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blazehedgehog · 2 years

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Physical or digital media?

I would be a 100% physical media person if I could help it.

There are too many stories of games getting delisted for licensing or whatever. A developer pays for a celebrity likeness or a top 40 song or a specific model of car and five years later, whoops! The rights expired! The game goes poof. It's like it never existed. Doesn't matter how good or bad the game was.

And keep in mind, even a bad game is going to be somebody's favorite, and they deserve a way to still experience it.

If you have a disc, that disc is forever (within reason). If it's a digital game, it gets deleted from that reality. Literally deleted. I bought Forza Horizon 3 on PC a few years ago because Microsoft had the foresight to warn people when it was getting delisted. And thankfully, the servers are still up, and Microsoft says they are, at least for now, committed to letting you redownload delisted games that you paid for.

But that won't always be the case, and it's already happening that some games can permanently disappear. The Wii Shop Channel is gone now. All those Virtual Console games, all those WiiWare titles, if you missed your shot to download it from Nintendo, it's gone now. Doesn't matter how much you paid. If you connect that console to the internet all you'll have is an error message. The clock is also ticking on the 3DS and Wii U eShops, which are slated to close at the end of this month.

Stadia, in its entirety, is gone. Most (not all) of those games are available on other platforms... but if you bought it on Stadia, you will have to buy it again somewhere else, and hope that one day, that too does not also go down.

There are always gestures of preservation efforts made by the community. And I'm thankful for those. The Wii Shop Channel is gone, but all of those games have been backed up by pirates years ago. Believe me, I'm no stranger to the methods used to play games like Castlevania ReBirth or Fast Racing League, which died on the Wii Shop and have never been ported anywhere else to this day.

But there are a lot of assumptions made in things like that which may not have practical solutions. Like, how many of you reading this blog have ever tried to emulate an original Xbox game on the PC? Microsoft only lets you access a small percentage of the Xbox library through their official backwards compatibility, but what if you want to venture outside of that?

It's not an easy process. Compatibility is a mess, system requirements are all over the place, and you have to get very specific dumps to even get the games to boot at all, assuming they can actually run. Yes, the data has been preserved, but it's not worth much when you can't do anything with it or need to spend $1500 on a PC good enough to run the emulation software.

It will always be easier to own the disc and throw it in the original hardware. A lot of Sega Saturn emulation still isn't an especially easy thing to run smoothly unless you have an above average gaming PC. I'd have to spend at least $300-$400 just to upgrade my system's CPU, but a couple years ago I spent $110 on a RetroTink2x Pro and I can hook my real hardware up to that just fine.

But even that's becoming it's own problem, because all of the greasy collectors have been moving in for years now and driving prices up on even the cheapest, most recent trash. The aftermarket is all but disappearing -- up through the launch of the PS4, it used to be you could find PS2 games for pennies. Now used prices seem to stay pretty much lock step with retailer MSRP (that's the price you pay for brand new shrinkwrapped games, kids). You might be lucky to find newer games on Ebay for a couple bucks off, but it's not like it used to be.

There are more and more and more stories about grifters like WATA coming in and "officially grading" retro games to be fake collector's items, leading to awful headlines like a copy of Super Mario 64, one of the most ubiquitous and common N64 games ever made, selling for a million dollars. That's like selling a bucket of tap water for a million dollars.

Buying physical is becoming a landmine because it's feeling like if you wait too long then you're at the mercy of scalpers and grifters and "collectors" who think they can throw a loose cart of Super Mario 64 up on Ebay and get $50-$70 for it.

A part of me wants to slap on a tinfoil hat and say that this was a plan. Ten years ago, the used games market was the enemy for a corporation like Microsoft, because it was a method to get dirt cheap games without any of that money going to them.

And though they backed off from that after it publicly damaged the Xbox brand, they are still pushing very, very, very hard to move everything to digital where the used games market does not exist. The next generation of Xbox after the one we're on right now probably won't come with a disc drive at all for how much they push the all-digital Series S in the marketing.

How do you hurry that along? Turn the used games market in to "the collector's market" where those old games like Halo 2 are much more expensive and much less convenient than just buying a digital copy of The Master Chief Collection for $20 on the Xbox Store.

And make no mistake, it is more convenient. Speaking as someone who has moved into smaller and smaller spaces over the last seven years, there comes a very real moment where you have to get rid of pieces of your life. Being able to plug a single box in and have my 18 year old Steam account with 1500+ games certainly seems a lot more comforting on the surface than having to lug five tubs of plastic cartridges and game discs around everywhere I go.

But what if the unthinkable happens, and Steam shuts down some day? I cannot reliably back up 1500 PC games. What if it gets stolen tomorrow and I can't get access back? Is convenient always better? Like, yeah, somebody could break in and steal my retro games, too, but that's a lot harder to do than breaking into my Steam account.

And this isn't even touching on the complications of ownership rights, and how certain businesses are trying to redefine what it means to be a "service" because that allows them to bypass the ownership laws meant to protect people like you and me.

The reality is, because of space, price, and availability concerns, I only really buy physical games if they're meaningfully important to me. And if they're important to me to own on a disc, I usually end up buying them digitally too, just for the convenience of digital. The Xbox 4 might not have a disc drive but I'll still be able to play the digital copy of Sonic Unleashed on it some day, while also being able to pop that same disc in my old 360, assuming it still works.

There are forces at work here and as always their goals are to take more and more and more of our money away from us. They have discovered a lot of great ways to do that. Buying physical is getting to be almost a matter of protest at this point.

#questions #anonymous #physical #digital #xbox #microsoft #gamepass #collectors #WATA #insane ramblings or perhaps the truth

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fountainpenguin · 7 months

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"See, I am a legend and I always win! The stars in the cosmos, they bow to my whim!" (x)

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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 24 - “Jolt (Cleo, Scott)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Martyn buries Cleo alive while talking about pacing structure and roleplay plot points. Also, Mayor Scott gets a reality check about running a utopian server hub that no one ever leaves.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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ZombieCleo - Zombie

Status: Mentally stimulated

Historian, museum curator, and stadium gamemaster

💙 🧡 💚

They're up in the tunnels, lying on their back on exposed tweenstone while the opals glitter in the walls above them. It's dead dark in here. She's got decent night vision and Martyn probably does too. Glowing eyes do help with that. She's got dirt coating most of her body. Martyn's patting more into place and really going off on a long-winded spiel. Yeah, he does that. Cleo rests with one hand on her stomach and lets him talk. Martyn just wants someone to talk to and she just wants to touch the loamy black soil outside the perimeter. They have to do this together or not at all.

"-enough foreshadowing, d'you think?" Martyn makes a vague swirl with his hand. "I mean, when I look at the storyboards, it seems a little bathtub-y, but I wanted to have fun with it. I think I can swing it- It's better to have fun."

"Mmhm," she says. "I mean, if you want to avoid info-dumping, tension's always going to be the best fix. The first thing I think of is just… Adding weapons. Or maybe slide the scene somewhere else, like a cliff. Or maybe you have a build or private room the viewers have never seen inside before, so it feels exciting even if it's full of talking."

"There's a thought!"

"Or- or, here's an idea- Give them a solid reason they can't actually leave. It doesn't even have to be physical restraints, right? Maybe one character has an item the other wants. Maybe it's just information. Or someone's hurt? You have that whole treasure-hunting schtick going on, right? Adding a collectible to the mix could amp the stakes."

"Oh, that's good. I like that… Withholding information is killer, dude."

"Not too much, though."

"No, no! It'll be clear well before the end. Hmm. Maybe it just needs a pacing restructure. A little more to draw things out, yeah? I might slip in an extra scene upfront that doesn't look important at the time, but should really tie things together down the road." He sprinkles dirt around her neck, making some stupid drawn-out show of it just because it gets his wings up, apparently. Cleo sticks out their tongue. He laughs, giving the wings a flap. "Ooh, actually- You know that respawn idea I had last Friday? What are your Week 2 thoughts on that?"

"Kill your darlings. Not the character- I mean the scene. Just opt for a near-death experience instead. I think the punch will hit harder."

"What hits harder than a respawn?"

Cleo shrugs, which waterfalls black dirt down their shoulders and across Martyn's skinned knees. "I mean, delays don't do you any good. You'll have dead space anyway because of all that travel time to get back to the main scene. Remember your Limited Life ending with the lava buckets? Just work around it. Set it up so you can stay around, even if you're injured. Respawns feel like cheating anyway- I mean, they refresh you back to full energy. It's a little cheap."

Martyn exhales. It leaves him like a swirl. "Hmm… Yeah, I can see that."

"Just think about it, at least. You don't have to throw the scene out."

"Yeah, I know. I do see your point. Spawn is so far away." He takes the spilled dirt and pats it into place again, pressing on the wrinkles until the stuff is sealed against her like a freshly frosted chocolate cake. "The thing is, I feel like I'm getting nowhere with the storyboards. I think I need to get into the dialogue. Maybe do some test drafts. A few bullet points, at least. I'll run them by you again next week and we can do a pros and cons list."

"Mmhm!"

That seems to satisfy him. See, Martyn likes to talk through plot points without spilling spoilers to the people he actually roleplays with. And he's always hungry. These are the two most important facts you need to know about Martyn, at least as far as Cleo and the gemstone cave are concerned. See, so long as they only allofeed him snippets at a time, he'll patiently wait until she's run out of souls to share before he finally takes her out. Even when she's well down in the depths of phantom hour, he'll let her push the boundary. Maybe farther than he should. Throw a soul in front of a phantom and you'll really wreck their aggro.

It's a balance of carrots and sticks. It's yin and yang. It's push and pull. Teamwork is essential. She never would've managed to carve out this secret cave without Martyn's wings lifting her past the bullet path moat or into the ceiling tunnel. Scott can poke around all he wants, but unless he thinks to look up, he's never going to find her hideaway.

The thing is, Martyn can whisk his help away any time he likes. At any time. He didn't withdraw when Double Life split them apart, though Cleo firmly told him chatting about Double Life was off the table the first time he opened his mouth. The third time, maybe. Sure, he whined and groveled about roleplay decompression for a bit (for "the" bit?), but she gave him a cornflower from her hair that he can keep in Between to match the one she gave him on the server. That's all the "We're okay; it's just a game" aftercare he really wanted. He eased up.

He never wore it, though, even though it was the start of the 100-day block back then, which is… confusing. She dropped by his and Jimmy's place once for a game night though, and there it was… in a vase. And honestly, it doesn't get any more clear than that: Thanks for the gift! Your friendship's important to me, but I reject your courtship. I'll keep it as a memento to show there's nothing weird between us, but I'm not wearing this. I don't want you to get the wrong idea.

Martyn's full of wrong ideas. He does what he thinks is "funny." That's the polite way to put it. And since hanging out with Martyn in the caves is really just a business transaction, she should probably make an effort to be polite.

"What's so funny?" he asks, looking up from her dirt-covered arm.

"Bad joke."

"Share or it didn't happen."

Cleo blinks up, his form in shadow apart from the lapis-like glow of his eyes. "I gave you a flower a while back. During Double Life."

"Yeah?"

"You never wore it, but I saw it in your room. Just thought it was funny to interpret that as you saying 'I don't want Cleo to get the wrong idea' when you're full of wrong-"

"Whoa, whoa," he says, throwing his hands in the air. Cleo snorts and Martyn tsk-tsks, thwacking his tail against the dirt. "And this when I'm putting dirt on you."

"I do appreciate that, yeah."

He slaps the next clump down hard. Cleo jolts, but the glitter in his eyes tells them straight away that he's not really mad. "I can't believe that's what you think of me even in your private thoughts. And after all this time!"

"I'm petty, rude, and I commit to the bit. I'm not sure why you're surprised."

"I'm not."

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

#trafficblr #Scott Smajor #ZombieCleo #Martyn InTheLittleWood #widows alliance #Zombiewood #Dog's Life #Dog's Life art #apparently art #fic announcement #Pixels Imperfect #Herobrine #mcyt #trafficfic

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weaselsblaugh · 1 year

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A dream so elaborate that I needed to put it in a Tumblr post

For some reason I tell my dreams to one specific discord server. But they tend to be very long and vivid, and this one in particular is so long that I do not want to just dump it on a chat channel without warning. So here it is as a Tumblr post.

In my dream, I found myself in an expansive video game arcade. It had more or less all of the things you'd find in an arcade in the modern era. Ticket games, gun games, racing games in elaborate cockpits. Somewhere in an annex within an annex, though, was a highly over-designed pinball game, identifying itself as "Theatre of Magic II." But to call it a pinball game would not do justice to what this machine truly was. Theatre II was an experience of a pinball game.

Most pinball machines stand on four legs, with the table roughly just above the waist height of an average adult male. Theatre II had a control panel that stood up to there, with the usual coin mechanisms and flipper buttons, but the table itself was much larger, and set in front of the panel in - appropriately enough - what looked like a large theater. It was difficult to tell at a glance what was part of the pinball game, and what was just decoration, until such time as the ball struck it and made it become relevant to play.

But all of that changes as soon as you've struck the right target. Or perhaps, the wrong target. The ball is swallowed up, and the entire scene in front of you becomes something else entirely. The targets and tracks and bumpers fold away out of view, and you see in front of you a large mansion, cut away in the front like a doll house. A voice explains to you that, if you want to ever see your ball again, you will solve its riddles. This is enough of a spectacle that anybody else playing in this room, on how few games can fit in the room with Theater II present in it (as it is roughly the width of five or six normal pinball machines, itself, and much deeper), would stop playing immediately to see what all this brouhaha is about.

Once the voice has finished its tirade and vanished into the air waves, the control panel reveals a series of smaller panels within it, with labels. They are outputs. TOKENS, one reads. DICE. DISKS. And one other, with no label at all. The coin mechanism has retracted and been closed off, presumably to stop anybody else from trying to bribe it to go back to the pinball.

A small glass case rises in front of the panel. It resembles a craps table, though with indentations where a typical six-sided die would fit snugly. The plunger launcher, still present on the control panel, becomes loaded with one such die. I pull it back as hard as it will go, and release - the die tumbles and bounces into the glass case, bounds off of the rubberized walls, and eventually lands into one of the indentations, showing a number 3 on its exposed upper face.

The TOKENS panel slides out in front of me, like a small desk drawer. Inside of it are what looks like three half-dollar-sized coins. One has George Washington's face on it, but John F. Kennedy's on the other. There are four holes stamped through it, in the shape of a crude fleur de lis. I look at another one of them - it also has Kennedy's face on one side, but on the other one, an inscription that reads "THIS ONE ISN'T LEGAL TENDER, SORRY." It, too, has the four holes stamped through it. I do not recall what the third one looked like.

