#its literally my worst nightmare EVERY TIME i drive to work. i literally dread what kind of conversations theyll have with me for the night

[heyitslapis]

Yall dont even know just how well-behaved i am DAILY at work! its like having two jobs at once! like im an undercover person who is put in a room with intolerable people very opposite of me in every way & is forced to play pretend & be niceys or else i dont get my prize at the end (clocking out & getting a paycheck)

[foreverindreamlandd]

Out of Bounds (5)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

WC: 1.6k

Summary: A very mild injury and a very anxious captain

--------

It was an accident. You knew this. An honest to God accident.

Not every player had the ability to kick the ball into someone’s face on purpose like your lovely, ridiculously talented boyfriend could. He was known as the Ball Sniper, after all.

Sometimes, a supposed rogue kick was literally just that, rogue. The ball had a mind of its own in many instances during games. It would go into the stands, hit the drink cart by the team’s bench, or just simply go out of bounds.

And sometimes they would be heading right in your direction while you kept your camera trained on it, not totally realizing that it was aimed for impact on….you.

Those were the moments where Bucky would appear out of nowhere to come to your rescue, either catching the ball or catching you to pull you out of its way.

You always wondered how he managed to be there at the exact instant to save you. At one point early on in your relationship, you finally decided to ask.

“I wish I could say that I possess the ability to magically teleport from the other side of the field or can see into the future, sweetheart,” Bucky said, eyes on the road and one hand on your thigh as he drove you home after you spent the evening crushing him at minigolf.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who’s good with balls- wait, that’s not what I meant- Bucky stop laughing at me!”

“The truth is,” Bucky continued, “By some sort of grace provided to me from the universe, I just happen to be close by when something goes down. And I’m honestly dreading the day when I am across the field and can’t make it in time to save you.” His jaw worked from panic at the concept and you rested a hand on his.

“Bucky, you know I love it when you miraculously come to my aid. It’s freaking hot as hell.” He chuckled. “But please don’t get yourself tied down by some pressure that you need to keep me safe every second of the game. I don’t want to be that kind of burden while you’re doing your job. I’m a big girl, I can handle it. And if someday something happens, know that it’s my fault, not yours, and I can take a hit from a ball. If anything, I’m more worried about my camera breaking than losing a few brain cells.”

Bucky groaned, shaking his head. “I promise you, I’ll buy you all the cameras you need if you can just prioritize that pretty little head of yours.”

“I’ll do my best, Buck.”

Three months after your first date, the universe decided to turn on Bucky and his worst nightmare finally happened.

He was gearing up to score a goal against the other team, but the goalie caught the ball before it could hit the net. The goalie tossed the ball to a nearby teammate - a tall, lanky kid - who positioned his body to send a line-drive kick to the other side of the field. Just when his foot was about to make contact, Sam ran up to him and bumped him to the side ever so slightly right as he kicked it.

And thus was the result of this specific rogue shot. It was so fast, you barely had time to lower your camera and catch the wide blue eyes of Bucky’s from yards away as he attempted to outrun fate before the ball collided with your face.

