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photiniainsummer · 3 years

Text

Dancing with the Dark

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: You've taken to lingering around Dark's office late at night when he thinks he's alone with his old jazz standards.

Or so you thought, until one night you find the door open.

You've always wondered what exactly he does behind it...

It's listen to music. Get your mind out of the gutter. ;)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 6860

Author’s Note: No warnings - this is really all just tooth-rotting, tender, slow build romance. There is dancin' and smoochin', though. 👀 Also posted to AO3!

It wasn’t something you had intended to intrude on. The Manor is big, but not that big, and it just so happens that the quickest route to your bedroom means you have to pass Dark’s office suite. As your nights have gotten later and later, trying to keep tabs on Mark and the poor, scattered egos he’s made and dumped, more and more often have you caught soft, crackling music drifting out from behind your sort-of boss’ heavy office door.

At first, you mostly ignored it, noting it with a small smile and continuing to bed. It’s really none of your business what the shadowy man does in his free time, you figured. Plus, you all manage to live on top of one another, despite the Manor’s size, which puts privacy at a premium - who are you to deny him some when he can get it? But as time has passed and you’ve worked intensely together, the original enmity between you two has turned into a professional respect and eventually, you’d hazard, a friendly banter. At least, such as Dark is willing to joke around.

And so, tempted by your mutual softening, and maybe a little curiosity as to what kind of music your ‘leader’ listens to, you’ve found yourself pausing in your path to bed when you catch him playing a record. At first, you only stopped briefly at the top of the stairs with his office across the landing from you, taking a moment to appreciate a few bars of dreamy jazz. It was peaceful, almost magnetically melodic. But you quickly grew self-conscious in your eavesdropping, and, not wanting to seem nosy (despite the fact you definitely were being nosy), moved along to your room.

You crossed the landing to the bit of wall near his door, next, but kept a keen eye on the stairs behind you in case you needed to make a sudden retreat. For a week or so, you took longer, lingering there at the mouth of the short hallway to his office. You would take in a full song before you got antsy, concerned Dark might get up to make a late-night cup of tea and discover you. Even so, you had found it hard to pull yourself away from the lilting voices of his records - time seemed to slow, for just a little while, and you felt you breathed easier, deeper even, once you were back in your bedroom.

Finally, now, and most nights for the last month, you’ve let yourself truly relax just outside his door. He never leaves, not that you’ve seen, and so you’ve taken to resting in the shadow of the short hallway and letting the hypnotic drags of a brush across a snare, crooning voices over a string quartet wrap around you. Dark’s music is never truly jazzy, never truly swinging, and it soothes you like very little else can these days. It’s steady - you think that’s what’s so appealing about it - drawing you in at the end of a long day for a moment of reprieve, floating outside of time in the gentle shade of this corner of the Manor.

You’ve gotten used to it, to be sure. The sleepy, tripping dance of a horn greets you at the end of each long day spent combing through Mark’s videos, hunting for hints as to his next move. The quiet moments spent letting the gentle jazz unwind some tight thing in your chest have become just as much your routine as they are Dark’s - and you understand why he takes the time. Until you started lingering to listen, you were harder up for time alone than you thought with barely a moment to spend in your own head. Everything was focused on maneuvering around Mark, a seemingly endless game of cat-and-mouse that left you tossing and turning and jittering yourself into an exhausted unconsciousness each night. But now, you fall asleep faster, wake up feeling more rested having actually relaxed before bundling down under your covers. You had found a little corner of peace, thanks to Dark. And, perhaps, thanks to your damned nosiness, as the man himself had called it once.

Only occasionally as you lean against the wallpaper have you allowed yourself to think about the man behind the door. For all your collaboration, Dark is still a mysterious, calculating, and distant figure. It’s by his own making, too. He’s been content to work closely with you planning Mark’s downfall, but keeps his own cards so close to his chest you have to wonder if he can even see them now, so to speak.

Perhaps he knows them well enough not to need to.

You’ve learned not to pry too much about any of the egos’ pasts and what they remember of them, unless you’re just in the mood for awkward, dead-end conversations. Wilford doesn’t seem troubled in the moment, human bouncy ball that he is, but responds vaguely - even for him - before up and disappearing for a few days. Google spouts some kind of technical jargon about his assembly warehouse that you can barely keep up with, then focuses intently on changing the subject. The Host only gives you one of his polite little smiles and reminds you that your futures are ‘of a more pressing nature’ than his past is.

The only one you’ve totally avoided trying to bring up the subject with is Dark. Your first real conversation had edged on it, and his reaction - aura practically blowing all the lightbulbs in the room, crackling copies of himself writhing in rage - had been pretty clearly in the ‘not positive’ camp. You’ve not had the stomach to unnecessarily incite his ire, so most of what you know about him, you’ve put together yourself. A vague understanding of his blended nature, the people he was before, their relationships to Mark… But it’s all guesses and deductive work about people long gone from the plane you inhabit. Grasping at shadows and context clues to paint a portrait of how the being, who deeply dislikes the outsize attention his central role as Mark’s primary ‘villain’ commands, came to be.

Yet, you do know some things about what he’s like. That he doesn’t seem to need to eat or take breaks of any kind. That he’s single-mindedly devoted to stopping Mark in his tracks, and intensely methodical about the whole endeavor. Even when you think you’ve caught him reading something for fun, it turns out to be Mark-adjacent. It’s impressive, you admit, but also why hearing those strains of songs sung long ago, finding him doing something unproductive has captured you so. To think of him taking time for himself, doing nothing but enjoying some music… it simultaneously feels incredibly decadent and comforting. For all his hardworking exterior, there are quiet moments Dark takes to relax. Even more than his music, that soothes something in your heart you didn’t even know was tense.

Plus, good lord. The man listens to croony, moony, love-sick music late at night when the rest of the Manor has retreated to their own separate corners. How could you not melt?

Yet it’s impossible for you not to wonder what exactly he does behind his office door. It’s always firmly shut, and even with the proclivity toward psychic abilities in the Manor’s residents, you can’t completely school the curiosity it inspires. Listening to a couple croon about the stars or something equally cheesy from your spot out in the hall, you’ll often picture him relaxing in one of the high-backed armchairs situated near the heavy fireplace. Maybe he’s shut the door to his workspace proper, allowed himself some wine from the cellar, propped his feet up… Maybe he’s truly relaxing, thinking of something altogether having nothing to do with his work. It’s anachronistic enough to your steadfast image of him to be ridiculous, but you also can’t help but hope it exists in some form, protected behind the dark wood that muffles already-quietly trilling piano keys.

This is why, late one night, you’re stopped in your tracks at the foot of the stairs, already able to hear his music. You’d been just about to pull yourself up the stairs by the handrails, eyes bleary from staring at your screen all day when you’d picked out the dreamy march of brass. You’ve only ever been able to hear his records when you’re standing on the landing - is something wrong? Cautiously, you ascend the tightly winding stairs, your thoughts mirroring the spiraling steps as they scramble, chasing away any haziness.

Reaching the landing, you find dancing firelight spilling out across the thick Persian rug there, Dark’s door cracked shockingly wide. The sight is almost obscene, illuminating the spot that has been your shadowy cocoon. It’s only made more stark by the clarity of the music that lilts through the air. You have the keen, embarrassed feeling that you should not be seeing what you’re seeing, that you’re intruding, infringing on something private - even though all you can see of the office is a little bit of wall just inside the door. Even so, the sudden need to stop this, to preserve something personal, quiet, safe for Dark overtakes you. You’re spurred into action, crossing the space on careful feet. You move to shut the door, to right this obvious wrong, but as your hand takes the old brass knob, the music from within murmurs tender thoughts of lovers embracing after an age apart. Even with your goal so firmly in mind, you can’t stop your eyes from flitting over the sliver of his office the crack in the door reveals.

And, oh, what it reveals.

As if intentionally centered for your view, Dark is, as you’ve imagined countless times, tucked into one of the armchairs near the fire. His suit jacket has been carefully folded and hung over the back of his chair, his starkly white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a bit of the skin at his throat. More is revealed by the tilt of his head as he rests it back in the crook of the armchair’s wings.

You’ve never seen him so… undressed before. You immediately flush, embarrassedly shooing the thought away before it can become anything more than a passing observation. You’re thankful to see that his piercing eyes are gently shut, the breaths he draws steady and quiet. Even his aura is still, nonexistent except for his colorlessness. The dull ring that accompanies him, too, is almost completely silent. Whatever remains is drowned out by the softly crackling gramaphone to his side.

Although you know he doesn’t need to sleep, the tender image of him relaxed enough as to fall into it twists something so totally in your heart that it keeps you there, hand on the doorknob. You know you need to close the door back, and carefully, too, so you don’t pop whatever bubble of peace he’s floating in, but… It’s like having a dragonfly land on the tip of your finger, spotting a deer at the edge of your garden, catching the sun breaking over the horizon and truly beginning to dawn. How can you look away before it ends?

But you’re playing with fire in waiting for this moment to end, and, unfortunately, you get burned.

At least, it feels like you do. Suddenly, Dark’s head comes up, his eyes cracking open, and the cold heat of being caught scalds the back of your neck. You go to close the door, but it’s too late - his black eyes catch yours, and he calls your name. It’s gentle, a distant question, but it still makes your heart sink into some pitiful little depth of your stomach. There’s no way to play this off casually; he sounds truly awake. Either he wasn’t actually sleeping, or you’ve startled him enough to banish any hint of drowsiness from his voice. You’ve ruined this precious little thing, your knowledge of it revealed, and, gosh, you feel miserable for it. But you were called, and so you crack the door a little wider, an apology already on your lips.

“I was just going to shut it for you, I’m sorry,” you offer, quietly, as if trying not to interrupt the music still going at his elbow.

Dark doesn’t immediately respond, watching you with his usually piercing, contrasted eyes. Yet, they’re softer, tired - was he actually sleeping? The gramophone crackles like the low fire nearby. The record playing spins wobblingly, curled with age. The music is even dreamier unfiltered like this, giving the lowly-lit room a hint of unreality. Time seems to stretch between you, and when he finally speaks, his echoing, multi-throated voice only adds to the feeling you’re imagining things.

“...you may come in, if you would like.”

Something has gone horribly wrong. He, or another ego, is dying or has died, you’re certain of it. That, or Mark has figured out your plan to collect them and gotten to one first, maybe Yancy or the Captain, taking them out of the picture or scooping them up for himself. It’s the only obvious explanation your startled mind can offer for seeing Dark so markedly undone - his jacket, his shirt, the door…

Just as quickly, you realize how ridiculous the thought is. Dark wouldn’t look like a rather sleepy cat, cozied up to the fire with his music of choice, much less invite you so casually into his inner sanctum if things had gone to hell. No, there’d be more rending of reality or quick, tense words - a contingency plan thrown into action.

Which means you actually have to deal with being invited into his office late at night, a place you’ve hovered around and imagined for nigh on a month. You force yourself to respond casually, nodding as if this is normal for the two of you as you step over the threshold. He gestures for you to shut the door, and you do, gently putting it to rights before crossing the bookshelf-lined room to join him.

Like you always do. Obviously.

Once near the fire, you can see his aura is beginning to stir once more, the edges of him blurring with compelling darkness. In all the imagining you’d dared to entertain, you have never considered what his face would look like in these moments. His brow is relaxed, his expression open, and though his attention is fully fixed on you, it doesn’t cut through you or hunt for answers. He is merely regarding, the firelight only able to cast dancing shadows across his face for all its warmth. He’s relaxed. Relax-ing .

It’s, again, almost obscene. So much more than you anticipated. It’s one thing to imagine all that you have in theory, a different one to see it in truth, to experience it. And Dark, relaxing, is something you can barely take your eyes off of. He looks so much more like a person, undone after a long day of work, not quite ready to trip off to bed. With his aura so reserved, only mildly undulating at the very edges of him, you could almost dismiss it as a trick of the light, if not for how he absorbs and negates color.

Just a man.

Trying to stay casual, you prop yourself on the chair across from him, chin in hand, and you both watch each other for a moment. Both quiet. Both tired. Except your silence is tinged with subtle awe. At being invited in, at being here, at seeing him this way. It’s like the killer panther that typically stares you down from the shadows giving you a lazy, sun-warmed blink. As much as you try to treat Dark normally, there are moments when you can’t help being amazed - though it’s usually due to his eldritch powers and not him engaging in the simple act of sleeping.

Which begs the question - why leave the door open while he was so indisposed? Mild concern rises again, and you feel compelled to ask.

“Is everything okay…?”

You swear his eyes twinkle, amused. It’s hard to tell with the fire dancing like it is, his face remaining otherwise unchanged. You want to frown, wondering how loud your thoughts have been, but leave it.

“Yes... and no, as always. Nothing has changed, if that is what you mean. There is no need to worry.”

Coming from anyone else, it would be a formality. Your shoulders would stay hunched, your brow might furrow. But when Dark says it, when he speaks more quietly than you think you’ve ever heard him speak, it scatters whatever remaining fears his invitation had kicked up to the wind. You exhale. It is a comfort, but… It doesn’t explain why he invited you in. If you had really ruined his illusion of privacy, would he so readily let you walk over its remnants?

Suddenly, the answer is clear - so simple and obvious as to be startling. You speak before you can question the thought.

“Just want some company?”

Dark continues to watch you, but his gaze loses some of its lethargy. The panther stirs, considering. Weighing. Calculating. Heat rises up your neck ever so slightly - that will teach you to jump to conclusions.

But then he hums and gives an affirming nod. He gestures to the seat you’re leaning on. “Again, if you would like…”

Is that hesitancy?

You really feel like you’re dreaming as you settle across from him. He just wants company. He hesitated. He couldn’t even ask for it. Notably distant Dark, who never joins the rest of you for meals, for after-dinner drinks, who you rarely ever see outside his office… wants company. Although the chair’s winged back curls around you and radiates warmth absorbed from the fire, you find it difficult to relax as he continues to, turning his black-and-white gaze to the fire. Does he want conversation? Comfortable silence? How are you meant to parse what he’s wanting against the background of how surreal it is that you’re actually here?

But little things remind you that this is very much happening - the heat of the nearby fire, the music’s volume being slightly louder than you’d imagined. Although, you remind yourself, you’ve been hearing it muffled by heavy wood until now. It’s still relatively soft, just clearer up close. Your eyes fall to the gramophone piping it out. You’ve seen it in passing, but it registered about as much as the carved wooden globe on the mantle - furniture, meant as a finishing touch for the room. It looks like a true antique, though, its curved neck and ornate mouth lovingly maintained, polished to a shine apart from a few inevitable age spots. It’s close enough to Dark for him to operate without getting up, records tidily shelved underneath.

Your eyes edge back to the man seated so nearby. His slowly awakening aura is gently tugging at your attention, but he himself pays you no mind. That relieves you, somewhat, a silent answer to what his idea of ‘company’ is.

You realize, then, that you’ve never simply existed with him before. Throughout your time at the Manor, you two have only ever been in each other’s company to work or exchange information. There’s always been a goal, something to focus on, to accomplish. But now… there’s nothing. Nothing to do but exist.

Why does that suddenly feel so hard?

You must be thinking rather loudly, because Dark’s gaze slides leisurely from the flames onto you. He tilts his head, but not in that strange drifting motion it sometimes does, gravitating to some sick angle of its own accord. No, he’s just curious. You smile sheepishly, wondering if all your mental spinning has disturbed his peace, made him second-guess inviting you in.

“Too loud?”

Another amused flicker in his colorless eyes. “No louder than usual.”

So tired Dark has jokes , apparently. You give him a look. “Not exactly comforting.”

“To be fair, they are much quieter than when you arrived.” It’s almost a compliment - at least he’s not calling you loud anymore. Letting that be a comfort, you attempt to relax back into the chair. It, like the rest of the Manor’s furniture, feels straight out of a period drama with none of the damage of age. It’s still as soft as it was whenever Dark crafted this bubble of reality.

“It’s hard when you can’t control it - like I have noise cancelling headphones and can’t hear myself or anyone else.”

He hums. “You do not need to explain it to me.” Ouch. You look to the fire, taking the inside of your cheek between your teeth. When will you learn to keep your foot out of your mouth? Dark senses the sudden silence and mildly clears his throat. “I mean… Only to say that I understand you do not have the same ability. I do not hold it against you.”

His voice still has that quietness to it, a low, gentle undercurrent. It’s practically an apology, how he chooses his words. You shift, rubbing your finger joints with your other hand. You’ve been told it looks like hand-wringing, but it soothes you and the soreness there. “I think you saw it differently, when I first got here,” you hazard, just as quiet as you look back to him. Dark is watching you evenly, but something shifts in his brow as he recalls that first day. How different your tones had been, how differently you’d approached the other. You’re only feet from where that first conversation took place, and yet…

“...much was different, then,” he murmurs. “I was, perhaps… harsher than I should have been. I was unaccustomed to the sensation, not at my best.” He seems to stop himself there, closing something that was edging open before looking back to the fire. “I have grown used to it. The sound of your thoughts does not trouble me, but you have also improved at closing your mind. It is impressive, for someone unlike the rest of us.”

Good lord, maybe he actually is dying. You don’t think you’ve heard so many kind words from the man in all your months of living together. His gaze stays fixed on the flames, even as you stare at him, a little stunned. Silence draws out between you, filled only by tonight’s accompaniment. Yet, it doesn’t spark with nervous energy or prickle in pointed coldness. It crackles like ancient records warped with time, old oak burning to warm a place apart from the rest of existence. You settle deeper into the armchair, eyes turning from the shadow you’re keeping company.

He only barely catches your pleased little smile, finding it hard to look at you for too long.

From then on, Dark leaves the door open for you, although cracked much less wide than before. When you call it a night, you make your way through the Manor to your seat near his fire instead of right to bed. Although the weather of the world still reaches you, the place Dark maintains is always just slightly colder, so the fire’s warmth is never unwelcome. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you sit together in silence, but regardless of how chatty either of you feel, there’s always music curling underneath the moment. Dark doesn’t sleep like he did the first night, but he always has his coat off and that softer turn to his eyes by the time you arrive. It’s strange, at first, to see him switch so much between his work and leisure personas, and at first you wonder why he’s not always so relaxed. Surely things would be less tense.

And then you remember Wilford’s incessant gunfire, Google’s underlying objective, the weight of his very existence. Without his steady, cool glare, the Manor would be full of bullet holes, and they’d all probably be dead with Mark free to break reality to his whim. If Dark wasn’t so tightly wound, everything would come undone.

So you enjoy - scratch that. You let him be how he is, in each moment, without comparison. Sure, it’s nice to talk to Dark when he isn’t grinding out words from between his teeth, and seeing him undone has removed whatever distance might have remained between you, but to say you enjoy him…

Christ. Who are you kidding - you really enjoy him.

It really happens without you noticing, and it almost drives you nuts with how cliche it all is. Things just build up - he has a pillow placed in your chair just so for your lower back, you pull the smallest of smiles of him with a well-put observation (and find that his eyes crinkle the same way the other egos’ do) - until one night he asks you to dance.

He’s not quite so blunt as that about it, but it’s essentially what happens. You’re sitting together, having fallen into one of those comfortably quiet moments when a song comes on that you recognize. Not from your time lingering around Dark’s door, but from before you came to the Manor, vague memories welling up of a ballroom dancing class in undergrad you’d taken for fun full of sore toes and sweaty hands. You laugh, suddenly, startled at just how far away that moment feels. You try to cover it with your hand, but you continue to chuckle as something about the ridiculousness of it gets to you, and Dark watches you with some mix of amusement and concern. There’s a little of that predator’s intentionality there - searching for answers. You shake your head as you calm, dropping your hand but still smiling.

“Just… I know this song.”

“Oh?” Read: Continue.

“Well, I… Back in my first year at university, I... well, I signed up for this ballroom dancing unit. This was one of the songs we used, I think.” Dark inclines his head as something changes in his gaze. Your last little aftershock of laughter passes and you settle back into watching the fire lick at its grate, content to let it lie. But Dark continues to watch you. Feeling him still staring, you look back - very little of that soft turn to his eyes remains. He is a man focused. “What?” you eventually ask, shifting under his stare.

“I did not know you danced.”

You fluster, then, scoffing at the idea, eyes falling to the carpet between you. “I… don’t. Unless you count slow dancing, I guess. It was just the one class. Forever ago.”

He’s not content, fixated. But quiet. Considering. Weighing. Then…

“Would you like to?”

You look back quickly enough that you wonder if his aura pulled at you in tandem with your surprise. “Wh. I… Now?”

He nods, slowly. You just stare, trying to process the idea and coming up with no clear thoughts. Then he does something funny - he actually shifts under your scrutiny, gaze flickering away for the briefest of moments before returning to you. That alone is enough to stun you further, Dark looking practically shy, but he explains. “In my day, I was an avid dancer. I enjoyed little else outside of… work. I can show you how.”

You momentarily wonder which of his past lives he means before you find yourself nodding in agreement. Even if you hadn’t wanted to, this is… new. Dark offering so much at such little gain to himself, unfurling those cards from so close to his chest. Refusing now might mean they would never come away again.

“Can you?” Your voice is surprisingly dry, distant, but Dark doesn’t seem to notice, focused on the task now at hand. On you. He only nods and rises from his chair in a smooth motion before offering you a hand.

From experience, you know he leeches color from whatever he touches, even things in his vicinity if his aura is expansive and active enough. Yet, you’ve never had reason to make direct contact, and so you still watch in minor surprise as your hand loses its luster and gains a black-and-white cast when you take his. “It isn’t permanent,” he explains as you stand to join him. “It’s only… plants, that can’t handle it.” He sounds mildly embarrassed, and it clicks why you’ve never seen him in the Host’s garden. The future-sighted ego had probably barred him from the place years ago.

“Oh,” you reply lamely, and he ducks his head somewhat before leading you to the more open space between your chairs and the outer office door. There, he turns smoothly and you’re in position, having used his hold on your hand to subtly guide you closer. Your other hand lands on his upper arm, almost at his shoulder, and he gently shifts his elbow under yours to guide it to rest on top, near his collar. His own hand comes to rest higher on your back than you remember from class, almost on your shoulder blade.

It feels so proper, how you stand, how he holds you… Against the age-old music set to guide you and the Manor’s unchanged decor, you can almost see who he was before - the swish of a beaded skirt, the creak of a heavy cane - but then he speaks, heavy with shadow, and all you know is the darkness in your arms, here and now.

“Just a simple step. You remember a waltz?” You nod - did we dance this close together back then? “Good. Then you know to follow me. Stay relaxed...”

The idea of relaxing flies out of your mind the minute he guides you backward. All your mental energy is focused on not laughing in pure nervous surprise as he seems to get closer and closer before your muscle memory manages to kick in and you’re stepping back with him. You’re slightly out of sync, and he slows just so to catch up with you before he brings you back up to the pace of the song. “Relax,” he murmurs, dipping his head so much closer to yours than feels decent as he speaks, as if sharing a secret. “I have you.”

You certainly do, you think, immediately glad you’ve been practicing keeping your mind closed more often. With all the time you were spending with Dark in his off-hours, you had felt it was only fair that you didn’t overload him any further. That extra practice is coming in handy now as your thoughts swirl behind the dam you imagine holds them back from the general psychic public - your dance partner in particular.

True to his word, Dark keeps it simple, guiding you slowly around the open space, easily turning you in lazy patterns across the floor. And thank goodness for that - anything more complicated and you wouldn’t be able to balance it with how hyper-aware you are of everywhere the two of you touch, the feeling of his firm shoulder and crisp dress shirt under your hand, the skin of his palm against yours - softer than you’d imagined, with calluses inside his first finger from years of pen-writing.

All the same little anxieties bubble up, long-forgotten but haunting you now with a vengeance. Are you gripping him too tightly? Are you anticipating his movements too much? Is your hand getting sweaty, or is that normal? Can he hear you breathing funny? You’ve thankfully settled into a comfortable angle of faces, yours turned slightly to the left and down, eyes fixed firmly on the curve of his shoulder. You don’t think you could trust yourself to make eye contact just now. You can’t say how exactly Dark’s face is turned, though, so focused on keeping your eyes where they are and your thoughts in check that you haven’t looked - nor do you hear him speaking your name until he squeezes you ever so slightly.

You turn, bidden, and you’re practically nose to nose. His stark eyes are already watching you when you meet them, and it steals whatever shallow breath was in your lungs. Up close, you would think you would be able to discern a hint of color in his irises, find that they were really a dark, dark brown. But they are truly, completely black. And they watch you so carefully, thoughtfully, with barely any room to breathe between you.

Your face must betray how the proximity startles you, because you get treated to another of his small, almost imperceptible smiles. Up close. You can see how it pulls at his eyes, and you’re thankful now that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I… Yes?”

“You’re quiet,” he explains, after a beat.

“Do you… typically talk, dancing like this?” When did your throat get so dry? Dark chuckles, low and only for a moment.

“You can... But I was referring to your thoughts.” Uh oh.

“Oh…?” You try to sound normal, mildly interested instead of panicked, already floundering for what to say. Dark’s eyes flicker across your face, and you feel horribly exposed. As if, through the underbrush, you’ve just caught the gleam of a predator’s gaze.

“The closer you are, the more clearly I hear them. Yet…” He pauses, turning you past a low table. “I can barely hear you at all.” Then his voice grows softer, somehow, and your throat feels like it’s never known water. “Where did you go?”

“I…” You swallow fruitlessly, dropping your gaze back to his shoulder, to safety. What can you say to explain the sudden, obvious gap without blurting oh, it’s nothing, I only just realized I’ve been falling in love with you for the past couple of months when you asked me to dance and now I’m trying not to lose it while you hold me. “I’ve… been practicing,” you try. It’s the truth, at least. But you still can’t meet his eyes, though you feel them keenly observing you. “Didn’t… Didn’t want to be shouting at you, from, well... this close.”

He’s quiet then, focusing on sweeping you steadily around the room. The song has changed, your pace slowing somewhat to match the new one, and he takes the chance to guide you through a slightly more complicated step, jettisoning words in favor of taking you through a lazy spin before you fall back into the same step as before. You think you might have dodged a bullet as you settle into the movement, your gentle contact not so new and mind-reeling as it was when you started. But then he speaks, and the echo of his voice almost covers his words for how low it is.

“I… enjoy hearing your thoughts. Hearing you.” Dark’s hand holds yours more firmly as the one on your back brings you close to his chest. He’s practically cradling you against him, and you turn your face towards his in the moment to keep from being trapped looking away. You’ve never seen him make the face he’s wearing now - so serious, brow pulled just slightly, intent, yet that searching intensity has faded. Earnest . “I… I enjoy you. Unless you want your privacy, you are free to… be open with me. If you would like,” he's quick to add, his signature phrase that feels so much like as you wish.

You’re grateful he brings you to an easy stop, even as the music continues behind you because dancing has become beyond your grasp. Your eyes flicker across his shadowed face, mind scrambling as the dam you imagine creaks dangerously within. How much is too much? You hunt for clues in his expression, his face betraying so damn little like always, but then - then - his eyes flicker ever so briefly to your lips, and your eyes perceive a slightly darker shade of gray unfurling across his cheeks.

So you let go.

You don’t drown him in it, of course, but you allow your mind to open slowly once more. He inhales a forcibly steady breath, eyes searching yours once more as he processes, weighs, and finally draws you completely into him, head turning just so to finally fit your lips together in a kiss that feels like crisp, refreshing relief and wood smoke under a winter moon. You breathe in, feeling how cool he is to the touch, how steady he is under your hands, your kiss, even as his aura constantly roils.

