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ghost-skull-trash · 3 months ago

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Within this hell, tear out your heart to survive.

Within the rusting hell that was the Hadal Blacksite, An inventor waits for their friend to return safely, they wait and wait but… they haven’t returned. Now they journey through hell to find them, meeting those who want them dead along the way. Happiness has to be fought for after all.

So with some of my friends encouraging me to try and put some of my fics here! This one came to mind JUST as I was about to fall asleep, thus its very messy, hell I expect like three people to even see this so don't expect the next house of leaves, OK? Anywho I hope you enjoy! :D

The only clock in the room was broken, a mess of components and broken black plastic, picked clean of what’s useful and what left to gather dust, like the rest of this hellish site. .

Rain held her stomach in pain, hunger pangs making every breath feel like torture, her eyes were dull, staring into nothing, too exhausted to focus on anything in her makeshift room, sitting below her “bed” the fairy lights gave a soft glow, illuminating her thick dark hair, partially kept up in a half-assed bun and making her dull orange gorka pop out from the shadows.

In Front of her sat a cup of self heating noodles boiling away, having to restrain herself from eating them raw and risking a myriad of illnesses.

the only clock broken she counted down in her head when she could eat, she felt it kept herself sane, but that’s hard to prove when you find yourself rambling for hours on end to nobody and not even realising you're doing it until your throat is red and hoarse.

Distant gunshots and the facility groaning with the noises of death made her nauseous and worried… worried about getting hunted down by her employers or some poor sod they sent in their place… or they would end up hurting her partner, SEVER who was still out trying to find supplies or some way to get the both of them out of this iron coffin.

SEVER was the only thing keeping her going at this point, early on she would've laid down and let the cold metal be her grave, being her last thoughts be that of the warm grass of home, or her late father, but SEVER was too kind, they stuck by her even on her worse days, before she re-grew her heart and chose to care again and to show her love, asking her quizzically about her large collection of movies and music, being intrigued by her stories of home and dancing with her on those lonely nights, it made this box feel like home.

Rain slowly ate the oily noodles, little clumps of chicken floating in the lightly chilli flavoured broth… normally she wouldn’t even eat this even as a dare, but when you are slowly wasting away with the risk of starvation to boot, it made them palatable … she would rather eat expired lasagne mre’s though…

The only entrance to the room was a partial crushed door or as an emergency, the site spanning ventilation shafts, on the day the site went into chaos something crashed into the door just as it was about to close, jamming it inwards and leaving only a small gap to crawl through, even still that gap is mostly hidden with boxes or shelves whenever SEVER goes out on a supply run.

Crunched the empty cup under her boot, sitting at her desk and reading through whatever she could, files, instructions manuals , anything, that if she and sever got out of here she could use it as blackmail or evidence against this hell.

Picking up a book from one of the many piles of junk and garbage that made up her room, she gave it a look over, it was a maroon coloured book detailing recommended purchases for the site, such as canteen supplies, vending machine stocking and printer ink, it goes of this tediously detailing the history of when such orders started, any interest on potential suppliers and cost reduction.. It was 637 pages of near microscopic records and mind numbing drivel, even when it was describing how an employee was crushed flat like a pancake, bones to powder from a dropped shipping container made Rain yawn in boredom.

It was hard to focus, she always found it hard to focus but now it feels impossible, like she is chasing after one letter at a time before the word makes sense, closing the manual and ripping up the empty noodle cup, she used a dry bit as a bookmark and tossing it back into the pile.

Sitting back on the floor at the foot of her bed her mind once again wandered, thinking of everything she made in this hell.. one such mistake was a robot, the Z-809 Casket, originally tasked with smaller mineral collection, to pick up debris from larger automatons latter used instead to find convicts trying to escape, whether barely alive or dead, the robot would pick them up and shove it into its compartments, limbs often sticking out, sometimes moving, sometimes accompanied by screams.

Another machine she made was the Z-730 The MacroMiner. A bacteriophage styled automaton suited for high pressure exploration and building, with a specialised compartment in its chest designed to be able to be filled with supplies to then walk along the seabed to its destination.

Rain had a plan to implement a back door into its code so she could utilise them for sabotage against the company, but it was never completed,, surely there is some code leftover she could use but…

Her thoughts dwindled as her eyelids grew heavy, she has been struggling to stay awake, spending most of her time sleeping or laying in bed, she feels so weak.. And SEVER still hasn’t come back yet..

Rain looked at the busted door, judging her options, she knew she was going to die.. but wasn’t sure as to when or how.

Her poor condition clouded her better judgement as she crawled under the broken door in order to find SEVER.

peeking out from behind a box, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness, the emergency lights having been broken or burned out, Rain felt something else in the room, something with many arms that reached out like octopus legs, grasping and cold, her orange goggles developing frost as Rain swears she saw white glowing eyes floating around her.

Staying close to the floor she felt along the cold concrete walls for another door, her hand brushed against its metal frame as the door shot open, blinding her with the light from the other room, rubbing her eyes, the room she was in felt empty once again, the twisting shadows disappearing.

The other room was a mechanical bay, scientists would test out whatever Geneva Convention breaking toys they had on test dummies, engineers used it as a glorified storage unit for their junk, and occasionally a tall serpentine man with a third arm and an angler fish light would come by for spare tools and materials, he looked dead inside, Rain never said hello to him and neither did he, she could feel the hatred emitting from him anytime he looked at her, as if he was cursing her out in his head perhaps calling her a monster under her breath.. she didn’t blame him, she would hate herself too.

The only thing not taken was a bulky red wrench, used for fastening bolts on the outside of the underwater base, inconvenient to use traditionally but otherwise a great weapon.

Rain kept walking, room after room, the dull buzz of the electrical system going haywire, distant screams from what she can assume were either her former co-workers or “expendables” that were sent down to grab whatever they can, either way Rain decided not to take her chance with meeting either.

Her walking came to a stop, the room was pitch black, something she was used to by now, but that wasn’t what made her pause, there was furniture everywhere, overturned or broken, and riddled with smouldering bullet holes.

#Ghostly Writing #oc x oc #sebastian solace #pressure roblox #pressure painter #pressure roblox oc #IF i continue on past the second chapter you can bet your bottom dollar that Sebastian and Painter are getting dedicated chapters!#why am i doing this #oh well #sebastian pressure #horror writing #blood #tw blood #tw body horror

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corbincorbin · 8 months ago

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Drake vs Kendrick Lamar: Prelims

We are watching premier rap at the height of its history. Rap is lived longer, matured, broke groundbreaking financial records and reached global status. The top rap titans are sparring and this is the beginning...

FPS

Two levels of hindsight reaction:

1.) That yes, there is a big 3 and Drake, Kenrdick and J. Cole are those guys. More specifically (however ironically given what unraveled further in the timeline) validating and solidifying J. Cole's position in that arena. J. Cole's verse was the second of what felt like an unstoppable force and a rap career that, similar to a slow cooked [insert meat reference (no Diddy)], was finally ready to be displayed as deserving of the mount rushmore placement of the year. From The Off-Season to his recently legendary feature run, J. Cole was embarking on a clinic in development in the notion that sometimes it takes time to come into your own and that it is okay to blossom late. As long as you keep the hunger, commit to the work and do the reps.

2.) Is that the only person that seemingly felt a need to respond to FPS was Kendrick Lamar. No one, or at least very few, at the time considered FPS as a Kendrick diss. Kenrdick was really only mentioned by J. Cole and the entirety of the song really relied on common general rap sentiments; i.e. We the best, i'm the best, no one is better than me/us, etc. At best you could say that it is certainly odd that Kendrick isn't on this song by the contents of the song (we are later finding out that potentially there was a request in which Kendrick declined)

Like That

The bomb that started it all. It brought to the forefront multiple reactions, elicited multiple responses and ultimately provided clarity on where Kendrick, by way of Future & Metro Boomin, stand... We Don't Trust You. We, as in Future, Metro Boomin and Kendrick (later The Weeknd, ASAP Rocky, Rick Ross and more) and You meaning Drake. In true fashion just like the infamous Control verse, the aftermath of the song was catastrophic. It ultimately re-ignited the entire genre of rap. J. Cole responded, apologized and categorically removed himself from the Big 3 conversation. The Weeknd and ASAP Rocky came out in opposition to Drake. Drake leaked a response, fine tuned the leak and subsequently released a baiting / taunting follow up. Rick Ross responded to Drake's leak with some of his best bars in a while (almost evoking the spirit B.I.G.). Kanye Kanye'd. Without a doubt, Kendrick Lamar won the preliminaries. His singular effort in collaboration with Future & Metro Boomin ignited the entire rap industry... maybe even the music industry.

Aside: Somewhere in between all of this, Big Sean released a single, Precision, a Freestyle addressing the Big 3 and a book. All of which was overlooked.

Warning Shots

Push Ups / Taylor Made Freestyle

Push Ups was a solid Drake response to the Like That verse. As Dranos (A play on Thanos from the avengers), Drake flexed what we've all known for years, his rapping prowess and ability to, no Diddy, take on many. He single handedly addressed, Future, Metro Boomin, The Weeknd, ASAP Rocky, Rick Ross and of course Kendrick Lamar. With an aggressive beat reminiscent of Back to Back and a hunger in the bars, Drake, who we have all suspected as losing his edge and that his pen may be showing signs of rusting, shows us his pen is still in great shape after all of these years. Many have expressed the term battle tested and Drake makes full demonstration that he is in fact battle tested.

