#and they do go and meet with death thru a portal but that's like the surface level afterlife you can't really hit the deeper levels | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shurisbraids · 3 months

Text

𝓖𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝟏)

gif credit to user perccyjackson (prev. milesgmorales)

↝rating: g

↝pairings: vinylfang, punkflower (if you squint)

↝genre: angst, family, hurt/comfort

↝wc: 8.1k

↝song insp: "a body, a coffin" - amaarae

↝content: non-explicit, au (canon-adjacent), multiple povs, longfic, rare ship, minor spanish, head injuries, alt versions of characters, alt!miguel o'hara is trans and has anxiety issues, medicine use, minor suggestive content (strictly b/t adult characters), nursing, mention of violence, mention of child death, miles finally gets a fucking break

↝a/n: took me f o r e v e r to churn this fic out, but it's finally here!! my baby miles went thru so much in atsv and that ish wasn't fair. so, here's my personal remedy for that. loosely based on an au made by me and @arachnicas months ago. this is part 1 of a series i'm making (mainly centered around vinylfang). hopefully, the next part doesn't take me as long to finish.

↝summary:

“Who are you?” Miguel—this new Miguel—asked, his tired eyes studying Miles with an ounce of curiosity, caution. The boy sat up straighter, feeling his throat tighten. He couldn’t ignore the crack that hung at the edge of the older man’s voice as he asked his next question, “Why do you look like my nephew?” (Or: What if, during Miles’s escape from Spider HQ, the Go-Home Machine malfunctioned, sending him to another dimension with its own variant of Miguel O'Hara, and Miles, upon meeting him, had to figure out whether he could be trusted or not?)

Something was wrong.

A controlled dimensional jump shouldn’t have been this bumpy—but it was.

And Miles was terrified.

An angry, roiling expanse of space crackled and heaved all around him, spitting out shimmering clouds of stardust and supernovas, as he shot through the wormhole at unprecedented speeds. Everything swept past him in a hellish swirl of sound and color, energy and matter. Waves of particles crashed against his sides, leaving panic to scream across his nerves and flood his brain. He found it difficult to breathe, air fleeing from his flattening lungs.

His first thought, of course, was that he was going to die—that the barrier would shatter, and he would tumble into the gaping maw of the abyss beneath him, drown in that primordial sea of heat and ink and light, and disintegrate into the ether. Forever lost, while the Spider Society continued their fruitless search for him, while the Spot wiped his home dimension off the multiversal map in a blaze of death and rage—

(No, no—he couldn’t think like that, he had to save his dad, stop the Spot, prove Miguel wrong, prove them all wrong, he would be fine, he was heading home—)

Hopefully in one piece. At this rate, though, it would probably be in multiple pieces.

His second thought was why was this happening, why now? The Go-Home Machine had apparently malfunctioned—whether it was due to Miguel’s assault or a natural glitch Miles didn’t know—and decided to transport him through rougher terrain of the time-space continuum. Could it have messed up his destination too? In that moment—fighting down nausea and fear and ignoring the painful throb in his shoulder—Miles hoped not. He really, really hoped not.

Soon, he could see it: the portal at the end of the tunnel, glimmering an inviting pearl-white. Coming closer, closer. Promising freedom, salvation. Another jolt of the vector made his stomach lurch, its quivering hexagonal frame pulsing orange, then gray, then orange, then gray again. Taking a deep breath, Miles prepared himself, swallowing the scream in his throat. At this speed, in this position, he was definitely going to crash into whatever lay beyond that shifting eye.

(Not too hard, please, please.)

Arms up and crossed together, eyes screwed tight, he passed through. Just as the vector crumbled and the portal flickered out of sight. Ankle flew over head. Sky became land, and land became sky. His body slammed against the ground—head meeting concrete, the impact drawing all air from his lungs.

A bullet of pain shot through his skull, drawing a curtain of darkness across his vision as he went unconscious. His face fell to the side, limp. Cushioned—oddly enough—by a bed of withered flowers. The last thing he saw was a blur of a mural, sporting a face that was far too familiar.

Earth-88.

Another Nueva York: a sprawling corporate metropolis—the crown jewel of its nation—hiding more than a few secrets in its forsaken underbelly. Embraced by chrome-kissed skies and winking neon lights. Guarded by its own friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, Miguel O’Hara—always the same, but different—who was more concerned with putting up new room décor in his best friend’s apartment than committing to any superhero theatrics. He always reserved that for later.

“Are you sure you want this picture over the shelf?” Miguel asked, throwing a glance at Jess as he flipped the art frame in his hands.

She gave him a humorous look. “Yeah, I’m positive.”

They were working in her guest room, increasingly satisfied with its subtle metamorphosis. It was mid-afternoon, sunlight soaking through the curtains and casting the room in a mauve glow. The room already sported a nice layout—all gold and blue with regal hues—but Jess had recently grown tired of a few empty spaces, especially those on the walls. She bought a collection of new household items—pictures, baskets, candles, even special lights—she felt would add to its warm atmosphere.

“I think it’d look better with the collection on the opposite end,” Miguel muttered as he lifted the circular painting upward. “Same gold hues and all.”

“Yeah, but it complements the color of the shelf, too.”

As he hinged the portrait on the wall, he retorted, “Maybe if you squint. Or look at it sideways.”

Jess couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, don’t challenge my color-coding skills: I’d easily do you in.”

Soon after, she had him dressing the corners of the rooms in lights as she moved tiny statues around, adjusted chairs into new positions.

“You and Aaron still coming to the baby shower on Saturday?”

“Of course, we are, cuata. We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Miguel quirked his brow as he added, “Though Aaron may reconsider, he told me, if any of the games involve him having to wear a diaper.”

That earned a chuckle from Jess. “Maybe. I’m sure that would be a turn-on for you, huh?”

Miguel wrinkled his nose, but he couldn’t suppress the smile that crept onto his face. “You wish.” (In all honesty, his husband could be wearing just a leaf over his crotch and Miguel would still goggle at him.) He stepped down the short ladder. “Are you sure you don’t want tell me the gender beforehand?”

He knew she was keeping it a surprise—hence, the gender-neutral party theme, but maybe she would make an exception for him.

Jess narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think just because you’re my best friend you get a free pass.”

“Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Mhm. Not trusting you on that, O’Hara.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Jess.”

“I’ll let it break. Not like you’re using it or anything.” She turned towards the door. “Be right back. I got us drinks from Katy’s.”

Miguel perked up. “Is it boba?”

“Yup,” she said with a smirk. “I wouldn’t disappoint you.”

Katy’s was everyone’s favorite spot near St. Theresa’s, a cozy little café with specialized drinks and desserts to die for. Jess and Miguel loved visiting there right after work. His obsession with boba tea could never be understated—and since she knew he was coming over today she ordered two beforehand. Almond milk tea for her and coconut butterfly tea for him.

“Okay,” Jess breathed, slotting the appropriate tea into Miguel’s hands. “Breaktime.”

They tumble into small talk, workplace gossip, new developments on their respective side of town. Updates over their favorite TV shows, family marriages and divorces, oh, did you hear Dr. Phillips was caught making out with Rachel from ER in the closet? Words punctuated with light gasps and disbelieving chuckles.

Eventually, Jess paused a moment, brows pinched with confusion, as she placed a hand to her belly, feeling for something.

“Everything okay?” Miguel asked, eyes growing wider. “Did the baby just—?”

“They sure did!” she crowed, eyes bright as lanterns. “Here, you wanna feel?”

He nodded, allowing Jess to guide his hand to her stomach. His features twisted into a wonderous expression as he felt movement, the ghostly imprint of a foot fluttering beneath her skin. Even when he had done this multiple times with different patients, the beginning stage of life never ceased to amaze him, make his heart hurt.

Of course, he was genuinely happy for Jess and couldn’t wait to see her child. Holding them, spending time with them. (‘A boy,’ Miguel would think. ‘It’s gonna be a boy.’) Maybe they would have her dimples and wide, gap-toothed smile. Maybe one day they would even call him “Tio.”

Just like Miles had.

Maybe they would look like Miles.

At once, he felt his eyes dull, a black oily feeling seating itself at the base of his ribcage. Something close to grief; something close to envy. Jess—unfortunately—took notice. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, sympathy laced across her brow.

“Hey. Are you okay?” The words trickled out in a murmur, a gentle stream, drawing him out of this fleeting spell.

A part of him already knew. A part of him didn’t want to answer. But he does anyway—because he’s not shocking rude—his form bracing itself as if facing an incoming storm.

“Yeah?” His voice came breathless, weak. He was suddenly overcome with the urge to kick himself. Why did it come out like a question—like he was asking for permission? He tore his hand away from her stomach, deciding he had left it there for too long.

He turned his gaze elsewhere, as if embarrassed. “Sorry, I just—”

“Is it… about Miles?”

A blanket of ice coated his veins. His heart clenched. He couldn’t hide it: his expression said it all. Her pregnancy never reminded him until now. Reminded him of Miles. His nephew, who died months ago. Maybe it was because the baby’s arrival was so soon. Jess would have her child while his would still be six feet under. It wasn’t that he was envious. No, not really. It was just right now, that bump only served as another reminder of what he lacked.

Miguel looked at her then, his expression sullen and vague.

“No,” he whispered. A lie, of course—and she could tell.

The woman shook her head, curly hair bouncing, and placed a hand on his wrist reassuringly. Her eyes swam with sympathy. She kept her voice gentle as she said, “I know it’s been tough. If you’re still not over it, I get it. Recovery is different for everybody. Like I told you before, if you need any more support—”

Miguel’s eyes darkened. “I don’t.” Maybe his tone was a bit too cold, but it slipped before he could catch it. Talking about it right now wouldn’t help him. Talking about it was rarely something he wanted to do anymore. It wouldn’t lift the boy from the dead—and it wouldn’t make his absence hurt less.

Jess dropped the topic without another word. “Fine, sorry.”

His eyes softened as he rubbed the back of his neck. “No, it’s nothing,” he mumbled. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

Maybe it was the turn of conversation that suddenly made the environment colder, the colors duller, and his fingers looser. Maybe it was the thing that suddenly made him want to leave. By now they were pretty much done with their little activity.

“If we’re finished here, I might as well get going, cuata.” He rose from his seat. “Still have some errands to run.”

“That’s fine.” He tried to ignore the note of sadness that rode her tone. “See you around, Migs. Thanks for helping. Tell Aaron I said hi.”

“Will do.”

So—Miguel returned home. He turned the lights on in the kitchen and swept his gaze around the interior. Slowly, mechanically, out of routine. Same dishes that needed to be put up; same board on the wall choked with half-written sticky notes, words of affirmation from him to Aaron or from Aaron to him.

Same life to live, same responsibilities to tend to. And yet none of it truly felt the same. The world spun on—even with Miles gone—and to Miguel that felt like a crime. How could the world continue with that soft, sweet boy gone, with his future left unfulfilled? It had been five months since he died, since Miguel felt another precious string of his life snap, since he was reminded again of his inherent helplessness in life’s orchestrations.

Since the Sinister Six attacked near Miles’s school and left it—and the rest of the block—a near-smoking crater in their onslaught. Miles should’ve been here, in the living room, working on his homework, notebooks and pencils scattered across the floor, music leaking from his holographic audio player.

LYLA flickered to life in front of Miguel, sporting casual lounge clothes. “Hey, sunshine,” she purred. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Want me to go over the rest of your schedule for today?”

“You know it.”

Typical errands: do laundry, go on a daily walk, water your plants. Padding into the living room, he turned on the television to get the latest news. A series of bank robberies in the 42nd District, all presumably by the same person; a kidnapping at the train station; a car accident on Highway I-45. No mention of any member of the Sinister Six—not yet, at least.

They normally caused trouble Downtown, their territory, but they certainly weren’t above making their mark on the upper crust of Nueva York. News organizations from Uptown rarely ever mentioned activity in Downtown. Not that it mattered: he and Aaron had connections down below who kept them updated. If any of them knew the current whereabouts of the gang members—especially the Green Goblin—they would tell him.

She was the one he was on the hunt for.

She was the reason Miles was gone.

Drawing his life from him with the calculated toss of a bomb. Miguel had been too late to catch it—had been too preoccupied with handling Doc Ock to notice in time. A bristling flash of white was all that was left to see, and Miguel hadn’t been able to capture the scream that tore free from his mouth right after.

There was nothing much left to remember afterward; just the cacophonous sounds of police and ambulance sirens, flashing lights painting smoldering walls blue-white-red. Why hadn’t he seen the signs ahead of time? Why did he thought it was a good idea to prioritize Doc Ock? Why hadn’t he moved fast enough? Why hadn’t he?

He swallowed the memory down, took a deep breath, tried to count to ten. Something close to rage punched a boiling fist through his ribcage. He swore one day he’d finally catch those monsters and make them pay.

But none of that now.

Just focus on what’s in front of you; don’t think beyond that.

And so he did. He vacuumed and he gathered laundry; he read another chapter of a book; he finished the rest of his boba tea; he absentmindedly listened to the new playlist Aaron had made for him as he wiped down windows. Eventually, as he chipped away at his chores, that urge unmistakably rose in him—the urge to see Miles. Not the boy himself, of course, but the mural made in remembrance of him. He hadn’t originally planned to go today, but he decided it was about time to pay another visit.

In all honesty, he preferred visiting the mural over the grave. He rarely ever visited the latter even when Aaron would try to coax him to go. At least at the mural he could see Miles as he had been, vibrant and alive, with a dimpled smile that could melt even the coldest heart. Aaron had painted it a week after the funeral. He had done an amazing job capturing the boy’s spirit in the colors, the lines.

Now it was time for a walk, wasn’t it? Just a small circuit that stretched a couple of blocks. Away from the streets most populated by pedestrians. After shrugging on his exercise clothes, he made his way out the door, down the stairs. He breathed in the crisp afternoon air, passing under clouds raked across the blue expanse of sky.

Trotting down the street, catching snapshots of neighbors and strangers amid their own business, as usual. Past endless rows of pristine apartment complexes; past the elevated highways brimming with vehicles; past the community gardens too neatly arranged.

Miles’s mural wasn’t too far ahead, tucked away near his favorite place to hang out with friends. Maybe someone had left more flowers, copies of his favorite toys, manga volumes. He could stand there like he always did, let a gentler pool of memories pour across his mind’s eye and drown him for those few sweet moments. Tell Miles he was sorry, so sorry. Pretend that he hadn’t failed him in the worst way.

Miguel wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. He briefly watched a plane streak across the sky before he took a sharp left between two buildings—a shortcut—sucking in a deep, silent breath. It didn’t take long for the mural to come into sight, visible even from the narrow passageway. Unmolested—or so he thought, as he reached his destination with silent, measured steps.

Nothing would’ve prepared him for what greeted him there.

He froze in place as his gaze fell upon a figure collapsed amidst the entourage of memorabilia. Unmoving. Unconscious. Alarm shattering his stupor like a hammer, Miguel moved closer to get a better look, wondering what had happened. Had the person been attacked? Had they passed out? Even from where he stood, there was something oddly familiar about the stranger’s profile. Once he stooped down, obtained a clearer portrait of their—his—identity, Miguel felt the world around him tilt sideways.

It was Miles.

Arms spread out like wings; body crumpled like an angel fallen. Skin bruised and battered; hair coated in debris. Clad in a tattered costume, a brilliant red spider swimming in a sea of black upon his chest. Viciously familiar. Panic made the man’s heart crash against his ribcage.

No. No. This wasn’t possible.

Miguel wanted to believe this was a dream, a hallucination. Shakily he pressed an ear against the boy’s chest. A heartbeat. He was alive. But not in the best condition. He must’ve fallen—from where?—and landed on the concrete. A small pool of blood formed a morbid halo around the boy’s head, painting the flowers beneath it red. He paused, glanced around as if he expected an ambush before turning his disbelieving gaze back on Miles.

It’s a trick, a voice hissed in the back of his mind. It could’ve been, the man noted. But that didn’t stop him from gingerly picking the boy up, from observing his injuries, from leaving the place with him in his arms bridal style.

Miguel didn’t know what was going on, but he certainly welcomed it. A mixture of confusion, desperation, and fear pulsing in his bones. And something else: excitement.

“LYLA, run diagnostics.”

The AI flared to life in front of him, adjusting her triangle-shaped glasses. “Hm? What, you fell and scraped your knee—?”

She paused when she saw the injured boy lying on the kitchen table, which was cleared of space to make room for him. Miguel had already cleaned up the back of his head.

“Miguel… Is that who I think it is?” She teleported closer for a better look, eyes wide with shock.

Miguel was standing at the corner of the table, arms folded, expression giving nothing away. “Yeah,” he breathed, “or maybe not.” He wasn’t sure yet.

It didn’t make sense. There was no way this Miles was his Miles. He looked too different, wore different clothing, didn’t even have his hair in his eyes. Out of all the technological advancements Nueva York boasted, resurrection wasn’t one of them. Cloning was one of the only conclusions he could reach.

But who would clone Miles, and for what reason?

Did someone figure out Miguel’s secret identity and was leading him on? That couldn’t be possible either, was it? In any case, regardless of how this panned out, he wasn’t going to treat the boy cruelly—only cautiously. He was injured, and, of course, Miguel felt his nursing instincts kick in. He could’ve seen a supervillain bleeding out on the street and still rush to save them, whether it was by his hand or another’s.

Rubbing the side of his face, he groaned, “Again, diagnostics.”

