#COME BACK TO ME STREET CHAMP MENACE

[vanityangel]

then. now. forever.

[majorasnightmare]

also i never post about it but dirges career path post epilogue utterly delights me. his warlock pact is specifically to find or produce novel information to be witnessed through his eye for his patron, so in return for providing the magic fuel source and after fully deciphering the necromancy of thay, dirge just skips the skeleton and zombies bit of necromancy and gets to the "blurring the veil between life and death" part, and sets about transmuting dead flesh into chimerical abominations animated by necromantic ritual and powered by eldritch strength from beyond the stars. theyre technically soulless, with primitive notochords instead of complex brains, and theyre linked to his will via blood bond, so the risk of having a creation go beserk and kill him is relatively low, and theyre all technically aberrations rather than undead, but despite skirting most moral concerns he can think of (NOT grave robbing OR killing people in baldurs gate! its imported! its not the enslavement of the dead because he doesnt even summon and bind a deceased spirit! theyre not undead theyre abberrations!), the end result is still that most everyone is made profoundly uncomfortable especially because dirge models several features after human anatomy for no real reason other than he likes the look.

but most importantly it means that dirge is TECHNICALLY a healer now, after an entire campaign of being a killing machine, and thats so fucking funny to me because the dark urge healer lines are SO funny. he uses the default durge voice too so they come out really menacing, and hes just out here healing people marcille dungeonmeshi style. dirge holding onto gales severed arm looming closer while gale tries to squirm away to get shadowheart and dirge is just drenched in gore happy to help a friend and gale is praying to every god he can think of because this is legitamate nightmare fuel before dirge is just like "dont worry, ill kiss it better" and forcibly revitalizes and melts the limb back onto gales shoulder, no anaesthesia no painkillers just rawdoggin this shit, reattaching nerves and muscle tendons right there on the street, and gales scream hitting a pitch only perceivable to specific breeds of songbird

worlds worst doctor. youll fully recover but at what fucking cost. walk away with your surgery costs 0 but your therapy bill skyrocketing. dude who got his anatomy training vivisecting kidnapping victims and his medicine proficiency through torture and graverobbing. the only time in his life hes scary on accident rather than on purpose

it goes without saying that minthara takes it like a champ and also thinks his horrible homemade blights upon gods creation is the coolest shit and people should just stop being moralizing losers about it. its also unironically fantastic for his mental health like the fleshwarped blasphemous nightmare creatures are really tangibly improving the state of things for him

[nani-nonny]

I was reading your recent DMD update and I was wondering if the teens ever talked to Leo using his Battle Nexus title? Like do they just kinda go up to him and go “Barbarian, can you make me a grilled cheese?” or do they only call him Leo?

oh geez, imagine waddling up to the renowned Battle Nexus Champ—infamous for his seemingly murderous style of fighting and danger vibes altogether—and asking for a grilled cheese sandwich—pfft

But, honestly, great question!

No! :D They don’t. (The closest they get to mentioning Barbarian is by calling him the Battle Nexus Champ or Big Mama’s champ.) Leon tried once, once solely because he was still annoyed the morning after Leo came back from a championship fight instead of listening and staying home.

Leon tried to play it off as a simple “good morning” type of conversation starter, and he was sorely reminded of how terrifying the Nexus warrior, Barbarian, is.

Hmmm… might be unfamiliar or a little scary (or triggering) to mention to some, but it’s kind of like using an ex-gang member’s “street name” out of nowhere. It kind of catches them off guard because it comes out of the mouth of the one they least expect. (Bad example, but this is the best I can think of at the moment lol and is from personal experience. It was how my cousin, an ex-gang member, would react when me and a cousin around my age pranked him once by calling him by his street name. It was a little spooky, don’t recommend but he was very nice about it.)

Umm… think it’s best I write it? Or maybe it’s simple to write for Leo it’s a feeling of, “I don’t like you calling me that.”

I’ll write it anyways: vvvvv

Leon’s happy mood sours when he arrives to the kitchen hearing Leo stumble through the lair and into the medbay. He told Leo not to go to the Battle Nexus, and not just because he still doesn’t like Big Mama. It’s always like this, Leo comes home covered in bruises and scrapes and cuts, barely able to walk into the medbay. Leo rests in the medbay for hours, and still refuses to leave Big Mama’s arena.

Leon grabs a cup of water for Leo and heads into the medbay with a plan in mind—a prank, if you will. A simple, measly prank meant to annoy the elder slider just a little. Just enough to “poke the bear.”

The young slider pops into the medbay, not surprised to see Leo standing near one of the medical wardrobes and bandaging his arm.

Leon looks down to see the trail of blood Leo left behind as the elder slowly rolls the bandage around his forearm. The elder’s back is turned to Leon, so the younger clears his throat before greeting.

“Hey, Barbarian, so what are we going to eat—,” Leon begins but freezes when the elder looks over his shoulder at him.

Leon’s heart stops under the elder’s cold glare. He can feel himself shrink out of pure fear, his blood running cold. All he can think was how this was exactly how he felt when he first witnessed the Barbarian in action that day months ago. Fear courses through his body and renders him frozen where he stands.

The elder’s back has never looked more menacing than now, a gaze so cold-blooded and filled to brim with a lust for violence. He’s like a looming tower, tall and overbearing to the teenage slider. And in a voice that sends chills through the young slider’s body, he asks, “What did you say?”

Leon swallows his nerves and drops the cup in his frozen state. His voice trembles and shakes as he tries to say, “I was just—I asked if you—.”

And like it never happened, Leo’s threatening demeanor breaks and his expression softens. He turns to face Leon and clears his throat to speak in his usual, warm cadence, “What did you call me?”

Leon steps back, his eyes looking everywhere but Leo as he stammers, “I was—I called you. —Leo.”

Leo’s eyes look down at the spilled water and rolling cup, and ties off the end of his bandage. He looks at Leon’s terrified gaze and kneels to pick up the cup. He doesn’t rise but looks up at Leon, “I didn’t expect you to… you know. Sorry about that. Can you get me another cup?”

Leon swallows and clenches his jaw shut. He nods and scurries out of the medbay. His heart pounds against his plastron, beating and beating—beating hard enough to make him think it’s going to burst straight through his chest. His hand fumbles with the faucet as his mind tries to understand what just happened.

That was Leo, right? It wasn’t some stranger with a glare strong enough to kill on sight. It was Leo. Right? Please be right. Dear ancestors, that seemed like a whole other person. That was Barbarian in the room, wasn’t it?

“Leon.”

The young slider flinches, causing the cup to fly out of the sink and smack against the kitchen floor with endless bounces. He flips around in a flash, back against the sink and clinging to the countertop. “Y-Yeah? Yes? Leo?”

Leo is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his shadow reaching over and consuming the entirety of Leon’s body.

The elder slider stands in the doorway for a moment before he sits down and opens his arms. “I scared you, didn’t I?”

Leon cracks a forced smile, waving off the elder with a shaky hand, “Me? Pssh! No, not me. You didn’t scare me at all.”

Leo’s arms down lower, he only raises his brow and admits, “Well, you scared me. And I need a hug.”

Leon hesitates, staring at the space behind the elder.

The elder beckons Leon once, “Come on.”

Leon swallows and launches himself into Leo’s hug, burying himself in the elder’s embrace like his life depended on it. He hides in the elder’s front, trying to make himself small and looks as harmless as possible.

The elder rubs Leon’s carapace, patting the younger’s shell and holding tightly. His voice is soothing like a whisper as he admits, “You caught me off guard there… I think I’m still a little… riled up. Sorry.”

Leon doesn’t respond, but accepts the apology by hugging the elder tighter.

“I’m sorry,” Leo repeats.

[catmonk]

Bruised Waynes

Part One Part Two

Inspired by this post from @sepia-stained-sunset

Pairing- (GEN) Bruce Wayne and His Kids

The one where his kids drive him insane.

The streets were lively today but it was Gotham, no calm nights existed. The rumble of an engine filled the cave as the Batmobile slid into its place. The driver’s side opened and two figures tumbled out.

“Father, that fiend deserved death at my blade.”

“Robin. The criminals deserve a second chance, your personal opinions should not dictate who lives and dies.”

“Tsk.” Damian stormed off, likely to complain to Alfred.

Bruce slid the cowl off his face and rubbed his eyes fiercely. He sat down in front of the Batcomputer, chair creaking under his weight. The nights seemed to get longer the older he got. If only raising children was as easy as defeating the latest villain. His thoughts were interrupted by a light ping. 

Update to the Medical File- 

Nightwing: two weeks 😅

Bruce’s heart clenched. What injury would take Dick that long to heal? He flicked through the tabs, opening the comm line to his son. He had to stay calm.

Click.

“Champ, report.”

“Ghauuh, I tore my hamstring doing squats.”

He signed. “Put some ice on it, and come to the manor for a checkup from Agent A.” Bruce leaned back in his chair, “And use the medical file correctly.”

“What, you said in more detail so I added an emoji.”

“That's- ok fine, I’m proud of you son.”

Click.

-

Batman was the night. He was terror. The dark knight of Gotham. Currently, the said dark knight is attempting to stop the Condiment King. 

"The big bad Bat-guy. I knew you'd ketchup to me sooner or later. How I relished this meeting. Come, Batman. Let's see if you can cut the mustard." 

Ping! Bruce would recognize the sound anywhere. Instantly, he flipped behind Condiment King- god that’s a horrible name-, picking him up by the scruff of his neck. 

“You’ve done enough damage, Standler.” He growled. Grabbing one of the man’s wrist, he handcuffed it to the kiosk of the terrorized restaurant. 

A man crouched behind the counter rose up. “Thank you Batman, you saved my restaurant.” 

Batman was nowhere to be found. 

Well, no one would find him on the rooftop.

Update to the Medical File- 

Red Hood: stabbed. 

“Oracle, alert the GCPD that Condiment King was apprehended. Connect me to Red Hood.” Batman spoke into the empty air. He heard his comm crackle only a few seconds later.

Click.

“Talk to be Jaylad, where did you get stabbed.”

“Kinda busy here, B. Kori just started another bar fight.”

“Jason, I need to know how injured you are.”

“We’re winning, if you care. Toodle-o, Pops” 

Click.

Bruce stared down at the city in frustration. Why were his children like this? He sighed and radioed in for Alfred to prepare his aspirin. Not that any medicine would help, his tolerance had long required enough tranquilizer for a rhino. 

-

Update to the Medical File- 

Red Robin: hand =͟͟͞͞( •̀д•́)))

Bruce rubbed his eyebrows, looking down at the notification. He was sure that Tim was in the manor. In fact, as he opened his window he could hear two voices yelling in the yard below.

“Your cow BIT ME.”

“Tch, it was your fault, Drake. She was only protecting her master.”

“Protecting you?” Tim scoffed, “You're the menace here, no one else in this city wears platform crocs.”

Bruce peered below to confirm that yes, Damian was indeed taller than usual. 

“I’ll have you know that these are designer!” Damian pulled a knife out of his pants, only to get toppled over with a push. 

Bruce slowly closed the window. What he didn’t see wasn't his problem. 

Ping!

Update to the Medical File- 

Robin: avenged.

-

The halls of the Justice League overlooked the vastness of Earth. Batman glowered out the window while Signal looked around in awe. These meetings could be a business email, but Alfred had wanted him to ‘socialize’. Behind him, Superman would fall for a prank from Hal Jordan again. 

“Psst, B, can you introduce me to Wonder Woman?”

“Hgnh.” Better Diana than Clark at least. Bruce motioned for Duke to follow, leading him to Green Arrow and Wonder Woman talking about their weekend. He nodded at them. “This is my new protege, The Signal.”

Green Arrow stroked his goatee, “Geez, where do you get these kids?”

“...aren't you Oliver Queen?” 

“TELL YOUR KIDS TO STOP EXPOSING ME!”

Ping!

Update to the Medical File- 

The Signal: mentally scarred

If anyone saw Batman’s lips quirk up, they certainly wouldn't say anything. 

-

Neither of them could be seen against the pitch black of Gotham’s skyline. Batman and Orphan stood silently, overlooking the city. Orphan tilted her head, nudging to the right. 

“What is it, Orphan.” Batman growled. 

She didn't respond, electing to jump down the side of the building. 

Batman followed, looking around he saw her with her hand down a street gutter. He pinched his nose bridge, Agent A would scold both of them later. As he got closer, he could hear a faint mewing from the street gutter, and he watched as Cassandra scooped a tiny black kitten. He kneeled down beside her carefully.

“This is the sign for cat.” Using both hands he pinched his index and thumb together by the side of each cheek.

Putting the kitten in her lap, she mimicked the sign.

“It looks like he needs a home. Catwoman will be glad to foster him.”

Cass shook her head. “Cat Alfred…needs Cat Bruce.”

“Eta back to the cave in seven minutes.” Bruce sighed. 

He could tell she was beaming behind the mask.

Ping! 

Update to the Medical File- Orphan: image.png 🐈‍⬛

[patricksmusicblog]

DMX Discography Overview

It's Dark and Hell is Hot(1998): DMX's distinctive growl, aggression, and arresting flow is fully formed and at its highest potency here on It's Dark and Hell Is Hot. It's Dark and Hell is Hot is, for the most part, a dark menacing and street-orientated album. Some tracks even lean toward a horror-core vibe, "X is Coming" being the bleakest and most unsettling of the bunch. Still, there are deeply emotive tracks like Let Me Fly, Look Through My Eyes, and Convo, where DMX gets introspective and lets us in on his struggles internally and morally/spiritually. There are also hits here, like the hard but catchy "Ruff Ryders Anthem" and the chill summer jam "How's It Going Down." The album's production is handled by PK and Dame Grease, with the album's calling card produced by Swizz Beatz. On a broader level, DMX was a presence in the rap game filled some of the space that had been vacant since Tupac Shakur was murdered, passionate, aggressive, and visceral only specifically representative of the east coast. He also was the answer to the shiny suit luxury rap era Puffy was dominating with in 1997. The album is pure classic and certainly a top-tier album of 1998. Rating: 9.0/10

Favorite Tracks: Rough Rydahs Anthem, How's It Going Down, Intro, Crime Story, Look Thru My Eyes, Let Me Fly

Flesh of my Flesh Blood of my Blood(1998): Flesh of My Flesh Blood of my Blood was released in late December of 1998 cemented DMX as the biggest rapper of that year and late 90s in general(Jay-Z notwithstanding). Aside from the Beastie Boys, the album had the highest first-week sales in a highly competitive year. As for the quality of this one, It's more of DMX's burst of rough and jagged rhymes. When he's not menacing(which is most of the time), he's as introspective and pain-stricken as he was on It's Dark, and Hell Is Hot. The apex of that would be "Slippin," an iconic song that is amongst the saddest tracks in hip-hop history as DMX open shares the trauma of his upbringing, being an addict and struggling to get out of it only to find its way back in it and everything that surrounds that in his past. It's really the fight in the song that makes the song his willingness not to quit and keep trying that makes the song "I got to get up, get back on my feet so I can tear sh*t up." What keeps the album from being the classic his debut was is that Swizz Beats takes the helm on most of the production here, which is hit or miss. DJ Shok, PK, and Dame Grease have a lot of the best beats here. They bring out that dark energy and tone that makes for X's best work. All in all, it's still a great project and amongst his best work. Rating: 8.0/10

