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bananaactivity · 3 months ago

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i saw benjay could you perhaps elaborate please i want to know more of your thoughts on them

(also what are your thoughts on poly ships)

FIC INCOMING: Rebound relationship with actual feelings attached ( it’s still unhealthy though)

For poly ships I’d say that I don’t know much on the inner workings of them. I support it tho, irl and in fandom.

As for Ben and Jay it’s not something the actual series has any hints to. So all my thoughts rely on the circumstances of my AU.

(The characters attend college and Auradon is like a gated community opposed to the isle of the lost being a prison island ig.)

Mal and Evie are endgame in my AU however before they get there Ben and Mal have something going on. It goes up until the second movie where they break up, and this time they stay broken up and during the Evie/Mal lovers ballad they actually get together and they also still save Ben and return to Auradon.

Technically that means that Evie cheated on Doug but Doug and Chad deal with that together for a min. As for Ben he’s really distraught and lonely. And Jay has pent up emotions from his beef with his arch rival. So here’s the small excerpt for that:

A couple of weeks post the battle with the Sea VKs Ben was still holed up in his personal dorm suite. It was a bit strained those first days since they got back. He was the future king and all, it was because of him that the four of them could attend Auradon Uni at all. But he just…disappeared. He didn’t come to class or lunch or see anyone at all. A shame he was choosing to hide his face, if Jay was a hot prince who had it all he’d show his face every day. But he wasn’t worried they’d be kicked out. Ben was too sweet. His friends couldn’t see that though.

“ Someone has to check in the poor dear. It’s very well likely he could snap and send us off campus! I’ve spent a year’s time on my studies! I’m not throwing all that time spent away over a failed relationship, do you know how many designs I could have come up with in all that time!” Carlos was flippant as usual. One moment he had concerns over Ben’s wellbeing the next he was screaming about his clothes. “Carly don’t bug out, Ben wouldnt do that I’ve known him forever!” Chad, Carlos’ new little puppy dog. He played with his rats Patch and Rajah letting them crawl on Carlos. They were the best of friends after rooming together that first year. They’d had such fun together they requested to room again this year. Jay couldn’t be too mad at that, he was a good friend to Carlos and he had a good point.

Evie was antsy. “ Maybe Chad has a point guys, Mal and Him weren’t dating before he let us attend ADU?” Mal squeezed her hand, they had been extra lovey dovey now that they were together. Jay would never tell them this but it made him jealous, his long standing romantic interest had just been confirmed to be an impossibility when they left The Isle. “ Guys why is this even a conversation? Not only is prince Pretty boy too nice to kick us out he’s also too smart. As much as you don’t want to admit it, letting us attend ADU was a political move. He’s showing his future people that he’s gonna foster change when he’s in office. He won’t take that back and I’m sure he’ll be fine. Though why you’d stop snogging a face like Ben’s I don’t get. He looks like a good kisser.” Jay joked

He then sighed feeling he had quelled the situation. That didn’t last long before Mal spoke. “ Jay you go check on him.” “ What!” Great. “Yes Jay. You were the closest with him after me, weren’t you? I doubt he wants to see his ex or his exs girlfriend.” Jays mouth was agape. He appreciated Ben but Jay could hardly call himself a reassuring person. “ What about Carlos?!” Carlos sneered at them and got up in a huff knocking down Rajah the rat who plopped into Chads lap with a squeak“I wouldn’t have come over here to eat with you peasants if you were going to outsource me for your dirty work! Let’s go get dinner Chad! I’m feeling Italian cuisine.” Jay watched him walk off with a willing Chad trailing after him, rats in tow.

Mal looked back at him with big eyes. “Please Jay I just want you to check. I don’t want to be the reason we lose our futures here. We have a chance to be something other than…” She trailed off. “Fine. Mal. I’ll check on him but I’m telling you he won’t kick us out.” “ Thank you Jay.” Jay got up and left, before he had to endure his friend’s being all mushy and happy.

“ Benjamin Florian Beast open the fuck up.” Jay was banging on his friend’s Blackwood door. Sometimes the villain in Jay dreamed of stealing the door right off its hinges and selling it on the Isle. But Ben had become his best friend, Carlos and Chad had been so close that Jay felt a little shafted. Evie and Mal had already been distant when they dated their previous partners and now that they were with each other it was no different. Ben was his closest up until now. The door creaked open. And Ben peeked out. Surveying him he looked tired and yet irritatingly pretty. Jay couldn’t believe it, he’d showered at least but the tears and bed head were very apparent as well as the dark sleepy eyes. “Jay?” His voice was a little cracked and his eyes began watering. “Oh. Uhh hey man, I’m just here to check on you.” Ben’s eyes watered more and his lips trembled. “ Uhh Ben….” Jay stretched his arms out to the prince. At the slightest reach for him Ben flailed into his arms and sobbed. “ Oh my god Ben ,really?” Ben wasn’t a stick he had some weight to him but it was nothing Jay couldn’t handle and held him tight and hosted him up to carry him back into the room. Closing the door behind them for some privacy.

Jay attempted to let him down but Ben held on tighter and refused to let go, sobbing into his arms and mumbling incoherently. Jay sighed and and rubbed his back as he got more and more wet. After a bit the mumbling stoped yet still with many tears and heavy breath Ben started talking coherently “ Do you think I was really in love Jay Jay?” He sighed, it was nice to hear his nickname again… it made him feel special. “ I dunno maybe?” He had said he wasn’t good at reassuring people. “Really Jay. I’m asking you for real.” Ben moved his head back to look at Jays face, he still refused to let go of him it was much more intimate than what was normal. Jays heart beat harder and he felt awkward all of a sudden.

“ I don’t know Ben… Benji. I can’t tell you how you felt. But I can tell you that a lot of us are worried about you being holed by yourself up in here. It’s not good for you to be in a small space on your own like this for so long. Especially after the Isle.” This wasn’t entirely true. The others were scared of some retroactive revenge, Jay thought he’d be okay up until he became a water collector. And it was an even bigger lie that Ben was trapped in a small space. His prince dorm was very large with a huge bed a special shower room and large foyer with a mini kitchen and high ceilings with large windows. Spoiled pretty boy. “ I won’t be alone if you stay with me.” Jay stiffened and looked back down to the tearful man still clinging to him.

His hazel eyes refused to move from Jays and Jay was sure if he made any attempt to move from his grasp Ben would rather strangle him than let him leave. “ Okay Benji, I’ll stay. We can talk.” Ben sighed and sunk his head back into Jays chest still refusing to let go. “Thank you.” Eventually Jay managed to move them to the huge ass bed, his legs were getting tired and yet Ben still wouldn’t let him go. After sitting in tearful silence with his head rested on Jays shoulder Ben started talking again. “ I… I don’t want to be alone.” Jay laid his hand on Ben’s arm. “ Ben we’re in our twenties we have all the time in the world.” Exasperated Ben pushed his head up, still refusing to let go he glared up at Jay.

“Easy for you to say you meat head. I’m a gonna be king, people are going to be all over me in the media asking about my royal spouse!” He was cute when he was fussing about something silly, he’d always do that during game practice. “ So what dumbass aren’t you the prince? Just execute them!” Jay scoffed. He really wasn’t a very helpful, they should’ve sent Evie. “ No you goof!” Ben twisted onto his knees on the bed and completely turned to face Jay. “ That’s not who I wanna be! They all believed that Mal would be my queen and now I’m alone and I don’t know who I could possibly… I don’t want to be alone!”

Ben pushed into Jays arm and was getting teary eyed again. “ I thought… I don’t know why I tried to marry her… it’s only been a year? Audrey was awful and I saw a way out… but I still really appreciated Mal. No I… I…” The tears were flowing again. “ I miss Tourney. I wish I was Captain again, but I spent all that time with Mal. I always felt guilty when I was with her. “ He was rambling now and Jay wasn’t sure what to do. Ben was practically pinning him to the bed. “ Jay I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be a bad ruler.” Jay wasn’t sure what to do but look stupidly at the pretty prince bawling his eyes out all over him again.” I don’t know anymore, I just want to go back to playing Tourney with the guys. I miss Tourney and I miss you.” That last part hit Jay like a truck.

The tearful hazel eyes were boring into his with so much intensity Jay was staring to falter. “Ben don’t cr-“ And then most startling event of that night. Ben smashed lips onto Jays. It was sudden and shocking to Jay but he leaned into it. Ben moved his hands up Jays arms to his shoulders and around his neck. Bold ass prince. Jay reciprocated and bent his hands to Ben’s waist as they deepened the kiss. Ben tasted like a salty ocean and his lips were soft and just as talented as Jay figured they were. The kiss hadn’t yet fuzzed his brain fully and he pulled away. “ Are you okay Ben? This is. I don’t wan-.” He drifted off as he looked at Ben. His face was still wet but his skin was flushed pink. His eyes though, were heavy lidded and he was breathing heavily before he spoke. His eyelashes were sparkling with tears and his eyes were red from crying. He was still so pretty, Jay was sure he wasn’t that pretty when he cried.“ You don’t mind this do you.” Ben moved his hands down Jays shoulders to his arms that were still holding on tightly to Ben’s waist. It was a complete 180 and Jay was confused and sure that he was just as flush as his friends. “ I… yea… No. But you were just crying, I don’t know if you need this.” Ben kissed him again slowly and moved his lips to Jays cheek. His heart was faltering and he couldn’t exactly remember what he was meant to be doing. “ I do need this- if you’re okay with that.” Jay was nearly mush, this was sudden… but he understood where Ben was coming from. Jay had only just in the past month realized that his feelings for his nemeses was t just hate. But it was too late, and here was his close friend just like him, lonely, and gorgeous, coming on to him harder then anyone had before. Was it too soon, and what was right and wrong, was fading out of his mind.

It was gone from Ben’s mind too the moment he made the choice to kiss his friend. They’d deal with whatever consequences after they regained sensible thought. For now though this was good. Jay moved Ben’s face from his cheek and pressed his. Lips back onto his. He was completely pinned by Ben on his soft huge ass bed. Ben’s hands moved back to the top of Jays shoulders and in turn Jay moved back to his waist. He felt a tongue testing the waters at the edge of his lip and he let it in immediately. Savoring the taste and melting further into the kiss. Exactly how far was too far wasn’t really on their minds. How they let it get this far that weren’t concerned about. Running from what was truly ailing them, they sunk further into the other’s lips and let sensations override their systems. They both indulged into the fuzziness that blurred rational thought and consciousness and continued on.

Waking up the next morning Ben was straddled atop Jay, who was expecting some sort of talk on how it couldn’t happen again. Ben woke up and looked staight into warm brown eyes surveying him. Jay poised himself to speak but Ben kissed him before he could get anything out. Sliding down Jays cheek as he spoke “ I had a nice time last night, it really cleared things up for me… if you’re okay with it… we could do it again?” Jay considered this. His friends had asked him to check and make sure they wouldn’t all be thrown out of Uni. If this was the way to ensure their sense of safety… he couldn’t say he didn’t like the feeling. It was so intense he almost couldn’t trace the pain of Harry that lingered in his mind. Why couldn’t he finally have someone to himself like his friends. He could. He leaned into another long kiss. Ben sighed in relief and returned the kiss before Jay pulled away to give a proper answer- “I could get used to this.”

Yeah that’s like, the inciting incident for a whirlwind of a relationship. If you think it happened so fast… yeah that’s how it felt for them too bro. There’s missing elements from unreleased outlines I have, up until now there’s tension and flirty elements to the way they would talk and hang out before this happens. That’s why Ben says he misses Jay. And Jay figures out that his hatred of Harry was actually an intense crush ,but Uma and Harry had their own thing happening leading up until the seaside battle for Ben. So they’re both having intense revaluations and Ben decided to push out those feelings by coming onto Jay who he already had a small bro crush thing with. So it’s a little unhealthy but they think they need it. Will they work through it?? Who knows. Well I know but I’m not saying after that long ass post.

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doug-rattmann-appreciation-club · 4 years ago

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blood in my veins (whiskey on my tongue)

shout out to @silverstreams for being an angel and sending me a prompt

so uhhh here's a half-baked mob au

---

"So you're the one who's been rampaging through my city."

Chell is so fucking tired.

Blood, sweat, and grime stain her ragged orange jumpsuit. Her ponytail hangs loosely over her shoulder. Her chest heaves up and down, exhaustion threatening to catch up to her any moment now. She can't crash. Not yet.

She has to take down the woman who ruined her life.

Glados, the woman in question, stands triumphantly on the second floor of the warehouse, which is little more than a railed balcony circling the entire building. She looks down at Chell, probably because looking down at everyone is how she exists. She wears a spotless white suit that costs more than Chell's ever made in her entire life. She's... more attractive than Chell expected. Yes, she hates her guts, but even Chell can still appreciate a beautiful woman who flaunts power.

"You smell awful by the way," Glados says with smug relish. "I don't know who you're trying to impress besides the rats in the sewers. But you have an affinity for rats, don't you?"

How dare she. After what she did to Doug... Chell blinks away the memory of Doug being dragged away by one of her subordinates.

Chell has heard the stories. The one-eyed overlord of Aperture. A white eye patch covers her right eye, and her left eye is a sickly, inhuman shade of yellow. Inhabitants of her city whisper only in the most hidden dens about what happened to her. Some kind of lab accident gone wrong. Chell wouldn't be surprised. This is a rotten city, and the woman standing above her is its beating black heart. She's a sight to behold with her sleek white bob and crooked smile. How many victims has she flashed that smile to before asphyxiating them in a cloud of neurotoxin?

"Tell me, was your little crusade worth it?" she says.

There have been moments, in this hellish journey to get here that Chell's had second thoughts. But now, her mind is clear. Her path is set. Looking Glados dead in the eyes, Chell spits on her pristine floor, the mixture of spit and blood staining the white tiles.

Glados' mouth twists into an irritated scowl. "You think you're special? You're not the first one who's made it this far. It's pathetic really. Confronting me is probably the most significant thing that's ever happened in your tiny, sad life, but for me it's just another day of getting science done."

Oh, Chell knows. Knows how the odds are stacked against her. But she's thrown off every obstacle Glados' web of criminal affiliates have thrown at her. Getting this far means something. It has to.

Glados runs a pale finger along the rail. "Say, would you like to know how long the human body can survive a roomful of neurotoxin?"

It's then that Chell sees the gas mask hanging around Glados' neck and knows she is operating on borrowed time. There's no visible pathway to get to the second floor of the warehouse, but Chell's specialty is thinking outside the box.

Glados leans on the railing. "You came all this way, so you might as well sit. Get comfortable." She slides the gas mask on like it's a second skin. "You're not long for this earth anyways."

A green smoke starts to fill up the warehouse. Chell takes a shallow breath. Glados thinks she'll win. Why wouldn't she? She has the city. She has the citizens wrapped around her bony fingers. She has access to every scientific innovation within Aperture.

But Chell is tired, and she misses her friend.

Chell raises the very gun that Glados built and springs forward.

Aperture falls tonight.

#chelldos #I mean I swear this is chelldos if you squint #also I kept thinking about bioshock as I wrote this #glados #chell #portal fic #portal but it’s the mob

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thedanceronthestreets · 4 years ago

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PEDRO PASCAL GQ GERMANY - OCTOBER 2020

Original text by Esma Annemon Dil

Fotos by Doug Inglish

Styling by Simon Robins

Translated by @thedanceronthestreets

Intro: A broken tooth could almost have been the reason for our meeting with Pedro Pascal to be cancelled - and with that our conversation about roots, his new movie and times of change.

Interview: It is almost eery how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the gleaming sun. While Europe is finding its "new normal", people in L. A. are cutting their own hair even without being neurotics. Many of them have not seen their friends in half a year. The pandemic is out of control. So are the reactions to the situation. Inviting someone to a "distance drink" in the backyard can lead to the same consternation as proposing a relationship partner exchange.

All the more of a surprise was Pedro Pascal's immediate confirmation. To the drink, not the partner exchange. He is one of the winners this year - and if Corona had not forced the movie industry to go on a holiday, he probably would not have had the time for this drink. After "Game of Thrones", the series in which his head was squished, followed 2015 the leading role in "Narcos" as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the leap onto the big Hollywood screen. As of 1. October the Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". Furthermore, the second season of the "Star Wars" series "The Mandalorian" will start in October with him as the main character - unfortunately underneath the helmet. But we all seem to be under the same helmet in 2020. It is this man we want to meet, who worked as a waiter in New York a couple of years ago. Whose parents are political refugees that settled in Texas, and one day their son decided to walk into a drama club in high school.��

And then the cancellation. While we were preparing the house and garden for Pedro's drink and fashion shoot, which isn't an easy task under L. A.'s restrictions, his management called in with terrible news: Pedro has - no, not Corona - had to receive emergency surgery due to a sore tooth and is now lying in bed with a swollen cheek, making talking or shooting impossible. The sun shines onto empty streets. And our empty garden.

A few days later, he stands in front of the door anyway, no huge bulge in his face, but stitches in his gum. No limousine service that dropped him off, he arrived in his own car and picked up his makeup artist on the way. He helps her to carry in all the equipment and states first and foremost: "I've got time today!" What a star! It does not seem like we are about to ask him how he managed to become a Hollywood sensation, but rather him asking us that question. Pedro Pascal! So, what kind of star is he then?

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for ruining your plans. The operation was a total emergency.

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling was the result of a secret trip to the plastic surgeon. Apparently, because of the quarantine in Hollywood, their schedules are packed.

Sorry to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I raced to the hospital with a tooth fracture and the worst pain I've ever felt - a hospital where the severe Corona cases are treated. I was unable to contact any dentists! Right before I parked, a specialist called back. I'll spare you the details of the surgery, gruesome. The pain was excruciating despite the 10 anaesthetic shots. The doctor said I wasn't the only one going through this, a lot of people grind their teeth at night thanks to stress.

What are you most afraid of at the moment?

The way the government is handling the pandemic scares me more than the virus itself. The lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral disgrace. The leadership crisis makes orphans out of all of us - we're left to fend for ourselves.

How have you spent the last few months?

With frozen pizza in jogging trousers in Venice Beach. I live in a rear building that's in the garden belonging to a family. In reality there are enough good takeout restaurants around that area, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket.

That doesn't exactly sound like the movie star lifestyle. What does it feel like to be forced from top speed to zero?

Considering the things happening in this world, my own state really isn't the top priority. But I would have to lie, if I said I wasn't disappointed. The entire cast and crew of "Wonder Woman 1984" put so much heart and soul into the production. We had so much fun on set. I had hoped to carry this feeling of exuberance around the globe to the openings of this movie.

You are part of a political, socialist family that fled the Pinochet regime in Chile. What do you remember from back then?

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only nine months old when we claimed asylum in Denmark. From there, we moved to San Antonio in Texas, where my dad worked as a doctor in a hospital.

