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sketch--booked · 4 years ago

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It's 6am, I just woke up from another dream--

--about Echo returning.

And it's another island adventure dream but FAR MORE OOOHHH OKAY THAN OWWIE OH NO. It had the same energy as Nya trying to figure out who Samurai X was. And Echo was not a villain this time.

Actually the dream had the S14 guy as the villain, the one with the mask, spoilers.

It started with a fight between masked man, who's name I neglect to remember, and the ninja. They barely even get a chance to fight him before someone in a hodded cape swoops in and kicks him clean off his thone/podeum. They guy lands poorly and his leg gets messed up but continues fighting while the ninja just s t a r e at them.

The ninja only make a real reaction when they see the mystery man use the element of wind, and they're all utterly bewildered.

The mystery man can't hold them all off and is knocked far into the forest, presumably dead considering how far he went, and the rest of the ninja are separated into groups (Kai and Cole, Nya and Zane, Jay and Lloyd with Wu and Misako).

It followed Kai and Cole mostly, just discussing the possibility of two elemental masters of wind (they recalled Krux and Acronix) and that this guy could be dangerous. While they're talking, they bump into the motionless body of that cloaked person and Kai literally nearly pukes. Cole manages to get close to the guy and with prompting from Kai, pulls back the hood to see, not a man, but a nindroid! And a nindroid that looked eerily like Zane.

That's when it cut to Lloyd and Jay, they're talking with Wu and Misako about the mystery man, and this is where Wu info dumps that, after an elemental master passes without any heirs, the elements will take an unknown amount of time to present itself in a new host. It depends on that persons destiny and whether or not they're fit to use it and yada yada.

Lloyd understands that this would mean morro would no longer be the elemental master of wind, since after the DotD, he legit died and is gone for good. Which resulted in the element passing on. Wu comments that this is the fastest he'd seen an element passing on and presenting itself, and says that whoever this person is, must have been picked for a very good reason.

Jay then starts making a ridiculous list of people that he thinks could be the new master of wind, despite Wu telling him the probability of Jay knowing this master, is near impossible (Jay gets a kick outta this r e a l soon).

Then we hop back to Cole and Kai, who are freaking out over the rusty version of their friend who somehow has elemental powers too??

Kai says they should leave him here, saying it could be an evil nindroid, since they were also based off of Zane's prints. Cole argues and says they should take him back for questioning, and that Cole would be very happy to carry him.

While they're arguing, the fake Zane starts to wake up, and in a comedic way, screams at Cole and Kai, who in turn also start screaming. The mystery nindroid awkwardly chuckles and remarks that this was not particularly how he wanted to introduce himself, but anything works...

Kai and Cole begin questioning him and he answers their questions, starting with his name, telling them his name was Zane, but upon seeing their reactions, he says they can call him Echo.

Echo tells them they need to get into shelter, since at night, the island becomes unbearable and deadly. Kai and Cole reluctantly follow, continuing to ask questions while the three of them walk away, Echo limping from his earlier fight.

"Why are you on a random island?" Kai asked

"My raft washed up in a lightning storm." Echo replied.

"So did Julien build you too?" Cole continued.

"Yes, I would reluctantly say he is, in essence, my Father"

"Reluctantly?"

Echo did not answer.

Cole broke the silence "Where did you come from?"

"There is a lighthouse, in the-"

"-middle of the ocean between ninjago and the dark islands. You were there?" Kai interrupts.

"You know of the lighthouse? You were there?" Echo wondered "How come you did not know of my presence?"

"Your father never said anything, neither did Zane." Cole answered his question, giving the earth ninja even more of his own.

"Oh, no. My brother would not know of me, I was built in the lighthouse, not--wherever he was built" Echo confirmed "How did you get past the leviathan?"

"Zane swam to the chains and broke them with those star thingys" kai shivered, recalling those star shaped demons--

"Oh, you mean the Starteeth!" Echo begins laughing lightly "You know, one time, a bunch of them washed up and ate through the window in the basement. The basement was flodded and made me all rusty. I couldn't move for a week!" He walked slightly ahead while laughing hard.

He suddenly stopped laughing and looked serious "Looking back on it now, it was probably not funny."

Kai and Cole shared a look before Cole jumped up, realising something, and whispered close to Kai.

"Hold on a second, we completely forgot about his powers!"

"Oohhh, you're right! Hold on, I'll ask 'em."

Cole was going to pull him back to explain how shouldn't just--ask--but Kai had already begun running to catch up.

"So how did you end up an elemental master?"

"An ele-mento-who-what?" Echo fumbled his words.

"An elemental master? Y'know, with the crazy wind powers."

Cole was ready to punch Kai out, the man couldn't be subtle to save his life, which it just might right now.

"Oh! Honestly, Red, I have no idea." Echo had called Kai, Red, as the other two masters had not given their names. "I just remember the lighthouse getting nearly blown into the sea after weeks of strong winds. I had not realised the strong winds were the cause of my emotions. It was--new and scary. Gizmo was there to help me."

"The little cleaning robot? You brought that little guy with you too?" Cole caught up with Kai and the second wind master.

"Of course, he is my only friend! I would not abandon him the way I was. That is too cruel of a punishment for any being, organic or metallic." Echo yelled, a breeze shook the trees. Cole stayed quiet, but silently apologised to the nindroid.

Their questions were ended as they came across a half-cave-half-hut-like shelter. Where the settled and only prayed for their respective brothers.

There was a lot more small talk in the dream but I cut it down to the funnier and more important parts.

The next bits of the dream is fuzzy, but I know it revolves around the ninja reuniting and accepting the mystery person into their group while they defeat the evil and escape the island.

Kai and Cole agree to Echo's pleas to not tell Zane for the time being, as he doesn't want Zane to see his brother for the first time looking like--how he looks.

Each of them get some interactions with Echo, with his identity hidden, remaining mute as to not throw them off with his voice. He even has an interaction with Zane where Zane politely asks Echo not to keep staring at him, as he's been doing that since they came together. Zane pegs his curiosity to "he's never seen a nindroid before" and Echo confirms that for him. (unknowing the truuuuth aaaaa)

I'll write Jay's interaction with Echo another time maybe, and how he figures it out, since hoooo boy it hurt. Echo didn't remember Skybound so Jay's just mentally torturing himself for the rest of the journey.

The ninja that find out its Echo is Nya, Jay, Cole and Kai.

I'm gonna jump to the end, because my dream also jumped to the end? Rip. But the end what what gave me the Nya and new Samurai X vibes, but less fighting and more chill chat.

He was on a real boat. Not a makeshift raft constructed out of his father's old bed, table, chairs and shelves, not pushed forward by his newly explained "elemental powers". A real boat, one that would take him away from tiny islands that kept him prisoner, away from the existential dread of loneliness. He'd be free. Free from fearing his last day would be solitary and sad. In one day alone, he'd made a literal boat load of friends. They wouldn't abandon him, not as his father once did.

He was happy, he felt really, truly happy. But he didn't smile. Yes he had friends, but what he wanted more than anything else, was his brother. He was right here on the boat, but Echo's own worries about how his brother would perceive him, how his brother would react to seeing him in such a state (Upon first meeting too! Talk about first impressions), persuaded him to otherwise say nothing.

Deep down, Echo knew he had nothing to fear, he'd heard stories from his father, before he'd locked him away, about Zane and about what it was like--just the two of them. Happy. And from what Echo had seen, Zane was more that strong. Not just physically, nindroid and all, but mentally and emotionally. Echo only wished he had that confidence, the ability to say nothing but be so loud at the same time.

It would make talking to him a lot easier, if he had to say so himself.

Echo, however, had his thoughts interrupted by the sound of footsteps he hadn't even registered, and a soft, yet firm, hand on his shoulder. He tensed just slightly, preparing himself to pull his hood down further.

"It's nice, is it not?" That voice, it was Echo's voice. No, Echo had his voice. His brother was standing right next to him. So close and yet so far, just one swipe of his hood would bring them together, finally. But he resigned himself to simply nod in response. He hadn't come this far to give up now.

A comfortable silence covered the two like a thin layer of snow, fitting considering who was standing next to him. It would almost make him laugh.

"You fought well, out there," Zane started, Echo had thought he was done and nodded again, a small smile forming on his face. Zane may not have known who he was complimenting, but Echo took every moment of it with pride. But then his world span at Zane's continuation.

"For a nindroid."

Zane looked down with a small smirk. Like he'd told the best joke in history. Echo tightened his grip on the wooden railing of the bounty, crushing the paint under his permanently short nails. Zane must've noticed, but didn't say anything. Either in respect for his privacy or because he wanted to hear the confession himself.

In Echo's mind, he was obviously panicking. He didn't want his brother, someone who he'd heard stories from his father, the bot he was built off of, his singular role-model, to find out who he was, like this?

Despite the fear in his ticking heart, he did something probably really stupid and something that would likely result in his downfall. He thanked him.

"Thank you... How- how did you know?" Though, he lowered the pitch oh his voice. It would not be difficult for Zane, or anyone really, to rase the pitch and find out who he was, it still calmed him down just a bit.

"A nindroid knows a nindroid. A brother knows a brother."

Oh I'm f*ucked...

There was only panic, in his systems. The ticking of his clockwork had never sounded louder in his ears. It'd drowned out the sounds of water, the automatic breathing he for some reason had, the cracking of wood underneath his palms was the only sign that ticking was not the lone sound in the world.

He fell out of his anxious trance when the hand left his shoulder and those footsteps came back. No. They were moving away. Echo looked back, moving his fingers to clutch his hood tight against the unintentional winds that now followed him and his emotions. He could see Zane walking towards the steps of the bounty, but halted at the top of them, his hand instead lazily laying on the banister.

"Don't worry, I won't tell them-" He called, just loud enough for Echo to hear over the breeze.

-about what? That he knows who I am? That he'd practically lied to them? That he knew everything all along, because of course he knew, this was Zane, how could he not know, he-

"-Cryptor."

Echo ceased all thoughts from his head. Cryptor? What was that? Was that some kind of fruit? Or a vegetable?

Echo turned his body in the direction of his brother to ask him or at least say goodbye, but he was gone. He'd walked off and down the stairs. Leaving behind not so much as a sheet of frost.

The clockwork child stayed standing there, pure surprise, fear, relief, confusion--actually a lof of emotions he didn't know how to process--flooding his brain. If it weren't for the distant voice of Nya yelling about the sudden gusts of wind changing their direction, he would likely not have moved from that position until they landed.

Cryptor. He thought, it must be a nickname. There was no way he couldn't have figured out Echo was his sibling. He'd said, "a brother knows a brother", they didn't have any other siblings. Right? No. It was just them, just the two of them. The only two nindroids in Ninjago.

His father had said so himself. Although, his father had also buried him under scrap metal and kept him hidden from his family.

Anything could be truth now.

Although Zane had left, and there was no one to hear him, he still felt it necessary to acknowledge what happened. Quietly and sadly, he spoke with a smile.

"Good guess, brother."

SO Uhh I'm gonna assume this was because i watched DotD last night,,, and so both Cryptor, and Morro were on my brain hense wind and Cryptor calling Zane "brother", but I always have Echo on the brain man,,, so uhh. Echo for the new master of wind? Anyone? I think it's cute,,,

I probably missed something, other than writing Jay and Echo's interaction, Jay was so sad throughout the rest of the dream, man. And Echo didn't even know why, it was heartbreaking---but it was also a dream and like all my dreams, they never get made into real things.

But I did like the Zane and Echo bit at the end though. There was a second ending, but it relied on the reveal of echo to the audience at the e n d of the dream. Zane still says Cryptor and Echo turns with the camera getting close to him. And as he turns his head to the camera, you see its Echo and then he says "good guess, brother" BUT NGL I THINK IT HURS MORE WHEN WE KNOW FROM THE BEGINNING SOOO.

My dreams are whack dudes,,,

Also this took nearly 3 hours to write its actually 8:50 now Soooo ilya

#ninjago #ninjago zane #zane julien #ninjago echo zane #echo zane #s14 spoilers #Probably?#I means some folks don't know it's a jungle adventure so #Yeah sure S14 spoilers #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #They were in there for a bit so I'll tag em #sketch has a dream

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years ago

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The Mask of Death - Fairy Tales and Waking Nightmares (aka Vader obliterates a Rebel unit in typical, spooky fashion)

He wasn’t real.

He couldn’t be.

When Viola Perry had joined the Rebellion, he had been entirely prepared for all that entailed. He despised the Empire and its government, despised its regime and its knack for exploiting the weaker star systems and depleting them of their natural resources for the benefit of the elite. Even as a chancellor, Emperor Palpatine had tended to favour only the worlds and civilizations he considered useful and worth a damn. As Emperor, he had doubled down on that mindset - and while the planets of the outer rim were falling into a lawless haven for criminals, while the Moffs extracted every ounce of goods, riches and pleasure from the worlds they had handpicked and settled down on; Perry saw her people waste away. True, she had been raised coruscanti, on a mid tier level by a single father who laboured day and night as a mechanic. His life had not been aided by the Empire’s rise to power, instead, he had been pushed out of service by official Imperial service systems requiring customers to pay a higher amount of credits for a lesser amount of expertise. Like so many other things, there was a penalty to disobeying and neglecting the restrictions and guidelines.

As soon as Perry was able, she fled. She joined the Rebel Alliance, seeking justice for her father who had died impoverished and imprisoned for conducting and encouraging illegal behaviour - apparently, doing a greater job as a mechanic than the Imperial forces was a crime and a felony - and she had been with the organisation for four years now. Four years of fighting the good fight, winning small victories and taking back the autonomy of the galaxy little by little as hope spread like a wildfire amongst those already saddled with doubt and distrust. Chancellor Palpatine had failed to live up to his hype, why would Emperor Palpatine be any different? Perry had seen firsthand just how far the Empire was willing to go, in order to eradicate the resistance fighters and downplay their growing masses as a trivial and unimportant wayward attempt at terrorism. Only the rebels themselves knew that they were slowly but surely becoming a legitimate threat.

Perry had, as had most rebels she had fought alongside, been wary of any information spread by the Empire from the start. Propaganda and deliberate misinformation were only a couple of the tools used to lure the populous of the vast galaxy into some sense of security. As such, she had laughed the very first time she’d heard the tall tale of Darth Vader. Apparently, a mole within the Imperial ranks had shared the myth as a warning. By most of the Alliance, it had been taken as fiction sold by the Imperial sovereigns to saw fear within their resistance. Vader, as the story went, was a seldom seen assassin of the Empire. The tale painted him as clad entirely in black, seven foot tall and wielding mysterious and invicible powers. He could kill with simply a look, or a wave of the hand. At first, the story had begun as such - vague, raising more questions than it answered about this fantastical and implausible boogeyman. Perry had concluded Vader could be little more than a false narrative, invented to instill doubt within the hearts of any nervously inclined resistance fighter.

But, as time went on, more and more stories with a similar twist kept turning up. Every now and then, a delirious dying fellow rebel with haunted eyes and baited breath would ramble about a monster clad in black. Eventually, the concerns grew to a point where even figureheads of the Alliance such as Mon Mothma and the Organas would openly discuss the matter. Rumours said viceroy Bail Organa in particular was inclined to believe the stories, and while Perry viewed him as level headed and logical - that was one leap of imagination she wasn’t willing to trust him on.

It was only when Perry’s closest friend and confidant, Oliwia Blix, was slain on her own home turf - an ambush assault led by what was later revealed to be the 501st Imperial squadron, surprising the freedom fighters she was responsible for - that Perry began to question her conviction. Oliwia had not survived the attack, and her body was never recovered but those who did persevere knew she was deceased - they had seen her there in the midst of the chaos, barking out orders and desperately attempting to call for help through the sliced comlink connections. Out of the handful of survivors, Perry trusted only Juno Eclipse. Eclipse was a young, blonde woman who had once been closely affiliated with the Imperial military but who had become disillusioned one way or another. She never spoke much of her Imperial days. Her insights were always helpful, and she had aided many a favourable outcome in battle. She possessed inside knowledge and codes that were invaluable - and she was firmly decided that the ambush had been a ploy to get her; she was the target and she was responsible for the death of her affiliates.

Eclipse was reasonable, and Perry admired her judgment. That’s why, when Eclipse spoke of Vader; Perry put aside her skepticism to actually listen. According to Eclipse, Vader was the man the Empire sent out when all else failed. He was undefeated, possibly invincible; shrewd and secretive. If he came for you, he would not stop coming until he had carried out his mission. In her case, Eclipse had expected she’d be put on trial for treason when she first broke away from the Empire, but once Vader had been sent on her trail - she explained - she had realized she was no longer worth the hassle. When Vader came to collect, you were as good as dead already. Perry had asked whether Eclipse had seen this infamous monster, and Eclipse had simply chuckled in sullen surrender as if she had already accepted her own fate.

‘He’s not a monster,’ she had said. ‘He’s a man. Or, I think he was a man, once. I’m not sure what he is now.’

Eclipse had said little in addition to that, only that she was certain that he had been present on the planet Cordaan’a where the incident had occurred. Perry got the firm impression that the ex Imperial officer had seen someone or something she perceived to be this Vader, and while she didn’t want to press the already anxiety ridden woman; she chalked most of it up to stress, fear and trauma. Even Eclipse - intelligent, brave and immovable - could be deceived by the rush of adrenaline that came with battle, as her senses were jumbled. That, along with the fact that her life was in jeopardy and that she knew the Empire wanted to see her punished for her desertion, could make anyone hallucinate a phantom such as the propagandistic tale of an Imperial hitman.

That was, until two weeks later. At noon, the base camp of Brakko had prepared for a subtle, incognito transfer. Perry’s unit had been targeted for elimination by Imperial forces, and while there were no signs suggesting the Empire knew where exactly their base was hidden - it was unsafe to stay in one place for too long. As the early afternoon rolled around, every necessary scrap of ammunition, weaponry, rations, credits, and other various equipment had been rounded up and packed away. Only a few chunkier, stolen cannons and proton bombs remained unaccounted for. That was the moment during which the Empire decided to make their presence known. A well aimed rifle shot, and the second largest of the docked freight vessels was blown up in the span of milliseconds.

As its explosive cargo content shattered the clunky ship, the shockwave sent most resistance fighters flying. Shrapnel became deadly projectiles, and as Perry struggled to regain her bearings - the force of the blast had sent her several feet back into the rough, and jagged gravel of the walkway leading towards the underground bunkers - she noted familiar faces; bloodied and beaten. Some unrecognizable, some wheezing as steady streams of red liquid poured out of their nostrils. Perry herself found her hearing was dulled, as if she were underwater - the distant, faraway yells and shrieks of her terrified comrades preparing retaliation blocked out by a loud shrill ringing. She struggled to her knees, instinctively reaching for her trusty blaster where it sat holstered at her hip.

As soon as she looked up, Perry could see the swarm of stormtroopers welling forth from every direction. They were undistinguishable in their white polished armour, black visors covering their eyes. Her legs moved out of self preservation, her chest burning with extortion as she fired aimlessly at her assaulters. A few fell by the wayside, and Perry dove behind the wreckage of one of the smaller shuttles that had been affected by the explosion. Three more rebels cowered there, taking turns firing fervently to keep the troopers at bay - only for the two additional blasters wielded by who Perry recognized to be Admiral Parlak and Sergeant Ilija to be literally ripped out of their grip with no visible cause.

“Come out with your hands on your heads,” said one of the troopers, his cadence entirely void of empathy.

“You’ll gun us down if we do,” Perry snapped in defense, and realized only afterwards that she had spoken at all.

Her hearing was beginning to return, as Perry and her small group peered cautiously over the edge of the ripped off shuttle wing that provided their makeshift shield. Even as her head became fully visible, no additional shots were fired. A platoon of what Perry estimated to be forty stormtroopers stood in a half circle, making three rows with their blasters aimed meticulously at the unguarded hideout. Around them, a few smaller squads mirrored their stance. A good four feet in ahead of the mass, stood a single trooper - his more lavish suit of armour indicating that he was a higher ranking soldier, possibly a commander - with his hand raised to signify cease fire. Perry assumed he had been the one addressing them.

It was only then that she realized how eerily quiet it had become. Her eyes darted around, both relieved and unsettled when she spotted a few grimy, scuffed and fretful faces poking out from behind various chunks of debris much like her and her group. Apart from feeble moans and sobs of pain, and crackling of the fires that had spread from the explosion to the trees and vegetation concealing the base camp - everything was deathly silent.

Silent, until a deep, booming voice broke the impasse.

“Not if you cooperate.”

In one fell swoop, the mid section of the platoon parted like a tidal wave. They made room with no fuzz, moving as one single unit and stood at courtly attention. From the smoke, the ashes and the flames behind them; the shadows of even more soldiers merely silhouetted revealed as a backdrop, came a predator. Even before it could be viewed in all its horrendous detail; its large frame drew all attention. Tall, broad shouldered, chest wide - and with it followed a hissing, mechanical breathing cycle reminiscent of a respirator. At any other time its pathetic sounds may have inspired pity or sympathy, but in this instance; its intervals were decidedly ominous, as this thing traversed the ground littered with fresh corpses in a careless stride.

Towering over and dwarfing the stormtroopers; the looming dark spectre emerged fully from the dust and cinders swirling through the air. Clad in all black; head to toe. Black armour, black cape, black robes, black gloves, black boots, black helmet; black mask covering the monster’s entire face from view. Still, the lenses through which the grim presence viewed the world were tinted ever so slightly crimson. In its hand, the thing clutched the hilt of a saber - its plasma blade red and humming as energy surged through it.

“Please, no,” Perry caught a hitched gasp, frightened disbelief colouring the unmistakable tone of Eclipse - and Perry spotted her pale face off to the side; crouched behind a severed landing hatchet.

“I have come for Captain Eclipse. I have been informed that she hides among your ranks. It is unfortunate for your organisation that she would lead me to you - I, however, view it as a welcome surprise.”

The voice was so deep, it seemed to reverberate through Perry’s very bones - and despite the heat of the flames' licking, flickering nature as they consumed the palm trees with a gleeful greed - the world seemed as cold as ice. Curling in on herself, Perry wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the worst chill; her breaths coming out as puffs of condensed mist. Still, she could do nothing but stare at the empty, hollow eyes of that face plate. The monster turned its head slowly in the direction of Eclipse’s hiding place, tilting it in a disturbingly comedic manner. If she could have seen its mouth; Perry was convinced the monster would have smiled at the collective hopelessness at its disposal.