Favorite Tracks: Slippin', Dogs For Life, Coming From, Black Out,

...And Then There Was X(1999): ...And Then There Was X picks up were DMX previously left out brutal, pummeling bone-crushing violence come is to be expected. "One More Road to Cross" and "The Professional"(one of the albums hardest tracks) are early highlights. Then there's the heartfelt but mature writing of "Here We Go Again," one X's best tracks, and "More 2 a Song," the ladder of which speaks to DMX's avoidance when it comes to rapping about the flashy materialistic side of things. While this is DMX's third full length album, it sounds more like a full-fledged sophomore effort to It's Dark and Hell is Hot while Flesh of my Flesh' plays more as an extension, too, or a very good b-side to its predecessor. This album contains some of DMX most well-known hits it including his biggest "Party Up"(Up in Here), a high energy track produced by Swizz Beatz that finds DMX being peak DMX, the chorus is both funny and little corny, there's a good touch of humor in DMX's bars on the track that give it charm. Another well-known X track is "What these B*tches Want" ft Sisqo, a silly and misogynistic track that has its charm and humor but is a bit lacking as far as the chorus in my opinion. "What's My Name?" however, is a banger that's one of DMX's better singles and meant to be played at a high volume out of your car. ...And Then There Was X is another strong album from DMX, and its more consistent than Flesh of my Flesh' less visceral and hungry than It's Dark. 8.5/10 

Favorite tracks: Party Up(Up in Here) Here We Go Again, What's My Name, The Professional, Angel, More 2 a Song

The Great Depression(2001): DMX's fourth straight #1 album finds him trying new things. There are the rap-rock efforts like Bloodline Efforts, and I'ma Bang which will always be hit or miss depending on the kind of music listener you are. To me, they're listenable but amongst the corniest of DMX records in his catalog. The worst is the silly/sad "She Was Da Bomb" where X writes a track about basically impregnating a woman and threatening to be a deadbeat. Yeah, the lows here are amongst the lowest of his career. Transversely, "Who We Be," a socially conscious record, is one of DMX's best tracks ever, and "We Right Here" has a great beat and is amongst the best on the album. Aside from the hits, you get the heartfelt "I'm Missing You" and the thoughtful "When I'm Nothing". There are also more R&B sounds here which I think is a nice change of pace. The Great Depression is solid; it's less aggressive and consistent than any of the three albums before it; some songs really work, and a few don't. I think it's worth listening to; there are essential DMX tracks here, but I wouldn't consider the LP quintessential as a whole. 7.5/10

Favorite Tracks: Who We Be, We Right Here, When I��m Nothing, I”m Missing You,

Grand Champ(2003): DMX's fifth straight #1 album is even more boom or bust than The Great Depression is. Where The Great Depression had weird moments and tracks that didn't quite work. Here X doesn't sound quite as passionate as he does early in his career. In an interview he did on 106 n Park around the time of the album's release, he'd spoken about not making what he should off his music, and I wonder how much that put a damper on writing and recording for this album. When it comes to what's here, the menacing brutality and growl is here, but it isn't as consistently visceral as it was early on. At 24 tracks, it's also a long, over-bloated album but even shorting it; I don't think the bulk of the music here holds up through time. "Get it On the Floor," has a terrible chorus, and most tracks between 13-23 are forgettable. As for the best of what's here "Where the Hood At" Produced by Swizz is a classic DMX track it's hard and has a great beat and hook. "Dogs Out" Which features Kanye on production. Then you have "We're Back" ft Eve and Jadakiss, another highlight and features pretty good verses from all three, but I believe Jada had the best performance. The international version of the album features the track "X Gon Give It To Ya" another very good single from X. This is an interesting listen, and depending how die-hard an X fan you are you may still enjoy this. I think there are tracks worth salvaging, but it isn't an essential listen. 6.5/10

Favorite Tracks: Dogs Out, Where The Hood At, X Gon Give it to Ya

The Year of the Dog(2006):This is the point where the bottom really fell out on DMX's music. The highs here aren't amongst the highest of X's career, and the lows are certainly amongst the lowest—tons of generic and lackluster production, mediocre choruses. A weird rap/rock crossover. DMX's tenacity isn't as urgent or visceral, and a lot of what's here (tracks 2-10) sounds, sadly, like a caricature of himself(with "It's personal" as the exception). The best tracks on the album are sneak in at the end where you find songs like "Blown Away" and "Goodbye"; those are the most soul-bearing tracks on the album. As a whole, it's a below-average album that, aside from a few moments, The down turn reflected itself culturally and sells wise it was his first album not to go #1 and only to go gold, and by the mid 00s DMX wasn’t in most conversations when comes to being amongst the best . 4.0/10

Favorite Tracks: It’s Personal, Blown Away, Goodbye, Life Be My Song

Undisputed(2012): Undisputed was a well-intentioned, admirable comeback album for DMX.  There are some solid moments here "Cold World" Speaks on what he perceives as the rap game getting weak.  "I'm back" is one of the better tracks on the album. You can hear the pain coming through on "Have You Eva."  I like "Y'all Don't Really Know" because it comes close to some of his early work. Still, it just isn't enough; there are quite a few missteps on this album, whether it'd be the awful "Sucker for Love" or "I Get Scared" X sounds weaker vocally, and the production is lacking. There's some charm to "I Don't Dance" with MGK but it's somewhat awkward and not among his strongest singles.  It's better than Year Of The Dog but still far from the level of X's heyday.  5.5/10

Favorite Tracks: I‘m Back, Have You Eva, Ya’ll Don’t Really Know

DMX is an undeniable legend and quintessential to late 90s-early 00s hip-hop. His music and voice, and passion transcends its era and is easily felt now. His apex from 98-00' is highly recommended. Past that, it's a lot more hit and miss, but both the Great Depression and Grand Champ have some gems worth grabbing. Past that, it's even spottier but given X's internal struggles it was great we were even able to get those LPs. Fortunately, DMX seemed to be doing well and had finished an album before passing away, so I'm eager to hear what he'd been working on.

[jinxfirebolt18902]

Ohana Part 2 - (Ben Hardy!Warren Worthington III Serie)

Words: 1.824

Summary: Warren accidentally made a family of his own and he’s determined to do anything in his will to protect them, but maybe that won’t be enough and a little help may be needed.

A/N: I don’t like this that much but for now it will do, sorry. And sorry for the delay, Uni is killing me.

Part 1

[GIF NOT MINE]

Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and the only thing that had changed was the little family’s life expectations and health deteriorating. Every other mutant had catched up with the news. Not only Angel had been re-captured but also Mockingbird… and their brood. It had caused quite a reaction around the place. First of all, an offspring coming out of both of them was obviously unplanned, and revolutionary somehow. On the other hand, everyone knew humans were capable of committing terrible atrocities against mutants, no news there. But taking a child who had so far showed no abnormality at all into an illegal, unsanitary, fight club was beyond what every mutant could expect. It was clear a few workers felt uncomfortable with the situation as well but they only followed rules and got paid, so the best they could do was sneak Warren’s cage next to hers for a few minutes. Yet it was extremely risky and had only happened twice in over seventy days.

Their bodies had changed. Warren’s torso had now new scars striping his white skin. She was thinner and looked pretty sick. She always gave most of her food to Charlie to make sure he wasn’t hungry. The food quality alone was pretty bad. Dehydration and malnutrition were slowly but surely making their way within their organisms, not to mention the exposure to viruses and infections. The walls were rotten with moisture as well as the remaining wooden doors. The metal ones were rusty and the place had no heating except for the showroom. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung in the rooms as the ventilation wasn’t great either. There was no possible way of not getting sick, especially if you weren’t eating well, or if you had a four-year-old’s immune system.

Charlie’s spirits were of general concern. The other women in her room tried their best to cheer him up and keep him entertained. It wasn’t really difficult as he was so young and creative games easily got him focused. The problem was Mockingbird was losing her life, in every sense. The red-headed lady had warned her, she had to be strong for her son, but even if she tried her body was collapsing gradually. Her mind had tricked her as well. She’d convinced herself she wasn’t the strong lonely winged girl she was years ago. That rough girl had disappeared and the new Mockingbird couldn’t find the strength within herself to keep going. Everyday was a new battle against life, and each one that passed was making her wonder when she would finally lose. She had been put to fight mutants a few times and each had ended with her barely conscious, Charlie being forced to stay with a stranger in another cage and forbidden to look at her injured mother till the next day. The first time they took her a lot of shouting happened.

Two men came in the room unexpectedly, wasting no time in opening her cage. She couldn’t even understand what was going on until a third man ripped Charlie off her arms and handed him over the next cage, the other two grabbing her by one of her arms each. Her brain couldn’t process the fact they had taken her son away from her for the first time since they were there, a guttural scream stuck in her throat as her eyes explored everywhere around her in desperation. The female mutant known as Birdy held Charlie’s hand in concern as the little boy was terrified watching his mom being drawn through the door, tears falling down his pink cheeks and cries escaping his mouth.

As soon as she was being carried down the hall her voice suddenly screeched at the top of her lungs. Warren’s head, which was blankly staring at an invisible point on the floor, shot up at the recognition of the scream. He stood up at a speed he hadn’t thought he could and shouted back, trying to put his head between the bars in a failed attempt to catch a glimpse of something, anything. Apparently she heard him, managing to stop the men from walking further.

—Warren?!

He called back but the men had already moved again, pulling her towards the big cage. Warren was beyond mad. He pushed so hard against the lock of the cage the motion sent it completely over itself. The commotion caused a crew to come check what Warren had done. As they began lifting his cage Warren grasped the collar of one of them pulling him against the bars, the nose of the guy bent against the cold material. He could feel Warren’s breath all over his face.

—Where the fuck are you taking her? —the question filled with menace. — Where is my son?! —this time he shouted it, spitting mini droplets onto his skin.

The other men helped the hostage and took a few feet away from Angel as they feared his unpredictable behaviour, taking his rapid breaths and visible neck veins as a warning. They told him. His expression became instantly one of worry. No… No, she can’t…

After twenty minutes of show, Mockingbird was being dragged back to her cage, a sight which, although Warren didn’t see, Edgar made sure to detail only to enjoy the frustration and helplessness in his eyes.

Charlie hadn’t stopped crying till one of the girls with vocal powers sang him a lullaby. When the door opened and they brought her in several gasps were heard. Though Birdy had the toddler asleep in her arms, she turned in case he would open his sterling grey eyes and see the decrepit state of his mom.

The other times she was recruited were pretty similar. Lots of shouting, crying and useless anger. Now it had been weeks since the last time she fought yet her body was no better. Bruises still lingered in her skin, which was grey not only due to the dirt but also to illness. Her mouth was dry with her lips all cracked and her eyes half open. She couldn’t say if her muscles didn’t hurt or if they hurt so bad that she could no longer tell the difference.

—Mommy…? —the little boy left the made up toys given by the red-headed lady and approached her, making himself comfortable on her lap. A sneeze interrupted his unstarted sentence. He’d been sneezing and coughing a lot the last three days. —I miss daddy. —her head barely moved to look at him. She couldn't contain her own tears. With a movement that took a tremendous energy out of her, she held her hand up to caress the boy’s hair. She grunted in pain as she kissed his forehead.

—I know baby… me too. —her voice was hoarse and low. Every breath was an exertion.

A few hours later things were silently getting worse. It was the coldest day they had spent there. A thick snow cape covered Germany’s streets and buildings. Tonight a big fight featuring Angel and a really fat mutant had the air filled with excitement. It was the red-headed mutant the one who noticed it. Firmly setting her sight on Mockingbird she noticed she was breathing shallowly. She sensed something was wrong.

—Hey! Chs... You! —her voice got the attention of some other mutants. —Mockingbird!

No response. Her eyes drifted to the baby boy shivering in his sleep. He was covered in sweat and snot fell from his little nose. He was probably running a fever. They had to do something. She sent a look at her partners and they secretly set to work in order to do what they had to do first: let Warren know what was going on.

—Holy shit… —a young boy muttered when he got the news. He didn’t want to be the one telling Angel his girlfriend was dying right then and there, a few rooms away with his son suffering from fever on her lap. He swallowed forcibly.

 —Uhm… A-Angel?

Warren slowly turned his head in his direction. When the boy faced those empty cold eyes he muted, taking a few seconds to gain his composure and carry on with his task. —Women say your-your g-she. Women say she—Warren furrowed his eyebrows and stood up at a low pace, grabbing the bars for help. Panicking the mutant didn’t know how to say it and only got himself tangled in an unintelligible utterance. —Spit it out at once!

—They say she’s dying! —the boy shouted, closing his eyes as if trying to hide himself. When he opened them tho, he saw the blonde falling in shock. No anger, no eruption like a volcano, no tears, no breaths, only a blink as his body collapsed against the bars once more, the freezing material embracing him.

—There 's more. Your son. He 's very sick. —another mutant added.

He didn’t respond. Instead he turned his head towards the door and started shouting non-stop at the top of his lungs.

A third of an hour later, men came to carry his cage to the show but left him in the corridor that led to the electrified gate, not inside yet.

—YOU MOTHER FUCKERS LET ME OUT! —Warren’s cheeks and ears were pink. The veins in his neck and forehead stood out. His hair couldn't be more tangled and greasy. His breathings were rapid and he was sweating all over. His throat was already burning from so much shouting. He had to save her. He had to save them.

—Well well well… It’s my champ number one, isn’t it? —Warren’s face contorted with rage at Edgar’s appearance on the other side of his cage.

—They are dying. Get them help right now... and you can keep me for the rest of my life. —his tone was firm but somewhat pleading at the same time.

Edgar’s face stretched with a sardonic smile. And Warren lost any hope he had, leaving a deep hollow in his soul. There was nothing left, he’d lose them, maybe not Charlie, but… Everything he had got to know about love, about having a family that cares for you, about life actually not being that bad… It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he be happy? Why couldn’t people live and let live? He and his little family hadn’t done anything to anyone…

Half an hour later the crowd was full. He heard noises, shouts, voices, but not words. The blinding white light fell on him on one side and on the other mutant opposite him.

—Ladies and gentlemen! Weeeeeelcome to this exciting night with our champion number one, Angeeeeeel!!!

The front side of his cage opened allowing him to step in. He had decided to hate life. From now on, not a heart would keep beating if they came in his way. His opponent was about to pay for all the damage Angel had gone through, and boy it wasn’t going to be pretty.

[c-atm]

Fighting Flirty: Birthday Boss Rush

Chapter 1: Hanging with the Maheswarans

The sound of the warp pad reverberated throughout the area as a stream of crystal blue hit the pad and vanished as fast as it came, leaving the now 22 year old Steven ‘Mister’ Universe, dressed in his usual summer outfit of a black cotton short sleeve button up, pink bubble vest, blue jeans, and black and pink sneakers. He took a step off, hands in his pocket as he headed towards his destination. It didn’t take long for him to reach it, as he came to a large fountain with a statue of Rose Quartz, his mother;  in the very middle. He sat on the edge of the fountain, kicking off his socks and shoes and dipping his feet in the water. He turned towards the tear streak visage of the woman who gave him birth, with an even smirk.

“Hey Mom.” It was so much easier to call her that these days, no longer feeling the strain of living up to her legend or cleaning her mistakes. “Hope you don’t mind me stopping to check up on you unannounced, just figured I should while I have a bit of time.” He grinned, not getting an answer, not that he was expecting one. “It’s my birthday, I’m officially twenty- two today and man, let me tell you about it so far.”

