#and getting the motivation to just hunker down and chew through that

[astranauticus]

oh come on im so close to being done i cant start losing steam now

[ficdump101]

SOMEBODY YOU LOVED.

JEON JUNGKOOK

GENRE: ANGST! ANGST! ANGST!

WORDS: 1787

REQUESTED? YES! BY @jeonchristineimnida​

PERMANENT TAG: @dreamescapeswriting​

A/N - SO I’VE DECIDED THAT ANGST IS UP AND RUNNING. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, IF NOT I’LL RE-WRITE IT :)) SORRY FOR ANY SPELLING MISTAKES

Drowning. That’s what you felt. This is what you had boiled down to, an over worked and stressed shadowing accountant with, according to your boss, nothing to amount to. You were laid in bed, where you had been for the past two days, procrastinating on your workload and trying to recover from the recent dispute with your sister. Recent events had broken your heart beyond repair and made you want to hide from the world, making you (unintentionally) avoid your nephew. Your sister had rang and expressed her distaste in your actions stating, that you ‘sort yourself out and get back on track in his life or you can fuck right out of his life all together’. If only she could understand. If only you could express what you were feeling. If only he let you down slowly. You could feel the heartbreak tenfold at the mere thought of him, a wave of sadness started at your toes and rolled up your apathetic body. The tingling in your nose was a tell tale sign the tears were going to start building up but you were over crying. Over feeling like your world had been flipped upside down and something was ripped from you. This wasn’t his fault, you knew that. It was a mutual breaking up… but it wasn’t. You had loved him with all your being but he was the one who fell; he fell out of love with you and maybe you were the problem. You had rang Namjoon earlier in the week and spoke to him about everything - he had tried to give you advise on ‘moving on’ with your life but it didn’t work, all the distractions you had used failed because they reminded you of him. The music reminded you of all the times you had slow danced through the kitchen or when you had random dance parties to make you take a break from the assessments - it always worked. Painting made it worse, you always seemed to be painting his doe eyes and perfectly plump lips - he was all you thought about. You knew this wasn’t healthy for you but you couldn’t bring yourself around to care, days bled nightfall and you were surviving on coffee and red wine. Thinking back to your last face to face conversation made all of your fears of why the breakup happened become more realistic.

X

You and your boyfriend had been laid in his bed watching ‘Cry-Baby’, he was propped up on pillows with his head resting on the head board. Your head rest on his shoulder, humming along to Johnny Depp singing ‘Doing time for being young’. He had asked you earlier in the day to tell him 2 of your insecurities, you had straight away chickened out and told him that you’d tell him later. Well, this was later, and your random boost of confidence had decided to show.

“I’m insecure about my body.” You blurted out randomly, causing him to look down at you.

“What?” He chuckled, shuffled a little down the bed so he was face to face with you.

“You wanted to know what I’m insecure about. There’s a lot of things but my body is one of them. I also have the feeling that I’m not enough to be in a relationship with, and that you’re going to leave me eventually.” His answer felt like a warm hug, but the person hugging you is holding a knife to your back.

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you any time soon.”

X

 That was a load of bullshit. Not even two weeks later, he was messaging you to say that he felt bad for stringing you along when he held no feeling towards you any more. You agreed with him - letting your moment of happiness disintegrate into the ashes of self-doubt and loneliness. You let these feelings wash over you as you bathed in them - your hair matting and sticking to the back of your neck, your body feeling burdensome with no need or motivation to move and the skin of your cheeks feeling dry and stiff from all the tears that had been spilled but not wiped. You had tried to explain to your sister - tried to explain what it felt like to have part of your soul ripped from your body and you needed help. But every time you picked up the phone and typed out a text, you’d backspace it all and place you phone back down. You knew that if you could explain she’d help, you two were close sisters, more like best friends; you knew she would drop everything to help you out, just like you would (and have done) for her. You remember when her ex-boyfriend, and father of her child, left her when she was 8 months pregnant. You had took a leave from university, explaining your situation to your tutors and with the mutual decision of working from home, you hunkered down at her house. You pulled her through the pit of tar called depression and put her back on track the best you could - she started helping herself after that and you were the backbone, you were there for her when she stumbled and throughout the pregnancy. You wanted her help, hell, you needed her help but you couldn’t bring yourself to mess up the equilibrium of her now oh so perfect life. If only you could open up, you could be in a different place now. Last week, Jimin had showed up at your door (well let himself in really) and pulled you up from your bed - he quickly washed your face and pushed your hair up, stating that you were only going to a cafe and then McDonalds on the way home. You were clad in sweats and a hoodie pulled up over your head with drawstrings pulled, keeping your face covered. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this. You were sat in the small cafe a couple blocks away from your house and you were a mess; half crying into your caramel ice-tea as Jimin read through the text conversation with your ex, sewing venomous insults here and there as commentary. You were suppose to be happy for the distraction, but you were surround by couples who were deeply in love and this cafe was where you met him. He slipped you your drink, which he paid for, with his number and a kiss on the side. It was sweet… Bitter-sweet. You didn’t understand what you had done, he showed no sign of ‘falling out of love with you’ at all. You took your drink with you as Jimin ran you back home, of course you enjoyed your time with him and thanked him for his attempt at a distraction, but as soon as he left you were left alone to your destructive thoughts. In your heart was a gaping hole which you had no idea on how fix. You grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and launched yourself back into bed with the chicken nuggets Jimin had bought you, you wished he could’ve stayed the night but he was a busy superstar. You fell into a peaceful alcoholic pipe dream.