Euphoria

After all of the calamity and chaos, the dust seemingly settled, Kendrick emerges from the shadows of his self-imposed silence since the Like That verse in what one can only describe as an immaculate warning shot. He signals to Drake, and Drake alone, that he's ready and willing to take this in any direction that Drake wants to go; but be careful what you wish for. Many have critiqued Kendrick's response for having too many recycled notions from other artists but I believe that's the brilliance of his response. Ghostwriting, Pusha T, Rick Ross, DMX, AI, Tupac; Kendrick responds to Drake with Drake's Ghosts. The term layered has been increasingly used, it is apt. Drake in his Taylor Made Freestyle taunted Kendrick by saying "y'all boys quiet for the weekend, like Dot, I know you're in that NY apartment, you strugglin' right now, I know it In the notepad doing lyrical gymnastics, my boy You better have a motherfuckin' quintuple entendre on that shit Some shit I don't even understand, like

That shit better be crazy, we waitin' on you" If that was the sentiment and what Drake truly wanted... Kendrick delivered tenfold. One can only imagine that in the time he was crafting his response that he delighted in every aspect of what was happening on the surface. All of this from that.

Thus concludes the end of the introduction of what is gearing up to be a musically historical Rap Beef. What we never got from Nas/Jay-Z, what we were deprived of from Tupac/Biggie, what we didn't get from Pusha T/Drake. Rap is rich in its history of rap beef. Competition is what fuels the genre and arguably is what placed the genre in world recognition. Drake & Future in 2015 were correct; What A Time To Be Alive. Round 1 is yet to come.

EDIT: The Follow Up

6:16 in LA

10:46pm EDIT: The Response to the Follow Up

Family Matters

EDIT: The Middle of War

meet the grahams

12:12am EDIT: WHAT IS HAPPENING?!??!

Not Like Us

#kendrick lamar #drake #beef

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thenarddogmeister · 1 year ago

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The Rusted. Dir Kat Candler. 2015.

I’ll admit, the thing that drew me to this short film was Josh Hutcherson - he’s an amazing actor. However, I found The Rusted to be excellent and thoroughly effective in handling tones and constructing audience moods, helping to communicate what life is like living with trauma.

The main criticism people seem to have with the film is that it is too short. I totally understand this flaw as due to its interest in tone and building suspense the film would most likely benefit from adding extra time to its runtime, however I think The Rusted is still great despite its short film status because it gives us so much in such a little time, even within single shots.

The first shot is a dog barking in slow motion. A water pipe leaks next to the animal and we hear an ominous, orchestral score. This sets the tone of the film immediately. The slow motion and aggressive barking of the dog creates an anxious atmosphere as the barking implies there is some sort of perceivable danger and the slow motion only makes this moment more significant. The leakage is a recurring motif throughout the film and I believe it is used as a metaphor to demonstrate what life is like with trauma. Its effects trickle into your life and eventually (when left untreated) the dam bursts and the flood gates open. That’ll be when we get our main conflict.

It then cuts abruptly to the protagonist of the film, played by Josh Hutcherson. Loud, metal music accompanies this shot and we are introduced to him in a claustrophobic close up as he vigorously works in the garage. In my opinion this is a great character introduction. Due to this intense and frenzied tone being created, we can imply that his emotions are harsh due to the loud, chaotic music and his harsh movement, which paired with the close camera distance, creates claustrophobia and alludes to the suffocating effects that his trauma has on him. Moreover, after watching this film, the music and frantic movement could allude to the protagonist’s attempt at avoiding facing his trauma by agitatedly putting his effort into his work - re-designing the house.

Later, we see a shot of the pool water at nighttime. The dark, cold looking setting begins to introduce the thriller elements of the film and the water reinforces this visual motif as a metaphor for trauma. The protagonist and his sister talk by the pool about a horrible experience he had with their abusive mother, when she smashed his head into the bathtub (connoting water, furthering the motif) and knocked his teeth out. We see their side profiles as they talk, putting us in the subjective perspective of these characters as by sitting next to each other, that’s what they see when they turn their head. By using this subjective perspective, ominous thriller-esque aesthetic and impressively natural performances from Hutcherson and Malone, we are aligned with these siblings and feel the fear and history that surrounds this house. Moreover, their conversation is followed by a sinister shot of the house door as the camera slowly pushes in and a scary high-pitched noise rings out. This feels straight out of a thriller and contributes to the unsettling feeling of the house, and more figuratively, the unsettling feeling of living with trauma.

About half way into the film we get the main conflict. The pipes under the sink begin to leak everywhere and the film cuts between the barking dog, the murky leakage and the siblings to create an overwhelming and stressful atmosphere. Juxtaposing the sunny, warm colours when we were first introduced to them, the visuals are now dark and cold, more blue than orange - adding to the ominous and suspenseful tone. The brother and sister start arguing as they disagree about the healthiness of spending time in their haunted childhood home. We get close ups of both characters as Max (Hutcherson) reveals the big blow to Karen when he shouts “and you left me here with her.” It is finally confirmed that Max feels betrayed by his sister’s move to college as he has to live with their abusive mother alone. Both Josh Hutcherson and Jena Malone’s performances (I thought) were absolutely outstanding in this scene. They deliver such hard-hitting and intense lines of dialogue in such a realistic way, even without all the choices surrounding cinematography, editing etc, I think their performances alone would’ve still made me emotional.

I could absolutely talk about a million more things in this film and I still have the other half to analyse but I’ve written more than I intended to and want to keep it digestible. Maybe I’ll make a YouTube video about it because I really like this short film and I think it’s a great film that allows you to feel what trauma is like for some people.

#film #cinema #film review #movies #josh hutcherson #jena malone #short film

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bobowrites · 1 year ago

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Not-Thing fic

The restrictive fabric around his throat ached the skin, grabbing at the arm irritating his throat. "Master, don't do this." He choked out while instinctively swallowing. The Master just looked at him, tightening his grip around the Doctor's tie. He could feel the vibration of his beating hearts echoing through the silk fabric and it only egged him on. Colorful blurs sped past as the TARDIS did her best to balance herself amongst the throw of the Time Vortex. The dangerous yet beautiful gleam of time and space reflects in the gloss of the Master's eyes. The Doctor's own eyes were pleading him to reel them back inside the TARDIS, to give chance for the Doctor to guide the Master into giving more than taking.

"You can be better- We can be better!" His voice almost broke into a sob. The outsole of his shoe tipped back from the edge of the TARDIS frame as the Master let the tie give way some. The Doctor's eyes widened with a glance back. He wanted to believe that deep down in their history, looking past all the misdeeds the Master has committed, he was good. He was still the Master he first met. This could be their make-or-break moment.

"Why do you need to own the universe to see it?" The Doctor furrowed his brows, slowly lifting his fingers from the Master's arm. He just grinned. He didn't want to believe it but in that split second he knew what his answer was. "You don't mean that!" The Doctor yelled only to be let go, falling back first into the Time Vortex. He did not fly along with them, watching the TARDIS fly out of sight within the lengthy and winding tunnel. His eyes squeezed shut to ready himself to be torn by every cell.

The wind was knocked out of him, falling to a hard and cold floor. His eyes shot open while his lower back arched just to see the essence of gold dust follow him down to the ground. It sucked into his gasping mouth, coughing and rolling over to gather himself. Grunting and sputtering to find his senses again he looked around just to see a dimly lit console room. It didn't feel right, nothing about what happened felt right. The walls leaked with rust and brandished an off-white color. "Circles..so many circles." His throat hoarse. He brought his hand up to re-adjust his tie so he could breathe properly before getting up and having a look around. "But this can't.." It looked like his own TARDIS but a mixture of before his 8th incarnation and an unknown spin on the design. He took a step back, his knee almost giving out while looking at the cylinder pump in the middle. "Master!!" He yelled and started to go around to find any traces of him. Maybe this was another trick. It had to be, no one could survive the Time Vortex. Even running through the hallways of the TARDIS it was different. Though every short hallway from the console room lead him back to the console. His breathing labored and his mind emotionally tired, he stormed up to the buttons and levers and knobs just to throw his hands down. In a fit of rage he started to hit the console, kick, and scream to let out everything's that he's pent up for so long. A thud echoed through the room when his knees hit the floor, leaning back against the rim of the console. He didn't understand.

Why wouldn't he give me a straightforward answer?

Is he trying to torment me?

Did he know I would end up here?

Where is here?

Was his goal to take the TARDIS all along and leave me for dead?

"Shut up, shut up!" He slapped his palms against his forehead while his eyes darted around the black and white flooring. A shakey breath left him. He sniffled and furrowed his brows, taking a moment to realize a damp moisture coating the underside of his eyes. With no one around to hide his vulnerability he didn't wipe away the tears. He let them fall and hugged his knees to his chest.

In his moments of sulking, one of the circles lighting up caught his eye. His lips part in focus to watch it travel around, making him scramble to his feet while wiping his eyes. Something to keep his mind distracted. He watched it zoom around the large room until his eyes followed it to the ceiling, shining a spotlight down on the floor where he should stand. He followed the silent orders and planted his feet in front of the console. He took a deep breath out and looked down. He slid his head forward with a questioning look, "Is that a coffee machine?" the corner of his lip twitched up into a small smile before busying himself with a small screen to run the vital signs of this TARDIS and recent history of commands. "Deadlocked from the inside and she was put on standby..just enough power to last her a timelord's lifetime if you're only powering lights on 30% while not in flight.." He mumbled to himself and looked towards the door. "Deadlocked from the inside.." He repeated in question.

#doctor who #doctor who 60th anniversary #10th doctor #14th doctor #chapter 1 #introductory post

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onetwofeb · 2 years ago

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A Poem by Jorie Graham

Then the Rain

after years of virga, after much almost & much never again, after coalescing in dry

lightning & downdrafts & fire, after taking an alternate path thru history & bypassing

us, after the trees, after the gardens, after the hard seeds pushed in as deep as

possible & kept alive on dew, after the ruts which it had once cut filled in with

dust & moulds – & pods that cannot sprout – not even the birds came – & old roads

began to reappear –

after the animals, after the smallest creatures in their tunnels & under their rocks,

after it all went, then, one day, out of in- terference & dis-

continuity, out of in- congruity, out of collision somewhere high above our

burnt lands, out of chemistry, unknowable no matter how quantifiable,

out of the touching of one atom by an other, out of the accident of touch, the rain

came.

