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babsvibes · 2 years

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maybe bts with local flour outage? I love your fics btw!

Local Flour Outage

Behind the scenes under the cut!

In some ways, power outages held a type of charm.

As I have made abundantly clear, I am from Texas and WOULD have had no idea what a power outage during winter is actually like. Except, lucky for you all, our state government is full of a bunch of cucks and we had that winter storm last year that lasted longer because of our shit electrical grid, so I got to be very familiar with what stands out when you’ve been cold and without internet for a few days.

Determined not to let that ache in her chest control her

Almost every poem I’ve ever written has been about story and nostalgia and the pain of fond memories. I think if I leaned more into that, I could maybe try writing more prose, but don’t worry I’ll keep the heavy dialogue going for now lol

Now, moving into the fourth day, Louise noticed the frayed edges and fading vibrance of her perfectly curated furniture.

There would be absolutely no sense of what Louise’s apartment looks like if it wasn’t for my beta Gemgirl28 who said “have you considered describing a setting?”

“But I’m not walking out in the freeze to help you kill yourself.”

“Just this once?”

I love that this became the summary, but it was originally supposed to be Louise kicking Logan out of her apartment:

“Are you really that naive?” Logan bent down to her height and whispered, full of spite, “Every person you have ever been with has wanted to be the little spoon. Wanted to wear you like a backpack, and it’s just a fact of life.”

“Here’s another fact for you,” Louise said and started to shouldered him towards the door. “Freeze to death in your own apartment. I’m tired of your goddamn attitude.”

Without permission, he directed himself to the couch and plopped down, claiming his favorite spot closer to the arc lamp he would swing back and forth when bored.

My favorite activity is sneaking in a million different ways that these two Know each other and seeing which ones my readers latch onto. This one didn’t land, but I think everyone was too distracted by the make out scene lol.

“-an Aunt Gayle original from her anus period.”

The greatest string of words I’ve ever put together.

They swapped stories about their most terrible presents received, and he again reminded her of how much he loooved his melon baller and the ton of action it got in the very back of his utensil drawer.

I think one day I’ll rewrite this piece. I’m so grateful that people like it, but bits like this seem rushed to me. Of course, the first fic I ever posted was 4k words about a 10 minute car ride, sooo that might just be my desire to slow the fuck down and actually LIVE in this conversation lol

“Uhhh,” she scratched her chin. “I have scrabble?”

With how hard he jolted and shook his head, she was surprised his neck hadn’t cracked.

“Absolutely not.”

Tom Bush saying “it’s you-know-what night” when referring to him and Cynthia’s Scrabble Night changed me as a person.

“Oh my god,” she said, concealing none of her astonishment. “Did you not know you can use gas during a power outage?”

Ripped from the very real experience of my current partner not knowing you could use gas in a power outage. The winter storm taught us a lot about each other.

“I have a heat source. You go shiver in the living room.”

Nobody cared that they got pranked three times, and I am POUTING about it. (I posted a pirate fic for the the shiver prompt, I posted a more conventional shiver story the day after, AND I put up 8 fics instead of 7). I feel like that deserves sooome “oh you old so and so!” But no. Everybody’s distracting by the ✨kissing✨

She stilled as a pair of arms wrapped around her hips. Through their multiple layers, she could feel him all the same pressed against her back. Neither moved. He had even stopped breathing.

👀👀👀 ooooooo, lol I love Logan taking risks romantically. He basically has to because Louise would never without like a toooon of narrative influence and introspection, but he’s also very stubborn and (in my headcanons) worries about being loved. It leads to him ALSO not wanting to take the first step, but anytime a character goes “actually, wait, no, yeah I’m gonna do it” my heart does little flips. Awkward characters arent my cup of tea, and, while he may be an idiot, Logan’s confident about it.

“You didn’t know? You lose a lot of heat in the neck,” and he punctuated the thought with what could have been a kiss, but all she could focus on was the breath ghosting over her pulse point.

Have y’all seen The Waitress (the movie)? There’s this scene where she’s in the kitchen and the doctor is kissing her neck, and the whole time I’m like “more of this always and forever”

Grabbing the handle, Logan didn’t bother with a bowl and scooped straight from the pot.

King of dumbass bachelor behavior

That still didn’t give him the right to come into her apartment with his words, and his face, and his arms and-

A line that I can hear lol

“I don’t care.” Logan stuck his nose in the air. “I know what I’m worth, and it’s at least ten minutes of being little spoon.”

Fucking love this whole exchange about being the little spoon. This is where the fic originated (an idea of Louise and Logan arguing about who was going to get to be little spoon), so it kind of read like it’s the heart of the fic. To me at least!

“I hate how beds are cold when you first get in,” Louise said to the ceiling, “and you have to lay there for a bit until it warms up.”

“That’s most things though, isn’t it?” Logan shrugged and shuffled to also talk to the ceiling. “You have to jump in then adjust.”

What is this? Literary devices maybe? Dramatic irony perhaps? I may be laying it on a bit thick, but I was excited for this part because it’s like “yeah it’s new and that’s different but it’ll be good if you give it a chance. And if it never warms up then you jump out, but like wouldn’t you rather try to be cozy if that’s what you want anyway?”

He whistled, and she tilted to find him staring at the wall where her hwandudaedo was mounted.

Trying to find a sword for Louise sent me on an hour long quest where I absolutely got distracted and starting watching “rusty sword restored” type videos. The ones that kinda sound like asmr? Yeah those. I retained NONE of the sword knowledge.

She was wearing his shirt.

The wearing of another character’s clothes in my writing is a pretty good indication that something sexy is about to happen in the next ten lines or so.

His hand slipped under one, and the chill of his fingers hit her bare skin. Much like the dripping faucet, it shocked her but in a way that made her feel alive.

Connecting a line later on back to the intro is something that can actually be so personal

“What?” Logan asked then nosed under her beanie, his cheek brushing against her ear. “Jeez!”

She jerked away at the sudden noise, turning to glare at him. “Ow! Be careful, that’s my ear you’re yelling in.”

If you’re worried about writing sexy, write something unsexy to put in there. It eases your own nerves, makes it feel more realistic, and give your characters something to joke about (and humor is very very sexy)

The “Oh fuck” fell out of his mouth like it had been waiting on his tongue for too long. His hand agreed, shooting up from her waist and into her hair, and pulling her to him for a kiss. Her similar habit of not backing down led her to deepen their passion until both were left breathless.

Again, they parted with matching shudders. Logan’s choke for air halfway made it out of his mouth before he swallowed it back down. He angled his chin in tiny measures but didn’t come closer even as his lips stayed parted with all the wanting and hoping neither could verbalize.

This bit came to me while I was in the shower. I have never once interrupted my showers for anything, not god, king, or country, but I damn near bust my ass slipping out of the bathroom to write this down.

She angled to give him more room but let a whisper escape her. “So good.”

Stuck just before another bite, he stilled.

“Again,” he said, rough and desperate.

Me, chanting and beating on the table: praise kink, praise kink, praise kink. But then also continuing to play with the power dynamics by having him make a demand while being horned up? (Double tucks my hair) not so bad if I do say so myself

The power came back at eight that night, but Louise and Logan decided they wanted to pretend for a little while longer.

They didn’t fuck btw. I know I know, but consider the horrible wonderful build up to their actual sex scene? Hm? Anyway, loooved how this ended, and I hope y’all did too!

#babsbles #asks #fic #thank you for sending the ask!! it amazes me that people want to know this stuff and I am genuinely so grateful #you are so sweet!! 💕💕#halfway through the asks gang 😂😂

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

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There's a lot of people out here who just block stuff because they want the way it was and it keeps happening wherever you go so you picked up we pick up the person and we find out who they are and you set them against each other and we get the job done usually it's like that but here you pick the people up and he said that against each other and it just perpetuates the problem not necessarily and now it works pretty good. An example is that they don't want other people helping him and they had this woman go to sleep in bells and nobody told anybody she's still there yesterday and nobody was keeping track of her cuz you guys are mean people and don't care about each other if you tried to find the right size of shoe for our son could not and he thanked her for helping him I'm trying to and said thank you very much for looking loudly and she felt okay felt good about it and she went into a little nook and she fell asleep and she dialed and she died of a mild heart attack and she to deteriorate and she is still in bealls storage area. And what you people do is try and hold it on our son like he had something to do with it and he feels bad for her and because she tried to find this shoes and he needs them and right now a whole bunch of police are going there and they're not Max and the max are going there after them and they're mad as hell

The state is sending people supposedly no DeSantis is to see who it is and the federal government and they want to know what happened and they are sending agents and are going to hold the sheriff off the federal government says on holding the state off. The feds have people here and are at the mall and they are in the back room right now and let themselves in and they're telling the employees at the front desk close the store and it's a federal crime scene no one is to be admitted and they are getting their stuff and leaving and ask people to leave the store local police are arriving and they're being met by the feds. And they're telling them they can't go into the crime scene. Recorded off and they found the girl or woman actually she's an older woman and she's small curled up in a ball on the floor and her knees to her face and her rear end on the concrete and completely Frozen in that position and they are taking her temperature checking and said she is deceased and that she is decomposing badly and needs to be removed immediately and they decided that she smelled pretty bad it's only been a day at 70 degrees and she's sick and full of bacteria and her body was half decomposed. The show in Chicago they're finally bodies everywhere and they're higher up so getting killed and they say that it's someone that looks like Garth and they found his sister killed and shot to the Head and it looks bad. We suspect Garth is killing people he thinks messed them up in the mall and he means reputation and things like that and he's an idiot and that's why people don't like him and that's why we don't like him he has a s***** reputation and he's a jackass so he did all that and they're going to arrest him in the TV show and he's going to jail and soon after prison and he'll keep getting arrested that's what they're saying.

The fence who came down we're not Max and they're looking to see what happened and they wanted to blame our son but they don't find anything it blames him and others are saying it too that he was just standing there minding his own business didn't have anything on him never does tapes don't show anything except them shopping. Didn't say this is taking the bus and they're trying to screw over for not getting stuff or something. And they start getting pissed off we don't have any room for these idiots they're having him take everything over because they are so damned obnoxious you need to shut them down so if it's notified the next of kin. They're calling them to come in so they can talk to them at the store they don't want to and I said this is a federal case and we need you to come down to the mall instead of okay so they're bringing their people down and a bunch of them and they're going to talk to them about it and they are investigating the scene. Please sheriff is sitting outside and they can't go inside because of the FBI and they're telling them you're returning to your station or other duties not to sit here I said no this address no this is our jurisdiction and suddenly the FBI is angry and upset and said we are going to arrest you on suspicion of complicity of homicides and or negligent homicide. And they brought him in and are going to the sheriff's headquarters right now. They're there at the headquarters in their securing all the tapes and the FEDS are going to come down on these people and nothing they do is worked and they keep doing it and they're going to arrest a bunch of people and the max are coming down and we are too as feds and we are joining their operation and they can't say anything it is a lot of us but we do see something I'm saying all sorts of crap I'm about our son and that is the sheriff and other idiots and they're getting arrested more shortly

Thor Freya

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coldprimavera · 3 years

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Thread by @wwxwashere on Twitter

⚠️ WHAT IS HAPPENING IN BRAZIL: a thread ⚠️

am i going insane or more of the world should care about a country generating covid variants that could spread internationally? right

spoiler alert: covid is killing us. badly. no, it's not this bad everywhere. yes, you should care.

our government is DELIBERATELY and CLEARLY trying to kill us, not only not doing anything but actually trying to stop any help from getting here, with censorship to go with it.

PLEASE, READ RHIS THREAD

it's NOT this bad everywhere:

"No other nation that experienced such a major outbreak is still grappling with record-setting death tolls and a health care system on the brink of collapse."

yes, you SHOULD care:

"Preliminary studies suggest that the variant that swept through the city of Manaus is not only more contagious, but it also appears able to infect some people who have already recovered from other versions of the virus."

you REALLY should care:

"And the variant has slipped Brazil’s borders, showing up in two dozen other countries and in small numbers in the United States."

1 in every 4 covid deaths WORLDWIDE is happening in brazil, INTERNATIONAL MEDIA ISN'T TALKING ABOUT THIS ENOUGH.

our president?

- calling it "a little flu"

- literally making trying to legally stop states from lockdown

- blocked any attempts to get vaccines here for months

- recommended meds with no scientific proof which caused SEVERAL other deaths for overuse of improper meds

he refuses to wear a mask in public but it's not just the things he isn't doing, it's the deliberate steps he takes to make sure ANYONE who tries to do ANYTHING to help (even the US!!!!!!!! OFFERING US VACCINES FOR MONTHS!!!!!!!!!!!!) is shut down.

we have no oxygen. no ICU beds. no proper masks. basic food is so expensive here the country is falling back to hunger, so whoever is not dying from covid is dying out of starvation or due to the complete and utter collapse of our healthcare system.

if you read the articles i post here you will know brazil has a RECORD of being GREAT in this type of scenario & getting vaccines to everyone fast as fuck.

this is a DELIBERATE ATTEMPT TO KILL US, i couldn't possibly stress that enough.

who is it killing? take a guess.

"The study also found that Black Brazilians were likelier to lose their jobs or face pay cuts than white people during the pandemic. The death rate in poorer cities has been substantially higher than in rich ones."

BY JANUARY OF THIS YEAR the ny times was reporting "The country has not yet approved any of the vaccines on the market."

NOT EVEN APPROVED. ANY. OF THE VACCINES.

this isn't a tragedy, this is our government's plan.

again, why are people not helping? i have no clue.

"On Friday, officials at the World Health Organization called the surge of cases in Brazil deeply troubling and warned that it could wreak havoc well beyond the country’s borders."

censorship? oh yeah, the president's son is trying to silence a guy who made a TWEET calling the president out. & that was only news not a shady unexplainable death bc the guy is famous and rich in the first place.

this is not the only threat he has made, btw. during his CAMPAIGN he said he'd kill people who opposed his government. that is how low we are.

10,3MI brazilians might starve to death and things are only getting worse:

have i proven my point? cuz honestly there is no lack of evidence, but i can go graphic if you need to hear what happens when a patient needs oxygen or an ambulance and our hospitals can't provide it.

no? yeah. better not.

"ok but what can we do"

TALK. ABOUT. THIS.

WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THIS.

WHY IS THIS NOT EVERYWHERE.

WHY IS NOBODY HELPING.

i literally feel crazy, as if this is only happening in my head. every brazilian i know is desperate and nobody cares.

"ok but what else"

we need donations, badly. money for food, masks, literally all supplies. if you are a single person guess what THERE ARE NO ORGANISED WAY TO HELP YET you literally need to find a brazilian or learn portuguese to be able to get to local donations centres.

have i mentioned nobody cares? how is a country going through this massive of a crisis with a government trying to kill and silence us yet there people barely heard about this???? given IT IS CREATING DEADLY VARIANTS THAT ARE SPREADING BEYOND BORDERS

oh my god i feel insane

special call-out for portugal & also the US for fucking us up historically

https://t.co/JQ9LBkfSIV

per request i will make an english speaking video about brazil's covid situation to be posted @ youtube.com/c/AndressaBuss later this week

🌟DONATIONS LINKS🌟

update: if you want to place a donation to @CUFA_Brasil or @maesdafavela i will offer free portuguese-english translations to help with the process.

email me @ [email protected] (i can't keep up with DMs here)

You can also try to finda artists or writers or professionals in brazil and hire them! or tip them a kofi! Or simply search for "brazil" in the search and help out by sending one dollar or two in kofi or gofundmes that will also help brazilians staying safe

i will keep linking more as i find it. donation centre to get basic food to people who need it: https://t.co/gFZdskBE6G

Update: finally managed to get an extensive list of options for donations after over 24hrs trying, from jun last year so some campaigns have ended but there's still plenty to choose from

(again: im available for free translations & help in your donation process if you need it)

just assisted in a R$740 donation process to the above donation centre & i am working on putting together a list of various options for donations as well as brazilian artists who are making emergency commissions :)

im mostly trying to assist people place the donations themselves & when i have to place the donation i offer vast proof (of whatever kind you need) of each transaction

im not a random account with no face behind it, im a broke history teacher who has covid, im trying to help

Thread by @wwxwashere on Twitter

And before i forget:

BOLSONARO GENOCIDA!

#Brazil #Brasil #COVID-19 #USA #Help #Donations #We Need to Talk About #Government #Black Lives Matter #Boost #Signal Boost #Very Important #Donations Links #We Need To Talk About Brazil #Bolsonaro Genocida #long post

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sumzysworld · 3 years

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Can I request a drabble for detective yoongi getting shot and then his wife is the er doctor...🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Please I'll give you kithes.

Enjoy, Shyn!

Detective Yoongi x ER Doctor!OC

Word Count: 3.3K

Coffee and Casualty (M)

Till this day, you have no idea how the two of you made it work. An investigation where the suspect injured himself meant, for the first time, you had been shifted out of the ER, to care exclusively for one patient. While it took all of your collective physician’s morals not to asphyxiate the suspect and do the world some good, it also meant challenging the detective in charge, Min Yoongi, and telling him to back off till the suspect healed up and was coherent enough to withstand interrogation.

The next day, he’d brought you expensive coffee, and the two of you traded politely veiled jabs.

You figured he was trying to soften you up to let him through to the patient. A tight smile and a glare usually had him nodding and walking in the opposite direction. Sometimes, you had to extract him from the room by the back of his collar when he snuck in, in your absence.

But Min Yoongi still brought you coffee, and you liked it. (You convinced yourself for a little while that it was because cafe-brewed coffee tasted much better than your hospital’s black vending-machine gunk, but denial would only go so far).

The investigation wrapped up, and the suspect was hauled in front of court. Your responsibility to him was done, except for the odd statement and testimony in court.

But Min Yoongi still brought you coffee.

Whether it was off his beat, or spending his break at the hospital, he found a way to show up. Every single day.

You were puzzled. He’d find sensible topics to discuss, like understanding some coroner’s statement, or know what happens to the body better, or ask you about your day. Soon it became more about you, and what you day was like, watching the sun setting over a humid Daegu.

It was convenient being in the ER. All you had to do was step out of one set of doors to squat down with him near a corner, enjoying your coffee. He'd light up a cigarette, and listen to you ramble. (You tried not to think of how attractive he looked, leather jacket-clad, tired eyes trained on you, voice raspy with cigarettes and coffee. The bulge of his holster didn't help. So you admitted it to yourself)

And with time, it became more than coffee. He dropped you home once. Then, a few more times.

One day, he bought you a ring.

Despite your mind numbingly busy schedules, you both somehow stayed close. Your marriage was shot down by both your families (a rising doctor like you settling for some government salaried pittance-earning cop?), so there was no wedding, just the two of you and some friends showing up to sign papers at the city hall. You celebrated with a boisterous dinner at your local bar.

You didn’t know when the two of you would get to spend every night of a full week together. More often than not, you didn’t. The few times you did manage to, you cherished the cocoon of tenderness enveloping you both. That you both would be content to stay wrapped up in clean sheets, in each other’s arms, and if your energy permitted it, something more. He’d play some music on his old radio (a gift from his mentor, he once said fondly) and he’d brew you warm coffee. You’d massage his aching muscles or sometimes ice his bruises. Your little home was your world together, and nobody could breach it.

Yoongi worried for you. He'd wonder sometimes how he got so lucky to be with you. When your hours were slated to be eight but became 16, 20 or even more when emergencies happened and you had no way to eat, continuously on your feet and burning out. He never got in the way of duty. "Saving a life is more important. I'll always be here and I can wait", he'd tell you, and have a robust meal made, sitting for you in the microwave if he didn't catch you after surgery. And apologize when his meager government salary couldn't help you afford the masters and specialization studies you deserved.

