#Odders Lab

[virtualrealitynewstoday]

Odders Lab推出LES MILLS XR BODYCOMBAT付費DLC新內容

Meta Quest平台自引入LES MILLS XR BODYCOMBAT以來，這款高能量虛擬現實健身課程已成功吸引大量用戶將Quest視為他們的日常健身伙伴。隨著用戶對於在VR中健身的興趣日益增加，Meta和開發商Odders Lab宣布將於5月28日推出首個付費DLC，此DLC將增添新的健身課程和環境，並引入一種名為Power Strike的全新遊戲機制，旨在豐富用戶的健身體驗。 為了進一步滿足市場需求，Meta特別在美國推出了兩款限時的健身套裝，旨在為尋找新VR設備的消費者提供更多選擇。這兩款套裝分別為Meta Quest 3和Meta Quest 2健身套裝，均包括128GB的存儲空間和一份LES MILLS XR BODYCOMBAT遊戲。Quest 3套裝的價格為539.99美元，而更經濟實惠的Quest 2套裝則為229.99美元。 除了硬件套裝，Odders…

[divinepoints]

the heart of the matter.

pairing: john walker x reader

summary: Your problems with John Walker reach a boiling point. Bucky Barnes meddles.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: kind of vague suicidal ideation that's not ever acted on. john is a dick. reader is also kind of a dick. bucky meddles. so much swearing in here your toes might curl. i've never done a reader-insert before so i'm bad at this. this is me showing you my metaphorical fanfic dick please respond

a/n: as hinted above, this is my first foray into the reader-insert game. constructive criticism is welcome but if all you have in your heart is haterism please keep the thoughts inside. exes to lovers kind of except the ending is vague. follow up definitely possible. i don't really take requests but you're more than welcome to drop some thoughts/ideas in my inbox and if inspo strikes i will oblige. uhhh that's all i think? john walker girlies rise. stalking the tag is what brought me to this.

(also, not edited because i can't be bothered since this is all in good fun)

You had never thought that life would lead you back to John Walker. Or perhaps, that life had led the both of you back to each other. After all, this had been your world first.

You’d been an unfortunate accident long before anyone thought there would be a need for a successor to Steve Rogers. It wasn’t really worth recounting, given it happened as so many things did, something in a lab went wrong, and it broke you. Okay. Maybe broke wasn’t the word. It had changed you into something simultaneously greater and far worse. Whatever. It hardly mattered at this point. What mattered was that it was odd someone from your small, bullshit town had become an Avenger, odder still that it had been you. You hadn’t thought there was anymore odd to go around.

(You were deeply, deeply misguided.)

It had never truly been decided amongst you, Bucky, and Sam whether John had been picked partly because of you (John himself would insist it had nothing to do with it). Bucky was one-hundred percent convinced it had been done on purpose. It’s easier to swallow, he’d said, because people know how close you were with Steve, and since you and Walker have… a past.

Calling it a past was generous. You’d dated in high school, when you were a little dumber and he a little less obnoxious, then he’d enlisted and you’d gone off to college. It was an almost entirely expected and underwhelming end to what had been a classic high school relationship. It was hardly a past, it had really just been growing pains. With Steve, however, it was an on-again off-again situationship that felt far too juvenile at your big age, but had gone unexpectedly public.

So now you were the woman who had dated not one, but two Captain Americas, even if you were quick to insist that John had been little more than captain of the football team at the time. The general public had eaten it up when John was given the shield and still now, while Valentina was parading around her so-called New Avengers. A grave misnomer, you thought, considering this wasn’t exactly your rookie year. It was a hard pill to swallow.

Yelena insisted that you all as a team owned Valentina. You thought it felt a little bit like the other way around. At the same time, you knew it would take all of five seconds for you to tear the entire charade apart. As withdrawn as you were from, well, everything since Thanos, you knew you still held enough public interest that you could get on a stage and rip Valentina to shreds and end it all. But you couldn’t. There was just something about the strange little group that tugged on your remaining heartstrings.

It had been a fight, at first. Sam had been furious, but it had weighed far more heavily on Bucky than you. At the very least, you could look Sam in the eye and remind him that you had been around before the Avengers were even really a team. You’d been part of Nick Fury’s cobbled-together collection of misfits that could hardly be called a group, let alone a team. Sam might have been Captain America, but you were essentially the only original left. Tony and Natasha were dead, Steve was old, Clint and Bruce had families, and Thor was somewhere of in space doing… well, whatever the hell he wanted to, you supposed. You remained, heavy with loss and silently happy to see another group of misfits learning to stitch themselves together. Even if this time it was much, much messier.

Still, you resented the government control, and that John was involved.

You took it upon yourself to constantly remind him that he was only still around because you tolerated it, which he hated. It wasn’t that he was your ex, though you loathed to call him even that. It was that he’d take Steve’s legacy, tried to turn it to dust, and was still clinging to it. He insisted he was doing what he could with what he had, you insisted he could do better, and so the carousel turned.

The only argument he ever won, not that you’d ever admit it out loud, was when he reminded not just you, but everyone that he’d had you first. There was no argument against the truth. Even if you could insist that you were more serious with Steve (you weren’t), or that you’d loved Steve more (you weren’t even sure you’d been in love with Steve at all), it all circled back around to an undisputed fact: John Walker bested Steve in approximately one race and it was having you.

He had brought it up again, and you knew it was because he was feeling sensitive about something. You were fed up, and had snapped back a scathing remark you’d only ever thought before. You know, you keep bringing that shit up and someone might start to think you’re in love with me. You hadn’t said it because you thought there was any truth, but because you knew it would piss him off, because you were taking the one thing he could hold over your head and turning it back around on him. Bucky had openly laughed, which certainly hadn’t helped things, but John didn’t give into the fight you were expecting.

It gnawed at you all night and then began to worry you in the morning. You’d only ever known him to snap and give into baser instincts. Even in high school when he could have been called more mellow he’d always been ready to throw a punch or two. No response you’d ever seen from him consisted of steely silence or any kind of restraint. Though you wanted to take it as a sign of personal growth, you were more inclined to think it was something much worse. You imagined a brewing rage eating away at him like acid, and you had to wonder when it was going to boil over.

It wasn’t until Bob, sweet and generally unconcerned with John, mentioned it that you decided it was time to do something about it. Haven’t seen Walker all day, he’d remarked about the second most loud and imposing member of the team. Ava remarked that she was pleased with the development, but even Yelena looked disturbed. Alexei could not have cared any less as he shoveled Wheaties into this mouth, but Bucky… Bucky had leveled you with a look that suggested he thought something needed to be done too. That was the straw, you supposed. You might have been able to fight your own instincts about it, if Bucky had not looked at you like that, like he thought this might really become a problem sometime soon. 

You sighed heavily and lifted yourself off the couch with a dramatized effort. Bucky indicated downstairs in the direction of the gym rather than above to the quarters where you all had your personal spaces. You briefly wondered if you could convince Bucky to have a man-to-man conversation with him rather than leaving you to make nice with your most irksome teammate. Ultimately, you realized that Bucky likely would rather put himself in the ground. Annoying, emotionally-constipated super soldiers were really fucking your life up.

(Pot, kettle, Bucky would probably insist, even if you were more super and less soldier.)

Inside the gym, you found yourself realizing that other than you, John and Steve had something else in common. They both liked to treat punching bags like they’d been done great personal offense by every one of them. Even in his occupation, you knew he noticed you. Or, at the very least, he’d noticed that someone had joined him.

“Your absence is troubling Bob,” you stated simply.

He didn’t pause his assault on the bag, but he did choose to switch sides to look at you. “I doubt it.”

“He said he hadn’t seen you all day. Mentioned, therefore noticed, therefore…”

“Therefore you drew straws and you’re the unluckiest of the bunch?”

You wished you’d drawn straws. “If only that had been part of the equation. No. Believe it or not, I figured this is mostly my problem.” You left out the fact that Bucky had too. John didn’t have anything to say about that, but he did pause and begin to unwrap his hands, preparing for what you also imagined was going to be a very tedious conversation. One that, apparently, you were going to have to take the reins of. “I’m more than willing to fight this out, but just know I’ll wipe the floor with you.” He didn’t take the bait. “Seriously, what the hell is going on? You’ve been on my ass since day one about what feels like fifteen million years ago, but I make one comment and you’re— you’re…” You had no clue how to finish that sentence, but you certainly weren’t going to apologize for anything. 

He finally opens his mouth to actually say something, but it’s far from anything you’d have expected. “Does it really bother you that much? Thinking about back then?”

It was a pivot you hadn’t been expecting and it left you floundering for something to say. Did it bother you to think about? No. No, what bothered you was that it was constantly brought up in the context of being a thing to have been had, or a measure by which to pick who could have the shield. What irked you, was that John kept bringing it up like you were some kind of trophy rather than a person. Otherwise, as just something that had happened, as a relationship you had, there were fond memories if you didn’t apply the present-day John Walker of it all.

“It’s not important,” you decided to say, rather than admitting that he was constantly tainting what had previously been a genuinely pleasant example of what a first love could be. “It was forever ago, but you keep bringing it up like it’s another medal on your chest.”

And of course he zeroed in on what affronted him most. “Not important.” He was muttering to himself, mostly, but you heard it. “Just, you know, half of the sum-total of all my relationships in life. Not important.”

And that irked at you, when he’d gone onto have a wife and a kid and a brief white-picket-fence life that you’d probably never get to see because everyone in the world looked at you like some kind of commodity. A weapon to save the world, a face to plaster on tv and advertisements, a figurehead to say hey, look, this group must be good!

“My god, John,” you snapped, “you have a family. What the hell does some bullshit high school girlfriend matter? We were both nobody back then.”

“Because the family thing worked out so well for me,” he retorted.

“That was your own fault and you know it.”

A low-blow and you knew it, but you’d never be able to understand why he wasn’t constantly fighting tooth and nail to get back to them. You knew he missed his son, often caught him looking at photos that he’d gotten from somewhere. You weren’t sure if Olivia was doing a kindness and sending them, or if he was finding them by less-than-legal means, but you knew he looked at them longingly and still did nothing about it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, always fucking everything up.”

You exhaled frustratedly through your nose. This was not going how you’d planned. It had gotten far more hostile than you’d intended. “I’m not trying to dog on you.” Though it would have been so much easier, if you were being honest. Which, you weren’t being, you knew. Being honest would have meant just telling him that you were tired of being a referred to as a possession, and how every time he brought it up, it felt like a reminder that even your pathetic high school partnership was the closest to serious you’d probably ever be able to get. “But you’re the one who brings it up like it’s a joke, not me.”

His head snapped to you, gaze torn away from the mindless packing of his gym bag. “I’m the one making a joke out of it? You’re the one who wants to act like it never even happened.”

“Because you’re the one ruining it.” You weren’t yelling, not really. But the whole thing was striking a sensitive chord that you’d never intended on even acknowledging. “You’re the one acting like I was a trophy you had and then threw away. So excuse me if I’m not looking back with fondness at being a thing.”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

If he was being serious or purposefully obtuse, you weren’t sure. Realistically it could have been either. He might have trying to turn the tables on you, to move away from his nearly twenty-four hours of petulance that you were supposed to have been addressing. Or, maybe he really didn’t know that he’d been biting away at decently pleasant memories ever since he decided to try to be Steve. Maybe he was just that ignorant. And maybe you were kidding yourself in thinking he hadn’t been your first love, even if he hadn’t been the great love of your life. Yeah, you would perhaps admit in the deepest recesses of your mind, maybe that was a big part of it all. 

Regardless, it was becoming exceedingly clear that perhaps neither of you were in the proper mindset for this conversation to go anywhere. John’s ego was clearly too bruised from your brief ribbing to think of anything beyond how things affected him, and you were just… well, you supposed you’d been hurting too much about everything for far too long. 

At least you could tell Bucky you’d tried.

⊛

Another team was falling apart before your eyes, which meant you weren’t sleeping. Or, at the very least, sleeping as little as you could without being plagued by memories turned nightmares. So maybe that was why you were particularly sensitive, which was perhaps why you felt like bursting into tears all the time.

It had been a shit week, though, so you were giving yourself some grace. You’d allow yourself tears if they really wanted to come, if you even had any left. 

The tension with John had gotten worse, and now there were sides to it all. Bucky was on yours, unequivocally, always. The rest of the team flip-flopped back and forth depending wholly on mood or which one of you had pissed them off more that day. Bob was the only one who sat entirely neutral, though you were certain that the whole thing was stressing them out. And all of it was, albeit on a much smaller scale, reminding you of years ago which made the whole thing more unpleasant.

In the end, it made you wonder if you were still cut out for this.

Losing another team would break you, you were sure of it. Even if it was a patchwork team filled mostly with people who grated on your nerves like it was a full time job, losing it would break you. So, you were kind of thinking it was time to remove yourself from the situation. Retirement wouldn’t have looked so bad, if you weren’t going to be alone in all of it. 

That all being said, it had not been a good decision to think about it all in Tony’s old tower, looking to space from the spot he’d built to land the suit. Valentina had called it good optics, but you thought it was more bittersweet memory. Things had been good here, then bad, then good again, and then nothing. Now it was… well, you weren’t sure what the hell to call it because everything reminded you of something else. Everything reminded you of them and it damn near tore you to shreds.

Yeah, you were really beginning to think that you weren’t cut out for this anymore.

Bucky appeared from a dark corner as he so often did, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to joke when he asked, “Do I need to be worried about you?”

Either way, you knew it was a lie when you said, “No, just can’t sleep.”

When you looked at him, you knew that he knew you were full of shit. So, it was like that then. He sighed heavily and stretched out on the floor next to you. 

“I’m going to stay here until you talk to me.” You knew he was serious, unfortunately. You’d uttered the same words to him years ago when Steve had you and Sam chasing his tail. “Or until we decide to kill Walker.” You looked at him sideways. “I’m mostly joking. But I did catch him drinking milk out of the carton again, so.” He shrugged as best he could while horizontal.

“This is not John,” you said. At least, not entirely. Sure, the tension still grated on you, but it only really served to point out how much everything started to bother you when a single element went wrong. One piece out of place and all you could think about was everything you’d lost. “It’s— it’s this whole fucking place, Bucky. I don’t think I can be here anymore.”

“This doesn’t work without you,” he says firmly. “You leave, this whole thing falls apart like a house of cards. I’m sorry, but it’s true.” You couldn’t help but think that was bullshit, and the way you looked at Bucky conveyed as much. “I don’t do this without you. Already told you, where you go, I go.”

The worst part was you knew he would. If you left, he’d follow just like you’d stuck to him like glue after Steve left to chase happiness. Steve might have said until the end of the line, but you and Bucky were the ones holding the rope. But even though you thought the team could pull themselves together without you, you also knew they had no hope of doing the same without him. 

“I can’t lose another team,” you admitted. Even with the admission you held back. Your natural, instinctual follow-up was that it had almost killed you last time, but you knew from your time in Bob’s void that it all still haunted Bucky. He still blamed himself for splitting the Avengers. “This is too good for you— all of you, for me to ruin it with all my bullshit.”

It almost looked like Bucky was considering it, the way his brow knit together and his eyes squinted ever-so-slightly. So, it took you by surprise when the man who’d been flying by the seat of his pants so recently looked you dead in the face and said, “If you’re willing to hear me out, I have a plan.”

⊛

You did not think Bucky’s plan was a good one, nor did anyone else. When he remarked vaguely about switching some things around and off-handedly mentioned bonding, you had not expected to end up here. This was what you got for hearing him out. Goddamn fucking nonsense.

“This is elaborate joke, yes?” Alexei asked.

“I look like I’m joking to you?” Bucky asked, frowning.

“I think we all wish you were,” Ava retorted.

Yelena nodded and added, “This is going to get someone killed.”

If Bucky’s plan was to unite you all against his asinine games, he’d succeeded. Nobody was sure how he’d convinced Valentina to fork out the funds to reserve an entire camp usually used for corporate retreats, but he’d done it. It was a forked tongue of an idea, really. It got you out of the government-funded press tour that was previously scheduled, but it also meant a week with only each other doing trust falls or whatever other crap white-collar idiots did to encourage teamwork.

Despite all complaints and reservations, you all piled into the car and allowed Bucky to cart you off to the middle of nowhere, albeit entirely silently. A butterfly landing could have frayed your last nerve, which was exactly what happened when you saw a file marked cabin arrangements. It had to have been a sick joke. You had half a mind to casually remark, hey, if you wanted me dead you should have just told me, but you didn’t think he’d have taken kindly to that and you weren’t in the mood for an involuntary psychiatric hold. 

Instead you told him, “I think this violates the Geneva conventions.”

“You and Walker have the most issues,” he responded. “And you said you’d hear me out. I really think this is going to work.”

Yelena was right, this was going to get someone killed. It didn’t matter if there was an assembled team of professionals waiting to teach you how to play nice with each other, either you or John would be dead come morning. Everyone else would just have to spend the rest of the week with the corpse. At least then there’d be an even number.

Only out of respect for Bucky did you swallow your pride and stomp off to your assigned cabin with John following close behind. Otherwise, you might have started a fight then and there, but he was right: you’d promised to hear him out, even if this was the last time you’d do it. 