As soon as I've got all three of the tokens out of the drawer, the voice from before implores me not to keep them. "Go play some darts," it urges. The darts machine to my left begins flashing on its own. I had thought it was just an ordinary darts game, but it was becoming clear that it was somehow networked to Theatre II.

I insert the tokens into "Fastback Darts" and the machine seems to just eat them, without acknowledging. An arcade attendant is here watching this all go down, but even he doesn't seem to want to mess with what's going on. I wouldn't blame him - it's impossible to tell, now, what is intentional, what is a part of the Theatre of Magic II experience, and what is a misbehavior in the machines. Theatre II's voice booms forth again. It hopes that I'm good with computers. On the main control panel, the drawer labeled DISKS pops out. There are three, unlabeled floppy diskettes, resembling the common three-and-a-half inch variety, albeit only two inches in size. I take them, and the scene in front of the control panel changes again.

The mansion rotates in front of me until I am seeing some kind of exterior garden. There are children, or I suppose the figures of children, playing here. They are dressed very old-fashionedly, the kind of thing you'd have seen in illustrations in books from the turn of the 20th century. Next to the children, though, is a vintage-looking computer terminal, an all-in-one model. Its screen is already powered on, its text glowing as green as can be, prompting me to insert a diskette into the Secondary Drive. I choose one at random. I must step around the control panel to reach the computer. The attendant behind me makes to stop me - he wants to ask me, am I really sure that I want to do this? Neither of us has any idea what will happen if I press onward. But I insert the disk.

A nearby basketball-themed pinball shuts down. The person playing it, seemingly accepting that his game has ended and his role is done, simply walks out of the room. He accidentally bumps into the free-standing Fastback Darts machine, and knocks it over - it is made of cardboard. The attendant dutifully picks it up and stands it again, though I notice that he is sizing it up and trying to figure out where the tokens went, and why the machine is so light, despite being otherwise so lifelike.

I step over to the basketball table - "NBA Fastbreak Special Edition" featuring the voice of Tim "KABOOM!" Kitzrow - and it seems to be firing balls at random, trying to choose a team for me to represent. It eventually settles on a team that I'm not sure has ever existed - the Dover Clementines.

At this point, though, as all dreams do, I find the events have ceased. The dream ends in stasis, its story aborted, never to be continued. I can only imagine how much more elaborate the Theatre of Magic II could get. Pinball, it would seem, was only the beginning.

#weasel's dreams #pinball #arcades

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ot3 · 2 years

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The more posts about posting I read the less I know why people even post at all. I feel like I've never really gotten the hang of online interaction. It's always sharing too much or too little, trying too hard to be funny or being too serious. Well, feel free to ignore, sorry for the possibly unwanted interaction!

This response got kind of long so i'm going to stick it under a cut.

i think your first problem here is mistaking posting for interacting. for a lot of people, a post is really just dumping something online and interaction is something that may or may not follow. for the most part, people just post because they have something to say and whatever anyone else might have to say in response to that is really secondary to just getting your thoughts off your chest. I know that I don't expect anyone to care about half of the inane shit i post online I really just need somewhere to put my thoughts...

but in terms of things that are actually interacting - replying to someone's post or sending them a message/dm, or speaking in discord servers or anything like that. i think a good rule of thumb is to just. interact with people in a way that gives them a built in avenue to respond. Forget any of the padding. Forget about coming off funny, or cool, or smart or whatever. Just say exactly what you mean in a way where it is clear what you're actually looking for from the person who will be responding.

my least favorite kind of interactions are ones where it doesn't seem like the person coming to me actually cares about my opinions or perspective, and is just using me as means to acquiring an audience for their opinions or perspective. like with this ask, i can't really tell if you're actually coming to me for advice, or just venting frustration at me. In fact, that's the main thing in common with all of the bullet points I listed in that original post. A lot of people said that the oc one was the outlier, but to be honest, if anything is the outlier, is the over familiar rudeness. The other points all fall into the category of things you say to a person when you're not really having a conversation with them, you're just talking at them. I can't stand being talked at.

That's what making a post is for - when you have something to say that doesn't require a specific response from a specific person, but is just a thought you'd like to air out. This is also why, in many instances, I prefer talking in groupchats to one-on-one in dms. If I have a thought I do want someone to engage with, but it doesn't necessarily require a specific response from a particular person, I can just dump it in a group chat and anyone who has anything to say can say it, and anyone who doesn't doesn't feel pressured to do so. Group chats are also nice because with one on one conversations I always have trouble finding a natural endpoint to a conversation, but when multiple people are involved I can just slip out when I run out of things to add to the conversation at hand.

anyway if you are coming to someone one-on-one a great way to help your intentions get across is to just find a way to phrase what you're saying as a question. this advice all might seem kind of clinical or mechanical but as a haver of autism I enjoy a clinical and mechanical approach to most things. it makes the most intuitive sense to me that way. When you're asking someone a question, it's always clear what sort of response is actually being sought out. Ambiguity is really the conversation killer - when I don't know how to respond to something, I don't respond. Simple as that.

It's not like questions are the ONLY thing you should say to people online, it's just that including a question helps your intentions be understood more clearly. So let's say someone online is posting about subject x, and you have some relevant thoughts you'd like their opinion on (and once again, I must stress this point - that you'd like their opinion on. Unless you want to hear what someone has to say you shouldn't start a conversation.) A great way to do that is to just say hey I saw you post about [x]. what do you think about [opinion]?.

Like, obviously everything I'm saying here is very subjective to my experiences online and my preferred communication styles. but it just seems to me like the biggest reason people have trouble making online friends is because they're approaching it backwards. they're not seeing specific people and thinking 'this is someone i'd like to be friends with, that i'd like to know better' they're thinking 'i want people to be friends with' and just picking people to interact with kind of randomly at large scale to cast as wide a net as possible. i don't know. i'm the kind of person who would rather spend time alone than engage in socialization for the sake of socialization. so it's a hard perspective for me to understand.

#sorry this is so long i just need to be Thorough and Specific because its really the only way i know how to be

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cdroloisms · 3 years

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Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao)

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

#tw trauma #tw death #tw blood #tw injury #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #prison arc #pandora's vault #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks

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goatlingsvent · 2 years

Note

About pain (i hope the read more works) this isn’t to condone harassment or bullying just my experience with them loosely.

🧨anon I was the reason why pain even is gone in server. I won’t share explicit details. But they’ve been having issues with me. I told them to stop having public meltdowns multiple times in server. I have had to restate my boundaries and known max for literally years (something like 6-7) . I just can’t take it again. I needed to cut them off. I told them to leave the server because it’s harming them by looking here when i told them to not. I’m not gonna dump everything pain has done to me because thats shitty; but i thought we were finally getting somewhere only to have it all ripped away again. Please get some inpatient help it will do you wonders. Stop crossing my boundaries and messaging me off site because i unfriended you on discord. I need to heal. This isnt about you in the end. It’s me trying to heal from everything. You’re not the only one hurting max. I dont care if you start shit again just know I will not defend you if you choose to do so. Sorry if this reads clunky im sick with some viral cold. I do not care if I get name dropped. Go crazy go stupid. I just have no idea how you can keep going back to your 15 yr old self and destroying everything again?? I guess your promises to heal with me and get things ok went down the drain. I’m done leave me the fuck alone max. I can’t believe you.

We don't normally respond to these, but for whatever little it's worth, you are going to be okay, you did what you had to, and it's okay.

It's really difficult to cut people out, even if they aren't a bad person, sometimes people need to be cut out simply for not being good for you, specifically.

Don't feel guilty for what you had to do.

-Mod 👽

#serious #tw mental health #long post #pain #mod alien #goatlingsvent

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bnhabadass · 4 years

Text

This is a collaboration with the bnharem server for Angst April. This was incredibly fun to participate in even though it hurt writing. Make sure to check out everyone else’s pieces which you can find here.

Pairing: Tokoyami x Reader Warning: Angst

You always thought that if you were to get dumped it would be in person, over coffee, at a cafe on a sunny day in late spring. Well maybe it wouldn’t be that scene exactly, but you were sure that you would be able to look into your lover’s eyes one last time before bidding them farewell forever.

A text message. It was a measly six word text message that broke your heart into a million shards which blew away with a gust of thick wind.

I think we should break up.

You were confused. You thought that your relationship was going well, especially considering that you went to different schools and how busy he was with his hero work. Third year students are already busy as it is, and what he has told you about his hero training seems so rigorous and taxing. Even with all of that you managed to find time to see each other and to go on dates at least once every other week. It was a healthy relationship, and you weren’t ready to give that up just yet.

Why do you say that?

You waited for a response. You checked your phone constantly, threw it against the couch cushions when you had no notifications, and practically ripped out strands of your hair as a pit of anxiety formed in your stomach. You tried to distract yourself by turning on the TV, but the first bit of news that popped up was a case that Hawks’ agency dealt with earlier in the week, and of course he was the headliner.

“Where are we going?”

“Just wait. It’s only going to be a few more minutes.”

You held your boyfriend’s hand as you walked under the bright moonlit sky together. The trees cast shadows down onto your skin. It was breezy out and you pinched the sides of your sweater together with your free hand.

Your boyfriend had told you the truth, and it was only a couple more minutes before you had arrived at your destination.

“I know that it has been a while since we were able to see each other,” he said, “what with me having hero work and all. So I thought why not make the most of the time we do have together.”

You gasped and couldn’t hold back a smile as you saw the picnic laid out before you. A blanket was spread on the grass and candle holders with red candles inside illuminated the picnic basket in the center.

“Fumikage, you never fail to impress me.” You kissed the top of his beak and gently guided him over to the spread he had made for you.

You tried to forget the memory. You smacked the side of your head in an attempt to make it go away, but no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop thinking about the small smiles that he would give only for you. And your head started to hurt.

You tried calling one of your friends but she didn’t pick up. You needed something to distract yourself, something to pass the time. You took a long shower where you planned on letting all that pent up emotion loose, but it refused to come out. You sat in the shower for an hour feeling the hot water beating down on your upper back. Your toe nails scraped against the bottom of the tub as you counted the seconds that went by.

Why can’t I cry? My boyfriend broke up with me, so why am I not upset?

That isn’t entirely true. You were furious. How could a year and a half of laughing and taking late night jogs and cooking meals with each other end with just the tap of a finger? You weren’t ready for it to end. You didn’t think you would ever be ready for it to end.

When you turned off the water and slid the shower curtain open, you relaxed slightly as you saw the heat emanating from your bare arms. As you cooled down, you could finally take a deep breath.

It was late. The full moon cascaded through your bedroom window, lighting the room in an almost magical way. However you could only feel a tightening in your stomach, as the moon reminded you of him.

Checking your phone for the umteenth time that night, you realized that it had died while you were in the shower. He could have responded while you were away and you would have no idea. What if he tried to call you? What if he decided that it was wrong to break things off with you and you weren’t there to answer?

Your trembling hands desperately fiddled with the plug by your bedside. How could you have let this happen? How could you have let it die? How could you have let your relationship die on your watch?

Tears clouded your vision as you waited for your phone to regain it’s battery. Just one percent. All you need is one percent to see if he responded, to see why your boyfriend left you.

Your face lit up as soon as your phone did, having regained the smallest bit of charge. You waited for a notification. You refreshed your messages, left dozens of little finger prints across your screen which were sure to cause an oil build up, but that was the least of your concern.

Nothing. There was nothing. No notification or anything. No text from your boyfriend giving an explanation for why he was leaving you. Nothing except the message you sent earlier which he had left on read.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just answer your simple question? Did he not think you deserve an answer? Your throat began to ache as your eyes welled with more tears, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet at least. Not until you had a good reason to cry.

You gripped the towel that was sliding down your body and hoisted it back up. You took a shaky breath in and prepared yourself to call your boyfriend. You waited a moment to hear the ringing on the other line before putting the phone up to your ear. There was a chance that he would not answer, but you knew you needed to try.

“Hello,” you heard after a few moments.

“Hi.” Your voice broke into the speaker, and you cursed yourself for letting any cracks slip through.

“(Y/n) it’s two in the morning.”

“I know it’s two am. I know that, but I need you.” Your voice had turned into a soft whimper as the tears you tried so hard to hold back were inching their way in big globs down your face.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot go to you anymore. You know that.” His voice was cold. It cut like a sharp blade and the wound it left was deep.

Your breathing became rapid. “Can,” you started. “Can you just tell me why? Can you please just tell me why you think we should break up?” Your face grew hot as you struggled to come up with what to say to him next. “Because I thought we were doing so well, a-and I really just need to know.”

You heard an audible sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to date you anymore. I don’t think I love you the same way I used to.”

There was silence on both ends of the line. How could he say that when not even a week before he told you that you were the only person in his life who mattered this much to him? How could he pretend like none of what he told you over the last year and a half mattered?

Your face pinched in as you tried to create the most quiet sobs you could. You didn’t want him to hear how much pain you were in at that moment.

A minute went by before he spoke next. A minute of you quietly wiping away soft yet harsh tears that couldn’t seem to stop spilling out of you. “Are you alright?” He asked.

What did that mean, are you alright? “You’re an asshole, Fumikage” you managed to softly spit out before hanging up and releasing the loudest sob. Your head hit your pillow and you held on for dear life as it slowly started to dampen. The towel slipped past your chest and started to drag down but you didn’t care. You let it fall to the floor as you cried out.

“I loved you. I loved you, I loved you, I loved you.”

The sun was beating down on the calm streets. Most of the people out and about had no idea that there was a bank robbery close by. Tokoyami had swooped down from his perch on the roof of a near-by building, waiting for his mentor to meet him.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was right by some cafe, a cute little shop known for its pastries. Sitting outside the cafe, he spotted someone who he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

You sat at a small metal table, sipping at your cappuccino. Your eyes were glued to the pages of a book, barely ripping them away in order to take a sip of your drink. You looked calm, much more so than the last time he heard your voice.

He felt so guilty. That night, he wanted nothing more than to go to your house and hold you as you sobbed. Not a day went by without him thinking about how much he misses holding his princess of darkness in his arms.

“Nice work, Tsukuyomi,” he heard Hawks from behind him. “The police finished taking my statement. I’m ready to fly back whenever you are.”

Tokoyami didn’t bother looking over at his mentor. Instead, he kept staring at your eyes as they concentrated on the story unfolding in front of you.

Hawks looked at what his trainee was staring at. He recognized you from somewhere. He wasn’t sure where, but then he remembered the picture that Tokoyami showed him a few months before. He spoke about you like nothing else mattered. He had never seen the dark boy smile until he said your name. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at his cloak, scared that if he stared for much longer you would notice.

Hawks looked at him, a warning expression lacing his face. “How long has it been? Four months?”

