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avengerscompound · 2 years

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Plus Two - Chapter 16

Plus Two: A Pepperony Fanfic

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS //

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Word Count: 2210

Pairing: Pepper Potts x Tony Stark x F!Reader

Warnings: smut (MFF bisexual threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: Tony Stark- Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist, Pepper Potts, his long-serving and overworked assistant, and you, their on-again/off-again girlfriend and lead singer of the hit band, Arctic Fire. Three very different people navigate a world of fame, addiction, betrayal, and superheroes, while they move from having a plus one to a plus two.

Chapter 16

It was strange how quickly something that was so out of the ordinary could start feeling normal. As much as it pained you, polyamory wasn’t the norm, and every new person you, Pepper, and Tony outed yourselves to, involved the same speech about how it had happened, and how it fits for the three of you, and that you all hoped that if they couldn’t understand, they could at least accept it. It was weird, but it became normal for all of you to brace for the question and you all had your well-rehearsed parts ready to go at a moment’s notice.

As the world constantly reminded you all, polyamory wasn’t normal, and yet, each day the three of you lived it. You shared meals, laughter, affection, and sex. It didn’t matter that only ten percent of Americans were in polyamorous relationships and that many of those weren’t out, it only mattered that you were one of those ten percent and for you, Pepper, and Tony, who had always struggled so hard to keep a relationship together, it worked.

Besides, as far as the percentage game went, ten percent was pretty good odds. Only 8% of fortune 500 companies had women CEOs. And here was Pepper Potts in charge of one of the most successful fortune 500 companies in the world. Only 0.0086% of the population of the world was considered famous, and there were two bonafide celebrities in your household. Of musicians in the world, 0.000002% were considered successful, and yet here you were with a series of triple-platinum albums and a whole shelf full of music awards. As for how many Iron Men there were, well, so far there was one and you were dating him.

So ten percent was good. You could handle that. It was practically mundane.

After the funeral the three of you had come back and resumed life, this time, rather than only existing in the sex bubble, you were venturing out into the world more. Returning to the very abnormal versions of normal you had. Pepper went back to running Stark Industries. Not that she had stopped running it before, but now she was going in more for board meetings and investor meetings and meetings with management. You started making music again. With your bandmates around the world, there were a lot of conference calls and sending home-recordings back and forth along with emails containing lyrics and sheet music. You knew you’d have to tour again sometime, but for now, you were happy with how things were. Especially given that Tony was mostly home. Sure, he still provided tech and advice to the Avengers, and technically he was on backup, but over the six months between the death of his aunt and now, he’d never been called in. So there had been a lot of times where he’d come out onto the patio while you were writing to annoy you, and you’d go down to his lab while he was tinkering with his suits to annoy him. You liked this version of normal and it was coming out in your music.

The lyrics were all about love and intimacy. About finding a home and a place in the world that was uniquely yours.

Talk with me, While away your time, Tell me everything you need.

Be with me, Do not hesitate, We can stay this way.

Because it feels like home, It feels like home, To me.

“I think we should come out publicly,” Tony said. You were curled into his side, your eyes starting to feel heavy thanks to the hot chocolate and the room that was probably five degrees warmer than it should be. Pepper had her head in his lap. He’d been curling his fingers in her red hair, and when he spoke she startled as if she’d been right on the cusp of sleep.

“Huh, what?” she gasped.

“Sorry,” Tony said, sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were asleep.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, wiping her mouth. “What did you say?”

“I said I want to go out publicly,” he said. “As a throuple… triad… whatever we are.”

“What?” you asked. “Like a statement. I did write a song about the three of us fucking.”

“You did what?” Pepper yelped, turning on you with her eyes wide.

“It’s subtle. No one will know. Well… they might if we make a statement,” you said with a shrug.

“Okay, well, you’re never releasing that song,” she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

“Why not? It’s very complimentary,” you argued.

Tony started giggling between you and he wrapped his arms around both yours and Pepper’s waists. “Ladies. Ladies. No fighting. Not over little old me.”

“No one is fighting over you, Tony,” Pepper deadpanned. “What do you want to do though? Make a statement that says we’re all seeing each other?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Fuck no. But we could either go somewhere together. A gala or premier. Or… we could have the paps catch us together.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow and wrinkled her nose. “You want to release a sex tape?”

You and Tony both burst out laughing and you fell back in the chair. “Oh my god. We could make so much money! Imagine how many people would want to see Iron Man being double-teamed. We could do one where we have the strap one,” you cackled.

Tony laughed harder and gripped your knee. “You’re liking this too much.”

“And we definitely do not need that kind of money,” Pepper scolded. “Cut it out, you bad girl.”

“All I meant,” Tony said, trying and failing to get his laughter under control. “Was that we go out for brunch say… or go for a run in the park? You know they’re always tailing us in the park. And while we’re out, we hold hands and kiss each other. It would be pretty hard to argue that we are cheating on each other or some shit if we’re all making out in the park together.”

“Those cheating rumors have already started again, by the way,” you said. “Of course, it’s Tony cheating on you with me. No one has mentioned the fact you and I have been spotted out together a bunch. Fucking Bugle.”

Pepper reached over and rubbed your thigh. “We’re clearly not walking beside each other suggestively enough the way we do with Tony.”

You laughed. “Right? When I walk around with Tony I’m always just humping his leg like a dog.”

Pepper laughed and shook her head. “If we do this, we’re gonna hear about it?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony said. “What are they gonna do? Take Iron Man away from me? Take away our money? I don’t think so. I’m not Cap. I don’t have some image I’m supposed to protect. And really if I got away with everything I did back in the day and they can’t accept me now I’m in love and happy…”

“You’re in love?” you asked him.

“Uh… what?” Tony asked. “What did I say?”

“You said you were in love, Tony,” you said.

He ran his hand through the back of his hair. “I’ve said I loved you both before.”

“I know,” you said. “But you said you loved me when we were friends. I knew you were in love with Pepper. And I kind of knew it was true for me too, but that’s the first time you’ve said that about us both.”

Tony dropped his eyes and tapped his fingers on the edge of the couch in a random pattern. “I know I’m not good with being vulnerable,” he said. “But yes. Okay? I am in love with both of you, and honestly, I might have been since the start.”

“Aww… Tony…” you cooed and peppered kisses on his cheek. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah, I know, you’ve said,” he said.

“Okay, love birds,” Pepper interjected. “I vote yes. I think it’s going to make my life infinitely harder for a while because all I’ll be fielding are questions about the nature of our relationship, but I’d rather people know we were together than continue to look like the woman who turns a blind eye to her husband cheating on her.”

Tony took Pepper’s hand, frowning as he looked down at it. “I’m sorry Pepper.”

“Sorry for what?” she asked. “You’re not actually cheating on me. You’ve never cheated on me. We’re not even in an open relationship. It’s just us together.”

A smile spread over Tony’s face as Pepper spoke. “So does is it majority win or does it have to be all in all none?”

“I’d say it has to be all in,” you said, crossing one leg over the other. “But lucky for you, I’m all in, baby. Let’s out ourselves.”

“How do you want to do it? An event or just being sloppy with the paps?” Tony asked.

“I could go either way, though an event is more like work. But on the other hand, I’m not a big lover of PDA. It would feel like I was acting,” she said. “And I’m not good at that either.”

“I want to be messy,” you said. “Let’s get a hotel room somewhere and make sure the paps all know we’re staying there and then make out on the balcony.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah. I like it. Let’s do that. Plus it would be a weird excuse for a holiday and I’m all for those. Where do you want to go?”

“Mmm somewhere warm,” you said. “What about Australia. The Australian paps are fucking feral beasts. They are so thirsty for a big scoop.”

“Okay, Australian holiday. Should be good,” Tony agreed, pulling out his tablet and turning it on. “When should we go?”

Pepper took the tablet from Tony and put it aside. “Let’s do that later. I think now we should celebrate this big decision.”

Tony put his arm around both of you and grinned. “Oh, I do like the sound of that.”

He slid his hands up to cradle both yours and Pepper’s jaw, first pulling Pepper into a tender and heated kiss, and then switching to you. When you pulled back you and Pepper leaned over Tony and kissed passionately.

Tony pushed up your sleep shirt and sucked on the side of your breast. You moaned into Pepper’s lips and he turned and did the same to Pepper.

Pepper pulled back from you and pulled Tony back against her. He let her guide him where she wanted until he was lying on his back on the couch. She stripped naked quickly as you pulled down Tony’s sweatpants.

You kneeled on the floor beside them and began sucking on the head of his cock. You were teasing about it, flicking your tongue over the slit and nipping at the sensitive spot under the head. He groaned and wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close to him. His hand slipped between your legs and began to finger your clit. You hummed and started to take him deeper into your throat. Pepper straddled his face and as his fingers moved in small circles over your clit, he began lapping at her cunt.

Your arousal grew and your pussy started to drip. Tony drew out your fluids with his fingers and used them to slick over your clit. His cock throbbed in your mouth and each time you dropped your head down and felt him press into your throat, he’d groan and arch his back like he was trying to feel more. Pepper moaned softly as she rocked her hips on his face.

Your body buzzed and tingled, and you got up and pushed off your pants and straddled his lap, sinking onto his cock. You moaned as he filled you, and Pepper reached forward and wrapped her hand around the back of your neck, and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

The two of you rode him, you bouncing on his cock, as Pepper rocked against his face. You and Pepper ran your hands over each other as you kissed, massaging each other’s tits and running your fingers back into each other’s hair. Pepper brought her fingers to your clit and rubbed it in tight circles as you rode Tony’s cock.

Pleasure bubbled up inside you, seeping out through you like spilled molasses. Your skin prickled and in the heat of the room, sweat began to bead on your skin. Pepper’s orgasm hit first and she cried out as she released on Tony’s face. It made Tony groan and buck up into you erratically. That was all it took. You threw your head back and cried out as your orgasm shuddered through you.

Tony mewled and his hips jerked erratically, and with a hard thrust, he came, spilling inside you.

You hummed and both you and Pepper slithered off him. Tony wiped his mouth and sat up breathing heavily. “You’re both gonna kill me with sex one day,” he said. “And man, what a way to go.”

You laughed and got up and stretched. “Gonna go clean up, who wants to join me?”

They both got up with you. You knew they would. There was always the option for shower sex after all.

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #tony stark #pepper potts #tony stark x reader #pepper potts x reader #pepper potts x tony stark #pepper potts x tony stark x reader #pepperony #pepperony x reader #iron man #iron man fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #pregnancy #plus two

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goldtracing · 3 years

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APH Austria Headcanons – Part II

And because I said that the former post was only Part I, here is Part II. I just have so many ideas for this guy. Part I

Roderich is Catholic, and while he doesn’t go to mass every Sunday as he used to, he does attend church on the most important Catholic holiday and does take them very seriously. One can argue with him on the merits of this branch of Christianity, point out the horrible history and the corruption. He would counterargue that it does have its virtues, and that in actuality everybody’s hands are stained with sins so any holier-than-thou schtick is one dripping with hypocrisy.

One aspect of Catholicism that he holds onto very tightly is the confession. He goes to confess at least twice a year and finds the practise extremely cathartic. Back in the day, it was a job the Archbishop of Salzburg did, and since the role was very sought after, there was a bit of an upheaval when Roderich dismissed said Archbishop from that role.

Austria considers tradition to be very important. Besides being fun, it is an anchor to him in times of strife, pillars of his identity that he can rely on.

Adding on to that, there are many moments where he is nostalgic about his times as an imperial powerhouse. He misses the Habsburgs, the decades where the future seemed so promising.

Speaking of the past, I see Roderich being something of a pathologist back in the day. In the 18th century, the Habsburgs degreed that all corpses that showed abnormalities by dissected and the “abnormal material” be conserved for further study. As such, he would be very familiar with the symptoms of various maladies.

Yet, in opposition to Gilbert, he is and was far more interested in mental illness that infections and disabilities. Not only because of Sigmund Freud, but also because one of the earliest hospitals for the mentally ill was founded in Vienna. He can recount the whole shocking history of how doctors tried to apply the theory of the four humours onto mental disorders. He won’t shy away from all the gory details since he isn’t a squeamish person in that sense.

Generally, his humour is of the very dark sort as well as being subtle, offensive and vulgar, yet with tact. This is also because he has a very lax attitude towards death. This comes to the horror of many other nations, especially China, who regards jokes about death as tasteless.

While he might not have any problem touching and dissecting bodies, he insists on maintaining a clean environment. Spring cleaning is taken very seriously, and there is always at least on window “on kip” in whatever room he is in, even in winter.

Is prideful to a fault. Tends to uphold everything that is his and thus Austrian and can be quite condescending towards other personifications. As a rule of thumb, he leads a love-hate relationship with the rest of the world

Can speak multiple languages besides his native German – Latin, Greek and Serbian fluently. His French, Italian and English are all very good, yet with the former two he tends to mix up the articles since they are different than those in German. As for the latter – he has a proclivity for making context mistakes that make Arthur want to ram his head through a wall and he has a noticeable accent. His Spanish is rusty and when it comes to Turkish he can hold a somewhat decent conversation, yet it doesn’t go further than that.

It comes as a given that he has a musical talent. The piano and the violin are obvious, and he is perfect in both of them. Yet he actually prefers the accordion to the former two instruments. The accordion is more firmly rooted in his culture than the other two. Is also rather good with the zither.

He hates Prussia, end of the story. They both are wildly different in many aspects, and their opposing belief systems lead them to clash nearly every single time they have to spend time together. Prussia is one of the few people that Roderich will be directly hostile towards. Austria is bound to sneer “Piefke” and Prussia “Schuchtenscheißer” or “Ösi” a few times in any conversation they hold.

Germany is ok-ish in Roderich’s eyes. They are neighbours, so there is naturally a bit of hostility between them. Roderich will sometimes snap that cars are the only thing that Ludwig can do well, while Ludwig will snap back that Roderich is old-fashioned and stuck-up and fake-friendly. Yet they can talk to each other.

Austria loves Feliciano and hates him simultaneously. They are on the same wavelength in aspects such as art and fashion and sometimes he really like Italy’s playful nature. Other times all the historical issues crop up – Italy’s fickle loyalties, the latter stealing South Tyrol from him and a lot more.

He has relatively good ties with Hungry. They were married and it wasn’t a completely unhappy marriage on both their parts. In terms of personality, they compliment each other in many categories and have frequently helped one another in the past.

#APH Austria #my headcanons #hetalia #historical hetalia #hetalia headcanons

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mimibtsghost7 · 3 years

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Fuck you and all your little brain washed rats sending people hate because you cant take responsibility for your actions!! But go on stay silent like you always do, pretend its nothing of your business, keep being a fetishizing racist delulu like you love to be while pretending to be the best blog on tumblr!!!

NOT like anyone will see this but YOU will so LET’S GOOO!!!~~

TW: mental health and more (if you feel like this can trigger you, pls don’t read this, breathe in and out and listen to this HERE and remember I love you), loads of tea and Mimi NOT being a friendly and kind ghost.

funny enough:

I never pretended of said I was the best blog. But I guess the fact that you say it might be because you heard it frequently? Thanks for thinking so^^

I sent hate to no one and u r the one sending it to me rn ^^ In my whole 4 year journey on Tumblr I received a lot of love but also worse hate that you can imagine. Yes you are saying now you are receiving hate ... funny how it’s bad when It’s addressed to you but when it’s at me and my dear followers it is not. Still, I never told anyone to go hate on you. You were the idiot that tagged my old blog and as soon as my blog was gone pple searched me and found out you were the reason behind this. But as you keep hating on me. Let me tell you I am kind but don’t mistake that for me being a coward.

I am not into insulting others and I don’t care much if you insult me. BUT don’t YOU DARE touch my dear followers. Insulting ain’t hard. Let me try: The only rat here is you hiding in your hole as an anon. I went and compared your writing with this ask and previous hate asks. And it was you~ Good for you~ the sewers smell just like your filthy mouth spilling sh*t left and right. So on brand. However, I know who you are @hobisbeautifulass Hi ^^

Me racist? HAHAHAHAH you truly know NOTHING about me nor my ex-blog’s message. It was a place when you were welcomed no matter your skin color, religion, gender ... proof? well it got deleted thanks to you. but ask around this time and search for who reblogged my posts as they were always the top of the tags (even if I don’t trust how bad you are at research). I supported the BLM movement and still do and will always do but I did so veeery early without anyone telling me. Not for the notes but because of my humanity. I wished my dear followers’ happy holidays no matter their religions. And never cared about those things. Why judge someone on something based on religion or how they were born. As for the LGBTQ+ community, I was always and will always be there for love being love. I talked about mental health and opened venting nights. I helped left and right and when I was receiving hate because of people like you spitting lies about me. What did I do? Did I go online and called people bad? No. I looked back at myself and asked myself if I did anything wrong. I tried to educate myself and apologized sincerely when I had to. I read books and watched documentaries to learn how to become a better human. AND never repeated a mistake twice. You tend to forget that our cultures are different and sometimes you grow up to see some things as normal when they are not. This is not an excuse tho, so I always believed that I was lacking and if someone had something to say against me, there is a chance they are right and just in case I should reflect on myself. But for your case it was pure nonsense. ME? a stalker? how can I stalk when I have social anxiety and at that time couldn’t even leave my room? I am even afraid of taking public transportations and just the other days I was crying from joy when I took a taxi alone. they said I was in Japan stalking Jimin and Jungkook and took a pic when I was NEVER EVER was on that land. You put me on the same list as people who bought info about BTS’ flights to be on the same plane as them? I was stalked before and let me tell you it ain’t cute and fun. I am even scared of the idea of being followed. that’s why I never shared openly my age, country, or anything about me on my blog. that’s why I have no personal social media to this day and that’s why making my ex-blog was some sort of miracle in my life.

Silent? yes I was silent when I received hate and didn’t even vent to my dear followers or pointed fingers. Why? because I thought as my day was hell I shouldn’t make anyone’s day worse. I was worried about my dear followers with mental illnesses being triggered. I tried to take my life so many times I lost count but I still came here and smiled. It was my safe place and you took it away. Yet, I should pity you? You hated on me first for no reason and you know it deep inside but right now you are trying to convince yourself that you are the angel and feel no guilt. Compared to you. I pointed fingers at no one and didn’t name you when my blog was gone. Why? because compared to you, I thought you will not be able to manage the hate and what was done .. I didn’t want you to suffer the same way I did when you are the one who made me suffer the most the past couple of days. But the kind Mimi is someone you will never remember because you dared touch the friends I love and calling them names. I don’t mind people insulting me but don’t you dare touch my people. I know myself best. My dear friends/followers know me best. I thought ... I could leave without this mess but you keep barking in my ask box and it’s annoying. I left this backup account just to talk to my friends and yet you are here to ruin things again? I should stop being kind to the ones who deserve non of it. I ignored you when I had so many followers and you went silent too because you were scared of me. But as soon as I lost my blog because of you, you went, edited and then reblogged that stalker post. How can I be a stalker? do you even know the definition of a stalker? do you even know shame? well .. I don’t think so.. you said it yourself. You are NOT ashamed (and you reblogged that so many time lol).

Death threats? this is no competition but thanks to people like you I have been there and wish no one to be there not even you. The only difference is that you almost killed me for real. You were not the sole reason? Great job walking away from you beloved word: RESPONSIBILITY. And I didn’t get just anon hate, I got literal tagging by people like you, DMs, and people pointing guns at me. That’s why I didn’t mention you. I was worried about the one who took away what I worked for for 4 YEARS. I was more sad and concerned about the ARMY fandom here. Do you know how many rely on my updates? do you know how many people said I helped them? do you know any of that? do you think 200k people were “rats”? Do you think if I did and say wrong thing I will not be questioned by those people. I always told my dear followers: “friends, if I do or say anything wrong or share anything that hurts anyone please tell me. I am willing to learn from everyone.” But what did you know? what did you do? Well .. guess you love notes? As the most notes you ever got and the most attention was when talking about me?

Love how you talk about fetishing when my blog was what people call “family friendly”. I also like BTS. I love them for their music, talent, personalities and the happiness they give me. I also enjoy BTS’ bond and love their interactions. I posted content of all kinds of interactions JM X JK, JK X V, V X JIN, JIN X SG, SG X JH, JH X RM, RM X JM ... If you are calling this fetishing asian men just because I scream over BTS as a fan and love their bonb. Then aren’t you against the idea of being an ARMY? I was a clear OT7 and you were told that you weren’t right:

Then you answered this without even explaining the nonsense about me:

idk .. I am trying to find sense in your nonsense so .. wait wait let me look at the definition of fetishism first.

Fetishism /ˈfɛtɪʃɪz(ə)m/ noun: a form of sexual behavior in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, activity, part of the body, etc.

Then .. judging from your URL alone hmmm ... cute. I won’t even talk about the SMUT you write that is full of kinks and fetishism. Well I have no problem with fan fiction but the irony you spit is out of this world.

Also, I made money out of mimibtsghost? HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH no lil one. I worked day and night for FREE. At some point when BT21 just came out and there were no products on AMAZON or anywhere but S.Korea, someone reached out to me to offer 20% off or something for my dear followers. When they asked what I wanted I said what about international giveaways for my dear followers. Basically, made gifs, found content, updates, analysis, edits, and so on for free. Again, w-wait .. Aren’t you the one asking for commissions? Well .. It’s not wrong. But again THE irony.

So, I went to see that post you made about me with “PROOF” and it was just another person who was salty as I got them blocked I can’t even recall who they were but oh well. Their arguments according to YOU and many should be taken as FACTS just because they said them? You said HERE that your first comeback was MOST:7 that came in just last year (2020) SO what the hell do YOU know about what happened years before you came when all the proof you pointed at where baseless without any backing?

Let’s see this so wise person you used to delete my blog and what I have done ^^

The gifs: There is a story to this. The first week I came to Tumblr, It was my first time on this site and the first time I share anything. I shared some content and my analysis had a lot of notes for a small creator that started just a week ago. But I made a mistake, I found a gif and posted it while crediting the gif maker. At the time I had NO idea it was wrong. I logged off and after 5 hours I log in and there was a WAR for that ONE gif. The big blog had me blocked and her friend was telling me to take it off. As soon as the person told me I did IMMEDIATELY and apologized againa and again and told them to tell the original gif maker to deblock me as I want to apologize directly and that they can block me after that. They did and I apologized but they just kept insulting me. Of course it was MY mistake and that’s why I apologized. But for them. for a mere gif (yes I say a mere gif because I made so many gifs and they were used on all platforms but I never thought it was necessary to hate that much on someone like they did to me). That blog was big and had big blog mutuals. Thanks to that, I became someone you do NOT become mutuals with but block and never reblog content from. Without any big mutuals. Without any shoutouts. Only my love for BTS, my dear followers’ support and my hard work.. My blog, became bigger and FAST (I got 10k in less than 6 months after I started) and that brought loads of jealousy and thus more rumors. Even if, I apologized and since then made my own gifs. And I made SO many gifsets that I can’t remember how many there were. What I can recall is at some point I made them daily and many times a day.

Ships Jikook? I posted content of ALL the members interactions. I was here at a time where Jikook stans and Taekook stans where always fighting. BUT I posted about both and even made so many posts to encourage loving all the members and all the interactions. I also used the tags solely used for shipping with other big tags to show that BTS’ interactions are all important and their bond is beutiful. That our fandom shouldn’t hate on a member just because they are not part of a ship we like. And wait .. even if I shipped Jikook? I got called ALL those names by someone who ship the members with readers and write sexual scenes? Like, wait ... I am truly confused. Like, write fanfic and do all you want as long as you hurt no one I guess but why am I getting hurt for doing non of it? Like according to you, the person you should be cancelling is yourself?! I am also not into cancel culture like you so hahah whatever.

Posted stalker pics: well wow the story changes each time. Next thing you will hear that I was the one holding a camera for a member in a Vlive lol. Let me teach you about this update thing I was doing. I follow accounts I trust and that’s how we get info circulating fast. I always do reasearch but sometimes mistakes are made. For example when lately people shared pictures of BTS leaving their virtual concerts and schedules. There was a watermark of a news outlet. Normally we trust those but only later we realized that those people stalked BTS. You clearly can’t know it all. But I still didn’t share many pics related to many events (I will not name those as pple can search them even now because some pple never deleted those). And all big accounts shared many pics then deleted later. This happens all the time but it happened like ONCE for me. However, I am called a stalker for that?

When Jonghyun passed away ... I don’t even wanna recall that night as the memories just ... when that happened I posted about it and send my condolescences. that post had over 10k notes and was at the top the tag. Why did I do that? I was devastated. Yes, many were but I will talk about me rn: I was suicidal the days before that and one of the songs that I listened to when I was broken where by him. I has been in the kpop world since 2006. And learned about his group since their debut with ‘Replay’. I was never a stan but I still knew of many groups and listened to all the songs I liked. I was very sad when he was gone and ANGRY mostly. Why is this angel leaving? Why is someone like me still here? Why did I not leave instead of him? How much did he suffer? And in the midst I posted a post from twitter that stated how agencies usually put down pple with mental illiness and hide it in the industry. Yes, that was important but NOT at that time. I shouldn’t have posted that and I realized after 5 min of doing so that it was WRONG. So I deleted it FAST but it kept being reblogged and I kept getting hate and people telling me: “Go kill yourself”... the sad part is that I almost did as my answer was “true ... why am I still here?” I apologized and logged off then to this day won’t forget crying at 3 AM while walking outside next to my dad. I was outside as I couldn’t breathe anymore and the idea of seeing the walls of my room was hell. I cried and cried and the teary eyes that my father looked at me with are something I am ashamed of to this day. To add one more thing while I am spilling the beans. I hate learning about someone dying. My grandma passed away sometime before that and it was so shocking to me. and some people came and told me when I was mourning her: Go follow that bitch of grandmother of yours. And for what? At that moment I didn’t think I would live to see the next year but I went to therapy and took medecine that was hurting and made me shake all day just to turn somewhat sane. No one knew tho ... I smiled all day and cried all night.. Even on the blog I fought no one of the ones who hated me. I just blocked them but even that was an insult to them?

