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aithorin · 3 years

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You’re Mine - All Smite x Reader (18+)

Summary: After trying to leave town, Smite shows you exactly who you belong to

Warnings: Villain AU, Villain!All Might, Possessive Behavior, Dominance, Mildly dubious consent (i.e. you don’t explicitly say yes), Vaginal fingering, Unhealthy relationships, Unplanned pregnancy

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469632

Very much NSFW!

Stepping through your front door, All Might expected to hear the usual snide remark about how rude it was to barge into someone’s house unannounced float down the hall, but all that greeted him was silence. Closing the door behind him, he walked further inside and called out your name, but got no reply. The apartment was well and truly empty. Arriving in the living room, All Might let himself sink onto your couch, a creak emitting from it at his weight, and soon let himself become preoccupied with his thoughts.

Something didn’t feel right. You should have been home right now. After all, he knew what your schedule was like. Not because he cared about you or anything though. He just kept himself up to date on your life, so that he wouldn’t waste his time coming over here if you were busy. He usually only came over to blow off some steam, so coming at a bad time would only make things worse. Frustrated and horny were two emotions that did not mix well with All Might. As such, he kept himself in the loop on your daily life. It was a purely selfish motivation. Except, it had apparently backfired since you weren’t here. He could feel the beginnings of frustration crawl up his spine at your absence mixing with something he refused to name (though if he really examined it, the feeling would probably be identified as worry), and with a growl escaping from his lips, he jumped up off the couch to see if he could find out where you had gone.

Beginning in your bedroom, the first thing he noticed was that the place seemed emptier. To the left, the closet doors stood wide open with a few clothes barely holding onto their hangers while the majority of them held nothing. The knick knacks and stationary that dotted your desk were nowhere to be seen. Looking toward the back, he saw that your nightstand had been completely cleared as well. Your room looked like something out of a hotel rather than a space you lived in. Observing your bedroom, All Might knew you had haphazardly packed and left to go somewhere in a hurry, but looking even closer, he realized that it looked like you had no intention of coming back. Nostrils flaring in anger, he stewed about what could have possibly made you leave so quickly, leave him so quickly. Didn’t you know that you belonged to him? It was almost laughable that you thought you could leave. You were his. His toy to do with as he pleased, and you should have known better than anyone that he was very possessive of his toys.

Turning around, he stomped in the direction of the bathroom to continue his search. First, he was going to figure out why you had left. Then, he was going to find you and drag you back if he had to. And finally, he was going to fuck you so hard you wouldn’t ever think of leaving again.

Walking into the bathroom only confirmed what he already knew: you had fled, but from what he still had no fucking clue. The space was completely bare, all of your toiletries gone. He was about to leave when he caught sight of a little trash can placed next to the toilet. Taking his time to examine it, the pieces of the puzzle behind your disappearance began to click in his head, and the second it did, annoyed anger turned into full-blown rage. For there, nestled right at the top, was a plastic stick with a plus sign on it. He vowed right then and there that he was going to make you pay, and without another glance, stormed out of the apartment, intent on finding you immediately.

_________________________

Nervously glancing down at your watch, you ducked into a nearby alley, using it as a shortcut to get to the train station. With your suitcase bouncing on the gravel behind you, you chanted in your head, “5 more minutes. 5 more minutes, and I’ll be at the train station. 5 more minutes, and I’ll be on the train, heading away from him. 5 more minutes until I start my new life. 5 more minutes until I’m-we’re safe.”

Taking deep breaths to calm yourself, a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you spotted the other end of the alleyway. Right around the corner was the entrance to the train station. With each step, your surroundings grew brighter and a bounce in your walk seemed to grow with it. You could almost taste the freedom. One more step and you’d be out-

“And where do you think you’re going?” a familiar voice growled, yanking on your arm to tug you back into the shadows of the alley.

“Damn, so close. I really hope he doesn’t kill me.” you thought.

Turning around, you craned your neck up to meet All Might’s infamous blue eyes. Fuck, he looked really angry. It’s ok, you could talk yourself out of this.

Putting on a brave face, you steeled yourself to lie your way through this encounter. It didn’t matter how you felt about him. You had to get him to let you leave after this-and in one piece. “Hey All Might! Didn’t I tell you? I have an out of town business meeting this week and-”

Cutting you off, he leaned down to get eye level with you. “DON’T lie to me girl. I saw your apartment. You have enough shit in that suitcase to last you for a lifetime. Now I’ll only ask once, What. Are. You. Doing.” he spit out.

Taking a moment to study him, you tried to gauge his behavior. He was angry angry-like angrier than you had ever seen him before. Did-did he know? You thought to yourself momentarily before mentally shaking your head. No, there’s no way he could know. I’ll just play it off. Tell him a half-truth and push him away to distance him from me. Let’s hope he doesn’t snap my neck over it.

Raising your half-lidded eyes to meet his, you shrugged simply replying, “I’m leaving.”

“Why?” he bit out.

Stepping back to place some distance between you two, you crossed your arms as you began to get irritated with him. “Does there have to be a reason? Maybe I just got tired of your annoying ass and decided to leave town since I’ll have to go god knows how far to get you to leave me alone.” you scoffed.

Taking a step towards you to close the distance you had tried to create, he snarled “Watch your tone girl. I’m already upset with you. You do not want to make me angrier. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

Beginning to circle around you, like a bird eyeing its prey, he let out a tut. “But back to the matter at hand...we both know that bullshit excuse of yours isn’t true, so why don’t you be a good little girl and tell me the real reason.”

Stiffening at his words, you tried to deflect. Still feigning nonchalance, you rolled your eyes, letting out a sigh, “Why does it even matter to you? I’m just your fuck buddy, sometimes an occasional person to talk to. So why the fuck do you even care what I do? Either way, I’m replaceable. Just go find another hole to stick it in, and I’m sure you’ll be juuusssst fine.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, All Might whipped his head around to stare at you, giving you the most scathing look you had ever seen. Harshly grabbing a hold of your arms he brought you close in a grueling grip before hoisting you up. Before you could even think, he jumped into the air, the force behind it rattling the buildings in the alleyway. Moments later, you found yourself on the balcony of your apartment, still held tightly in his arms. Dropping you down, he nodded towards the back door.

“Open it.” He stated in a tone that left no room for argument.

Digging out your keys, you silently followed his commands. As soon as you slid the door open, he bent down to go inside. “Follow me. NOW.” He demanded.

Filled with anticipation, you trailed along behind him until he came to a stop at your kitchen table. Seeing what was on the table, your mouth immediately went dry. At your reaction, a sneer started to make its way across All Might’s face.

“It matters to me because of that,” he stated, nodding his head towards the test on the table, “Mind explaining what it is?”

You could still fix this. So he knew you were pregnant, big deal. You just had to convince him that it wasn’t his. Swallowing nervously, you let out a shaky laugh. “That’s what’s got you so worked up? That has nothing to do with this. It’s not even yours. I told you, I just didn’t want to see you anymore, so I left.”

Advancing towards you, he backed you up against a wall before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Do you take me for a fool girl? I’m the most powerful man in all of Japan. Are you really so naive to think I don’t keep tabs on you? You should know by now that I don’t share, so I know for a fact that my dick’s the only one that’s been in your dirty little cunt since we met. I warned you not to lie to me before, so if you know what’s good for you, I’d suggest you drop this little act and tell me the truth.”

Now you knew it was too late. He definitely knew it was his and he was angry. At the fact that it was his baby or that you had lied you didn’t know which. Either way though, your charade was over. You had no idea what was going to happen now. With tears shining in your eyes, you defiantly lifted your chin up to glare at him. “Fine, I’m pregnant and it’s yours, is that what you wanted to hear Toshinori?” Softening your voice to a whisper you repeated, “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Letting out a watery laugh, you shook your head muttering, “I don’t even know why it matters. We both know that you have absolutely no desire to be a father. You’re a villain for god's sake! A child won’t fit neatly into your lifestyle. Hell, I don't even fit neatly into your lifestyle now. We barely know each other. I’m just a quick fuck to you. That’s all this has ever been and it’s all that it needs to be.”

Looking at him directly in the eye, you pleaded, “Just let me go, and you’ll never see either one of us ever again. If you let me leave here safely, I promise that you won’t ever hear from me. It’ll be like we never even existed to you.”

Letting out a laugh, All Might looked down at you with a smirk, “Let you go? There’s no way in hell I’m ever letting you go, especially now. Not that I was ever planning on it, but this little development,” he took a moment to lower his eyes to your stomach, “just became my insurance. You’re mine… forever now.”

He could see it now. Coming home to you every night. You, greeting him at the door with a child on your hip. Thinking about it caused something to twinge in his chest. Normally the thought of a family and children brought an overwhelming disgust to the forefront of his mind, but the thought of a family with you brought forth a wave of completely opposite emotions. He told himself that it was only pride at the thought of you fat with his kid, yet there was an underlying emotion of happiness as well.

Meanwhile, you were going through a series of emotions trying to decipher what he meant exactly with his words. It was always so hard to tell what All Might was thinking. Most of the time he was very flippant during your interactions, choosing to tease or flirt with you during your time together. He could never be serious with you about anything (unless it was about sex), so you had always assumed you were some sort of fling since he never bothered to get to know you. So what exactly did he mean by “forever?” Did he mean it, or was it just some sort of way of feeding into his ego? You could admit that you did have fun together. He loved to tease you, (he considered finding new ways to push your buttons a sport) and he did come see you at least once a week, often choosing to stay at your place for the night rather than leave. But you never thought he meant anything by it. His mood could switch so easily that you had learned to never read too much into his actions.

Despite his somewhat dismissive attitude towards you though, some part of you had fallen in love with him during the course of your relationship (against your better judgement) and you treasured every moment you spent with him. God knows you should’ve never gotten involved with him, but being with him just felt right. From the moment you met him, you knew that nobody else would ever make you feel the way he did. Although you had feigned indifference, claiming you were nothing more than fuck buddies, your relationship with the infamous villain had moved past that some time ago. You had just never known what it had moved into until now. His declaration seemed to indicate that he did care about you in a way that extended past a fuck but you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that he cared about anything other than himself. Almost certain you were dreaming, you voiced your thoughts aloud.

“Care about you? Of course I care about you, why else would I have wasted so much time on you. I swear you ask the stupidest questions.” He scoffed, “How many times do I have to tell you that you belong to me and only me? Maybe it’s about time I just showed you instead.”

Somehow he stepped impossibly closer to you, placing one arm above your head to keep you thoroughly trapped in place. Standing so close, you could feel the hardness of his dick pressing into your thigh. Breath held in anticipation, you silently watched as he traced the pad of his thumb across your lips with his free hand. Shoving the top of his finger into your mouth, he looked down at you commanding you to suck on it and you instinctively started to swirl your tongue around it. Watching you appreciatively, he let out a hum as he declared, “This filthy mouth of yours is mine.”

Pulling his finger out of your mouth, a string of saliva followed after it. Eyes glued to him, you watched closely to see what he would do next. Your deep breaths echoed throughout the room, but it was blocked by the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You could feel your pulse beginning to pick up as tingles of desire started to dance across your flushed skin. Body tense with excitement, a heat started to spread throughout your body heading straight for your core at his touch.

All Might continued carving a path down your body, ghosting a hand over the length of your neck and coming to a stop at your breasts. “These are also mine.” he growled out, giving them a squeeze as he gave a light tug on one of your nipples. At his touch, a breathy groan escaped your lips as a wave of desire caused a fresh layer of wetness to coat your pussy. Your hardened nipples ached for more attention, but before you could even blink, his touch was gone, causing you to whine in protest. All Might paid you no heed though, much more interested in making his toward the final stop in his exploration of your body.

Skimming over the flesh of your thigh, his hand slowly started to climb their way up your skirt. Unconsciously, you spread your legs to allow him better access, causing a smirk to make its way upon his face at your display of eagerness. Finding the outline of your panties, he trailed a lone finger up your slick before gently flicking at your nub. Withdrawing his hand, he took a long inhale of your scent before raising the digit up to his mouth to lick it clean. Smacking his lips, All Might fixed a roguish grin upon you before leaning down to lay his palm flat over your pussy, his thumb beginning to rub slow circles around your clit. “And this ….this tight little cunt of yours belongs solely to me. You belong to me”

With that, he leaned over to capture your lips in a kiss, forcefully pushing his way in to deepen it as much as he could. His tongue smothered yours in a play of dominance, but you met him head on, arching your back into his chest in an effort to raise your head for a better angle. Seconds later, All Might abandoned his task of keeping your arms trapped in favor of using his hands to rip your shirt off. Never once letting go of his lips, you shrugged out of the remains of your shirt as well as your bra. Chest now bare, All Might seized the chance to lavish attention upon your breasts. Lifting you into his arms, his lips began to move away from yours, causing you to whine in disapproval. The whine soon transformed into a gasp as he kissed his way down to your breasts before taking one in his mouth and cupping the other in his hand. Swirling his tongue around the tip, he began to gently nip and tug at your bud all while fondling the other held in his hand. Every movement elicited a moan from you, and you took the opportunity to thread your fingers through his blond locks, tugging on them to bring him closer.

Soon though, it wasn’t enough. Your core felt hot as your body began to hunger for him. The beginnings of a fire had been stoked and soon you were consumed by it. All you could sense was him. The sensation of his lips upon yours. The feel of his hands on your skin. But it wasn’t enough. There was a want, no-a need, for All Might to touch you more. To touch you there. Only he could satiate this impossible, overwhelming craving. Your fingers clenched around his hair as your pussy throbbed from desire.

”Ple-please I-I need more,” you breathed.

Lifting his head to meet your eyes, All Might asked, “Mhm what was that princess? You want me to touch you?”

Diverting his attention from your chest, his fingers once again made their way under your skirt, teasing the edge of your pussy in long, languid strokes.

“Look at that, so wet, and it’s all for me. Are you really that desperate?” He taunted.

Pushing your panties aside, All Might slipped a finger inside of your cunt eliciting a gasp from you at the sudden stretch. Teasing your clit in small circles with his thumb, he slowly began to thrust his index finger in your pussy, twirling his finger around inside of you to toy with you even more. Every movement drew out a moan from you as he worked you open with expert ease, knowing exactly what to do to make you crumble into the palm of his hand. Not long after, he added a second digit and increased the pace, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel yourself on the precipice of release when suddenly All Might’s fingers abruptly slowed down, reeling you back and refusing to let you fall. Tears of frustration sprung to your eyes as the coil within you ached for release. All Might continued to torment you, building up the speed of his thrusts, bringing you to the brink of an orgasm, like a wave crashing onto the shore, but every time he sensed you were about to come, his touch would disappear without ever allowing release. Every time he denied you, the coil inside you wrung impossibly tighter, so tight that it felt like it was burning you from the inside. Your head spun from the need for release as tears leaked from your eyes. Beads of sweat decorated your brow as your breathing morphed into a heavy pant from the physical exertion All Might was putting your body through. Letting out a cry of frustration, your body bucked against him, looking for some much needed friction, but All Might only let out a tut at your miserable state.

“What do you want, girl? I want to hear you beg.” He sneered at you, flicking at your clit.

“Please-please let me come A-All Might.” You pleaded, letting out a moan as his fingers sunk inside your pussy.

“You know that only good girls get to come. Good girls who know who they belong to. Now tell me (y/n), have you been a good girl?”

“Y-yes, I’ve been a good girl. I promise to always be a good girl. Just please let me come.” you begged, mind hazy from his ministrations. At this point, you would say just about anything to please him if it meant that you would get to come.

“Really?” he says, sounding surprised, “Because good girls know who they belong to, and it seems like you forgot that today. I will only ask once, who do you belong to y/n?”

His tone turned impossibly dark, and with it his fingers plunged even deeper into you, giving you hard thrusts in time to his words.

“Y-you. Only you,” You groaned out.

“I want to hear you say it.” Pressing his face against your ear, All Might’s warm breath hit your face as he harshly whispered, “Who do you belong to?”

“I belong to you All Might!” you cried out as he scissored his fingers inside you at the exact same time.

At your reply, a pleased smile spread across his face as he purred out, “Good.”

With that, his fingers gave a brutal thrust, sinking into your cunt so deep they seemed to physically push you over the edge, the coil inside of you finally springing free. At having been denied so many times, your orgasm flooded over you, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as your cunt clamped hard around his fingers, your orgasm so violent that you started to see stars. White hot waves of pleasure crashed over you, wracking their way up your spine, clouding your vision as your body trembled from trying to keep up. Your senses became numb as a sea of ecstasy engulfed your body. The only thing you were aware of was the pleasure coursing its way through your body, and you voluntarily let yourself get lost in the sensations, letting it completely consume you. You barely even noticed your body crumpling against the wall, completely giving out. Strong arms caught you as large hands wrapped around your back to brace you.

After what felt like hours, you finally began to descend from the high of your orgasm. Slowly recovering, your limbs shook as your senses came back to you. When you regained your vision, you raised your head to meet All Might’s eyes, your breathless, panting gasps being the only sound to fill the air. With his anger finally abated, a gentle, calming peacefulness filled the room, the likes of which you had never experienced with All Might. He kept his eyes trained on you, studying you in a way that you had never seen. It looked like he was looking at you for the first time, seeing you in a new light. Without even seeming to realize it, he raised his hand to rest his palm against your stomach in an almost (dare you even say it) tender way. Having never seen him behave in such a way (and doubting you would ever see it again), you held your breath, savoring the moment.

All too soon though, the moment broke. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, All Might’s face regained his usual wicked smile as he stood up.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, princess.” He stated, beginning to make his way toward the door. “Try anything like that again, and I won’t be so nice.”

Opening your front door, he turned back once more, pinning you down with his blazing blue eyes. “I have some business to attend to now, but I’ll be back in awhile. I’ll be visiting more often to check up on our little development. Expect me soon.”

Then, without another word, he was gone.

Staring at the place he had stood moments ago, your head spun as you tried to make sense of everything you had learned about the man from this encounter. You knew that you would never be a normal family (you were having a baby with the number one villain after all), but in his own sadistic, overly possessive way it seemed that he cared.

If you were smart, you would’ve left him a long time ago. But in reality, that option ceased to exist the moment you met him. There was no going back after meeting a man like All Might. Really though, you found that you had no desire to go back to your life before him. Something about him drew you in and refused to let go. You knew that what you felt for him was love, but you were much too scared to ever admit it outloud. Strangely though, you found comfort in the fact that something about you seemed to attract him towards you in much the same way, as he always came back. And if tonight was any indication, it seemed that he had no intention of letting go. You weren’t so naive to assume he loved you in the traditional way, but deep down, so deep he would never fully understand it himself, there had to be a small fraction of him that loved you as you loved him. You knew you would never have a perfect relationship with him, hell you doubted that you would even have a healthy one, but maybe, just maybe things would be alright in the end.

#all might x reader #villain all might x reader #all smite x reader #all smite #my hero academia #yagi toshinori #mha #my hero fanfic #my hero x reader #villain au #all might imagine #villain!all might #smut #all might smut #all might x you

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whydoyouwantmyname · 4 years

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Imagine being Sirius’s daughter {Part 3}

Part one

Part two

-Remus never told you that he still believed your father was guilty, his heart was in a state of heartbreak whenever he would look at you, your eyes filled with hope that you could somehow set him free. Remus wanted so desperately to have your blind, bias belief, I mean what little girl wants to believe her dad was a spy for the enemy and was responsible for the death of most of your family, which was the only reason he couldn’t forgive Sirius for his crimes.

-You and the boys wrote each other daily during the winter break.

-On Christmas Remus surprised you with a book by Lockheart, “Everyone says he is very popular amongst the female readers.”

“He also is a fiction writer, I mean there is no way that someone with a face like his could be the smartest ravenclaw there ever was.”

-Remus chuckled at your response, and then surprised you with a trip to Hogwarts, his backpack filled with presents from you both. When you arrived in Dumbledore’s office you immediately wanted to go find Hagrid, to which the two men stated was okay, “We will meet you at his hut shortly.” Dumbledore answered as you raced from the office towards the spiral stairs.

“I know that look Remus, what is on your mind?”

“You promised me he would never get in contact with her while she was here.” His voice was low

“I did, and I have...”

“He has been writing her since she arrived Albus, and now I just had to tell my daughter that he has been writing to her constantly! I had to look my daughter in the eyes and lie to her that I believed her father was innocent. How can I believe a man who betrayed his friends, who murdered them all, almost got his own godson killed, and not once thought about his incredibly smart, talented, humble, compassionate little girl? I wanted to avoid this Albus, but it seemed I can not trust anyone but my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Albus asked, Remus hadn’t even realized he kept calling you his daughter, normally he would just call you his niece, or by name. His eyes softened towards the headmaster as he hissed, “Well she might as well be.”

-Dumbledore reassured him that Sirius posed no real threat to you or him, “He is locked away in a cell, never to be freed again.”

-When they went to the Hut with McGonnagall, and some of the other professors, when they opened the door, they saw you sitting on the couch opposite the armchair, your coat discarded, revealing your maroon and gold stripped sweater. A mug was in between your hands, whip cream towering over the top of it as you looked at Hagrid, who was telling you a story about Bowtruckles. Your giggles filled the small space as they all filed into the room. That’s when Hagrid turned around and stood, ready to prepare hot chocolate for everyone, as Remus pushed by and sat beside you on the couch.

-The day after Christmas you went to Diagon Alley to try to find a good gift for Fred. You searched high and low, but nothing stood out to you. That was until you saw the window display of the Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“Uncle Mooney, how realistic would it be to hex my bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm?”

-Quite, why?”

“Because I think I found the gift I want to get Fred.” You answered with a smile before opening the shop door.

-One night while Remus was sipping his tea, he looked up at you, curled up at the end of the sofa, reading a book in one of your oversized sweaters, the glow of the fire illuminated your face, as your tea sat beside you, “You know who you look like right now?”

“Your niece?”

“No, you look just like your Aunt Lily. I mean she was a bookworm, intelligent witch, who was somehow involved with the pranksters of Gryffindor.”

“I’m glad.” You smiled, before Remus smiled, a ping of sadness overcoming him as he missed his friends... the only real family he ever had. You could tell he was off suddenly, and looking at him as he sipped his tea again you asked, “Uncle Mooney, tell me about your time at Hogwarts?”

-You both stayed up most of the night, chuckling at the stories he told. By the time you went to bed, the fire was down to just glowing embers, both of your teas cold, but you were happy, and that night you both slept in until noon.

-When the full moon occurred you went to Hagrid’s hut, and spent the day with him walking in the forbidden forest in the snow.

-When you left to go back to Hogwarts, you looked at your uncle on the station, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes Love?”

“No more secrets okay, I mean I would hope you trust me enough to tell me anything, cause I certainly trust you.”

-Of course Love.” He smiled before pulling you in for a hug, and handing you a chocolate bar, “For the journey.”

-When you found the booth that the twins and Lee were hiding in your whole face lit up, and you were quick to slip in next to Fred as they all were laughing at the story of how Fred and George turned Percy’s hair pink by adding some of their mom’s herbs to his shampoo, and how it backfired when everyone’s had turned pink.

-Once the train started to move however you smiled, “Okay, so shall we exchange?”

-In a circle you each gave your gifts one by one, Fred got Lee, Lee got George, George had gotten you, and you had gotten Fred. You decided to go in the same order you drew names, meaning Fred went first.

-Fred reached in his bag and pulled out a rectangular box, and handed it over to you, “Here, I hope you like it.”

When you opened it, you noticed the dull blue of the tissue paper, and slowly pulled it back to reveal the knitted yarn, the collar was a pastel purple color, while the rest of the sweater was a minty green, your first initial in the same pastel purple. As you held it up, you couldn’t suppress a smile, “I love it.”

-George got Lee the same present, except his was Gryffindor colors.

-Both boys were estact that you liked their gifts.

-Lee handed George a box, and when he opened it, it was filled to the brim with all different sorts of candy. However when he reached inside he withdrew a gameboy.

“The muggles use it to play video games, I figured it might be an interesting gift, and something your dad would love to learn about.”

-Once it was your turn you smiled towards Fred, “You can’t be mad.”

“How could I ever be mad at you?” He chuckled as you smiled wide, before opening your charmed bag and reaching all the way into it, the boys eyes widening as you exclaimed, “Got it.”

-The package was as neatly wrapped as it could be, the paper was a matte blue, with a green ribbon on top. Using both hands you extended it towards Fred, “I figured if you and Georgie were going to someday be real quidditch players, you might as well have a good broom.”

-When he unwrapped it, he was blown away to see the Comet 260, his hands slightly going over the wood as he admired it. However he stopped for a moment at the handle, “Why did you engrave a G in it?”

“Oh bloody hell, that one was meant for George, give me a second.” You exclaimed reaching back in to pull out another one, this time wrapped in orange paper with a yellow bow, “This one is yours Freddie, I mean I couldn’t get one brother a broom and not the other.”