“Three months and seventeen days.” He looked back up at you, your eyes still trained on your book.

Hawks turned around and readied his wings for take off. “Remember what I told you. Hero work is dangerous. It’s better if you don’t get your loved ones involved.” With that, he took off, but Tokoyami stayed behind.

He wanted to approach you. He wanted to say something, to apologize for everything he did that hurt you, to tell you that he is still very much in love with you and that he wishes he could hold you again.

Your eyes flickered up from the page and he darted behind a tree as to not be seen. When he peeked his head out, he saw that you were now talking to someone. You had set your book aside as you spoke to another young man, one who was clearly attempting to make you laugh with a poor excuse for a joke. Even so, you laughed. And Tokoyami was fuming.

He wanted to push that man out of the way and kiss you like his life depended on it. “Stay away from my girlfriend,” he would say before dipping you down for seconds. He wanted to do that so bad, but he didn’t. He had a feeling, seeing you laugh, that this was the first time in a very long time that you were truly happy.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #tokoyami fukimage #tokoyami x reader #bnha tokoyami #mha tokoyami #angst #angst april #bnharem #bnharem collab

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mrs-jake-blues · 3 years

Note

i was watching a clip of a movie that john was in, and like some dude in the comments was talking about how wired was a good book and i told him that it was inaccurate and disrespectful and he was like "nO iTs NoT" and im not even gonna try at this point :/

NOOOOOOOOO ughhh. I don’t know what’s so hard to believe John’s family and friend that it’s shit and not that idiot who wrote it? People who are saying Wired “isn’t that bad” are saying they know more about John than his own family. Like how I got banned from an snl server because they were all defending Wired and kept shitting on John and his rs with Judy and said the most fucked up things about them like how “John didn’t love her he just needed a security wife to always have somewhere to put his dick in while he cheated on her behind her back :))))” “John treated judy horrible he would’ve dumped her for some blonde playboy model!!!” And called them out cause someone said “John and Judy are cute together, too bad he didn’t love her and cheated o her all the time!!!!” When the fuck did John cheat on her 😭😭😭. Literally anyone who says anything like that doesn’t know the first thing about John and has never read anything his family has said about him (including Dan as his family) or has read his leaders to Judy it anything like that. People are so stupid, they’ll believe anything. I hate how this happens to so many celebs after they die, my friend loves Jim Morrison how I love John and there’s a really messed up book about him called No One Gets Out Alive which is basically the Jim version of Wired and that inspired the shitty Doors movie where Oliver Stone just went out of his way to make Jim look bad it’s just 😕😕😕

ANYWAY sorry for my rant, what movie was the clip from?!?!? Wanna know what seggsyness you were looking at 😌

#ask #notreadyforprimetimez #john belushi #judy belushi #John and Judy broke up for two weeks during season 2 of snl and he literally almost unalived himself and called him crying

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j0hn-deacons-perm · 4 years

Text

Bizarre Love Triangle

‘86 John x Reader, tail end of the Magic Tour.

word count: ~3.7k

Based off Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order (I recommend listening to it while reading) also the song just slaps

Also a quick author’s note. Did I write this until about 6 AM because I couldn’t sleep? Yeah, my dudes. There might still be a few mistakes and will fix them when found but hey, I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~

Last show. The bloody last show of this summer. Tour life has been nothing but stressful but to your surprise, even more rewarding simply with the audience reception. Every show packed with fans, many singing and bopping about like you were on the side lines. Despite being there for nearly every show, the anticipation never ceases to creep up on you. Shivers can be felt in your bones, ready for whatever is to come and you're not even the one on stage in half an hour.

Standing and grabbing drinks, you sit next to John. His knee bouncing as he reads the paper, spotting he's on the current events. Sighing gently, you roam your eyes around the space around you. Brian is tuning his guitar with Fred and Roger sitting next to him. You spot a scrabble board on the table and Roger looking frustrated as he picks letters from the box's top. Most people on your team are racing around, making sure everything is where it should be and in working order. Hearing a sound from John, you look over and watch him skip over the obituaries. However, seeing a name that surely sounds phallic encites a laugh on your end. He raises an eyebrow in your direction.

"Dark comedy your thing, eh?"

"More like potty humor. I see a name like Medick and it's reflex to chuckle."

He scans the page and you laugh again.

"Damn it John, you're looking at Medick."

You determine the laugh he gives you is one out of pity with how bad your Scottish accent was. After apologizing for assaulting his senses, he gives you a smile and asks the time. Looking at your watch, your co-worker announced to everyone the fifteen minute mark before they were expected on stage.

"I hope that answers your question."

His eyes crinkle around the corners and your heart melts at the sight. Answering you with "It does, yeah", he folds the paper up and places it on the empty seat next to him. Attention now on you.

"Any plans post tour Y/N?"

"Besides catch up on nearly a month of lost sleep and time with Tom, probably nothing for a few days. At least that's the hope."

You can see his face shift into a slight discomfort but it might be out of reflex. Two weeks in you began missing your boyfriend back home and requested no one bring him up in conversation, even yourself. Knowing you slipping his name must have been reflex for him. Right?

"Can't imagine what you'd be losing sleep over besides trying to keep track of four old ladies."

"You guys are a lot. Especially you, Deacon. I swear sometimes it's easier looking after a toddler."

He fakes hurt, hand on his chest and a pronounced distressed face paints his features. The rest of the time passes far too quickly for your liking as the boys are rushed off to play their show. You follow behind, overseeing things go smoothy. Grabbing things they may need between songs and making your way off to the side, you nearly jump as the rise in audience volume increases. The floor beneath you shaking as the first few notes play. Hearing the opening lines to One Vision, you calculate the time to sing along but with the lyrics you happened to hear when bringing them their copious amounts of coffee into the recording room. What you didn't expect is John looking over to see you sing 'one dump, one turd, two tits, John Deacon' followed by 'chicken feet, babe' in his direction. You can see him smile when he looks down at his bass.

As the songs pass, your dancing picks up as well as his. You thought John was called Disco Deacy due to his taste in tunes but turns out he's a regular Belle of the ball. His spins and hops always melted your heart, watching him enjoy the music and play. You bop along with him more often than not, enjoying the beats you've heard now countless amounts of times. When I Want To Break Free ends and Brian's solo begins, he heads over in your direction. Grabbing a towel and a vodka tonic, he pats himself dry while watching from your usual view.

"I swear, this solos get longer with every tour."

"And I swear your hair gets bigger with every tour."

"Optical illusion, my dear. Brian's been getting smaller."

He winks and finishes off his drink. His company is gone as quick as it came, or at least it feels that way. The last half of the show plays out along with two encores. Fatigue dampens down on everyone as the crowd starts to disperse and the roadies begin taking apart set ups. Walking back with the boys, you hand them their normal robes and towels as they head to the dressing room. Making your way back to your post and sitting down, the realization of this is the end dawns on you. A month of tours finished. A month of pain, suffering, blood, sweat, and many tears but also a month of pure bliss. A month of becoming even closer with the band that you've come to know the much more this past year. Seeing them outside of the studio was a shock at first but tour life seems to mellow them out in ways. Less ego if that was even possible knowing them in the first place.

Knowing you probably should attend the after party the hotel Freddie booked, your feet ache as you rise up. Feeling the ripe ol' age of 87 at 29 is a sensation you've grown used to but hearing your joints crack as you rise really made you feel ancient.

"Here I thought I was the old one. I heard that all the way over here!"

John laughs at your cracky joints, walking over to give you an arm to support you. A bird is flipped in his direction and he smiles wider. You can tell someone's got more alcohol in their system.

"Now, Y/N, you ready for one last hurrah before a hangover and drive back home?"

"You're speaking my language, Deacy. I'll meet you at the ballroom, okay? Not really digging the uniform look at the minute, you know?"

"Don't be too late, I might be a goner by the time you arrive."

Following his lead to the bus, you and the rest of the group pile in. John walking up the steps in front of you gave you a view you didn't expect to enjoy so much. Those pants really doing him some favors. Shaking your head, you walk the few steps up and look around for a seat. Taking the only empty one next to Freddie, you lean over to congratulate a job well done and yet another successful tour on their end. Feeling eyes on you, a look over shows a poofy haired bassist waving at you once he has your attention. Waving back and turning back to Freddie, you can tell he has a question burning his tongue.

"You and John sure have gotten close over this tour."

"I guess so, yeah."

"Playing favorites? I see how it is, dear."

You slap his shouder with a 'piss off' and a cackle on his end.

"Are you still mad about the scrabble match the other week, Fred? Don't break up the Y/LN and Deacon dream team."

The last night in France ended with drama and an almost scratched cornea as scrabble pieces went flying. Deciding since Jim was present that night, even teams could be made. Brian and Roger, Fred and Jim, then you and John teamed up and no one's surprise, Freddie's normal strategy of adding one tile to make a bigger word didn't work out in his favor. What did come as a surprise was Brian and Roger not taking the win that night. Tempers flared as you and John danced about. When turned, you couldn't see the rogue piece flying your way. Luckily you blinked in time to save you from a more serious injury.

"Please, I'm not mad over a silly fucking game."

"Yeah, one that nearly took out my eye!"

He rolled his eyes but smiled regardless of what he's trying to front. Pulling up to the hotel, you grab your luggage and is soon presented the key to your room. Not wanting to deal with an overly drunk John Deacon, you slightly rush to get ready. After party outfits normally consisted of a tank top, shorts and sneakers but considering it's the last one, you go more formal. Feeling very gussied up in heels you never thought you would wear at all this tour and a dress, you turn to the bathroom with your makeup bag is tow. What you already had on was fine but needed a touch up. Looking over your appearance and adjusting oddly fitting sections, you deem yourself offically ready. However feeling slightly over dressed and maybe showing more than what you're used to but hell, it's August. Realizing that it wasn't too late to call Tom, you dial the number that's branded in your brain at this point and wait for the phone to pick up.

"Hello?"

He sounds slightly tired but the call was quick so you didn't feel too bad about it.

"Hey, just wanted to call and say I'll be home in the next couple days!"

"Oh shit, that time already? I've already got so used to you being gone!"

You couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"We're throwing one last bash before this ends for good. Freddie's doing of course."

"Well don't let me stop you, go and have fun!"

"Love ya, Tom."

"Love ya too, Y/N."

Hanging up and taking a breath, your chest feels odd. Putting it up to just this being nearly over, you stuff your keycard in your bra, spray on one more mist of perfume. The feeling in your chest worsens as you walk into the ballroom crowded with people, nearly completely naked women servers and the sight of John sitting back and flirting with one of them while talking with Brian. Grabbing one off the nearest tray, you down it then grab another immediately. Shaking your head and walking over to the two men in question, they greet you with side hugs.

"Where are the other two?"

"Around somewhere."

"You know I'll hear it from both of them if I don't come say hi during the party."

Brian smiles, knowing far too well how they get with you at times.

"Regardless, cheers! Cheers to a successful tour and good friends!"

You three clink your glasses together and conversation flows. Brian talks about his plans when arriving home to the wife and kids along with possibly making plans with some actress he's a fan of. Spacing out and looking at your surroundings, the music is pulsing through your lungs with the bass pumping through the speakers. You recognize the song easily, Blue Monday filling your ears and the bass matches your heartbeat once you turn back to your friends and hear John conversing with one of the women attending the party. Watching him shift so she can sit next to him, her body pressing against his while he whispers in her ear, you're in need of a change of scenery. You finally figured out what the sinking feeling in your chest was.

"Hey Bri, care you dance?"

"Not really. Not really my kind of music, Y/N."

"Please?"

Batting your eyelashes in hopes of hiding how uncomfortable you are, it fails and he picks up on your body language.

"I guess you caught me in a good mood."

Sitting up, you two walk over to the other dancing party goers and while stiff as a board, Brian tries to do something with his body.

"Is everything okay? You seemed a bit off when you came in but now I know something's up. Did you call Tom?"

"How dare you say his name?!"

"Figured it'd be safe when you see him in, what, two days?"

"I'm taking the piss and I did. He seems happy to have me back but I think something's happened."

"He's not cheating on you, is he?!"

"Oh god no! I.....I think I've developed feelings for John."

You're pretty sure if he had a drink in his hand, it would've crashed all over the floor.

"Want to head somewhere else and talk about it?"

"Please."

Taking your arm and leading you through the crowd, Brian leads you two outside. A handful of people occupy the space but mostly to get a smoke in quick before heading back in. Spacing yourself away from the others as far as possible, you and Brian sit on one of the benches. Your breathing is unsteady and worsens as you try to calm it down. He puts a hand on your knee and rubs gentle circles in hopes of doing something for your nerves.

"I'm not going to lie, Y/N, can't say I didn't exactly see it coming."

"Gee, thanks Bri. Exactly what I want to hear."

"Is this a recent development?"

Thinking back, it started in the studio. It was around the time they started recording the album and you started just watching them play behind the producer. Wasn't until you watched John lick his fingers before playing the strings on his bass again where something flickered in you.

"....Shit."

That was almost a year ago.

"Well, around the time you guys started recording the new album."

His eyes widened. Blinking slightly resembling that of a reptile in its speed.

"Your 'shit' is valid."

"I know! The more time I spend with him, the more I realize I really care for the guy. But I can't just up and leave Tom. I can't just...hurt him like that. He doesn't deserve it in the slightest."

You sigh, feeling tears wanting to trickle out of your eyes any second.

"But I've been finding my feelings for him fading the more I'm with John. What if I leave Tom, then what? Just go up to John and be like 'oh hey, I have some strong feelings for you. Wanna do something?'"

Brian wraps a curl around his finger, pulling as he thinks. He lets out a sigh of his own.

"Honestly, I'm going through the same thing right now with Chrissie. That actress, Anita...we've been talking and I've developed some feelings for her. Ones I haven't had with Chrissie in a while, now. I have a wife and kids but should I persue this?"

You give him a sympathetic look.

"We're fucked, aren't we?"

"Maybe a little bit. But at least you're not married."

You look at each other in solidarity. Knowing each other's struggles far too well. He brings up the fair point that you aren't married. You also think back to how things were before you left for tour and it wasn't the best. You missed Tom, you really did. But was the passion there like it was previously? Not especially. Sometimes it just felt more like a friends with benefits situation rather than a full blown relationship lasting three years.

"You know what? I'm going for it."

"Positive, love?"

"I think so."

Sitting up and brushing off your dress, Brian stands with you.

"I think I might have a talk with Anita and go from there on how to do this. Chrissie doesn't deserve being left for another woman but sometimes people outgrow each other. Relationships evolves and sometimes they become stagnant."

Walking back to your previous place inside, you're greeted with the sight of the woman gone and replaced with Freddie and Roger. Bending down and asking a quick 'Can we talk?' to John, you two head over to the hallway. You're shaking and can't look him in the eye. Trying to get your sights on him, he lifts a hand to your chin, using a few fingers to guide your sights towards him.

