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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.

#danny phantom #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 28: alone #dannymay #danny phantom x marvel cinematic universe crossover #op!Danny/Marvel #Not much op!Danny yet tho

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

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holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”

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skellebonez · 4 years ago

Note

Hear me out: Spider Macaque in the Spider Monkie AU with prompts 14 and 35?

I hear you and oh this was way too much fun... I took a great deal of liberty with exactly how Mac transforms into his Spider Monkie form and who says what and the TIMELINE because I... re-wrote this into a ship fic because of you. I call it ShadowCodingShipping because someone had to name MacaqueSyntax eventually! I guess you could say this is definitely a what-if story more than anything.

Warning for body horror because Mac is slowly turning half spider and that's kinda gross and painful. Also this is hurt/comfort but heavy on the HURT. This does not have a happy ending.

Am I scaring you?/I believe I can be of some help here.

"Am I scaring you?" Macaque asked with a smirk, pain clearly barely held at bay behind it. The monkey demon was a mess, fur tussled and miscolored splotches that hadn't yet grown in properly littered his torso. His torso that had gained a good inch in the last failed attempt at... what they were trying to accomplish. "... are you going to answer me, scientist?"

Syntax did not answer. Whether it was out of fear or knowing that regardless his answer would not make the demon leave him be even he didn't know.

"Queenie calls you Syntax," Macaque continued, moving around the computer to watch him over the screen. "That can't be your name, can it? I didn't give enough of a shit to ask before now. Hey. Hey. Hey. H-"

"No, it is not my birth name," the scientist snapped eventually, watching as Macaque smirked in victory. "Only a complete fool would agree to work with someone as infamous as the Spider Queen and use their legal name as if they were sending an unencrypted message containing confidential information across basic messaging applications without a VPN. What in the world are you trying to accomplish?"

"Ooooo, wordy," Macaque chuckled out as he leaned against the monitor and made it tilt at an awkward angle. "I'm. Bored. Entertain me, scientist, you're the most interesting person in this place. believe it or not."

Syntax raised a brow at the demon, sighing as he continued to type into the computer. "Do you want this to be finished any time soon? Because the more you bother me the longer it will take. I may be able to multitask but humans have limits."

Macaque scowled for a moment before shrugging, failing at hiding a grimace of pain. It must have made the new bones in his spine ache horribly. But he moved easily past Syntax without a word, only whipping his tail against his shoulder as he left.

It didn't hurt at all... he wondered what the point of the gesture even was.

The screaming rang through the entire hideout, Syntax's ears ringing even as he covered them. They'd tried twice more in their attempts at Macaque's twisted idea, Spider Queen slowly seeming to become less and less comfortable with not only their methods but with what they were even doing. It was working, sort of, but not correctly.

The changes were supposed to be immediate, so fast that the pain receptors wouldn't register properly. Not for the comfort of the converted, but so that it would happen so quickly they wouldn't be able to fight it. Less pain, less of a change for your body to try to fight off the transformation. Syntax had insisted on mechanical changes, nano-bots or something of the sort instead of organic growth. Macaque himself had vetoed this, saying something about how it wouldn't make him feel whole again.

This made the changes slow. Too slow, so much so that the mixture was fought off by his immortal monkey biology too quickly for it to take hold the way it was supposed to, requiring Syntax to make it stronger and stronger each time in the hopes it would finally kick in.

Now Macaque laid on the ground, holding his face and screaming so much Syntax feared his vocal cords would give out. The last two treatments had lengthened his torso even more and changed his fur consistency entirely. Once soft and thick black fur was a mixture of that and the coarse purple hair of a spider, not meshing together at all and instead forming an odd pattern on his body. At some points silver had begun to peak through, though if that was supposed to happen or if it was a reaction to the sheer stress of his body undergoing a change that should not be happening he was not sure. Syntax could see the red mark on his face warping, changing into the same purple on his torso around his eyes and moving up on his face as two more eyes grew above the ones he already had. It was fascinating to be sure, and he would have said that it was almost pretty had it not seen the build up of them forming in a fashion he wished to never see in slow build up ever again.

He was a scientist. He was supposed to be impartial to his work above all else, and he had agreed to help of... mostly his own volition. But this... This made him more uncomfortable than he was ready to admit.

"Help him up," Spider Queen said after Macaque collapsed onto the floor, screaming ceased as his body fought off the mixture for the fourth time. She looked... perturbed. Discomforted. "After his last treatment... move on to your idea. We are not doing this again."

She moved out of the room quickly, to fast to even tell her if he would or not, covering the side of her face with her hand to shield her from the sight of the collapse man on the floor. Yes... discomforted indeed.

Syntax didn't have that luxury. And he would not leave Macaque to lay on the floor regardless of orders. But the way he shook and covered his new eyes and the small amount of tears leaking from his normal eyes made a pang of pity shoot through him. He was a scientist... but he was still human.

"I believe I can be of some help here," he said softly, taking off his lab coat and folding it part way before shoving it under Macaque's head and laying the unfolded part over his face. The demon let out a half whimper, clearly bit back as he didn't want to show weakness, but eased ever so slightly as he realized the coat blocked out the light of the lab just as well as his hands had. "It's not a perfect solution, but it gets the job done.

"Th-thought Queenie s-said to help me u-up," Macaque stuttered out, moving his hands to grip the coat instead of his eyes.

"Yes, but that would be a bad idea," Syntax explained, sitting on the floor next to him with a sigh. He pulled his tablet down from a nearby table, there was no point in not getting at least some work done, and began scribbling away with the attached pen. "Your eyes are far too sensitive and with the other changes you have gone through your body will likely collapse again before we could get you to a cot. It's best you remain stationary for the time being until I am able to assess your pain tolerance properly, then I will move you to your quarters."

Macaque didn't say anything, just huffed in reply and seemed to relax. Syntax wondered if he was thankful he wouldn't have to move immediately this time, and he could have sworn he heard something... rumbling.

Maybe it was the machinery behind them.

He felt Macaque's tail hit his side after a while, thumping softly against him... but he didn't push it away.

He wondered if this would change anything at all.

Syntax saw more of Macaque than usual after that. Sometimes he would wander into his lab and just... stay there. Silent as the shadows he liked to hide in. Sometimes he would just watch him work, other times he would bring him plums or mangoes. Syntax never had much of a taste for fruit, not really enjoying any form of sweets, but he would not pass up free food when his stomach rumbled in protest from his long hours. One time Macaque had brought in a book, sat on his desk, and just read it.

That was bizarre, even for him. But Syntax found he didn't exactly mind the company. It was quite... lonely in the lab. He was the only human in the Spider Queen's entourage and her other two companions weren't exactly the best company. Oh, the big guy was nice and all and Syntax even enjoyed his presence well enough. But he would grow bored of the scientist's techno babble and science talk eventually and leave with a nod and a wave goodbye. He was grateful that he seemed to listen, however, even if he wasn't interested in the specifics.

The other one, however, was a pain in his ass. Constantly one upping him, trying to belittle him for being a human, just being an all around annoyance. He tried to act cool and suave but Syntax just found him obnoxious.

Macaque... Macaque stayed, listened even if Syntax ran out of things to talk about. And it was oddly nice. He felt himself growing excited for when the part-spider part-monkey would make his presence known.

He wondered, distantly... if Macaque was starting to mean something to him. To matter, in a way.

The day of the final treatment eventually arrived and Syntax actually dreaded what might happen. This was their last shot to make this work completely, there was a greater than 0% chance that this would cause irreparable damage to the monkey demon if they had to continue farther. But it seemed his worries were unfounded. He was smart, a genius even. He had done his job properly, even if it had taken far too long and was the least beneficial way to accomplish the goal.

Macaque screamed worse than with every other treatment, and understandably do. It would have shocked him if Macaque hadn't since he was growing two new arms.

The Spider Queen had taken her leave shortly after, disgusted by the sight before her. It was Syntax's job to watch as Macaque slowly changed before him, bones and muscle and sinew growing slowly and bit by until finally... finally it was finished.

They had learned from last time, placing a cot on the ground for him to sit on while this happened, and he collapsed onto his back. Two new arms limp against the floor as he shook and twitched and cried cold tears in agony. But it was finished.

Syntax couldn't stop himself. He rushed forward, kneeling beside Macaque's head, watching his eyes and expression for recognition and any sign that he was alright. It had only been two weeks since the last treatment, the time needed for him to recuperate, but in that short time... he had grown oddly fond of the man on the cot. He did not know what he felt for him, not yet, but he knew that he did not dislike him in the slightest.

"Ma-Macaque?" He asked softly after no response for nearly 15 minutes, waiting and watching and finally Macaque's eyes turned to him. "How do you feel?"

Macaque didn't say anything to him at first. Just blinked before a weak chuckle resounded from his throat.

"Whole."

The transformation was a mistake. Syntax had never felt guilt for any of his scientific achievement before, and he did not feel guilt for helping the Spider Queen in her endeavor, bit this? This he felt guilt for.

Macaque was in pain. Constantly. Sometimes it was just a dull ache, other times he almost collapsed as something moved the way it shouldn't and he had to bite back a scream. But there was no taking it back now and Macaque reveled in "feeling whole" again.

Syntax felt a mix of awe and wonder whenever he looked at the demon. He was... handsome, the purples and blacks and silvers of his fur blending together properly now. His eyes brilliant gold and green. And when he wasn't in pain his smile was nice, soft even if he could call it that. He was unsure of how much of it was true, he knew the Six-Eared Macaque to be a trickster. But he hoped some of it was, at least when directed at him.

But when he was in pain his face twisted in a way that made Syntax sick to his stomach to see it each time the agony rang true on his face. But Macaque brushed it off, not seeming to pay it much mind. Not when he had his eyes and arms "back".

The Spider Queen agreed with him, he could tell, but probably not for the same reasons. She seemed frightened of him. Goliath and Huntsman were just scared of him too. They avoided him like he would kill them on sight.

Syntax, despite his guilt, welcomes his presence still. He was not frightened of Macaque in the least. No, he just felt guilt that he was in pain. And he would never not want to help him through that now. The spider monkie had grown attached to him, almost a constant companion at his side. And he had grown fond of him as well.

He learned that Macaque had a flair for the theater. He made shadow puppets when the Spider Queen wasn't watching, though for what purpose and what audience Syntax had not asked. He liked to watch Syntax work, and eventually as he started to rest his head on the human's shoulder he learned the rumbling from the second to last treatment was a purr. He didn't know demons could purr, let alone to speed up recovery from injuries.

But the day of the Lunar New Year was coming and Syntax could tell he had something else... someone else on his mind.

The next day was to be the day. Syntax's last chance to get the new formula and tech right. It almost felt like a repeat of the past treatments but with less screaming. He was worried.

Macaque wasn't, however. He had never been worried, assuring the Spider Queen (sometimes through growls and bared teeth) that it would be done in time. He'd been a success after all. (Syntax said nothing each time.)

They'd never been this close before, but Macaque had eventually dragged the scientist away from his computer for rest. Taken him to his room, sat on the bed with him, and just. Held him. Purring loud and deep and eventually Syntax was lulled into slumber sitting up against the soft-coarse fur of Macaque.

He realized that Macaque mattered to him more than he cared to admit.

Syntax had failed. His formula and tech hadn't worked. They only had one shot left, and there was no time for him to fix his mistakes before the end of the celebration. Macaque had been in too much pain, on the other side of the room, to tell Spider Queen off this time. It was all over...

Until she came. The young woman in white and blue. She'd done something, added an ingredient he had not been able to calculate for, and then...

"Let's give it a spin," Spider Queen had said with a smirk as she turned toward her human scientist... her human guinea pig.

"Wait, no!" Syntax backed up, knowing that it was almost pointless to attempt escape. There was nowhere to run. "I helped you! You need me! Maca-AGH!"

Before the spider monkie could rush to his side the little spider drone had jumped on Syntax, adhering itself to his face before he fell backward over some machinery. It crawled around him, situating itself on his back and digging in it's injectors and

pain agony pain pain something came out of his back pain another painpainhescreamedandscreamed ANOTHER AGONYISTHISWHATMACAQUEFELTPAIN one more

And then it was over. Syntax felt... nothing. No pain. No agony.

No... guilt.

He stood straight, facing forward before kneeling. He knew what he had to do.

"My queen."

Yes. His queen. The Spider Queen.

She was the only one who mattered to him.

He heard his name spoken from the other side of the room but paid it no mind. That voice didn't matter to him.

That wasn't the voice of his queen.

"Syntax?" Macaque called, unable to stand from his spot as his arms throbbed in ghost pain. He had tried to stand before, when the drone had lunged at him, but the pain shot through him for a split second and send him to his knees too quickly.

His screams... his screams made his ears pull back not from the pain of the volume but from fear and something else.

Then Syntax stopped screaming and stood and knelt before the Queen.

"Syntax!"

... he never responded.

Macaque wondered if this is what guilt felt like.

#oops all SAD #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #ship fic #hurt/comfort #six eared macaque #syntax #shadowcodingshipping #fun fact: Shadow Code is when devs include third-party code without approval or any safety validation #considering the way this ship came about here I THINK THAT FITS

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ddaehyeon · 4 years ago

Text

。✧ hyacinth; park serim + reader

— pairing: fashion designer!park serim + photographer!reader

— genre: angst, slight fluff, exes au, post-breakup, slightly suggestive (one scene only!)

— word count: 7.1k

— warning: arguments, heartbreak, mentions of anxiety and emptiness

— summary: years had passed since you broke up with serim; life had been continuously patching up ever since. his name had marked several clothing lines, while your studio was well-known in the small city you lived in. who would’ve known that a sight of him on a bus stop would be enough to bring back wounds you thought had long ago healed?

— navi: playlist | video teaser | cravity masterlist

— a/n: my wips suffered from a major slump and this is quite an overdue fic (i also have another overdue fic help) but i hope someone would still at least read this though >< the first ver of this didn't satisfy me and though this ver didn't satisfy me that much, i feel like after rewriting almost half of the fic, this one's better. i'll do my best to pull something better soon!

autumn must be the most magical part of the year. the leaves experiencing a color alteration, scarlets and golds carpeting the ground— a yearly harvest of the earth where everything was gradually being taken away. long gone was the heat of the summer; the chilly evening breeze sure was much friendlier than of winter. the season served as a comforting quilt. it was such a great time for warm drinks that could lift up the mood even for the wariest.

you let go of a breath as you stared at the window, the sun was setting. the color fleshed out in the sky golden, jiving well with the surrounding that was already of the same palette. with an indoor shoot for a seasonal issue of a magazine, it sure was a tiring day. the sound of camera clicks still ringing in your head, along with the hushed talks and chitchats coming from the staff members and the models.

at first, you were hesitant to accept the project. afraid that you’d bump by one of the renowned fashion designers in your region, park serim. but then, you couldn’t just chicken out when a hefty sum was to be paid. the relief you had when you saw that his name wasn’t on the list of designers was almost the same kind of relief you'd have after preventing big trouble from occurring.

“i finished placing back the props in the room.” hyeongjun’s voice was still as bright as it was this morning as if not touched by any fatigue. he was one of the photographers you hired in your studio, offering only fine shots. “i’ll be going home early, just send me a message about what time tomorrow’s shoot will be!”

“thank you, junie.” a smile was on your brim as you nodded on his words, watching him pack his camera and leave afterward.

silence melted in the room as soon as hyeongjun stepped out. alone in your photography studio, you sat on a stool used earlier by one of the models. the room was dimly lit with only one of the umbrella lights open. it was only by then that you realized your thighs were already stiff from the nonstop work earlier. you wanted to go home and just be in the comforts of your bed.

pulling out your phone, you dialed your brother’s number, frowning when it took him quite a while to pick up. was he busy or did he just forget that he was supposed to pick you up tonight?

jungmo would always fetch you by your studio after his working hours concluded. with the two of you living together in the same house, your brother just found it ideal— bringing you to your work every morning and giving you a drive home every evening. it might seem like he was babying you, but it was a gesture you grew fond of.

“y/n?” jungmo gasped on the other line. it seemed like he was outside, music playing in the background which mingled well with the peals of laughter. “shit, i forgot to tell you.”

you raised a brow, questioning his words. “what’s the matter?”

“can’t fetch you today.” you can already envision the pout he had on his lips. “i’m at a party with allen and woobin, catching up with my colleagues. i’ll make it up to you tomorrow, i promise!”

“alright. i’ll just ride the bus then.” it was your turn to purse your lips. you can’t bring yourself to complain about it though. “have fun! just stay in woobin’s apartment tonight, don’t drive!”

“i will, i will,” jungmo replied, a call of his name following. his friends might’ve been looking for him already. “text me alright? get home safely, y/nie.”

at the end of the phone call came another sigh from you. a tightlipped smile braced your lips as you stood to turn off the remaining lights. you retrieved your camera and placed it back in one of the drawers. making sure everything was back to its place, secured; you gave the place one final look. something you’d do every single day before going home. a reminder of the thing you loved the most. a reminder of what could have been.

the sidewalk wasn’t as empty as you imagined it to be, maybe you weren’t used to walking to the bus stop anymore. strangers of different day occurrences exchanged various looks that shared one same element, tiredness.

when the wind blew, fallen leaves danced along with it. the slight coldness making you tuck your hands inside the pocket of the cardigan you were wearing. you loved the cool breeze, but not when you knew you had to stay out on an open shed with it as your companion. cold weather could be your friend, a company for a better evening sleep. but rather a harsh fellow when you had to be alone, when loneliness can easily be injected to your senses.

tracing the path, a memory went to play in your head. way back in college, this was the same sidewalk you’d walk in with your ex-lover. a camera on your hand while he had a roll of satin in his arms. it was such a usual view for the two of you as you talked about how the day went, ranting about the monotonous lectures, gushing over how you missed each other’s company and how you wished that the two of you could get back to your shared apartment as soon just so you can snuggle on the couch.

you glanced at the sky, the cloud hiding the few scattered twinkling stars. a faint smile spread upon your lips, only to disappear when your gaze went back to the bus stop. the male that passed by in a form of fleeting memory earlier was standing right in front of you as if fleshed out from your mind. a lavender-colored paper bag was hanging on his arm, the logo of his product line delicately stamped on the middle. his phone was resting on his other hand, if he was scrolling through sns or texting someone, you weren’t sure.

the magical feeling he used to offer long gone, your stomach twisting into several knots. a cold sensation went down in your spine as a familiar tug came to pull your heartstring. he’s back? what is he doing here? he lives here again?

your thoughts were loud in your head, but none of it was pulled out loud. each word ending up as a lump in your throat. the air was thickening, your heart beating fast, not out of excitement, but out of the clashing thoughts that left you so nervous and confused. it had been years, how come a single sight of him made you feel like all your resolutions are gone? how did a single sight of him become enough to shatter the glass that protected you from the ache that night had caused you?

it was cold. but no, it was no longer because of the autumn breeze.

“serim?” the name was uttered in the same way you would before everything came crashing, yet it held a much weaker tone. you can’t even remember the last time your voice came to wrap around the syllables of his name.

the male turned his head to look at you, a brow raised as he stared at you. no obvious emotion, his eyes held no recognition.

and his reply? it sent a shiver down your spine, your stomach flipping in a horrendous manner.

“who are you?”

for a moment, the air caused such a nauseous feeling— thin and hard to inhale. it was only three words, yet it was powerful enough to serve as a punch in the gut.

how can he forget?

how can he forget how the two of you first met?

not that it was a very momentous event, just a regular struggle faced by two college students that needed someone else to accomplish a project for a major subject. there were no butterflies involved, nor did sparks fly the moment you met. regardless, up until now, that day burned fresh in your mind.

“i know someone from that department,” woobin said without even looking at you, his eyes focused on his book. though you weren’t sure if he was really paying attention to the words written there as he kept on diving in the conversation every now and then.

“and who might that be?” the dreadful task of having to pair up with the design department had been inhabiting your mind ever since it was given to you. pressure rising as you saw your other blockmates having no hard time getting themselves out there and communicating with the department they weren’t really accustomed to. you still have a month and a half, you were sure you can still make it. it was just a photoshoot anyway, featuring your partner’s designs.

