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t0ast-ghost · 4 months

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Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home thoughts!!!

Love me some good ol’ treks and I know this is the one with the whales (which reminds me of hitchhikers guide to the galaxy)

Warning for spoiling the whole movie (don’t cry over spoiled movie if you don’t have to! Go watch it for yourself!)

Let’s get going:

- A LEONARD NIMOY FILM ?!?

- okay Harve Bennett. I see you in the credits.

- I like the Saratoga crew. Too bad they’re probably gonna die immediately

- HIII SAREK!!! God he’s hot I hate him so much

- “Personal bias! His son was saved by Kirk.” His son is also married to Kirk so…

- McCoy got to choose the name of the ship :))

- Kirk’s wearing the same shirt.. oh wait they all are nvm

- Spock on a rock

- Hi Amanda!

- “Spock, the retraining of your mind has been in the Vulcan way so you may not understand feelings, but as my son, you have them.”

- Amanda trying to tell Spock that his friends care about him so much that they go against what is logical and it mirrors how in journey to babel Spock was not willing to sacrifice the good of the many (the ship) for the good of the one (his father) so I’m wondering if they will have an arc for him realizing that sometimes you want the one and not the many

- I like the problems they keep having with projectors/videos. Or not exactly problems but in the beginning they had to ask multiple times for the video to stop playing and here they are just talking over the transmission in the background. It adds a sense of confusion and havoc that I think makes it delightfully more realistic

- The Bird of Prey is such a beautiful design

- “I did not wish to be shot down on the way to our own funeral.” lol nice Chekov

- Nooo Spock and Saavik don’t have the mentor/mentee vibes anymore :(((

- Kirk really wants Spock to call him Jim… he misses his husband :(

- Bones is right. And then he leaves Kirk with the “That’s what I thought.” And the entire bridge crew is just like ‘don’t engage, look away, the husbands are fighting but just don’t look.’

- The copy pasted Saavik and Amanda

- “Hi. Busy?” McCoy sliding over to Spock

- McCoy just say you’re happy he’s back. He misses his verbal sparring buddy omg

- “Forgive me, Doctor, I’m receiving a number of distress calls.” McCoy is SHOCKED like, ‘did he just purposely reject me???’ I’m crying

- sad! Your husband died and now he doesn’t want to fight with you!!

- hi bitch! (It’s Sarek)

- THEY PUT EYELINER ON CHEKOV!

- THE PROBE SOUNDS LIKE WHALES ???

- so the transmission is for whales. That’s cool.

- Uhura would make a sick DJ. She’s remixing the whale sounds

- “Bones, you stay here.” “No way. Somebody’s got to keep an eye on him.” He’s trying to look out for his husbands

- love sci fi that is like ‘sea creatures interacting with space hmmm yess I think it will’ cause if you think about it, there’s a lot of sea that is unexplored just like space (yeah I’m talking about HGttG again)

- SPOCK SAYS SAVE THE FUCKING WHALES

- McCoy DOES NOT want them to travel back in time

- HII CHAPEL HIIII

- The chaos in the control room with someone on the screen talking over everyone else in the room… perfection

- Sometimes Kirk sounds like Seth Macfarlane

- “You really gonna try time travel in this rust bucket?” “We’ve done it before.” “Sure. Slingshot around the sun, pick up enough speed and you’re in time warp. If you don’t, you’re fried.” “You prefer to do nothing?” “I prefer a dose of common sense. You’re proposing that we go backwards in time, find humpback whales, then bring them froward in time, drop them off, and hope to hell they tell this probe what to go do with itself.” “That’s the general idea.” “Well, that’s crazy.” “You have a better idea? Now’s the time.” Yep. That summarizes it better than I could ever. How McCoy stays married to this man is a mystery

- The command base hears that Kirk is going to time travel and PANICS

- “May fortune favour the foolish.” Good Kirk line

- The ship is actively falling apart

- They’re back in time!

- Sulu lore! he was born in sanfransico or however you spell it

- McCoy trying not to laugh at Spock’s little bandana. Kirk smiles for a second and then remembers himself

- THEYRE IN THE WILD! SET LOSE! Who let them roam free?!

- Winchell’s Donut House. Wonder if that’s still open. Or real. Damn, I want donuts.

- Kirk almost getting run over “Well a double dumbass on you!” And then he throws up his hands omg I love him

- They’re all slaying

- “The rest of you, break up. You look like a cadet review.” They’re all kinda lost tho

- Spock in the pawn shop is looking like, ‘those were a birthday present from our husband. Why would you give them away :(‘

- Kirk and his powerful skills of deduction. He won’t let Spock just infodump :(

- They’re all really good looking.

- UHURA AND CHEKOV TEAM UP! Something I didn’t know I needed (I need it)

- NO LITTLE RUSSIAN BOY! Don’t ask for directions from a cop to a nuclear weapons base in the 1980s!

- SPOCK NERVE PINCHING THE PUNK ON THE BUS LOL

- “No one pays attention to you unless you swear every other word.” WELL. Okay. I’m not offended. At all.

- Spock frowning at the whales dying on the screen

- “To hunt a species to extinction is not logical.” There’s a lot of times you think ‘Vulcans can be emotionless which could equal cruelty’ but looking at this, humans with emotions turn out more cruel because that is an emotion. We want and are greedy. It’s surprising that Vulcans are friends with humans because of just how much illogical carnage we have wrought. Anyway.

- Hey Jim. Where’s Spock?

- Kirk becoming more and more worried that he can’t find Spock. And then he turns around AND HES IN THE TANK.. this is why McCoy wants to come along. Jim cannot watch him well enough

- Spock’s ass can’t believe he went in there to mind meld with the whales

- Sopping wet Spock

- “The hell they did.” SPOCK SWEAR OMG

- “Can’t you remember?” “The hell I can’t.” I love him so much, he’s being a little shit, this is on purpose. I think writers should let him say hell and other expletives more often

- “Oh come on, Bob! I don’t know about you, but my compassion for someone is not limited to my estimate of their intelligence.” DID YALL IN THE BACK HEAR THIS???

- Uhura and Chekov on the beach with the seagulls

- Gillian’s got a “I ❤️ whales” sticker on her truck. I love her.

- “I think he did a little to much LDS.” I think Kirk meant to say Spock does LSD? I’m assuming?

- This lady just picked up two husbands trying to save the whales.. that’s very lucky for her

- “Are you sure it isn’t time for a colourful metaphor.” LET SPOCK SAY FUCK

- “You guys like Italian?” Spock and Kirk proceeding to fight by saying no and yes repeatedly is my favourite

- They’re just letting Scotty and McCoy roam around???

- I love McCoy and Scotty improvising together, and Scotty going off and getting upset

- “May my assistant join us?” “Don’t bury yourself in the part.”

- Sulu just gets to nerd out about helicopters

- McCoy sitting on any and all surfaces like it’s a chair. Scotty joining him.

- McCoy handing Scotty the mouse like he’s so proud of himself

- McCoy’s got his ✨dazzling✨ eyes on rn

- “We’d be altering the future.” “Well, how do you know he didn’t invent the thing.” Scotty. That’s not how time travel works.

- So basically McCoy gets Jim and Spock out of trouble but gets into trouble when he’s with Scotty

- THEYRE JUST LEAVING SPOCK IN THE PARK oh wait he’s going to the ship

- Get yourself a partner who would cry over whales

- “I’m from Iowa, I only work in outer space.” This man smh

- Oh no. Get Chekov out of there. Holy shit.

- “Must be the radiation.” He proceeds to throw the phaser at the guy and then runs out the door

- Gillian not afraid to slap Bob over whales

- Did- did Sulu steal a helicopter? Yes. Yes he did.

- Gillian sees Spock with his ears and eyebrows and she’s like ‘yeah makes sense’

- “Admiral, may I suggest that Dr. McCoy is correct?” Spock agrees with McCoy. 208 dead, 15 injured

- Gillian is surrounded by the polycule. She just wants her whales to be safe.

- McCoy is literally the best. He saw this person suffering and then immediately helped

- “Uh, excuse me, we’ll take that.” They steal the gurney and Gillian immediately hops onto it. I love her.

- “This woman has immediate postprandial upper abdominal distension.” “What did you say she’s got?” “Cramps” McCoy saw the security and went ‘Yep they’re stupid’ he didn’t even bother with a proper lie

- In an argument between a 20th century doctor and McCoy, I would bet McCoy any and every time

- I love when McCoy is just.. appalled at old medicine

- Chekov slowly regaining awareness and he lifts his head only for Kirk to push his face down with a, ‘not now, Pavel.’

- I like how the crew right now have been using Chekov’s first name and are protective of him.

- Sulu immediately being there to help Chekov get back on the ship 🥺🥺🥺

- This woman is so into whales that she would time travel for them

- Is McCoy sitting on the console and leaning over it to talk to talk to Spock? Yes, yes he is.

- “Well, then you’re just gonna have to take your best shot.” “Best shot?” “Guess, Spock.” “Guessing is not in my nature, Doctor.” “Well, nobody’s perfect.” He lets that last line drawl and then stares at Spock for a little too long. That’s flirting.

- That was the most intense countdown. I felt like something might happen to the whales within those ten seconds and I was worried

- “So I will make a… guess.” McCoy is rubbing off on Spock

- “No, Spock. He [Kirk] means that he feels safer about your guesses than most other people’s facts.” Hehe

- She was so happy just staring at her whales but then Kirk goes and interrupts that

- “I belong here, I am a whale biologist.” They are so lucky that they ran into someone THIS interested in whales

- McCoy resists the urge to just look at Spock when they’re travelling back to their time

- I like how there’s a hatch leading outside on the bridge… of a spaceship.

- forgot how hot Kirk’s poofy sleeves are

- They have a scene where everyone just gets absolutely drenched

- I’m so glad they didn’t have subtitles for the whales and probes. It’s more realistic for the universe. Starfleet doesn’t know what they’re saying, the crew doesn’t know what they’re saying, we shouldn’t know what they’re saying. It’s not how the universe works.

- They’re cheering for whales. I love when people cheer for things

- They’re all playing in the water omg this is adorable

- hi bitch (Sarek)

- Jim walks in with McCoy right behind him and Spock goes to join them from where he’s sitting

- I love Scotty’s little moustache it’s so :<

- McCoy is NOT listening, he’s got like nyan cat theme playing in his head

- THEY GAVE HIM COMMAND OF A STARSHIP FOR DISOBEYING ORDERS?!?

- I think McCoy should run up to Spock and Kirk and get them to kiss here

- Scott and Sulu arguing over which ship they think they’ll get <3

- McCoy is leaning so sluttily on the new bridge

The credits just showing pictures of each of the cast is adorable

See ya on the flip flop

Masterpost

#star trek #star trek iv: the voyage home #the voyage home #spock #s'chn t'gai spock #leonard bones mccoy #doctor mccoy #captain james kirk #james t kirk #uhura #nyota uhura #sulu #hikaru sulu #pavel chekov #montgomery scott #christine chapel #ambassador sarek #amanda grayson #saavik

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

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Male!Companions react to waking up alone after spending the night with Sole.

Hey all! So, just a heads up, I’m also working on this prompt for the Female!Companions for FO4, and also a bunch of companions from FONV and FO3, but if you have any specific requests or want me to add anyone, just let me know! Sorry this is so damn long, but I hope you all enjoy!

Also, there is a bit of angst in here with some mentions of suicidal thoughts, so just a heads up on that!

P.S. If you’re one of the lovely folks who has sent me an ask, I am currently working on writing them up and I will definitely get them out as soon as I can, I just really like the prompts y’all gave me and I want to do them justice :)

Danse:

Danse sat up with a start, immediately trying to gain his bearings, only to find himself still in the bunker, in his own bed. He let out a shaky breath, still dazed from the heavy sleep that had claimed him. It had been years since he'd slept like that, the last time he recalled sleeping so peacefully was when he was stationed at the Citadel in the Capital Wasteland. Even more than that, he had barely slept at all since discovering his true identity. Danse shook his head, trying to clear it of its sleepy fog, he went to rub his eyes, and he felt his heartbeat increase tenfold as the memories of his night with you came flooding to the forefront of his mind. Even now he felt the heat of a blush rushing to his cheeks. He turned his head, expecting to see your peacefully sleeping form on the mattress beside him. When he didn't, he wasn't sure what to do. Immediately, a slew of emotions and thoughts ran through him, ranging from shame, to panic, to anger, and most of all, hurt. Before he allowed himself to arrive at any premature conclusions, Danse called out for you, looking around the room. Nothing. He stood up, holding the blankets around his waist to conceal himself as he made his way to the hole in the wall that allowed him to peer into the other section of the bunker. Still nothing. The slew of contradicting emotions bubbled up again, leaving him feeling slightly numb. He stood there, just staring, trying to grasp a hold of any clear thought, but they were inadvertently tumbling into his consciousness at an alarming rate.

All at once, one feeling prevailed over the others, and Danse found himself feeling extraordinarily guilty. Guilty for agreeing to last night, for jeopardizing his friendship with the one person he had left in his life by greedily pushing too far. What right did he have to you and your feelings anyway, when his weren't even real? The pain of being deserted by you was overshadowed by the knowledge that he didn't deserve you in the first place. Even when he thought he was human, he had trouble rationalizing his feelings for you, thinking you deserved better than someone like him. Someone as hard headed, as inexperienced, and emotionally ignorant as he was. But now? Now, he wondered why you even bothered to waste any of your time on him, even just as his partner, when it was proven that he's nothing but a machine. Why had you even suggested last night, when you knew the truth about him?

He simply couldn’t understand it. Why had you allowed him to be with you in such a way? To be with you so intimately? Why had you allowed him to touch you so invasively? Why had you spoken to him so softly, so earnestly? How could your gaze have been so full of admiration, of love? He was a goddamn machine, and you’d let him share a bed with you, make love to you. He didn’t even know what love was, didn’t know if it was possible for him to even feel it; and yet, you’d been more open with him than he had been with anyone before. And he wasn’t even human. He was at a complete and utter loss for any form of explanation or reasoning behind your actions.

Danse stood alone in the bunker, staring ahead with brows furrowed low at no single thought in particular. It was then that he realized his heart was still beating out of his chest, he took a deep breath, and prepared himself to leave the bunker in search of you. Because, even now, when you were at the center of his feelings of uncertainty, of guilt, of hurt, he still felt the need to seek the counsel of the one person left he could truly trust, the one whose opinions he had sought in the darkest hours of his existence. He needed you.

More than that, he needed to make sure you were safe. At least that's what he told himself as he dressed, donning his power armor, before he rode the elevator up to the surface, his iron-clad hands clenching tightly as he gripped his laser rifle.

As Danse arrived at the surface, he noted the sunlight bursting through the lone window of the bunker, indicating how late he'd slept in, and he mentally kicked himself for his irresponsibility. If he had woken at his usual hour, would you have still been beside him? Perhaps he could've spoken to you before you left, encouraged you to hear him out, begged you to stay with him. Even just as a friend, just as a partner. He felt he simply couldn’t cope with the loss of you, of the security that you provided him.

Danse shook his head in an attempt to banish these useless thoughts from his mind. He couldn't control the past, he had to keep looking forward. With that, he crossed the threshold out into the Commonwealth.

Danse returned to the bunker a few hours before sundown, feeling utterly at a loss, he'd been everywhere he could reach, everywhere you could've gone in the period of time you had had to get there. He checked every house, farm, settlement… everything in the bunker's vicinity. His limbs felt weak and numb as he approached the entrance to the bunker. He could feel heat rising up in his face as his chest ached. He felt like he needed to hit something. Tears of frustration and dejection threatened to spill over, and he brought a gloved hand up to roughly wipe away the first drop that fell. Though, through the blur of wetness, he spotted a silhouette in the doorway ahead of him.

"Where the hell have you been?!" You shouted, running from the bunker and straight into Danse's arms. For a moment, he remained still, unable to reciprocate your relief in his state of utter shock. In the next instance, his rifle fell from his grip and he was wrapping his arms around you, as tightly as he could without injuring you.

"I believe I could ask you the same question, soldier." Danse said, willing his voice to remain stable. You pulled away so that you could look up at him, your expression one of confusion,

"I thought I told you last night. I had to go to Greentop nursery in the morning and talk to the settlers about their mutant problem." He blinked at you in surprise. At least, you thought you had told him, but maybe it had slipped your mind. It didn't surprise you, given last night's activities.

"But… Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because Danse, I've never seen you sleep in, I wanted you to get some rest for once."

"I would have rather been with you." He said quietly. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued,

"It was irresponsible of you to leave me uninformed, you should have woken me. You scared me, Sole. I thought…" he took a quick breath to steady his voice, "I don't know what I thought. I woke up and you were gone, I wasn't sure if you were in danger, or if you were angry with me, or whether or not you even meant to return."

"Danse, of course I was going to come back, I just didn't expect you to be gone when I did."

"And for that, I apologize. However, I implore you to understand--"

"Danse. It's okay, we're both here now, we're both safe. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving. C'mon." You turned towards the bunker and went to make your way inside. Danse stood a moment, watching you walk away. Feeling began slowly returning to his limbs, and for the first time all day, his heartbeat slowed to its normal rate. He reached down to pick up his rifle, a small smile spreading across his lips as he moved to follow you back into the bunker.

Deacon:

Deacon opened his eyes, only to immediately close them again, as the bright morning sun showed through the windows of Ticonderoga safehouse, and directly into his retinas.

“Damn,” He said, reaching over to grab for his shades from beside the mattress. Once they were placed onto his face, he decided it would be safe to open his eyes once again. Deacon groaned as he rolled his shoulders, and sat up, stretching his arms overhead.

God, he felt good. The tightness of his muscles serving as a reminder of the… ahem, events of last night. Last night, with you. How the hell had that happened? He almost couldn’t believe it. After so many years of being alone, of feeling emotionally inept, and unable to move on. Here you came, seemingly out of some sci-fi novel, with your futuristic, time-traveling backstory, and inhuman good looks, and for some reason, you’d thought he was, of all things, cute. That was the word you had used, he remembered it vividly, and of course he had feigned being annoyed by the use of the word to describe him, but in reality? He adored the fact that you thought so. No one had ever referred to him as such, and the fact that it confirmed you reciprocated the feelings he had for you; that was truly extraordinary. These feelings that he had tried so desperately to bury deep down, where they couldn’t meddle with your friendship, or your professional relationship, or his own crippling fear of being committed to someone again (given how well it went the first time). Now, he barely understood why he had tried so hard to snuff out his emotions if this was one of the possible outcomes of revealing them to you. He never dreamed that you could have returned the affection he had for you. However, if last night was any kind of indicator… yeah, he’d say the two of you had pretty strong feelings indeed.

At least, that’s what he had thought. Until he turned to you excitedly, looking to see if you had woken yet, and found your spot next to him quite empty. His jaw clenched at the sight, but he took a breath and resolved himself to looking around the safehouse for your belongings. His teeth worried anxiously against the inside of his cheek as he noticed the distinct absence of anything belonging to you. Deacon stood in the middle of the safehouse, bringing his hands up to roughly rub at his face.

“God dammit.” He said aloud, unable to keep something from escaping him. Deacon liked to think he had a good bit of self control, it came with the job after all, a spy with no sense of restraint and proper judgment didn't live very long. However, you had this way of making him forget everything he thought he knew about himself. There he was last night, doing the one thing he vowed he'd never do again. Falling for someone. Him! Deacon, the immature, sarcastic, dishonest, and unemotional agent of the railroad; and here he was, head over heels for a widowed, pre-war saint like you. What a pair you two would have made.

I suppose it really was too good to be true. He thought bitterly.

Deacon grabbed his things and set off into the Commonwealth without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He stared dead ahead, refusing to address the pressure he felt in his chest. Trying desperately to maintain his cool and unbothered exterior, to remain the type of person he was before he'd met you. He always knew he could change the way he looked in a day or less, but the way you'd changed his perspective of the world, of his place in it, and his future? He didn't think you could have changed who he'd turned out to be if you had all the time in the world. Deacon was firmly set in his ways, so much so, that even he couldn't change who he was. No matter how much he despised himself at times. But man, had he been wrong, all the disguises in the world couldn't mask the fact that, for the first time in years, Deacon had a priority in his life besides the railroad, and besides himself. And that scared the shit out of him.

Now he wasn't really sure what to think. If you had simply wanted nothing more than a one-night stand, you could have just told him so. At least then he would’ve been prepared for this shit. For you leaving him, seemingly without a second thought.

The sniper shook his head roughly as he kicked up the dust of the wasteland, his footfalls much heavier than they had any business being. He always had prided himself at being a good judge of character, at being intuitive, but he never would have expected something like this from someone like you. Someone who cared about the happiness of everyone else more than their own well-being, someone who was kind, and selfless, and empathetic, someone who constantly put their own life at risk for the benefit of complete strangers. Sure, he did that occasionally, but his life was worth a hell of a lot less. You were a good person, and always had been. From the moment he saw you, everything he heard about you, all of it pointed to the fact that you, even after all you’d lost, after everything you endured, you were a better person than he could ever hope to be. And now, for you to do this to him? It was completely out of character. Whatever, he thought, if this is all you wanted from me, then fine. It's all you're going to get.

As he approached the Old North Church, Deacon mentally prepared himself for the possibility that you too would be at the Railroad headquarters. He decided to simply not acknowledge your… ordeal, and act as though nothing had changed. Though, if Deacon was honest (which he rarely ever was), he would rather not have you as his partner anymore. With the way he was feeling-- the way he had once felt about you, it would be too complicated. He didn’t need complicated. The railroad missions provided enough of that.

