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legendsoffodlan · 4 years ago

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Wild West AU (Yeehaw)

The town? Garreg Mach. A growing boomtown on the edge of the frontier. Life out here is tough, but the people are tougher. Between the sandstorms, the corrupt politicians and business moguls, and the weird magic shit going on behind the scenes, the people of Garreg Mach are gonna need all their wit and gumption to survive.

Golden Deer

Claude: A popular young lawyer, half Irish Immigrant and half Cheyenne Native American. Claude is well known as a bit of a celebrity about town, frequently challenging the government and protecting the rights of Native Americans and their claims to land. A bit ruthless and a lot charming, Claude is a leader among the townsfolk, particularly the poorer folk.

Hilda: While the Civil War ruined most southern folk, Hilda’s family made it rich by siding with the Union and fighting the Confederacy. Hilda, a southern belle who also happens to be as strong as an ox, came to Garreg Mach to get away from her overbearing brother. A rich girl, she frequently funds Claude’s efforts to protect Native and African American rights.

Lorenz: Born to an old-money New England family, Lorenz talks and acts like British nobility. He’s come to Garreg Mach to expand his family business, but he aims to do it the proper way, avoiding his father’s unsavory tactics. He pays all his employees a living wage, and insists on paid vacation and maternity leave. A reluctant ally of Claude, Lorenz truly has a heart of gold under the snobbery.

Marianne: Marianne's family worked on the Underground Railroad, shepherding slaves to freedom. That got them killed. Alone now, Marianne has come out west to try and get away from her past as the town doctor. But he inborn compassion proves too powerful for her, and she frequently finds herself fighting alongside Claude in his legal suits. She’s smart and she’s ind, but blames herself for her parents deaths.

Ignatz: The son of a merchant who hit it big during the Gold Rush, selling to miners, Ignatz has been sent out to the frontier to both expand his family business and try to make it big selling his art. Ignatz loves to paint murals upon the various buildings of Garreg Mach, bringing some much needed color and beauty to the town.

Leonie: A spitfire girl who was born and raised to ride ‘em, rope ‘em, and brand ‘em, Leonie is a cowgirl through and through. She’s been making a name for herself as a bounty hunter, bringing outlaws and the like to justice. She hates big business and “civilized softies”, but she’s got a place in her heart for her more “upper class” friends. She thinks this whole “Manifest Destiny” thing is stupid and works with Claude against heedless expansion.

Raphael: The son of Scottish immigrants, Raphael’s a big guy with a big heart and an even bigger appetite. With a sick grandpa and a little sister to look after, Raphael makes his money working as the local blacksmith and occasional head-thumper at the bar when fellas get too fresh with the dancing girls. He does his best to keep the town honest and he’s more than willing to throw down against any corrupt old men looking to take over his home.

Lysithea: Smart as a whip and just as stinging, Lysithea is a genius chemist and scientist. Diagnosed with a nasty disease early on in her life, she’s determined to make the most of the time she’s got. She bought herself an old farm which she’s converted into a “science paradise”, Lysithea is determined to make as many breakthroughs as possible, making money to leave her parents comfortable. Much to her chagrin, she finds herself sucked into Claude’s legal fights

Blue Lions

Dimitri: Dimitri was a boy, son of wealthy Russian immigrants, when he enlisted in the Civil War. Now traumatized and trying to move, he’s come out West to find a better life. But his wish for a quiet existence seems to be for naught, as he finds himself made Sheriff of Garreg Mach and charged with fighting criminals and the corrupt. Hoping that protecting the living will silence the screams of the dead in his head, Dimitri is determined to protect his people, no matter what form the threat takes.

Dedue: The son of an escaped slave, he and Dimitri met during the Civil War. Hoping to liberate the rest of his family, Dedue found that the slaves of the plantation his mother had fled from had been butchered by their master, whom Dedue and Dimitri killed in revenge. Disillusioned, Dedue now leads many former slaves here in Garreg Mach, helping them find their footing as farmers and ranchers. A part-time deputy for Dimitri, Dedue will let nothing stand in his way of fighting for a better future for his people.

Ingrid: A girl who disguised herself as a man to fight in the war, Ingrid is firecly loyal to Dimitri as his full-time deputy. A powerful voice of compassion and justice, Ingrid is a devotedly “by the book” woman. She’s been softened to new ideas by many of the folk in Garreg Mach, but she remains decidedly stubborn towards change. Nonetheless, you’ll never find a more devoted and steadfast soldier than Ingrid.

Sylvain: The local lothario and heartbreaker, Sylvain is the self-proclaimed “good for nothing” son of a wealthy rancher. Despite this, his kind heart frequently triumphs over his self-loathing and he stands as a permanent friend of Dimitri and enemy of the forces seeking to ruin Garreg Mach. A surprisingly good quickdraw, Sylvain also fights alongside Dedue for the rights of the African Americans in Garreg Mach.

Mercedes: The daughter of slave-owners, Mercedes ran away from that life, unwillingly leaving her brother behind. Working first on the Underground Railroad, and then as a medic during the war, Mercedes has come to Garreg Mach to devote her life to the Goddess and the less fortunate. A permanent fixture of compassion and healing, Mercedes is beloved by the everyone for her willingness to heal and work with everyone no matter their race, religion, or nationality.

Felix: The son of New England wealth, Felix is the fastest gun in the west and one of the best bounty hunters to boot. Sickened by civilization by the horrors he experienced in the war, Felix is determined to make his own way in the world as a running gun and part-time vigilante. Despite his “lone wolf” status, Felix finds himself frequently coming back to Garreg Mach and the friends he’s made there, frequently ridding with Sheriff Dimitri, grumbling all the way.

Annette: The local schoolteacher and historian, Annette is a slightly flighty girl who loves her friends, her charges, and books. Always trying her hardest, Annette is behind several charities trying to take care of veterans and former slaves, working closely with Dimitri and Dedue towards that end. She’s also a part-time singer at the local saloon, much to the town’s scandal.

Ashe: A former thief, then the adopted son of a Southern Abolitionist, Ashe lost everything during the war. Gathering up the remains of his adopted and blood-related family, he now seeks to build a new life for them in Garreg Mach. Despite trying to stay out of trouble, his strong sense of fairness and compassion frequently suck him into problems that are not his own, fighting for the weak and downtrodden. He’s one of the few people who can sometimes outdraw Felix.

Black Eagles

Edelgard: The mayor of Garreg Mach, Edelgard was the daughter of a powerful plantation owner before she gunned her father down and rallied her friends to take up arms against the Confederacy. Now she fights for the rights of the poor and oppressed as Mayor with the same ferocity and single-mindedness that she fought in the war. She frequently butts heads with Claude and Dimitri over methods, but she is determined to create a better future, and damn anyone who gets in her way.

Hubert: Edelgard’s closest friend and bodyguard, Hubert is also a chemist and mathematician, using his deadly intellect to devastating results. While absolutely devoted to Edelgard, Hubert is also determined to make a better future through whatever means necessary, no matter how unsavory they might be. There are rumors about what happened to Hubert’s father during the war, but nothing that could be proven.

Petra: The daughter of a Lakota Native American Chief, Petra is determined to make a better future for her tribe and fights for their rights at every turn. As such she works frequently with Claude and Edelgard to secure the rights of the Lakota. As deadly as she is beautiful, Petra makes her money by keeping the frontier safe and taking out Edelgard’s political enemies to pave the way for her people’s future.

Ferdinand: While Lorenz only acts like British nobility, Ferdinand actually is British Nobility, come across the pond to secure his family’s interests. He ended up sucked into Edelgard’s crusade and provides support and money to her designs. Despite his loud demeanor and arrogant tendencies, Ferdinand is a kind creature at heart who will always put his neck out for the little guy, much to his family’s chagrin. He’s also the owner of the local saloon, and as such everyone want to be on his good side.

Dorothea: The star-singer of the town saloon, Dorothea is the face of Edelgard’s political machine, earning support and favor with her charm and her voice. She has a love-hate relationship with her boss, Ferdinand that veers between attempted murder and true love. She spends most of her money on the poor and badly-off as she knows what its like to go without. Despite her pretty face and gentle demeanor, she’s no less vicious in her pursuit of what’s right than Edelgard.

Caspar: The former son of a plantation owner, Caspar fought alongside Edelgard against the Confederacy and his own father. Tough, brave, and true-hearted, no one knows what Caspar’s job actually is. He just seems to do a little bit of everything from manual labor to bounty-hunting. A permanent shield for “the little guy”, Caspar will never give-up the good fight. Never.

Linhardt: As smart as he is, Linhardt could take over the world if he had a mind to. Fortunately, he doesn’t. A scientist and researcher who frequently works alongside Lysithea, Linhardt seems more interested in taking naps and reading his books than anything else. Despite this, he maintains polite friendships with many of the townsfolk, including his dearest friend Caspar whom he lives with and shares a bed with. But totally just good friends!

Bernadetta: The local shut-in, Bernadetta was the victim of an abusive father and neglectful mother, who jumped at the chance to run away when Edelgard presented it. Despite her shyness and her borderline agoraphobia, Bernadetta runs a large farm outside of town, frequently hosting political get-together which she barely shows up at. Hidden reserves of courage drive her to help Petra and her people frequently providing aid whenever she can. From insider her room, of course.

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rosesvioletshardy · 4 years ago

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can we do it? - billy/four - chapter 3

chapter 3 is here and i’m surprised i’m still writing this story despite y’all don’t really read it (not really begging you guys to do so but it’s your choice) but it keeps me sort of busy until i get called into work and start school.

also this isn’t edited btw

summary: one team, seven people, two lovers, things are about to get crazy and zero and four don’t know if they can do it with everything that is going on

masterlist

# of words: 2,246

warnings: angst?, language, fluff?

taglist: (message or inbox me if you want to be tagged)

The next few days were a blur for everyone. Seven has officially met everyone but questioned as to why there were only six of them instead of eight and why they skipped six. Zero did the part and explained it to him despite One wanting her not to tell him and everyone could still see that she was grieving. One gave Four a talk about him and Zero and he felt more guilt than he could imagine. He didn’t know that One had practically forced her to say that they were only friends but even then she still wouldn’t talk to him. Not after the way he treated her. It was his turn with Seven to talk about what they do and talk about One. They were sitting in another trailer that wasn’t really occupied that he used to watch his shows that were filled with dvds with Wally the dog and the Beaver show One loved so much playing in the background. Four was sitting in a chair throwing random cds after seeing what they were as Seven asked him a question.

“Hey, what do you know about One?”

“Well, for starters, he loves Wally the dog. He’s obsessed with this beaver show. I think he’s an orphan now that I come to it actually. We got a little bet on it if you want to put some money in. He really got rid of every evidence about his existence that even Zero can’t find, but I think she knows.” he told him

“This is an interesting crew you got here, bro. How many missions have you guys run?” he asked

“Counting Florence? Uh, one.”

“One what?” Seven asked eyeing him confused

“Actually, no, there was, um this, like, mini-mission, so maybe one and a quarter. It was in Sicily. But Florence? Absolute shitshow. I mean, if I wasn’t there, probably more than one of us dead. That’s all I’m saying” four said turning to face him

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I don’t fuck around”

“You realize I just buried myself in front of my family and friends?” “Yeah, One told me about that. Big military funeral. Guns popping, flags. It was pretty cool. At my funeral, there were only five people there and two of them left before the end. It is tough watching your mum cry at your grave. I feel like mine is still cursing at my grave for it. Love that woman, I do miss her, but you get over it. Anyways, this mission. I got a good feeling. I got a really good feeling about this mission.” Four said with a proud smile

“Yeah. how come you can’t find this guy?” Seven asked looking at a picture of Rovach’s brother

“I don’t know. Zero can usually find anyone but she’s been off since the last mission and isn’t in the right headspace for it. I tried telling her to take a break but she isn’t listening. To me or the advice. The only thing she said was that Americans caught him a few years back.”

“Americans?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Zero has something to do with it? Maybe Two as well, she has some sort of training that seems like it would tie into it. Not sure but that’s all she said and won’t tell me anything else without One’s permission.” Four told him as seven went and sat next to him

“What’s going on between the two of you? Are you guys dating? Did you date in the past? What is it?”

Four didn’t know how to answer the question because he still wasn’t over his feelings for her and neither was she but the two couldn’t be together and she wasn’t listening or talking to him. He sat there quietly as he tried to figure out something to say.

“Well, there isn’t anything going on between us because One has this rule that none of us can hook up and if we do, it basically has to be if we are undercover, with someone else, and it’s the last thing we need to do.” “But what about two and three? They seem like they’re hooking up.”

“Yeah I don’t know why he’s all up in our business when he should be paying attention to them but I think it has to do with the fact that we almost kissed and I guess he saw us. Which is really creepy if you think about it now. Also, maybe because he sees her as a little sister and he doesn’t want to get hurt again.” he said before finishing what he was talking about Rovach’s brother

“Back to what I was saying. The Americans caught him years back and gave him to his brother. The bald looking fella. You like him though, One?

“I mean, I guess I didn't really get to know him that much and we mainly talked about me. Feel like he was an asshole when he was younger.” Seven told him

“Yeah he's definitely an asshole, but a likable asshole, no?”

“No.”

“Well, out of all of us, probably likes you the most.” four said

“What about Zero? She seems to be on his good side and close to him”

“Yeah she was the first one recruited and knows most of her past. Thinks of her like a little sister. They’re like twins but not twins. They’re both good at hiding their trails and finding people and all that. From what I’ve heard they actually had a run with each other when she used his tech to find out all this stuff on American politicians that almost got her arrested before all of this. They both realized how helpful this stuff is since the government doesn't help anyone.”

One knew all about her past and he wondered if that was why he didn’t want someone like her to be with someone like Four but he didn’t tell either one of them that to make sure there wasn’t going to be drama between them.

“So you guys aren’t together? Even going behind his back and trying to secretly date?”

“No it’s too risky mate, and plus she said she only sees me as a brother and a friend”

“Damn. I haven't even known you guys a whole week and I think the two of you would’ve actually been good together.”

As they continued to talk, Zero walked past them and overheard the last of their conversation and how Seven liked her and Four together. It made her a little red until she remembered what One said and she continued to walk to where she was going.

They haven’t done much besides try and figure out where the four generals were and figure out a plan as to who was going to get the information out of them. Deciding it should be Three and Two since they have the most training and are more qualified for it they got everything ready. Four and Zero have started to talk again and are slowly reforming the friendship they had before. He tried to make it look like he wasn’t hurt by the fact that the first person he liked didn’t like him back and that he wasn’t threatened about dating her.

The day of the mission had everyone feeling nervous. Even though they had gone over everything they still felt like something was bound to go wrong like what happened in Florence. They had packed up everything they were going to need while in Las Vegas after finding out who is in charge of handing off Rovach’s brother. After gathering in their “Batcave”, Zero started to list off everything that was going to happen when they get there and how they all needed to be careful

“Listen, there are pretty much cameras covering every single inch of Las Vegas. You have to be careful about what or who you decide to go as or else they’ll have your face plastered on the news within the minute. Rovach set the four generals up in the penthouse and there’s going to a party, so be careful of who you injure.” zero told them

“Don’t worry, I used to be a hitman. I got this.” Three told her as he started packing everything

“Didn’t you almost shoot Four before Florence?” Five asked smirking remembering the memory

“Nearly took my ear out. Couldn’t hear anything out of the left ear for almost a week” Four grumbled

“I paid you back with the spaghetti carbonara and the many beers.”

The rest of the group couldn’t help but smile and laugh while One let out a sigh at the group he had created and how they were acting like children.

“This means that you can’t fuck up and you have to choose wisely. Even though she’s going to be staying, Zero is going to keep an eye on all three of us at all times and stay in communication with us. Who knows what they’re going to do while they're there.”

“Please I’m a grown man. I can handle my shit. I know what i’m going to be though”

“Don’t think that’s how the expression goes. Don’t handle you shit, flush it down the toilet like a grown ass man. You have to disappear. One more thing, just because all three of us are going to be doesn’t mean any of you can do shit.” One said mainly aiming at Zero and Four as their eyes darted each other for a split second

Now, we’re done. Leave and get ready.” He finished

The rest of the night was just them getting everything prepared as Zero made sure every form of communication was connected to each other was hooked up with one another and her computers. The group disbanded and went their separate ways back to their trailers before Four stopped in his tracks wanting to talk to Zero. He waited until everyone had left the room before he talked to her. Why he wanted to talk to her was so he can make amends but he didn’t know if she would talk to him or even want to be alone with him so he decided he wasn’t going to do anything and left her alone. Before he left, he took one last look at her and the way she was focused on getting everything set up. Yeah, he knew people as quick and smart as her, but he never has met anyone who was just as kind as her and would rather deal with other people’s problems rather than take on her own. She has been like that since she was a child, always had this maternal instinct to make sure everyone’s needs were put first. Maybe that was why she was so reserved and didn’t talk much of her own life that night and she made sure he didn’t feel uncomfortable when talking about his past life. Rather than hanging out with the crowds and going to parties throughout high school and college all the time, she would focus on her studies, only going every now and then.