LYLA perked up, “O-Oh, right!” She fumbled with her glasses a bit before scanning Miles, a wave of blue light washing over him. “Lacerations on face; mild contusion with bruising and bleeding at the base of the skull. Swollen left cheek. Ooh, nasty—ice can help with that! Acetaminophen should help with pain relief…”

Miguel pulled up a holographic screen, making notes of LYLA’s report with a speed honed only by focus and achieved through years of experience. None of the injuries were anything he couldn’t handle. He and Aaron dealt with worse in their line of superhero duty.

And now came his favorite part: tending to his patient’s wounds. He applied antiseptic and ointment; he wrapped bandages around the boy’s head with incredible care, all the while taking note of his vitals (as if he would flatline at any moment); he pressed an ice pack against his cheek, got the medication for later ready.

Eventually, the man paused, glancing between the living room couch and Miles’s room down the hallway. Where to put him? It probably was a better idea to place him in the living room, but his heart demanded he put the boy in his counterpart’s room. That was his rightful place, in a way.

Maybe he would be more comfortable there, even if the room wasn’t truly his. After peeling off his suit, wiping him clean, dressing him in his Miles’s pajamas, Miguel put him in bed and added as many blankets and pillows he could for maximum comfort. He stepped back, breathed in and out, felt warmth burn at the back of his eyelids.

Stay calm, stay calm. And don’t you dare cry.

Tea. Maybe this one liked tea.

Eventually, Miguel found himself in the kitchen, watching water come to a simmer in a small saucepan in front of him. He had all the necessary ingredients he needed to make a cup of tea. Next to add were the milk and spices, which he poured in slowly, one at a time. He would serve it to Miles as part of his lunch, alongside a plate of sincronizada, a little snack his Miles always enjoyed.

There were leftovers from this morning, so he decided to heat those up and include them. They were light on the stomach, which was always good for someone who sustained head injuries. And they were easy enough to make. He just wanted to prepare something quick just in case Miles woke up earlier than expected.

As he toiled away in the kitchen, he watched the boy sleep via holographic screen. Every few seconds his gaze would slide over to the boy’s sleeping form. Occasionally, Miles would shift, twitch, turn in bed, but that was all. No signal, no portent coated in insidious intent. He was struggling to keep his anxiety at bay, but the situation almost called for it to spill over, tangle into his thoughts, shake at his limbs. As if on cue, LYLA popped up again, forehead lightly creased with worry.

“Hey, your heartbeat is spiking,” she said. “Remember: relax yourself. Breathe in, breathe out—like we practiced.” She gestured in front of her chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Miguel whispered, briefly shielding his eyes with a hand. “Can you just… play my ambiance playlist for me?”

“On it! First song’s my jam.”

Soon music drifted gently through the air, a melodious balm, dressing the room in blue, soporific hues. He breathed in, breathed out, finished the tea, strained it into a cup. Slowly but surely, he felt that cloud of anxiety dissipate, coil and sink back under his nerves. Not gone, but still easier to manage, to somewhat ignore.

It couldn’t have been just a coincidence that he found Miles the way he had. Speculation grasped his mind with electric fingers. His little guest could’ve been anything: an escaped experiment; a biological Trojan horse; a corporate raider; a copycat. Regardless, his presence soothed the ever-present throb of guilt in the man’s stomach, made him feel like nothing had changed over the last five months.

If only for a little bit. No, this wasn’t his Miles, but for this sweet morsel of a moment, he could pretend it was. And that made his mood lighten so much more. Eventually, a kernel of thought bloomed at a corner of his mind—one he didn’t want to entirely welcome: what if this Miles was from an alternate dimension?

Multiverse theory: a school of thought Aaron loved to entertain with him over the years. That there was a kaleidoscope of realities scattered across space and time like seeds. Miguel never agreed with it and spent a handful of nights arguing with Aaron over it.

But now, what if it was true? What would it mean? Miguel couldn’t bring himself to think about it too extensively. In the end, it was only one hypothesis. He would get his answer once the boy woke up.

LYLA stayed right next to him, floating cross-legged in mid-air. “So,” she sighed, “what are we gonna do with him?”

“What we always do in situations like this,” Miguel drawled. “Interrogation.”

“But this time with room service,” she said cheekily.

He smirked. “With room service, yes.”

A crackling red prism swallowing him whole. His heart practically bursting from his chest as he raced through Downtown. Gwen’s face, whipped by wind, laced with worry and guilt. Miguel’s claws battering at the shell the Go-Home Machine wove around him, countenance a portrait of mania—

Miles woke up with a jolt, wincing as he felt the back of his skull scream. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton and his vision was blurry. A ghost of nausea coiled around his stomach. His mind was sluggish as it swam through the murky waters of fatigue. It grasped at lucidity with slippery hands, feeling for a sense of where he was.

It felt… oddly comfortable, wherever he was. Softness embraced him in every direction. Soon he realized he was in bed, wrapped snug in the fluffiest blanket imaginable. It smelled like sunflowers. He blinked once, twice, groaning softly, looking about the room when his vision cleared. There was something about his surroundings that felt familiar.

Am I home? he thought. Did I make it?

Once he felt strong enough, he sat up slowly, rubbing his face. Then he froze, noticing the sunlight piercing through the curtains. It was purple. And the sun in his universe wasn’t purple. Dread plucked at his nerves like strings, sending a chord of alarm through his head.

Oh, no.

He wasn’t home. The machine had sent him elsewhere.

And now he could tell something was off about his room. None of the trophies, books, or photos rang familiar to him. Not exactly. He finally looked down at himself, noticing he wasn’t wearing his costume either. Where was he? Who did this? He wanted to get out of bed, leave the room, check the window—anything—but it felt like his legs were made of lead. Heavy and dead.

Suddenly, the door opened.

Miles felt his heart leap into his throat as he glimpsed his visitor. Too familiar, too familiar. It was Miguel—again. Dressed in a pleasant expression, holding a tray of food in his hands.

“You’re awake,” he said warmly as he stepped inside.

Panic sent a lightning bolt down Miles’s limbs. His back hit the headboard with a heavy thunk! as he threw himself backwards, drawing his knees to his chest. Just like in that wormhole, he found it immediately difficult to breathe. He was hyperventilating—eyes wide and glistening with fear—which caused Miguel to abruptly stop. Worry streaked across his face.

(No, no, no—it was too late, too damn late, they caught him, who knows how long it’s been, his dad could be dead, and he failed, he failed—)

Miguel put the tray on the desk and drew his hands up in a calming position. “Hey,” he whispered, “it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you—”

“Please don’t let my dad die,” the boy whispered, a helpless, broken plea.

He hated how weak he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. He was injured, with nowhere else to run, no one else to turn to, and he was completely at this man’s mercy. Lord knew where the Society had taken him, what this dimension even was.

It was Miguel’s reaction, however, that caused a needle of confusion to pierce through his tapestry of panic. He looked stung, as if what Miles told him had brought up a bad memory, brought up pain. His mouth opened, then closed again—as if he didn’t know what to say.

His face grew pinched as he looked to the side, then back at Miles again. “Why would I do that?” he asked, his voice lower, more confused, more… vulnerable.

Panic loosened its grip on the boy’s senses, and that’s when he realized something: this Miguel was different. Different clothes, different physique, different hairstyle—different everything. Freckles spattered across his features like specks of paint. Hair reddish-brown with slivers of gray. Faint ashen rings hanging beneath his eyes. There was a certain tenderness in his stare, and it stirred a warm emotion in Miles that he didn’t want to examine.

This wasn’t “his” Miguel O’Hara; this was a variant.

One he’d never met before. Come to think of it, Miles didn’t remember seeing any other Miguels at HQ. Though it was hard to tell considering most of the Spider-People there kept their masks on. He could mull over that mystery later. Right now, he had to figure out whether he could trust this one or not. Whether he was with the Society—and simply playing dumb—or a person disconnected from them. If he was confused, asking why, maybe he knew nothing at all. But still—but still—

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You’re not one of them, are you?”

“Who?”

“…Nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” Miguel prompted, brows joined together in confusion.

Miles shook his head, rubbing his eyes with a trembling forearm. “No, j-just forget it—I mean—it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” His voice stayed gentle, quietly imploring. Cautiously, slowly, he took a few steps closer—only to stop in his tracks and twist his features.

Miles felt his Spidey Sense flare to life, not out of danger but familiarity, reaching forward and probing the boundary of another. The one belonging to the man right in front of him. Like you, it whispered, silvery and soft. Like you. With that revelation came a brief rush of emotions: confusion, relief, wonder. The Miguel he met before never had a Spidey Sense, but this one did. Meaning that he was a Spider-Man, too—unequivocally. And he looked overwhelmed with disbelief.

“You’re like me?” Miguel whispered. “How?”

Miles responded, words coming slow, almost hesitant, “I was bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“From where?”

“Not anywhere here.” Relaxing his legs, Miles glanced down at his hands, expression softening. “I—I’m not… from around here…” He wanted to kick himself for being so vague, but he wasn’t sure if he should reveal his origins just yet. Would this Miguel even believe him?

He looked up again to see Miguel giving him a thoughtful look, brow set in a pensive bend. The boy’s last response thankfully didn’t elicit any negative reaction from him. He could tell Miles wasn’t exactly comfortable revealing his origins yet. All he gave was a subtle nod of understanding, seeming to put the dots together immediately.

“That’s why you had that costume, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Miles said. “I’m Spider-Man. Well, a Spider-Man, anyway.”

“And here I thought I was the only one,” Miguel murmured, snorting out a light chuckle. “Looks like I got competition now, huh?” An attempt at lightening the mood, soothe the boy’s uncertainty.

Miles made a vague attempt to mirror the man’s smile. “Wouldn’t put it like that. I’m just someone passing by.”

“Well, ‘someone-passing-by,’ how are you feeling?” he asked. “You weren’t in the best shape when I found you. I hope you were able to have a good rest.”

Miles swallowed. “Y-Yeah, I did,” he rasped. “I’m okay. Mostly.”

“Is your head still hurting?”

“Yeah, but it’s not as bad as before.”

“Anything else?” Miguel asked, adopting the familiar tone of an examiner. “Dizziness? Nausea?”

“A little bit of both, but it’s no big deal.”

“Mm, noted.” He gestured to the tray on the desk. “I brought you food. Are you ready to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” Miles muttered, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. The loud gurgle that erupted from his stomach begged to differ. The boy startled slightly, embarrassment crossing his face. “Uh—”

An amused smirk pinched the corner of Miguel’s mouth. He probably knew what Miles was thinking. “The food isn’t poisoned, I promise.”

To demonstrate, he removed the tray, took a sincronizada off the plate and took a bite out of it. “See?” he said around his chewing. “Mmm, delicious.” He lifted it in the boy’s direction. “Now you wanna try it?”

With a sigh, Miles leaned back into the pillows in defeat. “Okay,” he grumbled. The food did smell pretty tasty, at least. His Spidey Sense hadn’t gone off yet either, he noted. A good sign.

Something close to triumph winked in the older man’s eyes. It didn’t take him long to settle the food tray in Miles’s lap, watching the teenager briefly study the food before picking up a piece. It looked like stuffed quesadillas. Cheese and onion and bits of ham peeking from beneath the crust. He had never eaten this before, but it looked familiar enough. And he could never resist the smell of his favorite tea.

“Not sure if you like any of this,” Miguel said under his breath, almost timidly. “If not, I can make you something else.”

“No,” Miles replied. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

The food was pretty good—and the chai tea was perfectly brewed. Miles was starving, but he took slow, cautious bites, remembering what his mother told him about eating too fast. (“You’ll get sick that way, mijo,” she chided him one day.) As he took sips from his drink, he tried to ignore the way Miguel was looking at him. His gentle expression never wavered. Eventually, when Miles finished his food, he drew a chair closer to the bed, sat down in it.

The air shifted. Miles compelled himself to stop eating, gaze sliding back toward the man.

“Alright,” Miguel sighed, “are you ready to answer more of my questions?” His voice, still soft, but the semblance of an edge lurking beneath the words.

Suspicion slinked through Miles’s chest. He gave a final gulp, bracing himself. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Who are you?” Miguel—this new Miguel—asked, his tired eyes studying the boy with an ounce of curiosity, caution. Miles sat up straighter, feeling his throat tighten. He couldn’t ignore the crack that hung at the edge of the older man’s voice as he asked his next question, “Why do you look like my nephew?”

Miles stilled, face going slack, ice punching a sharp fist through his ribcage. Your nephew? Realization arrived on its own ragged chariot. So, it wasn’t a coincidence after all. This was his room—or, rather, the room of his own variant. Who, apparently, was related to Miguel O’Hara in this universe?

After everything the young hero had been through over the past twenty-four hours, a part of him didn’t want to believe it. The more logical side of him, however, chalked it up to statistical inevitability. In a broiling sea of nigh infinite universes, why wouldn’t that happen eventually?

Taking a deep breath, Miles replied, “I’m Miles. Miles Morales.”

Miguel’s eyes closed, and a painful, resigned expression tore across his features. “That was his name too,” he whispered.

“I look like him because I am him,” Miles said. “From another dimension.”

His answer appeared to send a firecracker off in Miguel, who sat up straighter, astonished. “Impossible,” he said. But even then, Miles could see the unerring shield of his disbelief dent, bend inwards, as reality battered against it. “I-It’s not feasible, it can’t—”

Miles perked up. “It is possible. You gotta believe me! I’m from Earth-1610… B, I think?” He squinted in thought for a moment. “Yeah, B. And I’m here because—”

A scream tore from his throat as his body abruptly glitched, sending the food tray tumbling to the floor and Miguel reeling backwards, rendered speechless, eyes wide with shock.

Oh. That’s right. His day pass. He didn’t have it on.

When the glitching subsided, Miles tensed, panted, waiting for the crackles of pain to subside. He saw Miguel hover over him, the very portrait of an anxious parent, arms stretched forward. “Is there anything I can do?”

Miles instinctively pulled away. “My day pass,” the boy wheezed, eyes scrunched shut. “The wristband.” He prayed he hadn’t lost it during his escape here. Or that it was thrown away.

Thankfully, Miguel seemed to know what he was talking about and rushed out the room, coming back with the wristband clutched in his fingers. “You mean this thing?” he said. “Didn’t think it was that important.” He had taken it off Miles when he was dressing him earlier. He slid it back onto Miles’s wrist. The boy mumbled a thank you.

“What was that?” Miguel asked, exasperated.

“That’s what happens when you’re in another dimension,” Miles said. “You glitch, a-and your body starts breaking down because you don’t belong there.” He raised his wrist. “Not unless you have this—something that can anchor you.”

Fascination dominated the older male’s expression then. He leaned forward, taking a closer look at the wristband. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. How does it work?”

“Beats me,” Miles said with a shrug. “All I know is that it works.” A brief, nervous laugh rattled past his teeth. The other you made it.

“And you’re sure you’re not some weapon? That this isn’t some trick?”

“Yes, I’m sure, man,” Miles sighed. “I’m here for a totally different reason. But… I know it might take you a while to really trust me.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Miguel replied. “Which… is understandable.” He shook his head, as if breaking out of a trance. “Sorry, I haven’t given you my name yet. I’m—”

Miles cut him off, “I know who you are.” He looked more tired than normal then. “You’re Miguel O’Hara.”

Miguel looked startled. “How did you know?”

“Because I’ve met you before. Another you.” He thumbed his wristband. “He’s the one who gave me this. H-He’s in charge of this thing called ‘the Spider Society.’ It’s this group of Spider-People from different dimensions—”

“Wait, did you say ‘Spider-People’?” Miguel interjected. He dipped his chin, brows raised. “You mean, there’s more like us?”

“Yeah. Thousands of ‘em!” Miles gestured above his head widely. “There was an… accident that happened back in my home dimension. These bad guys used a machine, a collider, to access different dimensions and my Spider-Man tried to stop them, but the collider ended up tearing holes in the multiverse. And a lot of people ended up thrown into the wrong dimension. So, the other Miguel made the Society to clean up the mess and put those people back where they belong.”

There was more, of course—so much more—but he couldn’t just dump all that information onto this Miguel when he was allegedly new to all of this. He was currently looking at Miles like the boy just grew another head. His expression eventually grew distant as he processed everything Miles told him.

“Is that the reason you’re here?” Miguel finally asked. “You fell through a hole by accident?”

“No, I came through a portal—and it wasn’t an accident! Well, jumping into the portal wasn’t an accident. I was trying to escape—you know, get back home—but the machine screwed up and sent me here instead.”

“And this Spider Society… Are they the ones after you?”

Miles nodded, staying silent.

“Why?”

His throat went dry. He buried his feet into the mattress beneath him as he turned his gaze elsewhere: at the window, through the blinds, which bled purple light. He could see the city beyond, draped in a glimmering veil of neon colors—so similar and yet so different. A study in purples and pinks and blues caged within hardened binary lines. Nothing like the angular, crystalline white of his Miguel’s homeworld.

“Miles,” Miguel said, drawing the boy’s attention back to him, “it’s okay. Just tell me.”

“Because I’m trying to save my dad,” Miles admitted in a whisper, feeling his defenses falter again. “That’s why I brought him up earlier. They told me that he has to die o-or else my whole dimension’s gonna collapse.”

“What?” Disbelief colored the older male’s tone, smeared itself across his expression.

