#also can i ask what does ‘taking military seriously’ means? because it’s a crazy sentence anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandomwriterstuff · 3 years

Text

Rewind

Rick Flag x you

Rated T

~6.5k words (I could not turn it into chapters, it didn't work out right)

Warnings: canon typical violence

I highly recommend listening to this song because it is very epic and I listened to it while I wrote the dramatic end scene.

You were a petty thief, a modern Robin Hood; you stole from the one percent to gave to the needy. And you know what? More often than not, the one percenters never even noticed. And every time you got caught you used your powers to get out of the situation. However, you knew a day was coming when you wouldn’t be able to get out of a nasty situation. A feeling of dread was filling up your nightmares and seeping into your waking life. You were filled with anxiety that your next job would be your last. Of course, it was never an issue with your powers. That is, until it became an issue.

You were doing a job in Gotham, a shitty city if you did say so yourself. Nothing like the country home you grew up in. You knew the ins and outs of the city bank. You knew the guard schedules, you knew the camera angles, you knew the passcodes, you knew which day your target would be inside. Bruce Wayne. Local billionaire who wasted his time and money hosting galas for the rich and famous. You loathed the idea of him. He wouldn’t notice a couple million getting lost in the shuffle. You knew everything that Gotham City Bank had to offer. But what you didn’t know would get you caught and sent to a metahuman prison. What you didn’t know was why you’d been feeling the dread of this job creep up on you for weeks. You had a bad feeling about it, more than the rest. So when you walked in, in disguise, you thought nothing of the exhaustion and weakness that filled your body.

You’d barely slept the night before, so it was normal. And this wasn’t a cash job, it was all wire transfers. But Wayne had to be there for the biometrics to work. Unfortunately, he knew all about your little job. He knew and he had you caught. You were confused, at first, when all you saw when you walked in was an empty bank. It was just the tellers looking at you nervously, but there was a swish behind you and you whipped around, military training coming back to you from your brief time in the army as you took a fighting stance to see… the Batman?

“The Masked Marauder,” he mocked you in his autotuned voice. You scoffed, two could play at that game. You were posing as a man today, trying to throw the trail off of yourself. You turned on your voice modulator and laughed haughtily at him.

“The Batman. Fancy seeing you here,” you were unsure as to how Batman was involved with Wayne Enterprises, but you had no doubt he was there for you.

“Feeling a little weak yet? I can see you straining,” you were on guard as he approached you, coming close enough that you could see the stubble on his chin. If you could turn him around so you were closer to the doors you could use your powers to get out of there and make a quick escape. It was easier to change your own position with your powers and not an entire scene, but you could do it if need be.

But he was onto something. You did feel weak. You were tired, your limbs heavy.

“What did you do to me?” You asked, shifting on your feet but trying to keep the charade up. You were masked and cloaked, but he had a nerve-wracking effect on you.

“It’s new technology. Power blockers at every entrance. You’re powerless inside this place,” at his words you backed up, falling weakly towards the ground as your powers were seeping out of you. You tried to use them to get out of this situation, breath shaking and palms sweaty as the seriousness of the situation dawned on you. You were well and truly screwed.

It was only moments before the GCPD came and fixed you with a power-blocking collar, chaining you up in an armored vehicle and sending you on a long trip to Louisiana. You had no next of kin to notify, no friends to take care of your apartment. You were alone.

Belle Reve was a hell of a place. You were brought in under the cover of nightfall and were only given a brief explanation of the situation. You were in a metahuman prison. You had less rights than normal humans. You were being tried for multiple robberies and the associated injuries that people had gained when fighting back against you. You’d never killed anyone, not since the army, but it didn’t matter. The crimes had stacked up. You were looking at forty years in this place.

When they threw you into the cell you were going to stay in, you were relieved to see there was only one bed and it wasn’t occupied. Solitude, at least, was your friend. You could think. You’d have thought it would be less time in prison since you hadn’t killed anybody, but it didn’t seem like it mattered. You shrugged to yourself. It’s not that you had issues killing people, you were in a special metahuman unit in the army before you became the Masked Marauder. You had a different codename then, but working with them had made you a little crazy. You had to see your close friends and colleagues treated with less respect than dirt because of their metahuman status, and you had to see most of them killed in action. You barely made it out, and you came out with a raging hard on for disrespecting authority figures.

You were only in Belle Reve for six days before you met Harley Quinn.

“Live fast, die hard, baby. You gotta do what you gotta do,” was something you heard a lot out of her smirking mouth. If you were in another life, you’d have been instantly attracted to the beautiful blonde, but you had enough crazy in you to not want any more on your plate. Despite the lack of romance between the two of you, you still got close. “As thick as thieves,” Harley would say with a wry twist to her mouth. She loved puns.

“Chronos?” You whipped your head around at the sound of your military nickname. “What the fuck are you doing here you little slut?” Your eyes widened as you recognized one of your previous teammates. Another bad egg, turned away from the army and towards a life of crime.

“Who’s Chronos?” Harley frowned next to you at the lunch table you were at, she hated not knowing things.

“That’s what they used to call me,” you whispered, standing and facing the other woman. You were small in stature, and the Amazon-like woman towered over you.

“Annie,” you knew she hated being called by her real name. She was one of the cocky ones, thinking metahumans were better than regular old humans.

“You’re wrong,” another voice called. “Chronos is a dude,” that came from Blackguard, a weirdo that you were avoiding. You avoided most people, really.

“Chronos is not a dude,” Annie growled, suddenly looking at the smaller man. “You calling me a liar?”

“I think it’s time for us to get out of here,” Harley dug her fingers into your bicep and pulled you towards the rec yard.

“What’s up with you? You normally love people watching the fights,” you wondered, concerned when Harley passed her favorite guard without saying hi. (It was Colonel Flag, the fucking hottest guard at Belle Reve who you’d definitely formed a crush on. You couldn’t help it, he was compassionate and he didn’t spit on you or throw you around or humiliate you like the other guards.)

“You didn’t tell me you had a super secret past with a cool nickname,” she whisper-shouted when you got to a bench and she could slap you on the arm.

“It didn’t come up,” you shrugged sheepishly.

“What does Chronos even mean?” She asked and you were going to explain, but Colonel Flag sat down at the bench across from you with a warm smile.

“Harley, Y/N, just the two people I wanted to talk to,” he then raised an eyebrow at the bruising grip Harley had on your arm. She let go and he frowned at the angry half moon marks her nails had left there.

“Not now, Ricky,” Harley pouted. “Y/N’s been holding out on me! She has a cool secret life and never told me about it!”

“I doubt you ever asked,” he followed up in a deadpan way and you stifled a chuckle. It was true. She could be forgetful and also unobservant. She didn’t exactly ask you about your life a lot. You thought it might be an act, she did have a PhD, after all.

“She even has a cool nickname. What does Chronos even mean?” She asked again, but side-eyed Colonel Flag when he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Chronos? I thought they called you the Masked Marauder. You’re in here for theft.”

“They must not tell you all the deets,” you raised your eyebrows at the man. “Before I was a criminal I was a part of an elite army group of metahumans. But that went to shit and I’m considered a war criminal in several countries. Never got the pardon for working as a part of the US military because they wanted to keep my unit under wraps,” you frowned. You couldn’t ever leave the country because of it.

“Well you’re not going to like the proposal I have for you, then,” he looked like he was regretting coming over to you and you threw a smile on your face.

“What do you need, Colonel?” You asked, tilting your head, but Harley was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Oh! Task Force X? Is it a new mission?” She looked so excited you nearly didn’t listen to her words. But you did.

“Task Force X?” You asked him, narrowing his eyes. Maybe that’s why he was so nice to you all this time. He was buttering you up. “I don’t think so. I’m not dying today.”

“You get ten years off of your sentence for every mission you do-” You cut him off.

“You had me at ‘ten years off of your sentence.’ Say no more. I’m in,” you grinned, shark-like, at him. He had the wherewithal to not look confused at your sudden change of heart.

“It’s always fun, like weeding out the weak!” Harley exclaimed as you were ushered out of the briefing with Amanda Waller, a woman who terrified you and chilled you to your core. You felt okay though because Rick was going to be your commanding officer. It had been three weeks since your conversation with him outside in the rec area. Three weeks and your relationship had shifted just enough to make you feel safe in his capable hands. If it wasn’t the genuine human respect he gave you, or the dirty looks and reprimands he gave the guards who manhandled and mistreated you, it was the lingering fingers brushing against your back when he led you places and the warm smile he had just for you.

“Flag,” you smiled softly as you passed him on the plane.

