#;future: aftermath

[coelarcamth]

[zarnzarn]

Athena shoots upright as soon as her eyes fly open, gasping. She calls on her spear and slashes in a brutal curve, provoking shouts from the enemies who'd been holding her down as they back off. Bares her teeth in a snarl as she grabs the sheets off the bed to whip at the eyes of the assailants and-

Light floods into her eyes as they step away from her attack and she freezes as she remembers a flash of brightness too fast to escape, heat and burning like never before, electricity that seeped into her very bones, thunder that deafened, lightning that hurt-

"Get back!" She hears and turns unsteadily back to- back to where Apollo is pulling Ares back by the cape against the far wall. Apollo. Ares. Aphrodite, Aephestus, Artemis.

"Wh-" She manages, before she's bowled over, coughing. She has never done it before, and she can't stop it from happening- chest rattling as her knees give out, barely holding herself up with her spear in time to reach the bed. It doesn't stop, doesn't stop, plumes of smoke escaping her mouth as she can't stop, can't breathe-

"Athena," Hera whispers, and a rough hand gently touches her on the shoulder, handing her a glass of nectar. She accepts it gratefully, tilting her head back to down it. It's soothing like it's never been before, stoping the coughing at last and it clears her headache long enough to realize that she isn't in her armour- she's in a chiton.

"Where is my armour?" She rasps as soon as she can, wiping her mouth. Looks around- Apollo's chambers.

She'd always known being the favourite wouldn't protect her forever. But repeating the words didn't seem to reduce the hurt.

Nor the shaking fear.

"-not!" Apollo is saying, indignantly setting his hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea how hard you got hit? You're lucky I could even stabilize your aspect enough to reduce some of the damage, otherwise you'd still be having a seizure back at Mount Olympus!"

"Mount Olympus," Athena mutters oddly, without much intent to it. She tries to stand again and her vision suddenly cuts out, provoking a round of screams as she loses her balance.

When the world blurrily comes back into focus- and she doesn't like this, hates this sudden weakness; she's always been able to get back up from any blow, has never visited a medical chamber in her existence, even when they had to fight the Titans- she's in Ares' arms, oddly horizontal.

"Cease this stupidity, sister," Artemis hisses at her as she grabs onto Athena's arms to bring her back to the bed. "Calm yourself. You are alive. You are safe."

"My armour," Athena says, voice cracking, head rolling oddly on her neck, unable to look upright. She catches a glimpse of Aephastus holding onto a sobbing Aphrodite, staring at her with a strange sort of sorrow.

Something twinges in Athena's chest in reply, but she stumbles before she can address it, feeling a fission of panic at the instability before Ares' grip on her tightens enough to keep her upright. They're all staring at her like that, she realizes, with that same horrified heartbreak.

"Didn't Artemis just tell you to cease stupidity?" Ares barks, though it's rather quietly said, for him. He adjusts her on the bed until she can lean back against the pillows. His hands are shaking, and Athena stares at them with curiosity. "Weren't you the one to lecture me half to death about when to remove the armour?"

"What," She says weakly, then moans as an aftershock trembles through her, residual sparks humming maliciously as they exit her skin, leaving her trembling. "I- hmmm, what? What were- what were-"

"Athena, calm down, please, you're scaring us," Hera says, bangles jangling as she sits down next to her, taking one of Athena's hands with desperation. Athena tilts her head to squint, noticing the tears for the first time, before she shudders as her skin registers the heat, the unbearable heat.

"Scaring?" She murmurs when it stops, voice coming out smaller than she intended it to.

"Her fever keeps rising and falling," Apollo reenters the room before anyone can answer, carrying a large tub of some odd liquid. "Here, help me rub this on her skin, it should extract any remaining- any remaining lightning."

They all move towards the tub at the same time, dipping the cloths provided and then taking positions in a circle surrounding her. Athena stiffens, fingers twitching for a weapon, but the first touch of Hera's drenched cloth on her forehead makes her moan in relief, the blessed coolness of it making her melt back into the sheets. She has no strength to complain or protest when her fellow gods each take a limb to rub at, a sensation both horrifically terrible and unbearably good. She has never taken her armour off in her life.

"Easy, that's it," Apollo says coaxingly, lips downturned like he's trying not to cry. She whimpers as the cloth on her left leg suddenly burns as a spark escapes, instinctively pulling it away, but Aphrodite grabs it before she can and resumes rubbing, whispering apologies. She turns her head and weakly opens her mouth for the herb Apollo lifts to her lips, desperate for relief from the splitting headache.