You worried for Yoongi. He didn't have the luxury of a Police University degree, and relied on sheer experience and skill, climbing to become one of the youngest in Daegu to rank Detective. He would chase down criminals, get death threats, face up to politicians and shake down CEOs at great personal risk, knowing his record, career and even life could end at any time. When he came without fail with your coffees and half an hour together in the evenings, you'd also see him quiet and gentle, with the families in your ER waiting hall, or with the kids he'd divert from the sombre atmosphere. And you felt terrible that your lifestyle didn't give you room to give him a child. He'd be a wonderful father with his gummy smiles and attentive understated warmth. But he didn't deserve an addition to his stress and sleepless nights. You were terrified that any stray injury, a single bullet could shut his smile down permanently. He either worked long unpredictable hours, or straight up put his life at risk.

The one thing you both looked forward to, was your cup of coffees together, knowing you were both okay.

So your worry was justified when Yoongi didn't show up today.

You bandaged a crying child who broke his ankle.

You lectured a college kid who had shoved things up his rectum.

You cleaned up an elderly diabetic whose skin was falling apart and dispatched his negligent son with strict instructions.

All in all, a normal seeming day, except that Yoongi never showed up, and there was no text from him. He knew how much you worried, so no matter what, he never failed to shoot you a text even if it was just a "I'm Ok".

No text. No coffee and Yoongi.

Your attending nurse tried to reassure you, that a cop's job would mean he was probably in a meeting or at the other end of Daegu or something and you'll hear in no time. You accepted it with a tight smile, but the coil of tension in your stomach only got tighter when you heard sirens.

Sirens in an ER were normal.

But the instinctual dread that washed over you told you something was incredibly amiss. And when the patients were wheeled in, paramedics yelling stats, your worst nightmare seemed to come to life.

A dozen ambulances had pulled up, wheeling out wounded, blood oozing and some paramedics on top of patients, pressing down on bullet wounds, trying to keep order. Frantic cops followed the gurneys, barking orders or talking to attendants.

You and your colleagues ran to the gurneys to take over, when a familiar mop of soft black hair made your heart stutter. You peered over the paramedic sitting atop the prone man, a prayer in your heart, to find a familiar face, paler than ever bleeding out over his chest. The paramedic was trying to stop the bleeding, pushing down as he recited stats to you along with Yoongi's frantic partner.

For the first time in your career, the sight of a blood soaked man halted you in your tracks.

Yoongi was shot.

Your Yoongi.

Eyes closed.

Blood soaking through.

Oh God, did it hit his heart?

Was the paramedic doing compressions or stopping a bleed?

Rationally, you knew a bullet to the heart was death, so they wouldn't have brought him into the ER, they would have wheeled him to the morgue. There was a chance, but that didn't mean he was out of the woods.

To your frazzled mind, the bullet wound appeared dangerously close to his heart, just above his chest.

Luckily, your Chief and nurse saw who it was, and rushed to take over instead of you. A nurse led you away, sitting you down to calm your panic attack, telling you to take deep breaths, count five things around you, and offering a napkin for the tears you didn't know had started falling.

Once you'd reached a semblance of calmness, the nurse shook you.

"I know that's your man in there. But we need you here, now. There are far too many people in this emergency, and it is all hands on deck. So pull yourself together, doctor. There are lives to save."

She shook you a little, and you nodded, wiping your tears as numbness and denial took over, and you mechanically moved to wash up and get ready to take charge.

You began by signing off on all the paperwork for Yoongi's treatment. And headed back down to the ER.

Gangsters and fallen cops alike occupied the beds with additional black-clad gun-toting security lining up across the hospital, patting down patients and handcuffing the gangsters to the beds. It was no longer just an ER, it was a war zone.

You extracted half a dozen bullets. Patched up a stabbed eye, set several broken bones and stitched up flesh wounds. Your Chief wisely didn't pull you into surgery knowing your state. But you were not in the headspace to register any of it or feel gratitude.

For over 12 hours, you and other nurses slaved over the beds, performing minor procedures on the spot, shooing away reporters and overzealous prosecutors, and returning to monitor your patients constantly.

Your thoughts were with Yoongi constantly.

By the time everyone was either patched up or dispatched to OR, and the emergency room finally had a lull, your frazzled state couldn't take the uncertainty anymore.

You wordlessly checked the computer to find the OR your husband had been wheeled into. Raced down to reach the waiting area.

Tried to grab onto any nurse who rushed in with spare blood or materials, to know what was going on, and only stopped when one of them threatened to sedate you instead.

And you waited.

Hospital coffee never tasted shittier.

15 hours had passed since he was first wheeled into the hospital, when the door opened, and your chief stepped out, saw you and gave you a reassuring smile. He was okay.

He ran you through what happened to him, the position of the bullet, the progress of the surgery and you interrogated him on further treatment and recovery.

He patiently answered all of your questions, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze and nodded you to the bed now wheeling a patched up Yoongi to an ICU.

You hovered around as his vitals were noted down, scanning the papers yourself. He was feverish but that was expected after a bullet wound and major surgery. His numbers weren't great but stable enough to improve. Her chief had just cause for optimism.

You wanted to pounce on him, kiss him up and coddle him till he woke. But the nurses told you that the anesthesia itself would take at least another six hours to wear off and for him to wake up. So it made more sense for you to rest up and come back. They were keeping him for the night.

For the first time, you hated going home by yourself.

But the prospect of not being alert and available when Yoongi needed you was worse.

You forced yourself home, the lonely bus journey a whirl in your unseeing eyes, jerking to alertness only once your stop came. You wandered home, your house feeling emptier than you remembered it. You saw the tinfoil-covered meal waiting for you inside the microwave. He’d cooked for you this morning.

To center yourself, you forced yourself to list down a bunch of things your husband would need in the hospital, and after freshening up, pulled out a duffel bag to pack things in. His favourite shirt and hoodies. Spare undies. Shaving kit. The Kumamon plushie he wouldn’t admit to loving, but you caught him out at. His old radio. Socks. Oh yeah, chargers for his phone. The newspaper and a bunch of magazines. Maybe he’d like to do the crossword.

But no cigarettes. No sir, that was his punishment for getting shot.

After packing, you tried to eat what he made. The food wouldn’t go down, but just the memory of him cooking half asleep for you in the wee hours of the morning made you tear up again and you forced it down. You weren’t wasting a single morsel he cooked, dammit.

Rest didn’t come to you, so you packed your own change of clothes and scrubs and readied to go back to the hospital, before remembering - Yoongi’s medical history files.

As you rummaged for them in your cupboard, an unfamiliar folder with a very familiar logo caught your eye. ________ University.

It included a prospectus for the masters programme you wanted, as well as correspondence that you had no idea of - your grades, evaluations, all neatly filed and with a letter of the university dean offering you a seat. But the covering email was addressed to Yoongi, thanking him for reaching out and telling him they were happy to have you.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your beloved had some questions to answer.

Tired and tense, you headed back to the hospital, changed back into your scrubs (you weren’t due for your shift in another few hours, though) and took the duffel to the waiting area near the ICU to lay in wait. It wasn’t just you, Yoongi’s partner, a bright eyed boy and his police chief were waiting as well.

Both of them introduced themselves to you, shaking your hands, giving thanks that Yoongi made it, as well as reassurances. And recounted his heroism of heading an impromptu drug bust and exchange, protecting a key witness in the subsequent shootout with the gang that led to him taking a bullet to his shoulder.

And reassuring you that it was okay for him to take the leave he needed, and the entire department wished for his recovery.

After they left, your Chief came by, offering you a couple of days off to be with your husband.

Then six hours later, he was wheeled to a private room, where you sat beside him, his pale unresponsive hand reassuring in his meagre warmth, your fingertips brushing his soft pulse. He was alive.

You drifted off.

You didn't notice Yoongi waking up, tired, soft eyes resting on you, knocked out in your chair. Or his fingertips brushing the hair off your face, caressing your cheek and lips, other hand tightening its grasp into yours. Or notice him put a finger to his lips to the attending nurse when she came in to change his bandages, or whisper to her to drape a blanket over you.

A few hours later, when he realised how deeply you slept, you didn’t notice when he’d gotten another couple of attendants to shift you to the couch next to him so you could sleep better. You didn’t notice his hand leaving yours.

Sunrise came and went as did doctors, assuring him that he did well and needed rest to heal. It was early evening by the time you came to, to find your husband sitting propped up in his hospital bed, soft eyes watching you. He’d been changed from the surgical gown into a pair of pajamas, and was lying topless under the blankets, left chest and shoulder, bandaged.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you rushed to him with a cry, taking his face in yours and smothering him with kisses. He responded just as eagerly, his better hand coming up to cup your face, and then over your shoulder. Till you drew back, and punched him in the stomach softly.

“OW!”

“That’s what you get for getting yourself nearly killed”

You punched him again. “OW!”

“That’s for not taking care of yourself, not being alert”

“Aren’t you a doctor? You’re supposed to be gentle with a patien-OW!”

He wrapped his good arm over your shoulders, pulling you into the good side of his chest, seeking your lips out before locking them in a hungry, desperate kiss. He traced your lips with his, moving to your chin, the salt of your cheeks, before nipping at your lip, and slipping his tongue in, circling yours, savouring the taste of you. He tried to pull you closer, till pain shot through his chest again and he let out a helpless gasp of pain.

You drew back a little, eyes bright with tears, fingertips tracing his face and the stubble across his jaws.

As much as you wanted to pounce on him, he was wounded and needed to rest.

So you held back, stroked his hair, and said, ”As much as I’d love to continue, you need rest more than me. I’ll get you some coffee”

You slowly extracted yourself from under his arm, gripping his hand reassuringly, before turning away.

Yoongi followed you with his eyes, your hunched shoulders telling him that no, you weren’t okay. He silently pulled out the IV attached to him, and wincing at the jolt of pain through his left shoulder, swung his feet off the bed and stalked over to you, his good arm encircling your waist.

You turned in surprise, revealing a face with tears streaming down your cheeks. “Yoongi, what are you doing up –”

He cut you off with a fierce gaze, before capturing your lips in a hot kiss again. You had no idea how this man was standing, pushing you against the wall with his good hand, kissing you like his life depended on it.

He may be hurt, but he was alive. And he had you, the most important person in the world, in his arms. Pain be damned.

Hungry kisses dominated you, as tender as they were needy, before he moved his mouth to your eyes, your cheeks, sucking your tears away and kissing and sucking his way down your neck. He had you trapped with a hand on your elbow you were unwilling to jerk, owing to the wound, his hand on his good side tracing a needy explorative path down your torso before slipping under your scrub top, fingers warm and possessive against your skin. He was pushing your bra aside, circling your nipples teasingly, before making quick work of your trousers and panties, pushing them down in one go.

Dark eyes gazed into yours filled with need and promise and understanding, as he slipped his warm fingers against your sweet rose, tweaking, circling, and slowly, moving in and out. You trembled under his touch, your own insistent hands finding his exposed skin, tracing a path across his abdomen, and curling into him, giving into his touch. You creamed into his hand, and bit into his good shoulder, holding on with all you had.

He rested his forehead against yours, the whole thing leaving him panting, as he leaned into you, hand gripping your elbow, pulling squelching fingers out from your core, licking up your essence as you looked up at him. He smeared the rest of your juices over your lips, your jaw and cheeks, before diving in again for another blazing kiss. His arm pulled you into him, angled to avoid the wound, as you gripped his hair and dug fingers into his back, not wanting any more space between you both.

You both let go to breathe heavily, saliva connecting your lips, noses touching, eyes swirling with relief, joy, desire and tenderness as the sun set outside your window.

He was alive.

The both of you were together.

You could take care of him now.

There will be time to scold him again later.

You could grill him about the applications you found later.

His job was dangerous. But you could nag him later.

But right now, you thanked every god and deity out there who answered, and your surgery chief for bringing him back to you.

You had more time together.

You had to make the most of what you both had now.

You pushed him onto the couch, to sit back and cover him with the blanket.

Today, it was your turn to get both of you some coffee.

#alternate universe #fanfiction #min yoongi #ask game

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kingwuko · 3 years

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Wuko in the Comics: Ruins of the Empire, Book 1 part 2

Welcome to my series of posts discussing Wuko in the Comics. In this post I'll continue to discuss RotE Book 1. There are some... interesting moments in the second half of this comic, including a very famous line that all but confirms canon Wuko.

Plot Summary

Fearing that Guan will use violence to stop the election, the Krew decides to bring Kuvira along with them to Gaoling, hoping that she can talk him down. When they come face-to-face with Guan, however, they discover he does not intend to use violence, but will run in Gaoling’s election. The Krew decides the best solution is to find another candidate with enough public support to defeat Guan fair and square; and they decide to ask Toph to run. It is revealed, however, that Guan does not intend to win fair and square. He’s planning to brainwash Gaoling’s citizens to vote for him.

Major Plot points in the second half of Book 1

We start off right away with the Sauna Scene. Everyone looks excellent. The ladies' sauna wear is lovely. Mako and Bolin have their classic swim suits seen in season 1. Wu is literally just wearing a towel. I found myself googling saunas and steam baths to see if it’s normal to wear swimsuits or just a towel, and everything I read said pretty much anything goes as long as you are comfortable, but I do find it interesting that everyone wears swimsuits except Wu. Maybe because he does steam baths more often and he’s just more comfortable in that setting? He seems pretty confident and not at all shy. I don’t have anything analytical to say about it, I just think it’s an interesting detail, that he doesn’t seem to have any hang-ups about being nearly naked around Mako his friends.

They are discussing Guan’s militaristic movement toward Gaoling, and tossing ideas around to handle the situation. Mako not-so-helpfully suggests using force with the united forces which Zhu Li shoots down right away, not wanting to escalate the situation. Wu agrees and wants to find a peaceful resolution. Korra, remembering her conversation with Kuvira, thinks she has the answer. She proposes bringing Kuvira along to Gaoling, which NOBODY is happy about. Asami is upset because she made it clear earlier she does not want to be in the same room as Kuvira, Bolin is distressed because Kuvira nearly had him killed when he defected from her inner circle, Mako points out that he nearly lost his arm taking down the mech, Zhu Li says she invaded republic city, Asami reminds everyone that Kuvira killed her father, and Wu boldly declares that we can’t forget she ruined his coronation… He quickly reads the room and apologises (character growth?).

Korra acknowledges everyone’s concerns and points out that she truly believes Kuvira can be an ally- she was their ally when Zaheer was trying to kill her and the airbenders; and when her spirit vine weapon ripped open a new portal to the spirit world, Kuvira thought she had died and Korra believes that changed her. Bolin points out that Kuvira is very persuasive and may have a good shot at convincing Guan to stand down. Everyone is convinced and declares their support for the plan.

Zhu Li orders Kuvira’s release and Korra brings her onto the airship taking them all to Gaoling. And, I’m sorry, this frame is like, the bitchiest collective look from Mako, Wu, Bolin and Pabu. I just love it.

They initially plan to restrain her, but decide it’s pointless when Kuvira points out if she wanted to escape that she would have already. They arrive at Gaoling and there’s no sign of Guan and his army. Kuvira is certain he’ll be there, and points out that she needs to change so she doesn’t meet with him looking like a prisoner.

Korra and Wu go to meet with the election candidates. Their portraits are on the wall and it’s revealed that the candidates are both elderly magistrates who have been working in the local government for a long time. They are practically indistinguishable from each other, which causes Korra concern. Wu isn’t happy about it either, he was hoping the elections would bring in new leaders to take the earth kingdom in a new direction. Instead, it looks like nothing will change in Gaoling or the rest of the earth kingdom if things play out the same way. They are both disappointed but Korra is optimistic that this is the first election and over things will improve as they iron out the political kinks

Back in the flying machine, they give Kuvira an outfit of Asami’s that is…. Like I can’t put it into words. I’ve never seen asami wear it and that is a shame. The word that comes to mind is “Dapper”. Like is we saw Asami wearing it when they first introduced her character literally everyone would have predicted Cannon Korrasami and immeadiately said “yup Asami’s gay straight women don’t dress like that”. Slacks, a collared long sleeve shirt, with a grey vest over top. Just like, amazing. I am so disappointed we never saw Asami wear this. Someone point me to a fanart of Asami in this outfit that canonically belongs to her please.

Guan arrives and Kuvira tries to talk to him, which goes about as well as you’d expect. So she tries to appeal directly to his troops and urges them to surrender, and they all say in unison “Hail Commander Guan!”. So Kuvira decides to challenge Guan and beats the crap out of him in a punch that looks like something directly out of a WWII propaganda poster or something.

Kuvira is literally about to kill him by bending the metal collar around his neck when suddenly Asami electrocutes her with some device she had hidden in the belt she gave Kuvira.

Once Mako and Bolin drag Kuvira away, Korra attempts to reason with Guan and tells him she won’t let him interfere with the election. Guan then reveals he has no intention of interfering- he plans on running in the election! He immediately turns in all the necessary paperwork to be on the ballot. He informs the Krew that soon, all the upcoming elections will have Earth Empire representatives running and once they have power in every territory, no one will question the Earth Empire's right to rule.

They reconvene back on the airship, where Kuvira is detained in the platinum box. They explain to Kuvira that she was wrong to provoke him, but right that he is an excellent strategist. Mako then tells Wu that he should just call off the election. Wu replies “Mako, you know I love you, but I’m trying to encourage democracy. I can’t just go around canceling elections because I don’t like one of the candidates. We need to see how this plays out”

…

Yes. “Mako, you know I love you”

…

We’ll discuss that at length in a bit.

They decide the best path forward is to find a new candidate who is popular enough to beat Guan. Korra excitedly suggests Toph. Which, like, wouldn’t have been the first person to come to mind for me, but I guess she’s the only person they know who is originally from Goaling? But everyone seems on board, except presumably Toph because she doesn't like to get involved in worldly affairs… So Korra announces they will just have to convince her!!

We then cut to Guan's encampment, where he is discussing Kuvira’s actions with a Doctor Sheng, observing that Kuvira just isn’t the same, and that the Avatar has corrupted her mind. The doctor suggests they “recalibrate” Kuvira’s mind and leads him into a structure where she shows him their latest “recruits'. We then see Goaling citizens tied up in chairs with devices on their heads. They are being brainwashed to vote for Guan! Yikes!

Mako and Wu Scenes

The Sauna scene

The meeting that took place in the sauna was at the behest of Wu. He said he was very stressed out so he couldn’t miss his steam bath. I know there are lots of jokes about Wu being high maintenance because he needs his spa days or whatever, but he is in a highly stressful situation right now and we know that self care is essential to maintain one’s mental health and in order to perform one’s job well. I think this was an interesting way to weave together his seemingly superficial hobbies with his new maturity and responsibility. I really loved this scene for that (though seeing all the hot people in sauna-wear is a bonus).

Also there is a recurring thing where Mako is just offering the worst advice to Korra. He wants the United Republic, a completely separate Nation from the Earth Kingdom, to just.. March into another country and ‘enforce’ their democratic process??? Like…. If you know anything about world history and current events we know that is awful and wouldn’t be received well and would be a recipe for political instability and long term conflict. Thank goodness everyone is like Mako no. I’m pointing this out because, as much as we think of Wu as being immature, irresponsible, whatever, the reality is that he has a level head while Mako is actually giving the irresponsible solutions here. It’s a really interesting evolution from the infamous Wu meltdown scene where Mako was the voice of reason, but here things have reversed.

Also, I want to point out the moment where Wu backs down after he adds his grievance to the list everyone is giving (She ruined my coordination!), it’s kind of played for laughs but like… Wu has a totally valid reason to be upset on par with everyone else, considering Kuvira had him drugged and kidnapped…. Why wouldn’t he have said that? Well, the simple and obvious answer is- the writers wanted to make a “Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking” joke. But since us fans like to give depths to the characters that they deserve, maybe Wu is genuinely traumatized and just doesn’t want to bring it up. And maybe everyone knows he’s traumatized and doesn't want to bring it up, because no one else is like “Wu, did you forget she had you drugged and kidnapped???” They just give him a look and he’s like “LOL oops sorry should have said my thing first!!” maybe Team Avatar understands that it was a really scary moment for him and they just let him shield himself with humor.