We thought it was more wind. Something tapped the peeling roof. We knew it was not

heat ticking, our secret imaginary birds. We knew it by the smell which filled the air re- minding us, what did it

remind us of, that smell,

as if the air turned green, as if the air were the deep in- side of the earth we can never reach

where it reaches out to those constellations we have not discovered, not named, & now never will,

and which are not dead, no –

And it brought memory. But of what. So long. Where are you my tenses. The crowns rattled again, harder, & again we thought

wind. I pressed the rusted screen door & stepped out. Was I afraid? Where it hit dust whirled up

in miles of refusals – stringy, flaring, as if flames could be dust, faster with each landing, till it tamed them & they

lay down again as earth, and were still, and took it in everywhere,

& when I sat on the low wall it slid over my features, & my neck held runnels, as if I were a small book

being carefully perused for faults, ridges, lapses of time in my thought – because I could not recall it –

my skin could not,

my hands could not,

I look at them now

with my eyes full of rain, and they say hold us up, you are not dying yet, we are

alive in the death of this iteration of earth, there will be another in which no creatures like us

walk on this plateau of years & minutes & grasses & roads, a place where no memory can form, no memory of

anything, not again, but for now the windowpanes shake as the harder rain hits and the stiff grasses bend over &

the thing which had been a meadow once releases a steam, & if you listen you can hear a faint pulse in it,

a mirage, a release of seeds into the air

where wind insists, & my heavy

hands which rise now, palms up, shining, say to me, touch, touch it all, start with your face,

put your face in us.

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saint-severian · 2 months ago

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The God Emperor has RETVRNED ... I truly hope for the best but his economic policy as stated seems to be even more libtarded than before. I will talk about this because it's more interesting than the things everyone agrees with him on (build the wall, deport them all).

Whether or not you believe tariffs would help us medium- to long-term, it is a fact that they will increase prices in the short term, during a period of inflation. And wasn't it during Trump's first administration that, caving in to popular demand, he and the Fed made it rain on this country, beginning the biggest money-printing program in US history? Our economic problems at present are mostly due to the inflation caused by this money-printing spree that Trump allowed to begin. The other major problem is housing-price inflation in particular, a problem of its own which predated the general post-cough stimulus, and which, as far as I can tell, is caused mostly simply by an overreaction to 2008 (where there was high supply and high demand then suddenly very low demand?) resulting in extremely shy supply: i.e. not nearly enough low-to-middle-price housing to go around.

It seems to me Trump's 2016 platform was not merely about racial resentment at demographic replacement, but also about the off-shoring of jobs under free trade that created the rust belt, etc., and left America's "industrial base" destroyed.

Now hear me out - that last part isn't actually a problem at all. Sure the individual manufacturing firms in western New York or wherever failed. But prices for the relevant goods went way down for everybody else when Chinese proletarians started making 'em on the cheap.

Re-shoring is equivalent to turning the clock back and hoping that our actual time will be restored to us. America's economy is no longer at the level of manufacturing graphic t-shirts. We should be, like the richest parts of Japan and Korea, on the cutting edge of technology, industry, and science. Manufacturing robots, AI, automated factories, computers, etc. The economic problem with America is that our tech sector is focused on social media and finance. The two industries that are the most made-up, fairy-dust. We need to start making robots instead of social media, not go back to producing cheap plastic, cotton, or steel bullshit that will always be cheaper when it comes from low-labor cost economies in Asia.

#trump

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melodicwitchlight · 2 years ago

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Lady bird was quite apprehensive at approaching new people, she shies ; shields her presence — it brings only darkness ; no — I do not bring light.. do I?

“Um… hi, Kyle…’ she nervously approaches wooden thatched table out in nature. The blanketed shelter covering the worse of the weather : akin to a gazebo , stretching out its arms like a lover over the table area — yet when it had sudden moved to tiled alternation yesterday, it gave her a brief leap of fright.

“Do you ever perform autopsies on conversations you’ve had an age ago?”

Kyle looks up from his textbook : people’s history of the United States. ‘Hey, Christine. That is an interesting conversation starter,’ He pauses, inhaling brief draw of his cigarette, it’s our time to medicate … glancing to her. coffee cup is next to him in the morning contemplation

oh I remember this quiet girl from class, he thinks, and then back down to book. in devil may care reverie, she thinks

He looks back up ; and grants her a kind response of his locked up tears swallowed deep in him.

‘I do. melancholic pneumonia or peace … it’s a battle of mind and matter. yet a no longer confined calm balance of re-wired…’ he pauses, ‘uh… how can I compare such analogy?’

Christine continues, ‘… a perfectly — this time imperfect — re-wired hummingbird body and brain.’

Kyle chuckles at her wit. ‘Yes, that’s it. To think and feel. To not strain beyond deluded — flexing dizzingly utodystian (utopia/dystopian) endurance of — real or not real?’

Christine recalls a memory forming in her mind as Kyle says this. Of someone saying that ‘she always talked to herself, and thought more with her body than brain’

Kyle hears her quiet mutter of accidental spoken thought out loud, ‘hey, Lady Bird — Christine, thinking out loud is nothing to be ashamed of. masochism is an art form to embrace — to accept into who you are as an entire’

He then reminiscences this conversation so far, ‘Hey, why don’t you sit down with me? Tell me what’s up with your life’

Christine says, ‘but you seem busy with your book?’

he seemed to be in bliss with reading, with dark academia classical trickling out his walkman.

Kyle ponders at her question, of his consistent write and read reliance of purposing a historical figure into remembrance — of searching, searching for salvation. where are you, God? Where are you? and why won’t you answer me? He is of a loss to say for once, as the classical softness reverberates into a vibrational dance ; confusing his repetitive silenced when not keeping himself busy forevermore

‘… Well, this book,’ he points at People’s history of United States, ‘is my prose edda; — a reassured certainty to temporarily help one gain or regain their footing through their journey towards self discovery with communication.’

Christine thinks, he seems rather sad and lonely… ‘I can recommend you a book I’m reading if you like?’

Kyle automatically shrugs off the offer at first in motorised response, ‘No, thank you. I like my life as it is…’

Christine looks forlorn. ‘Okay, well .. wishing you all the best : never stop dreaming’

Kyle nods and goes back to his book…

Christine thinks, Where else can I sit? He is the only one I talked briefly to. Everyone else surrounding me are complete strangers! Maybe… She starts to turn to an empty two-seat silver table constructed of galvanised rusting at the edges. eyes lift at her pattering footsteps of farewell and then sudden catches a clip she’s wearing in her hair as she turns — simple straw, he had thought in first glance — a poetic blackbird silhouette plunging into and around — circling counting stars of an ocean wide blue background.

as he dares to smile — a little shakily — letting Christine go for today — she letting him go for now ; for both of them to re-order their conscience into the present — to live like we want to — this life is for living.

Christine then looks at his hair, when he’s not looking — there were dark streaks of purple when it caught the morning light – she had thought before: his hair is just complete inked black — ink eternal to write endless letters…

birds skim the water and upwards, downwards, middle-stream — in : not plunged into. but a peaceful ascension. into a world of beautiful horror. ribbon tie of poetic prose. of friendly embrace.

#kyle christine ic.#writing.#kyle ic.#christine ic.

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ms-m-astrologer · 3 years ago

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Transiting Neptune stations direct

Wednesday, December 1, 13:22 UT

20 degrees 24 minutes Pisces

For many of us, this may not "register" at all. To feel this change, you would have to have a strong Neptune presence in your chart, and that would be at least two of the following:

Sun in Pisces, the 12th House, or closely aspecting Neptune

Moon in Pisces, the 12th House, or closely aspecting Neptune

Any angle in Pisces or conjunct Neptune

Neptune retrograde gives us several months "to reassess those guiding visions in our lives," as Martin Bulgerin wrote (www . biopscinst . com):

Even the most noble purpose can become a limiting straitjacket or misguided passion when it has outlived its usefulness. This is a time of confusion and reevaluation, a time when our self-image as a "knight in shining armor" shows some rust and tarnish. Above all, this is a time to distinguish between true vision and a glamorous self-deception.

By my own rules, I don't have a strong Neptune presence at all. But I've had Neptune square my Sun for the past two years, and this direct station is three measly minutes past the exact square (20:27). The period of its being in a 2-degree orb corresponds almost perfectly with C19 quarantine - which I actually loved, being an introverted person. I've also had some wild dreams (nightly I plead for clarity - never happens), which I should have expected given that my natal Neptune is in my 12th House.

At the Astrology King website, someone wrote, "Neptune tends to creep up on you." My own experience has been pretty blatant (perhaps there's the clarity?); by comparing pre-C19 me, to me right-now, I can see how I've gotten more comfortable with being introverted, even as I must resume interactions in an extroverted world. (I've gotten a little more slovenly, too, but I think most of us came out of quarantine with that trait.) I'm starting to feel almost as much affinity for The Hermit, as I do for The Fool.

(As for my having that square for two whole years - Neptune's retrograde zones have some "overlap," as do those of Pluto. I was "lucky" enough to get caught in one of them.)

Moving forward, we all may experience some "disillusionment" in our lives - if we've done the work, we're wiser; if we avoided the work, we're probably doubling down. (I'm thinking of all those people who showed up at Dealey Plaza, in Dallas TX, convinced that JFK Jr. was going to re-appear.)

Neptune has been in Pisces since February 2011, and won't leave until January 2026. (Its previous passage through its own sign was between April 1847 and April 1862. Students of US history are probably cringing at that information. Here's a link to a site which has lots to give us.) We have some way to go, yet, in flowing with Neptune in its own sign. Ms M would like to suggest everyone brush up on the concept of immanence, as a means to get through the final 1/3 of this transit.