"You're scaring me a bit. Did something happen, love?"

There is not enough alcohol in your system to make this easier.

"I was talking with Brian and came to some conclusions that have been....cloudy for a little while now."

His eyebrows are furrowed together in concern, he's never seen you like this. Nervous was normal in aspects of your job but like this is completely uncharted territory for him. Not knowing how to tread the waters, he takes the hand that was on your chin and rubs your upper arm.

"You can talk to me. You know that, right?"

You swallow, feeling like you're nearly choking on air.

"John I...god..."

Before you could mutter even something resembling a syllable, you hear John's name being called. Turning your head slightly to see it's the woman he was flirting with earlier, danging her bag in front of her.

"Finally remembered where I put the damned thing. You ready to go, Johnny?"

You want to vomit on the spot but knowing if you would, it would be Exorcist levels in the amount purged. Your eyes threaten to release the waterworks and you look up to put the tears back in their place. Beginning to walk away, you feel a grip on your shoulder.

"Sorry but my friend here is going through something. Raincheck, yeah?"

Obviously very annoyed, her eye roll was puntuated with her heels clicking away. He looks over at you and immediately notices tears running down your cheeks. Wiping them away, he leads you out of this area of the hotel and back to his room. Turning the key, your heart beats to the point where it leaves you breathless. He leads you inside and onto the bed but before you get to talk, he doesn't sit quite yet. Grabbing the unwrapped toilet paper roll from the bathroom, he hands it to you then sits down at your side.

"What's going on, Y/N?"

As he rubs your arm again like he did in the hallway, your brain struggles but comes up with some sort of coherent sentence to present.

"I think Tom and I might be over."

He blinks at you, much in the same fashion as Brian had. But before you knew it, he wrapped you in a hug. His head on your shoulders and hand smoothing over your back. He says your name softly followed by an 'I'm so sorry'. Staying like until the tears stop flowing, he peels away from you. You wipe away your tears, noticing your mascara has somehow held up.

"I...I don't mean to pry but, well, what happened?"

The question you were dreading but this band-aid needs to be ripped off.

"I realized we've sort of...grown apart. Also..damn, not again.." as you rip off a piece of toilet paper and dab your eyes. Catching your breath took a minute but you finally get their in due time. With a sigh, you finally let it out.

"I've developed feelings for another person."

Watching him with blurry eyes didn't give you the opportunity to see his shoulders drop slightly or lips tighten.

"They're incredibly lucky to have caught your attention, Y/N."

"I think I'm lucky to have met them is a better statement. He's really great."

You sigh again and finally clear your vision. His expression is hard to read. Almost, seeming disappointed but that's probably your imagination trying to cope with rejection. Rejection that hasn't happened yet.

"I'm sure he is."

He moves away from you and grabs the television remote, flipping through channels until one catches his eye. Sitting back beside you, he looks back at you.

"Sorry, felt like background noise might've been welcome."

"Maybe a bit, yeah. Do you want to hear about him?"

"Am I going to have a choice in the matter? You're destined to bring him up."

"Guess you're right. But you're...already quite familiar with him already."

"It's not Brian, is it? I know you two talk or maybe.." This time putting in air quotes around "Talk".

This time it's your turn to be stunned.

"No! I asked him advice about this guy. So, well...he's a bass player for a pretty well known group, I'm a pretty big fan of his work and writes some absolutely amazing tracks. Some may say he's had some questionable hair choices but I'm a big fan. Also he has these...gorgeous green eyes."

"Is it Paul McCartney?! I know you met him during Live Aid but damn, Y/N. Linda would kick your ass."

"It's not Paul McCartney you dumbass!"

A laugh erupts from you, making him laugh along with you. He dodges the slap on his arm but moving up the bed, sitting up against the headboard. You mirror him, eyes on the television screen. A comfortable silence washes over the room, the soft hum of the air conditioner adds background noise with the show playing before you. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into almost an hour of contemplation. Should you say something? You've grown close to him this past year, even closer this past month. He's one of your few confidants, a dear source of comfort. Possibly never seeing his smile again gives you literal heartbreak. But what if the risk is worth the reward? What if he views you in that way as well and you're just overreacting? Doubtful but not completely out of the realm of possibility.

It's when it turns into an hour and fifteen minutes when John starts yawning. If you wait, you'll never do it. You'll lose all nerve. You mutter a 'fuck it' under your breath.

"It's you."

He slowly turns his head in your direction.

"What was that? I was zoned out for a while, there."

"The guy I was talking about....it's, well...."

You can do this, you just did it. Come on.

"It's you, John Richard Deacon."

You've never seen someone's eyes go that big in your life. His jaw goes slightly slack as he just looks at you. You see his eyes dart around every point on your face. Before you can even start registering what's happening, His lips assault you. Kisses on your forehead, kisses on your nose, kisses on your cheeks, kisses on your jaw but finally he reaches your lips. One hand laces its fingers in your hair, the other placed just below your jaw. Your breath is completely and utterly taken away and when he pulls away, lips swollen, your chest fills. What fills your heart to capacity is him whispering.