Then the world went black.

~~~~~~~

“Y/n? Y/n! Please baby wake up. Open your eyes!” A pained, anxious voice plunged into the darkness to take hold of you, pulling you up to the surface as your eyes slowly blinked open to be met with a stormy mess of blue.

Bucky closed his eyes, gasping from the relief of you opening yours, muttering a choked, “Oh thank God.”

A faint ringing sound in your ears shifted into the familiar noise of commotion from a crowded stadium as you continued to come-to. You groaned, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in the right side of your face. You groaned even louder when Bucky’s body was moved and the team medic, Scott, hovered over you, pointing a small flashlight into your eyes.

“Y/n,” Scott prompted, “How are you feeling? Do you know where you are?”

“On the ground?” you muttered and Bucky choked out a laugh.

“Okay, you got me there. Do you know what happened?”

“Ball. Face. Ow.”

“Can we quit it with the 20 questions Lang and get her checked out already?”

You turned to Bucky, noticing that the entirety of the Howlers were standing behind him, looking at you with concern.

“Bucky,” you said groggily, “Don’t yell at Scott. He’s nice. We like him.”

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, then immediately shut it, nodding and looking back to Scott. “Sorry.”

Lifting your arms in the air and finding them empty, you began to panic. “Where’s my camera?”

Bucky groaned. “There it is. Babe, your camera is fine. One of the crew has it and is making sure everything is okay.”

“Who? Loki or Bruce?”

He knew you wouldn’t relax until you had an answer. “Bruce.”

You released a loud sigh of relief, wincing at the added pain it brought to your head from the dramatic gesture. “Good,” you said, fingers rubbing your temple. “Loki always changed the settings to mess with me.”

“I promise if I see him anywhere near it I’ll kick his ass.”

“Noooo don’t kick his ass. I like the guy, even if he’s an aggravating trickster at times.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t kick his ass. Can we please stop talking about the camera and make sure that you’re okay?”

Scott gave the captain a small, appreciative smile before he continued asking some questions to confirm that there was nothing wonky going on in your brain. Once that was determined, he rested a hand on your back to guide you to sitting. Bucky immediately mirrored the gesture on your other side, his hand gently supporting you up.

You felt a bit woozy at first, and the throbbing pain had not lessened, but you were glad to be up straight.

“Do you think you can stand?” You didn’t have time to respond to Scott’s question before Bucky spoke.

“That’s not necessary. I can carry her to the med room.”

Nat’s voice emerged from behind you. “Barnes, there’s a game happening. You need to stay.”

Bucky’s eyes shot over to his coach, rage and desperation filling them.

“Don’t look at me like that. Y/n is fine and will be fine. We got 20 minutes left and then you can go back and see her.”

“But-”

“Bucky, don’t you dare fight Nat because of me,” you grumbled. “I love you too much to watch you die at the hand of the scary redhead and it be my fault.”

Bucky stared at you, mouth open in shock. “You love me?”

You groaned, head hurting too much to feel any sense of embarrassment about the unexpected admission. “Yes, you idiot! Now please keep playing and come find me once you win the game so you can tell me you love me, too.”

He kept staring, and you could tell that he still wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving you.

“Buck,” you reached out to grab his hand, “Remember what I told you. I took the hit, and I’m okay. Please don’t make me be the reason that you don’t do your job if you don’t need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

The blue eyes closed, and Bucky let out a long sigh, head bobbing up and down before he opened them again.

“If anything goes wrong, if you need to go to a hospital or anything, I’m off the field,” he said, gaze flicking up behind you to Nat.

She must have nodded, because next thing you knew Bucky was jumping forward and pressing his lips to yours, gently cradling your face in his hands.

“Can I tell you I love you now, or do you want me to wait?” he asked after placing the softest kiss to the tender spot of your head that got hit.

You smiled, the pain momentarily going numb from the warmth radiating through you. “I mean, I won’t complain.”

For the first time since the fiasco, Bucky smiled. “I love you, baby.”

You scrunched your nose, slowly moving to stand up with the help of Bucky’s arms around you. The crowd began applauding as they watched you get back on your feet from the jumbotron. You winced at the fact that the whole ordeal was broadcasted for them to see, then forced yourself to redirect your attention to the man standing before you. “I love you, too. Now go win the game for your poor, very minorly-injured girlfriend.”

He winked, face now donned with his charming side smile. “You got it.” With one last kiss, Bucky turned back to run out on the field.

“Bucky!” you called out suddenly and he whipped his head back toward you. “Be nice to the kid who kicked the ball. It was an accident, okay?”

His shoulders rose high in the sky as he let out a dramatic sigh, eyes rolling before he smiled again. “Only for you, my love.”

[just-like-playing-tag]

I have a very tragic question. What if Emma died by fighting demons & her close friends/family witnessed her die (ofc that includes Norman...)? Can u imagine how her friends/family would react to her sacrifice?

Yay it's sad headcanons hours!!!

Norman: Dead. Destroyed. Seeing Emma die in front of him would literally be his worst nightmare coming to reality. He'd probably be not accepting she's gone and would keep shaking her corpse for a long time, screaming, tears uncontrollably streaming down his face, begging her to come back. Don has to take him by force away from Emma's body because he just won't leave her. After the event, he spends a week at home alone, not allowing anyone near him. Nobody knows what he did during that time. But I believe after some time he will find the strength to keep going on, and return to relative normality. He knows that there's people who needs him: be it the habit of being a leader or his innate kindness and altruism, but he knows he can't abandon his family. And he has swore not to leave Ray on his own. So he keeps living. He constantly tries to keep his mind busy, not allowing himself to indulge on painful memories, which will lead to him constantly overworking himself (it takes an inhuman amount of work to distract that big smart head of his). He tells himself that's what Emma would have wanted, that he has to keep living for her. But a certain light has left his eyes, and it will never come back. He will blame himself for her death for the rest of his life, never being able to let it go.

Ray: His immediate reaction to Emma dying in front of his eyes is not as strong as Norman's: maybe it's because he's already experienced many near death experiences with her, but he isn't taking that she's dead. He waits for her to get up, frozen in disbelief. For the first time in his life, his fast reflexes and incredible observation skills just can't keep up with what's happening around him. Why is everyone screaming? Why is Norman crying? Emma cannot be dead, that's impossible. Emma is too strong to die. Everyone needs her, and he knows she would never abandon them. But then what's happening? Why doesn't she get up? With Emma dying, time stopped moving for Ray. He can't put himself to do anything. His life has lost any meaning. He's shocked. He's furious. He's desperate. And soon enough, he just stops living. He knows that's not what Emma would have wanted, and he feels sorry for that; but he's not strong enough to keep going on. I think there's kind of a deep meaning to his reaction? Thanks to Emma, Ray started living: he started thinking that happiness, freedom, love attended him in his life, when previously he only saw death. Now, with her dying, he has once again lost all of it, and all that's left is emptiness. I don't think Ray would kill himself because that would be REALLY disrespectful towards Emma, but I think he would essentially just let himself exist, and stop living. His family would try to cheer him up as much as possible, but with time it becomes evident it's all useless. However, they keep hanging out with him, as they don't want to leave him alone, and he really appreciates it. But his family loving him and him allowing himself to love them back is just another part of Emma's legacy, and it hurts in its own way. Norman insists for the two of them to move in together, and Ray doesn't oppose, but in his life there's now this gigantic, empty space that is impossible to fill, and that crushes him more and more every day, slowly consuming him.

(Oh my God I've made myself sad?? Jk forget about it, if Emma died Ray would party.)

Gilda: When Emma dies, Gilda's world falls upon her. She can't believe it. Her first reaction is similar to Ray's, but in her case rage fastly takes over the other emotions. Emma shouldn't have abandoned her family, the children that so much looked up to her. Emma had no right to betray Gilda, to leave her alone. Of course it's just a defense mechanism, and Gilda doesn't really believe that, but right now that's for her the easiest, most immediate reaction in order to not let the pain kill her. She's losing sight of what's the meaning of living, now that Emma's gone, fastly falling to desperation. Eventually Don will be able to bring her out of her state, and show her that there's plenty of things that make life worth living. I truly believe these two have an amazing relationship, and they would be of great help to each other with coping with the grief. Gilda is going to be ok, because that was the most important thing for Emma, for her friends to be happy.

Don: Let me get this straight: he's as desperate and lost as everyone else. He just lost one of the most precious people in his life and he's absolutely destroyed. He cries a lot, on the spot and the days and nights after. Emma was a big model and inspiration for him, but before that, she was a dear friend like no others. However, I think between him and the people before listed he would be the most functional one although the pain. He's broken, but he still manages to get up and push the others to move forward. Now that Emma is gone, he knows that somebody has to take her place; and even though he knows there's no one like her, he can at least try to be the support the children need. His family needs him, and he owes it to Emma. After Emma's death he will be the most helpful guide to help the others overcome the grief- which is sad in its own way, because if he helps everyone, then who helps him? I hope these kids will get therapy.

Anna and Nat: Shocked. Desperate. Heartbroken. They're young enough to see Emma as an older sister and old enough to fully feel the pain of her death. Hopefully they will be able to recover.

GF children: They're all so confused and lost. They can't understand what's happening. More than Emma's death, which is hard to process on it's own, they're shattered by their older siblings reactions. They would be upset indeed, but I believe children have a magical way to cope, and they will eventually be able to overcome the pain. They're the ones that best cherish Emma's memory, truly believing that she lives in their hearts and in their happiness. They become the greatest cheer up and drive to keep living for the older ones.