#Astrology #Transiting Neptune stations direct #Ms M astrologer

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Stucky #steve x bucky #Queer!steve rogers #Queer!Steve #Queer!Bucky #Queer!Bucky Barnes #Captain America #pride month #Steve angst #steve fluff #Marvel cinematic universe #Mcu #mcu fic #steve fic

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laurenwritesfics · 4 years ago

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The Pieces We Leave Behind

CHAPTER ONE: FRANK

Mary had buried herself in books again. She was a curious and intelligent young girl, but her love of reading was turning into obsession. So much so that Frank was beginning to worry about Vitamin D deficiency. She looked a little too pale. He usually hauled her out of her chair – met with screams and slaps of protestation – and took her to the beach or the park for ice cream, but today, he was piling her into the car to meet with the school principal. Mary had been accused of bullying, and Frank wasn’t going to let it stand.

“This is so stupid.” Mary huffed and crossed her arms. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I know, just get in the car.”

She rolled her eyes, slipping her backpack off her shoulder, throwing it onto the seat beside her. The engine of Frank’s 1974 sedan sputtered to life. Frank’s mother Evelyn called it a rickety rust-bucket, but it was his pride and joy – second only to his sweet, silly niece, who was currently sulking in the back seat.

That was the thing about Frank Adler. He didn’t fix broken things, he just knew when something was worth saving. He saw potential that nobody else could.

He was the first to break away from the family. He was tired, he said, of living a Stepford lie.

This was how he came to be Mary’s guardian. After the death of his sister Diane, the Adler family was irreparably splintered. In the midst of Evelyn’s grief, she had swept Mary up into a life she would never become accustomed to - piano lessons, private school, badminton, early bedtime and absolutely no television.

At just seven years old, Mary was wide-eyed and wise. A headstrong child who sometimes alarmed Evelyn with her ability to face the world fearlessly. Her teachers referred to her as ‘gifted’, which made Evelyn’s eyes light up. She was just like Diane. That was the beginning of the end of Mary’s childhood. Night after night, she would be tucked into bed with a book. As the months went by, childhood favorites were replaced with educational textbooks. Mornings started with a pop quiz. Her social circle grew smaller. She eventually found herself so frustrated by her restrictive life with Evelyn that she once threatened to run away, as children often do. But Evelyn knew that Mary meant it. So when it did finally happen, the thing that shocked her the most was not the act itself, but the fact that, of all people, Mary ran to Frank for help.

At ten years old, Diane scored her first grade A in mathematics. From that moment on, Evelyn decided to live vicariously through her daughter. She had devoted her youth to solving the Navier–Stokes problem (one of the unsolved Millennium Prize Problems), but had never been successful. Frank was the only one who saw her slowly disappear. Forced into a mold that didn’t fit her. He watched Diane suffer through countless socialite soirées, nodding politely, eyes glazed. He was the last person to call her. He found her. He blamed Evelyn.

She would never believe that the cause of death was suicide. Diane was so happy, she said. So intelligent. So perfect. Of course, perfection didn’t exist. She learned this a mere month later when her marriage fell apart.

Mary was the only piece of Diane that was left.

Frank knew that if Mary stayed in Boston with his mother, history would repeat itself. So he intervened. He sent care packages all the way from Florida. They called each other weekly. Six months into what Frank referred to as her kidnapping, he received a phone call in the middle of the night. She was uncharacteristically subdued. Whispering. Her voice trembled. She was trapped. Four hours later he was bundling her into a taxi. It wasn’t going to happen again. Not on his watch.

Evelyn would never forgive him, but he didn’t care. Frank loved his mother – he always would – he just didn’t like her.

The more time Mary spent in Florida, the more she began to dislike Evelyn, too.

It was an unspoken rule that Evelyn was informed of Mary’s achievements. She didn’t much care for the other things – the friendships, the slumber parties, the times she cried herself to sleep from stress and in fear of bullies – those were Frank’s problems. The only problems she cared about were mathematical. She didn’t visit on Mary’s seventh birthday, but she did attend the parent-teacher conference that came after it. Frank was sure that if Evelyn set foot in the principal’s office she would have a heart attack on the spot. So, here he was, driving Mary to school to correct the misinformed adults who believed that his niece was capable of hurting another child.

“Slow down!” Mary caught Frank’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “Mom said never go to bed or drive angry.”

“I’m not angry.” He said, almost flatly enough to mask his frustration.

“Yes you are.”

Frank tapped his index finger on the steering wheel. He counted to ten in his head, exhaling slowly.

“Fine, I’m angry.” He admitted. “These stuck-up bastards don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Don’t swear.” Mary chided.

“Sorry.”

A short woman with a thin, pinched face emerged from the principal’s office.

Mary was leaning against the window, chin in her palm, counting the trees that passed by, partly to keep herself occupied, partly to quell the anxiety that was swirling inside her. She was always quiet, focussed, and polite. She went out of her way to make friends with the other children. This was entirely unfair. Back in Boston, she had spent time in almost every school in the city – co-ed, prep school, all-girls, but she never stayed too long. She was either too inquisitive, too restless, or – ironically – too smart. Sometimes it felt as though she didn’t belong anywhere at all.

Weaving through the long line of cars in the school parking lot, Frank stopped awkwardly and swung himself out of the car, keeping tight hold of Mary’s hand as they made their way inside. The occasional echo of chatter and footsteps cut through the otherwise silent hallway. The closer they got to the office, the easier it was for Mary to breathe. It was going to work out. Frank would take care of it. He had a talent for charming people into submission.

“Who’s that?” Frank straightened his shirt, still stained with oil and sweat from an afternoon spent fixing up a boat for a local fisherman.

“Mrs Weston.” Mary half-whispered, shrinking in her chair a little. “We hate her.”

Frank huffed, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes we do.”

Then, an interruption from a harsh, husky voice.

“Mary Adler?”

Frank turned to Mary, slapping the arm of the chair. “Looks like we’re up, kiddo. You okay?” He tilted his head in concern.

“I guess.” Mary shrugged, her shoulders sinking for a moment before she pushed herself forward and took hold of Frank’s hand again.

The woman’s eyes narrowed and roamed over the two of them. She pursed her lips, paused, and finally spoke.

“Principal Mitchell is unavailable this morning.” She said curtly. “Vice-Principal Madeline Weston. Come in.”

Rustling papers. The pronounced tick-tick-tock of the clock on the wall. An awkward cough. Frank shifted in his seat, a creak eliciting from beneath the adult weight it clearly wasn’t made to support. Leaning out of a slouch, elbows resting on his knees, he tented his fingers and waited for the inevitable stretching of the truth. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, locking eyes with the woman who clearly didn’t know Mary at all.

“Do your worst.” Frank muttered not quite far enough under his breath.

“I take it you’ve done this before, Mr Adler?”

“Once or twice.”

A judgemental hum. “Then I’m sure you know why you’re here today. Mr Adler, your daughter-“

“She’s my niece.”

Madeline crossed her legs and adjusted her lapels. “Your niece is disruptive. She is preventing the other students from learning.”

“How, exactly?”

“Interruptions. Selfishness. Questions in math class are answered almost exclusively by Miss Adler.”

“Yeah, probably because she’s the only one who knows the answer.” Frank scoffed.

“Do not insult the quality of education provided at this school, Mr Adler.”

“I’m insulting the students. Mary can do so much better than here. She’s so smart – too smart.” His voice deepened, even and impassioned. “If you just took the time to get to know her-“

Madeline cut him off. “We don’t get to know the children here, Mr Adler. We encourage their talents.”

Frank tried and failed to fight the push in his calves compelling him to stand up. He tapped Mary’s shoulder and made his way to the door. Whether she liked it or not, Evelyn was going to hear about this.

“This is bullshit. Mary, we’re done here.”

Launching herself out of her chair with a scowl, Mary followed Frank back into the hallway.

“So that’s the Wicked Witch of the West, huh?”

Mary exploded into laughter.

The sun beat down on the asphalt as they re-entered the parking lot, hands pressing against searing metal, the air thick and musty inside the car. Frank adjusted the rear-view mirror, turned the key and hooked his arm around the passenger seat as he pulled away.

“Buckle up, genius. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

Read chapter one HERE. Read the full series on AO3.

Permanent taglist: @hiddelstannerbarnes @redlipstickandblacktea @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @djeniiscorner @its-tortle @k347 @ixalit @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @cevansfics @capchrisevaans @hawkeyeandthewintersoldier @musette22 @mcubabydotcom @worksby-d @chuckbass-love @bluemusickid @fallinforevans @hellobeautworld @katiew1973 @just-dreaming-marvel @disaster-dean @rebthom89 @navybrat817 @just-dreaming-marvel-2

@denisemarieangelina @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @brattycherubwrites @cherrychris @celestialbarnes @the-iceni-bitch @caplanbuckybarnes @caplanreads @autumnrose40 @mashep23

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thenamesblurrito · 4 years ago

Note

I feel like Dead End maybe knows her roommates are heros, but doesnt care. like, if so, even though she knows they're heroes she still thinks they're doomsday prepping. & it's not information that she thinks would have any effect on the impending end of everything, so she has no reason to be spreading it around. maybe even thinks it's so obvious that everyone knows & is pointless to bring up in conversation

They’re whispering again.

They do that a lot, Dead End has found. It’s like they think it isn’t suspicious. Cosmos doesn’t seem to notice, bless her spark, but she is very polite. Maybe she’s just giving them privacy.

Dead End does something similar herself. She simply never reacts. Why would she? It doesn’t matter anyway

Orion is gesturing something in the middle of their little huddle, Windblade and Minimus nodding along. He lists off a few points on his fingers and grimaces. Minimus scowls. Windblade’s antennae flick down.

