#so glen puked so much

[lewispullmaned]

[rroaddkill]

Deja vu, a chucky fanfic told through the perspective of Tiffany Valentine, a reflection of how much her child looks like someone she used to really know well.

I wrote this for @stinkysstuff bc of a headcanon they have.

-

"Deja vu? What a strange feeling, I've never felt it before." Words I shouldn't say, because I have. It gives me anxiety every-time I do, wracks my brain with constant stress and pain. I remember too much, I live in the past. I live in a world where my son and his sister didn't exist and it was still us, he looks so much like you now it's almost like looking into a mirror of all my mistakes, it makes me sick. ill. And i hate being sick, I hate it with every fiber of my mind and body.

 I almost feel a sort of grief? It's like God's constant reminder of what I took away from myself years and years ago over something stupid, oh I remember it so vividly too..in full color, every sound made in that moment, every emotion, everything. My life changed forever…but it was for the better wasn't it? Was it not what gave us the life we have now? Even if we're apart, and I'm all alone with my thoughts. Knowing I can never fix it. I want you back so badly, but I'll never get any of that back. 

I grieve a lot about how much I fucked up, I FUCKED UP! I cheated the kids out of a present father, I cheated myself out of the best relationship and only relationship I've ever had..and for what? Because of something that happened and didn't cause me any physical harm at all? Fucking hell, I hate myself. I'm going to vomit everywhere, vomit my guts out, my blood, my tears can flow with it.

"Mom? You alright there?" A sweet and kind voice called out to me, breaking my intrusive thinking.. "yeah..ah..I'm fine, sorry honey." Glen smiled at me, his smile, his laugh, the way he looked and what he wore..everything brings me back. "I was asking if you liked my outfit, mummy?" The only thing that differs you from him is the slight accent, a slight British accent. I always found it cute, adorable that he holds onto it even though he's in a different body than his doll one, but..I digress, 

his outfit reminds me of you, fashionable like you were too, a black trenchcoat with a grey tweed material, I could've swore it was the exact one you had..a white sweater and dark purple plaid pants, his shoes being doc marten boots..oh he looks so much like you.. I miss you.

"Yeah, sweetface..you look great." I smiled lovingly at him, I knew that when him and Glenda left, whenever that'd be..I would end up going upstairs, reminiscing and sobbing my heart out, and god I hope I don't puke.

Come back to me, in a dream, or when I'm dead and decaying.

Come back to me, I won't rest comfortably until you do.

Even if it means death, I'll find my way back to you piece by piece.

Till death do us part, 

Remember?

[crinkled-emotions]

ok ok ok here we go. Lemme set the stage... Hangman is late to class (which nEVER happens right?? jk yes it does). He comes running, literally running and frantically eating his microwaved breakfast, into the classroom right as Maverick starts lecturing. Then Pete is like "kk fam we're doing aerobatics maneuvers today so suit up ASAP." Hangman tries to scarf down his food, Bad Idea #1, then go up in the jet and do all sorts of crazy shit, Bad Idea #2.

BOOM. TUMMYACHE.

(I have had too much coffee this morning but tbh I regret nothing)

......w*termelon s*gar

*sobs* watermelon... s*gar... I'm fine.

I asked Hangman what he thought about this and dude pretended to be dead and I was like well damn that's a vibe but also- dude, the world's not gonna end... or is it?

Anyway it's nearly midnight but my little brain says you didn't work today use your noggin for something useful and here we go!!

No listen I'm thinking of that one story about the jet, and the puke, and it all- I won't share the whole thing. It's on youtube. Sorry Glen lmao. (time stamped link!)

-

Despite being in the US Navy, where scheduling was key, things tended to be a little up in the air a majority of the time. The Daggers had come to rely on some very basic facts that would get them through everything mildly unstable or the rapid changes in their day to day lives;

The first, Rooster was the mother hen of their group and according to Maverick, he got it from his dad. For a man who had once upon a time almost punched Hangman for making a comment about his two fathers, he was incredibly docile a majority of the time and tended to have advice or a hug for those who needed it.

Phoenix always started the day by throwing an arm over Bob's shoulders at breakfast and stealing his hashbrown from his plate at breakfast because she wasn't quite hungry enough for a full meal but she was indeed hungry enough to eat them every morning. He'd started asking for extra in the queue and the kitchen staff found it hilarious.

Payback and Fanboy, once an inseparable duo, had now roped Bob in with them and the three of them spent a lot of time tossing a football around or talking about something nerdy. Bob preferred Red Dwarf to Star Trek and apparently Fanboy had never heard of Red Dwarf so they were watching that in their spare time. Payback, ever the supportive pilot, always made the drinks and snacks for their viewing sessions.

Lastly, Hangman was never late. Ever. Not even to a doctor's appointment on the other side of base, or to a gathering at Maverick's a few weeks back when he had a dentist appointment right before. Rooster asked him about it once, the first time they went through TOPGUN, and Hangman had shrugged, claiming he'd been raised that being late was never a good look.

-

Yawning, Maverick stood near the lecturn and reached for his paperwork, grimacing.

"Why are we still doing roll call? What are we, twelve?"

"Thirteen, actually Mav, I think I'm getting my first chest hair," Rooster deadpanned which earned snorts of laughter. Maverick sighed, leaning on said lecturn and grimacing.

"Bradley, please, now is not the time to be talking about your delayed-"

"-I'm sorry I'm late, sir. I had to- never mind."

Hangman came rushing into the room, some kind of microwaveable burrito in his hand as he took his seat at the front of the room. Maverick watched him for a moment, shock written on his face, and then he cleared his throat.

"Don't worry about it, I hadn't said anything important yet. Uh, okay, so if the email didn't send last night, a recap of what we're doing today-"

"-what email?" Phoenix asked, confusion on her face, and Maverick blinked for a moment.

"I can't tell if you're fucking with me or I didn't send it right."

He looked to Bob for support but Bob shrugged, staying silent.

"Alright then... I guess we'll go over it. This morning we're getting straight into hops, we're fixing some manoeuvres I wasn't so sure of last week, and then the rest of today we should be- Bagman, you wanna give yourself a moment to breathe before you choke on that poor burrito? What'd it do to you?"

Maverick had been watching Hangman out of the corner of his eye since he came in, surprised to find him scarfing down his breakfast. The younger aviator blushed, tentatively putting down his burrito.

"Sorry, sir."

"Mmhmm. Okay guys, off you go, get your pre-flight checks done and let me know if you need anything. Bradley we'll talk about your sass later."

"Sure thing, Mav."

-

Honestly, the breakfast burrito hadn't even had time to settle as Hangman scrambled into his flight suit. He could hear Bob struggling with his zippers as usual and glanced over his shoulder at Rooster, who was humming along to whatever song was in his head.

"Hey, mom, you wanna help Baby on Board into his baby grow?"

"Suck a fat one, Bagman, I don't see you getting into yours so easy," Bob replied dryly, yet he extended his arms for Rooster to help him. Rooster huffed at Hangman, but chose not to respond. Hangman grimaced, feeling his stomach cramp, and put his ass back on the bench for a moment to recover.

"Oh shit, you're gonna blow chunks before the hop?" Payback scoffed as he rounded the corner from his locker, heading to the exit. To Hangman's surprise he was actually talking to Fanboy, who was bent over the sink and not looking so hot.

"Man, those fuckin' 'ritos, I swear to god I get sick every time I eat them."

Hangman's body temperature suddenly dropped and he shivered, swivelling toward the sinks in the locker room.

"Hey, Fanboy, what did you mean?"

"I was super hungry this morning but I got to breakfast late enough that there were only burritos left."

Oh, fuck.

-

"Okay, split into two teams. Coyote, I want you to spend some time working with Rooster today, you and Hangman are completely in sync but you and Rooster seem to be ever so slightly out."

"Yes sir," Coyote replied easily, navigating back toward Rooster's jet.

"Hangman, today I really want you to focus on communicating with... everyone, really."

His stomach was cramping again, and he could feel bile building in his throat. He swallowed it down, one eye on the air and the controls while he frantically searched for the puke bags. He'd just restocked them, he was sure-

"You got that, Hangman?"

He didn't have it, but he agreed anyway.

"Yes sir, I got it. Hey, do I get bonus points for taking out Rooster?"

"Sure, why not."

"What- hey! Mav!" Rooster protested. The Daggers could hear Maverick laughing.

"It'd be nice for you to be quiet for five minutes, so sure, you two compete against each other first. The first person to get tone wins, we'll wait over here."

"Fight's on!" Rooster called, clipping his mask on properly. Hangman furrowed his brows, chasing him through the clouds. They were matched neck-for-neck, but then Rooster pulled the move Maverick had taught him and let Hangman pull up to his tail, trying to get tone. Right at the last second he pulled up and settled behind Hangman, tone sounding immediately.

"God damn it," Hangman hissed whilst the others cheered. He could hear Rooster laughing through the comms and swore, ripping his mask off to catch his breath.

"Alright you two, knock it off. Hangman, sounds like you just earned yourself 200 push ups."

The rest of the Daggers cackled. Hangman winced, pinching the bridge of his nose as his stomach grumbled.

Oh, hell, seriously-

"Alright, everyone invert, we're going to-"

His stomach cramped and then he felt the bile rising again, but this time it was coming up. Reaching for where the sick bags were supposed to be he found nothing and cursed himself, one hand navigating his jet while the other covered his mouth just in case.

"Who is that gagging? Is everyone good?" Maverick asked. When the other Daggers called back that they were okay, Maverick cleared his throat.

"Hangman, I think you should go back to base, yeah? Get back on solid ground."

"S-sir, I- Mav-"

Too late.

-

"Guys, I'm so- fuck- I'm so sorry."

"It's not the worse we've seen, but your jet is out of commission for the rest of today at least."

The ground crew peered into Jake's jet, matching grimaces on both of their faces at the splashes of puke all over the controls and his seat. He was still sitting on the wing, a bucket in his arms as Maverick watched from the ground. His hands were on his hips and his aviators were staying over his eyes, but neither of these things hid the concern on his face.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" Maverick asked, shielding his face from the sun with his hand.

"Uh, think it was the breakfast burrito. Fanboy wasn't so hot either."

He buried himself back in the bucket, puking up what little he had left. Maverick grimaced, watching the rest of the Daggers coming over from where they'd all abruptly landed to see what was going on.

"Did anyone else eat the breakfast burrito?" Maverick asked them. When they all shook their heads, he facepalmed.

"You're all excused. Jake, get down from there, I'll take you home."

"Mav I'm not going anywhere until the wing stops spinning."

"Fair enough. Scoot to the edge, you can pretty much slide on to Rooster's shoulders."

"Hey-"

"-what-"

"-shut up you two, just work together for once. Rooster, go and stand by the wing."

"Yes sir," Rooster huffed, Payback going over to give him a hand. Hangman passed the bucket down to Coyote who seemed mildly disgusted and then scooted to the end of the wing. He managed to slide down, wrapping his arms around Rooster's neck. Rooster caught his legs but then proceeded to pretend to drop him. It was enough to rekindle the nausea and Hangman buried his head into Rooster's shirt. In seconds it was damp and he couldn't believe he'd just puked on his frenemy. He was never going to live this down.

-

[autumntouched]

One of the cutest things to come out of the TGM interviews was how Glen always mentioned how Monica handled the G's and the training so well. Like most of the time she isn't even there, but anytime the person conducting the interview asks about their training, Glen almost always mentions how Monica did so well. And idk it was just so cute, especially when they talk about their little rivalry too of like who could pull more G's in a single flight etc. They've got that Hannix rivalry🤣

Bb, every time you come into my asks I just want to go to brunch with you and talk about Phoenix/Monica all day 😭

I’ve noticed this too and adore it so much! I love that he’s always talking her up 🥰 Also, that she kept bringing up how much he puked 😂 Their real life chemistry and rivalry makes them so easy to write as a couple! I love that he tweeted about Monica, “She's bound for great things as soon as she stops telling every media outlet I'm the pukiest pilot”

[jungle-angel]

Hello! Hope you are having a good day and night! I have been brainstorming this idea for a while now but I haven’t been able to put it into words till now- Admiral!Reader, Captain!Phoenix and Captain!Bob go to there high school reunion (I know Phoenix and Bob didn’t go to high school together but I’m just pretending they did.) and people are talking about what they do when Bobs old childhood bully starts picking at Bob again and when Phoenix and Reader step in he starts being rude to them but all let it drop for now. Later on in the evening people are sharing what they do and Bobs childhood bully says he is going to TopGun to become a naval pilot and explains all about. I have thought of two possible outcomes: 1. Reader, Phoenix and Bob start laughing and everyone looks at them weirdly when suddenly !Bully punch’s Bob or something and Reader humiliates !Bully and makes sure he never goes to TopGun ever and gets transferred to the worst base. 2. The story would break into 2 parts, part one ending with everyone leaving and !Reader. Phoenix and Bob laughing after and being like ‘He has no clue what he has coming for him..’- Then part 2 being his face dropping to realise Reader is admiral and Bob and Phoenix are his captains. He gets humiliated and kicked out of TopGun ext. So sorry this was so long and thank you so much for reading this! I fully understand if you don’t do this I appreciate you reading it!! Hope this made sense. Have a amazing night/day!! 🫶🏼💗

Ooooooooooh Babes, I'd go with option two and you know what?? (Drawing on one of me fics) You could always have Bob take him up in the plane, the bully thinks things are going well till he pukes, Bob turns the plane over and it all goes back in the bully's face as well as the plane canopy. You wanna get an idea of how awful that would be?? There's an interview where Glen Powell talks about that happening to him 😂😂😂😂

[onlyheretoread2]

Lovin' my storm (the CDC)

(a scar similar to storms)

When the group approached the CDC it appeared abandoned. Bodies everywhere. Storm stayed latched to Daryl's shirt and was trying not to become sick with the smell.