Phil: Heartbroken!!!!!! Miserable! Inconsolable! Emma's death deeply signs him. It takes him weeks to fully recover. After that he will try acting as normal as possible, especially for his younger siblings, but he'll never manage to be as cheerful and thoughtless as he used to be ever again. His childhood died with Emma.

Oliver: He cries a lot. Since Emma was younger than himself, he loved her as a younger sister, and when she dies, he blames himself for failing to protect her. However, he will do his best to reassure and help the others. Goldy Pond's experience taught him that it feels better to keep yourself busy, so that your mind won't have the time to linger on the pain. It isn't the best coping mechanism for him to handle the trauma with, but he indeed was of great help to fill the leader space Emma had left behind.

GP group: Upset. I like to believe that with the time they spent together at the bunker, they started loving Emma as a sister, rather than looking at her as a leader or a hero. That made her death all the more dreadful. Emma's death brought back once again the horror and desperation of the hunting ground, the pain of losing the family you loved. Having it suddenly brought back after such a long time was horrible: multiple people had breakdowns, with many thinking that such suffering is destined to haunt them forever. Eventually, with the support of their family they will help each other to get out it. Group therapy guys!!!

[oyaterriblyfunnyreallywitty]

Breathe

Warnings: heartache

Word Count: 1577

Summary : Reader x Draco mini story based on the song Breathe by Taylor Swift

I see your face in my mind as i drive away

cause none of us thought it was going to end that way

Hermione hugged you tight as sobbed into her shirt, Harry kept glancing to the back seat, his own heart aching at the sight.

Ron kept turning too despite being your driver as you all coursed through the muggle world sky en route to Rons where the four of you would be spending the summer.  

“Y/n, he’s really not worth it. He’s the worst thing ever. Do you have any idea how much better you deserve? You’re like the best-“

“RON!” Both Hermione and Harry shouted making you glance up, tear streaked face breaking into a laugh.

Ron had been facing the backseat while delivering his heartfelt speech and almost driven you all into the side of a skyscraper which despite the car’s invisibility feature would’ve left a pretty visible dent.

They all looked at you again, all smiles at the sound of your laughter. This only made you crumple back into a ball of tears, remembering Draco dumping you not even ten minutes ago.

Hermione opened her arms letting you bury yourself once again, eventually falling into a restless sleep.

“That loathsome man child! I just knew he wouldn’t ever bring any good into our lives.” that was Hermione, her hand gently brushing through your hair unaware that you could hear them.

“It’s Malfoy, did we really expect he could ever care about anything? Much less y/n’s heart. That foul git.” said Harry through clenched teeth.

“Just wait till we get back, I’ll show him. That coward, smart of him to do it at the platform! He knows he wouldn’t have lived to tell the story had I gotten my hands on him!”

“Ron, don’t shout. You’ll wake her.” Hermione hushed, cupping her hand over your ear.

You smiled, despite the gaping hole in your chest you felt overwhelming love as you listened to your best friends sentiments finally falling into a deep sleep as you did.

Music starts playing like the end of a sad movie

It’s the kind of ending you don’t really wanna see

You stood across from your boyfriend at the platform, luggage in hands and goodbyes in mouth. He gave you a smile that didn’t quiet reach his eyes.

This should’ve rang alarms in your tiny love sick brain, but of course it didn’t.

He pulled you into the longest and tightest hug ever.

Again, this should've been another red flag since he’s never been one for PDA if only you hadn’t been so lovestruck with him.

“Wow, Draco. We’ll be back together in three months. Wouldn’t have guessed you’d miss me this much.” you chuckled against his shoulder hugging as tight as you could his broad shoulders.

Maybe if you’d paid more attention you wouldn’t have felt like a train just hit you when he said what he did next.

“Y/n,” he said gently peeling you off him, “there..” he swallowed and avoided your eyes, focusing on the platform 9 and 3/4 sign. “there’s no us when we return.” his eyes finally met yours.

Today they took on a grey tone. How fitting, just how your heart felt.

His mouth kept moving, perhaps an explanation?

You couldn’t hear what he was saying anymore.

Not that it mattered.

You turned on your heels at once, every sad song you’d ever heard playing in your head.

None of which could describe the heartache you felt as your boyfriend of two years dumped you at the train station.

You began seeing blurry when you bumped hard into someone were grateful it was Harry’s voice that came from them.

“Y/N?"

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, leading you out of the station and into Ron's car swiftly.

Ron and Hermione not far behind, each with part of your luggage, very much unaware of what was happening but hurrying to your aid.

People are people and sometimes it doesn’t work out

But it’s killing me to see you go after all this time

The first week was awful, you couldn’t even bring yourself to eat.

Ron attempting to spoon feed you was an epic fail.

Hermione’s health lecture on skipping meals only made you feel worse.

Even Harry’s cooking didn’t get you to eat more than a single strand of bacon.

On the 9th day of your cauldron cakes and licorice wands diet, they called back up.

The three cowards pretended not to hear as Mrs. Weasley called you over downstairs.

Unaware of the intervention you didn’t think twice about heading down without them, assuming they’d be close behind.

Mrs. Weasley sat at the kitchen table with what looked a feast placed in front of her.

Not even your sense of smell was working these days but you managed a, “Smells great Mrs. Weasley, I’ll go get them.”

“No, please y/n come join me.” she said waving her hand for you to come down.

You caught on to what was going on the moment you turned back and saw the three heads peeking from Ron’s door then duck when you saw them.

“Oh,” she scooted over on the bench patting the spot next to her, “heartbreaks can be a terrible thing. We are such complicated creatures really, and sometime we just don’t fit.” she said, voice filled with empathy as you took your seat next to her.

Your bottom lip quivered and you nodded.

She grabbed a plate and began scooping mashed potatoes and peas into it, “It is a long process y/n. It might be a while before you feel like yourself again, and even then, it’ll be a new self.” She added a chicken leg and set the plate down in front of you.

“It is very important dear, that you don’t forget who comes before any boy ever will.” She was now grabbing a bowl and pouring some type of soup into it.

Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks, and as she sat the bowl down next to the plate Mrs. Weasley caught sight of them. She promptly engulfed you into a motherly hug.

“You do darling. You beautiful, sweet, and caring girl. You must remember this always.” she said lovingly, pulling back to wipe the tears.

You only nodded, if words hadn’t failed you, you could’ve explained they were happy tears. Mrs. Weasley had reminded you there was a light at the end of this dark, and endless seeming corridor.

For the first time in days you ate actual food with a renewed appetite.

its 2 am, feeling like i just lost a friend.

hope you know its not easy for me

You woke up to Hermione shaking you awake, her face pale with concern.

Two very groggy Ron and Harry stood behind her, worry plastered all over their sleepy faces.

“You were screaming.” she said softly, pushing your hair out of your face.

You sat up, suddenly very embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry.” you said looking at each of them.

They all shook their heads, an apology wasn’t needed.

“We just wanted to know if you were okay is all.” said Harry, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Must’ve been a nightmare, what was I saying?” you said with a light laugh.

They exchanged looks, Hermione shaking her head at the boys.

“Oh you know, something about demento-oof” Ron shut up as Harry elbowed him.

“Nothing intelligible.” said Hermione with a faint smile, “Lets all head back to sleep its two in the morning, and tomorrow will be a long day.” she stood up off the edge of the bed. As they all began walking back out, you called on the worst one at keeping secrets.

“Ron?”

He turned, his face fell and he looked anywhere in the room but at you.

“Draco.” he said, the name being self explanatory of what your nightmare was about.

You nodded and then exchanged goodnights again wishing you hadn’t asked, Hermione always knew best.

Thankfully you couldn’t remember the dream but just his name kept you up until Harry barged in at seven telling you it was time to go down.

Today he was going to be teaching Ron tricks that would ensure he be on the quidditch team this upcoming semester, and you and Hermione got to watch it play out, lucky you!

Although each day was getting better, last night had been proof that some days the loss felt as raw as it did that day on platform 9 and 3/4.

You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand

The four of you were having a picnic reviewing your upcoming classes and the supplies required as dictated by your Hogwarts letters. You spotted a strange recipe that you’d be required to buy the ingredients for to use in potions class.

“Draco was dreading this potion so much, this is literally his worst subject. I really don’t think he’ll make it out alive if we’re not paired up with them this semester.” you smiled to yourself remembering that specific talk that had taken place after he snuck you past the Slytherin common room and into his dorm room.

Your friends froze and you gasped at the realization.

“He’s pretty bad in all subjects.” joked Hermione, quickly rescuing you from that awkward dead end conversation.

The rest of the afternoon flew by and although your heart felt better than it had in weeks you couldn’t help but wonder what you would do with all these little things you knew about Draco and all this love your heart had for him.

Where would all of the stories and love go?

Would the stories you’d shared slowly become obsolete as you grew into different people?

Would the love just stop being there one of these days?

The answer was no, you realized a few days later as you spotted his platinum hair and your eyes met his from across the platform.

And I can’t breathe without you but I have to..

[bunnimew]

Not the Junk Yard!

Fandom: Rise of the Guardians Relationship: Jack Frost/Pitch Black, Jamie/Cupcake Tags: Modern AU, Ghost AU, Jack and Pitch are ghostie boyz, Is it major character death if they start out dead and don't die harder during the fic?, Cupcake is only in one scene Rating: Teen Words: 2,954 Summary: Jamie stiffly looked forward and pointedly ignored Jack, even when his phone started playing Candy Crush on its own.

He would be fine.

His car was haunted.

He would be fine.

Or Jack and Pitch are obnoxious ghosts with nothing else to do but terrorize Jamie.

For @rotg-hope-week 2021 Prompt: Free Day! On AO3 here!

“Get off our ass, dickwad!”

“Use your turn signal, asshole!”

“Hey Idiot! That’s not how you make a U-turn!”

This was Jamie’s life now.

If he turned his head, he wouldn’t see them. Sometimes he forgot, when he opened the door and climbed inside, that just because his backseat looked empty didn’t mean it actually was.

