#toss him straight into the goddamn abyss

[alex-finechi-is-back]

Thinking about idate and sal, them meeting a few times ‘coincidentally’ , each time idate seeing how much he can get sals facade to crumble before he rebuilds it up again.

Idate just always making some excuse to get the two of them alone, especially if wadanohara is with him.

Idate finding complete joy and entertainment in this lil game of theirs where sal tries to pretend he’s anything better than the orca. But in all truth he’s somehow worse, something horrible and despicable bubbling under his skin and that smile. idate just wanting to see if there’s a day that sal will not be able to repair the facade and everything crumbles for the last time.

And mind you, I don’t think idate would do it for some moral high ground, or because he’s the righteous savior finding out a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but just because it’s entertaining to see how far sal is willing to go to keep it up lmao

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[ravenforce]

Stark Legacy 1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Carol Danvers x Wanda Maximoff x Maria Hill x Reader

Word Count: 3877

A/N: It has arrived. The Imagine I teased you all about a month ago. Thus the unholy pentagon arrives. I tried writing a summary but I think I suck at writing them, and I didn’t wanna spoil the plot by talking too much. I hope you like this. Comment your reactions, bloody or otherwise. Also, I proofread this twice but if there are still some mistakes that escaped me, forgive me. xx

Parts: 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

***

Interrupted

“Funny how tragedy brings people together,” Maria thought as she stands on the balcony watching not the city below her but the sight of her girlfriends Natasha and Carol goofing around the kitchen while Wanda helplessly continues to try to make dinner. Who would have thought that after being dusted she’d end up being asked out by the most powerful Avengers? Okay, it was Natasha who asked her out with Carol’s permission to do so.

“Are you high Natasha?” Maria asked after Natasha gathered all the courage she could get to ask S.H.I.E.L.D’s Deputy Director out for dinner. 

Carol was watching the interaction, saw how fast Nat tries to build her walls up. So, she flew to her ex-assassin girlfriend before she can bolt in humiliation.

“No, no, she’s not high. As you know, the Black Widow doesn’t joke either. She’s serious,” Carol paused. “We, we’re serious about this. We want you to be our girlfriend but if that’s too fast for you, we can just hang out. We’d still love to have you around.”

Maria cocked her perfectly sculpted eyebrow while Carol vomits her words. She thought it was adorable that the two strongest people she knows was nervous about asking her, a mere mortal, out. 

“Why me? Why now?” Maria asked the burning questions in her head. She may be Fury’s best soldier but she’s not just about to do something because people told her so. 

“Well,” Carol started before nudging Nat with her elbow. Natasha looked up at Maria. 

“Well, life is short, Hill,” Natasha said. Carol rolled her eyes. 

“That’s very romantic, Agent Romanoff,” Maria deadpanned. Carol chuckled. 

“What Natasha meant was life is short, and she’s had a fat crush on you since she met you forever ago but,” Carol paused to think her words over. 

“But the world kept needing heroes,” Natasha finished her girlfriend’s sentence. “And I kept waiting for the right time.” 

There was never a right time went unsaid but duly understood. She’ll be damned if she says she never thought about kissing the redhead senseless before, especially every time Natasha goes on her way to save the boys, even if meant endangering herself. Maria looked at the two women before her, as they wait with bated breath. 

“Fine,” Maria said after what seems like an eternity. Carol started grinning instantly, Nat tried to bite the inside of her cheeks to hide her excitement but the blush on her neck and cheeks said otherwise. “Let me know when and where.”

Six months after, Wanda came back into the compound. Wanda joining them was gradual, as they’re all respectful of her grieving process. It took months before Wanda herself opened up about joining their little family. 

“Aren’t you guys going to ask me to be your girlfriend?” she asked, direct to the point. No dilly-dallying, while they’re all cuddled up in the couch watching the end credits of Netflix’s Altered Carbon. Carol was lying on her side big-spooning the deadly Natasha Romanoff. While Maria was sitting in the middle with Wanda’s foot cradled on top of her thighs. 

Carol and Nat nearly fell on the floor in their haste to look at the young witch. Wanda watched as they gather their thoughts, Maria laughed at how surprised the two were.

“We are planning on it,” Maria says as she massages Wanda’s soft feet. “We just didn’t know if you’re actually open to it.”

Wanda wanted to sass but Maria’s hand on her feet is doing magic to her, rendering her soft and non-combatant. She still rolled her eyes playfully though. “Now that we’re on the topic. Ask me now,” Wanda says cheekily. 

Natasha sat on the floor beside Carol. “Be our girlfriend,” she says confidently. “Officially.”

Wanda smiled before she beckoned the redhead forward so they can seal the deal with a kiss.  

***

“Deputy Director Hill! Maria! Bubba!!” Wanda yelled to get Maria’s attention.

“Sorry, I was elsewhere,” Maria apologized for spacing out. “What do you need?”

“I need you to remove these children out of the kitchen,” Wanda teased Nat and Carol.

Maria took one huge sip of her red wine before walking inside their shared apartment and towards her favourite witch.

“You know you can put these two in their place with a flick of your wrist,” Maria teased.

“It’s more fun to watch when you’re the one punishing them,” Wanda answered smiling, igniting a laugh from Nat and Carol as well.

“That sounds dirty,” Carol whispered before throwing a mushroom at Nat’s head again. Wanda sighed as she gets the pans out from the bottom cupboard. Nat glared at her blonde girlfriend before reaching for the broccoli to retaliate but Maria caught her hand on the counter.

“Enough,” Maria said sternly. Nat pouted while Carol stuck her tongue at the redhead.

Maria turned towards the blonde. “You too,” she said, effectively cutting the shenanigans.

Wanda walked past Maria and gave her a kiss on the cheeks before setting the pan on the stove. “See, the children only follow you,” she said before tossing the ingredients of her beef with broccoli on the pan.

“Uhm, we’re actually older than you two,” Carol blurted out.

“Speak for yourself, fossil,” Natasha teased. Yes, Natasha Romanoff, the deadly Black Widow actually knows how to tell a joke. Don’t get it wrong though, Natasha’s only soft and relaxes when she’s home. Out there, she’s still as deadly as she used to be.

Wanda laughed melodiously, causing Maria to smile a little wilder. They all lost people after the war - Tony, Clint, Steve to name a few but nothing compares to Wanda having to kill Vision to save the goddamn world. Maria’s really happy that a year after, Wanda’s coping, and smiling again. Their little family may be unconventional and incomprehensible to others but their relationship saved the four of them from spiralling into the abyss of pain and loss.

***

“Hill,” Nat called out for her, cutting through her obvious daydreaming. She blinked twice at the redhead.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked still slightly dazed.

“Are you okay? It’s the second time in the hour that you’ve spaced out,” Nat asked clearly worried.

Maria only smiled as an answer before her phone started ringing again. She pulled out the device from her back pocket. It’s Fury. She accepted the call.

“Nick,” she answered simply. She pursed her lips together while listening to intently on the other line. After receiving the directive, she unconsciously glanced at her girlfriends as they make the dining table.

“Okay. I got it. I’ll be there in 30,” she said before hanging up the phone.

Nat, Carol, and Wanda stood straight looking at her. Maria smiled, knowing her girlfriends are ready to move out on her command.

“Sorry, you’ll have to sit this one out,” Maria said causing the three to frown instantly. They don’t like the idea of Maria going without one of them since they started going out.

“Take at least one of us,” Nat suggested. Maria walked towards the redhead and forced her to uncross her arms, so she could settle in and give Nat a hug. Nat instantly melted but the frown didn’t leave her face as well as her worry.

“I can’t. Nick didn’t say it’s ‘take one of your hot girlfriends to work day’,” Maria murmured cheekily against Nat’s chest. Nat rolled her eyes playfully but Maria could hear the rumble on her chest as she starts laughing. Carol and Wanda watched the two fondly.

“Be serious,” Nat sassed, pretending to be annoyed.

“I am! Besides, Wanda worked so hard to get this dinner ready. Especially harder since you and Carol can’t stop being a goof,” Maria teased. Carol stuck her tongue out at Natasha, causing the redhead to roll her eyes.

“Fine but you’re wearing your tracker,” Nat said seriously. Carol bounded to them like an excited child with Maria’s necklace tracker on her hand. It’s one of the two pairs, they asked Pepper to have made at Stark Industries. It’s in the design of Tony’s arc reactor.

“Thank you,” Maria said after Carol secured it around her neck and gave her a soft kiss on the shoulder.

“Just activate the emergency beacon,” Wanda said softly as she sidled up with the group.

“And we will come for you,” Nat finished the sentence for Wanda. “Come hell or high water, we will come for you.”

Maria’s heart soared. She was doing fine on her own before, she didn’t know it could get better.

“Saps,” she teased softly before adding. “I’ll be okay. I’ll have Bruce, Bucky, and Happy with me.”

Natasha laughed. “Yeah, like that’s gonna compare to us,” she said confidently, and all Maria could do was laugh before begrudgingly walking away from her home. She knew if she stays for another minute to banter, she wouldn’t be able to go at all.

***

Classified

“Nick, it’s been 5 days since we’ve heard from Maria,” Carol said after slamming her hands on the Director’s table.

Nat nearly bristled as she leans on a wall across the room, watching Nick unfazed by Carol’s attempt to intimidate him. Wanda’s pacing back and forth beside Carol.

Nick looked up at Natasha. “Do I need to remind you that Hill is my deputy? If you can’t trust my decision to send her without the three of you. At least trust that she can protect herself well,” Nick said calmly.

Carol opened her mouth to respond but she heard Nat pull away from the wall. “Sorry to bother you then, Director,” Nat said simply, a deep frown adorning her beautiful face.

Carol and Wanda wanted to protest but the look on Nat’s face told them otherwise. The two followed Nat silently all the way back to the compound. When they reached their shared bedroom, Nat went directly to boot her personal laptop.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asked, sitting in front of the assassin. Carol plopping down next to the redhead on the bed.

“Nick’s not gonna give her location. So, I’m just going to find her,” Nat answered just in time as the tracking program opened. Wanda and Carol nodded.

“Okay, we’ll prepare our bags,” Wanda said before hopping out of the bed. Nat glanced at Carol who was staring at her.

“What?”

Carol beamed. “Nothing, I just love you so much,” she said before leaning in and pecking Nat’s soft plump lips.

Nat smiled when Carol was safely out of sight. Who would have thought that being home and being loved by these amazing women is what her future held for her? A silver lining from everything and everyone they lost in the war, Nat would like to think so.

“I got a location,” she yelled before sending the coordinates to her phone.

When she walked out of the bedroom, Carol and Wanda are all geared-up and packed. Carol opted not to wear her Captain Marvel uniform as to not attract too much attention. She just wore one of Natasha’s old Black Widow uniform.

“What?” Now it’s Carol’s turn to ask.

“Nothing,” Nat answered while Wanda and Carol file out of their room.

“If we’re not in a mission to find Maria, you won’t ever leave the bedroom,” Nat murmured under her breath as she follows her girlfriends out of the door.

“I heard that,” Carol sing-song after throwing her backpack at the trunk of Nat’s Rubicon.

“I’d help you tie her in the bed some other time,” Wanda whispered after Natasha got on behind the wheel.

“I heard that too,” Carol laughed as she enters the passenger seat.

Nat just rolled her eyes at her girlfriend before pulling out of the compound.

***

Nat drove like a madwoman towards the location. Thankfully, it was a driving distance and she didn’t have to borrow the quinjet that would surely let the Director know what they’re up to. Nat was thankful to have brought her Rubicon, they’re able to drive through rough terrain and all the way to the entrance of the facility. The entrance was inconspicuous, almost hidden by the shrubs growing around the area. Wanda stood in the mouth of the cave, a look of concentration on her face while Carol gets their bags from the car. 

“She’s here,” she whispered when Nat sidled up to her. “She’s unharmed.”

Nat sighed in relief. “What is this place?” she asked quietly as she fixes the weapons on her waist. 

“It seems to be Stark facilities,” Carol answered. Before the others can question where she got the information, Carol cocked her head to the side, motioning them to the House of Stark insignia, and Stark Industries logo carved on the wall of the cave. 

Nat and Wanda held their questions. There isn’t supposed to be any more of Tony’s secret labs in operation, Pepper made sure all of them are identified and catalogued on their database. This place isn’t on the list, Nat checked. They know all the answers to their questions, lie on the other end of the cavern. So their trek begins. 

The cave was dark and eerily quiet. No hostiles along the way, which doesn’t put any of them at ease. Either there’s really no threat or all threats are waiting for them on the other side. It took almost thirty minutes of walking in the dark, with just three small flashlights before they reached the end of the line, a heavy metal door. Knowing Tony, the door is supposed to be automated by F.R.I.D.A.Y but no AI greeted them. 

Carol’s hands started to glow. “Should I blast it open?” she asked with a small smile on her face.

Before anyone can say something though, the door slid open revealing Happy. 

“What the duck!” he exclaimed in his surprise.

Wanda gaped but got over her surprise first. She quickly jumped into Happy’s arms. “Happy!” 

“What are you three doing here?”