“park serim,” woobin finally answered as if he had to think hard of the person’s name. “i think no one had asked him to become their partner, he’d be available to do it.”

desperate to get over with the task, later that day, you found yourself by the catwalk the design students would take. it was a path that connected their building to the main gate directly. your building wasn’t exactly far away from theirs, but still of a different building. with their building equipped with supplies and machineries for final products, yours were of computers, lightings, and screens.

you stared at your phone, his instagram profile opened. earlier, you already took the pleasure of checking his works out and without much filtering, him as well. he sure does love taking pictures of himself; something that could work perfectly with him being your subject. once satisfied, you left him a dm that was probably one of the most awkward sentences you had ever typed in the entirety of your life.

a notification popped out as you look at your screen, which was shortly followed by another. it was only of common courtesy to follow him before asking him for a favor right? you did that before messaging him and now he followed you back and replied to your dm. unlike you, he didn’t spend much time wandering in your profile. well, as if he had so much to look unto aside from the sceneries and some stories posted.

‘you were the person woobin was talking about? i’ll be out in two minutes. see you in the catwalk.’

it wasn’t too long of a duration, you allowed yourself to simply jump from a social media to another, mindlessly scrolling and liking some post every now and then. only lifting your head up when a wave of students began getting out of the establishment. most were holding mannequins with unfinished clothing attached to them, some were holding rolls of fabrics you weren’t sure what to call.

with squinted eyes, you tried to look for him among the crowds. woobin said that serim was a fashion design major, so he’d probably be holding the same thing as the other students that came out.

and he was.

leaning on his shoulder was a mannequin, asymmetrically dressed in silk. it wasn’t sewn yet, only supported by sewing pins. an arm wrapped around a roll of what seemed to be linen of pastel blue color. there was also a paper bag hanging on his arm which seemed to have some extra fabric and maybe some other supplies.

you walked towards him with a wave to which he gave you a confused look at first, the frown melting away when he realized that you were the one who messaged him not even an hour ago.

“you’re y/n?” he asked, merely to confirm.

you nodded your head and offered a hand in carrying the paper bag. something he didn’t refuse to. “so…” unsure of how to bring up the means of meeting with him after his class, your voice trailed.

“what do you need anyway?” he supported your words as he traced the path of the sidewalk. “take pictures of me or take pictures of the clothes i make?”

“both.” a chuckle left your lips, laced with nothing but sheer abashment, at the same time mentally cursing this project. you were okay with taking pictures, but the negotiation that comes with it wasn’t a task you were so used to doing.

serim hummed, saying an almost inaudible ‘i see’ before taking a big step and stopping in front of you to do a curt observation. his gaze trailing from toes up to your shoulder. “i’ll agree to do it, if you’ll model for me for a project.”

blinking your eyes multiple times, a baffled frown came to mask your countenance. “what?”

“i need a model that will wear the dress i’m doing by the end of the semester,” serim uttered nonchalantly, proceeding to turn his back to you and resume walking. “that would be quits.”

“i’ll do it,” you said, despite still being hesitant. having close to zero knowledge about how such a presentation would work, you were so close to disagreeing. but then again, it would only be a good way to repay him, right? and perhaps the other fashion design students would ask you of the same thing if you try to team up with them.

turning to look at you, there was a curve that formed on his brim. “that’s a deal then.”

how can he forget how the two of you confessed to each other?

two months. it took two months of random meet ups, daily conversations, and occasional hanging out to get to know each other. the awkward messages of checking up on each other’s side of the project turned to asking about each other’s day, sharing rants about academic life or life in general. the occasional hanging out turning to planned dates and spontaneous ones when the two of you both have the time to spare.

you’d usually stay in his unit as he worked on the dress for his project, a clothing that perfectly suits your figure. late night talks induced by the slightest energy given by coffee the two of you had clung into in hopes of being able to finish what was due.

it seemed like time flew by and before you knew it, you were in the backstage. serim was pacing back and forth, more nervous than you were. he wasn’t the one that was going to the stage, but sure his body was restless.

“are you alright?” you asked him once the two of you were left alone in the dressing room.

this was enough for serim’s movement to come to a halt. even when his eyes landed on you, it was obvious that his mind was floating. in fact, it even took him hot seconds before he was able to commit to a verbal response. “i am.”

“you are?” a smile broke out of your countenance which was eventually followed by a chuckle. “are you sure with that?”

your laughter was adequate to ease his nerves a little, a curve appearing on his lips. “i am.”

one of his classmates who was in charge of the flow came knocking to the door, signalling that you should be on standby.

“i’ll do my best,” you said, walking toward the door. it would be a definite lie to say that you were not at all nervous. a deep breath taken before twisting the knob, stopping when serim called you. it was covered with a bit, yet noticeable hesitation that it made you cock a brow for a moment.

“good luck.” it was all that he uttered, along with a gesticulation of him raising both fists. though serim’s mind spoke of different words, words he had little courage to let go of. at least not yet at that moment.

you gave him a smile, nodding your head afterward. “thank you.”

and off you go.

roaring crowds and camera clicks; the auditorium set up for the use of the fashion design students as they exhibit their works through their chosen models. formerly, you’d find yourself among the crowds, snapping pictures and admiring the clothes done by the other students. but this time, you found yourself clothed in a floral print silk-blend asymmetrical dress designed by serim himself.

the lights were blinding, being always part of the photographers, you were quite accustomed with how you were part of the persons behind the camera lense. serim was in the dressing room, watching the runway from the screen that displayed the live broadcast. some of your friends were among the crowds, your older brother even telling you before the show started that he’d be sure to take pictures of you.

fortunately, the few days of practice didn’t go to waste, no major mistakes happened when you modeled serim’s design. perhaps the only problem was you were a little stiff, something too trivial for some audience to notice.

as soon as you stepped by the backstage, serim’s proud smile welcomed you. unable to rest in the dressing room once he saw you getting out of the stage, he practically ran to meet you behind the curtains.

his eyes were filled with adoration, not just for the dress he finished making, but for the overall beauty you radiated. without much thought, he walked closer to you, soon wrapping you in an embrace. tight, yet gentle.

“you did well, y/n,” serim whispered, not letting go.

a soft chuckle was heard from you, your cheeks burning. “you did well,” you corrected. “please, it’s your design.”

“thank you.” releasing you, a smile lingered on his visage. “i’ll make you a better dress in the future.”

“you don’t have to, but thanks,” you replied before the two of you sunk into silence. regardless of how the surrounding was of heavy music and cheers, peace had found its way to emanate in the dimmed part of the area.

no words spoken, yet feelings poured when serim leaned closer. his lips easily capturing yours enough to make your heart pound in your chest, louder than it did while you were in the catwalk.

serim broke the kiss, his lips still close with yours. his eyes were of another glow when he uttered a set of words, familiar yet foreign. “i love you.”

once again, you were under his spell. soft kiss turning into a sloppy one once he guided you to a more secluded area. it would be such a waste to rip the dress off given that it was an original design, yet as the person who sewn each part of the clothing you were wearing, serim had his way to resolve the small dilemma.

the surrounding was silenced, your body frail under each of his touch, breath taken away, chest heaving. sure, it was a night you won’t be able to forget.

how can he forget about how the two of you practically lived with each other for years?

the exuberance exuded while the two of you carried several boxes into an empty unit you called home. maybe it wasn’t really about the place, but it was who you were with. his arms served as a shelter. his hand caught tears of both happiness and sadness. his lips pressed affection that no one else could offer. everywhere with serim was of comfort, of tranquility— a home.

living with another person, being under a single roof wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to adjust to. throughout the first few months of living together, your head was filled with memories of sheer trial and error as the two of you tried to learn the curves. this included adjusting for each other or at least compromising for what the other likes that the other doesn’t. silly mistakes became such a fond memory.

the smell of burnt food that wafted in the air when the two of you decided to stay on the balcony while cooking dinner. astonished by the stars and the almost endless stories that passed on both lips the meal you were preparing was left neglected. that night, the two of you shared bitter food of dark exterior, quite hard to swallow. but the laughter that filled the house after the incident lifted up each other’s mood. despite the bad-tasting meal, it was probably one of the best dinners you had in that apartment.

it didn’t end there. who would forget about the laundry disaster that rendered one of serim’s white long sleeves saturated with colors you weren’t sure what to call. the mixture of forget-me-not blue and azalea pink stood as the most distinguishable pigment along with the other colors. serim only let out of a chuckle at what occurred, even joking that maybe the two of you could start a business of dying white clothing in such a way.

the best memory thus far was a late-night run by the convenience store when the two of you were chasing a morning deadline. a grumbling stomach that broke the mutual silence the two of you exchanged, along with a suspecting look that ended up with laughter.

“let’s buy some food,” serim suggested, removing the tape measure from his shoulder and settling it to the mannequin.

you hit save on your laptop, the editing could wait for a few minutes.

pulling yourself off the chair, you gazed at him with a smile. it wasn’t a surprise that he had the same beam, as bright as the morning, regardless of how the evening was already crawling onto the whole city. sometimes, you wondered how a simple smile could give you so much energy. what kind of magic does a beam flashed by the person you love hold?

a few snacks picked up by the convenience store; a bag in his hand, your hand on the other as the two of you walked back to your unit. the evening sky and the soft gush of wind amplifying the peacefulness provided by the city. no words were exchanged, yet the silence was enough of a word.

deadlines momentarily escaping the mind as you allowed yourself to be engulfed by his presence. his soft voice breaking the silence, the phrase that left his lips drew a curve on your lips. “i love you, y/n.” you weren’t looking at him, but you could perceive the smile he had. “so much.”

“i know,” you replied.

serim’s steps became slower as he looked at you, waiting for the actual response. with a tilted head and shining eyes that reflected your figure and the street lights, his gaze didn’t waver.

a chuckle left your lips, finding yourself lost in his eyes for a moment. “i love you too, serim.” you squeezed his hand, cueing him to continue walking. “so much.”

sighing out of content, a radiant smile decorated his lips.

at that moment, the two of you wished nothing more but just to be next to each other for as long as life would grant you.

how can he forget about your first anniversary?

it wasn’t grand, just the two of you sitting by the balcony. the bouquet he bought abandoned on the dinner table as the two of you gushed over plans you were sure were realistic enough to be achieved. your eyes twinkling with mirth, a lifetime with him sure was the ideal one you’d want to spend.

“y/n,” despite being just beside you, serim called.

you looked at him with a brow raised, catching his eyes on yours. “mhm?”

a smile simply spread onto his lips before he broke the gaze. his hand seeking for an item inside the pocket of his hoodie, a small box retrieved afterward. there, a necklace sat. the pendant was of a ring that was not entirely decorated with fancy stones, rather a lone blue sapphire stone was on it.

“the pendant is a promise ring,” serim explained before scooting closer to you. his hand reached for the back of your head while the necklace rested on your skin. he locked the jewelry on your neck, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead after.

you were silent the whole time, not because you didn’t like the gesture. but because you were sure words wouldn’t be enough to express the satisfaction and light feeling that was blanketing your heart.

serim had a faint smile as he admired the necklace for a moment. just like you, his heart was in an ocean of peaceful joy. lifting his head to look at you directly, he gave your lips a light peck. “i’ll buy you a better one once we’re ready for it.”

“thank you.” your countenance mirrored the same expression serim had— of joy and serenity. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too.” serim leaned in for another quick kiss, swift yet lingering. “i can’t wait to spend a lifetime with you.”

the evening droned on and on with the two of you staying by the balcony, exchanging conversations about the future. two hearts in one home, seemingly able to find the path where both can hold each other’s hand. minds filled with dreams where the other can also be spotted. a considerably spacious studio apartment became the foundation of your plans and dreams.

aspirations that soon became the neglected cause of why your relationship with him gradually crumbled down.

how can he forget about your very first fight?

gazes that held no definite emotion, silence that cut through the air— it was all an unfamiliar experience, hard to swallow. something that you weren’t able to forget easily as it was the first time you’ve ever seen serim with such a cold expression.

the coaster of shows on the television had long passed, a few recaps played. something that wasn’t really able to get a hold of your attention. your mind drifting elsewhere and the few notifications appearing on your phone were the only ones that managed to pull you out of your daze momentarily.

“where’s serim?” for the nth time that day, you asked. the room was quiet with only a few chatters from the screen in front of you. the evening was growing older and older, but you haven’t received any message about serim's whereabouts. neither had he sent you a message the whole afternoon.

worried, you opted to stay up and wait for him. even prepared a meal that can be easily heated so he can have something to eat once he arrives in case he hasn’t eaten anything yet.

with the door clicking, you were quick to get off the couch. the faint footsteps signaling you right away.

“you’re finally home,” you said, a smile easily located on your brim. only for it to melt away at the sight of serim’s stern look. his gaze piercing through, enough for chills to trace your spine.

he walked past you, not even offering you the regular hugs and kisses he would do every time he’d arrive. all that was left were cold stares. something you attempted to break. and heck did you regret doing so.

“why haven’t you been answering your phone? have you already eaten?” the worry you had accumulated coming through in waves of questions.

a sigh was emitted out of his mouth as he went to get himself a drink. it seemed like a verbal response was not an option for him since he continued to ignore your questions. at this point, it was as if there was no one else in the room. it was like you weren’t there.

“did something happen, serim?”

a minute. it was all it took for the entirety of your relationship to come to an unknown turn. the curve strange, it crawled to the skin with such a frigid touch enough for your stomach to flip horribly.

“can you give me a break?” serim hissed, a glare shoot in your direction. his voice growing power word after word. your breath was taken away, how can words suffice to make you feel so small? he placed his glass on the sink, the item almost meeting its demise. he turned to look at you once again. “can’t you see, i’m tired?”

“i waited for you.” the words spilled out of your lips, disappointment hugging your tone.

“who told you to wait for me?” serim snarled and before you knew it, you were already standing on the same page. similar expression, different cause. yours were anchored in concern, while his were of fatigue from the whole day of heavy workload. those seemed to have lulled both of your senses, blinding each other.

“oh well, i was just worried about you because you didn’t send me a message the whole afternoon up to this point.”

“do i really need to report my actions to you?”

“no, but you have to at least tell me if you’re going home late.” your voice gradually softened, a tear held back.

no, you can’t cry. no, not in front of him. no.

“i was worried,” you broke out. but it wasn’t enough for his fumes to dissolve. like gasoline poured into flames, each of your replies only intensified the exasperation boiling in his stomach.

“i’m going to rest.” serim sigh was audible as he stormed off to your room, leaving you with tears in your eyes.

a minute.

it only took half a minute for everything to fall out of its order. that fight wasn’t the last one and each passing day, the unit you once called home was stuck with unfamiliarity.

it was no longer a home.

how can he forget about that night?

cold meals by the table had your eyes fixated on them. the date encircled in red, a supposedly special day that turned bitter. different from how you used to spend it before—of laughter and warm touches— serim wasn’t there. he was far too involved with projects that your shared unit only became a short shelter. words were barely exchanged, yet alone gazes. you still sleep on the same bed as him, but no warmth was offered.

you weren’t sure which was better, to continue living with him even if it felt like you weren’t living with him or to have him gone in your life for real. regardless of the turns that occurred, the continuous erosion of your relationship, you couldn’t find it to yourself to let go. still tied by your attachment to the former serim.

a sigh left your lips, desolated gaze trailing on the table. you tried. but it seemed like those attempts were futile. it takes two people’s efforts. you can’t revive a relationship alone.

switching place, you went to the living room and sat by the couch. the place dimly lit by a lone lampshade. the city lights filtering through the window. the air gradually thickened around you, it held your throat in a vice grip. the photographs displayed by the shelves were foreign to you, despite how it was simply you and serim. it was like you were staring at completely different people. smiles had long been taken away, touches had melted, flutters subsided— all that was left was a terrible feeling of helplessness. something that seemed to guide you to nowhere. you were lost.

before, you were sure of how the story was to be written. how the chapters were to unfold. but right now, you weren’t even certain what would be on the next page. it was like the next ones were torn from the spine, gone. oh hell, you weren’t even sure what page you were on right now or if the story was bound to be written in the first place.

serim’s arrival went unnoticed at first. only until you heard the clink of the glass meeting the sink did you turn in his direction. an empty gaze was earned and for some reason you found yourself offering him a faint smile. a small gesture packed in pain that was quick to course through your senses.

sighing had become his way of greeting. dark circles under his eyes and the disheveled look emanated how his work had been weighing him. but your mouth was closed regardless of how you wanted to speak of reassurance and praise. it was strange, the inability to speak of warm words around him. why were you so held by fear?

“serim,” you called, breaking the floating silence.

he looked at you, eyes deep like he was examining a piece of fabric. it was enough for your stomach to churn. the stillness continued after your call. you weren’t sure how to continue it; it was as if his name was unnatural in your tongue. not only was your breath sucked, but also all the possible words had dissipated.

yet again another sigh as he tore his gaze away, stepping towards the bedroom. “i’m so tired, y/n,” he uttered, setting a line for you to not cross onto. “very tired.”

resurfacing on your brim was a smile. your eyes weren’t exactly skillful of lying though as tears soon gathered on it. heart hollowed in emptiness as if a scream would echo on its wall. likewise, your voice decided to betray you— shaking. “serim, i’m getting tired too.”

for a swift moment, serim tried to come up with an answer. but just like you, comforting words seemed to be an unfamiliar language. even aware of how a look would be inadequate, he only stared at you. his eyes don’t speak of words nor radiated comfort— it was vacant. lowering his head, he carded his fingers on his hair before letting go of a breath.

serim finally stepped inside the bedroom.

and that was how the two of you parted ways.

how can he forget about you?

it went on and on in your head, the question continuously striking.

a gush of autumn breeze pulled you out of your daze. serim was still looking at you, his eyes slowly lightening with recognition. a few blinks and he spoke. “oh, wait.” he tilted his head to the side. “y/n?”

you weren’t exactly sure what kind of answer to give, but you gave it your best to offer a faint smile. “yes.”

still— despite how other people were walking on the sidewalk and how vehicles passed by the road, the surrounding seemed to come to a stillness you didn’t ask for. denying and pushing away the feelings you’ve long ago tried to bury and made yourself believe that you’ve healed from only brought a new wave of pain. as if you were its child, sadness came to hug you.

just in time, the bus arrived as if to save you from further drowning in emotions you didn’t wish to engulf you in. to your surprise, serim also boarded in. while you chose to sit somewhere just nearby the driver, he went to the last row.

usually, your rides on the way home were the most relaxing ones. a time to just stare at the window and watch the night spread into the city. it will always be accustomed by jungmo asking you on and on about how your day went and also sharing about how his day went. but your brother wasn’t around for that kind of support right now. and you can’t blame him for it. you can’t blame anyone for this unexpected meeting with the person you never knew you’d ever meet again.

the ride was sickeningly slow, all you wished was to get home and allow your voice to echo in your room. to release the emptiness if it was even possible to empty something that was already vacant. the sky held no comfort. its color dissipated and all that was left was an empty canvas that like a broken record, played memories. it was silly how despite those quick memories popping in and out of your mind, questions still managed to penetrate.

serim was living in another city, why did he ride the same bus? was he to meet his new lover? maybe to meet an old friend?

or did he perhaps mean to meet you? this was a guess you despised. the hope it brought that maybe an answer for all the questions formed that night were to be given tasted bitter in your mouth and offered restlessness in the heart.

an urge to talk to him surfaced, but then you asked yourself why. why would you want to talk to him? for what?

despite being curious about the reason why he left that night, a certain fear crawled onto your senses. the fear of knowing.

what could knowing his reasons possibly bring you?

the time when the two of you loved each other wasn’t of the best timing. two newly graduates seeking career growth, wanting nothing but to achieve various goals. those were dreams drawn with the other person placed as a part of it. however, during the process of achieving those, that same person where the aspiration was rooted gradually disappeared from the mind. the path the two of you promised to take together came at crossroads and you ended up taking something different from what he preferred to go to.

at first, there was a powerful yearning that made the two of you grow more fond of each other. but it was slowly replaced by numbness towards it, making love such a foreign word.

you understood. but it wasn’t something you had fully accepted.

a familiar shed came to flash on the window, your stop nearing. and when the vehicle finally came to a halt, you gave serim a final glance. he was looking at you, not moving from his seat. dismissing the contact, you walked down the bus and began tracing the sidewalk with heavy steps.

disappointment curled into your stomach when you arrived near your house, realizing that the recurring questions will not be answered. however, fate played its game. anxiousness arose when once again you heard your name wrapped around serim’s voice.

you turned to look at him, his lips hesitant to let go of a word.

serim was also in deep thoughts, mind all over the place despite how he already had the resolution to talk to you, not to explain and justify himself, but to apologize for the damage done.

