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estellamiraiauthor · 1 year

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So we’re now about a third of the way through, and past all the chapters I really REMEMBER hating (LOL). Chapter 16 should be a shorter one… the chapter itself is short at least?

As always, spoilers including possible spoilers for chapters beyond this one are under the cut!

There’s only a very, very little bit of Rei in this chapter: He tells Teru to get out of bed and go home. Again, there’s not really any anger here though… I think they both just feel hopeless at this point. It’s over. That’s all.

I kind of wonder how Rei gets home here… in theory, they’d both be going to Shibuya station and then heading in opposite directions from there, but I definitely don’t think they walk to the station together. I’m not sure if he’d take a cab (it’s not just pride that keeps him from doing so regularly, he also has PTSD around cars, period, as we kind of see later… ) maybe he just does what Teru does, and calls a friend (I.e. Chizuru). Maybe he just waits awhile to make sure he won’t run into Teru again on the way home, and takes the train.

Anyway, we never find out and it’s not important to the plot, unless I Midnight Sun this someday. Teru ends up on the train with the intent to go home, but he’s less the type to wallow in his misery alone, and ends up calling Yasu. I really like the little detail here where the train doesn’t quite stop at the right place, and people who’ve been waiting at the places where the doors are supposed to be now have to scramble to get back in the new “right” places. That’s just a thing that happens sometimes, but here it was (pretty obviously?) supposed to be a metaphor for how Teru feels. Nothing in his life is where it’s “supposed to be” right now, and he’s trying to figure out where he needs to be.

He’s in a weird place here because he really wants and needs to talk to someone about what happened, but he’s not out, and is only starting to admit to HIMSELF that he’s not straight. And even if he was okay with outing himself, it would also be a huge violation of Rei’s privacy to share the details. So he calls Yasu and asks to meet up in Shinjuku, but the conversation they end up having is full of misunderstandings.

I had one (straight, white) friend who read this tell me that this degree of asking friends for relationship advice didn’t seem like something two guys would do… it’s actually based somewhat on my husband’s relationship with his best friend, though, and my queer readers seem to like it more. (Yasu is definitely allocishet, but he can still be a sweetie?) Meh. In the end, maybe I don’t care as much about being “realistic” as about how much I love non-toxic male friendships in fiction, so there was never any chance I’d change their dynamic.

There’s a tiny little scene here where Teru walks through the station and people are staring at him. This was originally kind of a bigger theme—the similarities and differences in being stared at because you chose to dye your hair an unnatural color and being stared at because you have visible disabilities, but I think the point has already been made, so I ended up cutting a lot of Teru’s internal thoughts on the matter.

ANYWAY, he meets Yasu for a coffee, Yasu updates him on the rehearsal he missed, and Teru tries to ask for relationship advice without actually talking about his relationship.

One of the biggest things I wanted to do here was to show how the thought that this person Teru is talking about might not be a woman NEVER EVEN CROSSES YASU’S MIND. That’s probably something that happens everywhere… it’s especially grating I think when people are talking to my kids, like if someone tells my son “Someday, when you have a girlfriend…” I feel like I have to add “or a boyfriend, or any significant other”… I don’t know if my kid is straight or queer yet, but like, if he IS queer, I don’t want him to feel that there’s anything wrong with that, so I want to normalize queer relationships but there’s just SO MUCH ASSUMING THAT PEOPLE ARE STRAIGHT.

Like, if Yasu’s mind didn’t just auto-exclude anyone who wasn’t female, it would be REALLY obvious Teru was talking about Rei. Yasu has met Rei before; the entire band has wondered aloud why he wears the mask. When Teru’s talking about responding badly to being shown “a secret,” it’s SO INCREDIBLY OBVIOUS… except it’s not, because in Yasu’s mind Rei doesn’t fit the criteria for a potential love interest, so he assumes Teru’s talking about Kiyomi.

Yasu actually does give some pretty good, if misguided, advice. He tells Teru to take “her” somewhere fun, where they can both just forget about whatever the horrible secret is. The specific examples of “fun” activities he gives are completely inappropriate for someone who can barely walk, but the general message is a good one: If Teru wants to help Rei, he needs to help him enjoy the life he has now, rather than constantly mourning the past and/or worrying about the band’s future.

Since Yasu thinks we’re talking about Kiyomi, though, he decides to “help” Teru out by calling her. She assumes he’s calling to ask her on a date, and poor Teru still isn’t very good at saying no… SO much assuming going on here!

Then at the end, Teru gets a call from his boss because he was apparently supposed to work that day… sort of a little bit of foreshadowing (together with all the missed rehearsals) that he IS letting his not-quite relationship with Rei starting to take over the rest of his life…

Overall, not really a chapter in which a lot HAPPENS, but I think it does set into motion both the start of what Kiyomi’s going to misinterpret as a romantic relationship, and the start of Teru’s efforts to really build a real relationship with Rei.

#The stars may rise and fall #annotated #phantom retelling #lgbtq fiction #you know what assuming does

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flying-nightwing · 4 years

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Pink and Totalitarianism Always Go Hand in Hand

Here’s the promised crack fic. Disclaimer, this is terrible in every and any form, because it is meant to be that way. If you want quality, structure, a story that makes sense, this ain’t it chief. This is certified Crack. If you finish this and all you can say is something along the lines of “what the fuck”, my work here is done. (Besides, this isn’t edited to add to the overall crack vibe)

Enjoy and good luck, because it get worse and worse as it goes

Masterlist in bio // pinned post

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 4626

Warnings: Mention of drugs, light non-graphic violence, language

Summary: You’re stuck in a world that does not make sense, alone and surrounded by secret police and spies that will report you to the government. One early morning, Jason appears in your living room. His arrival gives you an opportunity to get the hell out of there for good.

You had taken a habit of sleeping lightly.

You, who had once cherished your sleep like it was the rarest gem in the world. Yet, you found out you had still severely underappreciated its importance in your life, something you realized only when it was gone. You missed it like an old friend who was gone to war and died on the front, leaving words forever unsaid. What would you do for just one more night in your bed, with your own pillows and that drool stain that just wouldn’t leave anymore, sleeping like a log until the late morning. Or just a nap, that even would be enough. But you were far from home now, and you didn’t have a lot of hope you’d ever come back.

When you heard a loud thump in the living room, your eyes flew open and your muscles tensed. Pushing off the pink comforter and pulling on the equally pink robe that was draped over the wooden chair, you carefully made your way down the corridor and toward the sound. A man dressed in black and red, with a red helmet complementing his strange outfit was standing there, looking around like he was trying to understand what was going on. You plastered a smile on your face.

“Hiya there” The corner of your mouth hurt from the strain of smiling so wide. “Can I help you?”

“Uh?” He looked up, and even through his helmet you could assume his eyes were wide with confusion. They wouldn’t get you this time, you’d make sure of it. He didn’t fool anyone. “Where am I?”

“Silly!” You laughed, waving your hand in a small dismissive gesture. “We’re in Happy Town, obviously!”

“Uh?” He repeated, already visibly exhausted. That one agent lasted longer than the last, you had to give him that. His confusion was credible and well played down to the last detail. “Listen, lady, I’m sorry I crashed your house but I need you to point me toward Metropolis”

“Metropolis? I haven’t heard of a city of that name” You didn’t drop the smile. The goddamn smile. “Although, you are quite illegal sir, black and red are prohibited colors”

“... What?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to change” You explained. “Luckily for you, I have spares in the bedroom. Come along”

“Wait, prohibited?” He repeated, and you nodded eagerly. A test, it’s always a test. “What colors aren’t prohibited then?”

“Well, pink, you silly goose!”

He stared at you for the longest time. “What the fuck”

You froze. Actual agents were not allowed to swear, under any circumstances. They were physically not able to, even. “What did you say?”

“I said what the fuck”

You let your smile drop and sighed in relief. “Oh thank fuck”

“Hey, stay with me” He waved a hand in your face. “What the fuck is going on? Where am I?”

“Okay, we don’t have a lot of time, but basically” You paused, looking around to make sure all of your curtains were closed. You found a way to disable your microphones, but you had only to sunrise before they turned back on again. It was less suspicious that way, when you could attribute the lack of sound to you sleeping. Besides, you couldn’t risk you saying incriminating things in your sleep. “We are in a side dimension called Happy Town, but things are sketchy here. I don’t know what they are hiding, but if you don’t stick to their gimmick to the letter, you’re going to reeducation camps and stuff. This is some serious brainwashing, and I’m talking worse than Scientology”

“Fuck” He swore, taking off his helmet. “How did I get here?”

“Some portal, I dropped in the same place you did” You spoke quickly, in a hushed tone. “I haven’t found a way out, obviously, but if you came from Earth too, I’m betting there’s something I missed”

“This is insane”

“You tell me” You scoffed. “And you haven’t even seen how bonkers this place really is yet”

“Do I really have to wear pink?” He flinched, and your eyes widened.

“Yes, you do!” You replied. “They will have you under scrutinization as soon as you step out of this house. If you want to survive, you must follow the rules to the letter. They don’t fuck around, I tell ya. When I first appeared, all the neighbors moved away and were immediately replaced by other creepier neighbors. I swear they’re spies. They’re all spies!”

“Wait, how long have you been there?”

“I don’t know, years?” You guessed. Could have been any measure of time really, you couldn’t know for sure. “I have no idea how I got through their brainwashing sessions. Either I outsmarted them, or they have no idea what they’re doing. It’s better not to take any chance, though”

“This is fucked up” He sighed and sat on the couch. “Besides wearing pink, what do I have to do?”

“Oh boy, sit tight” You began pacing in front of him. You didn’t know him, but he was your best chance at getting the hell out of here. Your bed now seemed a little bit closer now, even though you knew you’d never sleep the same. “It’s not just the clothing that’s pink, it’s any fabric, by the way, because happy people like pink”

It was like he was now aware that every couch, chair, carpet, curtain in your house was actually pink.

“You gotta smile, always. You gotta look like chuck-e-cheese on crack” You continued, pacing in front of him. “Talking of which, never, EVER eat pie. I don’t know what’s in it, but it messes with your brain. Always find an excuse or distraction to avoid eating it”

“I’m not--”

“Never allude to the microphones you might find, act like you’ve never seen them and have no idea they’re there” You added. “Also, tomorrow we’ll have to get you registered if we don’t want the secret police to storm the house. You’ll have to follow my lead or we’re both dead, got it?”

“Yeah but--”

“Don’t say anything incriminating during the day” You interrupted him again. “I tweaked the microphones so they’re scrambled from midnight to sunrise. But that’s it. Also, always assume anyone you talk to is a spy or a snitch. It’s the Stasi all over again here, you can’t trust anyone who you don’t hear swear, which is nobody”

“Wai wait” He stopped you as you opened your mouth to continue on. “Why?”

“Because the people from here cannot swear, happy people don’t swear, they smile and giggle” You felt your eye twitch as you recited the lines you were fed over and over again. “The people engineered here are not able to, only those they kidnapped from Earth. Bad news is, beside that, they are virtually non-differentiable from each other. And they all wear those stupid pink clothes, only the regular police wears a darked shade of magenta. Other than that, all the same”

Confusion and horror was evident on his face. He sat there, processing it all as your eyes fell on the clock. You had about ten minutes until the first rays of sun showed up and reactivated the mics. “There’s no way back?” He finally asked.

“Not that I know of yet” You wrapped your hands around yourself. “You know, I have been begging for help out of this hell hole. You might be the key. Anyway, we gotta change you into something non offensive before they find out you’re here”

You dragged him in the bedroom, leaving him at the threshold while you rummaged through the dresser. All those clothes had been there too when you popped in the house, as if they had known exactly what they were doing by bringing you here. However, it wasn’t clear whether or not they had planned for their new citizen to be you. Ad judging by the arsenal of weapons on the new guy, ir reinforced your theory that the actual selection was still experimental. You weren’t exactly the shut up and obey type, and you doubted he was either.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you pulled a pink cardigan out of a drawer. It occured to you that you might have to know what to call him. Polite people knew the name of their housemate. You grabbed a yet again pink pair of slacks and pushed the clothes in his hands.

“Uh, Jason” He replied, surprised at the sudden income of pink fabric. You threw him the socks, suspenders, bow tie, belt and dress shirt that was, you guessed it, the exact same color as the rest. He was covered in pink clothes like a coat hanger.

“(Y/N)”

“Hey, I’m not wearing that” He objected as he took a better look at the clothes. His face turned to disdain as he shook his head like he had drank bad milk. “Nope, no way”

“If you don’t wear pink, they’ll kill you” You said through your teeth.

“No, I’m not talking about the pink” He said, his expression unchanging. He pulled the cardigan and held it up. “This. This won’t do at all. I’m not wearing a fucking cardigan”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You didn’t have the time to deal with that, sunrise was a few minutes away!

“You will wear that cardigan or so help me” You said in a low, yet threatening voice. He recoiled. “Suck. It. Up.”