Nat noted the shift in Happy’s tone. He was confused at first but then he’s nervous. He’s hiding something but then again, Nat was pretty sure Maria told them this mission is classified but they’re already there. There’s no turning back now. 

“You’ve been gone for five days. We’re worried,” Nat answered simply. 

“Where’s Maria?” Carol asked while walking around what seems to be a disinfection area. Happy nearly shoved Wanda on his haste to stand in front of Captain Marvel when she reached the main door to the facility. His smile wavered, while Carol just cocked her eyebrow at him. 

“You can’t go there,” Happy said, voice shaking. “Bad egg smell, seriously. It’s deadly.”

Nat narrowed her eyes at the poor man before side-stepping him and entering the other room. Carol and Wanda quickly following their redhead girlfriend inside. Happy couldn’t do much more than just heave a sigh before following everyone.

***

When they entered the room, no one paid them any attention thinking that it’s just Happy coming back inside. Nat, Wanda, and Carol noticed Bruce first, standing behind multiple computer screens and clearly absorbed on his work. Then they noticed Maria standing over what seems to be a medical table, tablet on her hand with some Stark Industries personnel and Stark Industries machinery working on something. They couldn’t really see from their vantage point, so they walked a little further inside to see better. 

“What the?” Wanda whispered loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

Carol bumped into a metal counter, causing everything on it to shake. Nat couldn’t do much more than stare. Maria turned around, mirroring the surprise on her girlfriends’ faces. 

“Happy?” Maria asked, still not quite processing that her girlfriends’ are all there. 

Happy scratched the back of his neck. “I bumped into them on the way to out,” he explained a little sheepish.

Maria pinched the bridge of her nose to prevent an incoming headache. She sighed before turning back to the lab people and ordering them to keep going. She walked towards Wanda and Carol first before giving both of them a quick kiss on their cheeks. Then she stood in front of Natasha. “I’m sorry I made you worry, I just have my hands full here,” she explained. 

Nat couldn’t stop staring at the body on the table. “What is that?” she asked bewildered. 

“It’s a robot, isn’t it?” Carol asked as she walks closer to the table. “I saw Rocket repairing Nebula once. This one’s way too human though.”

Wanda walked closer to the table too. “Isn’t that?” Wanda started to asked but before she could continue, the machines started powering down. Happy looked at the lights to check if they’re having trouble with the power again.

“Miss Hill, repairs are complete,” a lab tech said. “She’s booting up now.”

Everyone held their breath in anticipation. A minute after, the robot’s eyes opened. She blinked a few times before putting her hand up to shield her eyes from the harsh light. Maria walked towards the table to remove the light on its face. 

“Hey,” Maria greeted tentatively.

She’s not exactly sure what’s supposed to happen next. After five days, she still hasn’t reconciled the fact that Tony left a robot with an active program unaccounted for in the facility.

“Hi,” it said before sitting up. Nat gasped when she got a good look at the robot’s face.

“Is that?” she whispered under her breath. Carol looked confused, everyone seems to know the identity of the robot, she doesn’t. She reckons it must be someone dusted at the first snap or someone who died before she got back. 

“Are you really in there?” Maria asked, confusing Nat, Carol, and Wanda. 

The robot looked down at her hands and made a show to close and open them like a child learning to use their extremities for the first time. The robot looked up at Maria. 

“I am,” you answered. “How long have I been out?”

“Dead or lying here dormant?” Happy asked from behind Maria.

The robot recognized the voice immediately. She leaned to the side to see the man himself. Everyone watched as the robot’s features lighten up with a smile.

“Haps!” the robot exclaimed before jumping with robot precision into Happy’s arms. 

Nat shivered at how eerily human this robot is. She turned slightly to look at Wanda, who looked exactly as she expected her to be facing another Stark robot creation once again. Carol seems to have caught Wanda’s reaction as well by the way she moved closer to the witch to offer her silent support. 

Happy wrapped his arms around the robot. He nearly sobbed at point of contact, no one calls him Haps, except. Tony outdid himself with how well he made the robot to imitate a human body. The skin is made of top of the line synthetic material that it’s almost human-like. 

“So, how long?” 

Happy let the robot go reluctantly. “Five years give or take when we buried your body,” he said solemnly. The robots’ eyes glazed for a second before he looked at Happy again. 

“So, what did I miss?” she asked with fake enthusiasm Nat can smell from a mile away.

“Tony’s gone,” Bruce who was silently watching the event unfold in front of him said softly.

“I know,” it said, frowning. “He left a message on my hard drive.”

A silence fell into the room. Leaving Nat, Carol, and Wanda with so many questions, and zero answers. 

“Hi, excuse me,” Carol said shyly to get everyone’s attention. The robot turned to her and smiled softly. “I’m sorry but can someone explain what’s happening here?”

“Hi, I’m sorry. We haven’t met, I’m Y/N. Y/N Stark, Tony Stark’s younger sister,” the robot introduced herself. 

You can hear a pin drop in the floor with the silence that follows. It was deafening.

“That’s not possible,” Natasha blurted out. You turned towards the redhead with a smile. It’s been ages since you’ve seen the woman, or anyone of them, after all.

“Oh, Natalie,” you said with a smirk. 

Nat shivered, remembering the first time she met you years ago while she was still Tony’s undercover secretary. She remembered how you bantered and flirted with each other relentlessly. She had to summon all her Black Widow training not to blush at the intensity of your gaze. 

“But it is,” you continued. “Wanda can prove it.”

Tag List: @subject7creed​

[riseofthecommonwoodpile]

Warehouse of Prayers by Laura Kasischke

1. 

It’s dark in here. Please, let me out.

2.

No, I hear him say. I want to show you. And to see it, you have to stay.

3.

And, O, I saw it then. So many prayers. Who could answer them all? And yet

what god would have the heart to toss them out?

4.

Yes, he says, I know. It terrifies. The silence, and the din. The tremendous weight of them. It defies

anything you might think or say

about sound about size.

But, yes, of course. Of course I’ve kept them all.

5.

“We had gone for a walk in the dark.

Of all things, I was deeply in love with my husband! Then

something silent I couldn’t see crept out of the darkness, and bit his hand.”

6. 

The beauty of it. The great

beauty. The true beauty of it. The beauty beyond—

It’s 

bitten me. I’m bleeding.

7.

In the dark one night you felt around for your blue scarf. Its blue diffusion. Its shameless would-be sky. But it was gone.

Gone, with your watch, and your wallet, and those cheap beads. How

strange to understand, so suddenly

that none of it was yours. Not

a snippet, not a glimpse, not a bit, not

even the dust that had gathered

Amishly on it for years.

8.

And the green lawn rolls, and the green lawn rolls to the foot of it all, to the foot of it all

telling the story of a world created by a god, who wanted to be loved but did not like to talk.

9.

“We predicted this. Something

strapped to the chest of a child. Light pouring up from holes in the ground. A fountain

run dry, and a mild-mannered man on a rampage in July.

Still, we were confused. We

thought we’d looked for this trouble everywhere, and

never found a thing. We

believed there’d be more warning, despite the many warnings. We

deeply believed a mistake had been made.”

10. 

Then, in the morning, a mannequin sitting in the rain on the neighbor’s porch. The rain on the mannequin, like so many kisses bestowed upon a corpse.

11.

No. (He takes my hand. He opens a door.)

12.

Wow, I say. So this is all—

and this is the vault in which they’ve hoarded it.

All:

What is, what was, what will be—

added to in increments. (A skyful, a pocketful, a teaspoonful, a pinch.)

13.

And still, mostly vault.

14.

The blood and the bed. The basement full of blankets. The 

freezer full of meat. We

all will rise again, and all be dignified.

The vein straight through the center

of the leaf. The woody stem of a rose. The dark suburban fruit of mulberries on the lawn.

We will rise over it all, and all of it will still be here when we are gone.

15.

Hello. It’s me, Eurydice. I want to tell you about his eyes: Stupid

hopeful windows. You

idiot, I said. All this resurrection business just to have your dumb love-glance sideswipe me dead.

16.

Her boy, in the war, the gate, left open, the field full of flowers, the day, so cloudless, she couldn’t help but see the mysterious sense and emptiness of it: As a child, he was so quiet, you could have drawn a circle

around it with a piece of chalk.

You could have taken a bus to the edge of that silence, and stepped off

onto a sidewalk, made of time, and walked

for years and years, all through his childhood and still kept walking.

17.

This is the illegible scroll

on which Orpheus’ reply was written.

This

is the book, thrown from the window.

A cough.

A broken telephone.

A few notes of a song.

18.

And a woman sobbing in a hospital gown, Not fair. Just this one body, and not even the body I wanted, and still it clings to me weeping when I have to leave. Not fair.

19.

“Eurydice? Eurydice? Are you there?”

20.

RSVP: She

will not be arriving by ship of by plane. No car door slamming. No

driver to be paid. She will not be walking. Neither shall she run. Thank you for asking, but she can’t come.

21.

Please, please, please, sweetheart,

pick up the fucking phone if you’re there

22.

“The Czar was killed on the spot, as

were the Empress and the Grand Duchess Olga, neither of whom could finish making the sign of the cross.

But the daughters

wore corsets

lined with jewels. For long moments the bullets, fired at their chests,

ricocheted around the room.”

23.

Please?

24.

One day I saw the divorcée take a letter from her ex-husband.           Briefly, his fingertips touched hers, and then she slipped the letter into her purse:

But, O, that purse, full of old pleasure, and that letter. Memory, like a dark hole full of feathers.

25.

“Lust, that goat in violets. Those violets like so much tenderness

scattered in the grass. Love,

that rusty chain dragging you home through your past.”

26.

A woman turns at church in her pew and tell me before the organ starts up, “I know a story about your house.”

27.

Oh? Yes?

28.

“In the forties, a farmer named Elmer Barow, in your kitchen, shot himself.”

29.

Oh, I thought, I know. I know. Time,

passing, all along— the hum of the cobwebs in the corners crocheting their intricate shrouds. The

dripping of the faucet. The blackened toast. Of

course, when we sat down at the table with our heads bowed, that

was him listening in on our prayers— Elmer

Barow with a rifle in his mouth.

30.

Always that

flash of desire, always

in the way (that

gray cat sleeping in the driveway, those

teenage girls bathing in a pond of bees)— that’s

what’s left of the freedom God had to make us, or remain free.

31.

Eurydice?

32.

In winter a woman I work with gets the idea that her hands are poisoned. She can’t touch anything anymore. She wears

gloves to bed, in case, in her sleep—

33.

No, E., of course, your hands aren’t poisoned. You cannot kill your children if you stroke their hair. You

know this, you know it.

34.

But, suddenly, gradually, myself—

everything I touch, there’s—

35.

There’s something wrong. (Not that. But something.) I

spend hours trying not to think about the something, but it’s

always there

in the shadowy tissue, in the silvery microscopic gloom, the lazy fluid slip of it, which,

released by love, billows loosely around the cerebral cortex—

a poisoned flume.

36.

Then—?

37.

“And then the day is over, and the—”

38.

And the day is over.

And in the dark I hear God say,

Laura, go ahead and pray.

39.

Okay.

40.

Okay. I— Okay. I—

Dear God, I—

offer up this prayer of dryer lint and hair.

41.

Orpheus here in a cellar made of glass. In it, with me, a blizzard of small black words. I

am sending this message to you from the world, but “This is a message from the world” is all it says.

42.

“Oh, to the teeth, sweetness is the medium, but the message is decay. Like

the soul, a hunch, wrapped in disintegration. Sweater

wool, skin cells, carpet fibers, ash, a gray

breeze: Virus,

and pollen, and ourselves

blown to breathing pieces.”

43.

And then at the petting zoo I knew

animal terror for the first time. Animal

despair: The trembling of the lamb under my trembling hand.

44.

Suddenly, God answers me!

I am made of the same thing you are, after all, and you

are made of me:

Some darkness, a supplication, a moral silence breezing

over the glassy stubble in a vacant field.

45.

“And let us not forget the petty prayers. The insatiable hunger of seagulls. The sunset

in the blood, and those

birds turning

in on themselves. Crying, reeling, happiest hungry. Let us be

you amphetamines! they scream. The market

full of fruit out of season. The locked

door of the embassy. The high

gate surrounding spring:

Please, God, I want all of it for me.”

46.

To: Orpheus Fr: Eurydice Re: Death

The babble. The cold, teeming, intangible hotel.

47.

God, do your hear that? That

bit of stitching in the wind? It unravels when you listen. Listen.

48.

The Debt Birds screeching, Insufficient! Someone shoveling snow onto a fire. A figure in a black suit swinging a lantern through the dark

in arcs, coming closer, and closer.

And my mother standing by the lilac

(the lilac, which is the suburb’s lyric poem

about death) talking

to a man she never met. I

overhear him say, Whatever

crazy sorrow saith.

49. 

“No one was crying, no one was bleeding, but the mail had been dumped in the street, and

someone’s husband a few blocks over was shouting loudly about accountability.

Shadows stuffed into envelopes— as when the forest creeps to the edge of the freeway, perfectly tamed, finally revealed,

and the wild illegal animals people keep as pets,

escape, are seen.”

