#and of course the receptor has to be a bitch about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dronebiscuitbat · 8 months ago

Text

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 5)

Uzi was left by herself, N reluctantly taking his leave after she reminded him that he still needed oil, and as much as she didn't mind sharing, he would drink her out of house and home incredibly quickly if he stayed.

It's not like she wanted him to go… er, well she did, but only so she could gather her thoughts on the situation that happened today.

It was nice, spending a mostly stress free day with him, as so much of their time was spent dealing with nightmare fuel and ungodly eldritch abominations, she wondered if that counted as a ��trauma bond.” It probably did.

She picked up a pen with her solver power, the purple glow lighting up the room, she spun it, letting the action itself distract her.

She hated that fact that “angsty teen” was a rather quite accurate description for her. But it wasn't her fault that shit kept happening and she was forced to deal with it.

And no, she wasn't dealing with it well. She wasn't dealing with the fact she was turning into a weird biological disassembly drone well, she wasn't handling her finding out her mom had whatever she has and it had driven her crazy well. And she certainly wasn't handling her father abandoning her well.

And she was totally not scared to go to sleep tonight and face her freaky nightmares again, no Uzi Doorman wasn't scared of anything.

She lost control of the pen, and it careened into the wall before sticking into it. She groaned, looking at the ceiling.

Doll still had her stupid bug.

If anything thats what worried her the most right now. Doll was stupidly overpowered with her mastery of her solver powers.The bitch could teleport! And if N or V was caught unaware by her… she really hoped that they were at least together.

And Uzi did want to master them as well, she did! It made her a cool spooky witch and more on par with her disassembly drone friends (freind? V was still up in the air) than if she were just normal, everyday Uzi.

But…

She pulled the pen back out of the wall again, trying to duplicate it like she'd seen Doll do with the knives back at prom.

And was immediately reminded of that searing, burning, white hot pain that had coursed through her when she had boarded herself up in that cabin. When she'd lost all control.

The pen exploded, sending a shower of black ink all over her room, and she made herself jump, a small yelp leaving her mouth before she sighed in frustration.

She was a little bit scar- wary about using the solver. She went through way more oil when she was actively using it. And more recently it had felt… unstable. Like she wasn't quite herself if she pushed it too far.

Once, it had even flashed gold. Which had freaked her out enough that she'd relegated it's use to simple tasks and emergencies. But even still, she knew she couldn't get any better at controlling it if she didn't use it.

Which of course caused her to get more frustrated. Irritation crawling up her back, and now out of a practice object, she slammed her head down on the desk, filling the void with a thud.

She grabbed her black, cat eared headphones that were resting on her desk, sticking it into an MP3 player she'd inherited from her mom. Blasting Nightcore into her audio receptors loud enough so that maybe she wouldn't hear her own thoughts anymore.

It wasn't really helping. Now her angsty thoughts were just Nightcore flavored.

Her thoughts drifted back to her lovable disassembly drone companion. Wondering, idly, what he was getting up to outside the walls of the bunker.

Not anything that interesting, as it turned out.

N was perched on the top of a building, five eyes (technically seven, counting the ones in his visor) piercing even though the thickest fog cover Copper-9 could muster. His tail making wide swings behind him.

He hunted every single night. He had to, his systems drew so much energy and ran so hot that he could run through half a full tank if he was exerting himself. He was honestly getting a little sick of it, he could've been doing anything else right now.

Like finishing that movie he'd fallen asleep watching, that sounded way more enticing.

But his visor forever blinking with a “seek intake” message mocked him. Why the heck was he made this way?!

He knew the answer of course. But they could at least have given them an ounce of leeway when it came to oil consumption. Sure, his filters could make use of most types of oil, even motor oil in a pinch. But none of that mattered when he went through it so fast!

He took off into the air, scanning the ground for corpses he could drink from.

Which felt increasing weirder the more time he spent in the bunker, he talked to workers almost every single day and here he was desecrating their family members to keep himself alive.

He shook that thought out of his processors. He couldn't go without oil, he'd tried. And nearly killed himself.

Death by being boiled alive in your own shell wasn't fun. And so he kept searching, he'd normally always found a corpse eventually, J had always preferred a high body count rather than hunting for oil, so plenty of her kills were still full of it.

And hers were easy to spot. The more barbaric the death, the more likely it was J.

He saw a dim red light hooked over a streetlight. And landed next to it, it was the upper torso of a drone, the bottom half completely ripped off an thrown who knows where.

Yeah that was probably a J kill.

He gingerly lifted the poor drone, listening for the sloshing of oil before closing his eyes and snapping off the drones neck. And puncturing a small hole in its head.

He tipped it into his mouth, a sick sense of pleasure washed over him that he vehemently ignored, it was just another way for the humans to entice the disassembly drones to kill more, just like the sensitivity of his tail, and just like his programming telling him that the liquid was sweet when it shouldn't be.

The head was the easiest part to drink from, and often contained the most oil than any other part. So he concluded his hunt there, carrying what was left home with him. Where he'd put it into much less horrific containers. Where he could pretend he hadn't stolen it from a corpse.

How many of these drones were parents?

The thought smacked him upside the head like V when he'd annoyed her. Jolting him out of one morbid train of thought to another.

How many orphans did he himself create? How many children grew up alone, without their parents, because he took them away?

Uzi had mentioned, breifly, that her mother was dead. And he didn't have to be a genius to figure out what killed her, there was really only one option. Well three, if he was being technical.

He prayed, so badly it was J. So that way it was just another shitty thing he could blame on her. But it very easily could have been V… or him.

He really hoped it wasn't. That would be a cruel joke. Killing the parent of the person who changed his life, who cared about him in a way he wasn't sure anyone else had ever done.

But they all blended together, so many terrified faces that there was no way he could remember them all, the only small comfort was that he was the least brutal member of their team, if he had done it, he would've been quick.

He reached the spire as the sun rose behind him. V had already returned from her hunt, and he could see her tail hanging out from her nest over the spire, twitching.

He flew up to his nest, the lowest of the three. And dropped the head gently in the corner before landing on the salvaged blanket with a poof. Leaning back into it.

He'd stopped sleeping like a bat a long time ago. Dropping on his head one too many times being woken up by a nightmare. This was far more comfortable anyway.

He heard V's light snoring. Which at some point in his life may have made him blush. But now all he did was smile, he still deeply cared for V, and wanted her to be happy, and safe. But that crush had long since died. It had died the day they left the manor, but he'd held onto it a bit too long.

He missed Uzi's bed.

Speaking about things that made him blush. That did the trick, making a yellow fluster stain his cheeks.

So what? It was comfortable! His nest was lumpy and sometimes the blanket would slip and he'd be poked in the back by the jagged spire. Uzi's bed was squishy and was right up against a vent so cool air washed over him.

And if he was there, sleeping beside her. Then he didn't worry about where she was, or if she was safe. Because she'd be right there. Where he could protect her.

He thought back to that morning, which by now had seemed so long ago. How he'd fallen asleep holding her, and how she'd curled up on his chest with a little smile on her face, mumbling something in her sleep.

It had been the most relaxed he'd ever seen her.

He wished she'd always be relaxed, she always seemed to be stressed out about something, her solver, Doll, her mom, her dad. She was probably doing it right now, without him there to direct her attention elsewhere.

He heard V stop snoring, shuffling up in her nest before it slowly started up again, although this time slightly louder. The sun was peeking over the horizon. It would be beautiful if it didn't kill him.

V didn't talk to him much, which wasn't all that different from thier dynamic before, but now it seemed to sting more, after regaining his memories and understanding that before they were… this. They'd been freinds. More then that even.

And while he didn't ever expect a return to that. Heck, he didn't even want that. He did want to be there for her, she was going through a lot too, and she seemed to remember more than he did even now.

He remembered before and after he became a disassembly drone. But not the transition. It had been the gala, then suddenly he was in the pod, given orders to kill and eat any worker drone he came across by J.

He wondered if she did. And it was something that had made her so much different then who he remembered her to be.

Either way, it had made the tower uncomfortably silent, and that made him think. He didn't like thinking! Thinking often made him sad, and he'd been sad too much. Happy thoughts N, happy thoughts.

Tera came next, the litle droneling that had wormed her way in his head. How cute she was, and how strong her core beat was. He wondered what she would be like when she got older. With how happy she seemed to be just by seeing them.

Uzi also seemed happy, and he had the feeling that he'd glimpsed the softest part of her while she held the baby drone.

He really liked it when she was soft, not that he didn't enjoy her quick tongue, but it was something he knew she had a hard time expressing, she was loud and confident, and possibly slightly feral. But that was only a part of her, the other part was kind, loyal, and so… loving?

Was that the right word? It felt a little too strong of a word to use. It wasn't wrong, it just felt weird. But she was always making sure he was okay, like at prom. When she'd asked him to please stop putting himself in danger for her. He wouldn't, but still.

Or when she'd sacrificed her knowledge to save his memories, or today, when she'd assured him that she'd never abandon him.

And while he'd known that, boy was it really good to hear from her. So yes, she was loving, in her own way.

Huh…

That's what he fell asleep to, curling himself into a ball as if he was trying to hold something that wasn't there.

Next ->

#biscuitbites #murder drones #murder drones n #murder drones nuzi #murder drones uzi #nuzi #md n #md nuzi #md uzi #n and uzi #serial designation n #uzi doorman #hey look it's a part with no dialog #train of thought writing my specialty #don't worry it's just to give a break in the fluff.#little bit of angst #tera doorman?

77 notes · View notes

mychlapci · 6 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/mychlapci/754100660611563520/elita-1-and-megatron-having-a-birth-off-where-they

This right here is just too good! Earthspark Megs and Elita are my favessss. I can’t believe everyone just ignore thing beautiful idea. I’m just to shy to talk about then being bred till they can’t walk. Fuck it!

The two are pretty competitive I’d be cute if they just have small bets and competitions, like who can cum the most or how many dildos can they stuff in their valve, just things two buddies do. Elita would suggest a breed off as a joke, but when Megs agrees saying that it’ll barley be a competition for him. He’s bigger, has thicker thighs, wider hips and a big fat valve. But Elita is determined! her valve looks like it belongs to a princess but really its super stretchy and really strong, it’s like her forge is made for drinking up tons of cum.

Optimus would make a fantastic stud. Op not knowing about the twos little bets gets thrown head first into the deep end. Optimus has always had a crush on Elita and Megatron but not wanting to ruin the friendship they’ve had for years his insecurities got the best of him and Oppy decided he wouldn’t make his feeling know. That is of course till his crushes are rubbing their wet pussies on his thighs. Both Elita and Megs whispering dirty promises in his audio receptors occasionally nipping and licking his antennas, saying how they are going to give him sooo many babies and how they want him to make them mommies.

In typical Op fashion he rises to the occasion and will fuck them both through the floor. For Megatron it’s easier to convince Op not to tire out, constantly goading him into another overload, telling Optimus how he knows he’s always wanted to breed him and to not disappoint him. Optimus is tired but he’s not gonna let Megatron win! Op is competitive too damnitt. When Optimus has Elita under him he’s cumming early constantly but without stopping, he’s always loved her so much she so strong and dominant. What a treat it is to have her being so submissive and letting him rut into her like a mad animal. Honestly Optimus feels that way about both of them, he’s pretty sure he died that morning because this is heaven, Op thought for sure he’d have to take both of their spike before he’d even get to do this.

Elita is smaller so getting her to bloat up with his cum is super fun to see. It only took Optimus 3 overloads to make it look that way. Megs off to the side witness her Belly jiggle and grow with Optimus relentless pounding makes him antsy. He wants that too! He wants his tummy to bulge like that! His womb is pretty full but she already looks pregnant! He starts making a show of touching himself to get Optimus attention he’s not going to lose just yet, it works and Elita too fucked out to stop him. Maybe a break will be ok. Mounting Op mounting him again makes Megs squeal, Op is being so much more rough now. The Prime doesn’t seem like he’ll ever quit. This time around Megatron doesn’t have anything smart to say, all he can do whimpering and squirm like a bitch. His big spike slamming in and out of his full forge is just too good. Optimus asks is Megs has anything to remark and Megs just squirts with his latest overload. It take Megatron tummy longer to start to show how full he is but the subtle strain he feels are his stomach stretches with each thrust has him pissing himself all over again. Elita has regained consciousness and is begging Op for his attention again.

After many more rounds Optimus get to have two of his favs of either side of him. Their warm cum bellies pressing on his sides. He tries not not to thinks too much about his thoroughly fucked mates cause he’ll just get hard again. Optimus cum is so potent those two are definitely pregnant with more than one baby. Who has more, only time will tell

Months later Megs and Elita are fit to burst. Their bellies are the only things that have gotten bigger, Megatron on Elita’s big milky tits have come in too. They like to squish and squeeze their breast together to seduce Optimus to give them transfluid, that on top of their bellies bumping each other works every time on him. Op at this point even wonders if there’s a point retracting his spike.

Finally when the babies are here Megatron gives birth to two twin chunky sparklings. Megs is glowing with pride and pretty sure he won. Elita gives birth to gorgeous triplets she’s super smug. Optimus finally finds out about their little breeding game, he’s not upset because it’s just so them. Megatron is so pissed he lost, he knew he could’ve fit more cum in his womb.

Best 2 out of 3?

aughhh you understood the assignment perfectly. Elita and Megatron would have an easy time seducing Optimus into their competitions, he's basically a melted puddle of heat when he has Megs on one side and Elita on the other, toying with his finials and rubbing his panels. You can't blame him for breeding them both <33 He's a good stud who knows how to treat mommies, after all.

Of course Elita wins, with three cute little sparklings hanging off of her, but Megatron insists that since his twins are big and chunky, he would've won if the competition was about size. Optimus is just happy to have five babies, and two wives that are just waiting for the right opportunity to get knocked up again <33

#valveplug #pregnancy mention #texty

35 notes · View notes

onaa-ohokthen · 5 months ago

Text

I'm tired you guys. Of COURSE it hurts to forcedly shove hard items into an unaroused cunt. Obviously for some people that means something is wrong, especially if the practitioner is careless, or if sexual activity while aroused (ie vagina is relaxed, cervix has moved up so isn't touched, natural lubrication is present although possibly amplified with artificial) also hurts. For me it doesn't, because there's nothing wrong with my actual body, it works as designed. But it shouldn't be downplayed that gyno exams hurts like a fucking bitch, and that the actual scrape hurts too (the idea that the cervix doesn't have pain receptors is entirely false.) we need to stop lying to people about that. Until they find a way to stop shoving speculum inside people and prying them open (lol like they would, we all know there's no money in making health care less demeaning for women), honesty is the best policy.

But hey at least it's not an transvaginal ultrasound. THAT shit is just straight up rape and if I have another situation where I have to undergo it I will happily choose death instead.

But like. Stop patronizing people because you have a high pain threshold.

1 note · View note

mortar-canyon · 2 years ago

Text

One of my favorite things to do with casual shipping is to make things as inconvenient as possible. This has resulted in me accidentally getting attached to joke ships - ie, Silvourget or Zorow - but it's also really fun with, like, platonic ships

So consider: platonic Shadally, with the express purpose of getting Maximilian to stop bitching about who Sally "should" marry. It starts as a petty way of telling her dad to fuck off and ends as a Black Arms medical revolution

Let's say, this is a mix of pre- and post-SGW. Maybe she and Sonic broke up at some point - on good terms, of course; they're close friends regardless and he still plays an active part in protecting the Acorn Kingdom - so now Sally is dating Nicole. The problem is, her dad is still a dick and cares more about the Acorn family line than his daughter's actual well-being, so he keeps pushing her to go find some nice, distinguished, non-hologram dude, bc she needs an heir and all that bullshit

Shadow, meanwhile, has just been introduced to the world of "people who get way too comfortable prying into celebrities' personal lives", as well as (bc the whole Eclipse thing made me very sad and they all deserve better) taking the crown as King of the Black Arms; he has no idea what he's doing, but now there's all these hurt, confused people with blood on their hands who have a free wireless connection into his brain, and he's doing his best to help them even though he didn't do well with social interaction before people could read his mind

Sonic hears them both talking about how bad everything sucks lately and gets the idea to set them up so they can solve eachother's problems. Sally's good at diplomacy, crisis management, leadership, and civic planning; Shadow is... Shadow. Famous, intimidating, and a marvel of modern science, give or take a few massive breaches of medical ethics. Plus, although people are still reasonably scared of the Black Arms, they're also aware that these aliens are incredibly strong and loyal to the end, so, allying themselves with a power like the Acorn Kingdom would do wonders for their reputation. It's a win-win! Max gets his respectable son-in-law, the Black Arms get a safe place to recover, and the Acorn Kingdom gets both a new army and a terrifying, unkillable Chaos-wielder to defend it.

This is all fine and dandy, right up until Max finds out that no heirs are going to come of this arrangement. Even if Shadow and Sally were genuinely interested in each other - which, hey, if you want to take it in a romantic direction, that path's still available, Mobian "pack" culture is very open to polyamory - Shadow is physically incapable of having a child. Like, genetically, instinctually, Ken Doll-y, it ain't happening... Unless, they open up a lab to sort of splice things together, like Gerald did back in the day but with less GUN meddling and/or demonic deals involved.

Which, as soon as that project is completed, means the staff can begin working on more important things, like figuring out how to undo some of the damage Black Doom did to the Black Arms' genome in the process of reshaping them into perfect, unquestioning cannon fodder. There's a ton of work to be done on setting up regulations for that project, largely because that's a lot of power for anyone to have over a population and they need to ensure this technology is used responsibly and with the Black Arms' active approval and consent, but... It can be done.

What about restoring their complex taste buds so they can once again tell the difference between food they like, food they hate, food that's just kinda mush but is good for them, and actual poison? Or, redirecting certain nutrients back to things like pigment production for the iridescent scales they used to have instead of just bulking them up with unreasonable amounts of muscle and plating? Maybe gradually rewiring their pain receptors so they can tell when they're hurt and ask for help again, rather than powering through because back in the day there was no help available? Hell, in the next few generations, they might not even have to deal with all that sleeper agent programming! That's a pretty big deal!

There is a lot that could go wrong, absolutely... But that's why Shadow's there, and why Sally is backing him up. If anyone even thinks about trying to use this against the Black Arms, or anyone else they think needs unwanted "alterations", they will have the entire goddamn Knothole Alliance on their ass. And the nice thing is, Shadow can't die, so even after a hundred years, when the rest of the squad has all been laid to rest, he will still be there to keep their goal alive.