“i’m sorry for that night,” serim began, the initial words already clinging into his chest, weighing down. “i should’ve been more honest with you and trusted you more with my struggles.”

there was nothing serim wanted but to prove himself worthy of you. achieve things that could make you be proud of him and deem him as someone who deserves you. working up to late hours, diving into designs in order to perfect his craft. the thing was, he forgot that you already loved him even when he was simply that serim. that you loved him as park serim.

blinded by the goal, the mean diminished. as he was too caught up with it, he was no longer striding towards it for you, but for himself.

“it was selfish of me to decide for something we both should be deciding for. i left that night thinking it was better that way without even considering how you will feel,” serim continued, his voice weakening. he lifted his hand as if to hold you, but stopped midway. it fell to his side as he breathed in. “i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.”

“i was hurt, but you were probably hurt as well.” the way those words left your lips ever so calmly surprised you. “it wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but i hope we both learned from it.” a smile became evident on your visage. “promise me one thing serim, do not make the same mistake with your future lover.”

“i will not,” serim replied.

both of you never really imagined the end of your relationship and as the page of it was torn years ago, an ending was deemed impossible to earn. closing a book would never be that easy, but some stories were meant to end— yours included.

“also, this is for you.” serim handed you the paper bag he was holding. “i told you years ago that i’ll make you a better dress, and here it is. i figured that i wouldn’t be able to keep the promise laced on the ring i gave you before but i at least want to have one of my promises kept.”

you looked at the item for a moment before turning to serim once again. “thank you.”

“i also want you to know that i truly loved you.”

never at once did you doubt serim’s love for you. the thing about it is that people will grow and know love from a better perspective. know how to best keep it. know how to best show it. but it will not change the fact that back then, you felt that it was love.

serim had a single flaw and that was to hold everything to himself to the point that those created a wide gap between the two of you. the distance far enough that reaching his hand became impossible despite how you wanted to hold him.

and maybe during that time, parting was the best solution. and up to this point, it was too.

“it’s nice seeing you again, serim.”

“likewise, y/n.” a genuine smile crossed his lips. “goodbye?”

“goodbye.”

tonight, you gave him a piece of your heart. it was his, to begin with. whatever he was to do with it— keep it, throw it, crush it— it was a decision for him to make. keeping something that shouldn’t be there would only bring further destruction, it’s way better to have an empty spot in your heart rather than keep a damaged one.

the breeze embraced you. the goodbyes uttered were to serve as a beginning. there were new questions that formed and you knew there were tears that were yet to be spilled. but it was a start. opening a buried wound would never be pleasant, but it was way better to open it yourself than have it bare you.

staring at the newly planted hyacinth in the neighboring flower bed, you let go of a sigh. they will bloom in the spring. and you hoped that you would experience the same.

#cravitywriters #cravity imagines #cravity oneshots #cravity scenarios #cravity x reader #cravity angst #cravity fluff #serim x reader #serim #this has been in my drafts for quite a while...#finally got that push to post it u_u #cravity

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asterkiss · 4 years ago

Note

“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” Mabill, please. 😊

Zombie AU, anyone?

- VULNERABILITY

“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Mable Pines evaded another flesh-hungry zombie as she ran through the abandoned streets of Gravity Falls. A lot can change in a couple of days, and having a zombie apocalypse explode out of nowhere certainly changed a lot.

For one thing, she was currently all alone.

Wendy was currently incapacitated back at the Shack with two broken legs (long story); Dipper had been unfortunately kidnapped by a cult (an even longer story); and to top it all off their newfound ally Bill Cipher was fucking dead.

She’d probably need several hours to explain that last part.

But to give the short version:-

It had only been a couple of months since the demon had taken on a human vessel and shenanigans had ensued between him and their family. A lot had transpired but to cut to the eventuality of it all, Mabel had actually grown close to the demon and considered him sort of, well, a friend.

(But that was it. Just a friend. Nothing more―no matter what he might suggest otherwise).

Despite that, even until the end Mable found herself continuing to question whether he really had changed.

Apparently his way of proving that was to throw himself into a hoard of zombies so that she could escape unharmed.

Talk about making a point, huh?

(But seriously she was very upset about it).

Using her grappling hook, Mable equipped the ever useful device to scale the building of an abandoned warehouse. Breaking an already cracked window, she climbed inside. Mable had the feeling people wouldn’t be bothered too much by her trespassing when there were bigger fish to fry in town right now.

Her reason for coming here to begin with was because she had bumped into Tambry who had apparently caught size of a group fitting the description of Dipper’s kidnappers visiting this place yesterday morning.

So it was, Mable cautiously searched the abandoned warehouse, eventually making her way up a flight of stairs and into a room that oversaw the entire building. There didn’t seem to be any sign of Dipper, only remnants of abandoned supplies and machinery.

Her foot tapped against something and she lowered her flashlight only to gasp at the sight of a body. Unfortunately, this was only one of many she had seen in the past couple of days. He didn’t even look that old either as he stared ahead vacantly.

Mable paid him a small blessing in her mind as she turned to continue searching.

Except something then grabbed her foot.

Ah.

Dropping her head down she found the dead body suddenly wasn’t so “dead” anymore as the light haired corpse groaned into movement whilst its cold fingers grasped at her ankle. Oh hell no. Mable quickly yanked her foot free and backed away, rushing for another door that lead out onto the walkway.

Luck was not on her side however as Mable flung the door open only to find another zombie stood loitering outside, its head hanging to one side. This one was older, probably a middle-aged gentleman as it turned its head to regard her arrival, eyes alighting with hunger.

Oh crap.

She retreated away from the door, peering behind her to find the first zombie was now standing. That way was blocked. Her head snapped back around as the older one lurched forward too close for comfort. She quickly held out her grappling hook and released it, the metal portion firing and hitting it square in the chest which caused it it to stumble. Score.

Mable turned on her heel only to freeze at the sight of shot gun directed her way. Her eyes wandered past the barrel of the gun and towards the individual holding it only for her gaze to land on none other than the zombie itself. Wait, what?

The gun fired and she flinched as the shot rang out loudly throughout the room and building. When she turned her head, she found the other zombie directly behind her, apparently having recovered from her attack. What it couldn’t recover from however was the the fresh bullet hole in its skull as it slowly toppled over onto the floor. Dead for good this time.

When she peered back cautiously towards the other undead in the room and met its gaze, its lips slowly stretched into a lazy grin.

��Sup.’

‘Wha― Wait, Billl!?’

‘In the flesh,’ he shot back with a laugh, tapping his chest as he lowered the weapon. ‘This flesh to be more precise.’

‘Oh my god are you possessing a dead body right now?’ she cried, regarding him ludicrously.

‘Well yeah, my old vessel got torn to pieces by those rabid cannibals―you’re welcome for that by the way―so I decided to shop around for something fresher. Lucky me, I found this one right by ya.’

‘You have part of your throat missing.’

��I’ll hide it with a scarf.’

‘And I can see part of your intestines hanging out.’

'That can be patched up,’ he replied breezily, clearly having no qualms about his actions.

Mable sighed as she regarded his new "form”. The body he inhabited couldn’t have been dead for that long as it still had some colour left in it and didn’t stink yet. Also, whilst it pained her to admit it, had this body been alive and intact its definitely a guy she would have considered hot. So in a way she was thankful he had part of his organs hanging out, it sobered her up and made her less inclined to think Bill was attractive.

‘See something you like?’ he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as she continued to stare.

Mable rolled her eyes. ‘That’s creepy coming from a dead body.’

‘Would you rather I possess a living one?’

‘Why do you have to possess anybody at all?’ she protested. ‘Are you really that desperate to cause drama, even during a zombie apocalypse?’

He frowned. ‘That’s not why I’m back.’

‘Oh yeah?’ she gave him a flat look, clearly in disbelief.

‘It’s true!’ he retorted. ‘Hand on my― well, this guy’s heart!’

When she continued to side-eye him, Bill released an aggravated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘Urgh, you never make things easy. You’re seriously gonna make me be honest and crap? I hate that stuff.’

‘Yeah, how awful,’ she deadpanned.

He released a grumble, looking very much uncomfortable as he muttered something.

‘What?’

‘...d... ou....’

‘You seriously need to speak up dude, I can’t hear a thing.’

‘I’m fond of you!’ he snapped, eyes flashing as he pinned with a glare. ‘There, I said it. Are you happy!?’

Mable blinked in surprise at his admission. Well that she certainly hadn’t expected. She could tell he was uncomfortable at his own words and though she wanted to make a witty comment or joke, the girl knew that wouldn’t be fair to the demon who had clearly displayed some vulnerability to confess such a thing.

‘Really?’ she asked.

‘I just said so, didn’t I?’ he huffed, folding his arms. ‘Why else do you think I scarified my old vessel to rescue you? I’ve no idea what I’d do if I lost you.’

Oh wow. Mable felt her heart actually skip a beat and quickly reminded herself that this was still Bill even if he was saying the first sweet thing in probably centuries.

‘You like me,’ she stated, feeling the words on her own tongue. It felt nice to say them. Slightly funny, even.

Bill grumbled some words, refusing to look her way. Was he embarrassed? Seriously?

'Well, I like you too,’ she admitted, feeling she could show a little vulnerability in front of him if he was. His gaze wandered in her direction, a look of suspicion lacing his expression.

‘You do?’

‘Yeah. I don’t really know why,’ she added, offering a wry smile. ‘But I was upset when you died so I’m kinda happy to see you again.’ Even if it was by possessing a dead body during these drastic times.

Mable could have sworn she saw the hints of a genuine smile beginning to form on his face at her admission, only for it to be quickly dampened as he unfolded his arms and straightened up. ‘Hmph, well luckily for you the main hero has returned to this mess of a show.’

‘Oh yeah?’ She watched as he tucked away his true feelings behind a facade once more. Looks like feelings time was over. And she was okay with that. It made her feel weird too. They could go back to being snark and comfortable.

‘Yep. So let’s go and save your dumb brother, for if my name ain’t Bill Cipher! All powerful and omnipotent demon, destroyer of dreams! Mwahahaha!!!’

‘Hey, Mr Destroyer of Dreams, you dropped one of your kidneys.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘Blehh, that’s so gross. I think I might seriously throw up.’

‘It’s fine, I’ll shove it back in! No harm done. See?’

‘No, keep it away from me! Bill!!’

#mabill #bill x mabel #mabel x bill #gravity falls #drabble

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themockingcrows · 4 years ago

Text

Faint

Chronic invisible illness sucks. Sometimes we stay quiet. Sometimes we cope by giving our favorite characters our condition to get some comfort. This fic is the latter case, wherein Rose Lalonde has Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and deals with everything that brings in order to spread a bit of awareness.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31556225

She’d thought it was normal, till she brought it up to the others. The chest pain, the exhaustion, the dizziness. The sense of running on an internal timer so precise that if she overstepped its bounds it would be time to collapse into the void itself. The darkness at the edges of her vision when she’d been upright too long, when she was stressed, when she was running, dancing.

She’d thought it was normal, that everyone just had more stamina than she did before they had the same symptoms occur.

“That’s not normal. You should maybe see a doctor!” they’d unanimously said. John had been concerned, Dave had been flippant with jokes but the worry was easy to detect, and Jade was forceful with her reasoning.

Rose had finally told her mother something was wrong, to spur a visit to the doctor. It was hard to explain at first, but when her guardian further questioned how she felt, how long she’d felt that way, it had nearly turned into a shouting match.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What if something is really wrong, Rosie! This isn’t something to just keep quiet!”

If she’d known it was abnormal, perhaps she would have mentioned it sooner. If she’d known. If she’d had a reason, she might have even been able to keep up with ballet instead of having to quit, feigning disinterest when it still made her heart sing. Violin was hard enough to deal with, with her arms raised the entire time. But ballet was just a no go anymore.

To the doctor, then, after a few weeks of edge of seat waiting. The family physician, who they’d known for years. Who didn’t believe her. Not at first, at least.

He’d checked her weight first thing, and finding her normal range, asked about her habits. While he spoke, he checked her joints and how stretchy she was, keeping her moving while talking till she was reeling on her feet before he let her lay down. Stupid old man. Her problem felt like it was in her chest or her head, not her joints! She’d always been plenty bendy, able to pull off poses ahead of her ballet class with minimal effort, the stretches never quite feeling like enough to really pull in her body in a satisfying way.

Head swimming till she lay flat on the exam table, arms crossed over her stomach absently, Rose continued to answer questions.

She was doing okay in school. She was just more tired than usual.

Yes, this had been happening for quite some time.

No, she’d fainted before, but only once. And only because she’d been up too long dancing. She didn’t miss the curious look the doctor gave her mother, the raised brow. He checked her abdomen, he checked her glands, looking for distension or rigidity, looking for clues. Nothing. Nothing that she could see, at least. Nothing that felt any different from normal. He continued to talk, keeping her lying down for a while, and checked her blood pressure while she rested, the pulse oximeter being placed on her opposite finger.

75bpm, 120/80. Everything normal, everything fine. He left the devices in place, however, and then did something strange.

“Could you stand up for me, Rose? Nice and straight, right here by the table.”

There were no questions this time to keep her occupied. Just two sets of eyes staring at her in the small room, watching as she felt the cold sweat start up on her forehead, the shake beginning in her limbs. It was stronger when she stood still, when she couldn’t prowl around. She felt nauseated as the sweat turned to a hot flash and started to soak into the fabric of her shirt, and with it came the panic as she saw the darkness at the corners of her vision.

“Can I sit down please.”

“Not yet, try to hold out a little longer,” the doctor coaxed, inflating the blood pressure cuff once more. She focused on the discomfort on her arm instead of the pounding in her chest and head, the increased breaths. Nausea rose in her throat, bile, bitter, salt from excess saliva.

“Can I sit down. Please,” she said again, not caring that it sounded like begging.

“Nearly there, just a moment longer.”

She didn’t have a moment. She felt her knees quaking, felt the floor rushing up to meet her, but gratefully felt her mother’s hands hurrying to catch her waist and balance her till the doctor finished his data gathering.

80/50. 145bpm.

The monster had a name now. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. There were hopes she’d just grow out of it, but there was a chance it might be long lasting. In her case it seemed to be at least partly linked to how bendy she was, how loose her skin felt, how stretchy it was, how easily she bruised. That, too, had a name. Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.

What had been a slow appointment was suddenly moving very fast. Referrals were being made, appointments with different doctors at the big hospital in town, and paperwork was being handed to her mother in a thick stack. Informative pages, recommendations for diet, for exercises, safety precautions, warnings, risks. A whole new world was opening up below her and swallowing her whole, and Rose didn’t know how to feel about it.

One thing was certain, however.

She didn’t plan on telling her friends. Or anyone, for that matter.

It would be her little secret.

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

“...Is it going to hurt?” was Rose’s only question. She felt very small, much smaller than she’d felt at the clinic with her mother. The room here was bigger and more sterile, with strange looking machinery and electronics. She’d asked the same when she had her first EKG earlier, and had been relieved that the most painful part was having the gummy electrodes pulled back off after the painless test was performed. Something about being in a hospital gown and swinging her legs on a different looking exam table just made her feel even more fragile than the long walk through the building had. At least her mom was there with her.

“No, not at all. It might be a little uncomfortable, or a little cold, but there’s no pain,” promised a technician with a smile. She smiled back a little uncertainly, unconvinced. “All we’re going to do is get some pictures of your heart. I promise, an echocardiogram doesn’t hurt. It’s just a paddle with cold jelly, you’ll hold your breath when I tell you to and stay very still, and we’ll see how things look from different angles.”

“And you’ll tell me if I’m going to die or not.”

“No,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll be telling you if you have any issues with your heart valves or not.”

“Same difference.”

“You underestimate just how much the human body can handle before needing intervention,” he chuckled. “C’mon, legs up on the table and get laid back. I’m sorry for having to keep the shirt open, I know it’s embarrassing. Mom, you can see everything, yes?”

“Yes. Rosie if you need to hold my hand, I ca-”

“I’m fine, Mother. Thank you.”

“Well. If you change your mind, I’m right here.”

“Can you see the screen?” he asked Rose. She nodded, then went very still to watch the technician lift a bottle of gel and squeeze a splurt onto the paddle's end instead. “Right. Sorry this will be chilly, just try to bear with it. And-”

“Stay very still,” Rose finished for him as he opened the front of the gown and pressed the paddle to her chest. She hadn’t been watching the screen at first, but when it lit up with a fluttering white and gray form it was hard to ignore. She knew what it was, of course, though not what the technician was looking for. Seeing your own heart pushing blood around, flaring and calming as it cycled pulses, was kind of amazing. There it was, the only thing keeping her alive, and they were checking to see if any potential defects inside of its valves from the EDS were making her sick.

The procedure was quick enough. A roll here or there, a drop down section of the table for him to do further measurements underneath of her as she lay on her side, and soon enough she was done.

“What’s the verdict, am I dying,” Rose said, voice carefully calm and face deadpan. The papers from the physician had said this was a non-deadly condition, that neither of them would kill her, but the concept of damage to a heart valve of all things being real had brought out the morbid part of her brain.

“There’s a bit of a leak,” he admitted. “But your measurements are just fine and within normal ranges. I wouldn’t be too worried about it, but if you start feeling worse or new symptoms we might recheck within the next few years.”

Rose wiped off the gel with the offered cloth and covered back up while the technician spoke with her mother, the words flowing quick and easy as she asked questions and they discussed the findings. Rose herself stared at the blank screen for a moment before setting her hand over her heart, feeling the pulse, remembering how it had looked.

She was fine then.

All the more reason not to make anyone she knew worry.

She informed her friends that it had been a vitamin issue and that she was going to be just fine before changing the subject, getting swept up in conversations about games and comics and music all over again. Same as ever.

Same as always.

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

Treatment wasn’t much. Increased water consumption, and a stupid amount of salt. Compression stockings, when that alone wasn’t enough. Rose drank gatorade till she could smell it in her dreams, ate pickles and pretzels till salty foods lost their amusement and her mother had to get creative in the kitchen and with the ordering in catalog. Everything was salt and fluids, compression stockings just tight enough they gave her the will to live back. Thankfully they came in black and she could just pretend they were normal stockings, and for anyone just looking in passing, they would be just another part of her wardrobe.

Yet none of it was enough. The weakness persisted, the fatigue, and through it all that awful, stupid racing heart. If the sound of a beating heart could drive a man mad from beneath floorboards then, surely, the persistent throbbing in her ears and the pain in her chest from her own rushing tempo would be enough to drive her mad. Going to the grocery store made her sweat through her clothes, made her vision blur even as she clung to the cart for balance. More than once, she had to go find a deserted aisle to sit down on the floor in, legs stretched out in front of her, waiting for the worst of it to pass as she debated just how much she might regret laying down flat to hurry it along.

Rose assumed this was just how life was going to be. Stockings, salt, water, constantly living on an internal timer to get things done. Annoying, but not much of a burden. She could imagine living her life like this, one way or another. Others did it every day.

Then had come SBurb.

Fire from the sky and the end of the world, rushing, hurrying, breaking the bottle. She hadn’t been wearing her stockings for the day, but was grateful for the opportunities to sit, few and far between as they were. There was plenty reason for her heart to be beating out of her chest then; plenty of scary, inexplicably stressful things were happening. She had entered the medium with grim determination, and set about the task of destroying imps with a bit of glee.

She had to be quick in dispatching them, there was no alternative. Fainting around these things was unthinkable, and she had plenty of stress to get out with her knitting needles. Rose combined aggression with ballet and her own trained limberness for maneuvers that, in a normal situation, she’d never have reason to use.

It was thrilling.

It was-

Gasping and out of breath, Rose settled on her knees and held her chest after her latest kill, needing time to recover. To rest. It was like she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open her lungs enough. Like she was drowning on dry land. She gagged, saliva thick and sticky from exertion and, somehow, early dehydration. Slowly, she flopped onto her back and threw her legs up against the wall, feeling the ache and throb as the pooled blood rushed back towards her torso and brain.

Maybe she should get her stockings before continuing, given she had no idea what to expect going forward…

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

The game up through getting to the meteor had been quite the experience. She’d been able to pace herself somewhat, exerting herself in bouts that she could control better once she’d gotten some thoroughly upgraded weaponry in hand. Now, godtiered and being able to fly, she found she was able to handle being upright longer than usual.

Well.

Mostly.