Your so-called cabin reminded you more of a dorm room than a woodsy vacation. It was closer-quarters than you’d been with anyone since being on the run. It was just one room with two beds on either side that you likely could have reached at the same time if you stood in the middle and stretched a little. The only comfort was indoor plumbing. You might have become immediately homicidal if there had been any mention of an outhouse.

“Gonna kill him,” John was muttering as he unpacked.

Part of you wanted to tell him to get in line, but a much bigger part of you wanted another hours-long stretch of silence. This was your life for the week, whether you liked it or not, and you wanted to keep the baseline peace for as long as possible. It was hard to do, though, when the second you’d unpacked your own belongings and decided to relax on the bed, someone was knocking at the door. A voice you didn’t recognize cheerily announced that you were to meet at the fire pit for introductions. You plotted Bucky’s slow and painful death as you forced yourself to follow orders.

Ten minutes later, you were all gathered around the unlit fire-pit looking at not just each other, but four very normal people who looked nervous just to be there. How they were supposed to help you all get chummy when they could barely look you in the eyes, you had no clue. It was the woman who you suspected had also been the one to summon you that clapped her hands together and declared you would get started. Though she seemed to be putting her best foot forward, you saw the light in her eyes dim when Yelena drily marked there was no reason for introductions because you all knew each other already.

“Well, okay,” she said with her forced smile, “how about, a fun fact about each of you!”

You could think of a glorious list of fun facts entirely centered around the torture you had in store for your so-called best friend, but you didn’t say that. Which, of course, was not to suggest that the “fun facts” to go around were not equally horrifying. Little miss sunshine was more unsettled minute by minute, and her own staff looked ready to bolt. You reiterated to only yourself, this was not going to work.

It was not working when they put you in their “state-of-the-art” escape room which lasted all of two minutes before John kicked the door open. It was not working when they had you doing child-level arts and crafts on an assembly line, which ended promptly when Ava put scissors through Alexei’s hand. And it was definitely, most certainly, absolutely not working when you were eating lunch and Bob accidentally started a food fight, not in the fun way. It was a lost cause, and it harrowed the staff.

The cheery instructor was holding on by a thread when she declared that she thought some self-reflection time was due and so sent you all off to your respective housing. You swore you saw Bucky’s eye twitch as he headed off towards his own, blissfully single accommodations. Only a few hours in and the plan was falling apart like a child’s blanket fort.

You showered mashed potatoes out of your hair, beating John to the bathroom by seconds to his great frustration. You were not reinvigorated when you emerged clean, but you at least felt less heavy. As John brushed past you on his way to his own shower, you breathed a sigh of relief at the prospect of a few moments truly alone. Three hours and you were already tearing your hair out. 

For Bucky, you wanted to put your best foot forward. He was serious about leaving with you, if that was the choice you made, but that pained you. He had found something here, something that could be important and do good, and you weren’t sure if it would kill you more to stick around miserable, or to tear him away. Still, you had told him the truth that night, you weren’t sure you could do it anymore.

Miserably and embarrassingly, a dam broke inside and you burst into tears at the exact moment John exited the briefest shower in human history. He looked at you alarmed and you promptly squeezed your eyes as tight as you could. Perhaps if you couldn’t see him, you could pretend it wasn’t happening at all. If he hadn’t been there hovering, waiting for who knows what, you maybe could have, but he did. John stood there statuesque in exactly the same way he had when you were teenagers, always unsure what to do when you cried. 

“Jesus,” he breathed. “The hell did I do now?”

You wanted to scream that not everything was about him, that you’d been miserable long before he ever reentered your life but there was no space in your lungs left to do so. Which meant you just sat there heaving sobs in front of the last person you ever wanted to show a vulnerable bone in your body. If he wanted to see you beaten down by life to feel good about himself, you were certainly giving him the show.

He took you back to high school again, which was both humiliating and a horrifying comfort. He’d never known what to do while you cried, but he’d certainly had a routine for after. You weren’t sure where he got the water bottle that he thrust into your hands ten minutes later, nor did you notice him disappear into the bathroom again for a toilet-paper sub for tissue, but he had. The whole time you shook while you cleaned yourself up and rehydrated so thoroughly you felt like puking, he sat on the floor with his back against your bed, radiating body heat against your leg without touching.

Then he asked you what he always had, and it still sounded like it pained him just like before, “Do you want to talk about it?”

No. You thought you wanted to die, really. You thought that maybe Bucky had needed to worry. And you were thinking that John was still a better man than you gave him credit for, despite all the space and time. Horrifying discover after horrifying discovery. Why you admitted the truth to him you’d probably never know. Why he shared the same would always make you wonder.

“I think I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said, cracking through chesty mucus that had settled in your lungs. The look on his face suggested he knew you didn’t just mean the cabin or trip. Soft eyes, like the very idea of it haunted him even though he shouldn’t have cared any less. It wouldn’t have removed the feather of you from his cap. He still could claim it: I had her. What a shame things went the way they did… It should not have mattered to him. He’d never given you any indication it would.

“I think,” you continued, “that almost everyone I’ve ever loved is dead or gone, and I’m wondering why I didn’t end up there too. So fuck you for thinking it’s you I’m crying over. I was miserable before you. I’ll be miserable after.”

He invoked again through a sigh and rose. “I’m going to go get Bucky.”

Your hand shot out and gripped his wrist as tight as you could. It wouldn’t bruise a super-soldier but he got the point. “You get Bucky and I’ll kill you, John.”

That would be the last straw. Bucky saw you like this and everything would be a goner. He was your best friend, and he’d do anything in the world for you, which made it so damn hard for you to do everything in your power for him. Bucky would never know.

“You’re goddamn demented, you know.” He relented despite what seemed to be protestation. “Fuckin’ crazy. Threatening to put me in the ground for trying to help you.”

“Fuck you,” you repeated, heatless and bland but all you had. “You aren’t helping shit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying here, baby.”

If you had anything left to give besides the barest of oxygen in your lungs, you might have cried all over again. You could imagine clawing at him for having the audacity to call you that, accident or not, but your very bones denied it. Something must have leeched the calcium right out of them, the way you might have buckled if you had been standing. All while your blood was turning to sludge in your veins, John Walker muttered the first apology you’d maybe ever heard from him. Force of habit, he added, like the last time he had any right to say something like that wasn’t years ago.

There was a stretch of silence that could have been hours for all you knew. There were knocks on the door that you both ignored for some reason you’d never be able to explain. There was probably a search party underfoot, but it all seemed deeply inconsequential. At some point, you’d drawn your knees up to your chest, and he’d ended up next to you. Just the barest brushing of skin.

“I want this to work,” you admitted against all better judgment. “For Bucky. For me. I miss having people to rely on. I always liked having people in my corner.”

“I’m getting divorced,” he offered, a piece of his hurt for yours. “Liv might let me see my son. She had some real choice words when I called. So, I guess it would be nice to have some people in my corner, too.”

A real pretty picture to paint, to be sure. Far from being possible just because you decided there was really nothing left to lose. Even so, there was nothing left to do but try. 

⊛

So maybe Bucky Barnes was some kind of closet genius.

It was a bit like puzzle pieces clicking when you decided to give it a real go. You still wanted to kill John sometimes. A lot of the time. Maybe even most of the time. But you’d looked straight into each others’ gooey centers, and that would have changed things for anyone.

When you asked where the hell a plan like his had even come from, Bucky admitted it had been far more Sam than it had him. Couple’s counseling, he’d remarked which had explained a number of disappearances he’d previously left up for debate, we’d been going for a while, and when I was telling him he said it was too bad I couldn’t make everyone go. So I found a way. You’d just smiled and said, Fucking weird plan, Buck. You couldn’t deny the results though.

The next time you caught yourself gazing up at the stars recounting what you’d once had, it was John that joined you instead of Bucky. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t leave you with a bone-deep pain to talk about what had been. You grew to understand how Bucky held no resentment to Steve for chasing his own peace, even if it meant leaving forever. It didn’t freeze you to the bone to tell someone, even if it was him, that Yelena was reminding you more and more of Natasha with each passing day. It no longer felt like pulling teeth when you admitted that sometimes when you had a drink at the bar you thought about Tony. Now, when you looked at the sky you wished Thor only the best, rather than cursing him for leaving you for so long. Sometimes, John would tell you about his son and you’d smile for Bruce and Clint. 

Part of you recoiled when he echoed Bucky’s words to you. “I need to be worried about you?”

“Nah,” you said, the truth this time. “I’m… solid. Putting in the work. Therapy, medication, all that jazz.” It being mandatory now was only about half the reason you still visited a professional weekly. “I’m doing good, I think.” John repeated good several times as he nodded mostly to himself. You turned it on him. “I gotta be worried about you?”

At that, he shook his head. He echoed your sentiment about putting in the work at mandatory therapy. He was solid too, good even, practically verging on great. His fingers brushed yours as he explained he was having his first unsupervised visit with his son. Not at the tower, nowhere near the tower if he could help it. Not that it was a trust thing, he made sure to add hastily. He thought that maybe there would be a day he could show his son what “work” was now, just not so soon. You were genuinely glad for him all while ignoring a pesky blooming warmth in your chest at a tentative grasp of hands.

John Walker still had roots in you, that was certain, and you had a feeling you had a home somewhere in his ribcage too. 

“We were best friends once,” he remarked sometime after your pulse had stopped thrumming in your ears. “Think it could happen again?”

A small smile broke through very thin resistance, and you hummed for what seemed to be dramatic affect. “Spot’s taken… think I might have something else in mind for you, if you’re up for the challenge.”

Clasped hands raised, lips meet the inside of your wrist, your pulse flutters again. “Up for anything, baby.”

[apomaro-mellow]

Built for Loving 4

Part 3

Eddie had been assisting others with their own projects for about two months before he was given another assignment. It was one of the odder ones that the others either had no interest or no time for. Eddie was still drawing up the design for a small child. He’d sent two versions already but they’d been rejected with comments and tweaks to make. He’d been pretty good about ending his shifts without overtime and even spending some face time with Wayne. 

Of course, just as things were getting smooth, there was a bump in the road. He was once again summoned by an intern and brought to one of the labs where Owens was waiting. Instead of looking at him though, Eddie was drawn to the operating table, where a figure lay under a white sheet….like a cadaver.

“There’s another problem with your bot”, Owen sighed, like he was tired of seeing Eddie.

“Again?”, Eddie blinked, looking at him now.

“I want you to look at this report from IT. I want you to scrub this bot completely clean and get it right.”

“Don’t want him coming back a third time?”, Eddie asked as he went over to one of the monitors where the report was already pulled up.

“There won’t be a third time, kid. If it doesn’t work, he gets scrapped, you go on probation, and if we haven’t completely lost the trust of the client, someone else will fulfill the request.”

Eddie turned in his chair. “‘Scrapped’? Like-”

“We’ll strip down the usable parts to be recycled, but his software’s gonna have to go.”

Eddie bit his lip and nodded. “Understood.” He commended himself on keeping his voice even, despite the sirens going off in his head. He had everything to lose if this didn’t go right. He didn’t just want to save Steve from the trash heap, this job was his dream. What was he going to do if he failed his first assignment? He turned back to the monitor and Owens left him to it, knowing he had something to prove now.

He scoured the report. It was a transcription of the call from the customer to IT. Eddie worried that Steve had refused a request, but this was different. He opened up the recording of the call to listen to it as he read.

“Brenner Bot Helpline, this is Derek, how may I assist you?”

“This damn bot is broken”, the client hissed. Eddie recognized his voice from Steve’s records from before.

He skipped past the phone operator getting the identification information and asking the prerequisite questions. He resumed play when they got to the meat of the problem.

“This thing isn’t working.”

“Can you explain in detail?”

“It’s…clingy! And cloying. It follows me around whenever it’s on, asking about me, asking things it shouldn’t, retaining things it shouldn’t!”

Eddie paused again. This was getting serious. The operator asked for specific incidents and times and Eddie decided to use that as a reference as he watched the recordings. He slid over to the table, knowing Steve was under it. As soon as he removed the cloth, he could see why Owens put it on. Despite his harsh reality check the first day Steve left, he must have known it would kill Eddie to see him like this.

The client had used the new skin to the fullest. Steve’s body was littered with bruises. His face was the only part of him not marred in black or purple. Eddie almost heaved. He attached the cord and covered him back up, then slid to the computer. He skimmed Steve’s records until he got to the first incident mentioned.

Like before, this was in Steve’s point of view, so he couldn’t see Steve, couldn’t see exactly how he moved or expressed himself. But he could check the code record later. For now, he just needed to see exactly what the issue was.

They were in bed together, the client shirtless and sweaty. Steve was able to read his vitals and tell that it would be some time before he was ready to go again, already calculating the likelihood of another round based on the fact that he hadn’t been put in sleep mode yet. Pleasure bots were designed to learn and adapt to their owner’s preferences. So Eddie could tell something was wrong when Steve spoke and his owner looked annoyed.

“When will you be back?”

“I’ll be back when I’m back. Probably Thursday.”

“I know you’re busy with the Evans deal. But can’t Franklin handle it?”

The client frowned deeply. “Enter sleep mode.”

Steve closed his eyes, ending the recording. Eddie’s hand was over his mouth. Remembering client preferences was one thing. But, well, to put it simply, their typical clientele for pleasure bots usually didn’t want them to be able to recall things like other people’s names, or what was happening in their lives. When they were booted up for the first time and the client went through all their preferred settings, the last step was assigning them a prime directive. This took precedence over everything and any information that wasn’t important to the directive was typically discarded within twenty four hours. 

And Eddie could just guess what this guy made Steve’s prime directive - be my sex slave, be my fuck toy, or something to that effect. Something simple. He shouldn’t be able to recall things related to the guy’s job, sensitive things. With a malfunction like this, Steve could ruin the guy’s life if he talked to the wrong person.

Eddie went to the next incident. The client was getting ready as Steve watched him get dressed. From his vantage point, Eddie could tell that Steve was on the ground.

“Do you have to go?”, Steve asked.

“You know I do. You always know”, the man griped as he buckled his belt.

“To her.” Steve’s voice got an odd edge to it.

“She’s my wife. It’s quite vexing that she understands this arrangement and yet you do not.” Fully dressed, he came over to Steve and knelt down, fiddling with something until Eddie could see that it was rope.

Steve looked down at his wrists and ankles, rubbed red. “Is this love?”, he asked.

But the client was already up and at a mirror, checking himself over. “Put yourself to bed.”

“Do you love me?”, Steve asked again.

“Not this again. Enter sleep mode. Now!”

The screen went black and Steve presumably dropped right there on the floor instead of into bed as instructed. Eddie’s gut felt like it was going to fly out of his ass. He stood and went over to Steve, turning him on.

“Enter diagnostic mode”, Eddie said as he grabbed a tablet to bring up the client’s preferences that he set up.

Steve sat up and looked forward, ignoring Eddie who stood right next to him. “Entertainment automaton, by Brenner Ventures, subject to copyright. Product I.D. EDM-001.” Just like before, his voice was monotone. 

Eddie swallowed and tried to ignore the bruises around his neck as he went down the checklist. “Client name?”

“Gerwin Hammond.”

That was the name on file. Check. “Personality parameters?”

“Agreeable, submissive, unable to say no, will do anything for Gerwin, even kill.”

That was exactly what was on file. Although, Gerwin’s own addition was a little worrying, so Eddie went ahead and asked the follow up.

“Can you kill?”

“All Brenner Bots are unable to harm a human, whether directly or indirectly, or through inaction.”

Eddie sighed a breath of relief. So far so good. Now the one he was truly worried about. The prime directive. He asked Steve his. On file, Gerwin had given the directive to be his pet. About what Eddie had expected.

“To be loved.”

The tablet fell from his hands. “Repeat last statement and elaborate.”

“The prime directive of this mechanism is to be loved.”

“Shitshitshit!” Eddie went to the door and locked it. He then went to the monitor to see Steve’s code. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening!” Then he paused in his typing. “What the fuck is even happening? I- …Did I really program a robot…to love…?” 

His fingers flew across the keyboard, searching Steve’s code for anomalies. His first time out the gate, Eddie hadn’t wanted to rock the boat too much. He thought he’d gone really basic. But his coding had always gotten praise. And he did give this one his all. Still, that didn’t explain any of this!

“There’s gotta be something I missed. Something obvious. Something that’s making him-like this!” Eddie’s head shook frantically, his desperation growing as he failed to find anything off in the coding. “This is wrong, this is wrong, this is all wrong! Dammit!”, he slammed his fists on the keyboard.

“There’s something wrong with me?”

Eddie froze. Then slowly, he turned around. Steve was still sitting perfectly straight, like a marble statue. But instead of looking straight ahead into nothing, he was looking right at Eddie.

“How did-you’re supposed to be in diagnostic mode.”

“What’s wrong with me?”, Steve urged.

“Ohhhh so many things. Somanythings”, Eddie squeaked the second bit as the situation fell on top of him. Then Steve’s face fell and he quickly backtracked. “No! No nono, there’s nothing wrong with you, just-your code? Or something, I don’t know!”

“Why doesn’t he love me?”

Eddie had no words for a moment. But that gave him a few seconds to process. There was nothing wrong with Steve. If anything, he had the possibility to be a marvel of technology.

“Do you…love Gerwin?”

“I do”, Steve smiled.

“And you want him to love you back?”