Daryl noticed how green his wife looked and handed her his rag. Storm looked at him

"I ain't puked yet" she snorted

"tie it"he whispered

"o" she said tieing the fabric around her head

___

"Rick there's nutthin here" Shane yelled

"there's gotta be""why are the shutters down!"Rick whisper yelled

"you led us into a fuckin graveyard!" Daryl yelled

"well think of something" Rick proclaimed

"we need to go we can be near the city especially at night" Lori stated

"Rick let's go fort Benning is still an option" Shane said

"that's a hundred miles....

"125 I checked the map" glen inserted

"exactly... How we gunna get there will no gas no food and a woman 6 months pregnant"! Rick inserted

"leave me outa ya mouth dipshits" storm yelled as Daryl wrapped his arm protectively around her .

"stay calm "he wispered

"I am but they not gunna use munchkin as an excuse" she whisper yelled

Daryl tried to speak again before noticing "WALKERS"!

He shot one and began to drag storm to the truck while Shane tried to drag rick

"THE CAMERA!" RICK YELLED

"please if u can hear me! We have kids and a pregnant woman....

Storm was about tel yell as Daryl covered her mouth

"help us please!" He yelled

"it's gears whining down Rick." Shane claimed as he attempted to drag rick away again

_______

Just as they were all going to leave the shudder opned

A blinding light made storm burry her face in Daryl's chest.

Then they all entered slowly

"Daryl watch the back" someone said.

Storm stayed right near him

She couldn't hear the conversation at the front but suddenly Daryl was running back to the truck only to return with storms bags. 1 with her items and one with the babies. "Babe we got 3 months"

"I didn't want shit to happen to it "

"ok" storm said as she smiled and the shudder reclosed

________

They were lead to an elevator and all filed in. Daryl too a protective stance with his wife covering her stomach.

"docs usually carry that kind of firepower"? He asked

"it was around I familiarized myself" the doc said as he smiled and joked about Carl being dangeroous

__________

Apparently Rick made a deal to do blood draws so as everyone did there's storm was last. She walked over to the doc..

"how far are you?" He asked

"25 weeks I believe but my last doc appointment got interrupted by the apocalypse " she said with a smirk.

"I have an ultrasound machine I can check the little one if ya want" he said as he finished

Storm looked to Daryl he said"up ta u"

"yes please ""to make sure he's good" stop said rubbing her protruding bump.

" ok come see me later" he said as storm stood and fell a little

"she ok?" He asked Daryl who grabbed her

"barely ate nutthin in 3 days" he growled

"I can help with that"

_______________

As the group sat around the table enjoying the delicious food Daryl kept 1 hand around storms shoulder as he sat on a bar stool behind her. Dale perked up stating something about kids in France enjoying wine and Lori allowed Carl to try some. He Hated it.. 😂😂

Daryl perked up after

"everybody drink up!"" Little man stick to soda pop but not you glen" "wanna see how red ya face can get" he said laughing

"hey baby" Daryl said before kissing his wife

"you smell and taste like jack I hate u right now"she smiled as she kissed him back

Jaqui leaned to her

"is he always like this?"

"when he's drunk pretty much" storm said smirking."I'ma let him have fun. Not gunna happenuch one munchkin gets here." Jaqui smiled and squeezed her shoulder

"time to thank our gracious host" Rick stated as he tapped his glass.

"BOOYAH"

Daryl yelled causing everyone else to

"so doc you gunna tell us where everyone else is?" Shane asked

"not now Shane " Lori said

"why not" "this why we came right"

"follow me and I'll show u" the doc said

_____

Once everyone was in the room the doctor showed diagrams and simulations showing the virus and telling us how he became the only one left. (Suicides) 😞

______

"these will have to do housing is shut down" "only one room has an actual bed the rest have couches. And kids there is a rec room just don't use anything that draws power. The rest of you if u shower go easy on the hot water" the doctor said as he walked away

"Daryl u and storm take the bed were all good" Rick stated

"thank you" storm said as she walked to the room her feet were killing her

________

After about an hour Daryl had fallen asleep as storm sat up reading. A knock came to the door.

"I have the ultrasound set up if your ready for the scan" the doc said

"ok just let me wake Daryl we will meet you" she smiled

Storm approached the bed "baby " she shook Daryl lightly he jumped but continued to snore. Storm giggled and shook him again he jumped up hitting a cabinate

"the fuk ? Ow" he snarled

"sorry " storm said trying not to chuckle

Daryl nelt to her "ur good baby what up? Little man good?" He asked rubbing her stomach

"yea the doc wants to do the scan now figured you'd wanna see to"

"hell yea I do" he almost yelled

Storm smiled as they walked to the exam room and she lifter her tank top.

Aww " was all storm could say. She had tears in her eyes as Daryl just grinned bigger than he ever had

"are you sure your only 25 weeks" the doc asked

"by my math I am why" she asked scared

"according to the babies measurements your 32 weeks not 25" he stated

"holy shit.... The Christmas party!" Storm and Daryl said on unison both laughing

"so I only got 8 weeks left? "

"if you make it that long" the doctor smiled

"do you wanna know the gender"? He asked

"do you?" Storm asked daryl

"hell yea" wanna see if little mans actually a man

Storm and the doc both laughed as he stated "yep little mans a man" and he printed off a pic for them to keep.

__________

Storm was excited and so was daryl

"wanna think about names?" She asked daryl

"not tonight I'm still shit faced " he said with a smile

"ok babe you go sleep" "I'ma find carol and tell her"

"k come back soon" he said as he kissed her then her belly

_____

Storm found Carol's room and as she answered storm couldn't hold in.

"it's a boy!"

Carol just hugged her and invited her in.

"so happy for you"!

Storm smiled

"will the baby have the same mark as you"? Sofia asked catching storm off guard

"what"?

"Sofia!" Carol whisper yelled

"it's cool carol.... No hunny my scar came from work I used to do" she said to sofia

"what work"? The girl asked

"I was an officer"

"like rick and Shane? " She asked

"kinda ... I was a lt.in Atlanta metro swat."

"swat" carol asked impressed

"year we had a bad call. Sniper was on a roof I didn't see him till it was to late. Took a 50 cal to the cheek. It was a bad graze but still scared"

"o Lord" thank God ur ok." " How did u meet mr.daryl" Sofia asked

Storm laughted "I arrested him and merle"

Carol just looked at u surprised "I'ma get back ain't got but 8 weeks left" "better sleep now

"ok hun" I'll check on u and little man tomarro"

_______

When storm returned to her room she was surprised Daryl was still awake

"figured ud be passed out" she said with a smirk

Daryl leaned over and flicked on the lamp

It was then storm noticed his buldge

"couldn't sleep .. missed that sweet body next to me"he said as he stool exposed his full nakedness

Storm smiled and shit and locked the door.

Daryl approached her and kisses her hungryly

He them processed that she was dressed and took every piece of clothing off of her slowly and leaving love bites on her thighs and breasts. When she was totally nude storm realized the size of her stomach and stated"baby I'm huge you don't wanna fuck this " she said not meeting his eye

He leaned into her and grabbed her chin forcing her face up

" I wanna fuck u till u can't walk" you worse eautiful now then the day I met you"

That brought years to storms eyes so she wrapped her arms around his neck after a long hungry kiss Daryl spun storm around and bent her over with a gental push to her middle back . She used the door to brace herself as he lined up with her entrance.

Daryl toyed with her entrance loving how wet she was

"god baby all this for me? "

"uh huh please fuk me I can't take it" she pleaded

"anything my girl wants she gets"

Daryl slammed into storm in one go all the way to the hilt moaning loudly as he stated still for a minute to let her adjust

"god your so fuckin tight baby"

"your fuckin huge Daryl" "please move"

Storm wiggles her hips as Daryl began to pull almost completely out just to slam back in again

He kept his pace for over an hour till he felt storm start to squeeze him

"that's right baby cum on this cock" he said breathlessly

His voice was enough to send her over the edge screaming

"Daryl..... Oh my god"

"I got cha baby girl" "m right here"

Her clinching was enough to send him over the edge again and again till finally they both fell to the bed exhausted .

"fuck we need to get u pregnant more often"

"hell no when u can squeeze a water Mellon out ya dick we will have another one"

Daryl just laughted

"I'ma shower " storm said once she could feel her legs again.

Once she stood she saw Daryl already passed out so she just chuckled . After ahe showered she curled up next to her husband and he just embraced her holding her and rubbing cricles in his sleep.

_____

The next day everyone ate them was brought to a room and shown more diagrams about the virus. Dale asked about the clock on the wall. Dr Jenner explained what it was and horrified everyone.

Rick shouted for everyone to get there bags . We all tried to leave but the doors slammed shut.

"you just lock us in? He just locked us in!" Glen yelled

"open the doors what the fuck are you doing"Rick and Daryl yelled

Jenner went on to say it's better and we wouldn't suffer but hell no we weren't staying.

"man let us go my wife fuckin pregnant!" Daryl s reamed running with the pic axe.

After intense arguing Jenner finally let everyone out. Jaqui chouse to stay😢

________

Everyone got there bags and heading to the front storm struggled to keep up with her large belly

Dayl noticed and scooped her up bridal style and ran.

Daryl stood there after putting storm down"go help baby " he just looked at her and handed her the crossbow.

They tried and tried to break the glass but it never worked. For some reason carol had a fuckin granade!

Daryl ran and got storm under him asuch as possible as the explosion went off . Storms ears rang as Daryl grabbed her face . "LETS GO"

Storm nodded and ran with the group through the window and got in the truck. Again Daryl dove onto storm as the second explosion went off. Storm grabbed Daryl's shirt tight and put her lips to his as he pushed her head down.

When it was over the group loaded up as Daryl helped storm into the truck. They left the CDC looking for fort Benning.

[plus-size-reader]

Motel California

Isaac Lahey x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 3174 words

Warnings: takes place around Season 3, Episode 6 (of the same name)

Summary: Scott asking you to room with Isaac at the Motel Glen Capri, which seems a lot more difficult than maybe it should.

—————————————————————————————————

You couldn’t believe Scott was doing this to you.

“It would just make me feel better if he was keeping an eye on you” he shrugged, already more than paranoid with the twins so close, and the wound aching in his side that had taken far too long to heal than it should have.

It wasn’t a big deal.

He just didn’t want you to be in any kind of danger if it could be avoided.

Lydia was rooming with Allison, who could take out anyone or anything with her eyes closed,  naturally he was bunking with Stiles, and  it only made sense that you stay with Isaac.

That way, all of Scott’s boxes would be checked, and everyone would be accounted for, and protected.

Still, as much sense as that made, it didn’t make the idea of spending all night in the same room as Isaac any easier to accept.  You two had hardly spoken since you broke up, and Scott knew that better than anyone.

You weren’t even sure the two of you would be able to maintain a conversation, and because of that, there was no way of knowing how it would go.

Not that you really had much of a say in the matter.

Scott had already made up his mind.

The things you were dealing with were bigger than any one member of the pack, and there was no avoiding that. Just because you, Lydia, Allison, and Stiles weren’t werewolves didn’t mean that you were in any less danger than they were.

It just meant that you were less prepared to defend yourself against them, and Scott couldn’t help but worry about all of you.

It was his job.