She still had an affinity for walking normally. Maybe it was because it let her track her internal timer better, a long ingrained pattern she was comfortable with. Maybe it was the fear of falling from height, knowing it wouldn’t kill her but that it would still hurt unless someone caught her. There was also the setback of getting enough fluids and salt.

Gatorade was too much to hope for, but water was doable at least. Salt as a base was also available, but drinking straight salt water would have been anything but subtle.

...Maybe it was time to be honest. Rose was fairly certain that Dave already had an idea something was up, having been around her for some time by then. He always seemed to be watching her carefully, and after a few conversations with Kanaya she’d walked in on, even Kanaya had begun to have a more cautious air in their interactions.

Would that just get worse, if she told everyone?

How would Vriska react to such a thing? Such a weakness? The Seer of Light, waylaid by darkness brought on by standing for too long, she could hear it now. Brought on by sitting upright too long, sometimes. It had progressed in ways that she was frustrated about, spending time reading and trying to figure out how to make compression stockings of the right elasticity out of her god tier outfit in her down time. A dress? Sure! Simple! A garment that would help her out without cutting off all circulation to her legs or being useless? Bit more difficult.

At least Kanaya was content to let her recline whenever she wanted. She never asked, never brought it up. Instead she welcomed the blonde head to her lap, the subtle tug on her hand that meant she was going to slide to sit on the ground against the wall for a time to watch the vast space they were traveling through.

Maybe she would just keep it quiet forever. Or, at least, till after their final battles were done. When there was time to rest, when there were doctors again, Gatorade or something similar, she could get this under control and go back to her plans of dealing with it like she had imagined on Earth. Whatever lay ahead of them could be handled.

She’d keep it quiet. It would be her little secret.

Till she’d fainted in front of everyone, at least.

Another argument had broken out between Karkat and Vriska, Terezi egging on from the side and Dave adding the occasional beatbox for effect much to everyone’s annoyance and amusement in equal measure. Rose and Kanaya were observing and commenting for the most part, following them all up the stairs, but the growing intensity of the clog meant that the foot traffic had come to a stop.

Moments ticked by, then minutes.

Rose felt the shake in her knees, the cold sweat on her brow starting up.

“Dear, are you quite alright? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” she promised with a smile, looking ahead at the group who took up the stairwell. Surely they’d move any moment. Any time now. Any second. They couldn’t argue forever, not even Karkat and Vriska on a bad day, it would end any time. She just needed to hold on, and then she’d be back upstairs with her book on the sofa, feet up, recovering stealthily yet again.

The argument dragged on, and the pain in her chest started up. Vision blurring, Rose turned her head to glance down the stairs, half turning. Maybe she could go back downstairs and use the restroom or something instead, buy time for them to move while having an excuse on hand so nobody would be suspicious.

“I’m-” she started to say.

Her legs buckled beneath her, and she knew no more.

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

“See, if you’d just moved your ass instead of backing up into the wall like a cornered meowbeast, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s not like I pushed her! I don’t know who pushed her!”

“Nobody pushed her, she just collapsed, I was right there. We’ve been over this.”

“Well, why did she collapse then!”

“Has she been drinking or something?”

“No, not that I’m aware. She ate earlier, too.”

“Sleeping?”

“Plenty.”

Rose slowly opened her eyes and stared up quietly at the ceiling, the view from the floor at the bottom of the staircase. The argument had a new source now, the squabble more contained than before, but still lively. Kanaya was watching Terezi pull Karkat and Vriska physically apart like she wanted to jump in and do it herself, but she kept her cool hands on Rose’s arm instead, immobilized. Dave had a notebook he was using like a fan over her face, cooling her off, drying the remaining sweat on her brow. He stopped when he realized she was awake, setting it aside and pushing his shades up the bridge of his nose.

She knew that look. Worry. Suspicion. It made her stomach ache a bit with guilt.

“You good now?”

“...Yeah. I fell?”

“Swan dived face first for the concrete, more like.”

Kanaya’s head jerked her direction and she smiled broader, leaning down to hug Rose tight around the shoulders.

“I was so worried! You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” she admitted, surprised. “How-”

“I’m quick,” Dave shrugged, glancing to the side. Kanaya pressed a kiss to her cheek before carefully helping her to sit upright. “Hey, yo, shut the fuck up, she’s awake now. Everyone can stop the blame game, new topic after a quick five.”

“Lalonde, what was that about!” Vriska said immediately. “Did you just trip over your own feet?”

“Kanaya said she collapsed,” Terezi sighed. “Not tripped.”

Karkat glowered, but crossed his arms and was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Thanks for not painting the floor with your thinkpan, we’ve got enough problems around here witho- UGH” he grunted, Terezi’s elbow making swift contact with his side, halting his contribution to the subject.

“Are you sick or something?” Terezi asked.

Rose furrowed her brow, looking around at everyone. Looking back to Dave, looking to Kanaya, both of whom briefly exchanged knowing glances. It appeared the jig was up. Now to just let the cat out of the bag properly so it would stop suffocating.

“I fainted,” Rose said.

“No fucking shit,” came Karkat’s helpful response.

“It’s. ...I’ve done it before,” Rose said, trying to measure her words, trying to figure out how to explain quickly not only to Dave but to members of an entirely different species. “On Earth I was sick. I’m still sick.”

“So we just need to get you medicine or something, right?” Dave said.

She shook her head.

“I’m already taking my medicine best I can.”

“Man, if you know how to make meds can you whip up some pepto or somethin’, because I think I’m gonna die if I don’t get hold of some before the next time we eat makeshift Alternian shit,” Dave said. Rose shook her head again.

“Water and salt.”

“What about it?” said Kanaya, rubbing Rose’s upper back when she still looked a bit woozy. Rose accepted the invitation and leaned into her shoulder, hugging her with one arm to give herself a bit more courage.

“That’s the medicine.”

“...I don’t follow.”

Rose groaned and dropped her head against Kanaya’s neck for a moment before sighing and straightening once more.

“I’ve got a condition called POTS.”

“Like-”

“No, not like fucking weed. It’s Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.”

“What the fuck does all that mean? Are you contagious?” Karkat asked, getting another sharp elbow from Terezi, hard enough he slapped at her arm afterwards a few times in annoyance. “Will you knock that the fuck off?!”

“Don’t you think she would’ve mentioned something if she was?”

“SHE’S A FUCKING ALIEN! How do we know if it’s not contagious to US?” he argued, taking a quick step back to avoid yet another elbow coming his direction. Vriska caught him around the neck and scrubbed her knuckles deep against his scalp till he cringed.

“Preeeeeeeetty sure she would’ve said something that important before no- YOW!”

More than a little annoyed, Terezi yanked a section of Vriska’s hair till she released the thrashing Karkat, then quickly slapped a hand Karkat’s direction to keep him at bay.

“What’s it mean,” she said simply.

“It means my body is stupid and my brain doesn’t get enough blood to it when I’m upright. It all goes to my legs and can’t get back up to my head fast enough,” she said. “My heart races very badly and I feel like I’m dying and I get very weak. I get tired. I get sick. And if I’m not careful, I faint.”

“So it wasn’t a vitamin problem,” Dave mumbled. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

Kanaya frowned a bit, lifting a hand up to stroke a section of Rose’s bangs away from her face, to stroke down the side of her cheek with her thumb. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We could have watched out for you.”

“I didn’t want to hold anyone back,” Rose shrugged. “I thought I could handle it. And I didn’t want-”

“UGH great! Now we’ve got a whole person who’s useless to cope with!” Vriska shouted, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

“That,” Rose said flatly, more than a little annoyed.

“She’s not useless, she’s sick,” Dave said.

“SAME DIFFERENCE! It’s a weakness! A BIG weakness! We’re heading towards a huge fight and we can’t count on you at all now!”

Rose set her jaw. “I can handle myself. I just have to be quick an-”

“You can’t handle yourself, you just fell down the stairs from standing still! What if you collapse during battle, huh? What then? I’m sure as shit not sweeping in to save you, and we need all the god tier powers we can get to be FUNCTIONAL during a fight!” Vriska continued, yanking her hair free from Terezi’s hand to stalk closer, staring down where Rose sat, arms crossed. “What can you do? Ranged attacks while sitting down?”

Releasing Kanaya, Rose stood up quickly, immediately regretting it when her vision swam again. She braced herself and bent her knees before locking them in a wider stance for balance. It was a weak spot. A point of pride was that she’d come this far just fine as it was, and now that the cat was out of the bag her worst fears were coming true.

“Hey, easy, don’t go down again,” Dave said from behind her.

“Shut up, I’m fine!” Rose insisted. “What do you want me say, Vriska! That I promise I won’t collapse? You don’t know what I’m capable of in a fight! You don’t know what options I have on hand! Don’t discredit me just because I have this bullshit to deal with. If I can work around it, so can you. If you can’t then which of us is weaker in the end, me or you?”

It was spoken as a challenge, pure and simple. Tension was thick in the air as they stared each other down, Rose with her hands balled into fists, Vriska with crossed arms. Everyone was waiting for something to give, for the other shoe to drop.

“...Whatever,” Vriska muttered, the first to break position. She turned around and lifted her arms behind her head to stretch as she went up the stairs. “Humans are so fragile and booooooooring! Terezi, come help with dinner, I don’t know what to aim for this time.”

A collective breath was released. Terezi smirked a bit.

“That was pretty good, Lalonde. Normally she’d have kept going, but I think you got her in a corner now.”

“TEREZI, COME ON, I’M HUNGRY!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, keep your rumble spheres tethered!” she shouted, before turning with a laugh like broken glass to run up the stairs after her friend.

Karkat, alone with the trio, watched Terezi run off before looking back towards Rose. She shuddered, then quickly sat back down on the ground and flopped onto her back with a heavy sigh.

“I’m fine!” she was quick to say. “Just. Need to be down for a second. Just a second. Holy shit.”

“What, think you were gonna get into a catfight?” Dave asked, picking up the notebook again to sway over her face a few times just in case it was useful again.

“Yes!”

“Would’ve been funny,” he admitted.

“Would’ve been hilarious if this is what finally got us at each other’s throats,” she said sarcastically.

“How do you feel now that everyone knows what has been wrong?” Kanaya asked, stretching her legs out before scooting closer to Rose’s side and laying back as well. “Relieved?”

“Yes. ...Though. What if she’s right…?”

“First time for everything,” Dave shrugged. “Here, lift your heads up,” he instructed as he dropped the notebook and instead lifted his cape, scooting it in a wad beneath their heads. He settled opposite Rose and stretched out as well, one knee bent up so he could tap his foot occasionally, arms splayed out.

Karkat waited for a moment before Dave patted the open space in the circle, then came closer and flopped down as well, hands on his stomach.

“...So you’re SURE you’re not contagious.”

“Dude, with how often she swaps spit with Kanaya I’m pretty sure you’re safe just breathin’ the same air if she’s unaffected,” Dave pointed out.

“Well, good. ...Sorry for asking earlier,” he muttered. “I just didn’t know what to think! Lalonde being sick out of nowhere is-”

“It was rather obvious, if you watched her closely. Something was wrong even if I didn’t know what,” Kanaya said. Dave nodded as well, making Rose groan and cover her face with her hands.

“How obvious was I?”

“Real obvious,” Dave snorted. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got your back now, and we’ll have your back durin’ a fight. You know that.”

“I’ll slice anything that comes for you if you go down,” Karkat said helpfully. Given how much work he’d done hoping to be a threshcutioner before,

Kanaya reached for Rose’s hand as it came away from her face and gave it a squeeze. “We all do.”

“Yeah,” Rose sighed. “Yeah. I know. You’re right.”

She had backup now. And a while to think of how to explain everything to the others when they met up with them.

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

It felt like years ago, that final battle. Maybe because it had been years by then. It was kind of hard to keep track sometimes, really. She’d held her own, had backup, and they had all come out on top. They’d made a new world, populated it, let it grow and come back to live amongst everyone. She’d been hopeful that after all that, after all the advancements, there would be progress in her own disorders. Treatment options beyond salt and water, beyond stockings.

The fact there wasn’t, that it was still a chronic illness, that there was no magical cure in a special pill to take even after all of that, felt a bit like a slap in the face. Somehow, despite everything, having that bit of hope crushed had been enough to send her into a depression deep enough that it took months for friends and family to help pull her out of it.

There was no ‘better’. There was just coping. And she had to be okay with that.

She had options at least, thankfully. She could fly to get places faster than walking, even if she was on a harsher timer than before. She could drive. Her home was comfortable and easily accommodated a wheelchair that she could use outside of the home as well, half the time pushing herself along and the other half of the time being pushed by Kanaya when she got too tired. Life was good in many ways, even if there was no miracle to be had.

She was alive, married to the love of her life. She had friends and family surrounding her. She had aspirations for a long future, and hobbies that kept her plenty busy. It was enough for her.

When Kanaya leaned down behind her to kiss the side of her neck, sharp fangs barely there on her skin, Rose pulled the brakes on her chair and reached back to stroke Kanaya’s hair fondly. Her wife sat down beside her on the dock, overlooking the vast lake, and squinted out over the shimmering surface to make out where their friends were. A boat was heading this way and that trailing a water skier behind on a tow line, while two people flew above it keeping an eye on whoever was below kicking up wake behind them.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to participate?” Kanaya asked, amused when the skier went down into the water and was pulled up by the two flying lifeguards. “They said they had an innertube as well. You could sit and be towed.”

“Mmm. I’m fine,” Rose said with a smile. “Maybe next time, I don’t much feel like getting wet today. What about you? It looks plenty safe. Roxy and John wouldn’t let anyone drown.”

“I’d rather be near you,” she shrugged. “Perhaps we can have a turn in the boat instead later. We could take a tour around the lake without getting wet.”

“I love how your mind works,” Rose chuckled. She stretched a bit, then pushed the legs of her chair straight out, propping her legs straight out in front of her with a grateful sigh, pooled blood circulating somewhat easier again.

The skier was, apparently, Karkat. At least that’s what the shouting and cursing indicated as he struggled in the air with the duo holding him up safely. He dropped back into the lake with a splash, only to be carefully fished out again and deposited on the boat. Rose snorted a laugh before giggling at just how silly the situation looked from a distance, knowing she’d hear all about the details of it later from everyone involved. Kanaya looked at her with a soft smile before leaning against the side of the chair, nudging Rose’s leg till she stroked at her head and horns as one would pet a cat.

“I’m so glad to hear that sound…”

“Laughter? I’ve laughed a lot recently, haven’t I?” Rose asked, a little confused.

“Yes. You’ve been in such a good mood lately, compared to before. Every time I hear you laugh or see you smile it’s like sunshine.”

Rose leaned forward to press a kiss between Kanaya’s horns, making her wife hum softly, blissfully.

“You know just what to say to make an already good day better.”

Somehow, Rose felt, every day was just more proof that everything was going to be okay now.

((If you would like to learn more about POTS please visit this website for information!

http://www.dysautonomiainternational.org/page.php?ID=30))

#Homestuck #Rose Lalonde #chronic illness #pots #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #EDS #my fic

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mamahersh · 3 years ago

Text

The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions) Chapter 3

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, blood, gore, torture)

Chapter rating: M

Back to BDubs and friends

Welcome back to my first attempt at Ethoslab angst! Time to find out why EvilX is being evil lol. Sorry again if any of the characters are OOC, though as stated on the box, EvilX is going to be fairly OOC. If y’all have suggestions or feedback, feel free to come and say hi!

P.S. I got my inspiration for this fic from this fic over here! Give them some love too.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 4

“ETHO?!”

BDubs was having a waking nightmare. He had to be. This was so far out of left field, he legitimately was having problems processing whatever this was.

Here he was, standing with Doc and Beef, watching a screen with their final NHO member beat to hell and back sitting in a chair next to EvilX. Not only that, but Xisuma himself had been acting so weird up till now, and now he seemed to be just as confused as the rest of them. He could hear Iskall and Grian already going off on Xisuma (which honestly he would normally be over there right along with them), but from the looks of it, Xisuma seemed to have no idea what he just did. Which was a whole thing to unload later, because right now he didn’t like what he was seeing on the screen.

To start, Etho didn’t have his mask on. BDubs had never seen Etho without his mask, never. He knew Beef had more than likely seen Etho without it, but that was one of those things all the Hermits had never brought up. You just didn’t ask Etho to take off his mask, and he never removed it. Also, BDubs was absolutely horrified to realize that not only was Etho chained to the chair with cuffs that looked like they were spiked inside the cuffs, but he also had stakes in his arms to keep them completely immobile. Plus, Etho was still conscious, though how much so was difficult to discern from the TV alone. And they had no idea where Etho was. They didn’t know where Etho was, and they were about to watch him probably get even more hurt. BDubs was about to pop a blood vessel, mark his words.

“Beef. Beef, we don’t know where Etho is,” pleaded BDubs to the open air as he continued to stare at the screen. He felt a solid hand on his left shoulder, and a slightly leafy one (as only creepers could have) on his right.

“We know BDubs,” replied Beef, gripping onto the shorter one in a vague hope to comfort them both. “God, I know.” Doc gave a quiet hiss of agreement, clawed grip a bit too tight to be comfortable.

While the Hermits devolved into chaos, EvilX had stood patiently beside his captive till in a brief lull in shouting he called out, “HERMITS!” Suddenly, the group was silent, all members anxiously awaiting his words. “I hope you are all doing well in your various business ventures, but we have called you together today for an important step in my business empire!” BDubs could not let this stand.

“OY!” Suddenly every eye was turned to BDubs. EvilX looked stoic as always, expression impossible to see beneath his mask. The rest of the hermits were in various states of confusion and worry. “Now you listen HERE, you… you OAF! What do you think you’re trying to pull?! This isn’t a business deal, you’re holding Etho hostage and- !!!” Suddenly he was cut off by a worried looking Doc covering his mouth.

“Please BDubs, just a bit longer… we need to find out why first,” mumbled Doc.

“I-I must agree with BDoubleO, EX.” There was Xisuma, finally speaking up. “What you’re doing here most assuredly doesn’t seem like a business deal.”

EvilX chuckled as he placed a hand on Etho’s head and gripped his hair. “Oh, I assure you all, this is a business deal. A very pivotal one as well.” Evil X gestured grandly as he spoke with his free hand. “You see, Derpcoin has hit a plateau. A major roadblock if you will. Some of it is due to inaccessibility in the markets, you know who you are who don’t allow Derpcoin in your shops.” Here EvilX paused, the mild grandiose gesturing stilling to allow him to give a meaningful stare at the camera. Then he continued. “I tried peaceable means of convincing you all to use Derpcoin. In fact Etho here was having productive discussions with us about potentially expanding into Iskall’s prismarine business.” BDubs glanced at Iskall to see a conflicted expression on his face. “But, he had his doubts, and so he was planning on going the route of Boatem.” The air became tense as the Hermits waited with baited breath for the inevitable. The Boatem Crew in particular looked ill-at-ease, Grian’s feathers fluffed and Mumbo looking like an anxious puppy beside him. “So in response, I decided to enact a new plan for Derpcoin expansion. If you all do not accept Derpcoins in your markets:” EvilX suddenly pulled at Etho’s hair, lifting his head at an awkward angle and digging the spikes in the collar into the back of his neck. He barely let out a whimper. “I’ll make an example of Ethoslab.”

Understandably, the Hermits burst in furious bickering, not the least of which was the Boatem crew arguing heatedly amongst themselves. BDubs wanted to yell and scream; preferably at EvilX, though Etho was a close second. What he would yell at Etho for was undetermined, but he was ready to give someone a very loud series of rebukes. However, all 3 of the remaining NHO members had in one way or another ceded to EvilX’s Derpcoin cult. They had heard about Boatem being a diamond exclusive economic zone, but never in their wildest dreams had they thought this would be the end result of any of their choices. To be honest, BDubs now felt dirty accepting Derpcoin. If this was what it meant to use it, he wanted no part of it. But now, not allowing Derpcoin would lead to EvilX doing something terrible to Etho.

“Well Hermits? Will you allow Derpcoin in all your markets?” Seemed like EvilX had become impatient with them. And now all the server was staring directly at the Boatem crew because they all knew who it was EvilX wanted a response from. Mumbo, who was the most nervous, yet also CEO of their megacorp, was pushed to the front of their group. He stuttered for a few moments, looking just as terrified and lost as everyone else in the group was feeling.

But before Mumbo could say anything, they could hear Etho say, “D-don’t do it.” EvilX slowly turned his head towards Etho.