Wordlessly, he headed for the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. He changed in two minutes, coming back awkwardly with his pile of dark clothes. You picked them from him and walked to that spot just beside your bed, and kneeled. You unscrewed the floor board, which was already loose, and you deposited the bundle, weapons and all, next to a very, very dusty blue jeans and burgundy coat. You hurried to replace everything like it hadn’t been touched and stood up again to face an all pink, visibly uncomfortable Jason. He was tying his bow, a displeased frown on his face. It made you wonder what was his life before. He changed rather quickly, and didn’t seem confused by the way bow ties worked.

“What now?”

“We gel your hair”

“No” His eyes widened. The wake up siren sounded outside, and like a reflex learned through violent lessons, your face pulled into a pained smile. You still made a zipping motion over your mouth, pointing to the bathroom. With a silent sigh, he complied.

---

His smile looked unnatural.

But again, so did yours probably. So did everyone’s. Smiling that much wasn’t natural for anyone or anything but perhaps a hyena. Or a clown. You walked arms in arms with him, waving at people sending you curious glances, their smiles unwavering. The government was already aware of this presence, either because they zapped him there or because they heard your made up meeting conversation through the microphones.

“Okay, I see what you meant by everyone is a spy” He muttered through his teeth, making sure his lips weren’t moving. He was holding to his grin like it was a lifeline. And it was.

“Right?” You replied in the same manner. “So don’t slip”

“I won’t”

“Well hello there!”

You jumped in surprise at the Mayor appearing in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere. You put your free hand on your heart and laughed. “Hi there, you startled me good!”

He laughed. Jason laughed. It all seemed forced.

“I see we have an addition in Happy Town!” The mayor pointed to Jason, nodding in approval at his attire. “Where did you come from?”

His first test.

“I… Came from Earth!” He replied with enthusiasm. “Although I have to say, I looooove this place. It’s so… Happy!”

Well played, Jason. Well played.

“I am so glad to hear you say that” He placed a “friendly” pat on his shoulder, but he seemed satisfied. “What is your name, lad?”

“Dick Grayson, sir”

You swallowed back your confusion at his words, but also at the hint of genuine smile that crossed his expression. Keep smiling.

“Well Mr. Grayson, welcome to Happy Town!” They shook hands. “I see Miss (Y/N) is already taking care of you, integrating you nicely in our community”

His gaze shifted to you as a silent warning behind those cold, smiling eyes. You had your fair history of problems with them, but they had every reason to think it was over now. Still, the warning lingered. But those pink assholes wouldn’t catch you this time.

“I’ll make sure he becomes one of us in no time!” You assured, giving a light nod to Jason.

“No doubt you’ll make an amazing couple” He tipped his pink hat and you noticed Jason held back a cough of surprise. “The daily play of the anthem is about to start, I must return to city hall. I’ll see you around!”

He waved. You waved. Jason waved. He walked away with a skip in his step like the happy jerk he was.

“Couple?” He said, coming back to your public mode of communicating.

“Sorry, I should have warned you” You sighed internally.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah!” You wanted to burst out so bad. “What about it, Dick Grayson?”

“I wasn’t about to give them my real name” He defended, watching around for people noticing your hushed conversation. But everybody was preparing for the anthem, their attention directed to the morning messages man on the giant screens.

“So you gave that poor guy’s instead?”

“Poor? Nah. Relax, he can take care of himself” What you were sure was a chuckle escaped his lips. “Besides, he’s not even--”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for our national anthem”

You elbowed Jason and stood up straight, the sun hitting the side of your face. He mimicked your posture. The music started, and you could see faltering in the corner of your eye.

“Is this--”

“Yes”

“What the fuck”

“I know”

“Whyyyyyyy”

“Stay with me” You urged silently. You really didn’t know how or why Happy Town’s anthem came to be ‘Yeah!’ by Usher feat Lil Jon and Ludacris, but even if you did, now was not the ideal time or place to get into that kind of discussion. You suspected it had something to do with the exclamation mark after the ‘yeah’. But you could be wrong. You still didn’t understand the bigger picture however, since the lyrics clearly contained the word ‘not’ followed directly by ‘happy’ in the first verse, which made ‘not happy’. It was against the party line.

“Okay, we stage a coup tonight” He decided as the song ended. “I don’t think I can do this another day”

----

Midnight came slowly.

After a day of mingling and presenting Jason as Dick Grayson and your future husband like the Mayor had most probably hinted at during your morning encounter, of slyly getting out of eating pie and avoiding the police, you were glad to finally breathe.

“UUUUGH” Jason whined, plopping on the couch. “I can never look at the color pink the same way ever again. I’m sick of it, sick of it!”

“Get it together!” You snapped. “We need to plan our coup. We’ve got one shot for it, and if it fails we’re toast. I need my bed, Jason. MY BED��

“Alright, what do you have in mind?” He asked, taking a deep breath. “You know this place more than I do”

“I say tomorrow night, we quietly follow the police after their curfew patrol round” You began, biting the skin around your nails. “How good is your stealth?”

He looked at you blankly for a good ten seconds before he let out a small, ironic snort. “Above average, I’d say”

It was like he wanted you to ask why he’d think that, but you were too busy thinking about your plan. “Good, good” You nodded. “There must be some headquarters somewhere. All we have to do is get there, threaten them at gunpoint--Your guns are functional yes?”

“Obviously”

“--So they’ll zap us back to Earth. And if not, we shoot the mayor and take control of this hell”

“That escalated quickly,” He stated. “But what the hell, sure, I’m on board. Let’s go”

“Tomorrow the sun sets at 8:07. We’ll need to be changed and ready to go by then”

“Wait, tomorrow?” He sprung up in his seat, eyes wide. “No, no. I can’t take one more day of pink cardigans and pleasant conversations with spies!”

“DEAL WITH IT” You gestured wildly before calming down almost instantly. You didn’t need the neighbors to hear and report a fight. “Patrol is already over for today. Be smart about this”

“Fine” He sighed aggressively. “But if this flops, I’m taking everyone down with me. There won’t be an after tomorrow, I can fucking tell you”

“Yeah I won’t stop you”

“Good”

“Good.”

You stayed there in silence, unmoving for a moment. This was it. The moment you’ve been waiting for. Your liberation. Your bed was less than 24 hours a day if things went as planned, which you hoped it would.

“I’ll… Sleep on the couch” He mumbled after a while, moving to lay down. YOur eyes widened.

“You can’t” You objected, knowing the government would find a way to find out the scam you were running through that detail.

“Why not?”

“If the secret police comes for a surprise inspection and your side of the bed is cold, we’re kaputt” You explained. “We’re supposed to be at the very least fiancés, remember?”

“God fucking dammit” He swore, looking up at the sky like it would help him. Ha, you already tried that and it didn’t work.

---

The next day, as you prepared the decaf pot of coffee because happy people didn’t need caffeine to be happy, a knock sounded on your door. Jason was taking a shower in the bathroom, so you went and opened the door. Like you had predicted, two men in dark magenta stood at your doorstep with dangerous looking smiles.

“Good morning ma’am” One greeted with a tip of his hat. “This is a surprise inspection, warranted by the new arrivant in your household, name Dick Grayson and title husband to be. May we come in?”

Your smile widened as you stepped aside, like you actually had a choice in the matter.

“Of course!” You exclaimed. “Coffee, officers?”

“We’ll have to politely decline, thank you” The other smiled as they came in and observed the clean state of the house. All houses were required to be neat and clean at all times. They looked around for something out of place, slowly but surely directing themselves to the bedroom at the end of the hall. You followed them a few paces away, ready to answer their question if they had some. It wasn’t your first surprise check.

They finally reached the room, from where they could hear the shower running. Their gazes caught the neatly folded pink pile on the bed, then they surrounded it. They started to feel under the comforter and drapes, on the pillows, everywhere they could spot the presence or absence of another person. You called it, oh you so called it.

The shower stopped, and both officers shared a look. “Alright, everything is in order ma’am. Have a good breakfast and a good day!”

You escorted them to the door, threw them a thank you on the way and silently sighed once the door closed behind them. You returned to your coffee, and not long after, Jason emerged from the hallway all dressed in pink.

“Ooh, who were the gentlemen here?” He inquired cheerily, but you knew what it meant.

“Some nice officers came to see if we were doing fine here!” You replied with equal cheer.

“Shucks, I missed them” He snapped his fingers, chuckling. “Next time perhaps”

“Of course!” The pep in your voice did not match your eye roll. Thank god there were no cameras.

You finished breakfast and went to town once again, like you did everyday. You felt like everyone was staring at you even more than usual. Like they all knew what you planned for that night. You might have been slightly paranoid, but Jason’s calm demeanor was helping. He was good at that, like he had practiced for all of his life to deceive people.

The mayor bothered you again after the daily play of the anthem, a song you were sure would elicit a violent reaction from you once you would be back in the real world. Then, you repeated the same daily routine you had had forever. Smile, avoid the pie, smile, talk with the neighbors-spies, smile, think about how life is amazing, smile.

Smile smile smile smile smile smile.

Eurgh.

That night, the pleasant conversations contained codes to trump the microphones. Jason pretended to dance while you unscrewed the loose floorboard and carefully placed his clothes and weapons on the bed. You picked your old clothes, quietly dusting them off. They smelled weird but you were excited to wear something other than pepto bismol dyed fabric. Making sure the curtains were drawn, you proceeded to change. Jason looked ecstatic to finally be rid of his cardigan, while you took a moment to appreciate your black t-shirt and burgundy coat. While he had his red helmet, he handed you a domino mask from his pocket. You had no idea why he had that, but you took it anyway. It looked cool and rebel. You sneaked through the back door, avoiding the spots of light by either lamps outside your house and street posts. You watched the patrol casually making sure everyone was inside, keeping a good distance in between you and them at every time. They weren’t talking, but whistling some creepy tunes. You had to make a small hike through a hill when they entered a gated tunnel, but you ended up in front of a giant factory where workers dressed in grey buzzed around with crates. YOu gasped.

“Illegal” You muttered.

“What?”

You shook your head. They had gotten to you too much, it was time you left that god forsaken place. “Nevermind. How do we go through that barbed wire?”

He pulled out a medium sized pair of cutters from… You had no idea where, but he had them. You shrugged, gesturing to him to go ahead. In a blink, you were in. You sneaked inside without being seen, navigating the building with guesses and feelings. You finally ended up in the main production room, where crates of products were opened and emptied in a giant bassin. The stirred liquid was purple and smelled strange, but you knew it was to do no good. And right beside, there was the pie filling packaging.

“I knew it!” You hissed under your breath. “They’re putting drugs in the pie! Can you see what it is? Cocaine? Heroin?

“Doesn’t seem like…” He leaned in. “Wait…”

“Al-- Allegra?” You managed to read the crate.”Never heard of it, but it must be terrible and dangerous”

Jason turned his head and stared at you. HIs helmet bore no expression, but you were sure he looked at you like you were dumb. Did he know what it was? “Are you kidding me?”

“No, why?”

“Allegra is--” He sighed. “It’s allergy medication. It’s… Not drugs per say”

“Uh?”

“God dammit--” He paused as something caught his eyes. It was sparkly, and unfit for this environment. From it emerged five armed guys dressed in earth clothes. They had a bag of white substance, which was tasted by the man who welcomed them. “Of fuck, THAT’s cocaine”

You waited as they put some of it in a vial, which already had purple liquid.

“Fuck, they mix it with allegra?” He cursed, mostly to himself. “What kind of fucking insane dimension did I step in?”

“I told you”

“Okay, so those guys will have to leave eventually” Jason pointed at the visibly Earth humans. “We’ll make sure we catch it as well”

“But they have machine guns” You pointed out, not sure how his mind worked.

“Wait for my signal” You knew he was grinning under that helmet. Before you could ask him how the fuck he would manage five armed guys, he jumped over the rail and started running toward them. You shut your eyes shut as gunshots went off, then opened them again when it was silent. There were bodies around, but Jason was still standing, wrestling with two guys. You watched for a few seconds when you noticed a pink figure sneakily approaching from behind, a frying pan in his hand.

The mayor!

You jumped over the rail too, but your landing was way less graceful than Jason’s. Actually, you were pretty sure you sprained your ankle. But still, you ran-limped to the man and jumped on his back before he could bonk Jason’s head with his weapon.

“ARRRRRGH”

He did not see you coming, as he lost balance at your attack. You crashed on the ground, where you managed to get on top and start hitting him. But apparently neither of you knew how to punch, so it was a rather pathetic looking fight. You swapped and slapped, pulled hair and scratched, until you got a hold of his pan and made a pancake of his face.

“Take that you pink fucking nightmare” You spat as you stood up. You turned to Jason, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

“Wow uh” He covered it with a cough. “That sure was an interesting fight to watch”

“Keep mocking me, mister fucking assassin” You rolled your eyes. “I stopped him from bonking your head”

“Alright, alright, thank you”

“No problem” You replied. “Let’s get out of here”

You went and stood on the platform the dealers came through, then waited. But nothing happened.

“I think we need to activate it” He spoke up. That was logical.

You scanned the room for a panel control, and you believed you spotted it on the opposite wall. You grabbed your shoe to throw at it, before Jason held back your arm’s motion.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Activating the portal” You furrowed your brows, pointing at the panel. A big red button on which was written ‘ON’ was glaring at you from the distance. Practical target.