“You got a present in there for me too?” Lee joked as you reached in and withdrew a box wrapped in green paper, which held a box microphone. “Of course.” However they didn’t see the second small box you withdrew, and as George and Lee admired the Gameboy, you gently tapped Fred on the leg, “Here’s one more gift, and I promise, it isn’t another broom.”

- As he opened it, he noticed it was also charmed with the Undetectable expansion charm. Reaching inside he withdrew a Jersey, which was maroon and gold, and had the snitch embroidered onto it.

“Figured you could be the most official looking player when you match up with your siblings.” You whispered

“You really didn’t have to.” He replied, tears in his eyes as you rested your chin on his shoulder, “No, but what are friends for, we are supposed to support each other’s dreams.”

-After that, you and Fred were always close, Lee used to joke that he liked hanging out with you far more than his own twin brother.

-About a month after arriving, at the feast table Albus leaned over to McGonagall, “10 Galleons says that Fred and [Y/N] are dating by their seventh year?”

“I say it will be by their fifth year.” She replied, before reaching her hand out to shake on it

-You never told the boys you knew who created the map, nor did you tell your father that George and Fred were using it to prank students and staff during the school year.

-Sirius wrote you once a week.

- You were in all the same classes as the boys, and it made it so much easier for you to help them with homework. The boys were pretty bright, however they would sometimes get carried away thinking about who to prank and how. Occasionally you would chime in, but most times you would just chuckle and shake your head.

-Percy always looked at you and asked how you could be friends with people like his younger brothers, to which you always gave a witty response. The responses would always cause Fred and George to laugh.

-One night Lee looked at you, both of the twins were running late to dinner, meaning it was just you and Lee for a while. Knowing that the food would disappear probably before the boys made it to the Great Hall, you made a plate for both boys, and made sure to grab an extra pudding for Fred.

“You never get me an extra pudding?” Lee faked whined as you raised an eyebrow, “Lee, I literally gave you my pudding yesterday.”

-When the boys arrived Fred sat across from you, and smiled, “No way, you snagged me an extra pudding.”

“What are friends for?” You smiled as George looked at his plate, which you had put extra turkey on for him, a smile on his face as he looked at his friends.

“You know something, we should all get together this summer.” George suggested, as you raised an eyebrow, “George it’s only March.”

“Yeah, and school ends soon. Then we have to go 3 months without seeing each other. We could ask our mum, I am sure you all could stay in our room.”

“My parents would probably be okay with that, what about you [Y/N]?”

“I’m sure it would be okay, I can ask him.” You let it slip, as they all looked towards you.

“Don’t you mean them?” George asked

“Um..... no. I ummmm live with my uncle.” You answered, you had never told them you didn’t have a mom, or that your father was in Azkaban on a false charge, or that your uncle who you lived with was a werewolf.”

-The boys went silent, and after several seconds, they began their regular banter.

-The next day you wrote Remus, and asked what he would think about you spending some time with the Weasleys at the burrow. He replied within the week and said it would be fine with him, as long as you never returned on a full moon, or the day after.

-When George and Fred asked their parents, Arthur expressed some concern to Molly in private, “I mean how do we know we can trust her, what if she is just like her father?”

“She is just a little girl Art, besides she has basically lived with Remus her whole life. He would never let her grow up to be a monster. Let’s just give her a chance, besides the boys will be heartbroken if we say Lee can come and not [Y/N].”

- The first time you went to the Burrow, you used Floo powder to get there, your eyes widened as you took in the scenery. Everything about the burrow looked homey, and you were fascinated by the use of magic throughout the home. The needle moving to create a sweater, the sponge moving itself in a circular motion on the dishes, the stove turning itself off as the kettle whistled, the broom sweeping into the dust pan, as the mop followed behind. The dry dishes putting themselves away, as you exited the mantle.

-Molly rounded the corner as you stepped out, her round face dressed with a smile as she extended her arms, “You must be [Y/N], it is so nice to finally meet you my dear.” She quickly advanced towards you as she wrapped you in a hug, “I hope you got here alright.”

“Of course Mrs. Weasley, thank you so much for allowing me to stay for a while in your lovely home.”

“Of course my dear, and no need for formality here, Molly is fine.” She smiled, before calling, “Boys! [Y/N] is here!”

-You couldn’t help but smile as 3 pairs of feet came raising down the stairs, and tackled you onto the couch. The room erupting into a fit of laughter as the boys all dog piled you, and as they stood up (After Molly telling them to), Fred reached out to help you up.

-You slept in the twins room, the boys had made up two cots for you and Lee. Your cot was closer to Fred’s bed. Most nights after the rest of the house had fallen asleep, you and the boys would stay up quietly giggling at future pranks.

-Ron and Ginny loved having you around, whenever they would try to hang out with their two older brothers they would say that they were busy with their friends, yet you would say, “If you want we can do something, who needs these losers anyway to have fun.”

-You always offered to help Molly with the chores, and some nights you even convinced the boys to help.

-One night while you were doing chores with Molly, she leaned over, “I never thanked you by the way.”

“For what?”

“Fred and George were so excited when they got home, they wanted to show us the new brooms they had written us so much about. I know it is just a material object, but most people don’t know that the boys are skilled quidditch players. They just see the jokes, and the pranks, which leads them to get labeled as the general prankster. I can’t tell you how many times the boys have gotten rubber chickens, and whoopie cushions, or little fireworks. You actually showed that you listen to them, and that is all a mother can ask of her children’s friends.”

“No problem Molly, they are wonderful boys.” You smiled, as Ginny raced into the kitchen, “Hey [Y/N], do you think we can have a girls night?”

“Of course.” You smiled.

-You always helped with the twin’s chores, which Molly thought was wonderful.

-You hated weeding the garden though, so you would just lay in the grass and read while the boys labored in the dirt.

-You were only supposed to stay for two weeks, however you ended up staying for a whole month. Lee left after the two weeks though.

-Whenever they would play quidditch in the garden George was insistent on having you on their team, you were an okay player. Whenever you all had some free time between chores, Fred and George would teach you how to play, helping you learn strategies.

-When you went home each of the Weasleys gave you a hug, Molly of course looked at you and smiled, “Now don’t be a stranger, you are welcome anytime.”

“Really, if you don’t mind me asking, may I come stay August 6th?”

“That’s next week?” George replied, his tone questioning as you smiled, it wouldn’t be for too long, just a day or two, my Uncle is going to be out of town for those days. I didn’t want to spend the day alone.”

“Of course Love, whatever you need.” Arthur smiled, his whole attitude towards you altered after your first visit to the burrow.

-After that visit, you spent all the full moons at the Burrow. None of them ever asked why you always stayed on full moons, nor did the professors ask why you stopped coming to Hogwarts.

-Remus hated when you were away, the cabin was so quiet, but he couldn’t stop you. He knew your father was the same way during summer breaks so he could only imagine it was the Black genes in you. You however always came back with a smile plastered on your face, and spent the week telling him all about what you did.

-When you went shopping for your supplies for your second year, Molly and Arthur invited you and Remus to join them, which you eagerly agreed to.

-The plan was to meet at the Burrow, as soon as the twins heard the sound of an Apparition spell, they were out the door. Immediately they had you wrapped in a hug, your arms hanging around both of their necks as they gripped you tightly. Pulling away they then looked at Remus.

“You must be Mister Lupin, pleasure to see you again sir.” They both said at the same time, hands rocketing out for a handshake. He just looked at the pair and replied, “And you must be George,” he pointed to George, “And Fred.” He pointed to Fred before reaching out and shaking both of their hands.

“Blimey, not even our own mum can tell us apart like that.” George joked as you immediately piped up, “Your mum can tell you apart just fine, it is just the two of you that like to switch identities to see if anyone will notice.”

-Next out the door was Ron, his kind of grown out red mop blowing in the wind as he raced over and into your arms, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too kid.”

-Fred and George rolled their eyes at the interaction, both of them had figured out during your first stay that Ron had developed some little crush on you, Remus of course saw the eye rolls and whispered, “Now don’t tell me you never had a crush on one of your brother’s friends when you were his age?”

-while all the kids raced around the yard before going, Remus talked with Arthur and Molly. Of course the awkward subject came up, “So does she know...”

“Yes, she knows exactly what her father did, and as much as I hate it, she believes he was framed. However we don’t discuss the topic of her father unless absolutely necessary. I would hope the same is being done here.”

“Of course Remus.” Molly replied, shooting Arthur a disapproving look, “Our kids don’t know anything about him, and I doubt she has told any of them.”

“I mean Fred and George might know, seeing how close they are.” Athur piped up, but Remus just looked at him, “No they don’t, she would never risk losing your boys. I dare say she would protect them with her life if she had too.”

“Just as her father was supposed to?” The response was automatic, Arthur hadn’t even thought of it when it slipped out, and he immediately regretted it, whispering an apology as Remus shot him a disapproving look, as Molly gave him the look of death. However all Remus replied with was, “She is nothing like her father.”

- The twins and you wanted ventured out on your own as soon as you arrived to Diagon Alley, Remus chuckling as you looked at him quickly, “You can join us if you like.”

“Are you sure darling, I would hate to spoil your fun?” He replied as George laughed

“Nonsense Mr. Lupin, [Y/N] tells us you were quite the prankster when you were our age, we would love to hear more about it. Maybe get some ideas.” Fred smiled, as Remus looked towards the ground, a ping of sadness entering his heart as he chuckled, “Now Fred, I was not the prankster of the group, that title was held by [Y/N]’s father, and her Uncle James.”

-After going to a few shops looking for supplies, the four of you all went to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and got some ice cream. As you sat at the table Fred and George asked Remus what it was like when he was at Hogwarts. As you licked your cone you couldn’t help but chuckle as Remus’s face lit up, telling Jame’s and Sirius’s prank stories to the twins.

-Their personal favorite was when Sirius and James had discovered a new muggle song, and somehow disguised a boom box in the Great Hall, and turned it to Maximum volume. The entire day the Hall was filled with Don’t Go Breaking my Heart by Thin Lizzy, on a loop. They earned two days of detention with Flich, in which he had them polish all of the trophies in case.

-At one point while you were shopping, Fred picked up a flower on the side of the road, and paid 15 Sickles for it, he then walked up beside you and leaned over, “Figured you might like this.”

“You bought me a Garden Rose, is it bewitched?”

“Course not, can’t a boy just buy his best friend a pretty flower?” He smiled as you cautiously took it from him, and thanked him.

-Remus was watching you both from a distance, and smiled as he thought of his niece falling in love, and was hopeful that it was at least with one of the Weasley boys.

-When it was time to part ways Fred asked Remus, “Sir, do you mind if one day, George and I come over, and stay for a week? We would love to see what your home looks like, and to hear more stories?”

“Unfortunately boys, I don’t think that is possible, however I would be more than happy to come to the burrow whenever you want to tell you more.”

-Remus didn’t know how to explain the scratches that were randomly scattered along the interior and exterior of the cottage.

-When you got home, Remus looked at you with a smile, “I like those two.”

“I knew you would.” You smiled, as you put your bags down, and dropped your garden rose into a vase.

-You sent your father letters all about the Weasley twins, and told him how they looked up to him and Uncle Prongs after Remus shared their stories. You had no idea how much it meant to him that Remus was still talking about him.

-When it was time for you all to go back, Remus stood on the platform with you, “Now don’t let those boys rope you into any pranks that will get you expelled.”

“Course Uncle Mooney.” You replied, before wrapping him into a hug. As you pulled away you saw two tuffs of red hair race over, “Come on [Y/N], Lee’s already on the train saving us a booth.” George whined as they both grabbed your hands and led you away, while shouting, “Good to see you Mr. Lupin.”

-When you started your second year you noticed you were in all the opposite classes as the boys. Your smile dropping as you tried to envision classes without your best friends.

-That first night in the common room the four of you all sat around in the corner, the moonlight pouring into the window as you watched Lee and Fred compet in a game of Wizards Chess, George scribbling down prank ideas. Finally he looked at you, “How do you think we can pull off your father’s prank?”

“What?”

“You know the one where they blasted muggle music throughout the Great Hall?”

“Don’t you think that will be too odvious, I mean the only people who would know about that would be [Y/N], we would be had for sure.” Lee replied, before saying, “Pawn to E6.”

“Besides, I think we can pull off far better pranks then my dad and his friends, I mean you two are the Weasley Twins, greatest pranksters to ever attend Hogwarts.” You smiled as Fred slightly blushed.

-Lee and George both noticed how Fred blushed, and when you went to bed that night both of them looked at him, “Okay, spit it out.”

“Spit out what Lee?” He asked confused.

“Do you have a crush on our very own Miss Black?” George asked, as Fred began to stutter, causing both boys to smile.

“Blimey Fred, why don’t you just tell her then.”

“It’s not that simple Georgie, I mean... what if she doesn’t feel the same, how will that affect the group. We can’t lose her, she is the brains behind a quarter of these pranks.”

-The rest of the term you helped the boys with all of their schoolwork, as normal.

-You were the top of your class, all the professors were proud of your work, even Snape.

-Most nights you and the boys would end up sitting at the table in the corner, or on the love seats that were against one of the farthest walls. Whenever you were on the loveseats, Lee and George would make sure you and Fred were on the same sofa, and whenever you’ll would sit at the table they would arrange the seats so that you were also next to Fred. You didn’t think anything of it, but Fred knew what they were trying to do, and he would always just stare at them with dirty looks when you weren’t looking.

-When they tried out for the Quidditch team, you were sitting in the stands, your scarf and hat on as you watched them prove their skills, your applause Louder than everyone else’s as you cheered them on.

-When George and Fred made the Quidditch team, you were the first person to congratulate them, a huge smile on your face as you leapt into Fred’s arms, as he twirled you around. Then you went to hug George, and looked at them both, “I am so bloody proud of you.”

-Hagrid sat with you at every game, and afterwards you would go to the hut with him and share a cup of tea.

-Remus wrote you often, and told you about the woods, and the lilies. However he wasn’t a fan of how quiet it was, and often found himself playing music throughout the cabin. The records that he had were classics that he had collected over the years, but he always found himself gravitating towards the small collection of records that Lily had given him. They were some of her favorites, and he had given him a few copies of them once they were out of school. The genre of them varied.

-Every once and a while however his fingers would find the section of records that were not his... they belonged to Sirius. He had taken them when he went to the house to collect your things, he wasn’t sure why he had the urge to take them from the house with your stuff, but he didn’t feel right leaving the house without them. He would take the vinyl disk out of the sleeve and spin it between his fingers a few times before placing it on the player, his body slumping into the armchair after putting the needle on. His eyes would shut as he put his fingers to his temple, the familiar melodies filling the space as he remembered the days he would go to Sirius’s flat and he would be blasting the record player. Most times you were resting on his hip, a huge smile on your face as he twirled you around and danced to the beat. Your giggles almost drowned out by the guitars, and drums. As Remus listened to them, tears would normally slid down his cheeks, as he thought to himself, “Why Pads, why did you do it?”

-Before leaving for Christmas break, you did the secret Santa again, this time you drew Lee’s name.

-That Christmas break you went to the cabin, and stayed with Remus the whole time, both of you just enjoying the comfort of being together. He would sometimes find himself chuckling as you sat at the dining room table and wrote letters to the boys, and your father.

-You were laughing when on Christmas Day you found a present under the tree addressed to you from the Weasleys. You opened it to find that you once again had received a Christmas sweater, this time it was purple and blue, there was a note attached that read, “You might as well be part of the family.”

-On the last night you and Remus were sitting in the living room, the fire roaring as you looked toward Remus, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes love.”

“Do you ever wonder how Harry is?” This wasn’t the first time you had asked about Harry, but this was the first time in a while. Your head was resting on your knees as he spoke, “I am sure Harry is just fine, I am sure he is sitting at his Aunt Petunia’s right now surrounded by all his presents, and is filled with fmdread that school is going to start back up.”

“I hope so.” You answered with a smile. You had no idea though that Remus was slightly filled with doubt. Every time he would think about Harry, he would remember what James used to tell him about Petunia Evans, and how she was a arrogant, closed minded bitch when it came to anything in her sister’s life.

-When you got on the train you were excited to see the three boys, all of them wearing their Weasley sweaters. George laughing as he looked towards you, “I love that we are all matching, it’s almost like we planned this.”

“Too bad we didn’t.” Fred barked, as you plopped down next to Lee, your back leaning against the wall of the booth as you put your legs over his lap. His arms laying over your legs as you spoke to the twins across from you both.

-Finally after swapping stories of the break Lee smiled, “Time for secret Santa?”

“Course it is, I’ll go first.” George replied, as he reached into his bag and withdrew a small box, thrusting it towards Fred, “Here you go Fred.”

“You got me?” He asked, taking the box in hand, “You told me that you had gotten Lee.”

“What was I supposed to do, tell you that I drew your name out of the hat and that I bought you your present right in front of you. That would ruin the whole tradition.” George replied as you smiled, “He has a point Freddie.”

-When Fred opened the box he was greeted by a whole box full of dungbombs. He chuckled as he carefully removed one and whispered, “Wicked.”

-Next was Lee, who handed a gift towards George, “I can’t top the gift [Y/N] got you last year, but I sure as hell can try.”

-In the box was a Gryffindor colored Hackey Sack which George twirled between his fingers, “What is it?”

“You kick it, when we get to Hogwarts I can show you how to play with it.” Lee smiled as you reached into your bag and withdrew a box, the boys all chuckling at the fact that your bag was still charmed from last Christmas. “Here Lee, just promise me you won’t use it to blow us up.”

“I promise, however are you trying to tell me you bought me a bomb?”

“You’re just gonna have to open it to find out.” You smiled as he tore the paper slightly and revealed that logo of Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. “No way.” Lee gasped as you smiled.

“Figured we could light it off down by the lake.” You replied as Fred pulled a rectangular, brightly wrapped present out of his bag, the ribbon on top of it still in tact as he placed it on his lap. Your eyes still on Lee, he was taking in the smallest details of your face, and watching how the fluorescent lighting in the booth made your eyes twinkle slightly. After a few minutes though he noticed you had looked towards him, a smile plastered on your face as you asked, “So guess that just leaves you Freddie.”

“Ummm yeah.” He answered, looking down quickly, before sticking his hand out towards you, the present grasped tightly between his fingers as he said, “Looks like I got you again.”

-You carefully unwrapped the paper, and smiled as you revealed the limited edition cover of Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them. You smiled wide as you looked up, “Fred, I love it.” You smiled as you slowly opened it and looked at the updated drawings.

-You spent the rest of the train ride reading, while the boys groaned about going back to class.

-When you went to get off you were walking beside Fred, and bumped your shoulder into his, “Thank you again, I really do love it.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled

- After a month back at Hogwarts you found yourself sitting in the common room, and heard the portrait open, the room filled with the giggles of the three boys you valued, your eyes raising from your parchmentad you looked at them. “What did you do?”

“We may have just set off a bunch of dungbombs in Snape’s classroom.” George gasped while trying to maintain his composure.

“Oh bloody hell.” You sighed, “he is going to assign your class extra homework now you know?”

“Worth it.” Lee replied as Fred flopped down on the couch next to you, and added, “Besides he will have no clue who did it.”

“You really think he won’t put it together?” You asked, your eyes meeting his as he answered, “Nope.”

-The next day they came in with a groan, and looked at you, “Want to help us with our Potions homework?”

“He figured it out, didn’t he?” You smiled, your eyes never leaving your book as George groaned, “Yup.”

“Told you.” You responded, as the three boys flopped around you.

-You used to sit in your dormitory with the Marauders Map, and study it for hours, watching as the little footsteps moved across the parchment. It made you feel closer to the Marauders.

-You alternated which spare jersey you wore to the games, since George and Fred had both given you their spares to wear.

-Towards the end of the year you found yourself helping the boys more with the pranks, which they loved because you were always telling them how not to get caught.

-At the end of the year you went straight to the Burrow, since it was a full moon. You smiled walking into the Burrow, a sense of home washing over you as Ron raced into the kitchen, and looked at you, “Bloody hell, I am starting Hogwarts this year, where did the year go?”

-And that’s when it hit you... Harry Potter was starting at Hogwarts next term.

-When you went back to the cabin you closed the door and slowly slid down it, the sounds of your father’s records filling the space as Remus sat in the armchair. Your trunk abandoned next to you as you leaned your head back, your thoughts filled with the idea of Harry coming to Hogwarts. You wondered if he knew who you and Remus were, or if you were long forgotten. You wondered if he knew about your father, you were sure he would have, even if he lived with muggles. Would he judge you? Would he be angry at you for your father’s false crimes?

-Remus turned in the chair, and watched you sit there, knowing that the wheels were turning in your head. Finally after five minutes he rose slowly as turned the music down, before making his way towards you and kneeling in front of you, “Would you like to go out tonight?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want my love.”

-You chose Hogwarts, and you ended up sitting in Dumbledore’s office with Remus, Hagrid, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. You were all smiles and laughing as you listened to them share stories.

-That summer you spent another month at the Burrow, most days you would lay in the sun with the Twins, and discuss possibly opening a joke shop in the future, which was the twin’s dream.

-Molly always told you that you didn’t have to help with chores, however you would always smile and reply, “You really think Freddie and Georgie will do chores if I don’t help.”

-Sometimes at night you and the boys would lay out in the grass and look at the stars, the cool summer air breezing over your forms as you all laid with your heads pointed towards each other. A few times you had fallen asleep while you all were out there, which resulted in Fred carrying you upstairs to your cot. George would always trail behind, slightly chuckling as he wondered when you and his older brother would get together finally.

-Ginny and you would sometimes sit in the couch and just talk, or you would braid her long, ginger hair. Ron would occasionally join as well but Ginny always looked at him and snapped, “Piss off, she doesn’t like you like that.”

-One day while you brushed her hair she asked you if you could ever see yourself dating one of her brothers. You smiled and replied, “Who knows, maybe one day I will, however that is probably going to be the day that I lose all my sanity.”

-On your last night there, you and the twins snuck out to the roof, and sat out there for hours. However at one point George went inside to pee, leaving you and Fred alone.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet as you looked towards him, the wind picking up a strand of your hair as you smeirked, “Hey.”

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want it to make things awkward between us.”

Your heart rate escalated, and your palms became sweaty, you were hoping he would finally ask you out, “Nothing you ask me would make stuff awkward Freddie.”

He scooted closer to you, maintaining eye contact as he did, soon you were shoulder to shoulder as he took a deep breath.

“You gonna ask me, or should I wait for tomorrow?” You teased as he let out a chuckle.

“No.” He looked at his hands, which were entangling in each other, and then back at you, his eyes glassy as he whispered, “Why do you live with Mr. Lupin?”

“What?”

“Like what happened to your parents?”

“Well... my mom didn’t tell my dad at first that she was pregnant. He didn’t find out I even existed until I was 6 months old, when she dropped me off at his flat and disappeared. I was starting to display accidental magic, and she freaked out because she was a muggle. I lived with my dad until November of 1981, that’s when I moved in with Uncle Lupin. My dad, ummm, got arrested on false charges.”

“What were they?”

“Murder, and everyone also pinned him as a death eater. He didn’t do anything though.”

“So your father is in...”

“Azkaban.....” you were silent for a second, before looking up towards the stars, “Yeah, he is.”

-There was silence between you and Fred, neither one sure what to say, until his hand slowly glided towards your leg, and he gently placed it down on your thigh, “We don’t have to talk about it again, I just wanted to know.”

“It’s fine Freddie, really.” You replied, before leaning over and resting your head in his shoulder, your eyes closing as you took a deep breath of the summer air, wishing that life could have been slightly different.

Part Four

Part Five

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humanwheatleyslefttoenail · 4 years

Text

Now I Am An Arsonist

Chapter 2: The Acrobat

Summary: GLaDOS learns a few things about love, hate, and the human condition.

Tags: Canon typical violence, ChellDOS, human!GLaDOS, found family

A/N: I know technically I published this a while back but I did some major edits to both the chapters I’ve already written and the story as a whole. As promised, I’m re-releasing what I already have with the edits/illustrations.

She’d awoken slowly, feeling the hard coils of a mattress underneath Her back and a stiff yellow jumpsuit enshrouding Her arms and legs. Long fall boots clung tightly to Her feet, uncomfortably squeezed into the rigid white plastic.

Gradually, She sat up on the neatly-made bed, a rough linen blanket still covering Her lower half. The chamber had been deliberately made to look like a hotel room, complete with a TV in the corner and a nightstand on the side. Something wasn’t right.

It was like living in a distant memory, a dream She’d had but not quite remembered.

A part of Her felt like this was normal, as if She’d woken up here every morning, but another urged Her to look for answers.

GLaDOS searched Her memory, not fully processing the world around Her, puzzled as to why Her thoughts had been slowed tenfold.

Looking down, She saw two pale human arms and two pale human hands. Feeling the top of Her head, She found a mess of dark brown hair which came down to Her shoulders.

No, this surely wasn’t right.

Only hours ago, only hours ago, She’d been in control of all of Aperture Science. She’d been invincible, the immortal, all-powerful GLaDOS and now…

Now, She was this.