 X

You woke up to his face inches away from yours, a small smile gracing his features.

“Good morning baby. Sleep well?” You could feel the warmth of his body and duvet wrapped around you. You peered up at him, he was breathtaking, especially in the morning. You nodded slightly, kissing his jaw as the tears welled up in your eyes. You loved him more than life itself and here he was in front of you, closer than he had been to you in the past 2 weeks. His brows furrowed as your hand caressed his cheek, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Hey now Jagiya, don’t cry. Pretty girls like shouldn’t be crying.” He pulled you close, his hand on the back of your head making you bury your face in his bare chest.

“You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

X

 You opened your eyes with your hand griping the pillow in front of you. Your other arm flung behind you as you patted the bed searching for him. You were met with the cold, fully made side of your bed, there was no lingering heat. He was never there. You cheeks felt wet and cold as your heart sunk into the pits of your stomach as you turned onto your back, facing the ceiling. You could no longer smell bis sent despite wearing on of his shirts and you wish you could, the smell could comfort you in the worst of times. But no comfort was offered. You slowly climbed out of bed, taking the empty wine bottle with you. You trudged out of your bedroom door and down the dim hallway towards the kitchen. You passed the living room keeping your eyes downcast in an attempt to avoid the happy memories that were laced throughout your apartment. Ranging from the times you’d fallen to sleep on the sofa with him watching random films to when you had a water fight between the kitchen and front door. You made you way past the sofa into the kitchen, placing your empty bottle beside the sink and opened the fridge. You pulled out a sausage roll when you heard your notification tone, it was either TikTok, YouTube or Instagram. Taking a big bite, you sat on the kitchen bar stool and unlocked your phone. You paused mid-chew as you saw that it was a notification that one of the boys had gone live as a surprise, you clicked on it and made a bet with yourself in your head. If it wasn’t Tae then you would order pizza, if it was then Chinese it was. You watched the blue screen load as the video came on. Well it wasn’t Tae. The man looked happy and at peace, you couldn't tell what hurt more, his eyes that held that certain sparkle which showed how happy he truly was or how broken you felt by the fact that he was fine. Jeon Jungkook was perfectly fine.

[oswaldsirius]

Witchcraft

Day Five

Pairing: Leonardo/Arabella

Word Count: 1509

A/N: Just a little small, what if au

-

           Keeping his hands in his pockets, Leonardo strolled through the garden. It was as rich and vibrant as ever. Like spring hadn’t come and gone weeks ago . Everything was growing beautifully, perfectly, wonderfully. Which wasn’t right given that autumn was only a handful of days away.

           He’d seen the changes-or lack thereof-right away, asking Sebas and the dear old Comte if either of them had done something different in the gardens. Both had denied it, telling him that their new guest, his little compagna provvisoria, had asked to take care of it in her time here. That hadn’t surprised him, more often than not when she hid from him it was out here. He always found her tending to something, pretending she hadn’t been hiding at all and instead working.

           But all it did was confirm his suspicions.

           He reached out, brushing his fingers over the delicate petals of a rose. Vincent had thoroughly loved the vibrant garden, drawing inspiration from it and painting more and more each day. Theo took his own kind of motivation from his brother’s, setting up another art show in the city and even cheekily asking him if he’d want to show anything. Those that preferred to stay in the mansion to do their work had taken to opening their windows more, letting in the beautiful fragrances even as the air grew crisper. And he…well, he was spending more time out here, half hunting for her and half admiring her work.