She can't think. She can't think.

Athena has no idea how long it goes on, how long the other gods ignore their realms to tend to her. Slowly, they strike up a conversation, something light-hearted that she can't follow- different from their never-ending arguments and insults, as they talk about the past year and humourous stories and varied anecdotes.

Athena can't help but relax into it, the soft bed at her back and gentle hands massaging her sore muscles and warmth all around her. Feels something trembling within her since she first became aware of herself settling down with a sigh.

Until she suddenly smells ozone.

Hera and Apollo both notice her tensing up immediately, and look to where she can hear slow footsteps approaching. Apollo growls and shoots out a hand, bringing up the shields of his realm.

The conversation dies down as they all look to the side, at the distinct shadow at the other side of the curtain.

Rage, Athena realises, thoughts slow and muddied. They're angry with him.

"I will handle this," Hera says coldly, with the steel undertone that Athena strives for. She moves her cloth aside and leans down to kiss Athena on the forehead, like a mother would. "You rest, my daughter."

Athena's breath hitches, eyes burning. Nobody has ever cared for her, apart from Zeu-

Nobody has ever cared for her.

... Nobody has-

Hera turns sharply at the noise that suddenly escapes Athena, half hysterical laugh and half distraught wail.

"Did I win?" Athena asks desperately, pushing herself upright, ignoring the protests of the others as she pulls her limbs from their grasp. Hera stares at her and Athena grabs the side of the bed as she tries to lever herself up like a wild animal, demanding in a broken voice, "Did I win?"

A silence that stretches for a painful moment before- "Yes," Aephastus says, putting his hand on her shoulder to guide her back from the edge. "Yes, Athena, you won."

A strangled gasp of relief leaves her, making her light-headed as she leans back against the pillows. She shivers, then sobs- humiliation running through her before she hears an answering noise of sorrow from Aphrodite next to her, pressure all around as her five younger siblings embrace her carefully, gently, like she would break at any moment.

She's not the one who's been raped by a Titan's daughter for seven years.

The thought has her breath hitching, wiping her tears away with a hand that refuses to co-operate the first few tries. "I need to-"

"No," Artemis snaps, glaring at her. "I know you think of nothing but your work, but Athena, you cannot do it this time." Outside, Hera's and Zeus' voices rise as they begin to shout and scream. "You must rest."

"N-no, that's not- aah," She groans as another aftershock rips through her, leaving her panting and soaked in sweat when it's done. "I need to- I need-"

"Hermes has gone to his grandson," Aephastus says soothingly. "Peace, Athena. Your hero is free."

For a moment, it doesn't comprehend and she stares at him blankly. "Free," She repeats, words still infuriatingly faint and lilting. "He's free? I- I need my helmet, where is-"

"No, Athena!"

"Sister, please, you cannot resume your duties, you are in no state!"

"I need my helmet, please, please- just give me my helmet!"

Her cry echoes off the walls and she hears herself when it bounces back to her, broken and pleading and so unlike her she feels nauseous. Her siblings have gone silent and still at her begging, staring at her with shock and horror and fear and sorrow alike. Even Zeus and Hera have stopped talking.

Athena shakes, wishing she could rip this awful vulnerability out of her veins, wishes she could find a stone footing to stand on once more, wishes she wasn't in this horrible chiton.

"Please," She whispers.

Quietly, Aephastus gets to his feet and walks in the direction of the nearby drawers, where she can now see her belongings stacked up haphazardly, blood-stained.

"Sister, you must calm down," Aphrodite pleads. She takes her hands and Athena dazedly looks down at her, with her wide, scared eyes. Seizure, her mind registers finally from Apollo's earlier talk. Ah. She seems to have frightened them all. "You cannot afford a relapse."

Athena squeezes her fingers in acknowledgement, but reaches for the helmet when it's held out, dented and worn.

She touches the metal and feels the full force of seven years of silenced prayers hit her at once.

She's crying before she knows she's doing it, clutching the helmet to her chest as the warmth of the worship wraps around her like a shawl, and holds it tight against her as Ares tries to pry it away.

"No, no!" Apollo intervenes, shifting forward. He touches a hand to the helmet and suddenly the hymn bursts forth around them, loud even though the prayer itself is quiet and broken. Athena inhales at the feeling of it, soothing over the cracks in her own mind with their never-ending continuity, desolate, unbroken faith even when she never came to help-

He's still singing.