‘Darth Vader is real,’ so many fellow rebels had insisted - and Perry had disregarded every single one as superstitious and foolhardy.

'Darth Vader is a fairy tale,’ she had stubbornly countered.

Perry didn’t even have the time to flinch as the monster’s large right hand cut through the empty air. The motion was swift, smooth and effortless - and the bulky piece of scrap metal Eclipse had been huddled behind was sent flying as if it were completely weightless. The hefty durasteel went from sitting completely still to hurdling a distance of about thirty yards at an unfathomable speed; smashing right into a tree trunk which it sheared clean off simply by momentum. The monster did not move, even as the tree collapsed and brought another down with it; but Eclipse yelped and covered her mouth. Perry had never, never seen her be anything but resolute - and slightly shaken once, while relaying her tale of this predator whom Perry had refused to believe might materialize. Now, her features spoke only of regret and dread. Her shoulders were trembling, her blue eyes glassy with tears.

“Did you believe the Emperor would not aim to see you destroyed? Did you believe he would forget you?” the monster mocked, and with obvious sarcasm he added, “You must think so highly of the Emperor’s sense of compassion. I am truly sad to say that I must dissuade such unfortunate delusions.”

“Do what you please with me, but spare the rest,” Eclipse blurted out, desperation in her voice as she stumbled to her feet; taking one unsteady step towards the monster and dissmissing his jeering entirely.

‘He’s not a monster, he’s a man. Or, I think he was a man, once,’ Eclipse had said back then; and while her eyes were now still brimming with yet unshed tears, her expression was one of bargaining.

She was attempting to appeal to this thing’s - this man’s humanity. Instead, he simply cocked his head a bit farther to the side as if perplexed by her emotional outburst, regarding her silently with a deliberate intent to unnerve and rattle her. Perry realized only then that she, too, was trembling not only from the cold. It was as if this man’s entire being radiated a dark, black, vicious hatred. A vile, twisted sense of entitlement and disgust alike. It permeated his surroundings, spreading like a contagious disease; infecting everything it touched, tainting and tarnishing anything it could corrupt. His unwavering gaze and dead eyeholes seemed to demand a cruel mixture of respect and fear; and Eclipse clasped her hands in what resembled a feeble prayer.

“Lord Vader. I beg of you. Let them go. It’s me you want.”

A tear slipped down her gaunt face; her complexion ashen and her bottom lip quivering. Her blonde hair fell over her forehead in unruly chunks, a damp patch of dark blood staining the upper sleeve of her jacket. Vader simply raised his hand once more; beckoning Eclipse with his fore and index fingers in an almost gentle manner. Eclipse had no chance to move of her own volition, nor to deny the request before her feet were lifted off the ground and she was yanked unceremoniously forwards. Her motion stopped only when she was mere inches from Vader; her face level with his mask as she levitated freely in the empty air. Vader’s outstretched hand was steady, holding its posture - and Perry realized with horror that the powers all the rumours spoke of were factual, as well.

“While it is a touching sentiment - your saviour complex serves you no favours with me, Captain.”

There was no compassion in Vader’s tone, the cadence mechanical and stilted - and yet, the words came out an overt, obvious commination. Shifting the hand Perry had assumed was efficently preoccupied with suspending Eclipse in the air, Vader gestured at his troopers and they immediately switched into action. Eclipse still hovered several feet above ground; and Perry reared back as Vader’s empty lenses came to rest on her hiding spot. As before, there was no prelude - the torn wing of the shuttle was simply shoved aside in one fluid swipe. The same thing occured simultaneously to any other covers; Perry's fellow rebels attempting to defend themselves in vain. One moment, Perry was fumbling for her blaster with numb fingers; the next, a stormtrooper had her arms trapped behind her back. Some of her comrades attempted to resist the capture, and were subsequently executed on spot with a single blast to the back of their heads. As they were rounded up, only twenty-two of the at least seventy rebels that had stayed behind loading up supplies remained. They were forced down on their knees; hands on their heads. Perry glared at Vader who seemed to eye them all with a disinterested boredom, but her hammering heart betrayed her collected facade.

“I suggest you watch, Captain. Let this be a warning to abide by. I have orders to bring you off world. While the Emperor wishes no audience with you, Governor Tarkin is most excited to have a word preceding your eminent, public execution,” Vader informed as if there were no other witnesses, no further participants to the event than him and Eclipse alone. “You will watch this.”

The final words were sinister, their implication crystal clear and the demand irrefutable. Eclipse’s slumped head was forcefully yanked in the direction of her kneeling coworkers, the men and women she had bravely fought alongside, who had become her confidants and friends. Perry expected to be anticlimactically shot, icy dread churning at the pit of her belly. Still she was transfixed by Eclipse’s horrified; apologetic eyes as they stared back at her- wide and unblinking, as if she could not close them had she wanted to. Holding the stare, a pressure closed around Perry’s slender throat; like an unseen hand encompassing her fragile neck and squeezing her windpipe until she could no longer inhale. She panicked, pawing at her throat as her lungs burned and the edges of her vision began to fade away. Next to her, the choking noises of her fellow rebels rose; all of them clawing desperately at the invisible hand strangling them unanimously. The last thing Perry saw; pure terror coursing through her veins as her pulse slowed to die away and a loud, cracking pop signified the snap of her neck caving under pressure, was Eclipse’s guilt ridden eyes, and the tears now falling from them.

Perry slumped to the ground, and Vader’s large boots stalked past her crumpled body to sear themselves into her minds eye as one final bitter irony.

He was real.

Then, she was no more.

---------

Posted a teaser before, but I like this installment so much I felt I needed to post the entire thing so here you go. Link to the full fic below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/79969921

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bookspined · 4 years ago

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❝ that’s all history is after all: scar tissue. ❞

{ cis-man, he/him } huh, who’s FROY GUTIERREZ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually SCORPIUS MALFOY. he is a TWENTY-TWO year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is A HEALING APPRENTICE. he is known for being CAPTIOUS, RETICENT, FACETIOUS, DISMISSIVE, and DRAMATIC but also RESOURCEFUL, CONSCIENTIOUS, FERVENT, INNOVATIVE, and OBSERVANT, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IN DREAMS BY BEN HOWARD. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him. { merry, 24, gmt, she/they }

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Amy Santiago (B99), Claire Temple (Daredevil), Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place), Giles (Buffy TVS), Michelle Jones (MCU), Simon Tam (Firefly), Elizabeth Swan (PoTC), Spock (Star Trek), Clarke Griffin (The 100), Harley Keener (MCU), Gregory House (House) suggested honorable mention Gizmo (Gremlins)

pinterest [blood, medical imagery tw]

wanted connection ideas

Full Name: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy Gender/Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Age: Twenty-three Birthdate: January 20th Parents: Draco Lucius Malfoy & Astoria Céline Malfoy (née Greengrass) [Not biologically Astoria’s due to her health, if you ever point this out he’ll flay your eyeballs] Siblings: N/A. Birth place: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England Height: 5’11” Weight: 56 kg Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual Nationality: British Body Alterations/Marks: A ragged diamond shape scar at the base of his throat.

Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Wand Arm: Right Pet: His pet toad, Jarvis, recently passed away. Patronus: Arctic Fox Wand: 11 2/3 inches, Willow, Supple, Dragon Heartstring.

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

Personality Traits: Brilliance, innovative, empathetic, individuality, openness, social consciousness, inventive, logical, practical skills and self assertion; lack of attachment to people outside his circle and the “real world,” over-intellectualizing of the emotions, dismissive, anxious, crotchety tempered, facetious, rigid, prone to self-isolation, intellectual arrogance, and stubborn. Zodiac Sign: Aquarius/Capricorn Cusp Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Core values: Loyalty, Knowledge, Hope Four temperaments: Melancholic

HOGWARTS HOUSE ANALYSIS

Slytherin Primary and a Burned Ravenclaw Secondary.

Slytherin Primaries prioritize their own selves and loved ones first. Slytherins don’t feel guilty or selfish about this– they feel righteous and moral. The most important thing is to look after your own. Abandoning or hurting one of your own is the worst thing you can do.

A Burned Ravenclaw Secondary might want to be skilled, curious, and prepared, but they feel like they are (or like people think they are) limited, clumsy, or inconstant. Gathering knowledge, hobbies, skills, or tools is the right way to achieve their goals, but Burned Ravenclaws know that’s not going to work within their capabilities. So they take other paths and use other tools– maybe a Gryffindor’s bluntness, a Slytherin’s flexibility, or a Hufflepuff’s slow and steady dedication.

You may have a Hufflepuff Secondary Model.

Hufflepuff is the House of grit, reliability, and determination, and Hufflepuffs use those values to help live, act, and succeed. If you model Hufflepuff Secondary, you also value these things and like to live by them. You like to be hardworking, dedicated, and consistent– but you wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning those values in the service of other, higher priorities. If there’s another, easier way to get what you want– you’d take it. You think hard work provides valuable rewards– and those rewards are why you work. The work doesn’t have persuasive value in itself.

Despite his very best resistance he’s always been pretty empathetic in nature, he tries to rule his emotions as well as he can but fails more often than not. He was always one of those toddlers that if another kid started crying he’d be right along with them, not because he wanted attention but because he just couldn’t not. A bit of a crybaby, has researched how to magically seal up his tear ducts. Obviously managed to keep the family’s flair for the dramatic there as well. After a few years he leant into the sarcastic vague-snobbishness to hide the core of overwhelming anxiety.

Just managed to scrape through his schooling with nearly all top grades, this isn’t really due to him being a model student. He has always accrued information with a voracious appetite. Any knowledge he could find, even if most people would consider it entirely useless. His mind clicks into that place? You can’t keep him away. However, when there is not an immediate stir of interest on his approach to a topic he has to fight with himself tooth and nail to carry on.

Predictably found exam season highly stressful, was never open about it but was quietly competitive and silently smug over his good grades. Could comprehend well above his reading level from an early age and would often look into experimental research and complicated magic but found himself lost in OWL level History of Magic when chapter upon chapter lay ahead of him about something that didn’t catch his interest. Some people he beat just to spite cause he hates them. It worked, whatever.

Tends toward introversion and finds himself tired sometimes quite easily by a large amount of social interaction. Witty and big-mouthed when he feels comfortable or is in the presence of those that embolden him and very likely to get flustered and snap at people when things are becoming a bit too much. Especially if he feels however unjustly that someone is blocking his escape. Has matured slightly in this since leaving school but it happens still, he’s just anxious. Quite fickle and can at the drop of a hat decide that he’s done with you for the day once his Give Me Attention Meter is maxed. Could be an absolute bloody brat when he felt like it but feels he has grown out of it, which he mostly has.

Always been very, very aware of many people’s distrust of him and his family, he used to sneer and play it up if anyone tried to bring up his dad and go on the offensive but was genuinely affected quite deeply by it all. In his early school years, despite his weakness to the cold, he constantly had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow so that his blank forearm was bared as a statement to just about everyone. I am not marked, I never will be. Now he’s older he has more of a handle on things and can be diplomatic in situations where people are clearly discomforted by his presence and his family history.

Even though the war culminated far earlier in this verse I imagine Scor would have had to have been relatively sheltered as a child if not for how emotionally sensitive and prone to periods of ill-health he was, it was definitely for his own safety. He is still the grandson of a known high-ranking Death Eater and that made him a media target and put one on his back for anyone else that might happen to be watching.

Never produced much of a talent for offensive magic and wouldn’t resort to those methods unless he had literally no other choice, not a front line fighter by any means. His talents with strategy, potion-making, healing and his perseverance with defensive magic are what define him to the Order. While everyone kind of knows who he hung out with at school and who his friends are he is deliberately very mischievous with releasing rumours and misleading people. He deliberately keeps his cards very close to his chest so most people don’t know that he is aligned with anyone, he usually uses glamours or a scarf to conceal his identity if he has to.

While he is knowledgeable about healing and anatomy, he is the WORST at taking care of himself. The literal embodiment of Healers make the worst patients, tends to forgo sleep and basic bodily needs if he’s locked into what he’s focusing on. Sometimes needs reminders to sleep and eat, like a child.

Healing is the most satisfying part of his life and he would never give it up, he likes to experiment as he has a fascination with magic and muggle science and where they might intersect. A fucking nerd honestly. While he thinks he’s being fairly subtle about it a large part of his academic life has been doused in research into blood maledictions, for obvious reasons. He does his best not to flutter too obviously around his Mum. She is capable and ten times stronger than he is.

Lives in a small studio flat in Diagon Alley that is mostly stacks of books and makeshift shelves.

the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, cashmere and fine wool, the pearlescence of dreamless sleep draught, the scratch of a quill on parchment, faintly tremoring fingers, a shiver up your spine in a warm room, the exhilaration of a problem solved, a thunderous grey overcast sky, the bite of a stitching charm, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, petrichor, the burn in your eyes before a well of tears.

Always had somewhat fragile health tending toward sickly. Hands are never warm, his existence is an endless heat seeking mission.

Went to one Slug Club meeting and used his time to verbally berate and or challenge most of the contacts in attendance, he was not asked to return.

Potions Club, Charms Club, used to sometimes be willing to be dragged to Dueling Club but didn’t enjoy himself.

Plays quite a bit of chess.

Bruises like a fucking peach and scars so easily.

Views quidditch as a good fly spoiled.

Is a very skilled pianist almost entirely due to his Grandmother’s tutelage.

Surprisingly great with children/toddlers/babies, no one including himself expected this, he mostly feared them beforehand.

Bit of a mummy’s boy in that he practically GLOWS when people talk of Astoria’s achievements.

When he has time off from healing he will have chipped black nail varnish on.

Highly intelligent but rarely manages to match a pair of socks, chews his quills but no one else’s.

While very eloquent and well spoken, he is markedly less posh than when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

When he isn’t prone to bouts of insomnia he can take a nap pretty much anywhere. He was once found in a tree after several frantic hours search.

[ CREDIT : CHARACTER PSD template by @karmahelper (defunct url) I tried to find a current social this week by messaging around but couldn’t find anything unfortunately. Forgot to copy this over from the google doc! ]

#potterintro #finally #sorry if this is missing anything

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supercasey · 5 years ago

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TF2 RED Headcanons by an idiot that can’t pay attention well enough to read the comics

Back on my bullshit, because I apparently can’t shut up tonight. This is gonna be a big, possibly in-cohesive mess, and will probably have more focus on Scout, Pyro, Sniper, and Spy since they’re my favs, but I still felt like writing down all my dumb headcanons/ideas regarding everyone’s favorite mercenaries (at the moment at least; I might make another post like this later on, hopefully after I’ve read the comics)! Sorry if any of these seem OOC, I’m just goofin’! (Putting this under a readmore because WOW this got LONG)

Every Sunday afternoon, Scout, Pyro, and eventually Sniper when he tells everyone that he's a trans guy, hold a makeshift “Trans Buddy Club” meeting, which mostly consists of Scout mindlessly rambling about drama on base, Pyro nodding along, and Sniper occasionally adding his two cents/spilling tea as well.

Scout can speak fluent French, on account of his mom making sure to teach it to him so he could have more of a connection to his dad, but no one found out until a little after Spy told Scout he was his dad. It wasn’t long after this that Scout revealed that this entire time, he’s known every single thing that Spy's ever said to him in French, but he didn't say anything because he thought it would be funny to keep the ruse going (also because he really liked being praised in secret). Cue Spy freaking tf out because oh no, now his kid knows that he's secretly a huge softie for not only his son, but his whole team.

Sometimes Spy and Scout talk shit in French right there in front of the team, but no one has any fucking idea what they’re saying and to be honest it’s pissing Soldier off the most, much to the father and son duo’s amusement.

Pyro secretly has a little black rabbit named Lucifer (Lucy for short) in their bedroom, which they only take out to get some fresh air and hop around very early in the morning, before anyone else is awake. The only people who know are Medic, Spy, and surprisingly enough Soldier, whose raccoons became friends with Lucy.

Sniper has a goldfish in his RV, but it died three months after he joined the team; he has no idea though because Miss Pauling replaces it every time one passes away, so now Sniper is convinced he has the world’s oldest goldfish.

Scout and Soldier both really want a dog, but they're not allowed to have one on-base. :(

((Heavy plans on sneaking a dog in next Christmas and no one can stop him. It’s gonna be a Border Collie named Bandit, and it gets the most attached to Scout and Heavy.))

Demo is no longer allowed to make mixed drinks for parties; the last time he did, he got everyone so shitfaced that they had to cancel work for three days in a row in order to recover from it.

Continuing off of that: drunk headcanons.

Demoman: Unassuming drunk. Acts like he usually does, unless he’s gotten particularly shitfaced for a party/event, in which case he’ll be slurring so bad that no one can understand him anymore.

Pyro: Giggly drunk. Is just laughing the whole fucking night at nothing in particular, which scares anyone who’s still sober. If they’re too far gone, they’ll start mumbling something that sounds like it’s in Spanish.

Spy: Party drunk. An absolute fucking mess, he’s trying to impress everyone and keep their attention on him, which usually leads to him standing on tables and dancing until he falls and passes out.

Sniper: Sleepy drunk. Out like a fucking light at the slighest bit of alcohol. If he wakes up and keeps drinking though, he’ll just be slurring like Demo, only with a lot more anger in his voice. Let him sleep, or he’ll fucking stab you to death.

Scout: Clumsy drunk. Bumps into anything and everything; eventually has to be given a sippy cup for his alcohol because he dropped three glasses in a row. Talks even faster than usual, until he accidentally fucking pukes on someone.

Soldier: Calm drunk. Instead of getting loud and aggressive like most would think/fear, he’s just… chillin'. Just watches the shitshow as it happens, not even laughing when people get hurt/fall down. Kinda terrifying if we’re being honest here.

Engineer: Depressed drunk. His depression goes through the roof if he has too much, so he doesn't drink more than a few beers if he can help it. If he does accidentally drink too much, he'll be sobbing his eyes out in no time flat.

Heavy: Cuddly drunk. It’s very, very hard to get him drunk, since he’s really good at holding his liquor, but if you do, he’s gonna be hugging and carrying everyone he can get his hands on; you can expect him to have Medic and/or Pyro on his lap once he’s drunk enough.

Medic: Angry drunk. He wants to start fights with fucking everyone, all his rage coming out once he’s had a few too many; god help anyone who tries to stop him. Luckily for all involved, Heavy is more than capable of holding him still until he tires himself out.

BONUS Miss Pauling: Dumbass drunk. With too many bottles in her, she’s gonna be the one shouting and encouraging Spy to act reckless, while also encouraging Engie to drink more because quitting is for losers. Will pass out within an hour or so of downing her first drink.

BONUS The Administrator: Stereotypical drunk. Slurring, stumbling, she’s got the whole nine yards, but she’ll be damned before she let’s anyone see her that messed up. Secretly sips wine at work.

Okay, back to my rambling.

My personal headcanon names and ages for Scout’s older brothers, going from oldest to youngest: Grant 34, Timothy 32, Jacob 31, Arthur 31, Patrick 30, Malcolm 27, Curtis 26, and Jeremy (Scout) 23.

((Also, I’mma go off on my headcanon personalities for them, which are based off of how I’ve tried portraying them in my "Jeremy" fic.))

Grant - 34 years old - Bisexual - Occupation: Veteran/Construction worker - Personality: the oldest of the bunch, he takes it upon himself to keep his little brothers in line/help Ma out as much as he can. Enlisted in the Air Force after he graduated high school, and still takes a lot of pride in his veteran status after serving overseas three separate times. The family peacemaker.

Timothy - 32 years old - Homosexual - Occuptaion: Cartoonist - Personality: the gentlest of his brothers, he often gets roped into helping Grant keep the pack from running too wild. Bit of a softie; loves his husband and loves his job. Closest relationship is with Scout. Doesn’t approve of Scout being a merc but is too scared to say so. The family heart.

Jacob - 31 years old - Heterosexual - Occupation: Freelance guitarist - Personality: the firstborn of the only set of twins, Jacob is a lot more abrasive and instigating than his twin brother. Can’t grow a beard for shit, which pisses him off. Doesn’t get along well with Timmy, despite them both being talented and devoted artists. The family sword.

Arthur - 31 years old - Pansexual - Occupation: Carpenter - Personality: the second born of the only set of twins, Arthur is far more outgoing and nonchalant than his twin brother. Has a beard and loves it more than life. Secretly has a boyfriend, but is too nervous to come out. Gets along better with Jacob after they’ve become adults. The family shield.

Patrick - 30 years old - Heterosexual - Occupation: Hairdresser - Personality: probably the least social of all of the brothers, he prefers staying out of sight and out of mind tbh. Used to practice cutting everyone’s hair when they were kids. Doesn’t talk to his brothers that much, mostly due to being busy/forgetting to call more. The family shadow.

Malcolm - 27 years old - Heteromantic Asexual - Occupation: Wrestler - Personality: the most aggressive and physically competitive of his brothers, there’s nothing he won’t do to win a fight, save for using weapons/lethal force. Hard to get along with, but he still loves his brothers to bits, and was overprotective of Scout when they were younger. The family instigator.

Curtis - 26 years old - Heterosexual - Occupation: Bartender - Personality: was a total fucking mama’s boy growing up, and constantly got in trouble with his brothers for tattling on them. Still argues with Scout every time they see each other. Wants to make Ma proud, but it’s hard for him to keep a job for very long. The family drifter.

Jeremy - 23 years old - Transmale Pansexual - Occupation: Mercenary - Personality: (This is mostly for how he was as a kid) was constantly following his brothers around (especially Malcolm) in hopes of getting in on the fun. Was always treated as the family baby, so everyone was a bit scared to wrestle/fight with him for fear of getting him hurt. Very close to Timmy and Ma. The family runt.

No one on RED team can fucking drive well, save for MAYBE Sniper, but even he hates doing it. Spy gets so goddamn mad within two seconds of driving, Pyro can't stop swerving, Scout drives like a 16 year old who hasn't realized their own mortality yet, Medic jumps at every little inconsistency on the road, Heavy shouts at other drivers for being too slow/fast, Demo's depth perception is shit, Engie drives like a 90 year old grandmother, and Soldier is fine except he will literally shoot at other drivers for tailgating him/cutting him off.

The whole team has designated “Team Bonding Days” thanks to Miss Pauling, which involves playing board games, card games, and video games (in a slightly more modernized AU) together… this, of course, goes badly sometimes. The worst incident they ever had was a bad game of Monopoly that almost ended Heavy and Medic's friendship.

Uno is forever banned from Team Bonding Days. No explanation is needed.

