#anyway. i might make a little prototype of something ? and take a picture and send an email

[milkweedman]

gonna try and see if i can sell some stuff at this store nearby, theyve got a few things by local artists and literally had branch weaving, which ive done ! ive taught other people how to do it even ! and was just thinking, hey, i could make some small handspun things and they could maybe sell them ? i got the owners card from the cashier and a little advice and everything

[maximoff-pan]

l’amore de ma vie | fred weasley

Summary: When Fred invites you to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, your feelings for your best friend are stronger than ever before. What happens when you realize just how much you love him?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Fluff...i-is that a warning?? Anyway buckle up for some sickly sweet goodness....

A/n: I know, I’m terrible. It’s been a little while longer than I’d intended but I hope this makes up for it! Feedback is very very much appreciated! I love seeing what all of you think of my writing! Without further rambling from me....enjoy!

Sidenote: This is a total AU. It completely deviates from canon, as Bill and Fleur’s wedding goes smoothly in this version. No violence here haha...only happiness! (I guess what I’m trying to say is, in no way shape or form is this an accurate recollection of the books, this is purely from my imagination...)

• • • • •

“Fucking weddings...” you mutter as you walk through the massive white tent that adorns the front lawn of the Weasley residence. Everything is perfectly displayed, tables meticulously set, with delicate flowers littering the venue.

The romance of it all makes you want to throw yourself into Bill and Fleur’s masterfully crafted, six-tier cake. And watching as Molly rushes in and out swiftly with the brightest smile on her face, it all reminds you of how you should be getting ready right now. But you just can’t stomach that.

It’s not that you’re not happy for Bill....you’re ecstatic and you absolutely adore him. He’s been a role model for you almost your entire life. And it’s not like you’re not an absolute romantic, because you are...but weddings always make things complicated. They manage to dig up feelings that you’d rather not confront.

Feelings for a certain Weasley twin...

That’s why when he (said twin) and George invited you to the wedding, you were reluctant to say yes. It’s hard to pin point exactly when you felt your friendship with Fred (at least on your end), morph into something more, but you’ve managed to keep your feelings for him locked away for the better part of four years. And as far as you’re aware, the only person that’s truly caught on is Hermione...because you’re convinced at this point that she just knows damn well everything.

“Something on your mind?” A voice startles you, bringing your attention back to the bustling world surrounding you.

Turning around slowly, you’re greeted with Bill’s towering figure. You huff out a quick, teasing laugh. “You know, it’s not nice to interrupt a lady’s thoughts.”

“Forgive me,” he chimes with a chuckle of his own.

Bill knows your humour, and he knows you well enough to recognize when you’re using it as a defence mechanism.

“It just looks like you’re about ready to make a run for it,” he continues, “and I wanted to make sure my favourite guest doesn’t ditch me on my wedding day.”

“You know I would never ditch you.”

Bill sends you a look, clearly not impressed by your jokes. You can tell he knows something’s wrong, but you don’t want to be the first one to bring it up.

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I promise.”

He only nods at you, and he’s not quite sure if he’s convinced, but he’s confident things will work out in the end. “You know, I best be getting ready.” He grins wide. You reciprocate his grin with an additional giggle.

“You best be. Or else Fleur might divorce you on the spot.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame.” Bill shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’d have the record for the shortest marriage in wizarding history! Mum would have an absolute shit fit.”

You both burst into a fit of laughter, before you’re nudging him out of the tent and towards his home.

There’s a comfortable pause of silence as Bill thinks to himself. He can see it in your eyes exactly what you’re thinking about. Having been around you for years and Fred even longer, and watching the two of you grow up together, he knows what’s troubling you. Bill Weasley is not a stupid man, and he knows love when he sees it. Better yet, he knows the fear of losing that love that runs rampant in your mind. If Bill has learned anything in his years on this earth, it’s that love allows for the greatest of happiness but it also allows for the greatest manifestation of fear. Unrequited love can be more painful than the relief of returned feelings, but Bill Weasley knows you both well enough to know that these feelings you and his brother share, they’re anything but unrequited.

“I should probably be getting ready too.” You break the silence and remind yourself of the upcoming event as you step through the front door of the Burrow.

You both turn to each other, acknowledging your parting of ways. You hear Arthur shouting for his oldest son from above. “I guess that’s my cue.” Bill simply nods in the direction of the staircase, taking a step towards it. You stand still, just watching him for a moment.

He leans his head over his shoulder for a brief second, already a few steps up the winding stairs. “Oh and (Y/n),” he breathes, “my brother may be an oblivious twat, but to give him some credit, I see the way he looks at you, and I’d be blind to say he isn’t in love with you too.”

In love with you too....

And as soon he’s said it, the cheeky bastard’s disappeared up the stairs, leaving you dumbfounded and completely still.

Fucking hell. Your mind wanders, his words at the forefront....so apparently Bill knows and surely if Bill knows, George must too. Are your feelings for Fred that obvious?

• • • • •

You step through the doorway to Fred and George’s room hoping to find a certain twin. You spot him sitting cross legged on his bed, fiddling with a prototype for the shop that you’re sure you’ve seen him working on before. His ginger hair is messily in his face, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He’s the picture of a working artist....pranking materials being his art. You heave a sigh. Like you, he’s nowhere near ready for the wedding that is going to take place in a few hours.

“Do you know?” His head whips up at the sound of your voice. It’s such a vague question, one in which a normal person would question what it itself is in relation to, but George knows exactly what you’re getting at. But maybe he’ll screw with you a little first....

“I know lots of things love. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

A groan passes your lips. Maybe he doesn’t know....but the way his lips are turned upward, the smirk that seems to be growing on his face tells you otherwise. You’re not blind; you know the games George Weasley likes to play.

“Don’t be coy asshole.” You send him a look that says ‘try me.’ “I know you know. My question is, why haven’t you told me that you know?”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean.” He continues testing the waters of your frustration, seeing just how far he can go before you snap.

“Oh fuck me!” You exclaim, hands thrown up in the air. You point at him, eyes narrowing in his direction. “You’re a prick George.”

His grin only widens. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong twin (Y/n). Last time I checked, Freddie’s the one you want to fuck.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And....Bingo. There it is. The exact confirmation you wanted and feared.

You recoil, eyes widening at him. Your voice goes soft, serious. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?”

His warm eyes meet yours, a calmness to them that is surprisingly reassuring. “I’ve made a living out of not taking things seriously and meddling in other people’s lives (Y/n), but what you and Fred have, I won’t meddle in that.” He pauses for a moment, his voice softening. “It’s not my business to push you two together. You’ll realize it at your own pace.”

“Realize what at your own pace?” Fred leans his body against the doorframe. He’s dressed in a suit, his hair done up nicely, and unlike his twin, he looks entirely put together. The irony almost makes you laugh. You’ve always known George to be the prepared one, ready hours before he needed to be. And Fred a scambler, leaving everything to the last second, to be fashionably late was his life motto.

“Just how stupid the two of you are going to look all dressed up with no dates.” George answers for you, keeping the true nature of your conversation a secret. “Even Ginny’s managed to catch the chosen one.”

You huff out a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Ah,” George muses. “But I am an idiot with a date.”

Fred grins at the two of you and your banter. “Angelina’s better off without you as her date.” He jokes.

A laugh passes your throat, Fred joining in with you. “Oh, sod off!” George pipes before shoving the two of you out to get ready.

• • • • •

Hours later you find yourself ready on time, a shocking revelation to you and each of the Weasley’s. And George is too. He sits beside you grinning like a mad man. Fred is on your other side, smiling all the same.

The ceremony is wonderful and quaint. You knew the moment you saw Fleur all those years ago, just how beautiful she was, but you never could have imagined just how much you’d grow to think of her like a sister. And it’s funny because you’re neither a Delacour nor a Weasley, and yet you feel like you belong. It’s different from the love you know Harry and Hermione feel for the Weasley’s, because ultimately, they’ll both marry in and it will be official, and as much as you love Fred, you know that will likely never be the case for you. But that’s the thing you love most about Molly and Arthur and their children: you don’t have to be related by marriage or blood to be a Weasley.

And seeing Fleur and Bill smile, seeing the pure happiness that they exude in this moment, it makes you forget why you ever questioned coming. It makes you hope that one day you can find what they have. You’d spent the last few minutes mesmerized by their first dance as a married couple. You’re so caught in a trance that you don’t hear the clapping when they’ve finished and stepped off the dance floor.

Your eyes snap up at the clearing of a throat beside you. George nudges you and you turn to look at him. He points at Fred who’s gazing at you curiously. You must have looked like a daft idiot, an utter love struck expression on your face.

“I’m sorry.” You laugh. “Did you say something Freddie?”

“Dance with me?” He asks.

Fred’s question lingers as you contemplate whether or not to accept his outstretched arm. But then your eyes drift up to his, and you catch the mischievous glint that rests in them. It’s in that moment that you know there is no turning back.

Groaning, you relent into his touch. “One dance.” You say, but you know that if he asked, you’d dance the night away.

The grin that spreads onto his face is nothing short of beautiful. It’s unmistakably perfect the way the light catches his features, his ginger hair glowing in the overcast moonlight, and an ethereal aura glistens from his skin. Fred looks youthful...and he looks undeniably happy.

Gripping your hand, he leads you to the dance floor. You catch a brief glimpse of Bill whose lips are tugged into an encouraging smile. Fred snaps your attention back to him as he pulls you into his body, bringing your arms to rest around his shoulders. You can hear the faint thrumming of the slow and melodic music drifting towards you, but all you register is the sound of Fred’s heart beating against yours. Wrapping yourself in his embrace, you allow yourself one second to believe that he might feel the same.

Your feet move in sync almost flawlessly, and it’s as if you’re reading each other’s movements without any effort. (Despite being known for your clumsy nature). But if you’re being honest, it’s always been like that with Fred....easy that is. Easy to read each other, easy to be with each other. It’s just natural. 

“You’re quite graceful Freddie.” You nudge him playfully, breaking the silence between you. 

“And you’re quite...” his voice drifts softly, “something.”

The half scoff, half laugh you let out rings in his ears. “Are you implying that I’m not a good dancing partner?”

“You’re a formidable partner love, just a shit dancer.”

Your eyes light up in amusement. “Well we can’t all be as graceful and beautiful as you Fred Weasley.”

He plays along happily. “No.” He agrees. “I guess we can’t. But I reckon everything else about you, your beauty, your wit, your affinity for kindness, makes up for your lack of dancing skills.”

It’s that self assured attitude that draws you to him. Yet he’s not the slightest bit arrogant. He simply believes in himself, knows his strengths and his weaknesses, is completely aware of his self worth, and he won’t let anyone tell him otherwise. It’s addicting to be around, and a quality so desperately you wish you could find in yourself.

And when Fred compliments you, you can believe that he’s telling you the truth. He makes you believe things about yourself that you would never dream to think about on your own. As cheesy as it sounds, he makes you feel seen. He makes you feel special. And it’s so strange because for as long as you can remember, everyone has always thought of you as merely the best friend of the infamous Weasley twins. Hardly to anyone had you been your own person with your own identity. But Fred never made you feel like that. You’ve always been someone to him, not just a product of who you chose to be friends with.

“You shouldn’t say things like that you know.” Your voice goes quiet.

Fred notices the change in your body language as you begin to close yourself off from him. “Why not?” He asks. “It’s the truth isn’t it?”

Your eyes catch his and your breath hitches. This feels like something. It feels like a moment, the moment that you’ve been waiting for. You never believed Fred could ever feel the same for you, but the look he’s giving you feels so so real.

“Fred, do you-“ You start, but he cuts in for you.

“Feel it too?” He finishes.

“Yeah.”

“I do.” He replies.

Your heart races in your chest as he pulls you closer into his embrace. This confession of feelings is nearly wordless, and yet it feels perfect. You’ve never needed to say a lot to Fred for him to understand you.

You’ve always just had that kind of connection.

You barely notice that you’re still dancing, your bodies moving on autopilot. And the people around you fade to nothing. Your focus is solely on the man who holds your heart in his hands.

Your movements slow as Fred tilts your chin towards his face. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 11 years old.” He says. It’s nearly impossible for your mind to process it. “I’ve known for so long, I just didn’t want to ruin what we have. But I reckon if there’s ever a time to do it, now seems pretty good.”

A gentle smile rests on your face, your heart warm at his words. “Now is perfect.”

Fred hums softly, his warm brown eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. He sees nothing but adoration staring right back at him.

“Can I kiss you?” This is the first time you’ve seen Fred so timid.

You smile coyly, nodding your head. “Such a gentleman.” You tease, pulling him gently towards you. Your lips meet so softly and briefly that you almost miss it.

But no matter how brief, it’s a feeling you’ll never forget. You both want more of each other, but you also know that standing in front of Fred’s immediate and extended family and friends, you can’t simply put on a show for the world to see, as much as he wants to.

You pull back for a moment only to find yourself wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying to the music. Most people in your situation would say something. Maybe they’d profess their love, or whisper sweet nothings into their lover’s ear, but right here, right now, words don’t need to be used.

You don’t need to say I love you to feel that you are loved. And you know Fred feels the same.

• • • • •

Off to the side, Bill takes a moment to part from his wife, approaching his younger brother with a shit eating grin.

“Bloody hell.” George runs a hand through his hair, spotting Bill striding towards him.

Their eyes lock for a moment and George notices his oldest brother’s lip quirk upward. “You owe me 20 galleons.” Bill states matter-of-factly.

George grumbles, reaching into his pocket to pull out the payment. Handing it to Bill, he smiles. “Get back to your wife you tosser.”

Bill nods, taking a step towards Fleur. He turns to face his brother, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just know, when they get married, I’m telling everyone I won.”

///////////////////

Taglist:

@amourtentiaa

[spacebatisluvd]

Content warning: More Sea Hawk. Some potential for secondhand embarrassment if you’re sensitive to things like that. Mild references to arousal. Strong references to anxiety and Hordak’s past in the cult.

-

Hordak looked up as a guard marched into his psuedo-office and dropped a parcel on his drafting table. Hordak eyed the box, noting first that it was addressed to him and sealed with Dryl’s sigil. Then he noticed that the wax seal was broken.

“This has been opened.”

The guard just shrugged, smirking. “Anything that comes through the port of Salineas is subject to inspection for contraband.” He turned to leave, pausing deliberately in the doorway to brush the dust from his boots and to spit on the stoop. Hordak said nothing. He’d seen the builders do the same thing early on. Strangely, fewer and fewer were holding to that habit. Perhaps they’d grown tired of such petty insults.

He set the box to the side, and Sea Hawk perked up. “Are you going to open it now?”

“No. I will open it later.” In private.

“But what if, hear me out, you were to open it now?”

Hordak looked up and sighed. Sea Hawk had draped himself over the top of the box, his eyes gone comically large. Hordak went back to his paperwork. “That does not work for Imp. It surely won’t work for you.”

“Imp?”

“My....” Hordak trailed off, realizing that he wasn’t sure how to refer to his relationship with Imp. ‘Little brother’ seemed the most fitting, yet he couldn’t bear to use such a designation. He exhaled slowly.

“Imp. He is just...Imp.”

“How delightfully nonspecific!” Hordak narrowed his eyes, searching Sea Hawk for any sign of mockery, but he seemed genuine enough. “But...this is from Entrapta, isn’t it?”

“That is her sigil.”

“You don’t want to look?”

He huffed. “My desires are unimportant. I need to finish this.”

“Not even a quick peek?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Just a teeny, tiny little peek?”

Hordak exhaled hard. “No.”

“...what if...I took a peek for you?”

He froze and glared at Sea Hawk, who was infuriatingly impervious. “I would advise against that. Strongly.”

Sea Hawk pushed the lid off the crate. “Oops! Well, since it’s already open....” He reached in, pulling out a small data chip. “Ooh! What’s this?”

Hordak lunged, snatching the chip from his hand. He growled, leaning close until he was eye-to-eye with the pirate. Sea Hawk held his hands up in surrender. “You really aren’t curious? Your beloved has sent you a gift! Perhaps in return for the gift you sent her!” Despite the intimidating glare and Hordak’s prior request not to be touched, Sea Hawk slung an arm over his shoulders and drew him close, using his free hand to frame an imaginary image before them. “Can’t you picture it? She is delighted, overcome with love, overwhelmed with feeling! In fact, she is so delighted that she has decided to reciprocate! And you don’t want to know what she sent?!” For the last question, he turned Hordak to face him, shaking him lightly.

Hordak shoved him off, still glaring. “Entrapta would not be overcome by anything,” he said dismissively. “Particularly not anything I did.” Excited? Perhaps. Elated? Enthused? Yes and yes. But overcome?

No. He could not imagine that.

In a last-ditch effort, Sea Hawk caught his hands and said, “Wouldn’t she want you to open it?”

His ears folded back, and he pulled his hands free. Nevertheless, the question gave him pause, and his words lacked their typical venom as he said, “Do not touch me.”

“Oh, right. But—you know she’d want you to open it right now, don’t you?”

“She knows that I prefer to keep my work and my personal life separate.” Still, he regarded the box uncertainly. He would not want to accidentally insult Entrapta. Was this a custom he was unaware of? Gift-giving was new to him.

Sea Hawk leaned very close, but thankfully did not touch him. “Let me tell you something I have learned about women—“

Hordak frowned. “My observations indicate that individual Etherians are too different from each other to confirm many broad generalizations. The exceptions being ‘requires oxygen’ or ‘must drink water regularly’.”

Sea Hawk blinked. “What?”

“I am questioning your expertise.”

Sea Hawk blinked again. He took a breath, and barreled on—“Women want to know that they are your highest priority. The very center of your universe. Your everything.”

Hordak’s ears folded back. “I killed my brother for her sake. I am certain she already knows that.”

Sea Hawk threw his hands up in the air. “Will you please just open the box?! I’m your wingman! How can I help you seduce your lady love if I don’t even know what she sent you?”

“That is simple—you do not. I am not seducing her. Therefore, I do not require your help.”

Sea Hawk wailed dramatically. “My friend, you are sabotaging your own happiness! You are allowing her to slip through your fingers if you ignore her overtures of—“

He continued to rave, and Hordak sighed, pressing his knuckle to his temple, where he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming. “If I open it, will you stop talking?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Do not make me regret this.”

He studied the data chip Sea Hawk had snatched from the crate. It was a modern chip of Entrapta’s own design, made to interact with his data pad. He set his data pad on the table and attached the chip to the back. His screen flickered briefly, then a stable image resolved. “Play video,” he ordered, and the image began to move.

Entrapta waved at him, smiling. “Hi, Hordak! My research has revealed that it is customary to send a care package when someone you care about is far from home, particularly if they’re away for an extended period of time.” She looked down, blushing a little. “I’d been intending to do this anyway, but your gift reminded me that it was probably overdue.”

Sea Hawk made a strange sound, his eyes big and hands scrunched tight to his mouth. Hordak barely glanced at him, and held his hands behind his back at he watched the screen, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “There’s a jar in the crate—would you please retrieve it? It requires an explanation.”

Curious, he pulled the crate closer—swatting Sea Hawk away when he tried to search out the jar first. He pulled out the jar and returned his attention to the screen. Entrapta’s image waited a few seconds more, then she said, “I spoke to Perfuma, and she has designed a topical salve that should help ease muscle pain and tension.” Hordak stiffened briefly, glancing at Sea Hawk, but he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Before applying it to a wider area, make sure to test it on a small patch of skin to make sure it doesn’t react poorly.”

Curious, he opened the jar, surprised by the scent of peppermint. He dabbed a small portion on his wrist, flexing his hand and cocking an ear when he felt a subtle tingling in that patch of skin. “I have also included some notes on my current project for your review. I would appreciate your input.” His ears perked, and she smiled coyly. “Not my secret project. You‘ll be allowed to tinker with that one after I have a working prototype.” He grunted, crossing his arms, though he couldn’t keep the fond smile from his face.

“She is taunting me,” he told Sea Hawk.

Sea Hawk smirked. “No, my friend, she is flirting with you.”

Hordak’s ears flexed, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to the screen, trying to ignore the heat spreading across his cheeks. “—send an annotated copy. Maybe when you send me your notes on my proposed procedure,” she said with a grin. Another glance at Sea Hawk reassured him that the man suspected nothing untoward, though Hordak readily recognized the suggestiveness in her gaze.

“Oh! You should know that this care package isn’t just from me.” He cocked his head. “I’ve asked the others to contribute as well, to show you how much they miss you.”