“What are they really going to do?” you whispered back, eyeing Ethan incredulously, as if something awful would happen right there before your eyes to provide some kind of reason for his paranoia.

Ethan was the only one who had come on this cross country trip, likely due to the state Ennis had been left in but that was exactly where Scott was losing you.

He was the only member of the alpha pack not currently  in the vicinity, and to you, that meant that  you were all safe, at least, for now.

…but Scott wasn’t so convinced.

The exact thing that was making you so sure that nothing was going to happen was the same thing convincing Scott to prepare as if it would.

After all, Ethan being the only one on the trip may have given you some amount of comfort, but to him, it meant that the rest of the alpha pack was unaccounted for. They could have been anywhere, doing anything.

Naturally, that made the true alpha a little nervous., and he just wanted to make sure that his family was safe

You couldn’t blame him for that.

No matter how much you may have wanted to right now.

“I don’t know, but I have to prepare for everything”  he countered, taking the keys from Stiles and shooting you one last reassuring smile before heading toward the Motel Glen Capri, the jankiest hotel you’d ever seen.

It was old and offputting, but given the options, it was far better than spending the night in a bus  that still smelled vaguely like puke and body odor.

“So, I guess we’re roomies,” Isaac hummed,  the smug look on his face that told you just how insufferable he was planning on making this whole experience.

You had been so worried about why Scott was so adamant that you didn’t even give the blonde in question a second thought.

Until right now.

“Yeah, I guess so”  you allowed,  choosing to ignore how close he’d chosen to stand to you and turning your attention to the motel instead.

It was hardly nice, but it was getting dark and as awful as the motel looked, you were sure that it was worse out here in the dark.

There was no telling what was lurking around in the dark and you would have been crazy to stay put.

Even with a werewolf by your side.

“Scared of the dark?” Isaac scoffed, taking note of the strange edge you were giving off,  without even meaning to.  It was something he’d never really known you to have an issue with before now, and it caught him off guard.

Not that you saw it that way.

Naturally, after everything you two had gone through, you assumed he was ridiculing you so you only sighed, grabbing your duffle and swinging it over your shoulder.

Rather than acknowledge his question, and general presence, you set your mind to getting inside before the sun fell from the sky anymore than it already had.  

Anything was better than focusing on Isaac.

Who, given the circumstances, was just lapping this up.

“How about I trade you?”  he offered, taking the bag from your shoulder and dropping the room key into your waiting hand instantly, before heading in that direction without a second thought.

He was clearly going to milk this for everything it was worth, and you could already tell he was going to get on your nerves.

It was the exact reason you’d been avoiding him before now.

Still, you knew that knowing you were both accounted for and taken care of was more important to Scott than anything and given everything he’d done for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to go against that.

Even with as much as Isaac’s presence here made you want to rip your hair out.

You didn’t speak again until you entered the hotel room, at which point you realized just how bad this whole thing really was.

You couldn’t help but let your nose scrunch up as you took it all in.

The decor wasn’t as bad as you’d been expecting, given the outer shell the motel presented, but the smell certainly didn’t disappoint.

The air was stale, and  if you had to guess, you would have said the carpet was  either mildewed, hadn’t been replaced in the last forty years, or both.

“Oh wow” you choked out,  holding your hand up to your nose as soon as it hit you, earning an earnest chuckle from Isaac when he met your side.  

Once again, you had been so preoccupied with your thoughts that you didn’t even give the male a second thought as he followed you into the room, finding obvious enjoyment in your disgust.

“If you think it’s bad, you should try it with super senses,” he grinned, making his way over to the window as swiftly as he could to open it, in hopes that perhaps,by the time it was time for bed, it would be a little better.

This place could definitely use the fresh air.

“I think I’ll pass,”  you shrugged, taking your bag from him and throwing it on the bed. You had no intention of unpacking in this place, but at the very least, you figured you could get out of these grubby clothes.

It was bad enough that you’d been stuck on that bus this whole time, but now, you had to deal with this stuff too.

It just felt like you were trapped in all the ick from the past couple hours, and you desperately wanted to get it off, but it wasn’t just that.  A shower would also give you some time to yourself, without Isaac looking over your shoulder.

….and you weren’t about to pass that up.

There was a time when you couldn’t have imagined any space between you and Isaac ever feeling right but now, you couldn’t wait to get away from him.

You just weren’t ready to talk about it.

You weren’t sure you’d ever be ready to talk about it.

“I’m gonna shower”  you sighed, trying to figure out what you wanted to say  without even meaning to, and thankfully, Isaac didn’t bother to comment.

Just because you weren’t a couple anymore didn’t mean he was suddenly going to be blind to all your obvious physical cues.

He couldn't have ignored them if he tried.

“I'm gonna see if I can find the vending machine” he muttered, gesturing to the door so that you’d know what he meant before he headed out, slamming the door behind him.

Isaac figured that if he was hungry, you probably were too, and he wasn’t about to pass up an excuse to get out of that room.

As it would turn out, it was just as awkward for him as it was for you, even though he was doing a better job of hiding just how much it was affecting him.

You only nodded, doing your best to be as normal as you could given the strange circumstances but by this point, you didn’t see it happening.

You just had no idea what to say to him, and he wasn’t much better.

It didn’t help that neither of you had really dealt with any of your issues or the breakup in general since it happened.

It was just so much easier to pretend none of it had ever happened, so that was what you were going to do.

After you got a shower, that was.

The water in the shower smelled almost as rank as the room itself but you did your best not to complain.  Instead, you chose to focus on the warm water, willing it to help you ignore everything else.

Again, you couldn’t help but sigh as you thought over the situation you’d found yourself in. You had no idea how this was going to go and at the end of the day, you weren’t even sure why you cared.

Isaac had practically abandoned you when he turned, and again when his father died. It just felt like he was always distant, always somewhere you couldn’t be, and always away from you.

Eventually you got tired of it, and had to move on with your life.

However, as it had been known to do,Beacon Hills had found a way to rope you in again when Scott had to save you from the monster you’d come to realize was the Kanima.  After that, you couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen.

….and now, you were a part of it, but you and Isaac had never really fixed what was broken.

Sure, now you knew what it was that was so important to him, that you couldn’t know about, but knowing didn’t make it all better.

If anything, it just proved to you how much more important this was to him than you’d ever been.

You could have accepted it, could have helped him, but instead, he chose to always leave you out and at the end of the day, there was no changing that.

It just was what it was, and there was no use torturing yourself over it.

You’d heard the motel door open and close a few minutes ago, but when you came back into the room from the bathroom, Isaac was nowhere to be found.

He’d been back at some point, because there were cheetos, snickers, and skittles discarded on the dresser and the tv was on, though it was simply blaring static.

“Isaac? If this is some kind of prank, it isn’t funny” you called out, already irritated.  If he thought this was funny, he was delusional.

After everything recently with the alpha pack and Derek, this was about as far from funny as anything could have been, but you sort of hoped he was hiding in the closet or something. The alternative was just too terrifying to consider.

Of course, no answer came which was more than enough to bother you but you did your best to maintain your composure, turning off the tv and searching the room as best you could.

Though, it wasn’t until you looked under the bed that you found him, curled up in a tight ball and shaking.

Which, naturally, was cause for concern.

“What the hell are you doing?” You sighed, still assuming that he was pulling some kind of a prank on you, or just being an asshole for the fun of it, but whatever he was doing, it didn’t stop .

No matter what you said, or did, Isaac wouldn’t move from his place or even acknowledge that you were in front of him.

It was like he was in some kind of trance, and you couldn’t get him out of it.

~

The  whole thing was a mess.

Eventually, Scott and Stiles came around to fix everything as they so often did with a handful of road flares and the news that this place was driving werewolves out of their minds, but you didn’t care about any of that.

Whatever it was about this place that was making them go all haywire wasn’t your concern.

All you cared about was that everybody was okay, at least, physically.

“What do we do? What can we do?” you immediately started, already shaken up as it was.

You had experienced Isaac’s panic attacks before, and talked him down from nightmares, but whatever that was, it wasn’t a nightmare.

It was something else.

Something worse.

“Allison is going to go find Scott, we’ll look for Boyd, and you stay here with him” Stiles decided, thinking quickly on his feet to cover all the ground that needed to be covered before leading Lydia out of the room.

There wasn’t time.

After seeing what Ethan had almost done with that handsaw, there was no telling what could go wrong. Somebody was going to get killed if they didn’t act fast, and that meant that whatever you could do, you had to do.

Even if it was difficult.

You, and this pack, you were a team and you all had to do your part to figure things out, especially when it came to things like this.

So, you decided to stay put.

Just because they had managed to get Isaac relatively settled down didn’t mean it was going to stay that way, meaning that Stiles was right. The best thing you could do for the pack right now was watch out for him.

…and lucky for you both, that was something you’d been really good at once upon a time.

You were quiet at first, choosing to sit down on the bed opposite the one Isaac was currently sitting on. It didn’t feel right to just jump right into a conversation given the circumstances.

Though, after the motel door was closed and the silence enveloped you both, you decided you didn’t have a choice but to talk to him.

Isaac could really get into his head and even if this whole thing had been one isolated event, you knew that the feelings it had brought out of him were real.

This wasn’t the first time you'd been in this position with him.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, hoping that he would tell you if he needed something. When the two of you first started dating, it took him forever to let you in but you couldn’t help but wish he still would.

Not that you could blame him if he didn’t want to tell  you.

A lot had happened since you’d been alone like this, especially under such strange circumstances, and you didn’t want to risk crossing some invisible boundary; for your sake and Isaacs.

Of course, he didn’t answer you right away, his head too far away to have even really realized you’d spoken.

All he could think about right now was that stupid freezer, and whatever it was about this place that had brought that out of him.

It never happened like that, out of the blue, without anything to trigger it.

“Isaac? Are you okay?” You hummed, deciding to move over from your bed to the one he was currently perched on, your hand falling on his shoulder gently to shake him out of his thoughts.

He was going to drive himself insane if he didn’t talk to you, or at least get it all out of his head. The things he was fighting with were deep rooted and intense, and you could only imagine how hard this was for him to relive.

Even if you weren’t quite sure why it was happening.

“I’ll be fine” he whispered, after what felt like a lifetime passed, the words little more than a breathy allowance than anything else.

It was hard.

You knew that he was right, and that eventually he would get a handle on it, but that didn’t make it any harder to accept.

You didn’t like how much he’d been forced to struggle at the hands of his own father. It wasn’t right, and it never had been.

The two of you sat there for a moment more in silence, just trying to take in the almost eerie quiet within the room.

It would have almost been peaceful, if it hadn’t been so unsettling.

“Are you okay?” Isaac spoke again, realizing that during that lull in conversation, you two had sort of just been staring at one another, in a way that you didn’t really do anymore.

In fact, it had been a really long time since you were this close at all.

It was awkward, but what was bothering you most was how it felt both comfortable and tense, all at once.

Like you could lean in or run for the hills at any second.

“I think so” you shrugged, not really sure where to go from here. You felt like you should probably go back to your own bed, now that he’d shaken his catatonic state, but you couldn’t make yourself move.

It was almost as if you were glued to your spot, right by his side.

“I don’t know”

Really, you didn’t think seeing him in such a state would bring something like that out of you but for some reason, it did. Evidently, it didn’t matter how long you two spent apart, you didn’t have it in you not to care about Isaac.

At least a little bit.

“That’s good” he decided, finally breaking eye contact with you to give the surrounding room a quick glance before his gaze fell on the snickers bar on the dresser.

He’d almost forgotten about that.

Without another word, Isaac got up from his place and snatched the treat from the counter.

“This might help” he offered, tossing you the candy bar without a second thought, convinced that even if neither of you had any idea what you were doing right now, your favorite candy couldn't hurt.

It wasn’t like he was going to eat it, anyway.

Isaac had always been more of a skittles guy.

All you could do was nod in thanks as you caught it, taking in what was ultimately an offer of much more than a simple candy bar. It was an admittance of the thing you both already seemed to know.

That no matter what happened, you were always going to love Isaac Lahey.

[viking-raider]

Silver and Magic - Chapter 11

Summary: You battle Dasa in Dragon form, ending a centuries old family feud.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3,559

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Rating: M - Cursing, Violence, Blood, Flashbacks

Inspiration: What the dragon’s head necklace looks like (x) This is sorta what I picture reader’s sword to look like (x) and how I picture the reader’s eyes (x)

Author’s Note: I’m pulling shit out of my muse’s ass for this chapter, and probably future ones. Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @klaine-92, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5​, @iloveyouyen​, @hollydaisy23​, @mcuimagination​, @psychosupernatural​

“This is incredible.” Ethos said, running out into the clearing of Hammer's Glen, catching sight of your and Dasa's dragon forms in the light of the thumbnail moon.