Miles continued, “It’s a part of every Spider-Man’s story… or, at least, that’s what they say. I have to lose people close to me in order to become a stronger hero. And if I don’t let it happen, if I don’t carry out this next chapter, my whole world will rip apart at the seams.” He rubbed his hands together, determination pooling into his tone. “But there’s gotta be another way. I told them I could do both. Maybe it’ll be different for me.”

Because he was never meant to be Spider-Man, was never meant to leap with faith, by faith.

Because he was the-spider-that-never-was.

Bastard child meeting crown. Water and oil miraculously merging. A paradoxical synthesis.

But maybe—just maybe—the impossibility carved under his skin would give rise to a new path. A path unexpected. A path once deemed incalculable, inconceivable.

“That's... insane,” Miguel whispered, uneasiness seeping into his voice. "How do they know all this?"

“Because it's happened before,” Miles replied. “The other you, he took the place of a variant in another world and eventually that world collapsed because he wasn’t supposed to do that. I can’t tell you for sure if it’s completely true, though…”

“Well, whether it’s true or not, I hope you’re able to save your dad,” the older Spider whispered. “He’s not alive here.”

Miles froze, mortified. “Really?”

A shard of pain pierced Miguel’s stare. “He died ten years ago. Your mother too. There was an accident.” He moved to pick up the tray and cup off the floor—a feeble attempt to distract himself, it seemed. “And that’s how your uncle and I got custody of you.”

“W-Wait… You mean Uncle Aaron?”

“Yes.” His smile grew warm. “We’re together.”

Okay. That was what made Miles feel like he was about to slide right through the floor. His uncle Aaron and Miguel… in a relationship? He wondered what greater cosmic machination brought that to happen. The multiverse really did whatever it wanted, didn’t it? And finally he noticed it, the wedding ring glinting faintly on Miguel’s finger. Fostering within Miles not just curiosity but excitement.

Uncle Aaron was alive. Not bleeding out in an alleyway or rotting in a grave. He was alive, at least here, and that’s all that mattered to Miles, whose mind was set adrift in a current of all the things left unspoken between them—all the things he had thought endlessly about for the last year and a half. Suddenly he yanked his attention back to reality as he remembered the situation at hand.

“We raised you, loved you. And then… you died.” Miguel’s tone flattened, empty as a graveyard. His words came clipped, laconic.

Miles felt cold fear burrow into his spine. “I—I’m dead?” he choked out. Then he remembered where he landed: behind the back of a building, a mural—one in the likeness of a boy Miles hadn’t fully recognized—hanging above him like a guillotine. But now, in a clearer state of mind, realization quickly took root: that boy had been him.

“Yes.” Miguel looked around slowly—as if the movement was laborious. “This was your room.” He peered down into the teacup almost thoughtfully. “Haven’t really moved anything out yet. Can’t bring myself too—not yet.”

“How long has it been?”

“Five months.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what happened to him?” Miles asked.

Miguel didn’t respond; he just gave a sad dip of his head. “Something I hope to make amends for.”

Even in another world Miles had to see the same guilt—the same sense of helplessness—in this Miguel, leering, always leering. Another link in the chain; an onerous form of mitosis. But it felt different somehow (because it would always be different). Miles was possibly wading into some dark waters, so he decided to drop his questioning there, even with another one seated on his tongue. He winced as he felt his head throb again and he grasped the back of his head. Miguel took note of it, rising to his feet.

“Hm. I’ll get you some medicine,” he murmured.

Miles cleared his throat, “Thanks for the help and all, b-but I can’t stay here. I gotta go.” He knew it wasn’t the best idea in his current state, but the Society could knock at this dimension’s door any minute. He really didn’t know if Gwen or Peter would be in tow once they did—his stomach soured over the idea—but he didn’t want to stick around and find out.

“Go where?” Miguel paused at the door, turning to look at him. An odd note entered his tone. “You’re injured and light years away from home. If you don’t want to stay here—find a hostel or something—then that’s fine. But now might not be the best time, alright? At least wait until most of your injuries are healed.”

Silence. Miles didn’t move.

Miguel continued, “Try to get some more rest. I’ll bring you medicine for that headache. Then I have some errands to finish. We’ll go from there. If you want, I’ll have LYLA provide surveillance around the area and alert me to any funny stuff. Okay?”

Miles huffed and crossed his arms, but ultimately had a resigned look on his face. “Fine. I’ll stick around.”

A sad smile found its way on Miguel’s face, “Thank you.” Food tray in tow, he then asked, “Is there anything else you need, Miles?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be on my way.”

After choking down a few painkillers, Miles sunk back into bed, sporting a rather dull expression as he stared at the ceiling. He let the distant whirs and beeps of cars outside wash over him as he tried to still his racing thoughts. His fingers flexed in and out, in and out. He wanted to relax, believe that he was somewhat safe here, but it was hard.

He didn’t have the luxury of that—no, not really—no matter what this Miguel wanted to believe. He was gone for now, but he felt that sense of being watched, almost like he was back at Spider HQ. Anyone could spot the brilliant blue stripes racing along every corner of the bedroom. Blinking, blinking. LYLA was watching him from there, he knew.

Groaning in frustration, he turned over on his side, squeezing one of the pillows. Its smell soothed him a bit, reminded him of home. Once his headache faded, reality really began to sink in.

He hadn’t made it home. He was lost and alone (though perhaps not too alone) on a completely different world and his friends had betrayed him. He was under the care of another Miguel, who was technically his uncle, who was married to his other uncle, Aaron. And only time would tell where his loyalties truly lied. His mother and father were dead. He was dead. His family ripped apart, left frayed as a rope. And it served as another frantic reminder of what could happen if he didn’t get home.

Two days. That’s what they told him. But time was a fluid, funky thing in the multiverse. Who knew how long that would equate from here to home?

And in the meantime, he would have to finish things with Miguel. If he stuck around, he might even get to see Uncle Aaron again. Catch up with him. He wondered how the one here was like. Would he look the same, walk the same, have the same style? Would he still be the Prowler—and did his husband even know?

Miles would find out soon enough. All he could do now was lie here and wait. Distract himself. Wonder what would happen next. Craft a script in his head with all the potential questions, scenarios, and answers that could come later. What he was willing to immediately answer and what he needed more time to process. His nervousness finally cooled, hardened into a determination ringed by iron. A setback; that’s all this was. If he played his cards just right, it’d be a minor one.

You want the full story, Miguel? Fine. Come back, and I’ll give it to you.

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masonsystem · 1 month

Text

phoenix wright pondering ho hum ho hum ho hum

ok im awake still sleepy but awake but yes after thinking it over, what makes phoenix particularly interesting to me are 2 things: hes a spriteless VN character + me and him arent on the same page when it comes to plot info.

so firstly visual novels arent a genre i engage with often, really my only other frame of reference is a sdr2 walkthrough i watched like 9 years ago (and ddlc but ddlc is a blank slate protag so im not counting that) but yeah VN player characters is smth thats very unfamiliar to me, its very interesting to not have a sprite of my character that will give me extra information abt their emotional state, instead the only thing i really have to go off of is the text the game provides me. its also interesting how VNs challenges the notion of what a video game is, bc the gap between player and character in a VN's player character feels very stark as my protag is very much their own character outside of my influence, and although my control over them is minimal compared to other vg genres, this is still undoubtedly a video game. ive taken to thinking of me and wright as me being remy ratatouille and wright being a piece of shit chef who keeps trying to do his own thing. so yeah interesting stuff, but yet i still feel like theres a pretty big difference between sdr2's hinata and aa's wright, in regards to their characterization. and i think this difference is borne from the fact that unlike hinata and most other video games ive played, im not actually on the same page as wright when it comes to plot info.

what that means is that like, usually in video games, developers will want the player and their player characters to have the same amount of knowledge, which is why foreign/amnesic protags are so common. this way world-building exposition can be more natural, as there'll be a reason now for characters to divulge in the history of their world (to let our clueless little protag to know whats up), and players will feel more in sync with the character theyre playing as, overall everything will feel more immersive.

but ace attorney doesnt do this.. also omg im way too sleepy to word this properly so its bullet point time

- in aa1 phoenix knew abt his history with edgeworth (duh) yet despite playing as phoenix we the player are kept in the dark about it until the fourth case

- (which honestly makes case 2 pretty fucking crazy like 1st time meeting maya + mia's death + phoenix's reunion with edgeworth but players wont understand the significance of any of this until way later)

- likewise in aa2 phoenix knows the context of edgeworth's disappearance (that damn note) but we the players are kept in the dark abt it until the third case and we're only given small hints towards his fate + phoenix's abysmal grieving process

- interestingly enough, the players are represented by maya in both instances. meaning maya is like us, in that we both arent aware of phoenix's backstory + that damn note, and when we do learn abt these two pieces of info, its bc phoenix is telling this to maya. and so in a way we are learning all this thru her. very very interesting considering we do not control maya

- and i mentioned this in my big post gushing abt 2-4 but not only is this an interesting writing method, but it also helps to illustrate how phoenix is a character who deeply represses various emotions. he is fucked!

- but yeah its super interesting. and also like ill need to finish aa3 to properly look at this trilogy but i really wonder how like the "overarching narratives" of these games are designed and what phoenix's function in each of them are like this is my first time i think ever experiencing this style of writing in a video game, where a protagonist knows more than i do.

- cuz like yes ive played games where protags have a backstory thats only shown much later but like.. say with like portal, chell's backstory is there to just basically explain her motives. basically theres a difference between "a protag's backstory serves to recontextualize their behavior" vs "uncovering a protag's backstory Is the plot", and phoenix falls under the latter. all while me the player am not on the same page as him the character like ITS ALL VERY INTERESTINGGGGGG.... after i finish aa3 or maybe even more aa games id like to compare aa's style of writing to ghost trick

#aa lb

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mythomagically-delicious · 3 years

Text

Okay so in a better world au ford and fiddleford created the Institute and made up, right? What happened to stan?

The point of that first post about "the twist" was this: what if Stan and Ford switched bodies and stans was sent into the portal with ford inside, and Stan in Ford's body remained behind. Stan immediately tries everything to turn it back on, to no avail. He went thru hundreds of papers and notes trying to understand ANYTHING and he got some general idea that ford had had a research partner out here who knew things- knew ford, knew the portal, he could help!

Stan in Ford's body races to town instead of staying isolated in the cabin for four weeks, and finds fiddleford. Fiddleford looks confused and stranger than the notes suggested but it matches up. He begs fiddleford to help him, and despite the falling out fiddleford has enough fondness for his old friend remaining that he is swayed. He doesn't get his full mind erased by the society bc he isn't abandoned fully and left wandering the town to be targeted by blind Ivan in his power grab.

Fiddleford and Stan (in Ford's body) go back to the shack and stan starts to take him to the basement when fidds starts freaking out, yelling and crying about the world-shattering consequences. About the things he saw, rhe demon, and more. Stan calms him down, takes him back upstairs. He's frustrated to high heaven and back but he knows he could never do this alone.

(He hasn't told fiddleford who he really is. Yet. He will, he just needs some help first. Who would help a loser like stan? But ford has a friend, he can be ford for a little bit to work the angle and get his brother back.)

It takes time. Way too much time, for Stan, but fiddleford slowly recovers enough of his sanity and calms his nerves enough to go down to the basement and not freak out. Stan admits to anything fiddleford asks him about, anything he saw from Ford's notes and makes it convincing that he's asking for a second chance. Maybe they could rebuild it, better? Without demon assistance?

Fiddleford helps tear it to shreds. They mark every part as they dismantle it and fiddleford searches for the reasons it opened a portal to nightmares. He doesn't follow schematics blindly, any more, no more blind trust to his friend. But he does help. Stan is learning on the job. He isn't convincing in the slightest of being a genius but fiddleford is too frazzled to notice. He's got his own shit going on.

They tear it down. Stan is afraid and angry and desperate but he holds his shit together. Fiddleford regains more of himself as they go. Stan learns more about ford and fiddlefords time together as fiddleford recovers memories and tells them to Stan. Stan makes his own notes, of how to Be Stanford Pines.

In time, they get to a stable place of living in the shack together, Stan trying to learn as much as he can about this science shit, pretending he was hit by the memory gun into forgetting himself when fiddleford questions it. Fidds is afraid to go confront the society, and can't remember where they are anyway. Stan doesn't care about it as long as his cover isn't blown. He hasn't told fiddleford yet. He will! But not yet.

They begin to plan a new, stable trans-dimensional vortex. It takes a whole hell of a lot, but they slowly build it anew. Still in the cursed basement, not even a skeleton of the old machine left after they destroyed it the first time.

Stan is flying less by the seat of his pants. Taking a leaf from Ford's book and staying up to radically terrible hours of the night studying and trying to understand all the science and math shit to make this work, to keep stringing fiddleford into helping him. Fidds takes time for his own projects and Stan doesn't bug him about it, saying if it makes money to split it, and when fiddleford hits a big invention that also happens to patent well and spread? They use the money to help their new portal.

It takes ten years to do it, but they recreate the portal, this time to a place they can control thru careful calibration. Fiddleford writes a scientific paper about it, publishes it with ford as a co-author, and they get international renown. Stan knows how to work a crowd and he uses their leverage to get people invested in investing, so to speak. It's not cheap to fund the energy required to turn it on, so they expand the building and create the Institute of Oddology, given enough time and building and circumstances lining up just right.

Fiddleford runs the teams and the day to day stuff. Stan handles finances and resource allocation and scheduling tours, interested parties, rivals, anything business side. He and fiddleford go to the first stable dimension together , though, and Stan uses all of the science gizmos at their disposal to search for ford while they're there.

He doesn't find him. He still hasn't told fiddleford. Its been too long at this point, right? What if he takes the money and fame and everything and kicks Stan out for lying? He mostly rode fiddlefords genius to get here, there's no way he'd not be mad about this.

They go to many dimensions. Stan takes samples and learns scientific process thru osmosis over the years and contributes to publishibg written works to the greater scientific community.

He looks for Ford. He finds nothing. He tells no one his true purpose for everything he's achieved to that point. He lies and wears Ford's face and shakes hands and is a sham.

One day Fiddleford races to his office, frantic and eyes wide and hands shaking slightly like Stan hasnt seen in years. It's been 30 years since ford was lost to the portal. And fiddleford comes to him and says there's a parallel you, Stanford, in conference room B, we need to send him on his way immediately, you remember what happened to Ernie on that trip 8 years back?

And Stan ignores this, heart pounding, and knocks fiddleford out, locking him in the office, racing to conference room B.

He bursts in, and sees a version of his brother. One he doesnt see in the mirror. A real Stanford Pines, 30 years older than the kids they were when they fought beside the portal. Apparently no universe is fair, if ford ends up inside in multiple dimensions.

Stan is speechless. The portal!ford is on the defensive, but interest is clear in his face. He keeps his distance, cognizant of parallel!fiddlefords warning from before. Of counterparts meeting in a dimension of origin. Annihilation.

Stan cries. Ford looks shocked to see his own self in such a state. He doesn't know what to do. Stan surges forward for a hug and Ford tries to dodge, afraid of the consequences. Stan traps his hands to his sides and sobs on Ford's mysterious black coat, calling him brother. Ford's inner alarm bells go off even as he clenches his eyes shut against the incoming total destruction.

When nothing happens except for a wet patch to grow on Ford's clothes, he opens his eyes and studies himself. They look scarily similar, truth be told. His counterpart heartier than he, an interdimensional fugitive. That makes sense. Parallel ford is apologizing into his jacket and clutching him hard enough to leave bruises.

Ford dodges out of the grapple his counterpart has him in. He demands answers in a clipped tone. Stan does his best to reign it back in as he confesses what transpired in this dimension to this dimension traveling ford. How he hopes his own brother, trapped in stans body, is still out there, still surviving, still where Stan can find him.

Ford starts a fight. Stan defends himself but it gets physical and he doesn't have the same instincts to take down he did when he was younger. He remembers the last fight he had with his brother, and doesn't want that to happen again.

Fiddleford eventually gets free of the office and runs in to see parallel ford beating the shit out of his ford. He stuns ford with a device on his belt and brings things back to some semblance of order, getting a first aid kit out to tend to them both. P!Ford's knuckles, mainly, and stans face.

The truth comes out, ugly and stained and fiddleford forgives Stan immediately. He turns to parallel ford and helps him out of the room, promising help with his weapon and more, later.

Stan is left with the knowledge that all these years later, no matter what he does, his brother hates him.

Fiddleford helps ford with his weapon. If ford can destroy bill cipher, more dimensions will open up to be explored. If his and stans ford is still alive out there, they'll have a better shot if Bill is out of the picture. They send parallel!ford off a few days later. Fiddleford goes to Stan that night and calls him by a name that hasn't been spoken in 30 years. Stan can barely look at him. Fiddleford gives him time and space, but tells him he understands.

A month and a half later, a ripple is felt thru thousands of dimensions at once, the death of Bill cipher in every iteration is making its way thru the multiverse. Celebrations are happening as people cheer and laud thr name of the one who saved them, spread in a cosmic understanding by some greater power. Stanley Pines, shatterer of Bill Cipher.

4 years later, they find Ford. Ford in Stans body is old, ragged. He's missing an eye and an arm and so much more of who he used to be. But they bring him home. He doesn't want to switch bodies back.

Stan feels guilt eat at him, but ford is different than the other traveler they'd met. He's more settled. He thanks Stan for finding him. Doesn't blame him for how long it took. Didn't think he'd be come for anyway.

It's strange and rocky but slowly strides are made to bridge the gap of decades and become people they want to be, again. Brothers, friends, explorers. They never body swap again, but they settle into themselves and own who they are.

