowing it would end in failure and who had given Akatsuki his orders to destroy the Blitz Engines, plans to use his new Blitz Engines to rule over the world as “the human God.” Akatsuki will have none of this, believing that “Human is neither a god nor a machine” and that the power of the Blitz Engine cannot be allowed to continue existing. He proceeds to completely destroy Gesseleschaft and every trace of the Blitz Engine. This done, he walks away from the wreckage and isn’t seen again.

... that wasn’t as short as I wanted it to be

Anyway, in a way, you could consider him something like a Japanese equivalent of Captain America (which you probably already are, after reading the whole “supersoldier frozen in the arctic” bit), especially in that he embodies many of his culture’s virtues (stoicism, discipline, honour, determination, and so on) without falling prey to its vices (isolationism, xenophobia, discrimination, and so on) and also they both fight mad scientist nazi remnants.

TLDR: Akatsuki is ex-Imperial Japanese army (which wasn’t really any better than the nazis, in fairness), but he defected and is currently a rogue agent beholden to no government. He has a strong sense of justice and no qualms about fighting even his own countrymen for what he believes is right. He is not by any means a nazi. In fact he fights nazis.

now Blitztank on the other hand is a nazi, yeah

[aetherical-cosmos]

The Horrors We Bear: Part 2

(⚠ Trigger warning! Death, autopsy procedures, possible post-gore)

I felt I was at a complete loss.

I performed her autopsy, only to find that her lungs were full of water that was not native to Ul'dah but to the western Thanalan area, Vesper Bay to be precise. The silt and clay-like sediment there was slightly caked around her bronchioli and I couldn't really see any other cause of death but drowning. There was only a slight bit of blood in her lungs, possibly from vessels bursting as she inhaled so much water and the over-contracting of her lungs to dispel it. I chalked it up to a classic case of someone drowning her and left it at that.

Who would've done this to someone so young and full of life? Her name was Serena Torwyn. She belonged to a family who loved her. She had friends who were now mourning her loss. A wealthy merchant's daughter, she was in the prime of her life enjoying privileged luxuries but also made her mark in the world as a philanthropist and charitable towards those less fortunate. She was also engaged. However, what didn't escape me before learning this knowledge was the absence of said ring though it was obvious it was something she wore daily by the intention left upon her skin. Nothing of her past suggested anything but an honest, hard work, eager student to learn her family's craft in the jewel trade in order to see it succeed for her own goals. To have that all cut so short so senselessly began to make my blood boil.

My assistant Sera had been taking my notes as I guide her through the entire exam. I checked her eyes, they were milky white with the luster of death. I also checked her body for any other possible wounds, anything that would lead me in a possible direction for better evidence. Nothing. Defeated about this whole ordeal, I sent my entire lab staff home to be with their families so that I might have a bit more peace and quiet to concentrate on this case. All of the signs pointed to a malicious drowning; this was an angry death. I felt it in my bones as I started to cover her back up and place her body back within to cold storage.

The only way I'll know about the actual death is to retrieve some kind of evidence from the bay. Damn my lack of learning how to swim! Dad, Uncle Ivar, Uncle Reese? My brothers? I'm sure they'd be willing to lend a hand.

After such a long morning of trying to figure out what was to come of Serena's case the very next day, I felt I was at a complete loss.

As I sit here at my desk as I mentally prepare for the Torwyn autopsy, I just stare at the blank parchment in which I would start the preliminary findings of my report.

Vesper Bay in Thanalan is quite deep, despite how tranquil and inviting the surface of the water looks, and what evidence I've been able to gather from Serena's autopsy gave me samples of plant life and silt and debris that are not common to Horizon or even outside of Ul'dah. When running the samples that came from her lungs with local bodies of water, Vesper Bay was the closest match. Dad and Uncle Ivar braved early morning fog in order to get to the bottom of the bay and retrieve some samples of the mud and silt.

We had an absolute match.

So, what happened?

I start the autopsy with eagerness to retrieve the evidence needed; my findings collaborate that she was alive when she went into the water, as a fine white foam was found in her airways; the water that had eventually resurfaced and was churned while in the process of trying to be exuded from the body. This happens shortly after death, when the brain is still providing electrical impulses to the rest of the body as it struggles to stay alive without support from the heart or other vital organs.