Good. They should be unhappy. The world is ending.

Their not-so-clandestine meeting breaks up as Orion goes to his berth to look for something and Minimus darts out of the room. Windblade shuffles her wings and chews on her lip. The weight of a city is on her shoulders for a moment.

The textbook in front of Dead End has gone dark from inactivity, and now the vaguely interesting conversation has ended. Visor blank, she stares into the middle distance. If she doesn’t move from this spot on her chair, how long will it take her to rust into nothingness?

Pedesteps rudely interrupt her experiment.

“Good afternoon, Dead End!” Windblade smiles at her.

“Not really,” she grunts.

“What’s the matter this time?”

“Hasn’t changed from last time. We’re living through the apocalypse. And there’s homework on top of that.”

She lays a gentle hand on her shoulder with a sympathetic look. “Oh, come on. It isn’t all that bad. There’s been plenty of disasters throughout history and yet we’re still here! It’ll all work out.”

“What,” Dead End mutters, “you think someone like the heroes will prevent the inevitable entropic decay of the universe?”

“Well...” Windblade pauses, clearly thinking hard. She must have some compulsive comforting disorder. “I don’t think the entropic decay of the universe is a concern if it’s truly inevitable. But the littler things are, like monster attacks, and relic victims, and natural disasters. It’s those times that people can be saved. And yes, I do think the heroes can do something to stop the apocalypse, even if it’s just for one person. They’d certainly save you, if you were ever in trouble.”

Her face shines with kindness and sincerity, a brilliant being of hope bringing light to a dark world. Dead End squints.

“You’re very nice for someone who beats up Hellscream in your free time.”

All of Windblade’s paneling contracts in a full-body jolt of shock. Looks painful.

“Wh-what, um. What makes you say that?” she croaks, optics wide and whited out.

Dead End flickers her visor slowly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Orion comes up behind Windblade with a few datatrax in his hands. “Ready to go?” He looks between the two of them curiously. “Um. Is everything okay?”

He’s just as caring and saccharine as Windblade. Ugh.

“No matter how powerful the heroes are, you’re still not gonna escape doomsday, y’know,” she deadpans.

His finials tilt all the way back. “Uh.”

“Dead End.” Windblade hasn’t quite shaken off her surprise but her expression is set. “The world will end someday, you’re right. But that doesn’t mean we won’t fight as hard as we can to keep everyone safe and happy right up to the end. That’s the point. We can help people here and now, and so we will.”

Again with that shining halo of goodness. Is it a metaphor or is there actually light coming off her? She’s passionate and driven to be recklessly kind, a warmth and a steel in her gaze that weren’t there when school started. She really means what she says. Power soaks through her every word.

Dead End snorts. “That’s stupid.”

It seems a monumental effort to reach out from her slouch and switch on the textbook again. She eyes it halfheartedly.

Her two roommates have another short whisper-conversation and leave, Windblade patting her on the shoulder as they go. Off to do some heroic Autobot scrap, probably.

They’re the weirdest doomsday preppers Dead End has ever met.

(Dead End’s ref sheet, for newcomers!)

#transformers #dead end #Windblade #autobot #hey look its story isnt that weird #plot #episodes #transformers fanfiction #students #wrote this while in the waiting room at the doctors #idk if its canon but honestly its too good to pass up #orion pax

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 4 years ago

Note

Barefoot Waltz

Beauty Pop

Dramacon

The Garden of Words

Hana-Kimi

I.O.N

Last Hope

Lover's->Flat

Mobile Suit Gundam The Origin

Re-Gifters

Runaways

Scott Pilgrim

Ai Yori Aoshi

Animeta!

Astra Lost in Space

Azumanga Daioh

Bakuman

Barakamon

BattleAngel Alita

Beet The Vandel Buster

Behind Story

Behind The Scenes

Black Cat

Citrus 1

Cowboy Bebop

DeathNote

Disappearance of Yuki-Chan

Dojin Work

Drifting Dragons

Eden's Zero

Eromanga Sensei

FairyTail

Fruits Basket

FullMetal Alchemist

Gunsmith Cats

Gunsmith Cats Burst

Gurren Lagann

Kare Kano

K-On

Komi Can't Communicate

Love Hina

Manga Dogs

Mär

Marmalade Boy

Maison Ikkoku

MegaTokyo

Mobile Suit Gundam 00F

Mobile Suit Gundam 00 Season 1

Mobile Suit Gundam 00 Season 2

Mobile Suit Gundam The Last Outpost

Mobile Suit Gundam Thunderbolt

Mobile Suit Gundam Endless Waltz Glory of Losers

NTR Netsuzou Trap

Ouran Highschool Host Club

Our Wonderful Days

Pastel

Ringworld

Shortcake Cake

Skip•Beat

Steel Fist Riku

Suzuka

Syrup

Takane & Hana

Tiger and Bunny

Very Very Sweet

Voice of Love

Voice Over

Wanted

Wild Ones

GRAPHIC NOVEL

Another Castle: Grimoré

Captain Victory and the Galactic Rangers

Check Please

Citizen of The Galaxy

Concrete

Dead Boy Detectives

Death Jr.

Dishonored

Doctor Star

Electric Girl

Frontlines: Requiem

The Fountain

Galaxy Quest

Hellgate London

Highlander The American Dream

High Level

The Jetsons

Kin: Descent of Man

Klaus: How Santa Claus Began

Klaus: The New Adventures of Claus

Klaus: The Life and Times of Santa Claus

The Legend Of Drizzt 1-7

Mirror's Edge: Exordium

Neverending

Newbury and Hobbes: The Undying

Orbiter

Ravine 1-2

R.I.P.D City of The Damned

Rust

Secret Identities

Starlight

Star Mage

The Star Wars (based on the original script)

Superior

Swordquest

Ultra

WildFire

Alex + Ada (I own volume one but won't be continuing the series myself. But it is finished.)

Anne Bonnie

Atomic Robo

Birthright

The Books of Magic (original 90's run, no idea about the new series)

Calvin and Hobbes

Crux: Atlantis Rising

Danger Girl

East of West

Fanboys Vs. Zombies

Invincible

The Losers

Kingsman

Jupiter Jet

Miracle Man

Saga

Splinter Cell Echoes

Spyboy

Starborn

ARTEMIS FOWL

ASSASSIN'S CREED

ASTRO CITY

CRITICAL ROLE

CTRL+ALT+DEL

DCU

All Star Superman

Batman Arkham Knight

Batman War Games

Batman War Drums

Batman War Crimes

Batman Year 100

Batman White Knight

Batman Curse of The White Knight

DC Comics Bombshells

Gotham Academy

Earth One Batman

Earth One Green Lantern

Earth One Superman

Earth One Teen Titans

Earth One Wonder Woman

Green Lantern 80th Anniversary

Harleen

Harley Quinn White Knight

Justice League of America Riddle of the Beast

Justice League: The New Frontier

Kingdom Come

Superman Red Son

Superman Secret Identity

Superman Smashes The Klan

Watchmen

DC ElseWorlds

Green Lantern 1001 Emerald Nights

Green Lantern: Evil's Might 1-3

Superman: Kal

Superman/Batman Alternate History

Stan Lee Green Lantern, JLA, Wonder Woman, The Flash

FABLES

Fables

Fables: Werewolves Of The Heartland

Fables: The Wolf Among Us

Fairest

Fairest: In All The Land

Jack of Fables

Cinderella From Fabletown With Love

Cinderella Fables Are Forever

Everafter

1001 Nights of Snowfall

Complete Covers

IRREDEEMABLE

Incorruptible

Irredeemable

JUPITER'S LEGACY

Jupiter's Legacy

Jupiter's Circle

LADY MECHANIKA

Lady Mechanika

THE LIBRARIANS

Librarians

LOLA XOXO

Lola

Lola Wasteland Madame

LUMBERJANES

LumberJanes

MCU

House of M

Ms. Marvel

Wolverine The End

Wolverine Origins

X-Men The End

MERCY THOMPSON

Mercy Thompson Moon Called 1

POWERS

Powers: Bureau

Powers

PROJECT BLACK SKY

Barb Wire

Blackout

Brain Boy

Captain Midnight

Ghost

King Tiger

The Occultist

Secret Files

Sky Man

PROJECT SUPERPOWERS

SEJIC-VERSE

BloodStain - SFW

SunStone - NSFW

SunStone Mercy - NSFW

Swing - NSFW

TOMB RAIDER

Tomb Raider 1-3 (Between Tomb Raider and Rise)

Tomb Raider 1-4 (Between Rise and Shadow)

TRIPPING OVER YOU

Tripping Over You

Extra Mini - NSFW

UNWRITTEN

The Unwritten

The Unwritten: The Ship That Sank Twice

RECS RECS RECS RECS RECS RECS!!!

I have heard of quite a few of these and seen most of the manga come thru my register at work lol. I can second the Check Please rec (it’s also a webcomic!) and I’ve been reading the newer Books of Magic in the past year or so ironically enough and thought it was fun, was considering fishing some of the 90s out of the dollar bin at a local comic shop but the condition wasn’t good. Calvin and Hobbes is a CLASSIC and I’ve been meaning to get around to Kingsmen cause I enjoyed the movies. DC Bombshells is a GIFT. A Gift. And I adore the Earth One Teen Titans, kinda wished they’d continued it. Kingdom Come is another classic and something I was leant in high school, I was very lucky in high school lol. Lumberjanes is adorable as well! I know you said you weren’t looking to start new stuff but Fence is a good one and has Check Please vibes. The Umbrella Academy is also great when it comes to just weird superhero flavored nonsense. And Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman is a classic for a very good reason.

#recs #long post

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darkestwolfx · 5 years ago

Text

Grandma Tourismo - Re-Review #44

Wouldn’t we all love to have a Grandma like Sally? Yes everyone, meet Sally. It was, after all, about time someone gave her a name besides ‘Grandma’.