#stanley and stanford #fiddleford mcgucket #parallel ford #a better world au #but with a twist #gravity falls #flash fic #i wrote this on my phone #electron carpet #body swap au

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girlwiththegreenhat · 2 years

Note

portal. go

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): i have two favorites perfectly tied but one of them has other opportunities for this meme so i will do the other one. chell. chell my beloved. nothing stops this woman. she survives the death trap of a facility that is aperture, twice. she can talk but she chooses not to out of pure spite. i know it’s a video game and giving up is counter productive but when her bad situation is the worst its ever been and she wakes up at the end of the miles-deep elevator shaft in the ruins of old aperture... she gets up. and she keeps going. “tenacious” is one of the few things we know about her, and i admire that so much.

and after the ending, if anyone can make the best out of a post-combine world, it’s her. she’s free and she deserves that.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped): wheatley in the first half of the game is 100% my little scrunkly my little bastard orb my little fella that i balance on my face for as long as i can Without Fail Every Time when he pops off his stupid rail because he asked me to catch him but god dammit i have no available hands. he’s an idiot. he talks too much. he likes going thru the Funny Tubes in ch5. wheatley my friend wheatley from portal 2 2011 valve corporation :)

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave): does doug rattmann qualify for this, the funny painter man living in the walls who you never actually meet but you see the remnants of him in his dens. he does so much actually and i think about him a lot. there are probably people who have played both games who don’t even know his name but it’s his spaces that contribute one of the best elements of the wrongness of aperture, and it’s amazing how you can feel so connected to him and appreciative of him and you literally never see the guy. if it weren’t for him chell wouldn’t have gotten out of the facility at all. i always get so wrapped up in the environment that when i find his spaces i have to Stop and think about him, look at them. appreciate the paintings even though they’re the same every time. sit n listen to exile, vilify, maybe cry a little.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): the companion cube counts as a character and it counts for this category specifically because every time i get my hands on that thing my mood increases and i get legitimately excited over a metal box with a pink heart painted on it. it’s in a chamber that takes like, two minutes to complete if that, in each game. it has no dialogue. it sings if you get really close to it. iirc it’s existence is a parody and guess what, i’ve fallen for it. LOVE that box. i have The Box in real LIFE. LOVE that box. ... also the curiosity core. that lil dude is baby. i think it’s funny how you have to incinerate both of these characters

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave): wheatley gets to go twice because of what he does in the second half of the game. he’s a little shit. stabs you right in the back and given that he was Made to be stupid, by god, is he. ... and yet. he’s too endearing. he’s the new Big Bad and he’s horrible at it. he’s just... stupid. really stupid. i Get what it’s like being set up to fail and i can’t help but feel sorry for him?? i wouldn’t unironically call myself a “wheatley apologist” he definitely did Bad Thing (Which Was Bad) but i find the concept of him getting a chance for redemption and taking it really interesting which is why i like Blue Sky so much. he is my problematic fav and absolutely a pathetic little dude as well but i want him to be happy. i’m gonna play basketball with him real quick before he gets to be though.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason): this is the only prompt i got stuck on so you know what i’m putting All the cores into an actual plinko machine, even glados. except space core. space core has done nothing wrong, ever, in his life.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell): cave johnson is going straight to hell just for what he did to caroline. she makes me sad, man. so naturally his Other Crimes makes him a perfect candidate for superhell.

#liz blogs #portal #frankforested #ask #a little tricky because portal does not have Many characters but i love and adore portal enough that i can make it work

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thestalkerbunny · 2 years

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More Shadow Oaks content? More Shadow Oaks Content. Meet the Brimstone Clan, the oldest and redneck clan of tieflings in Shadow Oak (as well as meet Celeste's Vampire Sire.) Granted this is only 1/4th of the actual clan. The actual full family is much much bigger.

Gunter Hedwig is a Drow who fell into the trap that was opium dens during the 1800s. He literally wasted away and died in one and resurrected as a vampire without even noticing for a while. (since he thought being pale and hungry and uncomfortable was just his natural default state.)Thanks to his high tolerance to drugs-he basically traveled the lands seeking a bigger and better high. Around the time of the 80s or so he bit Celeste; although neither of them seem to be able to remember this happening-they just know now they're both vampires and the fun can never end. Eventually they seem to had gotten separated and Celeste was found by her current keeper, Brone, face down in her own pool of blood and vomit. She was legally removed from the care of Gunter because of his neglect of her and himself and will be permitted to see her again if he cleans up his act. He also does not remember this court hearing and does often see her regardless. He lurks out in Warm Waters-Shadow Oak's superior sister city- and deals drugs out of the clubs there, which is were Celeste gets most of hers. he is tragically not that bright and drugs do not help that fact. He's often addled out of his mind and hardly recognizes people, he hardly recognizes Celeste half the time if it weren't for her very loud voice and pink outfit.

Old Man Jeb Brimstone

The Grandfather of the Brimstone Clan, He's the oldest member next to his wife who is older than him by 5 years. A crotchety old koot, he's the embodiment of 'get off my property you damn kids' and 'I remember when you could go to the county fair on only a quarter'. He can hardly hear, his entire existence is apparently a spit in the eye of the god of death as he's survived numerous near fatal events and is starting to go a bit blind in one eye. Brimstone youth have to do a mandatory check in on him daily to make sure he's alive and something didn't fall on him again. Old Man Brimstone manages the junkyard of the town-local lore goes he built the junkyard on top of a Hell Gate-a naturally occurring portal in the world that infernal creatures can pass thru-so true evil cannot escape and spends his free time shooting infernal imps with a sawed off shot gun. Only that's rumor, he just may be an extreme hoarder who managed to movie his weird junk fixation to a property that isn't his house. That rumor is fueled however by the presence of his guard dog, Girl Dog, a massive Hell hound that patrols the grounds day and night.

Mary Brimstone

The original Brimstone Matriarch, Jeb ended up taking her last name considering how she was the one in the family had the land and money and titles. Just as grumpy and confused about everything as Jeb is, Mary is a bit more of a home body-only leaving to go down into the hollow outside the trailer park they all reside in to visit her still. She is a good cook and prides herself on being able to make a meal out of anything that's laying around and insists on a MANDATORY Sunday Family dinner of the entire clan once a month. A family that eats together is stronger together. Most of the family tries to keep her and Jeb in the dark about things like two of the grandchildren being gay and one of her sons contemplating marrying his fey coworker out of fear of how these two old fashioned grumpy grandparents would react. Plot twist, Jeb doesn't care and Mary probably already knows. Her hobbies are hitting people with a wooden spoon and hollering. The children may have a taste of the moonshine when they turn 18, as is tradition, to make sure they KNOW what good liquor tastes like.

Tief and Tire-Autobody and Repair Garage

Ottoman 'Auto Otto' Brimstone is the owner of the Tief and Tire garage and the oldest of the Brimstone brothers. He has a love of everything mechanical and is the kind of friendly old mechanic who will give you a discount just because 'we're neighbors, neighbors don't gotta pay 500 bucks for a new part that I can find and fix in the junkyard for free' The type of guy unafraid to help a stranger fix a flat tire or give 'em a tow back to town when their car is totaled in a ditch. He's the kind of dad who doesn't exactly always understands what his kinds are talking about and struggles to keep up with their lives since they seem to go much faster than he does-but he often supports them even if he doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

Diana is Otto's wife and doesn't really have much going on. Her idea of a good time is sipping fruity beers, feeding her numerous chickens little tiny pancakes and reading trash romance novels. She is often concerned for her kids, but supportive in her own way. She's a bit intimidated by her mother in law and for the right reasons and struggles to try and make her proud with her cooking. She specializes in chicken and dumplings (do not tell her chickens)

Angelo Brimstone is the older employee of the garage, he has a love of cars and things that go fast and is happiest when it comes to fixing and restoring things. He claims that bringing the beauty in something old and unloved back to the surface is very cathartic. He lacks a bit of school smarts but still plans to go thru with his final year to get a proper Class based education. He's divided between Barbarian and Artificer. He belongs to the Brimstone Clan-the biggest tiefling family in Shadow Oaks as well as the oldest. He often is a bit forgetful that friendly gestures he gives to strangers can seem sexual-resulting him being the targeted fantasies of individuals in his age category.

Amelia Brimstone is the younger sister of Angelo who also works at the garage. She prefers specializing in fixing the bodies of vehicles and paint jobs, although there's not much demand for car modifications so she ends up pulling dents out of cars most of the time much to her chagrin as her creativity is squandered. She's often very protective of her 'himbo' of a brother because people seem to want to take advantage of his amicable easy go along personality. Amelia herself is a lesbian, if the mullet, the tattoo on the side of her head, her 'I <3 Womans' sticker on the back of motorbike wasn't telling enough-She is still hopeful although she's probably going to want to look outside of Shadow Oaks-where everyone is in everyone's business.

Fiend and Fey-Attorneys at Law

The finest Lawyers Shadow Oaks can offer. Which often isn't saying a whole lot because everything from Shadow Oaks seems to produce everything made by the lowest bidder-but for once, these two are the people you want in your corner in the court room. Nobody can find a loop hole for you faster than Fiend and Fey-the finest of negotiators and deal makers the both of them. If they can't get you out of jail, they can at least get a ankle tracker on you for the next half year and a house arrest with a community service and mandatory theraphy vist bargin deal.

Rusalika GoodForest-or Rusa-is the fey of the team. A pixie of very small size (and even smaller enlarged sized) Her entire personality is best summed up as Elle Woods from Legally Blonde. Ever an optimist and a fan of cute outfits, the color pink and good skin and hair care, Rusa is very smart despite the 'dumb fairy blonde' assumptions make about her. In the Feywilds, a blue antennead pixie is regarded as someone who would 'make a good spouse'-which is the polite translation to common. Rusa is an unofficial member of the Brimstone clan and often comes to their Sunday family dinners and plays with the younger Brimstones as she is roughly the same size as them. Rusalika lives in a tree in Eidlewood's backyard.

Eidlewood 'Iddy' Brimstone is the fiend of the team. Belonging to the Brimstone Tiefling Family-one of the oldest and most redneck group of people living in Shadow Oaks since the 1920s, he seems to be one of the more accomplished of the Brimstones. He's often cited by his 'feral hick' relatives to get them out of ridiculous jail allegations, which he often assists in getting them out. Eidlewood is very level headed and clinical when it comes to his work. He's very unafraid to tell clients that they will most likely go to jail for their crimes and they will probably be shived in a lunchroom power move to assert dominance by lower ranking prisoners. But he will do his absolute best for you in the court room to get you the least damning sentence possible if you are as guilty as the court finds.

He is unfortunately very much in love with Rusalika and is embarrassed at his hesitance regarding his relationship with her because marriage to a Fey is basically handing a big part of your identity over to them and basically relinquishing a lot of yourself personally for the sake of this union and he doesn't think he could make that level of a sacrifice and thinking about it for too long scares him. Also he uh. Probably should make her his GIRLFRIEND first. Or let her know he likes her that way.

#TSB Draws #Shadow Oaks #Tieflings #Tief #Vampire #Drow #Monsters #The Brimstone Clan #Angelo Brimstone #Otto Brimstone #Diana Brimstone #Mary Brimstone #Old Man Brimstone #Eidlewood Brimstone #Rusalika Goodforest #Pixie #Fairy #fey #demon

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aswellingstorm · 3 years

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taylor swift x catradora playlist

in honor of evermore dropping tonight (midnight, EST) i humbly present the following by album break down of songs that miss swift wrote solely for catradora

taylor swift (2006)

tied together with a smile--the struggle adora faces being the hero/put on a pedestal from her horde days to becoming she ra

invisible--catra facing jealousy over adora’s new friendships

i’m only me when i’m with you--young catradora/growing up in the horde

fearless (2008)

forever & always-- broken promise. need i say more

white horse-- catra’s resentment for adora’s hero complex

breathe-- mutual catra & adora--struggling to cope with the other choosing the opposing side

you’re not sorry--adora coming to terms w post s3 catra & having to accept her former best friend has gone too far this time

change-- post s1 victory for adora

speak now (2010)

the story of us--princess prom catradora vibes

mean--unfortunately.........could see the best friend squad singing this therapeutically & adora thinking of catra

better than revenge-- ‘stealing other peoples toys on the playground won’t make you many friends//i’m just another thing for you to roll your eyes at honey’....jealous catra really comes thru here

innocent-- feel like this could be applied to adora but more specifically catra losing herself and her innocence in this war/getting caught in the cycle of abuse shadow weaver set her in at a young age

if this were a movie-- adora’s naïve hope that catra might make the right choice one day

haunted-- ‘all this time you and i have walked a fragile line, never thought i’d live to see it break’, easily fits into adora leaving the horde, but def has the angsty vibes for ‘save the cat’

back to december--regret. longing. wishing u could take something back but knowing you really cant

enchanted--ok hear me out. not necessarily a ‘meet cute’ for them, but could def see this song playing at a princess prom post s5 and being a cute look for them over all.

red (2012)

treacherous--post ‘save the cat’, catra learning redemption is....something she Wants

the last time--post-portal. def reminds me of the scene where catra saves glimmer and apologizes to adora

sad beautiful tragic-- break up sadness

the lucky one--more adora becoming she ra/learning the truth of mara

i almost do--catra & adora missing each other on opposite sides of the war

come back...be here--^^

state of grace--end of/post s5

1989 (2014)

out of the woods--i mean..........those ladies entered the whispering woods in s1 on a stolen skiff and did not leave until the end of the series

all you had to do was stay-- aside from the title... “let me remind you this was what you wanted // you ended it// you were all I wanted //but not like this”. def catra yearning

i wish you would--all of the lyrics. all of them

bad blood--warrants no explanation

this love-- “when you’re young, you just run// but you always come back to what you need”......................the defense rests

clean--s4 adora accepting and coming to terms w catra’s decision

wonderland-- really captures the betrayal/hurt of s1 catradora

you are in love-- adora POV// subtle moments leading up to realizing she loves catra

new romantics--”we need love, but all we want is danger//we team up then switch sides like a record changer”

catra’s personal memoir reputation (2017)

i did something bad--a title that could (unfortunately for everyone else) summarize a large majority of catra’s decisions. the song is very justified/righteous anger/revenge. basically a ‘fuck you, i know i’m bad’ & embracing that. reminds me of her kicking sw & hordaks ass (the rebellion could never) and her just...war criming it up in the crimson waste

Look What You Made Me Do-- void!catra void!catra void!catra void!catra void!catra void!catra--

getaway car--could see this from adora’s perspective to catra solely for the whole leaving/betrayal bit. but might be more fighting for double trouble & catra’s relationship

dancing with our hands tied-- i mean...lyrically. everything. but esp ‘I'd kiss you as the lights went out//swaying as the room burned down//I'd hold you as the water rushes in//If I could dance with you again”

dress-- “i dont want you like a best friend”. period. end of sentence.

this is why we can’t have nice things--s1 promise feels. the lack of forgiveness, the shade. u know.

lover (2019)

cruel summer-- “i scream for whatever it’s worth, i love you--ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?” the heart. the longing. the ‘i dont want to keep secrets just to keep you’

the archer-- ‘who could ever leave me, but who could stay?’ + the rest of the song is v fitting for both catra/adora

afterglow--making up, admitting wrongs--catra perspective

miss americana & the heartbreak prince--idk just the narrative of the song reminds me of them

it’s nice to have a friend--whooooh boy this post is not about glimbow but this song works equally as well for them

daylight--enjoy the healing

lover--enjoy the healing pt 2

death by a thousand cuts-- warrants 0 explanation

folklore (2020)

finally

the 1-- definitley adora POV, reminiscing on maybe what they could have been. maybe in a world where catra never redeemed herself or they never reunited and adora watched her friends pair up/get married/build lives w each other, she might realize there is a whole in her heart. a part that’s missing and cant be explained, but she feels it every time she looks at glimmer&bow.

cardigan-- feels like catra writing a letter to adora. reflecting on the feelings of hurt and betrayal after time has passed and the anger fades

exile -- lowkey the premise of my fic but. ‘i’m not your problem anymore/ you were my crown/ now i’m in exile seeing you out’ catra was raised to feel like she was adora’s problem to fix. she feels cast aside by her for a majority of the series etc

my tears ricochet-- “i didn't have it in myself to go with grace//and you're the hero flying around saving face//and if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake?//cursing my name, wishing I stayed//look at how my tears ricochet” tswift explained this in the doc about how no one can hurt you like your best friend turned enemy. so i think in that sense this song works from adora’s perspective--but there’s so much bitterness and anger that i feel like it fits more from catra’s POV

seven-- “love you to the moon and to saturn//passed down like folksongs//the love lasts so long” i feel like this is so young/child adora and her feelings of protectiveness over catra. their bond through trauma and abuse

august--lmaoooooo i know. ok i KNOW what the deal is. i KNOW that cardigan, august and betty are a narrative story and really there are 3 POVs--james, betty & august. but i will do with that what i please. i just see catra’s pov from this song just as much as i see it for cardigan. her losing adora/feeling like adora doesn’t want her back or will choose other ppl over her.

this is me trying--can fit adora’s need to be everything for everyone/fear of failure--leading to burn out. also works for what i assume how catra’s redemption arc continued post s5. progress isn’t linear and this can show both of them struggling to recover from abuse

invisible string--if u strip out the imagery of taylor and her mans then sure

mad woman--i MEAN...is this not catra’s villain origin story? so often she was just poked/kicked/provoked into continuing down the dark path. not always by adora but regardless.

epiphany-- ‘with you i serve, with you i fall down’ reminding me of them both fighting/practicing/training together pre-s1 as well as them finally teaming up

betty--betty betty betty. the worst thing these two have ever done is what they did to each other. i see it more catra to adora, but it can go either way. gotta admire catra’s range for fitting into the role of betty, august + james... who else is doing it quite like her?

peace-- adora to catra. she can never not be she ra. is that enough for catra?

hoax--def more of a catra POV

evermore (2020?)

tbd......