*earlier that day*

Steven just finished getting dressed, looking himself in the mirror before nodding in approval. He looked at the time read 11:30AM, Connie already left to run her errands and her shift at R&D,a half hour ago. Sighing, he went downstairs to the living room of his and Connie’s home to see a crystallized orb and a pink note beside it that simply read ‘Mister💝’. He picked it up with a curious smile, the smell of her chai and lily perfume caressed his senses as he opened the note up.

To my dearest Mister

I’m sorry that I can’t be there with you right now to celebrate your Birthday

But unfortunately ,things are happening at R&D that I need to be there for.

So with that in mind, I figured a way we could have fun together.

A birthday quest.

The orb, it holds part of your gift, but you need a voice activated code to open it.

I left pieces of the code with people I trust to keep a secret. My champions so to speak.

You’re tasked to get their part of the code by winning their challenges, whatever that might be.

As to who I chose, well follow your nose, Mister. You already have the scent of the code.

I hope you enjoy your birthday game and I'll see you later.

 💘🍓

P.S. :Your first clue

'L'.

"A hunt, huh?" Steven thought as he looked at the orb. It shined in the sunlight and was small enough to fit in his pocket. " Well, I've never been one to turn down a wholesome and fun time."  Pocketing the crystal in his vest, and the note in his pants pocket, not before giving it another sniff, a relaxed smile on his as Connie’s mischievous grin came to mind; gathering his keys from the bowl near the door, he set off, determined to win Connie’s game.

Steven gave a diamond enhanced sniff every few seconds as he walked around Little Homeworld, quite sure that a few of her ‘Champions’ were gems. It didn’t take him long to get a slight waft of the perfume, multiple actually. All moving around except for a couple.One being Startries and the other being at Funland for some reason he felt the champ at Funland was more menacing than the one at Startries, he made his choice and headed to Startries.

He was surprised to see that the champions weren’t inside but sitting at one of the outside tables. He would have doubted the authenticity of the situation, but the scent was definitely coming from their table. Steven couldn’t believe she got them in on it. He pulled up a chair grinning. “Priyanka, Doug.”

"Good afternoon, Steven."

"How are you doing on this fine day, My boy."

The Maheswarans greeted the birthday star, with warm voices and sly grins.

"Can't complain."The hybrid answered as he looked at the streets of Little Homeworld, seeing humans and gems interact with each other so easily, satisfaction on his face. He turned to the two as he leaned back on his chair "Seem like it's another peaceful summer day."

"That it does." Priyanka agreed.

"So Steven, how does it feel to be twenty-two years old?" Doug inquired.

"Hmm." Steven sat back in thought. "No different from yesterday." He scratched  the back of his head, kind of surprised at his answer. He used to feel so much excitement for this day when he was younger. Now after everything he has done..after everything he's currently doing with his life. It almost feels like another day. “Guess it comes with being older. Feel like another day on the calendar.”

“Oh wow…Didn’t expect that from you.” Priyanka responded, honestly. “I assumed you had a party planned.”

Steven let loose a shy chuckle. “That would be my normal MO, but I even forgot my birthday was coming up to a few days ago.” 

“Been that busy for you, lately?”  Doug asked. 

 Steven nodded with a smirk. “It’s not bad though. ” 

Priyanka looked at him closely, narrowing her eyes at the boy she considered a son. “Hmm..” She leaned back in her chair “Well doesn’t look like you’re overworking yourself..”

“What?” Steven waved his hands in front of him “ No no. not at all! I’m definitely making time to relax.” He reassured “Even today, my plans for the day were just to make rounds around Beach city and Little Homeworld. Check up on everyone." He folded his hands on the table. "That is until, Connie enhanced it."

"Enhanced it. That's a nice way to put it." Doug joked

"I'm still making my rounds, she just made them a bit more fun. Guess she wanted to make sure I'm enjoying my birthday to the fullest" His cheeks turned a bit pink "Just like her to play such a prank."

Doug and Priyanka glanced at each other privately, sharing secret smirks at the loving tone in his voice.

"That being said..." gave them the grin from before."...What game two got for me?

Priyanka sighed as gently folded her arms. "Really, we are having such a good conversation as well."

Doug chuckled. "You can't blame him, he is on a mission for our Kahanni. We gotta play our roles as 'Champions'."

"You’re really getting a kick out of this, Durga." She playfully chastised as Doug nodded.

"So what's my challenge?"  

The Maheswarans looked at the eager Steven before glancing at each other and back at him.

"Have you ever heard of the game 'Plead the fifth'?"

They chuckled lowly and mischievously as  Steven's eyes widened,his lips pursed together in a thin line and his nostrils flared.

"Oh..You've played before." Priyanka stated, matter of factly, her grin growing a bit more.

"You guys gonna grill me?"

"It's just five questions, Son. You can survive five questions without pleading the fifth,right?" Doug teasingly taunted.

"Five invasive questions."

"I promise not to get too invasive Steven." Priyanka swore, though her grin said differently.

"I'm afraid of that 'too'." Steven admitted with a sigh. " But I trust you. " He gave them a strained smirk. "I'm ready. Ask away."

"What is it that you want for your birthday?"

Priyanka turned to her husband a bit embarrassed at his crassness. "Really Doug."

"Hey, can't blame me for taking the opportunity." The security officer shrugged. "Besides, he could plead the fifth...He'll lose his right to our piece of the code..buuut.." He smirked as he left his statement hanging.

"It's ok." Steven laughed. "I did the same thing to Connie when we played once...Though that was about...Something else." He paused a  bit of a longing look on his face, before shaking his head. " But yeah my birthday, have no idea. Like I said, I had to be reminded of it by Connie." Steven looked up towards the sky and took a moment to ponder the question. "Though I've been trying to get back into my tube tube, maybe something towards that."

Priyanka glanced at her husband to stop him from giving them away, he was already in position to punch the sky in celebration.

" Who knows maybe you will." Priyanka said with a fox grin. "Now that Doug asked his ONE question-"

"I'm satisfied with my question, thank you very much." The man Interjected giving his wife a kiss on her temple, getting an eye roll and a hand squeeze. 

"It is my go, ready?"

"No. and that counts."

Priyanka's mouth was agape at his cunning, but soon nodded a bit impressed. "Fine. three questions… One. What did you ask Connie, when you two played this game?"

Steven smirked." I asked her many things. How long her hair was, who’s her favorite fictional character. A lot of things."

"You said you asked her something similar to Doug's question towards you. What was it?"

"What kind of ring she wants to be proposed with."

Priyanka eyes widen at the confidence  in his voice.  There was no blush, no shaking, no bashfulness. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yup and that's question number five." He breathed out before grinning, doing a small little jig "I win..I win."

"You let him have that." Doug stated in a whisper in her eear.Giving her temple a kiss.

"It is his birthday, after all." The Maheswaran mother said weakly, trying to save a little face. She turned to the twenty-two years old and clapped her hands in flux applause. "Congratulations on your win."

"Yeah!....OK, I'll stop now." He chuckled as he tapped the tabletop.

"So ready for your code, your spoils of victory." Doug dramatically flared as he crossed his arms.

"Yes sir" Steven sat up straight puffing out his chest.

"You are both silly." Priyanka sighed as she shook her head, a half smile on her face. She signaled Doug to go inside the bakery to get his prize.  He did, stating he'd be right back, leaving the two alone.

"She worries." Priyanka  stated as Steven lay his head down.

Steven sighed. "I thought that was my job…"

"It's a 'THING'...mutual thing. You want the person in your life to be happy. " Priyanka answered expecting him to refuse the status. She was surprised when he seemed to nod in agreement.

"True enough...and I am happy. Happier than I've ever been in a while…" He turned his head towards Priyanka. "Your daughter gave me a quest for my birthday and it is already my favorite." 

Priyanka nodded before squeezing his shoulder giving him a motherly smile. "She would love to hear that…"

Before he could answer the fragrance of her perfume ignited his senses. He was surprised to see a box, wrapped in rose pink paper with a red bow land in front of him. 

Wrapped in the bow was a pink paper, the same one the note was written on. He took the paper breathing in the scent, before unrolling the paper.  "ove"

"Love.." He admired. "Certainly smells like it." He chuckled, putting the note with the other one.  He turned to the box and was caught off guard at the expecting looks of the Maheswarans. 

"Happy birthday, Steven." They both announced with matching smiles.  

Steven tittered in surprise as he undid the bow and tore open the wrapping paper. 

"Guys, you..Aw man." In front of him was a whole recording setup for a home studio. "I don't know what to say…" He gave them both a tight hug. "Thank you so much

for this."

"It's no problem." Doug assured. 

"We're happy to do it, Steven."  

Steven released them turning back to the box for the moment. "Aww man. I just want to set this up and start recording and streaming… I want to but, still gotta a way ahead of me."

"Don't let us stop you." Priyanka assured "We'll drop it off at your home later" Doug added. 

"You sure? I mean, I don't  want to take you out of your way." The hybrid commented, feeling a bit guilty.

" I'm not taking no for an answer. Trust us, ok?"  Priyanka told him as she took the box in her hands. "Now go. You gotta quest to finish" She commanded him in motherly tone.

"Better do what she says.." Doug joked. "You don't want her to get the abacus."

Steven took a look at Doug before turning to Priyanka who arched an eyebrow, challenging  him to defy her. "Pssh.. Mean." He pouted before getting up.

"Get going young man."  she snickered as he rose.

"Yes mom." He droned in play before smirking."You guys wouldn't know the code..Would you?"  His eyes lingered to the set up. " Just wondering."

"No. She didn’t say...And you'll be able to play with this when you're done." Priyanka reprimanded. " I swear Boys and their toys, no matter the age." 

"You better get going Steven," Doug added with jest. " She might really get the abacus."

"OK, I'm as good as gone." Steven announced as he began to  walk away, only to turn in give them one more hug. "Love you guys."  With that he was gone heading toward his next destination, Funland.

As the two watched  they found themselves  wrapped in another hug which they returned.  " Was you watching this whole time,Connie."

Connie Maheswaran  gave her mother a father a kiss on their cheek, before nodding.  "You guys did awesome..Even  if you went easy on him mom."

"It's his birthday. " She defended. "That being said..Ring size?" Priyanka added in tease.

Connie took the box from the table, grinning cheekily. " I plead the fifth." 

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 5: Game

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

“You look like shit.”

Bucky grunted, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and settled into the cushioned seat. The three-piece Tom Ford hid most of the injuries, but it definitely couldn’t distract from the half-healed bruises that still marred his face, and Thor’s blunt assessment, though wholly unnecessary, was rather apt.

“What can I get for you gentlemen?” their host asked politely.

While neither of them had time for dinner, the restaurant had closed temporarily for their meeting, and politeness dictated they at least have a drink. Within minutes, they were served, and the staff disappeared into the kitchen to give them privacy.

“Tell me what went down,” Thor prompted. “Then, tell me what you want me to do.”

Bucky did the same song and dance with him as he’d done with the others. He gave limited information; said not to make any moves without his permission; made it clear focus was to be on business and nothing else. Though the scotch he nursed during their conversation was undoubtedly top shelf, Bucky couldn’t really enjoy it. He’d been backed into a fucking corner, and though it had been two weeks since the confrontation, he still couldn’t shake the rage.

After Steve reintroduced himself with his fist, Bucky had been hauled to his feet, and dragged out of the penthouse. He was wrangled into the elevator and confronted by two masked men who thoroughly searched him from head to toe. Once Bucky had been relieved of both the knife strapped to his ankle and the gun at the small of his back, they’d bound his wrists in front of him, and put a black hood over his head. The only way he knew they’d taken him to the parking garage was because the elevator announced it, and as soon as they’d stepped out, he’d been forced into the back of a vehicle.

Bucky had heard the tires squeal as they went down and around and felt the slight bounce that indicated they’d hit the street. Then, there’d been a series of turns before a long stretch that suggested they’d gotten on the highway. He knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut, but he’d been too pissed off for rationality, and what had happened as a result still made him flinch…    

As soon as the vehicle was parked, he was taken out of the backseat, and the hood was removed. Military-grade body armor; Magpul FMG-9; grenade and rocket launchers; computers; blueprints; at least a dozen henchmen – it was an impressive display and he knew Steve wanted him to see it.

His two babysitters muscled him over to a wooden chair, forced him to sit, and held him in place with a hand on each of his shoulders. It was some time before Steve rejoined them and that’s when Bucky made the mistake of opening his mouth.

“Can I get a fuckin’ rag or something?” he asked tartly as he tried to stem the blood that continued to leak from his nose. “Or do you want to throw your dick around some more?”

The person to his right punched him. The individual to his left joined in not long after. From there, they took turns. They moved from his face to his ribs and kidneys, which he was able to take like a champ, but a closed fist to the solar plexus stole his breath, and made him fall sideways out of the chair.

He was kicked and stomped repeatedly while he was down, and when Steve told them to stop, they didn’t obey. Seconds later, two shots fired in rapid succession, and instinct made Bucky cover his head and stomach to protect himself. When he finally peeked out from between his arms, he saw the bodies of his tormentors slumped in awkward, macabre positions.

Blood and bits of brain matter were splattered across the concrete, but nobody said anything; the corpses were simply taken away and he was put back in the chair. Moments later, another chair was brought over, and Steve sat down across from him.

“I have a job to do,” he stated. “And you keep getting in my way.”

There wasn’t a single hint of malice in Steve’s voice, but there was an uncompromising finality to it, and the point was driven home via a gun’s safety being released. A muzzle was then promptly nestled at the base of his skull, and that’s when Bucky knew the time for posturing was over.

The man he once called his best friend had always been calculating, but never quite so viciously brutal, and there was an unyielding, steely resolve about him that hadn’t been there before. Black clothing from head-to-toe; protective vest; knives strapped to each thigh; guns on either side of his waist. Broader through the chest; longer hair; a full beard. The combination of his physicality and his dress made him appear menacing, and his sheer ruthlessness meant Natasha had been right in her assessment.

Steve Rogers had changed and he was dangerous.

Bucky carefully lifted his head and met his eyes, “Why am I here?”

“Because you’re the boss, JB, and it’s your job to keep the rest of the Families in line,” Steve stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Or can you no longer manage that?”

The insinuation made Bucky sit up a little straighter, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he asked what precisely Steve wanted from him. When he remarked he didn’t want anything, and that Bucky had already done enough damage, his curiosity was piqued. Bucky didn’t have to ask if the senator’s death had put a dent in whatever plans he had, because Steve was quick to clarify on his own.

“We’re keeping the wife for insurance and will take care of her with the job is done. In the meantime, tell Bruce to stop meddling, and keep everyone else at bay. Understood?”

The gun was pressed harder into his flesh, which made him agree to the terms, but Steve had long ago stopped taking him at his word. It wasn’t until someone brought over a tablet and Bucky was shown live footage of Natasha in her hospital bed and Bruce giving a lecture that he submitted.  

Steve nodded curtly and got to his feet, “We’re done. Now, get him the fuck out of my face.”

“Can I bring you anything else?”

Pulled out of his musings, Bucky cleared his throat, and politely declined. Thor shook his head and the server took their empty glasses.