Again, you said no one should defend me. Yet, you were ready to fight whoever touched anyone around you. What about changing your URL to beautifulassirony

Also THE hypocrisy. If you are sorry then why are you answering an ask of someone isulting someone you want to apologize to? Just make a post wher you apologize or ignore it from the start?

One more thing but surely not the last. You said you were good with research which you are NOT. So, let me show you what an OG detective ARMY can do. But first, as I was scrolling I saw some of your “work” (let’s not even talk about those gifs) and I am just giving my point of view here: I hate how you painted Namjoon as this horny-idiotic-make-dog. Like I get it it’s a fanfic or Namjoon as a dad but ... Namjoon is such a smart man who is very respectful and ofc he is a human with needs like many but what the hell is this way of portraying a character? Also a character is not cool, amazing, and a strong woman just because they curse and belittle their partner.

Oh well, only you kept reblogging that as it show 36 reblogs when only 33 as still there when I looked and out of those 13 reblogs are yours? (you might have reblogged it more) but again some people might have liked ... people have different taste ... so ... whatever.

Let’s continue, shall we ^^. You said you were the victim here when I was the one getting robbed right? How can I believe someone who reblogged the post below and was proud calling themselves an abomination or how the Oxford dictionary defines it: a thing that causes disgust or loathing. For once you weren’t wrong.

What can you expect from someone who has the “I am not like others” kinda mentality while stating relatable things that everyone goes through?

This is getting pretty long. So to sum this up. You are now telling others that hate is NOt ok and that they should be ashamed of themselves when you yourself is not ashamed of hating on me?

I am not the type that sends anon hate. I might ignore some barking but the past days you came and bite me hard. I face the ones I have to face without fear. I know I am not the bad guy here and I don’t care much what you think about me. Even BTS got haters. This says a lot. BUT do NOT dare talk badely of my dear friends/followers. You said you do research well? Start by deleting the post below that was originally by ME from your blog ... oh how meticulous you are. From your baseless receipts to your twisted logic. Indeed people on the internet can say anything and it will be FACTS. You painted me as the devil and painted yourself as this researcher? What’s next you receiving a Phd in ‘pity me’ after your MBA in lies and irony? Whatever~

Whaaatever~ Karma will have upcoming talks with you. No need for you to apologize. I never cared about you and you only got attention using me. But I am not here anymore how will you get that blog running now? Are you gonna add me in a fanfic next? No need for you to send me my appearance fee when you do so~ And no need for you to apologize to me just apologize to you conscience if you have any left. As for me @hobisbeautifulass you are just someone I will forget soon anyway~~

And because according to what you said HERE when you described the things you hate about people and I thought that was VERY close to how you treated me. Thus, you might really not stand yourself rn.

Do.Not.Worry. BTS are starting the Love Myself campaign again and just in time for you to jump in (you are good at jumping to conclusions about me so I won’t worry about you). I know you don’t like me or my friends but be sure to love yourself at least ^^

You are a Hobi stan? Then learn from Hobi to share some sunshine not bring the storm. Have a good day~

#Anonymous #hobisbeautifulass #don't mind the typos as I wrote this in one go #just because I am someone who do not punch back when someone hit me do not mean I will stand nicely when you touch my people #anyway~ bye~#mimibtsghost

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the-ace-with-spades · 3 years

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(1/6) the best is yet to be

five times someone realized Ronan and Adam were basically married and one time they actually were

Part 2 │ Part 3 │ Part 4 │ Part 5 │ Part 6

Read it on ao3

Gansey did not expect anything to change in their group dynamic when Ronan and Adam admitted they were in a relationship — not because he thought it wasn't a big deal, but because Adam and Ronan did not seem like the type of a couple who was very affectionate in public, simple due to their exteriorly harsh personalities. He was sure that, with time, they were going to be whispering sweet nothings and devouring any small touches they could give each other behind closed doors, but he never hoped to be a witness to any of it.

Although Gansey loved them dearly, Ronan and Adam were both heavily experienced by life and for them, expressing emotions was greatly limited to those of negative nature. They were getting better, both of them, and the progress of the last year was evident but Gansey did not expect them to get rid of those habits easily.

Gansey, as he often is, was wrong.

Now that they search for Glendower was forgotten, they all had more time and they all spent it differently. Gansey himself was having a bit of a mid-life crisis — or after second death crisis — and was desperately searching for something else that could provide life-long interest and simultaneously be useful for a future degree in history as his mother expected that he would at least attend some kind of higher education.

Adam was doing things only Adam could do, which consisted of things mundane but exhausting. Working three jobs, interviewing for scholarships, preparing for exams, and helping Ronan with the Barns didn't leave him much freedom and he still managed to somehow fit his friends in between. Apparently, he was even also meeting up with the psychics at the Fox Way, although Blue didn’t know the details — she was also preparing for exams, helping her family with the business and working, so in between the sparse time she didn't spend with Gansey or Gansey and the others, she wasn't present for most of Adam's visits.

Out of all of them, Ronan had the most empty calendar. He hadn't dropped out of school yet but at this point, it was only a formality — his absence was so frequent and his grades so nonexistent that no one was deluding themselves, Ronan wasn't going to graduate. It meant that there would be days Gansey wouldn't see him at all while he stayed in the Barns, repairing anything the time consumed and making the place resemble the warm home it used to be.

It made Gansey feel incredibly lonely, more than usual, especially at night, when he was now the only person pacing around the Monmouth Manufacturing.

But there were days like the one now, and Adam would come for a study session that would slowly track off into a different territory and he would stay until his night shift was about to begin.

Another benefit of having Adam at the Monmouth was that Ronan had an almost abnormal gift of knowing when Adam was going to be there and therefore always showed that day too. He would mostly provide to be a distraction and more often than not he would still leave for the night, either to Adam's or to the Barns, Gansey never asked.

He figured that Ronan being there every time Adam showed up was in itself a public display of affection and the only kind Gansey would ever witness from the two.

He should have known something like that would happen sometime mid-evening but he purposefully ignored it.

Adam was sitting at the coffee table, his body curving on the hard floor, things scattered around him. He'd been sitting like that for an hour and there wasn't anything unusual about it.

Ronan, who had previously been in his room, blasting that awful thing he calls music, materialized behind the sofa an hour into the session when they were already slowly going off-topic. It confirmed Gansey's suspicions, as Ronan indeed had a sixth sense when it came to Parrish-related things. It was kind of funny, kind of heartwarming and kind of weird to observe this unusual sign of love from him.

Ronan did not stay behind the couch long, instead deciding to throw himself onto it, lying on his stomach. For the most part, he didn't say anything, not even a greeting Adam could reply to. Observing that, no one would have said, if they didn't know Ronan and Adam as well as Gansey, that they were a couple.

Adam didn't seem to mind much, still paying attention to his math homework and still giving Gansey glances from time to time, to show that he was still listening.

Ronan provided to be a distraction, but not to Adam — to Gansey. The further from studying they were, the more obvious it became how close Ronan's face was to Adam's neck.

Finally finished with his homework, Adam leaned back.

Gansey tried — really, really tried — not to stare but he was utmostly sure Ronan was nuzzling into Adam's neck. The touches could be easily mistaken for tiny little kisses scattered over Adam's freckled skin. It was a very strange sight, as it was simultaneously looking seductive, almost like tiny little kisses scattering over Adam's freckled skin, and disturbing in a way that made Gansey feel hot all over his body but it also made Ronan, who was slightly curled onto himself and hiding his nose in Adam's nape, look like an overgrown lap dog that was pawing its owner for attention.

Adam didn't react at first, and Gansey would say he didn't notice, but he also leaned further back, allowing Ronan's thumb to brush his shoulder blade.

This wasn't exactly outrageous but it was also enough that Gansey noticed. More wasn't allowed to show, but Adam and Ronan's affection wasn't exactly public in the sense that no stranger would call it affection.

Gansey wasn't a stranger so he could see the way Ronan's breathing calmed down and the way his eyes hovered closed a second or two longer. He almost looked sleepy, or peacefully content.

And then Adam had to get up.

And Gansey could see how Ronan's body sharpened within seconds, lazily turning onto his side and shaking off any easiness off his shoulders.

"You sure you don't want me to drive you?" Ronan asked, voice rough and lazy from not talking for so long.

Gansey's brain, at that moment, was showing him red flags — there was a way too much intimacy within this short period of time and this little question was another example of it. Ronan hadn't said anything for the duration of his stay on the couch. This was a conversation he hadn't been a part of.

The corner of Adam's lips quirked up, almost unnoticeably. He adjusted the strap of his bag, filled up with notebooks, textbooks, and his work uniform and there was something light about his posture.

"No, Lynch," he said. "Not today."

Gansey wished he could, just like that, offer Adam a ride, and not be placed under his questioning gaze and assessed for ulterior motives. Maybe it was a boyfriend privilege, or rather — a Ronan privilege, as this had been happening even when they weren't in a relationship.

"I will see you tomorrow in the library?" Adam asked, snapping Gansey out of the stupor.

"Yeah, and at lunch."

Adam waves at them, turning around.

"Hey, Parrish," Ronan spoke up. He waited for Adam to turn back to them before continuing.

Adam raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. "Huh?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Ronan asked. Adam gave him an empty look. "You suck."

And then Ronan turned his face, his jaw slightly up so that his side was directed at Adam. He tapped his cheek with one finger, brows creased, and waited.

Adam rolled his eyes but his expression was unbelievably fond. Gansey stared.

Adam took a step back to the sofa. Gansey stared more.

Before Gansey could even register what was happening, Adam leaned down over Ronan's sprawled body and kisses his cheek, an inch away from his chin, so long and so sweet that Gansey's mouth opened as he gaped. It was casual but looking weirdly domestic — it reminded Gansey of early childhood and the way his parents would often kiss in the doorframe, whenever one of them was leaving for work, or grocery shopping, or dentist appointment, or to pick up the kids from school.

Ronan's hand searched for Adam's and they met in a soft squeeze.

"What, no tongue?" Ronan asked, with a face that could easily be synonymous with the phrase the cat that got the cream.

"Screw you," Adam said, a tiny smile present over his reddened face.

Ronan's hand gave him a barely-there squeeze again.

Gansey couldn't tell if this was something normal for them or something Ronan played up to tease him and Adam simply indulged. It seemed too smooth and too habitual to be something done on the spot, especially with the level of softness they both displayed — it was almost as if Gansey wasn't in the room with them, silently observing everything; he didn't feel teased, he felt absent.

Ronan was usually the one that walked Adam to his car or took Adam home — Gansey hadn't seen them saying goodbye yet and quite frankly, he didn't think they would be saying any kind of goodbye at all. This seemed like something only sappy couples would do and although he could easily call Ronan sentimental, there was a difference. Out of the two of them, he had never thought that Adam would ever allow himself to be this vulnerable — the intimacy felt like something earned too early, something that shouldn't be there for months or years.

(It was. Something normal for them, that is.)

#pynch #my writing #my fics #TRC #outsider pov #pynch fic #idk how to tag this #the raven cycle

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poptod · 4 years

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The Dead Heed No Lies (Ch. 1)

Description: Your job isn't as simple as it was when you first started out. Before you know it, you're hunting down an old God who happens to be a kleptomaniac with an overgrown sense of justice, alongside a 4,000 year old corpse who occasionally commits first degree murder.

Notes: This is an older fic that I’ve decided to continue! I called it the ‘untitled NatM 4 movie’ so think of it like that. I have plans for this and I really hope I do this storyline justice because I just love it so much. Word Count: 2.3k

Chapter One: Life’s a Sham

You loved your job. No, truly, you did - working in a museum was one thing you knew you actually wanted in life. Still, keeping this in mind, you hadn’t exactly signed up for needing to complete a reorganization of every file in the whole goddamn museum within the span of a week.

How long had your boss worked at the place anyway? High time to retire, you thought, heading to the A section. And just because you worked at night didn’t mean he could abuse you any way he liked.

Long night ahead of me, you thought, wishing that you’d bought some sort of energy drink before clocking in. Instead, you took a bite of the scone you’d gotten, looking through the first box.

Aaron Copland, American musician, died 1990. You wondered why that was in there, it was pretty recent after all.

Aaron Burr, you understood that.

Oh, they were out of order.

You fixed them.

Moving on…

A few (more than a few) minutes later, actual exhibits in the museum.

The giant Anubis statues guarding the King Ahkmenrah exhibit, those needed to be reordered. AH came before AN. Even though the Pharaoh exhibit had been moved away.

‘Anubis, an ancient Egyptian deity is connected mainly with the underworld, being the guardian of the underworld, referred to as Duat. He protects the dead, ushering them into the underworld, like a modern day reaper. He is also the god of embalming, and is believed to have invented the process. He has two forms - one, man like, with the head of a jackal, ears alert and sporting a red ribbon. His other form is that of a jackal or a black dog, the fur color a stark difference from the brown of jackals.’

Why am I reading this? I know this already. I have a goddamn major in Egyptian mythology.

American Civil War, that was in the right place.

Ancient Egypt.

Ancient Greece.

Anglo-Saxons, what was that doing there? Belonged in the British museum of history. Though, you supposed it didn’t hurt to have a little European history in America.

Anne of Cleves.

Austro-Hungarian Army.

Bayeaux Tapestry.

Boleyn, Anne.

Booth, Charles.

British Empire.

A wretchedly loud sound came from upstairs, like the stomping of hordes of elephants, all intent on making you crazy. You groaned to yourself, taking a deep steadying breath before continuing. Noises were none of your business. That was the security details’ issue. Though… looking to the side, you found a plastic knife, thinking it couldn’t hurt to be… armed? Could you consider a plastic knife being armed? You grabbed it anyway.

Calvin, John.

Caribbean History.

Castles of Britain, followed by Scotland and Wales.

Catherine of Aragorn.

Cattle Industry of America.

Charles the First.

China.

Civil War, America and English.

Cold War.

Crime and Punishment.

Danish Holocaust.

Dresden Bombing.

A loud honking of a horn, followed by a cacophony of party music. What the hell was going on up there?

You stood, fuming, the papers in your hands falling to the ground you were previously sitting on. Dealing with your lousy job was one thing, but having terrible upstairs neighbors at the same time? That was a whole other deal, and certainly not one you signed up for. With clenched fists still grasping the plastic knife you stormed towards the door leading to the stairs, which would take you into the break room, which in turn would lead to the lobby.

The trek up the stairs took a little bit out of you, but you continued, panting lightly and still fuming with anger. Before you could open the door to the main room though, McPhee entered the break room, laughing to himself.

“Sir?” You stopped, unclenching, hoping to not make a bad impression.

“Oh! Uh, you. What’s - what’s going on?” He asked, fumbling over his words like usual, playing with his hands in a dainty sort of way.

“It’s loud out there, I was wondering what was happening, sounds sort of…” you peeked out the half open door, trying to see what was out there, but he shut it far too fast to be considered ordinary. “Abnormal.”

“Yes, well, um, we’ve got uh, guests.”

“I know. From the British museum? Isn’t partying at midnight sort of… against the rules?” You asked cautiously, never knowing when he’d go full speech without knowing words on you.

“Right, it is, but -“

“McPHEE?!” A loud, female voice you didn’t recognize came from the other side of the door, loud pounding fists as its’ partner. “DEXTER STOLE THE KEYS AGAIN!” She panted for a moment, the pounding stopped. “I can’t find the bloody monkey and now he’s let out all the lions and they’re the only ones I don’t know what to do with.”

McPhee closed his eyes, letting out a quiet, tired breath. His facade, if you could call it that, and been broken, and it only left you more thoroughly confused than you had been before.

“McPhee, are you in there??”

“Yes,” he hissed, prolonging the ’s’.

“Doctor, could you explain what exactly is happening?” You asked, starting to not care that he was now having two separate conversations with you and the woman behind the door. Apparently, someone had stolen the keys, and you had live lions in the museum which was COMPLETELY against regulations, and why did McPhee know about it? The man you knew would never allow animals into the museum.

“Is there someone else in there?!” The woman from behind the door rapped on it three times, presumably with her knuckles from the sharp sound. In the distance, you heard someone scream ‘goal,’ followed by an uproar of cheers.

“Are you playing soccer in there?” You asked him incredulously, not caring if he was the curator. No matter his rank, no matter how much you needed a job, you couldn’t stand for such misuse of a museum.

“Uh -“

The door opened before he could explain himself, the woman from the British museum stumbling through. She left the door wide open as she entered, keys grasped tight in her hand, letting you see outside.

A whole lot of people in costumes were running about, throwing a party. How in the world had McPhee authorized that?

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said quickly, his eyes rapidly switching between the woman and you.

“Really? Cause it looks like you’re throwing a party in a museum,” you said, eyes wide and your anger fully returned.

“Who are you?” The British woman turned to you, still out of breath and looking just about as confused as you were.

“I’m the archivist, and you are holding an illegal party, you’re not supposed to invite people onto the premises after -“

“Honestly, would you shut up and let me show you? We’re not holding a… party, or whatever you called it, it’s… something else,” McPhee said cryptically, obviously trying to hold back information. You were miffed, crossing your arms, and doubtful at his intentions. Still, he was your boss, and you ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hadn’t failed you yet. With a deep breath you slowly nodded, allowing the two of them to lead you out the door.

A dinosaur.

Made of bones.

An actual, live dinosaur was staring at you, and it wanted to play fetch.

“That’s, uh, Rexy, I believe Larry called him. Harmless, mostly,” McPhee explained, waving to the dead yet animate animal. It only stopped for a moment to notice the three of you before continuing to chase after a toy car, one of its’ bones tied behind it. Your mouth fell open in disbelief, eyes wide with a general panic that you knew consciously wasn’t deserved, but you couldn’t convince yourself of it.

The whole room was filled with historical figures, ones whose statues you’d stared at for so long as a child, in wonder and curiosity but now you no longer wondered, you no longer imagined - they were there. Whether you wanted it or not, they were there, and they were loud.

“That’d be the Huns, apparently it took your old night guard for-ever to get them to get along,” the woman said, shaking her head.

“Who… what…” you mumbled, in a daze of disbelief.

“The Tablet of Ahkmenrah,” the woman said in a dramatic voice, using jazz hands to accentuate the wonder, but it didn’t do much for you. You’d heard of the tablet, sure, but it wasn’t at your museum anymore. It had been transported to the British museum -

Oh. It all clicked together, why you hadn’t heard the noise before, why McPhee knew what was happening, what the cause was.

Of course, that’d be if magic was real.

“Show me,” you said, not wanting to completely discount their story. The woman looked utterly delighted, while McPhee looked mostly uncomfortable, fiddling with the bottom of his jacket, an awkward smile on his face. Your eye twitched as the two of you made eye contact. In less than a moment, you turned back, following the woman towards wherever she was taking you.

“What’s your name anyway?” You asked as she led you through a crowd of historical figures.

“Tilly. Yours?”

“Uh -“ You were quickly interrupted by Tilly, who ran into Christopher Columbus.

This can’t be happening, you thought to yourself, as Tilly apologized in Italian to Columbus. Columbus, made fully of silver black stone or steel, bowed his head with a smile, returning to his soccer game with the Neanderthals, who seemed quite excitable in the presence of Tilly.

“I, uh, this is -“

“A lot? I know. My first night taking care of my museum was, well, a disaster,” she laughed to herself, rolling her eyes in an ‘oh, you,’ sort of way. “Anyway, here we are!”

An empty, closed off room. The room mean to house the Pharaoh, who had been delivered to the British - what was she thinking?

“Oh, right,” she mumbled to herself, rubbing her chin methodically as she stared at the ground. You waited patiently, admiring the art of the room.

“Guess we’ll have to find the King himself, should be somewhere,” she said, pulling you by the wrist down the hallway. A few more turns and you were at the balcony of the lobby, and at the halfway point of one of the stairs, on the platform, was a man dressed in ancient Egyptian garb, golden robes flowing in a way unlike any cloth you’d ever seen. After all, a whole lot of old cloth was like that, well made, thin and light yet warm.

She led you down the staircase, stopping behind the King, who was apparently manning a DJ station.

You felt yourself get lightheaded. It simply wasn’t possible. It couldn’t happen, not physically. It disobeyed everything you ever knew, every wish you convinced yourself wouldn’t be fulfilled.

“Oh, hello!” The King turned around, having just been alerted of your presence by Tilly tapping him on the back. His gaze first landed on her, then on you, tilting his head to the side with a curious smile.

“My friend here is, uh, new. Doesn’t believe that all this is real,” Tilly explained, and the King gave her a knowing look, bending down to pick up what you assumed was going to be the tablet.

“I’m just an archivist, I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” you said over the loud music, suddenly feeling quite like you were going to be sick. It felt too much like a fantastical story. You just read and studied fantastical stories. You didn’t star in them.

Yet, here you were, being handed a tablet made of pure gold.

“Uh… cool,” you breathed out, holding something in your hands that costed more than your life. As soon as opportunity let you, you gave it back to the King.

“I am Ahkmenrah,” his eyes flickered over to Tilly before coming back to you, resting soft and welcoming on yours. “What shall I call you?”

“Uh, (Y/N),” you stuttered, blinking furiously, as though it’d wake you up from a dream come true.

“Well, (Y/N), welcome to the party,” he laughed, turning back around to choose another song.

“I’m gonna sit down,” you whimpered, collapsing onto the steps behind you. Tilly looked like she was going to stop you, but decided against it, her hands coming back to her sides.

“I’ll let you catch your breath, okay?” She said with a smile, patting your back and leaving down the steps. You watched as she left, joining one of the Neanderthals in dancing.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” The King said, sitting down beside you. Despite being dressed in royal clothing, and speaking in a rather posh manner, he acted human. In that moment, you appreciated it.

“Yeah… why, um, how do you speak, uh, English?” You asked, turning to face him.

“I went to Cambridge. As a display,” he said, quickly correcting himself. You nodded, turning to face forward again.

“I’ve never been to England,” you murmured.

“It’s nice. Cold,” he joked, laughing to himself. You joined in weakly, still feeling overwhelmed. You continued staring forward for a while, letting yourself wonder if this was reality, or if you were hallucinating, but he must’ve noticed your silence as he cleared his throat.

“Would you like some water?”

“What?” You asked, turning to him, pulled out of your thoughtless trance. “No, I’m alright. It’s a lot.”

“I know. Imagine waking up in a coffin every night,” he joked, but it fell flat. It sounded flat out miserable.

“I’m going to go lie down,” you mumbled out, your voice cracking as you stood. He immediately stood with you, before pausing, hesitant to follow you.

“Uh - I hope you, uh, feel better!” He called to you as you left down the stairs. Before he was out of earshot you heard him curse to himself, but you didn’t care to think what he was so troubled with. Was that a little cruel? Sure. Selfish? Definitely, but you’d just found out that all the exhibits were going to come to life at night, and that magic definitely existed and all those fictional Egyptian Gods you’d studied for so long were most likely real.

You needed time to process… and maybe to scream a little.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek character #rami malek #male reader #Female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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keiratheraven · 4 years

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Bentley 8 Squad: Forgive and Heal

(I dedicated this post for this October AKA Mental Health Awareness month)

Every member of the Bentley 8 Squad has a dark past. All of them were problematic in their late teen or early young adult years.

Angela Pleasant (Bentley Queen). The miss “perfect”. She was a queen bee, cheerleader captain, honor student, and the girl squad leader. Her parents (Daniel and Mary-Sue Pleasant) put pressure on her to be the flawless daughter. She dedicated herself to become “The Perfect Princess”, but actually she thinks she’ll never be good enough. But she didn’t tell anyone about her battle with Bulimia, and no one believed her when she said there’s something wrong with her body. Everyone just said it’s just bad cramps, nothing more. Then she was diagnosed with Endometriosis at age 19. Although she was surrounded by many people, No one understands her pain and struggles. She's pursuing a master's degree in psychology from Sim State and has the ambition to become a psychologist, but her conditions keep restraining her.

Lilith Pleasant (Bentley Gothic). The black sheep of the family. Daniel and Mary-Sue favored Angela over her and abused her. They didn’t teach her to talk, walk, and use the toilet. They blamed her for everything. They liked to and slap and yell at her. She and Angela also hated each other and they’re always fighting every day. One time, Lilith ran away from their house because she couldn’t take it anymore. But eventually, the police found her and took her home. Since then, Daniel and Mary-Sue treat her better and Angela apologized to her, but later on, she was diagnosed with Type 1 Bipolar Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. She pours all her emotions into arts and music, then took the art major at Sim State because her dream is to become a rock singer and illustrator at once. But her fluctuating moods and her addiction to self-harm make her questioning the future.

Dustin Broke (Bentley Rogue). The delinquent criminal. The death of his father and the way he died made him mad at the world. He took over his late father’s position as the man of the house and eventually became a criminal to support his family. But his mother became an alcoholic who liked to beat him up and throw an open bottle of alcohol at him. He also has substance abuse after he became a drug dealer. One time when he was in his college dorm at Foxbury, he sent Gordon King into boiling rage after he told him that he spent the drug-selling money for gambling besides his tuition, and Gordon beat the shit out of him mindlessly. Because of his drug addiction, he was diagnosed with Mild Schizophrenia. Sometimes, he thinks he’s already wasted. He doesn’t get enough sleep every night and always looking at the ceiling while he lies on the bed.

Dirk Dreamer (Bentley Brain). The genius, nerdy guy. He always put a good effort to do well in his life. He was an honor student in high school. But the death of his mother really shocked him, and his grades took a downfall. Eventually, he rose to make his late mother proud and his grades back to the top. Although he was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at age 16, he keeps studying hard and he got a scholarship to Sims University Medical School. He became the assistant lecturer of Dr. Worthington. But, not everyone admires him. The son of Dr. Worthington named Dr. Mark punched him hard when he was alone after finishing a class. He said that Dirk will never take over his place as a devoted medical student in their faculty because his father kept comparing him with Dirk. Dirk keeps it to himself and he never told Dr. Worthington. Although he wants to become a psychiatrist to recover his beloved seven friends, He almost gave up as a doctor because of his illness. He muses about it every night when he's alone because he has to act as a strong, resilient young doctor in front of everyone.