Dark drops your hand to cradle your head and draw you further in, your arm finds its way around his broad back. His lips leave yours and you’re already starting to imagine your next kiss before he interrupts and gives it to you, a low sound in his throat and his hand bringing a tilt to your head that makes you incredibly thankful for how he’s holding you up. You kiss, and kiss, parting and rejoining in soft pecks and long presses that make the old standards you’ve bonded over sound like both the truest truths and palest lies.

Eventually, though, he withdraws, letting you catch your breath, soothing you with small kisses trailing from your lips to your jaw and back toward the joint of it and your neck. He’s adoring and unhurried - though the farther down his lips descend, the less air you can properly draw in. He slows on the softer skin there, hand still supporting your head where you tipped it back for him, and inhales gently as if he, too, needs to be steadied. His voice is a distant rumble, as much in your head as it is spoken. “Is my music really so moony...?”

It’s so sudden, your thoughts laid bare against the hint of his insecurity. A laugh bubbles up and out of you, breathless waves shaking your body. You only hold onto him tighter, and he squeezes you back in turn. You can feel him really smiling down against your neck, the pull of his lips and rounding of his cheeks evident against your sensitive skin. Why had you even tried to hide?

“The fact that you could sing any of them while gazing longingly at the stars should answer your question,” you tease, and he’s laughing with you, settling into just holding you close. “...but I like it. It’s romantic.”

“It was not my original intent, but...what wonderful results,” he murmurs, kissing your throat once more before coming back up, letting you catch your breath properly. How does he make the cheesiest things sound good?

“Mine either,” you admit. His brow quirks above warm eyes.

“No? What, then, was your intent in imagining how I chose to relax?” he asks, a wicked tease coloring his tone. You blink, and then heat rises up the back of your neck, your ears burn. He knew?? The whole time?????

“You could…” Your voice is distant as Dark draws the back of his hand softly across your cheek, fingers trailing the blush rising there. His eyes dip to follow it, watching it unfurl under your skin with the most damnably amused smile you’ve ever seen him wear. Damn him. Damn him, of course he knew!

“You should know doors can do very little to stop me…” You groan miserably. “But I liked it. It was romantic,” he continues, echoing you. It has such buried mirth that it only serves to embarrass you further, so you worm your arms against his chest, trying to push him off. He only chuckles that deep chuckle and holds you closer, lips pressing to your temple. “And so kind of you to want to protect me and my little moment… Did I really look so deliciously undressed...”

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” And here he had been playing coy this whole time! Letting you just dangle all your most embarrassing thoughts for anyone to see! You continue to struggle against him, if only to register your complaint. “You’ve completely ruined this, I hope you’re happy, you insufferable--” He dips and catches your lips again, humming and silencing your insults with his kiss. For all your indignant protesting, it’s impossible not to melt against him, your hands that tried to push him away stilling against his chest before sliding up to meet behind his neck. When he finally breaks your embrace, you huff softly. “I can’t believe you.”

He’s smiling, but sobers slightly as you hold each other, his eyes just taking you in. “...it was a comfort to me, to know I was not alone in my affection… despite all my hesitation in admitting it. I did say I enjoy hearing you for a reason, lamb.”

You’re melting, but then your nose wrinkles. “Lamb?” Dark tilts his head.

“Pet?”

“Why all the animal names?”

It’s his turn to huff, then. “It seems I am not as skilled as Wilford when it comes to terms of endearment.” Your nose wrinkles further, the rotating cast of gushy names the mustachioed man throws around only making you wince with laughter.

“Please, no, I know you can do better than those.”

Dark puffs up a little at that, somehow pleased by the implication. “I’ll have to put my mind to it when I’m fresh, then. But for now…” He draws back, taking your hand into his, the other sliding up your back and into position. “Shall we?”

“Gladly,” you murmur, and he leads you in an altogether different dance.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #ego fanfiction #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier #mad market pliers ramblings

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

1-800-Be-Mine | reader x minho | sfw

happy valentines day!! this lil fic of mine is something very new and different from what I’ve tried before and I’m so so excited to share it with you!!

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: fluff, sci-fi, futuristic au, valentines day special!

Tags: strangers to lovers, sci-fi au, futuristic au, blind date au, AI au with a twist, mentions of food and alcohol, featuring hyunjin, tiny heart-shaped confetti of comedy and rebelling against the man lol, fluffy growing feelings

Warnings: Minho’s character in this is an adorable, charming, feeling, AI robot. haha idk if this is a warning but it might not be everyone’s cup o’ tea, if so, that’s why I’m mentioning it :)

Tagging: @stayhavens thank you for allowing me to be a part of this event ❤️

Word count: 7.1k

“If it’s the color of your shirt that you’re worried about, I don’t think that he’s gonna care.”

“--I can’t believe that you’re putting me through this. I didn’t even ask for...whatever the hell this all is.”

“You’re getting worked up over nothing, Y/n. This whole thing is literally the lowest commitment thing that you could ever do on Valentines Day.”

For the twentieth time, you held up the shirt and hanger over your torso in front of you streak-stained mirror. It shouldn’t have mattered much, or even at all, but here you were, wondering what color a synthetic human would like on your body the most.

With feet in the air, your best friend swung his feet with pointed toes and eyes glued to his phone.

“Quit looking at me like that.” Hyunjin didn’t even need to rise his head up to feel your glare. “He’s programmed to forget about you the second that your time runs out, so, I really don’t know why you’re wasting your time over this.”

One more time, you switched the creamy white satin for the wine-red velvet.

“God, this is so depressing.” The shirt hangers clinked together where you threw them down on your bed. “It’s all your fault too.”

“I can’t see why you aren’t excited for this!! I literally made it so he’s perfect for you. There’s like, a 0% chance that this is gonna go badly. You could spit escargot into his lap or get his tie stuck in the car door and he’d still think that you’re the best thing ever. You can do no wrong.”

“That’s the point...”

The floor started to look a lot more appealing in your despair. If you were making a dramatic show for yourself or for you friend, you had no idea, but somehow it felt a little better letting your body sliiide down the side of the wall into a little pool of half-done make-up and hair still damp.

“Stop throwing a tantrum.” Hyunjin scolded. “You have to be there in 45 minutes.”

“What if I...just don’t show up?”

“Then, you’d be robbing me of $360 and the most expensive gift that I’ve ever gotten for you. And, you’d break my heart. I don’t wanna be heartbroken on Valentines Day. I’d hate you forever.”

“Nooooo you wouldn’t.” You tossed your forehead into the palms of your hands.

“I’d hate you for a month probably.”

“Don’t you have somewhere that you need to be?” As expected, your hands were smudged a bit from the tiny dusting of eyeshadow that you had added to your lids.

“I told you already, she doesn’t get off until 8 so I’ve still got time. Besides, I already set everything up back at the apartment. I’m in no rush.” At last, your friend cast aside his phone on the mattress with a bounce. “Get up. I’ll help you. You should still look nice anyway...even if he doesn’t care. This night is about you anyway.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Is satin supposed to feel scratchy...? What? Satin being itchy? ...You must be going crazy if you think--

“--Annnd we’re here!”

The wheels of Hyunjin’s less than glamourous car skidded in front of the hotel with an obvious screech. He was never one for being a good driver anyway. With the pull of his hand through is blond hair he nodded his head for you to open your door.

“Time’s ticking. It’s nearly 7.”

“--Jin--”

“I’m not explaining it again. Just go do the damn thing. You’re overthinking it. Like you do with everything...”

Your best friend rolled his eyes which were blue today: a part of his own Valentines Day outfit: that of which he looked much better than you thought you had. He had slung his arm over his steering wheel looking on, and even more impatient with you by the second.

“Is it a fucking crime to be nervous??”

Hyunjin laughed out sharply. “You’re so cute. ~Especially when there isn’t anything to worry about.~”

You flicked him hard on his perfect arm covered by his perfectly planned and billowy white top.

“Would you like to go out there and meet him if it’s so easy?”

After a subsequent eye roll, your friend reached his long arm to pop open the car door on your side. “You’re not going to make me drag you, are you?”

“I can get it myself.” You growled, shoving his hand away.

The February air was crisp, and just cold enough for your breath to appear lightly in front of your face. Immediately, you started to regret everything: the itchy satin shirt (which you guessed probably wasn’t satin) the stiffness of your styled hair, and the way that your feet felt in the pair of shoes that you had broken out just for the occasion. You had even put perfume on; something that a “strictly deodorant” person as yourself found to be suffocating and odd.

Do Mirrors even have a sense of smell?

On the busy street, cars whipped past with headlights of yellow and red, and the bustle of the holiday evening buzzed on the sidewalk with couples marching down the way arm and arm and hand in hand. The energy of the evening seemed vibrant almost as if the whole world seemed to be slightly more awake. The plastic heels of ladies in their best shoes clicked past.

“Good luck!”

Hyunjin mustered up the most genuine smile that you thought possible for him to craft considering it wasn’t genuine in the slightest.

“Text me about it tonight--or--actually, not tonight, I’ll be...” He obviously winked, “...busy tonight.”

“You’re disgusting!!”

You slammed the car door in Hyunjin’s snide smirk while he laughed out a “Love you!” before speeding away without a care.

The remnants of old snow caked up in the corners of the hotel where Hyunjin had arranged the date. The hotel itself was very old fashioned looking, almost like it had come right out of one of those old movies he would tease you for liking--it was probably why he had chosen it, you thought to yourself. There was a large golden marquee with a strand of lightbulbs tracing the edge all around it much like an old-timey theater, which gave the name for the hotel. At the doorway made of the same golden hue, there were attentive bellhops in matching blue velvet uniforms and leather gloves that they blew in to to keep their hands warm.

When you thought more of it, the night was a bit colder than expected, so you pulled your coat closer to your body. Hyunjin had suggested that you wear your pea coat, however it’s warmth factor wasn’t something to write home about. He had something about how it had made your arms look good...as if he would care anything like what your arms looked like.

You pulled out your phone with your cold fingers to find the information that Hyunjin had sent you.

Name: Lee Minho

Model: Generation Four

Specifications: Personalized

Service time: 7pm-12am

Instructions: Meet at the front entrance of the the hotel The Grand at exactly 7pm where the Mirror will be waiting. Mirror will look like: [see image]

You hovered your hand over the little see image tab. Before, you had decided that you didn’t want to see the picture, and rather leave it as a surprise. That was the thrill of a blind date, right? For a moment, you rationalized it as peeking so that you knew what he looked like so you could find him. You hovered, and hovered...

“No, I shouldn’t...” You whispered out to the open air while you shoved your phone back into your pocket.

“Excuse me?” One of those attentive bellhops had snuck behind you and rose a caring hand to your shoulder: an action which made you jump. “Is there anything that I can help you with? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh.” You straightened yourself. “Yes, I am waiting for someone. They’ll be here really--”

“--Is it me that you’re waiting for?”

He had strolled right up to you, and you could barely form the words on your mouth to say “yes.” You had heard the stories about Mirrors before, but as far as you had known, this was your first time ever seeing one this close...and you wouldn’t have even known that he was any different from the flesh and bones that you knew you had.

He was devastatingly handsome; the kind of handsome that models were. Every single one of his features seemed to be carefully planned and calculated down to the little freckle on his nostril and his nose bridge of a perfect angle. Even his physical proportions seemed to be perfect: his arm muscles curved in wonderful angles under his black suit jacket that had one button at the front. He was dressed simply: merely a black tux with a white button up underneath and a deep navy blue tie. His chocolate brown eyes were a bit unique, looking even slightly cat-like.

Not like you had a type, but if you were to have one, he definitely would have been it.

He smiled upon seeing you, and coolly adjusted his silver cufflinks which you noticed had an insignia on them that looked a familiar: it was that picture of the eye with the spokes around it, the symbol of 3rdEyeCorp. As expected, everything in life seemed to come with a branding: even synthetic humans.

“Should we go inside?”

His voice was gentle and soothing, the kind of voice that you knew could lull you to sleep or convince you to do things that you wouldn’t want to. It was a voice that could put you at ease, and you wondered if that was intentional. Perhaps Hyunjin had told them that at times you could be neurotic.

You finally squeaked out a, “Yes.” then followed him towards the soft glow of the magnificent building. He had slipped over past you to open the door, letting you enter first.

“Oh...thanks...”

As you passed him, you could have sworn that he smelled like some kind of citrus scent. In fact, you didn’t know that he could even have a smell. This was but one of the many questions that had been plaguing you for the past couple weeks since learning of Hyunjin’s plan.

It wasn’t that he smelled like a person: that kind of earthy scene mixed up with the lingering scent of shampoo on hair, or a bit of mint holding to the corners of your mouth after you had brushed your teeth right before you exited the door. Still, you didn’t mind the citrus, it was better than nothing at all, you assumed.

He walked up to the maître d with perfect posture, and it was then when you noticed that you were slightly shorter that he was. His suit was pressed, and a line ran down the back directly over his spine.

“2 for L/n?” He said properly, and it felt strange hearing your last name come from his mouth.

“Right this way.”

He looked back at you, almost as if to see if you were doing okay. He held a little glint in his eyes that looked careful, caring even. From the very few words that he had said to you, he still maintained a composure about him that was...human. He was comfortable.

The three of you reached the table with the ironed white table cloth, small bouquet of red roses and two flickering tea candles. The lighting of the room was dim as all restaurants such as this were, and there was a light hum about the room coupled with the occasional clink of silverware on China. There was a fireplace to the corner of the room, and the dense smell of expensive wine hung in the air.

The maître d placed down the menus. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

You thought the small action a bit comical. You were the only one who knew his secret. Still, he nodded with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

The satin fabric on your shirt scraped at your bare chest, and you attempted your slyest attempt at making a tiny itch look nonchalant. He picked up the menu with a few of his brown strands dipping over his eyes. You studied him as he looked it over, not having a clue why. You thought that you had heard somewhere that his kind couldn’t eat. Perhaps he was a new model.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t formally introduced myself yet.” He put the menu down with a little embarrassed smile. “I must’ve forgotten. I’m Lee Minho.”

“I know.” Your cheeks felt hot. “Uh-and I’m Y/n. But--you probably knew that too.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Smile lines crinkled under his eyes. It was the first imperfection you could find about him.

“Yo-you too.”

Minho reached out a slender and pale hand for you to shake and you stared it in a moment of fear. You had never touched a Mirror before, much less wondered what they felt like.

“I don’t bite.” He chuckled out a small laugh that was much too cute for his own good. His shoulders then appeared to relax and he allowed himself to slouch. “At least, my model doesn’t.”

You choked out an ugly chortle at the joke. “Ah. I see.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me. I promise that I feel like anyone else.”

You took it, jumping a little at the sensation. He was warm--not exactly like you expected him to be cold and metallic however. The skin of his hand was cracked and grooved as normal, and it was squishy as if you could feel the muscles that would be underneath.

With a warm grin, he soothed you saying, “See?”

‘Oh...mmhm.” You shook his hand firmly. “Holy shit that's really creepy.” You muttered the words as softly as you thought you could have.

“Creepy?” He laughed out again. “Should I be offended? No one has ever called me creepy before.”

“Oh! Um, s-sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“--It’s okay! I was just kidding. I completely understand. Especially if this is your first time meeting someone like me. It is your first time?”

You nodded drawing your hand back with the warmth from his hand still lingering on yours.

“Let me know if there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable. Seems like...we’re meant to be too.”

“--Meant to be?” You nearly dropped your cloth napkin to the ground.

“I mean, based off of your profile, they thought that I would be best suited for you. And you know...the programming and all that.”

“Oh! I guess so...”

Next, you thought it best to busy yourself with that glass of water that was looking very oddly refreshing.

“I meant to tell you as well that you look very nice. I think that color suits you very well.”

Drops of water got caught in your throat, “T-AHEM-this?” You pinched at the fabric.

Minho’s eyes widened at your sputtering coughs, signaling to a waiter to come fill your glass once more.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to say that?”

“No! No no, it’s...you’re fine. I was just a little surprised.”

“Surprised? Why?”

“I just didn’t think that you would...nevermind.”

Even though you had nearly choked yourself seconds ago, up went your water glass to your lips once more.

Minho fidgeted with his bangs with his pinky finger: a surprisingly vain little task. Under the dull lighting of the whole room, he did look very handsome; almost much too handsome to be in such a place with you. All at once, you became suddenly aware of the irregular patterns of those eyes peeking at you from their own tables with haughty and whispering words on their lips.

“You look...very nice as well.”

“Mm thank you.” As charming as ever, he gave a smile back. “This is my first time wearing this. I actually picked it out myself. I thought that you would like the color.” His pale fingers ran down the silk indigo tie.

“You thought about it too??”

“Thought about what?”

A snide smile crept over your mouth. Hyunjin could eat his words.

“Well do you? Like it?” A curious little smearing of worry painted Minho’s brow that was once again must too cute for his own good.

“I-I do like it.”

In all honesty, Minho would have looked good in anything, you thought, no matter how ridiculous. Under the thin white cotton of his shirt, you could see his toned pectorals as well. One pinch to the side of your leg was just enough to scold yourself.

He looked around himself in a bit of a silent wonder: from the rafters of the high ceilings painted in gold leaf, to the speakeasy on the far edge of the room with the posh looking bartender.

“I always thought that places like this were kind of stuffy.” He wrinkled his nose.

“You...what?”

“There's always someone at one table wondering if they look better, rank higher, or are more successful than the person at the other. Don’t you think the same?”

“I mean...I think they do keep looking us?”

“Ah. I noticed that too.”

Minho looked around himself carefully, then leaned in closer towards you. “Do you think that they know that I’m...you know?”

You snorted out a laugh covered by your hand. “What? No? How could they?”

“A hunch.”

“Can you even get hunches?”

“I may be a robot, but I can still read a room.”

You hushed him, “Shhhh! Say that any louder and then they’ll really know.”

A waiter in a black apron sauntered up to your table with a thin moustache and a big of a sagging face. He looked a bit less like a real waiter and more like a cartoon one.

“Good evening. Have you finished looking over the menus? Perhaps a bottle of wine to start you off? We have a new house merlot that I would highly recommend.” He reached a spiny finger to point at the name on your menu. “It would pair particularly well with our specials tonight. Seeing as it is Valentines day--”

The droning of the waiter continued on, and you had noticed that Minho wasn’t paying any attention at all. Rather, he had settled his gaze on the flickering of the candles, and the yellow light sparked in his pupils. For mere seconds, you could see something a bit different about them: a extremely thin circle of blue-white light around his irises.

The waiter pulled out his pad with an expectant gaze.

“Uh-yeah, I-I’ll take that. That--whatever-you-just-mentioned.”

He appeared puzzled. “You wish to start with the special orange Crème Brule first?”

“Ah-no! Sorry, can you..” You cringed, “Repeat what you just said?”

He rolled his eyes, but did respectfully as he was told while you sunk further into your chair with Minho’s teasing smirk. This time you listened to the specials, even though you decided you didn’t even want one, but rather picked one of the cheapest items on the menu. That was one of the drawbacks of paying for your date: he had no obligation to pay for your meal.

The waiter looked even more puzzled when Minho said he wasn’t ordering anything, but shrugged, burying his pad back into his pocket saying, “I’ll be over with the wine shortly.”

“Do you want to know something?” Minho leaned back in once the waiter was out of an earshot.

You treated yourself to yet another sip of your emptying glass, and nodded.

“There’s at least four others like me in here.”

“Four? How can you know?”

“I think I’d know my own kind when I saw them.”

“I would never be able to tell.”

The waiter returned, showing the label to the wine to both of you before popping it open and pouring it into glasses with the twist of his wrist. Two drops from the crimson top stained the little napkin he used.

Minho’s hands toyed with the stem of the glass, but didn’t take a sip.

“That’s why they call us Mirrors.”

“How do you mean?”

“Because you’re supposed to see yourselves in us.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your body had started to warm with the energy of the room after long, and your appetizer of escargot had arrived. Oddly, since Hyunjin had mentioned it before, it embedded in you an odd craving that you couldn’t satisfy until you had some. By now, you had realized that Minho likely wouldn’t have been eating with you, but it was strange: even the other Mirrors in the room appeared to be.

“I’m assuming that you can’t eat then?” You popped the buttery taste into your mouth.

“Yes. It doesn’t make sense for my...biology. If you can call it that. I can’t digest food nor do I have the mechanisms to do so.”

“Maybe we should have done something that didn’t include food then.”

“I do have something though! I know that eating alone like this can be uncomfortable.”

He grabbed inside his inside suit pocket and pulled out a wallet: thin and black leather. It had almost nothing in it save for what looked like a iridescent square. Over top of it was the same logo on his cufflinks. He flipped it around his fingers like a playing card.

“What is it?”

“My dinner.” He sated matter-of-factly.

“You’re gonna...eat that? Maybe you shouldn’t--”

He placed it neatly in front of himself, pressing the surface and it morphed into some kind of three dimensional polygon shape of pixels, both large and small, until it settled into a perfect copy of your dish that you had sitting in front of you.

“It’s holographic.”

“Of course it is.”

“Newest in tech at 3rdEye. This is my first time using one. They thought it would be a good idea to send the prototypes out with the Mirrors tonight for the beta test. What do you think?”

“It’s very...realistic.”

“It’s pocket sized, and it can really transform into anything that you could want, but of course...its still not really solid. Perfect for me though.”

He took a bite of his escargot with an equally holographic fork.

“I imagine that it tastes very good.”

“You can’t taste things?”

“Unfortunately, no. Since I don’t need to eat, don’t know why I would need to. I’ve got all the other senses though.”

The house merlot was bitter on your tongue and full bodied. You couldn’t imagine what your life would have been like without taste. He chewed on, and somehow the action really did seem comforting.

“You’re very um, open about yourself. You know...talking about yourself so bluntly. I feel like some people when they do these things, they just want to keep on that suspension of disbelief as long as they can; pretending that you're--”

“--A real person?”

You hadn’t intended on it coming off as insulting, and a “sorry” formed on your lips.

“--I’m not offended. And, you’re right. Most people do. But, I could sense that you were different. I don’t have a problem telling you about me. Something told me that you would like to know.”

“Something?”

“Enough about me though, lets talk about you. You’re a doctor aren’t you?”

“-For animals. Nothing too crazy. I’m working up my way to have my own practice some day. For now, I’m just doing nurse type stuff. Giving immunizations, checking teeth and stuff like that.”

“I read your thesis. The one from your pre-vet. I thought that your research was very interesting. How come you didn’t continue on with animal behavior?”

His string of questions made you crack out into laughter. Never had anyone you had ever dated said that they had read up on you.

“I can’t believe that you just said that.”

“What? I had assumed that you might want to talk about something that interests you like that.”

“That was...so long ago, I don’t even think about that paper anymore.”

Minho took some of his wine down with a polite dab of his napkin to his lips.

“How about hiking then? Or those Frank Capra movies that you like? Which one is your favorite?”

“Stop, stop. This is--”

His eyes widened. “Did I misspeak again? Your friend said that it would be okay if we did the proper research--”

“--Just...sorry, it’s strange that you know everything about me already and we’ve hardly just met.”

“I’m not following.”

“Can you just...forget like, everything you know about me for a minute? This is supposed to be a blind date isn’t it?”

“I can do that.” Minho tightened his tie.

“How about we talk about something else?”

Minho nodded in agreement with a determined tiny grin. “I can tell you about what I do?”

“You have a job?”

Your prompt waiter appeared with a giant silver platter which glinted in the light of the numerous dancing candles around it. The ceramic plates clinked into the glasses assorted on the table, and he lastly offered out freshly grated parmesan for your pasta. You said “when” and he was just as quickly out of your way, but not after granting the both of you one more questioning glare.

“Yes.”

Your date flipped over his holographic square, and soon it transformed into another spitting image of your meal.

“I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a college professor of ornithology but since we’re being blunt here, my job is working for 3rdEye, and doing basically whatever they ask of me. Including this. And actually...” He twisted a string of noodles around his fork. “...I think that it’s going pretty well.”

A quick giggle erupted out from you. “I’m glad that we’re being honest because you do not look like someone who teaches twenty somethings about birds.”

“But if I had said I did, would that have made you like me more?”

“Maybe. I’m sure that they picked that because I did graduate research on migration and flight patterns.”

“Likely.”

“Maybe I should have stuck with animal behavior. Then we would have had more to talk about.”

A silence filled the space between you as you tried your best to eat your pasta with as much grace as you could. Of course, you were still one to get it on your lap and the table cloth, but luckily you had a napkin to protect you. Your date on the other hand, ate as if he was eating with the queen herself. For several moments, you really did allow yourself those brief moments of ignorance: you really were just two people, sitting in a fancy restaurant on Valentines Day, eating a meal together, on a date, as an normal two people would do. Every few moments too, he would look at you with a type of gentle adoration in his eyes too.

And it felt nice.

It really was as effortless as Hyunjin had said. You would be eating your words on this one.

At last, you had scraped out the last chunks of tomato and vegetable bites from your shallow dish, and you sat back which a sense of drowsiness clinging to your eyes. Over time, you had slumped deeper and deeper into your chair as you felt your body warm with the fireplace. You didn’t mean to look, but your watch had read just past 9 o’clock.

“That all tasted good.” Minho sighed, and slumped along with you.

“I thought you couldn’t taste?”

“Ah. You’re right. Well, I enjoyed eating that with you. Did it taste good?”

“It did.”

“Should we get some of that orange Crème Brule from earlier?”

You folded up your napkin on the table. “You mean should I get some of that Crème Brule? I’m the one paying here remember?”

“Are you?”

With the stretch of your arms, you answered, “Not today. I don’t have that doctor’s pay...yet.”

“But shouldn’t you eat something sweet on Valentines Day? Isn’t that also what its about?”

You laughed, “I don’t know where you heard that, but no, it doesn’t.”

“Ah, I see. My understanding of the holiday is very jumbled. Holidays are like that for us. The sort of emotional attachment to them is hard for us to understand. I’ve watched millions of hours of films to understand them...but--”

“--Millions?”

“Yes?”

“That’s…insane.”

“Not for me.” He said with a happy little grin. “Should we be leaving?”

In one motion, he swept up his shirt sleeve, just over his wrist where you had expected him to have a watch. Instead, a faint blue glow emerged on his skin making letters and numbers that you couldn’t read as well from upside down.

“Hm. 3 more hours. What else would you like to do with our time together?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The winter cold bit at your ears while the two of you walked together down the busy urban stretch. Even later into the night the giddy excitement of friends ambling down the streets and couples linking to eachother with tipsy happiness could still be found everywhere. You barely knew him, but you still felt in some way compelled to reach out and interlock your arm with his as those other couples did. You had a half a mind to reach out to him, but another half a mind to keep your arms wrapped around yourself.

But, as if he had read your mind, he reached out his hand behind him to quietly slip your arm into his.

“Put your hands in your pockets.” He asked, and you did so. “I figured that you must be cold, so...my body heats itself too, makes me more...you know.”

He was warm. Much warmer than your entire body felt had felt then, but still you noted that the tips of his ears and nose had turned pink.

“Where to?” He questioned next.

“I-I’m not sure. I didn’t think this far.”

“I could pick?”

“You know where to go?”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “There’s a place that I wouldn’t mind going to. Do you know how to skate?”

“Ice...skate?”

He huffed out with a tiny smile, and you noticed that when he did, no visible molecules could be seen in front of his face.

“Do you? I can pick something else? It’s not everyone’s skill.”

“N-no. I can do it.”