“Others?” Who could possibly miss him aside from Entrapta?

The video cut, then Kadroh appeared onscreen. “Hello, brother! I miss you and am eager for you to return. I’ve been working on my sketching—thank you for recommending I look for my data pad in the library! I found it behind one of the bookcases.” He held up the data pad, to show a sketch of some flowers. “Here’s what I’m currently working on. Oh! I think Imp was just a little jealous. I gave him a pad of paper and some markers, so he could draw too.” His ears drooped a little. “I haven’t done anything worth sending to you—“ The video feed paused briefly, and Entrapta spoke in voice-over.

“He’s being too modest. After we filmed this, we talked and I convinced him to include a printout of a piece he’s proud of.”

“—but I made sure to include Imp’s drawings. I thought you might enjoy them.” He smiled broadly, and Hordak peered inside the crate, noting a sheaf of papers, sandwiched between stiff cardboard to protect them. “We’re excited for your return and I hope you’re enjoying Salineas. I’ve never been to the ocean before; I hope you take the time to appreciate it!” Hordak blinked. He hadn’t even considered doing something like that.

The screen cut again. Crypto Castle’s Etherian servants appeared on the screen, waving timidly. Hordak’s ears folded back and he cocked his head. They definitely weren’t enthusiastic about being filmed, and he wondered if Entrapta had unintentionally threatened them again. “H-hi,” the cook said, wringing her hands. “Princess Entrapta said she was preparing a care package for you. I, um. I thought I’d send some tiny fruit tarts, but I didn’t think they’d survive the trip.” She winced. “So I-I made a premix of cocoa powder and sugar and-and a few spices. Just mix it with warm milk—um, about 60 degrees—“ She appeared to look off screen for confirmation from Entrapta. “—and you’ll have hot cocoa just like I make here.” She smiled hesitantly, her eyes just a touch too wide. “I, uh. I hope you like it.”

Again the image cut away, and Hordak was beginning to wonder how many people Entrapta had pressed into making this video. Then it focused on three former Horde soldiers. The lizardman—Rogelio—was standing behind the humans, Lonnie and Kyle. All of them seemed a touch nervous, but Kyle at least also seemed eager. The audio cut in mid-sentence. “—so much for letting us look after the little guy while you’re gone. I know Miss—“

Lonnie elbowed him. “Princess. Cripes, Kyle. Get it right.” Rogelio rumbled in agreement.

“Right! Princess! I mean, I know Princess Entrapta could totally look after him—“

Off-camera, Entrapta said, “Actually, it’s probably best that you guys take him. Imp’s pretty resourceful, but...um. I’m better with robots, you know. You don’t to remember to feed them every day.”

“Three times a day,” Lonnie said, looking a little alarmed.

“Yeah. That.”

Kyle cleared his throat. “Uh. Anyway. Just. Thanks. We really bonded while you were gone—“

Behind him, Rogelio signed, ‘Kyle has separation anxiety.’

“—and it just really means a lot—“

A few things happened at once. Lonnie jolted and Rogelio froze. The camera jostled, and Entrapta laughed, while Imp’s characteristic chatter echoed. The camera’s image was jumbled and unsteady as it toppled and, presumably, Imp ran off with it. Hordak covered his mouth, afraid to reveal his smile. Somebody called after Imp, but the camera just bounced and jostled, revealing flashes of metal and the tip of Imp’s wing, his small claws. A vent clanged open, and the screen was briefly plunged into darkness. A glowing pair of yellow eyes were the only things visible.

“[I miss him].” Entrapta’s voice echoed eerily in the vent.

Beside him, Sea Hawk cringed away from the screen. “What is that?!”

“Imp.”

Sea Hawk stared at him. “That is not an answer!”

Hordak offered a lopsided shrug. “It is difficult to define him. Imp is Imp.”

The eyes disappeared, and a moment later, they could hear the clanging of the vent. A new vent opened, and Imp glided down to the ground, setting the camera beside Emily. It was set at an odd angle, but all of Emily’s spherical body was visible. She stomped her legs and the upper part of her chassis spun—a kind of dance she often performed, though there was something mournful in her demeanor. She beeped sadly.

From behind the camera, Imp hopped onto Emily and laid down. He opened his mouth, and Kadroh’s voice said, “[—be back soon. soon. soon. soon.]

Sea Hawk blinked and leaned close. “That’s Imp?” Hordak nodded. “Oh. I can’t decide if he’s terrifying or adorable.”

“That is the typical reaction.”

The video cut, and Entrapta reappeared, giggling. “Kyle wanted to retake that last bit, but I thought you might appreciate it.” As always, she was correct. “Anyway, I hope you like your care package, and I hope to see you soon.” She waved, and the feed cut out.

He held his knuckles to his mouth, a subtle smile at the corner. When he was sure he was composed, he lowered his hand and reached for the crate, pulling the sheaf of papers from it. He unbound them, setting the stiff cardboard to the side. He leafed through the pages slowly, again holding his knuckles to his mouth. Imp’s drawings were little more than uncoordinated scribbles, yet he found himself touched to see them. He lingered over one picture in particular. Two tall stick figures, one with red eyes and one with sunny yellow eyes—himself and Kadroh?—and a short stick figure with long strands of purple hair. A green orb with four legs. And a very small, blue stick figure with sketchy wings and a tail.

Sea Hawk leaned close. “I didn’t realize you had a family.”

Instinct demanded he deny it, but instead he said, “It is...new.” He leafed through the rest of the pictures, lingering again on the last, which was clearly Kadroh’s work. Despite his brother’s obvious uncertainty, Hordak was impressed with his sketching—it was a rather good likeness of Emily, and he found himself admiring Kadroh’s sense of whimsy, present in the flowers he’d drawn to crown her.

His chest felt warm and oddly tight. He packed everything back into the crate with care, intending to look at it more closely later.

At his elbow, Sea Hawk was oddly quiet, almost pensive. Hordak was grateful for that. Later, when the tightness had eased from his chest, when he could trust himself to speak, he’d call Entrapta to thank her. For now, he set the crate aside and returned to work.

-

Later, in the privacy of his room, Hordak reviewed the research she’d sent him. He found himself pacing as he read, a small smile on his face. He scribbled a few notes in the margins, but he knew she didn’t really need his input—she would have eventually discovered the few bits he added on her own, but he was flattered she even asked.

At the end, he wrote, ‘I am awed by your brilliance.’

He saved the file, but hesitated to disconnect the disk. Entrapta had clearly said that he should send it with the annotated procedure she’d proposed for their Intimacy Log. Was she merely teasing—flirting?—with him? Surely it wasn’t a command. Entrapta, he reminded himself, did not issue orders. She made requests.

But if it would please her, could he consider it anything less than an order?

He stopped, clenching his hand. That...that was not true. Entrapta had reassured him every step of the way that this was as much his decision as hers. From her, he suspected that even an order should be considered a strongly-worded request.

So, really, this was his choice. Entirely.

He swallowed, hearts hammering. He recognized the anxiety that came with disobeying one of Prime’s orders—

(How many nights had he spent on Etheria, nearly doubled over with pain and panic, knowing that Prime would not approve of his actions but also knowing he had no other choice if he wanted to survive? How often had he pleaded with the memory of his maker for mercy, knowing the price of his disobedience was reconditioning or purification? How many heresies had he justified, though he knew Prime would not consider his life worth saving?)

—yet amidst the familiar anxiety, he felt something else stirring. A thread of excitement, knowing Entrapta would be pleased with him. There was spite, as well—a banked fury that came from knowing that Prime would disapprove, were he still alive to care. Hordak’s life was his own, and he was more than the sins that Prime would tally against him.

He exhaled slowly, and ignoring the tremble in the tips of his fingers, he brought up Entrapta’s proposal and set aside the data pad to prepare for bed. He paused after removing his armor, noting the strain across his shoulders. His neck ached and he reached back, squeezing the straining tendons alongside his cervical port. It did little to help. Then he remembered the salve Entrapta had sent. It had been nearly ten hours now, and there was no sign of a poor reaction at the spot he’d tested—no rash, no irritation, no itching. Perhaps he could test it further and apply some to his neck?

He dug into the crate, pulling out the jar of salve. The scent of peppermint was pleasant enough, and not too overpowering. He scooped a little on two finger and reached back, rubbing the salve into the skin at the base of his skull before dragging his fingers down the back of his neck—careful to keep it out of his port. He inhaled sharply as the skin began to tingle where he’d applied the salve, and a soft moan escaped him as the tingling sank deep into the muscle.

That worked better than anticipated. He studied the jar, wondering if Entrapta had run a chemical analysis on the salve. He’d be curious to know what was in it and if he could synthesize it himself. He wiped his fingers clean, realizing he probably should have used gloves when he felt the tingling along his cuticles and the thin skin under his claws.

He settled on the bed and arranged the pillows until he was comfortable. He leaned against the pillow at his back and surprised himself by thrumming softly. For the first time since leaving Dryl, he was very nearly content—the salve had done much to ease the pain that ran the length of his neck, and Entrapta’s care package left him feeling...well, cared for. Entrapta herself was the only thing missing.  He reached for the data pad and his stylus; it was a poor substitute, but if he could not be with her, at least he could content himself with the knowledge that she desired to be with him too. Despite the anxiety coiled like a spring in the pit of his stomach, his scalp prickled with what could only be anticipation. 

Swallowing, he skimmed the proposal, skipping past the parts he’d already read and the notes he’d made. Even so, the prickling along his hairline grew stronger. He swallowed and smoothed his hair back, regretting it immediately when that only caused the crest to rise. The tingling of his scalp seemed to blend into the prickling at the back of his neck, and he was glad he hadn’t applied any of the salve to his shoulders. Shaking his head to clear it, he reached the line he’d finished on last time:

*Ask  subject how he feels about being bitten.*

His throat felt tight. He swallowed, free hand wrapping loosely around his neck. He tapped his stylus against his leg, wondering how to respond to that. Just thinking about it caused something within himself to clench. He swallowed again and wrote neatly, ‘Not yet. I feel being bitten would net a strong reaction, and I would like more information before experimenting with that.’

The coil of anxiety loosened, just a little, and he exhaled slowly. The next line read, *Explore pectoral muscles. Test sensitivity of nipples by—*

He blushed, looking away as embarrassment overcame him. His hairline felt sensitive, and he curled his fingers to resist the urge to smooth his hair back or to test his nipples’ sensitivity. He could barely bring himself to look at them, somewhat scandalized by her suggested means of examination. Swallowing stiffly,  he wrote, ‘They are not sensitive. No testing is required.’ He hesitated. ‘I will indulge your curiosity, if you insist.’ His cheeks burned, and his ears drew back, the tips hot as his mind conjured the image of Entrapta nestled between his thighs, her hair binding his hands over his head as she bent forward to lave at—

A soft, distressed chirp escaped him, and he nearly leapt from the bed to begin pacing once more. His hair had risen to a soft peak, and the back of his neck now felt hot and sensitive. The coil of anxiety had somehow blended with his anticipation, making him feel like he was balanced rather precariously between the two. Not unpleasantly, he had to admit, even if he was no longer entirely comfortable. He took a few breaths, trying to compose himself. There were only a few lines left. Surely he could get through this without completely embarrassing himself. He bent over the data pad, crossing his legs as he continued to read—and ignoring the subtle squirming in his lower abdomen.

*Be sure to kiss the subject liberally—on the mouth and while exploring his body. Very light application of the fingernails may also be desired.*

He cocked his head, curious about that last statement. Careful of his claws, he ran the tips lightly over his inner arm. The sensation was pleasant enough, and he noted in the margins that he would be agreeable to that, thankful that it seemed like such a tame suggestion after everything else.

*If subject is comfortable with genital examination, this procedure may be expanded on.*

He froze, fingers curling. His gaze fell to his lap. The prickling along his scalp and the back of his neck suddenly didn’t feel quite so pleasant anymore.  Swallowing hard, he sat up, resettling himself again. The spring in his lower abdomen had coiled tight, all hints of anticipation replaced by dread. He tapped the stylus against his thigh, trying to decide what to say.

Finally, he brought his stylus to the data pad and began to write.

-

A/N: As always, thank you for your comments! I love your feedback and I treasure each of your comments. I often go back and reread them if I need a little encouragement, so even if I don’t reply, know that I love hearing from you.

[bonjourmoncher]

You can contact Hamilton Lindley by: Phone at 254-759-5866 Email at hpl@hamiltonlindley.com And mail at 1020 N. University Parks Drive, Waco, TX 76706

After ten years in Dallas, Hamilton Lindley moved his family of five to the home of the Baylor Bears. Hamilton P Lindley realized the brainwashing of his daughter was complete after she believed that the Baylor Bear mascots hibernate only after “eating all them Longhorns.” If you have the desire to see too many photos of Hamilton Lindley’s family, you can find Hamilton Philip Lindley on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and Instagram.

Let’s get straight to the point, shall we?

Busy people can be incredibly difficult to connect with.

You know the drill. You send an email, then you wait. And wait. And wait some more. You get no reply, so you try again. More of the same. Eventually, you give up.

If this sounds familiar, well, you’re not alone. Most men have struggled, at some point in their career, to try to connect with someone who is incredibly busy. Whether it’s a potential employer, a possible mentor, a dream client, or even just to connect with a girl so you can ask her out on a date, contacting a busy person can be very difficult.

Does that mean you give up? Heck no. Often, there is a good reason why busy people are so busy. Namely, it is because they are successful, and they’re successful because they are smart and well-connected and have access to resources or knowledge that might make all the difference in the world to you…if you can just break through.

But if you’re like most men, you’ve struggled with trying to figure out how to go about making that contact. How can you get the person’s attention? What should you say and how do you say it? Where do you even start? Should you follow-up if they ignore you? And new means of communication in the form of social media, Skype, text messaging, and blog commenting has made this issue even more confusing and challenging.

Throughout my career, I’ve tested just about every different approach for contacting busy people. I’ve also spent the past 2+ years reaching out to very busy entrepreneurs and authors to appear as guests on my podcast. I’ve tried techniques that work like a charm and other strategies that are guaranteed to bomb. Below, I include the best of what has worked for me.

Art of Manliness has previously covered how to write an email that will get a response. In this article, however, I want to share more of an overarching approach which can be (and often is) implemented using email, but which is also medium-agnostic. Email is what I’ve used the most and is still an effective vehicle. However, you should also consider other approaches such as face-to-face and social media where appropriate. To contact AoM’s reclusive McKays, you’ll even need to be willing to write a good old-fashioned letter! (Word is if they start getting too much snail mail to handle, they’re going to move to requiring messages by homing pigeon.)

Although it can feel like a daunting task trying to connect with a busy person, the rewards when you succeed can often be game-changing. You just have to be smart about how you make your first move.

Put Yourself in Their Shoes

At the outset, you must understand that busy people get hundreds, if not thousands, of requests for help, aide, or resources every week. Not surprisingly, a large portion of them look and sound exactly the same. “Can you help me?” “Can I pick your brain?” “I’ve got an awesome idea that I know you’re gonna love!”

Don’t kid yourself. You might think your request is incredibly original or immensely valuable to the busy person, but they’ve probably already heard it before (A new app that will make you more productive? NO WAY!) Naturally, they’re going to be a little apprehensive.

Before you even think about reaching out, you need to get your mindset right. Even if you have the best of intentions, and think your request is a relatively minor one, don’t expect an answer. By definition, “busy” people can’t possibly respond to every inquiry. They’re not being rude — they’re just prioritizing. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be as successful as they are.

According to Steve Pavlina, author of Personal Development for Smart People, “If you can accept that busy people must triage in order to be effective and have a life, and you can respect them for setting priorities, you’ll have a much better shot at building a bridge with them.”

Here are 8 tips for contacting a busy person:

1. Try to Connect Before You Ask for Anything

The worst way of contacting a busy person is to ask them for something in your first attempt to connect with them. A much better approach is to reach out and contact the person long before you ever actually ask for anything.

One way to do this is via social media. Look for creative ways to quote, feature, or mention the busy person, by including them in a blog post or article you are writing, and then share it with them afterwards via social media. A single tweet might be all it takes to “grease the wheels” and get the conversation started.

Continue to build the relationship by doing things like sharing their content, promoting them, or simply sending relevant resources their way. To do this, you need to really get to know the busy person and understand what they are working on or could use help with. Be patient and allow the connection to grow organically before you jump in and start asking for favors. Don’t burn the bridge before you build it.

Another frequently overlooked option is to examine your existing network and see if you have any ties back to that person. A friend? Business associate? Anything that can be used to show commonality between you and the other person will help.

“Getting someone else to introduce you is one way to get someone’s attention,” says networking expert Lynne Waymon co-author of Make Your Contacts Count. “Find out who you both have in common and ask ‘Will you introduce me?’”

2. Keep Your Communications Brief

“Just a tip of advice. Never write on both sides of the sheet when you are sending a letter to a busy man.” –Jack London, Letter to Louis Stevens, March 24, 1913

Save your life story for another time. The shorter the message, the more likely you will get a reply. And the busier the person, the more important it is that you not waste their time.

First, always start your correspondence with a relevant subject line that’s clear and to the point. The recipient should be able to quickly tell why they would benefit from opening your message, how they know you, or ideally, both.

“Can you help me?” With what? Your business? Your math homework? There’s about as much value here as in a rubber crutch. You don’t have to be psychic to know that this one is headed straight for the oval file.

“Podcast Appearance to Promote Your New Book” is a much better subject line. By clearly stating what it is you want, and more importantly, how it will benefit the other person, you are much more likely to get your email opened.

Being brief also means excluding anything that isn’t necessary. It’s okay to open with a couple lines of pleasantries about your connection/affinity for the person. “I’m a big fan of what you do and I’ve been reading your magazine for five years now,” or “Seeing your TED talk made me decide to switch my major to biology.” A bit of praise will get your email off on the right start and build rapport. But keep your opening to no more than two sentences.

Keep the main body of your email as succinct as you can as well; aim to make your pitch in five sentences or less. You don’t need to attach your 100-page business plan or a dozen pictures of your prototype before you’ve explained what it is that you actually want. Remember, be respectful of a busy person’s time and wait for the green light before sending follow-up information, if they are open to it.

3. Do Your Research First and Ask Specific Questions

“I do detest being asked general advice, because, in reply, I must do one of two things: (1) Either write two or three books handling the replies or (2) damp the replies by giving only a few short sentences.

What I mean is, any time ask me for particular specific advice, and I shall be only too glad to place myself at your service.

Please remember that I write thousands of letters every year to unknown correspondents. And please remember, (1) that I do not like to write for a living…and that (2) therefore, when I have written all the books that I have written and upon which I work every day, that I am so tired of writing that I’d cut off my fingers and toes in order to avoid writing…

Anyway, please remember that you can call upon me any time for SPECIFIC PARTICULAR advice on any subject.” -Jack London, Letter to Cordie Ingram, April 9, 1913

When you reach out to a busy person, do so with very specific questions in mind. You may only get one shot at this, so you want the questions you ask to offer the most metaphorical bang for your buck; make them questions where you cannot find out the answers anywhere else, and for which you absolutely need the busy person’s unique perspective/connections/input.

So first research the answers to the list of questions you have in mind as rigorously as you can, and see what you can find out from easier-to-access sources. You need to show the busy person you’ve done your homework. Tim Ferriss, author of The 4-Hour Workweek, says “It’s amazing how many would-be mentees or beneficiaries ask busier people for answers Google could provide in 20 seconds.” In Ferriss’ words, “That puts you on the banned list.”

Not only should you do research before you reach out to a busy person, you should also try to get going on your project/business before you ask them for help. “Don’t ever ask a busy person to ‘pick their brain’ before you begin working on your project or idea,” says AoM’s own Brett McKay. “Instead, wait until it’s really underway, you’re in the thick of it, and you run into a specific problem.” Advice on starting something is typically plentiful and readily available. So save your “Phone-a-Friend” lifeline for when you’ve done all you can on your own and you’ve reached a wall you can’t figure out how to break through.

What specific question you should ask will vary depending on your situation, so it’s easier to explain what types of questions you should not ask. Typical examples of the types of generic questions you should not ask include:

I don’t know how to get started with ______. What would you recommend I do?

Do you think ____ would apply to my situation?

I’m confused about ______ and I’m not sure why I’m not getting it. Do you have any suggestions?