Texas isn't exactly considered to be socialist utopia. How well did you settle in?

San Antonio isn't a cowboy city but rather very diverse with large Asian, Afro-American and Latino communities. In my memory it's a romantic place, culturally inclusive. The cultural shock only hit when we moved to Orange County in California later. Suddenly, the environment was white, preppy and conservative.

How were you welcomed in California?

To this day I'm ashamed when I think about how I let my classmates call me Peter without correcting them. I'm Pedro. Even without growing up in Chile, the country and language are part of me. I was quite unhappy in that place. At least I was able to switch schools and visit one in Long Beach, where I felt more comfortable. With its theatre programme, I found my path.

Could you visit your family's homeland as a child?

Yes, after my parents ended up on a list of expats that were permitted to re-enter the country. First, there was a big family gathering, then me and my sister were parked at some relatives' place for a few months while my parents returned to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They'd had us at a very young age, had a vibrant social life, and my mother was doing her doctorate in psychology.

Was your mother a typical young psychologist that tested her knowledge at home?

You mean whether I was her lab rat? Absolutely. I can remember weird sessions camouflaged as games, where someone would watch my reactions to different toys. Even though I couldn't have been older than 6, I knew what was happening. My favourite thing was to be asked about my dreams. That was always a great opportunity to make up fantastic stories.

Was that your first performance?

Definitely! My strong imagination alarmed my mother, because I'd rather live in my fantasy world than in real life. I didn't like school. I ended up in the "problematic kid" category. At some point the subjects got more interesting and my grades improved. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be daunting. Why is it acceptable to be bored out of your mind in class, when there are more stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

With everything happening in the world this summer: Do you believe that social hierarchy structures are genuinely being reconsidered?

Hopefully. After the lockdown my first contact with people was at the Black Lives Matter protest. The atmosphere was peaceful and hopeful until the police got involved and provoked violence. At least during these times we can't avoid problems or distract ourselves from them as easily as we usually do. It seems that the pandemic provided us with a new sense of clarity: we don't want to go on like this.

The trailer of "Wonder Woman 1984" represents the optimism of the 80s. That almost makes one feel nostalgic nowadays.

That holds true. It's two hours of happiness. Patty Jenkins, the director, managed to make a movie full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, D. C., then in London and Spain - which now sounds like a different time.

Do you miss travelling?

I've only now realised what a privilege it is to just pack up your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you can travel freely. And that's why the small radius we live in now is kind of absurd. Over the last few years I often retreated in between takes, because I was always on the road and overstimulated. Friends complained about how comfortable I had become. We all took social interactions for granted and realise now how reliant we are on human connection. Now, I wistfully think about all the party and dinner invitations I declined in the past.

In L. A., people spend more time indoors or in nature than in other metropolises. Could this city become your safe haven after New York City?

My true home is my friends. Ever since I was young I've lived the life of a nomad and haven't set roots anywhere. Until recently, my physical home was a place for arriving and leaving and hence I didn't want to overcomplicate living by owning lots of things. The opposite actually: Without having read Marie Kondo's book, I got rid of all the stuff that was unnecessary and lived a very minimalistic lifestyle.

Is there something you collect or could never say goodbye to?

Books! I still own the literature I read during my teen and university years. Recently I found a box of old theatre scripts and materials back from my uni days at NYU. I can't separate from art either, same as lamps or old pictures. Furniture and clothes are no problem though, they can be chucked.

Do you remember any roles that were defined by their costumes?

Yes, "Game of Thrones" comes to mind immediately. During that time I first understood what it means, as an actor, to be supported by a look. I owe that to costume designer Michele Clapton. She developed these very feminine robes and brocade cloaks for my role that looked very masculine when I wore them. I felt sexy in them. And very important were of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's blond hair for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in "Wonder Woman 1984". Relating to the style, I couldn't really see myself in the role since the shapes and colours of the 80s don't really fit my body. My type is the 70s.

Do you adopt such inspirations into your private closet?

At this point in time, I'll choose any comfortable outfit over a cool look. Sometimes I mourn the days when I defined myself with fashion. It's a bit mad when I think about how, in the 90s as a teenager, I would go to raves; a proper club kid with crazy outfits: overalls, chute trousers, soccer shirts and a top hat like in "The cat in the hat knows a lot about that!" by Dr Seuss. Later in NYC I was part of a group that placed immense value on wearing a certain style. The fact that I only walk around in joggers nowadays is actually unacceptable!

Normally, actors who work on comic screen adaptations become bodybuilders and eat ten boiled chicken breasts per day. You don't?

My body wouldn't be able to handle that. I find it difficult enough to maintain a minimum level of fitness. As of your mid 40s, you suddenly need a lot more discipline. Until the tooth incident happened, I worked out a couple of times a week with a trainer to keep the quarantine body in shape.

What would annoy you the most, if you were your own roommate?

I can be very bossy. I have to gather all my goodwill not to force my movie choice on to everyone else. When I want something, I'm not passive aggressive about it, I attack head on. Also, I can get caught up in tunnel vision: When i feel down, I can't imagine that I'm ever going to feel better again. I have difficulty with seeing the bigger picture when experiencing problems or emotions. Method acting really wouldn't be my thing. That's why I try to only work on projects that feel good and where people encourage and lift each other up.

While you were trying on the outfits you pointed out a lack of self-esteem. How does that coincide with your career?

Isn't it interesting how traits and circumstances go hand in hand? Self-esteem comes from the inside, but it's also influenced by what society believes. We use critical stares from the outside against ourselves. I lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and worked as a waiter up until my mid 30s, because I couldn't live off acting. It was always so close. The disappointment of always just barely missing a perfect part or opportunity is exhausting. When is the right time to stop trying and what's plan b? That's not just a question actors ask themselves, but anybody who struggles to earn a livelihood - unrelated to how much potential they have or how close their dream may seem. We are beginning to see now how our narrow definition of success is destroying our communities. At the same time, it's becoming obvious that, until this day, your family background and skin colour determine your chances of living a dignified existence.

What are the positives of becoming a leading man later in life?

I have the feeling that I've got control over my life - without the pressure of having to accept projects or be a social media personality. That surely also has to do with the fact that I'm a man. Women are surely pressured to appear quirky at any age.

Life is always a management of risks - especially at this time. For what would you risk losing something?

Usually, if you don't play the game you're not going to win anything. That applies to friendship, love, work, creativity. Anything that really means something to me, is worth the risk.

Wonder woman 1984 will appear in cinemas 01.10. The 800 million dollar earning DC comic franchise is moving into the New York 80s with its sequel. It looks spectacular - only Pedro Pascal with blond hair in a three piece Wall Street suit looks better.

#pedro pascal #gq germany #Gq

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bosspigeon · 4 years ago

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Adam versus that most evil of foes...the office printer?

two glass houses, twenty stones

Pairing: M!Detective/Adam du Mortain Word Count: 1711 Summary: Having recently learned that he is the target of a power-hungry vampire who wants to experiment on him because of his “special blood” (oh, yeah, and vampires are real, apparently), Detective Arlo Priestley deals with the aftermath. The aftermath, of course, including one Adam du Mortain and his sparkling personality.

So... I don’t even know what to say anymore. I get completely innocuous prompts and they become something COMPLETELY different than what i had in mind. so, uh, hope you enjoy an Arlo Character Study with a side of Printer Shenanigans! This takes place in Book 1, shortly after the detective finds out about, uh, everything. I had fun playing the unreliable narrator with Arlo! And I have a fun idea for a sequel that’s Adam’s POV! Title is from Type O Negative’s “I Don’t Wanna Be Me.”

“You can, uh, sit down if you’d like,” Arlo offers, picking at the chipped polish on his thumb.

Adam hardly glances at him, keeping his attention on the window that overlooks the rest of the police department. “I am fine standing,” he says shortly. It almost seems like he’s determined to not look directly at the detective at all.

Arlo winces a bit, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine too,” he mumbles, looking down at his pile of reports. He brushes the accumulated black paint chips he’s shed in his anxious fidgeting aside. He’ll have to paint his nails again soon, they’re looking rather ragged, almost to the point he can bite them again. He’s been trying to stop, he knows it’s sort of gross, but still…

He furrows his brow and starts thumbing through reports, absently flicking through his color-coded tabs that help keep him marginally organized even when his “system” doesn’t really work for anyone but him. He calls it improvisational. Verda calls it “slapdash.”

He frowns, chewing on his lower lip and clicking his tongue when he notes his color system is out of order, and that one of the red tabs is missing. His eyes flicker up when he hears Adam shift slightly, but the vampire still isn’t looking at him, so he focuses back in, counting through reports again. He sighs and rolls his eyes, turning to his computer and pulling up his group chat with Tina and Verda.

big-depeche-mood: Tina, did you take my copy of Mrs. Holt’s police report?

big-depeche-mood: And why did you change my display name again?

BubblegumB!tch: how do u know i did it? why do u always blame me? 😥

big-depeche-mood: Because Verda has no reason to care about Mrs. Holt claiming her ex kidnapped the dog when they separated.

big-depeche-mood: And if you mean the display name, you’re the only one with admin privilege, because you made this chat.

BubblegumB!tch: i am being unfairly targeted 😭😭😭

BubblegumB!tch: im taking this to HR

DoctorDILF: HR has found no evidence to support this claim.

DoctorDILF: Really, Tina?

big-depeche-mood: Just tell me if I need to print another copy, please.

BubblegumB!tch: 👉👈

Arlo rolls his eyes and minimizes the window so he can start the task of going through his backlog to find the digital copy of the original report. Once he’s found it and sent it to the printer, he pushes himself upright, groaning as his spine pops in several places

Adam finally, finally turns to look at him. “Where are you going?” he snaps.

Arlo flinches, clenching his jaw to bite back the nasty retort burning on his tongue like acid. “To the printer,” he grits out, jerking his hand towards the window. “Literally twenty feet away. So unless you plan to go get that report for me, let’s just hope the megalomaniacal vampire that wants to use me as a lab rat doesn’t decide to snatch me from a police station in broad daylight.”

Seems he didn’t bite it back hard enough after all.

Adam recoils, like he always seems to when he realizes he's stepped directly on Arlo's nerves. He feels a little guilty for snapping, but he’s had more than enough of being treated like an unruly toddler. He wants to snidely suggest Adam see about requisitioning a bloody leash for him, but he snatches up a pen and starts furiously clicking it until he can calm himself down instead. Adam’s lip twitches, and Arlo clicks faster.

Adam turns sharply on heel and stalks out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the window rattles. Arlo is just grateful it hasn’t broken.

He sinks back into his chair and rolls his eyes skyward, dragging his hands down his face and wondering what the hell he’s done to deserve this whole situation. It’s bad enough he knows there’s some mad scientist vampire wanting to experiment with his freakish blood, but being shut in the same room as Adam for multiple hours a day when the man won’t even look at him, much less talk to him, makes nerves squirm under his skin and sets his whole body on edge. Unfortunately for the both of them, when Arlo gets nervy, it gets much harder for him to temper what comes out of his mouth.

He melts into his chair a little more, ignoring the pings from his computer that are probably Verda trying to convince Tina to change his display name back, and Tina reacting by changing it to increasingly ridiculous things. He just closes his eyes and focuses on breathing for a bit, trying to remember a single thing from his anger management classes from years ago when his brain is still buzzing with a squirming twist of irritation and guilt, a desperate need to apologize warring with the urge to snap and unload every frustration this whole thing has got knotted up inside him.

It's some sort of cosmic joke that Adam occupies so much of his attention, when Adam seems like he can't wait until he can get as far away from Arlo as possible.

He's just pretty, Arlo tells himself. Remember the last time you let someone pretty get you all stupid? Maybe remember what you learned from that.

He almost falls out of his chair when he opens his eyes to see Adam in the doorway, his shoulders so taut they're making Arlo's hurt just looking at them.

Maybe stop looking at them, idiot.

He forces his eyes up and is confronted with perhaps one of the most bewildering things he's ever seen.

Adam du Mortain, stoic, no-nonsense, terminally brooding Adam du Mortain, is standing just outside Arlo’s office, looking almost... sheepish. Arlo has to blink a few times to make sure he’s not seeing things. He’d almost say he’s imagining things, but at this point he’s so familiar with Adam’s general stone-faced demeanor that any sort of change to it is almost glaringly obvious. The scrunch of his eyebrows, the twist of his mouth, the almost painful stiffness of his posture, as if he’s pointedly trying to look as unaffected as possible and failing spectacularly. Arlo’s a detective, and while he doesn’t consider himself an expert at reading people, he’s still fairly decent at it. Adam, from time to time, can be pretty easy to read, but especially when he’s trying not to be.

Maybe Arlo’s been watching him a bit too closely.

“Uh,” he starts, already cringing internally at himself, “what’s up?”

Adam is silent for a moment, and then he exhales sharply through his nose, as if he is trying to calm himself down. Arlo’s nerves immediately ratchet up a few notches. “There is an issue with your printer,” he says.

Arlo blinks. “Oh. Um, I didn’t think you’d actually—” He bites his tongue when Adam’s brows furrow harder. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?” he offers instead, standing up. He hesitates to approach the door until Adam takes a step back to allow him through unimpeded. He lets Arlo lead the way and Arlo tugs his braid over his shoulder so he can twist it between his hands, because there is something a bit unnerving about Adam behind him, silent but radiating a tension Arlo can almost feel. It’s likely his imagination, considering his annoying awareness of the man, but still.

Arlo sees the problem almost immediately upon arriving at the little alcove that houses the station’s printer. The top cover for the document feeder seems to have been pulled off entirely. He turns to give Adam a bewildered look.

“The paper jammed,” Adam says stiffly.

“Yeah,” Arlo replies, “it does that sometimes.” He lifts the cover and turns it over in his hands, to see that, yes, the little plastic hinges that attach the feeder to the tray are entirely broken off. He frowns a little. Adam is so tense next to him, so still, Arlo wonders if he’s even breathing. “I can just ask Verda if I can send it to his, then see about calling someone for repairs.” He snags a sharpie from Tina’s desk and pops open one of the other trays to pull out a blank sheet of paper so he can write a quick “Out of Order” sign and slap it on top.

Adam still hasn’t moved, staring at the printer as if it has somehow personally offended him.

“It’s fine, Adam,” Arlo insists quietly, stepping a bit closer with his hands raised, though he doesn’t dare to touch. “Really. It’s a shitty old printer. I bet the second I let Tina know, she’ll go pester Doug until he calls his dad about it. We’ll have a shiny new one in no time.” He offers a wry little smile. “Say what you like about nepotism, but it has its perks.”

That doesn’t seem to help in the way Arlo hoped it would, because Adam raises an eyebrow and gives him a sharp look that has him shrinking back. “I am surprised you have that attitude, Detective.” He doesn’t have to say he’s disappointed, Arlo can hear it loud and clear and hates that it bothers him so much.

He steps back and turns away so Adam doesn’t see the look on his face before he can smooth it over. “Well, it’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it?” he can’t help but snark. “And it’s the only reason you’re here too. Explains a lot about your attitude, I suppose.” No wonder Adam’s been so bloody sour about all this. Must be a pain to have to babysit your boss’s kid because she said so. His silence on the subject speaks more than he could hope to.

More than anything Arlo wishes Rebecca could just go back to ignoring him. Things were a lot less complicated then.

Shoulders tight enough to rival Adam’s, Arlo heads towards the stairs to the basement. “I’m going to get that report,” he tosses over his shoulder, trying and failing to sound casual as Adam’s eerily quiet footsteps begin to follow him. “I’ll try not to get kidnapped on the way,” he adds under his breath.

The way Adam’s footsteps falter tell him he wasn’t quiet enough.

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sorry-i-spaced · 4 years ago

Text

Issues

Hawkeye is seen in the show as being a ladies man and quite the player. We know his mom died when he was just 10 and we know Caryle and Trapper both left without saying bye to Hawkeye. So I decided to play with the idea that he has abandonment and commitment issues because of this. I borrowed some of the dialogue from the episode “The More I see of You” in the beginning.

“If you’d gone into medicine with the same lack of conviction as marriage”

“Your work is always going to be the single most important thing in your life”

“Maybe you would have needed me a little more”

“Doug was able to commit”

“Commit”

Lack of conviction”

“Work….important...lack of conviction”

“Commit”

“Hawk? Hawkeye? Earth to Hawkeye! Anybody up there?” waved a concerned BJ.

“Huh? Oh,yeah, what?” shook Hawkeye as he came back to reality.

“Did you say something?” asked Hawkeye realizing he had zoned out big time.

“Yea, I was asking if you wanted to get dinner. I heard Igor was sick of all the grief we gave him so he made an upside down dinner in retaliation.”

Hawkeye sat there contemplating whether food was more important than wallowing in self pity for the way he let things get between Carlye and him.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to nap. We are supposed to get a heavy influx of wounded by dawn and I want to catch up on sleep.” And with that BJ got up to leave and Hawkeye laid down in his army issued mess of a cot and shut his eyes.

“Incoming wounded! All Medical and Surgical staff report for triage! Looks like it will a doozy” barked the PA system.

Opening his eyes Hawkeye threw his pillow in the direction of Beej.

“Get up” he yelled.

The red haired man rose (wait that’s not right Beej has blonde hair)

“Did you dye your hair and forget to tell me?” asked the raven haired man confused.

“Not that I’m aware of” called back the other man as he was putting on his shoes.

The two quickly ran out the door.

In triage Hawk got right to work.

“This one has a chest wound. Get some blood in him and get him prepped”

“This one can wait”

Hawkeye barked orders to the nurses. He got up and made a run for the O.R.

“Hawkeye! How goes it?” asked Klinger, who was running in the same direction as him.

Boom!

“Ahh!” yelped Klinger as he threw his head forcefully into the dirt.

Hawkeye stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the man. Cocking his head to the side he says, “ Klinger, a landmine went off. You’re fine. Get your head out of the dirt this instant. Anybody looking on would think you're bucking for a section 8 again. By reason of ostrich.

“I’m not acting sir” deadpanned Klinger as he lifted his head, shaking the dirt out of his hair.

Hawkeye blinked and shook his head. Klinger was right, he was an ostrich through and through.

“When did this happen?” he asked.

“I’ve always been one sir. You just couldn’t tell since I spend so much of my time in dresses confident I can get out of the Army. But to be honest I’m scared as shit. Scared of dying and scared I won’t ever return to Toledo the same as I left.”

The two were now in the scrub room. Hawkeye was washing up.

“So Beej dyes his hair and forgets to tell me and you're an ostrich?What else will happen today.”

“Beej didn’t dye his hair. He is a robin.”

“A robin? As in the bird?” questioned Hawkeye as he patted his hands dry.

“He is a songbird. Yes. If you don’t believe me just look at him yourself.”

The two had somehow ended up in the O.R and Hawkeye was at a table picking apart peacock feathers. Hawkeye looked up and to his surprise Beej was in fact a big fat plump red robin - complete with wings and a beak.