Gathering up her stuff and the papers she had, but stopped as soon as she saw Four turn around and she didn’t stop him in time as he skated off back to his trailer. She let out a sigh and walked back to hers. It took her awhile to get adjusted to her new life and she still wasn’t used to how they lived. They had everything they could’ve asked for, yet it still didn’t feel like home for her no matter how many things she had with her from her past life. Turning on her music and getting ready for a bath to relax, she heard a knock on the door interrupting her quiet time. Setting everything down on the sink, she went back to the front. Opening the door she saw Four standing there with his hood up and hands in his pockets waiting.

“Hey”

“Hi”

The two stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before she remembered to invite him in instead of standing outside.

“I’m sorry, please come in.” she gestured moving out of the way letting Four step in. He looked around her place and noticed everything she talked about with him about herself and from what he saw that one time looked like everything she’d described. Vinyls were neatly stacked, fairy lights were hung all across, monitors that covered one corner of the room, and pictures of family and friends everywhere. He thought it felt right for her and more her style. The two of them walked over to her bed and sat down in quiet for what felt like forever before Four spoke up.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything wro-” she tried to tell him before getting interrupted by him

“Yes I did. I treated you like shit even by not talking to you and just overall being me” he said

“But you didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, it’s my fault I'm the one who had to hide away their true feelings and then forced to say something I didn’t want to say.”

“Zero please, cut the b-” Four started to say before he felt lips on top of his.

At first, he was shocked until he loosened up and kissed her back. Their lips began to move together in sync as his hands moved to cup her face as hers snaked around his neck.

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jyndor · 4 years ago

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more word vomit on avatar and how it frames marginalized peoples’ desire for revenge from an american, just what the world needed right now

so I have a lot of thoughts about how avatar frames vengeance and forgiveness, in particular for people who are the victims of imperial destruction. I do understand why people think that wanting revenge can make people bitter and disallow healing, and there is some validity to this. and resentment definitely can be an obstacle to healing emotional pain.

hama is a woman traumatized by the genocide of her people, by the unending cruelty of fire nation imperialism. when she develops her bloodbending skills, she feels like she is taking back some control from those who wronged not just her but her culture and civilization. but by becoming the titular puppetmaster, she is victimizing fire nation civilians who have done nothing to her.

she serves as an important foil to katara. in her conversation with zuko in crossroads of destiny, she tells him that he represents the fire nation in her mind, and she even says she is wrong to do that (which is kind of funny given that he did fuck with the gaang a LOT. she would have good reason to think of zuko’s face as being the face of an empire she hates when during a big chunk of the journey, he was the one coming after them) since her pain stems from her mother’s murder. and zuko is not the man who murdered kya.

when the gaang travels through the fire nation, katara is the first to really recognize the impact that imperialism has had on the fire nation’s own citizens. she risks sokka’s timeline and lies to the group about appa being sick just to become the painted lady and save some fire nation citizens. when these people realize that a waterbender has appropriated their sacred spirit, they are furious until sokka tells them that they can fuck off with their shit, and that they are alive to be pissed at her because katara saved them. still katara feels guilty about potentially desecrating such a culturally and spiritually important figure for these people.

when she and zuko go on their glorious ninjas of love and revenge journey to fuck up the southern raiders, katara decides to spare the life of her mother’s killer because she realizes that avenging kya is not going to bring her back or make katara feel better. she would just be killing a shitty old man who doesn’t even care about what he did.

I’ve already talked a bit about why I feel like aang’s forgiveness shit in that episode is fucking stupid and out of character, so I am not going there right now. katara explicitly didn’t forgive yon rha, but she was able to forgive zuko, and this is where I’m gonna bring hama back into this. katara forgiving zuko for the wrongs he did (specifically betraying her in the catacombs of love) makes sense because zuko worked to redeem himself and to make up for his actions.

we don’t know a lot about what hama’s experience was like in the village or while running her inn. aang’s assumption upon hearing that people are going missing in the woods is that the villagers are doing something to make a spirit angry. and that’s interesting, because in the end we are to assume that they didn’t do anything except live as fire nation citizens in a fire nation village unlucky enough to be near hama’s inn.

her desire for justice warping into bitterness and insanity is kind of the crux of the episode. hama ends up imprisoned by the fire nation once again, and this time it’s not because she’s a waterbender standing up to fire nation imperial might, it’s because she hurt innocent people with her waterbending.

and here is where I get conflicted. those fire nation people never did anything to hama in the same way that I personally never did anything to peoples who have been harmed by american imperialism, but because I am an american citizen, and in particular a white american citizen, I have benefited from the violence done to those peoples and their cultures. and I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that those villagers probably are not against fire nation imperialism.

it doesn’t even matter since the point the writers are trying to make is that when your need for justice turns into a need for indiscriminate vengeance, you end up re-victimizing yourself above all else. I think that is an interesting message.

but that brings me to jet.

so jet is way more sympathetic than hama, and it’s not just because he’s a cutie. he is literally the leader of a guerilla group called the freedom fighters, which lol I see you and your social commentary, atla. being "freedom fighters” is how western powers have historically framed the “good” rebels in any given conflict. jet isn’t deliberately targeting innocent civilians, but he isn’t going to stop his attacks just because they might become collateral damage.

jet blurring the lines between fighting for liberation and being a terrorist is a nuanced take on the issue, especially considering when the show aired. jet is characterized by his justifiable anger at the fire nation. he has legitimate grievances, personal grievances.. the irony is that he is willing to put his own people at risk just to get back at the fire nation.

in the second season, despite genuinely wanting to change his ways, jet’s hatred of anyone who is fire nation is what gets him imprisoned and later killed... by his own people, no less. he isn’t smart about how he fights against fire nation imperialism. he loses the moral high ground when he loses sympathy for two refugees just because he thinks he sees iroh heat up his tea with firebending. forget for a moment that zuko and iroh are in fact firebenders and that iroh in particular is quite responsible for damage done to the earth kingdom. when jet decides to go after them, he still thinks of them as refugees. and despite knowing this, jet can’t accept that the fire nation has also hurt its own people in its fight for supremacy.

the story about jet isn’t necessarily dealing with forgiveness, in the same way that hama is never asked to forgive the fire nation for its crimes against her and her people. the narrative suggests that both jet and hama would have been better served if they hadn’t associated fire nation randos with the fire nation military and government. if they had just aimed their anger at the fire nation government.

which... okay, come on. like, I appreciate that I personally have not dropped bombs on weddings in iraq (which of course is itself an invention of the west), but my government is still my government, my tax dollars are my tax dollars. I’m not gonna be offended by some guy in iraq hating americans indiscriminately even though I personally object to my government’s foreign policy. my personal objections didn’t save that guy’s family. murdering american civilians to avenge murdered innocent civilians would be a bad thing, and legitimate grievances wouldn’t stop the us from probably nuking everyone at this point so like I really don’t recommend it.

but the feelings? well, I can’t argue against them because I’ll never, ever understand what it’s like to be on the receiving end of american empire.

context is ALWAYS important. avatar ran in the mid 2000s, during the height of the wars in afghanistan and iraq. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that a story about how imperialism harms children took off during a time when these illegal wars of aggression were becoming less and less popular in the states. it is also an american show, written by americans for an american audience. it appropriates several cultures to which the creators do not belong, and it does so lovingly and respectfully... sometimes.

centering conversations about imperialism on the forgiveness of the marginalized peoples is... kinda weird. given that a lot of the peoples that inspired different aspects of the show have been oppressed by western imperialism - the inuit people obviously inspired the southern water tribe, the sun warriors are an amalgamation of different mesoamerican civilizations, the swamp water tribe is influenced by cajun people, not to mention the massive influence drawn from chinese cultures - I think we should have seen some post-war stories in the show (fuck the comics, if you care about things enough to write extra materials, put them in the main medium of your fucking story since otherwise most people will not see them).

stories about reparations from the fire nation. stories about the ethics of removing the descendants of fire nation colonists from the earth kingdom. stories about zuko and katara searching for ursa lol I’m sorry. I think an american audience could have really benefited from those stories.

idk guys, what do you think?

#atla #katara #imperialism #war #meta #i have adhd which is obvious

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serendipitous-posts · 5 years ago

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Wayfarer Au - Spinel

The background was more focused on Pink Pearl than Spinel. This was because not much happened; we know Pink Diamond abondende Spinel, and nothing happened in the time of isolation. But I want to fix that so; some information about Spinel in the Wayfarer Au!

Spinel is the only one of her kind, specifically made just for Pink Diamond. She’s quite a bit younger than Pink Pearl and Crystal Pearl, since she was specifically made to replace Pink Pearl.

Her cut is perfect, her cultivation was perfect, and her powers were perfect for a toy

Because, at the end of the day, that’s what Spinel was, a toy. She realises this soon after she arrives on Earth: Pink had never thought of her as a friend, as a living thing. To her, she had been a fun plaything to throw away when she got bored

(She’s a little bitter, sue her)

She and Crystal Gem Pearl never really interacted all that much, despite sharing the same owner for some time, and both acting as a replacement for Pink Pearl, but since Spinel is the only one of her kind, she’s extremely memorable

(Hence why, despite not knowing her personally, being thousands of years and her looking different, in the movie Pearl was able to immediately realise who Spinel was and who she belonged to)

Spinel’s existence was really confusing to the Gem Hierarchy. The Pearls were the lowest of the ranks, as slaves.

But Pearl’s had jobs. They brought you things, took things down for you, stored things. They were, loathe as they were to admit it, useful. Spinel was just a toy really. Did that mean she was lower on the social ladder than the Pearls? After all, Pearls could entertain as well, singing and dancing if you so required.

Spinel, though intelligent, could often be insensitive and sometimes even clumsy. But Spinel was a Diamond’s, and, due to her questionable position on Homeworld’s Social Ladder, nobody really punished her for it

Spinel is very, very clever. She was the one who had the idea for getting the Gem’s memories back in the Movie, and she managed to put together a plan to destroy Earth that came closer than anyone else, including the Diamonds

In this verse, Spinel was made to be the best of the best, and, as such, has an intelligence a lot higher than the average gem. She’s not logically intelligent like Crystal Gem Pearl, she’s spatially intelligent, making her an imaginative gem capable of spatial reasoning, of thinking of things in three dimensions and is very good at drawing conclusions from limited data

Ironically enough, for a gem literally made to be someones friend, Spinel is extremely emotionally stupid. She makes jokes at inopportune times, doesn’t seem to understand when Pink wants to be left alone and comes across as naive and gullible

That last one comes back to bite her, hard

Upon finding out that Pink Diamond tricked her, the stress of it all causes her to poof and reform, into the outfit we see in the movie

Spinel’s faith in Pink Diamond is broken, as she realises that she never had any plans to come back for her, and immediately starts voicing her betrayal and hurt at being betrayed

She wakes up to find that Pink Pearl took her gem and fled to Earth, which she is not happy about

It was originally because she didn’t want to be on the planet that reminded her of Pink; because she was grieving, but it swapped to all consuming rage real quick once she realises what Pink Diamond did to her

Spinel doesn’t have anything against Pink Pearl, but, like in the movie, she’s hurt and so lashes out at her, while also not wanting her to be out of sight

Pink Pearl is also going through some shit right now, just waking up from years of brainwashing. She’s normally a very laid back gem, from what we see of her, and as a Pearl she is taught not to talk back to her superiors. But she would see Spinel as her equal here, and she is not going to let some upstart lecture her when she could of have just left Spinel in the Garden

They argue. A lot. Pink Pearl’s habit of excusing Pink Diamond’s abuse does not mesh well with Spinel’s hatred of her former owner

They wander for a bit, and settle in with some North American tribes, but, after realising Humans aren’t immortal like they are, they start travelling.

Spinel takes the longest to be won around to Earth’s side, due to the bad memories of Pink abandoning her for it, but she loves the children who trip over themselves to play games with her

Spinel and Pink Pearl’s relationship is something I wanna go deeper into in a different post, but they finally start to get along when Pink Pearl finally admits what Pink Diamond did to her

They move a lot, and it is usually Spinel’s fault- her bright pink skin is very hard to hide, and she feels a lot of guilt over that, though Pink assures her that it’s okay, that it’s good that they moved, they would of have had to eventually

Over the centuries, Spinel and Pink Pearl have been poofed many, many times, though they are always super careful to make sure the other isn’t cracked - thankfully humans discover a way to heal cracks in gems, and the outfits change, usually to fit the era they’re in

The 1930′s was great, it was there that they finally figured out how to fuse at will instead of awkwardly stumbling into it every now and then

Currently, Spinel favours wearing hoodies or jumpers, loose and baggy, covering her gem because she’s not going to have that out for all to see and possibly crack. The hoodies hide her face, so bonus

Spinel’s personality was never as bad as it was in the movie; she continues to have extreme mood swings to this day, but since she wasn’t in isolation as long as Canon!Spinel, it didn’t affect her as bad

“As bad”

One day Spinel will probably have to see a therapist after a run in with the earth’s government (awkward) and she will probably be diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder or something along those lines

Spine’s personality is extremely bitter most of the time; she is deeply cynical, contrasting Pink Pearl’s optimism, and is a pragmatist and an opportunist. Self deprecating humour is her strong suit, though she does like shitty puns and knock knock jumps

They did run into gem monsters at first, and are always really confused as to what that’s about, but they have no problem bubbling or shattering them when they have to

As they move away from the area the corruption song hit, they see less and less of them, and they kind of sort assumed that they were dinosaurs or something

Spinel and Pearl have found themselves in the middle of wars or revolutions, and, after a while, they start joining in, being extra super careful to make sure nobody realises they’re there and what they are (it doesn’t work)

Spinel’s weapon is still a scythe, but it’s design is different. She named it Peekaboo, which Pink finds hilarious

Spinel is more aggressive than Pink Pearl. She never aims it at Pearl- the closest she gets is the very start of their partnership when they first arrived on Earth.

Instead, it’s more aimed at everyone else. She knows that the humans will all eventually die, and leave her, so she shuts them out- though she absolutely adores kids. She’s the main muscle between her and Pearl, and is by far the better fighter

Due to how weak Pearl’s naturally are, even a well made one like Pink Pearl, she is naturally protective of her other half

Of course, Pink Pearl will cut a bitch if you make her friend/girlfriend/wife cry

Spinel loves, loves, LOVES theatre, it’s something she and Pink bond over a lot. They both loved to visit William Shakespeare when he was around, though Spinel suggested that he could make some of his poems a lot less angsty, please?

When the circus was invented, she was over the moon, and kept dragging Pink off to go and see it (she may or may not have inspired the idea for clowns)

Over the years, Spinel tries branching out, to try and discover what she likes to do outside of making others laugh. It takes a while, and almost drives her to a nervous breakdown because oh stars what if all she can do is make others feel good, what if she can’t break outside her programming what if-

She discovers that she likes photography, and, after cultivating that skill for hundreds of years, she is quite good at it. She likes the idea of having pictures of everywhere they’ve been, and in her spare time creates scrapbooks to gift to Pearl

She has all kinds of nicknames for Pink Pearl; Raspberry, Loveheart, Sweetheart, Doll, Valentine, etc

Pearl admitted to her that she hates her name, of being “a” pearl, so, after going back and forth, they decide that she can be called Peach

(Because I refuse to call her Volleyball in this au)

#steven universe #steven universe au #wayfarer au #spinel #pink pearl #pearl steven universe #spinearl

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lastsonlost · 6 years ago

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Because God forbid the guy tries to talk to people instead of demonizing everyone that doesn't agree with him.

It's not like he's betraying the left or anyting.

Captain America has a new mission for the Trump era: “to create informed, responsible and empathetic citizens.”

Chris Evans, who stars in the upcoming “Avengers: Endgame,” is launching A Starting Point, a new website aiming to get regular citizens involved in politics.

“You don’t want to alienate half your audience,” Evans told The Hollywood Reporter. “But I’d be disappointed in myself if I didn’t speak up. Especially for fear of some monetary repercussion or career damage — that just feels really gross to me.”

Evans, an outspoken Trump critic, was spotted in Washington D.C. in recent weeks with several lawmakers, including U.S. senators from both parties.

The site, which doesn’t have a launch date, is co-founded by Evans with actor Mark Kassen and entrepreneur Joe Kiani.

Evans has become known for his presidential clapbacks since President Donald Trump took office.

In October 2018, following President Trump’s tweet about the “Fake News Media, the true Enemy of the People,” Evans responded by telling his 10 million followers, “‘Help! I’ve never done anything wrong in my entire life, but somehow hostility is at an all time high. Just because I kick beehives all day, it’s not MY fault when people get stung! No one has EVER been treated so unfairly. Sad. Also, where’s Obama’s birth certificate?'”

Evans, a Boston native, also didn’t mince words when it came to New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady’s past support of the Trump.