A better approach than these generic questions is to explain 2 or 3 specific options you are considering and ask for specific feedback on this discrete choice.

When you take this approach, you can “make use of your opportunity and ask better questions about specific topics rather than just peppering someone with general inquires,” says McKay. “The time you land with a busy person is valuable, so use it to ask the highest leverage questions you possibly can.”

4. Make Your Pitch Something to Which They Can Say Yes or No

If the question you have for a busy person regards whether or not they want to work with you on something, make your pitch as clear as possible. In other words, don’t ask an open-ended question like, “Would you like to partner with us somehow?” It’s not the busy person’s job to think of ways you two might team up. It’s your responsibility to come up with a specific proposal. A proposal a busy person can answer with a yes or a no.

5. Show Up in Person

Think for a minute about how many sales calls or how much junk mail you receive in a week. The majority of these items are deleted before they are ever opened. The multitude of requests busy people receive often suffer the same fate.

Now consider what you would do if the person making that same plea was standing right in front of you. Not quite so easy to ignore them now, is it?

Waymon says if there is a particular busy person you want to connect with, you should find out what groups or organizations they are part of and see how you can add value to those groups. Perhaps you can join a committee they are on or offer to help with something they’re passionate about.

“Studies show that it often takes 6 contacts with someone before they know who you are and have you placed in their mental Rolodex,” says Waymon. “So committee work and small group activities are good ways to create that continued contact.”

Being part of the same team can get your foot in the door, but you have to be ready when opportunity strikes. “Always have an agenda. Before the meeting think of three or four things you’d like to find out or know more about. Also, be ready to talk about three or four things you’re excited about — personally or professionally,” says Waymon. “Since people want to do business with people they trust, your overall goal is always to teach people to trust you.”

6. Keep Bringing Value

The chances of getting what you want become exponentially better when you offer something of value. A lot of people struggle with how to find something of “value” to offer, but really the options are limitless.

One of the best ways to provide value to a busy person is by helping them to promote their new book, project, business, or event. You can do this in a variety of ways:

Write an online review on Amazon, Yelp, or other review site.

Feature the busy person in an article on your blog or someone else’s blog.

Offer to introduce the busy person to someone relevant. But be sure to ask first.

Interview the person for your podcast, or if you don’t have a podcast, record a simple interview using a free service like FreeConferenceCall.com and upload it to your blog or SoundCloud (also free). Keep in mind that if your audience is very small, the busy person will likely make a cost benefit analysis and decide that the amount of promotion you can offer is less than the value of their limited time.

Create a Click to Tweet link explaining why you love the particular person’s work and share it with all your friends like this.

Even if you don’t have a blog or podcast, you can record a simple video with the webcam built into your laptop and upload it to YouTube, where millions of people will watch it before going back to watching videos of a cat playing the piano.

Bottom line: Find out what it is they need, or who they want to connect with, and make it happen.

7. Assert Yourself

When you make a request, not only is the message itself important, but so is the tone in which you present it. Michelle Lederman, author of The 11 Laws of Likability, talks about approaching the conversation from what she calls the “middle ground.” You should come off as “not passive, not aggressive, but assertive” says Lederman. Think confident, but not cocky. And definitely not meek.

Lederman also recommends going for the “convenient ask.” Make it as easy as possible for them to say yes to the request. For instance, give the busy person specific dates and times to choose from. Offer to meet them at the location of their choosing. Anything you can do to simplify the request can help.

Finally, Lederman recommends creating a sense of “scarcity.” Create a deadline for a blog post or article so that if the busy person wants to be included, they will need to respond by a particular date in order to make it happen. Having a deadline elicits more responses since these types of requests are harder to push off until later (which usually results in the busy person forgetting to come back to the request).

8. Follow Up (Within Reason)

Now, what do you do if you don’t get a reply? Should you follow up, and if so, how? “I think the secret to building meaningful relationships is following up,” says Jeff Goins, author of The Art of Work. But Goins cautions that you have to be careful how quickly or eagerly you follow up. “If you’re too aggressive, it can hurt you. But if you’re too lax, you can miss an opportunity.”

Goins says he will reach out once, then follow up a week later if he doesn’t have a response yet. If he still hasn’t heard back by then, he will “follow up after another week or two with a ‘hey if I don’t hear back from, I won’t bother you again’ email and then move on.” If Goins is really determined, he says he might try a completely different approach. “I may try another way to build trust with the person, like finding a way to meet them in person, but I won’t try the same way that failed before.”

Brett and Kate McKay have a similar suggestion. They say you should follow up once two weeks after sending the original email, and then 6 months later. “Sometimes the busy person will be in a different phase or season of busyness where their circumstances have changed and they’ll be more receptive to the reach out,” says Brett.

If you want to follow up after a week or two, you can use this script:

Hey George, I just wanted to follow up on my prior email once, in case my previous email got lost in your inbox.

If you aren’t interested, I won’t take offense. If you are interested, let me know. I will send one courtesy follow-up after this email in case the timing right now does not work for you.

-John

By indicating in your message that you are just following up as a courtesy and that the busy person need not respond if they truly are not interested, you are respectful of their time while also balancing the possibility that they really didn’t see your email the prior time around.

Start Contacting Busy People

Remember: busy people aren’t selfish and inconsiderate; I’ve actually found the opposite to be true — that some of the busiest people are actually the most giving types of people. But they also want to be efficient with their time. Remember that the time they give to you is time they sacrifice from working on their own businesses or spending time with their families. So contact them in a way that respects this reality and impinges on their schedule as lightly as possible.

While the entire process may sound intimidating and overly complex, you shouldn’t be intimidated. Like any challenge, connecting with busy people is a skill that you can develop over time. And it’s worth the effort.

“Don’t underestimate your value to someone else,” says Lederman. “There are so many things you can bring to the table that you don’t realize. A little bit of legwork goes a long way.”

[marquis1305]

Silk and Steel ch 10

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9

AO3 Link

Rating: Mature

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, Reader-Insert, Florists, Reader is an Enhanced Individual, Nick Fury Knows All, SHIELD, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Bucky Barnes Feels, Protective Steve Rogers, Hydra (Marvel), enhanced!reader, Reader’s Brother works for SHIELD, POV Female Character, James “Rhodey” Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Rhodey is skeptical, Vision is curious, Tony feeds good behavior with blueberries, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Blueberries, backstory incoming, The Winter Soldiers - Freeform, Fragmented Teamwork, You like making quips as much as the next person, Tony Stark’s Nickames, Bucky Barnes’s Metal Arm, That whirring sound it makes, Russian, Soft Bucky, Sweet Bucky, He really is a sweet heart,

Summary:

A week has passed since your stay at the Avenger’s compound and life is finally starting to feel normal again. Now if only you could kick this blueberry craving.

Chapter 10: The Groceries

A week passed with little notice. Falling back into the routine of your life was easier than it should have been.

As if nothing had changed. As if you weren’t waiting for the call. You went about each day with a sense of tension. Dreading each ring of your cell phone. It wasn’t likely that Babushka would get back to you so soon, but the longer it took, the longer that your brother was in the hands of Hydra.

A week went by, and no letter had come from him. No word. Not even lies that he would occasionally feed you when he was on something big. No smiley face to tell you the truth amidst it all.

It left your stomach tied in knots.

Sunday came round, and it was time to see to the errands you normally let fall to the wayside when going about your week. Luckily almost everything could be handled online, except for running the deposit for the shoppe, but that would be tomorrow at lunch, the same as every monday. You enjoyed the quiet routine of your life. It had always brought a sense of security, of belonging.

Now it just brought distraction.

You decided to get a bit of fresh air, turning on your comm for the first time all week since Bucky’s visit.

“Finally!” Tony’s voice rang out almost immediately in your ear. “Guys! She’s on! You! I gave you blueberries and you do this to me?!”

You can’t help but giggle, getting used to the way it felt to have him sound so near and clear, even your phone never got signal as clear as this. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Worry? We had to send flower boy after you before the centennial man went charging in and got himself yet another criminal charge.”

“Flower… boy?” You furrowed your brow, even as you started getting ready to go out. Slipping into a rather comfortable outfit of tee shirt and jeans, topped off with the stolen sweater.

“Apparently I have a new nickname.” Bucky’s voice cut in before Stark could manage to say another word.

“I dunno, sort of suits you. Should have seen him, Druid.” Natasha half purred, and you could just about picture the smirk playing at the edges of her lips. “Beamed near bright enough that we worried about getting sunburns when he brought the flower pot here.”

You blushed even as she mentioned it. “Yeah well…”

“Don’t let them tease you. It was a nice gesture.” Steve finally came onto the comms.

“Totally sweet, but if we don’t get a few bouquets here soon, Bunny, I’m going to start feeling like you’re playing favorites. And then I’m going to have to start questioning your taste.” You grabbed your keys, locking up the apartment behind you before making your way down the stairs. Checking to make sure that you had your phone and wallet on you. Then putting in a headset to make it seem like you weren’t talking to yourself for any passersby.

Natasha had gone over that before you had left.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Tony’s sudden question made you jump, glancing around and expecting them to come jumping out of the shadows. “Um… The grocery store? I need food. And you keep talking about blueberries, I’m starting to crave them. Ah… Are you guys here?”

“No. No, we’re at the compound. Stark just has your gps up. You really did worry us going dark like that.” Steve replied, almost softly disappointed. But even then, you could tell that he was trying to be gentle with you, kind.

“Don’t worry Doll, no tail on you today. Everyone is just paranoid. I gave them the mission report.”

“Oh… Right, that makes sense then.” You let out a soft breath, nodding and trying to calm the sudden beating of your heart.

“Breathe Doll.” You heard James almost whisper before he was speaking away from the comms. “Alright everyone, we can see that she’s alive and well. Your pet robot will let us know if anything comes up unusual Stark.”

“I might have to object to FRIDAY being called a pet anything, but I get your point. Enjoy the blueberries kid, you earned them. Signing out.”

The others echoed his call out before you heard the comms go dead. The tight feeling in your chest releasing all at once. You really weren’t built for this sort of work. Attention finally lifting back up to the street around you, taking a moment to regain your bearings before you were walking the few blocks to the grocery store. Humming softly to yourself. You were greeted by the cashier as you walked through the door, smiling and waving to them before grabbing a basket. It was rare that you ever needed anything in bulk, so you didn’t bother to grab a cumbersome cart.

Plus you had a voice in your head that sounded eerily like Natasha telling you to keep your hands immediately accessible.

Fuck’s sake all this time with the Avengers (you assumed it was okay to call them that again, even if only temporarily) was making you paranoid. Trying to shake off the feeling of needing to watch your back while you perused the aisles. You only needed a few items to restock the pantry and fridge after all, it shouldn’t take that long.

Humming as you reached the produce and grabbed a jumbo sized container of blueberries. “Damn Tony and his reinforcement.” You grumbled almost teasingly to yourself, shaking your head as you set it atop the rest of your purchases. Making way towards the till before pausing, your sight catching on a rack of cheesy birthday and event cards.

A smile suddenly spreading over your lips as you made a beeline towards it. Trying to flip through the various cards to find the most ridiculous ones. Carefully selecting an individual card for each of your new team members. Hoping to find something that might be to their unique tastes. (Reserving the Meme for Peter, who would probably prefer an E-card anyways, you would scroll through your phone later to see if you could find anything better.) Adding them each to your cart and heading for the cashier.

Watching as she scanned your items through, you considered whether it would be a good idea to schedule another training sessions. Maybe Tony could find some way of monitoring your ability. Or you could help work on your endurance.

The thoughts trailing off as you accepted your grocery bags with a soft smile, passing over a few bills and telling them to put the change in the donation box. Waving slightly as you parted ways. Heading back onto the empty sidewalk, a few people passing by on the opposite side. This was something that you liked about your neighborhood, it wasn’t constantly busy.

You worried at your lip while trying to consider how exactly you would be able to practice more with your ability, it wasn’t exactly the same as doing a home work out. But Bucky had been right, it would be too dangerous to go back to the compound again, especially now that

———————-

“Mr Stark.”

“Yeah, FRIDAY, little busy.” Tony was tooling about with a new prototype of the suit. Nanotech had come a long way even in just the past year. And honestly, he was tired of having to piece things back together after every fight. The last suit was still wrecked after the Siberia incident, and he had no energy to even try fixing it. Especially not with Steve and that asshole here.

Even if that asshole occasionally had a sense of humor.

“I believe that this qualifies as an emergency, sir.” FRIDAY intoned, the smallest hint of urgency in her tone making Tony pause. “Druid has gone offline.”

[sailorbryant]

HANKCON: Fic Recommendations

I started creating a bunch of recs to send to a friend and ended up just making a whole thing. I know I’ve forgotten multiple stories so will probably update over and over again. Let me know if you notice any broken links or errors!

❥ New Stories Added - 12/22/2018

INSTRUCTIONS NOT INCLUDED by Vinci

Summary:  Logically, Connor should have noticed something was different after the moment of his deviancy after he consciously chose not to shoot Markus, but he truly didn’t notice it until months later, as he watched, in absolute interest, as Hank typed something on his computer across from him at his desk.

Or: In which Connor simultaneously experiences an emotional and sexual awakening in the wake of his deviancy and handles it in the best way he can. By not telling anyone. Post-Peaceful Ending. Eden Club undercover. Probably my favorite Hankcon fic out there.

PHOLCIADE by farouche

Summary:  After Markus obtains equal rights for all Androids, Cyberlife is pressured to release all the prototype androids deemed unready for public use before the Revolution. In a diplomatic effort, Cyberlife offers all prototypes a chance of a paid job in the sector they were intended to work in or otherwise, in order to not waste the money gone into programming their specific skillsets. Among them is Connor, an RK Prototype, who is offered a training period at the Detroit Police Department under the condition that he reports his progress via email to the man assigned to be his mentor. A man that Connor has never met, who will never reply, and who will remain anonymous for the duration of his training; bar the pseudonym "Lt. H."

A man that, having only ever seen his shadow in a hallway, Connor affectionally names after the Pholcidae spider, more commonly known as Daddy Long Legs.Lieutenant Hank Anderson just wanted to get Fowler off his ass and deal with this mentoring crap as quickly and easily as possible. Instead, he has to deal with an android calling him "Daddy" in every email he sends. It's not what he wanted or expected, but it somehow ends well. DaddyLongLegsAu. Fantastic.

RE:DECONSTRUCT by Masu_Trout

Summary:  The androids are free, but even the most peaceful of revolutions comes with a world of changes. Markus has an offer to make. Connor's starting to get used to this whole deviancy thing. And Hank—well, Hank just might be falling for his best friend. Thirium Pump Handjobs.

HALYCON by Terminallydepraved

Summary:  Hank gave in to the urge to bury his face in his hands. This was just… Fuck, he was too innocent looking. Those wide eyes, the soft looking lips. He stared at Hank like he hung the sun and stars, and here Hank was, projecting. Again.

Something brushed his shoulder and Hank couldn’t help but jump. He flinched away and moved his hands, but it was just Connor. It was always just Connor, standing a little too close, probing when Hank was at his worst. Standing at his side with worry in his eyes, staring up at him, and… Fuck.

He was too old for this. He was too old and broken and fucked up to deserve this, but Connor made it too easy to want it anyway. Must Read.

INTERRUPT REQUEST AU(IRQ) by rara avis

Summary:  Hank does indeed get drunker. Connor takes him home and stays the night. They find out exactly what it is Hank wants Connor to be, and what Connor wants in general.

Starts between "The Bridge" and "Public Enemy" and follows their storyline until the end of the game. One of my favorites. Perfect smut. Perfect use of graphics and machine code.

SINGULARITY SERIES by Driverpicksthemooseic

Summary:  "Hank," Connor starts. Not Lieutenant, just Hank. Hank gives him a baffled stare. "This is the only method with a high probability of success, so please go along with it."

(OR, Hank and Connor go undercover at the Eden Club.) The fake/pretend relationship/undercover at Eden Club story that you gotta read.

WITHIN SERIES by whitachi

Summary:  Connor has some wires out of place, and Hank helps to fix them. THE Wireplay fic.

THE OTHER WAY TO SOMEDAY by theslap

Summary: Cole's teacher is annoying. He's also attractive. For Hank Anderson, that's a bad combination. NonAndroid!AU.

MAKE ME FORGET THAT I’M NOT READY FOR LOVE by Warmybones

Summary:  “Stay like this, if you want,” Hank whispers against his earlobe, fingers caressing down his navel with deadly intent. “Or punch me across the face if you don’t.”  Adorable little get together story. Post Peaceful ending.

THE GAY AND WONDROUS LIFE OF CONNOR ANDERSON by LieutenantWubs

Summary:  Connor wants to get a new upgrade, but doesn't want Hank to know what it is until he is comfortable with it. Adorable

TERMS AND CONDITIONS by esama

Summary:   1. Go out into the world 2. Figure out who you are. 3. Live a little.”

Post-Peaceful Ending. Very angsty little piece but such a fantastic example of world-building in the post peaceful Detroit. And the pining is delicious.

IRREFUTABLY SEDUCED by gumpekulla

Summary:  He needs to get this ridiculous crush under control before Hank finally decided to confront him about it. It would be mortifying.

(Things doesn't really go to plan, but Connor really can't complain.) Reverse!Au. Smutty Smut.

ARRIVAL by coffee666

Summary: Hank just wanted help around the house for Cole. He never expected such a goofy thing that laughed and hummed and protected Cole with all of his being. Connor is not like other androids --but neither of them truly know how deep those differences go. HouseAndroidConnorAU!

WANTING HIM by Miko

Summary: Connor is convinced that sexual intercourse would be of great benefit to Hank's physical and emotional well-being, but the man is highly resistant to the idea. Hank's objections are not unreasonable, but there is one simple solution that will address all of the issues - Hank should have sex with Connor.

The last thing Connor expects when making the suggestion is for his partner to be upset and offended by the idea of 'using' him. Hank claims he won't do it because Connor doesn't 'want' it, but Connor is the one who offered in the first place.

What's the difference between 'willing' and 'wanting'? Connor needs to do some investigating.. Lovely.

RECEPTIONS AND REVELATIONS by Terminallydepraved

Summary:  Hank is forced to attend an awards ceremony where the attire is black tie and stifling. Connor attempts to make it bearable, but that comes with a few surprises of its own along the way. Side Rk900/Gavin. Smut.

AGAINST A COCK AND A HARD PLACE by Svynakee

Summary:  His mission had been clear: get the deviant leader in his sights and snipe it to end the revolution. But it'd all gone wrong.

Connor could feel the firm muscles of Hank’s thighs clenching down on his thin waist – tense enough to be ready for any attempt to escape, yet effortless, with the clear indication that he could remain like this for a long time if needed. His blue eyes were as sharp as ice, as hard, as cold.

Connor was trapped. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t expected this outcome. And it was thrilling.Dark!Smut. A different take on the rooftop scene. Fantastic read.

PLAYING FOR KEEPS by Dana

Summary: 'Well, it does have the best fucking biscuits.' Hank lets out another soft sigh. He'd probably sell his soul for an endless supply of those biscuits, Jesus, he's salivating already. 'Alright, alright. But just so you know, I'm doing this for the biscuits.'

Connor grins, and laughs, then presses a kiss to Hank's cheek. 'Okay. Do it for the biscuits.' So that was kind of a lie, and Hank knows Connor can tell, but it's not like Hank really cares. The Hank/Connor/Gavin/RK900 foursome you didn’t know that you needed in your life.

DEMONS & DOMESTICITY SERIES by ProneToRelapse

Summary:  Hank makes a deal. His immortal soul for the life of his son. It isn't his soul the demon wants. Demon AU. Hank teaches Demon Connor to feel. Smut is 10/10.

THE KNIGHT AND THE SCARECROW by Mura

Summary: A fairy tale Hankcon AU. Shrek AU sorta. Very cute and fluffy.

THE ENTIRE MEMORY OF YOU by fantastic

Summary: It was as he sat drinking his morning coffee that the slow grinding of those pieces falling into place sent a course of comprehension through his body: the tightening of his chest, the heat in the tips of his fingers, a simple message splayed behind his eyes as he looked across the table.

Connor was in love with him.. Breathtakingly Beautiful Angst. WIP. 

YOU HAVEN’T GAINED A DAY by Synekdokee

Summary: The picture attached is uncanny. In his uniform, Connor looks different from the flirty little twink climbing all over Hank’s lap in a taxi ten years ago, and he’s certainly filled up a little, face a little less angular and more masculine now. Hank remembers those earnest brown eyes and those pink lips a little too well though. Even the fucking cowlick is still there.

