Tag: untitled

Fake Fic Summaries 3/?, The Darcy Lewis crossover edition (2015-07-17)

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“Darcy Lewis technically has an older brother named Bennet and a younger sibling named Bingley.

Though it would be more accurate to say that the Lewis triplets have a rather unfortunate naming scheme revolving around their mother’s love of Pride & Prejudice.”

Not sure wtf that’s all about but I just kind of brain fancast Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart (in her more androgynous looks) as Darcy Lewis’ siblings… and since they all code as the same/similar ages to my eyes I’m just like… well… obviously they are triplets.

And I like the idea that maybe Bennet could pass for Ben, but doesn’t because he’s into formal speaking, even if the reference is super obvious. So Darcy calling Bingley Chandler (as in from the show Friends) and Bingley responding to that totally grates.

So I guess the story would be… how the Lewis siblings get tangled up with the Avengers entirely on accident? So maybe Bennet was one of Bruce’s grad students / TAs when the Hulk-ification happened (it’s canon that Darcy goes to Culver but according to MCU timeline, that’s when she was in New Mexico. Maybe they went to the same college.) Maybe Bingley joined the Air Force and is one of the engineers under Rhodey’s command–or even a fellow Pararescue pilot with Sam Wilson. WHO KNOWS.

—

“Thor is not Darcy’s first experience with life from other worlds.

Though last time there was a mouse and something called a gummi ship involved, so the story doesn’t sound nearly as impressive.”

BECAUSE Disney has subsumed Marvel, and Kingdom Hearts allows for totally canon crossovers. Maybe Darcy’s a keyblade wielder, or maybe she just knows some tricks (Thunder magic, anyone?).

Maybe the matter comes up because Darcy needs to defend herself and suddenly, KEYBLADE AND MAGIC. Or maybe another gummi ship shows up and this time it’s Sora who needs help and since last time Mickey met Darcy he just kind of points him in her direction. So… sorry Avengers I gotta go take care of this real quick, please ignore the talking duck and dog, thanks, okay, bye.

It could be played both serious and crack-y depending on the style and if you want to sustain a long fic or not. I’m thinking, in a Doctor Who-esque sort of way, Mickey showed up randomly in Darcy’s childhood, he took her on an adventure, she helped him out in a minor to her, major to him, sort of way, and so he gave her some kind of cool way to protect herself even after he’s gone.

~

A/N: Two more quick and dirty Darcy Lewis fake fic summaries.

EDIT: Apparently I wanted to do the second one, so you can find three little drabbles of Darcy Lewis, Keyblade Wielder (title subject to change) here

edit2: apparently I also wanted to do a drabble of the first one, so you can check that out here

Untitled drabble (2015-07-16)

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In a world of fated soulmates, soul marks, that first turn of phrase your soul mate speaks writ upon your skin, are held in high regard no matter the country. And yet, cultures develop differently, and they are as variant as ever.

Soul mates are the other part of you, as complementary as one hand is to the other. But are they your one true love? Or as close to you as family, as twins are to one another? What looks like romance to one culture, could be a sick incestuous relationship to another. What may be considered platonic, might as well be a loveless arranged marriage.

Soul marks may be considered sacred–should they be covered or not? Should they be registered with the government for regulated matchmaking?

Some countries consider it proper to introduce yourself with a full name, the better to find your soulmate. Others consider that cheating.

Matchmaking has always been a large industry, but in this world, it’s taken seriously. Handwriting analysis alongside psychology mixed with law and politics.

It’s a strange world we live in, but at least we’re not alone.

~

A/N: Random tidbits of thoughts that I have on soulmates and the soul mark idea.

Untitled drabble (2015-07-15)

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“You really want to try playing office politics against her? There’s no point. Either you’re insignificant or she’ll obliterate you. That’s it. There’s no standing your ground if you’re on different levels.”

“`

"Try again,” Tally says, heels kicking into the wall she sits atop. Her small wings flutter behind her in syncopation.

Edwin, Winnie as he has the misfortune to be called by his two friends, huffs in frustration but does as she says, calling for that small glow within him.

Becka, as coolly apathetic as usual, just watches as he flubs the spell once more.

“You’re never going to get assigned if you can’t get this,” Tally chides, worriedly. She’s due to start her commission in a month–guardian over a human who has the unfortunate tendency to steal from the wrong person. Becka, likewise, is already slated for duty in the matchmaker division.