“I really hope he’s not a Trump supporter,” Evans told THR. “I’m just hoping he’s one of those guys that maybe supported him and now regrets it.”

“Maybe he thought it was going to be different — and even that bothers me — but maybe there’s a chance now he just thinks Trump’s an absolute dumb shit, which he is,” Evans said. “If he doesn’t, if he’s still on that Trump train, I might have to cut ties. It’s really tough.”

But this is how the Daily Beast spins it.

Chris Evans, heretofore known as America’s Hottest Chris, is getting into politics. Or at least, that’s how the reveal of his new “secret, non-partisan civic engagement” venture has been framed.

Here is what we know about “A Starting Point,” Evans’ “secret” (?) “civic engagement” (?) project:

It will be a website

It will feature interviews with politicians from both parties

The project became public when a video Evans sent out to Congress members got leaked (or “leaked”) to CNN. Apparently Evans was inspired to create this platform when he wanted to “get both sides of an issue in a succinct way that he can trust.”

And for some reason, instead of asking policy researchers, or academics, or librarians, or journalists, or anyone else who might actually be a ��non-partisan” expert on various issues, he chose to ask: partisan politicians.

This whole thing appears to have been teased back when Rep. Dan Crenshaw (R-TX)—who infamously was an administrator on a Facebook group that circulated conspiracy theories and white nationalist memes—showed off his Captain America glass eye to Evans. Just so we’re clear on the state of our nation: an American 2-year-old with a genetic condition can’t get a wheelchair covered by his insurance company, but a congressman can have a Captain America glass eye for fun. Sure, Chris Evans, the problem with America is definitely that politicians don’t get enough of a chance to talk about whatever they want.

Here’s the thing: If you can hear the phrase “both sides” in contemporary American discourse and not immediately see red flags, you are in deep trouble, pal.

First of all, there are more than two positions on any given political issue. Democrats do not all agree, nor do Republicans. There are liberals and moderates and conservatives—a whole spectrum of ideology. And the idea that framing every issue as something in which you choose between two parties’ positions will somehow reduce partisanship seems very flawed.

Medicare for All/Universal Healthcare/Single Payer

Open borders

Free college

Universal basic income

Here are some issues that do not fall under that category:

White nationalism

Tracking the menstrual cycles of imprisoned immigrant girls to prevent them from obtaining abortions

Putting immigrant children in cages

Separating immigrant children from their parents and then losing track of their origins so that they can’t be reunited

In fact, most issues would benefit more from fact-checking than from a view of “both sides.” Are claims about the costs incurred by undocumented immigrants accurate? How many children have been lost by the federal government? Would universal healthcare really be prohibitively expensive?

Evans’ video doesn’t give any indication of the “policy issues” or “common questions” to which he is going to get politicians to provide clear information. The only question we do see politicians answer is “what inspired you to get into politics in the first place,” and shockingly, no one says “my massive, ravenous ego” or “an insatiable thirst for power.” Weird.

In the video, Evans tells the politicians, “This is a chance for you to talk about issues that matter to you,” because apparently the many campaign stops, televised appearances, and Sunday morning talk shows are not enough. He tells them he’d like to keep their answers to a minute long and they all laugh about how hard that will be, though anyone who’s watched a political debate knows that politicians can very easily spend a full minute not answering a clear and direct question.

And then, while promoting his website that is supposed to be “no spin,” he tells the politicians he’s offering them “a chance not only to galvanize your base, but you might change some minds.”

How is this “no spin?”

Evans’ fundamental question—“Why isn’t there a place that I can go to hear both sides of an issue in a succinct way that I can trust?”—is truly baffling to me. Why on earth would you trust politicians more than journalists?

There’s a couple telling moments in the video. Evans says, “Right now, a lot of people don’t buy the things they read and hear,” and a politician responds, “there’s a lot of mistrust.” The clip conveniently cuts off before specifying where there’s mistrust, but anyone who has been paying attention over the last couple of years knows where that sentence was going.

“In the media.”

Journalists work very hard every day to hold politicians accountable to the people who pay their salaries. They work really hard to get politicians to answer questions—something that should be considered a politician’s responsibility, part of their job. And very few journalists have celebrity power they can use to persuade politicians to talk to them.

And now here we have Chris Evans telling politicians he’s got a bunch of questions for them, but “if you don’t like any of ‘em, we’ll skip ‘em” and “if you don’t like any of your answers, we can do ‘em over.”

This isn’t accountability. This is simply giving politicians a new platform to push their agendas. And the idea that a website like this is where you’ll get news without “spin” feeds into the misconception that has weakened journalism to a truly frightening degree.

Journalists do not “spin.” They report.

Of course not.......

Political spokespersons “spin.” Politicians “spin.” Pundits “spin.” It feels like this was something we used to understand, and I’m not sure why we don’t anymore.

When I was a news reporter, I didn’t care about changing people’s minds. Changing them from what? To what? Why? I had no stake in that. I cared about informing people, helping people feel less unsure and more savvy, shining a light on the way their government, or their city, worked. I cared about holding power to account. And politicians have power.

So do celebrities. And I’d love to see one of them use their power to do something about the national mistrust that has been sown, pitting Americans against each other. Journalists are no different than anyone else. They have bills to pay. They worry about their rights, about gas prices, about their safety. Wouldn’t dismantling this myth of the nefarious journalist, hell-bent on manipulating the people despite having nothing to gain from doing so, go a lot further in “promoting respectful discourse?”

We have a president who repeatedly calls journalists the enemy of the people. You know who benefits from mistrust in journalism? Politicians. When you doubt the accountability journalists provide, it gives powerful people cover to get away with abusing their power.

Do these people know that Chris Evans is a very adamant and very vocal critic of trump and his supporters?

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bentaylorrogerhardy · 6 years ago

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As The World Crumbles (Chapter Four)

Collaboration with @hystericalrogertaylor

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Word count: 1327

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) have been dating since Bohemian Rhapsody’s release. Everything seemed perfect for the young couple, until the night of the Golden Globes. Russia has bombed the United States, destroying everything and implementing a ruthless dictatorship. With the country in tatters, Ben, (Y/n), Rami, Lucy, Joe, and Gwilym form the Killer Queens, a vigilante group aimed on destroying the new government, and the cold-blooded dictator, Cornelius Vanzant.

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of death, cussing, mentioned use of firearms, mentions of kidnapping

A/N: ohhh shit here we go....

Masterlist

Spotify playlist

“Word on the street says Vanzant is in LA as we speak.” Rami sat down at the table with a muffin for lunch.

You coughed, spitting out a bite of your meal. “He’s where?!” you and Ben said at the same time.

“I don’t know.” Rami shook his head. “He never comes here. He couldn’t possibly be coming for us though.”

“And what makes you so confident?” Ben asked, looking slightly angry.

“They still have no way to figure out where we are,” Rami clarified. “I’m good at hiding our location.”

Ben looked skeptical. “All right…” He slid his plate away from himself, no longer hungry.

You chewed on your fork, still anxious. Vanzant’s threats to your group had been getting worse still. You knew the moment you were found, you’d all be dead. Including your baby. The thought would even wake you up in the middle of the night, clutching your stomach for dear life. You’d even had dreams about yourself dying, along with the baby. But the worst of these nightmares were the ones where Ben died.

It happened in a variety of ways. He’d be shot by Vanzant, or decapitated in public, and in one you were even forced to kill him to save your life. It was awful, and he had no idea. You’d wake him up with your cries, but you didn’t want to tell him what your dreams contained. You were too scared that speaking them aloud would make them come true. You’d just hold him close, afraid letting go would mean losing him.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Joe asked.

Rami smirked. “Well, none of us have actually been out in the sun in a while…”

Ben was the first to object. “Oh, hell no. We are not leaving this hospital.”

“Yeah, Ben’s right,” Lucy said, placing her hand on Rami’s arm. “We shouldn’t leave a place where we’re safe. He could see us, and you know he wants us dead.”

Rami held his hands out. “But this is the perfect opportunity for us to kill him!” he exclaimed. “Think about it. We can take our guns and other weapons, hide in a crowd, and just shoot him. Then, most of our problems will be over.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Lucy said, standing up to leave.

“Babe, c’mon,” Rami said. “You know as well as any of us that an attempt to kill Vanzant should be made if the chance presents itself.”

Lucy turned around, angry as anyone had ever seen her. “So you’re willing to risk the lives of your girlfriend and child to MAYBE kill this guy?! You’re so stupid!”

Joe spat his water all across the table. “Hold on, his girlfriend and whom?”

“Lucy, honey, let’s talk about this!” Rami exclaimed as Lucy stormed away again.

“What child was she talking about?” Gwilym demanded.

Rami sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “This wasn’t supposed to be how you guys found out.”

“Find out what?’ Gwilym responded.

Rami let a few tears slip down his cheeks. “Lucy’s pregnant. Maybe about nine weeks along.”

Everyone’s eyes widened at the news. Ben looked at you, asking a question with his eyes. You shook your head; you weren’t ready to tell everyone else just yet.

Gwilym put his head in his hand, sighing. “What are we going to do with a child? We already can barely provide for ourselves.”

“I know.” Rami wiped his tears away. “We don’t know how it happened. We were so careful.”

“It’ll be okay,” you spoke up. “We can take care of a baby. It’s doable.”

Rami smiled, reaching across the table to hold your hand. “Thank you, (Y/n).” He took a deep breath. “I know it’s going to be difficult, but this baby will be okay. It’ll all end up okay.”

“We’ll just have to kill Vanzant faster,” Joe said.

“Right,” Rami said, chuckling. “That’s what this means.”

Gwilym stood up, holding his arms out to the side. “C’mon everyone, group hug.”

Everyone at the table stood up, forming a circle of mutual support.

---

Ben, Rami, and Gwilym were chosen to leave the hospital and attempt to find and kill Vanzant. Joe was picked to stay back and hold down the fort with the girls.

You stood next to Ben while he looked at the gun he’d been given. “I’ve never owned one of these before,” he admitted. He fiddled around with it, almost twirling it in his fingers and accidentally pointing it at his chest a few times.

You grabbed his hands, forcing him to stop. “You’re going to shoot yourself, be careful.”

“Right, sorry.” He set the gun down on the table next to him.

You sighed, wrapping your arms around his middle. “Please be careful,” you said.

“I will,” he replied, hugging you back.

“You have to come back to me,” you said.

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He tilted your chin up, placing a slow, meaningful kiss on your lips. “We’ll take him down, and then our baby will be able to live in peace.”

“I believe you,” you said. “Just don’t die in the process.”

Ben chuckled. “Don’t worry. We haven’t died yet, I don’t think we can.”

“That the attitude that gets people killed,” you said seriously.

“Okay, okay.” Ben held up his hands in defeat. He kissed you again. “I love you. I’ll be back later.” He picked up his gun and started to follow Rami and Gwilym.

“I love you too,” you said. “We love you,” you whispered, so as no one could hear it.

---

Minutes seemed like hours and hours seemed like days. Lucy had reappeared at that point; no one had been able to find her before the boys left. The three of you had tried several things to distract yourselves, such as I Spy, board games Joe had found somewhere, and sleeping. You were actually in the middle of a peaceful nap when the door to the room slammed open, Ben and Gwilym running in. You shouted, scrambling away from the noise until you realized who it was.

“What happened?” you asked, noticing their panicked expressions. You then noticed that Rami was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Rami?” Lucy voiced your thoughts. “Guys, where is he?!”

Ben was panting, leaning against a wall for support. “They took him. Oh, my God, it all happened so fast--”

Lucy grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “What do you mean?” she demanded.

“They captured him,” Ben said, pulling Lucy’s hands off of him. “We tried to shoot them, but they were too fast.”

“Where is my boyfriend!?” Lucy screamed.

“He’s been kidnapped by Vanzant,” Gwilym reinforced.

Lucy sprinted from the room. Everyone got up and followed her through several hallways until she reached the room where your group filmed your messages. It was also where you kept a television. She quickly turned in on and adjusted the antenna so the only television station could come through. When the picture materialized, your group gasped.

On screen was Vanzant, which wasn’t unusual. But next to him was Rami. He was on his knees, with his hands tied behind his back, and Vanzant had a tight grip on his hair.

“Hello, Americans,” he started. “Some of you may recognize the man next to me. He is the brains behind the Killer Queens, a terrorist group who thinks they know what’s best for you. But they are poisoning you! They’re feeding you lies and propaganda. But, thanks to their incompetence, they led us right to them.” He twisted his fist, causing Rami to groan in pain. “So, no longer shall you fear the mistruths and scary messages of this organization! We’ve cut the head off the snake. Long live the new America!”

Right before the broadcast cut off, Rami began to thrash around, looking towards the camera. “Lucy!” he screamed. “Lucy, I--”

The broadcast cut off, and the screen went black.

Tag list: @florencewelchmybiggod @xquiet-thoughtsx @virtualsheepeat @pietrorunsforme @stella2445 @dovexparker @amostpeculiarmademoisellerp @harrysniallpolish @mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank

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lady-divine-writes · 6 years ago

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Kurtbastian fic - “Dreamscape - Chapter 5″ (Rated NC17)

Summary:

Snarky, conceited Sebastian Smythe is "recruited" by the U. S. Government into a project that uses psychics like himself to enter people's dreams and cure them of their nightmares. The scientists running the study are Dr. Kurt Hummel, himself an empath, who's not at all impressed by Sebastian's abilities, and Dr. Jesse St. James, using this project more to further his own ambition than to actually help people. Kurt hopes his research will help soldiers suffering from PTSD overcome their nightmares so they can better readjust to civilian life, but someone else has an eye on Kurt's project, an interest in using 'dream therapy' for a far more nefarious purpose.

Inspired by the movie 'Dreamscape'

Read on AO3.

(6140 words this chapter)

“Subject: Parapsychology at Stanford Research Institute (SRI) 1. The intent of this memorandum is to briefly describe the OTS - SRI parapsychology project including a listing of the American citizens tested … fucking shit! This is what I hate about places like this,” Sebastian murmurs. “All the Goddammed homework!” He blinks at the white lines and black typeface bleeding into impressionist beetles before his eyes. “This is gonna put me in a coma. I guess that’s how they’re going to get me to succeed with all this dream link nonsense. By knocking me out permanently.”

He squeezes his eyes shut till bursts of color snap behind his lids. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, counts to ten, and opens his eyes again. He adjusts the page in front of his face and tackles the paragraph again from the beginning - the same paragraph he’s read about fifteen times already. But none of it makes sense. He chuckles at the irony of that. “So much for my propensity for medicine, huh, Dr. Hummel? Kurt …” He gives the name a try, lets it roll off his tired tongue in his husky voice, a stone’s throw from his after sex voice.

It sounds good, he has to say that.

Scholastic papers on any topic have never been his cup of tea. Technical jargon and inflated science speak? Pompous and unnecessary. Or maybe he’s struggling with reading this encyclopedia of parapsychology because it’s … Sebastian checks his watch and groans. He thought it was creeping up on midnight, but it’s well past two in the morning.

“Great.” He closes the prospectus and tosses it to the foot of the bed. He wants to get some frickin’ sleep and have this disaster of a day be over already. A couple of hours, that’s all he asks. But he’s never had luck sleeping in places that weren’t his own home, his own bed. As a kid, his parents could take him on the best vacation to the funnest place in the universe, and he’d be miserable because he couldn’t fall asleep in a hotel bed.

Thinking about his apartment doesn’t help – his own spacious room and his nice, cozy bed now under surveillance by the federal government and three hired guns in black suits, probably all named Vinny. He can get as pissed as he wants for Jesse tipping them off (since he’s determined he’s the mastermind behind that set-up) but, truthfully, they were bound to catch up with him sooner or later. He can admit to himself that he was getting too cocky.

Lucky he ended up here instead of prison.

Or wearing cement shoes and sunk to the bottom of Lake Huron.

His mom used to say that people are where they’re meant to be at any given time. Maybe his ending up here has nothing to do with him or the choices he made. Maybe this is fate. This facility isn’t a bump in the road to somewhere else, it’s where he was supposed to end up.

…

Nope. Fuck that.

If he had been thinking with his head and not his dick, bypassed Satan-tana and headed for the car in his vision … he’d still be here. But he might have spent the night with Kurt instead. Would tapping Kurt be an even exchange for what he’s going through now? What he might potentially go through?

Again, one of many questions he might never get the answer to.

Before Kurt left Sebastian to his own devices, he gave him a stack of paperwork to peruse – a detailed breakdown of the project, the outreach programs it currently serves, the trials, and the supporting documentation that goes along with it.

It was Kurt’s first step at keeping his transparency promise.

Sebastian thanked him for it, but dumped it on his bedside table, determined to glean the CliffsNotes version from various unsuspecting brains around the facility. But the document, chock full of classified(ish) information that Kurt gave him willingly, mocked him. Kurt was making good on his part of the bargain.

Sebastian, on the other hand, was being a stubborn ass.