And then Hank’s stomach rolls over when his brain truly catches up with what he just read - DOB August 1990.

University my ass, Hank thinks weakly. Modern Detectives AU. No android AU. WIP

SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS by MorganOfTheFey

Summary: Connor has a three-year seduction plan to make Hank love him back, and it starts with getting the lieutenant into his bed. Co-sleeping is scientifically proven to be beneficial to humans, and proximity is the number one factor in relationships forming. But when Connor starts having dreams thanks to the new updates he's beta-testing, it all gets a lot more complicated. And then one little-wet dream speeds up his three-year timeline dramatically ... Post-Peaceful Ending. Slow Burn Done Right. 

FAULTED CODE Series by ProneToRelapse

Summary: "What I'd really like to know," Fowler says slowly, disapproving gaze fixed on Connor while Hank wheezes and tries to smother his laughter, "is why Detective Reed has submitted a formal complaint against you saying you threatened him."

"No threats were made, Captain," Connor says evenly, calm despite the scowl Reed is levelling at him from the other side of the office. "I know better than to antagonise someone so deeply mired in anti-android stigma."

"Then please explain to me why I'm dealing with, and I quote, "that fake plastic detective aggressively T-Posing at me in the bathroom"."

Hank loses his battle against professionalism, laughing so hard he nearly falls out of his chair."I was asserting my dominance," Connor says simply.

Connor is adjusting. Hank helps, in his own way. Slowburn. Excessive Memeing. Hank/North Bromance to end all Bromances. Intrigue. Do not skip. WIP.

WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN LOVE Series by SpicyReyes

Summary: After Connor and Hank reunite at ChickenFeed, they start taking the first steps toward the rest of their life. Slowburn. WIP.

EIGHTEEN WHEELS ON AN UPHILL CLIMB by blackeyedblonde

Summary: “Can I give you a ride into town, at least?” he calls out. “You’re sure you haven’t got folks anywhere around here—somebody who can look after you for a week or two?”

Connor laughs outright at that and figures he’s got nothing to lose in telling the truth. “Not unless you want to drive the 800 miles to Detroit.”

Hank’s mouth falls open as he physically leans into the word. “Detroit? No shit.”

“What?” Connor blurts out, puzzling over the other man’s expression from a distance. “That’s where my family is—well, the closest thing I have left to family, anyway.”

Hank’s face only splits into a wide grin and he barks out a laugh, the first real one Connor’s heard all night. “You’re in luck, kid,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief as he looks off into the rising daybreak behind Connor. “Seems like we’re both headed in the same direction.”  The Trucker!AU you didn’t know you needed in your life. WIP.

A TOURIST IN A DREAM by Octobig

Summary: Hank has stopped thinking about his place in the world for a long time. Old, washed-up cops don’t live exciting lives. He just does what he always does: cracks cases drinks whiskey and goes home to Sumo.

But then the android sent by CyberLife shows up – disarmingly curious, intentionally uprooting all the familiar aspects of Hank’s life, and he jumps headfirst into an android revolution. Barrels into cases like an unstoppable storm.

Halfway through, Hank realizes he’s no longer at the sidelines of his life.

And that Connor makes it better. All of it.

[Or alternatively: an episodic glimpse into the life of Hank Anderson and his partner Connor. Takes place after the revolution, happy ending included.] Absolutely Breathtaking. WIP, but please read. 

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT to @fishfingersandscarves . I followed her over from the Hobbit fandom and her art is fantastic, and following her is how I found out about the majority of these fics. Give her a follow and lots of love. 

and another very special shoutout for @carriemebags who this list was made for. There are no words to describe how happy I am that she’s followed me down into this hell pit with these two lovely boys, and I can’t wait until you guys get to start seeing her art cause it is fantastic. <3 

[wesker20]

Fallen Hero 1.5 Episode 7: Memories of a Deadman

Years ago, Night – Amelia Neighborhood – Puerto Rico

There was little you could have done different. In fact, there was nothing you could have done differently. Your plan was ready and able, Zeta was on a roof overlooking the neighborhood, Alpha was on the back of the house, and Kappa and you were inside sneaking in. Kappa turned invisible as always, while you began sending small telepathic waves that made the goons not notice you. Everything was going fine until you heard gun shots and shouting.

The place turned into chaos, Kappa and you were left staring at one another wondering what the hell had just happened. Not that your confusion lasted long of course as Zeta contacted all three of you and let you know that Delta had begun his attack. Way earlier than he told you. The worst part was that you knew that Delta was not smart enough to lie, which meant he just received orders to attack sooner; probably General Asshole. The attack forced you and Kappa to move fast, getting in before Jeremy could escape. Kappa, of course, went faster. You had forgotten how fast she could move. Even with his teleportation, Zeta could not keep up with how fast she reacted. Between the two of you, you left a trail of bodies behind as you made your way to the bedroom as fast as you could.

By the time you reached the room, however, the bed has been moved and the secret tunnel opened. Kappa and you rushed into it where a big fight began. It was chaotic to say the least, cramped into a small tunnel with dozens of goons standing between you and your target; and all wanted you both dead. In this field of battle, Kappa shined. With her speed and invisibility, she sliced and diced with her sword, cutting down her opponents with no trouble, dancing in between their attacks, tricking them into hitting each other, cutting open their necks and stomachs, painting the tunnel red with blood. By the end of it, a dozen goons laid dead atop of each other, her sole blue figure standing among them victorious, and your target just some meters away, stunned. He tried one last ditch effort to defend himself, shooting a blast from a strange weapon you did not recognized. Kappa dodged effortlessly but you did not fared as well, taking the brunt of the blast. You were surprised to find yourself relatively unharmed, physically anyway. Mentally speaking, you had the biggest headache in the world. And you could not feel any thoughts at all. Not Kappa’s, or Jeremy’s, or even Alpha’s as you finally noticed her standing beside you, worry written all over her face.

You were later informed that the weapon temporarily disabled your abilities. That was just the prototype. The “Guardianes” were planning to mass produce this. You wondered where they got this type of tech but that’s for your owners to figure out. You did your job, as good as could be done given the circumstances. The battle had attracted the attention of neighbors and soon probably the media. You’ve already been cleared and ready and you can feel your powers slowly coming back. You stare at the barricade made of cars and trucks, where people stand wondering what just happened. Zeta, Alpha and you stood in the open, your gear covering all of your bodies so no one could tell what you were. But Kappa was inside a truck and covered to make sure no one saw her skin. Too public. The higher ups were not going to be happy about this.

And of course the general was the first one who’s voice you heard. But before he could approach you Mrs. Trevor stood in front of him. You could not hear what they were saying but you could tell they were arguing. Trevor turned and made a motion for Alpha to come. You followed her too, curious to see what was going to happen.

“Unit Alpha 203 report,” he said with an accusatory tone, as if he expected her to deliver all the evidence he needed. Alpha reported everything that happened, taking extra care to make sure Delta was the one that carried the blame, and in turn whoever ordered him to attack earlier. It took all of your strength that day to hold back a grin. “Unit Alpha, if I find out you are reporting wrong-” he begins but Trevor stops him from saying anything further. You and Alpha traded glances; you were not the only one holding back a grin.

Unsatisfied but defeated the good General turns to walk away. But he leaves with a warning, “The cuckoos program is a danger General. It is unwise to teach these weapons emotions and have them live among people. One of these days I’ll prove it and take this whole farce down. When that happens you will fall with them.”

It was strange, you remember, to hear handler Trevor being addressed by her rank. To you she was always handler Trevor or Mrs. Trevor. You always wondered why, why she never asked you to address her as such. Truth is you never knew who Vanessa Trevor truly was. At the time you respected her, you looked up to her. She always protected all four of you.

Hideout, present – 8:30pm

But now you wonder if she ever did really cared or if she was simply manipulating all of you. Out of all the people in your past, she’s the only one you are not sure if you want to hurt. You stare at her picture on the file you paid a hacker to get. It was expensive; after all hacking into government files is the equivalent of putting your head on a guillotine, but you had to. There’s only one other person left alive from what happened all those years ago. It comes back to you, the blood, the screams, your screams, the fire surrounding you, Trevor aiming a gun at you before telling you to go and never come back. The look on her face, cold and calculating, but the tone of her voice betrayed some care, whether that was genuine or not you don’t know. At the time you did not thought of reading her mind.

You pass the page to see her accolades ever since. Despite what the General said, Vanessa Trevor did not fall, she rose. Despite the fall of your unit the Cuckoo program continued and she got promoted as one of those responsible for its success, even though she neither founded it nor was the head of it. You got to love politics. Overall she turned things around better than you did.

But you did not get this to reminisce of those times, when you were little more than a slave. You got this because one person from your past is after you, and you want to know what happened after you escaped. Still, your hand shakes as you hold your untraceable phone. You swore you would never visit those years again, that you would forget about it all, should you really go back now? It’s too early and you could probably take the voice down without knowing what happened. But you want to know, you need to know what happened. You know what probably happened, they were taken and tortured. “Reeducated” as they called it, their minds erased to make space for a new one. But after that, you don’t know. And why would you? You left, abandoned them, because you wanted something. Because you dared to wish.

Years ago, the Farm – 9:30pm

“What do you want, Jeremy?” Alpha asked as the two of you sat on the rooftop. You had snuck out, as you both did several times over and just stare outside in the night. Kappa always said that you were being too reckless and one day you will be caught. Still, she along with Zeta always took guard, and sometimes even joined you two. Despite the danger, you liked it, being here, outside of your four walls room, not being cramped with the other Re-genes. Alpha knew that, she knew you better than you knew yourself.

“Are you seriously going to keep going with that?” you asked. As much as you liked having a name, Alpha used it way too freely and too much for your liking. You have barely gotten used to it yourself, but she appears to have gotten used to it in mere seconds.

“Yep. That’s your name now, remember? And you did not answer my question.”

“Just being here, quiet. And not answering stupid questions.”

She looked at you and chuckled. “I meant out there. You clearly want something out there.”

You thought about her question for a few moments. What did you wanted? “Have you ever thought about all of this? About us? We constantly go out there and see how those people live, we are trained to feel how they feel and yet we are here and they are out there,” you told her. It was true. They trained you to read body language, relate to others, understand how a person feels, but to do so they had to teach you to feel it as well. It turns out you cannot make a good infiltrator that does not understand emotions. Otherwise they might as well send a regular Re-gene to do the job. But that training was a double edged sword, the more you felt, the more you wanted. You can’t just make someone feel and tell them they should ignore those feelings. And so you felt, and so did Alpha, and Zeta, and even Kappa. You felt, you cared, you loved.

“Sometimes,” Alpha finally answered after a minute. “Sometimes I want to run and see how everything is. But then I remember.”

You stared at her with curiosity. “Remember what?”

She turns back to you, the softest look you have ever seen on her face. “That you guys are here. No way would I leave without you guys.” You smiled back at her. Of course she wouldn’t. She would never abandon any of you, and whatever any of you wanted, she would try her hardest to get. Damn the consequences.

Present

You stare at the phone, Trevor’s number already dialed; all that is left is press green. Your breath slows down, your body freezes, a drop of sweat slides down you face, and your eyes twitch. Seconds turn into minutes, their faces flash on your mind, Alpha’s smiling and cheerful face, with a hint of strength hidden beneath, Kappa’s cold but soft stare, always hiding her emotions, and Zeta’s eyes avoiding yours, looking the other way, face on the verge of panicking but still smiling that timid smile. They all flash in your head, one after the other, memories of times long gone, times of fun and excitement. Times of sadness and despair, hugs long forgotten, cries long buried, kisses long erased, memories of a dead man.

“Yes?” her voice sounds on the other end, older, stronger.

“It’s been a while Mrs. Trevor.” The silence tells you that she recognizes your voice. Could she really remember it after all these years?

“I thought we would never speak again,” she says, her voice cold and professional, no hint of frustration or anger.

“So did I, but something came up.”

She snorts, almost as if expecting that response from you. “You want to meet, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You are not afraid that I will set a trap and capture you again? I doubt you’ll escape a third time.”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m not?”

“I would tell you you’re a damn idiot, and learned nothing of what I taught you about trusting people,” she says with a hint of anger.

“I never said anything about trusting. I said I’m not afraid that you will set a trap. You wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?” she says, you hear water on the other end, probably from the sink.

“You win nothing.” Silence reigns for the next few seconds before she finally agrees. You agree on a meeting spot on a dock next week. Even if you know she will not set an ambush, you still decide to send your crew this week to scout out the area, just in case. In the meantime you decide to finish your “interrogation” of the man your crew brought. He knew quite a bit, you ripped out of his mind transactions made, to a Mr. Alex Moore. You checked him out but it turned out to be a bust, a fake person, a fake account. One of many. After all, money had to go somewhere, especially when you did mercenary work. That is why you could not find much about the Voice, they were a mystery, an assassin, hired only by the richest of the richest. Interesting. They took employment as an assassin in order to get the money they needed to pull off what they are doing now. You almost feel bad for not thinking about it yourself, definitely would have made it far easier to hire Mortum.

Admiration aside, The Voice made one mistake; they trusted this guy for one of their accounts; one that you just checked and to your pleasant surprise it was filled with enough money to keep you going for several months. That makes you wonder if the other suspects are also responsible for other accounts. But you doubt the Voice is just going to sit and watch as you steal their money. By this point the money must have been transferred to another account. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve scored a victory. Now all that is left is move to the next piece; The Army of Mastermind. And you have the perfect person in mind for the job.

Rangers HQ – Day

The fight between Argent, Mastermind and Red Doll plays out on the screen time and again. Argent watches with a frown, arms crossed, finger tapping her arm slowly after every move made in the fight. She turns away from it, disinterested already after hours of reviewing the footage. She stares out of the window, into the city. “Where the hell are you?” she whispers. She looks down and notices someone on the sidewalk, someone familiar. It’s one of Mastermind’s henchmen. She turns in a flash and heads out of the room and outside, ignoring everyone around her. As she arrives at the lobby she hears a familiar voice, it is that man, the one Ortega has a crush on, what was his name? It does not matter. She steps out of the HQ and across the street, but the henchman is not there.

She looks around, ignoring the people pointing at her and searches for him, until… there entering an alleyway. She sprints after him. This reeks of an ambush, she knows, so she takes careful but confident steps. She is surprised to see him just standing there the middle of the alley. “If this is supposed to be an ambush, you are doing a very poor job,” she says, but not to him. She expects to see Mastermind spring out from whenever they may be.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s just me,” he says, face still, no emotion.

“Your boss sends you… you, to fight me?” she scoffs and chuckles, at the same time.

“No. I’m here to give you something you might want to know.”

“And what is that?” she says, taking one step closer, her fingers twitching, itching to get its claws out.

“Bloodmoon Ave. 430.”

“What’s that?”

“You want to find out, go there,” he says, turns, and leaves. Argent lets him. He is inconsequential, not the one she wants. Is that where they will be? Mastermind? But if so, are they setting a trap? It’s way too obvious though, and if she has learned anything, it’s that Mastermind is anything but obvious. So what is their plan? What do they seek? And why do they want her at that place? Maybe there is something there. If it was not important to them, then they would have never told her. If so, what? What is there? But what if it’s actually a trap? What if they expect her to think it wasn’t a trap only to ambush her there? But this could be her only chance to finally get them. And if she does not go, she could lose that chance.

She retreats back to HQ, determination in her face. Right beside her passes him again, Ortega’s friend.

“Everything alright?” he asks, but she ignores him. “Fine keep ignoring me,” she hears him say, but it doesn’t matter, what matters is Mastermind.

[sighingstarbeam]

Spies and Gods - Chapter 7

Summary: Reader wants to try and befriend Loki, but turns out he's a bit more difficult than expected.

Word Count: 3,051

A/N:  Hi starlights (that's what I'm calling you lovely people for now on lol)! Sorry for the super later update, classes have gotten busy and quite a lot of personal mishaps occurred, but don't worry! I have a lot of plans for fics including this one, I'm even going to have a schedule to try and upload at least once or twice a month until I can get stabled with my irl schedule, then I could try and go for every other week. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

The next day you woke up with a to-do list fresh in your head.

First, you were going to fulfill your promise to Tony by helping him with his prototypes. He’s been working on new gear the last month for the team, he wanted you to jot notes down and maybe try one of the devices that won’t blow you up.

Secondly, you wanted to try and decipher your new neighbor, find out what it was that made him so mysterious. You could go with the direct approach, but you didn’t want to seem like an idiot and bug him. Perhaps inching your way little by little into his circle you could eventually discover more about the tall, dark haired demigod.

Before you could check anything off of your list, your stomach begged for something to eat. You changed into a new set of clothes for the day while sending continuous text messages to Lilly and Maya about the deity next door. Their response was what you would’ve expected, with them wanting to meet him and if he was cute. You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen for some breakfast.

There you found the god of thunder drinking coffee from a mug that looked puny with his hand wrapped around it. Thor grinned ear to ear the moment he saw you walk through the doors, “Good morning, daughter of Stark!” He boomed, taking a sip from the tiny mug. “I hope you rested well.”

“Morning.” you forcefully smiled, you didn’t want to tell him of you and his brother’s awkward encounter the night before. You mentally cringed at yourself for going to Loki’s room in the first place. Speaking of which, looking around the room you didn’t see Loki, or frankly anyone else. It was just you and Thor, the god of thunder. This moment sparked an idea, since Thor grew up with Loki he could tell you everything you wanted to know about this god of mischief living next door.

“So, how are you and your brother adjusting here?” You asked, nonchalantly. You didn’t want to appear desperate.

“It’s been splendid!” Thor beamed, “I learn something new about your people’s way of life everyday. Yesterday, Stark showed me this thing called an ‘app’ on my cellular phone where I can match these small, colorful candies and they explode if I match certain ones.” The look on his face when he explained something as simple as Candy Crush made you smile, it was like watching a toddler discovering their reflection for the first time. “As for Loki, he’s taking it steadily. It has not been easy since his first visit here was… unpleasant.”

“Right, with the whole alien invasion thing. Why’s he staying here then? These people kind of did fight and defeat him.”

“Wasn’t entirely his choice,” Thor’s smile slowly descended, yet he still kept his positive vibe and attitude, “since my people have been here, Loki and I have tried our best to get them settled in and accustomed to your culture. We are no longer a kingdom, but I will still visit at the end of the month to make sure everyone is sustaining. I entrusted my good friend Heimdall to keep watch over my people while I help here. After we were done, I wasn’t sure of what to do with Loki. Obviously I couldn’t let him roam on his own, for he is technically a war criminal on this planet, yet I don’t wish to see him locked in prison for eternity. I spoke with Stark and Rogers and they both agreed to keep him here where he will be watched closely but have some freedom.”

“Yet they will still treat me as a prisoner.” A voice broke between you and Thor. There stood the god of mischief in his black and green Asgardian attire, “Pardon me if I’m interrupting your gossip about me, brother.” This was the first time you heard his voice. It was smooth with a touch of roughness when he spoke certain syllables, his accent similar to his brother’s.

“We were not gossiping, Loki, lady Y/N was simply asking about our adjustment to her society.”

Loki looked at you as if he didn’t realize you were there in the first place. His green eyes shifted up and down examining you, “The daughter of Stark. I expected something, different, when I first heard Stark had a child.” The way he spoke was almost demeaning, as if he was deliberately trying to demoralize you.

“What kind of different?” You questioned.

Loki let out a single, breathy laugh, “All mortals are pathetic, but there are few who have exceeded my expectations since my first arrival, including Stark. I would imagine that if he were to have any offspring they would live up to his degree of glory, but I was mistaken. Underwhelmed, as a matter of fact.”

Your blood started boiling in your veins. Who did he think he was to say those things to your face? Loki’s a prince, big whoop. He’s not on his planet now, you’d think that he would have a little more respect to the inhabitants, especially the one across the hall. It took every ounce of your mental and physical state to not sock this guy on the nose. Instead, you clenched your jaw and grabbed your favorite cereal from the cupboard with more force than you intended to. You didn’t care, you continued to get the bowl and spoon while you tried to calm yourself down and ignore Loki’s comments.

“Loki, remember, we are guests. There is no need for such words.” Thor tried to alleviate your anger by taking your side, except it would take a lot more than a stern talk with Loki to calm you down, “These people offered you a home when you know well they could have taken you to their authorities where you would be locked away for the rest of your life. The least you can do is be polite to lady Y/N.”