I know it isn’t isn’t exactly a strong Wuko moment, but the bitchy look that Moko, Bolin, Wu and Pabu give to Kuvira in the airship breathed life into me for some reason. I’m loving how they look like a group of mean girls who were just badmouthing Kuvira before she walked in. I think they were having a nice bonding moment before this.

Mako, you know I love you

Ok. So after Mako casually mentions just calling off the election, Wu flat out says “I love you” to Mako. This is a line us Wuko shippers just DIE for. The full line is as follows:

Mako: I say you call off the vote, at least for now. Make it impossible for Guan to win

Wu: Mako, you know I love you, but I’m trying to encourage democracy. I can’t just go around cancelling elections because I don’t like one of the candidates. We need to let this play out.

So. Like, what the heck are we supposed to make of this?

I’m not going to dig too deep and force my own interpretations and headcanons onto you. This I love you could mean a number of different things. I just want to pose some rhetorical questions about it and the context to give us all some things to think about.

Is Wu flirting? Does Mako actually know that Wu loves him? Is this an extension of Wu’s many other instances of flirting with complimenting Mako (on par with ‘my big tough guy” while staring at his ass)? Has Wu said “I love you” to Mako before? How many times has Wu said “Mako I love you” before? Is this evidence of them actually being in a romantic relationship during this comic? Or is it evidence of romantic tension building? Is Mako just totally oblivious to the fact that Wu said I love you? Or did he hear it and his brain blue-screened from the shock of being blatantly told I love you? Has Wu just gotten fed up that Mako seems oblivious to all his previous flirtations and he just decided to up the ante? Does Mako love Wu back?!

Lots of questions. Lots of interpretations. But (as far as I remember) Mako has only said I love you to two people- his brother and Korra (I don’t think he said I love you to Asami but I could be wrong). And if you’ve read this you know that Mako’s relationship with Wu is not brotherly. We’ve never heard “I love you” from Wu toward anyone else that I can recall so I don’t think he makes a habit of throwing the phrase around lightly. Also, worth noting: Literally no one reacts to the casual “I love you”. Everyone just goes on with the conversation at hand. The next frame that we see of Wu and Mako’s faces together, Mako is SMILING at Wu.

So like, he’s clearly not uncomfortable with being told that Wu loves him. And no one else is uncomfortable with it either. So what gives? Are they together? Are they flirting? Is everyone else just like “yup Wu said I love you Mako nothing out of the ordinary here because it’s painfully obvious Wu is into Mako, let's move on, nothing to see here”?

Wu and Korra

One thing I LOVE about these comics is the friendship between Korra and Wu. During the series, Korra tolerated Wu, warming up to him a bit at the very end when he told her his plan to abdicate. But through these comics there seems to be a comfortable familiarity between them. A bit of teasing, loads of moral support, and not a hint of her (or anyone) being super annoyed by him. He also doesn’t hit on her or anyone else except Mako, which is a very refreshing character growth because it was very tiresome to watch him objectify women in the animated series.

Korra and Wu spend a good amount of time together as she accompanies him to Gaoling’s city hall. They seem very comfortable with each other, comfortable enough that the writers included a fart joke.

Korra reassures Wu when he expresses worry about the election being pointless, she steps forward somewhat protectively when Guan shows up- the entire scene with Guan, Korra is standing between him and Wu.

Basically I bring this up because I genuinely love the idea that Korra and Wu are close and friendly, that they have moved on from his cringy behavior from the series (I like to think he apologized to both her and Asami?)

What this means for Wuko

If you are writing fic or just coming up with headcanon, there are two ways to look at the scenes. Either they are in a relationship, or they aren’t. You could easily just say they are in a relationship and are being quiet about it, because they aren’t ready to be fully public, or maybe because they are still figuring things out, or they are waiting for Wu to abdicate and move back to Republic City, etc. “You know I love you” is such an easy piece of canon content to make this your headcanon.

Likewise, one could say they are Not Together right now. Pre-relationship, if you will. Maybe they’ve danced around the idea, discussed feelings without actually getting together. Or maybe they are still clueless that there is a potential for a relationship. Wu might be putting out feelers to see how Mako responds to his flirtations. Mako might be wondering if he’s misinterpreting Wu’s affectionate touches and words. Lots of romantic tension, pining, each wondering if the other one has any feelings.

I also love the idea that Wu and Korra are friends and have discussed or will discuss Mako and Wu’s feelings for him.

So, in summary, Wu loves Mako. It’s canon. It’s right there in black and white. Make of it what you will!

Next post I will discuss Wuko in the first half of RotE Book 2. Wu goes on a life-changing field trip with Korra to meet Toph and confront a swamp-vision of his Late Great Aunt, while Mako gets captured and brainwashed by Guan. Wu and Mako are not together during these scenes but there will be lots of wonderful Wu backstory along with plenty of angst potential from the brainwashing storyline.

Wuko in Turf Wars

Wuko in RotE part 1

#Wuko #Wuko in the Comics #RotE #Mako #Prince Wu

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tagthescullion · 2 years

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Il Minuetto della Ragazza

Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: T

Summary: Bianca di Angelo is alive. Alive and upset, confused, desperate… Camp Half Blood lost her little brother, and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do to bring him home safe.

AO3 link

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Chapter Four: Dynamite

Bianca gaped horrified.

Clarisse’s definition of fun was to break into the supply shed and steal an insane amount of explosives.

Yes, explosives.

She hadn’t been joking when she said she wanted to blow up the Labyrinth.

“Absolutely not!”

Clarisse threw her an irritated glance. “No time for scruples, girly, we need to act.”

“You’re insane,” Bianca insisted. “We’ll be killed!”

Why didn’t Clarisse see the danger in her plan? A bomb? Didn’t she know how catastrophic that could be? And she was excited about it!

“I know what I’m about, kid.”

“What about the building?” Bianca said. “If it falls down…”

Clarisse shrugged. “The owner’s an absolute monster… not in the literal sense, but he’s an ass. He’s planning to open a golf course here. It’ll leave the whole city in a water shortage. We’ll be doing everybody a favour.”

“I’m pretty sure a giant explosion in the middle of the day would be doing nobody any favours.”

“Gods, you’re unbearable!” Clarisse snapped. “They blew up the building that stood here before! People don’t care.”

“I’m not doing this in broad daylight.”

“Fine, you want to light this up at night, we’ll come back in the evening!” Clarisse decided. “But we must set it up now.”

Bianca opened her mouth to argue again, but decided against it. This way, she’d have several hours to dissuade the older girl from her plan.

Instead, she said, “Do you happen to have explosives lying around your house?”

Clarisse frowned at her tone.

“You never know when you might need stuff,” she told Bianca. “But we’ll use whatever these people left here, rather than go back all the way home.”

Setting up dynamite all around the mine-shaft-Labyrinth doorway and the necessary columns of the building took them hours. By the time they were done, Bianca was exhausted and terribly hungry.

Clarisse stretched and cracked her back.

“Lunch time.”

Clarisse didn’t take them back home, instead, she sat Bianca on an outside table at a little corner shop. It was late for the locals, but there were still a few families enjoying dessert.

She went inside, leaving Bianca to herself.

The weather was warm, but out of direct sunlight, the temperature didn’t bother her anymore.

Her body was too tired, but her mind turned in circles. Find Nico. Where’s Nico? I shouldn’t have left him alone.

In an attempt to distract herself from her missing brother, she closed her eyes and tried to remember.

That seemed to be her new hobby. Remembering.

Nico and her had been pulled out of time seventy years ago. It had been in the early 40s then.

What could she recall from then?

Clothes were different. Most women didn’t wear trousers. Mamma had once said that was because of the government, that when she was a teenager girls wore trousers if they wanted to.

Bianca didn’t remember much of the government back then, but she guessed her mother didn’t love them too much. Perhaps that’s why they’d moved to the US of A.

People. Who could she remember?

Faces became a blur in her head, details were fuzzy… Mamma loved red lipstick. She let Bianca try it on sometimes. She liked cleanliness, she insisted on Bianca and Nico bathing regularly, in spite of the soap shortage.

Soap shortage?

Clang!

Bianca jumped in her seat.

Clarisse was studying her with a raised eyebrow. She had deposited a plastic tray with two big sandwiches and fries on the table.

“Are you okay?”

Bianca stared back silently. She was onto something. About her past. She had been thinking about her mother but…? No, her mind had been swept from the thought.

“I’m all right.”

Clarisse didn’t appear convinced. Bianca was surprised by the other girl’s concern. She had been given the impression that children of Ares were brutes, they liked violence and bestiality. That image didn’t fit the girl in front of her, though, her worry looked honest. Despite her enjoyment of blowing up constructions, she had taken care of Bianca and Chris, even if the latter had been against her better judgement.

“I’m just thinking about… stuff,” Bianca corrected herself.

Clarisse’s eyes turned sympathetic. “It can’t be easy, missing out on a chunk of time like that.”

Bianca replied with a weak smile. Should she tell Clarisse the truth? If Percy, Thalia, and Grover knew, they might’ve told already. Eventually, Clarisse would also find out anyway.

“It’s not the first time that’s happened.”

“Huh?”

Bianca shrugged. “During the quest, we went close to Las Vegas and I… I have bad memories from there. There’s a place where time doesn’t run. I mean, it does on the outside, but you stay the same for a long, long time.”

Clarisse looked disturbed. “Chase and Jackson mentioned it a couple of years back. The Lotus trap.”

“It’s a hotel nowadays, actually.”

“I should probably be more surprised.” Clarisse’s tone became serious, “When did you go in there, then? A few years back? Last decade?”

Bianca’s lips stretched into a sardonic smile. “Nineteen forty three.”

Clarisse spat the drink she was sipping. Coughing, she said: “What the hell?”

Bianca was surprised by the accuracy of the date. She hadn’t been sure before, but now she was. It had been summer in 1943, too hot and dry in the desert, but she couldn’t figure out why she was thrown in there. Who would put her and her brother in such a terrible place?

“I don’t remember much,” said Bianca. “From before, I mean.”

“I suppose some places mess up with your head,” Clarisse’s expression turned bitter. “Mythology loves messing up with your head.”

Bianca looked down. Her eyes followed a drop of condensation run through the Coca-Cola can all the way to the table. Her attention fixed on the tiny pool of water forming at the base of the can. Her mind brought forward Chris Rodríguez’s dazed eyes.

“You’re out of there now, though,” Clarisse remarked. “That’s what matters.”

“Percy said the same thing.”

The older girl gave her a reluctant smile. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s not always wrong.”

“Are you not friends, then?” Bianca wondered.

“I– Eh… It’s complicated.” Clarisse shrugged. “We don’t really like each other all that much.”

“Rivals?”

“Too strong a word.”

“Affectionate rivals?”

Clarisse frowned. “Gods no! That sounds weird.”

Bianca smiled. Her grin faded slightly. Looking around to make sure they were alone she asked: “Must we really blow up that building?”

Clarisse sighed.

“I don’t see another way,” she said, chewing on a fry with her mouth wide open.

Bianca made a disgusted face. Clarisse must’ve thought she was reacting to their plans.

“Sometimes we have to do stuff we don’t like to stop worse things from happening,” she explained. “The Labyrinth is cursed. It must be destroyed… or at least contained.”

“We could seal it, couldn’t we?” Bianca suggested.

Clarisse shook her head. “Too risky. Besides, you saw how the maze had changed when we were there this morning. If we sealed the entrance, another one might take its place.”

Bianca wanted to argue that the same could be said about blowing up the entrance, but Clarisse looked impatient again, so she let it rest.

After lunch, Clarisse walked her around town. She pointed out three different buildings and told Bianca they were former schools of hers.

“You’ve changed schools so much!” Bianca pointed out.

Clarisse made a face. “Those three? Those are only some of the schools I’ve been to. I’ve been kicked out of six schools already.”

There was a worrisome glint of pride in her eyes.

“Of course some demigods have even more rotten luck,” Clarisse continued. “Jackson’s been kicked out of like seven or eight. I don’t know how his mother hasn’t run out of schools yet.”

Bianca couldn’t swear her record was perfect. She truly could not remember, but she was almost sure she hadn’t been in so many schools. Of course, she’d moved around a lot, in space and time, but she hadn’t been expelled from so many institutions… had she?

Clarisse saw her conflicted expression, she bumped Bianca with her shoulder.

“It’s not some sacred rite of passage,” she clarified. “But it does happen to most demigods. We attract chaos. Unless you can prove your innocence, or buy the authorities’ forgiveness, mayhem gets us kicked out.”

“Demigod life sounds tough.”

“You’ve experienced it first hand,” Clarisse reminded her.

“I can’t remember most of it, though,” Bianca said.

Again her mind wandered to Nico’s whereabouts and wellbeing. Demigod life was tough. He was only a boy.

She felt a sudden bout of anger cross her mind. Whoever the hell was her godly father? He should be looking after her and Nico. How absolutely ridiculous that she, a twelve year old girl, had to move heaven and earth when some idle, inoperant god was lazing around scratching his–

“Who do you think is my father?” She said out loud, making Clarisse jump.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“My godly father,” Bianca explained. “I know it was my father. My mother was mortal.”

Clarisse looked like she wouldn’t particularly care one way or the other.

“No idea,” she said. “Who do you think it is?”

Bianca shrugged. So far her talents seemed to include turning skeletons to dust, getting lost easily, speaking French, and having trouble reading. She told Clarisse this.

“You’re probably dyslexic,” the older girl explained. “That’s why you have trouble reading. Happens to many of us.”

“Dyslexic?”

“Mixing up words? Sometimes numbers? I think the number one is called something else, though,” Clarisse hesitated. “At any rate, it’s a pain.”

“Sounds like word-blindness,” Bianca commented. “Is that a sign of being a demigod?”

“Not exclusively,” said Clarisse. “Anyway I’m not counting getting lost as a ‘talent’, but speaking French is an Aphrodite Cabin trait. Silena could always speak it fluently.”

“So can you,” Bianca pointed out. “Besides it’s my father, I’m sure!”

“Fair enough,” Clarisse admitted. “Although I wouldn’t put it past Aphrodite to bend the rules of conception. Turning a skeleton to dust, however? That’s getting us somewhere.”

Bianca was starting to regret telling her that. She had a feeling that she should’ve kept that to herself.

“With my father’s blessing you can control dead soldiers,” Clarisse said. Bianca noticed she looked proud. “I did it once for a quest!”

“That’s cool,” Bianca grinned. “The Golden Fleece, wasn’t it? I think Percy mentioned it.”

“He did?”

“He was arguing with Thalia about something–”

“Oh, I believe that,” Clarisse smirked. “They fought all the time.”

Bianca gave a one-armed shrug. The answer was yes. The little time she’d spent with them had been full of confrontations between the two cousins. Bianca didn’t believe they disliked each other for real, if she was honest. They were too similar for their own good.

The conversation dwindled until they found themselves walking in silence, which Bianca preferred. She had opened Pandora’s box by letting Clarisse guess her godly father. Bianca wished she hadn’t. She didn’t know who it was, but she’d rather Clarisse didn’t figure it out before she did. She wasn’t sure why.

“Down to business then,” Clarisse said firmly after a while. “It’s getting dark and we have a building to demolish!”

Bianca looked around. Clarisse was right, the sky had darkened much faster than she had imagined. Or perhaps she hadn’t paid quite enough attention to time.

Bianca’s feet felt like lead as Clarisse led her back to the construction site.

Despite the moon brightening their path, and having no adversities on sight, Bianca felt a lump in her throat. This was wrong. It felt much, much more wrong now than it had in daylight.

She didn’t want to cause an explosion. What if they hurt somebody? What did Clarisse even know about demolishing? She was only a teenager!

“What is it now?” Clarisse’s tone was rough. “We’ve waited until nightfall like you wanted!”

“We can’t do this.”

Clarisse sighed. “We can and we will.”

Bianca shook her head, digging her heels on the soft dirt of the ground.

Clarisse groaned. “Fine! Whatever! I’ll do it alone.”

And she went off muttering about cowardice and being left the dirty work every time.

Bianca didn’t know what to do with herself. Her anxiety hadn’t subsided in the least.

Clarisse’s head popped out of the control center’s window.

“Get the hell out of there, girl! Do you want to get killed by debris?”

Bianca forced her legs to cooperate, to take her to the side of the control center –a little building in the perimeter–.

“Come in!” Clarisse ordered.

Bianca obeyed thoughtlessly. The inside of the center was a tiny room with a few detonators and a glass window that showed the construction site a good distance away.

“This place was left from when they demolished the previous building,” Clarisse explained.

Bianca didn’t answer.

A shadow –probably a bird– crossed the moon beam visible on the concrete floor. The bird twirled in the sky, joined by another, eclipsing the moon at even intervals, giving the impression of an army of birds encapsulating the earth.

“You ready?” Clarisse asked.

Bianca felt a shiver run down her spine.

“Three.”

Planes.

“Two.”

The birds reminded her of planes.

“One.”

And then everything went up in flames.

#bianca di angelo #clarisse la rue #nico di angelo #pjo #nico pjo #mis fics #tagthescullion

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

WIBAR Intermission: New Friends

winner of the first july patreon poll! thanks to @legendsgates for allowing me to sneak in a brief cameo of their alien species, cetarfreka!

previous intermission episode | start of WIBAR

warnings: violence, fear, tension, ptsd episodes, injury mention, being held hostage, misunderstandings, deception

It was about halfway through their trading circuit that the vidcomm from the Mindscape popped up.

Remyy perked up instantly, Patton’s distinctive singsong voice clear even from half across the main bay. They dropped to their feet and tucked all their wings tight against them to signal that anyone in the way should swiftly get out of the way. Those in the bay who knew them cast strange glances in their direction as they hop-skittered across the floor.

Remyy couldn’t blame them; this was probably the fastest they’d moved all week. They usually maintained a much more casual demeanor for the sake of their reputation, but in this case...

“Patton! Babes, you’re really okay!”

“Remyy!” The Ampen fluffed up, a pleasant glow filling the room around him, face pinching up happily.

In this case, exceptions would be made.

The Obrxyx currently managing the comms sighed at them, unimpressed. “You have this one, then?”

“Sure do,” Remyy drawled, still leaning between xem and the monitor so that half their face took up the comm screen. “We go way back, I’ll get them docked.”

They waited impatiently for xem to move to a different comm terminal, adjusted the seatpad so they could be seen properly through the comm, and promptly started complaining. “I can’t believe you guys, holing up in that rinky dink ship for so long with only voice calls to tell everyone that you were okay! Where’s the gossip? Why in the universe would you keep it from me?”

Patton’s hands jerked, and the comm screen wobbled, blurring his expression strangely for a moment. Remyy tilted their goggles slightly for a better angle, but by the time the mobile communicator stabilized, any change in demeanor had vanished.

“Be careful, Rem,” Patton said teasingly, “it almost sounds like you care about us or something.”

“Funny,” Remyy replied dryly, “I’ll have you know that I’ve just been missing Logan’s high quality deathbrew, none of that sentimental garbage.”

Patton laughed at them silently with his gaze alone. Innocent, naive Ampen, their ass.

“Are we cleared to dock y-- Is that Remyy?” Another voice from offscreen dropped abruptly into horror, and Remy’s eyes narrowed in gleeful amusement.

“It sure is, gurl,” they called, “and the Remyy in question seems to recall a certain bet that was never paid up on. 30 cenals, cough ‘em up.”

There was a loud groan, and then a thump that shook the comm slightly. Patton spent a moment staring at something with a confused frown, and then seemed to get it, nodding. He turned back to them very seriously.

“Sorry, Roman can’t come to the comm right now,” he informed them. “He, uh, died. Very recently. And tragically."

Belatedly, he put on a sad expression, antennae drooping. Remyy raised their eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Uh huh. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to join in on the funeral rites once I get down to help carry the goods over, huh--?”