“Chronos,” he smiled back. You knew it was commonplace to call each other by their names (Bloodsport, Blackguard, Chronos, etc), but you felt a twinge of fear. This was your first time using that codename on a real life mission since you left the army. But, when Rick came up with a fancy electronic screwdriver and unhooked your power-dampening collar, you felt such a high. You were ecstatic, your limbs felt light, you felt like you could go a million rounds against Mayweather, you wanted to fuck-

“Am I missing something? Isn’t Chronos a dude?” Blackguard asked, again, and you scowled.

“Chronos is a myth, man. This is clearly just someone with the same name, right?” Boomer nodded towards you and you gave him a tight grin. But before you could respond, Rick did.

“She’s definitely Chronos, and you better hope her powers aren’t mythical,” you grinned at that. He had your back. However, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to save them all if it all went to shit. For several reasons.

You hadn’t used your powers since arriving at Belle Reve, so you didn’t know if you were at 100%

You only had certain amount of power over large situations, so you’d likely only be able to save yourself and a few others

You didn’t care enough about these fuckers and they didn’t care about you. Your priority was to get out alive with Rick and Harley

That’s when Harley made her first appearance to the team. She was apparently good friends with Boomer and you mentally added him to your list to keep alive.

After you set off, things happened quickly for you. You made eye contact with Rick (yes, you were mentally calling him Rick now, because you wanted to fucking date the shit out of him), and made small talk with Harley as Blackguard freaked out about Weasel. But when you dropped and made your way to shore, you stuck close to Rick. He had your back and you had his.

As it turned out, Blackguard had set you all up, giving your location to the enemy and getting his face blown off for his efforts. You watched as your elite team of killers was picked off one by one. Harley had run off and you were panicking that you didn’t have an eye on her. You needed her to get out of this alive.

“Follow me!” Rick shouted, nodding his head towards his intended destination - the forest.

“But Harley and Boomer are-” you shut your mouth as Mongal’s actions finally took their toll on Boomer. But maybe you could fix it, if you could use your powers-

“No, we have to get out of here, or we’re next,” Rick grasped at your arm and dragged you into a full out sprint towards the forest, gunshots echoing behind you. You slapped his hand away once you were deep in the forest, though the sky was darkening you cut your eyes to his.

“Harley is all I have,” you spat.

“She’s my friend too, you know,” he frowned. You’d never used that tone on him before. “She can handle herself,” as much as you were loath to admit it, he was right. She was crazy but she could get out of nearly any situation. You sighed and bent over, hands on your knees as you calmed your breathing.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” you muttered, but you gasped when a sudden pain shot through your right bicep.

“That was a warning shot,” you heard a voice call out in accented English.

“A warning shot?” Rick shouted as he crossed over to you, pulling you close to him and inspecting the wound. It went straight through, but it was bleeding badly. “Warning shots are supposed to be in the ground, not at people,” he spat, considering running but you were in too much pain and losing too much blood. “Don’t use your powers in front of them,” his lips brushed against your ear and you nodded imperceptibly. You wouldn’t want to show your hand.

“Take the colonel,” a woman’s voice called and you glanced at him, wide eyed as they dragged him off of you.

“Hey, hey!” He shouted, reaching out as you fell to your knees, putting pressure on your wound. If you could stifle the bleeding until they left you alone you could use your powers to fix it.

“Leave the girl,” the voice passed by you and you stared at Rick, panicking but unable to stop them as three men held him back and dragged him away. You couldn’t help but think this was the worst case scenario. The enemy was taking your leader but you had lost too much blood to put up a fight.

As the rest of the enemies passed you, you sat back on your heels, but one of them roughly bumped into you, making you lose your grip on your arm. The blood flow was back at full force and the world turned black around the edges. You were alone. You put your left hand face up in front of you, and your right hand an inch above it face down. Your hands were parallel to each other and you tried to gather your strength to use your powers, but you couldn’t. You hadn’t used them in so long and you had lost a lot of blood. The last thought you had before you lost consciousness was of Rick’s panicking face.

You awoke to gentle hands cleaning your wound with what you assumed was water and opened your eyes when you felt a tight bandage wrapping around your arm. It was a young girl, younger than you.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she smiled softly.

“She’s awake?” A gruff voice came from behind you and you craned your neck to see a team of people behind you.

“Let’s get going then” another man said. “You patched her up, she can go on her own from here.”

“Who are you?” You asked the girl.

“We’re the Suicide Squad,” the dark skinned man growled. “Here to collect our Colonel.”

“No,” you sat up, quietly thanking the girl for patching you up. “I’m a part of the Suicide Squad,” you squinted in the early morning darkness. Was that… DuBois?

“Bloodsport?” You asked cautiously. Were these all other prisoners from Belle Reve?

“Who are you?” The guy in red and white asked you… Was that Peacemaker?

“They call me Chronos, but you might know me as the Masked Marauder,” you spoke cautiously.

“The thief? Why would they have a thief on a mission like this?” Peacemaker asked and you shrugged.

“My powers are useful for other things.”

“Chronos is a myth though, right?” A smaller man walked over to you, in a suit you didn’t recognize.

You shook your head. But that wasn’t the point, you had picked up on something DuBois had said.

“You’re looking for the Colonel?” You stood and approached the group, which apparently included a shark man.

“Yup, Colonel Flag was taken by enemies and is alive at their camp. He is our first mission,” DuBois spoke and you nodded.

“I’m coming with you. Colonel Flag helped me get out of the bloodbath at the beach. The enemy camp people shot me and took him away,” you frowned at the thought and the girl - Ratcatcher 2, she had specified - gasped.

“Why didn’t they take you, too?” She asked.

“I think they knew I wasn’t important. They noticed immediately that Flag was a military officer and took him away.” Likely to be tortured, you thought to yourself but didn’t say aloud.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Peacemaker said brightly and the group of you made your way to the enemy camp. You were lost in your thoughts on the way there. You weren’t sure whether or not you would kill anybody. Maybe hurt them or knock them out. You hadn’t killed since your time with the military. But they’d taken Rick and left you for dead. So you had very little qualms hurting them.

Turns out, it didn’t matter. Bloodsport and Peacemaker made what was almost a competition out of who could kill the most people in the sneakiest ways, but it got bloodier and bloodier as the rest of you approached the glowing tent. You heard laughter and glanced in, borrowed gun pointed in as you parted the flaps of the tent. But you immediately put your gun down. Rick was shirtless and all patched up, laughing with a woman who you’d seen the dark of the night before. You couldn’t help the rising feeling of jealousy, you’d never have that with Rick. The easy jokes, the equal ground. You were a prisoner, and you would likely die as one. But you couldn’t help the breathy “Rick,” that came out of your mouth when you realized that he was okay, and he wasn’t being tortured by enemies. He snapped his head over to you and stood.

“You’re okay,” he made his way over to you in three long strides, as if he couldn’t wait to be near you, and your heart swelled at the thought.

“So are you,” you whispered, and took a moment to look him over and let your body sag a little. You’d been so worked up that you had barely felt the pain of your wound.

“I didn’t know you were important to each other, I wouldn’t have let them shoot you,” the woman sort of apologized with a half smile and stood. “Let me get you something for the pain.”

It was then that she noticed the very silent camp, commented on it, and that’s when you looked down at your feet. Whoops, you’d let Bloodsport and Peacemaker kill an entire camp of rebels. People who were technically on your side. Waller had given you bad information.

Rick brushed a hand down your good arm and gently held you, pressing his thumb into your elbow as if making sure you were okay, that your pulse was strong.

“I was so worried,” he muttered, and you were sure only you heard it.

“So was I,” you looked up into his eyes, and if there wasn’t an audience, you would have kissed him then and there. Alas, you had another mission. Well, two. The first was to get the Thinker. The second one was to get Harley, and that was a plan you were ready for. You were down to clown, as Harley might say. As long as you had Rick by your side, you could do anything you set your minds to.

The Thinker would be frequenting one of his favorite bars, and as you left the shark dude in the bus you felt yourself relaxing a little upon entry. You knew bars. You knew how to blend in. You glanced over your shoulder, you couldn’t say the same for your teammates. So, you slinked away and found your way to the bar. The leader of the rebel camp provided you with a pair of stretchy black skinny jeans and a MCR band t-shirt. You’d fought harder battles in more confined clothing, so this wasn’t too bad.

“Una cerveza, por favor,” you spoke fluently. You grew up in the country, but your family was affluent and taught you several languages so that you could travel safely and easily.

The bartender smiled and grabbed you a bottle, and you watched the team gather around a table. They stuck out horribly, and you shook your head. Maybe with a few drinks in them they would loosen up, you watched as Peacemaker ordered drinks and nursed your own. You used to like drinking with friends, but other than Rick (and the missing Harley) you didn’t consider these people your friends. You had a tentative relationship with the Ratcatcher 2, and you were beginning to begrudgingly like Bloodsport. But, Polka-Dot Man freaked you out, Nanaue had the English understanding of a kindergartener, and Peacemaker was a dick.

