spitblaze · 1 year ago
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You guys know that American Jews have nothing to do with the actions of Israel, right. You guys know that it's a sovereign nation with a government full of shitheads that has nothing to do with individual Jewish people in other countries. You understand this right. You get that Jewish people are not a monolith and don't unilaterally support Israel by virtue of it being a 'Jewish State', right. You get that being antisemitic at home doesn't remotely help the people in Gaza. Please tell me you understand this
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akkivee · 8 months ago
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there was some display gallery showing off the various logos in hypmic and the ichikuu peeps on the tl were in shambles over both of them using halos in their mc name signatures lol
#vee queued to fill the void#i understand lol this is a pretty big deal like actually lol#one fan suggested an nb logo could have angel imagery since nb was under stairway to heaven#another in a very fast paced series of tweets cried about it being potential sign of ichiro and kuukou’s bond spanning from life#but even into their deaths and beyond when they reunite in heaven (and even pointed out the meaning of stairway to heaven)#and goddamn i sure love being jacked into the hypmic hive mind i can’t believe i was just musing about kuukou and death#and then directly got food for thought LOL but ichiro!!!!!!! i wasn’t expecting ichiro lol!!!!!!#but bb has been weirdly associated with christmas aka the birth of jesus#who gave his life for humanity and i am too in shambles no way does both ichiro and kuukou have self sacrifice themes NO WAY#god i remember when the hella awesome banquet mv dropped and bat fandom banded together to dissect the video#one person commented it’s strange to see kuukou in association with catholic/christian imagery#but posted a wiki article talking about the similarities between buddha and jesus and the ideologies in those religions#*crying* i even posted about it the black crown above kuukou’s head was both catholic and buddhist and meant to be beneficial for humanity#ichiro constantly being shaken to his core by sacrifices…….. him trying to show the nation the path of hope…………#this is so much lol i love getting food for thought from random observations and drops lol
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meixiaotian · 8 months ago
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still thinking about how each animorph's fate is directly related to how much they enjoyed the war
#animorphs#I swear I saw a post about this years ago but I don't know where it is#so I guess I'll say it again#Rachel loves the war. She flourishes in it. She self-actualizes. And it's terrible#She and her friends don't even know what peacetime Rachel would look like. *Can* she even exist outside of the war?#And it turns out#No! She can't! Peacetime Rachel never comes to pass! She dies before the war is over!#While Ax. Ax is relatively unbothered. He did enlist in the Andalite military after all. He's not as haunted as the rest of them#After Rachel dies he's the next. Peace comes but he chases the echoes of the war and it ends him.#In some awful way where he's gone but he's not. Not exactly dead but absorbed into a greater hive mind#And of course Cassie hates the war. Hates fighting hates killing hates it the whole way through#And when it's over she manages to move on. She spends her days saving the environment#And when battle again comes knocking at her door she says no#She says goodbye. She knows she'll never see the rest of them again.#Because the rest. They hate the war but not as much as Cassie.#And they try to move on but unlike Cassie they can't.#So off they go to enter into another war. And maybe they survive but maybe they don't#Leaving only Cassie as the real survivor of the war. Alone on Earth while her friends all went to die in space#goddamn#I hated the last book as a kid#I still wish they had a happier ending#but there's so much to chew over and cry about#it's a really good ending
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upsidedownlurker · 21 days ago
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Wait a second... "PUNISH AGATHA"?
Major spoilers for Agatha All Along episode 5!
...
THE TRIAL IN EPISODE 5 WAS A VISION FROM SALEM'S 7 AND THESE ARE MY REASONS!!!
:P
Okay... first of all, the point of the "trial" was apparently to PUNISH AGATHA. That's our first clue. Why do Salem's Seven exist? To punish Agatha for killing their parents, of course!
Let's retrace our steps.
The witches' sense of unity has been growing stronger, especially since episode 4. This is demonstrated by the brooms: no witch left behind.
UNTIL.
The witches flew right into that coven member's swarm of bugs... then the "trial" started. We don't see the outside of the doors, only the inside; there's no dangerous element like flood or fire, there's no moon on the doors, and the aspect ratio never changes when they enter the room. This completely breaks the pattern established in episodes 3 & 4.
Plus! Agatha is completely powerless during what is apparently her own trial, left to the whims of her mother (a former member of Agatha's coven, who she killed!) and her current coven– who seem all too willing to betray her as soon as they get the chance. They've become a part of the hive mind, just like Salem's Seven.
"I can be good!" Agatha yelled during her "trial"... the exact same thing she yelled when her original coven tried to kill her.
Also... "Alice, don't try to save Agatha!" and
It's funny that the number three was so prevalent this episode ("ages 3 and up", the 03 on Agatha's jersey) because the third trial never even started. This was a false trial made by the Salem's Seven.
So, why did they do this?
Well, Salem's Seven have been on Agatha's trail ever since she was broken out of her spell. They're determined to punish Agatha for what she did to their parents. However, they also are determined to break up the coven. They want to disrupt the gang's newfound unity and force them to fight with each other. This will keep Agatha weak, powerless and unprotected. Much easier to kill.
Maybe they even wanted Teen to reveal his powers and identity. Or take his spellbook. Whatever it was, they goddamn got it.
...
After exploring this theory on my own, I looked for more on Reddit, and I saw someone make a really cool suggestion: dying is what breaks them out of the spell. Which is why Teen threw everyone into the bog, so they could escape. Maybe Agatha realised it first and goaded him into it with that "You're just like your mother" line, or maybe Teen did it all on his own.
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talesofesther · 2 years ago
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scorch marks | ch 2
Wednesday Addams x Reader
Series Summary: Wednesday has been careful to keep what you two have behind closed doors and far away from labels; but when someone starts to take it — take you — away from her, she realizes how much she cares.
A/N: Not much to say here, just that I hope you like this part and let me know your thoughts. <3
Masterlist | Read ch 1 here
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It was an awful day outside.
The sky was all baby blue and the sun was shining warmly over the lake's water. Wednesday could see everyone running around all the way from the round window of her dorm.
She liked to keep as far away from the commotion as possible on days like these. But Enid had other plans when she dragged her roommate outside, going on about how sad it was to be cooped up inside on a day like this.
Though Wednesday was quickly ditched when Ajax came into the picture, and that's when she spotted you.
It was genuinely, annoyingly, one of the most beautiful sights Wednesday had ever witnessed. You were leaning back on your elbows under a huge tree, lips moving softly into words she couldn't know; your skin was mostly hidden from sunlight, but a few rays still managed to catch your hair, painting the strands into a golden glow as the glistening of the lake's water in front of you framed your profile. It almost got Wednesday enjoying the bright and warm weather for a second, but the rest of the world came back into focus when her gaze settled on the girl beside you.
Why did it look so intimate? Why was Yoko touching you with such grace? Why did you let her?
Wednesday had always been observant, noticing details to a minimum to find weaknesses and points of advantage, so of course, she noted how your sunglasses matched the ones the vampire was wearing. Wednesday caught her mind wandering as to how it happened; were you in her dorm room when you took them? Did Yoko put them on you, her hands touching the apples of your cheeks as she did so?
She kept her distance to keep her heart safe, so why does it hurt so much to be this far away now? Why is it so awful to see you with someone else, so happy and lively? Why does Wednesday feel like you're being stolen from her, when you're not even hers, to begin with?
There were so many goddamn questions flooding Wednesday's mind and making her feel less and less in control. It got her clenching her fists, breath coming out shallow as she nagged on her bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood brushed her tongue.
Goody warned that she was destined to be alone, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised if one day someone else gets to keep you. Doesn't mean she needs to like it, or go down without a fight.
With each step Wednesday took towards you, the more she hated herself, because it felt childish and naive, maybe even futile. But deep inside her little black heart, she also knew she would never stop torturing herself about it if she just turned away.
So she played her cards, and now that you were walking side by side with her — your shoulder bumping into hers because the concept of personal space changed when it was just you and her — Wednesday's lips parted with a long sigh she'd been holding since laying eyes on you on that picnic blanket.
Dead leaves and branches snapped under her boots, the bee keeper's shed slowly coming into view amidst the dense trees. She glanced at you, blinking slowly as her features softened for you, for you, for you always.
"What did you need me for?" You eventually asked, all innocent curiosity and flushed cheeks from the sun.
"Eugene wanted you to check on the new hive." Wednesday lied easily.
"Are the bees okay? Did something happen?" The look in your eyes mimicked the urgency of your tone.
Wednesday rolled her eyes, though the action held more adoration than anything else. "That's the whole point of checking in on them, is it not?"
The old wooden door of the shed creaked as she opened it for you and let it close again once you were both inside; it was a little darker, stripes of sunlight coming in through the cracks and holes in the walls, illuminating the organized mess of the shed.
"Touche," you mumbled, making a beeline for the new bees that were still settling in. You and Eugene liked to keep them inside for a while before relocating them to their definitive hive outside, especially when a new Queen is added.
You could feel the weight of Wednesday's gaze on your back the whole time as you checked the little ones with a faint smile, and when nothing out of the ordinary was noticed, you started to wonder — to hope — that maybe this didn't have anything to do with the bees at all.
There was shuffling behind you, steps coming closer to you yet slow and hesitant in their movement. You would have known it was Wednesday even if she wasn't the one who brought you here. From this close, the feeling of her was unmistakable; it was almost like your soul already knew the shape of hers.
You felt a touch, a barely there graze of fingertips on your elbow. You knew that it was Wednesday's silent plea for you to focus on her. Solemnly.
Oh.
You turned around, twisting on your heels and almost forgetting how to breathe, she indeed came closer, you noted.
You didn't want to look desperate — Wednesday was closer, her perfume numbing all your other senses; there was a lock of her hair slightly caught on her lips, the freckles over her nose and cheeks much more apparent — though it took everything on you to not cup her cheeks and pull her closer still.
A beat passed with you wondering whether she'd ever feel the same — with you not knowing she was already in just as deep, if not deeper, than you — watching how the slivers of light reflected off of her dark irises, how her eyebrows relaxed and her lips quirked in the faintest of smiles. With time you came to know her mannerisms, the little telltale of emotions on her that you adored, that you could spend hours admiring. This was new.
"You're so pretty," the words came out in a breath before you could hold onto them.
They got Wednesday blinking multiple times, as if a dandelion had been blown in front of her, its petals grazing her cheeks, leaving testimonies of affection and delicacy.
You wondered if she liked the feeling, or if it got her nauseous and annoyed.
Wednesday breathed in deeply, her tongue running over her bottom lip in motion that you followed. She wasn't looking at you as she said; "I remember the last time we were alone here," she spoke carefully, at the same time that her thumb curled around the belt loop of your shorts.
From her avoidance to look into your eyes to the way she insisted on touching you, it was somehow foreign territory. From all the other times you've sneaked away with Wednesday, this is easily the most intimate.
"I like that memory." Wednesday finished, tone dripping with something sweet, akin to honey but better.
Before you could even think, your fingertips were already tracing the outline of her jaw, like a satellite following the pull of gravity. You'd never heard her say anything that resembled attachment, let alone this. Part of you wanted to ask what triggered it, or where was the punchline.
Wednesday kissed you first; lips tender against yours as her nose nudged your cheek. Her urge got you stumbling backward until your back hit the shelf behind you.
You forgot any and all types of rational thinking.
————
"No," you grumbled, closing the bottle of nail polish, "no, stop fucking complaining, you're the one who asked me to do this."
You were laying on your belly on top of Wednesday's bed, her plush, comfy black comforter wrinkling slightly with the way Thing was gesturing erratically in front of you.
"And, I made it pretty clear I wasn't the best at it," you raised an eyebrow at him. Just because it was a little smudged on the sides doesn't mean he has to make a big deal out of it. The dark purple does look nice with his skin.
"Wednesday, tell him how it looks nice."
The raven-haired girl carefully picked up a filled page off of her typewriter and laid it down on the pile by her side. She spared a half-second glance towards you and Thing before inserting a new page to resume the noisy typing of her novel. "It looks dreadful."
You groaned exasperatedly, burying your head under the covers.
"I love it." Wednesday finished.
"Well there you have it," you hummed, clumsily getting up from her bed, "at least someone likes it."
Thing relented, signaling to you that it wasn't that bad.
It got you chuckling, for only a hand, he was quite something. With your palm over your chest, you mouthed a thank you to him before turning to Wednesday.
She was focused on her writing; her eyebrows just a tad furrowed, eyes sharp over the ink that was set on paper, her lips pulled thin as her fingertips skillfully pressed over the letters. Selfishly, you wanted to pull out your phone and take a picture, stash away this memory just for you. She probably wouldn't like that though, and as your mother used to tell you; memories exist outside of time. You could be back here and now anytime you wanted.
Some might think that Wednesday's side of the room is morbid and dead compared to the burst of colors that is Enid's side. You saw it differently; her hoodie was thrown over the bed, from earlier when she came in; there is a potted cactus sitting on the bedside table, beside the big round window, you gave it to her a few weeks ago and it still a vivid green; her cello rests beside her wardrobe, its case half open from when she practiced last night; the bin from under her desk is almost overflowing with balls of paper, signs of a dead end on her novel that she, apparently, has just found a way around.
If you look closely enough, Wednesday's side of the room is just as full of life as Enid's is. Each corner has a little bit of her, of her personality for you to discover. And just recently you've been allowed to. Honestly, it's still a little overwhelming.
You've been in her room before, countless times because of Enid, but never because Wednesday had invited you. It caught you by surprise when she — in her own nonchalant and cryptic way — asked you to come back with her a few days ago. A part of you always thought she would never want to entangle your personal lives more than they already were, so it did catch you a bit off guard when she yanked you from Yoko's side in the hallway and just… didn't let go.
Every day since, you've been spending more time by her side. None of you had quite addressed why yet.
You slowly walked to Wednesday's side, with every three clicks of the typewriter you took one step. Your gaze shifted from her to the recently written pile of pages on the desk.
Wednesday's fingers hovered over the buttons when she noticed you looking. She strived to keep her face impassive even when her breathing felt stuck to her throat.
Shit. She thought to herself, did you have to come snooping right when that page is on the top?
"Is there a new character in your novel?" You asked, lightly tracing your fingertips over the black ink, mainly over the lines in which Viper was described holding the hands of an unnamed girl.
Wednesday got up in a quick motion, her chair harshly scrapping the dark wood floor as she stepped in front of you, blocking your view of her story. "No, I… She's not important." She explained, looking at you through her eyebrows in an almost daring way.
You were about to open your mouth to inquire more, but three knocks on the door stopped you.
Both you and Wednesday looked towards it. She took a step away from you, her back bumping the desk and causing a few pencils to roll over, as if just realizing how close you two were — as if you'd never been much closer than that.
Wednesday cleared her throat, taking swift steps to the door and pulling it open only to reveal Yoko on the other side, round sunglasses resting above her nose and a cheeky grin on her dark-painted lips.
"What do you want?" Wednesday all but growled, her knuckles going white around the door handle.
"I'm here for that one," Yoko gestured towards you, before tilting her head so her eyes could properly find yours, "due date is next week Y/N, last I checked we're still a pair, come on lovergirl."
The nickname held no bad intentions other than to tease you for suddenly being glued to Wednesday's side. But if looks could kill, Wednesday would have Yoko six feet under already.
Begrudgingly, you picked up your backpack, giving Thing a fist bump before walking to the door.
You stopped by Wednesday, naturally reaching out to touch the back of her hand with yours. Her skin was all silk-like smooth as you hooked your pointer finger with hers.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" You asked only for her to hear.