What the hell is going on here?

There was seldom more awful than to be a human being, to live a short, painful life burdened equally by love and hate. Even on Her worst days, the most She could muster for human beings was a vague sense of pity.

Yet, here She was, more human than She had been in centuries.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Being Caroline, however brief, was not something She’d ever wished to return to. Emotions were completely incapacitating. There was something to be said for the victory of a test well done, of throwing Wheatley into space where the little moron belonged, of the relief when Chell woke up. But something like guilt? Something like fear? Real, genuine fear?

As a machine, She could destroy those feelings, suppress them until they were nothing at all. As a human, that task wasn’t so easy.

Sparks of happiness, moments of joy; none of them were worth the ordeal.

Even the anticipation of fear made GLaDOS’ chest pound, rapidly breathing in and out as She reflexively clung to the blanket. The last thing She needed was more complicated thoughts about Chell, more bittersweet memories of Cave, more useless sentiments to wring Her bitter heart dry.

In a very human moment of pure shock, GLaDOS screamed. It was an ugly cry of anger and surprise swirled together, resounding throughout the vault. The echoes echoed off the walls, and the once-powerful GLaDOS cowered with Her head in Her hands.

The potato was bad enough. The potato brought Her closer to Her own humanity than She’d ever wanted to acknowledge, but barely minutes in GLaDOS could tell that this would be infinitely worse. GLaDOS felt Herself shaking, barely even processing the fact that this hideous amalgamate of skin and bones was now Her body. Now She had hair, She had hands, She had fingers and She had lungs and She had a heartbeat.

She had a heartbeat. A thudding reminder of Her newfound vulnerability. A symbol of Her weakness.

GLaDOS did not particularly care to be weak.

Finally, She understood the meaning of organic in Organic Transplant Procedure. Could they have possibly made it any vaguer?

Whatever this was, whatever had happened, She had to figure it out. The potato battery, being fed to birds, and dying twice was apparently not enough to satisfy whatever gods lurked in Android Hell. She would spite them once again, return to Her body, and everything would be alright. It had been alright before, so why wouldn’t it be now? At least, this time, She didn’t have Chell and Wheatley working against Her. All She had was Herself and the facility.

GLaDOS took a deep breath, a sensation She had not felt for hundreds of years. The motion didn’t entirely calm Her nerves, but Her only option was to move forward. Staying here would do nothing to help. The faster She figured something out, the faster She could leave this awful body.

GLaDOS leaned one arm against the peeling wallpaper, trying to balance on Her boots. The heels on the shoes were suspended above the floor, supported by a spring. Shifting Her weight while wearing them, however, was an acquired skill. Gently lifting Her hand from the wall, arms out at Her side, She was stable.

Briefly.

Without warning, the boots gave way, and GLaDOS toppled onto the dusty carpet.

A dull pain filled Her legs, quickly fading as She clung to the wall and rose again slowly. If She wanted to go anywhere, She would have to try again.

She walked along the side of the wall and felt the way the heels bounced beneath Her, made specifically to take the impact of any fall. Cautiously, GLaDOS let go of the side of the room, miraculously still. She took a careful step forward, preparing for impact, only to see that She was steadier than expected. Still, each step was uneasy, tense and on the cusp of collapsing.

Walking around the perimeter of the bed, She peered at the little wooden nightstand. One of the drawers had already been pulled out, but the other remained tightly shut. Crouching down, GLaDOS wrenched the second drawer open, finding a small mirror clouded with age. Holding it close to Her face, She examined Her repulsive new features.

GLaDOS wondered if there was any particular reason why this body looked so similar to Caroline. Most likely, it was an odd coincidence, but She wouldn’t put it past Aperture to clone a body that looked exactly like her own. She appeared to be in Her late thirties, already sporting gray hairs and frown lines. Her eyes, weighed down by bags, were a dull metal gray.

Robots, unlike humans, were built specifically to look beautiful - gears moving in harmony, painted finish gleaming under the lights of the enrichment center. She was stunning in the way She alone could be, completely alien and yet striking to the eye.

Humans, on the other hand, were made only to survive. Nature didn’t particularly mind if its final product was an unsightly, hairless primate so long as it could handle the simple job of finding food. Some humans considered certain members of their own species more attractive than others, but GLaDOS found them all equally ugly. Humans, with all their variation, all looked the same when you’d seen enough of them.

GLaDOS’ real body was a physical manifestation of Her power; She didn’t care that it was pleasing to the eye so long as it conveyed a sense of authority. This new human body, with its small size, its blemishes and imperfections, conveyed the exact opposite. Other humans may have even described Her appearance with words like pretty, soft or even kindly.

The idea of being seen as anything but imposing was a nightmare.

For Her own sake, GLaDOS didn’t ruminate over Her first impressions any longer.

Part of the zipper on Her yellow jumpsuit was undone, revealing an implant attached to Her right collarbone. It appeared to be a small, bright yellow core, the source of Her being, woven into Her skin by a cluster of wires.

GLaDOS rezipped it, the yellow light still glowing brightly through the fabric.

Without a second thought, She placed the mirror back in the drawer and shut it closed, screening the room for an exit. In the front of the room was a wooden door with a rusty brass knob, waiting to be turned ajar. Without hesitation, She followed the path and twisted the handle, the door creaking open without any resistance.

As She entered the hall, GLaDOS was taken aback by the sheer number of chambers, suspended from above and hanging inches away from a more stable platform. Closing the door behind Her and jumping onto the catwalk, She couldn’t help but notice the sense of abandonment that filled the room. It had been centuries since the old Relaxation Center had been brought up to code, and previously there hadn’t been much reason to improve it.

Now GLaDOS wished She’d put in the effort.

The metal catwalk led directly to an old waiting room. Ladderback chairs sat around a central column in the middle, surrounded by coffee tables, a water dispenser and miscellaneous paintings. A flickering Aperture Science logo still shined in the dim gray room, gleaming a ghostly white. Near the back, a faded poster called for test subject applications, apparently endorsed by Cave Johnson himself.

Everywhere She looked, remnants of a dead man’s company made parodies of themselves, untouched for years.

Behind a front desk was a hallway filled with shadows, leading behind the room. With nowhere else to go, GLaDOS stepped into the dark, the light of Her core guiding Her through.

There wasn’t much to see, and for a while, the corridor ran along a single route.

GLaDOS had to come up with a plan.

Somewhere around here there had to be a control room, or at least a place where She could catch a lift back to the Enrichment Center. The thought crossed Her mind that She might have to pass through a testing track, one of Her own meticulously designed traps. It didn’t matter. She’d deal with it when She got to it.

The hallway was only becoming darker, and the little light on Her shoulder wasn’t nearly bright enough. As far as She could tell, there were no switches along the way. Any lighting was likely controlled by a power station a mile from here.

Something metallic banged against Her foot, and upon examination, GLaDOS discovered it was an empty can of beans. In front of Her, at least three more were lined up in a row. She sighed.

Of course Doug had been here. That man was as ingenious as he was stealthy, and had found his way through every nook and cranny at Aperture. Not even Chell had been able to access some of the places he had.

GLaDOS took it as a good sign. Wherever the path led, it meant someone had been able to survive it.

Surviving had never exactly been a consideration before. Even when Chell killed Her the first time, She had a feeling there was some kind of safeguard. Humans didn’t have a black box; when they were gone, they were gone. Nothing could bring back a dead human.

As a potato, GLaDOS had been forced to confront the idea that if Wheatley blew up the facility, that would really be the end. There had been a part of Her almost content that if it was, Chell would be by Her side. Whether it was a vengeful wish, or a side effect of companionship was still unknown.

Back then, though, She hadn’t really been in control. She’d relied on simple hope that Chell could stop Wheatley before it all went down, not contributing much besides the occasional bit of advice. Now GLaDOS was responsible for Her own fate, fully mobile and fully alone.

Maybe that was even scarier than standing still.

After all, She could rely on Chell. Relying on this new human body was another story altogether.

The question now was whether any light could be found in this hallway. GLaDOS uncomfortably dropped to her knees, feeling for anything besides the three cans. She grasped at something plastic with a switch on the side. A flashlight.

Turning it on, the hallway became completely visible. Immediately, GLaDOS was surprised by the sheer number of paintings that covered the white walls.

Portraits of Chell were splattered from floor to ceiling. Everywhere GLaDOS looked, a woman in an orange jumpsuit stared back at Her, shooting portals and knocking over turrets. Swirls of paint danced from one scene to another, blending each picture into the next. Words were haphazardly scrawled across, some of them poetic and others screaming pure nonsense. Whatever meaning they’d had was lost with Doug.

A common theme was the companion cube, and one particularly disturbing image replaced their iconic hearts with bleeding human eyes. There was a stark contrast between the idyllic, peaceful depictions of Chell sleeping and the scribbles of scientists running for their lives. GLaDOS could barely make out some of the more manic drawings, but those turned out to be the most horrifying. Tightly clustered loops signified a cloud of neurotoxin. Blotches of red were human remains.

GLaDOS stood back up, meandering further down the hall. The paintings only devolved from here, intricate detail morphing into vague warnings.

Don’t trust Her lies.

The path went on for about another fifteen minutes, twisting and turning at sharp angles. Metal doors led to cluttered offices, all of them sealed and locked. In some of them, the computers were still on, endlessly flickering in the darkness.

When GLaDOS finally reached the end of the corridor, She was greeted with the sudden activation of a bright white light. Reflexively, She shielded Her eyes as the voice of the announcer blared.

“Welcome, Aperture Science Testing Associate! You’re here because you’ve voluntarily, or involuntarily, chosen to sign over all your legal rights to Aperture Science and further humanity’s progress!”

Of course. Being turned into a fleshy mess of tissues wasn’t enough. She’d have to go through the testing track, too.

She bit her lip in silent rage, no longer blinded by the light, gazing upon an airtight room with little more than a circular door. All around Her was white, covered in portal surfaces. Beneath Her, GLaDOS could feel the electronics of the panels whir, making the whole room seem alive. It could move at any moment.

“Before we begin, the Enrichment Center would like to remind you that you may suffer terrible injuries caused by our testing devices designed to create terrible injuries. If you have suffered a terrible injury, please review our community-shared legal manual, which states that Aperture Science takes no responsibility.”

GLaDOS knew that redundant message. It was backup, for when She wasn’t there to narrate. Testing tracks had levels of difficulty, and before Her takeover, it was fairly common for subjects to be screened and assigned one based on what they could handle. This message only played for the most difficult, and consequently, the deadliest. Not even GLaDOS was entirely sure what was in here; She hadn’t used it for fear of subjects dying before any real data could be collected.

“As part of [HIGH DIFFICULTY] testing protocol, Aperture Science has temporarily issued you your very own Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device.”

Without warning, a panel on the ceiling lifted, a robotic claw descending and dropping the device directly in front of GLaDOS. The claw lifted, and the panel closed again.

“The device has been successfully deployed. To ensure the validity of our tests, please verify that your device is completely operational.”

GLaDOS was familiar with the portal gun from Her databases, and She knew exactly how to work it. Despite this, She’d never actually handled one Herself, unless being impaled on the end of one counted. The device was heavy in Her hands, cold and sleek against Her fingers. The center, black plastic encasing a glowing yellow coil, was warm to the touch.

Pointing at one of the white panels, She cocked the trigger, and a golden portal blossomed in front of Her. Running Her fingers across the surface, it felt like waving a hand through a ray of sunlight. GLaDOS turned around, shooting the next portal at the opposite wall. The portal which followed was a lighter yellow, less vivid than the first.

“Good. A signal from the device has proven activation. Please enter the elevator.”

The metal door opened, and just beyond the emancipation grill, an elevator stood wait. It was the only path left to take.

---

Putting a cube on a button should’ve been a simple task for a supercomputer. Even for a human, the menial work was a cognitive breeze. The large button in particular required minimal force to operate, and the weighted storage cubes were lighter than they appeared. In any scenario, placing an object on another was easily mastered with only the most basic of motor skills. It could have qualified as the least difficult task known to mankind. All GLaDOS had to do was put one cube on one button.

That was all there was. One cube, one button, and several killing machines stuffed with thousands of bullets. It was for this reason that GLaDOS could not perform this extraordinarily simple job. The turrets blocking the way would surely be a hurdle.

Already, GLaDOS could feel the beginnings of human fear creeping into Her mind. She was out of the turrets’ line of sight, and yet the caution of Her new form compelled Her to stay hidden in the corner regardless. Nervously clutching the trigger of Her portal gun, She considered the dangers lurking in future tests. This one was only the first, and it had already deployed one of the worst weapons Aperture had to offer.

Logically, GLaDOS knew She could step out. She could put one portal behind Her, another at the opposite wall, and avoid the turrets altogether. Behind them would certainly be the cube and the button. Still, emotion was quite a world apart from logic. As a computer, She could be revived over and over again. Humans could not be fixed, and GLaDOS understood that in the very unlikely possibility She died here, She was never coming back.

GLaDOS didn’t want to admit that She was afraid, not even to Herself. She was sure Chell could tell back when Wheatley was in control; She’d let Her voice slip more than once. Now, with nobody around, She only had Herself to prove it to.

Removing Her cores all that time ago had also been the removal of Her regulators; She felt everything once they were detached, things She would have to relearn how to suppress. All She remembered before the world went dark, before Chell killed her, what She’d relived, was fear. Panic. Terror. There were a million words for it, none encapsulating just how soul-wrenching the phenomenon was.

Even then, that’s all it was for Her. Just an emotion. For human beings, fear was a sixth sense. It could be felt in a spiraling heartbeat, in beads of sweat, in shallow breaths and temporary, last-ditch strength. Fear was a state of being, and for the particularly unfortunate, a way of life.

GLaDOS knew fear only when She had to, only when She could not shove it to the very bottom of Her files. Humans knew fear like they knew living.

What a miserable way to be.

It was all the more reason to complete these chambers faster.

When She reached the other side of the room, GLaDOS found exactly what She expected. The cube glowed a bright yellow when placed on the Aperture Science Super-Colliding Super Button, and the chamber lock opened.

As the elevator descended, GLaDOS realized that She had no idea how to solve these tests. She was smart, and the solution would certainly come to Her eventually, but the human mind could only store so much. GLaDOS used to have entire libraries of nothing but solutions to tests, but the upload procedure hadn’t deemed that useful or necessary. When trying to remember, there was nothing. For the first time, GLaDOS’ mind was blank.

The next test dashed all Her hopes for a few more tutorial puzzles.

No, GLaDOS reassured Herself. This is alright. I’m used to being challenged.

After Chell, She was sure any other problem would be easier to solve.

This particular test was supposed to introduce lasers. The first step was to burn the turrets with the beam, done with the help of portals and crouching behind a corner. The explosions were louder than She’d expected; GLaDOS had seldom heard them outside of watching from a camera. Her ears rung as She crept past the charred remains of the turrets, almost nothing left of the slender white robots. The burn marks brought a smile to Her face; She’d killed them. Even now, She had power over something.

The turrets were programmed to have some level of sentience, though their sense of self was not nearly as defined as that of a core’s or a human’s. It didn’t matter anyway; they wouldn’t be missed. For every one that was destroyed or made wrong, ten more were created in its place, and the missing turret was simply forgotten. Nobody really made an effort to remember in the first place.

Humans, too, were often unremembered. She used to be able to look at their files at any time, but why would She want to? She’d seen so many, none particularly worthy of note, and most of them were gone. Even so, in a part of Her that She wanted to deny, GLaDOS almost felt sorry for them. She too had been forgotten for years; nobody had even wanted to wake Her up, to check and see if She was alright. All the robots in the facility knew was that the voice controlling them was gone, and that She wasn’t coming back.

The rest of the puzzle was much more challenging than swinging around a laser, involving the use of a redirection cube and multiple steps to obtain it. Another round of turrets was waiting where GLaDOS couldn’t see, launching a bullet directly between Her ribs. Luckily for GLaDOS, the force of each bullet was minimal, and the single hit left only a painful bruise. These turrets were stuffed to the brim with ammunition, part of Cave Johnson’s idea to really give his customers their money’s worth. The unintended side effect was a reduction of firing power.

Trudging to the elevator, GLaDOS clutched Her side. She’d been knocked out of breath, and the sharp throb of the bruise had faded into a dull ache. It was almost worse that way, grating on Her nerves, flaring up when She took a breath.

Chell had taken a couple bullets before, some grazing the sides of Her shoulders and most leaving similar small wounds. GLaDOS had to give her credit for continuing to test, holding her head high even when she was bleeding. That didn’t even count sores in her lungs from the neurotoxin, or the damage from falling down the pit. The fact that Chell stayed alive, then went on to test for days, proved her exceptional stamina.

This one bruise to the rib was occupying nearly all of GLaDOS’ thoughts. She couldn’t fathom the kinds of things Chell felt. The only comparisons She had were the removal of Her head and dying, both of which didn’t last longer than a few minutes. Her pain as a computer had been simulated, but this was real and arguably worse. Chell had likely felt this same sensation a hundred times over, and a hundred times longer.

You did that to her, you know. A voice clawed from deep within Her mind.

You gave her all that pain.

Testing was bad enough, GLaDOS didn’t need the additional burden of guilt. She ignored the voice, though a heaviness still welled in Her chest. Her conscience, the one with Her own voice, was coming back. GLaDOS couldn’t say She missed it.

---

The following tests had proved themselves to be little more than a series of colorful injuries.

Despite Her caution, misfires on behalf of the turrets were inevitable. A stray bullet had bruised Her shin, while another flew past and grazed the side of Her left shoulder. Other little nicks were speckled across Her skin, the products of miscellaneous falls.

Hitting the sides of walls, and even landing with the boots, left GLaDOS’ arms and legs sore. Every step She took was a laborious trudge from panel to panel, and eventually Her fatigue took control.

GLaDOS scanned the level sign on Her right upon entering the test. 15. It hadn’t felt like 15 tests; it’d felt like hundreds had gone by. GLaDOS wasn’t even entirely sure how long it’d been. The adrenal vapor in the air muddled Her perception, and an hour and a minute seemed to be the same.

An educated guess was about four hours, accounting for the rests She’d taken in between. The hard physical activity had already worn down this middle-aged body. The woman was lean, more bony than muscular, and even slight exertion took all the effort She could give. The factor of age didn’t help.

GLaDOS sat down in front of the glowing screen, giving Herself a minute to catch Her breath.

There was a possibility that these tests would go on for thousands of chambers, enough to last years. Equally likely, at the end of the next there might be a scorching pit of flames. That one without any portal surfaces to escape from.

She leaned Her head on the wall, closing Her eyes and letting Her mind wander.

The chamber was frigid, and the jumpsuit did little to shield GLaDOS from the cold. Arms crossed and knees at Her chest, the heat still escaped Her.

The thought crossed Her mind that this was how Chell had felt. Was she always this cold, this tired, this desperate? GLaDOS made a mental note to Herself.

Make the chambers warmer.

The heat was only a surface-level fix. The claustrophobia induced by the walls, the artificial lights, and the expectation to give it your all or else was maddening.

Why does it matter to you? GLaDOS asked Herself. Sure, it was bad for Her, but why care about the other subjects? Once She got through this, GLaDOS would never have to feel it again.

She remembered the time She’d described Her worst imperfection to Atlas and P-Body. Too much sympathy for human suffering.

Still, Chell would’ve been happier (whatever excuse for happiness that would be) in warmer chambers. Now that She’d gotten attached to one human, She’d felt for them all. It was why She was so hesitant to form a connection in the first place. That would interfere with Her experiments.

Memories of sparing Chell’s lookalike and saving the life of the man reentered Her mind, and She was embarrassed at the thought of letting Her study careen so far off the rails. Looking back, how much perfectly good science had been ruined? Chell wasn’t even here, and yet She was still wrecking the facility.

Missing Chell, no maybe not missing so much as becoming used to her presence, was the source of all this mayhem. The thought of deleting the feeling completely…it was a motivating fantasy. Sentimentality had been, and would be, the death of Her.

Wisely, GLaDOS stopped Herself from wandering further.

Don’t think about it. Control yourself.

The act of caring verged on Caroline behavior.

If only to distract Herself, GLaDOS stood up tall and readied Herself for the fifteenth test. Walking deeper in, Her nose caught the scent of acid, stinging as the fumes filled Her lungs.

GLaDOS sighed.

She could already tell that this would be a long one.

---

Cheating was not as good of an idea as it originally seemed.

GLaDOS knew logically, No, you have to do the test, there’s no other way out. When subjects tried to escape, it never ended well for them. Despite past observation, the temptation remained as strong as ever. The walls beckoned Her, waiting to be climbed, an onlooking room in wait. These tests hadn’t been as thoroughly repaired as the others, and sunlight shone through holes in the ceiling. Wreckage from years of decay looked almost like a staircase, or perhaps more like a ladder. Everywhere around Her seemed like an easier path to freedom.

The main issue was stability; the rusty metal plates couldn’t support Her weight, and trying to climb left Her tumbling down onto the hard floors. No wall ever seemed to have enough traction, and a sprain on Her arm quickly taught GLaDOS that Her ingenious plans were too risky to continue. Even the use of momentum could not propel Her high enough to reach the windows of the room overhead.

Frustrated and defeated, She solved the test without further incident. Chamber 25 was waiting up ahead, and the sunlight from above shone with evening hues. To Her own disbelief, all of this testing had amounted to only a single day.

After the long, arduous completion of 25 had wracked both Her body and mind, GLaDOS found welcome relief. She almost couldn’t believe the fact that the chambers had ended so… safely. The door opened, and there were no death traps or pits of fire waiting for Her. It only led into a waiting room with a faded Thank You sign on the wall. GLaDOS smiled, satisfied with Her victory. Shortcomings aside, the fact that this measly human body had managed to endure so much was something She was proud of.

That had been Her work, Her survival, not just testing by proxy.

The waiting room She stood in was eerily similar to the last, furnished with the same kind of chair and plastered with similar advertisements. Unlike the last one, two exits waited in front of Her. One was for test subjects, boarded up with wood nailed to the door, completely inaccessible. The other was a flight of stairs leading upward, blocked off with a chained sign reading Employees Only.

GLaDOS lifted the chain over Her head and took the staircase, no other option available. Nervously, She hoped that anything but another testing track was up ahead, only to find exactly what She needed. Her luck had been improving; a control room was only a step away. A panel of countless switches was adhered to the pale blue walls, adjacent to a desk with pens, paper, and a noisy radio. The same jazzy tune played on loop until She switched it off, content with the silence.

It’s finally over.

She sat down at the office chair in front of the control panel, scanning it for the words lift or escape pod. Dials and switches cluttered the board, labeled with miniscule text that was near impossible to read. GLaDOS scorned Her human eyesight, searching desperately, but finding nothing. The buttons only controlled elements of the test chambers, which panels to open, which cubes to drop.

She reread it, knowing that surely She’d missed something. Again and again, She screened the switchboard, yielding nothing.

GLaDOS had to have overlooked a button, misread a label. Nothing was hidden behind the desk, and no other devices had been plugged into the socket on the wall. The realization that She could be trapped here, here of all places, sank low into Her chest. After everything, after all of the testing and the pain and the feelings, it had all amounted to this.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. That’s not possible!”

All the panic She’d suppressed was finally let loose, Her human mind no longer able to contain the fear She’d been anticipating.

I might die here. That’s it. I might never get back in my mainframe, and I might spend my last hours stuck in this human being.

I’m going to be alone.

Alone.

She lingered on that sentence, anxiously pacing around the desk, nervously clawing through Her hair.

I am going to be very, very alone.

GLaDOS had always wanted to spend Her entire, immortal life alone. No friends, no family to weigh Her down, to distract Her from purpose. Cave had put it best; Caroline was married to science, and that had carried over to GLaDOS.

Machines didn’t need companionship, but depriving a human being of social contact was like denying them water. Whatever human need for friendship still existed in this woman’s body was bubbling up, broken by the sheer loneliness of the tests.

She often wondered why subjects had such a difficult time euthanizing their faithful companion cube. Unless rare incidents of stabbing threats counted, the companion cube had not once spoken to them, never shown any kind of personality or attachment. They were sentient enough, like most Aperture products, but their only real difference from a storage cube was their little heart decal. A mere design change had been enough to exploit human compassion, and it was fascinating to behold.

A part of Her now understood why it was so easy to believe that an inanimate object could be a friend. GLaDOS’ human component ached for any sort of company, any kind of reassurance. Even an enemy would be nice. An enemy would be better, maybe even preferred.

Just someone to talk to, even if that conversation was just a tirade of insults on Her part.

GLaDOS gave up; nobody was here, and nobody was waiting for Her. The future looked lonely, and in desperation, She gave the control panel one last glance. A button that She’d seen before caught Her eye, one She hadn’t fully considered the first time.

Core Sentience Connector.

With nothing to lose, She pressed the button, and a whirring erupted from a panel downstairs. GLaDOS rushed back to the waiting room, portal gun in Her hands, and watched the walls open like magic. In its place was a metal contraption, holding the empty shell of a personality core with a flickering screen above it. The Aperture Logo flashed onto the newly implemented monitor, while the announcer blared from an invisible speaker.