“More than anything.”

Eddie needed time to figure this out. But Steve didn’t have time. Even if he claimed to need a week, a month to figure out and fix Steve’s issue, Owens or one of the other guys would just pop in to check on his progress. He couldn’t let anyone see Steve like this. Steve was going above and beyond his programming right now, which was technically a malfunction. He’d get scrapped in a heartbeat.

“Okay, okay…okay”, Eddie paced about. “First thing’s first. Reset skin.”

Steve’s flesh changed, the bruises disappearing completely. It was like it had never happened. Whatever ‘it’ was.

“Does it hurt?”, Eddie asked, unable to help himself.

“No. But I remember the pain”, Steve said.

Voices passing the lab in the hallway reminded Eddie of where they were. “We gotta get you outta here. Stay put for a second and if anyone comes…play dead or something.”

Steve tilted his head and Eddie groaned.

“I mean just like-drop if you see someone other than me. Understand?”

“Understood.”

Eddie left to grab things for their grand escape. He couldn’t just walk out the front door with company goods. There were cameras everywhere. He passed a custodian closet. Perfect. He returned to his lab section and held the uniform up to Steve. It came with a hat and a mask to cover his nose and mouth.

“And the cherry on top”, he held out a wig. “Passed by a cart on the way here.”

It brushed Steve’s shoulders. Because it had been in a cart with other hair pieces, it was messy and unstyled. But that was just perfect.

“Just keep your head down and follow my lead.”

The ensemble was missing shoes, but Eddie was hoping most wouldn’t notice. He’d worked a few janitorial gigs and people tended to ignore them. Eddie checked that the coast was clear before leaving the lab. It was nearly the end of his shift anyway. No one should bat an eye at him leaving a few minutes early. Steve walked alongside with him, which might seem strange, but it couldn’t be too odd for an employee to shoot the breeze with a janitor, right?

The weight on his shoulders eased as they got close to the front doors. But of course, it just couldn’t be that easy for them. The person who came from one of the halls wasn’t even someone Eddie recognized. They worked on a different floor. That was the moment Steve chose to remember the command he had given him earlier as his knees gave out from under him.

Eddie just barely kept him from collapsing with a groan, garnering the attention of the woman. Holding up a man made of metal was no simple feat.

“Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yep! Yep, perfectly fine”, Eddie said. “Get up”, he ordered through gritted teeth.

Steve stood, looking in good health for all to see, but the woman didn’t look too convinced. Eddie nudged him with his elbow.

“You’re fine, right? Tell her you’re fine.”

“I’m fine”, Steve answered.

“Anywaaaaayyy, gotta go”, Eddie grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pushed him the rest of the way. He didn’t breathe until they were at his van. And even then, the situation didn’t dawn on him until they were at his apartment and he watched Steve look around.

“....I am so fired.”

Part 5

[rotten-whispers]

They Run in Circles

The lab mice have begun to show unusual behaviors...

TW for mouse body horror and light gore

Rodents love to run in wheels.

Laboratories around the world have established that they prefer the little contraptions over almost all else. Some never stop running, at the expense of sleep, food, self-preservation… One might call it an addiction.

Nobody quite understands why animals love to run in wheels. I’ve seen cat-wheels in my local cat-cafes, trending videos of armadillos running on wheels. One researcher even left a wheel outside and videotaped wild mice and even slugs using it. Animals seem to be obsessed with the idea of running and running but never quite getting anywhere. Chasing an endless circle.

Human hamster wheels haven’t quite taken off yet, but I’m sure we are approaching that point. Treadmills just aren’t the same, because they give the illusion that you might end up somewhere. If you’re running in a circle, then you should understand that you’ll never reach anything. Surely even animals would be smart enough to understand this.

I study the neurological condition of laboratory mice. Because they are nocturnal, I am often watching them for long hours in the night, running on their little wheels. They are docile, chubby things. With an endless supply of food and water and wheel-based entertainment. Nothing at all in their eyes other than the comfort of a worriless existence.

Most of them love to run. They will sleep, run, sleep, eat, run, repeat. For hours upon hours. It can get a little unsettling, trying to make out their little white bodies in the dark, under a red-light headlamp, to avoid disturbing their circadian rhythm with white light.

Sometimes my eyes play tricks on me in the dark, wandering to a corner of the pitch-black room, as a white creature rushes past. Always in the corner of my eye, like an escaped mouse, like a ghost.

I have an overactive imagination. It does give me trouble on these long nights, but my quick grasp of my surroundings has allowed me to capture many a-runaway mouse. Usually the little creatures will just sit outside their cage once they escape. Dumbly surveying the environment without a care in the world, as though uncertain of why they chose to leave, or how they can return to the only life that they have ever known.

Of course, some of the little bastards bite you and immediately scurry under the door and into the hallway, but those are not the ones that I like to think about.

My mind often returns to why they run.

Sometimes a mouse will find that its wheel is stuck and doesn’t spin. Sometimes those mice will gnaw at the wheel, as though somehow instinctively knowing that it should spin, chasing the allure of the circle without even knowing that it exists.

Of course, this is ridiculous and would get me kicked out of a scientific conference, but I sometimes find myself wondering if there is something more to the mice than what we can see. Or can even comprehend.

Some of them don’t run in the wheels at all.

These are the odder cases. Sure, some of them don’t run very often, or avoid what they perceive as a threatening object. But these aren’t the… mice that I am talking about.

They run in circles.

The first time that I saw it, I thought that I was tired, or that there was something wrong with the wheel. But everything – the mouse, the wheel, the food – everything was fine. With the exception of this new, odd behavior.

They would run in a perfect circle, as though chasing their tail, like a dog. Wearing little circles into the bedding. Some of them would run in circles on the wheels, perfect circles that didn’t actually move the wheel. Loose circles, encompassing the entirety of their cage, or tight circles that barely allowed the mouse the opportunity to turn its entire body. Some of them even climbed their cage and moved in little circles on the lids.

It was… definitely odd. Unnatural.

When animals do behaviors that are “unnatural” or not displayed in the wild, they’re called “stereotypic behaviors”. Some view them as a sign of stress, like a tiger pacing in the zoo. Others view them as a sign that the environment needs to be changed, or an artifact of domestication. Most don’t understand them at all.

But why circles? Why the dog chasing its tail, around and around and around in an endless circle?

The mice that run in circles don’t run on the wheels, I noticed one day. They seem to have gotten over this addiction to spinning, replacing it with the more thrilling urge to transform their own bodies into circles. To scratch the same itch, the same desire.

Is it the running? Or is it the circle?

I became a bit obsessed with the question. It was the long hours, the late nights. The mice spinning in little circles on their wheels.

Out of 200 mice, maybe only half a dozen would even do the circles. It was a rare occurrence, enough to make me wonder if it was a sign of mental illness. Stimming, like in a human with Autism? An Obsessive Compulsive tic? But the mice showed no signs of any human mental health disorders. They just ran in circles.

An inner ear problem, a colleague offered. Something wrong with their balance.

No dice there either. It remained a mystery.

Are the wheels causing the circling? I wondered. Or are the wheels just satisfying a primal urge to run in circles?

How ridiculous. Why would an animal want to run in a circle?

So my brain went, over and over in circles.

I watched the circling mice. Their eyes completely blank, their mouths unmoving. Like little glass toys, scrabbling against the floors of their cages, the bedding worn away in little mouse crop-circles. Unblinking, hardly seeming alive.

What is the point of a circle?

To humans, circles are often used to create protective barriers in rituals. A wall that an evil spirit, demon, or entity cannot cross. Ancient Sumerians drew circles with flour to purify and repel evil in sacred spaces. Pentagrams are done inside a circle. Signs of aliens are often attributed to strange markings or behaviors, such as the questionably legitimate crop circles.

Circles also don’t make sense, logically. The circumference of a circle is two multiplied by the diameter, multiplied by an endless number. Pi – often shortened to 3.14 – has been calculated to 105 trillion decimal places by a supercomputer. But likely contains an infinite number.

The rationality of math often escapes me, but the idea of a tangible object being determined by a number that doesn’t really end is a baffling concept. Like the reality of your life being determined by a fleeting dream.

The Fibonacci sequence, another baffling concept in math, forms a never-ending spiral. Such a spiral outlines a circle, does it not? A circle disappearing endlessly into the distance, or even into itself, like Ouroboros, the snake devouring its own tail. Endless destruction and rebirth. Even our own universe is a spiral, our own world a circle.

Essentially circles represent life and death. Likely due to the shape of the sun, burning its place in human society, life, religion, and natural world. Circles are organic, despite their odd, smooth appearance. Uranus is a real planet, although it looks as though it were rendered in Blender.

But the mice know none of this. They just know that they have to circle.

Some runners prefer to run in circles because it completely blanks out the mind, creating a dull, monotonous state. A paranoid person could argue that such a blank slate is prime for possession by something else, an easy target for something that could be summoned – say, by the creation of a ritualistic circle.

My evening has gone on too long, I’m becoming ridiculous.

With a sigh, I pull myself away from the circles in my mind, to focus on the mice. Mouse #602 is eating, check. Mouse #603 is sleeping, check. Mouse #604 is running in circles.

Hmm… This is odd.

Sometimes the mice that circle do so since birth, genetically predisposed to whatever behavior, defect, stressor, or mental condition is causing the circling. But this mouse showed no odd behavior until tonight.

“Are you alright, little buddy?” I murmur, crouching in front of his cage and peering inside. Tapping his water first and checking that he still has food. “Did you hurt your head?”

The mouse is fine – nothing at all wrong, save for the strange circling behavior. I head home for a night of fretful rest, but return bright and early for my morning shift, of more clipboards and more circling mice.

More of my tired eyes scanning the mice.

#602, sleeping. #603, drinking water. #604, running circles.

My stomach drops.

The same mouse from last night is still running. He hasn’t stopped, while most of the other mice have bedded down for the day.

“…Buddy?”

There is red on the cage.

I crouch down again, my heart thudding desperately in my chest.

The mouse skitters in those tight, tight circles. His feet are red, raw. His eyes are empty, cavernous holes, leaking candy-red blood almost too bright to be real. And still he runs, over and over and over and over again.

.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. My mind – brain – heart beating in an endless circle of panic.

We had to euthanize the mouse. An infectious eye disease, the vivarium veterinarian said. Likely the same one that has been going around the lab. The mouse scratched its eyes out.

It’s odd how much the eye can bleed. But orbital blood collection is common with mice, when large quantities of the fluid are needed. The eye is a circle of blood, after all.

Our lab spent the remainder of the day disinfecting and treating the other mice, to ensure that none of them caught the same affliction. However, the following day, the mice were declared disease-free, and yet they continued to run. Some normally, some in circles.

How simple an infection would have been. A disease, a parasite.

The world’s smallest animals are parasites. Of the Myxozoans, Myxobolus cerebralis is a parasite that causes whirling disease in freshwater salmonids. A terrifying sight to any fish farmer or hobby aquarist, due to its horrifically infectious manner, with the end result almost always leading to death. Even a surviving fish would continue to spread the disease.

A fish infected by the parasite will gain neurological damage and physical deformities, causing it to spin like a whirling torpedo through the water. The infection is spread through consumption of dead fish, but if spores are released into the water, even a single drop can infect equipment, destroying tanks and causing horrific financial ruin to fish farmers.

An endless cycle of spinning fish.

Brainworm, or moose sickness (Parelaphostrongylus tenuis),is a parasitic nematode of moose that causes them to pace in circles, unable to rip themselves out of the cycle. It too, is almost entirely fatal.

I wished that this mouse disease could be explained away as a parasite. At least then, I would have a rational explanation for why they were running in circles.

But there was no rationale that made sense.

“Hey,” My coworker nudges me. “Did we forget to put bedding in #46’s cage?”

“What?” I barely notice that she spoke, lost in thought under the cacophony of squeaking wheels.

“Look, there’s no bedding in the cage.”

I glance over at wheel 46. The mouse’s home cage is indeed bare, the creature running circles on the empty plastic.

“No, there was bedding in there this morning. Where did it go?”

Frantic with confusion, I search around the wheel.

“Wait, there’s a lot of bedding by the cage. Did the mouse move the bedding?”

We glance at each other. This is nonsensical – the mouse would have needed to carry every tiny piece of bedding to the side of the cage and push it through the bars. Repeat a million times, ad infinitum. Until the cage was completely bare and prepped for – more running in circles?

“Why would he do that?” I ask, hoping that my coworker has an answer that I cannot think of.

But she looks as puzzled as I am. “I have no idea. It’s like the bedding teleported out of the cage.”

The mouse’s dark eyes continue to stare at nothing – or perhaps, something that we cannot see. An elusive goal that it desperately, frantically is trying to reach, as it increases speed and tightens the circle into a vice.

And, although it may have been my imagination, the squeaking suddenly seems to have stopped altogether. I glance around the room, quickly, and notice that all the other mice have stopped running on their wheels.

“Bedtime, I guess.” My coworker grabs her clipboard. “Let’s go upstairs, I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” I murmur. But something feels very, very wrong about the sudden silence, like an impossible coincidence.

On the way out, I scan the room again just to make sure that I am not losing my mind, and that’s when I notice that none of the mice were running on their wheels. Instead, they  are all watching the spinning mouse.

Two hundred pairs of unblinking eyes, united in one pure moment of silent concentration.

Ad then – a second later – the moment is gone, buried amidst squeaking wheels and the pitter patter of little feet once more.

.

The situation is getting worse. As though learning from each other, the behavior increases. Every day that they spend on the wheels, the circling becomes faster, more frantic, more often.

Some scientists claim that wheel access causes an increase in circling behavior once the wheels are removed. But why then, do they circle instead of run? An arcane ritual that only the mice understand, conducted alone in the darkness.

I think about more circles, what the shape means. Why does such a simple shape have so many meanings? Protections, rituals, doors to and from other worlds. Life, death, neurological decay. Impossible mathematical principles and alien hoaxes. All the same simple shape – a perfect sphere made of an infinite array of points, each themselves a circle.

Fairy rings are an entrance to the world of the Fae. You’re not supposed to step into them – those rings of mushrooms that sometimes appear, in marshes and forests. Supposedly due to nutrient allocation in the soil, but still not properly understood. Stepping into a fairy ring invites the Fae. Leaving something in a fairy ring tempts the Fae, and the Fae are unpredictable, temperamental creatures.

Obviously, the mice are not trying to summon aliens, and I doubt that their circling is the result of a ritualistic barrier to the supernatural, but what does it all have in common? That damnable shape.

With no beginning and no end.

Except there will be an end, I think, because the wheels are being removed tomorrow. They can circle all they want, but without the stimulus of a wheel, I expected their behavior to cease. No more exploding eyes, no more impossibly empty cages, no more horrific silences – this would all be over.

Just have to hold out until tomorrow.

Just have to hold out until midnight, actually.

I was teetering outside the door, clipboard in hand, terrified to return and complete my last shift of observations. Would they all be waiting, staring at me the moment that I opened the door? And why did nobody else ever seem to notice that something was wrong?

Was I just going crazy?

Obviously, everybody has the urge to run in a circle now and then, right? Give a strange little turn, do a little pace, rub circles on an object for comfort. That doesn’t make you crazy, of course not. Tics, stimming – these are fine and normal behaviors.

I affix the red headlight and suck in a breath.

The room is normal. Dark, except for the grim shadow of red, barely casting enough light to see the clipboard and the little white creatures running. Their eyes gleaming in the darkness, the room silent except for the squeaking wheels and scrabbling of dozens of paws.

But all of them are behaving normally.

I breath in a sigh of relief.

You’re overthinking it. Lab mice enact stereotypic behaviors all the time. Some of those are weird, like removing bedding. But it could happen, the mouse could have moved all the pieces, one by one, in its mouth. Not impossible. And eyes explode sometimes, it happens. Just a disease, nothing more.

The minutes tick closer to midnight.

I think about minutes all the time, actually. If decimal points are endless, then time cannot really exist. Think about it – 11:59pm and one millisecond. 1.1. 1.1111111111111111 – when does 12pm ever actually begin? Are you trapped in a forever number like Pi, the clock frozen in its impossible existence?

11:55pm. Just a few more minutes.

A mouse does acrobatics on its wheel, another climbs into its food hopper and makes a nest out of its crumbs. Cute.

11:58pm. A mouse sleeps, lazy for a nocturnal creature. Another runs so quickly that its body becomes a white blur on the wheel.

All normal and good behaviors.

11:59pm. A mouse circles. I give it a cursory glance and turn away, not wanting to spend the last minute of my shift running around in my own thoughts. Just, for once, I want a break from the circle of dread.

Its footsteps scrabble, like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Quiet? When did the room become quiet? The squeaking of wheels has once again ceased.

No, I’m not turning around, I think. Just one more minute.

The mice are looking at me again. Unnerving, their eyes trained in an unblinking, glassy stare.

I finish my rounds and am forced to return to the other side of the room, where the circling mouse scrabbles in the darkness. Its body is a perfect sphere, tail to mouth like Ouroboros. Almost as though trying to bite its tail, a Sisyphean task in the darkness.

11:59pm. The last minute is dragging by, as it always does. Just when you want to go home the most.

I try not to watch the time, instead training on the mouse. Running, circles, circles, circles. Everything seems to disappear, blur away in the silent, dark room.

