#but maybe we still lose winston as the guy who (a) gets to peace out & (b) is just having one of the more miserable times over there

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also quite the illustration in wags being like "'not asking permission' - wags" and plowing through someone expressing a physical boundary but he was already intending to use physical violence & violation & assumed corresponding distress as a tool to get his way....amidst the typicality, "correctness," permissibility of all that around here like five times an hour

[blackwatch-gwyn-active]

Stop Lying To Them (Hanzo x Reader/ Lucio x Reader/ Soldier: 76 x Reader) 

***TRIGGER WARNING: Gaslighting***

Hanzo: Memory

The moment he found out that his closest friend, someone who he would fight and die for, was being treated like their memories were no accurate, saying that they would forget things if it was not for their S/O, he knew something was not right. He had seen them grow from a scared and insecure teenager to a strong young adult with an excellent memory and fighting ability but that is not all. You see, he had grown to love them; he loves them more than he was certain their S/O could ever love them.

“Sorry I am late Hanzo, traffic was terrible” He hears them say as they walked up to the archer who was holding a practice bow and a quiver full of arrows for them. He liked to have them practice with him; it helped him relax and it kept him grounded as it means that he can have them closer. He was not only using this time to help him focus on his own technique, but to also train them in the art of Archery.

“Do not apologize (Y/N)-san, I was just worried you were hurt.” He admits with a blush on his face as he hands them the bow, preparing for their lesson. He had tried to hide the blush but just seeing them smile, that made his heart flutter and him smile even more.

“Shall we?” He asked as they nodded and lead ahead of him, always watching over them.

Their lesson did not last as long as he had hoped as both archer and student heard their names being called and saw an angry man come down the steps.

“Did you seriously forget about setting out the stuff for dinner? I swear, you are getting more and more forgetful everyday.” He yelled at them as they looked down but to Hanzo, this did not sit well with him. 

“Then perhaps you should do that for yourself, as they are working on other things rather just be your personal secretary.” He said with what he could guess was vile and jealousy in his voice. 

“Why don’t you shut it, you traitor!” He yelled as (Y/N) was about to step in, to apologize for their mistake but Hanzo pulled them behind him, his dragons appearing as he readied his bow.

“First of all, I am not a traitor. I had chose the path I saw as right and I use my will to benefit others, not to belittle as you have done to (Y/N)! You have failed to see the blessing you have before you and yet, you still make them think they do not know anything. I love them more than my own life, I have watched them grow and learn while all you have done is tried to destroy and make them lose their sense of security in themselves.” He says as he readies his bow again. 

“What do you have planned huh? You can’t kill me because if you do try to harm me, I will make certain that Soldier: 76 knows you tried to harm an agent! Besides, it's not my fault that since they started hanging out with you, they have been so freaking stupid and can’t even remember simple tasks such as preparing dinner for us.” He yelled as someone clears their throat behind them and they all turn to see Soldier: 76 give a nod to Hanzo as he nods and looks at him with a smirk. 

“Ryū ga waga teki wo kurau!” He yells as his arrow flies and the dragons follow suit, causing the man to run off, yelling that he hated (Y/N) again.

“Hanzo...is what you said true?” is softly whispered behind him as he turns and has a flush on his face before nodding. He saw their expression change into something that even he could not recognize but he knew that he had to confess now or he risked losing them and he rather not lose a friendship over his own feelings.

“Yes (Y/N)-san, I do love you more than anything else in the world and I would give my life to see you smile.” He says as they rush to hug him as he holds them and whispers in their hair as he tries to soothe them. “Nothing will change that, I will tell you everyday until the end of our lives that I love you and I know that is something that will never be forgotten.”

Lucio: Perception

He knows everyone has their own way of perceiving things but the moment he heard his best friend say that they could not hang out as much anymore because of how his music sounded, it broke his heart and yet, he still understood even though he was confused. He was confused though because he could hear them crying into the phone a bit later, saying something that ‘But I like how his music, I don’t want to listen to anything else.’. He knew the voice that came from the speaker as their other friend. Knowing that eavesdropping is wrong, he still wanted to help his best friend so he listened in.

“Yeah but (F/N)....I don’t want to break his heart and besides, I like how his music speaks from the heart. I am starting to think that maybe you just want me to be like you.” (Y/N) says as he hears them practically roll their eyes from their side of the phone. 

“I want you to be your own person but don’t know you about what he is, (Y/N)? If you keep listening to his music then you will turn out just like him. Besides, don’t you know that rap and hip-hop are what is causing violence to happen everyday? I am just trying to keep you safe from danger, like your family asked me to.” She says with honey laced with venom in her voice. Lucio didn’t like what was happening but kept listening in.

“But Lucio is all I have in Overwatch at the moment. I mean, I get along with the others but he and I are closer than anything else. He doesn’t make music that causes violence, his music causes peace. He heals people with his beats and can make people smile with it too.” They say with some certainty in their voice and he felt himself growing warm with happiness. They were trying to convince their friend that they are not going to stop being his friend but he was still worried because he just knew that what their friend was doing was trying to make them see him as the bad guy.

She was saying that if they continue to listen to his music, they will be labelled a traitor among their other friends along with the idea of being told that they would no longer have a family, causing them to cry harder. He knew that their supposed ‘friend’ was lying but he also knew that they joined Overwatch to save innocent lives and protect those who could not protect themselves. But he listens to all the music she says is dangerous and he is a hero.

“Look, either you ditch him or you won’t matter to anyone who you know back home.” He heard her say and that was all he could handle as he rushed in and grabbed the phone. He knew he would be yelled at later by Soldier and Winston for barging in but he was not going to stand by and let them hurt his friend anymore.

“I don’t care if you like me and I don’t really care if you think my music is horrible but don’t lie to them!” He started yelling into the phone as they seem shocked before they could see the tears in his eyes. He felt them grab his hand as he looked down and just like with his music, he could feel the healing from their gentle touch. He was going to protect his friend and make all the lies and gaslighting stop.

“They help me write the songs and play them because they find enjoyment in their own style of music. If it was not for them, my music would not be what it is and if you hate it then I could care less but don't say that no one will care about them because to me, they are my best friend and I will always be here for them.” He yells as the girl on the other end just smirks and says with little to no other emotion other than anger. 

“Fine, you can keep them, I could care less really...Bye criminal” she said as she hung up and he goes to hug them. He maybe a crying mess but to him, it doesn't matter because he has his best friend back and he was not going to let anyone change them anymore. 

“Dont worry, I will always be here and I don’t care what anyone says. You can make your own decisions and I know that you will be something great.” He smiles and he saw something in their eyes that he was wanting to see for a long time; hope.

Soldier: 76: Sanity

He was standing in Winston’s office, he normally doesn’t cause trouble but when it comes to his closest friend, (Y/N), he would do whatever he must to make them see that they were not insane. It was that stupid S/O of theirs who kept saying that they were insane for being the way they are. He knew them before the recall and he saw how hard they fought to keep everyone safe, even at the exent of almost harming themselves. 

He was only brought here because of how the entire situation was going leading up to his...how would you say...  occurrence with said person. Tracer had told him that something was not right and that (Y/N) had been in their room a long time and she could swear, she heard things breaking. He was more worried than anything else because he had to help them through a PTSD attack that resulted in both of them needing to be stitched up by Angela.

About that time, Winston and Ana came in and was shaking his head as he was speaking.

“Soldier, I want to know both sides of the story before saying anything in the wrong. What exactly happened before you put (S/O) in the medbay for at least 3 days.” He inquired as Soldier looks at the pictures of the past and he sees the one he treasures the most on Winston’s wall. It was the day he and (Y/N) had came back from a mission and he had everyone throw them a party for their birthday.

“Soldier?” He asked again as the aging man looked at him.

“That runt decided to say that they needed to stop being so scared of everything and grow up.” He explained as Ana looked curious now. 

“What do you mean by that?” She inquired as Soldier looked at his hands and tried to keep his anger at bay. To keep his thoughts on (Y/N) as a means to calm himself.

“They were having another attack and instead of helping them, (S/O) said that they were insane when they explained that it felt like someone had infiltrated the base. That runt then told them that there is no way anyone could come in and kept calling them crazy. I know they aren’t crazy, just nervous because if Sombra could hack our systems, imagine what anyone as strong as her can do.” He explained to the two comrades before him as they finally understood.

“Soldier, I know you see them as your own but you cannot go around and almost decapitating some poor person because of what they said.” Winston said as Ana held her hand up and looked at the two men before her.

“Soldier, go check on them.” She instructs as he goes to find (Y/N) and she turns to look at Winston.

“Winston, I know I may be overstepping myself but understand this, Soldier sees the younger recruits of Overwatch as his charges, his children but he has always had a special bond with (Y/N).” She explained as he looked curious and encouraged her to continue.

“You and I both know that it takes a lot to get Morrison out of his shell but when it comes to (Y/N), he will move mountains to keep them safe. He sees them as his child above seeing them as a soldier. He cares deeply for them and he would harm anyone the same way that they were harmed before he found them. They grew up alongside Fareeha and Angela and see them as sisters so that being said, Morrison would kill anyone that would try to bring them more pain once.” She smiles as she remembers the memory.

“Morrison trained them himself and sees them as if they were his biological child. How would you feel if you saw your child going through what they were with (S/O)?” She questioned but his face explains everything.

“He wishes he could take those haunting memories from them but all he can do is tell them that he is there and that he loves them like any good parent would do.” She says as she goes to leave to make herself some tea.

She goes into the kitchen but not before seeing something she thought she didn’t think she could see again. It was Soldier: 76 holding (Y/N) as they cry and tell him what has been plaguing their thoughts as he assured them that he understands and he will never allow them to think they are insane again.

“They grew up too fast but I know as long as you live….you will make them feel safe and I will do just the same because like you, I see them as my own child as well...now, off to ‘interrogate’ the little runt for hurting them.” She says with a devious smile and goes to the Medbay, knowing it was empty right now.

[prettyyoungtragedy]

Written in the Stars (8)

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You’re the type of woman who is headstrong and fiercely independent. Heiress to a fortune and one of the most brilliant minds of the 21st century. Until you’re forced into witness protection. Your “Protection” turns out to be 220 pounds of dreamy, sassy, delightful Bucky Barnes. Whatever could go wrong?

Warnings: bad language, and violence.

A/N: This chapter was a fucking delight to write! I swear it might be my favorite one haha! We finally get the moment you all have been waiting for since these two met and of course the ending it just ANGST CITY! If you liked it throw me a reblog or a comment and I will love you forever!

This was generously Beta’d by my beta @suz-123 who helped write this soft chapter bc she’s so soft!!! love ya

Links are being a bitch so you can find the whole fic in my WIP masterlist in my bio!

Taglist is closed, Sorry guys!

The little black envelope that sat on your coffee table was glaringly obvious that it wanted your attention. Bucky had placed it there while you were sitting on the couch working on your laptop, sorting through emails and trying to get a little work done.

It had been a week since the release of Doctor Reinhardt and it seemed Bucky had doubled up your protection. He was always hovering when you were at work, or at lunch, or when you stepped out of the ladies room, it was tiring but you kept quiet through it all knowing he was just trying to be as thorough as he could at his job.

He eased up a little when you were at the safe house, leaving you alone to work in peace but every few hours he would check up on you, or pretend he had something to do in the same room you were just to see if you were okay.

Not that you didn’t enjoy having him around constantly, he was an easy conversation and devastatingly pretty to look at but you missed your friends and the life you had before this whole mess.

So when the black envelope arrived with pretty gold detailing on it, you knew it was just begging to be looked at.

With a sigh, you set your laptop beside you on the couch and picked up the envelope. Breaking the pretty gold seal that held it shut, you pulled out the invite that was inside.

It was from the NY Historical society hosting the annual Gala dinner. You went to it every year, and of course, it went hand in hand with being part of that society. You looked at the invite for a moment longer wondering how Bucky was going to react to you wanting to go to this event.

Bucky sat nearby his face concentrated on the file before him, he was doing some serious thinking as his hand rested on the bottom half of his face, eyes almost squinting at whatever he was reading.

“Bucky?” You said looking at him,

“Hmm?” he replies not looking up from his work,

“Can I go to a party?”

“No.”

“Okay, I am still going,”

Bucky tore his gaze away from the file before him to look annoyedly at you. “What?”

“I said I am still going,” You rose from your seat on the couch, slightly defiantly and walked over to where he sat, placing the invite beside him, “I go every year and I am not missing it, this is important to me.”

“And keeping you alive is important to me, so it’s a hard no from my side.” He retorted picking up the invite and handing it back to you without so much even as a second glance at it.

“I am allowed to have a life Bucky!” You exclaimed, “I can’t just work, and sit in this apartment all the time. The only people I ever see these days are ones you pre-approved and none of which are my friends and I feel like a prisoner in my own life!”

“How many times do I have to say it’s for your own-”

“Safety yeah yeah I know, same shit as always. But you can’t keep me here forever you know at some point I’m going to want to go back to my old life, and in fact, starting with this Gala.” You cut him off,

Bucky stood up, his height towering over you as annoyance flashed in his eyes, “For fuck's sake, why are you being difficult? Do you know how dangerous public gatherings are?!”

“Yes but this is a Gala dinner with state senators and fucking ambassadors, there will be security!”

“It’s an open invitation to put a target on your back,”

“Not if you go with me,”

At this suggestion, Bucky vehemently shook his head, “Absolutely not, rule number two.”

“Bucky,” You said exasperatedly, “Meet me halfway here please,”

“No.”

“Fine if you won’t go with me, I will take Steve or maybe Sam,” You folded your arms over your chest glaring up at him.

He stands toe to toe with you now, and you can almost feel the annoyance just radiating off him. Bucky clenches his fists at his side and takes a deep breath, he doesn’t want to argue with you, but he’s slowly losing patience at your insistence at going to this event, and clearly, you weren’t going to budge on this one.

He should have just ripped up that damned invite instead of giving it to you.

“Fine, I will take you but you will follow every single one of my instructions, and if I think that there is even the slightest hint of danger, we’re leaving. Got it?” He snapped,

“I hate you,”

“Good,”

And that was the end of the conversation.

~~~

The night of the Gala came with anticipated excitement for you, it had been months since you’d been able to see your friends or even attend anything that required you to pull out your best outfits. Lately, it was a steady stream of casual wear and workout wear, no diamonds or expensive champagne paired with delicious caviar.

You missed it and to say you were excited for tonight would have been an understatement.

You had barely been able to focus at work, you were all too excited to put on a fancy dress and dance the night away drinking champagne and enjoying the company of your fellow society members.

The occasion called for a new dress, which had been delivered to the apartment upon your request from Barneys. Sam had no idea what was going on when he walked in to find you surrounded by racks of dresses, and rows of designer shoes.

He merely glanced over the mess of expensive laces, and silks in the living room and walked right back out.

Once you’d chosen a dress, Bucky had come to the apartment and damn near had a heart attack when he found the jewelers from Harry Winston you’d asked to come over in the safe house. It took every bit of self-control for him not to yell at you until he was blue in the face.

But the second they had left, he lost his shit with you. Of course, you didn’t let this sour your mood, you brushed him off saying that it was fine and you had known these people your whole life.

It didn’t help improve his mood.

While you were all excitement and anticipation, Bucky, on the other hand, was having a god awful time with this whole ordeal.

He had informed Sam and Steve of this event and spent hours going over the entire layout of the Historical Society building in an effort to ensure your safety. He inquired on the security at the event and planned every exit route and worst-case scenario in his head. Sam and Steve assured him that everything would be fine, they would arrange to have Natasha and Scott on standby if anything went sour and Tony would be attending this party too.

None of this eased his worry, Bucky still had this dreaded feeling that something was going to go wrong because he missed something and it was torturing him.

~~~

“Is that what you’re going to wear?” Natasha asked incredulously as she appeared in the doorway of his room at the tower.

“God, not you too.” he groaned after having just been annoyed by Sam about what he was wearing.

“You’re going to stand out like a sore thumb,” She stated walking into the room carrying a black garment bag.

“Don’t care,”

“Well, I do care so strip.” She ordered tossing the bag at him. Bucky caught it with ease, looking quizzically at her before she sighed and moved forward opening the garment bag in his hands.

“Nooope.” Bucky shook his head the moment he saw the contents inside, “Absolutely not.”

“James-”

“I refuse, I am not wearing this penguin suit. Absofuckinglutely not.”

“Too bad, You don’t have a choice. Steve and Sam are wearing one too, so get your ass moving or you’ll be late to pick her up and I don’t think your princess likes to be kept waiting.”

Natasha doesn’t let Bucky argue any further, she grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him towards the bathroom to get changed. For all his defiance and obstinance Bucky could never argue with Natasha Romanoff.

~~~

“I feel like a fucking moron,” Bucky muttered, fidgeting irritably with the silk bowtie that Natasha had tied around his collar in a perfect bow.

“You look fine, Bucky.” Steve chided as the pair got onto the elevator, Steve pushing the button on the floor to the safe house.

“I never said I don’t look fine, in fact, I look like a million bucks. I said I feel like a fucking moron, there’s a difference,”

Steve chuckled, “Okay then stop feeling like a fucking moron,”

“Can’t believe we agreed to do this,”

“You agreed to do this,” Steve corrected him,

“Don’t be a semantical ass,”

“Just put a smile on your face, escort her to this party, be nice and everything will be fine.”

“Everything will be fine,” Bucky mimicked Steve’s voice, childishly pulling a face at his best friend,

“You’ve got a stick up your ass, you know that.”

“And you’ve got self-righteous knowitall-ness living in yours,”

Steve punched Bucky on the shoulder, and Bucky shoved him back. The pair might have been a century old but they were still scrappy with each other like they were teenagers.

~~~

The moment you heard the front door to the apartment open, you grabbed the black satin purse that you’d paired with your dress and slipped on the gorgeous pair of satin black Manolo Blahnik’s with a silver buckle on the front, and walked out of the bedroom.

As you stepped out into the hallway, you see the two super soldiers standing there seemingly arguing with each other. They looked gorgeous in their black tuxedos but Bucky, Bucky looked just sinful, he even brushed his hair to your amazement. Bucky’s back is towards you, Steve sees you first and he hits Bucky’s shoulder alerting him of your presence.

They both turn towards you now and you watch their faces as they take in your outfit.

It was a deep wine red dress, thin straps, and a deep V neckline, perfectly fit over your breasts cinched in at the waist and cascading over your figure with a silky finish that moved like water when you walked and a long slit up to your upper thigh exposing your leg as you did. You’d paired it with the sparkliest diamond necklace you could find and teardrop diamond earrings.

To say the least, it was a distracting dress.

“Wow,” you hear Bucky say.

Steve hits him with the back of his hand in the chest lightly at his response to you and both of them quickly recover when you smile at them. That was the reaction you were looking for,

“Evening boys, don’t you look dashing,” You grinned at them,

Steve cleared his throat and nodded at you, “You look great,” he complimented you,

“Don’t I just,” You give him a quick twirl before looking at Bucky waiting for his compliment but he doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you.

“Ready to go?” Steve asked, frowning at Bucky for a moment.