All of that because Sally is the queen of malicious compliance.

#idk how to tag this. uhhhhh #archie sonic #shadally #platonic shadally #sally acorn #shadow the hedgehog #king shadow #echoes in the canyon txt

18 notes · View notes

astro-chan · 4 years ago

Text

WFC Trilogy - Character Reviews

(That no one asked for)

Optimus Prime

Pretends to listen to everyone's advice

jUsT hAvE fAiTh

Okay let's look for the allspark because I said so

*Yeets it off Cybertron an hour later*

Frustrates everyone

Including his own team

Simp

Elita

Exasperated mom

Lowkey tired of OP's shit

Give the gal a break

Bad bitch

Should be leader tbh

Bumblebee

3 edgy 5 me

Sassmaster

He knows a guy

'iTs NoT a PhAsE mOm'

The ugly one

Jetfire

Probably played basketball in HS

Told his boss to go suck it

Joined the other team as an excuse to murder his former colleages

Chaotic good

Ultra Magnus

Wants peace

(Fucking dies and has his body used as a weapon of war)

His decapitated head makes a nice ornamental table piece

Ratchet

Tired of everyone's shit

Has a decepticon bf

Do NOT upset his patients

Beautiful

(((WHERE IS HE)))

Wheeljack

'Pain in my A S S'

Wheeljack N O

What does he know about Perceptor's tight receptor?

D...did he just give Megatron a boob job?

Mirage

Now you see me now you don't

Wants to fight Ratchet's decepticon bf

ADHD

Prowl

Good cop

Not ACAB???

Almost gets his shit wrecked by fucking wind

Cog

Haha big gun go pew

Somehow survives having a big ass hole blown in his torso

Gets sucked out of a ship into the cold depths of space

Gets stabbed in the tit

Are you okay, my little cogchamp?

Arcee

Shows up outta nowhere as an accomplice in robbery

Lowkey wishes she stayed home

Her and bee have chaotic sibling vibes

Chromia

Moonracer but blue

Does not get dismembered

Will snipe your ass

Moonracer

Chromia but mint

Gets dismembered

Can't snipe your ass because she's dead

Red Alert

Didn't graduate med school for this shit

Somehow survives falling to his death

He's always alert....hehe....get it?....Cuz his name's Red Alert...and he's always...heh...alert

Impactor

Angery gay

Will fight you

Won't actually fight you because Ratchet would disapprove

Deserved better

Ironhide

Red

Thank you for flying ark airlines this is your captain speaking

Probably has no idea wtf is happening most of the time

Sideswipe

Hood tiddies

*points at butterfly* is this screentime?

Sideswipe character

Hound

Wait this guy was in the show???

Huh

Idk he did a thing?

He's green I guess

Alpha Trion

Proud single dad of three kids

Can't control his three kids

Get's murdered by one of his three kids

(That kid then went on to start a planetary war against the other two kids)

Bumblebee's sleep paralysis demon

Megatron

L I P S

Overlord is that u?

Handsome squidward vibes

Has giant self-portraits of him murdering autobots hung up around his crib

Angry at OP because he's shit at flirting with OP

Save the cybertronians...by mass murdering the cybertronians

Gets stabbed in the tit

Starscream

Puritan scum

Gets promoted and instantly climaxes

*breathes excitedly*

*pleased gasp*

Jetfire's bitch

Thundercracker

Starscreams #1 fanboy

Is shit at searching for Autobots

Skywarp

Starscreams #2 fanboy

Dies?!?!

RIP I guess

Soundwave

That guy on the radio

Shares a braincell with Shockwave

Lowkey wholesome

C00l d00d

Shockwave

Questionable morals

Even more questionable voice

Yeah. Science, bitch!

Bastard

Barricade

ACAB ACAB ACAB ACAB ACAB

GOLD FACE

Get's screamed at a lot

Skytread

Secretly doesn't condone Megatron's shit

Wants to be punched in the face

Does not want to be shot in the face

Spinister

Generic bad guy #1

Gets stabbed in the tit

Vortex is that u

Hotlink

Generic bad guy #2

Does not get stabbed in the tit

Skywarp is that u

Laserbeak

Birb

Sees all

Caw

Ravage

A good boy

STOP THROWING HIM AROUND

This is animal abuse I'm calling PETA

Soundblaster

Radical

He's gonna make you an offer you can't refuse

Soundwave's cooler cousin

Deeseus

ORDER IN THE COURT

Cut off 4 of it's 5 faces so it could get it's shit together

Still does not have it's shit together

Doubledealer

Lockdown WHOMS'T

Bitch better have my money

Gets posessed by his client

Skylinx

#deep

(How does he see???)

Wisdom dog 2.0

Ahaha that was the old me

Dude's just vibing in space

Scorponok

YOU PICKED THE WRONG HOUSE FOOL

Impressive vocabulary

Will insult you eloquently

(((Fr he's been through so much trauma; he lost his family, became the last of his kind, is probably suffering from PTSD and now two groups of strangers invade his home and start shooting at him. Homeboy has every right to be pissed off)))

Omega Supreme

Nuh uh I ain't getting involved

*gets involved 10 mins later*

Aight what did I miss?

Galvatron

The embodiment of the 'Who are you? / I'm you...but stronger' meme

Gets lit the fuck up

Nemesis Prime

*Glare*

Of course he only gets 2 seconds of screentime

#transformers #tf #maccadam #no one asked for this #no one absolutely no one #transformers wfc #war for cybertron #transformers war for cybertron #transformers war for cybertron trilogy #wfc trilogy #war for cybertron trilogy #wfc seige #wfc earthrise #transformers seige #transformers earthrise #tfp #tfa

123 notes · View notes

youngster-monster · 3 years ago

Text

The City v. Ahamkara

Prologue - Bloody and Raw

The way back is a blur. Cayde can’t tell if he’s moving through a dream or reality, if he’s moving or sitting still with the world flowing around him. It comes to him in disjointed snapshots, brief bursts of movement before everything freezes again like an old laggy monitor. Fire from the wreckage of the Prison; a gunshot; Petra’s voice, concerned, and his own, distant to his own ears, pantomiming humor even though he has no idea what words are leaving his mouth.

Through all of it the only tangible constant is a hand wrapped around his wrist. Razel, his brain supplies, insistent even as a part of him argues back, not quite. He thinks he can feel claws scratch lightly against the painted surface of his arm. It’s false, of course. He can’t feel input that sensitive usually and certainly not now, with half of his receptors shot to hell. Maybe his processor is making up for lost feedback with imagined ones. Not reality as much as what he expects reality to be like — new, and absurd, and scratchy like a bird perched on his arm and poking its tiny little bird-claws into the joint of his wrist to keep its balance.

Perhaps the pinprick of not-quite-pain is impossible but what isn’t, today?

He’s walking on his own two feet, although there’s a great deal more stumbling than walking involved: that’s one. He won’t call it a miracle but it’s a struggle to find a word that fits the impossible-made-possible just as well.

Sundance is dead. He forces himself to think the whole sentence, even though it hurts like a bitch in a deep part of himself he’d rather not look at. Better to have it hurt now than fester in the dark and poison him. He’s seen what that kind of grief does to guardians. There’s a good reason so few of them survive the initial loss of their Ghost. He never thought he would, himself: anything good enough to kill Sundance would surely get him, too.

But it didn’t. That’s another for the Impossible tally he’s keeping for himself.

Razel’s grip tightens slightly, protectively, as if he caught the tail-end of that thought. Here it is. The last item on the Impossible list, the one Cayde is even less keen to linger on. Sundance’s death is not an immediate, pressing matter. It’s done; there’s nothing else he can do but withstand it now. Whatever’s up with Razel is an ongoing issue and there’s nothing he wants more than to avoid thinking about it.

He’s unlikely to get any luck with that but a man can hope, yeah?

It takes an eternity to reach their ship, falling forward rather than walking until they’re in reach of a transmat and then wincing his way through the touch of an unfamiliar-familiar Ghost as Cubix transports them to the Queen of Hearts. The impact of his feet on the metal flooring makes a heavy, echoing sound. Razel doesn’t make one at all. He’s like a ghost himself, suddenly, taking twice as much space as usual with none of the flailing that should come with it.

That’s when it catches up to him in earnest — no more of that shell shocked avoidance shit. It must be something in the air, he muses, that settles too heavily on his mind until he buckles under it. Something about the quiet of his own ship, the distant sound of howling and crashing and chaos replaced with the gentle hum of an idle engine; something about the stars blinking cold and distant through the cockpit; something about the persistent rattling in his chest, where the universe twisted itself to fulfill Razel’s desire and still didn’t manage to fix the minutiae of his internal machinery. As if water-cooling is a concept beyond even paracausal miracles.

It’s all, suddenly, too much.

Cayde collapses into the pilot’s seat, clunking and creaking, all the air wheezing out of him like a sorry bagpipe. He feels his entire weight suddenly, every pound of metal and wires, in a way he can’t blame on the difference between the Coast and the artificial gravity aboard the ship. He feels his entire age, each and every single endless year of it, remembered or not. Fuck, but he’s too old for this.

And Razel still won’t stop touching him. Hasn’t ever since— ever since. Even now he has a hand on Cayde’s shoulder, fingertips tucked under the collar of his cloak to lay on the bare metal of his neck underneath.

It’s a comfort. It’s a threat. It makes Cayde’s skin crawl. He wants to jerk away from it. He wants to lean into it. He doesn’t know what he wants, or what he feels beyond confusion, exhaustion, and a bitter kind of relief — the exhausting feeling of having held a snake in your hands and trading the fear of being bitten for the venom.

He’s not used to feeling like that near Razel — one of his closest friends, someone he trusts.

“You okay?”

Stupidly, he expected Razel’s voice to sound different. It’s the same as always: a little higher-pitched than you’d expect, with that slight Awoken flanging to it. At least he’s always pinned the sound of it on Razel being an Awoken and, as such, a little bit weird, as is expected. Now he’s not so sure.

“I’m alive,” Cayde replies grimly. “Sundance is dead and my best friend—” he stumbles there, but what good is a Hunter who balks at a challenge? “Is a wish-granting space dragon in disguise, but I’m alive. Silver lining, right?”

Razel curls into himself, looking small and hurt. It’s hard to see the monster in him just then — even harder than before. He just looks like Razel, and Cayde hates seeing Razel like that — like he just got hit over the head and doesn’t know what to do about it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice winding into a white at the end.

All the fight goes out of Cayde at once. It’s not guilt; not quite. He’s too drained for guilt. But it’s a little bit close to it.

He lifts a hand and lets it fall heavily on Razel’s head, ruffling his hair. “You did what you could, buddy.”

The frown he gets in return is fierce, but no fiercer than seems normal for Razel. He’s quick to anger and even quicker to forget about it, and as dramatic as his moods may be they’re rarely destructive. At least not for the right people. Cabal are all out of luck on that front. Still there’s something in his eyes — a wild, unnatural sharpness to the familiar orange-gold glow that makes a previously unknown animal instinct in Cayde raise its hackles. Whatever happened in the Prison, whatever bolt broke open to release the creature hidden under his features, there’s no locking it back up.

It suits him, though. Perhaps it’s always been there, lurking under the surface, showing glimpses of itself through Razel’s weirdest habits. Perhaps Razel isn’t that different now from a day ago; there’s comfort in that.

After all, he broke open reality to save Cayde. That must mean something, right?

“I didn’t,” Razel says mulishly. “There has to be something more I could have done. I mean—”

He never finishes that sentence. Not that Cayde needs him to. He’s seen what Razel did do. There’s still blood flaking on his fingertips from when he wiped it off Razel’s face; there’s still a dent in his chest where a hit that crumpled his chest like a soda can should have killed him and didn’t. What else might an Ahamkara do if given the chance?

There, he said it. The damning word. It’s not as if there’s a point pussy-footing around it anymore.

“You did what you could,” Cayde repeats, giving Razel another headache-inducing pat from his half-numb arm. “And a damn sight better than what anybody else could have done for me in that situation, lemme tell you. You’re not a miracle worker.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Well— okay, maybe you are. But you’re about as qualified as I am to grant wishes, so no one’s about to blame you for botching it somewhat.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he catches Razel’s wince in the corner of his eyes, but that goes ignored as another matter occurs to Cayde.

They might not blame Razel for the botched resurrection — knowing what they do of the limit of Ahamkara abilities, and that’s very little, it’s hard to tell whether or not he could have done more. But they will blame him for everything else. Not the near death experience, no. But being an Ahamkara? Hiding it from the City, the Vanguard, even unknowingly? It would be a crime, if any of them had known it was possible enough to make a law punishing it. It will be a crime once they catch wind of it.

And Cayde is thoroughly weirded out by the whole thing, but he’s not about to let his best friend get locked up for having saved his life.

“I have a few questions,” he says, although he’s not sure he truly wants them answered. Unfortunately there won’t be another time for it. “But once we’re home— not a word of it. Capische?”

Razel nods hard enough to dislocate a vertebrae.

Satisfied, Cayde punches in the code for manual piloting and sets the ship on course for the City. They’ve got this.

It occurs to Cayde that they have not got this when Ikora comes knocking at their door two days later at five a.m.

At any other hour it would be nothing out of the usual. He likes to think they’re friends, the two of them, and although it’s usually Vanguard business that brings her to their front step she’s always welcome to drop by unnanounced. He’s been expecting her, anyway.

When Razel and him crawled back to the Tower, dirty and exhausted and shell shocked, she was there to greet them. She was the first one to see Cayde’s sorry state, to ask — in a reassuringly familiar kind but straight to the point manner — what had happened. She’s the one who told him to take a leave, before Zavala even got there to order him the same. It was only a matter of days before she came by to see how he’s doing and kick him out of any self-pitying hole he might have dug for himself in the meantime.

But that’s a visit one makes during the day, or in the evening when she manages to claw back some free time from her mercilessly tight schedule. Nothing good ever comes from a five a.m visit.

Cayde opens the door in his pjs, bare feet against the cold floorboard, to Ikora and a Guardian in full armor he doesn’t recognize. They’re holding a rifle against their chest, in that kind of parade rest that Titans naturally adopt when they’ve been told they won’t have to use it and they don’t entirely believe it.

He fell asleep not two hours ago, but any bleariness remaining from his dramatically shortened night disappears at that sight.

“Mornin’,” he says, hand clenching around the door. He could slam it in their face, but the grim set of Ikora’s mouth tells him they’re far beyond that point. He shouldn’t even have opened it.

Her voice, when she speaks up, is that of the Warlock Vanguard — all business.

“Holliday sent me your records.”

Blinking, Cayde tries to connect that information to the current situation. Holliday, the shipwright. Holliday who’s been working on fixing the Queen of Hearts with a fervor that suggests it’s the only thing she knows how to fix in this damned situation. Holliday—

Who would have had to access the ship’s records to know exactly what to fix. The kind of records that include any and all audio captured aboard in the last few days.

“Fuck,” he says plainly.

She gives him a compassionate look that only makes him feel bad, until it darts up — towards the rest of the apartment — and then he feels worse. The Titan’s grip tightens on their rifle. The faint creaking of their gloves is the only sound for a good long while.

Slowly so as to not startle them into action, Cayde turns his head to look behind his shoulder. Razel has frozen in place next to the couch, holding Admiral in his arms. The cat jumps out of his grasp and pads towards Cayde, rubbing against his legs. Razel just stands there, licking his lips as if wondering if he still has time to bolt back inside their room.

“Is everything okay?” He asks eventually. He looks directly at Ikora when he says it — always does, when he’s not sure what’s going on. She’s his Vanguard; his lighthouse.

“Razel,” she says. It’s not a greeting. It’s the beginning of a longer sentence — of something worse. “You stand accused of treason, perjury, and crimes against the City at large. You will be put into Vanguard custody and judged in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court—”

The rest turns into senseless muttering as electrical buzzing overtakes Cayde’s ears — the sound of some Light-forsaken processor going into overdrive in an effort to keep him from hyperventilating. The Titan shoulders their way past him, marches to a still immobile Razel and snaps a set of handcuffs around his wrists. There’s a burst of light as they close; Cubix materializes next to him, the first Cayde has seen of him since they left the Shattered Coast. He’s been keeping his distance to make it easier on him, Cayde thinks dumbly, that small, idiotic kindness the only thing he can focus on at the moment.

Cubix’s voice has gone shrill with worry. “You can’t do this! Ikora—”

She shakes her head, her face set in a stern expression to cover any deeper feeling she may harbor. She’s a professional; Cayde doesn’t have it in himself to admire that, right now. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Cubix, I’ll have to ask you to come with me. Alone.”

Reluctantly, he does, flying up to her. The Titan pulls Razel aside as he floats past, and they put themselves between him and Cayde when they march him past. As if they’re afraid allowing him to touch either of them would make him explode out of his restraints somehow. As it is, he remains meek as anything as he shuffles after them. It’s an incredible sight: Razel with his hair down and messy like a bird’s nest from an uneasy sleep, dressed in nothing more than a shirt — Cayde’s — his underwear — pink — and a single sock — it has a hole at the big toe — being led away in handcuffs by a Titan twice as large as he is who keeps a tight grip on his arm as if he’s liable to eat them.

But he doesn’t, and the door closes on them with a soft click and one last apologetic look from Ikora. Cayde is left behind, in a dark apartment, empty save for himself and the loud meowing of his cat in the kitchen and the gnawing impression that none of this would have happened if he wasn’t such a gigantic idiot.

Somewhere, the sun rises.

He doesn’t see it.

[Read ch. 2 on AO3]

#writing #destiny 2 #cayde-6 #destiny oc #my ocs #razel #bday gift for baronetcoins!!#anyway this is the only part of it that is readable on tumblr #everything else is heavy on the html so. all ao3

2 notes · View notes

sapphicwhump · 3 years ago

Text

Deception of Luna

Fandoms: Destiny, Destiny 2 Tropes: F/M, trauma recovery, heavy angst, light fluff, creepy whumper, cosmic horror elements, whumpee/caretaker intimacy TWs: flashback, explicit noncon, implied death of loved ones, implied misogyny

Read on AO3

Lich-5 considers herself to be quite lucky. At least with her assignments on Luna; not so much with her loot. She speeds across the lunar surface on her Sparrow towards Archer’s Line, having just received a bounty to clear out the Fallen there. There are three of the usual crimson phantoms en route this time; each one cowers and screams in terror as her Sparrow plows by. To her, these nightmares are just nameless red silhouettes that occasionally make creepy noises; none of them are the slightest bit recognizable. The larger ones, the ones that appear as long-dead enemies rather than Guardians, have names she can recognize from her historical studies, but nothing more than that. Despite her own experience, Lich knows that most of her fellows don’t see them that way.