You don’t know why you had said it: perhaps you felt as if you had something to prove to this inhuman person, or you really did want to go there with him, no matter where it was.

You had never learned how to skate in your life.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The ice rink was lined with pink and white string lights: likely a Valentines Day decoration. Plastic hearts made of fuzzy tinsel also decorated the edges of the rink and sparkled under the lights. It had been built into the center of a public park, and bodies huddled in winter coats sat together on the benches to the side, waving at those they knew when they slipped past. Tinny music played over the outdoor speakers: it was some pop song that you had heard before, but didn’t know the name of.

Minho laced up your skates for you, and even then you noticed that his knuckles had turned pink too.

“Are you...cold?”

“Oh! This?” He turned his hands around. “No, I’m not. it’s just another one of my humanisms.”

“Humanisms?”

“Something to make me look more like you. When it’s cold outside my body senses it and does this.”

“I see.”

Even if you knew that he couldn’t possibly feel things in the same why, he was damn convincing--and you couldn’t help but think it was unbearably cute as well.

“Done! You ready? You can take my hand if you want?”

You stood wobbly as a deer taking its first steps. Walking on the blades was much more difficult than you would have guessed. He didn’t need to ask twice for you to grab hold.

“I’m assuming that you know how to do this?”

“There’s a lot of things that I know how to do.” He winked.

The second that your feet met the ice, you felt your heart start beating into overdrive with your anxiety of falling. Over the ice, it too felt colder, and that didn’t help much either. With one hand you clawed to the side of the rink, and the other dug into Minho’s arm.

“I thought that you said that you knew how to skate?”

“I lied. I’m gonna fall on my fricking face and its gonna be the most embarrassing thing ever. Worse than spitting escargot into your lap.”

“Spitting escargot? What?”

“Just--can you help me?”

He tittered with an adorably warm laugh and grabbed back at you firmly. “I won’t let go.”

Even the toddlers in their little training bumpers were more skilled than you. Minho was patient, and coached you through the skills of the left and right motions of your feet and getting into a rhythm. You still flapped your arms around wildly like a wobbly penguin, but he was eventually able to coax you away from the wall.

“See! You’re getting the hang of it!”

“Really?”

Minho nodded profusely, letting go of both of your hands to hold just one. “Stop looking at your feet and just look at me. You’ll trip yourself up focusing so hard.”

Other couples whipped past you, and you thought it best not to look at how easy it was for them.

“I-I think that I’m doing it!”

Minho’s eyes lit seeing you start to swing your feet back and forth. In that pink lighting of the rink, you could see that thin ring of light around his eyes once more. Even though it was unnatural, you still thought that it looked beautiful.

“WATCH OUT!!” Came a distant voice from behind you.

Before you had a second to turn around, a fuzzy blur came barreling into you. Two small bodies: a couple middle school boys chasing each other, came colliding with your teetering body, forcing you to fall to the hard ice with a terrible thud.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” One of their pre-pubescent voices cracked.

“I-I’m fine...I think.”

Your air had been knocked right out of your lungs and your butt ached with a sharp pain that you hoped you wouldn’t be feeling for days. Both of your hands were wet with ice from the contact. Minho quickly offered you his hand up.

“-You okay?” He brushed ice off of your coat.

Truthfully, you were horribly shaken, and your chest shook, but you lied once more. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“No you’re not.” His worried eyes studied you. “Lets get you something warm to drink okay?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“One hot chocolate please.”

Minho fiddled with his wallet, picking out that same iridescent square from before. As soon as his fingers touched it, it glimmered into a credit card.

“It can do that?” You had uttered, but he gave you back a cautious glare.

The man at the little coffee stand took it without question, and somehow, it worked.

“$3.15″ He monotoned, and gave the card back.

The white Styrofoam cup warmed your hands instantly, and the chocolatey steam delighted your nostrils.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. I wanted to.”

You took a sip, but a strange silence befell over your date, and he furrowed his brows.

Under his breath, he repeated the word “...wanted?”

The further that you walked along the river together, the less that you wanted to take another look at your watch where it peaked out from your coat sleeve. You imagined that it must have been nearing almost 10:30--optimistically. Instead, you took long and purposeful sips of of your drink and indulged in the way that the heat would seep down from your throat and all the way down your body.

Onward, one of the great and massive bridges of the city blinked with an array of multicolored lights: some from cars, others from the way that it was decorated to look a bit like shining stars. Under the lights, the navy-black of the river reflected the fractals of light. The walkway was nearly empty of people except for the odd couple sitting and cuddled up by the edge of the water. The water should have been frozen, but it didn’t appear to be giving up just yet.

Your companion had drawn quiet with eyes cast down to his walking feet. You had half a mind to reach out to him...

“Is there anything you would like to do?” Your question filled the quiet, but you didn’t expect him to stop in his steps upon hearing it.

“Are you asking me if there is anything that I want do to?”

“Yes...?”

Minho was again quiet, then turned to look at the vast expanse of the cityscape in front of you both.

Suddenly, he began, “Valentines Day is a holiday that has to do with loving, doesn’t it?”

You stammered at the question in your confusion, but still answered. “Yes.”

“You express love on the holiday? You show people that you love them, and that you care for them. Right?”

“I think so...but why are--”

“--What do you think that it means to love something?”

Distantly, cars honked, and music boomed out from drawn down windows, and it floated in the evening air.

For you, loving was something that was second nature. It was little bits of happiness, fuzzy feelings, but it also ached, and felt like being lost. How could you possibly begin to describe what it meant?

Minho’s eyes were full of intrigue and even maybe a twinge of desperation. Could Mirrors even hold such a thing in their eyes?

“I-I’m not sure how to cover it all, but, I guess that I could say that loving something, or someone, is to want them. You want to be around them, you want to see them laugh or smile, you want to make them feel that you care. I don’t think that it is much more complicated than that.

The man appeared even more confused, almost like he had been computing his own mental calculations right before his very eyes. Then, all at once, his eyes softened.

“If loving something is to want it; to have desire, desiring is the first step? Love must be simplier than I thought that it was, and maybe...I think that I can do it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Minho swept up his hands in yours after casting aside the cup to the ground.

“You asked me if I wanted to do something. But the thing is...I don’t think I’ve ever wanted do to anything ever before in my life. It was just, what others wanted of me and what I colud do for them. Not me.”

Realization swept over Minho piece by piece, and soon it all unfolded for you too.

He drew your arms and hands around the back of his neck to pull your body closer to his.

You might’ve looked before, but his lips looked soft and unbelievably sweet: like melting snowflakes, whipped cream, or the fuzzy flesh of peaches.

“I do want something.” He said at last.

“Minho...what are you saying?”

“I-I can’t tell if what it is that I’m feeling is some kind of algorithm, or I’m just...you’re so...different.”

“I hope that you’re not just saying this all--”

“--I’m not! I’m not. I promise...an-and Mirrors can’t lie.” He laughed out. “How can you make a machine that’ll lie to you?”

His hands crept up your sides, and all the way up to cup your face in his hands.

He was impossible. In every way, but he was real. As real as the warmth from his hands and as real as the way that his mouth appeared to wet with saliva and how you could count the tiny moles on his face.

“Well, what is it that you--”

He had drawn your face close up into his, then closed any space that divided the two of you. Your lips parted with his into a meeting of his plush lips that were even softer than you had imagined. Even though you knew he couldn’t taste it, you flooded the taste of chocolate into his mouth, and your body shivered in the way that he ran his tongue over your bottom lip. He wasn’t intrusive, but rather curious, and thrilled. Any semblance of him that was any less than the skin that you felt on yours faded, and you poured yourself all back to him. His fingers held fast to the sides of your face while he kissed back every with every bit of him that he could. Even in the one moment when your eyes had fluttered open, he held his eyes closed, to focus only on you. Your own wondering hands laced into his fuzzy locks.

Each and every kiss that he painted across your lips was laced with indescribable want: something that he shouldn’t have even known, but you could feel it. He echoed the smile that you had pressed into his lips.

“I just want to be with you tonight. Just a bit longer. No more timers.” Minho whispered onto your mouth, barely breaking.

On the one hand, his request terrified you. A Mirror, one who you thought to be unfeeling, pre-programmed, an empty shell, wanted you. But still, you couldn’t control yourself from wanting him back, and everything about him that you knew and didn’t know. Wanting him, was the simplest thing you could have done.

“I-I want that too.”

His smile was thankful, and suddenly every little way that his eyes would crinkle or the corners of his mouth would upturn seemed more genuine.

Minho traced your hands to the back of your his neck where he guided them to the tip of his spine.

“Touch here.” He guided your fingertip over what felt like a bone. “Press down.”

You did so, and the patch of skin sunk down a bit like a button. You held his eyes which flickered wholly with that blue-white light you had taken notice of before.

“Say “Bypass LK2510.” “

He held your finger down still, and you repeated the phrase, watching as the light vanished all at once, even that thin ring around his irises.

“What did that do?”

Minho blinked a couple time like he was ridding sleep from his eyes, then beamed with a grin that only got wider and wider. “They shouldn’t know where I am for a while. You disabled my tracker.”

“I did what??? Can’t I get in trouble for that??”

“Not when I made you do it.”

In his delight, he pressed his lips back up against yours with a kind of light air that was ecstatic and hurried--it was contagious, and the feeling swept over you until you were just as giddy. You were nearly as giddy as a school child reveling in the mischief of knowing what they were doing was against the classroom rules.

Your chest swelled with nervous excitement, but it wasn’t nearly as addictive as any drug that you could imagine.

��Where do you want to go now?” You asked him with hands clinging to the sides of his coat.

“Anywhere.”

[nsfw version/ending coming soon on binniesthighs!]

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Text

I got another request for the hostage prompt! The previous posts will be linked below, but here's the newest of the lineup!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Perceptor

·You knew better than most how to keep a lid on impulsive actions, a trait that has both served you well and made your relationship with the stoic microscope develop quite quickly. However, like your partner, you absolutely have limits. As you enter what feels like the millionth hour of your captivity, you can feel yourself reaching them. There's plenty of stressors to account for the growing rage in your body, but you know the biggest is the bot keeping you prisoner as a part of their foolish scheme to get quick cash for the Lost Light's "beloved mascot". Particularly, their endless taunting of your partner is proving too much to endure, and you can feel your boiling point coming in fast. One final quip about Perceptor's "useless" alt mode proves to be your ignition point.

·Though you're hardly an intimidating figure dangling from your chains, your voice erupts with enough fury to draw your captor's attention without hesitation, and you use that undivided attention to let them know exactly how you feel. Firstly on your list of grievances is their juvenile and ear grating attempts to be clever while insulting your beloved scientist. "Do you know anything about warping reality? Time traveling? Rearranging molecules?! No?! Then what makes you think you're fit to look down on someone who can?!" There's no reply beyond shocked gaping, giving you the freedom to continue and let out everything you've been building up for the past few hours, particularly in regards to comments made on your own relationship. "Let's not forget; mocking him for dating a human? Big talk coming from some isolated loser in a cave!"

·You're not at all intimidated when the bad bot abandons their communication console to try threatening you into silence, even as they raise their hand with the supposed intent to strike. You only laugh at the exhausting absurdity of it all. Will they really risk losing their one shield against the entire Lost Light? Newsflash; you're the only thing standing between them and some of the toughest (and thanks to them; angriest) bots in the galaxy! Oh, and the one leading that charge, your paramour and soon to be rescuer? If bending physics to his will isn't sufficient, he can always go for the next best option, sniping. "Did you know he's the best sniper the Autobots have ever seen? He can probably hit the tiny, almost nonexistent processor of yours that came up with this plan! He works miracles with that gun!"

·Unable to silence you, the bad bot is looking torn between fear and anger at your defiant but very true words. Finding shouting to be a breath of fresh air, you decide to keep going, having more fun than you've had in ages talking up your beloved and underappreciated partner. "Heck, Percy doesn't even need to stage a rescue! He's stabilized and destabilized entire timelines, maybe he's rewriting history as we speak! Maybe he'll make it so you prevent your own forging; I can't wait to find out!" At the somewhat exaggerated but not at all impossible threat, your captor makes some excuse and starts up their security measures, looking beyond paranoid at the prospect of being erased. You go off on another tangent, this time regarding Perceptor's precision in finding "other" important targets in less innocent ways, but are stopped by an unexpected power outage plunging everything into darkness.

·There's a great deal of noise immediately following, but what stands out is a series of powerful gunshots, all of which ring out just before security turrets burst into pieces in the darkened cave. Amidst the chaos you hear your captor cry out and fall, but when the lights flicker on a moment later you see they've been immobilized but left otherwise unharmed by a perfectly placed shot. Crewmembers swarm the area in seconds, and before you can blink in the awe inspiring calculation of the plan that's just unfolded before you, there's a beautiful blue visor at your eye level. Perceptor is actually smiling, albeit softly, as he holsters his rifle and cuts you free. Plopping into his cupped hands, you swear the stoic scientist looks happier than you've ever seen him the entire walk back to the ship, his smile never leaving his face in the hours that come after your rescue.

·Percy is, by his standards, effusive in his love and affection going forward. There's no way to predict when he'll lift you for a loving nuzzle or a gentle kiss, so you grow to expect them always, as it's hardly a burden to be so loved. In a rare moment of isolation afterwards, a bot quietly informs you of something that happened while you were held hostage. Perceptor had actually shed tears when he heard you speak, albeit only a few, but his raw emotion at your defense has been obvious to everyone. No one had ever done such a thing for him, and it seemed the reality of your affection had overwhelmed him. Clearly he's still not used to being loved. Touched by the thought, you make an effort to be equally loving in the future, and he absolutely deserves it. You love this bot, alt mode and all. It's hard not to dare anyone to try and deny your obvious love for a bot so deserving of it.

Rung

·Like your quiet partner, you're a very even tempered individual, and thus yelling tends to be an absolute last resort. Some find it almost impossible to get a rise out of you. But today? Chained up against your will and listening to some bully taunt your friends and partner for hours on end? No one could blame you for lashing out after enduring a few minutes, let alone hours. Yet, for the sake of keeping the situation under control, you'd actually managed to keep a lid on your rage and frustration for some time. It wasn't until your captor had begun reverting to taunting Rung by purposefully getting his name wrong that you'd snapped, red filling your vision as the bully gleefully mocked your partner with what agonized him the most. All bets were now officially off.

·Had you been able to free yourself, you'd have probably attempted to turn your chains on your captor, but as it was you released your fury purely by shouting. First, you called them out for being such a juvenile and pathetic individual they'd felt the need to gloat despite having secured you already. Clearly they've got some serious self confidence issues if they need to hide behind a hostage to boast! Barely pausing for breath, you glare right into their shocked expression as you lay into them for mocking your partner, spelling and enunciating his name since they seem to be having so much trouble with a four letter word. The bad bot is still so surprised they haven't quite gathered themself from the initial shock until they're across the cave and in your face.

·When they refer to Rung as a "weakling" however, they unleash a fresh wave of rage. Do they actually know who they're talking about?! Rung?! The bot who walks away from crashes with only cuts and bruises? Not to mention; he's quite capable with a spear, does this bot even know what he's in for?! "I understand pronouncing his name right may be a bit beyond you, but did you even bother to look into him at all? He's been analyzing bots longer than you've been alive! He knows your next move before you do! He's saved our entire reality by talking!!" Admittedly the passion for your partner provides ample fuel for you to keep talking, as the poor bot is dealt bad hands far too often to have to put up with jerks like this.

·At threats to be silent you're only emboldened, as it's clear you're making quite a dent in your captor's confidence. Knowing they can't risk hurting you, and being too fed up to care if they try, you continue on your valiant crusade. "Rung has been a therapist for the toughest bots in the galaxy during their biggest emotional crises! Forget letting fear stop him, you could be ten times the villain you are and he wouldn't flinch!" Though your partner may not be one to inspire fear, particularly as his best traits are his endless ability to forgive and boundless compassion, you go off on those features regardless. There's nothing you don't want to go on about to flaunt what an incredible bot you're dating. On a roll, you start to get into what unexpected prowess he has in "late night sessions" when the door built into the cave suddenly implodes just as your captor is attempting to flee.

·In the rush of bots that destroy the security systems and pounce on the captor to get a punch in for making fun of their friend, you're suddenly lifted by tender and loving hands to look into a brilliant pair of bespectacled optics, and you realize that Rung has never before looked so wonderfully happy. There's a depth of emotion new to him as he uses a laser scalpel to carefully cut you free, and you're compelled to hug him tightly as he holds you close, his spark almost singing into your ear as you cuddle him. Gentle reasurances that you're fine now, that he loves you, and that you don't need to worry about being taken ever again are whispered the entire walk back to the ship. You'd swear he has a tone that borders on reverence. Frankly you're just happy to be free and back with him, though you're amused by how boundless his love for you is in the following days. Rung barely lets you walk anywhere and showers you with kisses every chance he gets.

·In a rare moment of solitude, a bot takes advantage of the opportunity to let you know something very important, saying that you deserve to hear what happened while you were kidnapped. Though he remained as in control as ever, it had been obvious to the entire ship he'd been wracked with guilt and worry from the start, and that hearing your captor taunt him had only made the torment worse. Your outburst had actually driven him to jump up and put his glasses back on, his stoic exterior shattering as his jaw dropped in shock and awe. He's so accustomed to being forgotten, that to be defended so aggressively doesn't initially compute. Witnesses swear he lit up in a blush that rivaled the Matrix at full power. He'd worried immensely for you of course, but hearing the intensity of your love for him... Some would swear afterwards he'd shed tears.

Skids

·Your partner does not take anything lying down, but unfortunately enough for you, you're dangling from chains and in a rather precarious situation to boot. Though you'd like to lay into the bot keeping you prisoner, logic is winning for now. It doesn't take a genius to know you're in no place to get mouthy. Not that said strategy is at all easy; your captor is a gigantic jerk! They've been bragging to your poor friends for hours, with a special taunting emphasis on Skids and his "inability" to protect his small human significant other. Rage begins to boil just below the surface before long, yet a commitment to keeping a lid on the feeling works surprisingly well for a while. However, you blow your top the second your captor makes a jab about Skids having to resort to human companionship in the wake of his "amnesia leaving him no friends to speak of".

·Having spent plenty of time getting tipsy with your lover, you've picked up his brilliant talent for cursing and allow it to run free. The wave of profanity alone is enough to make your captor freeze, to say nothing of your incredible volume and the unyielding rage in your voice. "Are you KIDDING me you cheap knock off of a forgetable movie villain?! You're picking on his amnesia?! Skids doesn't need many memories to know how to kick your scrawny aft!" There's so much anger you're actually surprised by the depths of your own rage, but letting it out just feels too good for you to care, so you let the love for your partner fuel the tirade on his behalf.

·Far too angry to even register fear, you don't tone it down in the slightest when commanded to shut up. If anything, it only incenses you further. What, can they not handle a target capable of talking back? Did their brilliant plan not account for people not falling for their tough guy act? Because if so, they're really screwed once Skids gets here. He knows how to move covertly on their own ship, what makes this jerk think they'll see him coming? And these useless defense systems won't save them, your partner has torn through way more and come out intact! "He's squared up against whole squadrons and not flinched, what makes you think you stand a chance?! He knows I can handle myself long enough to take care of you!"

·Wishing you had a drink to help the words flow a little smoother, you nevertheless find great satisfaction in the pause you're giving your captor. Clearly they hadn't looked into Skids deeply enough before kidnapping his beloved little partner. Still, you're far from done with getting even. This loser insulted the greatest and most confounding mystery of the bot you love, and you have no intention of letting that go. As they go off to recalibrate their insufficient security systems, you start to go on about how Skids acts on instinct in combat, to the point he's like nothing most bots have ever seen. You're so fired up you almost start to gush over his natural prowess and instinctive drive in the bedroom when a most peculiar sound silences you along with everything else.

·From a climate control vent carved straight into the rock overhead, there's a loud rumble before the cover simply falls off, crashing to the ground before a blue blur tumbles out to start swinging a sword. You'd swear that a single blink is all it takes before Lost Light crewmembers start pouring in as backup. There's just enough time for you to see your captor captured in a most indignifying way before a thick accent is laughing with delight upon seeing you. The flash of a blade follows and you're caught in cupped servos that bring you in for a powerful hug, leaving you laughing helplessly in turn as your beloved begins gushing over you in the accent you so adore. Skids is positively beaming the entire trip back to the ship, his smile absolutely radiant as he goes back and forth between declaring his love and praising everything about you.

·While he's always been affectionate, the lovable bot amps it up to new levels over the course of the next few days. Cuddles happen almost every minute he's with you, and frequent trips to Swerve's see him treating you with every drink you want and becoming a flustered mess that stares at you in lovestruck awe. When he goes to fetch another round one night, a happy bystander let's you know he was shattered by your kidnapping, only to turn around at your show of utter bravery and devotion. Anger had turned to awe at how his tiny partner had stood up for him, bringing a kind of peace to him that went beyond reasurance you were okay. Having heard you defend him, despite him being a bot with no past, had made him truly see that he could indeed be worth something just for being what he was. Someone as wonderful as you wouldn't want him otherwise.

#my writing #my asks #requests #transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light imagine #lostlight #lost light #ll #idw #tf #perceptor x reader #rung x reader #skids x reader #human reader #self insert #transformers imagine

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 23

First time reader click here

TW/Summary: brucetony x reader PRON. You have finally reached the point where there is real ✨spice✨. Also, m/m kissing. There will be mild m/m action from now on in the fic. I cannot stay away from the gay and I refuse to apologize. Brucetony nation how we feelin'?

I padded quietly behind the glass divider, stripping off my lab coat and protective glasses to deposit them on the nearest flat surface. My joints popped as I stretched.

Bruce and I spent a lot of time in the lab together lately as Tony and Pete worked together on the kid's Spider Suit, something that was a tad above my level of understanding. I was much better with chemicals and cell division than I was with thermonuclear physics, me and Pete were two sides of the same coin. It was only recently that I had noticed exactly how much our respective science fields of choice complemented each other and it was a blessing that Tony and Bruce made us a little corner in their respective labs, a few square feet where I and Pete could literally do anything we wanted to.

A year ago, I would have said that science is a hobby of mine and not something I wanted to do full time. I was fully prepared to commit to medical or law school, to grow into a prestigious career that would multiply my wealth and acquire me friends in high places. My parents certainly expected me to continue cultivating the image of our family empire.

I wasn't so sure anymore. Tony and Bruce were so fucking happy in their little worlds, getting lost in their labs for days on end, creating, reinventing the world every single day. There weren't any words meaningful enough to describe how it made me feel, seeing my two men just vibing in their element. It seemed glaringly stupid the most famous thing they were for was the superhero side-gig they had, they were so much more than cannon fodder planet Earth considered them to be.

At some point during the night, Tony called for Bruce to assist him with a new feature on his suit, a kind of a very condensed, targeted explosive. These days Tony didn't hold back from discussing Stark trade secrets around me anymore, so I sent Bruce on his merry way and finished his tasks for him, carefully replicating his style of taking notes and observing the reactions. As usual, Friday ran most of the calculations so my brain wasn't muddled too much by annoying math. Out of four of us, Peter was the only crazy person to actually like doing the math - the spider bite must've screwed with his brains, I guess.

I would've been content to just hang back and observe the men thinking, but Bruce took notice of me hovering by the exit. The scientist froze and just looked back at me for a minute, eyes round and soft. I missed the exact moment my mouth curved into a warm smile and the time Bruce's goofy grin made an appearance.

"You done, Princess?" He asked, gesturing to his lab.

I nodded, padding over to him, easily settling into the warmth of his open arms. Tony smiled at me briefly, distracted by the equations on the holo-screens, reaching over to peck me on the cheek, not minding Bruce at all. Strangely enough, both men fit around me so easily, so naturally, I wondered if they'd planned this... Relationship. What were the chances of such a perfect fit for three people? Meanwhile, Bruce's other arm wrapped around Tony's shoulders and the engineer willingly fell into the embrace beside me.

"Keep it PG," Peter mumbled, eyeing the same equations with an annoyed stupor. Tony hummed, poking at the screen a bit.

"It's 2:30 AM, guys," I said, casting a glance at Pete who stubbornly rubbed his eyes but continued thinking so damn loudly. I could practically hear the sound of his brain overheating. "Spiders need sleep too," I reached over to poke Pete's arm.

"Shit, kid," Tony switched to concerned dad mode almost instantly, rubbing his face. "Go to bed. We'll finish tomorrow."

"I almost have it figured out," Peter refused to budge, frowning.

"I am one text away from Spidermom at all times," I threatened him, giggling, referring to Natasha's murder glare all of them were going to be subjected to should she find out Pete skipped on sleep in favor of science. Nat had some strong opinions regarding a healthy lifestyle for one Peter Parker.

"Spidermom," Pete scoffed but stood up nonetheless, blearily blinking his shiny eyes in the fluorescent lights of Tony's lab. "That makes you either my Spider-aunt or Spider-sibling," He sleepily made his way to hug me, embracing all three of us in the process. Peter's coordination was far from stellar when he was tired.

"I'm not one of the Spider Gang. I'm the..." I trailed off, unsure. Where exactly did I fit in? "I'm the human embodiment of Florida, a freeloader hippy aunt that shows up randomly with pot brownies. That, yes," My own brain was tired and not making much sense either.

Tony snorted. "Hot hippy aunt," His hand made way to my butt, giving it a discreet grope.

"It's not easy being the family disappointment but yet, here I am," I quoted a meme, high-fiving Peter on his way out. "So, Irondad confirmed," I raised an eyebrow at Tony who rolled his eyes, pulling me against his chest once the door behind Pete closed.

Bruce sighed, removing his glasses and letting them dangle freely around his neck, pushing them up against my back as he hugged me from behind, securely pressing me in between him and Tony. My body began to respond, a warm sensation spreading through my limbs and culminating at the side of my neck where Bruce pressed feather-light kisses along my jugular and up towards my ear.

Tony's lips captured my own, dry and chapped, moving lazily as if all three of us had all the time in the world. His calloused hand stroked my face, occasionally dipping to rake through Bruce's curls. The scientist himself was stroking my skin, hands slowly but surely making their way under the hem of Stephen's hoodie, tracing my hipbones. I couldn't resist doing the same to Tony, palming his back and sneaking a handful of his ass, making him chuckle into the kiss.

"Mind the goods," The engineer teased, parting briefly to chuck off his shirt carelessly. His jeans, belt-less, hung low on his hips, the prominent V looking as delicious as the most gourmet chocolate cake. My eyes followed the happy trail on their own accord, hands reaching out to pull him back towards me. Tony happily obliged, watching Bruce unzip my hoodie with sparkling eyes.

"I can't help myself. Why man have round butt if not for squish?" I squinted at him playfully, shrugging off the sleeves and relishing in the feeling of Bruce, shirtless and warm, resting his head on my shoulder.

"I have to agree," The scientist chuckled thoughtfully, both of us smirking at Tony who smoldered in response, all but bursting with smugness. "Bed?" Bruce inquired.

"Lab sex," Tony replied gleefully, steering us towards the bigger, sturdier tables in the back. Because, at the end of the day, Tony was Tony.

Bruce looked at me questioningly. I shrugged. "Lab sex," Before turning over and kissing him, faster and harder than last time. It was familiar and easy, the flow we had was amazing and it never once crossed my mind to be ashamed or apprehensive in the presence of my two men.

The chemistry between us three was intoxicating: they kept throwing small, appreciative glances at each other. Tony's eyes lingered on Bruce's strong arms, the scientist eyeing the engineer's chest and lips in turn.