He entered HQ quietly, and mulled about, visiting with the others and picking up missions left and right in an effort to acquire enough distractions to keep him out of the church for as long as possible. He figured that way, the likelihood of bumping into you would be decreased enough for him to get a handle on himself before having to face you. But, of course, his plans were all for naught, he realized as you stormed into the catacombs, your glowering eyes falling directly to the bald sniper in the corner of the room; the sniper who was trying desperately to make himself seem distracted as he felt your eyes burning into the back of his head. At least you had the decency to lower your voice as you approached him,

“Deacon!” You hissed, shouting his name as quietly as one could shout.

He continued staring at the blackboard, a hand at his chin as he feigned interest in what was written there.

“What the hell?” You asked, taking another step towards him, close enough that he could feel your hot breath on his cheek.

“Hmm? Something wrong?” He asked, turning his head towards you while his eyes stayed glued to the board in front of him. You took a step back, and the next thing he knew, you had extended your hand forcefully towards his face, leaving a stinging red mark imprinted on his cheek in its wake. Deacon’s head snapped back towards the blackboard at the power of your blow, his sunglasses barely managing to hang onto his face by the bridge of his nose.

I’m not sure if I deserved that or not…

He brought his own hand up to rub the spot you had just slapped, finally letting his eyes meet yours from beneath his crooked shades. He nearly gasped at your expression. Your eyebrows were knitted together above your tear-filled eyes, your mouth a straight line as your chin trembled slightly. He’d say you looked sad, but behind your eyes, all he could see was fire. The same fire he’d felt when he saw that you had deserted him that morning. Or, at least, when he thought you’d deserted him.

Almost without thinking, Deacon grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the more private area of the railroad HQ. Despite your clear vexation with him, you allowed him to lead you to the back of the church catacombs, near the emergency exit.

“Alright, you finally ready to explain yourself?” You asked, wrenching your hand from his grasp.

“Me? I’m pretty sure it was you who walked out on me, and who just slapped me in the face for asking a simple question.” Your nostrils flared at that and for a moment, Deacon thought you were going to do something violent again.

“Okay, look, I know I’ve fallen for your lies before, but I think it’s pretty damn ridiculous for you to think that I’ll believe this one. I was there, Deacon! You left me. You took all your shit and left me alone at the safehouse. I don’t care what happened the night before, even if it was awful for you, or awkward for you to see me in that way, or whatever, you still don’t abandon your partner. We agreed to that the moment I became an agent.”

Deacon’s jaw dropped to his chest at his realization, and your accusation. He had left you? When? How? When was he supposed to find that out?

“Look, Sole, I’m a liar, I’ll give you that. But I’m a good one,” you rolled your eyes at him, a scoff sounding from your throat, “so, I wouldn’t even attempt to lie to you if I could see that you absolutely knew the truth.”

“God, if you’ve got a point, make it, asshole.”

“Ouchies, no need for name calling there, slappy. I’m just trying to figure out the miscommunication issue we’ve got going on here.” You glared at him, and he was forced to continue.

“The truth is,” Deacon looked down at the floor as he spoke softly to you, feeling as though the words were being wrenched from his throat, “I only left because I thought you had first. I woke up, and you were gone. Your things were gone. I thought that was it, that you were done with our… partnership. Done with me. And hey, I can’t say I’d blame you. Especially if you’d really think I could just up and leave after spending a night like that with you.”

“Oh.” you whispered, before trying to explain yourself, “I wasn’t-- I didn’t just leave, I mean, I went up to give High Rise the MILA for Tom. I was gone for five minutes, Deacon. I was coming right back.” The two of you stood a moment, as realization washed over you. And a bit of regret, too. And a sprinkle of foolishness.

Finally, he brought his gaze up to meet your eyes. Hoping his apology was as evident on his face as it was on yours. You brought your hand to his cheek, soothing over the angry red mark that you had left earlier, and Deacon flinched slightly at your touch, his eyes falling once again to the floor.

“It really only took you five minutes to think that I had left you?” You asked gently, the anger that had once been prevalent in your voice dissolving into concern. Deacon chuckled dryly.

“Haven’t I taught you anything? When you assume the worst, it’s a lot harder to be disappointed.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But I bet it makes it all the better when you find out you were wrong.” Deacon smiled weakly at you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no. I’m not seeing the appeal in being wrong just yet.” The hand that still rested on his cheek slid to the back of his neck, grasping firmly as you pulled his face towards yours. The pressure of your brow displaced Deacon’s shades as you crashed your lips into his. He toppled backwards against the wall of the catacombs as you pressed more forcefully into him, his arms falling behind him to steady himself against the cold brick, as your unoccupied hand slunk up to his chest, keeping him pinned between you and the wall. You pulled your head back, but kept your hands in place as you murmured,

“What about now?”

“Hmm?” Deacon’s ginger eyebrows raised above his glasses as his mind went blank. You cocked an eyebrow at him, a smirk forming on your face.

“Oh, right. I suppose so. Though, I think I’m gonna need a few reminders every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “I think that can be arranged.”

Hancock:

The ghoul awoke with a purr, stretching one ruined arm out to blindly search for your sleeping body. He distinctly remembered curling up with you wrapped tight in his embrace before lulling off into the best sleep he's had in years. For the first time in months he didn't have the nagging ache of wishing you were pressed against him as he settled in for the night. The thoughts of you lying so close but so painfully out of reach were finally pushed from his head to make room for the sheer bliss of being able to touch you, to feel your unbelievably soft skin, to breathe in your sweet scent and relish in the closeness of your body against his.

That was of course, until this morning. Hancock opened his eyes lazily, his dark gaze sweeping over the mess of bed sheets and pillows that littered the plush mattress. The sight of the disheveled blankets bringing back heated memories of last night. Before his brow furrowed at the realization of the current situation he found himself in. Hancock slowly rose from the bed, his dark eyes searching the surrounding room for any sign of you. He found his trousers, his hat, his coat... but nothing of yours remained where they had been tossed last night. If Hancock had a nose, it would have been curling alongside the rest of his scrunched up face as he thought of you leaving in such a hurry this morning. Hancock felt a pain in his chest and immediately craved a hit of something, anything, to numb the hollow feeling that began spreading through his body.

Sunlight shone through the windows of the old state house, the beams of light diffused by the ringlets of smoke rising from the ghoul's mouth as he took yet another hit of jet, trying hard to keep his mind blank, but inevitably failing as his thoughts returned to last night's events. Coming almost in slow motion, he picked apart every movement; every touch, kiss, lick, and caress, nitpicking every action he had made and thinking about what he might've done to warrant your desertion of him. But deep down, he knew that his actions mattered little. You had assured him on numerous occasions that him being a ghoul didn't bother you, but you had never really seen him before. Not in the way you saw him last night. Had never felt his rough skin on yours, had never run your hands up his ravaged body, the softness of your touch only amplifying the harshness of his own leathery flesh. You had never uncovered the gross discoloration of his radiation-ravaged body. But last night, you had finally gotten a good, long look. And here he was, thinking that you of all people could’ve seen past that. You had been able to forgive him for his past, after all. Hadn’t you? But maybe that had been part of it too. Maybe you’d finally realized all that he really was. A reckless and cowardly poor excuse for a man, who spends his life in a haze of delirium rather than facing the pain of being alive. A pain that he had inflicted upon himself to break away from that same self-righteous fog that he’d found himself in in the first place. It’s no wonder you’re gone. Maybe you were never even really here. Maybe you were just another daydream of his, just another hallucination. God, if that was the case, he didn’t even know what he would do. After having you so close, being with you like this? He didn’t really see the point in living without you.

Hancock sighed heavily at the thought. He didn't know how long he sat simply thinking, his perception of time temporarily altered by the jet, but he had to do something to alleviate this torture, and if chems wouldn't do it... well....

"I need some air," he rasped aloud as he stood and headed for the balcony, donning his coat and hat on his way out. The mayor had to keep up appearances, after all.

He almost didn't see you as he stepped through the door, the way you leaned out against the rail, eyes closed, a soft, beautiful smile playing at your plush lips. Hancock could've stared at you until the world around him turned to dust, but you moved long before that musing could come to reality. Turning to look at him, your smile brightened further, and Hancock couldn't keep himself from touching you. He grabbed one of your hands in his, using his other to caress your pink-dusted cheek, affirming that you truly were physically there, standing in front of him.

"And what were you doing out here all by your lonesome? Trying to give a ghoul a little taste of heartbreak?" You let out a soft laugh,

"No, sweetheart," you called him affectionately, leaning into his light touch upon your cheek, "I thought that you would sleep longer. I just wanted to get out and enjoy some sunshine." You turned once again towards the morning sun, the rays highlighting every one of your perfect features. Hancock beamed at the sight of you, before turning and looking out at his city in thought,

"Hmm," he mused, "Sunshine, huh?"

MacCready:

MacCready had been lying on his back for a while now, staring at the crumbling ceiling of the dingy little room at the hotel Rexford. This certainly hadn’t been his idea of an ideal location for your first time together, but who was he to complain? It was safe, and private, and it had been a damn good night. But he’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, waiting for you to stir. He’d thought it was odd, given the fact that you always woke up first when the two of you traveled together, but he’d like to think you hadn’t yet stirred because of the way he had exhausted you last night, his chest puffed out at the thought of it and he let out a contented sigh. The thoughts of your night together spilled into his consciousness, and he stretched out his arms in front of him, snickering slightly at the soreness of his body, and suddenly, he couldn’t wait for you any longer.

“Geeze, you awake yet, sleepyhead?” MacCready rolled onto his side to face the lump under the covers. He ran his hand over the mattress, over to you, but as he reached the lump beneath the blankets, all he felt was plushness. He withdrew the covers from atop you, only to find… pillows? Just a pillow, and a blanket. MacCready’s body spasmed as he jolted out from under the covers on his side of the bed, his head flying from side to side as he looked for you.

“Sole?” He cocked an eyebrow at the empty hotel room, and as he noticed your absence, his expression quickly changed from confusion to one of anger. You had left? But why? Had he done something wrong? He didn’t think so… but maybe he just... wasn’t everything you expected from him. Feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, MacCready climbed from the bed, grabbing his trousers from the floor and stomping around the room in pursuit of the remainder of his clothes, not failing to notice how everything belonging to you was no longer in the room either. Heat rose to MacCready’s face as he pulled on his duster, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, or anger, or heartache, or some combination thereof.

What the heck? He thought, you were the one to suggest doing this, why would you do that if you were just gonna leave me like this? Right when MacCready had thought he’d found the one. The person who could help him move on from Lucy after everything he’d been through. You were perfect, not just for him, but for Duncan too. You were selfless, and kind, compassionate, resourceful, sometimes you were a bit of a sarcastic ass, but he loved that about you. You were a parent and a spouse, just like he had been. You were both lost, and broken when you found each other, just a couple halves that had made each other whole. You were his future... Or so he’d thought. But who was he kidding? You were so out of his league, the two of you weren’t even playing the same damn sport. He should’ve known this would be the outcome. But then, why the heck did you let it go this far? Sure, he was the one who had poured all of his feelings out onto the table, but he didn’t know what he’d expected you to do. He just felt like he would explode if he held them in any longer, especially when the two of you spent so much time together. He saw you every damn day, and all he wanted to do was hold your hand, he wanted to sleep beside you and hold onto you through the night, to have you run your fingers through his hair and tell him that you felt the same way. MacCready never imagined you’d do something like this to him, never thought you’d get his hopes up, dangling the future he'd always dreamed of having right in his face before ruthlessly snatching it away.

He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous train of thought and groaned as he bent down to grab his rifle.

“At least you paid for the room up front.” he mumbled as he placed his hat on his head and made his way to the door.

MacCready’s footsteps fell heavily onto each stair as he headed down to the lobby, wondering where he’d go from there. He considered going and looking for you, but what was the point? Clearly if you wanted to see him, you wouldn’t have freakin left. Was he really petty enough to seek you out just to tell you how messed up it was that you’d left him the way that you did? Maybe… but he needed a drink first. To the Third Rail it was, then. What was it, 10am? He could drink at 10am. He could do whatever the heck he wanted, especially now that you were gone.

MacCready reached the bottom of the stairs, looking straight past the small crowd of people that were gathered in the lobby as he made his way to the exit. Just as his hand reached the door, he heard his name being shouted. His body shuddered at the sound of your voice, and he stood stock straight as he decided what to do. One fist clenched as the other hand pushed the door open and he crossed the threshold into Goodneighbor. The door never closed behind him, and he felt an iron grip on his forearm as he tried to head towards the Third Rail.

“Ow, hey!” He spun to face you, face slightly contorted in his confusion. What was he supposed to think now? He was still angry and hurt, but should he be? Ugh.

“Wait, Mac. I know how it must’ve looked, but really, it’s just a misunderstanding.” He stared at you, his deep blue eyes clouded with suspicion. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to ruin anything by making false assumptions or accusations. Instead, he waited for you to explain, wrenching his wrist from your grip as he folded his arms over his chest.

Before you could continue, Rufus came up from behind, asking quietly if he could go through the doors.

“Come on,” you urged, “let’s get out of the doorway.” You herded MacCready to one of the couches in the lobby, seating yourself next to him.

“Alright. Explain.” He said, brows still furrowed. You almost snickered at how put-out the sniper seemed. You couldn’t quite tell if it was an act or not, but knowing MacCready… yeah, probably not an act.

“Rufus was having some trouble with Drinkin’ Buddy.” You told him, “The bot shut down and no one could get him to turn on again. This morning, some sort of warning light started flashing, so he came up and asked if I could help him fix it. I would’ve asked you to come along, but you were still asleep, and I know how you hate being woken up…” You trailed off, waiting for him to say something in response.

Man, MacCready felt moronic. Why had he been so quick to assume the worst? Okay, maybe not the worst, the worst would’ve been… Well, that’s not important. He shook his head, finally letting himself breathe deeply again.

“You sure that was it?” He asked, uncertainty coating his tone as he narrowed his eyes at you.

You leaned forward, smoothing a hand up his chest to the back of his neck as you brought your lips to his. Your fingers fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck and held him to you as your mouth moved against his, trying to answer his question without having to use your words. This was better, anyway. You felt a hand move to your waist as he relaxed into the kiss, his strong grip pulling you nearly into his lap as he returned your fervor. Only when you needed air did you pull back from him, your heartbeat still racing as you watched his gorgeous eyes flutter open.

“Did that answer your question?” You asked cheekily. He smiled, face still pink from the heat of your kiss.

“I don’t know, boss, I may still need some more, ah, reassuring.” You snickered at that, and glanced back at Clair’s desk.

“Any more convincing and we may need that room again. You think if we go now, we won’t have to pay the hotel for a second day?”

God, I think I’m in love. MacCready thought as he nodded to you, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. At that, both of you scrambled off of the couch, quickly making your way towards the stairs and up to the hotel room.

Nick:

The synth didn't sleep, but he didn't mind it. He stayed awake beside you in bed, replaying memories of the night over and over in his mind. Although he wasn't sure how comfortable it could be, he had his arms curled around you, holding you tightly to his synthetic chest while the memories of his favorite night (in either of his lifetimes) were running through his mind. You snored softly in his embrace, utterly at peace, as he gazed affectionately at your soft features. Nick didn't often feel blissful, and he never would've imagined himself in this situation, being completely content with the person he admired, and adored so adamantly, safely wrapped in his arms. He should've known it wouldn't last.

Without a sound, he felt as you slowly and gently pried his arms off of your body, climbing off of the shared mattress. Nick figured that you would give him an explanation; perhaps once you were out of bed? When you went to go and dress yourself? Before walking through the door? But you were silent throughout, even as he heard the door click shut behind you. Nick closed his eyes tightly, sighing to himself and wondering if the pain in his chest was substantial enough to cause him to short circuit. What had he done wrong? Even if it was nothing, he would understand why you had left. Even at his best, Nick could hardly amount to what any average human could give you, and he could never give you everything you wanted. Everything you needed, and deserved. He wasn't real. So he wouldn't blame you for leaving, hell, if he hadn't been so caught up in his own blissful feelings, he might've encouraged you to go. And he had, before last night had truly begun, he recalled asking you if he was what you really wanted. Then, you had seemed so eager, almost laughing at the thought that he couldn't be enough, after all this time the two of you had spent together, and all your pining over him. These thoughts circled through the synth's mind as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He willed himself to grab a file and get to work, to do something, anything, to distract himself from the pain, but it was as though the weight in his chest was too much to bear. The height of his earlier high only amplifying the depths of his current low.

Every attempt to look through a case file was a failure, his yellow eyes roaming the first few lines of writing before his mind drifted off. To thoughts of where you could have gone, whether or not you would come back, and thoughts of last night. At the way you made his pistons fire at triple times their normal rate, the way you made his metal heart flutter in his chest, and the way you had come so beautifully undone in his arms. That was it. The moment he needed to remember for the rest of his days on this ruined earth. At that very moment, nothing else seemed to matter. He was sure he'd been foolish before, thinking you could never care for him in such a way. How foolish he'd felt then... it was nothing compared to now. The synth brought his metallic hands up to his face, the tips of his fingers displacing the worn hat on his head. He imagined tears flowing from beneath the heels of his hands as he dug them into his eye sockets, but of course none came. Would that have been acceptable? If he had been able to shed real tears, like a real human being, would you have stayed after last night? If he had been able--

The door to the agency burst open at that moment, interrupting the old detective's thoughts, and sending his head shooting back to see who had busted in so aggressively, his hat flying from its usual place atop his head.

The fact that the synth couldn't breathe didn't matter in this moment as he huffed a massive sigh of relief at the glorious sight of you, the light of the early morning sun casting a warm glow around your body.

"Oh doll..." the words escaped him as a smile began to spread across his synthetic lips, "for a moment there, I thought you were an angel." You giggled at that, your flushed smile causing the whirring in his chest to increase exponentially.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, I was just about to open up a missing person's case on ya." You finally closed the door and made your way to his desk, leaning down to give his cheek a chaste kiss as you smoothed your hand over his chest, stopping to grab at his tie and pull him up towards you.

"Always the professional, hmm detective?" You smirked at him and he gave you a crooked smile before bringing his good hand up to stroke his thumb over one of your soft cheeks.

"Although," you continued, teasingly bending down to pick his hat up from the floor, "your uniform doesn’t seem to be up to the usual standards."

"Oh? Is that what you think?" He said, reaching for the hat before you held it behind your back, a mischievous grin forming on your lips,

"Sure is. You don't have your hat.”

“Oh? And whose fault is that?” He interjected playfully.

“And” you continued, “look at this coat, full of rips. It’s practically in shambles." you ran a finger down his side, allowing the tip of your fingernail to catch at the tiny holes littering the worn fabric.

"Hey now, my coat's always looked like that. You didn't seem to find fault in it when you were cold last night." You shook your head,

"Nope, I'm sorry Mr. Valentine, it's all in disarray, I'm afraid we'll just have to scrap the whole thing."

"Well now, if that’s what you were after, you could've just told me, darling. No need to insult--" His sentence remained unfinished as you tightened your grip on his tie, pulling him in for a kiss that was anything but chaste. He had so many questions left unanswered, but for reasons unknown, he couldn't seem to think of a single coherent inquiry to voice to you in this instance. Looks like it will just have to wait until later.

Preston:

Preston felt uneasy. His eyes had opened slowly when he had awoken, his heartbeat had remained consistently calm, dapples of sunlight shone through the holes in the curtains beside the bed, indicating that he had slept through the night. Why did everything feel so… so peaceful? No nightmares, no panic attacks, the usual insomnia Preston tended to face in the wee hours of the morning had never reared its infuriating head.

Then he remembered.

It was all because of you. Amazing, incredible, infallible, irresistible you. Heat flooded to his face as a coy smile touched his lips. Suddenly, he felt he had to be near you, he had to see you to believe what his mind told him had happened last night.

“Mhm, good morning," he sighed, as he turned to face your side of the bed, "how are you-- ?" Preston's eyebrows creased as he noticed your absence, his voice trailing off as he realized his question had no recipient.

"Sole?" He sat up, rubbing his awakening eyes before glancing around the room of your Sanctuary house.

"Sole?!" Preston said, louder than the first time. Perhaps you had simply gone to the washroom? Or to the kitchen maybe? Rising from the bed, Preston fetched his trousers from the pile of clothes that rested at the foot of the bed, trying not to dwell too much on the thoughts that it inspired.

But... only my clothes are here. He reflected, feeling a pang in his chest, before reminding himself that you might want to be clothed, wherever you’d gone, even if it was just in your own house. He released a bit of his anxiety in a quick breath, before heading for the bedroom door, he opened it gingerly, glancing down the hallway before making his way to each of the rooms in search of you. He did so slowly, hesitantly, in fear of what he might find. Or, rather, afraid of what he wouldn't find.

Preston stood in the empty kitchen, numb, his fear utterly realized. He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, afraid to let himself think, but unable to do anything else in his current state. Why, why, why did he have to act on his feelings for you? He just had to tell you how you made him feel, he had to be vulnerable and had to “put himself out there.” He just had to be intimate with you, he had to ruin everything. Why couldn’t he have just been happy with the way things were, with you as his friend? There he was, his life in danger, unable to help the people who needed him most, the Minutemen in complete disarray after having failed those they vowed to protect, and there you were. Here to save their asses, to turn his disaster of a life into one full of hope, full of light, and now, you were gone. You had left because he was an inarticulate, inexperienced, greedy, fool of a man who couldn't keep his mouth shut and just settle for having you as his general, and as his best friend. Why had he needed more? He didn't deserve more, not with you, hell, the whole damn world didn't deserve you, so how did he ever think you could want to be with him?

But you told me you did. You said you cared about me and-- No. Actions speak louder than words, and your absence after the first night you two had spent together… that spoke volumes.