If Jamie looked up into the rear-view mirror, they would be there.

Jack and Pitch, they told him the first week he owned this car. They had passed in a horrible accident and their spirits got stuck here. Jamie never asked if this was the car they died in, because he didn’t really want to know that.

He asked a million other questions though. He couldn’t help it! Ghosts! Real ghosts! In his car!

It was an absolute, utter, horrible, terrible pain in the ass.

But Jamie would have been so jealous if this car belonged to anyone else.

-o-

“I think it’s a day for fucking with the radio,” Jack nodded sagely. He turned his head to Pitch. “What’re you feeling?”

Pitch straightened his back and adopted a posture of confidence and poise. “I’m thinking Queen.”

“Solid choice,” Jack approved. He gestured grandly at the front of the car. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Pitch nodded once. “I would.” It took barely two seconds of static for the catchy pop song topping the charts this week to transform into Freddie crying, ‘Bicycle! Bicycle!’ and Jamie didn’t even glance over. He already knew.

His head connected with the steering wheel. “So it’s gonna be a day like that, huh?”

Jack shrugged and waved flat hands at the front seat. “I don’t know what his problem is. This song is amazing.”

“It might be that I played it last week, too,” Pitch suggested. Then grinned. “Or the inevitable hours of repeat he’s anticipating.”

“I still count that as a blessing,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Few things are more angelic than Freddie Mercury’s voice.”

Pitch took Jack’s hand and lifted the knuckles to his lips. “I could not have died and had my soul entangled to a better man.”

Jack rotated their hands and returned the sentiment with a smile. “Nor I, Pitch my love,” he dramatically declared. “Nor I!”

-o-

“In two-hundred feet, turn right on–”

“Why’s it telling you to turn here?” Jack asked. Jamie only knew he was poking Jamie’s phone because suddenly Google didn’t know which way was up and had backed all the way out of Navigation and was trying to find him fast food to eat.

“Damn it, Jack! Stop touching it!” Jamie flapped one hand at his phone, occasionally passing through what felt like weirdly cold pockets of air. He had to re-search his destination and re-enter navigation and pray he was turning right where he was supposed to, all at the same time. “You’re gonna break it! Or drain the battery, whichever comes first.”

“It’s faster to go straight and turn on 182nd. Trust me, we used to go this way all the time.”

“I kind of trust you,” Jamie tentatively said. It wasn’t a lie, if there wasn’t any GPS, Jamie would totally follow Jack’s instructions. But there was GPS, and it was telling him to turn here. “But there might be traffic or something that isn’t usually on that road, so it wants me to go around.”

“But it’s telling you to take Harding. Harding is way slower than Orange. You should turn around and go back.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “If I turn around, I lose the, like, one minute advantage of taking this route.”

“One minute? You’re taking a slower route to save one minute?”

“It’s one minute faster!”

“It’s slower!”

“That’s literally not how that works, Jack!”

Pitch’s chuckle, borderline giggle, cut through Jamie’s screeching. “You may want to keep better control of yourself. You’re looking a bit…”

Jamie turned his head, dread and embarrassment taking hold even before he saw the man one lane over staring back at him in alarm. The man looked away quickly and started talking to the driver, but it was too late. Jamie knew they knew that he was talking to himself. It was every driver’s worst nightmare. That someone else on the road would notice what they were doing.

Jamie stiffly looked forward again and pointedly ignored Jack, even when his phone started playing Candy Crush on its own. He… mostly knew the route.

He would be fine.

His car was haunted.

He would be fine.

-o-

“Pitch?”

“Yes, Jack?”

Jack tapped his foot against the door of the car, legs propped in Pitch’s lap. He was staring at the ceiling, noting the wear in the roof lining around the dome light. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck in this car?”

Pitch shook his head. He was resting a hand on Jack’s shin, fingers pleasantly scratching back and forth. Jack was happy that being dead didn’t mean he couldn’t feel anything. “I couldn’t say. I’ve never been dead before. We could be here forever. We could move on tomorrow.”

Jack bit his lip and shifted in the seat so he sank further down, nearly lying on his back now. “What if we are stuck forever? This car’s not going to last forever. Where will we go?”

Pitch’s fingers pressed a little harder into his skin. “Wherever this broken down car goes, I suppose. A landfill? A junk yard?”

Jack closed his eyes and whined. “I don’t wanna go to a junk yard.”

Pitch rubbed soothingly into Jack’s leg. “Isn’t the whole point of this line of questioning that we may not have a choice?”

Jack covered his face with his hands. “That just means I’m gonna whine harder, Pitch.”

“Of course you are.”

“It’ll be so boring. And so lonely. We can’t, Pitch!”

Pitch sighed and leaned down to press a kiss to Jack’s thigh, just above his knee. “At least we’ll be together?”

Jack pressed his hands up into his hair so that he could look at Pitch through the frame of his wrists. That was something. He wouldn’t be completely alone, but still.

“I love you, Pitch. And I’m glad that if I’m stuck forever with someone, it’s with you. But.”

Pitch folded his hands over Jack’s knees. Of course there was a but. “But?”

“But we absolutely can not go to the junk yard!”

-o-

“This is highly rude, I just want you to know.”

Jamie knew, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. There was nowhere else in the car his new, new to him anyway, tv would fit. The screen was just too big. It had to go in the back seat. Besides, what was Jamie supposed to do if he wanted to give his friends a ride sometime? Make them crawl in the trunk instead of use the perfectly functioning back seat?

Jack and Pitch were being pretty hilarious about it though. They were honestly trying not to touch it, pressed to opposite doors and barely in their seats. Pitch was practically folded against the wall and ceiling of the car, like the tv might burn him or something.

Or maybe he might burn the tv?

Suddenly it was a lot less funny.

“I’m sorry, just don’t break it, please? It was a really good deal and I definitely can’t afford another one,” he pleaded into the rearview.

Jack looked a little panicked himself. “No promises, but it won’t be on purpose.”

That was super not reassuring at all. Jamie pressed the pedal a little harder. Now he kind of felt bad about them trying not to be in the tv. “Can’t you guys, like… sit in the front seat, maybe?”

The ghosts looked at each other, which Jamie had to shift in the seat to see because they were so far apart. Pitch looked back at Jamie. “Maybe?”

Jack, on the passenger side, was gazing deep into the upholstery like a puzzle he was struggling to solve. “We’ve had pretty free rein of the car, right? We just…” Jack’s face contorted into something like concern or discomfort. Jamie got the feeling he didn’t want to say why they hadn’t tried it, yet.

“You don’t have to!” he was quick to say. “I just thought it might be more comfortable.” And also less dangerous for the tv.

Jamie had to take his eyes off of the rearview for a while. He was driving after all, and he could check in on them but he couldn’t watch them the whole time. He heard Pitch saying, “It can’t actually hurt, right?”

“I mean, we’re already dead,” Jack replied.

Which didn’t mean a whole lot. Sure, physical pain wasn’t a consideration, but their souls were still their souls and… Jamie should really do some research on ghosts. He was shocked out of his thoughts by a sudden metaphorical bucket of ice water spilling over his back and into his very being. He nearly slammed on the brakes, but caught it just in time. Getting rear-ended right now would suck for many, many reasons.

“Oh my God, Pitch! You have to warn me when you do that!”

“I did!” Pitch was no longer in the back seat, so Jamie couldn’t see his expression. “It’s not my fault you were too distracted to hear me.”

That was fair.

“Where’s Jack?”

He heard a cough.

“With Pitch.”

Jamie smiled and actually tried looking over at his passenger seat. It was empty, of course. That was a little sad. He knew they were ghosts, but it would be cool to talk to them face to face some day. “So it worked? And you fit?”

There was a snort. Probably from Pitch. “Sort of.”

Jamie… had to shrug it off, because it probably wasn’t anything important and he had to pay attention to the road. If it was working, sort of, that would be good enough for now.

“Sorry about the back seat.”

“It’s fine,” Pitch said, and the tone of his voice said it really was. “We understand this is your car, even if we’re eternally stuck in it.”

Jamie smiled again, but didn’t try to look at them. “Honestly. I’d like this car a lot less if you weren’t stuck in it, so.”

“Aww,” Jack cooed, “I knew you liked us!”

Jamie was almost home. “I could do without the songs on repeat, but… my car is haunted! That makes it the coolest car I could have!”

“Oh, I see, so it’s not about us,” Pitch said.

Jamie pulled into his drive and put the car in park, so he was safe to look over and pretend he could see them. “Of course it’s about you. It wouldn’t be haunted without you.”

“Any ol’ ghosts could be haunting this car, Jamie.”

The pretending was getting to him, so Jamie pressed the buttons on his door to turn the passenger mirror so far in that Jamie could see Pitch and Jack reflected in it. The angle wasn’t great, because it was only one side of them, but it was something.

And it was something.

Jack was sitting sideways in Pitch’s lap, his shoulder pressed to Pitch’s chest and his head resting on Pitch’s shoulder. This meant Jamie could only see the back of his head, but that really didn’t matter, did it? Pitch’s arms were around Jack, and his head was propped against Jack’s. As he watched, Pitch’s eyes caught Jamie’s in the mirror. They were precious.

Jamie’s smile felt like it was splitting his face in two.

“Then I’m glad it’s you.”

Pitch smiled.

-o-

It was already awkward, trying to do this across the front seats. Jamie couldn’t really help that though, because if he’d tried to sit in the back with Cupcake, he would have been thinking about Pitch and Jack dodging them the whole time, the way Pitch and Jack sit and lay and stretch in that seat, the way Jamie feels cold every time he reaches back there.

He shouldn’t have bothered. The way he was leaning to reach her lips was a little bit painful and a lotta bit hard to hold, but then there was Jack, talking in his ear, “Is this your girlfriend? I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” So Jamie was thinking about them anyway, and all of his efforts were for naught.

“I kinda thought you might be gay.”

Jamie’s eyes snapped open to glare at the backseat. Jack wanted to talk about this now? Really?

“I’m just saying. I guess my gaydar is as dead as I am.”

Jamie wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to cry. And then he realized Cupcake wasn’t reacting to Jack at all. Couldn’t she hear him?

“Nope.” His expression must have given away his thoughts. “Only you can hear us. You know, just to make this as awkward as possible for you.”

Jamie definitely wanted to cry now. So he closed his eyes and chose to focus on Cupcake, who did not make him want to cry. She sure made him want a lot of other things, though.

