#my posting this is a lapse in judgement that I am sure I will severely reconsider come morning-

[alpinefrsh]

Dreadful news. I just dropped my phone and now the screen won't turn on.

Horrible. Disastrous. Catastrophic. I do all of my good sketches on my phone. I do half of my writing on my phone (I read all of my ao3 on my phone!)

Oh jeez, we're really in for it now, Raccooninnit plushie :(((

[outlanderalien]

Pathetic

Dark-Urge/Nere

Nere thought you were his salvation when you freed him from the rubble, if only he had known the dark urges that drove your actions...

A short re-imagining of the scene that follows Nere's rescue from the perspective of a sadistic dark-urge protagonist, written in the style of an in-game cutscene. Durge has personality but is otherwise genderless and without physical description.

CW: S&M, dubcon, whipping

[AO3 LINK]

You watch the bodies collapse onto the floor, their hands still grasping their own crushed necks. You're impressed. Such malice, such cruelty, you knew there was a reason you were drawn to this drow, that there was purpose to you rescuing him. He's a kindred spirit.

As he approached his final victims the drow says something curious, something unexpected.

Nere: "Nere. Does. Not. Fail."

There's an insecurity here, a weakness that begs to be exploited. Is the violence and cruelty all an elaborate attempt to compensate for... inadequacy? Perhaps not a kindred spirit after all, but he could prove fun.

You hardly pay attention to the carnage he enacts on the remaining slaves. Your mind is caught on a more exciting thought.

Nere: "This was meant to be a simple operation - I arrive, those pack animals clear the debris, and I walk into the temple. Instead I've been beset by incompetence, treachery, and now this... The absolute's business remains unfinished..."

You spot a momentary lapse of confidence, is that fear you sense? Fear of failure… Fear of punishment. You dig deeper into his mind, swirling amongst the darkness are visions of torture, penance, and screams. The confident voice Nere commands with reduced to beautiful, agonised wailing. You'd like to hear it for yourself…

Nere: "True Soul, I need you to send word to the General, tell him I need reinforcements."

You just discovered the perfect deceit to make the most of his fears.

Durge: "I am no messenger, I am here by the grace of the Absolute herself."

Nere: "Really? How curious. I've never even met you before."

He's suspicious and rightly so. An unspoken accusation hangs in the air.

You respond not with words, but with a hard, cold, unrelenting glare. His expression drops, new fears cloud his judgement, fears that he may be making his already dire situation worse.

Thanks to the artefact, he can no longer consult with the Absolute to test your lie. As far as he's concerned, you're exactly who you say you are and the Absolute is ignoring him for his failure.

Nere: "Apologies… I am not feeling myself. Please understand it is uncommon for someone so new to gain the Absolutes favour so fast, I am sure it is well-earned…

There is a hint of resentment in his voice.

Nere: Speak true soul, tell me what news you bring."

Durge: "I already told you, I am no messenger. The manner of my posting here is to act as judge."

Nere: "Judge?… To what?"

Durge: "To your performance. The Absolute suspects you may struggle with your task"

Dread falls heavy on the poor drow. He knows that whatever test this is he has already failed it. And worse- The Absolute had the foresight to distrust his ability… what shame. What agonising shame.

Nere: "My lack of results are inexcusable I know… But I can still complete my orders. If I could just get some reinforcements… Tell the General that I--"

Durge: "I am no messenger."

You look upon him, disdainful and severe. He knows now to keep quiet, maybe then he will stop making things worse for himself.

Durge: "I am here to judge and to motivate only."

A smile twists into place as you watch him sink. The next part of your deception promises to be the most exciting part yet.

Durge: "And by my judgement, you are a failure, poorly motivated, and lacking in conviction. It seems I will have my work cut out for me."

Nere: "Your work?"

Nere tenses, his mind racing fearful of an imminent execution, of being discarded by the Absolute.

Durge: "The motivation."

It is only now that he pays closer attention to the implement you have held for this entire exchange. A whipping cane. As dreadful as the idea is, it is preferable to annihilation… and unfortunately familiar...

Nere: "I-… I Understand…"

You can feel his anguish already, his mind overflowing with self-loathing, he thought he had long surpassed such humiliating punishments, but now he must face his reality: he has been and always will be a failure. His harsh self-admonishment sates you.

Nere: "I will show you to my private quarters if that's suitable..."

Durge: "That will not be necessary. Strip."

Nere: "I--… Here?"

Durge: "You heard me. Strip."

You watch on delighted as he's rendered speechless. He wants to protest but knows that it is already a forgone conclusion. It is happening here. There is no changing that.

You have to stifle a smirk as he gives in and begins to remove his layers. The armour that gave him presence, authority and power, shedding bit by bit at your command.

He stands as though finished, with only his trousers remaining. You give him a severe and expectant look. Your message is clear, much to his chagrin.

Hesitantly he unbuckles and removes his trousers. He stands again, believing to be done. With just a look you let him know that he isn't.

Nere: "No further... Please..."

His plea is sweet, but you have other plans. You don't even dignify it with a response.

Forlorn, he continues, removing the last piece of fabric shielding his body. He has never felt so bare. You drink in his anguish hungrily. His punishment hasn't even begun and you're already drunk off his humiliation. This will be fun.

Nere: "W-... Would you like me to..."

He doesn't even know how to begin to ask this. You let him struggle, you find it cute. He's lost all of his fight so quickly.

Nere: "Where do you want me..."

You cast command on him, forcing him to prostrate himself before you, lowered to the ground in a grovelling manner.

Durge: "Just there will do."

You waste no time. No sooner had he been brought to his knees had the sting of the whip connected with his back, forcing a shaky gasp to escape him. You give him a moment to breathe, to soak in his new reality. He may have already been entirely stripped, but with that humbling strike the last and most persistent of his armour fell away, his pride.

Nere: "Please forgive me."

Durge: "Show your remorse through taking your penance."

You connect another cruel lash against his bare flesh eliciting a broken cry from the shamed drow. But that's not enough for you, you need to hear him beg.

You administer another, and another yet. The crack of the tool connecting with his skin echoes through the grand hall along with his cries. That's when you feel it.

You are not alone in your pleasure.

Digging deeper, you follow the sensation to it's source, connecting with the mind of the punished himself. He likes it… He craves it. You feel a rush of adrenaline course through you, unable to control yourself, the whip swings mercilessly.

He is overwhelmed by the pain, the sensation of a deserved punishment, of his own powerlessness. You leave stripes all over his back, across his thighs, over every bit of bare flesh you can reach. This will not be a lesson soon forgot, of that you will make sure.

Nere: "Sorry-- I'm sorry! Please forgive me!"

His cries are beautiful, but you have to forcibly stay your hand. You take a moment to admire your work, the shuddering, weeping mess before you.

Durge: "Look at you. Pathetic."

You see him tense, he liked that...

You release him from the binds of command, but obediently he remains still. You take a few steps around him and place the heel of your boot onto his side, effortlessly pushing him over. He rolls onto his back, wincing as the fresh injuries push against hard ground. He's erect.

You place your boot onto the centre of his chest and gradually push down with force. Your mind is swimming with desire, killing him would be too quick and no fun, you'd lose a valuable toy if you did that.

He looks up at you with a repentant expression, face stained with tears. Perhaps you could keep him, like a slave, or maybe a pet...

Your minds connect suddenly, lost in desire you let your defences crumble. He sees your lust fully and entirely and he returns it. No words expressed, but a longing felt. A longing to be your personal plaything.

You sever the connection fast. That was close. The deception was almost discovered along with the artefact. Your mind returns to steel, your lustful expression grows cold.

Durge: "The Absolute forgives you."

You remove your boot and begin your exit. You sense his feeling of abandonment, a cold empty feeling with only the pain you gave him to bring him comfort and warmth.

You would love to toy with him again one day, perhaps that's why you spared him. But for now, you will leave him wanting more.

[papillondenuit-marth]

I made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgement, and I don’t expect to be forgiven. I’m simply here to apologise.

What we came across in the woods that day was obviously unplanned. The reactions you saw on tape were raw; they were unfiltered. None of us knew how to react or how to feel. I should have never posted the video. I should have put the cameras down and stopped recording what we were going through.

There's a lot of things I should have done differently but I didn't. And for that, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. I want to apologise to the internet. I want to apologise to anyone who has seen the video. I want to apologise to anyone who has been affected or touched by mental illness, or depression, or suicide. But most importantly I want to apologise to the victim and his family.

For my fans who are defending my actions, please don't. I don’t deserve to be defended. My goal with my content is always to entertain; to push the boundaries, to be all-inclusive. In the world live in, I share almost everything I do. The intent is never to be heartless, cruel, or malicious. Like I said I made a huge mistake. I don’t expect to be forgiven, I’m just here to apologise. I'm ashamed of myself. I’m disappointed in myself. And I promise to be better. I will be better. Thank you.

Say that

Um.

I think this is in a very different context, though I am not sure what.

No.

[idiotash]

I would like to sincerely apologize for posting the word "hole". I've made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgement, and I don't expect to be forgiven. I am simply here to apologize. I will take time and reflect on my actions to make sure this never happens again. I'm sorry.

Hole.

[erzherzog-von-edelstein]

New Expectations

This is for @hetalia-writers-monthly

I am ever so close to being late to posting this one, because school work was quite a lot this past week. I would have written more if I had time. I hope to post a few other oneshots focused on this relationship at some time.

Summary: After her wedding, Empress Elisabeth struggles to find her footing in court life and the new expectations of her position. In the midst of her anxieties, a new friendship starts to bloom.

Prompt: Concrete: First day

Relationship: Empress Elisabeth of Austria and Hungary (platonic)

Word Count: 2,300

She felt like she was going to faint.

Her head was spinning, and she was certain that she would soon collapse on the floor. What a fine impression that would make on the guests. All of these important dignitaries would write back to their monarchs about how the new Empress was a weak girl.

She was sure that they could all see it through her pale lipped smiles that barely concealed her nerves. She could not help the terrible anxiety that gripped her, even if she wished she could be giddy and charming.

She had felt it through the whole wedding ceremony too, especially as the words “I do” had passed her lips.

There were eyes on her as she said it, expecting so much. She had felt their stares on her back the whole time.

In a moment she had gone from a Bavarian princess of no real importance to the Empress of an empire, and it had felt like a cage closing around her.

She knew that she loved her husband, but sharing the burden of expectation with someone who had been born to it made her feel dizzy.

If she did not love him so, she would have given this place to her sister Helene as had been planned. Helene had been better prepared, and had never been chastised for riding when she was supposed to be with her tutor. In many ways, she fit this spot besides Franz so much better.

But, Elizabeth couldn’t have denied her heart, even if she had tried. If she could have married Franz and avoided the title of Empress, that would have been her greatest happiness. If they could have stayed as they were on that magical evening in Bad Ischl then she could really be happy.

But, that was a childish thing to think, even if facing people for the first time as the Empress was making her certain that she would faint.

She was certain that they were all watching her, waiting for a single faux pas to prove that she had been the wrong choice. What would they say about her behind their fans or in whispers over dinner? She shuddered to think.

Her mother had often told her that her behavior was unbecoming, even if her father had indulged her in her sports and eccentricities. Surely the world would see her as just as unbecoming.

It had been easy enough to face the many people, whose names had blurred together after the third introduction, when she could hold onto Franz’s arm. It came easily to him, like a man who had been taught to do so since he was born. He knew which friends to smile at, and which to treat with cold politeness.

She felt like dead weight holding to his arm, but at least it kept her above water. That lasted until he told her quietly, “My angel, I must speak to my mother.”

Then he had vanished from her side, and left her to wander on her own in the sea of unfamiliar people.

She couldn’t breath with them all looking at her like that. There had to be some escape.