“No!” The voices of both his friends overlapped, making the comm audio fuzz harshly for a moment. Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly, taken aback at the vehemence.

“Uh, I mean, we don’t have that much,” Patton hurried to patch up the awkward pause. “How about we meet you in the docking lobby instead? You can get Roman’s credits there.”

“Hey!”

Remyy’s ears angled back with displeased confusion, but they acquiesced anyhow. “Hurry up, then. And make sure Logan brings my brew!”

Whatever it was they were hiding, Remyy was sure they’d be able to weasel it out of them in no time.

---

After grabbing a short meal and a boring haggling session between the Mindscape’s crew and the cargo manager of the Starwinder, Remyy finally got to learn about what had happened to Patton during his disappearance.

It wasn’t pretty.

Their senspatches felt dry at the mere thought of Patton stripped of his coat and forced to starve because of it. It was beyond lucky that the remaining two of the trio managed to find and free the Ampen from the harvesters before it was too late. If anyone could do it, though, they believed this crew could.

Patton had grown quieter and less fluffy throughout the course of the tale, with Roman and Logan taking turns delivering a well-practiced explanation of the events. Seeing as these were extenuating circumstances, Remyy submitted to cuddles just this once, allowing the small alien to bury his face in the folds of their leathery armwings.

They took a moment once the story was over, casually and completely unintentionally folding more of their wing over Patton. “That bites, babes.”

“Yeah.” The Ampen hummed in response, mouth pinched strangely. “I… I’m really grateful that I got help when I did.”

Logan set a careful hand on Patton’s back, though the motion almost came across as less comforting and more… cautioning? Remyy’s senspatches flared up slightly as they tried to read more into the situation.

Before they could really investigate, though, Roman was leaning forwards and grabbing the edge of their arm to get their attention.

“Remyy. We’ve been having something of an adjustment period. Drop it, please?”

They flickered their ears at him dismissively, but really… looking at the small crew, they could see a sort of wariness reflected in their stiff posture, the way the three of them constantly cast glances back to the dock hall that would lead to their ship. Trying to make sure they had a quick exit. Whatever the details of their experience, it was stressing them out to lay it all out in the open like this. Remyy could understand that.

“Fine, whatever,” they sighed, sipping at the bitter brew Logan had thoughtfully provided. “I suppose I’ll keep my awe-inspiring ability to root out interesting tidbits to myself for now. I can just grill Lo later.”

The three friends slumped in relief, and Remyy turned their face away slightly to allow them some privacy to recover. They probably wouldn’t appreciate it, that was mostly an Elimtran thing, but it was the effort that counted. They cast about for some other topic to distract. What else had they heard about lately… oh!

“Have you all heard the stories about the rogue Human going around lately?”

There was spluttering, and they turned back to see Roman seemed to have inhaled mid-drink, and was now muffling coughs into his shoulder. Patton studiously avoided eye contact as he patted the Cravon sympathetically. Logan shifted one arm out from where they were politely tucked away, looking intensely intrigued. Strange, he wasn’t usually one for gossip.

“We have not,” he stated, hands twitching in preparation for his thought weaving thing. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Uh, duh,” they replied, trying not to think too much on the rather extreme reaction. If the crew was really so stressed, it made sense that news of a Human would freak them out. Shit, they sucked at this. Gathering information would make them feel more secure, yeah? “It’s been circulating at some of the more shady ports we’ve been to, rumors that a small-tier smuggling ring recently managed to rise through the ranks just because they got their hands on a Human and knew how to use it to their advantage. That much is like, okay, horrifying to know that there’s still Humans out there in the outer ranges, but whatever, it’s under lock and key.”

Patton clung to their wing tighter. They paused, deliberating on whether or not to continue.

“I assume, going by the fact that you called h-- it a ‘rogue’ Human, that's not the case anymore?” Logan supplied, waving for them to proceed.

“Well, yeah. Apparently, it tore through practically half the group members before escaping, and now people are reporting cases of a bloodthirsty Human all over this quadrant. Not that the calls are accurate. It’s just hearsay,” they made sure to add. “It might just be someone trying to work the local governs into a panic, put pressure on the Council for this or that political maneuver.”

Logan didn’t respond for a concerning amount of time. “Right. Of course, that is plausible. Still, thank you for the information, Remyy. We will… keep it in mind.”

Remyy sunk lower in their seat, regretting bringing the topic up at all. “Mm. You do that, babes. Remember the stats, too. There’s a warrant out. Sooner or later, the Council will probably find whoever’s at the source of the rumors and put them to rights, Human or not.”

“That’s… great,” Roman got to his feet abruptly. “I think maybe we should head out soon. We’ve got that next landing to prep for, after all. Holmao isn’t known for its gentle terrain.”

“What?” Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly as they stood up too, abandoning their drink and dislodging Patton. “You just got here! Aren’t you at least going to catch a night’s rest? No offense to your ship, but the arti-grav ain’t exactly stellar.”

“That’s why we need to do more jobs! Save up for better arti-grav installation, right guys?” Roman’s voice seemed slightly frantic. Remyy suddenly remembered what little history the Cravon had shared with them, and swore mentally. They really, really shouldn’t have brought up the Human.

“Ro, look, I’m so--”

Their voice abruptly cut off as a cool line of metal pressed between their wings, right against their life vein. They saw as Roman’s eyes locked on something behind them, scales rising to a prickling stand quicker than they’d ever witnessed before.

“Nobody move,” a voice behind them called in clear, precise Common. “Or you get to bleed out right after this one.” The flat of the blade pressed harder against their back, and they couldn’t stop their ears from flattening completely in terror.

“Let them go,” Roman demanded, halfway to a snarl. Before he could even take a step, though, more armed strangers were swarming into the lobby, barking orders for the few other people currently in the room to get down. Expression dark, Roman held his arms out in a gesture of compliance, though his scales continued to stick out in a defensive bristle.

Raiders, it had to be. Remyy knew they knew the reptilian symbol that was engraved in each of the strangers black masks, but they couldn’t remember the group’s name for the fear flooding their mind, keeping them frozen in place.

One of them kicked Patton clear away from Remyy’s legs, and the Ampen let out a short shriek of pain before clapping his hands over his mouth. The raider behind Remyy laughed, apparently unconcerned about any alarms being raised, but Remyy was more focused on the way the Mindscape crew exchanged panicked glances, Logan kneeling next to Patton and subtly signing something in Crav’n.

“Now, here’s how this is going to work.” The one behind Remyy gestured with their other hand, which Remyy could now see was holding a paralyzer. Raiders were known for using them to get information, since most aliens could take a few shots from one before succumbing to the pain. “You’re all going to line up against the wall while we search your vessels, and in exchange, nobody has to die, got it?”

Remyy could only look straight ahead, so they got a clear view of Patton’s furious glow dimming down to horrified in an instant at the leader’s words. Whatever the three of them were hiding, it was hidden on their ship, and apparently not well enough.

They ran their tongue along their teeth for a moment, debating, and then wiggled their ears slightly, loosening the grip their goggles had until they were slipping down their face slightly. Only their upper eyes were exposed, but with any luck, it would be enough.

It wasn’t long till they managed to make eye contact with a nearby raider; the leader was the one giving orders, after all, and they were being held hostage by said leader, so it made sense that eyes would stray in their direction.

The moment they locked gazes, Remyy flickered their pupils and let their senspatches slowly pulse. The raider took a moment to bob their head in confusion before becoming visibly more relaxed, and Remyy didn’t waste any time. 'Circle around and attack the one holding me.'

The raider swayed slightly for a moment before moving to obey, a side effect of not being exposed to the full hypnotic effect of their eyes, and Remyy had a moment to feel hopeful that maybe they could actually pull this off.

“Grahh’m, what are you-- Oh, you little shit,” the leader spat, moments before a strike to the side of Remyy’s head had them seeing stars. They heard Roman growling furiously, still forced to the ground under threat of gunfire, and hoped that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He wouldn’t be any use if he was convulsing from pain.

“I should have known better than to leave an Elimtra awake and armed, hmm?” The leader flipped them to their back, pressing a knee to their chest and crushing their secondaries uncomfortably against the floor. A moment later, their other hand was shoving their goggles harshly back over their face.

Remyy gagged slightly as all the air was forced from their lungs. “Probably should’ve, ye-- eah,” they replied, struggling to inhale again.

“Funny.” There was a glint of silver uncomfortably close to their eyes. The knife. Remyy regretted the snark. They regretted the snark so much.

The leader paused. “Oren, is it the eyes or the little spots under them that do the hypnotizing, do you recall?”

There was a pause, in which ‘Oren’ seemed to have no answer, and Remyy realized with a chill just what was being threatened. The leader considered them for a moment, and then pulled their dark mask further up to cover more of their face.

“I suppose I’ll just get rid of both, hmm?” The knife wavered closer.

Across the room, there was a loud crash, and a strangled yell that cut off as quick as it started. Remyy watched as the leader’s head jerked up, and saw the moment that the severe frown on their face abruptly transformed into utter terror. Hurriedly, the raider stood back up, and they were pulled up along, shoved in front of them like a shield.

It didn’t take long to see why. Across the lobby, near the entrance to the dock halls, a tall, slender figure was holding the remains of what must have been a seatpad. The rest of it appeared to be lying crumpled along with the limp raider that had been closest to that entryway.

The whisper spread through the room as quick as any small-town rumor: Human.

The being was scanning the eerily-silent space, and when it reached the spot where the leader stood, accompanied by Remyy and friends, it’s lips curled up into a vicious snarl, teeth on full display. It moved forwards in a way Remyy could only describe as predatory, and the leader went tense behind them. “Stop that thing, now!”

One raider, either damn brave or damn stupid, charged right in, and received the rest of the seatpad to the skull for their efforts. Remy winced at the sound. This seemed to be the signal for the rest of the raiders to converge, and the room descended into pandemonium.

In the thick of it all, the Human-- for what else could it really be?-- continued to advance, unrelenting. It wasn’t as fast as some aliens Remyy had met, but it didn’t need to be. The way that it stalked through the room radiated threat like an oath, and when opponents did dare to stand in it’s way, the blows were vicious and crunching, often leaving splatters of residue on its skin.

Most frightening of all was the way it handled the paralyzers, which should have driven any creature with pain receptors to the floor. Each time a shot landed on the human, it would tear the spiked prongs out with a twitch and a grimace and just keep moving.

By the time the leader realized that a strategic retreat was long overdue, it was already far too close for comfort. Remyy heard a swear behind them, and then they were being shoved, hard.

They caught a glimpse of Roman moving, and then they found themself busy tripping directly into a Human’s warpath. So much for surviving this.

They folded their wingarms over their head in some paltry attempt at defense as they fell. There was a grunt, and then a hot grip on their shoulders, all-too-close to the base of their secondaries and stars above were they going to have their glider wings torn clear off--?

“‘Scuse me,” the Human muttered in Common, and then lifted Remyy clear off the ground, easy-as-you-please, and set them down to the side. It brushed past them, heading straight towards Roman and the others, and Remyy stared after it.

Rather than continue after the leader, who had been thoroughly pinned by Roman and was currently swearing viciously, the Human stopped in front of Logan and Patton and dropped to a crouch. Remyy jerked forward, but neither of their friends seemed keen to jump away or defend themselves. In fact, Patton looked to be carefully headbutting the Human’s chest, and Logan was speaking in low, comforting tones. Even stranger, the Human seemed to be listening.

The circuits connected in their mind, illuminating a truly outlandish conclusion.

They whistled lowly, drawing all the attention in the room to them. “Listen up, babes. As a subsect representative of the Council, I’m authorized to do my thing here, so I’m gonna need everyone to follow my directions.”

“Remyy, what?” Roman asked, and was thoroughly ignored. A nearby Cetarfris protested from where they were practically pressed halfway up the wall, red eyes wide and patterned tail thrashing in terror.

“Are you genuine? Do you not see the Human right there?”

Remyy clicked their tongue in reproach. “Gurl, do I not have enough eyes for you or somethin’? I will handle the Human. What else is the Council good for?”

“Uh, governing?” someone else muttered. Remyy ignored them, too.

“I need all the raiders that haven’t already jetted in holding cells immediately. I’m sure there’ll be a hefty reward for members of this particular gang, even if they’re small fries, so anyone who pitches in can get some of that bounty. And remember, keep your mouths shut about this unless you want to be up to your orifices in paperwork at best. If you have to gossip, keep names out of it or I'll know who snitched.” Remyy shifted their goggles up on their forehead, turning to the Human and ignoring the thick tension in the room. “I’ll escort the Human to proper captivity. Roman, Logan, Patton, with me.”

As expected, the mere fact that the Mindscape crew were accompanying seemed to put the Human at ease, even if just slightly. Now, came the bit that would make or break the lie. They moved forwards slowly and reached out for the Human’s shoulder, tugging slightly at it as though this wasn't the creature that had just plowed through a band of raiders like they were dust in the wind. “C’mon, babes.”

After a pause, the Human followed. The relief in the room was palpable, and Remyy was no exception. They liked a good bet as much as the next guy, but generally preferred when there weren’t so many lives at stake.

See, the thing about being a species that was somewhat infamous for their hypnotic abilities was that everyone assumed you were using them, even if you weren’t. This tended to lean more in the direction of being a bad thing, but in this case, it helped Remyy tremendously, as nobody cast a second glance at them as they guided the docile Human through the lobby.

That might also have been because nobody wanted to be in the same room as a rogue Human for very long, but such was the way of things. Small details.

Soon enough, they reached the dock halls, and Remyy swiftly led the four of them onboard the Mindscape. They closed and locked the connecting port after them, and resisted the urge to collapse in relief.

Instead, they turned around to assess the rest of this mess.

It was quite a scene, and at first, they seemed too busy amongst themselves to even notice Remyy.

The Human was curled in on themself in one corner, looking pallid and ill, but also coiled so tightly it looked like they were one wrong word from fleeing the quadrant. Positioned firmly in front of them, Roman was audibly rattling from head to tail, moving on automatic as he bodily prevented the other two from approaching. Remyy would have thought the gesture was for the Human’s sake if not for the way Roman angled his own body, like he expected to be attacked from behind at any moment.

“It’s not safe,” he uttered over and over, gaze haunted. “It’s not safe. You have to hide.”

Patton warbled in wordless distress, and Logan gave up on trying to pull Roman away, instead simply holding his ground and speaking to the Cravon, calm and firm.

“This isn’t then, Roman. We’re here, and that is Virgil, and he is not going to hurt us. We’re safe. We are on the Mindscape. We are safe. Observe the space around you. Can you tell me five things you see?”

Remyy waited unobtrusively as the two of them slowly coaxed Roman back into the present, bit by bit. When he hunched over to be closer to his shorter friends, Patton carefully grabbed his hand, rubbing small circles into it in a soothing gesture Remyy wasn’t familiar with. “You with us, Ro?”

Roman signed something with his other hand, too quick for Remyy to grasp, and Patton smiled, a bit sad. “We’re okay, but there’s a little bit of a situation going on with Remyy, remember?”

Roman glanced at them, and then to the Human, who was still vibrating violently. Remyy had thought it was barely restrained anger, at first, but the longer they watched, the more it seemed compulsive, more fearful than furious. It only increased as Roman’s attention fell heavy on him.

“I didn’t mean to,” the Human said, voice as shaky as the rest of him. “I swear, I-- I just heard Patton yell, and they had weapons, like-- I… I didn't want to hurt anyone. I’m sorry that I-- that I did. But you guys were in danger. I couldn’t just... leave you to that.”

He sounded almost resigned, like he was trying to plead his case but had already accepted deep down that it was pointless to fight his sentence. When Roman turned away from him, his thoughts only seemed to be confirmed, and his face dropped another shade as his gaze darted over to Remyy. He seemed apprehensive, not that Remyy could really blame him. Poor guy probably thought he was about to be surrendered to law enforcement.

“Remyy.” Roman’s voice sounded wrung out, and from Patton’s concerned expression, the Cravon probably didn’t normally force himself to speak after episodes like this. “Virgil isn’t-- He’s better here with us. He doesn’t... deserve to be subjected to the Council just because he decided to... to save us.”

The Cravon opened his mouth as though to say more, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he signed something short and planted himself in a sitting position in front and slightly to the side of the Human, even as his scales still shivered. ‘Virgil’ was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Roman’s right!” Patton took the opportunity to jump in front of them like the universe’s smallest, cutest guardian angel, cloak and ruff fluffed up stalwartly. Most effective of all was the Ampen’s ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed-at-your-life-choices’ look. “Virgil is part of our family, and I’ll fight you about it!”

The Ampen’s tiny glare wasn't nearly as alarming as the assessing look Virgil cast over them, like he thought Remyy was really going to try and fight Patton and was prepared to intervene. They resisted the urge to cast their lower eyes up in exasperation. Who would fight Patton? There was no reward, you’d just end up feeling bad. And also end up getting totally trashed by a Human, apparently.

As always, Logan was the one to get it first. He stepped forwards, extending a hand. “Before you take any legal action against our crew member, I’d like to see your Council identification.”

Remyy’s cheeks bunched up smugly as they stretched their armwings out in front of them casually. “That’s too bad, Brainiac, ‘cause I totally don’t have any.”

There was a brief pause. “What, you guys really thought I was some kind of narc?”

“You lied right to all those people’s faces?” Patton asked, somewhat aghast. Roman shot them a dirty look at the deception, but he also let all the tension leak out of him, so Remyy counted it as a win. Logan simply looked exasperated.

“Not completely. I’ve got connections to get their bounties called in quick, and I ‘handled’ the Human, didn’t I? It’s not my fault if they misinterpreted things.”

“This is all you’re going to do to… ‘handle’ me?” the Human asked, looking uncertain, a little suspicious, and even kind of bewildered. “Just… let me go? What’s the catch?”

They really did roll their eyes up this time. “Babes, I’m covering for you. Seeing as you literally just saved my beautiful face, and these losers vouch for you, I figure you can get some benefit of the doubt. Besides, I’m not done with you all just yet.”

The four of them studied Remyy with varying levels of wariness, and then confusion as the Elimtra strolled past them all to head further into the ship.

“If you think you’re going anywhere before you tell me all about how this whole situation came about, honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.”

#sanders sides #space au #wibar #ts remy #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #watch it burn and rust #wibar intermission #wibar int: nf #writing #my writing #im so tired... zzz #this is the first time ive ever written remy so please be nice #i had fun though ;w;#i cant think of any more tags i hope you guys enjoy!#zzz

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schmergo · 2 years

Text

Well, my first dream of 2022 was crazy.

I have a lot of dreams that I’m watching a movie or reading a book and the story I’m consuming makes up the plot of the dream- I’m not a character in my dream, just an observer, though it seems to have a 3rd person omniscient vibe where I can tell what the characters are thinking and feeling. This was one of those dreams. It also seemed to include small elements from a lot of things I’ve watched and read recently.

The vibe was kind of similar to The Witch— stubborn dad struggles to provide for family in isolated barren homestead where supernatural things are going on— but it was set in a modern-day Appalachian forest, where a family lives in extreme poverty trying to mostly live off the land.

The dad kinda looked like Vin Diesel and he tried to hunt, grow food, and drove long distances for short-term manual labor jobs, but basically couldn’t put food on the table. The mom barely appeared, but she was mainly focused on taking care of her young son, who had a lot of medical problems. (Dad refused to get any government assistance.) The oldest son looked kind of like a young Andrew Garfield, with tall voluminous messy hair that always made his silhouette recognizable in dark scenes. (This will be important later). He was really smart and wanted to go to college, but dad wouldn’t let him. He kept being forced to stay home from high school to do manual labor and try to farm even though he knew his dad’s farming strategies wouldn’t work. Dad and son were both highly temperamental and the conflict between dad and son was a big theme.