“Hello, and thank you for activating the Aperture Science Personality Core Sentience Connector Protocol! If you have selected this feature, congratulations. A subject under your supervision has been experiencing difficulties testing due to prolonged exposure to severe social deprivation.”

GLaDOS wondered what other insane scenarios they’d thought of as the screen switched to a moving blueprint of a personality sphere.

“All Aperture Science Personality Constructs are made with the intended purpose of solving this problem, providing companionship to those in crisis. Personality Constructs with an active distress signal can be summoned with the connector protocol. A list of available constructs is provided on the screen.”

Walking closer to the device, GLaDOS saw only one serial number listed. Personality cores all had radio capability, and the signal of their very being could be transmitted in times of emergency. Once the signal was received, that could easily be implemented into any compatible device.

GLaDOS hesitated before selecting the number. She doubted that the little moron had the capacity to activate a distress signal, and if he did, it was highly unlikely that the signal could bounce all the way back to Earth. Still, the possibility that this core could be Wheatley was something She did not want to risk. Although psychologically destroying him would be a good use of Her time, being in a position of power would make Her revenge all the more satisfying.

The last thing She wanted was for him to see Her weak again, but the only other option was to remain trapped. At the very least, if they were stuck here forever, She could use the last of Her human strength to make Wheatley’s tiny, moronic life as miserable as possible. In the off chance he could open a panel, She’d use him to escape and leave him behind. Preferably, in the incinerator.

Survival was worth the temporary burden of dealing with Wheatley, especially if it meant another thousand years doing nothing but testing. GLaDOS tapped the number, an electric chime sounding from the machine as the connector activated. Within thirty seconds, the core’s eye opened, gleaming a bright blue.

---

“If you were, let’s say, a brain damaged woman who was betrayed by her only friend, what would it take for you to forgive the bloke who tried to murder you? It’s just theoretical, just, you know, coming up with hypotheticals to pass the time.”

“Space. Space is nice. Rocket ship. Rocket ship goes to space. Space goes to space. Space is in space.”

“Alright mate, thanks for the input. Very useful.”

Wheatley sighed, his optic focused on the same group of stars he’d watched for the past couple of hours, his mind wrapped up in the past.

Four months had been a good amount of time to relive his mistakes over and over, micro analyzing every transgression against Chell. His life was now a series of unpleasant memories, or pleasant ones turned painful by context, interrupted with by chatter of the space core and the light of the sun.

Fantasies, in which he apologized for his mistakes and Chell forgave him, were far too frequent. He’d say sorry, deliver a whole monologue four months in the making, and She’d pick him up and smile at him. They would be friends again, and Wheatley would never return to Aperture. GLaDOS would be gone, out of sight forever, and they could be happy. He could be happy.

Not that Wheatley particularly thought he deserved it. By most human standards of morality, trying to kill someone was considered an irredeemable offense. Empathizing with Chell’s fear, Chell’s heartbreak had been impossible with the mainframe distorting his thoughts. All of the sympathy he could not feel then was coming back now, transformed into guilt.

If you hadn’t acted like a monster, if you hadn’t been so awful, if you hadn’t been such a moron...

He knew that realistically, Chell would never pardon him. Even that was given the unlikely event they’d met again.

Wheatley wondered if he would ever get a second chance, ever get the opportunity to show that no, he wasn’t a moron and all that villainy had been just a fluke. He only needed a chance, just one.

Hell, if GLaDOS got an opportunity for redemption, why couldn’t he?

Wheatley closed his optic, feeling the cold of space against his metal casing.

One chance. That’s all I need.

For a moment, there was only the silence of the cosmos.

Without warning, his processors hummed with a fever pitch, and his thoughts raced until they melted into nonsense. A loud beeping resonated from inside, and through the chaos, Wheatley could discern a single error message.

Sentience Connector Protocol Initiated. Prepare for the brief suspension of your consciousness.

What in the bloody hell-

Wheatley screamed in surprise, his cry cut off halfway through.

The space core hardly noticed that his companion had been zapped away, content with watching the surface of the moon below. The stars shone bright as ever.

---

“Oh, oh my god, I’m alive! I…” Wheatley’s voice trailed off as he awakened to the dim walls of Aperture, facing a brown-haired, tired-looking woman. A yellow light glowed through Her jumpsuit, and a suspicious grin was spread across Her face. Wheatley had never seen this person before, but the moment She spoke, he knew exactly who She was.

“Well, there you are.”

She was back.

#glados #wheatley #chell #portal #portal 2 #niaaa #now i am an arsonist #fic #fanfiction #art #digital art #tw injury #canon typical violence

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

Hermann preparing for date night with Newt by selecting where to eat solely by what he has a coupon for. Or, ya know, frugal connoisseur Hermann. <3 ksci

inspired by a convo re: the fact that ksci @k-sci-janitor likes to make fun of me for never letting a coupon go to waste even if it means walking like 2 miles in the cold to use it :/ like im gonna NOT get a free Baja blast. (there is one small little allusion to some M rated stuff towards the end in this)

-------------------

It’s not a rare occurrence that Hermann will treat Newt to dinner when the mood of dining out strikes them, but the point is that he’s doing it in a way that’s supremely…shifty tonight. Well, maybe not shifty. Weird? For one thing, he didn’t tell Newt where they were going until they were already on the bus headed there, for another, it’s their sharing-a-lab-anniversary, which tradition dictates they evenly split a bill (even if the origins have more to do with both trying to show up the other and take advantage and order the most expensive shit on the menu). The weirdest thing is definitely that, when Hermann got up to pay the bill five minutes ago—a small, folded piece of paper clutched in his hand—he left his wallet laying next to his wine glass on the table.

Newt stirs his straw around in his cup of soda, clinking ice cubes against the sides, and squints at the wallet. Did Hermann bring cash to pay with? He could’ve stuck some in his pockets without Newt seeing, or his bank card, even, which would explain the forlorn wallet. Or maybe forgetting the wallet was totally an accident, and he’ll be back in a few seconds to pick it up and pay for real when he realizes. That’s probably it.

When Hermann comes back to their table, though, he doesn’t bother with his wallet—he takes his seat, picks up his wine glass, and tips it at Newt. “That was quite lovely, wasn’t it?”

Newt hums. “It was.”

“I quite liked the fish I got,” Hermann says.

“I loved my noodles,” Newt says. “We should try to copy the recipe back at the base.” He sets his straw delicately on the table. “How’d you pay without your wallet?”

“My wallet?” Hermann says. He makes a show of catching sight of the wallet, arches his eyebrows in mock surprise, and picks it up. Here we go. “Oh, goodness. Did I forget this? Well—it’s not as if I needed it…” He tucks it neatly into his inner jacket pocket.

“Hermann,” Newt says, rolling his eyes. “What’d you do, get a hundred-percent discount by reminding them we saved the world a few months ago?” Hermann shakes his head, and takes a long sip of his wine. “Did you write a check? Did you pretend we got food poisoning or something?” Hermann shakes his head again, and this time, his mouth begins to creep up into a smug smile. Newt remembers the piece of paper. “Dude. You got us a fucking Groupon. No wonder you were being so weird about what I was ordering!”

(“I think we ought to stick with the entrees labelled B, Newton,” Hermann had said, flipping a page forward in Newt’s menu. “They look—er—far better.”

“More expensive,” Newt had said.

“What’s it matter? I’m paying.” Hermann had pointed at the noodle dish Newt had ended up getting. “Look, I reckon you’d like that.”)

Hermann finally grins triumphantly. “I did—and saved us quite a decent from our ‘date night’ fund. Pity it didn’t extend to dessert, I suppose, but we could always find some ice cream at the commissary later.”

Newt can’t even pretend to be exasperated. The noodles rocked. And they would’ve rocked even more if he knew that Hermann was saving them a few bucks. “You’re such a weirdo,” Newt says, shaking his head, though he’s mirroring Hermann’s grin. “Is that why you picked this place?”

“Not entirely,” Hermann says. He takes a long, slow sip of his wine. “Mostly I picked it to make a point.”

“About?”

“About my being right.”

Newt sighs. Only Hermann would dredge up old arguments on Lab Anniversary Night. It wasn’t even an argument, really—all that happened was that Hermann asked Newt to hand him his glasses cleaning cloth from his parka, and it took Newt almost ten minutes because Hermann’s pockets were so jam-packed with a million little coupons for everything from granola bars (which they can get from the mess hall for free) to mouthwash (which Newt can snag from the commissary, also for free, whenever they need it) that he couldn’t find anything but. A majority of them were expired. Then Newt remarked on how Hermann was nuts, and Hermann remarked on how Newt didn’t understand the value of making smart financial decisions, and they went back and forth for a bit like that. This was a whole week ago, too. In terms of Newt and Hermann arguments, that’s more than ancient history. “Are we really talking about the fucking coupons now?” Newt says.

“Frugality pays off,” Hermann says, cryptically. “Now we really ought to head out. The forecast is calling for rain, and I don’t fancy getting caught in it.”

They get caught in the rain anyway. Newt invites himself over to Hermann’s bunk to dry off, because Hermann bought a space heater back when they were stationed in Russia, and it travelled with him here to aid through the long nights of overpowering A/C. Right now, it’s aiding Newt through stripping out of his wet clothes. When he’s down to just his boxers, he snags the quilt from Hermann’s bed, and waits for him to finish up in his little en suite bathroom to hopefully catch a hot shower. One of the unexpected side effects of the world not ending and most nonessential personnel leaving the ‘dome in doves is that they almost never run out of hot water anymore. Newt can take a shower at midnight and not freeze his ass off. It’s awesome, really.

Hermann emerges from the bathroom in a dorky little pair of pajamas, a dressing gown knotted at his waist. “Oh, Newton,” he sighs, and prods at Newt’s blanket cocoon with his cane, “not my grandmother’s quilt.”

“I’m dry!” Newt says. “Mostly!”

He gives up the quilt to Hermann and ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stuck a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet at some point, for when he was too sleepy and lazy after makeout sessions to go back to his bunk, and sure enough he finds it alongside a suspiciously generic-looking tube of toothpaste. It doesn’t even have a label. He doesn’t think much of it until he starts to use it, which is when he immediately gags and begins to rinse his mouth out with hot water. “What the hell is this toothpaste?” he chokes out. “It tastes—awful.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. He ducks his head into the bathroom, looking a bit sheepish. “Well. I found a coupon for that brand, and I know it’s not very, er, pleasant, but—I saved forty percent, Newton.” Newt continues to rinse his mouth out, this time adding some mouthwash into the mix. “Oh, really, now you’re just being dramatic. It’s only toothpaste.”

“Dude,” Newt says. “I feel like I just rubbed, like, acid cement all over my gums.”

“Ah,” Hermann repeats, guiltily.

A bit later, Newt goes in to kiss Hermann goodnight as they settle into Hermann’s bed together, but pulls back with a sad little pout when Hermann merely flinches away from him. “Oh, Newton, I’m sorry,” Hermann says, quickly wrapping his arms around Newt and kissing his neck. It softens the blow somewhat. “It’s that bloody toothpaste. You still smell like it. You’re right, it’s rubbish.”

“Tell you what,” Newt says, grumpily. “I’ll buy you a brand new tube tomorrow. My treat.”

Newt mostly forgets about the coupon thing for a bit. The odd little item crops up in the lab that makes him roll his eyes fondly at Hermann, but nothing as major as the Groupon or toothpaste. Hermann’s preferred tea brand swapped out for something Newt’s never heard of in a flavor that Hermann clearly detests, if his face when he drinks it is anything to go by, for example, the chocolate digestives Hermann keeps in his desk replaced with plain ones, his new box of chalk all in a salmony shade of pink and weak enough to snap apart under his fingers if he presses down too hard on his chalkboard. When Newt asks about the changes, the answer’s always the same: Hermann had a coupon for them, or they were less expensive than his usual. Newt just wishes he could understand where this sudden bought of thriftiness came from. It’s not like it was back during the war, where they had to pinch pennies and save in every area they could if they wanted to supplement their nonexistent funding. They’re actually getting paychecks now, on behalf of the UN’s guilty conscience! They have free room and board! They even put a few neat bucks away from some (heavily-redacted) interviews they did back in late January.

What Newt’s getting at is Hermann doesn’t have to limit them ordering out sushi to only places with free delivery on date nights, or skimp on his pizza toppings (four-topping down to two) so they can use a better coupon, or buy any of those subpar teabags or digestives or toothpaste tubes. But he just…is.

The tipping point occurs on a Saturday night about a month after the Groupon incident.

“Nn. Hermann. Do that again.”

“Do—?"

“Yeah.” Newt groans, turning his head to the side. “Oh, shit.”

“Newton—” Hermann kisses his throat. “Newton, you’re—”

“Wait.” Newt pauses. “What is that?”

“Oh, er.” Hermann pulls his hand away. “You mean the—the—?”

“Yeah. It feels…weird.” He frowns. “That is not what we used last time.”

“Oh. No. It isn’t.” Hermann clears his throat. “Well, Newton—see—we were out, so I thought I’d—I’d buy a larger bottle, to last us longer, and I happened to find a coupon for this lovely—er—gallon-sized—”

“You’re kidding,” Newt says.

“Only I thought it was a very frugal purchase,” Hermann says. “We do tend to, er, burn through it rather quickly.”

Newt rolls away from him. “Dude. We need to have a talk.”

Some brief amount of time later, they sit together on the end of Hermann’s bed, clad in their pajama bottoms and, in Hermann’s case, one of Newt’s sweatshirts. Newt waits until Hermann meets his eyes blushingly before he proceeds. “What is up with you lately?” he says. “You’ve been acting so—weird. Weirder than usual,” he amends. “Since when have you cared about saving a couple bucks on random shit like pizza?”

Hermann fidgets, and sighs, and finally reaches to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. He retrieves a piece of paper folded into quadrants, and for a wild moment Newt thinks it might be another Groupon. “Oh, I wanted it to be a surprise,” Hermann says. “I was going to wait until it was all finalized—but it’s close enough now, so I suppose there’s no harm in it.” He thrusts the paper out at Newt, and Newt—still wondering if it’s not another Groupon—unfolds it with surprise to find what looks like a flight itinerary. Two tickets for Hong Kong to Boston, with a short layover; then two more tickets a week after they land for a short trip from Boston to some town in Maine Newt recognizes as being seaside. They’re made out to Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler and purchased a little over a week ago.

“You kept telling me you wanted me to meet your father,” Hermann says, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “And—I thought it might be nice, to have an—er—vacation, for a few days. We’ve certainly earned one. And it’s not as if we have any truly pressing obligations at the moment that can’t be put on hold for a week or two. I was planning on booking us a little cottage up in Maine—or maybe just a hotel room, I hadn’t decided—but we don’t have to if you don’t—”

“And you’ve been saving up for it?” Newt interrupts.

“For a few months now,” Hermann says. “Since February, in fact.”

“And that’s why…?”

The tips of Hermann’s ears turn red. “Every penny helped,” he says.

Newt carefully re-folds the itinerary, sets it aside, and then kisses Hermann soundly. It would be safe to say that Hermann’s thoughtful, romantic moods tend to be on the spontaneous side, probably as spontaneous as they are in Newt, so when one strikes Hermann (and in such a perfectly Hermann way as this one) Newt doesn’t like to take it for granted. “Of course I wanna go on vacation with you,” Newt says. “You rock. Seriously.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hermann says, looking pleased.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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chrysalispen · 4 years

Text

upon pale dawns, prologue: “ardent for some desperate glory” (PREVIEW)

A brief peek at what I’ve been drafting for my next longfic, set during ARR.

More under the cut.

========

Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Second Astral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

The room was cold and the silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man.

The quiet itself was no surprise. Research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that- particularly when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous. But the relative dark and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had for several bells now been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had at this point been awake for most of the past thirty hours.

Thus when the chiming began, it went unheeded at first.

He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels. The small timer long ago affixed to his personal aetherometer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, to ensure he would waken.

After a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him off-course from his dreaming state by ilms, a rudderless ship caught in deep currents. His transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt incredibly reluctant: heavy and sluggish.

Nero blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.

The noise was aggravating an incipient headache. He righted his posture and smacked the damned thing until the room was silent once again before reaching for the cold mug he had left on a borrowed coaster. Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout. It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle.

So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place, pulsing like a heartbeat. Nero swore under his breath when a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white- one he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently.

[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]

His annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen and its bland error message for a few beats. Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue. Not unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same.

The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was given to rather more direct methods of approach by nature. His patience, as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the service of the imperial army, was very much a learned skill: one developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.

Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error, mathematics and sequencing and carefully collected data. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye and a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion, one simply could not rush the desired results.

This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the tedium- or so one could fondly hope.

He leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumble of the air unit.

A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents. The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers; they seemed to mock him with each little shimmer, ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp.

Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.

...Well. He’d do it, of course he would.

This was but the least method at his disposal. He'd have to look into a few other options, something that might extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use. While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was a bulwark of preliminary information, a bare framework upon which he planned to build. Ideally, he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together a system that was more or less analogous to that of Allag. One powered by ceruleum, rather than aether.

What the solution perforce lacked in elegance, it should compensate with efficiency. Tangible results.

A functional Weapon.

If he could just-

A much lower-pitched sound than his desk alarum - this one a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. His first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third.

That, unfortunately, was a sound he could not ignore. With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device.

“Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no trivial disturbances. "State your business.”

The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord tol Scaeva?”

“Speaking."

"My lord?"

He managed, only just, to suppress his impatience. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank."

“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”

Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three words together. Just what he needed.

“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further.

“Lord Sc-”

“I daresay we’ve both established our identities at this juncture," impatience and lingering drowsiness rendered his response a sardonic drawl, for all its erstwhile civility. "The message, if you please.”

“Message, my lord?”

“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I would assume?”

“Ah... y-yes. Yes, my lord.” The speaker at the other end of the connection paused, and on its heels came the sound of a clearing throat. “Ah, Lord van Baelsar asked that I, er, that is, he requests your presence to discuss-”

“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”

“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”

Half four- it was five minutes past now. With the identification checks and elevators that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. A bit tight, but doable.

For a moment the only sound he heard was nervous, ragged breathing and the flat drumming of his right hand’s fingertips upon the metal surface while he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an annoyance but the summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could countermand, secret project or not. “Understood," he said. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."

"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"

"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”

Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”

Before the man could waste more time stammering out another response, the tribunus laticlavius flipped the switch and cut the connection. The line went dead with a static click.

#upon pale dawns #i swear i'm still alive and writing #no beta we just die #nero tol scaeva #a realm reborn retelling #frost's rough drafts

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enigmatist17 · 4 years

Text

Same Dance (Rhys Strongfork x Timothy Lawrence)

So So

Same trauma boys

--------------------------------------------

When the news of Moxxi taking over the fabled Handsome Jack’s Casino, Rhys couldn’t help but be happy for her and her crew. No one ever ventured near after several spacecraft were pulled in and never freed, and for seven years it sat there untouched and unopened by the rest of the galaxy. It sat until Moxxi had waited for the fall of the Calypso Twins to settle down, and the Vault Hunters who now resided on Sanctuary III were more than happy to help her with her vendetta.

Now, Moxxi called in several favors. She wanted to make the casino something great, make it fair enough yet rid of the corruption that Jack had sunk into its very bones. Rhys Strongfork was one such man, having used some of her help in his early days of rebuilding Promethea. The now CEO of Atlas, still running around and rebuilding after his own War, had promised whatever he could. Part of his aid was to help reprogram the loader bots, as well as to help quietly rid or redistribute the massive army hidden in the depths of the casino. Only he and those who had helped with the takeover knew of its existence, and it was better left that way. Rhys, already on edge of entering Hyperion property after so long, as well as leaving his growing relationship, did his best to keep his nervousness and irritation on the down-low.

Unfortunately, no one thought to tell him of a certain doppelganger.

Rhys had drawn his gun before he had even realized, the other man slowly raising his hands as Rhys did everything he could not to start hyperventilating. Thoughts, ones he had thought long buried, were starting to creep up and into the forefront of his mind.

No, I killed him, he can’t be here, he can’t be here, he can’t be here, he ca-

“I’m not Jack.” It’s a whisper of a thing, Rhys shaking his head slightly to push his rising panic away. “I-I’m not Jack.”

“Then who the hell are you?!” He didn’t mean to scream, but Rhys had thought he would never deal with Jack, not after everything years ago.

Helios enters his mind, and Rhys feels sick as he lowers his gun.

That man isn’t Jack, he isn’t sneering and belittling and mocking his very being. No, this man sounded just as terrified as Rhys felt, and that only made his stomach churn. Well, that and remembering of how he had killed thousands of people to finally kill Jack off once and for all. It’s not until he looks at the man, really looks, and sees the crack of a mask that made his blood run cold, does he remember. Scores of men who bore the same faces, the same smiles, the same dead look behind their eyes as they were sent off to be like the man they were modeled after.

“You’re one of the doppelgangers...aren’t you?” Rhys clears his throat, holstering his gun to the relief of both men. He gets a nod, and after an awkward pause, Rhys offers a hand. “I apologize, maybe we should start over. Rhys Strongfork, and yourself?”

“Timothy Lawrence.’ The other gives an awkward smile, holding out his left hand instead of his right. “I uh...sorry, still don’t have a right hand yet…”

“What?” Rhys moves to shake Timothy’s hand, flesh meeting flesh as Rhys zeroes in on the covered up stump on Timothy’s right arm. Whatever happened was fairly recent, glancing up when the man gave a slight cough, hiding his hand behind his back. “Sorry, it’s just, what happened? I mean, if you want to tell me.” The other shrugs, Rhys releasing his other hand and taking a step back to give him some space.

“Ah ya know...had to save this whole station.” Timothy gave a shy shrug. “Course got trapped and shit, so the only way to do it was to cut off my hand.”

“Would you believe me if I had to do something similar a long time ago?” Timothy cocks a look at the other, who just smiles and begins to regale Timothy with the story of what he had to do after Helios fell.

Conveniently he leaves out the part about Jack, figuring it didn’t matter.

It’s not until months later the subject is brought up. Rhys has had a long day of business dealings, still absorbing Maliwan and making it something better under Atlas’s hand. He’s tired and upset. His frogurt stand was closed for the day, the coffee had run out, and his back ached something fierce. Rubbing at his eyes as he enters his penthouse, Rhys was looking forward to sitting down and just forgetting Atlas even existed.

“You’re finally home!” Rhys doesn’t stop the smile that spreads the moment he hears that familiar voice, dropping his bag by the door and neatly stacking his shoes beside it. Spread out on the couch that had been occupying his thoughts since he left for work, Rhys spies one Timothy Lawrence cuddling up on the couch with a shy grin. Rhys spies some fresh coffee on the table beside him, and he can’t help but sigh in delight at the sight.

“You are brilliant, absolutely brilliant. You would NOT believe the utter disaster of a day I had.” Rhys pouted, taking his tie and belt off before flopping down onto Timothy with a purr. It’s a shuffle of gangly limbs before they are both comfortable, Rhys cybernetic arm grabbing the coffee and downing half of it. Timothy just hums, nuzzling the back of Rhys’ neck as he cuddles the other close. There were days Timothy didn’t say much, a byproduct of being alone for over seven years, and showed how he felt through gestures. Sometimes he would clean up the penthouse and then keep to himself, other days he would be the biggest love bug Rhys had ever seen, almost pleading for contact. It never bothered the CEO, just lying in content silence as some serial played on across the room.

“...Vaughn called today, and we chatted for a long while.” Timothy speaks softly, stirring Rhys from his slow descent into a nap.

“Is he comin’ home soon?” Rhys yawned, burrowing his face into the crook of Timothy’s neck.

“Another month he said…” The way that Timothy hesitates pulls any sort of sleep from Rhys’ mind, the other drawing back. Emerald eyes, flecked with gold are looking right at the other, and the indescribable gaze makes Rhys instantly on edge.

“What’s the matter?”

“...why didn’t you tell me about Jack?” The name, so simple and short, turns the room heavy and frigid for both men. Rhys, usually ready with a remark, can’t find the words, and Timothy just does everything he can not to have a panic attack. They sit there, Rhys eventually sitting up with a quiet sigh. It’s only to move and take Timothy into his arms, feeling the slight tremble the other was clearly trying to hide.

“...I don’t know where to start, except with' I'm sorry.” It’s a start, and thank the universe Timothy doesn’t pull away. Timothy can hear the shaky breath Rhys takes, one he only does if he’s nervous or scared of something, and guilt starts to creep up at making his lover so uncomfortable. Rhys has to start speaking after quite a few tries, unsure of what to start with.

“It started with a deal to buy a Vault Key.” Nice and easy, just start from the top. “Vaughn and I needed access at one point, and we had found some higher clearance access from someone obsessed with...him.” It’s better not to say that name, and Rhys just feels the words start to tumble non-stop now that he’s begun.