“Remind me what we’re to donate for the fund raiser next week?” he asked as he retrieved his wallet and laid cash out on the table. “I need to write the check beforehand so Wanda doesn’t slit my throat.”

“It’s a silent auction this year.”

Thor cursed lowly, “Means I have to be there for the whole damn thing…”

Bucky stood, buttoned his jacket, and clapped him on the shoulder, “Yes, you do. So, show up on time, bid on something decent, and write a check before you get wasted, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered with a wry grin. “I hear ya’.”

After they both extended their gratitude to the restaurant’s owner, they shook hands, and went their separate ways. Bucky ran a few more errands downtown before he headed home. One glance at his inbox showed there were a million different things that required his attention, but for the moment, anything that didn’t pertain directly to business was put on the back burner.  

They hadn’t been able to keep a lid on it, and now, everyone knew Steve was back in town. They were aware of the botched take down, of what he’d done to Natasha, and how he’d ambushed The Boss. The whispers and rumors had already started and Bucky was fed up with being the punching bag.

He’d done as Steve dictated – he told the Families to mind their own and instructed Natasha and Bruce to stand down. With everyone else out of the line of fire, Bucky was finally able to focus, and the clarity brought forth all sorts of realizations.

He’d been distracted, lenient, far too indulgent, and those who worked for him and the Families had been allowed to run amuck for quite long enough. Mouths needed to be shut. Examples needed to be made. Dissention needed to be culled and it was easier to ensure cooperation when the consequences were dire. Deference was all well and good, but as Steve had demonstrated, fear was also a very powerful motivator, and could work just as well.  

In fact, sometimes, it worked even better.

Everyone could make an honest, unintentional mistake now and then – they were human, after all, and nobody was perfect. Such minor offenses would be met with an increase in dues and a hefty fine. Serious infractions would result in an immediate loss of territory, authority, and rank. The offender would be required to give restitution in whatever form Bucky saw fit, but they would never earn their way back into his or the Family’s good graces.  

Outright disrespect and disobedience – there were no second chances for that -- and anyone who wished to test him or provoke his wrath?

They’d be given a bullet and a shallow fucking grave.

Bucky had just finished putting together the missive when his cellphone rang. He recognized the number and when he answered, all he heard was a clipped, “let me in,” and then, the line went dead. This time, he didn’t allow himself to be taken by surprise, and once he confirmed it was Natasha, he disengaged the alarm, and opened the door.

“We have work to do.”

She smirked and stepped over the threshold, “Ready whenever you are, Boss.” 

Chapter 6: Set

Everything: @jennmurawski13​​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​​ 

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @captain-rogers-beard​​ @lilliannaansalla

[statesmanillusionist]

Hope County | pt. 1

“Your file shines over all others, Agent Houdini.”

Houdini wondered if Champ felt the same way a few weeks into her undercover mission in Hope County, Montana. The Seed family seemed to be a bigger problem than anyone had ever dreamed, armed to the teeth and able to take down anyone who came in their way.

Including Statesman.

Houdini craned her neck as she looked around, the hum of the motor against the ripple of the river. Hope County was not hopeful. Not at all. Even just on the river, she could tell that things were beyond the “not good” stage; green containers littered the riverbanks and people patrolled with shotguns on foot and on quads. Civilians seemed to be armed as well, though not as heavily.

“Now, Miss Flood,” the boat driver said, turning towards Houdini, “I don’t know what made you want to come all the way back home, but things haven’t been pretty for a long time.”

-- Elizabeth Flood. A profile that lives on the backbone of Hope County; her family once lived there, quietly on a farm until things in the city started looking better. There was a family of Floods who lived in Hope County, with a young daughter that left before the Seeds even began to build their dream of Eden’s Gate. A homecoming would not be unexpected for an adult looking to bring back some childhood memories.

“Are you talking about all that green stuff in the water?” Houdini asked, gesturing to the water.

“Bliss. You’d better consider selling that house right back an’ goin’ back to wherever you came from.” His tone was clipped, annoyed; when he turned back to face the river, she could notice the faint etching - a tattoo? - of the word envy.

“It can’t be that bad, can it…?” Houdini frowned, until she was suddenly drowned out by the sound of a helicopter overhead. She knew it was bad just by looking at the chemical residue on the top of the water. Things were beyond bad, really.

“I said my piece. That’s all I can do to stop you, really.”

---

“Faith is wonderful, can’t you see?”

“Faith is a liar, a manipulator --”

“The Seeds are a menace, but we can’t do anything to stop them. Not on our own.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Your return was a mistake. You’ll die here, marked by your sin.”

“We need to get out of here! I’m not letting myself get killed by these crazies!”

---

Faith, once described as a woman with blonde hair and green eyes, tended to the fields and to her people. She danced and sang as if she were an angel, an angel who could change appearances after periods of time. With all the Bliss going into Silos and buildings, it was hard to tell up from down. There was one point in time where Faith had brown waves that spilled over her shoulder and brilliant blue eyes, much like John Seed’s own. She spoke of family, of acceptance… or, that’s what Virgil said while tending to Houdini. 

It was only three days into her life in Hope County, but the water was tampered with, heavily contaminated with Bliss. Everything was hazy, and she felt like she was going to throw up. It was hard to stand and the green color of the containers that were left everywhere made her worried. Were they explosive..?

“Miss Flood? Look at me. You’ll be fine. The Cougars here will take care of you if you need anything. Take some of the bottled water we’ve got, and I’ll send someone to check on you in the morning.”

It seemed Virgil meant well, but others were far too cynical and tired of his positivity. Clearly, the resistance movement had never really taken flight in the way that they hoped. How could they with planes and helicopters in the sky, ready to take something down in a moment’s notice?

---

“Faith has returned!”

The message boomed over the radio, the television, and even the loudspeakers that seemed to exist on every major building in Hope County. The Father spoke proudly of his sister coming home with more Bliss, more happiness and purity for everyone… but the look on Virgil’s face simply meant another woman had stepped into the role.

It had been two weeks since she had landed “back home” as Elizabeth Flood, under the radar of the cult by some miracle. She was able to communicate with the resistance and cult members easily, without drawing attention from the Heralds. 

It seemed that the siblings kept to themselves, as well as their own territory unless something caught their eye. But now, with Faith back along the river, things were not looking good. Activities increased nearly tenfold, with patrols covering the streets and Bliss transports multiplied. Cult commanders were getting nosy about the newcomer, and murmurs of a raid being called kept Houdini on edge.

---

One call was made to Statesman, hidden away in an abandoned bunker she had found not too far from her home. 

“I don’t have very long. They’re monitoring everything, and — fuck, this is bad. John is going crazy over the radio — announcing that their sister Faith has returned — this isn’t the first time this has happened, according to some of the locals. Activity has increased tenfold and -- shit --”

Houdini’s transmission - a message left for Miller, Champ, and Whiskey - was cut short. A bison, clearly affected by Bliss, roared above her followed by gunfire. It took a few hours for the cultists to leave the area, but Houdini was able to return to her home...

Only to find a white flower on her doorstep.

---

“They’ll come for you. They’ll make you take a pilgrimage, crawl on your hands and knees so high off your ass, you’ll wish for death…”

“Be lucky that John isn’t in this area. He’d mark you with your sin, forcing you to bear his stick-and-poke work after a near-death baptism.”

“You have an aura of purity, but that won’t stop Faith or any of the Seeds…”

---

Houdini kept her ear to the ground for the following week, waiting for a chance to avoid a confrontation. She needed to remain alive, unaffected by Bliss until she was able to report out again in a few days.

Unfortunately, chance took her by surprise… rather, it was Faith instead.

[anthropwashere]

of all the things that might have been: ch. 7

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

AO3

FFN

(Later than I meant it to be because I fucking swan-dived into ~30,000 words worth of FMA WIPs, honestly just save me from myself. I’ll be doing Camp NaNo in April so don’t expect another chapter ‘til May, sorry and thank you!)

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It's such a relief to be around the familiar again. Cars and houses and restaurants and streets, all of it almost exactly as he expects Amity Park to look. Sure, he might have ended up in the year he was born, but with how far he's traveled a couple decades is barely worth noticing.

With familiar territory, it’s so much easier to set up shop. There’s plenty of food that’s plenty easy to steal, decent enough medical supplies, and good clothes are an invisible flight through a department store away. Most importantly of all, there’s camping gear. Big, practical, brightly colored camping gear. And it’s fall now, just cool enough to warrant cozy layers but not cold enough to regret sleeping out in the woods like the homeless freak he is.

He can almost pretend like he’s on vacation!

There’s cause for all this, of course. He remembers this year, these two months living on the outskirts of his home town. Normally he prefers to hop from hotel to hotel, overshadowing clerks long enough to mark a room taken and paid for so he can sleep as long as he likes. Clean sheets, hot water, all the garbage continental breakfast he can eat-- an errant time traveler’s paradise. And here he is, stuck with sleeping bags and canned food instead. Ugh.

Past him better be grateful he’s doing all this for him, if he has anything to say about it.

In the failing afternoon light, he appraises his little camp built for two and nods, satisfied. It’s not the prettiest or most high tech setup he could have gone with, but then, pretty and high tech isn’t what he’s aiming to teach, is it?

He grins. Him? Teaching? This’ll be good for a laugh-- on this side of things, at least. He doesn’t remember laughing much, the first time around.

Him? Teaching? Ha!

Crouching, he stokes the campfire with a branch stripped of its yellowed leaves. He hasn’t started up the stew yet since it’ll just boil over once he has to rush pell-mell into the forest. He’ll have time, later. As he feeds dry twigs to the fire he thinks of FentonWorks, and of the young couple that’s only a few years older than he is now. He hasn’t even been been born yet, in this timeline. He’s still not used to it; unable to step foot in the house he grew up in.

Not for the first time he misses his mom’s cooking, his dad’s boisterous laughter, his sister’s coddling. He misses coming home-- after beating up the ghost of the day, more often than not-- to the smell of burgers or pasta or the dreaded Leftover Nights. Good, hearty meals he didn’t have to make himself from stolen ingredients, shared with a family that he could still call his.

He laughs, tossing the branch aside. Now isn’t the time to get all wistful. He’ll have his hands busy with blood and tears soon enough, but after-- yes, after he’s handled his past, he can look to the future again. He’ll fix this, no matter what his future self had to say about it. For now, he’s waiting--

“Nngh!”

Sudden pain cuts through him like a knife, taking his breath with it. He staggers back from the campfire, gasping, clutching at his aching chest. For one terrible instant he thinks he’s wrong after all, that he’s doomed to die here, that no younger self will appear after all. But-- no. No. He has to be right. He knows.

He stands tall, his sternum clicking its protest, and he waits.  His past self will show up far from him, that’s fact. There was no way for him to recognize where his past would appear, so he’d just picked a clearing near the stream and called it home. What’s one fallen tree in a forest, right? He evens his breathing, waits for the smallest flash of blue light to leak through the undergrowth--

There!

He’s off at once, running so quickly he doesn’t quite touch the ground. It’s long, awful seconds before he hears the first scream, bitten ragged with pain. He forgoes the pretense of running at all, blurs away from one second to another, and then there he is.

One look and he regrets not grabbing his first aid kit. Distracted, anxious, not thinking clearly. Idiot. He knows-- remembers-- that it isn’t as bad as it looks, but it’s still a worrying amount of blood.

Past Him is fetal in a burnt-black clearing, the smell of vaporized dead leaves and rainwater and pine smoke heavy in the air. Past Him is younger, years younger, and he’s wearing brand new clothes and there’s a bulky bag beside him that must weigh as much as he does-- not saying much, since god, but he’s skinny. His face is a twisted mess of snot and tears and pain, which makes sense, considering he’s got a tree branch stuck right through his forearm. Phased, rather than pierced, and all the more brutal for it.

“Hey,” Danny calls out over his past self’s screams. And again, “Hey!”

Past Him hiccups shock, twitching away from the tree and only succeeding in wrecking his arm a little bit more. He goes white as a sheet, mouth yawning for a scream that gets tangled up in his throat. Danny winces in sympathy, holding up his empty hands to get the kid’s attention.

“It’s okay,” he says, trying to speak calmly though his own heart is racing. “It’ll be okay. I’m here to help you. I just want to help.”

It takes Past Him a few tries to make a coherent sentence. “W-who-- hhgk-- are you?”

“I’m you,” Danny replies patiently, and rolls up his sleeve to display his own forearm. It's been years now, but he still has two faint circles there, noticeable even at this distance. Ghost healing speeds everything up, but scars still take a long time to fade.

Past him is too distracted by pain to really react to that, which is fair. He just huddles a little closer to the log and looks like he’d love nothing more than to never move again. Danny sighs.

“Okay. We can call this lesson number one. When you time travel, you always, always, always need to phase. It’ll be a pain in the ass until you get used to doing it, but the alternative is getting stuck in a log. Enjoying this so far?”

“Nnn-- hhfh-- no....”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” He kneels beside his past. It is, briefly, very weird. He remembers this moment from when he’d been fourteen years old and shredding his nails against dry bark, jaw clenched so tight his teeth should crack. He remembers the scraping and tugging of the branch in his arm, muscles rigid, his hand spasming. He remembers looking up at a young, leanly-muscled man with wild eyes and a menacing grin. He remembers being so certain that this was how he was going to die.

Flash forward and now he’s the menacing stranger looming over a defenseless, injured kid in the middle of a forest.

Hmm. Awkward.

“Okay,” he says, “I’m not gonna yank you free. I’d do more damage, and you’ve already pulled some muscle out like a champ-- no no, don’t look. Trust me on this. Just-- hold still, okay? I’ll try not to make this any worse than it has to be.”

Well that wasn’t menacing or anything. So sue him, he’s nervous. It’s weird, meeting himself like this.

“I’m gonna cut the branch instead of phasing you off it for now, because we’re about a mile from camp and I’d like to minimize your blood loss as much as possible. I’ll fly us back so it’ll be easier on you. That all sound good?”

“Hhh-- hhgn-- yeah--”

“Awesome, I love it when I'm on the same page as myself.”

Past Him’s eyes are starting to get a little glassy, which means it’s time to shut up and move. It’s quick work to rip his unrolled shirtsleeve off-- he really should have grabbed the first aid kit, way to drop the ball there, Fenton-- and tear it into strips to staunch the bleeding and tie the branch in place. A quick slash of ecto-energy cuts the branch free. Past Him writhes, clawing at the still-smoking ground and his leg both, a shriek scraped through his bared teeth.

“Sorry, sorry!” Danny says hastily. Probably should have warned him, oops. “Sorry. I’m gonna pick you up now, so hang on.”

“My buh-- bag,” Past Him gasps.

“Got it.” Another flare of energy to summon the bag, and he swings it over his shoulder, absently adjusting the strap to fit his broader frame. He remembers this bag; remembers a Sam who knew what to expect, and knew what he’d benefit most from. Sturdy quality, nondescript color, lots of pockets. Past him is gonna lose it before his sixteenth birthday, if he’s lucky. “You just came from seeing our Sam and Tucker, right?”

“Muh-- hhgh-- hh-- month ago.”

Danny scoops him up bridal style, wincing when this earns him another strangled cry. Past him curls like a pill bug, glaring daggers. “I warned you, sorry!”