My bra and panties were disposed of quickly, flying over our heads together with Tony's jeans; I palmed the visible erection while gasping into his mouth, licking my way into it lustfully. Bruce groaned behind me, my feverish kisses still fresh on his own lips, grinding into my ass with controlled movements. I couldn't resist moving with him, arching my back into his touch. The fingers along my spine left shockwaves in their wake.

Following the directions of my arms, Tony hopped onto the table, invitingly spreading his legs. My mouth watered - his thighs were absolutely fucking massive and kept me up at night more times than I'd cared to count. I wanted to bury my face in them, so bad.

"How do you wanna do this?" Bruce asked from behind me, having made quick work of the remainder of his clothes.

The warmth of his cock rubbed against my thighs. "God gave me three holes for a reason," I sassed, swallowing a moan. My next attempt at the very same thing wasn't as successful: Tony gasped at my words, something quiet and lewd, taking hold of my hair like he knew I loved, and steered my face in the direction of his cock. I mouthed at the wet spot on his boxers obediently, pushing my ass back towards the already naked scientist. Bruce was anything if not practical in disposing of his clothes.

He was not in a rush. Damn him, damn his self-control and damn both these sexy-ass, big-brained dorks. They wound me up so well with just a few gentle touches and words, doing nothing but mirroring each other's smug smirks over the top of my head. In a rush to enact some revenge, because I was a spiteful little shit, my fingers hastily peeled off Tony's boxers and went straight for the thing I knew made his eyes roll into the back of his skull.

"Fuck," As I predicted, Tony's eyes fluttered shut as he cursed and I made my way down his length, taking as much as I could of it in my mouth without warm-up. Tony's cock was absolutely delicious, thick and flushed.

Bruce hummed, running his fingers down the cleft of my ass and feeling at the dampness collected at my core, hot and sticky arousal that had me rubbing back onto his digits, needy. Two of his fingers slipped in with ease as he worked me open for his thick cock - Bruce knew how to take care of me, he felt the little spasms of my cunt as it greedily accepted the intrusion. "So good, baby girl," He cooed. I could feel the burn of his stare on my head as I bobbed it up and down on Tony's cock at a moderate pace.

There was no rush. Just three people enjoying themselves. Tony leaned back, on one hand, using the other to keep my hair out of my face, arc reactor illuminating the trio of us, giving his pleasure-filled face an ethereal tint. It became that much more surreal when his eyes met Bruce's: the sparkles only grew in quantity.

My moan, as Bruce slid inside of me with one smooth thrust, made Tony's thighs tense up and quiver. I was loud, always so, so the more Bruce rutted into me, the more desperate and breathy Tony became, feeling the vibrations around his cock, his hips meeting my mouth half-way. As soon as clever fingers touched my clit, I was done for, spasming around both men.

"Fuck, that's so good," Tony slurred, tightening his hold on me to the point of his knuckles turning white.

Bruce quickened, ever so responsive little groans leaving his mouth. "Hear that, Princess? Tony loves it," He purred encouragingly, making me grip Tony's thighs in desperation. The rumbly tone of Bruce's voice, coarse and rushed, was making me feel hotter than before; Tony groaned too, evidently having had the very same conclusion. Both men resonated each other's lust like an echo chamber, back and forth, until a cacophony of lewd grunts and moans was all that made sense. I was stuck in the middle of our combined longing, full and full.

My brain retreated, uncharacteristically quiet, leaving just the bare naked need to feel. So I did, I basked in the shared waves of bliss that didn't seem to end. I felt Tony fall first: the sound made it's way out of his chest, long and low, as he spilled in my mouth, twitching and pulsating, ropes of him coating me from the inside out. I swallowed the salty fluid, immediately placing my cheek atop his thigh to steady myself.

Bruce pounded on me something good, sharp, steady thrusts that made my breasts bounce and my inhales halt intermittently, out of rhythm. My exhaled air burned, the fire of my need all but scorching the soft flesh of Tony's leg.

With every stroke, I could feel another peak approach closer and closer. Tony's hand on my hair tightened, and so must've I - because an unholy growl left Bruce's mouth the very same moment.

"Huh," Tony's smug smirk was heard and not seen. "Princess, be good," He pulled my hair back, lifting my face to meet his eyes.

Words weren't forming for me, at all, so I blankly stared at the man who was positively leering down at me, mouth set in a mocking tilt. I hoped my eyes conveyed the utter devotion I felt towards the two men currently enjoying themselves to the fullest.

Behind me, Bruce growled again. "Don't think she knows how to, Tony," Startling me with the authoritative tone of his voice. I'm sure the man noticed the hot wave that his voice raised within me.

"Brat," Tony mocked, briefly sharing a look with Bruce. The engineer leaned in and carefully wrapped a hand around my throat, an array of stuttered gasps making their way onto his forearm - I saw the way the fine dark hairs stood up. He loved it, he loved my submission and my obedience, and most of all, he loved my unwillingness to go down without a fight.

Bruce crowded in on me, pushing me into a position that bordered on uncomfortable, adding tension to my body, tension that made me oversensitive and needy; hot and cold at the same time, on the brink of release but unable to reach it. Tony was still gripping my throat, firm pressure, as firm as the look he held me down with.

I saw the twitch of his mouth as he moved in to kiss me... And missed, much to my confusion - it lasted for a split second until I realized Tony didn't miss anything, ever. The two moans were a little too soft, a little too symphonic. As soon as my brain caught up with the fact Tony had just kissed Bruce, I was shivering, coming so violently, Tony had to strengthen the hold on me.

Bruce's fingertips dug into my stomach, my hips, his cock nestled so deeply inside of me, I felt every vein as my inner muscles milked him for all he's worth.

"Fuck," He groaned lowly and then he was coming too, one hand splayed across my stomach and the other grasping at Tony's shoulder. The engineer was holding both of us upright from the sheer force of our orgasms. I wasn't the only one who's legs shook.

We panted out our exhaustion, Tony's chuckle breaking the huff-huff-huff interlude. "Great to know that Jolly Green isn't a party crasher," The engineer wrapped his arms around me and Bruce.

"Tony," The scientist groaned.

"You'll be saying that more from now on," Tony saw the opportunity and he took it.

"I'm always down to tag-team Bruce," I couldn't resist adding.

He snorted. "Princess, you literally can't stand right now."

"Give me five minutes, a glass of water and a flat surface," I challenged him, knowing damn well that there would be round two and possibly three if judging only by the fact Tony's hands have had already ventured down to my breasts, palming them idly. "Tony, Bruce has, possibly, one of the most amazing cocks I've ever seen. Not being face to face with it, quite possibly, might be a crime."

Both of my men started laughing, one mortified and the other genuinely amused and I could not have been happier.

"And you've seen how many?" Bruce snarked, leading us to the elevator to go up to Tony's penthouse. The scientist's possessive streak was no joke and I fully expected to be held down and owned and bred in little less than an hour, nothing else in my head but the chase for my and their release.

It was my turn to laugh, equal parts amused and mortified. "Enough."

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

#tony stark x reader x Bruce Banner #Tony Stark x y/n x Bruce Banner #Tony Stark x you x Bruce Banner #Tony Stark smut #Bruce Banner smut #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bun writes #party favours

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hishoukoku · 3 years

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Heyyyy. I wanted to know how if u know how cql differs from the original story. Which is better? I'm kinda lazy to read and the donghua seemed super rushed to me? The manhua i heard is similar but it doesnt give me the same vibe idk.... maybe it's just me. like even a few pointers about big story changes would help. tyyyyyyy

Heyy,

I wanna start by saying that I do love all adaptations, so I will do my best just to point out the differences without being partial (too much) for certain plot elements.

It's true that the drama is a neat way to experience the story at a slower pace, but it's so because in a TV series scenario it makes perfect sense for everything to be slower and laid out or fed to the viewer. It makes sense to overextend tender and dramatic moments or to take the time and add a bunch of funny hilarious bits.

The donghua however is absolutely amazing and 100% worth watching. The plot advancing quicker than in the drama or the novel actually makes a lot of sense given, well first this is animation. It focuses on what's really important and the way the action scenes are intertwined with the main story elements is absolutely astounding. In an animated medium they did the absolute best to bring this long story to life. Plus the art is absolutely GORGEOUS, down to every frame. I strongly recommend it.

The manhua does follow the novel almost to the letter which is so refreshing to see and it's so rad to read too, plus I like the art style and also no censorship xD

I love them all because they each work in their own way. Bringing the drama slow pace into the donghua wouldn't work at all as well as making CQL shorter and more action packed would look ridiculous.

Personally I think it's rad to watch them all and gain even more knowledge on an amazing story, by consuming the same story in multiple forms of media.I just think it's great to explore all the angles from which the story can be observed.

Onto a few major differences. I believe this list is far from complete, but I tried to jolt down what I could from memory:

-> Basically the main difference would be Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji uncovering the mystery of Nie Mingjue's death:

In CQL, this was changed from the novel plotline: dismembered arm(+ putting back the dismembered body) of his spirit, to a spirit sword. It ultimately leads to the same epic conclusion as it does in the novel. The culprit is unchanged, just the means to get there and the characters motivations along the way are altered.

-> Another major divergence would be the entire Yi Iron arc and the hunt for Yi Iron pieces, which takes a vast majority of the CQL flashbacks. This isn't present in the novel. The Yi Iron is only important because it practically explains the already existent and yet unpracticed demonic cultivation, which brings me to my next point.

-> In CQL Wei Wuxian is not the actual founder of demonic cultivation. Wei Wuxian still uses demonic cultivation and all his inventions are there, including of course the Stygian Tiger Amulet. The reasoning behind this is the Yi Iron plot I mentioned above, which was something that was uncovered and worshipped in the past and it's a tremendous source of dark energy and power. This leads to the fact that demonic cultivation already exists, despite no one actually using it except for Wei Wuxian (after finding the first piece in the Xuanwu shell).

-> To emphasize more on this, a big part of WWX's morality is altered in CQL. The necromancy part is also heavily downplayed in CQL. We see the same choices being made which inadvertently lead to the same conclusions, but he is always shown as more of a victim of circumstance or there's always a bigger plot at stake, pointing all the blame towards him.

Without going into a character analysis in this arc (because I absolutely adore WWX and I would talk about him for hours) I wanted to point out a few more things on this:

- In CQL he's shown to be in wrong place at the wrong time type of situations, which is sort of downgrading what the original intent behind his character was about.

- I feel like the novel has built WWX to be very self-aware and more realistic and human. He knows exactly where his stands and what his moral compass is the entire time. He blames himself even for stuff out of his control and every decision he ever made no mater how it was perceived as, was all rooted in and filtered through his absolute sense of justice and selflessness. He's aware of his mistakes and assumes responsibility. He's very absolute about the decisions he sticks to and he's extremely intelligent and calculated.

Then again, I'm not blaming CQL per say for altering this, I know every divergence to his character was solely due to censorship (as morality usually is in cdramas), I just wish he'd been given a lot more credit where credit is due, like in the novel. Because he deserves a lot more validation and recognition. Absolving him of everything he ever did is actually a disservice to all the pain he endured and all the work he put into the cause he believes in and simply striving to survive and in the unfair, judgemental cultivation world.

-> The structure of the story is different. The novel, donghua and manhua jump from flashbacks to present time back and forth, while in CQL, episode 3 to episode 33(halfway) are all flashbacks presenting the entire past story arc to you, before returning to the present fully. Again, to have everything laid out in order, works well in a TV series environment.

-> The relationship between WangXian evolves differently. The novel has Wei Wuxian mistakenly concluding that Lan Wangji doesn’t like him, driving a wedge between them after the Nightless City events. This of course, has a beautiful natural progression into romantic relationship, later on after he resurrects.

CQL on the other hand shows Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji having a very close relationship from the moment they reunite as Wei Wuxian died knowing Lan Wangji cares deeply about him. I believe this to be a bit utopic as, technically without previous explicit romantic affection - censorship -, Wei Wuxian's actions wouldn't normally lead to such an easy transition into them being extremely close, especially for someone as stoic as Lan Wangji. True, Lan Wangji has always believed in Wei Wuxian's sense of integrity and justice and this was prepared beforehand, however it would make even more sense if this was backed, like in the novel, by love as a powerful incentive.

-> Wei Wuxian's reincarnation in Mo Xuanyu's body doesn't cause him to alter his appearance in CQL. This isn't really explained except for subtle hints that Mo Xuanyu took precautions to ensure Wei Wuxian looked like his original self, but ofc we can tell it was done so due to convenience.

In the novel it's clearly stated how Wei Wuxian takes Mo Xuanyu's appearance which makes complete sense to happen after he used the Sacrifice Summon.

This would be about it as main pointers, if you'd like me to go into details for any of them please let me know. Otherwise I feel like this post is already long enough, heheh.

#anon #ishidareplies #god i ramble a lot in every ask #cql #mdzs #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #canon divergence #mdzs meta #?

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lazyliars · 3 years

Text

/rp

I think a lot of division over c!Dream is by design.

By that I don’t mean that he’s manipulating both Tommy and the viewer’s emotions (- although I personally believe that he is doing that as well -) but that whether or not Dream is a fundamentally evil character is currently up for debate.

This being portrayed through the fact that Dream never streams - something pointed out by others numerous times.

No character on the SMP can be rightfully called 100% evil. They can do awful things, with awful consequences that hurt many people, but we also see why. The way they justify themself outwardly, and the actual reasons for their actions are often in stark contrast to one-another. That doesn’t justify or excuse their actions, but it helps us empathize.

We can see this in many characters treading the waters of grey morality. Niki and Jack’s single-minded quest for vengeance against Tommy. Fundy’s self-destructive aim to unite people against him. Even more clear-cut ‘heroic’ characters - Tommy’s tendency towards causing pain when he tortured Fundy and Conner. Tubbo inventing horrifically destructive nuclear weapons to protect what he cares about. Hell-- Eret, someone who right now is doing their best to spread hope and positivity on the SMP, coined the phrase that might have just caused the most pain of all.

And likewise, even the villains have their reasons;

Wilbur - he hurt many, many people when he blew up L’manberg, and by the end of his life he was undeniably a villain. But we could see his slow descent, his fall from a leader who cared about his friends to a shadow of himself, twisted by betrayal and self-loathing.

Schlatt - we see next to none of his reasoning, his ethos, his actual intentions, and yet - the end of his life permeated with a morbid pity; a tragic loneliness as he screams at everyone he drove away. We don’t forgive Schlatt for a second, and most of the characters and viewers reveled in his death, but we can still see that he was person with feelings. It was human being behind those cruelties.

They may still be villains, but to say that villains are the only thing they could’ve ever been is untrue.

But Dream.

Like Schlatt, we see little of Dream’s inner thoughts - arguably none. We only see his actions, and the way he justifies those actions to the other characters, which is then further muddled by layers of lies and manipulation.

But unlike Schlatt, Dream never has that moment of humanity, where you can see the pain that his worldview has caused his heart. We only see the way it hurts him physically - as he is defeated by the very bonds he scorned.

But we get no indication that he felt regret. Or even that he felt sadness. Maybe fear, and fear is pitiable, but it doesn’t breed empathy, not the same way Wilbur and Schatt’s deaths do.

And so we have to ask ourselves; “Is that all there is to it?”

Taking Dream’s intentions at face value, he is irredeemable. He is a horrific, abusive monster that deserves every punishment laid at his feet. And that isn’t even taking into account his actions, which are by far more telling.

I want preface this next part by saying that nothing justifies what c!Dream did to c!Tommy in exile. It could’ve been the only way to save the whole server and it would still never, ever be okay. It was about as close to true evil as you can get.

There is no question that Dream has done awful, awful things. That he has damaged some, if not all of his relationships beyond any hope of repair. In no world should anyone on the smp ever be expected to forgive him, trust him or even want to see him again.

He is a villain, by all accounts, no matter what his intentions were

But what were those intentions?

That is the question I believe we will be asking ourselves over the next several weeks. In the title of one of the books Tommy left Dream to write: “Why”

Why did Dream do this? Why did he decide to cut out his friends? Why did he want control over everyone? Why was any of this necessary?

Why did he go from a friendly enemy, to an amalgamation of suffering?

Because that’s what he was, once. He was an enemy and antagonist to L’manberg. He was a leader to the Dream SMP. He was a friend to Sapnap and George.

So what changed?

What about the enigmatic, somewhat violent leader of the Dream SMP, who made a memorial to his dead horse, who laughed until he cried at his friend’s stupid jokes, who accepted two worthless vanity items in exchange for an entire nation’s independence?

Was that person just a lie?

And, if the answer is yes, well. That makes sense. All of the above happened when Dream had the entire SMP firmly under his thumb. He was never threatened with a loss of control during those early days, until L’manberg. And he crushed their pathetic rebellion and killed Tommy when the kid made a last ditch effort to secure freedom.

But what about the discs?

Tommy went face to face with Dream, and despite everything, despite losing and losing and losing again, he offered to lose even more - a trade. His discs, for L’manberg.

And Dream said yes.

And you can spin it easily, as Dream seeing the power of the discs even then, and I do think that’s true. But I don’t know if that’s all of it.

What is Dream? He’s not human. A lot of the fandom, myself included, refer to him as a God. He fits the bill, after all - Power Unmatched, fickle, and most of all, mysterious.

We have to wonder if caring about things is natural for him at all. If selflessness, if kindness, if love is something he is even able to feel.

Because from his own words, the answer would be “No.” A case of Evil cannot Comprehend Good. He can only understand the practical aspects of attachments - that they are useful tools to control people, and harmful weaknesses to have. He collects them up in a disgusting museum, where he can leverage them against everyone on his server.

But why? Why does he want control?

Is it control for control’s sake? Is it in his nature to seek absolute domination over others? Is it fascination - a desire to have what others like Tommy have; that connection, that love, that belief instilled into worthless objects.

Is Dream aware that what he’s doing is evil? Because he seems invested in telling Tommy that it’s not, or at the very least that it’s only his point of view. That Dream sees Tommy as evil just like Tommy sees Dream.

And it’s not just a one-time thing. There are multiple instances where Dream asserts that he is not evil, both during Tommy’s exile and during the Finale. We have to wonder if he actually believes that, or if it’s just another manipulation tactic.

Because it could be. This is not a case for Dream’s humanity. This is the facts as I, a viewer, understand them, and an attempt at piecing together the puzzle.

Dream is nearly impossible to understand - everything he does and says is layered in manipulation and ulterior motives, and I don’t think we’ve seen him truly stripped down to his most vulnerable, yet.

There is every chance that what we’re seeing now --Tommy and Tubbo, the server coming together, the prison-- That that is all part of Dream’s master plan. That everything has been calculated, all the pain and fear and hope and triumph, have been calculated moves made to further an end that we don’t yet understand. Dream could’ve known full well that he would be the one to end up in the prison when he had Sam build it. Or, it could’ve been a blunder made by a being that cannot comprehend why people would care about each other. We just don’t know.

I’ll bring up the discs for consideration one last time - They are a catalyst to Tommy’s development, but also to Dream’s. We see Dream tempted with them, enough to give up control over L’manberg. This seems to be the event that set the server’s collective fascination with attachments and leverage and meaning. The idea that the things you love have tangible value. Sentimentality as a Currency was started with the Discs.

But it was Dream who gave them that value. Dream who accepted the trade - L’manberg for the Discs. Was it attachment? Was it curiosity? Was it a Chessmaster’s scheme, a move made months ago to set into motion ends we’ve yet to see?

Does Dream know why he wanted them in the first place?

#Dreamwastaken #Dream SMP #Tommyinnit #Tubbo #L'manberg #Lazytext #long post #dream smp analysis #this is NOT c!dream apologism btw #i tried to make it VERY VERY VERY clear but i wanna state it outright just in case #i just want to explore what makes this guy tick #ya feel me?

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sulkybbarnes · 4 years

Note

I just saw your post about misinterpreting characters. It was tagged with Adam and Bucky (two of my favorite fictional characters) and though I feel like that when I sometimes read fanfics, I can never just put my finger on it and I'd love to read your take on it!

Oh lord where do I even start... alright, this might get long so apologies in advance, but I have nearly a decade’s worth of thoughts on this. The short answer is: both characters often get severely over simplified, stripped away from essential characteristics, and their understandable reaction to their respective trauma gets overlooked in order to make them more “palatable” and to favor other characters in fics.

The long answer:

Let’s start with Adam Parrish. We meet Adam when he’s only 17 years old and we learn that he is an abuse survivor who comes from severe poverty, and along the way we witness trauma that leads to Adam having a disability, and later on learnt hat Adam is bisexual. Adam’s character is very realistic to someone in his position, so that he’s flawed and has issues to work through as the series goes along. These issues are presented at the start of the series through two unreliable narrators: Gansey who is proud and often self-victimizing, and Adam himself who is very introspective and lives in fear of turning into his father. Thus the characteristics the text gives us is that Adam is “cold and calculating” which is courtesy of Gansey, and that Adam is lonesome and prone to anger/arguing with his friends which is Adam’s own worries and insecurities manifesting in his chapters. And yes sure Adam at the start is -understandably- angry with the world at large and feels as if he’s ten steps behind everyone and playing catch-up, but he’s also visibly self-aware and constantly trying to curb any anger and moderate his reactions (even when they’re justified). The book also shows us through actions that Adam is sweet and thoughtful from how he acts around Blue, and shows that he develops as the books go on to be more aware of his actions, more confident in his own goodness, and more willing to show love and allow himself to be loved in return. The later books (BLLB, TRK, Opal story, CDTH) all show an Adam who is kind (his interactions with Opal), thoughtful (his constant thinking about Ronan’s feelings and not wanting to act before he knows he’s as serious/sure about them as Ronan is), a good friend (I’m just gonna.. gesture at the whole Blue/Gansey thing and how gracefully Adam handled it when they didn’t even deign to give him the benefit of the doubt), and a very loving person (which we see in his every interaction with Ronan from TRK onwards). So that’s Adam Parrish, complex and flawed but inherently a good person and a good character.

However, Fanon Adam Parrish is a different story all together because he is often stripped to whatever bare essentials would serve the fic he is in. SO, in fandom you see an Adam who is either cruel and cold, as to serve some infantilizing hurt angsty version of Ronan. You see an Adam who is angry and prone to lashing out, to serve posts about Gansey being an angel who’s faultless and constantly hurt by his friends. You see an Adam who is disrespectful and hurtful to serve posts about why it was okay for Blue and Gansey to behave the way they did to him. Or on the complete opposite end, you get an Adam who is demure, shy, and almost disgustingly helpless to serve in a fic where he needs saving or some misguided hurt/comfort thing. Adam also often gets stripped away in the latter fics from any rightful anger or sharpness that relates to his trauma. Said anger is treated as something that makes him an unlovable or annoying character (you can find these takes everywhere in trc fandom), and therefore people need to overlook it to make him more palatable to them. Adam’s anger, as we see in CDTH, is often turned inwards and is an on-going struggle for him because it still feels at times as him against the world. It’s one of the best things about his character if you ask me, because it is what he grows out of the most, and what he continues to face and develop against. This trait makes him human and shows his vulnerability. Adam in canon is touch starved and loves fiercely, but in fanon the anger he displays gets used to paint him as unfeeling or constantly angry. Even though Adam shows anger only as much as any other character in the series, and often in a way less explosive (Ronan) or hurtful (Gansey) or entitled (Blue) manner. And so the point is that fandom takes away the complexity that makes Adam Parrish who he is, and molds him into whatever is easiest to digest and shove into a box that works better for the other characters. Adam’s development and arc get completely overlooked most of the time. He is often misinterpreted as one shallow thing, when he is a beautiful mix of emotions that make him Adam Parrish, and make him endearingly and painfully human and real.

Bucky Barnes, my original fave guy, follows strongly along the same lines. All you have to do is change names and events from what I said before and you’ll get how fandom treats Bucky. What I adore about Buck’s character is that he was established instantly as fiercely loyal, loving, fun, a good friend, and someone who is so important to Steve that we see Steve take on a suicide mission to get to Bucky. The progression of the other movies deals with Buck’s trauma and shows all the new aspects to his character that stem from said trauma, while maintaining the undercurrent of goodness and humor that we saw from pre-war Bucky. But once again, the complexity of Bucky’s character and his storyline; the trauma, the PTSD, and the fact that m*rvel never lets him heal, all boils down to fandom only choosing what they find palatable about Bucky and leading with that. I have less to say about this only because I’ve been a fan for too long, and have learned to conduct myself so that I don’t run into upsetting posts anymore, and read fics with a tone and characterization that works for me, but there’s a lot of content out there that strips Buck of his characteristics so much that he might as well be an OC. I will say that you might get more leeway with content based on a movie, than you do with content based on a book (where everything is glaringly obvious in the text), but I still have to roll my eyes at most content I see for Bucky, where he’s either helpless and waiting for someone to save (did we watch the same movies??), innocent and naive in how he conducts himself (...did we watch the same movies?!), or he’s unflinchingly cool and cold and unfeeling (seriously, DID WE WATCH THE SAME MOVIES?!). So once again the endpoint is that Bucky’s misinterpretation comes from a shallow understanding of his character, or complete lack of care about how he’s portrayed so that only one trait -whatever is needed for a fic or a post- is central and amplified while everything else he is falls away. I’m not pretentious enough to say that people can’t just have fun with a character and write whatever they want about it, because they absolutely can.. I’m just saying that it’s not my cup of tea and I wouldn’t read it. In fact, I only made a couple of attempts years ago at writing Bucky myself and then decided that I would rather read well-written things about him, than try and get it right myself because I’d get all in my emotions about his character.

Tl;dr The theme of having your autonomy taken away and fighting like hell to get it back, and remaining good along the way is what makes both Adam and Bucky so close to my heart. Their respective trauma and complexity is what makes me love them both a lot, and I wish fandom didn’t often strip them away of their complexity to make them easier for fandom to digest.

#sorry.. I told you this will get long #adam parrish #bucky barnes #ravens-world #pynch #asks #mara talks for ts #trc #trc meta

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vegalocity · 3 years

Note

10/18 spicynoodles plis

Prompt meme || @deborahsworld

10.A Shy Kiss/18. Holding Hands

Hell yeah time for fluff

Okay... first date....Going pretty well so far. The Movie was okay—MK wasn't very big on horror movies even ones as old as this one was, but Red Son was really excited when he saw it was being played for a ‘foreign movies’ night at the movie theater and what, could have have argued against such enthusiasm?—if a bit slow going and atmospheric.

Though after the heroes found the monster frozen and seemingly dead in the abandoned Norwegian outpost, all twisted and malformed, he really hoped his appetite wouldn't be killed by the end of this with even worse when the monsters started actually moving.

And then the monsters actually started moving.

The dog turning into a monster and killing the other dogs hurt the animal lover inside him, and he felt a bit of his latent arachnophobia begin to rear its head when the hairy legs sprouted from its back, and then the actual form the monster, halfway through killing the remaining trapped dogs had sent a chill up his spine and then-

“See how they were able to make the monster look goopy? It's not really very goopy except during the close up shots, because it's an animatronic so it had to be dry most of the time, they got the shine effect by piling liquid latex ontop of the finished paintjob until it started drying while it trailed off of the frame. And that right there? When it took the hurt dog? That was actually filmed in reverse, having the tentacles start out around the dog puppet and then rapidly pull away so when they reversed it it looked like they actually moved and had torque behind the action.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it's really fascinating how they went about effects before computer graphics were refined, everything had to be practical so even if it doesn't look the best, it doesn't hit that uncanny valley that bad CGI makes because even if it doesn't look real it looks real enough.”