“So…” Oh God, he really wasn’t going to stop, was he? “Should we make out too, or…?”

Jamie fought down a groan and pulled away from Cupcake to the sound of Pitch’s laughter. She wouldn’t understand why he was frustrated (And wasn’t that frustrating?), so he tried to act completely normal when he asked, “Think you might be able to sneak into my room?”

The devilish look she gave him turned Jamie’s mood right around.

-o-

“Aww, man…”

Jamie knew it would happen eventually. No car stayed in working condition forever. Something was bound to break, and it wasn’t like Jamie bought this car new or anything.

“What? What is it?” Jack’s voice was alert and panicked. Jamie felt a chill in his right shoulder that told him Jack was leaning forward between the seats.

“The engine’s overheating,” Jamie said. “I’ll have to pull over and, I dunno, try to figure out what’s causing it.”

“We’re breaking down?!”

Jack’s voice was so close that Jamie instinctively leaned away. “Uh, I guess? I hope not. I hope it’s just something easy, like… like the radiator needs coolant or something.”

“I’ll fix it!”

“Wait! No!” Jamie cried. Although he didn’t know what he was objecting to. And also it wasn’t like he could stop Jack. And also he had no idea if Jack actually could help or not, so there was… all of that. “What? Jack! Pitch!” Jamie turned in his seat, stupidly forgetting that wouldn’t help, then turned to the rearview. “What is he doing?”

Pitch looked alarmed and that did not calm Jamie down one bit. “He dove into the engine. I know nothing more than that.”

“I’ll cool it down!”

“How?! Jamie demanded. He was officially looking for any shoulder at all to pull off on. Unfortunately, this road had a curb. Stupid curbs. “How are you going to cool it down?”

“I am literally a cold spot. That has got to be useful for something.”

If Jamie weren’t so panicked about pulling over, he might have marvelled at Jack’s quick thinking. As it stood, he barely thought ‘Fair’ before he was working on the next problem.

“But you don’t even know what’s causing it! That’s not fixing, that’s duct tape! What’re you gonna do? Hang out in the engine every time I drive from now on?” Not to mention, a disembodied voice talking to him from the wrong side of his dashboard was disconcerting as hell. Odd that the disembodied voice talking to him from the backseat was no longer all that weird.

Before Jack could reply, Jamie felt another cold brush pass through his right arm and Pitch’s voice on the move. “I’ll go… see if a fan isn’t turning. Or if a hose is leaking.”

That was legitimately reassuring and Jamie felt adrift in the wake of his panic. Now what?

Right. Jamie pulled into the first parking lot he saw and stopped the car as far away from other humans as he reasonably could. The temperature gauge actually had stayed steady after Jack… yeeted himself into the engine block.

Jamie didn’t turn off the car just yet, in case leaving it on helped Pitch diagnose it. “Do you see anything?”

“The fans are turning, so it’s not that. This could be a leak, though. Might as well try the coolant.”

“So turn the car off?” Jamie asked.

“Turn the car off,” Pitch confirmed.

As the engine quieted down, Jack’s voice filtered through the dash. “So it’s fixable? We’re not going to the junk yard?”

Jamie snorted. “I was more thinking we’d go to the mechanic.”

“We’re not going to the junk yard,” Pitch confirmed again.

“Why are you guys talking about a junk yard?”

Suddenly half of Jamie was swathed in ice and when he looked up, Jack’s determined face took up more than half of the rearview mirror. “I will fix this car with sheer spite and will power if that’s what it takes to keep us out of the junk yard.”

Oh. Jamie didn’t really know what to say. Jamie’s panic over mechanic bills and inconvenience sure seemed inconsequential next to Jack and Pitch’s eternal damnation to a trash pile. Put like that...

“You guys can be a real pain in my ass sometimes, but…” Jamie shook his head and laughed disbelievingly. Repeat music, broken electronics, no making out in his own car, all sucked pretty hard, but moments like this made him realize. Jamie would also do damn near anything to keep them out of the junk yard. “I really hope I get to drive this car forever.”

[docfuture]

The Maker’s Ark - Chapter 39

     [This is a chapter from my latest novel, a sequel to The Fall of Doc Future and Skybreaker’s Call.  The start is here, and links to my other work here.  It can be read on its own, but contains spoilers for those two books.  I try to post new chapters about every two weeks, but there will sometimes be short stories and vignettes if I don’t have a new chapter ready.  The next chapter is planned for the week of October 9th.]

Previous:  Chapter 38

      Light and darkness.  Ice and fire, turning to water and steam behind her.       Anger and heartache.       Flicker hadn't expected the heartache, as she skated around Europa.  Despite all the pain, effort, and dread she'd gone through up to this point.       She could suppress her emotions at high speed.  She'd done so unconsciously for most her life, thinking slow neurochemistry was needed for them to be real.  But four humans, one Grs'thnk, three AIs, two pseudo-mythological entities, and every biogestalt she'd ever met had recently convinced her otherwise.  And that suppression was unhealthy.  So she'd stopped.       Flicker ached because Europa's surface had millions of years of history, oddities, quirks, and places of beauty.  And she was obliterating them all.  She was angry because she had no choice.  Because she needed Skybreaker's Spear to defend against what was coming.  And for her to construct it, Europa needed to be smoother.       There had been last-minute scans and surveys, pictures and core samples, all taken before she started.  It helped a little, knowing that there would be records.  But not enough.  She glanced at the picture of the old Europa on her visor display one more time.  It was familiar to astronomy buffs, and similar images were in books, papers, articles, and vids, and even on a few posters.       Those would require an update, or a note.  The simplest one would be 'Before'.       Doc, Ashil, and DASI were still hard at work, struggling to determine the best way for her to forge the Spear.  But all plausible construction scenarios had something in common--they required a portal in a freefall orbit of Europa within Flicker's entropy dumping range of the surface--and that was only fifty meters.  Allowing for a reasonably sized portal, and the ship needed to support and guide it, meant nothing could be much over thirty meters high across the entire orbital path.       Europa was already the smoothest large body in the solar system, and its outer layers were almost entirely ice.  Flicker was giving it a temporary atmosphere of steam and a shallow liquid water surface. Those would condense and refreeze, but not before the water had time to do what it did best--flow downhill.       If you wanted to make a solid surface very flat, it was hard to beat covering it in water and letting it freeze.  Tidal flexing would eventually produce irregularities again--but not soon.       Journeyman was aboard Three's favorite ship, keeping watch from above, along with the Learning Is About To Occur.  There were new, more distant watchers as well--a group of ships from an ally of the Grs'thnk had jumped in yesterday.  Learning said they'd moved up the timetable of a planned diplomatic mission.  Preparation for black hole construction was apparently enough to worry the neighbors, even if they lived two universes away.       *****       The lab was a kaleidoscope of holograms and display screens, and Doc concentrated to keep focus as Ashil flipped between them.  This was the kind of work where her implant made a big difference--and Doc wasn't as fast as he'd been.       "...worst still third case.  Collapse asymmetry," she was saying.  "Not most energy, but--"       "But hardest for us to rule out," finished Doc. "We need better bounds on either the non-linear collapse phase or the permeability of the portal to gravitational waves. Because they won't bother Flicker, but they sure might kill Journeyman, even through a Xelian shield.  I think--"       "Priority interrupt," announced DASI.       "Incoming?" he asked.  "Problems on Europa?"       "Neither.  However--"       "Then what on Earth is so important?" Doc felt the immersive flow of the theoretical work slipping away.       "Director Reinhart wishes to discuss her response to an official communication from the Floater ships that jumped in yesterday, along with several other issues.  Also, you and Ashil are two hours overdue for a dinner break, and your personal health maintenance index is in the red."       "Great." Doc closed his eyes and sighed.  "Ashil, I'm sorry. Can we--"       "Break.  Yes.  Implant yell at me, too.  Don't worry, I have new idea for free parameter reduction I work on after I eat."       "Thank you for being understanding," he said. Robots served the meal in the kitchen nook of the apartment Doc shared with Stella.  "Okay," he said after taking a bite, "Choosers and superheroes are handling the crisis list, DASI won't let me start reading my message backlog before I eat, and nothing's on fire except Europa.  What did the Floaters want?"       Stella smiled.  "A short, liberal translation might be 'You are doing dangerous and reckless things.  We are very concerned.'  Which is reasonable.  But."       Stella raised an eyebrow.  "One thing everyone agrees on is that mistranslation and misunderstanding of other races is a longstanding issue for the Floaters.  Working out the protocol for their entry into the Grs'thnk Trade League took years.  You're the only human who has spoken to a Floater before, and I'm curious about your meeting.  The notes you recorded about the occasion were brief and unhelpful."       "I didn't write them up until I got back to Earth, and a lot happened in the meantime.  It was at that same diplomatic nightmare of a party where I got myself in trouble talking about grav drives.  I wasn't drunk, but I was still very loopy from the antihistamines."       Doc took a drink before continuing.  "The Floater I talked to had an autotranslator that used Grs'thnk trade pidgin as an intermediate language.  We agreed that it didn't work well.  He seemed eager to get cultural context data for a better translator, which I could sure understand, but given the venue and available time, I thought that was just asking for trouble.  So I begged off on grounds of fuzziness."       "What did he look like?"       "No clue.  His envirosuit was bipedal with six tentacles, and about human-sized, but that doesn't mean much.  Is it important?"       "Body form is associated with Floater factions in some complex way, and our new visitors admit to having representatives from at least four factions.  That's one of the clearer parts in DASI's composite translation of the message--and there are plenty of signs that different sections were composed by different groups."       "I remember that Floaters need to body mod to allow interstellar travel, because the gas bladders in their unmodded form are too big to make it practical."       "That's not necessarily true," said Stella.  "One of the ships is quite large, and part of the message is devoted to complaining about the inconvenience of transporting an elder here."       "That's new.  At least to me. What do the Grs'thnk say?"       "Beveda says yes, it's new.  Learning says not really.  DASI says it depends on what they mean by elder."       "Wonderful."       "It gets better.  The least opaque parts of the message are disclaimers and complaints.  