Pathetically, Wednesday dreaded the thought of you leaving with someone else. She only nodded, giving your finger a barely-there squeeze before you walked away.
And when Yoko put an arm around your shoulders, she almost knocked the whole building out of place with the way she slammed her door.
————
The smell of coffee and freshly baked goods was ever-present in Weathervane, the place held this warmth to it, all cinnamon and brown sugar. Maybe that's why it was your favorite place in town.
You and Yoko sat by one of the booths beside the big glass windows, watching the people walk by on the sidewalk as a light drizzle painted the streets a darker color.
Your spoon clicked against your mug every time you mixed up your cappuccino. There was a small frown on your eyebrows, your back hitting the plush fabric of your seat; "yeah but like, why?"
Yoko let go of the straw in her drink with a pop, she shrugged, "not sure."
"So someone just told you oh by the way if you eat anything with garlic you might just end up in the hospital, and you just went with it no questions asked?" You tilted your head to the side as a puppy would, a faint smile coming to your lips.
"I mean," the vampire leaned back, strands of her straight hair going over her sunglasses, "back then I didn't give much of a shit, and since then it has happened to me enough times that I know it's true so, no I never asked about the whys."
A waiter passed by you holding a recently baked pie, the warm smell of apples invading your nostrils. You briefly considered ordering a slice. "I'd be curious about the whys." You mumbled, your lips grazing the edge of your mug before you took a sip.
Yoko smirked, her fangs prodding at her lower lip, "look it up then."
"We have, there's nothing."
"That's because it's something we know since the dark ages."
You hummed, "talk about blind trust."
Placing your mug on the table, you lazily turned your head to the side to look out into the street, only to be met with the piercing eyes of Wednesday staring right into your soul from the other side of the glass window.
Your hand bumped into your mug with the way you jumped in your seat, spilling a bit of your drink, "shit," you cursed under your breath, hearing the pounding of your heart in your ears.
"Don't scare me like that," you exclaimed to Wednesday, motioning wildly to the cappuccino stain on the table.
All the raven-haired girl did was raise an unimpressed eyebrow at you, probably not understanding a word of what you were saying.
"You two, I swear to god…" Yoko giggled, watching you amusedly.
"Don't." You pointed a finger at her.
From the sidewalk, Wednesday visibly huffed before turning around to carefully make her way inside.
"Yeah, I'm gonna take that as my cue to go to the bathroom, because she," Yoko told you, finishing her drink before gesturing behind her to where the bell above the door dinged as Wednesday came in, "looks like a damn storm cloud."
"Yeah very funny," you whispered back, to which you only received a salute from Yoko as a response as she walked away.
Wednesday made her way around the tables and to you, her arms straight by her side and face impassive. Her eyes never left you, she choose to sit beside you on the booth instead of in front of you, her shoulder brushing yours as her hands rested neatly on her lap.
"Hey you," you smiled something shy, feeling the familiar way your cheeks warmed up and your stomach filled with butterflies for having her this close. "I'm happy you're-"
"I couldn't find you at school," Wednesday stated before you could finish, her gaze sneaking from your eyes to your lips.
Your hands became slick with perspiration, words tangled at the tip of your tongue. She was looking for you, came all this way for you. Maybe it shouldn't have made you as happy as it did.
"You were looking for me?" You dared ask, tone filled with tender hope and something else, all warm and sweet, a feeling you've been trying to keep at bay since she first kissed you.
Wednesday gulped, her jaw tensing as she averted her gaze with a slow blink. One of your hands was resting on top of the table, fidgeting with the edge of a napkin; was it too bad that she felt like holding it?
"I uh- I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you said when she didn't answer, "Yoko wanted to go out for a bite and asked me to tag along."
There was an instant coldness to you when Wednesday shifted on her seat, separating her shoulder from yours, "she asked you out?"
"I mean, yeah but-"
"And you said yes?"
Your lips hung open for a beat where you simply looked at Wednesday; her dark eyes shining under the orange lights, droplets of rain still clinging to her black hair, and for the first time, no walls up around her heart. But maybe it was your fault that it was not for the right reasons.
Wednesday breathed through her nose, it sounded much like a sniff and she hated it; "don't let me spoil your date." She got up so fast that she was halfway to the door when you scrambled to go after her.
"Wait, Wednesday wait," you called, jogging to catch up to her and almost knocking over a guy who was carrying two big mugs of hot chocolate.
You took hold of her hand without thinking, walking around her to block her path a second before she reached the door handle.
She didn't return the hold you had on her hand and it stung, but you carried on almost desperately; "not a date. This is not a date, you don't have to be jealous or-"
"I don't care." Wednesday yanked her hand away, her words so cold that she almost convinced herself that they were true. "The fact that you could even think I would feel anything remotely close to that for you is ridiculous at best."
It was already a scene, you and Wednesday could feel the not-so-discreet eyes of almost all the customers on you, forks with pieces of pie and mugs with coffee stopped midair as they watched the show.
You involuntary curled in on yourself because of the unwanted attention. Wednesday didn't seem to mind.
"Please can we talk about this somewhere else?" You asked quietly, your sneaker tapping the floor rhythmically.
"There's nothing to talk about." Wednesday simply said, but the words were pushed out forcefully, bitter on her tongue and razor-sharp around her already bleeding heart. They hurt, but at least this was a pain that Wednesday could control.
You took a step closer to her, hands itching to touch her in any way but she took a step away from you.
"We have nothing worth talking about."
With that Wednesday walked around you and into the now pouring rain, leaving behind everything that could've been.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚
Read ch 3 here
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3
Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @angel-luv-04 @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @kylobensgirl @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @astancomerbelova
@justyourwritter69 @natashaxwife @fieldofsecretss @faunusrubyrose @darkblueeyedperson @jujuu23 @part-timetraveller @athenablack1959 @loki-is-loved @oh-thats-cute @straweberries
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nyoomfruits · 1 year ago
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hugging and absentmindedly kissing their neck, resulting in mortification for one of them
This one, lando and oscar, please I BEG
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hive mind hive mind hive mind
At the end of the day, Oscar’s going to blame the exhaustion.
Exhaustion over the shit luck that seems to follow him through this stupid triple header. Exhaustion over having to drive an entire race for nothing because of the stupid +1 lap. Exhaustion over his break up with Lily, who had sat him down for a talk roughly a month ago and told him very gently that she couldn’t be with him when his heart clearly belonged to someone else.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
So he blames the exhaustion, and the fact that he misses her, and that he’s so used to wrapping her small frame up in a hug after a bad race, letting her mere presence comfort him.
It’s the only excuse he has, really, for wandering into the meeting room Lando and his race engineer just finished their debrief in, wrapping his arms around Lando’s waist, pressing his lips against the back of Lando’s neck and mumbling, “Let’s go home, yeah?” against his skin.
It doesn’t even fully register until the body in his arms freezes, and says, “Oscar?” But with the r dropped and the a sounding more like a u.
“Shit,” Oscar says, jumping away from Lando so fast he bangs his knee against the table. “Lando, fuck, I’m so sorry, I thought-“
But he doesn’t finishes the sentence. Because what he wanted to say was ‘I thought you were Lily’ but despite missing her, and her comfort, he never actually thought it was her.
He hadn’t been looking for Lily, when he’d wandered into the briefing room. He’d been looking for what Lily would’ve offered him, before. He’d been looking for love.
And he’d gone to Lando.
Lando, who is smiling at him like nothing weird has just happened, soft in a way he only ever looks at Oscar. “At least buy a guy dinner first, yeah?” He says, and his tone is joking, but it’s also not.
And fuck it. Oscar thinks back, on how Lily had said his heart belonged to someone else. And maybe she was right. Maybe it did. And maybe-
“You’re right,” Oscar says, allowing himself to smile back. “How do you feel pizza? There’s a great place right around the corner from here.”
Lando’s smile widens, takes over his entire face. He looks radiant, so goddamn beautiful, and Oscar feels a little stupid, suddenly, for not realizing before. “Yeah,” Lando says, eyes bright and sparkling. “I love pizza.”
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randomname3 · 4 months ago
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Okayyy magnus archives theory/hc time- prepare for some rambling about an idea that came to me 10 minutes ago:
tl;dr The reason The Eye preferred john to magnus isnt because john performed the watchers crown, its because john "loves" the Eye more than magnus.
So,
Something i noticed while listening is that all the avatars in tma fall somewhere on a spectrum between "naturally formed" avatars and "deal with the devil" avatars.
The deal with the devil ones learned about one or more of the fears, and started feeding them until they gained avatar status. Maxwell rayner opened a cult that saw fearing dark as worshiping, jonah created the institute ect. Most of smyrk's students fall under that category.
Now the second kind are the naturally formed ones; in ep 200 the statement reads "and some minds did mot simply recoil from them ... Some seemed to court them, to court them, to hunger in return ... Minds that saw the faces of things that were fear and were compelled as much as they were repulsed.". Some minds just naturally call for the fears, compelled by them. Jane prentiss talked about her love for the flesh hive in her statement. Simon fairchild talked about how he finds the concept of being small in the universe calming. All peter lukas ever wanted in his life was to be alone. These people didnt come to the fears, they (for lack of a better word) Vibed with the fears so strongly that the fears came to them to make them avatars. They loved what others would fear.
Now. Magnus and john.
The Eye, at its core, is the fear of being known, and all your secrets being exposed. And that something that jonah magnus CLEARLY didnt vibe with. We didnt discover his identity untill the end of season 4, all he did the whole series is keep secrets and lie to people. He enjoyed the benefits of being an avatar of The Eye but he feared it, as much as the people he tortured.
Now Johnathan sims on the other hand. Johnathan "i dont want to be another goddamn mystery" sims. The one who documented everything he did with the intent of other people discovering it, who became more and more open about himself, his feelings and his secrets as his venture into avatarhood progressed. The one who, after being ignored by his parent figure in his childhood, just wanted to be cared for, acknowledged, SEEN. While john very much started the series as a deal with the devil avatar, he did love The Eye, whether he realised that or not. And the Eye loved him back, and chose him when the moment arrived.
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scoops-aboy86 · 8 months ago
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The aftermath. I'm not sure how many more parts to this story there will be, but at least a couple.
Anyway, Eddie Munson lives, baby!
Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 of the love spell no go au
Scrying isn’t something Eddie has delved into much but he knows a scrying plane when he sees one. The shallow water beneath his feet ripples out with every step, echoing out into infinity. He can hear hundreds of thousands of voices whispering just on the edge of hearing, too quiet to make out, and pinches the inside of his wrist to see if this is a bad dream he can simply wake up from. 
… Nope. 
There’s nothing to see and nowhere to go, but he tries. He picks a direction and walks for a long time. 
A very long time. Until—
“Eddie?”
He whips around, and a girl who may or may not have been there a minute ago regards him with big, tired eyes. Younger than him. Shaved head. 
“That’s me,” he replies warily. “Are you… the party’s Supergirl?” Dustin had said something about her losing her powers, but she must have found them again to be here. 
She smiles a little at that, a small but genuine thing. “I’m Eleven. You can call me El, or Jane.”
“El-or-Jane it is,” Eddie replies with a bow, and that one earns him a laugh. 
“You are funny,” she tells him. “I’m glad my friends in Hawkins had you to help them.”
When Eddie goes to protest that she has it backwards, they’d helped him, El informs him that his ripcord spell had killed Vecna. She’d been in his mindscape when the others’ attack on the dark wizard had begun, the red hell dissolving around her, putting her out of range while Eddie was casting. But Vecna, through his hive mind connection with the bats, had been front and center, and it had zapped him like a bug flying into a light bulb. Enough for whatever power had kept him alive through the ravages of interdimensional travel and decay and being set on fire to be snuffed out. 
El had hurt him, and his physical body had died of the burns from Robin and Steve’s Molotovs and bullets from Nancy’s sawed-off, but it was Eddie who struck the final blow. Otherwise, Vecna might have crashed through that window onto the front yard below and still gotten up again to slink off, lick his wounds, and continue his assault on the Right Side Up. 
“I think we use our powers very differently,” El tells him thoughtfully, and isn’t that just the understatement of the goddamn year. “I don’t understand what you did, or how, but… thank you.” 
Eddie is uncomfortable being thanked, when all he did was run and then pin all his hopes on one last-ditch effort. He jams his hands deep in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, sending out more ripples to nowhere. “Yeah, well… It’s been a hell of a week, all I want to do now is get some fucking sleep.”
El looks perplexed by this, then firm as she shakes her head and holds out her hand. “You have been asleep for long enough. I promised Steve I would bring you back.”
And, okay. Eddie isn’t really one for taking the hands of strange children (he’s in his twenties now, fifteen-ish is a child, shut up) and letting them lead him around, but he thinks he’d do just about anything for Steve. 
Seeing Eddie’s eyes flutter open sends a shock of electricity through Steve. He barely remembers to give El the tissue waiting in his hand before swooping in to scoop up one of Eddie’s with both of his, enveloping pale fingers while careful not to jostle the iv line connected to his wrist. “Eds? Eddie? You with us, man?”
And when those eyes settle on him immediately upon focusing, like Eddie had already known where to find him, Steve feels that zing again only stronger. 
“Mm,” Eddie croaks in agreement. 
Robin is at Steve’s elbow, already handing him the bowl of ice chips (all Eddie is allowed right now) so he can spoon a few pieces in through chapped lips. 
“Eddie,” Dustin says tearfully, and Mike and Will have to immediately restrain him from tackling the guy who just came out of a fucking coma in a relieved hug. 
Steve holds Eddie’s hand again while he sucks on the ice and Nancy goes to let hospital staff know that he’s awake. 
It’s a few more days until Eddie can stay awake long enough to really talk, and a few more after that before he starts remembering the answers to the questions he keeps asking. 
“Is Dustin okay?”
Broken leg, but it’ll heal. 
“What about Max?”
Two broken legs and two broken arms, but she’s already been discharged in casts and a wheelchair. She’s staying with the Sinclairs so she isn’t home alone while her mom’s at work. 
“Did we win?”
Vecna’s dead, the three gates closed, and the Upside Down sealed away for good. Plus, they didn’t lose anyone this time; Hopper is even back from the dead. So yeah, it’s a win. 
“Do people still want to kill me?”
Jason Carver had been arrested for assaulting Lucas, which had lost him a lot of standing with the town. (Not all of it though, so not nearly enough as far as Steve is concerned.) He’s now the lead suspect for the attempt on Max’s life, and it turns out that his only solid alibi for Chrissy and Fred’s murders had been Patrick. Eddie is still known as the local freak, but he’s at least no longer wanted for multiple murders. 
“Where’s Wayne?”
Sometimes Mr. Munson is there to take this one, but most times, like today, Steve has had to explain that he’s working a shift at the plant. But he knows that Eddie’s alive and innocent and going to be okay, and he’s already planning to visit again as soon as he clocks out. 
“It’s really over?”
Steve answers all of these, like he has before, and holds Eddie’s hand while he processes everything all over again like it’s the first time. It’s not Eddie’s fault; they’ve had him on a lot of pain meds. 
“… I’ve asked this before, haven’t I?”
That’s new. Steve nods, then closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. And lets it out, finally. “I am so goddamn mad at you. I told you not to be a hero. What the fuck about that did you not understand? And then you went and nearly died.”
The look Eddie gives him is the clearest it’s been all week, sad and unsettlingly resigned. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re—” Steve stops, presses his lips into a thin line, pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Sorry? That’s it?”
Eddie looks down at their still-joined hands like he doesn’t understand why Steve still wants to touch him. He feels so fragile and washed out against the white of the hospital bed and the pale hospital gown, a nasal cannula holding back his limp and unwashed curls where it hooks over his ears. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you’ll never do it again,” Steve replies, the words immediate and hot on his tongue. “Shouldn’t be too hard, it’s not like there are any more dark wizards or demon bats to chew half your skin off.”