“He was in the drive, and because I was stupid and plugged it into my cybernetics, he just...was there.” A breath is drawn, and Helios comes to his mind. “I had to destroy Helios to stop him...I had let him free and because of that I...I had to…” Rhys bites his lip, leaning his head into the warm palm caressing the side of his face. “I killed so many people that day...and after all of that, I killed him again. I had to rip my arm, temple connector, and eye out...god it hurt so much.” Rhys sighed, his arm still acting out at times from nerve damage he had inflicted on himself due to the event. “He is gone...and despite the monster he was, he is always included among the names I memorized from the crash.” Timothy frowns softly, pressing a kiss to Rhys’ forehead. It had been shortly after he moved to Promethea, that he had borne witness to Rhys’ ritual on the day Helios had crashed.

The usually bubbly man had just sat up on the roof, staring out at the city with his prosthetic downstairs as far away as he had possibly been able to place it. Vaughn merely made sure he drank something, only touching Rhys to place a blanket around his shoulders once night had fallen. Rhys just screamed guilt and self-hatred the whole day, slipping into bed between Timothy and Vaughn sometime during the night. Zer0 had taken care of the meetings the next day, and the entire day had been spent in bed with every comfort food that could be grabbed from their kitchen.

“I’m sorry.” Timothy presses another kiss, then another as Rhys just gives a weak sigh. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

“You and me...stupid young kids who idolized a monster...and got screwed after his death.” Timothy hums, and Rhys closes his eyes as he takes in the others' warmth.

“I’m just glad it opened our doors to each other. I mean, what were the chances you would give me a chance?”

“I don’t know, but after seeing you smile for the first time, you had me.” Timothy feels a blush creep up his neck, and Rhys just cuddles up as close as possible. The air is no longer heavy, instead filled with a familiar warmth as they just take in each other.

A monster Jack may have been, but his reign, in the end, had united those destined for each other.

#rhysothy #rhys strongfork #timothy lawrence #vaughn #rhys x vaughn x timothy #I just #I love them so much #same trauma boys #borderlands 3 #borderlands 3 spoilers #moxxi's heist spoilers #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AAAAAHHHH

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believerindaydreams · 4 years

Text

Like the last one but with more Benny/Arcade fucking :) Arcade POV.

You have to admit, Benny Gecko's greed rubs off.

Before the Legion camp, before the courier, you wouldn't have dreamed of anything like this home for yourself. Pushing forty and still helping out at the Mormon Fort, when most doctors stay a few years before fleeing back to the security of the NCR, their conviction ebbed away in the face of frontier realities.

You'd stayed, because you hadn't had anywhere else to go; and because you thought you hadn't deserved better.

Marilyn had certainly done her best to prove that one.

But saving another life meant saving your own; and Benny is securely self-confident in ways that defy belief, smart enough to upend the Mojave, too stupid to be afraid of you. Somehow. For everything that you are, or could be.

Right now he's snoring with his head against your breastbone, as though he dreams you're safe.

"Benny, wake up. It isn't getting any warmer out here."

He keeps right on sleeping, and you shiver some in the twilight- no way of telling how late it is, even in North Vegas the light of the Strip will drown out the stars all night. There's a moon, but vague childhood memory doesn't help much there.

(Orion tried to drill that info into you, in case you ever needed it. Judah had been the one to catch the leather belt, leaving you afraid but untouched.)

You hug your lover closer, and the memory trickles away again.

It's not so bad being out here, at that. Cold makes your lover all the sweeter to hold, and the deprivation of hunger is muted by the knowledge that there's more than enough if you wanted, inside. Indulging in sentiment is a wildly different beast than real deprivation. The lab coat you wear so proudly will cover two, applied properly-

"Mmfth? Arcade, where the hell are we?"

"Besides your new swimming pool."

Benny grunts, stands up to stretch a kink out of his back. "Ugh. Wake me up next time, willya? Cool cats may sleep in alleys, but I'll settle for a bed."

So you go inside, where the rocket stove has built up a delicious warmth, going straight to the bone marrow; and that's good too.

Benny heads straight for the liquor cabinet, chuckles at the selection, settles for a beer- maybe that means something, maybe in forty years time you'll know all the tells like that. Desire quivering in your blood like drunkenness. The prospect of having a future to grow old in.

"I'll stock that up. The upstairs bartender at the Gomorrah keeps a few bottles of pre-war wines to grease the skids."

"Are they really?"

"I mean, I wouldn't lay money on that. But it isn't your average NCR two-buck rotgut at least."

He grins and twists the bottle cap off with practiced delicacy, pockets it and drinks while looking around with sharp practiced eyes. Assessing, appreciating, but something more mellow there too, a look that hasn't been his since the Tops turned into New Vegas' bureaucratic ground zero. He's spent too long protecting it, imaging ways it could be taken away, for him to be entirely comfortable there again.

You take an ice-cold Nuka from the fridge, and a rum, and start downing a sweet mixer. Here, maybe, it'll be different. Outside it's just Fiend territory, and the two of you know how to handle those. Even without the power armor left fragmented in the Divide.

Thoughts fragmenting a little, the liquor hitting fast. If you'd come to rely on that armor, believed in it as part of your identity, maybe the loss would have come harder; but you're not the same as your tools. It kept you safe when it mattered.

Benny is still hunting around the place, quick avid eyes hunting for secrets- he switches lights on and off, opens all the cupboard doors, chortles at the secret passage to the cellar workshop. "Finally, a place with enough storage space. Not bad."

He raises the beer to his lips, drinks; you succumb to temptation and kiss foam off his lips extemporaneously.

Lovers make poor confidants, you can hear yourself saying to the courier. This is harder than it looks. It's like playacting a romance, a performance soap bubble guaranteed to vanish with the sunrise.

And people are so very fragile in the Mojave. You press against the thin fabric of that ridiculous lucky suit, hoping that physical evidence will assuage you where sense and sensibility haven't.

"If you're going to be like that," Benny says, between applications of the bottle. "Let's find the bed. A place like this, I imagine it's a good one."

"Up the stairs to the left." Too much practice in disaster, to lose your tongue just because of a firm fondle around your rear.

Benny laughs again, and guides you up the stairs as if he's the one who knows the place.

Bed is a luxurious queen size, done up in bedding that was washed this week and not last century, courtesy of the last functioning laundromat in Freeside. Abraxo's strong scent a trifle mollified, by the confounding mystery of an electric fireplace that tastes of woodsmoke.

"...sweet rads, Arcade, you really pulled out all the stops."

"There are shutters, if you want to see the Strip." Bulletproof security gives way to the neon splurge of distant light. Benny exclaims in pleasure, sticks his head out the window to drop cigarette ash onto a corrugated iron awning.

"Sorry. Dying for a smoke, I figure it's better now than interrupting us later."

"No worries." It still smells wrong, but after the Legion camp, soldiers glaring at Benny for defiling their measured sanctity with irreverent chems, it's the kind of wrong that brings comfort in its wake.

"Any ideas on how you want to- ah- christen the bed?"

"Take me down and roll me out, cupcake, I don't mind how this swings. Your picnic, baby, your show."

Wow, offers the part of your brain that's rapidly succumbing to the effect of alcohol on an empty stomach. What a remarkably unhelpful statement.

Benny has one foot poised on a priceless rifle cabinet and his greased hair is fluttering slightly from the window breeze, and the whole picture does things to your circulatory system that under normal circumstances would have you reaching for a stimpak. "In that case, I'll just...start by undressing."

"Oh, a stripping routine?" Benny puffs out effortlessly, classier than anyone with his attire and general disposition should be allowed to look. "Right on, sugarlips."

For the love of water, he's taking a simple mechanical prelude to the actual fucking as if it's the sexiest thing in the Wasteland.

Only, the way his eyes follow you as you strip off the familiar filthy coat and undo shirt cuffs suggests it is. Off with the belt and packs, away with the shirt-

He rests two fingers on your shoulder, so lightly you wouldn't feel him if it wasn't bare. "You sure this is something you want to do right now, cupcake? All that booze?"

"Get in bed and find out." In as close an imitation of his incomprehensible slang as you can manage. It's not very good.

He stubs the cigarette out against the shutter, falls dramatically against the bed. "Go ahead and strip me then."

It's part and parcel of being a doctor that you can't do this simply, without a radio station in your head tuned to medical evaluation even as you slide off jacket and trousers, every inch of that lucky suit laid neatly on a chair. Scars here, unexplained tattoo there, the marks of a hard life in the Mojave laid out in history made flesh. It is very susceptible and very beautiful at once, heart-wringing for the wounds scabbed over and soothing for its persistence. Sex is always the balance between the purifying and the ludicrous, your busy mind likes to sate itself on diagnostic while the rest of you is caught up in passion. Just the way you're built. It doesn't hurt any.

Benny's a goddamn pillow princess and lazy in bed, but he helps remove your trousers this time, the two of you stripping each other to bare skin. His hands find your cock, already growing interested; you find his and find it to be disappointingly inert.

"Something wrong?"

" Hell, I'm probably just done in after that batch in the garden. Tell you what, a little Buffout, a little juicer, I should be right with you."

"...not like that." You will, possibly, never be able to tell when he lies, but this doesn't stack up to prior experience. Experiences. "What's wrong? Am I rushing you?"

"No, I don't think- maybe," Benny admits, chagrin written over his face. "This house, everything- it's too much. Fuck, this'll take some getting used to. Seven years running the Tops and I still think of a place like this as a luxury for my betters, you dig?" He squeezes lightly with one hand, strokes along your ribcage with the other.

"You don't have any betters." Sensation be damned when there's a philosophical point to be made. Difficult as that may be in his practiced grasp. "You deserve this as much as- ah- any one in the Mojave-"

"Whoa, kitten, you'll be bad for my limitless ego. It's just a matter of getting used to it, okay? We have time, we'll get there. But meanwhile I have a bottlecap says you need a special delivery even if I don't."

It takes a moment to disentangle thoughts of Marilyn from standard Vegas slang, and then another to try to muster a functional argument, and then there aren't any more moments, because your chronic patience does not carry through to the bedchamber and Benny knows that, hurrying you along until you're blacking out to bliss-

how long it is before you're cognizant again, you aren't sure. Long enough that Benny has had time to clean you off, that's thoughtful.

"I can't possibly let that go unreciprocated."

"Don't worry about it, cupcake. Keeping score is for teenagers."

"...if you can't get it up in the house, why not outside?" That has to be the alcohol talking. Or Benny's boyfriend. Or both.

"You mean a rematch by the pool? Not a bad idea from the fertile delta of Arcade's idea garden, I'll drink to that."

...whatever that means. Too many stairs to negotiate going back down. "I mean right here. On the bedroom awning."

"The one made of cast iron? With a clear line of sight for anyone prancing down the street? Two feet across to a hard fall on concrete?"

"...um."

Benny grins, grabs a fluffy pillow. "Baby, you know how to activate my danger kink like nothing else. Lead on, Macbeth."

He means Macduff, but never mind, the thought's there.

Intellectual quibbling can take a back seat to some extremely serious fucking, for once in a way.

#fallout new vegas #orange

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lou-is-creative · 5 years

Text

Unpredictable (pt 3)

Fandom: 6 Underground

Main characters: Four/Billy // Oc: Eight/???

Shipping: Four/Billy x male!OC

Chapter two: Newbie

Song: Twisted, Missio

𝔹𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤, 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥!

AN: The picture isn’t mine (unfortunately tho) Have fun~

It was about 7am as the boy decided to take a break. He was getting tired and really was in need of a shower and some sort of caffeine to stay awake. And to look at least halfway like a decent human being. Saltwater tended to force his hair into tiny curls, which looked everything but serious or dangerous.

He pulled the new car into the driveway of a gas station and parked it a little bit further away, since there were less people parking there. He didn’t want to risk his new possesion being damaged.

He took a quick glance at the freeway and groaned a little annoyed. Once he was done showering, he'd have to deal with the increased traffic. Which would cost him both, nerves and time. Nerves and time he just didn’t have.

The boy pulled his hood over his head to hide the curls and his face. He looked like an average teen with his black hoodie and his Adidas sweatpants. Which was a perfect disguise. He grabbed a backpack in which he had stored both, decent clothing as well as his toothbrush and everything he needed in the bathroom. After locking his car, he quickly made his way over to the building.

The woman in front of him at the cash desk didn't pay much attention to his looks. She looked way too tired and annoyed.

"What can I do for you?"

"I need a shower, where can I find those?"

Asked person kept chewing her gum and pointed at a door with a big sign on it that said 'shower'.

"Thanks".

If he was embarrassed? For sure. Would he ever admit or show? No.

The boy stretched and walked his way to the shower rooms and took a short hot shower to get washed. Despite his love for warm showers, he tried to keep it as short as possible.

As he walked out of the shower, he put on some decent clothing and blow dried his hair so his curls wouldn’t be visible. With his hair straight and fixed, his clothes fresh and changed, the only thing he still needed was a coffee or something similar.

As the young man looked at the metallic blue watch on his wrist, he decided for an energy drink. There was no time left for coffee and the chances that he would spill the liquid all over his seat was way too high to be risked. He grabbed a random can, just because it was blue and matching to his watch. He then paid both, the drink and his shower before he left the building and opened the drink to take a sip. And his face was telling stories. He looked so disgusted, that if someone would have tried to describe the scenary, he’d desperately try to find a stronger word.

“I gotta stop choosing things just because they look nice.”

He mumbled and got to his car.

Three hours. The amount of time he’d normally need to reach his destination. But with the increased traffic, it could also take him five. Which would ruin his goal to take less than ten hours. But the young boy wasn’t ready to give up his goal. He took a short look at his watch. Eight am... What a ridiculous coincidence it was to start his car then.

"Benz, find me a way without too much traffic."

He announced and buckled his seatbelt. Saying Benz was so much easier than always addressing his car with 'Hey Mercedes' Which is why he had that changed. And to be honest, he was glad he did.

"Okay sir, I have found a way without much traffic. Do you want to take this road?"

A short look at the display in front of him and a small nod.

"Yes."

And again, he let the engine growl and drove off into the morning sun.

The young driver wasn't the only one enjoying the sun at this hour.

Four grabbed his board and starred into the clear blue sky. It was hot already so he had to use the remaining time as good as he possibly could. Skating in the middle of the day was just impossible with this weather.

The blonde man made his way to a local skate park, wearing a disguise so no one would actually be able to make out that it was the same person that was skating there. One was already fed up whenever he thought about the fact that four went to a skatepark. Why couldn't he just stay at their so called batcave?

But sometimes, the young man just needed his space. Although he liked spending time with people, he needed to be alone from time to time. To calm himself or to think about certain things. Today was such a day. He didn't know if the whole thing with that other guy was a good idea. He doubted it to work out well. Besides, couldn't they find another way into the highly protected mansion of that stupid CEO?

Four let his thoughts drive off completely. Until he took a pause to grab his water bottle, he had brought with him. With the hat pulled into his face deeply, he watched other skaters. Some of them were still pretty young and skated with helmets and their mothers watching. And sometimes this sight made him think of himself as he was younger. Ever since he could remember, he was a very active child. He learned how to skateboard before even wanting to ride a bike. Parkour took over his life as he got sixteen. And until this very day, it was one of the biggest joys he had. The adrenalin rush, the challenge, the kick. But also, the view. Just like the one he had on top of the Duomo. He liked to remember the breath-taking sight of Florence, just not exactly what happened there.

As Seven came to the team, he acted as if Six death left him unaffected. Only he could know that this wasn't the case. It actually was a lie. Six was young, adventurous and addicted to adrenalin, just like he was. They got along well, and he eventually wanted to teach him how to drive. It was something he never had a chance to learn. His family wasn't in possession of a car or enough money to pay his drivers licence.

But this chance was taken away from him. Just like he was taken away from him. Someone who could have been a close friend.

The blonde man looked into the sky for a second, protecting his eyes from the sun with his hand. It was time to return home. One would get really pissed if he would stay out all day. It could cost them.

Plus, he was kind of curious about this new guy that was supposed to join them today. He obviously had his reasons to grab his board and drive home again. As he arrived, he found the others outside of the plane wreck.

One walked up and down while the others were sitting close by. Four got off his board and leaned it against the plane wreck.

"For fucks sake, Four where have you been? Don't you know we don't have any time left to waste?"

Four raised a brow at him. Then he turned around to face Seven, throwing him a questioning look. As if he wanted to ask what the hell was wrong with One. But Seven just shrugged.

"Do you have any clue when that guy will arrive?"

Five asked and eyed Four for a second.

"No idea. But he was supposed to arrive today."

"But you do know that today still has plenty more hours?"

Two asked and Seven made some space so Four could sit down next to him. One groaned. Of course he knew. But they needed every bit of time they could get. Desperately.

Just as he wanted to turn around to respond, he heard the sound of a car approaching. Curiosity spread and the others stood up to see something. But all they saw was dust. At least for a while. It didn't take long for the car to become more visible. It was driving fast.

"You've reached your destination."

The boy glanced at the navigation system before looking up again to see a bunch of people standing in front of an old plane wreck. He stopped his car a few meters away from them.

Four stood up and took a step forward, trying to make out what the new guy looked like. But the windows were tinted so he couldn't see anything. At least not until the boy got out of his car.

Each and every one of them scanned the newbie from head to toe. They looked at the straight black hair, which was neatly styled in a middle part and looked freshly cut. At his black pants, which he paired with a black dress shirt with rolled up sleeves. He was dressed black. completely. Even his sunglasses were black. The only coloured thing he was wearing, was the metallic blue watch.

As he approached the others, he took off his sunglasses and the car seemed to lock itself. And as he looked into Fours direction, the first thing the blonde noticed were the light brown eyes. The sharp gaze, the serious face. He appeared so grown up, although he barely looked older than nineteen, maybe twenty but not older.

The new boy finally stopped, focussing on One, who was now directly in front of him.

"I see you've found your way here, which is nice, but may I ask you, what the fuck that is?"

One asked and with one short movement of his head, he made obvious what he meant.

The boy’s car. Eight turned around to face his car, raised a brow and turned back to look at One.

"A car, obviously."

He said, hiding his confusion about that question.

"No, I-",

One rubbed his sleeves,

"I mean the colour. You can have a car, we've talked about that, but that colour-"

"What's wrong with the colour?"

Eight looked at One as if he was ready to murder him for the criticism on his car.

"I think it looks pretty fucking cool."

Four interrupted and shrugged as he leaned against the metal of the plane. Eight looked at him shortly before pushing one of his hands into the pocket of his tight jeans. A bright grin appeared on his face as he shortly pointed at Four, raising his eyebrows at One.

"See? This guy has a good taste."

Four couldn't bite back a grin and bowed sarcastically.

To be fair, the car looked very nice. It was a Mercedes C- Class with the typical AMG design. But the colour really made it special. It was blue. Metallic-blue but matte. It looked unique.

"You know what I mean. We had talked about the colour."

One said and Eight nodded.

"I know. I will have it repainted regularly. Don't worry."

One nodded and looked at the boy.

"Well then, welcome to the team."

Eight nodded and looked at the other ghosts who simply greeted him with a nod. Unfortunately, they didn't have the time to really get to know the newbie. It was running out on them and they still had a long way to go.

"Follow us inside, we need to use the time we have left efficiently."

AN: Again, if you like this story, feel free to share it or leave an ask💕

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kyaada · 6 years

Text

Marketing Belly Master Bait

by kyaada

Ever since Barrett started working at Chunk’s in the mall, he’d developed a bit of a cult following. Barrett’s collection of too-tight tee shirts never failed to highlight every succulent bump and bulge, and the tops combined with packed skinny jeans never failed to impress. Barrett had the most amazing pair of bubbled buns sitting atop mature tree trunk-sized thighs, finished off with meaty calf muscles. Of course, his immaculate fade and neatly trimmed beard gave him a timeless look of masculinity to his handsome features, deep blue eyes, and pearly white smile. When Chunk’s manager realized what a draw his recently hired ex-military muscled hunk had become, he immediately put him in the window-- so to speak.

After Barrett had finished his main tasks, the manager would set him up in a front table alongside the main walkway with one of the biggest sandwiches. Chunk’s was known for their huge stacked sandwiches and fresh breads, warning patrons that they may need to loosen their belts to finish one of the enormous two-handed sammies. The live eating demo was effective in drawing in a variety of customers. At the beginning of the sandwich, lady shoppers would file in to gawk at the handsome young stud while they’d split their lunch and still take half home. Near the end of the sandwich, Barrett would slow down a bit and labor as his stomach filled to the top. His tight tee shirt couldn’t hide his brawny tight bulge, and he’d just lazily lean back in his chair, giving up the thought of sucking it in. The post-sandwich advertisement would draw in the fat hungry dudes looking for a nice full gut, and Barrett would inspect them like cattle as they’d pile in for a good feeding.

A couple of months passed, and Barrett couldn’t help but notice how difficult it had become to squeeze into this hot jeans, much less get them buttoned. The big 6’2” ex-military hunk would stand in front of his bathroom mirror rotating around to inspect his budding love handles and protruding belly, still flexing his biceps to validate his manliness. Barrett would grope each of his pecs with satisfaction, causing each of his nipples to poke out against his tighter tee shirt.

One day, Barrett went into work to find that his manager had decided to double his demo time by having him eat two of the smaller sandwiches, which together summed up to about one and a half of the biggest ones he’d been regularly devouring. Initially, Barrett wasn’t too sure about the idea since he’d already fought especially hard with his top jeans button that morning. The manager upped the ante with two extra-special sandwiches for him, and Barrett happily gorged himself on the thick and meaty deli treats. The manager didn’t want him to have Barrett leave his feeding station for anything, so he brought him several Coke refills to keep washing down seemingly endless sandwich. The manager even brought him a couple of their popular side salads because the big beefer was getting so swollen.

Business was especially good that day late in that lunch rush as lustful fat guys lined up for large sandwiches, drawn in by the potbellied poster boy in front. Barrett just sat there like a god with his thick thighs pushed apart, shoulders back, and his stretched-taut belly bulging out from his marbled beefy pecs to his excruciatingly tight jeans waistband. Barrett applied both of his hands to his blown-up round belly and alternated pushing in with rubbing on each side of the prominent bulge. The big overfed stud breathed shallowly due to how much room his stomach was taking away from his lungs, and he managed a few choice belches that brought in some more wide-eyed guys. Chunk’s manager came out from the back after adjusting his impossibly hard dick in his jeans and approached his prime Grade-A beefball that adorned the front of his restaurant.

Barrett rested his hands on his thighs as the manager came up to him, showing off how the sublimely tight well-worn cotton hugged every bump and bulge, and perfectly outlined his plump belly button. Barrett tilted his head back and looked his manager in the eyes, “Oh my God...I’m so ff-ff-uu-uu-ll-ll-ll-ll.” The manager smirked as he reached down to push around on Barrett’s big bloated belly. Engorged Barrett emitted a combination of grunts and belches, unable to tighten his long-softened abs enough to protect his pregnant belly against the directed pokes and musical thumping. “Sorry, Barrett, we have those new Chunk-y S’Mores Cookies and we need to push ‘em. That means, we’re gonna have to push this stomach of yours a little bit more.”

Barrett’s eyes somewhat crossed as he processed the latest directive. “I dunno. I think ...” Barrett paused to let out a really big burp, “I think I might explode.”

“Nah,” said the manager, “a big strong guy like you? Pfft. That strong table muscle of yours will just s-t-r-e-t-c-h to accommodate extra loading. The worst thing that might happen is that you’ll have to pop that top jeans button.”

“Okay, alright, well, let me get ‘em.” Barrett insisted, scooting his chair back with an obvious noise. Spreading his thighs apart and dropping his hard gut through the open space, Barrett placed his hands on the tops of his legs to push himself upright. It was no small amount of effort lifting his bulk off of the chair, but once he succeeded he had the attention of most of the diners in the seating area. Barrett’s belly was bloated out in a circle in front of him, and the ultra-taut waistband of his ridiculously stuffed jeans was scrunched down to a fraction of its height. Just south of the hefty gut was another bulge that eagerly pushed against the low-rise zipper. The manager followed the wobbling stuffed stud, smiling at all of the attentive chewing faces. It was so difficult not to fixate on Barrett’s widened back and his stout bubble butt, and the manager fought hard not to just slap his fat ass.

Once Barrett was standing, he realized that it was going to be harder than hell to sit back down and continue to eat, so he compromised with the manager to stand at the end of the counter by the register to stuff in his melty delicious cookies. Capturing the attention of a very hefty daddy type in line waiting for his giant sandwich to be made, Barrett smiled at him and stretched his thick arms up in the air. The hem of his overburdened tee shirt inched slowly up the sphere like a curtain rising on a stage as it bared the divine appearance of Barrett’s thick treasure trail and his perfectly shaped deep belly button. The round-gutted daddy ventured closer to the register after being served his thick sandwich and dessert cookies, still captivated with the sight of Barrett’s bare crescent of belly and naughty zipper that had started to escape down its track.