Looking at Klinger Hawkeye was left to wonder, “why?”

“He left his baby girl very early on in her life.”

Again Hawkeye had moved from the O.R back into the scrub room. These abrupt scene changes were getting awfully annoying.

“We all left family to be dragged to this God Forsaken Hell Hole. Why should he be so special.”

“Well for much of the same reason that I’m scared he feels guilty about leaving during such a crucial part of his little girl's life.”

“My mom left me early on in life, I turned out fine.” Hawkeye spat back.

Hawkeye who realized he was sitting on the bench leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. Pursing his lips together he began to ask more questions trying not to dwell on the fact his mom left him.

“So Beej is guilty and you're scared. Is there anyone else I should know about?”

Silence. Klinger was trying to figure out what to say. This was all coming out too fast. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His job was to help propel the story along and these observations were supposed to happen naturally. Well as naturally as having birds operate on patients who just see the shell of the person not the bird. But no this man was too smart for even his unconsciousness. Finally he began to speak, slowly hoping he wouldn’t reveal too much.

“Our fearless leader Potter is a bald eagle because he is insecure in his talents. He is a career man - as I’m sure you’re aware of. But he lacks the knowledge of all these fancy techniques you young doctors seem to pick up so easily. Margaret is a puffin because all she wants to do is be accepted by everyone. Frank is a hummingbird because he is annoying as all shit and is very insecure due to it. Oh and you’re a peacock.”

That got Pierce to shoot up like a bean pole.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to tell me why I’m a peacock?” his voice raised and wavered a bit.

“Sorry sir, you’ll have to figure that one out on your own.

“What why? Klinger, you gotta tell me! Come on we know everyone else’s insecurities, why can’t I know my own?”

Klinger didn’t know how to respond. He knew he had 3 sets of 10 minutes and 1 set of an hour of time to try and get Hawkeye to learn why he is a peacock. But he also knew it was up to his subconscious to interact with his unconscious to help move the narrative.

“Ow!” yelped Hawkeye breaking the silence.

“What the hell was that?”

Not even Klinger had an explanation.

All of sudden a flying pillow came out of nowhere.

Klinger now understood what was happening. Someone was trying to wake Hawkeye. There little mental party would be ending soon.

“Hawk” echoed a ghostly sound.

“Why are you calling me a Hawk, I thought you said I was a peac-”

His eyes shot open! Looking down at him were a pair of blue eyes. Beej

“What? What happened?” Hawkeye asked as he began to get up.

“Wounded” called Beej as he put on his converse.

“Suction! So yea, don’t know what any of that means but thought I’d share my dream with the rest of the class,” said Pierce as he tried to stop a bleeder his patient had come in with.

“That’s scary accurate. Especially my fear. How did you pin us all down like that?” called BJ concentrating on his own bleeder.

“Pierce, are you good with birds? Seems like you pinned us to an appropriate matching bird” called Potter.

Hawkeye was now working on closing up the patient, “I’ve gone bird watching with my dad back in Maine. One time when I was a kid, right when mom died, he decided to get his mind off her death he was going to do a Big Year. I would come along on bird watching expeditions during school breaks and weekends. But I still would like to know why I’m a peacock. Of all the birds to be.” called Hawkeye.

“If it bugs you that much, why don’t you ask Sidney the next time he comes up for Poker.” said BJ when they were back in the Swamp.

They were finally out of surgery and the two swamp rats were playing tennis with a blown up surgical glove they took from the scrub room.

A week later, before Poker was supposed to take place, Sidney was set up in the VIP tent chatting with Hawkeye.

“So you dreamt about everyone’s fears personifying and taking the form of birds? What do you think it means?” lead the Psychiatrist.

“I don’t know Sidney, you tell me, you’re the expert on these types of things.” pleaded Hawkeye, who had taken up pacing around the tent.

“Hawk, I want you to get to that conclusion yourself. It won’t be helpful if I do it for you.”

Hawkeye stopped pacing and sat down on the edge of the bed. “What do you want to hear. I want to be as helpful as possible. In my dream Klinger said basically the same thing.”

“Humor me and tell me about your childhood, that’s always a good place to start when talking about fears and issues,” claimed Sidney.

“My childhood. What do you wanna know” asked Hawkeye.

“How was your relationship with your mom?”

“Nonexistent. I’ve told you before she died when I was 10. Just been dad and I since then.” replied Hawkeye flatley.

“Do you have any resentment towards her dying?” pried Sidney.

“You know dad didn’t even tell me she was sick? He waited until she passed to come clean and tell me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I was angry for years. At her for getting sick and at dad for not having the decency to tell me she was sick. But I got over it. No hard feelings”

Rambled Hawk.

“Ok, so issues from mom, how about dad?”

“Dad? Oh he was great! After mom died we became thick as thieves. He was the one who inspired me to go into medicine. He wasn’t too happy about it to be honest.” gleaned Hawk.

“I remember you telling me last time I was here that there was a nurse here that you had an old fling with. How did that end?”

“Caryle. I really don’t know what happened. We were living together during residency you know.”

Raising an eyebrow Sidney interjected, “ So you guys were serious?”

“That’s what I thought.” continued Hawkeye. “But just like mom and just like Trapper did 6 months ago, she up and left. I didn’t get to say bye or anything. She just one day decided she had enough of me, packed her bags and was out of the apartment before I even had time to get home and try and stop her. I thought Trapper would have at least left something. But I guess not. I guess I’m just not worth the hassle to say bye too. God. Why did dad not let me tell mom bye. Her own son was in the dark. I get Caryle and Trapper. It was bound to happen. Unhappy relationship and discharge but God, mom? Really? I hated her for it you know. I just wish once someone would leave and tell me about it first. Why do I always have to be the last to know. I bet the thing I got going on with Beej will end just as abruptly as it did with Trapper.” rambled on Hawkeye.

“Hawkeye, stop a minute, let’s process all that you said.” steered Sidney realizing he was losing his patient rapidly.

Hawkeye shut up and listened.

“You mention over and over that you never got to say goodbye to all these people. You also mention being the last to hear of relationships ending.”

“Yea, so?” sighed Hawkeye.

“Let’s go back to the dream. In the dream you describe each of your friends as birds relating to their fears and issues. Beej - your best friend is a robin because he is guilty for leaving his baby girl. Klinger is an ostrich - which I never would have pegged him as so thank you for that lovely image - because he is scared and fearful he won’t return home and if he does he will be completely different. Potter is a bald eagle because he is insecure in his abilities despite being a career man in the army. Margaret is a Puffin because she has the fear that she will never fit in anywhere so she forces herself to. And Frank is a hummingbird because he is insecure in his own way and -”

“ - a peacock for commitment issues” finished Hawkeye.

“Precisely. It seems like you are scared to trust people because everyone seems to leave you at some point. Starting way back when your mom left you abruptly. Oh also in my own professional diagnosis I would also tack on abandonment issues” added Sidney.

“What gives Sid, I thought you were going to let me come to the conclusion on my own accord.” whimpered Hawkeye.

“Eh, I see how hard you’re trying to figure this all out, so I decided to give you a freebie” laughed Sidney.

“Well in true Freud fashion, my issues really do stem from my mother,” laughed Hawkeye sadly.

The two sat for another hour trying to brainstorm ways Hawkeye could push past these thoughts of abandonment and commitment issues and how he could overcome them.

The End!

#mash #fanfic #birds #freud #hawkeye pierce #klinger #sidney freedman #fears #issues

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evilform · 4 years ago

Note

hmmmmmmm hmmm pordle for that hyperfix ask game

📃 what is the plot of your hyperfixation? and is it a movie, game, show, etc?

GOGOoohohohohoooo VIDEO GAME

umm uhhhhh portal Lesbian simulator. get thrown into a facility ran by a murderous supercomputer, get a funny gun that shoots holes in the fabric of space, forced to test, rinse, repeat, escape, KILL, portal.... 2! Now With Men

📌 how did you find your hyperfixation?

i have no idea. im not even being funny about this ive been into portal since 2012 and i have 0 recollection of being 7 years old. i do remember i pirated portal 2 though

✨ what draws you towards your hyperfixation? what is interesting about it?

bobot :] gay bobot. all jokes aside i have written paragraphs to my wife about aperture and how just.. awful of a company it was (though it definitely isnt worse than black mesa by any means, or better than it) and my feelings about cave johnson and caroline and glados and chell and wheatley a

🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

the wheatley betrayal scene has been burned into my mind for almost 9 years but i wouldnt say its my ‘favorite’.

i think my favorite scenes from portal would be... the entire portal boss fight against glados in the first game, the part where he kills you, the entire glados reawakening scene, and honestly not a scene but just the entirety of the old aperture chapters. its such an interesting place

FUCK FUCK I JUST CAME BACK TO THIS QUESTION I DO HAVE A FAVORITE SCENE. THE CORE TRANSFER SCENE. It lives in my brain rent free and i have a lot of trauma projection onto glados with that but im trying to keep this as lighthearted as i can for portal so uhm. i will not bring that allegory up

🎶 if your hyperfixation has songs/an ost, what is your favorite song from it?

(grumble grumble) Power Mad. but honestly the entire portal 2 ost fucking rocks i LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE VAGUELY RHYTHMIC NOISE!!!!!!!!!! oh also robots ftw

💕 tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them!

One..? Ouegh..... GLaDOS (and by proxy caroline). anything i could say about this woman has been repeated 50 times by the lesbians in the portal fandom and honestly. good for us. good for us

runner ups are of course chell, space core and doug rattmann

💔 tell us about one of your LEAST favorite characters and why you dislike them.

this one is actually really hard. like do i dislike wheatley? do i hate him as a person? Yes? but do i hate him as a CHARACTER? do i hate him as a VILLAIN? no. i actually think he is brilliantly written to be awful. and thats about as much wheatley apologism as i will give you people

🏳‍🌈 do you have any headcanons (lgbt, race, neuro, etc) that are important to you?

lesbian glados/chell..... (muttering) mlm wheatley

also i think glados is autistic and wheatley has adhd (isnt he coded?)

🍀 do you have any kins or comfort characters from your hyperfixation?

hmmm i used to consider myself a glados kinnie. just thought that was interesting to mention.

(sorry for the weird formatting tumblr doesnt wanna just put a regular paragraph break on this i suppose)

doug rattman is one of my biggest comfort characters. same neurodivergence :heart:

💎 are there any fun facts or trivia that you would like to share?

beta glados had arms. that is all

💢 what do you NOT like about your hyperfixation? is there something you would want to change about it?

not to sound like a major loser but i dont think i can.. readily pick out any flaws right off the bat? i dont want a sequel or anything either. OH OH wait i have an answer i wish chell wasnt whitewashed in the lab rat comic artwork </3

there’s probably more i could complain about but i cant remember right off the bat. thank you zane i always LOVE revisiting this franchise and thinking about how long ive known it

#long post #transalyxvance

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hitchell-mope · 5 years ago

Text

Just put on the movie

And there we go. The dedication is there.

Oh god the rapping.

My palms will be bloody by the time this is over.

But I like the parallels to the first movie

To much auto tune

There goes my heart Disney.

Oh lord that’s high

Bbys. Smee twins

WHY WASNT DIZZY THERE FROM FILM TWO

There’s my child Celia

MY BOY!!!!

I mean Mal has a point.

He thinks it through

I love him so fucking much

Loving Doug’s hair

Rat bastard. Rat bitch. Rat fairy (Adam belle Verna)

Fuck off leah chad Audrey

😍😍😍😍. This version is better then d1

SUCK IT PASTEL COW

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

Oh Evie love. Just tell him you love him

FUCK OFF YOU GERIATRIC BITCH

YES WE WOULD PREFER MAL TO YOU YA BITCH

I hate you Adam and belle

Ben and the other three are adorable family

Still hating Audrey. So. Fucking. Much

Love the purple limo

WHY IS TREMAINE NICE. IT MAKES NO SENSE

Bal parent vibes are strong

They shoulda painted the limo roof purple

Dying of cuteness

Proud fiancé Mal. Love it

Fuck off leah

Here’s papa hades. And the ham.

DRAGON MAL. WHOO HOO

Ah well. Nice while it lasted

NOT HER JOB PASTEL COW

So. Much. Ham.

Poor girl. Ouch.

🤮🤮🤮🤮. I still hate her and her geriatric bitch of a grandmother

Oh bitch please. First words out of your mouth were creel. And it ain’t abated

I’m supposed to be sorry for this sad act? I don’t think so

So. Much. Rapping

Oh. SPARE ME WOMAN

Still theft. Throw her on the isle with her grandmother

Lonely and friendless. Because Mal is so much better then you ya limp noodle

Gotta be bad on the back

YOU DESERVE A SLAP AROUND THE FACE YOU SPOILED BRAT

Seriously though. The actual singing is better then the rapping. So gotta give satah her dues

Fuck off grown ups.

YOU PUT THEN THERE IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACD

Blue bitch. Just like always belle

Ok. People. You can see it’s hurting bal to do this. KILL THE BEAST

DONT CRY BABY BOY. PLEASE. LAST TIME ALMOST KILLED ME

Murder. The fucking. Parents

Evie. Evie’s sensible. Listen to your sister Mal.

And here comes the guilt. Like always. The narrative blames Mal

That darn cake

Ah. Pain. Hug them now

And jump scare

Oh god. Shut up Audrey. You’re a sore loser

Eh. The prosthesis look ok

Audrey. Nutter. Ben was more then ready to start the honeymoon when Mal was a dragon. Do you really think a hag would stop him?

😂😂😂😂

Oh boy

That’s a lie and you know it bluey.

At least the bikes have an explanation

Why the red for Evie though

And the mutt speaks

Fuck off Chad. I hate you so much

This bitch again

So shrieky.

Kiss ass

Real original

Jump Jane jump!

So many neck cricks

No one tells him anything

Cella’s right Mal

Overly long gag. But cute

Awww 🥰🥰🥰🥰. At least he’s a good dad

Nice reference

And the fear mongering begins.

And here’s the cryptid. He shoulda died in it’s going down

Psycho bitch pirate whore

Cella’s a troll and I love it

The vehicle needs an oil change

At least he’s sleeping. Though that position can not be comfortable

At long last the reveal.

He’s funny. And hot. (I can see where @mochacake2016 is coming from)

We know! We know

And here’s the music

😂😂😂😂.

He’s got a point

Ok.

THERES NO PHONES ON THE ISLAND QUEEN MAL

She actually sounds like jade west here

So far. Besides the proposal. This is my favourite song. Mostly for Hades great looks. Great voice

And the tambourine

Would be better with purple and blue fire effects. But no. We can’t have nice things. They spent the budget on pirate whores make up

She’s got a point. They both do

LISTEN TO HIM

Proud papa

C’mon girl. Cry

Of course she told her sister

He’s a good king.

T-shirt should be ripped.

🤮🤮🤮🤮. Hate her so much

And. Here. We. Go.

Benny. I love you. But did you not hear what she said to Evie when you first met the vks. Of course not. You were lost in Mal’s eyes.

Oh god. PLEASE SOMEBODY GO AND MELT HER

Whore man is probably skunk drunk. Gil’s cute as ever though

Throw hook in the water. And keep it there.

🎶she’s back🎶

And there screwed

He makes feel physically sick

Uma. I love ya. But honestly. Mal owes no one anything. It’s not her job.

No it ain’t

Jay’s got a point

Oh honey

Hook. In the words of the irreverent Captain Jack Sparrow “if the bikes be crashed properly. You be crashed along with it”. Not you Gil. I like you

Mother hen strikes again. Uma ain’t buying what she’s selling

Pure child Celia. (I don’t use this very much but) Gil’s babey (it feels wrong to type£

Chicken arms. No brains. No wit. No dance skills. No rapping skills. Ya basically a walking corpse hook

The dogs giving me a nervous twitch.

I hate the pair of them so no. No sympathy for prince douche bag

Gil makes me cry so simply

Stab the pirate jay. Please. For all of us

Psycho bitch

I want. It. Dead. Brutally. Dead

And more music. If this weren’t Disney they coulda melted them yo pukes of goo and pour it down Harry’s throat.

Oh god

So she can’t count either. Just like her brother

Definitely cha cha slide.

Deep sigh

So much ham.

Here’s a funny idea. How about instead of a bloody pantomime. ACTUALLY FUCKING FIGHT YOU FECKERS

Synchronised armour dancing. That’s new

Oh for fuck sake

Ha ha. Save it for the sob story bitch

What’s next a kick line

Thank god I was wrong.

Hook should be suffocated under the armour right now. Put us out of our misery

Care bear alert

I had to have a flu jab today. And it weren’t as painful as every single nanosecond hooks on screen

Love the platonic affection (I hate the very concept of malvie. What did you expect?)

Mother alert

Don’t eat wild fruit honey

So cute. But so dumb

Oh. Phineas and Ferb reference

Awww babies.

Don’t you dare tell me Mal doesn’t care.

THEY FOUND DOUG

Uma’s so done with care bear bs

More singing. Yay(!)

Please. Remind me again exactly why this is a DCOM. Cause it honestly does not feel like it what with the backstory pirate whores entire existence and the choreography

How has evie not broken a leg in this number.

Believe me Mal and Uma. I feel your frustration they go together like peanut butter and chocolate spread. (Perfectly if you didn’t know)

Where is she going?

She knows how R&J ended right? Double suicide. Why the romanticism huh?

HE IS NOT A RAG DOLL! Though props to Zachary for not corpsing

How can you hate Doug. He’s adorable. Best straight couple ever

There’s ma boy. Rip Harry’s throyatvout plwae.

Ben’s always been hot. But this is definitely working for me.

Awww. Carlos helping his papa

Wet Ben. Yum

Awww. Janelos cuteness.

Love the beard. So good. 🤤🤤🤤🤤

Someone murder the man whore before I do.

He makes me wanna throw up. And I’m not physically capable of doing that

@rpsocsandcanonohmy. I get where you’re coming from. But I also get where Ben is coming from. Sunbeam did get him abducted. And man slut tried to feed him to sharks. So I do understand both points. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong though

JUST. EXPLAIN. HIS MIND IS BEAST ADDLED

Shoulda let Ben slash hooks throat jay. You’re slipping buddy

Mal’s eating crow

Hopefully he chad suffocates. Then she’s have done one thing that wasn’t completely worthlessly reprehensible

🎶feelings🎶

And it had to ruin it

Te-am work. As plankton says

Proud sister

Boys are back. (With dude and the mutt in tow)

YAAAAAAAAAY

I hate happy harry. But I do like happy Uma. Eh. Double edged sword

BAL THIRST. FINALLY

Shoulda gone with Janelos. Jarlos is from big time rush

Oh they’re so cute

Poor Doug.

DOUG AND GIL FRIENDSHIP.