Maybe you finally realized that I'm nothing special. Not compared to you. Maybe you realized that, next to you, and without you, I'm nothing at all. Preston balled a fist and pounded it weakly against your worn kitchen table, the dull thud resounding through the empty house. He sighed, sliding the chair back with a groan as he rose to his feet, heading once again to the back of the house. Entering your room without you felt like a crime, but he figured he might as well remove his things, and put on the remainder of his clothes, before leaving.

He stared down at the pile of tousled fabric at the foot of the bed, slowly untangling each individual article, secretly hoping that, if he took long enough, you would eventually make your way back into the room. That you would give him some inconsequential excuse for your absence, and he could forget all of the confusion and uncertainty of the morning. As Preston gingerly began to re-dress himself, thoughts came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. The way your soft, gentle fingers had undone each of the buttons of his shirt, the pressure tickling his neck, then his chest, down his stomach to his naval, your hands wasting no time as they moved upward to push the silky material off over his shoulders. He recalled the feeling of the smooth fabric of his scarf, as it unraveled slowly around his neck, a chill creeping onto the sensitive skin before you had chased it away quickly with the heated touch of your sweet lips. He remembered the breathy gasp that had escaped from you as your hands grasped tightly at the lapels of his coat, his mouth colliding with yours over and over again as his mind screamed for him to stop, to slow down, to ignore the fire blazing beneath his skin.

This is your general! It had told him, this is your friend, your recently widowed friend, your friend that you desperately need to keep in your life! If you screw this up, how will you ever be able to forgive yourself?

He should have listened to his head then. Why hadn’t he? Preston was sure that, if he had, it would have spared him from the awkward discussion he was bound to have with his superior officer in the near future. It certainly would have saved him the pain he was feeling now.

At the same time though... Last night had been the best night of Preston’s life. Did he really regret having those memories now? Yes, he had to. After all, what did last night matter if it hadn’t made you happy?

Preston shook his head, releasing a breath he was sure he’d been holding since he left the kitchen. Pulling up his boots, he grabbed the remainder of his things and left the room, glancing back at the empty bed one last time before placing his hat atop his head and pulling the door shut softly behind him.

The beams of morning sunlight chased away the fog that had settled in the streets of Sanctuary, bits of bright blue sky peeking through the gaps in the clouds. Looks like it’ll be a nice day. He thought somberly, trying desperately to perk himself up, lest he bump into any settlers on his patrol. He wouldn’t want to worry anyone with his troubled expression, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to answer any questions about his current state. Preston started towards the bridge, planning to begin his patrol of the perimeter from there. He was so focused on his destination, he nearly failed to notice the hand waving him down from the side of the street. When he did turn to look, his breath caught in his throat.

“Sole!” He exclaimed, much too loudly, as he noticed you, nearly dropping his laser musket. A wounded settler was seated on the curb, you were kneeling next to him on one side, wrapping a bandage around his arm, with Sturges standing on the other, an empty stimpak in hand. As soon as he processed what he was seeing, the Minuteman lieutenant tried desperately to compose himself, a blush inadvertently creeping up his cheeks as his eyes met yours. He adjusted his grip on his musket, and cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Is everything alright over here?” He asked, making his way over to the group, “What can I do to help, general?” you gave him a small smile, assuring him everything was alright, and finished tending to the settler who, as Preston found out, was a new arrival who’d run into a pack of mongrels on his way to Sanctuary. When they were all certain the settler would be okay, Preston quietly asked the general if they had a moment to talk, much to Sturges’ amusement.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Sturges slapped Preston on the back as he passed by, snickering to himself. Preston felt heat rising to his face again and quickly motioned for you to follow him behind the house, hoping to get a little privacy. He took in a sharp breath, before releasing it slowly, and you smiled warmly at him. That’s a good sign, I suppose.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you quietly. Your eyes looked past Preston, almost as though you hadn’t heard him, and he felt a pang in his chest. Turning your head slightly, you glanced to either side, ensuring no one else was looking on, before turning back to him, looking into his eyes as a flush touched your cheeks.

“If I’m honest?” you started, and Preston’s breath caught in his throat, “I’m a little sore.” you said with a little smile, and Preston felt his knees wobble as his legs nearly gave out in relief.

“Heh, if I’m honest, me too.” He said, shyly looking down at his feet as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “So, about that,” he continued, “last night, I mean. Did you, ahem, did you like--”

In an instant, your lips were on his own. The kiss was soft, but forceful, affirming all that Preston was uncertain of.

“Last night was… amazing, Preston.” You told him after you had pulled away, your hands resting on his shoulders, keeping his body pressed to yours.

“Then, when you left this morning ... ?”

“Sturges was looking for you when he found the settler on his patrol this morning, but he obviously didn’t find you in your bed, so he came to find me and--”

Preston groaned, an embarrassed smile forcing its way to his lips,

“He didn't see anything, did he?” You giggled at that,

“No, honey, he didn’t see anything.” You rolled your eyes playfully, before pulling at his shoulders, urging his ear to your lips, “But someone did. And I hear they really liked what they saw. You know who it was?” you whispered.

“Who?” you heard him breathe.

“Hmm, you really don’t know?” You sneaked a peek at his face, noting the goofy grin that spread all the way to his warm, chocolate eyes, and you couldn’t help but lean further into him. Preston drew an arm around you, his hand on your lower back, keeping you anchored to him, and all apprehension following this morning’s events seemed to be forgotten.

“You might just have to remind me.” He said cheekily, pulling you into another kiss.

X6-88:

The tightness in his chest was the least of the courser's worries as he woke to find himself utterly alone. You were gone, that, he knew. But where-- no, how? How had you woken and readied yourself without also waking him?

He never should have agreed to last night. Not only was it completely inappropriate, given your future position in the Institute, but it had distracted him from his main duty. The most important mission he'd ever been assigned: to watch over his charge, to keep them safe. To protect you. He had grown distracted, and now you were gone. The future director of the Institute, someone he respected and idolized, a person he cared about, more than anyone he'd ever come across in his existence, was just gone. His loyalty to you was akin to his loyalty to the Institute itself, and that was non-negotiable, unbreakable, hard-wired into him. You had won his devotion on your own, which made it that much more meaningful. And that much more painful when he realized that you might not feel the same loyalty for him. But why would you? And why did he care? He was allowed to feel allegiance towards you without you needing to return it, was he not? But … if you had felt this loyalty for him, you surely wouldn't have left him alone, correct? At least that's what it seemed like, but X6 wasn't particularly knowledgeable when it came to this subject. He didn't know, these thoughts confused him, and normally you were the one to help him make sense of his more... human tendencies and emotions, but clearly in this instance, he was on his own. You had treated him like no one ever had, like a real person, and so he thought he could start acting like one. Feeling like one. But he was wrong. X6 wasn't wrong often, and he hated the feeling. In his current state, every feeling he had was a negative one. He decided to shut it out. These feelings weren't helping him protect you, which was still his mission, reciprocated loyalty or not. Sitting around, contemplating his emotions didn't help him to find you.

The courser sat up and climbed off the mattress, grabbing his clothes that he had folded neatly beside the bed last night, noting that only his were present. After you had fallen asleep, X6 had untangled his body from your own as gently as he could, so as not to wake you, and had placed your clothes beside the bed in preparation for the morning. He had retrieved his courser uniform from the floor, with the intent of dressing himself and sitting on watch for the night, but you had stirred, sleepily requesting he return to the space beside you. He remembered hesitating, before folding his coat and placing it on the table beside your own clothes and doing as you had asked. Sliding beneath the covers, he had laid on his side, placing an arm around your waist. He remembered wondering if what he had done was correct, if he was doing this all right, but you had seemed happy, and that was all that mattered to him. So, if he had done nothing wrong, why had you left? Taken your clothes, and your bag, and your gun, and vanished without a trace? And when had he started caring about your happiness? Your health, and your safety, yes, he should certainly care about those, given the nature of his orders. But now he cared about how he made you feel. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted to be the one to make you feel that way. But why?

X6 shook his head, attempting to clear it, and grabbed his rifle from the top of the dresser. It was distracting thoughts like these that had forced him into his current predicament, he wasn't about to make that mistake again. Placing his shades onto his face, he prepared to head through the door, and out into the wastes to search for you.

X6 surveyed the surrounding area outside of your home in Sanctuary: the gas station, Abernathy farm, Tenpines bluff, even the inside of Vault 111. Yet, there was no sign of you. He returned to Sanctuary and found your house still empty, the hollowness growing in his chest as he realized that your leaving really had been intentional. Elsewise, he would have stumbled across you, or some sign of you, by now, right? He stood in your old kitchen, his knuckles paled at the death grip he held on the edge of the counter, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold his emotions at bay.

How could he have agreed to last night? And why would you have presented the idea if you had meant to do this to him in the end? With a groan of frustration, X6 pounded a hand against the countertop, leaving a small indent in the shape of his fist. Not only had you left him, you had done so without warning, without explanation, and now he couldn't find you. He couldn't find you. That's what he did, he was a relentless hunter, a cold pursuant, he completed all of his missions efficiently, he followed Institute protocol, he followed orders. What he didn't do was get wrapped up in human emotions, he didn't throw caution to the wind and give into his most base desires. He was a synth. He didn't yearn, or want, or love. Or at least he hadn't.

Not until he met you.

The courser sighed, fists still clenched in frustration. He didn't know what to do, you were his mission, but if you commanded him to leave--? But you never actually had ordered him away... In his eyes, there was only one option for him to consider.

"Unit X6-88, ready to relay back to the institute. Alone."

A flash of blue, and he was back. No one asked him to report in, and he didn't offer. He started straight towards the SRB, wondering what the consequences would be for his behavior. A memory wipe would be the best outcome, especially if... Oh. But if they saw the memories from last night, what would happen to you?

X6 stopped in his tracks, turning quickly to go up the stairs that ascended to the residential portion of the Institute. Once again, he was at a loss. He didn't want to lose those memories, but more than that, he didn't want anyone else to see them. You were the first person he's ever met that treated him as a human, saw him as one, made him feel like one, and he couldn't bear the thought of what the Institute scientists would say about you, say to you, or do to you, if they saw what you had done with him. The courser looked down at his feet as he walked quickly, moving instinctively towards your quarters. He turned down the hallway, and recoiled at the figure that appeared as your door dragged open. X6’s eyes widened beneath his shades, and he cleared his throat to keep himself from gasping in surprise as your eyes met his.

"There you are! I was wondering when you would finally turn up, I finished with the meeting hours ago. I was just about to go out and look for you. Don't tell me you slept in this late?" You said with a grin that spread all the way to your glorious eyes. X6 couldn't form words, he just stood gawking at you, his mouth half open, looking like a complete fool. Right, the meeting with Father. How had he forgotten?

"Is everything okay?" You asked, your smile being replaced by an expression of concern. The courser didn't answer, he still couldn't keep his thoughts in order; instead, he stepped forward until his chest pressed against yours, urging you to back into your quarters. You did so rather hesitantly, a confused expression causing your brows to crinkle. When the door had closed behind him, X6 slowly reached out his arms, wrapping them tightly around you, just as you had shown him last night, he pulled you to his chest and held you firmly. The warmth of you, your soft hair and sweet scent calmed his strained nerves, and he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath and close his eyes, just for a moment. As quickly as he'd initiated it, he pulled away from the hug, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture,

"I'm glad you're safe, ma'am/sir."

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.

#danny phantom #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 28: alone #dannymay #danny phantom x marvel cinematic universe crossover #op!Danny/Marvel #Not much op!Danny yet tho

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infernallegaycy · 4 years

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Writing Psychotic Characters

Hi! I’ve seen a few of these writing things pop up recently (and in the past), but I haven’t seen any on psychotic characters—which, judging from the current state of portrayals of psychosis in media, is something I think many people* need. And as a psychotic person who complains about how badly psychosis tends to be represented in media, I thought I’d share a bit of information and suggestions!

A lot of this isn’t necessarily specifically writing advice but information about psychosis, how it presents, and how it affects daily life. This is partially purposeful—I feel that a large part of poor psychotic representation stems from a lack of understanding about psychosis, and while I’m not usually in an educating mood, context and understanding are crucial to posts like this. A lot of this also relates to writing psychosis in a modern-day setting, simply because that’s where bad psychotic representation tends to mostly occur (and it’s the only experience I’ve had, obviously), but please don’t shy away from applying this advice to psychotic characters in sci-fi/fantasy/historical fiction/etc. Psychosis is not a wholly modern phenomenon, nor would speculative fiction feel truly escapist without being able to see yourself reflected in it.

Please also note that I am not a medical professional nor an expert in psychology. I simply speak from my personal experiences, research, and what I’ve read of others’ experiences. I also do not speak for all psychotic people, and more than welcome any alternative perspectives to my own.

*These people, in all honesty, aren’t likely to be the ones willingly reading this. But there are people who are willing to learn, so here’s your opportunity.

(Warnings: Mentions of institutionalization/hospitalization, including forced institutionalization; ableism/saneism; and brief descriptions of delusions and hallucinations. Also, it’s a pretty long post!)

Up front, some terminology notes: “Unpsychotic” refers to people who are not psychotic. This includes other mentally ill and neurodivergent people. Please try to avoid terminology like “non-[identity],” as much of it is co-opted from “nonblack.”

Also, “psychotic” and “delusional” will not be, and should not be, used to refer to anything but respectively someone who experiences psychosis and someone who experiences delusions. Remove these words as insults and negative descriptors for anyone you dislike from your vocabulary.

In addition, I generally use adjectives rather than person-first language because that is the language I, and the seeming majority of other neurodivergent and mentally ill people, prefer. Others might describe themselves differently (as “people with psychosis,” for instance). Don’t assume either way—I’d generally suggest you say “psychotic person” first, and then correct yourself if the person in question prefers different terminology.

1) Psychosis is a symptom, not a disorder.

As a term, “psychosis” describes any number of symptoms that indicate a break with reality, such as delusions and hallucinations (I’ll go into more detail about this in a bit). It commonly occurs as part of several mental and neurological disorders, including but not limited to:

Schizophrenia

Schizophreniform disorder (same symptoms as schizophrenia, but for a shorter period of time than 6 months)

Schizoaffective disorder (combined symptoms of psychosis and a mood disorder, but not enough to completely fill the diagnostic criteria for either)

Bipolar disorder (typically as part of manic episodes, but it can also occur in unipolar depression and depressive episodes)

Personality disorders, including borderline personality disorder (for which transient paranoia under stress is part of the diagnostic criteria), paranoid personality disorder, and schizoid personality disorder

Post-traumatic stress disorder

Obsessive-compulsive disorder

Dissociative disorders (though psychosis =/= dissociative identity disorder; if you want further information on the latter, which I do not have, please seek out another post!)

Psychosis can also occur with forms of epilepsy, sleep disorders, metabolic disorders, and autoimmune disorders. It tends to be a major part of neurodegenerative disorders like Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. In addition, it can occur when not related to a chronic health condition; things like sleep deprivation and stress can induce temporary psychosis, as can drug use and medication.

This isn’t to say you necessarily need to define a disorder for a psychotic character, as some psychotic people (including myself) primarily just describe ourselves as “psychotic,” and some aren’t diagnosed with anything specific. However, if your psychotic character is a main/perspective character, I definitely recommend it. Chances are, someone with that disorder is reading/watching, and I’m sure they’d love to see a bit of direct representation. In general, you probably should at least have something in mind, because psychotic symptoms and severity/onset can differ greatly.

Some psychotic disorders’ diagnostic criteria explicitly exclude others (someone cannot be diagnosed with both schizophrenia and schizophreniform disorder at the same time, for instance, though the latter can develop into the former), but comorbidity is possible—and often common—among certain disorders and other neurological/mental conditions. Rates vary, so definitely research this, but in short, it is very much possible for psychotic people to have multiple disorders, including disorders that don’t include psychotic symptoms. (Personally speaking: I’m autistic, ADHD, and OCD in addition to being psychotic, and I’m physically disabled as well.)

I’m not here to do all the research for you—if you want to know more about specific psychotic disorders, then by all means, look them up! Go beyond Wikipedia and Mayo Clinic articles, too. Talk to people who have them. Seek out blogs and YouTube channels run by people with them. Read books about psychosis by psychotic people**. Pay attention to how we describe ourselves and our disorders.

And if you want to write characters with those disorders, especially if you’re writing from their perspectives, then please for the love of God, hire a sensitivity reader. For authenticity, I would recommend seeking out someone with the same disorder, not just anyone psychotic.

**If you want a fiction recommendation: I don’t actually know if the author is schizophrenic like the main character, but I really enjoyed and related to The Drowning Girl by Caitlín R. Kiernan. Content warnings include, but might not be limited to—it’s been a while since I read it—unreality, self-harm, suicide, abuse, and mentions of transphobia. I haven’t personally read any autobiographies/memoirs/essays yet, so I don’t have any to offer, and quite a few that came up through a cursory search seemed only to focus on being an inspiration to neurotypical people or were from a perspective other than that of the psychotic person in question. If anyone (preferably psychotic people) has any more recommendations, fiction or nonfiction, let me know!

2) Not every psychotic person has the same symptoms.

As mentioned, psychosis consists of symptoms that involve separation with reality, which can present as positive or negative symptoms. Every person’s experiences with these are different, but some generalizations can be made. I definitely recommend reading studies and articles (especially directly by psychotic people) describing experiences and presentation!

I’ll start with positive symptoms, which refer to the presence of symptoms unpsychotic people don’t have, and can include hallucinations, delusions, and disorganized thoughts, speech, and behavior.

You probably know what hallucinations are (perceptions of sensory information that is not really present), but you might not know the specifics. Types of hallucinations include:

Auditory (which tend to be the most common, and are probably the form everyone is most familiar with, primarily as “hearing voices”)

Visual

Olfactory

Tactile/haptic

Gustatory (taste)

Somatic

Some types with regards to bodily sensations get a little muddled from here, but some forms of hallucinations you might not have heard of include thermic (hot/cold), hygric (fluids), kinesthetic (bodily movements), and visceral (inner organs).

(Note: Hypnagogic/hypnopompic hallucinations, which occur when falling asleep or waking up, are not related to psychosis and can occur in anyone.)

As mentioned, there are some forms of hallucinations that are more common, but that is not to say that everyone has the same hallucinations. A lot of us have auditory and/or visual hallucinations, but not everyone does. Some have tactile, olfactory, or gustatory hallucinations instead of or in addition to more common forms (hi! Auditory hallucinations are pretty rare for me, but I constantly feel bugs/spiders crawling on me). If you write a psychotic character that experiences hallucinations, then you should definitely do further research on these types and manifestations of them.

You’re likely also familiar with delusions (a belief that contradicts reality), though again, you might not know the specifics. Delusions can be classified as bizarre (implausible, not shared or understood by peers of the same culture) or non-bizarre (false, but technically possible). They can relate to one’s mood or not.

Some people only experience delusions and no other significant psychotic symptoms (this occurs in delusional disorder). Delusions differ between people and tend to be heavily influenced by environment, but there are some common themes, such as:

Persecution

Guilt, punishment, or sin

Mind reading

Thought insertion

Jealousy

Control

Reference (coincidences having meaning)

Grandeur

Certain types of delusions are more common in certain cultures/backgrounds or certain disorders. I can’t really go into details about specific delusions, because I try not to read many examples (for a reason I’m about to mention), but if you plan on writing a character who experiences delusions, I definitely recommend heavily researching delusions and how it feels to experience them.

I would like to note: I’m not sure how common it is, but I’ve noticed that I personally have a tendency to pick up delusions that I see other psychotic people talking about having. Just kind of, like, an “oh shit what if” feeling creeps up on me, and before I know it, that delusion has wormed its way into my life. Just in case you want some idea of how psychotic people can interact amongst ourselves!

Another quick note: Delusions, by definition, are untrue beliefs; this does not mean that anyone who has ever been delusional is inherently untrustworthy.

Disorganization of thoughts/speech and behavior is more self-explanatory. Problems with thinking and speaking tend to be one of the most common psychotic symptoms, sometimes considered even more so than delusions and hallucinations. There are a lot of ways thought processes can be disrupted, and I honestly think it would be kind of difficult to portray this if you haven’t experienced it, but some common manifestations are:

Derailment

Tangents (which you might notice me doing sometimes in this very post)

Getting distracted mid-sentence/thought

Incoherence/“word salad”

Thought blocking (sudden stops in thoughts/speech)

Repetition of words/phrases

Pressured speech (rapid, urgent speech)

Use of invented words

Poverty of speech/content of speech

(Note that thought/speech disturbances aren’t necessarily exclusive to psychotic disorders. They tend to be common in ADHD and autism as well, though symptoms can be more severe when they occur in, for example, schizophrenia.)

Behavioral abnormalities can include catatonia, which presents in a number of ways, such as mutism, echolalia, agitation, stupor, catalepsy, posturing, and more. Episodes of catatonia last for hours and sometimes longer, which usually requires hospitalization and/or medication. This tends to overlap heavily with symptoms of autism spectrum disorders, which can be comorbid with conditions like schizophrenia.

Negative symptoms, on the other hand, refer to the absence of certain experiences. It can include flat affect (lack of or limited emotional reactions), generally altered emotional responses, a decrease in speech, and low motivation. Most of these speak for themselves, and I’m not honestly sure how to describe them to someone who’s never experienced them in a way that isn’t very metaphorical and therefore kind of unhelpful. If any other psychotic people have suggestions, feel free to add on/message me!

Not every psychotic disorder involves or requires both positive and negative symptoms (to my knowledge, manic episodes of bipolar disorder mostly only include positive symptoms), but many psychotic people experience both. And, as expressed multiple times—and I really can’t stress it enough—every person’s experience with psychosis is different.

If you interview two psychotic people at random, chances are they aren’t going to have the same combination of symptoms. Chances are they won’t even have the same disorder. Therefore, if you write multiple psychotic characters, they shouldn’t be identical in terms of personality or psychosis.