50.

Jesus Christ, this stuff is everywhere!

51.

Excuse me.

I couldn’t help but overhear your prayer...

52.

“What the bloody hell is this? Someone must have written down every word ever said, then

shredded every word ever written.”

53. 

O, honey, O, lovely, O, please. It’s me,

Orpheaus, again, Eurydice.

54.

“Okay, now what we need here is a warehouse, or an abyss. Which one of you guys can get on this—

ASAP?”

55.

Like

trying to hold fire. Like

trying to hold perfume. Like

wearing fog to work. Like

stoppering a bottleful of light—

trying to talk to God.

56.

“Hello. Yeah. It’s me. Is he in? We’ve got a major mess on our           hands.”

57.

“Shit. Shit. Is he ever in?”

58.

Like stoppering a bottleful of light. Like wearing fog to work. Like trying to hold perfume. Like

trying to hold fire—

to make the simplest goddamned contact with—

59.

O, wait, look after all— that

warehouse, that

abyss, and

a beautiful naked stranger diligently trying

to ladle the oceans into it.

[knives-out20]

Inglourious Boyfriends - Part 2

Fandom: Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Pairing: Joshua Margolis (OC) x Lt. Aldo Raine

Word Count: 2504

Warnings: Spoilers For Inglourious Basterds,

Note: Here’s Part 2 Of Inglourious Boyfriends, 3.0 UGHHHHH. Josh Is Good At Using Guns And Bombs, And His Nickname Is The Pineapple Bomb. Because He Knows How To Use Bombs/Explosives/Grenades, And Looks Good While Doing It.

Aldo stood with Joshua at his side, the two of them looking over their little army of (some Jewish-)American soldiers scalping the dead Nazis, PFC Hirschberg standing guard behind three survivors."Beautiful bunch, aren't they?" Aldo muttered, glancing at the Basterds who were standing guard on the hills.

"Quite" Joshua nodded, as Aldo planted his ‘INGLORIOUS BASTERDS'-engraved rifle in the ground, walking over to Hirschberg.

"Hey, Hirschberg. Send that Kraut sarge over" he ordered, taking off his satchel and tossing it aside.

"You, go" Hirschberg directed, watching as the Nazi Sergeant slowly walked over to Aldo, who sat down cross-legged.

The Sergeant looked around at all the eyes on him, making his way to stand in front of Aldo. He saluted, "Sergeant Werner Rachtman" the Nazi introduced.

"Lieutenant Aldo Raine, pleased to meet you" Aldo respectfully lied, looking the Sergeant up and down."You know what 'sit down' means, Werner?" He asked, hearing Joshua get on his knees behind him.

Joshua glared daggers up at Werner, somehow intimidatingly starting to massage Aldo's shoulders, who allowed it.

Werner avoided eye contact with Joshua, nodding in reply to Aldo's question."Yes".

"Then sit down." Aldo instructed softly, Werner quickly complying."How's yer English, Werner? Because if need be, we got a couple fellers who can translate. Joshua".

Joshua nodded, continuing to massage Aldo's shoulders."Ah, W-Wicki here, an Austrian-Jew. Got the fuck out of Munich while the gettin' was good. Became American, got drafted, come back to give y'all what for" he started, Aldo silently pointing up at Wicki."Uh, a-another one up there you might be familiar with".

"Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz" Aldo introduced, everyone turning to look up at Hugo."Heard of him?".

"Everybody in the German army has heard of Hugo Stiglitz" Werner scowled, making Joshua and the Basterds laugh, including Hugo himself.

"And?" Aldo asked, looking up at Joshua, a smile gracing his lips every time he did.

"Uh, I- I grew up in a family fortunate enough t'learn any language on the face of the earth. German, Hebrew, French, anythin’ yer pea-sized, smooth brain can think of" Joshua finished, staring into Werner's non-existent soul.

Aldo's smile vanished when he turned back to Werner."Can we assume you know who we are?" Aldo asked.

Werner nodded."You're Aldo the Apache, and Joshua Margolis, the Pineapple Bomb" he answered, Joshua and the Basterds whooping afterwards. Rachtman turned to look up at Joshua."Your family made headlines in the thirties. Shame for you to think anyone would believe your little made up story about what your father's friend did to you" he ridiculed."It made the news, but I doubt it even happened, you-".

"Alright, Werner, enough" Aldo held up a hand, glancing up at Joshua to see if he was okay.

Joshua grit his teeth, taking deep breaths as he stared straight ahead.

Aldo caught the look of pain in Joshua's eyes, nonetheless."Well, Werner, if y’heard of us, you probably heard we ain't in the prisoner-takin’ business. We in the killin’-Nazi business, and cousin, business is a-boomin'" Aldo explained, Hirschberg cackling and adding "oh, yea". He smiled, "that leaves two ways we can play this out; either kill you, or let you go. Whether or not yer goin' to leave this ditch alive depends entirely on you" Aldo told, leaning back and slowly adjusting his position so that he was crouching on his feet, now. He nudged Joshua, who pulled his arms away on cue, automatically. Aldo glanced up at Joshua, then playfully turning back to Werner."Up the road a piece, there's an orchard. And I'd like to safely make it to the orchard so I can reward Joshua 'n' the rest of my men with some freshly-picked apples".

Joshua smiled down at Aldo as he stood at attention; one thing anyone could figure out about Joshua is his love for apples.

"Besides you, we know there's another Kraut patrol fuckin' around here, somewhere. If that patrol were to have any crack pots, that orchard would be a goddamn snipers dee-light" Aldo put into picture, unfolding a map and placing it between the Sergeant and him."So, if ya ever want to eat another sauerkraut sannich again, y'gotta show me on this here map where they are".

Werner leaned in to overlook the map, Joshua tensing and ready to attack.

"You gotta tell me how many there are, and you gotta tell me what kinda artillery they're carryin’ with 'em".

Werner scoffed, meeting Aldo's blue eyes."You can't expect me to divulge information that would put German lives in danger" he told in a raspy voice, going back to sitting up straight.

"Sir?" Joshua asked, ready to blow Werner's sorry little stupid brains out.

Aldo raised a hand, holding Joshua back without even touching him."Negative, Joshy" he shook his head, taking off his flat cap and tossing it over his satchel, followed by running his fingers through his slicked-back hair."Well, now, Werner, that's where yer wrong, because that's exactly what I expect. I need to know about Germans hidin’ in trees, and you need to tell me, and you need to tell me right now. Now, just take that finger of yer's and point out on this here map where this party is bein’ held, how many is comin’, and what they brought to play with".

Werner grinned. He raised a hand, slowly putting it over his chest."I respectfully refuse, sir".

Just then, the echo of a bat tapping some railing could be heard from inside the tunnel behind Joshua and Aldo.

"Oh, I'll respectfully refuse this b-bullet right up your-" Joshua growled, stepping forward. But, he let Aldo hold him back with the light weight of only his hand.

"Hold back, Margolis. I hear 'im comin’" Aldo gleefully told, maintaining eye contact with Werner."Hear that?" He asked, pointing a thumb down to the tunnel, as the bat-tapping continued.

Werner nodded, "Yes."

"That's Sergeant Donny Donowitz" Aldo whispered huskily."You might know ‘im better by his nickname, The Bear Jew. Now, if you've heard of Aldo the Apache and Joshua the Pineapple Bomb, you got to have heard about The Bear Jew".

"I've heard of The Bear Jew" Werner quietly verified, nodding.

"What did’ja hear?" Aldo asked, awaiting an answer.

"Beats German soldiers with a club".

"He bashes their brains in with a baseball bat, that's what he does. And Werner, I'm gonna ask you one last goddamn time, and if you still respectfully refuse, I'm callin’ The Bear Jew over" Aldo explained, as the tapping stopped."He's goin’ to take that big bat of his, and he's gonna beat yer ass to death with it" he explained, pausing for suspense."Now take yer wiener-schnitzel-lickin’ finger, and point out on this map what I wanna know" Aldo pointed down at the map, watching Werner stare at the map in thought.

Werner looked back up at Aldo, who took a deep breath, knowing what that meant."Fuck you. And your Jew dogs".

"Oh, y-you lil' piece of-" Joshua spat, as the Basterds laughed at Werner.

"Hold back, Margolis" Aldo ordered, silencing the Basterds immediately.

"B-But, Aldo-" Joshua complained, blue eyes sparked with the fire of malice on Werner.

"I said hold back!" Aldo barked, looked up at Joshua.

Joshua looked down at Aldo, jaw clenched shut as he then stared straight ahead, nodding strictly."Apologies, Aldo".

"Apologies accepted, Joshua. Anyways," Aldo scoffed, turning back to Werner."Actually, Werner, we're all tickled to hear you say that" he started, folding the map back up."Quite frankly, watchin’ Donny beat Nazis to death is the closest we ever get to goin’ to the movies- Donny!" Aldo called, standing up and pulling Joshua close to his side, grip around his waist tighter than usual.

"Yea?" Donny called back, the dark tunnel echoing his voice.

"Got us a German here who wants to die for country" Aldo sat down by his hat and satchel, Joshua following suit."Oblige him".

Donny started the bat-tapping again, the ringing sound growing louder as he got closer to the entrance, Werner staring straight into the abyss.

"What in the hell were ya thinkin', Margolis?" Aldo whispered, coming out as a grumble into Joshua's ear.

Joshua kissed his teeth, tearing his gaze from the tunnel to Aldo."But he said-".

"I know what he goddamn said, Joshua. Don't make me drag ya in that there deep, dark tunnel after all this 'n' teach y'how t'be quiet, alright?" Aldo growled, making Joshua close his eyes and nod obediently.

"Yes, sir" he whined, leaning into Aldo's touch when he teased his fingers through Josh's brown hair.

Aldo pulled out a sandwich to eat as he looked around, waiting patiently for Donny to come out. He even offered Joshua a piece, who hesitantly accepted it."Sure does like makin’ an entrance, don't he?".

"Ugh, d-don't we all?" Joshua mumbled, delicately holding the sandwich piece in his hands. He scarfed it down quickly, turning back to the tunnel entrance as Aldo put an arm around his shoulders protectively.

Once Donny emerged from the shadows, Joshua and the Basterds all whooped and cheered, clapping as Aldo held his sandwich between his teeth to clap along. Donny used his bat to tap the badge on Werner's chest."Did you get that for killing Jews?" He asked, murder in his big, dark eyes.

"Bravery." Werner responded, riling Donny up.

Donny panted, nodding as he tapped his bat against Werner's temple.

"Oh, g-good fuckin' luck tryin' t'find any brains to bash out, Donny, I don't believe it has any!" Joshua called, getting Aldo and the Basterds to laugh. He grinned triumphantly, the grin growing when Aldo softly kissed his temple.

"Good one, Joshy. I love you".

"I love you too, Aldo".

Donny nodded again, pulling his bat back. In one fair swoop, he knocked the side of Werner's head, sending him to the ground. 

Joshua jumped, huddling closer to Aldo. He leaned onto Aldo and put a hand on his chest, as Josh's best friend did what he does best; mercilessly beat a Nazi to death, and look good while doing it.

Aldo chuckled, glancing down at Joshua and pulling him closer. He fixed his eyes on Josh, sighing quietly.

Once Donny finished, he spread his arms, screeching at his fellow Basterds."Teddy fucking Williams knocks it out of the park!" He pranced around."Fenway Park is on its feet for Teddy fucking Ballgame! He went yard on that one, onto fucking Lansdowne Street! You!" Donny pointed at a blond Nazi in front of Hirschberg, who got up and ran, but Hirschberg shot him, falling to the ground.

"Ugh, d-damn it, Hirschberg!" Joshua cursed, turning to Donny, unaware of Aldo looking at him."Donny, bring that other one over here- alive!". 

"Get the fuck up!" Donny shoved the last Nazi, who got up and ran to Aldo and Joshua."You're on deck! Two hits; I hit you, you hit the ground" he said, the Nazi on his knees across from Aldo, Donny behind him with his bat ready.

"English?" Aldo asked, the Nazi shaking his head."Margolis?".

"Yea, o-on it" Joshua nodded, pulling away from Aldo and scooting closer to the Nazi.

"Ask him if he wants to live" Aldo instructed, taking a sip of water.

Joshua crouched like Aldo had earlier, asking the Nazi in German, if he wanted to live. He watched the Nazi nod, replying with a 'yes' in German.

"Tell him to point out on this map the German position" Aldo told, looking at Joshua with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

Joshua nodded, inspecting the Nazi as he asked. He laughed with the Basterds as the scared Nazi wasted no time following the instruction.

"Ask him how many Germans" Aldo sighed.

Joshua nodded again, gaze fixed on the Nazi as he spoke in German."Uhm, a-around about twelve".

"What kind of artillery?".

Joshua translated to the Nazi, continuing to do so for a couple more questions.

"Good, good job, Joshy" Aldo praised, as he sat the empty space beside himself, Joshua nodding and going back to sit there, but that didn’t make Aldo take his eyes off of him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant".