If Winnie doesn’t finish the certification requirements soon, he’ll either have to repeat the final year or get one of the boring Etherlands jobs.

“I know,” Winnie grits out, wings and shoulders both hunched up near his ears.

“Again,” this time Becka demanding, flapping her wings once twice thrice to ease her descent from beside Tally on the wall, “you’re holding on for too long here,” she points at his sternum where the core of his energy rests, then trails her fingers up his throat, along his face, to rest on his forehead, “and over thinking it.”

Catching on to what she’s suggesting, Tally adds, “Prepare the energy and just let the spell do it’s work.”

“`

They don’t have long for this world. A week at most, depending on how much mischief they can scrounge up and how much power they use up to do so. They don’t have much to begin with, even less when it needs to be split between the three of them.

A week.

Unless they can find someone to enter a contract.

That’s pretty difficult–most wizards and witches, as rare as they are, don’t bother with the low level demons. Much less three.

But they do honestly work better as a trio. Not that they’re in the business of honesty.

Jenny laughs at the thought. A Lie demon, so desperate as to consider the truth.

Oh, but she’s the best out of the three of them to find a contract holder. Merely a division of labor.

While Travis sows some chaos, Nick will be the one to keep the angels of their trails.

One week.

A lot can happen in one week.

Say, finding a pair of potential contract holders, thwarting a much stronger demon’s plans, and falling in love with an angel.

Game start.

~

A/N: Random snippets, not necessarily of the same story but definitely in the same "world” of one of my original fics. Uh, in this, angels vs demons is less good vs evil so much as it is order vs chaos.

Untitled drabble (2015-07-13)

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“Don’t be a stranger,” the man says, affable grin on his face. She lets his hand go and smiles back at him, watching as he walks away into the light.

The man has not been able to walk by himself for six months.

The man has been pronounced dead as of 4:37 this morning.

Her vision distorts as it usually does, back to the normal shades of gray that she sees the world. She is told that it’s usually the opposite for most psychopomps–at least the ones that bother with vision–but for her, the dead and the place they go to has always seemed more vibrant, more real than the monotony of everyday life.

She is in the custodian’s closet on the same floor as the man’s room, just down the hall. Crinkling her nose at the stench of cleaning supplies and soiled laundry, she rises from her prone position seated on an overturned bucket, and leaves the hospital.

The nurses don’t see her, or rather, don’t notice, just another faceless scrub-wearing member of their ranks shuffling along the graveyard shift. She appears frequently enough that the staff know her face, if not quite her purpose and definitely not her name. She will be back, eventually.

She has school in three hours.

~

A/N: Short drabble is short! But you got two yesterday so 😛

I do have an OC name for a psychopomp, though I’m unsure if I want this one to necessarily be her. Anyway, it’s Kira Val, (unsubtle valkyrie pun).

Untitled LotR drabble (2015-07-10)

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The Shire, as gentle and bountiful as it is, is poorly suited to deal with battle shocked hobbits. Though the entirety of the Took clan and a smattering of Brandybucks have gone on quite a many adventure throughout the ages, none were quite so traumatic as the adventures undertaken by the last pair of Baggins.

Unfortunately, the window for Old Mad Bilbo Baggins’ recovery had long past, the weight of decades worth of battle shock combined with loss and the whisperings of the One Ring. His stay in Rivendell, amongst elves who had practice in healing mental trauma alongside the physical, was a balm indeed. But, perhaps, too little too late.

It was no surprise that Bilbo had chosen to venture, one last time, for the Grey Havens.

Nor was it a surprise when Bilbo asked, no, pleaded, with Frodo to try and live, “Please, my dear boy, just try.”

Frodo’s uneasy, but sincere agreement was no surprise either, for while the Baggins family had been much reduced in number, their bond had always been strong.

What was a surprise was that Pippin was the one who came up with a solution.

While Samwise tried juggling a growing family and his, inarguably, stalwart companionship with Frodo–he was simply a single hobbit with too much on his hands. Merry, in turn, attempted to reawaken his cousin, as if the old Frodo were merely hidden beneath this new, morose version and could be restored with books and mathoms.

Rather than see a reprise of the Mad Old Baggins, withering alone in Bag End, not even a young nephew to ease the isolation, Pippin suggested that Frodo leave.