One you might find interesting blames an entity or entities unknown--but circumstantially linked to Earth--for creating a lasting navigational difficulty that caused economic hardship to a Floater colony.  For eighteen years, ending shortly after Flicker destroyed the Topaz Realm."       "How does the timing fit with the Grs'thnk portal shifts?"       "Exactly, as far as Learning can tell."       "I'm beginning to wonder if one reason Golden Valkyrie left in such a hurry was to avoid awkward questions."       "Plausible.  But that one was mild compared to the diatribe against the recklessness of Flicker's probability manipulation during the fleet battle.  Literal translations--we have five different ones so far--are rather incoherent.  The figurative ones start with 'Fools!  You've doomed us all!' and go downhill from there.  DASI is reasonably confident of two important bits of information from the rant:  The ranter thinks it's at least possible to avert the coming doom, and there are three of whatever is bringing it.  But there's no indication how they know that."       "How reassuring.  What else?"       "The Floaters are more moderately displeased that Flicker is threatening the fabric of spacetime and committing planetary engineering without filing an environmental impact statement, because we foolish humans are insufficiently protective of Jupiter and don't require one.  Learning says that if the moons of Jupiter were their lawn, they'd be yelling at us kids to get off of it."       "Not unreasonable.  They're touchy about gas giants because they live on one."       Stella smiled again.  "Our lawn, our rules.  The last part of the message emphasized that regardless of anything else, they are here to help, they have two portal test 'devices', and they would like to share data as soon as is practical.  They were clear, if somewhat passive-aggressive, about their intent to carefully monitor what Flicker and Journeyman are doing.  They also intend to survey the local gradients around Earth, which is specifically permitted by the terms of our treaty with the Grs'thnk."       Doc frowned.  "Gradients of what?"       "They didn't say.  And 'gradients' is an indirect and possibly figurative translation.  There was also an amusing disclaimer from their primary translator; essentially 'I'm sorry, we were ordered to translate this on an impossible deadline. Here is the raw text so your AIs can try.'  He included an appendix on the failure of their first translation project, which would have been much easier to understand--"       "If it hadn't failed."  Doc sighed.  "They do have a reputation for persistent and patient action, as well as grouchy and ambiguous communication.  Anything else?"       "Ambassador Beveda said it's clear to her that the Floaters were putting together a more coherent message, then decided to send what they had on short notice.  The obvious impetus would be Flicker starting work on Europa.  Learning sent some highlights from past misunderstandings between the Floaters and the Grs'thnk, and a link to a sketch by an human comedian telling an improbably intricate tale of woe with the punchline 'but that part is complicated'."       "Heh.  DASI said Journeyman sent something, too.  He's still on the observation ship that you have sticking close to Learning, right?"       "Yes.  His message was sent about ten minutes before the Floaters sent theirs, warning that what seemed to be a weak divination attempt bounced off one of his wards just after Flicker started work.  He performed some tests that he's unwilling to discuss until they get back, but he thinks the Floaters have either a probability manipulation based scanner or a magician."       *****       The steam was thick enough now to block most light.  Flicker used the radar in her visor to see, and her gravitational gradient sense to stay at the right level.  Collisions were her usual worry, but not today.  Solid matter was no more of an obstruction than a spider web if she wanted it gone.       She followed a carefully planned path, because the energy distribution was important; she could add heat to Europa in a hurry, but cooling it down again depended on weather and thermodynamics.  They would need a near vacuum before starting portal work, it would take time for all the steam to condense out, and sufficiently uneven snow distribution could be just as much of a problem as the ice geography she was erasing.       Plasma flashed brightly but briefly for the central peak of Pwyll crater, and Flicker felt a pang of sadness as she vaporized the jagged blocks of the Conamara Chaos, old ice rafts twisted into rugged beauty.  But there was no beauty in a portal crash, so they had to go.  Any life on Europa was kilometers deep, in buried oceans far under the ice, and shouldn't notice her disturbances to the surface unless something went catastrophically wrong.       And if things went that wrong, life elsewhere would be in trouble too.       *****       Doc finished reading the messages on his handcomp.   A lot had piled up over the past week while he'd been helping Ashil with portal theory.  He looked over at Stella.  She was reviewing DASI's translation of the official EDU message to the Floater ships.       "Send, with a copy to the Grs'thnk," she said aloud.       "Sending," said DASI.  "Verified.  Recorded by the Auditors."       "Thank you."  Stella set down her own handcomp, then met Doc's eyes.  "Well?"       "I asked not to be disturbed if there wasn't a crisis," he said.  "So I can hardly complain.  But I'm wondering about the Volunteer.  His letter was not reassuring.  Did he send anything to you?"       "DASI has been keeping me updated on his healing progress.  His eyesight hasn't returned.  The problem seems to be that Golden Valkyrie and Flicker regenerated most of his brain damage while his eyes and optic nerves were still gone.  DASI's most recent scans indicated a connectivity problem that's healing very slowly, if at all."       Doc nodded.  "He says they were making sure he didn't lose any memories permanently.  But I'm more concerned about the effects he's been experiencing on Earth.  Migraines and general malaise--but they go away as soon as he returns to Kyrjaheim. That sounds like a probability manipulation effect."       "Our magic theories are all pretty speculative, as Journeyman never tires of pointing out, but I think it's archetype backlash," said Stella.  "The Volunteer filled an important symbolic role for a long time, and now he can't.  There could easily be a strong feedback effect from all the people that saw him as a bulwark against unwanted change.  Especially older people in the United States."       Doc frowned.  "Or he could have lost part of his connection to Earth; he was gone when Flicker was hammering the universal reset button, and he was healed in Kyrjaheim.  We just don't know.  He sounded pretty discouraged."       "He's discouraged because he can't directly help Earth.  Margie was quite clear about that.  I forwarded some letters from the Xelian Volunteerist converts; perhaps those will help."       "I hope so.  Not much else we can do.  I could go visit him, I suppose.  I need to stop pushing the physics for a while, anyway.  I can keep up with Ashil and help her--but not all the time.  I'd trash myself on the schedule she's been keeping lately."       Stella smiled wryly.  "That rarely deters you.  But I could use your assistance with a few things, on a more reasonable schedule."       "I'm trying to be more sensible.  I have a lot of bad habits from my days of dealing with crises while chronically short of sleep.  But we still have time, and I'm now convinced that Ashil is better at portal theory than I am or will be, even if I someday manage to restore my top-level augments.  And the potential for new data from the Floaters makes this a good time to take a break.  What do you need?"       "The CBI has been requesting a secure meeting with you for a number of days.  Given recent developments, it would be useful if you were willing to accommodate them here.  DASI believes they will now agree to all of your conditions."       Doc raised his eyebrows.  "The pennies are finally dropping, eh?  DASI, would that be consistent with 'taking a break'?"       "Yes," said DASI.  "Such a meeting is unlikely to be cognitively difficult, even if you have anger management issues.  And it's aversive enough to you that you won't prolong it."       "All right, go ahead and schedule it."  Doc turned back to Stella.  "I'd like to hear a bit more about those 'recent developments' though."       "I could let DASI explain, but I'm red-zoned too.  I really did not need a new set of aliens arriving to increase the variance of all my political projections.  Venting will help.  With several things, some of which I've been putting off for weeks."       Doc frowned.  Stella's body language was usually very hard to read, and she normally affected a detached amusement.  Now she just looked frustrated and tired.       "Stella?  Are you all right?"       She stared back at him for a moment.  "Let's go into the the living room, so I can put my feet up.  We need to talk."       *****       It was done, finally.       Europa was now a steam-enshrouded billiard ball, slowly cooling.  The rain had already started, but it would still take weeks before the residual atmospheric density was low enough.  Flicker stared at the image in the screen on the shuttle that had picked her up.  It was something to do other than dwell on the lack of mass around them.       "The destination shuttle is almost at the right spot and velocity," said Journeyman.  "You ready?"       "Green," Flicker said automatically.  He had his arms around her, preparing to port both of them most of the way to Earth.  She was still dissociated from her long work at high speed, but she would recover.  As soon as she had mass, and air, and ground she wasn't doing anything destructive to.       "Thirty seconds, mark."       "Goodbye, Europa," Flicker whispered.  "I'm sorry.  I'll be back."       Did that make what she'd already done better, or worse?  She was still wondering when they ported out, heading home.

Next:  Chapter 40

[socialattractionuk]

‘What are you thinking?’: Answering the ultimate couple question

I’d say you’ve got a solid four seconds to make your play (Picture: Ella Byworth for Metro.co.uk)

‘What are you thinking?’ my fiancée asked.

We were walking back from the shops on a pleasant Sunday afternoon. The kind where you spend a day caught between doing something and nothing, often spending hours browsing and reading Netflix synopses, but never making full-scale commitment to anything in particular.

Inevitably, silences fall over the course of such days, and in those lulls this question is a useful way back into more discussions of what to watch, or eat, where to visit, hopes, dreams, wants.

‘What are you thinking?’

I realised I’d never, in my life, been asked it by a man.

There was, perhaps, the odd occasion a therapist might have asked me in sessions I had some 15 years ago but, in fairness, it’s exactly the thing I was paying him to ask me. I usually avoided it, improvising ever more verbose dances around describing exactly what I was thinking.

It can be a strange experience, therapy. I paid to tell someone my deepest fears, worries and shames. Yet while they beat around my head I said anything but what I was thinking, as the clock ran down. It’s a bit like getting golf lessons but steadfastly refusing to pick up a club.

It’s not uncommon for a male friend to say, ‘We’re heading to the pub about 5pm… what are you thinking?’. But it seems solely in the realm of intimate relationships that this question crops up.

‘What are you thinking?’