“Oh god yes.” You replied eagerly.

~~~

The New York Historical Society is known for throwing the most lavishly stunning parties, tonight was no exception.

As you stepped out of the car, the flash of cameras go off and the sound of people calling your name. You immediately feel Bucky tense in front of you as he held out his hand to help you out the car, clearly all the attention you’re getting stressed him out.

Steve is already by your side, offering you his arm to escort you towards the building. You slip a hand around his hulking arm and spare Bucky an apologetic glance but he isn’t looking at you, his eyes are moving across the area with practiced precision. Sam is beside him now, both of them mirroring each other's actions as Steve began to lead you towards the building.

The moment you walked into the party your breath was taken away, it was all white and crystal. The chandeliers decorated with perfectly crafted snowflakes that glittered and spun gently in the air, a tall champagne tower stood in the center of the room and the servers were all dressed in white with silver accents. The theme was winter in summer, and it was perfect.

As soon as you walked in, you spotted one of your friends who was already excitedly waving you over to where she stood.

“I’ll be right back,” You said to Steve who nodded and lets you walk off.

Behind him, Bucky almost immediately began to protest but Steve cut him off with a look, and he falls silent watching you walk off towards your friends.

“We can’t stand together,” Sam said looking around the room, noticing the looks the three of them were garnering,

“Yeah disperse, but keep an eye on her.” Steve agreed, “Bucky go join her or hover or whatever,”

Bucky doesn’t argue he nodded tersely and moved in your direction, his eyes on you at all times.

You were animatedly talking to your friends Lola and Kate, he knew them from the thorough background searches he had done on both of them. Lola was a wannabe socialite, her position at your company was only such because of you. She lived on the Upper West Side in a two-story townhouse paid for of course by you, and Kate was a natural born socialite. She came from wealth and was dating wealth. She was proud and haughty but spoke to Bucky with a voice dripping like honey. He knew women like her, they fuck men they deem beneath their status to get a thrill, it disgusted him.

Your choice in friends was poor.

Bucky moved to stand behind you, your eyes catch him for a second and the happy smile on your face puts him at ease for a moment before you looked away again and his stoic expression settled again.

A few hours and a couple of glasses of champagne later, you’re letting go a little more. Laughing and talking to the various guests you knew. Bucky followed you everywhere, he was this silent wall of brooding and angst that stood behind you, arms crossed and scowling. Whenever you talked to someone their eyes would cautiously roam to him behind you and then back to you with a questioning look, you never bothered to answer any of their questions.

You didn’t want to call Bucky your hired help, it just felt wrong so instead, you chose to ignore the questioning looks.

“Dance with me, Sergeant Barnes?” Kate said, slightly tipsy, and clutching onto one of Bucky’s bulging biceps.

“I don’t dance,” He replied coolly taking her hand off his arm,

“Oh come on, a dapper man like yourself. Surely they taught you a few moves back in your day, I’m sure you charmed the panties off all the girls,”

“Nope.” Was all he said,

“I don’t believe that for a second, you’re devastatingly gorgeous,”

“Thank you.”

“So are you single, Sergeant?” Kate’s insistence at keeping up a conversation with Bucky made you feel bad for him and you were about to step in but the question intrigued you so you waited for him to answer.

“I don’t discuss my personal life with complete strangers,” He looked at her with a deadpan expression,

“I am not a stranger, I’ve known you for months now.” She chided, becoming frustrated as she wasn’t getting anywhere with him.

“Really? I barely remember you,”

His response makes you almost choke on the champagne you’d just sipped. Kate opened her mouth to respond but you quickly cut in, grabbing Bucky’s arm and tugging him away from the table.

“Come dance with me,” You instructed, and to your amazement he obeys.

You lead Bucky towards the dance floor, where other guests clad in their gorgeous finery all sway and step along to the gorgeous sounds of Franki Valli being played by the band nearby.

As you stepped onto the dance floor, Bucky took your hand in his, metal arm sliding around your waist as he pulled you close and he looked down at you. Your hand on his shoulder, the other feeling the heat of his palm against yours.

The sweet sound of Franki Valli’s Can't Take My Eyes Off You sets the tone for your dance. Bucky is a wonderful dancer, he steps perfectly to the beat of the song and leads you wonderfully across the dance floor. You feel the eyes of the other guests on the two of you but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice his focus is entirely on you.

You looked into those gorgeous starlight eyes of his, and your heart skips a beat. This man was going to ruin you, you could just feel it. Everything about Bucky irritated you but by god, you somehow adored this idiot.

He looked so so good tonight, the way his lips curved into a small smile, the look in his eyes as he led you through the dance. You wanted to kiss him.

Oh, how you wanted to kiss him so badly at that moment.

And when the song ended you barely even registered him stop moving, you’d been holding onto him so tightly. You looked up at him breathlessly his face inches from yours, your heart hammering hard in your chest and that stupid watch on your wrist starts vibrating alerting you of your increased heart rate.

“I thought you don’t dance,” You murmured breathlessly,

“I don’t,” Came his equally breathless reply,

“Then what was that?”

Bucky leaned in a little closer, his mouth at the shell of your ear before he whispered,

“You.”

The graveled sound of his voice sends a lustful shiver down your spine and you closed your eyes at the closeness of his mouth to your bare skin. When he pulled back loosening his hold on you, you felt yourself snap back to reality as he guided you off the dance floor again.

“I need the restroom,” You said feeling flustered by that dance, and Bucky just nodded his hand on your elbow as you moved through the room.

Meanwhile, Steve’s blue eyes trailed after the two of you. A frown on his face as he watched the interaction between you two and he felt unease settle in his chest. Bucky was playing a dangerous game, losing focus and Natasha had warned him about this.

“Steve,” Sam said beside him, also looking at the two of you walking off together.

“Yeah?”

“We got a problem,”

“Yeah, yeah we fuckin’ do.” The Captain muttered shaking his head.

Bucky was a god damn fucking idiot.

~~~

The second you’re both clear of the crowded room and you walk into the empty corridor, you turned towards Bucky. You need to tell him how you feel right now, but that stupid watch is already betraying all your feelings.

“Bucky-” You started to say but he doesn’t let you finish. He placed his hands on your waist and practically slammed you into the wall behind you, your hands tangled in his hair, his lips at your neck, he breathes you in.

“Fuck my life, you smell so good,” he groaned his tongue tracing the skin just below your ear before he placed a kiss to the skin, “You look so fucking beautiful tonight,”

You feel a hot flush run straight through you at the sound of the want in his voice, you closed your eyes and sighed softly. Your hands sliding down to grip his face and pull his lips up against yours.

That first kiss is fucking phenomenal, pure straight unadulterated splendor. Bucky’s soft warm lips find yours and it’s like every other kiss you’d ever had never existed, it was both heartbreakingly amazing and intensely emotional as it rips apart your soul and puts it back together all in one breath.

You had thought about kissing him for so long that every expectation you had was thrown out thw window and replaced by the breathlessness and splendor of this first kiss. 

The breath is ripped from your lungs when you part your lips slightly and his tongue begins to explore your mouth. He pressed his body against yours and groaned when you pulled him as close as you possibly could.

It’s like straight fire is injected into your veins as heat flooded your body from his kiss, and then he breaks it with a sharp intake of breath.

“Fuck, I’m sorry I-”

“Bucky,” you interrupt him by placing your hand over his mouth, his eyes giving you a questioning look, “Take me home, now.”