Aldo turned his gaze to the Nazi, all the love vanishing."Now, when you report what happened here, ya can't tell that you told us what y’told us, they'll shoot ya. They're gonna wanna know why you so special, we let y’live. So tell them, we let you live so you could spread the word through the ranks, whats goin' to happen to every Nazi we find" he explained, Joshua smoothly translating. Aldo folded the map back up again, putting it inside his coat.

"Now that you've survived the war, when you get home, what you gon' do?" He asked, Joshua asking in German.

"He's, uh, g-gonna hug his mother" Joshua answered.

"Well, ain't that nice?" Aldo teased, quickly snuffing some tobacco."Ask him if he's gonna take off his uniform".

Joshua nodded, obliging."He's gonna burn it". He took the box from Aldo, quickly snuffing some tobacco of his own.

"Yea, that's what we thought. We don't like that" Aldo shook his head, tucking the box of tobacco snuff away once Joshua gave it back."See, we like our Nazis in uniforms" he explained, standing up, Joshua doing the same."That way you can spot 'em, just like that" he snapped his fingers, Joshua translating and snapping his fingers as well. Aldo pointed at him, "but if you take off that uniform, ain't nobody gonna know you's a Nazi, and that don't sit well with us, does it, Joshy?". He just caught himself gazing at Joshua again, and hurriedly tore his gaze away, over to the Nazi.

"Uhm, no, n-not at all, sir" Joshua shook his head, translating it all to the Nazi.

"That's right" Aldo sniffed, walking over to the Nazi and pulling it his own, long knife."So I'm gonna give you a lil' somethin' you can't take off" he smirked playfully, pointing the tip of his knife at the Nazi's face, a look in his eyes that sent shivers up Joshua's spine.

Joshua's grip on his gun tightened, jaw clenching as he closed his eyes, quickly calming down. He opened his eyes and caught Aldo glancing at him, so he gave the Lieutenant a sheepish smile.

Aldo quickly looked back to the Nazi, nodding at Donny.

Donny nodded back, harshly pulling the Nazi to lie on his back, holding him down as Aldo efficiently used his knife to carve a swastika into his forehead. Donny looked down at the Nazi, crouching over him with Aldo and Joshua."You know, Lieutenant, you're getting pretty good at that" he complimented, Joshua nodding in agreement.

"You know how you get to Carnegie Hall, don't ya?" Aldo asked in return."Practice".

[atamascolily]

lily liveblogs “terminator: dark fate”, part one

In which I write two thousand words about the first two minutes, which is why it takes me four hours to watch a two-hour film.

The DVD says R rated for "Violence throughout". God I hope so.

3 dvd trailers just to get to the menu. thank goodness for fast forward. You can't skip them entirely, but you can skip to two seconds before they're over.

Also I can't help but note that one of the trailers is for Gemini Man, a movie about old!Will Smith battling a digitally de-aged!Will Smih, and I cannot help but admire the irony given how de-aginging software will be used in the film I am trying to see. Another trailer is for the Top Gun sequel. More irony.

the dvd menu is just the first thirty seconds of the theme with random movie clips, which just cuts out as soon as it gets good. not a fan.

grainy video footage of Sarah Connor from T2 with her v/o recounting her vision of nuclear holocaust to Silbermann AS THE COMPANY LOGOS FLASH ON SCREEN, this is (probably) not meant to be symbolic of the destructive influence of capitalism BUT OH MY GOD THE IRONY

Ocean waves on a beach, exposing a human skull. Then slow zoom out to reveal more bones. Old!Sarah narrates the story for those of us just tuning in. Terminators rising from the ocean while HK planes hover above. They see a little girl hiding beside a downed helicopter and aim at her--

--cut to the same (?) beach in Guatemala, 1998. Old!Sarah says "That future never happened because I stopped it," and we see her sitting by the beach in a bar, watching teenage John chat up a girl.

The CGI looks good here. John's face is fuzzy and at a distance, but it works in context, and t2-era!Sarah looks great. I wouldn't guess it was CGI if I didn't know it was CGI here. And this, my friends, is the future of filmmaking right here, and I have a lot of thoughts and feels about it, but that's a rant for another time. Let's just say that it's HIGHLY IRONIC that the people who basically invented Photoshop so they could make T2 are using this face-altering business on real actors, making them effectively shapeshifters just like the Terminators in this franchise. (Iirc, in T2, the CGI was used mainly for the shifting BETWEEN the faces of real actors--not on the actors themselves.)

And then young(er)!Arnold strolls in as John turns, and you can SEE him freeze as he RECOGNIZES the T-800, but doesn't have time to react--and the T-800 fires.

Sarah pulls a gun out of her pants and fires straight into his back. If she'd been facing in the other direction, she would have seen the T-800 and started firing right away, but she didn't. And I bet the T-800 deliberately set it up that way because he knew--whether Skynet told him or not--that Sarah was a threat.

She tries to grab the gun away from the T800 and it doesn't work. He pulls her head back and tosses her away. He could have killed her, but he doesn't. I don't know why. (PLOT!) Maybe because it's not his mission. Anyway, Sarah is like three feet away from her son, down on the ground, as he's shot in front of her. It's her worst nightmare come true, just when she thought everything was okay.

The scan from the T-800's perspective as he registers TARGET TERMINATED is pretty cool. And then he drops the gun and walks away, and Sarah is left with the dead body of her son.

"I saved three billion lives," Old!Sarah says, "but I couldn't save my son. A machine took him from me, and I was terminated."

WHAM.

CUT TO OPENING TITLE AND THEME.

Okay, so this is a controversial opening, and a lot of people hated it, but I am personally okay with it. Partially, it's because I am not emotionally attached to John Connor the same way I am attached to Sarah, or even Kyle. John Connor may be the savior of humanity in the Terminator mythos up until now, but he's also a macguffin in T1 (and arguably in T2 as well). He's not an independent agent, and his actions/decisions don't drive the plot in the same way that Sarah's do. John's story after a certain point in any timeline is very difficult to write well. Case in point: movies that are ostensibly about John Connor--T3 and Terminator: Salvation--are also the ones that "everybody" thinks are terrible, and Sarah is not present. I don’t think this is a coincidence.

People SAY they want a John Connor-centered movie, and maybe it's possible to do a better job that T3/Salvation/etc, but I think it would be very challenging--and I don't think it would be a Terminator movie at all. It would be a sci-fi action/horror featuring humanity vs. intelligent killer robots, but that's a different beast from a Terminator film--which is very much a commentary on contemporary human/machine interactions and therefore NEEDS an oblivious society as backdrop for its metaphors to work. A war movie in which the Terminators are no longer secret is... not as effective.

But anyway, put yourself in the writers' shoes and imagine you want to make another Terminator movie after T2. You want Sarah Connor to be in it. What do you do to make it new and different, while still working within the established formula? More to the point--remembering the unofficial motto of this franchise, after all--what do you do to make Sarah Connor suffer?

And the answer is exactly what the filmmakers did: they took away her son. They took away the REASON she was originally targeted for termination, the REASON her life was turned upside down, the REASON everybody she ever loved was murdered by killer robots from the future. They took away everything she'd worked for, and turned it to dust in an instant. And, you know, they killed YET ANOTHER PERSON she loved. Her last connection to Kyle, even.

(ngl, if I'd been writing this movie, I would have done the exact same thing FOR EXACTLY THOSE REASONS)

Also, can I just take a moment to point out how RARE it is that a male character dies to further a female character's story arc? This happens ALL THE GODDAMN TIME with male heroes and their wives/girlfriends/family members no one bats an eye, but kill off John Connor and suddenly everybody is pissed. I can't help but notice the double standard here.

Look, I know what it's like when someone kills off your favorite character. Really, I do. It sucks. It sucks a lot. (See: Avengers: Endgame and the Star Wars sequel trilogy.) But at the same time, I can't help but notice that a great deal of the people upset about John Connor's death are cishet white males--in many cases, the same people who in other contexts are fine with somebody (usually a woman) dying to "raise the stakes" and make the story "personal" and "dramatic" or even "realistic".

There are a lot of people who gushed  about The Last Jedi, calling it "subversive" and "brilliant" specifically for upending everything we knew about Luke and "making our old heroes fallible" (and therefore human). In the case of The Last Jedi, I can't help but notice that Luke's character--and Han and Leia's and everybody else in the movie--is shafted in favor of Kylo Ren, who is depicted as an attractive cishet white dude. I suspect this is not a coincidence.

I'm curious how much overlap there is between those who HATED Terminator: Dark Fate for killing off John, and those who LOVED TLJ, which has a similarly bleak premise and “subversion” of previous story beats. I wonder if the difference between the two films is that it doesn't matter to a lot of  cishet white dudes how screwed up everything else gets as long as the character they personally identify with the most/view as "the hero"--Kylo Ren--triumphs.

As far as I can tell, the attitude for some fans is that it’s fine if Sarah Connor suffers, but John is sacred and inviolate. He cannot be touched. He is essential, the lynchpin of the franchise, the one character who makes a Terminator movie work, the one around whom everything revolves. Without him, everything is pointless.

And I wonder if this is the same group who personally identifies with John--one, because they grew up with him, but two, because they look like him. I suspect a lot of people latched on to the idea of John Connor as the savior, because it meant--on some level--that THEY could also be the savior. And they are mad at having that character--and that promise--snatched away from them, and re-invest that energy in anyone else, let alone someone who looks different from them.

(AKA "It's all 'subverting expectations' and 'brilliance' until it's your self-insert/favorite character getting shafted," and then it gets ugly.)

Also, I note that John's death isn't heroic AT ALL. He dies in the exact same way the Terminator in T1 kills the other Sarah Connors. It's quick, efficient, and over in seconds. I suspect this hurts people more than if he'd died some other way. In a way, this scene is probably one of the most "realistic" in the entire movie. But I'm not sure people want "realism" in their movies, no matter how much they say they do.

(and does it say something about audience priorities that this kid getting shot at point-blank range is more upsetting and controversial than ALL OF THE OTHER DEATHS in this movie combined? Like, yes, I know  context matters, everybody else who dies in this movie is an adult (I think?), and we have a lot emotionally invested in John from previous movies, but... I mean, yes, I know, the background characters weren't framed as the saviors of humanity, but does that mean they don't also deserve empathy and respect and grief from us? And I can’t help but note that real-life children getting shot in a similar fashion doesn’t seem to engender the same amount of strong feelings on a massive scale, at least in the US.)  

Anyway, Sarah fails. Terribly. Irrevocably. In the only way that matters. She fails, and her son dies, and she falls right back down in the abyss she thought she'd managed to crawl out of. And I think that is also hard for a lot of people to watch, because we're so used to seeing her WIN through sheer grit, determination, and stubborness. We assumed she always would. But she can’t, not if there’s going to be another movie... 

(another other implication of Sarah's short-lived combat with the T-800 is that it doesn't matter how much of a badass she is, NO 100% HUMAN BEING can go head-to-head with a Terminator directly and WIN. If Sarah Connor can't do it, NOBODY ELSE COULD HAVE DONE IT BETTER THAN SHE DID.)

(and also there's the realization that if Sarah hadn't destroyed the reprogrammed Terminator at the end of T2--the only being who COULD have saved John in that moment--her son might still be alive. That's gotta hurt.)

Anyway, we're two minutes in and I find this plot twist more compelling than 90% of the entire Star Wars sequel trilogy, and 100% more consistent in terms of previously established character arcs. Obvs. ymmv, but I think it goes back to the franchise's horror roots, where everybody except Sarah dies, and it also shows very clearly that we are entering a Very Dark Timeline as we shift to the title card.

I'm honestly impressed the writers had the chutzpah to go through with this and REALLY kill John for good. Though I also see why they didn't advertise it in the trailers....

Before I move on, I want to repeat what Sarah said at the end of this scene, because it’s so gut-wrenching for me: “A machine took him from me, and I was terminated."

I emphasize that last clause because this is how Sarah sees it. It’s not just John who died that day--she believes that SHE did, too. Ever since she was 19 years old, Sarah Connor’s life has been defined as “John Connor’s mother” and she’s built up her whole identity around keeping him alive no matter what. Now John is dead, and she... cannot be that person any more. So who, then, is she?

For better or worse, Sarah Connor is now a free agent. She is liberated both from her role in the future as the mythic mother figure, and any lingering obligations she has to patriarchy. From now on, there is no fate (for her, if not humanity) but what she makes for herself. It’s an awful, ironic twist, and I think it was a valid choice for the franchise to make. As long as John Connor is alive, everybody else will always be in his shadow--up to, and including, Sarah. 

Without him, we’re in new territory. Which will look a lot like the old territory because humans are sadly predictable, but different all the same.

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Drunk Punch Love- Chapter 1

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

Chapter 1: Meet Me At The Bar 

Anya Shepard had never been pursued romantically. She'd never had time for that, between missions and her dislike of flowers. However, over the past two months, her handsome lieutenant made it pretty clear how he felt about her. While he wasn't her most frequent pick for away missions, he always made sure to show Anya that he had her back. Kaidan took care of her plants any time she was away, he always was ready to support her after any tough missions, and he kept the best sports streams from Earth on hand. It was flattering, honestly, having her own personal admirer. She was starting to get a bit of a crush on him, too.