“You going to join the team?” You failed to notice Rick coming over to you, and rolled your eyes, taking a sip as you mulled over your answer.

“Only if they start looking more interesting. You look like a bunch of tourists. I’d like to gather intel,” you scrunched up your nose at Rick and sipped at your beer.

“Yeah, you really look like you’re gathering intel, darlin’,” it was Rick’s turn to roll his eyes. “Sitting here, sipping on a beer and staring at us.”

You scoffed. How dare he call you out. But it was true, you were busy judging the team to actually get any good information.

“Fine, I’ll join you,” you swigged the last of your beer and glanced at the bartender. “¡Uno más!” You exclaimed, and the man smiled at you before grabbing you another ice cold bottle.

“You speak Spanish?” Rick raised an eyebrow at you.

“I speak a lot of languages,” you shrugged and took a swig of the drink before making your way to the now empty table. It seemed like your compatriots decided to go dancing. That left you with Rick.

“Oh yeah, and how did you come to know so many?” He seemed genuinely interested, though you were hesitant to talk about your past.

“My parents were diplomats and wanted me to be able to travel with them, so they had me learn Spanish, French, German, and Russian by the best tutors money could offer,” you shrugged, sort of stilted, at his curious glance.

“And I thought you were a thief because you were poor,” he shook his head with a smile. “Waller has very little info on you so I wasn’t sure.”

“My parents were cruel, and utilized their money to help bad people get into power,” you looked down at your lap. “I resent the things they taught me. And I tried my best to right the wrongs that people like them did.”

Rick sobered up and placed a hand on your arm.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he frowned and brushed his thumb over your skin. “I knew a little bit about your thievery and who you robbed and why, but it makes sense now. You were trying to help. I get it,” he sighed and took a sip of his drink while you downed yours. You hated talking about your family. You wanted to move on to something else. Anything else.

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” you sighed, brushing your hair out of your face and looking up into those beautiful eyes.

“What would you like to talk about then?” he whispered, not willing to break the reverie you were in. You were close, closer than you should be.

“I want to talk about you, Colonel,” you smirked and placed a delicate hand on his thigh. He dragged his eyes from that hand slowly up to your face.

“What do you wanna know, beautiful?” He smirked and blinked those pretty eyes at you. You’d both had too much to drink. It was a little scary making the first move, but you found him incredibly attractive and you were 99% sure he returned your feelings.

“I want to know,” you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. “What those lips would feel like against mine,” you wondered aloud, and his sharp inhale was all you had to go on before a gentle hand was turning your face to his. The kiss was gentle, tentative even, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted everything that Rick Flag could give you and you tightened your grip on his thigh, hoping to convey your thoughts, when everything went to shit. Peacemaker jerked Rick away from you and Cleo pulled you towards a darkened corner of the room.

“They’re asking for IDs,” she hissed, pulling you towards where you saw Abner had the Thinker.

“But what about-” she shushed you as you glanced back, making strained eye contact with Rick. Maybe you could use your powers to get out of this. But… You looked at the Thinker. This was the mission. You looked back at Rick. Would you get your brains blown out to save him?

You made your way to the exit, finding your way to the van and getting out of there. You were only vaguely paying attention while you were in pursuit of the truck holding your … friends? You panicked for a moment when it crashed, and when you pulled to a stop you sprinted out of the van and over to the fiery wreckage, thoughts racing about what could have happened to Rick when he, Bloodsport, and Peacemaker burst through the doors like some sort of boy band.

You couldn’t care less though as you threw yourself into his surprised arms and pressed your lips to his.

“That was stressful and I didn’t like it,” you muttered against his lips, barely noticing Bloodsport rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Rick smiled and pulled away to look down at you. “This is pretty nice.”

You scoffed and grabbed at his hand, not willing to let go just yet, and dragged him to your vehicle.

“Shut it,” you muttered as you all gathered. All he responded with was a light chuckle.

Your next mission was saving Harley, but as it turned out, she was no damsel. You were on your way into the place she was being held when she walked down the street towards you.

“Hey, guys! Whatcha doin?” She was smiling brightly and you rolled your eyes at the situation before hugging her.

“We’re here to save you, obviously,” you muttered and she looked from you over your shoulder to Rick.

“You came back for me?” She whispered and Rick came over to you, Bloodsport rolling his eyes in the background.

“Yeah, it was a really good plan, too,” Rick muttered, but still hugged back when Harley threw herself into his arms.

“Well I can go back in and let you save me,” she offered and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not necessary, Harley. Now that we have you we can get back to the mission,” you patted her on the back and nodded to the rest of your team.

Now, you could say that you acted heroically and saved the day, but you and your ragtag team… You were amateur heroes. It was a shitshow. You were setting up explosives with Nanaue when you had that bad feeling again. The one you had when you were going into that bank in Gotham. Maybe it was your intuition, but you knew some shit was about to go down.

“Keep at it!” You shouted at the King Shark and raced your way down the stairs to where Peacemaker and Rick were headed. If you remembered their part of the plan correctly, they were with the Thinker, but something went wrong when you were about halfway down.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you heard a great BOOM. They’d set off the explosives too early. Maybe you should have stayed… You looked up at the dust coming down from above. Your brain was telling you to get out before the building collapsed on you, but your gut was telling you to make it to Rick.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you chanted as you raced down the stairwell, crumbling concrete raining down as you danced around to avoid it. Your stomach cramped in warning, and you crouched into a ball as the floor beneath you gave out and you fell several floors. When your falling came to a halt you took stock. There was rubble above you, but not crushing you. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced as you clawed your way towards the fluorescent lighting. You grunted and groaned as your fingernails cracked and your fingers bloodied, but you were not about to die here.

You crawled out into the open and peered through the dark, dusty hallway. You didn’t see anybody, but you heard a scuffle and made your way towards the grunting and smashing sounds. The alarm bells started going off in your brain again, and you started running. Your feet pounded against the jagged edges of concrete on the ground but you didn’t stop. You whipped your pistol out when you came to the source of the sounds, but you froze.

Your eyes took in the scene very quickly, and you knew there was a decision to be made. You saw Cleo’s figure in the dark corner, eyes shining in the dusty haze. The others hadn’t seen her yet. At first glance, Rick was atop Peacemaker, and your initial thought was that he was winning this fight. But his eyes, wide and shocked, locked onto yours for merely a moment before he collapsed forward, a dead weight, and all of your breath left your body.

You also saw Peacemaker’s eyes shoot to a computer chip that had scattered across the floor right before you came in. Right before they shot over to you.

But you knew this: Peacemaker didn’t know who you were. He had no clue what you were capable of. He roughly pushed Rick’s body off of himself, but you were faster.

You put your hands in front of you, parallel to each other, and green mist started swirling around between them. You hadn’t had to use your powers to alter a scene this big or intense before, usually just using them on your own body, but you could do this. For Rick.

Suddenly everything slowed down, Peacemaker was still lying on the ground, Rick was face-first in the rubble, and Cleo was crouched in the dark, hand reaching out to the chip.

But you were alive as your powers raced through you. You had seen yourself in a mirror once as you used your powers, and you could imagine how you looked to them. Glowing green veins covered your skin as you altered the fabric of the universe itself. A wind picked up in the room, swirling in tandem with the green mist in your hands. You only needed a few moments. You didn’t need to go back and stop the fight, you just had to stop Peacemaker. You contorted your fingers and molded the green mist to your liking before throwing your arms wide, the green mist expanding to encapsulate yourself and the two men. You didn’t need to include Cleo, she wasn’t involved. The wind whipped around, the green mist blinding everyone but you, and things started to go into motion.

It would all happen very quickly for everyone involved. Just a rewind. But for you, you had to painstakingly watch as Rick’s body rose above Peacemaker, and you had to watch as the ceramic in his heart was drawn out. You had handcrafted this reality and you were forced to watch as your handiwork took place. But you had gotten to the moment you needed. They were near the end of the fight, Peacemaker had slammed Rick into a wall, and with a wave of your hand, the mist disappeared and everything was clear.

“Wait, what?” Peacemaker shot his eyes over to you, but he was too slow in his understanding. You had already whipped your pistol out of its holster and shot him twice in the throat. He grasped at his, trying to stifle the bleeding and crumpling to the ground, but your eyes were focused on Rick. A very shocked, but very alive Rick.

“What did you do?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if that was disgust or wonder in his voice, so you turned, walked slowly over to Cleo (who had witnessed the whole thing through a haze of green), and picked up the chip.