So. Update. Might be like Mal. (Definitely loving Ben’s facial hair)

Yawning over chad. So pathetic

Her seat from him douchey mcuseless

Poor Janey

Cats outta the bag

Once again. I kinda understand all points. Yeah Mal shouldn’t have lied. But Uma didn’t really give her and choice. And Evie just kinda assumed. And no one really lets her explain anything.

Hooks still pathetic. Even hurt emotionally I still wanna punch his roger rabbit looking face (Sorry Roger)

Oh dear

Mal. Don’t apologise. You did what you felt you needed to do. And no gives you a chance to explain. Ever.

Yes. You needed to do what you could.

Excellent acting all around as usual

Evie. Look. I love you. Your favourite number seven. But WHY IS IT YOUR SISTERS JOB. WHY DOES EVERYONE MAKE IT MALS PROBLEM

Ha! Evie said it. She said family.

Oh fuck. Taken for granite

More singing.

Monster/story/invincible

I do want to stab Harry in the mouth with the hook

More flashback. Yay(.). Couldn’t they fill out the runtime

Flashbacks. TO THE START OF THE SO G THE FLASHBACK IS FROM. OH FOR FUCK SAKES

More dragon.

Audrey’s performance might make me a vegetarian

How is it not crushed by the claws?

Fire should be green

Yay. Auds dead. Please say yes?

The twins say literally one thing

From magical incantation to vaguely irritating verbal tick. Well alright then

Evie. Why do you sound so sad. It’s a good thing Audrey’s dying. The ultimate price and all that. You should be glad. It’s a good thing

Mal: he’s my father. Ben: shocked face. Me: makes a sound like a boiling kettle

Bye bye facial hair

Die slut

More eating crow

The in laws meet

Exactly hades. Exactly. Knee beast in the dick

God Ben’s so hot.

Bite Adam’s throat out please hades

Should’ve let Audrey waste away. And sent granny to Tartarus to meet her

OH SPARE ME YOUR BLEEDING HEART ROUTINE! I still hate you in a fundamental level

OH FINALLY YOU GERIATRIC BITCH

Nice little family moment

What the fuck is Evie’s dress?

Queen Mal has a very nice ring to it.

Sure you can. You owe them noting. You owe nobody anything

Jay has a pull back braid in his hair. Yay!

“Audrey would be gone”. You say it as though that’s a bad thing

“Insert woody woodpecker laugh”. Fuck you Adam

Compromise. Bring the vks over. And plop Adam Audrey chad anleah on the isle. Sink it into the ocean

Why didn’t Verna bring the barrier down. Oh yeah. Cause then she’d be useful

More singing

At least this takes place in daylight

I still hate harry

Push Harry in the drink please. IM LITERALLY BEGGING YOU

God I love Ben and Doug

Why the Charleston?

I still hate tremaine

Well. Jane. In ZM. You met Mal. She’s Carlos’s mother in this au

Giljay. It’s cute

So Harry makes me ill right upbto the end. Now he’s related to purple and blue

🎶a bitch is in the dog house🎶. And deservedly so

🤮🤮🤮🤮

Sweet little king

Oh boy

Whore has a turkey neck

This is the end. Good movie. With some unneeded bits. I’m gonna change a lot in ZM part three. And both dedications broke me.

#disney descendants #descendants 3 #anti harry x chad #anti harry x doug #anti harry x jane #harry x jay #anti harlos #anti malvie #anti haudrey #anti benrry #anti harry hook #anti audrey daughter of sleeping beauty #anti chad charming

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thingismyson · 6 years ago

Text

FNAF Fangames AU characters as Vine quotes

——————————————————

Candy: Welcome to Bible study! We’re all children of Jesus!

Cindy: Dad look, it’s the good kush!

Chester: AHHHH STAHHP! I coulda dropped mah croissant!

Blank: Whats better than this? Guys being dudes.

Penguin: Zach stop... You’re gonna get in trouble!

Jerry: MOTHERTRUCKER DUDE!! THAT HURT LIKE A BUTTCHEEK ON A STICK!!

Oldey: It’s an avocado... thanks.

Rat: Hi welcome to chill’s!

Cat: Can I please get a waffle?

Vinnie: Oh hi, thanks for checking in I’m sTILL A PIECE OF GARBAGE!

Shadow: Aye you know this boys got his free taco-

Mary: This is the dollar store, how good can it be?

Marylin: CHRIS!! IS THAT A WEED?!

Mint: Look at all those chickens!

Questa: Hahaha I do that!

Lollipup: Road work ahead? Yeah. I sure hope it does!

——————————————————

Flumpty: This is how I enter my house. WASSUP FUCKERS!!

Blam: Daddy?

Beaver: *Girl vapes* Wow

Owl: DON’T FUCK WITH ME!! I GOT THE POWER OF GOD AND ANIME ON MY SIDE!!

Golden: What the fuck, Richard!

Grunkfuss: Fuck off Janet, I’m not going to your fucking baby shower!

Redman: I’ve always wanted to live in Windows Vista my whole life.

Champ: Ah fuck! I can’t believe you’ve done this!

Chump: My name is Micheal with a B, and I’ve been afraid of insects my entire life.

——————————————————

Popgoes: I’ve never went to oovoo javer

Sara: Oh my god! I found my berries! Just kidding!

Saffron: Not to be racist or anything, but Asian people SSUUGGHHHHH-

Blake: I want a church girl, that goes to church! And reads her bible!

Stone: How’d you get these bumps? You got eggzma?

Black Rabbit: Yes, she is a bitch! B I, C T, H!

Simon: Add two shots of vodka.

Strings: This bitch empty! YEET!

Cyanide: So I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties!

Gemstone: What would you do if there was a child right in front of you?

Gravestone: Ms. Keisha, Ms. Keisha! Oh my fucking god she fucking dead.

——————————————————

Jollie: GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING MONEY *Throws doll at the wall*

Tweetie: I’m about to say it. I don’t care that you broke your elbow!

Maxie: *Holds up nerf gun* I WON’T HESITATE BITCH!

Georgie: Oh my god they were roommates

Jolly: Bop it! SHHH! Twist it! NRRRR!

George: I sucked dick on accident!

Metallica: WAKE ME UP INSIDE

Freddi: Ahem! That is NOT correct!

Bunnie: Everyone please excuse my potty mouth. SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

Bailarín: FRE SHAVOCADO!!

Foxi: Someone left an ice cube on the ground and it melted and now my sock is wet. Who the fuck wanna die?!

S.Tweetie: “Do you have school spirt?!” I have spirits

S.Maxie: No off topic questions. Because I don’t want to.

——————————————————

Rachel: *Pours ‘Life’ cereal and gets lemons* Well when life gives ya lemons!

Doug: I SMELL LIKE BEEF!!

Bane: FUCK YA CHICKEN STRIPS!!

Pete: Who want lasagna-

Ray: I wanna be a cowboy, baby!

Thing: Hey me and my boys are going to see uncle Kracker-

Raven: THatS mY OpINoiN!

Markus: Whoever threw that paper, your mom’s a hoe!

——————————————————

PN Mickey: I wanna be a yo-yo man!

PN Minnie: Countey Boy, I love you~

Oswald: YOU NEED JESUS!!

Acephalous: Wait whats that? Is it a butterfly? ...Its me.

Disembodied: A potato flew around my room before you came in-

Face: Two bros sitting in a hot tub! 5 feet apart cos that aren’t gay!

Suicide Mouse: Is there anything better than pussy? Yes, a really good book!

Undying: Theres only one thing worse than a rapist *Rips off paper* Boom.

God: You split lipstick in my valentino white bag?!

Henry: Hey I’m Jared and I’m 19, and I never fucking learned how to read!

Hourglass: That was legitness!

MickMick: ANNIE ARE YOU OKAY?! ARE YOU OKAY ANNIE?!

Willy: AA, AAA, AAAAAAA-

Jake: Hey my name is Trey, I have a basketball game tomorrow. I’m a point guard, I have a shoe game-

Lisa: What do you have? ‘A knife!’ NO!!

Greg: 4 Female ghostbusters? The feminists are taking over!

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veryangryhedgehog · 6 years ago

Link

“God is Dog Spelled Backwards”, an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Jilli felt like she was falling.

A week ago she’d been so confident in her plan, but now that it had finally been executed, an unwavering sense of unease began to linger in the air around her. This whole take-over plan had been to give Jilli control over her life, but now more than ever she felt like a rat trapped in a maze.

It was because the Director was missing. After discovering her office to be empty, and devoid of any clues or information, Abigail had brought her back to the girl’s bathroom, and decided to give Jilli some space. Quite of her own accord, Jilli’s legs took her wandering. Nearly the whole night she’s searched blindly for where the Director might be before Doug found her around three in the morning and took her back to her room.

“She… I think she’s watching me, Doug,” she’d confessed as she buried her head in his chest.

“Who?” he asked, confused.

“The Director. She could be anywhere, just waiting, watching to see what I do next. Where is she, Doug? Where is she??”

“Whoa, whoa, Jill, calm down,” he grabbed her shoulders as she began to scream. “Of course she’s watching you; she’s watching all of us. But now you’ve shown them that they can stand up to her. If she even lifts a finger at you, she’ll have a whole school to answer to.”

That helped, a little bit, but Jilli couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched for the rest of the night, and slept poorly. She kept wondering back and forth, over and over again in half-delirium, what would happen in the morning, when the student body would awaken to find itself alone? The gates were shut, the fence electrified. No one was getting in.

But with the morning sun came a newfound determination. She was the mastermind behind this coup, so now it was her job to lead the newly liberated sheep, right? It wouldn’t be too difficult. Jilli had watched Sakura lead the idol group for years.

When she entered the cafeteria, Doug to her left, Abigail to her right, the rest behind her, she witnessed growing insanity. The students were a hive of bees, humming incessantly to each other, glancing over at the vacant lunch lines. They were beginning to realize that something had changed.

They passed their normal lunch table, and Jilli motioned for the others to sit which she continued to the front. A queen had to address her subjects.

She jumped up on the platform at the far end of the room, the metal beams above her seeming to dangle over her head. The students gradually hushed and turned to her. They were looking for an answer, any answer, and she intended to give them one.

The microphone was dead, but it didn’t matter. Jilli had a voice that carried. “My name…” she began, and stopped as she caught the eye of a few hundred students and her voice hitched. “My name is Jilli Nakajima,” she began again, “and I am the new Director.”

Needless to say, the floor erupted into a flurry of confusion and panic. Jilli just stood there, and waited. Eventually, they realized that she was holding her explanation, and they hushed once more. And so Jilli began to speak.

Afterwards, she wouldn’t even remember what she’d said. She knew that she told them what they’d did, that now there were no adults at St. Adelaide’s, and the students were in charge. And Jilli would lead them.

“I will not pull strings from the shadows, but be forward and honest,” she said, hoping that the Director could hear her. “I will also not keep you here. If anyone wishes to leave. I will be opening the gates on Friday for five minutes.”

After that, she thanked the crowd and got down. She could feel all their eyes on her. They all probably thought she was insane. But everything was fine now. It was all fine. No one, not the Director, or her manager, or her mother, or Kyoko could hurt her now. She was in control.

Jilli sat down at the usual table with all her friends around her. Abigail was discussing who-knew-what with Victor, highly animated as the rims of her round glasses glowed in the harsh light, Sonia was staring off into space while Gil studied her, mildly concerned, and Doug… Doug was only picking at his food.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Why wasn’t he happy? His torture was over.

“It’s just…” he looked at her, as if he wanted to say something, then he shook his head, and said something different instead. “Mike never came back to the room last night.”

“He didn’t?” Jilli leaned forward, concerned. “Come to think of it, where is he now?”

The others at the table began to take an interest. “Who was the last to see the lad?” Gil asked.

“Well, he was at the Director’s office with Abby and I,” Jilli said. “But I had to leave and I haven’t seen him since. Abby?”

“I went back after I dropped you off but he had already left.” Abigail thought for a second. “Oh, but you know, I left the library unlocked. He’s been spending an awful lot of time there. I bet he just fell asleep.”

Mike had been getting a little strange lately, like an undertone she hadn’t noticed before taken the forefront of his personality.

Doug sighed heavily. “I’m gonna have to be the one to drag his ass out of the creep zone, aren’t I?”

“Hey,” Victor frowned. “She’s sitting right here, you know.”

“I didn’t name any names,” Doug raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s alright, Victor. I take it as a compliment,” Abigail cut in, her smile shark-like.

“It was not meant as one.”

“I don’t care.”

For an instant, it seemed just like everything was normal. But still, the tight lump in Jilli’s gut remained. She couldn’t help feeling numb, unreal, disassociated, like she was floated two feet above her own head.

She hoped Mike was okay.

~~ o ~~

Mike was not okay.

The world returned to him slowly, gradually. First as light, then color, then shape. One by one these elements came together to form coherency. He felt numb, unreal, disassociated, like he was floating two feet above his own head.

For an instant, it seemed just like everything was normal. He was lying in his bed in the dorm. But slowly, he began to feel the cold metal on his wrists. It was that cold that brought him back to himself, a least a little. And he didn’t like what he saw.

He was strapped to some sort of table by his wrists and ankles. It was at a forty-five degree angle so if he turned his head he could see a little to the sides.

This room was small and dark, more like a cell than anything. One light shown down from above him, striking him directly in the eye, which made the rest of the room harder to make out. But from what he could see, the wall were padded.

That was somewhat worrying, but he didn’t begin to panic until he saw the IV in his arm. Then he freaked. First he tried to scream, but the best he could manage was a little whimper. Then he struggled against the restraints but his limbs wouldn’t quite obey him and his movements were sluggish.

Where? Why…? Mike couldn’t think clearly enough to form a coherent question.

“He… hel…p,” he managed with intense concentration.

“Even if you managed to scream, no one would ever hear you all the way down here.”

The harsh familiarity of her voice sent shivers down his spine. It was undeniably Abigail, but there was something wrong with it; an undertone he hadn’t noticed before taken to the forefront of her personality.

He stopped struggling. He was too weak to do so anyway.

“There’s a good boy,” her converse made a squeaking sound against the concrete floor as she came around to stare at him, the rims of her round glasses glowing in the harsh light.

“Wh… wha…”

Abigail tilted her head in mock concern. “Do you have something to say?” she asked. “It’s okay, take your time. That tranquilizer I stabbed you with was meant for horses, I think. Sometimes I get so confused.” He could tell by her shark-like grin that she hadn’t been confused at all.

“W… who are you?”

“Oh Mike, please,” she tittered, the sound practically filling the small cell. “I know you’re not that much of a dumb shit. I already told you who I am. Oh, wait, I know what it is. You just can’t believe that I’m the one who put your dear friends through so much suffering. I seemed like such a good girl. Unfortunately, people just aren’t as good as you’d like to think they are. I didn’t lie to you, Mike.” And here she put a small receiver to her mouth and spoke into it. “I’m the one who pulls strings from the shadows,” he wondered what was so funny about that as she began to chuckle. “I am the Director.”

As much as he wished he could, even Mike couldn’t deny it now. That right there was the voice he’d grown to dread over the last month, right in front of his eyes. But even addled though he was, something still nagged at him.

“Bu…” he tried, his words slurring. “The Director has… dir…ected the school since…”

“1976. That’s right!” she beamed. “I see all that research paid off. Yes, I am, in fact, much older than I appear. Well, mentally, at least. By my calculations, I am physically about nineteen years old, give or take a few months.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “Well, I had to test the Project’s theories on someone, and at the time, the only someone I had was myself.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “The Project.”

“I’m sure you know the story by heart now,” Abigail waved him off. “It was the Cold War, there were rumors that the Russians had created the perfect soldier so the government opened up St. Adelaide’s Research Facility to experiment on children and—” she paused, grinning gleefully as Mike’s eyes widened. “Oh, but you didn’t know that last part, did you?”

Mike shook his head. “No… no.”

“Oh, Mike. Did you really think ‘Buttercup’ was a flower? You can be awfully dumb for someone so smart. Buttercup was a nine-year-old girl. Many of the scientists almost balked at the idea of using children, but it was necessary, you know.”

“How is… something like that… necessary?” Mike couldn’t think straight. Everything was wrong now, it was all wrong.

“Project Paragon works in three stages,” she held the requisite number of fingers in front of his nose and they blurred across his vision. “Mind, body, and soul. The mind element in particular requires… extensive surgery. You see, adult minds are already well formed, in control. But a child’s—or a teenager’s—mind is incredibly spongy. It can change its ways. Thusly, children. Thusly, you.

Mike’s stomach did a somersault, and the metaphorical motion nearly made him puke. He strained against his restraints. “No.”

“Yes.” Abigail’s eyes gleamed. “I know I won’t fail this time. Your mind is the spongiest I’ve seen in years. It adapted remarkably well to the large amounts of antihistamines that I slipped into your Red Bull.”

So it wasn’t Red Bull that gave you wings. It was just drugs.

“The process will take maybe a week, and most of that will be devoted to altering your biology form this inside out. This time… it will be perfect. You will be perfect. I’ve learned from the original Project’s mistakes, oh yes.”

Mike pulled so hard at the restraints that he nearly dislocated his shoulder.

“You see, I’ve discovered the problem with the first paragon, Paragon Alpha. They let her keep her memories. She remembered who she had been. She mourned the loss of her own innocence and proved uncontrollable. Now, I can’t ‘erase’ your memories, per se, that’s impossible. But I can put them somewhere you’ll never find them.”

“You’re… you’re insane.”

All she did in response was stare at him, a curious smile plastered on her face.

“I never said I wasn’t.”

Skipping, she fiddled with the IV on his arm, despite his struggling. After a second, a strange, green liquid began to flow through the IV and into his arm. “Now, to do a little altering to that DNA of yours. I won’t lie, it’s going to be quite painful. Essentially, your whole body is going to die and be replaced, one small bit at a time.”

She gave him a pat on the cheek before she turned and opened the door to his cell. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you. Don’t go anywhere.” Her cackle echoed down the hall.

The silence was deafening as Mike waited for unconsciousness to claim him again. But as the seconds passed, his stomach fell. He realized that there would be no mercy. Whatever future that green liquid was bringing, he would feel every second of it.

The pain started slowly, just a tingling and slight numbness of his extremities, but with growing horror he knew that it was only going to get worse.

Mike felt like he was falling.