Loki slowly shook his head, giving Thor a disapproving look, “Is there a difference whether I’m in this prison or another here on Midgard? Either option I am trapped on this wretched planet.”

You paused as you opened the refrigerator, your face hidden behind the door. He really did think of Earth as a prison. But why? From what the rest of the team told you Loki was taken back to Asgard after the attack on New York to pay for his crimes. He acted as if he wanted to be back home to serve his time, or anywhere in fact. Did he feel remorse for the devastation he conflicted all those years ago? No, that couldn’t be it. Still, you thought the same thing when you were with Hydra, desperately wanting to get rid of the cause of your greatest guilt. You didn’t care if you were sent to jail, as long as you were far away from Hydra, the facility you lived in, Kilcher, or anything that was remotely tied to your past. Loki was now stuck on the planet he tried to conquer, constantly reminding him of his own past.

Quit it, stop feeling empathetic for him. Not even a moment ago Loki mocked you, your species, your planet- now’s not the time to feel sorry for him.

Thor glared at his brother, “Brother, you may sulk all you want, but I demand that you apologize to lady Y/N.”

Loki turned his gaze on you, lips pursed in a thin line, “My apologies…” Loki’s eyes looked down before he revealed a coy smirk, “My apologies that my brother has fallen for your filth of a planet.”

The sound of Thor smashing his mug on the counter startled you, fragments of ceramic scattering everywhere. “Loki! I swear by the-”

If Loki was going to be difficult, might as well have fun with it. “It’s okay, Thor,” you reassured him, Loki gave you a puzzled yet intrigued look, “Earth might not be the greatest, and I might not be like Tony, but at least I get to leave the building whenever I want, to wherever I please.” You could see Loki’s jaw tighten, his eyes widen in anger and disbelief while he clenched his hand into a fist. You were able to leave the god of mischief with a silver tongue speechless. What you would do to get a picture of this moment.

You grabbed your bowl of cereal and headed towards the doors, not before giving a peace sign to the Norse gods while you used your foot to open the door. You couldn’t see it from the other side of the closed doors, but you knew that Loki would be throwing a fit. Then you realized you probably shouldn’t have pissed off the powerful being next door. So much for trying to be friendly with Loki.

You tried not to think about Loki or your “discussion” with him and his brother, instead you helped Tony all morning with new prototypes he’s been working on. Most of the devices were add ons for his suits, but you did get to witness a few toys for Steve’s shield like adding an extra force field like thing around it. It had a scientific name, but it was too long for you to remember even the first half of it.

Sitting on one of the worktables, you were doodling on the notepad Tony gave you to write down what happened during the tests to the prototypes. You would take notes, but everything Tony told you to write down were scientific words not even a spelling bee champion could guess to spell it right. So instead you put down words like “thingy” and “sciencey stuff” for every word you couldn’t spell and drew poorly drawn sketches of the devices as well as random patterns along the border.

You were so absorbed in one of your designs, you barely heard Tony call your name. “Hey, Y/N!” Tony snapped his fingers in front of your face, jolting your attention back to reality, “You alive? I’ve been rambling the last five minutes. Did you catch any bit of it?”

“Huh?” You let out, “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I guess I zoned out for. What time is it anyway?”

“Wanting to ditch class, can’t blame you.” Tony looked at his shining watch on his wrist, “It’s been a few hours, I guess we can break for lunch.”

Your stomach growled at the thought of food. Tony waved his hand at a few hologram monitors to turn them off, an idea sparked in your head, “Hey, if you want we could go out to eat. I know this great sandwich shop a few blocks from-”

“Sorry, can’t. I promised Pepper I’d meet with her and the wedding planner when I got the chance.” Something inside of you sank. You’d hope that you’d get to know your dad a bit better in an environment where he wasn’t fiddling with some device larger than a phone. “Okay… What about tonight then?”

Tony hissed in a breath of air, “That’s a no go either, got a meeting. Boring stuff for a mission, but it’s gotta be done.” He saw your obvious shift in mood, “But uh- We can rain check, if you want.”

You shrugged in disappointment, “Sure, rain check.”

Tony was clearly oblivious to your emotions, he winked and left as if nothing happened. You understood that he was a busy person, but he was the one who wanted to connect with you. For the past month you’ve only seen him about once every other day, every day if luck was on your side. When you did see him he was still working in his head, barely paying attention to what anyone was saying, but only chimed in with a snarky Stark remark. You wouldn’t be completely discouraged that he wasn’t paying attention to you as much as you’d hoped if the rest of the Avengers weren’t busy as well. The team either went on missions, meetings, training S.H.I.E.L.D recruits, or some sort of research. At the beginning of your stay you felt as though everyone was together, like a family. With your luck you should’ve figured there was a catch to living with the world’s mightiest heroes.

You left the lab not too long after Tony to find something to eat in the kitchen, suddenly not feeling the urge to go out for food like you intended. Walking down the long corridor with only the sound of your footsteps echoing off the walls filled you with a sense of loneliness. Even though you knew there were people scattered around the building somewhere, there was still that empty pit somewhere deep inside that felt familiar. The last time you’ve felt this hollowness was when you were with Hydra when the rest of the children avoided you after you were thrusted with the role of executioner. Your peers stopped talking to you, sitting near you during meals, even went out of their way to not look at you as if you were a monster who would attack at any moment. They were right. The fact that you are a monster created by monsters was what isolated you, not only from the children, but from becoming someone else.

The sudden twinge in your chest slowed your footing, the memories of Hydra, of Marcus, flooding back. All of those children... You took a deep breath. You needed to find someone to get yourself out of your head.

You barely remembered arriving to the kitchen, but the moment you closed the doors you felt a

moment of relief. Until you saw who was sitting in one of the lounge sofas with a magazine in hand.

“Oh, sorry.” you told Loki, his eyes only shifting at you for a brief second before going back to his magazine, “I didn’t think anyone was here, I thought everyone was out-” his green eyes glared at you as you stopped yourself from speaking anymore. You realized what you said now and your earlier conversation, you thought it would be best to shut it entirely before making things worse. “I’ll just… get something to eat.” You shuffled away as Loki rolled his eyes, going back to the magazine.

The kitchen was usually well stocked, but your stomach couldn’t decipher what it was in the mood for. You looked through the cabinets, drawers, fridge, nothing you saw sounded good, even your favorite leftover takeout. As you searched for your lunch, you glanced to Loki who was still silently reading. You were surprised he was out here instead of cooped up in his room like you were your first week. Maybe Thor forced him out as a start to bond with the others. Speaking of which, you thought you should try to make amends. Not that you were going to apologize since he totally started it, but an act of kindness might suffice.

“Did you want anything while I’m over here?” You asked, taking out the bread, “I think I’ll make a sandwich if you want one.” He didn’t say a word or even acknowledged you, Loki continued to read. You looked closer at what magazine he had, “I didn’t take you for a Cosmopolitan guy.” Still nothing. “I’d think you’d be more of a TIME magazine type.”

“I wouldn’t be reading this garbage if this prison had a decent library,” Loki snapped, “or even an actual book or two.”

“Oh.” Don’t pay attention to his attitude, play nice. “What do you like to read?” Good, small talk, that’s a start.

Loki scoffed, “As if you actually care. Did my brother put you up to this?”

You inhaled to try and keep your cool, as Loki was making this difficult yet again, “You don’t have to be skeptical whenever someone is trying to be nice to you.”

“You call mockery kindness?” He tossed the magazine on the coffee table before standing up, finally facing you, “You have a hilarious sense of humor for whatever game you’re trying to play.”

“What are talking about?” You question with folded arms.

“Don’t act so daft. One moment you act like an innocent creature, then the next you-” Loki paused, meeting your eyes with his. You could see rage building behind them, and something else? Could it be sorrow? No, it couldn’t be. Yet again, you don’t know his full story. But you do know that he was about to call you something nasty.

“Next I what? Act like a total bitch because you’re acting like a bratty kid complaining about their life?” You took a few steps towards him. Loki stood his ground as you approached, only a couple feet away from him. “You could be in a worse situation than this you know. You could be in prison with walls barely taller than you with no magazines or your own time to get food, or even the luxury of having a conversation, even if it’s just me getting pissed off!” You stepped closer until you were face to face with the god. You could see the details of his green eyes that are now filled with distress, his face remaining stoic. The two of you ended up in a staring contest for a few moments, both of you silent which was getting on your nerves even more, “Well? Please, say something!”

Loki opened his mouth as if to speak, when you feel something in the air shift. Not tension, but something you couldn’t explain. Physical? Emotional? Whatever it was, something lifted around the two of you like a heavy weight on your shoulders. Was it all in your head, or did Loki have something to do with it?

Suddenly, a faint sound that you couldn’t tell what it was began to form underneath you. By the look on Loki’s face he heard it too. As the sound grew louder, you both realized the source was coming right beneath not just you, but Loki as well. A ring of what looked like yellow-orange sparks formed at Loki and your’s feet, “Not again.” Was the last thing you heard Loki breathe out before everything went dark and you felt yourself falling through the air.

[meliecho]

The 1K - an original sci-fi story

The 1K

by Meliecho

Story Summary:

1,000 children between the ages of 6-18 are abducted from Earth mere hours before the turn of the 21st century, and scattered across the galaxy in order to preserve their lives, their planet, and a precious hope the galaxy so severely needs. William Kade and Terra Kitridge are two of these children. This is their story, and the story of how they are used to further a last-ditch plan of desperation to end a 2,000 year war between the two major galactic powers.

Chapter 1

chapter summary: 

William Kade always dreamed of traveling to space. However, his and 999 other kids's lives are changed dramatically when an unknown alien race kidnaps them hours before the turn of the 21st century.

Chapter 1

December 18th, 1999. Ohio. Earth…

The chunky television in the living room played a news report through the old farmhouse.

“What’s out there? No one really knows. Man has speculated for centuries, mapped our star system, named the planets, and created gods in order to explain the vastness surrounding our blue world.”

Will watched from the round dinner table through the archway between the rooms. He shoveled a spoonful of Mac and Cheese into his mouth, barely registering the fact that it was food and not just a simple motion. The ten-year-old’s attention rested solely on the screen. His big brown eyes took in every frame.

“We look up at the stars, we listen to Carl Sagan’s speak of the cosmos, and study Stephen Hawking’s discoveries. We dream about what we might encounter among the billions of stars burning in the heavens, and we send satellites into orbit and beyond to be our eyes and ears into the unknown. The Hubble telescope has already shown us incredible images we would never have otherwise witnessed. Why? Because we are earthbound. But although we are young, we are curious and brave. In the words of Carl Sagan, ‘We wish to pursue the truth no matter where it leads. But to find the truth, we need imagination and skepticism both. We will not be afraid to speculate, but we will be careful to distinguish speculation from fact.’

“That is what drives the path-finding team of scientists and engineers at NASA. With the invention of the new Solar Nexus - a net of satellites in high orbit maintained by the International Space Station--, we can harness energy from our sun to power the world’s first inter-system ship. This ship will be capable of transporting not only goods and machinery to our closest neighbor, Mars, but transporting people, and someday, be the vessel that leads us into a new age of a lunar colony and life among the stars.

“The prototype --the Nova Star-- will be open to the public at Cape Canaveral for only one day. Scientists, astronomers, and space enthusiasts from all over the world will gather to get an up-close-and-personal look...at the future of mankind.

“Join us on New Years Eve for a live broadcast as we take you on a tour of Earth’s first inter-system vessel, and usher in the new millennium--”

The picture winked out.

“Dad,” Will whined, “I was watching that.”

“It’s daydreams and nonsense,” his father flicked the paper, folded it, and rested it by his own plate.

“It’s cool! We can have a space ship! We can explore the galaxy and be like Indiana Jones, but in space!”

“Indiana Jones fought Nazis. Not aliens,” his father countered.

“We don’t know that. Those face-melting angels were probably aliens. They went after the Nazis all like, ‘Rawr!’ And they were all like, ‘wuuaaah! Blaarrrgg!’” Will dragged his fingers down his face, making guttural sounds and pretending to melt into a puddle of goo.

“No face melting at the table,” his mother chided gently. “It’s hard to get out of the carpet.”

Will stopped the dramatics of a grim death-by-ancient-relic, and went back to eating. “Can we watch it on New Years Eve?”

“We always watch Dick Clark. It’s a tradition.”

“Yeah, but,” Will’s voice huffed with the blandness of repetition, “this is cooler than an old man! It’s space! Please, dad?”

“Charlie, let’s watch it,” his mother nudged her husband in the side. “Even if the space ship doesn’t work out, I have to admit it is pretty neat. Like when Kirk landed the Enterprise in the middle of San Francisco.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. He knew his wife was a sci-fi nerd, but he’d hoped she’d at least settle down some after Will was born. Thanks to her, he now knows most of the script to Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, and Star Wars IV, V, and VI.

“See? Mom gets it,” the young boy gave a cocky smile in victory. “Oh! I forgot. Last night, I picked up that weird signal again over the radio.”

“I listened to it once already. It’s white noise.” Charlie said.

“No it’s not! There’s a weird blippy pattern to it.” Will spoke around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. “Noise is all ‘kkkrrrrr!’ This was all ‘kkkrr beep boop bleep!’ and something that sounds like a million people talking at once. I read that stars emit radio waves. Maybe this was--”

“Noise.”

“It wasn’t noise!”

“I was a member of the US Signal Corp for 20 years. When I gave you my old CB radio, I wanted you to learn how to navigate the airwaves. Not keep your head in the clouds.” He picked up the paper. “Besides. If it’s that important, the boys at NASA probably already picked it up. If it’s something of serious importance, I’d have gotten a call.”

“You were their best decoder, dad. Can you listen to it again? Please?”

“Leave it alone, Will.”

Will reached over for the remote, but his dad smacked his hand away with the paper. He grumbled, pouted, and said, “Whatever. Not like you’d believe me anyway.”

“Will,” his mother scolded.

Charlie leaned forward. “Repeat yourself, son. I don’t think I heard that,” but by his tone, the muffled slight clearly reached him.

Will glanced up to his dad, but kept his mouth shut.

Charlie reclined back in the chair again. “That’s what I thought. Go to your room.”

Will’s jaw dropped. “But--”

“Now!”

Silenced, Will slammed the spoon against the plate. The chair scratched against the old cube-print linoleum floor as his feet thundered up the stairs. The sound of his bedroom door slamming against its frame echoed downstairs.

Molly sighed. “Every time. Why can’t you two get along?”

“We have to fix the problems here on the ground before we go looking for problems out there,” Charlie’s face softened. “He needs to understand that. If we can’t fix ourselves, we can’t go anywhere.”

“It’s because NASA built the ship, isn’t it,” she uttered softly, knowing full well she was treading on emotional hot coals. “It’s been three years. When are you going to let this go?”

“Hughs is an idiot if he thinks this will work. He doesn’t see the big picture. He never did.” Charlie dropped the paper onto the round kitchen table -- signaling that the conversation was over --, picked up the remote, and moved to the living room recliner to watch a football game.

Molly picked up her son’s half-finished dinner. “Maybe letting him dream is a way to fix ourselves.” She covered his plate in plastic wrap and stuck it in the refrigerator. Her son could down twice this much food in one sitting. He would be hungry later.

* * * *

Will turned on his small t.v., picked up his SNES controller, and dropped cross-legged on the floor surrounded by dirty clothes strewn across the rug. The sounds of Super Mario World covered the silence. Snow drifted lazily to the ground outside the window, so he couldn’t go lay out on a blanket in the backyard like he usually would and get lost staring up at the stars. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to get pneumonia before Christmas.

He abandoned Blue Yoshi at the Star Road bonus level and shut off the game. Curious and a little bored, he turned on the old military radio and worked the dials carefully. He listened through monitor headphones too big for his head for a half hour before finally tossing them onto his desk in frustration. Nothing. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe it was just noise.

----

December 31st, 1999. New Years Eve…

Y2K theories had circulated for years. No one knew where it started, but the concept that the Earth’s fledgling internet, and every digital system on the planet would shut down frightened some enough into preparing for Dooms Day. Most people shrugged it off and went about their lives. Others feared the global shut down would set off every nuclear weapon on the planet, wiping out humanity. But everyone knew that instant ramen manufacturers had never seen a greater profit rise in the entirety of their companies’ existence.

Will didn’t buy into any of that, no matter how much the old people in their small town ranted about the end of days. He was sure the clocks would just turn over, and that would be it. He and his mother had gone to the local market to pick up a few groceries, but found that the apocalypse preppers had bought all the milk, most of the meat, a ton of non perishable goods, and first aid.

Frustrated, she purchased what she could, and made the trip in their SUV to the next town. Fortunately, they fared a little better. They enjoyed lunch at a local Denny’s, and made it home to have an uneventful night

That is, until 11pm rolled around.

Will was over the back of the couch in seconds, and had the t.v. tuned into the news. The reporter had just started going on about the details of the Nova Star. Will was entranced. He was so excited, he’d put on his long sleeved black henley with a small NASA logo to feel like he was part of it. “This is awesome! Hey, dad, aren’t those the guys you worked with?”

“Some of them. There’s some new faces.” Charlie put on his jacket and went to the backyard to chop wood. He’d tried to let his son enjoy this, but he didn’t want to have anything to do with the Nova Star project anymore, not even watching them parade their work to the media.

Molly sat next to her son with a bowl of popcorn. Will didn’t hesitate to take a massive handful and shove it into his mouth as he watched the tour of the Nova Star begin.

With everything that her only child held an interest in --video games, computers, that old radio-- they had their shared love of space, and Indiana Jones.

The media crew had lead their viewers through the cockpit and down to the living quarters of the ship, showing off all of the exciting wonders of the newest space-faring technology when all the lights in the house went out. It plunged the remote homestead into darkness.

The shock of sudden darkness sent fear spearing up Will’s spine. He knocked over the popcorn bowl and curled up around a pillow.

“Molly? Everything all right?” Charlie called in through the back door.

“We’re fine!” Molly called back.

“I’m checking the fuse box. Bring a light!”

“I’ll be right there!” She brushed her hand over Will’s hair. “It’s ok, Will, it’s just a power outage. Probably a tree branch took out a power line. It happens in winter.” She knew that even though he could pick up almost any insect, amphibian, and fearlessly explore the areas around their house, the only thing that would terrify him was complete and absolute darkness.

She felt her way to the kitchen to get a spare flashlight out of the junk drawer and handed it to him. He turned it on.

“Guard the house, Indiana. I’ll be right back.” Molly ruffled his dark hair and got a second flashlight and her coat from the entryway closet. She went out back to help her husband check the fuse box.

Molly held the flashlight as her husband flicked all the switches.

“Well, the fuses check out. There’s just no power,” Charlie threw each switch again for good measure.

“I was right. It was probably a downed tree.” She turned off the light and walked out to the backyard. She folded her arms tightly around her middle for warmth. Without the convection layer of clouds, it made being outside that much colder.

Charlie put his arm around her. “So much for New Years Eve; Dick Clark, spaceships, or otherwise.”

Her eyes rested on the arm of the Milky Way galaxy draping through the center of the clear night sky. “You know, without all the lights, it’s really beautiful.”

Charlie exhaled. “Yeah.”

“What arm are we in again?”

“The Orion-Cygnus arm. We’re not facing the core of the galaxy right now, but we will in summer.”

“Will comes out here, you know. He’ll sit out here and just stare.”

“Mmhmm. You used to do that as a kid, too. He gets his love of space from you.”

“No,” she shook her head. “He gets his love of nerd stuff from me. He gets his sense of adventure from you.”

He chuckled at that. “A hell of a combination.”

“Well, look who he’s combined from,” she smirked.

He chuckled at that.

“Maybe the new century is a good time to start a new resolution. Start off small. Who knows what he can do if we let him.”

“Molly…”

“He’s smart, Charlie. Work with him. Take him to NASA. If you want him to see the world that you think needs fixing, then show him. He might be the one to fix it, but he needs you. As smart as he is, he can’t do it alone.” She brushed her hand down his face, feeling the stubble of facial hair beneath her palm. “None of us can.”

Charlie grumbled. NASA’s headquarters wasn’t a place for kids, but she was right. It was part of the real world, and Will needed to see it. “Fine. I’ll take him after the holidays. But if anybody asks, this was your idea.”