At night, the woods surrounding the family’s shack would be haunted by what the family called “screamers,” vampire like creatures. You never directly saw them, just a vague human-like outline and two glowing yellow eyes. Mostly, you heard them. The sound they made sounded like a mountain lion scream, human-like at first but then animal. The screamers also killed and drained most of the local wildlife, so the family had trouble catching or hunting game and birds.

Nobody in the family left the house at night and they put up all kinds of superstitious charms and stuff to keep the screamers away, like painting the fence a certain color and planting certain plants. The ”movie” did sort of a bait and switch where you’re led to believe at first that the screamers actually ARE mountain lions and it’s gradually revealed that it’s something even scarier and more dangerous and intelligent.

At one point, the young son had a medical emergency during the night and they had to frantically try to keep him conscious until sunrise to drive to the hospital because they wouldn’t risk stepping outside.

I don’t remember most of the stuff that happened in the middle, but I know the screamers got their dog and I think maybe a visitor who came by at one point.

The conflict between the dad and oldest son kept building- the son kept saying he wanted to leave this horrible place and that it wasn’t safe or survivable, dad stubbornly refused to leave or move back “on the grid” and kept guilting the son that if HE moved out, his younger brother would die without his help.

Near the end of the story, part of the small shack and fence was somehow compromised (fire? Flooding? Termites) and screamers got in through the fence during the night. It was only a matter of time before they got in the house. Mom fled on foot carrying the youngest son and a breathing machine (their fate was ambiguous, but it was implied they’d never make it out of the woods). Dad and oldest son stayed behind to pack up some essentials and load up the car. While dad’s in the front room, he hears the back wall give way and and locks the door (with the oldest son inside) and runs into the shed to hide.

From the shed, he heard signs of a struggle and screaming, then everything goes quiet,and he sees in the dark the distinctive shape of his eldest son with his tall voluminous hair running out the front door and into the car.

He figures the coast is clear and runs over to the car and gets in. There’s an aerial POV of the car driving away through the woods with distant screams and you think they’re making it to safety.

Then there’s a brief, like 3-second series of flashes of what happened when dad got to the car.

He opened the car door and his son’s dark silhouette had glowing eyes. Then he jumped at him. More 3-second flashes showed the son in the house when the screamer got in. He dropped his weapon and let her bite him. Back to the car. You see silhouette of the son with glowing eyes driving into civilization with dad’s drained and torn apart corpse slumped in the back seat.

SPOOOOKY

#weird dream #weird dreams #one time I dreamt

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mysterytickingegos · 3 years

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At Least We Have Us

Pairing(s): Darkiplier x Platonic!reader

Genre: Angsty with a fluffy end.

Word Count: 1,771

Summary: Strange things happened to those who didn’t leave that dreadful manor in time, and you were one of those people. Becoming something not quite human took some time to get used to, but at least you weren’t alone.

Anonymous Request: Platonic Dark with a soft Y/N that's basically very motherly of him despite being much younger? She cares a lot about him and looks up to him. Maybe she's his assistant and also experienced the events of WKM and Dark basically adopted her after that? Post-WKM please! I need Dark being a wise and over protective big brother rn Thank youuuu

Authors Note: I loved working on this one! It was a fun concept, thank you so much for the request!

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A gif of Mark from a vlog video giving a thumbs up to the camera, it has been edited to be gray with Darkipliers afterimages and colors, red and blue.]

Dark...That was such a strange name to call him, at first.

Damien had been a family friend. He was your neighbor, and your best friend’s uncle. When you were a teenager he was a respected member of the local government, a man who hid away in a study and worked far too hard. Eventually with enough pushing from Ophelia, he was your boss, having given you an internship in city hall that Elli really didn’t want. You considered him a friend. Maybe not a close friend, but he was someone you trusted and respected and he would say the same about you.

You jogged up the stairs to the office, dodging past people while muttering quick apologies to anyone who had something to say about it. When you got there, you heard the laughter of your friend through the door and cracked it open. Ophelia was desperately trying to catch her breath between giggles, of course because Damien was telling another story about your completely sophisticated soon-to-be DA. He was surprisingly relaxed, leaning back on his desk and talking with his hands quite a bit.

“But of course, that doesn’t stop them, they run down the street- Oh, Y/n please come in. You’ll want to hear this.” He gestured to the empty chair beside Elli, but when you didn’t move from the doorway, both their faces fell. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” You tilted your head at them, not realizing how you looked, pale and out of breath. “Damien, they’re done counting. You won.”

He was in shock for a few moments, only standing up a bit straighter as he processed your words. “I won? I’m...?”

“You’re going to be the Mayor.” Ophelia finished for him, just before all three of you started laughing and cheering and jumping around.

In many conversations there were moments where you would catch a glimpse of the person you used to know, and in the beginning you would get a heavy heart. You weren’t ready to let him go, to accept that he was somebody else now. Perhaps that’s because it would mean accepting you were somebody else, too.

None of the guests from that damned party left the manor the same.

You heard it so clearly, a stranger’s voice coaxing you up the stairs, quietly whispering your name over and over as you slipped away from the rowdy party. You were practically hypnotized, not thinking about who it could possibly be or their intentions as they lead you to a room that sent chills down your spine the moment you opened the door. It was a room filled with trinkets of the occult, books with terrifying symbols, and scribbles of a mad man on papers scattered all over.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” You heard a growl from a new voice, just behind you. The person shoved you inside the room and slammed the door as you hit the ground. “In fact, I could’ve sworn this was going to be hidden from all of you.”

You stood up as quickly as you could, turning to see the host of the party scowling at you. “I wasn’t...I was just looking for Elli.” You said quickly, brushing off your clothes.

“The same Elli that told you she was going to lay down for the night a couple of hours ago?” He stepped closer, slowly, ominously.

You thought back to that conversation, spoken quietly, just the two of you on the staircase while everyone else was still playing poker. “How could you even know about that?”

Mark grinned at you, sinister and cold. He gestured around the room, to the books and trinkets. “Things aren’t as they seem here, Y/n. Ever since Celine...left me here, the things in this house had opened my mind to things I never could’ve imagined.” A short laugh bubbled out of him. “I can do anything.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You whispered, backing away. You’d heard bits and pieces of the Iplier drama from Damien, having vented his concerns to you over cups of coffee during work since the day you got your invitations. But you knew now that he had no idea.

“Perhaps they were trying to do the same for you, but I’ve come too far for some kid to screw it all up now.” He turned on his feet and left the room, shutting the door behind him. You rushed over to it, trying to twist the knob before he got a chance to lock it. But it was far too late. You banged on the door and screamed for help until your voice went hoarse, but the room had in fact been hidden away. You were surrounded by taunting spirits in a room that nobody existed, for what felt like weeks. You could feel them gnawing away at bits and pieces of you after that, an itchy feeling under your heart, changing you. Truly, time had been warped, and only one day had passed before you were found by someone who was now immune to the houses secrets and cloaks. And he didn’t say anything, but clearly something had happened to you too.

Funny thing about living forever? (Or at least as long as you have,) It’s not that great, in fact it’s actually very lonely. The world changes around you, and you don’t change that much at all. You often have to leave, not wanting the attention of being the same age after living or working somewhere for 20 or 30 years. Or you get too attached to somebody and you know you will lose them, now or later.

But you weren’t alone. Despite his anger towards Mark, how badly he wanted revenge, Dark kept very close to you. Especially after he learned what happened to his niece, he was going to keep you safe above all else. Mark learned that the hard way when he tried to silence you too, only to find an empty house and a rather cheeky note.

“Catch me if you can.”

Another funny thing, you didn’t even know the power that you had when you first wrote that. As far as you knew you were a normal girl waiting out the storm. But eventually waiting got pretty tiresome.

“How could you be so foolish?” Dark called after you as you both stormed back into the house.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that big a deal.” You huffed, tossing your jacket away.

His image faltered and glitched at what you said. “Not a big deal? You have the gift of longevity, you are NOT impervious to bullets!”

You flopped down into the armchair, crossing your arms. “We don’t know that yet.”

“You sprained your ankle tripping on air last month, I think it’s safe to say.” For a moment you could’ve sworn he smiled. If it wasn’t at your expense, you might’ve been happy. “You wonder why I hover,”

“Someone had to step in and do something.”

“Why did it have to be you?!”

“Because!” You twisted around in the chair to face him, fighting back tears. “I’m bored! I’m sick of living like a hermit! I’m tired of these stupid towns in the middle of nowhere and never having any friends...it’s been almost a century Dark, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

He pierced his lips, having to look away from you before he got emotional himself. “So this is your plan? Play hero until you run out of luck?”

“Or we can stop hiding. We can try and live our lives, instead of just surviving. I mean, what's the point if we’re completely miserable?”

“And what about him?”

“To hell with Mark, what about you?” Your voice was softer now. “I can work, and shop and be neighborly. But you...you’ve been stuck in the shadows, holding onto your hate all this time. Maybe you don’t believe it after everything that’s happened, but you deserve better.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What then? Where do you want to go?”

“How about we go home?”

‘Home’ was California, LA specifically. Sure, you could’ve gone back to your hometown but you were both part of a rather famous local mystery and you agreed it was for the best to stay away.

The sun had set a little bit ago and the streets were only illuminated by signs and street lights, that was the only way he’d agree to go out into the city with you, in the dark. Fair enough, he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. Luckily, you’d made some good friends in the last few months, friends like Mike.

“Ah, bonjour!” Mike greeted cheerfully as you and Dark approached the window, before ducking into his shop to get you both a bowl of ice cream. “I was wondering if you were going to show up.”

You nudged Dark over to one of the tables and leaned in the window. “I didn’t mean for it to take so long, thanks for keeping the shop open late for us.”

“Don’t mention it. I actually have a cousin with really bad anxiety, so I get it.” He passed you two bowls with a smile.

Dark squinted at you when you came back to the table. ‘Anxiety?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have anxiety.”

“You’re right, I should’ve told him the truth. You and your sister possessed your best friend in the 1920′s to escape a place called the upside down, but sometimes you drag bits and pieces of it into the real world and that would probably scare the locals in broad daylight.” You didn’t miss a beat in your little rant, scooping some ice cream into your mouth as soon as you were done.

He chuckled and shook his head at you. “I’m supposed to be the one lecturing you on being subtle.”

“Hey, I’m the one who’s been covering for us the past 91 years. It’s your turn to follow my lead.” You said matter-of-factly, pointing your spoon at him, before you dove back into your bowl. You missed the ‘fair-enough’ nod he gave you and the pride written all over his face, another glimpse of someone you used to know. “You know, maybe you should bring you-know-who here someday.”

His eyes went wide and he shook your words off just a little too quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t have a thing for his new friend that you’re watching out for?”

“Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“Fine,” You put your hands up in mock surrender, “But you know I’m right.”

#darkiplier x reader #darkiplier x you #darkiplier fanfiction #wkm fanfiction #markiplier egos x reader #totally didn't write this in one day haha #seriously I'm going to bed

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dooodle-bug · 3 years

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Hehe, another Stationery Story, this time featuring my homie Hole Punch! Still not my best work, but Imma still post it anyways!

The Monster of the Temple

A crowd of perhaps hundreds of toads looked onward at the enormous temple just ahead. They were all bustling and chatting with excitement. A lively group, these toads resided in the somewhat nearby oasis city, Shroom City, popular as the city that never sleeps. This holds some truth, the city is a big tourist attraction, with parties every night and residents that are constantly out and about. The temple that stands before them was known as the Temple of Shrooms. It was a historic site that the local government vowed to keep in its preserved and original condition. In other words, no toad was allowed to throw parties there and do any damage of the sorts. But they didn’t truly understand much about it, all they knew was that it was a historic and well preserved site from Ancient Times that nobody was allowed in. Except for archeological or educational purposes, which hardly any of the toads knew much about, it was probably safer to leave it to the experts.

This temple was momentous and stood gloriously, built entirely out of stone bricks with carved hieroglyphics and detailed statues. What made it even more breath-taking was the sun, shining directly above it and casting its glaring light down the staircase.

From what the toads heard, there was a mysterious person throwing a party at this very location. Here? What are the odds? Who could do this? They pondered these questions and more amongst themselves as they entered the temple, too excited to worry. This party host could be anyone, but their best guess is that they’re someone too shy to introduce themself and wanted to greet their fellow citizens with a bang. That was no problem for them, they all agreed they would make sure this new neighbor felt comfortable and at home.

Inside, the temple was a bit spooky with all that dusty dinginess lingering about. There were hieroglyphics engraved on every surface with towering toad statues, both coated in sand, dust, and debris from time. It felt kinda stuffy too, the air thick with dust, yet dry. But they couldn’t care less, they were a happy bunch that all crowded together, too excited to care or notice the origami monsters calculating their every move. They were cautious of course, making sure to not touch anything but the floor or they might get fingerprints on it.

After traversing through the winding, maze-like temple, they finally reached the top floor, presumably where the party was as there was no other sign. Upon entering the room, they noticed it was certainly large, perfect for all of them to groove together. The only party thing there was the disco floor, covering most of the center floor, and the unlit disco ball. This was no big deal, they brought their own party gear just in case. Thus, they spread out, setting up stereo speakers, extension cords, a DJ turntable and more.

Now the party could start! The toads began chatting amongst themselves at a louder volume while others danced on the floor, with the DJ, referred to as DJ Toad, playing random yet tunes he selected. The party was in full swing, everyone having a good time until something made them pause, the music playing with no one to dance to.

“Ugh, what is that RACKET?” a loud, metallic voice boomed. The toads whipped their heads around to see where that voice came from, the doors on the second floor, firmly locked to make it seem as though it were a wall. The voice hollered again, shaking the toads to the core, “Can’t you tell I’m trying to sleep? Whatever, lemme just see what’s going down...” Then those double doors shot open, a monster slowly sliding out.

Should they run? Should they stay? Their questions froze them in place as the monster stumbled down the stairs. It had to be at least 10 feet tall. The toads’ eyes followed the monster, it was a golden yellow color, with four soulless black eyes and gnashing, metal fangs.

“Look guys,” it let out a vicious yawn, revealing a mouthful of sharp, canine teeth, “I'm all for party, but I’m kinda bummed out today, so go be good little paper freaks and shut up, ‘k?” The toads looked at each other uncomfortably and then back at the monster, this monster was speaking some ancient dialect. Were they going to be eaten? Who knew that such a monster resided in this ancient temple, probably for hundreds of years? Did they cause the awakening of such a beast? But then who was the party host?

At last one small toad piped up, “Are-are you the one who invited us?” Some other toads rushed to shut him up. The monster paused and thought for a moment, probably trying to remember something or worse, contemplating if it should eat that poor toad.

“Oooh… yeah! THAT party.” it yawned again, “yeah, I forgot about that a while ago, guess I’m not really into it now, why?” The toads relaxed a bit. This monster wasn’t so scary after all. It was maybe even a bit stupid. They fell into a hushed whisper among themselves while the monster continued to stare down at them. They paused again and looked up at it, smiling slightly. Another toad spoke cautiously,

“Heya, uh, monster.”

“...Monster?”

“Yeah! Uh, buddy, we’d really like to stay and party, but we kinda gotta go for a bit, alright?” They then slowly backed out towards the exit, eyes still focused on the monster.

It suddenly snapped, “AY! You’re one of those flat paper freaks aren’t you?! Nobody’s gonna leave this joint unless I say so! I guess I’m gonna hafta warn you, huh?” The toads scrambled for the exits while the monster lunged at them at a shocking speed, darting over to each one who had failed to run fast enough. What did it do? It took a big bite out of each toad’s face, tearing the face clean off their head! One by one it went, punching out each and every one of the toads’ faces until they all laid blanky on the ground, faceless. Only one remained: the DJ, DJ Toad, who was perhaps the quickest, but the monster was still able to catch up with him.

“Hey DJ!” it snapped, “Before I punch your face, you better turn that music down, it’s an absolute drag!” DJ Toad quivered in place, staring at those razor sharp fangs before finally waddling over to the DJ turntable, where he cautiously slipped the record out and put it down. “Good, now get over here so that I can punch out that ugly face of yours”.

DJ Toad trembled back over, finally opening his dry mouth and cried, “Wait man, you-you can’t take my face!” It cocked its head at him, “Yeah, I-I can’t play you some, uh, tunes if I don’t got a face, y’know?”

“Huh, guess you’re right. Fine then, play me something groovy or I’m gonna take your face, dig?” DJ Toad nodded aggressively and rushed over to the turntable, where he scanned about looking for discs, yet he could only find a few. He must have dropped some on the way there. His heart dropped while the monster made its way back upstairs to return to its domain behind those double doors.

After the doors slammed shut, it cried, “Yeah, go play me something good, I’ll be taking a nap while you're at it. Don’t think of running away or anything because there are all these foldy guys and whatever. Later!” And with that DJ sat in shock and fear while running through the discs. Who could defeat such a monster? And when will they come?

#problem with this one was the pacing #sorta like a theory/headcannon as to what went down at the temple of shrooms #everyone at shroom city is a party animal #tw monster #bruh I didn't do reaserch for HP's lingo #tw biting #tw mutilation #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #stationery stories #pmtok #paper mario the origami king #legion of stationery #hole punch #lowkey Not That Good #mfing HP such a lazy bum

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boxoftheskyking · 3 years

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Pick Up Every Piece - Part One

Ok things to know: -this does not take place in China. It does not take place in the US. It is the year 2000 in a fictional country that I control (this project is a challenge called Let’s Do Exposition). Just go with it. -It’s all talking. That’s what I do, you know this. -Warnings for stuff, I dunno I haven’t written it all yet. When it’s shiny it’ll go on AO3 but for now here’s what I got so far. -There is a lot of alcohol in this fic -Like all fic writers I live on positive reinforcement and this shit is a lot of work. -The title may change, yes it is from NMH

---

There are bodies in the creek bed. Enough bodies to stop the flow of the water. Thirty at least, a dam of them. An old woman and a child. Clothes and hair sodden, darkened and wet. Clouds of darkness hovering in the air around them, seeping into dead flesh. An old woman and a child and others. Others in that middle age, the age that passes comment. Is it wrong that these two bodies stand out to him? After all, if he were among the bodies, if he was lying in this creek bed, thirty, skinny, and unremarkable, he would hardly notice himself. He’d blend into the pile, only serving to make the word a plural. Body becomes Bodies. Alters the language. Murder becomes Massacre. There are thirty bodies and hundreds, thousands of flies. Crawling on the back of the little boy’s hand. A smell like—not burning, not quite. Death. Not rot, fresh death. The sand under his feet is nearly dry. The creek bed is dry.

Wei Ying blinks. The creek burbles on alongside him, one duck lazily riding the current under a fallen branch and along to somewhere more interesting. It’s October, and beautiful, and there’s the smallest twilight bite in the air pricking at his nostrils on every inhale. He blows out a long breath and finds himself scratching at his arms, the backs of his hands, where the old scars are. They’re ugly, blotchy and dark like land masses on a faded old map, and they still itch sometimes. He rubs at them hard with the heel of his palm—it’s a weird half-feeling, the layers of dead tissue. It’s not dead, Wen Qing would correct him. It’s not necrotic, it’s just scarring.

He steps around the gnarled roots that reach up from the banks, trying to get to the road but not ever making it. There’s a few muddy stuffed bears tucked among them, plastic wrap snagged on the bark from cheap drugstore bunches of flowers that have rotted away. A couple of carefully hand-painted wooden signs nailed to the trunks, trying to convince the place that people still remember.

He shakes himself and turns away from the woods, hopping the fence onto the road that leads to the bar. He’s late, but Li Chen is always late in the mornings so he deserves to work an extra fifteen minutes. It’s not like there’s a manager to yell at him.

The bar is across the street from an old gas station, one that got firebombed during the war and then left. That’s the thing about Yiling. Everywhere else, even up in Gusu, the cities have gotten rid of as much evidence as possible. Well, they’ve gotten rid of most and turned the rest into memorials to the victorious dead, nice and shiny and flying the Sunshot flag. Nobody really cares about appearances around Yiling—maybe the city council does, but they don’t have anywhere near the budget to run cleanup. Too much actual infrastructure got hit during the worst of the fighting, and they’ll be years behind the rest of the country for the next decade or so. Memorials here are all handmade, and none of them last long.