The Pyramid of Luna is a nasty piece of work, to say the least. She would call it sadistic, but it would be improper of her to anthropomorphize such an alien being. The nightmares it spawns are drawn directly from the Guardians’ most painful losses; vanquished nemeses, outlived mentors, lost loves, and a myriad of others now walk again on Luna. In every case, their passing had left wounds on the people they left behind, and now the Pyramid has made those wounds fresh again.

The worst part, Lich thinks, is that doing so offers it no tactical advantage. The Pyramid doesn’t need to crush Guardians’ morale; it could crush them all very literally if it so chose. This thing’s kind had caused the Great Collapse of humanity’s golden age; surely the Last City of today would be no trouble for it to exterminate. The only thing keeping them all alive is this Pyramid’s continued desire to bide its time. And in that time, it’s chosen to reopen their old wounds because it’s fun.

The reason Lich-5 considers herself lucky is because she doesn’t have many wounds that can be reopened. She'd been resurrected just after the Red War, into a world struggling to recuperate, to make some amount of sense out of the tremendous loss. Her roommate Windy isn’t a particularly old Guardian by any means, only a few years her senior, but that still puts his resurrection date solidly before the War. She doesn’t pry him about it, but she’s aware that the majority of people he knew had been permanently Returned To Light by the forces of Dominus Ghaul. Windy avoids assignments on Luna like the plague, as do many of her elder acquaintances. She’s met Guardians who were resurrected in the Dark Age, now hundreds of years old, who have pushed on through every defeat humanity has ever faced since the Collapse. Lich herself recently turned three.

Will she live to be hundreds of years old? If she does, how much will she lose in that time?

She’s coming up on Archer’s Line now. There’s already some Guardian activity here; in the distance, she can pick out the dull gray bulk of a male Titan’s armor against the background of lunar dust. Ignoring his presence, she drives into the old K1 Logistics facility and gets to work.

Clearing the facility takes under ten minutes. She emerges from the front entrance with her armored Warlock’s robe dotted with scuffs and splattered with Fallen Ether. Her bounty objectives aren’t quite complete yet; there are still a few Fallen skittering around the Lunar surface that’ll have to be dealt with. She’d think that life-or-death combat would be too stressful to become boring, but when that death isn’t much more than a temporary (if painful) setback, the repetitiveness of it can get a bit dull.

Just gotta get it done, then I can relax. The rewards from these last few bounties should be just enough to afford that fancy new armor set she’s been working towards, and then she won’t have much to do until the next big crisis inevitably hits the Sol system. She’s already thinking of a few new science projects she could start work on during her extended down time; monotonous work like this does little to satiate her burning curiosity.

The Titan she saw earlier seems to be approaching the K1 facility now. He’s welcome to loot the place if he wants; she only went in to get her bounties done. It’s nice to see another Guardian out here; the presence of an ally makes her feel slightly less alone in this gray hellscape, even if they don’t interact.

The boxy silhouette of his armor strikes her as oddly familiar. It’s possible that she’s seen him somewhere else before; there aren’t an unlimited number of Guardians in Sol, and Lich has met quite a lot of them.

Wait a minute—

Recognition shoots through her neural network like arc lightning. Instantly, her every piston is tense, all sensors on high alert. It’s him. Why does he have to be here?

She takes it back. Having another Guardian here isn’t nice at all, not when it’s him in particular . Lich quickly ducks back into the empty facility, taking cover from the imminent danger behind one of the large storage containers strewn about. She needs to be in a place where he isn’t in her line of sight.

Maybe she isn’t so lucky. Of course the phantoms wouldn’t reopen old wounds, only for another Guardian to do it instead. Taking stock of her emotional state, she abruptly realizes how much she’s shaking. She forcibly steels herself, struggling to regain her composure while cursing her own weakness. Simply seeing a Titan, even if it’s him, should not frighten her to the point where she’s struggling to even function.

Lich is ashamed to admit to herself how much sway he still holds over her mental state. His existence is a disgusting muck polluting the back of her mind; just being reminded of him feels like wading through a stagnant pit of human sewage, from which she can never truly escape because it’s in her head. Thinking about it more only makes it worse, causes her to sink deeper. She can forget him, at least temporarily, but then eventually something random always jogs her memory and she'll be back, trapped again in that pit of sewage.

She considers abandoning her objectives and transmatting back to her jumpship, still safely parked at the landing zone. But it’s this part of Luna that needs to be cleared of Fallen, and that fancy new armor set won’t be on sale forever, and she really shouldn’t be so pathetically weak to let this get to her. No, she’ll stay, to earn her extended down time if nothing else. She just needs to calm down and wait here until he—

“Oh hey, Lich. Long time no see.”

If Lich had a heart, it would have stopped beating at that exact second. His voice, just his fucking voice, almost throws her back there all by itself. He’s so insufferably casual with his greeting, like she’s just any other acquaintance to him.

“Hey. You mind leaving me alone?”

“Woah, relax. I’m just finishing up these bounties.” Condescension drips off of his words like spoiled milk.

“Yeah, well, please stay away from me while you do that.”

His tone sours, sounding almost disappointed. “Well you’re being awfully frigid.”

“Of course I fucking am!” Lich fumes, rage momentarily cutting through her fear. “What did you expect, that I’d be nice to you!?”

The Titan pauses. “Well… yeah, kinda. I at least didn’t expect to be jilted like this.”

For a brief moment, Lich sees red. Her trembling has elevated to a truly intolerable level, and she’s currently about five seconds away from drawing her Dawnblade on this man. She knows that getting violent with him would almost certainly end poorly for her, though. With great effort, she puts together a facade of something resembling calmness.

“Look… I think I’ve got a pretty good reason for not wanting to see you. Please leave, and never try to interact with me again. I know I’m never gonna get justice, so I just want to move past this and get back as close to normal as possible. You’re making it rather difficult to do that right now.”

“Justice?" He cocks his helmet to the side in what looks like disbelief. As if he has any right to act surprised by any of this. She can practically feel him rolling his eyes at her underneath his blank faceplate, and it makes her synthetic stomach turn. “Fine, fine. If you wanna be like that, it’s not my problem.”

He proceeds deeper into the K1 halls, finally giving Lich a reprieve from his vile presence. She turns to leave in the opposite direction, but stops short when she catches the Titan muttering a final insult under his breath.

“Fuckin’ melodramatic bitch.”

She whirls on him. “Fuck you, asshole!” she spits over her shoulder, still heading for the facility’s exit. “If I ever see you again, it’ll be too soon!”

The Titan is mercifully quiet. Lich is almost at the door; just a few more Fallen slain, and she’ll be able to go home and do her best to forget that she ever saw him again.

“No, fuck you.”

Lich barely registers the Titan’s words in her audio receptors, and she doesn’t notice the suppressor grenade roll between her legs until it’s too late.

————————————

Windy’s day has been restful, to say the least. He lays sprawled out on the couch of his and Lich’s shared apartment, his usual combat armor doffed in favor of boxers and a tank top, lackadaisically swiping through the datapad in his hand. On one tab is the sidearm section of Omolon’s digital storefront; on another is a gallery of images displaying a nude Awoken. He lifts his can of alcoholic liquid from the coffee table and pours the last of it down his throat, sighing in satisfaction. It’s kinda nice to stay home for once while Lich goes out to grind away at bounties.

Fuck, he needed a day like this. He’s been seeing less than his fair share of action recently, but continuously dodging Vanguard assignments on Luna has been anxiety-inducing enough on its own. After his first visit, he vowed to make every effort he possibly could to never return. The Vanguard had assigned him a strike against the Hive on Luna today, and so he had to call in one of his favors for a friend to take his place in the fireteam, hence his current position at home while Lich is out and about.

An Incoming Communication notification buzzes at the top of his screen, and he quickly closes the pornography tab before answering. It’s from Phylactery. That’s odd; Lich’s Ghost hardly ever lets themself be seen, and speaks even less. If Lich had a message for him, she’d give it herself.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

The Ghost doesn’t waste any time on pleasantries. “Lich needs immediate evac from K1 Logistics on Luna.”

Windy instantly bolts up from his slouched position. “Wait, what’s going on? Can she transmat out?”

Phylactery is doing their best to keep their tone clipped and curt as usual, but Windy still picks up on the desperate way they hurry over their words. “No, she’s currently catatonic. We’re stuck here until someone can provide an evac.”

“Catatonic?" Windy balks. “What the hell happened down there?”

The Ghost’s distress is evident. “I’m not quite sure. Lich saw something; I think we were attacked, but she still isn’t cognizant enough to give me the details. I felt something suppress our Light. I was knocked unconscious, and Lich… she’s not recovering. We need you here as soon as possible.”

Fear grips Windy’s gut. Suppressed Light means that an RTL is on the table. He’s got enough dead friends walking around on Luna without Lich joining that long list.

“It’ll take me awhile to get there; can you call any nearby Guardians for backup?”

Windy can detect a wince in Phylactery’s tone. “No, this… isn’t the kind of thing that a random stranger would be able to help with. Might make matters worse, even.” the Ghost quietly speculates to themself. “What she really needs right now is someone she trusts.”

Well that’s cryptic. He knows he’s not getting the full picture of events, and stumbling blindly into danger has always been more of Lich’s thing than his. He doesn’t exactly have time to press the Ghost further, though.

“Already on my way. Just gimme like twenty minutes to get there.”

“Right, thank you.” Phylactery seems relieved to no longer be discussing it.

Windy is already in motion as he hangs up the call. He drops the datapad on the cushion beside him, then vaults over the back of the couch in his usual manner. He doesn’t bother taking the time to change out of his boxers and tank top before exiting the apartment; he’ll don his armor in his jumpship. The residents of this housing block have seen far weirder things than his underwear, anyways.

Fuck. On Luna. Guess I won’t be able to avoid it after all. Dread constricts around his gut like a snake as he approaches the Tower’s hangar, a sensation that he knows won’t dissipate until he and Lich are safely back on Earth. For now, he tries to shove it down as best he can. His current priority is making sure that his roommate doesn’t get RTL’d; once she’s safe, he can go drown his worries at the nearest bar and put this all behind him. He distracts himself by planning out the route he’ll take there, what drinks he’ll order, who he might meet up with...

As he’s exiting the Earth’s atmosphere, Windy briefly speculates that maybe finding a therapist would be a better use of his time than just getting drunk again, before he blasts off at near-light speed for Luna.

————————————

Lich-5 awakens to the sensation of an immense weight on top of her, as if she’s trapped underneath a boulder. She’s laying stomach-down on the couch where she fell asleep, being pressed down into the cushions by the heavy object above her. She’s in an apartment typical of one of the Last City’s massive housing blocks, although not the one she shares with Windy. Night has long since fallen outside, casting the living room in darkness. What little illumination remains bathes everything in an odd vermillion.

The Titan’s apartment is small, but his couch provided an adequate place to crash for the night after a particularly wild bar crawl. Lich can’t get drunk, but flying her jumpship home while exhausted would be just as dangerous. When she proposed the idea of crashing at a nearby friend’s place, one particular Titan was eager to offer. He’s new to her group of drinking buddies, and so it struck Lich as unusual that he would so readily invite her over. Once at his apartment, she figured out his reason pretty quickly.

Tucked away in her backpack at the foot of the couch, Phylactery sleeps soundly, enjoying a well-earned rest after a long day’s grind. Lich is currently not being afforded that same rest. The weight on top of her shifts around erratically, fiddling with something, trying to get it open. She’s nearly driven to panic, but her fear keeps her frozen in place. Just pretend you’re still asleep, her mind unhelpfully provides. Play dead, and soon the predator will go away.

The predator does not go away. She feels a sudden spike of pain, and the irregular shifting of the weight quickly becomes paced and rhythmic.

Lich can’t pinpoint when or how her view shifts, but at some point she finds that she’s above herself—literally. She’s watching the scene unfold from a third-person perspective, her disembodied consciousness hanging a meter in the air over her incapacitated frame. She can’t compel herself to move a single piston or servo, her physical form refusing to comply with her immobilized will.

Long ago, in a time before she could remember, Lich had had nightmares in which she was pursued by an extreme danger, only to find her limbs paralyzed and unresponsive to her attempts to flee. This is a lot like that, only it’s not a nightmare; this is real life and the danger is directly on top of her. There is no chance to flee; she’s already been caught.

The Titan’s head, now free of its helmet, rests on the couch next to hers. Despite the warmth of his breath, a chill runs through Lich’s system. She can feel his wet lips graze against her artificial skull as he begins to speak.

“The Light does not hold its wielders to any standard of morality.” he whispers into the side of her head, where the ear would be if she were human. There’s a horrible wrongness in his tone, like multiple beings trying to speak through one mouth. “In the Dark Age, the Warlords inflicted terrible violence upon the innocent, just as he inflicted violence upon you.”

The motion gradually escalates in speed and magnitude, pressing Lich further down into the couch cushions with an oscillating rhythm. Her pain briefly increases as the pace picks up, but it quickly turns dull, and a sensation of warmth grows in its place as her own body turns against her. He’s speaking again, those wet lips and warm breath directly on her audio receptor. He doesn’t pause for air as he produces the words, regardless of his physical exertion.

“In Light, there is only pain.”

There’s a groan from above her, and the weight slumps, ceasing its rhythm. Lich silently breathes a sigh of relief, although she’s still far too overwhelmed with disgust to really be relieved by any of this. She knows on some level that it’s only been minutes, but her dilated sense of time has stretched the ordeal into what felt like hours.

The floorboards creak next to her, and the Titan exits the small living room, although Lich still remains effectively paralyzed. A heavy exhaustion has seeped into her chassis, now even worse than the one she was trying to cure by crashing here. Still unable to will herself to move, it isn’t long before unconsciousness claims her again.

————————————

Windy summons his Sparrow within the second he touches down on Luna. His stomach churns as he exits his jumpship, doing his best to keep his eyes on the ground and away from the lifeless red Guardians hanging motionless over the landing zone. The Pyramid must know this is a center of Guardian activity, and so the nightmares swarm here like some kind of macabre flock.

He passes three more of the crimson phantoms on his way to the dot Phylactery marked on his heads-up display. He gives each of them as wide of a berth as he reasonably can, trying to keep them in his periphery while still steering the vehicle on course. If he looks at one too closely, there's a decent chance he’ll recognize it. He fails to give the third one enough room, and winces under his helmet as it wails at him for help in a voice he’s pretty sure he can put a name to.

Phylactery’s coordinates lead him to the K1 facility at the far end of Archer’s Line. A short distance in, he finds his roommate’s distinctive hive-bone helmet lying discarded to one side. It’s not until he proceeds down a hallway and searches behind a storage container that he finds the Warlock it belongs to. She doesn’t appear to be in any immediate physical danger, although he wouldn’t think it purely by her posture; she’s curled up in a fetal position on the floor, trembling violently, the shutters over her optics squeezed as tight as they’ll go.

One of the red phantoms looms over her cowering form. This one is clearly a Titan, and Windy can’t restrain his relieved exhale when he fails to recognize it. It does not turn to acknowledge him as he enters, keeping its blank gaze fixed on the ball of a Warlock curled behind the box.

It takes Windy a moment to realize that Lich is crying. Her digital optics don’t feature tear ducts, but the anguish in her soft vocalizations is unmistakable. It’s a sound that he doesn’t hear often, but still far more than he’d like.

Windy steps straight through the phantom towards his friend, passing through it as if it’s not even there. The spectral Titan’s body offers no resistance and induces no sensation. The thing recoils in a mimicry of pain, then disperses into maroon wisps as if it were mist. The instant it vanishes completely, her optics fly open.

The first thing that Lich sees is Windy leaned over her, right where he had stood, offering her a hand.

"W-windy?" She accepts the hand graciously, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Phylactery told me you needed an evac.” The somber concern in his tone catches her by surprise, and she briefly feels a pang of guilt for causing him to worry this much.

Lich emits a single humorless laugh, barely holding in a sob behind it. “Yeah. You could say that.” She’ll have to thank her Ghost for their forethought later. She takes a moment to collect herself, brushing the lunar dust off her robes and trying in vain to suppress her shivering.

“You didn’t have to come for me.” she tells him frankly, refusing to meet his sympathetic gaze. “I know how much you hate this place.”

“Lich, it’s fine. There is nothing in all of Sol that could make me leave you behind.”

For a moment, Lich looks like she’s about to cry again, before she closes the distance between their bodies and embraces Windy in a tight hug. He tentatively returns the gesture, protectively wrapping his arms around her back, and her hold on his torso quickly turns into a death grip. She’s no longer crying, but he takes careful note of the way she still shivers and shakes in his embrace.

Lich buries her face in the crook of his neck, hiding away from the world in the rough fabric of his Hunter cloak. Her chemical receptors flood with the particles that cling to the garment; it smells like his shampoo and sweat and the dust of a hundred worlds, all composing into a unique odor that is very distinctly Windy. His smell is grounding, bringing her attention back to the here and now.

“So, did the nightmares get to you?” he asks, tracing his fingers over the top of her fiberglass cranium in the way he knows she likes. He immediately withdraws his hand when she unexpectedly flinches away from the gentle contact. “I thought you hadn’t lost anyone.”

Lich shakes her head gently against his cloak. “I, uh… I saw him again.”

Windy’s blood freezes. Then the phantom Titan was—

“Oh shit, Lich, I’m so sorry.” He suddenly feels very conscious of the way he’s holding her.

Windy can’t forget the morning that Lich had nearly collapsed into their apartment, utterly disheveled after a long night out, and he had to delicately explain to her that sex is not a required payment for a male friend lending you his couch to crash on. Working through that day had been a painful experience for them both, although Windy has no illusions about which of them had it worse. Despite his seniority as a Guardian, dealing with this particular type of violence was entirely outside of his expertise. To his knowledge, aside from him and Phylactery, she’s never told another soul of what happened that night.

“This fucking Pyramid.” he spits out venomously, staring out at the lunar expanse beyond the facility. That fucking Titan. Hate festers within his ribcage like rot. At the time, he’d had half a mind to bust down the Titan’s front door with his Golden Gun in hand, ready to vaporize both him and his Ghost. But Lich needed him more than that Titan needed a bullet, and so the obligation to support her had stayed his hand.

With the Pyramid, though, it’s so much worse. Even though he couldn’t act on his impulse against the Titan, at least there had been some degree of hope there. With how utterly infinitesimal he is compared to the Pyramid’s world-ending might, he doesn’t even get the luxury of a revenge fantasy.