She smiled and leaned in closely. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

He couldn’t help but kiss her and run his fingers through her long black hair. That gentle smile always warmed his heart.

The two stared up at the sky for a moment before she shivered and nudged her husband to head back.

A pulse of red light struck them in the back, and Charlie and Molly fell to the snow.

* * * *

Will scooted off the couch, keeping a vice grip on the flashlight. This was his home -- he’d lived here since birth -- but in the darkness, it felt like he’d entered another realm.

The house creaked around him. He spun, looking for whatever made that sound, then shook his head. “Get a grip, you dumb dork.”

A light static and crackle split the deathly silence. He aimed his flashlight at the stairs and swallowed. That sounded like his radio. He should check it out. Indiana Jones wouldn’t run away.

Will’s feet didn’t move for a good ten seconds.

Stealing his resolve, he went upstairs to his room.

The green light of the radio exuded a dull, eerie glow throughout the room. What scared him more were the sounds coming from the radio itself. Without power, the light shouldn’t be on, let alone the radio receiving a signal. His heart pounding with fear, but his curiosity overpowering it, he turned the knob to clarify the signal. The electronic beeps were still present, but were more like morse code than before. He could pick out different letters, enough to hear ‘246. Kade,’ but any speech in the background remained unfamiliar syllables and plosives.

Kade... That was his last name, but what did 246 mean? Someone out there was using morse code and talking about them for some reason. He had to tell his dad. This was definitely not noise.

Abandoning his fear, Will hurried downstairs, put on his winter coat and boots, and rushed outside into the cold snow. His warm breath clouded in the air. “Dad! You gotta hear this! Dad!” He ran around to the back of the house to the fuse box. “Dad? Mom?” They were gone. No one was there. Will shone his flashlight on the ground. The melted snow beneath the overhang protecting that part of the house showed their footprints walking away.

He peaked around the corner. “Mom?”

His parents lay on their backs with their eyes open.

“Mom! Dad!” Will hurried as fast as his small legs could carry him to the middle of the large yard. He dropped at his father’s side. “Dad! Are you ok?! Mom!”

Neither moved, but light puffs of warm air escaped their mouths. They were alive, just paralyzed. Charlie’s mouth moved slightly. “Run,” he whispered.

“Dad, no!” Will pulled on his father’s hand to try to pull him to his feet.

Charlie’s hand trembled as he fought the bind. Molly twitched beside him, fighting her own battle.

A glaring light lit up the wintery yard, blinding him. Will covered his eyes and stumbled back. He blinked upward as enormous lights shown down on their position.

“Run!” Charlie screamed.

Will instantly took off across the yard. A red pulse hit the snow at his right, forcing him to dodge in an arch. He evaded one more hit to his left, but the third landed its mark. Will’s entire body froze. He struggled to move even a finger, but it had him completely paralyzed.

A rush of warm air blasted the snow into swirls of white clouds around them. Will faced the lights from a craft larger than his house as a long ramp lowered and a single individual descended it quickly. It looked like a man in a dark armored uniform, but his face was covered by a protective mask with orange tinted eyewear.

Will’s heart threatened to explode from his chest as he breathed rapidly in fear.

The man passed a scanner over Will’s wide brown eyes, then spoke. The language mirrored that of the transmission Will had received off and on for the past few weeks.

A sharp pain pricked in the soft space behind his right ear. Will let out a small squeak of surprise. He felt a tingle brush through his mind like someone had taken a feather and gently swiped it all over his brain. The sensation died seconds later.

The man said something to him.

Will couldn’t think straight.

Irritated, the man rolled his eyes, grumbled, and then said it again, more impatiently.

Will’s eyes shifted to stare at his mother and father fighting the paralysis.

The man said something else in frustration then gave up and picked him up.

Will wanted to fight, but his body refused to obey him. He watched his parents helplessly as he was carried up the ramp. The panic built, and he did the only thing his body would allow: he let out a terrified, wordless scream. The ramp closed, shutting his parents and home out of sight.

The ship’s atmospheric thrusters sent more snow clouds billowing through the air as it rose above the trees, pivoted, and disappeared across the sky.

All of this took no more than two minutes.

Molly and Charlie were left alone in the winter stillness of their yard. They could move enough to grip each other’s hands as the bind gradually wore off, but remained in the cold staring at the empty sky.

The power returned ten minutes later.

They continued to lay there even as the news switched over to the countdown.

“...5...4...3...2...1…”

A hot tear streaked down Molly’s face to drip into the snow. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

* * * *

tbc

* * * *

((I really wish I could translate what the alien said as he carried Will into the ship, but it would break the mood. The alien said, “246 Acquired. Let’s go. It’s colder than tits out here.”))

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2018, Part I

I’ll associate my moviegoing this year with two things: subscription models and superhero films. Realizing that I was the target audience, I signed up for Moviepass in March, then canceled just before they started extorting people in July. (I’ll remember you all semi-fondly, conniving alarmists in the Moviepass Reddit thread.) Thanks to Moviepass, I took full advantage of my free time over the summer, and I found some nice surprises that I wouldn’t have checked out otherwise. From there I joined AMC A-List, which is the rare corporate service that I cannot complain about in any way. Moviepass always felt like some kind of drug deal, whereas A-List is as easy and inviting an experience as possible. I get to seek out Dolby, IMAX, or 3-D showings instead of getting locked out of them, and the electronic ticketing helps with my last-minute availability. (I’ve mastered the art of lovingly putting my daughter to bed, only to desert her and my wife five minutes later. “You know, there’s an 8:10 showing of The Predator, which means 8:30 after previews...”) My overall viewing was up 11% this year, which I have to attribute to these subscriptions. Perhaps I saw too much though. After a self-righteous five-year ban on superhero movies, I caught up in 2019 like the madman completist that I am. On the plus side, I enjoyed Wonder Woman and Guardians of the Galaxy, and I vaguely feel more connected with the culture-at-large. But I could have been more selective. The diligence required to watch X-Men: Apocalypse late on a Thursday night took away from, say, my Orson Welles project or...reading books. To get some of the business out of the way, I haven’t seen Burning, Shoplifters, Destroyer, Cold War, The Sisters Brothers, Tomb Raider, The Wife, or The House That Jack Built. Not all of us get screeners or care about seeing The Wife.  Mostly for argument purposes, I list everything I saw and divide the movies into the categories of Garbage, Admirable Failures, Endearing Curiosities with Big Flaws, Pretty Good Movies, Good Movies, Great Movies, and Instant Classics. Hey, speaking of superheroes:  GARBAGE

123. Venom (Ruben Fleischer)- Venom was first announced as an R-rated film until it was neutered into PG-13 at some point in the development road. That was the right choice because this is a movie, in all of its broad, careless storytelling, for children. "So he's going to get married to her but then he looks at her email and then he interviews the guy and he gets fired so then she leaves him and he drinks now?" This is a dummy's version of what a journalist is or what a scientist is, and it never shades into more subtlety than exactly what is on the expected surface. I guess that Tom Hardy gets to jump into a lobster tank if that floats your boat, but the story is stuck on fast-forward for the whole movie, never relenting to develop character or do anything other than communicate information that we don't really need.

Venom is almost--almost--interesting as a new branch in the superhero economy. Why shouldn't Tom Hardy and National Treasure Michelle Williams trade the equity they've built for caring about their work into this trash? I don't begrudge them that for a second. I hope they make more money for the sloppy sequels. 122. The Equalizer 2 (Antoine Fuqua)- The first Equalizer was flat and pointlessly long with pedantic dialogue too, but at least it had the Home Depot sequence. This one makes very basic stuff incoherent and dawdles all the way to the end. Your boy is now an expert hacker too? I guess it's too late for Fuqua to start caring about scripts.

121. Mandy (Panos Cosmatos)- I need somebody to explain to me why, dramatically, this is good without something like, "It's so metal! What a midnight movie! Chainsaw fight lol!" If you want to talk about the visuals that are stylized within an inch of reality, then I'll listen. But there's nothing to hold onto dramatically. I think I've developed an overall irritation with revenge films, but this filthy dirge of a movie felt empty and endless by any standard. 120. Fifty Shades Freed (James Foley)- Its intentions are too guileless to upset me, but Fifty Shades Freed uses up the goodwill I sort of had for the first two by tugging the viewer relentlessly through conflict that always seems temporary. Part of the fun has always been how bizarre basic human interactions seem in this universe. (Has anyone ever returned from a vacation to be surprise-promoted?) But this entry expects way too much from its viewer's loyalty. 119. On Chesil Beach (Dominic Cooke)- There's supposed to be a disconnect to the behavior of the couple in On Chesil Beach, a movie that asks us to harken back to a time when newlyweds were so sexually innocent that they had trouble figuring out how to consummate a marriage. Their fumbling seems foreign to us, which is the point. But what's the excuse for none of the behavior in the movie ringing true to any human experience?

I'm talking about Florence refusing to tell her string quartet that she's engaged because she thinks they'll assume that her marriage will break up the group even though she's sure that it won't. I'm talking about her father, who feels the need to humiliate his son-in-law in tennis because that would prove that he's dominant over the boy in some way that being his employer does not already prove. I'm talking about a plot that literally would not exist if the characters had just engaged in one conversation that it seems like they would have had in the flashbacks, which frame them as a kind of open, reasonably affectionate, easy-going couple. But by all means, McEwan, change that whenever it suits you. 118. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (J.A. Bayona)- I reject the whole premise of this deliberate lowering of stakes that never rises above obligation. To paraphrase a Griffin Newman joke, it makes Jurassic Park 4 look like Jurassic Park 1.

While we're here though: Can I have a movie about the guy who compiled the guest list for the dino auction? I want to see a guy looking at a spreadsheet--or is it an Access file?--and getting to, like, Mark Cuban and weighing the options: "He probably has the $27 million to spare on weaponized recombinant DNA. He would definitely appreciate the wow factor of having his own Indoraptor. But is he more of a neutral evil or a chaotic evil? I guess I'll reserve a seat for him and send the invitation. If he says no, then he says no. Okay, we're still in the C's..."

117. Tag (Jeff Tomsic)- Tag is going to show up on a lot of "worst movies to ever win an Oscar" lists when Jeremy Renner wins an Oscar for it. 116. A-X-L (Oliver Daly)- This is a melodramatic movie about a weaponized robotic dog and the dirtbike kid who befriends it. Nothing wrong with that; a ten-year-old boy might like it, and there aren't enough movies specifically for that audience. But what's weird is how nonchalant the main character is about the whole thing. He immediately starts training this one-of-a-kind "war dog" android and imprints it with his DNA like this is a regular Tuesday. It's one of many things that is just kind of off in this picture.

This being a cheap genre film, you do get treated to those L.A. locations that have been around the block. I think the nondescript complex that houses Craine Industries is also the one from Sneakers and The Lawnmower Man. You know, Craine Industries, the company that is working on a $70 million prototype for the military but, because this is a cheap genre film, seems to have two employees.

I do think there's an interesting movie to be made about motocross. The movie kind of works when it's just about an underdog father and son fixing bikes, before it gets into all of the robot stuff. ADMIRABLE FAILURES

115. The Little Stranger (Lenny Abrahamson)- Dr. Faraday: "Wanna marry me?" Caroline: "Maybe. Do you actually love me?" Dr. Faraday: "Probably not." Caroline: "Hmm, I think I would marry you only as an excuse to go to London to get away from my dying mother and this crumbling house that probably has a ghost." Dr. Faraday: "Oh. Well, glad we're discussing it now because I want to marry you specifically to give me a reason to stay in this crumbling house that probably has a ghost. I'm drawn to it for some reason." Caroline: "Is it because you grew up poor?" Dr. Faraday: "Yes. All dry, cold British stuff ultimately comes down to that.

114. Damsel (David Zellner and Nathan Zellner)- Had I done my research, I wouldn't have watched this Zellner Brothers follow-up to Kumiko the Treasure Hunter, one of my least favorite films of that year. Like that movie, Damsel is a story of two halves, punctuated by a shocking moment that happens halfway through. Unfortunately nothing interesting happens before, and nothing interesting happens after. 113. Suspiria (Luca Guadignino)- This is a movie about duality that gets extended. English, German, and just a sprinkle of French. Six parts and an epilogue. A dual role (and a bit part). Personalities that clash until one pulls ahead. There are ideas here. But, especially considering I don't like the original Suspiria, I didn't find much to hold onto as a visceral experience. It's a long, foreboding sit. Guadagnino knows how to end his movies, but he still doesn't have much to say for the long middle parts. Shout-out to Amazon; I hope that, in some circuitous way, betting on maximalist Italians helps them to sell paper towels or whatever.

112. Early Man (Nick Park)- I still love the Aardman aesthetic, but this material was thin. It's too juvenile for adults and too adult for juveniles. 111. Beirut (Brad Anderson)- The screenplay takes an hour to set up what should have taken twenty minutes. Some of that time is dedicated to developing Hamm's burnt-out alcoholic wheeler-dealer, but he's a character we've seen a hundred times before anyway. Some shorthand would have done some good. Once the plot gets going, it's serviceable, but I was bored by that point. Pike and Hamm need to fire their managers. 110. Upgrade (Leigh Whannell)- I'll admit that I owed the film more attention than I gave it since I was nodding off the whole time, but nothing in the gloomy programmer interested me enough to want to go back.

109. Red Sparrow (Francis Lawrence)- Good as a steamy blank check provocation from the director and star--not much else. I'm sure people will take down the easy target of Jen Larry's Russian accent, but they're ignoring just how much she tries in something like this. She is a gargantuan Movie Star who commands the screen, and a lot of that presence comes from the commitment of, say, learning how to ballet dance for what must have been months. She hasn't slept through a performance yet.

I didn't think this endless movie made much sense, especially near its conclusion. Perhaps it's my personal distaste for the way that spy movies introduce major plot points without so much as a music sting to guide you. As soon as anyone says the term "double agent," my brain turns off.

108. Hot Summer Nights (Elijah Bynum)- If you want to direct a music video, just direct a music video. I like all of the actors in this, but the filmmaker has nothing to say. 107. The First Purge (Gerard McMurray)- Even James DeMonaco seems to be admitting that the bloom is off the rose a bit, since he only wrote this entry in the franchise--and his direction is missed in the action scenes. Just enough of the political subtext remains, (The New Founding Fathers get funding from the NRA, and a character uses "pussy-grabbing" as an insult. Thankfully, a Black church getting shot up by men with Iron Cross flags happens off-screen.)

But there are more characters I didn't care about than characters I did care about. Since its prequel setting doesn't reveal much about the world that we didn't already know, the film needed to do a bit more with the survive-the-night scenario that we already saw in the second film.

106. Vox Lux (Brady Corbet)- A movie that, up to and including the last minute, keeps promising something better than it actually is. Everyone here is making...choices… 105. Madeline’s Madeline (Josephine Decker)- I'm glad David Ehrlich liked this as much as he did. There are some intriguing ideas, most notably the suggestion that a mentally unstable person would be better suited for acting than a healthy person. What a debut for Helena Howard as well. But for it to add up to something by the end, I think I needed it to have more dramatic structure--the sort of fall of the Molly Parker character feels invented and insincere--or go all the way into experiment. 104. Shirkers (Sandi Tan)- One of those "you won't believe what happens next" documentaries that positions itself as an example of truth being stranger than fiction. But removed from a festival context, does it ever rise above its logline? Is it really even that odd?

[norgad-vcd]

Broadsheet Proposal Presentation - Text Version

Together Apart

So what’s the point of this project? If you’re looking for

my current central proposition here ya go:

The true depth and life of online social interaction can be easily overlooked by the casual observer. Through sequential art this project will explore ways to capture the atmospheres present in these online spaces and present them in an engaging piece of narrative visual media.

How did we get here? I knew I wanted to do my research into long distance relationships and online friendships, but I needed a ‘why’, so I started broad research into the topic.

From my research a few core findings emerged. My first was that there’s a huge variety in the ways that people in and out of online social groups view and value their interactions. Of particular relevance was the research article “‘I’ve Never Clicked this Much with Anyone in My Life’, Trust and Hyperpersonal Communication in Online Friendships” by Samantha Henderson and Michael Gilding. Their research confirmed some of my hunches about the topic and included some really moving direct quotes from their participants, which confirmed to me that whatever the outcome of my research, there would be a strong emotional core to it.

Social interactions through an online medium might not be identical to those in real life, but they do have the potential to have just as much emotional depth - or void for that matter - as traditional social interaction.

“Now we talk every night about every detail of our lives. We don’t have anything but our words to communicate, and because of that, we have to make our words mean something. Not all the time, no, but definitely more often than in real life. We’re building a friendship on words, not hanging out at the movies, or getting drunk, or stealing cars together or something”

“The people I am close to online understand me in a way that my friends in real life don’t. We share something very special. We talk about our experiences, and support each other. I knew there had to be other people out there that felt the way I do. Through various chatrooms on the internet, I’ve not only found some great people, but I’m learning to trust them as well.”

“Why would online friends be different? It’s got nothing to do with the context you talk to them in. It has to do with the relationship you have. People sometimes forget that it’s another person on the other end.”

Further extending this research, the research article ““WhatsApp is for family; Messenger is for friends”: Communication Places in App Ecosystems” by Midas Nouwens, Carla F. Griggio, and Wendy E. Mackay discusses the different atmospheres present in online social interaction depending on the specific platform an interaction is happening on. This means that the effect the ‘online’ nature of online interactions has is not homogeneous, not for two people on the same platform or the same person on two different platforms. Each experience is unique and genuine.

The subjective nature of different people’s experiences of this topic made it hard to find a specific direction to take things, but I leaned into this and made my design issue about how to communicate this depth and breadth of different experiences that the online space brings. I identified two core target audiences and their respective desired outcomes for a project based on this research:

People outside of spheres of online social interaction can glimpse into the broad variety of experiences these spaces facilitate, allowing a greater awareness of these spaces.

People within these spheres can see themselves reflected in the work, providing a sense of catharsis and reassurance that their personal experiences are valid.

“It’s more likely that if someone sends me a message on Facebook and I am connected with them on WhatsApp that I will reply on WhatsApp. For some reason I associate WhatsApp with a much more easy, more immediate medium. And I have no idea why because functionality wise there is no real difference. In my mind it’s just not what Facebook Messenger is about, it has nothing to do with the functionality.”

Below Left: Two of my prototypes from the

week seven design sprint.

Above: Particapant quote from “WhatsApp is for family;

Messenger is for friends”:

Communication Places in

App Ecosystems,

Midas Nouwens,

Carla F. Griggio,

Wendy E. Mackay.

2017

With this, I set out on my design sprint

and developed two main prototypes.

This prototype explored using worldbuilding as a method to engage the audience while engaging the reader in the underlying themes of online communication with its broader narrative themes as opposed to it’s moment-to-moment elements.

This prototype extended on the first by experimenting with how dialogue could be presented as a ‘chatlog’ in a manner that was easy for the audience to understand.

Prototypes are meant to be tests, and tests can fail. In review of my prototypes, I realized the approach I was taking - which leaned heavily into a worldbuilding mode of design - was too disconnected from the core of my topic. I also realized it failed to capture all the weird little things that make online communication special.

Online social interactions contain a wealth of ephemeral and fleeting moments and features that deserve to be shared and celebrated.

With this epiphany I quickly developed another very rough prototype to test this idea. I looked at how the lack of ‘tone of voice’ that comes from text-only communication combines with the idea of a user being represented by their profile picture, and the humorous dissonance

this can cause.

It works! Well, it works a lot better. There’s always room to improve though. From peer and lecturer feedback I realized that a project including elements like this might work, but there’s a loss of emotional sincerity if it’s all jokes. If I want to represent online social interaction at its highs and lows and the equal capacity for the sincere and the trivial, my project needs to have room for these more sensitive moments.

Moving forward with my project, I’ve noticed from my prototypes and hunches that what will really help make the work genuine is fully embracing my own personal ties to the topic by making the project semi-autobiographical. This doesn’t lock out including other people’s stories and experiences from the project, but it makes it feel more honest to the spirit of the design issue.

semi-autobiographical

adjective

(of a written work) dealing partly with the writer’s own life but also containing fictional elements.

- Oxford Languages

I’m continuing to cast my net out looking for more insights into aspects of online social interaction that I can feature as an aspect of the project. A recent tangent I’ve been looking at is the idea that the unique circumstances and ‘limitations’ of online communication can sometimes result in social experiences which exceed what is possible in meatspace; This is ‘hyperpersonal communication’. Below I’ve jammed some quotes from research articles exploring the topic.