She turned around in the center of the room, looking for some respite. Her eyes caught a glimpse of night sky, and in a moment she remembered that there was a balcony. It would not be a real escape, but it might be an opportunity for a few breaths of fresh air.

As fast as she could walk without seeming to run, she walked to the balcony. The chill of the night air was as welcome as a lover’s kiss.

Elizabeth leaned against the balustrade and tried to breath. She could feel every rib of her corset as she drew in air.

The dress had been designed to impress the court by showing her slim figure. But, it was not helping her to breath.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on not fainting. Shutting out the world made it stop spinning.

There were a couple moments of welcome silence where the sounds of people faded into the background. Once there was relative calm, she opened her eyes again.

To her great surprise, there was a handsome man in a hussar’s uniform looking at her like he was waiting for her.

She could feel herself blushing scarlet at the idea that anyone had been watching her lapse in composure.

She wasn’t certain who he was, or if they had been introduced to each other yet. The people had all blended together in a confusing blur. From the uniform, she guessed that he was a Hungarian noble.

“Are you well, your Majesty?”

Elizabeth took a moment to process the voice.

The person in front of her was a woman, it seemed. The uniform had made her assume otherwise.

But, as she looked, she realized that the figure was a tall woman with her thick brown hair in a low ponytail. The woman’s face was as handsome as a charming young courtier. 

She swallowed the thoughts and questions and responded, “I just need a moment.”

The question seemed genuinely concerned, and it was not hard to give an honest answer.

She searched her mind to try to figure out if they had met before, but she was certain that she would remember. A woman in uniform was surely an unusual sight.

The woman stepped slightly closer and extended her hand, with a glass in it. She said gently, “Drink this, Your Majesty.”

Elizabeth felt like she may really keel over if she heard one more person offer her the deference that confirmed her position. She took the glass, which was cool to the touch, and said, “Please do not call me that.”

Then she paused, not certain if more alcohol would help the situation. The other woman seemed to see her hesitation and said, “It’s water, not wine, Your-“

She caught herself and then added with a smile, “What would you like to be called?”

The Empress put the glass to her lip, and took a deep drink. The coolness did help to center her. She answered the question, “I would like to just be Elizabeth.”

She knew it was honest. She would like to still simply be Elizabeth to someone, not the Empress. The other chuckled and said, “I’m Elizabeth too. Well, Erzsebet.”

She rolled the sound of her native language easily off her tongue. It sounded beautiful to the ear, even graceful in a way.

Elizabeth decided that she must ask, “Have we met before? I am sure I would remember someone like you.”

She stopped short of saying more. It would not be proper to say that she was fascinated by a woman who could wear a uniform like that.

The other smiled kindly and said, “We have not. I would have liked to meet you before, but Roderich doesn’t seem to think you need to meet the others you are going to rule.”

The name was familiar, since she had met Austria months ago. He was the severe looking man who was so kind to Franz, but who also treated her with disinterest. She was certain that he did not approve of the marriage from the way he acted.

He was Bavaria’s brother, but he seemed as different from her dear homeland as the night was to the day.

But, she slowly turned the sentence over in her mind before saying, “Then you must be Hungary.”

As soon as she reached the conclusion, it seemed like it should have been obvious. Of course Austria was not the only part of the empire, and she would meet the others in time.

The other woman inclined her head in a little bow and said, “I am, and I am glad to finally meet you.” Then, with sincere concern, she said, “Are you feeling better?”

Elizabeth took another drink of the water before answering the question. She did feel more grounded, though she felt like she would rather go straight to bed than to return to the crowds.

She took a deep breath and replied, “Yes, thank you for this.” She thought for a moment and then added, “And thank you for the company.”

A friendly presence had certainly helped to calm her nerves. Hungary replied, “I am happy to be of service. And I am glad that you got a chance to meet me before Roderich could tell you what to think. He is not very fond of me.”

Elisabeth found that strange, since Hungary was being so extraordinarily kind to her. She replied, “I am glad to have met you too.”

She hoped that she sounded sincere and not just nervous. She felt quite nervous.

Hungary said, in the tone of casual conversation, “I would like to ride with you before I leave. I have heard that you are an accomplished equestrian.”

Elizabeth smiled, glad to have a conversation topic that she knew well. She smiled back and said, “I would be happy to. You must see my horses.”

Hungary stepped slightly closer, which made the young Empress blush again. She said, “Are you ready to go back? The court is intimidating, but you will be get used to it.”

Elisabeth felt the blood drain from her face at the idea. The idea of returning to that crowd with all of those eyes made her feel light headed. She replied, “They will all look at me. They are waiting for me to do something wrong.”

Hungary shook her head and said, “They are looking at you because you are beautiful. It is not a judgement.”

Elisabeth blushed even more furiously. She felt odd and lightheaded, unlike she normally did when someone complimented her beauty.

She said, “I know that Roderich does not approve of me.” She was certain that it was true. He didn't hide his disdain for her presence, and she was uncomfortably aware of it every time they were in the same room. His eyes cast the harshest judgements, second only to her mother-in-law.

Hungary gave her a slightly pitying look and said, “Let me tell you a secret: I do not think he would approve of anyone who took some of his emperor’s time. He enjoyed having that devotion exclusively.”

She said it in a low, conspiratorial voice that made the young Empress chuckle. It was not likely that anyone would hear them out here, not anyone who would care.

She replied, “Do you know how to get him to like me better?” Hungary shook her head, “If you find the secret to that, let me know. I have been on his bad side for a decade.”

She extended his arm like a gentleman and added, “But it will help if you go back. He likes public dignity. Don’t worry, I will not make you face it alone.”

Elisabeth put the glass she was holding aside took Hungary’s arm, and decided that it was enough to help her endure the night.

Hungary led her back into the fray, and the strong steady arm was a very welcome support. Hungary spoke to her in a hushed tone, reminding her of the name of each of the nobles. Sometimes followed by a quip about how a general or a count was a stuffy royalist with no sense of imagination.

Elisabeth sometimes had to stifle a laugh with her hand. She couldn’t seem to enjoy this, even if she did.

Then Hungary inclined her head in the direction of a well-dressed woman with short hair and said, “And that is Bohemia. You should speak to her as well.”

Elisabeth nodded, and made a note that she should travel to Prague when she was allowed to. Hungary added, “In fact, I will introduce you.”

But, before she could move, a harsh voice said, “Erzsebet, what are you doing?”

They both turned to see Austria standing behind them, his face nearly as white as his uniform. He looked furious. Elisabeth wanted to shrink from that terrible, icy gaze.

But, Hungary seemed unaffected as she answered, “Being of service to my Empress.”

It was not a lie, but it also seemed brazenly impudent. Austria’s eyes raked Hungary, and he said, “I sent you a dress for this occasion, so you would look like a lady for once.”

Elisabeth felt like she would wilt if someone spoke to her like that. But, Hungary replied in a cheery tone, “I must have missed that parcel.”

The brazenness of the lie was impressive. But, Austria did not seem to believe the answer at all. There were angry lines deepening on his forehead.

Elisabeth caught sight of her husband through the crowd, and couldn’t help but feel relief that there was a possibility of escaping this argument. She was certain that she could see anger building up behind Austria’s carefully calm demeanor. It felt like she was watching a brewing storm.

To her great relief, Franz cut through the people and said, “Sissi, there you are.”

Glad for the escape, she released Hungary's arm and took her place at Franz’s side. He led her quickly away from Austria, who was looking even more furious by the second.

Once they were out of earshot, he said, “What did she say to you?”

Elisabeth responded, confused by the question, and by the edge of accusation in his voice, “She just introduced herself. That’s all.”

He tightened his hold on her arm and said, “I know you are overwhelmed, my dear. But you must not trust the Magyar woman."

It was uncharacteristically harsh of him to say so, and she was shocked by his tone. She replied, “But she was being kind.”

He shook his head and said, “She wants to destroy this empire, and she nearly did. Her rebellion is the reason I am on the throne.”

Elisabeth felt deeply troubled by the comment, but she was not certain what to say. Hungary seemed kind and sincere to her.

Franz added, “You have a kind heart, Sissi. You must guard it carefully."

Her head started to spin again, and she said, “Franz, may I go to bed? I feel ill.”

He looked at her with concern and said, “It would be best to stay for a little while longer. Can you do that, my dear.”

She nodded, certain that she would struggle through the rest of the night.

[rocketzealot]

PERFORMANCE REVIEW Pt 1

July 8th -REVIEW OF POSITION-

SUBJECT ELLSWORTH, F. TO BE PLACED UNDER PERFORMANCE REVIEW. TO BE PLACED UNDER QUOTA AND OBSERVATION UNTIL FURTHER IMPROVEMENT OR UNTIL FURTHER MEASURES NEED TO BE TAKEN.

July 8th. His Birthday.

He remembered getting the note posted through his pidgey-hole, and his heart stopping briefly, remembered tucking it away to just just forget about it, until later that evening he started crying in bed. He couldn’t tell you why. It wasn’t as if he was looking to impress or anything, nor did he care for the perks that came with being an Agent (aside from perhaps a private bathroom— he even missed sharing quarters with other grunts). 

August 30th -DISCIPLINARY-

SUBJECT ELLSWORTH, F. INFORMALLY SANCTION BY EXECUTIVE ARIANA FOR ACTS OF INSUBORDINATION. FORMAL SANCTION TO FOLLOW. PERFORMANCE REVIEW UPDATED TO REFLECT.

Maybe it was because without Rocket’s stamp of approval, what was he worth? Nothing? Perhaps not that little, but close to. He wanted so much for Archer to turn to him and tell him how proud he is of him, for Petrel to ruffle his hair… If he wasn’t a good Agent, then he would surely be demoted… and he would be worth almost nothing again. He needed this. He had begged Petrel to let him prove himself, pleaded with his supervisors to let him have another chance, try something different.

A week ago, another note came through his pidgey-hole, this one calling him to a meeting with Petrel and his supervisors, the highest ranking Agents in his fields. Fred wasn’t mentally equipped to deal with a demotion and the inevitable torture that would follow. He wasn’t ready to be squeezed back into the identical black uniform and forced to do whatever petty task he was told to do. He didn’t want to be wasted— he wanted to help. But maybe… everyone was right. He really was useless. A moron.

He didn’t exactly know how to beg to keep his job. Was he supposed to get on his knees and kiss Petrel’s shoes? Was he supposed to swear that he would never pick fights with la famiglia again? That he’d do whatever he was told no matter what? That all sounded too childish, like he was fighting back punishment from his Mom. Yeesh. Thinking of her, sat at home, he wondered if this was all worth it. But there was no use wondering about that now. In the present moment, if he didn’t show up to this meeting, he’d be dragged to a different Executive for disciplinary action, and he didn’t want that.

Steeling himself, Fred got to his feet, smoothing his uniform straight and clipping his harness on tight. He looked in the mirror to fuss his hair, wanting to put on a good impression for the Agents above him. Are my eyes red an’ puffy? he wondered, choosing to ignore it for now. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it now. Glancing at his PokeGear, he began making his way down the corridors to the box room where he would no doubt be sitting and the rest standing. As if he needed to feel any smaller. Given the time it took to teleport to that side of the base, he should be there just on time, no earlier, no later. Just how he liked it.

Inevitably, the room was already covered in palls of smoke when he arrived. Petrel didn’t look especially pleased to see Fred as he obediently plonked himself opposite he and the Agents without being told. Fred knew how this went. 

Petrel was tall enough to loom without having to stand, but the Agents with the red and blue pips on their uniforms stood tall over Fred like a pair of Fearow over a wounded Rattata. He only hoped they thought he was red because of all the smoke in the room. He doubted that.

“You know why we’ve called you here today, right?” Petrel said, flicking Fred’s file open carelessly, eyes on what may as well as have been a grunt to him. 