“Would you like to repeat that Ethoslab?” Never had BDubs felt so helpless. It was like watching a trainwreck in slow motion, knowing that at least one person would die in the process but there was not a single thing he could do to change it.

EvilX slowly let go of Etho’s hair, and went back to crouching, though now slightly to the side so the camera could see everything that they both were doing. Etho, meanwhile, glared at EvilX the entire time, and finally huffed out, “they shouldn’t do it.” EvilX didn’t do anything, so Etho kept going. “You and I both know there’s more t-to this than what you’re asking.” BDubs could see how nervous Etho was, how his hands spasmed and the rest of him was set more still than stone. BDubs could also see that EvilX had a knife in his hand, and he looked about ready to use it.

“Etho!” BDubs shouted, and lurched at the screen in a failed attempt to stop the inevitable. Just as he called out, EvilX stabbed down into the meatiest part of Etho’s thigh, and left the knife there. Etho threw his head back and grit his teeth, moaning through them as he seemed to adjust. The rest of the assembled Hermits let out various noises of shock and dismay; a particularly angry screech came from Cleo, and BDubs could hear Doc angrily hissing to himself behind him.

“Let that be a lesson,” said EvilX, standing back up and turning back to face the camera. “Now, with no further interruptions,” he took a moment to turn his head back towards Etho in a meaningful gesture. “I would like your answer.”

BDubs felt his heart sink as he watched a furious flurry of whispers start up in the boatem group again while Mumbo looked uncharacteristically serious beneath all the anxiety. Mumbo pushed out from the group, though Grian latched onto his suit jacket; whether for moral support or to try to pull him back in was unclear to BDubs. “We have an answer for you.” BDubs felt Beef come back beside him to grip onto his shoulder. “We…” Everyone seemed to hold their breath, or maybe that was just him. “... will NOT accept Derpcoin as a legitimate form of currency in our shops.” He felt his breath leave him. His feelings were mixed up in a boiling stew, though if he had to pick a predominant one, it would have to be dread. “We can’t justify allowing the use of alternate forms of currency until there is a transparent, stable conversion rate between them and diamonds; as well as a way to easily convert the currency to diamonds. If people on the server want to use derpcoins at our shops, they should be able to exchange them for diamonds so that we are all aware of the actual value they are using in our shops.” Mumbo deflated a bit after he had said his piece, almost seeming to fall back into Grian’s white knuckled grip on his suit. They all knew that he had doomed Etho. BDubs could feel Beef behind him getting tenser, and he thought that if he looked behind, he’d see the rage building on the alien face.

“He did not just sacrifice Etho for his shopping district,” muttered Beef from behind. “He absolutely did not just sacrifice Etho to guarantee a profit for his fucking mega-corp.” BDubs heard a whirr of machinery, and Doc hissing behind him, “Beef, you know why he did it. Etho himself didn’t want them to give in to EX’s demands.”

“That doesn’t make it right, though!” angrily whisper-screamed Beef.

“Will you two just drop it?!” exclaimed BDubs, turning around to them both. Doc and Beef both looked mildly shocked and embarrassed. “There are bigger things we gotta deal with, like trying to save Etho from whatever horror show EvilX has cooked up right now!”

A sudden laugh from the screen shut him down however, as EvilX faced the camera. “Oh please. By the time you find me, I will already be done! But how about a challenge then?” EvilX gestured at the surrounding stone on his end of the screen. “I shall give you an x coordinate, and you can have Etho back once you find him! However, at least one of you has to stay back and watch, and I’ve messed with the respawn mechanics. Now, you respawn where you die, and you only come back with two hearts. I think you can connect the dots. And remember, I am doing this, because the kiddie gloves are off. You forced my hand. I would never have done this if you had just accepted Derpcoin when I offered it to you.”

“And now,” with a flourish, EvilX brought up his communicator and typed a quick command into it. “You can find me at x=537.”

BDubs frantically tried to remember coordinates, but his usual estimations were falling through his brain like sand through his fingers. “Say, that’s not too far from our base!” called out Stress, Tay and False nodding along beside her. “We could start at my base and work out from there perhaps?” Suddenly it seemed like every hermit was piping in.

“I’m fairly certain the Goatem Pole is by those coordinates!” called out Impulse.

“My base is nearby as well!” called out iJevin.

“Our base is along that axis as well!” called out Cleo, Joe looking ill-at-ease beside her, though nodding along.

“Fucker couldn’t make it easy, could he?” mumbled Beef, glaring intently at the screen. It’s a point somewhere along the longest axis of the island with the most players situated along it, realized BDubs a moment too late. It would take them hours to search along that x coordinate.

“I’ll stay,” called Mumbo, an odd mixture of sheepish and serious sounding. “It was my choice that put Etho into this situation, so I will stay to see the consequences of my actions and be with him the best way I can be.” Here Mumbo looked fully ashamed. “Plus, I will be the first to admit I am not good at finding my way around, muchless finding a hidden bunker.”

“I’ll stay with you,” stated TFC from the opposite end of the crowd. “I’m not in my prime anymore, so I would be best with those staying behind with Etho.”

“I’ll help with the search,” said BDubs, unable to contain himself any longer. He wanted, no needed, to find Etho, and the only way he could do that would be to go with the search group.

And after a bit more haggling, the groups were divided up as to who would stay, and who would go.

Going was the gals, BDubs, iJevin, the Boatem Crew minus Mumbo and Scar, Beef, Ren, Horsehead Farms, and Welsknight

Staying was TFC, Xisuma, Mumbo, Scar, Joe, and Doc.

With that, BDubs and the rest of the search party shot off, plan set up and in motion; and all BDubs could do was hope they wouldn’t be too late.

#bdouble0 #ethoslab #docm77 #vintagebeef #Mumbo jumbo #nho #boatem crew #the hermits #hermitcraft #evil xisuma #xisuma #blood #gore #graphic depictions of violence #torture

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falconfriend · 4 years ago

Text

AU where some different things are possible. Don't read too much into Jay's techno babble, quite honestly, I might edit some of it out, it's not the point.

Don't be surprised if you see this edited before the final ff.net post, but it's here, and I'm happy with it. The original concept has a chapter in which our two main characters talk together and process, and that is still very, very important to me, I'll probably bring it back.

See tags for warnings.

The amount of power Zane is channeling right now shouldn't be possible. Jay made darn sure to learn everything he could about Zane's possible repairs while Dr. Julien was still alive—the other guys didn't like to think about it back then, but come on, he was old, Jay knew, everyone else knew too even if they weren't saying it— so anyway, he'd spin wild hypotheticals, ask what happens if one tiny piece of machinery goes wrong.

Lloyd would hit the point where he wanders off, self-consciously chuckling that this isn't really his area but he feels like he's kinda learning things, and Jay would watch the clock tick until Nya got bored... and then, that was his opening, to fire off whatever question would come off as too rude while the others were around.

The doctor would smile in a sort of understanding, if slightly flummoxed, way, and he'd start answering. Jay got a lot of answers! He figured out how to put all of Dr. Julien's numbers into his numbers, you know, the kind we learn in the modern century, and made a copy of Zane's schematics with his notes. He had a harder time finding the focus to figure out the Falcon, but Nya and Lloyd are on that anyway. Logical division of labor.

What is he talking about. What was he thinking about. Zane's dying.

Distractedly, he answers- "I said critical mass. If he doesn't contain that, he could go nuclear."

"He's containing it, right?"

"It doesn't- matter." Containing it also means dying.

"Why wouldn't it matter, Jay-"

Jay asked a lot of questions, but he never did even think to ask about Zane's power source. Shouldn't that be the first thing? Why weren't we asking questions about the power source?

He knows approximately how much power Zane runs on. He knows it isn't this much. He knows how a storm feels, right before lightning is about to strike, what builds up in the air and how much damage it can do, right before he—

Jay takes a step forward.

Wu puts an arm across his shoulders, pulling him back. Jay just about slaps him off before realizing that's a quick way to get himself thrown to the ground and shut up before he can start,

So he waits, a frustrating two, three seconds, until he finds words.

"I can help." His throat is dry and he wouldn't mind except that he needs to be louder. "Get me to him, I can help!"

The rest of the ninja are turning to look at Jay… so… slow. Cole looks like he could be swimming through molasses. Jay seethes, and flexes and unfurls his fists by his sides to let it out, and takes a small step back instead of forward.

It works. Sensei releases him, almost.

Kai looks like he might be committing a crime if he lets himself look away from Zane, which isn't helping. Finally, though, he opens his mouth before Jay can. "Your powers? …Do you think?"

"'Do I think-' yes, I think, that's electricity. Or, electromagnetic- whatever. It's energy. I can feel it, Kai- this is taking too long! Where's Pixal- Pixal! Pixal, yoo-hoo, tell them I can help!"

"That won't be necessary," says Wu. Everyone is moving like an old man right now, taking their time; Jay's sure of it. Remember that comment about Cole? It feels like Jay's the only thing who isn't wading through molasses. Jay and the Digital Overlord, that is, and Zane, who cries out so bad Jay spends that moment sure that everything's over and Zane is gone now-

Everyone is moving like the slow old man Sensei talks like, but then Jay sort of- must have blinked, or something, because suddenly, they're all shifted. Cole sets a hand sturdily against his shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize that they're all on his side.

Jay finds a hardened, gold feeling deep in his chest, and latches onto it, and uses it to find his voice. "Okay." Okay. Look. Think. "Cole, I'm going to run at you and I need you to launch me, onto that web. Lloyd, use your energy to boost me."

"But-"

"We don't have time! It's just a scratch."

"Keep him on the edge of the blast. Try to center it about two meters from him." Jay looks back at Nya, Nya looks back at him. It's like they're both realizing how small everything has been. They're nineteen- Jay's nineteen, Nya's eighteen. It's like- like, we didn't need to know the shape of the care right now, I care about you.

Nya waves him away to the task at hand with a smile that means What? Anyway, you're coming back.

Jay looks at Cole and Lloyd. They look back at him. "Well, let's go." With a serious expression, not a word in response and not wasting a second, Cole stoops, palms up and fingers intertwined, a foot-sized platform.

"I'm ready for you, Walker."

He gulps. Time freezes for a second and then skips forward again, like half a second that definitely shouldn't be allowed to be that long. "Okay."

Kai steps forward, like he's going to- hug him, maybe? Rub his back? Push him forward?

"Okay ninja-go—" he kicks off and twists. Off the ground, off Cole's intertwined hands, launching him into the air- about to panic and yell Now, Lloyd when Lloyd finds the right moment anyway, blast re-aiming him just as he's about to fall-

He's sailing through the air, back sore and ears still ringing as the wind whistles past them. Ninjago city sails beneath him. He's two feet short of Zane's hand. He's going to miss.

He's going to miss, he's sorry, and they don't have a second shot, and not that it would be okay if he didn't but now he's going to get all caught in the explosion too,

And Zane reaches back, and grabs his hand.

The jolt that immediately moves through Jay is an absolutely massive electrical discharge. It tries to run from him straight to ground; at first, he was not connected to the circuit, so the electricity is looking for him as its way out. Here's the thing about electricity—it doesn't ask questions. It's already moving by the time your question is halfway out of your mouth, and that's why you need to either be five steps ahead or be ready to start improvising right now or else you're dead.

Something about that isn't how electricity should work, though. It doesn't rush into... a wire that isn't connected to a throughline. Batteries have two ends, positive and negative, and a wire that isn't connected to both of them might as well not be a wire at all— electricity isn't trying to get out, it's trying to get to somewhere, electrons hungry to get to that battery's positive side. Every single electrical invention in the world is formed by humans forcing those electrons to take the long way.

This electricity doesn't have a destination.

The Digital Overlord is always destroying. That means energy in him is leeching outward; this isn't just entropy, this is entropy gone rogue. Jay doesn't know where he's getting the electricity from, but- if he can destroy, maybe he can create. Who knows. Whatever. What becomes apparent right then is that it seems like the Overlord needs to always leech outward, and what Zane is doing is containing him. Sooner or later the snake eats its own tail.

Zane nods, with a firm little hum, as if he can tell from Jay's face what's going on in his head. It's businesslike, and it jolts Jay back to work. Jay can stand this for a few minutes longer, but Zane- Zane's dying.

So: parallel paths. Create two paths, two options, and the electricity will keep looking for how it can be the least crowded. It's like the reason air leaves a popped balloon, kinda like pressure but with a thousand electrons that all hate each other and feel indifferent about you. Or picture... getting into a crowded convention center, and someone coming running to announce they've just opened a second doorway, and that you can get in through either line. Create two paths, and only half of it goes through Zane.

Zane releases his hand.

They really, really need to have a talk later, but Jay is relieved it's not a talk about being willing to be saved. He's helping himself be saved.

Jay holds one of the golden contact points in one hand, and one in the other. The energy rolling around his ligaments and bones deflates, taking the easiest path.

"I had hoped you would do that behind me," says Zane, whose eyes are now closed.

Jay doesn't really try for a little laugh, so much as his body tries for a little laugh, like his brain is fine-tuned into making his excuses with or without him. "You could've said that earlier."

"No, it's alright. Just… here, scoot a little to the side-"

"This is pathetic," hisses a condensed-evil murmur over their shoulder, like it's obligated to, "YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME?"

"Yes," says Zane.

And the bluewhite what-is-that-stuff that he'd once used to take down a plain old treehorn beams closer past Jay's cheek than he can really say he's comfortable with. It's almost like being near a fire- a live wire, static. He's not too cold, but he's sure if he touched it, it would move straight through rapid-action frostbite into part of his face falling off.

"Jay, now." Jay isn't sure what he means by now, that uh, isn't very clear, but he spends a half-second in panic before realizing Zane's ice is running a cable to ground. It'll keep a direct hit from coming back for them. It means, since this is the only window before it connects, they need to hit him now.

Jay pulls the electricity out of himself, out of the air- he takes whatever excess Zane will give him, when he touches his hand- and he breaks the circuit. He shoves it, with force, the opposite of the ways electrons want to work, not the way lightning wants to work—but that's the first step of making lightning. You build up a gap. The buildup snaps from him into the Digital Overlord's metal body. Something is wrung out of him like a sponge.

There's a thunderclap that shakes the city and an explosion that's- like a video game character died. Like it's not a real explosion, it's just something- dissipating. The city just turns white.

Jay becomes aware that he's flying again for the first time in two years, and Zane is holding onto him but losing strength. And then it turns out that he's got his arms around Zane, too. He only figures that out when he starts to panic that Zane's going to fall, and the tug of Zane's weight on his arms doubles, and alerts him that they're there, secure. His body was thinking ahead, even if he wasn't.

Zane's out. He's… fine. He's fine. He's got to be fine.

And while we're at it, Jay's hoping he's fine. His heart feels- wrong.

The first thing he needs to do is get back to land, the second thing he needs to do is look at… is get Nya to look at Zane, he's not even sure he can trust his senses. Huh, hang on, there's a sound other than the ringing in his ears.

"Jay!"

That's Pixal.

"Jay!"

She's standing on the roof of Borg Tower, waving her arms, and just as Jay starts to settle enough to realize he's not frozen, adrenaline's not gonna stop him from moving and he should fly somewhere. ...Huh. He has to pick where.

It would be a really good move to let their friends see they're alive. Nya's good at robotics.

Pixal and Borg… can probably fix him faster.

Zane sparks, hard.

Like Superman, made of light, Jay descends toward Borg Tower in a graceful arc. His feet connect with the roof with a very soft patter. He locks eyes with Pixal to hand off their boy to her.

"Whoa, okay, Sparky, geez. Just thought I'd keep the sweat out of your eyes."

Well. That's not correct.

There are the tiles of a hospital ceiling in front of his eyes, which feels more correct. Apparently, Kai is also in the room, because—

"Yeah. He's okay."

—well, because that's Kai.

Cole, of all the things that could happen here, squeezes Jay's hand. It occurs to Jay that he could have died on- on really, really weird terms with him.

Whoof. Jay takes stock of his body. He starts by feeling the sheets, just to figure out where his body is, then investigates the muscles and aches beneath them. He's in one of those medical gowns that closes in the back.

Everything feels... pretty okay? No, everything feels like he's just been stretched in every direction like a piece of toffee.

No, everything feels like he's just been stretched in every direction like a piece of toffee, but also maybe like he is toffee, so he's fine.

He, uh, definitely can't move. And that feels wrong, but at least he's identified the reason he's in a hospital bed, rather than wondering. He'd find this a lot harder to process if he had walked away from it without a scratch at all, even though it would have been cooler. He sort of wonders if anyone would bring his chart over where he can read it.

"Uh, yeah, that's all great, but what about Zane?"

Kai lets out a small, slightly-amused very-concerned snort. "Jay, you asked that already. He's okay."

"Go easy on him."

That's Lloyd. There are, wow, a lot of people in this room. It's gotta be a pretty small room? Hospital rooms aren't that large. Are his parents here?

"They're on their way."

"My mouth keeps saying whatever's in my brain."

Cole laughs. "Hey, don't worry everyone, he's back to normal."

Jay's breath does a weird thing in his lungs. It's like his body is focusing on every sensory detail except where it hurts. "Yeah, you're just jealous of how I looked up there."

Cole could nearly double over laughing at another time, but right now everything about him is subdued, gentle. Jay could see him ruffling his hair if he wasn't, you know. In a hospital bed. "Sure am, sparkplug."

And there's quiet for a beat.

Jay continues, still staring at the ceiling, "Hey, Nya, how bad are you gonna kill me."

"Oh, uh—" That's Lloyd again, kicking one heel awkwardly back against the wall. Kai speaks quickly—

"She wanted to be here. It's killing her not to, I mean— everyone did. Sensei, too. We told them we've got you."

"That's nice."

"I-I said I'd run and call her once you're awake, just to let her know. I should probably go do that now. She's—"

"With Zane," Jay finishes, no bones about it. Kai nods. "That's nice." The way energy thrums from Jay's palms feels different now, like he's not just pulling it from the air, like there's a battery under his skin, but that's. That's a question for training time. It's sleep time, now.

A/N: Why did the writers say "it's reaching critical mass." I still don't know what that means. Zane's power source is presumably based on some kind of nuclear fission then, but I'm not sure what "critical mass" has to do with the Digital Overlord encounter? If anyone knows how that's relevant to how Zane died, please lend me your knowledge, I'd be very grateful and schooled.

Anyway, critically, this is an AU where it is possible for Jay to help, not an AU where Jay notices he can help. It's built on the assertion that there was nothing Jay could do in the original, but in this universe, different things were possible.

#ninjago #jay walker #zane julien #jay ninjago #zane ninjago #warnings:#hospitals #there's some narration of Jay's thoughts not making linear sense which might be disorienting to some readers

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alexaplaysgames · 4 years ago

Text

Nodus Tollens

Pairing: June x F!Traveller (Celeste)

Fandom: Andromeda Six (I know the fan base isn’t huge so I encourage those who haven’t played to read these and see if you’d like to try it out!)

Warnings: Angst, minor mentions of gore and death.

Words: ~ 1800

Description: When Traveller tries to save June instead.

Notes: I chose my traveller for this little fic but will totally take requests if you’d like me to use yours. Just pop into me DMs and make a request! Also, this is one of several fics for A6 that I have so let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

This is self indulgent nonsense and I am sorry. I will do better next time. Actually I probably won’t.

Tags: @amlovelies @writersgonefishing @oatssss @kimberrrrr @femmeshep @serana-spring

There’s a sort of weightlessness to death.

An instant where you rest suspended in the between. Passed from warm hands into a cold, steel grip, there’s a split second where everything stops. Life no longer holds meeting and death has yet to make known its cruel face, so you are left...

Waiting.

It takes a moment for Celeste to realize that this isn’t the weightlessness she’s feeling. The sensation of suspense is not one due to hovering between life and death. The strength which holds her is not of some otherworldly being.

She looks up and sees kindly grey eyes. June cradles her head with gentle, reserved strength. Tawny strands of his hair fall against his forehead as he looks down at her with an expression of fear and unbridled concern, one that is utterly unfamiliar on the usually calm gunman’s features.

His fingers press against her side and withdraw, sticky and crimson with blood.

“Celeste,” June whispers, though it’s faint with the ringing in her ears.