She shifts her hands on the helmet to make sure but- yes. Odysseus is calling her, still, at this very moment.

Her head snaps up, but even the dizziness the motion causes doesn't take away from how much clearer the room looks. "Where is he?"

"Sister-"

"If you do not answer me, I will take to the skies myself," She says firmly. "Where is he?"

Her siblings exchange looks.

"Three days out from Ithaka," Artemis replies with a sigh. "On a raft. But listen, wait but an hour, at least absorb these prayers-"

Athena stumbles off the bed and pulls on the helmet, closing her eyes.

"Wait, the bandages-!"

"Athena, you'll hurt yourself, please!"

"Daughter, be careful!"

Athena opens her eyes and looks out at the waves, rough and choppy, but not enough to sink the raft. She looks down and looks at the way the faded clothes don't fit him, the way he has no water left to drink but he still continues to sing.

"Odysseus," She says, and he freezes.

A wave rises and falls. They stay silent, unmoving.

"Won't you look?" The words break out of her, cracked and desperate.

He inhales and exhales, tears in the sound of it. "I don't want to look if you're... if you're not really here."

She swallows against the lump in her throat, takes a step forward. "Well, I-" Her voice cracks, but the fragile grin on her face is real as it spreads, the frailest thread of laughter entering her voice. "I would hope. That if you were hallucinating of me, that the spectre would at least have wisdom enough to tell you that you were."

Odysseus sobs and her heart cracks, feels his heart cracking in turn; yet it is akin to a misaligned bone that never healed right and has to be reset- she can hear the laughter before it comes, with relief coming from the brink of madness, with joy they'd both forgotten and missed. "It is you."

"I could not reach you on Ogygia," She blurts out, desperate to make him understand. "Could not hear your call. I would have come the second time you prayed, if I had."

"It is you," He whispers, swaying. A wave rises suddenly and they both burst into movement, grabbing ropes and pulling the mast, balancing together to keep it steady.

The wave passes. They are almost touching now.

"Won't you look?" Athena asks again, raw and grieving. "Odysseus. My companion, my friend. Please."

He turns at that, a stunned expression on his face- before it turns into wide-eyed horror as he looks at her. She laughs breathlessly, slightly dizzy, but- her friend. How lovely it is to see him again.

"Athena!" He rushes forward with unexpected vitality, the parts of him that she knew suddenly rising to light in his eyes, in his movements, becoming unhidden from the defeated, beaten figure he'd been moments before. "What in Gaia's name-"

"I'm sorry," She interrupts as she slumps forward into the hands on her arms, off-balance. "I should have tried better to understand, all those years ago. I understand now and I- Odysseus, I am-"

"Athena, shut up," Odysseus snaps, clearly panicking. She laughs again, because isn't it such a novelty, to have a person who will have the audacity to tell her to? "Of course it's forgiven, I'm sorry too, I should have fucking listened back then- but listen, what in Hades happened to you? Why do you look like this- why do you have bandages- Hermes wouldn't answer when I asked if something happened to you, fuck-"

"Peace," Athena rasps, even as her vision blinks in and out, forcing her to kneel. They both grimace as another wave crashes into the raft, but they don't upturn. Odysseus kneels down with her, staring at her with such worry and concern she can feel nothing but fondness. "The disagreements of gods are often violent."

"Gods-" His eyes flicker to the side of her face, and he frowns, reaching out to push back the helmet. She bends her face down to let him, feeling an odd burning on the left side that she has a vague bad feeling about- proved right when Odysseus' expression falls into blank horror. "You got into a fight with-"

"Yes."

"But he's your-"

"I know. He did not take kindly to my petition to release you," She smiles dryly, without mirth.

"To release me?" Odysseus wheezes, face cracking into anguish and disbelief alike. "Athena, what- I- I'm not worth-"

"It was worth it," She snaps. "Consider it my penance for abandoning my own. I certainly don't regret it."

"I never felt abandoned," Odysseus whispers, taking her hands as she shifts, supporting her body with his own as they lean against the mast. She looks at him, and remembers why Penelope is still weaving, why he's still out on the waters, why Ithaka is waiting out the suitors till Telemachus takes the throne. "I always knew you would come back. I just figured it would take ten years more, perhaps."

Athena is silent for a bit, absorbing that. And then, because she can't hold it back any longer- "I am sorry about your men." His breath hitches under her and she turns to take him in her arms, knowing what's coming. "I am sorry about your friends."