Not often am I intentionally thinking about anything. My mind might float through a place, a memory, an argument, address parliament, visualise a perfect pub, imagine worst-case scenarios, dream of best-case ones.

I might just be experiencing a kind of dread; leaking plumbing while I’m out of the house, for instance, without so much as a pipe ever entering my mind. Just the sensation of dread, anxiety. But you can’t say that to your partner, can you?

‘What are you thinking?’

‘Umm… dread really… but not a specific dread… just the vague sense of dread… burst pipe level… nothing too serious… but not specifically pipes you understand… In fact I haven’t imagined a pipe at all… I was just experiencing that level of dread… not a catastrophic flood, or damage to anything other than the carpet… sort of minor level pipe-dread… just without the pipes.’

But I wasn’t really thinking about dread. This time anyway.

I was thinking about T.S Eliot’s early life, and how, potentially as an exile or immigrant voice, there could be an argument that The Waste Land is actually a poem about London.

And there’s that slight pause, the gap after the question where you suddenly become conscious of what you’re thinking.

You have time to assess how suitable it would be to share and, if it’s that recurring nightmare fantasy about being wrongly identified by vigilante paedophile hunters and live streamed on Facebook in a car park, then best keep it in the old mind palace, and enter into the realm of topics that might please the questioner, impress them, or be so mundane as to throw them off the scent all together.

I’d say you’ve got a solid four seconds to make your play.

Everyone who has ever been in a relationship they’re not happy in has experienced that moment. Those four seconds after your partner says, ‘What are you thinking?’ and the first act is to resist screaming, ‘I’M NOT HAPPY!’ or, ‘HOW CAN YOU EVEN ASK THAT YOU MUST KNOW, SURELY YOU MUST KNOW BY NOW I’D RATHER DRIVE A SPIKE INTO MY FOREHEAD THAN GO ON LIKE THIS!’

Once that’s swallowed down you move into the tricky areas of lying. Do you lay the groundwork for a serious conversation? Do you completely change the topic? Or do you completely cop out… ‘Nothing really… just thinking’. Before becoming consumed by anger because you know they know what you’re thinking and if they want you to say it then they should just be brave enough to say it for you so you don’t have to! Awful, awful business.

Alas, I’m perfectly happy in my relationship, I’d go as far as to say I was blissful, euphoric even. But that didn’t stop the muscle memory and dark exchanges from the past racing through my mind. It was perhaps a little odd not to feel I had to hide my thoughts.

I checked myself.

What to say?

Perhaps a great opportunity to further impress her.

‘I was thinking about T.S Eliot’s early life, and how, potentially as an exile or immigrant voice, there could be an argument that The Waste Land is actually a poem about London.

‘Its fragmentary verses and voices mirror London’s fragmentary districts. In the same way that in London, high and low culture, upper and working class, the divine and the debauched sit merely streets away, so too they sit mere lines away from each other in the poem.

‘Perhaps The Waste Land would seem less complex if we experienced it as a walk from London Bridge, through Soho, to King’s Cross!’

That would be a very impressive thing to say. I kind of wish I’d said it at university come to think of it, as opposed to convincing the barman to sell me wine after hours and drink it in my room writing an email to a girl I fancied, before, with regret, sending it.

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I could use this opportunity to further deepen her happiness.

‘I was thinking that, actually, if we do move in together and you want a dog… I mean really, really want one… If that would make you happy… to have one of those puppies like you showed me on Instagram and have it shit everywhere, and to literally spend the next 10 years picking up actual shit with your actual hands every day and have the f*cking thing barking all the goddamn time.’

NO NO NO NO NO. Can’t do it. Cannot. Say. Those. Words.

All of this is happening in split seconds you understand, this positioning and bargaining with myself. And it dawns on me that actually I don’t have any reason to deflect the question, or to impress her, or to commit to having a bloody dog. I can just be honest, with no fear. And so I was.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

‘I’m thinking about trench warfare,’ I replied.

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[tachibana-tenshi]

My 4 AM sleepless night rant

The topic: People

Just people in general.

I don't hate people, but I really don't like them. Coming from someone with aspergers, a more common sight these day, people are a nightmare. I'm terrible with people, I'm terrible with talking, I'm terrible with talking to people, and worst of all is arguing with people, which is a living hell. I've unfortunately been cursed to primarily have jobs that deal with customer interaction. Even when I specifically apply for jobs that involve data entry and dealing with paperwork, I still end up having to be the csr (customer service representative).

I'm so worn out having to deal with idiots, people with anger issues, victim mentalities, elitism, those who think they are entitled to anything and everything, hypocrites, liars, scammers, the list goes on, and yes, I have had to deal with all of these kinds of people in the past; some in my job, and some in my personal life.

People have brought me nothing but pain. As a kid, all of the people I called friend eventually moved away after 1-4 years with them due to living in a military area. Now that's not their fault, they can't help it that they have to get relocated several times, but for me, being the kid whose friends all moved away and never saw again, it's heartbreaking. I never had any real long lasting friends going through school, and was always jealous of those who did, wondering what it's actually like to have someone you could just call up and hang out for the day or weekend. I really wish I had that experience.

School wasn't any better either. Because of zone relocations, I had my elementary school years split into two different schools. I liked my first school, but I hated the second. My only memory of that school was being bullied by the other kids because I played by myself with toys and props instead of with other kids. More specifically, I remember during recess, I would take a jump rope, tie it around this giant rubber fish (I don't know why we had it, but we did) and I would drag it around the lot, sit down and talk to it and feed and pet it as if it was my own pet. Then some kids came up and laughed at me, pointing and exclaiming how I was so weird for doing that. I never did it again.

Middle school was weird but also very depressing. After my failures with public elementary school, my parents decided to try out private schools, which were separated into primary and secondary campuses or school days. I never really attended proper middle or high schools from this point onwards, just primary and secondary school separated at 7th and 8th grade. 6th and 7th I went to this one private school, but I was still bullied by kids most every day. My mother told me that it was almost an everyday occurrence for her to have to pick me up from school early and take me home because I was stuck in the principal's office crying over the things that happened to me today. I really did not enjoy going there.

From 8th grade onwards though, I attended a different private school where for the first time in my life, I was accepted. The kids didn't bully or harass me, and I actually became the most popular kid in school during 8th grade (I even had a day named after me, no joke). Once 9th grade came around, I had lost my popularity and became more of that sweet kid that nobody disliked, which was fine by me. I never really enjoyed being popular.

While high school was great and all, it was also when people were starting to get interested in each other, and boy has then been quite a ride. To keep things short, over my 5 years I spent at that school, I had gotten rejected 10 times, primarily friendzoned, but sometimes they just left. Like literally, they said nothing to me after a certain point and literally left the area and I never heard from them again.

My first experience with a "girlfriend" was actually rather depressing. I got approached out of the blue by a girl who asked if she could be my girlfriend. I was taken aback at first, but I said sure. She was cute, why not? I'll spend the time to get to know her, find out what she likes, be sweet to her. Her friends even told me to say or certain things to make her happy, which I did, but I didn't get the response I was expecting. She hated it when I did anything with her, sat next to her, called her by the nickname her friends advised me to use. I thought it was odd. I found out through a third party that she never liked me in the first place. She was dared to ask me out, and she did. I was rather heartbroken; I felt played with and treated like a toy.

From there, I tried to pursue other girls only to get rejection after rejection after rejection from every single girl. Naturally, I gave up. I must not be attractive. I'm probably a huge loser. I don't have any friends, why should I even think I could get a girlfriend? I didn't bother even trying to get close with anyone until a few years later at college, but it was essentially the same thing with being ignored, avoided, and rejected.

So far, people suck. We can also throw in my poor relationships with my father, brothers, and grandfather too. I hated men, I didn't want anything to do with women, and I didn't trust anyone. As bad as that was, it was nothing compared to the workplace.

Nothing really tells you how much you suck like losing your job, or rather, all your jobs. All the jobs I had I either quit because of customers harassing me, got let go because it was a temp job, had to leave because of school relocation, and terminated because I couldn't perform as well as they wanted me to and made too many mistakes. The school relocation was me moving away to college to get that "real college experience". Halfway through the year, I return home after the semester to a wonderful surprise: my parents are getting a divorce! Wew!

After that heartbreak, I go back to college for the second semester, stupidly fall for girls again, and once again get depressed over another crushing failure. My grades start dropping, and I eventually stopped attending classes and wouldn't get out of bed or even eat food for most of the day. I flunked every single class. I'm not even allowed to return to that college either until I prove I can get good grades again. I also got 12k in debt from tuition. Including my on and off community college class failures while working, I spent roughly 3 years in college, learned nothing of value, and got 12k in debt, right in time for me to not have any job after returning home. Wonderful.

I get to return home to my dad now living in a different house, and my mother crying a lot about it. Out of my siblings, one of them has already moved out and doesn't talk. One of them is a narcissistic prick, one of them is just difficult, and one is problematic, but a sweetheart. I don't get along very well with any of them except the youngest, who is really my only sibling who tells me they love me. Being the oldest and the most level headed kid in the house, I get to be the one to hear everyone's pains and problems, but to be honest, it feels like it's because I'm the only one who will actually listen. My siblings basically only live for themselves.