Her name on his lips sounds sad, agonized even. The feeling that knowledge invokes within her is foreign. Once, existing only as the youngest child in a line of royals, fated for a life in the shadows, she held the belief that no one would mourn her death. Now, the look of anguish on his face makes guilt flare in her gut; she doesn’t want to hurt him like this.

He pulls her close against his chest, draws her into his arms as easily as if she were, truly, weightless. She knows of the strength that lies hidden under the layers of his sweet, gentle exterior, buried under his warm smiles and soft, thoughtful gestures.

Her fingers’ weak grasp finds his wrist, delving into the crisscrossed scars written in his skin. In them, she finds the affirmation she seeks.

Even if it drains her of blood, life, and spirit, it was worth it. For in this, just once, he will remain untouched.

She wakes to metal tables and blinding white light.

“Hey, easy now,” comes Ryona’s soothing tone. Her pale blue skin and soft, pretty features follow as she stands from her desk before rushing to Celeste’s side.

Ryona immediately starts fluttering around, reading numbers on screens and pressing buttons as Celeste puts her hand over the bandage on her newly-sewn side with a wince.

“You’re in the med bay. Came in pretty banged up, if I do say so myself. June had to carry you back.”

The incessant ringing has cleared to the steady beeping of the surrounding machines. For the second time, it occurs to Celeste in her clarity, that man has pulled her back from the brink of death and carried her toward safety in his arms.

“I’ve never seen our cowboy quite so upset,” Ryona adds, her tone full of meaning. “He really cares about you. Remember that if he-“

Celeste shifts on the table. “If he what?”

“I had to give you eight stitches, and you lost a lot of blood. You should-”

“Ryona.”

Golden eyes, filled with conflict, meet green.

“June doesn’t handle strong emotion well. He’s afraid it makes him volatile, destructive. Dangerous.”

“Oh.” The plastic sheet crinkles as Celeste settles back against it. The non-answer makes her nervous. “Okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Ryona comforts, squeezing her ankle softly as she sits down by her feet. “Luckily, so will you. I was worried.”

Celeste stumbles in her attempt to formulate a reply. “I- thank you.”

The words stir some strange sentiment within her, an immense wave of affection threatening to drown her in their wake. Never in her life did she imagine she would be lucky enough to be cared for so deeply by people so utterly kind.

Suddenly, a knock sounds at the door, startling both women where they sit.

“That’s probably June. He sat by your side for hours until he went to get a blanket. Said you looked cold,” then, louder, “come in!”

June almost has to duck under the door, given his immense height, and he enters carrying a stack of blankets high enough to clothe a small army.

“I didn’t know which ones-“ he begins, setting the stack of fabric on the countertop, then trails off as he registers the sight before him.

“You’re awake.”

Silence ensues. Ryona’s eye flit between the two of them before she stands, says, “I’ll be outside if you need me,” and excuses herself with a warm, supportive smile over her shoulder.

“June-“

“I am so, so sorry,” he breathes, air rushing forward from his lungs, coming to kneel by her side. His eyes search her face, looking for what, she doesn’t know.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I should’ve protected you. I shouldn’t have let you get hurt.” He looks disgusted with himself. This, this self-loathing, is something she recognizes. “There are a lot of things I should have done,” he adds softly.

Celeste moves to sit up and hisses as the skin around her bandages stretches.

Realization dawns in June’s eyes before they shift to her side. “Can I?”

She nods, lifting the edge of her shirt to reveal the expanse of fabric that hides her wound. Looking briefly into her eyes for confirmation, June lets his fingers brush against her skin, tracing the edges of the bandage and sending a tingling feeling up Celeste’s spine. At every point where their skin meets, warmth trickles outwards from his fingertips, seeping through her skin and settling in her veins. She can feel his breath, the unmistakable warmth of it, against her bare skin.

“You’ll have a scar,” June murmurs.

“So? You already have so many.”

He frowns. “I don’t want you to be like me, Celeste. I don’t want to make you like me. How could you- that’s the last thing I want.”

“You told me to run and I chose not to. You didn’t make me do anything. I’m responsible for my own actions. Did you really think I would leave and risk you getting hurt?”

That seems to throw him for a loop. His jaw drops slightly, eyes wide. “You- you wanted to protect me?”

She traces a featherlight touch along his cheek with a shaking hand. June’s eyelashes flutter, briefly, at her touch. “Of course.”

“You’re delusional,” June says, though it lacks any bite. He simply sounds lost, a little confused. “I’ve survived much worse than a back-alley gunfight. I can handle a few more scars.”

“But you shouldn’t- you shouldn’t have to.”

She swallows, jaw working as she looks toward the ceiling, yet she can see how he shakes his head, features pulled between frustration and overwhelming torment. “You shouldn’t have to put yourself in danger for me. I’m not worth that.”

“But you are-“

“I am not.” And the finality of his words draws her gaze towards his once more. She sees something there that she’s only seen once before, the day she stood outside his cabin and he shut the door in her face .

Anger. Fire, bright flames quickly smothered with a brush of his large palm over his face.

He breathes deep, chest rising with the motion under his vest. His grey eyes look more like steel than rainclouds as he speaks. “If you can’t follow orders, I won’t be able to take you on supply runs any longer.”

“June, please. You don’t mean that.”

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Acceptance? His friendship? His love? Would she dare?

Could he even give her such a thing?

“I’ll see you in the morning, Celeste.” June stands again, sleeves shifting further up his forearms to show his scars. “Get some sleep.”

He doesn’t once look back once as the door closes behind him.

The metal table beneath her feels so much colder without him there. How cruel he is, to let her taste what it’s like to have him by her side, then rip it away. Left with nothing but the hum of machinery and her thoughts, she begins to wonder if she’s broken, or he is.

Or maybe they’re both broken, she thinks. Maybe they both have jagged edges, and no matter how hard she tries to fit them together, there will always be a little space in between.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, one that lulls her to sleep under fluorescent lights and the weight of her own fractured heart.

Outside, June slumps against the wall, running his hand through his hair with a sigh.

How his heart ached when he turned her affection aside, how he wanted nothing more than to relish in the feeling of her caring for him, for him, to bask in it and soak in it and let it fill all of his cracks and crevices and make him whole.

And how he knew, just as deeply and with equal certitude, that that was the last thing he could ever let himself do.

He is no stranger to pain. But the hurt he feels now is different, gnawing at a part of himself he didn’t know existed. Not since he closed it off, so long ago. Not since-

No. Not going there. No amount of time will strength long enough for him to open those doors again.

Just look at what you’ve done to her already. All you’ll ever do is hurt her.

June presses his fists into the wall by his sides, hands trembling with the effort not to leave dents in the metal. It’s so easy for him to break and ruin, so difficult to build. And that is why he cannot have her. He won’t let her become another beautiful thing shattered by the strength in his hands.

How difficult she makes it, when she looks at him as if he’s fragile, when her lips form words like care and protect and things he never thought a monster like him could ever hope to receive. He wants to lay himself down at her feet and thank the gods for giving him something so sweet.

But he is dangerous and he is deadly and he has no idea how to love someone the way she deserves.

“You could stand to let someone in, every once in a while.”

Ryona crosses her arms as she leans against the wall beside him, one eyebrow raised.

“I won’t kill you to let yourself feel, June.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about killing.”

June tries not to flinch as she lays a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the monster you think you are,” she says.

A part of him wants to scream, to say that she doesn’t understand, that’s she’s wrong, but that part is smothered by the warmth that bubbles in his chest at her words.

He lets his head hit the wall and closes his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re right.”

“Am I ever wrong?” Ryona grins, eyes twinkling.

He has to admit, she does have a point.

“I hope you’re able to work this out,” she says, pushing herself off the wall. She walks back into the med bay and June keeps his eyes scrunched closed until he hears the door slam shut.

More than anything, he hopes for that too.

#Juniper Nyux #Andromeda Six #Andromeda Six Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Visual Novel #A6 #Andromeda 6 #Andromeda Six June #June x Traveler #Ryona Mi'Haden #A6 fanfiction #Andromeda Six Traveler #A6 June #A6 Ryona

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smokeybrand · 3 years ago

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The Cape and The Cowl

A friend of mine posted a meme questioning who would win a fight between Doctor Doom and Batman. My gut reaction is to say it’s real bad for Bruce but, as i thought about it more and more, i kind of feel like its not so cut-and-dry. There is a lot of nuance that needs to be considered between the two characters rather than just a “smash the action figured together” scenario. Of course, there is the surface stuff like how would they interact generally? What would the catalyst be in order to incite said conflict? Why would Doom even see Bruce as a threat? If you think about it objectively, an all things are even, to Vic, Batman is just a crazy person losing his are on crime in a raggedy ass city. Victor von Doom is a the reagent of an entire country with a GDP that rivals some superpowers in the MCU. Like, the USA has diplomatic relations with a blip in Eastern Europe, because Doom has the military power to wreck he US in open aggression. Latveria will lose in a prolonged conflict, that’s just a question of resources, but that little country would absolutely inflict upon the US in a slow bleed. Imagine the War on Terror but with competent leadership and actual, discipline, military strategy. Why the f*ck would Doom care what the f*ck is going on out in Jersey? More than that. the similarities between the two characters is staggering.

We all know the origin of Batman. We’ve seen that sh*t how many times now? It’s like getting a new Spider-Man joint and having to watch Uncle Ben die all over again. It’s trite at this point but so essential to the character, we need a refresher every time Bats shows up onscreen. That trauma informs everything he is, as it would if you watched your parents gunned down in cold blood as a child, and then laid with their still warm corpses for however long until the police came. What a lot of people don’t know is the origin of Doctor Doom. Being a villain, Doom rarely gets his motivations explored outside of some megalomaniac Dr. No type f*ckery. However, Victor von Doom is a person. He started out life as a happy kid and learned to be Doctor Doom, just like Bruce learned to be Batman. Doom is actually a refugee. True, Doom was born an aristocrat, but Latveria was overthrown when he was still young so he was never able to be raised in that level of opulence. His mom was also murdered before he was ten years old. Just like Bruce, Doom experienced a horrific truth that would color his world perspective for the rest of his life. Doom would eventually find his way to the US as he was brilliant. Like, unheard of intelligent and it would be his exposure to the US lifestyle, after years of conflict and struggle, which would make him realize how easy life could be if someone just did what was necessary. And then Reed happened.

Reed Richards was, is, a fulcrum in Vic’s life. They have a relationship similar to Batman an Superman but the opposite. Whereas Batman values Clark’s perspective because it helps him keep perspective, Vic finds Reed to be absurd. He sees Reed for who e is and doesn’t understand why no one else can. Reed Richards is a reckless, excitable, short-sighted, glory-hog. He is. If you read the character with any semblance of realism, you’d see that. Ho many times has Sue comments on how she and the rest of his family, take a backseat to science? How many times has Reed, himself, sacrificed a relationship or to, in service to the solution of an equation? Doom saw all of that in college. Reed represents the structural issues of the world and it frustrates Vic to no end. In some continuities, the genesis of Vic going full Doom rest on an accident Reed commits because of that shortsightedness. It goes a long way to checking Reeds ego and he does become a better person for it, but it was at the cost of scarring Vic for life, both physically and mentally. Yet another example of the system, ruining Doom’s life.

Bruce, after his trauma, has kept a strong support system. First and foremost, since day one, he had Alfred. Doom had no one. Bruce then built a family, adopting all of the children and surrounding himself with love. Doom’s one true love died and was dragged down to hell. We know this because he punches out Mephisto whenever he can. Also, his mom is down there, too. Bruce eventually met Diana and Kal, becoming fast friends and life long confidants. Outside of Catwoman, I think Diana makes for the perfect romantic partner of Bruce and that is shown in several continuities. Reed just reinforced Doom’s disgust with the machinations of the world, eventually further degrading Doom’s tenuous hold of his ability to trust in others, by psychically maiming him. The negative impact Reed had on Doom’s life is f*cking profound, man. I’m not saying Doom should have taken it as far as he did, but it’s hard to argue against trying to kill a dude who had ruined years of your work, destroyed you reputation, and physically maimed you forever. That doesn’t seem wholly outrageous to me. I think it’s called justifiable homicide? The only reason Doom stopped trying to murder Reed is because Valeria was born. Valeria became the first person Doom felt real affection for, since the death of his wife. I think Morgan le Fay could be another, but that might have just been a time-space booty call. Valeria Richards and her relationship with he Uncle Doom, is what gave Vic the strength to be better. Bruce had that love his entire life, even immediately after his darkest day. Doom went decades without it.

Up until Valeria was born, all Doom had was his time spent as a destitute street rat, struggling to survive, to inform him about life and the world at large. That brazen cruelty for sure emotionally crippled him in a lot of ways, I'm not even going to start to defend his arrogance or superiority complex, but trauma does that. That's why i think Bats would eventually come around. They've both seen the absolute worst of the world and, in a lot of ways, go about righting those wrongs in the same way. If you pay attention, and the writer is worth their salt, you'd see that Latveria is an autocratic socialist paradise. Latverians are among the most literate, healthy, and happy people in the 616. Jobs are plentiful and crime is almost non-existent. Mans even cured cancer, which he made available to the world, if those people choose to make the trip to Latveria for treatment. The world of 616, at large, likes to paint Vic as this evil despot but, if you interview a laymen of Latveria, they’ll sing his praises. Most people forget that, before Doom returned for his birthright, Latveria was a whole ass occupied state. Think the relationship between Israel and Palestine. Latveria was basically falling into doorknobs for Symkaria and pretending that they weren’t in an abusive relationship. Doom showed up and changed all that. It was a bloody f*cking conflict, for sure, and i am certain Vic committed war crimes, but the end result was a free Latveria with a strong international presence. Doom is a hero to those people but a villain to other nations because of how he rose to power and, more importantly, how independent he made hi country from the world system. Doom did what was necessary to free his people, a march too far for Bruce and that’s why Gotham is the way that it is.

People who don’t know the character like to paint Vic as ego-maniacal villain, and that was valid when comics were just "hero smash bad guy", but we've grown beyond that. Every pop culture interpretation of Doom, outside of the comics, has him as this stoic, arrogant, asshole, dictator bu that’s just not an accurate portrayal of how Doom is in a modern capacity. Vic is definitely an autocrat but he’s no dictator. He can be cruel at times to specific individuals but he is generally benevolent to his people. He doesn’t portray himself as a strongman but he does let it be known he’ll nuke anyone or anything if it means furthering his overall goals which, currently, is the safety and security of Latveria. His country isn’t a police state and his people are free to do as they please but their is a line, just like everywhere else in the world. Doom just has a shorter one and enforces that with extreme prejudice. I’m not going to sit here and say everything is great in Latveria, it’s definitely not, but it ain’t so hot in 616 America either. How many Civil Wars have they had? What about that whole tidbit with Hydra Cap? There is nuance and gray nowadays, areas that both Bats and Doom comfortably call home. Batman is, objectively, not a pure hero. He is, at best, a chivalric anti-hero and similarly, Doom is more of an anti-villain than the mustache twirling, boogeyman, mastermind pop media portrays him to be. Batman and Doom are basically the same person, with the same motivations, only Doom is willing to go much, much, further than Bruce; A difference in method you an attribute to their respective upbringings.

If Doom had the same support system as Bruce, he’d create miracles. We’ve seen glimpses of that throughout the years. Dooms last run culminated with him essentially obliterating an entire universe where he had the support necessary to build a proper utopia. Our Doom couldn’t fathom the choices made by this variant Doom because of how broken he is. If Bruce was alone in his formative years like Victor, he’d commit atrocities. We’ve seen glimpses of that over they years, too. There are various narratives that explore just such a tragic turn of events, explored in the Death Metal series of books. Dawnbreaker immediately comes to mind. Bruce and victor are the same side of the same coins. It's literally a crap shoot as to which side of the alignment chart either leans. And as if to inform my point further, we just recently had Joker War. That book went a long way to exposing the absolute necessity of raw force, in order to properly “save”Gotham. Joker was able to completely dismantle that entire city by attacking the machinery put in lace to make it run. He effectively proved that The Batman was part of the problem and would never be the solution because Bruce doesn’t go far enough. He puts out fires but never address the sparks which start those blazes. He doesn’t go far enough. He never will. His code won’t allow him to. But Doom can. Doom did. Honestly, if you really want to keep it real, what is Bruce's endgame? What does a healthy Gotham City look like? It looks a lot like f*cking Latveria.

So to answer this question outright, i don’t think they even fight. The way this hypothetical was set up had three rounds: the first being a standard donnybrook, the second being prep time, and the last being god mode. To be perfectly honest with you, it wouldn't make it past the first round. If i had to say, with pedestrian or normie level understanding of he characters, Doom sweeps all categories. For Round one, Doom’s armor trumps all of Batman’s gadgets. For Round Two, Doom has more resources at his fingertips for prep. For Round The God Emperor Doom exists. He created several realities and killed a few Beyonders. Batman sat in a chair which gave him access to all the wisdom in the multiverse, and realized there were three Jokers. Doom all the way. My informed opinion as someone who adores both these character more than most would have me think there wouldn’t even be a conflict to begin with. I think they’d investigate the inciting catalyst, meet in person with intent to attack if necessary, size each other up until one of them made the proposal to just talk, they'd converse, and the fight would end with both of them walking away from each other with begrudging respect. Doom would admire Bruce's will and Bruce would understand the necessity of Doom's position in the world because, if you can make it make sense, Bruce will usually agree. Batman, for all of his shortcomings, is not naive to the world. He’s seen the same darkness as Doom. Doom, for all of his pompous arrogance, understands the struggle to maintain faith in those around you, even if that noble aspiration is misplaced. Bruce is one bad day away from Doom and Doom is a decades worth of days from being Bruce. They mirror each other and i think they’d see that, taking each other as cautionary tales before becoming collaborators. I don’t see them ever really becoming friends but i don't think they’d ever be true enemies.

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knifeshoeoreofight · 5 years ago

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Part 5/?

(part 1 here) (part 2 here) (part 3 here) (part 4 here)

tw: emetophobia

Note: I wrote the storm bit before Tropical Storm Isaias happened, I intend no connection to or disrespect towards a serious real world event.

A month really is a long time. Sid sets up an office of sorts, where he can throw the shutters open to let in the sun and the sea air. He spends some time setting up his laptop securely as best he can. He hopes the VPN helps. He’s not a computer guy, that was always Flower’s department.

Flower. He misses his friends, and his family. He has some time before anyone will start to wonder why they haven’t heard from him, so he can try and decide what the safest course of action would be once people start to worry about his radio silence. Maybe letters, so nothing can be tracked electronically?

He keeps as low a profile as possible. He goes to the supermarket late at night, when the only other people around are tired and also hoping to avoid interaction.

His favorite thing about the area is the roadside fruit stand he finds the one time he wanders further than the grocery store. It’s run by a little old Cuban lady, who seems perpetually inclined to not want to talk to anyone, which suits him just fine. He returns home with a old plastic bag stretched thin with a fragrant burden of ripe guavas and papayas.

The papaya’s floral, salmon-pink flesh is the best thing he’s ever eaten and he vows to have some on hand for Zhenya to try when he emerges.

He does a little half-hearted poking at his research, but there’s not a lot he can do without lab equipment. He works out using YouTube videos. He lays out in the sun and discovers, to his annoyance, that his shoulders have a tendency to freckle as they tan.

He walks along the beach and goes snorkeling with an old mask and fins he finds in a closet. He sees clouds of silver fish and even a stingray. He wishes Zhenya were here to see it too.

Every night, before he heads to bed, he checks on the pod. Nothing looks different from day to day.

He has strange dreams at night, colors and sensations so disconcerting and, well, alien, that he often wakes up in a sweat. In many, he sees himself but distorted and strange, cast in shades of ultraviolet and blue.

It’s comforting. Zhenya is alive, and dreaming.

***

It might be his imagination, but the air feels charged when he wakes up on the morning of the thirtieth day. Zhenya had told him the time span was approximate, but he still rolls out of bed and heads out to the ship as soon as he throws on some clothes.

The air is muggy and the sky is overcast. A storm brewing, maybe. The pod, when he reaches it, is intact and unchanged.

The day drags, the hours creeping by bloated and slow. He goes for a run, he rinses off in the sea. The salt water dries tacky on his skin so he showers it off. Switches on the local news. Registers nothing. Makes himself eat. Makes himself wait another two hours before he checks the ship again in the early afternoon. Nothing.

As he suspected it might, thunder rumbles through the low-hanging clouds around 3 pm. He watches the wind pick up and toss the fronds of the palms outside the living room window. He checks the weather on his phone, and decides to close the storm shutters on the house.