He sobs, ugly and loud, and she holds him tighter. "I am sorry that Titan's whelp had you for so long, and what she did to you. I am sorry the Fates were so unkind."

"Athena," He keens, finally falling to pieces. The sobs are mere loud gasps for air at first, before it dissolves into wailing, screaming, grieving for all the men they'd kept alive through a war, only to lose them to this cruel tragedy instead. Even she hadn't known- hadn't anticipated how wrong things would go after she left. Hadn't even thought that he hadn't reached home.

"It's all my fucking fault," He shouts, shaking. "If only I had- if only-"

"It is not. No one could have known," She whispers. "The Fates are unknown to us all."

He sobs louder and she closes her eyes.

But finally, their tears dry up. She holds him still, as the night fades and the sun rises again, trying to take his hurt into herself so he can be happy again.

"I am sorry," She whispers, seaspray around them. "That my enemies became your own. That I pushed you so hard. That I chose you, and brought pain to your life so."

"Hey now," Odysseus says, pulling back to look at her, a broken smile on his face. "Hold your blasphemous tongue, before you insult the wisdom of Pallas Athena." She laughs, even as tears spill over. "Even if I had the chance to choose again right at this moment, my goddess, I would still choose you."

"That means more than you know," Athena murmurs, overcome. She gathers all her strength and reaches out to run a hand over his head, soothing his mind and driving away the last tendrils of madness that were still holding onto him. He sighs and relaxes under her, some visible weight lifting from his shoulders. "Still. I will learn from my mistakes. If you would give your old friend a chance-"

"Stop right there. Of course I-" Odysseus scoffs, reaching out to hold her left cheek for emphasis. "Athena, your left eye is half gone."

"Ah. Well, that explains the depth perception," She mutters, then bursts into giggles at the incredulous look on his face.

"Are you drugged?" Odysseus demands, but he's already trying not to laugh himself. They both move on fast. "What am I saying, of course you are- have you been drugged this whole time? Who on Earth drugged you?"

"That would be me," Apollo says, crossing his arms.

Odysseus snarls, grabbing his sword and swinging wildly in an arc, half-animal in his panic, pushing Athena behind him.

"FUCKING- whoa, hey, calm down, it's her brother, it's Apollo!" Apollo half-shrieks inelegantly, jumping back. "Honestly! Athena, call off your hero, please."

"Apollo?" Odysseus tilts his head, lowering his sword and narrowing his eyes.

Apollo stares at him. "Wow, you two- really do act the exact same, huh. Yes, Apollo, god of please let me change your fucking bandages, do you mind?"

Odysseus bows and murmurs apologies, clearly wary of getting into more trouble, but to her mild surprise walks behind Athena instead of to the other side of the raft.

"I don't need assistance," She mutters to him, even as she grimaces at the length of the chiton as she tries to pull herself upright.

"You're still dizzy," Odysseus points out, settling in behind her to hold her steady. He wipes at the tears still on his face and smiles at her. She manages a half-smile back. "Do you need to go back to Olympus?"

"Yes," Artemis crosses her hands and Odysseus' fingers tighten painfully on her shoulders.

"I'm not quite certain there's space for so many on this raft," Athena mutters.

"It's a magical raft, it'll survive- but never mind that, could you not have at least sent a message that you were okay?"

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before running off without a word!"

"Really, daughter, you should know better!"

Odysseus grip is bruising now, and his sword is in front of Athena protectively; she can already tell what moves he's planning to use if they choose to attack. "Who..?" He asks lowly.

"Pantheon. At ease," She replies back shortly, before looking up at the others. "I thank you, my fellow go- my family, for your worry and concern. But we are only two days out from Ithaka and I would like to see this journey completed."

"You are not going to see yourself completed, if you don't rest," Apollo says, roughly at the exact same time that Athena undermines her own argument by throwing up on the raft.

"Athena, go," Odysseus says urgently when it's over, handing her helmet back to her and adjusting her cape as Hera kneels down beside her to hand her another glass of nectar, looking at him oddly. Odysseus grimaces and changes his tone. "I will be fine, patroness. I'll call for you when I reach the shores."

Movement catches her eye and she sees Ares remove his own helmet, giving her a reproving look. She remembers the speech he was talking about now- the one she'd loudly ranted at him when she was drunk a year ago, thinks about how much more at ease he is now.

"Alright," She acquiesces and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. "Two days."