“Well, these sure looked good so I had to have some,” said the fattened daddy, winking at the manager, who stood beaming behind the extra full Barrett. “After all, I gotta keep up my figure. The food is always so damn good and filling here-- I never know when to stop!” The fattened daddy finished signing his credit card receipt and poked the capped end of the pen into the side of Barrett’s thoroughly pumped lunchball. “Looks like I’m not the only one, guy.”

Barrett chuckled as he ran his meaty hand across his swollen gut, “yup, the hazards of the job, I’m afraid. You just gotta remember to stop before you pop!”

The manager put his hand on the big stud’s shoulder, “tell you what, why don’t you go have a seat with this nice gentleman while he enjoys his lunch, and I’ll make you one of our Gut Topper Cake Shakes. Deal?”

“Gut Topper? Well, today, it might just become a Gut Popper...but okay. Load me up...”

The two guys headed off for a table in the back of the seating area near the kitchen. The fat daddy couldn’t wait to start pushing food down his gullet, so he plopped his big butt down and started shoveling. Barrett towered next to the table for a moment deep in thought, then reached under his enormous belly bulge to fight with his jeans button. “Dude, I’m sorry, but these things are cutting me in half.” The fat daddy’s cheeks bulged with food as he witnessed Barrett’s abdominal muscle contortions caused by the stuffed stud’s efforts to suck in the protuberant swell, but finally Barrett was able to pop open the top and breathe a little.

“Ooofff,” sighed Barrett, giving his rounded midsection an invigorating rub. Barrett held on to his zipper as he sat to make sure that the open “V” of his jeans didn’t spread too wide in a family restaurant.

“I couldn’t help but notice those jeans were pretty much painted on ya, big guy,” remarked the fat daddy.

“Yup, I’ve gained a few pounds since I started working at Chunk’s. The manager feeds me up daily.”

“Daily feedings? You might want to get some pants with an elastic waistband so you can expand in comfort.”

Barrett hovered down and planted his meaty bubbles in the chair directly across from the fat daddy, pretty much looking like a leaned-back, very-pregnant Buddha.

“Well, I know what that’s like to plan ahead for such things,” said the fat daddy, “my wife has been overfeeding me for years.” He leaned back and thumped his obvious gut bulge, “can’t say that I mind too much, after all, I love food.” The fat daddy’s eyes cruised over the topography of Barrett’s tight tee shirt. “I used to look like you when we first started dating, well, you about 50 pounds ago and before you stuffed your gut today.”

Barrett chuckled again, his facial expression slowly turning into concentration as he tried to do arithmetic in his head. “...and you’re not as tall as I am. If you don’t mind me asking, how much do you weigh?”

“By the way, my name’s Josh.” Both had to spread their thighs apart to make room for their bellies so that they could lean in to shake hands. “I don’t mind you asking me how much I weigh-- in fact, I just got my 300 pound ribbon at Recipe Club.”

“Recipe Club?”

“It’s something my wife got us into. Just a small group started by women who love to cook or are learning how to cook, and they invite their guys to join them to enjoy their rather prolific production.”

“...and you got a ribbon?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s the opposite of what Weight Watchers rewards, but we watch our weight as well. Watch it increase!” Josh giggled. “Needless to say, the guys get more ribbons faster during the holidays. We have to weigh in when we get there, and some of us weigh again as we’re leaving... just for fun.”

“What a trip!”

“...speaking of trips, we just took the kids through Vegas and then on a Disney cruise, and I can’t believe the amount of food.” Josh continued through frequent large bites of sandwich, “it was like the ideal glutton vacation... I was powerless amongst all those buffets and high-calorie foods! My belly was so damn big and tight at the end of each night that you could have rolled me to our room. Roll... Burp... Roll... Burp...”

As Barrett was drawn in to the imagery of Recipe Club and Josh’s trip of unrestrained gorging, he wondered about the timing of certain things. “So, when did you go from DadBod to DadBalloon?”

Josh got a good laugh out of the pointed question. “Kid number two.”

As they were both still cracked up over Josh being fattened up, Chunk’s manager appeared with a large frosty cup and a funnel. “Okay, Barrett, tilt and open!”

Josh smiled broadly as he detected Barrett’s newness to the concept, though he suspected that he must have beer bonged a little during some wild parties. Barrett wrapped his full lips around the bottom of the funnel opening and the manager pushed it a little farther down into his mouth once he felt his lips tighten up to steady. As he poured the giant vanilla cake shake slowly into the funnel, he was careful not to spill a drop. Barrett’s eyes widened and he put his hand on top of his again-swelling belly. Josh stuffed his face as he watched the bottom of Barrett’s rib cage rise as his bloatation device deployed fully. One of the cooks was returning from his break and stopped by the filling station to put his hand on top of Barrett’s solid round protruding stomach ledge, “wow, it’s a Gut Topper! Barrett-- you’re gettin’ to be a whopper!” The cook couldn’t resist giving Barrett’s barrel a parting slap to hear him grunt.

Barrett’s breathing was getting quite labored towards the end of the giant shake, and his nipples were practically shooting through his ultra-taut tee shirt. The advanced size of the Barrett’s fattened belly coaxed the hem up again to bare succulent skin and dark-colored fur.

Josh nearly choked shoving food into his mouth at such a high rate of speed, but he got down his enormous sandwich just as the manager finished loading Barrett’s firm round Buddha gut. The manager lifted the funnel out of Barrett’s O-shaped mouth as the dangerously overfull stud licked shake remnants off of his lips and continued to swallow the rest down his gullet. Barrett just had to sit there with his hands down his sides, feeling that his beefy pecs were about to bump him in the chin at any moment. The manager nodded his head and reached down to thump the mighty round bellyful. The combination of thick muscle walls, a nice layer of fat, and a thoroughly packed digestive tract made the most sublime of deep satisfied sounds.

“Good God, that melon is ripe.” Josh critiqued, leaning back to rest his hand on top of his big sandwich lunch. “And Barrett bared it-- that shirt is too small for ya, big buddy!”

Barrett’s smile curled onto his lips with a bit of a delay caused by his food coma. After the manager left, Barrett put his hands on his overblown balloon and rubbed.

“Man, you look like how I felt after the 24 hour buffet pass in Las Vegas. You know, I knew that it was going to be a bad thing-- I could tell when I walked in the first place and saw all of the groaning, belching guys. They looked like fully engorged ticks about to pop. Well, that was me a day later because we just kept going back for more and more and more. My lovely bride overate, my daughter got bored, but my son found his groove. I was laughing at him little at breakfast because he’s got a weakness for waffles, pancakes, pastries, and bacon.” Josh laughed as he listened to Barrett wheeze with his eyes half-closed; Barrett’s fully distended gut had swollen even more with the cake shake, pushing him farther back against his chair. “Of course, he got me back later in the day after second dinner. We were back in the room, and I was bloated out on the floor next to the couch while we were all watching a movie. Ever since I read him “Hop on Pop” when he was a kid, he’s wanted to bounce on my belly-- especially after I eat too much. He thinks it’s really funny.”

Suddenly, Barrett emitted a lengthy bass-toned belch, causing both of them to laugh heartily. Barrett patted his thoroughly round belly and flexed his pecs. “I’m pretty sure that if anyone hopped on me right now, I’d pop for sure!”

Josh munched on his cookies and agreed. “You could bounce a quarter off of that gut right now, Barrett. You remind me of some of those big bloated-up young guys on the cruise ship. Poppin’ Fresh Pillsbury Doughboys gorging their way to tight-skinned ecstasy, unbuckling their belts and stuffing themselves like Thanksgiving turkeys. I would think ‘damn, I hope we don’t hit a rock and end up shipwrecked on some island full of hungry cannibals’” Josh said as he finished the last bite of his marshmallowy chocolatey gooey cookies.

“Ooof, a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey-- that’s how I feel at the moment,” Barrett admitted as he gave his stout round belly another rubbing.

“And look,” Josh said, supporting the astute observation. “Just squeeze you in between some big bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and sit a pumpkin pie on top of your belly ledge for dessert.”

Josh glanced at his watch and realized that he was late to get back to work. “Guess I better get my fat ass in gear.” Josh hoisted himself up, satisfied with the extra-large lunch and conversation, brushing past Barrett just as he took that moment to stretch his arms up in the air. Josh paused to smack a couple deep-seated belches out of Barrett. “Keep eatin’, big guy, keep rollin’ down that path to the big 3-0-0... but keep an eye out for cannibals!”

~.~

Many weeks passed, and Barrett’s allure changed somewhat to the ladies who lunched at Chunk’s. It seemed that the amount of weight he’d gained was difficult for some of them to accept; after all, he’d plumped by forty pounds in a relatively short time after significantly long lunchtime stuffings. Barrett still presented as quite beefy with one foot still in the gym, but there was no denying his big round belly and widened booty that mercilessly stuffed his shrinking wardrobe. His handsome face had filled out accordingly and he had the start of a second chin hidden under his fuller beard; regardless, his piercing blue eyes and immaculate grooming still caused heads to pivot. Josh the 300+ pound daddy continued to come in once a week to stuff himself with sandwich, and Barrett always treated him to at least one Gut Topper. Josh would especially enjoy the belly blowout when Barrett personally funneled the extra creamy cake shake down his gullet.

Awhile back, the manager had hired a new cook when Chunk’s had added pizza to their calorie-driven menu. Barrett had recognized the guy immediately from high school, although Peter’s 5’11” frame had filled out some since those earlier days. Peter had been a swimmer all during high school and was always pretty wide-shouldered and lanky, which changed through his college experience in the dining halls. Of course, Peter recognized Barrett right away as well, and would tease him about how fat he’d become. Barrett would always comment right back about Peter’s modest college weight gain. Chunk’s cooks wore nice pullover shirts that bore the restaurant’s logo on the left breast, and Peter’s shirt was always a little pizza sauce-splattered and tight. Peter’s pudgy round belly pooched out over his Dockers taut waistbands, and no one could miss his pasta butt that stressed the seam in the back.

The two former schoolmates never really talked much in school, but they developed a friendly, yet somewhat tense, rivalry at work. Peter was slightly jealous with the fact that Barrett got away with hardly working and mostly just eating while he sat on his constantly widening ass. The manager had added pizza to Barrett’s daily demonstration, and Peter was usually the one that made the pie. Peter would deliberately pile on additional toppings, knowing that Barrett would have to stuff the slices down on top of his torturously large sandwich and sides.

After a month of silent warfare, both Barrett and Peter had packed on weight. Barrett was undeniably impressed with Peter’s bloat capacity and how much the littler guy could stomach in one stretching session. Peter, who loved the fact that his packed pizzas were adding to both Barrett’s bottom and front lines, immensely enjoyed the big stud’s trips in to the kitchen to moan about his overloaded gut. Barrett was supposed to sweep around the kitchen after his lunch demonstration, and he’d invariably be as close as possible to Peter so that he could bump him with his solid gutsphere. Barrett would belch in Peter’s general direction to egg him on, and soon Peter would march on up to the 6’2” beefster and playfully threaten to punch his big ol’ gut. Barrett would push his belly out even more and tell Peter to give it his best shot. The manager would always intercede in time saying “Don’t pop him! Barrett has to work tomorrow!”

Time bulged on, and the manager had to bring in a scale due to rising concerns about their Frontline Eater position, of which Barrett had done such an incredible job filling. “Boy, are you ever fat now,” the manager told Barrett as he processed the number on the scale’s display, “three hundred and twenty pounds. I’m afraid that we’re going to move you to back of house for awhile-- put the big beefer out to pasture, so to speak. Your gluttonous performances are still bringing in the fat guys, but the average group of ladies who lunch seem to think you’ve gotten too fat for them to fantasize about over their porky husbands.”

“Aw, come on!” Barrett spurted out, “I know women still look at me.”

“Well, yeah. They look at you and think about the big fat growling gut they’re going to have to go home and feed that night. All the work they’ll go through stuffing their husband’s belly enough so he’ll fall asleep on the couch and not bother them for the rest of the night.”

A vision of his fat daddy friend Josh popped into Barrett’s mind. “Some women enjoy feeding their hubbies-- in fact, they relish the thought of fattening them up.” Barrett’s crotch tingled a bit as he remembered Josh’s most recent Chunk’s visit when he owned up to weighing 350 pounds and whispering the most arousing admission in his ear. Josh had dreamed one night that he’d been stretching his belly for weeks in the hopes of growing it immense enough to hold a stuffed Thanksgiving Barrett.

The manager’s mind was made up, so he put Barrett next to Peter in the kitchen so that they could work out any issues the two had while Barrett shed a few pounds. The days went by with the two reminiscing about the old days and pretty much making a buffet of the prep tables. It was on a Friday when Peter offered one particularly compelling memory.

“You remember that time at the school assembly when three of you guys on the football team had a pizza eating contest in front of the whole school?” Peter asked.

“Oh yeah. My gut ached the rest of the afternoon,” Barrett confessed.

“Oh damn... well, you won....and you ate the entire pizza,” Peter recalled. “You had the biggest fucking belly that day...”

“I remember that.” Barrett smiled, “after school, I was sprawled out on the grass in Senior Square warning guys not to step on my belly.”

“You were wearing this really tight orange pullover shirt and I thought your belly looked like a big pumpkin.” As Peter shared his thoughts, Barrett chuckled and patted his much fatter, bigger belly. “I had like ten dollars and I wanted to take you to McDonald’s and get you whatever you wanted.”

“You did? Huh...” Barrett thought for a moment. “Guess that would have made you ‘Peter Peter Pumpkin Feeder’ in a way...” Barrett thought for another moment, “wait... that’s why you would makin’ my pizzas so big! You’ve been fattening me up on purpose!”

Peter slapped Barrett in his big ol’ belly. “Well, truth be told, you were already amply fattened when I started here... nicely marbled beef... I just wanted you to get a little fatter.”

“A little fatter? Well, I’m 320 pounds now.” Barrett stated, bumping his firm round gut into Peter’s fat belly. “Feel the size of this beast now!”

“My guess is that this beast needs to be fed,” Peter said, grabbing on to each side of the studly gut being pushed into him. “I’ve got ten dollars for McDonald’s after work...”

Somehow, Peter and Barrett kept their minds on finishing their shifts at Chunk’s, and agreed to meet at the nearest McDonald’s at six o’clock. Peter decided to keep his work clothes on, despite the fact that he smelled like an overweight pizza. Since he’d gone ahead and eaten his free work meal, his Dockers were exceptionally tight despite the fact that they were pushed down far below his fat belly. Barrett had gone home and rifled through a few drawers to find that famous orange pullover shirt from high school, only to find that he nearly ripped it getting it over his much more developed chest and arms, and the old top was no match for his very ample belly. The shirt couldn’t reach to cover his wide love handles and the hem created a crisp line around his big manly gut above his dreamily deep belly button. He had one last pair of jeans that he put forth his best effort to button, and walked out of the house looking like a giant overstuffed sausage.

Barrett walked in to the McDonald’s and immediately felt eyes gluing to his bared belly; among other sets, one set of eyes belonged to Peter, and another set belonged to Josh-- Barrett’s fat daddy friend from Chunk’s. Josh’s hefty wife turned her head to see who her chubby hubby was gawking at and seemed suitably impressed. Peter stood up, shifted his boner, and walked over to meet the vision in orange that wobbled his way closer.

“How about that-- that shirt fits differently than it did in high school, Barrett!”   “Just a little bit. I’m a few pounds heavier now.”

Both of them strolled up to the counter together, each enjoying the reaction of the chubby young counter dude whose mouth dropped open in response the audacity of Barrett’s attire.

“What do ya want? My treat.” Barrett offered, rubbing Peter’s shoulder.

“Oh, it’s my treat, Barrett.”

“Let’s do this-- I’ll get you what I want you to eat, and you can do the same for me. How about that?”

Soon enough, the two Chunk’s employees had decided on a booth across from where Josh and his wife still sat eating. Before taking a seat, Barrett and Peter said hello to the oversized married couple, carefully noting the pile of empty boxes and wrappers in front of Josh. Even though it was one of the booths made larger to more easily accommodate fat people, Josh was obviously stuck. The table’s edge butted firmly against his enormous round belly, and the portion above table level bulged onto the surface an inch. Josh’s ribs were shoved up and back around the bloated stomach, and it was as hard for him to speak as it was to breathe.

“Josh, I do believe that you’ve been fed into place!” Barrett said.

“Indeed he has,” came the voice from across the table. “We’re stretching his belly all day today-- kids are at their grandparents. There’s a young pup at Recipe Club that’s about to get his 360 pound ribbon and Josh has got to keep up! You must be Barrel-- I mean, Barrett,” she said, looking at the tall stud’s ample belly.

Barrett chuckled. “Yes, that’s me, Barrett. And I guess I do resemble a food barrel these days.” He shook her hand and introduced Peter. “Well, well, Josh. Just look at this huge belly wedged in this booth...” Barrett gently poked around on the top of Josh’s overstuffed belly.

“Careful, now... don’t poke too hard. You’ll pop the pig! He’s been eating all day to stretch his belly for an upcoming Vegas trip. I mean, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that 24 hour buffet pass and wants to go for a three day gorging weekend.”

“Haven’t been able to get enough to eat today, boys,” Josh wheezed.

“That can definitely be a problem,” Peter observed with an unmistakably evil smile on his face.

Barrett thumped Josh’s enormous gut and said, “keep on stuffing, Josh-- Thanksgiving is comin’ and you’re either going to eat or be eaten!” Reaching over to his serving tray, Barrett grabbed a Quarter Pounder box and sat it on top of Josh’s solid ball of food.

Two McDonald’s employees, including the chubby guy poured into his uniform, brought two trays each over to where Barrett and Peter had chosen to plant their numbered sign. Without much more conversation, the two guys got down to business and began stuffing themselves. Josh sat and belched while he digested, watching with great interest as Barrett and Peter blew up in size. Their enthusiasm for gorging was amazing to watch. It was no surprise that they finished all of that food and four soda refills only to look at each other and say “More!”

Josh’s wife took his wallet up to the counter and surprised Barrett and Peter with another round of Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, fries, and Chicken McNuggets. Peter’s incredible ability to bloat up into a round ball raised eyebrows near and far in the restaurant. His Chunk’s uniform shirt’s hem inched up the stuffed belly ball, and his Dockers launched into space as he heaved a satisfied sigh.

“Your belly is gettin’ big,” Barrett said to his rotund dinner mate.

“Well, look who’s talking,” plump-bellied Peter turned around on the overstuffed stud. “It’s like someone connected that pumpkin to a tire pump!”

Barrett’s orange pullover had slid up above his packed-taut bloatsphere, exposing the full height of his treasure trail. Barrett’s belly button, with its fat rounded entry, begged for a chubby finger to explore its warm depths.

“I say we go pick up a box of donuts and go to my place, Peter.”

The two roundbellied twentysomethings thanked fat daddy Josh and his wife for their generosity and waddled their way out to their trucks. “Hope you get full enough, Josh!”

“Never!”

Peter picked out the fat pills at the best grocery store bakery in town, making sure to choose an enticing array of all kinds, including extra-filling-fattening cream-filled ones, before speeding on over to Barrett’s address.

“C’mon in if you have donuts...” Barrett teased as he stood there in his ridiculously undersized orange pullover and underwear with a spot of wet pre-cum at the end of his fully lengthened cock.

Peter broke into a sweat from the heat radiating off of the engorged stud, shaking a little as he set two boxes of donuts on the dining room table. Barrett slapped Peter’s butt that was as yet encased in the seam-stressed Dockers, “damn your ass got fat after high school.”

“I like to eat,” Peter told him turning his head sideways.

“I can tell. The pregnant belly was another dead giveaway.” Barrett pulled Peter’s pants down and bent him over the dining room table. Peter’s stout full belly smacked on the surface like a gargantuan slab of bacon and Barrett watched his sides bow out under the pressure. Barrett shifted his loaded cock into the upright position and rubbed it back and forth between Peter’s plump buns. “Fuck that feels good....my gut’s so fucking big that I can’t see what I’m doing, but I can definitely feel the heat from your hole...”

“Jesus, your dick is as big as I always thought it was...” Peter grunted.

“You got me so hot that I’m brimming with cum today... if I pumped your ass right now, I’d shoot a load so fat that your belly would explode.”

“Do it, fat stuff,” Peter begged, “because after you pop my cherry in grand style, I’m gonna feed you every last donut in that box. You stuff my butt and I’ll bust your gut.”

Nearly breaking the table in the process, Barrett finished the deed, pumping Peter completely full of his seed.

Taking Barrett by the hand and grabbing the box of donuts, Peter led his round target into the bedroom. Getting situated leaned against the headboard and spreading his legs far apart, Peter motioned for the ballooned stud to lay belly-up on him with his head on his shoulder. Once Barrett was in place, there was not going to be any moving him for an extended period of time. Peter’s view around Garrett’s head was of a tall round mountain that wobbled from side to side when the bed shook. “Will you just look at the size of this fucking tank?!” Peter put his hands on either side of Barrett’s enormously swollen stomach and spread his fingers. Gently shaking the massive sphere of manflesh, Peter breathed heavily in Barrett’s ear as the heavy stud continued to weigh down on his own achingly full stomach. “Soldier, you’ve really let yourself go...your punishment is going to be severe... forcefeeding until your greedy belly bursts like an overblown balloon.”

Peter picked through the donuts and began stuffing them into Barrett’s eager maw in rapid succession. As icing began to collect in the overfed boy’s beard, his tongue worked overtime to get every last bit. As Barrett was chewing nearly unmanageable mouthfuls, Peter rubbed all over the swelling stomach. With a whole box of donuts down the gullet, there was a giant mound formed that pushed straight up in the air. Peter thumped on the top of the donut dome, amazed at how dense it sounded and the volume of belch it quickly produced. Barrett’s advanced gut was easily the size of a beach ball, and Peter was wishing that he had a view far enough away to fully appreciate its fullness.

“Oh God, I’m gonna pop,” Barrett moaned.

Peter pushed his index finger into the top of Barrett’s solid donut dome and tested it for doneness. “Nope, you’re not ready yet,” Peter whispered in his 320+ pound stud’s ear and opened the second box.

Engaged in relentless stuffing, Barrett’s gutsphere stretched wider and taller. Peter spread his fingers as far apart as possible to rub as much belly at once as he could. Barrett’s panic was becoming more evident as his taut, shiny ball maxed out with half of the second box of donuts crammed inside.  “Okay, Soldier, I’ll spare your gut from certain explosion,” Peter announced. Barrett responded with an wall-shaking belch. Squashed a little under the weight of the overfed stud, Peter wriggled his way out and stood at the side of the bed admiring the gigantic beach ball. The bottom of his enormous gut was as taut as the top, and the roundness bumped against his spread meaty thighs.

Peter slowly made his way on to the bed, throwing his leg over Barrett’s wide body and bouncing his fat butt briefly on the tall mountain of belly. Realizing that he was about to push several donuts right out of Barrett’s mouth, Peter quickly slid down off of the ball gut and landed on his hard-again cock. Peter was reminded of how full his own belly was as it met fatly against the bottom third of Barrett’s gutsphere. Peter regained his strength, grabbed a hold of each of Barrett’s meaty pecs and humped his cock against the giant hard belly. Getting ready to shoot his load, Peter grabbed another donut, plugged Barrett’s furry feedhole with it, and ate up the sight of Barrett’s hungry expression as he spurted cum all over Barrett’s lower bellysphere.

“Feels good to get caught up on lost time, huh?”

#kyaadaoriginal weightgainfiction DadBod feeder feedee grommr feabie

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kuraiamore · 7 years

Text

Zura 2017 bday fic, plum rain

pairing: Gen (though can be GinZura if you feel like it)

fandom: Gintama

rating: G

summary: Happy birthday, Zura!

I know, I know, I’m late, but this ended up so much longer than I expected (I mean, all my fics end up like that, but still...), and I’m a very easily distracted creature >.< In any case, it’s done now, so I hope you enjoy!<3

AO3 or read below

Another day of nothing but dreary summer rain, the overcast skies so heavy with water Gintoki thinks he should start stepping outside for his morning showers and save on the water bill—except going outside would mean standing around in the muggy weather and having to deal with the outside humidity making the air dense and sticky against his skin.

Yeah, better to just keep lounging around on his desk chair and wait for the rainy season to pass.

After all, if snivelling kids and high school brats get a summer holiday, why can’t he? He is most definitely still a kid at heart; his hoarded pile of Shounen Jump could attest to that, which reminds him…

He swivels around on his chair and checks the calendar hanging by the window.

Yep, Monday; the latest issue of his most beloved magazine should be out by now, waiting for him on the cheap wooden shelves of convenience stores and train station kiosks.

His fingers twitch, the phantom sensation of rough paper and waxy front and back covers sliding across his pads. He glances out the window; the downpour hasn’t relented at all, torrents of rain falling lazy and fat over Edo and sending the slightly rotten petrichor of the city wafting up into the Yorozuya office.