He glances out the door into the hallway. He’d left it open on the off chance Kurt ended up down his way during one of the walks Sebastian suspects he takes at the facility late at night. Sebastian discovered, entirely by accident, leaving the door open formed a rift in the barrier that keeps psychic powers contained. He can’t actively read anyone’s mind, but it allows Sebastian to get an impression of Kurt in the building. But with his walls up, Sebastian has no idea if he’s awake or asleep, out and about or in his office.

If he ever crosses Kurt’s mind.

He probably does now that he’s participating in Kurt’s study, even if it’s in a purely clinical way.

That’s better than nothing.

“Mason …”

A woman’s voice echoes through his ears from the inside, and Sebastian stops breathing. He sits up, looks around, eyes searching out the corners of his room for any place someone could hide, but there’s literally nowhere.

“Hello?” he calls, then waits for a response.

“Mason … be careful! Don’t do anything stupid …”

“Mason?” Sebastian swings his legs over the side of his bed. Isn’t that one of the incest twins?

Sebastian rises from his bed and walks to the door. He leans out into the hallway, looks left and right, but he sees no one. He half expected armed guards stationed outside his room or at the end of the hallway, but it seems deserted. The facility probably relies on cameras to keep their assets from running off.

Or on Kurt’s memory.

And whereas he wants to remain bitter about the whole ‘big brother watching him’ thing, the thought of his vitals, his brain wave patterns, and his heat signature locked inside Kurt’s brain makes that impossible.

“Mason!”

The urgency in that voice forces Sebastian to take a step back. He definitely hears it louder out in the hallway. But it’s not aimed at his brain. It sounds like it’s traveling through the walls. Sebastian presses his palm against the wall and closes his eyes, waiting until the next wave hits. There’s a chance he can pinpoint the voice’s location if he can absorb its impact.

“Mason? Mason, please, be careful. What’s going on? Why can’t you answer me!?”

Sebastian smiles.

Bingo.

With his hand on the wall, the path to her location lights up in his mind. He starts walking, getting as far as he can before the image fades, then stops to wait for another one. Luckily for him, this woman can’t seem to stop talking. Sebastian hurries along the corridor the way he and Kurt came, in the direction of one particular room. A room he saw earlier on his tour.

A room behind a metal door that technicians needed a keycard to enter.

As curious as he is, Sebastian isn’t cool with the idea of hanging out in this hallway, in the open, waiting for someone to come out. If he isn’t on anyone’s radar yet, he should be soon. But as luck would have it, help comes his way, rounding the corner at the far end of the hall. The technician doesn’t see Sebastian duck out of sight, too caught up in a message on his phone. Sebastian watches the man cautiously, waiting to see if he’s heading for the room. He could blow past it, round the end of the hall, and run straight into Sebastian.

No one told Sebastian if there’s a curfew, but he’s certain stalking the halls at two a.m. is frowned upon.

Five feet from the door, the technician stops. He looks up from his phone straight in Sebastian’s direction. Sebastian is sure the man sees him, but he goes back to his phone. He locks his screen and shoves it in his pocket. Then he approaches the door. Sebastian barely blinks as the man pulls his keycard out of his pocket and sticks it in the keypad. With a click, the door unlocks, swinging open by itself. He slips the keycard back into his pocket and walks through the door. Sebastian visualizes the keycard before it disappears from view. He reaches out for it with his mind, holds onto it, and locks it in place. The man walks through the door but his keycard stays behind. After the door swings shuts, Sebastian rushes forward and plucks the card out of the air. He lets go of the breath he’s holding, his heart racing with adrenaline. Buzzing from this victory, he has to consciously calm down before he goes any further.

With his heart pounding in his chest, even an empath with less honed skills than Kurt’s should be able to sense him from a mile away.

Sebastian presses an ear to the door, listens for the sound of footsteps to grow distant, counts to five when they stop entirely, then inserts the keycard again. Sebastian takes a gamble that a safeguard on the keycards could keep them from being used twice in a row, and trigger security to boot, but the door clicks and swings open. A lengthy hallway stretches out before him, lit a blinding white, making the end barely visible. Is there a corner at the end that leads to a different room? Another door? An elevator? With the absence of shadows, he can’t tell. He tiptoes inside, trying not to make his presence known, but the linoleum floor amplifies the sound of his footsteps no matter how softly he treads.

The hallway turns out to be part illusion, and not as long as it seems when he first enters it. It ends at a corner but not a door, funneling directly into a dimly lit control room, reminiscent of the one he saw with Kurt, when he met Sam - the young man who has fantasies of an intimate relationship with Kurt. A wash of jealously rushes over him, especially considering the way Kurt scolded him for not showing respect, and he realizes he doesn’t do a good job at masking his thoughts too well. It’s a wonder Kurt can’t sense that he’s out of his room at this point.

Sebastian sneaks in, sticking close to the wall until he finds an area beside a vertical console away from the available light. From this vantage point, he can see the whole control room in front of him, plus the hall he entered to his right, with no fear that someone will sneak up behind him. Flat screens cover the walls from floor to ceiling, each displaying a series of images from various angles of two people - a young man and a boy, asleep on padded tables. Wires from electrodes attached to their heads lead to a console between them. In this way, they’re connected.

That must be the conduit that links one dreamer to another, Sebastian deduces. He risks a step out in search of the man and boy and finds them at the far end, separated from the control room by a glass partition, the walls surrounding them covered in grey, sound dampening panels. Outside the partition, a row of technicians sit, eyes glued to screens displaying pulse readings, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and other vitals of both boy and man.

Kurt’s voice cuts through Sebastian’s thoughts and pulls his focus.

How did he not know Kurt was in there? Probably a side-effect of the tech they use to inhibit psychic powers. He’d better not be slipping …

“Myron’s vital signs are increasing.”

“What else is new?” Jesse St. James mutters, twirling his pen between his fingers. “Is it serious?

“They’re escalating.”

“That’s normal. He always has a tough time. How’s Mason?”

“Showing signs of extreme agitation.”

“You should have let me go in with him!” a woman pacing behind them scolds, her fingertips pressed to her forehead so hard it creates a halo of white around them. That must be Madison, Sebastian notes. She looks almost exactly like the man lying on the table – the same lightly tanned skin, the same wavy dark hair, the same narrow, steep-sloping nose. Which would make the little boy Myron.

Sebastian looks at Myron’s sleeping face on the closest screen. He’s young, probably around eleven? Twelve? He looks frightened. There’s not an inch of peace on his face. His eyes shift behind his eyelids; his cheeks twitch; his lips, chapped and indented from being bitten, tighten in a grim line. His head jerks back and forth, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

He looks like he’s fighting for his life.

“The point of this exercise is to use the dream link machine and not your powers,” Jesse explains, monotone, as if he’s done it a dozen times already.

“That’s not the way we work! If you want to put someone under with your machine, pick a different guinea pig! We didn’t sign up for this!”

“Blood pressure?” Kurt asks one of the technicians, shifting the focus back to the two people who need it.

“200 over 174 and rising.”

“Pulse?”

“145. 147 now.”

“Brain waves?”

“Erratic.”

Kurt turns on Jesse, a storm brewing in his eyes. “I told you we should have tried a different vessel for his first time out! Myron’s dreams are dangerous! I need to get them out of there!”

“Give him a few more minutes,” Jesse says, waving Kurt’s concerns away. “How’s the boy?”

“Pulse rate extremely rapid and rising fast.”

“Something’s wrong,” Kurt says, half out of his chair. “I’m bringing them out.” He doesn’t wait for permission, launching himself from his seat and heading towards the sleep chamber with Madison on his heels. “Sam! Disconnect them! Quick!”

“Right away, Dr. Hummel!”

Kurt reaches Myron in three strides and shakes him. Curled into the fetal position and hugging his knees, Myron cries out in pain. “Myron? Sweetie? Wake up. I need you to wake up now.” He puts a hand to Myron’s forehead and shuts his eyes. This fascinates Sebastian out of hiding. What is he doing? Searching for Myron’s conscious mind trapped inside the dream? Can he communicate with him that way?

Myron’s eyes fly open. Sebastian can see them through the glass – wide and frantic. They lock on to Sebastian’s and, in an instant, he finds himself inside a dark, spiraling void; a whirlpool spinning so fast, Sebastian feels suspended, with no air left to breathe. He hears a growl to his right, to his left, above him and below him. It’s low and sustained but steadily it grows, vibrating his ribcage, threatening to separate his vertebrae. He doesn’t see the creature so much as get an impression of it - tremendously large; scaly flesh boiling, pulsing, peeling from its bones; long razor sharp claws with skin caught underneath; rows of ragged teeth stained in blood.

Mason’s blood.

Bright lights and sharp noises flash inside his skull and those drawings on Kurt’s desk make all the sense in the world.

His body goes cold, the primitive parts of his brain switching to high alert, overriding reason in their effort to keep him safe. Whatever that thing is, he feels it in his mind and in the room with him, prowling around the shadows; its sinister, toothy grin widening as it prepares to make Sebastian its next meal.

He’d bolt from the room if he wasn’t too scared to move.

Myron whimpers, scrabbling to grab hold of Kurt. He latches onto his arms, fingernails digging in as he squeezes tight.

“It’s alright, Myron,” Kurt whispers, rocking him in his arms. “Everything’s okay. You’re back. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“Mason!” Madison blows past Kurt and races to her brother’s side. “Are you alright? Mason, speak to me, please!”

But Mason doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t blink. Sebastian doesn’t know if he’s breathing. Sam runs his fingers through Mason’s hair, searching for the last of the electrodes, and shakes his head sympathetically.

“What’s going on in that kid’s head?” he asks, peeling the last of the electrodes from Mason’s scalp. “What’s he so scared of?”

Sebastian doesn’t see Madison glare at Sam in disgust because he can’t look away from Mason’s glazed eyes. Mason finally blinks and Sebastian gets another vision - one much crisper, less chaotic, the interpretation of this boy’s nightmare by an adult who is working to comprehend it but not quite there. But even this image, more fleshed out, simpler to conceive, more logical in form, less dictated by emotion, frightens the shit out of Sebastian.

Mason closes his eyes, and the image disappears.

Madison cradles her brother’s head, sniffling as she protectively pets his hair. “You have no idea.”

“Well, I’d say that was a bust,” Jesse groans, getting to his feet and heading for the white hallway. He passes within a foot of Sebastian but doesn’t see him standing there. “I trust you can follow up, Dr. Hummel. I’m tired. I’m heading to bed.”

“Absolutely, Dr. St. James,” Kurt says, but Sebastian hears Dr. St. Sucks! and he snickers in spite of himself. The expression on Kurt’s face changes. He becomes aware, lifting his head and peering into the room. He finds Sebastian in the shadows, stares straight at him. He looks anxious … and exhausted.

‘Go to your room. I’ll meet you there,’ Kurt projects into his mind. Sebastian nods. He heads for the hallway, leaving without question. But Kurt’s command reads like a compulsion, as if Sebastian didn’t have a choice.

And it was strong.

For the first time since meeting Kurt Hummel, Sebastian is wary of him.

***

Knock-knock-knock.

“Sebastian? Are you awake?”

Sebastian is definitely awake. He’s been staring down the door to his room since he returned, and now he’s debating whether he should answer or not. He doesn’t know why he shut his door in the first place. Didn’t he want Kurt to end up in his room? Why the freak out?

The further away from the sleep chamber he got, the clearer he began to think. Kurt didn’t compel him to do anything. What Sebastian read as a compulsion was more of a suggestion – one that Sebastian wasn’t in a frame of mind to reject. He was acting on instinct, frightened to his core. After getting a glimpse into Myron’s mind and the terrors that lurk there, Sebastian felt vulnerable. Kurt’s suggestion tapped into that.

Kurt was taking care of him. Sebastian should be grateful.

Sebastian has to admit, as often as he uses his skills, he abuses them more than he strengthens them. He’s taken for granted that he’s always been the big dog.

Kurt bruised his ego … but unintentionally so. In no way does he read like the kind of man who would take advantage of his abilities.

Kurt knocks again.

“Sebastian? Are you in there? Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Sebastian clears a lump from his throat. “I’m here. And I’m fine.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah. Sure. One minute.” Sebastian hops off the bed but he doesn’t hurry to the door. Unintentional or not, bruised ego or not, he may have underestimated Dr. Kurt Hummel, and that feeling of being wary refuses to go away.

“Man up,” he mumbles to himself. He takes a deep breath and opens the door. There stands Kurt – as fresh and glowing as if he just stepped out of the shower and not a child’s worse nightmare.

“Hey.” He smiles at Sebastian as if he’s picking him up for a first date. It’s a smile that disarms Sebastian, lowers his defenses without any of Kurt’s power applied. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Sebastian says, mildly concerned that tonight’s experience may have left him with only a four word vocabulary. If he says sure one more time, he’s going to punch himself in the throat. “I don’t have much in the way of furniture, but there’s a chair …”

Kurt walks in, bypasses the straight-backed wood chair Sebastian indicated and takes a seat at the end of the bed. “I’m certain you have some questions about what you saw tonight? Concerns?”

“No, not a lot of concerns,” Sebastian admits, closing the door behind him. “I guess I’m more confused. To tell you the truth, I’m excited by the work you do here. It’s intriguing.”

“But …?”

“But …” Sebastian joins Kurt, dropping on the head of the bed “… I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m the right guy for this job. What went on that room … it looked intense.”

“Our sessions with our clients don’t normally play out like that. Believe it or not, Myron is one of our most extreme cases right now.”

“Why? What’s wrong with him?”

Kurt leans one hand on the mattress, a few cracks beginning to show in his cheerful façade. “He’s a troubled little boy with a lot of anxiety. His father was in the military, on his final tour of duty in Afghanistan, terrified of coming home and re-assimilating to civilian life. A week before his discharge, he’d been part of a convoy that came under attack. He and his team defended themselves against an unseen assailant. In the process, he was injured – the kind of injury that gets you sent home even if you’re not already on your way out. During his hospital stay, he found out that their attackers were children. Five of them – the eldest thirteen, the youngest eight. And they’d killed them all.”

“Jesus.” Sebastian’s mind fills with his last memory of Myron – wild eyes searching for protection, clinging to Kurt with hands and nails for dear life, and that whimper of total defeat. How did Myron know? Who would lay that information on a kid? If that’s what Myron is going through, Sebastian can’t begin to imagine how his dad’s doing. “So, what happened to him? Is he in your program, too?”

Kurt’s eyes leave Sebastian’s face. They don’t focus on anything in particular – a space behind Sebastian’s left shoulder that’s as uninteresting as the rest of the room. But what’s left of Kurt’s veneer disappears. “No. The day after he got off the plane, after he was reunited with his wife and son, he put his service revolver in his mouth. Myron walked in on his father when he did it.”

Sebastian tries to swallow, but the weight of that reveal is too much to get down. “And … the monster? With the teeth and the claws and the …?”

Kurt’s smile returns, and with it, hope. “You saw that?”

“Yeah. What’s that all about?”

“Myron doesn’t know how to put into words what exactly that monster is to him, but I have a few theories.”

“And those theories are?”

Kurt surprises Sebastian by reaching out and putting a hand over his … the hand with the scars on the back. “I don’t want to keep you up any longer. I really need you bright eyed and bushy tailed when we start working together tomorrow.”

“I’m pretty much ‘0’ for one when it comes to sleep tonight, so if you want my eyes bright and my tail bushy, please answer my question. Because otherwise my imagination is going to go off on a bender, and I might not sleep again till January.”

Kurt sighs. It takes an unexpected amount of effort. “If I tell you, do you promise you’ll go to sleep?”

“The only real way to ensure that I’m going to get any sleep is to bed down with me, Doc. But yes. I promise.”

Kurt chews the corner of his lip, deliberating over what to tell, how much to tell. “I don’t think Myron believes his father shot himself. Even though he saw it with his own eyes, he can’t. His father was his best friend. His hero. How could this man who meant everything to him do something like that, especially if it meant leaving Myron and his mother alone? So, in order to cope with the pain, he created this monster. He lays his blame on it, believes it killed his father. Or has him trapped somewhere. It seems to switch from nightmare to nightmare. His brain wants to rectify the situation – let Myron come to terms with the truth and grieve. But it’s gone on for so long, this monster has become real to him. It terrorizes him every night in his dreams.”

“That’s … that’s just awful.”

“Yes. It is. Myron needs help. Specialized help. He’s suffered through this far longer than any kid his age should have to, as have hundreds of adults and kids like him.”

“What do I do, Doc?” Sebastian asks, the words slipping out of his mouth before he’s aware of them. “How do I help him?”

With his hand still on Sebastian’s, Kurt squeezes gently. “Get some rest. I want you in peak condition when we start working tomorrow.” Kurt moves his hand away, and when he does, Sebastian longs for it to return.

“There’re those words again, Doc,” Sebastian says, walking Kurt to the door when he makes to leave.

“What words?”

“You want me.”