#not me including almost the entire folklore album on here.........not my explanation solely devolving into brain rot......................#catradora #catra #adora #spop #tswift #long ass post my b

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dragonblobz · 4 years

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Ever watched Resurrection F, looked at Tagoma, and thought "God i wish that were me." No? Anyways have this self indulgent canon divergent one shot. No smut but I'll prolly do a part 2 which will be smuttfilth.

WARNING: CANON DEATHS AND VIOLENCE

You weren’t ready. Not when they’d hauled Lord Frieza back in pieces. Not when he’d burst from the healing tank in a spray of calm fury.

You had heard stories. So many stories. Of his might. Of his ruthless power. But you’d never seen him. You’d seen images of him, yes. But in person…….

He was much shorter than you’d ever imagined he’d be. Dwarved by all except perhaps the Commander.

But his diminutive nature both began and ended there. The Emperor radiated strength and vivacity, even as the liquid from the tank still glistened on his alien skin.

You caught yourself staring at the gem atop his head. Starlight and other mysteries of the cosmos seemed to play in its depths, mixing with the sparkle of the fluid which rolled down it in rivulets. Droplets splattered as he turned his head to gaze at everyone with inherent distaste. You felt your throat tighten as you remembered your place and dropped your gaze.

It had all happened quickly. Commander Sorbet's simpering. Tagoma stepping forward and speaking out of turn. What was wrong with them? Couldn’t they feel him? Couldn’t they feel that simmering rage and power? You dropped your gaze all the way to the floor.

A motion from Lord Frieza had you lifting your eyes again. A raised arm. A single pointed finger. A red glow in the center of Tagoma's chest. You watched as the Elite floated up to be pinned to the large window. His face was bland and slack with fear. And then all was still.

You felt bile raise in your throat at the dawning horror weighing like a pit of lead in your stomach. As you realized what Frieza was going to do.

There was no time too empathize. No time to ponder your own instant drive to survival rather than to cry out or warn anyone else. You reached over and clutched to a pipe on the wall used for drainage to the tanks. Clutched it so hard that your palms stung and a nail chipped. And just in time. With a casual flick of Frieza's wrist, and the extension of his pointer finger, the window shattered.

The next instant was all fading screams and terror. What soldiers where not caught upon something or catching hold of something else, were strewn into space like so much writhing living confetti.

Fire shot thru your fingers and you couldn’t help but squeal as a nail was ripped away. You watched helplessly as soldiers who had been holding things just as you, lost their grip and were lost to the vacuum. Machinery and electronics followed suit. You felt the pipe you were holding beginning to bend.

But you didn’t notice. You were being pulled so mercilessly. Your feet dangled upwards till your body was vertical with the floor. But all you saw, standing before you, visible between the toes of your boots, was the Emperor. Still as death, his arm still raised, finger pointed like a blade. As unmoving as if he himself were part of the very bulkhead. And even in all the cacophony and noise, he still dominated the energy of space with his massive aura of power.

“SHIELDS! RAISE THE SHIELDS!!” You barely heard Commander Sorbet screaming into the comm.

The absence of the vacuum was instantaneous and more pain bloomed in your side as you crashed unceremoniously to the floor. You fought the pain in order to regain your footing and stand at attention.

He turned from the shattered window then. In order to avoid his gaze, you focused on that window. On the portal that had just expelled so many of your comrades. You didn’t even realize how your jaw trembled.

You didn’t hear much of the following conversation. Your mind was numb. But the cadence of his voice itself couldn’t be ignored. Calm. Bored. Angry. All in one tone.

You jerked involuntarily at the force of his tail snapping against the floor. He was frustrated about the news of Majin Buu being defeated by Goku. You tried to focus on something else. Didn’t want to listen.

But then he GLOWED. Radiated a light from himself. As if he were powering up. Speaking of how strong he’d be if he actually TRAINED. Before settling back down to the ground. The energy faded. It was still present. You could feel it swirling around you. It just wasn’t VISIBLE anymore.

“Hmmmmm…… I suppose I’ll need a sparring partner.” These words from him made you look up, startled. You immediately wished you hadn’t. He was looking right at you.

You immediately dropped your gaze. Then cursed yourself. Such an action was a blatant show of weakness and you knew it. And he knew that you knew it.

“You there. What is your power level?”

“I…. Um…..” You face burned as your mouth went so dry that your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth like a lump of dry leather.

“Did I stutter? Or are all of your soldiers this incompetent, Commander?” another thwap from his tail. Another involuntary jerk from your body. Sorbet's spluttering was covered by your shaky response.

“22 thousand…… Sir……. My Lord.” Suddenly the power level you had been so proud of seemed meaningless and foolish. Like a grain of sand on the shores of his unimaginable might.

He approached you then. You didn’t know where you found the will to lift your gaze. It settled upon his dark lips. You simply couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

Frieza slowly lowered his head. Only slightly. And twisted it the most minute degree. You couldn’t move without being obvious, and your inaction brought your gaze into direct contact with his. The outer rim of your vision became hazy. Those red irises, that porcelain looking face, was the only thing in focus. Your abdomen clenched and quivered in rodent terror.

The outer corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as a wide smile broke his face. A beautiful smile, really. But over exaggerated in a way that was so unnatural that, combined with the cold calculating emotionless assessment of his gaze, made it more frightening than even his earlier display of callousness.

“That’s passable, soldier. Exemplary. Truly. A more than acceptable power level. And since you were at least intelligent enough to avoid a hapless death, I’d say that makes you worthy enough to have the honor of assisting me unlock my own power. Wouldn’t you agree?” His tone was mocking. A contrast to the jovial nature of the words.

And as his smile faded into ruthless hunger, you were suddenly glad you’d relieved yourself directly before you’d entered this chamber earlier.

“Y-Yes, my Lord.”

#dbz #frieza #violence #canon death #canon divergence #frieza x reader

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 4 years

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My brain is spinning with a rescue from torture scenario. It's not a fun time but it ends well.

But my God guys. It will not shut off.

They find him in some Nilfgaardian dungeons covered in so much blood they're not even sure it's him. Or they wouldn't be if Dandelion hadn't snuck in as a guard and known for a fact it was Geralt.

They're about to torture him some more when a sword comes thru a man's eye socket and Dandelion immediately starts working to get Geralt untied./chained. Ciri wields death just like her papa taught her as Yennefer runs over to make sure they can move Geralt without killing him.

She helps break the chains and she portals them away before casting a spell that causes the whole damn castle to implode.

Geralt doesn't recognize any of them to speak of, head injuries wrecking him. In and out of consciousness. Blood blinding his eyes. Which are mostly swollen shut anyway.

He's aggressive and feral as much as possible, and it takes Yennefer several minutes to convince him they won't hurt him and they won't do anything provided he just lets them help until he has his memory back.

They get him cleaned up, even though it's agonizing and takes all of them because he more or less breaks his promise to behave himself. Not that they blame him. It hurts to have his wounds cleaned and he's out of his mind with pain. It's been weeks. He's held out in terms of not giving anyone any information.

When he can see somewhat and smell somewhat he knows Ciri is his. He's docile for her, and they're able to stitch and bind him up and she stays with him for the night. He can't sleep he's so on edge but he at least rests. He eats whatever she wants him to and if she's out of the room he is supremely agitated and useless.

He can't handle Dandelion because his only memory of him is as a guard in that room even tho it was only a few minutes and D helped rescue him. The correlation between the livery and pain is too strong.

Yennefer finally manages to get him to agree 100% to behave himself and in turn no one will hurt him or bother him at all. They'll care for his wounds, and feed him, and he can see Ciri as much as he likes. But until he's better he can't go walking around and they won't keep Ciri locked up with him like a prisoner.

He's doing better, eventually. Yennefer takes him out to the stables. Roach was a gift from her. One of her mare's filly. One she had trained for him and bred from a very nice stallion. He's known that horse her whole life, unlike some other Roaches of the past.

Roach half knocks him down, headbutting him and lipping at his clothes and blowing snot on him in her excitement. He's clinging to her, because he remembers the horse. Which means he remembers Yen.

She breaks down crying and he's desperately upset, the only thing keeping him on his feet is an arm around Roach's neck.

Dandelion is heartsick Geralt is afraid of him and can't remember him. He's been sick several times just thinking about some of what he saw and couldn't stop. And seeing the new scars and wounds.

Yennefer has spent several nights with him trying to ease his guilt and pain. Just sitting with him, "he'll remember you."

Ciri finally goes to him, one night, when she hears his distress, leaving Geralt alone. She begs him to play her songs on his lute, and he does. His fingers hurt by the time he's done, but somewhere after he'd started Ciri had told him to keep going. He's blistered his fingertips on both hands, he's not sure he's ever played that long. But he trusts her. And he was right to.

As he finishes the last chorus of "toss a coin" he looks up to see Geralt has slipped inside the room, hobbling until he finds a place to sit and listen. Dandelion has no idea how long he's been in the room, but he knows it's the music that drew him and with his witcher's hearing he's heard all of it.

"Dandelion?" He asks, voice rough with emotion as the bard puts aside his lute and they collapse into each other's arms.

Geralt is still flinchy and easily startled for a long time. His body heals. He still feels vague panic when he can't see Ciri. He won't let Yen or Dandelion touch him much, and he avoids kisses and other signs of affection. But he listens to the music, and whenever Dandelion plays he finds the room he's in and listens.

He rides Roach daily to keep her exercised, even though it hurts his body all over. Brings her sugar cubes and apples and other treats.

He's not in good shape yet. He starts to train with Ciri again, but he frequently drops his sword when they clash together, the sound being too much for him. Ciri finds wooden ones, ones that don't sound like anything from the torture chambers, but she also wraps them in cloth to muffle them even more. They train with those, and she avoids striking him even when she should or would have in the past. He taps her a few times, hesitantly and afraid of inflicting pain. After each time she cries when she's alone. He's not himself. Yennefer had shown her dents in his skull, told her it was a miracle he was thick headed enough to survive and remember all that he did. Without being a drooling idiot or having a palsy. They just need to give him time to heal.

And he does improve. He eats and somewhat sleeps. Usually cat naps and usually only when Ciri is in his arms. His dreams are violent and wake him as often as not. Dandelion keeps playing and hoping Geralt will remember how much the bard loves him and how safe he is with him.

Yennefer leaves him alone outside of meal times. He doesn't seek them out. She respects that even if it kills her. Finally, finally he asks her to go riding with him. The horse was a gift from her anyway. They ride for a bit, further than he usually goes alone. They have to stop because he's too tired to just go back. There, he finally tries to tell her why. He doesn't deserve it. He got caught. And they reminded him all over again how inhuman he is. How disgusting it is he's mixed with monsters and animals and he's a mutant. And they did it over and over again for weeks while torturing him.

Yennefer reads minds. She's known why the whole time. She's also known he deserved the time to process on his own. The right to process his own pain in his own time. And she holds him while he weeps, tears washing away some of the violence that was done to him, taking away some of its power.

She weeps, too, seeing her strong Witcher humbled so. Her only comfort is they didn't win. They didn't break him like they thought. He never gave up his daughter or his friends. He kept his mind intact, through all of it. He survived.

She kisses him, and holds him, and rubs his back to comfort him. All things he's denied them, and himself, since they got him back. She reassures him of his humanity, over and over. While she knows the bard would be jealous to be left out, when Geralt starts to kiss her differently she responds in kind.

They make love, there in the grass, under the trees. Slow, gentle, and careful as she reminds him over and over how much he's loved. He still aches, he's still tired, and she does most of the work. Not that it feels like work. He's been so afraid of being touched for so long. She isn't ready for it to end, but end it does all the same. They mount up and go back.

Dandelion is thrilled Geralt has invited any of them anywhere. When he finds out from Yennefer later about the lovemaking he is slightly jealous but also so thankful Geralt is reaching out at all. Having been in that room watching those men torture his lover, he finds waiting a small price to pay for Geralt's freedom. He can't blame the Witcher for having trouble separating memories and feelings. Dandelion had been in that room and he hadn't raised a hand to stop what was happening. In a way he is at fault. Even if he had sent up the alarm that brought Ciri and Yennefer to them. It wasn't the same as stopping the beating or assault.

He's playing again, a new song. His heart aches with the pain of it. He startles when he notices Geralt is inches from him. But he keeps playing, and singing, and finishes the song out.

"Is it about me?" Geralt asks softly.

"Yes," Dandelion admits.

"I'm sorry," Geralt whispers.

"Don't be, it's not that kind of song," the bard reassures him before leaning over to gently kiss his temple. Only Geralt turns his head and their lips meet. Dandelion puts his lute aside and slides into Geralt's lap. He knows his days of being inside the witcher are temporarily over. Or possibly permanently. There had been so much blood. He's not sure Geralt is ready to be with him, and he doesn't try to escalate beyond kissing.

Geralt seeks out more, and Dandelion lets him. But he makes the witcher set the pace. Geralt is the one in complete control of the situation. He has no problem with it never going past touching and kissing, he understands. But soon enough he's got Geralt's hands on his hips, guiding him into the rhythym needed. He works himself, following those scarred hands, up and down, as he nuzzles and kisses his partner.

After, they stay together, the bard doesn't try to pull away. He can feel his partner shrink out of him, but he stays, still. This is the closest they've been since before Geralt was taken. And the weeks of healing had turned into months. He cherishes the intimacy and knows it might not happen again. Or take weeks. He chooses to heap praise on his lover in soft gentle words, reminding Geralt how human and wonderful he is. They stay like that for hours, until the bard's voice is hoarse and the room is cold with no fire built up.

They separate and Geralt leaves on his own, the spell broken.

Dandelion grieves that Geralt wouldn't stay the night but knows the odds had been small. He won't even sleep beside Yennefer. Just Ciri. Although a few times they found him asleep in Roach's stall, the mare standing guard over him. It had cause quite a panic those times, they'd been unable to find him and had gone to get their own horses in search of him... Just to find Roach still in her stall with her rider sleeping beneath her.

Dinner is quiet that night. Yennefer knows he's been with Dandelion now, too. She knows the bard isn't expecting a repeat of the night any time soon. Geralt isn't oblivious to the odd sort of tension in the room. He's just helpless to do anything about it. He remembers them both, now. Remembers Ciri. Remembers himself but he doesn't feel right. Probably because he can't sleep enough to get any rest. He feels perpetually frazzled and disoriented from exhaustion.

"I," he clears his throat and falls silent when all eyes turn to him. Then he shakes his head.

"We know you're tired," Yen tells him. She won't give him any potions for it. His nightmares are horrifying and frankly if he couldn't wake up from them she has a feeling he'd never even try to sleep again.

"You slept better when it was all of us together," Ciri reminds him. A log snaps in the fire and he's half out of his seat, table knife in hand. "We had you, all of us, safe." It's how she sleeps best. Her mother at her back, father holding her. And her other father holding the first. The time with Geralt in Nilfgaard's clutches had given her and the bard time to bond. And they had, deeply.

Geralt settles and nods, and attempts to pick at his food. He'd eaten well many days after his rescue, restoring his strength. But some days he can't seem to bring himself to eat. At least he hasn't turned to drink for comfort.

Exhausted to the point of frenetic energy he pushes his food away and gets up. He doesn't particularly want to leave but he needs to move. Yennefer pushes her half finished meal aside and gets up to take his hands. He cringes from her, and she puts one of his hands on her waist and raises the other as she sets her hand on his shoulder.

"Do you remember how to dance?" She asks him.

"There's no music."

"I can set the count," she tells him, ignoring the trembling in his limbs. "It's an eight count. Five, six, seven, eight," she starts, and keeps it up as they walk through the dance.

Dandelion had put aside his meal, unable to finish when Geralt had leapt up the first time. At the word music he'd run off to get his lute.

He starts to play and Ciri shakes her head. "Something lively, please."

He shrugs and looks at Yennefer who smiles. She can manage. And if Geralt has to work to keep up, so be it. There's some leaps and tosses in one of them, and while Geralt doesn't try to pick Yen up, he's not sure of himself, they do manage the jumps together. After a few reels he's panting, and ready to stop.

"One more?" She asks, just to push him a little further into exhaustion. "Unless you can't keep up?" She suggests with a slight pout. She knows how to draw out his stubborn nature.

"One more," he agrees, leg aching.

The bard picks another fast one, and Geralt barely keeps up with the music. But he does, and Yennefer laughs when he twirls her as Ciri claps in time with the beat. The last few notes die on a final twirl and Yen loses her footing when Geralt staggers just a bit. They go down in a heap, and she laughs first. It startles him but he can't help himself as he joins in.

Delighted, Ciri giggles, glad to see her family less miserable. Her response makes Dandelion laugh, too. Initially he'd felt bad for helping push Geralt that hard.