He flies for camp, talking as he goes. He remembers that too, now that he’s here again. How he’d latched onto the rambling voice of his weird future self as a distraction from the fucking hole in his arm. The memory makes him ramble more. “Once you’re stitched up I can give you something for the pain. It’s just over the counter stuff, but it’ll take the edge off for now. If you need something stronger I can steal some tomorrow, okay? I’ll need to go into town for more supplies anyway, so don’t stress it. All you need to think about right now is not passing out, okay? You’re gonna be fine. This isn’t so bad. I know it hurts right now, but you’ll be okay soon. Just breathe, nice and steady, yeah, like that. I’ve got you. You’ll be okay. You’ll be just fine.”

Back at camp, Danny lays him on the spare blanket he’d laid out just for this. “Keep pressure on that,” he orders. “I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t hear the weak reply, already rifling through the tent for his trusty kit. It’s been through hell with him-- if you want to call bouncing around the infinitude of forced trans-temporal hopscotch “hell,” which hey, some days. It’s dented and stained and the red cross on its lid is just about scratched gone. It still closes though, which is good enough for him. Kit in hand, he drops his past self’s bag near the edge of the blanket and kneels down beside the boy.

“Hold still,” he says, and hands him a piece of old leather. “Put that in your mouth. I don’t need you biting our tongue off, okay?”

Field surgery done by an amateur is, as expected, kind of a disaster. It’s easier than it would be if either of them were anyone else; it’s useful, sometimes, to be a couple of freaks. Past Him is too much of a ghost to bleed out from something as minor as this, and Danny’s too inured by years of stitching himself back together to allow his hands any hesitation.

“It’s kind of nice to be the living proof I don’t fuck this up and kill you,” Danny remarks lightly as he prods and massages the twisted muscles back into place.

Past Him gives him a look of deepest loathing.

Eventually, the wound is sewn and cleaned and bandaged, and it’s over. Past Him sprawls out on the least bloody corner of the blanket and just lays there and breathes. He’s gray-faced and shaking, skin cold to the touch. Danny gives him a bottle of water and a bag of trail mix and, as an afterthought, pulls another blanket out of the tent to toss over him.

“Sip slow, eat slower,” he says. “I’ll get dinner started once I’ve cleaned up.”

Canned soup takes basically zero effort to heat over a campfire, so he keeps one eye on Past Him and makes lists as he stirs. What will need to be stolen, priority versus indulgence. Medical supplies, obviously. More bandages. Ice too, for the swelling and for storage. It’s kind of weird, having perishables around. Fresh fruit, definitely. Red meat, for the iron and protein-- or would that fall under an indulgence? No no, Past Him needs it. Well, in a few days. For now he should probably stick to chicken broth. He’s had a hard time of it; too much rich food will just make him sick. Yeah, alright. That’ll do, for now.

He ladles out two steaming bowls and plops down on the blanket. Past Him twitches like it’s a habit. Danny doesn’t blame him. He remembers the first year like a bad dream, memories springing unbidden that still make his heart race over nothing. Trauma, Jazz would say if she were here. No shit, Danny would retort. He doesn’t have the looping scars on his arms and legs anymore, but they’re still a raw pink on Past Him. He remembers, even if his skin doesn’t.

A flicker of green energy levitates the bowls, leaving his hands free to gather up a pile of soft things to prop Past Him up. “Hope you’re hungry, because I’m not letting you sleep ‘til the bowl’s empty.”

Past Him stares. “How-- how are you doing that?”

His voice is weak. That should pass soon. It has to. Not like either of them can risk a trip to a hospital. “Doing what?”

“I can’t make stuff float.”

“Oh. Practice,” Danny nods at one bowl, setting it down beside Past Him and plucking his own out of the air. “We’ll get to that.”

“Um. We will?”

“Course we will. What do you think I’m doing here? Well, apart from saving my own life by proxy, I guess.”

Past Him hesitates, his spooning halfway to his mouth. “You’re... really me then?”

“Yup.”

“Then--”

“Shut up and eat, okay? We’ll talk once you’ve had some sleep.”

Past Him is too worn out to put up much of a fight, which is just fine with him. There’s time now, to put things off until tomorrow. There’s time a-plenty for them, for now.

In the morning Danny wakes to the patter of a light rain against the tent, and Past Him is gone.

“...Idiot.”

He floats out of his sleeping bag and gets dressed, shivering when the cold air nips his chest. On his way out of the tent he grabs a second hoodie with a grumble. It’s barely raining, really more of a fine mist if he’s gonna be technical, but it’s pretty chilly out and Past Him’s still weak. If the idiot popped so much as a single stitch wandering around the forest on his own, he’s gonna backhand him into next week! He wasn’t this dumb when he was fourteen, was he?

...Okay, maybe he was. Still!

He finds Past Him by the nearby stream, sitting cross-legged with his hurt arm resting in his lap, lost in thought. Danny huffs.

“Y’have a nice walk?” He asks, walking up. Past Him comes back to himself with a slow shake of his head, but doesn’t reply. With another huff Danny sits next to him, turning his gaze to the stream. The water’s so clear he can see the pale river stones at the bottom, and little shadows of fish darting around. It burbles and splashes, louder than the drizzle on the gold and red leaves still clinging to the trees. It’s peaceful here. Soothing.

They sit a while.

“How you doing?” He asks eventually.

“...’M’cold.”

“That’d be the blood loss, dude.” Danny tosses the hoodie at him, earning an indistinct noise of protest. Past Him pulls it on anyway, careful of his arm. When his head pops out he’s glaring. The hoodie’s a size or two too big for him; he ends up looking like a little kid pouting over not getting any cookies before dinner.

“You’re awfully cheery about all this, you know that?”

“Well sure, why not? We’ve got food, clean water, shelter, we can communicate with the current populace no problem, and I know when our next jumps are gonna be. Oh! And toilet paper. I picked up a bunch of that yesterday and you are welcome.”

Past Him sneers. “Well you might be satisfied with toilet paper, but I’m not looking forward to having this conversation again in ten years.”

Danny laughs. “Wow, thanks! I’m twenty for your information, so it’s only gonna be six years until you can make fun of your moping teenage self crying over how hard his life is, uh boo hoo hoo.”

“I’m not crying--” He stills, the irritation bleeding from him. “...Six years?”

And the snit he’d been working up to vanishes in a puff of morosity. “...Six years,” he says again, and rubs his thumb along the bandages on his arm.

Danny gets it. He does. Six years is forever when you’re fourteen. Six years is impossible to imagine, even when it’s snarking at you and making sure you haven’t popped your stitches. Past Him wants so hard to pretend this will all work itself out, that he’ll get to go home before this can really get out of hand. It’s written on his thin face plain as day. But here’s his future self, aged twenty and some change, as harsh a truth as a slap in the face.

Danny gets it. Six years still seems like forever to him now. But at least Danny’s already lived the years between fourteen and twenty. He knows that it gets better than it’s been for Past Him, that it gets easier. He’ll survive, and he’ll learn and see more than he ever thought possible, even if he has no control of the whats or whens. He hasn’t stopped wanting to go home, and he hasn’t stopped trying to get there either. But he understands that rock bottom could be so much worse than this. And if he’s turned out okay, then Past Him will too.

He has to. Right?

“Hey.”

Past Him says nothing, lost in the middle distance again. Danny rolls his eyes. Forget trauma, this is just drama now. He reaches out and shoves Past Him into the stream. The squawking and yowling that comes after is loud enough to chase a flock of birds out of the treeline, and Danny throws his head back and laughs and laughs.

“What was that for?!” Past Him splutters furiously, hip-deep and soaking wet.

“For brooding!” Danny shouts, flat on his back and kicking his feet.

“For-- what?”

Danny drops his legs, swinging himself upright to give Past Him a Very Serious Expression he can only just hang onto. “We future-Dannys have a strict no brooding policy.” This is a staggering lie. “Breaking this rule will earn you a swift and merciless dunking! If there’s no nearby body of water around, we’ll settle for a good punch to the nads.”

Past Him gapes for several seconds, and then finally-- god, was he this slow at fourteen too? He must have been but jeez, this is tragic-- he remembers his arm. With a yelp that’s half-panic and half-pain he throws his arm over his head, horrified. “My stitches!”

Danny floats to his feet and turns back towards camp, chest aching and mouth sore from grinning. Man, he’d needed a good laugh. “Phase ‘em dry! You’ll be alright.”

Still chuckling, he leaves his past in the water.

Breakfast is scrambled eggs with bits of ham and bacon. Danny grimaces his way through a cup of instant coffee, the gritty taste waking him up better than the actual caffeine. He leans back in his squat fold-out chair, plastic plate balanced on one knee and plastic cup perched on the other, gives Past Him an appraising glance. He phased himself dry but is still wrapped up in a fleece blanket against the chill, pulled up to his ears. His bandages ought to be changed too, as a precaution.

“So does this time travel garbage get any less random?” Past Him asks.

Danny snorts, setting his empty plate aside. “Pfft, I wish.”

“Then how come you’re here too?”

“Because this is what happened for me when I was your age, and now it’s happening again.” He shrugs. “I try not to think about it too hard when this kind of thing happens.”

“So, what, I’m destined to time travel for at least six years just to save my own butt?” Past Him stabs at his plate, looking furious. “How’s that fair?”

“It isn’t destiny, alright? Don’t make it sound like we’ve been prophesied into a magical loop of time hobo bullshit. It’s Clockwork, alright? This is all Clockwork’s fault.”

Past Him doesn’t say anything, picking at his eggs. But there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, even when he’d been racked with pain. Hmm. Danny thinks back again, tries to remember this conversation. It’s indistinct now, dreamy shapes instead of true memory. He remembers the meals shared rather than the words that passed between them. Mostly, he remembers being scared and overwhelmed and homesick. Trying to understand what had happened to him and unable to wrap his mind around the possibility of being preordained into having this conversation twice.

Damn.

“Hey.”

Past Him eyes him warily, like he’s somebody dangerous, somebody to be threatened by. Which, considering things, is a fair assessment. Still, ouch.

“I know this is a lot to take in. It’s been-- what, four months for you?”

A nod.

“Right, and it’s been shit. I remember. And Sam and Tucker, they told you what’s gonna happen, but hearing something bad is a whole lot different than seeing it.” He gestures at himself, smiling and hoping he looks apologetic. “You don’t want to believe, and that’s fine. But the fact is, I’m your best case scenario.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve seen an alternate Danny or two by now, right?”

Past Him winces. “Just one, in person. The other one was, um. His parents said he was dead.”

Yeah, that’s more common than he’d like to think about. Comes with the territory though, idiot kid hero trying to save the city one punch at a time. Dannys get hurt or they get dead, or if they’re very very very lucky, they get to grow up. “No, no. I mean alternate time-traveling Dannys. Ones like you and me.”

He looks at Danny uncertainly. “I… don’t think I have?”

“You’d know if you did. They’re usually dead.”

Ah hell, that was too blunt. Now Past Him looks all panicky again. “I mean-- what I mean is, this isn’t--” He clears his throat, tries to channel Jazz’s Lecture Mode. “Time travel is dangerous. Your arm’s proof of that. One slip up in a jump can be fatal. Statistically, it is way more likely that we’ll die instead of finding a way to fix this. A foot to the right and instead of a branch in your arm it would’ve been the whole log through your gut. You’ve made it this far okay and I’ve made it farther, but there’s six years between us and I can promise you you’re going to find some dead Dannys along the way. I’m sorry, but that’s facts.”

Past Him says nothing for a moment, stirring his eggs again. “...What happened to your face?”

“Huh? Oh.” Danny touches his cheek, tracing the edge of a scar even his supernatural healing hasn’t touched. “Ended up back in the bad future again, only a few seconds after I’d left. The Observants hit the big reset button while I was there.”

“Observants?”

“A bunch of one-eyed time cops who can’t grasp the concept of trans-temporal travel to save their skins.” He scoffs. “Clockwork works for them.”

“Really? He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who, y’know, works well with others.”

Danny laughs. “Far as I can tell, you’re right on the money. There’s definitely some mutual hatred between them, but I couldn’t tell you why. It’s not often I’ve run into the Observants, and when I do I have to explain everything all over again and hope they don’t try and kill me.”

“Why?”

He leans forward to stoke the campfire with a long stick, prodding at the ashy logs until the embers burn brightly again. “Why what?”

Past Him shifts, taking another bite of his eggs. “Lots of whys, I guess. I dunno. Why would they try and kill you? Wouldn’t helping us out make their jobs easier? Being, uh, time cops and everything?”

He sighs, leaning back in his chair again. As he answers, he waves and jabs the stick for emphasis. “They put on this big show of passivity-- observe, but never to act, kind of their whole thing really-- but they’re just as trigger happy as any ghost if you startle them right. And like it or not we startle everybody, because of this.” He pats his chest. “No matter what I’ve told them, they always think I’m trashing their tidy little timelines on purpose. They don’t do much about me, obviously-- it’s kind of in their name-- but they’re annoying. They bristle up and make a big fuss in every timeline I come to as if I’m gonna go out of my way to wreck their tragically linear grasp of past-present-future, but since we’ve got this--” He pats his chest again, “--they just kind of grumble and posture ‘til I leave.”

“You….” Past Him frowns, rubs his face, and makes a visible attempt at sorting his thoughts together. This really is a conversation that should wait until the kid’s got a full five liters of blood to oxygenate, but Danny knows it won’t. Stubbornness is something he’s always been guilty of. “They don’t know who you are, over and over?”

Danny allows the clumsy question to be left alone, though he dearly wants to poke fun. Blood loss. Trauma. Et cetera. “They don’t, that’s the thing. They’re incredibly limited in their-- you know what? Here, we need some visuals, I think.”

He floats off his chair to a stretch of dirt closer to Past Him. A soft sweep of power brushes an uneven square clear of leaves and loose stones, and using the stick he’d stoke the fire with Danny draws as he talks.

First, a lone vertical line. “This is one timeline; one whole stupidly long stretch of reality as our little minds understand it from start to finish. Big B and E, Beginning and End, here and here.” Two little horizontal ticks to mark each. “And the Observants have existed in one form or another since like, right after the Beginning.” He doodles a circle around a dot in a rough doodle of an eye. Dirt’s a hard medium, so sue him. “They can see the whole of this timeline laid out like a movie reel. They see everything that will happen, is happening, or has happened within that scope, and they can see when calling in the big guns might be necessary.”

“Big guns-- meaning Clockwork?” Past Him asks.

“Yeah.” He draws another vertical line beside the first. “The thing is-- as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now-- is that there is waaaaaay more than just one timeline out there for us to bounce around in. And the Observants from this timeline--” He taps the first line, “--can’t even tell this timeline exists at all. If you try telling them Timeline A is different than Timeline B because everybody in the U.S. speaks German or whatever, they’ll call you a lunatic.” He fills the rest of the open dirt with vertical lines, more for visual effect than is strictly necessary. “Same in Timelines C through Z, onto infinity. You follow?”

“Yeah, I follow. Kind of the only thing that makes sense with all the, um. Places I’ve been.” Past Him rubs his wrist absently, tracing the shallow scars rather than the edge of his bandage.

“...I wasn’t a fan of her either,” Danny says quietly, and nods at the scars when Past Him looks embarrassed. “At least there was water then. You’re gonna hate Duulaman, if you stick around long enough to end up then too.”