So how the hell did she end up here, stumbling over herself with her best friend on Noveria?

The second she met Garrus Vakarian, something between them clicked. They both grew up with strict military parents who expected them to grow into tiny versions of them. And every step they took to try to be their own person, the more they only seemed to affirm their parents' legacy.

Until they didn't.

When she looked in his eyes, she saw all those years of frustration, with her parents, with COs, begging them to look past rules and instead do the goddamn right thing. It took years and too many traumatic events to finally get heard, and seeing him argue with C-Sec authorities about Saren brought all those feelings right back.

And when she helped saved Dr. Michel, and he looked at her like he found his partner in anti-crime? Anya had barely left his side after that.

Sure, they grew up on two different worlds, and he liked cop noirs where she loved war movies, and the one time she tried some of his food she barfed for hours, but it was like she found someone that made her feel so comfortably herself. Garrus went on every mission with her and she'd never felt so sure that somebody had her back, not just watered the Ivy.

Anya may have been his commanding officer, and he treated her with endless respect, but he didn't know how much leaning on him helped her, too.

And here she was, rubbing her cheeks to try to burn away blush while they were on a frozen planet full of corporate assholes. Well, less corporate assholes, after what they'd accomplished.

She still couldn't quite wrap her brain around how she got herself here, getting drunk with him, him holding onto her waist, her losing her mind as it fritzed. Liara came on the mission to face her mother, but after Benezia's unfortunate demise, she decided to go back to the ship and spend some quality time with Chakwas and by herself.

She and Garrus, however, needed to warm the hell up from the frozen wasteland and the drinks at the hotel bar looked pretty nice. They promise to be back to the ship in a few hours, but were going to enjoy a non-Saren break. Shit was fucked enough without them ignoring all opportunities to blow off some steam.

Anya wasn't sure when the blushing started, though. Yeah, sometimes it happened when she drank. But only about three drinks in, and she was swimming in all the things he was saying. Instead of casual soldier banter or mission talk, they were stumbling into some very deep conversations. Things she hadn't talked about in years. She didn't even realize she should be embarrassed until after she'd already told him about how her parents caught her making out in a closet with her first boyfriend (a Drell by the name of Ryel) and, worse, how she'd been woefully unprepared for the effect that the kiss would have on her mental state, especially in front of said parents.

Garrus' laughter made it all go down smoother, but Anya wasn't sure if that was for better or worse, just quite yet.

While humans were new to the galaxy, and were far less adept in inter-species relationships, Anya had always managed to be able to find something attractive about most anyone. When she was in elementary school, she had a huge crush on an Elcor child she met because he spoke what felt like poetry to her young ears.

And sure, she'd had flirtations with turians before and even had a few suggestive encounters, but none of those men were Garrus so that made things a bit more complicated.

Why did her hormones have to go and get all flustered now?

His jaw had always been so defined, and his voice always rumbled like that. She always had enjoyed hearing him tell her stories and watching the way his markings laid across his skin. Hell, she even had an honest admiration for the way he moved, as a soldier and as a person.

But what was so different now that made those "nice" things suddenly magnetic?

Just as she was losing her brain to the abyss of embarrassment, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She almost jolted out of her skin. "Hey, Shepard, I think we both needed this. But it's about time we headed back to the Normandy, right? Can't get blamed for making the Captain go AWOL."

Anya choked out a laugh and shrugged off his hand, careful to ignore how it glided off her back... Mostly. "Right. Yeah. We should do that." Just as she pushed off the high table, though, she wobbled. Was she drunker than she thought?

A little too helpful and thoughtful, Garrus caught her by the waist and held her up. Her bones could nearly melt out, the way her skin was heating up. He just grinned at her and shook his head. "Shepard can't hold her liquor. Duly noted." He threw her arm around his shoulder and, after paying the bill, took the lead. "It's okay, I'll get us back nice and safe. C-Sec had me carrying heavier and drunker people home. You'll be easy."

In her own desperation, Anya tried to pull away a bit. "Garrus, you don't have to-"

"With how many times you picked my ass up from those Asari Commandos today, it's the least I can do. But don't you dare tell anyone else I admitted that."

Anya thought, to Hell with it, and leaned in. Literally. She leaned onto his sturdy shoulder and just let her brain get its fill of whatever bizarre shit it was on tonight. Maybe it really was just the booze, too strong to let her think straight.

She had an attractive biotic chasing after her, right? No need to go for guys who'd never want her.

While she had a bad habit for that, she especially didn't need that bullshit with her best friend.

She tried to latch onto that phrase with a ferocity, like the platonic nature of it could save her from the way she was flaring up right now. It didn't make sense. It had to not make sense.

If it did make sense, she had one too many problems that a probationary Spectre trying to run down another Spectre trying to destroy the galaxy needed. Christ, thinking that only made her feel like shit for daring to think of anyone romantically.

By the time she was paying attention, they were already back to the Normandy doors. Most people on the ship would be asleep, with the probable exceptions of Joker, Pressley, and unfortunately enough, Kaidan.

He often waited up for her when she went away.

Suddenly his antics were less charming and more felt like a desperate puppy. Though, being carried around by an attractive turian who was one hell of a shot probably didn't help with that.

Dammit. Scratch the attractive.

"Have you always been such a lightweight? The vids act like humans are professionals at drinking."

Anya tried to focus on the things he said versus the joking, friendly, comfortable way he said them. "No, but I guess it's been a long while since I was a young cadet passing time."

"You haven't been drinking since cadets?" Garrus chuckled and the way it rumbled against her side nearly set her body on fire. "Joker may say I have a stick up my ass, but maybe I'm not the only one."

"You don't have time to drink much anymore when all your old drinking buddies keep dying."

Just as they entered the Normandy airlock, Garrus gave her this sympathetic, heartbroken look. "I'm sorry, Shepard."

Anya laughed back at him again, like it helped cover up all the weird feelings that were bubbling up in her. If she was going to ignore the romantic ones, she guessed the miserable ones were the only ones left. "You don't even know what you're saying sorry about."

"I may have done some digging on you. I know about Akuze, and several other suicide operations that you survived." Garrus shook his head and a flash of anger came on his face as the decontamination stopped. 'They couldn't have sent anyone else, could they?"

"Part of the job." Garrus picked her back up and they moved into the Normandy. The lights were low, Joker wasn't even at the helm, and they started walking towards the nav system. Pressley was awake, as expected, but other than a raised eyebrow he let them pass, unbothered. She appreciated that right now, especially with the gloom fog rolling in over her head.

Garrus responded, "Sure, but even the best can only take so much." Leading her to the stairs, he didn't even ask before he slung her over her shoulder and walked her down the stairs. "We need to find you more hobbies, Shepard. Drinking doesn't seem the best option."

Staring down at his strong back and well-toned legs, with his face so close to her ass, Anya was a little overwhelmed by it all. She didn't even speak until they were at the bottom and he put her back on the ground. "Y-You didn't have to do that."

"I didn't. But maybe you deserve to be carried sometimes, instead of having to carry everything for everyone else." He started dragging her towards her room intently, but those words he just said overwhelmed her senses more than anything else.

Most people just praised her, awarded her, and then begged to see what more she could accomplish. They might want to support her, but only so she could push on further and further.

But here he was, Garrus Vakarian, wanting to carry some of her burdens, no promise of her saving the world for him.

"Garrus, I-"

Anya barely opened her mouth before that not-so-secret admirer was on them. "Shepard! You okay?"

All the more flustered, she felt overrun. However, instead of speaking over her, Garrus just looked to her like it was her place to figure out what she wanted here. Hell, he looked half ready to hand her off to Kaidan, like he expected her to want that. There might have even been a twinge of disappointment in his eyes, if she didn't know any better.

Coughing, she kept a hand on Garrus' side but straightened. "Garrus and i were just... celebrating surviving Noveria. I might have drank a little more than I should have."

"Well, don't worry about it. I got you. I can get you the rest of the way and Garrus can get to sleep."

Garrus let go of her waist like he expected her to walk into Kaidan's open arms, but something snapped in Anya. Kaidan's sweet attentiveness was still sweet and well-meant, but looking up at this alien man, she didn't want to budge an inch. "He's already gotten me this far so let's just keep going. But thank you, Kaidan. You should get yourself to bed."

The guy looked dejected, and it made Anya feel a little bad, but not bad enough. Especially when Garrus said nothing, but his arm found its way around her waist again and tightened.

He helped her into her room, set her in her chair, and shut the door behind him. Except, he didn't leave. He stayed in the room with her. When he turned back around, she was stupidly fumbling with her boots.

Garrus got on his knees and started pulling at her shoes. However, after getting one off, he just stared at her foot. "Why didn't you want to spend some alone time with the Lieutenant? It wouldn't have hurt my feelings. The entire ship knows he's in love with you."

"Yeah, but who said I was in love with him?"

For a moment, Garrus stilled and glanced up at her, like trying to figure out what she really meant by that. She didn't quite know what she meant by that. "Fair. Alenko does come on strong."

"Sometimes I think I'm going insane on this ship. Too many people idolize me. Kaidan and Dr. T'Soni are the only ones who try to take it romantic. It's sweet, but it still feels like so much." Anya didn't know what was happening to her, but she found herself tearing up into her clenched fists. "Eventually, it feels like you're not human anymore, just this unstoppable idea that needs to keep going because it makes everyone else stronger. Humanity is counting on me to be their representative to prove to the galaxy that we're worthy. But along the way, I forget what it's like to be a human in the first place."

Garrus ran a soft talon across one of the tears falling down her cheek. "Don't worry, Shepard. You'll always be a squishy, emotional human to me."

And she couldn't explain what came over her, but that's when she leaned forward and pressed her lips onto his forehead. Maybe she hadn't noticed how good it felt to have him by her side, but now all the emotions tumbled over her uncontrollably. Maybe there was a reason she gave up drinking for so long.

His blue eyes looked up at her with confusion. "Shepard..."

"Please, don't say it. I'm tipsy and we can forget about it tomorrow, go back to being friends. Best of friends, actually. It doesn't have to be anything more for you, but just don't leave. Not right now. I'm... inordinately human right now."

Garrus didn't give her any response to the kiss, but asked, "What do you need?"

"I just want to be held and forget these bad feelings. I just want them to go back where they came from, before the booze."

She crawled into her bed, at best expecting to be tucked in. Instead, Garrus laid down next to her. He opened his arms. "C'mere. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

Anya didn't ask questions. She just pulled herself into his arms, cuddled close, and let his breathing be what she fell asleep to. Sure, she had no damn clue what this meant for their friendship, but it was nice to be soothed, if only for a little.

///

Hi! This is my Mass Effect fanfic, which currently gets posted on AO3, Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad 3 times a week. I absolutely love it and I hope you enjoy. 

Extra thanks to my patrons:

Danyell Jones

Amy Connolly 

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If you want to help support my stories, here’s a link: patreon.com/gracejordan 

[jamieisjoshing]