“I believe you were looking for this?” You asked, holding it out in front of yourself to him. He gulped, walking over to you, but your strength was draining from with a display of your powers. When he pulled the chip out of your hand and tucked it into your utility belt, you wavered, edges of your vision darkening as you slowly knelt to the ground.

“What are you doing, we need to get out of here?” Cleo shouted at you, but you waved her off.

“I just need to sit for a moment,” but your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“No you don’t,” Rick hauled you up by your armpits and lifted you into his arms, princess-style. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered and followed Cleo out of the rubble and into the daylight. You squinted, the bright sun blinding you after being underground for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, shoving your face into Rick’s neck to avoid the light.

“So,” he sounded very casual and you tensed up. “I really thought you weren’t going to use your rewind powers at all, what happened to make you use them?” You bit your lip, not sure what to say.

“Peacemaker killed you,” Cleo answered for you and Rick stopped walking. You winced and looked up at his face.

“I panicked,” you whispered, not sure how he was going to react. But when he turned his head to face you, it was as if he was looking at you for the first time.

“You saved my life?” He asked and it was your turn to gulp.

Okay, so maybe you had feelings for Rick. You knew that. He was a hot piece of ass, and he was kind, and he respected you. And you kissed at the bar and after the van chase. So he definitely knew you liked him. But did he know your feelings were deep enough to save his life and endanger your own in the process? Well… Now he did.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to lose you to that prick,” you tried to shrug it off, but Rick gently let your legs fall and your feet touch the ground. You weren’t sure what was happening until he reached out and pulled you into the warmest, most all-encompassing hug you had ever experienced.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered into your hair, and you let yourself sigh and sink into the hug.

“Yeah well now you owe me one,” you muttered jokingly, trying to slightly ease the seriousness of the situation. He squeezed you tightly once more before pulling away and smirking.

“Anything you want, you can have,” he smiled that sunlight-bright smile at you and you blinked at him once before returning his smile.

“You can take me on a date once I’m out of prison, how does that sound?” You asked and his smile widened.

“I can do that.”

“That might be a lot sooner than you think,” Bloodsport had walked over to you and (you assumed) Cleo had explained everything to him. You blinked.

What did he mean by that?

Apparently he meant he was going to threaten Waller and keep the information hostage. It wasn’t exactly what Rick wanted, but he got out with his life, and you didn’t have to go back to prison. You were thinking about it as you settled into your new apartment, only two weeks after fighting Starro and killing Peacemaker, your first kill in years.

You were sitting on your comfy couch watching reruns of Adventure Time when Rick called you.

“Hey,” you answered warmly, and smiled at his voice when he responded.

“Hey, yourself. What’s up?” You drew a blanket over your lap and muted the TV.

“Just relaxing. What’s up with you?”

“I was thinking, how about I take you on that date tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven?” If your instincts were correct, and they usually were, he was nervous about it. He was unsure you would actually want him, considering how sheltered and uneven your relationship had been before. You were quick to dispel that.

“That sounds lovely, Rick,” you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation when he hung up a few minutes later. You also couldn’t help the excited squeal you let out and the little dance you did. Things were finally falling into place.

#rick flag imagine #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag dc #rick flag x you #rick flag x reader #dceu #rick flag #harley quinn #peacemaker #ratcatcher 2 #starro #polka dot man #nanaue #king shark #bloodsport

63 notes · View notes

nostalgic-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Room 73- Chapter 3/8

The ghost is spoken to, but we also see more character trauma. (at least Virgil and Logan are having an okay time)

Pairings: Implied Thomas/OC, implied sibling-y c!Terrence and c!Valerie, sibling-y Analogical, Creativitwins and Moceit, platonic DLAMPR (soon to have a T in it!), and Romantic husbands Remile! (Also married parents but they don’t have names yet)

Read on AO3!

Word count: 2217

Warnings: References to shifty parenting, unhealthy relationships with food, depression, and of course, the general angst that comes with being yanno... dead for about a century with implications of period-typical sexism and the fallout that death has on your loved ones. Stay safe!

Other notes: Hi! I know this is sooner than usual (and also a bit shorter than usual) but I really wanted to get this out early, because there's two other things I'm working on! A c!Thomas-centric number+1 with friends and side interactions, and a Cartoon Therapy oneshot collection (with only cartoon therapy characters! no sides!) that has found family, Dot and Larry VS the internet, and everyone punting mitchell in the face because he deserves it. You can vote for which one you'd like to see posted FIRST on here!

Now, sorry for that wall of text- here’s the chapter!

——————————————————————————–

Thomas didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a clue as to how he just did that. He hasn’t been able to so much as move for decades, now. Almost a century!

(The only reason he still knows the time is because classrooms date the boards. Everett is 96, Val 95, Terrence 87. )

But somehow, somehow these highschool kids around Thomas’s (? do ghost years count?) age managed to hear him hiss, and now he can talk to them.

In the words of that one kid here in the fifties who was usually half seas over, “ fucking shit!”

The one with the glasses (Logan? Or was it Nico? Naw, Logan.) is still tapping on the funny small glowing box. A phone, or something. (It looks too small to be a telephone, and it has no wires, but the future is pretty crazy!) and the other one, Janus is looking at the space that he inhabits like it’s on fire. Whatever else is happening today is happening, but the corner that Thomas lives in is definitely not on fire, that’s for sure.

Janus begins to step forward a bit, towards Thomas (!!!), and attempts to touch him. His hand goes through, like most things do (bar the occasional stray acid droplet, but they don’t burn anymore) and he pulls it back slowly.

Logan clears his throat, looking up from his ‘phone’ and at Thomas.

“Hello.” he says cautiously, not daring to hope. But Thomas can’t get the words out anymore, it’s like the single work took too much out of him to say it back. So he tries hissing in the morse code that Daddy taught him and (and he taught Val, because she’s amazing, woman or not) hoping, hoping they’d figure it out.

.... .. (hi)

Janus looks confused, but Logan lights up immediately, tapping frantically on his ‘phone’, until it shows something with morse code translations written on it.

“Could you possibly repeat that?” asks Logan, and he’s beaming, and that face is now one of the nicest faces he’s seen since he died. So Thomas tries again. It saps a little energy out of him, but not enough to really be an issue. Not like talking.

“Hello there, uh… do you have a name?”

- .... --- -- .- ... (Thomas)

“Thomas. That’s a nice name. Is it alright if we ask what year you ar- were from?” That question was unexpected, but one Thomas was willing to answer.

.---- ----. ..--- --... (1927)

“Nineteen twenty-seven”. Huh. Wasn’t this part of town a boy’s military school at some point back then?” asks Logan, and Thomas hisses again to signify the yes. He was a student there, under Pop’s behest, while Val stayed home to get ready for being married, even though she was all of eight years old and barely old enough to start her midwife training with basic first aid.

He wonders if she ever got to join the Red Cross like she’d dreamed to do. He hopes so.

Logan’s still asking questions, but Thomas is getting tired again, and the extra clarity letting him reminisce about his family is not helping at all. He makes a series of somewhat weaker clicks, trying to convey he’s tired, and Janus seems to pick up on it, patting Logan on the shoulder and motioning at the door for them to leave, citing a ‘Virgil and Patton’ (brothers?) as a reason to go soon, anyways. Logan huffs a bit, though clearly as a jest, and they say their goodbyes, probaby, based on their hand movements, but by now, Thomas has faded enough to lose a bit of track.

…

“Hey, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, this is a gravestone. Didn’t expect you to reply. Well, I was always the talkative one before,a dn I can do it again.”

'___'

“So uh, Hey! It’s me again, Terrence, coming with the daisies as usual. I can’t believe that it’s me doing this, ya doof. It was supposed to be you, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, I guess I should go back soon. Everett’s cold isn’t getting better, nor worse. I wonder what you’d do.”

'___'

“Yes, love you too. I hope you, Barry and Linda are doing alright up there. We’ll… probably see you soon anyways.”

'___'

“Hey- tell Thomas we said hello, and that we still miss him. All the time. Eighty years should be long enough, but it really isn’t, is it?”

(Tommy isn’t here.) …

“Okay, so you’re saying that the ghost, a literal ass ghost--”

“Language!” chirped Patton. It was starting to become routine. “Sorry Pat but okay, so a ghost talked to you over morse code??!!” Exclaimed Virgil, his tone getting more and more excited by the syllable.

“Yes, I literally just said that Virgil.” huffs Logan, pressing his knuckles to his temple. He loves his twin, but times like this really test his (already dwindling) patience with shenanigans.

“Okay, so what did he tell you??” asks Virgil, looking almost starry-eyes with the sheer level of excitement. It’s been a while since Virgil was this excited about something.