There’s a flag, though, spray painted on what’s left of the concrete wall of the gas station. A golden hand covering most of a red sun, partly covered by black—one finger for each of the four leading clans and a thumb for everyone else. Typical. He’s not sure who’d have painted a Sunshot here. No one local, he’d put money on it. He supposes they know about spray paint in Lanling—governments must adapt.

It’s probably intentional, anyway, the lack of cleanup. The lack of progress. Nightless City can be repurposed by the Jin government, but the site of the Massacre should stay ugly and busted for a few more years. So no one forgets what it looks like to lose.

Wei Ying likes it in Yiling. “It’s my kind of town,” he always tells Jiang Cheng, who usually throws something at his head. “You want to be a bartender in a town like this. In a town like this, people need a bartender. It’s nice to be needed, you know.”

It’s a shitty bar by any other place’s standards, but for Yiling it’s cozy. The owner, who everyone just calls Granny, still orders sawdust for the floors like it’s 1860 or something, to soak up spills and puke and, occasionally, blood.

Jiang Cheng always says it’s only a matter of time before they have murder in the bar. “Manslaughter, at least,” he’ll say. “It’s just got that look.” Wei Ying says everyone in Yiling’s too tired. Mostly he and Wen Ning just roll drunks out onto the sidewalk and into a cab if someone can afford it.

Jiang Cheng himself comes in around eight. It’s as much of a rush as they ever get, so he has to wait for a few old men to get their cheap lager and gin before sliding up to the bar on his usual stool. Wen Ning gives him a cheerful salute as he comes in, and Jiang Cheng nods awkwardly back at him.

“You’re back early,” Wei Ying says, drawing him a pint of something bitter. Jiang Cheng still lives in Yunmeng, in the old family home, but he has a sublet in Yiling now that he’s working for the intelligence department. Jin Zixuan calls it “cutting his teeth” monitoring old Wen strongholds. Jiang Cheng calls it “shoveling shit.”

It turns out cleaning up a civil war is a pain in the ass, even five years later.

“We should do lunch with Wen Qing on Saturday. She’ll want to see you.”

Jiang Cheng pulls out his annoying little planner, full of his cramped handwriting and meetings with this informant and that police sergeant. “Have to be brunch, I’ve got a twelve-thirty on Saturday.”

Wei Ying snorts at him. “Brunch, in Yiling. Good luck.”

“Hangover breakfast, then.”

“That we can do.”

Jiang Cheng takes a long pull of his beer and Wei Ying can see the relief run down him from the crown of his head down over his shoulders like something hot and slippery. Oil maybe, or homemade noodles. He groans and drops his head down behind his glass.

“Hey, Wei Ying!” An arthritic hand waves at him from the other end of the bar.

“Gotcha, Riseung,” he calls and starts fishing for the kahlua and cream. It’s always at the back of the cooler; no one else ever orders it. “You’re gonna work yourself into an early grave,” he tosses back at Jiang Cheng.

“Not if you keep giving me beer.”

“Hey, Wei Ying, I saw that story last week. Hell of a thing.” Li Riseung has a little cream mustache, but Wei Ying’s not going to mention it.

“The gas thing?” Wei Ying grins at him. “Yeah, I’m telling you, it’s all connected. You watch the prices when Lanling tries to pass another referendum. It’s all supposed to soften you up. You got something for me today?”

“Still writing your conspiracy theories?” Jiang Cheng calls to him. “Some guys just don’t know when to quit.”

(Someone else comes up, he pulls a pint of stout.)

Riseung bristles. “Wei Ying is the only real journalist left in this country. You’ll see.”

Wei Ying props his chin on his folded hands and waits. Riseung takes another long sip. “Yu Xiuying’s got her popcorn maker up and running. She’s starting to sell what she can, make enough to get the theater back in order.”

“Really? That would be something. I’m sick of taking the train every time I want to see a movie.”

“You should report on that, get her some customers.”

Wei Ying drums his fingers on his chin. “Maybe we can work out an ad situation. I need more ads, you know. Papers ain’t cheap.”

Riseung finishes his drink, sets the glass down on the bar. He half-reaches for his pocket. “So, do I owe you, or . . .”

Wei Ying stifles a sigh. Technically it’s nothing he can use. He’s not about to publish an expose on popcorn. Still, he waves a hand. “Your money’s no good here. Go on, keep up the good work.”

The man grins up at him, flashing a row of silver fillings, and heads over to bother someone else.

(Another customer—rum and Coke.)

“You’re just letting people drink for free, huh?” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying wanders back over to him, taking a sip of his own drink (coffee, plus whiskey, just enough to get through the shift).

“Reporting is all about cultivating sources, Jiang Cheng, even you should know that. Li Riseung is a source.”

“A source,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “He’s a drunk.”

“So’s everyone. This whole country’s full of drunks. Drunks make the world go around.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “This city is fucking depressing.”

“Oh, and all of Lanling’s sober, is it? Yunmeng? Everybody’s living like Lans? You’d be much more pleasant with a few more of these in you.” Wei Ying grabs his pint glass and dumps the end of it out, refilling in the same smooth movement. It’s just out of spite. He shouldn’t be wasting a good few ounces of genuinely nice beer. But he can’t help it; Jiang Cheng brings it out in him. He spins and shimmies a bit to the bad pop song coming from the busted speaker above him and grabs a bin of limes to chop.

“When are you going to come home?”

Wei Ying doesn’t slip and cut himself, but it’s close.

“I live in Yiling, Jiang Cheng.”

“Yeah, for now.”

Wei Ying sighs. “I like it here, okay? You think they’d let me back in Yunmeng, after everything?”

“I’ve got influence now. They wouldn’t say anything.”

(Two lagers, shot of tequila.)

He hasn’t lived in Yunmeng in years. Almost a decade now. He was in Yunmeng at the start of everything, when Wen Ruohan was forced out of office and half the military went with him. He visits now, but there’s still that sense of before when he’s there, like the majority of his life hasn’t happened yet. But Jiang Cheng is never going to get that, he’s a linear person.

“Not saying anything isn’t the same as allowing. I’m not going to make you fight all day just so I can work at some bougie wine bar somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t have to work at a bar. You could—”

“What? Write? You think anyone anywhere is going to hire me at a paper again? Despite all the rumors, you’re not that dumb.”

“Fuck off. You could work with me.”

“Intelligence. Really? How do you think that would work out? ‘Yes, Jin Zixuan, whatever you say, Jin Zixuan—’”

“Fuck off.”

Wei Ying shakes his head and scrapes a pile of lime wedges back in the bin. “I like where I am. I’ve got the paper—”

“It’s not a paper.”

Wei Ying doesn’t slam the knife down, but it’s a close thing. “Jiang Cheng—”

“You’re such a fucking martyr. What, you lose your dream job so you go to the ass crack of the world and set yourself up as king of nowhere?”

“I’m not king of anything, I’m just writing.”

(Three glasses of white wine.)

“Yiling Laozu.” Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue. “I know you can’t use your real name, but that’s embarrassing. Laozu. You and your sources.”

Wei Ying takes a breath and unclenches his jaw. “If Wen Qing were here you wouldn’t be calling us embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassing. She’s not embarrassing.”

“It’s our paper.”

“Wen Qing has dignity. You have none.”

Wei Ying gathers up his knife and cutting board to run them back to the dish pit. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, you love me. I know you do.”

It’s always a good way to end a conversation, their own private code. If you keep pushing here you’re going to break something. A warning. You love me. I know you do. Jiang Cheng doesn't ever deny it, but he never agrees either. He doesn't need to. Wei Ying has proof. The scars on the back of his hands, curling around his wrists and up his arms—burn scars, chemical burns—are proof. Jiang Cheng doesn't like to look at his hands. That's proof too.

When he comes back out, Jiang Cheng isn’t alone. The general noise of the bar has fallen to a murmur, and the rowdy game of dominoes is paused in the corner.

Xue Yang is sprawled over two stools, dressed in shiny black leather and grinning a few inches away from Jiang Cheng’s face.

“How’s it going, Captain Jiang?”

Jiang Cheng leans away. “I don’t see you. You are not here.”

“Course not. Good boy.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand tightens around his glass, and Wei Ying picks up the pace slightly.

“Leave him alone, Xue Yang,” he says, carefully mild.

The grin turns on him, and Xue Yang waves, his weird little black prosthesis sticking out like a lighting-struck tree. “You telling me what to do, Wei Ying?”

“I would never. Here, have a drink. If you want.” He pours him a double from his own secret bottle, the one Granny gave him on a good night in the summer. It’s painfully ironic—Xue Yang would be the only person in Yiling who could afford it if he ever actually paid for it.

Wei Ying nods to him and slides the glass across the bar, along with the usual brown envelope. Jiang Cheng sighs and spins around on his stool, looking away.

“Feels light,” Xue Yang says, like always.

“It’s not,” Wei Ying says, also like always.

Xue Yang grins around the little white stick hanging out of his mouth, and Wei Ying grins back. “Eight percent extra on anything you’re short next time.”

“It’s not short. And it’s five percent, don’t try to fuck with me.” Wei Ying smiles wider and does not blink.

“Maybe it’s changed.”

“Granny would tell me, and she wouldn’t hear it from you.”

“Maybe it’s changing today.” Xue Yang leans across the bar, not quite getting in his face, but close enough. Wei Ying meets Wen Ning’s eye over his shoulder. Wen Ning takes a few steps away from the door, but Wei Ying shakes his head just a fraction and he goes still.

“You don’t have the authority.” Wei Ying lets his grin go a little unnatural at the corners, a little bit of a snarl. “And it’s not short, so it doesn’t matter.”

Xue Yang laughs and tucks the envelope into his jacket, then takes a long swig. Wei Ying breathes, finally, quiet and careful.

“Xue Yang,” he says as he starts to wipe down the bar again. “You know you wound me.”

Xue Yang wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Oh do I?”

“You know it hurts me, deep down in the soul parts of my body, to see you drink top shelf scotch with a fucking sucker in your mouth.”

Xue Yang sticks out his tongue so Wei Ying can see the little yellow nub of it. “It’s pineapple.”

“Great. Thank you. I’m going to go drink bleach now.”

Jiang Cheng half turns to glare at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Xue Yang chugs the rest of the scotch and tosses the empty glass at Wei Ying. He hates that it makes him flinch before he catches it. “Tell Granny I say hi.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, where’s the little one? Haven’t seen her in a minute.”

Wei Ying stiffens. “You’ll stay away from her if you cherish the rest of those fingers.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xue Yang gives him a mocking salute and saunters back out towards the door. He’s nearly out when he knocks into an empty chair, sending it to the floor with a crack like a gunshot. No one hits the deck completely, but the held-breath silence turns into a gasp as all eyes snap to the sound, shoulders up and hands braced on tabletops, thighs tensed and ready to run.

Even Xue Yang is frozen at the door for a second. He laughs, though his jaw is tight. “Just a chair, ladies and gentlemen. Clean this shit up, Wen Ning.” And he’s gone.

Wei Ying deflates, adding some of the good scotch to his own cup. Jiang Cheng makes a face.

“How’s that coffee?”

“Shut up.”

“You should let me talk to Zixuan.”

“You talk to him every day.”

“You know what I mean. How long have you been paying—”

Wei Ying sighs and flicks his rag at his brother. “Thing one: I don’t pay, Granny pays. Thing two: Xue Yang is just a low level street thug with connections, he’s as in charge of the operation as I am in charge of Yiling. Thing three: it all kicks up to the Jins at the end of the day, so what are they gonna do about it?”

“Zixuan isn’t—”

“Yeah, I know your best pal is the paragon of morality.”

(Scotch and soda, root beer, gin and tonic, and three pints.)

“He’s our brother-in-law.”

“And your brother-in-arms, I know, I’d never dare disparage the mighty—”

“He’s a nicer brother than you are.”

Wei Ying mimes a faint. “I’m going to call Shijie, tell her you’re being mean to me.”

Jiang Cheng goes quiet, looks down at his beer. Wei Ying reaches out for it, an offering.

“Another?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I shouldn’t.” A chunk of his hair comes loose from its tie, feathers across his forehead.

“When are you gonna cut that hair, huh?” Wei Ying flicks it back over his ear. Jiang Cheng swipes at his hand lazily.

“I like it like this.”

“You and Zixuan are twins now, huh? You cultivators. Does Lan Zhan still keep his long, do you think?”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Stop it, leave it, I have it how I want it.”

Wei Ying laughs at him. “Looks good. Dignified. Hey, did you ever ask for Zidian back?”

Jiang Cheng’s face does something complicated, a little bitter. “Not gonna happen. No spiritual weapons are gonna be authorized any time soon.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours.”

“It’s not mine. It’s the government’s.”

“But it responds to you. What good does it do locked away in—”

“Leave it, Wei Ying. I know you’ve got opinions about cultivation, but I’m fucking tired and it’s not going to change anything.”

“Well, when you’re in charge. Then you’ll show ‘em.”

That does make Jiang Cheng laugh, which is satisfying.

(Two gin and tonics.)

“Hey, you’re not allowed—” Wen Ning calls from the door, followed by the tap-tap of a metal cane. Wei Ying sighs and reaches for the grenadine.

“Wei Ying, you son of a bitch.” The voice is high, reedy, and cackling. “How the hell are ya?”

“A-Qing,” Wei Ying calls mildly. “You can’t be here.”

“Where is here?” she yells, as always. “How am I supposed to know that? Can’t you tell I’m blind?”

“Get out of my bar.”

“Discrimination!” She makes her way across the room, purposely bumping into every occupied table on her way over, just to slosh beer onto the floor.

“You’re fourteen.” He has her cherry soda on the bar by the time she hops up on the stool next to Jiang Cheng, ignoring him entirely.

“And how do you know that, creepy old man?”

“You made me get you a cake for your birthday, you goblin.”

“Who’s this guy?” She takes a long slurping suck from her straw.

“My didi.”

“You—!” Jiang Cheng hates it, which is the only reason Wei Ying says it.

“Ooh, the famous Jiang Cheng. I bet he looks real grumpy.”

“Yep.”

Jiang Cheng flips him off. He grins and goes back to wiping down the drain.

“He just flipped you off, didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.” She finishes her drink and slams the glass down. “Double vodka please.”

“Nope.”

“I drink vodka all the time.”

“Don’t care. I’m not getting fired over your sorry ass. Go drink at home.”

“I’m not allowed vodka at the home.”

“And you’re not allowed here either.” He drops the rag back into the sanitizer and leans his elbows on the bar. “Now, are you here with something interesting or just to pester me?”

Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to interject, but Wei Ying waves him off.

“I can multitask,” A-Qing says before pushing her glass back across the bar. “More sugar first.”

“Diabetes on the rocks, yes madam.”

She takes a long slurping pull, and he folds his arms, waiting.

“Got a new TV at the home. Real big one.”

“A-Qing, I’m waiting.”

Jiang Cheng squints at her. “How do you know how big the TV is?”

“I just know, okay. Anyway. One of the older kids got it. Bought it himself.”

“Yeah, right,” Wei Ying says. He needs to challenge her if she’s going to give him the whole story. If he seems too interested she’ll draw it out just to fuck with him.

“He did. Wen Changming.”

“A Wen?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Lots of Wens in the children’s home. I wonder why.”

Jiang Cheng makes a sour face at him.

“He’s got cash to burn, suddenly. Pockets full.”

“Gee, I wonder how you found that out.”

A-Qing grins at him. “He’s not gonna miss it. He’s in the club now.”

“The club?”

“You know, the club. What do you call it? Do crimes, get money.”

“Mob? Syndicate? Criminal organization?” Jiang Cheng offers.

“So they’re recruiting at the home, that’s what you’re telling me? Is it Xue Yang?”

A-Qing blows bubbles in her soda. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Must be desperate.”

“You do the same thing.”

“I do not.”

She holds out a hand. He sighs and passes over a couple of bills.

“You staying there tonight?” he asks, all casual.

“Maybe. The girls are annoying. Should be nice outside.”

“Starting to get cold.”

“Not really. Only if you’re a pussy.”

“You call me if you need to crash. Here.” He drops a couple of coins in front of her. “I’ll be home after midnight.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she says, pocketing the change. She gives a little salute and hops off her stool. “So long, Wen Ning!” she shouts, walking right at him and making him hop out of the way.

She’s not really blind, of course. Wei Ying’s never brought it up—he knows, but he’s not sure she knows that he knows. One of the nights she crashed at his apartment, months ago, he caught her reading through one of his binders of old clippings—‘91, back before the start of the war, when he was still in Gusu. It kind of kills him, because he wants to ask her what she thought of them. What she remembers from back then, if there’s anything. But they don’t talk about anything serious, not if they can help it.

“Please tell me you don’t have a teenage girl staying at your place,” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying gives him a great sigh and grabs his rag again.

“Only when she's got no other place to go. Oh, I have a futon now! You’d see it if you ever came over.”

“Wow, great, you're thirty years old and you have a secondhand futon. Mother would be so proud.”

“I didn't say it was secondhand.”

“Wei Ying, trust me, you do not need to.”

(Four pints.)

Wei Ying makes a face at him. “So mean.”

“It’s weird that she stays with you.”

Wei Wuxian sighs again. “Jiang Cheng.”

“It is. It’s weird.”

“If it’s a bad night at the home then she sleeps outside. I don’t like her sleeping outside, so she stays with me. When she’s not being ornery.”

“She’s a teenage girl.”

“She’s a baby.”

“Not your baby. Why would she sleep outside anyway? Yiling sucks.”

“The home sucks. Look, it’s an orphan thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jiang Cheng pouts. “Hey, I’m an orphan.”

“No you’re not, you’re a grown up.”

(Whiskey, neat.)

“You’re a grownup. My parents are dead; I’m an orphan.”

“Then everyone’s a fucking orphan in this country. The word’s lost all meaning. From now on, if your parents were alive when you were ten, you’re not an orphan. Find a new word, leave ours alone.”

“You’re such a jackass.”

“Jackass! Yes, that’s a good word.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and gets off his stool. He tosses cash down on the bar, though Wei Ying tries to wave him off.

“Oh, you’re going to want to get a flag up in here,” he says, off-hand as he turns to go.

Wei Ying freezes. “Excuse me?”

“Coming down from on high, it’s going to be a new ordinance. To keep the liquor license.”

“The fuck does a flag have to do with our liquor license?”

Jiang Cheng holds up his hands. “I’m just the messenger.”

“I’m not letting the Sunshot flag through these doors.”

Jiang Cheng turns back to him, serious. “Look, I know you have your own . . . feelings—”

“Feelings?” he almost spits, spreading his hands out on the bar.

Jiang Cheng winces and does not look at them. “You have your reasons, I’m not arguing that. But Yiling’s a part of the Republic and people need to get used to it. You don’t have to like it, but your district rep is going to announce the policy in the next week, and I don’t want to see you— Don’t go out of your way to make life difficult, all right? It’s hard enough already.”

Wei Ying says nothing, just leans back and watches the rag twist and untwist between his hands.

“See you Saturday,” Jiang Cheng offers, hesitates, then leaves.

Wei Ying will close up. They close early, still, kick everyone out before midnight. Old habits. He’ll go home and work on his column, the one corner of the paper Wen Qing leaves for whatever he wants. (Literally, the column is called “Whatever.”) Maybe A-Qing will find a pay phone and call him, if she hasn’t spent or hidden the change, or maybe she’ll just show up and lean on the buzzer until he lets her in. He’ll sleep better, if she’s there. He was never meant to live alone.

And he’ll wake up tomorrow, and try to do it all again.