13 March 1992

“I spy with my little eye something beginning with N” “Nose?” “How could I see my nose, it’s pitch black” I didn’t answer. “…” “I don’t know.” “The answer’s nothing. I can see nothing, you idiot.” We had been held up in the back seat on what felt like the thousandth hour of a cross country road trip to hell. It was the start of Spring Break and dad had thought that instead of spending the long holiday at home, it would be better for us to go and visit our gramma in New Jersey. I’ve never been much of a fan, especially as the other option was us going to Epcot like everyone else had. “Get a couple of hotdogs in you and you’ll forget all about Florida.” Dad promised on multiple occasions. I wouldn’t. As previously stated, my best friend Duncan had already gloated about his family having already gotten their tickets and how they would be staying for the entire week, kicking around Horizons and World of Motion. “I’ll take pictures for you.” He said as we waited for the bus. “Why?” I asked, “you know I’ll be there.” I replied. And that was the beginning of having to keep up with a lie. “Where are you staying?” He asked “The Yacht Club.” I said coolly. “We should meet up then.” He said “Actually, we’re going to go drive to see my aunt Carol first. She lives out in Port Charlotte” He didn’t believe me, which was understandable as I was lying. Not about aunt Carol, but about going to see her. When I attempted to convince my parents that going to Epcot would be educational, I was met with all of the ways that it would not only not be educational, but exactly how it would be far too expensive. I sulked up to the point that we started packing the car and then that sulking became pure anger for the situation. Outside, the sky had gone from burnt orange to inky black. The only thing visible for miles was whatever was in the range of the headlights. 10:32 glared back at me in dull green light from the dashboard. Was it only ten? No longer on a road, we were on a tunnel of pure, inescapable darkness. We hadn’t even seen any other cars in what felt like ages. The miles and miles of road went from the familiar stand-alone stores like Kmart to the altogether alien of an Al’s Grocers or Mica’s Pizzas. London Calling warbled meekly through the speakers as we sped through the wind whipped darkness. Dad considered himself a rebel, but I’ve never seen a punk who couldn’t make it through Cujo without flinching. “Where are we?” I asked, peering through the window. It had only gotten darker out and the once visible outline of the trees began to blend into the background, making it seem more and more like something from a storybook. “We’re nearly there.” Dad answered, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Just…sit back.” Part of me felt on edge, the endless hours of being cooped up in the backseat had finally started eating into me. “I need batteries” I replied, only to have it come out as more of a whine than anything else. “Why do you need batteries?” Dad asked, his voice rising slightly. “These are dead” I replied, flicking the switch from on to off and back again. Mom sighed. “I thought we told you to pack extra” Mom shot “Where’s your bag?” She turned her head to look at me or the void space where a dark green JanSport might be, had I bothered to place it into the car. Racking my brain, I was only able to come to one conclusion. “I…forgot it.” I muttered. I knew where it was, clear as day. It was still on the living room couch, stuffed with batteries, comics, and a flashlight for reading. I had snuck a roll of Oreo’s in one of the side pockets, stuffing them neatly in a roll of socks. I knew what was coming next “You have to be more careful, bud.” Dad said, “you’re nearly a teenager.” Technically, I had packed it. I had just forgotten to bring it. I wouldn’t say that though. She answered with her usual, emphatic “hmpf” and that was that. She turned around to face the abyss in front of her. The car fell silent again as some song about a stalker hit its peak. We drove, no longer playing the kinds of games that were meant to pass time, but actually just wasted it, the shadowy outline of everything slowly becoming hypnotically metronomic. “That was Rockwell’s ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’, and if you’re hearing this, you are officially up past your bedtime.” The voice on the radio spoke. It was another hour or so before I was jostled awake by the car coming to an abrupt stop. Outside, large plastic letters advertised “Gas and Sip” on which the G-I-P seemed to have long gone out, so the place was literally called the asS diner. The parking lot was dotted with 18-wheelers and cargo trucks, all of whose decals had faded away, so all that was really distinguishable about them were the bottom portion of what could’ve been a diamond or a triangle or…maybe it was an M. “Go get you and your brother something to eat.” Dad said. He handed Maya a handful of wadded up ones “And put ten on pump three.” “Can I keep the change?” Maya asked Dad gave her a wary look before turning back to the car and starting to take the gas cap off. “Come on, loser.” Maya grabbed me by the sleeve of my shirt and we walked quietly towards the diner. Inside, the halogen lights flickered and dimmed at every turn. The tic-tac linoleum floors held the same stickiness as every movie theatre floor I had ever seen, pulling at my shoes with every step. Wh-uick Wh-uick Wh-uick We made it to the counter, where a lady in a grease splattered apron stood watching the matchbox tv that hung in the corner. David Letterman was talking to Bruce Willis and Demi Moore about their dogs and the lady at the counter found it to be the most hilarious thing “What’ll it be?” She asked, not turning to look at us. “Do you have chicken nuggets?” I asked “We are not getting chicken nuggets.” Maya said, her voice firm. “I want chicken nuggets.” I replied Annoyed, the waitress, who’s name tag read “Ann” tapped the counter with the edge of her pen where a scrap of paper had been tapped down at its edges. Ass only served three things. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and fries. “We’ll have four cheese burgers…with four Cokes” Maya said, “and can you put ten on pump three?” She slid the money across the counter. The waitress, who’s name tag read “Ann,” looked harshly at us both as if we were being interrogated before taking the money and giving Maya her change. “Four burgers with cheese.” She shouted through a pass-through in the wall. The face of a man wedged itself into view before letting out what I assume was a grunt of understanding before it disappeared again. “Find a table.” Maya said before tossing the placard to me. “Where’re you going?” I questioned “The restroom.” She replied, “just go and wait for the food.” With that, she turned and disappeared down the hall. I found a space near one of the oversized windows and pulled my Gameboy out of my jacket pocket in the hopes that it might have magically recharged itself in the time I left it to sit. It hadn’t. A clock hung on the wall, its occasional tick drowning out Letterman. 12:03 shown in eerily slanted letters that looked like they had been painted on. The line-up of the Late-Night show in the diner consisted of an elderly couple eating pie, a younger couple, also eating pie, two truckers who looked comically like what you might expect a trucker to look like, and a guy who looked like he’d been pulled out of an episode of COPS; large, bulging eyes, weird hair, covered in dirt. He kept fidgeting for no reason, his feet tapping against the bottom of the stool like a rabbit’s foot. He wore the puffiest, heaviest coat I’ve ever seen, even though it was crazy hot outside, even for summer. I tried to not think about it, focusing solely on the space where someone had carved their initials on the diner wall, above a jukebox that looked like it hadn’t been used in decades. ZK Wuz Here The waitress, whose name tag read “Ann” slid a tray of burgers onto the table before setting the drinks out. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until right up to this point. The burgers at asS tasted like burgers. Nothing made them one way or another the best thing that I have ever eaten. The bread was great, but the ketchup was watery. The cheese was melty, but the meat was dry. At 12:03 in the morning, food is food. Hastily, before Maya had come back, I started to devour the burger I claimed, tearing clean through the wrapper and scarfing greedily at it. I didn’t look up until I heard someone slide into the booth across from me. Half expecting Maya to be looking at me, disappointment clear on her face, I was surprised to find the guy who looked like he was from an episode of COPS sitting across from me. It wasn’t until he was this close that I could fully appreciate just how uncomical and awkward his appearance was. His eyes didn’t just bulge out of his head, they hung from it. They looked like those googly eyes you’d be forced to put on something like a clothes pin or a cotton ball to give it human-like features so that someone might say in passing, “this isn’t a cotton ball, this is a goddamn snowman. You get an A in art class, Kandinsky.” His hair was a mop of blond that had been streaked with blues and greens and barrettes and clips of every colour. His face was covered in literal, not figurative, sharpie drawings. “How’re you?” He asked, his voice a snake-like whisper. I didn’t answer, choosing to stare at him, mouth open, food half chewed. “What you playin’?” He asked “Listen,” I said with a start, “I don’t know you, but please leave me alone.” He stared at me for a moment, his creepy eyes looking as if they’d tilt out of his head and smash on the table, sending bits of creepy eye goo everywhere. It’d probably smell like bubble-gum and ass and for good measure, it’d be acidic enough to burn straight through the table, straight down to the basement. “I’m just asking a simple question.” He said, “no need to freak out.” “I’m playing Batman” I said. “Sweet,” He hissed, “can I play?” “Batteries are dead.” I answered resignedly He extended his hand as if to say, “let me see,” before sliding it away from me. “What I always find,” he said, removing the battery cover, “is that patience is a virtue.” He fiddled around with the batteries, moving them into different places. He took a paperclip from his pocket and wedge it in for good measure, before turning the entire thing over and staring at it like a proud father might look at their kid riding a bike and flipped the switch to ON. With that, the game sprung to life. “Good as new.” He said, smiling as if he’d just pulled off the greatest magic trick before returning the game, “So, where are you from?” “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” I said “But, I’m not a stranger,” he said, “we were just talking. I fixed your game.” “That was more of a nicety.” “A nicety?” He asked another chuckle finding its way out of his mouth, “how old are you.” I looked around, hoping that Maya might be walking out of the restroom, her usual surly big sister face on. She’d see the creeper, cross the room, and stab him in the side of the head with one of her bony ass fingers, say something bad ass and then he’d leave. What I did find was that on the outside of what I’m assuming is the only restroom’s door, a notice to “wash your damn hands” had been taped. I could feel a little piece of me die. “Listen, I just want to be left alone, yeah?” “I just wanted to tal-” He started. My armpits started to tingle, and I could tell that on some level I was close to vomiting or crying or both and then I felt the part of me that wanted nothing more than to walk back to the car, climb into the backseat, and go back home. And so, I started to cry. He stared at me for a moment before laughing to himself. He raised his hands in defeat and slowly stood before walking out of the diner. Even though I couldn’t see him, part of me could feel him staring in through the windows, his eerily large eyes boring into me. “Why are you crying?” A voice asked I looked up to see Maya standing next to me, her glasses in her hands. “Just tired.” I said She whispered something that sounded exactly like, “you a fucking bitch” “Where are mom and dad?” She asked without taking her eyes off the space directly behind me. “They haven’t come in yet.” I said, my mouth still full of burger. “Ellie, where’s the car?” She asked I turned to find the space by the gas pumps void of anyone, especially not a station wagon with a bunch of luggage strapped to the roof. “Shit.” I muttered as I pushed past Maya. We ran through the double doors and into the night. The air was sharp and musty, the taste of dirt and the moments just before rain caked itself thick on everything. “What the hell.” Maya asked as she too looked around, confused. I could feel my heart in my throat, goosebumps crept across my arm and neck and I immediately felt as if I was going to be sick. We stood outside, looking up and down the road for any sign of anything, but there was nothing. No cars. No lights. No sound of something far off in the distance. Nothing.

[vgcam]

FANFIC

“Full of Air” by Vered Gilad Friedman

Description: Mulder & Scully are being chased yet again… as they run, they encounter an unexpected object. (Mulder POV). Written for @txf-prompt-box​ challenge. Prompt: “A hot air balloon ride”.

Time frame: An unknown time in the middle of season 10.

Fanfic Category: Could it be… MSR?

Disclaimer: Don’t own these cuties but can’t resist playing with them. Promise to put everything away when I’m done… (I hope).

 “Scullllllllyyyy!!!!” Mulder cried out to his partner and then continued his breathless panting as he tried to keep up with her. He was too old for this crap. What the hell was he thinking when he agreed to come back to the FBI? At least they would have given them some time to re-train and get back into shape, but noooo, they had to shove them right back into the action and now he was going to die from some form of asthma attack. He was certain that Mr. Bruckman didn’t have that in mind when he said autoerotic-asphyxiation. The closest thing to erotic thoughts were feelings revolving around how tight his suit felt against his crotch and butt at that very moment. How on Earth was he able to run so fast in a suit in the olden days? There was going to be some serious damage down there after this experience and the thought of that made him cringe.

“Scullllllyyyyyy!!!” Jeez, she was so fast, and on heels no less. He felt so lame at that moment. Years of staying at home, stuffing himself with sunflower seeds had taken their toll. Now he regretted not listening to Scully about assuming healthier eating habits. Not only did she keep to her healthy regime, she also made the time to go on jogs every couple of days. No wonder she was amazingly agile while he barely managed to stay three steps behind her. And to think that he was the one with the longer legs.

“Oh my God!” he heard her exclaim from the distance.

“What?!” he shouted as he kept on running through the shrubs. She was out of his line of site. That’s how far behind he’d gotten.

“Mulder! You are not going to believe this!”

Yeah Scully, why don’t you just keep me guessing being that I am so very much enjoying myself, he told her in his mind. He was too out of breath for actual talk by then.

He kept on going. Their pursuers were still far behind, but a quick glance behind him told him that they were catching up. Their high-powered flashlights seemed closer than before. He had to up his game if he was going to avoid capture.

At last he caught sight of Scully’s figure. Why had she stopped running? A small knot formed in his belly. Did something happen to her?

He made a dash for it, until he was finally right behind her. He was now so out of breath, he was unable to let out a single syllable. He just stood there, his head bowed down, his body partially folded on itself and his palms resting on his knees, trying to regain his equilibrium.

“Mulder. You were right!”

Of course she has to tell him this when he is unable to even respond. Typical. He still hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

“Mulder?” He could hear the concern in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Out… of… breath…” he managed between pants.

She chuckled.

“Don’t… say… a word…” he warned her.

Another chuckle.

He rolled his eyes and finally returned to a normal standing position and then he caught sight of the object that astounded Scully just a couple of minutes earlier and his jaw dropped.

There, in the middle of the night a huge glowing flying saucer floated in midair.

“I thought you were taking me on another wild goose chase, Mulder, but you were right.”

Suddenly he could hear shouting in the distance. “Shit!” their pursuers were getting closer.

Mulder and Scully stared at each other as realization dawned on both of them. Then they burst into a super dash.

Running was slightly easier this time. They’d moved out of the forest and into a clearing. The only problem was, this would also apply for the group that was chasing them.

Scully was once again in the lead, running like a bat out of hell. He just had to somehow suck it and ignore the screaming of his muscles. He swore he was going back on a strict training regime when (if) they managed to get out of this mess.

All of a sudden he heard a rather loud thud accompanied by a cry from Scully. His heart skipped a beat. “Scullly!!!!”

“I’m OK!” she shot back. “I just collided with something.”

Somehow her attempt to assure him wasn’t really working. He upped his pace, unable to believe he actually had it in him and soon he was right beside her.

“Mulder…”

“What?” he was heavily panting again.

“I hate to be the one to burst this UFO bubble on you, but I think we’ve been had.” She wasn’t gloating, even though she could. He could tell she was trying to be gentle.

“What is it? What did you run into?” literally, he added in his mind.

“Well… I believe it’s a hot air balloon basket.”

At first her words didn’t register. Then he understood. He gazed up and sure thing, right above their heads he caught sight of the glowing flying saucer, only that now he could see the source of the glow. A large flame was blowing hot air into the saucer’s ‘belly’, keeping it afloat.

But he had no time to get pissed. Loud cries could be heard not too far in the distance. The people on their backs were now a lot closer. There was no way they would be able to outrun them now. He had to think fast.

