#second person perspective

[achromaticabberation]

Would you read a second-person story about aliens?

Yes

No

Voting ended onFeb 20

[csidesummit]

American Arcadia was so great!

I've seriously never seen a blending of genres done so expertly as in American Arcadia. It's only outdone by the quality of the narrative and the characters. Give this one a play!

[bloodilymerry]

Warning to young Decepticons

I had a bit of random inspiration. Set in no particular canon continuity, with elements of IDW1 (Tarn as part of Decepticon KGB) and Energon Universe (iron apprentices)

You leave Tarn’s speech with your spirits high. Autobots are weak and the Decepticons are strong, and you are destined to win. The idea of your first battle makes your circuits buzz with excitement. You can see the glory await you.

You can taste the Energon of your fallen enemies, and hear their dying screams. They echo like the sweetest music in your audio receptors.

You don’t notice Blitzwing. It’s a dumb mistake, but you are new. Untested and unused to the caution required of a Decepticon warrior. A powerful clamps over your shoulder, servos denting your armour, as he pulls you aside.

“All right, newbuild,” he says. “Tarn’s fed you his propaganda. Now it’s time for someone to make sure it doesn’t kill you.” He leans forward. “If you so much as think about telling about what I’ll just explain to you to anyone, I will know. And I will rip you apart and eat your spark chamber. Understood?”

You nod. You are no longer a might Decepticon warrior. You are what you’ve been before Tarn’s speech - a newly constructed nobody.

“There are Autobots that no one sane fights,” Blitzwing continued. “You see them? You run.”

He pauses.

“First, there are the Dinobots,” he says. “They’re dumbfire missiles: they will keep on going until they reach an enemy and rip you apart to shreds, or melt you to scrap, and move on, until there’s no one left to fight.” He leans back a bit and smiles. “You probably won’t see them much - the Autobots are as afraid of ‘em as we are.

“Second, there’s Ultra Magnus,” he continued. “Don’t let Tarn’s blabber fool you. Magnus is soft on organics as every Autobot, but he is a solider. He exists to kill - not because he likes it, but because it’s his duty. And he won’t stop until his duty is done. He will keep coming. One time, Shockwave blasted half his chest open. You could see his spark and he kept on fighting like nothing had happened.

“And where there’s Magnus, there’s Arcee. She’s his iron apprentice and sniper. You won’t see her. You’ll just see the dead fall around you.”

He looks around. Checks if there’s no one else in earshot.

“Then, there’s Elita One. You want an expert terrorist? That’s her. She will sneak behind our lines and plant explosives, and bam. A whole factory gone. And if you find her, she’ll kill you before you can so much think about rising alarm.”

Now he focuses his full attention on you. “And then we have the Prime. Tarn lied to you about him. You see the Prime on the battlefield? You run and pray to Primus and the the Thirteen, you’re not the reason he’s there. Because he will end you no matter the cost. He’ll charge through our soldiers just to get you, and beat you with his bare hands.

And then he lets you go. 

[s0ftandsad]

Another one shot!

I'm honestly so proud of what I wrote. It took me like 10 months to write and perfect it. It might be better than my Tony Stark/reader one-shot. To be fair, I did crank out my Tony Stark/Reader one shot in two days. I was also sleep deprived haha

Back on the topic of my one-shot, it's not really spicy, but spicy stuff is mentioned. It's fluff and angst with a happy ending and somewhat of a rewrite of a scene in CA: CW. If y'all decide to take a look at my one-shot, I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts. I still have a long way to go with my writing, so constructive criticism is always welcome!!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Word Count: 1,879 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader. (I didn't use pronouns or any physical appearance descriptors. It's for anyone and everyone.)

Summary: After Lagos, Wanda is insecure and feels guilty. You comfort and reassure her.

OR

Wanda cares a lot about what happened in Lagos and what you think of her. She confesses her feelings for you when she's not doing well.

[exmeanswithout]

mundane!

you're perusing the aisle of your local "More For Less store; new sale every week!". This week's sale being 25 cents for every unmarked pill bottle. "Trying to weed out the duds", they say.

You happen upon a prior unexplored aisle.

You can tell by the sign that says "never before seen goods".