Part Two

#the untamed #cql #assorted writings #pick up every piece

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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Martin Gurri's The Revolt Of The Public is from 2014, which means you might as well read the Epic of Gilgamesh. It has a second-edition-update-chapter from 2017, which might as well be Beowulf. The book is about how social-media-connected masses are revolting against elites, but the revolt has moved forward so quickly that a lot of what Gurri considers wild speculation is now obvious fact. I picked up the book on its "accurately predicted the present moment" cred, but it predicted the present moment so accurately that it's barely worth reading anymore. It might as well just say "open your eyes and look around".

…

In conclusion, 2011 was a weird year.

Gurri argues all of this was connected, and all of it was a sharp break from what came before. These movements were essentially leaderless. Some had charismatic spokespeople, like Daphni Leef in Israel or Tahrir-Square-Facebook-page-admin Wael Ghonim in Egypt, but these people were at best the trigger that caused a viral movement to coalesce out of nothing. When Martin Luther King marched on Washington, he built an alliance of various civil rights groups, unions, churches, and other large organizations who could turn out their members. He planned the agenda, got funding, ran through an official program of speakers, met with politicians, told them the legislation they wanted, then went home. The protests of 2011 were nothing like that. They were just a bunch of people who read about protests on Twitter and decided to show up.

Also, they were mostly well-off. Gurri hammers this in again and again. Daphni Leef had just graduated from film school, hardly the sort of thing that puts her among the wretched of the earth. All of these movements were mostly their respective countries' upper-middle classes; well-connected, web-savvy during an age when that meant something. Mostly young, mostly university-educated, mostly part of their countries' most privileged ethnic groups. Not the kind of people you usually see taking to the streets or building tent cities.

Some of the protests were more socialist and anarchist than others, but none were successfully captured by establishment strains of Marxism or existing movements. Many successfully combined conservative and liberal elements. Gurri calls them nihilists. They believed that the existing order was entirely rotten, that everyone involved was corrupt and irredeemable, and that some sort of apocalyptic transformation was needed. All existing institutions were illegitimate, everyone needed to be kicked out, that kind of thing. But so few specifics that socialists and reactionaries could march under the same banner, with no need to agree on anything besides "not this".

…

Gurri isn't shy about his contempt for this. Not only were these some of the most privileged people in their respective countries, but (despite the legitimately-sucky 2008 recession), they were living during a time of unprecedented plenty. In Spain, the previous forty years had seen the fall of a military dictatorship, its replacement with a liberal democracy, and a quintupling of GDP per capita from $6000 to $32000 a year - "in 2012, four years into the crisis there were more cell phones and cars per person in Spain than in the US". The indignado protesters in Spain had lived through the most peaceful period in Europe's history, an almost unprecedented economic boom, and had technologies and luxuries that previous generations could barely dream of. They had cradle-to-grave free health care, university educations, and they were near the top of their society's class pyramids. Yet they were convinced, utterly convinced, that this was the most fraudulent and oppressive government in the history of history, and constantly quoting from a manifesto called Time For Outrage!

So what's going on?

Our story begins (says Gurri) in the early 20th century, when governments, drunk on the power of industrialization, sought to remake Society in their own image. This was the age of High Modernism, with all of its planned cities and collective farms and so on. Philosopher-bureaucrat-scientist-dictator-manager-kings would lead the way to a new era of gleaming steel towers, where society was managed with the same ease as a gardener pruning a hedgerow.

…

Realistically this was all a sham. Alan Greenspan had no idea how to prevent recessions, scientific progress was slowing down, poverty remained as troubling as ever, and 50% of public school students stubbornly stayed below average. But the media trusted the government, the people trusted the media, and failures got swept under the rug by genteel agreement among friendly elites, while the occasional successes were trumpeted from the rooftops.

There was a very interesting section on JFK’s failure at the Bay of Pigs. Kennedy tried to invade Cuba, but the invasion failed very badly, further cementing Castro’s power and pushing him further into the Soviet camp. Representatives of the media met with Kennedy, Kennedy was very nice to them, and they all agreed to push a line of “look, it’s his first time invading a foreign country, he tried his hardest, give him a break.” This seems to have successfully influenced the American public, so much so that Kennedy’s approval rating increased five points, to 83%, after the debacle!

…

In Gurri's telling, High Modernism had always been a failure, but the government-media-academia elite axis had been strong enough to conceal it from the public. Starting in the early 2000s, that axis broke down. People could have lowered their expectations, but in the real world that wasn't how things went. Instead of losing faith in the power of government to work miracles, people believed that government could and should be working miracles, but that the specific people in power at the time were too corrupt and stupid to press the "CAUSE MIRACLE" button which they definitely had and which definitely would have worked. And so the outrage, the protests - kick these losers out of power, and replace them with anybody who had the common decency to press the miracle button!

…

Any system that hasn't solved every problem is illegitimate. Solving problems is easy and just requires pressing the "CAUSE MIRACLE" button. Thus the protests. In 2011, enough dry tinder of anger had built up that everywhere in the world erupted into protest simultaneously, all claiming their respective governments were illegitimate. These protests were necessarily vague and leaderless, because any protest-leader would fall victim to the same crisis of authority and legitimacy that national leaders were suffering from. Any attempt to make specific demands would be pilloried because those specific demands wouldn't unilaterally end homelessness or racism or inequality or whatever else. The only stable state was a sort of omni-nihilism that refused to endorse anything.

(I’m reminded of Tanner Greer’s claim that the great question of modernity is not “what can I accomplish?” or “how do I succeed?” but rather “how do I get management to take my side?”)

Gurri calls our current government a kind of "zombie democracy". The institutions of the 20th century - legislatures, universities, newspapers - continue to exist. But they are hollow shells, stripped of all legitimacy. Nobody likes or trusts them. They lurch forward, mimicking the motions they took in life, but no longer able to change or make plans or accomplish new things.

…

How do we escape this equilibrium? Gurri isn't sure. His 2017 afterword says he thinks we're even more in it now than we were in 2014. But he has two suggestions.

First, cultivate your garden. We got into this mess by believing the government could solve every problem. We're learning it can''t. We're not going to get legitimate institutions again until we unwind the overly high expectations produced by High Modernism, and the best way to do that is to stop expecting government to solve all your problems. So cultivate your garden. If you're concerned about obesity, go on a diet, or volunteer at a local urban vegetable garden, or organize a Fun Run in your community, do anything other than start a protest telling the government to end obesity. This is an interesting contrast to eg Just Giving, which I interpret as having the opposite model - if you want to fight obesity, you should work through the democratic system by petitioning the government to do something; trying to figure out a way to fight it on your own would be an undemocratic exercise of raw power. Gurri is recommending that we tear that way of thinking up at the root.

Second, start looking for a new set of elites who can achieve legitimacy. These will have to be genuinely decent and humble people - Gurri gives the example of George Washington. They won't claim to be able to solve everything. They won't claim the scientific-administrative mantle of High Modernism. They'll just be good honorable people who will try to govern wisely for the common good. Haha, yeah right.

…

Gurri divides the world between the Center and the Border. He thinks the Center - politicians, experts, journalists, officials - will be in a constant retreat, and the Border - bloggers, protesters, and randos - on a constant advance. His thesis got a boost when Brexit and Trump - both Border positions - crushed and embarrassed their respective Centers. But since then I'm not sure things have been so clear. The blogosphere is in retreat (maybe Substack is reversing this?), but the biggest and most mainstream of mainstream news organizations, like the New York Times are becoming more trusted and certainly more profitable. The new President of the US is a boring moderate career politician. The public cheers on elite censorship of social media. There haven't been many big viral protests lately except Black Lives Matter and the 1/6 insurrection, and both seemed to have a perfectly serviceable set of specific demands (defunding the police, decertifying the elections). Maybe I've just grown used to it, but it doesn't really feel like a world where a tiny remnant of elites are being attacked on all sides by a giant mob of entitled nihilists.

…

At the risk of being premature or missing Gurri's point, I want to try telling a story of how the revolt of the public and the crisis of legitimacy at least partially stalled.

Gurri talks a lot about Center and Border, but barely even mentions Left and Right. Once you reintroduce these, you have a solution to nihilism. The Left can come up with a laundry list of High Modernist plans that they think would solve all their problems, and the Right can do the same. Then one or the other takes control of government, gets thwarted by checks/balances/Mitch McConnell, and nothing happens. No American Democrat was forced to conclude that just because Obama couldn't solve all their problems, the promise of High Modernism was a lie. They just concluded that Obama could have solved all their problems, but the damn Republicans filibustered the bill. Likewise, the Republicans can imagine that Donald Trump would have made America great again if the media and elites and Deep State hadn't been blocking him at every turn. Donald Trump himself tells them this is true!

With this solution in place, you can rebuild trust in institutions. If you're a Republican, Fox News is trustworthy because it tells you the ways Democrats are bad. Some people say it's biased or inaccurate, but those people are Democrats or soft-on-Democrat RINO traitors. And if you're a Democrat, academic experts are completely trustworthy, and if someone challenges them you already know those challenges must be vile Republican lies. Lack of access to opposing views has been replaced with lack of tolerance for opposing views. And so instead of the public having to hate all elites, any given member of the public only needs to hate half of the elites.

You could think of this as a mere refinement of Gurri. But it points at a deeper critique. Suppose that US left institutions are able to maintain legitimacy, because US leftists trust them as fellow warriors in the battle against rightism (and vice versa). Why couldn't one make the same argument about the old American institutions? People liked and trusted the President and Walter Cronkite and all the other bipartisan elites because they were American, and fellow warriors in the battle against Communism or terrorism or poverty or Saddam or whatever. If this is true, the change stops looking like the masses suddenly losing faith in the elites and revolting, and more like a stable system of the unified American masses trusting the unified American elites, fissioning into two stable systems of the unified (right/left) masses trusting the unified (right/left) elites. Why did the optimal stable ingroup size change from nation-sized to political-tribe-sized?

…

The one exception to my disrecommendation is that you might enjoy the book as a physical object. The cover, text, and photographs are exceptionally beautiful; the cover image - of some sort of classical-goddess-looking person (possibly Democracy? I expect if I were more cultured I would know this) holding a cell phone - is spectacularly well done. I understand that Gurri self-published the first edition, and that this second edition is from not-quite-traditional publisher Stripe Press. I appreciate the kabbalistic implications of a book on the effects of democratization of information flow making it big after getting self-published, and I appreciate the irony of a book about the increasing instability of history getting left behind by events within a few years. So buy this beautiful book to put on your coffee table, but don't worry about the content - you are already living in it.

#scott alexander #book review #martin gurri

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years

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Hey! I saw you were taking requests :3 would you mind writing (hcs, scenario, anything!) a thing where, shortly pre-OVW recall, McCree and his old teammate (f or neutral pronouns are fine but it’s up to u!!) accidentally meet again after he left without warning? Bonus points for “I thought u were dead/I was never gonna see you again” type stuff :p thanks! Sorry if this was confusing!

{This was, like, super fun to write? I did kinda flip part of the script, but it still fits what you asked for (hopefully). Minor warning for implied alcoholism though, oops. It can also be read as more of a “bars exist for brawls” than “alcohol is my coping method” though, so maybe that’s not as bad??? IDK, at least the ending feels cute.} {-J}

After the fall of Overwatch and its subdivisions, there were certain things that you had been forced to accept: Dozens of your friends and coworkers had died, you were out of a job, and everything you had worked so hard for had crumbled into oblivion. So yeah, shit, you ended up drinking away your pain more than once. At this point you weren’t even sure how many places you were banned from. Still, you held onto the pride that came from never starting any fights, instead waiting for some asshole to decide he wanted to rumble with an ex-Blackwatch agent. It was messy, dangerous, and only added to your nasty reputation.

Few organizations would even think of hiring you. Did that make your drinking worse, or did your drinking make the job search harder?... It wasn’t something you wanted to dwell on, especially considering how desperately you were trying to change things. Mercenary work hadn’t suited you for long, as all your clients were faceless, mysterious forces pulling strings from the shadows. How could you trust that they weren’t like Talon?... Or like Blackwatch had become? In the end you had been forced to slink back into the shadows, praying to whatever gods may be that you could still do some good for the world.

That was a couple years ago. You had changed your name, traded out your old gear for something less suspicious, and set yourself up along the halfway point of Route 66. The area was known for its problems with gangs, violence, and a general lack of government intervention. Sure, the road itself spanned across eight different states, but most of it had been in a state of disrepair for a few decades now. The Omnic Crisis was the final push that sealed the region’s fate. Or, at least, it had been. Some people still cared.

Like you. Why else would you be here, now, scanning the horizon, a beer in one hand, binoculars in the other? There certainly weren’t any good birdwatching spots nearby. Just a rundown gas station perfect for staging ambushes, an old school diner with shitty coffee, and a dusty, dirty crevice up high, wonderful for keeping an eye on it all. You didn’t like it up here, but it was the only discreet place to perform surveillance on the local miscreants.

Apparently a new gang was starting to harass people in the area, despite the proximity to Deadlock turf, and were trying to sell “insurance”. Understandably, that really pissed you off. Sweet-talking one of the locals had gotten you insight on the gang’s general daily routine. Nothing too specific, unfortunately. Now all you had to do was wait for the scum to show up so you could pound them into the dirt.

Taking a quick swig from your beer, you settled in a little, preparing to wait for who knows how long….

Dust flew into the air like a trail of smoke, blurring your vision but not deterring you in the slightest. You slipped around your target, barely avoiding his second kick, before slamming your elbow into the back of his head. Sure enough he went crashing down with a thud. More dirt was kicked up in the process. At least it made it a little harder for the gang members still outside to target you. Another quick dash landed you behind cover, where you could finally take a moment to breathe.

“Damn it,” you grumbled, hearing yet another bullet whiz past your hiding spot. There were still four or five gunmen outside. Truthfully, that was the total number of people you had expected to find, not just the backup boys. Sure, you had prepared for unforeseen hiccups, but apparently not enough. In over your head, stuck sitting like a duck, reminded more and more of the old days. Shit, you missed your teammates. Normally Jesse or Genji would have saved your ass by now.

You missed them. So much, in fact, that you were pretty sure you just heard Jesse’s signature “high noon” line. It almost made you feel like you were a bit more tipsy than you had thought. When the sound of a revolver firing reached your ears, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had actually died; if so, this was the weirdest form of afterlife known to mankind. Curiosity ended up getting the best of you. Crawling to the side, you made sure not to reveal any part of yourself to your enemy, working your way towards the building’s secondary entrance. That was still within the gang’s line of sight, but you hoped it was far enough to the side that they wouldn’t immediately notice you poking around the corner.

Sure enough, nobody shot at you when you turned the corner. Someone did, however, raise a silver revolver in your direction. Air got caught in your lungs as you stared down that ever-so-familiar barrel. Relief started to flood your chest… until you realized that the gunman wasn’t wavering in his stance. Your gaze follows up his arm, to his face, and you suddenly wish you weren’t wearing this stupid goddamn mask.

“Hold it, buddy, unless you want to end up like your compadres back there,” Jesse McCree drawls, tipping his head back towards the fallen gang members. Evidently he hadn’t seen you beating the crap out of the ones inside. Still, you raised your hands slowly, showing your lack of weapons. “There we go. Now, take off that there lil’ mask, nice and easy, alright?” You complied, of course, tossing it to the side before throwing a grin in Jesse’s direction. His reaction made you really, really wish you had brought a camera. The normally smooth and put-together cowboy is now slack jawed, a sense of wonder (and something else…?) in his eyes. Soon your name drops from his lips, whispered like a sacred prayer.

“It’s good to see you too, Jesse,” you manage to reply, still grinning like a fool. Hardly a moment passes before the wind is suddenly knocked out of you. Jesse had holstered his gun, closed the distance between the two of you, and pulled you into a hug in a matter of just a couple seconds. The action catches you by surprise, now making you the one to choke on the words caught in your throat. Still, you manage to hug him back, leaning in to gently rest your head against his chest.

“Goddamnit, who gave you the right to surprise me like this?” He asks after a few moments of silence, his voice on the edge of breaking. His grip was tight, like a man desperate to keep his sanity clutching onto a lifetime of coping methods. Words failed you, barely managing a confused noise, as you pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. There was something you couldn’t comprehend in his gaze. Something you were missing, that required knowledge you didn’t have. Your head tipped to the side as you hoped for at least a little elaboration. Jesse seems to realize your cluelessness, and shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “I thought you were dead,” he murmurs, the words settling on his tongue with an all-too-familiar weight.

Shit, you thought, eyes going wide for a moment. Thoughts raced through your head as you tried to process what he said, thinking back to what had happened after Blackwatch’s disbandment, wondering why he could possibly have thought that you were-

….

Fuck.

Yeah, that tracked. Going from constantly fighting in bars to fucking off to nowhere, changing your name, and turning to the vigilante lifestyle? No shit people thought you were dead. How had you ever thought that this was a good idea?... Sure, most of your old friends had done the same, scattering across the four winds without so much as a “lol bye” (or, you know, a proper farewell). However, that didn’t mean that there weren’t still people who cared, who you could have at least made the slightest effort to keep in touch with before disappearing. People like Jesse.

“Now that you mention it, I realize I didn’t exactly leave much room for thinking anything else,” you replied, barely managing to speak through your embarrassment. A laugh tried to move past your teeth, even though you knew the timing was bad, but the sound died as soon as your gaze met Jesse’s.

“That’s one hell of an understatement, old friend,” he said, hardly a trace of mirth to his name. Both of his arms were still around your frame, gently cradling you, as if a stiff breeze might sweep you away from him once more. You could feel his body shifting with every breath he took, slowly finding yourself matching the movements. One of Jesse’s hands moves to cup your cheek, fingers sliding so carefully that you almost didn’t feel it, but you lean it instinctively, finding your lips placing a whisper of a kiss against his wrist. “Darling,” he breathes, voice caught in his throat, blocked by joy and surprise alike.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Jesse. I swear I never meant to just vanish like that,” you plead, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “Things were bad, and I… I just ran from that, I guess. But you didn’t deserve that, at all, and I swear to whatever passes for high heaven these days, if you give me a chance-....” Pulled in closer, you couldn’t help but squeak a little when Jesse plants a kiss on your forehead. One of his hands is rubbing gentle circles into your back. A reassurance, one you desperately needed. “I can make it up to you. We can do better this time, right?...”

Jesse didn’t say anything, at least not at first, but the feeling of his hat settling down on your head gave you all the answers you’d ever need.

#jesse mccree x reader #mccree x reader #jesse mccree

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yerrrabitch · 4 years

Text

A Ride Home

Y/N - Your Name

Y/B/N - Your Boyfriend’s Name

Y/UNI/N - Your University Name

Y/M - Your Major

C/Y - Current Year

It was a normal night. Well as normal as it could be. You and your boyfriend had a fight earlier in the car because your shirt hung “too low”. It wasn’t your fault that your breast spilled out of your shirt the way they did. However, Y/B/N hated that. He actually hated every time you wore clothes that showed any skin. It was suffocating. You compromised and wore his alumni sweater.

“Y/N!” a blonde from your 8AM yelled, ”Come dance with me!”

You put your red cup down and took her up on her offer. It wasn’t like you were doing anything but brooding anyway. Y/B/N had went into the house with some friends and you were in the backyard waiting. You hated this part. You’d come out with him every weekend to appease him. Truth was your feet, back and head hurt and you craved nothing more than your bed and the feeling of your fan blowing against your cheeks in the moonlight. But, like every weekend Y/B/N would make you feel bad for wanting rest. You went to school full time and worked part time at a local diner so that you could afford to stay in your apartment. He had graduated during your sophomore year and was living his best life while owning his own bar.

It wasn't like you hated being out; you were just tired. He didn't understand that. Despite hating your hours and your dedication to work and school, he never offered to help with your bills or spend the night in. It’s not like you’d accept anyway but, the thought that he would consider would’ve been nice.