Logan clears his throat and taps Janus’s shoulder, taking him away from something he was talking about with Patton, which was involving hushed voices of some sort. Janus extracts the notebook from one of the many, many button-up pockets in his cloak (Patton is good at economical design, whie Janus handles the drama), after scrambling around for a few seconds trying to locate first the book, then the page, handing it to him very quickly before jumping right back into his conversation with Patton. Logan is mildly perturbed by this action, but tries to ‘roll with it’, as Roman would say if he took the bus.

“His name is Thomas, or at least we’re relatively sure that he’s a he, and he died in nineteen-twenty-seven. He was a student here back when the plot of land that is now Haley-Dove lower and upper secondary was a boy’s military school. He began to exhaust himself around here, so we dropped the questions.” Virgil nods, perusing the notes, scribbly as they are that Logan’s made as if they were a short story written by an author he really respects, like Leigh Bardugo, possibly. It makes Logan oddly happy to think about it that way. Virgil’s eyes keep widening over the course of his reading, to levels that are almost comical. Janus and Patton’s conversation has gotten a bit louder, but not enough to hear, still. At the moment, he can’t really bring himself to care. In the end, the bus stops before Virgil can finish reading, so Logan gives him the navy-covered notebook to keep for now and return for dinner, with the instruction to add in his own commentary and ideas on a different page.

Patton and Janus leave the bus last out of everyone, looking rather perturbed and avoiding each other’s gaze, though they’re still clutching each other’s hands tightly. Logan will likely ask what happened on Monday. For now, Amma is at the bus stop, waving at them. She’s the only Indian woman on the stop, so, decently easy to see. Amma picks up Logan’s bag, even though he’s insisted for years that he’s “adjusted accordingly for years, and does not require any assistance!”. Amma usually just retaliates that he shouldn’t need to get used to something with a rather strange expression, but he’s digressing now.

(She started saying it after middle school, and everything that happened there.)

“Hi!” she exclaims, while taking Logan’s bag. Virgil just has his laptop bag and notebook, with his headphones around his neck. They both smile the same.

“Hey, Amma. How’re you doing?” Practiced. Synced. It works every time, as Amma’s grin gets even wider, causing Virgil to start stimming with his ring and Logan to start flapping his own hands.

“Sooo- how’s your day? I see Logan’s notebook with you, V!”

“It’s for a…” Virgil looks at Logan, quietly betraying the fact that he has no clue what to say. Logan indicates to the lizard along the cobblestone path, and his twin’s expression changes into dawning comprehension, as he quickly finishes his sentence.

“It’s for a report on Lizards, Amma, that I’m doing with Remus. You know, Roman’s brother?” she nods, and then smirks.

“Oh, you mean the boy you have a cruuuuuusssshhhh on?” she teases, and Virgil goes red immediately, batting her hand away from his hair, where she was ruffling it.

Wait- how did Virgil have a crush on Roman? They had been friends for all of two weeks, and did not display any crush-like symptoms such as reddening of face, gushing about the crush for hours or purposely trying to get into more situations with the crush, or even doing simple things like taking an obnoxiously long time on singular texts. To his relief, Virgil shakes his head.

“No, it’s not a crush. He’s a good friend, but no.” he says, a bit more seriously, but not dismissively. To Logan, because Logan can hear those things, he says “Not yet.” Logan does not bring it up yet, because it feels like Virgil might need some process time for that, and besides, they share a room. Logan can grill him later, when Virgil is willing to be teased lightly. Or well, he hopes he’s light enough.

…

Mom and Dad are fighting again.

It’s not like the walls are soundproof, no matter what they seem to think. The argument is pretty typical. Small issue begins with civil conversation, becomes slight aggression as two very different people are unable to see eye to eye, and then someone in the middle of a bout of particularly aggressive mood makes an attack on personality, and then it’s all ‘fuck off’’s and crying.

Yeah. it’s a thing. But Remus and Roman know what to do- it’s the fight law. Headphones on, loud playlist on, door shut and internet in full use to avoid the fact that their parents are incapable of shutting the fuck up. This is fine.

Actually no, that’s what Roman says, but Remus knows it isn’t. Roman’s just too scared of conflict by now to bring it up. And who’s fault might that be, huh? (okay, so maybe Remus is a bit resentful.)

Whatever. It’s not like they’ll stop if he and Roman tell them. They’ve tried before.

The problem is that they’re good people. And parents. They definitely try to be the best parents possible. But Remus (unlike Roman) has never had the illusion that his parents are gods, only to have that slowly broken down over time to see his parents as people. They’ve always been people to him- people who try their hardest, but also fall flat in other areas, areas that also happen to be important.

But he should probably make his way to the kitchen to make some fruit salad. Roman probably isn’t going to eat anything else tonight, with how he seems to be doing. Otherwise, those stomach acids are going to gargle and gurgle till they consume his stomach whole! (it doesn’t feel fun to imagine that, so he stops)

(he’s so angry that those idiots thought it was a fucking joke. It’s something he and Virgil agree on, for sure.)

And if Remus tears the granola packet wrapper a little too harshly? Well, it’s not like anyone’s going to hear it at this rate.

…

Patton and Janus aren’t talking to each other, which is probably the one thing he never expected from them.

But they aren’t, and it’s becoming more concerning by the hour. They’re still hanging out together, currently working on one of their sewing projects- embroidering a hoodie in protection sigils as a paid commission for the witch’s girl, and they seem okay in each other’s presence, but they aren’t talking to each other. Just making overly meaningful eye contact, and looking away as quickly as they met eyes.

Patton in particular seems to be pretty upset, as a marked difference from his usual demeanor. He’s pricking his fingers left and right, something that never usually happens, choosing to hand stitch rather than go ahead with the sewing machine that he got for christmas, which was being used by Janus for the moment. In fact, Emile was about to get him some bandaids when he overheard them speak to each other for the first time since they got back.

“Pat, you can’t keep it in forever. You can't. It’ll kill you.”

Patton isn’t replying.

“It almost killed me, Pat please, please just… say something.” Patton does say something after that, but Emile can’t hear it, and he doesn’t feel like it’s something he’s meant to hear anyway. Janus lightens up after that, and Patton starts talking again, monosyllabically and softly, but Janus seems so relieved, that that must be a good thing.

Emile goes, heart heavy, and decides to speak with Remy about the best ways to show that they’re there for Janus and Patton. They’ve only been living with him for a few months, but they feel like their kids, and Emile (and definitely Remy- he’s the ultimate parent-friend) wants the best for them, and for them to be happy. They didn’t deserve the lot they got.

Hopefully, he and Remy can prove that yes, some things are

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts logan #ts remus #character thomas #ts emile #ct emile #tw foster care #tw food #tw eating disorders #tw grief #tw sexism #tw implied bullying #vee's writing #series: room 73 #do NOT repost i will come and stab you #or just send tumblr after you

1 note · View note

master-sass-blast · 5 years

Note

Henlo, it's me, your local trash monster here to say I love Hannah and I can't wait to hear more about her?? That being said, GIMME ALL THE SAD GOODS ABOUT HER. But also add in something happy about her in the end! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ ((Also sending hugs! I know things have been stressful the last few days so just know I'm rooting for you !!))

Holy fuck I think this is the first time someone’s ever told me to cut loose and just SAY ALL THE THINGS AND I’M SO EXCITED!!!! :D

(Answers under the cut because I just went with the entire list. I have no self control.

And thank you for the hugs and encouragement!)

1. What is one word to shut them up: Okay, for some context, Hannah is a lawyer. She has a thick skin (unlike me, heyoooo). It takes a lot to shut her up; she’s an HBIC and she owns it.

But if someone starts talking about her scars (she’s struggled/struggles with self-harm), she shuts down. It’s a part of her she’s still self-conscious about, and if someone mentions it she’ll literally stop mid-sentence and mentally exit the conversation.

2. What is the thing they feel the most guilty about: Again, she’s got a pretty thick skin, so she doesn’t hold onto too much. Life happens, you make mistakes, and it’s better to learn from them rather than beat yourself over the head for something you can’t change anyway.

If there’s something she’s going to feel guilty about, though, it’s fights or incidents she’s had with family members/close friends where she’s hurt them with something she’s said or done. She holds herself in high accountability to ensure that she doesn’t step all over people, and when she does she fails not only them but her expectations for herself, so yeah. Guilt.

3. What is the worst pain they’ve ever experienced: Physical pain? Probably different injuries from her career in martial arts. She’s a tough cookie, but some of that stuff just hurts.

Emotional pain? Anytime she fails her expectations for herself. She has very high standards for herself, and when she can’t reach them she becomes very depressed (more so than usual).

4. Describe their worst nightmare: Actual dream? Anything where she’s drowning or running out of air. She almost drowned a couple times as a child/preteen, and the trauma still emerges in her adult life from time to time.