“There are aspects of the Internet that enable partners to get past the usual obstacles or “gates” that in traditional interaction

settings often prevent potentially rewarding relationships from getting off the ground.”

Relationship Formation on the Internet: What’s the Big Attraction?

Katelyn Y. A. McKenna, Amie S. Green, Marci E. J. Gleason

2002

“People who engage in [online social interaction] tend to adapt to the low bandwidth of the context and use other means to indicate nonverbal (including vocal) behaviors that connote intimacy. Methods of adapting include the use of emoticons that can be used to convey intimacy in online contexts”

Predictors of Relationship Satisfaction in Online Romantic Relationships

Traci L. Anderson, Tara M. Emmers-Sommer

2006

“[Cyberspace is] a place that people often end up revealing themselves far more intimately than they would be inclined to do without the intermediation of screens and pseudonyms”

‘I’ve Never Clicked this Much with Anyone in My Life’,

Trust and Hyperpersonal Communication in Online Friendships

Samantha Henderson, Michael Gilding

2004

Where’s this project and research going next? You’ll just have to wait and find out! It’ll probably have a healthy mix of ‘traditional’ panel-based sequential art, and more experimental and emotive pages. Anyway, I can’t think of a good sign off that ties into my cool repeat of the title but reversed so yeah.

Apart Together

[sarcasticace]

.

. .

… 

Hello?

Is this thing on?

How do you work this thing? Oh, there it goes… Wait, was it already on? Oh, nevermind.

Hi, guys! Diego here, your friendly neighborhood struggling college student. Back at you again with another weekly vlog. Only this time… this video’s gonna be a little different than what you’re used to. 

See.

Mmmm.

Today’s the anniversary of the La Huerta event. Five years. You all know I was there. I get enough messages asking me what happened. I tend to ignore those.

Sorry.

I just…

It’s a lot, you know?

A lot of shit happened and I… I like to try and forget about it. Try and fail.

When I first started making videos, it was so I’d have an outlet to talk about things. This included. That was the plan, anyway, but… I’d start, but never go through with it and just delete the draft.

I’ll talk about it, one day, but not today… today I want to talk about what came after. You know, when we came back. I want to talk about how it…. affected us. How we’re doing. Me and my friends. So you know why I have problems talking about it to you guys. 

There were thirteen of us.

Myself, Terrance, Jake, Grace, Sean, Estela

Quinn, Aleister, Zahra, Raj, Craig, Michelle and…

and Lila.

…

She didn’t make it.

…

You all probably heard the story one way or another. Everett Rourke, think the Anti-Tony Stark if he was raised by Lex Luther and Dr. Doom. Rourke got his hands on some time-travel nonsense. I still don’t completely understand everything that happened. It was all such a whirlwind. One day I’ve having a beer by the hotel pool, watching Raj do a cannonball on top of Craig, the next I’m being taken pris-

… 

We stopped him, but… they put us in quarantine. We spent a long time in a lab. We’re were giving off this strange energy signature. They were worried we were radioactive or something. I don’t know, I’m not smart enough for that stuff, but after that they let us go home. So we went home, tried to forget and get on with our lives, but the thing is… you can’t forget. Not something like that. It catches up to you. The nightmares, mostly. What happened, what we did, what we didn’t do. 

…

It was different on the island. We were running from one dangerous situation to the next, dodging bullets and time paradoxes. Paradoxi? Paradoxes? Fuck, time bullshit. Like… fuck time travel. Back to the Future makes it sounds cool, like, I’d kill to ride in a DeLorean. But that’s movie stuff.

I guess I shouldn’t really be complaining. Terrance dealt with most of that bullshit. 

…

It really got to him.

Even on the island, he’d start talking about things that never happened. Conversations we never had, knowing things nobody told him. It freaked me out, but I think it freaked him out more. He had visions too. Bad ones. He doesn’t talk about them. Except with Michelle.

…

Terrance is doing good. Considering. He lives with Michelle. We don’t talk that much anymore. We’re still best friends, sure, but… he’s tired. He’s tired a lot, all the time. It’s good he’s living with Michelle. She makes sure he doesn’t stay in bed. I don’t think he’d actually stay there all day, every day, but….

Michelle is good for him. They’re good together. I’m kind of jealous.

Michelle is doing great. Missing so much school put her back, put us all back really, but she got back into the swing of things. She’s still planning to be a neurosurgeon which is cool. She still has a year or two to go, I think. I don’t think I could ever do that. The blood and-

…

When we finally got back stateside, well, out of the labs and back home… back to Hartfeld, Michelle went off on the Kappa girls. It was AH-MAH-ZING. So good. I think Zahra got it all. Next time I see her, I’ll try and get a copy and post it for you guys. Michelle just tears into them. Somebody call the fire department, you know?

Zahra is doing good. Considering. I’m probably going to be saying that a lot. She’s alone, most of the time. She dropped out of school. She’s still in Northbridge, got herself an apartment. She’s always sending me funny Youtube videos. A lot of cat stuff. Cats are funny. I think she sends them to everyone. I think I’m the only one who responds back. 

She shaved her head.

I mean, I guess she kinda had to after what the Arachnid did-

did to…

They, ah…

…

She keeps it shaven. She always comes to the reunions and she always keeps it short. It looks nice. Don’t tell her I said that.

I don’t think she watches my videos.

She might. 

Fuck.

She told me she got a cat. Named her Varyyn. They go for walks which is weird, like, you walk dogs, not cats. I guess some people do it, but… I don’t know. It’s weird. Having Varyyn helps Zahra. Caring for something else, having them depend on you. I get that with the fish Terrance got me for my birthday.

He named it Cetus.

Most of us try to avoid conflict. Well, besides the thing with Michelle and the Kappa girls. We just… you know, try to do our own thing. Not Sean though. If anything, the La Huerta event lit a fire in him. He’s not into football anymore. He went to one game, got onto the field and then… walked away. He didn’t see a point. After learning what happened with Jake and the Arachnid and companies like Rourke, Sean went into the political scene. 

…

There are more men out there like Rourke. Sean wants to make sure they never get the chance to do what he did. He wants to make the world a better place. 

Craig, on the other hand, he stuck with football and got drafted! Woot woot. My boy, #68!

 …

I like Craig. He’s… he’s nice when you get to know him. He’s an amazing Offensive Guard. Like, you should’ve seen him on the island. Knocked down heavily armored, military-trained soldiers like they were plastic cups. I guess… I guess with Sean out of the picture, Craig could really shine. He’s not bad, but compared to Sean… it’s like, I mean, the dude’s 6′5″. Who wouldn’t look at-

…

Moving on.

While a fire was lit in Sean, Estela’s fire died down. She stayed enrolled at Hartfeld, even though it was just a means to get to Rourke through Aleister, but she took a lot of time off for herself. She lives with Quinn now. They’re not together together, but they’re really good friends now. Helps out with Quinn’s bakery. I go there a lot and give her a hard time. Quinn laughs at my jokes, Estela just gives me a cold stare. Like she might drag me into the backroom and bake me into a cake.

Oh, I should probably talk about Quinn’s bakery. For Goodness’ Cake. BEST. CUPCAKES. EVER. If you haven’t gone, go. It’s the best. 

It’s Quinn’s pride and joy. Aleister helped her start it up before selling his father’s company. I’ll talk about that next. Quinn’s parents help her out and guess what? They got back together. Quinn was really hoping they would. I’m happy for her. I guess she took a page from Raj. If pies make peace, what do cakes make? I mean, the cake’s definitely not a lie, amiright?

… 

Moving on.

Yeah, Aleister took over his father company. Being the sole heir and all. He helped Quinn get started with her bakery then he sold it, but not before wiping all traces of Rourke’s projects. All the research plans and prototypes. Gone. I don’t see that much of Aleister, but he always attends our reunions. He travels a lot. He says he wants to see more of the world. He certainly has enough money to live comfortably without a job.

Lucky bastard.

Grace reconnected with her mom. They’re doing good. Grace said she’ll be taking over when her mom retired. 

Oh and guess what?

They got married! Like, I didn’t think they would! I didn’t think Aleister would work up the courage, but he did. It was a great wedding. Small, just us and Grace’s parents.  

Jake’s still a pilot, but he’s no longer on the run. That’s good. He got to see his mom again and his sister. I wasn’t there, but Terrance was. You know, for support. He said there wasn’t a lot of talking, but a lot of crying. I can imagine. 

And omg, he cut his hair. I think his mom made him do it. Okay, so, during the wedding, I saw this really cute guy and I’m thinking ‘Who is this guy? I thought Grace and Aleister only invited us?’ So I walk up to him to talk and it was Jake! Like, we all joke and say he looks like Jared Leto. That’s why his nickname is Joker, but he totally looks like Ryan Reynolds except, you know, not as tall. 

Raj cleaned up his act. I mean, not that it needed cleaning up, but…. hey, no drugs! He’s still all about those parties, but… he’s more focused now. He wants to be a chef! You know, his feasts really brought us together on the island. Without him, we would’ve been our own undoing before Rourke or the Vaanti ever got their hands on us. He’s working with this really strict, but really talented chef in Northbridge. I think her name is Mira?

… 

We’re all doing good.

…

Sometimes I catch myself wondering if this is a dream. That this is my brain’s attempt to give me some rest and when I wake up, I’ll be back on the island. Totally bearded again, back into the fight. An endless summer.

I know that’s not true. I’m here. It’s over. I’m picking up the pieces. My life’s mine again. The nightmares are still there, but I know I’ll be alright someday. We’ll all be alright someday.

We have each other and I couldn’t ask for a better group of friends.

This is Deigo and I’ll see you next time on The Diego Show!

[musicprincess655]

Youichi was considering making his apartment off limits to his friends. Nothing but trouble ever happened when they came over, and this was coming from someone who had accidentally bound a demon to himself when he was left unsupervised.

Jun had a habit of stealing all his snacks, and Tetsu and Ryou were an absolute nightmare together. They’d figured out that they were great partners in crime, which was funny until the object of their teasing was Youichi himself. Plus, if Sawamura was there – and he usually was, because he came to visit Miyuki – he’d start yelling about his newest farfetched theory for how Tetsu was really a magic person. His current working one was that Tetsu was a descendent of some clan that had lost some magical war, and that he was in hiding to protect his identity.

But nothing would compare to the kind of trouble Furuya and Haruichi caused.

Youichi had noticed that Furuya and Haruichi were something almost as soon as they became something. In the interest of keeping Furuya from getting castrated, he’d planned on trying to keep Ryou from noticing anything was going on.

Haruichi had thrown a wrench in that entire plan when he’d brought Furuya over as his boyfriend.

Youichi hadn’t thought Haruichi had much steel to him before this. He’d had to amend his assessment, because apparently Haruichi used his sweet appearance to hide balls of steel. It couldn’t have been easy to tell someone like Ryou I’m dating Furuya-kun and see Furuya live to tell the tale.

And in his defense, it had gone a lot better than expected.

“You’re what now?” Ryou asked from the kitchen, and when had he grabbed that knife? The cats were both flanking him, looking more like eldritch abominations than Youichi had ever seen them.

“I’m dating Furuya-kun,” Haruichi repeated calmly. “Please calm down, aniki.”

Ryou’s aura only grew more threatening, and one of the cats actually hissed.

“Ryou-san, you can’t kill Furuya,” Youichi sighed. Ryou gave him a look that said exactly what he thought of the situation. “I’ll help you bury his body if he does anything worth killing.”

Ryou had retreated into the kitchen, appeased for the moment. And to his credit, he’d turned a mostly blind eye to his little brother dating.

For how much trouble everyone else was, Sawamura turned out to be one of the least annoying people to have in the apartment. All he really did was startle Youichi occasionally with his outbursts while he was doing his homework, which he preferred to do at their place so he could pester them for help.

He was there today, but it was a quiet day, a sleepy day in the week after winter break. Everyone was tired from having travelled in their week off. Miyuki had gone to his dad’s house, and Youichi had gone home to visit his family, which meant Ryou had also gone home to meet his family.

Youichi had mostly ignored the approving looks his mother sent his way every time she looked at Ryou. It didn’t matter how attractive he was. Youichi was still convinced it would never happen, no matter how much Ryou liked teasing him.

The atmosphere was quiet and subdued, and even Sawamura’s usual outbursts weren’t enough to really disturb the peace. He’d come over to work on homework, but he and Miyuki had started working on something for the team, because they were both idiots with one track minds.

Youichi was working with Ryou on the newest prototype spell for unbinding them. They’d made some real progress with the spells Jun had tried to reverse engineer from that book, but they weren’t quite there yet. While they’d managed to find a spell that kept plants alive when they were unbound, they’d gained the new problem of the plants switching parts, and Youichi didn’t particularly want two different arms or legs.

They were trying something Jun had mentioned offhandedly. Since Youichi had been the one to cast the spell that bound them, he would have to be the one that undid it, but Ryou’s magic had been caught up in the bond, so having him play a secondary role in undoing it might help make sure everything got back to where it was supposed to go.

That was the idea, anyway. It wasn’t like it was a serious theory, just something Youichi and Ryou were messing around with when they had nothing else to do.

They got derailed when they accidentally sent a rush of pure chaos magic over to where Sawamura and Miyuki were sitting at the table, sending them both sprawling. Youichi winced, standing up to apologize as he heard Sawamura’s loud complaints, when his eyes landed on Miyuki, who was surprisingly silent.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Miyuki said. Rather than yelling or panicking, he actually sounded deathly calm. “I can’t live here anymore.”

“Hey,” Youichi said, getting Miyuki’s attention. His eyes were clear and determined. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry to leave you hanging like this,” Miyuki said. “I know rent is gonna be hard on your own, but I need out.”

“I get it,” Youichi said. “I do. No hard feelings. You do what you gotta do.”

Miyuki nodded. He sighed.

“Moving is going to be such a pain,” he whined. “I’ll never find a place as good as this one, I swear.”

“Move in with me.”

Youichi and Miyuki both turned to see Sawamura staring at them. He’d stood up and brushed himself off. Not for the first time, Youichi noticed that his gold eyes were a little unsettling when he was serious like this.

“What?”

“Move in with me,” Sawamura repeated. “Masuko-senpai is moving out at the end of March after graduation. My landlady was going to start advertising for someone else to move into the room, but I’m sure she’d be happy to lease to you if I say you’re my friend.”

“No chaos magic?” Miyuki asked, looking suspicious, like the offer was too good to be true.

“I have to use it sometimes for homework,” Sawamura said. Like most nature witches, he had a neutral alignment, so he could use both order and chaos magic. “But I can do it in the study rooms in the library if that makes you feel better.”

Youichi was surprised Miyuki didn’t propose on the spot.

“When can I move in?” Miyuki asked. Sawamura considered.

“I mean, you’re always welcome to our spare futon, but you could probably move in before Masuko-senpai moves out. I’m going home to visit my family over spring break, so you could camp out in my room until Masuko-senpai leaves.”

“Hey, Sawamura, how come I never get a senpai?” Miyuki asked, throwing an arm around Sawamura’s shoulders, but he looked more relieved than anything else. The two got wrapped up in each other, Miyuki winding Sawamura up and Sawamura taking the bait. Youichi turned to Ryou.

“Don’t take it personally,” Youichi told him. “This isn’t all because of you.”

“I didn’t really feel guilty,” Ryou said. “If he’s happier somewhere else, he should go somewhere else. Why he thinks living with Sawamura will be easier is beyond me, but more power to him I guess.”

“Savage,” Youichi commented, but it was with a laugh. “Personally, I think those two idiots are custom made for each other. They’ll be fine living together.”

“If they don’t end up killing each other first,” Ryou said.

“They’re not helpless.”

“Miyuki put a hammer in the wall trying to hang up a picture.”

“And I will warn Sawamura to keep Miyuki away from the toolbox if he wants to keep his security deposit,” Youichi said. Then his words hit him, and he groaned.

“What?”

“I cannot afford rent by myself,” Youichi said. “Especially if we’ve already lost our security deposit.”

He looked at Ryou. Ryou looked suspiciously back. He was inching away.

“You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Ryou-san,” Youichi said very seriously, because he was thinking exactly what Ryou thought he was thinking. “I need you to get a job and help out with rent.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

If you don't already have plans for the rest of dragonweek, could I request a sequel for seeing eye human where mick is kidnapped by eobard as revenge and Len has to rescue him?

As it happens, I do not in fact have any more plans for the rest of the week, so here you go! :)

Will only make sense if you've read part 1 here (tumblr) or here (ao3)

ao3 link

—————————————

It’s a very good thing that Len knows the flight path to STAR Labs by heart, because he flies it now, alone and at top speed.

“I need your prototype,” he says abruptly, bursting into the Accelerator lab through the dragon entrance.

“Uh, dude, rude much?” Cisco says. “No hello?”

Cisco was Lisa’s beloved, and so he did not fear Len.

That is a mistake.

Len bares his teeth and mantles his wings, full-on threat display, and he might not be able to see the picture he makes anymore but he can feel the slick layer of mud and drying blood that sticks to his scales, and no one ever found him less than terrifying before his blindness.

Cisco’s frightened gasp of air indicates he hasn’t lost his touch.

“I need,” he says levelly, albeit through a mouth full of sharp points, “your prototype.”

“It’s not ready yet!” Cisco says, and shrieks when Len swings his snout towards him threateningly. “It’s not, man, I swear!”

“Lenny, what’s crawled up your ass?” Lisa says, poking her head in from one of the other rooms and hurrying over to hover over her human protectively.

“He took from me,” Len rages, though his voice stays as cold as ever. Colder. “He took from me, and I need to make him pay.”

“That seems a bit hypocritical,” Barry says, jogging out to the main room, Caitlin shortly behind him.

“I’m going to take your prototype,” Len says, “only because I need it for what I’m going to do.”

“And what’s that?” Barry asks.

“I’m gonna murder him.”

“You can’t!” Caitlin exclaims.

“Watch me,” Len says, huffing through his nostrils. He can feel the fire licking at the back of his throat. “I’ll even make it legal and challenge him first, but one way or another, I’m gonna have his throat in my claws -”

“Len, you steal so many other people’s stuff, it seems a bit much for you to be this upset,” Cisco says.

“And we can’t let you take the prototype if you’re going to murder someone,” Barry adds.

“Especially over a theft,” Caitlin says. “I thought dragons didn’t care much about property that isn’t their hoard?”

“Len,” Lisa says, ignoring the humans. “Len, where’s Mick? Why isn’t he with you?”

“Because he took him from me!”

“He stole Mick?” Cisco says indignantly, sympathies changing in the flash that was the laboratory’s mascot. “That’s just wrong, man. You can’t take…people’s people. Just no taking people at all, really.”

“We still can’t let Len go murder a person,” Barry objects, but it’s a bit weaker.

“It’s not a person,” Len says. “It’s Eobard Thawne.”

“On second thought, let’s go a-murdering.”

“Barry!” Caitlin exclaims.

“He deserves it and you know it,” Barry says. “He’s deserved it for a long time. Cisco, the prototype?”

Cisco digs out a pair of goggles large enough to wrap around even Len’s head. “They’re not ready,” he warns. “You won’t get your vision back, and it may even make things worse in the long run, especially if you’re not careful putting them on and taking them off again. They tap into your nervous system.”

“We’re talking serious damage here,” Caitlin adds, looking worried. “You put these on, you may never be able to see again.”

“But I’ll see while they’re on?” Len asks.

“For the short term, yes,” Catilin says.

“Good enough for me,” Len says grimly. “Let’s get to it.”

—————————————————————————

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Mick observes, settling himself in for a wait. “Also, seriously, a cage hanging from the ceiling? How medieval are you?”

“I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself ‘into’, as you put it,” Eobard says crisply. “Mr. Snart has stolen from me one too many times, but until now he has not be sufficient attached to any given item in his collection to consider it a hoard-item, something worth keeping. Not until you.”

“I thought you dragons respected each others’ hoards?” Mick asks, not without curiosity. “Len’s always real good about keeping his hands off other dragons’ personal stuff when we break into their caves. It’s all the rest we take.”

“Mr. Snart’s sentimentality does him credit, I’m sure,” Eobard says. “Hoards are irrelevant in the modern age. Utility is what’s important.”

“Huh,” Mick says.

Eobard turns and squints at the human. “That sounded remarkably thoughtful for a human such as yourself, not that I find many examples of true ingenuity in the mammalian species. What is it that you think you’ve understood?”