           His steps slowed as he heard soft singing drifting on the breeze. He’d been teasing when he’d brought her to Mozart to sing, partially. Arabella had a lovely speaking voice and her singing had been divine when paired with the piano. Listening to her voice soar up between the notes…He’d been rather inspired himself, sketching the scene after he’d made sure she’d been tucked safe in her room. He hadn’t missed how the whole thing had centred around her.

           This song, however, wasn’t a lullaby. It was old and she was singing it in Italian. They’d fallen into a habit of speaking it to each other when they were alone, the switch coming naturally to them. He was curious about her accent, about how it had changed in the next century but more than that how her upbringing, with a foreign father and raised in a different country, had touched it. But there were times she was so distinctly Venetian he thought himself back in the city.

           Leonardo shook his head and followed her voice. It was as much a lure as the woman herself and he knew he was caught. He made sure his steps were loud on the cobblestone path as he approached her, not wanting to scare her, and was pleased when she kept singing. Trusted him, did she? Or did she think he didn’t know the meaning of her song?

           Rounding a hedge, he found her seated on the grass, a feather in her hand that she was waving in front of Lumière’s face. The cat was batting at it, tail waving through the air as she pulled it just out of his grasp. And she kept singing the entire time, a smile on her face at the antics of his cat. Her gaze flicked to him as he stepped closer, her song faltering for a half a moment before continuing as he gestured at her.

           He crouched beside her, resting his arms on his legs and listening. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, not wanting her to stop. But she was watching him now, the feather abandoned for Lumière to claim.

           When the last note of her song faded, he looked at her again. “It’s pretty, cara mia.”

           Those storm cloud eyes studied him and for the first time since her arrival he saw a lick of fear in them. “Thank you, Leonardo.”

           Did he tell her that he’d heard it once before? That he knew it was a song of thanks sung at the turn of the seasons? Or did he let it go as just a pretty song? He caught the tip of the feather as Lumière tried to carry it off and grinned at the cat as they began a new game of tug-a-war with it. “Thought it was just a myth,” he said absently as he finally got the feather away only for his cat to attempt to pounce into his lap.

           “Mm?”

           “That black cats were drawn to witches.”

           A tense silence met those words and he kept his gaze focused on the cat.

           “Do a good job of hiding it when you’re around the others, cara mia,” he continued. “But you can’t help yourself when you’re out here.”

           She still didn’t say anything and he didn’t blame her. It didn’t matter that the time of the hunts was past; they both knew what being different got you with other people.

           Leonardo finally looked at her and was pleased to see that the edge of fear was gone. Instead there was quiet contemplation. “Don’t have to say that you are, Arabella,” he continued, giving her a smile. “I’m not going to say anything to the others. Not as if you’ve done anything bad.”

           That finally got a reaction, her eyes rolling. “Everyone has a different definition of ‘bad’, Leonardo,” she said softly. “But no, I haven’t.”

           He smiled and let Lumière have the feather again. He watched as the cat hunkered down, chewing on it happily. “No harm in making the flowers bloom a little longer.” Although, he knew it wasn’t only that.

           Arabella hummed softly and reached out to stroke along Lumière’s back. “They still won’t last but I thought it would be nice for everyone to have the garden for a little longer.”

           “You’re very kind.”

           She waved the compliment away. “It’s a minor thing and they will still wilt. Everything has it’s….”

           “Time,” he finished for her, smiling as she flushed a little. He knew only a little about her kind, they were even better at keeping to themselves than his given the persecution they’d faced. He had no idea how time flowed for them, if it did at all.

           “Plants are easy,” she continued, pushing on. “People are…less so.”

           Leonardo’s brows went up. “What are you doing to the people?”

           She gave him a look. “Nothing you don’t do yourself,” she said tartly.

           Caught him, had she? He had noticed that she’d been avoiding prolonged eye contact with him and he’d thought it cute. Wouldn’t help her since his voice could charm just as easily as his gaze but it was fun watching her try. And sometimes succeed. “Emotions, yeah?” he asked. “Noticed the last time we went into town to work the crowd didn’t get as excitable when we couldn’t help all of them.”

           Arabella shrugged. “I don’t think any of us want a scene and you draw enough attention as it is.”

           “Do not.”

           “The entire street was fawning over you!”