Mania fills Odysseus' eyes as he smiles back, finally home from a war twenty years ago. "Two days."

Athena grins, even as she feels Hera wrap an arm around her to take her away. "Penelope is waiting."

Odysseus' eyes widen, then fill with tears, like he'd never quite truly let himself believe it; but his smile is wide and true. "Penelope is waiting. Thank you, Pallas Athena."

"You don't thank friends," She murmurs, exhaustion settling in. Odysseus laughs and the last thing she feels is a warm hand on her cheek and their foreheads pressed together, before the world goes black and she knows no more.

[reagi-df]

Things we do for the ones we love

[borgialucrezia]

"There is that final embrace that I think helps with letting his brother go in a way. Juan has been the one who drove Cesare to become what he is now, and I think Cesare is building walls around his heart. You do get colder and less sentimental when you take that path. He has to go on and he can't mourn him forever, especially since he's responsible for his death. He's not making excuses for what he is anymore, and what he wants to be. He ultimately feels that it's the right thing for himself. It's something that he focused on and I think he can control his mind into having no second thoughts. And that's the only way you can rule in that era, really." — FRANÇOIS ARNAUD

[andreai04]

You're stalling, ART-drone said.

I am not. I can stand here and be useless without any ulterior motives, thanks.

[transingthoseformers]

I'm thinking about the terrans celebrating their birthdays again

This time for hurt/comfort, as we compare Twitch and Thrash's 1st birthday to their 20,230th birthday

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath: Yellow Eyes

Gordon has trouble sleeping, even months after waking up in the hospital after the Black Mesa incident. Worse yet are the things he's been seeing since then.

CW: Drug mentions

Notes: A little over 2000 words, and another short Aftermath story, as a treat

Dyson Spheres.

Incredible, unfathomable structures built to harvest the energy of the stars; large rings of an intelligent being’s design, orbiting the star it imprisons. The rings each hold enough energy to power entire civilizations, those very civilizations being made up of things man currently doesn’t know, or will very well never understand. What remains out in the distant reaches of the universe remains a mystery, one that humanity may never even come close to grasping within its feeble minds and sense of what is reality. What even is reality? Is it something set in stone, the very pieces of it being placed together like a cosmic, fractured puzzle, with the full picture slowly being revealed? Is it something that fluctuates like the waves of the great seas, something that humanity can get so close to understanding, yet every time it goes the right path, the road ahead becomes twisted and deformed like tangled ropes, with humans having to begin the process of entanglement anew. 

The Dyson sphere appears so simple to the mind, the concept feeling like the natural next step in power production, yet at the very same time it feels so grandiose and impossible for it to be fully understood. What happens when something far greater than humanity has already found out the very concept of what reality is, bending it to its will and making the improbable and incomprehensible perfectly understandable to their greater minds? Would humanity fall to the greater power? Will they adapt to the new understanding of the universe, or will they perish like a rabbit ensnared in a hunters trap, doomed to thrash and attempt to free itself, only to realize it doesn’t have the strength nor the understanding to ever truly be free? Perhaps if we look at the stars long enough, they’ll finally meet our gaze; only then will we learn if our eyes will see the splendor of the cosmos or if they’ll burn like everything else.

Gordon stared at the messy drawings in his journal, depicting Dyson spheres and alien planets, ones that he could only imagine being out there, somewhere, in the infinity of space. His eyes stung from the cold air around him, with it being hard to remember if he’s even blinked once within the last few minutes. His glasses had slid down his nose, nearly falling off before he pushed them up with one of his thin, calloused and scarred hands. He was unsure of what time it was, or even how long he'd been awake, though the exhaustion creeping up on him, along with the headache he felt reverberating in his skull, were enough to deter him from wasting more time thinking too hard about too many things at once. He carefully shut the journal, shoving it into one of the drawers in the desk before standing up. His right shin ached, sending a sharp pain up his leg as soon as he placed his weight on it. He brushed the pain off, reaching for the wooden cane that was leaning against the side of the desk’s top.