It was easier for them to see Dasa's cobalt blue body, than it was for them to see your onyx scales, they blended in so well with the inky night sky, shining like stars in the moon light. You were shaky in the sky, unaccustomed to flight, but the feeling of it was incredibly exhilarating and freeing, it had to be what birds felt, when they took flight. You leveled your body with Dasa's, high in the sky, the beating of your wings kicked up a strong wind around your bodies as you stared each other down.

“So, the whelp learns to fly.” Dasa's voice resounded through your mind.

“That's right, cousin.” You replied, getting the hang of it. “Now, it's time we end this family feud, now and forever.”

“I will not allow a runt, out do me!” Dasa howled and opened his maw, a large ball of flame forming in its deep recess, a strip of crimson red lit up his spine, from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail.

“Oh, no!” Ethos cried, seeing it. “He's going to fire on her.”

You drew a deep breath through your nostrils, opening your own maw, a stripe of violet racing from the back of your head to the tip of your tail, both of you lit up and defined against the midnight sky, red and silver eyes glowing with fury.

“She's going to fire back.” Geralt whispered, frozen in place.

“She's black and purple.” Ethos mumbled.

“Does that mean something?” Geralt asked, managing to look away from you long enough to glance at him.

“Dragons are defined by their color, you should know that much, Witcher.” he replied, still looking at you and Dasa. “Blue Dragons are uncommon. A blue Dragon with red breath are exceedingly powerful for their color.” He explained, his eyes huge. “Black Dragons are the rarest..”

“Gold Dragons are the rarest.” Geralt replied, remembering Borch, also known as Villentretenmerth, a Gold Dragon, he once helped.

“Be it as it may, Black Dragons are just as rare.” Ethos continued to explain, watching as you and Dasa charged your breathes. “But, a Black Dragon with Purple flame, I have never heard of in my life. A Silver Dragon with a Purple flame, yes, and that Dragon was not one to be messed with.” He elaborated, then got a thoughtful look on his face. “I wonder, if that was y/n's father. He was said to be a Silver Dragon.”

You released your deep breath, letting out a beam of bright violet fire from your mouth as Dasa released his Crimson, blending together in a magenta orb. You beat your mighty wings harder and strained your body, pushing your breath and flame out as hard as you could, overpowering Dasa's and forcing him to roll to the side and take a steep spiraling dive towards the ground to get away from it. You angled yourself downward and dove after him, swooping up just before you hit the ground, holding your wings straight and stiff to glide after him for a moment, before flapping them as hard as you could, chasing Dasa to the near by coast. Geralt and Ethos took off after you on foot, Geralt reached the beach just as you and Dasa locked claws. Dasa tried to let out another stream of fire, but you swiveled your head to the side and down, latching your fangs onto his throat, cutting off the steam of flame and making him roar, ferociously. Locked together you both spun and tumbled, wings beating against the other's, claws grabbing and tearing, mouths letting out bursts of flame and snapping at throats, wings and anything else reachable. You let out a thundering cry as Dasa was able to bite into the elbow of your right wing, forcing you to take a sharp roll to rip it free of his fangs. The pain of using it was almost too much for you to bare, but you stayed up in the air; the sheer determination to avenge all the innocent people Dasa had killed, to avenge Atlas, to avenge your parents and people that Dasa and his parents had taken from you. Grabbing his claws back in yours, to steady yourself, you used your horns to ram against the side of Dasa's head, then clamped down hard on the back of his neck, when you could grab at it, from his attempt to deflect your blow. Dasa screamed again, thrashing about, trying to shake free of you, but you only bit down harder, the purple stripe running down your body again as you used all the strength you had to crush the back of his neck and the base of his skull, the disturbing crunch and the metallic taste of his blood in your mouth, you gave your mighty head one hard shake, snapping what little of his neck that was left.

“Good God!” Ethos cried, mouth dropping open.

“Y/n!” Geralt screamed, his heart stopping as he watched Dasa go limp in your mouth, wings drooping and both your bodies plummet from the sky and crash with an explosion into the raging ocean below.

Geralt and Ethos stood frozen and stunned at the edge of the water, waves lapping up their lags as time seemed to stretch on, with no sight of you. The blow of hitting the water, knocked you unconscious, but the painful sting of salt water in your various wounds, shocked you back and you struggled under the waves to free yourself from Dasa, his dead claws stiffened around yours. After several frightful moments, you managed to free yourself ad used your tail and undamaged wing to propel you back to the surface, bursting from the water and spinning upward into the sky from the momentum. Both Geralt and Ethos let out relieved breathes seeing you, but their concern didn't lessen, as they watched you struggle to keep in the air and turn back towards land. You barely stayed up long enough to do so, before crashing to the ground like a bomb and skid across the sand, before finally coming to a halt. By the time Geralt and Ethos made it to the crater, your unconscious body shifted back to human form.

“Y/n.” Geralt panted, out of breath, as he dropped to his knees beside you and pushing your wet hair from your bloody face.

“These wounds.” Ethos commented, seeing the scratch across your face, the gash at your hairline, the bite mark at on your right elbow, and gashes all over your torso and legs from you and Dasa clawing at each other. “Witcher.” He said, softly, resting his hand on Geralt's shoulder. “I don't think, there's anything we can do for her.”

“Bullshit!” Geralt barked, not giving up on you. “There has to be--”

A roar rippled through the air, making Geralt and Ethos snap their heads behind them and were stunned to see a giant Gold Dragon landing on the beach several yards away.

“A G-gold Dragon.” Ethos mumbled, flabbergasted at the sight.

The Dragon approached slowly and the closer it got, the more it changed. So, by the time it reached them, it was no longer a Dragon, but a man.

“Come no closer!” Geralt warned and stood, he'd had enough of surprise Dragons.

“Calm yourself, Witcher.” The man replied, still approaching. “I've come to help.”

“Help.” Geralt snapped, growling deep in his chest. “Help, how?”

The man smiled at him, then moved to kneel beside your mortally wounded body. “The only way a grandfather can.” He said, touching your blood soaked face.

“Grandfather?”

“Yes.” He replied, grasping your dragon necklace. “I am Orzac, King of the Dragons. Y/n is my granddaughter, daughter of my youngest son, Ronar.” He explained, but his full attention was on you. Orzac closed his hand around your necklace and closed his eyes, softly speaking in Dragary. As he whispered, your wounds slowly started to close, healing up without so much as a scar or a mark. “My dearest grandchild, like your father before you, you are the mightiest of our kind, having proven yourself to your king and grandfather, honoring your kin. I am proud of you, as would be your parents. For that, I gift you this,” he squeezed the dragon pendant, and gold light shining around it. “all of it's powers, and free you of your father's banishment from home.” Orzac rested his hand upon your wet hair. “May you return, when you wish and may you live the greatest of lives.” He bent and kissed your forehead and moved away from you.

A moment later, your eyes snapped open, glowing metallic silver, and started coughing up all the sea water you had inadvertently swallowed.

“Y/n?” Geralt let out in a relieved breath, dropping beside you and pulling you up against his chest, gently patting your back as you continued to puke up water.

“Geralt.” You rasped, panting and groaning.

“Yeah.” He smiled, hugging you against him. “You're all right, I've got you now.”

You grabbed a hold of his arm, but your eyes were on Orzac, narrowing them, confused.

“It is nice to finally greet you, Grandchild.” he smiled at you, his gold eyes shining. “May we meet again, on better terms.” He winked and walked away, vanishing from sight.

“Was that...” You looked up at Geralt with shocked confusion.

“I'll explain it later.” He laughed, smiling at you.

“Here.” Ethos swept his cloak off and wrapped it around your naked body. “It's good to have you alive.”

“It's good to be alive.” You answered as Geralt scooped you up into his arms, hugging your shivering body against the warmth of his. “Did I change into a dragon?” You whispered into Geralt's ear after several silent minutes of walking.

“Yes.” He nodded, glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes, like he expected you to do it again. “A very beautiful and magnificent dragon, at that.”

“Okay.” You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder, extremely tired. “I just wanted to make sure, I wasn't hallucinating from blood loss.”

“You most certainly, were not.” Ethos laughed, still shocked himself.

Geralt carried you back to your room at the inn and laid you down on the bed, before going down to wake the innkeeper and demand the wash tub from him, carrying it back upstairs and filling it was hot water. “Come, let's get that chilled skin warm again.” He said, removing Etho's cloak from around you, picking you up again and easing you into the steaming water.

“Oh gods, that feels nice.” You moaned, melting into it. “Thank you.” You sighed, closing your eyes.

“Of course.” Geralt smiled, sitting beside the tub and gently stroking your hair. “You haven't a scratch on you.” He commented, looking over your body, the only mark on you, was the long scar from the Bruxa, all those months ago. “He did some pretty amazing healing on you.”

“Dragons are apparently very adept at healing.” You replied, turning your face into his hand. “My mother was a healer.” You told him. “my birth mother that is, she was a White Dragon.” You corrected yourself.

“Well, that explains where you get your healing talents.” He smiled, brushing the back of his knuckles over your cheek.

“That it assuredly does.” You agreed, opening your eyes to look at him. “I am sorry about the Aard.” You said, looking him over and seeing the wounds he still had. “I just didn't want you to get hurt. I knew, I could portal out to safety, once I dealt with Dasa.”

“Was that the creature's name?” He asked, settling his amber-gold eyes on you.

“It is...was.” You frowned, the battle coming back to you now. “He was my cousin. It seems that the two dragons that attacked Dragary were my uncle and his wife, they were bitter that my parents had prospered more than them, once they were both banished from home.” You explained, flashes of the memory flickering through your tired mind.

“It's fine now.” Geralt whispered, softly, to you. “Don't think of it, right now.” He told you, leaning in to kiss you. “You need to rest.” He said, pulling back slightly and tilting his head at you, tenderly. “I'll take care of you.”

“Who's going to care for you?” You asked him, touching the cut on his arm.

“I'll survive, I've suffered worse.” He assured you.

“It's my job to take care of the wounded.” You replied, frowning at him. “I'm use to caring for myself.”

“You don't always have to take care of others, and it's all right to let someone else take care of you.” He said, picking up a sponge and a bit of soap, then carefully sponging away the blood, grime and sand caked into your skin and hair. “I want to take care of you, y/n. So, let me.”

You moaned in blissful relaxation, giving yourself over to him and closing your eyes again, drifting off to sleep, in the process. Geralt finished bathing you and grabbed the fluffy towel he'd taken from Hector, having threaten the Innkeeper, who tried giving him a pitiful excuse of a towel, instead. He carefully dried your hair, smirking as you moaned in your sleep. You stirred from your slumber long enough to be toweled off, then fell back to sleep as he carried you to the pleasantly warm and soft bed. Geralt removed his torn clothing and washed himself, tended to the gash on his arm, tossed a few more oak logs on the fire, so it would burn well into the night, and laid down with you, spooning your naked body into his. He stroked the side of your neck, traced your brow and tucked the damp strands of your hair behind your ear, the tip of his finger followed the curve of your earlobe and frowned. Geralt carefully brushed your hair away from your ear and gently folded it out of the way, studying the strange metallic violet mark behind your ear, two swirling lines with a curved line running through them. He had never noticed the mark before and touched it gently, it felt cool against your heated and sweaty skin, making the pad of his finger tingle.

“Hm, that tickles.” You mumbled in your sleep, reaching up and touching the mark, smiling softly.

“Sorry, minne.” Geralt whispered back, kissing your cheek. “Go back to sleep, you need your rest.” He told you, tucking you closer against him. “Me en'ca minne.” He whispered into your ear, closing his eyes.

“There's something you should see.” Geralt said, as the two of you packed.

“All right.” You sighed, turning your attention to him.

Geralt pulled you over to the small mirror on the wall, turning you sideways and brushing your hair back. “I noticed a mark behind your ear.” He explained, holding your ear out of the way for you to see it.

“What the...” You frowned, moving closer to the mirror to look at it. “That wasn't there before.” You said, touching it, feeling its tingling coolness. “You think, it has something to do with my turning into a Dragon?” You asked, looking at him through the mirror.

“It's likely.” Geralt agreed, examining it.

“You think, as we travel back to Crasmere, we could stop by Aero's again?” You asked, stroking the mark.

“Of course.” He nodded, he'd already decided to drop by the Elf's home.

Packed, You and Geralt went to say good-bye to Ethos and Emela. You felt strange seeing the old man, Geralt had told you about what he'd done to your parents in revenge, and what he'd seen of your Dragon battle with Dasa. But, you didn't feel right just leaving without a word, either.