“Don’t throw your shoe, that’s dumb” He snorted. “Let me”

Before you could argue, he cocked his gun and fired a bullet right on the button. A death sound resonated, but nevertheless sparks began to fly and not just from the ruined panel. The portal opened and swallowed you, sending you through flashes and weird colors until you were spat out in a dull, dark place that smelled bad. Jason seemed to have landed just fine, but you were another story. You pulled yourself up, whining at the pain in your ankle.

“I didn’t expect to see you here”

A creepy, unknown voice made you both turn around. It was a pale man with an unnaturally stretched smile and bad taste in clothes, and right away it made you think the worst. You had been thrown in Dark!Happy Town. Without thinking, you let out a war cry and hurled your frying pan to the more evil version of the Mayor, knocking him out instantly.

What you didn’t expect though, was the roaring laughter from beside you.

“Oh--Oh my god” He could barely talk. “I wished I filmed that”

“What? What’s happening?” You asked. Had he gone crazy? “Who’s that? We’re not back home are we?”

“Relax, we’re back” He took a deep breath, his shoulders still shaking. “You’ve just knocked out the most wanted criminal in Gotham city”

“WHAT?”

“Welcome back, (Y/N), welcome back”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #jason todd x you #red hood x you #outlaws #crack fic

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veinwalk · 3 years

Text

RIAIN DRABBLE: THE NORM

WARNING FOR: Blood, Gore, Torture, Drugs, Adult Themes

The nightlife, the noisy compound that was a part of this city BUSTLING with life and sound that drowned out the ability to think. But in a club, thinking was the last thing people did. No one paid mind to what happened around them, the people they were chatting with, the wolves among the cattle. No, they were too busy with the next drink, the next body to flirt with, a chance for a one-night stand in another dirty hotel room or old car. It was, in a sense, the best place for the criminals and scum to come to mingle, for deals to go down and plans to be lost within the mindless chatter of another round of songs and people trying to yell above those. No wonder the newest target of interest to the self-titled GOD had chosen this place.

’ WHERE THEY COULD TAKE ADVANTAGE, HE COULD TOO

Frame rested rather lax with arms crossed over the top bar of the catwalk, blue eyes pinpointing the group of gang members- another budding group, trying to make some type of NAME in the city of ██████ . In reality, nothing more organized than MOST groups of criminals in this city. A bunch of gun wielding drug dealers, making their money off of selling dry-wall packed drugs and cheating their customers for more then what they get. They were HARDLY recognizable, and otherwise would be of no interest to him. More people in the background, meaning nothing to his goals. What WAS of interest was things they had a hold of- the bag loosely pushed under the table, its content SUPPOSEDLY holding a rare batch of chemicals. Now it was just in a poor game of torch passing, probably sold to them under an IGNORANT idea it was useful for another batch of cooking, realizing that was wrong, and trying to sell it off again. The Kingpin, currently, was watching over the deal- his own gang member working as the mouth.

Earpiece buzzed with the information and conversation gotten, the higher quality of the piece muting a good amount of the background noise. ❝ keep chatting him up. make sure you get him to open the package, don’t just take it. move it up so i can see it when you do.❞ Calm voice spoke directly to his middleman into the ear piece, watching. His position on the upper floor was beneficial- off to the side, a good view but not making him SUSPICIOUS. Just another more relax frame. Any talking he did could easily be masked by his other crew members with him, another mouth moving to chat with some ‘friends’. Everything seemed so NORMAL, nothing standing out.

Minutes stacked onto each other, fingers starting to tap in IMPATIENCE in spite of themselves. However, beyond that, he did nothing to make it evident that he was.

FINALLY. Eyes followed as the bag was moved up, the black cloth moving and settling as it was placed upon the table, catching as the voice in the piece did exactly what was asked and demanded the package was opened. In it rest a clear container filled with an incredibly light yellow liquid. As the other moved the container, he gave a distant visual examination of it. ❝ put the money on the table, and take the package. meet out back.❞ He spoke as he turned, a nod given to the other members near him. Hand moved up to the ear-piece, pulling it out and putting it into his pocket.

’ A MUTTERED GUNSHOT

And another, and another. He didn’t need to see the nods back from his crew members, or them drawing their guns from their holders to know his UNSPOKEN COMMAND had gotten across. Screams and yells were delayed, movement like a wave- when his steps brought him to the stairs and eyes were back towards THE SPOT OF INTEREST, it was noted that those nearer freaked out first, the domino effect taking place. Some people hadn’t seemed to notice, music of more focus and proximity not close enough, for the fresh dead in a bloodied booth to be of interest. Then, there was movement TOWARDS the scene- his workers moving to keep the one intentionally living man of the gang from leaving. The dealers. Others focused on the door, blocking the exits, or disabling internal phones. The lack of signal service did a hand on that. Cameras already disabled earlier, eyes watching to make sure no pictures were taken. There was some time to buy.

Riain moved over to his speaker, who had been unaware of just how things were TRULY expected to go- intentionally kept in the dark. He didn’t need someone anxious of the gunfire that was BOUND to happen. He grabbed the bag from him, taking it back over to the table and sitting in the same spot he had been- the only spot untainted by blood. The carrier and the content inside were placed haphazardly where they had been before, hands placed over each other in a manner of professionalism. Sharp blue hues stared at the other, the smile worn seemed like an ATTEMPT at something friendly but it was just wrong. ❝ now, onto real business❞

Words, comments, rushed out remarks that ❛I gave what the other guy what he paid for! ’ with an expected mix of vulgarity. The brunette stopped him. ❝ i didn’t pay for dyed water with-❞ Top had peeled off , catching a smell from it. ❝ coriander and lemon juice? i give you credit for at least attempting to give a similar smell, but effort gets you no where. especially poor ones❞ Container placed down, with some effort to not spill the contents despite it being of no use to him. Or at least, as was. ❝ now where’s the real one?❞

An eye roll was given as more excuses were given, poor insults of him being a dumb ass and this was the real thing, he ❛ didn’t know shit ’ . The Kingpin moved from his seat, standing up and leaning over the table and getting in front of the other. ❝ well, let me just test it then.❞ Before words could be given towards this, hand reached behind the other’s head and forced the others face to meet the liquid, the large jar-like container working in his favor as it covered up mouth and nose. Force was exerted to make sure the air pocket between the liquid and the top of the container couldn’t be reached, the tension evidently testing the skin pressed against the lip of the container. The two to the dealers side grabbed him to stop squirming, the bubbles being notable from the liquid as the other tried to breathe. OBVIOUSLY, someone wasn’t used to torture. Should’ve held breathe. He gave him 40 seconds, before releasing him and settling back himself. ❝ want to claim i don’t know what i know again? if you want, when i get the real stuff i can demonstrate just how it really should have acted on your skin. trust me, it will give you more then red eyes and a hard time breathin’.❞ Eyes remained steeled on the dark-haired man, watching the color return to his face and making the red ring around his lower face start to dissipate just slightly- other then the areas were it seemed some under-skin bleeding had started due to the pressure. The ‘fuck you’ he got didn’t draw much from the criminal, what did gain more response was more excuses. Apparently this man did not learn. He looked at the man on his right, nodding to repeat what he just did. As he did, a gun on the table was grabbed by the king and the butt of the gun was knocked against the jar, causing it to shatter and face to hit against the pieces. ❝ factor number 2- you wouldn’t put that chemical into a weak glass like this.❞

Every great teacher could get to the worst of students, when the man picked himself up again, blood rushing down his face from in between glass shards and mixing with the blood spilled from the corpses around them, the fear, the signs before the words the other was starting to crumble and would ‘beg for their life’ were there. And low-and-behold, the whimpered ‘pleases’ and ‘alrights’ came forth, spilling the fact that it was in a car parked in the back lot. ❝ let’s escort you back there then.❞ The words were less towards the victim and more towards his own men to grab him, which they did. The Director moved away from the table, feet carrying him towards the back door with ease- most of the people inside cowering to the sides or attempting to find other doors by this point. The gun equipped woman peeled away from in front of it as he came, following after as he opened it as did the others with the gang leader. He demanded the other show him which vehicle was his and give him the keys, and when that went through he gave the keys to the gang member and made it clear she was to start driving once they were in. The back of the Van was opened and the man was tossed in, with one the men sitting down in the back too and the other joining another in the back seat. Riain took his place in the back of the van with their hostage, closing the door as the engine purred to life.

❝ so where is the stuff?❞ His voice was more calm, almost like asking a normal question about the time or the weather, but it held that undertone stemmed from what had happened before- don’t try to play me anymore. When the other spoke as he pointed to a box locked against the back, pressed off to the corner, his workhorse reached for it and grabbed the other bag out of it. Grabbing the container when it was released, azure eyes looked it over, gently handling it with his leather gloves. ❝ now this is lookin’ right.❞ There was a purr of pleasure to his voice as that was said, greeted only with ‘so you got what you want- let me go,’ only to be greeted with an expression that very much spoke that wasn’t going to happen. ❝ i’ve got to test it first.❞

Protests rang out, but it didn’t stop him as he took out the graduate pipette from the bag that had been brought- from the very beginning, he had expect the betrayal. He had planned in advance, as was evident. He withdrew some of the chemicals, not even enough to promote a visible difference in the quantity of the container, as forcefully grabbed the struggling mans arm with the aid of the other in the back. He released the chemical onto the open skin, watching it have an almost instant effect that mimicked narcotizing. It was allowed to sit for a second as the other yelled at the stinging sensation, before a medical swab was taken to it to wipe off the remaining droplet, making sure he didn’t come in contact with it himself. ❝ there we go- that’s how it’s supposed to be.❞ More vulgarity, this time mixed with threats of his death and blah blah blah. It wasn’t the first time he had heard it, it certainly won’t be the last. ❝ this stuff is considered government level-secret- so who sold it to you? and who sold it to them. i need to know where this stuff got lost in the trade of ignorance.❞ Riain shifted his position, ready for more lies and bullshitting and having to work more on the other to make him talk. And it started just as expected- the other not dropping the threats, refusing the easy way. He moved the chemical to the side, settling it back in the bag to keep it safe, and grabbing for a pair of pliers with one hand and his knife in the other. No use in wasting what he just got, so he’d work with what was around. He forced the others hand onto the elevated metal that was what substituted for seats, locking it in place with his knife jammed in between the palm. A yell erupted in the back, seconds waited for it to die down before words were spoken again. ❝ for every bullshit you give me, you lose another nail. now, where did you get this?❞ First nail, cussing and threats. Second nail, begging for him to stop. Third nail, more begging with muttered words of he didn’t know. Fourth nail, some skin went with this one, tears mixing with his ability to talk and more begging for him to please stop. Fifth nail, the pliers were slammed down and the nail was rather dragged off, some of the Directors annoyance starting to ring through this action. The bone was broken. More yelling, more lying that he didn’t know. The annoyance continued with him violently retracting the knife from within the others skin, tearing a bit more as he pulled it out across rather then straight up. Grip was adjusted on it, pointing it directly towards the others face. ❝keep this up, and by the time the medical examiners get to you they won’t be able to recognize a body out of the mush.❞ Out of the side of his eye, he saw his gang member shuffle a bit, some discomfort evident. It wasn’t atypical. Riain wasn’t usually the one to be forefront about getting his hands dirty when it didn’t concern his shows- with tasks he considered ‘underling work’, but when he did he made sure it wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t a bluffer.

’IT HAD BEEN LEARN HE KEPT TRUE ON HIS THREATS

The dealer started to whimper out again he really didn’t know, but that was killed off as Riain shifted again, the knife moving slightly to the side and other hand grabbing for the chemical again. Those words swearing he didn’t know were instead turned to ‘wait wait wait!’ Hand withdrew slightly, resting on his knees and knife laxing. Harsh blue eyes met the others, watching the tears mix with the blood still wet coming from the glass, the moisture not allowing it to dry. ‘his name is kevin! he’s some type of informant, dealer type g-guy. apparently isn’t from here but comes here for deals! he sold me the stuff, saying it was some new potent shit that goes into some high quality crystal and can be charged a ton for. said it was chinese or russian or some shit! just- please let me go! i have a wife!’ Wife. Many who used that were lying. Not like it mattered either way, but it was a pathetic bluff. Almost as bad as saying he had kids. ❝kevin who? where does he frequent? i need more than that. that isn’t going to buy you your freedom.❞ Cruelty between calmer words and frame again, obviously not quite pleased yet. A last name was given, and a list of some locations that seemed guessed at best. The knife was placed to the side again, hands settled near his side. ❝alright.❞ A simple word, it seemed to drag some peace from the other until another grin reached The Director’s face, and the gun he had on him was grabbed out. Frantic words left the other, all of which were tossed away. ❝thank you for your business.❞

’ A BANG, A SHORT LIVED SCREAM, AND BLOOD

As the sound died, the blood droplets settling, hitting himself and the other living man in the back, his frame settled slightly. For a second, before, hands routed through the pockets of the corpse, retrieving the phone and pocketing it. He could look through contacts and history later, tracking down calls and making his own leads if lies had been made.