“Scully! Get in!” he shouted as he climbed into the balloon’s basket.

“Mulder!!!” she shot back at him, her tone and stance telling him she thought he was crazy.

“NOW!” he ordered.

And lo and behold, she responded and soon after she’d joined him within the basket’s confines.

“I’ll toss the sandbags out and you can cut the tethers,” he kept on passing orders.

“With what exactly?” her tone aggravated.

He quickly dug into his coat and retrieved a pocket knife.

“You are such a boy scout, Mulder,” she told him as she grabbed the knife.

He quickly disposed of the sandbags as Scully cut them loose and they hadn’t a second to spare as shots were now being fired at their direction. Luckily the shooters were still not close enough as they began to rise.

He found the balloon’s control and as he twisted it, the flames above increased and with them the speed of the balloon’s ascent. He had no time to think about the direction the balloon was taking. His main goal was to gain as much distance between them and the crazy maniacs on the ground. Said maniacs were now right below them and shooting in their direction with every weapon possible. He prayed they were high enough and that those bastards would be terrible shots or else.

His prayers were answered. Finally they had gained enough altitude that he couldn’t hear the deranged group on the ground or their gun firing anymore.

All of the sudden he felt completely devoid of energy. He leaned against the basket and then he let himself slide slowly until he landed into a sitting position.

“Mulder!” Scully called out, “You OK?” She crouched beside him and gave his face a good look over in the meager light the propane flames cast on them.

“I’ve gotten too old for running in forests in the middle of the night,” he let out.

She moved to a sitting position and huddled close to him. “Your flying-saucer-chasing-days are over then? Will this be the last time we trespass on somebody’s private property?”

He snorted.

“Yeah. I thought as much.” She responded and Mulder knew there was a smile somewhere, lingering in the dark.

“God! My body’s killing me!” he revealed. “And please don’t tell me I told you so. I am going straight back to the running track once we get down.”

“Speaking of which,” she moved back to a standing position as she spoke, “How exactly are we going to get down?”

He pushed himself up and peered into the darkness that surrounded them. “I know how to operate the balloon. There’s really not much to it. The only catch is, people do not fly hot air balloons at night; too goddamn dangerous. There’s no telling what we might hit on the way.”

“Now you remember to tell me that?” She sounded more amused than annoyed.

He wasn’t kidding. This air trip of theirs was a possible disaster waiting to happen. “Well, it was either that or getting shot by a mob.”

“Neither are great choices.” She pointed out.

“Nope,” he told her as he stared into the black abyss and tried to make some sense of his surroundings.

He could hear rustling from her direction. “What are you doing?”

“Do you think A.D. Skinner will be awake this early in the morning?” She wondered.

“What’s the time?”

He saw the bright light of a cell phone shine as Scully eyeballed it. “It’s a bit over five in the morning.”

“Skinner’s definitely up.” The man was practically a living testament to marine self-discipline. There was no way of washing the soldier out of him.

Scully tapped the phone’s screen and then put it against her ear. After a minute, she let out a defeated sigh and disconnected. “There’s no reception here whatsoever and no internet. We’re practically stranded.”

“Well, the sun will be rising pretty soon. Let’s just hope we don’t collide with anything until then, and once there’s light we’ll land this thing,” he told her.

“And let’s say we do manage all of that, how do we go about explaining this to Skinner?”

Trust Scully to bring up sore points; only that since they’d returned to the bureau, Skinner had become much more like an additional X-Files member than their overbearing boss. He’d fully converted into a believer right after he (Mulder) was taken by those aliens, during those early days of Scully’s pregnancy with William. And now, it’s like their very good buddy is their boss and he’s just pretending to be pissed at them to please the party line when in truth he’s in the game with them all the way.

It’s kind of strange. Sometimes he’s not sure it’s even such a good thing. He needs somebody to restrain him at times. He knows he can go overboard and Scully, even though she does try to stop him on many occasions, most times she relents. It’s not because she’s not as strong-willed as he is. It’s more because she believes in him, and so the both of them plunge into danger together, and their only remaining safety net is no longer there.

Well, maybe it wasn’t all true. Lately a new safety net was forming. It was called ‘old age’ and Mulder hated the limits it held on him, and he wished he could cut loose, but the signs of wear and tear are just too evident.

“Should I take your silence as a good sign or a bad sign, Mulder?” Scully barged in on his reverie.

He sighed, feeling weary. “Skinner’s a teddy-bear, Scully, and besides, those people were running an illegal scam. Didn’t you see all those stands we passed by? Selling UFO merchandise? I betcha they were all in on it making a great number of pretty bucks from all those innocents who truly believed they were seeing a real UFO sighting.”

“I guess that takes care of Skinner but it’s not quite what you hoped for,” she said as she moved closer and leaned beside him against the basket’s side.

He drew in a deep breath. “No.”

“It’s not like this is your first UFO scam, Mulder, yet you sound so defeated. What’s really eating you up?”

He turned his head and his eyes met her deep blues. Of course they were mostly hidden by the night’s darkness but their glistening brought on by the burning flame from above made his heart dance. The same flame also enhanced the red tang of her hair, making it almost pop out amidst its black surroundings. She was so beautiful and she was all his, even though they didn’t consider themselves as a couple anymore. He knew without a speck of doubt that there was nobody else for her; or for him, for that matter.

“C'mon, Mulder,” she prodded, “spit it out.”

He offered her a jaded smile. “Did you ever wonder just how long we’d still be doing this, Scully?”

“I don’t know. We were out of this game for a long time. I’d sort of accepted that it was all over.”

“I know what you mean,” he continued, still deeply gazing into her eyes. “Back in the day when we were young—”

“Speak for yourself, Mulder. I’m still young.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her interjection and he was enthralled by the changes her expression took when she smiled back at him in that girly fashion of hers.

“Thanks for pointing that out to me Scully. I feel so much better now.”

“You’re welcome,” she teased.

“So anyway… back then I didn’t have time to think about how long we’d be doing this. All I wanted was to get to the truth, to unveil the mysteries and to get answers to all my questions. Nobody told me that some twenty plus years later I’d still either not have most of the answers or that the ones I did eventually figure out would be a load of bull like this tacky flying saucer/balloon we’re stuck in right now.”

“So what’s your point?” she asked.

“Not quite sure, I guess,” he admitted. “It’s a combination of sorts. We are both in our fifties. At this ripe age many agents switch to less physical positions. It’s to be expected. I don’t see myself chasing alien bounty hunters or super soldiers on foot, climbing fences or running like a maniac through God knows what and where till kingdom comes. Even after I’ll get back into shape, I am certain I won’t be able to re-live my golden boy days. In any other department, I’d probably be managing a team of investigators and training younger agents like Bill Patterson trained me. But in the X-Files…” he trailed off.

“What about the X-Files,” Scully picked up the conversation. “Do you want to have a team under you Mulder? Somebody to train so they’d follow in your footsteps?”

“That’s just it,” he told her. “I really don’t know. I do know that the two of us won’t be able to go on forever doing this. Today’s experience was ample proof of that. But we were gone from the X-Files for so many years and nobody took over. It’s like nobody cares and it seems as if the world moved on without us doing our thing and the world did quite well without us. I’m just wondering if anybody would even want to come and learn the trade.”

He could hear rustling as her hand made its way to his until it finally rested upon it. She part squeezed his palm; part massaged it as if she were trying to soothe him.

“I’m not quite sure the world did OK without us, Mulder. To me it seems the world just got lucky that somehow the sky didn’t fall on it while we were away from our posts.”

He let out a chuckle. “Dana Scully, you mean to say that the world basically revolves around us? That it will basically go into a standstill and the craziness will cease during the period we are too out of it to address it?” He gave her an obnoxious grin but then he felt something sharp poke his ribs and he let out a yelp. It was Scully’s elbow protesting on her behalf. “Hey!” he cried out. “No need to get all touchy on me now.”

“Well, that’s what snide comments will get you, Mulder.”

“It’s just that your presumption is somewhat far-fetched,” he told her. “Granted, it’s sort of true to a certain degree. Things have been uncannily quiet ever since we dropped off the face of the Earth, but to make it as if the world was just waiting for our return…”

“OK, Mulder, if you’re so smart, what’s your explanation for this? I mean, when we left the X-Files, super soldiers roamed the Earth and now there’s nary a super soldier in sight. And that conspiracy we were both fighting against was still alive and breathing during those day, but it seemed to drift into a major snooze while we were AWOL. But now that we’re back in the game, it’s all happening again… well, sans those super soldiers, but otherwise this whole crazy shit is alive and kicking. What exactly can you say about all of this?”

He didn’t really have an answer. It was weird; somehow it did feel like it all revolved around them. And what if it did? Would quitting the X-Files resolve the matter? And if they quit, what was he going to do? “Scully, what if we left again?”

“Mulder? You’re kidding me, right?”

Dawn was beginning to take hold of the world and Scully’s astounded expression became visible. Mulder adored her incredulous expressions with that tiny quirky pout of hers and her ruffled forehead.

“It’s just that if all of this is due to us and if working in the X-Files unit once more could possibly endanger you again… I’m not sure this old heart of mine could take any of this anymore.”

She offered him a compassionate squeeze of his hand and then she pulled in closer and tried to hug him with her short hands. “You know I’ll be OK, Mulder. I’m immortal after all,” she told him, her voice muffled as she spoke with her mouth against his chest.

He pulled his arms out of her embrace so that he could wrap them all around her. They stood there in silence as the sky color gradually transformed from dark grey to a murky bluish hue and slowly to purple and then pink, red and finally to bright orange as the sun made its appearance.

“Scully?”

“What?”

“If we would leave the X-Files to save the world and ourselves from inevitable doom, what do you think you’d do?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious to me. I’d go back to being a doctor. Maybe I’d even return as a Quantico instructor.”

“Yeah. I thought as much.”

“Coming to think of it, you can get a teaching position in Quantico as well, Mulder.”

He snorted loudly. “Sure. I’ll be the instructor for the course ‘UFO sightings for dummies’.”

She laughed. “Hey, I’ll be teaching the infamous course 'A Grey’s Anatomy – everything you need to know about alien autopsies’.”

“I’m going to sit in the front row. I promise to drive you crazy with questions Professor Scully.”

An amazing smile lit up her face as she laughed at his antics, then she settled down and their eyes locked onto each other. As if in slow motion, their faces moved closer until their lips touched and they fell into a passionate kiss. The energy of the moment set an explosion of feelings both physical and emotional through his body and soul. He didn’t want it to end. All he wanted was to remain in the middle of nowhere, up above the world, with Scully.

All of a sudden he felt a strong vibrating sensation emanating from his butt. He was still so deeply immersed in the moment he was having with Scully, that the unexpected vibes made him jerk.

His movement startled Scully and her eyes widened with shock. “Huh?!” she blurted.

His mind quickly figured out the source of the tremor. It was his phone. They must have begun to lose altitude and they were back on the cell grid.

Reluctantly he pulled his right arm out of his embrace around Scully and then he fished the pulsating contraption out of his back pocket.

The smartphone’s screen had Skinner’s face plastered all over it and he showed it to Scully.

“Let me do the talking,” she suggested.

He didn’t argue as he handed his phone over to her.

She swiped the screen and put it against her ear. “It’s Scully, Sir.”

There was a loud rumble pouring out of the cell and into Scully’s ear. Mulder couldn’t make much of what Skinner was yelling about, aside from the words: 'fucking mess’, 'Mulder’ and 'UFO’. Scully tried to explain but the A.D. was definitely in a foul mood and all she could manage in between his tirade were a few single syllables. Finally she handed the phone to Mulder.

“It’s the 'Teddy-Bear'…” she whispered as Mulder put the cell to his ear.

Mulder braced himself for impact.

THE END

@txf-prompt-box @today-in-fic

[winksiwinksi]

I need to write and put words out there and this is the best method at the moment. There are people I know on here — hi. I just need to post stuff into the abyss. 

12:55 am March 13, 2017

It’s almost 1 am. But I’m telling myself it’s only midnight. Because goddamn Daylight Savings. I didn’t grow up with it. I don’t understand it. And I think it’s bullshit.

I’ve always wanted to write. In high school I kept a journal of pretend poetry. I call it pretend because it didn’t have rhythm. It didn’t have rhyme. It had angst. And that’s about it. For whatever reason I’ve always had more confidence working with other people’s words than my own. So I became an editor. But I wish I could create.

I’ve also always wanted to be a person that creates tangible things. You know. Like a painter. Or a woodworker. Or even a fucking DIY decor person. Whatever that’s called. I’ve been a photographer, and I loved the dark room. But my old job sucked the love right out of photography. I get that bug every once in a while. But digital isn’t the same. And I never think I’m good enough. I’ve been trying to do more baking lately. But I don’t know how to work without a recipe, which kind of defeats the purpose of creating.

It’s now past 1 am. And I’m sitting here in a towel after taking a warm shower to try to help me fall asleep. But I’m too scared to try. Because I don’t want to be up all night tossing and turning again. And it’s easier to just let myself be awake than it is to try to fall asleep.