“I don’t mean that we don’t want you around, Frodo,” the youngest of their group assures, words stumbling but eyes steady in their gaze, “But it’s just that, well. I’m still Faramir’s squire and Merry is Eowyn’s and we’re here in the Shire for now, but we were both going to head back. Together, that is, because Eowyn and Faramir are engaged to be married and that means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, too, and well…”

Because, for all that they’ve (Merry and Pippin, that is) missed the Shire and the comforts of home, they don’t fit anymore. Or rather, they fit less than they did before. They’ve travelled and seen things no hobbit, not even old Bilbo, had ever seen and now their little quests to steal vegetables or set off fireworks simply don’t compare, nowhere near as fulfilling as they used to be.

And if the two of them are feeling this way, then Frodo–bearer of the Ring, savior of all of Middle Earth–must feel even worse. They all can tell, the way he’s shut himself up in Bag End, not even going outside to read in the sunlight like he used to. He still seems sickly, though all the healers have proclaimed him fully restored (barring the missing finger), and except for the occasional brief meet ups with them (Merry, Pippin, and Sam, and Sam’s family, that is), he doesn’t interact with anyone.

“… and maybe, well, that is to say, I know how fond of both Aragorn and Arwen you were, and they of you, so I mean, I can ask Faramir to be sure but even so–”

“Pippin,” Frodo interrupted, wan smile on his face–though, lately all of his smiles were wan–as he reached out a pale, shaking hand, and set it lightly on Pippin’s shoulder, “Thank you. I’ll think about it,” he demurred.

But that wasn’t enough, was hardly anything at all. Frodo needed help. If he couldn’t get it in the Shire, then he had to go elsewhere to get it.

So Pippin told Merry; because Merry’s still the smart one, even if it was Pippin to come up with the idea.

After the moment of surprise, and some name calling and roughhousing, Merry agreed. Merry wrote the necessary letters, made all the arrangements, because a plan was a plan whether it was stealing Farmer Maggot’s carrots or getting a cousin across the continent. It was up to Sam to convince Frodo; though what was said or done during their three hour discussion within Bilbo’s old study, Merry and Pippin anxiously demolishing the contents of Bag End’s pantry, will forever remain a secret between the two of them.

And so, after six months passed, it was three hobbits on the road south to Gondor.

~

A/N: I had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while (actually sort of a cross-post from my lj, here, though it’s all blagh there) ever since I re-watched all three of the Lord of the Rings movies (extended editions, FML) in a row with a friend of mine. But I only recently have been perusing through some Hobbit fic and got some Middle Earth feels that I had to articulate.

Basically, I wouldn’t want to change much of the actual journey but the epilogue didn’t sit right with me. And I know that’s on Tolkien, but it seemed kind of counterproductive to what he wanted? Like, yes, Frodo did suffer through great evil but he didn’t seem to recover from it at all–going off to the Grey havens with Bilbo and the elves–and that seems like a pretty bleak fate for the Baggins family. Part of me thinks that this is because Frodo is suffering from major PTSD, but considering the average hobbit, no one in the Shire really knows how to deal with it or help him. In contrast, nearly everyone is a warrior race and would have more practice in helping traumatized people, even if it’s not exactly the same situation.

Aaaand the end game for this was going to be ArwenxAragornxFrodo sort of threesome with Frodo helping to raise their son (which, since he’s the height of a child would be pretty interesting). Because, I guess, all of them have a fondness for baby-faced (if you consider how old Aragorn REALLY is…) blue-eyed brunettes.

And long author’s note is long. 😛

Untitled drabble (2015-07-07)

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The math department thinks she has narcolepsy, which is pretty convenient, even though that’s not really how narcolepsy works.

“I don’t know, math is just really soothing okay?”

It’s somehow both frustrating and hilarious because on the one hand, she sleeps through math class–has slept through math classes–and yet somehow still has the best grades on test and exams. On the other hand… well…

There was a math teacher whose resting facial expression wasn’t so much “bitch” face so much as it was “I’m meticulously planning your journey to hell” face. So you can imagine how terrifying he was when he was actually angry.

Needless to say, he was pretty mad when she fell asleep in class even though he assigned her middle seat in the front row. Just. Right there. Where everyone would see her. At some point, she did actually wake up, looked around fuzzily, locked eyes with the teacher’s soul-rending glare, then promptly went back to sleep.

Everyone stayed silent, not out of respect, but out of fear that they would burst out laughing and have that glare turned on them instead.