I make a small incision with my scalpel at the lower area of her left lung, taking care that it doesn't collapse while I hold my finger over the cut to place a small glass tube into it to filter out the contents within. A collapsed lung was messy business and would disrupt whatever evidence may still be in her lungs in order to properly diagnose a CoD and retrieve evidence. The silty liquid within would filter out into a small bucket at the side of the table I kept her on. I'd do the same with the other lung once I gently pushed upon it to make certain that all of the liquid was expelled before I could perform the procedure.

I begin to cut through the layers of her skin and lungs to find that her bronchioli are covered and surrounded with tiny spores, speckles of mud and mold here and there, and lots of silt. He must've had her at close to the bottom when she took her last breath, whether it was shallow or deep water...the silt was the same throughout the bay floor. There is a larger amount of blood in her lungs, moreso than what would normally be found from a drowning. I follow the path through her nose and lower throat to the lungs and see nothing out of the ordinary.

Her lower throat was quite swollen from asphyxiation. I found it curious that a piece of that thick bay kelp was sitting around her throat when her body was brought back to the lab. Could the drowning have resulted from that?

My assistant, Sera Kierney, documents my findings as she remains with me. She's probably one of the few people in this office that has legible handwriting aside from myself and often I have her write out the obituaries for the deceased as she delivers them to the various city-state news criers for me. She's a very special girl, near and dear to my heart as her kindness towards her fellow man just completely astounds me. She sees me smile at her, she remains a safe distance away from me to protect herself from injury or infection.

"Is something wrong, Dr. Nicholaides?" She could always read my concerns like she had a sixth sense for it.

"Honestly, this death...it was angry, violent. I can't help but feel a screaming at the back of my mind that is nagging me forward to discover more about what had happened to her. Listen, Sera, the Sultansworn are requesting this report personally because they believe that the current investigation of certain Syndicate members could be partially related to this case. Whatever findings we come across will be presented to the Sultansworn as evidence. Don't say anything, this particular case has to be 'by the book' politically and if they're involved, this will be one way to find out."

Sera nodded. I could hear her continuing to scrawl out the dictation from me. I could trust her to know that everything I said would be recorded verbatum. "Dr. Nicholaides, this is technically my first time recording a drowning. Would we need to take any special care to the terminology that we use so that way it's easily understood by the officers reading the report?"

Gods, Sera. This is why I chose you.

"Yes. We need to make this as layman as possible for them to understand. Not everyone is familiar with our vocabulary. Medical definitions probably won't be as easily understood by the law enforcement officials as they are for the medical community. So, let's begin with proper, basic procedure about how to diagnose a CoD properly."

I take a deep breath, still inspecting Serena's inner organs for any other clues.

"Alright, let's start with the given obvious:

Drowning: suffocation due to immersion of the nostrils and mouth in a liquid.

Qualifications of Drowning:

• the mechanism of death is complex and varies somewhat with circumstances. It is not simply an asphyxiation due to suffocation in a liquid.

• immersion of the nostrils and mouth is the minimal requirement, typically the entire body is submerged in the liquid.

• the liquid is most commonly water but drowning can occur in any liquid e.g. beer, wine, or some other chemical solution.

Mechinism of Death:

Drowning in the aspirated water is rapidly absorbed from the alveoli into the circulation producing an expansion of blood volume, haemodilution and haemolysis. Within three minutes of submersion is circulatory overload, hyponatraemia and sodium/potassium imbalance together with myocardial hypoxia resulted in a dramatic collapse of systolic pressure quickly followed in the majority of cases by ventricular fibrillation.

In the case of Serena Torwyn, there is terminal pulmonary oedema:

Phases of Drowning:

1. Submersion is followed by struggle which subsides with exhaustion and drowning begins.

2. Breath holding lasts until carbon dioxide accumulation stimulates respiration resulting in inhalation of water.

3. Gulping of water coughing and vomiting is rapidly followed by loss of consciousness.

4. Profound unconsciousness and convulsions are associated with involuntary respiratory movements and the aspiration of water. Respiratory failure precedes heart failure in one-third of cases it is coincident in one-third and follows it in the other third.