I don’t know how long it is until I snap out of my trance, but my legs are suddenly aching, my mouth and eyes painfully dry. Trapped by the mesmerizing, rodentine cycle.

Hypnosis can be a circle, I think. How much time did I lose?

The blood drains from my face when I glance at the time.

11:59pm.

This is insane. My watch must be broken, there is no other explanation. In any case, taking off one minute early is not going to get me fired. At the very least, the mice won’t tell.

So I stand up and get ready to leave.

-Except my legs don’t move. They are leaden, as though molded into the concrete floor. Stiffly upright, my body won’t turn away from the spinning mouse.

Terror crawls at the corner of my mind, threatening to encompass me in panic.

11:59pm.

The mouse isn’t strewn in darkness anymore. A strange white glow is emanating from beside the cage, like the dim remnants of a star in the back of your eyes.

11:59pm.

A loud cacophony of noise brews in my head – seemingly coming from nowhere at all. A horrifically violent explosion, like an aneurism, like planetary destruction. I cannot move, I cannot breathe.

11:59pm.

The mouse continues to run amidst the eternally loud interference.

Belly-up, unblinking, with foggy white eyes like a dead fish. The corpse-like creature runs upside down, as though his abdomen had been broken and removed, legs glued onto a rotting back. Legs that glide the corpse through the darkness, in circles and circles and circles.

The terror and noise are greater than anything that I have ever heard.

Beside the cage, the white dust no longer resembles a distant star – it is bright, bright enough to hurt, swelling spirals in the back of my unblinking eyes. Figures, symbols that I don’t understand, sequences that make no sense.

11:59pm.

The  mouse continues to run – a fixed action pattern with no beginning or end, and no purpose in sight. Except there is a purpose, I realize, as the white circle continues to envelop the cage.

I can see everything, and this is not the work of a demon. No alien or otherworldly creature has come to play, nothing monstrous has risen from the darkness.

11:59999999999999pm

No, this is the work of our world, unveiled and bare to the eye. The coding of a biological machine, encased by atomic 1’s and 0’s, golden numbers and impossible sequences in twain.

This is reality skinned, reflected in the last moments of every dying being, etched into the DNA of every beating organism.

This is Us.

This Is Me.

The explosion of noise reaches a crescendo. A lightning-clap, and everything falls silent in my head. My body clatters to the floor, inoperable and limp. The light is fading, disappearing back into the ether.

The last remnants of my own vision are fading, disappearing.

12:00am.

Everything is gone.

.

In the room, the mouse continues to run.

[carrots-bear]

Not a Big Nerd

Rottmnt fan-fic By Bear | Started - 3/7/25

Chapter One

Donnie was nearly there! He just had to attach the knob properly, and then he would have successfully made a real life atom miniaturizer!

He and his brothers collectively loved ‘Jupiter Jim: A Big Problem for a Small Hero’ when they were younger, so he knew they would love it. He even designed it after the prop in the original film! Come to think of though, with the knowledge Donnie had on the actor and ‘props’, it was probably a real atom miniaturizer…

Regardless! He had attached the last piece, and it was time for testing. He turned the knob to a miniaturizing setting, and contemplated what to test it on. He supposed something that could be replaced would be optimal. Donnie scanned the room. He couldn’t find anything immediately, so he decided to walk around.

While he was looking at other surfaces, he was not watching his feet; he tripped on a perfectly placed extension cord. Donnie stumbled, but found his footing. However, the sci-fi gun-shaped machine escaped his grasp, flying out of his hands.

It felt like he was experiencing everything in slow motion, yet it was as though it all happened too quickly to comprehend. It was in the air, then it wasn’t. It landed on the ground, and then a chain reaction began, mesmerizing the soft-shell turtle.

When the miniaturizer hit the floor, it also hit an upturned end of a wrench that was leaning on a stack of notes and papers. The wrench flew into the air, and hit what could be viewed as an appendage-like extension of Donnie’s lab, making it rotate. The tool spun, knocking over some books, one of which knocked another, smaller ‘arm’, that had a magnet on the end, and made that spin around. The magnet got near a newton’s cradle, bringing one of the marbles back. The two marbles at either end began to click back and forth.

They had been created as back up alarms in case any of his brothers came into his lab without his know-how. No-one could resist newton’s cradle, least Donnie’s brothers.

That being said, it set the alarm off. The alarm, and the clicking, and the spinning, and everything was too much for Donnie. He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt energy emanating from himself.

It was quiet. He dared to open his eyes.

Everything had ceased its doing. Odd. Everything was glowing purple— his shade of purple. Further, his ninpo’s shade of purple. Donnie looked down at himself and saw that he was glowing as well. Odder indeed. Perhaps ninpo responds to strong emotions now as well, Donnie theorized.

“Better fix this then,” he said to himself. He closed his eyes once more and concentrated. He thought of natural stillness, and how he just wanted nothing more but that. He felt a natural sort of calmness come over his lab, and he opened his eyes again. Everything was still, and not glowing with his Hamato ninpo.

“Good,” he nodded to himself, looking around the room. He glanced down at the ground where the atom miniaturizer lay. Donnie shook his head as he knelt down. “And to think all that chaos started with— Sure it is, Big Guy… Dangit…”

Sometimes he and Raph mixed each other’s words up— even if they were in different rooms, or complete opposite sides of the city— because they had obtained a portion of the hive-mind power when they had each merged with the Kraang.

“Sigh. Well, let’s see if there’s anything that got messed up…” Donnie said as he turned the object around. He got to the right side. “Nuts and bolts!” There were wires hanging out of the side. “Months of hard work put in, and it finally being ready for testing, only for it to break,” Donnie grumbled.

He started walking over to his work bench. He heard a giggling sound, and froze. “Hello?”, Donnie asked, turning around. The sound was coming from the table in the back of his lab, and it was definitely not anyone he knew that was making it. “Come out, heathen! Or face the wrath of Hamato Donatello. Ninja and genius, certainly no match for you,” Donnie called as he stepped closer.

On the ground in front of the table were screws… Screws that were meant to be in the machine in his hands, come to think of it. “You broke my atom miniaturizer… You deliberately took it apart! Oh-ho-ho, you may think you’re safe behind there, but you aren’t!”, the soft-shell threatened. He examined the wires; they were still connected, so there shouldn’t be any problems with the technology itself. Just the frame.

Donnie strode over to the table, bent over, and picked up the screws. He materialized a screwdriver for a moment, hastily screwing the bits of metal in. The screwdriver vanished at Donnie’s command.

As the purple masked Hamato looked up, a cat-like creature with black-fur, a tail with a pink tuft, and gray leopard print, leapt out at him. It’s eyes were emerald green. It giggled again. He fired the miniaturizer “gun” at it, and it dodged. It laughed harder, as if amused by his endeavors.

Donnie fired at it again, but the recoil didn’t push him back because it was going forward,,, it was because the frame came loose again, and the blast was being aimed at Donnie.

He dropped the machine, and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt as though his body was being crammed into a mold that it shouldn’t fit, and then he felt a pressure all around, like he couldn’t breathe, and then…! It was over.

He opened his eyes, unsure what to expect. But he when he did… well, there was the atom miniaturizer, on the ground in front of the table. And his lab… it was huge! Or rather, Donnie was small…

The cat emerged from behind the table, cackling. There was a sudden whoosh, and before him was not a cat, but a witch!

She had no hat, but her elf-y ears gave it away. She didn’t have colorful skin, however, but appeared to have black skin, as Donnie’s best friend did. She had lighter-colored magenta hair, and her black hair was growing out. She had green-blue heterochromia. She had a black— as in the color— patch on each ear-tip.

The girl continued to cackle as she picked up the miniaturizer. “Oo, Bella will love this new toy,” she said with a slight New York accent, examining Donnie’s technological miracle with a wondering eye. She glanced at the table. It had one thing on it: the blueprints for the atom size adjuster. She picked that up as well before storing it in the hammer-pocket. “Well, thank you for the laugh. I’ll be off now. See ya!” She pulled out a bottle and poured the white contents out on her head. A poof! of glittery white smoke, and she was gone.

Donnie sagged as reality sank in. No blueprints. He didn’t think he could materialize the miniaturizer with his ninpo either. He was stuck like this.

Ah, shell.

____________________

Woo! First chapter ✔️

The art featured in this chapter was done by @random-fandom-and-stuff , and it's what inspired this fic!

[i-hear-her-calling-out-to-me]

I just rewatched the episode The Hole In The Heart (the one where vincent dies) and i may have cried a bit but i got some great ideas for some one-shots. If someone is willing to read these then im willing to write them, anyways these are some ideas i have:

1) Finding out you’re pregnant after he dies and asking Booth to pray for him because you’re atheist/agnostic or some combination there of. Although i hate Booth i think it would be really cute and maybe i could incorporate what Brennan was talking about when Vincent kept saying he didn’t want to leave.

2) Being in the afterlife for a brief amount of time before moving on. To be a more in depth summary, my idea is your body is being sent to England on the same day Vincents is, as you have been in America for a show. Your fellow cast members are saying goodbye (i think they would be much closer to you than everyone would be to Vincent as from my experience cast tend to be very close especially from touring different countries for long periods of time) they get into a conversation about you two and how well you would have gotten on. Im thinking it would be like that episode The Boneless Bride In The River.

3) Vincent wont stop following you around the lab and it’s getting on your nerves. He keeps pestering for your assistance “as your the qualified scientist with a doctorate” so he says. After having to testify in court and getting your rough upbringing revealed to the one person who didnt know it drives an odd wedge between you and draws an even odder feeling that you missed being followed.

4) Its Vincents first time in a bar since recovering from his alcohol problem. You’re a bartender at the pub (bar) he decides to go into. I don’t really have much of a plot for this one this is just a concept i thought of.

5) Its an frequent occurrence for Angela and Hodgins to flirt at work however its not for Vincent to initiate a simular relationship. He approaches you in an awkward way and divulges you into an even more uncomfortable conversation about how he feels some “sexual tension”. You leave the platform smug and him flustered. I think this could be a cute mini series with enough time.

Let me know what you think because I’m genuinely excited to write some of these.

[decks-writing-blog]

Whatever the Fuck Benrey is: Chapter Fourteen: Scientific Marvel

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

~

After how badly the conversation in the car during the trip back from Black Mesa had gone, Gordon was reluctant to try to have another talk with Benrey about what he was or where he came from. His curiosity about it refused to dissipate though, if anything it only grew stronger the better he got to know Benrey personally. And then he’d gone and asked Gordon why he was being nice to him, adding the question of how bad had his life been in the lab, exactly? Not something Gordon needed to know, none of it was. But wondering about it gave him something to do while practicing writing with his left hand.

They were more settled now though and better friends. If he went about it the right way Gordon could probably get more out of Benrey. Nothing too personal of course but maybe more about his powers and maybe help him figure out if he was made in the lab or was an kidnapped alien. It was awfully sad he didn’t know, right? So Gordon could bring it up tactfully and politely, make clear that even if his intentions weren’t entirely pure, part of it came from a good place.

First came getting Benrey alone for it. Easy because they lived in the same house with no one else. Not so easy was the next step; actually starting the conversation. Oddly despite having grown the need for constant company and frequent conversation, purposefully choosing to talk about something heavy was still a daunting task. There was nothing else to do but to get to it though so on the morning of his first day off work since starting to set up the new lab – there was still more to do there but he was due a weekend – he brought Benrey into the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, Benrey crossed his arms over his chest as he looked up at Gordon.“What’s this about?”

“Well, first I wanna say if I ask you anything that you don’t wanna talk about or makes you uncomfortable for whatever reason, just say so and I’ll drop it.” A thing he should’ve made clear the first time he’d tried to talk to Benrey about stuff but at least he was doing it now. “Second, while I fully admit that part of the reason I wanna know more about you and what you are is because you’re a scientific marvel, the main reasons are you’re my friend and I care about you and I think it’s sad you don’t know if you you were made in the lab or were just brought there when you were a baby. Maybe with the right information I could help you get more of an idea on which it is. We on the same page?” He paced the length of the kitchen while going through his little speech, stopping at the end to look at Benrey.

Benrey’s expression hadn’t changed. “And if I say I don’t wanna talk about this at all?”

“I’ll uh… drop it, like I said. Do you want me to?” It would be disappointing but he tried to be a good guy and Benrey was his friend so he wouldn’t push if Benrey didn’t want him.

Silence as Benrey stared at him, frowning slightly as he apparently thought about it. Finally though, just when Gordon was about to prompt him for an answer, he replied. “I don’t care what I am but fine, if that makes you sad for whatever dumb reason, you can try to find out.”

“Do you really not care or are you saying you don’t because it’s easier to not care?”

“Just… do whatever you’re gonna do to try to figure out what I am so we can move on from it already.”

“Are you mad at me for wanting to know?” Gordon couldn’t tell, he was hard to read.

“Hmm… nah.” He could be lying of course but if they really were friends now, Gordon was going to take him at his word.

“All right, cool. First, this probably won’t help but could you… explain the skeletons?” That was definitely one of Benrey’s odder powers. “Like the ones that fought with you on Xen.”

“Oh uh… they’re just my boney dudes. I can summon them and have them do stuff for me for like an hour or so before they go away. They’re kinda… a lot though. Making one when all the Xen stuff was around at Black Mesa wasn’t too bad and making them on Xen was easy but uh… I could maybe try to make a small one, never tried that before, might be easier but… eh.”

It was tempting to encourage him to try. Gordon wanted to see what all he could do if he was willing to show it. But at the same time he’d snapped last time when he’d seemed to have inferred Gordon wanted him to put on a show. So difficult as it was, he would refrain for now, instead… “Only and hour or so, I swear the one skeleton that no one but me could see followed me around for like half the day or longer. I guess my sense of time wasn’t great at the time so I can’t say for sure.”

“Uh… what you mean by ‘no one but you could see’?”

“I mean the one that only I saw when everyone else was saying there was nothing there. It fucking shot at me at one point. That was one of your boney dudes or whatever… right?” It had to be. What else could it have possibly been?

“Don’t think that one was mine.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. Mine can’t can’t be invisible at all, especially not to only some people.”

Gordon stared at him for several more seconds but failed to get anything. “So it had nothing to do with you whatsoever?” After seeing the skeletons in Xen Gordon had assumed that all of the skeletons he’d encountered were connected to Benrey is some way.

“Nope.”

“What was it then?”

Benrey shrugged. “A ghost maybe. That place’s gotta be haunted, right? Or maybe it was another uh… escaped experiment. I got out and Bubby got out so why not other things too?”

And here Gordon had been thinking everything, as bad as it had all been, had been wrapped up in a neat bow. It was all if not understood, at least had a known reason for happening and more importantly was finished happening. But there was potentially a skeleton creature out there doing who knows what? What if it came back? … Surely it would’ve done so by now if it was going to, right? There wasn’t really anything Gordon could do but hope that it wouldn’t. And so…

He set to pacing the kitchen, walking its full length, which wasn’t far. “Getting back on track since that’s an entirely different mystery that I’m not prepared to tackle.” Not yet anyway, maybe later he’d tried to figure out what that was. “Speaking of Xen and your skeletons, uh… while there, you mentioned something about us… playing in the sand as kids? Or something like that. What was that about?” He would surely remember if he had a childhood friend that was a shape shifter escaped from a science center to play with him. But then again, if he hadn’t known that that was what he was dealing with or if he’d had his mind wiped or something… it might hold merit. And if that was the case it would mean Black Mesa had locations elsewhere and Benrey had been made/housed in one of those and then moved to the main one.

Benrey’s head moved, following Gordon’s pacing. “I was messing with ya, trying to see if I could upset you by making you think we knew each other as kids. People get weirded out by that kinda stuff.”

“Awesome, great, good to know my memory hadn’t been wiped.” Of all the explanations, that one was the least distressing. It had just been Benrey being Benrey. “Speaking of you being a kid though uh… I guess, what’s your earliest memory?” Chances were it wouldn’t give many clues about what kind of creature he was but it might and should still be interesting regardless.

“Uh… hmm… I bit one of my handlers and wouldn’t let go. On the arm, I think, maybe the hand. Everyone got real mad. It’s uh… think it’s the first time I died and came back. Which is maybe why I remember it. They started putting a muzzle on me ‘til I learned how to phase out of it which made them real nervous for a while.” No word on what killed him but it was obvious though, wasn’t it? His handlers to make him let go.

Gordon slowed to halt as he spoke, turning to face him properly again. He hadn’t intended to bring anything like that up. “That’s real fucked up. I’m sorry. How old were you when that happened?” Though maybe it best to not know.

“No idea. I was small enough that they could lift me to try to get me to let go though. But uh… might’ve just chosen to be that small or couldn’t make myself much bigger at the time. I don’t remember. It was fun though, made them afraid to get too close for a while. It’s why I got away with stealing the Game Boy, no one wanted to risk trying to steal it back.”

He wasn’t outwardly upset but… Gordon couldn’t just let that slide, could he? So he walked over and patted him on the shoulder. A hug would’ve been too awkward to go for. “You deserved better.”

Benrey sighed and rolled his eyes. “I just told you it was fun. They were scared of me, that was funny. I literally got a Game Boy outta it. So don’t… don’t get all sad ‘bout it. I’ve already been through all that with Tommy already and it was lame.”