“I’m going to be honest, I maybe didn’t go back to sleep so much as I might have passed out from fright.”

Of course, then she would effortlessly score A’s on all the exams turning her, while not into the teacher’s pet, certainly into the category of whatever works.

What’s surprising is that she’s not some kind of math genius. She’s actually learning in classes while she sleeps.

She’s a fairly popular choice for study sessions, not only because of her good grades, but because she somehow remembered which concepts were taught during which lesson. And, hearing her interpretation of their coursework through her sleep-lens is fairly entertaining.

~

A/N: Yeah, I know, pretty blah. I’m pretty tired but I didn’t want to have a missed post. I also could not think of a way to make math ludicrous at this point in time. I dunno. Happy 0707, everyone.

Untitled Darcy Lewis drabbles (2015-07-06)

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Darcy Lewis looks a lot like her grandmother: Rebecca “Becca” Lewis, née Barnes.

—

When Darcy was younger, in the rare times when she could sit still for longer than two seconds, her grandmother would tell her stories. But that is not such an unusual thing, many grandmothers tell stories to their grandchildren, more often than not stories about their own childhood. But Grandma Becca’s stories were different. Although Darcy would only learn that in hindsight, almost twenty years later.

“They both were such punks,” Grandma Becca would sigh fondly, eyes catching on Darcy’s second-hand Captain America and Howling Commandos action figures scattered on the carpet. They’d been her dad’s originally, and so the paint was a little faded and scuffed. They weren’t like the new versions with the lights and the voices, but these ones were better because sometimes her dad would play, too.

“Even when they were grown men, soldiers, all I could think about was the idiotic boys I grew up with.”

Darcy would nod solemnly in response, because every eight year old girl knows that boys can be stupid sometimes.

“For one of my birthdays, they took me to Coney Island. Which was very fun, don’t get me wrong, but Bucky spent the entire time trying to stuff Steve full of hotdogs and candy then made him ride the Cyclone. I don’t know why they were so shocked when Steve threw up,” she would reminisce, laughing as Darcy wrinkled her nose in disgust, “Yes, it wasn’t a very elegant way to end my birthday. But it was certainly funny.”

Technopath!Darcy (related to this drabble)

—

She has spent so long hiding her ability, that it comes as a surprise when, somehow, it’s her silence which gives her away.

Tony Stark’s strange desire to collect all of the Avengers–like living, breathing, action figures–in his giant compensation skyscraper extends to Avengers’ significant others and, apparently, said significant others’ BFF/intern.

Which, Darcy isn’t complaining about because it’s rent free room and board in the middle of Manhattan and also, a lot of sexy neighbors. Sure, these neighbors happen to be highly destructive and/or lethal but… well, it’s New York, right?

But living in the Stark/Avengers tower is what eventually causes her secret to become… not a secret. More specifically, living in the Stark/Avengers tower with JARVIS.

See, the thing is, Darcy’s ability doesn’t really make any sense. It doesn’t. She majored in political science, but even she knows that her ability makes no sense. Telepathy doesn’t even make sense, but at least that’s two people’s minds and not whatever she can do. Somehow she can communicate with machines. Which sort of begs the question, do machines have minds for her to communicate with?

JARVIS, she knows, is an artificial intelligence. He can speak and think and do pretty much whatever a person can. So there’s that. It makes sense for Darcy to be able to communicate with JARVIS. But it doesn’t explain how she knows her iPod prefers techno to pop or how her taser wishes it could be used more often or how her phone has a strange fascination with Etsy.

So she treats JARVIS much the same way she does other highly intelligent technology, with as much respect as she does with people. Perhaps more so, because the supercomputer at Culver was a major snob and she knows a lot of people who are nowhere near as great as JARVIS. But the important thing is, she interact with him silently.

Simply put, machines with personalities aren’t anything new to her. Machines with personalities which other people know about and can react to? Yeah that’s what trips her up.

It takes about three weeks before someone notices that she doesn’t need to speak out loud for JARVIS to understand her. The surprising part? It’s Bruce who notices.

~

A/N: Two Darcy Lewis drabbles for the price of one! Wooooh.

Unsure what to do with the Darcy, Barnes descendant drabble. It was just an idea I wanted to articulate. At some point, I imagine Steve and/or Bucky eventually try to track Becca down. Whether they actually find her, aged but still alive, or find Darcy instead I don’t know.