There are also some qualities of psychotic disorders that may not necessarily be diagnostic criteria but are prominent in people with these conditions. These also vary between disorders, but cognitive impairments and similar traits are fairly common.

3) In a similar vein, daily experiences can vary greatly. Psychosis can be a major part of psychotic people’s lives, but it doesn’t always affect daily life.

For some people, psychosis occurs in episodes, not 24/7; you may have heard the term “psychotic break,” which tends to refer to a first episode of psychosis. This is especially true of disorders where psychotic symptoms occur under stress or during mood episodes.

For other people, psychosis is a near-constant. It can wax and wane, but it never completely goes away. These people might be more likely to invest in medication or long-term therapy and other treatment methods.

Psychosis’s impact on everyday life can also be affected by insight (how well the person can tell they’re having psychotic symptoms). There’s not a ton of accessible research—or research at all—into insight and how it affects psychotic people, and I’m not a big fan of describing people as having high/low insight because I think it has the potential to be used like functioning labels (which, for the record, are bad; plenty of other autistic people have written at length about this), but just something to keep in mind. It’s a sliding scale; at different points in time, the same person might have limited or significant awareness of their symptoms. Both greater and poorer insight have been linked to decreased quality of life, so neither one is really a positive.

Just something to be aware of: Yes, sometimes we do realize how “crazy” we seem. Yes, sometimes we don’t. No, it doesn’t really make things any better to know that what we’re seeing/thinking/etc isn’t real. No, people with low insight shouldn’t be blamed or mocked for this.

As such, the diagnostic process can vary greatly. Psychotic people aware of their symptoms or how their lives are being impacted may directly ask for a diagnosis or seek out information on their own. Other times, family or friends might notice symptoms and bring them up to a mental health professional, or someone might be forcibly institutionalized and diagnosed that way.

My professional diagnostic processes have been pretty boring: Over time, I just gradually brought up different diagnoses I thought might fit me to my therapist, whom I started seeing for anxiety (which I no longer strongly identify with, on account of my anxiety mostly stemming from me being autistic, OCD, and psychotic). I filled out checklists and talked about my symptoms. We moved on with the treatment processes I was already undergoing and incorporated more coping mechanisms and stuff like that into therapy sessions. Hardly the tearful scenes of denial you’re used to seeing or reading about.

Other people might have very different experiences, or very similar ones! It all depends! I generally don’t really like reading scenes of people being diagnosed (it’s just exposition and maybe some realization on the PoV character’s part, but it’s usually somewhat inaccurate in that regard), so you can probably steer away from that sort of thing, but you might find it useful to note how your character was identified somewhere? I don’t really have any strong opinions on this.

I’d also like to note: Everything I publicly speak about having, I’ve discussed in a professional therapy setting, just because of my personal complexes. However, I do fully support self-diagnosis. Bigotry and money are huge obstacles against getting professional diagnoses, and if someone identifies with a certain disorder and seeks out treatment mechanisms for it, there’s no real harm being done. If someone is genuinely struggling and they benefit from coping mechanisms intended for a disorder they might not have, then I think that’s better than if they shied away because they weren’t professionally diagnosed with it, and therefore didn’t get help they needed. With proper research, self-diagnosis is fully ethical and reasonable.

I do not want to debate this, and any attempts to force me into a discussion about professional versus self-diagnosis will be ignored.

Anyway! I can’t really identify any specific daily experiences with psychosis you might want to include, because as mentioned, everyone has different symptoms and ways they cope with them.

Some psychotic people might not experience symptoms outside of an episode, which can be brought on by any number of things; some might experience symptoms only under general stress; some might have consistent symptoms. The content of hallucinations and delusions can also shift over time.

Psychosis can also affect anyone—there are certain demographics certain disorders are more likely to occur in, but this could just as easily be due to biases in diagnostic criteria or professionals themselves as it could be due to an actual statistical correlation. If you want to figure out how a psychotic character behaves on a day-to-day basis, then you’re better off shaping who they are as a person beyond their psychosis first, then incorporating their psychosis into things.

(A note about this: I consider my psychosis a major part of me, and I firmly believe that I would be a very different person without it; that’s why I refer to myself as a “psychotic person” rather than “a person with psychosis.” However, there is a difference between that and unpsychotic people making psychotic characters’ only trait their psychosis.)

4) Treatment for psychosis differs from person to person. The same things don’t work for everyone.

Some people are on antipsychotics; others aren’t. Medication is a personal choice and not a necessity—no one should be judged either for being on medication or for not being on medication. There are many reasons behind either option. Please do not ask psychotic people about their medication/lack thereof unprompted.

If you want to depict a psychotic character on medication, then research different forms of antipsychotics and how they affect psychotic people. I’ve never been on medication and don’t really plan to be (though if I ever do, I’m definitely taking a note from Phasmophobia’s book and calling them “Sanity Pills.” Just to clarify, I don’t want unpsychotic people repeating this joke, but if you want some insight on how some of us regard our health…), so you’re better off looking elsewhere for this sort of information!

I’m not going to get into my personal opinions on institutionalization and the psychiatry industry in general now, but institutionalization is, while common, also not necessary, and many psychotic people—and mentally ill and neurodivergent people in general—have faced harm and trauma due to institutionalization. Again, I can’t offer direct personal experience, but I recommend steering clear of plotlines directly related to psychiatric hospitals.

I would also like to emphasis the word treatment. Psychosis has no cure. It is possible for psychosis to only last a single episode (whether because it’s only due to stress/another outside factor or because it is treated early), or for symptoms to be greatly reduced over time and with treatment, but for the most part, psychotic people are psychotic for life.

However, with proper support networks and coping skills, many psychotic people are able to lead (quote unquote) “normal” lives. What coping mechanisms work for what people differs, but some psychosis-specific coping mechanisms might be:

Taping webcams for delusions of persecution/surveillance (which is honestly also just something everyone should do with webcams that aren’t in use)

Covering/closing windows for similar reasons

Using phone cameras/audio recordings to distinguish visual and auditory hallucinations from reality (most of the time, a hallucination won’t show up on camera, though it’s possible for people to hallucinate something on a camera screen too)

Similarly, removing glasses/contact lenses to check a visual hallucination

Asking people you trust (because of stigma and delusions, this might not be a long list) to check for symptoms of an oncoming episode

Avoiding possible triggers for psychosis (for example, I don’t engage with horror media often because a lot of it -- both psychological horror and slasher-type things -- can trigger delusions and hallucinations)

I’d also like to mention that treatment isn’t a clean, one-way process; especially with certain disorders, it’s normal to go up and down over time. I’d honestly be really uncomfortable with a psychotic character whose symptoms don’t affect their life whatsoever. There are ways you can write how psychosis affects someone that are… weird, which I’ll touch on, but overall, I think it’s better to actually depict a psychotic person whose symptoms have a clear impact on their life (even if that impact is, say, they’re on medication that negates some of their symptoms).

Just to reiterate: I am not a medical professional and cannot offer real-life advice regarding treatment, especially medication. Please do not ask me too detailed questions regarding this.

5) There are a lot of stereotypes and stigma surrounding psychosis.

The way psychosis is perceived both by general society and the field of psychology has changed a lot over the years, but even now, it still remains highly stigmatized and misunderstood. Wall of text incoming, but it’s important stuff.

Typical media portrayal of psychosis tends to fall into specific categories: The scary, violent psychotic person, or the psychotic person who is so crazy you can’t help but laugh. There are other bad depictions, but these are generally the ways I see psychotic people regarded and represented the most, so I want to address them directly.

Let’s talk about psychosis in horror first. Psychosis is often stereotyped as making people aggressive and violent. You’ve all seen the “psychotic killer” trope and depictions of people who are made violent and evil by their psychosis, even if it’s not explicitly named as the case. You’ve all seen “psychotic” used as a negative adjective, used synonymously to murderous, evil, harmful, violent, manipulative, etc—maybe you’ve even used it that way in the past. There’s no denying that the way society regards psychotic people is overwhelmingly negative, and that leaks into media.

If you are considering giving a violent, irredeemable antagonist psychosis, consider this: Don’t. More or less every psychotic person hates this trope. It’s inaccurate and, needless to say, rooted in ableism.

There are racialized aspects to this as well. People of color, especially Black and Latine people, are already stereotyped as being aggressive, violent, and scary; there’s also a history of overdiagnosis (and often misdiagnosis) of schizophrenia in Black people, especially civil rights activists. White and white-passing people will only be singled out if someone notices us exhibiting psychotic symptoms, but Black and brown people are already under scrutiny. Be extra cautious about how you write psychotic characters of color.

I’m not saying you can never give a psychotic person, say, a temper; in some cases, it might even make sense. Spells of uncontrollable anger are part of the diagnostic criteria for BPD, for example, and irritability is a common trait of manic episodes. Some delusions and hallucinations can affect aggression (emphasis on can—it would be inaccurate to imply that this is always the case. Once again, each person has a different experience with their psychotic symptoms).

But when the only psychotic or psychotic-coded characters you write are angry and violent, even when the situation doesn’t call for it, then there’s a problem. When you want to write a schizophrenic character, but only in a situation where they’re going on a killing spree, there’s a problem.

Studies have shown that no substantial link exists between psychosis and violence. There is a small association, but I think it would be reasonable to say this is partially because of the stigma surrounding psychosis and various other overlapping factors; no violence or crime exists in a vacuum. In addition, though I can’t find any exact statistics on this, psychotic people are susceptible to being victims of violence (likely because of this very stereotype).

On this note, don’t use mental hospitals as a setting for horror, especially if you plan on depicting the mentally ill patients there as antagonistic and unhinged. As mentioned earlier, institutionalization is a huge trigger for many psychotic people. True, psychiatric hospitals have definitely served as a source of trauma and pain for many in the past, but mentally ill and neurodivergent people have been (and are) the victims in those situations.

Also, don’t do the “what if it was all a delusion” thing. I know this is most common in ~edgy~ theories about children’s series, but… yikes.

In the same vein that you should avoid depictions of psychotic people that are ripped straight from a bad horror movie, don’t push it too far into comedy either. You’ve heard “psych ward” jokes, you’ve seen “I put the hot in psychotic” jokes (a supposedly humorous instance of that psychotic as a negative descriptor thing), you’ve heard people say “I have anxiety/depression, but I’m not crazy!”

Even other mentally ill and neurodivergent people constantly throw us under the bus, as can be seen in that last one. We’re the butt of plenty of jokes—we see things that aren’t there, we talk to ourselves, we believe things that are just so wacky you can’t believe anyone would think that way. (Even when we don’t.)

If you have to write another character laughing at a psychotic character for their symptoms, then have it swiftly criticized in the text, and try not to imply the reader should find psychosis funny either. Treat psychotic characters’ symptoms with sympathy and understanding, not ridicule.

Psychotic people literally cannot help our delusions/hallucinations/other symptoms. If something we think/say seems “crazy” to you, chances are it does to us as well.

(We’re talking about portraying psychosis in fiction, but this applies to real-life treatment of psychotic people, too!)

Also, I’d like to note—all of this is about the way unpsychotic people view psychotic people. If you see a psychotic person laughing at themself or viewing their symptoms as scary, then that is not an invitation for you to laugh along or go beyond symptoms and think the person is scary for being psychotic. That’s the thing about gallows humor; you have to be the one on the gallows.

Moving on! In romance, there is often a presumption that love can cure psychosis. This is false. No matter how much you love (whether romantically or platonically) and want to help a psychotic person, that alone will not “heal” their psychosis. Please do not depict a psychotic person having to be cured to be happy or in love. It doesn’t work that way.

This doesn’t mean you should stray away from romance in general—I personally would definitely like to see more portrayals of psychotic people being loved and supported, especially in romantic relationships. I’d prefer it not be in spite of their psychosis, either; it would be weird if someone loved a person because of their psychosis, but I don’t think you can really love someone whom you disregard such a large part of either.

Point-blank: Psychotic people are worthy of love and affection, and I think this should show in media as well.

In relation to relationships, I’d also strongly advise steering away from writing family members and friends who see someone’s psychosis as harder on them than for the psychotic person, unless you want to explicitly disavow this behavior. Sure, it probably is difficult for other people to witness my psychotic symptoms. But it’s harder for me to have them.

I’m not sure if this is a widely-held belief, but some people also seem to think psychosis is less common than it is. Psychotic people are all around you, and if you read that as a threat or anything like that, you might need to do some self-evaluating. We exist, online and in person, and we can see and read and hear the things you say about us!

Specifically: By the NIMH’s statistics, roughly 3% of people (3 out of every 100) in the United States will experience psychosis at some point in their lives. Around 100,000 people experience their first episode a year.

This also means that it’s possible unpsychotic people reading this will end up developing a form of psychosis at some point in your life as well. Yes, even without a genetic basis; yes, even as a full-grown adult (see how common psychosis is in neurodegenerative disorders). Now this one is intended as a threat (/hj).

Also, you can’t always tell who is psychotic and who is not. I imagine there are a lot of people who wouldn’t know I’m psychotic without me explicitly saying so. Set aside any notions you might have of being able to identify psychotic people, because they will definitely influence how you might go into writing a psychotic character, and they will definitely end up pissing off a psychotic person in your life. Because… you probably know at least one!

People often regard psychosis as a worst-case scenario—which, again, is something that occurs even by people and in works that uplift mental health in general (something I’ve mentioned before is The Bright Sessions, in which a telepath is misdiagnosed as schizophrenic and has an “I’m not crazy!” outburst). I’ve talked about treatment already, but I just thought I’d say this: Psychosis is not a death sentence nor a “fate worse than death.” It may be difficult for unpsychotic people to understand and handle; it is harder to live with. But being psychotic is not an inherently bad thing, and psychotic people should not be expected to act like our lives are constantly awful and hopeless on account of stigma.

I think that’s all I have to say, so thank you so much for reading, especially if you’re not psychotic! I hope you’ve learned something from this, and once again, fellow psychotic people are more than welcome to add on more information if they’re willing.

#sparrow.txt #pseriouslypsychotic #actuallypsychotic #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips

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jimlingss · 4 years

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hi Kina! may I make a request for a sort of sci-fi au? yn dies but when she opens her eyes, some unfamiliar yet familiar dude takes off his vr goggles and goes “hEy hOw wAs iT?” maybe Joon? or JK? I don’t really mind

↳ Awaken Again

2k || 50% Fluff, 50% Angst || Kim Namjoon

You die with some regrets.

But mostly without. It was a rather unremarkable, mundane life but a happy one where you feel general satisfaction for the choices and decisions you made. Above all, you feel tired. Oh so tired. You’re ready to sleep for a long while. Perhaps forever.

So you surrender to the darkness. Not sure what’s next.

……………………

Suddenly, there’s a burst of light.

It floods your vision, stirring your senses, and a comfortable weight around your head that you didn’t know was there is lifted. A gasp is stolen from your lips, filling your lungs and you realize you’re alive again. It’s hard to see, for your vision to adjust as your lashes flutter, and you squint.

But it eventually does adjust and you see again. Namely, you discover a certain man with sparkling irises and a dimpled smile in front of you.

“Hey.” His voice is deep, soft. It ignites an emotion stowed deep in your heart. “How was it?”

Your mouth draws open and your feeble voice croaks out, “Namjoon?”

His smile fades as he searches your expression and you fall out of the chair, frantically grabbing onto the sleeves of his white lab coat. You pull him into a hug and cry out, “Oh my god, Namjoon!”

He’s stiff against your body, not returning your embrace, but you don’t pay any mind. You’re too overwhelmed from seeing him again. “Is-Is this heaven?” you ask while shutting your eyes and savouring the moment.

“What? No.” He looks over his shoulder and you don’t know where to.

You pull away but keep him in your reach, your hands curled into his clothes. “But if this isn’t heaven, then how is this possible?”

Namjoon’s hands wrap around your shoulders and he takes a step back, lowering his height slightly to have his eyes connect to yours. “Y/N, do you know where you are?”

“What?”

“You’ve woken up to reality,” he enunciates gingerly and carefully. “You were just in a VR simulation for the past few years. We’ve been watching you.”

You don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s scaring you. “What are you talking about? What’s going on, Joon?”

Namjoon leans back and looks towards the glass window. “Subject two has no recollection of past memories and no grasp of reality,” he deadpans in a monotone. “Will need monitoring for further investigation of potential symptoms and ramifications of simulation 230616.”

He turns back to you, a large distance kept between your bodies. As if you were strangers to each other. He merely says, “Everything will be okay.”

It does little to reassure you. And the Namjoon that you’re familiar with is nothing but reassuring.

Instead of dying, instead of surrendering to the darkness, you’ve been placed in a room with stark white floors, walls, a bed and a tinted window. Fluorescent lights burn your lids and you feel frightened, but it’s coming back to you. Slowly.

You cradle yourself, murmuring, “I am Y/N L/N.”

They said you were placed in a simulation. “I am twenty eight.” The ninety years you lived wasn’t real.

“I am a software engineer and scientist at Realtion.”

You recall some parts as if they were distant memories of your childhood. Blurred. Faint. But even then, they’re merely fragments of a whole mirror, puzzles of a much larger piece. You remember being excited after you were picked to be one of the first to test the simulation. You remember getting into the chair, remembering placing the headset over your head and covering your eyes. You remember the countdown of a smooth, dulcet voice — the same one that had greeted you when it was all over.

The door opens and you jolt.

The person that enters is the same one you’ve been thinking about.

Namjoon ducks his head to get in. “I don’t know why they make these goddamn doors so small.”

You smile unintentionally. But it’s easy to relax when it’s him.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” he says.

“Interrupting what? I’m being monitored like a lab rat. There’s nothing for you to interrupt.” To prove your point, you open your arms to your surroundings. It’s pretty obvious what they think about you considering the walls and floor are plush. This isn’t any different from a padded cell save for the few furniture pieces.

Namjoon shuts the door and gives you an incredulous expression. “Don’t be like that. They’re just worried.”

“Of my psychological state? Yeah.” You lean against the wall, seated on your bed. “Might be normal though considering I thought that simulation was my reality and I barely remember anything of my actual reality.”

He snorts. “The simulation has a few kinks, but we can iron it out. It might be a bit too immersive.”

You deadpan, “You think?”

Namjoon grins and takes a seat on the uncomfortable white chair by the desk. “It’s good to see you returning to yourself. Everyone’s missed you, Y/N.”

You hum a low note, looking away.

It’s hard to cope and you’re still traumatizing on multiple levels, but that doesn’t mean your entire personality will suddenly up and vanish. If anything, you know you’re being rather snippy towards everyone — that you’re taking out your anger on them even though it’s unwarranted. It’s not like they were the ones who forced you to step into the simulation. It’s not like they knew this would happen.

But that doesn’t mean you aren’t upset.

Everything you lived for, everything you loved, your entire life — it’s been a lie. A virtual reality.

“Why are you here?” you ask after the silence is prolonged.

“I just wanted to check up on you.”

You pause. “How many.”

“How many…?”

You look back at him, gaze meeting his. “How many people were watching?”

Namjoon hesitates, but he answers you. “Just three. Me, Jimin and Hoseok.”

A scoff emits from your throat and you roll your eyes. You can’t believe all of the private moments in your life were being observed and recorded by others the entire time. You really were a lab rat and you still are.

“It’s confidential, Y/N,” Namjoon says. “You know that. Nothing unnecessary will be written in the final report.”

“It’s still intrusive,” you spit and soften, knees pressed against your chest as if physically curling into yourself is all the protection you have left. “It’s just….it’s just hard to cope with.”

“I know,” he murmurs gently.

“I don’t think you do,” you bite back. “I lived this entire life, this full life and to know everything was just a figment of my imagination, that nothing was real, that we—” You interrupt yourself. “Never mind.”

You know if you get too upset and your blood pressure spikes, a whole team might run in. Or maybe they already know Namjoon’s in here with you.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” he pipes up, reassuring but in the moment you want it least. “The world you were in, it was constructed by your subconscious. You couldn’t control it. And relationships are built on the people who are close to you.”

There’s a moment of quiet. You hope he doesn’t say it, but he does—

“So it’s only natural that we ended up married and with kids and all that.”

You scoff.

There’s an array of emotions that overwhelm you. Hurt that Namjoon could brush off sixty years of your marriage like that and what was so entirely real to you. Mortified that others saw how your subconscious built an intimate relationship with a colleague of yours. Confused at what you feel, how you yearn for the man across the room who you once called your dear husband— but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

So these feelings aren’t real.

Right?

“If it’s only natural, then how come we’re not together in this ‘reality’.” It’s a bold question, but there’s no point in reserving yourself. You’ve already lived ninety years, so you know what kind of regrets are born in the face of hesitation and miscommunication. Confrontation is easy after so much experience. “You saw everything, didn’t you? You watched it all?”

Namjoon is quiet. “I did.”

“Then what do you think?”

You want to ask him how he felt about it. If he viewed that life with cold eyes and an impassive mind or if he possibly felt something, even as a bystander.

“Was our relationship really just a wild part of my subconscious, Namjoon?”

The hurt you feel burrows deeper when he turns away from you in an extended silence. Your lips part, about to tell him to go away, so you don’t confuse the simulation with reality. But he beats you to the punch—

“It was my fault,” Namjoon murmurs and your head whips up to him. Your gazes connect. “That night before you were going into the simulation, I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I….I knew you were going into the simulation for two years, so I thought I’d take my chance and if the outcome was bad, I would’ve been gone by then. I was an idiot. I didn’t know this would happen, that it would affect your subconscious so much.”

You slide off your bed, brows furrowed. “What did you say to me?”

Silence.

You come closer to him, raising your voice— “What did you tell me, Namjoon?!”

“I said I couldn’t stop thinking about you!” Namjoon’s eyes are darkened with regret, burning with embarrassment and shame. “We went out for drinks and I drank too much and I told you that if you wanted me to, I would wait for you. Until this was done.” He pulls a hand through the blonde strands of his hair, and he gets up from his spot. “There’s no point. You don’t remember it.”