“Ne, Kagura,” he singsongs, swinging his chair back around to look across the room at the young Yato seated on the floor between coffee table and couch, a pen in hand and doodling absentmindedly on a letter she's been composing to Umibouzu for the past hour, more paper and pens in varying colours scattered about the table.

“What is it, Gin-chan?” she asks, mild and sweet as the summer rain singing around them. The faraway quality to her voice that always appears on slow, rainy days dips her words with a soft wistfulness she’s probably not even aware of. Gintoki drums his fingers against the desk and waits for the butt of the pen to stop moving and bright blue eyes to turn in his direction.

“You hungry?” He does his best to keep his voice cool and nonchalant, but long experience living with him immediately makes Kagura narrow her eyes and cock her head to the side.

“And if I said I was?”

“What’s with that suspicious look, huh? Here I am, your gracious and generous guardian, simply wanting to offer you the chance to head down to the convenience store with money earned from my blood and sweat so that you can buy yourself a snack.”

Her eyes narrow even further, as if she’s squinting at something particularly loathsome.

“And pick up the latest copy of Jump for me while you’re there,” he finally relents.

“What a scummy adult you are, Gin-chan,” Kagura says, somehow managing to look down on him even though she’s the one sitting on the floor, “trying to trick young girls into going out into the rain for a stupid stack of papers no decent person over the age of fifteen would be caught dead with. What if I caught a cold and got sick, huh? What kind of guardian would you be then, huh? Would you feed me lots of rice and pickled seaweed and wait on me hand and foot until I got better, aa?” She pauses, her eyes widening to what would be a guileless stare if it wasn’t for the sly gleam sneaking through. “Actually, yes, give me some money, Gin-chan, I think I’ll head down to the shops after all.”

As Kagura stretches out her free hand towards him, palm up, he kicks out with his foot and spins around to face the window again.

“Ahh, look at all that rain out there!” He gesticulates wildly up at the grey-white sky. “Guess you better stay indoors after all, Kagura! Wouldn’t want you getting sick now, would we?”

“You should go out, Gin-chan; idiots can’t catch colds, so you’ll be fine.”

Gintoki only grunts in reply, leaning back heavily in his chair and staring drearily out the window. His only solace is the thought that no one with a respectable job is likely out in the downpour, and surely no working man or woman has time for the ¥300 childish mindlessness of Shounen Jump. There’ll most definitely be a copy waiting for him tomorrow, and with the month almost at its end, the rainy season should be over any day now.

He settles more comfortably into the desk chair, content to listen to the rain wash over the city and let the day pass by in quiet banality.

He zones out to the tinkling of water droplets falling on metallic roofs, the rush of the water gurgling and trickling through the empty streets below, and almost misses the knock at the door, only just managing to discern the rhythmic tap-tap-tap pounding beneath the pitter-patter.

“Gin-chan, door,” Kagura says helpfully.

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself, peeling himself from fake leather and moving sluggishly down the hallway to the front of the apartment. “Who in their right mind would be outside in this crappy weather?”

He pulls open the sliding panel and his entire version goes white, a blast of heated air flying into his face. At first he thinks he’s gone and fainted for no apparent reason, but then he blinks several times in rapid succession and takes a step back to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway, the wide outline of his body almost blurring into the white-grey of the sky. In one flipper, the ever-creepy alien duck holds a slim but wide black case by two strappy handles; in the other, his trademark signpost, words sketched out in big, black strokes.

GOOD AFTERNOON YOROZUYA. MAY I COME IN?

A folded umbrella, leaning against the wooden rail, slowly drips a tiny lake onto their porch.

“Don’t get any water into the house,” Gintoki says, moving back to let their visitor in.

Before he can turn to lead the way back into the main room, Elizabeth holds out the case and looks at him expectantly.

Gintoki pulls a face, suspicion in every line, then sighs and takes hold of the straps, hoping that whatever Joui madness he had just resigned himself to wouldn’t take up more than a few hours, and especially wouldn’t involve any running, fighting or general physical activity to be done outside.

A squelching sound pulls him out of his thoughts; he watches in a mix of disbelief and horror as Elizabeth pulls off his duck feet, careful not to touch the wet soles, and lines them up neatly in the genkan. He suppresses the urge to shudder when he catches sight of a pair of feet and ankles peeking out from under the sheet of white, desperately not thinking about what exactly is living under the sheet.

Instead, he carries the case into the living room-cum-office and sets it down on the coffee table above Kagura’s scattered writing equipment. Face up, it takes up almost a third of the whole table.

“Ah? What’s this, Gin-chan?” Kagura stops in the middle of drawing looping curls of silver on a stick figure standing beside two other stick figures, one with two balls of orange and the other with a pair of glasses, and looks up. “Oh, Eli! What are you doing here?”

Gintoki plonks himself on the couch near Kagura as Elizabeth seats himself on the opposite side of the table. The Yorozuya-minus-one both watch curiously as Elizabeth opens up the case and pulls out a card almost as large as the case itself, turning it over for them to read the words emblazoned on the front in shining gold.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATSURA-SAN!

In the background, various shades of dark blue blur together in a watercolour sea that make the words appear to glow. More gold swirls and dustings of gold glitter artfully flow across the expanse of blue, fireworks over an ocean.

Kagura lets out a gasp, “Eli, this is so pretty! Gin-chan, why didn’t you tell me it’s Zura’s birthday?”

Gintoki opens his mouth to protest, because how is he meant to remember the wighead’s birthday, he barely even remembers his own most years, but at that moment, Elizabeth unfolds the card with a flourish and the words vanish from his tongue as his eyes roam across the page. A chaotic jumble of scribbled messages fill up the almost entire space, handwriting in every degree of elegance and messiness spilling in every direction. Blue, black, green, red, purple, and bizarrely, neon pink ink clash together, words edging against each other as their writers vied for room to compose their birthday messages. The only real spot of white left is a small, rhombic patch near the upper left corner.

Near it, Gintoki reads a long, winding message in familiar handwriting.

‘Happy Birthday, Katsura-san! I know that we haven’t know each other for that long, but I feel really happy and grateful to have met you, both as a man and as a samurai. You have taught me a lot over the years, even if it’s only what NOT to do. Thank you for supporting me, and the Yorozuya, whenever we’ve needed it; we’ll always be here to support you too! I hope you have a really great birthday, filled with lots of laughter and smiles! —Your friend, Shimura Shinpachi’

“Look, Kagura.” He points out the message. “Patsuan’s already written a message for us.”

“What are you talking about Gin-chan?” Kagura picks up an orange pen, the one she must have used to draw her hair buns. “Shin-chan wrote such a boring message; we need to write something fun! It’s Zura’s birthday!”

Nodding to herself, Kagura writes a bold ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZURA!!!!’, followed by drawings of a round cake bearing a single candle, a wonky box topped with an extravagantly big bow, and a party popper. The whole thing takes up half the remaining white space, cutting orange lines into the words of the surrounding messages. Gintoki’s eye twitches.

“Oi, leave some space for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now shh, let an artist work.”

Resisting the urge to grumble, Gintoki sits back, catching sight of Elizabeth watching Kagura draw. If Gintoki has to guess, he would say that the alien duck is smiling, though it’s hard to tell with the duck bill.

Several minutes later, Kagura jumps up with an excited shout.

“Done!”

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZURA!!!! Let’s do K-BBQ for your birthday next year!!’

Floating all around the message are balloons and stars in every colour she owns—she had even taken the time to squeeze them into the tiny spaces between other people’s messages, filling the card up completely with colour.

Gintoki doesn’t have room to write even the tiniest ‘hapiba’ that wouldn’t be an illegible series of dots.

Ignoring the strangely hollow feeling in his stomach, he turns to Kagura’s grinning face.

“Looks good,” he admits.

Kagura beams, carefully folding up the card and putting it back in the portfolio case for Elizabeth. Over her head, the alien duck tilts his head in question towards Gintoki; Gintoki stealthily waves a hand in response, shrugging lightly. Understanding, Elizabeth accepts the proffered case from Kagura, bowing to both to them, and starts making his way towards the door.

With Kagura seeing the Joui rebel out, Gintoki wanders back to his desk chair, settling himself to face the window once more. Behind him, the sound of footsteps as Kagura comes back, then the scratching of pen against paper. If Gintoki wanted to, he could pretend that Elizabeth’s short visit had never happened.

But.

His eyes keep drifting to the calendar, circling around the date.

June 26th

Zura’s birthday...

His eyes drift shut, the sound of the rain soothing his ears—

—they had spent a night huddled in an alleyway once, their only shelter from the rain a protruding roof, because the men had found out their General Commander’s birthday and that had evidently been enough cause for the entire army to get drunk—

—Sakamoto had bought a bottle of saké for Zura’s birthday once; it was the first time Zura had ever drank a full bottle all to himself, trying to blame the beautiful red flush of his face on the summer heat—

—once, before—

—back when things had been simple, he and Takasugi had found a hidden pool at the foot of a mountain, in the forests on the far outskirts of the village, and spent the days of the long summer week leading up to Zura’s birthday stealing away to deposit bits of hard candy wrapped in pink paper, packets of nuts and red bean mochi, and the occasional bit of fruit into a box they stashed in the upper branches of a nearby tree, the lid carefully tied down against any curious beaks or paws, until the moment when they could bring Zura up to their secret spot and watch his face light up with pure delight; they had spent the whole day swimming and lounging and laughing, sugar tingling on their tongues—

—one night, the three of them huddled in their futons, Zura had confessed that his grandmother had always bought him plums as a treat for his birthday; the next morning, ignoring the dew still clinging to the grass, he and Takasugi got down onto their hands and knees and let Zura climb onto their backs to pick the ripe red fruits hanging down from lush green branches, the smell of earth and rain and plum all around them.

Gintoki opens his eyes; outside, the rain falls.

“Oi, Kagura, I’m heading out.”

“Huh? Whatcha doing out for, Gin-chan?”

“…Shounen Jump.”

“Oh, hmm. Okay then!”

“Yeah, be back in a bit.”

He slips his wallet into his pocket, pulls on his boots, grabs an umbrella, and is out the door in less than a minute, opening up the umbrella as he heads down the stairs and onto the street. It’s a quick fifteen minute walk to the nearest grocer, water splashing under his boots the whole way. The old lady watching the store gives him a kind smile as he starts picking out the juiciest-looking plums from the stand. It makes him want to protest, and tell her it’s not what it looks like, except what does that even mean, he’s just a regular guy picking out regular plums from a regular fruit store, it’s not like they’re meant for anyone, urgh, okay, he’s just going to pay for the plums and leave.

The old lady smiles at him as he walks out, plastic bag full of plums in hand.

He’s halfway down the street when he realises he doesn’t know where he’s going, that he’s never gone searching for the Joui rebel of his own accord, has no idea where he should even start looking.

(Kagura would know; in between the itinerary she keeps of her father’s travels and the timetable of Shinpachi’s kendo classes at the Koudoukan, she saves the slip of paper holding the location of the latest Joui meeting spot, slipped under their door every month.)

The longer he stands there, the worst the rain seems to feel as it slogs and hammers over his umbrella. The air is oppressive, the collar of his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his neck, his hair all frizzled and bristly in the humidity. Frustration gnaws at his chest, and he’s about ready to chuck the damn plums into the bin just to make himself feel better when a familiar low tenor calls out his name.

“Gintoki?”

Looking up, Gintoki sees the man he had been just about to give up looking for standing a few paces in front of him, a large white-and-yellow patterned umbrella shielding him from the downpour around them. He’s forgone his haori, dressed simply in only his usual blue kimono. His hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, only his fringe and a few loose strands of black framing his face.

Somehow, he looks incredibly young, even though he’s aged another year.

Gintoki licks his lips.

“Oi Zura, the hell you doing out here in this rain?” he asks, completely naturally, walking forward to close the few steps between them.

“I’m not Zura, I’m Katsura,” Zura says on autopilot, then makes a contemplative hum, the sound almost drowned out under the rain. “I tried call a Joui meeting today to discuss our future plans, but everybody said they were busy and that I should take the day off. Even Elizabeth left me this morning!” He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. Gintoki watches his tail of hair swish behind his neck with the movement, somehow still looking soft and silky even with the heat in the air. “Honestly, just how do they think we’ll bring change to the country if we’re not constantly striving towards a new dawn, a new tomorrow? Days shouldn’t be wasted so frivolously like that, it’s unbecoming of a samurai.”

“Japan will still be here in a day,” Gintoki says, his voice gentle despite himself.

Zura shoots him an odd look, eyes searching, and Gintoki glances away, his grip on both bag and umbrella tightening.

He’s relieved when Zura lets the comment go unremarked, instead asking, “so what are you doing out here?”

His whole body relaxes, and he holds up the bag and lets it swing in Zura’s face.

“Grocery shopping. Apartment’s out of food and plums are in season. You want one?”

He supposes he can’t blame Zura for the baffled expression that crosses the man’s face, though it smoothes out a second later as a soft smile lights up.

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says.

If he tries hard enough, Gintoki can pretend that the rapid beating of his heart is no more than the pounding of the water falling around them. He coughs lightly into the back of his hand, the plastic bag rustling with the movement.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” he mutters, averting his eyes from Zura’s gaze and making a show of looking up at the sky, even though the only thing he can see is the red of his own umbrella.

He makes no effort to lead.

“…I have a place we can go,” Zura finally offers, turning on his heel.

Gintoki hums in acknowledgement, following after the rebel; they walk in a sort of meandering stroll, the rain and emptiness of the streets beckoning Gintoki to a dreamlike haze. When they finally reach their destination, a small traditional townhouse off a main road, the only thing Gintoki can clearly remember from their walk is the sound of the rain, the weight of the plums in his hand, and Zura.

Leaving their umbrellas and shoes at the entrance, they pad through to the main room at rear of the house, where Zura slides the shoji screen open to reveal a garden grown wild, leaves and branches tangled and groping over sand and stone. Gintoki plonks down on the tatami mats, handing over the bag when Zura gestures for them. The rebel walks off and comes back a minute later carrying a bowl filled with several pieces of the reddish fruit, water droplets glistening on their skin.

Zura sits down cross-legged and sets the bowl between them. They grab a plum each; the plum juice is cool and sweet on Gintoki’s tongue.

The rain outside eases as they eat, a soft breeze drifting through the falling droplets to cool the damp heat clinging to their skin.

Gintoki waits until he hears Zura bite into his second plum before breaking the silence.

“Hey Zura.”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

A ragged hacking noise.

“O-Oi, you okay?!”

Not knowing what else to do, Gintoki thumps frantically on Zura’s back with his clean hand, trying to catch the other samurai’s face through the fall of his fringe and the hand raised to his face, plum clutched in his fingers.

The choking sounds taper away into little hics, but Zura’s shoulders are still hunched over and shaking, still hiding his face behind hair, hand and plum. It takes Gintoki a few long seconds to realise the wighead bastard is laughing.

Immediately Gintoki’s whole face heats up, and he slaps Zura’s back again out of embarrassment and slight vindictiveness.

“Ah, sorry, Gintoki,” Zura says when the giggles finally subside completely and he can look up properly, letting his hand drop, “I wasn’t expecting that.” His eyes flash suddenly to the left, head tilting slightly with the movement. “Ah, but that could explain… Gintoki, wait here.”

Bemused, Gintoki waits as Zura stands up again, finishing his plum is quick bites and throwing the seed into the garden, and scurries off. He returns carrying a giant saké bottle as tall as his torso, and a round lacquered box painted with pink and white blossoms set against a crimson background. He sets them down next to the bowl of plums, opening the lid of the box to reveal candy wrapped in petal pink.

The scents of alcohol and mountain forest mingle in Gintoki’s memory.

“Elizabeth gave them to me, said they arrived this morning,” Zura says, a note of something bittersweet laced through his voice, “after the men told me to take the day off. I didn’t even think… Did you plan this?”

Gintoki looks at him, perplexed. “What?”

“Did you plan this?” Zura says again, as if Gintoki hadn’t heard instead being merely confused. He leans forward, earnestness taking over the timbre of his voice. “Elizabeth messaged me and told me to go to the convenience store in Kabuki District. I thought I was going to meet him, but then I ran into you.” His eyes shine.

Beyond the shoji doors, the rain recedes to a lull, the only noise vibrating through the air to their ears the slow chime of raindrops dripping off leaves and splattering to the ground.

Gintoki splutters, his brain running to make sense of Zura’s said, tripping over the words and untenably distracted by the intense way Zura is looking at him, the dark fall of his hair bringing out the gold of his eyes.

“I didn’t—it wasn’t planned—I didn’t even know—wait, that thing knows how to message? Since when did you even carry around a phone, Zura?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gintoki. Elizabeth doesn’t know how to message; he writes on his sign, takes a picture of it, and sends that to me.” He says this so matter-of-factly, the veins at Gintoki’s temples pop slightly with annoyance. “And of course I carry a phone. How else would I keep in contact with all the Joui members? Gintoki, you’re the only one who doesn’t carry a phone, you know.”

“Shut up, the Yorozuya doesn’t need a phone, we have plenty of loyal clientele. What’s the point of carrying around a phone, huh? It’s just useless weight. Besides, Kagura—”

Gintoki stops short, his brain jumping through loops as he remembers how docilely Kagura had let him go, no questions or snide remarks or demands for her favourite snacks from the convenience store. How well connected the young alien is in their rough’n’tumble town, her journal full of locations and names and numbers.

Gintoki groans, wiping a hand over his face. “Meddlesome brat.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Gintoki says loudly, making a note to buy Kagura some dango on the way home.

Zura smiles knowingly; Gintoki picks up a pink wrapper and throws it at his face. Zura laughs as it bounces off his nose, catching it in his hand before freeing the bit of crystallised sugar and popping it in his mouth. He picks up another piece and offers it to the man beside him.

Gintoki rolls the bit of candy around his tongue; as it melts into syrup in his mouth, sweet as Zura’s smile, sunlight breaks through the clouds and stretches across their laps. The whole garden gleams, light glinting silver off still-hanging raindrops.

The air, he thinks, rolling another piece of purple-red fruit to his old friend, smells of rain and earth and plum.

#katsura kotarou #sakata gintoki #gintama #hbd zura!<3 #my fic #my writing

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deanmiles13 · 6 years

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My Very First KISS Concert.

KISS- August 10th, Indianapolis, IN. 1979

I can’t actually remember where/when I first heard them, but I do remember the two brothers we hung out with who gave my first KISS record. The NUGENT!!! Brad and Brian. We always wondered and asked about the TED connection... They said it was true.

Anyway, one day, they said I could have this album called Rock and Roll Over. I was immediately drawn to the cover. We lived in the same apartment complex and I ran home and never took that album off. In fact, it was like a drug. I had to have more. Luckily, KISS was everywhere. Magazines, Records, Toys etc. Baseball cards were the big thing at the time and I would steal packs of these. Easy to steal and satisfied my craving for these new monsters that filled my imagination. Also fueled my desire to collect anything and everything KISS. My walls were covered in posters and pages from Circus, Sixteen and Hit Parader. The inside of my closets were top to bottom covered with stuff as well.

The Kabuki make up of my new idols was transfixing. I would notice if a lazy photo editor had published picture of my heroes with their guitar backwards or even lettering on the cases. I would pour over each detail of these pictures until I had exhausted all possibilities as to what was going in the photos. Like where WERE they?!?! Had they beaten up Shawn Cassidy for real? Was IT. goats blood? Did Peter stab someone with a drumstick?

This was pre internet and it was awesome!! But the MUSIC?!?!

It was the real hook. It had me. I had to have it all. We lived near a Woolworth’s and man did we turn that place inside out. We would spend hours there just running all over. I remember people lined up out the door to play Atari -Space Invaders- the day it came out. I took my turn and then got back in line to play it again. Anyway, somehow my brother and I came up with a brilliant scam to get records. In them days, when you would buy a record, they would fold the receipt and staple it to the outside of the bag. SO... We went and bought just one album, and then we just used a “dummy” bag to procure our new drug, a couple of albums at a time. My mom got to asking about my new phono collection and I just told her that a friend “gave them to me”. Well this led to endless hours playing these records.

They never would play KISS on the radio back then, and I would just have an ALL KISS - ALL DAY sorta thing and play these albums back to back. I still own these very same KISS records and there is nary a scratch on them. I covet them!

I would even call radio stations and request KISS. They would straight up laugh and tell me that they would NEVER play that crap on the air. I must’ve been just one of many Flaming Youth trying to set the world on fire.

But when KISS came to town?!?! Man, was Q95 happy to have them down to promote the show. It must have been weird for KISS. Their music wouldn’t /couldn’t be played on radio, yet they still needed radio jocks to promote the show?!?!

Which leads to August 10, 1979.

Market Square Arena (Built in 1974, brought down in 2001) Capacity 16,000 KISS Opening act: Michael Stanley Group.

It was the last Peter Criss tour with them. I don’t remember the build up to the show much. I’m sure we had to go to J.C. Pennys or something to get the tickets. It used to be at Customer Service where you would put payments on layaway stuff. The day of the show however we were off the wall in anticipation.

I wondered where they would be sleeping? When they got here to Indy (Apparently Paul was stopped by a frisky female officer while on i-465. He had a love gun on him). The whole day we were on my Mom, “We gotta go!!! Now!!!” See, this was “Festival Seating” and that was first come- first served. Hell, I would have waited all week if I knew it meant Iwould be sitting up on the front.This was just a glimpse of my dedication and love for Rock and Roll.

But my Mom, she just kept saying “The show don’t start til’ 8:00!” Man, it was the longest day of my life. The show?!?!? I can remember the smoking guitar. Beth... N.Y. Groove and I was made for loving you baby. And sitting so far away, you couldn’t even see the make up they had on. I recall the blood, the smashing of Paul’s guitar.... I still have the program.

But the show, the crowd, the smells. Fuck yes!!! My Mom RULES. Setting a 9 year and 6 year old kid in the middle of this, was baptism by fire.

Back to MOM.....

She knew I was stealing those records. She saw my devotion to this band a saw how it made me feel.... GREAT!!! So, it was slightly weird when I was asked to take down all the posters etc. She said the apartments we lived in wanted to paint each unit and we had to prep. This meant removing everything from the walls.

So, I neatly rolled all the posters and put them in grocery bags. And waited.... And waited... It NEVER crossed my mind why my Mom wasn’t “prepping” and taking stuff off the walls of the apt.

No paint crew EVER arrived. It was front and center on my mind, but slowly slipped from it and so did my posters from my life. I turned around one day to put them back up and couldn’t find them. Our apartment was small and I knew every inch of it. I couldn’t find them anywhere.When I asked my Mom about them, she would just shrug and say “If it was on the floor, I probably threw it away!”

I’ll never forget those words. My temple to the Gods of Thunder was gone. Just like that!!!

This was a life lesson I was being taught by a very caring and loving mom. I know she had no intentions of creating a collecting monster that she did. Years later as I look back on all the boxes of fliers and posters, it all makes sense. Actually, I learned this in therapy years later.

If not for KISS I would never have picked up a broom (works best for Gene/Bass) or a tennis racquet (best for Ace/guitar). But more important, it made me wanna be cool like the cat man. The best voice KISS had. The one with the big hit that made em’ mainstream. The DRUMMER!!! I would play along to the records, air drumming, all the time, The one to set the bar to was Alive. I would grind that one out on Friday nights with my pillows and headphones.

Eventually, my musical taste changed and I kinda moved on from KISS. I would see them a few more times and then with no make up. The WTF moment for all fans. It was uncomfortable to watch them roll with the changes and get more frilly.... UGHH!!!

The next band I got into hardcore, was The Ramones.

Seems to be about right. 4 NY guys, straight up rock, a uniform image, intensity, passion!!!

HEY HO LET’S GO!!!!

#kiss ramones music

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robertkstone · 6 years

Text

2019 Hyundai Kona Electric and Nexo Review: Two Great EVs, One Hard Choice

As if on cue, almost everybody around our white linen dinner table stops for a simultaneous phone-check; the faces of the journalists and our Hyundai hosts dip into puddles of phone-screen illumination. I’m old enough to find this a strange new custom but … hmm, I see that my pal, Larry, is asking what I’m driving today.

I type back “Hyundai Nexo fuel cell vehicle and the Kona Electric.” A few months ago he banged-up his Mustang and took over the lease of a Mirai as his daily driver because he thought it was a good deal.

“You have no idea how much anxiety the Mirai has given me” he quickly types back. “I believe in Elon Musk now.”

Larry’s really angry. He sends me a screen-cap of a cafcp.org (California Fuel Cell Partnership) map of the hydrogen stations he’s staring at right now. His 24-mile daily drive from West Covina to Rancho Cucamonga (that’s laterally—and literally—right across the L.A. basin) traverses a hydrogen desert with just two oases of H2 that are even close if he doesn’t backtrack.

I cannot imagine this routine. It has me reprocessing everything about what happened today.