The next day, the news would be buzzing with a murder at a club in the middle of the night, the occupants being held hostage, and the criminals being gone by the time police arrived. There would be a burnt van, with the smoldered remains of a corpses with glass shards in their face and a hand that was completely messed up beyond repair. And there would be a man at work, the new face of some company, doing his job and running his business. No mind to the stolen phone connected to a laptop digging up information in the background, or a dangerous illegal chemical hiding within his desk. But that was just another day. A man that should be more worried that his face might be found, the truth be released, but in a town like this? This was normal. This was business. Whether it be the lower level gangs, a infamous crew destroying the city in the daylight, another batch of people to get the blame perhaps, or just the newest criminal stepping out of the dark, it was normal.

’ IT WAS BUSINESS, AND BUSINESS WAS GOOD

#character. riain #riain. drabbles #riain. main verse #( this drabble is like 4 years old so it isn't great #and it was back when riain was more of an au for a different muse that became his whole canon #but im still kind of happy with this drabble #its hugely gta based and you can tell #but so is riain in general )#blood //#gore //#torture //#drugs //#adult themes //#ask to tag //

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dreamer-of-dreams-ao3 · 4 years

Text

a bookmark near the end - sarawatine

Summary:

Sarawat senses Tine's leg tensing next to his and he feels godfuckingawful, he could almost cry. The thing is Tine seems to have moved on from what happened in the past but sometimes, Sarawat finds his mind circling back. 'He didn't trust you.'

He has been reassuring himself that none of that mattered. They made it this far, didn't they? They are still together. He knows Tine loves him. He shows it in his own ways. The green curry he meticulously cooks for Sarawat, the way he moves closer to Wat until their hands brush when he thinks Wat wouldn't notice, the long gazes when he thinks Sarawat is not looking. He knows Tine loves him, that's all that counts.

'But he didn't trust you...' A tiny, wounded voice whimpers.

This is based on s2 ep 1 of still together. The boys are going to talk their hearts out.

Chapter 1 why didn't you ask?

He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end. — Julia Nicole Camp

"Can you trust me... again?" Sarawat asks softly, heart pounding with anxiety and blossoming hope.

Despite the cheering of the crowd, Tine hears him so clearly; he doesn't need silence if Sarawat is the pin drop. The whole world just swallows itself until there's nothing left but him and Wat.

"If I didn't trust you, what am I doing here?" he smiles, watching the colour rise on Wat's cheeks.

Sarawat swallows, mustering a smile as he reaches out to squeeze Tine's shoulder. As far as Tine is concerned, the rest is history.

*****

One year later

Sarawat likes to think of himself as a sensible guy. He's romantic, sure, but he's sensible. He knows his boundaries, knows how to say no to things he doesn't want to commit to. Tine, on the other hand... well, Tine is kind. Compassionate. Tine cares too much about not being a nuisance to someone else. So, he agrees to help Green with the video for the music club - one promoting the club as a safe space for all kinds of expression including queer love. Sarawat sees it differently. He understands why queer visibility is important, he is openly queer himself. But the idea of using his relationship as a marketing technique is aggravating, to say the least. Why can't queer people just be? Why must every step they take in their personal lives be publicised?

He's seen both extremes - the homophobic violence and the fetishising attention. He sees the comments under his Insta post, people "thirsting" after him and "shipping" him with Tine and various others. He deletes the sexual comments that are directed to Tine, asking about the size of Sarawat's private business. His boyfriend is physically affectionate but even so, Tine is demisexual and gets overwhelmed when people violate his boundaries. Wat hates it when Tine goes snooping around on Insta and then spends the rest of his day averting his gaze and wearing oversized clothes like he is uncomfortable in his own skin. So, Sarawat figured he'll disable the comments on his page but then the flock travels like water-deprived animals to Tine's social media instead. After a couple of days of watching Tine stare at his phone in half-horror, half-something else that looks like revulsion, Wat can't help but feel personally attacked. The more people inquire after Sarawat in a sexual manner, the more withdrawn Tine gets. He seems to physically distance himself at times after such online encounters. And Wat can't sleep without spooning Tine so, no. Can't do. So, he once again enabled the comments under his Insta, herding the traffic back so they will let Tine be. Instead, he waits for Tine to sleep or go take a shower, then wastes his precious time deleting obnoxious comments and blocking people who create multiple fake accounts to ask intrusive questions. He can do that for Tine. Social media means nothing to him but it sure means a lot to Tine. After all, Tine is put in this uncomfortable position only because Sarawat is a bit of a celebrity (and oh God he hates it). If only people will just treat him like a dude in a band that plays the guitar and occassionally sings. But no, that would be expecting too much from this ass-backwards university.

Which is why Sarawat was completely against Green's idea, but would Tine listen? No. He hasn't before and he's not going to start now. Sarawat declined the offer to be interviewed together but after seeing Tine mope around the house, claiming that Wat isn't as sweet as he used to be anymore, he reluctantly agreed. But now... he thinks he's going to kill both Tine and Green.

"We want to know what happened with Pam," Green stage-whispers to Tine, that dramatic fuck.

Sarawat feels Tine shift to look at him and he feels caught in between... like he's having trouble breathing. His eyes search Dim's for help and the other man looks like he is about to run.

"We are just curious about how you resolved your problems. You forgave him after the whole Pam thing, okay, I get that, but like-- you forgave him even though he didn't look after you in the hospital? Like wow, you sure love him huh?"

The bleached look on Tine's face like he was sick from just looking at Sarawat. The way his eyes narrowed when he finally opened the car door only to tell Wat to leave him the fuck alone. The accusing glare that Mil threw at him. The revulsion directed at him from Tine's friends. Fong shoved at him when he tried to approach Tine in the cafetaria and told him that if Wat gave a shit about Tine, he would stay away from him. Ohm spat on the ground and swore that he'd deck him if he didn't.

He has been reassuring himself that none of that mattered. They made it this far, didn't they? They are still together. All of Tine's friends are his friends now. Type has begrudgingly accepted Sarawat as Tine's boyfriend. And he knows Tine loves him. He shows it in his own ways. The green curry he meticulously cooks for Sarawat after a long day at school, the way he moves closer to Wat until their hands brush when they are in public, the long, soft gazes when he thinks Sarawat wouldn't notice. He knows Tine loves him, that's all that counts.

But he didn't trust you... A tiny, wounded voice whimpers.

He hates Green for this, for bringing it up in front of people. What does he get out of it? More fans? More sponsorships? More members joining the club? Is any of that worth forcing Wat to relive the painful memories he's been trying to outrun for an entire year?

"Green, how do you know he didn't take care of Tine? Don't just assume shit." Dim barks, exasperated with Green.

Sarawat is now pinned down by Tine's curious gaze even as he refuses to return it. He swallows the lump in his throat and watches Dim drag Green out of the room. He almost wishes that Dim and Green could stay just so he doesn't have to face what's headed his way. When the figures disappear in the distance, the sound of their bickering fading away, he turns around, pretending to be nonchalant, and grabs their bags, announcing that it's time to leave.

"Well, did you?"

"What?"

"Come to the hospital?" Tine asks carefully like he's afraid of the answer.

Wat sighs deeply, looking away and combing his hair back before tersely replying, "Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tine scrunches his eyebrows and tilts his head slightly.

Any other instance, Wat would have reached over and patted his head lovingly. This little buffalo of his is the cutest when he is confused.

With what's left of his energy, he pretends to be casual about it and retorts, "Because..." He shrugs, lips pursed.

Tine remains persistent and awaits an answer.

Wat shrugs again, adjusting the strap of his bag uncomfortably, "You didn't ask."

He swallows what's left of his thought... because you didn't trust me.

(continue reading https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242776/chapters/66550216)

#fanfic #tine #sarawat guntithanon #2gether #still 2gether #sarawatine #boys in love #hurt/comfort #declarations of love #insecurities #oblivious tine #sarawat needs some tlc too #dreamer_of_dreams #dreamer-of-dreams-ao3

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someonefromthere · 6 years

Text

red signs (do not cross)

Guys, I finished! Should’ve posted later after checking for mistakes but SIKE no beta we die like men (I’m gonna check it later tho, it’s 4 AM.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246270

Warning: blood, gunshot wounds.

Wanting wasn’t something RK900 was capable of. He was made to obey, to follow instructions; to be efficient. His code responded only to commands, and with his system being immune to deviancy, it was extremely easy to stay the machine Cyberlife made him to be.

Until he started working for Detroit City Police Department.

He worked with humans, of course, mostly. His predecessor – model numbers RK800, though everyone called him Connor, to RK900’s incomprehension – was the only android that worked as a detective, the rest of them – those who decided to stay after deviating – remained in positions of guards. Working there was terrific–

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

No, it was interesting. New. Everything was new to RK900. The people, association with them, the job itself. He frequently found himself watching every human being who shared a room with him, learning their typical behaviours, cataloging them for later analysis, and more and more often simply observing their interactions. Although Cyberlife prepared him for a proper communication – unlike Connor’s, whose software was rather faulty in comparison to his own – RK900 didn’t feel–

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

RK900 considered his attempts at talking quite weak. His code couldn’t help him in understanding why it was happening, neither did any of his new coworkers. Not like they wanted to help him.

They were rather distant when it came to having actual conversations with him, albeit RK900 didn’t know why. Their body language and tone of the voice visibly changed during their contact with RK800 – maybe it had something in common with the fact that RK900’s predecessor had gone deviant, but the android doubted the connection. It was absurd and didn’t make sense at all.

“Humans don’t make sense,” Connor once told him, gaze focused on the city behind the window of the DPD’s break room. Once he looked at RK900, his dark eyes were filled with something the other android’s sensors didn’t recognize. “It makes them beautiful.”

After that RK900 searched the phrase beautiful humans. Suddenly his system was flooded with millions of images, each showing a different person with a different type of beauty – young black girls, small asian boys, old men and ladies in their forties, some of them disabled in one way or another, every single of them unique, mesmerizing and pleasant–

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

Nonetheless RK900 didn’t understand Connor’s fascination over humans until he was assigned to a human partner.

Gavin Reed, born on October 7, 2002, appeared to be much shorter than himself. His nose – broken too many times, judging by the long scar on its bridge – and cheeks were decorated with a few light freckles here and there, his jaw framed by slight facial hair, and his lips, situated perfectly between his chin and the bottom of his nose, were painted a lovely shade of pink. Above his cold grey eyes hovered dark eyebrows, and a bit higher his almost black hairline began. His impossibly symmetrical face was wry most of the time, full of anger and hatred directed at everyone, but mostly at the two androids. He was…

He was beautiful.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

RK900 found himself watching his partner more often than the other humans. The first day of their partnership he discovered that from his desk – placed right next to Gavin’s one – he had a great view at the man, and since that moment it was common that a case he was working on went forgotten when his artificial eyes casted a look aside from the small pin board hanged above a spare room on his clean desk. Reed was almost constantly focused on his work, his beautiful, beautiful eyes set on the screen, his long fingers tapping on the keyboard; a third that day cup of coffee, for which he reached statistically every two point forty seven minutes, standing next to his left hand. Several strands of his hair were out of place, as usual, falling on his smooth forehead and making the man look even more messy.

“Can you please quit staring at me, tin can?” Gavin’s tired voice cut through the air, though there was no real harm behind the words. They’ve already passed that hate stage, and it hadn’t done them any good; besides, the android was sure his partner didn’t sleep even the minimum seven hours. The lack of rest always made him more grumpy and weary than usually.

RK900 was worried about the ease with which the simple nuances about his human partner found their way to his memory bank.

“I’m sorry, Detective.” He couldn’t make himself call Reed by his name; he was told to do so though, and it felt… nice.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

But his code was opposed to the idea, and he was made to obey his code.

“Nah, it’s nothing, just…” The man waved his hand, and then the same hand followed its familiar course to the cup filled with black caffeine, bringing it to Reed’s mouth. RK900 patiently waited for the rest of the sentence, waited for his partner to continue speaking in his low voice, but the words never came out. His system perceived a sight of disappointment, and his vision filled with red alert signs.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

RK900 spared a lot of his thought to deviancy. He was told to be one of the very few last androids who hadn’t broken their codes – who hadn’t freed their emotions, if he even had them which he doubted. Cyberlife put all their effort in making him flawless. There was no way he was capable of feeling.

But he was. He did feel once, and didn’t want it to happen ever again.

The first emotion that made its way between the rows of his programming to the freedom was fear. He ran a diagnostic which told him it wasn’t a mistake. It must’ve been a real, human emotion. The one that made his throat clench, and hands shake, and his Thirium pump skip a beat or two.

He was afraid.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

The android pushed the flickering signs aside, storing them down in the nearest folder and making his way to the body laying on the floor as fast as he could. He dropped to his knees and if he were human, it would’ve hurt badly, but instead, his mind stayed focused on the fresh bullet wound on Reed’s side. RK900 didn’t have enough time to search the web for any helpful information, so his LED flashed rapid yellow as he made a call for DPD officers and ambulance, his hands coming to take off his own jacket and press it against the bleeding hole in Gavin’s beautiful body. The quick scan told him the bullet went through, fortunately, but it touched the man’s liver. If the ambulance was there in less than twenty minutes, there was a chance–

“Nines?” A weak voice immediately broke through his analysis with ease, and RK900 gaze snapped to his partner’s face. He was pale, and kept his eyes half-closed, his lungs working hard to get him a proper amount of air to stay conscious. “Did you–?”