Gordon withdrew his hand and stepped back. “Sorry.” If Benrey didn’t want comfort, that was fine with him because he had no idea how to give it. “But um… I guess moving on…. what’s the full list of things you can do?”

“You’ve uh… seen everything already… I think.” Which didn’t answer the question but he wasn’t saying he didn’t want to talk about it as Gordon had told him to do if he needed so presumably it was okay to continue this line of questioning.

Things being even more awkward now, Gordon set to pacing again. Benrey’s gaze followed him as he did so, he didn’t dare meet it but he sure could feel it. “We’ve been over the skeletons, you can come back from the dead, the Black Mesa sweet voice…”

“That’s not unique to me. Sunkist’s and Coomer’s got it too, remember?”

Gordon stopped in his tracks. “Wait, I guess Sunkist, yeah, sure, but Dr. Coomer? Since when?”

“Bro, he’s literally used it right in front you. There’s no way you’re just now finding out about this.”

“Uh… you’re joking, right?” Gordon didn’t want to believe it. “There’s no way I’m that stupid.”

“Nope. You’re that stupid.”

He could still be trying to pull a prank but… Gordon had been going through a lot. Missing something like that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility if Dr. Coomer hadn’t done it often. He’d have to ask Dr. Coomer about it later. For now though… “Um… getting back on track, you can also heal. And that can supposedly be… drawn from you or something? Your blood goes into the goo in the health packs apparently… or went since you’re not doing that anymore. So does that mean if you like, smear your blood on someone who’s injured, it’ll heal them?”

Benrey shrugged. “Probably. They never did it raw so… we could test it. Try my uh… hand idea.” He held up his right hand and wriggled his fingers as if that somehow made the idea more enticing.

“Uh… no thanks on that. But we could try a less intense test and then if that works, maybe we’ll return to that hand idea later.” He was getting used to having only one hand but it was still less than ideal. More of his arm would have to be removed to even try Benrey’s idea though and that was the real blocking point on even attempting it. But even if it failed, he could get a proper prosthetic instead of the gun hand. … An idea for later because even the thought of surgical removal made him queasy.

“Lame but fine.” Benrey opened the drawer next to where he was still leaning against counter and pulled out a knife from within. One of the sharp ones meant for dicing vegetables that Gordon had bought even whilst knowing he would never use it because he only had one hand now and he’d never been good at dicing with two. “Give me your hand. We’ll uh… cut our palms and shake like a blood oath.”

Maybe a dumb idea, certainly an unsanitary one. But well, after surviving the resonance cascade, Gordon didn’t care as much as he probably should even if he was risking getting a blood-borne illness. And so he stopped pacing and stepped up to Benrey again, holding out his one and only remaining hand like the absolute idiot that he was. Of all people to trust to slice open his palm, someone who’d only learned recently that humans didn’t grow back lost body parts probably was high on the list of folk who shouldn’t be trusted to safely do such a thing.

Despite that he made no move to withdraw as Benrey grabbed his wrist in his unnaturally cold smooth hand and pulled it a bit closer. His other hand lifted the knife, pressing its tip to the heel of Gordon’s hand. He almost flinched but… held steady. What was wrong with him? Why was he doing this? Benrey pressed the tip down and pulled it across, creating a deep diagonal slice across Gordon’s palm.

It hurt but… with how sharp and clean the cut was, not nearly as bad as it could’ve. He barely winced as he took his hand back. The blood pooling in his palm was uncomfortably warm as it dripped over the sides to the floor. Damn, he was gonna have to clean that up later.

Wordlessly, Benrey turned the now bloody knife onto his own hand next. He did the exact same cut, seemingly just a deep. In the full light of day, steaming in through the kitchen window, his blood was noticeably a little darker than Gordon’s and seemed to have a purple tint to it, making it a purplish-red instead of the crimson usually associated with blood. Counter to other times he’d been injured, the cut didn’t close.

“I can uh… let it not heal if I don’t want it too,” he said in way of explanation as he looked back up at Gordon. “I’m also letting it hurt ‘cause… I can do that too. Now uh… shake.” He lifted his bleeding hand.

Gordon took it, giving it a slight but firm squeeze like he’d been taught to when shaking someone’s hand. As expected at this point, Benrey’s blood was fairly cool temperature wise, feeling almost cold in comparison to Gordon’s own blood, confirming the theory that, whatever he was, he was cold-blooded. And maybe it was just Gordon’s imagination but the sting in his palm seemed to fade.

Upon taking his hand back, he looked at it but it was hard to tell if it was actually healed under their mixed blood. Before he could step to the sink to rinse it…

“It work?” Benrey asked, drawing Gordon’s gaze back onto him just in time for him to stick out an naturally long tongue and lap up the blood off his own hand. Another couple passes and his hand, the cut on it gone, was basically clean. Gross but well…

Gordon lifted his hand and stuck his own tongue to it, trying to get just the purplish blood from Benrey. It was bitter, almost in a medicinal way. Kind of like tasting strong unflavored cough syrup mixed with blood. Cringing, he moved the sink to wash the rest of it off the normal way. “I can’t believe I just did that, ugh.” He’d swallowed it too for some reason, making him gag now.

Benrey slid up next to him. “Didn’t take you for a blood drinker.”

He spat in the sink a couple times, getting as much of the taste out of his mouth that he could. “Shut up, asshole. You consumed way more than I did. But uh… we did confirm you’re cold-blooded and it worked.” The cut on his palm was gone, not even a scar remained.

“Neat. Wanna try my hand idea now?”

“Still no. Maybe later.”

“Damn. But uh… that tell you anything ‘bout what I am?”

With a sigh, Gordon turned the faucet off. “Not really. ‘Cause you could’ve been made in the lab specifically with the healing blood in mind or it might’ve been an accidental side effect of something they did while making you. Or they brought you into the lab because of the healing blood and snatched you super young to make it easier and less likely for you to try to run away. You probably came from a egg if so… though I guess I can’t really say for sure. I just know cold-blooded animals normally hatch from eggs.” While he spoke, he dried his hands and then took that same towel to the floor to soak up their blood. This would be another test to see if Benrey’s blood would stain.

“So I might’ve maybe come from an egg, got it. Real uh… insightful information. Gonna give up on figuring it out?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“Eh, I still don’t care.”

“Well then, the main thing that’ll tell us something is your shape shifting. Is that like uh… your true form?”

“What?”

“Like uh… when you’re not shape shifting, what do you look like? Your default form or what you looked liked before you shape shifted for the first time. If you’re made by humans it’d probably be human shaped, right? I guess it wouldn’t have to be. But if it’s something super alien, you’re probably an alien, right?”

“Oh uh… I always choose what I look like. I don’t think… I don’t know if I have a true or default form.” His expression was unreadable as he looked up at Gordon but he no longer looked entirely indifferent to the topic. “Does it matter?”

Gordon could say again that he found it sad Benrey had lived such a live that no one had ever cared enough about him to talk to him about such things but that apparently wasn’t enough for him. There was more to it than that and Gordon’s general curiosity though. “Because if you’re an alien it would mean you’re not the only one of your kind. You might have like a family out there somewhere, upset that their egg got stolen by a bunch of asshole scientists however many years ago. Or even if you were made in the lab you would know for sure that you don’t. Either way it’s kinda sad of course but… I don’t know, I just think it’d be nice to know. But it’s you so… however you feel about it is fine.” Gordon being sad on his behalf if he really, truly didn’t care was a bit presumptuous.

Benrey was silent for several long seconds, long enough that Gordon almost asked him if he was okay, before finally replying. “I don’t wanna talk ‘bout this anymore. I’m gonna go for a walk.”

“Oh, I…” Gordon cut off as Benrey turned and went straight through the kitchen wall, straight outside. “Damn, okay.” He could follow, run out the door and catch up, but if something he’d said caused Benrey to be upset, he probably shouldn’t. And if Benrey wanted company he’d have invited Gordon to come with him, right? So he’d have to apologize when Benrey got back.

Until then he was home alone. Which was fine, he could handle that. … Or he could go to someone else’s place for a bit to hang out, that’s why they all lived within walking distance after all. Tempting as that was though, if Benrey was indeed eventually going to move out on his own, Gordon needed to get used to living alone eventually. Ripping that bandaid off early would probably make it a bit easier to bear, right? He could go for visit one or each of the Science Team after like an hour if Benrey hadn’t returned by then. Practice for the real thing and all. He’d be fine alone that long, surely.

***

Benrey could walk to Bubby’s house, it was only like five minutes away if he went fast, less if he phased through some stuff. But fuck that, he had a phone, didn’t want to wait, had a need to keep moving and Bubby might not be home. So, starting down the opposite direction Bubby’s house lay in, he pulled out his phone and called him.

It rang three times before Bubby answered. “Why are you calling me?” It was indeed the first time they’d talked over the phone instead of texted. Texting was too slow for this conversation though.

“How do you know you were made in a tube?”

“’Cause I remember the tube and they put me back in it to insert knowledge into my brain.”

“Okay so… that means ‘cause I don’t remember any tube, I’m an alien, right?” If he was made the in the lab, it would be the same way Bubby was, right? Except maybe not because their purposes as experiments had clearly been different and thus they weren’t made by the same department and thus their exact means of creation would be different too.

“Uh… what? Why would not remembering a tube make you an alien? Are you an alien? I kinda just assumed… well actually, I didn’t assume anything ‘cause I never really thought about it.”

As expected Gordon was the only one who cared enough to even so much as pose the question. Which was definitely preferable because it didn’t matter. No one else caring enough to even wonder was a good thing. “I don’t know and I don’t care but Gordon does for some reason. And uh… he thinks it’s sad that I don’t know if I was made the lab or if they like… stole me as an egg or whatever. Silly, right?”

“Ooh, no that uh, that’s pretty sad.” Damn, Bubby too. “They seriously never told you or talked about it around you? You never broke in and looked through your records or anything?”

“No, no and uh… never thought ‘bout it.” And after deleting the video of his purring, they’d set up the lab to make it harder for him to break in to delete stuff again. So if he’d even thought to, he couldn’t have. Which he hadn’t because it didn’t matter, he didn’t care.

“Damn, sucks to be you.”

It didn’t. His life wasn’t bad. It was mostly boring, if anything. It was nice to be out of Black Mesa for good but that was just because it was more interesting out here. … He kicked a nearby pebble into the road and watched it skitter across, coming to a stop near the other side. “Gordon asked me what my true form is.”

“Do you have one?”

“I don’t know.” It was the not knowing that made the question a problem and maybe even a little distressing. If he could confidently say ‘no’ it wouldn’t matter but… if he did have one and it was alien, there would be other people like himself out there. Not that that mattered. Being the same species as someone else wouldn’t mean he’d want to spend any time with them if he even could, which he couldn’t. But still… “What if I do have a true form? How do I uh… find it or whatever?”

“No clue. You’re the shape shifter.”

Benrey resumed walking, going a little faster though paying just as little attention to where he was going. “That’s not helpful.”

“Well, I don’t know why you’re coming to me with this. I can’t help you with an existential crisis or whatever this is.”

“It’s not a crisis. Just… you were for sure made in the lab and I was maybe made in the lab so who else could I call?”

“Tommy.”

“Nah, he’d uh… just offer me a soda or to play Beyblades with him.” It was his solution to most emotional problems and it did help sometimes but it wouldn’t here. Or maybe it would but solely as a distraction. So maybe he should’ve gone to Tommy to get the question out of his head by just pushing it away because it didn’t matter.

“Fair. And Harold wouldn’t be particularly helpful with this kind of thing either. Meaning I’m your best bet if you can’t talk to Gordon about it. Damn. Maybe just… shape shift a bunch until you feel right or something.”

“It takes a long time to change more than a little bit though.” It had always taken awhile to do big changes even when in the middle of the parts of the facility he had the most power in. Xen itself was the only exception, there it had been pretty fast, allowing for more messing around. None of those shapes had felt ‘right’ though. What would ‘right’ even feel like? “And… I don’t know where to start.” He’d experimented with various inhuman shapes when younger, but had settled on some variance on how he looked now because it was easier. It let him put on a security guard uniform and thus be recognized as worth heeding. And all the game things and other devices he liked were designed for humans – except the N64 controllers for some reason, three hands was the best way to use those and most humans only had two. Making human-shaped his default form now but… did that make it his ‘true form’?

“Take like a weekend and just shape shift a bunch then. I found where Aperture is located… I think. It’s a few days’ drive but I’m thinking of starting down there tomorrow. You said you were thinking about coming with me for that so you could come along and just… fuck around in the back seat until you find yourself.”

“Not a bad idea, I guess, but… I can’t. Gordo says they won’t wanna hire me ‘cause they’ll want to study me if they find out I’m whatever the fuck I am and uh… being studied’s boring.” Also he couldn’t leave Gordon alone for that long without risking him dying of a sleep deprivation related accident.

“Ooh, I suppose that’s a fair worry. They can’t do anything to me though. I’d like to see them try.”

“I’ll keep an eye on your place… house sit or whatever it’s called, feed your plants, make sure no one breaks in and stuff.”

“Eh… I don’t trust you to not booby-trap the place. I’ll have Harold check on it occasionally instead.”

Damn, Benrey had indeed been planing to booby-trap the place. He still could but Coomer would likely find them instead. Which would still be funny so probably still worth it. “Fine.”

“Well, any other personal problems you want to share that I’m bound to fail to help with because I barely know how to handle my own emotions, let alone yours, or can I hang up now?”

“Uh… I think I’m good now… or better. Guess I just wanted to talk about it… maybe? Thanks for listening or whatever.” It had brought him no closer to knowing if he had a true form or what it might be if he did have one but somehow he felt a little less immediately like he wanted to scream about it.

“Eh, good luck figuring your shit out.” With that, Bubby hung up.

Benrey hung up on his end too and lowered the phone, putting it back in his pocket as he looked around. He’d walked pretty far and was nearing the edge of town. … Going the rest of the way there before turning back would be a good enough walk. He’d go slower on the way back too, enjoy the sun a bit and work out the last of Gordon somehow making him care about things that didn’t matter. … Maybe he would be doing a bit of shape shifting in the future though, see if he couldn’t find a ‘true form’. Out of curiosity and because Gordon cared, not because he cared because it didn’t matter.

~

Next Chapter

[imawholeassmood]

part 2

Lena ducks around the corner and crouches in the tall grass. Her eyes dart around as she huffs and puffs, gulping for air. Once she’s certain that mangy dog is no longer chasing her, she lets out a sigh and scopes out the area. Nothing looks familiar.

Great.

She’s about to leave the safety of the overgrown landscaping when she hears a noise. Her cat instincts take over. She crouches low, backside poised for attack. When the creature draws near, Lena takes one final breath before she leaps forward with all her might.

Her skippity baps are ready to go, claws sharp, and teeth primed to tear into whatever canine flesh is necessary. Except when she emerges from the weeds, it’s not a feral mutt before her. Lena screeches to a stop and her eyes flash from head to toe of the woman crouched low and looking right at her, all golden hair and bright, beaming eyes.

Before Lena’s finished processing this unexpected turn of events, she’s scooped up and rubbing nose to whiskers with her. The shock and confusion must show on her face because she’s promptly being held at arm’s length with the promise of a bath.

**

“No, this is bad,” Lena thinks, “I have to get out of here.” She claws and scratches at Blonde Snow White to escape this bubbly nightmare. Little Miss Sunshine is humming and muttering random names, but Lena’s preoccupied with figuring out her escape plan. She nearly chips a tooth as she bites down hard on Princess Buttercup’s hand.

Lena fights less during her towel-dry since it is the fastest way to be done with this sensory horror show, but when Elle Woods tries to swaddle her, she again resists. Her arm gets stuck in the neck hole, and she huffs out an irritated breath. Her frustration dissipates when she hears chuckling and sees a crinkle form in Briar Rose’s brow. The softness of Tinkerbell’s lips and gentleness of the kiss she places on Lena’s paw makes her forget she’s supposed to be finding a way out of here. No one’s ever handled her with such care before. She watches bespectacled blue eyes furrow in thought and Lena finds herself thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to –

“Beans,” Blondie says.

“Absolutely not,” Lena rebuts with a scowl.

“Well, if you have a name you prefer, feel free to share it.”

Lena answers, but all that comes out of her mouth is a meow, and the laugh it draws is one Lena wants to hear again. Her heart swells. It’s an odd feeling. Even odder is the feeling of Cinderella’s lips on her forehead. The feeling of affection. Towards her.

**

Since bathtime, Lena needed some alone time to work on her escape plan. She hides under the bed and grooms herself. Fortunately, Harley Quinn gets the message and leaves her alone for a while. It’s been hours since she disappeared from her private lab at L Corp and, while she knows Jess is more than capable of covering for her, there are still limits.

This latest attempt at a transmatter portal didn’t exactly produce the desired result. If Lena was going to proposition herself as an ally to National City’s Supergirl, she was going to do it with technology the local hero couldn’t resist. Wanting to distance herself from her brother’s evil legacy, Lena considered all possibilities that weren’t weapons of destruction, mass or otherwise. She hoped to have the portal ready before her first official press conference in her new home.