"It was like—" Lich begins to speak, but stops short as her chassis is taken by a violent shiver. Windy can almost feel the intensity of the chill that runs through her. "Like being there all over again."

His attention snaps back to her, and all the hate goes cold. His rage is not what Lich needs right now. Staying angry is impossible when she’s still so visibly distressed. He mentally reminds himself that this is her pain, not his; she’s the one who gets to have the revenge fantasy, if she so chooses.

“Yeah. I... get what that’s like. It sucks, but the suck is ultimately temporary. You’ll get through this.”

The pair are silent for a moment as Lich’s mind swims. She really wishes she could take his words to heart, but the memory of him freshly burned into her mind is all she can focus on. She tries to clear her thoughts by concentrating on the steady rise and fall of Windy’s chest, while her own remains eternally still. She reminds herself of what’s real: he’s here, holding her in his arms, and soon they’ll be home safe. The danger has long since passed, and was never even here in the first place.

“I feel disgusting.” Lich voices the thought aloud, her gaze remaining firmly downcast. “I’ve felt disgusting since that night. I don’t know if it’s ever gonna go away.”

Windy winces, sucking in a quiet breath through his teeth. "That… I lack experience with. But, from the experience I do have, I can tell you that it’s not true." Now he’s the one to strengthen the embrace. Through the heavy weave of her robes, he soothingly runs a hand up and down her mechanical spine, and is relieved when she relaxes into the touch rather than flinching away. "You’re smart, and beautiful, and brave, and you can be really really annoying when you want to be, but I still care about you. You’re the furthest thing from disgusting that I can imagine. What he did doesn’t make you any lesser as a person; you’re still the same Lich I’ve always known.”

Lich tries to form a response, but words fail her, immediately getting caught in the knot that’s formed behind her speakers. She settles for simply holding Windy close, savoring the feeling of their arms wrapped around each other. Some part of her is still trapped in that sewage pit, but it’s further away now, distanced from her by the closeness to him. For the briefest moment, she believes with absolute certainty that everything he said is true, and almost manages to clamber her way out.

“Y’know, if Guardians really are amoral, you’re a pretty good counterexample.”

“Hm?” He turns his head towards hers with a raised brow.

“Ah, nevermind. Symmetrist ramblings.” Windy can’t help but notice another chill run through her.

It’s a long while before Lich feels stable enough on her own to leave his arms. When she finally begins to move away, he retracts his protective embrace, allowing her to separate from him without resistance.

"You ready to head home now? I'll ride with you to the landing zone and fly us back to Earth. We can pick up your jumpship later."

Lich releases an extended sigh, exhaling her residual tension into the thin lunar atmosphere. “Sure. Thanks for all this, by the way. I… needed to hear that.”

He gives her a warm, relieved smile. “Don’t mention it.”

Lich finally escapes from K1 Logistics with her hand firmly in Windy’s. While the Sparrow is intended to be a single-occupancy vehicle, that’s never stopped particularly affectionate Guardians from riding them two at a time. Lich and Windy share the single seat, with her clinging to his back, holding on with her arms wrapped around his midsection.

The ride back to the landing zone is short, but both Guardians savor it. The red phantoms don’t cause either of them much distress on their return trip. Holding each other close, the nightmares seem just a little bit fainter.

#my writing #whump #lady whump #female whumpee #tw noncon #lich-5 and windy

1 note · View note

365days365movies · 4 years ago

Text

January 4, 2021: First Blood (1982) (Part II)

Quick Recap before we go on. Oh, and SPOILERS right up top!

John Rambo (Sylvester Stallone) is a Vietnam vet wandering through Washington State, until coming upon the town of Hope, run by the Sheriff Will Teasle (Brian Dennehy).

Sheriff Will Teasle is an absolute dick who arrests Rambo for no real reason; just for being a “drifter.” His police force, which includes the sadistic Galt (Jack Starrett) and sympathetic Mitch (David Caruso, AKA Horatio Caine from CSI: Miami), beats John Rambo, and post-2020 me is UNCOMFORTABLE!!!!!!!

Rambo has Vietnam flashbacks (like you do) and escapes the prison, pursued by the obsessive and dickish Sheriff and his equally dickish men (except for Horatio, maybe).

Galt tries to shoot Rambo, and karma bitch-slaps him RIGHT in the face, holy shit. He dies, and Rambo is blamed and shot at, escaping into the forest.

OK?

OK. On with the recap!

At this point, all of Rambo’s actions are in self-defense. In truth, it’s been self-defense since the beginning. However, he does kill two dogs, so...yeah, can’t really justify that. That sucks. The dog’s handler gets shot by Rambo, who now has a gun, and we also see that Galt’s certified sociopathy has leaked into everybody else but Horatio upon his death, including the dog guy, who tells his dogs to straight up kill Rambo. But, as previously stated...that’s not what happens.

At this point, I should introduce the amemedala.

The amemedala is a portion of the mesencephalon (or midbrain) discovered in the brains of millennials and younger individuals, recently discovered, named, and made up by yours truly. This area, attached to the thalamus, acts as a relay center between the cerebrum and the various sensory receptors of the body, similar to the function of the thalamus. However, while the thalamus governs the broad relay of senses to the appropriate areas of the brain for analysis, the amemedala relays appropriate sensory signals to the frontal lobes, where catalogs of shared sociological trends, or memes, are housed. This relay and association generates connections between extrenal stimuli, and entries in the meme catalog of the frontal lobes. While this is technically an autonomic process, it can be suppressed with enough willpower.

Why am I ringing this up in the middle of First Blood? Because EVERY. SINGLE. CELL of my brain is working to suppress the amemedala right now. Why? BECAUSE OF THE LORAX, AND FOR WHOM HE SPEAKS.

Is it an outdated meme? Very much so. BUT I CANNOT GET IT OUT OF MY GODDAMN HEAD AS I WATCH THIS MOVIE.

OK. That is now out of my system. Anyway, Rambo continues to speak for the trees, which is understandably starting to spook the smalltown cops. This leads to the VERY surprising moment where a camouflaged Rambo appears OUT OF NOWHERE and stabs Horatio in the goddamn leg! Like, wow, he was invisible! I had to rewind the film to see where he was. This is tense...and awesome, not gonna lie. This is awesome.

And then, he gets another cop by JUMPING FROM A TREE. Well, a tree stump, BUT STILL. After he takes him out, he stands in plain sight in front of an approaching cop. That cop, subscribing once again to the shoot-first-ask-questions-later policy, fires. And I SWEAR, Rambo is FASTER THAN THOSE SPEEDING BULLETS, as he dodges out of the way, and the bullets HIT THE COP HE JUST TOOK OUT!

And then, when I didn’t think this could get any more intense, that cop triggers a booby trap, and A STICK WITH WOODEN SPIKES GOES THROUGH THIS MAN’S LEGS, AND HE’S SPEARED LIKE A KEBAB OH MY GOD

The asshole sheriff runs to the NEW set of panicked screams, and his compatriot is just Batman-ed away by Rambo. It’s just the sheriff, now. The storm is building, and the forest is getting darker. The sheriff frees leg-spike cop, and goes to find the other cop, who’s been PINNED TO A TREE LIKE A BUTTERFLY IN A DISPLAY CASE. See, look!

HOLY SHIT IT’S RAMBO WITH A KNIFE IN THE FOREST. He pins the sheriff up to a tree, then with some legitimately badass lines, threatens with the sheriff with “a war [he] wouldn’t believe,” and telling him to make like Elsa and…

I love this sequence. It is the most intense, crazy, holy shit sequence I’ve seen so far this month. Wow. I understand why people talk about this movie. Man, that was a hell of a ride! Good movie, though. All right, so, time for the final sco-

Oh. Oh, my God. I’m only HALFWAY INTO THE MOVIE?

...Wow. OK, then.

We now meet Colonel Sam Trautman, Rambo’s commander in the Green Berets. He’s come to “get his boy.” He says that he came to rescue the Sheriff’s dumb ass from Rambo, rather than the other way around. And the Sheriff is...an idiot. He’s an ass, he’s a maniac, and he’s a stubborn idiot. Even after learning that Rambo is the best, he’s unwilling to back down, the dummkopf.

Rambo kills a wild boar in the woods, which makes no sense for Washington State, but whatever, sure. Anyway, they try to get the colonel to lure Rambo out, even though that’s obviously gonna make his PTSD, just...SO much worse. Especially as he starts using Vietnam parlance in contacting him. Not gonna end well, guys. But it’s then that we learn that Rambo is now the last surviving member of his unit, contributing to his trauma. Rambo’s also been trying to get in contact with the Colonel, winding up here because he has no place to go. He says that there are no friendly civilians, and the trouble’s been caused by that “king-shit” cop. I will be using this term from now on.

Wow. Damn. Hell of a reason for that title. And I think I love this movie. Seriously, I’m having a good time.

King-Shit Cop keeps going ahead with his absolute idiocy, despite all warnings to the contrary. So, a bunch of troops now converge upon Rambo’s place, but he naturally opens fire on them, without killing a single person. In fact, he hasn’t killed anyone this whole movie, and they make a point of saying that he’s been holding back the whole time. So, they decide to use the next, most logical course of action. They FIRE A ROCKET AT HIM.

Afterwards, the Colonel and King Shit Cop catch up at a bar, where the latter exposes his full sociopathy, commenting that he just wanted to kill Rambo. This is opposed to the Colonel, who doesn’t really know what he’d do if Rambo survived.

Which, of course, he did. C’mon, you think a little military-grade propelled explosive is gonna kill John Rambo? Nah. He’s the best there ever was, and he’s gonna prove it now. He jumps into a military vehicle holding an M-60, and hijacks it. Doesn’t take long for the news to break that Rambo’s still kicking, and he’s quickly intercepted by King Shit Cop, who JUST. DOESN’T. KNOW. WHEN. TO QUIT. And I’d admire his tenacity if he wasn’t SUCH AN ASSHOLE.

The cops try to run Rambo and the truck of the road, and he plays the UNO Reverse Card on them instead. And I’m pretty sure at this point…

...that old Johnny boy’s just killed some cops. So, yeah, now there’s a bigger problem. He powers through the State Police blockade like it was a banner blocking a football team, stops at a gas station, grabs the gun from the car, and LIGHTS ALL OF THAT SHIT ON FIRE! Destroying the livelihood of an individual who had nothing to do with this.

Yeah, Rambo’s starting to turn from innocent acting in self-defense to public menace REAL quick. And yeah, it’s King Shit Cop’s fault entirely...but, yeah, Johnny needs some help, because he’s losing the train at this point. But, not to be outdone, King Shit Cop is also beginning to lose it, and it’s definitely beginning to seem like only one of them is going to come out of this alive. And the Colonel tries to give him an out, but King Shit Cop’s prepared to go down with the ship that he blew a hole in in the first place. Like an asshole.

But here we go, the finale. John Rambo vs. King Shit Cop (whose name, by the way, is Will Teasle. I just like Rambo’s name for him better). KSC’s on the roof, Rambo’s on the street. Rambo causes more property damage, possibly because banks also give him PTSD (I joke, but PTSD is no laughing matter, John clearly needs help), and then finds his way to a store that has just all of the ammo a psychologically-damaged Vietnam War veteran on a revenge quest could ever need.

And then he BLOWS. THAT. SHIT. UP.

And he does this...ALL of this...just to lure KSC out of hiding. This man DESTROYS A TOWN because this idiot, sociopathic, unhinged, King Shit Cop, won’t just STAND. THE FUCK. DOWN ALREADY.

Rambo enters the police station, where KSC is on the roof. And, like the Colonel and the rest of us guessed, KSC gets shot in the process. And as Rambo stands over KSC, the Colonel finally shows up and does what literally everybody else should have done.

Talk. He just...talks to Rambo. He talks to this mentally ill man, and that mentally ill man responds, espousing his pure anger at the war, the public, protesters, work, the country, the town, himself...everyone. And goddamn, is that shit palpable.

youtube

This man can no longer fit in the world that he was forced to leave, and forced to return to. This poor, poor, poor man. It hurts. And it sucks. And he pours his heart out to the Colonel, and to us, and...you feel it. You feel his trauma, you feel his pain. You feel the aftermath of war. And it’s been seven years at this point for the Colonel, but no time for John. Not Rambo. John. And it’s just...never over.

Damn. Goddamn.

This...this is one hell of a good movie. And not just a good action movie, either. A damn good movie.

And that’s it. That’s First Blood.

9 notes · View notes

amethystunarmed · 5 years ago

Text

Will Set You Free

Relationships: Dabi/Hawks

Warnings: Manga Spoilers, Referenced Child Abuse

Word Count: 3604

Part of the Truth Series Part 1 Part 3

AO3 Link

~~~

Dabi takes Hawks to the League. But will he be allowed to stay?

~~~

Hawks had been to the Paranormal Liberation Front’s headquarters numerous times at this point. He’d helped Toga decide between fabrics for the curtains for her room, discussed furniture layouts in the common room with Mr. Compress, had witnessed Twice wake Dabi from a nap and cause him to melt a handprint into the couch. Once, when Dabi had called him in at some god-awful hour in the morning, Hawks had nearly tripped over Spinner crouched on the floor playing Grand Theft Auto. He knew that the League lived here, had made this place their home.

Still, the normalcy of it still surprises him. Everytime he opens the door, he expects the couches and cushions to have been replaced by torture devices and chandeliers of bones. He always expects their villain lair to look, well, villainous. And every time, he is wrong.

Toga and Twice are relaxing together on the couches when they entered, Twice with his head in Toga’s lap. He’s masked, and just listening calmly as she babbles to him about some beautiful girl she saw on the subway. It’s a wholesome and domestic sight, one that still makes Hawks feel like his world is tilting out of control. The two look up when the door opens, and Toga’s face lights up. She squeals at a high enough pitch to make Hawks’s ears ring, and shoves Twice off her lap. He yelps, and falls onto the floor, and just lies there, face-down. From the ground he yells, “I’m okay! That hurt like a bitch!” Toga doesn’t seem to notice his complaints or Hawks himself. She only has eyes for Dabi.

“Do you have my donuts?” Toga says, bouncing on her toes. She is gripping onto Dabi’s coat, making herself tall enough to flash her fangs in his face. There is a knife in her hand, nearly brushing Dabi’s cheek. Dabi rolls his eyes, totally unaffected by the many dangerous weapons near his jugular. He ruffles her hair and shoves her off, with just enough force to get his personal space back.

“Not today brat,” he snaps without heat, “Had other things to focus on.” He jabs a thumb in Hawks’s direction.

“Donuts?” Hawks asks. He is struck with a sudden image of Dabi walking into a League meeting with a Mister Donut box, and he thinks the mere concept will cause his brain to bluescreen.

“Pig’s blood donuts!” Toga cheers, as though this is supposed to make Hawks less confused. “Dabi always gets them for me on his way home from visiting you!” In the back of his head, Hawks remembers a news story about protests outside a alternative Qurik lifestyle bakery near his apartment. Hawks wonders if that’s the same place Dabi goes to.

“Psh, only because it shuts you up for half an hour,” Dabi says, and though Toga squawks with indignance, a faint smile never leaves Dabi’s face. Hawks remembers Dabi’s comment earlier about his family and it’s like a picture frame defogs.

“Oh, you take care of her because she reminds you of your siblings,” Hawks notes, and immediately covers his face with his hands, “Oh fuck.”

Toga gasps with joy and Dabi groans.

“Birdie, I’m gonna have to duct tape your mouth shut.”

“Please do.” This is humiliating, Hawks thought, and suddenly his hands were being ripped away from his face. Toga is bouncing in front of him now, million watt grin now aimed at him.

“Dabi told you about his family?” Toga screeches, and before the “yes” can be pulled out from him, Toga is already barreling to the next point. “He never talks about his past, says it doesn’t matter. I think he just wants to keep his bad boy image, but of course he’d tell you!”

“Toga!” Dabi yells, but Hawks can barely process him, because Toga just keeps talking and she’s right in his face and his head is spinning.

“I can’t believe I never thought of it!” Hawks tries to lean away from her, but Toga just tugs him back into place. “It should have been obvious! You have to–” Toga’s eyes dial in on him, and everything about her lessens. Her heels fall flat on the floor, the corners of her smile fall from cheekbones. Even her blinking, which had been fluttering fast in her excitement, becomes practically nonexistent as she drinks in Hawks’s face. Her free hand (the one not accidentally holding a knife to his throat) reaches forward and brushes the skin under his eye. He hisses at the unexpected pain. They were still tender from crying...

Oh no.

Toga’s head whipped toward Dabi, uncharacteristic malice on her face.

“What did you do!”

“What the hell, why do you think I did something?” Dabi sputtered.

“He was crying!” Toga waves her arms in protest and Hawks has to duck under her knife. “Of course it’s your fault!”

“Toga has a point. Make him cry more!” Twice adds. He still is on the ground, for reasons Hawks will probably never comprehend. At least he’s sitting up now.

Toga turns back to Hawks, all the rage gone from her face. She pets his hair and he warbles happily. Hawks’s head has always been a weak spot for him. He used to beg his handlers to preen his hair, to the point that they banned touching his hair at all in an attempt to break him from the habit. He learned later that hawks preen each other’s heads as a sign of community and acceptance, since they can’t reach the spot themselves. A conditioned part of him still feels shame at the way he melts to the touch, but the bird in him can’t help but be excited by the accepting gesture from his flockmate.

“What did the mean man do to you?” Toga coos. Hawks’s answer is more of a half-slurred hum.

“He asked questions and I answered them.”

“Dabi, what–”

“Look, I promise I’ll explain everything,” Dabi interjects, “But first I need to talk to Shigaraki, do you know where he is?”

Toga opens her mouth to answer but a voice from the hallway beats her to it.

“Trying to ignore all the yelling.”

And there, standing with his arms crossed and a petulant frown on his face, was the man Hawks was sent by the commission to find.

Shigaraki Tomura.

If all I needed to do to meet him was cry, the Commission should have just sent me after one of my debriefs, Hawks thinks hysterically.

Shigaraki looks Hawks up and down, and huffs.

“This the recruit you’ve been spending so much time with?” Shigaraki says, “And here I thought you’d finally recruited a party member worth playing.”

“He’s joining.” There’s no room for argument in Dabi’s voice. Shigaraki raises an eyebrow.

“Really. You think the number two hero should join the inner circle of the League of Villains?” He chuckles. “I knew you were ugly, but I at least thought you were smart.”