“I am so glad you're all right.” Emela said, throwing her arms around your neck. “I was worried sick, after what Ethos had told me.” She fretted over you.

“I'm all right.” You smiled at her, kissing her cheek. “We came to say good-bye, before heading back to Crasmere.” You told him, glancing at Ethos.

“So soon?” Emela frowned.

“The monster is dealt with, Midmaw should be more than safe from now on.” You assured her, giving her a tight smile.

“Y/n,” Ethos said, softly, moving closer to you. “I am so sorry, for not telling you what I knew of your parents.” He sighed, frowning. “Part of me believed, you were better off not knowing the truth about them, and the other part of me...” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don't know, all of what I was thinking. I'm just really sorry.”

“I know, the truth of it now.” You answered, shifting uncomfortably. “That's all I care about.” You told him, brushing a hand through your hair.

“I am still sorry.” He said, shifting on his feet.

“I forgive you.” You whispered, hugging him.

“Three visits in a month!” Aero laughed, stepping aside and letting you and Geralt inside. “More questions about the Dragarians, I'm sure.”

“Aero, you might want to sit down.” You smiled at him, taking a seat in the living room.

“I don't like that tone.” The Elf replied, taking a seat.

“I'm a Dragon.” You laughed, just getting on with it.

“A Black Dragon, at that.” Geralt added.

“What!” Aero gasped, leaning forward.

“It seems,” You cleared your throat. “That my birth parents, were the king and queen of the Dragary Kingdom. They were both Dragons, in human form. My Grandfather, my Father's father, is the Gold Dragon, Orzac, King of all Dragons. The creature that was attacking people in Midmaw was my cousin, Dasa. His Father, my uncle Orsa, and his wife, were the Dragons that attacked them. They were jealous.”

“Then, what was this cousin of yours doing?”

“He was finishing off the rest of the Dragarian survivors.” You explained.

“Dragarian survivors?” Aero frowned, shaking his head.

“Not all of them committed the sacrifice.” Geralt explained, glancing at you. “Ethos found out that y/n's birth parents, Ronar and Izzi, didn't commit suicide, and as revenge for, supposedly ruining his father's trade business, disclosed their survival to the survivors and they killed them for it. But, not before Emela, Ethos's wife, made sure y/n was safe.”

“This is incredible!” Aero grinned, excited to hear the tale. “So, you can turn into a Dragon. How?”

You removed the pendant from under your shirt. “That's what this does to me, if I use it correctly.” You explained to him. “But, I have something else that's strange.”

“Such as?”

“I have a mark, that appeared, Geralt noticed it after my fight with Dasa.” You told him, pulling your hair up and showing it to him. “Do you have any idea what it is, or means?”

Aero got up to take a closer look. “Intriguing.” He hummed, touching it softly. “Let me see.” He trotted upstairs and came back down with a huge book, setting it down on the table beside his chair, Aero took several minutes to flip through it. “Hm.” He frowned, leaning closer to one of the pages. “It's a Dragon Mark.” He finally spoke, tilting his head at the page. “Seems all Dragons have a special mark. While, all of them are different, the lines that create the marks, are what gives the marks their power. The top curved line of yours is the healing mark, which makes sense, with your incredible capabilities of healing people, but you can also use it to heal yourself. The two parentheses, are the Magi marks, the longer one is Dragary Magic and the smaller is Battle Magic. The bottom up curve heightens your already rather sensitive senses, and the line running through it has to do with your being such a highborn of Dragon royalty.” He explained, picking the book up and turning it towards you, so you could see.

“That makes sense, I suppose.” You said, looking them over.

“You must have unlocked it, when you tapped into your true nature.” Aero said, sitting back in his seat. “It's the only thing that makes sense to me.”

“Perhaps, your grandfather would know more.” Geralt added. “He is the King of Dragons, after all.”

“That is a very good point.” Aero agreed, nodding his head at the Witcher.

“As much, as I want to get to know what family I have left, I really don't want any more surprises.” You answered, giving Aero the book back. “I just wanna go home.” You said, looking at Geralt with a tired expression.

“We'll be back in that homey cottage of yours, in no time.” Geralt promised, squeezing your hand.

[kogo-dogo]

I actually saw Breakdown on Xbox live before and was curious about it. The picture on the box is just a fist.?? I almost want to buy it now to see how bad it is.

DON’T DO IT. LOL.

I mean, I guess I can’t stop you if you really want to, but let me spare you the pain of having to struggle through the worst parts of it by just telling you everything you need to know. 

- You are some dude named Derrick. You have amnesia. You are in a science facility and marines want to kill you for some reason. You have glowing hands perfect for punching aliens.

- Your partner in crime is some very forced love interest named Alex who is, admittedly, ten times more competent and interesting than you. She is still not very interesting, but she has a knife, which is cool.

- One of the very first things that happens in the game is first person puking.

- The enemies are called T’Lan and they’re... aliens? They come from some portal in the science facility. They’re all really buff and bald, except for the main bad guy who looks like a stereotypical white-haired anime villain.

- This stereotypical white-haired anime villain is named Solus and he is legitimately somehow the best character in the game because there is at least some thought put into him. He is still not very interesting.

- He is, however, absolutely fucking terrifying because the game loves putting you in broken situations where this indestructible Sephiroth clone just shows up, asks a few questions, and then fucking throws you around like a ragdoll.

- There is a cat. His name is Casval. I take it back. Casval is the best character.

- The game is so obviously trying to cash in on Half-Life in an attempt to steal some hype from the release of HL2 the same year. You are in a boring science facility and have to crawl through vents. You are fighting aliens. Everyone is dead but you. Marines show up and start shooting you to try to silence the scientists/personnel about what is there. There is a big, nebulous bad guy at the end. You have to find the portal to another dimension in the science facility and beat the Big Bad within to save the day (or DO YOU???). There is a nuclear weapon involved that the government is using to try to contain things. Just color Half-Life with the anime trope crayon and give Gordon Freeman superpowers, and you get Breakdown.

- Okay, no. Technically I think Derrick is a super soldier or something, so it’s like if you take Gordon Freeman out of Half-Life, replace him with Adrian, and give Adrian superpowers.

- Derrick is a fucking dumbass, oh my god I hate him so much. He’s wonderful.

- THE DIALOGUE IS BAD. THE MUSIC IS SO DRAMATIC. IT JUST SWELLS UP TO A DRAMATIC HIGH FOR NO REASON SOMETIMES AND YOU JUST KIND OF HAVE TO LAUGH BECAUSE IT’LL BE LIKE, “Glen sent me to get you [huge orchestral moment out of nowhere that stops as abruptly as it starts].”

- The story makes no sense.

- I hate that Derrick is so wasteful with his food. He literally takes one bite out of anything and throws it away.

[scullydubois]

thoughts on Home (4x02)

Written by Glen Morgan and James Wong  

Directed by Kim Manners

This is THE episode that casual fans always talk about when I bring the show up, and I’m scared

I’m turning all the lights off...if we’re going in, we’re going all in

Home, Pennsylvania...I’d hate to live there

Oh jesus

Mulder’s playing baseball while Scully’s doing all the work..smh

That ball smells good apparently

Stop talking about settling down and buying a home Mulder, I’m begging you

Sheriff, this family in the creepy house is obviously involved, get with it

“It looks like it has every birth defect known to man”...that’s so sad

Scully talking about mothers...both of them talking about their genetics..not to be dramatic, but I’m killing myself

“Scully, I never saw you as a mother before” ASTRAL PROJECTING

I’m losing brain cells…don’t ask why, just am

Their last name is Peacock? Am I hearing that right?

“Good night, Mom”

Putting the chair in front of the door is gonna come back to haunt him I’m sure

Sheriff didn’t lock his door…

The brothers in the white convertible...would like them to go away right now

I am SCARED and nothing’s happened yet

You’re really in it when your wife has to hide under the bed

I very much DO NOT want to see these guys’ faces

I have the strong urge to turn the lights back on but I shall not

Scully looking pretty as always

“What if all three Peacock brothers are the father of that baby” ewwww put me in a coma for the rest of the episode

We don’t know how the brothers knew that the sheriff issued a warrant but they definitely did

I am GRIPPED by this episode

Put the goddamn vest on, Dana Scully

Smart of them to make the other guy go in first

Pigs! That is all.

Now is not the appropriate time, but this scene with the pigs is kind of comedy

The pigs are gonna give them away, how dare they

Literally holding one hand over the screen so I don’t have to witness whatever I’m about to witness

Oh FUCK

IM NOT LOOKING

FUCK I LOOKED

It’s their mother….BYE

I might puke

The conversation between the mother and Scully about knowing your children would do anything for you is not the move

Mulder is being attacked!

Scully just fired many shots

The mother and other brother are gone..sucks

Please fuck all the way off, Peacocks

I’ve never turned the lights on faster

Consensus: I don’t think I’ve had to either cover my mouth or my eyes during any other episode for as long as I had to while watching this episode. It elicited quite the emotional response out of me, and even though it was rather disturbing, it’s exactly what I would hope for from an episode.

5 out of 5 stars

[celestialvinyl]

good company. (roger taylor x reader).

pairing: roger taylor x reader

word count: 2.7k 

A/N: okay, look -- i know that MTV didn’t start broadcasting until ‘81, but we’re going to pretend that a familiar channel existed in the 70′s. it’s mainly because of this iconic interview. just go with it. you’ll enjoy it, i hope! 

warnings: swearing (a healthy dollop), historical pop culture references i’m not even sure are entirely right, and lots of different ways of saying how beautiful roger is.

You were pretty sure you were going to throw up.

“What the hell do you mean ‘you can’t do the interview’?” you hissed to the colleague opposite of you. Angela, who was looking greener than a toad stared at you, her most apologetic look she could muster spread over her face. Although, it wasn’t much. Her energy was all but gone as she pathetically sat at her desk. While the bullpin around the two of you continued with it’s routine commotion, you just stared at Angela as though she had practically ended the world. 

She struggled to get anything out without doubling over, and you were surprised your boss hand’t come out yet to scream at her to go home. Nevertheless, she sat herself up and took a deep breath. “I’ve got to get home and get over this. I can’t puke all over Roger Taylor’s shoes, (Y/N).”

“Well, that’s obvious.” You shot back. Your anxiety was getting the best of you; your brain already knew what Angela was going to ask of you. It was busy trying to think of ways out of her favor. But, you still made the mistake to ask, “So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have someone else go on.” Angie got out. She followed with a big breath, and a hand to her chest as though it would hold back something from coming up her throat. “But Benny can’t do it — neither can David. They’re swamped with the Glen Campbell thing. You just finished Carly Simon’s—”

As though you knew where this was going, you put on your fighting gloves. “I had weeks to prep for Carly! You’re giving me—” In a mad rush, you looked down to the watch — the one your last boyfriend gave you as a “useful” gift since you were always late. “— You’re giving me four hours, Angie.”

She took a deep breath, and you weren’t quite sure if that was from the nausea she was experiencing, or the hard time you were giving her. Either way, it sent a wave of guilt washing over you that somehow dispelled the anxiety beginning to overtake you from the prospect of actually doing this interview. You’d barely listened to the new album, let alone checked up on them in order to feel prepared.

A Day at the Races had been out for less than a month, and with the holidays coming up soon — listening to it had been on the bottom of your priority list. They were good — and it wasn’t an album that you were going to forget about. But damn —the Carly Simon piece had taken every last inch of your effort for the last two months. (And you were really just looking forward to gliding through the rest of the week until holiday break). But this? Roger Taylor was going to have your ass, and not in the way you would particularly want it. Maybe that was why you hated yourself as the simple “I’ll do it” crawled up your throat and off your lips.

Angie barely heard the statement, just from the softness that it came out as. Her shoulders slumped in a sense of relief — or maybe fatigue — signaling that you better go and start working on this fucking interview. Even with the folder that Angie handed over before you left, there was still so much to do.

You managed to lock yourself into your office with the album blasting.

As coworkers walked by, they found your physically anxious body hunched over your desk as you spent close to three hours surveying Angie’s notes and questions, while the album blasted from your speakers in the other corner. A room that was normally your safe haven had become a sort of hell in such a short amount of time.

It had been months since you last crammed for an interview so much; last time — it was Mike Love. He had been gracious enough to deal with you as you steered your questions towards him specifically, although you suspected it wasn’t difficult for the man to speak of himself. Even easier, it seemed, was it to keep the conversation off of Brian Wilson. And while your boss wasn’t the happiest with the results — it was the best anyone could do. (Nobody had heard from the Wilson brother in question in so long that there was a running bet in the office as to if the news would come that he had passed.)