The demand in your voice has him weak at the knees, and all he does is nod before he grabbed your hand and led you back toward the gala.

~~~

The entire car ride back to the safe house is filled with tension so thick you felt like you could cut it with a knife. You sat in the back seat of the car with Sam, Steve in the front with Bucky driving and every few minutes his eyes would meet yours and the wild lust in them was leaving you breathless.

As soon as Bucky parked the car in the basement, you practically dashed out of the car. Not waiting for Sam or Steve both of whom give Bucky a look of disapproval but say nothing.

“Should we come up?” Steve asked as the four of you waited for the elevator in the basement of the building,

“No it’s fine, sweep aft and I’ll secure the apartment,” Bucky shook his head,

Your heart jumped as you looked at him, he stood beside you, and his fingers brushed against yours. Sam and Steve don’t say anything when they see this, instead, they nod at their friend and watch as the two of you stepped onto the elevator together.   

The second the doors closed, Bucky’s mouth is on yours backing you up against the wall of the elevator. You moaned against his mouth, his hands exploring your body, you’re flustered and breathless when the elevator dings and the doors open on the safehouse floor.

“God damn fucking watch,” you muttered as the watch on your wrist went crazy while he was kissing you,

Bucky chuckled and shook his head at your reaction, the two of you getting off the elevator. His brain not registering the fact that you had skipped a few steps in front of him in the hallway. You turned around a smile on your face as you said something but he wasn’t paying attention.

You looked so fucking pretty, it was distracting him. Everything about you was distracting him, the way your body looked in that dress, the gentle curve of your back, the way the diamonds accented your beauty and glittered against your skin.

“I’m in the mood for ice cream,” You said as the two of you walked up to the front door of the apartment, the sudden subject change has him confused but he goes with it. He’s got a one track mind at that moment, he wants you in that dress saying his name over and over.

“Sure we can get some if you’d like,” Bucky replied, his hand reaching out for you when he realized you were going to open the door before he got there.

“I want to go to-”

Then he hears the familiar click and the sound of a ring falling to the floor before the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. A surge of terror torpedos through him and his eyes widened for a split second his metal arm grabbing you and yanking you back seconds before the explosion rocked the apartment.

It felt as if everything moved in slow motion, first you felt the heat wave that swept through the area then the pain of the debris that came flying towards you and Bucky’s metal arm yanking you toward him. Your body collides with something hard and the air is knocked from your lungs and then darkness.

[wendylewis-blog]

03.22.2020 /bad.morning.

I woke up around 6:30 am. The sky was getting lighter through the brown blinds hung on the south side bedroom window. It looked so peaceful peeking through the slats. Pink smeared with grey, the next day arriving. Here it is. The next day. When I let Sonny out, I saw a skim of snow had fallen overnight, covering the ground. It felt like a clouded metaphor. 

A reply in FB this morning from a NC high school friend sorta clarified that metaphor in some way. Donna said, Most all of the cherry trees in Winston-Salem have been replaced with Bradford Pears and, while beautiful when they bloom, they have a pungent, unpleasant odor . . . maybe a sign that beauty is truly only skin deep. Thank you, Donna. 

And maybe truth is only skin deep? At least, the truth being espoused by our government lately? I dunno, huh? Politicians are only saving themselves right now and it feels exceedingly shallow, skin deep and dirty. There is no real leadership on top but plenty of ego and fairytales spinning. Gah. Fk. We are all being rendered helpless for so many reasons, ones I cannot possibly enumerate. I’m not even gonna try. That’s not the point. 

Meanwhile, in my state of MN, I’m gonna take a minute to applaud our Gov Tim Walz. He is in touch with us, speaking hard truths without lip gloss, and working to come up with survival plans and simply—good solid advice for our state going forward. I am sure he is working hard for us.

Meanwhile, I honestly don’t give a shit about the stock market (sorry for those of you who are losing your investments and retirement :((( ) but am very much more concerned about those working in service industries; restaurants, small businesses and retailers, vintage stores, musicians and performers of every kind, daycare workers, delivery drivers and so many more I’m not able to list right now—it’s too enormous, all of us hinged with each other on any working calendar day. Bless all of you. Hang in there... be in touch. I want to hear from you.

OK. Pulling myself together a little more. My personal deal is, I’m away from my children and my 6-month old grandson, Ezra. I don’t know when I’ll see them in person again. Fk. But I am gratefully in place with my amazing husband and that guy makes me laugh every damn day. Like, what would I do without him? We DO have to keep laughing, it’s a Vonnegut thing. I also recommend all of you following Tony Baker on Instagram. If you don’t have Instagram, just GET IT. In addition to my husband, Tony is keeping me afloat all day every day. He’s posting like a maniac. Skiddlety-paps! Thanks to my friend Annie who connected me. 

OK! Pulling myself together even a little more. Today is a Sunday. It helps to talk with anyone who is reading this. It might be a bit warmer today and at some point I will venture out onto the prairie and walk along the river with my trusted companion, Sonny. I’ll probably cry my face off. That will help. 

I’m listening to NPR right now, Michelle Lee in Alexandria, VA—a store owner. She’s on the front lines the same way the medical industry is. Honor them! They are putting themselves at risk, ALL DAY EVERY DAY, to check us out at the register with our provisions and stay as risk free as possible or treat us at the doors of clinics and hospitals. 

I thought about that yesterday as I paid cash for a purchase and felt like I was pouring contagion change into my wallet. Yikes! But, dood had hand sanitizer at the ready and was cleaning his hands after every customer came through. Way to GO! Soooo maybe my wallet isn’t a virus breeding container. Still, when I got home, I washed it. :) We can actually wash cash as well, if we are being uber careful, and soak our change in white vinegar. NOTE: There are more ways to disinfect than buying Clorox Bleach wipes which are utterly unavailable on the shelves. 

For those of you who care at all about cooking, and lately, we all might be, since we are stuck at home (but DO support your local restaurants with curb service take-out if you are WFH and financially able) you might wanna visit BonAppetit vids on YouTube. Super entertaining, instructive and FREE. If you go there and like beans (which are extremely available dried), check out Carla making the perfect pot of beans. I made them last week and they are still in my refrigerator—delivering for quesadillas, soup, cold from the fridge next to kraut, arugula, and cottage cheese (haha... me and my weird small cold plates)—and you can always freeze them in bags or containers. Super delicious and nutritious. Once you click on my BonAppetit link, you can scroll through endless other videos, go into that rabbit hole, calm yourself, trance out. After I finish this post, that’s what I’m gonna do. 

Final note. Friend Alissa wrote me on FB this morning and said this, in regard to cherry blossoms mentioned in my previous post: I just got my mom in touch with her family in Japan today after a long hiatus. and they were like pass this message on to her. which basically translated to the cherry blossoms are in season... (thanking my friend Kevin in Bed Stuy who sent me the link via FB mssngr)

It will be warmer today and—rain is coming. I might just take a walk in the rain with my deep sadness that I am trying to beat back. Thanks for listening, ppl. We all have our own worry and pain and separation from our loved ones. One day we’ll feel okay and the next, annihilated. It’s all good—we have to stay real and let our frustration and sadness be there and hopefully, later, be released. 

Let’s stick together. We have to, right? We do. YES. We do. I’ll be back sooner than you want me to. Hahaha. Gotcha. 

[halfbloodglader]

Breaking Rules (Newt)

Newt x Reader - 1,472 Words

Request; Hey ! Can I request one with Newt in the Glade where some boys won’t stop making lewd comments about the reader who’s kind of reserved. One day, despite others telling him to stop, a glader keeps talking smack and Newt just loses it, gets into a fight, then reader has to come and get him to calm down?

Since arriving in the Glade, Y/N had always been more reserved than most of the boys. Understandably, because she was the only girl. However, her quiet demeanour and choice to remain private made her an easy target for the boys in the Glade who didn’t get their fill picking on one another.

Y/N was good at walking away when one of the boys started making lewd comments or being invasive. When she did, they usually stopped. Most boys still had some respect. One, however, didn’t seem to.

Today, it was sweltering in the Glade. The sun beat down like it was trying to set fire to the Glade and working in the gardens wasn’t easy. At least the builders and the slicers had shade and buildings to hide in. The track-hoes had nothing.

Her normally baggy t-shirt now clung to every curve of her body and some of the boys seemed to ogle. Newt rarely saw Y/N mad, and right now, she was furious. She stood tall with her shoulders straight, fists clenched and eyes narrowed on

“Who would’a guessed.” The boy snickered. “Y’know, you don’t have to hide under a shirt like that all the time.”

Y/N let out a heavy breath and turned back to her work. She knew it wasn’t worth the fight. It never was and never would be. Besides, if she started throwing punches, being tossed into the slammer would probably be the kindest of punishments. Sure, the boys could be crude, vulgar and bothersome, but Y/N had her friends. People like Newt, Minho and Frypan who would stick by her side no matter what. She focused her time and energy on them while ignoring all of the other boys.

“Wait, isn’t that Newt’s old shirt?” The boy laughed like the sight was unbearably hilarious.

“Yeah, it is.” Newt snapped. “Because it was you who stole and set fire to her last one.”

A smirk crossed the boys face like the act was something to be very proud of. “It was worth it.”

“Maybe to you it was.” Newt narrowed his eyes and stepped forwards. “Now get out of here. You have a job to do.”

“Standing up for Y/N, huh? Trying to protect her?” He crossed his arms. “Since when was that your job?”

Newt’s blood was beginning to boil. Rarely did he have such a strong resentment towards someone as he did right now. It was difficult for Newt to hate someone, but this guy had made it very easy. “It was since you started treating her like you do.”

“C’mon man, drop it.” Another boy tugged at the dark haired boy trying to pick a fight.

“No,” He growled at his friends trying to pull him away. “I wanna see what Newt here will do.”

“I’ll stand here until you leave, that’s what.”

“Oh, then we’ll be here all day.” He laughed. As if Newt would stand there, doing absolutely nothing for the day whilst his skin burned.

“Fine.”

The boy underestimated how unwavering Newt could be, especially when Y/N was involved. For at least twenty minutes, the blonde just stood there, eyes locked on the boy, hardly ever blinking. Newt seemed just fine, but the boy began to grow uncomfortable.

Unable to hold his gaze much longer, the boy shifted his weight and looked away, then back again. “What’re you looking at beanstalk?” He asked mockingly, as if Newt had just been staring and their silent duel hadn’t happened.

Something about the way the boy said it set Newt off like a fuse. He dropped the wires in his hands used to tie vines and he stormed right towards the boy. His cheek twitched as he approached out of sheer anger, his eyebrows knitted together so tightly hardly anything could tear them apart. Since Newt was the perfect picture of peace, what he did next caught the boy by surprise.

Newt’s fist screamed through the air and crashed into the boys face with more power than necessary. It was enough to make him stumble back and rely on the ground for support as his world spun in circles. For the first time in his time in the Glade, Newt actually looked intimidating to the boy as he towered over him.

“That’s cute,” The boy couched violently and struggled to get to his feet. When he did, a fist slammed into Newt’s face with just as much, if not more power than his own punch. Luckily, though, it didn’t knock him to the ground and so h readied to throw another. That was until he felt a warm hand holding onto his wrist like it was the difference between life and death. When he looked down, he met Y/N’s eyes and his mind seemed to clear. It was then he realized what he’d done. He’d hurt another Glader. The other boy may have also, but Newt threw the first punch.

The boy was now situated back on the ground, eyes wide with fear. He must’ve fallen to the ground just before Y/N stopped Newt’s punch.

“You lay a single bloody finger on her or speak to her like that again, Alby is going to hear of it.” Newt half screamed.

“Doesn’t matter,” The boy laughed unevenly, wiping some of the blood from his mouth. “You broke one of the rules. Alby’s gonna hear about this first.”

“Go ahead.” Newt snarled and head back for the gardens before his next move was to start kicking. Y/N still held onto his wrist and once they reached the vines she made him look at her. His chest was still heaving up and down out of pure vexation, no sign of calming down anytime soon.

“You realize what you just did?” She whispered sharply.

Newt sighed and lowered his head in shame, his wavy hair shrouding his eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

“Newt…”

“I don’t care. He shouldn’t have done what he did.”

“And neither should have you.”

Y/N was right and Newt knew it. He was reckless. Idiotic. Careless. The moment had gotten the better of him and now he had no idea how Alby was going to react. Sure, he’d told the leader every so often of how this boy in particular bothered Y/N on a regular basis, but he’d never done anything violent. Newt just had.

The rest of the day was awful. Newt couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts in his mind telling him how stupid he’d been and what his punishment might soon be. The sun only heated the Glade even more, draining everyone of their energy. It was just after the sun had set behind the maze walls that Alby called everyone into the council hall.

The building was hot and humid, making it nearly unbearable to be in.

“He was being a shank, always has been one.” Gally admitted. “Not gonna lie, he kinda had it coming.” “So what you’re saying is that it was ok for Newt to punch him?” Winston questioned.

“No, he still broke a rule. And I’m not saying it’s ok for people to go around smiting each other now. But, this guy has been at it for months and should have known better.”

“Since when were you one to defend Newt?” Minho laughed slightly. Gally never seemed to take anyones side but his own, yet in this case, he was all for keeping Newt safe.

Gally scoffed. “It’s kinda obvious. It takes a lot to piss Newt off. He wouldn’t just blindly punch a someone for fun. This guy has been so awful, he made sweet little Newt go macho on him.” Gally looked around the room for support. “I think that says something.”

“Gally’s right,” Frypan agreed. “But they both did both break a rule.”

“So we give them a punishment.” Zart spoke up for the first time in what seemed like his life. “Preferably a worse one for the guy who caused this problem in the first place.”

“Two nights in the pit, then. No food. Both of you.” Alby looked between Newt and the Glades newest criminal. Alby almost felt bad for the kid. He’d made almost the entire Glade hate him now.

Everyone agreed with Alby’s punishment, and in need of entertainment, Gally made the guy apologize to Y/N right in front of everyone. A little smirk rose on Newt’s face as he blabbered out his apology in front of everyone.

The next couple of nights in the pit weren’t all that awful. Y/N snuck food in for Newt once she knew everyone else was asleep and talked for a little bit before disappearing back into the dark. Even though the situation had been rather miserable, and potentially dangerous, Newt didn’t regret it. He’d punched someone. That was something he never saw himself doing, but was glad he did. Hopefully now, everyone would leave her alone.

[overwatchworks]

How do you think the mcgenji recall reunion went? I adore your writing and am curious to see your spin on it.

Thank you very much, and I’m glad you enjoy it so much! I love writing all this for you guys too. ^^ 

Now, did anyone ever see that really adorable picture from kingsdarga’s art blog about their reunion? If not, check it out, their art is phenomenal (andtheirgenjiissuperhot). I like to think that was kind of how it went down, because I do believe that even if they weren’t quite sure where they stood relationship-wise at first, they were still absolutely best friends.  

Seven years. It felt like it had been decades or more, though, so much had happened, so much had changed in both Genji’s world and the real one. Genji thought he had used his time well to heal, mostly thanks to his master, Zenyatta. Nepal had been more than just enlightening. It had quite literally changed everything in Genji’s life, mostly for the better. The first two years were not in the slightest good nor easy. He had been a nomad, wandering in search for something he did not know how to find, constantly looking for something he couldn’t even name.

Then, Zenyatta had found him on the verge of losing all hope, his body weak and mind broken. Genji was saved by a warm metallic hand offering to help him up, a smooth tenor voice giving him the strength he needed to continue. Zenyatta had led him back to Nepal, up into the mountains where the Shambali monks lived, and he began training–reluctant and skeptical as he was, for a while.

The years he had spent with his new master there had been full of pain and realizations that Genji had not been ready for, but Zenyatta had guided him through it all to the light at the end of the tunnel. And before he knew it, Genji heard whispers that Overwatch was reuniting. He received his recall message from Winston when he and Zenyatta were travelling, and they had talked long together about whether or not he should answer it. His master had told him that, ultimately, it was Genji’s choice, and he was the only one who could decide where his future would lie. 

Genji was a new man, older and wiser than he had been before, and he figured that he should try and do some good in the world, just like he had always wanted to when he was younger, before he was taken into Blackwatch. And then there were the memories of Blackwatch, specifically Jesse McCree.

If there was one person he was eager to see and work with again, it was that man. They hadn’t really kept in touch, but Genji had stayed on the lookout for signs of the cowboy. Signs that mostly consisted of wanted posters. Genji smiled to himself at the thought; Jesse simply didn’t know how to keep his nose out of trouble. The ninja didn’t quite know Jesse’s stance on Overwatch nowadays, but he was hopeful that he would answer Winston’s message. Things had been tense when they parted ways, but they, at least, had been on good terms.

He had talked Zenyatta into coming with him to the coordinates that the recall had given out, and together, they made their way to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. The trek was a long one, giving Genji plenty of time to think about what he would do, wonder who would be there, how many had come already. He figured Winston would have been able to recruit Lena immediately, so that was at least two. 

Genji and Zenyatta made it to Watchpoint: Gibraltar one pleasant afternoon, the sun bearing down on them but cooled by the breeze blowing in from the strait. And, it wasn’t like Genji and Zenyatta’s internal processes would let them get too hot anyways. Sometimes being part metal man had its perks. 

There were a few people mulling about outside, moving various crates around the place, Lena being one he recognized right away, followed by Reinhardt’s massive form. Genji smiled, about to call out and wave to get their attention when an easily recognizable voice reached him first. 

“Well I’ll be damned…If it ain’t Genji Shimada.” 

Genji whipped around, eyes widening when he saw that easy smile and god forsaken cowboy hat again, Jesse McCree walking over to greet him. 

“JESSE!” He practically screamed, forgetting all pretenses of being calm and collected to instead throw himself at the cowboy, knocking his hat off. 

Jesse laughed, full and joyful, catching Genji and spinning them around in the embrace. Genji pulled back after a moment, too much excitement and energy bubbling up in his chest to keep still. He stared at Jesse a moment, that smile of his making something warm settle in Genji’s core, and he gave him a cursory once over. His eyes settled on his arm, a metal arm he most certainly did not have when they had last seen one another.

“Wait, what the fuck did you do?!” Genji gasped, holding up his arm between them and gripping at Jesse’s collar. The cowboy laughed nervously, his free hand going back to rub at his neck. A classic Jesse move.

“Eh, well, ya know…Shit happens.” 

“Tch, I guess this is what happens when I’m not there to keep an eye on your impulsive ass.” Genji sighed, letting go of Jesse and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, I ain’t the only one who’s got some new metal, lookit you! All sleek an’ sharp. I like the green.” 

“Why thank you, I picked it out myself. And you, mister, are still wearing that hat.”

“Gotta keep up appearances, darlin’, yanno how I am.” Jesse told him with a grin, picking up his fallen hat and brushing it off. Genji tilted his head a bit, caught on the endearment. Jesse had thrown it out so casually, it didn’t feel like it meant as much as it used to. 

They had been a thing back in Blackwatch; Jesse was Genji’s safe haven and Genji was there to protect Jesse in return. It wasn’t what would traditionally be called love, but Genji felt it, felt it the most when he had to leave with the knowledge that they may never meet again. The ninja wasn’t about to deny that he still had feelings for him, but seven years was a long time.

“Oh, here. Jesse, this is Zenyatta, my master. He found me on my travels and brought me with him to Nepal, helped me.” Genji finally spoke up, shaking himself from the memories of the past. He would deal with that later, when he had time to speak with Jesse alone.

The cowboy grinned and held out a hand, eyes flicking back and forth along Zenyatta’s face minutely, assessing. Genji stood to the side, eagerly watching their interaction as Zenyatta shook his hand with a pleasant tilt to his head.

“Nice to meet’cha. I’m glad Genji found someone like you on his travels.”

“Excuse me, what exactly are you saying here?” Genji gasped in mock hurt, Zenyatta laughing softly.

“That you were in major need of guidance, my student. There is nothing wrong with that.” He chimed, Genji looking over Zenyatta’s shoulder and finding Jesse smiling at him. Soft and warm, a little something more than the usual friendly one he gave everyone else. He wanted to say something, maybe get Jesse to agree to some time tonight where they could talk.

“GENJI!!!!!” 

Genji frowned, turning around just in time to be tackled by a streak of blue and a mess of spiky brown hair.

“Lena! It has been too long, how are you?” He laughed, Lena squeezing him as tightly as her lithe arms would allow.

“Oh Genji luv, you came I’m so glad! Winston will be so happy, and you look amazing! Come come! We have to go check in. Bring your friend with you too, and wait, wow are you a member of the Shambali…? That’s incredible, it’s an honour! Here, just follow me, and we’ll get everything sorted out in a jiffy.” Lena babbled, voice as excited and bubbly as ever. Genji had no choice but to follow, Lena dragging him along by his hand. 

Genji looked back at Jesse, the cowboy giving a lopsided grin before waving. 

“I’ll see ya later, Gen. Nice meetin’ you too, Zenyatta.”

-

It wasn’t until that evening that Genji was able to get Jesse alone. He had been passing through a hallway trying to remember where his room was when he went by a door that led outside, noticing Jesse out on the balcony smoking. It reminded Genji of different times. He decided to go out and meet him, walking up next to the gunslinger and leaning on the railing.

“Heya, Gen. Been a long day, huh?” Jesse said by ways of greeting, Genji smiling and taking off his faceplate. It never bothered him anymore, what he looked like. Zenyatta had taught him much, but learning to be at peace with himself again as he was now had been what he focused on the most. He was comfortable with who he was.

“It is good to see old friends again.”

“Yeah, it really is. I’m glad ya came. I didn’t think I’d be seein’ ya again, especially not because ya wanted to rejoin Overwatch.” 