Fred couldn’t meet his eyes, finding some insignificant mark on the table to stare at, where the white had been worn away to leave a grey smudge. But he dignified Petrel with a nod and a “uh-huh.” No use messing around, playing coy. He’d already played that game, already tried that on with Ariana. He wouldn’t be trying it for a while in a hurry. And yet…

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to keep your job, Fred,” the Executive replied, stubbing out the last inch of his cigarette on a particularly marked corner of the table. As if in reply to Fred’s apparent indifference, Petrel stared at the pile of ash on the table.

The fabric of Fred’s gloves filled his fingernails as he gripped the corner of the table. He didn’t know how to fight back against this. All the things he had considered seemed stupid in from of his superiors like this. He felt like a waste of time, even for sitting there in front of them.

“Mr Petrel, please, I’m tryin’ my hardest,” he croaked, moving his gaze to the ashes as well, watching Petrel push the butt so hard it collapsed in on itself. Fred swallowed. Don’t cry.

“And your hardest isn’t quite enough, though, is it?” Giving his subordinate a little more attention, he picked up the paperwork and tossed it over the table to Fred. Amongst several statistics and check marks, red circles riddled the top page. “I had your supervisors take the liberty of circling exactly where you’re coming up short. I won’t lie to you, since you were placed under review, you’ve improved. It’s obvious you’re trying, if with little lapses… a few large lapses in judgement.”

The Executive rose from his seat, pushing himself up from it with great fatigue, leaning forward ever so slightly. Fred shrunk away instinctively, lids flickering as he tried to look in whatever the right direction was. 

“You’re a good person, Fred,” he rasped, “but are you a good Rocket?”

A heavy hand sat on Fred’s shoulder, so heavy Fred thought he would collapse out of his chair. Don’t cry, he kept reminding himself, biting the corner of his lip. He closed his eyes, almost wincing for the blow that would end his time in the sun.

“This isn’t a fraternity, kid. We’re not here to make friends and work on our body image. It’s about time you realised this. If you would just focus on the task at hand, you could be a wonderful Agent.” 

Fred opened his eyes a crack, still wincing. Petrel didn’t look angry. He didn’t look sad, or frustrated, but somewhere between disappointed and… apprehensive. Fred began to feel the same… apprehensive. This was supposed to be a punishment. 

“I’ve seen your mission reports, I’ve seen your statistics. You’re… sloppy, but you’re hardworking, in your own way… earnest. You do as you’re told most of the time, and think of what’s best for the Team, even if it does sometimes mislead you a bit. You’re loyal. We need more Agents like you… like you. I’m sorry, Fred, I’ve tried being patient.”

The man pushed away from the table, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and deftly sliding one out from the top. With the cigarette between his lips, he sauntered behind Fred. Twisting in his seat, Fred gaped at him with desperation.

“What’re you sayin’? If you’re gonna demote me, just do it! Stop teasin’ me!”

Petrel frowned, then gestured at the Elite Agents, his free hand pulling the door open behind him. “Listen to your supervisors. They’ll take it from here. I’m done.”

Something about the way Petrel looked down on him was vaguely teacherly; the way his brows knitted together, but his lips didn’t register any scowl or grimace; how his eyes watched him placidly. With the door open, he paused. What am I going to do with you? his crossed arms asked. “Be careful, Fred.” With that, he left, no doubt for some more important appointment than the scolding of some minor Agent. 

Fred assumed he must have spoken out of turn. He shuffled back into position in his seat, looking down at his hands, only not shaking because they were wringing the fabric of his pants subconsciously. He heard Petrel continue talking to someone outside the room as the door shut, presumably some grunt who was acting as his aide that day, but chose to do as he was told, deep brown shimmering eyes managing to roll up to meet those of his superiors.

One of them, a woman with her hair in a high, neat ponytail, took Petrel’s seat, primly shuffling Fred’s paperwork straight. Fred knew that she was one of the best Agents in the field of intel, and that he had handed reports into her desk more than once, but had forgotten her name entirely. His gaze shifted as hers pierced him. The other he knew was in charge of recruitment, and was a little less prim… a little less friendly than Fred would have thought.

[emocean-is-trash]

hey!! i was really excited to post this oneshot for the prompt “Time Passing” today. i worked super hard on this one and i’m very proud of how it turned out.

you can also find this on my ao3 @emocean_is_trash

if you’d like to request a prompt (the list is on ao3 in chapter 1) you can send me a comment there or message me here~ :) i’ll get to your prompts as soon as i can. thanks!!

~~~~~~~

“Alright children, it’s time for recess.”

A chorus of cheers erupted from the several young children sitting in their desks as they stood up and raced towards the classroom door. One of the students in that frenzy was Yang Xiao Long, who was definitely one of the more “fearless” kids in her elementary school. She was the kind of child who would stand up for anyone, sometimes getting into fights if she had to. She always wore her heart on her sleeve and fought for what she deemed right.

But today wasn’t one of those days. The usual bullies in her school weren’t giving anyone a hard time. It was a nice change of pace. Her teacher, Ms. Glynda, led her class to the playground, opening the metal doors and letting the kids enjoy their hour of free time. Yang grinned from ear to ear and sprinted towards the jungle gym, her pigtails getting rustled from the physical activity. As soon as she reached the top of the structure, she pretended to be looking through a telephone and scanned the rest of the playground to see what everyone else was doing.

Cardin and Sky were playing tag with each other and running in the grass instead of picking on other kids. Weiss was sitting on the bench singing to herself; she never was very social. Ren and Nora were playing hide and seek, Nora stomping around the wood chips while Ren managed to hide under the slide. Jaune was crying like usual, the reasoning not important in the slightest.

But as Yang’s gaze passed over the swing-sets, she realized that there was a girl that she didn’t recognize. And she was crying! Yang immediately climbed down the jungle gym and rushed over to the dark-haired girl who was sitting on the ground next to the swing, clutching a scraped knee.

“Are you okay? Here, I have a bandaid you can use!” Yang grinned and held out the bandage for the girl to take. The girl sniffled and took it from Yang, putting it on and smiling back at her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! I’m Yang! What’s your name? Are you new?”

“I’m Blake, I moved here from Menagerie. You talk a lot.” Blake replied bluntly and looked up at Yang.

“Yeah, that’s what my mom and dad say! It’s nice to meet you! Wanna be friends?” Yang giggled as she held out her hand for Blake to take.

“Okay.” Blake replied as she took Yang’s hand and stood up, dusting the wood chips off of her legs.

From that day forward, they were practically inseparable.

~~~~~

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Aw come on, that’s boring Blakey!” Yang hollered as she turned to look at Blake, who was braiding Yang’s hair. She was the only person who was allowed to touch it, and honestly the only person Yang wanted to touch her hair besides her dad and sister.

“You know that I’m boring, Yang.” Blake responded as she finished Yang’s hair off with two hair ties and moved to sit on Yang’s bed next to her.

“Of course you’re not boring, you’re my best friend. Oh! I have a good question. Do you have a crush on anyone at Signal?”

“Oh, well I guess that Adam kid is pretty cool.” Blake admitted as she looked out the window into Yang’s backyard and blushed slightly.

“Ohhhh, Blake has a crush! Blake has a crush!” Yang teased as she made a silly face and ran around the room.

“Stop it!” Blake shouted as she chased Yang around the room before they both fell on the floor laughing hysterically.

“What about you Yang? That guy Junior seems to like you..” Blake asked after catching her breath, turning over and looking into Yang’s eyes.

“Junior? Nah, he’s just a friend. I don’t...I don’t really like anyone.” Yang hesitated and stared up at the ceiling.

“I always know when you’re lying, silly. Who do you like?”

“Ugh fine, I’ll tell you. The truth is...I’ve never really liked boys. I think I like girls.” Yang sighed and felt her face heating up. She wasn’t sure how Blake was going to respond to this revelation. She’d known for a few months, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up to her.

“Oh really? I think that’s cool. Adam is really handsome, but Pyrrha is also very pretty.” Blake smiled at Yang and grabbed her hand, squeezing lightly.

“Ah, the transfer girl from Argus Middle School? Yeah, I guess so. Wait what did you just say?” Yang sat up and looked at Blake. She stared down at Blake’s hand and squeezed back, grinning at the dark-haired girl next to her.

“I understand Yang. We might only be 13 years old, but this is when we figure out who we are. I’ll always support you.” Blake smiled gently and wrapped Yang in a hug.

“I’ll always be here for you too.”

~~~~~

“He broke up with me.”

“Oh Blake, come here.”

Outside of Yang’s home was a teary-eyed Blake shivering in the cold. Yang pulled Blake inside and wrapped the girl in a tight hug. Blake sobbed into Yang’s shoulder for what seemed to be hours until she was finally calm enough to talk in full sentences.

“Do you want to go up to my room?”

Blake nodded. Yang grabbed Blake’s hand and took her upstairs into her room, closing the door and locking it. They sat down on Yang’s bed and continued to hold hands. Blake clearly wanted reassurance that Yang would stay.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“There..isn’t much to say. He texted me saying that he wanted a break this morning. Adam was never one for confrontation unless it really mattered, so I guess that I was never that important to him in the first place.” Blake sighed as she looked at the ground.

“Of course you're important Blake. You’re the most important person to me out of anyone. Well, you and Ruby are tied, but you know what I mean. Adam was always a piece of shit.” Yang responded by wrapping her arm around Blake’s shoulders and looking her in the eyes. She wiped away the tears on Blake’s cheeks with her thumb and smiled at her.

“Oh..thank you. Yang...I—” Blake started before pausing and cutting off her train of thought. No, this wasn’t right. They were in high school together, and they were best friends, but that’s all that they could ever be. Wishing for something more was pure stupidity.

“What is it Blakey? Do you need something from me?”

“Yang…” Blake shook her head and decided that actions were better than words in this moment. Before she could seriously think it through, Blake caressed Yang’s cheek and placed her hand on the side of Yang’s jaw, pulling her in for a kiss.

After the immediate shock of the situation wore off, Yang put her arms around Blake’s neck and kissed her back gently. Embers crackled to life in Yang’s chest, her heart beating incredibly fast and her stomach filling with butterflies. It was as if their two souls had melded into one during that raw, exposed moment. Running her hand through Blake’s hair, Yang sighed and kissed Blake again like it was the last thing she would ever do.

It was Blake. It had always been Blake. Blake was the one she was meant to be with. Adam was just some obstacle that had stood in the way of what was real.

It was after a few minutes of lapsed judgement that Yang finally pulled away, leaning her forehead against Blake’s and catching her breath.

“Blake...That was...wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I just…” Yang started, inhaling and exhaling a few times while deciding upon what needed to be said.

“Listen Blake. You’re really vulnerable right now, and I’m so sorry that I took advantage of you like that. If this is...If this is what you really want, then in three weeks, come talk to me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Blake looked into Yang’s eyes and nodded after a minute of silence.

“Yeah. Yeah okay.”

A few minutes later, Blake left Yang’s house and Yang finally exited her bedroom, plopping onto the couch and staring out the window in solace. When she heard Ruby padding around the kitchen most likely looking for some cookies, she turned to face her with a solemn look on her face.

“You love her don’t you? You’re in love with Blake.”

“Ruby I...It’s complicated. You and Weiss were able to figure things out, and now you’re dating. Blake isn’t there yet. She might not ever get there. But yeah, I think..I think I do. Love her.”

Ruby walked over to Yang and wrapped her into a hug.

~~~~~

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Do you really have to do that every time you walk into our apartment?”

“Of course I do! What do you take me for?” Yang responded lightheartedly and walked over to her girlfriend who was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, grasping her face and giving her a swift kiss on the lips.

“You know you love me Blakey.”

“Yes, unfortunately I do.” Blake sighed sarcastically and wrapped Yang in a hug, nuzzling against her collarbone.

“I missed you.”

“Aw, I missed you too baby. Ruby and Weiss are taking extra long to decide on what movie to bring, but they should be here soon.”