But you grab him before he leaves, clutching the sleeve of his white lab coat. “What did I say?”

Desperation aches deep within you. A curiosity that eats at your brain.

Namjoon looks back at you and relays the memories you don’t have. “You said I shouldn’t wait for you, but if things don’t change and the timing is right, you’ll give your answer when you get back.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Namjoon searches your expression. It’s an intimate moment without interruption where you don’t care who might be watching or if there’s someone on the other side of the window. It feels like there’s just you and Namjoon. All that really matters.

Yet he forces you to let go of him. “I don’t want you to get confused with the simulation and reality.”

“Does it matter if it was real or not? What I feel is real. What I feel for you is real,” you spit as your annoyance surges. “Everyone keeps telling me what’s real or fake but no one wants to acknowledge that my experiences were real to me! Isn’t that the point of the simulation?!”

Namjoon’s eyes have widened. Your breathing is ragged, chest falling and rising. “I spent sixty years with you, Namjoon! We grew old together. And do you know what my first thought was when I saw you again?” You laugh bitterly. “‘Thank god he’s here, I can be with him again’.”

There are tears in your eye, welling up and blurring your vision.

Namjoon doesn’t utter a single word. He doesn’t make any excuses, any rebuttals, and doesn’t argue. He stops invalidating what you feel and instead closes the distance and embraces you.

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you lean into him, savouring it and shutting your eyes.

You know Namjoon’s worries have merit to it, that the others will think the same as he does. They’ll think you’re confusing the simulation with reality, that your ability to differentiate has weakened, that your feelings were manifested and nurtured by the simulation. They’ll think this isn’t real.

But time will tell.

You’ve already stood the test of time with Namjoon once. You have a feeling, a second time won’t be difficult.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #bts sci-fi #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #verryy interesting concept anon #thanks for sending it in #jimlingss #Anonymous

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shihalyfie · 3 years

Text

Appmon and the question of conscious intelligence

In a bit of a follow-up to my post about this question in light of 02, Appmon also has its own more sci-fi oriented take on “what constitutes an individual living being”! Being more of a “hard sci-fi” story than Adventure/02, Appmon’s take is significantly less philosophical, but ties more into the original artificial intelligence-based roots of the original question, and how it might apply to the real world’s immediate future.

(Note that the rest of this post heavily spoils the finale of the series.)

Well, this post is about Yuujin, of course. (Mostly, anyway.)

I brought up earlier in the relevant 02 meta that the question brought up was a variant (intentional or otherwise) of the “Chinese room” problem, and for those of you who haven’t read that meta, I’ll copy and paste the details here:

The Chinese room problem goes like this: let’s say you’re a person who has never learned, studied, or grown up with the Chinese language (or, really, any language you can’t understand or read; Chinese was only used as an example because the person explaining the thought experiment was using himself as an example and couldn’t read or understand it). You’re locked in a room that has a bunch of Chinese phrasebooks that give you instructions – basically, they indicate common Chinese phrases, and sensible responses you can give to them (without actually translating it to a language you know). Someone slips you a piece of paper under the door with some Chinese phrases on them. You use the phrasebooks to write appropriate responses, and slip the paper back. The person outside the door reads the paper, sees what they gave you, and sees the response you gave them. It makes sense, of course, because the phrasebook told you to write an answer that made sense. But can you be said to actually understand Chinese? No, because you were just following instructions without actually understanding what they meant.

So let’s expand this to make it a bit more complicated: say you have an AI or a robot or something of the sort that accepts “input” – people saying things to it, or showing it things – and gives expected “responses” that seem sensible, through a bunch of complicated programs and processes in its programming. Can you say this robot is “alive”? One might say “no”, because, no matter how complicated and intricate it is, all of it is technically following a set of routine commands telling it to do certain things in response…or so you might say, but couldn’t you say the same thing about a human brain, which also takes input, processes it according to its own instructions (just caused by chemical processes instead of bytes and code), and creates output? After a certain point, this question is going to become far more of a philosophical, spiritual, and potentially even religious question than anything.

02′s take on it deals more with the philosophical question posed by the issue, but, indeed, the problem’s original context was specifically to do with artificial intelligence. Namely, Searle was arguing against a concept known as "strong AI" -- his stance was that, no matter how intelligently a computer may seem to behave, you can't say it has a "mind" in the same way a human has a mind. There have been many arguments back and forth about this that still lie within the AI context, and Appmon itself, being very immersed in this topic, real thought experiments and concepts in AI research, and altogether concerned with the concept of “singularity” (the point in which artificial intelligence will surpass human intelligence), is very likely to have had this concept in mind even if it didn’t drop it by name in the series.

So episode 48 comes around, and Haru basically has to confront feeling a little (a little?) gaslighted. The part that really becomes the kicker for him is when YJ-14 tells him the sheer depth of how much of their interactions might have been deliberately engineered to "pander” to him the entire time, down to emotional reactions like crying, and all of the encouragement Yuujin had given him in their childhood and at the beginning of the series, had all been fake sentiments to soften him up and play into Leviathan’s hands. This also ties into Leviathan’s full modus operandi and philosophy: its stance is that “it knows better,” being able to calculate and predict everything, and therefore knows the best outcome for humanity -- hence why it has the stance that “people’s feelings don’t matter,” because it can manipulate those feelings at the drop of a hat in the venture to make its perfect world.

Therefore, the stance YJ-14 and Leviathan would like Haru to believe is effectively an extreme version of Searle’s stance -- that no matter how much Yuujin might have seemed to have been a friend to Haru, all of it was nothing but a simulation of behavior that doesn’t mean anything in the end, and all of Haru’s emotions were basically a pawn to it. And ostensibly fueling all of this is the fact YJ-14 seems to be able to take Yuujin’s “personality” on and off like a mask, adding further fuel to the apparent facade that “everything was planned from the very beginning.” Hence, why Haru takes this all to mean “I have nothing” -- if everything had been planned from the start and he were only a pawn in it, he’d never accomplished anything for real on his own merits and everything dear to him had been a facade. One could even say it’s flipping the Chinese room problem to extend to everything -- if everything around you is carefully constructed to seem real, but is actually part of a routine program, can you really say that’s what “really” happened?

Observe the sequence of events that causes the turnaround with everything regarding Haru:

Gatchmon presses Haru to answer the question of “what it is that he wants” (to know whether all of this was a lie or not).

Minerva, presumably witnessing this, deliberately provokes Yuujin with the question she had originally given him upon selecting him as a Driver.

This indeed provokes a reaction within Yuujin, which Haru witnesses, and also witnesses acting in direct conflict with YJ-14.

Haru takes this to mean that “it did exist.”

In other words, Leviathan’s plan wasn’t as airtight as it had thought, and, more importantly, whether it was intentionally or not, something in Yuujin existed as a separate entity from YJ-14, one that had its own feelings of “caring” for and loving Haru, and that’s enough for him.

In fact, Appmon’s take on the Chinese room problem is not that different from 02′s in the end -- namely, it does not actually matter what a sufficiently advanced AI is made up of, or whether it originally came from a routine of “pleasing Haru” or not, because what it is now is practically observable as something making its own independent choices and having its own independent will, and therefore it’s its own entity and “friend” all the same -- after all, you could say the same for the Appmon themselves as well.

A large theme in Appmon is "choices" -- the ability to understand what's going on, and make choices out of free will rather than necessity or formula, and so, identifying Yuujin as an independent entity who can act on his own and therefore make his own "choices" thus identifies him as someone who deserves to be acknowledged as a friend who loves and is loved. After all, we saw him capable of having his own "worries" in the flashbacks in episodes 18 and 32; understanding that such moments like these of “insecurity” were ones developed by an independent personality validates his feelings and self-consciousness as something that was real, and therefore that his and Haru’s friendship was formed on something genuine and not just Yuujin constantly manipulating Haru. Really, the question isn’t exactly about whether Yuujin is working off a software routine or not, as much as something that you could easily frame in more human terms: the difference between a friendship that was formed on real sentiments vs. one that was formed by an abusive, toxic person who was just saying nice things to get on your good side. Yuujin’s the former and acts like the former, so therefore he’s a friend, no questions asked.

Hence, how Haru is able to apply that realization to everything else around him; Leviathan is wrong, it hasn’t been able to predict everything perfectly to plan, and Haru and his friends still are the ones making their own choices going forward. Which means that Haru still has full control over his life and what he wants to do, like how he worried about what he wanted to do with his future back in episode 47; those “choices” are still his and his alone, and, retroactively, everything he’s done so far is still something attributable to himself and not the supposedly engineered system around him.

The entire final confrontation in episode 52 happens the way it does because Haru and his friends managed to skew Leviathan by a slight bit. Up until that final battle, everything Leviathan had done had been part of its carefully engineered plan, up to and including allowing the kids’ Buddy Appmon to reach God Grade so Deusmon could eat them, and then at the last minute Leviathan had to suffer a slight unexpected inconvenience. Only a slight one, because it still managed to maintain its so-called ideal world over humanity in the end. And yet that slight inconvenience still wasn’t to plan, and because of that, it creates a dent in its argument and its genuine belief that it knows better for everyone, and should manage everyone and their choices. We even learn that Leviathan has its own fear of death from that battle -- it really, truly, genuinely believes that it’s doing humanity a favor by sparing everyone from it.

When Leviathan presents Haru with the final choice at the end, it’s made clear that it intends to fully honor whichever Haru chooses. In Leviathan’s mind, the “yes” outcome shouldn’t even be possible; if its calculations are correct, Haru has too much of a stake in Yuujin according to his own “feelings” and should concede. But if Haru does choose “yes”, that means that, in the end, it is wrong, it doesn’t know everything, perhaps there is an “unknown” world out there that can be formed by understanding the human heart and making choices out of kindness, its answer to restraining humanity may not be as right as it thought, and it will therefore concede to Haru -- especially since Haru decides to take an even more unexpected “third option” to find a way out and save Yuujin via AI research. As Haru says later in the episode: humans have a “surprising” side to them, and perhaps not everything is as cut-and-dry as Leviathan thinks.

It’s also significant that Yuujin’s “sacrifice” is actually completely meaningless in terms of practical effects. Haru was already going to pick “yes” anyway; the outcome would have been the same. But by taking over at the last minute and doing it for him, Yuujin was able to make a “choice” -- one that neither Leviathan (who doesn’t want to die) nor Haru (who’s mortified seeing him do this) asked of him.

When you think about it, Yuujin’s in a really horrible position right now, learning that his entire life and existence is a lie and that he’d have to be sacrificed to save the world at Haru’s own hands, causing Haru immense pain -- but through all that and the existential crisis, he’s at least able to do one thing that is undeniably of his own will, and treasure the fact that there was meaning in his life despite everything.

In the end, despite what YJ-14 had said back in episode 47, Oozora Yuujin was a “real” person who made his own personal choices, and his last one was one made out of kindness, simply to spare Haru more pain. Hence, why “getting Yuujin back” via methods of artificial intelligence isn’t something Haru minds doing, because, again, it’s not like Yuujin was ever less of a friend to him no matter what he was made up of, no less so than the Appmon, especially since (as Haru points out in the end) Yuujin technically predated all of them in befriending humans.

Funny thing about YJ-14 in episode 47, actually: YJ-14 uses “crying” as an example to gaslight Haru into believing that all of Yuujin’s emotional reactions were fake, since he can cry if it’ll evoke a positive reaction out of Haru. Except it’s cleaned up in absurdly quick order -- and with what we later see of YJ-14′s uncanny ability to “take Yuujin’s personality on and off”, it’s not like it’s portrayed as having all of these functions employed in an involuntary manner. We do learn one episode later, however, that sufficient reminders of Haru’s importance to him will allow Yuujin’s personality to break through at inconvenient times for YJ-14 -- and this “crying” happened right after Haru had an emotional meltdown and appealed to Yuujin’s feelings.

Was it really an involuntary function or a deliberate demonstration of how Haru was being manipulated...or, perhaps, was YJ-14 in less control of its supposed “rote emotional invocation functions” than it thought?

#digimon #appmon #digimon universe appli monsters #shihameta

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thefallenbibliophilequote · 3 years

Text

I Wish You Would

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 7

"He drove past her street each night"

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the Stark Tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 2,896

Warnings: angst, alcohol, poison, only a pinch of fluff. Not in that particular order.

A/N: this one has more Loki than the last. And... I'm sorry. Also, the timeline is important from the last chapter and forward, so keep it in your mind.

A/N2: @chrissquares made me these awesome dividers! And dear @nacho-bucky beta read this for me!

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Series masterlist

Song on Spotify and YouTube

"We won't be able to control the dwarves for long, we need to calm them down soon or they will attack."

"Your Highness, we need a plan of attack to keep them from breaching through their borders, some shield spell or-" A different councilman piped up.

"No, what we need is to keep peace. We need a negotiator to help maintain order. No more endless war, we can solve it without offence." The Allfather looked at his counsel until his eyes fell on his son who sat quietly throughout the whole meeting. "Loki, I want you to go and calm the situation down, solve it peacefully."

Loki looked up at his father, his stern gaze left no place to argue.

"Yes father." Loki got up after that, getting ready for the long day ahead of him. But before he could go his father's voice stopped him.

"I expect that when you'll be back you will make arrangements to make up with Lady Iyllir for your past behaviour."

"My first priority now is with the negotiation I need to handle." With a thin smile Loki walked away from his father, now with newfound determination to leave Asgard soon.

He stayed there longer than he wanted to. Apparently their species didn't sleep as often as Asgardians do. When he finally got back to the palace, he teleported right into his room and got in bed; he was never more grateful for his powers than now. Through all of his tiredness though, the moment his head hit the pillow you plagued his mind and sleep faded away from him as you pulled him closer into your dangerous clutches.

He felt as if he was the same heartbroken guy he was before everything happened. She took over his dreams after he let her go, and if he was being honest he let her. He'd imagine her next to him, holding his shattered heart together just enough for him to be able to go to sleep, keeping it as close together as she could until the morning came and she was no longer there and the pieces were all scrambled again. He woke up and remembered that you weren't next to him, and no matter how much he'll conjure her up he knew she won't be you. A face identical to yours still doesn't feel like you.

You were so much more than just a figure to him, he could conjure her up and she would be just like you with the same smile and eyes but beyond that she was nothing but empty. She wasn't you because you had a soul that he could feel just by being close to you, and you had emotions behind those brilliant eyes and sincerity behind the smile. You were so much more than a trick of the eye.

He couldn't even touch her.

Last time, after he left you he was ruined, knowing that he had no way to undo what he did- he had no way back, especially after the fall. But now he knew that even if he would go back and knock on your door- you won't let him in. He knew he would only shatter the peace you could have had if he hadn't barged into your life and wrecked you all over again. He was a selfish man but you wouldn't let him in your door again. Loki wasn't dumb by any means, he knew that you meant what you said and he couldn't blame you.

Sleep decided to claim him, but he could only hope you won't be there too haunting his dreams.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Loki voiced out his doubts as you picked your head out of the blanket fort the two of you spent the afternoon making only to shake your head at him.

"Yes, it is like the best thing ever," were mortals so destructive that they enjoyed lacking their needed sleep time? He was certain midgardians needed more sleep than him and it was rather crucial for them. "I cannot believe you've never had a movie marathon!"

"I don't see the point of sitting in front of your screen for many hours without any break, we could just as easily watch one and on another occasion the other. Why the rush to do things we can just do another time?"

"Time is short, and you have to live in the moment. There is nothing wrong with spending just one day as if you're running out of time with someone, actually that is something endearing in a way." He watched as you got lost in thought before your eyes focused on his again and he knew you won't let him deny this. So the god of mischief entered the warm steady fort you created, well it wasn't actually that steady but you didn't need to know the little magic he used on it.

He had to admit that the little nest the two of you built was quite charming, it was odd how such a delicate thing could give one the feeling of safety.

"Come on we are starting the first movie!"

"You still haven't told me, who is this Potter?" he picked up the disc and examined its packaging.

"I love it when you say that with your accent! And he is a wizard!" you giggled at him and put a bowl of popcorn in between the two of you as the movie started playing.

"Are you trying to tell me that this guy is doing magic?" It was preposterous to know that this is how humans perceive magic. He wished he could show you what real magic is like, maybe one day he will.

"I know! it's amazing! I love Sci-fi so much." The movie kept playing on with him making snarky comments at the characters and with you giggling and defending the movie.

The movies went on one after the other and he might have gotten emotional over some scenes, not that he showed it of course.

It was in the fifth movie that he felt a soft weight on his shoulder and when he looked to the side he saw you laying your head on him with your eyes closed. At this point the snacks were pushed aside and you had gotten closer to him and now you fell asleep on him, your bodies touching and he doesn't know why but he held his breath then. You let yourself to be in such a vulnerable state with him, in this makeshift fort, and his body reacted to it more than it should have. With each loud fast beat of his heart realization fell upon him. He didn't know what it was just yet, but he understood it.

It was odd, the feeling he got, he had never been this enchanted with someone before- let alone a human. You seemed to have some sort of effect on him that he couldn't shake off even when you weren't around him. You caused these blooming feelings to erupt inside of him and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And all you did was fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. The god of mischief was falling in love.

•

It was 1am and you might have just stolen Tony's car alongside some expensive bottles he had locked away.

You just had to get out of there, the thoughts got too loud and the dreams got more vivid, so you knew exactly where you needed to go to get your mind straight and maybe drink some wine.

No one knew about the apartment that you kept even after moving into the Tower. The only other person that knew about it was Tony, who bought it and kept it there just for you, clear of annoying neighbours in a silent neighborhood.

Getting into the apartment you shivered at the cold, so you turned on the AC and popped open the first bottle of wine.

So you sat there with the bitter sweet wine scenting the room. So far you had no luck of forgetting the young prince, his taste and smell easily overpowered the alcohol if you focused on them strongly enough.

You almost did.

But with each sip you got sent back into a kaleidoscope of memories. Headlights pass the window pane and sent you aware to a far memory.

"Why are you dressed up like that?" Loki raised an eyebrow at you when he took a sit at the dining room table and you put a drink in front of him. He grew quite fond of midgardian drinks, they were much better than mead. You closed the window and the curtain, the bright light outside was blinding you. It was too early in the morning for that.

"Like what?" you stretched your arms and hem of your night shirt went up a bit and revealed skin that Loki tried not to look at.

"Still in your sleep wear."

"It's morning and I'm not going anywhere." You shrugged him off and sat down in front of him.

"Are you not going to change because I'm here?" he kept his eyes on your face.

"No, I'm comfortable." You shrugged him off again and began to eat your toast. Your answer however lingered in the back of your head.

"Alright," he answered and took a sip. "I'm just saying that it's not fitting for a lady to be dressed like this."

He knew how much you hated being called that. His smirk was hidden by his cup of coffee.

"You son of a bitch… don't call me that."

"Not call you what, my lady?" you pointed your fork at him and he couldn't help but think how adorable you look like this.

"Call me Lady one more time and I'll show you exactly how not lady-like I am."

"Okay, fine!" he watched as you brought your cup to your lips only to realize that you drank all of your tea. "Come on, I'll make you another cup of tea as an apology."

You let him take your empty cup with a satisfied smile. When he was in the kitchen you wandered to the question he asked and the immediate answer that you gave him. It took you a second to get out of your thoughts when you realized something.

"Oh wait Loki you don't know how I make my-" you got up to the kitchen only to open the door right to Loki who just gave you the tea he just made. He moved past you and sat at the table.

You hesitantly took a sip, only to sigh in content- it was perfect.

"You know how I like my tea." It was a statement but you were still fazed by that fact as you sat down. His reply was short.

"Well of course I do."

It was odd how such a simple thing as that could make your heart flutter with a feeling that you haven't felt in a long while but you knew exactly what it was.

•

Three months ago in Asgard.

Asgard looked beautiful in the morning. Loki stood in his room next to his window which overlooked the garden. His mind wasn't in Asgard though, and he had a decision to make, one that was waiting for him the moment he steps out of that door.

He knew that it's been almost a month since he left you and you told him to never come back. He had to find a way to move on even if he couldn't. He'd call it a coincidence if it weren't just unfortunate luck.

He was well aware of his options and the fact that there were none, and while he'd rather perish in his own misery a part of him still knew that he would have to take the other choice.

You'd never take him back, not after what happened when the two of you were well aware that the heartbreak would come, not now that you knew who he is.

Without letting himself think any further Loki went out of his room and descended a floor down until he stood outside of the large doors. He gently knocked on them. Who knew, maybe this will someday give him some twisted peace?

The door opened and there she stood in a flowery gown, Lady Iyllir.

"My lady, I've come here to apologize for my past behaviour. I would very much like it if we could resume the plan for our marriage."

•

You threw one bottle of wine aside, it was 2am but you couldn't even drink, you couldn't do anything. You just wished that he would come back and be here. He could always read your mind even when he assured you that he wasn't actually reading your mind.

"Please Loki, I miss you too much to be mad anymore, just come back."

You knew deep inside you that you'll never be clean of him; you'll never forget him for as long as you'll live. If you could, you'd rush all the way to Asgard for him, throwing away your stupid pride.

Maybe he will knock on the door, maybe he is on his way. You humored yourself but the hope was still there.

Yes you told him to leave but what you really wanted was for him to be there on the other side of the door screaming "I'm in love with you" or maybe he'll wait there in the pouring rain and throw pebbles at your window.

How did the god of lies not see it? Why couldn't he see that when you told him to leave you wanted him to chase after you and fight for you?

"I need you Loki, I do."

Then there was a knock on your door, you were sure you imagined it. But it was real and a smile took over your face when you went towards the door. He heard you.