You don't trust the sign but you enter the aisle regardless.

After a quick walk along the shelves and then a slower walk back you realise you Have never before seen any of these products. For once a sign told you the truth. Take that Martha.

You lean in to look closer at a bottle of pills.

This one is labelled ‘Boost your curls instantly’ you're bald but you choose to buy it anyway.

Soft music plays in the background, the singer stopping halfway through the song to tell the listeners he loves them. It is the most intimate moment you've ever experienced and you are lonely.

A light flickers at the distant end of the aisle as you pass the bathrooms.

Always out of paper towels.

A bell rings signifying that the sale is indeed still going on.

You pass someone in the aisle and realise the sign did lie to you.

You trek back to the sign only to see that it now reads ‘previously seen items! Still good though!!’ which you thought was uplifting.

Fifteen more minutes your voice whispers into your ear. You don't know why.

You lean down and pick up a pill bottle clearly unlabelled.

You shake it and the tell-tale rattle of a bottle with things in it follows.

You walk up to the cashier to pay but the sign says ‘cashier on break’ but you aren't going anywhere.

The air is warm and the lights are dim but not unpleasantly so. That said it could be brighter

The music is still playing.

It has a nice baseline but the melody is a bit repetitive.

A person lines up behind you. You look first to them, then the pill bottles in their arms.

You tilt your head in the direction of the sign, feeling uncomfortable about talking in the store. You don't want something in your mouth after all.

They mistake your nod for a greeting and nod back, jaws firmly clamped together.

A cashier appears behind the counter. Nothing unusual in her entrance but not having noticed her walking towards you, you imagine she teleported.

How fun.

She rings up your two items.

50 cents.

As you're walking away you shake the unlabeled pill bottle before opening it.

Empty

[iamumbra195]

it feels like you stand upon the belly of a ferocious beast. the rumbles knock you to your knees, but the tremors don't cease for a second. the loud hissing and whining from the rocks only seem to grow. the sounds clawing their way into your heart. white hot light. the scalding, red erupts into a towering mountain reaching up into space. it falls. the impact topples trees and twists the terrain into something unimaginable. the air is boiling and the air is heavy with chemicals no one should ever have to encounter. the temperature climbs, and suffocating blankets of ash end any poor creature who was walking at that moment. but you are resilient. you are still here. and as spitfire rains from the darkening sky like stars falling from the heavens, you are sure. you'll make it much longer than anyone thought you ever could.

The terrain is unrecognizable. You hike through a land once filled with man-made skyscapers that towered over the skies themselves, torn down for daring to challenge the mother of creation herself. Where there were once paved streets and the overwhelming stench of humanity, there is warm rock and volcanic ash that hung heavy in the air. You wondered why the molten lava that had cremated everything as you knew it seemed incapable of eating through your mortal flesh but you had never been one to ask questions. It was simpler to adapt, to morph yourself into a creature suitable for your environment. It was the only way to survive. And who was there to ask? The skies? The earth? To gain their attention was to incite their anger; they had never been fond of humanity after all. Your father had alway cautioned against asking unnecessary questions, a lesson he instilled in you through the circular glossy scars that littered your collarbone when the stench of alcohol poisoned the air of your decrepit old apartment. Who's to say the earth would not open itself and swallow you, burning you in its core as it had all the others? You've never been particularly fond of pain.

[breathofmyown]

"I'll never let you die", she'd said once, her eyes alight with a frightening intensity. It had shocked you, the terrible certainty in her eyes then. But then the moment passed and you didn't often think about it, about what it might mean to her.

You wake up not knowing where you are. Strange devices surround the slab you've woken up on. Knobs, dials, arcing electricity, bubbling tanks of fluid, the whole expanse of mad science aimed at your prone form. As your head clears and your eyes focus you see a figure approach, and as she removes her googles you realize it's your wife, but... different. Fear starts to creep into you, heart pounding in your chest, gasping for breath like a startled animal.

Her hair is lank and lifeless, skin patchy and pallid, and something in her eyes seems cracked, broken. A gaunt haunted shadow of the woman you love. Your vision flickers, and for just a moment it seems almost like she's something else entirely, her hands dripping with blood, her eyes alight with a raving madness, but then it's gone. The shadow and the terror fade away, and she's how you remember her. That warm smile she always has for you when you've been away lighting up her face.