Off the battlefield and in the base, Miss Pauling had the team set up a chore wheel, which is only occasionally followed. Engie is the most dedicated to following it, while Demo and Sniper try everything in their power to avoid cleaning the base.

Spy sometimes disguises himself as other teammates in order to get out of doing his chores, which has led to a lot of shouting matches that ended in Spy being forced to admit it was his fault.

Spy's favorite teammates to disguise himself as are Engie and Scout. He likes being Engie because he gets to be more affectionate with people without being found out, and he can act as Scout incredibly easily due to knowing him so well (tbh he's so good at masquerading as Scout that it's scary).

For Halloween, everyone put their names in Soldier's hat, then proceeded to pull out other teammates’ names to dress up as for their Halloween party. I dunno exactly who would be who, except that Scout traded around to get Spy, steals one of Spy's suits, and just goes around the party bonking people with a plastic baguette he bought online and speaking in a purposefully bad accent.

Spy: Mon fils, you can speak perfect French and you fucking know it. Please stop making a fool of ton père.

Scout: Hohoho, wee wee, I am a fucking frog that gets pegged by baguettes, hoho!

((Spy is this fucking close to committing filicide.))

Everyone can actually cook pretty well, but only very specific things for each merc: Demo can mix and blend drinks (not just alcoholic ones) like it's nothing, Pyro and Heavy like baking, Medic can barbecue anything, Scout knows how to make a lot of shit from scratch (thanks, Ma), Spy and Engie can grill like the true dads they are, Soldier will deep fry every piece of food he eats, and Sniper makes the best soups and stews imaginable.

In order of least to most messy bedrooms: Spy, Heavy, Engie, Sniper, Pyro, Demoman, Medic, Scout, and Soldier. You'd think Scout's would be the worst, but Soldier's room looks like a literal fucking war-zone.

Even when they're not working but get injured in some way (namely from shenanigans/horseplay), people will straight up kill themselves in order to respawn without the injury. The pettiest thing anyone ever respawned off-duty for was Medic suiciding over a tiny ass paper cut.

Demoman is scarily competent at the weirdest of times. For instance, Engie was once trying to figure out how to fix an issue on one of his turrets, only for Demo to stumble over, completely shitfaced, and point out the problem as well as the solution, before passing out under Engie's worktable. Demo doesn't remember this at all.

The first time Engie swore in front of the team in excess (due to dropping a hammer on his foot while he was tinkering), everyone was absolutely horrified because they had only ever heard him say “fiddlesticks” and the like.

Medic's room may not be the messiest, but goddamn is his office a fucking bomb waiting to go off 90% of the time. No one but Medic can find anything in the mess, which is just fine by him.

Heavy likes to sing (mostly just to Sasha) when he's cleaning her in the locker room. The others try to be within hearing range when he does this, because holy fuck, Heavy is a very good singer! He mostly just sings soft songs/lullabies, so his singing is sometimes used by the team insomniacs to help them get some much needed rest.

Okay, another group one. The mercs during shopping trips together:

Demoman: Sneaks a shit ton of alcohol into the cart when no one's looking. Starts complaining if he has to be at the store for too long; will try and sneak away to go home at least once during the trip. Accidentally bumps into a display case and makes a huge fucking mess.

Pyro: Sits obediently in the cart the whole time, occasionally nabbing candy and stuffed animals off of nearby shelves. Will puppy-dog eyes their way into getting everything they grabbed, no matter how much it is.

Spy: Somehow managed to steal an employee uniform and he pretends to work at the store the whole trip; the other mercs keep accidentally falling for it and asking for his help. This all goes to shit when a Karen starts shouting at him over something he didn't do, and he straight up slaps her.

Sniper: King of forgetting wtf was on the list and just grabs shit on the grounds of “Doc said we needed milk, right?” and other such excuses. Knows where everything is despite never having come here before.

Scout: “Gimme the list, I can get everythin' in, like, ten minutes!” Wants to speedrun grocery shopping due to years of shopping with his mom and brothers. Will run loose if left unsupervised and accidentally bust ass on some spilled milk.

Soldier: The one who spilled the milk that Scout busts his ass on. Insists he knows where he's going, but doesn't. Gets into a fistfight with a soccer mom while everyone's waiting to check out; the soccer mom won.

Engineer: Has a full, printed list of everything the team needs, which is organized by aisle number. Is the one who gives into Pyro's begging. Team Dad; keeps an eye on everyone and stops the soccer mom from murdering Soldier.

Heavy: Pushes the cart the entire time. Spends way too money on stuff in the protein shake aisle. At one point runs the cart down the aisle and let's go because Pyro wanted him to, and it ends up crashing into Demo.

Medic: Argues with the pharmacists at the pharmacy counter. Got lost with Soldier until they found Scout unconscious, so he had to perform CPR in the dairy aisle and a fucking paramedic criticized him the whole time; the paramedic hasn't been seen since.

BONUS Miss Pauling: Tries to more or less chaperone this shitshow of a shopping trip. Starts out cheerful and happy, ends up threatening to put child leashes on every last one of these dumbasses.

After Spy taught him how to dance in Expiration Date, Scout goes to him occasionally for advice, such as how to change a tire, how to cook certain things, how tf to do laundry, etc. Spy secretly loves that Scout does this, and tries to help him as much as he can.

Everyone on the team has called Engie “Dad” at least once, even Spy and Medic. No one comments on it.

Medic has been known to go on hour long tirades about anti-vaxxers, with Engie sometimes joining in.

Heavy buys Pyro stuffed animals during his trips to visit his family, which has started a tradition of everyone buying Pyro stuffed animals/toys when they go somewhere without them. Pyro's room is starting to look like a preschooler’s dream bedroom.

Scout calls his mom every other Friday, and he’ll occasionally let his teammates talk to her. Soldier always goes on and on about how good a soldier Scout has been (Scout cries like a baby), Medic tells her about Scout’s latest injuries (Scout damn near chokes him over it), Sniper is just glad to talk to a mom who won’t scold him for the whole phone call, Pyro hums music while Scout’s Ma sings the lyrics for them, Heavy talks about living in huge families with her, Demo asks her how she’s doing and if he can help her out at all, Engie is polite and also praises Scout, and Spy just tells her he’ll call her later before hanging up (Scout punches him for being rude to his mama).

Spy calls Scout's mom on the Fridays that Scout doesn't, mostly to check on her and sometimes to get into some, uh, “steamy” conversations over the phone. Sniper overheard a conversation between them once and now he can't look Scout or Spy in the eyes anymore.

And that's all I've got for right now! I hope you all liked my stupid headcanons!

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joonclouds · 4 years ago

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The Price Of A Wish | 3

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

_________________

You meet Hoseok for the first time when you’re seventeen. It's in the early days of March - you remember because it's the time where Spring isn't quite here yet, so the evenings are still chilly. Getting to wear your favourite sweaters a few weeks longer is something that you still get a small thrill out of. You're a lot younger, a lot less jaded than you are now.

Leaning against the wall a ways off from the main crowd, you watch the guests in disinterest. It was laughable for a party of forty, at most, to rent such a colossal space. Surely even if it was a selection showcase, it was excessive.

Your family’s attendance to an event meant no expense was spared. The dress code is smart casual but a grand hall has been rented, with towering ceilings and a sprawling expanse of space. There was a live string quartet and champagne and little degustation canapes. Everyone talked in hushed voices, as if afraid to disturb the air around them. And what were they feeding with these canapes? Mice? You can’t even have real alcohol, just this stupid fizzy grape juice in a fancy glass. You think about the amazing grilled cheese that Madam Han, your housekeeper, makes and you groan internally, wishing to be anywhere but here. You’re sure your face says just as much.

“Yup, me too.” Turning in surprise, you find someone next to you.

His height is the first thing you notice. A good head taller than you are, and all black looks good on him, a silk shirt hanging loose and ripped jeans tucked into boots. He looks familiar, but you can’t put your finger on it yet, so you shelve that thought for later because well. There were more important issues at hand.

As a general rule, you thought all that "love at first sight' type thing was bullshit. You didn't buy into that sort of malarkey, and even if you did, it’s not something you got to have. But what was a girl to do in the face of .. well, a handsome face? Despite the remnants of stubborn pre-teen chub around his cheeks and a smattering of acne on his chin - things you're sure he'd grow out of in time - he's just your type of trouble.

Maybe you didn't know that yet, but all you do know is that when he turns slightly to give you a half smile, you freeze and your heart jumps like it's about to launch itself out of your body.

“Well. Someone's having fun.” He clarifies, fiddling with the stem of his champagne flute. You quickly look away, but not before noting his similarly bored demeanor.

"As much fun as you are, clearly."

“Yes, this is a riveting time.” He deadpans back, and the snicker he garners out of you breaks the ice like sugar glass. The both of you return to surveying the small crowd, but make no move to leave, enjoying the feeling of sharing in a certain kind of disjointed camaraderie. What is it they always say about shared trauma?

“You’re old enough to drink?” You tilt your glass in the direction of his.

“I’ve been old enough since three years ago. But legally, no. This isn’t alcohol.”

You sigh, but then a thought pops into your head. “Wanna sneak into the kitchen with me? The servers often leave the open bottles unattended.”

“Not your first rodeo, huh.”

“And certainly not my last. I can’t wait to be legal so these things become more tolerable.” You take another sip of your non-alcohol.

After a moment you ask again - “So? Kitchen?”

“You have no idea how much I wish I could, but this night is a sober one. Nerves and alcohol don't go well together for me.”

“Aaaaaaand he turns out to be even less fun than this party.”

This earns you a chuckle from him. It’s warm and inviting, a little buzz of electricity in your veins. Feels like if you’d been drinking actual champagne that evening. He nudges your shoulder playfully with his own when you cross your arms and angle your body slightly away in a small show of sulking.

“I have no choice, cowboy. I’m the showhorse. Gotta do the parade if I want my scholarship."

“Ah, Jung Hoseok.”

The puzzle pieces fall into place and you give him another once over out of the corner of your eye, this time with more recognition than before. Now you knew why he looked familiar - the identities of the artistes were all kept secret until after the selection showcase, but since you were your father's daughter, you'd seen the lineup beforehand.

"Yup, that's me." Hoseok downs the rest of his drink, grimacing. "And this entire thing is a show by a pretentious businessman who's already decided who's going to be selected."

"Looks like it's not your first rodeo either, you know how this works."

"Boy, do I."

"So why stay sober for it anyway?"

"I like dancing."

Hoseok's answer makes you go quiet. Whatever sarcastic banter you had lined up was halted in the face of such a simple, honest admission.

After a moment, he adds - " and I have a feeling it might reflect badly if I turned up tipsy to my first performance in front of the panel of directors.”

You shrug. "You know what they say about brooding artists and alcohol."

Suddenly, a thought comes to him. “Wait. You know me?”

He turns to you, and you can see him trying to figure out who you are, why you know him but he doesn’t know you.

“Of course I know you.” You state a matter-of-factly. “Jung Hoseok, the parading showhorse.”

“And you’re…. Mirae? The….cellist?” He takes a wild guess at one of the other performers in the showcase lineup that night.

“Nope.” You reply, popping your lips in amusement when you realise he has absolutely no clue who you are.

"You're not competition, are you?"

"Wrong again."

Hoseok squints in confusion and turns fully to face you, taking you more seriously now. “So who are you?”

Leaning in closer to him you tilt your glass in the direction of where the biggest group of people congregated in the middle of the room, deciding to at least have a little bit of fun tonight if you couldn't get your hands on the drinks. Albeit at the expense of someone else’s embarrassment, but it’s not like you two were close anyway. Consider it a trade off of sorts.

“See that man in the gray suit?”

“The CEO of Aurarts?” He frowns slightly. “Why?”

“He's the one who gets to decide if you get your scholarship or not, right?”

“Yes.” He drags the syllable out hesitantly. “Where is this going?”

“Well. In the direction of him being my very pretentious father. I'm sure you'll know my name soon enough.”

The colour drains from Hoseok’s face.

“Fuck-“ He begins, but quickly catches himself and bites his lips together when he decides that swearing in front of the daughter of the business magnate he just badmouthed, and who is coincidentally also funding his scholarship, isn’t the best first impression.

“Sorry. I. Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. Gone is his easy charm - he’s now visibly perplexed, turning red and refusing to make eye contact. It makes you giggle, a bright pealing sound that seems to cut like a warm knife into butter. As it happens, the emcee’s voice crackles to life over the speakers, cutting your laughter short and inviting guests to take their seats as the performance is about to begin.

"There's your cue, and mine."

You sigh, quite content with your fun for the evening; Hoseok is pretty cute when he’s flustered. He's opened and shut his mouth three times and still trying to find a way to dig himself out of the hole he's in, so you decide to put the poor boy out of his misery and leave first. Pushing off from the wall, you offer him a small wave and mouth a ‘good luck’ over your shoulder. He manages a tiny wave back.

Between accompanying your father amongst the guests and making small talk with them after the performances are over, don’t get a chance to talk to Hoseok anymore for the rest of the evening. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of a silky black shirt and a charming smile, but not long enough of a look to know if he was looking back.

But you do get to watch his performance - it’s the last one of the night, and you don't know if it's intentional, but they’ve saved the best for last.

Hoseok walks onto the makeshift dancefloor, barefoot, and one more button on his shirt undone. Perhaps you didn’t notice it before, but there is a power with which he holds himself in his beginning pose, facing away from the audience, stance wide and hands crossed in fists behind his back. His head is turned, just enough for you to see his side profile, and you know he sees you sitting in the front row. You feel a shiver of excitement at the base of your spine. It pulses in rhythm to the opening beats of the dance track.

When he starts, you understand why he’s in tonight's lineup. Each movement of Hoseok’s body is fluid but perfectly controlled, matching the heavy bass tempo on the dot. Never early, never late. The music slowly starts to pick up, and his eyes turn dark, expression changing with every turn of the music. Joy, fear, passion and desperation tell the story of escape from old demons and rebirth into a new self. As everything reaches a crescendo, it’s like his presence expands into the cavernous hall that seemed to swallow every one of it’s tiny guests earlier, filling the space until you felt like the walls might burst.

One fist clenched and shaking in the air, Hoseok ends his performance kneeling atop a raised dais in the middle of the stage. The air is so silent and heavy with awe you can hear his laboured breaths. His smile is so bright and victorious, you think you might be dreaming when it is literally blinding you in the shine of spotlights. It's then you realise he's actually got braces on. Your heart gives you a quiet, endearing sigh, and you agree with her.

Applause erupts, a standing ovation is given. It takes you a little longer to collect yourself, but you stand with the crowd too, and clap until your palms heat and sting.

He’s not dancing to the music, you think. He is the music.

_________________

PREV | NEXT

A/N: And with that we’re all caught up with the chapters I’ve also posted on A03! You can check me out there if you prefer A03 hehe. Will be releasing future chapters at the same time from now on. Hope everyone is having a ✨great day✨ xoxo

#joonclouds #POAW #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok fic #bts fic #hobi #hoseok fanfic #bts x reader

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og-danny-dorito · 5 years ago

Text

Hancock SFW Headcanons To Satiate My Undying Thirst for This Raisin

this is dedicated to all of my 12 year old monster/humanoid obsessions, and to the ones which may follow such as this mans, John Hancock, the mayor of Goodneighbor. because I'll be damned if I see a ghoul and don't become immediately attracted to them. also these weren't requested, but @thatwolfnamednyla seemed interested so i'll tag them (i can remove the tag too if you want me to, just let me know).

<---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->

S F W :

- ok so, I’m gonna start off with physical headcanons because it’s easier for me to base everything off of that

- since most of the heights in the game are the same and they don’t really give any actual canon heights for them, I’d say that he’s about 5”5 because I love the imagine of a short man with a knife. like-

- yeah he’s definitely powerful and strong willed and mental the opposite of a short baby man, but like can you just imagine some dude walking up to you and having to look up at you because he’s small? Especially a high af ghoul man small boy? an artistic virtue

- that, and he’s generally the most crackhead out of all the companions

- like he’s the guy to go to if you’re itching to bust out some chems and go shoot at random shit in the middle of the night cause he’s just that kinda dude

- he lives for the thrill of things, and so obviously someone equally as crackhead as he is would fit him perfectly, but for the sake of actual relationship building I’d say that he’s better fit with a rational crackhead

- like yeah, going out and getting yourself fucked up is great, but like not to the point of getting yourself so fucked up beyond repair, yknow? someone who takes a second and a half to think his crazy ass ideas through and THEN do it with him is the best person for the job as his metaphorical babysitter

- and he really likes to be taken care of because he’s a sucker for that shit. I would say that he has a daddy/mommy kink but like these aren’t nsfw and so I’m not gonna bust out that nasty shit just yet

- that said, being his partner doesn’t have very specific guidelines. being pansexual AND polyamorous allows him to love freely as he was genetically destined to anyway

- seriously, he’s attracted to you if you say something nice to him and show a little bit of interest that’s just how it is. he doesnt really think of appearances unless he's only out for dick

- he doesn’t really have a specific type either??? but he finds timid and nervous people so fucking cute. like,,, if you keep apologizing because of small things he’ll ruffle your hair and start calling you ‘kid’ and ‘sweetie’ cause honestly it’s just so sweet to see you get all nervous and shy

- it literally makes him want to fistfight someone in an abandoned parking lot for you and he can't help his protectionist ways

- like he likes to be taken care of yeah, but he ends up setting y’all in the ‘give some get some’ scenario where it’s more of a partnership

- jokingly calls you ‘smoothskin’ even if your skin isn’t smooth like you’re scarred or something. it cracks him up because he does it in a smoker voice too but he already sounds like a smoker so he ends up coughing a little bit after in between laughs

- biggest goofball on the planet

- will literally play pranks on you because he finds it funny, like using makeshift pre-war whoopee cushion and shit like that. will also 100% love it if you prank him back. he doesn’t take much seriously and so any form of mild joking makes him genuinely happy

- if you’re inclined to more permanent relationships however, this could become an issue. not the whole whoopee cushion thing the seriousness thing

- just because he does sleep with other people and lowkey tell you all the time about how “That raider was packin, and I don’t mean to be a whore but honestly like if he wanted some he could get some.”, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. it’s just that it’s normal for him to be attracted to other people at the same time. it can be more than one person at once, which can sometimes be a problem if more traditional people not cool with it

- confronting him about it either to confirm it negatively or positively depends on your preference. he didn’t really think of this as permanent in the first place, more of a friends with benefits situation where you also benefit each other with extreme emotional support, and so you wanting to make it serious will trigger his fear of commitment

- therefore, if you’re not okay with it he may have a hard time adapting, but if he’s really grown on you then he can try to be better about it. he won’t make the one he loves uncomfortable without their permission, but he’ll try his best to explain it (the best that he can doesn't necessarily that he’ll do it well though)

- if you’re alright with it then he will most likely bring up the topic of either threesomes/poly-somes and/or adding someone else to your romantic stuff or something like that if either of areyou is interested. communication is key in this sort of thing, and so he’ll almost always go to you before like trying to initiate anything with someone after talking with them and you about the situation

- oh did I mention fear of commitment? Cause I’m about to get real angsty

- MAN does he have an issue with it. not only that, but the reason he doesn’t really view this thing as permanent is because he’s fairly certain he’ll outlive you. he's terrified of loosing you one day and then not knowing what the he'll to do with himself for the rest of his life. he’s scared of being tied down it totally goes against his whole thing of freedom, and since he’s already conflicted about anarchy and order he literally avoids thinking about settling down with anyone or anything

- he’s holding onto a past that brought him joy then, but could ruin him now. and the best way to deal with that is to try to get through it as best as you can and leave the past behind, but he still finds himself reminiscing about things that could’ve happened

- it keeps him up sometimes, thinking about it. he’ll lay flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling for hours at a time just... thinking. and only when he’s lightly pressed about it will he say something, and even then it seems more like he’s struggling to find the words. It’s weird how he can talk to goodneighbor’s citizens like it’s nothing, but talking about himself gets him all choked up

- he would very much like it if you just like, kissed his face or hold his hand sometimes. to him it speaks more than a thousand words, and if he’s really having a hard time it means everything for you to be there for him

- that, and with the fact that you’re his best friend means that you’re his ride or die partner in crime

- just sitting around and doing chems with you and getting all philosophical or doing dumb shit is pretty much all he needs to be satisfied with you, and he really likes hearing you talk about pre-war society

- whether your views are negative or positive, he likes hearing about the way things used to work. he likes your stories about how you grew up and how you came to be who you are today, and a lot of the time he finds himself asking you about something he doesn’t know because you’re technically the ultimate source of knowledge on that stiff by this point

- you’d have to assure him that you didn’t know everything and no, you had no idea what year that random object he found was made, but he likes it anyway. you pique his interest, and just sharing a few mindset traits with you makes him feel much more secure and like you’ve got something that matters to the both of you

- that, and he thinks you’re the coolest motherfucker on the planet

- he’d probably be more attracted to free spirits, those who hold a strong moral code and defend it like it’s their lifeline. obviously he has a wide range of romantic and causal interest guidelines, but that’s the key point there. Someone who stands for what they believe in and protects those around them

- and NOW for my favorite part, miscellaneous headcanons ;

he’s probably the most openly sexual out of all the companions besides Gage, but tbh gage isn't down to walk naked through commonwealth and he is so obviously he’s the most freaky

he’s more himbo oriented, although with this chart done originally by @cockneydio

I can tell you that he’s this 👌 close to being a feral himbo and is probably turned on by danger so you can already tell what kinda bitch he is

he likes to give you his jacket when you’re cold or he just feels like it and it usually smells like cigarettes and gunpowder

thinks that pastel colors and soft clothes are kind of cute on people for some reason

is a sucker for pda, might die if you kiss on his neck or tell him he looks nice that day while you’re in public. Also super into just randomly slapping your ass because he finds it hilarious (slapping his ass in turn earns you a flirty comment and a mildly turned on raisin man)

loves receiving gifts from you and equally as much giving them, which is commonly just cool little things he’s found and thought you would like

makes cheesy pick up lines all the time and you can’t change my mind

would die for pet names, given or received. like yes call him “honey” and “sugar” he will MELT he's just a big nerd

he's kinda self conscious about himself around you, but likes phsycial contact too much to deny himself of it so he's literally always attached to you and/or on top of you if he can help it

- hancock isn’t feral, but he sure does act like it sometimes. what he needs is someone who can balance him out and give him the space when he needs it, and who genuinely cares about he people around them regardless of who or what they are. just being there for him on the bad days means the world to him, and he wouldn’t give what y'all have up for all the caps and chems in the world