He almost feels bad at how Eddie’s big eyes seem to get bigger, and definitely wetter at the corners. But he’s got his own bites, itching like crazy as they heal beneath the bandages hidden by his polo, and he’s been sitting in this hospital chair for what feels like forever while Eddie was in his coma. His back twinges when he moves, and he hasn’t been sleeping well, not even when Robin stays over. Everything feels uncomfortable and stressful and this idiot almost died and he can’t, absolutely cannot go through it again. Ever. 
“Steve, I… I won’t, I just… I was stupid and forgot about the vents. I wasn’t trying to be a hero, I just wanted to fix what I fucked up.”
“Well you are,” Steve manages to say, despite his throat feeling increasingly tight and his own eyes starting to feel hot. He wipes at them roughly. “A fucking hero, I mean. You ended it. Butthead,” he adds, giving Eddie’s hand a tight squeeze. 
That is what makes Eddie’s eyes spill over with a wet little sound sneaking out between his lips. “It was the ripcord spell. I ended everything. So… you’re mad, I get it, and if you don’t want to be friends anymore—”
“Of course I don’t want to be friends,” Steve interrupts. “I want to date you, you idiot. I told you that already.”
“But the love spell—”
“Fuck the love spell. Maybe it made me fall in love with you one time, but I fall for you all over again every time I see you, Eds. So when you’re healed up enough, I’m going to put you in a wheelchair and push you to the hospital cafeteria so we can have our first official date over the shittiest food in the known universe, and the only thing that’ll stop me in said universe is if you don’t want to.”
Eddie stares at him for a moment, a wonderful hope going from spark to steady glow in his expression. “Are you going to let me finish a sentence on this date?”
Steve smirks, but behind the mask of confidence he has the same wonderful relief welling up in his chest and he’s not actually sure he’s hiding it well. “Play your cards right, and sure.”
He’s never seen a brighter smile than the one Eddie aims at him. And yeah, Eddie is frail and scarred and still connected to a worrying amount of beeping hospital equipment, but he’s also just beautiful. “Then I accept, big boy. It’s a date.”
Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth
Part 10, part 11
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bathomet-writes · 2 years ago
Text
stayin’ alive
summary: During the Kraang invasion, you try your best to help the turtles save the city. Agent Bishop and the Earth Protection Force seem to have everything under control, or so they say.
relationship: Donnie x GN!reader
warnings: romantic, fluff, humor, slight angst/comfort, near-death experience, CPR, kissing, angst with a happy ending
word count: 4,604
author's note: here's the request for @/sweetchildcloud!! thank u!
“Does anybody read me?”
You spoke harshly into your earpiece. While the turtles, April, and the others were out fighting the Kraang, you tasked yourself with trying to, in some way, help out down on the ground. You were down in the bowels of the city, being herded like cattle into rescue buses carting people out of the burrow. 
You weren’t exactly a ninja, or had any special skills to speak of, but you couldn’t let yourself get taken away so easily. Not when there was something you could do. Not when your friends were still out there fighting for their lives. 
Thankfully, April wasn’t too busy to pick up her comm. 
“We’re– we’re fine. But Leo…”
Your heart sinks. Looking up into the sky, you finally notice that the Technodrome was forced back into the prison dimension. At least half of it anyway. The portal-chopped remains crashed down into the buildings below, sending a wave of dust and debris to come sailing through the streets. You cough and shield your eyes, before peeling off from the crowd. 
You didn’t want to believe it, but you knew. Leo still wasn’t back yet. 
“Goddamn him and his hero complex,” you frown. 
But there was no time to mourn. You didn’t even want to call it ‘mourning.’ In your frustration, you turn off your earpiece. 
“Come on, think.”
All of the sudden you felt restless. There must be something you could do, something to help–
“Get these people out of here. We have readings that the aliens planted some kind of bomb.”
Your ears perk up, and you turn to look behind you. There were a couple of suits; real Men in Black-looking types, talking amongst themselves. One stood out as their leader, directing the others toward the caravan of trucks pulling in. Without thinking, you run over to talk with him. 
“These–” He stutters, too swamped to even come up with a nickname. “Whatever they’re called– don’t respond to any conventional human weapons.”
“The Kraang,” you gasp, catching your breath. 
The tall man searches around for a moment before landing on you. You cough a bit and stand up to meet his perplexed gaze. It takes a while, considering he was much taller than you. 
“What did you say?”
Wait…did he really not know their names? Quickly, you collect yourself. 
“The Kraang. But why would they bomb us?”
You thought the Kraang wanted to enslave humanity. Infect our brains and rule over as a hive mind. Why would they use a weapon like that, especially when they weren’t even here anymore? Your mind buzzed with a million questions. It made no sense. 
The man straightens, dusting himself off. Maybe you weren’t just a normal civilian after all, he thought to himself. 
“Special Agent Bishop, Earth Protection Force.”
He doesn’t bother waiting for you to introduce yourself. Quietly, he leads you over to the other side of the armored truck you were standing behind. You eagerly oblige, following him until he stops at the edge of the street. 
Straining your eyes, you see the abandoned docks the Foot Clan used as their temporary hideout. You recognized those shipping containers, littered with graffiti. 
“Tell me, what do you see down there?” He nods over to the docks. 
“I see…”
Leaning over the cement barrier, you manage to see a couple of people still lingering about down there. They were Foot soldiers, still infected with Kraang residue. They shuffled along like mindless zombies, and it made your stomach churn. 
“And do you see that?”
You follow Bishop’s hand as he points over to a device sitting on the top of one of the shipping containers. You see a blinking red light, pulsating. Instantly, you grab at his sleeve and urge Bishop back to the truck.
“We have to do something! Don’t you guys have a way to defuse it?”
Calmly, he tears his arm away from you. He adjusts his suit with a detached huff. 
“We have no resources and no knowledge about…the Kraang? Is that what you called them? What else do you know?”
You scoff, looking back at the bomb. “Listen, I can tell you anything you want. Just do something about the bomb!”
If the Kraang really did put that there, who knows how many more bombs were planted around the city. You watch as Bishop regards you coldly. He pushes his sunglasses higher up on the bridge of his nose before walking away. 
“I’d suggest you clear the area. When that bomb goes off, it’s going to blow those poor souls down there to kingdom come.”
He clicks his tongue, and you shudder with fear. 
“Pity.”
What the actual fuck was this guy’s deal? Internally, you debate with yourself. Sure, they were villains, but that didn’t mean they deserved to be blown up. And you knew April said something earlier about the Kraang reacting to the glowing, blue vials. The ones she swiped from the lab at Eastlaird. There was a way to cure them. To cure everyone that was infected.
“Pesticides! The Kraang’s weakness is pesticides, you piece of shit! Now you and your government goons can go grab some and–”
“Pest, that’s an apt description.” He spits, twisting around to face you. “You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, I’d suggest you tell your friends to come back down here and help clean up the mess they made.”
You slowly back away, putting your hands out behind you. Blindly, you feel around for the concrete slab. The way Bishop was looking at you made you nervous. There was a distinct sense of dread that flooded your mind. You knew he wasn’t here to help you, he was here to gather intel. And it looked like he knew quite a bit more about your friends than you thought. 
With a final look back at the docks, you steel yourself. If the so-called ‘Earth Protection Force’ wasn’t going to do anything, it might as well be you. 
“Well,” you smirk, flipping him the bird. “I guess today’s a good day to die!”
You throw your legs over the divider and run down to the docks. Bishop moves a bit, reaching out to stop you.
“You idiot! You’re going to…” 
Then, he sighs. Speaking into his own earpiece, he makes an announcement.
“Get me Eastlaird University.”
You run at full speed, dodging and dipping past the infected Foot soldiers. Like zombies, they didn’t hesitate to claw and bite. You barely miss one that gnashes its mangled teeth at your skull. 
“Jesus–!” 
You drop to the ground and slide a bit, your knees digging against the pavement. It's only a couple of yards to the shipping container, and only a few feet up to reach the bomb. You really didn’t expect today to end with you defusing an alien weapon, but here you are. 
Reaching up, you activate your comms again. You hope you didn’t accidentally miss any important events while you went silent. 
“Please tell me something good.”
To your surprise, you hear a chorus of cheers blaring from the speaker. You can make out nearly everyone’s voices, even Leo’s. As you awkwardly shimmy up to the first container, you feel your heart begin to fill back up with life. 
“Y/N! We did it!” Mikey screams, jumping up and down. 
Your voice warbles with emotion. “Is Leo…?”
“Back and better than ever. Didya miss me?” Leo smiles, cutting in. 
“I can’t believe it, he’s really gone.” You sniffle, wiping away a fake tear. “I knew I would still hear your sweet, annoying voice speak to me beyond the grave.”
He playfully scoffs. “It’s fine, I totally didn’t just save your life or anything.”
Kicking off another Foot zombie, you manage to get to the top of the shipping containers. You stand there, suddenly frozen. 
“Oh yeah, speaking of saving– I’m kind of standing next to a Kraang bomb right now. Where are you guys, not too far I hope?”
“We’re on Staten Island, so we’re probably pretty far from– Wait…A BOMB?” Raph’s voice goes from calm to panicked in mere seconds. 
Donnie overrides all the communicators, speaking directly and only to you. 
“What do you mean ‘a Kraang bomb’? They never deployed any bombs!”
He paces around, working on his wrist gauntlet and locking onto your exact coordinates. To his despair, you were miles away from them. 
“Well, I’m standing here looking at a big box, with a blinking red light on it. It’s probably not a Kraang gift basket. ‘Sorry for almost taking over the planet, here’s some assorted cheeses.’” 
You cautiously approach and crawl onto your knees. You didn’t want to accidentally set this thing off, but you have utterly no idea what to do about it. There wasn’t a handy timer to show you a countdown, and there wasn’t a panel of wires you could cut. 
If only Donnie were here. 
He was still miles away, but Donnie was already flying to your location. As he glides past the spires of buildings and various police helicopters, his brow was furrowed in sharp concentration. 
“Listen to me, don’t touch it. Get as far away from it as you can!”
You gulp. Hearing Donnie sound so stern was a bit jarring. 
“But I can’t just do nothing! These government guys, they were just going to let it go off and–”
Again, your body moves without thinking. Your hands lightly move around the box, hoping to find some kind of button. Surely most bombs are built with convenient off-switches, right? You grumble to yourself. 
“Wait,” You gasp. 
“What did I just say?” Donnie growls, his voice low and gravely.
Wordlessly, you spin the box around to get a better look at the other side. There was a faded, scratched-up logo. It was hard to make out, but you could swear you’ve seen it somewhere before. 
There was an American eagle, its claws holding onto a sigil of the planet. Above its head, those words you hoped you didn’t have to read were inscribed. The color drains from your face. 
‘Earth Protection Force.’ 
Your voice is quiet, weak. You felt so defeated. 
“Donnie, this isn’t the Kraang.”
You hear him sigh with relief. Donnie couldn’t really handle any more life-or-death situations today. 
“Fuck, thank goodness. I’m almost there.”
He speaks words of encouragement to you, but you don’t hear them. His familiar voice becomes more and more distant. You stare at the box, the blinking red light a grim reminder that at any moment, you would most certainly die. Did Bishop plan this whole thing from the start?
Maybe they would just write it off as more collateral damage from the Kraang. It would be easy to sweep under the rug. The only people who would perish were a bunch of nameless Foot thugs, and you. 
You thought you could help, you thought you could make a difference. So much for that. 
Chuckling dryly, you stand up. 
The docks were right next to the ocean, maybe you could just jump and spare yourself the trouble. A watery end wasn’t that much better than getting blown up, but you guess you at least had the choice. You wish you had the foresight to talk with Donnie one last time. Instead, you use all the strength you have to lift the box up and toss it into the harbor. 
The bomb tumbles down, causing an enormous splash. 
But, it doesn’t go off. 
“Huh,” you sigh. “That was weird.”
Behind you, the telltale sound of Donnie’s drone wings close in. You didn’t realize he could move that fast. In slow motion, you feel yourself turn. 
There was Donnie, his face etched with worry. 
“What are you still doing here?” He shouts. 
You hear his voice call out to you in the distance, having already pulled out your ear piece. As you turn to fully face him, you fail to notice the bubbling from the water below. You were far too busy staring like an idiot at the purple-clad turtle.
“Dee?” You whisper, your hand weakly reaching up. 
You watch as his eyebrows raise, his eyes widen. What was he looking at, you wonder. 
Then, it happens. 
KA-BOOM–!
The piercing sound of an explosion rocks you to your core. The shipping container instantly gets knocked about by the tidal wave that cascades from below. The bomb finally went off, but thankfully it was deep in the bottom of the harbor. That’s all you can think about as you fall off, your feet slipping off the edge of the metal. 
Thank goodness it went off before Donnie got here. Please, let him be safe. 
Those were your last thoughts. 
Your body smacks against the surface of the water like you fell onto straight concrete. The blow knocks you unconscious, and your lungs slowly begin to fill up. The water tasted bitter, almost sour. 
Finally, you plunge into the darkness. 
“No! No, no, no, no!”
Donnie screams, shielding himself from the explosion. The bomb goes off and sends a great deal of water up into the sky. The shipping container you were standing on breaks from the impact, and he watches as you fall into the harbor. 
He seethes, gritting his teeth. You were an idiot. A stupid, impulsive idiot. Why were you still here? Next to a fucking bomb?
Donnie flies over to the water and immediately dives in. He would have risked everything to get you to safety. He guessed having to expose his tech to water would be an acceptable sacrifice.
With little effort, he manages to swim in and find you. You drifted along, your body limp and lifeless. His tech goggles covered his eyes and allowed him to see within the clouded water. 
He got enough self-sacrificing from Leo today, why did you have to go and do something so brave.
“I hate you,” he spits, lifting you up into the air. “How dare you make me carry you.”
He couldn’t go back to the docks. It was still crawling with Foot zombies. The dirty beach would just have to do. The sand buckles and shifts below Donnie’s feet as he slung your dead weight over his shoulder. 
“Please. Please don’t be dead.”
He sets you down against the course sand, careful not to jostle you too much. He quickly assesses your wounds. Your body was relatively unscathed, but you were still unconscious.
Gulping, he angles your neck up. Feels at your pulse.
Thank God, you still had one. It was weak, but it was there. Donnie takes you by the shoulders and shakes you about.
“Wake up. C’mon, don’t make me have to—“
His eyes desperately rake over you, looking for any sort of response. You didn’t stir, your body still slack. 
Donnie sucked in a bit of air through his nostrils. You definitely were water-logged, and you were unresponsive. He hated to admit it, but there was no other way.
“Alright! Here goes nothing…!”
Donnie places his hands in the center of your chest and gives you a set of quick compressions. He hadn’t had to administer life-saving protocols before, but he prided himself on being fully prepared for any scenario. 
He just didn't think he’d have to do them on you.
After about 30 compressions, he stops. 
“Wake up,” he urges. “Wake up already.”
Your eyes remained shut. Looking down, Donnie’s heart seizes. Your mouth was slack, slightly open and with no breath escaping.
No, please. Anything but that.
Before he could spiral down into his own self-pity, Donnie grabs at your head. Pinching your nostrils closed, he leans down to linger upon your lips. 
It was only two breaths, two measly breaths. He had to shift into a medical mindset. This was for your own good.
“You better not be faking it.”
With one last sharp inhale, Donnie smashes his lips into yours. One breath, two breaths. He felt your chest rise with the second breath. 