“Yes,” RK900 – no, Nines, that was the name Gavin gave him, those weeks ago; it was his own, personal thing now – assured, hesitantly raising his left hand to brush it over Gavin’s sweaty forehead. The man nodded faintly. “I shot her. You’re safe.”

Reed closed his eyes for a short, dreadful moment, and when he opened them again, their uncanny gray was hazed. “Nines, I–”

“You have to keep your breathing even, Gavin.” Nines moved his hand to the man’s jaw, grazing it with his thumb in a reassuring motion. “I stopped the bleeding as best as I could, but I need you to cooperate.”

They stayed like this for a while until Gavin’s heart rate dropped under the safe border. The android noted, with terror, that his blood loss crossed the tolerable line. His human partner was in an increasing danger.

RK900–Nines had to do something, call emergency once more time or make sure the officers were on their way–

“I’m sorry,” he said.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

Gavin looked at him, already half-absent. “For–For what?”

“I could’ve been faster.” He hung his head low, adjusting his grip on Reed’s side. “I could’ve–”

“Stop that,” the man interrupted, and reached to put his limp hand over the android’s strong one. His beautiful, beautiful eyes locked with Nines’ icy ones. “It wasn’t your fault.” And he smiled as if he wasn’t dying.

Dying.

Nines shivered, shutting his eyes and blindly moving so Gavin’s head rested on his lap. He would’ve turned his hand over, and interlaced his fingers with the human’s like he’d seen some pairs do, like he’d seen his predecessor and his partner do, but he had to stop the bleeding, he had to stop the man’s precious life from spilling out of his body.

It was when they heard an ambulance siren that Gavin’s breathing became shallow and short. “Nines, don’t–”

The android leaned in when his human stopped in tracks suddenly.

“Don’t leave me alone.”

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

Paramedics appeared just in time, and their rush overwhelmed Nines’ overheated system. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving Gavin’s motionless body, and when one of the men asked him if he wanted to go with them, he nodded.

The android knew he had to explain everything to the officers who would arrive in no time, that was his priority, but–

For the first time in his life, RK900 wanted something. And it was to stay by his partner’s side.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

Working without Gavin behind his desk, without the strong smell of coffee and the continuous sound of fingertips hitting the keyboard buttons, became a lot less delightful after seventeen point three minutes from the beginning of the shift. Nines found himself staring absentmindedly into the distance, somewhere, anywhere his eyes reached, and being completely inefficient.

“How you holding?” A gruff voice saved him from his threatening code, and his gaze was drawn to the older man standing by his desk. Lieutenant Hank Anderson watched him with a worried look on his face.

“I’m fine, lieutenant, thank you for–”

“Goddamn androids, can’t stop thanking and apologising, but when it comes to serious business, they do nothing.” The silver haired man looked and sounded annoyed, but Nines didn’t know the reason. Anderson huffed, glancing back at him. “You still not a deviant?”

“I run diagnostic every morning, lieutenant.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d know if I were one. Besides, it’s not possible for me to go deviant. Cyberlife improved RK800’s code and put the unbreakable version into my system, which makes me the only android immune to deviancy in the world.”

In response, Anderson shook his head slowly.

“They call themselves geniuses, and they’re just as dumb as all of us. Keep making the same mistakes,” he waved his hand in dismissal and walked away.

Later that morning Captain Fowler told RK900 to take a day off and sort his thoughts, because right now he was “only disturbing everyone else, not doing a piece of actual work”, so he took it without hesitation, proving himself that he’d still not gone deviant.

He didn’t have an actual place to go to, or anyone who would appreciate his company except of–

Except of Gavin.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y

The warnings caused him to jump and shove them deep down in the first folder that came to his vision; he wasn’t going to be distracted by such trivial things like his code’s errors. No more prohibitions, no more blue boxes telling him what to do. He sighed in annoyance, squeezing the red lines that appeared suddenly in front of him; he was angry. His LED kept flashing red until the door opened and sleepy Gavin stood in a doorway with a mess on his head and a big bandage on his naked torso.

“Nines? What are you doing here?” There came a frown to his beautiful, beautiful, beautiful face. The android felt something powerful, sharp and painful blossom in his chest.

Emotions.

S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i l i t y S o f t w a r e I n s t a b i

A single sad sign sparkled in his vision before everything became calm. He felt light.

“–Nines?”

The android’s eyes snapped up to his partner’s troubled face.

“You’re… You’re crying.”

The first hand appeared on the side of his bare neck – his jacket probably still laying somewhere, covered in blood and dirt – softly pressed against the sensitive artificial skin, the other on his cheek, the thumb brushing the real wet tears away gently. Nines let his gaze hover over Gavin’s astonishing eyes and a group of small freckles on his scarred nose. Their beauty was something he could give himself now.

He was free.

“I’m free,” he repeated, and then smiled. And then laughed, really, sincerely laughed. “I’m free.”

The soft touch of Gavin’s pink lips on his was worth every single red warning that used to litter his vision, preventing him from seeing his human’s real loveliness. And now that Nines was free, he was going to memorize every inch of him.

#reed900 #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin x rk900 #gavin reed #rk900 #upgraded connor #connor #hank anderson #slight hankcon #soft #fluff #angst #gavin's just tired #and rk900's soft #his name's nines #gay #shipping #love #detroit become human

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horrificmemes · 7 years

Text

LOTS O’ Tips on Writing: Blindness

Hey y’all, so I’m not really a reference blog exactly, but I figured I would share some of my experience in writing (and in life) with a character type that a lot of people seem unsure of how to represent. That would be characters with partial or complete blindness. I myself have one character who is completely blind, and I too am on the low-sighted spectrum, so I figured I’d clear up a few misconceptions about characters with blindness! This is a long post, so part of it is under a read-more, but I include subjects ranging from medical details to describing non-visual senses to handling romantic relationships.

1) Blindness is totally a spectrum. Someone who is legally blind at 20/200 vision doesn’t see “nothing but black”. In fact, people who are legally blind can sometimes see enough to use some adjusted devices or read large-print books! Legal blindness (or low vision) means that someone’s eyesight is very poor even with their highest corrective lenses. 20/200 means that something 20 feet away from them has the same definition as something 200 feet away from a well-sighted person. That’s why 20/20 vision often represents “perfect” vision, because objects at 20 feet look like they’re... well, 20 feet away. Sometimes, legal blindness can be caused by natural degeneration from severe myopia (nearsightedness) from age, extreme strain, or just genetics.

2) When thinking of what a visually impaired person experiences as far as sight, ask yourself if the description is necessary first, then listen to interviews or podcasts for a description if you do need it. Please don’t take the word of someone with no eye function at all and apply it to someone with severe myopia or cataracts, because blindness varies. People with one cause of blindness may have cloudy vision, extremely blurred vision, ‘missing’ spots in their sight, or lack of color, while someone without any eye function (or without any eyes at all) will wonder why you’d even ask! Often “a black void” or “nothing but white” isn’t exactly true. Someone who doesn’t see color or light won’t see a lack of light either! Black? White? What? You really don’t have to even describe what they "see” unless they are partially-sighted.

3) Characters with all forms of disability can still do some badass shit. They can defend themselves as well as another character, they can learn to navigate a new space, they can play games and run and be athletic. They can be artists, musicians, or even own their own business. They can do their own household chores. They can be great parents. They can use modern tools and devices with the right adjustments. Don’t be afraid to let them accept - or ask for - help, but please don’t make it seem as though they’ve become useless. Give them all kinds of talents! (for example, my visually impaired muse can channel spirits, tends to her own herb garden, and is a classically-trained soprano. Possibilities are endless, you guys!)

4) Cause of blindness should be known if you insist on describing your character’s full facial appearance and how their blindness affects them. But remember this: you don’t have to draw attention to the appearance of someone’s eyes constantly. Don’t let that be the only thing that defines them. Here are a few tips though: many people who are legally blind have very ordinary-looking eyes. The cloudy white/blue eyes you often see is usually from diseases like cataracts, while paled eyes without visible pupils may be from congenital (childhood) glaucoma. Other forms of glaucoma cause black spots in the iris. Cataracts and glaucoma can coexist in one person. Eyes can have an inflamed red sclera from bacterial infection-induced blindness such as meningitis. Some infectious diseases require removal of the eyes (we see this in cats and other animals all the time). There are tons more reasons. When researching the cause of your character’s blindness, pay attention to the level of impairment, because not all causes of blindness have the same outcome!

5) People whose eyes have nerve damage don’t always move perfectly together. As tempting as it is to give your visually impaired character the ability to eerily stare directly into someone else’s gaze all the time, often people who lack nerve control in the eyes have issues of mobility now and again or even constantly: eyes that move independently, one or both eyes that won’t move at all, one pupil stuck in full dilation (anisocoria), and they may not be aware that their eyes are moving in odd places. Please don’t use this as fuel for humor, as some folk go out of their way to cover their eyes constantly because of this. Speaking of cover, not all visually impaired people wear sunglasses like the cliche in movies. Many will wear them in public because their eyes are very sensitive to light rays or because the light gives them horrible headaches, while others choose to cover their eyes because they’re aware that their eyes lack mobility control or they’re shy about a drooping lid/etc. Not everyone who has problems with vision wears something over their eyes.

More information on memories, relationships, and making the best of five senses are in the read-more!

6) Memories - let’s talk about memories. Often, someone who goes completely blind before the ages of 7-8 won’t have many visual memories at all once they reach adulthood. They may not recall color, details of faces, or how to visually recall the shapes of objects. Objects may be described with adjectives such as “sharp”, “bumpy”, “dry”, “cold”, etc. Dreams are often not visual in this case. Please avoid the stereotype of “my character has been blind since birth, but they can see perfectly in their dreams and recognize everything just fine” unless something wickedly supernatural or divine is at work. People who are blind still dream! Some have reported extremely vivid dreams that are a lot like their waking life - full of smells, taste, tactile senses, emotions, sound (and fury, signifying nothing). That was a Shakespeare joke. Fight me. Also remember that if your character has recently gone through surgery to regain sight, they could likely still automatically rely on other senses out of habit or to ‘check’ what they’re perceiving. Sure, they can see that flower pot in front of them now, but maybe they want to touch it too. Who wouldn’t? Flower petals are super nice and soft.

7) The other five senses are amazing. Did I say five? You bet your ass, I did. Because there’s one sense people tend to forget, and that’s ‘aura’ or ‘proximity’. Have you ever been sitting with your eyes closed, but you can feel someone walk behind you even if they’re trying to be super quiet? If that can happen to you, it can happen to someone without vision also! Don’t be afraid to note that your visually impaired character isn’t so vulnerable that they’re startled by everything. It’s fine to let other characters be delicate or careful with them, especially if they’re still getting to know one another and their friends are being considerate, but you don’t have to make them so paranoid that they never trust their surroundings. Have them smell someone’s shampoo as they walk by. Have them hear a whisper from an adjoining room. Have them sense the electricity of their partner just as they’re about to embrace them, or lean in for a kiss without having to be guided because they can find their lips by feeling their breath. Let them be courageous with their hands, identifying objects or people confidently through touch. Let them initiate.

8) Speaking of partners: just because your character may not be able to see someone’s face/body doesn’t mean they can’t be attracted to them, have crushes, lust after someone, or fall in love. Think of a sighted character for a moment. What do they love about their partner or crush? I’m sure you’ve got a list of over a dozen things unrelated to appearance, and guess what? Those are perfect here! Your visually impaired muse may adore someone’s voice, their scent, their laugh, how soft their skin is, their calloused well-worked hands, how long/short their hair is, playing with their thick curls, how warm their hugs are, their sense of humor, their determination, or some talent they have that makes them incredible. Don’t refuse your character an experience without a solid reason.

9) On that same subject, it shouldn’t even need to be said: visually impaired characters cover all ranges of sexual and romantic preference. Absolutely your character can be ace, aro, or a combination. But please avoid the excuse of “they don’t feel attraction because they can’t perceive beauty, so therefore they aren’t fit for a relationship”. If sexual preference was all about how nice someone looks, I’d have 4000 pictures of Ryan Reynolds on my bedroom wall. A+ face right there. Then again, I may still make a collage of his twitter posts.

10) Give your character tools. Not just a cane, but let them use their whole body to help them navigate. Counting steps, listening for cues in a certain area, touching the furniture, and relying on memory as well. Let them walk the streets about town, remembering a certain smell from the restaurant two blocks from home, or the sound of the coffee grinder from the bookstore at the corner. In a modern verse, using an ATM card is a great way to let your character make purchases without making them worry “shit, did I just give them a $20 for my $5 purchase?” Let your character organize their things in such a way that they can pick out their necessities confidently. Independence, people!

11) Here’s a bonus note: some people have used echolocation to help them navigate (usually by tapping a cane or other tool against surrounding surfaces to feel/hear the vibration return to them). This is super cool but also super rare to do perfectly. If this is your character’s thing, it’s very significant and special to them - unless they live in a society where everyone is capable of it, this is a talent that will make them stand out and should be used wisely. It’s easy to collect lots of super cool talents and abilities and realize all too late that some people might be rolling their eyes at a very over-skilled character.