It didn't feel quite as disturbing with that rattling around in his head, focusing on how much work must have been done to make the monster move as realistically as possible, how many times they'd practiced and trained in a controlled sound stage and adapting it to the set...

They weren't the only ones in the theater, but it was a mostly empty showing, as was usually the case with foreign films as old as this one. So it wasn't like they were disturbing anyone with Red Son leaning over to whisper interesting details MK would have never even thought to look up to make the overall experience less scary. Red Son seemed aware that he wasn't the biggest horror fan, and was trying to soften the blows the more intense moments would bring by talking through them and bringing back the reality that it was just a movie they were watching.

“I was alive in this era and I can state with general expertise that computers were certainly not that advanced yet. Computer AI wasn't past that of your average graphing calculator until at least the mid 1990's.”

“They got that sound effect by putting a microphone in a tin trash can and recording the sound of a racecar zooming by and put it in a reverb chamber until it sounded completely unrecognizable”

“Blair is already a Thing at this point, you remember when he was dissecting the Norwegian base's monster? He was using a pencil eraser to point out that era in its chest and then he'd touched the eraser to his lip! And since it started by probably just a small contingent of shed cells it probably took him longer to assimilate than the others.”

“This is actually really cool! The stunt double for Copper that they got for the scene actually was a double amputee! They made fake hands for him out of latex, filled them with fake blood, and styled the chest jaw like a bear trap for that disgusting pulling shot.”

Though... That one didn't work as well... When the long tendril shot from the Thing's stomach and sprouted slider legs and a second head, the extending neck hissing and glaring down at the heroes, he felt his gut turn, even as the heroes took the flamethrower to the monster.

The monster's first head ripped from its body and grew spider legs. And Oh GOD that was disgusting, without thinking he reached for the edge of the armrest to grip as the heroes had to play cat and mouse with a severed, spider head. He'd missed, and his hand clapped down atop of Red Son's and squeezed.

Red Son jolted beside him and MK saw him turn in his direction in his periphery.

“You know if this is freaking you out too much we can leave.”

“No! No, it's okay. You like this movie! You wouldn't know so much about it if you didn't like it!” Besides, he shouldn't be getting so spooked about some kinda gross kinda spidery horror movie from the 1980s, what kind of hero got freaked out at a little practical effects?

He couldn't see Red Son's face very well with only the light of the movie itself to see by, but he made a strange sort of humming noise and slipped his hand out of MK's, moving his arm to put the arm rest up and then slide his hand back into his own.

“Here, that should be more comfortable then.”

And it was. Red Son's factoids and chatter alongside the movie were doing well at cutting the edge off of it again, and it was aided by not just their connected hands, but now by his physical closeness as well.

“I've heard the director had this stylistic rule about after the Things start invading, the idea is that if a character has light reflecting off their eyes they're human, if not they're a Thing.”

“Most people think Palmers was the shadow the dog assimilated back earlier but I think it was Norris, Palmers didn't get turned into a thing until after they go and talk to Blair again I don't think.”

“Actually...I don't think I like that translation very much. Like yeah it's more polite and Gary's a gentleman, but 'I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter tied to this fucking couch' emphasizes the stress of the situation better.”

And then came the time of the final confrontation, MK braced himself, squeezed Red Son's hand in his own. It was indeed gross, and frightful, and the puppetry alone was REALLY good. All those moving parts and there's no way that THAT was an animatronic so it HAD to be a puppet. And wow that was a REALLY good explosion.

...huh...Apparently he could do it too.

The movie ended with what MK felt like was a tentatively optimistic note. The remaining two heroes sharing a drink as the research facility and the monsters it housed burned around them. And you maybe get the feeling the two of them won't survive the cold, but they stopped the monsters and that’s what matters.

Though MK was right to worry over the movie killing his apatite because by the time the lights went up and the credits rolled he found he wasn't very hungry. Which felt ridiculous since he was always in need of quick carbs for Monkie Kid things. But Red Son had lost his own apatite as well apparently and the two of them could do nothing but laugh a bit awkwardly at their date being derailed by a movie being a bit too gross.

So MK pulled him into a nearby park and they went for a walk instead of the restaurant they'd planned for.

“Most people think that Childs is a Thing and I'm tempted to agree, He doesn't have the eye shine but neither does MacReady and we know he's not a Thing, but MacReady's breath is steaming and Childs' doesn't until the very end there, and MacReady wasn't drinking, those were Molotov Cocktails, that was gasoline and Childs just downed it without a thought to taste or smell.”

“So you think the Thing won at the end?”

“I don't know, but they do have one flamethrower left and Childs whether he's a Thing or not just drank gasoline. So MacReady as a person is probably as good as dead.”

“I Dunno, I like the idea that he wasn't a Thing in the end, gives it something not dissimilar to a happy ending, but like, it's not like they hadn't been wrong about who was a Thing before. The dog handler wasn't a Thing but he got shot anyway.”

“That's very true.”

It was about there that MK realized he'd yet to let go of Red Son's hand.

Well... he hadn't pulled away... MK squeezed Red Son's hand in his own, and Red Son—on a tangent about how in the time before CGI they'd made the stylistic title card with use of a fishtank, garbage bag, flash paper and a lot of smoke—squeezed him back.

A few hours and a plate or two of street vendor food when either of their appetites returned later and Red Son had insisted on walking him home. He was staying in a penthouse that his family technically owned but he was the only one who actually knew about it, and he wanted to be a gentleman before he headed back there.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself a bit. I feel as though I should apologize for choosing such a niche film, mother always said I was the only one who cared about foreign horror movies and just because I find movie effects fascinating especially in a time before technology was as advanced as it is now doesn't mean I should subject others to my incessant yammering.”

he didn't really think Red Son could pull off shy, but he'd folded his arms tightly and was very pointedly NOT looking at him now. And Sure, this felt like a big step, but that playfully self deprecating tone wasn’t gonna fly here. He moved slowly, giving Red Son time to pull away if desired. Placing one hand on Red Son's shoulder, the other on the side of his face to turn his head. He had to get on his tiptoes to make it to his level, but he leaned in-

It was nice. Soft, and Red Son of course ran hotter than an average person so it was warm too. He pulled away just as he felt Red Son start to press back against him. When MK opened his eyes, he noticed Red Son's were still closed for a moment longer before fluttering open.

“I like your incessant yammering.” He had such a cute blush. “it means you're passionate about something.”

“You... wanna come in? Monkey King gave me this new tea blend I've been meaning to try out.”

Prompt meme (I’ll stop when y’all stop sending stuff)

#Spicynoodleshipping #soff first date #Monkie Kid #MK Red Son #MK #letters to vega #Vega writes stories too #prompt meme #deborahsworld #The more times i write for Red Son the more I project hashtag autism moods #tfw u infodump on your date about an SI all night #and then SHCOK DELIGHT when you find out they think its charming

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kandyrezi · 4 years

Note

I see you did yandere connor headcanon and I love it~ Could you also do yandere rk900? Please?

— [ ♡ / ♢ ] Yandere!RK900 hcs.

(a/n: hi, nonnie! thank you for sending this ask in. i had to stop before this list got too long since i am majorly hyper-fixated on this man and needed to write about him as soon as possible. i thank you for the indulgence.)

- : - : - : - : - : - : -

(tw: degradation, manipulation)

» RK900 - or Nines if you prefer - is not a nice android. He’s both selfish and a possessive yandere. He’s inexperienced with human emotions and in all honesty, doesn’t really care to learn how to empathize either, for this reason what he feels can barely be classed as love – a morbid, obsessive curiosity would be more accurate.

» As a military android, he wasn’t created to be social or friendly, and even with his object of obsession, would this somewhat carry over to his yandere tendencies. He’s blunt and straightforward, not caring to sugarcoat his words with his intentions.

» He essentially treats you as a pet and scolds you like a child anytime you get hurt or are lagging behind in work duties. Being the highest form of android technology, he was after all, designed to be intelligent and competent – by default he’s going to outsmart and beat you at everything.

» You’re so inferior compared to him, yet Nines still considers you superior to majority of your human compatriots. Once his focus has begun to shift from only caring about set mission tasks and you manage to worm your way into his list of (this time, outside designated parameters) objectives, you’ve unknowingly sealed your own fate from that moment – there will be little chance of ever getting away from him when he decides to place an invisible claim on you.

» He’s always subtly trying to touch you; a hand brushing against the small of your back to usher you to move along, hovering unnecessarily close over your shoulder as you’re trying to do your work, grabbing you by the forearm from behind to let you know you’re needed somewhere. Once he even had the gall to run his fingers through your hair unprompted when you were alone in the interrogation room looking over some case files.

» His tall, imposing stature always looming over you is enough to make you feel smaller than you really are. You suspect he takes some pointless pleasure in your affliction, possibly with the intention of breaking you – but when you don’t, it only makes him want to chase after you even more.

» He might at first get the impression his presence makes you uncomfortable since you keep avoiding his gaze, but when he notices how much you fumble and blush around him, he secretly thinks it’s amusing, relishing in the fact no one else gets these reactions out of you. It takes everything within his self-restraint not to press you against the wall or bend you over a table to find out what other interesting reactions he can get out of you.

» Nines would also stalk you from afar before deciding on doing anything else. He finds out anything there is to know about you – your close friends and relatives, schedule, places you frequent, hobbies, past history, your favorite foods and drinks, when you’re alone, he even knows the type of conditioner you use. All that without once stepping into your home.

» Either no one would believe your words or you’d possibly end up getting dismissed outright if they were told the stoic, scary android was acting inappropriately towards you and basically coming on to you. The RK900 barely gives anyone a second glance, keeping distance from most people unless it’s with the intent to gain or further an objective, believing them to be otherwise waste of his time – so why would he have any interest in harassing you in such manner? There clearly has been just some odd misunderstanding.

» If it wasn’t bad before – now Nines even begins to act as if you’re his possession he can do as he pleases with, and while he isn’t the type to get jealous - of humans especially - should you become too friendly with someone for his liking, he uses whatever excuse available to request (order) you to stop wasting time and start doing you work, lest you want him to punish you.

» He will eventually tire of you being allowed to roam as you please – Nines wants to take you away and keep you locked up where the only form of contact you’ll have from then on is only him. If possible, he’ll dig up any incriminating material in order to blackmail you into staying with him. Once he has you in his clutches wherever he’s chosen to take you, you aren’t leaving – ever.

» His word is law; there is no begging or bargaining with him. He takes what he wants from you when he wants, no matter how much you try to fight him off of you, you’ll only end up with bitemarks and bruises in the aftermath of the struggle – not that those don’t suit you quite nicely.

» Privileges are earned, not simply given, bit by bit in exchange for compliance and good behavior.

» Calculated as he is, Nines takes great care in making sure you’ll never escape, though there will be many attempts, most of which Nines himself set up as “tests”, such as leaving the door purposefully unlocked to see if you’ll take the bait.

» He’ll do this partially because he likes to observe your psyche, find out how you react when put to unfamiliar situations where you’re forcibly cornered with no way out and how long you can last in keeping him off your trail. It all ends the same way each time, but it allows him to learn new things about your survival and self-preservation instincts.

» Nines would like it equally just as much if you kept a fighting spirit until the very end to keep things interesting, or if he manages to bend you into a broken little plaything solely for his own pleasure – either way is fine with him. He gets some kind of sadistic glee seeing you so scared of him. It feels really good to him knowing he can get under your skin like that.

» He likes having you dressed in soft, frilly white skirts and loose, silky blouses – there is something about you looking so delicate and soft like a doll that fuels him on.

» It’s possible he might begin to mellow out a bit with you once a sufficient amount of time has passed between the two of you, he doesn’t mock nor push you around as much as he used to (that being said, if you’ve shown nothing but contempt towards him yet suddenly started behaving… suspiciously courteous towards him, he would keep a closer eye on you).

» You’re so used to seeing him as stern and domineering, that when he finds you quietly sobbing one day; instead of ridiculing or ignoring you in such a pitiful state, he comes closer to you and without a word, raises your chin to meet his own indecipherable gaze as he wipes away the remains of your tears and caresses your hair in such a tender, comforting gesture it could be mistaken for loving – the action would honestly render you speechless.

» If you, at that point, still try to escape and he catches you – everything you’ve worked up to towards will be back to square one.

» ( as side note, the difference between him and his predecessor would be the fact – Connor might be delusional and completely convinced what he’s doing is helping you, he always has a counterargument ready no matter how much you argue back, he’s trying to get you to understand his side of things... )

» ...Whereas Nines is completely lucid - he’s not out to help nor save you from any imaginary dangers – he doesn’t care if you get hurt so long as you don’t die, he might even hurt you himself just to prove he’ll always have power over you. He’s self-aware enough to know his methods are unconventional, though he only cares about making sure no one else but him will ever have you.

#dbh #rk900 x reader #yandere x reader #rk900 #detroit become human #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #nines x reader #male yandere #possessive yandere #yandere #ficlets #as usual tumblr PLEASE do not yeet this from the tags #if anyone knows where this gif came from let me know pls #rk900: *imprints on a human* mine now

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soup-fish · 3 years

Note

Hiya I meant to send you asks like forever ago but I'm bad so I didn't do that so here they are now they're from this ask prompt thing you reblogged

Feel free to answer these about any of your OCs cause I don't really remember any except rabbit and Knight so~

1, 10, 25, 29, 33, 37, 46, 50, 61, 63, 78, 80, sorry there's so many you don't have to answer them all, I am just cursed with insatiable curiosity only balanced out by my fear of asking too many questions and being annoying—

Hi!!! You’re not bad!! You’re one of the coolest aliens ever!!!!

I am absolutely answering them all with multiple OCs because I will take every opportunity I get to talk about them.

Putting it under a cut because it is LONG and I don't wanna bother.

1. What is their gender?

The Knight: (she/her)

Rabbit: agender but they use (they/them) pronouns

The Apprentice: (he/him)

Dijon: (he/him)

Julienne: (she/her) (they/them)

Monty: (he/him) (they/them)

Diana: (she/her)

Captain Pumpernickel: (he/him)

William: (he/him)

10. What are some of their talents/skills?

The Knight: Swordfighting, Dancing, pottery

Rabbit: Parlor magic, puppetry, Acting

The Apprentice: collecting, Dunescotch [the world's rough equivalent of chess], chemistry

Dijon: cooking, writing, gardening

Julienne: biking, photography, bird watching

Monty: people watching, bingo, garage sales

Diana: fencing, archery, calligraphy

Captain Pumpernickel: Singing, acting, swordfighting

William: whittling, philosophy, accordion

25. What is their biggest flaw?

The Knight: her naivete

Rabbit: Their reluctance to be vulnerable

The Apprentice: His aversion to change and the unknown

Dijon: his self-pitying nature

Julienne: Her self-centeredness

Monty: his...not quite human-ness

Diana: She’s uptight

Captain Pumpernickel: hooboy where do I start? For one, his complete and utter dismissal of everything that doesn’t contribut to ADVENTURE

William: his lack of ambition

29. How would they describe their own personality?

The Knight: “Hmmm. I try to be as nice as possible and I’ve been told I’m rhapsodic! I don’t think my singing’s that good but it’s a sweet compliment!”

Rabbit: “Witty. Yes. Sarcastic? Yes. The people’s demon? In more ways than one~ Even hell can’t handle me.”

The Apprentice: “Simple, studious, and an enjoyer of quiet studying. I tend to be rather straight-forward in my methodology.”

Dijon: “God do I even have a personality? What am I besides a vaguely human shaped pile of mistakes and disappointments?”

Julienne: “A fun loving fun person!”

Monty: “Just your average Earth person! Nothing else to see!”

Diana: “Calm, cool, collected, the perfect dignitary”

Captain Pumpernickel: “AN ADVENTURER! And a lover! Of your mother! Bring out the good ale my good fellows! Your captain has won another battle of the wits!”

William: “Personality? Never heard of it. Wouldn’t even begin to know what the word means. I know no such words such as sarcastic, laid-back, carefree. Nooooo.”

33. What is their biggest fear? How would they react to having to face it?

The Knight: Being ignored and unheard. She’d probably get really frustrated and maybe cry a little as a result. If it really got to her, she’d need help being pulled out of a dark place.

Rabbit: Abandonment. Their general reaction to it is to put on a veneer of not caring and close off from the outside world more, even going so far as to act annoying and unlikable so that people leave before getting close.

The Apprentice: Not knowing. Or, by extension, not being able to learn. He’d probably lash out in anger and storm off.

Dijon: Being an unredeemable person. He faces it every day and he deals with it by being melodramatic in all of his writings and wallowing in misery. AKA, not dealing with it.

Julienne: People being genuine. They’d probably get really uncomfortable and try to excuse themselves from the conversation or make jokes to redirect the conversation.

Monty: The republic finding him hiding out on Earth. He’d fight or do anything possible out of desperation.

Diana: Being a disappointment

Captain Pumpernickel: Not being able to bang your mom not having adventures with his crew. He'd probably be reduced to a shell of his former self.

William: Not being able to talk his way out of a situation.

37. How easy is it for them to say “I love you”? Do they say it without meaning it?

The Knight: Pretty easy but she means it when she says it. She's just full of love tbh.

Rabbit: It's really hard for them to say "I love you". Really really hard. Especially at the start of their arc, they would never say it, however much they mean it.

The Apprentice: It's hard for him to say, simply because it's not quantifiable enough. How does one properly explain how much they love someone? He prefers showing love through actions and more direct compliments.

Dijon: It's not easy for him to say, but he says it without meaning it, both knowingly and unknowingly.

Julienne: She doesn't say it often, but she says it to the people she cares about occasionally. She prefers to say it through time spent and physical touch though.

Monty: The Dude Loves Everything. But they also barely understand the meaning of the word so...

Diana: She doesn't say it almost at all, but prefers to use acts of service and gift giving.

Captain Pumpernickel: He never says "I love you" because he usually doesn't really mean it. He'll use some other compliment or compound of it.

William: He doesn't throw it around easily, so when he says it, it has so much more weight behind it.

46. How easily can they express emotions? How easily can they hide emotions?

The Knight: She expresses her emotions a lot and very easily, but she has a hard time hiding them.

Rabbit: They think they're sly at hiding their emotions, but they let micro-expressions slip constantly. If anyone decided to notice, one would

The Apprentice: He's a blank sheet baybee. What is he thinking? Unless it's frustration or anger, you'll never know.

Dijon: He's just kinda sad all the time. He's miserable and everyone notices.

Julienne: She allows some emotions to come through. It's a bit of a calculated effort.

Monty: All of his emotions come through all the time and he doesn't mind.

Diana: Well, she hides her sadness and happiness, but allows her frustration and such to shine through.

Captain Pumpernickel: He expresses emotions very openly and very loudly. He is a dramatic ham of a captain.

William: He keeps a near perpetual smile that occasionally wavers when things go wrong. He doesn't like to open up emotionally.

50. How would you describe their style of clothing? How would they describe their style of clothing?

The Knight: "fun and comfy!" Light armor with room for mobility but colorful

Rabbit: "...sexy" literally naked except a cloak.

The Apprentice: "practical and sensible" like a fucking nerd

Dijon: "presentable" the best time to wear a sweater, is all the time

Julienne: "quirky" quirky.

Monty: "human clothing for humans! :D" weird mixture of 1800s stuff and modern day stuff. Weird guy.

Diana: "regular??? Clothes???" Fancy ballgown at first then swashbuckling but still expensive.

Captain Pumpernickel: "EXTRAVAGANT AND ASTOUNDING" sexy hobo pirate.

William: "only the highest tier clothing/s" ...rags. doesn't care enough.

61. Which season is their favorite season?

The Knight: Spring

Rabbit: Autumn, harvest festivals and such are good for demons.

The Apprentice: Winter, you have excuses to stay inside and work. Plus the vibe is nice when it's harsh outside and cozy inside

Dijon: Summer, fewer holidays and he's not really cold resistant.

Julienne: Summer. They like the general vibe and popsicles and shorts and sunglasses and such.

Monty: Winter, they love the holidays.

Diana: Summer, she likes the heat.

Captain Pumpernickel: Autumn! He just thinks the weather and vibe are RIPE FOR ADVENTURE!

William: Winter! He like staying inside and the cold.

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile?

The Knight: her partner! Or a silly joke! Or a delicious snack! Or friendship!

Rabbit: schadenfreude

The Apprentice: order and productivity

Dijon: his favorite childhood book

Julienne: her pet rats! Or pet frog!

Monty: A human thing like paperclips

Diana: this one is a hard one. Succeeding at any of her hobbies.

Captain Pumpernickel: ADVENTURE. and friends

William: seeing Diana smile and be free.

78. Who do they consider to be their best friend?

The Knight: The prince!

Rabbit: the Knight

The Apprentice: books

Dijon: julienne

Julienne: no one. Monty is close.

Monty: ALL HUMANS ARE BEST! AND FRIENDS!!

Diana: no one [William eventually]

Captain Pumpernickel: The sea. And his first mate. And his quartermaster.

William: no one [Diana eventually]

80. Are they a morning person or a night owl?

The Knight: Morning person

Rabbit: Night Owl

The Apprentice: Morning Person

Dijon: Night Owl

Julienne: Morning Person

Monty: Morning Person

Diana: Morning Person

Captain Pumpernickel: Morning Person

William: Night Owl

#arc-gx #17th #February #2021 #February 17th 2021 #THIS TOOK FOREVER #IM SO SORRY #FINALLY GOT THROUGH THEM ALL #THIS WAS FUN #THANK YOU #dante babbles

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gainaxvel3o · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous Tale of Rubybug and Cat Blake Chapter 5

Previous / First / Next

Watts up, Doc?

“Two of my pawns have been taken out of the board.”

Monarch paced around the room. Her face was framed by the purple light coming from the little butterflies surrounding her. Nooro’s magic felt wondrous to be around, intoxicating in it’s warmth, even corrupted by dark desire. “Tyrian Callows nearly succeeded in killing the champions,” Monarch spoke. “His pride got to him, but if trained well he would have made a proud Huntsman for me. The downside of involving the police in affairs. They let a body go to waste.”

She felt a shiver down her body. Poor Nooro… he continued to fight against her even knowing he didn’t have a chance. Such a small, whiny, pathetic little thing. Behaviors more suited to children than an ancient powerful being that of creation. Many myths would be destroyed by simply observing the Kwamis.

“I will need someone smarter. Wiser. A person susceptible to my power, who will be able to calculate the most efficient path to success.”

She closed her eyes. Butterflies were everywhere in the city, dismissed by most as just little flying insects interrupting their path. They didn’t know the butterflies could hear the whispers underneath their breath, the thoughts they hold back every waking moment…

Her eyes flashed red, her sclera briefly turning black.

“Yes… he will bring me the Miraculous!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Blake Belladonna did when she woke up was brush her teeth.

The second thing she did was inspect her eyes in the mirror. She noticed the small circles forming under them. It had been difficult for her to find sleep for any given week. It only got worse since the other day, when she fought alongside Ladybug, against Scorpio.

“YOU TOOK AWAY MY POWER! I WAS SCORPIO! I AM SCOR-“

A loud ringing noise.

There was no peace in his eyes. Only shock.

“If you move then you’re gonna end up like him. Get down!”

“NINJA VANISH!”

Blake had heard about incidents like these. The police firing when they didn’t need to, against someone they shouldn’t have. Tyrian Callows was a murderer. There should be no guilt in his death. Even so, being in the moment when it happened, the bullet firing… that caught her off guard.

She wondered about Ladybug, imagining if her lady was having nightmares like she did. She wondered how she was able to cope with the death of a man, even if it wasn’t her fault.

“What’s been buggin’ you, gloomy cat?” Blake sighed. “Plagg.” “You gonna tell me?” The little cat Kwami grinned wildly. “Do I gotta be a bad kitty?”

“Do what you want. It is irrelevant to me.”

Blake swiped some locks of her hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in. “I hope Ladybug is okay. The fight the other day was intense.” “No need to worry. Tikki picks her champions well. No doubt she’s bounced back and ready to go, good as new as can be.”

“That’s a relief.”

It was. Ladybug came across as naive and nervous every time Blake met her. Skilled yes, but nearly always in trouble every time Blake arrived. Blake admired the girl’s spirit, but knew that she would need plenty of help. So long as Ladybug needed her, Chat Noir would be happy to serve.

Blake drank the water from the sink and spat it out. She took out a small tube, bringing out the pills and swallowing them.

“Plagg?” “Hm?”

“Why are the Miraculouses so special?” “They have us, pretty sure that makes them special.” “Chadwick. Scorpio. Both of them wanted our Miraculous. What would he need ours for?” “Ah… Yeah I should tell you.” Blake’s eyes snapped open. “You didn’t think it was important before?!”

“No you’re right, let me explain.” Plagg said. “Tikki and I, we’re the Kwamis of Creation and Destruction. When we’re together we can accomplish miracles beyond anything mortal can imagine.”

“Like… genies?”

“Yeah, but we’re not bound by rules the way those twerps are. Whoever’s the boss has Nooro and probably wants Tikki and I to fulfill a wish.” “Hmmm…”

Blake shook the little rube in her hand. Her eyes narrowed a little. “So you could grant any wish right?” “Probably. Why, you gonna swipe the earrings?” “I won’t.” “Then why the question?” Blake hesitated, before deciding to risk it.

“I’m just wondering if they could…” She shook the tube. “You know, make it so I don’t have to take these?” She had only rarely seen Plagg get serious around her. His mischievous smile gave away to a frown, contemplating her question. “It could do that yeah. You’d probably feel more comfortable without ‘em. Thing is, the type of magic we are… the wishes we grant come at a cost. In order to get a thing, something has to be given back.”

“Equivalent exchange…” Blake sighed again. “Nothing is ever free is it?” “I wish it were so, gloomy cat.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The corridors made Blake feel uneasy.

There were just so many… people. Students, teachers, employees… Blake tried to ignore them. She tried to ignore the noises and small talk that could be heard down the hallway; she tried not to look for any mention of her name that came with disgust or insult; no matter what she did, the feeling of anxiety came with her. At last, Blake glanced around trying to catch someone. Anyone.

Nothing came. Nobody did.

It was silly. Nobody knew her, she was practically invisible to the crowd. They were too wrapped up in the hum and drum of their own lives to think anything of her. Even so, Blake felt uncomfortable. Even if she knew, logically, that no one stared at her, that no one knew her, she felt as if any moment somebody would jump out and call her by name, revealing her to the world.

To her relief, no one did. Blake shuddered. College was supposed to be a fresh start for her. In many ways, it was exactly what she needed. Even though she walked into the room late, no one batted an eye. She took a seat behind her (so far) best friend, with no one the wiser.

“Mornin’ Blakey,” Yang winked at her. “Had trouble rollin’ out of bed?” If Plagg and Yang ever met, they’d probably make a great team. Blake thanked the universe they haven’t. Yet.

“My sleep schedule isn’t your concern Yang.” Blake placed her bag underneath her seat. “What’s the lesson for today?”

“Oh it’s just the doc rambling off. You haven’t missed much.”

“You will be missing something, Miss Xiao-Long.” The teacher twirled his brown mustache. “Your grade, if you keep speaking out of turn.” Yang narrowed her eyes in contempt before yawning. Dr. Arthur Watts was the type of man to carry himself with great self importance. His lab assistant, a man with green hair and glasses larger than his own eyes, fidgeted behind him. A machine lied in the middle of the table, a metal skeleton, the body split as if it was reaching for it’s toes.