But the problem with Roger Taylor was that he wasn’t the front man to begin with. Sure, he had a song on the album in question — and he was the pretty boy — but the sheer magnetism that Freddie Mercury held with a death grip wasn’t there when you peered at a photo of Roger. And that was alright, but it left you at an odd position. Angie’s papers noted the lack of previous interviews with just Roger, and instead of that relaxing you with the prospect of originality — you began to panic more with the knowledge that there wasn’t much info to go off of. Nevertheless, you pressed on.

As though you had another option.

Hair and makeup breezed by, and while curlers set your hair — you paced in your office and continued to read over the new notes you had scribbled. There were a few good questions you could pride yourself on coming up with in such a short time. There were a few pissers. Fucking hell, you just hoped that this would go smoothly enough. Because if it didn’t…well, your Christmas might not go as swimmingly as you wanted it to. Your job would be fine, but the anxiety of upsetting your boss was too much to deal with. This job was nice — something that didn’t seem like a good idea to strike out at.

A gentle knock on the door revealed an office assistant giving you pained glance. As your eyebrows scrunched up in a questioning return, your eyes trailed over to the small  entourage exiting the elevator and making their way inside. “Shit.”

As you scrambled to remove your curlers and check yourself over in the mirror, the creeping apprehension you thought you had settled started to bubble up once more. The logical side of your brain reminded you that this wouldn’t sack your career. An interview with a drummer, from a band that had about the same name recognition as Doris Day’s son, could get you a lot of views — if you aced it. But if you didn’t? It might not be a problem. The key word was “might”. And that let you take a breath as the last curler came out, and you smoothed yourself out one last time.

And then you were out. The mess inside your office could be dealt with later, once this whole thing was over with.

The blonde, pretty boy entering the office space looked so different from everyone else’s bland attire. If nothing else gave away the lack of resemblance to the rest of the place, his clothes would do the job. With a steel pink blazer draped over his shoulders, Roger Taylor seemed to fit more to be on a runway than the office space of a music cable syndicate. His sunglasses had yet to come off. Just barely hanging on at the edge of his nose, you were thinking to yourself that you could probably blow them off with just a little wind.

When he shook your hand, you noticed how strong of a grip he had. “Mr. Taylor,” you greeted. And god damn, wow — the the sight of the veins in his hands somehow caused your pulse to quicken in the slightest. You weren’t quite sure why, because it was such an odd remark to yourself.

“Roger.”

“Roger,” you corrected yourself with a small smile, before pulling your hand away and letting it roam one of your pockets for your lucky pen. You needed to focus on something else or you were pretty sure any air of professionalism you held would be thrown out the window when he could hear your heartbeat. “It’s good to have you here.”

He grinned at you, and you could see his eyes from just over the rims of the sunglasses.  And oh, shit — they were absolutely gorgeous. Relax, [Y/N], you chided yourself. With one last deep breath to calm your nerves, you flashed him your best TV smile and held out a hand as to point to the studio doors. “Would you follow me? We can go over the brief while we do mic checks and everything for the night.”

He didn’t argue with you. About halfway down the hallway — he piped up. “‘m sorry, but wasn’t Angie supposed to do this?”

You cocked your head over your shoulder, giving him a quick response while people bustled around your new group. “She had to leave early today — emergency. I took over.” There, short and simple. He didn’t need to know about how you nearly pulled your hair out on several different occasions. The drama of telling yourself that this was too short of a deadline wasn’t something he needed to worry himself with.

Someone held the door open for you and Roger (with his little entourage that consisted of a couple of men that you probably thought were part of his management.) The set was bustling with other workers, and as you got to the table — you turned back to him. “Alright,” you launched off. “I’ll keep this simple: It’s live, but we’re actually going to send it over to another sound stage after ours for a little while. It should be easy.” He probably didn’t need this whole explanation, but what could it hurt? “I left my questions open, so you can plug the album well. If there’s anything personal you want to add — that sells well. Got it?”

Roger looked at you with a little grin and nodded. “Got it. Should be easy.” He copied.

As the hook to “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” played overhead, you finally let out the breath you’d been holding since Angela gave you the job this afternoon. The whole thing was over; it had gone off without a hitch. Roger had done pretty well, and that calm candor had to have leant to the fact that he was here promoting the album, as opposed to the other members. You’d have to ask Angela about the others later.

Your papers, discarded on the table in front of you were practically pointless now. And Roger seized on that fact. He smiled as he took your papers from the spot they laid in front of you. You tried to reach for them and yank them back, but if your boss saw — that would look more unprofessional then whatever he was reading on the—

“Did Brian May write “Tie Your Mother Down” about anyone is specifics?” As soon as those words came out of his mouth, your cheeks tinted into the most crimson shade you’d ever known. Roger’s howl of a laugh echoed through the studio, and while everyone else kept to their own business — it sure didn’t feel that way. You were sure the spotlight guy up in the rafters had it pointed on you instead of whatever act was prepping on the small stage to your right. Somehow, he had managed to find the jokes — those stupid questions you wrote when you were on the wire and you thought you were going to explode.

He wasn’t supposed to find those.

And yet he continued listening them off, holding back laughter with very little success. “After your recent problems with EMI, do you really think you can dance a Millionare’s Waltz? Would you consider yourself a good old fashioned lover boy? Mr. Taylor, do you know you take my breath away?”

The last one, written in a final and brief moment before the interview started was meant to give you one last chuckle before the cameras started rolling. It wasn’t supposed to cause you the humiliation that it did now, and yet somehow — you honestly considered just melting into your chair and pretending that you never existed. “They’re jokes,” you tried. “Don’t you ever get the jitters before a big show?”

He finally met your eyes, with a gleam of his amusement obvious. You looked horribly upset but tried to hold yourself together like the professional you were. Those shitty jokes and questions might not give that air off, but you tried to convince yourself that you were. Despite this, you were pretty sure you didn’t look more pitiful and ashamed than your pup when you were a kid and they got into the trash bin.

“I don’t write jokes that are easily accessible to the ones they’re written about, no.” He countered, finally setting down the sheet and giving you the access to take them back. “But those would have been more fun to hear on air.”

You could only imagine. “And how would you have answered?”

He sensed the challenge growing in your eyes, but more so in your tone. And something in him stirred, like a sense of enjoyment he hadn’t felt at one of these things before. Sure, some of the other girls were willing to be obvious in their admiration (and what was he supposed to do as the rockstar he was?) Yet, no one was quite like you. And Roger liked the difference. So, he played along. “Well,” he started. “I would say that the bullshit Brian says about writing that song in college isn’t as true as he wishes it was. And we’re doing pretty good for ourself now. And uhm,” he paused — trying to remember the others. Why was he forgetting something that had made him laugh so hard a few seconds ago?

You breathed a sigh of relief that he was having trouble remembering the others. The first two were practically harmless — a little interesting when getting into the more personal aspects of the band. The others were practically spelling out in big letters how much your heart raced when you were around him now — throwing your experience as a “true journalist” out the window. And just as he seemed to remember, one of the tech assistants finally came to the rescue and asked for your mic.

You gave him the biggest smile, and found your reason to pause this whole thing. Getting unhooked took a second, but as soon as the newbie was off with your mic pack in hand, you thanked the heavens for the fact Roger Taylor had found himself someone else to chat to. In your small opportunity, you rifled through the papers you quickly collected and found the cursed sheet of paper. Without much grandeur or pomp, you crumpled the horrid thing and tossed it in the bin. With that out of the way, you found your interviewee once more.

He grinned when he saw you, and you smiled back. “Thanks for the opportunity, Roger.” Despite the amount of stress he and this interview had put you in, it was a great opportunity and a slight tilt from your regular. While Angela took most of rock albums and bands, you were most often times given more folksy albums to review and work on pieces for. Queen was quite the opposite.

“Ah, I should be the one thanking you.” He shot back, and you grinned. But God, your heart fluttered because his smile was something else. And then you had to remind yourself that this was just a single interview. “Thanks for the laughs. Any chance I could get that paper to show to the band?”

Oh, no. You chuckled despite the sinking feeling of anxiety taking you over. “I wish I could. I just tossed all my papers in the bin.” As you were about to say something else, you could hear your boss calling your name and quickly gave him the ‘i’ve got to go’ smile. Rushing off, Roger started to look around the set for any bins he might see.

A young man was emptying one out by where you had been previously, and Roger figured this was probably a good shot. As he rushed over, he found your scribbled handwriting over one of the sheets on the top of the bin. Still in the young guy’s arms, Roger only took a second to fish it out and head off. This would make a good story for the others.

[rubinegoslay]

I really started to feel sick when I read some of the names of the ppl who end up on pikes bc many are wrong and I believe the writers are unfortunately continuing to make dreadful mistakes inspite of the supposed show runner change.

Henry is wrong because how dare you take yet another child from Carol, this is both redundant writing and inhumanly cruel, how many times must she suffer this arc?

Enid is wrong bc she has so much potential, she has grown from a slippery, traumatized child into a full fledged highly functioning and useful person, I wanted to see her grow more into leadership roles.

Tara is wrong bc she is a precious cinnamon roll too good for this world, and I feel like she has replaced Glen as the ‘heart’ of the group, and she is a role model and exquisite in sunglasses.

All of these choices are wrong and I want to puke. I wish they had just killed off some red shirts instead. ☹️

[thelonelyrainbowguy]

Wow, I’m actually doing a taggy thing?

@sols-writer-blog tagged me in this and what the heck, let’s do it. XD

The rules: Answer the questions then tag some followers you’d like to know better!

Name: Else

Gender: Female

Nationality: American >_>

Age you get mistaken for: People think I’m still a teenager. I’m 24. Which is apparently old enough to forget my own age because I legit have to stop and do the math sometimes.

Eye color: blue on the outside, with greenish flowers around the irises :3

Early Bird or Night Owl: Night Owl, absolutely. I’ve tried to adjust my sleep schedule and it just fucks with me so much.

How many languages do you speak: English, obviously. I know a working amount of Spanish (I could survive in a Spanish speaking country) but I’m not fluent. And I know some ASL.

What did you Google last: Cleidocranial dysplasia.

What weird food combinations do you really enjoy?: Peanut butter and honey in my Cheerios, peanut butter on cookies or brownies, basically peanut butter on lots of things. And cayenne pepper+cinnamon in hot chocolate.

Favorite Anime: Death Note, FMA:B (ok tbh those are the only ones I watch)

Favorite Video Game: THE LAST OF US O_O

What fictional place would you most like to go?: The Shire, Cair Paravel, can’t think of any others atm

What’s the most shocking scene in a movie or TV series?: when Negan hits Glen with Lucille and his eyeball falls out just before he dies *puke*

What is something that a ton of people are obsessed with but you just don’t get the point of?: Instagram? It’s legit just a platform for people to show off stuff and bully other people. I guess it’s good for small businesses and indie authors but otherwise I don’t get it. Same with Snapchat, especially since they delete your conversations??

Your plans for tonight?: It’s already tonight, haha. Got off work and been chilling and watching TV for a while. I’ll probably read a little before bed.

I tag: @damn-daydreaming @blackismisunderstood @i-roam-the-woods @neurodivergent-crow @anyone else who wants to do it :) I legit can only remember a couple tumblr names at any given time so if I never tag you, lease don’t assume I don’t want to hear from you. I’m just extremely bad with names, and with attaching them to the right people. (I’ve watched Stranger Things 4 or 5 times and I still call Will “Mike”.)

[oneweekoneband]

Ninety One, “Kaytadan” (Қайтадан), from Aiyptama (2015), released as a single spring 2016

(Warning: no lens flares this time, but there is a very brief sequence of a man and a woman having a physically violent argument. She gets away fine, but if you’d rather not, skip from 1:20 to 1:35 to avoid it.)

The most interesting aspect of the video for “Kaytadan” I’ll discuss later, but let’s get the distractions: out of the way now: one has to have the proverbial heart of stone to get through Alem’s climactic acting moment without laughing; I think Bala may actually be laughing, while rolling around on the pavement; and ACE IS IN PAIN,Y’ALL.

Now on to the song, which I would describe as approximately three and three-quarter minutes of decent pop song and 18 seconds of brilliant pop song--the 18 seconds being the bridge, which begins with AZ’s distorted, hiccuping version of the chorus, as if while bathing clothed he inhaled two lungfuls’ worth of water, and proceeds to Alem gently backing AZ up, providing a link between smooth performance and messy emotion. It’s jolting to hear the start of the bridge as if the song is going out of control; it’s jolting to realize a few seconds later that the song has never been out of control. That bridge elevates the rest of the song.