"I've been waiting, Y/N....I've been waiting for that moment when you say the words I couldn't say."

~~~~~~~~~~

May formatting it to be tumblr friendly to read pay off and if you read this, you are a sweet cherub angel and I love you a little bit. Also damn, my first fic published on Tumblr, they grow up so fast.

#john deacon x reader #queen band fic #john deacon x y/n #john deacon x female reader #john deacon imagine #that's the basic tags right? sure...#When you're really not a fic writer but you try!#Also I mentioned blue monday in this..also by new order.. Such a great track plus released in '86 so had to do it to 'em

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snarkwrites · 4 years

Text

02 pt 2 | m i n e | tim speedle | csi miami

Notes:

I’m not even gonna lie... This chapter took several turns on me. Several. I wanted to post this a day ago, but something felt.. Incomplete. Amiss. Then it clicked as I wrote the smutty oneshot for these two so I banged this out. Any errors in grammar are mine and I own that shit. We fly blind in this house, no betas.

I hope you guys are all enjoying this so far!! It’s been a fun time to write. I think that’s largely due to the fact that it’s kind of..action-y, suspense and still fluff and romance eventually?

Summary:

You never forget the one that gets away. When Sylvie and Tim are thrown together again upon her arrival in Miami, will things finally work themselves out? Can Tim keep her out of danger?

Pairing:

Tim Speedle x OFC, Sylvie.

Warnings:

Stalker tw. Huge stalker tw. Because Sylvie has herself one. There may or may not also be other crime related topics raised here, such as injury/blood, etc.. I’ll try to warn as they come, loves. I’m going to try not to be too graphic so that people can still read this, but given the way this has surprised me thus far, I make absolutely no promises as to what the future holds.

Other Parts:

[ one - two part one - soundtrack ]

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@twistnet

Other Links:

[ faq & tag list doc ]

TWO PT TWO

The wind in my hair, the Florida sun beating down on me and Billy Idol on the radio full blast. I almost felt relaxed as I drove aimlessly along the Keys. I could almost forget for a few moments that I was currently being stalked by some unknown asshole who liked to write me ten page letters detailing his disturbingly vivid fantasies about me. Bragging about what he’d do when he finally managed to get me all alone.

I was coming back from an open air flea market, the spoils of my trip flung carelessly into the backseat. In my cupholder, my cell phone started going berserk. When I saw that it was Rex calling me, probably pissed because I’d stood up a gig he spent two weeks booking after I explicitly told him I wasn’t taking said gig in as many different but firm ways possible, I let it go to voicemail.

The gas needle was getting lower and bearing the thought in mind, I pulled into a little gas station, parking the red Porsche at the pump and reaching down, grabbing my clutch. Taking my card out to swipe at the pump.

I felt eyes on me and almost immediately, I tensed. My eyes darted around and they settled on a man two pumps over. Gaping at me.

I managed a tight smile, a little nod. Because I didn’t want to seem rude, but the way he was staring at me had me immediately getting paranoid all over again. And just like that, my earlier good mood was rapidly vanishing. I sighed and reached for the unleaded pump, inserting the nozzle into the Porsche’s fuel tank opening. Swiping my card and waiting. Tapping my foot because the clerk inside the station wasn’t even paying attention and the man two pumps over was now leaned against his silver BMW, arms folded over his chest, watching me like a hawk.

I realized that I wasn’t going to get away from the situation any faster unless I made my way inside to let the clerk know I needed the pump turned on, so I grabbed my cropped jacket and slipped the hood over my head and pocketed my keys after raising the convertible top on the Porsche, ducking my head as I quickly walked right past the staring man and disappeared inside the station.

“I need you to turn on pump 3.”

“Yeah, let me do that. I’m so sorry. Do you know that guy?” the clerk nodded towards the man who’d been staring at me. I shook my head. “Never seen him before in my life.”

,, he kind of resembles Rex. It’s unsettling.” the thought came but I shoved it out. The little I knew about Rex, he didn’t have any family. The man was far too selfish for that.

“He’s lurking around your car. You might want to stay in here.” the woman said it in a concerned tone that caught me by surprise.

I swallowed hard, taking a few deep breaths. I could feel the panic starting to build just a little more. I tried to convince myself that maybe the man was just someone who had seen one of my ads or something. Trying to make myself ignore the weird vacant look in baby blue eyes as they roamed over my body, like he was enjoying his view. Way too much. It was almost lewd.

My eyes settled on my Porsche and I gulped when I saw him walking around it, kind of trying to covertly peer in. I took a few deep breaths. Maybe he was just a fan. Maybe Rex was right, maybe I really am paranoid. ,, with every good reason to be, hello, ten page explicit letters? Last month in Paris when the stalker writing said letters actually tried to grab me?”

The woman behind the counter gave me a sympathetic smile and shook her head. “I’ll go wrangle up my husband Clay. He’s real big, looks mean as hell. Maybe we can get this man outta here and you back on the road, okay, dear?”

I nodded, thanking her. Grateful.

She disappeared to the little garage attached to the back of the station and minutes later, a very tall and menacing looking man wearing a local MC’s cutte stepped out. “We’ll have him outta your hair in no time, hon. You just wait right here with the little missus and don’t worry, alright?”

I nodded, again, grateful.

“ The world’s gone insane these days, I swear.” the clerk spoke up after a few seconds. I don’t know what her husband said to the man with the staring problem, but a few seconds later, all I could see of that silver BMW was it’s tail lights as it made a hasty retreat, going the opposite way that I had to go to leave and that knowledge only relaxed me.

After thanking them both again, I hurried out of the station and got into my car, just thankful to be getting back on the road again. My cell phone showed 3 missed calls. All from Rex. None of which I had any interest at all in taking.

Almost the instant my hotel came into view I relaxed. But only slightly.

Rex was pacing the parking lot, glaring at me when I parked the Porsche and killed the engine.

“Where the entire fuck were you, dollface? I told you specifically, the meeting to discuss the gig I got ya was 8 am sharp.”

“And I told you I wasn’t taking it.”

I side-stepped him and after grabbing my bags from the backseat, I made my way into the hotel and up to my room. Dumping off all my stuff. Digging through one of the shopping bags until I found the red bikini I’d gotten on a whim.

Once I had that on and I’d found a pair of cut offs and a cropped shirt to go over it, I grabbed my phone and the book I’ve been reading and I made my way out the back of the hotel. Wandered down the street until the smells from a local diner wafted to my nose, lingering on the air and reminding me exactly how long it had been since I truly indulged myself.

I wandered in and up to the counter.

And when I heard his laugh from somewhere closer to the back, I found my gaze wandering around the diner.

Settling on Tim.

His back was turned to me. But even without looking at him, I knew it was him. It had to be. I haven’t forgotten the sound of his laugh.

I froze for enough time that the cashier cleared their throat. “Did you know what you wanted to order?”

“I think I’ll actually go grab a booth. If that’s okay?”

The cashier nodded and grabbed a menu for me and I turned, scoping out the diner.

The booth right behind Tim was empty. Did I dare sit there?

My heart was pounding, about to beat right out of my chest. Just like this morning at the gas station, but different.

Excited.

Hopeful, even though I knew in my bones I had no cause to be. Too much time had passed.

Steeling myself, I slunk right past the table Tim and two other men were sitting at, sitting down at the booth of the empty table directly behind his.

I buried my eyes in the menu, pretending to be engrossed. Ordering a soda when one of the servers came around. Then on a whim, ordering the double cheeseburger and a large plate of fries.

And I gazed out the window.. Heart still pounding. Trying to figure out whether or not to say anything. Did I have the right to?

XXX

Almost as soon as the blonde wandered in off the streets, Eric spotted her and nearly choked on his soda. Knowing how the fact that she was in town and it was eating Speed alive was probably the only reason he took it easy on the guy, choosing not to point her out. But his staring so intently at the front of the diner drew Tim and Walter’s attention, and naturally, Tim turned around.

He went quiet, words trailing off mid-sentence.

Eric cleared his throat. “There she is, man.”

“I fucking saw her, Delko, I’m not blind.” Tim muttered, taking a deep breath. It felt like the wind got knocked right out of him. Like slamming into a wall full speed. Everything around him just froze and all he could do was watch her. When she glanced their direction, he looked away quickly. Pretending to laugh, to be caught up in conversation.

Painfully aware of her presence, he gripped the edge of the tabletop. Walter cleared his throat as Sylvie started to make her way right towards them.

“She’s walking towards that table behind us.”

“If you don’t say something, Speed, I swear to God.” Eric muttered. Tim shook his head.

He didn’t even know where to start, for one thing.

She’d settled in the seat right in his line of vision. She was literally almost close enough to touch if he were to stand up and walk over, sit down on the bench opposite the one she currently sat on. But Tim was frozen.

“Ryan was saying that stalker’s still an issue earlier.”

Eric mentioning it had Tim’s eyes darting around the diner. Just wanting to be sure she was okay and that no one followed her in.

Tim took a deep breath.

“One of you has to say somethin, man. This is stupid. Tell him, Walter.”

“Eric makes a good point.” Walter muttered, gazing at Tim. But Tim was totally dazed. Watching her as covertly as possible.

And then, he thought back on the last time he’d seen her.

The day he left New York to take the job here.

“You know what, Delko? You’re absolutely right… But fuck if I know where to even begin.”

“You walk over, sit down and say hi. Pretend like you’re not sure it’s her if it helps, buddy.” Eric shrugged as he dispensed the advice. “Otherwise, Walter and I are gonna shove you into the booth when we all get up to go.”

Tim took a deep breath and stood. Making his way over to her table.

Right past her. Towards the bathroom.

Eric grumbled and shook his head. Walter chuckled, amused by the whole thing.

As Tim came into sight again, Eric watched intently. He’d moved to Tim’s vacant spot, finishing off as many fries as he could, chuckling to himself, shit eating grin on his face as he nodded to the table Sylvie happened to be sitting at.

Tim glared at him.

But he kept walking.

Right as he went to walk past her booth, Eric saw her hand shoot out. Wrap carefully around Tim’s wrist. Effectively freezing Tim in place.

“I didn’t see that comin.”

“Neither did I, man.” Walter mused, taking the final sip of his milkshake as he and Eric shared a look and both got up, leaving Tim behind.

XXX

I’d seen him walk past. For a few seconds, my heart raced. I pouted to myself as he kept going… Not even a glance my way. Disappearing into the bathroom.

I’d pretty much resigned myself to him not noticing me, but then I saw him walk out of the bathroom and knowing he was close enough to touch was too much for me. I snapped. I reached out, tentatively grabbing his wrist.

“Tim?”

“Sylvie?” he raised his other hand and dragged his fingers through his hair. I managed a smile, took a sip of my soda. “You can sit. I mean if you want to..” I trailed off, going quiet.

Heart still a little fluttery.

Not sure at all what I was going to do now that I’d gotten his attention.

,, it’s been years. Ease back into this. There’s a lot of old stuff there, things that didn’t get said. Hurt.” the thought lingered heavily in my mind.

I honestly didn’t think he’d sit down, but he did. My food came and the waitress put it all out on the table in front of me. I inhaled the greasy deliciousness and smiled a little, thanking her as she walked away, my drink in hand to refill it.

Tim eyed my order.

“You realize that’s 3 pieces of meat.. And a ton of grease.”

“Mhm. And I’m about to practically inhale every single bite, okay?”

Tim chuckled, smiling. Muttering something to himself about some things never changing.

“When did you get to Miami? I didn’t even know you were in town.”

“Last week, I think. It was supposed to be my vacation. My manager didn’t get the memo so I’m hiding from the asshole right now.” I frowned, shrugging. Reaching out to grab a few french fries. I pushed the plate closer to him.

“Is this where you get lunch every day?”

“Sometimes, yeah.” Tim shrugged. “The view of the beach is kinda calming. Plus, the cook’s a good friend of Eric’s.”

My eyes wandered out, gazing at the beachfront view in question.

“It’s been a long time.” I muttered, gazing at him. He nodded. Mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something and then he just didn’t.

“Too long.” I continued, taking a huge bite of my burger almost immediately after having said it.

I was dying to tell him I missed him. That I still loved him, that at least twice a week I found myself either re reading our old texts or dialing his number only to hang up just before hitting the call button.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“It has been too long.” Tim admitted, snagging himself a few more fries. “How long are you in town?”

“I’m actually going to talk to an agent about a beach house tomorrow? It’s just… So much more relaxed here. Plus there’s a school hiring…”

Tim eyed me.

“Thought you were happy with that whole modeling thing?”

I shook my head. “Honestly?”

“I’d prefer it.” Tim answered as soon as I asked.

I took another sip of my Pepsi and answered quietly, “I’ve been miserable for a while now, actually.”

His next question had me nearly choking on the sip I’d taken. “The stalker situation, right?”

I gazed at him and he explained with a shrug, “It was all over the news. Not to mention our moms are always on the phone callin each other.”

“And then us.” I gave a soft laugh. Taking a deep breath, I nodded yes to answer what he’d asked about my situation. “It started before that though. I never actually wanted to get involved with this but then I started and the money…” I trailed off.

“Yeah. I mean I don’t blame ya.” Tim shrugged, going quiet.

The tension settled in all around us. Thick to the point I felt like you could cut the way it lingered with a knife.

“I hate to but I gotta get back to the lab…” Tim spoke up after a few minutes of us just sort of sitting there… staring at each other, deep in thought. He stood and I asked quietly, “Would it be okay if I called you later? Is your number still the same?”

“I’d like that. Yeah.. you know me. Predictable. My number’s still the same.” he gave me that smile and I felt myself smiling back, nodding.

“Maybe you can show me around sometime…” I trailed off because there I went.. Rushing in all over again. I took a deep breath, making myself meet his gaze. Fully prepared to laugh it off and say that he didn’t have to.

Tim chuckled, nodding. “I was about to say that. I see you’re still a mind reader, baby girl.”

“Just yours, Speed.” I wanted to kick myself because the words left my mouth just a shade too flirty.

And I knew it was much too soon for that.

XXX

“Now who in the hell is he?” the man stood outside the diner, leaned against one of the streetlamps. Watching Sylvie intently through the window as she talked to some guy inside the diner.

When the guy sat down at her booth, his blood began to boil. His hands clenched to fists at his sides and he gave an angry laugh, shaking his head.

“Now this just won’t do. Not at all. Nothin’s comin between me and her. Nothin.”

#tim speedle fanfiction #tim speedle imagine #tim speedle fanfic #tim speedle imagines #my writing ; tim speedle #my fanfiction ; tim speedle #my fics ; tim speedle #// this took a turn on me ya'll not even gonna lie #// stalker tw #// these two need to just get their shit together i swear to god

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earnestly-endlessly · 4 years

Note

Do you mind doing a list of your favourite modern AUs? A mix is powered and non-powered fics is okay :) TY!

I'm so sorry how late I am with this, but here’s my looooong list of my favourite modern AUs. I hope that you like this list and can find some fics in there that you haven’t read before. Enjoy!

*******

Cherik Modern AU Fic Recs

Sprich Mit Mir | Talk To Me – dreamweavers

Summary: When Charles meets Erik on a midnight train to London, it’s like all of his Christmases and birthdays have come at once – until Erik opens his mouth, and reveals he cannot speak a word of English.

It isn’t easy to pursue a relationship with someone you need to play Pictionary with just to chat to, but with a little help from Charles’ telepathy, the two language-barrier lovers are determined to make it work.

Come as you are – scarlettblush

Summary: Hospital AU. The one where Charles unknowingly woos a coma patient with Pride and Prejudice. Years later, they meet again.

The Man on the Train – Sophia_Bee

Summary: Charles is heading home from a shift at the busy emergency department of the urban hospital where he works as a nurse. He meets Dr. Erik Lehnsherr on the train, who is clearly interested in Charles, but Charles has a rule. He does not date doctors. Not at all. Never, ever ever. But he does shake his ass at Erik, which might be his downfall.

Eyes on Fire – Black_Betty

Summary: Every once in a while, fashion tycoon Emma Frost invites her favourite male models over to entertain her. And by "entertain", I mean she makes them have kinky consensual sex in front of her....Emma never touches herself when she watches, but she always has a glass of wine with her. Emma likes it best when they eventually forget that she's watching.

Charles and Erik meet each other through Emma...

(I've taken some liberties with the prompt, but all the sex is still there, and it's wholly consensual...and gradually, becomes more than just sex...)

Paper Monsters – Clocks

Summary: Fill for this prompt: Charles meets Erik Lehnsherr, his favorite novelist of all time at a coffee shop, but doesn't know it's him, and Erik just criticizes his own writing in front of his biggest fan.

Order Up - ikeracity

Summary: Charles has a terrible habit of multitasking, and that is probably why he absentmindedly tells the pizza man that he loves him when hanging up. Then the pizza man says it back. And Charles is pretty much smitten from there.

Some Things Are Meant To Be – Ikeracity

Summary: Erik is a famous singer. Charles is a closeted fan. When Raven drags him to Erik's concert, the last thing Charles expects is for Erik to single him out of the crowd, for Erik to look right at him as he sings. And the last, last thing he expects is for Erik to personally serenade him and pull him on stage and kiss him senseless, because some things are meant to be and Erik knows it.

Rumor Mill – Ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends. So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Serendipity – humanveil