The house is stifling and claustrophobic after that. He listens to the pitch of the wind increase and the first bit of drizzle begin to pat against the shutters.

The news had called it a tropical depression, but as the rainsong outside builds to a roar, though, Sid reasons that a storm is a fucking storm.

He can’t stop thinking about Zhenya-- about what might happen if he emerges to this chaos alone, disoriented by human senses. Sid makes the decision in an instant. He grabs a flashlight and his phone, and yanks the door open into the driving wind.

The rain is strangely temperate as it soaks through his clothes. He stands there in the yard for a minute, taking in the dissonant feeling of wind and rain that don’t carry the icy winter teeth he’s used to.

When a palm frond tears loose and whips him across the face, he hurries to the ship. The noise of the storm is abruptly silenced as soon as the airlock door closes behind him with a sucking hiss.

Surprise, surprise, nothing has changed. Sid sighs, and goes to try and find something cloth-like to dry off with. Poking around the ship’s bedroom for a bit results in finding a compartment with an assortment of soft, folded textiles. The texture of them is impossibly strange, but they’re clearly woven material of some kind and they absorb water well enough.

There are a few items that look different, set off to one side of the storage compartment. They’re too small for Zhenya’s original form, and they look recognizably like human clothing, in loose, forgiving shapes. Clothes intended for Zhenya post-reconfiguration, he thinks. He sets them carefully aside, and takes one of the more blanket-y things back into the room containing the pod. With a sigh, he sits against the wall and wraps himself in the blanket.

The white noise hum of the ship’s machinery pulls him into a trance, then a fitful doze that sends him in and out of awareness like a slow motion stone, skipping on the surface of a pond.

***

He isn’t sure what eventually wakes him. A sound, a sudden fountain of garbled words and images that he only senses in his mind, the coppery tang of blood.

He jerks to consciousness with a start. The pod is open. Curled up on the floor in front of it, in a spreading pool of viscous liquid, is Zhenya.

“Zhenya! Oh my god--”

As Sid staggers to his feet, he registers that the link is there, but all he’s getting is a flood of panic and can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’t-

He falls to his knees at Zhenya’s side, heedless of the mess. He can’t fully remember what you do for someone choking. Zhenya is an unwieldy deadweight as Sid wraps his arms around his torso and hauls him up. One, two, three blows between the shoulder blades to no avail. He clenches his hands together at Zhenya’s waist and jabs up and in, sharply. Once, twice. He’s had first aid training in the Heimlich but he’s never had to use it before.

Zhenya’s body convulses, and then he’s leaning forward, vomiting. His sides heave and he draws in a harsh, gasping breath.

Zhenya Sid thinks frantically. Can you hear me? Can you breathe?

Zhenya groans, and coughs. The mad throb of panic is fading from their link. His breaths are coming more evenly now, and Sid rubs his hand over Zhenya’s back in slow, soothing circles.

“That’s it,” he finds himself crooning. “That’s it, there you go.”

For the first time, what Zhenya actually looks like now registers. Sid can’t see his face, curled over as he is, but he’s.

He’s human. Or, he looks it.

Winter-pale skin, limbs that still seem miles long, broad shoulders and a strong back. Dark hair plastered to his bent head.

The vulnerable nape of his neck makes something go tight and painful in Sid’s chest.

“Zhenya,” he says, out loud.

Zhenya takes a deep, shuddering breath and raises his head. And turns to look at him.

His eyes are glowing bright, bright blue, but as Sid watches, they fade, going dark and fathomless: human. Long lashes, spiky and wet against his skin as he blinks, slow. Strong, harsh features that he can see Natalia in, even cast in such a masculine mould.

He’s staring at Sid, and Sid can almost read the emotion that flits like scudding clouds across his new face. Incredulity? Surprise? Not quite those, but close.

“Hi,” Sid says, and smiles, because he’s so relieved and he can’t help it.

Zhenya makes a soft, helpless noise and his hands grip Sid’s arms, as if he wants to rise.

Sid stands, and anchors Zhenya as he slowly, laboriously, gets one knee up, and lurches to his feet.

“Oh, damn,” Sid says. Zhenya is a good couple feet shorter than he used to be, but he still towers over Sid.

“Can you breathe okay now?” he asks Zhenya, and Zhenya coughs again, clearing his throat. He nods, and Sid’s shoulders slump. “Thank fuck.”

Crisis over.

Sid lets himself keep looking at him. Stubborn jaw, long, lean torso, narrow hips. His hands are big enough to encircle Sid’s not insubstantial forearms.

He meets Zhenya’s gaze again. He still feels like he’s looking at a stranger’s face, not at the being who he’d grown so fond of. He’d felt something from the link earlier, but can they still--

Sid, Zhenya says into his mind, and relief knifes sweetly through him. It’s still Zhenya. If he closes his eyes, it’s like nothing has changed.

Sid- Sid open them, open your eyes--

Sid does, and Zhenya is right there, leaning in closer, staring down at him. His eyes have gone wide and his mouth is slack with surprise. Clumsily, but incredibly gently, he lets go with one hand to tilt Sid’s chin up. And keeps staring.

I didn’t know Zhenya thinks, finally.

Sid lets out a nervous, airless laugh. “Know...what?”

I didn’t know that your eyes were that color.

Sid swallows. The look in Zhenya’s eyes is terrifyingly close to wonder.

“They’re just hazel,” he says, face going hot, but Zhenya shakes his head.

I saw in a different spectrum, before, and I had no idea. They’re beautiful.

Sid feels like the bottom has dropped out of his stomach. “I, uh. Thank you?”

Zhenya tilts his head to the side, and, slowly, his lips curve up into a smile.

Or that you sounded like that. To other human eardrums, at least.

Sid thought he was flushing before but apparently his face can get even warmer.

“I have a stupid voice. I even, like, try to pitch it lower, and stuff.” He’s babbling. “Flower always teases me about having the vocal fry of a Kardashian, but--”

Your voice is lovely, Zhenya thinks indignantly. All of you, is lovely.

It’s not something Sid has really ever heard another man tell him, before. He knows what he looks like, a lot of men have had a lot to say about his lips, his ass, et cetera, et cetera. He’s been called good-looking, or even pretty, especially when he was younger. Not lovely.

“Yeah, well.” His voice cracks a little. “You don’t look too bad, yourself. “

All of Zhenya’s emotions seem to flit across his face as unconsciously and freely as a child’s. He smiles now, wide and bright.

Really? Good.

The grin morphs into a smirk that, oh no. Nope. Uh-uh.

How is my height? And my--

“We are not talking about your dick!” Sid squawks, and Zhenya laughs out loud, startling them both. He raises a hand to his mouth, looking so indignant at the noise his body made without his express permission that Sid has to laugh too.

Oh, fine. I see. I was merely going to ask about my eye color, and now you’re laughing at me?

Zhenya’s eyes dance, and he’s still smiling, so Sid just shakes his head.

“They’re nice. Really, uh, dark brown.”

Sleepy, gentle. Soulful.

Bedroom eyes, a traitorous part of his brain insists, and Sid wills it to shut the fuck up.

“Let’s, um” His voice cracks. “”Let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

#eyes emoji #sidgeno #sidney crosby/evgeni malkin #hockey rpf #zvezda #dana writes a thing

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lochrannn · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! For the Diego and Lila prompt thing, I was thinking about 44, 46 or 50, whichever inspires you the most ❤️

I know I’ll end up doing all of them but the first one I got an idea for was 44. Thanks so much for the prompt! I’m so glad I’m not on my own in my love for these two idiots!

Read “A Moving Gesture” over on AO3 or below the cut.

Prompt: “You’ve always felt like home.”

No Warnings.

Diego pours syrup over his waffles and bacon strips and looks up to watch Lila push something around in her frying pan with a spatula, while he idly uses his fork to tear off a bit of his waffle and pop it in his mouth.

They both have a day off work and whenever that happens they try and spend a lazy morning together before going off to deal with their respective errands. They couldn't agree on breakfast, as Diego wanted waffles and Lila wanted a full English so they've each made their own.

While he chews he takes the time to let his gaze roam over Lila's body. It's fine, she tells him she likes it, so he feels like they both get something out of his inability to keep his eyes off her.

She's wearing nothing but underwear and one of his white undershirts, which she's tied a knot in the front of. Diego is currently following the line of her leg up to the swell of her butt, admiring how her dark skin accentuates the tone of her slender muscles and he thinks if he licked a strip up her thigh, her skin would probably taste sweeter than his waffles.

That's weird.

He's glad he didn't say that out loud.

Diego doesn't always know how to put into words how absolutely insane Lila drives him, but he hopes she knows and he tries as best he can to show her.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Knife Boy” Lila says sharply, and Diego looks up to see that she's spotted him staring.

He can't come up with a quick response, so he lets a lazy smile break out on his face, one he knows she can't resist, and quirks his eyebrow a little suggestively.

True to form, Lila rolls her eyes, but lifts the heavy cast iron pan up from the burner, saunters over to him while she holds the pan out and away from her in an impressively strong grip, and stops in front of him to plant a solid kiss on his lips.

When she pulls away, Diego watches her lick the syrup off her lips and the images that evokes shoot straight to his groin. Lila smirks at him, knowing full well the effect she's had and somehow Diego feels like he's lost a game he didn't know he was playing. He doesn't actually care as long as it involves making out with his super hot girlfriend.

Lila uses her spatula to push the fried eggs, mushrooms, and tomatoes, as well as some gunk she calls black pudding on to a plate that already has beans and toast on it, and sits down in her chair after leaving the pan on the stove, which she's turned off with a twist of the dial.

Before she starts tucking into her food, Lila lifts her legs and pops her feet on Diego's lap and while they eat in comfortable silence, he uses his free hand to massage the sole of one foot at a time.

Diego has finished his breakfast and is using both his thumbs to push into the bottom of Lila's foot, making her twitch a little on occasion but he can also tell that her posture is steadily relaxing, when she asks him, “So what're you getting up to today, then?”

“Was gonna head over to the mansion. Luther wants some help fixing up one of dad's old cars and I think Allison told him it would be a good opportunity for the two of us to bond. We've been doing just fine, I don't know why we need organized play-dates...” Diego says, laughing a little sheepishly.

“Don't tell me you won't enjoy getting all greasy and tinkering with heavy machinery!” Lila chuckles and kicks him very lightly in the chest, causing a slapping sound to reverberate around the kitchen when the sole of her foot hits his naked torso.

Diego grabs her foot and holds on tight, as he's pretty certain she's about to do it again from the way she smirked at the silly sound.

He ignores her antics and goes on, “Was gonna swing by the post office as well and get my mail from the PO box...”

Diego had set up a PO box after his third move in six months when he was nineteen and it had served him well through the years. He'd even held on to it after living at the gym for a few years, because with the anger he drew from Al if he had to take a call for him, Diego never wanted to imagine how the old man would respond if he had to take in his mail as well.

“I was thinking about that, actually...” he begins a little uncertainly and he isn't sure whether Lila is properly listening, as she is concentrating on cleaning up her plate with her last bits of toast.

He squeezes her foot meaningfully to get her attention and when she looks at him, he swallows a little nervously and goes on, “... I was thinking... uh, maybe I could start putting this address down...”

He's not quite certain he's brought his point across, at first, but the way Lila's eyes go wide and then narrow, makes him think that probably he has and there's a sinking feeling in his gut at her reaction.

“You want to use my address for you mail?” she asks harshly, and Diego tries to interject, to explain himself better, but she goes on, “ 'cause you're tired of having to collect it at your PO box?”

“That's not... no, fuck... why does everything have to be a confrontation with you?” Diego tries not to be exasperated but this is not how he wanted this conversation to go.

“Oh please,” Lila scoffs, “You threw a hissy fit last night because I chucked out the tooth paste before properly squeezing out the absolute dregs out of the tube.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, but Diego notices that she's not pulled her feet off his lap, so he thinks this situation might still be salvageable. “I just don't like being wasteful,” he says in a small voice with a half shrug.

Lila pulls one of her feet out of his grip again and puts the sole against the side of his stomach, the way she might her hand if she were closer and wanted to reassure him.

“You know, for a man who has seen his fair share of apocalypses, you seem oddly hung up on the small stuff...” She gets up and takes their plates over to the sink.

While she rinses them under the tap Diego sighs heavily, “It's not just my mail. I was thinking I could pay rent here, bring my stuff over... you know... move in... officially...”

Lila shuts off the water, puts the dishes on the draining rack, dries her hands on the dish towel, and turns around to lean on the counter. “Why?” she asks bluntly.

“Huh?” Diego says dumbly, a little surprised at her question.

“Why do you want to move in here? We talked about this when I first got the place. I like my independence but you're always welcome here, you know that. Why do you need to live here 'officially'?” she even does air-quotes on the last words.

Diego feels crestfallen. Not only does Lila not want him to move in, which was always a possibility, he knew when he started thinking about it, though he's more disappointed than he expected, but on top of that it seems like he really hasn't been able to convey to her how much she means to him, how much he needs her.

Sure, they tell each other they love each other, but maybe that's not always enough.

He starts rubbing his hands together. He wants to explain himself, but before he even opens his mouth he can feel the words slipping from his mind, he knows for certain that his tongue won't co-operate, so he stares down at his hands a little miserably instead.

But Lila must work out what's going on, because she walks over to him, strokes her hand through his hair and then unceremoniously plops down in his lap. While he reaches out to grab her waist and thigh, to make sure she won't slip off, she says none to gently, “Come on, spit it out!”

Diego huffs a laugh at the way the harsh and insensitive words contradict her gentle gesture. He takes a deep breath to settle his nerves, tries to work out what he wants to say, arranges the words in his head and says, “Whe-hen I left the mansion when I was s-s-seventeen, I didn't think I'd ever find a home again, let alone want one,” he's struggling to control his breathing, ironic as he doesn't need it to survive, but he does need it to talk properly, so he takes another deep breath, “but with you that's changed! You've always felt like home to me, Lila, and I just don't understand why we can't build one together!”

He looks her in the eyes and is trying to read what she's thinking but he's finding it hard to tell.

Then she leans in and kisses him on the temple and when she pulls back there's a little smile on her lips that has his heart stutter in his chest and she says, “Good answer! I'll call the landlady tomorrow about the rental agreement, I need to talk to her anyway about the light fitting in the bathr-mmmmmhhh”

Diego cuts her off by kissing her deeply. Right now he couldn't give two shits about the light fitting in the bathroom, but he's already looking forward to that being another one of their shared problems.

#fanfic #tua #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #dielila #liego #diego x lila #diego/lila #prompt fill

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bethagain · 4 years ago

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I saw a post the other day lamenting that Din probably hasn’t felt the sun on his skin in years, and it reminded me that I never did share a tumblr version of this fic.

So, here's part III of my series On From Here. In which Din moves some rocks, eats some cake, and sits in a sunbeam.

Honest Work

The inn has a mechanical lift. It’s a small square box that lowers on a pulley. A thin cable rises from its roof and disappears into darkness above. Din looks at it skeptically and then takes the stairs. They’re narrow and dark, the treads shallow.

“Leave the key!” the innkeeper calls after him, as he strides across the dimly lit lobby toward the exit.

Making an enemy of his host here is not a good idea.

He pauses to lay the key on the counter. The dull brass shank of it clinks against its worn metal fob. There’s nothing in the room to steal, anyway.

The town center consists of a handful of low-slung buildings, all with the same tile roofs. Din pauses at the window of a repair shop. Everything inside looks old, mechanical, un-streamlined. They’d probably know exactly how to fix up the Razor Crest, with its pre-Imperial control system and antique wiring. If there were still a Razor Crest to fix.

Next is a general store, with bolts of fabric, tools, and fresh produce all for sale together. There’s a four-legged riding beast tied outside, a simple saddle on its back. A woman is choosing meemfruit from a bin near the door. She turns to watch him walk by.

There doesn’t seem to be a proper drinking establishment. At the end of the row is a small cafe, with a handful of tables and a bar at the back. Several of the tables are occupied. Some people on their own, some groups of adults, a couple of families. Most have plates of food in front of them. A shelf above the bar holds an assortment of liquor bottles.

This place will have to do.

He orders a glass of whiskey, for the sake of manners, and settles in at the bar to wait. The armor serves as its own advertisement.

"You're not going to find what you’re looking for here."

He turns toward the voice. The words are from a grizzled man seated at a corner table.

Din doesn’t bother answering, just squares his shoulders back toward the bar again. Every place has someone who’s hiding. And someone else who wants them found.

The man has come over to the bar, now, and is sliding onto the stool beside him.

Great.

"This is not that kind of town."

"Every town is that kind of town."

"Not here." The man signals to the waiter, who pours something from a spigot and sets it down. Tiny bubbles break its surface, making a faint sound of static. He takes a drink. "We didn't hold with the Empire. We don't hold with the New Republic. We live and let live, around here."

"Fine." Maybe if Din agrees, this man will go away.

"You try to bring somebody in, the whole town's going to stop you."

"Look," says Din, "I have no quarrel with anyone here. I'm just looking to earn a few credits."

The helmet’s interface lets him know that someone’s taken the barstool on his other side. The screen fills the gaps in his peripheral vision. It’s a woman, long hair in a braid, sleeveless top and arms of solid muscle.

“Not here,” she says.

The other tables are emptying, more townspeople coming to form a semicircle behind him. Even the children are glaring at him.

Damn.

“All right.” He knows better than to move his hands without a warning. “Let me pay for my drink, and I’ll be on my way.” He reaches slowly for the pouch at his waist, keeping his hand well clear of his blaster. “What do I owe you?”

The bartender names a figure. Din doubles it, setting down the small stack of credits before rising to leave.

The bartender tries to give the extra back. “That’s too much.”

“You keep it,” Din says. “Payment for the trouble.”

“Hold on.” It’s the man on the barstool beside him again. “You really just looking for work?”

Din waits, standing there by the bar. The townspeople stay there in their circle, but hands are starting to drift away from holsters. The weapons here seem to be mostly slugthrowers. Mechanical things, not blasters with their circuitry and electrics. Interesting.

“Any kind of work?” the man asks.

There are limits, even for someone like Din. “Honest work.”

The man grins at him, white teeth flashing through his unruly beard. “You look strong enough,” he says. “If it’s not beneath you, in your fancy armor there. I need somebody to move some rocks."

The job is not at all what Din had in mind, but it does, indeed, sound like honest work. And he’s not in a place to be picky.

He’s sitting next to the bearded man on a plank across the front of a high-wheeled wooden cart. The cart is pulled by two solid-looking beasts, four-legged and shaggy. Their pace is sedate and steady, the cart rolling easily over grassland. They’re headed toward a row of trees in a valley, between rolling hills.

The trees mark a stream, the man says, and on that stream is an old stone dam that diverts the water. “We’re opening up new farmland. Need to get that water back in its proper course. Get it down to the right place on the land. My regular crew could do it, but it’s heavy work. They’re not itching to volunteer.”

“Why not use an antigrav lifter?” Why pay a man for a whole day’s work, when a simple machine would cut that down to a couple of hours.

“We’re not big believers in tech around here. Parts have to be imported. Electric’s complicated to repair. We don’t care to be dependent on anyone, any more than we have to.”

That explains the shop in town, then, with its antique machinery in the window. And the hotel lift, and the drying jets that don’t work anymore.

“That’s why the slugthrowers?"

“You noticed. That’s right.” The man chuckles. “Keeps things calmer, too. If you have to forge a new bullet every time you use one, you’re a little less likely to draw.”

The cart trundles along. The sky overhead is a clear blue, the sun warm. Din nudges up the cooling system in his armor.

They go along a little way among the trees, until they’re beside a narrow stream of clear water. It emerges from a low pile of stones at the edge of a pond.

From his seat on the cart, the man points to a smaller valley that runs off to the right. “The pond drains over that way, now. Pull the dam out, and it’ll run the way it should again.”

Din takes in the clear stream, the small oval pond, the branching valley. “Who’s using that water now?”

“The folks over yonder were a little too friendly with the Empire,” the man says. “Town asked them to leave.”

“Did they leave?”

“I thought you bounty hunters had a rule about asking questions.”

“This isn’t a Guild job,” Din says.

“Suppose not." The man turns to reach toward the back of the cart, and Din tenses. But he’s just picking up a wooden box by its leather handle. He hands it to Din. "Here's lunch. We're not fancy but our crew eats well. Water in the stream's safe to drink. And don’t worry, there’s no one left to come bother you.”