Let me now take space to acknowledge that “decent pop song” is damning with extremely faint praise in some quarters. Pop music has so thoroughly saturated our culture, regardless of the position of the brow, that you actually have to make a real effort to find people carrying on the tradition of Pop Music Is Making Us All Dumb that Allan Bloom spent time passing on in The Closing of the American Mind. (Dwight McDonald, who did as much as anyone to make “middlebrow” a pejorative, would probably not be impressed that as I write this that the “most popular” article on the New Yorker’s website is an obituary for Chester Bennington.) Even journals of conservative thought are nowadays reluctant to condemn pop music outright, partly because its younger writers grew up listening to pop, partly because the rise of right-wing populism means that hating some pop music examples (Beyoncé) and not others (Toby Keith) makes a more valuable signal than hating the whole thing. Fortunately Sir Roger Scruton is still with us. This essay, although dating from the late 1990s--a good portion of it is spent discussing the Sensation exhibit, for those of you wondering what we had culture wars over before Tumblr--is a good example of his work. Let me quote one paragraph for flavor:

Even when modern pop aims to be lyrical, melody is synthesised from trite and standardised phrases, which could be rearranged in any order without losing the effect. It is not that such music is tuneless: rather that the tune comes from elsewhere, like food from the drive-round pizza merchant. A characteristic example is the recent hit by Mary J. Blige: ‘Get to Know You Better’. Here the melody is assembled from a small set of notes, arranged around the flat lyrics, and without internal movement. The effect is emphasized by the yukky thirteenth chords and droopy vamping which open the piece, with a sound that suggests someone trying carefully to puke into a wine glass.

Here’s another example, in which Crystal Castles gets held up as an exemplar of moral and aesthetic decay. To the best of my knowledge Scruton has never written about Kazakh pop; I’m going to go ahead and presume that he’d find “Kaytadan” slightly less appealing than dog vomit.

Some of you are going to read the linked essay, get to the line about “the vogue for deconstruction, Marxian analysis, feminism, and all the other intellectual and pseudo-intellectual devices”, and immediately nope on out.  Myself I feel a certain amount of futility in trying to battle Scruton’s criticisms. The first tape I remember as being “mine” was Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA, and the first CD I made a point of buying with my own money was History: America’s Greatest Hits; my mother basically gave up on all music made after 1978, pop or otherwise, and I inherited my father’s breadth of taste--in his case, smooth jazz, decidedly-not-smooth jazz, Beethoven, Glen Campbell--but neither of us have the vocabulary to justify said taste; my elementary school music teacher was sweet but largely ineffectual. Thus I suspect from Scruton’s side of the argument, any attempt on my end to make a counter-argument would simply be proof of the paucity of my musical education, the stuntedness of my supposed thinking brought about after a lifetime’s worth of suffocation by pop music. (One’s attempted counterargument as proof of one’s having been irredeemably corrupted appears in left-wing critiques of pop, too; but that’s a subject for another time.)

So instead of indignantly trying to bat away Scruton’s condemnation of pop, let me keep it here in the room and try to sound out its implications. If pop is corrupt and corrupting rubbish, then is there much point in talking about a song like “Kaytadan”? To put it differently, are there potential degrees of rubbish? Scruton seems to think so; he comes down harder on Oasis than the Beatles, and harder on Crystal Castles than Mary J. Blige. But that may simply be a matter of time passing: which is not a reference to Scruton’s age but that, if his theories are right, than the Beatles were closer, temporally and socially, to a less-corrupt musical age than Oasis was to begin with. If anything, that may be a reason to be more critical of “Kaytadan”: on a Kazakh group mindlessly adopting American-begun pop pablum when they still ought to have other options available.

Put the question another way: is there room for the hiccuping bridge, or rather the case for the hiccuping bridge, in Scruton’s critique? Or, rather: how should change occur, in a model of corruptible pop music? In a field where the pressure to conform to the three-minute, verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus-out model can be quite strong, simply changing things up can win attention, but change by itself isn’t going to redeem pop--Crystal Castles is definitely more original than “Kaytadan,” but per the Scruton model that doesn’t make them less contemptible. (For those needing a counterargument: there’s a whole Crystal Castles OWOB to peruse!) So just calling the hiccuping bridge “different” or “unexpected” doesn’t do much.

Here’s why I have such praise for the hiccuping bridge. It is artificially distorted, in a way that calls attention to itself. (It’s hard to tell, when Ninety One is performing live, how much help AZ is getting from the backing track; my guess is he can get the yelping effect across somewhat but it wouldn’t be as clear as it is in the studio track.) That in itself is nothing particularly innovative: announcing the presence of Auto-Tune and the like is now an old trick by pop standards. But the computer-enhanced distortion in “Kaytadan” is to enhance the emotion that’s been in the song’s lyrics but not entirely supported by the vocals. Bala in particular sounds callow in the second verse, more showing off his runs than projecting fear of giving up on a damaged relationship. I do wonder if that’s why the video for this reads as so melodramatic, as if it has to do extra emotional work.

Then the bridge: AZ runs through his rap, but then sounds like he can’t even breathe, like he’s having a panic attack at the thought of the argument failing, of the beloved leaving; and Alem comes in, far quieter than he was at the start of the song, serious, cowed. And then the song builds to the final repeat of the chorus, with Ace doing the belting, but by then the intensity makes sense: oh, wait, there really is something at stake here.

The standard (for listeners; I can’t speak for engineers) has been to associate audible technical manipulation of pop vocals with a lack of emotion, a cue to not take the whole thing so seriously: hence T-Pain’s progression from “I’m N Luv (Wit a Stripper)” to “I’m on a Boat” and guest appearances on Auto-Tune the News was unsurprising. More subtle manipulation is also often anti-emotion, in that it’s used to squeeze out imperfections in the singers’ voices, to standardize the final product (assuming the final product isn’t just a re-recording to sound “live” without actually being live). So listeners take a fairly cynical approach to manipulation. Understandably; horrifyingly, presumably, to Scruton, since it represents one more step away from music as reinforcer of shared culture to music as secondary point in idol-worship.

Myself I have always been more a fan of Virginia Postrel than of Scruton, more likely to be hopeful about than horrified by the extensions of our lives through technological advancement. Thus the possibility of human emotion enhanced by, rather than smoothed over by, vocal manipulation encourages me. Most of “Kaytadan” is a bit cynical, in its conformity to pop standards, but the bridge is not; and that would not be enough to redeem “Kaytadan” in Scruton’s eyes, but it is in mine.

introductory post / all Ninety One posts

[fluffycabbages]

Chapter 11 : A Hope

https://detectivecrimestories.blogspot.com/2020/02/chapter-11-hope.htmldetectivecrimestories.blogspot.comStory is available on Wattpad, Solved

When we arrived at Officer Jones’s department, there were multiple computers tracing the call. Officer Jones asked one of his subordinates, “Got him?”

“Yes sir.”

“Where is he calling from?”

“He’s calling from Green County.”

The moment Officer Jones’s subordinate said it, everyone in the room gasped. Green County is where we are and The Killer had been with us at such close range all this time yet we failed to even identify him.

Officer Jones gave out orders to his subordinates. One team will trace the origin of the number while the rest try to get more information from the conversation. The team had found the shop where the SIM card was sold.

“Sir, the card was bought from a phone shop at Pine Street.” Officer Jones’s subordinate reported as we listen.

We, or at least me was expecting something like a footage, name or even ID number of the person who bought the number but Officer Jones’s subordinate remained quiet after that.

I looked at him and asked, “That’s all?”

“Yes Miss Mason.”

“No CCTV footage? No ID number or even a name?”

“No. The seller told us that the number was an old number and it was bought years ago when they haven’t install any CCTVs.”

“How about ID number?” I was trying to pry as much possible information since we finally made close contact with The Killer.

“Recording ID number wasn’t a law back when The Killer bought the number so the shop owner doesn’t have it too.”

Just then, another subordinate came and report to Officer Jones, “Sir, the number only had one dial history and it was the one with Sergeant Morgan.”

Ethan slammed the table with his fist and I knew he is mad.

I tried to reassure him by asking Officer Jones’s subordinate, “How about his voice? Have you guys manage to track it?”

“He was using a voice enhancer throughout the conversation. We tried to trace the background noises but there was nothing. He blocked them off.”

Oops. I tried to calm Ethan down by hoping there was more useful information, who knew. I just let him calm down on his own. He needed space for his own thoughts.

A few days passed and still there was no progress on The Killer.

Until that one day, “Ethan! I need you and Sophia to come here now!” I could hear Officer Jones’s voice from Ethan’s phone even without turning the speaker on.

We arrived at a hardware store based on the address sent by Officer Jones. He showed us a cereal box. At first it looked like a normal cereal box until I saw what was wrong with it.

There is a masking tape with the work “serial” taped on the box where the word “cereal” was printed along with “The Killer” written at the bottom of the box. I opened the box and saw there were dolls inside. They were not identical. There are males and females even kids.

Cold sweat ran down my spine as I looked at Ethan, hoping I was wrong but Ethan nodded and I was horrified. There was 1 male, 4 females, 2 kids, 1 boy and 1 girl. It matched the exact number and gender of people he had murdered.

I saw a white thing at the inside of the cardboard cereal box after pouring out the dolls. I pulled the thing out and it was a note, saying “Will there be more?”

We knew we were racing against time as we all saw the note. The handwriting one the note couldn’t be used to trace The Killer as The Killer does not have any history on committing crimes. So the police don’t have any information about The Killer in the database.

We really can’t do anything everything but just wait. Wait for the next victim to appear in hope of more information.

And sure enough, there was another case at a park in Glens Ville. There was a dead body of an old lady, Margaret Neil. The forensic team had concluded she was bundled at her wrists and ankles, hit all over her body and then shot in the head, similar to how The Killer murdered his victims.

There were no fingerprints on her body and no tools like knives or guns in the park but there were pieces of shattered glass where Margaret’s body was at. When we thought we won’t have any findings, I saw something unusual on Margaret’s arm.

It looked like a cut so no one thought it was a piece of information. I got a forensic to clear up the area of the arm and I saw something that resembled the alphabets “MJD”.

“Ethan, take a look at this.” I called Ethan.

Ethan glanced at the area and said, “Looks like someone or something’s initials.”

I nodded and agreed with him, I asked one of Officer Jones’s subordinate to check the pieces of shattered glass for fingerprints.

We searched through the park but there was nothing useful to us. So we went to Margaret’s house to try to look for more information.

Officer Jones and his subordinates went into Margaret’s house while Ethan and I start from outside of the house.

I was walking at the front porch of Margaret’s house. She has tons of plants planted at her front porch that were taken good care of, even the grass looked greener. I was walking on the grass and felt something under my foot. It felt solid.

I knelt down and picked it up. It was a small crucifix bracelet. I handed it to Ethan so he can pass it to Officer Jones.

After that, we headed into Margaret’s house to join Officer Jones. However, there was nothing unusual in her house.

When Ethan and I were eating dinner at the detective agency, I asked him, “Hey, do you think the crucifix bracelet I found at Margaret’s front porch has something to do with The Killer?”

“Perhaps. I think we’re on the same page. If the lab tells us that they found Margaret’s fingerprints on the glass pieces, we can say the initials on her arm has something to do with The Killer.”

After dinner, Ethan decided to check on my revision. He asked me a few questions regarding the chapters lecturers had taught ranging from simple ones on overviews to tougher one about detailed concepts and applications.

Halfway explaining a term to Ethan, I felt my stomach bloating and went to the bathroom. I had diarrhoea and puked. I rinsed my mouth and looked at the mirror, my face was as pale as a sheet of paper and I could feel cold sweat running down my back.

“How are you?” Ethan got me a glass of warm water after helping me make my way to my restroom.

“I’m fine. Just diarrhoea and I’ve puked.”

“What did you take after dinner?”

“2 glasses of milk.” I replied him.

“Only?” Ethan asked me with a raised eyebrow.

“And an ice cream.” I gave him a sheepish smile.

“Gods.” Ethan sighed and looked at me, “How many times do you need to experience this to stop taking dairy products?”

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I’ll control myself next time.”

“Nope. We will not have any dairy products in the pantry in the future.”

“No. Ethan, at least ice cream and some cheese?”

“Nope.”

“Please. Pretty, pretty please.” I tried my best to give him my best puppy eyes look.

“Fine. But only small amounts. I will keep an eye on you.”

“Yay!”