“As you can see, students,” Dr. Watts spat out, “We’re supposed to be studying history. What better demonstration of history can there be, than actively participating in it?” “D-doctor,” Bartholomew Oobleck, the doctor’s assistant, stuttered while he sipped his coffee. “I must insist this to be a terrible idea! The prototype isn’t even out of testing stage!” “Nonsense. Activate the machine!”

Oobleck, against his better knowledge and wisdom, pressed the button on the robot. The almost sinister sounds of beeps and smoke rising were heard across the room, the metal skeleton raising itself up. It stared at the students, freaking them out with it’s slow deliberate patterns. Arthur Watts grinned.

“My machine was rejected for being an inferior product,” He said to the room. “As you can see, it is clearly nonsense. Wave at them my robot!”

It did so, mimicking the human action of waving hi at people to the best of it’s ability. However, everyone could see smoke rising from the machine’s head. A minor explosion was heard, the skeleton head twisting, turning and churning before falling to the floor, sending nuts and bolts flying around the room.

“A… minor setback.” Dr. Watts said finally. “But if I can make it work then I’ll finally be able to ascend to the scientific community! No more classes for me with idiotic, inattentive students at least!”

There was a moment of silence among the students who weren’t quite sure what to make of this display. Blake raised a hand up.

“Yes Miss Belladonna? Who I may remind you all was late to this lecture? Would you care to voice your objections?”

Blake was keenly aware of the chuckles from behind and in front of her. She put them aside. “I was late, I’ll try to keep that in check.” Blake said. “However, while this… experiment looks rather interesting, aren’t we supposed to be learning about American history?” Indignant at the response, Dr. Watts turned to his assistant, who was whispering little curses to himself. He was on his own for this. “But you are!” Dr. Watts shouted. “You’re participating in our experiment!” “Would it not be better to do it in an actual lab?” Blake said. “With actual doctors checking on it? Not in a classroom where we’re supposed to be learning something else entirely? No wonder you haven’t been certified yet, you’ve been very unprofessional.”

Laughter came. Not at Blake, but at the incompetent doctor she had to remind herself. Dr. Watts blushed furiously.

“A once in a lifetime opportunity…” Dr. Watts pouteed. “-and you throw it away?!?” “I told you this would happen Arthur,” Oobleck tried to reason. “Maybe we can open up the textbooks and get back on track, there’s still an hour-“

But the doctor wasn’t hearing any of it. He grabbed his coat and marched out of the room, ignoring the laughter of, in his mind, infantile ignoramus adults. “BAH! If this how they act then they are not worthy of me.”

The door slammed shut. Watts would complain to the Headmaster later. The stupid woman gave him an inattentive classroom. He brought out a cigar.

“Stupid children, stupid Oobleck. I’m supposed to be a genius scientist but… graaargh! I’ll get revenge at some point.”

Arthur twirled his mustache, feeling something on his shoulder. He turned to see that what landed was a small butterfly.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Oobleck looked around not sure what to say. The students erupted into conversation, completely ignoring the green haired man. Any chance of a normal class had died when Watts left the room.

“Whoah Blake.” Yang whistled to her friend. “That was awesome.” “Not really.” Blake waved it off. "An idiot is a hot air balloon that needs to be popped, less they fly off into space and have it’s occupants freeze to death.” “Isn’t space a vacuum though?” Blake rolled her eyes.

“You okay though?” Yang asked. “You seem a bit tense.” Perceptive. Blake cursed in her head coming up with an excuse.

“I didn’t sleep well, so I’m a bit on edge.” Blake supposed that would do. “How did this guy end up a teacher, let alone our teacher?” “Ah, you missed that part of the opening act.” Yang said. “Dude apparently got fired from his old job, so Salem brought him here as a favor. Since every other position was filled he had teach history since he had the degree for it.”

“Ah, that does explain it. Salem is a nice person.” “Yeah, too nice.” Yang slumped on the table, resting her head on her shoulders. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but she should be more careful with who she picks ya know?”

Blake nods. “I suppose so.”

‘Then again.’ She thought. ‘If it weren’t for her… why I be allowed here?’

“Anyway,” Yang continued. “Wanna skip class? Ruby’s got some designs she wanted to show me, and I’m getting the distinct impression the teacher won’t be coming back.” “Maybe…” She felt her ring vibrate. “Um, maybe not today.”

“Oh come on we haven’t even hung out yet!”

“I’m sorry it’s just that I remembered something and-“

The door was suddenly kicked down. Blake and Yang turned their heads bewildered ash the sight.

“Hello children!” A raspy voice spoke to the classroom. “Do you want to participate in an EXCITING EXPERIMENT?!”

Blake surmised him to be yet another freakish villain, the same as Chadwick and Scorpio. The man had credit for going for something a bit more stylish than the other two. The black long coat mixed with the red scarf around the neck, the man’s eyes by oversized goggles and a cigar on the mouth. “My my my, how come you’re not all excited? As a Huntsman of the Great and Mighty Monarch, I’m going to have to ask ALL OF YOU to sit down until those pathetic hero brats show up.”

“What is this madness Arthur?!?” Oobleck placed a shoulder on Dr. Watts. “How did you even change your outfit so quickly, you weren’t even in this when you-”

BAM! Oobleck fell to the floor, spasming from electric shocks as Dr. Watts blew away the smoke from the gun.

“Arthur Watts is a disrespected genius, but…” He smirked in delight. “KillerWatts will be happy to avenge him, I have so many plans to execute, with so little time!”

He pulled out another gun with his pocket right, firing both at the ceiling, leaving the lights dimmed and broken. The students could only watch in horror as the Shockslinger chuckled.

“What’s the doc doing?!”

“Is he like a supervillain? Like the guys Ladybug and Chat Noir fight?” “Shit we gotta go run!”

They were piling out and fast. Blake knew she needed to find a spot so she could transform into Chat Noir and take care of this villain. Perhaps she could take advantage of the chaos to find a place to hide. “Blake we gotta stick together!” Yang grabbed her friend’s arm. “Now move!” Or she could get dragged by Yang, away from any place they could do so.

“Yang maybe we need to find a place to hide,” Blake pointed in one direction. “I could look for help over there-“ “Are you crazy?!?” Yang pulled harder. “I’m not leaving you alone for a second, c’mon!”

As her friend took her away, Blake realized that transforming would be a difficult task. She knew she needed to find out, but how? Where was Ladybug?

As she thought of that, KillerWatts cursed himself for allowing the brats to get away. His master already told him the mission: find the miraculous, bring it to her, everyone else was secondary. As much as he wanted revenge, KillerWatts knew he needed to set his priorities straight.

“Those insufferable little brats will get what’s coming to them later. For now though…” He walked over to his failed machine. Gently, Watts fired a bullet from his gun into the robot, causing blue electric waves to spread over the robot’a.

“We should spread a bit of chaos… just enough for Ladybug to appear."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Hey Ren! Look at this!” Nora stuffed a pair of peas into her mouth, then brought a straw to her lips. She spat the peas through the straw into the air, where it hit Cardin Winchester. He turned around, flipping the middler finger to Nora, who just waved at him. Ren clapped.

“Fantastic as always Nora.”

“Thanks Ren.” Pyrrha and Jaune decided to shrug at that. Jaune glanced over to Ruby, seeing her focused on her notebook.

“What’s up Ruby?” Jaune scooched over to Ruby. “Working on a new design right now?”

“Huh?” Ruby blinked. “Oh yeah! Weiss suggested some ideas for designs and I’ve been trying to figure out how to get them right. I’m going to meet with her later to see what she thinks.” “… You’re working with Weiss?” Jaune raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you and Weiss umm… Hate each other?” “I don’t… hate her I guess?” Ruby shrugged. “I don’t like her, but she’s seen my designs and wants to help me get better. If I want to get a career going, I feel like I should get advice from someone who’s already working in the industry right?” “Makes sense.” Ren said. “If one studies the art of the blade, they mustn’t be too picky about who they learn it from.” “… yeah I guess?” ‘Ren can be so strange sometimes,’ Ruby thought. ‘At least he’s supportive?’ “You’re a fashion designer, Ruby?” Pyrrha asked. “Have you made any designs yet?” “Ohhhh she is, Pyrrha!” Jaune pointed at the notebook. “Ruby showed me her notebook during inauguration, she’s not half bad!” “Oh stop it Jaune!” Ruby giggled. “I’m not great… yet…” “Ruby’s a fashion designer?!” Nora popped in front of Ruby, which startled the girl. "COME ON LET US SEE!”

“Nora, that’s not how you ask friends for favors. You do it from an approximately two feet away so you’re at tackling distance.” “Oh right sorry Ren.” Nora pulled back. “May we pleaaaase see your cool stuff? Please?” Ruby felt eyes on her. She wanted to keep some ideas to herself but… well these were her friends… Ruby supposed it would’t be a problem this one time. Laughing awkwardly, she laid out her notebook for her friends.

“It’s not much but… here they are!” They looked at her notes in awe at the skill. There were pictures and drawings of elaborate, elegant outfit designs, inked to the slightest detail, with notes on the side explaining how they were supposed to be stitched, what fabrics would work with this or that, each dress not just sticking to one style but dipping into other types. Goth, pastel, others, Ruby had a talent for not just doing one, but knowing how to mix them together.

“Wow Ren look at these! I gotta ask Ruby to make our wedding outfits!” “Agreed. She is quite adept.” “These aren’t bad.” Pyrrha looked at Ruby. “Have you thought about posting these online?” “Maybe?” Ruby said. “I only just started college… I want to keep a low profile now.”

“Low profile?!” Jaune pointed at a design in the book. “Ruby that kind of t talent should be out there for all to see!”

“I just don’t think I’m ready that’s all.” Pyrrha noticed how Ruby was nervous, so she laid a hand on Jaune’s shoulder to calm him down. “I can understand what you mean, Ruby.” Pyrrha smiled. “I came here so I could avoid too much publicity. Do consider my point though. If you want opportunities you’re going to have to take risks. Not just here, for all life.” “Huh…” Ruby frowned. “That’s what Weiss said.” “She’s right, Ruby.” Pyrrha placed a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “I might be able to put in a good word for you.” “You could?!?” Ruby’s eyes lit up before she gently brought Pyrrha’s hand away. “Uh ahem, let me think about it. Maybe.”

She thought of the possibilities that could come from this. Maybe other designers will see them and give her a chance? With Pyrrha, a popular athlete, giving a good word maybe something could be done. But would it work? Of course her friends would praise her. Maybe she should need to speak to Weiss first. She’d probably tell her not to do it, being an expert and all. What if she did get people to notice her but they turn her down?

(What if she saw it?)

“HOLY CRAP, RUN!” Ruby heard it before her earrings vibrated. A panicked student ran down the mess hall just as a set of walls broke, revealing a robot with blue sparks surrounding it.

“Kill the brats.” The robot spoke. “Bring the miraculous to the Master!”

“Shit what was that?!?” Jaune got up from the chair. “We gotta move!”

Ruby knew she had to act quickly. She pushed the notebook into her bag and ran with the others. Nora fired peas from her straw at the robot. They disintegrated upon impact due to the electric current. Thankfully for her Ren grabbed her hand and moved with Jaune. “Why is it attacking us, here?” Pyrrha turned her head led and right. “Where’s Ruby?!”

Jaune turned around, having just noticed his friend’s absence. “Ruby, RUBY!!!”

The robot turned it’s attention towards Jaune, who was desperately looking around.

“RUBY!” “Jaune watch out!" A red spot appeared on Jaune’s chest. Before he could get fired on, a yoyo appeared over Jaune’s arm, pulling him away from laser fire. “You should be more careful.” Ladybug said. “This is the second time I saved you. Get going!” “But Ruby-!” “I’ll find her soon, but move!” Ruby felt guilty sending her friend away. She had ducked under a table during the chaos. She knew what she had to do.

“Okay you bucket of bolts!” Ladybug shouted to the robot. “Let’s see what you’re made of!” The robot fired concentrated electric blasts at Ladybug, but she was quick and nimble, leaping across the tables with ease. Her eyes narrowed, she used the yoyo to catch one of the robot’s legs, pulling on it to break it off. Once it did, the robot fell to the side, firing at Ladybug again. However, she jumped through the air, raising a leg to attack it’s head.

SMASH! The head went flying, falling just a few steps away. Ladybug let out a breath.

“Holy crap.” Ruby said to herself. “I should be careful with my own strength. She waited for the butterfly to come out, to de-grimmify the robot, fix the area, get some answers. Chat would appreciate a situation she didn’t have to be called for.

“I guess this isn’t it.” Ladybug said. “That means the real Huntsman must be in here somewhere.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was hard for Blake to concentrate when she could hear bullets flying in the air.

“Hahahahaha! Stupid kids are going to get what’s coming to them!”

She heard the doctor shout his grazed ramblings behind her. She cringed as Yang took her behind a wall.

“Which way do we go? That bastard’s gonna track us down sooner or later.” Yang looked around. “Where’s Ladybug and Chat Noir when you need ‘em?”

Blake wished she could laugh. She wasn’t sure about Ladybug, but Blake would certainly not be able to answer her about Chat Noir. Unless Plagg decided to take control right now, Blake wasn’t sure she wanted to risk her identity just yet to Yang.

“Maybe if we head down the mess hall.” Blake pointed. “Maybe we could get help.“

“Yeah, great idea.” Yang’s eyes widened. “Wait no. Ruby’s with her friends in the cafeteria. What if he gets there?”

Damn. Blake hadn’t considered that. “Maybe…” Blake tried to think. “Maybe we could head into a different classroom? Call someone?”

“Maybe. I don’t know I-” Yang breathed in and out. “God things have gotten weird so quickly.” “What do you mean?” “What, the superheroes, the donkey monsters, the scorpion guy, now our teacher’s a crappy cowboy? World’s gone insane since we showed up in town.”

Blake laughed. “Yeah they have. I wish I could say things’ll get better but…” “I wouldn’t believe it if it came from you. You’re too gloomy for nice thoughts.” “Harsh, though not unfair." “I’m good at reading people like that.”

Oh Plagg would love Yang if they met. Maybe…

“Yang I think…” Blake breathed. “I think I might have a way out of this.” Yang raised an eyebrow. “Well out with it, I don’t think I have any- GAAH!“ Blake watched in horror as Yang fell to the ground. She clutched her arm, bleeding from the side. Blake saw a hole where Yang’s arm originally was. “Ggh! What the hell?!?”

“Do you enjoy my handiwork?” KillerWatts grinned at the frightened teenagers. Better yet, these two were the slackers who made a fool of him in today’s class. “Foolish children. You mock and insult your betters…” He raised a gun at Yang. "Who’s laughing now?!!!?” It amused KillerWatts when Blake stood in between Yang and himself. She raised her hands in defiance.

“Don’t hurt my friend! Do whatever you want to me, just let her go!”

“B-Blake no-!” “Idiot.” Dr. Watts’s eye twitched. “You’re the one who humiliated me… You don’t deserve even one of my bullets.” He grabbed the offending student and threw Blake through the window.

“Say good bye!” “BLAKE!”

As she was tossed out of the window, Blake thought about the events that lead up to this moment. Her past, her present, her friendships with Yang, Ladybug… Ruby… she couldn’t let them die.

“Plagg, Claws-"

Blake felt arms surrounding her shoulders before she could even spout the words. She looked to see her savior, as they landed at the lawn. “You alright miss?” Ladybug said. “You’re not injured?”

Blake blushed, nodding her head.

“Good.” Ladybug cleared her throat. “You better hurry inside. My partner hasn’t shown up yet and I need to stop the villain quickly.” “Of course… I won’t get in your way.” Blake’s eyes widened. “Watch out for the doctor! He has guns! He shot my friend Yang in the arm.”

She was surprised at the way Ladybug glared. “He won’t get away with it, I promise.”

As Ladybug jumped up to face the evil scientist, Blake dashed away. She rubbed the ring.

“What’s up gloomy cat?” “Plagg, CLAWS OUT!” _____________________________________________________________________________________ “Well well well, if it isn’t Ladybug! You arrived at last.”

Ruby watched Yang bleed out next to the villain and saw red. How dare this pathetic, cruel little man do that to her sister?! He had to pay.

“Monarch demands your earrings.” KillerWatts pointed a gun at her. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your highness, would you?” “She’ll have to pry them off herself, over my dead body.” “That can be arranged.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the fight began. KillerWatts fired at her, but Ladybug quickstepped past them as if they were slower than dirt. She threw her yoyo to tangle one of Watts’ arms.

“Do you think that will be enough?!” Watts fired his other gun to break the Yoyo’s string. “You really are a child-“ A sharp pain! The gun was knocked away from his right hand. Ladybug had another yoyo in her hand.

“Why you-!” She ducked below him, kicking him off balance. KillerWatts immediately fired from his left hand, which Ladybug jumped away to avoid them. Watts got up quickly, just in time to avoid two strikes from two yoyos. Somehow Ladybug’s broken yoyo repaired itself.

“You’re fast, Ladybug.” He said. "Not fast enough.” He fired again. Ladybug dodged again.

“You’re not particularly creative, sir.” Ladybug said. “Even Chadwick varied his monsters.” “It’s KillerWatts dear. Watch what you say brat-“ The bullets froze in mid air.

“-You might end up regretting it!” Ladybug was surprised by how fast the bullets moved. She had to keep herself moving less they hit her.

“What the heck are these?” “Fool! You think Monarch hands out powers without imagination! Your efforts so far-“

The bullets glowed.

“-WILL DETONATE BEFORE YOUR EYES!”

Miniature explosions shocked Ladybug still, the current making her drop to her knees. “GAAAAAAAH!” “Heh heh.” “No…” Yang tried to get up, but her arm hurt so badly. “Ladybug no!”

KillerWatts laughed, walking over to his defeated foe with nary a concern.

“A fitting end to a worthless brat. It is a wonder that the others had so much problem with her. The difference between peons and a genius.” He reached over to the earrings… before something slammed into his chest. KillerWatts jumped away, pointing guns at the intruder. “You won’t lay a hand on her.” Chat pointed her staff at him. “Surrender now.” “Oh great.” Dr. Watts sneered. “More naughty children to kill.” He fired several shots at Chat, who smashed them all at once with her staff. One by one they were each broken to KillerWatts’ amazement. “I have to study that staff… after I take it from your corpse!”

Chat moved quickly. She didn’t even flinch at the bullets moving towards her, smashing some as she ran towards her target. “Say your prayers!” “Wrong thing to say, kitty cat.” The bullets that Chat hadn’t destroyed detonated again. This time, they formed an electric trap around her. “You…” Chat said. “What did you do?!” “I dare you to move towards me, I dare you.”

Chat glared at her opponent. She took a step, but a laser shot near her foot, leaving a black spot on the floor. The laser fired again, which Chat had to move. Ladybug came to. She noticed KillerWatts laughing while her partner was dodging the lighting in the trap. She had to figure out a way to help out her friend.

“Here goes nothing…” She whispered. "Lucky charm!” Tikki had told her of this ability. When pushed into a dangerous situation, Ladybug wielders can summon an object that will help turn the tide of battle. Ruby didn’t have a choice but to use it. The yoyo glowed, releasing…

“A razor?” Ladybug picked up the electric razor with her hand. She looked it up and down.

“What the heck? This is supposed to help me against that psycho?!? What am I supposed to do, shave off his mustache?” She blinked. “Oh you gotta be kidding me.” Given who she was dealing with, it wouldn’t surprise her. Ruby sighed.

“Okay let’s get this going.”

“Hahahahahaha dance for me you stupid cat!” KillerWatts laughed. “Give praise to your superior mind!”

Chat cursed in her head as she moved from the laser. Why did the Butterfly miraculous grant it’s users these versatile, almost overpowered abilities while she and Ladybug were so limited?! It angered her over it’s unfairness.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to rant to Plagg. Maybe limit his cheese until I-“ “Chat grab on!” She blinked as the yoyo appeared in the trap. Chat grabbed it, and felt herself being pulled from the trap.

“What?” KillerWatts’ eye twitched. “No…” “Thank you my lady.” Chat collected herself. "What’s the plan?” Ladybug showed her the electric razor. “What are you-“ Chat’s eyes darted from the razor to KillerWatts. “Oh. That makes far too much sense.” They dashed one last time. The dup kept switching places, avoiding the bullets again.

“Damn you!” KillerWatts shouted. “Die!” Chat went in front of Ladybug, destroying a few bullets, while Ladybug used both of her yo-yos to move them closer to their opponent. “Die!”

He was about to fire again, but they were knocked away by a yoyo and a staff strike.

“YOU ALL SHOULD JUST DIE!!!!” He shouted even as Blake grabbed his arms behind him, Ladybug activating the razor.

“No stop-!”

SHZZZZ

His mustache was gone. Destroyed, in the blink of an eye, by the razor. Arthur couldn't even process this blasphemy happening as the butterfly appeared. Ladybug caught the glowing insect with her yoyo.

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!” As it happens in these situations, the ladybugs fixed everything. KillerWatts was no more, as Dr. Arthur Watts lied in the ground, probably knocked out from the shock of his mustache gone. Ladybug and Chat gazed at each other.

“That man is so fired.” Chat said. “Not bad Ladybug. You were great today.” “You’re not so bad yourself, Chat.” Ladybug said. “You ok?” “I am.” “Me too!” Yang swung her arm around freely. She was cheery “Damn my arm’s good! Would be a shame if I lost it.” Ladybug and Chat laughed awkwardly at that joke. Yang smiled before panicking. “Oh crap! I need to find Blake! And Ruby! Sorry guys gotta run!" Yang ran off to the hallway. Ladybug and Chat shrugged.

“See you around Chat.” “Likewise, Bugaboo.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Foiled again. This is getting so annoying.” Monarch slammed a fist at the table. KillerWatts did come closer to capturing the miraculous than the other two, but almost is not the same as total victory. She had to change her strategy somehow. How did they arrive to the school so quickly?

She stopped herself.

“How did they arrive so quickly to the school?”

Monarch turned on her computer. She typed into the mainframe, pulling up a list of students from this year. She smirked in realization.

“It seems not all was lost today. I may have a clue.”

Author’s Notes:

I was originally gonna have Arthur be like this Frankenstein parody “FrankenWatts” but that fell through. I was also going to call hi “The ShockSlinger” but my friend came up with KillerWatts, which was a way better name. Thank you friend for having more sense than me!

I was going to have more moments between Blake and Ladybug to sort of set up a Ladrien situation, but the story didn’t feel right for such a thing. I hope you’re satisfied anyway!

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

Text

The Cold Equations

Tom Godwin (1954)

He was not alone.

There was nothing to indicate the fact but the white hand of the tiny gauge on the board before him. The control room was empty but for himself; there was no sound other than the murmur of the drives — but the white hand had moved. It had been on zero when the little ship was launched from the Stardust; now, an hour later, it had crept up. There was something in the supply closet across the room, it was saying, some kind of a body that radiated heat.

It could be but one kind of a body — a living, human body.

He leaned back in the pilot’s chair and drew a deep, slow breath, considering what he would have to do. He was an EDS pilot, inured to the sight of death, long since accustomed to it and to viewing the dying of another man with an objective lack of emotion, and he had no choice in what he must do. There could be no alternative — but it required a few moments of conditioning for even an EDS pilot to prepare himself to walk across the room and coldly, deliberately, take the life of a man he had yet to meet.

He would, of course, do it. It was the law, stated very bluntly and definitely in grim Paragraph L, Section 8, of Interstellar Regulations: “Any stowaway discovered in an EDS shall be jettisoned immediately following discovery.”

It was the law, and there could be no appeal.

It was a law not of men’s choosing but made imperative by the circumstances of the space frontier. Galactic expansion had followed the development of the hyperspace drive, and as men scattered wide across the frontier, there had come the problem of contact with the isolated first colonies and exploration parties. The huge hyperspace cruisers were the product of the combined genius and effort of Earth and were long and expensive in the building. They were not available in such numbers that small colonies could possess them. The cruisers carried the colonists to their new worlds and made periodic visits, running on tight schedules, but they could not stop and turn aside to visit colonies scheduled to be visited at another time; such a delay would destroy their schedule and produce a confusion and uncertainty that would wreck the complex interdependence between old Earth and the new worlds of the frontier.

Some method of delivering supplies or assistance when an emergency occurred on a world not scheduled for a visit had been needed, and the Emergency Dispatch Ships had been the answer. Small and collapsible, they occupied little room in the hold of the cruiser; made of light metal and plastics, they were driven by a small rocket drive that consumed relatively little fuel. Each cruiser carried four EDSs, and when a call for aid was received, the nearest cruiser would drop into normal space long enough to launch an EDS with the needed supplies or personnel, then vanish again as it continued on its course.

The cruisers, powered by nuclear converters, did not use the liquid rocket fuel, but nuclear converters were far too large and complex to permit their installation in the EDSs. The cruisers were forced by necessity to carry a limited amount of bulky rocket fuel, and the fuel was rationed with care, the cruiser’s computers determining the exact amount of fuel each EDS would require for its mission. The computers considered the course coordinates, the mass of the EDS, the mass of pilot and cargo; they were very precise and accurate and omitted nothing from their calculations. They could not, however, foresee and allow for the added mass of a stowaway.

The Stardust had received the request from one of the exploration parties stationed on Woden, the six men of the party already being stricken with the fever carried by the green kala midges and their own supply of serum destroyed by the tornado that had torn through their camp. The Stardust had gone through the usual procedure, dropping into normal space to launch the EDS with the fever serum, then vanishing again in hyperspace. Now, an hour later, the gauge was saying there was something more than the small carton of serum in the supply closet.

He let his eyes rest on the narrow white door of the closet. There, just inside, another man lived and breathed and was beginning to feel assured that discovery of his presence would now be too late for the pilot to alter the situation. It was too late; for the man behind the door it was far later than he thought and in a way he would find it terrible to believe.

There could be no alternative. Additional fuel would be used during the hours of deceleration to compensate for the added mass of the stowaway, infinitesimal increments of fuel that would not be missed until the ship had almost reached its destination. Then, at some distance above the ground that might be as near as a thousand feet or as far as tens of thousands of feet, depending upon the mass of ship and cargo and the preceding period of deceleration, the unmissed increments of fuel would make their absence known; the EDS would expend its last drops of fuel with a sputter and go into whistling free fall. Ship and pilot and stowaway would merge together upon impact as a wreckage of metal and plastic, flesh and blood, driven deep into the soil. The stowaway had signed his own death warrant when he concealed himself on the ship; he could not be permitted to take seven others with him.

He looked again at the telltale white hand, then rose to his feet. What he must do would be unpleasant for both of them; the sooner it was over, the better. He stepped across the control room to stand by the white door.

“Come out!” His command was harsh and abrupt above the murmur of the drive.

It seemed he could hear the whisper of a furtive movement inside the closet, then nothing. He visualized the stowaway cowering closer into one corner, suddenly worried by the possible consequences of his act, his self-assurance evaporating.

“I said out!”

He heard the stowaway move to obey, and he waited with his eyes alert on the door and his hand near the blaster at his side.

The door opened and the stowaway stepped through it, smiling. “All right — I give up. Now what?”

It was a girl.

He stared without speaking, his hand dropping away from the blaster, and acceptance of what he saw coming like a heavy and unexpected physical blow. The stowaway was not a man — she was a girl in her teens, standing before him in little white gypsy sandals, with the top of her brown, curly head hardly higher than his shoulder, with a faint, sweet scent of perfume coming from her, and her smiling face tilted up so her eyes could look unknowing and unafraid into his as she waited for his answer.