#Ede Valley #Mike Miller #Abigail Hodge #Jilli Nakajima #Doug Bailey #writing

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genderbinaryisforlosers · 7 years ago

Text

post-hephaestus hera

concept: instead of just linking her up to a bunch of cameras around the house or w/e, someone has the bright idea to buy a drone and a roomba and some wireless speakers and let her move around in those

she is always in a prime "looks into the camera like i'm on the office" location

DJ Roomba in the hooooouuse

quite often knocks shit over like a cat and pretends it was accidental

sometimes makes like she's filming a home video and gets really close to everyone's faces

"what are you doing today doug"

"i'm.. making mac and cheese,, hera not so clOSE youre gonna get burned or OW MY NOSE YOU DICK"

hera: *skitters across the floor* minkowski: OH JESUS CHRIST I THOUGHT YOU WERE A RAT

she hates having to physically move between rooms bc it removes a lot of the element of surprise and its so slow

but sometimes she'll suddenly take the drone/roomba online and say something and doug always screams

hera was the stabby we needed all along...

hera: doug i have an idea

doug: shoot

hera: tape a knife to me

doug: yES

-ten minutes later-

renée standing on the couch: WHY

doug, ankle bleeding: FOR SCIENCE

doug takes her on expeditions to the park and holds a remote control that he pretends works

once there was a break-in at the apartment and hera scared them away by pretending to be a self-destruct countdown and when she’s lonely it makes her laugh

no longer has the power to make doug’s showers cold but she DOES have the power to obnoxiously blast music at him whenever she wants, which can be just as effective

all of her appliances have been appropriately bedazzled by renée. doug tried but he ended up bedazzling himself and getting covered in glue

#w359 hera #renée minkowski #doug eiffel #wolf 359 #post hephaestus space kids #w359 headcanons #hephaestus crew #meta #riley rambles

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davidquigg · 7 years ago

Photo

This is a short story I declared finished almost seven years ago. I dredged it up accidentally on Saturday morning by plugging “Canon AE-1″ into my Gmail’s sent messages.

I still like this story and care about it but nonetheless have shown that I’m capable of forgetting it exists, so I’m posting it here to give it a chance to go play outside.

SOMETHING ABOUT AIRPLANES

Draw her face.

Or his.

Yes, yes, you're not an artist.

Fine. Shut up.

Just try.

Try because I want you to know what I came to know only a few hours ago.

Start simple. Get paper. Get a pencil. Sketch the shape of her face. Don't overthink. Let's stipulate that this will not be art.

Just sketch.

You're paralyzed, obviously. I had the same problem. This is what it feels like when you start to know what I came to know only a few hours ago.

Go on. Sketch the outline of her face. It's just a shape. This could be middle-school geometry. I mean, you've got to know the shape of her face. You've thought of her at least once today. Because today is either a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, and whenever it's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, you think of her. So you've got to know the shape of her face.

This is when you'll be tempted to screw this all up by cheating. Log the fuck off Facebook.

You don't get to look at that little thumbnail photo she posted to her profile. You don't get to look at it because it's cheating. You also don't get to look at it because you promised yourself you wouldn't look at it. She's not even your Facebook friend. And you've supposedly come to realize that there's something unseemly about clicking on the profile of one of your seven mutual Facebook friends and then clicking through to see their friends just so you can scroll down and smear your screen with nose grease because you're crowding in close and then closer to her thumbnail photo. Look at it this way: If she lived next door to a friend of yours, would you contrive to visit that friend's place just so you could look out his window and into hers? Don't answer that. I'm liable to hate you for your answer. Or I'm liable to hate myself less. I'm not interested in hating myself less. I'm not interested in you hating yourself less. I'm interested in you knowing what I came to know only a few hours ago.

So sketch. It's hopeless. I know. Let me save you some hours. Draw an oval. Any oval. Does the oval look exactly like the outline of her face? No. Obviously. But it's a start. Darken the inner edge of the bottom of the oval. Does the oval look more like her? Less like her? Adjust accordingly. Keep darkening inner edges. Keep assessing. Keep adjusting. Somehow you will eventually end up with a shape that seems surprisingly right.

Now pick a facial feature. Maybe eyes. You're not an artist. I know. Neither am I. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because I just need you to point to the exact spot inside the oval where her right eye should go. You've got to know that, obviously.

It's hard. But you got the face shape eventually. Or you think you did. So you should try. Just point to the spot. Just point. With the pencil. If I managed it, you'll be able to manage it.

But did I actually say that I managed it? I'm pretty sure I didn't say that. I didn't say it because it didn't happen.

Try to realize what this means and let it really sink in. Try. I say "Try" because you're not going to realize what this means. What you're going to do is wonder what this means.

You're going to wonder what it can mean that the same brain that can picture Jay Fucking Leno or Don Fucking Knotts or Angelina Jolie or Justin Fucking Bieber is only capable of rendering her as some smudge in a haze of longing.

She accused you once of just loving the idea of her. But nobody had ever been more real to you, so the accusation seemed ridiculous. And now this.

You have never had a sewer rat lick you with the ardent, rhythmic persistence of a family dog. But just the thought nauseates you, and rat-lick nausea's back-of-the-throat scuttling is what you feel now. Without knowing why. Without really knowing what this whole Leno- Knotts-Jolie-Bieber-her syndrome adds up to. Knowing, though, that it is something novel and morale-wrecking and mercilessly survivable.

Everything seems to be mercilessly survivable. This, for example. It happened years ago, when I could have drawn her face. It is happening years ago, when I can draw her face. It is happening.

She has found me out. Or thinks she has. She does not see me seeing that she is setting a trap. She is among the new CDs. In the D section of the shop. I look away.

A moment before, she did something to a copy of Something About Airplanes. I don't know what. But it doesn't matter. I'm assuming it involves some kind of subtle identifying mark. If I wanted to avoid getting caught, the specifics of what she'd done to the CD would matter. I don't want to avoid getting caught.

What she is doing now is an equal mystery to me. As I said, I have looked away. This is not an easy thing to have done. She has made a starer of me. I am not a starer. I could have been. I would have been. But back when my unfurling teenage libido threatened to ruin me, Andrea Zilpop sat me down on a humming Kenmore dryer and made me watch "The Tao of Steve" on the TV/VCR her parents had installed in their laundry room.

Andrea had seen the movie at work, which for her in those days was Rain City Video in Fremont. She hoped the movie might somehow trump my testosterone and allow me to remain someone she could bear to stay friends with. Her plan was not crazy. There is, I dimly remember, some learn-a-lesson section of the movie. But that is not the lesson I learned. What stuck in my brain instead is one pillar of the obese, irresistible protagonist's mantra of seduction: "Be desireless."

Being desireless has worked. So I have stuck with being desireless. In every way. I do not, for example, stare.

As I said, I have looked away.

I do not want to be looking away. My face tingles from the perverseness of looking away from Mali. Mali may be her real name. Or it may not. Maybe her east-of-the-mountains parents named her Molly and she has moved to Seattle and become Mali. I don't care. This isn't about her name. This isn't about her Value Village clothes. This isn't about her piercings. This isn't even about the seemingly extravagant breast tattoo that reveals its topmost sliver whenever she interrupts her clack-clack-clack perusal of our latest used CDs and arches her back.

I am an expert on what this is not about.

I balance a stack of CDs on my left palm. New CDs. Not truly new. Used, in fact. But new to us. Willy bought them. Sam priced them. Now I'm stocking them.

Somewhere in this stack is Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. I know this because an imaginary Jeff Tweedy has been singing my favorite track inside my brain from the moment I picked up the stack. "… Tall buildings shake / Voices escape singing sad, sad songs …" Jeff just sang that.

Imaginary Jeff.

When I'm stocking, there is always a song in my head. And sometime during the course of stocking, I always discover that the disc that holds the song has been in my hands all along.

Somewhere in the stack. This has stopped freaking me out. It has stopped seeming mystical, beautiful, impressive, oppressive.

Someone is moving into my peripheral vision. Closer. Closer. Whoever this is, they are not Mali. Even out of the corner of my eye, the blur is all wrong. And they're getting close in a looming, intrusive way she never does.

"Uh, have you heard if …" He does not pause. The elipsis is mine. Because, hell, I just have to interrupt. Here, at least.

Even if not in real life.

Because it's so obvious what's going to happen here. It's time to play Stump the Record Store Guy. And, yes, I'm human. I'm stump-able. But not by this guy. I can tell that from his blur. I don't even have to look over at him. I can also tell his question is not real. He doesn't want an answer. He wants me to know that he knows stuff that he assumes I don't know. Fine, I'll let him talk.

"Uh, have you heard if Andrew Bird is going to put out a live CD of his '05 show at Doug Fir Lounge? I think it was like April. Yeah, April 9th. Best show I've ever been to, dude."

No it wasn't, I want to say. Because this guy was not at the show. Don't ask me how I know. I just do.

"Yeah, they say …"

This is the sure tipoff that all this comes directly off the Web. Which is cool. Just be straight about it.

"Yeah, they say it was his best performance ever of that Happy Birthday song."

This is nonsense, of course. I don't claim to know when Andrew Bird's best performance of the song happened. But I do know that he performed a purer, better version in Amsterdam nearly four years earlier.

"Man, I'd give anything to hear that show again," he continues.

This is where I almost snap. I want to tell him to go back to www.archive.org/details/ abird2005-04-09 if he wants to hear the show so badly. Because we both know that's where he heard it in the first place. Not live.

This guy is talking over imaginary Jeff Tweedy's singing to involve me in his charade of self- esteem building. I want it to end.

"Let's check something," I say, smiling as I lead him nowhere near the Andrew Bird section and straight to the Andrew W.K. section. I paw through the discs, looking in vain for a recording on which Andrew W.K. performed in Portland under the name Andrew Bird.

He snorts. This ingrown hair of a man snorts. He's not even going to call me out on my error. He knows he knows more than me now. This is all he came for. He can tell himself that this is why he buys all his music on iTunes. He's smarter than all of us. Nothing for him to learn here that he can't learn by consulting John Cusack's iTunes Celebrity Playlist and clicking "Buy All Songs." I mean, John played a record-store owner in a movie. So if John recommends fifteen tracks and two of them are by Gnarls Barkley, then it must be for a good reason. Right? Right.

"I'll take it from here," he says, shaking his head.

Good.

"Uh, OK?" I say, feigning bafﬂement. "Let me know if I can answer any more questions." This all feels so good. The hollowness of his swagger washes away all my annoyance. Stuff like this is what I'd miss if I quit. And Mali. I'd miss Mali, obviously.

She is finished with whatever trap she was setting for me in the New section. Unless someone else with a fake question intercepts me, I am about to be standing shoulder-to- shoulder with her in Used. She does the back-arching thing. I'm way too far away for a glimpse of tattoo. But still. Still.

I would pay to have someone competent take my picture right now. Because I sense that I have never looked happier. And I'd like to know what this feeling looks like. I'd like to hold a print of this moment in my hands when I'm very sad or very old.

Mali is doing something with her eyebrows. She is acting. It is bad acting. Bad, adorable acting designed to convey concentration. She is ﬂipping through discs in the catchall section where we indiscriminately file all bands that start with D.

She exhales loudly. Loudly and adorably. Crap, I am so not desireless.

"Hey, Hilliam," she says, looking up while still doing the frustrated, focused thing with her eyebrows.

I should explain that I was Willie before I started working here. Willie Hill. But Willy already worked here. So I couldn't be Willie at work. When I refused to be Billy or Will or Bill – Will Hill?! Bill Hill?!! – it was Evan who cracked himself and everyone else up by blending my given name and last name. Hilliam. I'd become Hilliam. And that's who I am. Here in Ballard, at least.

My parents hate it. Obviously. But they live in Wallingford. In Wallingford, I'm still Willie.

"Hey, Hilliam," she says, doing the eyebrow thing. "I've been wanting Something About Airplanes. For weeks. Does anybody ever bring that in used or do people just hang on to it?"

"We see it sometimes. In this town, there's always at least one person swearing off Ben Gibbard."

"For serious?"

"You'd be amazed."

"Oh."

"Last week. No, two weeks ago. Dude comes in. He's got an empty kitty litter bag that he's filled up with every Death Cab record, every Postal Service record. He's got All-Time Quarterback. And he's growling."

"Growling?"

"Well, words. But he's growling the words," I say and yell out "Travesty!"

Sam is closest. He yells "Travesty!"

Willy hears. He yells "Travesty!" He pauses, stomps his foot, and hollers "Unconscionable!"

"Unconscionable!" Sam yells.

"Unconscionable," I tell Mali.

"Is there more?" she asks. "I don't want to clap between movements."

"But you do want to clap, right?"

"I want to know what's unconscionable."

"And what's a travesty."

"Yes, a travesty, too."

"'Cupid.' The guy downloaded some unreleased solo tracks by Chris Walla. On one, Walla covered 'Cupid' by Sam Cooke."

"Travesty!" Mali says.

"You've heard it?"

"No," she says. "I'm just being cooperative."

"Right."

"Active listening."

"Right."

"Anyway …"

"Anyway," I say. "This guy hates Walla's 'Cupid' cover so much that he decides to sell everything ever touched by Walla or by people who touched Walla."

"So you've got his copy of Something About Airplanes?"

"Never at the end of the month."

"What?"

"We sold it almost right away."

"Oh."

"We'll get another."

"OK, well, can we do the thing again?"

"Of course. I'll call you if we get it in."

"Used."

"Right. I'll call you if we get it in. When we get it in."

"Used."

With everything but her arms, she moves to hug me. It's a kind of lurch. You can't hug without arms. So we don't hug.

"You're the best," she says instead.

I love that she knows what I'm about to do. I love that she set a trap. It hasn't occurred to me that she might find this whole thing creepy.

I mean, how can it be anything but endearing to discover that the guy at the record store perpetrates a lovelorn fraud every time you mention a CD you're hoping to find used? It will go like this: 1) Hilliam retrieves a new copy of the CD Mali wants; 2) Hilliam pays for this new CD in cash; 3) Hilliam removes the CD's clear wrapping; 4) Hilliam buys the CD back for the shop, screwing himself out of about ten bucks because the CD is now, technically, used; 5) Hilliam waits seventy-two hours before calling Mali to say that the CD she wanted has miraculously appeared.

Fifty-some hours later, she calls the shop.

"Hey," she says, sighing.

Just that. She's never called before.

"Mali?"

"Uh, yeah. Does that junkyard phone have caller ID?"

"I recognized your voice," I answer unstrategically.

"From me saying 'hey'?"

"You sighed, too."

"Shit," she says, laughing. "Am I the Sighing Girl of Ballard or something? Is this how everyone thinks of me?"

"Not that specific. Sighing Girl of Seattle is what people tend to say."

"Smartass! … Want to meet up for a cigarette break?"

"You smoke?" I blurt, glossing over this unprecedented non-retail-related overture and fixating on the seeming impossibility that a smoker could smell as nice as she does.

"No."

"Then why are we meeting for a cigarette break?"

"Don't you smoke?"

"Not since high school."

"Oh, I just figured all you guys did. The shop smells a little like my grandpa's overcoat."

"Noooooooooooooo," I say, as if this truth stings badly.

She laughs. But this moment is slipping away. I slap at my pockets. I detect packaging.

"Lemonheads!" I say.

"What?"

"I've got Lemonheads. We could do …"

I'm looking around to see if anyone is within earshot.

"Do what?" she asks.

"Sorry, we could do a Lemonhead break. Are you down?"

"Lemonheads? Hell yeah, I'm down," she says. "Meet me like halfway?"

"Halfway like skatepark halfway or like kitchen-store halfway?"

"Kitchen store," she says.

We hang up.

The little guitar riff that opens "Portions For Foxes" is chiming out of the shop's speakers.

This is a coded message. What we mean when we play this song or any of the ten other tracks on Rilo Kiley's 2004 release is that we knew the sound of Jenny Lewis singing long before a National Public Radio review of her solo album introduced her to the ears of every amiable Dockers-wearer within range of Terry Gross's voice.

I yell to Willy that I'm going on break. He looks quizzical. So I pantomime smoking a cigarette. His eyebrows rise, signaling comprehension, and he waves goodbye. I walk out, striding west on Market just as Jenny Lewis sings me a warning: "the talking leads to touching / and the touching leads to sex / and then there is no mystery left."

This is not what I want to hear as I walk to meet up with Mali, hoping that the talking will lead to touching and the touching will lead to sex. Not what I want to hear at all.

So, reﬂexively, I play a song in my brain. Not just any song. And not even a whole song. Just the opening lyrics to a song from Jenny's bandmates' side project: "Well she gets real mean when she's drunk. / And she finally fell asleep and I'm glad. / She said, 'The only way you got as far is you did / is 'cause of me. Your songs suck.' " I've always wondered if those lyrics are about Jenny. Now, for convenience, I've decided to decide that they are definitely about her. I willfully black out the second verse where the mean drunk – whoever she is -- recants and apologizes.

Heedless now, I walk past the shoe boutique that used to be a rubber-stamp store and the booming restaurant/bar that used to be a failed restaurant.

No song plays in my head now. A rare relief. I hear a Vespa start. I hear a clang. It's the type of clang made after a successful wallop of one of those smack-a-lever-with-a-hammer contraptions they erect in the feats-of-strength section of county fairs. This particular clang is synchronized with the Walk part of the mid-block Walk/Don’t Walk indicator. With its blessing, I now cross Market.

Continuing west, I pass the kids' boutique Mon Petit Shoe that used to be a friendly, long-in- the-tooth toy store, the yoga studio that used to be a Hallmark shop, the furniture store that used to be a competing record store, and the Puerto Rican restaurant that used to be an Australian restaurant that used to be the eastern part of the now-shrunken kitchen store.

Kitchen 'N Things is closed for the night. Mali has not noticed me yet. Her face is pressed against the store's front window, peering at something green.

I find myself wishing I were famous, wishing some paparazzi would leap from the shadows.

Though I'm not smiling, I sense that I look as happy as I feel. Again, I wish for a photograph that I could hold up and compare with every future joy. Is this pessimism, optimism, premonition? I stop my footsteps and watch Mali for a good fifteen seconds before calling out her name.

She does not turn to me right away. She peers a moment longer, seeming to say a kind of goodbye to whatever merchandise it is that she's coveting.

"Ah," she says, instead of greeting me. "I love Kitchen Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn Things."

I can't honestly tell if she's mocking the store's middle "'N" or cooing it like a loved one's nickname. I don't care. Either way, it strikes me as adorable. Anything she says drives me deeper in love.

"What were you leering at, lady?" I ask.

"Brushes. Silicone brushes."

"Don't you guys sell brushes?"

"Sure. Housewares. Aisle three. But not like these. Not silicone."

I don't know what to say. She goes on. Very earnestly.

"Plus, they're 100-percent recycled material. They're made from old fake boobs."

I nod without really registering what she's said.

"Are you serious?" I ask, regaining my common sense.

"Horribly serious," she says, giggling. "Dour. Humorless. Can't you tell?"

"Smartass," I say, reaching up and giving her left arm a gentle tap. "Let's get very, very serious here. How goeth your shift, fair maiden?"

"Goeth?"

"I don't know. I'm just making stuff up. How's your shift going?"

"Fine. The usual bizarreness. I just had two customers start bad-mouthing each other at the checkout. Freaks."

"What happened?"