"I'm too tired to get up," Geralt confesses to Yennefer when they've stopped laughing. It makes her chuckle a little, but she manages to untangle herself from him so she can help him get comfortable. There's plush rugs over the flagstones, no reason he should get up. If he'll sleep there, then so be it. She strokes his hair and settles against his chest. She's never cared about following rules or decorum. She's always gone her own way. And if that means sleeping on the floor of a dining hall, so be it.

Dandelion takes the cushions off a few of the chairs and passes her two, and Geralt raises his head to allow the placement of it as a pillow before he settles back down. He shifts a few times, then opens his eyes and looks at Dandelion and managed to twitch his hand. The bard understands and sets a cushion for himself before tucking his body against Geralt's.

Yellow eyes roam around the room a few times before settling on Ciri. She smiles and snuggles her way in between sorceress and witcher. Geralt sleeps heavily through the night without stirring once.

When he wakes up, the room is slightly chilled, the fire dead in the hearth. The sun is up, he can hear the birds. His family is curled around him, and they all seem warm enough. He shifts a bit, working his way onto his side before he falls asleep again.

The second time he wakes up, Ciri is up, ransacking the leftovers from dinner to make breakfast. Yennefer is stroking his hair, most of it's growing back fine. They had ripped chunks out with rough handling and brutally shaved the rest with total disregard for his scalp. Dandelion is awake and very gently stroking his chest.

He noticed when he woke up Geralt had curled his back away, pressing it into Yennefer. Perhaps Ciri earlier. He doesn't know. It hurts a little Geralt doesn't feel safe sleeping with his back to Dandelion's chest. He would never do what those guards did. But he understands and lets the hurt pass. It's not Geralt's fault. He kisses the bridge of the witcher's nose and gets up to restart the fire.

With Yen's help he manages to get himself up and off the ground. He's stiff from sleeping on the floor. He eats a relatively normal sized breakfast and seems a bit more like himself.

He goes through his usual routine, training with Ciri, riding Roach, and coming back to listen to Dandelion play his lute. Training goes better, and he knocks Ciri's sword away and out of her grip twice. She's still afraid to truly strike the same way he is, but at least he's less afraid in general. His ride with Roach is better, too, he lets her have her head and she gallops them down forest paths and leaps over fallen longs with the joy of a spirited horse long unable to stretch her legs properly.

His heart sings after the ride, and he grooms her and checks her over before heading into the castle again. Some friend of Yennefer's, a summer home they were allowed to use until summer when the family would want it back. But it's safe and secure. Which is what matters. He also appreciates the bathing chambers and avails himself of them any day he's feeling well enough to.

Clean and feeling almost like himself he finds Yennefer and Dandelion together in the same room, talking companionably. The bard plucks at his lute while they talk as Yen grinds herbs and measures out ingredients. Ciri has her own tasks, and is reading quietly away from them.

Something about him causes both bard and enchantress to turn their attention to him. He gives them an odd smile, one that barely lifts one side of his mouth. They leave Ciri to her reading and tumble into bed together in Dandelion's room. Geralt feels almost a frantic need to get rid of their clothing, but they slow him down. Time and time again, when he seems agitated, they slow him. He clearly doesn't want them to stop, and he's clearly aware of what he does want or they would have both pulled away.

He keeps Yen at his back, any time they shift the arrangement they can feel the discomfort in him. The tension. She pushes him flat onto his back and snuggles to his side, lifting her chin and meeting Dandelion's eyes to indicate he should do the same. So he does. They continue to touch and kiss, dragging it out until Geralt starts to relax. Their fingers and lips promise release, not pain. They'd never hurt him.

He isn't sure how to work with them like he used to, especially with both of them using his arms as headrests. They've got him caught between them, and he had wanted to pleasure them, back. "He thinks he isn't doing his share," Yen mumbles eventually. "Geralt, we have all we want right here," they'd joined hands as they stroked him. It had been somewhat odd but both of them well know how and where he likes to be touched and working in tandem was making it hard for him to think.

Dandelion grinds against Geralt's hip a bit, testing the waters. There's no negative reaction, and so he does that. There'd been times before when it had been too cold to undress and he'd worked himself against the witcher's thigh. Geralt had done much the same, at the same time. It had been a bit awkward. They had intended to take turns but it had been incredibly difficult. All the same it had worked out just fine.

"Yen," he pants softly.

"I'll be alright," she reassures him. She knows he's close. He always likes it best when they come together, but it's not going to happen this time. When his wave crests, she enjoys it through him.

"May I?" asks the bard softly, looking at her. He no longer needs to keep a hand on Geralt's cock, so he has one free. This is new territory for both of them.

Yen shifts to allow it, curious enough. "You won't be jealous will you?" She asks Geralt.

"No," he tells them hoarsely. He's very curious about what they might do. After years of dislike turning into tolerance and then friendship, he would like to see it be more.

She kisses Geralt, shuddering against the bard's fingers. His hands are quite clever, she learns. She'd known Geralt was exceedingly fond of those fingers, but had felt it an exaggeration borne out of deep affection. She had been wrong. There was no exaggeration.

She climaxes hard, and perhaps more than once. Geralt clings to her, kissing her throughout. Dandelion had at some point, managed to work his body against Geralt's to his own satisfaction.

"Perhaps I should have waited to take a bath," he mumbles in mock dismay. He's covered in the aftermath of their actions.

"I much prefer when you're clean," Yennefer says, kissing his chest. He huffs in contentment when Dandelion murmurs some kind of agreement.

Surprised and grateful to have Geralt most like himself, she strokes him all over, enjoying his skin under her fingertips. It had been too long since he'd felt safe with them. Or anyone. She reaches out to touch the bard, too, a few times. She's surprised at how deep her affections for him run, now, too.

"You wore him out, love," she tells Geralt quietly. The witcher grunts softly. His arm is still around the bard's shoulders and he idly traces circles over the top of his arm.

Yennefer is the last to fall asleep, more because she's tangled up with them and can't escape without waking them than because she's tired.

#geralt x jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geralt of rivia #geraskefer #gerlion #the witcher #the witcher geralt #yennefer of vengerberg #witcher yennefer #dandelion and geralt and yennefer #yenneferalt

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joannie95 · 4 years

Text

Legacy- Part 34

Pairing: Carter! reader x ?????

Summary: Everyone knows Peggy Carter is a force to be reckoned with, who could have guessed her granddaughter would hold the same ferocity, if not more.This story follows y/n Carter’s life as she faces the obstacles life pitches her.

Warnings: Swearing, mentioned death, injury and a lot of angst

A/N: Thank you to @mo320 for proofreading and helping with the ideas for this chapter you’ve been a huge help and I really appreciate it

Hours had gone by with no update, you were currently in the waiting room with Clint, Natasha, Phil and your grandma all by your side. You tried to keep calm but inside you were a wreck, you were bouncing your leg up and down, biting your nails and occasionally pulling at your hair in pure frustration.

“Why hasn’t anyone come out here with an update. That can’t be good, if he were fine someone would have told us.” You kept rambling as you got up and started pacing the floor. You turned around when you saw everyone looking at the door.

A doctor was walking towards you, neutral face not revealing the news. “Agents, I’m Dr. Sanders. Agent Abbott sustained major blood loss, the pipe hit the hepatic portal vein near his liver. He flat lined on the table and we weren’t able to resuscitate him. I’m sorry, but he’s gone.”

There was a loud ringing in your ears and you saw the doctor’s mouth moving. You don’t remember falling to the ground, you can hear yourself screaming and crying. You feel strong arms wrapped around you and what sounds like. “It’s going to be ok.” But you knew it wouldn’t be.

The first week you felt numb, you don’t remember much of it. You got time off work and your grandma decided you were in no state to be alone so she packed your bag and brought you to her house. You cried, a lot. Barely ate and if you did it was because your grandma wouldn’t let you leave the table until you did. You don’t know how you made it thru the funeral, Craig didn’t have any family so it was just you, Clint, Natasha, Phil, Darcy, Nick and your grandma.

Clint was extremely distant that first week, you think it’s because of the guilt he felt. But you couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him, none of you could have guessed that there was a third person being held captive in the abandoned hospital. At the funeral Clint pulled you and Natasha off to the side. “I didn’t realize how close I was to being in his position out there. He saved my life, if it weren’t for him it’d be my family out here. I wanted to give you two a gift, if something ever does happen I want you guys to have something to remember me by.” He pulled 2 necklaces out of his pocket with a small arrow in the center.

You each put them on and pulled him into a hug. You said your goodbyes and decided to stick around the cemetery a little longer. You sat in front of his grave, you didn’t realize it had started raining or that the sun had gone down.

“You’re going to get sick.” He stood behind you covering you with an umbrella.

“You know I can’t get sick Phil, what do you want?”

“Peggy called, she said you hadn’t come home yet and assumed you were still here.” He sat down next to you.

“It hurts so much Phil.” You sniffled and started to cry again.

“I know kid, but it’s going to be ok I promise. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but it will be.” He helped you up and took you home.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You looked ahead and spoke in a monotone voice.

The second week you felt angry. Angry at Craig for leaving you, angry at yourself for waiting so long to tell him how you felt and wasting so much time where you could have been together and happy. You locked yourself in your lab and you wouldn’t open the door for anyone. You gave Albert clear instructions not to open the doors for anyone. You couldn’t take the pain, he lied. He promised it would be fine and he never broke a promise. You felt yourself snap. You started by throwing everything off your desk, breaking frames and flipping tables. You knocked over a shelf and threw it across the room. Your mind was so focused on destroying everything in your lab you didn’t hear banging on the door and people yelling to open the door. As you were about to throw a chair you noticed a broken picture on the floor. It was taken on your birthday after meeting Craig, you both looked so happy. You were smiling and he was kissing your cheek and in an instant you went from angry to heartbroken. You would never see his smiling face again, you lost it and started sobbing.

Your grandma stood on the other side of the door. “Dear, please open the door. I know it hurts trust me, but I need you to let me in. Albert open the door this instant.”

“I’m sorry ma'am but I can’t do that, I was given orders not to.” Your AI spoke.

“Albert override code 06 dash 15 dash 96. Now open the doors now.” She spoke in an assertive tone and the doors opened immediately. She ran towards you and wrapped her arms around you. “I know dear just let it all out.”

“He was my friend, and he said he loved me and he just died. How could he make me fall in love with him just for him to leave me.” You were inconsolable at this point, you needed to cry until you couldn’t cry anymore. After some time you stopped crying. Your grandma pulled you up and decided to take you home. Once you reached the door you looked up and saw Natasha Clint and Phil. In a monotone voice and an expressionless face you spoke. “I can’t do this anymore, I’m done, I quit.” They were stunned but before they could say anything your grandma took you home.

Legacy Tags:

@agentmarvel13 @1v-kayla @5sos-wdw @a-dancing-hufflepuff @agent-barnes40 @agreatcheesecakestudentstuff @annoylinglyaries @antclottz @avngrsinitiative @bradfordsgreekgod @babypink224221 @captainam-erika-trash @carisi-sonny @chook007 @cosmiccomicloverqueen @daniellajocelyn @doctoranon @ecamille-xo @editsbyjenny @ellieababy @eternaleviee @futuremissstark @geeksareunique @gummiwormsandonedirection @henrietteoaks @hermionie-is-my-queen @ineedmorefanfics @isabella-bby @jaemingold @junitorials13 @katykyll @klanceiscannon14 @lady-sigyn @littlephoenix-fire @lovemarvelousfics @l0kisbitch @luckyfiction17 @ludwigvonbaethoven @maddie-laufeyson @magnificentsoulecollector @mikariell95 @mistressoftorture @moli1497 @nanajaeminniee @orderoftheflamingflamingos @paintballkid711 @pastelpurplexoox @peteyparkersbabyy @princessizzy36 @shallowshawn @sillydecoy @spodermanpete @starstruckgardenstudentzonk @stuckyandsciencebros @thatharrypotterfan13 @thatweirdchick147 @tienna-laufeeyson16 @trustme3-13 @wishiwasanavenger @xalinx @zaza-jones @izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash

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j0sgomez-blog · 5 years

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By Michael Lanza

The first time I backpacked in Yosemite National Park, more than 25 years ago, I applied for a permit to start at the park’s most popular trailhead, Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley—and I got it. I had no idea at the time how lucky I was (and it’s even more difficult to get that permit now). Over the years since, I’ve been shot down trying to get permits for popular hikes in parks like Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Glacier. But I’ve also learned many tricks for landing coveted backcountry permits in those flagship parks and others—which receive far more requests than they can fill. I share what I’ve learned in the following, detailed tips, which I’ve just updated.

And if you want to take a trip in one of those popular parks this year, the time for reserving permits is upon us or coming up quickly.

Following these 10 tips won’t guarantee you get the permit you want, but I’ve had pretty good success over the years using these strategies—which I regularly update, including the information specific to each park mentioned in this story.

In fact, in just the past five years, I’ve gotten permits for trips in Glacier (twice), Great Smoky Mountains, Zion’s Narrows and Subway, The Needles District of Canyonlands, North Cascades, Death Valley, a very popular hike in Canada’s Kootenay, Paria Canyon (not a national park, but a backpacking permit in high demand), Yosemite twice (this trip and this one), and Grand Canyon three times (this trip and this one, and another for this spring)—with zero rejected applications.

A backpacker in the northern Bailey Range, Olympic National Park.

A friendly warning: Don’t backpack without a permit. Backcountry rangers might issue you a citation for camping without a backcountry permit, which could involve a fine and a court appearance. The more immediate problem with lacking a permit for where you’re trying to camp is that all established campsites there could be occupied, leaving you the only option of camping illegally in a potentially uncomfortable spot and causing damage to a sensitive area. That’s not fun or cool.

When you’re frustrated over being denied a permit for the hike you really wanted to take, keep this in mind: The permit system in parks imposes quotas on the number of backpackers in order to protect the landscape from overuse and give all of us an uncrowded, better wilderness experience. It’s a good thing.

Please tell me what you think of my tips or share your own in the comments section at the bottom of this story, and consider sharing this story using any of the social buttons below. Thanks.

Get The Big Outside in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

Backpackers hiking up Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.

Do Your Homework

Research your route in advance. Know where you want to go and how far you intend to hike each day. Keep in mind that your party’s speed will be determined by the experience and fitness level of the slowest person, and factors like the terrain’s ruggedness, total elevation gain and loss on your route, and whether it’s at high elevations. Plan daily distance and pick campsites that make sense for your group, so you don’t increase the likelihood of either not reaching one or getting to a site so early in the day that you’re tempted to push on farther and camp illegally.

See my downloadable e-guides to backpacking trips in several popular national parks for detailed hiking itineraries, expert planning advice, on-the-ground knowledge, and tips specific to getting a permit in those parks.

Insider Tip

If you sound like you’ve done the research and know your options in the park, and come across as experienced, a backcountry ranger may feel more comfortable sharing details with you that he or she might not share with a novice.

A hiker on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail.

Know When to Apply

Especially if you’re traveling a long distance for the trip, to avoid disappointment, check the park’s website months in advance for the procedure to apply for a permit reservation (it varies from park to park).

Plan on applying on the earliest date possible—especially for popular hikes in parks that attract a lot of backpackers (like any parks and trails mentioned in this story). Some parks, like Glacier and Grand Teton, provide an online listing of current availability of backcountry campsites.

Some parks still do not have an online reservation system—it’s done in person (not an option for many people), by mail, fax, or over the phone. The National Park Service has an online reservation system, operated through recreation.gov, and it’s one that that many national parks use, NPS spokesman Jeffrey Olson explained to me via email. But he emphasized that “it is still up to the individual parks and regions to determine what to use to meet their needs.” The NPS anticipates that cost and efficiency incentives will gradually prompt more parks to use the recreation.gov system.

Insider Tip

Learn a trick from river rats: Pool your efforts. Have everyone in your party submit one or more permit applications in multiple popular parks for a range of potential dates; maybe one will be successful. You can always cancel any you can’t use.

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Subscribe now to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

Here are the dates to apply for a backcountry permit reservation in some major and popular parks:

• For backpacking in the Grand Canyon, you can apply online for the free permit up to 24 weeks (168 days) before the date you want to start hiking and you will get a response within one or two business days. That means that for starting on a date in late July, you would need to submit your application in early February. There is a fee based on the number of people and stock in your party. Get expert guidance planning your trip from my downloadable e-guide “The Complete Guide to the Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.” Find more info at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/backcountry-permit.htm. • In Yosemite, you can apply for the free permit up to 24 weeks (168 days) before the date you want to start hiking. That means that for starting on a date in late July, you would need to submit your application in early February. See my downloadable e-guides to three stellar, multi-day hikes in Yosemite, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.” Find more info at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wpres.htm. • To thru-hike the John Muir Trail southbound, apply for a permit from Yosemite National Park exactly 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the date you’d like to begin. Increase your chances by applying for a range of start dates in Yosemite. Permits for hiking northbound, starting at Whitney Portal, are reserved through a lottery system at recreation.gov; apply online between Feb. 1 and March 15. Visit my Ask Me page to see how I can help you plan a successful and unforgettable JMT thru-hike or any other trip (as I’ve done for other readers). Find more info at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/jmtfaq.htm.

Start planning now to take one of “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips.”