Real life “this is a nightmare” scenario? Any point where her depression gets so bad that she stops being functional. Things just start piling up and get overwhelming very quickly.

5. List 3 fears; one “surface level” fear, one “repressed” fear, and one “deep dark” fear: 1.) Drowning, which runs pretty deep but it’s an obvious one that she’s done a lot of therapy work for, and she doesn’t mind talking about it with other people. 2.) Wasps. She accidentally got locked into a shed with an active wasp nest in it as a child. She made it out alright, but the sheer terror of the situation made her repress the memory. She’s heard the story from friends and family, and “gets” why she’s scared of the fuckers, but can’t actually recall the incident itself. 3.) The dark. A side effect of depression is paranoia, and when she’s alone, in the dark, she can’t shake the feeling that there’s some sort of creature watching/following her. When her depression gets really bad, she has to sleep with a light on to keep from flipping out.

6. What is something that never fails to make them feel sick: She’s not naturally squeamish, but the sounds of belching (ala college frat boys, y’all know what I mean) make her stomach churn.

7. What feature (physical or otherwise) do they hate most about themselves: Her scars. She’s very ashamed of them, and goes out of her way to wear long sleeved shirts so she can hide them.

8. Do they have anything that triggers them: Feeling like she’s failed her own expectations/expectations others have of her, accidentally inhaling water, the ‘buzzing’ sound bees/wasps make.

9. What is their greatest physical weakness: Her height. She might be a kickass lawyer and an even kick-assier martial artist, but she barely clears five feet.

10. What is their greatest mental weakness: Her struggles with self-hatred. She’s her own worst enemy a lot of the time.

11. Do they have any vices: Not really. Not as far as serious vices go. She’s pretty grounded.

12. Have they ever done something illegal? What was it: Nope. She knew she wanted to be a lawyer from day one and made sure her record was spotless.

13. Which of the 7 Deadly Sins best describes them: Pride? I think that one comes closest? Again, since she really doesn’t have a vice or a thorn in her side, it’s hard to pick something for her.

I think Pride comes closest because she spirals when she fails to live up to her own expectations, which I think often comes with a bit of ego (at least in my experience with that sort of thing). She’s also got a lot to be proud of (lawyer, martial artist, financially independent), but she’s not a walking ego either?

Idk. This is a weird question, lol.

14. Are they prone to outbursts (of violence, extreme emotion… exc… ): Not really. Don’t get me wrong, she can get there, but it takes a lot. She’s very collected (and usually swings the opposite way; she’s more likely to cold shoulder you if she’s mad).

She does threaten to shove her Prada stiletto sideways up Hank Pym’s ass, though. So there’s that.

15. Who do they hate the most: Guys who use her height against her by cornering her into spots while they try to ask her out/talk to her about something. It’s the fastest way to wind up on her shit list.

16. Is there anyone who makes them feel inferior: Herself. She’s her own worst enemy.

17. What sound always gives them a headache: Her coworker Tracey’s text/notification sound. Which is always going off because Tracey’s always talking to someone.

18. Is there a certain flavor that disgusts them: Not really. She’s half Japanese, half ethnic Jew, and a practicing Jew to boot, so she grew up on a pretty broad flavor palette.

She’s tried a bacon cheeseburger once on a dare, though, and she hated it.

19. Do they consider themselves ugly: Not really (outside of her scars). She’s pretty confident in her appearance.

20. Do they consider themselves unloveable: Again, not really. She’s spent a lot of time in therapy, which helps, but she’s always had her feet pretty well on the ground.

21. What is something that causes them great anxiety: The prospect of losing. She’s very competitive.

22. Do they have any mental illnesses: Depression.

23. Have they ever been assaulted/abused/raped: She’s run into the usual guys that like to try and use her size against her, but they usually wind up worse for wear than she does.

24. Do they fear the possibility of being assaulted/abused/raped: Yes. She’s five feet tall and doesn’t clear 110 lbs. She’s very aware that she’s got “TARGET” written across her back.

25. Have they ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust: Fortunately, no. Most of her close relationships come from communities she knows well (school, work, the temple she attends in LA), so she hasn’t had to deal with too much betrayal.

26. Have they ever been seriously injured: Yes. Even outside of her struggles with self-harm, she’s a martial artist. She’s broken a few bones over the years from that.

27. How many times have they been in the hospital: Five. Three for some pretty drastic self harm incidents, and two from sparring injuries.

28. Is there a certain type of person that disgusts them: Obviously, she has frustrations with asshole guys, racists/anti-Semites, but she cannot stand people who work in organizations that prey on the disenfranchised (ala military recruiters going to schools in impoverished areas to fill their quota because they know how to trick the kids into trying out and all that). It gets her blood boiling fast.

29. Does what they cannot see scare them: Yes. Again, this shows perfectly with her fear of the dark.

30. Have they ever been bullied: Yupp. For her heritage, her beliefs, her mental health struggles, her size... High school sucks.

31. Do they have self-confidence or self-image issues: Yes and no. Again, she’s pretty confident about most things in life, but she does have certain weak points (her scars, living up to her own expectations, her height).

32. Do they have a bad relationship with their parents: Actually, no! She has a good relationship with both her parents and her extended family!

33. Have they ever been in a relationship that didn’t work out so well: Not in the drastic sense of things. She’s been through a few break ups, sure, but nothing that was abusive or crazy.

34. Have they ever self harmed: Yes. It’s something she still struggles with as an adult.

35. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be: Her scars. She’d make them disappear.

36. Are they in control of their emotions, or are their emotions in control of them: She’s pretty well in control of her emotions.

37. Have they ever had their freedom taken away: Not really, no.

38. Have they ever been imprisoned: Nope.

39. Have they ever been accused of something they didn’t do: Not in any serious sense. Her reputation for toeing the line was too well known for her to be accused of something she didn’t do.

40. Do they often blame themselves for other people’s problems: She did as a teenager, but dutiful therapy and self-care has helped her outgrow that habit.

41. Do they get sick often: Nope! She’s pretty healthy.

42. Are they comfortable with where they are in life: She’s content, but not complacent.

43. Do they wish that they could change their pasts: Yes. Again, she doesn’t like her history with self-harm. If she could erase that, she would.

44. What’s one thing they wish they could do more often, but can’t: Travel. Her job’s pretty demanding as far as hours go.

45. What is the emotion they most commonly experience: Melancholy. No matter what she’s doing, it’s sort of always hanging around her, like a tiny cloud.

46. Have they ever contemplated suicide: Yes. Unfortunately, it’s a side effect of the depression.

47. Have they ever gone so far as to attempt suicide: A couple of times, when she was teenager.

48. Is there anyone that they would willingly kill: Outside of self-defense/the defense of others? No.

49. If [name] was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through: Being forced to reject her identities as a Jew/person of Japanese heritage. Her families have made it through so much (internment camps, persecution, the Holocaust), and she’d rather die than erase her own identity.

50. Create your own: Alright, I’m gonna put the happy one here so we end on a high note!

She’s a firm believer in the need for “mah” (the Japanese word for “emptiness), or a moment to pause and do nothing. It’s easy to see that reflected in how she practices meditation, follows Shabbat, or takes time each day to simply be.

However, she also believes that the principle of “mah” is what makes her and Luis work so well as a couple. She is the silence to his constant chatter and helps him keep his feet on the ground. Likewise, he keeps her from living inside her head and helps her connect to the world.

They’re just such opposites attract. Ugh, I love them so much!

2 notes · View notes

rennyji · 3 years

Text

July 21st Morning Tweets...

---

So in the third mentioning of some of the epic Indian Mohanlal movies is the movie:“Yodha”- not Star Wars yodha or is that Yoda?!- I feel YodHa is a movie ahead of its time, and am surprised that for that time period, the creators had the imagination and budget. It’s a movie about a man who travels to Nepal and rescues one of those Enlightened bald Buddha like kids from something evil, as he is destined to be a protector. The boy is referred to as “Rimpochay” but is nicknamed “Unni Kutta” based on how his bald head reminds the main character of an egg. One of the advice passed onto Rimpochay, while they’re on the run, is, always be and look ur best. Mohanlal’s words, I believe, are to “look smart”. I think all Indians at one time or another, before America were about ironing their clothes, shaving, looking their best. I think the Brits still have this idea. To be at the risk of being conceited, when my balding fat self goes places, it’d be nice if the superficial orchestrators stopped using my cultural practices for entertainment. Whatever I am, however I am, I’m just a regular guy, minding his own business.