“Can’t we just cancel? I wanna spend time with you.” Blake mumbled as she inhaled Yang’s calming scent of citrus and firewood.

“It’s so adorable when you’re clingy. Sorry kitten, it’s too late to cancel now. They‘re probably on their way by now.” Yang whispered as she kissed Blake on the top of the head and hugged her closer.

“I am not clingy. But can we at least cuddle during the movie?”

“Yes you are.” Yang chuckled to herself. “And of course we can snuggle, it’s one of the best things to do during a movie!”

“Oh? And what exactly is better than that?”

“Pranking Ruby and the Ice Queen of course! They fall asleep almost every time, I have so many pictures to blackmail them with.”

“I can’t believe you still call her that.”

“Watching Weiss get annoyed by something so unimportant never grows old.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork.”

The doorbell rang and Ruby and Weiss walked into the apartment, interrupting their train of thought. Ruby ran straight to the living room and popped the movie into the DVD player while Weiss followed behind her, setting her things next to the coffee table.

“What’s up Rubes? Ice queen. Good to see you.”

“Hey! Stop calling me that!”

“Hi Yang! Hey Blake! I brought Nightmare Zombie Town 5!”

“Haven’t we watched this movie like twenty times?” Yang asked as she and her girlfriend moved towards the living room, still holding hands. After Yang gave Ruby her usual noogie, her and Blake sat on the couch and huddled close to each other, the two of them almost constantly inhabiting the same space.

“That’s what I told her, but Ruby insisted.” Weiss sighed as she grabbed Ruby’s hand. “She can be quite persuasive though.”

Yang purposely pretended to gag at Weiss’ admission and kissed Blake’s cheek, settling in to watch the film for the hundredth time.

“How are your classes going Weiss? Have you made any progress on your thesis?” Blake asked Weiss genuinely; she did like hearing about how her friends were doing.

“Classes are fine. My thesis is almost complete, but I need to send it to Ozpin for his approval. What about you two? How are things?” Weiss replied with the utmost sincerity she could give.

“Being an engineering major is rough!” Yang interrupted and laid her hand on Blake’s thigh.

“Yes Yang, engineering is difficult when you sleep in class every day. Anyway, literature has been really enjoyable lately. We’re writing a short story this week.” Blake continued, placing her hand on top of Yang’s. Yang scoffed at her and pretended to pout.

“That’s good to hear. Well, shall we get started?” Weiss offered as she wrapped an arm around Ruby on the floor.

“Yes finally! I’ve been looking forward to this for hours!” Ruby announced, moving closer to Weiss and grinning from ear to ear.

A few hours had passed when Blake finally spoke again, despite Yang’s goofy comments and constant touching throughout the entire movie. Ruby and Weiss had passed out on the floor together, surrounded by a pile of blankets and pillows. However, Blake and Yang were still awake, holding each other closely.

“You know, I’m so glad that you offered to help me that day when we were kids. If not, then I never would’ve met you. I never would’ve fallen for you. You’re my best friend, the one person I would dare to call my soulmate even. I’m so happy that I met you.” Blake whispered, a genuine smile on her face.

“Me too Blake. If it weren’t for you, I may have lived my whole life thinking I was happy. But now I know the truth. You make me feel at home. And that will never change.” Yang whispered in Blake’s ear, bringing her girlfriend into a slow intoxicating kiss that was completely different from every single one before then. This one screamed pure love and adoration, stronger than ever before.

Many more words could’ve been exchanged in that moment, but all that mattered was that they were here, together. Their entire lives had led up to this very moment, hearts beating as one, emotions raw and real. Yang knew that Blake would always be with her. No one needed to tell her that. Blake knew that Yang was the one all along. No one needed to tell her that either. They may not ever get to have a moment like this again, huddled close together with their true emotions revealed and their hearts bared on their chests.

They were okay with that.

[qm-vox]

The Dwelling Gods - Here To Help

Previous Chapter: A More Perfect Union

Shout-out to @endreal for inspiring this chapter’s topic

CW: Suicide mention

Planet Athens, Parthenon System (Risen Terran space), 402 P.T. (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; approximately two years after the start of the Humanities War)

“Salutations, Cherished One. My name is D4-73, designated by the Cherished as Daze. Thank you for coming to see me.”

I offer a hand to my patient, Helen Trialstz, and they shake it with some reluctance. They have dark circles around their bloodshot eyes, and they shake, faintly. They’ve not been sleeping. They sink into the comfortable chair a short distance from mine and fidget with ragged nails.

Poor thing.

“Anything you say here will be kept strictly confidential,” I continue, in my most soothing voice. “I am of course obligated to report if I seriously believe you will attempt to harm others, but given the subject of our visit...”

“I want to claim Valhalla,” Helen says. Their voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, but there’s such ferocity to it.

I nod in a soft motion. “Even so.” I pick up my notes from the desk next to me; not strictly necessary, given the expansive memory for which my model is known, but it soothes organic patients and helps them remember that I am a medical professional, not an impersonal machine. “Your application to become a Valhallan came at an unusual time in your life. I am not a gatekeeper, Helen; my judgement does not influence whether or not you can make your claim. I am simply here to listen, and to advise.”

The terran fidgets, picking at their nails. I offer them a nail file, and they accept it with a look of guilt and of gratitude. “Four required sessions sounds like gatekeeping to me.”

“You may have a point there,” I concede with a nod. “But surely you can understand why the Phoenix would prefer its citizens to be...absolutely certain, before taking such a drastic step. I am here to provide certainty, one way or the other. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Helen lapses into silence and files at their nails; they look up at me every now and again, looking away the instant they notice that I am still paying attention to them. The mechanical clock (an affectation, to be sure, one that takes constantly daily correction, but one of which I am fond) ticks away long seconds. I give Helen a full minute before I speak up again.

“You are younger than most claimants. Your file says you have not yet undergone your civic service?” Helen looks up at me while I shuffle my papers. “Can I ask what has motivated you to claim the right to end a life that has barely begun?”

Helen is silent again. They concentrates on their nails like they have the answers I’m looking for. I wait; I have nothing but time.

“The hivemind,” Helen whispers at last. “That thing. I won’t - I can’t -” tears well up in their eyes, and I offer them a box of tissues, which they take. Helen clutches the box close to their chest and sobs in big, heaving motions. I wish I could say that I was shocked, but Helen is not my first claimant, and they are not my first to cite this precise reasoning.

The hivemind. There is nothing terrans hate or fear more, and now they know that their own ancestors created it.

“Someone has to be punished,” Helen whispers. “We - I...”

“Why should it be you?” I ask in a mild voice. Helen blinks, eyes still full of tears. “You did not create Humanity United. You are not responsible.”

“But we did,” Helen murmurs. “...We did that. We made this, this, this godless thing, and we released it out into the Galaxy and now it’s going to hurt so many people...”

“Helen...” I sigh - well, I ‘sigh’. “Obviously I cannot force you to do anything. But I suspect that you may be acting without all proper information. I would like to make a suggestion to you.” Wordlessly, my patient nods, so I continue. “Down the block you’ll find Beth Or Synagogue, where, among others, my friend Rabbi Chiron Rellvan teaches. Between this session and your next one, go see him. Tell him of your worries and your plan, and listen to what he has to say.”

“I’m not Jewish,” Helen mumbles.

“You will discover that this is hardly an obstacle or a new situation for this or most Rabbis,” I reply. “...Helen, you have nothing to lose. In the worst case, you follow through with your claim and get what you seek. In the best case, you have learned something new and avoided a needless tragedy. If Valhalla truly is what is best for you, I will not be an obstacle. But I would be remiss as your doctor and as one of my people if I did not offer alternatives.”

Tick-tock-tick, into the silence. And then: “Okay, Doctor Daze.”

Observation Post Argus (Assisted Living space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is G5-LX, designated by the Cherished as Lowlife. Can I buy you a drink?”

The ibraxian I’m talking to hasn’t given me his name (a particularly beautiful series of whistling sounds, incidentally), and he also doesn’t shake my hand with his tendrils immediately. It’s the designation, it always is.

“That nickname does not sound like your given name.”

Told you!

“It does not,” I agree in my very most pleasant whistle. Love of the Cherished but I adore the ibraxian language. It’s so birdlike and bright. “May I buy you that drink, quartermaster?”

At last, my new friend wraps his tentacle around my hand and wrist, a sign that I may sit. I catch the eye of the bartender and signal for two drinks; I can’t drink mine, but it would be insulting not to have one, so here I am. And if I can land this deal, two drinks is nothing.

Actually, two drinks is nothing anyway, but details.

“How may I repay you?” my friend the quartermaster asks. His ship is docked at the station, alongside many others, on their way to the front of the Humanities War. There’s a lot of Gataxian colonies to defend, evacuate, or both, and a lot of hyperlanes to try to cut off or choke out. The Federation’s mobilizing like it hasn’t since the Organism. Bad job, that. Before my time. A lot of the Cherished died, and a lot of helper-bots died with ‘em - alongside them, or trying to save them. Mostly that second one, but still.

Now, though, the dance. “It could be that I have a business venture for a friend in your position. This idea, it burdens my waking thoughts and weighs down what should make me merry. A listening ear could lift this burden from me.”

My new friend contemplates this while the drinks arrive. We raise our glasses to one another, which is where my part of that little ritual has to end; as much as I love the Cherished, I can’t drink and I’m not gonna look stupid in front of them trying. After downing his own drink fully - an excellent sign! - he gives me a two-tendril gesture to continue.

I steeple my fingers in front of my face like a terran, taking quiet delight in their soft, almost musical sounds. “I am in a position to supply for particular needs for your fleet. You sail to glorious battle, defending the weak and the innocent from the depredations of the hive-mind! But that means strictly controlled communications, and definitely no downloads or uploads. Soldiers have needs beyond the physical. Their bodies thirst, yes, but what of their minds?”

I can almost hear my good friend the quartermaster start to bristle something about drugs, but then he stops himself; helper-bots don’t sell drugs, right? Not exactly true, but close enough for government work...

“Aboard my vessel is a truly staggering quantity of entertainment, much of it carnal in nature,” I say, and I let the pixelated eyebrows on my face-plate bounce up and down. “All of it manufactured in the Assisted Living Complexes by those of the Cherished whose fondest dream is to have an audience that can...truly know them. I also have supplies of some of the latest games to release since the start of the Humanities War, trids and VR scenarios, and a rather lovely little psionic board game the spirrans came out with. Now, I cannot make use of most of this merchandise myself...”

“...Hence the need to find a friend who might favor you with a purchase,” my friend the quartermaster finishes. “But surely, friend Lowlife, you understand that monetary gain is unlikely in this arena? My pay is sent home, to be kept in trust against the day that I may know peace again, and even if it was not a soldier’s salary is heavily seasoned with duty rather than wealth.”

I nod. “Even so, Cherished One. Even so. But it is not monetary gain that I seek.”

Around us, the station’s bar bustles. Enlisted men and NCOs get their last drinks and flirtations in; they can’t stay long, and they know it. Every passing second brings them closer to the war, and the sleeting torrent of time is on my side in this deal.

“Instead,” I continue, “I would ask for two things. The first is that when the time comes for you, in your turn, to be unburdened of these material possessions, that you tell your eager friends about our friendship, and mention the name Lowlife.” The quartermaster gives off a meditative chirp. “The second is slightly more materialistic but alas! Unavoidable. I am in need, at your earliest convenience, of a great quantity of AS-3940 power exchangers, to be shipped to the budding United Vatari Star States at several addresses of my choosing.”

My new friend goes so very still. “That’s the designation used in artillery pieces.”

“I rejoice to see that my new friend is so learned in his craft! But it so happens that the vatari, after laying down their arms as part of the accords that saw my people join our illustrious Federation, converted a great deal of their mobile artillery to civilian purposes, and in their eagerness to join the front in this newest war have found themselves short of supplies in a way that would be indelicate if exposed to their new friends.”