Why are you here? You remember something bad... scary. You remember pain. But what came before seems to just slip away when you reach for it. Calm seeps into you slowly, and your heart slows, the panicked panting of your breath evens out. Your wife's here, the love of your life, things can't be too bad right?

[goblin-writer]

A Choice of Purpose

Their appearance was unexpected. Classically devils are meant to look seductive, powerful, maybe have red skin and horns that curve above their head. And they are meant to smell like sulphur.

Instead, standing before you, was a man in a grey suit. Not shiny or expensive, but drab and threadbare. His eyes listless and his skin looking as paper under office lights. Altogether you weren’t entirely sure that he was a devil and not just another of the many office workers that spent their days listlessly in front of a glaring screen.

“Finally. My colleagues told me about you. In the market for some change in your life? A step up from your wallowing existence? I have just the thing for you.”

His words danced around your mind even as his voice slipped out of your mind in an instant. It wasn’t that he looked unpleasant but you had trouble looking at him as he spoke. Although you had laboured unsuccessfully for months. That fantasy of a starving artist, not romantic but fevered and tragic. They had inspired you as a child, reading of the exploits of Erich Zahn, or Mr Scott, or that unnamed photographer. Now it all seemed to much. That prideful calling toward standing alone in your unacknowledged glory.

But it was too little. And so, you turned to the fourteen sins and virtues. Taking what little money your work gave you and toured the world. Making your way through holy sites and dens of sin. Hoping that an angel or a devil would cut you a deal to alleviate those dreams that burnt you and for which you had very nearly broken yourself over.

None had come. You stood in rose coloured light, walked through the desert, and climbed mountains. You had stood in shareholder meetings, lain in drug dens, and feasted when all reasonable people had gone to bed. Devil and angel had remained steadfastly absent. You had returned home. The streets now unfamiliar and the people pale comparisons to you. Waking with the sun and sitting on a chair until the day was nearly out.

You had stood before one of those steel and glass buildings that was never lit at night and wondered how they manage. People passed you, not noticing you. Glassy eyes glued to their destination or their phones. Moving with rote mechanism. Some people still smiled and looked about with bright eyes, shining, sparking, but there were so few of them.

You were ready to give it all up when that man, in his grey suit waved to you.

“Which colleagues?”

“The devils, and to a lesser extent the angels.”

“Which are you?”

“Does it matter that much? Both sides find me amenable to work with.”

“So you are neither.”

“Not at all. I am firmly devilish.” You nodded

“I had expected you to look different.”

“Most people do – But we aren’t here to discuss the lack of horns. You wanted a deal.”

“I want to feel less. Not emotions but -,” It is difficult to put into words.

“Not emotions but desires. That calling that haunts you, that burns you, that threatens to consume you.” It is all you can do to nod., “Well I can help with that.”

“But you aren’t one of the sins.” His smile didn’t slip even though it was clear that he didn’t like what you had said.

“I am Acedia incarnate.” Your eyes met his lacking all understanding. He sighed, “Take my deal and you will be able to put that fire in your chest to rest. You’ll be comfortable and kept.”

You wondered how that felt. You had a desire to create, to inspire. Not necessarily inspire more creation, maybe fear, maybe even its superior – caution. Looking at the sky you took a deep breath.

And stopped.

The smell of the city was gone. All around you it smelled like fluorescent light and the burning of laser printers. There was a monotony promised with it.  But was that what you wanted? A life of dull routine, boredom, and watching your dreams wither. The devil, that much was clear now had extended his hand.

After all was said and done you walked away from the building. Already you forgot the devil that had stood there with his outstretched hand. He faded quickly into the crowd of suits and empty eyes around him. Had you taken his hand? You didn’t quite remember.

Months later, now with somewhat steady work and employment with a newspaper you had a strange thought. Acedia. Taking out a small orange pen you jotted the name down and smiled as you got back to work.

---

Thank you @flashfictionfridayofficial​ for a lovely prompt. Very much enjoyed writing it.