I was going to continue the Technopath!Darcy one with how Bruce keeps her secret since he’s basically the closest thing to a mutant the Avengers have and he kind of wishes the Hulk were a secret. I don’t know why I chose Bruce, but I like the way the story could evolve from there.

Untitled drabble (2015-07-03)

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An apology to a once, but no longer, friend of mine.

Let’s be honest–we had a pretty shaky start. I was the new girl, literally only two days late–or maybe two years, depending on how you look at it–and you were the queen of the pack. My first day you tricked me and locked me in the bathroom–I only spent maybe fifteen minutes in the dark until the teacher, concerned, sent someone to look for me.

When I came out I wasn’t scared–I was pissed. When the teacher made you apologize, you certainly didn’t mean it.

We somehow became best friends after that.

I must have dragged your popularity down, hoarding your attention all to myself, but you didn’t seem to mind. You chose me for your team during recess even though my near-sightedness made me terrible at nearly all of the playground games. We slept over at each others houses, which surprised your parents–given how much of a tomboy you were–and mine–given how reticent I usually was.

This continued for years. You had other friends, sure, and I had other friends, sure, and those groups of friends never really overlapped except for the two of us. But it worked, somehow.

Until… it didn’t.

It must have been something I said, because for nearly a decade after, your mom would murmur to mine about how she had never seen you cry so hard. And, frankly, I can be an asshole, especially as a child. But honestly, for the life of me, I cannot remember what I said. I’m sorry for that.

After that disastrous sleepover we just… stopped. There was no more we or us. Just you and your friends and me and my friends, stuck in the same classes at the same schools for the next ten years. The strangest thing was the complete lack of hostility. There was no grudge held… it was as if we had just ceased to exist to each other.

This lasted for eight years.

We evolved into different people, shaped by different cliques, likely different than who we would have been had we stayed friends. Or perhaps our differences would have pushed us apart anyway.

Then, our senior year of high school, you complimented by socks. Which, by the way, thanks again. I loved those socks. But, also, what the fuck?

It was, in the least bitter way, too little too late. I said thanks of course, and after that it was like we could suddenly see each other again. We’d wave at each other in the hallways and occasionally complain about homework in the classes we shared. But nothing substantive enough to salvage the broken dusty thing that was our friendship.

We graduated. Our lives drifted further away from each other. We went to different colleges, I don’t even know which school you went to, I just know it wasn’t the one I did.

Last week, I heard from a high school acquaintance that you had gotten married. After double checking with other old classmates, it turns out that it was your sister getting married to a girl with a similar sounding name as yours–which must make family dinners confusing–but still, it gave me a shock.

And it made me remember. And it made me consider.

I’m sorry that I hurt you and don’t even have the decency to remember how. I’m sorry that I put it all on you to even attempt to rekindle our friendship. I’m sorry that we aren’t in each other’s lives any more, or at least that we never got to find out if that’s how it would have gone naturally.

I’m sorry.

I hope you’re content. I hope you’re happy. I hope you–if you want to that is–do find someone you’ll love enough to marry. I hope you look back on your life and are satisfied with it overall, even if some little details still make you cringe.

And I’m sorry that I may be one of those little, cringe-worthy details.

I hope whatever I said to you was something that made you cry only the once. I hope you never look back on that moment, but if you do, I hope it is only for a fleeting glance. I hope you buy as many socks as you like in the style that we like. And I hope you remember, even briefly, those years when we were we and not just you and me, and I hope you remember them fondly.

~

A/N: Semi-autobiographical… changing some details around, though I guess I was vague enough that it didn’t really matter, huh?

Untitled drabble (2015-07-02)

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Two months after the new kid arrives, he leaves, as suddenly and silently as he came. Kevin wouldn’t necessarily say he’s happy or proud– because he’d have had to have cared for the guy in order to feel anything and that goes against the nonchalantly apathetic vibe he’s rocking–but inwardly he’s pretty damn pleased by the abrupt departure. It’s not like anything the new kid did would have dethroned Bellwood High School’s unofficial king, but Kevin did not appreciate being paired with him in chemistry and constantly corrected by him during labs.

That high follows him for a few days, coasts him through the weekend and even the first few classes of the following Monday. Until they show up.