“It’s Sally. Call me Sally.”

For the record, I still adore these dice. They are exactly the type of thing I can imagine fitting in with the Tracy boys lives. I think they belonged to Jeff, or the boys’ Granddad.

And the rescue operation is in full swing!

“Virgil are you fully prepared for today’s mission?”

“Everything’s A-Ok, John.”

“Sure you don’t need backup?”

“Situation under control. Cargo pod is go.”

Yes! Hang on... cargo pod? Yeah, not quite the rescue I originally thought they were setting it up to be.

Those dramatics zooms! It’s only Grandma, remember!

“Let’s do some shopping!”

“This is going to be so much fun.”

I don’t think you could possibly be any more sarcastic, Virgil.

And let the shopping list of Tracy Island be unveiled. P.S. I always thought it was a shame that the paper covered up whatever grand expression Virgil probably made at the sheer length of it.

Suppressant something (Grandma’s hand is in the way)

Toilet Paper

Hairspray

Hawaiian Shirts (this one makes so much sense after ‘The Long Reach’ too, but really, where were the Pink Flamingos? Still raging)

Plant food

Protein Powder

Celery crunch bars (um, last episode’s vow forgotten so speedily Gordon? That’s the last time luck with give up promises ever works for him)

Toothpaste

Piano Strings

Fire Extinguishers

Tanning lotion

Tofu

Multivitamins

Snooker cues

Apple Pie

Bagels

Lemon squeezer

Pillow case

Anti-rust spray

Extra cable

Oh, I know - let’s play a game! Assign someone to every item on the shopping list. I know I have my ideas about what is for whom.

Also, it’s nice to see a really sneaky TOS nod there.

Played in ‘Operation Crash Dive’, ‘Move and You’re Dead’, ‘Security Hazard’ and ‘Thunderbirds Are Go’. I believe there was also a scene shot for ‘Edge of Impact’, but I can’t remember off the top of my busy head whether it made in into the final cut or not. So, I wonder where they’ve been hiding this on Tracy Island?

“Grab some of that super shine gel for Scotty. I’ve never seen a boy spend so much time combing his hair.”

This. This is one of my absolute favourite lines ever in the history of TAG. Because we all knew this was Scott without it needing to be confirmed - and this is also definitely where Gordon gets his nickname streak from.

“Detour!”

Grandma really is a task shopper. And you know what, I love how Virgil knows exactly what that sole word means.

Remember this scene from ‘Unplugged’? Well, this is that episode, but in series 2 and a lightly new form. The thing which has stayed the same? The team up of Virgil and Grandma. Interesting choice for that pairing, but it makes so much sense for it to be Virgil. He’ll joke, but never at her expense, he defends her cooking, he accompanies her on shopping trips, he listens to her, he even seems to take after her. At this point in time, I always thought this was just a nice way to explore that relationship - by the time we get to ‘The Long Reach’ it’s a whole lot more than that. One thing that storyline didn’t disappoint on was tying up this relationship in a neat little bow.

“We’ve got a situation.”

Of course we do, because this family can’t even get through shopping without interruption - which I’m guessing might be the norm as they speed out of the shop with non-paid for goods (note, us normal humans would all be arrested on the spot for this, so do not attempt it in your local store).

“Hey!”

“Put it on our account!”

Or maybe they - like many others - just didn’t want to argue with Grandma. Wisely so.

“This is my job, Grandma.”

“And worrying about you boys is mine.”

Just a really nice little family moment here. The nuggets like this are part of what made this show for me. They tell more than any massive display could.

What a great landing - in fact, there were many great landings in this episode.

Talk about just going along for the ride, hey? I think there was a lot more than that on display.

“I can’t be two places at once, Thunderbird Five.”

“You don’t have to be, I’ll go.”

“Grandma there’s no way you can steer through a storm.”

“Isn’t that what you have your fancy autopilot for?”

“She’ll be safe in Thunderbird Two.”

“The ship will do the work. I’m just going along for the ride.”

“Okay, I’ll program the autopilot to take you straight there and back. You won’t need to touch anything.”

I love how all that concern was disguised with the same look he gives Gordon to not touch his ship.

“Look after her.”

After all these years, I still can’t work out exactly who this line is for. It’s one of those beautiful lines which has such a lovely level of ambiguity. It’s obviously about Grandma, but it also references his ship and there is just a gorgeous level of family and responsibility balanced out in this episode.

“Grandma...”

“I didn’t touch a thing.”

And lovely little chunks of humour interspersed.

“Can you reprogram the autopilot to do that?”

“No. For that we’d need Virgil to pilot remotely.”

Even the communications were all go in this episode. Honestly, sometimes John is so much more than go-between.

“Is Grandma ok?”

“She’s fine, but she needs your help with the rescue.”

“The storm’s about to hit here. I need to get these guys out.”

“The storm’s already here. And this young woman isn’t going to make it, unless you help me get this ship to her.

“Sorry guys, this will just take a minute. Someone needs are help.”

“Go for it.”

Well, those guys weren’t really in a position to say no, were they? I mean they need IR’s help too, and I probably would have been tempted to leave them there if they started getting on their high horses. Good people besides the Tracy’s do exist in the world of TAG and this episode had a really nice mix of them. No obnoxious rescuees.

“Let’s just hope I can do this.”

“I heard that. Of course you can do it.”

“Perfect!”

“You did it!”

Of course he did. He’s Virgil Tracy of International Rescue, and that’s his Grandma.

“There’s no getting out in this! We need to stabilise the building.”

“John, we’re gonna’ have to ride it out down here. Can you make sure Grandma stays put?”

“I’ll tell her to put on the coffee pot.”

“You’re with International Rescue?”

Never judge a book by it’s cover.

“You could say that. I’m the Tracy boys Grandma.”

“Kate. And I’m really pleased to see you Grandma Tracy.”

This was so interesting to watch! What you do when you’re stuck in a Thunderbird.

“I’d offer you something to eat, but I’m all out of homemade cookies. As the boy’s would say, lucky for you.”

And one of my favourites;

“John, be a dear.”

I love it when Grandma says that! We saw her do it in ‘Volcano’ too and it was grand.

“Now if we’re lucky all we do is sit here until this blows over.”

I’ll just clear my throat at the idiocy of saying that as Virgil slides expertly across the floor to hold the roof up. And yes, it was possible to do and type this sentence in the time that move took.

“International Rescue, we have a situation.”

“I think our luck may have just run out.”

Predictable...

“The shifting sands are putting extra weight on the structure. It’s not gonna’ hold much longer. John, if we don’t find a way out of here, we’re not gonna’ make it!”

“Yes you are! I’m coming to get you!”

“Grandma, there’s no way. The storm is interfering with my autopilot, and I’ve got my hands full. I can’t remotely fly you back.”

“Don’t need remote control or autopilot. I’ll do it.

“You?”

“Have a little faith, boys.”

Yeah, have some faith. I think there’s a song lyric there;

You gotta have faith

Back to the conversation at hand;

“Who do you think taught your Dad to fly?”

“But that was a single engine plane.”

“And a long, long, long time ago.”

We so often see Grandma sat here at the desk (like above), so in this episode it’s really nice to see her in the driving seat. Age doesn’t have to stop anyone, and this episode was a brilliant piece of script writing to showcase Grandma’s place in IR. She is far more than just anyone’s Grandma and I love how the tension of this episode really built up with the pressures of duty and family.

Oh, the history that is here! I adored that little chunk of life we got a look into.

“You’re following your dream. Good for you.”

Do this, people, it’s one of the best pieces of advise on the planet. I’ve been doing it, and it’s working out pretty well for me so far. I’ve interacted with animals I honestly thought I would never meet, met amazing people and seen the world from many angles. Whatever your dream is, it’s worth doing it.

“Was this your dream?”

“It was my son’s dream, to help people. And now it’s my Grandsons. And I’m happy to support them.”

“Virgil, how are you holding up?”

“Oh, it could be better.”

“Well don’t you worry, I’ll be there any minute. You tell the others.’“

“My Grandma says don’t worry. She’s coming to pick us up.”

“Your Grandma?”

The look on Virgil’s face which just speaks not to underestimate her.

“I can do this. I think.”

“I heard that. Of course you can do it.”

“Of course I can.”

This moment is the sort of writing I live for. It was so nice to see Grandma’s own words thrown back at her. Everyone needs a little positive reinforcement from time to time. I’m sure Virgil can forgive the little scratch on Two’s paintwork.

The hats! It was a really nice touch and look at how happy Grandma looks in hers. Kate doesn’t know what she’s got herself in for in meeting this family. Little taps of those dice for luck.

“Hurry, Grandma, CO2 levels are critical.”

“We’re not gonna’ make it.”

You were saying?

“I’ve never been more glad to see anyone’s Grandma in my life!”

Too right you haven’t. And Virgil had move moves than Kayo in this episode, even with all his equipment on. I love the fact that Virgil is holding the dice now! Oh, they were so a small thing, but they managed to make them matter so much. Sometimes it’s the little things which matter the most.

“Not so fast! We gotta go back and finish our shopping!”

I think that might be the face of someone who would prefer another rescue than a conclusion to the never ending shopping trip from hell!

Oh well, Virgil’s still in one piece for episode 19 so he must survive and get that shower at some point.

This is another of my favourites though really. The balance of family and danger and normality and duty was just spot on.

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theflashdriver · 5 years ago

Text

Rapunzel’s Tower (Silvaze)

The clatter and jangle of heavy bangles boomed above the sound of fast footsteps on cobblestone streets as a young knight rushed towards the tower. Blaze the cat, age seven, was not her usual self today; the young feline had taken on a guise, a façade to fit a role she was currently playing. While she was wearing her usual tattered robe and tights, a cape from a centuries abandoned costume store was flitting and fluttering behind her while the visor of and old plastic helmet obscured her vision of the cracked and burning streets around her. Those old trinkets, coupled with the rusted pipe that was her sword, might have given the illusion that she was a more pitiful and crude knight, but this was not the case.