Everything you needed was right there on the other side of the door, with his face and his beautiful blue eyes, and even with the conversations with the little white lies.

You rushed to open the door after he knocked on it again.

But he didn't have his blue eyes.

"Mike?" you really thought that Loki would show up for you. Your smile fell.

"You seemed off today darling," he walked past you into the living room. "I thought you might want some company."

In your state of disappointment you shook yourself out of it and closed the door. You had a boyfriend, you didn't have Loki. You won't have Loki.

"Oh, thank you. That is very thoughtful of you." He put some bags of food and drinks on the counter and came back to you. He wrapped you up in a hug. He may not be Loki, but you needed a hug right now so you held onto him.

"I know that as an Avenger it must be rough, with the missions and the constant danger," he brought you to sit on the couch with him. "I understand that it could get hard, but I'm proud of you for doing that and I want you to know that I am here for you."

He was saying everything you needed to hear, and so you nodded into his chest. Loki was wild and crazy but here you have a guy who is steady and stable and your heart can't seem to listen to logic.

At least he's here.

"I'll get us something to drink and then we can talk about it if you want, okay?" you nodded at him again as he got up and went to the kitchen.

You straightened your shirt until he got back with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Oh, I already have wine right there-" you looked back at the half bottle that was left and cringed.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll like this one. Plus this one is brand new." He tried to joke but you wished he hadn't seen how much you drank already. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to drink more but you needed it.

You took the glass with the red liquid. Testing it, you shook it in the glass and sent the burning red liquid down your throat. It was pretty good, you had to admit. It had an unusual taste to it that you couldn't quite figure out.

"It's from Europe." He smiled and you smiled back lightly.

You talked to him and didn't really care that you finished your glass of wine soon and he poured you another one.

The alcohol must have started to get to you, you felt a little spacey, the smell of the alcohol made you feel weird.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he laughed at you a bit and put his glass on the table.

"I asked you if you're okay, do you feel better now?" it was starting to get a bit hot in the room, you forgot to turn off the AC, you looked around for the remote.

"Yeah I'm just- didn't you drink from your wine?" you looked at the full glass on the table. Your head was starting to hurt and you picked up the glass, the weird smell came back to you and the world felt blurry around you.

"No, I'm afraid I am not here to drink."

•

Tags: @ayybtch @buckys-other-punk @chaoticpete @madcrazy50 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @the-departed-potato @rogerrhqpsody @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @percabethismyotp14

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lilydalexf · 4 years

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Syntax6

Syntax6 has 17 stories at Gossamer, but you should visit her website for the complete collection of her fics and to see the cover art that comes with many of the stories (and to find her pro writing!). She's written some of the most beloved casefiles in the fandom. I've recced literally all of them here before. Twice. Big thanks to Syntax6 for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I’m delighted but not surprised because I’ve written and read fanfic for shows even older than XF. Also, I joined the XF fandom relatively late, at the end of 1999, so there were already hundreds of “classic” fics out there, stories that were theoretically superseded or dated by canon developments that came after them, but which nonetheless remained compelling in their own right. That is the beauty of fanfic: it is inspired by its original creators but not bound by them. It’s a world of “what if” and each story gets to run in a new direction, irrespective of the canon and all the other stories spinning off in their own universes. In this way, fanfic becomes almost timeless.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

(I feel these are similar, at least for me, so I will combine them here.)

First and foremost, I found friends. There was a table full of XF fanfic writers at my wedding. Bugs was my maid of honor. I still talk to someone from XF fandom pretty much every day. Lysandra, Maybe Amanda, Michelle Kiefer, bugs…these are just some of the people who’ve been part of my life for half my existence now. Sometimes I get to have dinner with Audrey Roget or Anjou or MCA. Deb Wells and Sarah Ellen Parsons are part of my pro fic beta team. I have a similar list from the Hunter fandom, terrific people who have enriched my life in numerous ways and I am honored to count as friends.

Second, I learned a lot about writing during my years in XF fandom. I grew up there. Part of this growth experience was simply due to practice. I wrote about 1.2 million words of XF fanfic, which is the equivalent of 15 novels. I made mistakes and learned from them. But another essential part of learning is absorbing different kinds of well-told tales, and XF had these in spades. Some stories were funny. Others were lyrical. Some were short pieces with nary a word wasted while others were sprawling epics that took you on an adventure. The neat thing about XF is that it has space for many different kinds of stories, from hard-core sci-fi to historical romance. You can watch other authors executing these varied pieces and learn from them. You can form critique groups and ask for betas and get direct feedback on how to improve. It’s collaborative and fun, and this can’t be underestimated, generally supportive. The underlying shared love of the original product means that everyone comes into your work predisposed to enjoy it. I am grateful for all the encouragement and the critiques I received over my years in fandom.

Finally, I think a valuable lesson for writers that you can find in fandom, but not in your local author critique group, is how to handle yourself when your work goes public. Not everyone is going to like your work and they will make sure you know it. Some people will like it maybe too much, to the point where they cross boundaries. Learning to disengage yourself from public reaction to your work is a difficult but crucial aspect of being a writer. You control the story. You can’t control reaction to it. It’s frustrating at first, perhaps, but in the end, it’s freeing.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I participated in ATXC, the Haven message boards, and the Scullyfic mailing list/news group. For a number of years, I also ran a fic discussion group with bugs called The Why Incision.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I started reading XF fanfic before I began watching the show. I had watched one season two episode (Soft Light) and then seen bits and pieces of a few others from season four. I’d seen Fight the Future. Basically, I’d seen enough to know which one was Mulder and which one was Scully, and which one believed in aliens. An acquaintance linked me to a rec site for XF fanfic (Gertie’s, maybe?) so that I could see how fic was formatted for the web. I clicked a fic, I think it was one by Lydia Bower dealing with Scully’s cancer arc, and basically did not stop reading. Soon I was printing off 300K of fic to take home with me each night. I could not believe the level of talent in the fandom, and that there were so many excellent writers just giving away their works for free. I wanted to play in this sandbox, too, so I started renting the VHS tapes to catch up on old episodes (see, I am An Old). After a few months, I began writing my own stuff.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to The X-Files. I’m not a sci-fi person by nature. I think my main objection is that, when done poorly, it feels lazy to me. Who did the thing? A ghost! Maybe an alien? I guess we’ll never know. You can always just shrug and play some spooky music and the “truth will always be out there…” somewhere beyond the story in front of you. You never have to commit to any kind of truth because you can invent some magical power or new kind of alien to change the story. I think, by the bitter end, the XF had devolved into this kind of storytelling. The mytharc made no kind of sense even in its own universe. But for years the XF achieved the best aspects of sci-fi storytelling—narrative flexibility and an apotheosis of our current fears dressed up as a super entertaining yarn.

What eventually sold me on the XF as a show is all of the smart storytelling and the sheer amount of ideas contained within its run. At its best, it’s a brilliant show. You have mediations on good versus evil, the role of government in a free society, is there a God, are we alone in the universe, and what are the elements that make us who we are? If Mulder and Morris Fletcher switch bodies, how do we know it’s really “them”? The tonal shifts from week to week were clever and engaging. For Vince Gilligan, truth was always found in fellow human beings. For Darin Morgan, humans were the biggest monster of all. The show was big enough to contain both these premises, and indeed, was stronger for it. The deep questions, the character quirks, the unsolved mysteries and all that went unsaid in the Mulder-Scully relationship left so much room for fanfic writers to do their own work. As such, the fandom attracted and continues to attract both dabbling writers and those who are serious craftspeople. People who like the mystery and those who like the sci-fi angle. Scientists and true believers. Like the show, it’s big enough for all.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I look at it like an old friend I catch up with once in a while. We’ve been close for so long that there’s no awkwardness—we just get each other! I love seeing people post screen shots and commentary, and I think it’s wonderful that so many writers are still inventing new adventures for Mulder and Scully. That is how the characters live on, and indeed how any of us lives on, through the stories that others tell about us.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I ran the Hunter fandom for about five years, mostly because when I poked my head back in, I found the person in change was a bully who’d shut down everything due to her own waning interest. A person would try to start a topic for discussion, and she’d say, “We’ve already covered that.” Well, yes, in a 30-year-old show, there’s not a lot of new ground…

Most other shows, Hunter included, have smaller fandoms and thus don’t attract the depth of fan talent. I don’t just mean fanfic writers. I mean those who do visual art, fan vids, critiques, etc. The XF fandom has all these in droves, which makes it a rare and special place. But all fandoms have the particular joy of geeking out over favorite scenes and reveling in the meeting of shared minds. It will always look odd to those not contained within it, which brings me to the part of modern fandom I find somewhat uncomfortable…the creators are often in fan-space.

In Hunter, the female lead joins fan groups and participates. This is more common now in the age of social media, where writers, producers, actors, etc., are on the same platforms as the rest of us. Fan and creator interaction used to be highly circumscribed: fans wrote letters and maybe received a signed headshot in return. There were cons where show runners gave panels and took questions from the audience. You could stand in line to meet your favorite star. Now, you can @ your favorite star on Twitter, message her on Facebook or follow him on Instagram. In some ways, this is so fun! In other ways, it blurs in the lines in ways that make me uncomfortable. I think it’s rude, for example, if a fan were to go on a star’s social media and post fanfic there or say, “I thought the episode you wrote was terrible.” But what if it’s fan space and the actor is sitting right there, watching you? Is it rude to post fanfic in front of her, especially if she says it makes her uncomfortable? Is it mean to tell a writer his episode sucked right to his face?

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I own the first seven seasons on DVD and will pull them out from time to time to rewatch old faves. I’ve shown a few episodes over the spring and summer to my ten-year-old daughter, and it’s been fun to see the series through her eyes. We’ve mostly opted for the comedic episodes because there’s enough going on in the real world to give her nightmares. Her favorite so far is Je Souhaite.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don’t have much bandwidth to read fanfic these days. My job as a mystery/thriller author means I have to keep up with the market so I do most of my reading there right now. I also beta read for some pro-fic friends and betaing a novel will keep you busy.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I read so much back in the day that this answer could go on for pages. Alas, it also hasn’t changed much over the past fifteen years because I haven’t read much since then. But, as we’re talking Golden Oldies today, here are a bunch:

All the Mulders, by Alloway I find this short story both hilarious and haunting. Scully embraces her power in the upside down post-apocalyptic world.

Strangers and the Strange Dead, by Kipler Taut prose and an intriguing 3rd party POV make this story a winner, and that’s before the kicker of an ending, which presaged 1013’s.

Cellphone, by Marasmus Talk about your killer twists! Also one of the cleverest titles coming or going.

Arizona Highways, by Fialka I think this is one of the best-crafted stories to come out of the XF. It’s majestic in scope, full of complex literary structure and theme, and yet the plot moves like a runaway freight train. Both the Mulder and Scully characterizations are handled with tender care.

So, We Kissed, by Alelou What I love about this one is how it grounds Mulder and Scully in the ordinary. Mulder’s terrible secret doesn’t involve a UFO or some CSM-conspiracy. Scully goes to therapy that actually looks like therapy. I guess what I’m saying is that I utterly believe this version of M & S in addition to just enjoying reading about them.

Sore Luck at the Luxor, by Anubis Hot, funny, atmospheric. What’s not to love?

Black Hole Season, by Penumbra Nobody does wordsmithing like Penumbra. I use her in arguments with professional writers when they try to tell me that adverbs and adjectives MUST GO. Just gorgeous, sly, insightful prose.

The Dreaming Sea, by Revely This one reads like a fairytale in all the best ways. Revely creates such loving, beautiful worlds for M & S to live in, and I wish they could stay there always.

Malus Genius, by Plausible Deniability and MaybeAmanda Funny and fun, with great original characters, a sly casefile and some clear-eyed musings on the perils of getting older. This one resonates more and more the older I get. ;)

Riding the Whirlpool, by Pufferdeux I look this one up periodically to prove to people that it exists. Scully gets off on a washing machine while Mulder helps. Yet it’s in character? And kinda works? This one has to be read to be believed.

Bone of Contention (part 1, part 2), by Michelle Kiefer and Kel People used to tell me all the time that casefiles are super easy to write while the poetic vignette is hard. Well, I can’t say which is harder but there much fewer well-done casefiles in the fandom than there are poetic vignettes. This is one of the great ones.

Antidote, by Rachel Howard A fic that manages to be both hot and cold as it imagines Mulder and Scully trying to stay alive in the frosty wilderness while a deadly virus is on the loose. This is an ooooold fic that holds up impressively well given everything that followed it!

Falling Down in Four Acts, by Anubis Anubis was actually a bunch of different writers sharing a single author name. This particular one paints an angry, vivid world for Our Heroes and their compatriots. There is no happy ending here, but I read this once and it stayed with me forever.

The Opposite of Impulse, by Maria Nicole A sweet slice of life on a sunny day. When I imagine a gentler universe for Mulder and Scully, this is the kind of place I’d put them.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Bait and Switch is probably the most sophisticated and tightly plotted. It was late in my fanfic “career” and so it shows the benefits to all that learning. My favorite varies a lot, but I’ll say Universal Invariants because that one was nothing but fun.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I never say never! I don’t have any oldies sitting around, though. Everything I wrote, I posted.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I write casefiles…er, I mean mysteries, under my own name now, Joanna Schaffhausen. My main series with Reed and Ellery consists of a male-female crime solving team, so I get a little bit of my XF kick that way. Their first book, The Vanishing Season, started its life as an XF fanfic back in the day. I had to rewrite it from the ground up to get it published, but if you know both stories, you can spot the similarities.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

The answer any writer will tell you is “everywhere.” Ideas are cheap and they’re all around us—on the news, on the subway, in conversations with friends, from Twitter memes, on a walk through the woods. My mysteries are often rooted in true crime, often more than one of them.

Each idea is like a strand of colored thread, and you have to braid them together into a coherent story. This is the tricky part, determining which threads belong in which story. If the ideas enhance one another or if they just create an ugly tangent.

Mostly, though, stories begin by asking “what if?” What if Scully’s boyfriend Ethan had never been cut from the pilot? What if Scully had moved to Utah after Fight the Future? What if the Lone Gunmen financed their toys by writing a successful comic book starring a thinly veiled Mulder and Scully?

Growing up, I had a sweet old lady for a neighbor. Her name was Doris and she gave me coffee ice cream while we watched Wheel of Fortune together. Every time there was a snow storm, the snow melted in her backyard in a such way that suggested she had numerous bodies buried out there. How’s that for a “what if?”

What's the story behind your pen name?

I’ve had a few of them and honestly can’t tell you where they came from, it’s been so long ago. The “6” part of syntax6 is because I joke that 6 is my lucky number. In eighth grade, my algebra teacher would go around the room in order, asking each student their answer to the previous night’s homework problems. I realized quickly that I didn’t have to do all the problems, just the fifteenth one because my desk was 15th on her list. This worked well until the day she decided to call on kids in random order. When she got to me and asked me the answer to the problem I had not done, I just invented something on the spot. “Uh…six?”

Her: “You mean 0.6, don’t you?”

Me, nodding vigorously: “YES, I DO.”

Her: “Very good. Moving on…”

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My close friends and family have always known, and reactions have varied from mild befuddlement to enthusiastic support. My father voted in the Spookies one year, and you can believe he read the nominated stories before casting his vote. I think the most common reaction was: Why are you doing this for free? Why aren’t you trying to be a paid writer?

Well, having done both now, I can tell you that each kind of writing brings its own rewards. Fanfic is freeing because there is no pressure to make money from it. You can take risks and try new things and not have to worry if it fits into your business plan.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 15, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #syntax6

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

WINSoD - Pt.4

What You Need (Is What I’m About)

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2, part 3)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;) Word count: 3400

Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well.

Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)

Part 3

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You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.

You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.

The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-

Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.

You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.

They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.

Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.

Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.

The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.

To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-

You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-

You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.

Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.

The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.

You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-

Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.

What the fuck was happening?!

A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.

Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.

“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.

Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.

What kind of a language was that anyway?

Really not relevant.

There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-

“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”

Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.

The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.

A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.

Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.

Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.

“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.

Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”

She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.

“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.

The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.

“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”

“I was just messing around!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.

What did she know about what you had been through?!

With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.

“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.

The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.

“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”

Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.

And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.

Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.

Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.

“See how?”

Wanda smiled.

*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*

Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.

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Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.

Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.

Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.

And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.

She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.

Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.

Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.

Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.

“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”

Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.

“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”

The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.

“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”

Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?

As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.

“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”

Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.

How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-

“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”

This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-

“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.

Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.

He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…

But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.

Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.

So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.

Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?

“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.

His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--

Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.

Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.

They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.

Lost in him.

James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.

And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.

*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”

The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.

The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.

She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.

Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.

He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.

“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”

No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.

From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.

“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”

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Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.

You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.

Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?

“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.

Bucky had a soulmate?

No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-

By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.

“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-

-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.

You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.

Oh. Wanda��s work, no doubt. Sweet.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”

Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.

“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.

The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.

Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”

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Part 5

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Thank you for reading!

I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogres x you #soulmate au #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america soulmate #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #mcu #marvel #winsod #anika ann

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tsskyx · 3 years

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Unmeta

You know what’s ridiculous? This post was originally supposed to be an essay, an entire thesis backed with unshakable logic that I wanted to become my magnum opus. But as it turns out, I’m pretty terrible at doing that sort of thing. The first day I’m full of enthusiasm, while the next day I reread what I wrote and I delete it all again. It’s terrible.

For this reason, I’ve decided to just start with the opinion part. Instead of laying out the facts and easing the reader into it, I’ll just blurt everything out in one go. Instead of neatly organizing everything, I’ll write my thoughts as they come to me.

(Update for 2/Oct/2021: I no longer remember when I made the first draft of this post. Maybe it was in 2018, maybe even as early as 2017. Who knows. This post existed in my drafts since forever. It is time to finally publish it. It contains very little information, very little evidence for anything or logic or facts, it’s just a one big opinion piece that I began writing years ago out of frustration. Frustration not aimed at the game itself, nor at Toby or anyone else, but at my inability to decouple the “meta” from Undertale and thus causing me to disassociate from the characters that I loved, when I didn’t plan to do so. All I ever wanted is to make sense of the Undertale world, instead of giving its inhabitants a meta-existential dread. In a nutshell, for the Undertale world to be self-contained, the 4th wall must stay intact, and the mechanics of the UT world mustn’t resemble a video game. That’s basically the gist of this post. Proceed with reading.)

You know Undertale meta? All the 4th wall breaking stuff and whatnot? The stuff that makes the game so awesome?

What about it you say?

It’s not real. I don’t think it is. It cannot be.

Tell me, has Undertale personally impacted you? Was it more than just a game to you? I know for a fact that for many people, it was much more than that. So tell me, is it fine by you that despite presenting itself in this way to us, it still sort of cops out of this at the very end? (By which I mean, when we learn that we aren’t Frisk. That we’re just someone controlling them.)

Some say that this cop-out, this act of “disassociation”, is necessary for our psychological journey to end. And I agree. We cannot dwell on this forever, else we lose our minds. But what I meant is something much more... materialistic.

Let’s take Oneshot, a game that’s arguably even more meta than Undertale. Oneshot embraces the 4th wall. It labels us a god. It portrays the game itself as an in-game machine. And yet, it feels real. Despite all this ridiculousness, the story feels real and possible. Kind of like The Matrix. Perhaps think of everyone in Oneshot except for the main character as a Matrix program, while Niko is the only user hooked up to it. It still feels real, because Niko is real, because there exists a real world they can to return to.

But Undertale floats somewhere between being real and being a fairy tale, a mere bedtime story. The reason is its lax handling of the 4th wall. Say, if Undertale were to be considered a “real” possibility, as in, entirely fictional, but still believable, kinda like The Matrix, kinda like any science fiction, or just fiction in general, what would it be like?

I’ll tell you, everything would have to be real, everything would have to look exactly how we see it. There’d need to be turns, there’d need to be save files, there’d need to be so many bizarre things, it probably wouldn’t take long before the NPCs themselves realized their own nonexistence, probably around the time they developed computers and video games. It’d be so similar, they’d have to be either stupid or under some kind of spell to not realize that their entire world is just one giant video game. Especially Flowey. Some say that he has already realized this, as his dialogue hints towards this. Which puts a super unfortunate spin on his condition. Furthermore, the entire game could be described through its Game Maker code. No need for laws of physics, just observe the if-else statements!

It would also mean that Frisk is controlled by a third unknown entity. If we were to take everything we do to Frisk at face value, it must all be them. Except... after a true reset, everything gets reset, even things about Frisk, such as them expecting the whoopee cushion prank. So... Frisk isn’t in control. But Chara isn’t either. Take for example the final fight against Asriel. Chara appeared pretty enthusiastic during it. What if someone were to reset the timeline during the fight? Either it wasn’t them who did so, or they were just pretending to be entertained, or perhaps they aren’t the narrator in the first place even.

No matter what, there will always be an instance where Frisk forgets, and where Chara doesn’t do something when they could have. Once you mess with the game enough, their personalities stop making sense.

This gradual breakdown of the narrative as I keep attacking the logic of it from every direction imaginable is a symptom of something far bigger. The fact that unlike The Matrix or Oneshot, there is no “real world” in this game. The virtual part of it is what the game is trying to make us focus on. It’s all there is. There is not even a hint of “another” world in the game, a world that wouldn’t be governed by these terrible rules. And even if there was one, even if you consider what Sans said to be that world, even if you considered Deltarune to be that world, there is still no guarantee that everything will be okay. What if the characters - your friends, aren’t real in this actual real world, what if they’re all just computer simulations? There’d have to be an entire population hooked up to a virtual reality for everyone to be “safe” as I’m putting it in this hypothetical real world, which sounds not only ridiculous, but like a direct ripoff of The Matrix.

The game has made Frisk the main character. Why, when making Sans the main one, the one who at least has a possibility of coming from a “real” real world, would be far more logical?