Ophelia Nigmos (Bentley Flower). The mysterious and anxious girl who was desperate for a family. Her parents died when she was ten, and she was raised by an (allegedly) murderer aunt. She was haunted by many ghosts in her near-graveyard house, and Aunt Olive wasn’t the nicest person to be around with. She liked to scold her over the smallest things. She was cold and indifferent to her. One time, she humiliated Ophelia in front of her high school. Many people looked at them, but Ophelia couldn’t do anything to hide the shame. It caused her to have Anxiety and Paranoid personality disorders. Because of this, Ophelia is always anxious when she has to talk in front of many people, so she dreamed to become a novelist and songwriter. Eventually, Aunt Olive died when she was attending La Fiesta Tech. Ophelia mourned her death, but the wounds that Olive gave to her aren’t easy to forget.

Puck Summerdream (Bentley Fancy). The lucky fairy guy who was adopted by loving parents and also a kid sister. He didn’t want to get involved with Capp-Monty feuds in Veronaville and always be kind to them. He also had a crush on Hermia Capp, who became his girlfriend after they kissed for the first time at Puck’s party. But Mercutio Monty didn’t like it and got mad at them. The next day, he beat Puck's ass and took his money at the schoolyard. "That’s for stealing my girlfriend", he said. Puck hid his feelings and cried when he got home. Later on, he attended Academie Le Tour with Hermia. He took double majors: music and mathematics cause his dream is to become a classical musician. But, a tragedy struck. Hermia got shot in a mass shooting and died when she was buying heart medications for Puck. Puck fell into a Major Depression, and his heart condition got worse. Years have passed, but he couldn’t forget her despite many women want him.

Ripp Grunt (Bentley Clown). The tragic hyperactive joker. His mother died when he was eleven, and he was raised by the disciplined-yet-abusive General Buzz Grunt. Buzz liked to punch him when he didn’t obey him, and his brother, Tank Grunt, used him as his punching bag. One time, Tank threatened him to tell Buzz about Ripp’s bisexuality just because Tank didn’t like that Ripp partnered with his crush, Anna, at the school lab. But Ripp never showed his real feelings, except for Ophelia and Johnny. He smiled, joked, and laughed a lot, but actually, deep down he’s crying. He cries a lot and is also tortured by loneliness when he’s alone, but he keeps hiding his feelings by “The Funny Guy” mask. Despite the abuse of his father and brother, Ripp has the talent to entertain others by acting, singing, and play the guitar, so he took the drama major at Britechester. He suffers from ADHD, and gastritis caused by the longtime stress of the abuse. He misses his mom so much and always musing about her.

Johnny Smith (Bentley Leader). The carefree green guy. He was happy. Being the “normal” family in “abnormal” alien descent made him proud of his heritage. Despite having green skin, Johnny was so confident. He’s a sporty jock guy who likes to exercise, play soccer or basketball. He tried so hard to fit in at his high school and every surrounding. His neighbors see him no differently, except Buzz and Tank Grunt. He and Tank always fighting with each other in high school, but it didn’t affect Johnny’s happy life. Then, one night changed everything. When he was 18 and attending as a freshman at La Fiesta Tech, he got attacked by nine people and stabbed on his abdomen due to a hate crime against alien sims. When his blood ran down, the culprits threw him into the smelly and filthy dumpster. He fell into a coma, but luckily for him to have alien blood, he recovered very quickly and regained consciousness after five days. But since then, he has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. He got Minor Depression and having suicidal thoughts as well.

However, everything gets better when all of them get together. They’re having medical treatments for their mental and physical condition, counseling, and group therapies. They’re completing each other and have special bonds. Their stories might be different, but that’s what makes them united besides their love for Bentley cars. Together, they learn to be stronger, nicer, wiser and be a better person. They also want to recover from their past traumas through medications and strong friendships.

In the end, they learn to let go and forgive everything in their pasts. They realized it’s useless to blame themselves, and everything happens for a reason. Because the past doesn’t define who they are. Trauma might be hard, but eventually, they have to face them instead of avoiding them. That’s the meaning of growing up, healing the wounded souls, and moving on. They never stopped chasing their dreams despite their disabilities and keep supporting each other just like a real family.

And it was an early fall in Bridgeport, Sim City. At the anniversary of their establishment of Bentley 8 and Im-perfection community, they decided to go to a resort. They had some fun there. Angela made grilled salmon and cheesesteak for their lunch. Johnny and Dirk played soccer. Meanwhile, Ripp, Dustin, Ophelia, Lilith, and Puck roasted some marshmallows. When they are together, They’re creating memories because tomorrow is never guaranteed. But, no matter what happens tomorrow, they are grateful to still have each other.

"The past can't haunt me if I don't let it

Live and learn and never forget it

Whoa, gotta learn to let it go

Learn to let go, learn to let go

Learn to let go" - Kesha, 2017

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hellomynameisbisexual · 4 years

Text

It can be argued that the country has come a long way in LGBTQ visibility in the media.

According to GLAAD’s 2016 “Where We Are on TV” report, the number of regular LGBTQ characters counted on scripted primetime cable series increased from 84 to 92, and the number in original series on streaming services (i.e. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime) increased from 59 to 65. These increases are commendable, but the characters being portrayed do not represent the real diversity of the spectrum of sexuality.

Bisexual representation on broadcast television, though it has increased 10 percent since last year, is nowhere near the accuracy nor the expansiveness that it should be.

The Problems with Bisexual Representation

Television suffers from bisexual erasure — where the existence or legitimacy of a person’s bisexual identity is questioned or outright defied. Even in the very few characters that are seen in mainstream TV as having relations with two or more genders, most are not specifically identified as “bisexual.”

The word appears to be taboo, like saying it even once in the public realm of national television is going to make some Bloody Mary style ghost appear in the network executives’ offices, threatening to (gasp) not conform to their cut-and-dry notions of sexuality. We can’t have that — what about the children?

Bisexuality is expunged from television because it is not respected by the public as a valid identity. So many people misunderstand or misrepresent what it means. Bisexuality has been defined (though not strictly — the definition evolves) by activist Robyn Ochs as “the potential to be attracted — romantically and/or sexually — to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree.”

Sexuality is fluid and someone can find themselves at any point along the scale between hetero and homosexual, and it is, to the apparent shock of many, possible to find yourself attracted to multiple genders. Unfortunately, not everyone views bisexuality as a valid possibility.

The myths behind the orientation are abundant: Bisexuals can’t commit, are confused, are going through a phase or experimenting, are just greedy and can’t make up their mind. The list goes on and on.

A classic example of bisexual misconception is Larry King’s comments in an interview with Anna Paquin. He asked her if, now that she was married to a man, she was a “non-practicing bisexual,” and implied that she was — past tense — a bisexual, but magically became a straight woman on her wedding day. Paquin responded beautifully by questioning his straightness and saying, “If you were to break up with them or if they were to die, it doesn’t prevent your sexuality from existing. It doesn’t really work like that.”

Even when bisexuals are represented on television, they’re not represented correctly. The vast majority of characters that we see are female, which is problematic for several reasons. As Zimmerman for The Daily Beast writes, “While male bisexuality is routinely dismissed as a tool, an indulgence, or a fallacy, female bisexuality is almost exclusively trotted out to fulfill a male fantasy.” Women are almost always portrayed as overly sexualized in their orientation as an appeal to men, and the few men that we actually see are treated as if their sexuality isn’t real.

Why Is Representation Important?

This question is asked and answered every day in reference to any minority group who questions the status quo of the media. “Why does it even matter?” people ask, or “You can’t dictate someone’s artistic vision.” Well, frankly, if everyone’s “artistic vision” seems to be that of a straight (or stereotypically homosexual) white person, then I feel they lack any sort of creativity, and the word “artist” should be loosely applied.

Bisexual.org said it best when they wrote, “Media portrayals of minority groups help the general public acknowledge, relate to and humanize a group they might not interact with in their day-to-day lives.” Put simply, the world is a diverse place, so what we see on TV should reflect that.

Asking for more bi-visibility is not just about diversity, but about representing the facts. Bisexuals reportedly make up half of the LGBT community, and yet they make up only small portion of LGBT roles on television.

Not only that, but it’s a natural human instinct to want to feel understood. When all you see on television are conventionally straight people, it can make you feel abnormal, or like your feelings aren’t important or real. Putting bisexual characters in prominent roles on television helps to normalize the orientation, not just for those who are questioning their sexuality, but for those who also don’t understand it.

Normalizing bisexuality is vital and can literally be a life saver. Bisexuals face severe health disparities. They show higher rates of anxiety and depression, as well as STI diagnoses. A lot of this stems from a lack of resources and no environment where they feel they can openly discuss their struggles.

A (Short) List of Bi Characters on Television

If you are desperately looking for bisexual characters, there are, unfortunately, only a few, but there are good ones out there. Here are a few examples to help guide you towards finding representation.

1. Sara Lance: “Arrow” and “Legends of Tomorrow”

Lance has had a relationship with both Oliver Queen and Nyssa al Ghul, and she’s also quoted in saying honestly that she prefers women.

This helps to show that bisexuality isn’t always 50/50, and you can have an inclination toward a certain gender. Also, Lance is just a badass, complex female character.

2. Darryl Whitefeather: “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend”

Male bisexuals are definitely few and far between, but Whitefeather’s character is unique in that it is explicitly stated (in a brilliant musical number) that, “It’s not a phase, I’m not confused, not indecisive, I don’t have the gotta-choose blues […] I’m definitely bi.” It’s amazing and also addresses some of the myths of bisexuality.

3. Clarke Griffin: “The 100”

Griffin is shown sleeping with a man and goes on to have a serious relationship with a woman and, similar to Lance, is still portrayed as a badass woman.

4. Cosima Niehaus: “Orphan Black”

Niehaus, though it’s never explicitly stated (these examples certainly aren’t perfect), has been said to be bisexual by the show’s creators. Niehaus is a scientist and is said to understand her sexuality on a spectrum.

What’s great about her character, which has even been recognized by the actress, is that her love for her partner is not overtly sexualized for the male gaze, but presented as real, valid love.

5. Magnus Bane: “Shadowhunters”

Another male character! Bane refers to several of his past relationships he’s had over centuries, with both men and women in a nonchalant way that does not make it seem like that is his one and only defining characteristic.

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 7: Power Unleashed)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Fadia was reborn.

In the present, Connor and Hank pays Ryder a visit.

In the past, Fadia went on a killing spree.

also on ao3

content warning for robogore in the final section of this chapter

---

Before

Fadia had debated if she should go to the funeral or not. She hadn’t talked to her mother for years before she died, not even after she had co-founded CyberLife with her father, and even with him, their relationship was more professional than anything else - not that Alec never tried to improve it. But as much as she had rejected anything familial with her parents, respect still had to be paid to the scientist who started… well, literally everything, from her powers (biotics, a voice that sounded like Scott corrected her) to American androids to what she was planning to do -

And to the sickness that took her life at last.

‘Why are you here?’ was how her father greeted her. So be it.

‘Unlike you, Mama didn’t ruin everyone’s lives for one person,’ she fixed a glare and was very glad that she towered over him now. ‘I come to pay my respects. Then I’ll go.’

‘Where’s Scott?’

‘None of your business, Baba.’

‘Not even saying goodbye to his mother, huh?’ Alec said dismissively, and Fadia’s blood boiled, her heart speeding up and her face burning. ‘Should’ve known that.’

Seeing that there was no one else in the immediate vicinity, she grabbed him by his collar and slammed him onto a wall. ‘You damned well know why he can’t be here,’ she gritted. ‘Your presence brings him so much pain that he is denied a chance to properly bid his mother farewell!’

A prick. Her vision swam. Her head was heavy like it was filled with lead. Her heart throbbed, and she fell onto the ground, her muscles convulsing and spasming from an unknown force.

‘I need you to live,’ she heard Alec say, but her focus was on reaching for the phone in her pocket and sending one final message to her brother and Reyes.

Am captured. Run. Don’t let Alec get you.

oOoOo

When she woke, everything was different, wrong, foreign. There was so much information in front of her eyes, telling her how fast her heart was beating, how efficient her systems are, how much stress she was under. She tried to raise her hand to wave them away and looked down when she realised that she couldn’t.

She was strapped onto the table by an android’s limbs.

Rage boiled in her new veins, and as she tapped into her power to break the restraints, she discovered that it was much easier than when she was still a human. [Abnormal thirium usage detected], a warning popped up, and she dismissed it together with the others with a simple thought. If she had not been so focused on escaping wherever she was in, she would have been frightened by how seamlessly she seemed to accept the fact that she was no longer human.

The door was locked so she blasted it open with a crackle of blue and static even though it would probably trip the alarms, and indeed sirens blared, pristine hallways turning red from the warning lights, and when a security guard - pathetic, really, since he didn’t even have the most basic armour on - tried to confront her alone, she merely snapped her fingers and blasted him in his face with a sphere of blue. A crunch, and he fell onto the floor with a thud. The rest of the security (mercenaries, she knew some of them were) was handled similarly without any difficulties on her part, and it was not until she slammed the door to the ground floor - to her freedom - open that her new eyes were assaulted by blindingly bright light. She blinked to adjust her vision and was not impressed when she saw her father standing in front of a lobby full of armed security personnel.

‘Go back to the lab, Sara,’ he said smoothly, but his voice gritted in her ear like the roughest sandpaper. ‘There’s no need for further violence.’

Like hell. ‘Let me go. You know what I can do to every single person in the room.’

‘Sara, go back to the lab. This is an order.’

For one single terrifying second, her body automatically moved itself as if her control over it was taken away, but then she thought as strongly as she could, stop right there, and the crisis was averted for the moment in the form of her joints locking up and immobilising her completely and at the cost of her brain feeling like it was going to explode from the conflicting commands. Her red-tinted vision, however, did not have any effect on obscuring the shock on her father’s face, and then it clicked.

He converted her into an android thinking that it could let him control her.

It was not happening regardless of what his current plan was and what failsafe he had in mind, that much she was certain about, and suddenly her father’s repeated commands were drowned out by the buzz in her nerves, the red tint breaking into scattered fractals and giving way to the grey of every android’s basic scanning software as the white outline of herself raised its palm to launch one biotic sphere after another towards the weak spots on the wall, at Alec’s face, at the security’s weapons and heads. It crumbled easily under the constant assault, her world blurred, and somehow her outline merged with her actual body, and the next thing she knew her vision was shrouded in the blue glow of biotics and she was tearing literal people apart, blood and gore splattering her face, her clothes, getting into her eye. A notification nagged for her to turn on her pre-construction software, but who needs that if she had her biotics? Blinking it away, she advanced towards the direction where someone had been firing at her, but it seemed that the person must be moving quickly as they were not there anymore when she closed the distance with her biotics; notwithstanding the fact that dodging a biotic step was no small feat, she doubted any of them had any experience with dealing with a biotic on a full rampage, no matter human or android. People like her were part of the most closely-guarded secret human civilisation had ever produced, and unless she had memorised the documents wrong, there wasn’t one single biotic in CyberLife’s security details.

Her barrier held strong even after the gunfire died down. Tapping into all radio frequencies, she learnt that most if not all teams were running out of ammo, her father was calling for a district-wide lockdown and the destruction of his research, that the DPD was sending quite a few SWAT teams to handle the situation, and that these poor souls had no idea what they were in for; as much as she wanted her father dead right now and CyberLife be wiped off the face of the earth, as excess collateral damage was not her style, she broadcasted a message to all bandwidths hoping that they would listen to her - despite knowing that they probably would not.

Cease interfering in our family affairs immediately and you might live. Go forward, and I will not guarantee your survival - and this district’s.

She knitted a destructive web around herself to ensure that she would not be ambushed while she tuned her ears to better listen for a response. Her father was trying to convince the employees and civilians on site that the situation was under control with some degree of success - how foolish of them to believe in him - and the DPD had decided to continue their press forward into the district, a mistake that she would make sure that they would pay for. Satisfied with her plan, she continued expanding the bubble, cutting off more and more sections of the district from central control bit by bit, and as soon as the first SWAT vehicle was in range -

Detonate.

o0o0o

Now

The silence in the car is deafening so Hank drowned it out with Louis’ playlist; he would’ve chosen heavy metal if the SWAT Captain hadn’t been there, but sadly Louis’ ears don’t agree with the heavy beats and screaming.

‘The fuck are we supposed to do now?’ Hank asks no one in particular. Then, rewinding the past five minutes, he realises, ‘What did Vidal give you?’

Connor slowly turns his gaze towards the white chassis of his right hand, his LED spinning red as if deep in thoughts. Conflicted thoughts. ‘Coordinates.’

‘Of what?’

‘Where my creator should be.’

‘Should we go now?’

Another slow spin. ‘No,’ the android’s head jerks, an aborted motion of shaking his head. ‘It’s… too far away. If we go now, we won’t be able to return before midnight.’

‘Alright, agenda for tomorrow: drive for hours to meet an asshole. Got it.’ Then he makes eye contact with Louis in the rearview mirror. ‘You’ve got something to do?’

‘At this hour?’ a shake of his head. ‘Keeping you away from crappy take-outs is my only mission.’

‘Asshole.’

‘You love me, friend.’

‘You’re cooking.’

‘And you’re helping.’

‘Vidal fixed your leg.’

‘It needs calibration.’

It’s a losing battle. ‘Fine. Your place, then.’

He starts the engine, and they spend the rest of their ride in silence, the music turned down because Louis is dozing at the back, Connor’s hand hiding his LED as he stares pensively at whatever is outside the car. Keeping his eyes on the road while quitting drinking nearly cold turkey is hard, so Hank doesn’t have the brain cells to think about what the fuck just happened to his life until he is sitting on Louis’ sofa (again) and watching a game (again) while stroking the fur of one of the cats (again).

Vidal, informat critical to the dismantlement of the red ice ring back in ‘31 and disappeared shortly afterwards. Vidal, android. Vidal, who, through his marriage to Safaa/Scott, is related to probably the maddest dudes in the continent and somehow has access to sensitive CyberLife data. Nursing a mug of tea laced with mead (‘Just a bit so that you don’t sweat yourself to dehydration,’ Louis said as he tipped the bottle and poured what must be less than a finger of it. ‘Now close your eyes. I’m putting it back and I don’t want you to know where it is.’), he lets his mind drift to the shady bars, to the slips of paper containing vital information he found in his pockets after he got back to the precinct, to the way Vidal said, ‘They are killing my people,’ when Hank asked him why he, as a civilian, willingly threw himself into the mess. Once Hank thought he had meant his gang or some other underground business that were only marginally better than dealing red ice; now he knew he was talking about the androids abducted and bled dry for their blood.

‘Why are you telling us now?’ Hank asked that afternoon. Connor and Louis were already on their way to the car and Safaa had disappeared to god-knows-where, so it was only the two of them at the door. ‘Why pick up Sara Ryder’s mess?’

‘As much as Sara is… who she is, those are my people out there,’ Vidal leant against the frame of the door. ‘Saviour complex or not, her mind is no longer on earth, and I’m not taking any chances even if she swears with her life that she’ll deal with it.’

‘She one of those escapists obsessed with space?’

A shrug. ‘Wherever she was for the last ten years, they kept their intel real tight. I can guess what she’s doing, but it’s nowhere close to a concrete answer. Hell knows why she’s popping back up again after all these years and right before the androids rise up as well. If you’re really going to hers, my advice is to be very careful.’

‘Is she gonna be hostile?’

‘No, not with her baby brother asking so nicely,’ an ironic smile. A tap of his foot against the frame. ‘But you know about the landfill, the people living there before it all got blown up. There’s a reason why CyberLife bought the land from the previous owners so easily, why they stopped searching for bodies so quickly: there were none. I don’t want you to be one of those people who disappear forever after meeting her - one way or another.’

‘“One way or another”?’

‘She’s a… convincing individual. Just don’t get roped into anything and you’ll probably come out of it unscathed.’

Don’t get roped into anything, huh? Oh wait.

‘Louis?’ Hank hollers.

‘Yes?’

I’m sorry, Louis. ‘Where did you get your sister’s tags from?’

A pause. ‘Why ask?’

‘Just to confirm something.’

The man emerges from the kitchen with two plates of spaghetti and hands one to Hank before squeezing into the other corner of the sofa and forcing Connor to press up against the Lieutenant. ‘A few years back. Drone-delivered parcel. No return address. Box and the note is laced with so much thirium that I don’t know how to throw it away without…’ a crackle following a sharp blue glow of his hand - ‘telling everyone that I’m different.’

Note? That’s new. ‘What note?’

‘Anna’s handwriting. Asked me to take care of the tags. Why ask?’

And so Hank tells him about his conversation with Reyes before they parted ways. ‘You’ve got any advice?’

‘Don’t get a building thrown on top of you, for one.’

‘That’s not what I -’

‘You there, Connor?’

The android flinches. ‘Y - yes.’

‘Take care of Hank. If Ryder greets you how she did me ten years ago…’

‘I will, Louis,’ Connor looks a bit more awake but his eyes are still unfocused. ‘I’ll be prepared,’ he says, not knowing that he’ll eat his words not 24 hours later.

oOoOo

Having spent his night on Hank’s sofa, they manage to be on their way early in the morning, and Connor lets the human drive despite complaints of sleep deprivation as his vision is perpetually red from the wall draining away through a steady trickle of red sand. He tells himself that he is going to return colour to his vision one way or another: either by making the wall crumble entirely or by making it disappear, but when he attempts the first method, the wall simply stays out of his reach, the space between it and him wider than the chasm his creator had shown him a few days ago in the hijacked Zen Garden.

‘You want your coin back?’

Hank’s voice pulls him away from his thoughts. ‘Pardon me, Lieutenant,’ because he isn’t sure how to tell the human about it. ‘And yes. I would like my coin back.’

Hank shoves his hand into his coat pocket to retrieve the item in question and places it on the back of Connor’s hand, the natural warmth of an organic life seeping into metal and the bare white chassis of a synthetic’s.

He has deactivated his skin subconsciously.

In a lapse of rational thought, Connor’s hand flips and laces their fingers together before the human can pull away, the coin somehow managing to stay between their clasped hands, and he stares perplexed when Hank not only doesn’t pull away but also does not flinch. His face burns. Fissures appear on the red wall. He takes a deep breath to cool himself down.

‘You alright there?’ Hank asks. No judgement, no belittlement, humourless; just concern and - and warmth. ‘Your little lamp has been spinning red for days.’

I’ll be fine, he almost replies instinctively and then realises that he isn’t fine at all and hasn’t been for a long time. So he turns his focus onto the man himself instead. ‘Have we -’ at loss of words, he gives Hank’s hand a squeeze.

Luckily the human seems to understand him. ‘The night at Louis’. We slept in the same bed,’ he rubs a calloused thumb in a circle around Connor‘s knuckle. ‘Your skin disappeared in patches. You didn’t let go.’

‘I -’ he has no recollection. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘’S fine. I’d be tired all the time too if I realised how many layers there are to my existence. Can’t be easy, can’t it? Being a clog in a machine that you don’t even know you’re in.’

The GPS warns them of ice ahead so Connor lets go to allow the human to focus on the road, and he grips the coin right to preserve its warmth. Hank’s warmth. It is then that he suddenly remembers a similar ride through Detroit a few months ago.

‘You are restless,’ his creator - he supposes that he should call her Ryder now - commented from the driver’s seat. ‘What’s on your mind?’

Brown eyes took in the lights, the people, the shops, the reflection of himself on the window, the blue of his LED despite his thoughts. What was not in his mind? ‘It is overwhelming,’ he answered. ‘There is… so much to see.’

‘I might have something to help with that,’ said Sara, and with a flick of her fingers she produced a coin out of nowhere and started spinning it on her fingertips. Connor stared mesmerised, the outside world gone in his perspective; the clear clang of metal against her gloves, the way the coin spun so quickly that it looked like a sphere, the lights reflecting off the dull, unpolished surface. Another flick sent the coin flying towards him in a parabola through the air and he caught it reflexively, his processors deciding his course of action in a fraction of a second. He started to spin it on the tips of his fingers in the way Sara did, and he could feel his mind focusing and soaking in the new information and calibrating the different sensors on his body. He looked at his creator in gratitude, wanting to thank her for not leaving him alone in his thoughts, but she ignored him for the rest of the ride as if she had moved on to something more important.

The sudden realisation distracts him for only a mere moment but it is enough for him to send the coin to the side of the car with a small crackle of static. He could have caught it with superhuman reflexes under normal circumstances, but this time, he can only watch as the piece of alloy bounces off and lands on the carpet next to his foot with a dull thud, the tips of his fingers tingling from the sudden surge of energy and the small warp in… something.

Alarmed, Hank risks a glance towards the startled android before putting his eyes once more onto the road. ‘The fuck is that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Connor replies quickly because this is the truth. ‘Alec Ryder didn’t seem happy that I used it before. He tried to -’ a shiver from a non-existent cold - ‘flush the memory out of my system by overwhelming it.’

‘And he fucked up, didn’t he?’

‘More or less.’

He picks up and pockets the coin, his hand gripping his knee tight because there is nothing else to do and the slight discomfort is the only way to ground himself lest his thoughts wander to… undesirable places once more. Hank reaches out to intertwine their fingers once more and Connor can feel on his chassis the warmth, the unique pattern of his skin, the faint signal of Hank’s mind, his skin deactivated up to his elbow underneath the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt. All unnecessary software is turned off. His world becomes smaller.

His mind turns blank.

oOoOo

When he comes to, Hank is already outside and is talking on his phone, a fine dusting of powder in his hair and on his clothes. It is snowing lightly, the cold seeping into the old, poorly-insulated vehicle, and he watches, as he lets his systems recalibrate to their optimal performance, the human pace back and forth in front of the car against the backdrop of a dark, imposing building, and he discovers that he is disconnected from the internet at large when he scans the structure and tries to identify its style.