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f4liveblogarchives · 4 years ago

Text

Fantastic Four Vol 1 #235

Mon May 04 2020 [07:44 PM] Wack'd: Last time: EGO THE LIVING PLANET [07:44 PM] Umbramatic: ah, an old friend [07:46 PM] Wack'd: If you've ever wondered what Ego's pours look like have I got a treat for you

[07:47 PM] Bocaj: I didn't but thank you [07:47 PM] Umbramatic: p o r e s [07:47 PM] Wack'd: So after landing and determining Ego smells awful they find he's got a giant jet engine strapped to him that allows him to move through space [07:47 PM] Bocaj: Wait that’s how he does it [07:47 PM] Bocaj: I just assumed it was planetary power [07:47 PM] Wack'd: It's a "siderial propulsion unit" [07:48 PM] Wack'd: But yeah he's just got a big ol' jet pack [07:48 PM] Bocaj: What a zenoma sekot of him [07:48 PM] Umbramatic: PLANET-SIZE JET PACK [07:49 PM] Wack'd: Haha so apparently [07:49 PM] Wack'd: The giant jet engine wasn't his idea [07:50 PM] Wack'd: His as-of-yet-unnamed enemy strapped it to him to make him someone else's problem [07:50 PM] Wack'd: But he learned to control it and now he's everyone's problem [07:50 PM] Umbramatic: ego: i am going to cause problems on purpouse [07:52 PM] Wack'd: I don't have a joke for this panel I just think it looks neat

[07:53 PM] Umbramatic: oh god oh fuck i'm having flashbacks to the eighth pokemon movie [07:53 PM] Wack'd: Anyway. Fight fight fight [07:53 PM] Wack'd: Sue realizes the antibodies are following her based on her footsteps so invisibility is pointless. Instead she makes a giant pillar which they all run into like Looney Tunes [07:54 PM] Aleph Null: ego the living planet: gross as fuck [07:55 PM] Bocaj: now now nobody looks nice at that magnification [07:55 PM] Wack'd: Reed: I will make whatever assumptions I need to in order to avoid moral culpability

[07:55 PM] Umbramatic: also the cells you get rid of when you get a haircut are dead already [07:55 PM] Aleph Null: is reed a bojack [07:56 PM] Wack'd: Okay but Will Arnett would kill playing 616-Reed [07:56 PM] Aleph Null: how many hundreds of times have you contemplated a fantastic four cartoon voice cast? [07:57 PM] Wack'd: Aleph Null : How many loaves of bread have you eaten in your life? [07:57 PM] Bocaj: there's like bacteria and mites and stuff on hair i guess [07:57 PM] Bocaj: but. [07:57 PM] Aleph Null: hehe funny jojo [07:57 PM] Bocaj: He's a funny monkey [07:58 PM] Wack'd: Meanwhile, back in New York, we check in on Frankie Raye [07:58 PM] Bocaj: love me some mysterious side cast [07:59 PM] Wack'd: Oh cool I love 9 Chickweed Lane

[08:00 PM] Bocaj: Did she blindfold the teddie bear [08:00 PM] Wack'd: She did. Dunno what's up with that [08:01 PM] Wack'd: Maybe to prevent this very situation of the bear seeing her naked [08:01 PM] Bocaj: That sure is an interesting set of decisions that have led to this [08:02 PM] Wack'd: She and her long long legs contemplate giving Johnny a call and then she catches a glimpse of her naked body in the mirror and has a freakout because, as the narrative caption informs us, "she knows!" [08:02 PM] Wack'd: Big dysphoria mood [08:02 PM] Umbramatic: mood [08:04 PM] Wack'd: Back in space the Four have reached the giant jet pack and removed a battery from it. (Think, like, 1.25 Ben Grimms tall.) But before they can complete whatever plan Reed has, Ego chucks a mountain of bone at them and they have to make a run for it [08:05 PM] Umbramatic: DEM BONES [08:06 PM] Wack'd: Reed wants to blow it up next to Ego's brain to stun him [08:07 PM] Wack'd: Apparently Reed's body makes him uniquely susceptible to...the pressure of going to the center of a planet?

[08:07 PM] Wack'd: I mean I guess Sue has force fields and Ben is already extremely dense [08:08 PM] Wack'd: You'd think this would be a problem for Johnny though [08:08 PM] Bocaj: He is also pretty dense [08:08 PM] Wack'd: 🥁 [08:08 PM] Bocaj: 🙃 [08:08 PM] Umbramatic: AYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY [08:08 PM] Bocaj: More psuedo sciency though he can get hot as the sun without violenting combusting the atmosphere so that means something [08:08 PM] Bocaj: Maybe. [08:09 PM] Wack'd: Sue however cannot take the heat so. YEET

[08:10 PM] Bocaj: I can't believe she's been yote [08:10 PM] Umbramatic: this is going to be one of those "and only one remains" things isn't it [08:10 PM] Bocaj: I like those things when done well [08:10 PM] Wack'd: Big ups to Umbra [08:10 PM] Umbramatic: jrpgs LOVE to do that shit [08:10 PM] Wack'd: Johnny can't deal with the pressure anymore and decides this "isn't the time for false pride”. Nopes out [08:10 PM] Umbramatic: HA [08:11 PM] Bocaj: the party based gameplay engine loves to widdle a party down to one? Really? [08:11 PM] maxwellelvis: I prefer when the party dwindles because each person is caught up in a grudge match with one of the bad guys, but this is a cool take on it too. [08:11 PM] Wack'd: ...friggin [08:12 PM] Wack'd: I was gonna be like "where have I seen 'blowing up a giant brain' as a solution before" [08:12 PM] Wack'd: But this is literally how they get Ego in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2, huh [08:12 PM] Bocaj: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2: This one with more feels [08:12 PM] Wack'd: Wonder if James Gunn read this issue or if it's just the natural solution to a living planet [08:13 PM] Wack'd: Or maybe other issues since have aped this, I dunno [08:14 PM] Wack'd: Anyway enjoy the money shot of Ego's brain

[08:14 PM] Bocaj: I can't believe they're going to kill Ego the Living Planet already. What will we use to mock bad Byrne? [08:16 PM] Wack'd: It turns out Ego's enemy, the reason he came to Earth, was Galactus [08:16 PM] Wack'd: Which makes sense. Circle of life and all that [08:16 PM] Wack'd: And apparently Galactus has done fuck-all since the Sphinx saga so this Earth is where the trail went cold [08:16 PM] Umbramatic: CIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRCLE OF LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE [08:17 PM] Wack'd: Plant-eater eats planet, planet teams up with Norse god to fight him off, planet goes back on deal with Norse god, Norse god and planet-eater team up to strap a giant jetpack to planet [08:17 PM] Wack'd: You know [08:17 PM] Wack'd: The circle of life [08:18 PM] maxwellelvis: Thor? [08:18 PM] Wack'd: Yeah [08:18 PM] Wack'd: Anyway apparently being away from his sun is slowly killing Ego [08:19 PM] Wack'd: Anyway Ben throws the makeshift bomb at Ego's brain [08:19 PM] Wack'd: And misses [08:19 PM] Wack'd: He misses a target the size of a moon [08:19 PM] Bocaj: dammit ben you were a foot the ball player [08:19 PM] Wack'd: Good god, Ben [08:20 PM] Wack'd: So now Ego knows what they were attempting and is pissed off [08:20 PM] Wack'd: And decides to burn Earth to death [08:20 PM] Wack'd: Fires up one of his jet engines [08:20 PM] Wack'd: Buuuuuuut they stole one of the batteries [08:20 PM] maxwellelvis: Way to biff that one up, Ben [08:20 PM] Wack'd: So now he can only turn left [08:21 PM] Bocaj: oh my god [08:21 PM] maxwellelvis: *Mel Blanc car sputtering ensues* [08:21 PM] Wack'd: FUCK I FUCKED UP MY THROAT LAUGHING TOO HARD

[08:22 PM] Wack'd: THIS IS INCREDIBLE [08:22 PM] Wack'd: EGO YOU FUCKING DINGDONG WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST TURN OFF THE ENGINE BEFORE YOU THREW YOURSELF INTO THE SUN [08:22 PM] Bocaj: wow [08:23 PM] Bocaj: Its honestly a little great how often the solution to things is to throw them into the sun [08:23 PM] Wack'd: You can't solve all your problems that way but you can solve enough of them to keep things interesting [08:24 PM] Bocaj: Is it all that you hoped for? [08:24 PM] Wack'd: Lucky for Ben instead of slowly boiling into nothing, Ego explodes, allowing the remaining three to find him and rescue him in the jet [08:25 PM] Bocaj: I can't believe Ego the Living Planet is dead forever [08:25 PM] Wack'd: I feel like probably if you're this close to the sun you're dead but alright

[08:26 PM] Bocaj: U-unstable molecules? [08:27 PM] Wack'd: big "it's a three-hour paddle home" energy

[08:27 PM] Bocaj: Did they pack days of food and oxygen [08:27 PM] Bocaj: Since I assume they don't die i'm just going to assume so [08:27 PM] Wack'd: Look they've jettisoned most of their bodies to save on energy requirements, what more do you want [08:28 PM] Bocaj: Pffft [08:28 PM] Wack'd: Also I hate how John Bryne draws Ben's head from the front [08:28 PM] Bocaj: He looks like a Toad Mariobros who needs to moisturize [08:28 PM] Wack'd: It's like one half of the cheeseburger head *Two-in-One* gives him [08:28 PM] maxwellelvis: His head looks like a big--

#1981 #John Bryne #The Main Book

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fly-flower-fanfics · 5 years ago