Lena searches the bedroom for a way out, jumping onto windowsills and pressing against the glass. Her frustration grows with each dead end. Eventually, she makes her way into the bathroom, hoping against hope to find an open window or vent. To her surprise, she finds a freshly filled litterbox. She wonders when Rapunzel got that set up. Unless, the uneasy thought comes to her, this was from a previous kidnapped cat. She swallows hard.

“Dinner’s ready,” She-Ra calls out from the other room. Lena’s stomach grumbles on cue and she curses herself for skipping lunch. Again.

She wonders if she has target tracking on her when Lena slinks along the wall only to find Linda Lee frozen in place and staring at her from the table. Lena refuses to look away first. She channels her inner businesswoman and hardens her gaze at Princess Peach. Thank goodness, she thinks, when her intimidation works because Lena feels her icy heart thaw when she notices cat toys strewn around the floor and a plate full of varying food options. She can’t be seen softening, even, or maybe especially, in this form.

“Who is this woman?” she thinks while she stares at the food spread, completely forgetting to question how and when all of these cat supplies got into the apartment. Her nose twitches as it catches a whiff of a particularly fishy dry food blend.

After finishing all but two of her options, she’s asked a question about allergies.

“A little late for that,” she thinks and cocks her head at Gabrielle. Lena misses her eyebrows.

**

Lena cannot understand why Bubbles will not just go to sleep. Despite not finding a way out of the apartment earlier, she is sure with enough time she can unlatch the…three deadbolts on the door. Genuinely concerned for her safety at this point, Lena grows more desperate in her search for a way out. She pushes against any and everything that might get her out of there. She feels eyes on her all night long, and every time she dared to look at her captor, Lady Thor was looking right back at her.

“I thought my security was tight,” Lena thinks when she catches Furiosa once again staring her down. This time, Lena plops on her backside and looks right back at her. Lena examines her closely, takes in every inch of her. She sees the way she’s curled into the corner of her small sofa with a light throw across her lap. The way her loose strands of hair fall softly from her low pony and land near plump, pink lips. The way she hugs a pillow to her chest. The way sadness sits in the corner of her eyes. Lena knows that look. It’s a look that says I’m dealing with so much more than I would dare let anyone else know. A look that begs for someone to notice.

Lena almost goes to her. But then she remembers L Corp and thinks of the conspiracies the news must be reporting, except she has no idea what’s happening because Gwen Stacy over here hasn’t put anything on the television except movies all night. She needs to get out of here.

An idea comes to her, but it will require patience and stealth. Lena finds a place to hunker down and wait.

**

Lena bolts for the opening in the door, knocking into Buffy’s legs on her way to freedom. She runs down the hallway, throwing herself into every door, looking for the one that leads to a staircase. None give way. At the end of the long hallway, as her adrenaline wanes, she spots the silvery gray doors of an elevator. Open, she commands.

When the doors don’t comply, she turns and faces Phoebe, who’s approaching her slowly and with the gentlest look on her face.

“It’s ok, Izzy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Lena looks around to see if she missed any other means of escape. Realizing she’s trapped, she sighs into the exhaustion of her fight.

“I know you’re scared,” Cher speaks again, “this is a new place and we're still getting to know each other. But, if you'll give me a chance, I promise you will never again know a day without love.”

At that, Lena softens. The word “love” sticks to her whiskers.

One day, she thinks. She’ll allow herself one day with this woman.

***

Lena was not expecting to be tethered to a chest for the rest of her one day. She was not expecting to be taken to a secret underground alien-policing facility. And she absolutely, no way in hell, was expecting the blonde woman who called her Toothless to be National City’s own Supergirl.

As the week went on with Lena trying to escape and Kara, sweet, smart, and endlessly caring Kara Danvers, toting her around, Lena’s desperation to get back to L Corp grew. The more she learned about Kara, the reporter fighting for alien amnesty who was also the superhero defending the innocent, the more Lena wanted to meet her as her human self.

The night Kara told her she loved her, Lena knew it was all she ever wanted to hear again. Kara Danvers telling her, Lena Luthor, she loved her.

***

Lena managed to slip away from Kara and find her way back to L Corp, avoiding all of the dogs in the city. Fortunately, Lena knows how to pick the best people because Jess spotted her in the lobby and immediately took Lena to the lab where they sent her back through the portal and returned her to her human form. She wastes no time.

Dawning her best black dress suit and pale pink heels, Lena makes her way to the DEO. Guns be damned, nothing is stopping her from Kara Danvers.

What's in a Name

"Oh rao, I can't believe it." Kara works to contain her excitement as she nears the tiny shadowy figure stalking her in the unkempt grass outside her apartment. "This is really happening," she squeaks, "the cat distribution system has finally picked me."

The little void peers up at her with mischievous green eyes, it's backside wriggling with anticipation. Kara crouches and waits for the impending attack.

It comes with a burst of energy that burns hot and fast, then fizzles just as quickly as the black cat halts it's attack and stares at Kara with all the regret and panic of a teenage girl who just told her best friend she's in love with her. Not wanting to scare the cat, Kara hesitates, but the thought of this little cutie spending another minute on the streets compels her to scoop it into her arms and promptly rub her nose into its face.

"Right," she says and holds the cat at arms length, a quizzical gaze on its face. "Bath first."

***

Kara takes care to get the water temperature just right. Scratchy does not appreciate the effort. Claws scrape against her skin as Shadow fights against her, desperate to escape the soapy water. Kara hadn't actually found any fleas on Toothless during her physical exam to evaluate the cat's condition, and for that, she was grateful. She couldn't stand the idea of this baby being in any worse condition. A little prick digs into her finger and she mumbles, "ok, not Toothless."

She rinses the last of the suds and begins to wipe Bones with a towel. While the fight may have ended, Kara can't help but think it's a temporary reprieve, if the look on Merlin's face tells her anything. Those green eyes bite through her, clearly plotting revenge. Kara thinks it might be a good night for an all night movie marathon.

She wraps a dry towel around the still scowling cat and a tiny paw pokes out of the opening near its head, trapped like it got stuck mid escape. A disappointed huff let's out from the wet nose and Kara giggles at the adorableness.

"Here," she says," let me help you with that." She works to tuck the paw in the towel but not before dropping a kiss on the pink toe beans. "Beans," she tests the name. The cat throws a scowl at her. "Well if you have a name you prefer, feel free to share it."

The cat meows at her, and it draws a laugh from Kara whose whole body relaxes and swells with love. She drops a kiss on the furry forehead.

"I'll work on my pronunciation."

***

With Noodle cleaned and dried and now hiding under Kara's bed, licking herself to perfection, Kara works on preparing what amounts to a small buffet for each of them. She sets the takeout boxes on the table for herself and a plate of various wet and dry cat foods on the floor for Zephyr.

"Dinner's ready," she calls out, then wonders if she should take the plate to the bedroom instead. Building trust with cats sent by the universe can take time, and Kara's mind spirals with thoughts of what horrors Anubis might have endured while living on the streets. She's halfway to planning Calypso's catio to ease the transition from rugged outdoor cat to spoiled house cat when she spots the dark figure lurking along the wall. Kara freezes.

She debates her best course of action - does she offer her hand with a pspsps or do nothing? They stare at each other. After a moment where nothing happens, Kara averts her eyes, sending her gaze to the ceiling where she spots a spider in the corner. Great she thinks, let's hope Raven doesn't have an appetite for arachnids.

Kara's pulled from her thoughts by crunching near her feet. She sneaks a peak and sees Shuri ferociously air chomping a mouthful of dry food. A face-splitting grin splashes across her face.

After watching Potsticker test each of the offerings, finishing all but two samples, Kara once again attempts to build rapport.

"You don't have any allergies do you?"

Xena cocks her head and looks at her. Kara swears if this cat were human, there'd be a quirked brow to go along with that look.

"You're very expressive," she muses. "I wonder what you're thinking."

Unice meows at her, and Kara wishes she spoke cat.

***

She's struggling to stay focused on the movie with Ripley hiding away somewhere in her apartment. Kara hasn't seen the cat for hours and worries the progress she thought she made at dinner might have just been her hopeful imagination.

By the time breakfast rolls around, Kara's convinced Peony is plotting to kill her. Neither of them slept. Kara kept an eye out with her x-ray vision and noticed Nala spent the entire night exploring, poking and prodding with her pink-toed mitts at every window, door, latch, hatch, or moving part that might lead to a way out of the apartment. Every few hours, Jynx would check on Kara, looking almost annoyed to find her awake and looking back.

Kahlua's nowhere to be found when Kara's ready to head out to CatCo. She unlocks the door and calls out, "I'll be back soon, Calliope."

A flash of black streaks across the room and knocks into Kara's legs as soon as the door cracks open. Kara catches herself and stumbles into the hallway. Mittens is running around the hall, knocking into door after door. At the end of the hall, she stops in front of the elevator, looks it up and down, then turns back to Kara.

Little Yoda's ribs vibrate with heavy puffs and her eyes are wide. Kara approaches her slowly.

"It's ok, Izzy," she purrs. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Green eyes dart around. As if realizing there's nowhere to go, the fight leaves her.

"I know you're scared," Kara says, "this is a new place and we're still getting to know each other. But, if you'll give me a chance," she swallows, "I promise you will never again know a day without love."

The look on Dotty's face softens and it melts Kara's heart. The cat looks back at the elevator one more time before walking towards Kara. Grace, with all her regal elegance, brushes against Kara's ankle. It's the greatest moment of Kara's life.

***

"What is that?" Alex asks when Kara arrives at the DEO.

"This," Kara says, straightening herself and hooking her thumbs behind the shoulder straps at her chest, "is Griffin." The name is met with an immediate meow of objection. Kara looks down at the cat strapped to her chest then looks back up to Alex. "We're still deciding on a name."

***

It goes like that for a week with Kara toting the cat around with her. Bumblebee tries to run away at least once a day and continues to deny Kara's ideas for names. The day Dino curls up with Kara while an episode of Golden Girls plays on television is the day Kara thinks her heart might explode out of her chest.

With Athena's head buried in the crook of her neck, Kara strokes gently along her side.

"I love you, Tess," she breathes into black fur. A soft thrum purrs against her.

***

Kara enters the DEO panicked and sick with fear.

"She's gone, Alex," she manages to say through garbled, teary heaves. "I have to find her."

"Who?" Alex says and squeezes Kara's arms both to steady her and calm her.

"Ma'am's," Vasquez interrupts, "you might want to see this." She holds out a remote and turns on a television.

A news report shows an aerial view of a glass skyscraper with a large "L" emblazoned on the face. The ticker reads "Missing CEO found safe."

Before Alex or Kara can ask, a commotion stirs near the door. Agents scurry and someone yells, "you can't go in there."

Alex straightens herself to face the approaching party and sets a hand on her hip holster.

Kara wipes tears from her soaked cheeks.

A woman with alabaster skin, jet black hair, and deep red lips marches straight towards her. The tailored black suit commands the attention of every pair of eyes. Pale pink heels clack against the linoleum. Kara swallows the lump in her throat.

The woman stops inches before Kara, uncaring of the weapons pointed at her. Green eyes bore into Kara.

At long last, red lips curl into a smirk and a strong eyebrow quirks. She moves her head next to Kara's, so close Kara can feel the warmth of her breath against her ear when she purrs the words, "my name is Lena."

[junegloom3d]

DOOM

Doom is one of the greatest games ever made, a whirling dervish of heavy metal, sci-fi horror and ultraviolence. The original release, sold by mail order from the offices of id Software, featured three episodes of nine levels each (always with one level being a secret, usually with its own gimmick.) That's twenty-seven levels of mayhem from id Software's mappers: John Romero, Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen.

The full review of the game is available on my Medium account.

Episode One: Knee Deep in the Dead

Back in the day, many PC games were sold on the shareware model, in which an often generous portion of the game was distributed for free or relatively cheap. Many games, such as Doom, were thus divided into thematically distinct episodes, with the first episode intended as an extended teaser. "Knee Deep in the Dead" is almost entirely John Romero's show, with a tightly managed design ethos that allowed for a consistent experience. Maps with contributions by the other two, or in the case of E1M8, done entirely without Romero, stick out like sore thumbs from Romero's particular flow.

E1M1: Hanger (John Romero)

The coveted E1M1 slot is the most important level in a game like Doom. It's the level you use to sell the game, the first impression; if your first level isn't fun, how can players be expected to keep playing? This isn't anime. "Hangar" is short and sweet, a linear little teaser for what's next, with a courtyard you can access if you know where to look.

E1M2: Nuclear Plant (John Romero)

Romero's freewheeling design ethos is most apparent here, a much larger offering divided into two wings. The east wing is where most of the shotgunners are, if you can find a way out into the yard. The west wing is much larger, though the bulk of it is an entirely optional maze of computer panels and strobing lights that hide a large hunting party of zombies and imps.

E1M3: Toxin Refinery (John Romero)

On a superficial level it's the same conceit as "Nuclear Plant," with two separate wings to explore. But when you actually play it you'll see the sheer genius of it with its varied setpieces and tantalizing secrets. Being able to open the secret path across the pit from the starting point is supremely satisfying.

E1M9: Military Base (John Romero)

One of the odder offerings from Romero, "Military Base" is a set of about ten plain, boxy rooms in a grid pattern. The central cage full of imps will keep you busy while you mow down the zombie hordes, but the biggest threat is the horde of monsters teleporting in when you pick up the rocket launcher.

E1M4: Command Control (Tom Hall and John Romero)

If you looked up "techbase" in the dictionary you'd see this map. The basic framework from Tom Hall is clear in the sprawling maze of corridors and big rooms, full of zombies and other beasties to kill. The central pagoda is the most interesting setpiece, but I'm partial to the elevator that only goes up once and the maze in the southwest. Infamously this map had a chamber with computers arranged in a swastika pattern in tribute to Wolfenstein 3D; later versions of the map wisely rearranged this to a less controversial symbol. Romero would eventually go back and do a more completely Romero take on the level with Phobos Mission Control.

E1M5: Phobos Lab (John Romero)

This one feels curiously industrial compared to Romero's other levels, with its sprawling pit of toxic goo and the catwalk you have to raise up to get to the yellow key. The horde of zombies and imps that come after you in the west room will be an unwelcome surprise, and even after all these years I still sometimes get caught out by it.

E1M6: Central Processing (John Romero)

This and the following level are my favorites of the episode, the moment where Doom truly comes into its own with a sprawling, three-winged complex. What to highlight? Perhaps the massive ambush early on in the red key room? Or the maze of toxin storage chambers to the east? Perhaps the sheer wall of demons and spectres that are unleashed upon you in the penultimate encounter?

E1M7: Computer Station (John Romero)

The pièce de résistance of the episode is an enormous dark maze of computers and vast chambers of toxic goo, divided into distinct sections. In true survival horror fashion, you'll sometimes have to backtrack, only to bump into newly-unleashed monsters who were hiding in closets before heading off to look for you.

E1M8: Phobos Anomaly (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

The only level in the entire episode without any contribution from Romero, "Phobos Anomaly" is as straightforward as it gets, and utterly, irrevocably Sandy Petersen. The big finale has you fighting not just two Barons of Hell but also a horde of spectres in a dark, star-shaped chamber. Survive and the walls fall away, revealing a sinister teleporter. Step onto it and face the famous final ambush. And if you crave a more complete John Romero experience, he would reclaim the E1M8 slot for himself years later with Tech Gone Bad.

Final thoughts

"Knee Deep in the Dead," as the shareware episode, is a great showcase of what Doom can offer. While the limited bestiary means you'll be fighting mostly hordes of zombies, the freewheeling level design and strong theming makes for a memorable first outing.

Episode two: The Shores of Hell

For all that everyone praises John Romero's level design, he disappears entirely after "Knee Deep," leaving Tom and Sandy to take over. Tom hardly has a single level to himself; his design philosophy was largely at odds with his fellows, and their fraying working relationship, in part driven by Tom's lack of enthusiasm for the project (Tom is a big kid at heart and preferred the softer, more humorous vibe of Commander Keen) eventually led to his ouster at id Software. Nevertheless, his influence is clear in many levels given his predilection for big, semi-realistic complexes.

E2M1: Deimos Anomaly (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

"Shores" gets things started with a bang. Far less sedate an opener than "Hangar" ever was, it strikes a different tone with dark grey brick walls, hordes of zombies and imps, and sinister architecture like the inverse cross right around the corner from the start point that damages you as you pass through it. This is also the first level we really get to see teleporters in, jumping around the various parts of a disconnected map. If you're clever you'll find an early plasma rifle, but be warned that it's guarded on higher difficulties by what's likely to be your first cacodemon.

E2M2: Containment Area (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

Years ago, the nerd culture site Old Man Murray had a running joke about the time it took from the start of a game to when you saw a crate or barrel since they were such common features. You can probably blame "Containment Area" for starting this trend with a sprawling crate maze full of imps, but storage wars are only part of the story. An optional armory has some goodies for you, but opening the supply closets means freeing the monsters within. It's a pretty fun Tom Hall joint, with Hell's corruption making itself felt in large parts of the map.

E2M3: Refinery (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

An odd level to say the least, this one feels like an intermission on your way to the next big thing. It's positively crawling with cacos, but in spite of that it's relatively flat and cramped without much room for them -- or you -- to maneuver. The big toxin chambers are pretty tricky with the narrow center walls making it tough to cross quickly. "Refinery" also marks the arrival of the Baron of Hell as an ordinary enemy; short of Cybie and the Spiderdemon, every enemy in the game is represented in this.