He waits while Din climbs down from the cart. “You could walk out when you’re done, but it's a long way after a day's work. I'll be back to get you at sundown."

Din watches the cart make its sedate way back through the trees, the shaggy beasts pulling at their traces, the man humming off-key as he goes.

He finds a flat rock to put the lunch box on. It contains a dented metal cup, a stack of wrapped sandwiches, some pieces of a fruit he doesn’t recognize, and a generous slice of cake that smells of ginger and dark sugar.

He closes the box back up again and goes over to inspect the dam.

This certainly isn’t his usual kind of work. But a ship needs fuel and a man needs food, and pushing on to the next port with just the credits he has on hand feels reckless. Unwise. Plus, being in debt to Boba Fett is like a deep itch under his skin. It’s not comfortable. He wants it gone.

Din is no engineer, but piloting a ship means he’s used to thinking in three dimensions. He considers the shape of the dam, the way the rocks are stacked atop one another, the chinks where the water flows through. The thing looks like it was hand-built, the stones large enough not to move with the water but small enough to be picked up. The original stream cut a gully into the soil, but it’s shallow, the dam itself only a bit over knee-high.

The forest floor here is carpeted with broad, leathery leaves. Wide-trunked trees are spaced far apart, with little undergrowth between them. Their canopies cast shade across the ground. Here and there, a few sunbeams find their way through.

If he starts at the far side, removing the rocks in vertical columns, the stream should come slowly back to life. His gloves will protect his hands from the roughness of the stone. His boots are already sticking in the mud at the edge of the water. They’re water-resistant, good for a while in a rainstorm, but they’re going to be soaked through by the time he’s done.

At first, muscles complain at being asked to move in ways they’re not used to. This steady pattern of bend, lift, bend is very different from the sudden, sharp quickness of a fight. His daily workouts are rigorous but they’re precise, prescribed patterns. Each of these stones has a different shape, a different weight. Keeping his feet out of the water, keeping his balance on the slight slope makes each one its own physics problem, its own little challenge.

Soon enough, though, he’s settled into the rhythm of it. He remembers to use his legs when lifting, to save strain on his back. He kicks up the cooling system again, as sweat begins to gather under the armor.

The armor’s physiological monitors are simple, but they register heartbeat, breathing, temperature. Normally, he ignores the ping that says it might be time to take a break, to drink some water and catch his breath. Because normally, when that ping goes off, taking a break would either be desperately stupid--in the middle of a firefight?--or stupidly desperate, like during the hours walking the Tatooine desert back to Mos Eisley, carrying the wreckage of a speeder bike, no water at all on board.

This time, he gets the dented cup from the wooden box and carries it over to the stream. It’s already flowing faster, but his work has kicked up sediment. Din goes back to the box, grabs one of the wrapped sandwiches, and sets out to find the pond’s other outlet.

It’s not far. The other stream burbles over a few rocks at the edge of the pond, then curves through another shallow gully and off down a gentle slope and away. One of the great trees rises nearby, a couple of its wide roots undercut by the water.

He’s starting to feel chilled as the cooling system interacts with sweat-dampened clothing, so he switches the cooling circuits off. The helmet’s interface tells him the air outside is still warm.

Din considers, sandwich in one hand, cup in the other. There is a sunbeam crossing over the tree roots, making the water sparkle.

The forest around him is quiet.

Decision made, he dips the cup in the stream, then chooses a spot to sit on one of the wide tree roots, back against the trunk. He balances the cup on the leaf-covered ground, sets the sandwich down beside it. Then he lifts the helmet from his head, setting it in his lap as he rests his head on the tree’s rough bark, eyes closed against the brightness of the sun.

When did he last feel sunlight on his skin? It’s been a while. Before he picked up the child, surely. It hasn’t been safe to let his guard down. How long before that, though? He thinks back, but it’s a blur of work, the halls of the Nevarro covert, the streets of strange towns.

Din knows better than to stay in the sun for long. Skin that’s always covered has no defense against UV rays. After a few minutes he shifts to the shade, sitting crosslegged on the forest floor. The water from the stream is sweet, with a slight mineral taste underneath. The sandwich isn’t bad either, fresh bread dotted with different kinds of grain, slices of some kind of tender meat and crisp green leaves with just a hint of bitter.

He makes his way back around the pond to continue the work. Wiggle each stone free. Lift, carry. He’s building a sort of stone cairn, setting each one down neatly, just because it feels good to see the thing take shape.

His gloves are soaked by now, as he has to reach into the water to get at the lowest rows of stones. The water can’t be good for the circuits in the vambraces so he sheds those, too, setting them down on the flat rock beside the wooden lunch box, where his helmet already sits.

He could keep the cooling system running, but it’s not designed for this kind of exertion. The constant movement will keep the power cell charged, but he’s sweating in spite of it, and the chill from the beskar is a distraction instead of a comfort.

He’s already vulnerable without the helmet and the vambraces. He lays out cuirass, pauldrons, hip and thigh plates on that flat stone. His hand pauses on the blaster, but if it’s waterlogged it’s not going to work at all.

He looks down at the thick fabric of the flightsuit, already wet at wrists and ankles. He's got another layer underneath it. May as well leave that too.

He makes a detour through another sunbeam on the way back to the dam.

Without the armor to filter the outside world, he’s aware of the warmth of the sun on his back. Of the change in temperature between sun and shadow.

Without the helmet’s interface, he marks time by how the patches of sun creep slowly across the forest floor.

When a rush of water takes him by surprise, soaking him from elbow to wrist and chest to hip, he sheds his shirt, laying it out on the stone cairn to dry.

The air is still warm. The water that splashes his wrists is cool. He pauses again for food, then sets back to work. At one point he cups his hands in the running stream and drinks, then runs wet hands through his sweat-soaked hair.

Clearing the last few stones means sinking his hands into mud to wrest them free. When he’s carried them over and set them atop the neat pile, he looks down and finds he’s covered in mud from chest to waistband.

His employer said he’d be back at sunset. Din looks up, judging the height of the sun in the sky. Late afternoon, he guesses, edging into evening. It’s unpleasant fitting the helmet back on over wet hair, his face still damp with sweat, but he does it. The chrono built into the interface tells him there’s a good two hours until sundown.

He turns a slow circle, heat and motion sensors overlaying his vision, sound turned up high. There’s birdsong high above him, but otherwise the forest is still.

He fetches his shirt, piles the armor and flightsuit into his arms and carries it all to the edge of the pond. Then, thinking what the hell, he shucks boots, socks, and leggings and wades on in.

Din doesn’t know how to swim. It’s not a skill he normally needs in his work. It’s not a skill he particularly needs now, either. But the mud is pleasantly soft against his feet, the water soothing to tired muscles. He ducks his head under, scrubs at the dirt on his chest, rinses away sweat.

For the second time today, he uses his shirt to dry off. The approach of evening is bringing a slight chill to the air, so he pulls his other clothes back on, fastening the flightsuit over his bare chest this time before setting the pieces of his armor in place.

Back at the flat stone he considers another sandwich, decides on the cake instead, and then sits there a while, licking sugar from his fingers and watching the stream at its full strength now as it sparkles its way down the valley.

True to his word, the man is back with the wagon just as the sunbeams finish fading. He takes note of the neat cairn, and of the unfettered stream. “I wasn’t sure you’d really do it,” he says. “Guy like you. Work like this.”

Din just looks at him, impassive behind the helmet. He’s pretty much done with dignity these days, but this man doesn’t need to know it.

“Well,” the man says. “We’re clearing more land tomorrow. If you want another day’s work.”

“I’ll take my pay for this one.”

“Of course.” He counts out the amount they agreed on and drops it into Din’s hand. “I mean it. We can always use a strong set of hands.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Where are you staying?”

Din names the inn.

The man nods. “I’ll drop you there?”

“That would be fine.”

The first stars are out by the time Din steps down from the wagon, credits in his pocket and the last two sandwiches in his hand. He picks up the key from the innkeeper, climbs the narrow stairs, locks the door of the room behind him. He hangs his wet shirt in the shower room, lays out his wet gloves and socks to dry, strips off the armor and sets it carefully on the floor. His skin smells faintly of mud and minerals, but he can’t be bothered to shower. He sits by the window to eat, watching more stars emerge from the clear, dark sky.

The money in his pocket won’t buy much. It’s a little more fuel, another day or two of getting by.

He’ll leave in the morning. Probably.

He still has no idea where to go.

#the mandalorian #fanfic #din djarin #my fic

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sonicringbond · 4 years ago

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Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 40

It’s been a while since I wrote one of these and I feel like I forget everything I said last time. Oh well. Rosy and friends are actually in Radio Point for this scene, and it’s a bit of a long one. They may be here for a reason, but I still had to throw in some Rosy sightseeing to keep the traveling theme going. I hope everyone has as much fun in Radio Point as Rosy in...

“Oh my, I hadn’t expected you to get into Radio Point, before I arrived.”

It was hard to tell with Blister’s deliberate and sleepy sounding way of speaking that she was actually surprised, but she did seem energetic enough for it to be believable. Rosy however, with her waging tail and nigh inability to stand still was far easier to read. “Well, we just had to!”

“Though they got mad at us for running up the cables,” Draw made sure to dampen Rosy’s enthusiasm with a reminder of the trouble she caused. She puffed her cheeks up at him, but it was Sonic who spoke next in the airship port at the top of one of Radio Point’s many towers.

“I’m not too fond of waiting, and as she says,” Sonic explained as he pointed a thumb back at Rosy, “we had a reason to come up here quickly.”

“I bet you were disappointed when you found out the trains are entirely for the maintenance crews then,” Blister the Mouse allowed herself a chuckle at the group’s expense.

“It’s a good thing you have an airship,” Sonic agreed, though Rosy got mad at him.

“Hey, we may have had to wait, but even you can’t argue there was plenty to do while we did!”

~Radio Point was a really unique town. Asides from the trains, which Blister already pointed out weren’t for tourists or civilians, there was movement all through the air as airships came from far and wide to reach the city. Of course, the locals used them too so they could get around between towers.

~Outside of the internal steam works, which I bet Tails was able to visit, there were spectacular views no matter where you went in Radio Point. From the airship docks to as close to the treads as the villages went down towards, there was either a view of the crystals jutting up out of the lava belching grasslands or a view of the pit itself where an even more enormous number of crystals erupted out of the earth. It looked kind of like the pit was full of rows and rows of scary giant teeth. Hee-hee! It’s a good thing it’s not a big mouth.

~The ground wasn’t the only pretty thing to look at either. Thanks to all the airship traffic, the skies above the pit were an array of shimmering confetti. At least from the lower levels. Up here in the airship dock it was clear to see all the ships that carried advertising banners as well as those that offered in flight services, like dining and cleaning. There were even hotel airships that were designed to stay in the air for weeks. It was the most airship friendly city I had seen since wandering around in the lands under Yolk.

~As advanced as the city was though, there were still plants growing nearly everywhere. Most of the moving equipment that I saw was relatively clean, but the steam pipes and buildings all throughout town were still covered in a wide array of plants. It’s just so weird to me how even on these big moving towers of metal, plants found a way to grow. I wonder if there is a reason for it.

~That’s a mystery I’ll have to wait another day for. Today, the opportunity to find my best friend has appeared before us and I can’t wait to meet the man who Tails helped out. Hopefully, he’ll be friendlier than the last member of the Engineers I talked with.

~Oh, I hadn’t mentioned that, had I? Oops!

~Well, from Blister’s airship, which was like a cut in half avocado in shape with the main balloon comprising the body of most of the vessel, it was easy to see the Engineers’ banner flying. The white and blue flag with the gear and wrench on it was almost everywhere. The pirate flag that Blister flew almost matched it, except hers was a blue flag with her gear, two wrenches, and a human skull set on a white stripe that ran from top to bottom. It really makes me feel uncomfortable flying on a pirate vessel and I’d really like her to give it up. But… well, she’s helping today even though she was supposed to be looking for her friend who is supposedly a Ring expert. And the Engineers are still mad at me, I think, so having her introduce me to Tails’ friend is probably for the best.~

The Dish that hung above the pit, supported by the giant radio towers and spikes that anchored it, had a similar tower of its own in the center of it. But it was the underside of the dish where the next dock awaited Rosy and her friends. Here, the facilities that monitored almost every radio signal under Yoluku were situated. The utilitarian design stripped the facilities of any comforts, but it was natural considering the location of them above the pit.

“I wonder how they account for Ring Shifts,” Rosy mused while poking her cheek as they were led into the facility’s inner workings. As she had a clear view of the pit below the metal grating that made up the catwalk floor they walked along, it was little wonder that she would be curious to how they managed not to fall in.

-|-

“Sure enough,” a rough looking sapient grizzly bear remarked as Rosy and the others were led into his cage like office. Even his desk was little more than a plank of wood laid across pipes and conduit. “You really are from the picture. But what about the other two?”

“Draw and Blister here are friends,” Sonic introduced the koala and mouse, respectively. “One’s a troublemaker and the other’s a pirate. I’ll let you guess which is more trouble.”

“Sonic!” Rosy chastised her blue companion and he smiled at her playfully.

“And that would make you Rosy then,” the grizzly concluded at Sonic’s unplanned introduction. Standing up, he revealed he inherited the tremendous size of his non-sapient cousins and offered his own name. “I’m Over, chief communications technician here at Radio Point. It may not look like it from here, but I’m pretty respected among the Engineers. Pretty high ranking too. I carry enough weight in actuality that even those troublesome Preservers acknowledge me.”

Rosy stared intently at the grizzly bear’s round form and quietly agreed with him that he carried a lot of weight. His massive arms assured her though that it was likely all muscle. As much as her attention was on his girth however, his was on her.

“A pink hedgehog…”

“Eep!” Rosy squeaked and earned a curious look from Sonic. It was Blister though who provided the next words of their budding conversation.

“I’ve heard she was supposed to be doing a seven-day Ring gathering job for the Engineers when she up and disappeared. I wonder if you can really help her…”

“Blister, please!” Rosy pleaded with the pirate and their playful smile.

Draw held no fear or wisdom that he perhaps should and addressed Over bluntly. “It was a boring job anyway, and we ended up saving a bunch of fairies from some autogolems after we left.”

“You what?” Over questioned in surprise looking at Draw. “If the autogolems weren’t powered by Rings… Those would have been Preserver autogolems. And near a lookout and Ring gathering sight no less. Do you have any proof of what you’re saying?”

“Just this little weirdo.”

Opening his fur coat, Draw allowed the yellow fairy he had a Ring Bond with, Mote, to peak out from within. The look of disbelief on Over’s face worried Rosy a fair bit.

~And then he laughed. I hadn’t been expecting that. It didn’t clear up the suspicions that the Engineers have of me, but it was enough to convince Over that we could see the Ring Radio that they used. And it was amazing. Amazingly big that is.

~Unlike the ones in the wrist devices that Sonic and I wear, this one was a massive room full of machinery, and a ceiling of shifting, glowing geometric lined blocks like in a Ring Gate Beacon. It’s obviously much more primitive technology than what I’m used to using, but due to the nature of our world that doesn’t tell me a thing about how old it is. But…~

“Wow! Tails really made this work!”

“That he did,” Over stated, proudly putting his hands on his hips. “He also taught me how to maintain it while he was here. Since then, I’ve been growing more and more familiar with it. It’s kind of become like an old friend.”

“So, it’s been sometime since Tails was here?” Sonic asked as he folded his arms, recognizing the telltale speech that marked a passage of time beyond what could be properly observed under Yoluku.

“It has been,” Over nodded seeing Sonic’s impatience. “Long enough that I probably would have forgotten him if not for the picture and notebook we filled out together while working on this wonder. He’s as much a part of my life as anything now. Unlikely I’ll forget him as long as I live.”

“That’s wonderful!” Rosy chirped up, adding some good cheer to counter Sonic’s souring mood. “It’s great to hear Tails made a friend! He’s normally so bad with people!”

“Yeah, but him having already passed through, and some time back, means we’ve missed him, kid,” Sonic ignored Rosy’s positivity to get his complaint out.

“Well, we can still try to contact him,” Over suggested surprising everyone in the group.

“How’s that?” Draw won the question race and followed up with more than he should have. “These two have really good Ring Radios that are a lot smaller than this one and they can’t reach anyone but each other.”

“Tails had the same problem,” Over managed to dismiss Rosy’s fast growing concern by revealing that he already knew about her and Sonic’s. “It’s part of why he left. He spent a good while here trying to boost the signal using the crystals.”

“The crystals?” Blister poked her nose into the conversation. “I thought they must have been rather valueless considering no one seems interested in gathering them.”

“On their own they are,” Over agreed with the mouse’s presumption. “But gathered together like they are here, and according to Tails likely amplified by the pit, they are able to drastically improve radio signals and their distances. It’s why Radio Point persists here. If not for this pit radio communication would be far less reliable than it is.”

“Not like Tails to give up on tech,” Sonic remarked wondering what was going through the fox’s mind.

“He didn’t actually. He left with the goal of finding another pit, or perhaps meeting up with the Queen of the Sky and brainstorming with her about a solution. I’ve no idea if he’s achieved either goal though. The pit is pretty unique, and the Queen of the Sky is a she-devil who even the clouds part for when she races.”

“It sounds like Zooey’s been having fun,” Rosy laughed nervously. “But if you can get in touch with Tails…”

“Don’t worry,” Over reassured Rosy of his intentions, “we’ll be trying to now.”

Per his word, Over began working countless buttons and knobs around the room. From a console with a handheld mouthpiece and a speaker, a horrible static sound came across and filled the room.

“Static? Sonic verbalized his curiosity. “Ring Radios work across dimensions. What could be causing the interference.”

“Maybe that thing in the sky,” Over hinted at Yoluku, but offered nothing more as he worked some more dials.

A high-pitched sound came across the speaker and cut the static for a moment, but the static soon settled back in. However, a green light lit up on the console and Over smiled. “We’ve got him!”

“Really!” Rosy jumped up with her question and stared at Over with urgent pleading.

“Go ahead and see if he can’t here you.”

With Over’s permission, Rosy dashed to the console. After only a moment of studying it, she picked up the hand piece and depressed the button in its side. From there it was a moment longer as she fought to contain her excitement and actually managed to speak. “TAI~LS~!!!!!”

-…o…sy- -I… …at y…?-

“Ah, ah, ah… TAI~LS~!!!!!”

~It was really him. It was really Tails! I was so happy I could cry finally hearing Tails’ voice again after so long. But… Well, unfortunately the signal wasn’t good. We could hear each other, but it was impossible to hold a conversation. I just couldn’t make out what Tails was saying through all the static. Sonic checked to see if our Ring Radios could connect to Tails’, but they didn’t even pick him up like the one connected to the big dish.

~Ooh! It’s so frustrating. I finally had a lead on Tails, but he was out of reach and I had no idea what to do. Over tried to improve the signal, but in the end, we lost it and any chance to find where Tails was. Still… Still, we actually talked to him. He was alright.

~The last time I saw Tails he was fighting those mean old pirates who want revenge against him. But he wasn’t there when I found Sonic and helped him beat them. And even though pirates like Blister are inspired by them, as far as I can tell, Tails hasn’t gotten involved with any more pirates. And while that’s good, it means we have no leads again.

~But you know, I was able to talk to him and that means Tails is okay. As long as Tails is okay, Sonic and I can find him. And we will! Sonic promised after all. He was going to get all of us home!

~…Though, I’m actually enjoying this little adventure and don’t feel the need to go home yet.~

Scene 40 · CLEARED Radio Link, End

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How’s that for a little treat! Tails has finally appeared for the first time since the Prison Prairie chapters. Well, at least over a really shaky radio connection XD I also introduced an OC I expect to be a one off, but I’ll see if he gets any positive attention and demand to see more of him. For now though, this scene wraps up the last of my survey based scenes. The next one is going to be purely off the top of my head. So that means adventure, mystery, and maybe some plot progression. Please look forward to it!

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Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Lumacie Archipelago: Mystic Woodland – Tsutomu Narita – Granblue Fantasy Original Soundtrack

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*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fan fiction #sonic au #sonic au series #sonic ring bond #the journey #classic amy #amy rose #rosy the rascal #au amy #amy redesign #sonic oc #patch #draw the koala #mote the fairy #blister the mouse #over the grizzly

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