“Y/N!”, she yelled while latching on to your arm. She had grown tired of waiting for you to come to her. She threw her head back and laughed as she grinded on you to the beat of a popular pop song. You could smell the alcohol on her breath and began to laugh. This was actually fun. You two began to dance together more provocatively and you hated being out less.

Two songs later and you needed a break. You both decided to get something to eat inside. You took off the sweater and put it on the counter. The house owner, Ralph, had laid out all kinds of cheap food. You gravitated towards the fruit while she dove at the pizza. You looked at your phone and saw it was 12:08 AM.

You had to be at work at 7 AM.

Y/B/N knew this and was still doing God knows what in the house. Irritation set in and you immediately felt your mood sour. You considered ordering an UBER and going home on your own. No. He brought me here, he needs to bring me home.

You called his phone twice and then sent him a text message.

Y/N: Hey, it’s late and I have work tomorrow.

Seen 12:15 AM

“You good, ma?” A tall man asked.

You didn't recognize him. He must be from out of town.

“I’m fine, thank you”

“You don't look fine.” He said eyeing you and the way you shifted from one foot to the other, “you need a fix or sum?”

You couldn't help the laughter that shot out of your mouth and filled the kitchen. He cracked a wide smile at you. He’s fine.

“No, I’m actually waiting for someone to come downstairs. I need to leave.”

“Who?” He asked raising an eyebrow, while leaning against the table and staring into your eyes.

“My boyfriend.” You deadpanned

“Yikes.”

“What?”

“If I was your boyfriend, I would've never left you alone.”

There’s no reason he shouldn't be answering his phone. Let me see where he is. You moved around the table and the man in front of you to find Y/B/N.

“Ma, let me take you home”

You stared at him for a minute.

“I need to find my boyfriend.” You said, putting an emphasis on the boyfriend part.

“If he’s in this house, right now. You’re single.”

You stop in your tracks and you feel tears well up in your soft, brown eyes. It had to be the liquor, you aren't sensitive.

“Excuse me”, your voice completely icy and your hands shaky. The blonde grabbed her pizza and went back outside, glad to escape whatever was happening in there.

“They're up there playing a stripping game. When I left nobody had pants on so if he's there now I can't imagine.”

You turned on your heel and flew up the stairs and followed the sound of the crappy 2008 hits into a game room. There he was, sprawled out beneath a girl while she sucked on his left nipple. You cleared your throat and everyone in the room paused, knowing who you were.

He opened his eyes after a second and jumped up in realization. His face morphed from fright to anger.

“Where’s the sweater?”

The nerve and audacity of this man. You caught him with a bitch sucking on his tiddy and he had the balls to ask you about what you were wearing? You started to laugh. You were borderline hysterical at this point.

“Die.”

You turn back around and go down the stairs opening your phone. You could handle that in the morning but, right now you needed to go home and go to sleep.

You sighed loudly and pulled your hair up into a bun. You didn't care that it'd have to stay like that until next wash day. You were overheating and irritated.

A low whistle broke you out of your blank stare into the street. You looked up and it was the man from the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” He asked, while sitting next to you on the steps.

“I will be. Once I get home and shower this off of me.”

“I can take you if you want.”

“It’s ok. I don't want to bother-”

“I offered. It’s not a bother if I offer.”

You eyed him weirdly. Why did this man have an interest in you?

“Ok but, windows have to be down the whole way there and you have to drive with one hand out the window” You stated firmly.

He chuckled.

“Ok shorty. I’ll do whatever you say”

*******

He drove a C/Y Acura with red interior. The car was well kept; it still smelled like a new car. You stared at the inside, instantly falling in love with the car and the way it felt.

“It’s just a car.” Your eyes snapped to his, warmth spreading across your neck.

“Sorry, it’s beautiful though”

“It was a gift.” He said while checking his shoulder and pulling away from the curb. A gift? Who’s he friends with? “From my aunt and cousin.”

“Cool. Usually I get books or dinners.” He cracked a smile.

“They’re overcompensating. They weren't around when they could've been.” He stopped at a light. The red illuminated his face and made his teeth look even whiter, if possible. You noticed for the first time that he had gold bottoms in. His long eyelashes brushed against his brown cheek as he cut his eye at you to gauge your reaction.

“Shorty.”

“Yes,” you said blinking out of your trance. He was delicious.

“I asked you which way”, he said smirking at you. He knew that you liked what you saw.

“Keep going straight.” You turned to the road, you wanted to keep an eye on your surroundings not only him.

“So why’re you in a rush to get home?”

“I have to work in a few hours.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. An action that turned you on more.

“You knew you had to work and you still came out? You’re wild.”

“I thought I would have left hours ago to be honest. Y/B/N and I got into a fight and I was distracting myself downstairs.”

“I saw you at like 9. You were nursing one cup man.” You felt stupid. You should've left after the argument. Matter of fact, you shouldn't have came.

“Did I ask you?”

“Look, it is what it is. I’m just saying I don't think you came here for you.”

He was right. Your entire relationship with Y/B/N wasn't for you. It started off to appease him and stop his antics. He had been following you around campus trying to get your number for weeks after spotting you in the cafe. You stayed with him because you found comfort in routine. Fuck him. You were tired.

“That doesn't matter.” You said closing the issue off from him.

“Ok. So tell me about something that does”

“Huh?”

“Tell me about yourself.” You left out a small laugh. He wanted to get to know you right after you walked in on God knows what with your ex.

“I just walked in on my ex cheating on me. Man let me be single for a second.”

“All I asked was for an introduction.” He cut his eye at you. You felt bad. All he wanted was conversation and you assumed he wanted you. I’m such a bitch.

“I’m a senior at Y/UNI/N and I am a Y/M.” You said quietly.

“All you do is study? I go there too.”

“I’ve never seen you around.”

“You’re too busy trying to help the world,” He smiled. “It’s admirable though.”

“Not the whole world. Only the brown part.”

He let out a earthquaking laugh that warmed every fiber of your being.

“I respect that. But, why?”

“I grew up with only my mom around. And I saw how it was for her, a single women, to help feed and raise my sister and I. Turn right at this light. I want to help women like that get the tools they need to succeed. It shouldn't be that hard to live a basic life.” You reminisced about all the late nights and early mornings your mom had just to make sure you kept food on the table. “I’m trying to get an internship with this youth outreach program this summer so I can get more roots in the area.”

“I can get you an internship but, it won't be around here”

You stared at him like he had three heads while he passed your street. You quickly told him to take the other way to your apartment to avoid the embarrassment.

“What do you mean?”

“My cousin built this outreach center in Oakland. I work there when I’m not in school so I can help my community. If you want I can connect y’all.”

You damn near jumped into this mans lap.

“Of course I want to! Thank you so much!”

“I’m gonna need your number then, sweetheart.”

He pulled into a parking space in front of your building and passed you his phone. You saved yourself and handed it back to him.

“What about you?”

“I want to help black people worldwide loosen the chains of their white oppressors.”

“Any progress?”

“I’m actually making a lot in Oakland right now. I think it’s important to help each other and lean less on the white man and his government. Only then can we truly break free from them.” His eyes were fiery as he explained his goal. His passion oozed out of him and captivated you.

“That sounds like a few generation long project.” You mused. You wanted to help.

“That’s fine. As long as I help my people. I don't care how long it takes.”

You wished you had met him instead of Y/B/N. This man had humor, looks, and layers and you'd just met him. All Y/B/N had was a strong name.

“You're passionate about this.”

“You should understand.”

“I do.” You looked at his arm still hanging out of the window. “Sorry about that. I just have to make sure you won't kidnap me.”

“Girl, if I wanted to kidnap you a few windows and an arm out the window wouldn't have stopped me.”

“Sir. Please.” You laughed.

“You should buy a taser. Those are more effective.”

“I’ll think about it.” You said while opening the door and climbing out.

“I could've gotten that for you.”

“After all you've done for me tonight?” You shook your head, “Thank you for the ride...” You didn't know this mans name.

“So this is dumb but, what’s your name?”

“Erik. What’s yours, bright eyes”

“Y/N.”

“Well go inside Y/N. You need rest.” He pointed at the clock in his car. It read 1:45 AM. Damn. You would've traded anything to keep talking to him. “Don’t make that face. I know you’ll miss me but, don't worry you'll see me soon enough.”

#erik x reader #erik stevens #black panther #erik killmonger #erik kilmonger x reader #college au

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star-quill · 4 years

Text

When You Were Young

Words: 2.6k

Pairings: Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You

Characters: Javier Peña, Reader/You

Warnings: None

Summary: Summer for your family was always spent at their friend Javier Peña's beachside cabin. The same Javier Peña who you've been in love with for the last five years.

Notes: this was originally like 5k words so this is just part one and there'll be a part two later on, also this is slightly inspired by Futile Devices by @zeldasayer (so if you haven't read it go read it bc it's my absolute favourite fic ever)

July 24th 1982

The cool summer breeze whistled its way through your bedroom window, skimming across your exposed lower chest as you lay upon your bed. You had been trying to get some sleep for about an hour now but for some reason, your eyes just weren't tired enough to call it a night. Sighing, you sat up and stared out of the thin fabric hanging in front of your window. The sun had set about three hours ago, which left only the brightness of the moon to creep through the square window which only made you more awake.

You slowly made your way across to the window seat in the room, grabbing a blanket on your way there, hoping that maybe a new location might help you sleep better. But before you settled down, you noticed a figure sitting out on the lower decking of the cabin, the moonlight illuminating the tufts of his hair. You couldn't even see his face but you just knew he looks even more beautiful in the light of the moon at night compared to the dizzying brightness of the sun during the day.

Javier Peña had come to be a close family friend over the last 5 years, making your time from a nineteen year old to a twenty-four year old just that little bit more difficult—as if boys your age weren't confusing enough, this much, much older man who had now entered your life was making you feel so much more flustered. The more times he visited your house, the more you decided that boys your age just weren't for you anymore and that older men, specifically Javi, were exactly your type.

You didn't know much about him, only knowing he used to work in the government, or something like that—he was quite secretive with his past. You didn't really spend that much time talking to him anyway so it's not like you knew. Besides, if you had spoken to him for longer than five minutes, you're sure you would've zoned out and just stared at him the whole time.

The more you stared down at Javi sitting on the lower deck, the more you realised that this crush was more than just a crush—you were one hundred percent, head-over-heels, in love with him. Grabbing the pillow at the end of the window seat, you pressed it against your face, swiftly lying back down.

Now you definitely weren't going to get any sleep whatsoever.

You decided to sit back up and look down at the deck again, with some part of you hoping that he had actually decided to go back to his own bedroom—that way you could forget about him for one night and get some sleep at least.

But as you lifted your head to look out the window, Javi turned his head and caught your eye. He looked at you for a second before turning back to look out onto the beach in front of him. Without hesitation, you left your bedroom and headed out to the decking, but stopped just short of the love seat that Javi was sat upon. He smiled softly at you, almost like he was expecting you.

"Couldn't sleep either huh?" He spoke, his voice as calming as the waves on the shoreline. You didn't say anything, just walked over to him slowly before sitting down. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, before he spoke again, his thick and smooth voice dripping over you like melted chocolate.

"You can talk to me you know, it actually helps to make you tired more." You daren't look at him, you can't look at him. Not when he's sat dangerously close to you in only a pair of short swimming trunks and you clad in only your underwear, a crop top and cotton shorts. But then you felt his warm hand place itself upon your thigh, his smooth sun kissed skin melting into yours. You turned your head to face his and right there slap-bang across his lips was that god-awful, goofy grin that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

"Sorry, I'm not much of a talker.." Javi knew you were lying, you didn't hide it very well. He's seen you talk for hours on the phone to your best friend, to then see your mother complaining she needs the phone to make an important phone call. He's seen you talk excitedly about your day spent at the local mall with your friends. He knows you can talk, he's just not sure why you can't talk to him.

"Bullshit."

Dammit.

"Maybe I just don't want to talk right now, okay?" Javi just chuckled and shook his head at your response, his goofy grin replaced by an almost smug smile. Lying wasn't going to get you anywhere with him but there was no way in hell you were ever going to confess to him why you get nervous around him. He'd most likely just laugh it off and embarrass you about it forever—which is the last thing you want right now.

"Then why did you come down here? You could've just stayed in your room by yourself with nobody to talk to.." Shit. You had to come up with some excuse as to why you, instead of staying in your room, you joined the man you've basically been falling in love with for the past five years, at two in the morning. You hadn't even noticed Javier's hand was still placed upon your thigh and catching sight of it made you swallow thickly—which caught Javier's attention. He retracted his hand and sat it upon his own thigh, watching you exhale softly.

"Love's a complicated piece of shit, don't you think? You know, one minute you think you're in love, turns out they're just, a friend—and not even a close one at that.." Why the HELL is he talking about love?! What the fuck! You just nodded slowly, to which he copied you and continued talking quietly.

"I guess it's just hard to find the one, if that kind of stuff even exists. You know, soulmates and all that. Half of me doesn't believe it but then there's the other half thinking there is one perfect person out there for everyone. What do you think?" He glanced over at you, waiting for a response but you couldn't even think of an answer. Did you believe in soulmates? You definitely believe in love because whatever feelings you have for Javi are definitely not just friendly or platonic.

"Maybe?" Javi chuckled to himself, lifting his head to stare out across the horizon. He thinks you're a goddamn child, too young to even think about love, let alone know what it is or how to feel it. You so desperately wanted to scream at him how you felt, scream at him how you've loved him for the past five years and you definitely fucking know what love is.

"You've never been in love before have you?" Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! Keeping a straight face right now was practically impossible. You pinched your eyes together tightly, feeling a small tear roll down your face—as if this situation couldn't get any worse. Javi looked back at you for a second, but it was a second too long as he noticed the tear falling down your face. He managed to wipe it away before you did, his thumb feeling scorching hot against your skin.

"I guess I was wrong.." He drifted off, pulling his hand back down to his lap and looking away into the distance again. You could cut the tension between you two with a goddamn butter knife right now. Javi sighed, placing his hands on his thighs and standing up. You glanced up at him and he smiled back down at you, his goofy grin only making you feel more upset.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night." Javi put his hands in his pockets, motioning his head towards the cabin. You just nodded at him, praying and praying that he would just leave you alone and let you stay by yourself for a while. Every day since you met him, you never wanted to leave his side but now all you wanted to do was hope he never looked at you again—you don't think you could bear it anymore.

"Come on, I'll walk you back inside."

"I don't want to right now, thanks."

"It's too cold now, come on."

"Javi, please.. I just want to be by myself."

"Not out here."

"Please!" That was your breaking point. You dropped your head in your hands and just sobbed. Javi immediately rushed to your side, letting you just sob into his arm, gripping onto it so he wouldn't leave—even though that's exactly what you want him to do right now. You felt his hand brush through your hair, slowly softening your sobs and bringing you back to reality.

"You alright?" Javi spoke softly, making you lift your head from it's resting position to look up at him. He had a warm smile on his face, but his eyes were full of worry. You wiped your tears away and sat back up, realising you still had a grip of his arm and immediately retracted your arm back.

"Sorry, I just.. it's stupid, you don't need to worry about me, I'm fine." Javi chuckled again and you noticed he only did this when he could tell you were lying about something, or had something to hide. He glanced away and then back at you, as if waiting for you to tell him something more.

"I promise, whatever it is, it's not stupid. I care about you, you know I do.." I love you, that's what it is. Javi, I fucking love you. You could feel Javi shift slightly away from you, his face frozen in fear. You could see his Adam's apple bob in his throat, his tongue coming out to quickly wet his now dry lips.

"This.. this isn't right. I can't.." Javier's words made you realise that in that moment, your little love confession wasn't just words in your head. The words you've been screaming at him in your head for the past five years have just fallen right out of your mouth.

"Javi.. please don't take it the wrong way—"

"Well what's the right way to take it?"

"I don't know but, please—"

"Is that why you wouldn't talk to me earlier?"

You sighed, placing your forehead on his shoulder, nodding against his skin. He brought his hand up to your cheek, smoothing your skin with his thumb ever so softly. You didn't move your head to look up at him this time, instead just relished in the feeling of his skin on yours. Javi leant his head towards yours, placing a small kiss to the top of your head, making you gasp softly.

"It's okay, you know. You're allowed to have these feelings. You can't really help who you like and who you don't, but you just have to know that nothing can ever happen between us.." You nodded again, this time lifting your head to face him. Despite your face burned red from blushing and the dry tear stains on your skin, Javi still smiled at you.

"But, what if we.. didn't tell anyone.." Javi chuckled again, the sound of it starting to feel patronising now. He just looked into your eyes, his thumb dangerously close to the corner of your mouth now. With each passing second, his thumb kept moving towards your lips. What the hell was he doing?!!

"Well then, tell me.. what would you do? What would you want to do, if we didn't tell a single soul about this.." His voice was a soft whisper now and his hand had now moved down to your neck, with his thumb softly moving along your jawline. Your words got stuck in your throat and all you could do was just look at him, hoping he would answer his own question.

"You want to know what I would do?" Somehow his head had moved forward since he last spoke, his cheek now pressed to yours and his lips right next to your ear. You dropped your head, resting it on his shoulder again, revelling in the amount of contact he's giving you right now. You've yearned for this for so long and it's almost giving you whiplash from how much he's touching you and where he's touching you.

"I would kiss you, everywhere. I would kiss you a thousand times over just to see you smile." Your hand reached up to grab his wrist, holding him in place. His spare hand moved slightly to place itself upon your thigh, making you almost whimper slightly against his skin. You fucking hated how much he could just make you feel like putty around him—like if he asked you to do absolutely anything right now, you would say yes just for him.

"Can you?" This time you pulled your face away from Javier's, looking at him achingly. Your eyes were practically begging him to kiss you, wanting and hoping he would comply and give you what you so badly want.

"Can I what?"

"Kiss me.. please.."

"Mi amor.."

"Please.."

It was like the whole world just stopped when you felt Javier's lips on your cheek. It felt so good but you needed more. He let his cheek rest against yours after he kissed you, not wanting you to be anywhere but close to him. You craved more of him and couldn't bear the thought of him not kissing you at all.

"Not there.. please.."

"I can't.."

"You said you wanted to.. please.."

Javi sighed, pulling his face away from yours, looking you right in the eyes. You knew he wanted this and wasn't just saying all those things earlier to make you feel better about yourself—you could tell from his eyes and the way they kept darting to look at your own eyes to your slightly open mouth. His grip on your thigh softened slightly, only for his hand to smooth itself along your leg, occasionally even moving it down between your legs but only for a second. The temperature had dropped slightly from before but with every little hand movement from Javi, you felt your own body temperature rise up, his touch burning you up like a fever.

It felt like time was going by even more slowly than usual. Javier's lips were now painfully close to yours and yet he still hadn't kissed you yet. Your mouth still hung slightly open and your eyes fluttered closed, just waiting for him to finally move in on you. He looked at you for a second, taking all of you in—your hand still holding onto his wrist, your glorious tanned leg to which his hand was grazing upon and eventually back to your deliciously, soft lips.

Javier's lips hit you like a freight train, your brain frazzled from the way he's just kissing you like there's no tomorrow. He tasted like wine, and god you loved the taste of it on his lips. You felt his hand move on your thigh again, squeezing the flesh on the inside of your leg which made you gasp softly against his lips. Instinctively, you slowly opened your legs, moving your left leg to drape over his own legs. This only made the grip he had on your leg tighter, his fingers kneading at your skin.

A soft whimper left your lips as you felt Javi pull himself away from you, feeling his soft breath against your skin. You couldn't tell if he wanted more or not, his hand still touching you softly on your thigh. He slowly dipped his forehead to rest against yours, his breathing slowing down.

"Can you do that again?"

"Another time.."

"Javi.."

"Just, let's go back inside.."

#my fics #*fics #javier peña #javi peña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #narcos #javier peña fic #javi peña fic #narcos fic #pedro pascal #i hope y'all like this 🥺👉👈#i tried my best

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