“Who is--”

“Maybe later,” Danny cuts in, making an attempt to smile but feeling it strain across his teeth. Past Him huffs, but at least he isn’t twitchy like earlier. Talking all this out is a distraction, if nothing else.

“Okay. So Clockwork works for these Observant guys, right? Having us-- me?-- getting jerked all over the place is definitely gonna mess up something eventually. Have you tried telling them about how Clockwork’s left us out to dry?”

Danny barks laughter, tossing the stick aside. “Are you kidding me? That asshole may as well be my imaginary friend at this point. It doesn’t matter what I tell them; they either don’t believe me or nothing tangible comes from it. They don’t interfere.”

“...I see.”

“I can’t remember, have you tried going to his lair yet?”

“Yeah. Four times, before I gave up and went Earth-side again.”

“Ah, okay.” Another soft sweep of power brushes away the doodled timelines. He stands, stretching out his back with a groan as something pops. “Yeah, I’ve tracked his lair down a hundred times if I’ve done it once. No luck. Mostly I just get lost in the Ghost Zone for a while, until I pop into a time period where someone made a stable portal in Amity Park. Usually it’s some variation on Mom and Dad, but there’ve been a few surprises.”

“So he is avoiding me. Us. Whatever.” Past Him shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “This is… way more complicated than I’m prepared to deal with right now.”

“That’s fair. Here, you’re still looking pretty ragged ‘round the edges. How about you try and get some more sleep? I promise you won’t go anywhere for a while.”

He nods. “I… yeah. Sleep-- sleep sounds like a good idea.”

It’s evening by the time Past Him stirs again, and when he stumbles out of the tent he’s a little more put together, a little more coherent. As Danny sets him down by the fire to change his bandages again, he looks around with the first spark of interest he’s shown since he showed up. “Where’d you get all this stuff anyway? Did Sam go on another shopping spree?”

“Nah, I don’t think Sam’s even been born yet. Quit squirming.”

“Then quit poking it. What year is it?”

“Mom and Dad just put up the Fenton Works sign on the house.”

“So it’s only--” He frowns. “Did you get them to buy all this?”

“They’re not our parents. Not yet anyway.” He tugs on the bandage to make sure the clip isn’t loose, then pats Past Him on the knee. “And besides, these are pre-Portal days for them anyway. They’d think I was crazy.”

At a loss, Past Him looks out at the campsite again. It’s downright spartan, compared to the camping trips Mom and Dad used to take them on. Necessity has made Danny stingy and cautious, used to having nothing but the necessities at the best of times. But for this jump he splurged on lanterns and sleeping bags, a roomy camping tent and pre-cut firewood. Stuff that your normal American family wouldn’t think twice on bringing out to the woods, but it’s all stuff Danny’s gotten used to not having. It is, personally speaking, a shit ton of stuff.

“How did you pay for all this?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then--” His eyes widen, understanding at last. “You stole all this?”

“We gotta survive somehow, y’know?”

“I-- well--” He fumbles. “Yeah, I guess. But stealing?”

Danny smiles, not unkindly. “Lemme get dinner started before you get all high and mighty on me, okay?”

Past Him glowers. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit, you’re not. You’re really gonna turn down chicken soup because I stole it? It’s like a dollar a can right now anyway, it’s peanuts.”

“Then you could’ve paid a dollar for it.”

Danny purses his lips, resting his hands on his hips as he levels a distinctly unimpressed glare at Past Him. “Before you look at me like I said I kick puppies for fun-- yeah, that look, knock it off-- just think about it for a minute. What’s the longest you’ve been anywhere so far?”

He may as well have flipped a switch to make Past Him look so miserable so quickly. “Two weeks.”

“Right, and civilization was kaput then anyway, so it wasn’t like you could buy a sandwich if you had the money to.” He huffs. “I’m not saying it’s all post-apocalyptic wastelands from here on out, okay? But the point is, it’s really rare for me to be anywhen long enough to land some honestly-made cash to honestly-buy anything. All of this--” He gestures at their little camp site, a circle of garish colors and a smattering of tacky camo, “--is very, very out of the ordinary. I only stole all of this because I knew you’d be showing up too, and I know how long we’ll both be here.”

Past Him makes a face. What, did he really forget this was a temporary setup? “How long is that?”

“Two months, give a take a day or two for both of us. I’ve been here three days already, so I’ve had time to prepare. And yeah, that means I stole a whole bunch of junk I’m not gonna take with me when I leave.” He shrugs, dropping his arms. “It sucks, okay? I know it sucks. But it’s steal or starve, and frankly dude, I’ve had my fair share of starving. Haven’t you?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Past Him looks like a pile of kindling somebody draped a t-shirt and a pair of jeans over. “You did all this… for me?”

“Yup, but don’t feel guilty about it. You weren’t the one who robbed half the camping section of Wal-Mart, I did. This is all just to help me spin you up.” He smiles. “Trust me, I woulda been perfectly happy sleeping in a nice hotel room for two months, but this little fall camping trip is where I learned how to survive, so now it’s my turn to repay the favor.”

Past Him shuts his eyes, leans back in his chair. The flickering light of the fire spills black shadows in the hollows of his eyes, across the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw, down the taut lines of his skinny throat. Poor kid. He’s had it rough. Danny remembers, with that quiet distance memory gives to all bad things. An echo, absent of pain, softened by time. Long days and longer nights all blurred together, the panic and fear and hunger rubbed away, leaving only the distinct feeling of a loneliness that dogs him still.

Six years really is forever.

“Chicken soup it is,” Danny says.

A week passes quietly. For the most part Danny leaves Past Him be, answering questions when he’s asked and providing commentary on little things around the camp without expecting much response. Fire maintenance, trash disposal, washing their clothes in the stream; those kinds of things. He leaves a few hours here and there, to steal more medical supplies and food, and to furtively spy on the house so recently named Fenton Works. Mom and Dad-- no, Maddie and Jack, they aren’t his parents, they don’t even have a son yet anyway-- are hard at work fortifying the roof to support what will eventually be the Ops Center. Jazz is too little to be left unsupervised long, so they take turns to play with her and feed her, a gingham blanket and lots of pillows and toys strewn on a safe stretch of rooftop. Mom’s-- Maddie’s-- hair is long and curly, and there’s no gray touching D-- Jack’s-- temples yet. They’re really not much older than he is.

They’re happy. He’s glad, to see them happy.

A week since Past Him showed up, and he’s just about healed up. One of the perks of being a freak; even a branch shunted through his arm really can’t slow him down for long. The stitches come out and the heavy bandages are replaced with just two gauze pads, and even that’s not all that necessary. The new skin is raw and tender, looks like ground beef instead of scar tissue, but it’ll be fine. He’ll be just fine.

“You okay?” Past Him asks that night, dinner eaten and plates cleaned. They’ve been sitting by the fire, bundled up against the autumn wind whipping through the trees. Branches sway and and creak, black outlines against a night sky spilling over with stars. It’s a nice night, quiet. Past Him’s even been cracking jokes.

“...I gotta show you something,” he says, reluctantly. He should have done this days ago. He’s put it off long enough.

“Uh-oh. You got all serious. What is it?”

He unzips his hoodie, kneads the hem of his t-shirt in his fingers and swallows. “Something you really won’t like.”

“You’ve already been nothing but bad news,” Past Him grins. “C’mon, spit it out.”

“I wouldn’t call this ‘bad news,’ per se, more of an ‘oh my god’ kind of news,” he replies, and lifts up his shirt.

“Whyyyy are you stripping-- oh my god, what.”

The firelight makes it look worse than it really is. Idiot, he should have thought of that. He should have waited until morning, when the light would be better, when the shadows would be honest. But he might have lost his nerve by then, and he’s put it off long enough, he has. This is a cruelty Past Him has to know.

Danny doesn’t look down, only watches horror etch hard lines into Past Him’s skinny face, at the disgust twisting his mouth, the bulge of his eyes, how he recoils in his chair. He doesn’t look down because he doesn’t have to. He knows the shape of the hole in his chest like the back of his own hands, has traced its growth a thousand times with careful fingers. He knows the mottled purple bruising, the sloughed flesh that looks more like candle wax than skin, the white expanse of exposed bone, the slippery pink muscles, the glistening edge of subcutaneous fat. The hole in his chest doesn’t bleed, but the steady pulse of his beating heart can be touched, if he hooks his finger right.

Past Him’s hands have jumped to his own chest, reflexively trying to cover a wound he doesn’t have yet.

The fire shifts with a startling loud pop and crackle, sending up a flurry of orange sparks to wink out in the darkness above. The wind sighs, and goosebumps break out across Danny’s bare skin. The cold bites at his chest, a bone-deep ache like chewing on ice cubes, and he waits for Past Him to speak.

“What--” He swallows, shakes his head, tries again. “What the hell?”

“The time medallion,” Danny replies simply. It’s explanation enough, really.

“Howww are you… not dead?” Past Him makes a pained expression, rubbing his chest nervously. “Are you dead? Have you actually been dead this whole time and my ghost sense just didn’t work, because--”

“I’m not dead. You’ll know when you’ve found a dead Danny, trust me.”

“Shit,” Past Him breathes. “Sam and Tucker told me the medallion was gonna mess with me, but I didn’t think-- I didn’t think it’d be so-- so graphic.”

“It’s really not as bad as it looks.” He adjusts his grip on his shirt a little, fetching a pocket knife from his hip and flicking it open. The little blade shines blackly, a wavering streak of orange dancing down its edge. “And it doesn’t make me as vulnerable as you’d think it would.” And he demonstrates this by burying the knife in his chest.

Past Him shouts, jumping to his feet, but Danny’s already pulled the knife out. He tosses it underhanded to Past Him, who nearly drops it in surprise. He stares at it, then at Danny. The blade has rusted away to nothing.

“Only Dannys like us can really touch it,” he says, tapping his sternum. The tick-tick of his fingernail is loud, like tapping a pencil on a school desk, the kind with a cubby hole for your textbooks. It doesn’t echo, but the sound of a cluttered space inside is clear enough.

“...I’m going to throw up.”

“It’s not that bad.” Danny tugs his shirt down, zipping up his hoodie again.

“It’s pretty bad, actually!”

“Don’t be such a baby. You’ve got a while before it’ll start to show on you.” Past Him’s face loses its revulsion, gets that miserable dismay he wears whenever Danny talks about the future. “Once the bruising lingers, you’re gonna have to get quick with the lies, and creative with how you hide it. Nobody who isn’t in the know about what you are or what’s happened to you can see it.”

“...Who’s in the know?” Well, that’s begrudging as hell, but at least he’s not putting up as much a fuss as Danny had been afraid he would.

Danny closes the distance between them to pat him gently on the shoulder. He smiles, hopes it’s a comfort. “People you can trust. Who that ends up being is up to you.”

Past Him shakes his head, pulling away. He looks at the knife handle clenched in his fist like it might bite him. “But-- but how? You’ve got a-- a-- you’ve got that!” He points unnecessarily. “I think it’s bigger than my fist! Does it-- god, does it leak? Does it hurt? Like, all the time?”

“Of course it hurts,” Danny retorts. “You already know that. It hurts like hell after every jump, and after a while it doesn’t stop hurting.”

“But you-- you never said anything.”

Danny shrugs. “What’s the point of complaining?”

“What d’you mean, ‘what’s the point?’” Past Him flails a little, jabbing at his chest with the handle. “That’s horrible! That’s-- how can you live with that?”

Danny huffs again. “Because it’s either live with it, or don’t live at all.”

Past Him stops. Drops his hands to his sides. Looks at Danny like he’s seeing him for the first time. And he staggers back, falls into his chair, and crumples up like a paper napkin. Shaky, breathless laughter jangles out of him, the knife handle falling from his limp hand to the dirt with a muted thud.

“I can’t do this,” he says. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m in over my head. This is crazy. I can’t.”

Jesus. He’d forgotten, he’d actually forgotten how much this messed him up the first time around. What can he say? Is there anything? What’d he tell himself the first time?

...Ah, it’s been too long. He can’t remember.

“You have to,” he says quietly. “I’m your best case scenario.”

Past Him says nothing, so Danny leaves him by the fire.

After that, Danny stops hiding his chest. He doesn’t turn away when he changes in the tent or when they go down to the stream to bathe, breathless and swearing in the cold. Past Him goes white and quiet every time he sees the wound, and he presses his hand to his own chest when he thinks Danny’s not looking. That’s fine. He doesn’t have to stop being scared of it. He just has to understand what it means.

As the weeks pass Danny finds himself in an almost constant state of déjà vu, opening his mouth to speak only to have dim memories fall from his tongue. He wastes a lot of time blinking and shaking his head, knowing he looks like a strong advocate for helmets in the eyes of his teenage self and not really able to do anything about it. It’s not like he isn’t aware of how unstable he looks; he remembers this much. He’s already done all this. He remembers thinking, with laughable clarity, Oh good, I go totally banana sandwich because of this.

He doesn’t bother excusing these brief yet annoyingly frequent bouts of confusion. They happen. They keep happening. It’s almost convenient, actually, to have half-buried memories on-hand to help with the lessons he’s pulling out of his ass. It helps him sound like he knows what he’s doing, which is still very, very hilarious.

News flash to Danny Fenton, age twenty and some change: Teaching is a lot harder than it looks. If he ever gets a chance to apologize to Mr. Lancer, take it.

Past Him doesn’t like hunting. Danny remembers that too, with that weird double-layer to his memory of this jump. Saying something and remembering someone else say it when it really was him saying it after all. He remembers being disgusted before, and horrified, and scared, and young.

Him now? He’s so frustrated with this idiot kid he could scream.

“Do you really want a repeat of Plant Queen Sam’s vegetarian nightmare apocalypse?” He asks impatiently, fed up with all the protests he’s gotten over this. “You’ve been here almost a month now, getting three solid meals and all the Zs you could ask for thanks to me, but this isn’t a permanent setup. We’re both gonna leave, and you need to be able to fend for yourself!”

“I’m just saying,” Past Him says, just as exasperated, “There’s got to be a better way than this.”

This is a rabbit caught in a trap and a hunting knife. This is also, apparently, an exercise in futility.

“There is, and I showed you, and you went and had a big hissy fit over how it wasn’t ‘fair’ to the animals!”

“They don’t stand a chance that way!” And he grimaces and folds his arms over his chest, haughty and self-conscious and not looking at the shivering rabbit at his feet. “It just-- it doesn’t feel-- it’s not right.”

Danny does a little loop de loop in the air to burn off some tension. It’s that or slap some sense his dumb idiot terrible teen self. They’re both ghost right now, two black-suited shadows flitting through the forest, checking traps and finally finding something caught, and it is sorely tempting to slap Past Him through a tree or two. He’d survive it just fine, really. “You’re thinking about this as murder.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what it is.”

“No, it’s survival. Practical application of your powers in order to sustain your own existence at the cost of an animal’s. It’s the food chain, dude.”

Past Him makes another face. “You sound like one of Jazz’s textbooks.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d kick up such a fuss over this and now I’m jumping through hoops trying to to find a way for this to make sense to you, you tremendous baby.”

Past Him throws up his hands. “I don’t want to murder a deer with my ghost powers-- or a freaking machete, for that matter!”

Danny laughs. “Wow, no. For one, this is a hunting knife. Totally different types of knives. Two, who said anything about deer? What are you, greedy? What the hell would we do with a whole deer? I made rabbit traps for a reason.”