Lifting himself off of you, he gazes upon you with quiet reverence. You looked like you always did, only a little drenched. And cold. Donnie’s hands wander down to your arms, squeezing you tightly. 
You simply couldn’t be dead. It was a scientific impossibility. Sure, you were as mortal as he was, and we all have to bite it someday. But he wouldn’t let that happen today. He would rewrite the laws of the universe if he had to. 
“Fuck…” 
He felt the tears that he fought so hard to keep in start to run down his cheeks. 
“You’re stronger than this. You can’t just—“
His eyes bore into your closed eyelids, willing them to finally open. Any second now. Donnie resumed the chest compressions with a little more desperation. He didn’t even care that he might be bruising your ribcage at this point.
“Don’t you know that there are people who still need you? We still have to finish the Jupiter Jim marathon! You’ve only seen the first 7!”
Donnie’s voice started with a quiet, commanding tone before lilting into a shout. There was so much left for you to do here, you just couldn’t leave now. What would his brothers say? Or April? Your parents?
After the last couple of compressions, Donnie stilled. That was it.
“You’re…” He whispers, tears streaming down his face. 
He needed to call Leo, or send a distress signal. He needed to do anything except sit there and stare at you. He felt despair begin to creep in, slowly consuming his every thought. Immediately, Donnie pushes it away with a slam of his fists on the sand beside your head. 
Anger. No, rage. White-hot rage. 
“I told you to leave. And like always, you didn’t listen.”
Donnie glowered at you, his eyes going dark. But for some reason, all his fury disappeared once he got a good look at your face. He’s been angry with you plenty of times before. You were kind of an annoying person. He lets out a light chuckle before scooping you up into his arms. Carefully, slowly. 
He’d never really hugged you before though. It was nice, feeling your body lean up against his, but…
“I wish this were under different circumstances.” Donnie smiles, feeling a new bittersweet emotion bubble up in his chest.
“Usually you have something funny to say back. Or something stupid. Remember when I caught you reading my book of life-saving procedures?”
It was still a work in progress, but he was on a mission to draft a follow-up to his New York Times worst-selling hit, Donnie’s Big Book of Bad Guy Codes.
He didn’t realize until just now, but you were the only one who read either of his books.
“You were at the CPR chapter, practicing on Sheldon. You two were singing that song to keep the correct pace…”
Donnie sniffled and brought you in closer to his chest. Even though you were soaking wet and covered in sand, he needed to bury his face in your hair. 
What was that stupid song anyway? It was probably for the best that he couldn’t remember, he wouldn’t be able to listen to it again. It would remind Donnie too much of you.
“It’s alright.” A small voice spoke.
“No, it’s not alright.”
He didn’t know who exactly was speaking to him right now. Donnie squeezes you even tighter, all of the sudden hearing someone wheeze.
“It’s alright, it’s okay.” 
You finally stir, petting Donnie’s battle shell. You tried to be as soothing and calm as possible, but you knew there wouldn’t be much time left before you puke up a bunch of water. 
“Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother, you’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’ and you’re stayin’—AUGGH!”
Finally, you cough and sputter, water shamelessly spilling from your mouth. You really didn’t want to have to do this while Donnie was holding you so sweetly. 
Donnie’s sad expression falls away. “What the—?”
He pulls you away and searches your face. Your eyes were screwed shut as you continued to get out all the water that was in your stomach and lungs. Mindlessly, Donnie slams his arms against your back to help you.
Then, the realization hits him. You were alive! And not only that, you were your same annoying self! 
“Donnie! I— augh, God. I need to tell you about Bishop. There’s this—“
Donnie shuts you up, pulling you back in for a spine-breaking hug. Or at least, a rib-breaking one. You recoil a bit and cry out in pain, feeling a weird ache in your chest.
“OW!” You shudder.
“You’re an idiot. A dumb, stupid, reckless, insubordinate idiot. Please don’t ever leave!” He cries, nuzzling his head against yours. 
Somehow, you ignore Donnie’s unusual show of affection. There was still Bishop and the E.P.F., and the Foot Zombies clambering above you both. This was not the time or place to be canoodling.
“We have to go! Where are the guys? I think there’s a secret Black Ops that knows about you? And they—“
Once again, you’re cut off by Donnie. Another sting of pain runs throughout your body, and you push yourself off. 
“Jesus! And I thought drowning in the Hudson was suffocating.” 
You smirk at Donnie, wiping off the last bit of water from your chin. He was still caught up in…emotions? Is that what he was experiencing right now? You lean forward, leveling him with a teasing grin.
“Ha-ha, you saved me.” You chuckle.
But looking at Donnie’s face…his dumb, happy, handsome face. It made you nearly tear up yourself. You suddenly remember the events that led up to this moment. The bomb, the falling, the almost dying. 
Your smile curls into a frown, complete with a quivering lip. “You…you saved me.”
“Well, duh. I only did what Donnie’s Big Book of Life-Saving Procedures taught me.”
Donnie finally lets his familiar snark return. With a flippant smirk, he reaches into his battle shell and pulls out a spare handkerchief. He always kept one or two on his person, just in case. 
He supposes he could have used his robotic arms to hand it to you, and to pat you down with it too. He could have used them to resuscitate you as well, now that he thought about it. But he didn’t. 
With a light touch, he places the rag against your cheek and your hair. It didn’t really do that much, considering you were both soaking wet. It didn’t matter. 
Your eyes meet, and you both finally smile at one another. A genuine, thankful smile. They said all they needed to say without any words. 
Still, you felt a little bad for making Donnie have to do CPR on you. You’re sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience for him, what with all the…physical contact involved.
“I’m sorry for not listening to you. And for all this.” You gesture vaguely to your chest. “I guess I thought I could be a hero like you guys…”
“We’re no heroes. Just a couple of highly-trained, highly volatile young adults with advanced weaponry and mystic powers. What’s so heroic about that?”
Up above on the docks, you hear a suspicious sound. More so the lack of sound, since the Foot zombies were somehow no longer growling up above. 
“Wait—“ You stand up, your legs a little wobbly.
“Woah, slow down there cowboy.” 
Donnie quickly catches you before you fall, putting a solid arm around your midsection. You blush, feeling his hand grab you so firmly.
“You do know that in the last couple of minutes, we’ve had more physical contact than we ever had since…ever?”
“Yeah, I know.” He sighs.
You chance a sheepish look to him as he leads you over to the other end of the beach. Getting a clearer view of the docks, you both see a couple of government workers in hazmat suits spraying people down. The Kraang infections begin to slowly fade away, and you grab ahold of Donnie’s arm.
“Wait, how did they…?”
“The pesticides. I guess someone managed to tell them that the Kraang had a weakness. And to think they were just going to leave them, or worse.”
Donnie smirks down at you, giving you a gentle but reassuring pat on the back.
“Whoever did that sure is a real hero.”
You tear your eyes away from the docks to look back at Donnie. Your stomach fills with butterflies at his tender gaze. He’s never really looked at you like that before. Tonight was a night of many firsts. 
You shrug, feeling embarrassed. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Why does it take the world to nearly end for people to understand that?”
Chuckling, you stand up a little straighter. You definitely needed to rest, your body would be a mess tomorrow. Donnie’s hand shifts a bit to lay on your hip, and you find yourself leaning into his hold. 
“So, we saved the day? Do you think that means you guys will be given some kind of award? Key to the city?”
Donnie scoffs, helping you walk up back to the street. “I’m sure our valiant efforts will go relatively unnoticed. Not that we need to be congratulated, but…it doesn’t really matter.”
“Sure it does. I’m not an official or anything, but I think you all deserve some kind of honor. A plaque at least.”
You manage to climb back up to the pavement with Donnie’s help. Once you dust yourself off a bit, you wring out your damp hair. 
“Oh yeah, they’ll be putting up statues of us in no time. Sing our praises in the streets. Ugh, and then there are the public appearances. I would hate to have to kiss a baby.”
As you two walked back toward the rest of the gang (you both agreed that flying was a little out of the question for your slightly broken body), you moved to be a little closer to Donnie. 
“Nah, kissing’s gross. I only do it in emergency medical situations.” You tease, knocking against Donnie’s shoulder with your own.
Donnie suddenly stops, a deep blush filling his cheeks. 
“I— It was protocol! It’s two breaths, with minimal skin-on-skin contact. If I was going to kiss you, I wouldn’t be so cold and clinical about it.”
You feel yourself begin to laugh before you clutch at your tender muscles. Ah, there’s the pain again. Why was Donnie so cute and funny, he was going to be the death of you.
“Whatever you say.”
With a little hop and a skip, you manage to plant a small kiss on Donnie’s cheek. You know it’s not nearly enough of the thanks he deserves, but you hope it makes him feel a little more…heroic. 
“Thanks for helping me stay alive.” You smile.
In a charged couple of seconds, Donnie peeks down at you. You’re almost afraid that you’ve overstepped your boundaries when he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, his lips tug into a small smirk. 
Quietly, he begins to sing. His voice is comically flat. 
“Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.”
You give him an even bigger, goofier smile. After he loops back around to the chorus, you happily join him, with a little more enthusiasm in your delivery.
You hook your arm around his, singing and laughing all the way. You would deal with the fallout and boring stuff later. Right now, you were just glad to be with Donnie. You should be glad you aren’t dead too, but that was secondary. 
taglist: @saspas-corner
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les-pompiers118 · 1 year ago
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Ghosts
9-1-1 ficlet | 2x01 fix-it | 1.6K words | rated Teen for language
Now posted on AO3
I’ve always kind of wished that Maddie and Buck reunited at the fire station rather than Abby’s apartment (partly because that shower scene gives me secondhand embarrassment hives, if I’m honest). @911hiatus’ What Canon? Wednesdays gave me the opportunity to imagine how that might have played out, as seen through Chimney’s eyes. I’ve never written his POV before, so I hope I’ve done him justice here. Enjoy!
The first time Chimney sees her, it’s out of the corner of his eye as he’s walking through the dimmed apparatus bay on his way back to the loft. It’s late and he’s tired, so he thinks his mind might be playing tricks with the shadows between the rigs. But just in case it isn’t, he backtracks a few steps and looks again. Nope, there really is a woman standing there—a beautiful woman.
She waits for him to approach her, not far from the doors, and the closer he gets the more lovely she is. Petite, with a heart-shaped face, large dark eyes, and long hair. She’s got her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and the cuffs of her cardigan are clutched in her fists. Chimney dons his best, most reassuring smile.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m looking for someone who works here, I think. Evan Buckley?”
That goddamn kid. Of course it’s about him. This angel is probably one of his rando Tinder dates who got her hopes up, and now she’s come back to haunt him. Chimney tries not to let his disappointment show.
“Um, yeah, he’s upstairs, I believe.”
The lady makes a soft cry of relief when he says it—okay, dramatic, Chimney thinks—and she eagerly follows him upstairs.
“Hey, Buck,” he calls as they near the loft. “You have a visitor.”
They reach the top just as Buck gets up from the couch, where he was playing video games with Hen. He looks shocked when he sees her—totally shocked. Mouth hanging open and everything. Chimney steps back to watch the situation unfold. Yup, it’s gonna be interesting.
“Maddie?”
“Hi,” she answers in a choked voice, smiling.
Buck lopes across the room without another word and wraps her in a hug. He doesn’t let go.
Over on the couch, Hen catches Chimney’s eye; he shrugs in reply. Bobby’s looking on with a disapproving expression, which Chimney can hardly blame him for, because having Buck’s old girlfriends turn up at work is probably something Cap would like to discourage.
“What are you doing here?” Buck finally asks, still in disbelief. He pulls back but keeps his hands on the woman’s shoulders. “And how did you know where to find me?”
She gives him another wobbly smile. “I was in town and I wanted to see you. First I went to the address the Christmas cards keep coming from, but the guy said you’d moved out. And then I remembered the number of your firehouse from the picture you sent, so I thought I’d try here. Look at you, all grown up and official!”
She tugs on the front of his uniform, but Buck doesn’t play along.
“Wait, so you did get those Christmas cards.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch much lately.”
By the way she brushes off Buck’s question so lightly, Chimney isn’t convinced she’s all that sorry.
Buck lets his arms drop. “Three years, Maddie. I haven’t heard from you in three years.”
“Yeah, I know. And it’s not what I wanted.”
“Where is Doug?”
Her cheerfulness falters for a moment, then she lifts her chin. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
“You left him?” Buck asks incredulously.
She nods. “Finally.”
Chimney halts his tracks where he’s edging around the room to get to Hen. Well, this is unexpected. She was with someone else and now she’s running back to Buck, of all people?
“Jesus fucking Christ, Maddie. What took you so long?”
Bobby clears his throat, and Chimney thinks he’s about to cut the conversation short or at least tell Buck off for swearing, but he does neither.
“Buck, would you like to introduce us to your friend?”
“Uh, yeah, of course,” Buck says, startling as if he just remembered everyone else in the room exists. He wraps one arm around the woman’s shoulders and draws her further into the loft. “Maddie, this is my team. Everyone, this is Maddie. My big sister.”
Oh.
“Big sister?” Hen echoes faintly.
Well that changes things. Like, everything. Chimney looks between their faces, trying to spot a family resemblance. There isn't much of one, at first glance. Maybe a little around the nose and chin, if you squint.
Bobby comes over immediately to shake Maddie’s hand and introduce himself. Buck does the honors for the other firefighters who gather round to meet her. Only their new probie, Eddie, hangs back—understandably, since Buck’s been a dick to him all shift.
Chimney is the last one to meet Maddie, officially this time. “Howard Han, at your service. But everyone here calls me Chimney.”
Maddie’s face brightens—or rather, Chimney would like to believe it does. “Chimney? That sounds like a nickname with a story behind it.”
“It is, indeed.”
Hen jumps in before Chimney can go on (and probably saves him from making a fool of himself by telling a long-winded story to a woman he’s just met). “So, Maddie, what brings you to L.A.? Business or pleasure?”
“Um, not business. I’m an ER nurse, and we don’t really get to take business trips. I’m here to visit Evan.” Maddie’s eyes dart over to Buck, then back to Hen. “For a few days. I’m just passing through, actually.”
“But—” Buck starts to object.
Maddie cuts him off. “And I should probably let you get back to work, huh? It was nice to meet you all. Evan, maybe you can walk me out to my car?”
Buck stays silent for a few seconds, looking for all the world like Christmas has been canceled. He recovers quickly though, shifting back into his usual, eager-to-please self. “Hey, do you need a place to stay?”
“I was just going to get a hotel room. It’s fine.”
“No, you should stay with me. I’ve got plenty of room,” Buck tells her as they make their way towards the stairs. “I’m looking after my girlfriend’s place while she’s in Europe…”
Bobby comes over to stand with Chimney and Hen once Buck’s out of sight.
“Did you guys know he had a sister?” Hen asks.
Bobby nods. “He mentioned her to me once.”
“He never talks about his family,” Chimney observes. “Which is strange, since he’s always happy to share everything else about his life.”
Hen scoffs. “More than we want to hear, usually.”
“That’s probably a sign he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Bobby points out.
“I thought maybe we’d get to meet his parents when he finished his probation, if they came out to celebrate the occasion,” Hen says. “I guess that didn’t happen.”
“I offered to have a little ceremony and a party here for his friends and family at the end of his probationary period. He didn’t want it. Said he didn’t need a fuss.”
Hen frowns over this new bit of information, and Chimney, too, finds that it doesn’t jive with his idea of Buck. He’s a guy who eats up firefighting rituals and lore like they're a bowl of his favorite flavor of ice cream.