           “Jealous, cara mia? You know you’re the only one for me.”

           She laughed and gave him a push. “You’re forgetting the provvisoria part, Leonardo!”

           Was he? Pushing past those thoughts, he stood up and held out a hand. “Have some questions for you that might be better done inside behind closed doors.”

           “You are too curious for your own good,” she sighed, taking his hand and letting him help her up.

           Perhaps. But when was he going to have the chance to talk to a witch again? At least, that’s what he wanted her to think. He merely wanted to learn more about her. She’d been opening up more and more lately, but he still wanted more.

           He kept a firm hold on her as they walked back through the gardens, telling himself it was to keep her from deciding she wanted to play a game of tag. Not because he liked how warm her palm was against his, even through the glove. Not because of how, now that he had put her secret into the air between them, he could almost feel the magic swirling through her.

           Or maybe that was simply her.

           “There’s a reason for it, you know,” she said suddenly, squeezing his hand a little.

           “What reason?”

           “For black cats being drawn to witches.”

           Leonardo tossed a glance over his shoulder where, sure enough, his black cat was happily following them, feather firmly held in his mouth. “Is there?”

           “Like attracts like,” she said softly. “Those outside of ‘normal’ society are always attracted to one another. The unwanted always find each other.”

           His gaze slid to her, wondering just how deeply her words went when he was always finding her. “Think that’s why you found yourself in a house of vampires?”

           Her smile was bright and sunny. “You’re all definitely outside of the norm.”

           “Everyone has a different definition of normal, Arabella.”

           She laughed and, for once, he felt her tracing a pattern on the back of his hand. “I much prefer this normal,” she said softly.

[ckret2]

Predecessor

Prompt: from @tfspeedwriting​: Scenario: one character is pet-sitting for another. Yes, I know it’s almost a week late. Continuity: IDW continuity. Characters: Vos and the Pet, with a guest appearance by Tarn. Wordcount: 2200 words Summary: Vos didn't mind the torture that the DJD had subjected the Pet to. But he minded that they'd done it to a Vos.

Kaon had come down with a bug.

The Peaceful Tyranny was docked on Temptoria to let him recuperate in the base under Snap Trap and Hun-Gar's joint command. It was an excellent Decepticon outpost, in Vos's opinion, although he heard rumbling from Tarn about how they clearly hadn't followed the infiltration protocol. Snap Trap had explained when the DJD arrived that, given the current circumstances, with no further command from Megatron, they'd needed to hunker down somewhere they could build up fuel reserves and await further orders. Tarn accepted that, although Vos suspected that was because Snap Trap had brought along Nautilator to explain their operation, whose voice was almost a dead ringer for Megatron's. Tarn called him "sir" without noticing twice.

Snap Trap's co-commander Hun-Gar—who one time early in the war tried to kill Megatron, but later apologized for it—didn't make an appearance in front of the DJD.

No surprise there.

At any rate, Snap Trap and Hun-Gar's outpost had something that the Peaceful Tyranny didn't: a medibay with an actual medic. And so Kaon was helped off the ship and into the Decepticon base, and Tarn went with him to watch over him.

But not before giving Vos a command.

"Don't want to," Vos grumbled. "I like my room. Like my private room." It was one of the reasons he'd joined the Decepticons—for the right to have privacy again, instead of being "stored" in cramped barracks with the other weapons. (And then he'd ended up in the barracks again; but at least it was because he was a soldier, not because he was a gun.)

"I know you do," Tarn said, "but I need your help. I can't ask Helex or Tesarus to take the Pet in while Kaon is sick, it gets skittish when it's alone with them."

Vos wondered if that was true, or if they got skittish around it. Vos knew what they'd done to it, after all. Even for a pack of torturers like them, Vos thought that that was probably outside their comfort zone. Vos was fine with it, of course.

Vos told himself he was fine with what they'd done.

Vos looked down at the Pet. It was straining at the end of its leash, alternately sniffing and panting, trying to get away from the Peaceful Tyranny's gangplank and over to the Decepticons milling some distance away. Probably wanted to chew on them a bit.

Vos sighed heavily.

"Thank you," Tarn said.

Vos jerked on the chain, and the Pet yipped in pain. Another jerk, and the Pet reluctantly turned away, to follow Vos up onto the ship.

Over his shoulder, he snapped, "You owe me." Tarn shrugged in weary resignation.