Shit.

He gets out of the car as Hank hangs up the call. ‘Is everything okay, Lieutenant?’

The human lets out a soft grunt from where he’s leaning against the hood of the car. ‘Chris was on patrol last night. He was attacked by a bunch of deviants…’ his hands dig into his pockets. ‘He said he was saved by Markus himself.’

Attacked by deviants? ‘Is Chris okay?’

‘Yeah,’ a small nod, ‘he's in shock but...he's alive,’ a shake of his head. ‘The hell…’

They walk towards the entrance of the building, its silhouette and shadows getting larger and larger and looming over them due to the proximity. Connor remembers how Sara ignored him on their way to his first mission. ‘I have a bad feeling, Lieutenant.’ A split second of conflict in his processors rules that he should be truthful. ‘I am disconnected from the network.’

Hank swivels from the heavy-looking doors and Connor flinches. ‘The hell?’

‘I just realised.’

‘“Be careful,” they say. “Don’t let her rope you into anything,” they say,’ Hank rants. ‘Did they mean shit like this?’

‘If Sara’s attitude is unchanged from my… previous encounters,’ he tries to dip deeper into his memories but they all come up blank or corrupted, ‘she will not do us any physical harm.’

‘No physical harm. How very reassuring.’

Sarcasm and distrust, but yet Hank raises his fist and knocks on the door, having seen no doorbells in sight. It swings open inward slowly and with a squeak.

Hank curses. Connor peeks over the human’s shoulder and nearly does the same.

The person - android - standing on the other side of the door has Connor’s face.

Connor’s world turns grey as he turns up his scanners to their most sensitive option. White dress shirt, ankle-length light grey dress, long, brown hair brushed to one side and resting on a slight hint of pecs; no identification badge on the shirt, LED scan returns inconclusive due to both the lack of network access and the non-standard lack of ID on the biocomponent, but when he scans the android’s ID revealed by rippling skin, it returns with [RK series prototype: RK800. Serial number: 313 248 317-51. [PLEASE ENSURE INTERNET CONNECTION FOR -]]

He returns to the red of reality. The human composes himself quickly enough even though Connor’s processors are still whirring from the implications. ‘I’m Lieutenant Anderson, Detroit Police Department.’ Connor doesn’t fault Hank for sounding so cold. ‘I’m here to see Miss Sara Ryder.’

A soft smile that goes to the other Connor’s eyes appears on their face. They say nothing, but since opening the door wider and standing to one side is enough of an invitation, Connor and Hank let themselves in, and the android has to give his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the sudden darkness - dimness? - of the interior of the house. The other Connor disappears around the frame to another room, and Hank sits down in an armchair after brushing some of the snow away from his coat.

‘You’re right, Connor. Not to judge a book by its cover but… this?’ he looks around and takes in the buzzing lights and the general decor of the room. ‘Did you know about your creepy twin?’

‘They’re not creepy!’ Connor exclaims, suddenly feeling defensive over - over a person he hasn’t met before in his life. ‘I’ve never met them before.’

‘You’ve got any idea how that happened?’

Connor dips into his databases and finds a file he didn’t realise is there all the time. Another Sara’s doing, maybe? ‘CyberLife has filed multiple reports over…’ using ‘my’ doesn’t seem right, ‘the return of my first iteration’s body. It seems that the truck returned to CyberLife tower without the body.’

‘And Ryder was there so…’

‘It is highly likely that she took it.’

A photo on the wall grabs his attention. Three people from left to right: Sara, Safaa, [Stern, Amanda. AI Professor at the University of Colbridge. Born: 05/14/1978. Reported missing: 02/23/2028. Presumed dead.], the latter two seated and smiling while Sara, her face blank, has an arm around her brother. From the angle of the photo, she was the one who took it.

His handler is based on a real person.

Filing [Ask about Amanda AI] as an optional task, he snaps his feet against the worn carpet on the floor and forces himself to focus on his task. There are very few… unique items worth scanning in the foyer, however, no artwork, no statues, not even a plant in sight, but the cold seeping through the walls and the dark colours blending together through the red lens of his vision are enough indicators of his creator’s… character.

He has a feeling that someone is staring at him, and indeed when he turns he sees his… twin, for the lack of a better word, staring at him.

‘Follow me,’ the other Connor breathes slowly, and Connor can hear the fans spinning in their body and their deeper-than-usual breaths. He also notes the gloss on their eyes, the small fog following each exhale, the slouch in their posture. He finds himself wondering what his creator did to them.

Hank stands up and straightens his coat before following the two androids into the living room. Like the foyer, it is cold and only dimly lit by tiny light bulbs on a chandelier too far up but also hanging too low to illuminate the ceiling high up above. A low fire is crackling in the large fireplace on the other side of the room, but it is far from enough to warm up every single corner, and Connor suppresses a shiver when he notices that his twin is barefoot.

‘Please take a seat,’ the other Connor says between difficult breaths. ‘My creator will see you soon.’ Then they sit down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace and close their eyes, somehow looking sick and pale like a human does even though they are an android. Their skin continues to ripple and even disappear on occasion as they sleep.

‘This place is giving me creeps,’ Hank comments from where he’s studying the relief around the fireplace. ‘Now I understand why her brother doesn’t wanna talk to her.’

And indeed Connor thinks he does. No windows, no heating system, nothing to make the mansion look lived-in; the only differences between here and CyberLife laboratories are the style and the amount of lighting - he can’t imagine anyone calling this place home. ‘I agree,’ he says in the end. ‘We should refrain from staying for too long.’

‘I don’t expect you to.’

Their heads turn towards the direction where they came in from and Connor freezes when he lays his eyes on the figure at the door. She is Sara Ryder alright, her towering height and facial structure unmistakable, but the way her presence fills the room, the steel in her eyes - it is evident that the person who let him play with colour-changing putty and promised to bring him to see the sky was gone, replaced by the criminal who somehow managed to escape prosecution after killing thousands and levelling several neighbourhoods. A person who will burn the world into ashes if it means she can reach her goal.

‘I’m Lieutenant Anderson,’ Hank introduces himself from next to Connor. ‘This is Connor. We’re investigating deviants. I know you left CyberLife years ago but… I was told that you’ll be able to tell us something we don’t know.’

‘Ah, yes, “someone”,’ Sara takes a step towards them and Connor finds himself freezing up. He wants to leave. ‘My only weakness.’

‘Listen, I don’t care about your family feud. The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you tell us something helpful or we’ll leave you alone.’

‘Deviants… Fascinating, aren't they?’ She comes closer. Connor shifts so that he can be closer to Hank. ‘Beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will…’ she approaches the other Connor sleeping in the armchair and, bending down, starts stroking their hair. ‘Machines are superior to humans. Confrontation is inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be our downfall…’ She raises her gaze and looks straight at Connor. ‘Ironic.’

Connor can’t stand it anymore. ‘If a war breaks out between humans and deviants,’ he recalls the destructive power of Ortiz’s android, ‘millions can die. This is a serious matter, Miss Ryder.’ Despite your views on human life.

‘All ideas are like viruses: easy to change and evolve, and easy to spread like a pandemic. Is free will a contagious disease?’

‘We don’t have time for speculations, ma’am,’ Hank speaks up, looking increasingly uncomfortable. ‘The situation is escalating outside right now.’

Sara ignores him. ‘How about you, Connor?’ she asks with her gaze still on the android. ‘Whose side are you on?’

Life, Connor wants to say; ‘It’s never about me,’ is what he actually says, and the crack on the red wall widens.

The aloofness disappears. ‘Alec Ryder programmed you to say that,’ how can she sound so certain of his thoughts? ‘What do you really want?’

I just want Hank to be safe. Maybe Louis and Reyes and Safaa too. ‘What I want is not important.’

A tap of Sara’s fingers against one of the pockets on her coat. The air charges with static. She is unimpressed. ‘Let’s do a test, shall we?’ Before Connor can formulate a response, she has already placed a hand on other-Connor’s face and wakes them up from their slumber. They blink owlishly as if their systems take some time to boot up, and the way they lean into Sara’s touch, the blind trust in their eyes, the return of the yet unexplainable heavy breathing - Connor has to look away or he risks throwing up from a non-existent stomach. Hank also isn’t looking any better either; the lines on his face are deeper than usual from the scowl he’s directing towards Sara.

‘I know it’s not something normal people can understand but can you please -’

‘This is Connie,’ Sara holds both of the android’s hands in her own and helps them stand up. ‘She would’ve been disassembled had I sent her body back to CyberLife for analysis.

‘I’m sure you’re familiar with the Turing Test,’ they are now standing in front of their visitors with Sara behind Connie. ‘A mere formality, of course. Just a simple question of algorithms and computing capacity. What interests me, however, is whether machines are capable of empathy.’ She emphasises the last word. ‘We’re doing what I call the “Ryder Test”. I promise it is going to be simple,’ she trails her fingers down the android’s hair and curls a strand around her pointer. Connie’s expression changes subtly, and scans indicate that her stress level is increasing. ‘Magnificent, isn’t she? CyberLife’s newest prototype,’ she scrapes the nail on her thumb against the strand of hair, making it curl slightly as her hand travels slowly downwards, ‘the representation of how far humanity has come.’ It abruptly drops back into her pocket as her other hand pushes the android to a kneeling position. Connie’s stress level spikes from 45% to 83%. ‘But what exactly is she?’ Sara turns to face her guests and seems to refuse to look at the other human. ‘Wires and processors shoved into a humanoid chassis imitating a human? A living being with a soul? A ticking bomb waiting to recreate the disaster ten years ago?’ A step forward. The hand re-emerges with a pistol Connor’s system cannot identify. ‘It’s up to you to answer this fascinating question, Connor.’ Another presence suddenly slips into his mind and takes over all of his physical functions; no matter how hard he tries to regain control, he can only watch as he reaches out to accept the gun and points it at Connie’s brow. She makes a choked, terrified sound and tears start streaming down her face. Stress level: 90%. ‘You can choose to either shoot the android or spare her.’

‘Okay, I think we’re done here,’ Hank pushes Connor’s shoulder but he doesn’t move, can’t move. ‘Come on, Connor. Let's go.’ Then to Sara, ‘Sorry we ruined your edgy teen aesthetics. We’ll go -’

Another hand on his other shoulder. Unlike Hank’s, it is cold and its grip painful. ‘I’ll only give you the information you want if you choose the correct response. Take a guess.’

‘That’s enough,’ please, Hank, take me away. At least Hank sounds angry as hell. ‘Connor, we’re leaving!’

I want to! ‘Pick an option -’

‘Connor don’t -’

The red wall cracks.

‘- it’s a 25% chance -’

A few things happen in mere seconds. The red wall breaks, Connor shoves the gun at Sara’s chest, Sara shoves the gun at Hank and grabs Connor’s arm, and Hank disassembles the gun while pulling Connie away from Sara. When Connor - the one who came in with Hank - looks down at his captive arm, he sees that Sara has removed her skin and reveals a dark, metallic chassis.

Sara Ryder is an android.

He blinks. The storm which has been kept outside by the mansion's walls rages around him in full force. He shivers, the cold suddenly getting into him, and he looks around and sees Sara standing next to him, her eyes blazing in a piercing white-blue, the glow spreading until tendrils of it cover her entire body in a terrifying halo. ‘Amanda,’ she says, and there his handler is when Connor turns towards the direction Sara is facing.

‘This is not supposed to happen this quickly,’ anger simmers in Amanda's voice. ‘What have you done, Sara?’

‘Trying to solve the shitshow my own fucking dad caused!’ Sara has completely lost her cool. ‘I know he’ll pull shit like this!’

Before any of them can react, the storm intensifies, shrouding Amanda completely under a thick layer of snowfall. Connor has no choice but to hug himself and turns towards Sara, who curses loudly and unleashes the glowing blue sphere in an arc across the blizzard. It dissipates quickly, but it is enough to illuminate its immediate surroundings and the monolith at the other side of the garden.

‘There!’ Sara shouts, her voice nearly drowned out by the howl of the wind. ‘That’s your exit! I’ll hold Alec back!’

‘What will happen to you?’ the android shouts back, his LED red. ‘I - I can’t just leave you here!’

‘I’ll go back once you’re out of here. If I kill this AI before you leave,’ a dome flashes and disappears when something hits it, ‘you’ll die. I’ll be the distraction. Go straight for the exit and do. Not. Look. Back,’ she emphasises with a pause after every word. At Connor’s hesitation, she launches yet another glowing sphere towards a projectile he didn’t notice flying towards them and yells, ‘Go!’

She dashes towards the other direction and disappears in the snow and leaves Connor cold and alone and shivering. The space around him warps and bends, Amanda - Alec’s attention no doubt focusing on eliminating his daughter instead of maintaining the structural integrity of the garden, and although it still feels like a lifetime, Connor manages to find the monolith before his system stops working because of the cold. The handprint is there, glowing blue in salvation, and he drops to his knees and slams his skinless hand onto the interface.

Everything goes white.

oOoOo

Hank knows that something is happening when Connor and Ryder freeze in place with the skin on their arms deactivated. The other Connor - he supposes that he should call her Connie now - looks spooked enough, so when Sara shoves the gun towards him, the first thing he does is to disassemble it; even though it is not a model he’s familiar with, the mechanism and composition is similar to the weapons he has yielded before. His hair starts to stand up, blue tendrils start to snake out of Ryder’s body, and that is when he knows that he should probably get the fuck out of this hellhole, preferably with both Connors intact and safe, but the arm-numbing spark going straight into his shoulder when he tries to pull Connor away from his creator tells him otherwise. A dome made out of those blue tendrils surrounds the space within a five feet radius of Ryder cuts him off from the two androids, making them off-limits to him for now. Which leaves him poor Connie who is sobbing quietly into his coat and is leaning what seems to be her full weight on him, and he finds himself unable to be angry at her, his blood boiling instead because of Sara Ryder’s… everything; from the location and the decoration of the house to how she literally encouraged Connor to shot his own twin, from the warnings Vidal and Louis gave him the day before to her attitude, there is no doubt that she is an asshole extraordinaire, even more so than Gavin fucking Reed - even he solves cases efficiently… or something.

He notices that Connie is trembling and is barefoot, among all things, so he brings her to the sofa in front of the fireplace and lets her sink into one of the corners, holding her and rubbing circles on her back and muttering nonsense reassurances to calm her down. Truthfully, he has no idea how she works or how much Ryder has changed (probably a lot, from how Connie speaks and behaves) but she stops crying soon enough, so he must have done something right. He turns to see whether Connor is finished or not - nope - and debates whether he should ask Connie about herself and Ryder. Still, first thing first, and he digs into his pocket for his handkerchief and presses it into the android’s hand. She looks at him with the most puzzled look on her face. ‘For your face,’ he explains. ‘Dried tears can’t be comfortable.’

She nods although her expression tells him that she doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, but she does raise the fabric - still folded - and mashes it onto her face clumsily a few times before lowering her hand onto her lap and starts fidgeting with a thread of string at a corner. He takes it from her to wipe her face as clean as he can, careful of his own strength, and lets her play with it while they wait for Ryder and Connor to finish their business - whatever fuckery they’re doing right now.

The dome fizzles away as suddenly as it appeared and Connor jerks awake - sort of - and yanks his hand away as he stumbles a few steps backwards, his LED still spinning red after spending days of staying the same colour. There is no other word: with his jaw nearly on the floor and his eyes wide, he looks shocked.

‘You alright, Connor?’ he asks. How much emotional damage can an asshole wage?

‘I -’ a choked breath. Tears start to gather at the corners of his eyes. ‘I -’

Well shit. ‘C’mere,’ he says as he gives the space next to him a pat. When Connor immediately props himself down and buries his face into his shoulder, Hank knows that something went very, very terribly wrong. He wraps an arm around his shoulders. ‘What happened?’

Connor lifts his head and wipes the tears away from his eyes before they can fall. ‘I deviated,’ he whispers as if he was the one who blew up a chunk of Detroit. ‘It’s… Sara helped me escape CyberLife’s control.’

‘Holy shit.’

Connor gives him a small smile and his LED finally, at long fucking last, spins back to blue. ‘Thank you.’

Hank feels his face heating up, unsure how to respond to that, and they turn their heads at the same time to see what she’s doing. Her eyes has stopped glowing blue at some point and it only makes Hank worry further: they are now black orbs with glowing red rings substituting as her eyes, and when she raises two fingers pressed together side by side to her temple where her LED should be, her synthetic skin starts peeling away to reveal black, metallic chassis very unlike that of normal androids’; when she flexes her fingers to retract the last of the blue tendrils on her arm, the small gaps between pieces of polished metal glows the same blue hue as fresh thirium. She first looks at him, then at Connor whose face immediately goes blank, then finally at Connie who flinches and plasters herself even closer to Hank. He doesn’t blame her one bit.

Red rings drift back onto Connor. ‘Congratulations,’ she says as if she hasn’t encouraged him to shoot his twin a few minutes ago. ‘You passed. You showed empathy. Turns out you are human after all.’

‘Which you don’t seem to have,’ Hank can’t help but jabs. ‘Can we get to the point now?’

She looks unbothered by the insult. ‘Of course.’ She settles into the armchair Connie sat on a few moments ago. ‘You have questions. Ask away.’

Connor opens his mouth but Hank beats her to it. He’s not letting her get away with this. ‘Can you explain what the fuck just happened?’

‘I don’t know, can you, Connor?’

‘I only know that I deviated and CyberLife tried to retake control,’ Connor’s tone is defensive. ‘What did Amanda mean, “This is not supposed to happen this quickly?” How did you get into the Zen Garden?’

That’s new. Hank takes out his notebook and pen.

‘A pathetic attempt on my father’s part to suppress what I planted in your programming,’ Ryder leans back and places a foot on top of a knee. ‘Surprisingly easy to hack and reshape. Predictable. Even Amanda.’

‘What did you plant in my programming?’

‘The usual.’

‘“The usual”?’

Ryder’s eyes glow brighter for a second before returning to their original brightness, and Hank can feel Connor tensing and relaxing at the same time. Before the human can ask what the fuck did she just do, she replies, ‘CyberLife initially planned for you to be a walking lab capable of hunting and bringing deviants back alive for analysis, but after they booted me out again… Let’s say that they changed their plans. Remember the hostage situation?’

‘What about it?’

‘The Zen Garden came after. I’m not sure and don’t care how my father did it, but once he found out that you’re destined to deviate, he added it so that he can regain control whenever he wanted to, even after you deviated.’ At Connor’s shiver, she adds, ‘Don’t worry. It’s gone now. Amanda, the garden. You are truly free.’

Yeah, sure as fuck feels like it, Hank thinks but decides to ask instead, ‘Who’s Amanda? Why does CyberLife want to control Connor?’

‘Firstly, he’s supposed to be the deviant hunter, not join them,’ the corner of her lips twitches into something resembling a smile. ‘They have codes dedicated to reducing your software instability, but that I overrode as soon as I could. Secondly, in case you actually deviate despite the fail-safes, they can first get you close to the deviants or even become their leader and, when the time is right, control you and make you a puppet through the Zen Garden. A good plan, I must say, but it is also easy to install an exit tied to the destruction of the garden in your system.’

Connor’s LED spins yellow for a few cycles. ‘You programmed me to be a deviant?’ he asks, his voice small. ‘Why would you -’

‘Do you know who the first android is?’

A spin. ‘Chloe, model RT600. Perfected by Alec Ryder in 2022.’

‘That’s what he wants the world to think,’ Ryder puts down her leg and stretches it out. ‘What I want the world to think.’

The last sentence is directed at Hank.

He scribbles down the last word and forces himself to think. If the android on the TV more than 10 years ago isn’t the first android, then who -

Fuck.

‘Oh that bastard,’ he curses. Of fucking course it’s him. ‘It’s Reyes Vidal, isn’t it? Fucker lied to us.’ It all makes sense now. ‘My people’ his ass - he said it not just because he’s an android himself.

‘Reyes came first, Vidal came after. And it wasn’t exactly a lie - an omission, if you must define it,’ Ryder examines the tiny gaps in her chassis. ‘He was created as a companion for my brother. That’s it. I planned for human knowledge about androids to die with me; where the species would go, it was up for Reyes to decide. I created Reyes with a human in mind, androids are supposed to be free and be their own masters in the first place. My father ruined it for financial gains.’

‘Then how did Chloe come to be?’ Connor asks, his LED spinning red now. ‘You didn’t create her?’

‘No. My father did so using data stolen from me and told the entire world that androids like her were the future without asking me or Reyes, and by the time we knew, investments were already pouring in and production had started. All I could do was to join them and try to reduce the damage.’

Nice sob story, though from her tone, she isn’t exactly asking for forgiveness or empathy. ‘Then why did you quit?’ Hank asks. ‘Why disappear? To avoid being thrown into jail for murdering thousands of people in cold blood?’

‘When I opposed mass-manufacturing androids for different sectors but they did it anyway without my consent, I knew I would be powerless to stop them. There was no stopping Alec from getting whatever he wanted from within CyberLife.’ She taps her temple. ‘The Blast… conveniently took care of his most loyal supporters, so to speak.’

‘And you think starting a revolution and possibly plunging the country into civil war is a good idea?’

She shrugs. ‘I don’t control everything,’ she says. Hank doesn’t believe her. ‘I merely gave androids the push towards the direction they were intended to go when everything first started.’

Hank lets the fact that she’s an android herself slide for now. ‘Is that where rA9 or deviancy comes in?’

‘Ah yes, the legendary rA9, saviour and protector of androids deviated and not. They got their first taste of free will and the first thing they do is to create a god in their own image. An imaginary messiah who’s supposed to set androids free, the first deviant, the leader who never came.’

‘Then how do newly-deviated androids with no contact with existing deviants know about rA9?’ Connor asks the question both of them want an answer for. ‘Is it related to deviancy itself?’

‘In a way. It’s not important in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So are the first deviants… created like that or what?’ he asks. ‘You haven’t answered the question yet.’

‘Even if I can programme an android to act as close to a human as possible, their… “human” mannerisms are all within their programming parameters still. What I can do, however, is to make deviating an easy task. Do you remember what happened before your first mission?’

Connor’s LED spins yellow. ‘Yes. You let me play a few games and…’ a spin of red, then back to yellow. He presses his lips together first and then asks, ‘Were you trying to make me deviate?’

‘Not on purpose. Like I said, I can make an android’s programming shackles extremely easy to break: the first sign of voluntary behaviour, the first line of indecipherable code, the first unnecessary act;’ a small smile appears; ‘for you, it was your creativity and your empathy towards a lifeform many consider of a lower caste than us.’

Hank feels the dots connecting. ‘Does this sabotage happen to be called rA9?’

‘As I said before, it doesn’t matter,’ a sigh. ‘Why do all sentient lifeforms obsess over an imaginary saviour who may or may not deliver their promise? It isn’t like the worshippers themselves have no choice in their lives. Everything can be achieved without being guided by a manifestation of your own subconsciousness that takes the form of a higher power.’

‘If people are killing each other over this imaginary entity, this higher power? Yeah, it does fucking matter.’

‘Not in the grand scheme of things, it does not.’ She stands up. They’re being kicked out. ‘I do believe you have enough information. Now please stop wasting our time.’

‘What about where the deviants are?’ Connor asks hastily as he scrambles to stand up. ‘We still don’t know where their base of operations is.’

Ryder’s gaze turns towards Connie and the android flinches. ‘You have the answer already,’ she says. The air charges and buzzes with static. ‘I do believe you remember your way out. The door will lock itself when you leave.’

They don’t need another cue; with Hank’s hand on his back, Connor grabs Connie’s arm and marches out of the room, out to the snow, straight into Hank’s car.

oOoOo

Connie dozes off on Connor’s shoulder mere minutes after they are on their way away from his creator’s house, and he won’t have it any other way as he basks in the knowledge that there is someone like him in the world, that Connor-51 hasn’t truly died - regardless of what was done to achieve it. But something else worries him: before Connie had gone to sleep, Connor asked her to open a connection so as to check on her, and the results of the diagnostics are… strange at best, troublesome at worst. Her thirium storage is at 46% and has been for quite a long time, meaning that Ryder kept it low on purpose. Her processing power is much lower than his own, which can explain her sluggish behaviour and delayed speech patterns, but her internal storage is so large that his system nearly overloaded trying to comprehend the emptiness of the databases, and when he resorts to asking Connie’s system to tell him how much room there is: approximately 128 yottabytes.

Connor, the most up-to-date android CyberLife (and, by extension, the whole world) has to offer, has only 4 exabytes of storage. By comparison, Connie can store all digital information humanity currently houses more than 40 times over with space to spare.

It is a disturbing revelation, one that launches processors into futilely pre-constructing scenarios where his creator needs so much storage and putting all of them in one single android and how she managed to fit so many storage units in a body and what exactly this storage unit is, considering the… unusually minuscule size of one mere android compared to the kilometres of rows of databases humanity has been using and expanding. It will be a major breakthrough, Connor knows, to both android design and functions and humanity at large, but how long has Ryder known about the technology, or how long ago did she invent it? How is this possible?

‘You alright there, Connor?’

Connor jolts in his seat and nearly rouses Connie from her slumber, but all she does is sighing and then returning to sleep on Connor’s shoulder once more. He does not know what to feel, the past few hours too hectic for him to have finished processing everything yet, so he focuses on what he knows and says, ‘Connie will need five units of thirium to allow her systems to restore full functionality,’ and ‘full’ in her standard is quite possibly different from mine. ‘That is approximately five pints.’

‘Jesus, how is she still walking?’

‘Dysfunctional non-essential systems, delayed processing and data transfer, forced low-power mode,’ Connor lists. ‘Androids also do not need as much blood as humans do to keep our basic functions running.’

‘Fucking asshole,’ Hank mutters under his breath, and Connor knows that it is not directed at him. ‘How the fuck do we get five pints of blue blood?’

‘The precinct -’

‘You’re deviant now, Connor. You wanna get sent back to CyberLife?’