Kurt stops outside the doorway. He shakes his head, that disarming smile making a comeback. Sebastian humors himself by thinking it’s because of him.

And that Kurt can’t bear to leave just yet.

“I’ll have someone come get you around noon,” Kurt says. “We’ll start with some exercises to sharpen your skills.”

“Ooo, what did you have in mind? Are you going to toss balls at me and make me stop them mid-air? Or do you want me to extinguish fires with my mind?”

“Not exactly. But I’m sure you’ll find them riveting.”

***

“Red,” Sebastian says, blowing a frustrated breath through pinched lips.

“Good.” Kurt nods in approval when Sebastian correctly predicts the color of the circle printed on the card he’s holding. Hidden behind a low partition, Kurt puts that card back inside the pile and chooses another.

Sebastian stares at the partition painted the same dull eggshell color as most everything in this place and does his best to keep from falling asleep.

“Green.”

“Good.”

“Blue.”

“Excellent.”

“Yellow.”

“Magnifique.”

Sebastian perks up. “Parlez-vous francais?”

“Oui. Concentre.”

Sebastian props his elbow on the table and rests his head in his hand. His mind begins to wander. So many questions, they keep piling up. So many thoughts clogged his brain while he slept.

So many nightmares that were and weren’t his.

“Green.”

“No.”

“Purple.”

“No.”

“Brown.”

“I don’t even have any cards that color. You’re not concentrating.”

“Why should I? I’ve done this a thousand times! It’s boring!”

“I know this seems mundane after having used your skills successfully all these years, but this is where we need to start. You need to hone what you’ve got and work up from there. Entering someone else’s dreams is a delicate process. When you enter the dream state, you’ll be interacting with different thought centers, sensitive thought centers. You’ll need to adapt, conform. We don’t want you lobotomizing anyone because you’re too full of yourself to take this seriously.” Kurt’s tone drifts, becomes somber. Without giving Sebastian space to ask what’s up, he lifts another card. When Sebastian doesn’t acknowledge its presence, Kurt clears his throat. Sebastian rolls his eyes. He stares at the wall intently. And then he grins.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Kurt flips his card over, revealing the blue circle on the opposite side. “There are no words on these cards.”

“I mean yes, I think you’re hot. Isn’t that what you were thinking?”

“Not in the slightest.” Kurt puts the card on the bottom of the pile and puts up a new one. “You’re grasping at straws. Stop trying to read my mind.”

“Should I? I mean, the point of this is to link my brain with someone else’s. Isn’t that what I should be practicing? Wouldn’t that be the easiest way to read the cards? By looking through your eyes?”

Kurt looks past the partition, meeting Sebastian’s smirking eyes with his own steely glare. “No.”

***

Hot water covers Sebastian’s shoulders and races down his back, but it does nothing to relax his muscles. He hadn’t recovered from the morning’s right hook to his pride, but he got to spend over two hours getting it stomped again … and at the hands of Kurt Hummel. Sebastian was rusty. He used his skills daily, but mostly to cheat at card games and pick up ass. The things Kurt asked him to do, things that were easy for Sebastian as a teenager, weren’t quite so simple anymore.

He hadn’t wanted to be a part of this project to being with – not another psychic study, not again. But now he worried that Kurt would regret bringing him on board.

Sebastian dunks his head under the spray and lets the water fill his ears. Kurt. He just met the man 24 hours ago and he occupies Sebastian’s every waking thought.

That’s got to be unhealthy.

Sebastian doesn’t know which of his three motivations for staying are the strongest – preservation of life and limb, doing good for others, or getting underneath Kurt’s skin.

Nah, he knows. It’s definitely getting underneath Kurt’s skin. But that’s because Kurt has already gotten underneath his.

Hence the shower. After their training session, Kurt told Sebastian to go back to his room and prepare to give the dream link machine a try. Take a nap, he recommended. Grab a bite to eat. Meditate. He has five hours before Kurt hooks him up to the tech he’s devoted so much of his time to developing. He’ll be covered in electrodes, lying on a leather chair while Kurt watches over him – silently hovering at the outskirts of his mind, monitoring his emotions.

The thought has given him a tremendous hard on for the past thirty minutes.

Thwak!

Thwak-thwak!

Sebastian lifts his head out of the water. The off-kilter twang of a guitar playing outside his bathroom door jolts him to reality. Sebastian turns off the water, throws on a towel, and storms into his bedroom. The only person he can think of who would come into his room without an invitation is Jesse St. James, and Sebastian is in no mood to deal with that asshole’s crap.

“Hey! Douche canoe! How the fuck …?” Sebastian stops short when he sees the man sitting on the end of his bed, hunched over his guitar, picking out a tune.

“Oof!” The man grimaces when he plucks another sour string. “When’s the last time you got this thing tuned? You could shatter glass with some of these notes.”

Sebastian swears he’s too tired for this shit - for this intruder messing with his things, and for his eyes playing tricks on him. Because the man he’s seeing, sitting on his bed, is a ghost. He has to be. There’s no way he can be real. Sebastian rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes to erase him from his corneas, but he doesn’t go away.

Holy and shit! It’s actually him.

“Jesus Christ! Blaine Motherfucking Anderson!” Sebastian chuckles. “Well, I’ll be. How long’s it been?”

Blaine scoffs. He doesn’t look up from the instrument on his knee. “Not long enough. You still play?”

“Not really.” Sebastian edges forward as Blaine attempts to tune the guitar. He never expected to see Blaine Anderson in his room of all people, and even if he had, this isn’t the stiff and chilly reception he expected to receive. Suddenly, he has an overwhelming urge to get Blaine out of his room. “It’s more of a relic. The facility brought it over when they grabbed some stuff from my apartment. I guess they thought it was important to me or something.”

“Fascinating.” Blaine abandons his attempts at tuning, stands up and shelves the guitar.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asks, aware that he’s confronting this man wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. “I don’t remember you being a part of the psychic skills project back in high school.”

“They were pretty elitist back then - not just looking for talent, but for kids with parents that could fork over thousands in donations. At the time we were tested, I was marked at having half of your psychic ability, but my trust fund was only a third the size of yours. But things change.”

“I guess they do.” And in the case of Blaine Anderson, boy, do they ever! He looks every inch the same dapper young man Sebastian remembers from Dalton. Sebastian even had a minor crush on him at the time. But there’s something odd about him. Wrong. “Hey, why don’t I throw on some clothes and we can go grab a pizza? I hear there’s a fairly decent place here on campus. We could shoot the shit, reminisce about the old days back at Dalton.”

“Why?” Aside from that response, Blaine disregards him, taking a slow, unsolicited tour of Sebastian’s room that makes his hair stand on end. Admittedly, Sebastian doesn’t have much in the way of stuff. He has his clothes and shoes, his toiletries, and a handful of books. But he also has the pictures from his walls. And Blaine examining them makes Sebastian uncomfortable.

“Isn’t that what people usually do when they bump into an old friend?”

“Were we friends?”

“I don’t know. Were we?”

“As I remember it, the great Sebastian Smythe was pretty much out for himself at Dalton. I wasn’t. I tried to be the good guy – everyone’s best bud. But that didn’t get me where I wanted, where I deserve to be. So I took a page from your playbook and guess what? I’m a success. This might not be Carnegie Hall or Broadway, but I’m a rock star here, and I did it by looking out for the only three people in the world I care about - me, myself, and I.”

Are you sure it’s not your sparkling personality? “What do you mean rock star?”

“That dream link stuff? I’m the only one here who can do it. I’ve got it on lock. That’s why Dr. St. James gives me free reign of this place.”

“Oh yeah? What about The Wonder Twins?”

“They’re not around anymore.”

“Why? What happened?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Obviously not if I’m asking you.”

Blaine smiles at Sebastian’s growing irritation with the warmth of a venomous snake. “They had to carry Mason away in a basket.” He pauses for dramatic effect, letting that one sink in. When Sebastian’s face drops in shock, he continues. “Yeah. Seems his ordeal in Myron’s dream fried his brain. He’s completely catatonic. And his sister … well, his sister is pretty much useless without him. She didn’t have any real skill anyway. Astral projection? I mean, what use is that?”

Sebastian grits his teeth, seething over Blaine’s remark about Madison. He can still feel her in his head, her constant begging and pleading with her brother a scar on his subconscious. But he plays it cool. Blaine is trying to rile him up. Sebastian refuses to give him the satisfaction. “Dr. Hummel seems to think I can do it.”

“I had a one-on-one training session with Kurt this morning …” Blaine drops Kurt’s name in a way that skewers Sebastian straight to the bone. “He tells me you want to help Myron. That’s sweet. I, for one, don’t give a shit about that kid and his daddy issues, but it’s nice that someone does.”

Daddy issues, huh? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. “You’re a regular humanitarian, aren’t you, Blaine?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I’m going to do you a solid, for old time’s sake. Warbler to Warbler.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“I’m going to go down to the lab right now and order up your basket.” Blaine backs away, heading towards Sebastian’s door, smile growing so wide it splits his face in two. Like the monster in Myron’s nightmare. “You should lock your door, you know,” he says, jiggling the knob. “You wouldn’t want just anyone walking in here. Never know who’s around, day and night. Oh, and about Dr. Hummel … you may wanna back off with the flirting and the inappropriate remarks. You’re only embarrassing yourself.”

“You think so?” Sebastian says, a searing hatred roiling in his stomach and shooting up his neck.

“You’re punching way above your pay grade. You know it … and he knows it.” Blaine winks and clicks his tongue – a habit from back in high school Sebastian found conceited … and obnoxious. Apparently some things don’t change. “See ya around, Smythe. It’s been a blast seeing you again.”

“Likewise,” Sebastian says as he watches Blaine Anderson slip out his door and disappear into the hallway.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

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princesssarcastia · 6 years ago

Text

Tony, Pepper, Civil War: a fic

This is called “fix-it pepperony” in the depths of my fic folder. Hey, y’all, I’m like five years late to this party, but here you go. Actually, I was 100% sure this was garbage up until 20 minutes ago when I opened it, read it, thought “holy shit who wrote this” “Wait I wrote this” “I want moreee of this where is the rest of it” and then somehow?? actually found the motivation to finish it?? sort of????

so. um. here. warning for actual adults actually cursing. now on ao3

Tony pulls out his phone and sighs. Of course he’d been expecting the call, but with the way everything was going right now… it was taking all he had to not just jump into the suit and fly straight to her.

He figures they should get something straight right off the bat. “It totally wasn’t my fault, I swear. This whole snafu can be laid directly on Capcicle’s doorstep– well, his and his boyfriend’s.”

“I know, Tony.” She says wryly.

Tony shifts in his chair. “Yeah, yeah, of course you knew. There was no way this was my fault.”

Her voice turns disbelieving. “They’re not really dating, are they? I always thought he and Agent Carter–”

“Hey, you know some of the stuff my Dad got up to back then, maybe those three had something worked out.”

“Tony!” She says, outraged, but with that laughing undertone that meant he was in the clear. Fun Fact: Pepper’s sense of humor was almost as dirty as his. Almost.

There’s a long, awkward pause. There’s been a lot of those, lately, hence the. You know. Taking a break bit. It’s not the end, he knows. They’d made that clear when she left. It isn’t even the main reason she left. But god, does he miss her every second she’s gone.

“Are you alright?” She asks hesitantly, like she’d afraid of the answer. Or afraid that he won’t give her one.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Royally pissed off, but fine. You?”

Pepper ignores the question. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Tony sighs. “Nothing, its just– sometimes I wish Rogers would wake up and smell the roses. He thinks that this, this whole accords thing is something he can wave his magic patriotic stick at, maybe spout something about freedom and the American way, and just make the whole thing disappear.”

“Is he really kicking up that much of a fuss? I thought you’d been talking with the UN about this, that that was the whole reason they even considered the Accords in the first place.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, it turns out Captain Righteousness doesn’t believe in compromise; it’s his way or the highway. He’s probably out there now trying to spirit Barnes away before the big bad government can bring him in for questioning.”

“Well,” Pepper says, her soft smile audible (he can picture the exact face she’s making, when her voice sounds like that. God, when did he become such a sap), “I’m sure you’ll find a way to fix it. You always do.”

“Ha, right.” Something beeps to his left, and he waves his hand. Holy shit, whada ya know. Rogers got arrested. And Barnes. And his little duckling. And… the king of Wakanda? Really? Jesus, Steve attracted trouble like… well, like he did. “Listen, we just found Barnes. Can I…” and he hesitates, suddenly feeling every mile between them, literal and metaphorical.

Tony clears his throat. “So, I’ll call you later?” Better. Making statements was always better than asking questions. Asking questions was like sitting there with your hand out waiting for someone to hand you something.

“Yes,” she says. “Please.” I miss you he wants to say, but he shouldn’t push her, shouldn’t–

“I miss you, Tony. So much.” She says, and god she’s just the perfect woman, isn’t she? Taking the words right out of his mouth.

“I miss you too, Pep.” He pauses for a beat, then smirks. “Will that be all, Miss Potts?”

She laughs, and he can picture that too: her head thrown back, eyes crinkling, all throat and teeth. “That will be all, Mr. Stark.” Then she hangs up.

They never really say I love you; it’s too much like goodbye.

And neither of them were ever any good at those. Case in point: New York.

Tony stared blankly at the screens in front of him, feeding him live stream to the cell they were preparing for Barnes and the trucks transporting the four musketeers back to base. His eyes focus in on Rogers for a minute, and he shakes his head.

It was no wonder his dad never shut up about the guy: they were both ginormous assholes.

Tony gingerly sits down in a chair, feeling every single hit he’d taken today. Jesus, this day couldn’t get any worse. Wait, no, of course it could. Lesson one of being Tony Stark: there is no rock bottom. You just keep sinking and sinking and sinking until you aren’t sure which direction is up anymore.

God, this is all his fault. He should have pushed for more autonomy in the accords, maybe then the rest of them would have signed. Or built a better cell for Barnes, so he didn’t escape. He should have flown faster when Rhodey was…was…

He could have done better. He should have done better.

“This is not your fault, Tony.”

Tony’s head jerked up, and dear god he has never been happier to see someone in his life. Well, that time Rhodey showed up in the middle of the desert probably tops this. Second best. But there was that time in… okay, so, top ten?

Whatever. He’s happy to see her. That’s all.

“Pep, hon, what are you–”

“This isn’t. your. Fault.” Pepper sits down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, then pulls him into a hug. He puts his arms around her and buries his face in her neck.

“I know that look,” she murmurs. “So I want you to repeat after me: This isn’t my fault.”

“I know it isn’t your fault, Pepper.”

She pulls back and gives him a Look. He holds her gaze for a moment, but then his falls to the floor. “It isn’t my fault.”

“What happened to Rhodey wasn’t anybody’s fault. Nobody meant for that to happen, I can’t believe that.” Her gaze turned darker. “As for the rest of this shit-show, well. I may be biased but it seems like ‘Captain Righteousness’ had more than his fair share to do with that.”

Tony aimed for a smile, but it was a little too watery to pass inspection. “Well, if we’re being fair, General Ross probably didn’t help.”

She smiled at him for a moment, but then it fell. Time for the serious talk, then. “What are the doctors saying about Rhodey?”

Tony shifted in his seat, leaning on his knees and staring at the floor. “He,” Tony cleared his throat. “He hasn’t woken up yet. But the Doc says if–once he does, they’ll have a better handle on things. They need to evaluate his coordination, reaction times, mobility.”

Pepper rubbed his back soothingly. “Hey, that’s good, right?” Tony nodded, still staring at the floor. “Are they letting in anyone to see him?”

“Not yet. Another hour, maybe.” He paused for a moment, then turned to look at her. “Pepper, what are you doing here?” Are you going to stay, is what he means, but he’s not going to say that. It’s okay, though, because Pepper’s always been fluent in Tony.

She gave him a wry smile. “Not that you’re not happy to see me, right?” He snorted.

It was her turn to look at her feet. “I just…you know why I left.” Of course he does, but he has a feeling she wants to editorialize a bit. “It was too much, being in New York. I needed space, especially if I’m trying to get a handle on,” She gestures to herself, “All of this. Just because I’m not going to blow up doesn’t mean I’m not still dangerous.”

“But?” He prompts her.

“But, my control is as good as it’s going to get on my own. And I’m not going to learn how to live with all of this,” She gestures to him, “by sitting in Malibu by myself.”

“You just gestured to all of me,” Tony quips, and she smacks his arm playfully. “Hey, did you work out how to breathe fire yet? Rhodey said Killian could breathe fire.”

She gave him an exasperated glare, but there was a smirk playing at her lips.

“Oh, you did!” He crows. “This is amazing. My girlfriend can breathe fire!” She laughs at him, but he can tell she’s just as giddy about this as he is.

“Hey, how’s that fire-proof boardroom line working out for you?” He asks.

“Surprisingly fire proof. Much less expensive than burning through my normal clothes every time one of the board members pissed me off.”

“So, about every five minutes. I vaguely remember what they were like.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, just about. But I haven’t burned through a single one of the outfits you made me, much to the board’s disappointment.”