Vos's room was a maze of datapads, dataslugs—manufactured, of course, he wasn't a barbarian—books, charts, chips, and cubes. A veritable library. One of his cases was even full of datapads in Neocybex, with a few Neocybex to Primal Vernac dictionaries to help him puzzle through the few words he still didn't understand. He had compiled a base of scientific knowledge to make even the likes of Shockwave envious (not that Shockwave would admit it, high-caste snot that he was), and at his fingertips were tombs that elucidated scientific secrets all the way from the vaunted heavenly heights of academia, to the esoteric depths of the most heavily-guarded mysteries of reality.

The Pet had been in Vos's room less than five minutes. It had already knocked over one case, swiped whole shelves of datapads to the floor with its tail, and eaten several dataslugs.

Vos was now screaming curses at the Pet in four languages as he played tug-of-war with a datapad that the Pet had apparently decided was a lovely chewtoy. He had to kick the Pet in the neck to get it to let go, and scrambled up to stand on his recharge slab and examine the damage.

Aww, no. The Ascetic Cybertronian, by Dominus Ambus of Ambustus Minor. It was next to impossible to find Primal Vernac translations. Vos pushed the power button, trying to turn it on.

The Pet jumped for it, trying to bite it again. "No!" Vos kicked the Pet in the chest, and it tumbled backwards, landing on its back. It whined, kicking its back legs unhappily.

For a brief second, the Pet's perpetual collar was shifted up toward its chin enough that Vos could see up it from underneath. He could see through the neck armor that had been scraped and rubbed away by the collar, to a second, ruined face, with a crushed nose and a broken jaw.

Vos's fuel tank lurched, his fans froze, and his fuel ran cold.

It was a lie. Vos wasn't fine with what they'd done.

Vos didn't mind the torture. He didn't mind the mutilation. He didn't mind that someone who hadn't shaped up got what was coming to him.

He minded that they'd done it to Vos.

When Forestock had joined the DJD, Tarn had told him who his predecessor had been. He'd been brought in to meet his predecessor and Kaon at the same time. Forestock hadn't understood why he'd been brought on at all if his predecessor was still around—until he'd seen him. Sitting on the ground, ears and tail periodically twitching in distress, one overexposed eye threatening to roll out of its torn-open socket. Snuffling and whining like an animal. Oh.

Tarn had told Forestock that the old Vos had been punished. That he was locked, permanently, in his alt mode, and his mind had been heavily altered. "No shadowplay," Tarn had said scornfully, "of course we wouldn't dare use such perverse Autobot tools. No. We just lobotomized him." Kaon hadn't spoken; he'd simply kept the old Vos's chain wrapped tight around his wrist. Occasionally, when the old Vos whined with pain—this was when his wounds had been fresh—Kaon had petted his head gently.

Tarn told Forestock—Vos, now—all about what they had done to the old one.

But Tarn had never quite explained what he had been punished for.

There was something terrifying in that. What would push Tarn, what would push all the DJD, to do something like this?

And how would Vos know when he got too close?

Sometimes Vos looked up at Tarn, and up and up at Helex and Tesarus, and tried to figure out how much more they weighed than him. And then he'd look at the Pet, who sometimes stood for minutes at a time with its head pressed to a wall to alleviate some never-ending pain inside its cranium; and he'd look at Kaon, who when he thought no one was watching would wrap his arms around the Pet's neck and tremble with tiny sobs; and Vos would think to himself:

I'm no larger than either one of them. I wouldn't stand a chance.

Vos distracted himself while the Pet righted itself by trying to get The Ascetic Cybertronian to turn back on.

Nothing. It didn't even flicker. He turned it over to examine the back; the motherboard had been punched straight through with four fangs. There was no salvaging it now. He might as well throw it away.

When the Pet jumped up again, jaws snapping, mandibles twitching, lunging for the datapad, Vos let it have it. Fine. At this point, the Pet would get more enjoyment out of it than Vos would, anyway.

The Pet gripped onto the datapad viciously, shaking its head, snarling. But in a moment, it stopped shaking, and tried to jump up on Vos.

"What!!" It was clambering up on Vos, shoving the datapad in his face. "No! Down! Down! Get—on—floor! I don't want—" The datapad shoved into Vos's face.

Vos punched the Pet's exposed optic and it fell back, whining and whimpering. "Stupid animal," he hissed—and immediately felt sick for the words.

Wondering what the Pet had been punished for was terrible. But not nearly as terrible as the punishment itself.