“You know what I mean.”

The rabbit thrashes against the rope around its feet, panting heavily. Danny glares. “Look, it’s terrified right now. You’d be doing it a favor and getting a couple meals out of it. Kill the fucking rabbit!”

“I don’t want to!”

“You know what? Fine.” He phases his hand through the rabbit’s chest, a slash of motion too quick for the thing to see. It spasms once more and goes limp. Dead so quick it couldn’t have known what was happening. Quicker and more merciful than knives or guns or bows, and bloodless besides, and Past Him is a gutless coward who’d rather starve than kill an animal with his own hands.

“You win,” Danny snaps, picking the rabbit up. “Have fun going hungry again.”

“Wait, what?”

Danny stalks back toward the campsite, turning human mid-stride. Past Him flits after, nervously, like he’s expecting to be punished. Well Danny’s not gonna play Disappointed Dad with teenage him. He’s too young to be a dad, and too damn peeved besides. “From here on out you don’t catch dinner, you don’t eat dinner.”

“What? Hey, hang on!”

He ignores the whining and protesting all the way back to camp. Past Him doesn’t shut up even when he skins and guts the rabbit with practiced hands, though he does hang back and go a little greener than usual. He keeps up the noise as Danny gets the rabbit on a spit and over the fire. He goes on and on, crying about how it’s not fair to ask him to kill a defenseless rabbit when they’re just a few miles away from Amity Park. As if proximity to easy-access food is something that can be relied on indefinitely, as if that isn’t something Past Him is damn well acquainted with already. As if supermarkets and drive-thru fast food have existed since time immemorial and will keep on existing until the sun burns out.

Eventually, disgusted and irritated and fed up and tired, Danny chases Past Him out of earshot with a burning branch in one hand and a ball of ecto-energy in the other to get some peace and quiet.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable lesson, you ungrateful ass!” He hollers after the disappeared flick of a ghostly tail.

Past Him lasts two days, lurking in the nearby woods. Any time Danny catches him in his peripheral he fires off a few blasts, aiming wide to warn the idiot off. On the third day Past Him drops a dead squirrel on his head, and Danny laughs and waves him down.

“I hate you,” Past Him spits.

Danny nods. “Then we’re getting somewhere.”

There’s just a few days left now.

Danny can’t remember who left first, so to be on the safe side he’s double- and triple-checking both of their bags. Necessities are priority-packed; medical supplies and emergency rations, spare socks and underwear, knives and iodine pills and parachute cord. All the frivolous trappings he’d splurged on for this jump will be left behind, one more ghost story the humans will tell and retell one another, missing case files that won’t ever get solved. He sorts through t-shirts and shoestrings and canteens and tries not to think about the married couple that aren’t his parents, only a little older than he is, unaware they’ll have a son one day.

Past Him watches him work, floating idly about ten feet off the ground. These two months have been good to him; he’s filled out, gotten some color in his face. He could walk down the street and no one would think anything of him, just one more kid killing time after school. He props his chin up with one hand and hums. “Does it get better?”

“Your cooking? Obviously.”

“No, I meant this.” He flaps his other hand vaguely. The two round scars on his forearm stand out like they’ve been drawn on with marker, but otherwise there’s no telling that he’d ever been hurt. “All this stupid time traveling.”

Well now. There’s a choice to make here if there ever was one.

Brutal honesty, half-truth, outright lying. It’s true that it stopped being hard once he got the necessary skills hammered out. It’s amazing, really and honestly amazing, what he’s seen and what he can still expect to see. It’s been incredible and terrible and humbling, to see the many facets of himself, all the hims that could have been and all the hims that never got to be, because they died or were never born, and someone else got to live in his place. Seeing a hundred variations on his friends and family, and a hundred generations of people before and after them too. All the lives lived, all the lives never known.

Yeah, there are many times he could say he’s even been happy.

This time, he doesn’t need to rely on déjà vu to tell him what to say. He’s been expecting this question-- expecting, not remembering that it was asked. They’re almost out of time. It was bound to come up.

He stops rooting around for his toothbrush, sitting back on his heels to look up at Past Him. “Listen,” he says. “This sucks. It really, really sucks, and sometimes I get so homesick I could puke, and I spend so much time scared out of my mind that I’m gonna die in some hole a million years ago and no one I care about will ever know what happened to me. I’m scared I’ll say something or do something wrong and mess up a timeline in some huge, awful way. Maybe I already have and I just don’t know it yet, because I haven’t been back to that timeline. Maybe I’ll never get to know how badly I mess stuff up, or how many people I hurt by accident or by choice. Maybe that’s a good thing. Or maybe not knowing is worse. I don’t know. I just….”

He sighs.

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “I never imagined I’d grow up to be a time hobo, y’know?”

Past Him smiles down at him, a wry slice of teeth in a sun-browned face. “I don’t think anybody ever aspires to be a time hobo.”

“Ha, yeah. And I mean-- like I’ve said before, the day-to-day stuff all gets easier. We jump, we acclimate, we get as comfortable as we can until we jump again. Rinse and repeat and hope maybe next time there’ll be a ghost portal to go through. We learn how to really roll with all the weird shit that gets thrown at us, and I’m saying ‘we’ because I met a future time hobo Danny once who had this kind of-- I dunno. Stone-cold, grizzled, badass action dad vibe thing going for him. It was very impressive. I was very impressed.”

Another smile. “When does that happen?”

“I was seventeen. If you’re lucky, you’ll see him too.”

“How old was-- no. You won’t tell me, will you?”

“Nope.”

Past Him gives an exaggerated sigh, but lets it go.

Danny stands, stretching on tip-toe with his hands over his head to ease the tightness in his spine. One of his knees pops satisfyingly. Geeze. He’s only twenty, and he already feels old. “We both get better at this,” he says. “And maybe one of us will be lucky enough to find a way to fix this. Maybe I’m not your best case scenario after all, and maybe the future Danny I met wasn’t mine.”

He almost says what that would mean, for both of them, but the memories of lonely bones and cold metal steal the words from him. “I… ah, hell. It sucks. It really does. Sometimes it gets better, but then it gets worse again, and some stuff there’s just no helping. I just had to keep going.”

“Like your face?”

“Like my face.”

Past Him drops to eye-level, an eyebrow pointedly raised. “And you’re still not gonna tell me how exactly you got that? Even though really, I’d think you’d appreciate changing your past so your face doesn’t get ripped open.”

“It wouldn’t be my past if you managed to avoid tall, dark, and homicidal. My past is for keepsies whether I like it or not.” It’s all tree branch and tributary metaphors for time travel; the past can’t be fixed, only altered enough to create a new timeline stemming from the thing you tried to change. The past may as well be set in stone. That’s just how it is.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said.” Past Him lands, hands in his pockets. “It’s still worth trying to change how it goes for me though, isn’t it?”

Danny said the same thing, when he was fourteen. “...Good luck.”

[radioactive-tiefling]

for the oc and topic thing, how about ptolemy, xenoc, and lilium with like, traveling? is that a good topic

Yes! Ok let’s see

Ptolemy:

They hate travelling slowly, especially through wilderness. They don’t like riding horses or walking, and they don’t really like being out in the elements. Teleporting is their preferred way to get around, or walking in cities if need be since they at least know how to get around fast there.

For the first half or so of their life, they never travelled anywhere. The first time they left the city they grew up in was with their teacher, teleporting to another large town and staying inside the library there almost the whole time. The second time was on foot to a nearby village, and they managed to get separated from their teacher and lost in the woods, because it was so different from the streets and buildings they knew. They managed to find their way back home and waited for her there on the porch until she came back late that night after frantically searching the woods for them all day.

For the past year or so, they’ve been forced to travel rough and on foot. Having a home again to go back to, even if they have to travel in between, is a huge improvement over tents and ventilation pipes. They also managed to decode their teacher’s teleportation circle spell, so they’re hoping to collect as many patterns as possible so they have to do less schlepping around.

Xenoc:

Xenoc likes the freedom of travel— honestly more the idea of travelling than the actual act. When they have something to work on, they want to be able to settle in and focus on it and have a forge to work in. However, they need to feel like they CAN leave at any time. Feeling trapped in a place is stifling and scary.

This makes Barovia, a plane you literally cannot get out of, Straight Up Not A Good Time.

Xenoc actually likes being on the road with other people WAY better than being alone, though they’ll never admit it. They get bored really easily, and having someone to actually talk to is much better than trying to keep themself occupied with tinkering without running into a tree or something.

They are an absolute menace on road trips. Long cart rides??? Forget it. They absolutely can’t sit still or be quiet for any length of time, up to and including asking “are we there yet?” Way too fucking often. They turn everyone in the cart with them into a minivan full of annoying children. “Artauuuuus, Xenoc’s touching me!” “Don’t make me come back there!” Even if you can get them to sit semi-still and tinker with something, half their shit explodes or is flammable.

Lilium:

She studied abroad in France once in college. She grew up bilingual, so she ended up having to do a lot of the talking for her classmates, many of whom thought she was cold and stand-offish. It was not exactly how she wanted her first (and only, so far) time in France to go.

She’s been to Quebec a few times after that, but usually only for a few days at most for medical conferences and such. The accent and dialect were so different though that she’s now somewhat concerned speaking in front of native French speakers, since it’s been so long since she’s heard the native accent.

If it’s less than an hour to run somewhere, she’ll do it. She walks a lot of places, and has thought about getting a bike but never gotten around to it. It’s somewhat necessary, since while she doesn’t min driving, her car is a piece of shit. She used it only to drive back and forth from her mother’s house to school/work in Boston when she was on break or there was an emergency. In the city, she ended up taking a lot more public transport than she wanted to, so she’s running a lot more now that she’s back in the suburbs.

She’s great at long ass trips. 12 hours in a plane or 8 hours of driving, early morning or late into the night, all she needs is some strong coffee and a goal and she’ll make it through unruffled and unbothered. Really, though... she hates those trips. Handles them like a champ and won’t ever complain, but she fucking hates them.

[motorsportclubofottawa]

Words: Omar E. #550 Points: Naresh D. #27 Photos: Richard D. #30 & Naresh D. #27

.xls – Final 2017 Autocross Championship Points

As another autocross season wraps up, we sit and reflect on what is … or what could have been. History becomes etched into stone, as the top drivers reap the fruits of their accomplishments. Sponsorship deals and fancy stickers aside, the progression as drivers is what keeps us coming back for more. Victory…an intoxicant that arouses the mind with new possibilities, new limits, new direction and new bank accounts. Let us begin.

Women’s Cup

MCO autocross was blessed to have many more women lace up the race boots in pursuit of the women’s cup title.   Leading the way was the pride of Derbyshire, Kathleen I. displaying her fighting irish roots.  The soft-spoken doctor used some Italian spice in her recipe for victory taking top spot honours amongst the ladies, not to mention her class. 

Women’s Champion – Kathleen I.

It all came together for Natalie “dry beard? coconut oil will gitter’ done” F. piloting the “Green Mile” miata.  Improving step by step was the order of the day for this future Hollywood stylist.  Ms. Facette locked up second place gathering a whopping 6380.92 points…excellent work!

Women’s Cup – 2nd Place – Natalie F.

The final podium position went to Eva “I can’t believe this is legal!” G.  In her second season of competition, Eva kept it together taking in as much experience as possible from every event.  Well it paid off! Eva takes third place amongst the ladies with a points total of 6235.46.

Women’s Cup – 3rd Place – Eva G.

Sidenote: This year, MCO made a concerted effort to  attract more women to our sport and our community, including a Women’s Track Day and a presence at the Women’s Show this past spring. We were ecstatic to have even more female participation than we did during last season’s high-water mark. If you know a woman who loves being behind the wheel, you owe it to her to get her out to Lot 9. 

Rookie Cup

An injection of new drivers is important for the future of autocross. We have been fortunate to have many rookies make an impact quickly as they develop their driving skills and contribute to the success of the series. For this year, top spot amongst the rookies goes to none other than Gerard B.! The Focus ST driver almost won his class but came up a tad short. Despite that, Gerard still walks away with the Rookie of the year title.

Runners up, and husband and wife duo, Scott and Heather M., put down some very respectable times. Scott in the Mini Countrymen managed to amass 6552.55 points while Heather in the Mini Cooper S managed 5075.38 points at the season’s end.

Rookie Cup – 2nd Place – Scott M.

Rookie Cup – 3rd Place – Heather M.

Class Champions

A Class

A class saw a new champ take over as the battle in the “souped up” segment heated up at the end of season.   As has always been the case, the amazing Kevin S. was dominant all year long utilizing all the Fong S2300 had to offer.  The humble Swiss native didn’t really concern himself with podiums and accolades.  It’s all about the driving!  And drive he did!!  MCO’s Stig completed the season with 6840.79 points to take first overall in the class. 

A Class – 1st Place – Kevin S.

Next up was the S2300’s pimp, Steven F.  Also in the S2300, Mr. Fong locked up second accumulating 6689.31 points.  When Mr. Fong was asked about the secret to his success he simply said “I just do whatever…”  Well that is some superb feedback, I’ll wait for the e-book.  Rounding out the top three was Naresh Dibs and Ginger for the most part. 

A Class – 2nd Place – Steve F.

Naresh really only shows up to autocross to sing karaoke…maybe do some driving.  Now in retirement mode, the prolific autocross manager pumped out 6637.18 points all while managing an autocross series…this is a testament to Naresh’s commitment to the series and it’s participants.  Awesome work my friend!

A Class – 3rd Place – Naresh D.

B Class

It was a season long war between Aaron Z and the Wolf.  Both competitors utilizing different styles of the same weaponry and sometimes at the request of fans, they would exchanges weapons between themselves and try them out against each other.   Such is the nature of autocross.  At curtain close it was Aaron Z who held off a menacing attack by the Wolfpack managing 6981.28 points.  That’s good for top spot and class champ bragging rights!!

B Class – 1st Place – Aaron Z.

Not the slightest bit concerned with where he finished, the Wolf takes second with 6970.33 points.  Colin was the only podium winner who competed in every event…He is…the autocross ironman!  Well, Well, Ralf was right…new tires change the game. 

B Class – 2nd Place – Colin W.

Taking third place was your write up guy, Omar “Don’t be an angry Arab and smile already!” E. in his esteemed Omaro.  This culturally dynamic mismatch shows what can be done when differences are put aside grudgingly.  When approached for an interview, representatives from Team Omaro declined to comment and gave me a look that suggested that I was invading their intimate space.  Tallied points for Team Omaro totalled 6541.38. Hurray.

B Class – 3rd Place – Omar E.

C Class

Mr. Kevin S. shows up for a second tour of accolades this time in C class.  On his crusade to dominance, the quiet Kanata resident selected Goldie as the tool of choice as he decimated the competition by obtaining the maximum number of points possible, a whopping 7000!

C Class – 1st Place – Kevin S.

Cameron W. in the “Chariot of Fire” took away second place from course design connaisseur, Mike S..  For the Brockville resident, wearing matching socks had everything to do with his 6831.52 points tally.  Looks like the new suspension setup did its job for Team Cameroooon!

C Class – 2nd Place – Cameron W.

Everything came together at the last event for Mike S. driving the “Green Mile” miata where he was able to lock down top spot.   Suffering from an autocross obsession like many of us, Mike spent hours, if not days designing and mapping course layout after course layout all season long.  The contemporary solo 2 course design artist rounds out the top three for the season with a points total of 6814.51.