The most heartbreaking thing I had to witness was the last time I went to my father's house with my mother. It was around Christmas, and our biannual vacation got cancelled because if all the drama, so we were at home still. We went to my father's house, and that's when he gave my mother the divorce papers.

It was gut wrenching. Its night, and all my siblings (bar the one who moved away) are in the car, ready to go home. I'm in the passenger seat, and we're all waiting for our mother to come outside and drive home. It's been about 10 minutes, and I knew that shit was going down inside. I knew that mother wasn't going to come out there smiling and happy, so I slid into the driver's seat, knowing I was going to have to drive this time. I wanted to be wrong, I wanted it to all be a lie, but my mother comes out, gets in the passenger's seat, and says absolutely nothing. My siblings, who are typically very chatty, and I could just feel the depression when she got in, and we all knew what happened inside dad's house. I spent the next 10-15 minutes driving home, everyone dead silent, my mother trying her best not to cry. I turned on the radio because it was too much to bear.

And now I'm here, stuck losing all my jobs, never having money to go or do anything outside of paying my stupid debts and bills, no friends, a broken family, no real relationship with most of my siblings, and no defined goal or future. My parents don't like the things I like or make me happy, every time my mother enters the same room as me, I'm scared she is going to get mad at me, I wake up every morning with dread, expecting some kind of note telling me something I did wrong or didn't do correctly, and the only time my family ever wants to talk to me is when they want me to drive somewhere to pick up or drop off or take someone somewhere.

I spend almost every waking moment either in a game or on YouTube because I don't want anything to do with real life. Truth be told, I actually get nervous twitches, panic attacks, and have even completely broken down screaming and crying while curled up on the floor from just thinking about living here in this world, all the shit that I have to deal with, and all the debts, failures, and expectations that have been set on me.

I cut off all my emotions and my ability to speak when I get overwhelmed like this, and the only way I've ever really been able to open my heart and mind is when I can put pen to paper, whether it be physically or digitally. This is my cry for help. I don't expect anyone to listen. I don't expect anyone to help. But I don't want to go unheard and forgotten...

[ramialkarmi]

Netflix is now streaming a film about nuclear weapons that puts you inside humanity's worst nightmare

Netflix is now streaming an experimental documentary film about nuclear weapons.

"The Bomb" debuted in April 2016 at the Tribeca Film Festival as an immersive experience with 30-foot-tall screens and live music.

The filmmakers hope their movie inspires viewers to speak up about the existential threat of nuclear weapons.

The year before I was born, the world almost ended. Twice.

In September 1983, sunlight reflected off a patch of clouds, fooling a Soviet missile-warning system into detecting five US intercontinental ballistic missiles that were never launched. A colonel in a bunker ignored the alarm on a 50/50 hunch, narrowly averting a nuclear holocaust.

Two months later, US forces staged "Able Archer 83" — a massive nuclear-strike drill on the doorstep of the USSR. Soviet commanders panicked at the show of force and nearly bathed America in thermonuclear energy. Once again, an act of human doubt saved the planet.

Today these and other chilling tales seem like dusty history to the population born after the Cold War and those too young to remember the conflict's many close calls.

But the grave nuclear threat persists.

Aging weapons systems, evolving terrorist threats, and a worryingly hackable digital infrastructure make the danger perhaps even greater today. That's the message that the makers of "The Bomb" — an ambitious, experimental documentary that Netflix began streaming on August 1 — have tried to make breathtakingly real.

"Nine countries have 15,000 nuclear weapons. That's an existential threat to mankind," said filmmaker Eric Schlosser.

Schlosser is the author of "Command and Control," an investigation into nuclear weapons accidents that was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. To write the book, he spent more than six years steeped in declassified government materials and interviewed military experts, scientists, and "broken arrow" eyewitnesses.

"The Bomb" is an unnarrated, non-linear film that riffs on the major themes in Schlosser's book. It leans heavily on archival nuclear weapons footage, roughly a third of which the public had never seen before the movie came out. Cold War-era documents and blueprints are also brought to life with eye-catching animations, and everything is synced to a trippy electro-rock musical score by The Acid.

Co-directors Smriti Keshari, Kevin Ford, and Schlosser told Business Insider in April 2016 that their ultimate goal is to get people to feel something they will never forget — and then do something about it.

Not your father's nuclear weapons documentary

When "The Bomb" premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival, it was formatted as an immersive, 360-degree experience. The film now playing on Netflix is a "flat" version edited for a high-definition screen.

The original version continues to travel the world, however — it was recently shown in Berlin and Glasgow — and projects the footage onto eight huge screens while "The Acid" jams out a live score.

Keshari, Ford, and Schlosser said this experience is what makes "The Bomb" unique.

"Being surrounded by 30-foot-high screens upon which nuclear explosions are being projected, while really loud music plays," Schlosser said, "I think that's going to be a memorable life experience for anyone who sees it."

Keshari likened it to a form of "shock treatment," meant to help people feel something about nuclear weapons instead of dismissing their existence.

"These weapons are literally buried underground. They're out of sight, out of consciousness," Keshari said. "It's shocking how many we have, the countries that have them, how powerful these are, how much money is spent on them. And yet we're in complete denial of it."

They have a point.

The so-called Millennial generation has never experienced the dread of imminent thermonuclear war. For me, the existential threat of nuclear weapons didn't really click until a few years ago, when I wrote a story about a byproduct of the nuclear arms race.

My fears, not to mention those of preeminent experts, have grown since reading about the January 2016 rhetoric of President Donald Trump, along with North Korea's maturing intercontinental ballistic missile and nuclear weapons testing programs.

Consider me biased — I'm a friend of Keshari's, and I believe zero nuclear weapons on Earth is the safest number — but "The Bomb" is not your standard, long-winded, made-for-TV-with-commercial-breaks documentary about nuclear weapons.

Roughly 30% of the movie is new footage from declassified films that the public has never seen.

"Poor Kevin [Ford] has watched more nuclear weapons footage, I think, than any living person," Schlosser said.

Ford said that dive into the archives will always haunt him.

"The testing footage is what really stuck with me. The effects on people and on animals is just devastating," Ford said. "It's like the kid who's frying ants with a magnifying glass just to see what will happen." He added that he's "ruined dinner parties" by talking about his work. 

The end product of Ford's nearly year-long effort in the archives is the film's non-chronological yet meticulously edited stream of detailed blueprints, harrowing Cold War test footage, modern-day nuclear armament grandstanding, and foreboding music. (Though the filmmakers left out some of the most disturbing clips they encountered.)

"People may have different feelings about 'The Bomb' when they see it, and that's legitimate," Schlosser said of its experimental approach. "But I feel confident nobody will have ever seen anything like this before."

'Our silence is a form of consent'

Today's nuclear arsenals are packed with a variety of exceptionally deadly weapons.

Enhanced warheads, for example, are dozens of times more powerful than the relatively crude bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Fusion bombs are also on alert and ready to launch, and they are thousands of times more powerful than any nuclear weapons detonated during World War II.

The US and Russia together harbor roughly 90% of the world's supply of more than 14,900 nuclear weapons, and they're maintained under tight systems of control. The US is also spending $1 trillion to upgrade its devices. Nuclear terrorism continues to be a major point of concern, too.

But the central thesis of "The Bomb" — one Schlosser made strongly in "Command and Control" as well — is that mortifying accidents have happened and will happen again, because people are human, and nuclear weapons aren't foolproof.

"They're they deadliest machines ever made. And like all machines made by human beings, they're inherently flawed, and imperfect, and go wrong," Schlosser said. "They get connected to other machines — computer systems, nuclear command and control systems, early warning systems — and those all have problems in them. And that just makes those deadly machines all the more dangerous."

The film's target audience is younger generations who will inherit these decades-old nuclear arsenals. The filmmakers hope to feed the movement to not only reduce nuclear stockpiles, but eventually abolish nuclear weapons altogether.

"The [US] military is trying to minimize civilian casualties and use precision weapons. And nuclear weapons are the opposite of that," Schlosser said.

"The Bomb" hopes to cut through the overwhelming amount of technical information out there about nuclear weapons and display them for what they are: machines. Beautiful, powerful, flawed, and indescribably dangerous human creations.

"They're looked at as status symbols. They're looked at as heroic. And really, they're demonic," Keshari said. "They do nothing but kill, and kill humans in the millions."

But the filmmakers don't want the film to simply bum people out.

"There's no point in that. For me, this sort of knowledge should be empowering. Because to live in denial is a much greater danger than to have your eyes open and have the ability to do something about it," Schlosser said. "It helps you enjoy the day. It puts a lot of bulls**t worries into perspective and helps you not take anything or anyone for granted."

Text at end of the film drives home this sentiment with a call to action.

"A nuclear war anywhere in the world would affect everyone in the world. These weapons pose an existential threat. The widespread lack of knowledge about them, the lack of public debate about them, makes the danger even worse," it reads. "Our silence is a form of consent."

Disclosure: The author of this post is friends with Smriti Keshari but has no financial stake in "The Bomb" or any of the companies involved in its production or distribution.

SEE ALSO: North Korea has tested another intercontinental ballistic missile — here's what that is, how it works, and why it's scary

DON'T MISS: If a nuclear bomb explodes nearby, here's why you should never, ever get in a car

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