Text

Crafts and Kisses

Alpha Loki x Omega Male Reader

Warnings: None, I think.

~~~~~~~~~~

Things were different ever since I moved in with everyone into Tony's tower. I got to see my friends more often, and I wasn't as lonely anymore. My depression — although still bad — had decreased significantly. Life seemed to be all around better than ever before.

Bruce was my best friend. He was the one I went to constantly and for everything. He was always reminding me to take my antidepressants and heat suppressants, telling me that it was time for meals, and where I'd last left certain items.

If my head wasn't attached, I'd probably need Bruce to find that, too.

Natasha and Clint were betas, and I found it a bit comical that the only two betas in the building were together. Usually Bruce, the two of them, and I would be at home, cuddled up on the couch watching movies like best friends and couple do.

Lastly, you had Tony, Thor, Steve, and Loki that were the alphas. Tony and Steve butt heads sometimes, but Natasha was able to shut the two of them up almost instantly. Thor was the softest alpha around, literally acting like everyone was apart of his pack. Not going to lie, Thor was the best cuddle buddy when Bruce was shut up in the lab.

Loki, on the other hand, was an alpha that I didn't quite understand. It wasn't because he was an alpha; I wouldn't understand him if he was a beta or omega, either. He was just...odd. I never really interacted with him because he was always sneaking around. He'd stopped being a villain — as much as he could — so he wasn't doing anything wrong. Something was just different about him.

I didn't really think he would like me.

My powers were rather insignificant to everyone else's. All I could do was control electricity: turning on and off lights, appliances, etc. It was, however, good for playing pranks and charging my phone when I forgot to.

Because I was the newest addition to the Stark-Avengers Tower, I wasn't as open with everyone. Bruce knew I was an omega because omegas knew other omegas instantly. The others didn't ask because status was a bit of a sensitive thing. I just knew what everyone else the Tower was because they were so open with one another.

I'd only reached that point with Bruce, and everyone seemed okay with that.

Currently, I was in my room, laying on my bed and listening to my music blare through my headphones. My fingers were dancing to the tune above me, painting a picture with the air around me. I knew I looked silly, but I didn't particularly care at that moment. I was trying to picture what a painting would look like based on this song. And, not to toot my own horn, I was doing a damn fine job at imagining it.

Painting it? Now that was another story.

I was an artist, yes, but I was more into creating things and working with things like papier-mâché and clay. Painting wasn't my strong subject, but I wasn't terrible at it. It was just my ideas seemed to always be a bit too far out of my skill set, and I'd end up with a knock-off version of my idea.

I sat up in bed with the idea perfected in my head. I shoved my phone into the waistband of my boxers and rushed out my room towards the empty room Tony let me claim as an art studio.

On the way, I nearly crashed into both Clint and Thor. The two of them just laughed me off as I shouted an apology, spinning on my heel and waving at them. Whenever I had an idea, I always ran around to try and do it, and everyone knew it. Unfortunately for me, there was one other person I nearly rammed into: Loki.

I quickly apologized, but instead on continuing to run like I had with the others, I was frozen in place.

Why? It's not like I was scared of him or anything. He intently stared down at me; his green eyes felt like the burned straight to my soul. I didn't move, unsure of what the god would do or say. I never really got time to spend with him, and I didn't want to waste it, even if I had an idea.

The one corner of his mouth quirked up in the smallest movement that I had ever seen — barely seen — and he stepped to the side with a small nod of the head. Immediately, I smiled at him, brushed his cheek with my fingers, and went off running down the hall once more.

I never saw Loki as a threat to me, nor did I want to treat him any different than I did anyone else. I knew Tony and Steve treated him like an outsider, and Bruce and Clint were rather wary of him, too, and normally kept their distance. I was touch-feely with everyone, and Loki wasn't going to be spared of it either. At least, he hasn't told me he didn't like it with from our few interactions.

In fact, I don't think I've ever heard him talk at all.

Any thought of Loki and the others left my mind as soon as I reached the door of my makeshift art room. Opening it, I stepped inside and let the door close behind me. My paints were all set up in a corner already along with a clean canvas; I always made sure to do that when I left the room so I didn't need to prep when I had a brand-new idea.

I walked over and sat down by the table, pulling out a bunch of bright colors. After an hour, all I had was a rather beautiful mix of colors that looked like a splatter paint gone wrong. Even though I was disappointed that it was another idea that received a knock-off version, I didn't let it drag me down entirely.

I decided to go move to another kind of project: papier-mâché a mask.

With no set plan in mind, I plopped myself in front of the new table. It only took a few moments to get everything altogether, suit up into an apron, and get to work. I always stained the glue-water mix with a colored stiffener that would make it firmer when it dries. I'd always use clear glue because the white glue looked too much like something else. I made the mistake of using it once, and Tony made sure I never forget it. Clear glue looks like mucus, though, and that's disgusting, too.

I stained it purple today. Not that it mattered, but I liked the soft lilac color. I began placing the strips of newspaper onto a mask mold. It was peaceful enough until I realized one thing missing: my music. Whining, I got up and drug myself to the sink to wash my hands. I stuck my headphones in while I returned to my seat and pressed play.

New songs flooded my ears and motivated me to work. By the time I'd gotten the basic mold down to where I wanted it, I still didn't know what I wanted to make out of it. Then a song popped up that decided it for me: Miss Mysterious by Set It Off.

I knew I'd have to let the mask dry a bit before I'd start cutting into it, but I knew exactly how I wanted it to look. Half a mask, a bit like the Phantom of the Opera's, with a curled horn off to the side. It didn't sound as cool explaining it, but it was beautiful inside my head.

My fingers worked with the slimy mixture and the newspaper to create a thin, curled horn. I'd paint it a dark green, maybe add gold highlights to it or bells. Something like that. Something that would show how beautiful it was, how elegant it would be.

I sang along with the song. I could reach the high notes, and I wasn't the best at singing, but I was good enough that no one complained about my voice. Or at least they never complained to my face. Either way, I sang the song like no one else was in the room simply because there wasn't.

My hands glided over the mask, adding new pieces, creating the horn, and calling myself names when I'd accidentally drip the stuff on the table. I'd always then try and scoop it up in my hand but end up making it worse since my hands were covered in the gluey goop.

I'm sure if someone was outside looking in, I definitely was a sight to see. And I didn't care.

Once my mask was to the point that there was nothing left to do but let it dry, I stood up to go wash my hands. As soon as I turned around, I let out a scream.

"Loki?!"

His eyes lit up, just a bit more than usual, and I could tell he was laughing at me. Then, his lips began to move, but all I could hear was Who Is It by Michael Jackson blaring in my ears. I held up my hands to show him the goop they were currently covered in.

"Lemme wash my hands, and don't you dare leave, or I'll dip my hands back in it, find you, and touch you." I was sure I was speaking rather loudly because I could hear myself over my music.

I barely caught Loki's glare, and I smirked to myself. There was a fifty-fifty chance he'd actually leave, which meant there was a fifty-fifty chance I'd get to chase him with goopy hands. I washed my hands in the sink, making sure I got rid of all of it because it did stay a bit sticky when it remained on my hands.

I was equally surprised and disappointed to see Loki still standing there once I turned around. I removed my headphones from my ears, draped them around my neck, and gave Loki a slight bow while twirling my hand.

"You may speak now, my lord."

I heard the god snort. It was very soft, almost like a sharp inhale when one would be sick. His lips twitched slightly as I straightened up, but other than that, his face remained stoic. I knew that I was able to pull emotion from him, but I didn't understand why he tried to hide it.

Was it something I did? Something I said? Maybe it's just the way I am. Had I offended him in some way without realizing it?

His chuckle broke my train of thought. I blinked and saw the small smile on his face. I don't think I've ever seen him smile before. Even though it was hardly a smile, it caused me to smile.

"Are you always this energized, Y/N?"

His voice made me freeze. He knew my name. Well, duh. Of course he knew my name. I did live in the same building with the man. Oh god, I'm being stupid. What the hell? This isn't that big of a deal.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. It runs in my genes, I guess," I answered, wanting to slap myself. I couldn't have replied in a more dumbass way. Conversation was never my strong point.

Another smile tugged the edge of his lips. "Of course."

"Can-can I help you with anything?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck nervously before turning on my heel to replace the paints and canvas. "Not that I don't enjoy your company, it's just strange that you're here in my studio. Especially since we haven't really talked the much."

How long had he been there? The thought hit my like a punch in the stomach and made me hesitate for a moment. I'd finished my mask and turned to see him. He couldn't have been there that long, right? Art is boring to watch to most, and I'd assume that watching me papier-mâché was not on his list of 'fascinating things to do today.'

"Just stopping by."

God, I hated his answers. I mimicked him in my facial expressions while my back was turned to him. Couldn't he give me more solid answers? I cleaned out my brushes in the sink and glanced towards him.

"Why?"

He seemed caught off guard by my question, but it was perfectly reasonable considering our past — or lack there of. Instead of an answer, when Loki regained his composure, all I received was a shrug.

"Did you want something?" I asked, trying to hide my nervousness now. I went to the closet to grab a new canvas, tucking my lip between my teeth. There was a chair within reach of my foot, so I pulled it closer to me with the top of my toes and stood on it to grab a new canvas.

Did he want something? Did I accidentally take something of his? It happened sometimes since I was usually so scatterbrained. I tried to scan my brain of the items I'd last had in my possession, but all that I could think of was my paints and some newspaper.

"Oh, my dear omega."

I nearly slipped off the chair when the words left Loki's lips. The canvas did fall from my hands and clatter to the floor, and I dove after it, picking it up. How did he know that? Bruce wouldn't snitch on me, I knew that.

"You reek of anxiety," the god continued. "You seem to forget that my senses are heightened over your Midgardian senses. No matter what you use to mask your natural scent, I can see right through it."

I walked my now slightly dusty canvas over to the table and laid it down. Did that mean Thor knew, too? If Loki did, then Thor had to. Bless them both for not saying anything. I proceeded to busy myself by making sure every little dust particle was off of the canvas. The lights dimmed slightly for a moment as my anxiety increased.

He's here to make fun of me.

Loki never thought highly of omegas or betas, for the matter. That was clear to me. Loki only ever seemed to respect other alphas that were able to take him size him up for a good fight for dominance. I always assumed that he and Tony would eventually get together, no matter how much the two currently avoided one another.

Clearing my throat, I straighten up and hung up the apron I had been wearing. Finally, after what simultaneously felt like centuries and mere seconds, I turned to face the prankster once again. My fingers were tingling, and I knew that just once more word might cause me to blow all the bulbs in my studio.

Tony never got mad at me for it because really, what was a few light bulbs to a millionaire? But I've been trying to learn how to control my powers in moments of high and nearly uncontrollable emotions.

"You didn't answer my question," I replied, letting a smile form on my lips. It wasn't nearly as large as my normal smile, but I wanted my normal persona back.

"Bruce is sick," he replied. I knew that. Bruce had gotten ill yesterday, and I told him I'd go see him later, no matter how much he protested. "Can't seem to get it if bed right now." A look of disgust floated over the God's beautiful features. "So I brought these for you since it seems you've forgotten them."

Loki held out a small, silver package towards me, and I recognized it instantly. My heat suppressants. Now that I was thinking back again, I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken them. A dark blush heated my cheeks, but Loki didn't seem phased by it whatsoever.

"We don't want you going into an early heat." I wanted to die at the words he was saying. Did he not understand how embarrassed I already was? I noticed the lights dangerously flicking as I took the package from him. I saw Loki's eyes glance up towards them before I turned to grab a bottle of water from the small refrigerator I kept in the back.

"How do you hide your heats?"

I nearly choked on the pill and water, but managed to get it to stay down. While I was able to save that, the light bulbs weren't so lucky. They popped, drowning the room in darkness that was almost pitch black. "Oh, dear. I do seemed to have caused some discomfort."

I wanted to punch Loki in his stupid, pretty face. I was a mixture of embarrassed and angry because he had no right to do this. Who was he to come stomping up into my safe haven and talk about my heats and being an omega? Then he plays it off like a joke? The nerve of the motherfucker.

Since I knew the room like the back of my hands, I had no issues navigating to the one corner of my room. I leaned my head against the wall and breathed out a sigh. I wanted to unlive the last ten minutes of my life and leave before Loki had ever entered.

"Y/N?"

Damn his voice.

Silence was my reply.

"Y/N, don't make me ask again.

Even though he wasn't my alpha, I found myself turning toward him before cursing and facing the wall again. Calm down. Count to ten.

"Y/N, please."

"What?" I hissed out before turning to face him. I didn't want to deal with this right now, but the two of us were stuck in here until Tony would manually unlock the door since that, too, was powered by electricity. I couldn't do anything because, more likely, I blew the fuse connecting all of that.

"It's not that big of a deal."

"Says you," I growled. I didn't like people finding out things about me without my permission. It was weird, I know, but I didn't like when people knew things that I didn't tell them. "No one hates you for being an alpha."

"And no one would hate you for being an omega."

I didn't reply this time. He was pissing me off, but I tried to calm down. I guess it wasn't that big of a deal... It still really bothered me though. Taking a deep breath, I tugged my hair, and then let it out slowly.

"I'm not ready to admit it, okay?" My parents had been very disappointed in me for being an omega and a gay one at that. Their only son was into other men and the weakest on the totem pole. Whether society really frowned upon omegas or not, in my mind, they did. Everyone did, and I was scared to admit it. Bruce didn't even know why I didn't tell people that I was an omega.

"And you of all people!" I nearly spat at him as I whirled around. "You're the one that would hate me for being an omega. I know the way you talk about them. God, can't even believe you can stand to look at me." I ground my teeth together.

This was way out of my comfort zone and personality. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, causing me to curse aloud. I hated crying when I was angry.

I jumped when a hand fell on my shoulder, nearly decking Loki in the face. Was that really necessary?

Even in the darkness, I swore his green eyes were he only things that I could see perfectly clear.

"Calm down," he whispered to me softly, pulling me into a hug.

The coolness of his body helped my anxiety and the way he pet my hair caused me to let my guard down.

"Just listen to me," Loki continued. I was about to speak up, realizing what was going on, but Loki quickly shut that down. "You may not speak, do you understand?"

I closed my eyes and nodded against his chest. He's not my alpha, what the fuck am I doing?

"My omega, I kept my distance so I could keep watch on you. I kept my distance so I could se show others were interested in you. It also had come to my attention that you were into my brother." I could hear the jealousy laced in with his words.

The faint scent of possession filled my senses.

"I want you all to my own."

My knees felt weak at his words, and I found myself kneeling at his feet. As much as I had tried to push the feelings away, Loki was always the alpha I had wanted. He was off, odd, and different. Something about him always made my heart race.

I closed my eyes as I felt Loki's hand settle on my head. I rested my head against his thigh, closing my eyes. The amount of submission I felt was incredible, and I was incredibly embarrassed. Yet I didn't fight it as much as I normally would have.

"I didn't want you to hate me," I breathed out, hoping that he wouldn't hear my words.

"I would never." He backed away and knelt down to my level, sitting on the floor and pulling me between his legs. "I only ever wanted the best for my omega."

"You want me to be yours?" I asked softly.

I felt Loki's lips press against my skin at the base of my neck, near the place where he would mark me and claim me as his. "Yes."

I closed my eyes, letting myself enjoy the feeling of his cool lips against my skin. "Loki...I-I just... I don't wanna jump right in... I want you, but I want a relationship, too..."

"Then a relationship we shall form," he promised, tilting my head back to kiss my lips.

#marvel #marvel x male reader #marvel fanfiction #loki x male reader #loki fanfiction #loki #gay loki oneshot #lgbt #alpha #omega #alpha loki #alpha omega fanfiction

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pluto-art · 5 years ago

Text

PatB Fan Fiction: Equivocal (w/ illustrations)

Word Count: 9,252 (approximately) Theme: Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG-13 Trigger Warnings: Suicide, multiple character deaths, blood and gore (near the very end) Fan Fiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13509851/1/Equivocal

Summary: Lightning shot across the cold, white-washed walls, puncturing the plaster with ghostly shadows whose tendrils groped into every corner and crevice. Relentlessly did it perform its dance across the linoleum floor, past the locked steel doors, and over a set of watery, electric blue eyes glued to the subject writhing and twisting inside the makeshift prison of a bottle...

Author's Note: This story was inspired by a headcanon that writer @themurphyzone came up with, in which, and I quote, "...Brain is scared that Pinky might succeed in sacrificing himself so he can rule the world and it won't be something they can reverse...". This is the second time I've written a Pinky and the Brain piece based off of someone else's fan fiction and/or headcanon. I actually got 1/3 of the way through a storyboard for the first before I came up with another idea that became what's written below. I considered storyboarding this one, too, but decided to simply do a few illustrations to go along with it instead. Said illustrations accompany the story below. Additionally, there were musical pieces I listened to that greatly fueled the tone and feel of this story. Throughout the fan fiction, I have put little markers (a cross/crosses) by certain moments. You can find the corresponding links to each after the story.

Lightning shot across the cold, white-washed walls, puncturing the plaster with ghostly shadows whose tendrils groped into every corner and crevice. It sliced into the metal tables positioned ever so perfectly, tight in their respective spots throughout the blackened room. Its streaks cut into the malefic inhabitants that peppered the landscape - test tubes, syringes, boxes of medical gloves, dilators, gauze, note pads, scalpels. It ignored the screams echoing from its birthplace: a globular glass bottle, tapered at the top, just large enough for a mouse to uncomfortably pace around in. Relentlessly did it perform its dance across the linoleum floor, past the locked steel doors, and over a set of watery, electric blue eyes glued to the subject writhing and twisting inside the makeshift prison of a bottle.

"It doesn't have to end like this, you know," slid the words out from under whetted lips, smooth and sinister.

Pinky jumped a little as a cold paw slithered onto his shoulder. He turned slightly, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from the lightning show to rest upon the owner of the paw. A pitying look greeted him. Not a genuine, remorseful look; this one had the makings of a smirk behind it. Yet Pinky did not pick up on this. He never did much like the hamster... or trust him. Snowball had never given him much reason to. This time, however, his options were slim.

"Poor Brain. A victim of his own creation. Ironic, is it not? The analyst becomes the experiment. I tried to warn him, but would he listen to me? Oh, nooooo. And now... look."

Each word was carefully placed; each syllable ever so lightly pressed where needed. The full smirk broke through briefly as Snowball circled behind Pinky's back, only to be replaced by a convincing frown of sympathy as he reappeared on the white mouse's right-hand side. Pinky was frowning too, except his pout was sincere, eyes trained on the helpless prisoner being endlessly shocked and stung. A corner of Snowball's mouth twitched. He had him. It was all too easy.

"It's only a matter of time now before he's... well... I can't bear to say it. And the lightning needs a host until its goal is accomplished, lest it get out of control. I'd go in myself, of course, but... who would keep the machine in check? If only there was someone who could take his place..."

It was all nonsense. Empty words with no logic behind them. Yet it all made perfect sense to Pinky. Simple, dreadfully perfect sense. He turned to Snowball, gaze glistening as he grasped the hamster's shoulders with two shaking paws.

"I'll do it, Snowman! Send me in instead! Please!"

Snowball raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"You?"

Pinky nodded solemnly as Snowball slowly returned the gesture, his own paws taking hold of Pinky's shoulders.

"Understand, my friend, that you won't be its prisoner for merely a few minutes, but for as long as it takes..."

Pinky hung his head. He wasn't stupid; at least, not in the way people perceived him to be. He knew what he was giving up.

"He's my friend..."

Snowball said nothing. Not immediately. For a few seconds, he let it linger - give Brain a little more time to suffer; give the idiot a little more time to think about exactly what it was he was committing to do.

After a full thirty seconds, he nodded and gently steered Pinky closer to the glass, a paw resting on his back in mock comfort. The gesture might've been a kind one if he hadn't been nudging him to the gallows.

"Just remember...," Snowball muttered, as he shuffled over to a panel, his index finger hovering over a small, green button labeled 'Hold', "... you only have twenty seconds to replace him before it turns back on again."

Pinky gave a silent response in understanding, nose almost touching the literal bottle of lightning. He swallowed... hard. He could take a lot of pain, relish it even, but this was a different set - one he didn't think even he'd be able to handle. But Brain was in there, and that wasn't right. His friend was hurting. He shouldn't be. He couldn't be.

Pinky turned to face Snowball.

"Just one more thing. Promise you'll let Brain take over the world with you."

A pause. The hamster's finger still hovered over the button as he stared at Pinky, contemplating his request.

"Promise?" Pinky pleaded.

Snowball inclined his head ever so slightly.

"Of course, my friend."

It was barely visible, but Pinky smiled.

For a moment, everything went black as the machine was held fast, ensnared in a temporary hold. A few sparks flew, and an emergency green light from somewhere in the room flashed on, illuminating an immobile Brain as a transparent door in the bottle was released and opened. Without hesitation, Pinky ran in, picked Brain up, and quickly deposited him outside of the bottle. He lingered for a moment... Brain was still breathing, but unconscious in his arms. He wouldn't mind, would he? It was the last time he'd ever see him. He wouldn't mind... For a few silent seconds, Pinky held Brain close to him, face buried in his chest. No whispers. No words. Just... a hug.

"Pinky, hurry!" Snowball called.

Setting Brain down, Pinky flew into the bottle - a new host; a new replacement - as the door closed fast behind him. Two pink paws pressed themselves against the glass as he stared out at Brain, who stirred.

"Good-bye, Brain...," the lanky mouse choked.

"Pinky...?" whispered Brain, barely able to lift himself from the floor as he turned to stare back at his former prison. How did he get outside...? He blinked. Why was Pinky in the glass...?

"Good-bye, Pinky," muttered Snowball, the soft release of a chuckle growing in volume to a full out maniacal cackle as the machine began to reawaken.

Brain's eyes went wide as his gaze shifted from the bottle... to Snowball... and back to Pinky, who collapsed under the weight of the bolt's intensity.

"No... No! Pinky...! PINKY!"

Barely was he able to drag himself up into a hobbled run towards the glass, paws outstretched in horror, when suddenly, without warning, everything went black... and still, the last sound he heard that of Pinky's terrified screams of pain ringing in his ears...

/\/\/\/\

... he was never worth anything to you...

... where are we going, brain? ...

... useless, equivocal...

... but what if it doesn't work? ...

... you could have it all in this moment... if you wanted to...

... don't hurt him! ...

... it was never a matter of if; it was only a matter of when...

... brain? ...

... and when it all comes down to it...

... brain...! ...

... there never was any question of who would win...

... Pinky! ...

...

"... Pinky..."

Brain blinked.

... w-where.. where am I...

No... no sound. Wait. Yes, there were sounds. Echoing. Echoes in a chasm.

... Snowball... he tricked me...

Static. Crackling. The crackling of some... flashing substance. Lightning...?

... Pinky... Where was Pinky...?

Slowly, tenderly, he pushed himself up off the ground. It was cold and hard. No life in it.

As he regained consciousness, blinking away the fog lining his eyes, Brain could finally make out his surroundings. He was in a cage - slightly bigger than the one back at the lab, but also much more foreboding. There was no food here. No water. No material of any kind decorated its interior. It was simply bars and steel, with nothing to indicate that anything ever had or ever would live here. Cold. Dark. Hostile.

Brain rubbed at his eyes and looked about the room. The cage was placed on a high table set against a dark gray wall. The room itself looked like something out of a horror film - a large, vast space with towering walls and an even higher ceiling. Thick cylindrical pipes snaked up and over the walls and on the sides of a stairwell that led to... where? The lab? He wasn't even sure if this was the lab. It was certainly unlike any area he'd seen in the place they called home, resembling the basement of a power plant or a warehouse more than anything. And it was dark. Incredibly dark. The only light came from under the doors and from panels on the walls. The only sound was from beyond; the crackle of lightning, and... something else... unnerving; chilling. It was barely audible, but Brain knew what it was. He'd screamed them himself not long ago, as a prisoner of that failed mess of an experiment.

He took a tentative step forward... and gasped as he fell to the floor. Every molecule of his body ached. The very thoughts that came into his throbbing head seemed to scream in agony. Standing was one thing. Walking was another. He groaned. If there was one thing he hated almost as much as being humiliated, it was losing control - control of his mind, his body, and his emotions. Snowball had manipulated him in mind, played with his emotions by tricking Pinky into swapping places with him, and now he'd lost control of his body. Lost. He'd lost all of it... because of him...

... no. It wasn't because of Snowball. It wasn't because of Snowball at all...

It was pitiful, how he curled into a ball of nothingness, his tail wrapped tightly about him. Embarrassing, how easily the tears fell into little puddles on the barren, steel carpet. Stupid. Mortifying.

"Brain...?"

He lifted his head, eyes wide.

"Pinky..?"

He looked to the side of him. There was no Pinky, and yet... he could see him clearly. A ghost...? No. A figment. A creation of his own imaginings. Great. So now he was imagining things - pretending Pinky was there... talking to him. Was he really that far gone? Or perhaps he was just that lonely...

"What's wrong, Brain?" the imaginary Pinky whispered, leaning down to place a ghostly paw on Brain's shoulder. "Did you fail in taking over the world again? Poit."

"I..," Brain choked. It was difficult enough to speak, let alone admit his demise, even if it was only to himself.

"It's all right, Brain. You'll take over the world someday. I believe in you."

Comforting even in his imaginings. Pinky without positivity simply didn't exist.

"I... I can't," he mumbled, his head turned away.

"Oh, yes, you can, Mistah!" replied his imaginary friend. "What about your brilliant plan?"

"It was a failure, Pinky. A failure... just like everything else. Like me..."