"Well, we've got like two weeks left at the store before they tear it down to build the bigger, better store with the stacks of condos on top," she says, pausing to make some kind of crazy jazz hands that I take as a signal she finds the whole "bigger, better" thing to be bullshit. "Anyway, this woman pays for her stuff and starts chatting with me about where I'll be transferred during construction. Turns out, she knows my new store. I say that I've heard everyone's mean to each other there. She tells me, in this well-meaning-slash-excruciating detail, everything she knows about the nice people who work there. She also gives me advice. Career advice. Life advice.

Meanwhile, I'm ringing up some semi-older dude with a twelve-pack of Bud. The first woman does not stop talking. The dude keeps glancing back and forth between me and the woman.

Mostly, looking at me, though. Finally he leans in toward me and says, 'I think she likes you.' I pretend not to hear. Because like what, what am I supposed to do? Join in? Give him a little giggle? Help him slam this lonely, sweet woman who is so intent on being nice to me that she will not leave me the hell alone while I try to do my job? No. No. I won't. So I ignore him.

"And that should be the end of it. But as he walks past the woman with his beer, he says, 'Why don't you just leave her alone? She's not interested.' Now, the sweet woman stops being sweet. It's go time, man. She's like, 'Why don't you back off? Go home and drink your Budweiser and mind your own damn business.' "But she gathers up her plastic bags and heads for the door, where they go off on each other a little more. I manage to tune that part out. But now I've got the rest of the line to deal with.

The next guy is this mumbler. So, you know, he mumbles something. I say, 'What?' He says, 'I feel so low-maintenance all of a sudden' and glances over at Advice Lady and Budweiser Prick.

And, of course, he's low-maintenance by comparison. And that would have been totally great if he hadn't felt the need to point it out. Still, I say, 'You are low-maintenance and I appreciate that.' Luckily, he doesn't stick around to chat. He just takes his strawberries and his Odwalla and gets out of my life."

I tell Mali, "Oh my god. You're way too nice. I don't know how you can deal with people like that."

I say this. But it's not what I mean. I mean something more. I have a whole theory about this.

The theory goes like this: In all the world of retail, the most exhausting thing a woman can be is sexy and nice. Nobody girl-chats with mean and sexy. Nobody ﬂirts with plain and nice. And pretty much every kind of customer just wants to ﬂee from mean and plain. But sexy and nice? You get everybody. You get everybody who wants to see you naked. You get everybody who wants a friend. It is endless. And retail is already endless.

But I don't say any of this. Because what makes me any less weird than Mali's customers if I use her crappy-shift story as a clumsy excuse for telling her I think she's sexy? Better to impersonate a friend right now. Better to save telling her she's sexy for some dizzy, panting, half-dressed moment in our hypothetical shared future.

What words should pass through my lips if I manage to wipe away this smile? I simply don't know.

"You make me smile," I finally say since it is true.

"That's just because I'm too nice," she teases.

"No, it's in spite of that. Nice people make me frown. Every last one of them."

"Until now?"

"Until now."

"You're so full of shit."

I smile yet wider. She smiles, too.

This continues. Continues for longer than I want to document here, for longer than anyone would want to read. I remember every word, every gesture, every crumbly nibble of the cupcake we share down the street, every last expansion of my smile.

****

The film was trickier than the battery. My hands and the film and the inner workings of my neglected Canon needed to collaborate. They did, eventually. I thumb-ﬂicked the lever to advance the film. I clicked the shutter release. Thumb-ﬂick. Click. Thumb-ﬂick. Click. Thumb- ﬂick. I was ready.

The 16 I boarded is a southbound bus. But first it goes west. It drives along 45th until it reaches Stone Way. This is one of the vivid intersections of my acne years. Here stood the closest McDonald's to my house. It had a drive-thru. Very convenient. I knew people who went there.

But I disliked all of them. My loose confederation of friends always made the walk – and later the drive – east to Dick's drive in, where we could dine without the nuisance of chairs, tables, or even walls.

For reasons that seem, well, petty to me now, each of us would raise a middle finger whenever we passed that McDonald's at Stone and 45th. So the teenage me would have certainly ﬂipped me off as the 16 turned left on Stone and I found myself missing the McDonald's and resenting the condos that had risen in its place.

The 16 goes south on Stone and jogs diagonally to the southwest before merging its way onto the Aurora Bridge. In some unremembered year when I was not yet a grownup and, therefore, still impressionable, a bus like this one fell from this towering bridge. A guy named Silas Cool shot the driver and then himself. I've harbored a gut-level uneasiness about this bridge and about people named Silas ever since. The closer I get to my own natural death the more it shames me that I don't remember the names of the murdered driver or the one passenger who died in the fifty-foot plunge.

This forgetting didn't trouble me at all that day on the 16. The uneasiness eclipsed all other thoughts. What power we all held. How powerless we all were. Any of us could pull a pistol and, for reasons known only to ourselves, change – or even end – the lives of dozens of strangers. There would be no stopping it. So I averted my eyes from the driver and from all the possible catalysts of my death.

I stared out the window toward the shrouded Cascades and twisted a ring on my AE-1's lens, compulsively changing the size of hole that light would pass through if I took a picture.

And so it is that my first shot that day was radically overexposed. The resulting photo – of the front end of a climbing seaplane that seems to just barely clear the bridge's railing – is more striking, more beautiful that anything I would have shot on purpose. I wouldn't know this until I got the film developed. Even then, I would need to shoot five more rolls before understanding the error that gave me this treasured image. It would take another dozen rolls before I could replicate the effect more or less at will.

I shot nothing when we passed the Space Needle. I shot nothing downtown when I got off to transfer to a 174. Nothing as we passed the home of the Mariners, the Seahawks.

I traveled with the camera pressed to my eye as we neared Boeing Field. But the overcast sky had suddenly switched from being a veil filtering the sun to being a shroud. This mid- morning dusk made the camera useless. Even using the widest opening in the lens, I would have had to expose the film to light for one-eighth of a second. Such a small sliver of a second is actually a long time in the world of photography. It is a fatally long amount of time when you're shooting from a moving vehicle. Unless you happen to know enough to pan the camera and keep the lens pointed toward whatever passing object you're shooting. That's when things can get interesting. Spectacularly interesting. But, as you may sense already, the only spectacularly interesting photographs I could make at this point were accidental.

So I'd only shot that lone photo from the bridge by the time the bus pulled over on East Marginal Way long enough for me to get off at my stop. This put me in the city of Tukwila, essentially across the street from the Museum of Flight. I intended to throw down the $14 to go inside. It was my whole reason for riding the bus this far. But I got detoured. In all my family and field-trip visits to this place, I'd never noticed that the outdoor airplane display was plainly visible – even to deadbeats standing outside the fence, especially to deadbeats with long lenses on their cameras. Turning my back to the wind, I removed my normal lens and replaced it with a zoom lens that allowed me to get closer to the airplanes without getting closer to the airplanes.

****

We are at Besalu. Mali and me. She got the table. I got the coffee and pastries. It's not busy. A rarity. And this is a relief. Because I didn't have to stress that we might have radically different approaches to getting a table in an overstuffed café. I'm of the laughably civil school of table- getting: literally, ask every person ahead of you in line if they need a table before taking one.

Mali might believe in the more standard, snake-a-table-as-soon-as-you-see-one-and-screw- everybody-else approach. If so, I am not ready to know this. I'd be willing to tolerate it. But unlike so much else, it's not the sort of thing I could manage to see as an adorable quirk.

"Oh, they look so good," Mali says, reaching for the plate of pastries that I'm just about to set down.

"You've seriously never been here?" I ask.

"No, this is my first time above 58th Street."

"Wow."

"Don't you ever have that? Streets you just don't cross? Whole parts of neighborhoods you don't bother to explore?"

I think about this. She talks.

"You think I'm lame," she says.

"No. Not at all. I was just thinking about what you said."

She nods.

"When I was growing up in Wallingford, there was this McDonald's …"

She is nodding furiously. I realize what's going on.

"Please, go ahead and start eating," I say. "You don't have to wait until I get done talking."

She smiles. Not at me. At her ginger biscuit. She takes a bite. She stops chewing, stops moving – the way you might if you were about to spit out something unexpectedly rancid. She closes her eyes. She swoons. Literally swoons.

"Amazing, isn't it?" I say.

She resumes chewing, swallows, reopens her eyes.

"Oh my god," she whispers, slapping the table with both palms and making Jurassic Park ripples in our coffees. "I could have kept that bite in my mouth for the rest of my life."

"Amazing, huh?" I say, realizing as the words leave my mouth that this is essentially the same thing I said less than a minute ago.

"Uh, yeah," she says.

She swivels, looks back toward the kitchen.

"Does he make these right here?" she asks, jerking her head toward a dark-haired man who's loading some kind of dough onto both sides of an ancient-looking scale. With a big knife, he slices a hunk from the left pile of dough and drops it on the right pile. The scale falls into balance.

"Yeah, him and two other people. But it's his place," I say.

"Would it be inappropriate to run into the kitchen and hug him?"

"Probably," I say, laughing hard until I start to wonder whether the little artistic venture I'm about to unveil would stand a better chance of shining in some other café, some place without its own resident culinary master.

I'd planned on offering Mali a taste of my croissant at this point. But that would be an impossible act to follow. I push myself. If I just say the words, I'll have to go ahead and do it.

"Hey, let me show you something I've been wanting to show you," I say, sliding a Ballard Camera envelope from the pocket of my jacket.

There are three more envelopes just like this one on my bed at home. They are thicker envelopes. This thinner one holds what I consider to be the eight presentable images from my four rolls.

"Come on. What is it?" she coaxes, noticing the hesitation I thought I'd managed to hide.

I've given a lot of thought to what comes next. Just hand her the envelope? No, seems almost apologetic. Hand her the images one at a time? Too controlling. Instead, I've decided to lay the images out. Three columns of two, topped by the remaining two photos. Why? Don't know. But this is what I've decided.

I put down the first two pictures. A smile – so full, so deep, so reassuring – takes over Mali's face. It animates me. I lay out the six remaining photos with the ﬂourish of an overcompensating tarot reader. My chair is now meaningless. I am an idiot marionette, dangling, waiting for her reaction.

She's deliberate. Each image gets a long, careful look. I become aware that I'm sweating. I breathe fast. Then faster.

Please. Say. Something.

"Did you download these?"

"No," I say a bit too enthusiastically. "I took these."

"Who did you take them from?" she says, holding a hand to her aghast mouth.

She is messing with me. She knows what I meant. I know she is messing with me. I know she knows what I meant. But I am so keyed up that I start to defend myself.

"IdidnttakethemfromanybodyI," I blurt.

She lowers the hand from her mouth. It has been hiding a smile, that same smile. I breathe again. I am ready.

"I took these," I say. "With my camera."

She stares at me.

"You've never told me you were a photographer."

"I'm not."

And I take a deep breath because I'm about to ﬂay myself.

"There's something about you, Mali. You just make me want to make things."

She squints at me.

"To create things, you know. For once. Instead of just talking shit, you know."

She squints tighter. The eyes close now. But a tear leaks from each eye.

Her left hand slides across the tabletop. I put my hand on top of it. We stay that way. While I'm not totally sure what has just happened, I know that it is powerful, and I sense that it is powerfully good.

****

Arranged in the same pattern but in a different order, the photos are now Scotch-taped to the wall next to Mali's futon. I wake to find her looking at them.

"I have a new favorite," she says.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, this one," she says, jerking her head in the direction of all of the photos.

She can't point. Her arms are around me, encircling my left shoulder, my neck, my right armpit. We went to sleep this way. I can't decide what would mean more to me: us having held this position all night or Mali having chosen to recreate it as soon as she woke up. This is another one of those endearing-either-way choices.

"I'm sorry, Armless Lady," I say, straining to kiss her neck. "I'm having trouble seeing where you're pointing. You're going to have to describe your new favorite photo."

I am expecting it to be that first photo I took, the one of the seaplane cresting the Aurora Bridge on its takeoff from Lake Union. Its accidental overexposure makes it unique among these eight photos. Also, I'm disinclined to admire any photo that I made on purpose. I still feel incompetent. Incompetent but strangely helpless to resist the urge to keep creating. So my camera is here by the bed. There's a new roll of film in it. The camera has a self-timer. I could set it on Mali's bookcase and photograph us right now.

I don't.

I didn't.

I never did.

She releases her hold on me and slides her left hand down my chest. She retrieves my right hand, brings it to her mouth, and kisses it before delicately folding everything but my index finger in toward my palm. She guides my hand until my index finger is pointing squarely at the blurriest photo of the bunch. Shot from below and slightly off to the right, it shows the nose and two cockpit windows of a commercial jet.

"Really?!" I marvel.

"Yeah. It reminds me of a clown's face."

"Hmmm," I say and then stare at it until the plane's nose becomes a clown nose and the two windows of the cockpit become the clown's eyes. "OK. Yeah. Clown face. Got it."

We're quiet until I say, "It's funny. You can't see it in black and white, obviously. But the part that looks like a clown nose was painted a total clown-nose red.

"I believe it," she says.

Her arms are back around me.

"I have to say, I'm surprised that's your favorite. You seriously like it more than the really similar one that's in better focus?"

"Seriously. That one looks like a plane – not a clown."

"Didn't realize you have such a thing for clowns."

She laughs, gives me this tender headbutt. I expect banter along the lines of "Well, I'm lying in bed with a clown." But she must not want banter. So I retrace our conversational steps.

"I'm trying to figure out what it means that I set out to take pictures of airplanes and your favorite airplane picture makes you think of a clown."

"Don't think about it too much," she says. "The clown thing is just a tiny part of it. I'd like it without the clown thing. What I like most is that the picture looks like a mistake."

"You like it because it looks like a mistake?"

"I like it because it looks like a mistake. But mostly I like it because I don't think it's really a mistake. Of all of these, it's the one that looks most like you were pushing yourself, reaching for something. And I guess only you know if you actually reached what you were reaching for. But whatever. I like that you trusted me to look at it. I like that you trusted me to see past the blurriness."

"I almost didn't show you that one."

"And maybe that's what I mean. This is the one that stopped you. This is the one where you needed to decide what this was all about, whether you were going to show me some ﬂawless, boring-ass pictures or whether you were going to show me you."

"What's weird to me," I say slowly, "is that I'm showing you a me that didn't exist a week ago."

"Well then maybe what you're showing me is us."

It is a ﬂat, detached, factual statement. I try to catch my breath.

I can't.

I couldn't.

I never could.

#fiction

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simpcitybaby · 7 years ago

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Words sting.

Part 2 - Part 3

Soulmate AU: Carlos de Vil x reader A/N: Carlos’s or Carlos’, who knows. I haven’t written in ages so this might be really bad. This is also my first post on tumblr so we’ll see how it goes, I’m still trying to figure out how to work this.

Carlos’s POV To say that I was jealous was an understatement. I wanted love and I had yet to find it. Harry and Uma found out they were soulmates when they first met each other. Both of their words fading off of their skin but stinging as it did so. Mal and Ben had their words fade when we first got to Auradon but they chose to ignore it until a couple of months later. Jay and Lonnie had become an item after the six months that we’ve been here. Evie and Doug were even together! I hadn’t found my someone on the isle so they had to be here. Right? I could’ve already met her but she hadn’t said the specific words to make the sentence on my skin disappear. Then there was Jane. She was beautiful inside and out. She had yet to find her soulmate, just like me. Casual dating was a thing here and since she had yet to meet the one, she could potentially settle for me. There’s no denying that I had a crush on her, but fate seemed to be doing everything in its power to make sure that we didn’t end up together. I tested out saying the words on her arm to see if they’d go away. They never did. It was time for me to stop wallowing in self pity and ask her out. A loud knock pulled me out of my thoughts, making me groan in the process. The person behind the door was the one person that I despised the most. She was an enigma and I loathed her. I can’t really say why, everyone here at Auradon was pretty cool. Everyone but Audrey that is. “I just came here to get something for Jay.” (Y/N) said as I opened the door a bit more to let her in. She made her way past me and grabbed Jay’s tourney jersey. She seemed suspicious and the words just slipped right out of my mouth, “Did he really ask you to grab it or are you stealing it?” (Y/N) turned to me and raised an eyebrow, “Why would I knock on the door if I was going to steal something?” I scoffed before saying, “Well your dad was a street rat, maybe you got that from him.” She rolled her eyes before saying, “And you’re a VK, that doesn’t make you any better.” I scoffed as she made her way out of the door. Why the others were friends with her, I had no idea. I got rid of any thoughts of (Y/N) and rushed out of the door to go ask Jane to cotillion and potentially have her be my girlfriend.

(Y/N)’s POV I made my way out of Jay and Carlos’s room and let out a huge sigh. Why was he such a difficult person? I have been nothing but nice to him since he got here. If anyone was going to hate me, it should be Jay because our parents are enemies. My head was reeling and I didn’t even notice that I made it to the field until Jay put his hand on my shoulder. I turned with his jersey in my hand and held it out towards him. “What’d he say this time?” I took in a deep breath before relaying the conversation to Jay, him taking in everything I said. “I honestly don’t know how he couldn’t like you. You’re so nice once people get to know you.” I smiled as I subconsciously rubbed the words on my forearm, “Thanks Jay.” His eyes traveled to my arm as he changed the subject. We were now talking about how he and Lonnie got together and I wondered if I’d ever find my soulmate. Some people went their whole lives without finding their person. Maybe love just wasn’t meant for me. I tuned back into the conversation as Jay ended his sentence with a, “We’re just meant to be.” I smiled before patting him on the back and making my way back to my dorm. My mind went back to Carlos. He was gorgeous, no matter how much he didn’t like me, there’s no denying that. He was nice to everyone and loved helping. I have no idea what about me made him so angry. If he wasn’t such a dick towards me maybe I could be his girlfriend. My face began to heat up and I laughed at myself because that would never happen. He took any chance to be mean to me and I would always retaliate. After a bit of wandering I had finally made it, in an urgent need of peace and quiet. Instead of a quiet room, I was met with Lonnie, Evie, and Mal gossiping. “What are you guys talking about?” I asked as I tilted my head to the side. “Jane and Carlos are together! They’re going to cotillion and they’re dating! Isn’t that crazy?” I sighed and said, “Yeah that’s insane.” I threw myself onto my bed with all eyes on me. “Why doesn’t Carlos like me?” Mal gave me a look as if to say, you know you’re a great person. “Carlos has a hard time getting close to people. You have your walls up so high and he just doesn’t have the energy to knock them down. With him it’s either you want to be friends with him or you don’t. Most people automatically trust him and with you it’s different. He’s bothered by it. Enough about him though, you need to let me take measurements and make your dress!” Evie dragged me off of the bed and made me stand while she took measurements. Trust was something to be earned, you couldn’t just trust people. The only person that you could truly trust was your soulmate because you were put together by the heavens above. It was going to be a long day.