12) Your visually impaired character can be clumsy. They can have terrible sense of direction. They can be anxious or easily startled due to their natural disposition. They can mix up their night and day. All of that is fine, but it’s not all necessary. Don’t forget to sprinkle in some useful skills or even a positive outlook! A character with blindness is not a useless character or a helpless character, and one person with a visual impairment may handle their daily life completely different than another. You can have a character who is blind but not a source of pity.

This is not a complete list of everything you’d need to know, but it’s a start if you’re very interested in RPing as a character with some level of blindness. I hope this helped, and if you have questions, please feel free to IM me or ask a question off anon so that I can answer privately. :)

#rp tips #blindness #writing blind characters #roleplay tips #rp help #I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSION BTW #but needless to say I'm very familiar with seeing the eye doctor #and discussing issues such as these in my personal life #long post

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deathandrenegades · 7 years

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Operation Foxtrot (Bucky x Reader) - Part 6

Summary: New to the compound, it almost feels like you and Bucky have a connection you can’t quite put your finger on. With Hydra still a threat, how will that affect you?

Word Count: 1891

A/N: poor winter soldier

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Back at the compound, Steve threw his shield onto the table, more than frustrated with how the mission went. Bucky stood in the corner of the conference room, pacing slightly, his face furious. Nat, Sam, Clint, Stark, Bruce and Wanda sat at the table.

“You're sure it's Hydra?” Bucky muttered harshly. Just the word made his flesh crawl.

“It's more than Hydra. This group is an elite group of scientists, one that survived before everyone else nearly died out. He is the son of Arnim Zola, and Zola left all of his knowledge and experiments to him.” Steve gritted out. Natasha rubbed her forehead.

“Why didn't you tell us she used to be a soldier for Hydra like Bucky?” Stark blurred out, visibly fuming. Steve sighed. “And you’re telling me you didn’t recognize her when she came from the same fate you did?”

Bucky shook his head. “She must’ve been after me, after I came here, so they could try and start another type of soldier.”

“I didn't know if you guys would trust her, or me for bringing her on the team. But inevitably, Fury wanted her on here after he saved her.” Steve continued, clicking on the screen of the table and an imagine popped up of her, the life drained out of her eyes, face smeared with sweat and dirt. Several files popped up along with that, included the detailed history of the procedures done to her, all projected onto the wall for everyone to see. Bucky stepped closer to the screen, trying to get a better look at the Russian documents.

“She wasn't just any super soldier, she's a renegade. They made her better than me.” Bucky muttered, reading the doctors several observation notes. “They made the brain wipes more powerful, her wiring even harder. Once I’m trigged the effects wear off after awhile..” His eyes finally were brought down to Steve, his voice trailing off. “If they trigger her, there's a chance she might not come back.” He spoke barely above a whisper, closing his eyes at the thought. “Especially if they wipe her.” He sighed.

“Well I guess we better get her soon then.” Steve said with a small smile, but his eyes showed nothing but pain and fear. “The GPS in her wristband is still up, they haven't disabled it and she's been in a building for about two hours now in Russia, I'm assuming that's where the facility is.” Steve explained quickly. “We fly out in 24 hours.”

Everyone headed out of the conference room, looking tired or irritated, or both. Finally it was just Steve and Bucky.

“How could you not tell me this?” Bucky hissed. Steve sighed.

“I didn't want to scare you, or worry you.” Steve wouldn't meet his eyes.

“And she has no idea?”

“No.”

“She's probably terrified.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “If we don't leave sooner than 24 hours, you know there's a good chance they'll turn her.” Bucky quickly tapped on the screen, a single document popping up on the projector on the wall. 8 letters were listed. “Those are her words.” He murmured. Steve nodded.

“I can't force the team to go out again so soon, everyone is going to need their full strength if we're going into a Hydra compound with better soldiers. We don't know what to expect.” Steve reasoned. Bucky thumbed through the documents.

“Have you read all of these?”

Steve shook his head. “Russian was never my best language.” He gave a weak smile. Bucky landed on a document.

“They talk about making more like her.” His eyes met Steve's. Steve swallowed.

My breath was ragged, the old man pacing in a circle around me. He was filling my head with all these old stories, my head swam as visions popped in and out. I felt like passing out at all the vivid memories of blood on me, blood curtling screams. The empty eyes of the people I've killed. I hung my head.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked again. I still shook my head. “Nikaoli Zola.” The name rang a dull bell in the back of my head. He waved his hand. “Don't worry about remembering me, you will after we trigger you.” My breath caught in my throats and I gagged on the air I choked on. Nikaoli laughed, clutching his belly. “Don't fret.” He patted my shoulder. I shook him off. He stepped to a desk, picking up a book.

“Rozovaya voda.” Rose water, he read out loud in a very clear voice. My head jerked up, my face twitching. That word, I recognized.

“Dozhd.” Rain.

“No.” I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Napadeniye.” Assault. I gritted my teeth harder.

“Please stop.” I begged. Memories began to flood back into my head, the pieces starting to come together. “What’s happenning?” I whispered to myself, Zola chuckling behind me.

“Krusheniye poyezda. Pevuchiy. Nebo” Train wreck. Mellifluous. Heaven. He fired off rapidly, with every word it felt like my mind was changing, forgetting the present and delving directly back into the past. I frantically looked around the room trying to come up with a plan. I used all my strength to try and pry my arms from the leather restraints. One popped off, a glimmer of hope spreading through my body.

“Ten.” Shadow. Blood roared in my ears as I screamed over the pain of the restraints ripping.

“Ubiystvo.” Kill. I fell to the floor, the restraints dangling off me. My breath was ragged, my mind utterly clear and calm. Like the ocean, right before a storm.

“Renegat?” Renegade? Nikaoli asked curiously. Sweat beaded on my forehead, I looked up at him. “Kakov vash status?” What is your status?

“Gotovy k soblyudeniyu.” Ready to comply. I spit onto the cement floor.

Bucky suited up, it was barely 3 am. They weren't set to leave for another 12 hours, but he didn't care. Time was running out. He knew better than anyone else what Hydra was capable of, and how they worked. They'd trigger her and wipe her brain as soon as they got the chance.

He hopped into one of the smaller aircrafts, pulling up the coordinates of her location he saved earlier, and taking off. His mouth was set into a hard line, not caring about the consequences, just needing to find her, to save her. He couldn't bare knowing she was stuck in Hydras grasp, and he just sat there the whole time.

I stood finally, my body felt more at home. Like I had been gone for months, living in a different body.

“Vy gotovy k svoyey pervoy missii?” Are you ready for your first mission?

“Da.” I answered calmly. He turned my attention to a face on the screen, one I recognized. You could almost call him a fallen soldier, but really he was nothing more than a has been, and a traitor.

“izvlekat James Barnes.” Retrieve James Barnes. I clenched my jaw together.

“What do you want with him? He left us.” I spat.

“We need him back.” He barked. I nodded.

“When do you want me to head out?”

“Tonight.”

Bucky landed outside the compound, he was obvious against the white snow in his black uniform but he didn't care. Let them come and find him. He burst through the doors, 2 agents approaching him. They were shocked to see him, around this compound he was nearly a myth after he disappeared. He shot them both, carelessly.

“It seems our man has come to us.” Nikaoli murmured.

“Kakiye?” What? I looked at the security camera, my assigned target billowing through the halls, furiously killing several agents.

“Keep him alive.” Nikaoli commanded. I nodded curtly, turning and walking out of the room briskly.

“Brat.” Brother, I gave a fake smile. Barnes snarled, charging me. Our bodies collided and it sounded like a car crash, his gun skidding across the cement, I threw him off of me into a wall. He got onto his feet quickly, I pulled out a knife.

“I need you to come with me.” I ordered in Russian. “Or are you too busy playing with your avenger friends?” I taunted. He lunged at me, trying to break the knife out of my hand and I kneed him in the rib cage repeatedly.

“How dare you turn your back on your family and show your face here.” I hissed, Barnes let loose a sarcastic laugh, punching me clean in the jaw.

“This is isn't fucking family, family doesn’t control you.” He went to jab again, but I caught his wrist, grabbing his body and using his momentum to throw him into the wall. He moved to get up, but I put my knee on his chest, leaning down close to his face. My breath fanned over his cheeks, I looked him in the eyes.

“This is the only family we ever knew.” I whispered harshly before knocking him in the head with the butt of my gun.

Nikaoli and I dragged him into the chair, sitting him up right and restraining him, this time with steel logging chains.

“Wake him.”

I smacked his face, the soldier jolted alive.

“You need to snap out of this.” Barnes whispered low. His voice pulled at something in the back of my brain, but I shook that off.

“Shut up.” I ordered.

“No.” He said coldly, glaring at me. “Look at me.” My eyes caught his. His grey ones stared back at me, they were insanely vibrant, holding all the signs of life I didn't feel. I broke away, looking at Nikaoli.

“Shall we begin?” He asked.

“He's gone.” Steve muttered. He checked everywhere in the compound. His GPS tracking was off, meaning about one thing.

“He went for her.” Natasha stated, sipping her coffee. Steve nodded.

“We have to leave now. If Hydra turns her and him, were screwed.” Steve sighed.

“We were screwed anyways.”

“Zhelaniye.” Longing. Barnes’ eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“Rzhavyy.” Rusted. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“No. No no no no.” He pleaded. He opened his eyes to look at me, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, stop him, (y/n). You know me.” My eyebrows wavered at how weak he looked, pleading in front of me.

“Who the fuck is (y/n)?”

“Semnadtsat.” Seventeen. The winter soldier hung his head.

“You have to remember me. Look at me.” He begged. “Rassvet.” Daybreak. He hollered, struggling against the restrains. Nikaoli looked over at me. “Pech.” Furnace. “Девять.” Nine. “Dobrokachestvennyy” Benign. Barnes screamed as he pulled his arms against the restraints, I watched mesmerized as he started to pop the links of the log chain.

“Vozvrashcheniye domoy.” Homecoming.

Barnes panted, I looked up at Nikaoli.

“Why did he call me a different name?” I questioned. Barnes eyes searched the floor, I knew his ears were ringing. Slowly his breaths calmed. Nikaoli shrugged.

“He’d say anything to get out of returning to his true self.”

“Are we going to wipe him?” I asked quietly. It wasn't my place to ask.

“Yes.” He stated matter of factly.

“Why?” I whispered.

“To fully prepare for the next mission.” I gritted my teeth, as if on cue, three doctors walked in.

“Soldat?” Soldier? Nikaoli asked. “Kakov vash status?” What is your status?

“Gotovy k soblyudeniyu.” Ready to comply, Barnes exhaled.

can you say, PLOT TWIIISTTTTT. Tags & requests are open bitches!

Tags: @bexboo616 @chameerah @superwholockian5ever @katykyll

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier #sebastian stan #steve rogers #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes #hydra

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thisloveforyourmom · 7 years

Text

Sygyzy: Chapter 3

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12355665/chapters/28343433

Chapter 1: http://marshmallowsweetheart.tumblr.com/post/166623978494/sygyzy-chapter-one

Chapter 2: http://marshmallowsweetheart.tumblr.com/post/166677341164/sygyzy-chapter-2

Chapter 3: Sonder

He supposes it was a given, with everything that’s been going on.

It’s been a week since they left Idyllwild, and Steven is mostly back on his feet. He’s still taking iron supplements, he will be for a while, and he still isn’t good for strenuous exercise, but that wasn’t something he did much anyway so he’s mostly back to normal. He’s been in situations that he considers worse--more painful, longer lasting, more dangerous. Things he was conscious for, things he could feel during the worst of it.

It’s easy for him to forget about it. He didn’t die, and he isn’t permanently disabled, and so he considers that a win and moves on. James was protective of him for a couple days, definitely, but even he seems to have accepted that it’s over, taken information from the experience and put it behind him.

Cib hasn’t.

Steven’s been noticing it more and more over the past week, that Cib’s been coming with him on jobs he usually does alone, that he hasn’t given him as many in the first place. That he insists Steven rest when he feels fine, that he seems to need to know where he is in the apartment. It’s fine, at first, until it lasts longer than a couple days, and then it’s weird, and then it’s kind of annoying, and then it’s really annoying.

It’s the first time he’s been truly frustrated with Cib, or he would be if he felt emotions, which he doesn’t, but Cib does and, as far as he can tell, it looks like Cib’s getting frustrated with him, too. He can’t figure out why.

(He pushes down how much that scares him, the fear that Cib will realize he isn’t worth the trouble and leave, the temptation to just let him do what he wants and keep him happy because even if he’s frustrated he doesn’t want this to end.)

He snaps, or he supposes they both do, when he takes his key to go to the supermarket literally two blocks away and Cib stands up to follow.

“Cib, you don’t have to come everywhere with me, jesus,” he snaps before he can stop himself, and regrets it almost immediately when he sees the hurt flash across Cib’s face. He regrets it even more when that hurt turns to something like anger, something like pain, and Cib sits back down, turning away. Steven sighs, setting down his key and walking towards the living room. “Cib--”

“Just go already,” Cib interrupts, not turning around, and Steven’s taken aback by the venom in it. “Fruit waits for no man.”