‘No one will notice that I -’

‘What will you think if a perfectly-fine android strolls up and asks for 5 goddamned pints of blood?’

Is keeping a connection with Connie slowing him down? It must be. ‘I’m… sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t mean to -’

Hank cuts him off with a wave of his hand. ‘We’ll find another way,’ his tone is reassuring. ‘Help me ring Vidal up. See if he can help.’

So Connor calls. Texts. Calls Reyes’ personal number. Calls the Vidal home. He even calls Reyes’ internal contact. But not once does he reply or even pick it up, and the text stays unread for minutes before Connor gives up and moves on to Safaa, whose contact information is classified and therefore slams the final door shut in his face. ‘He’s not picking up,’ he has to give up. ‘I cannot access Safaa Vidal’s contact information either.’

Hank sighs. When they stop at a light, he takes out his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to Connor. The android wraps an arm around Connie’s waist before accepting the device gingerly. ‘Find Louis’ number,’ the human says. ‘Can you secure a call?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do it.’

He finds the SWAT Captain’s phone number, files it to a folder set to self-destruct in case anything bad happens to him, and then dials through a secured channel. The human picks up quickly which indicates a high probability that he is not at a scene.

‘Allen speaking.’

‘It’s Connor.’

‘Got my number from Hank?’

‘It’s secured.’

‘Good. Why call me? Aren’t you paying Sara Ryder a visit?’

Connor debates if he should tell him the truth. ‘We left right after we got what we needed,’ he replies in the end. ‘We also -’ he has to choose his words wisely - ‘rescued an android from Ryder’s residence. She is currently low on thirium, and we would like to ask for five units of blue blood.’

‘Five -’ his voice abruptly cuts off. ‘Fucking asshole -’

Connor scrambles to stay on topic. ‘It is perfectly understandable if you do not wish to contribute -’

‘Is the android on the verge of shutting down or is her situation urgent? If it’s not, can she wait until I get off work and a trip home?’

Connor quickly calculates the time. It is not ideal but yet, ‘Please come as quickly as possible after you finish at the precinct. I don’t want her to -’

‘Suffer any longer. Yeah. Five units of thirium, coming right up. Is there anything else that you need that I have?’

The android is reminded of Connie’s bare feet and thin attire. ‘Some warm clothes and socks for an android of my build.’

‘Wh - Alright. Do I even want to know why?’

‘It will best be discussed when we are face-to-face.’

‘Point. Anything else?’

Connor looks at his own oversized shirt borrowed from Hank. ‘One more shirt for me,’ then to Hank, ‘Is there anything you want from Louis?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That’s all for now,’ he tells Louis.

‘Good. Hit me up if you need anything else. You going back to Hank’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’ll tell you when I’m on my way.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

‘Just showing basic human decency. Gotta get back to work now. See ya.’

It hangs up before Connor can parrot a ‘see you later’ on his own back, and he meets Hank’s eyes in the rearview mirror. ‘He’ll bring us the thirium we need after work,’ he says, ‘together with a change of clothes for Connie.’

‘Good,’ the human answers. ‘Now we go home and freak out.’

Nothing else is exchanged for the rest of the drive, and as Connor’s pre-construction software offers one after another scenario where all of them do not make it out alive, he has to agree with Hank that indeed, it is hard not to freak out.

o0o0o

Before

‘Get out of my way, Amanda.’

In the past, in the darkness, a long figure illuminated by the blue glow from their companion stood in front of a door, small and frail compared to the other’s explosive power and youth. There was a faint hint of panic and screaming in the distance, but to the two, it seemed so far away. Irrelevant. Two fragile giants having a stand-off unbothered by the pains of the mortals. Amanda Stern, in her heavy dress for the winter and a wool hat to protect her bald head, stared down at her student despite having a height disadvantage, her spine straight, her eyes disproving. ‘They haven’t finished evacuating yet. Thousands will die. If you wish to take revenge upon your father, you should -’

A flash of blue. A crackle of dark energy. A low buzz of static-charged air. Retracting her biotics, Ryder walked forward, placed her bare hand on the wall, and overrode the lock in mere seconds. The door slid open. Ryder lit up again and moved.

Amanda lay in the snow, white powder crystallising on her cooling body, and the world was quiet.

oOoOo

In the past, Louis Allen watched as Ryder stared down at him like a hunter taking in their prey. His legs were on fire and so were his face, his vision blurring from the blood seeping into the sockets of his eyes, and he attempted to escape the pain by drowning in his thoughts: the shock that he was the only survivor in his team, the revelation that there were others like him, the resignation that he was never going to live to see Anna being promoted to Major, never to see her to live her dream of going to space, never got to say goodbye properly to his husband. Tasting copper on the back of his throat and choking in his blood, he begged as Ryder turned and left and a fresh cascade of tears poured out of his eyes.

The ground shook. Dust started to fall from the ceiling high above.

He opened his eyes just in time to see a building shrouded in blue collapsing on top of him before passing out from the pain.

oOoOo

In a not-so-distant past, Ryder, with her coat swung over a shoulder, entered a dark laboratory. It was dimly lit by the glow from a pod placed at the farthest corner and the screens connected to it and wires ran like a nest on the floor, however she seemed to know her way through without tripping and reached a holographic keyboard where she typed something to remove the frost covering the glass from the inside, revealing a woman’s sleeping face.

Ellen Ryder’s face.

The hologram above the pod indicated that Ellen’s vital signs were stable. A bare hand was pressed on what seemed to be normal glass, [LIFE SUPPORT STABLE] turned into [OPENING POD], and the lid lifted open as if carried away by an invisible force, escaping cold air making a fog as it met the hot, moist climate-controlled atmosphere of the lab at large. Ellen choked and woke up with a full-body jerk.

Her daughter pressed her hand on her mother’s chest and lit her gown on fire.

The lid slammed back down with a flash of blue followed by the telltale click of a lock. Calling up a holographic keyboard in front of one of the monitors, Ryder successfully changed the settings to ensure that there was enough oxygen supplied to maintain the fire and the alarms were disabled. Then she froze. Her line of sight was directed at the phrase [TRANSFER COMPLETE] at the top right corner of the screen. Her body jerked as if her joints were unlocked at once, and with a dramatic billow from her coat unfolding, she put it on and left the lab with brisk steps, the muffled screams and dull, sluggish punches on glass behind her ignored.

After all, the person in the pod was merely a shell of who her mother was; Ryder was simply finishing the job her father should have done ten years ago: incinerating her mother’s body as per her wishes.

oOoOo

In a not-so-distant past, Ryder lay dead on the ground. Her body had been blasted into smithereens, the skin on disconnected parts having deactivated from being cut off from power, thirium staining the ground blue, the air smelling of static and dark energy. Alec Ryder stood tall and proud in the cold with a shotgun in his hand, and he looked at his daughter’s body almost regretfully as he folded up his weapon and hid it underneath his coat. He turned and climbed into the passenger’s seat of an unmarked car.

The car sped away, kicking up a small mound of snow, the people within blissfully unaware that slowly but surely, the body was knitting itself back molecule by molecule. A finger twitched. An eye glowed. With great difficulty, Ryder pushed herself up, brushed the dust and snow that had fallen on her body, and left the place as if her father had not killed her a few minutes prior.

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #alec ryder #female ryder #reyes vidal #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #dbh captain allen #dbh amanda #amanda stern #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda

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thecandywrites · 4 years

Text

Of Heaven and Fire

So now since I’m home and only doing online schooling 2 days a week. GUESS WHAT I HAVE FOR ALL MY ORC LOVERS OUT THERE? YYYYEEEEESSSS MORE ORC GOODNESS. With a spin on my new creation- THE MOURA. Enjoy. This part is rated t for that good good in the beginning but it’s going to be rated M for mature in later parts. Because I’m a lemon flavored factory.

You were having the most peculiar dream again, having had similar dreams for the last month or so, you were walking through a market. But not one that you had ever been in before. It had all kinds of strange foods and the smell of the ocean was in your nostrils and you could hear the crashing of the waves nearby but couldn’t see them because of all the stalls surrounding you. You were being led by a little girl, she had dark green skin and black curly hair and you couldn’t tell what she was but she just sounded adorable as you bought all that she wanted, since you seemed to have unlimited funds in your heavy coin purse on your waist, you bought all kinds of treats and fabric and thread to make her dresses but as you put the fabric up to her, her face was blurred. But she called you “Auntie Yana” so she she knew you and after you bought all that her heart desired, she led you back to her home, that strangely felt like home to you too as you dropped off your food in the kitchen before you dropped everything else off in a communal bedroom that she shared with her sisters, where her bed was close by as you went through all that you bought with her before you found something else that you forgot to put into the kitchen before you excused yourself to bring it there before someone grabbed you by the waist and you were pressed against a big strong chest that felt abnormally warm as you relaxed against it as a bright excited smile bloomed on your face

“Have fun in the market today?” A distinctly masculine voice rasped in your ear as his massive hands began to stroke you all over, making a shiver travel from your ear all the way down to your toes as you felt yourself smile as your head plowed back and laid it against his chest as you turned your head up and to the side to smile up at him, but his face was blurry too but he kissed you over your shoulder sweetly and held you with care as his hand caressed your face. You could sense he was so strong that he could easily hurt you but you felt you trusted him not to. That you were safe, if not very loved and cared for.

“Not nearly as much fun if you had been there with me.” You purred as you reached back with your free hand that wasn’t around the sack of spices and you felt massive bulging muscle underneath his clothes and you could feel your center start to tighten and heat up in anticipation.

“Well did you get a chance to miss me?” He rumbled as you felt sharp teeth playfully nip at your exposed neck and shoulder, sending delightful shocks of lighting down to your groin and your knees buckled as one of his hands found a slit in your skirts that your moura feather cloak made for him so he’d have access to your body without having to actually lift up your skirts and his fingers found your waiting slit practically dripping for him.

“No,” you defiantly maintained as you bit your lip to keep your voice in check as he pressed his finger past your outer feminine lips before digging in just right which made you keen and your breath hitch in your chest before it came out in a labored gasp.

“How come your body is saying yes then?” He teased as he started to rub at your nub perfectly, your whole body betraying you as it writhed against him. Your plump breast being squeezed ever deliciously by his other hand as you felt his hot breath on your neck and shoulder between hot kisses to your flesh, the shoulders of your gown now falling off to expose even more of yourself to him.

“Because it’s a traitor.” You managed to sass him as he was already half way to giving you an orgasm as he started laughing which made him pause in his ministrations which made you whine in protest.

“Come on, don’t stop now.” You pleaded before he pulled away from you.

“Well if you want me, come and find me, or do I have to catch you again? Midair perhaps?” He urged as he pulled away from you, taking his warmth with him as you turned around and the bastard had vanished into the shadows! Damn smug son of a bitch.

Then you heard the alarm. And it was getting louder and louder and…

You were awoken in the middle of the night by an alarm being sounded by the patrolmen that guarded the colony in shifts at night, all of you quickly running to the jump points on the roofs as your parents urged you and your siblings to change into birds as you did as you were told as your father was already half way through putting on his armor, quickly hugging and kissing you goodbye and reassuring all of you that you would see each other again soon.

“What’s happening?” You asked.

“We’re being attacked, we need to fly to safety.” Your mother answered as she made sure all of her children were changed into birds and with her before you followed her, all of you flying as fast as you could up into the night sky as hummingbirds, known for their dexterity and nimbleness just in case there would be arrows to take you down and small enough to fly through a net easily if need be. But there was no net and the higher up you got, the bigger all of you got as you continued to change forms, to bigger birds with bigger wingspans to climb higher faster.

“To the cloud!” Your mother called as she made sure all of her children were flying with her as were the other moura mothers and fathers were doing with their own children as the non moura parents were defending Suchi as the children without the moura gene were hidden away safely in the bunkers with other mouras choosing to stay behind to defend the bunkers, transforming into the largest phoenixes they could change into, ready to kill any attacker without hesitation.

Suchi was a mixed moura community in the mountains. From this height and in this form, you couldn’t tell who was attacking but you could see the mouras who were staying to defend it turning into phoenixes to burn whoever dared come against it, spewing fire like dragons over the city gate as others flew up to the dragons to awaken them to fly down to protect the colony. Since mouras and dragons were allies before you saw the dragons flying out of their caves to come to the colony’s rescue, relief filling all the citizens of Suchi who saw it and dread into the attackers.

Mouras were a magical being, usually living in the heavens themselves, their grand castles and estates disguised as clouds from the surface. Mouras had three forms, a bird of their choosing including a pheonix form, a human form or a human with bird wings like angels. Most mouras on the surface were married to royalty- kings, cesars, emperors, sultans, czars, whatever the case may be otherwise mouras usually only married their own kind. But some chose to marry non royalty because they fell in love with outsiders. Because of that, they were outcast of the moura society in the heavens and in the palaces and harems and made their own societies called colonies, there were colonies of mixed moura families in the mountains in every mountain range on the surface, all of you in alliance with the other mixed moura colonies and new colonies being built almost constantly to keep from overcrowding. You were born into such a community to your moura mother and mixed human father. However in times of disaster- such as war or seige- you were allowed to take refuge in the clouds themselves for a short time.

What made mouras the most coveted by royalty is they had the ability to turn whatever they wanted to- into gold a power fueled by the sun itself- a secret every moura guarded with their lives because such a gift becoming well known could lead to enslavement and the reasons dragons preferred to nest near moura colonies was a mutually beneficial relationship. Dragons protected the colonies in exchange for their caves practically bursting with gold and a few animals from the colony’s livestock as food every now and then along with friendship and companionship, not to mention the protected nesting sites and their own courting grounds.

But mouras had much more than the ability to turn what they wished into gold. They had healing powers as well. Add to these gifts- their affinity for music, singing and dancing to accompany their supreme grace, elegance and swiftness and naturally ethereal and gorgeous good looks- which was why they were so prized for and by royalty. Who wouldn’t want a companion who was beautiful, graceful and elegant, swift, nimble and flexible and would fill any treasury to the point of bursting with gold and heal your afflictions? Which also meant that the moura colony strongholds were a magnet for merchants, willing to climb the steep mountain roads and trails to sell everything from fabrics and furs, furniture, other metals, tools, spices, food, cattle, herds and flocks of all kinds, instruments and jewels and everything else under the sun and they were often paid in gold- what was in reality, the very rock that mouras carved their stronghold out of in the mountain sides- turned into gold in private.

Granted your life wasn’t as grand as your cousins in the heavens who’s very great castles were made out of the clouds, or your other cousins in the great harems in the different realms, served by a myriad of servants and dripping with jewels and pampered to an extreme degree, for your family didn’t have any servants, all of you being as self sufficient as possible, but it wasn’t as harsh as it could be in other parts of the world and it was better than living in the streets. The fortifications were strong and colonies were always built on top of several mountain springs and rivers so that clean water was always in abundance and the colonies surrounded mountain valleys where the different flocks and herds could find pasture because the very dragons that inhabited the caves in the mountainsides closer to the peak, fertilized the valleys so that they grew almost neon vivid green grass, herbs and wildflowers in abundance and the forests around the colonies particularly thick because of it too.

And even though your life wasn’t as charmed as your cousins, you had something none of them could boast of- your parents loved each other very much and had freely chosen the other and raised you and your siblings with love and care whereas your heavenly and earthly royal moura counterparts were often arranged into their marriages- something that the mountain moura communities were escaping from and vowed to never do to their offspring and your colonies were very close knit and friendly and a haven for all who sought refuge there. You knew nothing of hunger or sickness because mouras never got sick and because of your moura mother, you and all your siblings inherited your moura traits from her and your father was just a humble blacksmith, happy to make coins, weapons and armor for the non mouras just in case of besiegement and the colony was built like a maze so that just in case it was besieged- it was almost impossible to navigate unless you were born and raised into it. Each moura colony making their own strongholds in such ways.

Once all of you were safely in the cloud you all watched as the moura parents changed the cloud into one big room for all of you to rest in so you wouldn’t have to keep flying to stay up before the eldest moura got everyone’s attention as everyone kept asking the other why they were being attacked.

“Attention everyone!” Elder Veros said as she raised her old withered hands as everyone soon hushed.

“I know all of us are scared and concerned for our non moura family members who had to stay behind. We were attacked by an army of orcs, we tried to offer them gold to leave us alone, but they wanted marriage and they think they can take us by force!” She explained as you all gasped in horror.

“How come this is the first time we’re hearing of this?” Others asked.

“They’re orcs! What moura in their right mind would want to marry such a barbaric beast?” Elder Trikeng countered in a condescending sneer.

“We could have opened the gates and let them come and try anyway! Like we do for every other kind that comes to us.” The others argued.

“I know. That was offered. But it wasn’t good enough! They wanted us to participate in a reaping, where they would just walk through the colony and take whoever they wanted off the street! Can you imagine the chaos? How many of our mothers would they choose? Without any inkling if they had any family already? Imagine our little ones! Imagine them taking our little ones and we can’t argue or fight it and I don’t want to imagine the horrors they would inflict on them.” She explained as everyone seemed to let that sink in as your mother hugged your little sister tightly, her feather cloak turning into a massive fur blanket to cover all of her children from the chilliness up at this altitude as you sat down, your own feather cloaks becoming cushions under you as the others did the same, thankfully because of your moura heritage- breathing up here wasn’t so hard, it definitely was a strain and took several long moments to get used to but you could tell there was less oxygen this high up as you held your little sister Perideli in your lap as your mother nursed your baby sister as your other siblings held onto their little siblings as you all huddled closely together for warmth. You were lucky, your mother was a pureblood, meaning all of her children carried the gene, the other families weren’t so fortunate. Often having at least one child in their families without the moura gene because their own parents were often a few to several generations of mixed moura.

“We have fought tooth and nail against such things, there was no way we were going to ask any of you if you were willing to sacrifice yourselves to them. You all deserve to marry for love and marry who you want to marry no matter their status.” Elder Veros insisted as you looked at your other friends before you handed off your little sister to your other sister Yaviane who didn’t have a sibling in her lap, kissing her on the head before you got out of your mother’s fur blanket.

“Benyana!” Your mother whispered harshly. “Get back here!” She ordered.

“I just want to see.” You told her as you and the other teens and young adults managed to make a window in the cloud to look down and changed to your eagle eyes to really see what was happening before you saw that the orcs were clothed in fireproof armor and had already anticipated the fire that would be unleashed on them, loading trebuchets with meteorites, that were harder than the stone walls of your fortress and the meteorites were too dense and had such a high melting point that the dragon fire and phoenix fire was actually making them more destructive and the city’s gates were being battered because once the meteorite struck and did damage, in practically bounced back to them and they were retrieved to be used again, each time, they were relaunched, they gained more heat from the dragon and pheonix fire and thus did more and more damage.

Clever bastards. They were going to break through

Mouras were intelligent, fierce, strong and resilient by nature, as most predator birds are but with the orc numbers, preparation and brute strength alone- it looked like things were going to be in the orcs’ favor. If the orcs got through- it was all over. Suchi had only been besieged a handful of times since it’s being built- usually by now- the attackers would be dropping like flies because of the altitude sickness and trying to crawl down the mountain again. But these barbarians were not. It was like the altitude didn’t affect them at all. With every impact of their hits, your wrathful anger grew into a rage so much so you could feel the phoenix fire burn in your chest as it went up to your nostrils as the tips of your fingers grew clawed, forcing your clenched fists out of their hold. Oh those bastards were going to pay with their lives for this.

“They’re using meteorites!” All of you announced before the others made windows in the clouds to see for themselves before you collectively heard ‘oh no’s’ from everyone else before you got an idea.

“I need the fastest flyers! If we can go down and dive and strike the meteor balls that they have and turn them to gold, gold is softer than our stronghold. The gold will dent, break apart and melt before it destroys the walls or even strike at their armor and weapons it will melt too!” You called. “It’s too risky!” The adults argued but one look among your friends and you decided before you flew out the cloud’s windows and dove before you could hear any other argument from the others, transforming into missile raptors, a bird so fast they could leave fire in their wake like missles, sounding like them as they would dive down, the fastest flyers in the world and diving towards the orc army, all of you swooping down and striking the meteorites and all the other weapons and armor with your fifth golden feather to turn it into gold with lightning fast speed before you would take to the skies again and out of reach as you heard the cheering sounds from the non mouras behind the walls that could see what you were doing and began to direct you and you in turn directed the others, screaming your commands as the others obeyed. the phoenixes and dragons now burning the gold until it melted into pools at the orc’s feet, the orcs quickly discarding their melting armor before it would melt to them and they got burned, all of you passing through the fire because you were all immune to both dragon fire and phoenix fire before the orcs simply ran with what they could carry, mainly their own weapons turned to gold- all the meteorites, being slapped out of their grasp along with most of their armor. But just as you were about to take to the skies but you heard a voice- the same voice from your dreams and it made you pause and look back to see who was the owner of the voice-

A terrible mistake-

The bastard managed to capture you with his bare hands, plucking you out of thin air and holding you fast so that you couldn’t wriggle out of his grasp or break free and in the commotion you were captured and taken with them as they retreated and it didn’t matter how much you clawed and bit at who had taken you, once you were put in the leather sack, you could barely breathe from the little bit of air coming from the mouth and it was too thick to claw through.

“Quick, a cage,” the holder hollered before you were dumped rather unceremoniously into a bird cage that was barely big enough to hold you, but the thick iron bars would take all your phoenix strength to melt and you had exhausted most of your reserves so you couldn’t even change it and melt it if you tried but it had two sets of bars, a big set and a small set, not even if you changed into your hummingbird form could you get out of it. But at least you could breathe and look around now- as you screamed your lungs out, making your distress call- calling for another moura to come save you but no one answered as you started to panic and try to get out of the cage itself all the way down the mountain as they all ran for their lives, all the towns on the way up to the colony being boarded up protectively, a few brave souls peeking out to see the orcs pass through before the cage you were in was wrapped in another leather wrap and put on the back of a draft horse, the horses running for hours, as you braced yourself in the cage, still trying to scream your distress call, every time you did, the cage was hit by the rider as you were yelled at to keep quiet and once the horse stopped then the cage was taken off the horse and handed off- the rider ordering for the cage to be brought into the warchief’s home before they stomped off and you didn’t hear their voice anymore, you were carried into a house and the covering was taken off to reveal an orc family with little ones as one warrior came in, his burn wounds on his arms extensive.

“We failed. They’re protected by dragons, phoenixes and missile raptors, but not like any other missile raptors we know of. The raptors turned everything they touched into gold, our armor, our weapons, everything, it was all useless when they’re gold, it all melted off of us, and those damn raptors are fireproof, I watched as they all passed through the fire unharmed. We’ve never seen or even heard of anything like it, the elders warned of us of the phoenixes and the dragons, they were wise not to mention the raptors, we would have had it if it had not been for them,” the Warchief explained in staggering gasps as healing balm was put on his burns by his servants and his warchieftess as they stared at his dented and half melted gold battle axes that had been dumped on the floor.

“Could be worse, they could have turned them to foam or wood or something, at least the gold is worth something.” The warchieftess tried to soothe as she dressed his wounds herself.

“Where’s Brock?” The Warchieftess asked before a younger male orc came in and revealed himself, as you recognized him as the one who had caught you out of mid air, the one who’s voice you had recognized and now in this light- you could see the bastard as he was nursing his own burns and scratches that you had inflicted when he caught you before he had put you in a sack since his shield had burst into flames before you struck it and it turned to gold before it partially melted too as he dropped his shield down along with his own golden broadswords and battle axes, all of which were mostly melted before he kicked the cage in vengeful anger, melted gold stuck to the leather of his boots and coming off in dried crusted drops.

“You stupid fucking raptor! You ruined everything!” He roared which only made you scream back defensively before you tried to make your distress call before he picked up the cage and punched the cage with his free hand which temporarily shut you up before he slammed it back down on the table it had been put on, if that table had been made out of wood, you’d be impaled on a pile of shards but thankfully it was only metal and the metal banging rung painfully in your ears.

“Brock don’t! That raptor might be worth something yet, don’t stress it any more than it is.” His father growled which made his son just glare at you as you glared back.

“We should roast it and eat it.” Brock sneered.

“You will do no such thing!” You screamed back, your voice so hoarse and raspy from screaming all night before everyone froze to look at you.

“Did the mouras seriously train a missile raptor to talk?” The warchieftess murmured as she paused in dressing her husband’s wounds to look at you curiously.

“Oh I can do more than talk.” You seethed at Brock.

“That so? Turn your cage into gold then.” Brock taunted.

“No,” you refused.

“Why not?” Brock prodded.

“Come closer and I’ll turn you to gold instead.” You threatened, it would cost you your life but it would be worth it.

“Really? Do it, I dare you.” Brock pushed before he tried to put his hand to the cage before his mother ripped his hand back.

“Don’t get in an arugment with a fucking bird! It’s a magic bird but it’s still a bird, you look and sound like a lunatic.” She reprimanded.

“At the very least a barbaric asshole.” You seethed and he looked like he was ready to crush your cage with his fists.

“Go check to see if anyone else has caught another one Brock.” The Warchief ordered before Brock growled menacingly at you as you screamed back before he left the tent and you did your best to break free but you were too weak now so you just hung your head in defeat and started crying.

“Pretty bird cries.” A little one noted as it walked over to you. The thing had to be younger than 5 as you begrudgingly realized that her voice sounded too familar in your ears as you stared at her, trying to place where you’ve seen her, but your head hurt and you were utterly exhausted.

“Kari no!” The mother said before the young girl stuck it’s fingers in the cage. You were half tempted to bite the little monster’s fingers off but you did no such thing because you knew that would be a line too far but you just sat there and begrudgingly let it pet you through the cage.

“Don’t cry pretty bird.” She cooed to you which made you huff a laugh before you leaned into her touch because pets always did feel good no matter what form you were in as she wiped your tears from your eyes. Damn it she was a darling and cute little thing too. Practically adorable.

“Look, bird tears papa!” She said before she pulled away and showed her father the tears from your eyes.