Blaze was playing the role of a young knight who had set off to save a fair maiden from a distant castle in which she'd been sealed, battling her way over all manner of obstacles and destroying all kinds of beasts in search of her true love. Of course, despite the make-believe nature of this game, those obstacles and monsters were oh so very real. The flaming beasts that prowled this city had got in her way more than once, only to be seen off by either a thwack from her supposed sword or a burst of flame from her free hand. Every time she had to dispose of a monster or hurl herself across a lava filled gorge, she would question whether this game of theirs was the best idea but soon she'd fall back into her knightly persona.

This had all come about as a result of two ancient but very different sources. The first was the books they'd been reading or, well, more specifically; the books that the tower's maiden had rather fallen in love with. Since the destruction of their prior home, they'd taken up residence in a library on the edge of the city and rather fallen in love with the various books housed within it. They'd started by reading informative pieces, introducing themselves to the wonders of the past, before gradually stumbling upon the more fanciful tales of both regular and not so regular lives. Her partner, Silver, had rather fallen in love with tales of pirates and knights and kings and queens, often reading them to her and bordering on enacting them to her. His excitement had come to a head recently though, after they'd discovered a most peculiar shop. It seemed to have gone mostly untouched by time, no one had breached its windows or broken down its door, but both inside were countless treasures. Rings, bangles, tiaras, necklaces and other trinkets had just been left in glass display cases for no clear reason. Why someone would choose to buy those shiny objects rather than food or water, neither of them really knew but they did know that the objects belonged in treasure chests and adorning princesses.

Now, taking from long abandoned shops was nothing new for them (it was the only way to survive in their long-destroyed world) but, usually, they stole for either comfort or survival. All of these objects, despite how pretty they were, looked to be entirely pointless; they could gain no sustenance from them and they offered no comfort or protection. However, the naïve pleading of her partner, and a certain red gem that fit so well on her forehead, had convinced Blaze to fill a bag with those sparkling trinkets. On the way home he had proposed using them in a re-enactment; more specifically, that they re-enacted a scene from one of the shorter stories that he'd read to her. It'd taken some convincing, but she had agreed to play his little game under only one condition: that she got to be the knight while he played the part of the princess.

He'd immediately agreed, simply excited to play and not seeming to particularly care what role he took. While that had embarrassed her at first, she'd stood helpless as he scrambled to find some shining armour and when he had brought her a cape from his bedroom, Blaze had felt an excitement brewing in her stomach. A childish, foolish, excitement but excitement none the less. Her armour was adorned from most of their plundered goods, broaches and pins had been stuck through her robe to create small shining patches. Rings and bangles had covered her hands to take the form of makeshift gauntlets, but many had been shed as she ran. Admittedly, even with all they'd taken and dressed her in, she didn't look much like the knights they'd read about in history books or plays, but she did feel… different.

She dashed and leapt across another jagged chasm, using her sword as leverage to vault over an especially wide gap and land safely on the other side. Her eyes locked on a pair of prowling magma hounds, their maws snapped open as they caught sight of the small girl's form. She threw her left hand in one's direction, unleashing a blast of flame that threw it backwards. The second rushed towards her, arriving just in time for its face to meet with her rusted pipe. Without so much as looking back, she kept running; the castle now in sight.

The tower, in actuality, was a skyscraper that had broken and collapsed long before either of them were born. Though the majority of it now lay shattered over the shops and houses that were behind it, its stump still stood tall and proud over the majority of the surrounding buildings. Though Blaze could see it, she knew that the site was especially difficult to reach; that was why they'd chosen it as the stranded princess' keep, after all.

Focusing again on her role, becoming the knight, Blaze charged around the final corner and locked her eyes upon the tower's decrepit plaza. There was a lot on her way; several lava rivers had carved channels through this part of the city and earthquakes had displaced much of the land, segmenting the streets and pavement alike. She threw a glance to the top of the tower; she swore that she could see the flickering of cyan light but, from this distance and at this angle, she couldn't make out Silver.

She resumed her sprint, tracing along the angular central crack that ran along the street, but soon she had shifted to jumping and bouncing. Every third or fourth step was followed by more cracking, the ground had been made brittle by years of constant heat and pressure. She found herself more and more using her pipe to vault and ground herself, very almost losing it to the flames time and time again only to catch and swing it at the very last second. Fleet of foot and elegant, but perhaps not steadfast like the knight in the tale, Blaze soon found herself in the plaza beneath the broken structure.

It took her a moment to find a spot that would fully support her, it seemed as though her every step disturbed the ground somehow, but, eventually, she settled near the spire's base. In its working life, the building had provided homes to hundreds of people. Now it was but a jagged piece of the skyline, too rickety and impractical for anyone to really live in. Positioned closer and frowning upward, the kitten could see a psychic glow plainly emanating above her. After a bit more squinting, Blaze determined that Silver wasn't in view yet; he was hiding until she called out to him, just as the princess had in the story. The moment she spoke up, he'd make his appearance and recite his lines.

Blaze thought for a moment, trying to remember what the knight had said. She must have taken a while because, before she could hazard a guess, the very book that she was supposed to be enacting tumbled down from the skyscraper on a beam of cyan light. The young feline managed to snatch it from the air, finding it already open at the perfect page.

Upon reading no more than the first few words, the knight automatically recalled her lines. Holding the book behind her back, she pointed her sword to the heavens, "Rapunzel, my dearest Rapunzel, I've come for you!"

Now, finally, the princess showed herself. Silver, currently known as Rapunzel, had borrowed one of Blaze's hair ties and pulled back his usually over the top quills. In an attempt to further transform his appearance, the hedgehog had wrapped himself in a thick beige shawl and various silk scarves to give the outfit more colour. From down there it was difficult to see, but she knew that his fingers were covered in rings too.

"Who is it? Who has come to see me?" He called down, leaning precariously over what remained of a wall.

"It is I, your handsome knight!" She shouted back, unable to keep herself from thinking that the so-called knight in the story thought just a little too highly of himself. After all, his only name in this entire book was the handsome knight, "I've come to save you!"

"But how will you join me up here? My father broke the stairs when he locked me away in this tower, I'm trapped!" He exposited, "I've been alone up here for so many years, I'm oh so lonely!"

"But it is being alone for so many years that will bring me to you!" She replied, pointing her sword even harder, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"

There was a beat of silence, a mutual realisation surely dawned upon both of them. In the story, the princess Rapunzel was supposed to let down her hair for the knight to climb up. While it was unclear how the happy pair had got down afterwards and left to live happily ever after, the story could not continue without the scaling of the princess' tower and the actual first meeting of the knight and their love. Silver's quills were long, but they weren't multiple stories long, there was no way-

"Dear knight! Do you trust me?" That wasn't in the book, "My hair may not yet be long enough, but I can bring us together another way!"

Blaze saw cyan light begin to pulse and flicker around her frame and creep into her vision, not imprisoning her or grasping her so much as it was making clear his intent. She bit her lip, both her fists tightened around the respectively grasped book and pipe. She was frightened, terrified of heights, but she knew the answer to what he'd asked. They were alone in this destroyed world, they worked and fought and lived and played together.

"Of course, I trust you, d-dear princess! More than I trust anyone else!" She called out, shutting her eyes tight, "J-Just promise that you'll get me up there safely!"

Aura began to tickle at her sides, "I promise, my knight! I'll get you up here as quickly as I can!"

"M-Maybe not quickly!" She felt his psychic touch hesitate, "But not too slowly either…" She grumbled, probably too quietly for him to hear, "Just safely! J-Just get me up there safely!"

The kitten felt a gentle touch, like some kind of hug, wrap around her shoulders before gradually spreading to encase her entire torso. Mere moments after she'd managed to get comfortable with that, her feet seemed to slip from the ground and a light wind began to whistle through her ears. Her toes curled and her teeth grit, she didn't dare to open her eyes even if she knew what was happening. She trusted him not to drop her, that much was true, but she didn't trust her fear not to stoke her powers and tear her from his grasp; sending her plummeting to the concrete below. Eventually though, she felt the air brush her muzzle directly rather than from above; she'd reached the correct elevation, she was being pulled towards him. The moment of truth arrived not with a sound, but something brushing past her shoulder and a hand taking hold of her book wielding wrist.

Her eyes opened, blue energy still tinted her vision, but Silver was the centre of all she saw. The small hedgehog was close, almost nose to nose with her, as he leaned out over the edge of the tower to manually pull her onto its top. She let her sword drop before she landed, it clattered onto the roof as she grabbed at his shoulder with her newly freed hand. Her fear of heights had gotten better since she'd met him, he'd offered to help her with it much too often, but there was still a way to go until she'd be comfortable jumping from building to building or even standing atop this one. They'd been up here before, she knew the floor was stable, but this rooftop was never meant to be a rooftop; it wasn't designed to endure rain, let alone the landing and spittle of lava monsters, and she swore it'd gained more holes since their last visit.

As if noticing her worry, as she made contact with the ground, Silver brought both his arms to tightly wrap around her. It was a comfort and contact that she immediately returned, dropping the book too as she took hold of him. It only took a minute or so for her to relax, feeling her heart slow to match his, but the moment that her features softened and she caught his eye, a smile broke onto his face.

"My knight, you have saved me from my isolation!" He continued the story, continuing to beam, "How can I repay you?"

"Just stay by my side forever, that will be more than enough," She recited from memory, attempting to regain the knight's cool air, "I've searched for you for so long, I don't want to lose you again."

"Then it will be done, I'll stay by your side forevermore!" He insisted, completing the scene by pulling her into an even tighter hug.