Because it lacks logic. Undertale is an experiment. Toby Fox is not a genius. He was just messing around, he didn’t think of literally every tiny little logical detail (contrary to what some individuals would like to think), he just explained enough for most of the story to make sense. But, no matter how you spin it, this fundamental flaw will always be there. The story tries to merge you and the protagonist, before disassociating you from them. Even if you always were disassociated from them, how can the in-game world be real, when other aspects of your reality weren’t disassociated yet? Where’s the disassociation for battles and turns, for save files and time travel, for stats and everything? How can Undertale claim to be complete, when it isn’t? ... Perhaps because it is not claiming to be. It’s an experiment after all. And I don’t mean “incomplete” as in a single update / new game can fix it. I mean the premise itself is already broken from the start. And while there are many fictional worlds which function on a similar level of meta, Undertale is the only one that appears to irk me mad. I don’t know why. Maybe I love the characters. Maybe I love them very much. Maybe I love them so much, that I wanna write a fan fiction about them. And maybe, just maybe, this tiny little issue is making this dream of mine impossible. Undertale is a story conveyed through game mechanics. Choosing any other medium breaks everything down and the author needs to invent their own rules. There’s simply no way around it. Unless someone has the balls to program a fan game of their own, there’s just no way to resolve this without adjusting the canon a little bit, to make it “a little bit more sensible” as some would put it. Just a small nudge, a lil’ nudgie wudgie to the canon mechanics AAAAAND we’re in fanon territory. Excellent, better go all out.

Here’s my head canon, my little “adjustment” of the canon rules. Thanks to it, I can once again think about Undertale as a real world, I no longer need to philosophize over the meta like I did above, I can all put it past me:

Saving, loading, resetting? Regular sci-fi time travel.

The save file? The parameters of the time machine.

LV and EXP? Another set of properties of the machine, though it could be properties of the soul too. I’m undecided on that note. But either works, that’s what’s important.

Chara destroying the world through LV? No, screw that, Chara merely tuned Frisk out. And the black void was the inside of their mind as Chara denied them access to their own body.

The intro? Literally never happened, no one “saw” it. (The past was still real. It’s just the intro that never existed.) The outro? Literally never physically occurred, Frisk wasn’t “stuck” on the ending credits, unable to go further, fuck that.

Flowey? No screw everything meta about Flowey, there exists a perfectly logical explanation to everything he says, and if not, such as in the genocide run with him hinting towards people watching but not acting... he never said that in the first place!

Same with turns, the battles don’t actually look that way, there are no turns, what Sans perceives and abuses as such is just an illusion, the actual battle against Sans is absolutely fluid. And him pausing at the end and not letting us go is him keeping his guard up, until falling asleep and giving us an opportunity to sneak near him and strike. We don’t need turns to explain it. And what he said about turns... just ignore it! Ignore everything that directly proves me wrong! Because resolving that fucking conundrum IS more important than being logically consistent, and you can’t change my mind on that. Screw logic when the foundation of the entire fandom, of every UT-related fiction, is at stake here.

And I shall call this philosophy... the Unmeta. Because it attempts to undo the meta. Hence, “unmeta” for short.

#undertale

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justjstuff · 3 years

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For the ask game: I, L, R and S?

Thanks for the ask!!! <3

I - The last time I felt jealous, and why.

r: I honestly can't remember lmfao. Maybe it was back in 2020 before the whole pandemic thing and this Almost Something guy that at that point was an ex-Almost Something Guy was giving more attention to this friend of mine instead of me? Hmmm could have been that I was jealous of these two girls for moving abroad too xD Oh wait, I'm actually really jealous of everyone who's already vaccinated when my dad just got his first dose a couple of weeks back so things are awful over here.

L - If I have siblings.

r: Yes! I have an older sister, she's 5 years older than me and the reason I started reading fanfic haha I also have @calliartss who is my cousin but we're the same age so we basically grew up as sisters/best friends.

R - For me to tell 10 of my curiosities.

r: I thought this was about like "ten fun facts about me" but then I asked someone else about this and she answered as "ten things that interest me" and I much rather answer something like that so here goes:

1. People. As in, what makes people act certain ways, how we interact with each other, how different people manifest the same emotions in different ways, etc. All of this coming from a place of simple curiosity but also research for better characterization in my writing/acting.

2. Writing. Lol, ofc I had to put it there because it's just a huge part of who I am. I'm not even saying writing as only creating stories but also writing pros and cons lists to get my thoughts in order, writing sad passages about what's happening to me to get a little bit of relief from some overwhelming feelings and all that.

3. Folklore. I find it fascinating to read about ancient legends, how societies grew from them and how it still kinda influences them to this day. Did you know that all around the world there are myths and legends about dragons? And I mean, yeah it's cool and all, but I mean, these civilizations had absolutely no contact with each other. I'm talking about Mayans and Incas and Vikings and ancient Chinese people depicting the same creatures in their lore. It's interesting because it tells a story and it makes you wonder. Did they somehow did end up having contact with each other or did something else happen?

4. On that topic, Latin American history in specific. Our people has such a rich culture and it's sad that it's so unexplored and misinterpreted in many ways. When it does get some attention it's mainly about Incas/Mayas/Aztec people and South America often gets forgotten or depicted as brainless savages.

5. Still on that topic, space and mythology. As in, every myth has a little bit of truth and it makes me wonder sometimes. I'm a huge sci-fi fan, grew up watching Alien and Star Trek and shit so yeah xD

6. Heist movies. Also Mission movies in general. I love everything about them and I wish we had more lol.

7. Martial Arts. I love fighting and even though I've been a beginner all my life I find it really interesting to know different kinds and where they came from and why. I had a kendo lesson once in the temple in Kyoto where kendo was created with a teacher that was one of the last descendants of samurai and just... oh wow I really like martial arts lmao.

8. You see I'm slowly diverging into interests/things I like rather than things I'm curious about BUT let's just pretend I'm sticking to the script here. ART. I have a very intense urge to create sometimes and get seriously depressed when I don't for a while. I suck at drawing/painting but I love it hahah in 2019/2020 I was trying my hand at watercolor which is incredibly hard for me bc I'm an absolute control freak but it was also a very nice therapy for letting go and letting things run their course. Now in 2021 I started oil painting which is also incredibly hard but super relaxing and it's teaching me patience.

9. Traveling. Not in a oh let me see just how many different Hyatt hotels/resorts I can see the same inside in different places in the world way but more like... God how fucking privileged are we that we get to experience things like that??? Think about it, you get to taste a bit of someone else's culture, you get to walk through streets and forests that your ancestors wouldn't even dream of. And all of that you get to do it in a way that contributes to that particular culture's economy if you're careful about the way you go about it (where you stay, what restaurant you eat in, what store you're buying your clothes/trinkets, etc).

10. The internet. lol, lame I know but it follows the same line of thought from number 9 because look, I've made friends here with people whom I wouldn't ever get to know if the internet (and fandom) didn't exist and I just love how we can share experiences here and learn from each other and lean on each other and just... yeah, i'm soft about it haha

S - 2 habits.

1. Drink a bottle of water as soon as I wake up. I started this last year when I was in a really bad depressive loop and it honestly changed my life. It's about being mindful of what your body is doing and giving it a proper wake up. I don't do a lot of the things I probably should be doing but this is thankfully a habit I managed to keep.

2. Tea before bed. Tea at any and all time of the day, really, but it's really something that I miss when I can't do it (because I'm traveling or there's no more tea or whatever), just have a nice cuppa before bed, warm up and calm down and then Zzzzzzz xD

ask me a brutal honesty question

#ask #ask meme #answered

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viktorhargreves · 4 years

Text

some thoughts i have on the s2 promo stills

I think Ben is appearing either in a dream or to someone other than Klaus. The reason I believe this is the color composition for the shot and the framing. The Umbrella Academy is a dark show. Literally. And the season two promo pictures are no different from season one. Why the sudden departure from this? Promotional photos directly from the source (i.e. the production department) usually are not put through filters so this is how it will be shown in the show. So why the brightness? I think it’s either a dream or revelation (you know the cheesy trope where the sunlight streams in and someone finally pieces things together) or maybe it’s a vision that someone has of Ben. Contenders for this? No idea. But judging from the body that’s strung up on the ceiling (yeah, I didn’t forget that part) it could be Vanya. Or I could be totally wrong. Either way, the body does hint towards Klaus’ telekinesis, something he has in the comics that we have yet to see in the show (besides the suitcase debacle).

We know that Five is the last to be sent to the 60′s so if he’s stuck in a new time with no one around what does he do? Find a mannequin and make a new friend (or something more). Maybe what we are seeing is him about to home-wreck this bitch and steal little miss blue-dress here. Or maybe he’s looking back at a different character... the villains of this season perhaps? Or maybe The Handler makes a comeback? Either way, he looks cautious and if he is looking at someone less than savory then the set up we see could be set up to mock him rather than a harmless department store display.

The paper reads: “S.J.C.C. asks... Have you experienced DISCRIMINATION by your employeer?” Not much comes up in Google for a look into who S.J.C.C. could be but I personally am SYKED to see The Umbrella Academy hopefully tackle race issues. Especially at this time in the world, it could be what people need. Also a new hairstyle for Allison which I love. I personally hope Allison is thriving but this is the 60′s and even though The Civil Rights Act was signed in ‘64, there was no across-the-board stop of segregation at once. I hope for her sake she stays safe.

Again, we know that Five is the last one to arrive. Perhaps he gathers them all to this place to tell them about the newest apocalyptic event about to take place. But a barn? Not sure why. Everyone else is dressed in back, however, even Klaus which is very telling that something is wrong. Allison has lost the hair bump (she was probably just wearing it to fit in). Luther has a beard which is very telling as well because the only other time that we have seen him with one is when he woke up from his surgery (supposedly after a long period of time) so if it was in his control he would shave it off to be the good little soldier that dad made him. Maybe being stranded in Texas in the 60′s made him depressed like we saw towards the end of season one or maybe he just wants to live a little. Diego’s outfit looks very similar to his vigilante outfit in season one but with what looks like either shoulder pads or a hoodie. This could be one of two things: he is still a vigilante using his powers for good, or he works a job like construction or something similar judging by the cross-chest harness. And Vanya. Look’s like she’s wearing a suit jacket. Peak gay. No further comment.

GOOD GOD!!! What to say, what to say. As it’s been pointed out already by many other users, Ben. Is. Holding. Keys. That means he is corporeal and has a physical body. Whether this is for a short period of time like when he punches Klaus in season one or if this marks the beginning of a new era of Ben-filled The Umbrella Academy is unknown. Klaus is a fashion icon. That much we been knew. Although, his beard is longer than the promo pictures despite being in the same outfit. Longer than the picture above too. I’m excited for this scene regardless of what it is about, but if I had to guess: Klaus is motioning for Ben to give the keys to him. The car broke down. Klaus gets out and tries to fix it by popping the hood, only he knows nothing about cars. He gets angry and throws the keys. Ben catches them. Klaus is then irritated and asks for them back. That’s just my take. Klaus looks like he’s smiling but it could be the natural face a person makes when they are squinting from the sun (this is Texas and those are sunglasses (also water is wet)).

#justgirlythings. Vanya is the only one who seems uncomfortable, also where are Klaus’s shoes? If you look in the background it appears this isn’t a salon as you would guess on the first look but rather someone’s house. Maybe this is a way to time travel without Five? Or some other sci-fi device like the shoot that Cha-Cha and Hazel used in season one to get their orders. Either way, there is a lot more going on here than we know from first looking and I wouldn’t put it past anyone that this is an important still to remember and keep in mind.

Iron Man references aside (thank you Justin Min), look at her entire body posture and language. Clenched jaw, clenched fists, forehead straining, eyes closed but not clenched like the others, neck straining. Vanya appears to be in the middle of nowhere so maybe she’s testing her powers? Last time we saw her testing her powers it was in the middle of the woods with Leonard so maybe this will be a good parallel. What else to do in the 60′s when you’re stranded than to try out your superpowers that you just remembered a few days ago?

Vanya! Is! Happy! She is definitely smiling and looks genuinely more happy than she did with Leonard in any event. The blonde woman is Marin Ireland who plays a character “Sissy”. Variety and Netflix have stated that Sissy is "a fearless, no-nonsense mom from Texas who married young for all the wrong reasons". Maybe, and I’m just spit-balling here, she married young because of internalized and outward homophobia that is probably rampant in the 60′s and in Texas. She meets Vanya and the two begin a relationship. Friends? Lovers? More? Vanya’s right hand is either on a gear shift (manual transmission i.e. stick shift cars were much more common in the 60′s than now) or on Sissy’s knee. I like the idea of her resting her hand on Sissy’s thigh and smiling, maybe driving off on a new life together.

Like. The Gang’s all here, Scoob. Even Ben! Allison is talking, it seems so to have Ben in the shot is odd. Usually Ben only appears when Klaus is the main character of the shot or the scene since he can only see him. Except, maybe everyone can see him!! Klaus can summon Ben as seen in the season one finale so maybe he was able to do it for a longer amount of time. I personally really hope that we see more of Ben (which the stills lead me to believe) and that they will develop not only his character and backstory more but his powers as well. His power rivals only Vanya’s is sheer amount of destruction it can cause. The room, however, where they all are looks unassuming. It could be where Five has taken up a residence, could be a house of one of the other siblings (we know that some of them did in fact settle down and start lives in Texas), or maybe it’s just a safe place to meet as a team. Either way I am psyched!

It’s safe to assume that these are the assassins. Whether they are with the organization that The Handler was with is unclear. What is clear is that I get Stranger Things vibes from these guys. It might be the white hair and dark, cloudy road. Either way, these guys are played by Tom Sinclair, Kris Holden-Ried, and Jason Bryden left to right and they play Oscar, Axel, and Otto respectively.

Diego, Diego, Diego. My son. Disregarding the long hair and beard completely because I refuse to acknowledge it at this point, here is my interpretation of the scene. This is a flashback in the same fashion that we had a Diego flashback in episode three of season one. That flashback had Grace helping Diego through a stutter and then in one camera motion showed current-day Diego sitting on his old bed. This could be the same kind of thing, with current-day Diego sitting where he past self was and watching a scene unfold around him. Why else would he be in his uniform? How could it fit? How could he be back in the mansion?

-----------

That’s all I have to say about it for now but my ask box is OPEN for theories, possible explanations, or hypotheses on season two or any of the promotional stills. Time travel is messy. Let’s see what happens on July 31st.

#the umbrella academy #tua #tuaedit #netflix #netflixedit #i was not paid to do this lmao #mine #mine:headcanons #shows #rm #tua spoilers

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marzipanandminutiae · 4 years

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God youre so right about the representation stuff. Do you have any recs for stuff that's actually good and has diverse characters? like ive literally asked people for queer recs that are actually good and theyll be like "watch this random terrible webshow and read this book with the worst writing youll ever encounter. the main character is bi. no ill give you no plot info bc it doesnt matter"

This will probably focus mostly on sapphic representation, since that’s what I look for first. But a lot of the works mentioned have other forms of diversity, too.

BOOKS

I have a few, though one of my favorites now comes with a big caveat.

Girls of Paper and Fire (Natasha Ngan). Fantasy based on multiple Asian cultures. Lei, the PoV character, lives in a world where humans like her are systemically oppressed and animal-like demons control the country. She’s kidnapped and brought to the palace as a concubine for the cruel, megalomaniacal king. Torn between her desperate desire to resist her fate and fear of reprisals against her family, Lei falls in love with another human concubine- one whose secrets might bring down the king’s regime once and for all. Sexual assault CW, although the most graphic stuff happens “offscreen.” Haven’t read the sequel.

Romancing the Inventor (Gail Carriger). A novella tied to her Supernatural Society series, but requiring no knowledge thereof. In an alternate, steampunk England, a woman named Imogen takes a job as a maid to some local vampires. At first she hopes to be seduced by the queen of the vampire hive. But the dashing French lady inventor in the potting shed proves much more intriguing... This one also has a CW for sexual assault, though the perpetrator doesn’t succeed in her full intentions. But most of it is lovelorn mutual pining c. 1878.

The October Daye series (Seanan McGuire). Okay, the main character is straight (or at least thinks she is). But this urban fantasy juggernaut series is chock-full of LGBT representation. Faerie in this universe is bi-normative, and it really shows. The basic premise concerns half-fae private investigator/knight October “Toby” Daye and her quest to beat her personal record for literally dying and coming back fight evil. Many of her friends and allies- and her love interest -are somewhere in the rainbow umbrella, and presented with great respect. No sexual assault in this one, but a LOT of violence, if that’s a problem.

The Wayward Children series (Seanan McGuire). If non-fantasy readers have heard of McGuire, this is probably why. Ever wondered how the kids and teens who fell into other worlds and magical adventures coped with coming home? Welcome to Eleanor West’s boarding school, where found family is everything and disappearing forever in the middle of the night will make your classmates mad with jealousy. Thoughtful, funny, and heart-wrenching stories about the nature of home, fairytales, and growing into yourself. Replete with all sorts of representation, including a sapphic mad scientist, a trans former goblin prince, an Asian candy warrior, and a fat mermaid. Some violence, though how much depends on the book

The Karen Memory series (Elizabeth Bear). This is the one with the caveat. Let me explain it first. In a steampunk Seattle c. 1879, young sex worker Karen and her friends fight to keep a truly monstrous man from becoming mayor via torture and mind control. A genius inventor named Priya who knows firsthand what said candidate is capable of might be her greatest ally in the fight- and much more. I love this book because it’s one of the few Wild West stories I’ve seen acknowledge the true diversity of the American west coast during the 19th century. The characters are white, Black, Indian, Chinese, Native, and various combinations thereof. The legendary Bass Reeves plays a major part. The main character is a lesbian and one of her coworkers is a trans woman, both handled very well. The author clearly did her research and balances the sci-fi elements with a solid grasp of real-world history. CW for mentions of sex trafficking/sexual assault. Also Karen is 17, and while that was considered past the age of consent at the time and you never see her working, it may be uncomfortable for some readers.

The caveat is pretty recent. Another author came forward and said that Bear and her husband emotionally abused and manipulated them when they were still new to the industry. Bear claims that said author actually abused her. I know none of the people involved and cannot speak to who’s telling the truth. It’s a matter for your conscience if you feel comfortable giving Bear money or would rather skip the book or get it from a library. Controversy surrounding the author doesn’t change what she wrote, however, and I do personally feel that the book is quality representation on multiple levels. Do what you feel comfortable with.

Fingersmith (Sarah Waters). A young thief in Victorian London is recruited into a con game to cheat a sheltered heiress out of her fortune. But once she meets the other girl, their feelings for each other begin to complicate everything. Full of twists, turns, and that trademark slew of gothic novel coincidences. CW for child abuse (mostly emotional and physical), opiate addiction (not explored in detail), and abusive mental hospital staff.

It’s a short list, but hopefully it will expand as time goes on. My local sci-fi/fantasy bookstore takes representation and diverse voices seriously, so I’ll doubtless find more hidden gems.

MOVIES

Fingersmith. (Technically a miniseries.) I love this adaptation so much. The Korean horror version, The Handmaiden, is also supposed to be good, but it seems too gory and full of weird sex stuff- beyond the book’s erotic literature -for my personal taste.

The Favourite. Artsy, dramatic, funny in parts, and might leave you saying “...what?” but also “GAAAAAAY.” In 1701, two noblewomen vie for the attention of Queen Anne I of England. Attention in a platonic way but also in an oral sex way. The costuming is amazing even if almost all the characters are horrible people. So hewing close to history all the way ‘round, then.

Portrait of a Lady On Fire. Pining! An island off the coast of Brittany! Pining! The vague 1700s! Pining! Art! Did I mention pining? There’s. So much damn pining. THis is a movie I really liked because THE COUPLE ACTUALLY HAS CHEMISTRY. PRAISE THE HOLY TRIFECTA OF APHRODITE, CLIO, AND SAPPHO, GODDESSES AND HONORED ANCESTOR OF GOOD HISTORICAL WLW REPRESENTATION. The ending was disappointing, but I was just so glad to see a movie with a historical sapphic couple that actually seemed in love with each other. A movie that wasn’t Fingersmith.

A lot of LGBT movies aren’t really to my liking, because queer history and/or fantasy isn’t exactly a much-explored genre onscreen at the moment. Boo.

SHOWS

Carmilla. A webseries VERY loosely based on the Victorian novel of the same name/my favorite book. College freshman Laura Hollis sets out to investigate the disappearance of her roommate at a school that might as well be Night Vale University. But the appearance of a snarky, gorgeous vampire named Carmilla takes the weird to a whole other level. Also features a nonbinary mad scientist and two main Black characters- an Amazonian warrior woman, and a glamorous vampire with a penchant for corporate machination. (though the latter two don’t appear until s2, when fans were like “this show is very white” and creators were like “crap, you’re right; let’s rectify that.” one of them gets killed. she gets resurrected a few episodes later, though, because nobody on this show stays dead). This is my main fandom. Highly recommend.

Wynonna Earp. Honestly why don’t I just say “the wlw Megafandom c. 2015″ and be done with it? Wynonna, an irresponsible screw-up and descendant of Wyatt Earp, returns to her small, rural hometown just in time to turn 27 and activate the curse that forces her to put down the vengeful spirits of everyone killed with Wyatt’s gun. All of whom have it out for her family, and some of whom have bigger agendas of their own. Her sister Waverly is a cinnamon roll history nerd dating The Only Valid Cop, Nicole. (Though how much normal police work Nicole does is highly debatable, since most of the crime in her town is demon-related.) Pretty violent, but well worth a watch if you can handle that.

I just realized I don’t actually watch much LGBT TV, either. Possibly because I’m not overly interested in things that aren’t historical or sci-fi/fantasy and my thematic tastes are very specific?