Tony shudders. “Ugh. Don’t even– why would you put that picture in my head, Potts?”

“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Stark? I was just saying they’d use any ammunition they could get their hands on to file an injunction against me.” Pepper gave him a prim magnanimous look, but he knew she was totally laughing at him on the inside.

“Mr. Stark?” A voice sounded from over his shoulder and he turned to see Doctor Whats-his-face standing there. Whatever, his name didn’t matter; he was the best: that was what mattered.

“Colonel Rhodes can receive visitors now.” The doctor informed them.

Tony let out a slow breath, then stood up, offering a hand to Pepper, who asked, “Is he awake yet?”

“No, but it should be any minute now. While the damage to his spinal cord was substantial, we haven’t found anything that would indicate brain damage, short or long term. It looks like the initial blast was closer to the base of his spine, and while the fall worsened his condition exponentially, your helmet was able to protect his cranium from any significant impairment it would have received from the fall.”

Tony nodded shortly, and the doctor took that as the dismissal it was and turned away. He and Pepper made their way to Rhodey’s room.

He looked like he was sleeping. Just lying there. Looked about five years younger, too. Between the air force and, well, Tony, he had more than his fair share of grey hairs. But now, he was…peaceful.

Wasn’t really a good look for him, in Tony’s opinion. Much better with all those laugh lines crinkling around his eyes.

Pepper dragged her chair from the wall up alongside Rhodey, and Tony sat in the chair opposite her.

“When do you leave? You must have meetings or something, while you’re in town.”

Pepper gave him that look that meant he was being an idiot and should just say what he meant to. “My assistant is pushing all of my meetings back a week or so. I may have some calls, later, but I’m staying right here, Tony.”

He nodded, and then leaned back in his chair. And the only noises were the steady beeps of Rhodey’s monitors and all of them breathing, together.

“You’re not coming with me, that’s final!” As soon as the words came out of his mouth he winced slightly. Okay, bad call, let’s maybe not piss off your Extremis carrying girlfriend.

“Oh, that’s final, is it? Well then, I guess I’ll just head home, since you’re making all the decisions now. Maybe I should sign the company back over to you while I’m at it!”

Tony rubbed his eyes. “Pep, that’s not what I meant. I just can’t take you with me! You know I can’t.”

Pepper crossed her arms. “I’m not letting you go there alone, Tony. It’s General Ross; can you honestly tell me you trust him? Especially after everything he’s done so far?”

He sighed. “No, of course not. He’s been chasing after Bruce for years, I’m sure this is exactly what he wanted.” Tony paused for a moment. “Look, Pep, there’s a reason they didn’t call you in with the rest of us to discuss the Accords. Ross and the UN still have no idea about Extremis. If you come with me–” He cuts himself off, looks away.

“They wouldn’t let you onboard the RAFT anyway. Not without making you sign. And that’s assuming they don’t arrest us both on the spot for lying about you to their faces.”

She ran a hand over her face. “Well then take Vision with you. They can’t object to that, can they?”

He scoffed. “Vision isn’t all that great about the whole lying thing yet. And besides, if I show up with him the others’ll call foul and clam up.”

“Why are you so determined to do this alone? Not everything is your responsibility, Tony! God, this is exactly why–” Pepper bit off the rest of her sentence and took a deep breath. Tony glanced down at her hands, now glowing faintly. He waited a moment for it to fade, then took her hands in his.

“Exactly why we decided to take a break, right?” She gave him a weary look. “No, I know. It’s my stupid hero complex, hundred percent.”

“Guilt complex, maybe,” she said, stepping towards him. “Alright, fine. Going with you to the RAFT is out, but what about after? When you find out where Steve went?”

Tony sighed, then leaned forward until his forehead was resting on her shoulder. “You do that, you’re gonna have to wear the suit I made you. It’s the only thing fast enough to keep up.”

She made a noise of protest and he shifted until his face was pushing against her neck. “C’mon, honey, work with me here. Compromise, remember?”

It was her turn to sigh. “Compromise,” she agreed. “Wait a second– you mean you have the suit with you? I thought it was still in New York?”

He froze. “Oh, uh– well. That’s… not wrong. The Rescue armor is in New York.”

Her hands pushed at his shoulders until he moved away. “You mean you made me more than one? After I specificallysaid I didn’t–”

“Hey, look, good I did, right? And besides, it’s just the suitcase, the other ones are still…” He trailed off. Shit, hadn’t meant for that bit slip out.

She gave him a deadpan look. “Others. Look, no, no listen,” she said over his protests, “you have to go to the RAFT now if you want to catch up to them. But we will definitely be discussing this later, understand?”

Tony nodded. “Square deal. Sorry. So, I’ll– call you when one of them coughs up Rogers.”

“You’d better, Tony, or I swear to god–“

He leans in and kisses her for a long moment, trying to press all of his feelings into it. Regret; worry; love. “Don’t sweat it, Pepper. I know better than to push my luck.”

“Mmm, I must’ve imagined the last ten years or so, then.”

“Yeah, must’ve.”

Just the suitcase, her ass. This suit was nothing like the one he’d brought with him to Monte Carlo.

“Boss just sent the coordinates, ma’am, and it looks like you were right.”

Pepper sighs. “Wonderful. If only Tony or Steve had stopped to talk to one another beforehand.” She shifts her weight and the suit cuts through the air, turning to line up with the flight path FRIDAY has laid out for her on her screen.

The material making it up was like nothing Pepper had ever seen. Some kind of metal, for sure, but so much lighter than Tony’s. She could carry it on her own without the hydraulics and barely break a sweat. Or would have been able to, if not for the flight suit.

Completely black, made of another material she can’t identify. It almost seems like the Kevlar-knockoff R&D has been working on for months now. “Heat-resistant model; just out of prototype phase, ma’am,” FRIDAY tells her when she asks. “You’re the first person to combat test it.”

When she has FRIDAY run systems checks, there are almost no weapons; the only thing she has besides the repulsors are lasers, and the ridiculously small shoulder mounts Tony used to blow up his stolen tech. Which, she thinks, probably accounts for the weight. And the way the hands and forearms of the suit fold back neatly, leaving her hands free to burn; the only weapon she’ll every need, for the rest of her life.

“Boss just reached the compound. It looks like the Captain and Barnes are already there.”

Pepper hummed in acknowledgement. “What’s my ETA?”

“About twenty minutes.”

Flying’s the weirdest sensation Pepper’s ever felt. Sometimes the hum of the reactor and the repulsors fades into the background until her mind tricks her into thinking she’s in a car, on a plane; and then she glances down again.

The first time he persuaded her to try a suit had been terrifying. Knowing she would be safe and feeling safe were two different things. But after all this time, after agreeing to the Rescue armor and testing the prototypes he built for her–Pepper understands why Tony doesn’t want to give up being Iron Man. Being up here in the clouds, being able to fly, is…beautiful.

“Ma’am,” FRIDAY says, and Pepper can hear an edge of unease in her modulated voice.

“What’s happened?” Pepper asks, feeling something like dread start to pool in her stomach.

“They just found Zemo.”

“Has he woken up the other soldiers yet?” Were we too late?

“No. He’s killed them all.” Pepper used to marvel at the emotion in JARVIS’s voice, but he never once sounded as young as FRIDAY does right now.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she feels her mind start to flit through possibilities. What else could he have wanted, if not the super soldiers? “Patch me through to Tony, I want to know what’s going on.”

“Boss’s got his helmet off, so all I’ve got is audio.”

A voice with a Slavic accent filters through her helmet. This must be Colonel Zemo. “–blew it to hell. No, I’m here because I made a promise.”

“You lost someone.”

“I lost everyone. And so will you.” Silence, and Pepper feels something like panic rise in her throat. What’s going on? “An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again, but one which crumbles from within? That’s dead…forever.”

Another stretch of silence, then: “I know that road. What is this?” Tony.

“Tony,” Pepper says urgently, “What’s going on? What road?”

FRIDAY answers her instead. “I think he’s playing some kind of video. The whole base is on a closed circuit, I can’t get ahold of the visual.”

“Is there any audio?”

“No. But there was a date: December 16th, 1991.”

Everything slides sideways. “Why do I know that…date.” That’s when Tony’s parents died. Why would there be– unless–she vaguely hears Steve’s voice come through again, but none of it registers until–

“Boss has engaged Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers!”

–unless it hadn’t been a car accident. Unless HYDRA had…

“FRIDAY, how long?” Pepper says urgently.

“Six minutes, ma’am. Boss is–” she cuts out for a moment, “taking some serious punishment. He keeps going after Barnes, but Captain Rogers is interfering.”

“Tony!” She says.

“I don’t think he can hear you,” FRIDAY says.

“Divert all power to the thrusters.”

He feels Barnes dig his fingers into the arc reactor and something snaps

You remember this one, right? There are so many applications for short-term paralysis.

One last golden egg to give

and then Barnes is lying on the ground across the room. Tony can barely hear anything over the roaring in his ears. Steve is in front of him with the shield again, landing hit after hit after hit until his head starts to vibrate. He thinks Pepper might be– but his mom–his mom–Barnes had–

“You can’t beat him hand to hand!” FRIDAY cuts through the noise in his head. “Back-up will be there in a minute, just–”

“Analyze his fight pattern,” He says.

“Scanning.” His head jerks back but he barely feels it. “Countermeasures ready.”

Barnes killed his mom, and Steve– “Let’s kick his ass.” He catches the shield, beats him back across the room. Use the repulsors to put more force behind his hits; go for his legs.

He tosses Steve into the corner but– “I can do this all day.”

“Thirty seconds!” FRIDAY says. Thirty seconds to– Barnes has his leg–he killed my mom–

Steve picks him up and throws his across the room; turnabout. He climbs on top of Tony and suddenly all he can see is Obi, pulling his heart out of his chest.

Too bad you had to involve Pepper in this. I would have preferred that she–

Pepper dives towards the opening FRIDAY is directing her to, barely registering two figures standing on top of the compound. She can hear metal ringing as she comes up on the fight.

As she speeds towards them she catches sight of Steve, straddling Tony with his shield raised above his head.

“Tony!” she screams, and heat rushes through her. Her vision goes red. Without slowing down, she brings her arm in front of and flicks her wrist, pulling back the armor. Extremis is coming to life beneath her skin, so strongly it’s hard to think for a moment.

The impact jars her head, but she doesn’t care. Steve goes flying into the concrete wall behind him, landing heavily next to Sergeant Barnes.

“Ma’am, your internal body temperature is reaching critical levels,” FRIDAY says urgently. “I have to remove the suit, or you’ll start to melt the wiring.”

“Do whatever you have to,” Pepper says harshly, and tries to calm her breathing but she can’t. FRIDAY peels the armor off of her, leaving her standing there, glowing. Her hand is still punched through Captain Roger’s shield. Molten metal slowly runs down the side of it, marring the red and blue stripes.

The now-ruined weapon clangs against the ground as she turns back to Tony. He’s lying on the ground, shaking, his eyes wide.

He doesn’t say a word when she drops down next to him, close enough that the heat rolling off of her is scalding. Pepper wants to reach out to him, but she feels like fire and knows if she does he’ll burn with her. So she breathes, slowly; watches Tony start to match her rhythm. His trembling starts to fade bit by bit until their chests rise and fall in sync.

They learned these exercises together after Miami.

Pepper hears movement behind her and calls, “FRIDAY,” glancing back for a moment to see her suit re-form and move in between them, planting a foot on the half-melted shield.

When the air around her feels biting, like a Russian winter should, she goes up on her heels into a crouch and reaches a hand out to Tony. After a moment he takes it, and she pulls him up with her.

“Back-up is here, Boss,” FRIDAY calls from her suit. Tony smiles fleetingly.

“No fire-breathing, huh?” His voice is rough with grief and anger, and she can tell he’s just going through the motions.

“I wanted my first time to be special,” she says, setting up an easy one for him, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, his eyes are drawn to the pair of super soldiers sitting under FRIDAY’s watchful eye. And shoulder rockets.

He flexes his fingers, still watching them with a devastated look in his eyes. She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Tony…” Pepper trails off. There really isn’t–what can she even say?

“Are you going to stop me?” He asks quietly.

Pepper looks into his eyes for a long moment. “No,” she says finally.

He jerks his head towards her, and she hears his breath catch. “I don’t think I would have to, anyway,” she adds, and watches his shoulders slump.

Captain Rogers slowly sits up behind them and Tony twitches, his eyes widening. Pepper feels heat bloom somewhere in her chest and takes a deep breath to dissipate it. Barnes is still lying on the floor, clutching the remains of his arm.

“Where’s Zemo?”

“He’s right above us, ma’am,” FRIDAY says. “King T’Challa is up there with him.”

Pepper stares down the Captain. “Are we done here?” she asks lowly.

He lifts his chin up. “I’m not letting you put him in a prison.”

“Prison was never on the table until you decided to blow off one hundred and seventeen countries like they were nothing.” He opens his mouth and she cuts him off. “No, I signed off on the requisition form for BARF personally, like I do for all proprietary Stark Industries patents. There were resources to help him! After the cluster-fuck that was Clint’s brain after New York, did you really think there wouldn’t be clauses for mind control in the Accords?”

He looks surprised, briefly, and she throws her hands up. “Did you even read all the way through them before deciding to shit all over thirteen months’ worth of diplomatic negotiations?”

Her voice is getting louder and louder, and her hands are warming up again, but Tony doesn’t let go; just squeezes her hand tighter. “Pep,” he says quietly, and she turns to look at him.

Looks into his eyes, and…fine. Okay. She sighs and reaches out slowly, running a hand over his face. I got you, she doesn’t say, and this time the smile doesn’t touch his mouth, but his eyes. He nods to the suit; got you first.

FRIDAY pipes up. “King T’Challa is still on the roof, along with the fugitive Zemo.”

Tony throws an arm over her shoulders, and the dents in the suit are digging into her, but she leans into it. “Let’s go see if Panthro wants to make a trade. I’m gonna need an excuse for violating Russian airspace.”

“Do your repulsors still work?” She asks, not willing to leave the super soldiers down here alone.

“Yeah; don’t worry, I’ll give you a lift up there.” Something passes over Ste-Roger’s face when he hears that. Regret, maybe. Surprise. Pain. Pepper doesn’t care enough to think about it.

Instead, she reaches down and picks up the shield, and moves to cling to Tony’s back.

“One of the boots is fried, though, so I might need you to give me a ride back to the counterterrorism center.”

King T’Challa is poised, and poignant. Tony is a fucking mess, but he has it together enough to talk his way into this one. Zemo is unconscious on the ground, with a ruined handgun next to him. There’s a story there, but he doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll escort Zemo back to Germany if you’ll take Rogers and Barnes. I’m thinking you’re more equipped to contain them at the moment, your highness.”

Pepper crosses her arms against the chill. “What about the dead super soldiers? We can’t just leave them here, and if Ross gets his hand on them–“

“Yeah, party like it’s 2008 at Culver University.”

T’Challa regards Pepper for a moment, and Tony suddenly knows what’s about to happen.

“Miss Potts, I do not remember your name on the list on enhanced individuals during negotiations.” Tony resist the urge to close his eyes. Yep. That’s the way this is going to go.

She cuts a look at him and he shrugs carelessly. Whatever gets them home. “Because I’m not an enhanced individual,” she says, and suddenly that shield, that fucking shield, is melting in her hands, dripping into the snow at her feet.

He’s never loved anyone more in his entire life.

The King of Wakanda looks at them both and nods. “I will ensure their bodies receive a proper burial.” And that Rogers and Barnes get away clean, he thinks exhaustedly.

Pepper reaches out a hand and T’Challa takes it effortlessly, fearlessly. In another life, he thinks, watching them shake hands, I could have liked this man. But for now–

“It was an honor to meet you, your Majesty. Allow me to express my deepest sympathy on behalf of Stark Industries.”

–he’s just…tired.

—

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yallreddieforthis · 7 years ago

Text

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Richie

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language)

Words: 2.7k

Pre-relationship. Movie canon-compliant but not book. Also posted on AO3

It seems impossible that a person can be both that shitty and the shit at the same time but like...it’s Richie. And since Richie doesn’t give a single fuck about following any kind of rules, Eddie guesses the ones that govern Eddie’s emotions don’t apply to him either. Greaaaat.

Sometimes Eddie can't believe it's Richie.

Maybe even most of the time, like when everything out of his mouth is your mom and my wang and it's just words, it's not even funny, and Eddie can only tune him out or try to talk over him. Richie cannot shut the fuck up for one goddamn second. And it's not even like Eddie can pin it to anything specific—like, oh, Richie talks more when he's angry or nervous or excited—because he does it when he's every one of those things and any other thing besides. The tone may change—the subject matter even—but the talking. Never. Stops.