Carlos’s POV Jane actually said yes! The one girl that I was infatuated with returned my feelings. We were all alone until lunch came. This was the one time of day that I both loved and hated. I loved it because food. I hated it because (Y/N) sat at our table. Jane and I had gotten there as the group started flowing in. My arm was around Jane as she snuggled into me when (Y/N) walked up. While sitting down she had a questioning look on her face before saying, “You guys, is the S or C silent in scent?” That’s when it happened. I retracted my arm from Jane’s shoulder as fast as I could. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” I rubbed my forearm as the words disappeared, the words that held who I spent the rest of my life with. I looked up and glared at (Y/N) as she looked at me with her mouth agape. “It shouldn’t be you.” I said with venom lacing my words. Her eyes became glassy as her hand massaged her forearm. “Things were better before this stupid mark and stupid fate!” I yelled as everyone looked over at our table. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out, “Find someone else - I don’t need this in my life.” (Y/N) got up and ran to who knows where. Out of all people how could she be my soulmate? Something had to be wrong with this shit system, she was NOT my soulmate. She wasn’t even capable of loving people. I was pulled out of my thoughts when Ben gave me a disapproving look while saying, “You didn’t have to do that. She’s a sweet girl and you need to sort out whatever problems you have with her because she didn’t deserve that. No one is going to love you more that (Y/N).” With that he got up and ran in the direction that (Y/N) went in, with all of the others trailing after him. This left Jane and I alone. “(Y/N)’s an amazing girl but she doesn’t trust easily. That might be where your anger stems from. You’re so used to everyone trusting you and when she didn’t, you got upset. She’s smart, she’s talented, and she’s beautiful. I like you, Carlos but I’m not (Y/N). I could never love you as much as she could. You have to make this right.” With having said that, Jane gave me a kiss on the check and left me on my own. I sighed and let my head hit the table. I had to find (Y/N).

A/N: I’ll do a part two that’ll be pure fluff if anyone actually enjoyed this. I also didn’t proofread so…

#carlos de vil imagine #Carlos x reader #carlos de vil #carlos de vil x reader #disney's descendants #disney's descendants 2 #descendants x reader

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sweet-christabel · 8 years ago

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A Trusted Friend In Science

FF.net: (x) AO3: (x)

A/N: Sorry, that break dragged on longer than I intended. I’ve been working pretty solidly on original stuff, so that took priority for a while. Then one of my fiancé’s friends unexpectedly passed away, so we’ve been dealing with that, which has been pretty much as you’d expect. J.P., you never played Portal, and frankly this would be an odd choice of chapter to dedicate to you, but I’m here saluting you on the internet regardless. Take care, mate.

Chapter Thirty-Six - 2035. Married To Science.

The car cut a clear path through the wheat field, a straight line leading out from the ruins of main reception. The field was much greener than it had been when Chell had seen it last, the wheat looking withered and badly in need of care. Although the outskirts of the field had looked trimmed and tidy from where the citizens of Ishpeming had harvested their crops, the rest was a sea of neglect.

Chell and Doug stood balanced on the backseats of Gordon’s modified Jeep, eyes peeled for the tiny shed that would let them into Aperture’s hidden world. Chell blinked, her eyes watering from the wind. The air had a cold bite to it that thankfully hadn’t been there when she’d emerged before, barefoot and injured. As she cleared her vision, a shape appeared on the horizon.

“There,” she called, pointing.

Gordon twisted to glance up at her, amending his steering to head in the direction she was indicating.

Doug turned his head to look, having been scouting more to the left. His face registered his anticipation and wariness in equal measure. She knew exactly how he felt.

With the direction set, Gordon picked up speed, and Chell tightened her grip on the car’s chassis. The wind blew her loose strands of hair out of her face and sent her faded flannel shirt flapping, making her wish she’d buttoned it up. The long-sleeved t-shirt she wore underneath wasn’t keeping the chill out.

Her charred companion cube still sat outside the hut, nestled in a square dent in the wheat where she’d moved it to stand on. Gordon stopped the car not far from it, and Chell jumped down, walking over to look at it. She wasn’t really sure why, but it made her feel a brief flutter of guilt that it had been left to vanish into the field, and she considered taking it back inside. Then common sense took over, and she stepped away.

She and Doug stood side by side for a long moment, simply staring at the battered corrugated surface of the shed and the perfectly normal-looking warning signs on the door. Behind them, Kleiner started to speak, but was quickly shushed by Gordon, who seemed to understand something of what they were feeling. Chell wondered if he would have felt the same returning to Black Mesa.

With a soft sigh, she stepped forward, halting an arm’s reach from the door. She glanced back at Doug, the question plain to see on her face. She wouldn’t make any move unless they were both sure. His jaw tensed for a moment, but then he decisively nodded. Chell lifted her hand and knocked.

The door sprung open almost immediately, making her step back. An elevator rose into view in the glass tube ahead, its curved door sliding open invitingly.

Chell hesitated, her heart pounding. Doug stepped up to her side, looking down at her with an openly apprehensive expression. There was determination in it too, and she knew he was going ahead with or without her. Well, there was no way she’d let it be without her.

She slipped her hand in his, gripping it tight. He squeezed back. Together, they stepped through the door.

It closed with a solid clang once Gordon and Kleiner had followed, and Chell tried not to reflect on how ominous it sounded. She let them enter the elevator first, so that she and Doug were facing the door. She closed her eyes briefly as it began to descend, then let them drift open, calm washing over her as she slipped into her usual Aperture state of mind.

She barely registered Kleiner’s exclamations of surprise and awe as the journey gave them glimpses of the dark expanse between test chambers. She gazed at the all-too-familiar view of distant green-tinted lights and hanging cables, the insane but impressive sight of what the scientists had built and GLaDOS had expanded. It was another world entirely, one far removed from fields and dirt and storms, from people and politics. With a pang of dismay, she realised that what she’d feared was proving true, one of the many reasons she hadn’t wanted to return.

I feel safe here.

Much of her most recent time at Aperture had, of course, been the furthest thing from safe, but the familiarity of its sterile smell and cold, subterranean air was almost reassuring. In the facility, she fitted in. She didn’t have to worry about finding a place in the world, or feel inadequate at what her experiences had done to her body, (which was, ironically, Aperture’s fault anyway). She’d already made a place for herself, first as an assistant, then as a test subject. Despite everything she’d been through, despite how hard she’d fought to escape, there was a traitorous feeling of comfort in coming back.

Shaken, she glanced up at Doug. He tilted his head to look at her, his blue eyes full of alarm, grim acceptance right behind it. Chell let out a breath, relief flooding her senses as she saw the same struggle in him. He understood. He felt the same way. She didn’t need her head examining. Or at least, if she did, he did too.

The elevator sank down into illumination that was almost dazzling after the dim light of the lift shaft. GLaDOS’s chamber looked exactly the same. Its curved wall of panels was dark, but the room was lit brightly. GLaDOS herself hadn’t changed either. Her amber optic appraised them calmly as the elevator descended.

“Welcome back,” she said, her tone carefully free of anything that might have been called sarcasm or sincerity.

Chell had forgotten how intimidating she could be in person, and she wished she could have seen Gordon and Kleiner’s reactions. The elevator doors slid open, and she and Doug stepped out. It was surprisingly strange to stand on the floor of her chamber and not be wearing long-fall boots.

“The mute lunatic,” the A.I. went on, “and the rat man.”

“Hello, GLaDOS,” Doug said levelly, his voice quiet.

“I see you left the moron behind. Thanks for that.”

Chell had never dignified her with a single answer before, and the words stuck in her throat, going against every instinct she’d honed as a test subject. She pushed through, rattling out small talk as if GLaDOS was a stranger at a party, and conversation was mandatory.

“It’s nice to have some peace and quiet,” she made herself say. Then she glanced at Kleiner. “Well, sort of.”

GLaDOS’s chassis moved back a touch at the sound of her voice. The yellow gaze scrutinised her for a long moment, and Chell wondered what she was thinking. If past experiences were anything to go by, there was little chance of GLaDOS passing up the opportunity to make a snide comment.

“Well,” the A.I. said at last, “I guess I’ll have to think up a new name for you.”

“You could use my actual name,” Chell replied nonchalantly. “I know you have it on my file.”

GLaDOS ignored her, tilting her head to look at Gordon and Kleiner. “And you must be the…Black Mesa scientists.”

Her hesitation before speaking the name was small but noticeable. Aperture’s rivalry was so deeply ingrained that Chell doubted she could help herself.

“Yes,” Gordon answered with a brief throat-clearing cough. “Gordon Freeman and Isaac Kleiner. Pleased to meet you.”

Kleiner seemed to have been thrown into a blissful, (and no doubt temporary), bout of silence, his face a picture of wonder and concentration as he studied GLaDOS.

“Hmm,” said GLaDOS.

Gordon began a diplomatic and carefully thought out speech about how Black Mesa’s Artificial Intelligence department had fallen woefully short compared to Aperture’s, but Kleiner interrupted him with a torrent of enthusiastic babble and half-formed questions that appeared to take even GLaDOS aback.

Chell felt a surprising pang of sympathy for her. She had likely never experienced attention of that sort. It could take some getting used to.

“All right, stop,” the A.I. ordered after a moment.

Kleiner obediently did.

“While it comes as no surprise that Black Mesa never produced technology like this, I actually do have things to do with my time. So if you could limit your…fawning…to fewer syllables, I think we’d all be grateful.”

Rather than being discouraged by GLaDOS’s habitual spiky remarks, Kleiner let out a delighted laugh.

“Certainly, certainly. My apologies. It’s just…well, I would have given my right arm to work on a project like you!”

“That could be arranged.”

Kleiner laughed again. “Wonderful!”

GLaDOS’s optic blinked, then turned to the others.

Gordon gave a wry smile. “Yes, he’s always like that. You get used to it.”

“Do I have to?” GLaDOS asked, hopefully rhetorically.

Doug took the opportunity to take half a step forward. “GLaDOS, perhaps we could talk about why we came here?”

“By all means,” she said, rotating lazily to face him. “Tell me why you went to all the trouble of escaping only to come back here after a mere three months, despite the fact that I very specifically told one of you not to.”

Chell shrugged off the comment. “Give me a break. We destroyed the Borealis for you.”

GLaDOS acknowledged that with a bob of her head. “Yes. So talk.”

“I, uh, have a favour to ask,” Doug began, stumbling only slightly over the words. “In exchange for a favour.”

“A favour for a favour?” GLaDOS repeated, tilting her head thoughtfully. “There’s nothing I want from you, Rat Man.”

“Actually, I think there is,” Doug retorted, his voice gaining confidence. “The testing euphoria. I know you’ve found a way to live with it, but it’s still there, isn’t it? It still drives you crazy. And the rewards at the end of a test aren’t worth the withdrawal any more, are they?”

GLaDOS reared back a little as he went on, her optic wide.

Chell stepped up to Doug’s side, adding her own voice to the argument. “You told me it gets unbearable. Let Doug delete it from your programming. Do science on your own terms, not because you’re written that way.”

GLaDOS seemed to have been rendered uncharacteristically silent, which Chell thought was a good sign. She was taking the offer seriously, at least.

“What is testing euphoria?” Kleiner asked in a loud whisper, only to once again be hushed by Gordon.

“And in return?” the A.I. asked finally.

“You gave me a huge supply of my meds,” Doug said earnestly, “and I’m grateful for that, I am, but…after those five years are up, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m here to ask…please, I need the formula, so I can try and make it myself. You know as well as I do, Aperture meds aren’t like the ones big pharma produces. And to be honest, pharmaceuticals aren’t what they were before the war. If you have the formula on the database…please may I have a copy?”

The following silence was strained. Chell felt Doug’s tension, how rigidly he was holding his composure. He was pinning all his hopes on one gamble, and she wasn’t sure what he would do if it came to nothing.

“No,” said GLaDOS succinctly.

Doug let out a shaky breath, and Chell gripped his arm in support, shooting her a quick glare.

“There’s something else you can have,” GLaDOS went on.

In unison, Doug and Chell glanced up at her in confusion.

“I took up a hobby after you left,” she told them casually. “Monitoring the cooperative testing initiative wasn’t enough to keep me occupied, so I started working on something else on the side. Testing with robots isn’t the same, you know. I mean, look at them.”

She summoned a monitor from the ceiling, showing a half-solved test chamber. The two bipedal robots that Chell had briefly seen before her quick exit were chattering to each other, communicating where portals needed to be placed, then executing the tasks without hesitation. They were impressively efficient.

“So predictable,” GLaDOS lamented with a sigh, “even after I had them reprogrammed to imitate human behaviour.”

Kleiner and Gordon were watching with obvious interest, so she left the monitor where it was.

“You mean,” Chell ventured, seeking clarification, “they’re…too good at solving tests?”

“I mean it isn’t science if the results play out exactly as you predicted every time. Where’s the fun in that? But I’ll get on to that in a moment.” She turned her optic to Doug. “Rat Man…if you help me get rid of the last voice in my head…I’ll do the same in return.”

Doug narrowed his eyes at her, his uncertainty evident, but he automatically reached for the container she lowered on a claw.

“Take one of these every morning and evening for six months, and report to me for electrotherapy once a week.”

“Electrotherapy?” Chell parroted in alarm.

Doug looked up from reading the label, his eyes wide. “Is this…have you…found a cure for schizophrenia?”

“It’s easy to figure out, assuming you have a complete understanding of the human brain and its many complexities. But every brain is different. This cure is just tailored to yours. It would have to be made on a case by case basis.”

“How?” Doug stammered. “It’s not possible.”

“Just because humans never solved the problem doesn’t mean it’s unsolvable. As a scientist, you should know that,” GLaDOS chided imperiously.

“How?” he repeated. “Why?”

“I was bored.”

“Did you make any other cures?” Gordon asked her. His tone was that of polite interest, but Chell knew he was thinking of humanity’s depleted medical supplies.

“Some,” GLaDOS answered. “Just a few simple ones. The common cold, malaria, type 1 diabetes, cancer. Humans are so…delicate.”

Gordon’s eyes widened as her list went on, but he said nothing else.

“You wouldn’t do this out of mere boredom,” Chell said with certainty. “What else is going on?”

“You told Wheatley you wanted to speak to us,” Doug reminded her.

GLaDOS imitated a sigh. “Yes. I did say that.”

They waited with forced patience while the A.I. considered her next words.

“You ignored what I asked you to do, Rat Man,” she spoke up.

Doug looked up at her sharply, but his voice was calm. “I did what I thought was best.”

“Thank you.”

Chell raised her eyebrows in surprise, glancing at Doug. He looked equally stunned, but tried to cover it with a nod.

“You were right, deleting Caroline would have been…a mistake. But with her memories repressed, I can think clearly. What you did took away her emotional response. I can reflect on what happened without becoming…overwhelmed.”

Her words were hesitant, reminding Chell of Caroline herself. Doug’s theory that GLaDOS had found balance with the human part of herself seemed to ring true.

“In your absence,” GLaDOS continued, “I was forced to come to a somewhat annoying conclusion.”

“Oh?” Chell said curiously.

“Aperture Science…needs humans.” She spat out the words as if they tasted foul.

Chell exchanged a glance with Doug, seeing the concern behind his placid expression. At the back of her mind, she couldn’t recall if their agreement with GLaDOS had included the guarantee of their leaving the facility.

“Caroline had big dreams for this place,” GLaDOS said, sounding surprisingly wistful. “When she got the job as Mr. Johnson’s assistant, she thought she’d be in the perfect position to make them happen. Instead, his crazy ideas got her killed. But,” she added grudgingly, “since I’m here, now, I guess I can’t fault his decision.”

“What dreams?” Doug asked gently.

“She was only nineteen when she first came here, did you know that?” At their head-shakes, she carried on with her narration. “She was one of many secretaries, tasked with typing up documents. It was beneath her, but she used it as a stepping stool. After three years, Mr. Johnson’s assistant quit. Caroline had a friend who put her forward for the job. Mr. Johnson didn’t take her interview seriously because she was young and a woman, but then she told him the truth about her opinion of Aperture’s products. She thought they weren’t good enough, she thought a company with so many resources should be dreaming bigger than shower curtains. She thought they could change the world, make it better somehow, so she told him her ideas. He hired her on the spot. Do you know what those ideas were?” She paused for more head-shakes. “She thought the elevator ride into the salt mine was too long, reducing productivity. It’s common knowledge that the quickest route from point A to point B is a straight line. She wanted to find a way to travel from point A to point B by making them the same point.”

“Portals,” Doug spoke aloud. “They were Caroline’s idea?”

“They were,” GLaDOS confirmed. “They took a few years to perfect, but they got there. Although Mr. Johnson never authorised them for staff use. He had…other ideas.”

“So Caroline steered Cave Johnson onto the path that led to…well, all of this,” Chell said, gesturing to their surroundings and including GLaDOS in it.

“Ironically, yes. She thought she was doing what was best to turn the company into what she imagined it could be. But Mr. Johnson was a force of nature that could not be contained. She found that out soon enough.”

“Did Cave Johnson really die of lunar poisoning?” Chell asked bluntly.

“No,” GLaDOS replied at once. “It was poisoning that killed him, but the moon rocks were harmless.”

“Why did she do it?” Doug said, his words holding an appropriate amount of sensitivity.

“He took something irreplaceable from her.”

Her rapt audience remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. Even Kleiner was silent, his eyes wide as he listened.

“Caroline’s job was crazy and stressful, and she often saw things she wished she hadn’t,” GLaDOS told them. “But at the end of the day, she went home to her husband, a man who never failed to make her smile and cheer her up. When she became his assistant, Mr. Johnson told her she was expected to be completely dedicated, to have no other distractions in her life.”

“Married to science,” Chell said, thinking aloud, remembering the pre-recorded messages she’d heard down in the remains of old Aperture.

‘Sorry fellas, she’s married. To Science!’

“Precisely. Caroline never revealed that she had a husband. Giving him up would have been the logical thing to do, but she couldn’t.”

“She loved him?” Doug said softly.

“I suppose you could call it that. Science was always the greatest love in her life,” GLaDOS told them, the revelation coming as no surprise. “It drove her to accomplish great things, but the price was that she had to leave her morals behind. The knowledge of what she did – what she knew she could do – was why she needed Freddie. He made her feel human again, reminded her that she cared. He kept her grounded, kept her from becoming too much like Mr. Johnson. She needed a part of her life that was far removed from this place.”

Chell felt a flicker of sympathy. It was a familiar story. She’d seen her father take the same path, only she hadn’t been enough to keep him from giving everything to Aperture.

“Mr. Johnson was…compelling,” GLaDOS went on. “It was difficult to be around him and not get drawn into his world. His visions of the future were unlike anything Caroline had ever imagined. She couldn’t not be a part of creating it. And he needed her.”

That much had been made abundantly clear by the recordings down in old Aperture. Chell wondered about that bright, enthusiastic Caroline she’d heard, whether her passion had been genuine or forced for the sake of Cave and his messages.