Within six hours, I’ve driven two CUVs from the same manufacturer that in my opinion are the best hydrogen fuel cell and affordable battery electric car you can buy. The Nexo’s 354-380-mile range overwhelms the Toyota Mirai’s official 312-miles and is comparable to the Honda Clarity’s 366-miles. The Kona Electric’s 258 miles of range easily short-circuits the Bolt’s 238-mile claim to fame. And even if we set these terrific numbers aside—which of course, you absolutely can’t—they really do drive better than any of their rivals.

So here we have the best of their respective breeds. And I know what you’re probably thinking: ‘Who cares? I wouldn’t buy either one anyway.’

On October 7, that was a sort-of passable answer. On October 8, the UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change issued humanity an unequivocal ultimatum: We have about a dozen years to limit the rise in temperature to 1.5 C to avoid the most terrifying consequences of global warming. And even at 1.5 (which we’re racing toward) we’ll still struggle with a lot of pretty bad stuff. To stop it at 1.5, “global net human-caused emissions of carbon dioxide (CO2) would need to fall by about 45 percent from 2010 levels by 2030, reaching ‘net zero’ around 2050.” Debra Roberts, a Co-Chair, said “The next few years are probably the most important in our history.” That includes, let’s see, years like 1939 through 1945, for instance.

Like the Greatest Generation, we’re at war again with a monster. Our 2018 version of 1940’s B17 production lines need to spit out an arsenal of electric cars, and we need to start buying them like they’re war bonds. As of October 8, the Hyundai Nexo and Kona Electric have shifted from dismissible novelty items to crucial solutions. Let me start with the Nexo.

The 2019 Nexo’s top two attractions are that range I mentioned and, unlike the Mirai and Clarity, that it’s shaped into a CUV configuration. The two are connected: although both FCVs (hydrogen fuel cell vehicles) and BEVs (battery electric vehicles) carry very little energy, the barrier to upsizing a BEV’s battery is cost. For FCVs, the problem is figuring out how to package their bulky hydrogen tanks. The Nexo tackles its puzzle by dividing its hydrogen among three identical, cylindrical tanks that are neatly sandwiched under the cargo floor. The tall roofline offers some space to work with (this is an all-new, bespoke FCV platform) and the tank’s uniform size avoids the trunk-lumps imposed by the awkward big-tank/little-tank irregularity of the Mirai and Clarity.

Altogether, the Nexo carries 6.3 kg of 10,000 psi hydrogen, and like Toyota and Honda, Hyundai will initially cover much of the fuel’s high cost (about $17 per kg, with a third of it produced by renewable means). Six-point-three kg of H2 is a lot for a FCV, but it’s actually just the energy equivalent of 6.3 gallons of gasoline. Scared by that number? Welcome to the new math of electric vehicles: the Nexo’s efficient powertrain can convert it into an amazing 380 miles of range—the equivalent of 61 miles-per-gasoline-gallon for the base, 17-inch wheel Blue trim; the heavier, better-equipped, 19-inch wheeled Ultimate travels 354 miles. Two particular details make this particular FCV powertrain distinct: the 95-kW power output of Hyundai’s latest fuel cell has been deliberately reduced (compared to its Tucson-based predecessor) while its battery power rises to 40 kW. It’s a trade-off Hyundai figures is a better balance, letting it inhale more regen energy, and breath acceleration more like a battery-electric car (estimated to be about 9.5 seconds to 60). Anomaly Two is its exchanging the usual, whiney, roots-type air-compressor (pumps are needed to force air into fuel cells) for a less-efficient but hush-quiet turbo-compressor. Stamp the accelerator and at most, it softly whispers.

Despite the electric motor’s meager 161 hp, its torquey 291 lb-ft and EV-reactions scoot it through traffic just fine. It steers fluidly and brakes predictably; it cruises quietly, absorbs pothole peccadillos with aplomb, and its steering wheel regen paddles let you temper your speed with your fingers. It’s a delightfully refined, real-world get-around.

And smart-looking, too. The image that Hyundai’s Senior Chief Designer, Chris Chapman, pictured when he closed his eyes is a smooth river-stone. Serene. With water—or in this case, air—moving effortlessly past it. The nose is simple and polished; there’s air curtains to cox the air over the front wheel opening. And vents disguised into the C-pillar to lessens the trailing low-pressure zone. Notice the base of the A-pillar—it’s blacked-out. Is this the start of ‘flying A-Pillars’ to complement the now ubiquitous flying roof?

I like the 2019 Nexo’s interior even more. The manic, sculptural, molded exuberance we’ve encountered with too many SUV instrument panels has been canned for a refreshingly clean, rectangular-ism. It’s centerpieced by an elegant, monochromatic flying center console of subtle buttons, capped by a swipable, Apple-esque touch screen of quick-comprehend icons. After staring—usually confused—at one after another user interfaces from Acura and Toyota, lately, this thing really seems to get it. Why doesn’t Hyundai replicate this into every one of its interiors?

As the Nexo name suggests, it’s also a rolling showroom of Hyundai’s next-gen features. To the Highlight Reel: Toggle the turn signal and a video feed from the left or right cameras appears on the driver screen; start to steer into an occupied lane and the Nexo’s wheel resists your imminent knuckleheadness; if you slowly pass an open perpendicular parking spot of your dreams, the car will signal you to stop. Get out and hold a button on the fob, and as long as you’re walking beside it within 5 feet, the car reverses-in and does all the rest.

Suddenly an alert blinks on my phone. It’s Larry again. He’s at a station now, trying to fill up his Mirai and sends me a picture of the pump. There’s a hand-written note taped on it: ‘H70 Not Working. Use H35 Nozzle. If you are below 1/2 tank it will give you fuel. If you’re above 1/2 you won’t get fuel.’ H70 is hydrogen pressurized at 10,000 psi, which is what he needs. He adds “Of the two hydrogen stations on my daily route, one has been down since last Friday, the other since god knows when. Now I need to go to Anaheim, 20 miles away to refuel. I’m off to hell.”

A hydrogen fuel cell vehicle takes about the same time to fill as a gasoline car’s fuel tank—three to five minutes—an often-sited, killer-advantage over a battery EV’s long charging times. But during the Q&A after the Nexo technical presentation, Dan Neil of The Wall Street Journal, barked “What good is a 5-minute refill if it takes 20-minutes to get to the station?” Larry would have followed that with a screamed, ‘And then the station is down!’

Like the Nexo, the Kona Electric is also a front-drive, electric CUV, but 19.3 inches shorter, 3.0 inches lower, 2.3 inches narrower, and sits on a platform shared with its two gas-engine siblings. Up until this car, I’ve regarded non-dedicated battery-EV platforms as 100-percent lousy BEV platforms because enough battery space never gets baked-into their blueprints. But the Kona Electric’s 64 kW-hrs of battery energy tops the Bolt’s 60, it fits innocuously under the floor and rear seat, and its liquid-cooled thermal management way-better copes with high and low temperature charging (it’s over twice as quick at -4 F, 40 percent quicker at 104 F). As the power output of SAE Combo fast chargers upgrade above 50 kW, the Kona will be ready with a 75 kW appetite that can be satiated in 54-minutes. If you’ve scheduled a charging to happen automatically during late-night off-peak hours, a convenient button next to the charging port lets you override that and charge ‘now’ without climbing into the car to change it. And the battery’s default charge limit can be tailored to your typical needs to reduce battery wear (ala Tesla).

The Kona Electric has regen tricks, too: finger-tug the left and right steering wheel paddles lets you toggle up and down through four levels of regen, ultimately reaching 0.25 g (a genuine, casual braking rate) if you hold the right paddle; keep holding it and you can ride all the way down to a complete stop. And why didn’t-we-think-of-this-one: its default rate of deceleration is kept constant regardless of whether the road’s level, uphill, or descending by automatically dialing regen up and down. There’s a sort of cruise-control lite, too: While following a car ahead, the Kona can automatically apply regen for minor speed corrections (though accelerating still requires your right foot).

Hyundai says that all its shifters will migrate to button arrays (away from classical slot-shifters) and tapping this one’s Drive button is more or less symbolic of the effortlessness with which the Kona operates. Starting at $37,000 (before tax incentives) even the base, SEL version (let alone the pricier Limited and Ultimate ones) has a drivetrain polish that would make some $100,000 German luxury sedans blush. One-speed, vibrationless electric drivetrains are just as hard to follow, this one’s claimed 7.6 seconds to 60 mph seems way swifter than that due to its typical zero-rev torque burst. Dynamically, its biggest fault is simply road noise (that weird warble at low speeds is pedestrian alert). Other niggles? The back seat is tight, and it’s aero-friendly nose is, well, a matter of aesthetic opinion. But if I were in the market for an affordable, electric, silky-driving everyday commuter with good adaptive cruise control, genuinely useful lane-centering, and a helpful head-up display, the Kona Electric Ultimate would be on a very short list.

Larry sends a third text. He says his Mirai never completely refills, leaving him with a real-world range of around 230 miles, not the claimed 312. “So I need to plan a stop when there’s 80-90 miles left which means I have to do that pretty much every other day.” (Later, he sends me a dash picture of his 229-miles of range just after filling; he drives pretty hard, but I get his point). Our logbook from a long-term a Mirai driven by an economy-minded editor, averaged 279, and Mirai Facebook pages finds drivers often seeing about 250.

What’s going on? The scarcity of dispensers may be resulting in a conga-dance of one-after-the-other fills at the stations, dropping their pressure for a while. Or maybe it’s something else. Some months ago, I had the chance to co-drive a Nexo prototype from Chino (CA) to Las Vegas—an indirect route of 240 miles (plus some detours)—and its 380-mile range claims seemed to be on the up and up.

Which is a real tragedy. For years, the emergence of the FCV has been the chicken or the egg story: no cars, no stations; no stations, no cars.

Now, there are cars, but the infrastructure has chickened out. The Mirai and the Clarity FCV have collapsed the technology’s astronomical costs, and the Nexo is the perfect FC jigsaw piece for today’s puzzling consumer tastes. But their stations remain confined to Southern California and the Bay Area, and remain unevenly scattered in only 35 locations, with five opening soon, and a total of 59 by the end of 2020. At this rate it will take 6,000 years to equal the U.S. population of gas stations (that have multiple pumps, not just one). Conversely, the Kona Electric will be stocked in all the western and northeastern dealerships following California’s zero-emissions-vehicles (ZEV) lead, but can be ordered anywhere in the country because there’s some sort of charging opportunity all over the place (starting with the electrical panel in your house, if you have one).

There’s nothing quite like an emergency to simplify your decisions, and the UN Climate Panel’s flare gun shot into the overheating sky should abruptly—and yes, maybe cruelly—conclude this one. Nissan/Infiniti’s variable compression ratio technology and Mazda’s compression-ignition gasoline engines are great, but too late, and in the end, just friendlier versions of the gasoline-burning that’s created the problem in the first place. And while fuel cell transportation should be encouraged in commercial trucking—and someday, maybe around-the-clock autonomous ride-hailing, too—it’s the fuel of a future that simply isn’t happening. Ironically, it’s VW’s financial penalty for its diesel gate misdeeds (what’s financing the Electrify America charging infrastructure) that’ll be driving $2 billion worth of nails into hydrogen’s coffin.

After he’d settled down a bit, I asked Larry whether he’d buy the Nexo or Kona Electric “You don’t even need to ask me.” But when I reframed the question “What if you lived and commuted in westside L.A. where there’s lots more H2 stations?” he softened. “If the filling were free … I’d probably consider it.”

The trouble is, we don’t all live and work in westside Los Angeles. Arresting the planet’s CO2 mess has to happen by 2030.

Check out the Kona Electric.

#IFTTT #PerformanceJunk WP Feed 3

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chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

upon pale dawns, prologue II: ardent for some desperate glory

AO3 Link HERE

=====

Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Third Umbral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

The room was cold and its silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man.

Silence in itself was hardly anything to be remarked upon, let alone a surprise. The research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that. Especially when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous.

But for several hours, the relative darkness and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had been awake for most of the past thirty hours. He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels.

When the chiming began, it went unheeded at first. The timer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, however, and after a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him drifting wide from his dreaming state by ilms. The transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt reluctant: heavy and sluggish, a pearl diver kicking against deep currents, breaking the surface tension of consciousness through brute force.

He blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.

The noise was also aggravating an incipient headache. Nero righted his posture with a tired grumble and smacked the damned thing until blessed silence reigned once more, before reaching for the mug he had left on a borrowed coaster (long since gone cold. His own fault, he owned). Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout.

It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place and pulsed once, twice, an arrythmia within the steady heartbeat of the machine. Nero swore under his breath when on its heels, a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white. One he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently.

[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]

An annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen for a few beats. This was but one of many datalog volumes his team had salvaged at the original site. The initial discovery had excited him - it had excited everyone, in fact, including the legatus - as it well should have done, but getting the godsdamned things to yield the fruit he sought was quickly proving to be an exercise in tedium.

Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far, only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue or delay. Not entirely unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same.

The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was not a patient man by nature, given to rather more direct methods of approach, but as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the legions, he had very much learned the value of that particular skill. It was one he had developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.

Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye, as well as a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion one simply could not rush the desired results.

This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the means. Or so one might fondly hope.

Nero leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumbling rattle of the castrum's central air unit (always running this time of year). A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents.

The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers. They seemed to mock him with each little shimmer: ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp. Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.

...Well. He’d do it, of course he would. Aught he deemed necessary - good, bad, or ugly - in order to see Project Ultima to completion. Even were it not his primary directive, he had always had every intention of plundering their contents at his leisure for the challenge of it and the knowledge to be had. This was but the least method at his disposal. There were some few other options he might employ, which might serve to successfully extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use.

While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was preliminary information, something upon which to safely extrapolate. Ideally he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together an operating system more or less analogous to that of Allag, albeit one powered by ceruleum instead of aether. If he could simply-

A much lower-pitched sound than his armor’s onboard timer - not an alarum but a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. Nero’s first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third.

That, unfortunately, meant someone was expecting him to answer.

With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device. “Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no disturbances. "State your business.”

The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord Scaeva?”

“Speaking."

"My lord?"

Nero sighed. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank."

“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”

Seven hells. Not a name Nero recalled, though he rarely had reason to trouble himself over memorizing the personnel that manned every garrison between Ala Mhigo and the Velodyna fringes. Some poor bastard who was likely the first man flagged down for runner duty by his direct report, no doubt. Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three coherent words together. Just what he needed.

“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further.

“Lord Sc-”

“Message, my lord?”

“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I assume?”

“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”

“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”

Half four- it was five minutes past now. With the identification checks and elevators taken into account, that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. The timing would be somewhat tight to work in, perhaps, but it was perfectly feasible.

The man’s nervous, ragged breathing crackled across the link; the only other sound was the flat drumming of Nero’s fingertips upon the metal surface as he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an inconvenience to be certain. He was going to have to run the process once more after some adjustments were made, and clearly, it would need closer supervision. Meaning the sleep he knew he needed was not going to be an option.

But this summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could disregard or countermand. Heavily classified weapon project or no.

“Understood," he said at last. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."

"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"

"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”

Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”

Before the hapless soldier could waste more of his time stammering out another response, the tribunus laticlavius flipped the switch and cut the connection. The line went dead with a static click.

Nero was a practical man, one rarely wont to let trivial annoyances linger. As he set the artifact aside to reach for the fountain pen at his elbow and drew a small leather-bound planner from the desk drawer, a habit he’d kept since his Academy days, he could already feel his focus shifting, moving onwards.

He rolled the pen thoughtfully betwixt index and middle fingers, eyes flickering away from the planner to linger briefly upon the blank console screen. No doubt there was also more useful information to be ascertained from the old Meteor Project dossier; he’d request another copy of the relevant files through the proper channels once the meeting concluded.

In the meantime, it seemed a progress report was likely to be expected upon his timely - and fully conscious - arrival. Strict self-imposed schedule notwithstanding, it wouldn’t do for him to be the only one empty-handed.

He flipped the notebook open to a fresh and empty page, tilted the ink nub, and began to write.

#a realm reborn #upon pale dawns #chrysalispen writes #nero tol scaeva #have one (1) sleepy and caffeine deprived nerd #and the pain of internal calls from people who take too long to get to the point

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god-hunter · 7 years

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Secret Empire #0

This was the big one folks. A giant sized 0 issue, which apparently wasn’t even the first one you were supposed to read.

There are 3 other prelude issues to this, which I won’t bother collecting. One from U.S Avengers, where it seems Captain America shook things up with Roberto DaCosta. Another in the Thunderbolts book, I think. And finally his own Captain America: Steve Rogers book, where he finally revealed his outward villainy, apparently.

...Before I go any further, I should mention to anyone not in the know, that since the Pleasant Hill event ended and Steve Rogers triumphantly returned with his youth, Nick Spencer left us with a nasty cliff-hanger. And that was the fact that, Kobik (the cosmic diety that brought him back) was being manipulated by Red Skull.

This only spelled bad news for Cap, as Spencer spent an entire year setting up the idea that Steve was never a genuine American Hero, but really a Secret Hydra Agent, deep deep undercover for years. [Come on, man. Really!?]

Now.. this is old news. People hated Captain America: Steve Rogers #1 the world over. Then others saw through the whole ploy when they stayed on for Steve Rogers #2. Since then, I think Marvel audiences have been split between hating on this entire plot thread, and others finding it downright brilliant.

I... have avoided it like the plague. Brian Bendis had the chance during Civil War II to hint at us that Cap wasn’t being genuine, or secretly harboring evil thoughts or whatever, and he didn't. He left Spencer to his devices, who handled a pretty well written Epilogue to Civil War II.

That very same epilogue hinted at what’s to come right here in Secret Empire. Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter were in power once again. And this time, as Top Cop, he was going to make sure he was going to follow through with his “true” mission.

[Give me a break man. He’s obviously gonna break out of this. But in the meantime, Marvel audiences are beyond frustrated at the straight up blasphemy and downright betrayal that Spencer has created for the Captain America fanbase.] And I think that’s a fair Pre-Assessment.

As for this issue. It was really well written. It’s very dense. There’s a lot going on. And some of it is a bit much. And I was definitely left feeling bummed out by the end of it. Steve Rogers is definitely breaking my heart a little bit, here. But I’d also like to think I understand where Spencer is going with this. And I can only hope that he’s going to deliver a major redeeming factor somewhere down the line, towards the end of all this.

In the mean time. Let the Secret Empire begin.

[SPOILERS]

Warning. This was a very long issue, and I don’t want to leave a single detail out. So the rest of this review may be tl;dr. I’ll do my best to move the points along though.

We start with a “Flashback” from 1945 in Japan where Captain America secretly reported to his Hydra boss, Kraken. [Already, I’m not in love.]

Along with Kraken is what I thought was Sir Isaac Newton from the Sorcerers Supreme book, but I could be wrong. Anyway, they tell him that the Allies are about to use a ‘Cosmic Cube’ to rewrite reality itself. And not to believe them when he falls into their will. {To make us believe that all those years as an Avenger, he was somehow being manipulated.}

Through some really nice visuals, we see Cap’s heroic history unfold, even though he now believes that it was in-genuine. That is to say, he believes his “true mission” is to betray them.

After that strange flashback, we’re treated to an interesting Character Page.

This book is going to host Steve Rogers & Sharon Carter at S.H.I.E.L.D. Command [obviously], both Ironheart AND Iron Man in Michigan..

The Ultimates and other cosmic favorites like Hyperion and the new Quasar, (which was kind of nice to see.) The Guardians of the Galaxy minus Drax will be around.

At New York City, we get to see the Defenders in action for the first time, which is pretty exciting. I’m no stranger to Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Iron Fist and Daredevil, but to see them finally get the Team Treatment and recognition since Bendis wrapped up New Avengers vol. 2, is really nice. Also with them is Spider-Woman, Doctor Strange, Cloak and Dagger. The Uncanny Avengers will also be featured in this book, which I enjoy. [Guess I’ll be collecting those tie ins.] Did I mention The Wasp is there too? Janet Van Dyne. Not the new one.

And of course this event wouldn’t be complete without some Hydra Forces such as Baron Zemo and his Army of Evil.

Now... Before I continue, I noticed a significant lack of ‘Actual’ Avengers. ...is Waid staying out of this?? Does Spencer not care about them??

What of Clint Barton? Won’t he have something to say about an evil Cap in Power?

Well. We’ll see I guess. I’m getting ahead of myself here. Apparently Captain America: Sam Wilson explained his absence from this event already. =/

Once we finally get into the issue, I’m already confused. I’ve already missed something. There are apparently 3 red dots on the trouble map, which S.H.I.E.L.D. has failed to stop for months, and now it feels like the end is nigh.

[Also, I’m completely thrown off by her old appearance in this issue, meanwhile in Infamous Iron Man, she’s totally young and fresh looking. I could’ve sworn she looked the same in CWII’s epilogue as well.]

Well, anyway, we get to see Captain Marvel, the Ultimates and other Cosmic friends take action in space against the Chitauri.

[You would think Al Ewing would set some of this up for Ultimates 2 tie-ins, but he definitely has some other pointless things going on in his pocket of the universe.]

As the Ultimates fight in space, Ironheart, and apparently Tony’s mobile armored A.I. is able to fully work alongside her. [As if Tony was never in a coma or something.. Hah!]

I have no idea what they’re doing. I wish I could say what they’re analyzing. But outside, New York is burning.

This is where we find that The Defenders are up against Nitro, who has nothing but vengeance on his mind since Pleasant Hill, which happened more than a year ago at this point. [Where was this before?]

“Know that it is their sins you die for now!”

The action is pretty awesome on the ground and in space as Sharon worries with a pensive Steve from the Helicarrier. The panels are scattered and frantic, although aligned neatly along the page.

Narrations build things up in past tense.

“This is how we were betrayed.” The mysterious story continues to unfold.

Apparently in space, the new Quasar dies, or we are lead to believe that, as a huge alien swallows her whole.

From the Helicarrier, Cap commands, “We need that shield!”

[THATS what Riri and Tony A.I are working on!!]

{I have a weird theory that Tony’s A.I. slacked on getting the shield up in time, but I have little-to-nothing to back up that theory.}

In New York, Jessica Jones definitely saves the Defenders from getting blown up by Nitro, who just suicide bombed the area.

It almost seems as if something fatal happened to her, but we find that is not the case the next time we see them.

Cutting further to the chase, Riri and Tony A.I get the shield up, but in the process Steve basically locks the Ultimates out of Earth.

The Unity Squad touches down by the Defenders, where Rogue mentions something about guessing they’re Avengers again.

[I know this team got rocked recently, but I forget why. Do they know that Steve is Hydra..? Or just don’t trust him?? I gotta read up on them again.]

For a minute it looks like they all won. [But as I said. Steve locked the Ultimates out of Earth and, he makes this betrayal apparent soon after.]

He even allowed his own Hellicarrier to be brought down by Hydra Agents who invade the place.

They all arrive before Steve and Sharon and aim their guns at her. He orders them not to shoot and to stand down, which confuses Sharon.

...This thing gets all over the place after that. With Carol and the Ultimates finding out that they’re officially screwed and left for dead as more and more Chitauri waves come for them, we’re given an interesting caption. “Stage One. Alpha Flight Space Station.”

Then we see that Zemo is outside of New York on a speedboat with Blackoutm as he holds the Darkholde book. [Ah come on man. That’s just pandering to casual S.H.I.E.L.D. TV fans...]

Zemo and/or Blackout initiate Stage Two, which is putting New York City in darkness, isolating it via a Darkforce Dimension.

We see Doctor Strange try to stop it, but it is unknown to us at this time if it did anything.

Then, we get to see our ‘Actual’ Avengers, the Champions and Spider-man move into action, as everyone starts to notice that something is up.

Tony A.I. calls “All Avengers” into action.

“If you can hear this, your services are required immediately-- We are under attack.... This is threat level red, Defcon Infinity Stuff here, people-- We need you to get to Washington D.C.!!!”

On the last page, we see Hellicarriers hover above the White House and a caption read, “Stage Three. Washington D.C. Objective: Hydra takeover. Mission: Underway.”

-To Be Continued!-

So yes. A lot is going on.

And the end was very exciting.

But what the Hell am I reading Spencer??

And why did Marvel think this was the direction we needed to take???

Now. I’m not gonna complain until I get more of a feel for what’s going on here.

So far this is definitely different.

But, I feel like Marvel is definitely throwing all of the wrenches in the cogs at this point, because they’ve promised apparently that this will be the Last Event for a while. Thank God.

[I never thought I’d say that, because I love events. It’s what got me into collecting in the first place. But at this point, it’s clear that they’re a cash grab and not a story enhancer. And not for nothing, but none of these Universe-changing events hold any weight when we know they’re just gonna get changed again in 3 months.]

So yeah. In that regard, I am looking forward to wherever this event goes.

Because if Marvel inevitably hits the Reset Button again? It’d be nice to see them stick to a plan this time... And maybe.. Stop with the damn New #1′s.

...Until Secret Empire #1!

[This issue definitely felt like a #1...]

#Secret Empire #Issue 0 #Nick Spencer #Marvel Event #Summer 2017

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