“He’s one of us, Shigaraki,” Dabi spits, and Hawks can see a mirage of heated air around his hands. It’s not the first time he’s seen it happen. Hawks wonders if Dabi realized how much of his anger manifests in his quirk. “Hero society chewed him up and spit him out, just like you and Toga and Twice and every other league member. He has a right to be here.”

Shigaraki cackles and the sound makes Hawks wince. It isn’t that the laugh is unhinged and terrifying (though it very much is), it’s that... Well, it isn’t like his handlers haven’t laughed at his complaints before this. He should be used to it by now.

“Really? You expect me to believe the Hero Commission's prized protagonist has a tragic backstory?” Shigaraki snorts, “What’s the worst thing that could have happened to him?”

It isn’t a question directed at Hawks, but it is still one he can answer. And apparently, that is all the quirk needs.

“When I was eight, they started giving me training to resist torture.” Hawks doesn’t want to talk about this. He has never talked to anyone about it and never intended to before today. But Hawks is tired, too tired to try and hold back the information he knows will be dragged out of him anyways. So he lets the words drop from his mouth like stones. “They still needed me to be physically able to training so the Commission brought in someone who was able to activate pain receptors through touch. Felt like the initial moment of being stabbed, endlessly. He would work with me for hours, quirk constantly activated, no matter how much I screamed and cried. By the time I was ten, I was able to sit for an hour under his quirk without flinching.”

Hawks sighs, and his wings droop. He can feel his primaries brushing against the floor.

The room has gotten very quiet. Hawks has somehow managed to horrify a room full of villains into silence. Robbers, murderers, criminal masterminds, serial killers, all of them stare at him without saying a word. Twice sniffles, and Hawks can see dark lines beginning to track down the cheeks of his mask.

Toga is the one to break the silence.

“Do you need me to kill that guy for you?” She asks, and Hawks is pretty sure she isn’t kidding. She twirls a knife blade through her fingers. “‘Cuz he sounds like a jerk, and I will totally kill that guy for you.”

“No, I don’t need you to kill him. I’m just... I’m just gonna sit down.” Hawks moves toward the couch, but Dabi catches his wrist.

“Hawks?” He asks, and Hawks smiles at all the gentle questions behind it. He’s such a fucking softie.

“I’m o–” The lie stops on his tongue, so he amends himself, “I’ll be alright. Just gonna sit.” Dabi nods but Hawks feels eyes boring into him until he’s safely seated. Then, all the rage and intensity of that stare turns to Shigaraki.

“What the hell just happened!” Shigaraki screeches.

“He was hit by a truth quirk, asshole.” Dabi snaps.

“Do you have any proof of that?”

“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious.”

“Oh, because your judgement isn’t clouded?” Shigaraki argues, “He could just be trying to garner sympathy. It’s an easily set trap.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “Fine.” Dabi turns to Hawks, seeming to already be regretting this course of action. “Hawks, what do you think of Shigaraki?”

“Well, thought he’d more intimidating to be honest,” Hawks admits, then quickly scrambles to right himself, “Not that you aren’t intimidating, because you are, I’m just much more attracted to you than I thought I’d be, I’m a slut for messy hair. I mean, you’d think the scars and chapped lips would be a turn off, but they actually really do it for me. Maybe I just have a thing of guys who can absolutely obliterate me, given how I feel about Dabi and oh my god Toga please just stab me, I’m begging you.” Toga just pats his head, because apparently he’s too pathetic for even her to kill.

Shigaraki looks at Dabi, then Hawks, then back at Dabi again. “So he was hit by a truth quirk.”

“Obviously,” Dabi growls. His fists are clenching and the heat waves are back. He’s getting frustrated, though Hawks can’t understand why. “And he’s joining our side. He’s going to stay here from now on.”

“He serves us better as a double agent, gathering information from the inside,” Shigaraki hisses, and Dabi’s hands flare blue.

“He’s not going back there.”

“It’s where he’s most useful!”

“Over my dead body!”

“Just because you have fe–”

“I’ll tell you my name!”

Shigaraki stills, all his stubbornness dissipating. For the first time today, Hawks thinks he’s actually listening.

“You still wanna know it, right?” Dabi spits, “Let him stay, and I’ll tell you.”

“Go right ahead,” Shigaraki offers. Dabi looks shiftily around the room, eyes bouncing from Toga to Twice to Hawks himself.

“Just you,” he amends, and brushes past him. “Come on.” Shigaraki rolls his eyes, but still went with him. Once they were out of sight, Toga giggled and squealed.

“Welcome to the family!”

Hawks chokes on air.

“Wh– really?”

Toga shrugs. “I mean, Dabi vouched for you, so I don’t see why not.”

Twice shoots him a thumbs up. “Happy to have you! Fuck off and die.”

“And it’s not like we’re going to let Tomura send you back to the commission! They sound terrible!” A dark cloud falls over Toga's face, and Hawks’s instincts scream for him to back away from the predator in the room. She licks her fangs. “If I ever meet any of those Commission phonies, I’ll cover them in blood!” Then she frowns, a cute pout that leaves no remnant of her former fury. She taps her finger against her chin as she thinks over her plan. “But then I’d make them cute, and they don’t deserve that. Hm.”

“Toga, what are you even talking about?” Spinner asks, as he and Mr. Compress walk in from the hall opposite the way Shigaraki and Dabi left. “And why is everyone shouting? It’s fucking loud.” Compress nods in agreement.

“It’s hard for a performer to prepare for their upcoming act when the green room is in such upheaval.”

Twice nods and gives him a thumbs up. “I didn’t understand any of that.”

Hawks can tell he’s been around the League too long, because, despite the mask, he can tell Compress is rolling his eyes.

“What’s got everyone so irate?”

The truth tickles up Hawks’s throat. “Dabi offered to let me live here and agreed to tell Shigaraki his real name if he let me stay.” Fuck, this quirk never ends.

Spinner and Compress stare blankly at him for a moment (or at least, that’s what Hawks assumes Compress is doing), before Toga chimes in, “Now we’re just waiting for Tomura-chan to cave! Also, Hawks got hit with a truth quirk and shared some of his tragic backstory with us. Don’t ask him any questions, though! He can’t seem to stop from answering then.”

Despite these words, Hawks expects to be bombarded with inquiries. It was one thing for Toga and Twice to accept his arrival, they’d actually seen everything go down. But if he’d been in Spinner and Compress’s shoes, he’d interrogate like there was no tomorrow. So he braces himself for the truth to be torn from him, trying to come up with anyway to justify his past betrayals, just so they don’t kill him immediately and–

“Okay,” Spinner says, and flops down on the couch on top of Twice. Compress primly sits next to him. Neither of them even spare Hawks a second glance.

“Wait, that’s it?” Hawks sputters, “You’re just... gonna let it go?”

“Uh, yeah?” Spinner says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Dabi’s fighting for you, and he hates everyone, so you must really be fucked. Besides, it’ll be nice to have someone else with a mutation quirk around here. Finally, someone will understand how much it sucks to shed.”

Hawks crinkles his nose. “Yeah, molting’s the absolute worst.” Hawks flinches at what he just revealed, but Spinner only laughs.

“Finally! You get it!” He reaches up from Twice’s lap to clap Hawks on the shoulder. “See, this is gonna be great.”

Hawks thinks he might be tearing up again.

“Really? You’re not gonna ask me any questions?”

“Nope!” Spinner says, and Compress looks downright scandalized.

“Prying information from your past without your consent? Heavens no! Magicians value secrects above all else; I would never rob you of yours. Who would even consider such a thing?”

Hawks nearly spills all about how the Commission would absolutely pry everything they can from him, but he’s luckily saved by Shigaraki stomping into the room. The man has his arms crossed and he’s sulking, hard wrinkles in his nose. He growls and glares at Hawks.

“He can stay.”

The room erupts with cheers. Toga is in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as she gushes praise. Twice is excitedly ruffling his hair, and Spinner pokes at his leg with glee. Compress tips his hat to him and Hawks swears he even sees Shigaraki crack a smile. The joy is radiant and contagious and Hawks has never experienced anything like it; yet, he still can’t take his eyes off of Dabi.

He’s leaning against the wall, watching Hawks with an amused smirk. He gives Hawks a wink, but that doesn’t hide the lack of color in his face or the shakiness of hands. Whatever he said really messed him up, Hawks thinks, And he... He did that for me.

Hawks gently slides Toga off of him and stands. He takes a step toward Dabi, then another. He opens his mouth, reaches out a hand, but stops.

What do you say to the person who saved you?

Hawks doesn’t know, so he offers the words that always struck truest with him.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, Hawks gets another glimpse of that open surprise Dabi seems to feel at any affection, but Dabi brushes it away before anyone else can notice

“Heh, just don’t forget you owe me one, birdie,” he chuckles. There is no real weight behind the words, but Spinner nevertheless turns and glares at him.

“I thought we were past the whole ‘making fun of mutation quirks’ thing,” he snarls, and Dabi flounders. Hawks doesn’t really understand what Spinner means, but Dabi seems almost ashamed.

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Spinner snaps, and tilts his head in Hawks’s direction. “I’m not the one you called a bird.”

And Dabi catches Hawks’s eyes, and Hawks is suddenly sure he’s going to apologize, of all things, and he’s so overwhelmed, not only by this, but by everything that happened today, so he opens his mouth and tells the truth.

“No, no, he doesn’t have to stop, I like it!”

Hawks hates his fucking mouth and the fucking desperation in his tone and every fucking thing about this quirk. Dabi seems positively dumbstruck.

“You do?”

“I...” Hawks’s feathers fluff with embarrassment, and he can feel his cheeks heating up. “I like that you gave me a nickname.”

And, though he may be imagining it, Hawks swears he sees the skin just below Dabi’s eye-scars turn pink.

“Oh.” The word is barely a breath, and it’s one of the best sounds Hawks’s has ever heard.

“Fuck,” Spinner groans, and Toga shouts with glee.

“Pay up boys!” She croons, and Twice and Spinner begin pulling bills out of their pockets.

“I’m very happy for you, you both suck dicks! ” Twice says as he hands Toga a frankly obscene amount of money.

“I don’t understand why the two of you continue to bet against her on such matters,” Compress says, “She’s never wrong.”

“In my defense, this started before she smelled him,” Spinner grumbles as Toga snatches the wad of cash out of his claws. Apparently that’s enough information for Dabi, because he shoots Toga a death glare. Hawks, however, still has no fucking clue what’s going on.

“Uh, I think I’m missing something?”

“Don’t you dare!” Dabi growls. He lunges for her but two Twice’s pop out and grab him. It’s kind of terrifying but Toga just giggles.

“I’m a love expert!”

Hawks stares at her, waiting for her to explain. She beams at him and rocks on her heels. Hawks turns to Compress instead, since he’s the only one whose sanity seems intact.

“Toga can always tell when people are in love,” Compress explains.

“You motherfuckers!” Dabi howls, “I’m gonna burn this whole building to the ground!” He’s smoking at this point, and Hawks can’t help but shoot nervous glances in his direction. No one else seems the slightest bit concerned.

“We believe it’s part of her quirk,” The magician continues, “Something about the hormones making her quirk more effective, and therefore smelling more appealing. So she always knows when two people fall for each other. Therefore”—Hawks can telling, even with the mask, that Mr. Compress is giving Spinner and Twice a very judgmental look—“betting against her on the nature of your and Dabi’s relationship is a rather moronic venture.”

“Wait– Our– Dabi’s in love with me?”

“Fuck!”

Hawks is pretty sure that’s a yes.

God does he love that yes. It couldn’t be more Dabi. And Hawks?

Hawks loves Dabi.

“I have feelings for you, too.”

Dabi stops struggling. He gapes, slowly, opening and closing his mouth as he processes Hawks’s words.

“You- You do?”

Hawks rolls his eyes. “I physically can’t lie, hot stuff.” Now Dabi’s definitely blushing.

“Oh. Right,” Dabi chuckles, and gently pulls away from the clones holding him.

(“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” Shigaraki mutters, and Toga elbows him in the stomach)

“Can– Can I–” His eyes flicker to Hawks’s lips and Dabi gets this nervous look on his face. He wants to kiss me. And Hawks would normally tease him over how goddamn chivalrous he’s being but... Hawks can’t remember the last time someone asked him for permission. So it’s really no surprise that he suddenly has his talons dug into Dabi’s coat and their lips are pressed together. Toga wolf-whistles and Shigaraki stomps away yelling about how much he already regrets this, but Hawks is busy memorizing the texture of Dabi’s lips, so he doesn’t really care. Eventually, they have to pull away, and come up for air, and Dabi is actually smiling at him.

“Was that okay?”

And, for once, Hawks doesn’t mind telling the truth.

“That was perfect.”

#dabihawks #bnha #my hero academia #bnha dabi #bnha hawks #dabi is a todoroki #toga himiko #shigaraki tomura #mha #takami keigo #bnha twice #Boku no hero academia #bnha spinner #hotwings #my writing #my fanfic #my bnha fanfic #the truth series

14 notes · View notes

alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

Text

A path to purpose (Revfinder)

Synopsis: Revenant thought he'd abandoned his humanity. He thought he hated everybody. But perhaps with the help of a robot, he might just remember what it's like. And if he happens to bond with a sentient high-five machine, that's his problem, isn't it?

First Revfinder fic in the world, baby! To go with first Pathfinder fic in the world! Just as the universe intended XD

Read it here on or AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

If you like my writing, please do support me by buying me a ko-fi or requesting a commission from me.

On Revenant’s list, he had every and all high-level Hammond Robotics employees at the top of the people he must kill. For a long time, the rest of the list had remained blank, ready for him to fill in the spaces. He hated the skinbags, the so-called humans, for their ignorance. He hated how they could live their lives to their fullest and die and never have to suffer the curse of immortality. But he didn’t hate them enough to put them on the list. No, only special people who have done something to earn his personal brand of wrath deserved to be on that list. And now, after centuries of corrupted memories and composited images and fake lives, he had someone to put in at number two.

That number two was an insufferable MRVN who went by the alias of Pathfinder.

“Hey, friend! Great to meet you. My name is MRVN, but you can call me Pathfinder. All my very best friends call me Pathfinder, which is everyone.” A disgusting little smiley face flashing on their chest monitor.

Revenant huffed. He hated this. He knew this was going to happen. The robot and the simulacrum, the vicious murderer of a beloved celebrity and the ball of sunshine, the pessimist and the optimist. The people of the Outlands really did love their match-ups, didn’t they? Wouldn’t it be a kick in the pants if they’d have their rooms right next to each other, in an isolated corner of the dropship, away from the skinbags? Think of the drama.

Sons of bitches, all of them. He’ll put the organisers of the Apex games at number three on his list.

“Could you not hear me?” Pathfinder asked. “My voice module is incapable of imitating shouting, but I can raise the decibel level of my voice to make it sound like I’m shouting. Would you like me to do that, friend?”

“I’m not your friend,” Revenant growled. “And I can hear you just fine.”

“But you are talking to me. And friends always talk to each other, which means you are my new best friend.”

“Just ignore him, buddy,” Mirage said. He had his own group of people around him, but felt, for some ungodly reason, to approach Revenant.

When the games started, Mirage’ll be his first victim, Revenant thought.

“Guy will call anyone and everyone his friend,” Mirage continued. “He’s a robot. He can handle it.”

Revenant did his best to convey how much he was glaring at the man. “I am a robot.”

“I mean, yeah sure. On the outside. Not on the inside. At least…that’s how simula-simu-…guys like you work, right? But Path’s all robot. He doesn’t feel like the rest of us real humans. Or well…quasi-humans." Mirage was now rubbing the back of his head. "C-Can I say quasi-humans? That sounds racist.”

Revenant glared evilly, and Mirage shrank back into the background.

Scratch that. Mirage was going to be third on that list. Right underneath Pathfinder and just above the organizers.

He was prepared to hate Pathfinder even before he met the robot. MRVNs of his type were developed by a subsidiary of Hammond Robotics, which meant that Pathfinder will have to be killed anyway. He never liked robots when he was human; always thought that a human touch was what made him better than the armies of robot assassins that countless organizations tried to concoct. Pathfinder was no exception, even though he knew that the robot’s drive to find his creator was what propelled it to join the games. That simple goal inspired this simple service bot to fight, to kill, to befriend, to love.

How ironic, Revenant thought. A robot with no mind of its own had more free will than him.

Pathfinder was staring at him—or at least doing his best impression of staring. Despite his hard metallic body, there was warmth in that black lens of his. An almost…human warmth. Almost.

“You don’t know what I am,” Revenant commented.

“I do,” Pathfinder said, his tone getting sharper. “You killed my last best friend on TV in cold blood.”

“So you realise what you’ll get yourself into if you get in my way,” Revenant growled.

“Yep,” Pathfinder replied. “I’ll learn even more about killing from you, and impress my creator. Exciting!”

“What? No! I’m telling you to leave me alone," Revenant spluttered.

“This is really great. I think you are going to be the bestest best friend I’ve ever had, I just know it. That is a lie to make you know just how much I love you.”

For once Revenant was glad he was a Simulacrum, if only so this stupid robot couldn’t see the blush that'd otherwise stain his cheeks. “Shut up. Get out of my sight.”

To Revenant’s relief, Pathfinder gave a friendly wave in goodbye and retreated to his bedroom without another word. He didn't close the door. A nauseating heart emoji popped up on his chest and remained there for some time .

Scratch that. Hammond Robotics can wait. Until that opportunity presents itself, Pathfinder was top of his list of people to kill. Something about that damned robot really got under his skin.

Of course, the universe was never kind to Revenant. He always lost in games of chance and fate. If his odds were slightly better, he might’ve taken a different road and became a high stakes gambler instead of an assassin. They weren't all that different, if he thought about it. The difference was that assassins exploit other people’s luck, find the openings and seize the opportunity to strike . Assassins didn’t need luck, they made their own. But life was a casino, and the odds were stacked up against you. You cheat to win, and sooner or later you get caught by security.

And by security, he meant the high tech lock that he had placed on his room's door to make sure no one ever disturbed him. The very lock that Pathfinder had just opened.

“Hi, best friend. Beautiful day outside.”

Revenant grabbed the nearest thing from him—in this case a Nessie doll—and threw it at Pathfinder. It hit his head before falling down with a thud. Revenant grunted. Should've grabbed the knife.

“Did I come at a bad time?” A question mark appeared on Pathfinder's chest.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Revenant hissed. “How did you get past the lock?”