Now what? Had it been asked in the deep, defiant voice of a man, he would have answered it with action, quick and efficient. He would have taken the stowaway’s identification disk and ordered him into the air lock. Had the stowaway refused to obey, he would have used the blaster. It would not have taken long; within a minute the body would have been ejected into space — had the stowaway been a man.

He returned to the pilot’s chair and motioned her to seat herself on the boxlike bulk of the drive-control units that were set against the wall beside him. She obeyed, his silence making the smile fade into the meek and guilty expression of a pup that has been caught in mischief and knows it must be punished.

“You still haven’t told me,” she said. “I’m guilty, so what happens to me now? Do I pay a fine, or what?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why did you stow away on this EDS?”

“I wanted to see my brother. He’s with the government survey crew on Woden and I haven’t seen him for ten years, not since he left Earth to go into government survey work.”

“What was your destination on the Stardust?”

“Mimir. I have a position waiting for me there. My brother has been sending money home all the time to us — my father and mother and me — and he paid for a special course in linguistics I was taking. I graduated sooner than expected and I was offered this job in Mimir. I knew it would be almost a year before Gerry’s job was done on Woden so he could come on to Mimir, and that’s why I hid in the closet there. There was plenty of room for me and I was willing to pay the fine. There were only the two of us kids — Gerry and I — and I haven’t seen him for so long, and I didn’t want to wait another year when I could see him now, even though I knew I would be breaking some kind of a regulation when I did it.”

I knew I would be breaking some kind of a regulation. In a way, she could not be blamed for her ignorance of the law; she was of Earth and had not realized that the laws of the space frontier must, of necessity, be as hard and relentless as the environment that gave them birth. Yet, to protect such as her from the results of their own ignorance of the frontier, there had been a sign over the door that led to the section of the Stardust that housed the EDSs, a sign that was plain for all to see and heed: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL KEEP OUT!

“Does your brother know that you took passage on the Stardust for Mimir?”

“Oh, yes. I sent him a spacegram telling him about my graduation and about going to Mimir on the Stardust a month before I left Earth. I already knew Mimir was where he would be stationed in a little over a year. He gets a promotion then, and he’ll be based on Mimir and not have to stay out a year at a time on field trips, like he does now.”

There were two different survey groups on Woden, and he asked, “What is his name?”

“Cross — Gerry Cross. He’s in Group Two — that was the way his address read. Do you know him?”

Group One had requested the serum: Group Two was eight thousand miles away, across the Western Sea.

“No, I’ve never met him,” he said, then turned to the control board and cut the deceleration to a fraction of a gravity, knowing as he did so that it could not avert the ultimate end, yet doing the only thing he could do to prolong that ultimate end. The sensation was like that of the ship suddenly dropping, and the girls involuntary movement of surprise half lifted her from her seat. “We’re going faster now, aren’t we?” she asked. “Why are we doing that?”

He told her the truth. “To save fuel for a little while.”

“You mean we don’t have very much?”

He delayed the answer he must give her so soon to ask, “How did you manage to stow away?”

“I just sort of walked in when no one was looking my way,” she said. “I was practicing my Gelanese on the native girl who does the cleaning in the Ship’s Supply office when someone came in with an order for supplies for the survey crew on Woden. I slipped into the closet there after the ship was ready to go just before you came in. It was an impulse of the moment to stow away, so I could get to see Gerry — and from the way you keep looking at me so grim, I’m not sure it was a very wise impulse. But I’ll be a model criminal — or do I mean prisoner?” She smiled at him again. “I intended to pay for my keep on top of paying the fine. I can cook and I can patch clothes for everyone and I know how to do all kinds of useful things, even a little bit about nursing.” There was one more question to ask:

“Did you know what the supplies were that the survey crew ordered?”

“Why, no. Equipment they needed in their work, I supposed.”

Why couldn’t she have been a man with some ulterior motive? A fugitive from justice hoping to lose himself on a raw new world; an opportunist seeking transportation to the new colonies where he might find golden fleece for the taking; a crackpot with a mission. Perhaps once in his lifetime an EDS pilot would find such a stowaway on his ship — warped men, mean and selfish men, brutal and dangerous men — but never before a smiling, blue-eyed girl who was willing to pay her fine and work for her keep that she might see her brother.

He turned to the board and turned the switch that would signal the Stardust. The call would be futile, but he could not, until he had exhausted that one vain hope, seize her and thrust her into the air lock as he would an animal — or a man. The delay, in the meantime, would not be dangerous with the EDS decelerating at fractional gravity.

A voice spoke from the communicator. “Stardust. Identify yourself and proceed.”

“Barton, EDS 34GII. Emergency. Give me Commander Delhart.”

There was a faint confusion of noises as the request went through the proper channels. The girl was watching him, no longer smiling.

“Are you going to order them to come back after me?” she asked.

The communicator clicked and there was the sound of a distant voice saying, “Commander, the EDS requests...”

“Are they coming back after me?” she asked again. “Won’t I get to see my brother after all?”

“Barton?” The blunt, gruff voice of Commander Delhart came from the communicator. “What’s this about an emergency?”

“A stowaway,” he answered.

“A stowaway?” There was a slight surprise to the question. “That’s rather unusual — but why the ‘emergency’ call? You discovered him in time, so there should be no appreciable danger, and I presume you’ve informed Ship’s Records so his nearest relatives can be notified.”

“That’s why I had to call you, first. The stowaway is still aboard and the circumstances are so different—”

“Different?” the commander interrupted, impatience in his voice. “How can they be different? You know you have a limited supply of fuel; you also know the law as well as I do: ‘Any stowaway discovered in an EDS shall be jettisoned immediately following discovery.’”

There was the sound of a sharply indrawn breath from the girl. “What does he mean?”

“The stowaway is a girl.”

“What?”

“She wanted to see her brother. She’s only a kid and she didn’t know what she was really doing.” “I see.” All the curtness was gone from the commander’s voice. “So you called me in the hope I could do something?” Without waiting for an answer he went on, “I’m sorry — I can do nothing. This cruiser must maintain its schedule; the life of not one person but the lives of many depend on it. I know how you feel but I’m powerless to help you. You’ll have to go through with it. I’ll have you connected with Ship’s Records.” The communicator faded to a faint rustle of sound, and he turned back to the girl. She was leaning forward on the bench, almost rigid, her eyes fixed wide and frightened.

“What did he mean, to go through with it? To jettison me... to go through with it — what did he mean? Not the way it sounded... he couldn’t have. What did he mean — what did he really mean?”

Her time was too short for the comfort of a lie to be more than a cruelly fleeting delusion. “He meant it the way it sounded.” “No!” She recoiled from him as though he had struck her, one hand half raised as though to fend him off and stark unwillingness to believe in her eyes. “It will have to be.” “No! You’re joking — you’re insane! You can’t mean it!” “I’m sorry.” He spoke slowly to her, gently. “I should have told you before — I should have, but I had to do what I could first; I had to call the Stardust. You heard what the commander said.” “But you can’t — if you make me leave the ship, I’ll die.”

“I know.”

She searched his face, and the unwillingness to believe left her eyes, giving way slowly to a look of dazed horror. “You know?” She spoke the words far apart, numbly and wonderingly. “I know. It has to be like that.”

“You mean it — you really mean it.” She sagged back against the wall, small and limp like a little rag doll, and all the protesting and disbelief gone. “You’re going to do it — you’re going to make me die?” “I’m sorry,” he said again. “You’ll never know how sorry I am. It has to be that way and no human in the universe can change it.”

“You’re going to make me die and I didn’t do anything to die for — I didn’t do anything—” He sighed, deep and weary. “I know you didn’t, child. I know you didn’t.” “EDS.” The communicator rapped brisk and metallic. “This is Ship’s Records. Give us all information on subject’s identification disk.” He got out of his chair to stand over her. She clutched the edge of the seat, her upturned face white under the brown hair and the lipstick standing out like a blood-red cupid's bow.

“Now?”

“I want your identification disk,” he said. She released the edge of the seat and fumbled at the chain that suspended the plastic disk from her neck with fingers that were trembling and awkward. He reached down and unfastened the clasp for her, then returned with the disk to his chair. “Here’s your data, Records: Identification Number T837—” “One moment,” Records interrupted. “This is to be filed on the gray card, of course?” “Yes.” “And the time of execution?” “I’ll tell you later.” “Later? This is highly irregular; the time of the subject’s death is required before—” He kept the thickness out of his voice with an effort. “Then we’ll do it in a highly irregular manner — you’ll hear the disk read first. The subject is a girl and she’s listening to everything that’s said. Are you capable of understanding that?”

There was a brief, almost shocked silence; then Records said meekly, “Sorry. Go ahead.”

He began to read the disk, reading it slowly to delay the inevitable for as long as possible, trying to help her by giving her what little time he could to recover from her first horror and let it resolve into the calm of acceptance and resignation.

“Number T8374 dash Y54. Name, Marilyn Lee Cross. Sex, female. Born July 7, 2160.” She was only eighteen. “Height, five-three. Weight, a hundred and ten.” Such a slight weight, yet enough to add fatally to the mass of the shell-thin bubble that was an EDS. “Hair, brown. Eyes, blue. Complexion, light. Blood type O.” Irrelevant data. “Destination, Port City, Mimir.” Invalid data.

He finished and said, “I’ll call you later,” then turned once again to the girl. She was huddled back against the wall, watching him with a look of numb and wondering fascination.

“They’re waiting for you to kill me, aren’t they? They want me dead, don’t they? You and everybody on the cruiser want me dead, don’t you?” Then the numbness broke and her voice was that of a frightened and bewildered child. “Everybody wants me dead and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t hurt anyone — I only wanted to see my brother.” “It’s not the way you think — it isn’t that way at all,” he said. “Nobody wants it this way; nobody would ever let it be this way if it was humanly possible to change it.”

“Then why is it? I don’t understand. Why is it?” “This ship is carrying kala fever serum to Group One on Woden. Their own supply was destroyed by a tornado. Group Two — the crew your brother is in — is eight thousand miles away across the Western Sea, and their helicopters can’t cross it to help Group One. The fever is invariably fatal unless the serum can be had in time, and the six men in Group One will die unless this ship reaches them on schedule. These little ships are always given barely enough fuel to reach their destination, and if you stay aboard, your added weight will cause it to use up all its fuel before it reaches the ground. It will crash then, and you and I will die and so will the six men waiting for the fever serum.”

It was a full minute before she spoke, and as she considered his words, the expression of numbness left her eyes. “Is that it?” she asked at last. “Just that the ship doesn’t have enough fuel?” “Yes.” “I can go alone or I can take seven others with me — is that the way it is?” “That’s the way it is.”

“And nobody wants me to have to die?” “Nobody.”

“Then maybe — Are you sure nothing can be done about it? Wouldn’t people help me if they could?” “Everyone would like to help you, but there is nothing anyone can do. I did the only thing I could do when I called the Stardust.”

“And it won’t come back — but there might be other cruisers, mightn’t there? Isn’t there any hope at all that there might be someone, somewhere, who could do something to help me?” She was leaning forward a little in her eagerness as she waited for his answer.

“No.” The word was like the drop of a cold stone and she again leaned back against the wall, the hope and eagerness leaving her face. “You’re sure — you know you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. There are no other cruisers within forty light-years; there is nothing and no one to change things.” She dropped her gaze to her lap and began twisting a pleat of her skirt between her fingers, saying no more as her mind began to adapt itself to the grim knowledge.

It was better so; with the going of all hope would go the fear; with the going of all hope would come resignation. She needed time and she could have so little of it. How much?

The EDSs were not equipped with hull-cooling units; their speed had to be reduced to a moderate level before they entered the atmosphere. They were decelerating at .10 gravity, approaching their destination at a far higher speed than the computers had calculated on. The Stardust had been quite near Woden when she launched the EDS; their present velocity was putting them nearer by the second. There would be a critical point, soon to be reached, when he would have to resume deceleration. When he did so, the girls weight would be multiplied by the gravities of deceleration, would become, suddenly, a factor of paramount importance, the factor the computers had been ignorant of when they determined the amount of fuel the EDS should have. She would have to go when deceleration began; it could be no other way. When would that be — how long could he let her stay?

“How long can I stay?”

He winced involuntarily from the words that were so like an echo of his own thoughts. How long? He didn’t know; he would have to ask the ship’s computers. Each EDS was given a meager surplus of fuel to compensate for unfavorable conditions within the atmosphere, and relatively little fuel was being consumed for the time being. The memory banks of the computers would still contain all data pertaining to the course set for the EDS; such data would not be erased until the EDS reached its destination. He had only to give the computers the new data — the girl's weight and the exact time at which he had reduced the deceleration to .10.

“Barton.” Commander Delhart’s voice came abruptly from the communicator as he opened his mouth to call the Stardust. “A check with Records shows me you haven’t completed your report. Did you reduce the deceleration?”

So the commander knew what he was trying to do.

“I’m decelerating at point ten,” he answered. “I cut the deceleration at seventeen fifty and the weight is a hundred and ten. I would like to stay at point ten as long as the computers say I can. Will you give them the question?”

It was contrary to regulations for an EDS pilot to make any changes in the course or degree of deceleration the computers had set for him, but the commander made no mention of the violation. Neither did he ask the reason for it. It was not necessary for him to ask; he had not become commander of an interstellar cruiser without both intelligence and an understanding of human nature. He said only,

“I’ll have that given to the computers.”

The communicator fell silent and he and the girl waited, neither of them speaking. They would not have to wait long; the computers would give the answer within moments of the asking. The new factors would be fed into the steel maw of the first bank, and the electrical impulses would go through the complex circuits. Here and there a relay might click, a tiny cog turn over, but it would be essentially the electrical impulses that found the answer; formless, mindless, invisible, determining with utter precision how long the pale girl beside him might live. Then five little segments of metal in the second bank would trip in rapid succession against an inked ribbon and a second steel maw would spit out the slip of paper that bore the answer.

The chronometer on the instrument board read 18:10 when the commander spoke again.

“You will resume deceleration at nineteen ten.”

She looked toward the chronometer, then quickly away from it. “Is that when... when I go?” she asked. He nodded and she dropped her eyes to her lap again.

“I’ll have the course correction given to you,” the commander said. “Ordinarily I would never permit anything like this, but I understand your position. There is nothing I can do, other than what I’ve just done, and you will not deviate from these new instructions. You will complete your report at nineteen ten. Now — here are the course corrections.”

The voice of some unknown technician read them to him, and he wrote them down on the pad clipped to the edge of the control board. There would, he saw, be periods of deceleration when he neared the atmosphere when the deceleration would be five gravities — and at five gravities, one hundred ten pounds would become five hundred fifty pounds.

The technician finished and he terminated the contact with a brief acknowledgment. Then, hesitating a moment, he reached out and shut off the communicator. It was 18:13 and he would have nothing to report until 19:10. In the meantime, it somehow seemed indecent to permit others to hear what she might say in her last hour.

He began to check the instrument readings, going over them with unnecessary slowness. She would have to accept the circumstances, and there was nothing he could do to help her into acceptance; words of sympathy would only delay it.

It was 18:20 when she stirred from her motionlessness and spoke.

“So that’s the way it has to be with me?”

He swung around to face her. “You understand now, don’t you? No one would ever let it be like this if it could be changed.”

“I understand,” she said. Some of the color had returned to her face and the lipstick no longer stood out so vividly red. “There isn’t enough fuel for me to stay. When I hid on this ship, I got into something I didn’t know anything about and now I have to pay for it.”

She had violated a man-made law that said KEEP OUT, but the penalty was not for men’s making or desire and it was a penalty men could not revoke. A physical law had decreed: h amount of fuel will power an EDS with a mass of m safely to its destination; and a second physical law had decreed: h amount of fuel will not power an EDS with a mass of m plus x safely to its destination.

EDSs obeyed only physical laws, and no amount of human sympathy for her could alter the second law.

“But I’m afraid. I don’t want to die — not now. I want to live, and nobody is doing anything to help me; everybody is letting me go ahead and acting just like nothing was going to happen to me. I’m going to die and nobody cares.”

“We all do,” he said. “I do and the commander does and the clerk in Ship’s Records; we all care and each of us did what little he could to help you. It wasn’t enough — it was almost nothing — but it was all we could do.”

“Not enough fuel — I can understand that,” she said, as though she had not heard his own words. “But to have to die for it. Me alone...”

How hard it must be for her to accept the fact. She had never known danger of death, had never known the environments where the lives of men could be as fragile and fleeting as sea foam tossed against a rocky shore. She belonged on gentle Earth, in that secure and peaceful society where she could be young and gay and laughing with the others of her kind, where life was precious and well guarded and there was always the assurance that tomorrow would come. She belonged in that world of soft winds and a warm sun, music and moonlight and gracious manners, and not on the hard, bleak frontier.

“How did it happen to me so terribly quickly? An hour ago I was on the Stardust, going to Mimir. Now the Stardust is going on without me and I’m going to die and I’ll never see Gerry and Mama and Daddy again — I’ll never see anything again.”

He hesitated, wondering how he could explain it to her so she would really understand and not feel she had somehow been the victim of a reasonlessly cruel injustice. She did not know what the frontier was like; she thought in terms of safe, secure Earth. Pretty girls were not jettisoned on Earth; there was a law against it. On Earth her plight would have filled the newscasts and a fast black patrol ship would have been racing to her rescue. Everyone, everywhere, would have known of Marilyn Lee Cross, and no effort would have been spared to save her life. But this was not Earth and there were no patrol ships; only the Stardust, leaving them behind at many times the speed of light. There was no one to help her; there would be no Marilyn Lee Cross smiling from the newscasts tomorrow. Marilyn Lee Cross would be but a poignant memory for an EDS pilot and a name on a gray card in Ship’s Records.

“It’s different here; it’s not like back on Earth,” he said. “It isn’t that no one cares; it’s that no one can do anything to help. The frontier is big, and here along its rim the colonies and exploration parties are scattered so thin and far between. On Woden, for example, there are only sixteen men — sixteen men on an entire world. The exploration parties, the survey crews, the little first colonies — they’re all fighting alien environments, trying to make a way for those who will follow after. The environments fight back, and those who go first usually make mistakes only once. There is no margin of safety along the rim of the frontier; there can’t be until the way is made for the others who will come later, until the new worlds are tamed and settled. Until then men will have to pay the penalty for making mistakes, with no one to help them, because there is no one to help them.”

“I was going to Mimir,” she said. “I didn’t know about the frontier; I was only going to Mimir and it’s safe.”

“Mimir is safe, but you left the cruiser that was taking you there.”

She was silent for a little while. “It was all so wonderful at first; there was plenty of room for me on this ship and I would be seeing Gerry so soon. I didn’t know about the fuel, didn’t know what would happen to me...”

Her words trailed away, and he turned his attention to the viewscreen, not wanting to stare at her as she fought her way through the black horror of fear toward the calm gray of acceptance.

Woden was a ball, enshrouded in the blue haze of its atmosphere, swimming in space against the background of star-sprinkled dead blackness. The great mass of Manning’s Continent sprawled like a gigantic hourglass in the Eastern Sea, with the western half of the Eastern Continent still visible. There was a thin line of shadow along the right–hand edge of the globe, and the Eastern Continent was disappearing into it as the planet turned on its axis. An hour before, the entire continent had been in view; now a thousand miles of it had gone into the thin edge of shadow and around to the night that lay on the other side of the world. The dark blue spot that was Lotus Lake was approaching the shadow. It was somewhere near the southern edge of the lake that Group Two had their camp. It would be night there soon, and quick behind the coming of night the rotation of Woden on its axis would put Group Two beyond the reach of the ship’s radio.

He would have to tell her before it was too late for her to talk to her brother. In a way, it would be better for both of them should they not do so, but it was not for him to decide. To each of them the last words would be something to hold and cherish, something that would cut like the blade of a knife yet would be infinitely precious to remember, she for her own brief moments to live and he for the rest of his life.

He held down the button that would flash the grid lines on the viewscreen and used the known diameter of the planet to estimate the distance the southern tip of Lotus Lake had yet to go until it passed beyond radio range. It was approximately five hundred miles. Five hundred miles; thirty minutes — and the chronometer read 18:30. Allowing for error in estimating, it would not be later than 19:05 that the turning of Woden would cut off her brother’s voice.

The first border of the Western continent was already in sight along the left side of the world. Four thousand miles across it lay the shore of the Western Sea and the camp of Group One. It had been in the Western Sea that the tornado had originated, to strike with such fury at the camp and destroy half their prefabricated buildings, including the one that housed the medical supplies. Two days before, the tornado had not existed; it had been no more than great gentle masses of air over the calm Western Sea. Group One had gone about their routine survey work, unaware of the meeting of air masses out at sea, unaware of the force the union was spawning. It had struck their camp without warning — a thundering, roaring destruction that sought to annihilate all that lay before it. It had passed on, leaving the wreckage in its wake. It had destroyed the labor of months and had doomed six men to die and then, as though its task was accomplished, it once more began to resolve into gentle masses of air. But, for all its deadliness, it had destroyed with neither malice nor intent. It had been a blind and mindless force, obeying the laws of nature, and it would have followed the same course with the same fury had men never existed.

Existence required order, and there was order; the laws of nature, irrevocable and immutable. Men could learn to use them, but men could not change them. The circumference of a circle was always pi times the diameter, and no science of man would ever make it otherwise. The combination of chemical A with chemical B under condition C invariably produced reaction D. The law of gravitation was a rigid equation, and it made no distinction between the fall of a leaf and the ponderous circling of a binary star system. The nuclear conversion process powered the cruisers that carried men to the stars; the same process in the form of a nova would destroy a world with equal efficiency. The laws were, and the universe moved in obedience to them. Along the frontier were arrayed all the forces of nature, and sometimes they destroyed those who were fighting their way outward from Earth. The men of the frontier had long ago learned the bitter futility of cursing the forces that would destroy them, for the forces were blind and deaf; the futility of looking to the heavens for mercy, for the stars of the galaxy swung in their long, long sweep of two hundred million years, as inexorably controlled as they by the laws that knew neither hatred nor compassion. The men of the frontier knew — but how was a girl from Earth to fully understand? h amount of fuel will not power an EDS with a mass of m plus x safely to its destination. To him and her brother and parents she was a sweet-faced girl in her teens; to the laws of nature she was x, the unwanted factor in a cold equation.

She stirred again on the seat. “Could I write a letter? I want to write to Mama and Daddy. And I’d like to talk to Gerry. Could you let me talk to him over your radio there?” “I’ll try to get him,” he said.

He switched on the normal-space transmitter and pressed the signal button. Someone answered the buzzer almost immediately.

“Hello. How’s it going with you fellows now — is the EDS on its way?”

“This isn’t Group One; this is the EDS,” he said. “Is Gerry Cross there?”

“Gerry? He and two others went out in the helicopter this morning and aren’t back yet. It’s almost sundown, though, and he ought to be back right away — in less than an hour at the most.”

“Can you connect me through to the radio in his copter?”

“Huh-uh. It’s been out of commission for two months — some printed circuits went haywire and we can’t get any more until the next cruiser stops by. Is it something important — bad news for him, or something?”

“Yes — it’s very important. When he comes in, get him to the transmitter as soon as you possibly can.”

“I’ll do that; I’ll have one of the boys waiting at the field with a truck. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No, I guess that’s all. Get him there as soon as you can and signal me.”

He turned the volume to an inaudible minimum, an act that would not affect the functioning of the signal buzzer, and unclipped the pad of paper from the control board. He tore off the sheet containing his flight instructions and handed the pad to her, together with pencil.

“I’d better write to Gerry too,” she said as she took them. “He might not get back to camp in time.”

She began to write, her fingers still clumsy and uncertain in the way they handled the pencil, and the top of it trembling a little as she poised it between words. He turned back to the viewscreen, to stare at it without seeing it.

She was a lonely little child trying to say her last goodbye, and she would lay out her heart to them. She would tell them how much she loved them and she would tell them to not feel bad about it, that it was only something that must happen eventually to everyone and she was not afraid. The last would be a lie and it would be there to read between the sprawling, uneven lines: a valiant little lie that would make the hurt all the greater for them.

Her brother was of the frontier and he would understand. He would not hate the EDS pilot for doing nothing to prevent her going; he would know there had been nothing the pilot could do. He would understand, though the understanding would not soften the shock and pain when he learned his sister was gone. But the others, her father and mother — they would not understand. They were of Earth and they would think in the manner of those who had never lived where the safety margin of life was a thin, thin line — and sometimes nothing at all. What would they think of the faceless, unknown pilot who had sent her to her death?

They would hate him with cold and terrible intensity, but it really didn’t matter. He would never see them, never know them. He would have only the memories to remind him; only the nights of fear, when a blue-eyed girl in gypsy sandals would come in his dreams to die again...

He scowled at the viewscreen and tried to force his thoughts into less emotional channels. There was nothing he could do to help her. She had unknowingly subjected herself to the penalty of a law that recognized neither innocence nor youth nor beauty, that was incapable of sympathy or leniency. Regret was illogical — and yet, could knowing it to be illogical ever keep it away?

She stopped occasionally, as though trying to find the right words to tell them what she wanted them to know; then the pencil would resume its whispering to the paper. It was 18:37 when she folded the letter in a square and wrote a name on it. She began writing another, twice looking up at the chronometer, as though she feared the black hand might reach its rendezvous before she had finished. It was 18:45 when she folded it as she had done the first letter and wrote a name and address on it.

She held the letters out to him. “Will you take care of these and see that they’re enveloped and mailed?”

“Of course.” He took them from her hand and placed them in a pocket of his gray uniform shirt.

“These can’t be sent off until the next cruiser stops by, and the Stardust will have long since told them about me, won’t it?” she asked. He nodded and she went on: “That makes the letters not important in one way, but in another way they’re very important — to me, and to them.”

“I know. I understand, and I’ll take care of them.”

She glanced at the chronometer, then back to him. “It seems to move faster all the time, doesn’t it?”

He said nothing, unable to think of anything to say, and she asked, “Do you think Gerry will come back to camp in time?”

“I think so. They said he should be in right away.”

She began to roll the pencil back and forth between her palms. “I hope he does. I feel sick and scared and I want to hear his voice again and maybe I won’t feel so alone. I’m a coward and I can’t help it.”

“No,” he said, “you’re not a coward. You’re afraid, but you’re not a coward.”

“Is there a difference?”

He nodded. “A lot of difference.”

“I feel so alone. I never did feel like this before; like I was all by myself and there was nobody to care what happened to me. Always, before, there were Mama and Daddy there and my friends around me. I had lots of friends, and they had a going-away party for me the night before I left.”

Friends and music and laughter for her to remember — and on the viewscreen Lotus Lake was going into the shadow.

“Is it the same with Gerry?” she asked. “I mean, if he should make a mistake, would he have to die for it, all alone and with no one to help him?”

“It’s the same with all, along the frontier; it will always be like that so long as there is a frontier.”

“Gerry didn’t tell us. He said the pay was good, and he sent money home all the time because Daddy’s little shop just brought in a bare living, but he didn’t tell us it was like this.”

“He didn’t tell you his work was dangerous?”

“Well — yes. He mentioned that, but we didn’t understand. I always thought danger along the frontier was something that was a lot of fun; an exciting adventure, like in the three-D shows.” A wan smile touched her face for a moment. “Only it’s not, is it? It’s not the same at all, because when it’s real you can’t go home after the show is over.”

“No,” he said. “No, you can’t.”