“I think this is for a good cause…And I was hoping to see you here as well.” Genji murmured, rubbing his thumbs absently over the smooth front of his faceplate.

“Aw, hon, makin’ me feel special.” Jesse teased, stubbing out his cigar on the metal floor. Genji only gave him a half smile.

“You are, you know. You still are special to me, Jesse…”

The gunslinger stared at him a moment, Genji gazing back up at him, waiting. He wouldn’t push anything. Jesse then smiled a bit shyly, looking down at his hands on the railings.

“Didn’t think ya’d still…I mean, seven years is a long time…”

“Are you saying I should be over it?”

“Nah, I mean…Hell, I’m not. Seein’ ya again today was more than I had ever hoped for, an’ now you’re sayin’ ya still have feelin’s for me…? ‘S too good to be true.”

Genji tilted his head, then lightly caressed Jesse’s cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. An invitation, a confirmation, a simple, heartfelt message.

“Well, it is true. I still love you, Jesse McCree. That much was one thing that never changed from the past for me.”

Jesse huffed a laugh and pressed their foreheads together, both of his hands coming up to rest on the sides of Genji’s neck, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the synthetic skin there.

“Is it alright if I say I’m glad for that?” He whispered, their lips brushing as he spoke.

“Only if you kiss me again.”

Genji smiled when Jesse leaned down and pressed their lips together, slow and soft and full of warmth.

“I love ya too, Genji. I always have.”

~~

[poorquentyn]

I'm re reading IT right now (slowly, as adult life is getting in the way) and was wondering what other bad storytelling choices you thought king made besides the. Uh. Sewer scene? Its been years since ive read it and nothing else really stood out to me as poor storytelling that i can remember. I'll read it for myself eventually but was curious of your thoughts. Love your blog!

Thanks! Stephen King often veers into caricature with his supporting characters, and It is no exception. The way he describes Eddie’s mom and wife physically goes well beyond the narratively useful purpose of establishing how their weight disorders have intertwined with Eddie’s hypochondria and into “ugh fat people are gross” territory. I don’t think King has conscious malignance in this area, because he finds a proper balance with Ben: the latter describes in realistic detail how he lost weight over time, his mom is upset that he’s eating less but is presented humanely (as someone who associates her son eating a lot with her doing well as a single mother), and King manages to avoid shaming Ben for his weight while also acknowledging that Ben personally feels a lot better about himself after having shed it–or rather, because of the confidence he gained in himself by taking charge of the situation. The idea here is not “Ben needs to lose weight because gross” but rather “Ben needs to be in control of his body.” 

The good doesn’t wipe out the bad, nor vice versa; gotta consider them both in context. Main characters are naturally going to get more nuance than supporting characters, but necessary shorthand can easily turn into harmful caricature. And of course, a storytelling choice that seems solid in isolation can become a problem within the work as a whole. Beverly is sexualized throughout It in a way that’s often very unpleasant to read, associated throughout with violence and misogyny. Sometimes this works, as a way of peeling back the layers of petty ego driving a man’s man like her husband Tom; he explodes at her in their introductory scene because her paying attention to Mike’s call instead of him makes him feel like he’s literally not there. Other times it doesn’t, like when King lingers on the “smell” that Bev and her father “make together” now that she’s reaching puberty. We don’t need that to get the point that Bev’s father has inappropriate feelings for her–we got that from Bev’s mom asking if he ever touches her. When you put both sides of the coin together with the infamous sex scene in the sewers and the amount of time spent on whether Bev will choose Ben or Bill, it starts to look less like King was taking a stand against objectification by showing its omnipresence than that he simply didn’t know what to do with Bev as a character without constantly making reference to sex, rape, assault, and molestation. While she does get some right to response on these matters, I don’t think it’s nearly enough. It pushes back against a mindset that casually treats women like objects, but fails to establish a counter-narrative rooted in the female characters as individuals, fleshed out beyond their relationships to the men around them. It’s less a question of Does Stephen King Hate Women than one of imagination and empathy. 

Of course, some flaws are lessened by context, rather than enhanced by it. Take, for example, our protagonist William Denbrough, a blatant author insert. Bill is a popular horror author (check) whose books are increasingly being adapted for TV and film (check) and who has a rather tense relationship with critics and academics (double check). The latter is spelled out in an extended flashback to Bill’s college days, in which he takes a stand that ought to be very familiar to anyone steeped in modern media discourse:

Here is a poor boy from the state of Maine who goes to the University on a scholarship. All his life he has wanted to be a writer, but when he enrolls in the writing courses he finds himself lost without a compass in a strange and frightening land. There’s one guy who wants to be Updike. There’s another one who wants to be a New England version of Faulkner-only he wants to write novels about the grim lives of the poor in blank verse. There’s a girl who admires Joyce Carol Gates but feels that because Oates was nurtured in a sexist society she is “radioactive in a literary sense.” Oates is unable to be clean, this girl says. She will be cleaner. There’s the short fat grad student who can’t or won’t speak above a mutter. This guy has written a play in which there are nine characters. Each of them says only a single word. Little by little the playgoers realize that when you put the single words together you come out with “War is the tool of the sexist death merchants.” This fellow’s play receives an A from the man who teaches Eh-141 (Creative Writing Honors Seminar). This instructor has published four books of poetry and his master’s thesis, all with the University Press. He smokes pot and wears a peace medallion. The fat mutterer’s play is produced by a guerrilla theater group during the strike to end the war which shuts down the campus in May of 1970. The instructor plays one of the characters.

Bill Denbrough, meanwhile, has written one locked-room mystery tale, three science-fiction stories, and several horror tales which owe a great deal to Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, and Richard Matheson-in later years he will say those stories resembled a mid-1800s funeral hack equipped with a supercharger and painted Day-Glo red.

One of the sf tales earns him a B.

“This is better,” the instructor writes on the title page. “In the alien counterstrike we see the vicious circle in which violence begets violence; I particularly liked the “needle-nosed” spacecraft as a symbol of socio-sexual incursion. While this remains a slightly confused undertone throughout, it is interesting.”

All the others do no better than a C.

Finally he stands up in class one day, after the discussion of a sallow young woman’s vignette about a cow’s examination of a discarded engine block in a deserted field (this may or may not be after a nuclear war) has gone on for seventy minutes or so. The sallow girl, who smokes one Winston after another and picks occasionally at the pimples which nestle in the hollows of her temples, insists that the vignette is a socio-political statement in the manner of the early Orwell. Most of the class-and the instructor-agree, but still the discussion drones on.

When Bill stands up, the class looks at him. He is tail, and has a certain presence.

Speaking carefully, not stuttering (he has not stuttered in better than five years), he says: “I don’t understand this at all. I don’t understand any of this. Why does a story have to be socio-anything? Politics… culture… history… aren’t those natural ingredients in any story, if it’s told well? I mean… ” He looks around, sees hostile eyes, and realizes dimly that they see this as some sort of attack. Maybe it even is. They are thinking, he realizes, that maybe there is a sexist death merchant in their midst. “I mean… can’t you guys just let a story be a story?”

No one replies. Silence spins out. He stands there looking from one cool set of eyes to the next. The sallow girl chuffs out smoke and snubs her cigarette in an ashtray she has brought along in her backpack.

Finally the instructor says softly, as if to a child having an inexplicable tantrum, “do you believe William Faulkner was ‘just telling stories’? Do you believe Shakespeare was just interested in making a buck? Come now, Bill. Tell us what you think.”

“I think that’s pretty close to the truth,” Bill says after a long moment in which he honestly considers the question, and in their eyes he reads a kind of damnation.

“I suggest,” the instructor says, toying with his pen and smiling at Bill with half-lidded eyes, “that you have a great deal to learn.”

The applause starts somewhere in the back of the room.

Bill leaves… but returns the next week, determined to stick with it. In the time between he has written a story called “The Dark,” a tale about a small boy who discovers a monster in the cellar of his house. The little boy faces it, battles it, finally kills it. He feels a land of holy exaltation as he goes about the business of writing this story; he even feels that he is not so much telling the story as he is allowing the story to flow through him. At one point he puts his pen down and takes his hot and aching hand out into ten-degree December cold where it nearly smokes from the temperature change. He walks around, green cut-off boots squeaking in the snow like tiny shutter-hinges which need oil, and his head seems to bulge with the story; it is a little scary, the way it needs to get out. He feels that if it cannot escape by way of his racing hand that it will pop his eyes out in its urgency to escape and be concrete. “Going to knock the shit out of it,” he confides to the blowing winter dark, and laughs a little-a shaky laugh. He is aware that he has finally discovered how to do just that-after ten years of trying he has suddenly found the starter button on the vast dead bulldozer taking up so much space inside his head. It has started up. It is revving, revving. It is nothing pretty, this big machine. It was not made for taking pretty girls to proms. It is not a status symbol. It means business. It can knock things down. If he isn’t careful, it will knock him down.

He rushes inside and finishes “The Dark” at white heat, writing until four o'clock in the morning and finally falling asleep over his ring-binder. If someone had suggested to him that he was really writing about his brother, George, he would have been surprised. He has not thought about George in years-or so he honestly believes.

The story comes back from the instructor with an F slashed into the tide page. Two words are scrawled beneath, in capital letters. PULP, screams one. CRAP, screams the other.

Bill takes the fifteen-page sheaf of manuscript over to the wood-stove and opens the door. He is within a bare inch of tossing it in when the absurdity of what he is doing strikes him. He sits down in his rocking chair, looks at a Grateful Dead poster, and starts to laugh. Pulp? Fine! Let it be pulp! The woods were full of it!

“Let them fucking trees fall!” Bill exclaims, and laughs until tears spurt from his eyes and roll down his face.

He retypes the title page, the one with the instructor’s judgment on it, and sends it off to a men’s magazine named White Tie (although from what Bill can see, it really should be titled Naked Girls Who Look Like Drug Users). Yet his battered Writer’s Market says they buy horror stories, and the two issues he has bought down at the local mom-and-pop store have indeed contained four horror stories sandwiched between the naked girls and the ads for dirty movies and potency pills. One of them, by a man named Dennis Etchison, is actually quite good.

He sends “The Dark” off with no real hopes-he has submitted a good many stories to magazines before with nothing to show for it but rejection slips-and is flabbergasted and delighted when the fiction editor of White Tie buys it for two hundred dollars, payment on publication. The assistant editor adds a short note which calls it “the best damned horror story since Ray Bradbury’s "The Jar.” He adds, “Too bad only about seventy people coast to coast will read it,” but Bill Denbrough does not care. Two hundred dollars!

He goes to his advisor with a drop card for Eh-141. His advisor initials it. Bill Denbrough staples the drop card to the assistant fiction editor’s congratulatory note and tacks both to the bulletin board on the creative-writing instructor’s door. In the corner of the bulletin board he sees an anti-war cartoon. And suddenly, as if moving of its own accord, his fingers pluck his pen from his breast pocket and across the cartoon he writes this: If fiction and politics ever really do become interchangeable, I’m going to kill myself, because I won’t know what else to do. You see, politics always change. Stories never do. He pauses, and then, feeling a bit small (but unable to help himself), he adds: I suggest you have a lot to learn.

You can easily imagine this argument–a timeless appeal is being ruined by lefty college kids and their postmodern analyses–being made today by an alt-right YouTuber out to cleanse the game industry of SJWs. Throughout It, King keeps cutting back to an image of a librarian reading “The Billy Goats Gruff” to a group of kids, the latter enthralled (King tells us) by the primal purity of the kind of monster stories upon which both King and Denbrough have built their careers. “Will the monster be bested…or will It feed?” That’s King declaring that Bill’s his professors were wrong to wave aside his short horror stories. See? See?! I made it, and you pretentious eggheads were wrong to ever doubt me! This aspect of It is frankly embarrassing, especially as time marches on and we see how this mindset has taken root in the next generation.

But! While King very clearly believes this stuff, he’s also self-aware enough to include auto-critiques in his writing. Stan’s wife Patty picks up one of Bill’s novels and dismisses it as practically pornographic in its horror imagery. King goes too far in casting Patty’s dislike of Bill’s work as reflecting a lack of imagination on her part, but he then goes on to sympathetically explore how the grounded relatable struggles Patty has faced (anti-Semitism, her father mocking and dismissing Stan, their inability to have children) have led her to consider “horrorbooks” as shallow escapism. The real world, It admits, has horrors beyond anything the Kings and Denbroughs can come up with. “Werewolves, shit. What did a man like that know about werewolves?” 

Later on, when Ben is telling his triumphant story about calling out a high school coach who taunted him for his weight, Bill gently notes that as an author, he has trouble believing any kid really talked like that. That’s King using his self-insert to wryly poke fun at his own oft-overheated dialogue. Self-awareness and self-deprecation are absolutely vital to making a book as thematically and structurally ambitious as this one work. 

And while some of It’s politics make me cringe, other aspects make me perk up and take notice. King wrote It over the course of four years in which HIV and AIDS became a national crisis that was being largely ignored by said nation’s government. There was a growing conventional wisdom that the afflicted deserved their punishment and should be more or less left to rot. This was all part and parcel with the ascension of the religious right in American politics, especially within the Reagan White House. A huge part of the Reagan narrative (as we see in the “Morning in America” ad, also released while King was writing It) was a portrait of lily-white small-town America as a social ideal being beset by all sorts of ills that the left was either letting happen or actively supporting, and The Gays were most certainly among them.

It opens with a scene that seems to dovetail with that narrative: an idealized ‘50s small town in which an adorable innocent white boy from a good Christian family is horribly murdered by (what seems to be) a nightmarish external force that takes advantage of that innocence. Already, you can see a potential Reaganite spin–It as the Other, the “bear in the woods” threatening the ideal of Derry. 

But that’s not what It is about. The second chapter jumps forward a generation, into the mid-1980s in which King was writing, and onto a scene of violence that cannot be wrapped into the meta-narrative of the religious right. Three men attack a gay man on a bridge, their delicate sensibilities offended by his flamboyance. They beat him within an inch of his life and toss him over the side…where he finds It waiting for him with a gleaming sharp-toothed smile. Both the victim’s boyfriend and one of the assailants tell the cops and lawyers involved about the demon clown who finished the victim off, but the powers that be cover it up for the sake of a successful prosecution.

The idea being that they’re dealing with the symptoms, not the disease–the violence, but not the hand-me-down hate driving it. The bereft boyfriend tells the cops that he tried to warn his new-to-town lover that despite its cheery appearance, Derry is a “bad place,” one positively crawling with “AIDS is God’s punishment” homophobia. Moreover, he whispers through his tears, he realized while staring into Its silver eyes as It ate his true love that “It was Derry…It was this town.” 

So while the first chapter seemingly wrapped the era’s conservative politics in a cozy semiotic blanket, it was only baiting the hook so that the second can rip that blanket off like a Band-Aid. As Reagan strolled to re-election with 49 states at his back, as the Democrats’ convictions wavered and they began to drift rightward, as thousands of Americans wasted away while their government and so many of their fellow citizens watched pitilessly, here comes Stevie King to stick his middle finger in the Moral Majority’s face and say: gays aren’t the monsters, you are the monsters, you are the ones eating your children. He built a thousand-page Lovecraftian epic around that idea, and made it a bestseller. How fucking awesome is that?

Again, it’s all always going to be complicated. The good not only coexists with the bad–they’re often inextricable. The author who slipped a rant against leftist academics ruinin’ his storybooks into It is also the guy who now declares his support for BLM and his disgust for Trump, and It is both a deeply flawed work and one of my very favorite novels.

[solarbird]

The Armourer and the Living Weapon, Chapter 17: morning, midday, afternoon, night

I have changed the tags on AO3.

Previously, this story had the "hurt no comfort" tag attached, but that was always a bit of a caution, because I didn't want anyone going in without warnings that this is in many ways not a happy story. But having written the ending, and the coda, I have been told: while it is not a happy story, there is too much comfort - important comfort - in amongst the hurt, and so, I have removed the tag.

This chapter is worksafe. It is also long, so I'm putting it under a cut - but that's the only reason I'm doing so. [AO3 link]

Oilliphéist rolled over in her bed, alone. She could sleep, if she really pushed herself into it, and it would be adequate sleep - but that's all it would be, and she wanted better.

She missed Widowmaker's presence. She missed her counterpart, her companion, her other self, and having been apart for so long, to have to split time like this... she didn't like it.

She wasn't even mad at Tracer. Who wouldn't want to be next to her? How could anyone not want that? Lena just had the good sense to go for it, that's all. Emily smiled a little as she thought about that, and rolled over again.

She's already become everything I'd hoped she'd be, the assassin mused, the boat dual a few nights before flashing across her mind, and well on her way to who she could be, without even any real remaking. She took a long breath. I can't wait 'till we really all get to fight together properly, it makes me want to...

She shivered and then laughed to herself, softly, thinking of the night after São Paulo, when she and Lena both decided to entertain their common lover, suddenly falling on each other as well, ravenously, not love, just need, just lust, but none the less so satisfying for it...

I know what I want, she realised. I didn't mind... so... maybe she won't, either.

All but silently she rose out of bed, crossed the hall, and entered Tracer's bedroom in the temporary apartment that already felt so very much like home. Lena had left the door open, as she was wont to do, and Emily knew already that somehow, none of them set of each other's defences, not as long as they were calm and quiet, and she was rewarded with the view of her spider holding her pet, big spoon and little spoon, calm, at peace - a small hold of serenity in the middle of a mad world.

Ever so carefully, she stepped over and onto the bed, under the covers, nuzzling against the back of Widowmaker's neck, and her lover rolled, still mostly asleep, onto her back, nuzzling into Oilliphéist's hair, breathing in reflexively, and stilled again, at peace.

And Emily slept deep, and well.

Some hours later, Lena woke, slowly, eyes still mostly closed, sun not yet risen, but the first hints of morning light just peeking their way past the blinds. She opened her eyes the slightest bit more, then blinked, seeing Emily across from her, on Danielle's right, asleep.

Her eyebrows furrowed for a second as she wordlessly took the sight in, unalarmed but briefly wondering if maybe this is why she was awake before either of the others, for once. She bit her lower lip and nodded, just the tiniest bit, an unvoiced assent, a silent yes, before closing her eyes again and going back to sleep.

An hour later, Lena woke again, the room a little brighter, Emily stirring, her eyelashes fluttering open, as Lena's eyes opened as well, copper meeting silver, halfway.

"Hiya," Lena said, softly - not a challenge, not even a question, just a greeting, with a a small but genuine smile.

"Hey," whispered Emily, smiling in return. "G'morning."

"G'morning." Lena reached over, gently and without active thought, and ran her hand through Oilliphéist's hair. Emily's eyes closed again and she breathed out, a long, slow exhalation of pleasure. She nuzzled gently into Tracer's hand, the cool touch of her lips soothing against the teleporter's palm, and together, they waited for their beloved to awaken, before - again, together - they would face the day.

-----

Hana Song frowned across visual comms, having read Tracer's mission report overnight. "This is not 'protecting Widowmaker,' Lena. This isn't being 'backup.'"

"I seem t'recall sayin' from the start it wouldn't be just that," Lena retorted, irritation in her voice.

Morrison nodded his agreement with the MEKA pilot. "You weren't supposed to take the lead."

Song scowled, encouraged to hold her ground. "You're supposed to be an observer and maybe support, not DPS."

"I think it sounds pretty durn good," McCree interjected. "Nice improvisation, good use of the landscape..."

"Thanks, luv," Tracer said, with a little grin and salute.

"That's exactly what I don't like about it," Morrison snapped, as Lena leaned back, frowning, across the table, with one of her two counterparts, the other, outside, in the next room, waiting. "You seem awfully happy about having killed this man."

"Kinda the point, wannit? I'm RAF. You see a way to complete a mission safely, with no risk to civilian life - you take it."

"Yeah. You do. But..."

"I didn't hear you complaining about those Omnic troopers."

"Hardly the same thing."

"Exactly the same thing."

"They were in violation of treaty - and they attacked you," Song pointed out.

Lena's mouth twisted a little bit between sadness and defiance. "Just as dead either way."

Jack nodded, "That's the first hint of regret I've seen out of you for any of this."

"Don't regret it, luv. None of it. Unless Mei's data's changed..."

The climate scientist looked up. "It has not," she said, wishing very much that it had.

Lena nodded, gratefully. "...then we don't have much choice, do we?"

"Lena, I'm..." Soldier: 76 rubbed the bridge of his nose, high, between his eyes, "I'm not angry. I'm worried about you."

"Worried I don't know what I'm doin'? Worried I'm too good at it? Worried I'm taking that Blackwatch patch too serious?"

Morrison put his hands together, and his elbows on the conference table, and leaned forward, eyes closed. "I've killed a lot of people, Lena. A whole lot of people. Too many."

Tracer paused, and frowned a little, but not angrily.

"I've been glad I did it. I've been convinced it was the right thing - the necessary thing - and for the most part, my conscience is pretty clear." He leaned back, eyes open again, looking at Tracer's copper eyes. "But I've never enjoyed doing it. It's never been... fun."