Summary: Charles sends a text to the wrong number.

[10:22 AM]

Can we meet for coffee? I just got dumped.

[10:30 AM]

I think you've got the wrong number.

[10:31 AM]

Unless you make a habit of texting people you don't know about this sort of thing?

A Nice Boy (The Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

Frosted Hearts – aesc, palalife

Summary: Emma Frost has 99 problems, but a date ain't one. Specifically, she has no time to play the dating game--which is fine with her, because she'd much rather run it instead. From a set of sleek, silver and white offices on Fifth Avenue and with her trusty, stylish, and silent partner Janos Quested, Emma has built Frosted Hearts into New York City's premiere dating service, built on the principle that money, and a sufficiently rigorous psionic scan, can, in fact, buy you love.

Somewhere in Frosted Hearts's server is one Charles Xavier, genius and geneticist, with the kind of nicely-starched good looks that sell well on brochures for New England prep schools. He's also a telepath who's decided to give up pursuing serious relationships and instead spend his thirties doing what he should have done as a teenager: have a lot of sex with random people. Fortunately for him, Erik Lehnsherr, metallokinetic and engineering executive, has absolutely no time in his heart or his schedule for anything more serious than... well, absolutely nothing romantic at all.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: As teens, Charles was the star of a super popular tween/teen television show and Erik was his best friend. As adults, they're a frighteningly domestic married couple and Alex, Darwin, and Sean are Erik's nosy co-workers.

Impulse Decisions – listerinezero

Summary: Erik wakes up in Las Vegas with a hell of a hangover, a telepath in his bed, and a ring on his finger. Now what?

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

The Proper Care of Actors – afrocurl, Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Curve Fitting – kianspo

Summary: The weird thing is, Charles always introduces Raven as his sister, but he never calls Erik his brother. Erik would be bothered, except he prefers not to think of Charles as his brother, either. He can’t figure it out for four years, and then suddenly he can.

Or. A non-powered AU in which Sharon Xavier never remarries, and Charles 'adopts' not only Raven, but Erik too.

Right Person, Wrong Time – PoppyX

Summary: "TL;DR Charles is an insecure high school student who loses his virginity to the right person at the wrong time, and Erik makes it up to him in a romantic manner."

Favorite Mistake by endingthemes

Summary: Charles Xavier doesn’t think anything of it when he sneaks out without even saying goodbye to his latest one-night stand. What he doesn’t expect is to walk into his new position in the Xavier Industries marketing department and find that his latest hook-up is now his new boss.

I ♥ NY (It’s My Friends I’m Not Sure Of) by oddegg

Summary: For a 1stclass-kink meme promp: Erik is a single, successful man who likes quick sex with no strings attached. Then, he meets college professor Charles and it's love at first sight, at least for him. Charles, who heard of Erik's notorious ways, wants nothing to do with him besides being friends. Cue Erik bending over backwards to steal Charles' heart.

From Westminster With Love - thehoyden

Summary: NATO intelligence says there’s an omega-class telepath who sleeps under Westminster. Major Erik Lehnsherr is about to find out the truth for himself.

Accidentally Welcome to the Rest of Your Lives by kianspo

Summary: Non-powered college AU. Erik and Charles have nothing in common until they end up having sex at someone's party. They don't have much in common after that, either, but find each other a hard habit to quit.

irreconcilable differences (make for surprisingly good bedfellows) – pocky_slash

Summary: Tonight on The Evening Report with Malcolm Stevens, noted geneticist and mutant equality proponent Dr. Charles Xavier faces off with the infamous mutant rights activist Magneto in a live televised debate over the Genetic Nondiscrimination Act.

(At least, if they can stop flirting long enough to stay on topic.)

Mutually Beneficial Transaction – Pookaseraph

Summary: In his sophomore year at Columbia University, Erik, feeling slowly strangled by his mounting college debt, places an add on a sugar daddies website. He doesn't know exactly what to expect from it, but when he's contacted by a man named Charles who seems less creepy than the other people who have responded to his profile, he decides to give it a shot. Charles is nothing like what he expected, and Erik finds himself slowly falling in love with his sugar daddy while trying to find out exactly what caused this amazing guy to buy his emotional and sexual intimacy when he clearly deserves so much more than that.

Made To Be Broken - Yahtzee

Summary: Charles makes a New Year's Resolution: “No more straight men,” Charles repeated as he began scrolling through the apartment directory for Emma’s name. “No more futility. No more pointless hoping and heartbreak. In 2013, I never want to hear the words ‘exception,’ ‘experimenting’ or ‘phase.’ If, God forbid, I hear ‘bicurious’ even once, I may take a hostage.”

Then he goes into the party, and Erik is there.

Anarchy In The U.K. – Yahtzee

Summary: "Good God, Erik thought. The Prince of Wales is gay."

Charles lives in the unceasing glare of the public spotlight, yet keeps his sexual orientation a closely held secret, afraid he could lose his throne and force his deeply troubled younger sister into a role that would crush her. Erik, journalist and world traveler, has been a loner most of his life; he has little patience for closet cases. But a chance meeting in Kenya brings these two opposites together and sets in motion a love affair that will challenge the British monarchy -- and their most deeply held beliefs about who they are, and who they should be.

An Ideal Grace – afrocurl

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a visiting professor at Columbia University, as well as an acclaimed and award winning poet. Charles Xavier is a lead researcher with the Genetics Department who is well on his way to tenure. But what happens when Charles has to cancel a class because half his students abandon him in favour of a mysterious new English Lit professor? Naturally he ends up sitting in in the class, where Professor Lehnsherr mistakes him for a student. It's really too bad Erik has such a strict policy against dating students. It's also too bad Erik doesn't seem to know how to use Google.

An absence which could not be more there – aesc

Summary: He prepared to shift another half-step over to the Current Events section (which would, of course, enrage him) when the teaser positioned by the model's left elbow caught his eye: DATING WHILE TELEPATHIC: WHY I DON'T DO IT.

rooms/shares – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik is single, working a cube job he hates, letting his master's degree in mutant studies collect dust, and living on his best friend's couch. When she kicks him out, he's forced to trawl Craigslist for the least-offensive rooming option within his meagre budget. He never expects a response from the persnickety, high maintenance ad he replies to as a joke, but it's possible this too-nice apartment and mysteriously absent roommate might be the answer to all four of his problems.

Heli Cases –Black_Betty

Summary: "Heli Cases" is a program on PBS whose aim is to educate on the rapidly increasing occurrence of genetic mutation in the general populous by breaking the complex science down into palatable, easy to digest pieces.

It is also the only thing that helps Erik get his fussy daughter to fall asleep.

(Featuring Dadneto, baby Lorna and the struggles of single fatherhood, and Charles as the host of a late night show about genetics.)

Simple and Uncomplicated – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik and Charles had been fuck buddies for some, but when Charles is in an accident he figured their relationship would be over. Erik's visit to his bedside in the hospital changes his assumptions even as he has trouble believing Erik is sincere.

Guilty by Association – Regann

Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.

This Is Not Comedy – baehj2915

Summary: Written for amarriageoftrueminds' prompt for a Cherik version of Louis CK's tangent about the fuckability of Ewan McGregor.

Naturally the similarities end there. I made this about Erik's full on public lust-filled gay revelation, and the chaos that spirals from there.

Politico – cygnaut

Summary: Modern Genosha Politics AU. In which Erik is l'enfant terrible of the mutant National Assembly, and his staff just wants to get him laid.

Conspiracy of Kisses – Alaceron

Summary: Seven-year-old Erik needs to keep his telepathic best friend Charles from finding out that he wants to kiss him. But that's okay, because he has a plan - he'll put on a tinfoil hat.

The Pretender – Clocks

Summary: Charles is sick of having his best friend Erik drop to one knee and fake-propose to him in restaurants, just to score a free dessert. He doesn’t know which is worse: the complete embarrassment, or the likelihood that Erik doesn’t mean a word of it.

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Lonesome On the Shelf – ikeracity

Summary: After three years of marriage, Charles has to admit that his relationship with Erik has significantly cooled off. These days, they're barely ever home at the same time and it seems like every conversation they have turns into an argument. Charles misses the way they used to be, misses the spontaneous dinner parties and the surprise morning sex and the wake up calls in the early mornings to catch the sunrise. But it's going to take two of them to fix this marriage, and some days, it seems as if all Erik wants is to be rid of him.

A fic about rekindling marriage.

Math Reasons – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby.

Watch Your Back – swoopswoop

Summary: Bodyguard AU where Erik is overly protective and things aren't as simple as they seem.

Dress Your Family in Plaid and Skinny Jeans – cygnaut

Summary: Erik and Charles meet at the mutant playgroup/parenting support circle and they instantly hit it off. And so do their kids, Lorna and David.

Continue firm and constant – aesc

Summary: Moira hasn't seen her old partner in saving the world from threats human and intergalactic, Erik Lehnsherr, for a few years. When she finally does see him again, she finds a man different from the one who's been with her down in the dark and the dirt and the blood... or maybe he isn't so different after all.

cradles you and connects you to everything – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles and Erik spend a chilly November afternoon in Manhattan doing not much at all. Also, there are cupcakes, chess, and Feelings.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #modern au #long post

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vydante · 5 years

Text

Restart | Avengers x Male! Reader | 11

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Avengers x Male! Reader (romantically: multiple)

Plot: Dr. Strange said there was only one possibility of winning the battle against Thanos.

But when (Name) is forced into the past and into his younger body, he’s suddenly given the chance to start over and prevent the future from happening again.

So which route are you going to take? Are you going to risk the future and take preventative measures, or live life with the Avengers for the next 4 years, knowing what will soon come?

A/N: Different format this time, taken like a video log, though it’s mostly dialogue.

[Action: enter folder titled ‘Project Renaissance’.]

...

[Enter Password: |]

[Enter Password: 1R0NM4NSU|]

[Enter Password: 1R0NM4NSUXXAP3XRUL35 |]

[Action: enter.]

...

[Password Accepted.]

[Accessing…]

[Enter folder name.]

[Action: “video logs”.]

[Searching…]

[Folder ‘Video Logs’ found. Would you like to play from the beginning?]

[Action: “Yes.”]

...

[Playing… “uh i don’t know name it whatever you want”, date created: 10-23-2013.]

...

“Is this thing on? Hello? Hell-o?”

The video feed shows your lone figure in your lab. It’s dark outside as the timestamp in the corner indicates that it’s half past midnight. You’re sitting directly in front of the camera, dressed in pajamas but no signs of fatigue anywhere.

You visibly huff, but only mirth flickers through your eyes as you look directly into the camera. It doesn’t last long as your eyes travel over to the camera feed and now you’re just looking at yourself as you begin to talk.

“Alright, so uh. Yadda yadda yadda, I planned to manually enter and type all of this out, but… I thought why not record it all in a log along the way? Fun, huh?”

You trail off on that thought, mumbling something about ‘well, that’s what my therapist said, anyways. Ah, wait, I don’t have her yet… mm, should probably look into that…’.

“Anyways, this is day one of Project Renaissance, or as it’s also known as, Project Get-Our-Shit-Together-Before-We-Get-Our-Lives-Rocked-By-Thanos.”

You shrug nonchalantly, but to the keenest of eyes, there was a stiffness in your posture when you mentioned Thanos. It was brief, but present nonetheless as it quickly dissipates from your shoulders.

“And, we don’t have to worry about any of this being leaked or whatever, because this is all on my sweet DAHLIA’s servers! Say something to the camera.”

“Something to the camera,” a dull female voice spoke up from the ceiling, Australian accent thick.

“Charming,” you purse your lips as if to hold back a smile, “Anyways, where was I…”

“Oh, yeah- Renaissance. So this is gonna be a long, long project with a bunch of other mini-folders inside.”

You swiped your hands across the air, slicing through as blue holograms appeared in front of the camera. There were already dozens of folders, but the camera catches only a few of their names.

‘Firecracker’, ‘Thunderpants’, and ‘Accords’ are some that are visible.

“I just wanted to get on base with what we have so far, but it’s not much considering it’s, y’know, only day one.”

You mumble something incoherent away from the camera before gazing back up on the camera feed, not quite looking directly into the camera itself. To the left of you, there’s a hologram of a checklist that you occasionally glance through as you resume speaking.

“Main objective of this project: prevent Thanos from decimating half of the universe, preferably killing him in the process. Side objectives: keep the Avengers together, current members optional, new members in need nonetheless. Contenders in another file.”

You glance at the checklist.

“Current objective: locate and capture Barnes, codename Winter Soldier, and any other Winter Soldiers, and sift through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database for traces of HYDRA.”

“Sidenote: we, ah, started the search yesterday- for Barnes. So far, it’s… Not really promising. I, uh, initially gave the timeline to find Barnes a few days max, but man, I’m starting to doubt that…”

You sigh, scratching at your arm irritably.

“Whatever…” you mumbled.

“Anyways.”

“I, ah, I don’t know for sure what I want to do with Barnes, but considering that I’ll probably have more than ample time to think about it, I’m not worrying about it too much. As for his triggers…”

You glanced at an adjacent folder, almost contemplating.

“I know of one person who can help, but I’m not exactly putting too much hope for that one. So.”

“We might have to resort to B.A.R.F. when it’s ready. DAHLIA, who- who was on that case again?”

“Mr. Quentin Beck and his team, doll.”

“Ah, yeah, Beck. Cute, tall, big ole’ eyes?”

An image hologram pops up in front of you, presumably of Quentin Beck.

“I don’t know about ‘cute’, but in essence? Yep.”

You ignored DAHLIA’s apparent judgment in your taste in men.

“Gotcha. Well, there’s that we can resort to if need be. Um…”

“Well, as for HYDRA, that’s… That’s a whole ‘nother can of worms right there.”

You sighed, and this is the first inkling of exhaustion you’ve shown so far. You deflate a little bit and spend the next few minutes staring at something behind the monitor in silence. You’re deep in thought before your phone buzzes.

Then, the video feed cuts off.

…

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “okay don’t do that weird thing where you record everything i say and make it the title, please dahlia anyways uh i wanna name it uh huh um shit dahlia i swear to god stop doing that”, date created: 11-02-2013.]

…

“Wow, alright, I was watching the last log last night and man did I literally got nothing done. I mean, it was the first day, but still! Still, I fucking…”

Your voice trails off as you walk away from the screen, holding what appears to be a big box filled with papers and envelopes. You set it down in the far corner of the lab, still talking but your words are unintelligible as the microphone is too far to hear anything.

“... And yet here I am, just- ugh!”

You dropped your body onto the chair and plopped right in front of the screen. Your hair is disheveled, undersuit still on. There’s a bruise forming on your forehead, but you don’t really seem to care about your messy appearance.

You pointed a lazy finger towards the corner, a small grin as you try to line it up with the camera feed.

“That’s fanmail- apparently someone has been neglecting to read those… It’s me, I’m someone.”

You chuckle to yourself.

“Mm, I’ll read myself to sleep later, probably hang all of it up on a mural wall somewhere. Or the ceiling, that works too. Anyways. Just went on a, shall I say, self-imposed mission. It was, ah, to look for Barnes.”

You sheepishly smiled.

“‘Was followin’ a lead from DAHLIA, a potential hit marker, but- it was just a- a barely running base. Nothin’ new, but- it’s nice. To fly and- and fight in the suit every now and then.”

You shake your head.

“Not the- the current one. The nanite one. It’s- god, I miss it, you know?”

Your eyes glaze over, a faraway glint in your eyes as you paused your ranting. This goes on for about 24 more seconds before you started talking again, voice smaller.

“I did this thing, with dad. After the whole, um, Accords bullshit. He- we would get into our suits- the newer models, and just… Go at each other. No repulsors, no nothing. Just raw, brutal punches in the suit. No holding back, no making sure the other one’s okay after a good blow… Just… We just hailed on each other, you know?”

“I mean, obviously we weren’t trying to kill each other, but sometimes it… It felt close, y’know? Nothing personal, but… It was primal, sometimes. Sometimes he’d knock my jaw a little too loose and all I’d ever see would be red… It was wild, I’ll tell you that.”

“But- we only did it here and there, considerin’, y’know. He’s-... He was getting older, and I was… getting busier.” You sighed. “No one knew about it either; god knows how Rhodey or ma’ would react to us- just- beating the shit out of each other.”

You smiled, though it looked more like a grimace.

“It was fun, though. Get the frustrations out. Work on our weaknesses. Show no hesitation. It’s…”

There’s a sudden hollowness in your eyes as your face shifts, an expression years older than you were currently. Haunted, almost. You shake your head, whatever traces of your former self now gone as you smiled- though, there was nothing genuine to that smile at all.

“... Not important. Anyways.”

You shifted in your seat, clearly uncomfortable at the stagnant air despite being the only one in the room.

“So yeah. HYDRA. I took out everyone at that base. Nothing left. Downloaded whatever they had, wiped it, then burnt it to a crisp. The usual, nothing new, nothing important…”