The usual long lunch break for seniors is halved by an assembly. Ostensibly, they are supplementary counselors from the school district to help the senior class prepare for graduation and the transition to college and adulthood. But unlike Bellwood High’s own set of counselors–a pair of enthusiastic twenty-somethings who have yet to be worn down into cynical thirty-somethings–they are stoic and true examples of apathy. And they both wear black suits. It’s not that big of a deal, really, since the principle is a big proponent of somber pantsuits, but Bellwood’s counselors try to wear bright colors.

Kevin’s last name starts with an S, so they don’t get to him until most of the other seniors have already been in to meet with them. What he hears is suspicious. In that, he doesn’t hear much about what the meetings are about. Which is ludicrous because this is a high school–why is the rumor mill failing him.

Rebecca, who isn’t exactly Bellwood High’s unofficial queen but is on the shortlist for it, is the only one to tell him anything on what to expect. “It’s not about fucking colleges,” she mutters to him, sitting down in the desk behind him for Calc class, just barely audible above the ringing bell. It’s nearly useless, but confirms what he already guessed. And adds yet one more suspicion. Her timing, right when the bell rang, as if she was afraid she’d be overheard otherwise.

No one talks because they’re scared to. If it were boring, there’d be complaints about how it was a waste of time. There hasn’t been any of that. Kevin’s not sure what to expect, but at least he knows to expect something.

Bellwood is a small school, each grade is maybe only 150 students, 200 max. They get to the S’s by Thursday.

—-

To be honest, Kevin didn’t think they were at all related to the new kid. Which, in hindsight, was pretty dumb of him considering the timing. New kid leaves, they show up. Not exactly a stretch to connect the two incidents.

Kevin goes into the meeting thinking that, because he’s expecting something, he won’t be completely caught off-guard. That is not the case.

“What do you know about Gregory Lauson?” Asks  the one who introduced herself as Ms Camilo, but would probably react more to Agent Camilo.

“I heard his dad was some kind of drug lord,” Kevin responds automatically, because the previous five minutes had been a rapid-fire back and forth that all he could do was blurt out the first thing that came into his head.

“Who did you hear that from?” Mr Sheridan, more like Agent Sheridan, replies immediately. While Camilo sat across the table from him imposingly, stare never wavering from Kevin’s own fearful gaze, Sheridan had spent the time circling casually around them, only speaking when not in Kevin’s line of sight. It was, frankly, unnerving.

“I–” he started, then choked, the first time since this interrogation began that he didn’t answer immediately. I made it up, he doesn’t say.

They don’t need him to say it. Camilo’s stare somehow becomes even more piercing, as if she could drill straight into his brain via eye contact.

“What do you know about Gregory Lauson?” Sheridan parrots his partner, one hand leaning on the table just barely within Kevin’s peripheral vision.

“He got kicked out of his old school for killing someone,” Kevin blurts out another of the rumors that had been passed around. This one, at least, hadn’t originated from him.

“What do you know about Gregory Lauson?” Camilo repeats. It is the only question that the two agents will ask for the remainder of the meeting.

Kevin answers. He answers and answers and answers. Not all of the rumors were made by him, but a good number of them were. None of them were positive.

At the very end, when the excruciating fifteen minute appointment is up, Sheridan says to him, “We’ll speak with your parents.” It’s not a question or a request or even a demand. Just a statement of fact.

Kevin nods, barely able to tear his gaze away from Camilo, before fleeing on shaky legs.

He slides into Lit class silently, Mrs. Palmer hardly batting an eye at his entrance. Across the classroom, Rebecca looks away in sympathy; not having eye contact is a kindness, after what just happened.

—-

The agents do, in fact, speak with Kevin’s parents. Of the entire senior class, the agents speak to six sets of guardians, his and Rebecca’s included.

Then they just… disappear.

None of involved students are grounded which should be good, except Kevin’s parents look at him with thinly veiled horror and sorrow instead, which is somehow worse. Rebecca reports the same thing with her parents, as do his other four classmates.

It’s hard to think that there are any consequences when they’re not concrete. But there are repercussions, and they linger.

Most notably, all of them have a red flag attached to their names. It’s not quite a criminal record because beyond having the agents speak to their parents, nothing happened, but it might as well be.

Rebecca, who had been volunteering at the police station for three years, is strongly suggested to stop and ‘enjoy her final year in high school’. The number of colleges scouting Victor for their swim team decreased dramatically, and certainly not of the same quality. Elijah, proud recipient of an early admission from Yale, thankfully is still on track to be a Yale student but had his full-ride scholarship rescinded. And so on and so forth.