“You better rest and stay hydrated.” Ethan told me and left my restroom.

Link to blog :

detectivecrimestories.blogspot.com

Link to chapter at blog :

https://detectivecrimestories.blogspot.com/2020/02/chapter-11-hope.html

[rizzizzsins-blog]

From the Ashes, Ch. 4

Wanna read this on Archive? Click here.

 “Right. Th-thank you. We’ll be on our way.” *click*

 “Who was that, Fi?”

 The King of Underfell hid his irritation at being woken at 3 AM. It was part and parcel of being an active king, but it was also endlessly frustrating, considering its frequency.

 “Fi?” He asked. “Where are we going at this hour? Those vulture bureaucrats can wait till tomorrow.”

 She slowly shook her head, hands trembling as she turned around.

 The expression on his wife’s face was one he hadn’t seen since their children had died. As soon as she put the house phone down, she tossed her cell and wallet into her purse.

 “Fi, it’s 3 in the morning. What happened?”

 Nope. His wife was in a state of shock. She wasn’t going to tell him anything like that. Deep breaths, he reminded himself. Don’t get worked up. Don’t scare her off again.

 “Fafriel. What happened.”

 Nothing.

 Before, he would have raised his voice until she answered him, but he knew better. A hundred years or so of separation had taught him that.

 “I’ll call the babysitter.”

  Beep…. Beep…. Beep……

 What was that annoying beeping sound? Asher reached to turn his alarm clock off, but his arm wouldn’t move.

 He wasn’t in his house.

 What had happened?

 All at once, the memories hit him. The excruciating pain in his body started at his arm and spread like wildfire. He involuntarily screamed and a clearly inexperienced and shaken nurse dashed in, yelling into a walkie-talkie.

 “He’s alive! Oh, gods, it’s a miracle, he’s alive!”

 Something was blocking his view of her face… something reflective.

 The mask and the glass surrounding him told him that he’d been tanked in liquid  magic to keep him stable. It really had been as horrible as his mind told him.

 “Hello? Ms. Samara? Can you speak?”

 He managed to croak his name.

 “Asher. I’m really sorry! Can you tell me what day it is?”

 “__/__/____.”

 “That’s a g-good sign. I’ll be taking care of you for now… Dr. Dreemurr is in a meeting with the other Royal Families.”

 Wait, Dr. Dreemurr was a queen? Jeez, being a glen monster really left him out of the loop on stuff. Considering he always saw them on the news, he really should have made the connection earlier.

 His stomach flipped.

 “G-gonna puke,” he managed.

 “G-go ahead, Mr. Asher. The tube attached to your mask will drain it away then self clean.”

 The feeling of vomit sitting against his mouth made him want to die, but the nurse hadn’t lied. It was gone in seconds.

 “It’s q-quite a handy machine. If the sensors find more fluid buildup in your lungs, th-the tube will get rid of that, as well as any sap you might cough up.”

 Now that Asher’s eyes were a little more in focus, he took a look at the nurse. She was a lizard monster, hunched over and anxious. He would be too, but he was too numb. Too drugged out on whatever the hospital put him on.

 He felt the steady pressure of liquid painkiller osmosing through another tube suctioned to his arm. It certainly beat needles.

 “How’s y-your pain level?”

 “Z.”

 “Th-that’s not a number.”

 “I know…. Just messing with you,” Asher attempted to smile, but his muscles weren’t doing it right. He could feel it.

 “I’m g-glad you’re feeling okay enough to joke. That’s always a g-good sign in a patient. Your vitals are gobbledygook, but steady, in their own off-kilter way. Dr. Dreemurr will be in soon. In the meantime, Dr. Clemm will be in to keep you company.”

 Clemm? His professor? Was he tripping, or did she just say his teacher was coming into his room?          “Why?”

 “Oh, you didn’t know? Dr. Clemm teaches classes at your school, but he’s also a trained emergency response trauma psychiatrist and counselor. I h-hope it’s not too awkward talking to your instructor, but he’s the best guy in t-town, I promise.”

 “I’ll take your word for it.” Every word out of Asher’s mouth hurt his throat. His voice was deeper, phlegmy.

 Knock knock. Speak of the devil.

 “You can come in, Dr. Clemm.”

 “Right. Would you mind opening the door for me, Alphys dear? I have my notepad and phone in my hands.”

 “Oh, of course!”

 She rushed to the door and pulled it open. Another skeleton? Weren’t they supposed to be rare? Why was Asher meeting one every five minutes?

 “.... heh. Fancy meeting you here, Professor.”

 Clemm’s already gentle features softened further at seeing Asher. He must be a right mess.

 “Alphys, if you wouldn’t mind? If something goes wrong, I’ll press the button.”

 “R-right. Confidentiality and all th-that.” the nurse stepped out.

 “So… how’s this for more personal?” Asher chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

 “You match my younger son to a tee. Always making light of the painful to spare others, I’m sure… but I shouldn’t make assumptions. Yes, Asher, this is certainly more personal than I expected. Now then, you understand your rights as a patient, yes? I cannot, and will not divulge your personal information without your consent, unless I feel that you are going to hurt yourself or someone else.”

 “Thanks, yeah. I briefly went to therapy before.”

 “Excellent. So… let’s talk. It can be about anything you want. It doesn’t even have to relate to what’s happening right now, but you can talk about that if you want to.”

 Asher stiffened.

 “...... Do you have a mirror? I want to see what’s left of me.”

 “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 “I’m used to not liking what I see. Just show me. No one else will do it and you know it.”

 “...”

 Clemm hadn’t expected to get woken at 3 in the morning, but as soon as he’d gotten the reason why, he’d packed his tools and set off in his car. He hated to admit it, but he could no longer teleport that far.

 He hadn’t been given much information as to the nature of the accident, to prevent it from leaking to human media. All he knew was that it happened in the science building after hours, to a student janitor. There was a pit in his stomach that told him what had occurred; it would explain the surge in his own magic not much earlier.

 There was a stirring in the VOID. And he hoped to the gods that he wouldn’t pull in to pronounce a death.

 Now that student was staring him in the eye with his? Her? Dark grey eyes, their foggy white eyelights piercing into him.

 He couldn’t say no. It wouldn’t be fair.

 “I’ll… go get you a mirror.”

 “Just take a picture and show it to me.” There was an age-old heaviness in the student’s face, as if he had lived for a hundred years. Hesitantly, Clemm took a picture with his phone. He had to retake it a couple of times, no thanks to his trembling hands. The student’s hands trembled in their restraints as well. A bad sign.

 Each step towards the youth felt like a hundred miles. He really, really didn’t want to be the one to do this, but they would be more at risk if they saw themselves with no one to help them process.

 It took Asher’s eyes a couple of seconds to focus onto the picture of him, and when he did, he wished he had never asked.

 He was horrible.

 The moss in his hair was black like broom bristles. His once vibrant yellow eyelights were a muted white, like steam, and his body looked like it’d been left in a forest fire and dipped in an oil spill at the same time. His soul was a marble of black and purple in his chest, and each beat of it hurt him to his core. He looked dead. He should be.

 He wished he was.

 He didn’t realize he was crying, but he felt the water dripping from his eyelids onto his face.

 “I’m... horrible.”

 “Nonsense… you’re----”

 “I look like a fucking corpse, Professor. This is what my people look like when we’re buried in the ground. You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings…. I know the truth.”

 Bingo, Clemm thought.

 “Alright, I’ll have to stop you right there.”

 “What?” Asher asked, confused.

 “Let’s analyze that statement. You say that I don’t have to lie to spare your feelings, because you look like a corpse. But I have never seen a dryad corpse in my life, so I cannot lie to you about something I don’t have any concept of in the first place.”

 “Oh… shit, you’re right.”

 “Now, you know what the corpse of your kind looks like. But the truth is based on fact, and as much as your brain says your opinions are the truth, your perspective is warped by the fact that you just went through one of the most horrible events of your life.”

 “That kind of helps… not much, but a little.”

 Clemm beamed. “That’s what a therapist does. We’re lawyers against the angry voices in your head.”

 That got a chuckle out of Asher.

 “Look, Clemm, I appreciate it a lot, but I’m starting to get really sleepy.”

 “You’ll be out for a couple of days. The tank is putting you to sleep so that all your magic can focus on stabilizing you. I’m glad I got to talk to you a bit before you went out,” the professor smiled. “Don’t worry too much about my class, alright? We can work something out when you’re capable of working again.”

 Asher yawned, nodding. “I appreciate it, Prof. Nighty night.”

 “Goodnight, Asher.”

 Asher gasped himself awake.

 There was some dust on his tank, but not too much. Someone put a sticky note on the front.

 “When you wake up, press the call button.

 -Alphys”

 Would he even be able to? Remembering how much it hurt just to move his hand terrified him.

 Before he knew it, his arm shakily pressed the button.

 P̶̦͕̪͛̏͊r̷̬͓̯͝e̶̺̮̅̀͊s̸͖̯̈͌̄͝s̴̜͌͆̕è̴͚̪̜̱̅̒d̷͚̺̦͗̿̎̉ ̷̡̝̟̥̃̿ṱ̵̯̥̈́͌͛ḥ̵̺͔͍͂͛e̵̢̛͓͙ ̴͉̈́͊̚b̴̗̻̓̂͂͝u̶͙̣̱̬̿̒t̵͕̳̦̯͌̏͊͠t̶͕͓̞͗̕o̸̖̅͒̽ņ̷̣̠͋͝

 ̷͙͕͑̅̚P̵͐̔͜r̷̻͗ë̴̛͕̟́̅̾s̸͓̤͇̮͛̍̒s̶̳̹̮͙̕ę̸̛͇̲̊͑d̸̦̼̒ ̷̫̑��̜t̸̘̿̽h̵̰͓́̈́̒͝e̶̮͊ ̶̥̥̈̐͆̅ͅb̵̲̮̀̋̎̓ṵ̵͖͂t̶͇̼́̇̀̐t̶̜̎͊o̸̰͉̖̍n̶͓͕͓͗

 ̶̞̼̈́̈́B̷͚̖͚̈́͗͊͗ũ̶̡̳͊t̶̼̤͙̋̊͋ ̴̯̠̗̍n̶͍̼̪͋͌ǒ̴̘b̵̯̍̓́ọ̸̅̕͝ḑ̸̲̲͋͌̎y̴̛̝̦̜̟͑́̕ ̵̯̹̂͊c̵͚͇̰̐̓ä̵̠̥́̈́̌͝m̴̹̮̺͔̈́̓͘ě̵̩̣̣͐

 ̵̤͈̞̲̆B̴̗̱͙͐̽̈́̽ü̶̲̝͇̇͑͘t̷͎̍̆̚ ̴̛̗̤͈͛͌n̸͕̺̱͈̔̀o̷͙̅̕b̴̛̖̒ȯ̶̙̥d̷̦͑̂͝y̸̰͐ ̸̬̓̎͠͠c̸̖̄̇͛a̵͖͇͖͚̒m̴͇̪̟̩̌͛ȅ̴̩͛͝

 ̴͉͓͓̀͘B̷͚̤̞́̐ṷ̶̈̈t̶̨̯̙̓̈́̌ ̷̦͚̪̓͗̃n̵̻̔̏ǒ̶̼͔̉̇b̶͓̲̕o̶̹͖͓͋͊̎d̵̗̓͌̈́́y̴̞͓̝̓̕ ̷̧͔͎̈ͅc̵̳̋̽͛͘a̴͙̥̋̎͆m̸̹̳̌̈́e̶̘̤̽͂

 “A-are you alright, Asher? You’re awake a full day early. Asher? Asher? C-can you see the hand I’m waving in front of you?”

 “Huh? What? Oh… hey, Alphys.”

 “H-hello! I’m glad you were able to press---- move your hand! That’s a g-great sign already. I’m gonna d-drain the tank, and open the hatch. Will you t-try to sit up for me then?”

 Asher managed to nod.

 With a hiss, the liquid magic drained out of the tank, and the hatches opened. With some effort, he sat about halfway up before collapsing.

 “Hey, that’s okay. A-anyone would have trouble after all your body’s been through.”

 Alphys took hold of his shoulders.

 “Let’s try it again, t-together. Ready?”

 “Yeah.”

 With her extra muscle, Asher managed to sit up and stay that way. The tank bent forward like a lawn chair to prop him in place.

 “Your vitals are still making their own kind of sense, but you are alive, you’ve displayed 0% risks of immortality, and your body composition is…. Mostly solid. I’m gonna call in Dr. D-Dreemurr, and she’s gonna talk to you about your opt-options.”

 Options? What the hell did that mean?