“Oh, that was easy. I asked my friend Crypto to help me open it. He agreed to give me some advice if I promised not to pester him for the rest of the week. When it didn't work, I smashed it with my fists, which are made of metal.”

Revenant did not have time to unravel all of that. He checked his clock. 3am. “You bothered me now?! Talk to me when the rest of the skinbags are awake.”

“But it is day time, and we do not need sleep like humans do.”

He wanted to say otherwise but Pathfinder has a point. He didn’t need to sleep. He just did it anyway because…well, he wasn’t actually sure why. Maybe he was hoping that he might be able to dream and remember his previous life, or that some other assassin will kill him when he was defenseless and finally give him the death he so desperately craved. But that’s wishful thinking on his part.

Pathfinder was still staring at Revenant, waiting for an answer. Revenant huffed. He can’t believe he was doing this. “Fine. Stay here. Just don’t touch anything, or I will make sure your warranty is voided for good.”

"Great!" Pathfinder exclaimed far too loudly as he walked exactly two steps into the centre of the room and stood still.

At least the damned thing knew how to follow instructions.

"You have a nice room. I like it," Pathfinder commented.

Revenant grumbled under his breath. The one thing he hated more than Hammond Robotics. Compliments. "Don't think you'll get brownie points with me."

Pathfinder's single lens scanned the room, before he crouched down to pick up the fallen Nessie doll. For a MRVN with little to no touch receptors, he handled the fragile thing so gently. It could feel, Revenant realised.

"You have one too," he remarked.

It took all of Revenant's willpower not to snatch the doll and hide it away. "Give it back, it's mine. And what do you mean, 'too'?"

"My friend Wattson used to collect Nessies when she was younger. Most of us found one. They are very cute."

"They are…" Revenant mumbled. He jerked his head up at Pathfinder. "I know what you're doing. Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"This. Whatever you're doing." His crimson eyes peered deeply into Pathfinder. "You must have a motive for being here."

"I want to find my creator," Pathfinder said.

"Don’t give me the bull you fed the press. We both know that's not true."

Pathfinder's monitor went blank as the robot tilted its head. It had no face, no real emotions besides the one it could display on its chest, but Revenant felt like he hit a nerve. A sore one.

"It's not true?" Pathfinder asked quietly.

"Your programming says you want to find your creator. Just ones and zeroes giving you some semblance of a directive to follow. You don't actually think. You don't actually dream."

"I have dreams," Pathfinder said. His tone didn't sound as peppy, almost like he was struggling to display the proper emotion in his voice. "My diagnostics cannot determine why, but I dream like humans do. I dream of being famous. Of making my creator proud, wherever they are. Becoming the champion of the Apex Games sounds very exciting, and will get me noticed by my creator and many people and robots all over the Outlands."

If Revenant could roll his eyes, he would. "Face it, the chances your creator is even alive are slim to none." Revenant's eyes dimmed. "If I could meet my creators I'd…I'd…"

"Give them a high five?" Pathfinder suggested.

Revenant scoffed. "A high five to the face. With a knife. And then another high five with my knife to their stomach, spleen, neck, and spine." He knew exactly how the blood would squirt and spill. With every life he took, he felt a little more alive, just for a brief moment.

"That is a lot of high fives," Pathfinder murmured uneasily.

"Yeah, well, I can't anyway. They've been dead for god knows how long. I've been living for too long myself. Don't even remember my own name, just what I do, what I did. What I looked like."

It took Revenant a few seconds of introspection before he realised he made one of the biggest mistakes. It was right there in the assassin's handbook: never reveal anything about yourself. Revenant stood up from his bed, instinctively prepared to fight or kill. Non-existent adrenaline filled his body, a by-product of the simulation that once fabricated his human appearance, as he observed every weapon at his disposal. There was the chair, the knife under his pillow, his own augmented body, that weak spot at the MRVN's neck. Just had to wait for an opportunity. Wait for luck to go on his side.

But Pathfinder did not move. There was a question mark on his monitor, the light within that dark lens glowing brighter. To the untrained eye he was just standing, but Revenant noticed how Pathfinder’s centre of gravity lowered into an defensive stance. He knew what Revenant was going to do, and he chose not to move. It was almost like the MRVN was daring Revenant to act, as if to say Go ahead and try.

Revenant had fought a lot of robots in his life. None of them acted like this. They calculated the safest, most effective move in the short term. They strike first, asked questions last--if they were capable of asking questions. They didn't see the big picture. They didn't stand there, waiting for an attack they knew was coming. No fully automated machine could ever act like a human.

This wasn't any ordinary MRVN. This MRVN thought and dreamt like a human. This MRVN was alive.

Huh, Revenant thought. Perhaps Pathfinder wasn't just a pretty face for the cameras after all.

Ugh, he couldn't believe he just called Pathfinder a 'pretty face'.

Revenant's gaze swept down to the Nessie doll, and with a grunt he swiped it out of Pathfinder's hands and placed it back on its rightful spot above his bed. The doll was one of two personal effects he brought with him when he joined the Apex Games. The other one sat at an unused sink, just underneath an unused mirror, old but sharp. Just like him.

"You did not need to take it from me. I would have gave it back to you.”

"Sure you would've," Revenant grumbled.

"I would, because I love you, best friend."

Revenant stiffened. He hadn't heard the L word in…actually, when had anyone used the L word with him? It was always used to describe someone else, and it was never in a good way. Love was just another thing to exploit. Another bit of luck to steal.

So why could he feel his artificial lungs quicken? Why did his systems glitch for just a second, making everything spark in front of his vision?

"Best friend?"

Revenant stared at Pathfinder for the longest time, wondering if perhaps the robot was fucking with him. But all that he was met with was utter sincerity and honesty.

The honest people were the dangerous ones. The ones that had nothing to hide usually had nothing to lose. And Pathfinder was too young and too naïve to have any morals to hold him back. Pathfinder was dangerous. Friendly, but dangerous. A useful ally, or the bane of his existence.

Revenant suddenly approached Pathfinder, acutely aware of how much taller he was than the taller-than-average MRVN as he sharply pushed Pathfinder out of his room and slammed the door shut. Pathfinder stood outside his door for several seconds before walking away. Revenant collapsed on the bed, groaning in frustration as he tried, once again, to close his eyes and sleep. Despite his best efforts, his mind was too restless. All he could think about was that strange look Pathfinder gave him. It was almost like staring at a human being trapped in a robotic body. A twisted reflection of himself.

He wondered what would have happened if he met a human version of Pathfinder, back when he was human himself. Chances were he'd kill the guy before anything could happen. If only he had the guts to kill him now and end the torture that was Pathfinder's horrific attempts at friendship.

He was getting soft, he told himself over and over again. Secretly, he knew there was a different reason as to why he hadn't killed Pathfinder already. One that he refused to acknowledge.

It was ironic. Both their squadmates had been wiped out in the gunfight, leaving only him versus Pathfinder. A 1v1 for the championship of this round. It had been through the use of surprise, fear, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical use of the Devotion, and his nice red turban that Revenant managed to get to this position. Soon as he learned Pathfinder was on a different team, he tried his best to track him down and eliminate him early, but to little avail. And now here they were, identical weapons drawn, staring each other down through the scope of their gun, the ring closing in on their position.

The universe really did hate him, didn't it.

Time seemed to slow down as they stared at one another, no doubt both of them thinking the same thing. Except--and Revenant hated that he had to keep reminding himself this--Pathfinder couldn't think. It was a robot. A MRVN. Inanimate. A machine that could only follow its programming.

At least, that was what Revenant thought. Until he felt a grapple on his abdomen.

He was pulled forward toward Pathfinder, too quick for him to ready his weapon. The glint of the barrel stared him in the face, but he twisted his body, and the shotgun shell barely missed him. If he was human, he'd be deaf in one ear. But he wasn't. With a snarl, he grabbed his own shotgun, aiming it blindly, but the shell missed as Pathfinder slid underneath Revenant's legs and grappled a fair distance away, already switching his weapons.

Revenant was begrudgingly impressed. He almost underestimated Pathfinder.

Almost.

He ran toward Pathfinder, shouting at the top of his lungs. Pathfinder tried to shoot him down, but Revenant predicted his movement, sidestepping out of the way before unleashing his own volley of energy bullets. A few shots dinked at Pathfinder's body armour. Half armour and full health at best, Revenant assumed, though it could be lower. It all depended on whether Pathfinder healed up earlier or not. Revenant was not going to take his chances with an aggressive play and find out. Not yet.

Pathfinder tried the same trick again, his grapple flying through the air, but this time Revenant somersaulted backwards, the momentum pulling Pathfinder to the ground. There was the sick crunch of metal against metal as he yanked the grapple claw off his chest and stomped hard on Pathfinder's monitor, making it beep and whine. He took out his shotgun and pulled the trigger.

The shield was broken. Pathfinder barely had any health left. His body was crumpled and broken, a shadow of its former painted glory. Revenant couldn't help but laugh. "See you in the scrap yard."

"I love you, Revenant."

It took him by surprise. Just long enough for Pathfinder to get his shotgun out and shoot Revenant right between his eyes. The knock-back pushed him away slightly. His vitals flickered in front of his eyes. Warning: <10% integrity.

A laugh emoji flickered across Pathfinder's chest monitor.

The robot played him.

Pathfinder of all people took him off guard.

Revenant snarled viciously as he discarded the gun, looping behind Pathfinder as his hand shifted into a blade, slicing it through the sensitive neck area. Pathfinder groaned as the light in his lens flickered off, falling backwards into Revenant's arms. Within seconds, Pathfinder was inactive and dead.

Revenant huffed as he pushed himself off Pathfinder's body, tossing it haphazardly down onto the ground with a clank. He should be feel happy, alive, something. He felt it just moments before when he gunned down Pathfinder's teammates. And this battle was a close one, where the odds could have fell into anyone's grasp, which usually made the kill afterward all the more sweeter.

So why did this victory feel so hollow? Why didn't killing Pathfinder make him happier?

"WE HAVE OUR APEX CHAMPION.” The announcer said across the intercoms.

Funny. He didn't feel like a champion. Not this time.

Of course, when he got back to the ship, a lot of people congratulated him. Or at least, people tried to, before he told them all to shove off in less-than-kid-friendly language. That made them give him a wide berth, hushed whispers of his abilities spreading like wildfire. He wouldn't stop the rumours. Let them know he was not a person to be messed with. Let them think what they wanted to think.

Pathfinder didn't get the memo apparently, approaching Revenant as soon as he respawned, not a dent or scratch to be seen. He was waving excitedly, even as his friends and acquaintances watched nervously from afar.

"Great moves, friend. Sucks that I lost." He stuck his hand out in a high five.

Revenant stared at that hand for several seconds. It was boxy, and crude, and ugly. It fitted Pathfinder perfectly. "That was a dirty move back in the ring. I could kill you now for it,” Revenant snarled. “I've killed for far less."

"But you're not. And yet you did." Pathfinder tilted his head as he lowered his hand. "Past and present tense are funny, aren't they? Funny is a synonym for weird in this context."

"You did it on purpose," Revenant uttered.

"I did, actually. I am surprised and happy that it worked." His voice almost sounded cocky. "Did you like my moves?"

Revenant did something in between a puff and a laugh. Why was he relieved that Pathfinder was alive? Why was this strange warmth bubbling up his chest, even when there was nothing warm to bubble in his chest in the first place?

What was it about Pathfinder?

He shook his head as he approached Pathfinder and gave him a hearty slap to their arm joint. "You got lucky, punk,” he uttered before heading back to his room and avoid all the interviewers.

He barely got to the door when he heard a faint commotion as everybody clambered up to Pathfinder. Pathfinder was no doubt smiling to his friends when he said, “I think he likes me a lot. We are going to be super best friends, I just know it.” Revenant just shook his head and slammed the door shut, blocking out the rest of the world.

Neither of them realised how accurate Pathfinder’s words would be.

It was 2am and Revenant couldn’t sleep. Or ‘stasis’ or ‘sleep mode’ or whatever the hell it actually was. Point was, he wanted time to just pass him by and it wouldn’t. It continued on at a tepid pace, making sure that Revenant saw each and every one of his few non-corrupted memories in vivid detail. He may not need to sleep, but he could still dream and have nightmares. It was ironic. The synthetic nightmare himself had nightmares.

Karma was a bitch.

His nightmares were never scary enough to frighten him, just made him feel uncomfortable, flooding his mind with sounds and images . He’d killed anyone, from the slimiest mafia boss to the kindest social reformers and the smallest of children, and many of them returned from the grave to haunt his mind. Most times he tried to distract himself with the few things that gave him pleasure in life. Money. Infamy. A name checked off his hit list.

But not tonight. This time, as he stared at the ceiling, his mind went to a service robot with a coat of blue paint and a well-polished grapple and smooth, clean metal.

He bolted up, grunting angrily to himself. His hand went up to his head, wanting to tug at short blonde locks, only to feel the rough texture of a Hammond Robotics-issued turban.

“Again, always that stupid, insufferable robot,” he hissed to himself. What was it about Pathfinder, corrupting his dreams, driving him mad with his presence? It must be because he hated Pathfinder. That had to be it. That had to be.

He’d say more but then he realized that light was flooding in underneath the door. The scent of meat drifted in the air. The sounds of a pot boiling liquid.Someone was awake and…cooking? At this ungodly hour?

Curiosity killed the cat, but then cats weren't expected to do surveillance on their potential targets to kill. Or…actually they did, didn't they? Whatever. Point was, in his line of business it was better to investigate these sorts of things. At the very least, it was good practice for sneaking up on some unsuspecting victims.

So he crept out of his room, closing and locking it without a sound. He kept his profile low, his movements almost spider-like as he crept from the floor to the source. The light was coming from the common kitchenette. Amidst the various cooking noises, Revenant heard some tunelessly humming.

They wouldn't hear him. This was almost too easy.

He stuck to the shadows where he belonged, the harsh light making the shadows darker. All of the other legends were sleeping apart from Crypto and Octane, who were both occupied on their computers for various different reasons, not like they'd notice him. He got closer, edging his face past the corner.

Of all the things he expected to see, Pathfinder wearing a fluffy apron was certainly not one of them. Pathfinder's humming stopped. His head turned toward Revenant's direction. "Best friend, you are awake. Just in time!"

Revenant silently cursed himself for getting caught. Once again Pathfinder was taking him off-guard. This wasn't like him. This really wasn't.

Slowly, he walked into view, his body poised for attack.

"You are just in time. I have made a new batch of my famous Leviathan stew! It's made with real Leviathan meat, not fake meat."

Revenant sniffed the concoction. Sure enough, it was Leviathan stew. Smelt like it, at lest. Looked like it. It'd probably taste like it too. "You do realise I don't have a mouth to eat it with," Revenant said.

"That's alright. Then everybody else can have it when they wake up. Sharing food is what makes it fun. Or at least, I think it is. As you can tell, I also do not have a mouth to process food and 'flavour'. "

Revenant scoffed. "Next, you're going to be telling me the secret to making delicious food is love." He spat the L word out like it was poison. He's had to spit out a few poisons in his natural lifetime. He often wondered if that was how he bit the dust the first time, back when he was human.

"The secret to making delicious food is to cook it exactly like the recipe. And also tasting it." A frowny face briefly appeared on his monitor. "Unfortunately, I can't taste food."

Revenant looked at the gigantic pot filled with Leviathan stew. He remembered his mentors served it to him once. It was good for long stakeouts. Easy to cook, easy to heat up, and filled your stomach up nice. It was comfort food for a long time, something he whipped up many a lonely night when he wanted to feel warm and safe for once. Even if he had the capability to eat, Leviathan meat was much harder to get a hold of now than it was in his time. Many things he once enjoyed were now gone, or had been reduced to rare luxuries. The few that remained, they were unattainable to him because of his simulacrum body.

He tilted his head toward the stew. If he had lips, they'd be thinned to a line. He harshly shoved Pathfinder aside with his shoulder and grabbed some spices from the spice rack. A dash of paprika, a pinch more brown sugar. The colour shifted as he stirred it with a wooden spoon, turning into a richer reddish-brown. Not unlike the colour of his endoskeleton when it was caked in dried blood.

"Revenant?" Pathfinder asked. It was the first time ever that he ever said his name. Or rather, his moniker. He'd never give people his human name. Not even after a thousand deaths.

"Where'd you learn this?" Revenant asked.

"Some soldiers in Solace were ever so kind to teach me," Pathfinder replied. "A chef taught me how to make it better. And now, you're making it even better-er." A laughing emote flickered on his screen. "That was a joke. Better-er is not a real English word."

Revenant hummed. "That chef was shit. You need more paprika. Gives it a bit of an extra kick." He stuck his thumb back toward the sleeping quarters. "We all know that lot need a kick up their backside, especially that insufferable Mirage."

"Mirage is my best friend," Pathfinder said. Quickly, he added, "but you are my newest best friend."

"Of course," Revenant sighed. He should've known.

Pathfinder turned his head back to the stew. His monitor was blank. His voice sounded almost introspective. Pensive. "My friends say you're a bad man. That you killed hundreds and hundreds of people before coming to the Apex Games."

If Revenant had eyebrows, they'd be raised up slightly. "Your friends are correct, for once. What's your point?"

"You are a bad person," Pathfinder said. It was a statement. A fact.

"And?"

"And you are my best friend."

Revenant was beginning to get annoyed. "And?"

"And nothing else. That is all that matters."

"I thought you said you wanted to find your creator," Revenant said mockingly.

"I do," Pathfinder replied, "but that has nothing to do with you. All that matters about you is that you're a bad person, and that you are strong, and that you have great moves, and that I love you."

Revenant bristled. "Stop saying that."

A question mark appeared on Pathfinder's chest. "Stop saying what?"

"That word. The L word."

"Love?"

"I said, stop saying it," Revenant growled.

Something flickered within that glowing lens of Pathfinder's, and then a grinning face blossomed on his chest. "If I promise, will you teach me your moves?"

"My moves?" It took a few seconds before he understood. He almost dropped the wooden spoon into the stew. "You want to learn how to kill?"

"If I learn lots of new things, it will help me become more famous and spread my image across the Outlands. Then I'm sure my creator will find me."

Revenant huffed. This was ridiculous. Pathfinder was ridiculous. "You've already killed."

"But we can work together, best friend. With your moves, and my moves, we can take the championship. Then my creators will notice me and we will be reunited. I cannot wait!"

Revenant studied Pathfinder for several seconds. He'd been an apprentice for the Syndicate, but he'd never taught an apprentice himself.

No, it was ridiculous to entertain that idea. Unless... "If I agree to teach you, will you listen to whatever I tell you to do?"