Many Decepticons talked about empurata as the worst thing that could ever happen to a mech. Vos had taken that to spark; he'd believed, for so long, that to him, the worst thing that could ever happen was no big deal. He'd felt invincible for most of the war. Maim him, mutilate him, torture him, he didn't care, it couldn't be that bad. After all, nothing could be as bad as empurata. And Empurata was nothing.

To Vos, Empurata was nothing. Empurata was passé. Vos wasn't threatened by the thought of having claws in place of fingers, because he'd never aspired to use his fingers for anything more dextrous than holding a datapad or a stylus. Vos had never had a true face, just a pair of optics, a mask, and a small hole lined with sharp points just wide enough to stick a rust stick in. And now his face was nothing but optics and sharp points. He'd gotten rid of his face voluntarily—he'd removed it toward the beginning of the war, viciously, angrily, in solidarity with those who had had their faces stolen from them without their consent. He'd thrown his face at one of Zeta's new senators, and screamed, "If you want it, take it!" Megatron had quoted him for centuries.

But the truth was Vos had never really cared about his face. Since joining the DJD—since coming face-to-face with the Pet, and contemplating punishment, and bodies, the punishments he might have had but avoided—Vos realized that he might even have found empurata a relief. Throwing his face away was shedding a burden, something that everyone told him was precious and at risk of being taken from him. Losing it was liberating. Even losing his name had been liberating; he had to admit to himself, now, that one of the reasons he'd wanted so much to join the DJD was so that he could give up his name. Maybe that was why he'd thrown his face at the senator. Maybe he wanted the Senate to take his face. It all sounded a little Froidian, didn't it? All these unconscious, hidden motives. Vos was no fan of Froid's work.

But he did know he'd been alienated from his own body eons ago, long before the Decepticons had put words to the outrage he'd been swallowing for millions of years. He'd lived so much of his life coerced into his alt-mode that his body no longer felt like his own. His body belonged to other people's hands. And it had started when Functionism had been on the rise—when he'd been demoted from a person to a weapon—when people had been reduced to their alt-modes.

From his perch on his recharge slab, Vos looked down at the Pet, scratching at the floor like it was trying to dig a hole. Like a real turbofox. Reduced to its alt-mode.

The Decepticons were supposed to be against Functionism. Vos had joined them because they were against Functionism.

But when he looked at the Pet, he felt hands on his body again. He felt fingers on his trigger. And he had to wonder how far he'd have to step out of line before Tarn decided he needed to be reduced to his alt-mode, for good.

The Pet had flopped down with its head on its datapad, occasionally pawing at its optic. Vos was cross-legged and cross-armed on his recharge berth, with nothing to read and nothing to do but glower at the whirlwind of destruction that had been unleashed on his room. Frag Tarn. Frag Kaon. Frag Kaon's illness.

Vos kept looking at the Pet's collar, catching himself, and looking at the ceiling instead.

While staring at the ceiling, Vos asked, without thinking about it. "You remember who you were?"

Vos didn't have to look at the Pet to know that it had lifted its head and was looking at him.

"Do you remember your name?" he went on. "Or being part of the Decepticon Justice Division?"

He looked down. The dumb animal was just staring at him.

He sighed, and slid onto the floor. "Are you still you? Somewhere? Stuck in a body that doesn't listen to you? Or were you destroyed? Tarn didn't say, can't ask Tarn. Can't ask Kaon. Would be upset. Tarn might hear."

The Pet slunk closer, and, when Vos didn't pull away, flopped its head in his lap. Its damaged eye was facing up, rolling around. This close, Vos could see the mechanisms shining through it struggling to focus.

"You probably don't understand me. Probably never spoke the mother tongue," Vos said. "Remember our name? The one we shared? Vos?" He switched his accent to a parody of Neocybex, altering the vowel and flattening the consonant the way the city was pronounced these days, "Vawss?"

The Pet's ears flicked, but it didn't otherwise react.

"You can't understand me," Vos said, resigned; and he still didn't know whether it was because of the lobotomy or because he himself just couldn't speak the right language.

After a moment, he shoved the Pet's head off of his lap, and got back on the recharge slab. "If you chew up another datapad, I'm chaining you up in the washrack."

He plugged into the slab, turned off his optics, and pretended to be asleep until he stopped hearing the Pet move around his room.

If you want a tiny fic/story, buy me a coffee and leave a prompt in the comments!