You shrugged, “It’s harder to get the Avengers to look the other way when I’m doing these solo missions. I’m pretty sure Natasha’s getting sus about this… Nothing tied to me, but. Still.”

“But yeah, DAHLIA’s sifting through the information right now.”

Your eyes shift to the left, presumably a screen with said findings loading in.

“So-o... There was… There was that.”

You paused, trying to gather your thoughts when your eyes flickered.

“Ah- but to continue to the last log; HYDRA… Man. HYDRA, HYDRA, HYDRA. Always a pain in the ass.”

You scowled.

“I thought it was gonna take me a little longer to sift through the S.H.I.E.L.D. database, but surprisingly enough, it was… Kind of easy to sort out HYDRA and Not-HYDRA.”

You scratched your head in confusion.

“Back a couple of years ago- or, well, in… Next year, actually. June? Well- Team Cap is gonna go haywire on S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA and Project Insight and basically dump all that good-good, and we,” you noted with an oddly bitter tone, “were left to clean up the mess they made. And, well, it exposed a lot of active field agents. Shit, man.”

You scrubbed your face with your hands, which were marred with fresh scratches and burn marks. It’s unclear where they came from, but you don’t seem bothered by it.

“So many agents were killed in that stunt. God…”

Your voice is muffled, but still audible.

“There was one agent… Codename Acai. Sweet gal, ‘cording to her co-workers. Little unhinged, but she got the work done. She… She was undercover in North Korea for a few years. Got busted by the data dump. And…”

“God, they just…”

You sighed gruffly, refusing to look anywhere near the camera.

“It was rough, finding her body. Kept looking for her even months after the whole Ultron bullshit. By the time we got to her, it took us months to I.D. her body- even worse? North Korea already had her death listed as suicide under her fake name. Bullshit! Parts of her was missin’, how the fuck is that a suicide?! Both feet, gone. Her sternum was nowhere to be found. How- I just…!”

You gritted your teeth.

“I just don’t understand what they were thinking when they pulled that dumbass stunt to release all of that- that sensitive data…! I thought- oh, maybe, maybe, HYDRA had already corrupted a large part of S.H.I.E.L.D., that’s why they did it!”

“But no! No- do you know how much of S.H.I.E.L.D. was infected? How much?!”

You pinched your fingers together and squinted at the camera with a visceral smile.

“6 percent. That 6 percent accounted for a majority of the higher-ups. Not lower field combatants. Not the technicians. The higher-ups.”

“6 percent of S.H.I.E.L.D. was HYDRA,” you hissed, “yet they still endangered the other 94% active and non-active members! Fuck- it was a miracle! A miracle, that we got to any of the agent’s family that had been documented before HYDRA or anyone else could!”

“It’s a miracle that the Bartons even made it- and we didn’t even know about them until Ultron! It’s just-... Fuck!”

Growling, you knocked your head against the metal table in front of you. The camera shakes a little bit.

“God, Romanoff, what the fuck were you thinkin’? You were supposed to keep them in check, not… Not be so goddamn stupid!”

You growled under your breath, taking a moment to breathe. You lifted your head up with a neutral face and exhaled.

“Whatever. What’s done is done. I’ve- I’ve had years to simmer over it and I’m- I’m not. Angry. I swear I’m not. It’s done, it happened. But. Hopefully in this timeline… It won’t happen. Not like that, at least.”

There was a peculiar glint in your eyes as you started reaching into one of your cabinets.

“And I know just how to stop it.”

You raised your eyebrows with your eyes closed, reluctant to repeat what you had already said.

“Again, sifted through S.H.I.E.L.D. for HYDRA. Got the information. And it is all. In. Here.”

You pulled back up to reveal a small black USB flash drive. There’s nothing of interest to it on the outside, but it’s what’s inside that really, really counted.

“This bad boy has all the shit that HYDRA’s been skeemin’ all up in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s system. I- well.”

“I actually have 2 of these, but, ah. One’s already on the way to ole’ Saint Nick.”

You brushed a hand through your hair. It’s grown quite a bit and in need of trimming.

“Because if there’s one thing I know for sure about S.H.I.E.L.D.? Nick ain’t apart of HYDRA, no matter how much of a scumbag he is. And, really… I’d like to think I trust him to handle this situation properly- more so than anyone else but me and my dad. Obviously, dad can’t- he can’t ever know about… About this.”

Despite referring to the USB in your hands, your words were heavy nonetheless. It wasn’t just the flash drive you were referring to.

“So Fury’s getting the other bad boy. Worth millions, and 2 of a kind, too.”

“Well, I sent it to the bastard. Hopefully, he doesn’t trash it, or whatever. Soon.”

You hummed. Setting the USB down on the table, you made direct eye contact with the camera and posed with pouty lips. You threw up a peace sign ironically and grinned.

“Well, that’s that. Oh, and Clint vomited on Steve’s clothes yesterday. Not important, but funny nonetheless. Deuces!”

…

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “dahlia we don’t have the fucking time for this get the damn suit”, date created: 11-29-2013.]

…

“Hi.”

You’re still in your school clothes that day, a simple sweater and sweatpants. Your letterman is hanging on the back of your seat for going to the robotics competitions your school had.

The timestamp also indicates that you had just gotten out of school too- though, it is considerably dark outside. Snowing that day, most likely. And still is, probably.

“So, uh. Fury got the message, I think.”

You spun around in your chair, knees up to your chest.

“Usually we’re getting harassed by him every now and then to do missions, but Natasha just came home yesterday sayin’, like. ‘Fury’s put my mission on hold’, or something.”

“He doesn’t know I sent it to him, I think. But. Thing’s’re getting pret-ty serious now, huh.”

You shrugged.

“Well, whatever. I didn’t come here to talk about Fury, though. I came here to update on, ah, a few things.”

“I know I haven’t touched base with- well, you,” You gave the camera a saucy wink, “about a lot of my projects so far. So, here are a few that I’ve been thinking of implementing.”

A picture is pulled up from your desktop. It’s an aerial shot of a brunet talking to his friend, both of a juvenile appearance. There’s another picture, a 3D generated image of a red and blue suit.

“So. Peter Parker.”

Sigh.

“I… really, really, really don’t want him to be involved in any of this. No superhero bullshit, no nothing.”

“He’s young. He doesn’t- doesn’t need to be involved with this mess. I just… I just want him to have a normal life.”

‘One I never got to have; one he’ll never get to have,’ goes unsaid, but you continued on.

“But… By my reasoning, I am… Hypocritical in my justification.”

You paused, frowning as you look at the picture long and hard. When you speak up, your voice is noticeably quieter.

“He was just as old as I was when I started this whole Apex mantle thing. Hell, he might’ve been older. Will be older. And quite frankly, I can’t stop him even if I wanted to. He’ll still do it, still go out and fight and just-...”

“He’ll do it unsupervised, and that’s what scares me the most.”

You mumble under your breath, “He reminds me too much of… Me. Young, dumb, and reckless as all hell.”

You shook your head and pulled up another file. This one’s a text file, and it’s detailed enough to go on for pages and pages, but clearly there’s more to be added.

“So, what I’m hoping to do is… Start an internship program. Start- start him early. The sooner, the better control he’ll have over his powers. The better experience he’ll get. And, of course, with the additional benefits of, well. Being in an actual internship program.”

“What that will intel? I don’t know. But I think… I think both the students and SI can- can benefit off of that.”

“So, that was one of my projects. Another one is about, well.”

You swallowed hard for this one.

“Extremis.”

You held your hands up as if trying to halt the camera- even the viewer- from freaking out.

“Listen, look, I know, I know- ‘oh, Extremis is already stabilized, oh, why mess with it even more, oh, just leave it alone it’ll make you explode into a thousand firecrackers, oh’- I get it. I know.”

“But… Listen to me.”

“I really, really do think Hansen was onto something with Extremis, no matter how evil and fucked up it is now. It… With a little bit of love and care, I really do think it can help. Maybe not- not on a mass-production scale- or for commercial use, period- but still.”

You licked your lips, eyes flickering to a picture of you, Tony, and Rhodey eating ice cream on your desk.

“I… It can be a last resort type of thing. It- it has the potential. So, so much potential.”

You chuckled to yourself.

“Well, it’s not like you- whoever else that isn’t me that’s watching this- can convince me otherwise. Don’t worry, no live subjects. No evil scientist bull, just… Just trust me, please.”

It’s unclear who exactly you’re referring to, but it’s as if there’s a specific person you’re trying to plead with despite knowing that no matter what, this footage- along with the rest- will be forever condemned to rest in the grave that is DAHLIA’s protected database.

“So, yeah. Working a little bit on Extremis. Um, I wish I could say that the next projects are more- light-hearted, but. Not really, no.”

“I’m… Well, there’s no easy way to say this: I’m thinking of filing a class-action lawsuit on Ross.”

And with that bombshell of an announcement to the camera, the Avengers alert rang across the building.

“Fuck- DAHLIA, end it- put me on comms!”

…

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “i am so mad i didn’t think about this before dahlia change the mission objective”, date created: 12-18-2013.]

…

...

“Would you believe me if I said I completely forgot about these whole video log things?”

Your back is turned to the camera, completely shirtless and hair dripping wet. You’re texting someone, and you’re typing a little bit furiously. The camera catches the other person sending a cat picture. You huff, but turn your phone off and set it to the side.

“So. Ross.”

You shake your head.

“Sorry to drop a bombshell like that on you,” you quietly address the camera, “then disappear on a mission, but-”

“There’s nothing concrete now. Just- it’s just an idea. I think…”

“I think Bruce would like it. There’s- there’s a lot of dirt on Ross. So much shit that can get him life, too. Maybe even death if we play our cards right, but… I want that bastard to suffer. And quite frankly, if I can get rid of him now, the better the Avengers will be in the future.”

You rolled your shoulders, a satisfying crack echoes from you and you grinned for a moment, before smoothing your face out into something more neutral. You leaned back in your chair, and take a breather.

“So, uh. It’s been… Over a month, I’d say? Since I started these whole video logs. Um… No traces on Barnes. It’s…”

You glance up at the ceiling with a pained expression.

“It’s frustrating as hell. You’d think, with access to a majority, if not all of the satellites and cameras and whatnot, we’d find him easier…”

“It’s like he’s not even doing anything, at all. No missions, no assassinations or whatever… Nothing. Nada. It’s like… It’s like he’s not even being deplo-”

You paused. It’s clear that the gears inside your head are turning. You narrowed your eyes, a smile threatening to break out as you reached towards the camera buttons.

“Sonnofabitch.”

…

[Video end. Selecting next in queue…]

[Playing… “i won’t let history repeat again starting with him”, date created: 12-29-2013.]

…

...

“So. I’m, uh, major update.”

Unlike the previous video logs where you were in your lab, this one is different. The camera is a lot closer to your face and from a bottom perspective as you hold the camera.

You’ve got part of your helmet, chest plate, shoulders, gauntlets, and presumably your boots still on as your steps are heavy and clanking. There’s blood smeared across your forehead. You’re slightly out of breath as you glance at something outside of the camera’s perspective.

Around you, the view is shaky and it’s unclear where you’re walking. None of the interior decors indicates that you’re in the tower- in fact, it’s barren and empty.

You glance down at the camera view.

“Remember the last log? Well, I uh, sort of had an epiphany, if you will.”

You continue walking, but you’ve reached a door mechanism. You punch in some numbers and continue talking as the doors open wide.

“It was strange, that I got no hits of a Winter Soldier stalking around anywhere. Sure, he’s a trained spy and killer, but no one’s that slick- not even Natasha, as much as she thinks otherwise.”

You’re in an elevator now, catching your breath slightly as you drew your eyebrows together. There’s a dinging noise, indicating the floors you’re ascending- or descending, as it’s unclear what story you’re on.

“It was like there was no Winter Soldier; at least, no active one.”

“That got me thinking. He’s- what- from the 20’s? He should’ve been, say, early thirties, so 31? 32? At the time he went missing, anyways. But the thing is… Even in the future, the man looks barely in his late thirties. Barely.”

You tap your feet impatiently, boots echoing in the small space.

“But he’s been the Winter Soldier for, what, almost 70 years? Shit don’t add up.”

“So, while he’s practically responsible for so many goddamn murders, he’s probably not always… Awake. Active. I was thinking, shit, if he ain’t up and about right now, where the hell is he?”

“So I did some more digging. Found a Winter Soldier file in S.H.I.E.L.D.- er, HYDRA’s database. There’s… A bunch. Of the Winter Soldiers, I mean. But none of them were- was Barnes. Just a bunch of knock offs.”

You glance up at the floor indicator. The camera shifts and the numbers blink downwards.

-3… -4… -5...

“But I found something interestin’. There’s a- a list. Of HYDRA bases. Had no idea what they were for, but I took a hot guess.”

“One of them was Siberia. First one I went to- no Barnes. A bunch of other Winter Soldiers, though. The failed ones.”

“I…”

There’s a moment of hesitation, unsure if you should say what you’re about to say.

“I shot them dead.”

The ball drops just as the elevator dings, doors opening as you stepped out with a confidence that doesn’t match the remorse in your eyes.

“It’s. Look, I know it- that’s fucking. Insane. Inhumane. Murder. I don’t care. It’s- it’s too goddamn dangerous, having them- alive! I don’t know if there was any- any redemption for them.”

“But in the end, they- they were willing soldiers for HYDRA. The best, even. Anyone who- who willingly works for HYDRA… I’m not too sure I can trust them.”

You growled.

“Shit, I trusted Maximoff… And look where that got us.”

“I’m not fucking risking it with them.”

You shook your head, face smoothing out so it’s only the stressed wrinkles on your forehead that’s present. Your eyes soften minutely so.

“But for Barnes… There’s a chance. He’s a goddamn POW, and… If Shuri succeeded in getting rid of the trigger words, then there’s. A. Chance.”

“And… I’m willing to take that risk with him.”

The camera shifts, staring directly at the underside of your jaw. You cough and recalibrate the camera so it’s at a better angle.

“Anyways.”

“I… I went down the list. Of the bases? I didn’t- didn’t infiltrate them per se. It’s too risky- a majority of those bases are major ones. So I just… Snuck around. Looked at the infrastructure for anything that remotely looked like a certain Winter Soldier would be in.”

You stopped walking, now staring directly at something behind the camera. Your lips are pressed in a grim line.

“And I hit the jackpot.”

You should be happy about it if you took those words out of context, but your expression is far from it. Guilt, pity, and an earthly weariness mares your eyes as you huff.

“Everybody, say hi to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.”

The camera view flips, and in the front stage center is a big chamber, similar to that of a hulk play box. But while it is smaller, the glass is noticeably thicker. In the corner, outside of the chamber, is Mark 22 standing eerily still with its glowing eyes trained on Barnes. It’s in a neutral stance, but it’s clear that it won’t hesitate to incapacitate the soldier if it came down to it.

And on the furthest wall inside the chamber is Barnes, slumped on the ground with a pool of water around him. He’s wet as well, but unconscious. He’s in his military tactical gear, too, though there are no weapons visible on him.

The microphone picks up your sigh.

“I… I don’t know what to do with him. I- I saw the fucking- freezer they kept him in, but. It was a quick operation- I had no time to get the damn thing out without them- HYDRA- noticing me. So. Guess that throws out the plan to keep him- frozen like a popsicle until further notice.”

Barnes twitches slightly, and his fingers move. There’s an audible grunt, and your breath hitches as you swerve the camera back on you. Your eyes are wide, and you throw the camera a nervous grin that’s more akin to a grimace. In the background, your suit whirs to life.

You gave a nod to the camera.

“Wish me luck.”

…

[Video end.]

[Play again?]

Masterlist

Tagged: @unsolvetheheckoutofit, @tonystanktheirondad, @ludwigvonbaethoven, @fabledxmystery

#male reader #male!reader #x male reader #male reader insert #avengers x male reader #Avengers #reader insert #Bucky Barnes #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x male reader #winter soldier #restart

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buckytheebarnes · 3 years

Note

I associate you with Emma Frost AU, Frat AU, Supernatural AU, President’s Son AU, Mall AU, and Fluffy AU. Spill every secret you have. Please and thank you. 😈

(I also associate you with WinterSpider in general bc you’re my partner in crime lmfao)

ALSO I associate you with the 300k restaurant au fic I’m still waiting for.

good god so many to go into!!!! this answer will be a mess pls bare with i’ll start with frat au — it was never even supposed to exist. i got back into reading fanfic during the pandemic and at a time when i felt particularly uninspired. i started reading and becoming obsessed with the winterspider ship and i found a discord server linked on one of the fics and so out of pure curiousity, i joined it. watching everyone throw out ideas and get so excited about fanfic invigorated me and i kept searching through ao3 for some sort of frat au for winterspider and nothing came up i started writing it, with no intention at all to post and i dropped a small line in the discord channel about it and someone was like wait what 👀👀👀 and then i was like maybe i should post it?? and then once i started posting i couldn’t stop writing it and now it’s too big for me to handle but also still so much fun! regarding secrets: i haven’t even gotten to the meat of the plot of that fic, i have so many things planned and i think that’s why i’m so intimidated to post the next chapter regarding emma frost fic, i had been reading comics involving her and i literally was like fuckkkk i need to fit her into a fic i need to fit her into a hs au. because i love hs aus. it was supposed to be a one shot but i discovered after writing three paragraphs that it could never be. secrets: there will be a oneshot only involving emma frost and tony stark after the actual fic is done. president’s son au was birthed out of me desperately wanting a winterspider bodyguard au (would you believe no one has done that?) and also from watching the movies first daughter and chasing liberty on repeat. with secrets: that prequel fic was never supposed to happen but my brain wouldn’t leave me alone. there is another oneshot and another 6 chapter fic that will be attached to it. supernatural au exists because i have been rewatching the show. nothing too interesting to say there because i’m still trying to figure out where i’m going with that one. i guess a good spoiler or secret here would be that peter’s character is actually immortal in it. the mall au came to be because i saw a funny tumblr post that turned into a prompt and also because with the pandemic i just wanted to feel what it was like to be back in the mall so badly. i must admit i also just love name dropping all the stores in the mall. it’s my fave thing. a good secret i guess is that every single avenger or marvel character essentially works in the mall/has a relationship to it and i know exactly where they all fit. anyone who knows me knows that i’m obsessed with nick and norah’s infinite playlist, i needed somewhere that i could dump all the knowledge i have of that world. thats how the fluffy au happened. i also just wanted a scene where bucky was playing with a knife. the big secret is that even tho it’s a finished work on ao3, i’ve basically written a third chapter for it.