Kevin personally doesn’t get affected quite so tangibly but there is an influence. He gets accepted into Annapolis, no problem–a combination of near-perfect grades and fantastic extra curricular activities–but it’s not easy actually being there. For the first few months he attributes it to no longer being the big fish in a little pond and now being a little fish in the ocean. But it’s not quite that.

His fellow midshipmen aren’t necessarily reacting to him so much as they are following their instructors’ leads. They don’t sabotage him, don’t pick on him especially, they just look at him, sometimes. Even when he scores the best they look at him as if he somehow disappointed them. Kevin realizes that none of the instructors like him. None of them. And in turn, his fellow midshipmen steer clear.

Despite all that, when they graduate, Kevin is in the top tenth of his class. It’s pretty impressive. Nonetheless, his commission… well, a lot of midshipmen lower ranked than he are becoming ensigns on ships he had been hoping to serve on. Some are becoming Marines, even the ones he consistently beat out in pretty much all aspects of education. In comparison, his commission is lackluster, to put it nicely.

Something is going on, and he is highly confused as to what.

Which explains why he is completely thrown when he sees Agents Camilo and Sheridan at his graduation. They’re a little older looking, not that he remembers the exact details of their appearances, but almost five years have passed. They’re not as frightening–maybe due to age or his training or the situation–but they still carry a weight of dominance. As if he were still a kid mindlessly answering their questions, ruining his own future in the process, while they watched, uncaring. Even now as he stands in his dress uniform, just another body in rows and rows of white, they still watch him, uncaring.

For the first time in years, he contacts the others. Technology has made keeping in touch easy, but high school friends still drift apart regardless. Rebecca is the first to confirm that they were at her graduation, followed by Elijah. Vincent and Amy’s graduations aren’t until a few weeks later, but they know to keep an eye out. Drew didn’t go to college, but he’ll keep an eye out too.

Kevin regrets not knowing anything real about Gregory Lauson, because at least then, maybe, he’d know what the fuck is going on.

~

A/N: Missed the midnight deadline, but only because this thing was so long that I excuse myself 😛

To be honest, I’m a little surprised, proud, and confused by this piece. Because… well… I guess this is anti-bullying but I didn’t start with that intention. It was going to be about how a bunch of teenagers accidentally blow a WITSEC cover by being a bunch of douchebags and spreading rumors that hit a little too close to the truth. And then how their own lives got ruined in turn because they possibly endangered another kid by being assholes. Unsure if I want Gregory Lauson (by the way, I apologize if your name is Gregory Lauson. I mean no disrespect. The events in this drabble are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental) to have been killed or just relocated with a different name.

Uh… don’t know if I’ll continue this story, which is why I left it kind of open-ended. So, maybe…

Untitled technopath!Darcy drabble (2015-06-30)

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As a child, her ability had always been passed off as an active imagination or, simply, growing up in the generation that she did. Given her middle-class background, it wasn’t too odd to see her with some kind of handheld gaming device, or later, as a teenager, a cell phone. Much like others her age, they seemed to be glued to her hand. She liked music, even if she had never been particularly musically talented, and had a walkman until it died then a CD player until that died then, finally, an iPod.

And she does mean died in the literal sense. Her parents, while pleased at how careful she was with her gadgets, had always been confused by her heartbreak over their inevitable end.

Her walkman had been finicky, both electronically and personality-wise. It had lamented at her music choices, but had done its duty to the best of its abilities until it could no longer do so. Her CD player, in contrast, had been perky and eager to play new songs, as fascinated in different genres as she was. She broke Evan Thoreau’s nose when he snatched and broke it, in an attempt to get her attention.

Her iPod, ever since she had gotten it, had always been a bit precocious. Perhaps because it had a slightly higher computing power than her previous music players, but probably because most Apple products tended to be a little quirky. Her iPhone certainly enjoyed downloading random apps–thankfully, it restricted itself to free ones and only when using Wi-Fi–for her to flick through and discard as chosen. Similarly, her iPod liked to create brand new playlists for her everyday, so that each day would be a surprise. It had also taken to rick-rolling far more than she’d prefer, but that was just another facet of its slightly annoying, but lovable identity.

So it wasn’t all that surprising that, when jack booted thugs stole her iPod, she was more than a little pissed.

~

A/N: Uh… a mini-attempt at that technopath!Darcy idea I mentioned before. It’s harder than I thought it would be to articulate.