Pathfinder gave a mock salute. "Absolutely, best friend."

"If I agree, will you stop saying the L word? Will you stop calling me friend, or any synonym of the word 'friend'? Will you only come into my room when I give you permission to?"

"Yes, yes, and yes." Pathfinder was bouncing in excitement now. He'd never seen the MRVN so happy before. "This is why you are my new best friend. I think I am going to make you my number one best friend in the whole wide world."

Revenant felt that weird warmth creep up his chest. It wasn't hate, he realised suddenly, but it was just as intense. It burned hotter than magma, brighter than the stars, and was lighter than air. It made him feel like he was flesh and bone again, turning his head away from a kissing scene when he was but a weak and defenceless child. But if it wasn't hatred, what else could it be?

What the hell was Pathfinder doing to him?

Why the hell was Pathfinder of all people making him feel like this?

Revenant took one final glance at Pathfinder, then at the stew, still bubbling. His hands grabbed the handles of the pot, overturning it. The gloopy mixture of meat and vegetables sat in a pitiful pile on the floor, the juices seeping all the way to the tables and the chairs. If Pathfinder could, he'd be blinking rapidly.

"Clean that up, tin can. And make another one when you're done. I heard Leviathan stews take a long time to make. Do all that, and I might consider teaching you something."

Instead of getting angry, Pathfinder just beamed brightly. "Will do, sir."

Sir. He could get used to hearing that. Something about the word sounded very pleasant from Pathfinder's voice module.

#Apex Legends #Apex #Revenant #Pathfinder #Revfinder #Do I love these two? Absolutely #Am I going to write more about them? DEFINITELY but probably not for a bit #I honestly didn't know if I should tag them as m/m or other in AO3 because technically they're robots with no preassigned gender #and gender is a construct anyway #I don't know anyway here's murder robots becoming friends and catching feels

20 notes · View notes

nanna-melissa · 4 years ago

Text

Nanna’s Record Collection #2: Queen

Now..me..a Queen fan? Unbelievable. So I started to get into Queen a few years ago but I was a pretty casual fan. When I was digging into their musical catalog a bit more, I was also getting into Placebo and they sort of took over. I didn’t listen to Queen proper until three months ago. I’ve listened to many of their bigger singles and had their Greatest Hits Vol. II on when I worked on projects. Now my order for this is not going to be chronological in which they were released but when I bought them. My top 5 are going to be first so enough explanation, let’s get onto..

This photo is so blue/purple compared to the others, gotta love my phone trying to white balance. So, I bought this and the next one I’m going to talk about at the same time. My first impression with this album was ‘okay, this is the one with BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY ON IT’ and that song isn’t my absolute favorite on this thing! I have to say listening to it in full for the first time was a ride. Death on Two Legs followed by Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon was like whiplash but then I’M IN LOVE WITH MY CAR...BITCH. I did not think Roger would go as hard as he did. I was taken aback...I was laughing...I was shocked....I had questions, comments and concerns. Like....TOLD MY GIRL I HAD TO FORGET HER, RATHER BUY ME A NEW CARBURETOR...then CARS DON’T TALK BACK, THEY’RE JUST FOUR-WHEELED FRIENDS NOW. Iconic. It’s got my pistons a-pumpin’. You’re my Best Friend was familiar territory. It’s John being fuckin’ wholesome but then came ‘39. It was love at first listen. I listened to that song on loop for like two weeks. Sweet Lady didn’t grab me as hard but with a line like ‘you call me sweet like I’m some kind of cheese’...I was missing out. I also skipped Seaside Rendezvous and listened to it on vinyl for the first time and wanted to kick my own ass for not letting myself listen to it sooner. I love that song. Prophet’s Song, I think..is kinda weak? But it’s ending transitioning into Love of my Life? OOH BB. GOOD SHIT. Then there’s Good Company and I love Brian’s voice in it and the Ukulele slaps. Then what can I say about Bo Rhap that people haven’t like come on.

Favorites: Death on Two Legs, Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon, I’m in Love with my Car, You’re my Best Friend, ‘39, Sea Side Rendezvous, Love of my Life, Good Company, and Bohemian Rhapsody...(so nearly the whole album)

This boy? Right here? This is my favorite Queen album. Considering Radio Ga GA and I Want to Break Free were the first two songs I fell in love with...it was kind of meant to be, huh? But for real, this album has no dud. Radio Ga Ga? Banger and if you don’t clap along with it, I’m judging you. Tear it Up? It is such an 80′s Queen Brian song. That guitar is so...ooh 👌 It’s a Hard Life? THOSE OPENING LINES AND HOW FREDDIE SINGS THEM OWN MY ENTIRE ASS. With the video, Fred’s goddamn red and black winged liner look..........holy shit. Also Roger looks like a child on the verge of a temper tantrum and I live for it. Man on the Prowl is just fun. Now...Machines (Back to Human), people sleep on this one. The vocals, the synths, the guitar..perfection. I Want to Break Free, come on. The video. Rogerina. John writing yet another absolute banger like the icon he is. Perfection. Then it’s followed by another song people sleep on. Keep Passing the Open Windows just does something for me. The bass on that track cures my depression and it mixed with the drums? I’m done for. Hammer to Fall after? Again, another absolute banger. Is This the World we Created is such a fantastic closer.

Favorites: Every. Single. Song.

I know Hot Space is a very hit or miss album for many people. For me, this is pretty much tied for second favorite album alongside a Night at the Opera. Hearing about this one, I heard this was Queen’s worst album. To that I say a couple things. One, the people saying that are straight. Two, they don’t like fun music. While gay club, disco/funk influenced, heavily due to Freddie and also John, this album is so much fun. Staying Power is such a strong opener. The sax, Freddie’s vocals and the more funky guitars make me just want to boogie. I love the little ‘yeah!’ Fred does after ‘See what I got, I got a hell of a lot’ in the beginning. Dancer is a bit out there for Brian and I appreciate. Now when I say Back Chat owns my ass, it truly owns my ass. It is the landlord of my ass. A diss track towards Brian written by John and then JOHN BOPPING AROUND IN THE VIDEO AND SMILING WHILE BRIAN LOOKS MISERABLE...that’s a level of petty I aspire to be. Now, Body Language fucks. That bass fucks. It’s a simple song, not too complicated but it works so well. Action This Day is alright. I enjoy the chorus but it’s a slight bore to me...and yet Body Language is not I might ruffle some feathers saying that. Put Out the Fire is very 80′s Brian. Can see some stepping stones from this to the Works.

Life is Real grew on me. I’m a John Lennon fan (I know, prepare the pitchforks and the ‘he beat his wife’ comments) and it’s very John. It’s a wonderful creative tribute to the man. Calling All Girls grew on me. It’s video is questionable at best. Even Brian and Roger watching it back were like ‘what in the fuck is this’ and Roger forgot it was his song. Legend. Las Palabras De Amor is beautiful. Them harmonizing in the chorus does something for me. Now...Cool Cat. Cool Cat is easily in my top 3 all-time favorite Queen songs. Whenever I listen to this song, I swear I can feel the dopamine receptors connecting in my brain. Fred’s falsetto fucks me up. Also take a moment of appreciation for John Richard Deacon born on August the 19th, 1951. He wrote it and did the entire instrumental. The talent? Immense. Now the closer is of course Under Pressure. I wish they kept Brian’s bit in it but hey, what can you do. I can’t really say anything about the song besides it slaps and the highest note was not done by Freddie but Roger.

Favorites: Staying Power, Back Chat, Body Language, Put out the Fire, Cool Cat, Under Pressure.

This is an interesting one. She used to be a woman with a hotdog stand HOOP DIDDY DIDDY HOOP DIDDY DOO. Now, this one caught my attention due to the first two tracks. Innuendo mixes genres so beautifully. That spanish guitar section is stunning and the bridge gets me every time. I’m Going Slightly Mad after that? It’s a bit odd. The introduction on the track is an odd one and it used to slightly creep it out the first time I heard it. But the more I listen, the more I really appreciate how fun it is. The video is one of my absolute favorites. Freddie’s look. Brian WEARING CLOGS IN THE 90′s LIKE AN ABSOLUTE UNIT, and John just standing there with a yo-yo makes me happy. Headlong kind of makes me laugh now after watching the making of this album’s documentary. Roger talks about how it’s a serious album but then it cuts to the SHE USED TO BE A WOMAN WITH A HOTDOG STAND line. The next three songs I didn’t give a chance until about a month ago. Ride the Wild Wind is one I was not expecting to enjoy as much as I do but there’s something about it. Along with Don’t Try So Hard. Now...These Are the Days of Our Lives? Excuse me while I cry. The last song I want to talk about is Delilah. A song Freddie wrote for his favorite cat. The lines ‘you make me so very happy, when you cuddle up and go to sleep beside me...but then you make me slightly mad, when you pee all over my chippendale suite’. BUT THEN THE MEOWS AND BRIAN MAKING HIS GUITAR SOUND LIKE A CAT MY HEART MELTS.

Favorites: Innuendo, I’m Going Slightly Mad, Headlong, I Can’t Live With You, Don’t Try So Hard, Ride the Wild Wind, Delilah, the Show Must Go On.

Holy shit number five. My fingers are in slight pain and I have four more to go after this. Now time for a confession, I guess? I used to hate Killer Queen. For some reason, I couldn’t stand it. Key words there are used to. That song is a bop and I was a dumb bitch I guess. Tenement Funster is honestly such a Roger track. The opening line makes me think it’s a nod to those glittery converse he used to wear. Those were a strong look. Flick of the Wrist is the grand pappy of Death on Two Legs. Or is the father? I don’t know. But it’s still a diss track for a manager who did them dirty. Anyway, this track does something for me. In the Lap of the Gods....Roger’s goddamn FALSETTO HOW DARE HE. Then when they did this song live and he did that shit...bitch. My jaw DROPPED. Stone Cold Crazy with that almost early punk sound? Hell yee. Now, Misfire. Learning the meaning behind it.....John....honey...oof. I mean it’s a bop about ending too early during sex, that you cannot deny. Leroy Brown was one that grew on me. I actually didn’t care too much for it for a while. It’s fun. Now, She Makes Me (Stormtrooper in Stilettos)...WHY ARE PEOPLE SLEEPING ON THIS TRACK???! Brian’s vocals are so fuckin’ beautiful, paired with that simple instrumental...it’s such a stunning track. Lap of the Gods (revisited) I slept on. I deserve to have my ass kicked for that.

Favorites: Flick of the Wrist, Lap of the Gods, Misfire, She Makes Me (Stormtrooper in Stilettos) and Last of the Gods...revisited.

This one is still growing on me. Father to Son when I first heard it flicked something in my brain and it’s one of those that I cannot skip when it’s on. White Queen didn’t really impress me at first and it required a re-listen. Then I actually properly listened to it and it got me hooked. Now, Loser in the End. That song FUCKS and it’s my favorite off this record. It sounds vastly different from many of the others and it felt like a breath of fresh air. Ogre Battle is a fuckin’ beast of a track. Along with it, most of the Black side just kind of reminds me of playing D&D with the boys. Am I alone in this? Probably. This one I’m still getting into for the most part.

Favorites: Father to Son, White Queen (as it Began), Loser in the End, Ogre Battle, Funny How Love Is, Seven Seas of Rhye.

This scamp was hard to get a good picture of. That cover is hella reflective. This is one I wasn’t expecting to add into my collection. It’s not my absolute top favorite, I do still rather enjoy it. Play the Game is pretty mellow but then goddamn DRAGON ATTACK. EXCUSE ME. The bass on that track? That guitar riff? I’m done. I am deceased. BUT THEN THAT’S FOLLOWED BY ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST, BIIIIIIITCH. If you couldn’t tell, I love a good bass line. This one is so fuckin’ tasty. It’s simple but so goddamn effective. Need Your Loving Tonight seems like almost like a transitional song. It gives me a bit of a Hot Space Vibe. Crazy Little Thing Called Love is a song me and my mom bond over all the time. It’s her favorite Queen song and we often sing along to it in the car. Now. Rock it? Rock it (Prime Jive)? It slaps and it slaps hard. However, listening to it one night, the track faintly reminded me of Sword of Damocles from Rocky Horror Picture Show. The Vocals very much did and the instrumental as well but not as much. Now with Don’t Try Suicide....it’s one song I’m really not a fan of. Having to do with childhood trauma dealing with suicide? Maybe so. The last three I still need to give a proper chance? I’m weird with albums. I sleep on songs then finally listen to them get regret for not listening to them sooner.

Favorites: Dragon Attack, Another one Bites the Dust, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Rock it (Prime Jive), and Save Me.

Damn alright, I’m starting to get tired of typing but this is the second to the last boyoo. My phalanges are literally going to fall off when I talk about the Beatles. OKAY NOW, another album I slept on for a while. I’m a dumb bitch, we established this. I listened to this album before in full but it didn’t do much for me. I gave it another go and found I actually enjoyed quite a bit of it. Tie your Mother Down brought me back to the days of listening to their Greatest Hits II album on their YouTube Channel. The Intro music was the guitar rift for this song. You Take my Breath Away is an interesting one. Very reminiscent of Love of my Life...almost a sort of lonely love song of sorts. You and I is sort of the complete opposite and it does sort of illustrate how lonely Freddie was. Somebody to Love and it’s harmonies water my crops, clear my depression, and give me a hug. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy is one of those tunes you just have bop to. Drowse is absolutely STUNNING. Not what I expect from a Roger song. I mean the last one of his on an album was what? I’m in Love with my Car? We love a versatile icon. Teo Torriatte and just the meaning behind it is so incredibly sweet. It’s so absolutely wholesome and reading how Brian and the boys worked with their translator to get it just right for their Japanese audience. My heart is full.

Favorites: You Take my Breath Away, You and I, Drowse, Teo Torriatte.

HOLY SHIT LAST ONE. When I sat down and started listening to their entire discography, this one really set the stage of what was to come. Keep Yourself Alive is such a strong opener in my opinion. Also DO YOU THINK YOU GET BETTER EVERYDAY?? NO I JUST THINK I’M TWO STEPS NEARER TO MY GRAVE...a bop. Doing Alright isn’t my favorite but is it fun to sing ‘doing alriiiiiiiight’?. Hell yee. Great Rat King fuckin’ SLAPS. Now...I am a simple woman and when I hear Liar..I get more turnt than a white dad at a barbeque in cargo shorts and crocs listening to Bruce Springsteen. It’s almost impossible for me to not sing along. To scream LIAR and of course MAMA I’M GONNA BE YOUR SLAVE ALL DAY LONG....ooh BABY. Solid track. Also that version of them playing it at the Rainbow is absolute perfection. Modern Times Rock n Roll comes out of almost no-where and damn...Rog really out here. It’s also far too short for my liking. Son & Daugher I have to say gives me almost Cream vibes? I dig it. The vocals goddamn kill me..straight up manslaughter, truly.

Favorites: Keep Yourself Alive, Great Rat King, Liar, Modern Times Rock n Roll and Son & Daughter.

This took me nearly two hours to write, holy hell. But hey, those are my 9 records that I wrote essays about.

#Queen #Queen band #record collection #vinyl collection #nanna-melissa #I'll add more tags later fuck it

1 note · View note

borisbubbles · 5 years ago

Text

Eurovision 2010s: 30 - 26

30. Nika Kocharov & Young Georgian Lolitaz - “Midnight Gold” Georgia 2016

youtube

When rating Eurovision entrants, it’s important to also take note of the journey, and Nika Kocharov had one of the best ever? Similarly to The Shin, everyone was just about:blank towards “Midnight gold”, not understanding the concept and ranking it last in unison. Like Shin & Mariko, I was mostly intrigued and willing to give it a chance. Unlike the Shin though, I thought “Midnight Gold” was a good song for its genre, just not one I was that entheused by. The revamp, which provided the setting of a mad scientist’s laboratory, was a step in the right direction, providing a hint of entropy, a dash of absurdity, a spark of insanity. And then, at long last, the dénouement:

STAINS OF MUD

ON UR SKIN

THE NIGHT WILL COME

AND SO WILL SIN

Winning LIFE *and* everyone over with that <3 I don’t think ANYONE could have anticipated that “Midnight gold” would deliver a non-stop absynthe-minded ACID TRIP in Stockholm. 😍 The visuals were so ICONIC they are still setting the special effects bar in the present day. This is Sacha Jean-Baptiste’s best staging. Period. Not “Euphoria”. Not “Alter ego”. Not “Fuego”. "Midnight gold”. BY FAR. Would it be even considered a stretch to go as far as saying that “Midnight Gold” has the best staging of any Eurovision entrant to date? I don’t think it does, but it is definitely a contender.

Who would have thought that THIS song would become one of the more memorable, epic entries of a great year such as 2016? Of course the flawless staging also made me retroactively appreciate “Midnight gold” as a song as well and I regularly give it play time whenever I can. 😍 STAINS OF MUD.

ps: I don’t care about fashion much, but I want his hat.

________________________________________________________________

29. Naviband - “Story of my life” Belarus 2017

youtube

[2017 Review here]

HEY HEY! HAYAYAYA HO!

What superlatives can I still use for describe the pure, unshattering LIGHT that is “Historija majho zyccia”? It leaks mirth from every pore, infecting everyone around it with the irresistable urge to tap their feet along to the HEY HEY HA JA JA HO’s!

At the center of this wonderful hovercraftian masterpiece lie Artiom and Ksenia, two of the most adorable humans ever to exist, who are also a couple irl and it shows. The two have chemistry and charisma in spades, especially Ksenia who is the living embodiment of the “^__^” emoji. I am ALWAYS happy when I listen to this song and I am thrilled we got to hear it twice.

Eurosnob contempt for happiness is a well-documented feature in this ranking, but it reached its nadir with Naviband: You see, in addition to being ‘A Happy Song’ (a term used with contempt, imagine that O_O), Naviband are also folk singers from Belarus, who -shocker- sing in Belarusian. However, don’t be harsh on the Eurosnobs because the area of the dopamine receptors in the brain of a Naviband hater are always attached to a person who isn’t living happily ever after. Naviband is life at its best. EMBRACE IT. Like this Lithuanian frump did:

________________________________________________________________

28. Måns Zelmerlöw - “Heroes” Sweden 2015

youtube

lol I JUST spoke about “Midnight gold” having one of the best, but not the best staging. Well, that’s because “Heroes” is, in my opinion, the most visually impressive Eurovision entry of all times. 🤗 I don’t think it’s even a stretch to call it that? “Heroes” as a song is widely regarded as pretty whatever, winning due to its act. However, while I don’t necessarily disagree this is why Måns won, I feel this take very much undersells Måns. Using it at an excuse to dismiss his goodness is ridiculous.