"Oh, noooo. You're not a failure, Brain. A little big-headed, maybe, but... not a failure."

"No."

Despite himself, despite the pain, he stood up shakily and scooted up to the cage bars, grasping onto them tightly for support as he stared out at the nothingness from within his new prison.

"I am a failure. All this... - this cage, this... future - ... it's all because of me."

Pinky, if he really was there, stared at Brain sadly, ears flopped.

"If I hadn't been so... asinine, I...," he sighed. "Well, you got one thing right, my friend. Big-headed. Heh. My logic errs to a fault. And you're in the middle of it..."

Pinky stepped closer to him, slowly, hesitantly.

"Stupid. Stupid. Careless idiot!"

He kicked forcefully at the bars, causing Pinky to jump back a pace. He didn't care how much it hurt him; how the tremors ran up his body; how the pain of it nearly threw him to the floor. It was unbearable... and he deserved every ounce of it.

"Why didn't I recheck my calculations?! WHY DIDN'T I FACTOR HIM INTO THIS?! Stupid stupid stupid!"

He kept kicking, punching, berating himself against the bars - anything to make him hurt more than he already did. Pinky buried his face in his hands as he sunk low to the ground, shivering, not even attempting to stop Brain. Not that he could. He was only imaginary, after all.

Finally, after what seemed an age, the clanging ceased. Huffing and puffing, still clinging to the bars, Brain slid down onto his knees in a pitiful heap, exhausted from his own self-affliction. His entire body shook. It was all he could do to keep from letting the tears fall again... and he couldn't even do that.

Two sky blue eyes peeked out from under trembling, pink paws. They blinked, once... twice... three times, trying to focus on the shivering little white lump a foot in front of him. Tenderly, Pinky pushed himself into a standing position and quietly shuffled over to his friend.

He could barely see the paw that wasn't even there, so coated were his eyes with remorse, but he looked up all the same as Pinky laid a hand on his shoulder and knelt down next to him.

"Pinky...?"

"I'm here, Brain..."

Without hesitation, Brain reached out to hold what wasn't there; to feel the embrace of what wasn't real. He sobbed into the invisible coat of fur; grasped tightly the friend he could not see. No one would see him. No one would care. Pinky held him in return, as best he could for someone who was invisible.

"I'm sorry, Pinky," Brain wept. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you... Forgive me..."

His imaginary companion said nothing; only continued holding him; petting him.

"Do you think... he was right, Pinky? Together... only complicates things..."

"Poit. I don't think we ever had to stay together, Brain. But... I do think we need each other."

He looked up at this, eyes wide in almost child-like wonder. Perhaps Pinky had a point. They never wanted this. At least, he never wanted this. A life behind bars, encased in a prison deemed necessary by society. Playthings; disposable ingredients in this hellish kitchen of a laboratory. By some force - fate, coincidence, or purpose, he knew not which - they had been placed together, unwillingly constrained to experimental torture, but miraculously kept alive otherwise. Of all creatures, he had been given the in-house idiot. And yet... were they not perfectly balanced? The yin to each other's yang. They shouldn't mesh, their personalities, and they didn't. And yet... they also did. He'd been with Pinky so long (which, in retrospect, was not very long at all by human standards) that he couldn't imagine life devoid of him in it. If anything, he wondered how he'd gotten along for such a time without Pinky. And he knew he'd be lying to himself if he thought he didn't want him around. He did want him around. He needed him around. They needed each other...

Brain stood up, Pinky gently releasing him from his empty grasp, and limped back up to the cage barrier. He was almost surprised the bars didn't shake to pieces beneath his quivering fingers. His ears twitched. Perceptive as they were, they could hear it... just barely. They could hear the screams.

Something within him snapped. Something... primeval. Instinctual.

He ran over to the door of the cage; inspected the lock. He frowned. This was not a normal lock. Aside from the fact that it still had a keyhole, this was heavy-duty, not meant to be opened by any other means than with a specific type of key. It was the Snowball way of ensuring Brain never had a prayer of getting out. But it wasn't just anyone Snowball had imprisoned in that lightning bottle. It was Pinky.

Steeling himself for what was undoubtedly more pain to come, Brain stretched out his tail so that it reached outside of the bars, stuck it in the lock, and started twisting. His jagged appendage quickly went from being the part of his body that hurt the least to the part that hurt the most as he shoved it deeper into the lock, turning it this way and that, listening intently for any sound that would acknowledge he was on the right track.

Brain's eyes watered, his breath hitching occasionally as he worked at the lock for one minute... two minutes... five minutes, his imaginary Pinky watching from behind and acting as something of a personal cheerleader, egging him on, offering words of encouragement, and doing little victory dances whenever the lock made a particularly satisfying noise. Silly as it was, it was part of what kept Brain going.

Six minutes... Seven minutes...

Click.

... Creeeeeeaaaaaaak.

Brain breathed a heavy sigh of relief, taking a brief moment to massage his throbbing tail as the cage door swung open. Pinky whooped and cheered, sounding almost as excited as the real Pinky might be were he present. Brain turned around to stare at his imaginary friend, a small, incredulous smile playing about his visage.

"Egad! I knew you could do it!" Pinky beamed.

He didn't follow as Brain practically flew out the door and onto the floor. The little ghost faded into obscurity... as if he had never been.

Pinky... Pinky... PINKY....

It was all that danced through Brain's mind as he ran, faster than he had ever run before, from one room to the next. Pinky. He needed Pinky.

Squeezing under each door was nearly effortless. Finding the right room was the challenge. If this was the lab, it was a part of it that he'd never seen before. Some rooms housed other animals - cats, dogs, rats, many of whom had never seen the light of day; all of which had been subjected to a host of experiments. A brief glance at a few of the subjects caused Brain's heart to sink into his stomach, for he recognized the occasional result of a procedure; could smell the subtle, vinegary scent of heroin, the left-over urine on caged patients. Other rooms rumbled and growled, their bellies full with old, rusted tech and machinery. Brain avoided these doors. There was only one den he wanted. Only one that mattered.

Deeper and deeper he traveled into the depths of the scientists' cave. Sometimes a ceiling opened to reveal shadows cast by the distant lightning's flashes; other times he could only hear the sounds of his destination. Where was this room...? Were the catacombs of this prison really this extensive? He had no idea. It only made him want to press harder to achieve his goal - to take over the world and leave this dungeon forever.

Hopping through a lonely office repleted with outdated computers and cold, forgotten coffee cups, Brain squeezed under another door, instinct telling him that he was getting close. He ran down a hallway devoid of light... or life... and squeezed underneath the only door straight ahead. Through another office. Down another hallway, this one branching out into two lanes - one that led to a door at its end, another that veered off to the right. Which way...? Something about the latter appealed to him, and so he chose the right-hand door. Another office, this one newer, more polished. It, too, was home to a second door... and underneath it...

Brain ran to the second door, following the trail of light. Into another hallway, this one coated with flashes of lightning. He made a right and...

There it was. He'd made it.

With only a moment's hesitation, he ran into the room like fire and up the lab table, scaling half-way up its leg before jumping onto a chair and leaping from the top of it to the lightning machine. Pinky was still inside, writhing, convulsing. He didn't even have any more energy to scream, but was simply letting the contraption do to him whatever it willed. He had no other choice. Brain flew to the 'off' lever... and gaped... for there was no lever; at least, not much of one. A small stump remained, barely thick enough for him to grasp on to. Somehow, Snowball had cut it off at the base in its 'on' position. He'd actually considered the possibility of Brain escaping and done his best to ensure that, were he to make it back to this part of the lab, it would be too late by the time Brain managed to turn the thing off. That son of a...

Cursing himself for even building this hellish contraption in the first place, Brain grabbed hold of the little stump as best he could and pulled. It was stuck. Of course it was stuck!

He pulled again. No give.

Again.

Nothing.

Again.

Panic-stricken, he looked around for something, anything, to assist him. Gum wrappers... syringes... a microscope... q-tips... a screwdriver...

A screwdriver...

In a flash, he grabbed the driver, which was mercifully small enough for him to hold in both paws, stuck it in the gap between the stump of a lever and the top of the panel, and pulled down on the screwdriver with all his might.

... CLICK.

Zeeeeerrrrrrrrrrm...

For the second time that day, the machine was quieted... to be replaced by a florescent, green glow that dimly lit up the room. The bottle illuminated, too - ghostly white, almost identical to the pasty resident within. The little tenant lay on his side, completely immobile. Utterly silent.

Brain wasted not a second in unlocking the door and running in to kneel beside his friend.

"Pinky!" he called, resting a paw atop his cage-mate's shoulder. He jumped back as a static stream bit at him. Pinky was still bristling from the literal shock of it all. Brain hazarded another touch to the mouse's shoulder. This time, he didn't get zapped.

"Pinky...?" †

Pinky uttered not a word. Either he didn't hear him... or he couldn't.

A trembling paw wrapped around a warm, limp wrist. He counted. 1... 2... 3...

The smallest of thumps kissed his fingers. He was still alive, barely.

"Pinky. Pinky, wake up," he willed, patting his friend's cheek with more force than was probably necessary. "Come on, Pinky! Wake up! Wake up or I shall have to-"

A light cough. Then another, more audible this time. Pinky's eyes fluttered as he looked up at Brain. He was barely able to lift his head. Even keeping his eyes open seemed to be a bit of an effort.

"Brain?" he muttered, his raspy voice not much more than a whisper.

"Yes, Pinky. I'm here. I'm here..."

Carefully, Brain slipped an arm underneath his friend's neck and lifted him up a little. Pinky had closed his eyes again, what little breath he had coming out in thin streams.

"Can you stand?" Brain asked, lifting him up a little more.

"I... I don't... think I can... Brain..."

"Try."

And he tried. He really did try. But when his paw pressed down upon the floor in a feeble effort to steady himself, he collapsed under the weight of it all. Brain caught his head before it collided with the hard surface of the glass.

"Okay. Okay. Don't... don't get up. Here. Hold still..."

These paws were not made for tender displays of affection. They were made for construction; for swiftly penning complex equations extracted from an erudite mind; for mixing together volatile substances with ease. They were not made for such silly and mundane things as brushing the tears from one's cheeks or tucking someone into bed at night.

Brain thought all of this to himself as he tucked his paws under Pinky's arms with the utmost tenderness he could administer... and slowly, gently, dragged him across the glass towards the exit.

He'd barely pulled him an inch, however, when Pinky squeaked. Actually squeaked. Never in his life had he heard Pinky utter an exclamation of pain in such a primitive fashion. To each other, and even in front of humans, they had always used plain, lucid English. Making actual mouse-like sounds was something even Pinky had never resorted to. Brain looked down at him worriedly. Well, more worried than he already was anyway.

"What is it?"

Pinky's body scrunched a little and his eyes clamped shut, as if trying to deaden whatever pain was coursing through him.

"I-It hurts, Brain..."

But of course it hurt. He'd just been electrocuted for who knows how long. Where wouldn't it hurt?

"Where does it hurt?"

"In.. inside. Near my middle," Pinky groaned. He patted lightly at his abdomen.

"Inside?" Brain voiced with concern. Only now did he notice that Pinky's navel area and, strangely, one of his thighs and kneecaps, were significantly bruised. Brows furrowed, he took an educated guess at exactly what that meant, but didn't want to voice it aloud. Not yet.

"Try to stay still. I need to move you out of here, Pinky."

"Is... is it night time, Brain?"

"What?"

"It's... very dark... Are they... going to turn the lights on?"

He can't see?

Brain swallowed.

"Yes, Pinky, they're... going to turn the lights back on. Soon. Now don't make any sudden movements," Brain instructed. As if he could. "I'm going to pick you up, all right? It's going to hurt a little, but try not to squirm."

Pinky nodded ever so slowly.

"Okay, Brain..."

It was an effort for someone of his small stature, but Brain managed. He had to. He picked him up bridal-style, groaning under the strain of it all as he wobbled to the glass door and practically flopped out onto the lab table. Pinky muffled a sound of disapproval as he was set down rather unsteadily.

"Are you all right..?!" Brain quavered, righting himself before quickly attending to his companion.

A little muffled "mm" was all Pinky managed to get out as Brain gingerly shifted Pinky into his lap, one arm gently securing his head while the other softly pressed into his abdomen. Pinky gasped a little at this.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I'm sorry...," uttered Brain, practically tripping over his words. It was all he could do to keep from trembling from head to tail. His paws already shook severely. He hadn't really needed to feel Pinky's abdomen to know that his only friend was bleeding internally. It wasn't as if he could perform a laparotomy on the spot. He hadn't the tools for this... or the time. Brain knew all too well what was happening. He knew... and there was nothing he could do about it...

Slowly, delicately, Brain brushed his fingers against Pinky's cheeks, petting them, cupping them, as Pinky shivered, each labored breath a struggle. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, this gentle creature had ever done that was deserving of this. It should've been him. It should've been me...

Minutes passed. Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour...?

"Brain..."

"Y-Yes, Pinky?" he choked.

"I... I'm... s-..."

Scared? Sorry? He could barely get the words out. A trembling paw reached out to hold Pinky's hand.

"It's... it's all right, old friend. You're... you're going to be all right. You'll see."

Liar.

Somehow, Pinky managed to turn his head and open unseeing eyes towards Brain.

Brain swallowed, his grip on his friend's hand tightening ever so slightly. Pinky's tightened in return.

"I'm... going to miss you... too... Brain..."

He knew. How could he know...?

Brain didn't even bother trying to stop the flow of tears this time. He gently rocked back and forth, cradling Pinky in his arm like a child. Pinky's eyes had closed again, but he kept his grip on Brain's paw, light as it was.

I don't deserve you as a friend, Pinky...

He had said that once, a long time ago. It still rang true. What had he done, to deserve someone so selfless, so sacrificial? Never in his life had he once told him. Never. He had to now. He had to...

"Pinky... I never... I never told you..."

Pinky took a particularly deep breath this time, exhaling almost as deeply. His grip slackened...

"I never told you, that... you..."

In one smooth motion, Pinky's hand slipped out of Brain's... and went still.

"Pinky...?"

He froze; pressed an ear to Pinky's chest. Brain lifted his head, eyes wide as he stared down, incredulous, at the lifeless body in his arms. He couldn't even find the energy to cry out, but simply sobbed vehemently as he buried his face in Pinky's chest, pulling him as close as he possibly could.

He wept... and he wept... For how long, he knew not. An hour. A day? Did it matter?

He wept until there were no more tears to weep, yet still he refused to leave Pinky's side. How could he?

In the distance, something tittered. A slow, poised build-up of a chortle that slithered across the floor like a shadow in the grass, growing louder... and louder. It seemed to come from the very walls, echoing off every surface it touched, eager to make its presence known.

A shiver flowed down Brain's spine. He knew that laugh.

Out from behind a test tube emerged the cackling hamster - the one who had caused all this; or, at least, whom had run with it. Like Brain, he was big-headed and intelligent, perhaps more-so than even Brain himself was. Unlike his former cage-mate, however, Snowball had no reservations. The world was a puppet that needed new strings... and a new master, no matter the cost, no matter the principles. His entire modus operandi bordered on psychopathic tendencies. He had no qualms relative to what he was about to do to the mouse he had once called a friend, or what he had already done, and the wide smirk now coating his sated expression only solidified this truth.

"Oh, Brain. I do love seeing you so... miserably unhinged."

Brain shut his eyes tight, as if doing so might also cut out the sharp words pricking at his skin.

"How does it feel? Knowing that the only creature in the world who ever cared about you is dead? And at your own hand, no less. You know, I almost didn't accept his offer. It was quite fun watching you suffer, but I knew it would be so much more... delicious seeing you grieve over someone else's demise."

The taunts bit at Brain; tore and clawed at his heart. He could feel his temperature rising, his blood boiling. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to let it affect him, not to erupt...

"To think: You had all those months, all that time, to tell him how you felt, yet you never did. All that time. And now he'll never know."

Brain's brow furrowed all the more. He was shaking. Fuming...

"Your best friend in the whole world will never know... that you loved him."

He said "loved" not with relish... but with disdain. With acerbity. As though the word stung on his own tongue. It was almost jealous.

As the straw that broke the camel's back, it was the final push that sent Brain over the edge. He howled in fury and grabbed the closest instrument within reach: an x-acto knife.

Snowball went wide-eyed, dodging the blow just in time as the knife swung at where his chest had been moments before. It came slicing down again... and again... and again, each swipe angrier than the last, each just missing their target as Snowball backed all the way to the edge of the table and promptly fell off it, landing in a heap on the hard, linoleum floor. He shook himself and looked up just in time to see Brain leap off the precipice, knife poised to strike. In a panic, Snowball side-rolled out of the way and ran along the floor, looking for something, anything, to fight back with.

It never occurred to Brain in the moment that what he was attempting to do would have devastating ramifications, or that it was something Pinky would have greatly disapproved of. All that raced through his mind was one thing and one thing only: kill him.

Snowball had ascended a second worktable, leaping atop its open drawers to alight on its surface. Brain followed. Despite being on the alert, he still wasn't quite prepared for the counter-attack as he pulled himself up onto the table. He was only lightly pricked in the arm by the sewing needle - enough to draw blood, not so deep of a wound to cause lasting damage - yet it still stung like hell. Righting himself, thanking his super-fast reflexes for dodging out of the way before Snowball's lunge could cause any major impairment, he charged towards his nemesis with a vigor more potent than before. Their make-shift swords clanged against each other as they fought viciously, weaving in-between jars, tumblers, test tubes, and other scientific paraphernalia scattered about the table. Brain might have had the sharper weapon, but Snowball had more flexibility. Though he was able to keep Snowball at bay with his lance, forcing him to continually back-up and side-step, his adversary was able to evade every slash and jab, occasionally throwing a move Brain wouldn't see coming at all and only barely avoiding. He had the wits that Brain lacked, the energy that Brain didn't, and as the lesser of the two megalomaniacs drove his former ally down the table and into another room, he had to concede that he could only keep this duel afloat for so long...

The pursuit continued into the next chamber, this one cast with a blood-red glow from long, rectangular lamps set into the ceiling above. It was a formidable looking place, set about with even more tables and more jars and equipment than the last. It looked to be an experimentation room, meant for conducting more questionable, subcutaneous research than the usual tests. There was large machinery in here, and the steel-skinned tables, their drawers tightly locked, were neatly coated with boxes of disposable gloves, rows and rows of empty test tubes and jars, small piles of papers and files detailing results of the last few surgeries, amongst other things. Two large refrigerators stood side-by-side at the back of the room, their innards hosting a significant number of bottles, tubes, and small plastic bags, many filled with hazardous chemicals, others with things Brain would rather not pay attention to. Not that he could absorb much of what was in the room, seeing as his focus was almost entirely on Snowball. The hamster had somehow gotten hold of a small scalpel and was now brandishing it at Brain, taunting him, egging him on, and, foolishly, Brain took the bait.

He lunged; Snowball countered, easily. Bringing the scalpel down upon the x-acto knife, he swiftly shifted the weapon to tuck underneath the knife, lift it up, and send it flying out of Brain's hands. Three seconds. That was all it took. What Brain had been unable to accomplish in five minutes Snowball had achieved in only a fraction of the time. It was a testament to how unmatched they truly were, and Brain ran for his life.

Up a chair. Onto a counter. He could hear the slightly heavier patter of footsteps close behind as he hid amongst a table littered with test tubes, jars, and glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, like a house of mirrors. He picked a jar at random and hid behind it, clutching at his chest and doing his utmost to bring his heavy breathing down to a light whisper.

Snowball jumped up onto the table, expression set, his grasp tight on the scalpel.

"You can't hide from me, Brain!" he sneered, cautiously entering the labyrinth of empty vessels. Just because Brain hadn't any ammunition in hand a moment ago... didn't mean he hadn't reacquainted himself with one, and Snowball was taking no chances. "There is only so far you can go. You can't run from what haunts you!"

Behind the jar, Brain struggled to calm his shaking body. Confronting Snowball with a weapon in hand was one thing. Facing him without was quite another. Accosting him at all, he realized, had been moronic in itself.

"I know what haunts you. And you know it just as well as I, don't you, Brain?"

Eyes wide, Brain turned his head ever so slightly to the left. A shadow stood just behind the glass...

"There you are, old friend."

Brain jumped out of the way as the blade swerved downwards in one fell swoop to break the jar into a million pieces. He was down on all fours, all dignity forgotten as he raced in and out amongst the beakers, doing his utmost to stay one step ahead of Snowball... who cut and slashed through jars and bottles without remorse. He finally managed to hide behind a microscope, keeping himself as diminutive as he possibly could. His heart was pounding, fighting to burst out of his chest. How the heck did he get himself into these situations?

Snowball was back on the prowl, blind to Brain's location, but all the more determined to find him.

"He would have done anything for you, you know! Would have licked the dust at my feet, or jumped off the Barham if I'd asked him to. Must have been nice, having someone who would follow your every whim, your every desire. To have a friend who never left your side. But it was all just taken for granted by you, wasn't it? All part of your perfect, everyday life. Frankly, I don't know what you saw in such a lower life form. He was a nothing - an idiotic waste, created by nature to appease the instruments of destruction and pain in this room. We could've done so much more together, Brain. We could've been a force to reckon with..."

Brain's face was buried in his hands. Each word seemed to cut into him like a knife. He didn't even hear the footsteps as Snowball came up behind him.

"Brain..."

The little mouse jumped an inch into the air as he realized how close his nemesis actually was. He made to turn, but it was too late. Snowball had him pinned to the floor with the handle of the scalpel in a near-death grip. Brain squealed and struggled with all his might to get loose, but to no avail. Snowball's grip was simply too tight.

"Think of it, Brain!" the hamster sneered down at him, brows furrowed. "Together, we could do a hundred times more what you were able to do alone! The world deserves more than what it's been given. We could do it."

He loosened his hold on Brain ever so slightly, Brain taking in what little air he could. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out in this position, much less respond to any offer Snowball might propose.

"There's nothing for you here, Brain. Join me as a comrade... as an equal."

And he lifted the knife further, still just enough to keep Brain pinned, yet not so hard that he couldn't breath properly. Brain swallowed gulp after gulp of air gratefully, coughing a little as he looked up at Snowball. The latter actually had an arm extended. So he was offering something after all...

Brain coughed once more and breathed deeply.

"I was never... I was never alone...," he groaned, eyes closing for but a moment.

"What?"

Brain swallowed, steadied his breathing, then looked Snowball square in the eyes.

"I never... tried to take over the world alone. You did."

Snowball frowned.

"Pinky was a hundred times more than what you will ever be, Snowball. He was the greatest friend I ever could have asked for... and I didn't deserve him. I will never take your hand!"

He choked the words out, for he had to. He didn't know how else he could get past the pain of admitting them.

Snowball's frown deepened. He said nothing at first. It almost seemed as if he might let the whole thing blow over...

Brain gasped as the handle of the knife pressed down into his chest even deeper than before. He couldn't breath; could barely see...

"Then let your words seal your fate."

Brain's feet dug at the floor, struggling, writhing...

"Good-bye, Brain..."

Eyes shut tight, fists clenched, Brain steeled himself for what he was about to do...

With every last ounce of strength he had left in his body, he dug his feet under the handle of the knife... and PUSHED.

Snowball was knocked backwards as the scalpel went flying high into the air. Quickly, he righted himself, just as the knife descended to land squarely in Brain's paws. Snowball charged as Brain swung as hard and as fast as he could. Snowball GASPED, clutching feebly at his open chest as he collapsed to the ground in a pool of his own blood. He barely had time to register the fact that he was now dying, so suddenly had it happened.

Brain crumpled to the ground on his hands and knees, the scalpel falling with a sharp clatter beside him. Already he was creating his own pool: a pool of tears. He stared sadly at what had once been his closest friend. Snowball stared back, breathing heavily as what little life he had slowly drained out of him.

"I never stopped being your friend, Snowball," he wept. "You stopped being mine."

Something akin to remorse flashed across Snowball's eyes for half a moment as he gazed incredulously at Brain, then the light faded as he breathed his last... and was gone.

Brain hung his head, face buried in the surface beneath him as another wave of fresh tears soaked his fur. In a matter of hours, he'd lost the only two beings whom he'd ever been able to call friends. It was too much for him. Entirely too much.

/\/\/\/\

Sunlight streamed through a dusty window of Acme Labs, highlighting little nomadic particles as they drifted lazily about. Somewhere, a coffee maker went off, steaming hot espresso. The occasional crunch of a pellet and squeak of a wheel tickled the air. All throughout the laboratory, its residents, save for most of the rodents, were coming to life. But there was one who broke the routine - whose life was not awakening, but ending.

Brain sat on the edge of a table, staring out at the sun as it slowly rose above the window sill, warming his fur. In a cage nearby rested an empty bed, a water bottle, and an exercise wheel... as still as anything. After this morning there would be a vacancy - room for two.

Down the road from the lab, in a little park overlooking a quiet pond, was a new grave set on a grassy hill, right beneath an oak. Brain had actually taken the time to drag Pinky's limp figure all the way to the park the night before and bury him there. He couldn't bear the idea of his closest companion rotting in a garbage can, or being incinerated, or even being set beneath Acme soil. He wanted him to be somewhere beautiful - someplace that mirrored his heart. Snowball he did bury on Acme land, behind the building 'neath a tree. Despite everything he'd done, it still didn't sit well with Brain to leave him in the lab. To some degree, he still cared about him.

Brain closed his eyes peacefully, savoring the sun's pleasant rays. Near him lay an empty syringe. Already he was beginning to have a little trouble breathing. It wouldn't be long. A few minutes, perhaps. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't afraid. He was afraid, but he wasn't going to show it. He was going to enjoy these last moments in the sun.

A little behind him... lay a letter. It was hand-written, exposed for all to see. Who read it wasn't his concern. As long as at least one person acknowledged what he'd penned, that would be enough, even if he wouldn't be around to see it.