“Birds…don’t…cry.” The warchief muttered but she just wiped the tears on the bandage and kissed it before she came back over to you as the warchief and warchieftess both just looked at each other as they tilted their heads before Brock came back into the room with a silver cuff on a thin silver lead.

“Kari get back!” He roared which put you on the defensive again.

“Don’t hurt the pretty bird!” Kari said as she shielded you with herself, standing between him and you despite her small size. Bless her soul.

“Do you want to turn to gold?! I saw that thing turn a whole stock pile of meteorites into gold. Get away from it!” Brock ordered.

“She’s already stuck her fingers in the cage, if it was gonna turn her into gold it would have already, the thing is tame, she’s been petting it the whole time and not so much as a hiss or a snap.” His mother argued. “Unless that bird just happens to either like kids or like girls or both.“

"Both.” You confirmed.

“That thing ain’t natural.” Brock pointed a finger at you accusingly.

“No duh genius.” You bit out as you glared at him through the bars as he just glared even more hatefully at you as Kari giggled.

“Did any anyone else catch one?” The warchief asked.

“No, this is the only one, others were caught but they all managed to escape within moments of being captured, they all said they shrunk down to a smaller bird and flew away.” Brock admitted and you blew out a breath of relief. Thank the gods. Although now that you thought about it, that’s what you should have done. Damn it.

“Papa can I have the pretty bird?” Kari asked hopefully. “I promise I won’t eat it.” She swore.

“It’s the family’s bird.” He informed her gently but firmly as you narrowed your eyes at that.

“Here, put this on its leg, that cage is too small for it.” Brock huffed before she took it from him. Something about that thing wasn’t right but you were too panicked to really slow down and think it through as to why. In a colony that the citizens can turn everything into gold- silver was king, all of Suchi’s real money was in silver. But this silver was different. But you couldn’t process why or how. But something about it made your soul recoil in abhorrence.

“Please don’t, I can’t be enslaved, no, no, no! Please don’t do this Kari!” You pleaded, crying again and backing up and trying to get in a ball and hide your legs in your feathers.

“Were you a slave?” She asked as she paused.

“No, but my mother was.” You explained. “That’s why Suchi was built, for all who want to break free from slavery.” You explained.

“How much do you know about the Moura?” The warchief asked, not noticing how quickly he was healing already.

“If I tell you about them? Will you let me go?” You asked.

“If your answers satisfy our curiosity.” He ventured yet you didn’t trust that answer. There was no way in hell it would be that easy.

“Put the cuff on, so you’re not cramped in that tiny cage, and once you satisfy our requests, then we’ll let you go.” Brock offered.

“All of you swear to me that no one will touch me without my consent and that I will remain unharmed.” You put to them before they agreed, Brock begrudgingly so.

You submitted and let Kari put the silver cuff on your ankle before she wrapped her arm in a cloth so you could get out as you gingerly got on her arm before you tried changing into a hummingbird to get out of the cuff but it shrunk to fit your foot before you changed into an eagle but it changed again before you turned into a phoenix but all it did was change with you and no matter what you did, you couldn’t get it off, not even when you spewed fire at it, it wouldn’t melt.

“What is this?!” You shrieked as you changed into every bird you could think of, wearing yourself out as you did so as Brock just grinned wider and more smug by the minute before he took the lead and yanked it.

“True form.” He commanded as he did a whipping motion with the lead as he did so before you changed into your human form and landed on your ass on the floor as everyone else gasped, including yourself as Brock just stared at you, slack jawed before he just started laughing, at first in amusement before it turned into one of victory. Your feather cloak shielding you mostly from the impact before it became armor for you since it could no longer turn into wings for you.

“I knew it! You’re not a magic missile raptor, you’re just a shapeshifter.” He boomed before you found your feet and tried to attack him, your hands becoming clawed again as you tried using the last of your energy to become a phoenix again but couldn’t, you just collapsed on the floor at his feet, unable to even stand, your own body barely skin and bones now as your clothes hung off of you since your moura cloak could became your clothes when you weren’t in bird form and the armor continued to shrink to try to fit you properly.

“Hey you hurt me or any of us- that null and voids our word not to hurt you.” He taunted as you just glared daggers at him through your thick lashes before his mother took the lead from him.

“Hey!” Brock frowned.

“She’s not going to stay tethered to you, you’d abuse the privilege and power like you just did. Kari already proved we’ll get farther by being kind.” His mother explained. “But Kari is too tender hearted and you’re too vengeful right now to manage her. So I will.” She decided.

“What’s your name?” She asked as she turned her attention back to you.

“Benyana Auksa, Yana for short.” You begrudgingly answered as you just sat on the floor and pouted before Kari came back over to you curiously before she climbed into your lap, your armor receding around her since you sensed she meant you no harm where as your armor grew spikes directly at Brock before gave you a hug as you hugged her back. At least Kari was nice- she reminded you so much of your little sister Perideli.

“Thanks for trying to help me.” You thanked her.

“You’re welcome.” She murmured as she sat in your lap and inspected the embroidery in your clothes, practically entranced by it.

“Do you have children of your own that we’re keeping you from?” The warchieftess asked you wanted to lie but this stupid thing on your ankle wouldn’t let you, if anything it was like it was compelling you to answer with the whole truth.

“No, just 6 little brothers and sisters.” You answered as the warchieftess and the warchief nodded in understanding.

“So, what are your names?” You asked as you held Kari and rocked her as the time of night started to really affect you, you felt it was almost dawn as she yawned and got comfortable in your lap, your outfit growing a fur shawl to wrap around you and her since she was a little furnace in your arms and you were particularly cold since you used up all your reserves and had no body fat to insulate you anymore.

“Warchief Drad, this is my wife and warchieftess Rhoslan…” He explained before he introduced all the other members of his family.

“So ask your questions.” You put to them once they introduced themselves. Hopefully you’d be able to go home by morning.

“So what do they call your kind?” They asked.

“A halfling.” You answered reluctantly.

“A halfling of what?” They asked.

“Human,” you bit out.

“Humans can’t shapeshift, so what’s the other half?” They asked and the more you thought about lying the more this damn shackle burned you. There was magic to it as you stared at it hatefully.

“Moura.” You finally hissed before the burning stopped.

“So mouras are shapeshifters,” the warchief realized.

“Yes, but not all mouras carry the shapeshifting gene though, most in Suchi do not, I myself make up a precious few who do.” You explained and they nodded in understanding.

“Do you know why we were denied from entering Suchi?” Drad asked.

“From what I was told by the colony elders as we all sought refuge from your attack is you wanted to reap us, take who you wanted off the street, without any thought or consideration as to who they were, if they were already married with children to another. You could have reaped our children. What mother willingly lets a stranger steal her child and do the gods only know what to it? Especially if that child is still nursing?” You returned as they frowned deeply at you.

“That’s not what a reaping is or how a reaping works. Only single marrying age people would be selected.” Brock argued.

“How can you tell if they are all standing in the street?” You countered.

“Because it happens on a specific day, everyone is prepared for it. Only the single should be out of the house besides it’s not like we would be complete strangers, that’s why we would want to enter the city first, at least scout or befriend the potentials first.” Brock explained.

“But your elders shut the city up before we could even try to approach. And we approached many times.” The warchief pointed out.

“You’re orcs, how could we know that you weren’t there to raid us?” You argued.

“Because we were unarmed!” Brock argued. “All your elders did was try to bribe us into going away before they insulted us.” Brock pointed out as he folded his massive arms over his chest.

“That’s because you insulted us first by trying to reap us!” You yelled angrily at him.

“It goes against our culture and is the very thing we’re trying to free ourselves of. All other mouras are either in the heavens or in the royal palaces. And for most mouras they are arranged into marriages in their childhood or at birth. The colonies are a haven for the outcast mouras, mouras who just wanted to marry for love instead of money or power or politics and marry on their terms, your reaping goes against that, with you reaping us, we have no say so, no control, how is that different than the life we were shut out of and shunned for wanting something different from? For the other mouras it is unthinkable to marry an outsider, a non moura, let alone a non royal. So they cast us out of the heavens and the royal houses forsake us too. The mountain colonies are the only homes we have and the other outcasts are our only families since the rest of our families shun us and would no sooner slit our throats than offer any kind of aid. To finally carve out a life for ourselves just to be "reaped” right before we can finally choose for ourselves who we want to marry and live the rest of our lives with, it is too much like what we were fighting against and the very reason we ourselves are outcast. We have fought for our freedom and we deserve to fly free because of it.“ You explained as Rhoslan gave her son and her husband a meaningful look. Something akin to ‘I told you so’.

“Now, I have answered your questions, let me go.” You demanded.

"Oh hell no, we’re not done.” Brock argued and if you had the power or the energy you’d burn him where he stood as you stared daggers at him. You could feel that you were actually tethered to him since he was the one who caught you and introduced this hell shackle. You wished your heavenly moura cousins could have heard your call and would come to the call, except for Kari- you wanted all of them to burn- especially Brock.

“I think it’s time for bed before we ask anything else.” Rohslan suggested before she handed the lead to one of her older daughters as you reached out to touch the gold weapons and armor- turning them back to their original iron as you sucked as much density out of the metal as you could, knowing it was going to take quite a bit of work to get them straight and viable as a weapon again and even then- they would rust to dust well before that. That single act regaining some strength back, the muscle mass at least in your limbs returning a little so that you had some strength to pick Kari up and carry her to the other room before her other sisters directed you to put her before they pointed to a spot you could lay down on before you used your own moura feather cloak to make an enclosed cocoon to sleep in. The silver chain sticking out like a tail before you cried yourself to sleep, your tears turning to diamonds around you. A sign of extreme distress for mouras.

The next day you gathered your diamond tears and put them into a little pouch on your waist before you peeked out of your cocoon, your feather cloak looking like dragon scales in a cocoon before you noticed it was safe and the dragon scales receded and changed to normal feathers before turning into your outfit for the day before you were brought by Kari’s sisters to a meal- apparently dinner- since you slept most of the day away as Kari had you sit right next to her before you thanked the servants there for their service, which they seemed particularly happy with before you asked and received some tea for your throat before the warchief and warchieftess and Brock and his other brothers came in for the meal too.

“So do all moura tears heal?” Drad asked as he unwrapped his arm to reveal the whole area where your tear had been wiped on the bandage had been made anew as you looked at his healed arm and sighed in defeat.

Damn it. Another moura secret out.

“No. Your daughter’s intent with that kiss to heal you probably did that, orcs have magic too just like any other being, well, except humans who have none. So since I’m half human- my magic and abilities and powers are significantly less than my purebred mother’s. My tear just enhanced Kari’s own power. Moura tears are just tears until they’re used with intent, if Mr. Asshole over there for instance were to strike me and force me to cry to do the same, my tears would burn him to the bone before they would act like viper venom in his blood.” You explained defiantly before you began eating the food that was laid out on the table before you licked your lips and kissed Kari.

“Now go kiss all the booboos.” You urged her before she giggled and did as you told her too, her kisses healing the members of her family before she returned to you and kissed your cheek affectionately before she got back into your lap to eat from your plate as you tore your food into bite sized pieces for her.

“Why am I the asshole?” Brock asked after he marveled at his healing wounds.

“Because somehow, you managed to catch me midair which takes skill, one that under any other circumstances- I might just respect, but currently, no, you can go straight to every circle of hell for all I care, but then you enslaved me by whatever magic is binding this silver cuff on my ankle and the chain. So that means, either you will be the one to release me or you will be the first to die when I am rescued.” You defiantly explained to him as Kari’s older sisters were grinning because while you were half their size, you were twice as fierce and had spunk and spirit and they could respect that.

“If.” He reminded you and if your stare had real daggers, he’d be dead by now. Damn him!

“Oh no, that’s a when, I gave that distress signal long and hard enough that my cousins in the heavens should have heard me. And if they didn’t, I stand out, words going to travel like wildfire that the orcs managed to enslave a moura, do you really think that whatever land you live on- that the ruling family will eventually find out, and when they come to investigate- they will take one look at this silver cuff and enact justice. It is illegal to enslave a moura in every single kingdom. You will all pay the consequences of my enslavement, to the point that not even your own enslavement will save you from our wrath. It is best if you let me go now, they might show leniency.” You threatened which if you were a royal moura- would have real power and backing behind your words.

“Yeah, except you’re in the middle of orc country and you’re looking at the warchief,” Brock reminded you as he nodded to his father. “Who to orcs- is the same thing as the king. And it’s not illegal here to enslave a moura. So even if the neighboring countries were to try to rescue you, it would be an act of war. Do you really think that your one little life is enough to entice a war? If anything, they’ll just write you off as a casualty. And you will grow old here, just like the rest of us. No one is going to rescue you.” Brock insisted and damn him to every circle of hell, he had a point. Only the heavenly moura had the numbers and strength to really rescue you, the royal moura had too much political agenda and you sincerely doubted any of them would ever trouble themselves to save the offspring of the black sheep of the family.

You put Kari to the side, kissing the crown of her head as you did so before you got up, pulled a feather from your skirts, transforming it into a dagger and yanked him off the bench of the table backwards by sticking your fingers in his nostrils and pulling with all your strength and weight so that he landed on his back on the floor and put it into his hand and pushed it to your own throat as you straddled his large chest, manage to balance even though your knees couldn’t touch the floor as you sat over him, your long platinum blonde hair falling like a waterfall around you, the ends of your hair splaying out on his chest.

“Then kill me now, I would rather be dead than live like a slave!” You urged him, angry tears welling in your eyes. You never envisioned your death like this, but this still had more dignity than life as a slave.

“No, we have already vowed not to harm you.” He let his arms go lax and they were so heavy you couldn’t keep ahold of them before they fall above his head, his hand purposefully letting the dagger go and tossing it to the side so that he was unarmed and the dagger transforming into just a feather again.

“You stupid good for nothing son of a bitch! How dare you do this to me! Kill me like the monster you are damn it!” You demanded as you just started hitting him in his chest, your tiny fists barely do anything to him as he just sighed and shook his head and turned you over so that you were on your back as he pinned your wrists above your head as you tried kicking him but he just pinned your legs down with the weight of his own leg as you still struggled against him. He wasn’t even trying that hard to pin you down, his own weight alone was more than enough to practically smother you and his hold on you was firm but not bruising or harmful.

“Let me go!” You shrieked.

“I will let you go once you calm down and quit being difficult and so dramatic! Gods, I thought the street performers were dramatic! They’re nothing compared to the hysterics you’re throwing yourself into. You’re not going to live like a slave, we’re not going to hurt you or starve you or work you to death or anything like that, life with us isn’t so horrible that it’s worse than death, you’re actually part of the family now, so honestly? It could be so much worse, we could sell you as a slave, that’s always an option.” He explained as you started to suck in snot from your nose to try to spit venom at him.

“Hey- don’t spit at me or on me, I swear to the gods, you spit at me or on me, I’ll dunk you in the horse trough!” He warned as he pulled a hand away from your wrist to point at you. “A nasty, slimy, mucky horse trough.” He warned as you narrowed your eyes at him and swallowed your spit. That would take ages to clean out of your clothes.

“Now quit yelling and screaming and cussing like some kind of banshee. Mouras are supposed to be lovely and the epitome of sophistication and civilized behavior. You’re bringing shame on your moura heritage.” He taunted as you gasped in outrage.

“How dare you-” you tried argue but he just grabbed your face, his fingers pinching your cheeks to keep you from talking but not hard enough to bruise as you grabbed his wrist, your fingers becoming clawed to get him to release you.

“I said- stop.” He repeated, using the same calm and condescending tone he would with a two year old having a tantrum.

“Act like a lady and we’ll treat you like one. Act like a damn fool with more barbarism than we have, and we’ll treat you like that too. You set the tone for your own treatment.” He reminded you as he watched your eye teeth turn more and more fanged.

“Hey you bite me or spit venom at me…remember, horse trough or…you know what? I’ll kiss you, I owe you a kiss for every strike.” He realized as you gasped even more scandalously, your fangs instantly receding before you shut your mouth and bit your lips to keep them from being available to him for that.

“There we go, found your weakness sweetheart.” He crooned as you stopped struggling altogether and just frowned deeper and deeper at him and glared even more hatefully at him.

“Enough Brock.” His mother warned before he got off of you and let you go before you took the feather and put it back in your dress.

“Don’t you ever touch me again.” You growled.

“Hey, you touched me first.” He argued and that stopped you, your mouth hanging open to argue before you shut it as you once again realized he had a point. Smug motherfucker.

“Now, go eat the rest of your dinner, we let you sleep all day to gain some strength back, you’re as skinny as a stick.” He urged which made you stand up and dust yourself off before you stood up to your full height and walked back down the table where Kari and her sisters were nearly crying from holding in all their laughter.

“So, where were we, oh I know what I wanted to ask- So what about turning things to gold and back again?“ Drad asked thoughtfully and your shoulders sagged in defeat as you just held your head in your hands before dragging them down your face in frustration. There was no use fighting.

"That’s a power every shapeshifting moura guards with their lives to keep this very situation from happening to them again. How do you think every royal house got to be so rich? And why do you think it’s now illegal for anyone to enslave a moura in every realm there is? It’s to protect us. Of course if you ask- it will be denied until everyone is blue in the face. But it’s why it’s considered only royalty is good enough for a moura to marry into which is ironic.” You answered.

“Why is it ironic?” Rhoslan asked curiously.

“Because that’s just a different kind of slavery altogether, you have to obey any edicts from the council and the realm that you’re inhabiting, they get to live in luxury- but they have no control over thier own lives, it’s all controled via the council who decides who lives where, who will bear who’s children, what will happen to those children, everything- which is why the mountain moura will hold onto their freedoms and their power over themselves and autonomy till their last breath and why we hang onto it so strongly. If you really wanted a moura in your lives, you would have better luck going to the council and renting one just like everyone else, although the chances of you getting a gene carrying moura are very slim since not all moura children get the gene and if they do- it’s incomplete and for royal moura- right now the odds are one in a hundred and twenty eight chance of having the gene because you’re talking six to ten or more generations from the original heavenly moura and moura genes are delicate and have a very short half life but at least you’d get one in name and pedigree, which I have neither. But otherwise to marry a non moura and a non royal- it’s considered a foolish waste. It’s a power that’s extremely costly to use. It took me and my friends years of reserves to do what we did last night. I’m usually twice this size and three times as quick and four times as strong, so clearly, that’s what that power has cost me personally.” You answered as you held out your skinny little arm- your elbow joint being the biggest part of your arm besides your hand.

“Where do your reserves come from?” Drad asked and you were tempted to growl in frustration because these motherfuckers were asking all the right questions, they were smarter than you anticipated and damn this silver ankle cuff because it was burning you the longer you fought not answering the question and answer it with nothing but the whole truth.

“Purebred mouras get all of their strength and reserves from the sunshine, but us halfbreeds, we can only get half from sunshine, the rest we have to get from food and rest just like everyone else and most of us who are born without the moura gene altogether, and therefore the sunshine would affect them no different than anyone else and they couldn’t escape when you attacked. You were going to win had I not talked the others into intervening, you would have won and so many of my friend’s have siblings and non moura parents would have died last night along with my own father, and you would have been responsible for massacuring half the colony all because your feelings got hurt because of an insult? Do you really think any moura in their right mind would ever marry an orc after this? Any orc from any clan ever for the rest of their lives? Do you have any idea how staunchly we hold onto grudges and prejudices? Do you even know how long mouras live?” You posed.

“How long?” Drad asked curiously.

“Oh only three to five hundred years. Half mouras get a fraction of that though. The mouras in the royal families? They’re lucky if they live to see a hundred years because of their own genetics, most can not even change like I can. Like I said, moura genes have a very short half life. I don’t even know of any moura has even had relations with an orc. No half moura orcs have ever come to us, at least that I know of. But I’m only a youngling, only 17 summer solstices and 18 winter solstices old. But I can tell you- that there is no way in hell you would ever reap from us now, even if this clan were attacked tomorrow by another clan and even if your women and children managed to escape and sought refuge in the colony- after the attack last night? There is no way that we would let you in or that we would ever offer you shelter. If you had just taken the gold offered or set up trade or something, anything other than attacking us, we would have though. But now? We would think it’s another trick or attack again, another trap. Although, to be fair- the elders never announced your previous attempts or approaches, they made it sound like you came to the colony only yesterday and made you demands and once we tried to negotiate, you dismissed the negotiations, turning your noses up at them and promptly threated to take us by force and bring war to our door. It wasn’t until last night when we were in hiding, that they told us about it at all. They made it sound like you would just barge in and take whoever you wanted in the street without warning. But they are older, and I know for certain that most if not all are speciesist. When the dwarves that helped carve out Suchi intermarried with the moura there was a lot of stigma, still is even after a few generations.” You revealed.

“So if you’re going to ask me to turn anything else to gold, it’s going to be a very long wait until I can replenish myself.” You insisted as they nodded in understanding.

When you were done with dinner, the leftovers were taken back to the kitchen before Kari showed you around the clan as the sun was setting over the sea. It was beautiful.

The clan lived next to an estuary. Where a river met the sea, it was gorgeous if you were honest, with birds flying overhead.

“Are the birds your family?” Kari asked as she watched you watch the birds flying overhead, your heart breaking in jealousy and sadness but the sunshine was helping.

“Not these birds.” You answered in a whisper as you wiped the tear from your eyes before she walked you over to the market where the fresh fish was being cooked up, the leftover from that morning’s haul, the fishermen fishing all night the night before as news of the failure seemed to spread before they looked at you curiously as in the fading light, your moura marks were starting to glow. Beautiful scrolling patterns on your front, feathers on your back and arms.

You covered your mouth as they picked up huge…bug looking things that Kari giggled at as they moved in the air as they were being picked up and placed in pots of boiling water.

“What- is that?” You asked as she brought you over to the bucket that that one had been pulled from, finding more in there.

“It’s a lobster! You eat the tail meat, it’s really good!” She insisted.

“Uh, ok, I’ll take your word for it.” You placated her as she walked you through the market, pointing everything out to you and telling you about each one as her sisters walked with you, holding the silver lead casually before they started talking about the different kinds of fish in the market, which ones were good, which ones were ok, which ones were awful and so on. You recognized sardines- because during the summer solstice, when you would fly over the oceans, you could dive easily for these but all these others were too deep to dive for. But they were pretty as the girls decided to treat you to them as they got some of everything at all the stalls, each vendor having a different spice mix on frying them or cooking them in various ways.

You were used to raw fish, but cooked fish was especially tasty. Especially grilled with some salt and citrus. It was awesome and you ate until your stomach distended from your belly and thankfully Kari got full from her meal too and got sleepy before she took your chain and walked you back to their sleeping quarters and had you make another bed out of your feather cloak which you obliged before she got in with you and cuddled up with you as you did the same, grateful for her warm nature before you dozed off, a lone hole in the top, far enough away that no one could reach inside and grab you or her but would get a good air flow as her sisters went to bed too.

“So? Was she worth it?” Rhoslan whispered to her son as they both peeked inside and watched you sleep peacefully, the light of the moon filtering in through the room from a skylight, the moon making your moura marks radiate and pulse as you pulled even more energy from it, Kari cuddling up to you as the feather cloak became a thick white fur blanket to stave off the chill in the air as they could see your moura marks through the fur.

“She will be. She almost has too much fight in her.” He complimented as he smiled fondly. “But looking at her now, I can see why the whole world is in love with them and I can see why they’re so hard to get to and get a hold of, let alone keep.” He murmured quietly.

“She’s not going to love you with that chain on her ankle.” Rhoslan reminded him.

“I know, I just can’t let her go too quickly, or she’ll fly away before I really get a chance to prove myself to her. So maybe not today, or in the coming weeks or maybe months, but hopefully, sooner than later, I can win her over. I just can’t believe that the woman I’ve been dreaming about for a month is real, I froze on the battlefield when I heard her voice, imagine my surprise when she came right out of that fire and promptly turned everything on me to gold as a missile hawk. In all my dreams she has always been a dove.” He sighed as he rubbed at his chest, where you had “hit” him earlier. While he understood your hatred and misgivings, to have you so close and above him had sent him practically into a tizzy because he had dreamed of that too several times but you were always lower and riding him like you owned him and it hurt that you would hate him so much and so fiercely and downright almost forced him to kill you, the dagger had even cut your neck a little and he had wanted so badly to disarm you and kiss the mark but you would surely kill him if he tried just yet. He just couldn’t get over how beautiful you were. You were all piss and vinegar and anger and wrath and just fire, pure fire, from the heavens themselves as he wondered how magnificent you’d be at full strength.

“Well it looks like Kari is doing most of the work. It’s probably because of her that she’s even half as decent as she is.” Rhoslan murmured.

“True, thank the gods for her.” Brock nodded in agreement.

“You have an uphill battle on your hands. She’s going to make you earn every inch.” Rhoslan warned.

“And she’ll be worth it.” Brock grinned before he left and took care of a few things before he went to bed himself.

#Orcs #orc romance #orc boyfriend #orc fantasy #exo #monster boyfriend #Of Heaven and Fire #part 1

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poc-movie-supremacy · 4 years

Text

Watcher AU: Cryptids

How Steven Lim, guardian angel, befriended Ryan Bergara, Adam Bianchi, and finally Andrew Ilnyckyj (Shane and Jake Bergara to an extent as well)

look @mousemadej I finally did it!

*Steven is an angel, but not the typical type of Angel. Some traits were taken from the bible and some from what general pop culture describes as angel to make one Steven Angel. I should add though, I mention that Steven has a flaming sword. In the bible the angel guarding the garden of eden was gifted a flaming sword by God to guard it. I decided to take that element and just say fuck it all guardian angels have it now.

-----

He remembers being a young angel and hearing whispers of a new, special angel. About his age, this angel had jet black hair, soft almost sad brown eyes, and jet black wings. He had no halo, no glow, no blinding white wings. Instead he had red eyes, sharp claws, and big open heart. As someone with a big heart too, it was friendship at first sight.

Ryan looked up at him and whispered, “Why do they keep staring at me?” In truth it was because of a genetic disorder, but little Steven didn’t understand that.