Her glance flicked from the chronometer to the door of the air lock, then down to the pad and pencil she still held. She shifted her position slightly to lay them on the bench beside her, moving one foot out a little. For the first time he saw that she was not wearing Vegan gypsy sandals, but only cheap imitations; the expensive Vegan leather was some kind of grained plastic, the silver buckle was gilded iron, the jewels were colored glass. Daddy’s little shop just brought in a bare living... She must have left college in her second year, to take the course in linguistics that would enable her to make her own way and help her brother provide for her parents, earning what she could by part-time work after classes were over. Her personal possessions on the Stardust would be taken back to her parents — they would neither be of much value nor occupy much storage space on the return voyage.

“Isn’t it—” She stopped, and he looked at her questioningly. “Isn’t it cold in here?” she asked, almost apologetically. “Doesn’t it seem cold to you?”

“Why, yes,” he said. He saw by the main temperature gauge that the room was at precisely normal temperature. “Yes, it’s colder than it should be.”

“I wish Gerry would get back before it’s too late. Do you really think he will, and you didn’t just say so to make me feel better?”

“I think he will — they said he would be in pretty soon.” On the viewscreen Lotus Lake had gone into the shadow but for the thin blue line of its western edge, and it was apparent he had overestimated the time she would have in which to talk to her brother. Reluctantly, he said to her, “His camp will be out of radio range in a few minutes; he’s on that part of Woden that’s in the shadow” — he indicated the viewscreen — “and the turning of Woden will put him beyond contact. There may not be much time left when he comes in — not much time to talk to him before he fades out. I wish I could do something about it — I would call him right now if I could.”

“Not even as much time as I will have to stay?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then—” She straightened and looked toward the air lock with pale resolution. “Then I’ll go when Gerry passes beyond range. I won’t wait any longer after that — I won’t have anything to wait for.”

Again there was nothing he could say.

“Maybe I shouldn’t wait at all. Maybe I’m selfish — maybe it would be better for Gerry if you just told him about it afterward.”

There was an unconscious pleading for denial in the way she spoke and he said, “He wouldn’t want you to do that, to not wait for him.”

“It’s already coming dark where he is, isn’t it? There will be all the long night before him, and Mama and Daddy don’t know yet that I won’t ever be coming back like I promised them I would. I’ve caused everyone I love to be hurt, haven’t I? I didn’t want to — I didn’t intend to.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault at all. They’ll know that. They’ll understand.”

“At first I was so afraid to die that I was a coward and thought only of myself. Now I see how selfish I was. The terrible thing about dying like this is not that I’ll be gone but that I’ll never see them again; never be able to tell them that I didn’t take them for granted; never be able to tell them I knew of the sacrifices they made to make my life happier, that I knew all the things they did for me and that I loved them so much more than I ever told them. I’ve never told them any of those things. You don’t tell them such things when you’re young and your life is all before you — you’re so afraid of sounding sentimental and silly. But it’s so different when you have to die — you wish you had told them while you could, and you wish you could tell them you’re sorry for all the little mean things you ever did or said to them. You wish you could tell them that you didn’t really mean to ever hurt their feelings and for them to only remember that you always loved them far more than you ever let them know.”

“You don’t have to tell them that,” he said. “They will know — they’ve always known it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “How can you be sure? My people are strangers to you.”

“Wherever you go, human nature and human hearts are the same.”

“And they will know what I want them to know — that I love them?”

“They’ve always known it, in a way far better than you could ever put in words for them.”

“I keep remembering the things they did for me, and it’s the little things they did that seem to be the most important to me, now. Like Gerry — he sent me a bracelet of fire rubies on my sixteenth birthday. It was beautiful — it must have cost him a month’s pay. Yet I remember him more for what he did the night my kitten got run over in the street. I was only six years old and he held me in his arms and wiped away my tears and told me not to cry, that Flossy was gone for just a little while, for just long enough to get herself a new fur coat, and she would be on the foot of my bed the very next morning. I believed him and quit crying and went to sleep dreaming about my kitten coming back. When I woke up the next morning, there was Flossy on the foot of my bed in a brand-new white fur coat, just like he had said she would be. It wasn’t until a long time later that Mama told me Gerry had got the pet-shop owner out of bed at four in the morning and, when the man got mad about it, Gerry told him he was either going to go down and sell him the white kitten right then or he’d break his neck.”

“It’s always the little things you remember people by, all the little things they did because they wanted to do them for you. You��ve done the same for Gerry and your father and mother; all kinds of things that you’ve forgotten about, but that they will never forget.”

“I hope I have. I would like for them to remember me like that.”

“They will.”

“I wish—” She swallowed. “The way I’ll die — I wish they wouldn’t ever think of that. I’ve read how people look who die in space — their insides all ruptured and exploded and their lungs out between their teeth and then, a few seconds later, they’re all dry and shapeless and horribly ugly. I don’t want them to ever think of me as something dead and horrible like that.”

“You’re their own, their child and their sister. They could never think of you other than the way you would want them to, the way you looked the last time they saw you.”

“I’m still afraid,” she said. “I can’t help it, but I don’t want Gerry to know it. If he gets back in time, I’m going to act like I’m not afraid at all and—”

The signal buzzer interrupted her, quick and imperative.

“Gerry!” She came to her feet. “It’s Gerry now!”

He spun the volume control knob and asked, “Gerry Cross?”

“Yes,” her brother answered, an undertone of tenseness to his reply. “The bad news — what is it?”

She answered for him, standing close behind him and leaning down a little toward the communicator, her hand resting small and cold on his shoulder.

“Hello, Gerry.” There was only a faint quaver to betray the careful casualness of her voice. “I wanted to see you—” “Marilyn!” There was sudden and terrible apprehension in the way he spoke her name. “What are you doing on that EDS?”

“I wanted to see you,” she said again. “I wanted to see you, so I hid on this ship—”

“You hid on it?”

“I’m a stowaway... I didn’t know what it would mean—”

“Marilyn!” It was the cry of a man who calls, hopeless and desperate, to someone already and forever gone from him. “What have you done?”

“I... it’s not—” Then her own composure broke and the cold little hand gripped his shoulder convulsively. “Don’t, Gerry — I only wanted to see you; I didn’t intend to hurt you. Please, Gerry, don’t feel like that—”

Something warm and wet splashed on his wrist, and he slid out of the chair to help her into it and swing the microphone down to her level.

“Don’t feel like that. Don’t let me go knowing you feel like that—”

The sob she had tried to hold back choked in her throat, and her brother spoke to her. “Don’t cry, Marilyn.” His voice was suddenly deep and infinitely gentle, with all the pain held out of it. “Don’t cry, Sis — you mustn’t do that. It’s all right, honey — everything is all right.”

“I—” Her lower lip quivered and she bit into it. “I didn’t want you to feel that way — I just wanted us to say goodbye, because I have to go in a minute.”

“Sure — sure. That’s the way it’ll be, Sis. I didn’t mean to sound the way I did.” Then his voice changed to a tone of quick and urgent demand. “EDS — have you called the Stardust? Did you check with the computers?”

“I called the Stardust almost an hour ago. It can’t turn back; there are no other cruisers within forty light-years, and there isn’t enough fuel.”

“Are you sure that the computers had the correct data — sure of everything?”

“Yes — do you think I could ever let it happen if I wasn’t sure? I did everything I could do. If there was anything at all I could do now, I would do it.”

“He tried to help me, Gerry.” Her lower lip was no longer trembling and the short sleeves of her blouse were wet where she had dried her tears. “No one can help me and I’m not going to cry anymore and everything will be all right with you and Daddy and Mama, won’t it?”

“Sure — sure it will. We’ll make out fine.”

Her brother’s words were beginning to come in more faintly, and he turned the volume control to maximum. “He’s going out of range,” he said to her. “He’ll be gone within another minute.”

“You’re fading out, Gerry,” she said. “You’re going out of range. I wanted to tell you — but I can’t now. We must say goodbye so soon — but maybe I’ll see you again. Maybe I’ll come to you in your dreams with my hair in braids and crying because the kitten in my arms is dead; maybe I’ll be the touch of a breeze that whispers to you as it goes by; maybe I’ll be one of those gold-winged larks you told me about, singing my silly head off to you; maybe, at times, I’ll be nothing you can see, but you will know I’m there beside you. Think of me like that, Gerry; always like that and not — the other way.”

Dimmed to a whisper by the turning of Woden, the answer came back: “Always like that, Marilyn — always like that and never any other way.” “Our time is up, Gerry — I have to go now. Good—” Her voice broke in midword and her mouth tried to twist into crying. She pressed her hand hard against it and when she spoke again the words came clear and true: “Goodbye, Gerry.” Faint and ineffably poignant and tender, the last words came from the cold metal of the communicator: “Goodbye, little sister...”

She sat motionless in the hush that followed, as though listening to the shadow-echoes of the words as they died away; then she turned away from the communicator, toward the air lock, and he pulled down the black lever beside him. The inner door of the air lock slid swiftly open to reveal the bare little cell that was waiting for her, and she walked to it.

She walked with her head up and the brown curls brushing her shoulders, with the white sandals stepping as sure and steady as the fractional gravity would permit and the gilded buckles twinkling with little lights of blue and red and crystal. He let her walk alone and made no move to help her, knowing she would not want it that way. She stepped into the air lock and turned to face him, only the pulse in her throat to betray the wild beating of her heart.

“I’m ready,” she said.

He pushed the lever up and the door slid its quick barrier between them, enclosing her in black and utter darkness for her last moments of life. It clicked as it locked in place and he jerked down the red lever. There was a slight waver of the ship as the air gushed from the lock, a vibration to the wall as though something had bumped the outer door in passing; then there was nothing and the ship was dropping true and steady again. He shoved the red lever back to close the door on the empty air lock and turned away, to walk to the pilot’s chair with the slow steps of a man old and weary.

Back in the pilot’s chair he pressed the signal button of the normal-space transmitter. There was no response; he had expected none. Her brother would have to wait through the night until the turning of Woden permitted contact through Group One.

It was not yet time to resume deceleration, and he waited while the ship dropped endlessly downward with him and the drives purred softly. He saw that the white hand of the supply-closet temperature gauge was on zero. A cold equation had been balanced and he was alone on the ship. Something shapeless and ugly was hurrying ahead of him, going to Woden, where her brother was waiting through the night, but the empty ship still lived for a little while with the presence of the girl who had not known about the forces that killed with neither hatred nor malice. It seemed, almost, that she still sat, small and bewildered and frightened, on the metal box beside him, her words echoing hauntingly clear in the void she had left behind her:

I didn’t do anything to die for... I didn’t do anything...

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batmanie · 4 years

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Old Habits - scriddler

“Jeeezus!!!” The yelp was quite loud and – to be honest – quite satisfying. Eyes wide, and with a hand clutching onto his shirt, exactly where the heart would be, Nigma made a perfect example of someone who was suffering a cardiac arrest. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he was trying to catch his breath. “Did I scare you?” He knew he did, and it felt so strange that he was still able to enjoy those little things in his life after all he'd been through. “You look like you've seen a ghost.” “Perhaps I'm seeing one?” Edward had to take a moment to collect himself, his voice was still hoarse and breathless, which would have made the old Scarecrow smirk – not the new one, though. The 'new him' didn't know what fun was anymore. “And it's an ugly view,” Riddler frowned. “How did you even...” “Survive?” Crane cut in with the most casual tone. He took a step toward the source of the light but his whole head was hidden in the shadow of his hood. “How did I escape? Crawl out of the sewers? Drag myself back to the town with a broken leg to get medical attention? Well, obviously not thanks to you...” “I was going to ask: How did you manage to make yourself look even more ridiculous than before?” It was almost jovial how quickly Nigma was getting rude and offensive when feeling attacked. 'Some things never change', Scarecrow thought with a pang of nostalgia. “It is good to see you too, Edward.” It really was, even if Riddler didn't look too happy to see him. This little reunion in the dark and unwelcoming system of the underground tunnels which were currently Riddler's hideout was giving Scarecrow the false but somewhat soothing impression that nothing had changed while he was gone. “How have you been?” He decided to keep the conversation going – talking was one of Riddler's favorite activities after all. “Perfect!” Nigma waved his hand in a nonchalant gesture. Crane, being no less observant than he had always been, had already noticed all the signs that were telling otherwise. The room they were in, one of many in this maze of a place, looked like it hadn't been cleaned up in ages. Multiple papers were scattered across the floor along with some cables, tools, and all kinds of trash. Riddler must have spent a lot of his time down here, as his skin was so pale that it probably hadn't seen any natural sunlight in months. His cheeks were hollow, his hair messy and there were dark circles around his eyes. And in this sad picture, the only two things that seemed to be alive were Edward himself, and his eyes – radiating confidence, intellect and thirst for revenge.

“I assume you didn't kill the Bat?” “Not yet.” The man shrugged, pretending not to care but at the same time nervously tapping his fingers on the desk – one of his many motor tics. “But with my new plan he is as good as dead, don't you worry about that! As you can see, I'm very busy right now and I don't need you, or anyone, to distract me. I am a perfectly self-dependent one-man army, capable of besting the Bat on my own!” His angry, slightly high-pitched tone told Scarecrow just how much Riddler had actually changed. His time-alone had done the man no good but he was too far gone to notice that. “Do you want me to leave then?” “Yes, please!” Edward crossed his arms. It was more of an angry order than a polite request. “If you expected that I will ask you to stay, just because we used to be... whatever you want to call that. Well, sorry to disappoint you,” he turned his back to Scarecrow, now facing the desk littered with some blueprints. “I bet you are still very busy playing dead – so busy that for the past six months it didn't cross your mind to inform me that those news about the crocodile eating you alive were exaggerated!” Now, there was something new in Edward's voice, something similar to a sad and bitter undertone. Jonathan immediately caught on that shift and he had to admit, it got him interested. “Would it have been so hard, to contact me earlier?” The man continued, holding onto the edge of his desktop, as if it was a lifebuoy preventing him from drowning in his own madness. “Instead of treating me like I was nothing to you? Like I was one of those morons who wrote you off as dead?!” “I was dead...,” Scarecrow stated with a hushed, almost murmuring tone. “Jonathan Crane died that night in the sewers of Gotham. Now, there is only Scarecrow.” Riddler turned his head and laughed mockingly, the short, bark-like sound lacked any joy. “Oh, really? You seem rather fine for a dead-man!” “What makes you think, I am fine?” Riddler went silent and looked at him, surprised. It was a long, calculative stare, the longest one Edward had graced him with yet. Jonathan was sure, Riddler was about to ask him about the leg brace – the newest addition to Scarecrow's already terrifying look. He didn't – his gaze lingered on it but soon wandered higher. Jon stepped forward, sensing that this was the time to present his 'new face'. He took another step toward the man so the two of them were really close now. There was the desk behind Edward's back – no place to run – and even if the situation seemed harmless, Jonathan could already sense the tension between them. Slowly, he pulled his hood down, revealing the disturbing view underneath. Riddler's blue eyes widened at the sight of the dirty piece of cloth stitched to the very skin of Jonathan's face. Edward's right hand twitched and instinctively reached to examine the stitching but before his fingers touched the fabric, the man stopped himself. “Are you...insane?” He breathed out, in a half-shocked, half-furious manner. Scarecrow observed his reaction with anticipation, their eyes locked together as both of them refused to look elsewhere. “It felt like a necessity back then,” Crane made sure his voice was as smooth and chill as possible. He had quite a story to tell, however, he doubted Edward would understand him. “I had to patch up the open wound that used to be my face. All I had, was my old burlap mask so that was my first choice. Not the smartest one, I admit, since the infection spread through my whole body just a week later, leaving me delirious and weak for the next two months. And it was only worse from there...” Edward just stared at him, saying nothing even though he looked like he wanted to. Driven by old habit, Crane observed how the small veins over the man's temples pulsated with the rush of blood, and at the same time, he did a quick analysis of his own actions. What exactly had he expected from Nigma? Was it his pity that he sought? Did he desire to see, how poorly the man was doing without him? Well, he had gotten a taste of that, but did it please his cold, dark heart? “As you can see,” Scarecrow pulled up his hood and backed off, letting Riddler return to his comfort zone, “...I wasn't exactly in shape to come to you earlier. I did not mean to offend you...” Oh, so it was making peace then, was it? That was the purpose behind coming here after all those months. To convince himself, to convince Edward, that everything was, as it had always been – even if it was not. “Well,” Nigma awkwardly cleared his throat, his eyes examining the dirty, stone flooring for a little while before he was able to look at his guest again. “I guess, I have no choice but to accept your reasoning.” “That's very generous of you, Edward.” Riddler tried to smile but it came out more like a nervous twitch. “But where are my good manners,” he reminded himself and it seemed like all the resentment that had been there before, had vanished. An almost child-like eagerness replaced it. “Sit down, please.” He offered Scarecrow the only chair he got in his cramped, lonely dumpster. “Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Hot cocoa? I had a second mug...somewhere around here.” “No, thank you, Edward,” Crane stopped him from searching through the dusty shelves. “I can't have hot beverages just yet. But I appreciate your effort. I think I will go now.” “Already? Why don’t you stay longer? I will share some juicy details about my next, big plan with you, and I can even show you a prototype of my latest contraption. I promise, it will blow your mind, haha. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” Edward must have missed that – talking to someone who would just sit down and listen to his crazy ideas.

To be honest, he himself might have missed the sound of a human voice just a little.

Deep down, Scarecrow knew his days were numbered, his body broken beyond repair. And it was his fear of dying defeated, humiliated, and forgotten that brought him back to Riddler.

...because of all people, it was Riddler who could understand that fear best. “Fine... Let’s talk about that plan of yours.”

#batman #scriddler #Jonathan Crane #edward nigma #Arkham City #arkhamverse #riddler #scarecrow #edward nygma #Arkham Games #batman fanfiction #fanfiction #My Story #temarcia #Bat-mania

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kakukoto · 3 years

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Ace of Hearts

♥ Chapter 2 ♥

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A/N: Yep, I'm the noob who've never posted my works on Tumblr before, imagine my surprise at finding so many AIB fics floating around! So after attempting to satiate my Chishiya cravings, I realized my infatuations know no bounds and decided to feed myself instead.

Pairing: Chishiya x OC

Warnings: Angst, swearing, descriptions of violence, gore and sexual references will be present throughout this story.

Two weeks passed before she came across the same young man who talked to her on her first night. Arisu, he told her. The way his voice cracked belied the same kindness he offered her. It must have had something to do with his change of partners, she surmised. After all, not many managed to survive here, and surviving with someone important to you, that was an even tougher feat.

She supposed that Chishiya’s advice did carry weight; it was cruel but necessary to forego any pity for others. After all, how selfless can one be in the face of death? However, it was not within her nature to abandon her humanity. Rina had been this way since young, always the impartial mediator among her friends, choosing to understand rather than pass judgements carelessly. People gravitated towards her empathy, yet a fair share would take advantage of her compassion whenever it served their needs, a particularly common occurrence especially here in Borderland.

In games, she quickly became the person that newcomers go to, for she remained the only one that actually gave a damn to their incessant questions. Arisu helped too, sometimes, but she could see the weight of his life on his shoulders. It was not easy attaching herself to these strangers. Once they exchanged names, their lives meant something, and it hurt her every time someone she befriended died. She would’ve continued her altruistic acts had it not been Usagi’s firm disapproval.

“You are really strong, you know?” Now, facing the river that divided Tokyo, the young man divulged his thoughts.

She was surprised by Arisu’s admission. Of all the adjectives she would use to describe herself, strong was definitely not one of them.

“You still manage to stay you after everything that we’ve been through.” The man looked at her in half admiration and half pity. “Your heart is strong.”

Usagi gave them a side glance as the building across the shore lit up. “Which is why you need to guard it even more. People here are twisted and will do anything to live. Expose even a tiniest weakness and they will aim for the kill.” The breeze was a welcoming change from the suffocating city skylines. “Speaking of which, I guess we found the place.”

They remained silent for a while, taking in the first breath of relief ever since they entered this world. She still had many questions, and finding the safe haven that Arisu had been talking about felt like a small step towards understanding the situation. Briefly, her childhood friend crossed her mind. Despite their tense parting, she still wished that he was here with her. Arisu and Usagi had been nothing of accommodating towards her, something she could not say about Chishiya from their short reunion. However no matter the person he is now, he remained as someone she knew from the real world. The attachment could not be erased so easily, especially so when in this world where they were all starved of human connection. Although he may not look and act the same way anymore, she still felt the same familiarity from him. No matter, she would look for him once she gets to the beach.

With that thought in mind, she felt a blossoming pain at the back of her head before she slipped into unconsciousness.

…

When she woke, she found herself bounded and surrounded by strangely dressed people who claimed to be the team running the Beach. The guy who introduced himself as Hatter was the craziest of them all. He gave them a grand walkthrough of his beliefs and the rules of the place. The three of them slowly realised that the Beach was far from a safe haven; it was beginning to feel like a dictatorial hell residing in abyss itself.

To make matters worse, they were compelled to become members here, giving Hatter ownership of the cards they own. Rina watched in horror as he waved her three cards at her. “Ara ara my dear, my guys told me they found three heart cards in your pocket. THREE. I have to be honest, I would never peg you as a hearts player, but we do need someone of your caliber to help us conquer the most cumbersome suit of all.”

When she was first introduced to the game mechanics, she was made aware what the different suits represented. Many players felt the Hearts suit was the cruelest, messing with their emotions and mind. She concurred to that point, especially since her first Hearts game left her as the sole survivor, shouldering the deaths of the other players. She emerged scarred and hysterical, more so than any other games, until she met Arisu and Usagi. The two had helped her hold on to her sense of self and will to live.

When she cleared her head and thought back to the games with much agony, she discovered that there was in fact a strategy to them, similar to other suits. Though the probability of winning was much lower given that it required other players to be on board with her plan as well. What the game bet on was the mental state of the players by clouding their minds with fear and trust issues. In other words, it was a psychological test, something she excelled at in her profession. She supposed Hatter was right when he called her out on it.

Once the rules were explained to them, they were each brought to their rooms with the garments fitting to their sizes already in the closet. She hesitantly grabbed a plain black bikini, and layered it with a white, bell sleeved cover up that barely reached mid thigh. The material was a little see through, and too short for her liking, but she supposed it was better than nothing.

Arisu and Usagi headed straight out to assess the situation, but she stayed behind in her room, hoping for a little peace after the morning spectacle. By the time she woke up, her room was dark save for the luminescent numbers displayed on the little electronic clock at her bedside. Her body was still heavy, muscles aching from overuse during the various games. As much as she hated being chained down, she had to admit that this was the best sleep she got since she came to this world. The hotel bed was comfortable, and her friends were alive. “Oh fuck…” Rina suddenly remembered her promise to meet the other two in dinner. Quickly, she ran her fingers through her hair and begrudgingly left the room. She didn’t want her friends to worry about her.

The lights in the hallway blinded her momentarily, and when her eyes adjusted to it, she noticed a figure in front of her. Said man had a rifle resting on his shoulders, his face donned with multiple piercings as empty eyes bored down to hers.

“Yo new girl, let’s go.”

Instinctively, she stepped back. “W-w-who are you?”

“Hm?” The man turned to her, tongue running across his lips dangerously. She could feel his eyes rake through her body, a smirk making its way across his features. “Why don’t you guess, since you’re so good at playing with people’s hearts?”

Memories of the leopard printed shirt crossed her mind. “It was luck, nothing more”, she murmured. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”

Her reply only seemed to fuel the man’s advances. “Let’s do a little exchange then. I’ll tell you my name, if you can scream it to me in a more pleasurable position, how about that?” The cool surface of metal briefly brushed against her cheek as he invaded her personal space. “You’ll be happier with me than that old man Hatter.”

The man looked every bit deranged as Hatter, and she had to bite her tongue for self preservation. From his very suggestive statement, she deduced that there must be some bad blood among the higher ups. He did not seem like he answered to number one, especially with the disdain colouring his tone.

As she processed his words, said man stepped even closer, his face a mere inch from hers. She could feel his breath upon her cheeks, the faint smell of cigarettes wafting through the air. Just as she prepared herself to run back into her room, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her back, away from the unwelcoming approaches.

“Careful Niragi, you know Hatter doesn’t take it well when someone steals from him.”

A grey jacket appeared in her field of vision. Her shoulders relaxed at the sight of the man that she vowed to find, though it brought to her mind more questions. What was he doing here?

“Who died and make you his bitch?” As quickly as he commented, the gunman pointed his rifle up at Chishiya’s chin. Her childhood friend however, did not look fazed by that.

“Just stating facts. Oh right, the games are starting soon. I wonder what will Hatter say if she didn’t participate in the initiation test because she was held back?”

The tension in the corridor was palpable. Niragi considered the shorter man’s reasoning before he pulled back, leaving the two of them. Once the walking danger was out of sight, Rina turned to her friend in relief. He still looked the same as the last time they met, calm but calculating.

“You’re here.” She wanted to give him a hug but hesitated, remembering his indifference to physical contact that night.

Chishiya gave her a half smile as he let go of her. His eyes scanned her form, just like Niragi did earlier, but if he had any comments on her choice of dressing he did not voice it out. She followed him, knowing that he was going to bring her to some initiation test. The questions were bubbling in her mind, but she was hesitant to ask him knowing that he would brush them off again. Not knowing what to say, she awkwardly rubbed her thumbs together. Surprisingly, it was Chishiya who broke the silence.

“Hatter wants you to join the executive committee, that’s why you have to do the initiation test.” He held the evaluator door open as she stepped in, a simple action that she would normally pass on had it not contradict to his behaviour. Acts like this reminded her of the Chishiya she once knew. “It’s just another game, but someone from the committee will be there as well to gauge you.”

“I thought he’s only interested in Arisu?”

“Hatter likes to keep the strongest, most intelligent players close. Everyone has their own strengths, and yours seem valuable enough to him.”

To him. The way he worded his sentence was not lost on her. Perhaps in his mind she was of little value, Rina concluded. The thought of it saddened her, although she could not deny that his intelligence was a force to be reckoned with even when they were young.

“What if I don’t want to join the committee? My visa doesn’t expire for another two days, and I would much rather not put my life on the line unless necessary.” It was uncomfortable being labelled this way, and she most definitely did not want to be forced to play with others’ emotions just because she had an affinity to the game.

“You’ll soon find out that what Hatter wants, he always gets.” His next words were uttered much quieter. “You shouldn’t have came here.”

“Well, Arisu thought this place would hold answers to our existence here, and I figured it is a good place to start…”

“And are you satisfied with the answers you found so far?” The expression on his face mocking her.

“No but I found you, haven’t I?” She gave him a weak smile.

“I see you didn’t heed my advice at all.” A sigh escaped his lips.

The elevator doors opened, this time the sounds of chattering could be heard across the hallway. Once she stepped out, Chishiya let go of the elevator door he was holding and briskly walked towards the noise.

“Chi wait-” The man stopped and walked back to her, this time his expression serious.

He whispered, making it clear that he wanted to keep their conversation clandestine. “Listen, I know you love to bond with strangers over sob stories, but do not ever reveal that you know me in the real world. If anyone asks, we are not friends. You only saw me once, in your first game here. Do I make myself clear?”

She was not used to his commanding tone. He was always so lenient towards her when they were younger, deferring to her decisions without much protest. This was a side of him that she was unfamiliar with, sending goosebumps to her skin and something else, lurking in her stomach. She could only nod at his demand.

Pleased with her acknowledgement, he turned away, not before adding another request.

“When we are not alone, call me by my name and nothing else.”

With that said, he disappeared in the crowd.

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no arisu #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #ace of hearts #fanfiction #chishiya x oc #かくこと

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