And so it read: ††

Dear World,

There was a time when I wanted to rule over you. I'm sorry that I never achieved this goal. I'm sorry that you never got to see all of the things I would have done for you. But perhaps that's for the best. Not all of my ideas were entirely sound, and my friend would not have approved of certain enactments. The world is altogether a very large and intimidating organism, and I am simply an old mouse with silly delusions of grandeur...

I don't quite know why I am writing this. Perhaps... it's in the hope that someone will remember, because he doesn't deserve to be forgotten. Please remember Pinky. He was my cage mate here at the lab, and he was the only true friend I ever had. If I could ask anything of whomever reads this, it would be that you pass on his heart to the world. Please. Try to be kind to other people. Try to make the world a better place. Try to do what I could not. He deserves that much.

Pinky, I'm so sorry I never told you... how much you mean to me. It was never truly about world domination, even though I would have relished that. It was never about power. That wasn't the real reason I kept going about my day, following my frivolous dreams. It was always about you. It was about making you happy. It was about spending those countless hours planning and plotting with you by my side. It was about... loving you. Pinky, you were my world.

I can't undo the things I've done. I can't rewind time and set right my wrongs. But I also can't bear the thought of living on this planet without him. My only hope is that, wherever I end up, it's with you, Pinky.

- The Brain

/\/\/\/\/\/\

When he awoke, there were clouds. Lots and lots of... clouds. Pink clouds. Yellow clouds. Blue clouds. Purple clouds. All different hues. All pastel-y and... quite beautiful. Interesting... †††

And there was music, too. Incredibly... beautiful... music. Where was it coming from? Brain looked down... and went wide-eyed. He pressed an ear to the grass beneath his feet. It was the grass. The grass was singing.

Gently, he stood up. He looked at his paws; felt his stomach, legs, and head. Nothing hurt. There were no aches. There was no pain. He could breath... He was breathing without any issue, and nothing hurt. In fact, he felt... wonderful - like he could run for miles and miles, endlessly, and never run out of breath. Incredible...

"Brain!"

He looked ahead of him at the sound. In the distance, someone was calling him, waving at him. A figure. He couldn't quite make out who it was, but they seemed to be about his size... and about his shape. Perhaps a little taller.

"Brain!"

He took a tentative step forward. The ground was delightfully soft beneath his feet. It was quite unlike any grass he had ever stood upon. He could feel every blade, but it was so, so soft, like a pillow. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply; just let himself... be. It was wonderful. And peaceful. So peaceful.

"Brain!"

He opened his eyes again as his name was called a third time. Finally, the figure came into view, and this time... he recognized him.

Brain gasped... and ran. He ran as fast as he could; faster than he had ever run before, or could ever run before. It was almost as if he was flying. It was exhilarating... and joyous... and oh so fun!

The figure ahead was running just as quickly. Brain smiled the biggest smile as he ran at full speed into his friend's outstretched arms.

"PINKY!"

They tumbled and rolled onto the soft, bouncy grass, smiling and laughing and crying. Brain nuzzled into his friend, hugging him tightly, with Pinky hugging him right back just as securely.

"Pinky... Pinky..."

"Oh, Brain! I missed you so. Narf!"

"I missed you too, Pinky. Oh, I missed you... so much..."

They stayed that way for a long time, simply hugging one another, enjoying each other's presence. Finally, when they stood, Pinky offered his hand to Brain.

"Would you like me to show you around, Brain?"

"Where are we?" he asked, taking Pinky's hand in his.

Pinky only smiled as he walked them forward... into the clouds... into the light...

The End

-------------------------------

Musical Cues:

† Pinky’s death and part of fight w/ Snowball: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOSEq1n8bYg

†† Brain’s letter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpghKZK2vkY

††† Heaven: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opSl_pEk0es

Author's Note: Originally, I was going to end it at Brain's note, but it was so sad that I decided to add the heaven scene. It was a moment that had gone through my head beforehand, yet I was unsure if I should implement it or not. I think the story needed it, though...

A lot of things fueled this story. I love the personalities of Pinky and Brain and wanted to put them in a pressured situation that would test them physically and mentally. The stories I tend to invest in the most are the ones in which my favorite characters are pushed to their limits, particularly in life-or-death moments. Brain, in particular, is an interesting individual to analyze. I feel rather bad for putting him through such hell, but I also have noticed that I'm not the only one who doles out buckets of angst and pain upon this poor little fellow. He has a crusty outer shell, but it hides a soft and caring heart that's much more emotional than he tries to let on. I was also inspired by fan fiction writer @themurphyzone, who not only voiced the idea mentioned in the first author's note at the beginning of this submission, but who also presented their headcanon that Snowball had a crush on Brain in the past and so targets Pinky out of jealousy. I can legit see this being the case, and it adds much more to his character and why he does what he does, so I kind of implemented that here.

Much of this was very difficult to write, particularly dialogue scenes. The hardest to compose was probably the moment with Brain in the cage, as well as Pinky's death sequence. I wanted to keep them true to character while also pushing boundaries. I hope I accomplished this goal. Snowball was, by far, the easiest to write. His demeanor is deliciously Goldfinger-esque. I got a kick out of coming up with all his little taunts and jabs at Brain. I can see why actors enjoy playing villains. Heh.

The letter I pondered over and pondered over for days, trying to figure out in my head how to write it. However, when it finally came down to actually typing it out... it flowed naturally.

As an aside, here are some little factoids and a Q&A about the story:

- I have no idea how the heck that lightning machine works. I just needed an excuse to kill off Pinky. That being said, I did want it to be at Brain's own hand, even if it was inadvertently. The machine was created by Brain. For what purpose, I have no clue, save for that it has something to do with taking over the world, of course. The idea was that Snowball gets a hold of it somehow, alters it a little, and traps Brain in his own creation so as to get to Pinky. He wants Brain to suffer to the nth degree, and how he does so is very manipulative.

- I didn't realize until just now that Snowball technically tried to uphold his "fake" promise to Pinky by way of offering to Brain to take over the world with him. He's a psychopath, but he's a psychopath who keeps his promises...? Heh.

- Why doesn't Pinky get zapped when he picks Brain up? I dunno. Lol. Let's just pretend that he does, but he's so focused on Brain that it simply doesn't bother him. Also, Pinky is a lot more tolerant of pain, so perhaps he doesn't even notice?

- Ghost Pinky you can think of in these terms: Remember in Ratatouille when Remy imagined Gusteau as a little sprite popping up here and there? Yeah. That's what's going on in the cage scene.

- The part where Brain runs through the lab past other animals whom have been experimented on was inspired by a scene in the book, The Plague Dogs.

- Snowball’s little initial speech to Brain was originally written out on a piece of paper on a bus. As it happened, the structure for how his monologue was to be laid out came while I was on my commute back from work. Thank God I had a pen and paper with me at the time. I was internally laughing at the idea that, if my backpack ever got lost with this piece of paper inside of it, someone would think that the owner was probably a madman. Lol.

- An x-acto knife is an "artist's weapon", as I like to call it. My family and I are artists and would always keep one or two nearby in case we needed to carefully cut out a section of paper, but I used to joke that it would make a great weapon if someone ever tried to attack you. Look it up. They're freaky little things.

- The Barham is a bridge in L.A./Burbank that overlooks the 101 freeway.

- I'm not going to explain exactly how Brain killed himself, but you might be able to figure it out if you read between the lines.

- The bit where Brain and Pinky are in heaven is inspired by an actual book I read some time ago. I think it was called My Time in Heaven, and it's one of the most beautiful books I've ever read and made me cry. It's based on a real-life account of someone dying, going to heaven, and coming back. I think it was in this account that it was mentioned that music was coming from the grass. Amazing. <3

About the art (in order of appearance):

Lightning in a Bottle - Choosing which pieces to focus on was a simple matter of picking out certain emotional scenes that I liked the most. One of my favorites was the image of Pinky looking into his new prison -- he’s not only staring sadly at Brain’s current predicament, but also taking in the fact that he knows he’s going to die.

Embrace - Pinky just holding Brain tenderly, believing it would be the last time he’d ever hold him, had to be drawn, although I’m not fond of the result. It’s too plain and empty, and the lighting is not up to par. Additionally, I did not mean to make it look like he was kissing Brain, but here we are. Lol.

My Pinky - Although Brain’s facial expression is not exactly what I had in mind, it’s close. I wanted him to look devastated, without words and without tears (in the picture, at least). There’s a moment in Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, in which Quasimodo thinks Esmeralda is dead. His reaction to this assumption is how I imagine Brain reacting to seeing his best friend pass away in his arms.

Brain vs. Snowball - Not quite sure what the lighting is doing here, but it’s... interesting. Also, I know that they’re supposed to be on the floor and not the countertop at this point, but when I first imagined the fight in my head they were on a table/counter, so... yeah. Originally, I wanted this entire fight to be in comic format, as the contrast in tone was very clear in my head -- going from a very dark atmosphere to this stark, reddish hue. I almost did a panel of the moment in which Brain literally slices Snowball open, but felt it would be too graphic.

The Letter - The coloring and lighting are horrible here, but my tablet pen was starting to give me trouble at this point, plus, I have other, more important things I need to get to, and so wanted to finish this entire project sooner than later. This was the last piece I did.

Heaven - My favorite illustration, and the first one I did. I wanted Brain to be at peace -- to simply enjoy the moment. I wanted him to be happy. His tail is nice and straight on purpose. There is no brokenness in heaven. :)

Into the Light - Very simple, but, again, I like it.

-------

Last aside: I’m probably going to take a break from doing any H/C Pinky and the Brain work after this. Pretty much exhausted/satiated my desire to churn out any whump... for the time being. Heh. I’ll be returning to work on a personal project that I’ve left dormant for some time and that is in serious need of being addressed once again, although this doesn’t mean I’ll be abandoning the fandom. Certainly not. I’ll still be on here daily, and will occasionally upload some art or maybe even another fan fiction piece, but I intend for them to be sweet, fun, and silly. Nothing depressing. I’ve put poor Brain and Pinky through enough. They deserve to rest. That’s another reason why I closed with the heaven piece on this story. They needed to smile. :)

#pinky and the brain #pinky #brain #snowball #fan fiction #fan art

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kittenfemme27 · 4 years ago

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Magrunner: Dark Pulse

"That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die."

That’s the often misquoted line written by H.P. Lovecraft and spoken by his fictional “mad poet” Abdul Ahazred in “The Call of Cthulhu”, a short story written by the very same author. It’s meant to symbolize the same thing that almost all of Lovecraft’s work was meant to symbolize: That there are things that view us the same way we’d view a simple speck of dust, or an ant. As so tiny and insignificant that we’re practically unnoticed in the eyes of this massive and overwhelming force. Lovecraft had an intense fear and at the same time an intense fascination with the idea of being insignificant, of being forgotten and unworthy, of being completely and utterly impotent in the face of power that was greater than himself. Every “Old God” that he wrote about is so far reaching above humanity and so incomprehensible that even the act of knowing of their existence was incomprehensible for the human mind, and would oft drive those with that forbidden knowledge to complete and utter insanity. This isn’t really a disputed interpretation of Lovecraft's work, it's barely an interpretation at all. It’s considered a simple set of facts of the universe that he created.

So imagine my surprise when I started playing “Magrunner: Dark Pulse”, a fairly mundane and simple futuristic sci-fi puzzle game marketed to have a “Lovecraftian Twist” and the final nine levels have good ol’ Cthulhu himself checking in on me from the skies above, literally one hundred thousand times my size, and simply observing me like I’m his personal favourite little human. As he communicates with me and makes it clear that I am in-fact, his personal favourite little human and he just can’t wait for me to ascend to his level. As far as a piece of lovecraftian work goes, this game was a doozy. But we’ll get back to that. Before we even get there, I’d first like to talk about the game itself.

Gameplay:

Magrunner is a first person physics based puzzle game featuring magnetism as its element in which you interact with the puzzles in each room. Your goal in each puzzle room is to use various platforms, blocks, and other bits of very clearly marked tech in each room that may be magnetized with either a positive polarity or a negative polarity, and combine that with the physics of the Unreal 3 engine to solve challenges and make it to the next room. To be blunt, the game is squarely a Portal rip-off from its design ideals. Your makeshift magnet glove-gun hybrid can fire 2 colors, one being a negative polarity and one being a positive. Like-colors are attracted to themselves, whereas opposite colors reflect each other. The idea of using magnets in a physics based first person puzzler isn’t an awful one, and neither is the fact it clearly wants to ape Portal’s ideas. Where it fails, unfortunately, is execution. The physics aren’t up to snuff with what you do most of the time and it leads a lot of the puzzles to be confusing or simply frustrating, as even when you know what you’re doing you still have to rely on the physics system of the engine to cooperate with you. Early on, you are tasked with getting 4 small magnetizable cubes together to form into a large one. What this actually has you end up doing is fighting with the cubes and the level as they fling themselves wildly off of each other and into unreachable parts of the level itself. The entire game functions this way and it really removes any sense of challenge or control you have over each puzzle, often feeling like you lucked your way into a solution rather than figured out the puzzle yourself in any meaningful way.

Buggy physics in the Unreal engine are not the developers fault entirely though, the game is an indie project that was kickstarted and for that alone i’m willing to give them a pass on engine problems that they likely did not have the programmers to fix. But, unfortunately, I can’t give a pass on the game failing to iteratively teach you how the mechanics work level by level. Whenever you magnetize an object, it creates a field, and you can see this field thankfully by pressing a key. Anything in that field will automatically interact with anything else that is magnetized in it. In general, these fields are wildly inconsistent in how they operate. Usually, they’re spheres centered around the magnetized object and cause objects within the sphere to either attract or repel. On occasion though you’ll find pads that create a cone of magnetism going the direction that it faces, up to what is an arbitrary height. Later on, you’re given the ability to place your own fields on any flat surface, allowing the levels to become more bare-bones as you have to create the magnetism points yourself. All of this combined means that If you learn that something works in a previous level, there is no guarantee that it will work in the next level the exact same way. Experimentation in this game is often fraught with a frustrating sigh of not knowing if the game intended for something to work that way, or if you just broke the physics again. Don’t even get me started on the fact there are multiple combat sections inside a puzzle game, ugh.

Art & Sound:

Magrunners similarities to Portal do not end with the gameplay and design, however. Aesthetically, the first and second half of the three act game are ripped directly from Portal and Portal 2. The first half of the game features sleek interiors inside of a testing facility for yourself and other “Magrunners” where everything is cleanly lit, sparse on color and detail, as space-age and sci-fi as you could imagine. These first set of aperture inspired levels lack any sort of hard edge or detail, with every single element in the room being curved and well lit and as minimalist as possible. The second half of the game takes places in facilities “underneath” the one you were in prior and are dilapidated grey and brown ruins of previous testing facilities, complete with all the same tools and magnetizable pads and tech that you had seen previously but this time a much older and “70’s” style of sci-fi aesthetic, but covered in grime and dirt and dust from the years of abandonment and rot. I cannot understate how unsubtle this is. The first third of the game is Aperture Science bonafide and part right after is Old Aperture from Portal 2. Magrunner’s aesthetic inspirations are worn very clearly on their sleeve, and it makes the game feel very boring and bland by comparison. It’s impossible to play Magrunner: Dark Pulse and not feel as though it was simply a junior developer exclaiming: “What if Portal/Portal 2, but Magnets?!” while the rest of the developers collectively lose their minds from excitement.

The music of the game was provided, as far as i can tell by the credits, by Incomptech AKA Kevin Macleod. A musician known for releasing thousands of free songs for use in any creative project. This isn’t, by default, a bad thing. Most of the music was not things I had heard from his library before and thus I didn’t immediately twig that it was his library, but unfortunately the music selection isn’t enough. As in, there are not enough tracks to fit the game. There are 39 levels in total and each level features a music track, but often and especially in the later parts, the music tracks are entirely re-used. This is most apparent when one of the tracks is a rising piercing noise, like the type you’d hear in a horror movie right before the slasher stabs into someone, but it never ends or pays off. It just loops upon itself and becomes this droning nightmare of a track for however long the physics force you to stay in a level. I counted 6 times this happened and each time it was so loud and obnoxious and frustrating that I had to simply turn off the game audio to be able to bare the level at all.

None of the other sound effects are worth writing home about, either, unfortunately. In something like Portal, there are pretty iconic sounds within its soundscape. The sound of the portal gun firing and portals being created, the soft and child-like speech of the turrets, the chiding and derogatory AI voice of GLaDOS, yet Dark Pulse lacks anything even half as memorable. Aside from the repetitive music, you are only given small bits of dialogue between each level and that’s really it. There’s a lot of character they could have created here, for example: When you gain the ability to create your own magnetic fields at will, the center of them is a dog-robot that your player character created in his spare time as a child. Creating one of these points could’ve been met with an adorable puppy squeak or bark, anything like that. Your character or the various ones that speak to you could’ve chimed in at any point in levels outside of the beginning or end of them, and yet they do not. It’s a big missed opportunity.

Story:

Speaking of characters, whew boy, are there a lot of them

Magrunner takes place in the distant future where a corporation that is effectively Facebook has taken over the planet by connecting every single person to its service essentially from birth and making it as essential to daily life as possible. Because of this, this corporation has become the de-facto richest company in the world. Its founder, Xander Gruckzeber, whose last name is literally an anagram of Zuckerberg, has started a contest in which 7 contestants can compete to become “Magrunners” and take a trip to outer space in a ship that is being powered on experimental magnetic based technology. The contest involves each contestant going through a series of puzzles that prove their aptitude with the magnetic tech that Xander’s company has developed.

Your character, an orphan named Dax C. Ward, is the only one of the 7 contestants that does not have a corporate sponsor. Instead, he’s a boy genius who built his own robotic puppy at age 10 and at age 21 built his own magnetic glove that interacts with the magnetic technology and allows him to compete. Ever the underdog, you’re helped along by your adoptive uncle Gamaji who himself is a six-armed mutant and an outcast among humanity for it.

Sound a little on the nose? Like it may be lacking subtlety in any form? Yeah, the entire game is like that. From Xander’s last name anagram to the fact that your own character’s name is itself a reference to “The Case of Charles Dexter Ward” which was a short horror novel written by Lovecraft, the game never really had a chance at subtlety in the first place. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but in between the re-hashed artstyle and the immediate and obvious references, and the fact that It tries to throw a very by the numbers cyber punk aesthetic ripped straight out of Blade Runner at you in an opening cutscene that it immediately abandons afterwards. It all just feels tired from the moment you hit New Game and incredibly confused about its own direction. It can’t decide if it’s a Lovecraftian setting, a Sci-fi setting, if it’s trying to say something about Facebook or if it's just going to be Portal: The Magnetic Spin-off.

As the game progresses and Act 1 ends, you find the corpse of another Magrunner being eaten by an anthropomorphic fish person. You are then told by Gamaji that he’s going to help you escape the facility, but this will require you to go through the older parts of the facility as he slowly hacks into the mainframe and tries to get you out via service elevators. Inside these older puzzle rooms are repeated writings on the wall, ravings of someone gone mad with the knowledge of the Old Ones, and giant sculptures depicting various Cthulhu-esque monsters. This would be bad and scary enough on its own, but Gamaji is quick to let you know that portals to some unknown dimension and fish monsters are being spotted in cities all over the world causing havoc and terror.

About halfway through Act 2, Gamaji drops the bombshell on Dax that his parents didn’t actually die in a car crash like he’s told him all his life, but that they were Old God worshipping cultists and that Dax’s birth in and of itself may somehow be related to that cult and its actions. This tracks, then, because Dax continually receives strange visions in the form of uncovered memories of “The Seven” attempting some ritual to seal off some force from beyond. Act 2 ends with the revelation that Xanders assistant, Kram, is actually behind all the ritual sacrifice and is attempting to summon Cthulhu himself to our world from the Great Beyond. So far, Act 1 and 2 have been rather cliche but haven’t been anything i’d call unremarkable or strange in a Lovecraftian inspired story.

And then Act 3 happens.

Act 3 sees you flung into the far reaches of Actually Literally Space, with various bits of the test chambers around that you must use to get to portals that are marked by a cute little icon of Cthulhu himself that transport you further into space and to the next level. You can quite literally see our pale blue dot to your side if you look, including a gigantic eldritch device that seems to be either siphoning souls to it, or depositing monsters onto the planet. The fact you can breathe in space is just handwaved as “Something Kram must be doing.” and is never brought up again. What really struck me more than anything in these levels, though, is that Cthulhu himself literally appears before you every 2 minutes in each level and simply watches you while repeating “Cthulhu... Fhtagn... R'lyeh...” over and over and over. This was the moment the game honestly lost any credibility from me. Simply seeing a statue in Act 2 caused Dax to go into a screaming panic as he was able to perceive how a human may be turned into a fish person. But seeing the literal Old God himself doesn’t bother him? And why is Cthulhu so interested in you in the first place? Unfortunately, we get an answer to both of those questions and it might be the most insane thing i’ve ever seen in a piece of Lovecraft inspired media.

Dax, somehow through the work of the cult that his parents were part of, is the chosen one. Cthulhu not only cares about him and wants to see him succeed, but even helps him to literally ascend and become an Old God himself. But not, of course, before letting Dax have a heart to heart with Gamaji wherein he tells him that he has seen through Cthulhu’s eyes himself and must now ascend, as he has no other option. Because Cthulhu is a big softie on adoptive relationships, I guess. The game’s final level has you face off against Kram in a boss battle where you fling explosive cubes at each other and attempt to destroy the esoteric relay connected to Earth. During their fight, Dax taunts Kram who tells him that what he is doing is the will of his Master, Cthulhu, and Dax knowingly retorts that what Kram is doing is “Not what He wants.” As if he has a direct line into the Old Gods mind itself.

I cannot overstate how much of an absolute failure of the mythos itself that this entire story arc is. The Lovecraft mythos was not, and never has been, made for “Chosen One” stories. If you survive an encounter in the first place, you’re often left with horrible scars that never truly leave you because Cthulhu and the Old Gods are in some ways meant to be representative of trauma and a fear of your own trauma. Making Dax suddenly an Old One and a special Chosen One is a complete and utter failure on a scale I've never, ever seen before. It’s been days and I'm honestly still reeling from the fact that was a design decision someone agreed on.

Conclusion:

Magrunner: Dark Pulse is a confusing and often frustrating game with a story that utterly fails its mythos and setting in just about every way possible. But I don’t want to pretend that I didn’t have any fun playing it. I did, and it’s not the worst game I've ever played. It’s not even so much a “so bad it’s good” game, but it’s more of an indie game that clearly tried its hardest and for that I can’t fault it. It’s developers clearly love the Cthulhu and Lovecraftian mythos and really, really, really loved the Portal series and wanted to combine those things into their own spin on it and in that respect, it’s competent enough that I could recommend it to someone who really enjoys those sort of puzzle platformer based games. But... man. That ending. Yikes.

#Magrunner: Dark Pulse #Review #Played on: PC

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years ago

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred: It’s Futile ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Suigin Ryū ] [ SasuHina ] [ Gun, vulgarity ] [ Verse: Oil and Blood ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Sir, please...I need you to calm d-”

“Y-you don’t understand! This thing, it’s...it’s killing me! Since the model is outdated, my insurance won’t cover it...a-and I can’t afford to have it replaced! And fixing something this old...no one’ll do it, let alone have the parts. And it’ll cost me too much! Please...there’s gotta be something you can do!”

Head in her hands as she tries to think, Hinata mutes herself while she heaves a gusty sigh. How many times a day does she hear stories like this…? It’s all part of her job, she has to numb herself to it, and yet...it eats at her. Every time she has to turn someone down for help, it kills her a little more inside. What she wouldn’t give to find a new job, but they’re so scarce…

“...sir,” she then offers, reenabling her communication mod. As she does, furtive glances side to side show her colleagues busy with calls of their own...and their floor manager is nowhere in sight. Cupping a hand over her ear, she makes to act as if she’s simply leaning her head into her palm.

But as she does, a new transmission - text-based - begins sending alongside the call.

“I’m so sorry, but your policy is...is clear. There’s nothing I can do. If your model is outdated and no longer within the service pool, it cannot be w-worked on and be covered. You’ll have to have it replaced.”

Via text, she sends him, I know an underground biotech who can help. Meet me, and we can see her together to get something figured out. Her high-paying clients help cover those like you. Don’t reply to this text until after five o’clock to give me your answer. She then adds coordinates and a time for a meeting.

There’s a long pause as he clearly goes over her message. “I...I understand. Thank you for your time, miss. I’ll...I’ll think over my options and see what I can do.”

“All right then, sir. I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

“...I’ll try.”