Eddie doesn’t really consider himself a beacon of cultural knowledge, but he does own a TV. So he at least has a vague idea of what a British person might sound like, which is more than he can say for Richie. Richie also owns a TV, and yet his British Guy impression is so god-awful that Eddie has to assume he’s basing it on someone’s description of a fever dream they once had about a London street urchin from the eighteen hundreds. This only applies to the actual words though, not the pronunciation—which is pretty much indistinguishable from just Richie being Richie—and that’s across the board for all the voices, not just the British Guy. For someone who loves imitating other people as much as Richie does, it’s unbelievable how remarkably all his Guys sound like they’re from Derry, Maine. Because shouting out mangled phrases he half-remembers from the time he watched Mary Poppins six years ago—in the most American voice imaginable—is still somehow Richie’s interpretation of a British accent.

That isn’t even the worst part of The Voices though. The worst part is that Richie seems to have a sixth sense that alerts him to the exact moment at which it would most infuriate Eddie for him to do one, and invariably it’s as if a little light goes off in the least-developed part of his brain that says Time To Be Italian! (or Southern, or German—he has a constantly expanding, but not noticeably improving, repertoire) and it’s like he just has to do it right then. Sometimes it makes Eddie want to scream at him. Sometimes Eddie does scream at him. But screaming makes no difference; Eddie knows perfectly well that Richie will absolutely do it again the second the urge strikes him, no matter how inappropriate the timing or what Eddie does in reaction.

He's fucking gross too. Not necessarily grosser than the rest of them, but he certainly subscribes to the teenage boy brand of hygiene that dictates that he only really has to shower when Eddie finally shoves him away with a you smell like a sweaty nutsack. Of course then Richie inches closer and it's all how would you know, huh? and Eddie has to be like because I have nuts too, dipshit, and if you never wash them you'll—

And then all his warnings about bacteria and fungal infections are drowned out in the your mom and my wang and vague, half-heard rumors Richie repeats about people from school that Eddie knows aren't true, and he's pretty sure Richie doesn't even believe himself. Fuck him and his terrible, nasty-ass jokes.

Some days he thinks Richie purposely doesn't shower specifically so that he can torment Eddie with his unbearable boy stank. Or how he'll like, step in dog shit and just sort of shrug and wipe the sole of his shoe in the grass and then keep going with whatever he was doing like he's not literally tracking shit everywhere. If Eddie were to step in dog shit—which he wouldn't because he watches where he's going like a sane person—it would bring his entire day to a screeching halt. He gets that he's in the minority when it comes to these kinds of things, but he doesn't get why.

And then Richie has the audacity to suggest that Eddie's just as bad as the rest of them—when he says things like you’re convinced your shit doesn't stink, or it’s the smell of your own breath wafting back in your face—like he thinks Eddie is kind of gross too. Which shouldn't bother him, but it does. Somewhere very, very deep down in his gut he has a nagging suspicion as to why that might possibly be, but he's hell-bent on ignoring it at least until the inevitable destruction of the planet Earth, if not even longer. And that’s going like...pretty well for him. Reasonably well. Maybe a little less well than it used to be, but he's almost fourteen now and he thinks he should probably have a solid handle on the whole thing within the next couple of years.

But even if Richie wasn't either of those things—annoying, disgusting—there's nothing really exceptional that he is. It's not like he's a genius; the gigantic, goofy glasses make him look smarter than he actually is, and he gives as few shits about school as he does about anything else. Eddie is sure that Mrs. Tozier has never been to a parent-teacher conference where she didn’t hear the phrase if he only applied himself, and he’s equally sure that every one of the teachers who said it knew that they were wasting their breath. If Mrs. Tozier—or anyone else—stood even the slightest chance of motivating Richie to care about pre-algebra, there would have been upward mobility in his GPA long before now. Eddie has to assume he does at least some homework—if for no other reason than because he hasn’t been held back yet—but as far as he can tell, Richie bent over a textbook at home is a sight as yet unwitnessed by mankind.

Richie’s not athletic either—by any definition of the word—at least not until they decide to make Competitive Talking an Olympic sport. He’s really good on his bike, but that’s a skill he developed out of practicality because the alternative is being stuck walking all over Derry, and it’s not like being able to ride a bike is something to brag about because even Eddie can do that. But Richie’s not a fast runner. He can’t do a push-up unless it’s the kind that only count as push-ups when girls do them, knees on the ground. He can’t even throw a spitball into a trash can from three feet away (his performance in the Rock War against Bowers and his goons was a crazy, adrenaline-fueled exception)—and like, okay, the bad aim can probably be chalked up to his horrendous eyesight, but even beyond that there’s this general, overall lack of coordination. Eddie has what amounts to a universal pass that effectively excuses him from participating in PE for his entire school career, so he’s never been physically present for what goes down on the yard, but he can pretty much piece it together from the scrapes and bruises all over Richie’s arms and legs. It doesn’t matter what unit they’re on—dodgeball, baseball, soccer, tetherball—Richie plays only one position: target.

He doesn’t fare any better in the kind of extracurriculars that teachers and parents care about, like music. Richie is an aggressively bad singer—a fact Eddie is forcibly reminded of every time anyone has a birthday because Richie always makes a point of sandwiching Eddie between himself and someone who won’t run away (usually the birthday kid’s mom) while he belts out an eardrum-shattering rendition of Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs. Richie seems to interpret birthday party invitations as personal challenges for him to sing louder and worse, challenges he has so far risen to spectacularly on every occasion. The song gets longer each time too, because he never forgets to include Frankenstein on channel nine and the big fat lady on channel eighty and whatever new, ruder verses he’s scrounged up out of nowhere between the last birthday party and this one. Richie’s singing is actually one of the most obnoxious things about him, in Eddie’s opinion, which is really saying something.

He is so unrestrainedly, deliberately awful that Eddie could honestly imagine some idiot adult who doesn’t know Richie listening to him screech the chorus of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go over and over in Eddie’s ear (the newest sabotage tactic he’s been deploying at the arcade to try to make Eddie lose at Street Fighter) and thinking wow, maybe that kid actually has a beautiful singing voice but doesn’t want anyone to know because he’s worried people will make fun of him. They would be wrong, of course, because even when he’s not actively trying to suck, Richie can’t sing for shit. Eddie doesn’t have to know anything about music to be able to tell that Richie’s real singing voice—the one he almost never uses—is flat and off-key. And forget about instruments because whenever someone makes the mistake of letting him get his hands on one, he immediately tries to shove it down his pants—or worse, Eddie’s pants—and pretend it’s a wang.

There’s art—and Eddie has noticed that being a really good artist can absolve someone of the sin of sucking at everything else. Bill, for example, is talented enough with watercolor pencils that if he drew people’s attention to his sketches, he could probably get away with not knowing how to write a half-decent thesis statement or multiply fractions (even though Bill does know how to do those things) because people would just affix the tortured artist label to him and stop giving him shit about the stutter. And Richie actually draws a lot—probably as much as Bill if it’s purely a question of quantity over quality—it’s just that the only things he seems to be interested in drawing are dicks, and the places he chooses to draw them are all technically the property of the Derry Public School District. Also, his fine motor skills are at least as bad as his gross ones, because his handwriting looks the way his singing voice sounds, and the dicks he draws make Eddie question if Richie has ever even looked in his own pants before.

And yet, despite all of the incontrovertible evidence that Richie is actually a walking disaster, there are other times that Eddie can't believe it’s not Richie to everyone else. Or even like anyone else.

It could be argued that it’s almost inevitable due to the sheer volume of jokes he tells, but every so often Richie will get one absolutely, unassailably right. His timing, his word choice—the heavens open, the planets align, and suddenly everybody around him is laughing so hard they can't breathe, Eddie included. His eyes usually end up watering when it happens, but he squints through them to look at Richie because in those moments, Richie glows like nothing else. He tries to act like it isn’t a big deal that everyone is pissing themselves from whateverthefuck he just blurted out of his incessantly flapping mouth hole, but Eddie can tell how thrilled he is when people actually find him funny. It's happening more and more often nowadays, enough so that Eddie sometimes wonders if maybe Richie is wasting his time at school after all. And who needs sports or music or art anyway?

And he could be a whole lot worse about Eddie’s germ thing if he wanted to be, like how some people give him hell about the pills and the inhaler and the hand washing. Richie doesn’t have detergent hands but he sure as shit will mouth off to anybody who gives Eddie a hard time about his. He can’t say Richie doesn’t at least try to look out for him, in his own weird way. Or Bill, or Stan, or Mike, or any of them. It causes more trouble than it’s worth more often than not, especially because Richie doesn’t have any discernable muscle with which to back up his shit-talking, so it probably would honestly be better if he would just like...not. But Eddie can’t really help appreciating it all the same.

But the hardest thing to ignore about Richie—and Eddie wouldn’t admit this to anyone, even under threat of death by clown—is that his memories of what Richie did for him over the summer have become a kind of personal, private shield against fear. They all try to avoid thinking about It as much as they reasonably can (which isn’t much; it’s not like you just go and forget about the time you and all your friends climbed down a haunted well so you could almost get eaten by a demon clown in the sewers), but Eddie’s positive he isn’t the only one who lies awake at night when the sound of his own pounding heartbeat is making him too nauseous to sleep.

The lights are off because it’s almost worse when they’re on. Maybe if he can’t see It coming, it’ll just eat him real fast and get it over with before he even knows what hit him. Still, he doesn’t want to die—instantly is preferable to slowly, but even better is not at all. So he’s developed a set of dozens of little rules for himself to follow—like no turning over, no breathing too deeply, no limbs outside the covers, no long, slow blinks (quick ones are okay; otherwise it’s eyes all the way closed or all the way open). Realistically he knows that not a single one of these rules means jack shit to anyone outside his own brain, but somehow no-ing himself into what amounts to a vegetative state eventually bores him to sleep. Okay, usually it does. More like occasionally. Actually it’s only worked like twice, but whatever. He’ll take what he can get at this point.

Sometimes Eddie thinks he has it worse than anyone else. Well, maybe not worse than Bill. But the rest of them—he isn’t sure if any of them can really understand exactly how fucking useless he felt down in that god-forsaken lair with his arm in a cast. Bill and Beverly were awesome, Mike was like a goddamn soldier, Stan was great after he’d finished crying and even Ben, who Eddie basically thinks of as the most inoffensive kid on the planet, was tough as balls. And Eddie felt like a worthless piece of shit. He hates his arm for being broken, and he hates his nightmares for always including the broken arm. It’s coming at him—just him—and his arm is hanging limply and there’s not a goddamn thing he can do—

And that’s where Richie comes in. Only when he thinks about Richie bitching Bill out for getting them all into this shit situation while inching toward the mountain of broken toys, Richie grabbing a baseball bat and saying now I’m going to have to kill this fucking clown...only then does the terror that surrounds him all through the night start to ease up.

And then he thinks a little further back about when he fell through the floor and broke his arm in the first place, about how all his friends were crowding him and freaking the fuck out, and Richie just looked at his arm and said he was going to set the break and snapped his bone back into place while Eddie shrieked at him to do not fucking touch me. Just like, grabbed his arm where it was dangling the wrong way and fucking did it.

Sometimes… Sometimes Eddie is positive that if It were to show up in his house on any given night, Richie would immediately come crashing through his bedroom window, swinging a baseball bat. Because somehow Richie would know if It returned, would know It was coming for Eddie, would show up in time. He’d show up and keep his shit together while Eddie couldn’t. He’d probably sometimes miss with the bat, but Eddie kind of suspects that it wouldn’t matter. Richie would stand between Eddie and It and just sort of suck all the scary out of the room with his endless, pointless trash-talking. And when Eddie thinks about it that way, it’s like you know what? Screw John McClane; Richie Tozier is Eddie’s hero.

And then Richie sticks his sweaty armpit in Eddie’s face and goddamn it Eddie can’t believe it’s Richie.

#it (2017)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my fics #pre-relationship #the greater fool #sorry i'm an old person and it took me a million years to figure out how to post fics on tumblr

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corn-and-cheese · 6 years ago

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An Honest Warning

It's been three years since I found out I'm schizophrenic. Before this happened to me I had three jobs and I was going to college. I had everything that I wanted and the next day I lost it all in a heartbeat. Just like that I started to hear demonic voices, which I believe are the enemy (aka Reptilians; aka the ever-elusive Illuminati). The voices are still bothering me—they don't stop—they bother me 24/7. Even while I'm typing this they are still bothering me. I write this blog for those reading this, who want to understand my pain and suffering. These voices say things like: He doesn't love God; He's talking shit about God's mother; He wants to have kids with God's mother; He doesn't like his own mother; He thinks his mom is ugly; He's after Kim Kardashian's money—it’s funny because before Kim I was making money and I didn’t care about anybody up ‘til now in my life. Those are some examples and the list goes on. What bothers me is that—believe it or not folks—our Almighty God believes the enemy instead of me but it’s more than that; the people you cherish and adore also believe the enemy. The reason I decided to type this blog is because, believe it or not, our Lord and Savior is coming back a second time and two-thirds are going to hell. The remaining will be away from God's wrath. If you don’t believe me read the Bible. I honestly care about everyone, whether they believe me I couldn’t care less, because those people (celebrities) you love watching on TV are dead and I’m the only one that knows the truth. So, I share this information with you my fellow Americans. If this doesn’t work, meaning it doesn’t wake anybody up, then humanity as we know it will be lost. After numerous events I've become more bitter, self-independent, and a tad bit humbled. Because of God I feel disconnected with my family and friends—being disconnected with family and friends comes with schizophrenia and doctors (the so-called professionals) tell me I’m not schizophrenic but they're wrong. I believe God took me away from work so I could fulfill His will without being distracted by the words of others. It turns out I really am schizophrenic. I read an article a couple of years ago saying that schizophrenia is the gate between the demonic world, and I believe that—like I said—the enemy (aka Illuminati) are in my head as we speak and the only people who believe me are my editor and my boy, Ace Boogie. I consider everyone else to be children of the matrix. What is the matrix, you say? It’s simple: It’s an illusion made by the enemy (aka the global elite; aka Illuminati). I believe you (the children of the matrix) will never get out and when they finally find out it will be too late for them. Again, my fellow Americans, I write this so you can prepare yourselves for the upcoming disaster that is upon us on Earth. I know what you’re saying: This guy is lying his butt off; or too much sugar in his apple juice; or even worse, he just wants attention. If I wanted attention I’d go to a bar and hit on a girl, but that’s not the case. Laugh at me if you want. Everyone out there has a crush on somebody, or liked anyone for that matter, but for the past two years I have had a crush on Kim Kardashian (lol); the problem is the one you see now on TV is a humanoid. The humanoid is a being with artificial intelligence, but the catch is they need the human brain from the original, and yes—the real Kim died a long time ago—believe it or not—the only reason you would disagree is that the humanoid looks like the real one. After numerous allegations and trust issues I’ve decided to let go of these feelings; the only problem there is that I get racing thoughts to the point that I cannot get her out of mind, and it’s because of this damn curse that has been given to me. Again, let me remind you I never wanted this to happen to me. After numerous times researching schizophrenia I've come to believe that I may be the prophet of the Lord—and I believe this not because of Satan in my head, but because I believe in the supernatural. I will never forget how the Lord called me to carry out his will. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was working in TJ Maxx in Salem, Ma, on Highland Avenue. I had clocked in after my first job, which was Market Basket (also in Salem), tying up my shoes in the bathroom and then—all of a sudden—what I call supernatural, the lights were off for about to two to three seconds. My first thought was: GOD. I went to the hallway to see if any other lights were off and then realized what happened in the bathroom was supernatural. Awesome, right? I think so. The reason I believe in all of this is because in the bible (Malachi 4:5) it clearly says:

Behold, I will send Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord. . . . And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.

In 2010, the Venezuelan leader Hugo Chavez (who at some point was alive but later killed by the ever-elusive Illuminati) claimed that HAARP, or a program like it, triggered the Haiti earthquake. The High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program (HAARP) is, I believe, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Our Satanic Government, however, (aka the Illuminati) are saying it’s in Alaska, but if you believe that then you are part of the problem—hence why I say you are children of the matrix. For those who don't know what the Illuminati is it’s a group of the global elite, the thirteen most powerful families, and their only goal is a New World Order. In other words: to rule over God's children, distract us, and kill us while they're doing it. At this point, I believe I am the only one on Earth right now that's out of the matrix. That means that I don't watch the TV news and I don’t read the morning newspaper because they control the media. They control everything that we do on Earth. They're even spying on us. Believe it or not, it’s true. Everything you do—like, watch movies, sitcoms, TV shows, and anime, even playing video games—is a distraction while they kill more of God's children. For example, the children that go missing every year—the children that we, the American people, do not care about—well guess what, they’re dead. And if you keep up with the I don’t care attitude you will be next. You don’t have to believe me, but when a friend, relative, or family member goes missing—and I mean missing for months and years—it’s safe to say they’re dead, and guess who killed them: again, the ever-elusive Illuminati. The Illuminati are so good at hiding things from us, such as their existence on Earth. But that's because we fall for their tricks, so they deceive us easily. Also, the government we knew, such as Congress, the United Nations, the FBI, the CIA, and IRS, are all dead and the ones replacing them are a mix of Reptilians (aka alien shapeshifters) and humanoids. Every government member and celebrity you love and cherish are dead. You don’t have to believe me, but when the Lord comes a second time you will know and finally realize that I—my fellow Americans—was trying to warn you before it became too late. If you remember the last speech that JFK gave in his own words:

Even today, there is little threat of opposing a secret society by imitating its arbitrary restrictions. Even today, there is little value in insuring the future of our nation if our traditions do not survive with it and there is great danger that an announced need for increased security will be seized upon by those anxious to expand its meaning to the very limits of official censorship and concealment—that I do not intend to allow to permit to the extent that it is in my control.