5. Death occurs within 2 to 3 minutes. Death is almost invariable when the period of submersion exceeds 10 minutes.

Pathological findings thus far:

Foam in the airways;

Emphysema aquosum - The lungs are voluminous/bulky/ballooned. The pleural surface has a marbled appearance with grey-blue to dark red areas interspersed with pink and yellow-grey zones of more aerated tissue. They feel doughy and pit on pressure. On sectioning there is a flow of watery material. The appearances reflect active inspiration of air and water and cannot be reproduced by the passive flooding of the lungs with water.

Foreign material in airways, lungs and stomach - sand, kelp and silt are found in all airways;

Middle ear and mastoid air cell hemorrhage;

Along with the above listed, she was asphyxiated with the assailant behind her and pulling his force backward with an unidentified object's impression left against the skin of her throat and causing massive contusions from the collarbone to jawline areas."

Sera nodded as soon as I had finished speaking. "That sounds very thorough, Dr. Nicholaides. Is there anything else you'd like to add before I start to close this documentation?"

I had to stop and think about it for a moment. I shook my head. "No, none that I can think of, sweeting. I very much appreciate your diligence in making sure the wording is correct."

It was odd that all I could think of was the vision I received when I retrieved her body the night before as I began to close the chest cavity, weaving a fine twine in and out of her flesh as I tried to mend it together as best I could. Once I was done with that, to prevent what bleeding the body had left to do as it wasn't going to mend from the surgery, I peeled off my gloves and pulled out a large, thick, padded gauze to wrap Serena's cold body within to soak up any possible blood that would've leaked. It would've made for bad form if, during the funeral, blood started seeping through her clothes. I couldn't have a poor grieving family seeing such a gruesome sight after the traumatic loss of a loved one.

My assistant pulled out the appendage extensions, sliding them from underneath the main table as we propped Serena's arms upon them. I'd double check them to make sure there wasn't anything I didn't take note of. From there, Sera pulled her arms out, streamlining them above her head as we began rolling her torso, rotating her entire body so that it was a decent wrap. Once we felt content that we had used enough gauze, I used a bonding agent against some parchment paper to seal the gauze against her body to seal in any moisture.

Once I was finished with my work, I was exhausted. The intricate networks of nerves, tendons, and connective tissues are a map of frustration. Sera and I pushed the appendage extensions back underneath the main of the table, picking up her body, putting back on the gurney and wheeling it back to the cold storage. We pulled the metal pull-out ledge out just enough to place her body back upon it as carefully as possible. 1...2...3...we picked her body up via bedsheet and placed her back flatly upon it. Sera was tender in the handling of this young woman's body, being the utmost respectful as she wrapped the sheet back around Serena as if she was tucking her into bed. We pushed the metal ledge back into the cold storage door, Serena's body vaulted within.

I looked down at my clothes, thin cotton tunic and loose color-matching pants. I took off the layer above that as it had a few tiny amounts of blood on it. Instead of sending it to the laundry I just simply discarded it as I began to wash my hands, my thoughts drifting to how we were going to retrieve more evidence I needed from the bay. All I could think about was the cold water to running over the skin of my fingers as I tried to clear my mind. I looked down at my right index finger for a moment, thinking in parallel about where Serena's had cut off at the top digit. I shivered and shut the water off, flinging the water from my hands into the basin as I looked about for a towel. The soft cotton against my skin gave me a sort of odd comfort for a moment.

I walked back to my office and pulled my white lab coat around me. I had several, but this one was my particular favorite as it had "Zarabeth Corynne Nicholaides, Physician/Medical Examiner" monogrammed upon the area between my shoulder and breast. It also carried a few pins: my graduate pin from the academy labeling me a doctor, my honors pin from the place within my class I had graduated, and a commendation from the various city-states in Aldenard for my dedication to my job. One last one was there as it was an amethyst in a gold setting, heart-shaped and engraved "With Love, Daddy and Momma". I looked at it a moment and smiled, I hoped that I had reached that point in my life where they both had finally accepted my path of choice...I at least knew Daddy had. He's already once seen me hard at work, especially while I was comforting a grieving family.

Sera insisted on remaining to clean up the surgery theater. I couldn't help but smile. She knew that I had wanted to get out as soon as I could to take my first breather of the day though the sun was completely set. "Go on, I got this", she'd reassure me. I nodded, "You know how to get a hold of me if you need me for anything. As always, thank you so very much for all of your hard work Sera...it's very highly appreciated."