(Feel free to reblog/add comments)

[gray-autumn-sky]

One Day - Bandit OQ, Happy Ending Week Day 1 (Monday)

When Regina has a near encounter with Leopold, Robin is compelled to share his feelings for her.

The fire pit at the center of the camp crackles and pops as she sinks down onto a log in front of it, breathing in the smoky smell and doing her best to enjoy the warmth it brings as she reminds herself of why she joined Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men, reminding herself that what happened that afternoon was just a fluke.

Since joining them, she wasn’t often alone--something that proved to be both a blessing and a curse--and that afternoon, they’d gone out on a hunt. Winter was coming and they needed to stock up and prepare to hunker down for the winter. She’d spent her morning collecting berries to boil into jams and though they’d asked if she wanted to tag along, she was already elbow deep in a pot of wild blueberries. She told them she wanted to finish what she started, and truthfully, she was glad for a little time to herself.

As the jam cooked over the open fire, she’d collected more wood to help smoke whatever fish and meat the men returned with, and she put it in a heap next to the smokehouse. When the pot of blueberry jam was cooked, she moved onto the next of raspberries, letting the first cool off to the side of the fire as she mended her coat and socks, and by the time second pot was through, she’d already poured the first into jars.

She’d looked around a bit aimlessly. She’d gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the camp, and she’d gotten used to the company. It felt strange being on her own--and then, a little grin edged onto her lips as an idea bubbled up inside of her.

It wasn’t long before she was at the riverbank, stripped down to nothing as she floated in the cool water. There wasn’t much that she missed about her former life, but she missed the chance to have regular baths. When she was a little girl her nanny bought her scented soaps and would brush her hair for hours after her baths, and in that time, her worries seemed to just float away…

And that’s when she heard the trumpets.

Her heart nearly stopped as she hurried behind a fallen branch, doing her best to stay silent and afloat as the king’s carriage rounded a bend--and though she didn’t believe in a higher power, she found herself praying to any and all that might take pity on her.

But they hadn’t, and the carriage came to a stop along the river.

She tensed as as King Leopold got out. He and another man led the horses to the edge of the river to drink, and she shed her breath as he took a few steps toward her. She sank lower until her shoulders were submerged and tears of worry burned in her eyes as she thought about what would happen if he found her--and then, a twig snapped in the grass behind her.

She whirled around, sending ripples through the water, certain she’d been caught.

But when she turned, she wasn’t facing the king. Instead, Robin was standing at the edge of the bank with his hand outstretched to her. She hesitated for a moment, suddenly very aware of her nakedness, biting down on her lip as her eyes shifted to her clothes on a rock that was dangerously close to the king’s carriage.

Rolling his eyes Robin pulled a blanket from his satchel, looking up momentarily before opening it to her and closing his eyes. Still, she hesitated, but as she heard Leopold laugh out at something his man had said, her heart nearly jumped out of her chest and propelled her out of the water and into the open blanket. Robin wrapped it around her, his arms going with the blanket as he whispered a low I’ve got you in her ear. He offered a wink as he released her, then took her by the hand--and just like that, they disappeared before Leopold could even notice the ripples as they extended to toward him...

“I didn't think anyone would be up,” Robin says as he comes out from his tent, a blanket around his shoulders.

“Oh,” she murmurs, watching him carefully. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He nods. “Same,” he admits as he sits down on the log beside her and holds his hands out over the fire. “I can’t seem to get comfortable.”

“It is chilly.”

He nods. “That’s not it.”

“No?” she asks, swallowing hard as she looks to him, watching as his eyes shift to meet hers.

“You need to--”

“Don’t lecture me,” she cuts in. “I survived quite a while on my own and--” she stops, looking away. She shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t snap at him. None of what happened was his fault, and if anything, he’d prevented something terrible from happening to her. “Sorry.”

A little grin tugs onto her lips. “Don’t worry about it.” Sighing, she nods and focuses her attention back on the fire. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Without looking at him, she shakes her head. “No,” she lies.

“Regina--”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. We won’t talk.”

She expects him to leave, but he doesn’t. He just sits there beside her, staring into the fire, watching the flames flicker.

“You’re… not going to go back to bed?”

“No.”

“But--”

“Are you?”

She blinks. “I can’t sleep,” she admits.

“But you don’t want to talk about it.”

She does--and that scares her.