Oxton nodded, chewing for a moment on her upper lip, as Danielle smirked dismissively beside her. Your emotions make you vulnerable, echoed the remnants of her conditioning, as she mentally batted it aside.

"Don't cross that line, Lena. Reyes did. Ogundimu did. I came... closer than I want to admit."

"I remind you," said the Widowmaker, "that I am the one who took that particular shot."

"And enjoyed it, I bet," Hana said.

"It was exquisite," replied the assassin, her voice warm. "Perfect."

The small smile Lena flashed her lover made Winston flinch just a little, and he reached across the table and took Tracer's hand. "I... Lena... don't lose yourself, okay? That's all we're talking about. We are working with some..." she hesitated a moment, looking at the Widowmaker, who arched an eyebrow amusedly, "...pretty frightening people, and doing some pretty questionable things. Just don't forget who you really are."

Widowmaker chortled at the softened word choice, but Tracer smiled. "Aw, luv - you know better than that." She squeezed Winston's hand, a wistful expression on her face. "There'll be time to sort all that out soon. Get this stashed away, then afterwards... anybody know a good therapist?" she joked.

"Yes," nodded the Ecopoint survivor. "I do."

Ouch, Lena thought. "Sorry, Mei, didn't think about that..."

"Oh, it's okay. I'm sure she will accept you as a referral. And she follows very strict medical privacy rules."

Tracer snorted a short laugh. "Also didn't mean it literally, luv, but - if it'll make you feel better, I'll give her a call once all's said and done."

"You could even do it before that. I will call her today, to let her know," she replied.

Winston nodded. "I think that would be a very good idea."

Lena rolled her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes," said Winston, firmly.

Lena smirked a little. "All right, big guy. Fine. I'll give her a ring tomorrow. Happy?"

"Not really," he said, "But it's a start. Thank you."

"When's the next mission?" Morrison asked, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

"A few days. Don't know the details yet. But now we've reached the board, everything's gonna move quickly."

"Good," nodded the former Strike Commander.

"Yeah," echoed Hana Song. "This sooner this is over, the better."

[An hour later]

"I know they mean well, but cor blimey, that was grating," Tracer complained, over lunch - curry on chips, of course, courtesy the only English takeaway in the city, picked up and taken home. She leaned back, into the sunbeam shining through the western window.

"They didn't appreciate your work?" Oilliphéist said, poking at a reasonably convincing Cornish pasty, from the same location. "Philistines. I thought it was bloody marvellous. You looked brilliant out there."

"Aw." She smiled, a little, sipping from her water. "Thanks."

"So - y'gonna do it?"

"Do wot?"

"Call that therapist," Emily reminded.

"Right, that." Lena shrugged. "I suppose. No harm in it, yeh?"

"Not the most fun people in the world, therapists," Emily replied. "But it's up to you."

"I wasn't going to bring this up," the Widowmaker added, amused, spreading cheese across another piece of baguette. "But I must say, their reactions... I still enjoy being - how should I put it... I enjoy being..." she waved her knife around, a pointless motion, "...a little bit feared? Perhaps you should consider the value in it."

Tracer laughed, despite herself. "Mei did jump a bit every time you said something, didn't she? Kinda funny. But... you're gonna have t'let that go, love, leastways within Overwatch. S'bad for teamwork." She picked up another chip, and threw it into her mouth.

"But not in public!" Oilliphéist insisted, with a grin. "You're a legend, sweet - you've got a reputation to maintain! And, of course, scared people don't aim so well."

"I know," the spider replied, smiling wickedly. "Believe me - I know."

-----

Angela Ziegler rubbed her eyes, or, at least, around them - being a doctor, she knew better than to rub them directly. This is brilliant work. But so complex.

She cycled through sets of responses, tracking Lena's enhanced nerves through her body. So much interconnection, and yet, still so fast. I can't imagine how much faster it'd be if all this wasn't...

She blinked - Oh! - as the pieces fell together, the realisation tingling down her spine. Oh, this is brilliant, why do you have to be on the wrong side of everything, Moira? This is... it makes a self-stabilising cycle! Of course! And every perturbation is felt almost instantly across the whole system, because each one upsets the entire cycle, so reflex actions and analysis are also distributed, shared...

"Ahhhhh," she breathed, leaning back in her chair. "Moira... you are a genius."

"You found something?" asked Dr. Ngcobo, her lab's peripheral nervous system specialist.

Ziegler nodded. "I've figured out the basic operating structure. It's... oh, it is very good. This is... so clever. It is breathtaking."

Knowing, now, how it worked, she could filter data to show the system in action, and did, both in physicality and abstraction. "Do you see, do you see, the stimulus response? How it's shared, spread across the entire structure?"

"That is astounding," he replied, in all seriousness. "There's... not even really a periphery anymore, it's so integrated - at least, on this level. All of this is unlike anything I've ever studied."

"Well," she said, cheerfully, smiling. "I think I know where to start, then - right here."

"Good a place as any."

Angela leaned over in her chair, pulling up the armrest, watching the abstracted system move in time with the physical system, replaying the session from the beginning, through the new view, seeing reactions spread, so quickly, so cleanly, cycles building upon cycles, forming curves, settling back down, stabilising themselves.

It's beautiful, she thought, as they watched the cycles form and dissipate. Genuinely, just... beautiful.

"May I add another layer of abstraction?" Dr. Ngcobo asked. "There's a differentiation function that's useful, sometimes, when studying self-stabilising feedback systems like this. It was developed for studying vertigo problems, but I think it might..."

"Please - do!" replied Dr. Ziegler, and he did, on the station next to hers, and they brought the three displays together. The third display formed a ring that rotated in three dimensions as Lena's nervous system reacted to stimulus. She started the replay over, watching the ring vibrate, shimmer, moving slowly around its axes.

"It's memorising," she said, aloud, as they watched the abstractions play out.

Huh, she thought, as the ring reacted sharply to one particular stimulus, throwing itself sharply along one axis, before drifting back, and a little past, where it had been before. "...I don't know this particular filter... what was that?"

Dr. Ngcobo leaned in, confused, and replayed that segment of data, watching more closely. It only showed up in the second abstraction layer - at least, as an obvious phenomenon. He stood up, and scratched the back of his head. "That is very strange. My first guess would be that the filter was not designed for this sort of application, and it is just noise. But if it is not that... then..." He put his left hand to his mouth, playing with his lower lip, "...I have absolutely no idea. What's the stimulus?"

"Already bringing it up." She played the short audio track - a snippet of traditional song in Irish Gaelic - in synchronisation with the collected data, watching the ring react when the singer hit her low notes, and she frowned.

"I'm not getting it," said the specialist. "It's just singing. What is that language?"

"Gaelic. And I'm not sure I get it either," replied the head research scientist, "but I have some ideas that I do not like. Not one little bit."

-----

"The police have ruled Korpal's death an accident, and Deshmukh's, a murder. They're looking for a mugger, but..."

"You've got to be kidding me," Reyes growled in his deepest hiss.

"I'm just relaying the police reports," the Talon field operative replied. "Don't kill the messenger."

"They don't know who was piloting the Brazilian boat and there's no second body and they're still calling it an accident?"

Across comms, the agent shrugged. "Everybody knows Sanjay had a lot of enemies in São Paulo, but nobody wants an assassination on record at the Grand Prix, so..."

"So everyone involved has reasons to keep this quiet. I just didn't expect they'd be so blatant about it." He covered his eyes with his right hand, and rubbing his temples for a moment, before speaking again.

"Get me every piece of video and every still image with a face that you can find from that party. Particularly of the boat launch, but cover the whole area. Also, throw in whatever you can find from outside, nearby, starting about an hour before."

"Yes, sir."

"And get me anything and everything you can from inside the Paddock Club the previous two days. Whoever did this probably cased them in advance, and we'll start there."

"Sir. I'll forward material to the facial recognition database as I get it."

"Copies also to me directly."

"Acknowledged."

"Reaper out," he said, cutting the channel.

Photographs began arriving in under a minute, and the former head of Blackwatch sat down in his chair and began flipping through them, one at a time, sorting the known from the unknown in his head, looking for faces, for body shapes, or any part of anyone he might possibly know.

You're in here somewhere, pilot, he thought, leaning back as pictures flickered by. And I will find you.

[omnical]

I Sing the Body Electric... (2/?)

( Previous - Next )

Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler knows a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari.

Genre: AU, Romance. Dark humor, supernatural elements.

Characters/Pairings: Angela, Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Lucio, Mei

Rating: T, mentions of body gore and third party violence, dark humor.

Links: AO3

Dr. Angela Ziegler did not know what she was doing with her life.

To be fair, she never expected to be haunted by her own insecurities, but Angela supposed reaching her thirties was the primary culprit of her sudden change of heart. She never used to worry, and never used to wonder if she was wasting her life by focusing on her work, until she found it barely made her happy anymore. 

Sometimes Angela allowed herself to sink back into her memories. Mostly whenever feelings of intense sadness came into her mind, unbidden. Memories of when she was a child in her father’s study, wide-eyed and curious about his strange books, and colorful anatomical models with their detachable parts.

She remembered examining them with her pudgy toddler hands, lower lip sticking out as she took them apart --  cillary body, choroid, sclera, lens -- before putting the parts back together again. She liked putting them back together again.

She remembered her parents telling her how smart she was, how good she was, pride lighting their eyes. If she tried hard enough, Angela could still remember their voices. It helped lift her spirits up, sometimes.

However, her parents’ untimely passing did not exhaust love and warmth from her life. She lead a happy and carefree childhood, after her parents died. Her aunt and uncle tried their hardest to fill that silence in her heart with their own voices, and sometimes Angela thought it worked. Your mother and father would have been so proud of you, Angela.

And now, after making a living out of being smart, she became Auntie Dr. Angela, who sent the best sweets and the newest toys despite missing family gatherings for the holidays sometimes.

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

“It’s all right, my dear. Maybe you can come next year?”

...

Dr. Lindholm found Angela dissociating in front of her computer monitor one day.

He brought her hot chocolate from the coffee machine in the pantry, the beverage watery and clumped up with cheap chocolate powder. And with it, he effectively coaxed her out of her mental calisthenics. She was like a terrified critter hiding inside her burrow. “You always did think too much for your own good.” He said.

She had no one else to turn to, no one else to confide in, until Dr. Lindholm, poorly hiding the hurt he felt after Angela hesitated to tell him initially, managed to make her spill everything with one look.

“When I was your age, I ended up working myself to the bone, too.” Dr. Lindholm grumbled through his words, speaking with a gruff gentleness only a father of seven would have. “Until my poor wife knocked some sense into this hard noggin’ of mine, and I had to look back at myself and what I was missing. But that’s life.”

“Why did you decide to stay?”

“I was happy with my job and I still am.” He answered, tugging his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes you need to figure out what’s best for you, get your hands dirty. But it is different for everybody, Angela. Whatever worked for me might not work for you. These things don’t come with a manual.”

“I see.”

“Guess that means you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“It would be easier if I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Take a day off.” Dr. Lindholm said, patting her shoulder. “Away from all this crap. Maybe that will help clear your head?”

Angela walked to a pub that evening with some of her coworkers, some of them surprised that one of their local recluse bothered to join them at all. She holed herself up against the corner of the pub at first, until Dr. Winston invited her to throw a few darts with him, which was fun despite missing the dartboard the entire time. She also cheered for a losing football team, got into a heated debate about rugby with a baffled stranger, drinking pint after pint. Mirthful brown eyes watched her all night.

After getting ‘plenty pissed’, she went home. Angela woke up with a bad hangover, her mouth sour, and a pulsing headache, wondering if her night out helped.

She felt inclined to disagree after vomiting all over her bathroom floor. It took hours until she mustered the strength to clean up after her own mess.

The next day, Dr. Angela Ziegler deleted her resignation letter, and never thought about quitting her job again.

The steel autopsy table glinted from the bright surgical lights overhead.

When Angela closed her eyes, blinding spots shaped like surgical light bulbs flashed behind her eyelids. She blinked, long and hard, willing them to go away.

When she opened them again, she noticed Lucio was sending her a look over the autopsy table, a pair of forceps in his hand.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

Hi .

Time to get back to work.

An assistant drone whizzed past Angela’s eyesight with a mechanical hum. Its gears and internal mechanisms whirring and clicking, its optical eye taking photographs of the cadaver, and stowing away details for the report; breaking them down into categories. Nails, skin, hair. And while the drone did its work, Angela exhaled, letting a long breath whoosh from her lips.

“February 8, 1:45 PM. Female, forty-eight years old. Found in her living room, seven hours after time of death, which was estimated at: February 7, 10 PM. According to investigation reports, she died from an unwitnessed cardiac arrest.” Angela frowned beneath her medical mask. “Her family wanted to be sure about the cause of death. As far as we know, she was alone at home. No evidence of assault or struggle.”

The patient’s feet were swollen. Taut skin stretched across sharp lines of bone. The corpse’s flesh -- once brown and aglow with the rosy hue of life -- was now ashen and cold. The patient’s face was expressionless, grim. Mrs. Tanner looked peaceful in her final rest.

I am so sorry.

“Assistant drones found some areas of her clothing were singed.” Angela said. “Very slight, almost undetectable. There were no signs of burns on the corpse, either.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

“The police reports never mentioned anything which might have caused it.” Lucio said, “Think it’s conclusive evidence, doc?”

“Maybe. If only things can be that easy.”

Angela fiddled with the plastic shield protecting her face. She fixed her rubber gloves around her wrists, listening to it snap against her skin, as if the sound would quell the storm forming inside her heart.

“Okay, I am ready.” Angela said, “Let’s open her up.”

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

“That sounds great. I’m craving garlic bread.”

“I know this place that makes amazing garlic bread. They make their own bread -- fancy restaurants always make their own bread -- so you know it’s super fancy. It’s a walk away from here, but totally worth it.” Lucio said. “Better not have too much, though, people say garlic breath is a turn off for some people. If you know what I mean.”

Angela held the sternal saw aloft. She sent him a dirty look.

“Hey, I'm just saying.”

“We are recording this session, Dr. dos Santos.”

“Nobody but us listens to it, anyway, what's the harm?”

“Ugh.” Angela turned the saw on and began to cut across the sides of their patient’s rib cage.

...

“Need help there, doc?”

“Yes.” Angela nodded. “Take this to the tray, please.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Working with the dead followed a careful step-by-step scientific process.

“Checking the pericardial sac. Scalpel, please? The small one.”

The other half of the job was to understand the abstract.

“Maybe a towel, too.” she added. “There is a lot of liquid in the cavity.”

Whenever Angela got bored during her trip to and from work, she found herself watching ordinary people mill about in their daily lives. A person showing signs of nicotine addiction. An elderly woman waiting in a cafe who was probably diabetic, her coffee order later confirming Angela’s guess. A child chasing a cat after recovering from a broken leg, maybe two or three weeks ago. They were textbook and precise observations, nearly perfected after years of practice.

Since their patients did not have the ability to speak for themselves anymore, or show discomfort, or express pain, they took it upon themselves to help reveal the dead’s final words. But it was the unpredictable human mind which added tons of variables and what-ifs in the equation; something unseen from the abstract could turn a murder case around and present truths from lies. Their patient’s final meal. Their medicine intake. Past ailments. Angela had a knack for the abstract.

“What do you think so far?” Dr. dos Santos asked, helping her lift a layer of flesh with a large pair of forceps.

Dr. Ziegler, hands deep inside the body’s chest cavity, answered. “Homicide.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling, doctor.” An amused wrinkle appeared around Angela’s eyes, revealing the smile under her mask.

“Ha, very funny.” Lucio said. “Are you suggesting a killer clown appeared from her television screen and scared her to death?” He chuckled, “We should send that report to the Chief of Police. Get his grouchy ass storming our office.”

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

A short woman, round-faced and perky, smiled at them from behind the autopsy room doors. “I am so sorry for interrupting you guys." she said with a nervous giggle, "How is the examination going?”

“Lucio and I are still not finished with this one, Mei.” Angela said, bowing her head in apology. “Would it be possible if you told Captain Morrison we will finish this after three?”

“Okay,” Mei shrugged, throwing the pair a knowing look. “I guess I’ll tell Detective Dimples to come back another time.”

Dr. Ziegler dropped her scalpel in Mrs. Tanner’s chest.

“Oh, shit.”

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

Angela skidded to a halt outside her office door, and took a moment to stare at the twisted knotholes of the wood. Blue eyes, dancing like two fading matchsticks, unable to focus where she was looking until Angela concentrated all her intent on the silver of the doorknob. She had to find the strength to open the door eventually.

Angela worried her lower lip, fingers combing the messy rat’s nest of hair on her head. She tugged at the lapels of her white coat, which smelled of antiseptic and murk from the autopsy earlier. It stank on her skin, under her nose, and her eyes had deep bags under them, as if they were two small ditches dug out by a worn trowel. The scent and look of death always clung to her, but she thought it was impossible to look nice after spending hours in the morgue.

After a few moments shifting her weight between her feet, she willed steel into her bones and pushed the door open. A beam of white light from the hallway’s fluorescent lighting escaped through the gap, and as soon as she opened the door, a person’s shadow revealed itself stretched out onto the rug. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting from the dim room after walking through the hall. Dark clouds covered the sun, the rain pelting her window, overall encompassing her office with a dreary, gray overtone.

When her eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Angela’s gaze followed the unmoving shadow to its source -- who was wearing a pair of soggy black shoes.

Her eyes traced up to dark trouser pants, pressed, creased, hiding a pair of elegant, long legs. A coat hung over their shoulders, limp and drenched from the afternoon rain.

Detective Fareeha Amari loomed above Angela’s desk, surveying the mass of documents and towers of folders strewn about. Her head quirked to the side, probably in curiosity, hair dripping with rain water. It was a miracle Detective Amari did not notice Angela leaning against the doorway, her knees folding over each other, wobbling like jelly.

Taking a shaky step forward, Angela closed the door behind her, careful so as not to startle her visitor. She licked her lips, mind racing over ideas on how to greet the detective without looking like a baffled idiot. Just a simple greeting. She had to sound calm, firm, use her customer service telephone voice. That always worked.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Detective Amari. You cut a dashing figure, as always.’

That was horrible.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Angela forced herself to abandon her thoughts, dragging her eyes away from the pair of long legs gracing her office, and into Detective Amari’s eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. It left her rooted on the spot, her knees stopped wobbling like jelly. “Glad to see you again, doctor.”

“Fancy dashing you here."

Detective Amari raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking to an amused grin. “I’m sorry?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There were a few things Angela knew about the mysterious Detective Fareeha Amari.

First. She had a stress ball tucked inside her jacket pocket at all times. It was orange, like a basketball.

Second. She wore a lady’s suit at work, and sometimes a baggy windbreaker jacket during colder days, instead of a blazer. She wore a pair of jeans and a baseball cap during stakeouts and sting operations. She always looked perfect.

Third. She did not mind being referred to as a they, or a he, or a she. “Doesn’t matter.” Detective Amari said once, “Please call me whatever you like.”

Fourth. A week ago, Detective Amari had a cut on her cheek and a broken finger. Two weeks before that, a suspect made her long nose crooked for a while. Three months ago, she broke her leg after falling off a flight of stairs in the precinct.

Today a broken arm hung over her chest in a sling, and half of her face was swollen and purple like a bowl of bruised mangoes and grapes.

Fifth. Fareeha knew a few things about Dr. Angela Ziegler.

"Please tell me those bandages aren’t hiding anything serious.”

“Got roughed up a couple of days ago." Detective Amari said.

“You should take better care of yourself, detective.”

“I’m used to it, doctor. Occupational hazard.” She smiled, motioning at her cast. “Comes with the territory.”

Angela shook her head and scoffed, trying to keep herself from being charmed by the curve of Fareeha’s full lips, and the grin reaching her eyes. “Oh, nonsense. Let me get you something.”

Detective Amari faltered, “I hope I am not intruding, doctor?”

Angela waved away her weak excuses, and began searching for a towel, a handkerchief -- anything that could help her friend. She ignored a few empty drawers, and quickly closed the one overflowing with rubbish before Fareeha saw her shame.

Finally, she found a hand towel from her tote bag, and handed it Detective Amari with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I guess I should have been better prepared, considering the local weather.” Angela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Always raining, and dark, and...” --   stop talking about the weather, Angela -- “Anyway, I hope this can help.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Fareeha smiled, and took the offered towel from Angela’s hand. “To be fair, it’s not everyday a soaked idiot comes in dripping water everywhere after forgetting to bring an umbrella.”

“Indeed. I mean, you’re not an idiot. That’s not what I meant.” Angela twisted her fingers around each other, resisting the urge to caress the bruises on Detective Amari’s cheek. “And you are free to intrude on my work any time, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Detective Amari opened her mouth, pausing as if she was about to apologize for the second time, before changing her mind. “Thank you.”

“Wuh -- ” Words, Angela. “Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you got injured, this time?”