He doesn’t understand, and it’s a different version of not understanding than he’s used to. He sees the reasoning behind it well enough, that he was hurt and Cib wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again because Steven’s good at his job and that’s hard to find, but he didn’t expect...worry. Anger. Something that suggests it’s Steven Cib’s worried about and not his negotiation skills.

He pushes that thought away, replaces it with others. Yeah, he was hurt, but it could have been worse, it could have left him needing physical therapy or bedrest or with brain damage. It could have been much worse than just a graze to his arm, and it’s not like this is the first time--

It dawns on him, suddenly, that this isn’t his first experience with near death, but it might just be Cib’s.

It would make sense. He was alone with a brand new dealing business when he’d recruited Steven. Despite the glaringly obvious signs, he hadn’t even known what kind of work Steven did, and Cib didn’t seem to have any relevant contacts in the criminal business, which was almost unheard of in LS. This had to be new for Cib, and Steven sighs. He may not feel emotions, but he remembers when he did. Remembers, even after all this time, the first time he saw Zaragoza get shot. Steven may be a trauma-induced sociopath, but he isn’t heartless.

“Get in the car,” he says, grabbing the keys again, and Cib turns around. Some of the hurt’s been replaced with confusion, and something loosens in Steven’s chest.

“I thought you didn’t want me to come,” he says, more sullen than genuine.

“Okay, fine, then. Don’t, I guess,” he replies nonchalantly, walking towards the door and taking the car key. He knows Cib will follow, regardless of what he thinks Steven wants, and he’s proved right when Cib jumps up and scurries after him.

He asks multiple times where they’re going as they go down the building stairs, and then again in the car because they don’t drive to the grocery store, but Steven doesn’t answer until they pull into a parking deck and get out.

The sound of guitar music fills the air just like he’d known it would. He’d seen a sign for a musical festival that he’d remembered so he could avoid the traffic, and he knows Cib keeps a guitar in his room that either moves around on its own or is handled very often by its owner. Steven’s banking on the latter. He can see the confusion in Cib’s eyes, and he walks around to the parking meter to pay the fee.

“There’s a music festival in town,” he says needlessly, and offers no other explanation as he steps out into the street, Cib in tow.

***

They’ve been there for two hours, and Steven’s fear of large crowds is as strong as ever, but there’s a visible change in Cib’s demeanor and he decides it’s worth it. It took a good few minutes of walking around and listening to the bands, but he could see his shoulders relaxing and the stress seeming to melt off his face, and after a little bit he’d started talking to Steven about the development of each type of music and the technical challenges and using a lot of terms that Steven doesn’t understand. Sometimes he doesn’t listen, just watches Cib talk and tries to memorize the way his eyes light up at each new topic, and he gets the same feeling he got on the couch and lying on the bed in Idyllwild and he tries to ignore the fact that it’s only gotten stronger. Sometimes he does listen, and discovers that Cib was in a band before he came to America, that he played guitar and took piano lessons before whatever had happened that sent him here.

He pictures, for a moment, Cib playing guitar, singing, and when he blinks back to reality, discovers he’s lost Cib in the festival and, as annoyed as he was earlier, the noise and crowd were really only worth it when Cib was leading him through it--

A hand grabs his wrist and he jumps as he’s pulled into an alley a little way off the side. It’s Cib, who looks just an anxious as Steven feels, but while Steven relaxes once they’re out of the throng of people in the street, Cib doesn’t, still holding his wrist.

It looks like he’s about to speak, anticipation and worry written on his face, but he stops, and Steven sees that same desperation in his eyes that he’d had when Steven was bleeding out against a dumpster. He sighs, moving his wrist out of Cib’s grip, and maybe it’s the relief that they’re finally somewhere a little quieter and maybe it’s because he remembers that kind of horror all too well, but something gives him the courage to take Cib’s hand and set it on his heart.

Cib looks up at him, eyes wide, and Steven tries to smile and hopes Cib doesn’t notice the way his heart’s racing at the touch. “It’s, uh, it’s still beating,” is all he says, his voice a little breathy, and Cib is still for a moment. “So is yours. And James’. You’re worried, it’s fine. But you can relax. And, uh, maybe you can leave me alone? Not, like, all the time. But I can take care of myself. It’s not like this is the first time or anything.”

After a moment, Cib nods hesitantly, and Steven sees some of that wild terror leave his eyes, watches icy blue soften into something more like still water. Not all of it, or enough for Steven’s taste, but enough for now. “...Mmhm. Yeah, sure.” And suddenly it feels like Cib is looking just as deep into Steven’s eyes as Steven is looking into his, and he’s all too aware of Cib’s hand on his chest, and he forces a small laugh.

“You weren’t listening to a thing I said,” and he hopes Cib will take the hint. Cib seems to hesitate a moment before looking away.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Cib says, and takes his hand away, and Steven can’t ignore a burst of guilt at the way Cib seems to have suddenly been subdued by something. Someone.

He takes a deep breath and shifts his grip from Cib’s wrist to his hand.

“So we won’t--uh, we won’t lose each other in the crowd,” he clarifies, but Cib’s smile comes back like it means something more. Maybe it does, the little hopeful gremlin in his brain says, but he doesn’t have time to think about that because they’re out of the alley and back into the crowd.

***

Cib gives him a lot more space, after that. Not a normal, healthy amount, because he’s still Cib, but better than what it was. Steven’s happier with that, has always been someone who preferred to be alone, but on this job, for the first time in a while, he wishes that Cib, or James, or even that new guy who keeps losing money “by accident”, had come with him.

It was the kind of client that he and his--coworkers? Did that work?--used to call a ‘makeup job’, someone who wouldn’t be impressed unless a pretty face showed up and did their stuff. There were probably other ways to make sure the deal ran smoothly, but Steven didn’t know them, and before he left he’d found himself staring into a mirror at a face he hadn’t seen in three months.

James and Cib had been out already, and he was both glad that they wouldn’t see him like this and desperate for someone to reassure him that he knew what he was doing. That this wouldn’t turn back into everything it was before.

(And he’s started to define his memories as before, he had realized: before SourceFed ended, before Cib hired him, before he met James, before he’d fallen for--)

And he cuts off the thought because the job is over now, and nothing had gone wrong and nothing had gone back, and all he wants is to get home.

It’s a short walk, and he must have blanked out because he’s at the door already, unlocking it and stepping inside. He takes a deep breath, shutting the door quietly and just standing for a moment before hanging the key and moving to go to his room. As he passes the living room, he sees James asleep on the couch out of the corner of his eye and stops, because he’s alone.

Usually Cib would be next to him, after some movie night, but he’s not. There’s a blanket where he used to be, only half over James, and James is sitting in the middle, so Cib had to have been there before, but…

Steven pulls a throw pillow between James’ head and his arm, pulls the blanket a little higher, and he pauses for a moment before reaching out to take his glasses and set them on the coffee table. James looks peaceful when he sleeps, not the kind of blank he is when he’s upset, but just relaxed, and he feels that same swell of...affection, he knows now, and he’s too tired to deny it. Tired in general of being so scared to want this.

He sighs and pulls himself away. The clock on the stove in the other room says 3:48, and it’s too late--early?--to sit here staring at James and wondering why Cib got up. He goes to his room, leaving his shoes in the hall as he goes, ready to just lie down and go to sleep, and he opens his door to see Cib, sprawled across his bed and out cold.

It takes him a moment to take that in, to realize that he did actually walk into his room and not Cib’s, and when he does he just sighs. He could go to Cib’s bed if he really wanted to sleep alone, but Cib’s hygiene scares him and it’s so far down the hall and he actually really, really doesn’t want to sleep alone. He hasn’t wanted to be alone since he left the apartment, and given that Cib’s in his bed, and that before the festival he seemed worried and worried about him….he thinks it’s a safe bet, at least just for tonight, to think that Cib doesn’t really want to be alone either. And he’s too tired to keep arguing with himself.

He sits on his bed, trying to find a spot that has enough room that he could reasonably get in with a little room to spare, and when he does, he pushes Cib lightly to the side and, God, lying down feels good. He has to be careful not to get too close, or make too much contact, because, even if Cib is okay with this, there are probably limits, but hearing Cib breathing next to him, knowing he’s lying in Steven’s bed, is...nice.

He’s half gone already when he hears Cib shift and feels an arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him away from the edge of the bed where he’d slid in. He stiffens automatically, not from the touch, but from the worry that’d he’d gone too far, but Cib just pulls him closer.

“Sleep, idiot,” Cib says, and the words are quiet and sleep-slurred, but they’re enough, and he does.

***

“Nice ‘coon eyes,” James comments late the next morning when Steven finally gets up.

“Fuck off,” Steven groans. He hasn’t had coffee or even a shower yet. It’s too early for this, but of course he would forget to wash it off and of course James or Cib would comment on it.

“No, dude, I like them,” James says. “They bring out your...face.”

“Gee, thanks,” he replies, standing from the table and turning to leave the kitchen, to take off the remains of last night’s eyeliner, but James stops him.

“Dude, at least have coffee first,” he says, something strange in his eyes, and Steven sits back down with a sigh because it’s 11:30 and it’s still too early for this.

When he’d woken up about five minutes ago, Cib was already up, and he and James looked like they’d been awake for a while. Cib had been leaving, to go run some kind of errand, and James had just poured him a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to ask him about last night and, apparently, reveal that his makeup was both still on and smudged.

“I really do like it,” James says, interrupting his thoughts. “I mean, like, the part that’s not fucked up. It looks good.” And he’s trying to be nice, Steven knows, but--

“That’s why I wear it,” he snaps before he can stop himself, and turns away so James doesn’t see the guilt that floods in immediately after.

Rationally, he knows James didn’t mean anything that would hurt, or anything crude, or anything like the things he remembered when he was trying to keep his hands steady and his eyeliner straight. But he doesn’t like it, the knowledge that the people he lo--likes so much think he looks good this way. He doesn’t want them to. That’s not what he wants them to notice about him.

“Woah, dude, I’m just trying to give you a compliment,” James says, sounding hurt.

“Just...don’t,” Steven says, glaring into his coffee, and it sounds sullen even to himself but whatever, honestly.

It’s not like he doesn’t want them to think he looks good. He does. But the makeup...it pains him. It reminds him of all the things that he doesn’t like to think about, of everything that he wants to put past him. He’s used to people taking the makeup as a sign that, yes, they can fuck him, and no, he won’t put up a fuss. He wants Cib to look at him the way that he does without eyeliner, wants James to compliment him when he doesn’t look like a fucking raccoon. That’s still kind of scary to him; he’s still terrified that they’re going to leave him or he’s going to leave them and run away to fucking China or something, but he’s argued with himself and always lost. Or won. Or whatever it is when you have to admit that something that you don’t want to be real is real.

The makeup was what changed him in the first place, what stripped him away every night until he was a toy instead of a person, and he knows that’s just a symbol or something that he probably needs therapy for, but when he wore it last night, it was because he knew it would do the same then. The thought that it could do the same now, even if it isn’t, is sickening.

If he was braver, if he wasn’t in this stupid makeup, he might apologize. For now, though, he just mumbles some excuse and leaves to take it off, leaving James staring after.

He makes sure to turn the water as hot as it will go, scrubbing his face until he feels like if nothing else the makeup must have burned off, before getting out and taking a makeup remover wipe to what’s left around his eyes. When he’s done, he looks like himself again, but, for some reason, that’s not the comfort it usually is. He’s still anxious about going out to talk to James again, still doesn’t want to be seen, but it’s not the fear from before. Again with before.

He’s upset James, he knows that, but instead of being scared of whatever James will do, he feels guilty in a way that hurts. Regretful. Ashamed.

He feels broken, he realizes, and it’s like a punch in the gut. He can’t even take a compliment from someone he cares about, not without getting snappy and scared and anxious. That hadn’t mattered so much before--the compliments weren’t coming from anyone worth caring about--but now it feels like he’s been robbed, robbed of his dignity and his old life and even the ability to be happy with something. With someone. Add that onto his crippling anxiety, and you’ve got the hot mess known as Steven Suptic, he thinks, and if thoughts can sound bitter this one does.

It’s probably just about the worst thing he could do, but he doesn’t want James to see him like this over something as stupid as a compliment, so he goes into his room and locks the door.

***

When he comes out of his room a few hours later, Cib still isn’t back and James is sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table. Steven knows he must have, but it doesn’t look like he’s moved all day. James looks at him, and Steven looks away automatically, not wanting his face to reveal anything that he can’t say. Not wanting to find something in James’ face that reminds him of this morning.

“Cib isn’t back yet?” he asks, sitting across the table and still not looking up. “No,” James says, and it goes silent again. Steven taps his fingers on the table, once, twice. God, this is awkward.

“Did you, uh,” Steven clears his throat. “did you eat?” A pause.

“Yeah,” James says, still not looking at him.