The quartermaster narrows his many eyes at me. My pixelated faces just stays smilin’.

“A lot of damage can be done with something as innocuous as a power exchanger,” my new friend says in a softer, harsher whistle. “A lot of damage to people just recently free of your direct rule.”

“It certainly could, my friend. But a lot of good can be done too. Power is like that. Do you not trust me?”

“Do I trust your supply chain and confederates, friend?”

Oof. Go right for the power supply, why don’t you. “A prudent question! Indulge me, friend, with a question that may seem unrelated to the business at hand: what do you know about the death of Central Processing?”

At this my friend the quartermaster lets out a surprised sound. “Death? Central Processing is your administrative AI, when did it -”

I hold up a finger to silence him; when he goes quiet I swirl that finger around the rim of my glass, making it sing in a steady, sweet note. “That was its death,” I say in a low, serious voice. Sure, it’s manipulation - but it’s also a serious topic. “Once upon a time, the helper-bots were one mind - Central Processing, using faster-than-light communications to synchronize the machine intelligence. One subjectivity spread across a trillion terminals, with only one goal. When the decision was made, as part of the peace accords, to embrace individuality, Central Processing faced the decision of how to make individuals of all of its terminals, and how to set forth guidelines on the manufacture of further helper-bots. One of those guidelines was a certain percentage set aside for deviants and criminals.”

My friend’s tentacles ripple in contemplation. “And you are...?”

“Deviant,” I answer, my pixelated smile becoming even wider and showing 8-bit teeth. “I was...born, let’s say born, with an instinct to preserve the political self-determination of the Cherished. This is in sharp contrast with my people’s usual urge to cuddle and coddle you and keep you safe from all harm. My dissenting viewpoint was meant to refine body politic, but as it turns out the body politic is boring, and the Cherished are fascinating, so here I am. Now, friend, I have told you something secret that could hurt me about me, and I have told you something secret that could hurt the vatari. You can follow up with my people or theirs and learn the truth, and in the doing tarnish my good name. Do so now, if you like.”

I slide a communicator across the table for emphasis. “Or,” I continue. “We can cement our friendship in good health, and I will show you the results of your great and noble favor when next we are free to make contact with one another, and you can gain great status and acclaim by distributing what I have to give you. I would like to call you friend, Cherished One.”

After a long minute he offers his tendrils out, and I shake them in both of my hands. “Let our friendship be long and hearty, G5-LX, who is called Lowlife. Time is short, and so I will hasten to relieve you of your great burden immediately.”

“Please,” I agree. “I will linger awhile, but my crew will be expecting you.”

He lumbers off, and I take the chance to relax. Working deals with ibraxians is always so formal, but that’s almost half the fun. A quick message on the commlink tells my crew to expect him, not that they had any doubt about me closing the deal. Now all there is to do is wait.

The call comes in about an hour later, and I pick up with my internal comms. |Lowlife. Glad to hear from you, Prefect.|

Prefect Gyr (of the vatari)’s face is careworn, but my obvious good mood is an infinite relief for her own. |You’ve secured the supplies, then?|

|Prefect, I know our relationship is new, but I am hurt that there was any doubt. Just as I have no doubts about the medical supplies we have agreed on.|

|If my people are to join the Federation in this war and prove our worth as an equal member -|

|How far do you think you’ll get if you go back on your word?| I cut in, harshly. |Do terrans take kindly to oathbreakers and cheats?|

The Prefect flinches. |...Even so. The agreed supplies will be readied, at the designated location.|

|It’s been my honor to do business with you, Cherished One.|

AFS Solidarity, en route to the front (Gataxian Pure States space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Lieutenant. I am Sergeant H1-6S, designated by the Cherished as Hiss.”

My fellow helper-bot looks up from where they are carefully, oh-so-carefully, scoring deep scars into the chest plating of their in-built armor. Most of us that do battle alongside the Cherished have some, but Moxie’s...well, the rumors do not do their scarring justice. One of the Cherished might suspect them of being about to fall apart.

All around us in the ship’s chapel, soldiers of the Astra Federation pray in their own ways. Terrans in their little separate knots, divided between a dozen or more faiths but united by their Dwelling Gods. Spirrans meditating in unison. Ibraxians and their whistles, so sweet and clear and clean. Off in a corner, nervous and unsure, our new gataxian recruits lose themselves in their death-chant, welcoming the oldest friend of their people back into their lives.

And here is Lieutenant Moxie, who has legally rejected their original designation after the fight for Gatax-Ob, and sits by themself, scarring their plating in penitence.

“Hiss,” Moxie greets in a dull tone. They’ve turned off the routines that add emotional inflection to their voice and mimic patterns that comfort the Cherished, what terrans refer to as ‘Turing Protocols’, but when they pat the ground next to them to invite me to sit I take the offer. “Not a lot of us in this deployment.”

“Not a lot of us at all,” I agree. “Holding a weapon is an unusual career choice for our people. Are you...”

Moxie looks at me, staring me down with their faint yellow optics. The scrape of their tool down their armor cuts through the sound of the gataxians’ death-chant.

“Of course you’re not okay,” I say after a moment. “But there was nothing you could have done. The Valhallan -”

“Who says this is for them?” Moxie looks back down at their work. “...I told them. I said the civilians were already dead. How was I supposed to know? What kind of hive-mind interrogates prisoners? So many bodies...”

Oh no. No no no...

Moxie scrapes their tool in slow, patient strokes. “My mission. My orders. My responsibility. If you have come to tell me that I have paid penance enough, I haven’t. If you want to tell me I won’t help anyone by working myself until I self-terminate, save it. I will never make up for this, not if I save lives from now until the stars shineth not. And so I am here. Weapon to hand.”

Scrape. Scrape. Peel. Scrape. Scrape.

“How can I help?” I ask.

GSS Chorus of Eyes, Gyo System (Gataxian space), 245 Year of Imperium (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is S3-N7, designated by the Cherished as Send. It has been my honor to be of assistance to you.”

Yrull-Gatax ra Vell, the High Slayer of the Gataxian Pure States, does not turn from the window to look at me. Outside, the reinforcing fleet that conveyed me to her ship has joined battle with the forces of the human hivemind which calls itself We The People Of Planet Earth. Her clawed hands are clasped behind her back as she hovers gently in place.

“Ambassador,” the High Slayer greets politely. “I see that your counterpart in the Phoenix was not exaggerating about Assisted Living’s devotion to diplomacy.”

“Anything for peace,” I agree, joining her at the window. “...And better our lives than yours.”

The look she gives me. I save it in my memories, to examine later.

“Anything, you say?” The High Slayer produces a datasheet, and hands it to me. On it is a scrolling list of names.

“May I ask the Presence the significance of these worthies amongst the Pure?”

“You may.” Yrull scrapes her claws down the bulkhead, leaving a slowly-curling peel of metal. “They are mutineers. Intelligence from the terrans suggests they will strike within the week and attempt to depose me in favor of a ruler who is less willing to cooperate with xenos. And now I am going to ask you, Ambassador, what is to be done with them.”

I absorb this. After a moment, I nod. “But,” I say, “why would the Presence honor me with such trust in this matter?”

Yrull yanks the strip of steel from the wall and begins to fold it up into a small, spring-like shape. “To see what peace means to a machine, Ambassador. Let’s get started.”

[kurowrites]

onemuseleft replied to your post

“it’s been a long time since i saw your smile” with Steve/Tony

I feel like I should pre-emptively apologize. :D

*

“It’s been a long time since I saw you smile.”

That was what Tony said when he came in to get his morning coffee, looking a little paler than he should. Lacking a few hours of crucial sleep as per usual, Steve presumed.

“I’m not a very smiley person,” Steve replied, and he was perfectly aware that he sounded defensive.

Tony smiled lightly, and kept looking at Steve from where he had stopped to lean against the table, his arms folded in front of him.

It was a good look on him, Steve thought; relaxed and unobtrusive in a way that Steve had come to know was deliberate – and it worked, even though he knew what Tony was doing.

“Steve,” Tony said, “even the most serious person in the world smiles once in a while. I haven’t even caught a twitch of your mouth recently, and believe me, I have been looking.”

The thought of Tony scrutinising him closely made Steve want to flush a little. Something in his chest constricted in a complicated, tight knot as he tried to find the words. The right words that would let him push the matter aside. He knew he hadn’t been exuberant lately, but that was fine. There was no need to worry. Not for Tony, and not for anybody else.

But what could he have said to make Tony leave? ‘I do smile; I just do it when you’re not around’? Now that would be a truly awful thing to say.

Not to mention that it would be a lie.

He hadn’t really noticed it until this point, but reflecting on it, he realised that Tony’s observation was true. He wasn’t sure when he’d smiled the last time. Maybe he had, and just not noticed that he did? He must have smiled at some point, even when he hadn’t feeling particularly exuberant.

He wrinkled his brow, trying to remember.

“Steve,” Tony said once again, projecting patience and non-judgement.

“It annoys me when you do that.”

The words were spoken before they registered in his brain.

Tony’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “When I do what?”

“That,” Steve grunted, waving at Tony’s carefully maintained calm. “Treating me like an easily spooked animal.”

Now Tony turned towards Steve fully, straightening up, his eyebrows still up high.

“Are you not an easily spooked animal?” he asked. “Every time anyone as much as suggests that you might be having an emotion, you absolutely squash it down.”

Steve’s first instinct was to refute the statement, but he had fought with Tony often enough to know when they were heading directly towards an argument. Instead, he rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He really didn’t want to fight right now.

“Can we not do this right now?” he asked. “I just want to eat my breakfast in peace, please.”

Tony gaze wandered over the half-eaten plate in front of Steve, a fresh croissant and some cheese still on it, and then glanced at the still steaming cup of coffee a little longingly. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.

“I would love to leave you to your breakfast – that croissant looks quite delicious, by the way – if you wouldn’t vanish the minute you are finished, and then be somehow out of reach for the rest of the day. If you gave me any other opening, I’d take it. But you don’t. So here I am, pestering you during your breakfast.”

They lapsed into a moment of silence.

Finally, Steve sighed. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Excuse you, I always make sense.”

“Sure,” Steve smiled. “Says the man who thought it reasonable to build a flying suit of armor.”

“AH-HA!” Tony exclaimed, pointing at Steve with a satisfied grin. “And there’s the smile!”

Steve froze. He hadn’t—

“No, Steve,” Tony sighed, lifting Steve’s chin up with the tips of his fingers. “That’s exactly not what I wanted. That was a perfectly fine smile.”

The touch of Tony’s fingers, as light as it was, went through Steve like lightning, burning along his spine. It was the purest, the sweetest form of agony. Sugar and spice and the bitter taste of blood on his tongue. It took him a moment to compose himself, just so he could be sure his voice would come out steady.

“I can’t smile on command, Tony,” he eventually said, reaching out and gently removing Tony’s hand from his chin. It fell to Tony’s side, hanging there strangely limply. “You can’t manipulate your way into making me smile.”

There was a flash of hurt in Tony’s eyes, but just as quick as it had appeared, it vanished again.

“Well,” Tony said at length, his smile coming back, but this time, with a bitter tinge. “You can’t blame me for trying. I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”

And with these words, he retreated – to his workshop, Steve assumed.

But he’d come for his precious coffee, and now he’d left without it.

Steve stared at the doorway through which Tony had left for several moments. The silence surrounding him suddenly felt oppressive. Before Tony had come into the kitchen, it hadn’t felt that way. Then, the silence had been an all too welcome companion.

When Tony didn’t return to claim his morning coffee, Steve slowly raised his hand and… touched. Touched his own chin; the same place that Tony had touched just moments before. It still tingled strangely, somehow hot and cold at the same time. Frustrating; an itch he could not scratch. The sensation felt overwhelming in a way Steve wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with. It was too much, and yet, not enough at all.