His fluffy quills brushed and ticked at her. Though she turned her head in an attempt to hide it, Blaze couldn't help but grin. It'd been very silly, they probably should've spent this time searching for food or reinforcing their home, but Blaze couldn't deny that she'd thoroughly enjoyed this pseudo performance. There was something almost regular about it all, almost as if it suited them better than doing what they had to. She supposed that made sense, they were kids after all and, according to the books at least, kids were supposed to imagine and play games. There was a whole section in the library meant for children and very little of its literature was particularly practical, even if those stories were far more fun to read.

She would never admit that, of course. She always insisted that silly games like this were the result of his sole machinations. But then, he displayed more than enough joy for the both of them.

"You did great Blaze, you really fit the part!" He was practically bouncing, beaming brighter and brighter with each passing second, "But… can I be the knight next time? That all looked really fun and I'll be able to fly up to you; you won't have to worry about getting scared if I do that, right?"

"We can take turns," She conceded but, as she through a small glance towards the ground, her grip on him redoubled in tightness, "But… I don't want to be up this high without you."

"Alright! We can find somewhere lower," He offered, grinning so widely that she thought his cheeks might break, "We could even just do it in the library if you prefer, there are plenty of fairy tales about princesses in dungeons too!"

--- --- ---

The memories of that time were a lifetime away and yet they were still so fresh in her mind. Blaze the cat, age eighteen, was stood on her bedroom balcony. The structure overlooked the royal gardens. Though the grounds were currently devoid of workers, the rose bushes, sunflowers and plants from far afield had been tended for generations and bloomed today with the same vigour they had a century prior. The sun had set almost an hour ago, the last trickles of pink and orange were slowly fading from the sky, and yet she was still wide awake. In a rather uncouth fashion, she'd brought her dinner to her bedroom with the promise to eat while she worked.

But she had done neither. Instead, she'd spent what little time she'd had pacing back and forth across the royal bedchamber; her mind had latched onto those old memories she'd so recently discovered. Memories of a life in which she played the part of a princess rather than lived as one.

They'd thought jewellery no more than interesting rocks stuck to shiny metals, their concept of value had been so jaded that the plate of cold paella on her desk would be worth all the rings and diamonds in the world. They'd been famished, they were delusional children clinging to each other against the odds. Any rational person wouldn't dare think back to those memories or, if they did, would consider them no better than tragic, the most difficult and dangerous time of their lives. So why did she feel like this, what were these bizarre thoughts that cluttered her mind and pushed out every other thought?

Why was she so nostalgic for that terrible place, what possible reason was there?

She'd left that world wishing it better, she'd given her life without so much as hesitating. She could remember looking down at him as her ethereal form drifted up and split the clouds as she passed from one life into the next. Blaze had essentially reincarnated, not only had she forgotten that life, but its pain and strain had been entirely removed from her mind and body. She'd been reborn, this new dimension had granted her an entire refresh of both mind and body, but yesterday had seen her regain half of that. Her mind was spinning, filled to burst with tumultuous memories that so heavily contradicted the life she'd just lived. The current mismatched form of her memory was already having impacts on her mind and body.

The sunset she'd just spent the past hour watching had occurred outside her bedroom window every night for the past eighteen years. Every night, she'd had the option to watch or even simply glance as the sun descended before slipping beneath the horizon. She never had though, or, at least, she hadn't since she was young. The glory and wonder of that sight had been entirely lost on her, she'd become desensitised to it. It'd been made mundane by its perpetuity, made a commodity by their daily occurrence, but now it wasn't so daily. Now she could remember fourteen years spent in a city where the clouds never parted, and it was as if this was the first sunset she'd ever actually seen.

Until her departure, the skies of that future had been overwhelmed by black sulphurous clouds that light refused to penetrate. She'd gone without seeing a sunrise or sunset for fourteen whole years, she'd seen nothing but the most dower of grey skies. This life hadn't been so different though, the sky had been there, but she'd never seen its value. It was all thanks to him; his returning of her memories had saved her from more than a dull castle view, he had unlocked the version of her that'd been hidden away in the shambling tower that was her newly unharmed body.

Unlike that once forgotten day, the first of many times they'd embodied those childish roles and played that silly game, she'd actually saved him. She'd given herself up for him and the world; she'd revealed the sky by leaving rather than arriving. It was painful to think how pointless it had all been though, that their loss of one another had only pealed back one of many layers of disaster that stood between them and the good future they desired. The peaceful world that he fought for was still sealed behind a two-hundred-year barrier of crisis that would surely take decades of work to unlock.

It was with that thought that a speck of cyan light fluttered up and found its way into Blaze's vision, soon being followed by a handful of larger glowing globules before, finally, a grey-white figure masked by that that same energy floated up to enter her vision. Despite his arrival and their reuniting just yesterday, she hadn't been able to see him all day. Her work as both guardian and princess had taken up far too much of her time and refused to halt regardless of her headspace. Silver the hedgehog, age eighteen, was floating just outside her grasp. His body was bound in bandages she'd set just yesterday,

He hung before her in the air, smiling as he reached out to her, just as he had in days long past when he had played the role of knight and she had been princess. Without so much as blinking, she took his hand and lead him to stand on the balcony beside her. The contact seemed to stun him just a little, it took a moment for him to round from his position to land beside her.

He'd quickly gone from grinning to looking sheepish, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, I know you said to get here before sundown but I got a little lost and distracted," Before he could even fully apologise, his eyes were flickering back to the outside world, "This place is just so pretty, even the garden down there, it's…"

"It's beautiful," She finished his sentence before continuing, "The sun sets every evening only to rise the next morning without fail and, in the time between the two, the stars come out to dance so wonderfully."

"It's a very different sight from the one I've been seeing," He admitted, plainly scanning the sky for the twinkling of the first star, "Well… not very different, but different enough to notice."

"Oh?" She hummed, briefly managing to tear her gaze from his softer smile.

"Yeah, I don't recognise any constellations, your moon's just a little different too. In the past of my world a lot of it got destroyed. This one looks perfect," She couldn't see it now, but she had last night so she understood him perfectly. Alike the sunset, the moon had stolen a place in her heart, it was undeniably beautiful.

Still, her eyes returned to his frame and the feeling of his hand in hers sapped all of her thoughts. For as overwhelmed as she felt, struggling to rise after that rush of old memories, he was struggling more, even if it wasn't showing so plainly. He'd arrived in a world that perhaps embodied his perfect future only to receive a clear reminder of how long he'd been working at his task, all that it'd already cost him and the future trials ahead of him. Even if he hadn't considered such things yet, those thoughts would surely materialise and bring him to worry; he could be so insecure when he was on his own, so she didn't plan to leave his side.

Blaze tugged his hand, turning him to look away from the sky and to her. He stumbled a little, almost colliding with her as he was made to align with her and the entryway to the royal bedchambers. The hedgehog was framed by the descending sun, even without looking, she could see the stars flickering into visibility behind him. He'd never quite looked real to her, always just a little otherworldly; a figure of bright colours that stood in stark contrast to the burning city that had surrounded them. Here though, flanked by the cosmos beyond this world, he looked more at home than he ever had before. It was almost as if he belonged in this tower rather than her, she couldn't imagine that she looked so stunning with that vista behind her.

Despite how he'd arrived, despite him hovering up to meet her, Blaze knew the role she wanted to play. Fortunately, it was the one she most often took She knew that she wanted to look after him before even considering letting him look after her.

"You know…" She couldn't help but primitively roll her eyes at what she was about to say, a small grin had surely snuck its way onto her lips, but she spoke in her usual dry tone, "I think I liked things better when you were the princess."

Tensions were still so high, these feelings and memories were just so raw, but she couldn't hold a straight face for long and, naturally, neither could he. Their frames reunited, her hands found his shoulders while he came to hug her and their heads heavily pressed against one another. Laughing, even if neither of them were quite sure why they were, they found themselves slowly shifting deeper into her room.

Once they were beyond the threshold, Blaze managed to shift her head from his and take the hedgehog in again. Silver was still laughing, eyes shut as he so casually leant against her. He was quite the mess, his quills still thoroughly overgrown and his fur made mismatched lengths by the injuries he had sustained across this second life, but the warmth behind his smile still shined through. Though his form was slightly different to the Silver she'd known, that smile told her that the naïve hedgehog she'd once known lived on in this new shell. As his eyes finally reopened, she recognised the flash of excitement in them.

"W-Well then, my knight," He was struggling to keep a straight face as he continued her joke, "I made a promise to you once, I don't intend to let it break again," He was playing his role from way back then, perfectly falling back into it, "Now that I've arrived in your tower, I would ask no more than the same from you."

"If that is truly all you wish, my dear princess, then of course, I agree to your terms," At this distance, though she'd been distracted, the scent of salt, smoke and sweat was deeply rooted in his person. Where her soft fur met with his coarser fluff, she could feel the bizarre friction; she'd given him some care yesterday, but it hadn't been enough. No matter how nice he looked with that skyline behind him, there was no denying the truth, "Come on, I'll draw you a bath. You're filthy."

"I jumped in the sea this morning though," He earnestly responded, looking down at himself, "I thought that would be good enough… it took ages to dry off."

"You're still so naïve," He still had so much to learn about living normally, let alone this world, "Just as it's a knight's job to protect the princess, it's my job to look after you. You're dirty, hurt, overgrown…" She noticed that his gaze had drifted past her, his nose was wrinkling. A glance over her shoulder revealed her cold dish of rice and fish, "And clearly famished. Let's get you more comfortable. I won't let you struggle alone for another moment."

All it took was another tug at his wrist to pull his stupefied frame after her. Though this wasn't the role she'd been reborn into, she knew it was the one she suited far better. That and, as the innocently perplexed look on his face proved, he did make for a rather adorable damsel, even if he didn't much need the guardian's more literal protecting.

#silvaze #Blaze the Cat #Silver the Hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #silver and blaze

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