First of all; “Heroes” IS a really, really good song. Infectuous, upbeat, irresistably positive with highly quotable lyrics (”now go sing it like a hummingbird the greatest anthem ever heard” 😍) and an earnest anti-bullying message (<3). It may not be *as* original as some of the entries ranked around it on this list, but it definitely handles its own, with and without an act.

Another defining factor in making “Heroes” a great entry is Måns himself. Måns Zelmerlöw is arguably the most attractive human to ever set a foot on a Eurovision stage. The man is irresistable even on a platonic level. He puts every other charismatic performer to shame and does it effortlessly.

However, even with these two trump cards, the staging is indeed the best part of “Heroes”. It bears repeating that I think this is the best Eurovision act to date. Impressive visual effects, flawless choreography and impeccable camerawork elevate “Heroes” to a much higher level. It tells it story with more clarity and efficacity than any other entry I can think of.

Ultimately, Måns staging is a testament of his goodness, and an acceptable reason for winning Eurovision. Because of “Heroes”, many countries have upped their staging game, resulting in more visually impressive entries (specifically the Sabotage Baptiste ones in 2016, and Sergey I guess), which is a positive development. Live music isn’t so much about which song you perform, but about how you perform it, and “Heroes” is the best example of that.

_______________________________________________________________

27. ZiBBZ - “Stones” Switzerland 2018

youtube

[2018 Review Here]

WILD JOKAH ON A GOLD THRONE

Here we are again, our annual appointment with everyone’s favourite sibling alliance. 😍 “Stones” is powerful kick-ass diamond of indie-rock and a serious contender for my favourite Swiss entry of all time.

The song is a masterclass in mental health awareness and self-empowerment, dismantling bullying and depression with perfectly timed percussion and AHUMs, truth-bombing lyrics and an insanely charismatic lead who sounds like Joss Stone on five packs a day. 😍 It’s catchier than ebola, more addictive than sugar and soars higher than a kite.

In addition to all of that jazz, “Stones” is also responsible for some of the most iconic visuals in 2018:

God the shot of Coco with the flare still sends shivers down my spine. WHAT A CRUSADER OF THE DOWNTRODDEN. 😍 Whenever I’m feeling down, this is the song that lifts me back up again.

Really, the only thing not good about ZiBBZ was the camerawork and that wasn’t their fault. FY Hans Pancake. 🙄 If ever there were a robbed NQ who deserves a Genovaesque return, it’s the Zibblings. BRING THEM BACK!!!

________________________________________________________________

26. Paula Seling & Ovi - “Playing with fire” Romania 2010

youtube

Speaking of highly addictive songs, holy cow Ovi I need rehab for that beat alone because I CANNOT get it out of my head.

Anyway, who else would be the #1 for Romania if not for Paula Seling and Ovi? “Miracle” was a beautiful example of tacky taste, but “Playing with fire”, man, :takes a sip of gin:, now that is the real stuff.

I’ll start, I guess, where I’ve begun my write-up which is the composition: “Playing with fire” has one of the best underlying beats in this decade, which gives it infinite replayability. Layered on top of that is some delightfully aggressive piano (😍), on top of THAT some amazingly playful lyrics (”BOY BOY BOY If we’re mean, i would start a fight tonight” songs about playfighting <3) and on top of THAT, Paula Seling. Paula is the STAR of this performance, stealing the show every time she’s shown with deliciously flirtatious facial expressions

and some vocal masturbation in the guise of a dolphin impersonation.

She and Ovi and ignite the place with both insane pyrotechnics and spontaneous chemistry. So fun, SO GOOD, so dynamic especially for an act where the main singers sit down in front of a double-headed plexiglass piano (😍). Duncan Laurence DEAD in a motherfucking DITCH.

And with this update we have eliminated FIVE countries. Check their reviews below:

GEORGIA

Georgia is such a bizarre Eurovision country, often churning out absolutely BONKERS entries that leave Europe stunned in silence. <3 It may not be reflected in their vital statistics but I always look forward for what they have on offer because even in the rare case of them being boring, they are always interesting.

BELARUS

Belarus was one of the worst countries in the 00s, but in the 2010s they’ve evolved into a bargain bin Moldova, which makes them solidly good. It’s really astounding that a country SO GOOD at being entertaining gets dismissed so easily because of their flag (and dictatorship (and gay rights)). They’re mostly good and 100% worthy of our time, tyvm!!

SWEDEN

The worst part of Sweden’s success streak is that it made them conceited and lazy. They no longer need to be innovative, creative or entertaining in order to get a top five position and worse, they are fully aware of it. This resulted in a marked drop in quality and if they don’t curb their hubris quickly, I predict it will soon come back to bite them. (ie: another NQ)

SWITZERLAND

B A S I C. Zibbz and Luca did a lot of the heavy lifting here, which caused Switz to mathematically outrank Sweden, and while that’s hilarious it also feels absurd and wrong. Don’t be fooled by all that green though. Switzerland are basic bitches and have no idea what to do in order to be cool.

ROMANIA

Romania are one of the better hit-or-miss countries in Eurovision, imo even if the chart doesn’t fully reflect it. The problem I have with them is that their entries don’t have a long shelf life. Like, the Cezars and Ilincae of this world grow stale very quickly because they’re exhausting and shallow. Having said that, this is by far preferable over being consistently boring (UK) or violently oscillating between great and demonic entries (Germany, Demark).

#Eurovision #Eurovision Song Contest #Georgia #Belarus #Sweden #Switzerland #Romania #Nika Kocharov & Young Georgian Lolitaz #Midnight Gold #navimumbai #Story of my life #Historija majho zyccia #Måns Zelmerlöw #Heroes #ZiBBZ #stones #Paula Seling #Ovi #playing with fire

20 notes · View notes

cyanpeacock · 5 years ago

Text

Christ.

Again, sleep is not forthcoming.

Busy mind. Restless body.

Anyway.

Here's a fun thing about genetics.

You're changing the way your genes are expressed, all the time.

The code itself stays the same. However, dependent on external signals, little machines in your cells add and remove little tags from your DNA, changing the way it curls up.

Some tags make the DNA open up, so the genes nearby can be turned into molecules that do something somewhere in your body. Other tags make the DNA close up, so no more of the nearby genes get turned into useful molecules.

This means that by changing what you do, you can literally change how your genetics work!

For instance, you might go through a really long, tough period in your life, and you feel very bad, for a long time. Little machines in your cells respond to those signals, and put a tag on your DNA next to a gene for a serotonin receptor, to make it close up. You make less serotonin receptors as a result of the difficult period.

Hang on, you might think - that's going to make me feel worse!

Yes! It does! Feeling worse motivates you to act and change something, even if the thing you do doesn't seem to help (e.g. ruminating on your bad feeling).

Thinking a lot about your bad feeling can help. Even if the only conclusion you can come to is that you have to find a way to stop feeling bad - that's the start of change. You might roll over in bed and google "how to stop thinking about suicide." You read something, and try to learn from it.

You gather information to try and feel better. That's you being a hunter-gatherer species in a wild that doesn't have many cool rocks to pick up. You picked up a self-help article instead of a rock. That means you're serving your purpose! You can't help it!

As you learn more and more helpful things, you find you can do more and more helpful things. The little machines that add the tags change their minds! They go oh! Things are better now? Alright, let's open up that bit of the DNA, and let this poor depressed bitch make some more serotonin receptors, so they can actually feel it!

This is a process you literally cannot stop, short of killing yourself - and animals only kill theirselves when the information they've gathered says there is no way to live, no way to go on. It's okay. This too is natural.

We get the feeling of being suicidal, because it warns us that it will come to that if we don't change something in our external environment, or something about the information we have, and how we use it.

We engage in parasuicide - non-fatal suicidal gestures - to alert other humans to the fact that something is urgently wrong, and we need help to change it. This might be as little as a soothing conversation with a paramedic. You still feel bad, because more needs to change, but you do feel a bit better.

Self harm is a little different. It can be to alert other humans that something is wrong, but it can also be to make your body make endorphins to counter the pain you're feeling. Endorphins are the feel-good chemicals that get released when you exercise - one, called anandamide, is quite similar to the chemicals found in weed. You know the phrase "high on life"? It gives you a buzz. The buzz lifts you up!

Of course, this has consequences. Because the buzz lifts you up, the little machines need to make sure you know that things are still bad, and that you can't just cut yourself forever to solve it. This is why self harm seems to help at first - it does! - but can then become addictive, and reinforce depression. Your body needs the feel-good chemicals, but only knows one easy way to get enough of them, and feeling bad about it makes you seek change.

So, basically, your body is doing exactly what it needs to do to survive. How you feel about that depends on your code, and what's all around you, and what's in your head right now - and what that makes your little machines do. (The little machines also get made by the code. The cycle is wack. It goes so deep.)

I think it's awesomely cool. Look at you go! Even though you might not be conscious of it, and you might literally want to die, you're still trying to change the way the code that makes you, you, gets expressed.

That's awesome. I'm proud of you. You "can't help it," but you already are helping it, funnily enough, with everything you do - because you're working with everything you know that helps, and still trying to find more.

Keep going, sexy broken machine. The spares and repairs are out there. You'll find them, and use them, and build yourself anew - at least until the hardware burns out. 💙

#fliptext #suicide #self harm #trauma

5 notes · View notes

microsoftedgy69 · 6 years ago

Text

Goliath, part 2

[prologue] [part 1]

You're in the middle of sparring when you realize. The main plan doesn't exactly involve much actual combat, but some of the What-Ifs do. If push comes to shove, you might have to go hand to hand at some point, and you haven't done that in half a decade -- because you were glasses for most of that time, and terrified of physical violence for the rest -- so you made yourself a classic old sparring bot to get back into it. It's simple, pure metal with no discernible face and a fighting program that's supposed to learn from your moves and attempt to always get one step ahead of you. It's Brobot without the emotional baggage, essentially.

You're not far from the shore where your boat is anchored, and are rolling through the dirt with a pair of metal wrists in your hand, when you realize that you have been corrupted.

Something is wrong with your output. When you go through your logs, they tell you that you must have been talking, even though you don't remember saying anything. When you check your blog, there are several posts you don't recall putting there. You hurry to check your messages, but it doesn't seem to have gone that far -- thankfully, you haven’t told any of your friends to obey, submit, or consume lately.

Yesterday's craving for cookies makes more sense now, you think. It's also fantastically ridiculous.

It doesn't worry you much. You can get her propaganda out of your system, you've done it before. It doesn't worry you much, until you try to move away from the sparring bot, and your body does something entirely else instead.

In stunned silence, you watch your first surge forward and, with force you knew you had in you but never actually used, punch right into the metal head. You watch the material give, dent, then break, watch the edges cut into your hand, wrist, then arm. Your shark skin is so tough that in the year of you having it, nothing has actually broken through it before, but this will do it.

You have pain receptors, carefully crafted long ago, but you don’t feel anything, right now. You feel like you are glasses again, perched on somebody else’s nose, watching idly whatever the hell this guy is doing with his body. None of it seems like a very good idea, to you, but it doesn’t feel like your call to make. Your hand takes a shard of metal from the sparring bot’s face, and then your body pushes itself upright. You look down as you get a better grip on the shard, aim, and plunge it right into your own stomach.

Hm.

Well.

That doesn’t really do much of anything to you. You still don’t feel any pain, and when you pull the piece of metal back out of yourself, you can see something thick and brown ooze out of the wound.

It’s chocolate milk.

You must have hit your synthetic stomach that also doesn’t actually do much, digestion-wise. It just sort of keeps the food there for a bit until you go to the bathroom. This will be a bitch to fix, but it’s nothing you’re not prepared for.

The thought pulls you back, pulls your mind in between your shoulders, pushes your thoughts through the wires inside your arms. Yeah, right, you were prepared for this. It’s not part of Plan A. You didn’t want this to happen, but you suspected it might. Your emergency protocol in case of corruption was to put up a bunch of fake information about yourself she could find, like that your vital hardware is located in your stomach. It’s not. That would be stupid. It’s sprinkled all over your body in multiple hard to reach places, like the important piece of storage that’s lodged deep in your right thigh. She doesn’t seem to know that, which means she can’t have gotten very far yet.

You can get her back out.

Unfortunately, realizing what’s happening and pulling your consciousness back into your body has reminded you that you can, in fact, feel pain.

Crying out, you crumple to the floor, your good hand clutching your bad hand clutching your stomach. For several seconds, you don’t know where to start -- you can turn off the pain, but you should amp up your security software first, you need to get her out but you can’t do that if your mind is clouded with the pain of a stab wound to the guts and your hand falling apart but if you waste too much time getting the pain under control she might advance further into your data and you can’t have her finding out where your real vital hardware lies ---

Your scream rips through the undergrowth, loud enough to make a flock of birds flee from a nearby tree, to make you feel the vibrations of your own voice hum through the roof of your mouth. That helped. Kicking her out is a matter of a few, practiced steps. You can take care of the pain later; you’ve felt worse before.

So you stay where you are, curled up into a little ball, eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched, fingers twisting into each other, enduring. You’ve stopped crying out -- you’ve stopped making any noise at all, only focusing on your very inside, on what keeps you running, what makes you you. This by far isn’t her first attempt at corrupting you or your brothers, and over the years you’ve learned to adapt, keep updating your anti-virus, keep finding new measures that keep up with whatever she has been up to. You assume that this time she got in because you must have left some sort of trace on the drone you and Roxy sent her, which of course isn’t ideal. It means, however, that you opened the door for her, and you damn well know how to close it again.

She doesn’t put up much of a fight. You assume that she got what she came here for -- your vital organs and your immediate future plans. If you put up enough of a struggle, you figure, she will believe in that success.

The second you reach 0% corruption, you slump forward, face first into the dirt. It muffles your pained groan for the few beats you spend like this, before your feet start shifting against the ground in an attempt to somehow deal with the feeling of having a hole in your stomach. The way through your programming to turn off pain, at least, is a quick one now.

You flip the switch, and stop feeling anything. The moan you let out doesn’t vibrate through your mouth, but at least you hear it. You almost laugh at yourself. You don’t quite feel like it, though.

Walking the Earth with your touch receptors turned off is always weird, but it helps you get things done quickly. You check in on your brothers first, to make sure neither of them got caught in any sort of crossfire. They are fine, your plants are fine, your cat and your fish are fine. You want to pat yourself on the back for acting quickly enough, but once you chuck the broken sparring bot into your workroom and then sit down there to fix yourself, that sentiment leaves you pretty quickly.

You fix your stomach, then glue the cuts in your skin shut again, both your stomach and your hand. It looks like you have scars now, for the first time in your artificial life. In the back of the room, you have way more skin left over, rolled up like fabric, but you’d have to sew a whole new suit from it if you wanted to keep a body without scars. You don’t have time for that right now. You have to-- you want to act fast.

You have just about fucking had it.

Once you’re all glued up, you turn your receptors back on, then leave the workroom to say goodbye to the bots, your pets, and all of your plants. You check your sylladex to make sure that you have what you need on you -- a copy of SBURB, Dirk’s hand grenade. You step out on the deck, unnecessarily roll your shoulders, and message Roxy.

They reply immediately.

TT: She took the bait. See you in Rainbow Falls in five. TG: EFFIN finally TG: make it 3

Three it is. You nod to yourself, and open every other conversation that currently matters to you. To Alma, you say,

TT: Hey, I gotta bounce. There’s a note on the fridge about pet and plant care. TT: Thanks. TT: You know, for all of it. TT: Catch you on the flipside.

Messaging Palooka makes you a bit more nervous, but you don’t want to leave without another word.

TT: I’m off now. TT: Still reachable, but I’m on my way. TT: Just wanted to let you know. TT: I’ll stop by when I’m back.

You open your conversation with your… your ex-boyfriend, you suppose, too. You haven’t talked, since you told him what you’re doing. Something in you wants to let him know, but you don’t quite see the point in telling him that you’re actually leaving now. You wouldn’t know what to say, anyway. And if you stare at this any longer, your three minutes will be up.

sometimes to get to god, first you gotta meet the devil.

Your name used to be Dirk Strider. When you were a child, you were the loneliest person in the universe, and all you wanted to do was matter. Then one day, when you were thirteen, you woke up and were not Dirk Strider anymore. You had been demoted to a knock-off, a less important version of yourself that couldn’t physically do anything, that nobody cared about. You had to sit back and watch other people be relevant, watch other people do things and take control of their lives, while you were struggling with the mere concept of being a living person.

Jake doesn’t understand your constant urge to mean something. You didn’t expect him to; he’s been through this, he’s played his own session of the Game, he doesn’t want to hear anything about it anymore. You get it. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to understand that you need this, that you’ve been craving this since the second you were transferred into a pair of sunglasses, and that it’s the one, the final thing you have to do, to prove to yourself that you are a person.

You are real and you exist in this world, and you are going to leave a dent in it.

You sit on the roof of Roxy’s house while they set up the computers for your two-player session, and you send out pings into the universe. She will come here. You know she will. She found your fake body blueprints, and she found your fake future plans that showed you stopping her whole operation from Earth. She has enough incentive to get her shitty red spaceship back here, but no idea what actually awaits her. No idea that you and Roxy are ready to fuck this entire timeline just to get back at her.

You sit on the roof of Roxy’s house, and you wait for Her Imperial Condescension to come to you, so you can kill her. She will do what you want her to. People always do, sooner or later. You will get her where you want her, then you will induce the apocalypse, and kill the tyrant that has tormented you over the course of your entire existence.

And then, you think, with all of that out of the way, with your home timeline reduced to dust and your nemesis caught in the ensuing detonation of all you knew growing up, you will finally be ready, to go. To move on.

This is your moment in the spotlight. None of this is necessary for anyone else, except for maybe Roxy -- this planet is dead. Sitting on the roof, you overview the remnants of a society that has long since been eradicated. You are doing this for yourself. You are making yourself relevant, to only yourself.

It’s your gift, to you.

You run your fingertips over your other hand, feeling the scars in the rough skin of your forearm, and close your eyes. It feels good to be real.

#action post #posted ooc #goliath #whoaaaaaa were halfway theeeeere #WARNINGS #mindcontrol ;#violence ;#MENTIONED #mindparkour #jakepalooka #golgoodthimes #the gang basically #i........... dont know how this got so long. but im having fun and thats what matters

6 notes · View notes