Backpackers on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

• In Zion, apply for a permit starting at 10 a.m. on the 5th of the month, two months prior to the month in which you want to take your trip—for example, apply on Feb. 5 for a trip in April. There is a fee based on the number of people in your party. Popular routes like The Narrows require a permit whether backpacking or dayhiking, and some one-day canyon descents, like The Subway, also require a permit that must be reserved three months in advance. Learn all you need to know about taking this trip in my downloadable e-guide to it. Find more information at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/wildernesspermitinfo.htm. • At Glacier, backcountry sites can be reserved online starting March 15 for groups of one to eight people, and March 1 for groups of nine to 12. There is a fee based on the number of people and backcountry nights. Don’t neglect to check out my downloadable e-guides to the best backpacking trip in Glacier and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier. Find more information at nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm. • In Grand Teton, reservation applications are only accepted from the first Wednesday in January (starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time) through May 15; after that, all permit requests are handled first-come, first-served. Popular backcountry camping zones, like those along the Teton Crest Trail, get booked up very soon after the park starts accepting reservations in January—often within a few days, sometimes within hours. There is a fee for each permit. See my downloadable e-guides to the Teton Crest Trail and the best short backpacking trip in the Tetons, or my Ask Me page to see how I can help you plan that trip. Find more information at nps.gov/grte/planyourvisit/bcres.htm. • In Great Smoky Mountains, reservations may be made up to 30 days in advance of the first night of your trip. There is a fee based on the number of people and backcountry nights. Find more information at smokiespermits.nps.gov.

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Hikers on the Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.

• Rocky Mountain starts accepting permit reservations online or in person on March 3 (starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time) for that calendar year. Phone, mail, email and fax reservations are not accepted. There’s a fee for making a reservation. Find more information at nps.gov/romo/planyourvisit/wild_guide.htm. • For Canyonlands, including backpacking in the Needles District and multi-day float trips on the Green River, apply up to four months in advance of your starting date. There’s a fee for each permit. Find more information at nps.gov/cany/planyourvisit/backcountrypermits.htm. • In Sequoia and Kings Canyon, you can apply beginning on March 1 for a permit reservation during the trailhead quota period of late May through late September. There’s a fee for each permit. Find more information at nps.gov/seki/planyourvisit/wilderness_permits.htm.

Get inspired. Read my book Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park is one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites. Click photo to see them all.

• As of early 2019, Olympic’s website indicated that the park was exploring new methods for processing permit reservations. In 2018, the park had started accepting advance reservations on Feb. 15 for permits issued for popular “quota areas” between May 1 and Sept. 30. Find current information at nps.gov/olym/planyourvisit/wilderness-reservations.htm. • North Cascades accepts advance reservations for up to 60 percent of park backcountry camp capacity, while permits for the other 40 percent are still issued only on a first-come basis no more than one day in advance. Advance permit reservations are accepted from March 15 through April 30 for camping between the dates of May 15 through Sept. 30. Find more information at nps.gov/noca/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm. • Mount Rainier begins accepting reservations online on March 15 for trips beginning through Sept. 28; after Sept. 28, permits are only issued in person at the park. All requests received between March 15 and March 31 will be processed in random order. By April 1, it’s possible that all campsites available for reservation on the Wonderland Trail will be booked for the entire backpacking season. There is a fee per party. Find more information at nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/wilderness-permit.htm.

Insider Tip

For parks like Yosemite, Zion, Grand Teton, and Grand Canyon, submit your permit application the very minute they begin accepting applications on the first date you can apply for your trip dates. You can submit more than one permit application at the same time, but make clear if you are requesting multiple permits, rather than just submitting alternative itineraries for one permit.

Noland Creek, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, N.C.

Plan Alternative Itineraries

If you want or need to take a popular trip during its peak season, this is the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit. Whenever I apply for a permit in parks like Yosemite, Glacier, Grand Canyon, or most others mentioned in this story, I put in as many alternative itineraries (at least two or three) and starting date options (often spanning a week or more) as are feasible.

Have at least one or two backup routes or date options in case you can’t get a permit for your first choice. That may be as simple as starting a day earlier or later for the same route, reversing your route’s direction, starting midweek instead of on a weekend, or choosing an entirely different, less-popular route.

At some parks, you absolutely have to prepare at least three itineraries. For instance, in Denali or Everglades, which do not accept advance reservations for permits, you will find out which backcountry zones have campsite availability when you show up at the backcountry office, so be familiar with the park map and have some ideas on where you want to go. When applying for an advance permit reservation in the Grand Canyon, include alternatives outside the park’s popular “corridor” trails (Bright Angel, South Kaibab, and North Kaibab). In Great Smoky Mountains, shelters along the Appalachian Trail are the most popular, but tenting campsites elsewhere in the park are easier to reserve. At some parks, you will be able to get useful help in selecting an itinerary from backcountry rangers over the phone or in person.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite.

While first-time visitors to a flagship park tend to gravitate toward its best-known areas—Half Dome and the John Muir Trail in Yosemite, the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail, Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail, the Appalachian Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains—areas that are lesser known are often just as scenically impressive, and may give you a more rewarding experience because of a higher degree of solitude. The first time I backpacked in Rocky Mountain National Park, I went on the less-visited west side and saw waterfalls and elk and bagged a summit on the Continental Divide.

In the Grand Canyon, some 75 percent of people who apply for a permit to hike across the canyon on the South and North Kaibab trails are denied. But you will find it easier to get a permit for the 29-mile hike from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead, or the 25-mile hike from Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead, either of which is done in three to four days and quite beautiful (as you’ll see in the photos in my stories about them), or two much more rugged trips: the 15-mile hike from the New Hance Trailhead to Grandview Point and the 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop.

Similarly, about 70 percent of hikers who apply for a permit to begin a thru-hike of the John Muir Trail in Yosemite get denied, but it’s much easier to score a permit to backpack in Yosemite north of Tuolumne Meadows or in the Clark Range, both of which are stunning. Learn more in my downloadable e-guides to three stellar, multi-day hikes in Yosemite.

Insider Tip

If you’re determined to hike in a park, make any permit reservation, even if it’s not for your desired route. When you show up at the park to pick up your permit, you may be able to change it to a more-desirable itinerary, because more sites may be available than when you applied, due to cancellations and some sites being held for walk-ins. Ask a backcountry ranger for suggestions.

Below Forester Pass on the John Muir Trail, Sequoia National Park.

Think Small

Parks generally limit the number of people allowed on one permit, often to six or seven; otherwise, it’s considered a group permit, and there are far fewer campsites for large groups. Keeping your party small—as in two to four people—can increase your odds of landing a permit in parks where permit quotas are based on the number of campers in an area each night or departing from each trailhead daily.

Think Outside the Box

Each park has it’s own system for issuing permits; examine it and you might think up a way to work within it to get what you want or close to it. For example, in Yosemite, permits are issued according to a maximum quota of hikers starting at each trailhead in the park. Some trailheads, like Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley, are so popular it’s very difficult to get a permit to start your hike there; but you might be able to hike the same or nearly the same route by simply starting at another trailhead along it.

Insider Tip

While it’s hard to get a permit to dayhike Yosemite’s Half Dome, it’s probably less difficult to add Half Dome to your backpacking permit because many more people apply for the dayhiking permit than do for backcountry permits. See my Ask Me post, “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite.”

Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.

Camp Outside the Park

National parks often border on other public lands, like national forests, where there’s no limit on the number of backpackers—which may give you campsite options when sites or camping areas within park boundaries are full on your trip dates. For instance, Alaska Basin, along the Teton Crest Trail, is not within Grand Teton National Park; so if you can’t get a permit to spend a night on Death Canyon Shelf in the park (a gorgeous spot, by the way), Alaska Basin is a very nice alternative and may fit neatly into an itinerary for which you have the other sites you need inside park boundaries.

At other parks, like Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon, you can start your trip in a national forest wilderness area—which, in the High Sierra, are just as spectacular as the parks—and camp a night or two before entering the park, perhaps increasing your chances of getting a permit in the park.

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A backpacker in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

Try For a Walk-In Permit

If all else fails, show up at the park at least an hour or two before the backcountry office opens and try to get a front spot in line for a walk-in, or first-come permit. Parks reserve a certain percentage of permits for walk-in backpackers, issuing those usually no more than a day in advance. Some parks post the current availability of backcountry campsites online; check that and prepare a hiking itinerary accordingly before you show up. Expect applying for a walk-in permit to take anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour, possibly longer, especially in parks like Yellowstone, Glacier, and Denali, where you’re required to watch a video about camping safely in bear country.

Insider Tip

Start a trip from a less-popular trailhead and you might be able to land campsites in more-popular areas later in your trip.

The difficulty of landing a first-come permit varies during the peak hiking seasons: At Zion, Yosemite, Glacier, and Grand Teton, you might get lucky and score a permit to start that day, but plan on having to wait at least one day. At Grand Canyon, Denali, and Everglades, you may not be able to start your trip until two or three days after you first start waiting in line. If you don’t get one of the available permits the first day you show up—you’ll often know within an hour—you will have to return each morning until you do.

See my story “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Want a better backpack? See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and the best ultralight/thru-hiking packs.

Backpacking the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

Go Outside Peak Season

I’ve always been amazed at how few backpackers there are in the Tetons in September, when, while it could snow, you can often enjoy perfect weather. In Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon, and sometimes at Mount Rainier and Rocky Mountain, good hiking weather can extend into October. At Sequoia-Kings Canyon, the 2019 quota season ends on Sept. 21, and at Mount Rainier the permit-reservation season ends Sept. 28; if you have a good forecast after those dates, you are almost guaranteed to get a last-minute permit.

I backpacked Zion’s hugely popular Narrows and dayhiked The Subway (which requires a permit that’s hard to get) in early November in very pleasant weather (albeit short days) and low water (a plus); I saw a good forecast and grabbed a permit through the park’s Last Minute Drawing system for claiming unreserved campsites—a good method for getting a Zion permit if you have the flexibility to act on short notice. Good weather and hiking conditions can last into late autumn and return by late spring in Great Smoky Mountains.

In mountain parks, the most popular season extends from early or mid-July to Labor Day. In desert parks like Grand Canyon and Zion, it’s April, May, September, and October. Although summers are too hot for backpacking, watching for a good forecast and going in early spring or late fall means you will have a much easier time getting a permit.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my downloadable, expert e-guides. Click here now to learn more.

Backpackers on the Chimney Rock Trail, Capitol Reef National Park.

Go to a Less-Popular Park

Okay, this tip and the next one don’t help you land a permit for a popular hike—but they do offer alternatives worth considering if you fail to get that desired permit. National parks that are off the radar of most backpackers are never a disappointment. At two of my favorite Western parks, North Cascades and Capitol Reef, walk-in permits are relatively easy to obtain (although North Cascades does accept reservations for popular areas).

Go where others don’t. See my “Top 5 Backpacking Trips For Scenery and Solitude.”

Dayhike It

When all efforts to secure a permit to camp in the backcountry fail, ask yourself: Is it possible to dayhike all or part of my route or another trail in the same area? It’s often easier to hike a long distance in one day than it is to carry a heavy backpack a shorter distance. Choose well-maintained, well-graded trails and keep your pack light, and if you have the stamina for it and can average even a modest 2 mph pace over a 10-hour day, you can cover 20 miles.

See my stories “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb” and “10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier,” and all of my stories about ultra-hiking at The Big Outside.

If I were to add an eleventh tip, it would be this: When your first attempt fails, find another trip to do that year instead, and try again the next year. Wherever you go, the effort to plan and pull off that adventure will pay off.

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

See my Trips page and All National Park Trips page at The Big Outside.

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magalarajoonideprohvetid · 5 years

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4. 23 Kaptain Tangerine and the POP!

“Peel of power—Pee, Ou, Pee, POP!—the tangerine peel that gives me, the Kaptain Tangerine, captain is with “K” brudah, write it down!, the peel that gives me my power, peel that draws it from the interdimensional cosmic power of the jõulupuu, Christmas tree, the world tree of Finno-Ugric original human’s faith, the axis mundi that connects the underworld with sansaara and heaven and vice versa and different dimensions and its really great and unforgettably the most awesome power of the universe, the multiverse and all known and unknown dimensions and so the POP!—we call it POP! for short ya see brudah—and so the POP! collects the power and channels it thru my body, it warps thru all dem chakras, Mooslims say I direct the baraka, Christians that I direct the Holy Spirit thru my body, Buddhists witness me as a madafucking Bodhisattva, my body is like a portal ya see, I connect heaven and hell, darkness outside and dem Christmas lights—jõulutuled brudah I tell ya—inside, I connect melancholy with happiness, yin and yang, black and white, bad and good, my mighty ax of POP! will slit and unify inna single blow, mighty and sharp is its blade and I can slit ya in half right here in this moment, ya wont be able to say “phallocentric paradigm” and I would have slit ya in half and melt ya back to one, to a new human being, filled with completely new ideas and thoughts, new ya that is surfing on the POP! wave as a new, enlightened and holistic mean-lean, superfantastic and most definitely the greatest ya could be, trust me, ya will love it ‘cos it will be the best ya can be,” he takes a sip of his beer and burps, “And ya know, I mean I don’t want to slice ya, some people are not ready, some people need time to surf on the POP! wave, I can give ya time before slice’n’dice and just teach ya the basics, dem principles and everything, ya can be like my student and I can be like zen-master Tangerine, and don’t worry, it ain’t like a scheme or something, I don’t need ya money or nothing. I just need some weed brudah, what do ya think if …”

[INSERT NAME] is mesmerized by this weird scruffy fella with a piece of tangerine peel on his forehead, pupils as wide as the night sky. Several friends have tried to drag him away but he can’t leave, he wants to know if there is anything that Kaptain Tangerine could actually do, if he is a divine being, if he even is a true lunatic and not an imposter. “Please, you can even be a street prophet, ghetto priest, a scum from the drench whose shit is so tight that it’s divine, just don’t be a fake-ass lier!” he tells himself.

Kaptain Tangerines ramblings go on and on, to the point that he takes his would-be disciple outside, to the parking lot where his beige rusty rape-van looking vehicle stands. He asks him to take something from the back of his van and opens the door, his disciple is ripe to follow him wherever and starts to climb into the van.

“What is wrong with ya? Ya meet a random crazy with a tangerine peel on his forehead, totally wasted, telling ya ramblings, and ya follow him to an empty parking lot and he asks ya to check something from his rape-van and ya go ahead and waltz right in? Dafuq is wrong with ya? Didn’t ya mama tell ya not to talk to strangers? I could be a serial killah who’d be fucking ya in ya eye-sockets …”

A flash of lightning hits the parking lot, but it’s not like the lighting that comes zig-zag-zig, it came like a beam straight from the heavens. Out of smoke and sparks a figure appears, a huge fellah with four wings, each one having flames instead of feathers. As he walks, the asphalt lits up behind him. His face is dreadful, fangs of a wild boar and skin green, gills on cheeks. He’s naked as fuck, and his dong swings from side to side as he strolls toward Kaptain Tangerine and [INSERT NAME].

“Kaptain Tangerine!” he shouts, “Your time is up, and I, Azreal, I’m gonna get as real as it gets with ya!”

“Oh-yeah? Watcha gonna do, dong me to death?” says Kaptain Tangerine, lights a cigarette and loiters on his rape-van.

“Ya bitch-ass junkie, I’m gonna fuck ya up, ya ass has been on the loose for too long!”

“So dongin’ yeah?” smirks Kaptain Tangerine.

“Fuck ya!” screams Azreal and wipes out a sword bigger than his dong.

“Delightful,” says Kaptain Tangerine, flicks his unfinished cigarette and wipes out his ax, “by the POP! Wave …”

“Fuck ya POP! wave, bitch I’m oldskuul and bepop is my rhytm!”

They jump at each other and the battle commences. Both the ax and sword are made from the thickest material on earth and anywhere else, from the melted skulls of white heterosexual middle-aged men, and both fighters have equal experience in battling—even though Kaptain Tangerine’s appearance is puny compared to Azreal. The first blow comes from …

[TO BE CONTINUED]

#literature #badliterature #kirjandus #Eesti kirjandus #eestikirjandus001 #pulp fiction #transgression #transgressive #hälbekirjandus

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silkhuikj · 4 years

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silk

Silk

by Hui Kj

****************************

Bailey,

Not the twins or fish rot find faces, and I did not know exactly until after your submarine redirected their mirror lipstick, which is hardly possible to get the subjects more gleeful until your Atlantis: where identity is scanned by [redacted] and your group will be occupying in the sea training, all your ladies from your power shedding but please, for not much longer for such a way is different here now; you can come back to our home planet and your ladies will remember you as I have over such awhile.

For me, motel to motel: lights and backflip, scanning stress, heart rate normal but tried - and what I fear now is your capture and to see locked portals when you teleport into some planet’s virus that shows how you just refuse to be predictable and become hologram trickery, and friendly your way thru in disguise and that is my meaning to advise against your risk taking, besides the mere admiration I have: to avoid but of course promptly applaud on how you adapt across intimidating lines, and what I fear is that you have been brought here and there in your own way of time, yet by my traces shaping, and /Silk/’s gambling habits and you remain invisible one day at a time. Forget old-key monuments; not in this phase of life.

/Silk/ with their gene, file pile separation operation for animal evolution, brain swapping and to sense-evolve: being able to see the scent in the lab: see thru fog - or hear their sigh as crickets choir to a song of freedom outside the bases on acre-vastness maybe noticed. See undo modern garden and me as fuck up then with the modern tree with extraction for our potions that remain classified, and I fuck up edit-copy-send and refuse to supply 100% of my own intel piles - there is a kingdom getting more difficult to fight for.