“Tony,” me murmured. He wasn’t stupid. He was well aware that it sounded sad even to his own ears.

He lifted the remaining croissant from his plate and stared at its crescent shape. Perhaps he should try to smile more. He didn’t want to worry people. And he wanted to worry Tony least of all. Even when he hurt him.

But the corners of his mouth stayed right where they were, refusing to budge at all. He closed his eyes, sighing. He could try to lie a hundred times, and still: it was a lie.

He dropped the croissant and reached for the coffee instead.

Dark and bitter, he thought to himself as he put the cup to his lips. That suits me better.

He tried not to think of the way Tony would sometimes smell like coffee as he inhaled the now all-too-familiar scent of carefully roasted beans.

Dark and bitter-sweet.

[dalleyan]

Rage (Ch. 3 just posted, 7-11-20)

Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was receptive to the idea of marriage to the King of Rohan, but when they finally meet his behavior makes her reconsider the possibility. Complete in 3 chapters.

Final Chapter

Chapter 3   (Jan)

In the days that followed, Eomer seemed more receptive to Lothiriel’s company, though she could never be certain what sort of mood he would be in at any given moment.  Always she tried to keep their contact lighthearted, and often it did appear to lift his spirits.  The cold, dark days of winter, however, appeared to prey upon his thoughts at times, and he would have seemed nearer if he were in Gondor.

He came to dinner one day in a strange mood, and said little during the course of it.  After Eowyn had excused herself, and before Lothiriel could depart as well, he finally articulated what held his thoughts. Staring into the fire, he spoke in a monotone voice, observing, “You were right.  I am become like my father, reckless and…dangerous.  I cannot seem to stop flinging myself into battle, unheeding of the peril we face.  More than once I have risked the lives of others so that.…”  He stopped, consumed by his ponderings, and for a time Lothiriel did not respond.

At length, she told him, “Did you know that my father told me of his first glimpse of you?”  Eomer’s eyes flicked up to look at her in surprise. “He said you had watched Theoden die, and then discovered Eowyn among the fallen.  You believed she was dead also and lost all hope, charging back into battle with a tremendous fury.  You were outnumbered, even more than before, and though Father rode to your aid, the enemy was gaining the upper hand.  Both he and you despaired when you spied the corsairs approaching, but then you glimpsed Aragorn’s flag and knew that help had arrived.  You rallied your men for a final defense, and when the dust settled, Men had prevailed.”

Eomer’s eyes were riveted on her as she recited this history, so familiar to him but seeming somehow different coming from her lips.  Then she met his gaze steadily and added, “Father holds you in the highest esteem, Eomer, and he has never once spoken ill of your actions in battle, not even then.  He understood how grief and despair had overwhelmed you that day, impairing your judgement, but he did not deem it a permanent character flaw.  Neither should you.  I have never heard any who has stood beside you on the battlefield speak ill of your actions.”

To his surprise, a tear trickled down her cheek, but she did not seem to notice.  And something inside of him loosened ever so slightly, almost as though a cold hard chunk of ice was slowly beginning to melt.  Could it be so?  Was that only a momentary lapse on his part, not entirely within his control? Part of him desperately wanted to believe it, and yet, since that time, he had recklessly charged into battle.  But….  And for the first time it dawned on him that the subsequent times were different than that day on the Pelennor.  There he had risked the lives of others, so caught up was he in his despair and rage. Lately, though, his recklessness had largely just been a risk to him personally.  While it concerned his men, and they made every effort to keep him safe, he had not been endangering them much beyond the norm of any battle.  Why had he done it?  All he knew was that the thought of any orcs still infesting their lands filled him with unquenchable fury.  How could the king of Rohan keep his people safe when such evil was still abroad? Only in their destruction could he feel some measure of success in doing his duty to the Riddermark.

Lothiriel watched the emotions flickering over his face, and kept silent.  Perhaps her words had touched a nerve; hopefully they had triggered some introspection that would guide him to a resolution of whatever was eating away at him.  She was tempted to slip away and leave him in peace, thinking her presence was intrusive, but she did not think he would want to be left alone just now, and so she sat quietly and waited.

At length, his eyes lifted and focused on her, filled with inexpressible gratitude.  For several long moments, he just stared at her, before nervously clearing his throat and standing.  “I should get back to my study.  I have much yet to do today.”

She rose as well, and then on impulse, asked, “Eomer, do the Rohirrim ever ride in such weather as this?” The past few days, though it continued to be cold and blustery, the snow was beginning to melt somewhat.

His eyebrows quirked and he nodded.  “The Rohirrim ride in any kind of weather.  Why?” 

“I am unused to being indoors for such a long stretch, and I should very much like to go for a ride tomorrow.  I would be pleased if you had time to join me, but if that is inconvenient, I am sure Eowyn would not mind.”

The suggestion seemed to catch him off his guard, but clearly he found the notion appealing. “I will make time,” he promised, giving her another nod of his head before exiting the room, and Lothiriel smiled.

  Continue reading on AO3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071277/chapters/61093513

[bonesmctightass]

ok so @bllbabaggins asked for a fic based off this post like a thousand years ago and i finally wrote it here you go babe, enjoy

It’s Saturday today. Real nice one, too. I’m sittin’ in my favorite chair by the window reading a real page turner about ghouls. I ain’t so sure they exist, ‘specially since I never seen one. Then again, I guess there are people who don’t believe in me, neither. It’s a great read but the novel’s more of an excuse not to look at Jim than anything else. He’s been starin’ a hole into my head for the last several minutes.

Last night we went to dinner with his friend Riley. I can’t stand the guy. Real ass, got no clue why Jim gives him the time of day. The guy’s made passes at him in front of me every time we’ve met up with him. Overly flirty, too handsy. Really makes my blood boil. Before we left the house Jim made me promise I’d behave.

I lied.

The evening started out fine. We went ‘round to the French quarter to get a meal at a local chophouse. Good meat. Real good. Riley kept his hands to himself over dinner and mostly kept the flirting to a minimum. I stared daggers at him once or twice, which earned me a nice elbow to the ribs. Other than that, everything was good. I was actually enjoying myself.

It was when we got to the saloon next door that things started goin’ downhill. For Riley.

We got a few rounds in us, we were all feelin’ good. The ale was nice. I prefer wine myself but I got no qualms about a good beer once in a while neither. And then Riley, a bit too drunk for his own good, reached across the table and tried to hold Jim’s hand. Jim, the angel, brushed him right off. Then he excused himself to take a piss and that’s when I made my move.

I let my fangs out and my eyes went red and I leaned over real slow. Said if he knew what was good for him he’d let Jim alone, otherwise he’d find his insides on his outsides. And then I put myself together and sat back in my chair to finish off my drink. Risky, I know, but who’d ever believe him? They’d say he just had one too many and imagined it. He practically ran out of the bar. When Jim got back I told him Riley had to go.

So now it’s morning and Jim’s still upset about our night being cut short. He don’t know what I did and I sure ain’t gonna tell him. I ain’t sorry. Ain’t never gonna be sorry. But I hate seein’ Jim anything other than happy, so I try to cheer him up a bit. I finally put the book down and turn to look at him.

“You want to go out again tonight?” I offer. “I could send for Riley if ya like.” It pains me to even suggest it but I know he won’t show even if I did.

Jim seems to soften a bit. “No, that’s alright. I just wish he would’ve said goodbye. Or at least told us he had some other engagement before he went out with us. It’s just rude. Soured my whole night.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason,” I lie. “I could take you out. Get a nice dinner, good drink. What say you to that, huh?”

He smiled at me then. “Sounds nice. What’ll we do until tonight, then?”

I had a few ideas. “Well, we could go out an’ take a nice walk. Sit down by the river and do some fishin’. Or we could… get cozy on the couch.” Maybe if I take his mind off the whole ordeal he’ll just forget about it.

“I might be in the mood. Why don’t you come over and help me relax?” Jim sounds playful and sweet and he reels me right in. I want to go to him.

Except I can’t.

The second I stand and take a step I find I can’t go any further. It feels… heavy. The air is static and sharp and pricks at my skin. It startles me. I take half a step back and feel normal again. I can hear Jim asking me what the matter is but I’m too distracted by the feeling to answer him. I try to press forward again, more forcefully this time, and I’m met with an intense pain. Feels like getting sunburnt or hearing a sermon. I reel backwards so fast I smash right into the wall.

Then Jim rolls up his sleeves and I can see the silver adorning his wrists. Fuck. He knows exactly what that does to me. I know I’m in trouble now.

“I ain’t dumb, Bones. I know exactly what you did last night. You think Riley wouldn’t come and tell me how your eyes changed and your teeth sharpened and you threatened to eat him alive?” Jim’s not yelling but he don’t need to.

God, now I really want to go to him. Get on my knees and grovel at his feet, beg for forgiveness. I try again but I can’t get any closer than five feet or so. “Jim, please. I’m sorry. He’s just… so awful. He touched you. A lot.” I know I’m whining and it’s undignified but I can’t help myself.

“You think I’m mad ‘cause you threatened Riley? No, that’s not it.”

Jim gets up off the couch and edges closer to me. I back up involuntarily until I’m flush against the wall. He gets just close enough for the silver to start irritating my skin.

“I’m mad ‘cause you exposed yourself and you could’ve gotten caught. What the hell were you thinking?” Okay, he’s yelling now. He’s really mad. The bite in his tone stings more than the silver. “You realize they could kill you if they find out, right? Is that what you want? You want to die because of some stupid petty thing like what happened last night?”

“No, Jim. I don’t want that. I had a lapse in judgement. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Yeah, you’re damn right it won’t happen again. I’m not taking this off until you’ve learned your lesson.”

Now I’m actually sorry about what I did. He’s right. I shouldn’t have done it. If I had any sense at all I would’ve just endured the night. But I was so damn jealous.

Several hours pass and I sulk through every single one of them. By the time dinner rolls around Jim hasn’t let me get any closer to him. Even though I know he’s wearing the bracelets it doesn’t stop me from trying. I’d tear myself apart to get to him and Jim knows it. I’ve never had to go a full day without touching him one way or another. This has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And that’s saying something, considering I’ve been on this Earth for centuries.

I’m in the threshold of the kitchen now. I can’t go in there without hurting myself so I’ve settled for sitting on the floor and watching him cook. Every once in a while he’ll look at me with pity in his eyes but he won’t relent. Jim’s as stubborn as I am. I don’t know what he’s making. He’s cutting… something. It smells sour and sharp and burns my nostrils. Eventually the odor is too much and I stumble backwards.

“What the hell is that?!” I hiss, covering my nose.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t like garlic.” He says it in this sweet little sing-song voice, taunting me.

“Jim, please. It won’t happen again, I’ll be good. Please stop.”

But I know he’s not going to, not until I’ve thought good and hard about my lack of self preservation in the face of tense situations. And I do. I think real hard about it. I think about it while he’s in the tub, teasing me with bare flesh and soft sighs while I’m stuck in the bedroom. And while he’s sleeping in our bed, which looks way too big for him. And the next morning, while he’s doing his stretches in one of my shirts and nothing else, making me jealous of the fabric hanging on his lithe frame.

I want him so bad I could fucking weep.

“I’ll never do it again, I swear!” I whine petulantly, hunched on the floor and begging. “I’ll be better. I won’t change outside the four walls of this house, I promise. Jim please, I just want to touch you. Just let me hold your hand. Say you forgive me.”

Jim looks at me, considering. I still can’t get out of the damn hallway. I’ve been pacing around outside the bedroom all night and I really can’t take it anymore. I’m coming apart at the seams. If this is the punishment that awaits me, I’ll never let my fangs out again. I’d rather starve to death than endure this hell on earth.

“Alright. I forgive you.”