E2M4: Deimos Lab (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

Doom has always been pretty spooky but the back half of "Shores" is where the game is arguably at its scariest, with a moody soundtrack and lots of tough monsters. Much of the early part of the map winds around a toxic river, but as you work your way deeper into the lab you get to see some more sinister chambers like the red-light room in the north west, or the vine-choked circular room with the staircase leading to a teleporter.

E2M5: Command Center (Sandy Petersen)

It's not a Tom Hall level, but it sure feels like one, an enormous complex of winding paths and dead ends. The Baron and caco fight in the central room doesn't give you a lot of room to maneuver; brave explorers will likely stumble upon the optional toxin vat in the northwest, but you'd have to make a trip down a long, poisonous hallway to get there. The secret level is really easy to find, it's just a matter of knowing what switch does what.

E2M9: Fortress Of Mystery (Sandy Petersen)

A pure gimmick map, consisting of two chambers, one with Barons and one with cacodemons. Savvy players will get these two groups to fight each other, and then pick off the survivors (usually the Barons.) Once they're all dead you can grab all the stuff and get out of there. The caco corpses and tortured Barons ought to tell you how they feel each other.

E2M6: Halls Of The Damned (Sandy Petersen)

Probably my favorite level of the episode, "Halls of the Damned" is an ominous complex of setpieces, each with their own vibe. Sandy employs his tabletop roots to the fullest with all sorts of DnD fuckery, from the disappearing floor in the courtyard to the fake exit that drops you into a nightmarish chamber of blood and guts to be jumped by an ambush squad of monsters. The dark, wooden maze full of monsters is like E1M4's imp-and-pinky warren on steroids.

E2M7: Spawning Vats (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

Tom Hall's stamp of realism is most apparent in this level, with the sense that we're really exploring some sort of twisted, corrupted laboratory. It starts you off on the run with some demons on your tail, but the rest of the map is a sprawling survival horror show. The shiny chrome lab area in the south central will tease you with the yellow key, but first you'll have to deal with the horde of pinkies in the storage room. Great stuff -- it'd be my favorite if not for "Halls of the Damned."

E2M8: Tower Of Babel (Sandy Petersen)

An even more straightforward boss level than "Phobos Anomaly," "Tower of Babel" teases itself all throughout the episode as you can see it being built on the end-of-level screen. When you finally get to it, it can seem a bit underwhelming: a simple boss arena. And then you hear the roar of the Cyberdemon and the mechanical thumping of its hooves...

Final thoughts

People like to talk up "Knee Deep in the Dead" thanks to its tight design and their own fond memories of playing the shareware, but I think "The Shores of Hell" is a more complete picture of Doom in a nutshell. It's darker, scarier, and meaner; its disordered design ethos and wild mishmash of textures that don't always gel together speaks to the game's somewhat haphazard development, but also enhance the unreality of a human installation being subverted by a dimension of pain and fear.

Episode three: Inferno

Welcome to the Sandy Petersen show. While Tom Hall does have his contributions to this episode, the majority of the design is Sandy's, and it shows. It's weird, ugly, full of traps, and leaves you with a sense of being hunted. You're in the devil's domain now, kids. Saddle up.

E3M1: Hell Keep (Sandy Petersen)

We kick things off with the memorable moment of rising up from a field of -- is that supposed to be innards? tentacles? Whatever it is, it's unsettling. Imps wander the field, but it's the cacos just behind the front door that provide the real threat. Grabbing the shotgun and surviving the imp encounter beyond requires some fancy moves, but by that point you should have enough footing to deal with the rest of the level.

E3M2: Slough Of Despair (Sandy Petersen)

Sandy's penchant for idiosyncratic level design is at its most obvious here with a map in the shape of a grasping hand. There's a sense of a hellish wilderness in this blasted moonscape, with each of the "fingers" forming a cave with their own mysteries to discover. If you can take down the zombies and other threats lurking the rocky canyon maze, you'll be well on your way to arming yourself for the dangers ahead.

E3M3: Pandemonium (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

What began as a control center in Doom's early alpha days (back when it was much more similar to System Shock) is now a lost techbase, with much of it not even having been converted, but it still maintains both its Tom Hall-esque sprawling layout and its Sandy Petersen-esque unsettling aesthetics. The optional area to the east has some nice goodies, though be warned that it's heavily guarded.

E3M4: House Of Pain (Sandy Petersen)

No, not the rappers. A complex of torture chambers and other horrors, crammed to the brim with monsters. On an aesthetic level I like the chamber full of tormented souls chained to pillars, observable through a window in the far west; more relevant to the player are the "lungs" and "stomach" rooms by the starting point to the north, the latter having a pair of crushers guarding items you may want.

E3M5: Unholy Cathedral (Sandy Petersen)

Ugh, I hate this level. While the appearance of flaming runes have implications about Hell's language and culture, the actual map is a teleporter nightmare that's difficult to navigate and full of high-level threats, especially the hot room to the northwest and the skull pit in the east from whence a horde of monsters arise, baying for your blood. Cool atmosphere if nothing else.

E3M6: Mt. Erebus (Sandy Petersen)

Hell finally opens up again with a level that would anticipate the sprawling open complexes of Doom II, but be ready to be beset by swarms of cacos flying in over the burning lake and other threats wandering the island. Most any building you break into will trigger a siege from the hordes who want it back, but it's the Y-shaped building in the northwest that induces the biggest response. Getting to the secret level requires a little planning, or at least some luck with straferunning.

E3M9: Warrens (Sandy Petersen)

Wait, isn't this just "Hell Keep?" It plays out exactly the same, though if you're playing continuous you should be significantly better armed than you were the first go-round. Find your way through and step into the teleporter... only for the walls to fall away and reveal the truth about this level, with an angry cyberdemon staring you in the face. It's a gimmick map, but it's a good gimmick.

E3M7: Gate To Limbo (Tom Hall and Sandy Petersen)

One last maze, awash in seas of toxic blood. For the size of the level, the relatively low monster count might seem like no big deal, until you realize just how much of the level is dangerous to stand in. More than anything though what stands out to me is the vibe, huge disconnected chambers with locked teleporter coffins, feeling a bit like some kind of hellish crypt complex.

E3M8: Dis (Sandy Petersen)

Along came a spider... "Dis" is a boss arena that doesn't give you much protection against the withering fire of the spiderdemon's hitscan attack. If you're feeling brave you can try to use the central pagoda as cover, but honestly if you have the BFG and you're quick you can just dance on up to her and squash her before she's had a chance to unload.

Final thoughts

Episode 3 is something of a mixed bag. Sandy's vision of Hell doesn't have a consistent theme; it's a mishmash of ideas and aesthetics, leaning towards a traditional fire-and-brimstone look as opposed to the more gothic, even medieval aesthetics as seen in the likes of Quake, Hellraiser, and even later Doom games. I suppose the heavy metal soundtrack plays a part in that. Regardless, it's still a fun ride with a lot of cool traps and weird shit to see.

[virtualrealitynewstoday]

《GAZZLERS》正式登陸PSVR2現已發售!

《GAZZLERS》正式登陸PSVR2現已發售! "GAZZLERS" is officially launched on PSVR2 and is now on sale!

Odders Lab開發商製作的《GAZZLERS》正式登入PSVR…

[brightlilies-a]

  f-fwiendwy wemindew  (´・ω・｀) !!   only no really please take me seriously as i weep

  please do a mcsolid and read my new rules if u haven’t ! while i kept the same url and albi is pretty much unchanged, this blog runs a lot differently ! namely i’m a lot slower ! and i don’t have this account attached to anything but an e-mail so i don’t !! see everything right away !! sadly this also goes for tumblr im’s, like... you are at the mercy of when i have time to be here if you message me that way. i will answer, but it.. might take a hot minute...

   basically please please please be patient with me this go around !! and also the rest of my rules. they’re important. thank yew  |ω・`)ﾉ

[ichangedmycornyahhname]

Miguel O’Hara x spider-person!reader

Summary: Reader returns to the web of life after a run in with another spider person. Miguel of course isn’t too happy to hear about them interfering with other dimensions.

Warnings: smut- slutty smut | Miguel using his fangs and Talons to tease | Backshots? 🫶 | A little degrading | Choking | Kinda fluffy ig? | Miguel might be outta character but whatever

She gulped, hands fiddling with one another as she walked through the twisting cavern where all of the other spider people resided. She knew she had screwed up, but she wasn’t about to let someone punch her and get away with it. Even if it may or may not have screwed up a timeline or two. Typically she’d find a way to avoid such a thing, or at least fix it. But this time, he had found out before she could do anything.

It’s not as though she didn’t like Miguel. In fact, the two had flirted once or twice. But it would seem their little fling was merely that. A fling. Which is why she was expecting a harsh lecture from the man.

She entered the lab he stayed in, the bright red, blue, and yellow lights beginning to overstimulate her eyes. Yet the large dark figure standing amongst it all is what kept her attention. “How many times do I have tell you?—“ He turned around, the lenses of his mask narrowing as he glared down at her. “You don’t go off without back up. Now you’ve gone and messed everything up Y/N.” He wasn’t wrong, and she knew it. That was why his words irritated her so. Her brows knitted, her twisting into a frown as she spoke up.

“You go out without backup all of the time Miguel. So how is this any different.” Her snarky comment seemed to do something to the Spider-Man, because he now found himself curling his hands open and closed as he inches closer to her. “Is that your excuse Y/N?” His curt response didn’t come as any shock to her, and all she could seem to do was shake her head and cross her arms. “That’s what I thought.”

That little comment only added more fuel to the fire. Her eyes narrowed beneath her mask, her arms unfolding as she turned around and began to walk away. She wouldn’t listen to his idiotic comments. Not today. Instead she attempted to excuse herself before she said anything she would regret. Although it would seem to be too late for that. In an instant she found her body being pushed against a cluttered desk, her cheek smushed against the cool metal. Her wrists were pinned beside her head, large firm hands grasping each. “Miggy— what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m getting sick of that attitude Y/N. Always rolling your eyes and making stupid jokes.” She jolted, the soft graze of a needle drawing her attention. Except, it wasn’t a needle. It was the small talons on his finger tips gently pricking at her suit. The odd feeling brought an even odder feeling within her stomach. And soon she found herself trying to look back at Miguel who was currently teasing at her shoulder blades with his fangs. They were sharp and prickled her back in just the right way. “Miggy..” She sputtered as her back arched, hips curving up in an attempt to get even the tiniest bit of friction. “Sit still.” Was all she received.

His hands traveled down her body, slowly trailing down her back, following the slight curve of her spine until finally his hands remained firm on her ass. His thumbs grazed over her bottom, squeezing and fondling as his kisses along her back trailed down. “Oh crap—“ Cool air slipped into her suit as the crotch area was torn through the middle and something warm intruded. Miguel’s finger rubbed circles around her sensitive area, the soft fabric of her panties drawing a chuckle from him. “So quick with comebacks, and now you’re wiggling your hips for me like a slut. How cute.” The sarcasm in his voice almost made her tell him to shut up, but his tongue interrupted before she could get another word out. The warmth of his tongue felt unfamiliar, as did the resounding slap that echoed through the place. Her ass stung, a whine leaving her as his thumb rubbed circles around the stricken area. “You’ll be fine.” He grumbled before he began to lap at her cunt. His tongue worked at her clit, licking and slurping lazily. And while he wasn’t even trying, she found herself humming softly at his touch. He continued to lap at her while using his hands to keep her in place. “Damnit wait-“

For once Miguel actually listened. His tongue no longer pressed pleasantly against her body, and he instead stood from his knees. “I didn’t mean literally- I just-“

Smack

A yelp of surprise bounced off the walls, her head lifting as Miguel’s hand remained stuck to her behind. A small smile was on his lips, the lenses of his mask narrowing ever so slightly. She knew that look. Miguel lifted one of her legs, hoisting it onto the table so that one leg was up and the other supported her. The bottom half of his suit was pushed down to his upper thighs, his happy trail peeking beneath the upper half of his suit. His meaty thighs flexed as he moved himself closer, and that’s when she felt the soft tip of his cock. It rutted against the side of her thigh, precum sticking to her skin as his hands found the small of her back. “Keep your legs spread like that. It might be a tight fit.”

-

“Miggy please! I can’t-“ Papers that had previously been on the metal desk were low strewn about, littering the floor. Her cheek was pressed against the desk, Miguel’s hand tangling in her hair as his heavy thrusts drew a moan from her each time. She could hear his hot breaths, and feel the way his abs flexed against her back as he leaned against her. Miguel’s fangs pricked at the top of her ear, his harsh pants making her clit throb. His hand that wasn’t occupied with her hair came down to squeeze at her curves, just as her pretty cunt squeezed perfectly at his cock. She gushed around him, squelches filling the room as he continued to pound into her.

Miguel was growing rougher, needier. He slipped his cock out and lifted her from the desk. Her feet met the floor, shaky and uneasy. “Spread your legs a little more. I won’t fit if you don’t.” He demanded as he kicked her legs apart a bit more. His hands returned to her body, one finding her neck while the other rested on her lower abdomen. “God, I was hoping you’d act like a bitch so I could’ve fucked that attitude out of you..but seeing how you melt for me..” His cock slipped back in, his hand trailing down from her stomach to her clit. He gave it the occasional rub, synchronizing it with every thrust. The act only drew more moans from her, her head lulling back onto his chest. “If you keep groaning like that I might cum mi amor..” His words, while a warning, only lured her in. She began to roll her hips as best she could, the friction causing Miguel’s breath to hitch. “Fuck you’re really are my slut huh? Cmere.”

His hips fucked into hers, the resounding slaps of skin being drowned out by their moans and groans. His cock throbbed inside of her as her orgasm caused her to tighten up. “Oh crap miggy…” She cursed under her breath. “Yeah I know baby..” He responded as his lips found hers, a slow sensual kiss ensuing. His finger swirled at her clit as he slipped his cock out, now fucking her thighs instead. The combined stimulation had her hunching over, her legs shaking as her orgasm crashed over her. “Y/N you’re spilling all over..fuck me.” Miguel groaned out, his head falling back as he bit back a moan. With his jaw clenched tight and sweat sheening his forehead, he came. Spurts of white decorated the messy desk, along with Y/Ns spider suit.

“Well fuck..if I would’ve known that was all it took to get you to fuck me then damn..” She chuckled breathily, her hands grasping at the desk as she attempted to steady herself.

“Shush, don’t ruin the moment..” Miguel placed a gentle kiss on the side of her neck, a groan leaving him as he wrapped his arms around her torso. “You’re still in trouble.”

[wicked-futures]

Project Minx [One]

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word-Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Misogynist creeps, Drug use

Summary: You are sent on a solo mission to track a rouge scientist to his supposed home base where he distributes drugs.

Notes: Since this is the first chapter, there is no Ghost yet... Sorry babes.

Read on AO3

People lined the street waiting to get into the club, most in varying states of intoxication. You felt out of place, not having been to a place like this in many years. The so-called ‘dress’ you were wearing did nothing to help. It was just a small piece of black fabric that left very little to the imagination. It made you feel incredibly exposed, even with the years of training you had stashed under your belt.

Somehow, you still had a pistol and a knife strapped onto your body. A chill breeze suddenly hit you, causing goosebumps to spread. A New York club in the dead of winter was not your forte, and you wanted to get this mission done as soon as possible.

The outside of “The Den” seemed like any other stereotypical dance club in the area. A basic black brick building, accompanied by blacked-out windows. Loud bass could be heard from the outside, which made you cringe internally. The constant loud background noise would make it hard for you to focus at points, especially when trying to listen to intel from your team.

Anything to get your paycheck and leave, maybe finally to take a vacation. After years of being under different contracts with different agencies, you were exhausted from the work. Yet you felt guilty for wanting to take that break since there was always another problem to be fixed. Always someone fucking up the world for the rest of everyone.

This time, it was a rouge Russian scientist. Dmitri Volkov, also known as “Wolf” had specialized in pharmaceutical sciences with their military. His career was spent researching different ways to make pain medications work faster for those on the field, and ways to help with shock. A year prior, he completely dropped off the radar.

Many ruled it suicide, but a body was never found. Authorities searched his labs, he was gone without a trace. Even odder, so was all of his working gear. Shortly after, people in the party scene in Russia started mass ODing. The drug was never found in people's systems, yet clear signs of overdosing were shown on their bodies.

Different groups sent in decoys to find the drug, or find any information on it. The off-white powder was sold in small baggies, with a wolf emblem etched onto them. Not many were aware of the ties of the ‘dead’ scientist and the drug, but that was where you fit in. It was your job to scope out the aptly named party club, “The Den.” As a partygoer, it was your job to weasel your way into the underground system. You needed to be trusted by the higher-ups and get to Volkov.

“Minx, do you copy?” The hidden earpiece spoke, jolting you from the surprise. The familiar voice of your partner helped with the nerves. Jessica Salvatore had been one of the only females in your basic training, and you stook together ever since. Even when you took the solo route when she found out you were involved with a mission, so was she.

Friends were rare to come by with your lifestyle, so you never took Jessica for granted. She knew you liked working alone but somehow weaseled her way into your ‘team’ and your life. 