When Gordon left the office, he glanced down the hallway he stood in, seeing the light from the lamp placed in the living room pouring through, barely reflecting off of his green eyes before he turned around, opening one of the doors of the hallway. He flicked on the bathroom light, being greeted to the mirror above the sink, with the sight of who was staring back at him from it making him let out a soft sigh. He first noticed how disheveled he looked; His hair was uncut and unclean, pulled back into a lazily done ponytail, and his beard was no longer a clean-cut goatee, but instead a messy, stubbly mess. He was still wearing the hand-me-down green sweater Eli had gifted him right when he got out of the hospital a couple months prior; God, had it already been that long? Despite the sheer mess his appearance was, his eyes were the worst part. They appeared darkened by the shadow under his brows, the bags under them telling how little sleep he’s gotten for him. The once bright, hopeful look in his eyes was now a hollow, dark glare. He examined the face of the man who he was surprised, yet disappointed, survived things that have made full armies fall, all before he shook off the feeling and opened the mirror, revealing the medicine cabinet behind it.

He pushed empty pill bottles to the side before grabbing a semi-transparent orange bottle with a white cap, one that had his name on it. He opened it, taking out the last two pills before swallowing them, all before slamming the bottle on the countertop beside the sink and closing the mirror. He looked down, not making eye contact with himself as he turned away, back into the dark hallway as the bathroom light was shut off behind him. When he limped into the living room, only barely using his cane to support his weight, he heard rustling coming from the kitchen nearby. He stared into the dark room, catching short glimpses of a green light coming from inside before he approached, flicking on the light to see if he could see what was there. He walked around one of the kitchen’s counters, hearing the rustling getting louder before he finally saw the culprit; A small bug-like creature biting and clawing at a pack of off-brand cookies. Gordon sighed, realizing it was nothing but his pet Snark, or Stanley as he called him. Gordon placed his cane against the wall, letting out his breath as he crouched down, his right leg nearly giving out as he did so, to pick up the dull red and black shell of the oversized bug, causing it to let out high-pitched squeaks as it was held up. Gordon stared at its one, giant glowing green eye before he held it against his chest with one hand, using the other to pick up the torn packaging of the plastic cookie container; no wonder the vet said that Stanley was slightly overweight.

Gordon tossed the container into the trashcan as he left the room, flicking the light off as he limped towards the living room couch and the lamp resting beside it. Stanley hopped out of Gordon’s grasp, landing on the couch cushions before Gordon sat down beside where it landed. He rested his hands on his jean clad legs, before reaching up and removing his glasses, rubbing his eyes with the other hand as if that would help ease the exhaustion. Stanley chirped and squeaked as it crawled around the couch, moving up and onto the back of it when Gordon turned his legs to lay across the entirety of the couch. He adjusted himself until he was mostly comfortable, using one of the cushions to support his head and sore leg, all before he lightly placed his glasses onto the coffee table in front of the couch. Stanley rolled off of the back of the couch, landing on Gordon’s stomach, making Gordon let out a breath and wincing slightly when he felt Stanley’s claws digging into his stomach, luckily not enough to leave any cuts. He lightly caressed the back of Stanley’s shell as it laid down on top of him, its eye closing before Gordon leaned back, reaching for the lamp’s pull-cord, and shutting it off.

.

.

.

Gordon heard static before his eyes had even opened, the harsh sound ripping him out of deep sleep more effectively than any alarm clock ever has. When his eyes opened, he glanced towards the pale-blue light of the television near the front of the room, seeing it was tuned to a dead channel. Gordon was tempted to get up and shut it off, but his arms nor legs made any attempt to move from their spot on the couch. In fact, nothing could move aside from his eyes, with a wave of paralyzation hitting him at that moment. Gordon’s heart thumped in his chest as he tried not to panic, knowing it to just be a temporary paralysis that would leave him at any moment, though the longer it took, the further he delved into feeling trapped in his own body. As he desperately tried to move a single one of his limbs, he froze, eyes staring at something he could barely see through his blurred vision. Next to television stood a tall man, one that was barely visible through the darkness behind the bright light of the static. Gordon could make out the outline of its white dress shirt under its dark coat and tie, but Gordon’s eyes fixated on the two bright yellow eyes staring back at him in silence. The man didn’t move, feeling close to a bizarre statue one might find in a museum somewhere, feeling so lifelike yet so surreal and fake at the same time. 

Gordon was unsure whether the apparition was real or simply another hallucination, yet his body had already made its decision that it was a threat, trying desperately to get Gordon out of harm’s way, yet remaining unmoving aside from a few minor twitches. Gordon finally managed to free his arm, reaching for the pull cord before turning the light on, his head turning to face where the man was, only to find him gone, as if he was never there in the first place. The TV was off, with the static’s sound and light disappearing when the light returned to the room. His breathing heaved his chest, making him ache with every harsh breath he took. He sat up, eyes fixated on the place where the man once stood, almost as if he expected him to reappear the second he blinked. However, his attention was drawn away when he looked down, seeing Stanley prodding at his foot with one of its claws, its antennae twitching all the while. Gordon glanced back up, thankful when he saw nothing out of the ordinary before he leaned over and let Stanley crawl onto his hand, holding it up and placing it back onto the couch cushion beside him.