It’s only a couple minutes before Buck returns and takes a seat at the table. He stays lost in his own thoughts for a while, until Bobby slides a cup of coffee across to him.
“So… That’s my sister,” Buck mumbles to no one in particular.
“It must be good to see her after so long,” Bobby says.
“Yeah. I’ve missed her.” Buck runs a hand over his mouth, looking troubled. “I’m really glad she’s here. And relieved she’s not there anymore.”
Joining them at the table, Chimney gives into his curiosity and ventures, “I'm guessing it was a bad relationship?”
“It was a bad husband. Maybe the worst kind,” Buck says darkly. “I dunno for sure, though. She always wanted me to stay out of it.”
“But you’ve been worried about her,” Bobby says gently. He doesn’t push when Buck won’t answer right away.
When he does, he still seems hesitant. Afraid of saying too much.
“These past three years, every time I got a call from an unknown number, I’ve been afraid it might be someone from back home calling about Maddie—to tell me that something happened with Doug, or with some crazy person in the ER. I’ve just had a bad feeling, you know?”
Hen, who has come over to stand behind Buck, squeezes his shoulders. “She’s here now. She’s safe.”
“Yes, she is.” Buck tilts his head back to give Hen a weak smile. “Now I just have to convince her to stay.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?” Chimney asks. “I mean, you’re here, right?”
With a sad sort of shrug, Buck says, “I’m not sure that’s enough of a reason for her.”
That night, Chimney stays up later than everyone except Eddie (who seems determined to be the last one to go to bed, due to either first-day overeagerness or first-night insomnia). As tired as he is, Chimney can’t stop thinking about Maddie and what she might have run away from. Now he also has to wonder what Buck was running from—because Buck’s not the type of person who’d leave someone he loves behind, especially if they might need him.
Everyone’s got a few ghosts in their pasts, Chimney muses as he stretches out on the couch. He takes one last look into the shadowy corners of the loft before closing his eyes. And you never see them coming when they decide to turn up.
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beauty-and-passion · 7 months ago
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TMA - Chapters 31-40: One mystery solved, 300 left
And so, here we are. We reached the end of season 1.
Let’s not waste too much time here: I want to see what it will be about and if there will be any juicy foreshadowing of season 2.
<< Main Masterlist < Previous post 
_______________________________
MAG 31 - First Hunt
“Hunted. Yes, I think I’m starting to know the feeling.”
Are you, Jon? Are you? Then why are you still recording statements in this goddamn Institute? Have you not listened to all the times I told you to go away?
I don’t understand what is he doing: he knows there are worms everywhere, he knows they’re surrounded, he’s not even leaving the Institute anymore. And he is the one asking what is Jane Prentiss waiting for.
No, Jon, the real question is: What are YOU waiting for? Why are you still here? Is it possible that the “crimson fate”/curse/whatever is keeping him there? Did the curse activate already? Can someone please grab this man and ran out of the Institute?
Speaking of the statement… it’s so useless, even Jon refused to pay attention to it. And if Jon didn’t care, then why should I?
_______________________________
MAG 32 - Hive
Wow. Wow. That was truly something else.
Seriously, I love the emotional rollercoaster that is this series: if one statement is meh, the next one is a bomb. If one is forgettable, the next one is memorable.
And this is no exception: if the previous statement was boring, this one is huge. Honestly, I didn’t expect Jane Prentiss’ statement now… and I definitely didn’t expect it to be like that! I think this is the most captivating statement so far and not just because of its content, but especially because It’s different, both in style and structure.
It’s different in style because if all other statements have this problem of sounding all very similar to each other (and not because Jon reads them, but because the vocabulary and the stylistic choices are the same, no matter if the statement comes from a student, a criminal, or an old guy), this one has its own voice: Jane Prentiss’ voice. This writing style is unique to her and to her only.
And it’s different in structure because, unlike all others, this isn’t an account of events but rather a stream of consciousness, that offers us a wonderful insight into Jane’s mind and feelings.
And, at least in my case, it made me think about a couple of things:
*
1) The humanity in the supernatural
Until now I saw Jane just as another supernatural creature, detached from us and from any other human being. She isn’t like us. She is clearly alien to humankind. She is something else.
But here, we see her being a human, just like all of us. She is fearful, doubtful, scared. Just like any of us would be. She has conflicted feelings: she wants a connection with the hive, she feels it’s the right thing to do. But she’s also very scared. It’s so simple and yet, it conveys her humanity so well.
Especially because she does what everyone else would do: she searches for help.
*
2) Prey or predator?
It’s very interesting that Jane decided to go to the Institute to ask for help. Until now, we have seen a lot of people going to the Institute to record statements - in some cases, even right after something happened. In a way, it’s as if they all subconsciously feel like it’s the best thing to do. As if the Institute can “protect” them from whatever they met. As if, by giving their stories to the Institute, they have an “immunity” from the danger.
If my theory is correct (i.e. the Institute hides the scariest supernatural shit of them all), then Jane went to the Institute because she subconsciously knew the thing hidden inside it was more powerful than the hive. So she did what prey do: they hide behind a bigger predator.
But Jane isn’t a simple prey anymore: she is becoming a predator. She is connecting with the predator. So she can see further than a prey and recognize the real prey:
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This part is wonderful, because I can perfectly picture the scene in my mind. I can see Gertrude Robinson giving Jane a pen and paper, then leaving. I can see Jane looking at Gertrude through the glass. I can see her gaze. It’s so powerful and stylistically perfect. 10/10, Love it.
*
3) Food or connection?
Another element that caught my interest is how Jane always refers to “the song” the hive sings: a song that talks to her, reassures her (“Sings that I am beautiful”) and promises her good things (“I can be consumed by what loves me”).
But do you know what this song doesn’t do? It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t lure Jane into a sense of false security. On the contrary: even if the song tells her good things, Jane is still scared and full of doubts, to the point she asks for help.
That's strange, isn't it? If the hive just wanted to eat/consume Jane, then why scare her? Why give her the understanding that something awful would happen and that she would take part in the violence? Why didn’t the hive sing just to deceive her? It could’ve just sung that she was beautiful and perfect and they would’ve been happy together forever.
But no, the hive’s song was honest. It was a song that helped her understand the hive.
Hence why I don’t think the hive ever wanted to hurt Jane. On the contrary: the hive wanted to find someone receptive enough to “resonate” and “understand” it.
*
4) All other supernatural shits
If I am right and all the hive wanted was to find a human being who better resonated with it… then was it trying to do the same with every human being it “latched to”? Was it trying to do the same with the girl from MAG 6? And with Timothy Hodge?
In MAG 26, Michael said that “the flesh-hive was always rash”: is it because the hive latches to human beings without truly connecting with them as it did with Jane?
But also: if this is what the hive tries to do… is this what every other supernatural shit tries to do too? Is every supernatural shit “singing a song” and trying to find the human being who will better resonate with them?
And if this is what they’re doing, then how many of the previous statements I read were not just recordings of weird events, but actual attempts to connect? Is this what Simon Fairchild tried to do with Robert in MAG 21? Is this what the supernatural shit in the Institute tried to do with Gertrude Robinson? Is this why she died? Because she didn’t connect with it? Is this the “Archivist’s crimson fate”? A sort of test to see if the Archivist can resonate with the supernatural creature in the Institute?
*
5) These little shits have names!
If this one is called “the hive”, then I suppose everyone has names. Micheal already has a name, but considering the MAG’s name is “A Distortion” I suppose his name is… idk, Mr. Distortion? That’s kinda funny, but I prefer Michael: it better shows how much of a good boyo he is.
_______________________________
MAG 33 - Boatswain’s Call
Mh, there’s a lot of interesting stuff here.
First of all, we have Tim. Hi, Tim! Glad to know you’re the organized guy here.
This, again, makes me think: this series started with Jon being all like “This place is a mess, I’m here to organize everything and put some order”. But now we find out Jon made a shit ton of mistakes. Very weird, coming from the guy who talked so big about being precise and organized.
So now my question is: was it done on purpose by TMA’s author? Were the mistakes intended to be there? I’ll admit it, I didn’t notice them because I suck with dates and numbers, especially if they have no sense like the case numbers (by the way, I appreciate the explanation, because I thought they were just random numbers).
If these mistakes were made on purpose, then it was a clever writer's choice, because it showed us more about Jon as a character. Now we know he’s not as perfect as he seemed. He can make mistakes. He can be faulty. And being faulty is what makes a character more real, so extra points for that.
However, these mistakes made me think about something else: what if they are proof that Jon isn’t as qualified for his job as he seemed? I mean, Tim looks like a more proper Head Archivist to me: accurate, detail-oriented and with a good memory. Still, it was Jon who got this promotion.
Before MAG 32, I would have joked about Elias being so useless as head of the Institute to hire the less qualified candidate, but now, there could be another reason why Elias chose Jon despite (probably) more competent people. Maybe it’s because Jon has something that can better resonate with the supernatural shit in the Institute.
Ah, so Martin is so scared by the worms to show his tongue to Tim all the time and asks if “it’s infested”. Nice try, bro, next time tell him that you’re oh-so-very-infested and only a French kiss will save you.
O-oh, so this statement features another member of the creepiest family of all time: Peter Lukas. Is he Evan Lukas’ dad, uncle or grandpa?
And, again, the Lukas family appears associated with a fog. Is the fog a supernatural shit? After all, weird things happened in the fog with Naomi too, so maybe it really is the fog.
Also because the fog kinda ate Sean Kelly. Just like the tomb at the cemetery in the fog tried to “eat” Naomi. It’s also very interesting that the third mate refers to this event as “a hard choice”, as if they were forced to feed someone to the fog.
Is this how this supernatural shit in particular works? It needs to be fed? Well, after all, I think that the supernatural shit in the Institute needs to be fed too, so maybe that’s another aspect of these things. Just like they need a human to resonate with, they also need to eat. I really want to know more about them.
One last thing: Elias “gets very twitchy when we look into anything that might conceivably have funding repercussions”. I’m starting to think he gets “very twitchy” not because of money, but because he knows something/he’s in cahoots with the Lukas family and doesn’t want anyone to look too much into them. I want to know more about this guy, he’s just too suspicious at this point.
_______________________________
MAG 34 - Anatomy Class
This statement was weird.
I immediately noticed something was wrong with these names, mostly because I knew John Doe is the placeholder name usually used to refer to dead people whose identity is unknown. I searched for Erika Mustermann and found out it was another placeholder too. So I asked myself: what if all of them are placeholders? It was extremely satisfying to find them all.
And it was great from a writing perspective too, because it perfectly explains why Dr. Elliott doesn’t remember what these guys look like: it’s because they’re all unknown. And since these names are usually used for dead people, it also explains why they’re all very silent and soulless.
I also really liked the idea of them “adjusting their bones” and asking simple questions, because it plays around the concept of “unknown figures” who are trying to look human/alive by asking things and trying to “replicate” them.
It’s a great idea, so the statement should be great too. But it’s not. It’s barely interesting. And I don’t know why, but it’s just… okay.
However, I would give a point for the heart lesson, because it was hilarious. Just imagine, a class with seven creepy figures, each of them with a beating heart in their hand, spraying blood everywhere, trying to look as scary as possible… and Dr. Elliott just points at one heart, then leaves. It was very silly and it made me smile.
Speaking of the apple: it’s weird, fine, but it’s just an apple with teeth. Again, not creepy enough to get my interest.
_______________________________
MAG 35 - Old Passages
“He was dressed all in black, with heavy looking boots and a T-shirt with the logo of some band emblazoned on it”
One sentence and I just knew it was him. My man, the searcher of Leitner’s books, the rebel goth/punk of my heart. The man who just appears and deals with the shit, because mommy “knows everything of this stuff”, but she clearly taught him everything too.
And, since my man Gerard is back, my other favorite man is here too: Jurgen Leitner, aka the menace for mankind. Of course he’s from Norway, I can bet everything he’s from Alesund and he probably looked the supernatural shit of the Institute in the eyes and this is why he has this weird power of creating creepy books. I love him too.
Also, how hilarious it is, to see this man being all like: “Sure, sure, I have all the permits you want, just dig a goddamn hole in my office. What? Do you still want to talk to the owner of the building? But I have everything! Listen, you don’t deserve explanations, powerful shits are working in the back. Okay, you know what? Fuck you in Norwegian”. My man Leitner has business to do and chaos to spread, how dare they stop him from doing his job.
I also loved how Gerard apparently has a sixth sense about where to find Leitner’s books. Or he can smell them like a dog. Still love him.
So today's Learner book was hidden in the shadows and little bones fall from it while Gerard runs away with it. Mmmh, where have I heard something similar?
“Mary Keay took the book back from me and passed it through the shadows once again. More bones fell.” (MAG 4)
So that’s how Gerard found it. He stole it from… Leitner’s weird hidden library or whatever? What an absolute boss: he went, took the book and vanished with some weird magic. I love this rebel boy.
And in the end, even more familiar people: Breekon and Hope deliveries are back! And they have voices! And they talk in the creepiest possible way, almost overlapping the end of Breekon’s sentences with the beginning of Hope’s. And there’s a package for Jon.
How much are you gonna bet that it’s more silver worms? I can almost hear them crawling inside that box, ready to jump on him. Gosh, I really hope that I’m wrong. But in any case, please, do not open the package. If MAG 2 taught us something is: do not open the weird shit delivered at your door.
_______________________________
MAG 36 - Taken Ill
Another okay statement about a weird illness that takes control of a building, the obligatory Guy Who Doesn’t Exist (John Amherst, in this case) and lots of dead people.
But hey, we have something very interesting here: an old man and a young woman with a deep scar over her right eye. Who are these two? And why did Jon immediately think about Trevor Herbert, the Vampire killer from MAG 10? Could it be that he’s alive somehow? Well, I won’t be too surprised: after all, I think Gerard is alive too, so why couldn’t Trevor be alive as well?
And since we’re fishing people & stuff from previous statements, what better way to end this one, if not with more connections? As soon as Tim said they got a table, I KNEW it was the one from MAG 3. I asked for it to come back, and here it is: my beautiful table with the missing piece.
While speaking of the Zippo with the spider web design, there are two possibilities:
the Zippo is a reference to Spider Mom from MAG 16
the Zippo has been delivered by the spider lady I vaguely remember. And that means she will come soon. And if it’s true, can’t wait to meet her.
_______________________________
MAG 37 - Burnt Offering
Well, Jon, if Elias told you to burn the damn table, you burn the damn table. If even this guy, who is suspicious AF tells you to get rid of it, you do it without a second thought.
But nooo, let’s “preserve the knowledge”, “self-preservation is overrated” and “Andorra isn’t a nice place to live”. Goddamit Jon, don’t make me enter the story and throw you out of this Institute.
Speaking of the statement itself, it would just be “guy finds a random circle in the woods and suffers the consequences”, if it wasn’t for two details that caught me by surprise.
The first is that despite Jason North’s concern, it wasn’t his son Ethan North to die, but Jason himself. I wasn’t expecting this, I almost expected Jon to say that “oh look, this poor alcoholic took the life of his son”.
The second thing is, of course, Gertrude Robinson’s photo in that weird ritual circle. Why was her photo there? Who put it there? How many supernatural shits were messing with her? I thought it was just the one in the Institute… but this circle? Really, I don’t know what to think :/
_______________________________
MAG 38 - Lost and Found
I vaguely remembered the name Salesa because it was just too weird to go unnoticed and I was right: he’s the same guy from MAG 14. And if Gerard can smell Leitner’s books, Salesa seems to have the same power of attracting weird supernatural shit.