if you follow this blog and are wondering what thee FUCK i’m talking about here, u can check out my fanfic here

#winterspider #bucky barnes #peter parker #fanfiction

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lady-lyrjok · 4 years

Text

Buried in Bones: It’s not a Stretch to Say...

I wrote another one!

I got a request to explore Stretch as he nearly falls during our time stranded in Echo with G. It’s a long one so I’ll have to leave most of it under the cut. Need context? This is the events beginning at the end of Chapter 47 in On Top of the Bone Pile but from Stretch’s POV.

Warnings!

Contemplation of death

Hallucinations/Panic attack

Depressed and panicked boy is depressed and panicked

---------------------------

“honey don-!!!!”

A blinding light filled the machine room. Stretch dropped to the floor with a curse and covered his skull. As fast as the light appeared it vanished.

“nooo no nonononononono!!!”

Hauling himself up he peeked down through the observation window. Smoke was billowing from the machine. Sans, Red and Mutt were sprawled across the floor un-moving. Alarms blared from several computers behind him… you… where were you? He had last seen you next to the machine. Where the fuck were you?!

With just barely enough wherewithal to check his computer for signs of radiation, Stretch bolted for the door.

You had to be under some debris, or maybe one of the others had tackled you out of the way and that’s why he couldn’t see you. Yea. You had to still be here. He hadn’t apologized yet. You had to be here! Pain radiated through his soul and he sagged against the wall. Was that you? Shit. With shaking hands, Stretch punched in the code to get into the machine room. An alarm blared in the background and smoke continued to billow from the machine.

“h-honey?!” He called.

No response.

Sans and the others hadn’t stirred yet so you may still be on the floor somewhere. As carefully as he could, he picked his way around the room to look where he had seen you last. Hope withered in his chest at the sight of some odd black goo around where you had been standing but no you. Someone groaned behind him and he whirled around.

Sans.

This was his universe, he had to be able to get you back from… wherever the fuck you had gone.

“sans?!” He called out and moved towards him. Out of the corner of his socket, he saw Red staggering to his feet.

“pull those wires before the rest ‘f the machine goes up with ‘em!” No one answered his call to help as he scrambled towards the machine to do it himself.

More movement came from Mutt as he dragged himself up to reach a computer for a damage read-out.

Sans groaned again as Stretch seized the front of his lab coat and began to babble. “she’s gone. she’s gone. i-i tried to warn her not to touch the machine but - oh stars sans what dowedo?”

Mutt turned away from his computer screen. “coolin’ tower one has been disconnected, we gotta shut ‘er down or we’ll fry half our servers!”

NO! They had to find you! Stretch glared around at Mutt and let go of a very dazed Sans. “if we shut it down we might not get her back!”

Mutt’s eye lights flared as he glared back. “we let it run, everythin’ melts down an’ i guarantee we’ll not get ‘er back.” He growled. Red had made it over to Mutt and the two of them rushed from the room.

Looks like neither of them were going to be helpful. Stretch whirled around and moved back to the machine. He had a pen and notepad in one of his lab coat pockets that he pulled out. He had to get any notes down about the machine now before they pulled the plug on it. He heard Sans fumbling around behind him.

Wait. There were numbers on this screen. Frozen numbers. They usually flashed up then left.

“stretch did you see what happened?” Sans’s voice wobbled as he spoke. Stretch had no time for him.

“she touched the machine.” He hoped that that was a good enough explanation for now. He had to run these numbers upstairs. He had to get you back!

“that shouldn’t have caused this though, we touch it every day.” Sans was still talking. Stretch only nodded and headed for the door. A hand clamped onto his arm, twisting him around and dragging him down to look at the jaded version of his brother. “were you running a simulation while she was in here?” he snarled.

What? No! He had brought everything to a halt after Mutt stopped his algorithm and left with you. Saying as much to Sans, he yanked his arm free and hurried back up to the observation room. The sound of the machine powering down lending speed to his steps.

---------------------------

Sans was refusing to search through the data upstairs with him and the others, he sat at a computer in the machine room so he could dig by himself. Stretch watched him break down several times from his vantage point in the upper room. Mutt and Red weren’t much help with the data either as they were in and out working on restoring the cooling lines to their servers.

His soul hurt.

His skull hurt.

Where were you?

---------------------------

The cherry red tip of his cigarette glowed bright as he inhaled. Leaning against the side of the lab, Stretch was on his second pack that day. It was eleven in the morning. He had been out smoking more than searching today.

He couldn’t help it. The observation room was getting claustrophobic. Mutt had parked himself in a chair finally to help sort through the data dump. Red posted up with a laptop on the floor so he could pace as he worked from time to time.

You were alive. They had determined that at least. Their bond with you was still intact. But feeling the constant pain of your absence in his soul day in and day out was starting to get to him.

“are you here for the bond you tried to run from, or are you here to just get your kicks with some monsters?”

Stretch groaned and smacked the side of his skull with his palm. Why did he say that? It wasn’t your fault. He knew it wasn’t your fault that you had so many bonds. If anything, it was Sans’s fault for messing with the machine and dragging his and the other’s universes here in the first place.

He had always craved a connection. Not necessarily a bond, but a genuine connection with someone. Someone he could go to, and would come to him. Someone who would see him and his many flaws and love him anyway. Someone that was for him… only him.

You were all of those things except the last. It was that last thing he had fixated on and blew up on you about. And now you were gone, with no way for him to apologize.

“I-I’m not playing games.”

You had looked so scared of him. Why didn’t he apologize? Why did it hurt so much to see you drowsy and tangled up in your bed with his brother? Or to see you happily play fighting so close to that asshole Black?

Stretch stomped out the cigarette and ground his palms against his sockets. They came away wet… and dusty? His hands began to shake as he gingerly felt around his sockets. The bone felt coarse where it used to be smooth.

Dropping his hands to his sides, Stretch clenched them into fists. How fitting. It was just his luck to finally get something good, push it away, lose it, then start to fall. It was his own damn fault.

---------------------------

What is sleep? Stretch spun himself in his rolling chair. Mutt didn’t look that much better than him from his spot nearby as he worked on building a new code for the communication device Red had just put together for the machine. Sans was supposedly out getting more coffee, and Red had left to take a smoke break.

With a sigh, Stretch stood and rolled the stiffness from his shoulders. “gonna take a walk.” He muttered in Mutt’s direction as he headed out the door. The sterile hallway and fluorescent lights grated at his exhausted sockets. But he couldn’t sleep, every time he shut his sockets, all he could see was you disappearing in a flash of light over and over again.

Movement caught the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head, there was nothing there.

“sans?” He called and followed where he had seen movement. There was no response, only the solid doors leading into the machine room.

Frowning, Stretch let himself in and looked around. The machine room was dim, the brightest light came from the observation windows above him where Mutt was working. No one except him was around.

But…

“hello?” He turned his skull at the sight of your band t-shirt. You had been wearing one when you came in.

Nothing.

“honey? are you in here?” The low whine of the machine paired with the ringing of his own confused magic in his skull seemed way too loud. What if you needed to say something to him that would help bring you back?!

“honey?!” panic welled up as he whirled around again and again, chasing the visage of you out of the corner of his eye.

“Stretch.”

That was your voice! Stretch bolted after the sound. There you were. Standing next to the machine, smiling at him. His long legs ate up the ground as he rushed over to you.

“you’re here! you’re home! how di-? actually, i don’t care you’re back!” He made it to your side and scooped you up on a tight hug. “i’m so sorry darlin’ i-i was a total ass, i don’t care anymore. i’ll share the bond, i promise, i- honey? you okay?”

You hadn’t reacted at all to him or his words.

“Don’t look down.” You murmured, then you started to dissolve.

“wha- n-no, nonono honey don’t go!” Magic tears streaked down his face as you dusted in his arms. “come back! i’m sorry! please no, i’ll share for you!” He fell to his knees, desperately trying to keep a hold of you as you slipped away.

“N o !”

A hand clamped on his shoulder making him jump.

“stretch, wake up!”

What were they talking about? He was awake! He…

The dust on the floor was not yours.

Wait.

“stop! you’re hurting yourself!”

Stretch struggled against the hands grabbing at him as he clawed at the floor where you had just been. Someone moved in front of him, it wasn’t you.

Crack!

The shock of being slapped halted the tumultuous magic inside of him. He blinked and brought a hand to his cheek bone.

“ya back in yer skull now?” Red’s voice above him made him blink again. Looking around he found Sans gripping one shoulder, Mutt holding the other. Concern on both of their faces. Red was standing over him rubbing one of his hands.

“yea,” Stretch gazed around in confusion. “yea, i’m back in my skull.”

“good, get upstairs. sans brought breakfas’” Red grumbled and walked off. Mutt also released him and gave him a once over with his eyes before following Red out.

“you good now?” Sans let go of him but stood by.

Stretch nodded and grimaced at the dust on the floor. Sans followed his gaze. “looks like ya scraped your hands pretty bad, i gotta monster candy if ya need it.”

“sure.” Stretch staggered to his feet and trailed after Sans as he made his way out of the machine room.

“Don’t look down.”

You had said that to him.

He didn’t need a candy, he was falling.

There was no stopping it now.

---------------------------

How long have you been missing?

How long has this pain pricked at his soul?

How long could he possibly hold on?

The machine was up and running again. Not that it mattered. It did the same thing it was doing before you vanished. Machinery was not his area of expertise. He knew about the stars and planets, not this infernal hunk of metal.

Speaking of… Stretch scratched the back of his hand. Little dust particles sifted off of him and into the air. He liked to think that he was just space dust, held together with magic. If only he could die like a star. Exploding into a beautiful supernova. Then maybe a part of him could be rocketed out into space to drift forever in the cosmos. But no, he would just dissolve into a miserable pile of dust. Just waiting to be swept up and dumped in the garbage.

Stretch frowned at the particles of him drifting around in front of his skull. How big would he have to explode to break through Earth’s gravitational pull? And if he did manage to escape, would some other intelligent life find his dust and trace him back here? To the others who could tell how he died missing you so much? He would be like a cosmic ray, flying forever through space. That sounded nice.

At least he could be found and traced. If only finding you was so simple. Cosmic rays had a starting place to connect to the end point. All they had was some random numbers and the knowledge that you were alive because of his connection to you through his soul.

…

Wait.

There was an endpoint.

Stretch waved away the dust in front of him and glanced over the mess on his desk. He was connected to you, they all were.

You were traceable!

"i got it." He blurted out and jolted out of his seat.

"got what?" Sans asked from behind him.

Stretch scrambled through the papers on his desk, "cosmic rays." Could this actually work?

"what about ‘em?" Red growled.

“they’re hard to track, ah ha!” Magic surged like a shot of adrenaline as Stretch found the note pad that he had recorded down the numbers left on the screen when you disappeared. Tossing them at Mutt, he turned to look at the others.

“yea, and? we’re lookin’ fer a person, not energy particles.” Red grumbled from his place on the floor.

Did he not see it? Stretch shook his skull and began to pick his way over to the whiteboard on the wall. “but we should be looking for particles, for links. how else do you think we track things hm?”

He could hear the excitement in his own voice as he explained the basic principles of tracing cosmic rays. His excitement scared him, if this didn’t work, he would most likely dust on the spot. This was all he had left.

His soul soared when Sans said that there was a chance of it working.

He could get you back.

He could apologize.

He could learn to share, no matter what it took.

---------------------------

It worked! You were home!

Who came back with you?

Shit.

It still hurt.

---------------------------

Stretch fidgeted with his phone as he leaned against the kitchen counter. Papyrus’s time with you was almost up. He was next. He caught sight of the new skeleton coming in. What did he call himself? G? The golden eyed monster paused then approached him.

“stretch right?” He asked, extending a hand out to shake his.

Stretch nodded but kept his eyes on the timer on his screen as he absently shook the other’s weird hand. He could feel that single eye light looking over him from head to toe as he let go. The new guy made a quiet ‘huh’ sound while looking at the hand he had just clasped his with. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but Stretch’s timer went off, it was his turn to sit with you.

Stretch walked up to your room. His magic was all over the place and he didn’t trust himself to teleport at the moment. Papyrus met him at your door.

“She’s still out cold.” He murmured. “But sitting with her does seem to help.”

Stretch nodded and slipped into your room. Papyrus shut the door on his way out leaving Stretch alone with you.

For a long minute, all he could do was stare. Too afraid to reach out and touch you only to find that you were part of his imagination again. Just in case you dissolved again. He resolved to sit next to you and turn on a show to distract himself.

You rolled over and curled up against him as you slept. You were solid at least. He wasn’t so sure about himself.

And then you stirred. Looking down in surprise, he watched you clamor up to a sitting position.

“hey, hey. glad to see you up.” Well at least his voice sounded calm.

You blinked and looked at him in confusion. Did you not remember him? Did traveling through the multiverse damage your memories?

“Mn, hey.” You greet him and look around, taking in your surroundings. “Where’s G?”

Stretch’s soul sank, you wanted the other skeleton. “downstairs with the others.” He heard himself say.

“How did you get here?” You asked, finding his face again.

“uh, the door?” Really? That’s your response? The door? Stretch doesn’t blame you when you roll your eyes and stumble out of the bed. He does keep a careful eye on you as you make your way over to the window to throw back the curtains.

The way your body sagged in relief spurred him to follow you to the window. “had to be sure huh?”

You nodded and fell into his arms. You didn’t dissolve. You were solid, alive, home. He felt like his soul was going to burst with relief. In a daze, he led you back over to the bed.

“mind if i just, hold you a while?” he asked.

You shook your head and he wasted no time pulling you into his lap. He stared at the silent show playing on your TV but didn’t process any of it. You were home, you were real and in his arms… he needed to apologize.

“i don’t care anymore you know.” That’s not an apology. You turned your head to look at him in question. “sharing the bond, it’s okay.” Still not an apology.

“Just like that? You asked.

There’s your opening, try again! “mmhmm, it was too much. losing you like that, it just doesn’t matter anymore.” What the fuck, none of those words were ‘i’m’ or ‘sorry’ what was wrong with him?

You were looking at him in the socket, “You sure?”

He’d be damned if he didn’t try. “missed seeing you.” Why couldn’t he say those two little words?

The smile on your face said that he must be doing or saying something right though. “Missed seeing you too.”

Welp, if he was damned, so be it. His eye lights drifted down to your lips. Stars, he wanted to kiss you, convey everything he couldn’t say through his touch instead. “maybe… to celebrate… you know… your return.” Real smooth Stretch. “we could… talk later and uh, work on our touch?” Wow, he was just going to go for it huh? Why could he ask for a kiss and not say ‘i’m sorry’?!

He tilted his skull down to you, holding back enough to let you decide. To his absolute delight, you moved to close the distance.

The door opened.

“THAT’S AN HOUR CARROT STICK, IT’S TIME TO SWITCH.” Fuck you Black.

Stretch jerked his head up and let out a harsh breath. He could feel you burying your face in his chest, probably equally embarrassed.

“okay, i still care.” He muttered. But he can care and still try… right? Hardening his resolve, he wordlessly moved you off of his lap so he could get off of the bed and leave. He shot you a grin on his way out in the hopes of looking like he was okay with all of this.

When Black shut the door behind him, Stretch slumped against the wall. Nothing had changed. It still hurt to see you with someone else.

But…

He had to try.

For you.

He would find a way.

#Burried in Bones shorts #OTOTBP #us!papyrus #panic attack #halucination #falling #POV #poor boy #stretch is depressed #You asked for this!#contemplating death #chapter 47

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