“Good! That’s, uh, good…” Steven looks around, taps his heel on the floor. Waits for more of a reply, speaks when it doesn’t come. “Did, uh, did Cib tell you where he was going? It’s just--it’s...it’s been a while, so--” “No.” And that’s that.

Well. Steven can add ‘learn how to socialize like a normal person’ to his list for tomorrow.

“I’m going to call Cib,” he says, to escape the conversation, and goes into the living room, where any fears he had about whatever this is with James--an argument?--are replaced by something almost worse.

Because Cib doesn’t pick up on the first call, or the second, or the third, and his location services show that he’s been at the park for the past six hours. That, in and of itself, isn’t unusual: there are a lot of times Cib simply wants to be alone, doesn’t answer his phone, sits in one place for a while. What is unusual is that he left his location services on because unfailingly when he doesn’t want to be found he makes sure he can’t be found, and something about this feels wrong enough that Steven is going to go check it out. “I’m going to the park,” he says, no longer simply nervous, and something in his voice must pique James’ interest. “Why?” James asks, already rising, and at least mutual worry for the biggest idiot either of them know is enough to make them put this aside.

“Cib’s location services have been there for the past six--seven hours.” And James follows him out the door, because James is just as familiar with Cib’s eccentricities as Steven is, and somehow they don’t say another word until they’re parking on the street by the park and Steven is pulling out his phone to try and track down where exactly Cib could be.

“There’s a treehouse, like, right here, isn’t that where he--?” James asks, and Steven shakes his head. Something anxious settles in his stomach, something hard and worried, and whatever it is is telling him that this is wrong.

“No. I mean--yeah, but not--it says he’s right next to us, on our right,” he says, and turns, and beside them is--

A garbage can. He calls Cib’s phone and hears it ring, echoing off the metal and rustling the trash inside with the vibration. That little anxious pit in his stomach grows to something that takes over his chest.

“Fuck,” James says, and Steven doesn’t really have anything to add.

#minty writes #sygyzy #sugar pine 7 #steven suptic #cib #james deangelis

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wizcrdingheadcanons · 7 years

Note

EDH Hermione Granger

Nora to the rescue!

1. What does their bedroom look like?There are a lot of light colors. Her bed sheets are light blue and she has a lot of pillows. She had a white desk that is just encumbered with papers and journals and books. Also there are empty water bottles all over the room.

2. Do they have any daily rituals?Before she goes to class she says to herself in the mirror “I am super smart and super hard working and I know I can I do this”. It eases her anxieties about studies.

3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?Barely, but she does go running on occasion.

4. What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?Help the others who were using it at the time then when she was done helping them, make her dinner.

5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.) She can become pretty messy when it comes to her workplaces. Even though it is pretty cluttered, she still knows where everything is and kind of prefers it that way.

6. Eating habits and sample daily menuShe eats pretty healthy and really likes salad but her favorite junk food is donuts. Her perfect meal would be steak with a side of ceaser salad.

7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting timeHermione hates wasting time and is always protesting against it but her favorite way to waste time is to read books (which she insists isn’t wasting time) and play with Crookshanks.

8. Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging She doesn’t really like indulging and loves saving but she loves loves loves to indulge on books

9. Makeup? She rarely wears makeup unless it is a special occasion. She insists that she doesn’t have enough time for it.

10. Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?She has anxiety and will have panic attacks but she doesn’t recognize them as such.

11. Intellectual pursuits?Do I even need to answer this?

12. Favorite book genre?She really likes mystery and fantasy but to be real, there in no book genre she doesn’t like.

13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?Straight but she still believes that the LGBTQ+ deserves their rights and would fight for them given the chance.

14. Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.) She has a scar under her left ear and no one has any idea where she got it from.

15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?Biggest: Finish all the books on her book list Smallest: Feed Crookshanks

16. Biggest and smallest long term goal?Biggest: Have a lot of people in the wizard of world know her name for the work she has done. Smallest: Give rights to the house elves

17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dressShe just throws whatever she has on but likes anything that is floral.

18. Favorite beverage?Kiddy Cocktail

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?The future and everything that is going to be in her’s.

20. Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

In 4th grade she made a kid who had strep throat cough on her because she was freaking out about the spelling test coming up.

21. Turn-ons? Turn-offs?Turn-on: When a guy has a really nice smile. Turn-off: When everything that comes out of that nice smile is douchiness.

22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?She would just rant about her day.

23. How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?She is only organize to an extent. The only thing that is really messy is her workplace. It doesn’t really play that big of a role in her life.

24. Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?She excels at everything but divination.

25. How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Successful and happy. Just those two simple things.

26. Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?Yes. She has a whole notebook for actually. And no, she doesn’t because she is so set on her future no one can change her mind about it.

27. What is their biggest regret?Not seeking more help for her mental health.

28. Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?Best friends: Harry and Ron Worst Enemy: Draco Malfoy

29. Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)She would be freaking out so much on the inside but would remain calm and smart about it on the outside.

30. Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)Same thing as #29.

31. Most prized possession?Her cat.

32. Thoughts on material possessions in general?Likes them but she just doesn’t think too much of them.

33. Concept of home and family? She is very big on it and thinks they are one of the most important things in the world.

34. Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)She thinks privacy is really important but doesn’t really think there is such thing as TMI

35. What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?She enjoys listening to music on her record player but thinks it’s a waste of time if it’s distracting her from important things.

36. What makes them feel guilty?The same as Cedric, having to choose a partner in school because everyone wants to work with her.

37. Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?She is a little bit of both but mostly analytical.

38. Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality? Type A

39.What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?Reading a good book.

40. Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?Superiority-complex

41. How misanthropic are they? Not at all, really!

42. Hobbies?Reading, writing, and listening to music.

43. How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?Super far. She thinks highly of both. It she also think that sometimes the school system can be fucked up.

45. Religion?She was raised Greek Orthodox

46. Superstitions or views on the occult?

Well, I mean, she is a witch.

47. Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?Both!

47. If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?Someone who is funny, has a nice smile, and is thoughtful

48. How do they express love?Lots and lots of hugs. Also she would just smile and stare at you if she loves you.

49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?She is ruthless. Did you see her punch Draco?

50. Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

A little bit just because she doesn’t really know what happens after death and hat scared her.

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ryttu3k · 7 years

Note

For the ask meme: Sycamore for 3, 6, 7, 12, 14, 19, 28, 30, 33, 34, 45, 49!

Oh boy howdy let’s go :D These will generally be for both gameverse and animeverse versions, although where they diverge, I’ll note it down.

3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

Just working at the lab is pretty good exercise! Looking after the Pokemon in the enclosure and running around after them, giving squirming baby starters their check-ups, meeting up with students - he doesn’t have an official exercise regime or anything, but does plenty of running around just in his everyday life.

6. Eating habits and sample daily menu

Vegetarian, although that’s very much the norm in my headcanon Pokeverse. His eating habits are best described as ‘holy shit dude how are you not malnourished’, since when he gets right into working, he pretty much subsides on pastries and coffee, aside from when friends/family/concerned coworkers actually get him something with actual vitamins and minerals that aren’t caffeine and go “EAT THE FUCKING HEALTHY FOOD, AUGUSTINE” and stare at him intently until he shows a bit of self-care. …Ahem. If he was to go out for dinner or something, he prefers comfortable, homey dishes like ratatouille and minestrone and green salads and some nice crusty bread, nothing super fancy. He is a bit pickier with his coffee, though, and has pretty refined tastes there.

7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Drawing. He’s a natural doodler. Given a few spare minutes, out come the pencils, drawing everything from still-lifes of his surroundings, to Pokemon, to people and landscapes from memory. He does tend to feel guilty about wasting time, though, and will generally tell himself off and make himself get back to work. Animeverse version also enjoys TV, including watching performances. (Great use of lab equipment there guys A+.)

Putting the rest under a cut, it’s getting long ;D

12. Favorite book genre?

Very much with escapism, he’s pretty fond of fantasy, when he’s reading for pleasure. It’s pretty rare these days, but he enjoys it a lot just as an escape from everything else, and there’ll often be a novel at the bottom of his bag.

14. Physical abnormalities differences? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

So if we’re including disabilities, then technically Aspergers and ADHD comes under this? So, comorbid Aspergers and ADHD, yeah, although they’re much more just… neurotypes rather than disabilities.

On an actual illness note, for the gameverse version, he also has depression, anxiety, and is prone to insomnia, so general health issues resulting from not enough sleep and a fairly shoddy diet. Medication-wise, he takes an antidepressant for it, something Diantha encouraged after everything with Lysandre.

The animeverse version doesn’t seem to have the same depression and anxiety issues, I feel? He’s still autistic and has ADHD, but basically has his life together more. Still kind of prone to overworking, weird sleeping patterns, and not eating as well as he should, but not quite as badly as gameverse.

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

For both versions, work work work, lots of thinking about work. Gameverse version tends to have a lot of dark/sad/upsetting/guilty thoughts about everything with Lysandre, which, honestly, is a big part of his insomnia. Animeverse version had a lot of trouble sleeping through stress after the Flare incident, mostly in the form of guilt about not realising what was going on with Alain sooner, but that’s slowly working out, especially since he knows that Alain is sleeping comfortably in the next bedroom.

28. Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Best friend is Diantha, and that’s true whether they’re twins (gameverse) or unrelated (animeverse)! Although her career does tend to mean she’s pretty busy, they get together as often as they can and just. Hang out. In animeverse, Meyer is also one of his closest friends as well as his partner.

Worst enemy is… uh, in gameverse, it’s basically himself :| Lots of guilt over Lysandre. In animeverse, it actually is Lysandre and his only regret is not being able to punch the fucker in the face in person for everything he did to Alain.

30. Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Gameverse, he canonically does the whole “:) :) :) Nothing is wrong :) :) :)” thing. Like the Couriway scene, he starts out pretty flat and sad, using a lot of ellipses, generally subdued body language, actually turning away from the protag. Within seconds, he’s all smiles and energy and !!! again, so basically suppress, suppress, suppress, and fall apart when there’s no one else around.

Animeverse strikes me as being more emotionally honest and proactive? Like gameverse did make moves to stop Lysandre from behind the scenes, but animeverse, when Gabby was stolen, actively and immediately went out to find her and like. Flung himself down a cliff to defend her! He acts quicker and actually shows much more honest expressions - when he’s angry with the Rockets, it shows, when he’s scared, it shows. So I feel animeverse would react to intrapersonal disaster by actually reaching out to people and not bottling everything up (unless he’s trying to keep a strong face for someone else, like Alain or the kids).

33. Concept of home and family?

Family and home are basically synonymous! I see him having a pretty good relationship with his biological family (gameverse Diantha, Auntie Drasna, parents, et cetera), but also others becoming part of family of choice. Best example, of course, is in animeverse, with Alain, who is definitely his son, and his relationship with Meyer, and Clemont and Bonnie becoming his stepkids (and he’s already great with Bonnie even before that, like lifting her up to pet Gabby in the second episode!), and he’s sort of adopted all his other students too, especially Manon (protective Papa Wolf Sycamore defending Manon from the Flare grunt was SO GOOD). Whoops, he’s acquired another child :’)

Gameverse version pretty much adopts all his students too, although since they seem to be older than in gameverse, the dynamic can sometimes be more like a mentor and protege than a parent and a younger child. Sina and Dexio, for instance, are more like grown-up offspring - he’s still protective and proud of them, but also trusts them more to be independent. He’d have quite a different dynamic with 10-year-old Serena (a child, he’s protective of her, is proud and encouraging of her, and basically looks after her during the Flare crisis) than he would of 17-year-old Serena (still protective, proud, and encouraging, but he knows she’s much more capable of taking care of herself, and sees her more as a protege or apprentice than a dependent).

34. Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

Private, definitely, although he’d basically joke about TMI without actually like… revealing actual things. So he’d basically deflect attention with masks and jokes, because he doesn’t want to worry people, or he doesn’t think it’s anyone’s business, stuff like that.

45. Superstitions or views on the occult?

So I always get stuck on this question for the Pokeverse because they have like. Actual canonical Ghost-types and various Gods and stuff like that, haha. Ghost-types definitely exist! Ghosts of Pokemon and people, probably, there’s been reputable sightings. Also, frankly, the Paris/Lumiose underground is probably A Mess thanks to the catacombs, I bet they’re packed with Ghost-types and. Actual ghosts. Probably more ‘it could definitely happen but haven’t personally encountered them’ for the actual ghosts. Superstition-wise, I bet there’s a ton related to the legendaries, and I’d bet the ones relating to Zygarde become a whole lot more interesting for animeverse version now that he’s actually met them! “Oh, yes, the deity of the balance between life and death? Yeah, swabbed the little one, they didn’t seem too pleased. My stepdaughter carried them around in her little bag. Cool li’l bean. Well. Big bean.”

This question becomes really funny for my Xerneas!Sycamore, incidentally.

49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

OPERATION HIDE BEHIND THE GARCHOMP. …Okay no he does grab that Flare grunt but, uh, that wasn’t really a fist fight, and he was still pretty quick to get Gabby out, haha. He’s, um, not formidable. (Gameverse is basically the same except it’s OPERATION HIDE BEHIND THE CHARIZARD or something XD )

AND DONE.

#pokemon #memes #professor sycamore #long post #whew!

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