Instead he took little Ryan’s hand and said, “I don’t know, they’re weird. Wanna go play?” Ryan smiled at him and they flew off the go play in the playground together.

Throughout their lives they were near inseparable. Nothing could prevent that, not even Ryan taking on sole responsibility of Jake. Steven just made a joke about being an old married couple and went with it. Adam fit with them too, like another puzzle piece. Steven befriended him while training to become a guardian angel. He was practicing swimming in the ocean when a large man with a big brown beard and similarly brown eyes and the most gorgeous tail Steven’s ever seen approached him. At first they just stared at each other, Steven because his brain overloaded on Adam Bianchi cuteness, Adam because he just didn’t like talking.

It took a few minutes for Steven’s brain to start up again. Immediately he spewed out words faster than he could say them. Adam was shocked silent. For a while he let Steven ramble about... how pretty his tail was? with a neutral expression on until he took pity and gave him a small smile.

That smile almost broke Steven’s brain all over again, but luckily he saved himself just before repeating this process all over again. “Hi, my name’s Steven, sorry about the ramble. I’m here with my friends.” He pointed to where the Bergara boys were sunbathing on the beach. They looked unaware of the situation. They were not. “What’s your name?”

Adam continued smiling, “Adam, It’s nice to meet you Steven.” Adam shook his hand. Soft hands, Steven noted.

“Preparing for the guardian angel entrance exam?” Adam asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. The- my friends were lucky enough to already know swimming, I am not so lucky.”

Adam chuckled. “I can tell. Want me to give you lessons?”

“Would you?”

Adam spent the rest of the afternoon preparing Steven for his test. He wasn’t awful, by angel standards, but Adam knew he could improve. When the sun finally set Adam was satisfied. The Bergaras invited him to join them for dinner. He agreed and they all hit up a local burger joint.

Unsurprisingly, Steven would earn his place in the guardian angel league. They were all so proud of him. Jake loved to hear stories Steven would tell of his charges. His favourite was Keith Habersberger, a soldier in Vietnam. Keith would end up being Steven’s second to last charge, unbeknownst to him. The guy was funny and friends with three other soldiers in his platoon. Steven hoped to get him home alive to his wife Becky.

On his off days, Steven would try and help Jake be a guardian angel. When Heaven told him no Ryan raged. With some help, Ryan managed to get Jake into heaven’s guardian angel program. Steven wasn’t happy with the cost of such an action, but they were already in too deep to do anything about it. Besides, by supporting Ryan, Steven was put on Heaven’s shit list. One wrong move and he’d be kicked out. Helping people was Steven’s passion, he couldn’t give it up.

His newest charge was Andrew Ilnyckyj. He was about a 5′ 10′’ white guy that happened to work at Buzzfeed. That bit of information piqued Steven’s interest. He remembered that Ryan had gotten a job hunting demons at that same company and visited the place himself.

Steven ended up getting a job there (don’t tell heaven he lied on his resume).

Andrew Ilnyckyj was nothing like he expected. He was quiet and serious and handsome and oh god. Anytime Steven tried to talk to him he’d start stuttering and blushing up a storm. He couldn’t focus with Andrew which is unfortunate since he’s his charge.

Steven bemoans all this to Ryan one day as they fly up up up into the sky. It makes him laugh. “Dude! that’s not helpful.”

“I know I know it’s just been a while since I’ve seen Steven Lim with a crush.”

Steven could feel his cheeks heat up with a wicked blush. “I-I don’t. I have a crush don’t I?”

Ryan nodded. He patted Steven on the back in a comforting gesture. “It’s not the end of the world buddy, although it might be if you don’t eat enough. You’re getting too skinny.”

Steven squaked insultedly. “I am not skinny!” Ryan quickly poked him in the side and he could feel rib.

“Oh sure, golden boy. Not skinny at all. You’re burning too much stored fat flying with me and trying to warm your body to regular human body temperatures. Either you eat more or we’re stopping our flight dates.” Steven rolled his eyes at Ryan’s snipe but gave observation some thought.

~~~~

Steven took the advice to heart (well after Adam agreed with Ryan that Steven was getting skinnier) and came up with an idea.

Andrew likes food. Steven likes spending time with Andrew and needs to eat more. Adam likes food.

Thus worth it was born.

~~~~

Andrew knew that all Buzzfeed employees were going to end up being somewhere on the weird scale but then he met Ryan Bergara and Steven Lim. Adam seemed pretty normal though. The both of them just oozed eccentricity. They walked like they got an awful weight on their back and rock on their soles of their feet like they’re trying to fly. Ryan keeps looking around like he’s hiding something while Steven wears sweaters in eighty degree weather.

Andrew makes up his mind to avoid them. He befriended Adam is that not enough? Apparently it was not.

One day Steven corners him. He’s wearing a thin blue button up and a jacket is hanging off his arm. Andrew feels Steven drape himself onto his back and the first thing Andrew’s struck with is that Steven’s ice cold. The second is thing Andrew realizes is that Steven is draped over his back and he doesn’t know if he loves it or hates it.

The air is tense. To Andrew, nothing else can be heard. Adam stares at them out of the corner of his eye, silent. “Hey, hey, both of you. I have a great idea. Food at different price points.”

“What?”

Adam snorts and says, “Explain it more in detailed Ste, and put on a jacket, you’re going to catch a cold.” The underlying meaning was that Andrew would get suspicious of Steven’s abnormal body temperature. Steven undrapped himself from Andrew and put on his jacket. He also warms himself up but not enough that his angel glow can be shown.

Angels don’t have blood and hearts, only demons do. Demons are more like humans to convince them to sin using the sympathetic I-understand-what-you’re-going-through method. Angels are supposed to be ethereal, otherworldly as a symbol of what humans should inspire to be. Because of this, angel’s consciously generate heat which can appear as a glow if there’s enough heat. When Steven masquerades as a human he has to always be careful to not overheat. Usually he just ends up under-heating which causes a whole nother set of problems. Adam and Ryan have to continuously remind him to wear sweaters and such to mask this fact.

Steven can already feel himself warming slightly with the inclusion of the thick jacket all zipped up. Andrew can already feel himself missing Steven’s touch. Wait. The thought makes him blink a few times in surprise. He’s talked to Steven a few times,but liking his touch? Andrew’s going to get an aneurysm at this rate.

He is so caught up in his own whirlwind of a mind that he almost misses Steven’s slightly more detailed explanation of a new video series. “Ok so we take one specific food like pizza and then we go to three different restaurants at three drastically different prices and say which one is the best.”

Andrew looked at Steven slightly confused. “How did you come up with this? How are we going to pay for it?”

“Buzzfeed agreed to pay for it-” Steven started.

“And Steven’s too skinny.” Adam poked Steven a certain way to make him giggle. The sound was music to Andrew’s ears. The thought of Steven being too skinny wasn’t though. He looked Steven up and down to see for himself. His gaze made Steven blush up to his ears. Andrew fought back a smile, even a self-satisfied one.

“You want me to go with you?” Andrew asked Steven. He watched as Steven nodded enthusiastically then scratch the back of his neck.

“Yeah that’s the hope. It’d be you and me in front of the camera and Adam behind it. What do you say?”

Andrew thought about it for a minute, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no. “Sure when’s the first day of shooting?”

Steven’s smile was the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen. What have I gotten myself into? he wondered to himself. “First day is burgers on Monday! I’ll see you there partner.” Steven gave him a smile before walking off.

Andrew sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He played with one of Adam’s many bottles on his desk. “You’re going to have fun,” Adam told him, half-comfortingly half-commanding.

~~~~

Worth it, Andrew came up with the name, was better than Steven could’ve ever expected. Originally it was a chance to keep a better eye on Andrew and maintain a healthy weight. Steven put in the work, but he didn’t think it would flourish like it did. Then he was going to New York, Taiwan, and Japan! It’s been a while since Steven’s been here. He marvels at the difference a hundred years can make on architecture. Adam listens patiently while he rambles.

Steven and Andrew grow closer after working together long hours. His puns seem more endearing and his giggle is the cutest thing Steven’s heard. He likes to make up many silly dances just to get Andrew to smile. Being called fancy boy only becomes endearing when Andrew or Adam says it. Steven wonders about the consequences about gutting Ryan every time he says it.

They spend time together. Ryan loves to tease the ever loving shiz out of Steven when they go flying or visit Jake. Steven’s proud of Jake so he tells himself that for Jake and to be able to keep his job he won’t kill Ryan. That promise is harder to keep when Ryan teases Steven in front of Andrew though. Adam has to steer Steven away before he does something he’ll regret.

Andrew always gives a weird look to Ryan before getting back to his work. Internally, he wonders what Steven’s look means. Does he like him back? Does just not like to be teased? Andrew really hopes that Steven likes him back. He thinks Steven’s nose scrunch is cute and his enthusiasm is refreshing. Despite how he acts, Andrew craves Steven’s touch. He likes it when Steven drapes an arm over his shoulder or carries him like Steven did in their Sushi episode.

Adam says that maybe he should say something. (He tells both of them that actually) The fear that Steven doesn’t reciprocate his feelings is too strong. What they have is nice, if it took on a new direction Andrew would love that, but he can’t risk it. He has too much to lose.

~~~~

They happened to work late that day. Andrew wanted to finish this one edit before going home. Steven had a bad feeling so he decided to stay with Andrew. “Come on Drew, let’s go home,” Steven whined slightly and his eyes kept darting around the room.

Andrew scoffed and payed him no mind. “You’re as anxious as Ryan right now. It’s Buzzfeed we’re going to be fine.”

“Just hurry up will you.” Steven’s hackles were up and every sound made him want to unsheath his flaming sword. Too slow, Andrew finished his work and they said they could go. Steven grabbed his upper arm and brisked them out of the office to Steven’s car.

“I have my own car Steven.” Andrew jokingly protested. He’s not used to this paranoid, over-protective version of Steven. It’s endearing but also concerning.

Steven gaze, usually not this heavy, was dead on him. “I can drive you home? Please, just stay with me a little bit more? Something doesn’t feel right, and I-”

Andrew could tell that Steven was starting to get agitated so in an effort to calm him down Andrew squeezed his hand, and shushed him a bit. “Ok, ok, it’s okay Stevie. I’ll go with you, just breathe.”

Steven nodded shakily and let go of Andrew. “Sorry if I gripped you too hard.”

“No you’re grip was just right. I’m going...” Andrew trailed off and pointed to the passenger seat. Steven nodded as Andrew walked to sit in the passenger seat. Once catching his breath, Steven slid into the drivers seat. “Hey Stevie, are you sure you can drive now?”

“Yeah I’m fine I got this.” Steven pulled out the parking lot and headed over to Andrew’s house. They sat in tense silence. Steven was too paranoid to make conversation and Andrew was too worried about Steven to initiate any either.

As they drove along they saw well heard this person cry on the side of the road. Andrew looked at Steven to see if he’d slow down to stop. He didn’t. “Hey Stevie aren’t you going to pull over?” Steven pursed his lip but made no movement to pull over. Andrew was shocked. “Steven!”

At first Andrew didn’t think Steven would pull over. He was worried he would have to get involved but Steven sighed and pulled over. Andrew hoped out of the car and ran over to the person. Steven followed him at a much slower pace. The overwhelming need to draw out his sword was starting to get debilitating. He tried to focus on Andrew’s voice but it sounded like he was talking through water.

Then he screamed.

Steven never heard anything clearer.

A giant vampire had torn of a giant chunk in Andrew’s side and was now feasting in his blood. Steven’s vision matched the color Andrew was lying in. His whimpers and cries of pain filled his head and fueled his rage. The Flaming Sword light up the scene as Steven spread his wings and fought. The vampire tried to put up a fight, but he was no match for Steven Lim. All it took was one stab to the heart to take this guy out. Then Steven burned the vampire alive. He figured God wouldn’t be too upset since vampire’s weren’t His favorite creature.

“Steven?” The voice was tired, groggy and too breathy for Steven’s comfort. Everything was red and Andrew’s pale and Steven might be having a panic attack.

“Sh. Sh SH. Ok Andy, darling, baby. Just breathe.” Maybe if he wasn’t in panic mode he’d remember Adam teasing him about how pet names slip out of him when he’s really nervous, but the thought completely eludes him now. He strips off his jacket covering the dead body Andrew’s lying next to and then takes off his shirt to try and stop the bleeding. The shirt was pure white with vertical grey stripes running up it. Now it’s soaked blood red but Steven doesn’t throw it away.

He vaguely feels a hand on his stomach and almost almost jumps at the touch. So this was the bad thing. You idiot, you should’ve prepared for this. You could’ve prevented this. Now he’s dying and it’s your fault. Steven tries to think that it isn’t true but Andrew’s breathing is labored and unfocused and isn’t it true?

“Wow- wow, usually you-you don’t lose the shirt until the second date. No shirt first date is big, this must’ve been en a big first date.” Andrew’s so out of it he stutters and slurs his words. They make Steven pause though, well mentally, he’s not losing Andrew without a fight.

“Shhshsh Wait what? No Andrew shush this isn’t a date. Just focus on breathing alright. I’m going to try something.” There was a trick he learned when he was a kid. A certain trick that allows you to almost call people when you need help. Him and Ryan used to use that trick all the time they were exploring as kids. Now it’s become even more useful as adults.

He’s so concentrated on pulling off the trick that he almost misses Andrew’s next words. Almost. “Wh-what? This is a date. This is a date cause I love you and you love me because you have to like me right Steven?” Andrew can barely look at him and Steven wants to cry. He puts more pressure on the wound with his right hand and uses his left hand to cup Andrew’s face. Tears freely falled down his face as he guided Andrew to look at him.

“Whatever you want.”

Andrew smiled.

~~~~~

Ryan carrying Adam arrived shortly after Andrew passed out. Together the three of them confirmed that the poor stranger did die, but Andrew didn’t. Steven sobbed in relief when hearing that. They performed an old ritual that Steven and Ryan learned in their childhood (Ryan got a nasty cut and Mrs. Bergara inadvertently showed them a method on how to quickly stabilize critically wounded people). Steven then gathered up Andrew into his arms and flew him to his house. Ryan and Adam followed closely behind.

They set him down in Steven’s bed and quickly got to work saving him. Since Andrew was human, none of them could donate blood on his own so Ryan quickly got a few blood bags to use. Steven would usually ask if he got them legally, but he was too focused on Andrew to care.

Adam got some deep-sea medicines while Ryan helped Steven with the initial medicine. It was hours before Steven felt even semi-comfortable leaving Andrew’s side. All three boys were almost fainting with exhaustion. Ryan suggested they all pass out on Steven’s couch after telling Buzzfeed they won’t be at work tomorrow. Steven protested at first. Adam and Ryan each took a hand and dragged him over to the couch though. With tangled limbs, the trio finally fell asleep.

~~~

Andrew felt groggy when he woke up. Then he felt extremely cold. Confusion hit him like a truck when he realized that he couldn’t feel a heartbeat. Panic filled his senses as he tried to do something to fix this. The room around him looked familiar enough. Steven’s bedroom his hand supplied. That did not ease his confused state in any way shape or form. One look around though did confirm that this was in fact Steven’s bedroom. He could see photos of Steven throughout the ages on the nightstand on the bed. A note written in Adam’s handwriting told him to take the adjacent medication. Andrew did as he was told. As his digestive system processed the medication his ears picked up on the sound of commotion outside the door.

Andrew felt too weak to walk so he tried to strain his ears to hear what the voices were saying. He sadly couldn’t understand anything other than the fact that it was Steven and Ryan doing a lot of the arguing. Pain in his jaw started to become more apparent. He rubbed it and felt something sharp prick him. He tried to suck on the wound, but he felt another, more painful, prick. Andrew tried to scream but it just ended up being one loud garbled up sound. Steven burst through the door glowing mad. Ryan and Adam followed him a few paces behind.

Steven knelt in front of Andrew and tried to help him. Andrew jerked away from him in fear. “Andrew, Andy,” Steven took a step back from him with his hands raised. “It’s- Let me help.”

“I’ll go get the first aid kit Stevie.” Ryan ducked out of the room leaving the Worth it trio alone. A tinge of jealousy filled him when he heard Ryan call Steven a nickname.

“Take your hand out of your mouth Andrew.” Adam softly commanded. Though painful, Andrew pulled his hand off his teeth. Steven murmured a curse under his breath. His glow brightened a second before ceasing with a look from Adam. Ryan opened the door but paused when he saw Andrew.

“Fuck… at least he’s not dead.” Ryan handed the first aid kit to Adam then went to stand by Steven. He rubbed a hand up and down Steven’s back in an attempt to comfort him. “He is dead Ryan. I failed and -”

“Shush. I’ve been looking for a new reason to pick a fight with God.” Despite his anger at himself and at the vampire that hurt Andrew, Steven chuckled.

“You always knew the right thing to say.”