For we are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence—on infiltration instead of invasion—on subversion instead of elections—on intimidation instead of free choice—on guerillas by night instead of armies by day.

It is a system which has conscripted vast human and material resources into the building of a tightly-knit, highly efficient machine that combines military, diplomatic, intelligence, economic, scientific, and political operations. Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed.

JFK was the best president we had on Earth. He tried to warn us he was killed by a hitman from our Satanic government (aka the Illuminati). JFK knew something that God's people didn't: He knew how corrupted the Federal Reserve was so the Illuminati put a hit on JFK because he was going to dismantle the Federal Reserve. Now, back to how I have feelings for Kim Kardashian—two things attracted me to her: 1. The sex tape with Ray J; 2. if you remember the internet-breaking pic, it just blew my mind. Ever since then I grew to like her, but now I see her as a fellow sister of Christ, it’s better that way. The reason being the voices (aka Satan) in my head have persuaded Kim, as well as the other celebrities, the angels, and—believe it or not—God to believe what they’re saying is true when it's not. So now, I got to prove to all of them that I need to get back to work for the three-year loss thanks to your so-called Savior Lord Jesus Christ. My yearly income was 16–18 thousand dollars a year. Our Savior owes me $18,000 x 3 = $54,000. He can keep that. I'll make more when I go to school and get my bachelor's degree in business administration, then get a good-paying job. What I'm aiming for is 60–100,000 a year to support myself and my future family and give money to my local church and donate to real charities. And another thing—the charities that you, the people of the United States, have donated to will never go to a good cause. Believe it or not, it’s going to our Satanic government. Now, you’re probably confused at this point and you’re wondering how I know this. All I can say is that God . . . believe it or not, He gave me the holy spirit to discern what's right from wrong. In other words, I'm a little bit smarter than most; and most say I'm crazy, but I'm not. You know what really grinds my gears? When you say something and no one takes it seriously. I tell you now, my fellow Americans, do not—I repeat—do not listen to Satan (aka Reptilians; aka the Illuminati). If I wasn't getting bypass surgery soon I'd be smoking weed. I have a friend who is waiting for me to go through the surgery hoping that I get my mind out of this GOD vs Satan dilemma. To be honest, how stupid is this? People in heaven have died to the enemy and yet blame their deaths on me. What the fuck? You died. Get over it. You had your chance; now get off my back about it. The enemy is really good at persuading even the good guys. I know it sounds weird, but if you heard voices in your head 24/7 you would believe me. The level of stupidity never ceases to amaze me. It's sad but I'm more motivated to prove to these people—and the enemy (aka the Illuminati) in my head—wrong. Right now, people are easily distracted by them; it's like JFK said: “Mistakes are buried, not headlined.” We as the people need to wake up, unite, and go after the enemy. Before we know it, humanity will be lost. As twelve million Americans know: The United States government is run by lizard people, or to be accurate . . . Reptilians. Reptilians are shapeshifters, they eat us humans, have green scaly skin, have low blood pressure, and have eyes like a snake. Barack Obama is a Reptilian and hates Israel. Joe Biden, Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich, Ted Cruz, Dennis Kucinich, Donald Rumsfeld—all these people are Reptilians, which means our government is nothing but Reptilians. The Global elite (aka the Illuminati) is led by these thirteen most powerful families in the world that control everything from politics to terrorism. The thirteen bloodlines are said to have unimaginable connections to wealth and power. These families are from everywhere, Europe to China: The Astor, Bundy, Collins, Dupont, Freeman, Kennedy, Li, Onassis, Rockefellers, Russell, Van Duyn, Merovingian, and Rothschild bloodlines. The enemy's master plan is to divide and conquer. They are dividing God's people so during the chaos they can devour every single one of us. Dividing us makes it easier for them. They are planning to leave planet Earth by the year 2020, but I’ve come to believe that they will leave sooner than 2020. Now, this is the good part: our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is coming for his bride (aka the people; aka his beloved children). Sounds good doesn’t it? The only problem is that if you do not believe in the Lord you will pay a heavy price. I will not mention what that heavy price is, but after reading thoroughly you can get an idea of what I mean. Please understand that I’m only trying to help, but if you choose to live rebelliously then more power to you. Everyone wants to go to Heaven, but in the Bible, it clearly says: “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (Matthew 7:13–14). I leave with one more thing; if you plan to see our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ wipe out our Satanic Government (aka the global elite; aka the Illuminati) once and for all say this prayer out loud right now:

Dear God, I want to be a part of your family. You said in Your Word that if I acknowledge that you raised Jesus from the dead, and that I accept Him as my Lord and Savior, I would be saved. God, I now say that I believe. You raised Jesus from the dead and He is alive and well. I accept Him as my personal Lord and Savior. I accept my salvation from sin right now.

I am now saved. Jesus is my Lord. Jesus is my Savior. Thank you, Father God, for forgiving me, saving me, and giving me eternal life with You. Amen!

—R.G.

____________________________________________________________

(The following entry was sent a couple of days after the first part. —Editor’s notes)

My fellow Americans, I believe that the Lord Jesus Christ’s Second Coming is upon us. The enemy has already devoured or killed everyone from most third world countries and now their last destination is the United States of America we are the last line of defense before the arrival of the Lord: Jesus Christ. We, as fellow Americans, should stand together and spread the love and knowledge of Jesus Christ. If you choose to ignore my warning all I can say is there will be dire consequences for not listening. You will be targeted by the ever-elusive Illuminati. The enemy plans to leave Earth before 2020—that means they're going to finish off the rest of us. By getting you to believe everything in the media they will manipulate us, the children of the matrix, distracting us long enough to kill the remainder of God's children, humanity’s final survivors. That’s not the only way the enemy will attack. Our Satanic Government is adding fluoride to our GMOs (genetically modified organisms; aka our food system). Now, fluoride has been approved by “professional doctors”—who I think are either dead or working for the Illuminati—and the FDA—who I also believe are dead or working for the Illuminati. Both organizations have said fluoride is good for you but guess what? My fellow Americans, fluoride is actually extremely bad for you. Side effects of fluoride are abdominal pain, abnormal taste in the mouth (a salty or soapy taste), seizures, diarrhea, drooling, eye irritation (upon eye contact), headache, heart attack, irregular or slow heartbeat, nausea and vomiting, shallow breathing, body tremors, and weakness. When people start dying from fluoride don’t be surprised, because I won’t be. And yet, they tell you fluoride is good for you because they want to keep you blind—to keep you from knowing the truth. If you believe what these “professional doctors” say then you, my friend, are the problem and a child of the matrix. One more thing, I suffer from depression (from my beautiful mother) and what I do to handle my depression is listen to Kid Cudi, the best MC to listen to when you’re going through depression. I recommend his album Man on the Moon. I hope I get to see him one day.

My fellow Americans, I know you probably think I despise the Lord, but because we’re getting close to the arrival of the Lord, Jesus Christ, it has become clear to me that God was the only one who had my back from day one; and yes, my fellow Americans, Jesus is my Savior and Heavenly Father. If you are reading this blog, please take care of my family. I believe when I die the Illuminati will target every single one of them. I’ve told them, but they don’t believe me. Let them know that I am the prophet of the Lord and that I simply tried to warn you. “‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown’” (Luke 4:24). My fellow Americans, if you want to help then believe the truth of what I'm saying. Wake up others by telling them about this blog. You will discover the truth on Judgement Day and see that—in fact—I wasn't lying to you. I love you all, stay blessed and continue to grow in the knowledge of the Lord, Jesus Christ, Amen. Thank you for hearing me out and reading this blog. It’s given me peace of mind.

RIP: 1988–Whatever Year I Die.

—R.G.

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surveysonfleek · 7 years ago

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746.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 47

4501. Who do you feel on shaky grounds with? anyone who’s acting suspicious or uneasy. 4502. How would you rate Stephen King as a writer? i’ve never read any of his books tbh. 4503. What movie are you looking forward to? ocean’s eight! 4504. Hulk Hogan with or without the bandana? i can’t even imagine him without one. 4505. Do you more often tell people what you feel or what you think? both, i think they work hand in hand.

4506. Have you been to see an opera? no, i wouldn’t mind seeing it though. 4507. What do you wish that you knew with more certainty? what the future will bring. or at least what direction it’ll take. 4508. Does your heart break and break and live by breaking? no. 4509. Can you tell the difference between what you think and what you feel or do you often get them confused? nope. 4510. Do you feel like there are a lot of referances in this survey that you are not getting? yeah, it’s lame. a lot of grammatical errors too. 4511. You are shopping in the Mad Mall for things to add to your room. Of the following list, what 5 things will you buy? lollipops, lace up boots, bondage gear, bubblegum machine, a miniature orange grove, house plants, Bob Geldof, duct tape, Buzzcocks, poet shirts, Marc Almond, Al Gore, acrylic paints, Snoopy's dog house, an original andy warhol painting, zippers, orange and pink matching curtains and bed spread, flash, oj simpson, a slurpee maker, some flutes, electric chairs, feather pillows, post it notes, the terminator wax statue, fight club the movie, fight club the book an original andy warhol painting, snoopy’s dog house, feather pillows, slurpee machine and house plants. 4512. Of the following things, which would you most like to have more of? drink, dreams, bed, drugs, lust, lies, hate, love, fear, fun, pain, flesh, stars, smiles, fame, sex bed, love, love, smiles, sex. 4513. Your preference. David Bowie or Marc Bolan? bowie. 4514. Who'd win in a fight, Morrissey or Robert Smith? idk either of them enough to choose. 4515. Earth girls are: what are earth girls? 4516. One of your friends tells you they are going to train to become a cop. your reaction? i’d be supportive and congratulate them. 4517. Would you ever consider working for the government? i would, they get really good benefits here. 4518. What are the best and wort television channels? i hardly watch tv. 4519. If you had a magicle pencil and everything you drew became real what would you draw? money!! 4520. Your boots were made for: walking. 4521. What movie would you like to see a mystery science theater episode about (even if it isn't a sci fi movie, just one that needs making fun of)? idk... 4522. What's the buzz? nothing. 4523. The last person you would want to be stranded on a desert island with is: someone i hate. 4524. Your partner takes an aeroplane trip. the plane disappears and is never found. How long do you wait for them to return before you begin looking for a new partner? i couldn’t put a time limit on it. i might not even move on, who knows. 4525. Soma animals that mate for life can literally die of grief if their mate is captured or dies. How many humans would do that do you think? it’s definitely possible for other humans to do this. 4526. What would you like to touch? the biggest diamond in the world. 4527. Does anything you own glow in the dark? nail polish. 4528. Would you rather ride a dragon or a unicorn? dragon. 4529. Do things just always go right for you? hell no. 4530. What's the best nick toon? hey arnold. 4531. Can you make a balloon animal? nope :( 4532. Would you undress at a nude beach? no. 4533. Wherever there's a secret recipe, there is someone who wants to steal it. True or false? i guess that’s the allure of calling it a secret recipe. 4534. What is today but yesterday's tommorrow? the present. 4535. Are you more like spongebob who does nothing right but still everything good happens to or like squidworth who tries to do things right and ends up having nothing good happen to him? squidworth. 4536. How many glasses of water do you drink each day? aiming for the usual 8. 4537. What is the difference between intelectualism and pretentiosness? being pretentious obviously just means you think you’re better/smarter than the people you’re with. 4538. What do you like in a poem, accessability, crypticness or somethin in between? i hate poems. 4539. What do you think of William Blake? Is his writing difficult to understand? never read his stuff. 4540. Has learning to spell become obsolete? not at all. but in this survey, yes omg... 4541. Who do you find yourself in constant conflict with? Why the conflict? me. 4542. What is the difference between literature and hallmark cards? everything lol. 4543. How many contemporary poets can you name? none. 4544. What subjects do you refuse to talk about? Why are you hiding from them? i’m open to talking about anything as long as it’s with the right people. 4545. Are you every parent's wet dream? ew, no. 4546. Everyone starts in the garden of Eden but no one can stay there. Why not? idk. 4547. Would you want to join a club that would have you as a member? sure. 4548. Greatest black and white film: i haven’t watched many in my time tbh. 4549: Greatest film three hours or longer: titanic, duhhhh. 4550. No means.. no. 4551. When you are exposed to the artwork (poetry, painting etc) of a friend, family member or aquantance how likly are you to criticize it? if i know them well i’d give them constructive criticism. i don’t think i’d bash the work of someone i didn’t know. 4552. Do you mentally reject people? Before speaking to them? some days i just check out i guess. 4553. Are we already living out 1984? no. 4554. Sing, now! What did you sing? Can you sing? Are you the next american idol? no, no, i’m not american. 4555. Do you like the feeling of a ball point pen being used to draw pictures on your palm? no lol. 4556. Have you ever been airbrushed? no. 4557. Are you an alitist? What are you elitist about? lol let’s not go there. 4558. Are you arrogant? About what? i’m arrogant towards arrogant people, does that count? 4558. Use the two following words in a sentance: ghandi, ford no. 4559. Are you trecherous? no. 4560. Nam the ten bands you are the biggest fan of: Name the ten bands who are your biggest fans: no. 4561. Are you jolly? not really. 4562. What does the world stop for? nothing. anything could happen and in some places it’ll just be business as usual. 4563. Would you like to reapolster your furniture in camoflauge? no thanks. 4564. Would you rather have your own personal live in massuse or a new car? personal live in masseuse that also cooks haha. 4565. What were you born holding? nothing. 4566. Big nose, is it ugly or does it give the face character? depends if it works with the other features of the face. 4567. Name three things you would NOT do, even for one million dollars (tax free): 1 kill a human, 2 eat a human. 3 kill someone’s pet 4568. Who has rejected you? Who have you rejected? certain jobs. 4569. Natural body odor or perfumes and colognes? perfumes and colognes! 4570. Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? ss. 4571. Who frolics in the autumn mist in a land called honalee? lol. 4572. Is anything nastier as a snack than fruit roll ups? shit i guess. 4573. When you hear someone make a joke about something will you later make the same joke to someone else as if you had just thought it up? my boyfriend always does this lol. i hardly ever do it, i’m pretty forgetful. What if someone just says something intelligent, would you use what they said later as if you had made it up? no, if i repeat this i’ll always the credit the person that told me. 4574. What's on your pajamas? plain colours. 4575. Are people nicer in new york or california? i’m guessing california. 4576. Ever think about moving to Alaska to live as a hermit? i��d love to do it temporarily. 4577. You are interested in a potential mate who is already attatched. Do you encourage him or her to leave their current catch or try to find someone all alone? no way. i’d never try and break up a couple. 4578. Do you play in the snow? haven’t done so in about ten years. 4579. Do you save a snowball in your freezer to hit someone with in the summer time? no lol. ouch. 4580. What bible storiy would you like to see acted out by animated veggetables? What vegetable would play jesus? idk. 4581. Will you be ready for the next alien attack? the next? has there already been one? 4582. You can't make this easy can you? nope. 4583. What is a small thing that people let slide but that actually has dire consequenses? cheating. 4584. Are you the open window maniac? no? 4585. Have you ever been a hall monitor? What exactly do hall monitors do anyway? nope, never had one in my school either. 4586. Would you rather wear an army uniform or a cow costume for halloween? cow lol. 4587. When was the last timeyou played tag, musical chairs, hide and seek etc? as a kid. 4588. Can you leap frog? i haven’t tried in years. maybe! 4589. What was the lost strong and clear emotion yo felt? idk... 4590. Are you more of a disco ball, a candle or a robot? candle. 4591. Could any good come out of a nuclear holocaust? i’m not the right person to ask. 4592. Are you an angel in disguise? no, i wish. 4593. Could you have fun with ajelly fish? for 12 hours? no thanks. 4594. Who throws the wildest parties? it used to be this one guy i know. and then we all grew up. 4595. Do you own an I <3 NY shirt? yes. 4596. If you could make a channel that played only one show all day what show would it be? the office. or the simpsons. anything with a ton of episodes and is funny. 4597. Are you a rockstar only no one knows it yet? no. 4598. have you ever been stung by anything? What? nope. 4599. Who's autograph have you gotten in the last year? no one. i feel like selfies with celebrities are more popular now than autographs. 4600. Are you enjoying this? no.

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