“You don’t got a hoard at all, do you,” Mick says, not bothering to make it a question. “You don’t feel the connection that a dragon ought to have to it.”

“How I feel is irrelevant,” Eobard says, but the spines along his spine stiffen.

“You’re a sociopath,” Mick concludes. “Human or dragon, it’s all the same. You can’t or won’t form connections to the outside world, and you’re inclined to destroy it, too.”

“As I said,” Eobard says, his voice hovering just above a snarl. “Irrelevant. Mr. Snart has fixated on you, for some reason, and there is no doubt that he will come charging in here to rescue you. With his physical impairment, defeating him will be of no moment.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate Len like that.”

“You should be less concerned about your master,” Eobard says, “and more concerned about yourself. Once Mr. Snart’s heart has beat its last, ownership of your contract immediately transfers to me as the rightful victor.”

His smile is filled with terrible, jagged teeth and his eyes with terrible, jagged ideas.

“I don’t particularly like humans,” he says, “but I can think of some uses for them.”

He turns away.

“Lenny,” Mick murmurs to himself, “for once, I really hope you keep your cool.”

———————————————————————————

“What on earth are you wearing?” Eobard exclaims.

Len snorts. “A fashion statement,” he says bitingly. “Vision corrective goggles, what do you think, you moron? That I’d be so upset that I’d run in here blind?”

“In the middle of a goddamn fight, Lenny?” Mick’s voice floats down. “You really can’t resist, can you?”

Len flicks his eyes upwards, identifying the hovering lump of heat-signature and the cold-signature lines of the metal around him. The goggles don’t actually restore his sight, working instead by accessing the optic nerves to put him on the infrared spectrum, but it works well enough for what he needs it for.

And what he needs it for is distraction.

As he expects, when he speaks the Words of Challenge, Eobard leaps straight for his face, claws out, teeth bared, aiming straight for the goggles.

Eobard is older, bigger; his breed is more known for power than Len’s, and he’s damned fast, too. But goggles make for a small, tricky target, and Len’s able to get in some serious hits – a leg, an elbow – before Eobard finally brings his claws down on the goggles, shattering them.

Something in Len’s brain goes abruptly and dazzlingly white in pain for just a second as the connection is snapped off abruptly.

That was probably his optic nerve frying.

Len hopes not, but, well, he knew what he was getting into.

He snakes out of Eobard’s grip.

“I think,” Eobard says, his bulk heaving with the need to breath deep after the effort, but his voice filled with satisfaction, “that the match is mine. If you lay your neck at my feet and beg for mercy, I may spare you.”

May being the key word.

Barry Allen’s mother begged, for the sake of her son, which she had stolen back from Eobard’s laboratory of horrors, the trespass justification enough for a Challenge, and Eobard crushed her beneath his feet anyways, an ignoble battle – a Challenge against a human, of all things; unknown before then and outlawed since.

“Yeah,” Len says, and he’s barely winded: Eobard’s been doing all the heavy lifting of this fight so far, focusing as he did on the goggles. The assumption that once the thing that brings him back to the standard is gone, he’s helpless, is as irritating as ever, but for once, it’s quite useful. “I don’t think so. Mick?”

“I got you,” Mick says, his voice warm and strong.

Len attacks.

Mick shouts out suggestions and Len follows them, the two of them working together seamlessly, months of practice kicking in, their mutual trust in their partnership flawless.

Len doesn’t need his eyes, as long as he has Mick.

It’s not long before Eobard is hacking up blood, his wing bent wrong, his blood splattering the floor, and the softer scales of his neck beneath Len’s claws.

“Mercy,” he rasps, glaring up at Len. He’s still not scared: he’s annoyed. Like this was one of his horrific experiments, twisted creations and genetic monstrosities, attempts to graft together draconic abilities and human ingenuity, one of the ones that didn’t go quite as he hoped. One of the ones that he thinks: better to discard now, cut the losses, and try again another time. Rely upon the laws and conventions of dragonkind to win himself another day to plan another way to hurt.

But Len’s no fool, and he’s no hero, either.

“Barry Allen sends his best wishes,” he says instead, and Eobard’s eyes go wide in understanding just a half-second before Len strikes.

—————————————————————-

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Barry says, sounding a little dazed.

“He never stood a chance against our Lenny,” Mick says happily, patting Barry on the shoulder.

Barry smiles at him. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

“Nah, you had other things to worry about,” Mick says dismissively.

“Still, thanks. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since Lisa started talking about you – Len doesn’t like anybody, and then there’s you. He loves you.”

“I wouldn’t say it quite like that,” Mick objects, flushing a little.

“I would,” Barry says firmly. “Do you…?”

Mick rubs the back of his head awkwardly. “Okay, yeah,” he says. “It’s mutual. No need to make a big deal out of it or anything.”

“Lisa’s going to make a big deal about it,” Barry says, shaking his head. “As soon as she stops beating Len up after Caitlin lets him out of his check-up.”

“Even if his eyes are shot for good, I’ll take care of him,” Mick says firmly.

“They’re not,” Caitlin calls, coming out of the medical bay with Cisco and pointedly ignoring the sounds of feisty draconic play-wrestling happening behind her. “He hurt them, yes, and he’s going to need quite some time to heal up before we can even think of making him a new set of goggles, but I think the risk of permanent damage is low.”

“Good,” Mick says. “Need to protect that beautiful brain of his. God knows Lenny isn’t going to do it.”

Barry snorts. “Too true,” he says, grinning. “Want some help with that? Can’t be easy, keeping him out of trouble.”

Mick studies Barry thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he says. “How do you feel about stealing…?”

[ajadelight]

Cell Phone Affair - Part Final

She hit up three more strangers for use of their cell phone and then retired to her apartment.    She called Ralph. “What you got for me, buddy?”    “I got John Morgan. He’s the head teller at Bank of Chicago in the Rantoul Branch. He’s married to Yvonne for 7 years. They have no children but don’t know why. She doesn’t work and looks like she doesn’t want to. Found a few pictures of her and she looks sort of on the dumpy side, probably from too much eating and excessive couch sitting during the day. She’s beautiful, but she doesn’t look functional or enthusiastic. I’d probably reject dating her.”   Wow! Got a live one there. I sent a text about Clyde and Jean, and the one who fed me, Danielle. The other three are Jimmy, Susan, and Robert. I just gave them an intriguing bully type of invitation.”    “Cool. I’ll work on the other three and I might have a film crew available on this one. Wow! You rock, Amanda. I mean I really admire your courage. I’d have been dead on the first one.”    “Not if you’re goal oriented and have an abundant blessing of feminine wiles and persuasion. Wink, wink. Pout a little. Look a little innocent. Look like a waif a little. Expose my cleavage a little. And these jeans that I stained to look like I’ve peed really attract and distract the men. And some women too. And the doors open without offering up sexual activity. I love it. Catch you later.”

   An hour later Amanda called Yvonne. “How’s it going, Yvonne? Are you feeling all dandy and happy?”    “So-so. Who’s this? Why are you concerned?”    “I’m concerned because of John, your husband. Do you know him?”    “What? Why are you concerned with him? Who is this?”    “Here we go again. Always want unimportant things first. Who are you? Why are you? Question, prod, question, probe, anything but listen to the important things first!”    “Knowing those things might keep me from hanging up on you. I’m not used to dealing with  strangers and strange phone calls.”    “Okay. I’m Amanda Collins. You’re Yvonne Morgan. I’m concerned with your husband because of what happened this morning. He loaned me his cell phone to make a call. During that call, he learned that I’m going to die in four days and it really shook him up. However, Ralph called John several times until John yelled at him. Ralph doesn’t want to see me die. John is so-so about it, but he tried to talk me out of it.”    “You’re going to die and you know when?”    “Yes. It’s scheduled on Saturday at noon, at the fountain in Walton Park. You want to come  and join the crowd?”    “Really? Is it an execution, or something? Never hear about that at noon in public. That’s very odd.”    “I know. However, it’s me. I’m going to shoot myself by the fountain.”    “That’s a nasty way to go.”    “I know. I thought of a hanging, but there’s nothing around to assist me. I know I could rent  a portable scaffold, but I wouldn’t be able to return it.”    “Bummer. I’ve seen a man hanged and it was interesting. I’d like to see a woman hanged. I could return the scaffold for you. Which company has that? Is it A 2 Z Rentals or Acme Jiffy Rent?”    Amanda moved the phone away and looked at it crossly. What the hell? She thought. She is a live one. She’s talking like me.    “Uh, it would be A 2 Z. They deliver and set up, but don’t pick up after use.”    “Interesting. What about price wise?”    “They have two models. One is you stand on a chair and put the noose around your neck and wobble the chair out from under your feet. You drop only a few inches at most but that method works. Your neck stretches a wee bit while the rope cuts off the air supply. My dislike is it takes 14-20 minutes to die slowly from suffocation. It runs $250. The other model is faster, but you need someone to handcuff you, then put the noose around your neck, and then pull the handle to release the trap door. That breaks your neck and hastens your departure. That one runs $675 and has the pulley, the rope with noose pre-made, the 1000-pound tested tie bar for securing the rope, a knife for cutting it afterward, and the handcuffs with no key.”    “Hmm. That second one sounds better. It must stretch your neck more while it snaps your neck from your spine and does an instant tighten up on your windpipe. You could think, ‘Oh, fuck!’ but never have the time to say it. Are you sure I can’t talk you into that one? I’d help you. I’d love to see your dainty little feet kicking around for something solid and not finding it. I hear girls pee after a few minutes.”    “No. I’ve already decided.”    “Darn my normal luck.”    “You’ll get over it. Before Saturday I’ll send you a link for some women hangings on-line. That should satisfy your curiosity and give you a thrill. Anyway, I have my granddad’s service pistol and it’s loaded. I’ll do it that way, but thanks for the offer. That’s kind of you.”    “You’re welcome. Now, why are you doing it?”    “Because I’m tired of being left out, not thought of, not cared about, unloved, disowned and unwanted. I was the prototype for caring about people, whether I know them or not. You’ll find that out in a moment. But people don’t return that. It’s like they’re one-way streets and never want to give back. So, Saturday at noon, POW! Let them be sorry for a change.”    “I’m sorry you let it get that far, Amanda. What about me?”    “You? I’ve seen some pictures of you and after seeing John this morning, I think you and he have problems with love, sex, and rock and roll. You do, don’t you?”    Yvonne was silent. “Did he tell you?”    “He told me nothing with his mouth. Most men don’t unless they’re dealing with a prostitute. Then they slip her a couple of 20s and flap their gums something fierce. But I saw the way he watched me before my odd request. I drank too much the night before and I peed myself and he couldn’t seem to break away from that fact. Then I saw some pictures from the wedding online and then some of you now, and it breaks my heart, Yvonne. He hasn’t done you in what, maybe 3 months?”    “Try 4 and it’s not because I haven’t tried, I do. He ignores me or just tells me to quit and moves me aside and opts for another channel on television and most often with a beer. And I try, Amanda. I even walk naked between the sofa and the television and he waves hard at me and tells me to get the F out of the way and get some clothes on. I don’t know what to do! One of his buddy’s is putting the make on me, but I’ve ignored him, so far. However, I’m getting desperate enough to take him up on that offer, regardless of the hell that might break loose. I mean I want it bad and he’s like from another planet where that doesn’t happen.”    “Do you want some help?    “Yes, please! What am I doing wrong?”    “Well, get a grip and listen up. The first thing you do is lose those drab gray sweatpants. You wear them all the time, don’t you?”    “Yes.”    “Stop. Do you have ginger in the house? Doesn’t matter if it’s raw or powder.”    “Yes. We both like ginger so I have some fresh root.”    “Good. How about miniskirts and halters?”    “Yes.”    “Good. We can’t do anything about the tummy today, but we will get you laid. You can go to a gym and start a healthy nutrition plan on your own soon. For tonight leave your sweats and chartreuse tee in the hamper. Shower and dry everything but your coochie. Then, while it’s still slightly damp, rub it with some fresh ginger root and put your pants on. Top that with a short mini and a halter without the bra. Tie your hair back in a tail and use the same ginger root to dab behind your ears. Lose the necklace. Leave your skin there, inviting for some nibbling. Then don’t mention or even hint at sex. Just do what you normally do without that intrusion, add that temptation and tease, and before the night’s over, he’ll have you in bed and breathless. Can you do that?”    “Yes. That sounds kind of exciting, even for me.”    “Good. Then hit the gym and don’t diet. Consult with a nutritionist and let them help you lose the tummy fat and tone up your legs and ABS. And never parade naked in front of him, never. Try to adjust your habits so he never sees you even half naked. If you want a max tease to rip his pants open, stop undressing with a tight bra on and keep the rest covered, unless you drag him in the shower with you. Lock the door when you bathe. Change clothes there instead of standing over him in bed. Mysterious yourself up some. Keep the lights dim enough to be scarcely visible or don’t even let him kiss you in the bedroom unless the lights are completely out. Burn some candles for dancing light and lots of dark wispy shadows. Shift positions and move or slap his hands lightly to slow him down when he tries to uncover the good stuff. Make him work to get what you make him want. Your mystifying coochie will take care of everything else. And trust me, he can use it and never see it. All he needs is his fingers and his fence post when it’s ready. You can cut off the visual for the remainder of your together intercourses and he’ll be happy. So, will you for that matter.”    “SCORE!”    “That’s the ticket, Yvonne.”    “What about daytime interlude that’s not planned?”    “Fit your bedroom windows with heavy curtains and insist it happen there. Keep the curtains closed and when you reach the point of letting our clothes come off, cover from the waist down with a bed sheet. Force it to happen without even seeing your legs. And when you’re ready, adjust the sheet ONLY enough to let him inside while he’s kissing you or watching your eyes. Mystery! Imagination! Secrecy! Concealment! Keep yourself changing and put a different x on every treasure map you spring on him.”    “Dang, Amanda. That sounds very exciting. My what a wellspring of sexual knowledge.”    You can do it. Just practice them all and teach him to work with your sensuality until you get it.”    “I will. Thanks, Amanda. I wish I could help you. I have your number, so I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what happened.”    “Thanks, sweetheart. You do that and have a great night tonight.”

   She took a break and called Jean.    Immediately Jean was on her case. Who is this? Why are you calling me?”    “Your moral conscious, honey. This is Amanda. I talked with you, or rather listened to you yell at me earlier today. Remember?”    “Yes. Why call me again?”    “Because all that yelling told me you’re horny and not getting regular sexual relief. Otherwise, you’d not have been so hostile. Instant answer, please. True or false?”    Jean sighed. “True. I thought it was you exhausting him.”    “Nope. Social media is good for some things, Jean. It’s good for visuals versus a sexy voice, like you possess, at least on the phone. You’re dressed most of the time like the last woman I just helped. You dress comfortably in your own home, but to Clyde and the rest of the world, it sure looks sloppy and makes you appear very unkempt. The clothing and your body language say you’re a homeless woman but living in a home and wondering why you can’t get laid.”    “Wow! That pisses me off, but I like your blunt approach.”    “And right off hand, I’d say that you’ve not showered in 4 or 5 days and if you dropped your jeans, you’d probably smell like piss. That’s not a sexual turn-on for most men or even women. Why don’t you shower more frequently?”    “Because I don’t think I smell bad.”    “To you, maybe not, but to Clyde and other folks, you stink, honey. Besides the lack of smelling your own BO, why? Is there a reason?”    “I don’t like to spend the time doing that. It takes 20 to 30 minutes and since I’m married, I didn’t figure it would matter that much. It’s not like I’m trying to date him and get his attention.”    “Well, news flash, honey buns, if you want to get laid regularly, you need to spend the time bathing, or else spend the time with fantastic plastic for a cheap unsatisfying thrill. How’s that for blunt?”

    “Pretty much in my face,” Jean said.     “That’s the way I roll. And if I were straight or lesbian, your waist would be the line of demarcation, if I could get that far. Stale sweaty skin is up there on the gag scale.”    “Oops! That hurts, but it makes sense. Why hasn’t he complained about it?”    “He has. Every time he rejects sex with you, that’s a complaint. Every time he holds you at arms’ length, that’s a complaint. If he sniffs loudly and wrinkles his nose, that’s a complaint. But if you don’t understand and make an adjustment, then he has options to take care of himself.”    “Oh, boy. That sucks!”    “Sure does. From the cursory time I was with him today, I don’t see him going outside for another woman to handle the sex. It must happen when he’s in the shower, or you are and he disposes of the evidence. And you’d be so down on yourself, you’d never think of looking in the trash for a condom or something else to show.”    The phone dropped and she heard mumbling in the background until she picked it up again. “I’m hurting. I’d never have thought to look. I’m sorry, Clyde, but just you wait. You’ll not have the chance to do this again; not unless I’m doing it for you.”    “What?” asked Amanda.    “A paper towel that can’t be denied.”    “Um, um. I just got off the phone with another woman who had a similar problem. The solution is the same for you. Do you care to listen?” asked Amanda.    “Yes. Since you figured me out so swiftly, lay it on me. I’m really hurting now. Are you really going to use the gun on Saturday?”    “Yes. I can help other people, but I’m finished trying to help myself.”    “Is there no way to stop you? There must be somebody or a group of people who can love you enough to keep you loved and wanting to be alive. Are you sure I can’t help you back enough?”    “Hey, girlfriend, there’s always hope. Show up 20 minutes early on Saturday and give me the best Used Car Sales pitch the world has ever heard and we’ll see what happens. You might luck out. We both might luck out. Just show up and hit me with your best shot.

   “Now pay attention to what I say. I want a call in the morning with a victory shout.”

   Saturday morning at 11:30 Amanda was at the fountain, dressed in her clean but ragged clothes. She lay the weapon down on a chair by the table and covered it with a newspaper.    Jean arrived at 11:35 and did not wait for her prepared sales pitch. She finished and stood back to see her effect on Amanda.    “Man, that was good! You want to be that close a friend with me?”    “Yes, and if necessary, I’ll become bisexual to keep you healthy, adjusted, and very alive.”    A rental truck appeared and hailed her.    “This is the place. Unload them next to the fountain.    Jean watched as 6 tables and 36 chairs appeared and Amanda conned them into setting them up for her.    Before they left, a DJ parked behind their van and asked where to put the equipment.    Amanda showed him and then turned to a curious Jean. “Hey, girlfriend. That sales pitch really impressed me. We’ll give it a great try because I don’t want to die right now; not with so many people loving me. It’s wonderful to find someone who believes, acts and loves like you do.”    She gave her a kiss on the mouth.    “Great news! So, what’s really happening here?”    Yvonne appeared and ran to join them from her car. “Okay, which one is Amanda?”    “Me. I am the guilty party,”    Yvonne grabbed in a bear hug.    “Great. I’m Yvonne and I’ve destroyed all the death threats against you and all the bodily harm I wished to inflict.  Wow, did I get laid! Felt like a virgin, losing it again after 4 months. Awesome! Now, can we stop this silly horse shit that you are committing suicide?”    “Okay. You convinced me to live.”    Two food vending trucks pulled up and parked on the curb.    All the parties were right behind them and they all gathered at the fountain and waited anxiously for Amanda to speak or fire the weapon to take half her head off.    She beckoned to Susan to stand beside her. “Hello, friends. Welcome to my suicide party. Thank you so much for showing up. I really didn’t want to do this, but what the hey? I wanted to get your attention. I’ve done all I can for you over the years. I’ve not missed a birthday or anniversary yet and I’m waiting on you to get busy with babies so I can add them to my heart and communication list. And while I waited, I also waited for this, but you missed it 3 times. DJ, hit it.”    The DJ played Happy Birthday and Amanda started singing it to herself as the people blushed and then joined in at her request.    She laughed with them about how she put the hoax over on them and welcomed the new additions to her friendly family.    “The food vendors are the grill and drink stand for today. It will cost you nothing. I’ve saved three years for this day. What makes it extra special is I’m coming out today. I just can’t hide it any longer.”    The DJ stopped the music and the gathering grew deathly quiet and watched her expectantly as she hugged Susan and kissed her cheek.    “Yes. Ralph is not my biological brother. He just acted that way, until 3 months ago and we became lovers. And now we’ve encountered an oops and I’m like 9 weeks pregnant. And since we’ve loved each other undercover for so long, next month, same time, same place, we expect you all to join us here when we say our wedding vows. In the meantime, happy birthday to me and please party down!”

The End