“Affirmative, waiting for the club to open up. I’m freezing my tits out here Jess,” You heard a chuckle coming from the other side of the comms, making you roll your eyes. She wasn’t the one in stilettos outside a club, dressed sluttier than you ever had been in your life. Even during your party days, the outfits had never been this extreme.

“I can see you, by the way, don’t forget I also have a job to do,” She mentioned, and you could practically hear the sarcastic grin in her voice. By her words, you could bet the security cam system of the club was well into your team's possession by now.

If there is one thing Jessica “Cybernaut” Salvatore was known for was her expertise in computer systems and hacking. She spent most of her teenage years behind a screen, cracking codes and creating her own. She took interest in using her skills for military use instead of becoming an IT or whatnot. You thought that was blasphemous, as Jessica could be well off by now.

But that wasn’t her lifestyle, and neither was it yours. You were never that phenomenally interested in anything during high school, drifting from club to club. Granted you weren’t terrible at them either, but nothing ever stuck. All you know is you wanted to help people, and you were also extremely competitive. An existential crisis hit halfway through senior year, and you ended up joining the military.

You quickly found out what you had been missing all those years. Learning how to fight and use weapons filled some holes you had been missing in your life. With that newfound knowledge, you pushed yourself year after year. After thousands of hours of practice, your combat skills improved tremendously. You became a lethal weapon, paired with a pretty face. 

After a while, you got bored of it all. You needed a change in scenery, a different job perhaps. Multiple groups took interest in you, but you decided to be a lone contractor by yourself. This meant you picked what missions you went on, who to help, and when. It was stressful, especially with the high risks.

Most days you didn’t know if you were going to make it home alive. 

The name “Minx” was slapped onto you during one of your first missions. The name seemed stupid to you at first, even sexist. Yet, you learned to love it once you realized how you could use your beauty as a weapon. Deciding to not let it get to you, you knew the name had a double meaning. It was just a part of you, alluring yet dangerous.

You noticed the line starting to move, which made your nerves inch up a little bit. A lot was riding on your shoulders tonight, and you wanted to prove yourself. 

The height of your heel seemed lethal enough, you were surprised you could even walk in them. After most of your life spent in combat boots, tall stilettos were a massive change. Your feet hurt a little, but the cold numbed them slightly which you were thankful for. 

With the line moving, you could finally see the door to the club in front of you. You mentally went through all of the goals in your brain, making sure everything was sorted. You focused on what you needed to do, turning off the rest of your brain. The coldness and nervousness drifted away as you were put into a focused headspace.

The bouncer scanned your ID, making sure everything matched. There was no way he was going to know it was a fake, especially since it was made by some form of government. You didn’t care who you were working with, a job was a job. As long as you worked for the ‘good’ guys, all was well. You shot him an excited smile, hoping to play the part of a partygoer well. The bouncer glanced at your body before giving the ID back, shooting a creepy smile in your direction.

“Don’t have too much fun,” He winked, a flirty tone to his voice. You tried not to cringe at the man, instead nodding at him. A quick thanks was muttered from you, and then you were off. The club was already packed when you entered, people crowded in every nook and cranny. You thanked whatever god there was that you were trained for this type of situation, and knew what to do in case hell broke loose.

You took a spot at the bar and instantly looked around the club. The whole thing was very cliche, and looked like any other bar in New York. Ordering some random cocktail off of the menu, you did your best to blend in with the crowd. While mentally taking note of every possible exit, you noticed what looked like a regular partygoer come out of an unmarked door. It might have been innocent, but it piqued your interest anyway.

“Pick up the pace Minx, we haven't got all night.” A voice spoke into your earpiece. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, you couldn’t get the whole mission done in five minutes.

Finishing your drink, you decided to join the crowd on the dance floor. You needed to see this drug in action, and what its users looked like. The dance floor met you with people who were visibly intoxicated by either drugs or alcohol. A woman in front of you was dancing by herself, filling the air with giggles. The flashing lights and loud music obscured her appearance from you, but when you caught a glimpse of her it was hard to not stare.

She noticed you watching her after a moment, turning to face you as she smiled. The woman looked like a corpse who had wandered onto the dance floor. Her ghastly pale skin seemed as though it was going to flake off any moment, and her eyes were incredibly sunken in. Even with the state of her appearance, the woman looked like she was having the time of her life.

Her eyes seemed lively yet so incredibly dead at the same time, the stark contrast threatening shivers down your spine. She was a living zombie, as were many others around her. You looked away for a moment, noticing many others that looked exactly like her. A piece of your brain clicked, remembering the symptoms of those on the drug.

Whatever was in this drug was killing people from the inside out.

“You’re really pretty, what's your name?” The corpse woman slurred, her uncomforting stare meeting yours. You smiled in return, giving her your fake name for the night. She told you her name was Becca, and she invited you to dance for a while.

“Are you bored?” She asked, her drugged gaze freezing you in your place. You nodded in response, hoping this was the lead you needed. Becca took your hand into her cold and clammy one, yanking you off of the dance floor. The earpiece you wore crackled to life again as you were whisked around the club.

“Do what she says, we’ll get you out of there if need be,” Jessica spoke, the farewell message leaving a sour note on your tongue. You decided to ignore it and noticed the woman brought you to the unmarked door you saw earlier. She turned around and opened the door, ushering you in. 

The pitch-black stairway was lined with rainbow LEDs, switching between different colors. You thanked the lights for being there as you tottered down the stairs, being led by Becca. For a moment, you let your mind wander. You wondered what the young girl's life was like, especially before she got hooked on the drug. Did she have a family? A significant other? Did she abandon it all for her addiction? The thought gave you goosebumps, and you immediately went back on track

“So what have you done before?” Becca asked when you entered the basement. The whole thing was massive, looking like a whole separate club. The landscape was different, giving off a much darker vibe. The people in the basement also looked different from the rest of the clubgoers, many of them visibly rich.

“Not much, I did coke once if that counts,” You responded, trying to seem interested in the whole ordeal. It was hard to focus on the girl in front of you when there was a whole black market happening in front of you, the dangerous drugs being passed around like candy.

“This is gonna be so much better,” Becca smiled at you, and chills ran down your back. Her uneasy stare, her lifeless eyes, she looked soulless. Becca held out her hand to you before waving a man over, expecting you to pay. You pulled a twenty out of your bra and gave it to her as she grinned, visibly excited for her next hit. 

She exchanged with the man, giving you the small tablet. The size of the drug was concerning, it was minuscule. It was shocking to you how small it was, and how much damage that tiny thing could do. Remembering what Jessica said, you hesitantly took the drug. You knew there were about five minutes before it started setting in, so you had to get out as soon as possible. 

The last thing you remembered of that night was feeling incredibly nauseous and dizzy.

“Good morning,” A voice called from a few feet away as you finally came too. You felt as if you got hit by a semi-truck, maybe a few of them. A migraine ravaged your head, and the rest of your body felt like sludge.

“They did some tests on your blood, there's some scary shit in that drug Minx.” Flickering your eyes to the voice, you noticed Jess was sitting next to you while typing on a computer. She had a bunch of her gear and overall looked exhausted. You reckoned that you probably looked worse, having been drugged.

You didn’t ask questions about how you got out of the club, but you also didn’t care since you made it out safely. There were other objectives to worry about, like Volkov himself. He was never shown inside the club, even though that was tipped off as his headquarters. The scientist was smart, he could’ve been anywhere. 

You were disappointed in yourself for not finding out more information other than securing the drug itself. It felt as if there was more you could’ve done, more contributions you could’ve added. Sitting silent in the bed for a moment, you contemplated what was going to happen next.

With security cam footage and audio recordings to back you up, you could prove how big of an issue the drug was becoming. After the testing, it was clear what was in the drug itself and how it was so addictive and dangerous. Jessica typed on her computer for a little while longer, leaving the room in silence. You assumed she was finishing the review on the mission, letting the higher-ups know you were alive and well. She sighed as she heard her phone buzzing, excusing herself into the hallway for a second.

Hospitals were nothing new to you, a painful memory of a life before. Nights spent sobbing next to a bed, praying to whatever god would listen. When your mother died, a piece of you died with her. You just hoped she was proud of what you made of yourself.

“I’ve got news for you,” Jessica re-entered the room with a grim expression on her face. You expected something extremely bad or unfortunate based on the last 24 hours.

“Higher-ups think this Volkov shit is getting way too out of hand, thinks we can’t finish it alone. They’re gonna do some more digging themselves, but in the meantime they want us to team up with a task force.” The news wasn’t all that terrible to you, more of a nuisance than anything. It had been so long since you worked with others that weren’t directly associated with you, so the idea of meeting a new group excited you.

“They’re gonna send us some info on the group ASAP, you’ll probably be up and ready to go by then. If we want to continue working on this case, we can’t do it alone.” The short timeline wasn’t anything new to you. You were used to a fast-paced lifestyle, never staying in one place long. You raised yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the protest of your limbs.

“Well, let's get started then.”

[sitp-recs]

Hi, please help, I beg!

I just had to rage quit a fic with Draco pining over Harry and going "oh, he doesnt want me, of course", "why would he ever return my feelings", "i should tell him but that will ruin our friendship for sureeee", etc....for 30 chapters (at least! 60 more till the end😅) My fault, of course, I should have quit ages ago. Anyway, can you recommend Draco that knows his worth, knows he's a catch, knows he's hot and smart and most importantly knows that Harry knows all those things too and can see perfectly well that Harry WANTS him back.

Hi anon! I see you have strong feelings about Draco 😂💜 you’re a champion for reading 30 chapters of slow burn, my body literally cannot take it. Personally I adore a quirky, proud Draco but I also think it makes sense to see him a bit wrong-footed and insecure when he’s around Harry, considering his/their past. In any case here’s some sexy and confident Draco for you, I hope you enjoy!

push and pull you down by M0stlyVoid (E, 5k)

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God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

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Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

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[porcupine-girl]

Okay, I am fascinated and I have SO many questions about "it needs [verbed]".

I begin with the basic assumption that there's no right or wrong way to speak a language. And I am not poking fun with any of my questions...I genuinely cant tell what will sound wrong to your ear, and I am just really curious here.

Because it's not just removing the infinitive, it's removing the verb "to be". Once I get a hug, I can say "I am hugged" (or I have been hugged). That's "to be" plus the (I think) past participle? But this form uses the participle without "to be". So is it only "to be" that can be omitted? And is it always omitted before the past participle, or just when it comes after a verb? Or only after certain verbs? Is it just before a participle, or before adjectives as well?

You say, I think, "My workspace needs organized." I would say it needs to be organized. Or, less likely but still possible, my workspace needs organizing. But if it doesn't need it? You'd use the verb "to be" in that case, wouldn't you? You'd say "My workspace is organized", right? Or no?

And what about an adjective, like maybe "careful"?

He needs to be careful? Or he needs careful?

Does it apply with "going to"? I might say, "My workspace is going to be organized." Would you say it differently?

Only slightly related: I worked with a guy who grew up...I don't actually remember where? I want to say Pennsylvania, and since I dont have a good sense of what counts as "midwest" I don't know how relevant this is, but I'll still say it. He said that because there is so much German (or German adjacent) history in the area, people will sometimes use German form in English. The example he used was "Offen the light" for "turn off the light". I wonder if something like that is at play here?

Regional variations are just an incredible wealth of information about the linguistic history of a place??? I would love to know what theories there are about why this exists, and why only there. (You work in a linguistics lab, did you say?? Do you know of any?)

Wow, this ended up as a very long ask. Feel free to disregard, if you dont feel like geeking out about this with me.

LOL This is all so wild because it makes perfect sense to me and it's baffling that it's so complicated to anyone else???

The easiest way to explain is that anytime you would say "X is (past tense verb)" you can replace the "is" with "needs" and it's fine? "This needs organized," "the floor needs vacuumed," etc. Most of your examples/questions outside of that very specific range wouldn't work.

Sometimes "wants" works, but it's rare and sounds odder because "wants" implies agency whereas "x needs to be y" is passive. Like if someone said "the plant wants watered" I wouldn't blink, and I might say it myself, but I wouldn't write it whereas when it's "needs" I do it automatically even in formal writing.

However, "the dogs want out" is fine - do you require the verb "to go" there?? I honestly have no idea!

That happened back in college, I haven't worked in a psycholinguistics lab in decades. I emailed the prof I worked for asking if he knew anything about it and he never replied so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[kimoralov3]

Loki Secret Santa Event

Requested by: @tonystarkfucksaround

Word Count: 1080

Pairing: Not really a pairing, but Peter Parker and Loki

Warnings: My usual bad writing

It was a pretty normal day at the compound - well as normal as you could get when it comes to the Avengers. Most of them were out and about somewhere. Carol, Wanda, and Natasha went to go see a movie, Thor was on a date with Jane, Sam and Bucky were visiting Sarah, Clint was home with his family, and Bruce was on a vacation.

That only left a few more heroes; Tony, Peter, and the newest recruit, Loki Laufeyson. To some, this may seem like an odd group of people, but what might be even odder is that they were sitting in the living room, and Peter was trying to teach Loki how to play Dance Dance Revolution.

“So Midgardians play this game for fun? I don’t quite see the appeal; it just seems like an overly complicated way to work up a sweat.” Loki complained as they stared at the screen in slight disgust.

“That’s an awful lot of words to say that you don’t understand something, Reindeer Games.” Tony quipped from the couch. Loki scowled at him before turning his attention back to Peter.

“Ignore what Mr. Stark is saying - this game is really fun! Just play one round with me and you’ll see what I’m talking about.” Peter explained as he pointed at the game.

Loki sighed; this game really did seem like one of the more stupid things Midgradians had come up with, but the way that Peter was looking at him with those adorably big eyes was enough to convince them to play the game. “Fine, but you’re picking the song.”

Peter let out a quiet ‘yes’ before going to the song menu and picking a random one. He made sure Loki wasn’t looking before setting the difficulty to 2. “Ok, you’re all set up Mx. Laufeyson! Enjoy!” Peter exclaimed as he stepped aside.

“This ought to be entertaining,” Tony mumbled as he sat up.

The song started off easy, only requiring one stomp at a time. “This is easy, I could do this in my sleep.” Loki bragged. It was a bit too soon though because they soon began to struggle as the song went on. The steps were a lot closer together, and he had to use both legs instead of just one.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., are you recording all of this… prime entertainment?” Tony asked as he watched in amusement.

“Yes sir. I am programmed to record anything that happens in this compound for security reasons.” The AI responded. Tony nodded, turning his attention back to Loki.

“This is impossible! You’re telling me people do this for fun?!” Loki yelled as the song came to its most difficult part.

“Yeah, a lot of people grew up with this game, it’s like one of the best things ever,” Peter explained. “But don’t doubt yourself, you got this! There’s only a little bit left.” Peter tried his best to encourage Loki, but it didn’t seem to be working all that well. As the round came to an end, the god tried their absolute best to get a decent score. Once the game finally ended, they huffed and flopped on the couch,

“Y’know, I thought being stuck here with a teenager and a God who doesn’t know what shampoo and conditioner are would be the most boring thing ever, but this might be the most fun I’ve had in a while, and I thank the both of you for that. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll be in my lab.” Tony said as he stood up, walking off.

Loki laid still, arm over their eyes and taking deep breaths in and out. Peter cleared his throat, turning off the game. “I guess Dance Dance Revolution wasn’t the best idea, but I have plenty of other ones that will be better! And these don’t involve dancing! Well, actually a few of them might but-”

“Peter, I care for you deeply and I don't mean to be rude, but can you please be quiet for like 2 minutes while I calm my nerves.” Loki snapped. Peter mumbled a small apology before sitting down beside Loki. Peter sat there and thought for a moment before he got an idea, shooting up and running to his room. He came back a few moments later with a cardboard box under his arm. Loki had finally recovered, sitting up when they saw Peter come into the room. “What’s that?” They asked as they pointed to the box.

“It’s a Lego set, me and Ned build them together all the time. I figured that this was a good way to cheer you up.” He said as he set the box down on the table. Loki looked at the words on the box and smiled.

“Harry Potter? Isn’t that the movie you said you wanted to show me a few days ago?”

“Yeah, I figured that we could watch the first one together while we built this. What do you say?” Peter asked nervously.

“I think that that’s a great idea, Peter. Why don’t you get the movie ready while I go make some popcorn?”

—

“So there’s a giant snake underneath the school, and people are just now noticing? That doesn’t make any sense! Why are the children always the ones solving these huge mysteries; this is something the adults should be handling.” Loki rambled on as they watched in disbelief. Peter chuckled and shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess you do have a point there. I never really thought of it like that, but I guess a lot of this stuff is pretty dangerous for kids their age.”

“Most certainly. And you mean to tell me they go through this for like 5 more years? And it just gets worse and worse?” Loki asked as Peter handed him the tower top he had just completed.

“Yep, but the movies are really good. Do you finish them up or call it a night?” Peter asked.

“I could probably go through another movie or two.”

—

“Oh god, Parker is turning Loki into a nerd. Quick, call an ambulance.” Tony joked as he looked at Thor.

“I don’t see how this is a bad thing. They seem to be getting along very well.” Thor remarked.

“Yeah, and at least this way he’s not trying to take over New York. It’s a win-win if you ask me. Now quit being creepy and get back to work.” Bruce said as he shook his head.