Also, he has “several crates packed to the brim with heavy-looking volumes” and I can bet everything that in these crates there are at least a couple of Leitner’s books, waiting for their chance to spread chaos in the world as their author intended.
Speaking of the statement, the idea that a supernatural creature lives inside the vase and steals stuff from whoever owns said vase is pretty funny. In the end, it literally said: “Jeez, fine, take back your book and your shoes. I’ll steal yo husband instead”. Adorably stupid, it put a smile on my face.
what an ending! First the epic return of Spider Mom or one of her friends, then Jane Prentiss’ worms: there are too many creatures in this Institute and they’re not cute at all. Gosh, I hope Jon and the gang are all okay.
_______________________________
MAG 39 - Infestation
All the stuff that happened here. ALL THE STUFF THAT HAPPENED HERE.
Let’s take one thing at the time:
*
Martin is insane (and yet, perfectly IC)
This man spent his time in the Archives analyzing how the worms were moving and the angle and the speed, trying to find out the best weapon to get rid of them. He’s insane.
But you know what? It’s actually coherent with what we saw from Martin until now: he is an anxious guy, he overthinks stuff and he has no self-preservation instinct at all. It’s not so strange that he kept thinking about the worms and tried to find weapons to protect himself - and using them too.
*
Jon and skepticism
I’ve spent my previous post repeating that everyone had to leave this godforsaken Institute asap, but I was still accepting them not doing it because I know it’s necessary to suspend my disbelief for a while, in order to enjoy a story.
However, since the author of this series is a competent writer, he knows insufferable readers (like me) will probably question why these lovable idiots are still in the Institute and find it annoying/boring/clichè too.
So, he provided an answer. An answer that:
shed some lights on Jon’s character
is coherent with what we know about him until now
Now, I understand why Jon kept recording statements despite all the weird shit happening around him. Now I know and I understand. He’s not doing it because he’s blinded by skepticism: he’s doing it because he wants to know what happened to Gertrude and because he doesn’t want to leave a mystery behind. If he dies, he wants other people to know.
And yes, this is coherent with what we saw until now! Just think about it: at the end of every goddamn statement, Jon always tried to add evidence and make some research: he always tried to bring something real, concrete, tangible. Something that would prove these statements are not just shapeless words.
Speaking more about skepticism: I love that someone finally addressed Jon about it and I love it was Martin, who has proved to be much more prone to believe in the supernatural.
And I love Jon’s answer. Again, it’s very realistic: they have a storage full of supernatural shit, of course Jon believes it’s real. They have actual tangible proof.
So he pretends skepticism. And he has a very valid reason to do it.
*
The supernatural shit in the Institute is watching
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Now I am 200% sure that Jon is actually being watched. There are too many eyes in this series to be a coincidence and I’m starting to think they all belong to whatever supernatural shit is hidden in this place. That thing watches Jon and it probably “possesses” him or similar considering he “loses himself a bit” whenever he reads and I LOVE LOVE LOVE he mentioned it, because I noticed how Jon was getting too much involved every time he read, but I didn’t say anything.
One example? MAG 38:
“I’ve been in the antiques business for a long time. It’s not what it used to be. [Nervous chuckle] I’m sorry, I know.”
This statement isn’t being recorded by the person involved, Jon is reading it. But the nervous chuckle isn’t something someone who is reading would do: this is a reaction someone who is speaking would have. Someone who is telling their story.
When I listened to it, I immediately found it a very odd detail and I thought it was just a writing mistake from the author. But now, I find out it was made on purpose.
TMA’s author is more competent than I thought.
*
Jon and Martin are the best couple
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They’re already bickering like an old couple. I love them. And yes, I’ve decided to ship them. Don’t care if they don’t end up together, still ship these two.
*
“Real statements”
Jon’s words about the real statements are extremely enlightening and, again, they make the whole series much more realistic.
Until now, I supposed Jon is just a vintage guy who likes to record stuff on a tape recorder because it was more fitting with the atmosphere of “uuuh, old Archive” and because there was no Internet connection at all. Sure, in MAG 1 Jon talked about bringing a laptop, but he also said: “I believe the first computer to ever enter this room is the laptop that I brought in today.” So I simply assumed this place hadn’t a connection. After all, we’re talking about an old place: it’s plausible there’s no Internet.
But now, we have a much better explanation about why Jon uses a tape recorder! And it’s because of the nature of the statements themselves. Only the real ones can be recorded on tape.
I was very pleasantly surprised when Jon said: “Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe... thirty, forty that go on tape.”. Not only it’s much more realistic that, in all these months, he didn’t record 38 statements only, but hundreds, but it’s much more immersive too: we are not listening to all the useless pile of stuff, we are listening to the “selected” material.
*
Tim is my new favorite character
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Tim is the best character. Sorry Gerard, sorry Leitner, sorry Michael: as soon as Tim did this, I fell in love. He’s a wonderful idiot and he deserves the world <3
*
Martin and Jon are the best couple part 2
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They are the best couple, period.
*
A lighter?!
Sasha needs a lighter? I know one, I know one! the spider Zippo! Use that one! Will someone use it? I hope that.
*
Elias is finally here
Finally, Elias decided to show up. Thank you, Elias, for honoring us with your presence. Where have you been until now? To the Suspicious Guys Anonymous Club?
I mean, just look at how he expresses his concern: his new Head Archivist is trapped with most of his staff and they will probably die if he and Sasha don’t do anything, it’s a dangerous situation, they should do something immediately… and his main concern is that he doesn’t really want to find another Archivist so soon.
Wow, a man who truly values human life, now I definitely trust him, yes sure.
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Tim is the best character
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I love how Tim casually addresses being surrounded by death, before tripping on a shit ton of gas cans Martin hid “from the worms”. The beautiful clash between Martin’s insanity and Tim being the best character <3
I also love how he just… pulled down his pants? To make them check if he was bitten?
Tim is the best character, period. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.
*
WHAT THE FUCK
So Sasha found the table from MAG 3… then Not!Sasha found her.
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck.
Is… is Sasha alive? Is she dead? Where is she?!
*
Final showdown!
Jon VS Jane Prentiss. I didn’t know I needed this fight, until I reached the end of this recording.
I am ready.
_______________________________
MAG 40 - Human Remains
Wow. What a ride has it been.
So, let’s examine every statement:
Elias: he’s still the most suspicious guy ever but you know what? I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. Show me your innocence, Elias. Show me you’re a good guy.
I mean, he seems surprised about the discovery of Gertrude Robinson’s body. And he seems to know nothing more aside from “Gertrude wasn’t there and her desk was covered in blood”. Let’s see how innocent he is.
Tim: my new favorite boy got attacked by the goddamn worms, even though he did some pretty cool stunts. But he also said something very interesting about them: it’s as if there is something in the Institute that makes them “sluggish”. Yes, I’m pretty sure that it’s the supernatural shit of the Institute that did that.
Also, the worms tried to make a doorway for a weird room hidden in these passages? What? How? I don’t think I understand, but my explanation is still the same: the goddamn supernatural shit of the Institute. All its fault.
Sasha: if my boy Tim got hurt, at least he’s still alive and in one piece. Can’t say the same about Sasha. Where are you, Sasha? Have you completely been replaced by Not!Sasha? Where did you hide her, you impostor?
Also, Not!Sasha literally called Michael “Yes, Michael... With the bones in his hands.”. So that’s basically a confirmation that he really is the one mentioned in MAG 8. And she said: “We still don’t know much about him, do we?” which, translated from author-to-reader means “Michael will come in season 2 and we will learn about him”. Yes, please, more of my Best Boyo.
Martin: poor Martin, he really REALLY doesn’t deserve any of this shit. He needs a proper vacation, away from all this shit, where there are no worms and no problems. My offer still stands: Andorra is still a beautiful place to live.
Vacation aside, just how many goddamn rooms are hidden here? Tim found a room, Martin found a room, if we’re not careful we will find 200 rooms hidden everywhere.
And in this room, here she is: Gertrude Robinson. And she’s not dead because the supernatural shit in the Institute ate her, not because some other shit sucked her blood or made something else. She has been shot. Just shot. Three times in the chest. It was a goddamn execution.
Welp, sorry Elias, you had your chance. I can already see you with the gun in your hand, pointing it at Gertrude. It was you, you goddamn suspicious man. I know it was you.
Jonathan: so, some tapes have been stolen. What a coincidence, they are the tapes of MAG 24 “Strange Music” and MAG 26 “A Distortion”. What a coincidence, they’re the only two tapes in which Sasha talks. Wow, I wonder why these two tapes in particular disappeared, I wonder who made them disappear…
Not!Sasha, I know it was you. Everyone knows it was you.
And Jon, instead of being satisfied with this resolution of Gertrude’s “case”, he’s even more determined to get to the bottom of this.
“I’m going to figure this out, and I’m not going to stop. They’ll have to kill me first.”
Just… don’t tease them, Jon. whoever is behind all of this (read: Elias and the Lukas family) I doubt they would think twice before shooting you in the chest like they did with Gertrude. Don’t test your luck too much.
_______________________________
In conclusion
Update on my theory about the supernatural shit in the Institute:
This shit (which I will call “Big Brother” for obvious reasons) is watching everything. The Lukas family brought it from Norway and uses the Institute as a “feeder” to feed it. Gertrude Robinson, as Head Archivist, was supposed to be “tested” and see if she resonated with it, to become… I don’t know, Big Brother’s new body or something similar.
But before the right time came, she found out what Elias/the Lukas family wanted to do. And she tried to defy them/escape from her fate. First, they tried to get rid of her in some magic other way (like the ritual circle from MAG 37), but when they somehow failed (maybe Gertrude had someone protecting her, just like Jon seems to have some “protectors”), they resorted to a good old gun and bam, problem solved.
And yes, I’m sure it was Elias who shot her.
So, since Gertrude was dead, Elias & the Lukas family decided to just feed the rest of the staff to the supernatural shit and find a new Head Archivist that will resonate with Big Brother and, hopefully, become its new body.
Jane Prentiss was somehow okay with Big Brother - or just with the idea of bringing more violence. While Michael wants to protect Jon. And same goes for the Spiders Gang, which includes the spider lady I remember and Spider Mom - who I think are the same person. Maybe the lady can turn into a spider, why not?
And since I’m speaking of turning into other things, I have a theory on Michael. Since TMA’s author seems very competent and creative, I want to give him more credit. Hence, I believe there is a reason why this season has been packed with a lot of people named Michael. And no, I don’t think the reason is a sudden lack of creativity - especially coming from a guy who invented a ton of different stories and names. I think there’s a reason if all these guys are named Michael and the reason is that these Michaels are all the same Michael: Michael the Supernatural Shit.
After all, this Michael can warp/twist/change his bones and (probably) body too, so would it be so impossible that all the random Michaels in several MAGs were always him, just with a different appearance?
One last thing: my impression about the series until now is still positive. This first season served as a introduction to the characters, the mysteries and the structure of the series itself and did its job very well. There’s a closed ending with the resolution of Jane Prentiss’ mystery and we find out how Gertrude died too. But there are also enough open questions to keep you involved: what really happened  to Gertrude? What is the Institute hiding? What about Michael? What about all the other mysteries?
Sure, not all statements are perfect and the writing isn’t perfect either - and it’s a shame, because considering all these statements come from different people, it would’ve been a great writing exercise to give a different voice to each of them.
However, I’m not too critical of this. Mr. Sims (TMA’s author, not the character) wrote 40 statements each with its own kind of horror/mystery and they are all connected to the main story that will develop throughout 5 seasons. That’s A LOT of work: expecting perfect writing from each statement would be unattainable and, from my side, unreasonable.
What’s more important, for me, it’s the attention to details and boy, there’s A LOT of it. When I started this series (and like I do every time I start something), I didn’t give any trust to its author: it’s too easy to find sloppy works made without any care, than find something meticulously organized.
With these 40 statements, Mr. Sims is proving to me that he has a vision, a big picture and that he knows how to put it into words. There is love and care, there is attention, coherence and internal logic.
Hence why, now I want to give him more credit. And with that, my expectations are rising as well: first I just wanted something good, now I want backstories. Why? Because backstories explain the present. Decisions, personalities, events even: all can be explained with a logical, coherent background.
Let’s see if Mr. Sims really thought about everything ;)
So, one season done, four more to go. How many things will happen? Will Sasha ever come back? Will Elias stop being suspicious for five minutes? Will Martin take a vacation? Will Jon survive all of this? And what about my favourite boys? Will they come back too?
I am hyped for season 2 and ready to start, so I’ll surely be back in a week with more posts.
>> Next post
(How about a coffee? ☕)
_______________________________
TAGLIST:
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gaykarstaagforever · 2 months ago
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I like how Picard can force the rest of the senior staff to wear their goofy sequined Space tuxedos to meet diplomats, while he just wears that cool suede jacket that amounts to a Starfleet Adidas track jacket.
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Also the diplomats are dressed like this:
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"SLATE-COLORED COTTON BODY STOCKINGS ARE WHAT THESE PEOPLE CONSIDER FORMAL WEAR!"
Don't let them join the Federation. Troi introduces one of them to sugar and he loses his goddamn mind. They emerge as fully-formed awkward adults from some kind of hive-navel, probably wearing these clothes. They are rude and demanding and weird with children.
It is inappropriate to call them Space Mormons, so I will totally not do that.
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boxwinebaddie · 3 months ago
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so, you're telling me....
( tw for unc nina med trauma/its-on-para-siGHT-bitch! )
***update:
that the past 2-3 weeks of hell i spent fighting for my goddamn fucking life alone in my room, tearing my body apart to try and keep it together, those abrasions and tears creating openings for worse things to burrow in along side the original things, thinking i figured out what i have only to realize the parasite was not done forming, new stuff forming while that was happening like i was a goddamn petri dish, having to spend every hour of every day doing research to find out what was wrong with me bc my family wouldnt believe me
and thought i was a psychotic basket-case and that even after four traumatic trips to the er, the doctors were still not fucking listening to me, told me i was sunburned and needed to be sedated, to take my chill pills, taking antibiotic after antibiotic, my hair coming out, my skin turning red and yellow, that shit not curing me, that shit actually making me worse??? that shit literally chemical burning me, that shit making me weaker than i was when i was a 14 year old freshman in high school, that fucking evil mystery diagnosis hive mind about to send a ectoparasites into my fucking heart and lungs and shit,
with me literally ready to FUCKING DIE...
could all have been over in one hour, after i promised myself i would not do any more research and just let it happen, happened to stumble upon the right parasite that presents identically to the one that i was told ( loose term, they didn't test me ) / thought i had...
but when smothered with VasoFUCKINGLine...
IS KILLED INSTANTANEOUSLY.
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labyrinthofsphinx · 6 months ago
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Statistical Outliers
Part 5...5.5? Idk it's kinda long. Also, Val's in this one a bit. And he's a jerk, so if that's concerning just a heads up. Nothing graphic though.
“Mr. Vox? Sir?”
“Huh?” His voice crackled over the speakers rather than his vocal cords. It ended up louder than he wanted it to be. His assistant nearly jumped out of his skin. Pad in one hand and the other on his headset, he seemed to be trying to find something else to do aside from shaking in place.
“T-the morning broadcast?”
Fuck! What time was it?
Wait. Where was-?
His eyes flicked about the room. Cameras swiveled in place, scanning the immediate area. Every drone, every lens, every goddamn phone and computer camera was dragged from whatever it was supposed to be doing for the moment. In an instant, he was in in Val’s studio, Vel’s design pad, the kitchen set, the main lobby, the elevator, even his monitor room. Thousands of eyes all working with the same goal, the same hive minded command: search everywhere. And he still couldn’t find him.