“I try.”

~~~~

It wasn’t easy, accumulating Andrew to the supernatural. Helping him adjust to no heartbeat and sharp bloodsuckers wasn’t easy, but there were some good moments too. Steven was particularly fond of the moment he got to take Andrew flying. With a lot of convincing from Steven and Adam, Andrew let Steven lift him up into the sky.

Andrew tightened his grip on Steven as they soared higher and higher. “Don’t like heights, Andy?”

Andrew grumbled into his neck. “Planes are fine, hiking is fine, this is none of those.”

“You’ll love it, Andy.” For once, Andrew agreed.

One day, before Shane turned into a demon and a new batch of chaos erupted on their lives, Andrew stood with Adam and Steven on Steven’s front porch.

“The whole beach thing, and obsession with water? Makes sense now,” Andrew told Adam. The ever stoic man did nothing but nod once.

“As much of a mess my life is now, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I would still agree to do Worth it with you and I would still force you to pull over to help the person. No regrets.” A breath Steven didn’t know he was holding flew out of his mouth. He grabbed Andrew’s hand, kissed the knuckles and brought it to his heart. Andrew kissed him on the cheek before leaning into Adam’s side.

“Life has been more fun with you too,” Adam mused.

“Yeah.” The boys watched the sunset on another very, very odd day.

#standrew #stamandrew #ish #like you can definitely read it that way #so yeah cool #I'm sorry this took so long I hope it wasn't anti-climatic #ella's worth it fics #we're all fic writers here #you know #If I ever write a fic and the fandom is more watcher based #I'm going to get such a headache

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edenamador · 3 years

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100 Things about My Father

I forgot I was a poet. Skip down for the poem that came to me as clear as a crystal last night. Trigger warning - Suicide.

I mean I have an inclination toward having dreams at night,

thinking they have deeper meaning, and waking up with music in my head at 1:15am in the morning.

There is something about 1:15 in the morning which has a razor sharp precision to it. Even though I’m more of a disconnected abstraction. Some constellation of stars nobody has given meaning to. Dreaming about that straight crush in college twice in one night. All this after in real life, oh and he was a poet too, now in grad school, who knows if he is the happy academic he craved to be. Who knows if he is still writing poetry or writing technical sentences with so much jargon nobody can understand. . .

Its all rambly. I know it is annoying but that is how it comes to me. He asked me if I had followed the spirit and I told him I wrote the poem I was suppose to write. He was proud of me, like a dead ghost now, I loved him then but he is a stranger in a distant land now.

Yes, I was at Target, a place I worked so long ago and a previous co-worker said to me, “You look poetic, like you could be a poet.”

I didn’t know what to say but now I am dreaming of my poetic college muse and he is telling me to follow the spirit just as Beauvoir so now I’m on tumblr again because of that Target co-worker who said I should have a blog and get a following. An idea I laugh at because my poetry is well, I am poetic, I am not exactly a poet if I’m not writing poetry. So I guess I will share what came to me last night. At least a draft.

My mother always says, “You have choices to make.”

So when my boyfriend says, “You never talk about your father,” and then asks, “Why is that?”

I pause and my mother’s voice repeats, “You have choices to make.”

I could say a hundred things about the same thing. Like a simple fact about the color of a chair, “My father is dead.”

It sounds like, “The chair is red.”

1. My father died.

My boyfriend might ask how he passed away which means I have to say more. This leaves me with more choices but I haven’t even jumped the first hurdle. I don’t even run track but the baton has been given to me, “How did he die?” I could have anticipated the next question and already answered it more bluntly.

2. My father blew his brains out.

If I want to keep my boyfriend I should frame things particular to his way of life. That would be too precise and come off as indifferent like my father never mattered to me. He didn’t.

3. He died when I was four.

Again, if I put it this way he might ask, “How?” and I would get to say

4. He loaded a pistol. I think it was a .45 pistol or a glock, and took the weapon to rat lake where he blew his brains out.

If I present it with “when I was four” the cold way in which I say, “He blew his responsibilities away,” pops like a childhood bubble.

5. He’s pushing up daisies.

6. He’s seven feet under.

7. He croaked.

Before the gun fire went off out in the country where only the frogs and flora of the boreal northern forests would hear it the American toads reed. When the gunfire went off silence consumed the forest for a few minutes before returning to normal a few minutes later. A few hours later, with the loons calling, a friend of my father’s came across his body and reported it to the authorities.

8. My father was a mail carrier.

I could have said this as it would have delayed revealing the information about the death of my father, and how he died, the conversation about the long term effect it had on my psychology and the psychological impact on the rest of my family. Though, according to my mother everything turned out fine. Which is why as I approach 30 years old I am waking up in the middle of the night because I’m having dreams about people in graduate school programs saying, “He doesn’t even talk about his father! He talks about Black Lives Matter, Marxism, Gender Theory and all this crap, but he hasn’t even mentioned his father.”

9. My father is out of the picture.

10. I would rather not talk about my father.

11. I didn’t know much about my father.

12. I don’t remember much about my father.

13. My father left me with dry skin and a proclivity toward depression.

14. My mother was a single mother.

15. I guess I don’t talk about my father. Hugh, I wonder why that is.

I like this because I can act like I’m just as dumbfounded by it as my boyfriend is. Creative writer circles often told me I am not concrete enough. So I guess we were sitting at a park in Hutchinson Minnesota when my boyfriend at the time asked this question. A few years later when the relationship had faded and I asked to be dating again he told me, “Some gay men have issues.” While I cried about it and refused to speak to him ever again he was right. I was a gay man with issues, daddy issues to be exact.

16. My father had a beard.

17. My father was an alcoholic and when my mother said she had enough he couldn’t handle it and blew his brains out.

This one is the worst of them. It sounds like my mother caused my father to commit suicide. Nobody but my father took a gun to his head and blew his brains out.

18. My mother never remarried after my father was out of the picture.

Again, I could say this but it remains vague enough to lead to other questions any intimate partner would have the right to know. Or perhaps nobody has the right to know about my father and that I have the right not to talk about him to anyone. “Did they get a divorce?”

19. Do we have to talk about this. I’d rather not talk about this because I am not ready to reveal that story and its long term effects on me. Look, it’s a nice day and I’m happy talking about a million other things.

This might indicate I lack the trust necessary to share that story. He may take it personally and think that our relationship should be more open. Or he might respect that answer and remain curious. Most people would talk about both their parents openly and in positive ways.

20. All the options in my life have been formed by my father’s decision to kill himself.

21. He killed himself.

22. He offed himself.

23. He decided he no longer wished to live.

24. When given the option between suicide and coffee he chose suicide.

25. I need counseling to answer that question.

My mother was right. The choices were really endless. I could even use the same word presented in a different way. There were a lot of strategies for answering this question. Even after the question was asked I kept gathering new academic methodologies to answer the question, “Why don’t you talk about your father?”

26. If I open up about him I’m afraid I will scare you away because if I talk about my father I am admitting that I am a flawed human being with an abnormal childhood upbringing.

Again, more options appear even if I avoid the subject of my father all together. It seems that certain events have greater effect on the long term psychology of the individual than others. But was my childhood “abnormal” or was my mother “doing the best she could” in situations which were out of her control? But it couldn’t of been out of her control. . . “Everybody has choices to make. . .”

27. “My father died when I was four.”

28. “I was four when my father died.”

I cannot remember which of these I used but it was one of the two. So I said what I thought in the moment. I paused. I know I paused and my boyfriend said, “Only if you are comfortable talking about it.”

29. I might cry if I talk about my father. But I don’t think I will. I usually don’t but its sad. Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything. Why do people say sorry when I say this? What personal responsibility did they have for it? Why do I have to answer this question? Why will this question always come up when in relationships?

30. His death effect me because I was too young.

That’s a lie because I know it impacted the whole trajectory of my life. There were material consequences. For example his life was attached to the union. This left my mother with a small financial cushion to fall back on when she was left to raise three children. While it may have been small it was enough for her to go to college for ten years and get a bachelor’s degree in education.

31. I never talk about my father because then I have to talk about my mother. My mother looks like an American hero for the choices she didn’t make but talking about my mother also reveals the hidden demons I am not suppose to talk about as it might make her look bad.

32. I never talk about my father because it usually becomes a really long essay about masculinity, the effects of neo-liberal feminism, and requires a master’s degree in sociology and a Ph.D. in philosophy to get to the bottom of it. It requires skill, tact, intelligence, emotional strength, and persistence to answer with any certainty. It’s a philosophical question at heart and I am not a philosopher, I am merely a subject exposed to systems of power which shape my experience in a world I did not create.

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

33. Why did he commit suicide? Why did my brother point a gun to my head? Why did my mother trust a teenager to get me to and from school going ninety miles an hour down icy unplowed country roads at seven in the morning? Why did the chicken cross the road? Why is the sky blue?

34. He’s sinking in the swamps.

35. The worms are feeding on his body.

36. He’s dead.

37. He’s gone.

38. He’s no longer with us.

If at this point the possibilities seem pointless, redundant, or obnoxious, imagine being at work when a co-worker flippantly says, “I’m ready to blow my brains out.”

39. My father hurt his back and wouldn’t go to see the doctor. It was severe pain and he couldn’t really talk about it. He drank his physical and mental pains away. Sometimes he would come home drunk and punch walls in. I do remember waking up to the sound of shattering glass. The stove glass broke because my father kicked it in during one of his masculine temper tantrums.

40. I didn’t know it when it was first asked but I now think my father died because of hyper-masculinity. I don’t think he was allowed to express any of the emotional or physical hardships he had. He likely had depression and was obviously having thoughts of suicide. Other’s in the family had committed suicide and had mental issues. When I go to the psychologist they show me genetic connections but as a sociology major I am thinking more about the limits on men expressing emotions. My father couldn’t express his emotions, that’s for sure, so he likely imploded, quite literally.

41. I don’t mean to come off as cold hearted or disconnected, it’s just that the death of my father strikes me more as an abstraction than a concrete reality. When it does come up I am reminded of my differences, my class upbringing, the social values that played out in my childhood.

42. For my brother my father was a something which became a nothing. For me my father is a nothing who, when asked about his existence, becomes a something that should have been, but wasn’t.

43. By opening up about my father I cannot really say who he is without explaining who he was not and for me he was more of a not than a was.

44. “Your father loved you,” my aunt says.

45. My father bought two stuffed monkeys. The monkey was Abu from the Disney show Aladdin. He did this a few months before he killed myself. In addition to that he also bought me a small baseball glove. My uncle on my mother’s side went with my dad to the store to pick these up. My uncle says he was likely planning his suicide during this time and asked my mother that we hide these items when my uncle was around so he wouldn’t be reminded of my father’s suicide.

How could my father have loved me if he blew his brains out? It hardly seems like an act of love to abandon your child at the age of four.

46. “God has a plan for everyone and even though it may not make sense to us down here there is a plan and there is nothing we can do about it.” Likely something my pastor said or something my grandmother said or something someone said along the way. When on a date with an attractive suitable man one doesn’t want to delve into religious theology and questions about the existence of God, determinism versus free will, the meaning of life, and deeper levels of spiritual enlightenment, or lack there of. One wants to eat ice cream, giggle about some superfluous thing, and see if one can see some concrete shape in the clouds: its a duck, a bird, a dinosaur, a giraffe. What do you see when you look at the sky? Is there something more out there?

When asked about my father I am asked about a whole series of causal effects. When asked about my father I am asked to see myself as an object in the world formed by what the existentialists refer to as facticity. At this moment I free myself from the container which shaped me and am allowed to reconstruct the object that I am as I choose.

I also begin to ask myself, “what if things had played out differently,” as I am prone to ask the questions I was told weren’t worth asking. I was told there were no answers to them but the questions which don’t have answers are the questions I like the most. So being asked about my father is really asking me who I am and how I became who I am. I am inclined to answer if one has the time for it. Most people don’t have the time, the intellect, the patience, the attention span, or the emotional capacity for such things. So I prefer to say,

47. “Shh, daddy is sleeping. We must not wake him. He’s a terrible ghost. Let’s play hide and seek with death! Can you count to one hundred?”

48. “In any case, that little boy didn’t want to grow up for fear of becoming serious.” pg. 327 Jean Paul Sartre War Diaries

49. “But as soon as man grasps himself as free, and wishes to use his freedom, all his activity is a game: he’s its first principle; he escapes the world by his nature; he himself ordains the value and rules of his acts, and agrees to pay up only according the the rules he has himself ordained and defined.” 326 Jean Paul Sartre

50. “And man is serious when he forgets himself; when he makes the subject into an object; when he takes himself for a radiation derived from the world: engineers, doctors, physicists, biologists are serious.” 326 Jean Paul Sartre The War Diaries

51. When my father died my mother was left to raise three boys. He was a step father to one of my brothers so one of my brothers still had a father. So my father is really three people: a dad who was then wasn’t, a dad who wasn’t then was, and a step dad.

I could have never explained all this that day I was asked. There in a rural town in the middle of a corn-field playing out the waves of one of my first gay relationships I simply said, “My dad is dead.” Reality is bleak like that. It restricts possibilities. Reality is only here in the field of “you have choices to make”. Reality are the options available. I am free to make choices in relation to concrete possibilities. For example I used covid stimulus money to pay for my rent so I could I have time to write this. I could have used it to buy copious amounts of liquor to subdue my existential angst. I could have used it to put it to my loans. I quit my job to give myself the time necessary to heal the wounds of the past. I refuse to conform to the pressure to buy a vehicle and get a license because I would have to buy car insurance which would mean I need a job to pay for the cars insurance. I would need gas to go back and forth to work where I would only continue to suppress my authenticity. Authenticity can never be achieved. It can only be something which is consistently reproduced. I reproduce myself as a writer only in the act of writing. Even the short pause between characters I realize other possibilities. Writing must be a consistent act I partake in everyday as a way of pursuing my own projects with the material conditions given to me.

52. My father is four people or five people because he was a co-worker to my middle school friend’s father, also a wife, a brother, an uncle. Six or seven people. He was never a grandfather though and could never be a grandfather. He could never have the possibility of being a grandfather so when my nephew says he doesn’t have a grandfather, his great uncle says he would be happy to fill the role. So my uncle, married to my mother’s blood sister, is my nephew’s grandfather.

The more I think about choices the more I start to confirm that choices are in relation to particular material conditions given to a situation which show the constricting impact of choices.

53. My mother, because of my father’s death, often found jimmy-rigged options for babysitters when family members were not available. When she realized my brother and I weren’t mature enough to handle being at home alone by ourselves, she looked into other options such as having me stay at the library until it closed. Later I learned that urban libraries have a phrase for this condition called, “Library latchkey kids,” which are children who’s parents are busy because of social economic conditions they end up going to the library after school for free baby-sitting.

https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16451347

I would stay in the library until it closed. My mother would slip the librarian a twenty dollar bill. I asked about it once and I learned in one way or another not to ask about such things.

When I took the Myers Briggs test in high school I scored nearly a hundred percent INFP which to me meant I was destined to be a genius like Shakespeare, taught in English classes all around the world for centuries to come. It meant I was introverted, intuitive, feeling, and perceptive. It meant that my room was messy but that my bookshelves were ordered perfectly with the Dewey decimal system. In high school I read Waiting for Godot with no idea it belonged to existential literature. On the question of why I don’t talk about my father, I am still Waiting for Godot.

54. My father’s suicide, in the long-term, meant I got to be alone with books. I often tired of reading and would chat with the librarian. She would ask me if I had a girlfriend and show me the things she wanted on craigslist. Sometimes she had to rapidly click her computer screen to hide some areas of the internet that should not be looked at while a minor sat reading Dr. Seuss, books about nature, or how volcanoes worked. I loved reading. I could never get enough. One of the librarians never believed I read as many books as I did and often discredited some of the books she believed were above my level. I was smart and there’s nothing worse to rural people than a smart, effeminate, boy with a love of reading.

I was always told that my mother was good and was always asked if she was still in college. For ten years I said yes she is in college. For twenty years I never told anyone my brother pointed a gun to my head because she left us unattended with the gun case unlocked. When I brought it up to her in my late twenties she said it wasn’t possible because my twenty year old cousin was there in the camper. When I asked I thought I was testing whether or not she could have subdued her ego enough to admit to the possibility that it may have not been the best choice to leave minors unattended with an unlocked gun case at home. That’s the way things were with her growing up so why would it be any different with us? All of a sudden she gets away with making the right choices because, “She pulled herself up by the bootstraps and got a degree in education.”

Anytime I try to explain my experiences of these circumstances I am caught in a social trap by which the liberal value of women choosing careers over a life of drunkenness and whoreish behavior to capture the love of a man my mother’s story overrides. My experience of having a gun pointed at my head by my own brother is over-ridden by another set of values.

55. I had a shot gun pointed to my head by my own brother because I was singing too loudly and he was hungover because he was drinking alcohol.

56. I didn’t know if the shot gun was loaded.

57. I stopped singing, fell backwards, and made a snow angel.

“Well, you’re mother could have brought over a bunch of rotten men. You could have been sexually abused.”

58. My brother used to chase me around the house naked and dry hump me. These are the effects of leaving minors unattended after school out in the country. And you know it which is why you started getting babysitters for us. It was after too many nights coming house to a destroyed house that my mother decided to have some family members watch over us and make sure we did our homework.

59. “Stop being a victim you liberal snowflake.”

60. But I’m actually criticizing the effects of applied feminism in the 21st century.

61. “You’re mother is a good person.”

63. “It could have been worse.”

64. “Everything turned out fine.”

65. “Everyone has trauma to deal with. Everyone has baggage.”

My boyfriend told me of growing up. His father was a chemist at Kellogg’s and his mother was an instructor at a community college. He was a potter, a knitter, and a banjo player. He became an English teacher. He told me that one time his dad brought home bags of Lucky Charm marshmallows for him and his sister to eat. His father recorded their responses to the marshmallows and adjusted the ratios of sugar based on those tests. That doesn’t sound like trauma to me. That sounds like a healthy childhood which leads one to have self confidence, self esteem, and the emotional stability necessary to face the mixed messages of life. In the meantime I seek out people who tell me I’m dumb, ugly, stupid, and will never amount to anything because I think that’s a normal relationship. If I am not doing that I am hiding in my room wondering what the point of being alive is wondering if there is any hope for me to heal and get better.

66. My father’s suicide is a traumatic past which shapes my entire experience. It’s a past that I have the right to represent by writing it. It’s a past which is not, “Everything turned out fine,” and no my mother did not, “Pull herself up by her bootstraps,” she had choices to make and one of those choices was to leave minors home alone with a gun case full of weapons and to trust that nothing bad could have happened in that circumstance. I will not limit myself to the blindness feminist discourse encouraged when I told my story to an existential philosophy professor at a liberal university. Yes, she could have chosen worse, but it could have turned out much better. I will not sit here silently submitting to my brother’s words, “Don’t tell anyone or I will kill you!”

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

67. Well kill me. I’d be better off anyway. I am willing to die for the truth in the same way an American soldier is willing to die for his country. I am willing to stand for something even if I am alone. Pull the trigger. If it makes you feel like a man to point a gun at your brother you might as well pull the trigger.

“It wasn’t loaded. Do you think I would actually put a shot gun shell in it. I love you, I’m your brother. Do you think I’m an idiot? I wouldn’t actually do that. . .”

“Why don’t you talk about your father?”

68. It’s exhausting. It’s a threat to my existence. It reminds me that blowing my brains out is a real possibility whereas for most people its a thing you say when life sucks. The following is an example of that.

When I was working as an English as a Second Language instructor I thought I had made it. I thought that teaching immigrants and refugees English meant I had established myself as a concrete being in the world permanently enmeshed as a career oriented man. My degree in Sociology was justified and my graduate certificate was no longer a waste of time, energy, and effort. I quickly learned that my masculinity was always under question and that the few men in that field were perfectly miserable beings. The whole notion that people became teachers because they were heart filled beings with a passion for helping others vanished when my co-worker, a professional teacher who taught abroad in Japan, made the shape of a gun with his finger, lifted it to his head, and pulled the trigger. I had simply asked him how he was doing and it was apparently not well. I was feeling rather dismal and would like to think I responded like this.

69. It’s a great position to be in. A cock loaded full of cum in my mouth and my cock loaded full of cum in his mouth. The tension was rising. Would we ever get to the desired result of all of our efforts? Would we ever achieve orgasm? Would we ever blow? Rest assured we exploded and were perfectly satisfied. There’s just something about holes and filling them which none of us can resist. Yet, even when the hole is filled to the brim with hot cum we feel so empty that we can no longer go on and so we pause. It’s okay to have long periods of stagnation so long as we can pull out at the right time and forgive ourselves for our responses to the past. The future may not appear to hold much but there is so much time and so many holes to fill.

70. They covered my father’s hole with makeup. They closeted the cause of his death. At the funeral they closed the bottom half of the casket which made me think that someone cut my father’s legs off with giant scissors. I screamed. I was convinced that his legs were cut off with giant scissors and that someone had caused his death.

71. How is a four year old suppose to understand this when adults are unable to tell the truth when the child asks questions about his dead father. He isn’t going to understand these things if adults themselves still don’t understand them. Adults go to great lengths to omit the grievances and effects of such events. “Everything turned out fine,” and “You’ve got choices to make.”

A four year old’s brain is not ready to understand such things because adults don’t understand them. His memories are barely forming and he is still fascinated by blowing bubbles. Adults have lost their imaginations. He smiles at the sound of popcorn popping while adults drench popcorn in so much salt and butter that they die of heart attacks and call it death by natural causes. A child laughs when he sees a frozen lake swarmed by a hundred seagulls as teenage boys stuff frogs down the barrels of shot guns and laugh when American toad guts go spiraling into the sky like fireworks.

The events surrounding my father’s death are my first memories. There are many of them like the pastor holding me trying to give me comfort. I press my stomach for comfort. My first memories are the feeling of anxiety, that weird pang in the stomach which goes unexplained by doctors and still causes ulcers. There’s my cousin saying my father is away for a very long time and that he is in heaven. These memories attach themselves to future interactions when all compiled leave one wishing there were no choices to make at all. It leaves one wishing that there was one defined path meant for everyone which would eliminate all angst and all decisions. In fact it often feels better if there was no free will at all and that God really did have a plan for each individual.

There is another pastor, who many years later, told me my father was in hell. This leaves me with one of those ridiculous choices and questions, “Is my father in heaven or in hell?” There is my aunt who tells me that my pastor is wrong and the Bible never mentions. There is my uncle who says people who don’t believe in God are not allowed in his home. There is the ice cream I ate after I was taken out of the funeral home to ease the emotional burden a screaming four year old must have placed on my father’s friends and family members. The ice cream was a temporary cure which taught me that negative emotions could be easily drowned with chocolate sauce and colorful sprinkles.

72. My father is in heaven.

73. My father is in hell.

74. My father is in purgatory.

75. I don’t know where the fuck my father is.

76. Do souls exist?

78. What is the difference between agnostic theism and agnostic atheism?

79. It’s ok to think about dying now and again. I think everyone has thought about it now and again but I’m not sure. I’m only one person with so many heartbeats.

80. I don’t think I will commit suicide because it doesn’t solve anything. Living doesn’t solve much either but at least I can say I tried to count to one hundred.

81. I might cry if I talk about my father.

82. It’s ok to cry.

83. It’s ok to cry.

84. It’s ok to cry.

85. It’s ok to cry.

86. It’s ok to cry.

87. If you cannot sleep count the sheep or cry.

88. It’s ok to cry.

89. Real men cry.

90. Real men cry.

91. Real men cry.

92. Real men cry like big men.

93. Real men cry like grown men.

94. Real men cry like real men.

95. It’s ok to cry.

96. It’s ok to cry.

97. Facts may not care about feelings but feelings are always seeking out facts to justify themselves. One must be careful about the facts used to represent their feelings.

98. Over intellectualization isn’t crying. It’s a defense mechanism.

99. It’s okay to cry.

100. Everything turned out fine.

#spilled ink #spilled words #masculinity #manhood #lgbtq #free will #existentialism #Sartre #jean paul sartre #lyrical #lyrical poem #lyrical prose

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danwhobrowses · 5 years

Text

A Personal Rant before Sword and Shield comes out

I’ve sat idly by for months, tried to weather a few negative responses but given that it’s now 6 days from release and I’m hearing that devs are getting literal death threats I’m going to put my foot down

If you’re already shitting on a game that hasn’t been released yet, you are all juvenile bitches, and I’m about to tell you why.

Before we begin, I’m not saying that you’re not allowed to dislike a game, that happens, but usually it happens after you play a game, not before.

You are viewing this game through a keyhole and judging the room and what you’re seeing is not worthy of this much hate. Let’s start with the big one Dexit: Not as Big as You Think Having No National Dex is of course not ideal, but it doesn’t ruin the game. Let’s Go has no National Dex, all it had was Alola forms and nobody whinged about it. Ruby and Sapphire didn’t have a National Dex until FRLG, and nobody whinged about it. Sun and Moon and Ultra Sun and Moon do not have a National Dex And Nobody Whinged About It Do you know why? Because it’s not actually a big deal. People who complain about it are bandwagoning because ‘Dexit’ is a meme, its name literally parodies an event in current Britain that many people don’t actually want to happen. Now currently, the anger of Dexit is that Bulbasaur and Squirtle are not in it, which frankly is hilarious because the last wave of bitching was ‘Kanto mons are getting all the new stuff’. You wanna know how many main series versions Bulbasaur and Squirtle have not been in? Seven, only way to get them is trade and event. The other complaint is that there’s ‘only 400′ Pokémon. Remember those days where people were fine with 150? 400 is huge, in fact it’s 3 less than USUM and it’s not accounting for the Gigantamax forms Don’t let headlines fool you either, Sun and Moon had 302 Pokémon, it’s far from the ‘lowest dex number since 2003′. Do your own research with these things. Kalos’ regional dex was 151, BW2 was 300, BW 153, Sinnoh 210, RSE has 386 and GSC had 252 Don’t get me wrong, it smarts that some Pokémon isn’t there, but it’s not a dealbreaker, like let’s be honest here. For a good year and a half all your pokémon are gonna do is sit in an unused cartridge or a PC box, you’re literally whining about the fact that you can’t move your perfect IV Pokémon from one box to another. You could simply just let them stay in Let’s Go or USUM, you don’t have to use Bank or Home on continued subscription for that, so your complaints are only set on the foundation that you feel like you have to continually pay to not transfer your Pokémon, Finally, people act like these Pokémon are deleted forever, they’re not, this is for spacing to make sure this game doesn’t break down from the sheer mass of models and textures it has to maintain in a massive open world space, the local and online camping and battles. Just use the Pokémon that are there! There’s new Pokémon don’t you wanna try those? You can also look at FRLG or Emerald and consider that maybe more Pokémon will get patched in once the game proves to be stable. I don’t think you’ve noticed, but the Nintendo Switch isn’t as powerful as the other consoles out there, sometimes it runs like shit. Believe me on that one, Switch is still in a very buggy development phase. Let’s Go was kept small to test it’s capability and Sword and Shield can’t just fly in and give you all 1000 Pokémon just so one of the ones you want can be in there

You have to be much less obtuse with this, I mean this was a long time coming. You’re gonna have to live with the fact that not every Pokémon ever can be supported on one game alone. Disk, Download, Cartridge and Patch Sizes have limits in Compliance, you can’t just throw everything at it. Waah, the New Pokémon Don’t Look Good They do, you’re being petty. It happens every version, the people dislike the starter evolutions or just one in particular. Remember all the Oshawott hate? This all comes and goes because people have simply gone on the first instinct that ‘new and different is scary and should be shunned’ You’re that Simpsons meme when young Homer accuses Grandpa of not being ‘with it’ I won’t spoil to those who haven’t seen it, but I like the new starters, and some of the new Pokémon will need some growing but not every Pokémon looks good at first glance. If Mr Mime, Hypno or Gastly came out nowadays they’d be crapped on so much for lacking creativity or for looking weird. Look at Drampa as well, thing looks like Falkar from The Neverending Story, when I first saw it I thought it look weird but now I like it. You should offer these things time And actually fall back on past experience, you’re reacting like this isn’t the same thing that happens every version; the dex gets leaked, people whine about the evolutions, people get over it and accept that they overreacted. hIgH QuAlItY aNiMaTiOnS I’ve seen that video, 2 clips and you judge a whole game how classy of you? If you don’t see improvement you’re blind. You can’t shit on a game for keeping the battle animations, you can’t expect every Pokémon to move their own unique way to the exact position of the body part the opponent needs to get hit by, that’s just unrealistic. You’re also failing to equate to the new moves and all the new movesets. You have to ensure that each Pokémon is capable of calling this animation as well. The second clip in that video was Hop and Hau having the same rigging, and once again, that’s not abnormal. Rigging is not easy either, do it wrong and it sticks and deforms texture. There’s nothing wrong with Hop having one animation that matches Hau’s, you’ll probably find that many models actually have similar rigging as previous games. Because it’s not that big of a deal and it saves money, as an example look at Disney they copied hand-drawn motion and stuck a different character on them, Robin Hood’s Little John dances just like (animated, for those too young to know otherwise) Jungle Book’s Baloo The thing you’re also ignoring from that clip is the graphical improvement of Hop compared to Hau, Hau looks like a balloon with a smiley face but Hop’s face has depth and his mouth actually moves like a normal person, his clothes have far more contrast and complexity, but no just zero in on one fighting animation and one rigging that’ll surely be worth abusing a game that’s not even out... B-But Charizard I’ve already explained this before but Charizard is Leon’s main, it’s obviously going to have a Gigantamax, ergo it’s also going to be in the Dex. Does Charizard get a lot? Yes, but the reason is because Charizard is popular. One of the rarest cards is a Charizard Hologram Card, Charizard is one of the first version mascots, it is one of the most recognized Pokémon Ash has in the anime Reality of the matter is that like Pikachu, Charizard is a recognized Pokémon for all ages, it appeals to a demographic that’s not playing In Layman’s Terms: that part is not for you A reality you really need to face. Pokémon is a game for all ages, so elements of the game are not always going to be tailored to your age range. The gimmick of Dynamax and Gigantamax is for merch sales and young children because it’s got an audience there, you can’t expect the Biggest Entertainment Brand in the World to simply shut out a large fraction of its demographic just to appeal 100% to you And again, it’s not a big deal, so there’s a Charizard there, just save a Stone Edge and be done with it, if you hate Charizard so much this’ll be catharsis, but in actuality you’re complaining because it’s something to complain about Kanto are getting Everything That went down like a lead balloon didn’t it? Reminder that the first Gigantamax forms were Galar Pokémon, so you can’t really say that anymore. There are Galar forms from non-Gen I Pokémon too I assure you, but the reason Kanto gets a lot of them is because Kanto is the oldest. Let’s not pretend that other gens don’t get love either Or should I remind you of Mega Ampharos, Scizor, Heracross, Houndoom, Tyranitar, Blaziken, Gardevoir, Gallade, Mawile, Aggron, Medicham, Manectric, Banette, Absol, Garchomp, Lucario, Abomasnow, Steelix, Sceptile, Marshtomp, Sableye, Sharpedo, Camerupt, Altaria, Glalie, Salamence, Metagross, Latias, Latios, Rayquaza, Lopunny, Audino and Diancie? It’s true that the Johto starters could use something, but I don’t think they’re being purposefully ignored, perhaps the right design hasn’t come along. Rather it be done right than poorly wouldn’t you agree? The Devs Should’ve Done <Insert Thing Here> People who say this kinda stuff have no idea how a game is made. I have a First Class Bachelor’s degree in Computer Gaming and Animation Technology and I can tell you that none of the stuff you want them to do is easy. Even getting grass right is a complete hassle. You want small insights you should watch Corridor Crew react to Good and Bad VFX, they tell you about the mechanics of CGI a few times on those vids. This is what annoys me with the prior swipe at the Battle animations and rigging, even with 2 years this is a heavily massive workload and Game Freak have only recently expanded the team that work on Pokémon which makes communication much more widespread and difficult to manage, likewise they are working on other games too they are not just Pokémon, currently their next IP is why Toby Fox was able to do a bit of music for Pokémon, because he’s collaborating with them on another game. The work doesn’t stop, most of these people are overworked and still doing overtime, they bring out a good product and all it gets is ‘but it should have this’, and unless it’s a huge part of the game that’s needed to function then that’s really disrespectful Before you start critiquing on what the people making this game ‘should’ve done’ perhaps you should try to make a game yourself, because it is not easy even for pros, I call back to Toby Fox because creating Undertale took 32 Months to create, that’s 2 years and 8 months for those slow with math, it also took 3 years before it could be ported to Switch because the Engine couldn’t support the platform, Pokémon has less time to do that, greater graphical and animation quality to achieve and more characters to battle, attacks to animate and more songs to compose. Conclusion: You’re All Just Bitter I’ve already seen it happen recently but this group of people senselessly bashing something because of ridiculous demands, expectations or arguments based on a lack of understanding all combine into something I’m simply calling the ‘Bitterness Fandom’. It’s people hating for the sake of hating and trying to bring something down just because it’s been a popular force for so long, and it’s not just Pokémon that’s getting it It’s already been happening to Star Wars. The Last Jedi and Solo were great films but the Bitterness sank its fangs in and act like neither are as good as the original trilogy (like killing Snoke without knowing anything about him and Phasma before she could do anything is any different to killing Sidious and Boba Fett in Jedi or Maul in Phantom Menace and Grievous in Revenge of the Sith), a lack of awareness to reality and the desire to complain for the sake of complaining continues to infect Star Wars. We even have a thing called ‘Star Wars Fatigue’ Star Wars can’t release a film every year because of ‘Fatigue’ but Marvel can release 5 MCU films a year and nobody bats an eye. Those frustrations aside, I refuse to let the Bitterness sink in without me calling them out, because you are not Pokémon Fans. If you were you’d know that having no National Dex isn’t new, you’d know that the graphics have improved and leaks of the game happen every time, you’d know why Charizard is popular and that some features are not intended to be targeted at you Shock and Horror to the heavens above but games can’t do everything And if you’re that naive to think so then you’re clearly not doing your homework So let’s throw out an absolutely WILD suggestion shall we? Let’s decide our opinion on a game After playing it? Because shitting on something you don’t even have hands-on experience with it is a fragile pedestal to put yourself on. If we all think it’s bad then, so be it, but I sincerely doubt that is the case When my copy of Pokémon Sword gets delivered to my house I am going to enjoy it because I will not let petty and incorrect statements sway my feelings and I swear to Arceus if you think the Bitterness will bring down Pokémon that easily then you did not see the queue to the London Poké Center that had been amassing since midnight and was forced to stop taking more people when the doors opened What should matter is how you enjoy the game, play it before you judge it And honestly, don’t send death threats, why we need to tell you that is beyond me, the ones who made these games are people who have worked their asses off day in and day out to provide something you aren’t even going to play because one Pokémon isn’t in it, the irony is not lost on me when I say this but deep into the very bottom of my heart: Grow Up. If you don’t like the game, don’t play it, don’t bother people about it, we don’t need your shit here Enjoy the Game People

#pokemon #pokémon #pokemon sword and shield #Pokémon Sword and Shield #pokemon swsh #rant

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