---

After a decade of nonsense and degrading cr*p, using some things I wanted to pass on, after literally having my senses restored from removing myself from some things, the secondary orchestrators (different from the primary) may try to sum up the entirety of their phenomena as something spiritual and magical from whats passed on a decade later. In the Bible, it’s projected that we shouldn’t judge others. Why? Because what you see in an instant of time is the amalgamation of several preceding past incidents, emotions, memories, thought process, personal interactions, and so much more…without any of that, who the h*ll are any of us to judge another…But that doesn’t apply to the phenomena…you actually “know” it’s happening vs me, that too from the beginning, middle, and end. Don’t insult words and actions that stand out in the world or our minds, by comparing a disgusting scenario as something that also stands out, based on some interesting incidents in passing. To the orchestrators, how low will you go with evading personal space for entertainment? Will you even intrude in a prayer to Almighty God for your ends? I mean what do you say to that?

---

So I admire the gentleness in most women and the femininity to their voices...but I've also come to admire strength. A decade, a decade and a half ago, with the my same appreciation for nice things, beauty, and in that spirit: beautiful women, I think, when it came to looking towards serious things like a future, I would've settled on any pretty face. After a decade and a half in h*ll, where I face off against America, their sadistic government, law enforcement, military (who like to watch you bleed before taking ur life in whatever advanced means at their disposal), the America who mislead the entire world, being against me, I have one additional criteria to nice smiles in my life partner...

I need a strong woman like in the first clip...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tH1FzD1YY8

-I need a woman who I can face off armies with, figurative and maybe even literal (as who knows what America will do with mind reading/mind control, and then combining it with my perspectives on religion to result in crowds being sedated rather than acting on/living the perspective).

-Note the second clip. I mean white, black, brown, East Asian translucent to yellowish tan, whatever...ultimately, I need a woman who's insightful and will able to exercise her anger and powers of communication. I need a woman of strength.

-From 300, Check out Leonidas's wife amidst the Spartan council/her speech, and how she doesn't cry when humiliated by the man towards the end, but acts accordingly to a traitor of her nation for that time...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15pCcwtCS

I need a woman whose gentle and fierce/a fighter. Gentle as a breeze but fierce as a storm. Also someone who will give me peace of mind.

---

So knowing the orchestrators will provoke me more if I say it, I’m gonna say I’m gonna stop with talk related to the following cr*p anyway (I.e. trying to get me to think things):

So, call me crazy, “but I detect a pattern of movement” that comes along as “what is this really about?/or is that what it is?/ as a matter of fact this/that…” in speech/conversation.

There are “other patterns of human behavior,” but this is what caught my interest.

You wanna know the truth? For the last decade and a half, I have been talking about the very thing steering you, getting you to talk, as it evolved through the years in the things it involves or it’s various complexities. I mean, list it out in terms of what all this increasingly involves…what does it for the primary (v.s. the Secondary)orchestrators when they’re horny, is to get me to go on for years about a girl… I think they try to make all of this about a girl, a stray group of kids…and hey, maybe the party school may not have been as bad as pictured-when they could’ve been managing something with the cards dealt to them (rather carelessly), from someone more authoritative… Now, for the sake of argument, I moved to another country and lived there for a year, when the orchestrators, randomly, abruptly, had family members, remove me from that country for bizarre reasons at the time. I’m back in America and the rest is history. I was being in another country like India, while being named first in programming training camps, 5 times in a row, when I, a computer science graduate from a state school, was studying/competing, among electrical, chemical or whatever engineers…what is the relevance of a girl or stray kids for that context/time period? A decade and a half later, what is its relevance? If any of you really share the sentiment of “hey bro, what is this really about?” This is about ur American government trying to complete a secret project with everyone’s help, hiding in plain sight, while what comes off as a party school in behavior in sounds, distracts everyone with sweet/wonderful things, to sedate your true reactions to an abomination, while numbing me with ECT procedures for talking about the reality that is actually transpiring, or to get you the audience to take it lightly when ur police make me walk without shoes without talking to me, or years later, gather round me again through 4 suvs… Not even Hitler and the Nazis were this cunning when they experimented on the Jews for eye color and things…and how long was World War II?according to Google, it was 6 years long, from September 1, 1939 – September 2, 1945 . 6 years for the Jews and more for me, because they don’t look as Middle Eastern as me, maybe? how long was the individual experiments on the Jews in Nazi Germany? Did it involve the world, or even that part of Europe, in its entirety? Ive learned through this decade plus of war/experimentation on an individual-that too shamefully to me i.e. one of your American citizens-“you can never trust an American. “ They’re all instruction based acts as a people. Your actions speak louder than words. Americans will stab you in the back, in their relentless actions, be it getting family members to betray you, doctors to shock ur brain, or having the police come at you in 4 vehicles.

-At this time, I’m asking the American pagan gods to leave me be…out of my mind, out of my life. Know I spit on your flags in front of my house daily and if I could uproot it from the front of my house, I’d wipe my a*s with it, for a decade of senseless torture.--…a devil worse than Hitler shouldn’t even get that much nourishment through my spit on its symbol of hatred and lack of freedom…man it’s the craziest thing…right after writing this, it felt like my mom nodded in approval. So happy she magically knew and agree. -Punish my family and me more oh esteemed (but not really esteemed) nation of nations, oh America…I’d bow before you but ummm I have sour knees…

I mean there’s that, and of course free will - I only bow before The God, capital "G".

---

In an old 300 page elaboration of a complaint, upon realizing there’s a reaction to my writing from the cars below the hill my studio apartment house that it rested on, I said “darkness thrives in the void, but always yields to lasting light.” In broad daylight, a great evil is happening. Because of modern times, American corniness to things, seeing me in the ways I’m seen, you don’t take those words with the same seriousness. Darkness thrives in the void means in broad daylight, something, by very nature against the legal system l and free will, is happening. Be warned. I even said “time immemorial with the that sentence mentioned. The flaws of human behavior date at least as far back as 2000 years, in the days of Christ. Human nature, in its flaws, continues…

My perception towards all this is through a Psalm, a priest from my old Church directed my way: Psalm 3…

It goes:

Lord, how many are my foes!

How many rise up against me!

(Literally the world is one team of conviction and practice towards me, at least through instruction following in place of what’s in the heart. In this regard, a foe, an enemy, are those who don’t heed my words and talk to me, but instead obey the instructions from the false American gods about how I allegedly want my reality, my world, to be.

Many are saying of me,

“God will not deliver him.(B)”[b]

(The primary orchestrators wants me to ponder,through a spiteful tone, in the spirit of the pagans of old: “where is your God?”)

But you, Lord, are a shield(C) around me,

my glory, the One who lifts my head high.(D)

(If I “appear ‘in forms’ of my head high”, (and don’t want ur pity in this”) know that I ur neighbor( in the spirit of the Golden Rule) am the product of a decade plus abuse. Inside is fire.

I call out to the Lord,(E)

and he answers me from his holy mountain.(F)

(The Lord directs me with seemingly ridiculous answers in places and purchases and words and actions, so that I may endure)

I lie down and sleep;(G)

I wake again,(H) because the Lord sustains me.

(Self explanatory)

-6

I will not fear(I) though tens of thousands

assail me on every side.(J)

(I.e. the world, that America’s deception and trickery, misled against me. I will not bow to the law enforcement or military or the false American gods

-or their undeserved technology - probably given to them in the same way the Greek god, Ares, screws humankind by giving them weapons ahead of their time, in the movie, Wonder Woman, so that theyll destroy each other...)

Arise,(K) Lord!

Deliver me,(L) my God!

Strike(M) all my enemies on the jaw;

break the teeth(N) of the wicked.

(After a decade plus of invisible torture, while publicly portrayed in a different, probably pleasant, light, be sure justice and vengeance are a deep desire of mine.

With some people, they truly are destined for h*ll itself. A decade plus of showing the other cheek, using words-this verse from Psalm 3 shows, from the Old Testament, that even vengeance in place of forgiveness, will be with God’s backing, in extraordinary circumstances.

In Matthew 13:41-42, our preacher of love and forgiveness, but who also speaks of bringing the sword, says:

41 The Son of Man will send out his angels, and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil. 42 They will throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Not even Christ will act on the weeping and gnashing of teeth of those thrown into the fire to be burned, after great evils…as I said before, if we are the Body Of Christ, those responsible for my situation are like tumors/cancers that will be removed from the Body of Christ.

Christians, at least, from whom I’ve run into, are thinking religion is a wishy washy thing where your minds get into some drunken high.

Christianity “is” “about” peace, but also about being vigilant, alert, focused, through pursuits of the mental Kingdom of God.)

From the Lord comes deliverance.(O)

May your blessing(P) be on your people.

(The evil Americans, after a decade of realization on my part and indigestible evil from theirs, (from my Indian dialect vs the overall language: “gray-hic-an pat-Atha maha vir-thee-aid-a/do-shum…”), the Americans will not stop, despite actual cries for help from me for 10+ years - and that’s when their delusion based thinking, thinks that God will pity their cries in the eternal fire.