I walked out, locking her in as I always did. I nodded to the two Flames guarding the office door and took the short route to Iria's office in the Lavender Beds.

I had a sneaking suspicion that this particular case was going to be a difficult obstacle to overcome in the weeks and months ahead and I had to do everything I could to prepare myself mentally for it. I had mental endurance for days but, unlike the typical cases I usually handled on a day to day basis, this one was, I knew for a fact, going to be far more complex than anything that was routine for me. I could only hope that the mental acumen and investigative practices the law enforcement officials of the realm could meet the expectations and succeed the faith the public places into them to find the guilty party and bring them to justice. Time would only tell what was in store for me as the investigation started to unfold. My question wasn't one of whether or not I was prepared, but moreso of what would linger with me in the coming days ahead. It was an obvious given that this case would be a memorable one whether I chose to commit it to memory or not.

Someone would eventually be brought to justice with blood on their hands, and I would eagerly await the opportunity to learn of whom was the guilty party.

[writing-worlds-and-tips]

Dystopian Tips

Dystopian is also a genre that takes a lot of world-building, but its elements are more realistic than sci-fi or fantasy. Common topics that dystopian novels will be centered upon are war, corrupt governments, and diseases. If you want to try this genre, here are some tips that will hopefully help.

Read dystopian books. I say this about every post that is about a specific genre, and you might’ve gotten sick of it by now. But this is extremely important. If you’ve never read a dystopian novel, there’s no way you’ll be able to write a good one. Take inspiration (but don’t plagiarize) from your favorite dystopian novels. I recommend The Hunger Games, Divergent, and Matched.

Find your issue. Do you want to write about war (in that case, check out my post on writing about war)? Most dystopian novels have government systems that are...questionable. What other problems are facing your world? Poverty? Disease?

Think about the current world. Think about current technologies, the current government system etc. There are also many problems facing the environment today, such as climate change. It’s beginning to affect our world slowly, if we don’t fix it fast enough.

Think about your future world. The future should definitely be different from it is now, because dystopian tends to be in the future, when things have become corrupt. Regarding the climate change issue in the point I discussed above, maybe the world is slowly dying because of climate change and your protagonist has to fix it.

Think about what changed. Worlds don’t magically get destroyed overnight. Something has to have happened between modern life and your future dystopian world. You should be able to explain that in your novel, without info-dumping. Maybe the government’s refusal to solve the climate change problem caused the world to slowly die.

Your protagonist should be pushing for change. Because things are normally corrupt in a dystopian novel, your protagonist is the one tasked to change it. They shouldn’t do it by themselves, however, because one person cannot change the world alone. Maybe a teenage girl is tasked to save the world from meeting its doom, and she works in a lab to help climate change subside a bit, along with older scientists and mentors.

World-build effectively. Dystopian is one of those genres that require intense world-building, like fantasy and sci-fi. However, it can be easier than the two genres above because some of the elements you need to world-build can be rooted in current realities. A world where the consequences of climate change has taken over is based on our current issue here. There should also be rules for the government, economy, etc.

There has to be a breaking point. What makes the public or government realize that things really need to change and they can’t put it off anymore? Maybe your protagonist and their friends expose a secret government scheme so everyone knows just how corrupt it is. Or maybe the president dies as a cause of climate change, which leads to the government to want to change. This is normally the climax of a novel.

Be descriptive. People should be able to imagine the events of your book happening in real life. After all, it could happen in the future. Describe your world with sights, sounds, feelings, smells, and tastes that your readers will never forget. It’ll make the world you built and your characters’ emotions come alive. Make them smell the dirty air and the panic among the citizens in the example I used.

Remember to edit well. Editing is important in dystopian novels, because there are many rules that you have created that world. It’s easy to accidentally break a rule without reasonable explanation somewhere in the middle or towards the end. Like any other novel, you should edit well.

If you love dystopian novels, maybe you should try to write one yourself. I’m planning to write one at the time I wrote this (March 10, 2020), but it might be started already after I wrote this. (I’m going to start in April). Read dystopian books, build worlds and characters, and have fun!