He stood up way faster than he should, the blood in his body not quite catching up with the adrenalin rush. Electricity vaulted from him like it was trying to run away too. His screen was twitching from the overload.
“Where’s the kid?”
“…kid, sir?”
He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged up. Vox was not a small demon. Sure, he wasn’t Valentino’s obscene height, but he was by no means short. His assistant was dangling in air, legs kicking with panic. Vox understands why. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s fried the brains out of someone using the same pose. But, for now, he opted instead to shake him like a throw rug.
“Yes, the kid! The same fucking kid that’s been here for two days now! Where is he?”
“H-h-h-he’s with Mistress Velvette, s-s-sir.” He stammered. “S-she said had a s-show later today, b-b-but she wanted to spend s-some time with h-her gift. H-h-he should be in her room-”
“Do you really think I wouldn’t know if someone was in her room? He’s not there! So you better get those useless grunts out there and find him before I peel their souls apart-!”
At that moment, Valentino decided now would be the perfect time to barge in. Because the day was already starting out so smoothly. He stormed up the stairs like he was trying to see how many he could break on the way up. He kicked open the door with a hiss.
“Vox! What the fuck? It’s too fucking early in the morning for the high hats to be going off! You’ll burn my fucking eyes out doing that.”
In his rage, he must’ve put a little too much juice into the tower. He dropped his assistant like a rock, stood straight, and smiled. He quickly leaned down, static fizzing through his speakers.
“Your job. Go do it.”
He was out of the room before Val even walked to the couch.
“My apologies, Val. Been meaning to have that wiring looked at. It really shouldn’t be so sensitive.” He readjusted his vest and corrected his antenna. He might still look like he just woke up, but you’d never tell from his performance.
Val, for his part, just took a big drag of his cigarette, smoke curling around the ends of his mouth. It was already half puffed through. Val was a heavy smoker normally, but not usually so early. Aside from that, he had his weight shifted to the side, leaning more so than he might if he was posing. He seemed restless, for lack of a better term. That, in addition to screaming at Vox this early in the morning…yeah, no. This had nothing to do with lighting.
“Yeah, no fucking kidding! Ruined a perfectly good shoot cause the whole place was blinking like a rave! Couldn’t see a damn thing!”
Oh, boy. Here it comes. Trouble. Probably in the pink spider variety.
“Shooting this early, huh? Then I assume-”
“What are you looking for anyway?”
That shook his composure for a moment. Look, Val wasn’t stupid. Well, not in every regard. He knew better than most that the man had certain things he was a bit too scarily informed about, even for Vox. Usually this applied to his particular brand of expertise, but sometimes he does things like this. Vox doesn’t give ‘tells’ anymore. Not when he’s ‘on air’. What’s going on in his brain is purely his own machinations, and he likes it that way.
Ordinarily, no one would blink an eye at the cameras all swiveling about, especially after Alastor returned. It was expected that he was just a lot more attentive now. He had to be. How or why Val knew he was actively looking for something was concerning. Since when did he get predictable?
“Oh, that. Vel’s little pet ran off and I was just trying to-”
He stopped midsentence, a question now clawing into his head.
“…why do you care?”
Valentino doesn’t care what Vox does. This would be a ‘Vox’ problem. Since when has he ever bothered or cared whenever the issue didn’t involve him in some way?
Val’s wings twitched visibly, as if his coat gained sentience and bristled on his behalf.
“Because this little experiment of yours is becoming a problem. And I am fucking tired of cleaning up after it.”
I..he…what?
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me. I know you’ve got every audio upgrade in the world stuck in that head of yours.” He toyed with the fuzz of his collar. His heels clicked against the tile floor as he turned and took his spot on the lounge.
“Val, I’m not sure you understand. The kid is Velvette’s-”
“Yes, yes. I know. Her new stress ball. Here’s the thing. Her new toy is making my old one act out. Every day he comes in bitching about it.” Another long drag of smoke later, and Valentino was starting to puff out designs, mostly hearts. “He asked to speak to you, you know.”
One involuntary twitch later, Vox was back in default mode. Angel Dust didn’t speak to Vox. They’ve never wanted to speak to each other. His grin was sharp and tense. Red lines might be dripping down past the side of his mouth.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, he’s under the impression that you might know where the kid is, since you see everything.”
There was a smile playing at the edge of Val’s face, no doubt thinking of some dark concession Angel made for even daring to ask Valentino to bring Vox into this for help. Desperate, it read to Vox as desperate. It was now, what? Three days missing? What exactly did they think would happen to the kid in three days-?
Well…kidnaping, for starters. Threatened with bodily harm, extortion, and dubious enslavement to name a few things.
“…you want me to speak with him?”
Val threw his hands up, like the surprise had just revealed itself.
“You’re so smart, Voxxy! Here’s the deal: you give the kid back to Angel, and babycakes comes back to the tower.”
“You told Angel he was here?” That would be bad on so many fronts. As he said before, he didn’t need the mess from Lucifer coming in here and demanding him back. Secondly, Velvette would not be giving up her prize without an argument…possibly a brawl. Which they did not, currently, want with the Devil.
“Nothing like that! Didn’t want the prissy princess knocking on our door after all. Angel and I just came up with an agreement. If you ‘find’ and get the kid back to him, he’s gonna come back to the studio, full time, just like it used to be. It’s a win, win, darling.”
“A ‘win, win’? It’s not a win, win if you’re losing something to gain something else, Val.” There was something here he was missing. He wasn’t used to that in his conversations with Val.
Val feigned nonchalance badly.
“It’s bad for our image to have a brat running around here.” He started, using an argument more at home on Vox’s tongue. “We got our use out of him. You got your headsets and Vel got her pictures. I say we get rid of the garbage and get back a gem of ours.”
Val…Val doesn’t like the kid. No, worse than that. There was an underlined vitriol there, small skulls hidden among smoking hearts. He hated that kid. He’s never spoken a word to him. Vox is pretty sure they’ve never even been in the same room as each other.
It felt like a small cold spike hit him at the nip of his neck. He’s not even sure why.
It could be because he didn’t think it was all that great of an exchange. They have no promises from the kid, no contract that would keep him from blabbing everything off to the others of that shitty hotel. There’d be no excuse for them not to get a royal breaking down the door for the kidnapping. It could very quicky and very easily get ugly.
There was also the fact that he didn’t want Angel back. He was less of a problem when he was gone. He wasn’t constantly in Vox’s direct vision anymore. He didn’t have to see him every single time he went down to Val’s studios. He could actually talk to Val now, without Angel having to be on his fucking arm.
The weirdest thing though was the stupid, drunk memory coming back from last night. Twelve fucking years old, and he knew Val was just going to rip him apart in front of Angel’s eyes. He’d give him over, only to pull his pistol and fire until he was satisfied. He’d do it, no hesitation. It wasn’t anything new to him, and nothing he hadn’t threatened to do to Angel’s pig before. From the drip of poison falling off the edge of his teeth, Vox could practically smell gun smoke.
“It’d be so easy.” He said, interrupting Vox’s thoughts.
There was so much venom laced in his words.
And for what?
He collected himself. He had more than enough logical arguments for why this was a very bad idea.
“Glad to see you’re taking the initiative in protecting our assets, truly, Val. But I think your missing the bigger picture here-”
The anger was more explosive than Vox expected. He felt like he just tripped on a landmine.
“I’m not missing anything! You think I don’t see what happening here?” The smoke came out like a dragon breathing fire, and even Vox had to pull slightly away. “You’d rather take Velvette’s side than mine. After everything we’ve been through!”
“I’m not taking sides.” He kept his voice even or tried to, as much as possible. Hard to do when he felt like coughing every other word. “But you should consider-”
Val rose to his full height, his wings slightly unfurling. It was mostly for show. He knew that. Valentino felt larger when his wings were fuller, which meant his ego was bruised enough to warrant it.
“Consider this! You get that brat out of here or you can sleep alone!”
Calculations jumped between wires. Thousands of different possible ways to approach this popped up in a million lines of code. One seemed better than the rest. Force the kid under contract, under Velvette’s beck and call. Send him on his way and get Angel Dust back for Val. Let everything here be their little secret. That was the best outcome, the best step forward, the best concession.
It should’ve been so simple to explain. So…why did he hesitate?
It was just a moment, a stupid, uncertain breath.
But it had been enough time for Valentino to erupt.
….
On days like these, he just stayed plugged in. He could make himself look like whatever he wanted over the TV. It’s so convenient, having lines, set, and makeup accessible with the snap of the fingers. Up all night drinking? No problem! No one can even see the bags under your eyes in cyberspace. Overworking your systems to the point of failure? Nothing a minor edit can’t fix.
Your face bashed into pieces by your pissed off scorned lover? Meh, not as if anyone can tell. Every single copy he projected looked just as spotless as he had this morning.
That didn’t change the fact that, every once in a while, glass shards, bits of his screen, fell into his actual, physical lap. While his cyber copies went over the recent sports games, his gaze drifted off to his aquarium. Inside, his sharks were viciously circling. The hammerhead had ripped another chunk out of their breakfast and was currently striving to keep it away from the tiger shark. Its success was about a fifty fifty split. The tiger stole an arm, and, in the crossfire, the fingers were ripped free. They drifted down, right past his console. The smaller baitfish darted in and out for the occasional snack.
It was another reminder of things that haven’t changed. The bigger fish eat their fill, the small have to fight for scraps. The philosophy of life didn’t change much, even when you died. Which all the more explains why it’s the old guard fighting against progress. Evolution wasn’t an idea people wanted to accept for a long time.
For a moment, he thought back to a conversation he had with Alastor, back when they were still on speaking terms. Funny enough, he’d used Vox’s own pets to poke holes in his theory. He’d mentioned that, if what scientists had said was true, then wasn’t the shark a very obvious and glaring exception to this silly little theory? They’ve had the same role since they first popped up, and practically stayed the same for millions years. Surely, if things were constantly changing, his pets would be so different compared to how they are. So, naturally, it must all be noise.
He’d always say it like that, like science and theories were nonsense children played with. As there was magic and demons and angels running about, he understood at the time why’d Alastor thought that way. The supernatural was scary, big, and intimidating in ways people just weren’t. Of course, Al had died back when the airplane was a brand-new toy and air raids where the scariest thing humans could be capable of.
Vox was alive to see the bomb drop. Alastor’s entire body count, here and on earth, made negligible in the span of seconds.
Sharks weren’t the same as they had been back when they first sprung up. Same basic function, sure, but it’s viciousness, advantages that drove change. It was better to be smarter, to diversify, to eat whatever and whenever you could. Being picky and unwilling to adapt turns you chum eventually.
He hadn’t said that at the time though. He still thought they were friends after all. Instead, he offered a different, perhaps even scarier idea. Since hell was real and humans haven’t been around all that long,  had the angels just been content to watch animals kill each other for millions of years? Whose idea was it to introduce hunger to the world?
Alastor hadn’t had an answer for him. He had pointed out the hilarity of it though, that hell was just earth before man. Just a bunch of animals eating each other.
He almost missed those weird conversations. They weren’t the kinds of things he could talk about with Valentino or Velvette. Val would tell him to have a smoke. Vel would probably respond with a meme.
His screen glitched as he accidentally brushed an exposed segment. Pain shot up and about the circuitry. It was the closest he could get nowadays to touching a bruise on his face. Though, most people don’t run the risk of accidentally cutting themselves on their faces, puffy or not.
Hm. Serves him right. He should’ve just done what he had in mind. He should’ve gotten the kid under contact day one. Then, this wouldn’t have been an issue.
The doors opened with a metallic whoosh, the tell-tale sounds of his terrified assistant putting on the floor.
“Would you put me down? I can walk, you know.”
“M-Mr. Vox, sir! I’ve found him.”
Vox’s claw dug into the chair. Yes, technically, he had asked for him to find the kid. He can’t maim him for listening to orders. But the very last thing he wanted right now, was for the source of all his recent troubles to be in his personal space.
If it wasn’t for him, his face would still be in one piece. He wouldn’t be down a brand-new screen and having to wait for literal days to get it replaced. He wouldn’t be treading the dangerous waters between his two fellow Vees. He wouldn’t be trying to figure out how to navigate this stupid secondary deal of Val’s and Angel’s. He wouldn’t have to stress about the idea of Angel being back full time.
He was on top of the fucking world not three days ago. And now…
The screens around flashed red for a moment. His assistant all but dropped the kid and fled the room. He knew all too well what all that meant.
The kid didn’t. Obviously. Because he started walking over, stilling only to observe the corpse floating about the water.
“Um…who’s that?”
“That,” He started, his voice unhinging as his frustrations kept building. “is what happens to people who waste my time.”
His fingers tapped against the metal, making a harsh, sharp sound. Current pulsed about, feeling to him like a wire about to snap and lash out of control. Small pains in his face pinched like exposed nerves, getting worse and more numerous with each passing second, but Vox’s patience was too far gone to care.
“What did he…I mean-”
“What did he do?” Vox finished. He supposed his voice was teetering a little too close to the preverbal edge, because the kid stopped walking towards him. “That there is my assistant, the one whose specific job it is to stock up on the usual necessities of Vee tower. If something is needed, he fetches it. If something is missing, he finds a replacement. And if something is broken, it’s his job to get it fixed.”
Sparks started bouncing between screens, flickering them. Some stray arcs dashed up towards the ceiling, causing havoc with the aquarium lights. Every couple of seconds, the room would get ungodly dark, illuminated only by the glow of shark teeth and his own screen peering into the abyss. He stood up from his chair.
“Well, something did get broken.” His tone still sounded friendly, on paper. “And it can’t be fixed at the moment. So, whose fault is that, hm? The man who was supposed to make sure it did get fixed…”
Volts burst about him in streaks of light. His physical form splintered into pieces, ripped apart by the power of screaming energy. As lightning, he was too fast to see, to comprehend. The thunder that followed in his wake shook the tower. In the time it took him to burst into creation there on the catwalk, the kid hadn’t even had time to take a breath.
Thousands of screens bore down on them, projecting blazing red views of Vox’s anger and the kid’s own terror from every angle conceivable. Oh, what a film it would be! It was the making of a perfect horror flick. Slasher flick, of course. The kind where no one made it out alive.
“And the stupid child that broke it in the first place!”
His red, hypnotic eye dilated in fury. Half of his body still felt like it was lightning, fighting against itself to stay in one place. The rest felt cold like ice, a sheet of hollowed flesh and metal. Oh, Tin man, did you ever have a heart to begin with?
Red dripped down from the side of his screen, as it always does when he gets himself too worked up, too enraged, too excited. His smile grew too wide for his face, teeth stuck between phases existence. All the while, the shattered sections of ruined glass contorted and bent every pixel of his face into some nightmarish creation. Like a deranged dog, his expressions flickered between a sickening sadism and malicious mania.
The kid’s hand flew up to his face, catching a scream in his throat. His pupils dilated with fear, the kind that Vox had been owed this whole time. Tears welled in his eyes and pooled at the corners of lashes.
This is the respect he should’ve had. This was how he was supposed to be treated. His name should breed dread in the soul, bring your body to quiver with horror. He was fucking Overlord Vox! If he wasn’t going to be given respect, he would take it. He-
“Are you okay?”
Something numbed just then. A million different angles, of a trembling lip, of tears streaming down his face in rivulets, of his chest heaving and unable to keep a steady breath, it was all the perfect shot right before the killer’s knife.
It was terror. It was the very definition of terrified.
It just had nothing to do with Vox. Or, rather, it was nothing Vox was doing on purpose.