“Just a group of guys assaulting a kid in an alleyway.” She replied with a tight smile, shaking her head. “We didn’t expect it to turn into a car chase across the square to sixth avenue. Backed them up into a building, where they had friends waiting. One of them sucker punched me.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“I broke my arm after tripping over a rubbish bin an hour later.”

“Sounds... exciting.”

“And a lot of paperwork,” Detective Amari frowned. “Which is less fun compared to a car chase, I guess.” She handed Angela the damp towel after attempting to dry her face. Detective Amari took a moment to comb her hair back with her fingers, dark strands curling over her cheek, making it look both neat and tousled and... “Maybe you should take a seat, doctor? Your knees are shaking.”

Angela felt herself fall into her leather chair, boneless -- she cleared her throat. “So, how can I help you today, Detective Amari? Is this about a case?”

The detective tensed, her mouth turning into a frown as she leaned against the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the edge. “Yes, in fact.” She pulled out a thick case file from inside her suit jacket, and Angela wondered how she kept it dry and intact after running through the rain.

“We got a video clip.”

Dr. Ziegler flipped through case file, her knuckles white as she flipped through the pages. Pictures and reported evidence spread across desk in a mess, all of which she still remembered fresh in her mind, while the newly found puzzle-piece played on her computer monitor in a loop.

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

“Maybe.” Detective Amari scratched the bandage under her chin. “Our techie couldn’t find anything suspicious in the recording. Or the recorder, for that matter. There were no time skips, no evidence of anything being erased. No tampering, as far as we know.”

“So his wife hid the camera inside the… ?”

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

“Because she suspected her husband was cheating on her.”

“I know what this looks like. Jealous wife murders husband, plants fake or tampered evidence to get us off her trail.” Detective Amari said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It is true Mrs. Finnegan has a clear motive, but why would she give us the recording? She could have destroyed it, and we would have never known it existed.”

“Detective,” Angela pulled her glasses from her nose. She paused, resting the spectacles on her thigh. “Are you prepared to tell me he was killed by an invisible creature?”

They shared a look.

“These strange cases have been popping up left and right.” Angela said. “We were working on another case before you came to visit, and believe me when I say I can’t wrap my head around that one either.” She leaned against her chair with a tired huff. “They all look like natural causes -- our autopsies reveal they are natural cases. Oftentimes we leave it as is and shelf it, but I’m often at a loss. It always feels wrong, somehow. Off. Like there’s something missing.”

“I know.” Detective Amari pushed herself away from Angela’s desk. “I feel the same.”

The detective stared at the wall opposite Angela, deep in thought. After a while, the square of her shoulders deflated. “I just came by to inform you, doctor. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything. Invisible men, werewolves, body-snatchers, whatever you guys figure out.” she chuckled, finding no humor in her words. “As long as there's evidence backing it, I’m willing to hear anything at this point.”

“This is something your techie can figure out more than I can.” Angela said. She smoothed down the crinkles of her dress shirt, trying to find something her fingers could be busy with while the detective stood too close in front of her. Their knees were almost touching. “Strange video recordings aren’t my forte, unless...”

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

“Absolutely not.” Fareeha pivoted around her heels and began to pace, her hand expressing her words wildly. “May I remind you about the last time you took a plunge? Light bulbs exploded, things floated around, creepy voices. And I think that body moved.”

“That was completely my fault. I forgot to mention temporary reanimation can happen sometimes.”

“You fainted and you stared at your hands for an hour, doctor."

"Now, I don't remember that..."

Fareeha shot her a dry look. "You were talking about yellow eyes.”

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

“I nearly -- ” Fareeha closed her eyes and pulled away, biting the insides of her cheek. “I won’t let you go through that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t even know if I will make contact.” Angela glanced at the door in case anyone else was listening. “Besides, last time was just a tiny, tiny oversight.”

“A tiny oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

Fareeha closed her mouth and shook her head in disbelief, but decided to do as Angela insisted. Instead, she grabbed the orange stress-ball from inside her jacket pocket, and squeezed it with an iron grip.

“I have lived with this curse all my life, and I wasted so much time trying to forget it ever existed. I’m out of practice, I admit, but I am ready to keep trying.” Angela said. “Two times out of ten it can get worse. Three times out of eight, nothing happens. But there is a fifty-percent chance of us getting the answers we need."

"With the remaining fifty-percent possibility of the guy’s head spinning around? I can deal with poltergeists, maybe, but not that."

“The body’s head didn’t spin.” Angela groaned. "Look, whatever, or whoever is running around in this city, innocent people are getting killed.”

“And we’ll do our best to stop them.” Fareeha said. “We’ll search for other solutions. Our techie can check the video again, she’s a genius. The toxicology report is still pending. Maybe he got stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I dunno.” she winced. “Contacting crazy spirits should be our last resort, doctor. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

“I can do this.” Angela said, almost jumping up from her chair. “I know I can do this.”

“Yes, but I can’t--” Fareeha said with a frustrated sigh, squeezing the ball hard until her hand shook. “I just wanted to update you about the case and tell you what we found. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

"You didn't show this video to anyone else, did you?" she asked, her sentence a statement more than a question. The detective's accompanying silence was enough of a reply.

"I can’t ask you to risk your life again." Fareeha said. "If something happens to you…“

Angela’s shoulders fell.

The rain outside seemed to grow in volume as they both regarded each other, silent and tight lipped. Heavy droplets pelting the windowpane, her desktop computer whirring, thunder rolling across the dreary city.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Fareeha spoke again. “I can't lose you to one of those things, doctor. You are one of the few good friends I have.”

Angela felt her heart flutter. “Well,” she mumbled, inwardly cursing herself for folding under the spell of Fareeha Amari’s words too soon. “I’m, um, same. You are the same, to me, I mean. A friend.” She breathed in awe.

Detective Amari’s lips twitched into a weary smile, tucking her stress ball back inside her coat pocket. “Don’t fret about this case too much.” Her voice deepened in confidence, and Angela felt her back stiffen in attention. “Please leave it to me. I promise we’ll figure something out. Invisible creatures or no.”

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

“Good.” Fareeha sighed in relief, “Shit, I need to go. Busy day in the precinct.”

“Of course.”

“Please take it easy, doctor, and don’t do anything without me. My apologies for taking too much of your time.”

Fareeha gathered the case documents from Angela’s desk, shoving it back inside her coat, and began to walk away before Angela could form a coherent reply. “You have my number, Dr. Ziegler, call me any time. I mean it.” Fareeha blindly reached for the door as she turned to look at Angela. Her dark eyes gripped Angela’s attention like a vice, that it seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room. “Give me two weeks and maybe -- if all else fails -- maybe I will consider helping you do the other thing.”

“How about next week?” Lunch? Dinner? A movie?

An early morning jog around the park?

Oh, forget that, Angela. You can’t jog even if your life depended on it.

Fareeha laughed. “You are, by far, the toughest, most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’ll give you that, doctor.” she winked. “Two weeks, tops, and I promise I will help you.”

“I will take your word for it, detective.” Angela swallowed, her throat pushing down her traitorous thoughts, as if it would spill out of her mouth if she allowed them to stray.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Angela tensed, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair as she watched the detective pull her door open with nary a backwards glance. “Wait, Fareeha.”

“Yes, doctor?”

Angela faltered, chewing her lower lip. Her heart aching as a billion sentences rolled through her head, most of them spontaneous invitations to places she has never seen before. But wouldn't it be nice if she had? With someone like the detective?

Live a little.

“Thank you.” Angela said, “For looking out for me.”

Surprise lit up Fareeha’s face. Her smile crooked, and her eyes warm. They felt like a hearth in Angela’s cold office.

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

Detective Amari was already closing the door behind her before Angela could find it in herself to speak again. The last edges of her shadow disappearing underneath the frame; and with it, the final traces of her warm presence.

Notes: This took so so damn long, I'm not gonna lie folks, we spent the entire two month hiatus to expand this little one-shot into a hopefully more proper multi-chapter. We had a lot of fun plotting and planning things out, but man... did you know you can watch human autopsies online? Yeah... you can watch human autopsies online, full and very graphic ones. Very educational!

Anyway, unfortunately, we can't promise another prompt update (though at least now I know which direction and style we're goin with this), since I'll be moving apartments sometime around next month, and things will be incredibly busy as heck, but we will most definitely do our best :D

Thank you very much for reading! Have a nice day, everyone~

Edited (24/09/17): So soon! Had to post this very late and caught a few minor errors I overlooked :)

[argumate]

Wonder Woman

This movie was great fun! It hit all the right notes for a superhero movie, and although it was not particularly original it was very well executed and I liked it.

 - The movie is bookended with references to Bruce Wayne, who thankfully doesn’t show up in person, so let’s just ignore those scenes. Actually I’d like to see her meet Steve Rogers, but I guess that would require corporate merger shenanigans at the highest level.

 - (Actually the movie does share plenty of tropes with Captain America: a hero taken out of time, a band of brothers in the war, a villain with apocalyptic plans, a love that is not to be, an aeroplane, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves).

 - Hot diggity, Amazon island! (I keep wanting to say they’re from the Amazon, but that isn’t right at all). It’s got unrealistic waterfalls and everything, that’s how you know it’s blessed by the gods. Oh and a forcefield bubble to keep out the rest of the world, that’s cool too.

 - This has to be the most satisfying representation of the female warrior race ever devised in the past three thousand years, and the movie could have just been two hours of Robin Wright kicking Gal Gadot’s ass while Connie Nielsen smoulders in the background and the audience would have been well satisfied.

 - No Futurama jokes were made in this review. Not even petite ones.

 - Princess Diana (wut? I only just noticed the main character is Princess Di, although in fairness they always refer to her the other way around) I mean Diana, Princess of the Amazons, has the standard chosen-by-destiny origin story and a mother who can’t bear to lose her to fate, and gives her heavily redacted stories of the past. (She boned Zeus! That’s nothing to be ashamed of, everyone has boned Zeus).

 - What could possibly trouble this peaceful island of crazy warrior ladies besides the arrival of... a man. In the form of Chris Pine, whom I must admit I was a little wary of since I haven’t seen him in any movies before so to me he’s a bit of an unknown quantity. But he’s great! In this film at least. Funny guy, charismatic, good love interest, solid support without overshadowing, I think his character works really well.

 - All that dick innuendo while he’s in the bath tho.

 - The man brings news of the Great War, and the Amazons’ sacred duty is to restore the peace... kinda. It’s a bit vague actually; the artfully rendered backstory montage of god fights certainly suggested that, but then what have they been doing for millennia on their island while wars rage across the world outside? Anyway, the bubble has been broken, a bunch of Germans got what was coming to them, Robin Wright took a bullet for Diana and will grimace no more, and Diana is just itching to go kill a god.

 - I mean seriously she is thirsty for god slaughter; when she was six years old her mother showed her the magical god-slaying sword and she literally drooled at it, this woman doesn’t even need a reason she’ll slaughter a god just for sport.

 - Sorrowful partings as Diana sails away from the only world she’s ever known, and spy boy tries to mack on her when they’re barely out of sight of shore. Lucky for him that magical force bubble shields his amorous intentions from her mother, who can and will throw a spear that far if she has to.

 - Wonder Woman, of course, is demisexual.

 - The London scenes where they try on outfits and fight spies in alleys and rustle up a posse of misfits are a lot of fun indeed, then things turn serious as they approach the Western Front. Sometimes the Great War really does feel like the abstract concept of war reified and instantiated in the world, soldiers and generals and politicians alike helplessly forced to dance to its tune without any way to stop, the logic of game theory gone mad. It’s certainly tempting to imagine that there must be an off switch somewhere, and if you could just stab the right guy everything would grind to a halt. Of course, you could say it was shooting the right guy that kicked things off in the first place.

 - Diana charges into no-mans land without even tossing her hair back first and saying “but I am no man”, but you know we were all thinking it.

 - Quick shout out to the cinema audience who laughed and gasped and cried at all the right moments, although I thought I could hear someone behind me repeating the lines slightly before they happened, perhaps closed captions? Either way it was a nice atmosphere, top stuff.

 - That charge scene though, it was something. I’ve heard it described as every woman’s experience facing a machine gun hail of microaggressions, and frankly the less said about that the better. But you can’t help thinking about the men and boys who trudged through that mud without magical shields or bracelets or plot invulnerability to bullets and were cut down in their thousands and left to rot where they fell. It was notable that when she finally reached the German trench she smashed not the soldiers, but the machine gun.

 - I think the movie handled Diana’s gradual power boost very well. She starts off capable of defeating people in hand to hand combat, and slowly levels up to the point where she is casually smashing through walls and swinging tanks through the air with one hand. Amusingly she’s so focused on her quest that she doesn’t think through the implications of her having god-like powers, and everyone around her just accepts it because honestly what else can you do? “Excuse me miss, I can’t help noticing that you just smashed face first through a brick wall and yet your lipstick is still impeccable-”

 - Perhaps her powers scale up based on having Something to Protect, and a lot of tension comes from her realising that she can’t be everywhere and can’t save everyone.

 - Wonder Woman gets busy with Chris Pine; I hope she’s gentle with her new-found strength. (She didn’t try the beer though, which bugs me a little; in fact we never see any of the Amazons eat, I think. Do they grow food on their island? I assume the climate and soil is magically good, so farming should be easy work, and they can spend the time between harvests punching each other).

 - He sketches out a future of life together and work and kids and growing old together (he don’t know she’s immortal, which saves some awkwardness). Sure would be a shame if he selflessly sacrificed himself for a noble cause, especially after he’s already signed a contract to feature in multiple movies.

 - Oh yeah, there is a ludicrously villainous German general (an actual asshole from the Real World, and future Nazi!) and a tortured femme Phantom of the Opera who delights in poison gas who sort of has a thing for him. I reckon a good relationship is one that makes both participants healthier, and what they have going on is the exact opposite of that. I don’t think they quite get enough attention, but since War is the real adversary perhaps that’s intentional.

 - There is obvious awkwardness with making the Germans the main bad guys in this story while the British push for peace, even though the film does make some token efforts at calling for a pox on both their houses. Along with Ludendorff, the real villain could be... Winston Churchill, who as Minister for Munitions at this time was in fact stockpiling a vast armoury of gas and bombs and tanks to be deployed in the offensive he was planning in 1919 that would destroy the German army and win a decisive victory for Britain. Churchill was despondent when they signed the Armistice instead and crushed his dreams of annihilation; he didn’t get his victory until 27 years later, when he finally pissed in the Rhine.

 - I’m grateful that the misfit sidekicks didn’t heroically sacrifice themselves in this movie, they needed to catch a break.

 - Ludendorff might bitch about the Dolchstoßlegende but he didn’t seem to enjoy being stabbed in the front, what a hypocrite.

 - The final showdown arrives in a blaze of rage and glory... and Remus Lupin is the god of war! Now that’s a nice twist, I appreciate a softly spoken man in a bowler hat who wishes to end the pestilence that is humanity. Turns out his powers are not what they once were (although he seems tough enough!) so he has just been chilling on Earth whispering rude thoughts in people’s ears and waiting for Diana to show up so he can make her a Darth Vaderesque offer.

 - You could say that he’s been waiting for Gadot.

 - And it’s over, god is dead and a new day dawns. The soldiers taking off their gas masks is a nice touch; it’s a shame they didn’t get to show something like the 1914 christmas football match. Ultimately the ending echoed Age of Ultron: a being of ultimate power and contempt for humanity is zapped by another being of ultimate power who believes in the redemptive power of love. So it goes.

- Terry Pratchett would say that killing the god doesn’t stop the war, but stopping the war would kill the god, divinity flowing from belief and not the other way around. If no human believed in war, what would Ares even do? Fighting for peace is always a tricky concept, but the structure of a superhero movie based on god-like physical abilities inherently demands it. This one did its best to thread that needle and didn’t mess it up too badly.

 - It’s a shame we didn’t get a reunion scene back home on the island, given that she not only achieved the destiny of her people but survived the attempt. Maybe she can’t find her way back and she’s stuck living with the humans now. The shot of her with a laptop at the end raises the disturbing scenario of Amazons tearing up social media all day instead of throwing down.

 - It’s not clear how Wonder Woman occupied her time during the Second World War and all the other craziness that filled up the 20th century, but no doubt we’ll find out. 

[z076]

Have Faith (Part Four)

First / Second / Third / Fourth / Fifth

Okay so I’m kinda excited for this part. I’m feeling better from last week and felt like I was able to write better. It’s a little longer than my normal ones, but enjoy. @xavirne , @imlostinatunnel , and @abahwrites , thank you guys for all of your support and you all inspire me greatly to write.

Also, yay for hitting 30 followers! I’m getting more and more everyday; know that I appreciate each and every one of you. I’m grateful for the support and feedback you give me. Next part will be up next week.

They landed after a few hours in a completely different landscape. Oak trees, real mountains, streams and snow… It was something that more so reminded him of home. Home was rolling plains, but this would be the closest he would ever get to that again. Jack liked to imagine the area could be extremely populated with wildlife. Even though he was supposed to keep up the strong façade of his, deep down he was still a caring farm boy at heart and loved animals. They moved through rusted abandoned structures, from what appeared to be as old as the Omnic Crisis; mountains that were so rigorous that it made even Ana lose her breath; woods that oozed life with every step that they took. They scavenged day in and day out and took whatever they could find. Old rusted tin cans, bits of string, rations (that were probably far past their expiration date, but they tried to eat them anyway), a switchblade, sticks, and old crumpled-up posters of propaganda, which would do nicely in the fire. The nights were cold and sometimes even a little snowy, but they stayed motivated. They knew what was waiting for them at the end of their journey. On one of their last nights, Jack had set up a fire when Ana asked, “Jack?” “Yeah?” “Do you think Fareeha will still love me?” “Of course she will.” — This was the last day. They were supposed to get to the makeshift base with a chance of the agents being there. Supposed to. The faster they approached, the more he second guessed himself. He panicked as they entered an open clearing but tried to conceal it from Ana. But the base was very real. It existed, and it was right in front of them. He frantically scanned the oaks for enemies or other agents. Ana broke out into a sprint for the base and Jack followed closely behind. It was too late. The moment the bullet cut through Ana’s head was when his life fell apart. His past, present, and future crumbled before him. Ana had always been there to support him. Been a better friend than Gabriel in many ways before the explosion. And here they were. The blood went everywhere. Blood was nothing new to Jack. But the bullet had shattered her mask, shattered her chances at a good life, shattered his own dignity. Jack wanted to imagine that she was at peace now. This is what she had wanted after all. To see her daughter and make her old friend happy again. He had to do this for himself and in Ana’s memory now. He attempted to move her body to behind a hill. A bullet hit his thigh from afar and he screamed out in agony. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t carry Ana, he couldn’t do anything but focus on the pain. His pant leg soaked and dripping with blood clung to his leg. Another bullet sunk deep into his shoulder, right where Gabriel had shot him months before. It hurt even more than the previous shot but he persisted. He dragged Ana and limped away. He managed to drag himself and Ana’s body past the hill and hunkered down, bullets raining past him every now and then. The sounds of gunshots ringed out across the clearing, and then, silence. He broke down in wet sobs which fogged up the entirety of his mask, but he didn’t care. “Please… I can’t do this alone…” He knew it was useless. He thought about Fareeha. He thought about how he would have to tell her this. He thought about Angela, and how she’ll - Oh. He was still bleeding. Shit. It wasn’t stopping. I can’t die now. I’m so close. The blood kept flowing out of his wounds like raging rivers. No! His existence felt light, dizzy, slipping farther and farther away. The biotic canister was close, but his strength was disappearing from him faster. Maybe he’d be happy like Ana knowing he had tried. A brilliant display of lights from above brought hope to his fading self. It helped to keep him conscious for a few seconds longer, but then darkness was taking its hold. Angela… “Now is not your time…” — “Now, Angela, you still need to take care of him. Regardless of who he is.” The man was recovering in the infirmary. They had taken all of his weapons and armor, left him a shell of what he was. Winston insisted that leaving his mask on for privacy was the right thing to do. Angela disagreed. She tried her best to be reasonable about the situation, but she didn’t know how to feel about the stranger in their home. She had an uneasy feeling about him and would rather be in her office than watching over him. “I know, Winston. I took an oath…” She sighed in slight frustration, “He might have just given us away to the enemies. Or maybe he is the enemy. What if he tries to kill us?” On the camera, the man stirred. “It’s about time we talked with him, Angela.”

[milkcartonbastard]

Happy Ever After

Word count- 2,068 (I wasn’t originally going to post this but, meh.)

Trigger-warnings- Basic book stuff. Enjoy!