I’m a good bottle of wine in. But I don’t know how much it actually is because I get boxes of wine. I drink a lot of nights. But I’m also in denial of that. It’s probably most. I just deleted “most” and wrote “a lot.” So that should say something. It’s weird to know you have a problem using alcohol to cope with shit but to know that you aren’t an alcoholic. I don’t think most people get the difference. Maybe I’m fooling myself and there is no difference.

I’m getting married to the love of my life in less than three months. I know we are meant to be together. But it doesn’t stop that “what if” voice. I mean. No one goes into marriage thinking they will get divorced. I’ve also never trusted myself or another person enough to make this kind of commitment. And I’ve spent a lot of time purposely working to be independent. But I’m forever not independent anymore. And that’s scary.

And I’m planning that wedding. And there are so many goddamn details. Details that run through my brain all night long.

We’ve also been fighting. The kind of fight you can’t even explain. The kind of fight that changes everything. Not in a ending-things kind of way, but in a huge-revelation kind of way.

I recently moved from a blue bubble in a red state in the Midwest to a blue bubble in a red state in the South. And this blue bubble everyone loves to praise is way more of a purple bubble.

And in this purple little city (town? what is that definition?), I’m pretty sure we know 3/4 of the queers between 25 and 40. All eight of them. My partner can’t walk down the street without getting looks. I have the privilege of getting a break from it when we aren’t together, but she never gets a break. But it does mean I get some subtle and not-so-subtle homophobic remarks from strangers that make me go “errr errrr errrrrrr” and run away as fast as I can. It also means that we get all these straight people who don’t understand how, “in this blue bubble,” we could possibly not feel safe holding hands walking down the street.

Which comes first — the anxiety or the thing causing the anxiety? As in. Am I anxious about everything because I have anxiety? Or is there a thing causing anxiety that’s giving me anxiety?

The healthcare marketplace is terrible. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those people who wants it gone. It has helped so many people, and it needs to stay. But it has so many problems. 1) You can’t do anything on that damn website without calling. I’ve spent so much time on hold, I’ve actually gotten the on-hold music stuck in my head out of the blue. During my move, I called 10+ times. Everything has been a fight. 2) The subsidies aren’t enough and they don’t go high enough into income brackets. While technically I can afford my monthly payment, it can be a struggle. 3) In order to afford the monthly payments, I have to get a plan with a $6800 deductible and gamble on whether or not I actually will be using the health insurance I pay way too much for each month. 4) Somehow the dear state I’m in finagled a way to screw over anyone trying to use the marketplace. I have dental. But I have no dentist in a 30 mile radius. I needed to see someone for my anxiety, but I hadn’t set up a primary doctor yet because it was so overwhelming and my anxiety would get in the way. I finally attempted to get in somewhere and I had one specifically mental-health choice — a behavioral health clinic. This clinic is meant for people with low incomes and shitty insurance. But it is my only choice. I am the person with shitty insurance. But I’m using up resources for people who literally have $0 in income per month (I overheard a convo while checking out). That doesn’t exactly help my anxiety now does it? So I get to go assure them that I’m a little crazy. But not too crazy.

I’m coming to terms with the fact that I need professional help with my anxiety.

I’ve always wanted to write. I’ve tried journals but have always failed at being consistent. Maybe doing it on the computer will help. Though I’m not supposed to be in front of a screen right now — bad for trying to sleep. Should I post this? Will that keep me writing? What ever happened to Live Journal or Xanga? I was really good at that.

11:50 am March 15, 2017

Day 1 on Zoloft. I just finished my first appointment with the psychiatrist. I really don’t like going to the behavioral clinic. I feel like I’m using up someone else’s resource. I just have to remind myself that this was my one choice at the moment. This is my resource. I get anxious just going there, because it’s such an in your face kind of view on the zero shits government gives.

The appointment was a tele-appointment. I spoke with the doctor over Skype. Which in some ways I really liked the separation. He was just a screen. In other ways, it allows me to stay separated in a not good way. I don’t know if I like it or not.

I have a couple of tips for him. 1) I’m there for anxiety. And I’m pretty ashamed of my use of alcohol to cope. So maybe hold off on the lecture about how I’m ruining my liver. I assure you. I know. 2) I’m there for anxiety. Anxiety partially caused by the current political climate. I already told you that I’m getting married to a woman. So there’s a pretty good bet on the fact that I’m a flaming queer liberal. Maybe when I say I went to school for journalism, you should hold off on “Ohhhhh Trump says bad things about youuuuuuu…” and when you hear “Yeah, that doesn’t really help,” as the reply, maybe not continue to say, “But he’s right! I mean, the media never says anything good about him.” And when the reply is a really awkward “mmmmmmm” because your client can’t believe they are in this convo right now you maaaaybe don’t then say “I mean, of course he did business overseas! He’s a businessman!” He said “moving on” when I was silent and balking at the screen, so I guess he figured it out. Maybe.

So I’m on (generic) Zoloft, 25 mg. Which was the expected prescription based on everyone I’ve talked to. Not sure how I feel about that, other than something needed to happen so I’m glad something happened. So now I’m on meds. Moving forward I guess.

[doublenuzlocke]

Entry #6: Code: LYOKO AU!

(And here I was worried about this getting to 1000 words… But here ya go, hope ya enjoy!)

  “Gold, Red’s getting away. Stay focused.”

  “Stop nagging, Mister Killjoy. We can catch up easy and have a little fun in the meantime, right, Crys?”

  “Knock it off, Gold.”

  Crys aimed a glare at Gold, who rolled his eyes in response. She was always a little moodier and more aggressive towards him whenever they were inside this virtual world. It probably had something to do with the Fire typing she had. He was Water, cool and laid-back, probably a bit too blasé, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t burn him if he didn’t kick it into gear. Hah, her giving him a burn, what a twist.

  Gold let out a dramatic sigh, materialised his water surfboard, and hopped on to skate after their ward who had wandered ahead. The boy, Red, was pretty ballsy for only having weak little sparks to defend himself with. That kid really liked to battle, as if there were no dangers in him fainting and ceasing to exist. Man, Blue and Green would have their heads for that. Unfortunately, they were tied up with important tests they needed to take, and Kotone had gone with Ruby to slow the damage M2 was causing in reality, which meant Gold had to be stuck with the two most boring teammates. Silver was the only one who could work the goddamn computer, so that couldn’t be helped.

  Crys led the way along the forest path, the fire speeding her charge. Silver’s voice came through to them as if over a PA system, exasperated as usual. “Red, there are three of those Krabby protecting the activated tower. Please wait for Crystal and Gold to catch up before you engage.”

  “Yahoo, Water types! Prepare to taste my Thunder Wave!”

  Red whooped, just within view ahead of them. Crys huffed and sped up slightly, outpacing Gold by this point. Her damned speed boost with that Nitro Charge could be infuriating. Still, Gold ended up laughing. “At least one of us is having fun here.”

  “We’re trying to not let M2 blow up the power generator and Red’s busy having fun.” Crys shot an annoyed look back at Gold. She glanced down at his surfboard, slowing her pace to match his, then looked back up to meet his eyes. “Give me a lift.”

  Gold raised an eyebrow. “And douse your fire again?”

  “If I transfer my speed boosts to your stats, then we can move faster.”

  “How’re you gonna help when you’re burnt out?”

  “Gold, Crystal.” Silver’s no nonsense tone interrupted. “Squabbling like children will not make you run any faster.”

  “Right.” Crys, ever the focused fighter, faced forward again. “We can try that stat transfer later, maybe.”

  “And then I’ll get you wet, right?”

  Gold snickered and Crys’ fire mane flared up. At least his burnt comment had gone unnoticed. Ahead of them, Red had separated a Krabby from the rest and had it trapped in a circle of electric current. At least it was three Krabby this time and not four Magnezone like it had been last time. M2 was being lenient with them this round. And Silver would let them know if Kotone and Ruby were in trouble.

  Crys became engulfed in flames and tackled the Krabby that Red had trapped. Gold swerved to a stop, his board dissolving into a wave of water and washing over the other two Krabby. He may have not had the type advantage here, but his wave was enough to knock them off the path and into the abyss below. Crys and Red had defeated their opponent the hard way.

  Gold grinned and stretched his hands up behind his head. “Pretty light defences today. Think M2’s throwing in the towel?”

  Red laughed, enjoying the joke. Crys’ expression remained aggravated. “Gold, I swear–”

  Silver hissed, making Gold, Crys, and Red jump. “Incoming Golem. Red, deactivate that tower now.”

  Gold groaned. He’d jinxed it. Crys growled, glaring down the path. By the rumbling that was growing louder, that Golem was approaching too fast. Gold nodded to Red, flexing his claws. “Get to the tower. We can hold it off.”

  Red smiled, determined. “Leave it to me.”

  Not like they had much of a choice on that front, either. Red turned and ran to enter the tower. Crys closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but her fire didn’t calm like it normally would. That was uncharacteristically aggressive for Crys. Maybe Gold had pissed her off more than he’d first thought.

  Gold glanced over to her, meaning to ask and apologise about it, but the Golem rolled into view, careening around a corner and barely not flying off the side. M2 was crazy for driving a boulder like that so fast! Gold panicked momentarily, pulling out another surfboard from his store of water. The thing was moving so fast, it was probably planning on attacking the tower directly. And if that happened…

  Acting without thinking, his specialty, Gold moved in the Golem’s path and braced his feet into the grass and fallen leaves, holding his board out as a shield. The Golem collided with him and pushed him back way further than he expected, nearly forcing his back to the tower. Crys roared out something incoherent and the fire burst off of her, turning to data. The data hung in the air a moment, then reformed into a chain of rocks. The rocks whipped forward, wrapping around the Golem and heaving it up into the air, away from Gold.

  “Oh.” Silver’s voice came over, soft in surprise. “Interesting.”

  Gold stumbled as the force had been removed from his board and watched, frozen, as Crys used this chain of rocks to toss the Golem down the path. As if it weren’t a heavy fucking boulder that usually walled them when all four of them were protecting Red. Crys let out a short breath, flexing her newly formed rock appendages. Her entire form had changed, no longer having the fire or the colour scheme it had before. She was grey and stood nearly as tall as the tower, which was, as eloquently as Gold could explain it, really fucking tall.

  He tried to ask Silver what had happened, but could only stutter half-formed words. Then Crys reached out with that chain of rocks, but the Golem bowled into Gold’s side and knocked him into the floor as it trampled him completely. The wind knocked out of him, his vision went white and he gasped for breath until he’d stopped floating in that weird state of limbo and stood on wobbly legs inside the virtualisation pod.

  Silver’s voice, Crys and Red, the virtual forest of Johto, it was all gone in favour of reality. Gold was left barely able to stand in the lower floor of the factory they’d come to call their second home. And everything was so goddamn orange. He took a moment to get his footing back and catch his breath, then made his way to the elevator.

  As soon as he arrived in the computer room, he headed straight for where Silver sat at the computer smack dab in the centre. “What the hell was that?”

  “We were successful in shutting down M2’s attempts.” Silver didn’t even turn to acknowledge Gold, the mechanical bastard. Just kept clicking away at the keys on the keyboard, doing computer things with that mess of a computer. “I’m logging Crystal out at this moment. Your concern is noted.”

  “She’s okay, right?”

  Gold cringed, unable to have curbed his immediate worry. Silver smirked for a second before going back to his careful and controlled neutral. “Yes, she is all right. I’d say more so, considering her advancing progress in combat.”

  “Keep your fancy terminology and just tell me what the heck happened.”

  Gold crossed his arms over his chest. Silver glanced to Gold shortly, his gaze judging. The elevator grumbled as it closed and descended, presumably called down by Crys. On the computer, a window popped up to show Red’s face as he joined in. “I didn’t get to see it, I wanna know, too.”

  Silver deflated. “Fine. Crystal evolved, which means she gained an alternate form and typing she can now choose to utilise.”

  “Ohh.” Red’s eyes practically sparkled with interest. “Do you think I’ll be able to evolve, too? It looks really cool!”

  “Who knows?”

  Silver shrugged. The elevator whirred as it arrived back on their floor and opened to reveal Crys, looked just as ragged as Gold felt. She stumbled out and leaned against Silver’s chair. “How are Kotone and Ruby? We stopped M2, right?”

  Silver handed her his cellphone. Red, from the computer, grinned. “I entered the code and deactivated the tower!”

  “Which means the threats here should’ve stopped.” Gold placed a hand on Crys’ shoulder, offering up what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We did good.”

  Crys took the phone from Silver and paused a moment to frown at Gold. “It’s ‘we did well’.”

  Gold laughed. She shook his hand off, stepping away and calling up Kotone. Red, starry-eyed as ever, engaged Silver in a one-sided conversation about how Red’s battle prowress was improving and maybe they could let Red handle some recon missions on his own. Gold took the momentary break to just relax and breathe.

  Evolution, it sounded unreal. At the same time, they were all just kids attending a boarding school where a factory holding a computer system with access to a whole virtual world just so happened to be on campus. And the virtual world was run by a crazy virus that wanted to destroy humanity. At least they’d stopped doing their resets so frequently. A challenge if Gold ever faced one. He couldn’t wait for the next battle now.