“Gordon?”

The sound of someone else's voice nearly made Gordon jump out of his own skin, his hand instinctively reaching for a gun holster he didn’t have around his waist. Gordon’s tension was relieved however when he saw who the voice belonged to: Barney. Barney was standing in the hallway, covered in a blank gray t-shirt and sweatpants, with his tired eyes staring back at Gordon, with an emotion that was unreadable. 

“What are you doing up so early,” Barney asked, “I thought you were the one to sleep in all the time.”

Gordon tried to think of an answer, feeling his throat become tight when he didn’t have one, at least not one he wished to share.

“Also…I thought I told you to keep that roach in its pen while you stay here.” Barney pointed at Stanley, who was in the process of crawling underneath the couch beside Gordon’s foot. 

Gordon looked around, not seeing where it had went before letting out a breath, messily using sign language to say; “Put him back later.”

“Why don’t you put him back now,” Barney said with a stern tone, “I don’t want to come back from work to see it raided the pantry again.”

Gordon looked to the side, deciding to not bring up the torn up cookie container at that moment. Gordon stood up, a wave of nausea hitting him at once as soon as he did, causing him to fall back onto the couch, sitting there until it started to wane again. Barney’s slightly annoyed gaze softened when he watched Gordon rub his eyes, tiredly reaching for his glasses to put them back on.

“...You look like hell.”

Gordon was aware of that sentiment already, making him not feel a need to respond.

“You sure you’re good to work with Doc today?” Barney questioned as Gordon tried again to stand up, this time succeeding in not collapsing. “You know, I can always ask him to give you a day off–”

“Fine.” Gordon signed. “I’m Fine.”

Barney stared back at Gordon before letting out a slight scoff. “I suppose I can’t really tell you what to do, huh.”

Gordon glared at him, not noticing, nor caring, how harsh the look appeared. It didn’t last long regardless however, as right after he began to look for Stanley to put him back in his pen, whistling to try and get its attention. Barney continued to stare at Gordon from the hallway, tired eyes only barely concealing his worry before he turned back towards his room to get ready for his job at the hospital. When Gordon heard the door close, he looked back at the hallway, brows slightly furrowed as he thought to himself. He didn’t expect Barney to understand exactly the things he had been experiencing since he woke up, and the very thought of telling him, risking the very friendship Gordon had been treasuring since he could remember, made him feel ill. Of course, the ill feeling could have also come from the tension he felt in his chest, but it didn’t matter regardless. Barney deserved better than to be dragged into another man’s mess, anyway.

Thus, by choice for once, Gordon remained silent.

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

@arthur-lesters-spinal-cord I'm once again thinking about the dollins au.

[pigeonentity]

if i got the chance to write a novelisation of orphan 55 i would talk about spyfall more than if i got to write a novelisation of spyfall itself

[bunny-the-bunny]

YGO GX: the aftermath (updates)

Chapter five will be coming out in late February or early March cause of college stuff. It’s just hard right now to find time to write it out. But I got notes and it’s gonna be a breakthrough.

In the meantime, take your time to recover from chapter four. I say that because of what’s to come since I’ll be throwing more stuff at y’all like that in the future. 🤭

For now, here’s the title:

Chapter 5: A cry out for help

You can theorize what it’s gonna be about. It might help to reread chapters three and four to piece together what happens next. Especially chapter four all the way to the end.

See ya soon with more updates. ����🏾

Anyways take these gifs are my babies, Jaden and Jay.

[borgialucrezia]

i think it's iconic how both juan and cesare have episodes centered on them that are named after machiavelli's books!! with juan's episode titled "the art of war" and cesare's episode titled "the prince" (the show's finale that also had juan haunting its narrative)

[apuff]

fixed my killjoy sona

[clopinasworld]

Day 11 - Wander

[commitmentissue]

with the end of winter coming, the twins had their first birthdays! and in the most unfortunate news the game punished me even more by giving haven the loser trait 😔 she already wasn't supposed to survive birth but i didn't really know how to go about it so uh for now i will be sending her to boarding school since i don't want to off a child. on the bright side, faith survived being a toddler with the lucky trait 🌈

[viperra1]

I got questions I got questions about vulture a lotta questions! 3, 4, 6, 7, 18, 25, 37, 39

i took so long to answer oh my god sorry!!!!! here it is!!