~~~

  Rings of smoke were being pushed out. Johnny sat on the crumbling porch and looked out at the setting sun. Ponyboy had changed the way he saw the sky while the sun was falling. He noticed all the different colors, now. The way the clouds would shape themselves, it was all beautiful. It was gold.

  Johnny hadn't been there for long, he'd only just woke up. He'd woken up and walked to the Curtis house before trying to find anyone.

  He knew what happened to him, he remembered everything. Where he was, he had no idea, but it was nice. He hadn't seen anyone yet, but he wasn't really looking either. Johnny was sitting on the porch steps, smoking a cigarette.

  "Stay gold, Ponyboy." Johnny whispered out. It hurt with everything in his being and took way too much effort, but he had to get the words out. "Stay gold."

  The raven-haired boy took another drag of his cigarette. He remembered feeling his breath leave and the initial panic of losing his awareness. He remembered dying in front of Pony and Dally.

  He didn't mean to die, but he didn't mean to live either. The doctor told him all he wanted to hear. He was never going to be able to walk again, not even with crutches, and he'd have to have help doing everything. He couldn't put the guys through that, not them.

  Johnny's hands, arms, back, legs, and neck had no sign of injury. He still had the thick scar on his cheek, but that was okay. He couldn't feel any pain, not even when he placed the tip of the lit cigarette against his skin. The ashes wiped away like it was nothing.

  He stared at the grass surrounding the Curtis house. He'd woken up in the lot and walked all the way out here. He always liked the Curtis house more than his own. It was his home. Or, at least it was.

  Maybe this was Heaven? Johnny never was as religious as other people. He had a small interest in what people believed and he'd been to church once or twice. He'd gone with Pony, but they quit going after a while.

  A can clattered in the distance. Johnny looked up and past the fence surrounding the Curtis house. Somebody was here, then?

  Johnny stood up on the porch and was prepared to go back inside, but whistling made him stop. It was the whistle only the guys knew. It was like a code, a warning or a greeting in the group.

  It was one of the guys!

  Johnny got excited at the thought of not being alone. He wasn't scared, but he didn't enjoy the thought of eternity without anyone.

  They must be dead... That's how I got here. So, they must be dead. Johnny's excitement drained away and he was left looking down the street. One of the gang was dead. Only question was, who was it?

  Dallas fucking Winston started walking down the street toward the Curtis house. Johnny let out a sigh and sat back down on the porch. He'd written Pony a note and it said to tell Dally it was worth it. Tell Dally there's still good in the world. He'd wasted all that energy writing and re-writing the damn note for Ponyboy.

  Dally strolled up to the fence gate and tried not to look bored. Boy, was Johnny upset. He'd never show it, but he was a lot angrier than he intended to be.

  "Dal? What're you doing here?" Johnny asked. He took a drag of a new cigarette and looked at Dally leaning on the fence.

  "I got shot by some cops, man." He chuckled a bit and tapped his ring against the metal on the gate. There was more to it than that. Dally would have been more upset if he'd just been shot down.

  "It was 'cause of me, wasn't it?" Johnny tossed a cigarette to Dally and Dally looked down at the ground.

~~~Couple years go by~~~

  Johnny was out on the porch. Dally was in the house, asleep on the couch. It was early morning and Johnny wasn't expecting anything to happen, not for a while, at least.

  Johnny laid back on the steps and closed his eyes. The weather was perfect and had a small warm breeze blowing the trees around. It was peaceful, even with Dally and his constant complaints.

  "Johnny cake?" The light and warming voice broke the silence. Johnny's stomach churned as he sat up quickly. He saw the handsome face of Sodapop Curtis and he nearly fell over. Soda was standing in the middle of the yard looking at Johnny

  Johnny discarded his cigarette and threw his arms around the older one. Sure, they were the same age when Johnny died, but Soda was older by now. Soda wrapped his arms around Johnny.

  "How did you get here?" Johnny took a few steps back and looked at Soda. He looked older, his face was more solid than it had been, but he was still as handsome. He'd gotten more muscles, too. Not that Johnny noticed or anything...

  "I woke up in the back yard, under the tree..." Soda said and pointed behind him. Johnny shook his head and reworded his question.

  "No. How did you die? You know you're dead, right?" The front door opened and Dally walked out with his shirt unbuttoned and it blew around in the wind.

  "I got drafted in the war. I got... I got sick." Soda looked down at the ground like he was trying to remember.

  "Soda? Aren't you do in forty years or something?" Dal scratched his chest and looked at Soda's wide grin.

  "I'm glad you haven't been alone, Johnny. Anyone else here?" Soda asked and looked around. No, it was only Johnny and Dally there.

  "We've been here for a long time, it feels like, and we haven't seen anyone," Johnny answered.

  "How's Ponyboy doing?" Dally casually leaned against the door-frame and took a long drawl from his cigarette. Soda's brown eyes softened up a little and he looked up at Dally.

  "He got better after a year. His grades slipped a bit and he quit track, but he got better. He was still willing to kick someone's ass at the mention of either of you two, though." Soda said. Dally had seen a glimpse of how Pony took Johnny's death. Pony looked like he was about to pitch over when Dally had last seen him.

  "That's good. He change much, personality wise?" Johnny asked. He seemed quieter now. Dally and Johnny had avoided the conversations on the gang. It gave them too many 'what if' questions.

  "He stood up for himself against a couple Socs. Broke a bottle and ran them off with it. He's a good man in a rumble now. He can hold his own a lot better than he use to." Soda gave a thin smile and looked around.

  "What do you guys do around here for fun?" Soda hopped up the steps and walked on into the house. He was home, after all.

~~~~

  The next person to show up was Steve. He was older than he was when Soda left for the war. (Steve couldn't go because of a heart murmur.) He had these ancient looking eyes on a twenty-something-year-old's face. He'd found out about Soda's death and basically jumped at the first chance of a fight. That fight winded up getting him knifed. Stupid Socs with their sharp ass knives.

  Steve had thrown his arms right around Soda and clapped Johnny on the shoulder. He looked like he wanted to slug Dallas, but settled for a smile. Steve remembered watching him get gunned down better than anyone else, but that wasn't something he bragged about. He'd really gotten messed up with that.

  A couple years later Darry showed up. The four guys woke up one morning to see Darry walking out of his room in a sort of daze. He'd gotten almost half a head of grey hair and his eyes seemed tired. He looked different than when Soda had left. He probably had to work a lot harder to keep Pony and himself up.

  Darry was happier than hell to see his brother and friends. Never told anyone how he got there, either.

  "Probably some stupid reason. I bet you fell off a latter roofing a house," Soda grinned up at his older brother. He liked poking fun at Darry more than the others.

  "You wish." Darry tousled up Soda's hair and smiled softly. The brothers were worried about who was going to be next.

  Surprisingly, it was Two-Bit. The Cheshire smile on the older looking boy had popped up out of no where one afternoon. Nobody had expected anyone only a few weeks after Darry. Two-Bit seemed content with being with the gang. He'd mentioned how he was sad his life had ended abruptly and having to leave his mom and little sister. He'd loved them a lot and hated having to go, but he was okay.