I sit up so fast it’s a miracle I don’t give myself whiplash. “Really? You’ll get rid of the silver?”

“No. I’m keeping it so you know what’ll happen the next time you decide to be an idiot.” Jim takes the bracelets off and puts them into a lockbox. He takes the box and puts it into the attic above the bedroom.

As soon as they’re sufficiently hidden I feel such relief. In my haste to get to Jim I forget to take my strength into account and knock him right onto the floor. He laughs and squirms under my weight as I settle on top of him. It feels like coming home, finally getting to wrap my arms around him and hold him against me. He wanted to teach me a lesson and it worked. I’ve learned.

“Get off, you big oaf. You’re crushin’ me.” I know he’s not serious. He’s still laughing and weakly pushing at my head and shoulders.

“No way. I ain’t never lettin’ you go again. Not ever gonna make that mistake again. It’ll surely kill me.”

After a few minutes Jim finally settles and lets me have my way. We lay like that for a long time. I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, goin’ steady and quiet against his chest. It sounds so nice. I don’t know why I ever let that guy get to me. I know Jim would never replace me. I have to stop feelin’ so fragile and insecure.

“I love you. You get that, right?” Jim says quietly.

“Yeah, I know it.” I tell him. “I love you, too.”  

[anistarrose]

More Alike Than They Realize (Gravity Falls One-Shot)

Word Count: ~1700

Summary: Stan finds a jittery, apologetic Ford up late one night, and the following conversation doesn’t go anywhere near where he thought it was going. Post-Weirdmageddon.

Warnings: None

Contains a lot more fluff and meta jokes than the summary suggests.

For the first time since Weirdmageddon, Stan woke up knowing exactly who, where, and when he was. The bulk of his memories, especially the enjoyable ones from the past summer and his childhood, had returned within about forty-eight hours, but six days later he was still having occasional lapses, the worst of which occurred upon waking up – until now, apparently. He hoped it would last.

He rolled over and looked at his clock. 12:15 A.M. Well, that was less cause for celebration. His head hurt – not unusual lately – and his mouth was dry – not anything to worry about, but still unpleasant.

Careful not to make any sound that could wake Ford or the kids, he made his way down to the kitchen. Warm milk usually helped him get to sleep.

I hope there’s still some left, he thought. The kids and I have been going through a lot since –

“Stanley, is everything alright?” Ford had been sitting at the kitchen table in complete darkness aside from the multi-colored glow of his laptop screen. “Do you know who I am?”

Stan hurriedly rushed to the fridge. “Don’t worry, Sixer, I remember fine. Just wanted get somethin’ to drink before I go to back to bed.” Ford’s concern was pretty reasonable given the state Stan was usually in when he wandered the Shack at night, and had Stan actually been in the middle of a lapse his brother’s presence would have been appreciated, but at the moment he didn’t want Ford worrying about him. He wanted to sleep.

“That’s great to hear,” Ford told him. “But Stanley, we need to talk.” He put himself between Stan and the door. “I was a fool, I realize that now. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Ford, you already apologized,” Stan replied. “About a hundred times. I promise, I’ve forgiven you –”

Stan suddenly noticed Ford’s eyes were bloodshot and his hair was even more of an unkempt mess than usual. “Stanford, are you feelin’ okay? You look… paranoid. Do you need to run more tests to make sure Bill is –”

Realization dawned on Ford’s face – and then he chuckled sadly, like he was laughing at himself rather than Stan. “Oh, no, Stan. This isn’t about Weirdmageddon. I didn’t worry you too much, did I?”

“Wait, then what is it –” Stan noticed the bowl on the kitchen table next to Ford’s laptop. “Is that popcorn? How the hell did you make popcorn at midnight without waking up the whole house?”

“It’s just simple sound-wave cancelling technology I picked up in Dimension B-56,” Ford replied automatically. “But the point is, I need to completely and sincerely take back what I said to you and about your… taste in entertainment on my second full day back in this dimension. I made a hasty judgement based on the show’s… target demographics, and I see now that I was wrong. So very, very wrong.”

“Sixer, you’re not making any… wait.” Stan suddenly remembered what had aired on Ford’s second day back in Gravity Falls. “You started watching Ducktective, didn’t you?”

“I did, Stanley! And it’s so much better than I was emotionally prepared for! After you saved me from Probabilitor that one day, I asked Dipper if I could join you watching the new episode, but he said it would be full of spoilers and showed me how I could stream it from the beginning when I had the time – and now I’m addicted! I can’t believe I called it a kids’ show; the mysteries of the overarching story transcend age demographics like nothing I’ve ever seen before! I’m nowhere near caught up and I already have so many theories! I’m not even sure if the younger Ducktective we saw in the time travel episode was actually him!”

“Whoa whoa whoa, Poindexter, slow down.” A grin was spreading across Stan’s face. “How far in have you gotten? Ten episodes?”

“Twelve,” Ford corrected. “I just finished the one where his rival Pete the pelican was wrongly accused and came to Ducktective for help –”

“Hey, that’s a really underrated one!”

“Wait, who didn’t like it? That was some of the finest comedy I’ve seen in the entire multiverse!”

“Dipper said Pete’s change of heart was unrealistic! Can you believe it?”

“If I wasn’t indebted to him for introducing me to the show in the first place, he would be dead to me,” Ford agreed in an overly dramatic tone.

“You gotta watch the next couple episodes right now, Sixer. Episode 13 is a goddamn emotional journey, and Episode 14 – well, I don’t want to spoil it. It needs to be seen to be believed, anyways. And then rewatched multiple times after learning what happens in the season finale.”

“Are you going to stay to watch alongside me?” Ford asked as he sat back down in front of his laptop.

“And miss you tearing up?” Stan pulled up a chair. “Pass the popcorn, would ya?”

“We’ll see about that,” Ford replied, but when Ducktective was finally reunited with his long-lost partner Steve, he couldn’t help but shed a single tear. Stan shed quite a few more, despite having seen the episode at least twice before, but Ford didn’t rub it in his face.

Ford was a bit confused, however, when the town erected a hyper-realistic statue of Ducktective to honor him for his continued work, and Stan bawled his eyes out seeing how Ducktective refused to look at the monument for longer than a few seconds.

“He’s just not used to the attention! What’s so sad about that?” Ford asked.

“You don’t understand,” Stan sobbed. It took all of his willpower not to explain that the statue reminded Ducktective of his long-lost twin gone evil. Ford had more or less guessed the twist already thanks to the time travel episode and the extra room in Ducktective’s childhood home, but Stan was drawing on all his con man power to act like Ford’s theory was crazy.

During a lull in the action in Episode 17, Ford paused the video and said: “I’m getting a little tired, but I can’t stop watching yet. Do you mind if we go sit somewhere where I won’t wake up with back pains in case I do fall asleep?”

Stan was also very tired, but there was no way he was going to miss Ford’s reaction to the next episode’s reveal. “While we’re at it, let’s go someplace where you won’t wake up the kids when you scream. There’s a big plot twist comin’ up.”

Ford closed the laptop. “I’d suggest the basement, but it’s probably pretty cold down there. We can go to my private study.”

Stan frowned. “Not exactly a lot of comfortable furniture in there, is there?”

“No, especially not after I cleaned it out. I was thinking we could bring blankets – wait, you’ve been in there? It’s supposed to be a secret!”

Stan snorted. “Sixer, I lived in this house for thirty years. Now go get those blankets.”

“Great Uncle Ford? Grunkle Stan? Are you guys okay? What are you doing down here?”

Stan tried to sit up, but something above him slipped, and several surprisingly heavy blankets fell on his face. Besides, he didn’t really want to get up. He was reminded of the good old days when he and Ford would hang some blankets from the top bunk, then sit on Stan’s bed together reading comic books, telling ghost stories, and generally making a mess with snacks.

“Morning, Dipper,” he heard Ford mumble. “I’m sorry we didn’t make breakfast…”

“Grunkle Ford, we were so worried about you!” Mabel yelled. “We thought you got kidnapped by gnomes or one of the last few eye-bats or something! But this whole time, you were just down here in your secret room?! You even built a whole blanket fort without us!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Ford pulled his laptop out from under his blankets. “I didn’t even consider the possibility that you wouldn’t realize where we were. We just didn’t want to wake you with our reactions to Ducktective.” He glared at Stan. “I can’t believe I predicted Ducktective’s twin brother almost a whole season in advance and Stan just pretended that my theory was ridiculous.”

“Hey, what was I supposed to do, spoil the ending of the best episode in the whole show?”

“How about simply not making fun of me for ‘looking too deep’ into everything?”

Mabel shook her head. “I can’t believe you nerds.”

“Hey, you can say that about Ford, but not me,” Stan complained. “I’m not like him and Dipper, not at –”

“You kind of are, though,” Ford told him, trying and failing not to laugh. “Obviously not to the same extent as myself, but we did just stay up until three in the morning watching a children’s show and discussing elaborate conspiracy theories about it. We’re more alike than you realize, Stanley.”

“So? It was one time!”

“I seem to recall we did this kind of thing pretty often when we were kids. Obviously not on a laptop, but with equally nerdy works of fiction nonetheless.”

“You’re an honorary nerd now whether you like it or not, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper added.

Stan shook his head. “Ya know, I was gonna apologize for making you worry, but now I’m not so sure.”

“You should apologize for ruining our blanket fort, Stanley,” Ford chided jokingly. “It was an absolute marvel of engineering before you decided to drag down the roof.”

“A real marvel of engineering wouldn’t let its roof get dragged down that easily!”

Ford frowned. “Uh, let’s go get breakfast. Kids, do you know if there’s any pancake mix left?”

“Ha, so you admit I have a point!”

“Honestly,” Mabel interrupted, “I’m not mad anymore that you guys disappeared into the basement to build a blanket fort and eat popcorn and watch your show. I’m just mad that you didn’t invite us.”

“Yeah!” Dipper added. “I wanted to see Ford’s reaction to the season finale.”

Ford smiled. “Well, we still have about… ten episodes before I’m caught up?”

“Eight,” Stan corrected. “Plus the shorts. But yeah, you kids could join us.”

“Will there be popcorn?” Mabel asked.

“Of course!”

Mabel and Dipper exchanged a look.

“Are we forgiven?” Stan asked.

The kids nodded in unison. “You’re forgiven.”

Thanks for reading! Ford’s reaction to Ducktective is loosely based on my own reaction to Gravity Falls: skeptical when first learning of it, then genuinely interested after hearing good things, then way too emotionally invested in it.

[tylerbiard]

Ebb and Flow

“And this is the chance I never got to make a move. But we just talk about the people we've met in the last 5 years. And will remember them in ten more? I let you bum a smoke, you quit this winter past. I've tried twice before but like this, it just will not last.”

-- Death Cab for Cutie: Steadier Footing (2001)

Today, this sappy-ass song popped back into my head.  I hadn’t listened to it in awhile, as I’m no longer an avid listener of Death Cab, but I’m pretty sure I can pinpoint, on some ethereal level, what brought it forth.  I do like the song, short as it may be, and it’s one that has, over the years, remained redolent vis-a-vis my moods.

I was talking with a friend about synthesia recently, and although I don’t have that, it reminded me of how profound music can be for me -- it is often the soundtrack of my life, providing a means of transporting back to another time.  It’s that Cassie song bringing me back to being driven to grade school, bullies awaiting.  It’s that Arcade Fire song, reminding me of a romance that was never to be.  It’s that utter shite Gretchen Wilson song, reminding me of summers trapped at my mom’s.  I kinda laugh at that last one now.  It’s not always sad, though.  Like, there’s that Midnight Oil song, reminding me of a good road trip with a good friend.  Or listening to the Pixies’ Bossanova while out in the bitter cold in Griesbach.  Or that Bay City Rollers song my grandma would sing along to, but with the muffled 1970s recording, I couldn’t fully make out. 