3. What is their SPECIAL?

Answered here!! <3

4. What perks or tagged skills do they have?

Tagged skills: Speech, Survival

Perks: Terrifying Presence, Animal Friend and Sniper

6. Were they born pre-war or post-war?

Vulture was born post-war, and is close to Boone's and Veronica's age!

Though, there's no trace of his date of birth in his diary and his memory never returns to him, so he doesn't know how old he is. He only knows that he wasn't a ghoul before the Divide, and he knows his approximate age thanks to Ulysses' observation of his pre-Divide self.

7. Do they wish they lived before the war / could go back to life before the war?

Oh yesss, for sure.

It intrigues him, and he would certainly bug Raul and every other pre-war ghoul about that era.

Still, I doubt that Vulture would love the real life before the war (not the one that's just his impression of it), or that he would wish for it for more that few seconds of lazy daydreaming.

Even in those few seconds that he would wish to live before the war, he would probably think about it more like: "Man, I wish I lived before the war, it would've been so cool to not be ghoulified. Right?"

18. Do they have any disabilities, mutations, or implants / enhancements? Do they have any chronic illnesses?

*prepares a list*

So.

He's a ghoul and a Marked One. His skin was literally torn off from his body by radioactive winds. His flesh is slowly decaying and degrading. His left side suffered so much damage during the atom blast that his left eye is about to pop out of it's socket because his eyelids are literally too weak and rotten to hold it.

Y-yeahhhhh...... Even though he probably restored an extremely thin layer of his skin somewhere along New Vegas storyline, his eye will need to be removed. And he's probably suffering from chronic tendonitis or something along the likes of it because of the degrading flesh from ghoulification.

And yes, he has implants in his spine (Old World Blues) and the implants on intelligence, endurance, perception and strength from Dr. Usanagi.

The perception implant, I believe, would be a direct eye and an eyelid implants to replace Vulture's bad eye.

25. Are they quick to trust others?

I'd say yes, but probably not.

Let me elaborate!

Vulture is quick to make you think he trusts you - he's gonna show you his vulnerable side, he's gonna go belly up for you in terms of the rules of the survival in the Mojave.

He's gonna trust a complete stranger with his things and his food and his life, but oh! What's that? Show you his skin without the disguise? Nope. Even Boone saw his truly vulnerable parts just by accident, and even then Vulture took his time to open up to him enough to show it on his own much, much later.

He trusts his fears and insecurities only to his companions and close friends (which are few), but yeah, he doesn't give off the impression of a closed up person. He's quick to open, just not in the way that truly matters lol :D

If it's important, then he's gonna think for a loooooong time before trusting someone.

37. What is the worst injury they have experienced?

If we are not counting The Incidents that were the Divide and the Benny Disaster (and we're not), Vulture was gravelly injured only once.

Sure, he's constantly nursing broken bones and concussions, but it wasn't ever that serious as this.

I won't spoil when exactly it happened, but a Legionary almost gutted Vulture, stabbing him in the torso multiple times with a poisoned blade. That was NOT a fun experience, Vulture almost died, and would have, if not for Boone's quick thinking with stimpacks and healing poiltice AND radiation treatment from a nearby medic.

Vulture hates being healed by radiation because of the rumour that it might turn even sentient ghouls feral, but he certainly would have died from that injury if he were a baseline human (even with the other treatments that he received, only his ghoulish healing factor saved his life).

And the crowd goes... yay?

39. What is their favorite song?

Something's Gotta Give!!!

It's a song that reminds Vulture of his and Boone's relationships, so he listens to it religiously every time it comes up. Tbh, he was in love with that song even before he met Boone.

"That Domino guy is such a prick. How the fuck he managed to create a song as good as this one???", Vulture would say about that song. He has huge beef with Dean after Sierra Madre, but well oh well, a good song never dies in Vulture's loyal heart.

Btw, I made an animatic with this song :) It was just such a good fit for them that in the end I couldn't resist lol

[izzydaninja]

Summary: "This place was huge and towering, unfamiliar and unwelcoming; this place wasn’t home. He wanted to go home. But… It wouldn’t be the same."

My First Danny Phantom Story! Literally only just got into the fandom within this month: June 13th, to be exact.