  Two-Bit didn't remember dying. He mentioned drinking and not remembering anything at all. No noises, no faces, no feelings, no nothing. It took an hour to convince him he was actually dead.

  Now everyone was worried about Ponyboy. He was the only one left. His brothers, friends, and best friends were gone. Was he going to die like Dally or Two-Bit? Was he going to live his life? How would he go on?

  "I just hope he starts to use his head," Darry spoke up. Everyone nodded along.

  "I hope he doesn't show up for a long time. Who knows, maybe he'll show up as an old man hobbling here from the lot." Johnny smiled. He'd made himself laugh at the idea. Two-Bit chuckled along with him. Soda suddenly made a sour face and started laughing hysterically.

  "An old man with socks and sandals!" Soda was clutching his stomach while laughing. It wasn't as funny as he thought but the gang couldn't help but laugh along. Soda had that effect on people.

  "I hope so..." Dallas was looking out of the window and mumbling to himself. Johnny heard and he agreed quietly.

~~~~

  The sun was setting slowly. The six guys sat outside. Laughing, talking, and flipping around. Something just felt playful today. Johnny and Dally were the only two sitting on the front porch steps staring out at the sun dipping behind the horizon. It was insanely beautiful that night. It must have been something in the world that made it that way. Had to be something.

  Johnny cleared his throat and everyone hushed up. It was a special thing now, watching sunsets. The others didn't have to like watching,  but they did have to appreciate it. Everyone was quiet as they watched. Not long now and a new day would start.

  "Nature's first green is gold,

  Her hardest hue to hold.

  Her early leaf's a flower;

  But only so an hour.

  Then leaf subsides to leaf,

  So Eden sank to grief,

  So dawn goes down to day.

  Nothing gold can stay."

  The words flowed smoothly and like water. Everyone's heads slowly turned to the side. They were preparing themselves to see what Ponyboy looked like. It'd been 60 or so years since Johnny and Dally's deaths and it was going to show on Ponyboy's face

  Nobody was expecting a fourteen year old Ponyboy standing there with his bleached hair and purple jacket.

  "Geez, Pony! We thought you'd at least have a beard," Soda and Darry wrapped their arms around the youngest Curtis brother and before long everyone had joined in. Ponyboy was pleased to see his friends next to his childhood home. It made his chest swell with happiness.

  "Why do we get to age and you get to look like a teenager forever?" Two-Bit asked. Johnny, Dallas, and Soda still looked like teenagers. They were teenagers, at least they were when they dies. Soda was 19, Dally was 17, and Johnny was 16. They would never look as old as they were. Not like Darry's grey hair or Two-Bit's smile or Steve's eyes.

  Pony smiled at Johnny brightly as he said three words. Johnny was hoping Pony would say them to him and he did.

  "I stayed gold."

[soulstealer1987]

Overwatch Story Explanation

@vexedsolomon

Don’t worry I got this.

So: a few decades after the present day, possibly in the 2040s (the timeline isn’t exactly clear), this company called Omnica comes out with these robots. Called omnics. Made in omniums. Clearly they did a lot of self-promotion.

Anyway, people are all like “oh, sweet! robot slaves! how could this possibly go wrong?” because obviously things never went horribly wrong with slavery in the past, and apparently the Terminator movies didn’t exist in this universe.

Eventually it was discovered that Omnica couldn’t keep up with all their campaign promises, so the company got shut down. Omniums went with the company, although the omnics stayed active. People kept their robot slaves around for a few years afterwards, but then... the Fire Nation attacked.

Well, more like the Omnic Nation attacked, because the omniums woke themselves up, and, predictably, started churning out new omnics and attacking humanity. Considering that the omnics adapted to any strategy used against them, and literally could make tons of new soldiers, humanity started losing. No one country could hold off the omnics on their own.

Okay, that’s not entirely accurate. Russia was able to deal with the Siberian Omnium on their own, but... uh. Let’s just say they didn’t quite finish the job. And Russia was the only country that could even come close. Everywhere else? There were losing. Badly.

That’s where Overwatch came in. It was a top secret strike team, designed to get in, disable the omniums and the God Programs controlling them, and take down the omnics. It really was against the odds, but it wasn’t like humanity had anything left to lose at this point.

The strike team’s leader was Gabriel Reyes, an American from this thing called the Soldier Enhancement Program (SEP) that essentially was mass-producing Captain Americas. There was another guy from that, Jack Morrison, who actually kinda looked like Captain America.

There was a sniper from Egypt, Ana Amari, a really buff dude in armor named Reinhardt Wilhelm, and an engineer from Sweden who’d actually had a hand in building the omnics, Torbjörn Lindholm.

Actually, the strike team had six members. There was one more person, known only to us as Liao, and... that’s literally all anyone knows about them for sure. Only their name. Nothing else.Maybe Blizzard (the video game company that made Overwatch) will have mercy on us someday and reveal more info about them. For now, we don’t really know.

Anyway, Reyes, Morrison, Amari, Wilhelm, Lindholm, and Liao. These six somehow managed to get rid of the omniums, or at least disable them, and destroyed all the God Programs but one, Anubis, which was kept in containment from then on.

They were heroes, and Overwatch became public, a global symbol of peace and prosperity. For reasons unknown, Gabriel Reyes didn’t go on to become the leader of the official Overwatch, despite leading the strike team to victory. The other American guy, Jack Morrison, because Overwatch’s leader, while Gabriel Reyes went on to head Overwatch’s black ops devision, named Blackwatch.Very original name right there.

Anyway, for years, Overwatch did well. An entire generation grew up with them there, and looked up to them. But then... well, all good things must come to an end, and Overwatch was no exception. The beginning of the end for Overwatch was when this terrorist organization known as Talon kidnapped a top operative’s wife, brainwashed her, then sent her back.

Her name was Amélie Lacroix. Two weeks later, she killed her husband Gérard in his sleep, and returned to Talon, adopting the code name ‘Widowmaker’. Ironic, huh? But Talon wasn’t done. Not yet. Probably not ever.

At this point in time, at least five of the six original members were still with Overwatch, and nobody really knows where Liao was in all this, but… anyway. Ana Amari (also a sniper, in case you forgot) was on this mission with a few other people, one of which was Strike Commander Jack Morrison himself. Stuff went down, and Ana wound up left for dead… but she wasn’t. She adopted the alias of the Shrike, and continued fighting from the shadows.

However… Ana’s ‘death’ was the final nail in Overwatch’s coffin. Tensions rose between Morrison and Reyes, Overwatch and Blackwatch. Maybe it was a conspiracy. Maybe Reyes was still salty over not getting to stay the leader. Maybe they’d been dating, and they broke up. Whatever it was, they fought, and the main headquarters of Overwatch – the base in Geneva, Switzerland – blew up, and they with it.

Overwatch was gone soon after, disbanded by the United Nations… but the world clearly still needed heroes. One only had to look around to see that. Talon only got worse after Overwatch was no longer around to keep them in check, and with the addition of several corrupt corporations… yeah, the world got pretty screwed up pretty fast.

Several years later, a scientist by the name of Winston was holing out in one of the abandoned bases, called Watchpoints. This one happened to be in Gibraltar. Why was he there? Simple. Winston is a gorilla. A gorilla from the moon. But enough about him. Point is, Talon attacked in an attempt to get access to the old agent database. Fortunately, they failed, and Winston recalled Overwatch, because even if it was illegal… the world still needed heroes.

~

Hope this helps! If you need more info, just ask about what you’re confused on, and I’ll be happy to answer! :)

[chwrpg]

PERRIE CRUZ. college junior; nineteen. froy gutierrez. TAKEN.

and, as ponyboy curtis once said:

“Nothing gold can stay.”

BEFORE THE PARTY;

You often hear about how life could change for you in an instance. Often you hear that in reference to great things. How a job interview, an audition, a tryout well done, or a simple run in with a stranger could be that moment that leads you to bigger and greater things but no one tends to speak on the same could apply to setbacks. How one simple wrong decision could be the thing that puts a damper your day, cost you that job, of in some tragic case, bring a life a sudden end.

Perrie Cruz would know all about that. But before we divulge into what the unfortunate moment that changed the course of this young man’s life, we must first know who he was before this life altering moment to get a better understanding of why he became the person he is today.

Perrie Cruz was considered an anomaly to those who knew him. Why? Because while he shared a zip code with some of the most rambunctious, colorful, and just plain interesting teenagers to ever walk the hallways of Rosewood Academy— The Greasers. A name that he still to this day, had no idea how they acquired. Perhaps it was because they were well known for their affinity for being slick. In every sense of the word, possible. But Perrie was nothing like the Greasers. While they enjoyed causing mayhem, getting into daily brawls with the preps and trying to call the attention of just about every girl that walked by their designate lunch table— Perrie kept his head down in some Fitzgerald or Thackeray novel. He didn’t possess the same social gene that his two older brothers, Diego and Scott had gotten. In spades, might he add. His eldest brother Diego, he’d was still referred to fondly around the Academy. He’d been a poster child, a poster child that was now running for office. Scott, on the other hand... had been a menace during his time at Rosewood. Something he wears as a badge of honor. But Perrie? He was quiet, reserved and more importantly as his mother often pointed out, imaginative.

While Diego campaigned endlessly to become the youngest mayor elected to represent Rosewood and Scott made his way through countless of the women that Diego would represent if he won, Perrie watched the world around him in silence and used it as inspiration. While words didn’t often leave his lips, they left his fingertips with ease. Perrie was a writer, and a damn good one. After all, it’d been his creative writing pieces that had secured him a spot in the elite boarding school.  He was bound to get into a university with a great creative writing program and leave there with the manuscript for the great American novel, his teachers would often tell his parents. 

Then came that moment. The instance in which his life changed.

His parents had taken him out to dinner to celebrate his second consecutive 4.0 grade point average. A feat that needed to be rewarded, according to them. That was just the types of parents they were. They had to celebrate just about every major accomplishment in their children’s lives. You should have seen the dinner they had put together when Diego announced his  mayoral bid, they had fed just about their entire block.  The dinner had allowed him to the opportunity announce something his parents, he’d begun looking colleges. The downside, it just so happened that most of the universities with great writing programs were nowhere near Rosewood. As he had expected, their reactions had been mixed. His father was ecstatic, Perrie deserved some adventure. His mother definitely sadden at the thought of losing him to a big city so soon but both were excited for not only him but his future. They wholeheartedly believed in his talent, and they only wanted the rest of the world to see what they saw for themselves.

To show those who looked down on their side of the tracks, they could also make something of themselves.

As they made their way back home, his mother had put lowered the volume on the radio, opening the glove compartment. Out of it, she pulled a wrapped box. She explained with a laugh how she’d wanted to give him this at dinner, but hunger gotten the best of them all. Inside of the felt box, a pen. A stunning gold pen, that he knew had probably put a dent in their savings. He looked up to thank his parents, the two of them looking back at him with looks of pride and excitement on their faces. He was on the verge of letting them know that they shouldn’t have.

Then it happened.

Perrie just remembers bits and pieces of the moment. The blare of a horn, glass breaking all around him, his mother’s scream, and finally... sirens.

What he did remember clearly was waking up in Rosewood General with Diego by his side. His body in sharp pain, but nothing would compare to the pain he felt when Diego told him what had occurred. The Cruz’s had been involved in a car crash. One that claimed the life of not only the driver of the other vehicle, but that of his parents. 

He had been the sole survivor of this tragedy.

But he didn’t feel that way. He felt like he, himself died the moment Diego had given him the news. The person he’d once been, they were gone. He couldn’t find the will in himself to write, no matter how hard he tried to. The words just wouldn’t leave him like they’d done once before. He walked around the town where he’d once been invisible, only to see the faces of people who pitied him. He was Rosewood’s answer to the boy who lived, it was all that thought when they saw him. The worst of it all was that he’d become a burden for the Cruz’s perfect son. His oldest brother found himself in a position he had never asked for. He had to care for his messed brother, the one who woke up screaming in the middle of the night as a result of the accident. The one they had to make sure took his medication so that he wouldn’t get the visions of that evening out of his head all the while  attempting to win this upcoming election. 

So in the place of the Perrie of before was the one of today. A Perrie who had surprisingly found comfort in the madness of the Greasers. He now understood why it was that Scott had spoken so proudly of his friends. They were more than just friends. They were family. They had taken Perrie into their circle without any question, despite the fact that the boy had turned down their offers to hang with them time and time again. His father’s doing as he didn’t want him to turn out a hood. Just like Scott had, according to him. But his father was now gone and he’d driven Diego to the point he’d put his hands on him, so who else could he turn to?

He had no one. Not even his best friend, Javier.

But he had the Greasers.

Sure, they often got him in more trouble than not, but with them, Perrie had felt something. He felt a spark in him, something he hadn’t felt in quite a couple of months. 

So Perrie gathered his belongings and moved in with the family friend, Damon Winston and his wife. They vowed Diego they would take care of him, but being in their house gave him a bigger in with the Greasers. He now lived with the head honcho, essentially becoming prince to the throne. It made it far too easy to be invited to whatever party was happening that evening in Rosewood to drink and smoke his nights away. After all, who wanted to upset someone directly associated with the boss?

The Perrie of yesteryear believed that everyone had a story to tell, and this new version of him was definitely going to enjoy the story that the Greasers had in store for him.

DURING THE PARTY;

Perrie couldn’t have been happier in that moment. The party favor he’d been slipped earlier was finally taking effect, making the party all the more exciting for him. A couple of months ago, he would have probably been in his bedroom. Writing away, imagining what it was like to be at a party like this. Missing out on moments like this, why? Because he was scared. 

Scared to look like a fool, scared to speak, scared to do anything. But that Perrie was no longer. The Perrie of today didn’t have a fear. Why fear anything? They were all going to end the same way. Six feet under. Whether it was tonight, tomorrow, a year from now, or sixty years from that every moment. They were all going to do. 

So might as well enjoy what you wanted to.

And what was it that he wanted to do right now? Dance with Melrose. He’d been eyeing her out all night and she’d been doing the exact same, their eyes meeting several times. So why not do as everyone around them was? Maybe because of the ignoramus that she’d been forced to attend the party with. But was that going to stop him? No.

He downed the rest of his beer, pushing the empty cup up on Stradlin— who slapped the back of his head as he walked up to where the redhead was standing. She was a vision. Who happened to look bored out of her mind, but he’d come to rescue her as he’d let her know. He pulled out a tiny vial of their new favorite little illegal substance, offering her a bump. One, she was all but happy to take. 

The two soon after found themselves on the dance floor, their bodies meshed together. This was his own personal heaven. One, that was rudely interupted by aforementioned ignoramus. He pulled him off of Melrose with a shove, one that Perrie was all too happy to return to the guy. Before a fist could be thrown, the two of them were split apart by his Damon Winston appointed babysitter, Two-Bit. 

But the richies weren’t in the mood for peaceful resolution and the Greasers were all but happy to indulge them in their desire for a brawl that evening. 

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[maskedblackfox]

It's time to ride the slide and taste the wind. Humphrey, you are totally genius. Come on. Let's do it. Air wolf! Guys. Guys. We're not moving! This caribou is mine. Kate, I'm not a caribou. I'm your sister! Gotcha. Omegas don't play like this. You can't escape the greatest Alpha ever. Well, I just did. We're going to die! Keep it steady! Keep it steady! What was I thinking? That was great! We are flying today, guys. Humphrey? Kate? What are you doing up here? I'm practice-hunting for our lunch. Good, 'cause I'm about to lose mine. You are? I'll try to swallow it. Kate! It's time to go. I'm coming, Dad. Where you going? Spring? But that's a whole winter away. I know you're Kate's friend, Humphrey. But by next spring, she will be a trained Alpha, the future leader of the pack. No doubt you'll be a clever Omega. Learn to keep the peace. And Humphrey, remind us all to have fun. But... But... Alphas and Omegas can't... How do you say it? That's our custom. The law of the pack. Wolf pile! Silly Omegas. Hey. Take a left! Thirty degrees! Salty, give her some sail draft! I think I taste the wind. No, just a bug. Hey, Mooch, get ready! Lower the boom! -All right! -Hang 10, boys! Guys, we really need to work on the brakes! -Brakes? -Brakes? Wolf pile! Get your butt out of my face. What did we hit? Spring. Look who's back from Alpha school. Forget about it, Humphrey. Kate's an Alpha now. And you're an Omega. We're friends, okay? Exactly. Just friends. End of story. You better set your sights over there. Reba and Janice, the vegetarians. Okay. Looks like we're eating caribou tonight, boys. Hey. Hey. Eastern Pack wolves. Can-do, Hutch, we've got company. Great. There goes dinner. And there goes Kate. -Holy... -Caribou! Scatter to the sides! Settle the score, leader. Are you all right? -Yeah, I'm fine. -Hey, what's your problem, you stupid Eastern dog? That was our hunt. You can't just snake it out from under us. Can-do, back off. You better listen to the girl. Hey, break it up. Can-do, Hutch, break it up! All right, Omegas, duty calls. Stop it. Can-do, Hutch, stop! -Hey! -Candy! -Kate. -Humphrey? I'm still going to tear this snaggletooth fool apart. Guys, lower the boom! Humphrey, we don't have time for fun. Guys, guys, come on. Don't get your fur in a bunch. You wolves are making us look bad. Come on, the caribou are laughing at us. Now, that's a moon I don't want to howl to. Western hunt group, get back to the den. The two of you, go home. Now! Omegas, good job. Great. My first hunt, and I blew it. Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate. Don't beat yourself up. That's crazy. You were amazing. I mean, if anyone's hungry, they can eat... They can always eat... Here. They can eat berries. Berries are really nutritious. Yeah. Tell that to a hungry pack. The Eastern Wolves ruined Kate's hunt. Luckily, the Omegas were there to break up the fight. -Lilly. -What? Very funny. Stop playing with your tail. Kate, you're slouching. Thank you, honey. Do you see how strong and beautiful you are? My. Any food is a blessing, dear. Winston? Come join us for dinner? Now! Thank you, honey. Scraps and bones is no kind of dinner. Not for my pack. I'm sorry, Dad. it's just those Eastern Wolves. It's not your fault, Kate. When they crossed into our territory, they broke pack law. Winston. Can-do was jumped by a group of Eastern Wolves. It ain't nothing. Quickly, bring him into the den. Winston, honey, whoever did this, let's rip his tail off and shove it down his throat. Sir, are we just going to let them keep raiding our hunts and... Put our Alphas on alert. Already done, sir. Good job. Guys, honestly, caribou is overrated. Instead, now, keep an open mind, I just want you to have an open mind here, we bring you berries. How about squirrels? Bad joke. Flying squirrels. Winston! Tony! You're looking good. My back feels like wood. I got this disk that keeps cracking. Yeah, Tony, you are one crazy wolf. -Yeah? -Yeah. Like that little game of tag during our hunt. Let's leave the playing to the Omegas. You know there's no caribou left in the east. You got a problem. Unite the packs, Winston. It was you who gave the big speech that your daughter Kate and my son Garth would marry and unite the packs. Garth knows his responsibility. Does Kate? Don't worry. She knows. Good. Then she can meet Garth tonight at the moonlight howl. I won't let my pack starve, Winston. If we have to, we'll fight for the valley. That would be a big mistake. Kate. it's... It's okay, Dad. I understand. it's... it's my responsibility. Guys, we got to get ready for the moonlight howl. Guys, girls. Girls? You are cool. So, let me go ahead... Prepare the girls for your arrival and you guys meet me there. Game on. Girls. Kate, you look so beautiful. Now, if Garth gets out of line, take those beautiful teeth of yours, go for the throat, and don't let go until the body stops shaking. If my little girl doesn't want to do this, if she's not ready... Don't worry, Dad. I'm ready. Come on, Lilly. Okay. Okay. Your fur... It looks fantastic tonight. Oh, my gosh. I had... Omega alert. I will handle this. It totally relaxes the knots. Hey. Hey. That's all I've got. Wow. This is a new feeling. I saw the whole thing, guys. And, I cannot believe they didn't just fall all over you. When you yelled, "Hey," I thought you cinched it right there. So, you think you can do better? Please. The next girl that comes up the hill, she's mine. I've never seen her look that good. Kate is hot. I'll be right back. Hey. Where do you think you're going? Humphrey, you know the rules. You're not allowed to howl with her. She's an Alpha. We can eat together. Guys, I know. I... I was just... Kidding. Cheer up, buddy. You still got us. Friends for life! Ugly- So, do you see Garth? Great. I'm not even sure what he looks like. But I'm sure... We'll know him when we see him. Hey, Kate. What? Garth. Lilly, stand up. Garth, hello. Good to see you. -Humphrey? -My butt! My butt. It really hurts. You should really do something about that cough. Be careful, Kate. There's something going around. Tails and ears are falling off, literally. Name's Humphrey. Garth. Wow. You are a... You are a big one, aren't you? Wow. You're practically a moose. Where you hiding them antlers? Who's the coyote? Who's the coyote? I get it. That's good, 'cause I'm, like... No one important. Lilly, why don't you take little coyote Humphrey and run along? Come on, Humphrey. Let's go eat some of those bitter berries. So, tell me about yourself. What does Garth like to do? Well, I'm really into fitness, you know? Rabbit sprints, tree squats. You know us Alphas got to keep fit to lead the pack. But, what really gets me going is... Was it good for you? Unbelievable. You know... I just... Just... Hold on a sec 'cause I'm going to be right back. I... I need some water. Some water. Okay? So, I'll... Just... Hold on. No worries. I'll just keep my vocal chords warm. Yeah. "Oh, he's no one important. "Just take little coyote Humphrey and run along." Coyote. -Where's Barf? -it's Garth. And we're just taking a little break. A break? What? Is that so strange? No. No, no, no, no. Are you kidding? I always like to take a break Well, I do. Your howling partner, he's not a... He's not a stud. Not a stud but, like, it's like "stud" but... A dud. A dud. That's it. isn't he? No. He is not a dud. In fact, Humphrey, you'd be surprised to find that he is... Strong! Yes. Yes! Strong! And he's... He's... -Proud! -Yes! Yes. Proud. And he's... What's the word I'm looking for? An Alpha's Alpha. That is right! He is an Alpha's Alpha. You make me so mad! Hey, I was just kidding. You're kind of cute. Really? You think... So, wow. Okay. Cute. Yeah. That's... Look... Thank you, first of all, but do you mean "Cute" in, like, a rugged, kind of handsomely "Cute"? Again with the butt. These mosquitoes are out of control. I'll meet you on Mars, right after I eat the Milky Way. That sounds good. Save some for me. Bag them up, boys. We're going to Idaho. You got it, chief. Okay. There we go. Watch out there. Kate? Where am I? Humphrey? Is that you? Kate! Where are we? I don't know. Maybe we're dead. Nope. Definitely not dead. At least they left us some water. You got water? Nope. Definitely not water. Kate, what are you doing? Trying to get out. Calm down. Listen, maybe they're taking us to where there's more food. Or maybe we are the food. Kate, you're right. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Yeah. All right. Set them free. Look at them go. Wow. This isn't Jasper. Yeah, but it sure does... Rock! Quick, get down! What are they doing? What a smashingly brilliant story this is. The golfing goose from the low regions of the Arctic Circle is leading the pack. He's using the wrong club. Could you do me a favor, Needles, and shut the hole that makes the words? Looks like they're playing some sort of weird game. Maybe they can tell us how to get home. Yeah. And if they can't, we can eat them. Yeah. Follow my lead. Yeah, I'm right behind you. Now you will see, this shot is mine. Splendid! Wonderful hit, sir. Just a minute! It's ugly, but a good runner. Did you see that? Did you see that? I guess the birdie ruined your Birdie. You mark it "Birdie" because it would have gone in. Technically, sir, it might have gone in. That silly bird stopped my shot from going in. So, I will not take an extra stroke. Mark it Birdie! Well, it... It was an obstacle. And everyone has to play with the obstacles. You know, we wouldn't want to lie. This is not a lie. This is not a lie if you are French. Well, French-Canadian. There's a slash, a hyphen, in between there. -I say French. -Canadian. -French. -Canadian. -French! -Canadian, sir. May I just say, though, that you are a wonderful golfer. And you are a very good caddie. Take off! Paddy, what is wrong with you? Hello. You are two wolves. I have not seen many wolves in these parts. But I am not afraid of wolves. No. I like wolves. Good. 'Cause we just want to ask you a few questions. Yes. Quick! Look behind you! Grab him! So, you want to face the French Resistance? That's French-Canadian! My butt! My butt! My butt! Omegas. This is not a game anymore! Don't you wash your feet? Look out for the trees! Watch that. Nice one, sir. Gotcha. Oh, no. That's got to hurt. How do you like it now, wolf? Hole in one, sir. You have bit off more than you can chew this time, my friend. My goodness. I... Look out for the... No. No. No. No. No. No. He's a goner for sure. Hey, Frank. Okay. You have a question? Yeah. Where are we? Idaho? Ida-who? Oui, Idaho, land of mountains, rivers, lakes, and a few billion potatoes. Sawtooth National Wilderness. What are we doing in Idaho? You were relocated to repopulate. They want you big wolves to make a lot of little wolves. Sounds good to me. Park shouldn't be without some wolves. I mean, only for the good of the park. So you two are undomesticated partners? Paddy, please. Don't be rude. So, you two are boyfriend, girlfriend? You are an item? -Well... -No. You wolves, you are funny. We have to get home now. There's going to be trouble if I don't get back to Jasper. Right. All right. You're freaking out. I'm not freaking out. I just have to get home. -Is this about Barf? -it's Garth. And it's about responsibilities. So, I don't expect you to understand. Can you help me? I need to get home fast. All right, Miss Fast. Where is home sweet home? Jasper Park, Canada. Jasper park? Get out of here. We love Jasper Park! Yes, yes. We've toured it many times. Paddy, please. We've toured it many times. I dated a Pintail from Jasper once. She never stopped quacking. Drove me nuts. Drove her right to me. Bound to happen. Bound to happen. So, you can help me, then, get home. We haven't played Jasper in quite a while. I think it would be a smashing idea. This is true. So, of course I will help. I like you two. You make me laugh. And you didn't eat me, so I owe you favor. Where did she go? Maybe I should ask you. You know that's not my style. My wolf, Can-do, knows your style. I just want to say one thing. If any of you wolves have hurt my daughter, I will personally rip out your eyes and shove them down your throat so you can see my claws tear your carcass open! Mom? Not now, dear. Mommy's in a rage. Well, since Kate stood up Garth, I could show him around until she gets back. I wouldn't say "Stood up." Garth! Sounds good to me. Well, come on, Garth. Isn't that sweet? She gets it from me. I'll give her till the full moon. It is beautiful out there. Almost makes you want to hit the potato patch. If you haven't already hit the outdoors, get on out your door. The weather today is... Your ride home. Quick! Get in! What? Boxed up twice in one day. What are the odds? -Hide! -Hide! That right there is Garn and Debbie Theocarcus. Lucky for you, they travel every year to Jasper right after Sawtooth. The day's looking pretty, and so is my woman. This is the song we met to. Come here, you. Let's dance. -Down here. -Hurry. Now, he was in a motorcycle gang, and she was a librarian. And opposites attract, if you will. Exactly. In this case, it was a bookstore that also sold beer. So, they met. Come on. We have to get in. All right. Here we go. You're just a dream. I'm like a little bunny. Aren't I, dear? I love you, Deb. I love you, too. Get inside now. Get inside. Quick. Well, back in a box. Good luck, you two! We will be watching out for you from above! Well, I'll be watching out for you. He will be breathing heavily. If we have to, we'll fight for the valley. Humphrey? So, why is this called Rabbit Poo Mountain? Because this is where rabbits like to poo. I was just kidding. I get it. You're a funny Omega. Okay. Make me laugh. What am I? You got me. It's a turtle that fell and can't get up. That's pretty good. Okay. What's this? It's turtle road kill. What else can you do? I just do turtles. Okay, it's my turn. You want to see something an Alpha can do? Would my mother approve? Of course. Well, okay then. Keep searching. We must find her before tomorrow night. Winston? Don't worry, Eve. She's the finest Alpha I've trained. I'm not, Winston. She's also the finest Alpha I've ever trained. We stopped. -What's wrong with you? -I have to go. You can't leave. Can't you hold it? No! I can't. Well, did you try crossing your legs? -Yes! -Holding your breath? Yes! I almost passed out. -Closing your eyes and... -In or out, I am going. Would you hurry? I can't go when I feel pressured. Go! What is he doing? Where is he? Come on, Humphrey. It's a rabid wolf! Max, bring that gun! This is it for you, wolf. Any last wishes? Max, theyre getting away! Not if I can help it. -No! -We're trapped. I got you both now. Shoot them! Nicely done, Max. Okay. Thinking with my belly instead of my head, not a good idea. I get it. I say we build a comfy den... -I'm going home. -Great. You're going home, and it's raining. I'm not stopping. Rain, rain, go away Get out of here, rain No one wants you around What are you doing? It's... it's a rain dance, to stop it from raining. 'Cause you're wet And you really are going to ruin our day Humphrey, rain dances make it rain. Right! Well, I'll just do it backwards. That actually worked. Kate? That's not a good idea. Hold on, Kate! No! Hold on, Kate! I'm coming! Let me think. Let me think. Humphrey! Don't worry, Kate. It's all part of my plan. I can see that. Kate. Kate! Grab my tail. Grab your what? Take those Alpha jaws and grab... My tail. My tail. Kate, wiggle. Wiggle around. That tickles. My tail hurts! Who knew I was ticklish there? I can't take any more. My gosh. Humphrey! Humphrey! Your tail. I'm so sorry. My tail's actually fine, last time I checked. Come on. Let's get out of the rain. Okay. Thank you. Sir, we've searched the entire territory. Still no sign of Kate. Sir? We must defend our territory. Fore! Well, well, well. What do we have here? I say, we've caught them at quite the bad time. No, I'd say we caught them at a good time. Indeed, sir. Indeed. What are you doing here? No, the question is what are you doing here? I give you a first class ticket home... It's a straight shot right to the pin. -And you blow it? -Yep. Over a cupcake. Ridiculous dessert. "A cupcake." Actually, they're quite delicious. There has to be another way for us to get to Jasper. Another way? Another way? Always another way. What am I, a travel agent? Come on. What, are you kidding me? A great sportsman like yourself always knows a few ways to win the game. Well, there could be a train. Actually, there is a train. it's the Canadian Express and... Paddy, please. it's called the Canadian Express... Yes, and it shoots right by Jasper Park. Right by Jasper Park. -If you can catch it... -You'll be home in no time. No time. Very fast. Great. So where do we board? Where do you board? Watch this. On the other side of that mountain. Paddy, please. Come on! Let it slip, but may I say, that was a stupendous shot. You may, and it was pretty good, wasn't it? Indeed, sir. Indeed. Dinner for two. It's a new move I've been working on for stalking prey. You're good. Thanks. Now you try. No. I... I'm not much of a hunter. Come on. You'll do great. Just do what I do. Okay. Ready? -One. -One. -Two. -Two. Three! Lilly! Lilly? A turtle, right? -It sure is pretty out there. -Yeah. Maybe this will help. Wow. "Wow" what? Your eyes. They're beautiful. Come on. Let's try again. -It sure is pretty out there. -Yeah. -I'll race you to the top. -You're on. Give it up, Humphrey! You'll never beat me. Humphrey? Omega one, Alpha zero! Okay! Okay! Enough, enough! Stop! Stop! I get it. I get it. I get it. How's that for a girl's throw? Very funny. Well, look who's having fun. You know, I should go check on the train. Wait, wait, wait! Wait, wait. Hi, there. What are you? Well, I'm a wolf. I've never seen a wolf. You are really strange. Am I now? You're totally weird. I'm going to get you! No. Look out! Look out! Okay, you asked for it. No, no, no. it's okay. it's okay. I'm really sorry. Oh, poo. Mad... Mad bear. Kate! Get the snowballs ready! Mad bear on the attack! The Canadian Express! Humphrey, the train is coming! Kate! Humphrey? What's wrong with you? That! Don't move. We can handle this. We can? Okay, we're in trouble. Guys. You guys like jokes? Good. So, okay. So two bears are eating a clown, and one of the bears says, "Does this taste funny to you?" A simple "Boo" would have sufficed. Man. Watch this. One more. One more. Get up. Kate, get up. Where are those two? Why must they make this so difficult? I believe the term is "high maintenance couple," sir. Stuck between the cliffs and the claws. This isn't good. Good luck joking your way out of this one. What's your name, sir? Growl. All right. Do you need a hug? Good talk! Hey, need a ride? Jump! Trust me! I told you, you could trust me. Hang a left! Go right! Why are you looking at me like that? Unbelievable. They have missed the train. Or not. -I know. it's not very good, is it? -Well... That was so awesome. You with the snowballs. And you with that little bear in that snowball fight. It was so cute. But then you with the log! The look on your face was so good. And then we... You know, we make a pretty good team. Kate and Humphrey, world adventurers! What do you think? I think you're crazy. You think I'm... No, I'm telling you, we're onto something here. Stick with me, pup. We'll go places. Well, I'll keep that in mind. All right. Take a deep breath. Howl from right here. And I'll join in. Humphrey, what are you doing? I'm sorry. The moon, the moment. I just thought... Come on, Kate. Howl at the moon with me. See? That's so good. No. You better go. But no one has to know. Please. Go, now. No. Dad. Howling with an Omega, are we? -I was just... -Get with the others. What's going on? We're going to take the valley, and our caribou. -Dad! -Lilly, what's wrong? The Eastern Wolves. They're coming! Come on! Just do it. She howled at the moon with you. That was just the moment. Bonjour, my furry friend. What? Are you guys crazy? That's up for debate. And where is... Mademoiselle. She's sleeping, so be quiet. Yes. Quiet. What are you guys doing here? Making sure that you don't forget the run of the course. Jasper Park, it is a few miles up. Do not miss it. Jasper, few miles, got it. Good. I've got to say, your girlfriend looks quite pretty when she sleeps. She's not my girlfriend. You should work on that. It's the full moon, Winston. I can see that, Tony. I didn't want it to come to this. But here we are. -Stop the insanity! Go organic! -Stop the insanity! Go organic! -Stop the insanity! Go organic! -Stop the insanity! Go organic! -Stop the insanity! Go organic! -Stop the insanity! Go organic! Kate. Kate, wake up. Wake up. Humphrey? Where are we? We're... We're in Jasper. We're home. Yup. We're home. -There's something... -There's something... Please, you first. Humphrey, I just wanted to tell you, these past couple of days, they've been, kind of, fun. You've been, kind of, fun. Really? Really. Well, that's... That's great. I told you, we make a pretty good team. We do. Okay. No, no, no. Don't tell me. You have to go to the bathroom again. Why, do you see a truck stop? I just wanted to tell you I... I... -I... I just wanted to tell you... -No. I... I love... Oh, geez. All I asked was for you to follow our customs, unite the packs. But, no. Your daughter had to up and run away. I didn't run away. Kate! She's back! -We were so worried. -Where have you been? -In Idaho. -Idaho? What were you doing in Idaho? We were taken by humans to another park. We were supposed to repopulate. No, no, no. Mom. We didn't repopulate. Humphrey actually helped me get home. What a nice boy. -I came back... -You came back to marry Garth. Yes. And unite the packs! Good for the pack, good for the belly. Marry? You're getting married? Yes. isn't it great? No more fighting during hunts. No more scraps and bones at dinnertime. We're going to unite the packs. Welcome back, Humphrey. Good job bringing her home. Wow. it's a big crowd. Yeah. Good times. So I heard you and Garth spent some time together. Lilly. Sorry. I'm sure he's perfect marrying material. Well, if you like that sort of thing, big, brawny, and perfect. Lilly, you're wearing your fur back. Sorry. I know. But, I liked it. Right on the pin. Marcel! Paddy! When it comes to hugs, we are all French, Paddy? Well, I'm English, so we don't hug! But for a first, I'd say that was a good one. I'm so happy to see you two. We flew in to see that you made it home. And what do we find? -You're getting married! -You're getting married! Yeah. I'm getting married. -Who told you? -I did. Humphrey. We should be going. Yes, yes. Excuse me. A flea. And a little something for your big day. Thank you. Just wanted to say good-bye. Good-bye? Yeah. I'm thinking about doing a little traveling, you know, seeing where the train takes me. And maybe I'll visit our friends the bears. Our old buddies, see how they're doing. I'll tell them you said hi. Wait. But you're leaving Jasper? Yeah. You know, it's alone wolf thing. I know Humphrey, the fun-loving Omega, not Humphrey, the lone wolf. So I'll be a fun-loving lone wolf. I don't doubt that. You know, Marcel, I am a stickler for tradition, but this one, I just don't understand. These wolves are mysterious creatures. Tony. So... Are you ready? Yes. Good. Are you okay? You bet. No problems on this end. Ready to go, go, go. So, you want to start this thing or me? We'll start together. Start together. Yeah. So, what's happening? They're accepting each other's scent. And now, the nibble on the ears. Do you think I can make it? Yes, sir, and just as you hit the tracks, you should see an open train car. Well, avoid truck stops, bears, and that hideous dessert. What is it called? -Cupcakes, sir. -Yes. Cupcakes. I will. Thanks, guys. You know, you shouldn't be so judgmental about cupcakes. They really are quite delicious. I wouldn't know. And finally, they will rub noses to symbolize that they are mates! Kate, what are you doing? I... I can't. You can't! I mean, you can't? What is this, Winston? Why can't she marry Garth? Quiet. Kate, Kate. Why can't you marry Garth? Because I... I fell in love with an Omega. An Omega? Humphrey? That sly dog! An Alpha in love with an Omega. That's against pack law. Dad. I also am in love with an Omega. What? What have you done to my son, Winston? An Omega and an Alpha? An Alpha and an Omega? Eve, help me out. This is madness. This isn't our custom. This isn't our way. Take the valley! I just love weddings! Stampede! Stampede! Everyone, run! Run! To the sides of the valley! It's that darn disk in my back. Come on! No! They're trapped! Humphrey! Kate! We have to help them! Look! Faster, Tony! Faster! Go left! Roll right! You're getting good at this. I had a good teacher. They're too far ahead. We'll never make it. Hold on. Look! World adventurers. I told you we'd make a good team. Did you say that? I thought I said that. Kate! Kate. Kate. Please, Kate. Please, you can't do this. I love you. Kate! Humphrey? I thought I'd lost you. Is everyone staring at us? Well, no, not... Not every... Well, yeah. Now they are. Darn. 'Cause I wanted to tell you something. What? Really? Okay. Well, I wanted to tell you something, too. Maybe this can work. All right. Garth! Tony, what do two old wolves do after they retire? Gentlemen, may I introduce you to golf? Fore! Yeah, yeah. Oh, that's good. Come on, honey. Let's show 'em how it's done. You ready to shake your tail? Now that's a howl. Are you ready? Yeah. Ready.