It is said by Christ,

In Matthew 25:40,

It is said,

And the King shall answer and say unto them, ‘Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.’

In these hard times, all I needed was a witness to tell me my conclusions on what’s transpiring are true or confirming that something is in fact, transpiring. I could’ve used that to end a decade plus of suffering and abuse. But you chose and followed the false gods, in the primary orchestrators

It is said:

In Matthew 25:35-40,

35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,(A) 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me,(B) I was sick and you looked after me,(C) I was in prison and you came to visit me.’(D)

37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

You inflicted this 10 year nonsense on God Himself, through the third person of the Christian Trinity: the Holy Spirit, which resides in every human and walks with them from Baptism. For the Hindus and others, I think this relates to the belief of “Atman”…

I pray that at the designated time for the end of my problem, before this world and the orchestrators and their timeline, that God will bless me with divine deliverance, with or without His true people.

---

Always bear in mind that World War II lasted 6 years, where 6 million Jews were murdered & some experimented on with things like eye color...that was by European Hitler...- -today theAmerican false gods, inMoreThan aDecade of mindExperiments,usingHumanity as itsRightHand, torment anIndian, or MiddleEastern lookingMan... Even World War II-a 6 yearSituation where @ least those Jews had privilege of humanCompany - does it compare 2 what theAmericans do, where they leave me with no one to even talk to for a decade plus, and have humanity on one side in belief/practice vs me?

---

0 notes

nowtravel · 3 years

Link

EMBARRASSING STORIES FROM MY TRAVELSLAST UPDATED JUNE 22, 2020

ARGENTINA, CANADA, INDONESIA, MYANMAR (BURMA), PERSONAL MUSINGS, TRAVEL, TRAVEL DESTINATIONS, TRAVEL NARRATIVE

This weekend I played tourist in my hometown and took the Metro to the Olympic Stadium for First Fridays, a massive food truck gathering on the first Friday of each summer month. We arrived early, so we opted to hit the cafe inside the stadium before the doors opened. When I leaned back against the counter, I felt a searing pain on my right butt cheek. Wondering if I was simply conducting an alarming amount of static electricity, I shot forward and swatted behind me.

A huge yellow jacket fell to the floor, stunned. He or she must have been sitting on my ass for who knows how long. My heart raced, my leg felt numb, and my tongue started to swell. I’ve never reacted with anaphylaxis from a bee or wasp sting before, but I’ll be following up for a potential allergy because it was a very different body response.

And then I had to pleasure of telling friends that I was stung in the butt by a wasp.

Sharing Embarrassing Travel Stories

The reaction from said friends was, “Jodi WHY does this always happen to you?” Which is a really valid question given the wildlife mishaps during my travels.

First, the problem of all the birds that have crapped on my head during my years of travel (14 birds and 1 bat, to be specific). Then, the iguana that mauled my leg in Belize — more on this soon, I promise — when he thought I was a tree and tried to climb me to eat my shirt.

There is the spider that ate other spiders in my room in New Zealand, not to mention the possum that attacked me at three in the morning in the same country, launching himself at me like a grenade while I screeched, half-asleep.

But none of these mishaps qualify for embarrassing travel stories. I have others that do. And since the blog veered toward the solemn with my Vipassana piece and the post on mechanics of jet lag, let’s get back to taking things a little less seriously shall we?

You’re welcome.

Banging a Bus in Argentina

I visited Argentina for the first time the year before I started working as a lawyer in New York City. Up until that point, my Spanish vocabulary consisted of very basic words I learned and strung together while visiting Spain. It was in Barcelona, in between tapas and wine, that I learned some phrases that kept me afloat in more rural areas.

Where is the bathroom?

How are you?

I am from Canada.

My name is Jodi.

Where can I take the bus?

It was the latter sentence that got me into trouble in Argentina. Coming off a long bus ride, I couldn’t find my connecting bus. I approached two men wearing the Andesmar uniform, thinking they might know.

“Permiso donde puedo coger el bus?” I asked timidly. I thought what I was asking was, “where can I take the bus?”

I was met with raucous laughter.

“Donde quieres, chica!” one of them said.

Confusion reigned until I remembered what my friends in Uruguay told me: coger was slang for “to fuck.”

So I basically asked where could fuck the bus, which led to the mirthful, mocking response of “wherever you’d like, lady.”

Face flushed with shame, I blurted out, “lo siento, estoy tanto embarazada!”

The gentlemen doubled over with laughter once again. One looked me up and down slowly and drawled, “I think not” (“pienso que no”).

And that was how I learned that in Spanish, embarazada is the word for “pregnant,” not for embarrassed. In case you were wondering, embarrassed is avergonzado or desconcertado.

For those learning Spanish, there are several other words that resemble English words but aren’t. A few:

Librería is a book store, not a library. A library is a biblioteca.

Decepción means to be disappointed, not deceived. A deception is an engaño.

And one of my favourites: carpeta is a file folder — a carpet is the awesome alfombra. Carpet never sounded so satisfying.

As for Argentina, I was appalled to manage not one but two disastrous language mistakes. To assuage my shame, I wrote a group email back to friends and family at home.

“I did the impossible,” it read. “I not only asked to have sex with a bus, but insisted that I was pregnant while doing so.”

Ants in my Pants at Angkor

The Great Butt Sting of 2016 reminded me of another ‘when nature attacks’ story from my time at Angkor Wat, a far more embarrassing turn of events. I was on a date with a very cute boy from Switzerland, who I had met in a different country. We stayed in touch in the interim and coordinated a trip to Angkor at the same time. His friends were working at an NGO in town. We spent our days climbing hidden treehouses and roaming the temples in awe, and the evenings eating and listening to stories from people who knew the city better than we did.

During one particularly lovely evening, he suggested that we sit and watch the sunset over Angkor Wat while listening to Michael Galasso’s track Angkor Wat Theme II from the In The Mood for Love soundtrack. This sounded like a great idea. As the sun began to set behind the ruins, we curled up on a stone bench and put on the song.

I even took a photo, since I loved the symmetry:

All seemed to be going well: stunning sunset, a gentleman I enjoyed sitting next to me, crumbling temples from a former kingdom. Except for one thing: I didn’t know it at the time, but I was sitting on a pile of fire ants. I found out pretty quickly.

Stinging pain, followed by more stinging pain. I leapt up with a shriek, and ran around in circles smacking my behind as that “great guy” laughed so hard that tears poured down his face. To make matters worse, there were several monks nearby, also waiting for a quiet sunset. I gave them a sincerely authentic burst of entertainment, and they had a field day laughing along with us.

Flashing a Tribesman in Myanmar

I was in Myanmar in late 2009 for over seven weeks, extended my trip from the initial few. The country was still under military rule, and you were allowed to see what you were allowed to see, and no more. I was encouraged to visit by friends who worked for NGOs in Northern Thailand as well as friends who had visited previously. They urged me to explore and take care to stay at local guesthouses and eat on the street, giving money to the local economy instead of the junta. At the time, it was a controversial decision to visit. I wrote a long “before you go” piece to reflect my thought process.

My travels took me up to the Kachin State Fair in Myitkyina, then back down to Mandalay by boat during a solar eclipse. They took me to Bagan (one of the worst bus rides I’ve ever experienced!) and to Inle Lake, and then south of Yangon to Hpa-An and its crazy caves and limestone cliffs.

It was in Inle Lake that I experienced an embarrassing travel faux pas. Throughout my time in Myanmar, I wore a traditional wraparound skirt called a longyi. It was easy to use, doubled as a towel after the shower, was comfortable, and wasn’t indecent in a very conservative country. To put on the longyi as a woman, you pull all of the fabric to one side, fold it back at the hip while holding it tight against your waist, and then tuck it into the opposite side. Women often sew in a thin band of black cotton at the top of the longyi, where it sits at the waist, “for the sweat”.

During one of many dawn boat trips around Inle Lake, I stepped out of the boat to attend one of the beautiful morning markets. While exiting the tiny boat, my longyi got caught on a protruding nail. In two seconds flat, the longyi untucked from my waist and lay in a pool of fabric at the bottom of the boat. Given that many Burmese women I met wore thick flannel bloomers under their longyis, my thong underwear was likely quite a surprise. And I highly doubt that the entire boat behind me full of Pao-O tribesman had seen a traveler’s pasty white butt before.

I went out and bought a safety pin immediately, but it didn’t stop the Inle boat drivers from giving me a smirk and a thumbs up when they passed me during the duration of my stay. News travels fast in a tiny town, especially when it involves a mistaken strip-down in front of a boat of elderly tribesman.

-Jodi

0 notes