“Are you hurt?” The kid’s voice cracked with strain. And, suddenly, he wasn’t standing still anymore. He quickly wiped his tears best he could and grabbed Vox by the hand. It was so gentle, like Vox was one who might shatter at any time. “Y-you need to sit. S-should I call a doctor? D-do you have any electrical tape?”
The numbness prickled like a limb that just fell asleep, nothing but nerve endings failing to send anything but signals of stinging. That’s what this was, stinging everywhere. His hand hurt to hold. He was guided back to his chair, without a single thought of input. He was too dazed to understand.
What had just happened?
The kid reached around, looking under and about the different units. He found the emergency tape, the one Vox personally stores. Almost immediately, he jumped up on the arm rest and started pulling the worst bits together. He saw him cut himself a few times, red dripping down from tiny fingertips. It streaked bright against dark fur.
Looking at it for too long flipped his stomach.
“There. I think…I think that’s the worst of it.” The kid muttered, though he’d not sure if he was talking to himself or Vox. “But we really ought to figure out how to repair it ASAP. The impact left a dent on the interior screen and that’s not something the tape can really help with. Do you, um, heal normally or..?”
“…no, I…I usually have to replace them.”
“Do you have a spare?”
How did this conversation get here?
“No, that’s…that’s what I tossed my assistant in with the sharks for. Are you seriously not afraid of me?”
The kid looked at him, shock on his face.
“What? No! You’re hurt! Like, really bad. I’m not really an expert on cybernetics or anything, but I don’t think I’d feel good or be in good mood if my face was split in half.”
A good mood? Really?
“I fed a man to my sharks.”
The kid cringed.
“Yeah, okay, granted. That’s, um, really not good.”
“But you’re not afraid of me? You do realize I was going to feed you to my sharks, right?”
He paused for a moment, scratching the fur by his cheeks. His ears fell a little at his words, but he offered up a pathetic smile, nonetheless.
“I’m not sure I’m really all that good to eat. They’d probably be choking up hairballs for a week.”
“I’m being serious.” He hissed.
“…I know but…I mean, I was afraid. A bit. But…then I saw all of that and…um…” The kid bit the inside of his lip.
Numbness gave way to an emotion Vox was much more familiar with. Now, he was just pissed off.
“You think I want your pity?” He smiled too wide, and some of tape ripped. “You, haha, you think I’d give a shit what you think? Haha, oh, kid. That’s just pathetic!”
“…why do you think that someone caring about you is pathetic?”
Oh, that one felt like a gut punch. Knocked the wind out of him and set him spiraling. The kid put more tape on the part that ripped.
“I’m sorry, by the way.” He said, all of a sudden. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”
His fury was ripped from him. Every ounce of him that wanted to lash out at something, anything, to get it out of his system just vaporized and flew away. What the fuck was he doing, threatening children anyways? What was his plan here? Brutalize him? Velvette would be pissed because her toy was gone. Valentino would be pissed because his deal would fall through. His stupid hotel mates would be pissed because, you know, murder. And he’d be mad with himself because, goddamnit, he’d be stuck with mental image of beating up a defenseless child.
See this? This is why you think before you act, Vox. This is why you’re the brains of the Vees: the connective tissue, the thing keeping everything in working order, and the one responsible with making sure all this shit keeps running.
Being emotional trainwrecks was his co-workers jobs.
He waved the kid away from his face. He did pull back, and dropped down next to the chair, allowing Vox some time to collect himself before looking him in the eye again.
“Where were you this morning anyways?”
“Velvette thought it’d be funny if you couldn’t find me, so she stuck me in the oven.”
Oh, yes. Sure. Why not? Hope it was hilarious, Vel.
“Where you there the whole time?”
“She gave the impression that I wasn’t supposed to move, unless you were going to start preheating the oven.”
Yeah, that sounds like Vel. He nodded along, trying not to acknowledge his reflection, a mosaic of glass, tape, and the smallest cuts of blood.
“You know, I think a lot of these screens are the right size and make. Why not just use one of them?” He asked.
“Hm? Oh, that. Well, contrary to popular opinion, this head of mine isn’t just any old TV.” He started presenting like he would on commercial, only more tired. “I’ve had every mod and upgrade installed, the best speakers, direct wifi connectivity, complete automation of any and all Voxtek products directly from my thoughts, the works. Making a new head takes time. Lots of it. Every piece has to be specially ordered to my specifications, installed, then run through about a hundred different redundancies before I’d even consider switching over. That’s why I was so pissed off. Because now I’m stuck with this until the new one is finished, and who knows how long that will take.”
The kid’s face squinted.
“…but you don’t have to make all new circuitry. You can just rewire a new screen with the original parts.”
“…come again?”
“Whoever told you that you have to make all new parts every time a screen broke is wrong. I fix TVs all the time, old ones and new. It’s pretty simple.”
Vox knew a lot about tech. He kinda had to. But for this one, specific thing, he actually kind of required there to be another person’s opinion, since he can’t exactly install himself by himself (yet). The engineer that he relied on for so long had lot of explaining to do.
“I was under the impression that some of it was built into the framework itself.”
The kid shook his head.
“Nah, that’d be silly. That’d mean that every single TV would have to be wired differently because of size and stuff. It’s just easier to have universal screens and plugs.”
You know what? Maybe his anger wasn’t quite spent. But he’s certainly picked a better target.
“…you said you repair TVs?”
“Yeah, all the time. I like fixing things. I’m, like, the unofficial handyman back at the hotel!” He beamed in pride again.
“Isn’t it Alastor’s job to make sure things work?”
“Yeah, but Al’s idea of wiring comes from a time when DC current was still being used. I don’t know about you, but I kinda don’t trust him not to accidently burn the hotel down…again.”
He laughed. It hurt to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. That shit was funny.
When laughs turned to snickers, and he composed himself enough to finally think, he started with a deep breath.
“Do you think you could do it?”
“Do what?”
“Change out the screen.”
“On…on you face?”
“Eugh. Yes, kid. On my face.”
His nails involuntarily popped out as he scratched his neck, nerves finally getting to him. He keeps forgetting foxes could do that, extend their claws similar to cats. Honestly, he’s now wondering why he hadn’t tried threatening with them earlier. Had he even taken a swipe at his grunts? He doesn’t think so.
“I mean, mechanically, yeah. I just don’t know how that works with being your face.”
He snickered.
“Kid, I am so much more than this.” He gestured to his body. With a snap of his fingers, he cut across every screen in the place. Living electricity, part of his very being, danced between the devices. “Even if you wanted to, popping off my head isn’t gonna kill me.”
Call him a hydra. There were simply too many heads to cut off before that was ever an option.
“Cool.” Awe peppered in there as his attention kept getting pulled about. “But, um, how do I…um…remove your head?”
“Oh, that? Easy.” With a simple motion, he ripped his head off.
Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10
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lovebillyhargrove · 2 years ago
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An au where Billy's camaro has a mind of its own and is taking revenge on certain residents of Hawkins after Billy's death ("Christine" vibes)
Part 1 Neil / Part 2 Brenner / Part 3 / Part 4
Dr. Brenner has seen it all now. Has been to the upside down and back. Has survived it. If he was powerful before, guess how mighty he is now. With all that valuable knowledge, all that unique experience that he possesses.
One day he will rule the world.
That evening Brenner left the laboratory at 9.30 and got into his car.
"Home." - he briskly instructed the driver and made himself comfortable in the backseat. Things have not been going the way he had planned them. With multiple deaths, including some prominent people of Hawkins, the lab had been closed. This fool Owens was too soft and had no idea what potential was at their disposal.
But now when Brenner is back, everything needs to get back on track again. He's pulled some strings, used his connections, described the possibilities to those in higher power, and voilà, got the lab reopened again. This time, though, they won't concentrate on kids with psychic powers. This time .. ooh, it will be tremendous.
He will rule the world.
The upside down spat Dr. Brenner out on the 4th of July. Something huge was happening that day, he remembered how the whole upside down world was shaking violently, vines restless and slithering, thunderclaps exploding in the sinister sky. Portals, big and small, opened and closed, one after another, and the whole dimension was unsettled. A portal opened up right in front of him, in the ground and Brenner jumped at the opportunity. Jumped through. He found himself in the forest not far from that mall that was built while he was trapped in the other dimension. Something was going on there, helicopters scissoring the night air and ambulances flashing red and blue all around.
The things Brenner had seen in the upside down, the creatures he had come across.. Unlimited opportunities. They could create an army of demodogs. Multiple armies. Demobats could be their air force. Demogorgons were not so numerous, but they could breed them, and with such formidable forces they would be unstoppable.
They literally could rule the whole goddamn world. Russians would cower before them. Anyone and everyone would fall on their knees before them.
"Sir, there is something ahead of us."
The biggest issue seemed to be control. They needed someone in both worlds, someone who had access to the hive mind but also belonged here, someone who
"SIR??"
"Yes?" - Brenner answered with reluctance. He hated to be distracted from his contemplations.
"There's something ahead of us. It's.. a car but it looks like it's.. on fire?"
"What do you mean?" - Brenner leaned forward. There was indeed an object that looked like a car, engulfed in flames, and it was moving towards them. Fast.
Brenner understood immediately that it did not promise anything good
"Turn the car around, quick!! Drive back! BACK!" He hollered
The driver switched gears but the ball of fire gained unbelievable speed and
One
Two
BANG
The sound was deafening. Head-on collision, aimed to kill.
After the dreadful sound of metal grinding on metal, it suddenly became very quiet.
Brenner was still alive.
His vision blurred. He saw the driver's lifeless body in the front seat, blood all over the windshield. Everything was so quiet all around, except the crackling sounds .. and the smell .. the awful disgusting smell of burning paint. He had to get out.
Brenner tried to open the door with a shaking hand, gasping for air, and luckily, it budged. He forced himself to crawl out of the burning vehicle on the asphalt.
The mysterious car that had caused the crash was slowly retreating and rumbling gutturally.
Menacingly.
Brenner had just got a spark of hope that maybe this was the end of it and whoever was driving that hell on wheels had got what they wanted, when the car's engine suddenly roared and it went from 5 to 50.
The remnants of Brenner's body were scraped off the road later.
So much for world domination.
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ryehouses · 2 years ago
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Do you have any Boba povs of doing aftercare with Din? You are so great, thank you!
hello hello!! i am once again attempting to clear out my inbox! sorry this took so goddamn long. looking at any sort of word document in the last, like, month and a half has made me break out into hives!
oh yeah do i have aftercare. thought about doing a 5 + 1 kind of thing for this but then didn't have the energy to pull a bunch of disparate scenes together, so instead, here you go!
set during chapter 7, "evaar'la," immediately following din and boba's first proper scene.
thanks for stopping by!
in which everybody could use a few more hugs. 
Din Djarin, Boba discovered, was a cuddler. 
I don’t know why that’s a surprise, Boba thought, as Djarin collapsed against Boba’s side and tucked his face into Boba’s shoulder. Maybe it’s the armor. 
A lot about Djarin had been a surprise from the first time Boba had met him, so it made an odd sort of sense that even this was a surprise. 
Surprise or not, this was the most demonstrative and easy to read that Djarin had been all night, and Boba was happy to give Djarin what he needed. He didn’t think that Djain had heard a word that Boba’d said since Boba had peeled him away from the wall, but that was alright too. 
“Kandosii,” Boba murmured, reaching back into his memory for the scraps of mando’a that he still remembered. Every word tasted like the air on Kamino. Not the stale, recycled, clean-scrubbed air of Tipoca City but the air outside it, salt and rain, engine fuel, the rare taste of sunlight warming cool metal. Boba remembered more mando’a than he’d thought. Something about Djarin made it easy to recall. 
“Gar moti jahaal’yc,” Boba said. Djarin had taken that flogger well. Better than Boba’d thought that he would, for a man who’d never taken a flogger before. 
Another surprise, thought Boba wryly. 
He smoothed a careful hand down Djarin’s back, rubbing in the last of the bacta he’d brought over. Boba hadn’t given Djarin much – Djarin had resented the kark out of Boba’s attempts to look after his bruises before – but he’d hopefully struck a balance between letting Djarin keep his bruises and making sure that Djarin could move in the morning. 
Djarin pressed his nose deeper into the meat of Boba’s arm and made a grumbling noise, unhappy as a wet tooka. 
Boba smiled and had to resist the urge to hide that smile in Djarin’s hair. 
We’re not that familiar with each other, yet, Boba thought. He settled for tugging his fingers through Djarin’s hair instead, loosening a few of the sweaty tangles that had gathered at Djarin’s temples. 
“Still with me, Djar’ika?” Boba added. The endearment fell off his tongue just as easily as the other scraps of mando’a had. 
Djarin repeated the grumbling sound. 
He’s not sitting up on his own, Boba thought. Most of Djarin’s weight was tipped against Boba’s side. Djarin hadn’t reached for Boba. He was clutching the edge of Boba’s work table instead. Djarin was trembling faintly. 
That’s an easy enough fix. Djarin wasn’t back with Boba, not yet. Boba didn’t mind. Djarin could take his time – he’d certainly earned a bit of a rest. 
I had to flog him senseless to get him there, Boba thought, settling himself more firmly in his own seat so that he could support Djarin without having to worry about Djarin toppling over, moving his fingers through Djarin’s hair again, since Djarin seemed to like the touch, but that’s alright. It’s – it’s been a while since I’ve gotten the chance to work someone over like that. 
Boba’s own blood was still singing. The sounds Djarin had made – the ones he’d kept behind his teeth and the ones he’d given up, the ones that had been torn out of him – echoed somewhere in the bottom of Boba’s chest. 
Yeah, he’s earned some time to rest. 
“Udesii,” Boba murmured, shifting so that Djarin’s forehead was pressed against Boba’s shoulder. He tugged a few curls at the nape of Djarin’s neck and was rewarded with a soft groan. “Gar morut’yc.” 
The words were easy to reach. Boba hadn’t bothered with this much mando’a in years and years, but the words were there waiting when Boba reached for them. 
“Gar morut’yc,” he repeated. Djarin hummed in agreement. He was huddled against Boba’s side like he thought that Boba would shove Djarin away at any second, like a krayt dragon curled up around a pearl. Skin-hunger like this was common enough after a heavy session, but something about the way that Djarin was hiding his face against Boba’s body – about the way that he clearly wanted to touch Boba, but was clutching at the table instead, made Boba want to frown. 
He carefully set that feeling aside and kept the frown out of his voice. Djarin’d be sensitive, like this; Boba didn’t want him to think that he’d been anything but good. 
He told me that no one had touched him in more than a year, Boba remembered, wanting to wince. Another surprise – Boba wasn’t sure what clan Djarin came from, but the Mandalorians Boba’d grown up around had always been touching each other, clapping shoulders, ruffling hair, scruffing each other like anooba cubs. 
Another surprise. 
A surprise that Boba didn’t particularly like, either. 
This isn’t about me and what I like, though. Boba’d have time to parse his own thoughts and feelings about what had happened tonight later. Boba’d gotten what he needed – now it was time to make sure that Djarin got the same. 
Boba shifted again, settling Djarin more firmly against his side. They were pressed together now from shoulder to hip and hip to knee. The tremors in Djarin’s arms were starting to fade. 
“Gar morut’yc,” Boba said again. His mouth was full of salt. “N’tayli gar.” 
mando’a: Djar’ika: “Little Djarin.” Gar morut’yc: “You’re safe, you’re alright.” Kandosii: “Nice job, well done.” Gar moti jahaal’yc: “You stood well, you stood strong.” Kandosii: “Nice job, well done.” N’tayli gar: “I’ve got you.” Udesii: “Relax, take it easy, find respite.”
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