C Class – 3rd Place – Mike S.

D Class

Mr. Slow played his underdog card all season long.  Silently counting his first place stickers in the dark, the questionably certified bean counter needed a general ledger to keep track of his victories.  Michael Carroll Shelby, also known to the autocross secret service as the “silver fox” made it rain with the help of his most trusted ally, the silver bullet.   Together, they utilized the power of perception to sway the public into thinking they were nothing to worry about…”I’m just a frail old man driving puny insignificant powerless girly car…what impact could I possibly have” he would exclaim.  So one by one, they brushed him off buying into the image and feeling relatively optimistic about their chances.  But the wise fox knew the truth…and with a simple “click” of the bullet’s seat belt buckle triggered the rise of the autocross Goliath from within…”Say hello to my leettle friend…RE71 ARRRRRRRRRR…”.  The poor dejected competitors never saw it coming resulting in their…decimation.  Hitting less than a handful of cones throughout the season, the silver fox asserted his dominance racking up 6977.20 taking top spot in class.    

D Class – 1st Place – Michael C.

Well played Michael, …well played!  Known to many as the “suspension fiddler”, Mr. Brodey “Michelle, It’s damping, not dampening” D. certainly made his case in the Italian stallion.  Constantly adjusting the Abarth to the point where it will have an identity crisis, Brodey was persistent in his search for that extra tenth.  His work has paid off as he gobbles up second place overall with a points total of 6906.89.

D Class – 2nd Place – Brodey D.

Third place overall went to Colin F. in the FRS.  The silent semi-pro course chalker is becoming somewhat of a legend with his consistent driving.  Colin and Co. continued on their winning trajectory gathering a stellar 6846.66 points.

D Class – 3rd Place – Colin F.

E Class

A first-time class champion has risen from the ranks.  Mademoiselle Kathleen I. in her Abarth was dominant early on and kept it that way until her last event.  Confident she had won her class, the good doctor decided to go on holidays missing that last few events.  It didn’t matter, as “the medicine woman” found a way to victory amassing 6959.72 points. 

E Class – 1st Place – Kathleen I.

Hot on her heels though was the “newb” Gerard B. in the Focus ST.  Mr. Butler sure made things interesting finishing in first place in the last four events.  Sadly for Gerard, that would not be enough as he settles for second place overall managing 6908.15 points.  This will make for an interesting battle in the upcoming autocross season. 

E Class – 2nd Place – Gerard B.

Another new guy managed his way onto the podium showing us that half the battle is showing up!  John “H2O” W. in the Volvo machine was a pillar of driving consistency.  Running what he brung, the S60 held it down long enough for this tandem to take third place collecting 6319.35 points.

E Class – 3rd Place – John W.

Overall Champion

This year’s overall autocross season champion is…Kevin “I’ve run out of things to say about you” S.  Kevin competed in two classes and managed to win both of them.  On a couple of occasions Kevin came close to beating a formula car using a street legal car.  Impressive stuff! Congrats Kevin!

Before we leave you, we’d like to thank our amazing 2017 sponsors who have made this past season truly memorable. Please consider supporting these fantastic local businesses. After all, they support you and your passion:

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  2017 Autocross Championship Results Words: Omar E. #550 Points: Naresh D. #27 Photos: Richard D. #30 & Naresh D. #27…

[michaelbartram]

Illusion

Chapter 3  (previous chapters plus Prologue below in reverse order)

After the overnight train across the pampa, they changed to a branch-line. The rails curved through forest, gleaming in the morning sun. One or two windows were open. The air in the carriage was soon saturated with woodland scents. In time forest gave way to fertile valleys and flower-strewn meadows.

There were all sorts in the carriage. Old and young, smart and shabby. Some wore trainers and sported logos, others had tailored coats and expensive luggage. Besides being all apparently middle-class, what they had in common was enjoyment of the passing scene and a sense of anticipation.

‘Look at that!’

‘Can’t complain yet.’

‘Exactly what we wanted.’

The train rumbled on. After a while, the pointing out and chatting subsided. People read quietly or did the crossword. In time most, including Claudio and Felicia, dozed off.

Around midday, after a long, gentle climb, the train finally juddered to a halt. There were murmurs of ‘We’re here.’ Those still sleeping awoke to a charming and novel scene. An old Spanish colonial town with tiled roofs and painted facades lay cradled in the mountains around whose peaks clung wisps of cloud.  

‘All change for Arcadia!’

Assembling themselves, the travellers got down from the train. Luggage was loaded on to a truck. They were informed that they would be re-united with their bags in the main square. Would they kindly make their way there on foot, the point of departure for the final stage of the journey. Claudio and Felicia’s group headed down the street, slowly coming back to life. Taking in delightful details, one or two pointed and murmured.

‘I’ve never heard of this place. Why isn’t it in the guidebooks?’

‘So well preserved.’

New people appeared from side streets. Had they left the station by another way? Or had they come to this distant outpost by bus, or perhaps even car? Whatever the explanation, together with Claudio and Felicia’s companions, these others soon formed a silent throng which caught the attention of the townspeople, who broke off conversations and lowered their shopping bags and stared as if they had never seen anything like it in their sleepy town. Motorists wound down their windows and had a good look too.

Finally the newcomers reached the square. Primitive carts fitted with solid wooden wheels and crude platforms for luggage were neatly lined up. The air was filled with horsey champing and the clinking of metal shoes on cobble stones.

Claudio peered underneath one of the carts. ‘As I anticipated,’ he said, ‘No suspension. We’re in for a bumpy journey.’

‘But there’s all that,’ said Felicia pointing to straw bales and cushions. ‘Don’t worry about your precious arse, Claudio.’

Office workers crowded at the upper windows, shouting down.

‘You lot! Do you know where you’re going?’

‘There’s nowhere after here.’

‘It’s bandit country.’

‘Hey townies, stay and spend your money here. Then you can fuck off.’

A menacing mood was starting to prevail as some of the travellers began to shout back. A dustbin lid was thrown from a top storey. It was only plastic but it could have hurt somebody. A group of policemen stood by, fingering their revolvers.

Claudio shook his head. ‘Look at that, Felicia. Provincial cretins relieving the boredom of life in the sticks. Their Spanish is practically incomprehensible.’

She dug her fingers into his ribs. ‘Come on, you old snob. Live and let live. Remember, we’re here for something different.’

‘Not this, I trust.’

At a signal the cart-drivers jumped down from the pillions, helped the guests up and loaded their suitcases and boxes. With everybody on board, at last all was ready.

‘Holloah!’

‘We’re off.’

‘Hold tight!’

With shouts and whip-cracks the carts rumbled out of the square. The office workers let go parting insults, then turned from their windows.

Up at the main road, the police held up the traffic while the carts crossed. The file wound through back streets and, after a climb through a suburb, came to open country. The carts trundled through scrubland for twenty minutes. At a turning marked ‘Private Road’ the file peeled off.

Further up they went. The country opened out on to a plateau dotted with bushes and wind-bent trees, with scraggy cows and sheep.

Claudio, like everyone else, was stunned into silence. The lumbering carts and primitive discomfort annoyed yet intrigued him. This was what travel used to be. The carts had the authentic note. Perhaps they really were going to be stepping back into the past.

He glanced at Felicia, who, after a lively interlude, seemed to be glazing over with tiredness. How could that be? She had slept for hours on the train. Was this some wretched comedown from the cocaine that she wasn’t supposed to have with her? At this point he would have liked to have a conversation with a historically-minded person, not be with a woman who could only dig him in the ribs or lean over him in drug-induced exhaustion. He reflected that there were people in the world who would appreciate just how ‘pre-modern’ this holiday was already turning out to be. But not Felicia. She knew it was ‘different’ but she couldn’t have been less interested in the historical perspective. She and her generation had no grasp of the past.

Against hope, he murmured to Felicia, ‘These carts are pretty damned authentic, you know.’

‘Mm?.. I’m sleepy, Claudio.’

‘Felicia, you lack…’ He broke off since every word could be heard. ‘Oh, never mind,’ he whispered. ‘You can sleep for a week if you want to once we’re there.’

His spirits sagged. If only his wretched sexual obsession didn’t determine everything he did. Then he could be here with a woman more on his level. He reflected that his desire had to run its course, which it would, except that he couldn’t imagine it.

And with that thought, the landscape which a moment ago had delighted him pulled him down. He glowered at the sky beyond the barren scrubland. For the first time he began to experience real doubt. Where were they going? What would they discover? What was he doing there with Felicia? Who was in charge?

When he came to himself, the terrain had changed. There was still an impression of vastness but softer undulations, grassy verges and tidy clumps of trees suggested a domestication confirmed by crops laid out in fields of comfortable proportion, separated by neat tracks. They passed a carefully stacked pile of tools and equipment. Wheat had just been harvested. The sun came out and spread a golden carpet at far as Claudio could see. Now, from all around came shouts from gleaners grouped round circulating oxen. The animals lumbered round, brushed by the whips, casting shadows against the yellow stubble.

The scene took his breath away. The biblical illustrations from his childhood had come to life.

The unresponsiveness, not just of Felicia, but of all his companions annoyed him. He had noticed that that they had seemed happy enough when they got off the train. Couldn’t they get over the discomfort and appreciate they were looking at something like Palestine in the time of David and Solomon? To Claudio, an experience like this was beyond price.

‘Wild,’ he said out loud to anybody who might be listening. ‘Primitive.’

An over-dressed man with a small moustache who had led the field in groaning and tutting with each lurch of the cart, fixed him quizzically. ‘Primitive? These people work for Arcadia. Don’t they, driver?’

The driver nodded.

‘I meant it in a complimentary way,’ replied Claudio. ‘You know, like the illustrated Bibles of our childhood.’

He aimed at friendliness but everyone could see the two men were about to lock horns.

‘My parents were atheists and I went to a progressive school,’ said the moustache.

‘Ah, well, lucky you. My parents were Jewish, come to that.’

‘A little patronising, don’t you think.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Claudio, ‘I am not patronising you.’

‘I didn’t say you were patronising me. No, it’s the “primitives” you are condescending to.’

Claudio bridled. ‘I wasn’t saying the people were primitive. The scene, maybe… in some sense.’

‘They are people like us. We are safe in the hands of familiars, don’t you worry about that.’ Was this man being sarcastic or did the gleaners really make him feel secure?

‘If that’s your attitude,’ Claudio responded with a shrug, not in fact fathoming the man’s attitude at all, only that it was flavoured with hostility.

The other drew himself up. ‘I have no attitude. I am only interested in facts, rather than romantic distortions.’

‘It seems to me,’ said Claudio, ‘distortion is your strong suit. You’ve read plenty into my simple observations.’

This unfriendly exchange was a signal for everyone else to start talking if only from embarrassment.

[othersportsnews-blog]

Home-match in New York hits total circle for Bermudez | UFC &reg

New Post has been published on https://othersportsnews.com/home-match-in-new-york-hits-total-circle-for-bermudez-ufc-reg/

Home-match in New York hits total circle for Bermudez | UFC &reg

Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Atlantic Town, New Jersey. Newkirk, Oklahoma.

People are just a handful of the outposts in which Dennis Bermudez competed prior to earning his place on the UFC roster immediately after advancing to the finals of the featherweight opposition on Period fourteen of The Final Fighter a minor less than 6 many years back.

Because then, Bermudez has turn out to be a fixture in the Prime ten and ongoing to traverse the place competing within the Octagon, buying up victories in locations like Denver, Anaheim, San Jose and Las Vegas. A single place the 30-year-old veteran has not been ready to contend hence far, however, is his residence point out of New York, but that all adjustments this weekend.

Saturday night time, Bermudez will share the cage with Darren Elkins when the UFC on FOX card lands at the freshly renovated Nassau County Coliseum in Very long Island.

  “It hits on 3 distinctive stages,” Bermudez explained with regards to this weekend’s co-key party assignment. “One, it’s in New York in which I was born and lifted. Two, I served get it legalized in New York – I went to Albany 3 or 4 times with Lorenzo Fertitta and some other significant caliber fellas in the UFC to chat to senators to plead our circumstance. And 3, this fight in distinct is on Very long Island and I just purchased a household on Very long Island, so it’s basically in my backyard, which is brilliant.”

But as any fighter who has liked a “home game” in the earlier will tell you, there are some problems connected with currently being the guy who grew up in or present resides in the host metropolis that you do not have to contend with when you are competing elsewhere.

Whilst the choice of sleeping in your have bed and likely acquiring a larger sized, additional vocal cheering part in attendance on fight night time are great, currently being the “hometown guy” often means elevated media obligations both of those before and during Battle 7 days. The biggest headache, however, comes in the sort of the old significant school pals and extended misplaced cousins, two times-taken off, that find your mobile mobile phone range for the initially time in many years, keen to capture up and find out if you have got spare tickets and a sofa they can sleep on.

That is the double-edged sword Bermudez was working with heading into Saturday’s showdown with Elkins, but the no-nonsense competitor took the exact same easy method he deploys in the cage to working with the myriad requests that arrived his way.

“I’m pretty blunt and type of cold-hearted because I just give it to persons straight like, ‘No, you can not keep at my house’ or ‘No, I do not have tickets for you’” laughed Bermudez, who carries a seventeen-6 report into the Octagon. “I give it to them straight because it’s present time – I’m centered on what I have to do I do not have time to get worried about their feelings and thoughts.”

Saturday’s contest will be Bermudez’ 2nd appearance of the year and carries on an unintentional pattern for the Very long Island resident, who has chased a winter season appearance with a mid-summertime reserving for 3 consecutive pairs of fights now.

“It just type of transpires that way,” explained Bermudez, who would like to make a return in November to shut out the year. “Fight in July, fight in November and wrap up 2017 that wouldn’t be undesirable.”

But before contemplating about the rest of the year, “The Menace” has a rough assignment to deal with this weekend.

Nevertheless his title not often comes up in discussions of the leading talents in the featherweight division, Elkins is as match as they occur and showed that in total final time out, rallying from currently being down two rounds to rating a extraordinary third-spherical knockout acquire around formerly unbeaten prospect Mirsad Bektic.

It was a thrilling functionality that ought to be the frontrunner for “Comeback of the Year” hence far, but in quite a few strategies it was also a quintessential Darren Elkins exhibiting, as the Indiana native has a made a profession out of currently being a notoriously rough out and a perilous matchup for any person looking to make hay in the 145-pound ranks.

And “The Damage” has been on Bermudez’ radar from the time he arrived in the UFC 6 many years back, so the hometown favored is familiar with he’s in for a rough fight.

But immediately after 23 street online games to start off his profession, Bermudez is lastly acquiring to contend on his residence turf and he has no models on catching a loss in Very long Island.

“He’s a tremendous-rough guy,” he explained of Elkins. “He’s been all-around for a extended time and I have normally identified that I would have to fight him at one place and time. I have been well prepared to fight him given that immediately after the Final Fighter present, but I questioned my supervisor to be on this card, so immediately after that, we had been just looking for an opponent.

“I desired to fight at residence and in my head, it doesn’t issue who they put in entrance of me I’m likely to acquire.

I believe I’m one of the leading fellas in the division – I have got a acquire around Max Holloway, who is the present champ – so it doesn’t issue who they put in entrance of me I’m likely to make it transpire.”

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