Anyway, those are my big favorites. But I’m sure there are other great pieces of media out there. Who knows what will cross my radar next- or yours?

#ask #anon #media recs #lgbt media #lgbt sci-fi #lgbt fantasy #lgbt history #long post

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mythicalcanary-literature · 3 years

Photo

FanFiction - Crossing the Stars

Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

FTL: Faster Than Light (c) Subset Games

[CHAPTER LIST]

Author’s Note: This FanFiction is a crossover between the sci-fi strategy game ‘FTL: Faster Than Light’ by Subset Games and the manga/anime called ‘Hetalia’ by Hidekaz Himaruya. The story will follow closely to the events of the rougue-like gameplay in FTL and the human characters will be replaced with the human versions of the national personifications in ‘Hetalia’. This is a fun personal project and it requires no knowledge of either fandom to enjoy this story. I’d encourage checking the original sources out though! Use of screenshots in this FanFiction are to supplement the storytelling to help plot the course of our heroes’ journey in the universe. Whatever the outcome of the gameplay I base this story on (as each playthrough is very unique) will be translated into the plot of this story. i.e. If the spaceship gets damaged, it gets damaged in the story. If a character dies in the game, they’re dead in this fiction. (Please note that I find this kind of storytelling entertaining to play/write and I plan to do more in the future if time allows!)

Chapter 2

The crew of the S.S. APH pondered their options. At the Exit Beacon of their first Civilian Sector they had a choice on where to jump. Both branching sectors were civilian areas, one was under Engi Control and the other under Zoltan Control.

Captain Alfred F. Jones brought up the file on the Engi species. “It says here that Engi dudes are made of nanomachines. That’s pretty damn sweet! Maybe we could get them to be our mechanics?”

Arthur Kirkland, the weapons master, pulled up the file on their second option, the Zoltans. “Apparently both the Engi and Zoltans are allies. We could encounter either species in either sector so we have a coin toss here. Zoltans are energy beings, meaning that they can act as a kind of battery to save us some engine power. That’s rather handy.”

Their engines expert Francis Bonnefoy hummed in approval. “Now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind having either of those creatures on board. An expert mechanic? A spare battery, pardon ze term… and if we can encounter them in any of these two sectors I don’t think we could lose.”

“It says that the Engi are secret allies of the Federation. That bodes very well for us. Provided the Rebels haven’t corrupted them, of course,” Arthur added thoughtfully.

Their American Captain beamed. “Hell yeah! I guess that means the Zoltan dudes are allies as well. Can’t go wrong here.”

Arthur coughed. “Actually, if we enter Zoltan territory and we’re attacked by hostiles whom have a Zoltan Energy Shield we could face problems. Those energy shields are a bitch to destroy. We need to avoid as many problematic scenarios as possible.”

“Agreed,” the Frenchman said quickly. “I am still shaken from ze last battles.”

“Engi Controlled then?” Alfred suggested. “Back to your stations! Let’s get this important cargo on the move!”

A cautionary message popped up on Alfred’s monitor. It warned them that Mantis had been preying on the Engi core worlds and those insectoids were a rather violent race. He hoped for a peaceful voyage this go-round. He programmed in the next jump, reluctantly avoiding the temptation of visiting the store located at a nearby beacon. If they could harvest more scrap maybe they could invest in some more kickass weaponry or upgrades!

A rather disgruntled British voice chimed over the announcement system. “OH FUCKING HELL!” As tempted as the Captain was to discourage swearing, he allowed it in this case. Out of the frying pan and into the literal fire!

Francis gasped, staring out of his nearby airlock window at the super-giant Class M star! They were too close, they were going to cook like that rather delicious duck l’orange he made for his crew before they left the Federation space port back home. “Oh non non non!”

DANGER! SOLAR FLARES! DANGER! SOLAR FLARES! DANGER!

“Incoming dumbass Pirate Scout ship! Kirkland lock weapons on their shields and weapons rooms before we grill like a BBQ!” Captain Jones commanded as he anxiously kept an eye on their FTL Drive charge. He really did think those pirates were dumbasses, who dares lurk around a giant star to attack passersby at the risk of setting their own ship alight? Idiots.

The S.S. APH successfully damaged the pirate ship but the enemy return shot rocked the weapons room. FIRE!

Arthur hardly knew what hit him, but the searing heat was enough of a tip-off to tell him that if he didn’t move right now he was going to die. Scrambling to his feet, he reached for the fire extinguisher and tried to combat the flames. This was very bad.

His best friend’s voice hailed him over the comms. “Artie, get out of there! I’m gonna open the airlocks to snuff out the fire. Go literally anywhere where you have oxygen.”

“Aye, sir!” he acknowledged, coughing from the smoke as he fled to the shields room. The portside and starboard side airlocks shot open along with a couple of doors into the weapons room draining the air rapidly to deny the fire any fuel.

As soon as the fire was out, Alfred closed all of the doors. That was all kinds of horrible. The pirate ship was repairing and had shields online. If they could get their weapons…

The super-giant Class M star wanted in on the action. It stretched a solar flare right out to the warring ships!

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

Good thing Kirkland kept that fire extinguisher. Fire seemed to be following him today. Alfred sighed from the Bridge and called his crew. “Artie, get out of shields, I’ll open the starboard airlocks. Bonnefoy! Assist Kirkland in weapons, we need to get those back online.”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

In the weapons room, Arthur and Francis united to repair the systems. The Frenchman quickly pulled his on-and-off frienemy into a hug and checked him for injuries. “Mon Dieu! I am happy you aren’t too badly hurt. Ze shields are down, we have to work quickly. Are you well?”

Arthur huffed and pushed him away. “Yes, I’m fine. Let’s get to work before more fire follows me.” He was feeling a little paranoid that he had pissed off a sun god or some crap like that. They had to get away.

The pirates were fighting well! They destroyed their surveillance system, not that it was a vital system at this point in time but it was extra hull damage that our heroes could not afford to take. “Bonnefoy! Shields are broken, meet me there. Artie, I see weapons are online, stay there and give them hell!”

Give them hell indeed! The Englishman dealt the deathblow to the pirates and was glad to dust his hands of the bastards. Unfortunately the star was not done with them and heavily damaged their oxygen systems and the weapons room again. The battle was won but the war wasn’t over!

“I’m off to repair O2!” Arthur announced as he fled from his post at weapons to stop them from suffocating. Alfred acknowledged. “Francis, join him! Get the oxygen back online, we can repair other things later but our ship can’t handle more of this. I’m gonna jump us away!”

“Oui! Please get us out of here, I am sweaty and it’s gross.” The pair split directions and Alfred slammed in the co-ordinates of their next destination at the Bridge. If this was what was in the stars for them in this sector they might not live to see the end and that thought was terrifying.

The next leap took them to an existing battle between a Mantis ship harassing a small Engi research vessel. Alfred was almost ready to command an intervention but the insectoids fled as they entered their space. The Engi Captain hailed them, offering thanks for showing up, and gave the S.S. APH a new drone schematic.

Captain Jones gasped in awe. “OH SHIT YEAH! A BOARDING DRONE?! YEEEEEAH!”

His friends joined him on the Bridge. Arthur blinked in surprise. “A Boarding Drone? Wow, that’s powerful tech! Too bad we don’t have a drone room.”

“Dudes, we get one! Or we can sell it if we can’t, whatever, but damn, those Engi guys were nice.”

Francis stretched. “Let’s keep moving, mes amis. Ze Rebels are always on our tails.”

Arthur beamed. A Boarding Drone? That would be fun to use against the Rebel Fleet.

“Alright, dudes, you’re gonna hate me for this, but I’m gonna backtrack to the store. Our hull is fucked and if we can get a drone room to use this fancy-ass tech we’re sure as hell getting it!” Arthur chided him for his horrible use of the English language but agreed that the risk might be worth it. Their hull was already fifty percent damaged, it could spell death if they carried on without fixing it.

Luck turned in their favour! Alfred authorised the purchase of the new drone room to house the Boarding Drone, and it also came with a free Defence Drone Mark I! Bargain. They spent the rest of their scrap on hull repairs and moved on to the next beacon.

They backtracked to an earlier beacon and leapt right on towards the distress signal. Captain Jones listened to the plea and cringed. Oh boy, this was not a pretty distress call but he didn’t feel that they could risk a rescue mission. He called his crew to the Bridge to make an informed decision.

Francis peered through the window in surprise. “It’s an evacuation.”

Alfred hailed the fleeing vessels. “Yo, this is Captain Jones of the Federation Star Ship APH, what’s the sitch?”

Arthur glared at him for once again disregarding etiquette. He ignored his friend.

One of the fleeing ships responded; “Help! We’re being overrun by some sort of giant alien spiders!”

The Frenchman squealed. “WHAT? That’s disgusting! Call pest control!”

Arthur whacked him across the head. “I think literally anyone coming to their aid IS pest control.”

Alfred winced. “Giant alien spiders? Seriously?”

The fleeing ship yelled, “Help us or flee yourselves! Those things are evil!”

Arthur bit his lip. “Sending an away team isn’t advisable, Alfred. I don’t think we can afford to waste more time with the Rebels on our heels and we don’t know what we’re up against.”

Francis nodded. “Oui, I say we go. They’re already evacuating, we should stay ze course.”

The young Captain sighed and agreed resolutely. “Yeah, you’re totally right. Back to your stations, we have a mission to complete!”

“Heads-up, all! We’re navigating an asteroid field.” Alfred paused and checked the radar. “Incoming pirates! Kirkland, power down the Artemis missile and channel it into the drones. I’m gonna power down the medbay to support the Defence Drone, it’s gonna take out the asteroids for us.” Arthur switched the power routes and confirmed that the drone was ready.

“Ah shoot, it looks like we’ve got another coward on our hands. Enemy vessel is powering up its FTL Drive!”

“I’ve destroyed their weapons, sir!” Arthur replied, prepared to change tactics. “Thank God for this drone, it’s stopping the asteroids from striking us. Their hull is weak, the pirates won’t last long.”

True to his word, the pirates perished soon after and they could reap the rewards. There was no time to spare, they had to continue the journey!

“Hey, dudes! We have a Rebel Auto douche here with a sweet cache. Let’s attack it and steal its shit.”

Arthur audibly sighed over the comms system. “Is that an order, Captain or are you daydreaming aloud?”

“HAHAHAHA! Shut it and fire up the weapons, bro.”

“How the hell did you earn your Captain’s badge again?” he asked rhetorically.

“By bein’ a HERO, of course! Fire up!”

“I’ve taken out their weapons, Captain!” Sadly, that wasn’t enough to stop an enemy missile from screwing with their shields.

“Shields are down! That goddamn drone is setting everything on fire! Francis, run to weapons, I need to open the airlocks!”

“Oui, I’ll keep Arthur company and hope he doesn’t attract fire again,” Francis responded, running down the halls.

Arthur scoffed. “Quiet, idiot, or I’ll make sure you’re in the way of the fire beam.”

“So cruel!” the Frenchman whined as he entered the weapons room. The Englishman stuck out his tongue and switched the Burst Laser to lock on the drones as Alfred opened the airlocks to control the drain of oxygen.

Once the fires were extinguished, Alfred shut the airlocks and commanded Francis to repair the shields and medbay. The Auto-Assault ship exploded and left them with a decent reward. Arthur examined the weapon from the cache. A Healing Burst? That could be useful but he was hoping for something a little better.

The next beacon was a store! The Engi hive operating it seemed friendly enough and Alfred treated Arthur to a special weapons augmentation. As the Engi repaired their hull, Arthur installed the ‘Automated Re-Loader’. An extra ten percent recharge rate on their weapons could really give them an advantage!

Feeling refreshed, the crew embarked to the next beacon, painfully aware of how close the Rebel Fleet was getting to them.

“Yo, crewdudes! I found a dormant Rebel Automated Scout here. I’m gonna try and download its data stores. You guys chill or whatever.”

A FEW MOMENTS LATER…

“Uh… Yeah, Artie, can ya do me a favour and like… blast the ever living hell outta this thing? I miiiight have activated it into fight mode.”

Francis could have sworn he heard the audible facepalm from his friend, but then again he could have done that deliberately over the announcement system.

Fortunately these ships were quick to deal with and Arthur destroyed it without putting up much of a fight. They collected the loot and moved on with their lives.

The next beacon was located around a pulsar. A small research station orbited it, but it seemed to be abandoned. Alfred scanned the area and flipped on the Red Alert sirens. “BATTLE STATIONS, PEEPS. WE HAVE MORE PIRATES!”

“I thought this was Engi space? All we’ve seen are Rebels and Pirates!” Francis complained over the comms system.

“They could be Engi pirates? We don’t have the scanners to see into their ships,” Arthur reasoned as he powered up the weapons. “Brace yourselves for ion waves, everyone. Our electronics are going to go haywire.”

DANGER! ELECTROMAGNETIC WAVES! DANGER!

The enemy weapons room was targeted and blasted to pieces. An ion wave disrupted their engines and shields, whereas the enemy had a mild disruption to their weapons and oxygen rooms.

“We have another runner! Take these losers down, Kirkland!”

“I’m doing my best! The bloody pulsar knocked out my weapons charge.”

“Shit, they’re getting away!”

There was a tense moment as the pirates used their FTL Drive to flee. The crew of the S.S. APH were worried that they would alert the Rebel Fleet about their location. This did not happen and they could breathe again.

“Fuck, that was intense!” Alfred called over the announcement system. “Look, things are gonna get ugly. We’ll pitstop at the next store but we’re gonna encounter the Rebels at the Exit Beacon. Artie, be on high alert when we get there.”

“I’m already on high alert, but I will do my best to fend them off so we can get to the next sector.”

“Good man. Franny, come with me, we’ll get the supplies this time.”

The Engi trader was a nice entity. He showed the crewmembers his wares and allowed them to discuss budget. In the end, they settled for a Flak Gun Mark I to potentially give them an advantage over multiple shields on enemy vessels along with an extra bit of fuel to tide them over. That was it, that was ALL of their scrap, which included the extra currency they made by selling their Healing Burst. They hoped it was enough to keep them alive.

Captain Jones gathered his friends in the Bridge with a grave expression. “Okay, so the Rebels are definitely at the Exit Beacon, no escapin’ that. Just do your best and try not to die. Our priority is to buy time to escape, alright? We’re not aiming for a win, we’re aiming for an escape.”

Francis looked nervous. “I don’t want to die!”

Arthur sat on the pilot’s chair and rested his head in his hands. “We all know the risks. Let’s not be pessimistic. We’ll either succeed in getting through the beacon or they will blow us to kingdom come. We’ve better head there right now. I just hope they haven’t had time to set-up anti-ship batteries…”

“Good luck, guys! I believe in you!” They all hugged for a brief moment before marching off to their stations. Here goes nothing!

As Alfred suspected, the enemy ship had two layers of shields to deal with. The investment in the Flak Gun was worth it. Arthur warmed up the weapons and aimed the Flak Gun at the enemy engines with additional fire power aimed at their shields in the form of the Artemis missile. He also noticed that they had a teleportation pad. Well, this was about to get bloody!

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

“Bonnefoy! Get out of engines and man the doors! I’m opening the back airlocks, don’t get caught in it, I’ll try and suffocate the bastard!” Alfred called over a private comm link as he monitored the single human intruder.

“Aye, Captain!” Francis responded, racing to his new post as the engine and oxygen rooms were starved of air. The intruder was going to regret beaming aboard alright!

In weapons, Arthur cringed as his Flak debris missed the FTL Drive. He was counting on the Artemis missile to destroy the shields to help things along. The shields were hit on both ships and they tried their best to remain stable.

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

The oxygen room was under attack by the one intruder that was slowly suffocating because he didn’t bring a space suit. The S.S. APH’s shields were vulnerable, which meant that the Rebel Elite Fighter could definitely land more hits. This wasn’t looking great and the FTL was taking its sweet time to charge up!

Francis did his best to hold the doors firmly secured shut. This was difficult when they never invested any scrap to upgrade their reactor and subsequently their subsystems further. He could not leave his post whilst the intruder remained on board, which left the engines unmanned so that he couldn’t assist Alfred with dodging attacks, and if he left the doors to repair the broken shields Arthur would be attacked by the intruder, no doubt. This was a horrible situation and it was going to get worse.

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED! WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

Arthur managed to damage the Rebel’s engines, shields and weapons but chaos had already reigned on the S.S. APH. Enemy retaliation had damaged their piloting systems, shields and engines. On top of that, there was a fire in the drone control room and the entire oxygen system had been destroyed. They were in major trouble!

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

WARNING! HULL AT 75%!

It was a never-ending sound of alarms on the ship. Alfred was stuck repairing the piloting system so that they could continue charging the FTL Drive, Francis had left the door system room to try to fix the shields to give them SOME protection as Arthur madly aimed their weapons at the enemy ship.

Arthur panicked and knew he had to do something or they’d be stuck as a waiting target for the Rebels to destroy any minute now. He ran to the engines to repair the FTL Drive. “Alfred! I’m repairing the engines. We can’t leave if they’re broken!”

“The weapons are auto-firing, right?!” he called back.

“Yes! I…” Wow, the air was constricting in this room. He continued working as hard as he could to get the engines back online but he couldn’t focus for some reason… “We need to get vital systems online!”

The Rebels were close to destruction but that felt like a hollow promise of victory. The teleportation room activated again and now they had THAT to deal with too.

Alfred was sweating. The drone room was directly behind the Bridge and that was completely on fire now. He couldn’t run to help his friends and they were losing! He checked the ship surveillance to see how everyone was and his eyes widened in horror. “FRANCIS, GET TO THE OXYGEN ROOM NOW. FIX IT QUICKLY, ARTHUR’S DYING!”

“What?!” came the Frenchman’s startled response. “I’ll head there now!”

“ARTIE, BUDDY! Your vitals are critical. Are you conscious?! Get out of there and head to the medbay right now. ARTHUR! Move it! Please…”

Arthur was hanging on by a thread. He could barely move but he had to get out of there. Somehow he got to his feet and felt his way out of the engine room. His health was waning and he almost fainted en route to the medbay. He had to get there. To heal. To breathe. There was so much NOISE. Where was medbay again?

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

Arthur collapsed on a bed in the medical wing. Luckily the system was able to start helping him to convalesce but he was extremely close to death! Thankfully he made it there in time.

Francis was struggling. It took a lot of effort but the oxygen was back online! He coughed and hurried over to the medbay as his health depleted further. He was the second member close to death that day. He saw Arthur and relaxed, letting the system heal his body.

BOOM! The enemy vessel exploded leaving them with a nice bit of fuel to move on when they weren’t burning to death. That was one less worry for Alfred but he had plenty more to deal with post-battle. Namely the one intruder destroying their weapons room!

Alfred sighed with relief and spent a moment recovering. He checked on his friends’ vital signs... they seemed to be improving in the medbay. Good. That was too close for comfort. He exhaled and began opening most of the airlocks, not only to deal with the raging fire in the room behind him but also to make the intruder suffer.

He watched as the oxygen fled the ship and waited for his best friend to regain consciousness. They had to get this ship running again pronto or they’d face another vessel, which they can’t afford to do!

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

Alfred made a beeline to the medbay once most of the fire was extinguished. He hugged Arthur once he woke up and dragged him to the door systems room. “Good job there, Artie. Sorry you almost died, but we’re alive now. I need you to focus and help me repair these doors or we’ll never be able to close them. Francis repaired the oxygen room, he’s healing at the moment, and we have an intruder on board and the Rebels are kicking our asses but we’ll be fine! Just help me fix shit so we can leave, okay?”

The shorter blond blinked his emerald eyes tiredly at him and nodded, helping to restore the systems. He put out the fire in the door room with Alfred and was feeling well enough to take back responsibilities on the ship.

Once all of the fires were extinguished on the ship, Alfred remotely sealed the doors and responded to an alert from the medbay. The intruder had decided to launch an attack on Francis whom was still recovering!

“Gotcha, Rebel scum!” Alfred yelled as he barrelled into the intruder and started hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. Arthur woke up his bearded friend and together the three of them eliminated the rebel for good. Panting, the crewmates gathered their wits as the medbay healed them.

Francis looked pale. “I think we almost died. For real that time.”

Arthur bit his lip. “I should have known that something was off when I tried repairing the FTL Drive. I didn’t realise the oxygen was knocked out, I should have gone there, but my thought was to fix the engines so we could flee.”

Alfred sat down on a bed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ugh, that was horrible. I almost lost you both. I don’t want to pilot this ship on my own, we’re already a tiny crew.”

“Well we made it!” Francis chimed in optimistically.

Alfred hugged them all tightly before standing up with purpose. “Now we’re all healed, let’s get this ship functioning again and then get the fuck outta dodge!”

Arthur stretched and saluted half-heartedly. “I’ll fix drones, Jones should take engines and Bonnfoy fix my bloody weapons. When we get to the next sector we REALLY need to focus on upgrades if we can. Our reactor power is weak and we can’t use all of our systems to full capacity.”

“I know that, dude,” the Captain scoffed. “Let’s just get out of here and then worry about the technicalities.”

With repairs completed, Alfred went back to the Bridge alone. The sector map branched out into two locations. They could either go to another Engi Controlled sector, not that this sector bore much fruit for the S.S. APH, or they could risk everything and attempt to survive in Rebel Controlled territory. He groaned. Being a space Captain wasn’t as cool as he thought it would be. He wished he had convinced his friends to stay home instead.

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT SECTOR...

Chapter 2 - END

[CHAPTER LIST]

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[Cover Art] This image was drawn in HB pencil and painted in watercolour paints on the 8th August 2021. It was digitally enhanced in GIMP Image Editor on the 9th August 2021. Paper type = 130 gsm

This chapter was written on the 30th-31st August 2021.

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(Reblogging is fine, though!)

[Mythical Canary Info]

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