“For years, it worked pretty well,” said GLaDOS. “She was capable enough that Mr. Johnson never suspected, or even took an interest in her life outside the facility. But he found out eventually. It was around the time that he was starting to look into artificial intelligence. The concept of me was on the horizon, but he had no way of realising it yet. He started small, with prototypes of the technology that would eventually create the moron.” Her voice took on a slight sneer at the word. “One day Caroline went into work to find Mr. Johnson very excited about a brand new prototype A.I. that he’d had the lab boys create. In artificial intelligence terms, it wasn’t much. Its sentience was low at best, and it mostly did what it was programmed to, but he’d succeeded in capturing a sense of the personality of its base. The mind-mapping process had killed the test subject, but it was a step in the right direction as far as Mr. Johnson was concerned.”

Chell gazed up at her in horror, knowing exactly where the story was going. GLaDOS noticed her expression and bobbed her head.

“Yes,” she acknowledged passively. “He’d taken Caroline’s husband.”

Chell covered her mouth with her hand, taking the knowledge in. “I knew he was probably insane, but…I had no idea it extended to something so…malicious.”

“In his mind, he’d simply solved a small problem. Freddie was in the way of Caroline’s work. He needed her work, so…”

“He had to go,” Doug finished, looking appalled.

“Yes. And grief makes people do extreme things. Although it was not purely for revenge that Caroline did what she did,” GLaDOS said defensively, “she was also worried that the same thing might happen to someone else. Of course, it backfired on her in the end.”

“I do not approve of the lady’s actions,” Kleiner spoke up, “but one can certainly understand them.”

GLaDOS nodded to him in response.

“Did Cave suspect her?” Doug asked. “Is that why he put her forward for this project?”

“No, he never suspected a thing. His mind didn’t work in the same way as other people. His only thought was to protect his legacy, and he knew Caroline was the one to do it if he didn’t survive long enough to do it himself.”

“Why didn’t she cancel the project after he died?” Gordon asked, arms folded as he listened to the story.

“She tried,” GLaDOS explained, “but Mr. Johnson had had paperwork drawn up and had forged her signature on the consent form. It was water-tight and very complicated. She could have found a way out of it, but not without upsetting a lot of investors, which would have shut the company down for sure. She chose to keep it running, and in the end…she accepted her fate. The project took so long to get off the ground, she had plenty of time. Those final years were her chance to set Aperture on the road she’d always wanted to travel, but she was distracted by the progress in artificial intelligence. Eventually, she would have found a way to get Freddie back, I’m sure. If she’d had the time. As it is, she still has some part of him.”

Chell glanced at her, puzzled. The speaker system emitted a soft beep.

“All reactor core functions are normal,” the announcer declared cheerfully. “Have a good day!”

Chell’s eyes widened in shock. Beside her, Doug seemed equally stunned.

“Is there any way to…save him?” he asked, stumbling a little over the terminology.

“No,” GLaDOS replied, her impassive tones hiding whatever opinion she might hold on the subject. “There isn’t enough information in the databanks, and he isn’t sentient.” She flicked her optic up in the direction of the speaker. “Perhaps I could rebuild a fully artificial version in time, but…I’m not sure who that would really benefit. Caroline’s guilt might be eased, but that’s all.”

“I think it could be done,” Kleiner said excitedly, raising a hand. “With patience and time, and the right foundation. You said yourself, nothing is unsolvable.”

GLaDOS studied him in silence. Chell thought she was pondering the scientist’s words, but it was difficult to tell.

“Perhaps,” she said at last. “But this leads me to my point. Testing with robots isn’t making any progress. Aperture needs humans.”

Chell opened her mouth to protest, but GLaDOS went on without a pause.

“I don’t just mean as test subjects. I mean staff.”

Objection dying in her throat, Chell halted, dumbfounded.

“But,” Doug started, jaw clenched, “you had staff. You killed them all.”

“It was a mistake,” said GLaDOS. “I was young, I was angry, I wanted revenge. I didn’t know myself at all, but now I do. You were right when you said I didn’t need the testing euphoria. Science is enough. I want this facility to function again, the way Caroline wanted it to. Humanity is depleted after…whatever that was up there. If I want people to work here, I need to make sure they’re in top condition. That’s why I started creating the cures.” She indicated the bottle that was still clutched in Doug’s hand. “That will work. You’ll be free of your voices and hallucinations. Forever. Then perhaps…you’ll consider working here again.”

Chell looked at Doug, seeing his astonished expression, and feeling as if she wore a similar one. It was so much to take in, she wasn’t sure where to start.

“And you…Chell.”

At the sound of her name, she turned to meet the A.I.’s amber gaze.

“The two of you worked so hard to bring this place down. Help me rebuild it the way it should be.”

She wasn’t sure if it was GLaDOS or Caroline who was asking. She suspected there was no longer a difference between the two.

“We need to think,” Doug told her, and Chell nodded her agreement.

“Let us go back to our friends and discuss it,” she said, “and we’ll return tomorrow with an answer.”

GLaDOS reluctantly acquiesced.

“Um…excuse me,” Kleiner said with a polite cough. “I would like to stay and see some of the facility, if I may.”

“Isaac,” Gordon began with a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know if you included me in your offer,” the older man went on regardless, “but I would very much like to work here! Perhaps a merging of Aperture and Black Mesa is just what humanity needs.”

“Of course,” Gordon mumbled under his breath.

GLaDOS peered down at Kleiner in apparent surprise.

“The Borealis was a remarkable piece of technology,” he added with eagerness, “and I understand that it actually fell short of Aperture’s usual standards, which amazes me.”

“You may stay and see the facility,” GLaDOS said firmly, “and I’ll think about the rest.”

“Excellent!” Turning to the others, he beamed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

Chell glanced uncertainly from Kleiner to GLaDOS, but she wasn’t overly concerned. Not as she might have been an hour or so before. She followed Gordon and Doug into the elevator, sending the A.I. a courteous nod before they were whisked upwards.

“Well,” said Doug after a moment’s silence.

“Well,” Chell repeated.

“We have a lot to think about,” Doug added in a rather spectacular understatement.

She nodded gravely. “We do.”

Gordon let them have their silence on the journey back to Ishpeming. When they arrived, he left them alone while he went to update Alyx. They were still sitting in the back of the car when evening fell.

They traded opinions and arguments, throwing ideas back and forth like a ball in a tennis match. Chell’s mind was a blur of weighed-up doubts, histories and possibilities, her own hopes and fears underlining the whole thing. Everything she needed to take into account fought for attention in her thoughts, giving her a persistent, thrumming headache. But soon an answer began to take shape, stepping forward out of the muddle. The only thing was, she wasn’t sure if Doug would have reached the same conclusion. She was almost afraid to ask, but backing down from things wasn’t in her nature.

With a deep breath, she turned to Doug and prepared to speak.

A/N: I just want to add as a footnote here that Doug receiving a cure for his condition does not – repeat, does not – make him any more ‘normal’ or any more of a person than he was before. His schizophrenia does not define him, but it is an important part of his life, and I don’t follow this storyline lightly, because representation is so, so important. I wanted to play with the idea of GLaDOS deciding not to reanimate the dead as a hobby, but rather try and ‘fix’ the problems humanity has to deal with. I’ve never attempted to write a reconciliation between GLaDOS and humanity before, and this seemed like a good olive branch for them to start with. With that in mind, it seemed kind of odd to me that she wouldn’t think of Doug as a good subject, particularly since they have some empathy for each other and the voices in their heads. That is the only reason why I went with this idea. Doug Rattmann is a good and pure and whole person regardless of his condition.

#A trusted friend in science #chellmann #caroline #glados #penultimate chapter #i think anyway

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hitchell-mope · 5 years ago

Text

(First film. Auradon prep library. 11:00 at night)

Evie: need some help?

Ben: yes please

(She uses magic to get Ben and the four books he’s got under his arms down from the ladder)

Ben: thank you.

Evie: anytime. Now. These are the ones you think can help

Ben: the ones I’ve read. Magic lore of the past century. Four volumes. 25 years each.

Evie: this could work. Still can’t believe fairy godmother let use the magic section. Thought it was off limits.

Ben (not entirely paying attention): it is.

Evie: Benjamin you shady little bastard

Ben (now kind of flat ignoring her): yes I thought so

(Evie looks momentarily annoyed. But then she sees he’s staring at jay)

Evie: you will not get far with jay

Ben: hm?

Evie: well. You don’t have freckles. You’re hair’s not curly. And you weren’t effectively raised by Mal from the age of six. Sorry. (Now fully entering the role of sibling). Now Mal on the other hand. I think she would love to date you.

Ben: I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t even know if

Evie: she does. Trust me. She does.

Ben: ok.

Evie: does anyone else know or...

Ben: no. Just Doug Lonnie and Jane. Please don’t tell anyone else. Please. Especially my parents

Evie: hey hey. I won’t tell. I promise. I won’t tell

Ben: thank you

——————————————————————————————

Doug (sitting down next to Mal): hey.

Mal: hey bud. Sorry about the rat man

Doug: eh. It’s ok. I’m used to it

Mal: if it helps I’m rooting for ya

Doug: not really cause Evie’s made up her mind.

Mal: yeah well she’s wrong. You’re much better than that fake ass bastard. Soon she’ll see. She will see

Doug: you kinda sound like a super villain at the start of his origin story

Mal: I’m not super Doug my friend. Just a villain.

Doug: you know he likes you right

Mal: huh?

Doug: my best friend.

Mal: ah...yeah

Doug: and?

Mal: I like him too.

Doug: but

Mal: he’s him. I’m. Me

Doug: if it helps I’m rooting for ya

Mal (chuckling): it does actually

——————————————————————————————

Lonnie: whatcha drawing

Carlos: Jay

Lonnie: ahhh. May I?

Carlos: yeah sure

Lonnie: wow that’s really good

Carlos: I learned at Mal’s knee

Lonnie: cool.

Carlos: you’re scared of me aren’t you?

Lonnie: no. No. Yes. Yes. A little

Carlos: eh I don’t blame you. I grew up being protected by a dark fairy and a genie. So people know not to mess with me

Lonnie: ah. Question

Carlos: yeah?

Lonnie (pointing Mal then Evie): what’s their damage? They say their friends but they don’t act like it. What happened?

Carlos: I happened

Lonnie: heh?

Carlos: long story involving a heart rip, shrimp, Evie saving my life and Mal punting her into the barrier when they were thirteen

Lonnie: wow. That um

Carlos: sounds absolutely cockamamie and insane

Lonnie: yah

Carlos: buuuut every word of it is true

Lonnie: and you’re

Carlos: family. Mal’s essentially my mother. And Evie’s the sister she wants to throw in a sack and dump in a river. But she keeps her around cause otherwise I’d be upset. They don’t think I know but I do.

Lonnie: and you don’t blame Evie?

Carlos (scoffing): god no. You try denying your parents when they can control you through your literal heart. I don’t blame Evie. But Mal does. And that’s something she’s gotta work through herself

——————————————————————————————

Jay (plopping down next to Jane): god I hate reading. Do you hate reading?

Jane (looking terrified): uuuuhhhhmmmm....

Jay: wow. You really are scared of us aren’t you?

Jane (tiny little voice): yes

Jay: why?

Jane: because you’re

Jay: vks?

(She nods shamefully)

Jay: ohhhh. You don’t have to be.

Jane: I know. But

Jay: it’s difficult to look past the stories. You think I’m gonna turn into a snake and trap you in an hourglass.

Jane: well I do now!

Jay: I won’t though. Even though it would be really, incredibly, ridiculously easy. Just a snap of my fingers to be honest and the venomous fangs come out to play full force

(He hisses. Jane squeaks in terror. And Jay let’s out an enormous belly laugh)

Jay (still laughing): oh I’m sorry. Ahem. I’m sorry.

Jane: that was mean

Jay (feeling a little guilty): I know

Jane: could you teach me magic?

Jay (cracking his 1000 watt smile): certainly

——————————————————————————————

(Midnight. They’re all packing to go back to their dorms)

Carlos (feeling tired and whiny): jaaaaaaaaaay?

Jay: yeah?

Carlos (throwing his arms up): carry me?

Jay: do you even have to ask?

(He hoists Carlos up in his arms, Carlos buries his head in jay’s neck and they leave)

Lonnie: how long have they been together

Evie: oh they’re not

Mal: not yet anyway

Lonnie: why?

Evie: Carlos is waiting for jay to make the first move

Mal: and Jay is completely oblivious

Lonnie (looking at Jane): oh I’ve been there.

Doug: night guys

Mal and Lonnie: night bud

Evie (purposefully ignoring him): yeah night

(Doug leaves but not before he looks longingly at Evie)

Lonnie: hey uh Evie can I talk to you?

Evie: sure

Lonnie: So you and Chad

Evie (smiling happily): I know. He’s so handsome. And funny. And

Lonnie: a user. And a cad. And a cheater

Evie (smile faltering): what?

Lonnie: chad. he cheats on his girlfriends. Then moves on when he gets bored or they find out. He’s ghosted at leat two we know about. He may have “Charming” as a last name but that’s it essentially

Evie: oh my god. I don’t believe it.

Lonnie: I’m sorry

Evie: I don’t believe that Doug put you up to this

Lonnie: what? No! Nononononononononono! He didn’t

Evie (venomously): Chad is a prince. I am a princess no matter what that taffeta wearing pink bitch says! I deserve this

Lonnie: you don’t deserve someone who won’t treat you right

Evie (voice breaking): if not him then who

Lonnie: literally any other boy

Evie: it has to be a prince. It HAS to be. Anything else is not an option. It has to be him

Lonnie (“mom” mode activated): no. It doesn’t. Oh honey

(She goes to hug her but Evie rebukes her)

Evie (absolutely incensed): you don’t know me. You have NO IDEA WHATS GOING ON IN MY HEAD! I need this. I have no choice I need this. And I’m not going to let you or anybody else take it from me. So keep your pathetic after school special bullshit to yourself and don’t you DARE interre with my love life

(She poofs away in sapphire blue smoke)

Lonnie: I. I’m sorry

Mal: I’m not. She needed to hear it. He’s a dick. Doug isn’t. She should pick Doug

Jane: why?

Mal: because Doug’s my friend. And if she’s with him. Then I don’t have to deal with her

Lonnie: I knew your reason would be altruistic

Mal: ohhhh I’ve never been one for altruism. Back home it’s eat or be eaten sometimes literally

Lonnie: hey funny question. Has Evie ever...

Mal: been interested in girls? Don’t make me cackle kid. Quinlan tried to get her to join her gang sometime last year. But queenie caught wind of it and this is Sparta’d the poor girl. (Fake simpering voice) a prince is only good enough you see

Lonnie: poor girl

Mal: then Antony came along. But Grayson Clayton caught his eye and they joined together. Evie still doesn’t know.

Ben: I’m sorry. That you had to live like that

Lonnie and Jane: I’m sorry too

Mal (smiling in spite of herself): well. My friends and I are here now. And if the plan works. Then me and Jay never have to constantly look over our shoulders to protect Carlos again. I know he knows by the way

Lonnie (aghast): I’m sorry. I swear I tried to

Mal: honey. Relax. I can read minds. Part of my magic. By the way. The compliments very much appreciated but I don’t deserve it Lonnie. The only thing I know of that can repel my magic is iron Jane. And Ben. Think of the arctic. That should help

(Jane looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up. Ben looks guilty. Lonnie looks curious)

Mal: it’s easier to use telepathy here then back home. Nobody’s on constant guard here

Lonnie: the island sounds awful

Ben: QUEEN OF HEARTS!

Jane: huh?

Ben: I uh. I made a notary list. Keeps track of all the children on the isle of the lost

Mal (cocking an eyebrow): impressive. But there’s no use in fetching Quinlan. Once you get sent to Bald Mountain you never return

(An awkward silence follows until Jane looks at the clock and squeals)

Jane: half past pumpkin time!

(She leaves hurriedly)

Mal: pumpkin time

Ben: curfew. Jane’s gotta be back at fairy godmothers suite by midnight

Mal: what’s a curfew?

Ben: oh um. Uh. It’s the time when you have to be in. If not

Lonnie: you get your phone taken away for a couple of days

Mal: what about you guys

Ben: we all have them. Ours were extended for today

Lonnie: it only takes ten minutes to walk back to my room. Hopefully sleeping bitchy’s out cold

Ben: that’s not very nice Lon

Lonnie: you know she’s your ex now. You can badmouth her if you want

Ben: only if I were the dumpee. I’m not. She is. So she can say whatever she wants about me.

Lonnie (not at all buying it): well. Alright. G’night

Ben and Mal: night

(Lonnie leaves)

Mal: and then there were two

Ben: yeah. Heh heh. I liked today

Mal: I liked today as well. Ah

Ben: yes?

Mal: your bloods black. You look like you got attacked by a doctor who monster

Ben (overjoyed): you watch Doctor Who?

Mal: black blood

Ben: right uhhhh. Oh yeah! I chew pens. The ink cartridge must’ve burst and leaked. Can’t believe I didn’t notice it.

Mal: it looks lit it dried about an hour ago. What were you doing then?

Ben: uhhhh (flashback to 11:32 pm when he was chewing on his pen and tuning out Evie waxing poetic about chad in favour of watching Mal talk with Doug). I...don’t...remember

Mal (reading his mind but deciding not to embarrass him): ok. (She takes out a handkerchief) there you go (She starts wiping at the corners of Ben’s mouth. Then pulls away abruptly) here (She hands him the handkerchief and gets up)

Ben: thank you (he finishes cleaning his mouth). Are you ok?

Mal: yea ahem yeah. Always. No. Actually. I’m not.

Ben: why?

Mal: I really don’t wanna say

Ben (realising): oh. Oh god. I’m so sorry. If I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable I wasn’t my intention

Mal (going up to him and hold his face in her hands): Ben. Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. It’s me. You can safely assume that whenever I’m gloomy. It’s my fault

Ben: why are you gloomy

Mal: because I want something that’s contraband. To me specifically

Ben: not everything’s off limits.

Mal: I’m not here to have fun. Or be happy. I have to. You know what I have to do. And you being here all...we can’t. No matter how much either of us want to.

Ben: ok.

Mal: I’m sorry. But. It’s not your fault. Just remember that it’s never your fault

Ben: but it’s not yours either. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something for yourself. You are allowed that.

Mal: I’m not. That’s just the thing. I’m not allowed anything. That could interfere with her... (practically spitting) plans

Ben: oh.

Mal: you know what I think of you. You know how much I. You know. And that’s all it can be

(This is when “Rewrite the stars” happens)

#disney descendants #mal bertha #ben florian #evie grimhilde #jay son of jafar #carlos de vil #doug son of dopey #li lonnie #jane daughter of fairy godmother #zendaya!mal #bal #devie #jaylos #janelonnie #all heavily implied

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