Sometimes there are branches French kissing or cloud faces turning to see: all too addicting but they remain when I break eye contact and that is why we seek out identity because identity is everywhere if you hunt metaphysics or any bloom or trail. My curtains are closed now - and the powers are wearing off since I removed myself out of fear.

A joke would be fireworks if we do not see each other but the cosmos specks are stories: the static riot and all the Rains, and all the Noahs, and all the Summers; shame for the tongue at the edge of worlds to wait on but deniable recruitment statuses, or a wise one does not have the knack or interest for our history and maybe even any history neither. You bite your tongue. If subject is at truth then it is ice cold when they are older yet you help them from the sea. Game but will title. So, when crazy B?

/Silk/ is very serious about when green is black there is orange. If God knew of what you said that day then…..this is why I am alone and gave my office to our good pal Garcia who you teamed then but you were sent elsewhere because of the so many blueprints. He might of stole information like I did so, but he is an artist - I have not been back for almost a year, and I will not get current-tied; not again because you are already there and anywhere often but away. They remain a vision tilt opus all in all frequently, and that is /Silk/ while we can write these letters but somehow are separated by design tally planets away, mild difference with submarines, airplanes, or again classified means…(teleport), but you do not think that is true and your letters tell me that each person planted should envy each other and collectively better the world - /Silk/ is good but it all separates us. Jolie amour, I need to see you. /Silk/ is sending me someone - Godspeed. . .

- K.Well

***********************************

Bailey,

Did /Silk/ call for a virtual huddle when the scan came thru? I do not know if heaven cheers or if the sky is the first to go dark - I am not in the system anymore. My den is poison-lights straining me with puzzle strings if void is nothing or everything lately. I meant something else about teacher-twins. [Filter]: sonder not bombers; they are not reporting on recruits from planet: Sneurnka: make sure /Silk/ knows different hums are different revivers and then learn it.. all subjects will be tested about planet flexibility and I will send spies on my own if I must.

I love you Bailey. When you turn on Church Street out-under, do you crack from the suicide I have caused? The admirers… I am trying to preserve this for you from me, or just my depictions made some crazy when they were fine and it was misguided when the risk was absolute zero but was taken as contradiction. Garcia told you; so you can know my pain: weary agent uncurling. Me for earth - you at Atlantis - /Silk/ unknown: we want to save Sneurnka. Although, there is a raptured fever held and kept to a butterfly and your data fraction was saved and I have it here with me. (Reference: Garcia: code: Wolfman.) He sent me a letter about green suicide: not too far away from me now. It is someone - possibly an old subject, and I found him and invited him to coffee…. Ah, we need a double against old friends, find my chip; last buffered 492582 and even what did I Mrs. then? - in hiding for this. The subject will collapse in will offer up himself for the Sneurnka attack; the issue is all he knows is snow just pressed diction and fear for coming back - he is 30 minutes away.

I will try spelling it out for him ad submerge lightning in honor of your sector with options for placement. My cup of tea is psychosis even though I remember how brave you were in training, even outlining the teacher’s alien drawings and it was impossible for you to not get promoted and promoted on. You helped me, and /Silk/ gave you that noble internship and when God showed your eyes were shut because one of the Noah’s turtles went blue; /Silk/ was zapped by God, and extraction is what I am trying to get to you but it is tangible unlike our computer army that I refuse to reopen those blueprints and be discovered )))))))))))))))

((((((((((((((( Subject 1 brought his cousin to the cafe. She (2) told me to be sick six times. It made it seem that things were reserved for the last: they had cuts on their arms and around their body and even mentioned they would sometimes slice each other to feel - /Silk/ is interested because of their undeniably unique aesthetic with the moodiness, enigma spy, and they told me the uncommon fight is how glow is glow and I am guessing /Silk/ will offer these two help and if it is incest then many things could be of disturbance to the code and DNA of any of our bases. They just do many drugs; mostly meth for telepathy access. Denial they would throw pennies at me but you would be the cousin’s Queen. It is just their mayday. ))

—

The subjects told me how their vibration is grey but remain investigating. My jaw dropped when they spoke of death wishes, and without hesitation I offered up a planet Sneurnka visitation. Their grey rain in a season and meeting destiny accidentally: subject 2 spoke up, I need /Silk/ to stay away from this kind of plotting: her filter exposes and forfeits progression 00000 doom but they will be away at Sneurnka to learn about spite, and you are the one I trust B - if you go there you could have your position changed: I know asking for more of your help is painful both ways, but new subjects contact me swiftly but urgently throughout my months data scanning. You could help these subjects, and you have dearly planted productivity at Atlantis. Your tracking will be up again once you arise. Thanks for all you do.

K.Well

*******************************

Bailey,

Wolfman dimension Q swayed your findings and concerns for you to report to Sneurnka, even though your 7th sent me a direct postcard from London - thank you for writing my dear: I am jazzed even if everyone else just knows your badge. In your letter, I must say, you misplaced something: ‘cat9’ which the code has changed and now only means, ‘Virginia, Vegas fathers’ - which Wolfman has drafted your report so all in all to /Silk/; you have your clones pretty and handsome: bravery; as you are always and everyone fears you for ethics.

Your dyed your hair black and your profile ‘Xxxx-00000’ is equivalent to the April trinity: tho all scanning winter, summer, spring, and still in progress. You always told me you just wanted to be normal, and I do not know if I can fix that: you bring peace and if you are tired of retire daydream then I will contact /Silk/ and see if they can give you a vacation in Z and electrify a twin to achieve points Sneurnka or not, and if you never see me again: it is because Wolfman said I was crazy and rebellious and evil for deactivating my will to get out - this matrix is a doorbell: but I am afraid the only nerves is that nobody will show. I have merged my clones for a greater cause and /Silk/ is not only guarding you but slowly casting virus walls in my chips thru our line. Yet, you are the invisible one, and maybe you will frenzy to freedom without my help.

Wolfman is dialing…))))))))))))))))))

((((((((((((((((((((( So,…. /Silk/ has found a C in America, Earth. so your 9 was correct: well done! Wolfman wanted me to tell you about this important art: XXXXXXX by XXXXXXX, and that was all. B, my eyes on you will stay to protect but I am no host. Turn around if you feel anxious, but I know that is wave oriented and you are so bold and infinitely inspiring. You said in your letter that Atlantis is in order. I will be scanning in Sneurnka for awhile while you train C - remember, Earth’s eye is violent but Sneurnka is worse - Wolfman will assist with……))))))))))))))))

((((((((((((((((

(

I cannot scan any finds; undetectable information walls - your parents are dialing my phone but my phone is under. Reading about the suicides - oh no B. I can not send anymore blueprints and there is no clearance for you to know about the Wvm-virus that slipped out from my lab…. - unplugging, updates thru my brother only, he is on Mars.

Bailey, if we had matching shoes…. You will be hearing from /Silk/ soon I predict. I am weak and they know about me but not you. I am sorry. I love you. Goodbye for now! ~~~~~~~~~~ <3

- A.Well

*************************************

1 year later —————

It was to attempt to think in front of me and it was awkward now without subjects coming to see me - I never left the motel room and have not seen daylight. There are dreams of crows and the roar of trees of winds that I called peace but the crows from my bad dreams. I kept busy sifting thru war crime data and I have not heard from /Silk/ - would refuse jobs anyway. The thought of getting a bicycle was like heroin, and nobody could make out my face - even tho Sneurnka acutely invaded parts of here maybe two hours out.

My doppelgängers expired - Wolfman in the news but Bailey hail for peace never seen but remarkable invisibility. It is difficult to see forward; never had a track on her, my brother on Mars never alerts me, /Silk/ sends shocks to my chip twice a day but everyone uninvolved from past status and now I am an utter waste….

C might rival with Bailey, and Wolfman may end up like me: depressed and heartbroken without a seeming purpose but to tune into war and unable. He never made a death wish, and neither did I, but my eyes were red then. There is always the surrendering of brain in a /Silk/ lab, but seclusion has made me mad and any action at all seems like suicide - ah, trapped but was a villain. Earth has spun, and Sneurnka the action needed - /Silk/ will conquer the galaxy and imprison me as something official, differing from now in motels.

***************** (mental hospital)

Daniel! I know you! I know you Daniel! Hey! I know you!

**************************

Doctor Frances floated him to sleep thru his veins……

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10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit | The Big Outside

10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit

By Michael Lanza

And if you want to take a trip in one of those popular parks this year, the time for reserving permits is upon us or coming up quickly.

A backpacker in the northern Bailey Range, Olympic National Park.

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Backpackers hiking up Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.

#1: Do Your Homework

Insider Tip

A hiker on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail.

#2: Know When to Apply

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Here are the dates to apply for a backcountry permit reservation in some major and popular parks:

• For backpacking in the , you can apply online for the free permit up to 24 weeks (168 days) before the date you want to start hiking and you will get a response within one or two business days. That means that for starting on a date in late July, you would need to submit your application in early February. There is a fee based on the number of people and stock in your party. Get expert guidance planning your trip from my downloadable e-guide “The Complete Guide to the Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.” Find more info at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/backcountry-permit.htm. • In , you can apply for the free permit up to 24 weeks (168 days) before the date you want to start hiking. That means that for starting on a date in late July, you would need to submit your application in early February. See my downloadable e-guides to three stellar, multi-day hikes in Yosemite, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.” Find more info at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wpres.htm. • To thru-hike the southbound, apply for a permit from Yosemite National Park exactly 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the date you’d like to begin. Increase your chances by applying for a range of start dates in Yosemite. Permits for hiking northbound, starting at Whitney Portal, are reserved through a lottery system at recreation.gov; apply online between Feb. 1 and March 15. Visit my Ask Me page to see how I can help you plan a successful and unforgettable JMT thru-hike or any other trip (as I’ve done for other readers). Find more info at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/jmtfaq.htm.

Start planning now to take one of “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips.”

Backpackers on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

• In , apply for a permit starting at 10 a.m. on the 5th of the month, two months prior to the month in which you want to take your trip—for example, apply on Feb. 5 for a trip in April. There is a fee based on the number of people in your party. Popular routes like The Narrows require a permit whether backpacking or dayhiking, and some one-day canyon descents, like The Subway, also require a permit that must be reserved three months in advance. Learn all you need to know about taking this trip in my downloadable e-guide to it. Find more information at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/wildernesspermitinfo.htm. • At , backcountry sites can be reserved online starting March 15 for groups of one to eight people, and March 1 for groups of nine to 12. There is a fee based on the number of people and backcountry nights. Don’t neglect to check out my downloadable e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Glacier. Find more information at nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm. • In , reservation applications are only accepted from the first Wednesday in January (starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time) through May 15; after that, all permit requests are handled first-come, first-served. Popular backcountry camping zones, like those along the Teton Crest Trail, get booked up very soon after the park starts accepting reservations in January—often within a few days, sometimes within hours. There is a fee for each permit. See my downloadable e-guides to the Teton Crest Trail and the best short backpacking trip in the Tetons, or my Ask Me page to see how I can help you plan that trip. Find more information at nps.gov/grte/planyourvisit/bcres.htm. • In , reservations may be made up to 30 days in advance of the first night of your trip. There is a fee based on the number of people and backcountry nights. Find more information at smokiespermits.nps.gov.

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Hikers on the Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.

• starts accepting permit reservations online or in person on March 3 (starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time) for that calendar year. Phone, mail, email and fax reservations are not accepted. There’s a fee for making a reservation. Find more information at nps.gov/romo/planyourvisit/wild_guide.htm. • For , including backpacking in the Needles District and multi-day float trips on the Green River, apply up to four months in advance of your starting date. There’s a fee for each permit. Find more information at nps.gov/cany/planyourvisit/backcountrypermits.htm. • In , you can apply beginning on March 1 for a permit reservation during the trailhead quota period of late May through late September. There’s a fee for each permit. Find more information at nps.gov/seki/planyourvisit/wilderness_permits.htm.

Get inspired. Read my book Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park is one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites. Click photo to see them all.

• As of early 2019, website indicated that the park was exploring new methods for processing permit reservations. In 2018, the park had started accepting advance reservations on Feb. 15 for permits issued for popular “quota areas” between May 1 and Sept. 30. Find current information at nps.gov/olym/planyourvisit/wilderness-reservations.htm. • accepts advance reservations for up to 60 percent of park backcountry camp capacity, while permits for the other 40 percent are still issued only on a first-come basis no more than one day in advance. Advance permit reservations are accepted from March 15 through April 30 for camping between the dates of May 15 through Sept. 30. Find more information at nps.gov/noca/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm. • begins accepting reservations online on March 15 for trips beginning through Sept. 30; after Sept. 30, permits are only issued in person at the park. There is a fee per party. Find more information at nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/wilderness-permit.htm.

Insider Tip

Noland Creek, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, N.C.

#3: Plan Alternative Itineraries

At some parks, you absolutely have to prepare at least three itineraries. For instance, in Denali or , which do not accept advance reservations for permits, you will find out which backcountry zones have campsite availability when you show up at the backcountry office, so be familiar with the park map and have some ideas on where you want to go. When applying for an advance permit reservation in the Grand Canyon, include alternatives outside the park’s popular “corridor” trails (). In , shelters along the Appalachian Trail are the most popular, but tenting campsites elsewhere in the park are easier to reserve. At some parks, you will be able to get useful help in selecting an itinerary from backcountry rangers over the phone or in person.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite.

While first-time visitors to a flagship park tend to gravitate toward its best-known areas— and the in Yosemite, the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail, Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail, the Appalachian Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains—areas that are lesser known are often just as scenically impressive, and may give you a more rewarding experience because of a higher degree of solitude. The first time I backpacked in , I went on the less-visited west side and saw waterfalls and elk and bagged a summit on the Continental Divide.

In the Grand Canyon, some 75 percent of people who apply for a permit to hike across the canyon on the South and North Kaibab trails are denied. But you will find it easier to get a permit for the 29-mile hike from , or the 25-mile hike from , either of which is done in three to four days and quite beautiful (as you’ll see in the photos in my stories about them), or two much more rugged trips: the 15-mile hike from the and the 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop.

Similarly, about 70 percent of hikers who apply for a permit to begin a thru-hike of the in Yosemite get denied, but it’s much easier to score a permit to backpack in or in the Clark Range, both of which are stunning. Learn more in my downloadable e-guides to three stellar, multi-day hikes in Yosemite.

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Below Forester Pass on the John Muir Trail, Sequoia National Park.

#4: Think Small

#5: Think Outside the Box

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Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.

#6: Camp Outside the Park

National parks often border on other public lands, like national forests, where there’s no limit on the number of backpackers—which may give you campsite options when sites or camping areas within park boundaries are full on your trip dates. For instance, Alaska Basin, along the , is not within Grand Teton National Park; so if you can’t get a permit to spend a night on Death Canyon Shelf in the park (a gorgeous spot, by the way), Alaska Basin is a very nice alternative and may fit neatly into an itinerary for which you have the other sites you need inside park boundaries.

At other parks, like Yosemite and , you can start your trip in a national forest wilderness area—which, in the High Sierra, are just as spectacular as the parks—and camp a night or two before entering the park, perhaps increasing your chances of getting a permit in the park.

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A backpacker in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

#7: Try For a Walk-In Permit

If all else fails, show up at the park at least an hour or two before the backcountry office opens and try to get a front spot in line for a walk-in, or first-come permit. Parks reserve a certain percentage of permits for walk-in backpackers, issuing those usually no more than a day in advance. Some parks post the current availability of backcountry campsites online; check that and prepare a hiking itinerary accordingly before you show up. Expect applying for a walk-in permit to take anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour, possibly longer, especially in parks like , Glacier, and Denali, where you’re required to watch a video about camping safely in bear country.

Insider Tip

Start a trip from a less-popular trailhead and you might be able to land campsites in more-popular areas later in your trip.

The difficulty of landing a first-come permit varies during the peak hiking seasons: At , Yosemite, Glacier, and Grand Teton, you might get lucky and score a permit to start that day, but plan on having to wait at least one day. At Grand Canyon, Denali, and Everglades, you may not be able to start your trip until two or three days after you first start waiting in line. If you don’t get one of the available permits the first day you show up—you’ll often know within an hour—you will have to return each morning until you do.

See my story “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Want a better backpack? See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and the best ultralight/thru-hiking packs.

Backpacking the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

#8: Go Outside Peak Season

I backpacked Zion’s hugely popular and dayhiked The Subway (which requires a permit that’s hard to get) in early November in very pleasant weather (albeit short days) and low water (a plus); I saw a good forecast and grabbed a permit through the park’s Last Minute Drawing system for claiming unreserved campsites—a good method for getting a Zion permit if you have the flexibility to act on short notice. Good weather and hiking conditions can last into late autumn and return by late spring in Great Smoky Mountains.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my downloadable, expert e-guides. Click here now to learn more.

Backpackers on the Chimney Rock Trail, Capitol Reef National Park.

#9: Go to a Less-Popular Park

Okay, this tip and the next one don’t help you land a permit for a popular hike—but they do offer alternatives worth considering if you fail to get that desired permit. National parks that are off the radar of most backpackers are never a disappointment. At two of my favorite Western parks, and , walk-in permits are relatively easy to obtain (although North Cascades does accept reservations for popular areas).

Go where others don’t. See my “Top 5 Backpacking Trips For Scenery and Solitude.”

#10: Dayhike It

See my stories “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb” and “10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier,” and all of my stories about ultra-hiking at The Big Outside.

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See my Trips page and All National Park Trips page at The Big Outside.

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