Letting the call end, Hinata sits back in her chair with a heavy sigh. Oh, if only she could do that for everyone…! But this particular client is suffering from a mod that aids in regulating his heart rate. It could literally kill him if it doesn’t get fixed, and soon. Someone with a loose elbow socket or a cosmetic mod that keeps turning their hair green is not as needing of care. Her underground contact will be able to help him...if he agrees to meet. There’s a risk on all sides, after all...this is very, very illegal.

...but it’s also a matter of life or death.

Technically Hinata can’t arrange any of it until she’s off the clock. Sending that text was risky - she has a relay scrambler to help cover her tracks while she’s connected to the company’s network, but she only uses it when absolutely necessary as not to gain attention to herself. If she were caught going through back doors to help clients that would otherwise be denied their claims? Not only would she lose her job, she’d end up in jail. The government takes mod regulation very, very seriously.

...Hinata knows that well, as both the daughter of a mod mogul, and being someone who’s worked in mod claims for several years now. Few are aware of the ins and outs - and the corruption - of the industry more than her.

She originally got this job hoping she’d be able to help people. Her father’s greed and bowing to the governmental contracts meant a great deal of suffering. Surely companies like the one she found herself working for after her father disowned her would help remedy it, right?

Ha...wrong. They don’t exist to help people...they exist to extort people. And though Hinata does her little bits of good when she can...overall, she’s hardly making a dent.

Hence taking opportunities like this when she can. Any small difference in the grand scheme might be a huge impact one just one life. And for her...for now...that’s enough.

...just like when she hauled that Uchiha out of the litter and took him to the same doctor she’ll be taking this man to, if all goes well.

Which reminds her...this might be a good way to get his debt repaid…! Then she won’t have to worry about him randomly showing up like he did a few days ago, trying to get her to assign him a task to relieve the debt. He’d agreed to serve as a makeshift bodyguard the next time she arranged a meeting like this. It’s perfect…!

She doubts anything will go wrong - it hasn’t yet. But either way, they’ll be out of each other’s hair.

So when her shift ends and she’s cut off from the company network, she steps outside and has her communicator mod dial him.

“Talk.”

Unable to help a small jump at the blunt answer, she stutters, “I-I, um...this is Hinata. Uchiha-san…?”

“I know it’s you.”

“Oh...well, I just wanted to forewarn you, I might have an upcoming job for you. To...to settle the debt?”

“Perfect. Just send me the details and I’ll be there.”

“All right...thank you.”

“Mm.”

The line then goes dead, and she decides to head to her meeting place. She has about twenty minutes - plenty of time. If he shows, she’ll take him to the doc. If not...well, she did all she could. She can hardly force him. Until she knows, however, there’s no point in calling Sasuke in case the man doesn’t show.

The time comes...and then goes. Deciding to wait, Hinata pretends to scroll through her feed along her palm, not wanting to look suspicious.

Ten minutes after the designated time, she’s almost ready to leave when a man walks up beside her.

“H...Hyūga-san…?”

“That’s me. You must be Ito-san?”

“Yes...you - you said you could help me?”

“I can take you to someone who can,” Hinata offers, giving him a small smile. “But we have to be careful...if you would, I’d like to call a...friend of mine to go with us. Just to make sure we’re safe.”

“Oh...are they trustworthy?”

“...yes. It won’t take him long to get here, I just need to call.” Dialing hands-free, Hinata hears Sasuke answer before offering, “Can you make it to my location?”

“Lucky for you, I’m a block away. Had a feeling it would be soon.”

“Thank you.” Disconnecting, Hinata gives the patient another brief smile. “Just a minute, sir.”

When Sasuke approaches, however, Ito goes white as a sheet. “I-is he…?”

“A friend,” Hinata insists, giving Sasuke a look. “It’s not too far, so he won’t be with us long. As I said, it’s just to make sure we arrive safely.”

“...right…” Tone faint, Ito follows as Hinata leads the way toward the doc’s shop, who she sends a mentally-dictated text to forewarning of their arrival.

Got it. I’ll be ready for you in ten.

Rounding the last corner, Hinata can’t help a small gasp as someone suddenly lifts an arm, barring her path as the limb rests at eye level. Ito, beside her, also goes stock still as, from every shadow outside the clinic, men begin to appear.

“Well, well...look who showed up. This the one?”

Nearby, a sunken-eyed man looks Hinata over. “...yeah. That’s her. That’s the one I saw talkin’ to the Uchiha the other day.”

Ohhh shit.

“...p-please sir, I...I have a client that needs -”

“I don’t care about your client, sweetheart,” one of the other yakuza offers, lazily letting his bat rest over his shoulder. “The Uchiha. Where is he?”

“...I-I…” Is he not behind them…? Did he see the ambush coming and bolt?

“I know you two’re in cahoots. So, you tell me where he is...and I don’t gotta bust your kneecaps. Sound like a d-?”

Like a cord-pulled machine, the man suddenly goes slack, crumbling to the alley floor. There’s a moment of shock, and Hinata uses it to drag Ito back around the corner as gunfire rings out.

“O-oh gods...oh gods…!”

“Please, just stay calm!”

“M-my chest...I-I can’t…!”

Panic mounting, Hinata tries to glance around to the chaos. She doesn’t see Sasuke: only the half a dozen goons firing wildly at a ghost.

“Get out here, bastard!” one calls. “It’s futile! I don’t give a shit what mods you have, you’re not takin’ down all of us!”

“Wanna bet?”

In what looks like a flicker, Sasuke stands beside him, pistol to the man’s head before it goes off with a muffled bang. The firestorm starts all over, Hinata flinching back from the sounds. Ito, in the interim, doesn’t look good...she has to get him to the clinic...!

With a roar, an engine flares to life, and a hoverbike screams out from the building toward them. Whipping around, the doc shouts, “GET ON!”

Hefting Ito into the sidecar, Hinata sits behind the doctor, who - for now - circles around the block to buy time.

“What’s going on?”

“I-I don’t know!”

“What about the patient?”

“F...faulty, outdated pacemaker mod. It’s been giving him pain, and I think he might be having a heart attack from the stress!”

Ducking into another alley, Ryū powers down the engine, tossing a piece of tech to the sideroad mouth. An image flickers to life, a hologram hiding their presence as it displays an empty alleyway.

“Let me see.”

Moving out of the way, Hinata lets her work, watching nervously as she attempts to save his life.

This is not what she had in mind…!

By now, police sirens are blaring, and the stimuli are almost making her head swim. Leaning against a building for stability, Hinata does her best to stay calm. But all she can do is worry about Ito, and Sasuke…

…is he still alive? Has he been arrested? If he was...it’s all her fault...she dragged him into -

“Gotcha!”

Crying out, Hinata finds herself lifted by an arm around the throat, pulled out past the hologram and tossed into a van. Doors quickly slam shut, and tires squeal.

“You chose the wrong side in this little turf war, missy,” one of the gangsters offers.

Struggling to breathe in her panic, she can still make out the leaf tattoo along the man’s neck.

...Senju.

Oh gods.

As they fly from the scene, Hinata can’t help but recall the doctor’s words: about helping so many Uchiha. If they found her...will they…? And Sasuke...is he still alive? He...he must be. Why else would they take her? She doesn’t know anything or anyone else!

...or maybe they think she does.

Either way...things just went from bad to worse.

.oOo.

More cyberpunk AU! And uh...things got a little messy :'D Here Hinata thought she'd be getting out of a problem, and now...well, quite clearly, she's got an even BIGGER problem! Fun! I really really REALLY like this verse xD I've even been writing a liiittle bit of it with my OC, too (the doc in this mini series) over on my other account...and I wanna do more! But hopefully I'll have a good prompt soon to do more here, cuz...well, cliffhanger! Sorry xD Anyway, it's SUPER late and I'm falling asleep on my keyboard, so I better go lol - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #suigin ryū #gun //#vulgarity //#oil and blood [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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sol1056 · 6 years ago

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when the lamp stays unlit

a multi-part anon that’s been waiting awhile:

...I never really fully thought of shiro as physically disabled... he had a fully functional prosthetic arm with all the motor skills of a real arm plus superhuman strength and so forth AND because it didn’t really impair him. It would be one thing if he was physically disabled and the show thus normalized disability; but to me, Shiro‘s arm (and Ezor‘s fake leg and Zethrid‘s missing eye) were more like sci-fi ‘cool battle scars’ rather than things that really impacted their social or emotional life. [...] The missing arm made [Shiro] more incapacitated during s7 (I guess?) but it was an excuse for benching him, which is something I found ableist. And while he has a mental illness as well, I thought it only ever became an issue when it was convenient to the plot. Hope that made sense, it wasn’t my intention to be insensitive since many people see him as great disability rep.

This is nearly as difficult a subject as race, but it’s also an important discussion to have. We do need the conversation about LGBT+ representation in VLD, but it’s drowning out an equally important conversation about how disability is represented (and treated) in popular media.

As a caveat, I’m a work in progress when it comes to un-learning the ableism that permeates Western culture, even when directly harmed by its perpetuation. So I’m inviting anyone with the spoons and lived experience to join in. The more voices and perspectives, the better.

Behind the cut: clarifying a few terms, how the SFF genre conceptualizes disability, how humans conceptualize difference, narrative treatment of Shiro as disabled, and PTSD/mental health in popular media.

First, let’s define some terms so we’re on the same page. Assistive technology “increases or maintains the capabilities of people with disabilities.” Adaptive technology (a subset of assistive) is tech “specifically designed for persons with disabilities and would seldom be used by non-disabled persons.” Gadgets like sock cradles are assistive, since an abled person might use them; a prosthesis or screen reader would be adaptive. The majority of media representations of disability will use adaptive technologies to signal a disability, rather than assistive. (definition from wikipedia)

Now for a few lesser-known terms. There’s a philosophical concept concerning the breakage of things we’ve always taken for granted. Like flipping a light switch: the light goes on. We don’t pause to marvel over what made the lightbulb glow. Then one day, you flip the switch and the light doesn’t come on. Now suddenly you have to stop and notice something that previously you’d never given much attention.

This sudden awareness of wrongness --- the light not going on --- takes three forms. It can be conspicuous, where it’s visibly damaged, ie the lamp is smashed. It can be obtrusive: a part is missing, ie there’s no bulb in the socket. Or it can be obstinate, ie the bulb and lamp are fine, we just don’t have power.

The abled perspective --- when suddenly reminded of disability --- is to see the disability as conspicuous and obtrusive. That is, broken and incomplete. Which means, that’s the only story the abled perspective knows, so that’s the story it tells, over and over.

It’s a common assumption, especially in the SFF genre: adaptive technology removes a character from the category of disabled. Cybernetic modifications or prostheses become design elements; the character is considered --- and written --- as abled. In a sense, the character is like the lamp when there’s power: the author can ignore the label of ‘disability’ and carry on without giving more thought to the issue.

But if there’s removal (or breakage), for the author, it’s like flipping a switch and the light doesn’t go on. You can almost hear the author thinking: ‘oh, forgot this character can’t do anything.’ Until the story provides repairs or replacement, the previously adaptively-abled character is now un-abled.

Disability --- in the absence of adaptive technology --- is, at best, obstinate. The character is neither broken nor incomplete; they’re a lamp without a power source. Nothing else has changed. But if someone never gave thought to how lamps need power to operate, their first reaction won’t be to ask if the power’s out. It’ll be to check the lamp, the bulb, the wiring, and declare it mysteriously broken because no light is happening.

Abled writers effectively shift the blame onto the lamp: it’s now useless, by some ill-defined sense. But it’s not; it hasn’t changed. It was reliant on power when power was available, and it’s reliant when power’s not available, too.

The analogy itself is already too simple for the reality; it implies a person could be abled/disabled as on/off. So let’s adjust, and say: the lamp has a solar-power backup and still lights up --- just not as quickly or brightly. Or it’s a drill whose battery needs recharging: it’s still usable as a manual screwdriver, awkward but workable. Plus, the base is still handy as a makeshift hammer.

The presence of any given disability does not automatically mean the person is fully dis-abled by all other measures as well. Analogies only go so far, after all.

But this is the main point: the character never stopped being disabled, any more than the lamp stopped needing power. By that same token, the person who takes medication for ADD isn’t ‘cured’ with medication, anymore than a paraplegic stops being unable to walk just because they have a wheelchair.

Now that I think about it, this could extend to just about any representation one doesn’t experience personally. I mean, we do it to each other: “behind the grill, she’s one of the guys.” And then we see the person after work in a dress and heels and we’re reminded she was a woman all along; we were just setting aside her gender because we could ignore it. Like the light switch we flip unthinkingly, we paid that detail no mind.

And the fact is: it doesn’t matter if an onlooker judges a trait as irrelevant. The person still has that gender, religion, ability, sexuality, ethnicity, age, etc. When we aim to be colorblind, or genderblind, or sexualityblind... it’s like having a lamp that won’t go on and not realizing electricity is required. We’re blind to half the picture, so we blame the lamp, not the absence of power.

We’re forgetting that because we can ignore her gender doesn’t mean she can. Or even would. But so long as we can, we’ll miss all the ways her reality informs her experiences.

You’re right that benching Shiro in S7 was an ableist move. The entire season makes evident how little thought the staff has afforded Shiro. To them, he was abled, now he is not, and this radically changes everything: no longer a paladin, not even a pilot, nor even on the front lines (and when he is, he loses). As @caramelcheese pointed out, Shiro’s fought with both hands tied behind his back. Lacking one arm shouldn’t slow him down in the least.

Others have written at length about Shiro’s new prosthesis. They’ve raised practical issues with a floating arm, such as imbalance and center-of-gravity, and ethical issues such as the offensiveness of a design that echoes his tormentor’s signature detail, so I won’t belabor those here. To me, there are two aspects even more insidious.

One is caused by narrative silence on Shiro’s changed status. Shiro’s only visible difference is the loss of his prothesis; the narrative fails to address this, let alone provide any other explanation. Narrative silence becomes tacit confirmation: an amputee cannot be a hero.

The second is the dehumanization. Before S7, in casual dress, Shiro’s arm was evident; in armor, he was no more marked than anyone else. His expulsion from being a paladin is visually reinforced by his loss of the Black Paladin’s armor; the Garrison uniform and space suit are modified to be constant reminders that Shiro is disabled. There is empty air where his upper arm would be.

His redesign marks him as literally incomplete.

As for mental health, we can’t discuss Shiro’s PTSD in a vacuum, when it’s a part of so many kids’ lives. Some suffer PTSD themselves from first-hand trauma, and likely many more suffer it along with their parents as a result of the US’ anti-immigrant attitudes. The hardest hit may be military kids between 8 and 18, of whom roughly one in five has a parent who suffers from PTSD.

Shiro had to have been a powerful figure for those kids. He had onscreen panic attacks and flashbacks, yet remained a hero in the story and to his team. His PTSD-inflected moments may have served the plot, but those also worked to keep present the continuing damage from his trauma. More importantly for younger viewers, he laid a hero’s narrative over the sometimes terrifying reality of a family member who suffers from PTSD or related trauma.

S3 left that behind, turning Shiro’s trauma into headaches, and even that much mentioned rarely. By S7, no signs of PTSD remained. The EPs’ tone-deaf explanation --- that Shiro learned to grit his teeth and just deal with his trauma --- was a horrific betrayal of the audience who related to Shiro. Willpower has never been a viable cure for mental illnesses or trauma.

One ingredient for healing from PTSD is support and love from a strong network of family and friends, and it’s ironic the series’ only example of a healing moment was the DnD episode. It allowed Shiro/Kuron to create and role-play a new story for himself, in a safe environment, surrounded by the support of people who mattered most to him. When Shiro/Kuron tells Coran that he feels better after playing, it’s one of the rare grace notes in the story: because that would be a healing experience for someone with PTSD.

Shiro’s story undergoes an odd reversal. He begins the story treated as though he’s abled, yet mentally traumatized. By S7, the story considers him disabled yet also fully ‘over’ his PTSD. He went from conspicuous and obtrusive for his PTSD, to conspicuous and obtrusive for being an amputee.

After thinking about it, I wonder if perhaps it’s because once the lamp has been broken for long enough --- regardless of the reason --- it eventually becomes yet another thing we don’t think about. Just like once, perhaps as children, we found light switches fascinating and the lamp going on/off to be worthy of deep thought, eventually we learned to pay it no mind.

Perhaps Shiro’s reversal is yet another indication of an abled creator who doesn’t understand the obstinate nature of disability. We have some backwards notions about illness, in the US, and one of them is that illness is a moral failure. Like, if you just tried hard enough, you’d be better. Any disability for which there’s no cure --- you can’t regrow an arm, after all --- thus renders the person both permanently broken and morally inadequate.

And, apparently, not worthy of being a paladin.

#vld #voltron #disability #representation #characterization #sol thinks about stuff #random existentialism terms #come for the sugar stay for the salt

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puckmanhq · 5 years ago

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HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN?: part one of two

WHO: Noah Puckerman & @berrytobias ( feat. @alipucks )

WHAT: surprise hangout

WHERE: Toby and Aliyah's place

WHEN: June 28, 2019 @ 1:00 am-ish - June 28, 2019 @ 8:30 am

WHY: Puck needed to not be at home or on ihq property so he opts to surprise visit his sister at her place.

WARNINGS: excessive drinking and non descriptive nudity

ABOUT 1:00 AM ON JUNE 28, 2019

Well, shit. Puck thought as his sister walked off to her room, her middle fingers the last thing he saw before she completely disappeared. "Fucking charming." Ha, I got the last word. Less than a second later the sound of an opening door before, "Fucking dumbass." One final door close and now it was painfully quiet. Puck started bouncing his knee, looking around like he'd never seen the inside of an apartment before. See, now he was just chillin' in the room with Tobias and honestly, he'd never really hung out with him, even though he was technically family, as Joey's uncle. Guess they just didn't have the much in common. Probably should have got the fuck up and taken his tipsy ass home but he really couldn't be bothered. So instead he looked over at Toby, "Beer or tequila?" He asked as he poured himself a shot, ready to pour another.

“Fuckin’ traitor,” Tobias mumbled. How could Aliyah leave him right now? They weren’t even halfway through their movie. It’s not like it was-- Tobias checked his phone. “Shit,” he exhaled gently. “It’s later than I thought it was.” Which, if that was the case, why the hell did Aliyah let Puck inside in the first place? Tobias rubbed his eyes, still red from the makeshift hotbox in the bathroom earlier, and dismissed his own question with a shrug. Nope. Practical thought just didn’t exist when it was past midnight and you were still high as fuck. Tobias slowly turned his head towards Puck, interest finally piqued by his presence and the classical conditioning of the promise of alcohol. “Well, shit. If you’re pouring, then whatever cost the most.”

"Tequila it fucking is then." Pouring a second shot he handed it to his unlikely drunking buddy and riased his own glass. "To whatever the fuck this night's gonna be." Clinking his glass against Toby's, Puck did the classic frat boy table touch before throwing it back. Feeling the familiar burn, he chased it with a swig of beer before pouring himself another one. Already feeling the temperature rising which caused him to pull at the collar of his tank before leaning forward to place his beer on the coffee table. Looking at the screen he couldn't even remeber what they were watching. "Dude, you look high enough to hear colors right now." He said as he took off his hat, because really was it 78 degress in here? "And what the fuck is this movie?" He asked handing the younger man another shot.

With an exaggerated wince, teeth bared and all, Tobias placed the glass down. His technique was amateur, greedy even. But thankfully he didn’t have to smell and savor the damn thing. He just had to throw it back and accept that clear liquor was a foul ass invention. He drew a line with his eyes from the bottle to his empty drink, and gave Puck his best DJ Khaled impression. “Another one.” Condensation was already pooling around the base of their shot glasses, and the coasters they should have been using were sitting in a neat pile off to the side. Tobias exhaled warmly, shrugging off his signature denim jacket, before running a hand through his hair. Toby and Aliyah’s AC had been fucked for about a week now. The superintendent was taking his sweet ass time (as usual) in fixing it. Tobias hit at his sternum with a weak fist to break up the burn. “Oh, that?” He pointed at the screen. “It’s that one movie where that dude’s chest gets caved in and bites this other guy’s hands off?” Tobias started giggling. “It’s real great when you’re high,” he sang. “A classic.” Tobias’ cat, Mercutio weaved around Puck’s legs, purring happily. “He likes dudes,” Tobias spoke earnestly, before snatching up the bottle of tequila from the coffee table. “I’m pretty sure he’s gay.” He took a gulp. Or two. Or three. “It’s so fucking hot. Are you hot?” Toby handed the bottle back over to Puck. “I’m hot as hell.” He wiped at his forehead with his arm. “You can stay and roast but--” he pulled his shirt over his head “--I’m not trying to die in my own apartment.”

Raising an eyebrow at the description of the movie they'd been watching, Puck shouldn't have been surprised. Aliyah was definitely into some weird shit and somehow she was pulling that off in a cool way and honestly Puck had never been more proud of a sibling. Looking at Toby, he assessed him, trying to decide if he was cool or not. On the one hand he quoted DJ Khaled and couldn't take a shot of tequila with looking like someone was feeding him fire. On the other hand, he quoted DJ Khaled and took a shot like he was eating fire. So, unclear where he was on the Noah Puckerman dopeometer. "You and my sister really found each other." Standing up for no apparent reason just to immediately sit back down, it was definitely approaching 'fuck it' levels of intoxicated, which is where any potential impulse control peace-ed the absolute fuck out. Looking down at the cat, Puck smirked, "Don't blame 'im, I'm fucking hot. Good taste, bro." And then he tried to bro fist the cat and Puck could swear he could hear the thank god you're pretty coming from the little dude. Hearing that it wasn't just him burning the fuck up made him want to facetime his brothers just to flip them off, because fuck you guys clothes are dumb when you're drunk. Standing up, and this time with purpose, Puck pulled out his phone because obviously his magic mike ass needed music for this moment. Turning up his phone after picking Hot In Here by Nelly, he removed his tank in a very aesthetically pleasing and manly way. Alright, so what really happened was, his drunk ass picked Metro Station's Shake It and as he went to take off his tank with one hand it got stuck and ripped and he just kind of through it to the ground and then he winked like a jackass. "Gotta give 'em a show." But who the fuck was he talking to? Oh, right, the gay cat, naturally.

Tobias’ laughter slipped past his teeth and fingers. “Dude, I can totally see why you get so much play. You’re amazing,” he slurred. Tobias’ giggles died down, but the ache in his cheeks remained as the room tilted. “I can almost see why Lucky slept with you.” Toby squinted. “Where are my glasses?” He patted over his face. Sheer force of will would definitely make his vision clearer. “Do you ever think that, like, your eyes are so blue because you’re sad?” Toby cradled his head in his hands,hoping his over-saturated sponge of a brain wouldn’t leak out of his ears. Every blink was heavy, every movement slowed-down to an unbearable rate. “Fuuuuuuuuck. That weed was too strong.” Sweat slid down his back. “I have no idea how--” Tobias undid his belt ”--Aliyah is sleeping through this. I’m about to off myself.”

"Almost?” Puck said momentarily alert. “I’m the most fuckable.” As if to prove himself, he removed his pants, swearing feet weren’t usually this fucking difficult to get through a damn pant hole.Now, he was just standing there in his stripey boxer briefs vaguely gesturing at himself to accentuate his point. Honestly, at this point sounds were muffled and everything sounded kind of far away, maybe that’s why he was hyper focused on the younger man’s mouth. Not that he was secretly a master at lip reading, but when you’res drunk you’re pretty convinced you’re the master of everything. Picking up his phone again he pulled up his camera and started recording before standing stupidly close to Toby and making the camera lens face them, because there was no fucking way he was capable of remembering the invention of the fucking front facing function. Throwing his free arm around the taller man’s shoulders, he pulled him in close before tuning his face toward him. “You ever seen what happens when Ali gets serenaded?” He asked pausing for a moment letting a drunken smile creep on his face and he handed Toby his phone. “I think we oughta find out.” Honestly everything that happened next was..... something that never needs to see the light of day.

8:30 AM ON JUNE 28, 2019

Tobias whined, refusing to open his eyes. “Why are there such things as hangovers,” he spoke groggily. His cheek was stuck to warm skin, a slow heartbeat making a tender home inside his ear. He was too comfortable to move, but Mercutio’s timid cries were annoying as fuck. “And why does my mouth taste like literal ass?” Finally lifting up, Puck’s heavy arm slid from around his form. Toby’s eyes widened. “Oh no.” Suddenly launching himself into space seemed like the best out, but then he spotted Aliyah, standing smugly in front of the couch. “I… this isn’t what it looks like.” His voice was thick with sleep (and hopefully nothing else). “Pretty sure there’s a valid explanation for...” Tobias examined the crime scene. His and Puck’s clothes were strewn about the floor and the entire bottle of Tequila from last night was empty. He wiped the drool he left on Puck’s chest, nausea bubbling in the pit of his stomach. No matter what Toby said, he didn’t know what happened, and that meant there was a lingering possibility that Puck’s dick had been in or around his mouth. Or worse. “Please don’t tell anyone, Al.”

ALIYAH: Pulling a mess of curls back into a messy bun, Aliyah had been staring at the rather amusing sight of a blanket covered, naked, hardcore cuddling Puck and Toby. "Oh that's totally on what the fuck, bingo." She said to herself as she got her phone out to take about 15 different pictures. Seriously contemplating posting a couple on insta. Making a mental note to create the WTF?! bingo card for real, Aliyah watched as her best friend stirred to life. As he looked at her, she raised an eyebrow, listening to his pleas and getting way too much of a power trip out of it. "You know I don't talk to people." Grabbing her thermos of espresso she bent down to flick Puck's nose until he opened his eyes. "I'm going to work." Then she was gone.

PUCK: Smacking the hand away from his face, he slowly opened his eyes, and all he could really see was a combat boots moving further away. Shit, the IHQ pride games or whatever is today. He thought to himself, not even noticing the second body lying with him, he sat up ready to get up before he finally realized there was a whole ass person on him and out of instinct he caught them around the waist. Just like that he could feel them breathing, his sight was clearing up and soon the dark head of hair and skinny frame were starting to form a face in his mind. "Fuck." Moving Toby off of him, he stood up, some discomfort in the Puckzilla region. Looking down he noticed all the clothes strewn everywhere and the cause of his dickcomfort (if you will). "Why's there a sock on my dick?" Adjusting it he looked for his underwear. "Why the fuck is it so scratchy?"

#ihq:discord #a. discord #discord. tobias berry #p. tobias berry

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