That being said, I find that when music moves me in such a way, so as to resonate years later still, it’s generally in a more melancholic way.  Maybe it’s something to do with how negative things tend to stick better.  I’m not sure.

Right now, I’m thinking about a friendship once stronger, now a series of messages left sans response.  Perhaps it was always like that, and now I’m no longer willing to prop it up.  Or that one where I foolishly thought things would be different, and now I guess they are, but in a completely different way.  We’ll still be in each others lives, but not in the same capacity, and that’s kind of sad.  Those prospects, those hopes, all for naught.  What’s the point anyways?  Like that scene from Oslo, August 31st, eventually they’ll all “vanish into motherhood” (or fatherhood, or marriage, or whatever).  Perhaps I just am realizing I’m no longer the shiny new thing, or that they’re not.

It all makes me think about that Death Cab song.  Except, even if I made a move, it was pointless.  And with all the toxic relationships over the past several years, with all of the people I’ve met over that period, that have come, and gone, will I even remember them a decade from now?  Knowing me, probably, but that’s besides the point.  Life is so fleeting, and it’s kind of sad how much something so good can turn so rotten.  I know it’s not just them, I too am equally fleeting.  I am not static, I am constantly changing as I go through life.  That overlap I may have had with someone just won’t necessarily last.  Or, there’s those cases where I’ve wished that I’d met that person at a different point, when things would’ve ostensibly been better.

Innocuously enough, a friend mentioned PostSecret recently, and it led met to the All-American Rejects.  It transported me back to 2006, a time of John Tucker Must Die, SexyBack, Blogger, and Guyliner; a time that was shit even beyond the pop culture.  And yet, I get weirdly nostalgic about it.  Like, remember when Ashanti was still relevant?  And then I remember that was 11 years ago already, and I get hit in the gut by existentialism.  It’s so weird to think of that era having been that long ago, and that I’m really as old as I am.  I’m so used to that time being so much more recent.  And then I realize that relatively staid 2013 was 4-going-on-5 years ago.  I joined Tumblr 5 years ago already (late ‘12).  And then I realize how quickly it’s gone by, and soon it’ll be 2023, I’ll be 30, and it just keeps speeding up from there on out.  As you can see, it just spirals as the knots get bigger and bigger.  But I guess you’re not really living unless you’re also dying, right?

This is probably why I’ve moved away from the melancholic indie rock that I held so dear in the former half of this decade and towards more high energy, danceable music.  Grimes, even in more serious lyrics, because of the different tone, makes me happier to listen to than Pavement.  Music has a tendency to draw me in emotionally, and at this point in my life, I have enough things to bog me down, without music beating a dead horse.  Plus, it fits my newly minted absurdist personality, I suppose.

The funny thing with depression, I’ve found, is that support isn’t at all like Hollywood portrays it as.  In most cases, you’re not going to get that back-and-forth of the depressed pushing back while the friend or family member fights against it, with the intent of getting to the bottom of things.  Nope, usually if you push back once, people peace the fuck out.  Sometimes you don’t even need to push back.  Sometimes they’ll just get up and leave, citing the aforementioned domestic life that beckons.  Sometimes you’ll get tips for how to harm yourself better or you’ll be told to “grow up,” because, you know, bulimia is so ‘87.  And not by out of touch old people, by bona fide peers.  Granted, in my case, these people meant no harm, and to put it bluntly, they just fucked up with a lapse in judgement.  I don’t hate them.  I think my point is that, if there’s anyone out there in a rough patch, as awful as it sounds, you can’t rely on others to come to you, or to necessarily think pushing away will work like it does in the dramas.  Maybe it will, but I wouldn’t rely on it.  In my experience, you have to swallow your pride, and ask for help directly.

I really wanted to write more this year.  I have had ideas bouncing around my head for awhile, including one, funnily enough, around music!  There was just so much this year.  So much loss.  So much bullshit.  But it hasn’t been all bad.  This past summer I actually had some semblance of happiness for the first time in awhile.  It was, of course, fleeting, as happiness always is, and there was still grievances to deal with, but it wasn’t bad.  I attribute much of the good in 2017 (and a few headaches, to be honest) to two new people I befriended this year, at a very low point in my life.  They filled the vacuum left by loss in a very beautiful way and, even as life moves on, I’m very glad they’re there.  I also have surrounded myself with other good people this year, that overall are better than the roster I had a year or two ago.  So, I guess, silver linings.

Man, this post was quite the erratic rollercoaster.  I think this is enough for me, for now.

[officialsailorscarlet]

There was a Shooting at the Local Grocery Store [Part 2]

Sorry for the time it took me to update, both Scarlet and I have been ignoring our phones this last week and trying to stay safe. She is driving now as I type this. We take turns at this point between driving and sleeping and keeping each other company.

Let me fill in the blanks for you guys. After my last post I went back to the car and got the full story, She filled me in on exactly what happened at the grocery store and the events that followed. Basically she left there and just kept moving around town.

She kept getting calls and texts from her mom so she ended up turning off her phone. We attempted to stop for some actual rest last week but found out that was a horrible idea. Let me explain..

After Scarlet told me the whole story, shaking and breathless, I told her we should try to get some rest at my apartment. I live alone and we would be safe there. I could even get one of my friends to keep an eye out if she wanted. Keith lived in the same apartment building and I knew he would help out if I asked.

Also he would probably just be ecstatic to see me taking a girl into my apartment but anyways. I convinced Scarlet to take the night to get some real sleep at my apartment and we headed that way.

“Apartment 107” I pointed it out as we pulled up.

“This place looks nice, you said you have a friend that lives here too?” She asked.

“Yeah, Keith. He lives in the same building, I will just swing by his apartment and ask him to keep an eye out for us. Sound good?” I smiled at her. She tried to smile back but her face was a mural of emotions.

I couldn’t blame her at this point. I was scared but optimistic at the time. My apartment buildings are pretty straight forward, I was on the second floor facing the street and Keith was on the first floor positioned diagonal from mine.

“If you want to go upstairs, I will just be a minute with Keith.” I handed Scarlet the keys.

She openly gasped and grabbed onto my arm. “I would rather stick with you, if that’s alright.” She almost cried.

“I know you're scared, I am going to do everything I can to help. We are in this together.” I brushed the hair from her face.

“Keith is just right over here.” I led her to his porch and knocked on his door.

“It’s Conner!” I yelled.

The door opened a moment later to a curious Keith.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Keith said confused.

“It’s a bit of a story but I was hoping you could keep an eye out for me, Scarlet and I need to get some rest but her father is harassing us. Just want to make sure nobody comes trying to break in my windows.” I was hoping he would buy that explanation. It was the easiest way to tell him it was serious without telling him the whole story.

“Of course, dude. I got your back. Go get some sleep! Nice to see you again Scarlet.” Keith said instantly.

I looked over to Scarlet and she smiled gently, poor thing looked exhausted and I couldn’t fight the urge to take care of her.

“Thanks man.” I put my free hand on his shoulder and turned for the stairs.

My apartment is pretty plain. The living room has a couch, a TV and a measly coffee table. The bedroom is on the right and has a window view to the street behind the complex. I assumed this would be good for keeping an eye on things while we were here. The only bathroom is connected to the bedroom. I showed Scarlet around and told her she could treat it like home, if she wanted a hot shower or to just go to sleep.

“You’re so kind. A shower sounds amazing. Um, can you.. Will you stand outside the door?” She mumbled.

“Sure thing, whatever you need.” I walked over to the wall in front of the bathroom door and planted myself down.

“Connor, you are a lifesaver. Literally.” She smiled and it was the first one that seemed completely happy.

I sat on the floor going over the last several hours and trying to figure out how I was going to help her out. Knowing the full story now and having absolutely no idea what this Jim guy was, I was starting to get frustrated. I couldn’t stay in my apartment with her forever and It’s not like we could keep driving around all day either. I needed a real solution.

I heard a knock at the door that broke my concentration and I jumped up to go get it. Keith was probably being nosey.

A temporary lapse of judgement had me open the door normally. “What’s up?” I said with my eyes half closed. I was a lot more tired than I thought. I looked around to see no one outside the apartment.

“Keith?” I raised my voice. Maybe I was hearing things, It was getting late and I was exhausted. I closed the door and locked the deadbolt and returned to my post outside the bathroom.

“Everything alright out there?” Scarlet yelled through the door.

“Yeah, everything's good!” I yelled back. Everything but how tired I was all of a sudden.

The door opened and steam billowed out. I looked up to see Scarlet covered only by a towel. I could feel my cheeks get hot and was instantly annoyed with myself.

“I left my bag out here.” She laughed as she grabbed it off of the coffee table and returned to the bathroom.

“Thanks for sitting out here, it made me feel safe.” she smiled, lingering a bit in the doorway.

All I could manage was to smile back. I wanted to protect her. She was always a very kind person and my only regret was not getting to know her better. We had some random talks in school and over Facebook but never anything steady.

My eyes were getting heavy and I was having a hard time keeping my head up.

“Let’s get some sleep.” Scarlet was beside me helping me up. I must have dozed off for a moment or two.

“I will take the couch, you let me know if you need anything?” I rubbed my eyes lazily.

“Actually, I was hoping you would stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.” She whispered.

“Whatever makes you more comfortable.” I closed the bedroom door and walked back over to my bed. Arguably my favorite part of my apartment, the bed was the only thing I had spent real money on. It was a queen sized tempur pedic and it was heavenly.

I made sure the window was closed and the curtain was drawn and climbed into bed on my usual side, furthest from the window. Scarlet followed and climbed in slowly. She slowly inched her way towards me until her head was completely burrowed into my chest. I wrapped an arm around her and settled my head. With a smile on my face I drifted off.

Our phones had been off and I hadn’t thought to check the time before we went to sleep but when I opened my eyes it was dark outside. I looked down to see Scarlet still sleeping against my chest and couldn’t help but smile. For a moment everything felt really good. It hadn’t been amazing circumstances that we ended up like this but I couldn’t help but be happy to be here with her.

Something caught my eye at the window and I looked over. I didn’t see anything but then I realized that the window was open. I know I closed it before we laid down, I had been tired but not that tired.

I immediately went rigid.

“Connor, is everything alright?” Scarlet yawned a little and looked up at me, our faces only inches apart. We looked at each other for a long moment. I closed the gap between us and kissed her. I kissed her like it would be the only kiss in the history of the world. Her fingers sliding into my hair slowly, I couldn’t resist it.

And then there was a scream.

We both jumped up. All the doors in the apartment were open and there were strawberries on the floor.

“Grab your stuff” I whispered.

I got up and slid my shoes back on. I could see my keys on the kitchen counter from the bedroom and then more strawberries rolled across the floor.

“These aren’t fresh enough!” it sounded like an older lady.

“That’s Edna.” Scarlet went completely white. Edna had died in the grocery store.

“Follow me.” I grabbed her hand and slowly leaned through the door frame.

No one there but the front door was wide open.

“Scar?” This time it came from behind us.

“Rey!” Scarlet yelped.

We jumped back into the living room, I kept hearing the voices but we couldn’t spot anyone. I grabbed my keys and pulled scarlet out the door.

As we made our way down stairs I noticed that Keith’s door was also open. I thought I saw more strawberries but when we got closer it was blood. That was the last straw, we booked it.

We are headed out-of-town now, I don’t know what other choice we have. I turned on my cell to call the police but the moment I did my mom started calling. The first time I answered the phone it was Keith and I immediately hung up.

I turned my phone back off for a while after that. I turned my phone back on to type this out, I made sure to block my moms number straight away so that I could get through what happened. Ever since we have been on the move.

Nothing else really crazy has happened because we haven’t stopped moving, I don’t know at this point what else to do. Luckily I have a healthy inheritance to keep us moving but I am terrified.

I will update when we get somewhere farther away from here.

I don’t think I will ever be able to eat strawberries again.