She didn’t have a reason not to trust him, but no matter what he did or said, no matter how kind he was, she couldn’t stifle the little voice in her head that told her to be leery of him. She accepted his kindness, though, and when he’d offered her an invitation to join his band of Merry Men, she’d accepted that, too--but her motives had been self-serving, and still, she kept him at an arm’s length.

Life had taught her that’s what she needed to do to survive and she knew that she was safer in a group than out on her own. The Merry Men welcomed her easily into the group, and sometimes, she found herself wanting to let her guard down--especially where Robin Hood was concerned. But she’d been burned before--burned by those she’d least expected--and each time it happened, it hurt a little more, and regardless of whatever kindness Robin or any of his men extended to her, no matter how many times they told her she was part of their family, she had to protect herself.

Little by little though, that had been getting harder, especially where Robin was concerned. She found herself feeling things she’d long forgotten she could feel and wanting him in ways she’d never wanted another person. He made her smile and laugh; he made her feel safe.

“Why did you get up?”

His brow arches. “I saw you sitting here all alone and…”

“You thought I’d let myself get kidnapped?”

“No,” he’s quick to say. “I just thought you might like the company,” he tells her, shrugging. “Besides, like I said, I couldn’t sleep.”

Chewing at her lip, she hesitates. “W-why not?”

“Because I keep thinking about what might’ve happened had I not heard those trumpets.”

“Oh--”

“And I might’ve lost you.”

At that, she scoffs. “I don’t see how that would affect--”

“I could have lost you without ever getting the chance to tell you how I feel.”

Her lips part and her heart beats a bit faster as a shy little grin edges onto his lips. “What?”

“It’s… not really a secret.”

“Robin--”

“You know that I care about you.”

She nods. “For reasons neither of us can explain.”

“I can,” he admits as he looks back to her. “It’s really not that difficult.”

“No?”

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “In fact, it's quite simple.” She draws in a shaky breath as a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I’m in love with you.”

“Y-you are?”

He nods. “And I know that you’re...not quite there,” he tells, his voice cautious, her as her eyes widen. “But I’m hoping that one day, you… you might be.”

Her mouth is dry and her heart is racing--and despite that little voice in the back of her head that’s telling her all the ways that this could go wrong, she finds her cheeks flushing as a smile spread across her lips. A little laugh escapes her as she bites down on her lip as their eyes meet. She wants to tell him that’s she’s not as far off as he thinks she is, that she thinks she might love him too, but she can’t quite find the words--so, instead, she pushes herself forward and kisses him, giggling softly against his mouth.

She can tell that he didn’t quite expect her to kiss him, but it doesn't take him long to settle into the kiss. His hand pushes into to her hair as his tongue parts her lips, gently swirling around hers as he breathes her in, filling her with a warmth she hasn’t quite felt before, a warmth that comes with a sense of belonging, a sense of acceptance and what she’s always imagined home might feel like--and when he pulls back, his breath ragged and his smile bright, her walls she’s spent years building up around herself beginning to crumble.

[spencergoesoutside]

Field Notes: The Ranger Marathon (Part 2)

July 28, 2017

Philmont Scout Ranch, New Mexico

           Rachel started to grab an extra layer from her pack and I made my way to a porch on the side of the warehouse. Crouching, I moved under the structure. I could hear voices and footsteps above my head. Making my way inside, I found myself in the trading post section of the warehouse. One staffer, the Camp Director named Riggs, worked behind the counter. There were several scouts from a crew taking shelter inside. Riggs shot me a glance, but focused on the participant buying something at the counter before him. A large bowl sat on the counter next to the register, slowly filling with water dripping from the ceiling.

           “What brings you to the Gulch?” Riggs said after the participant left the counter.

           “Me and another RT are attempting the Marathon,” I said.

           A moment passed and what I said registered with Riggs, and for a moment he may have thought that I was joking. “When did you even start?” he said.

           “We started at a brisk 8:54am,” I said.

           “You…no…you’re a bunch a…no,” Riggs replied, letting the full ridiculousness or our situation take form. Most rangers started the Marathon at 2 or 3am. Our late start and our sudden run-in with a massive storm seemed like it would cause our luck to run dry.

           “I know,” I said. “We are trying to do it in the most unorthodox way we can imagine.”

           “We��ll that’s the only way to do it,” Riggs replied. “Can we help you with anything?”

           “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a quick look into your alls swap boxes for some food,” I said. A swap box is what crews use to get rid of food they don’t want. Typically, a swap box is just a small crate at staff camps in the backcountry that’s full of Larabars and oatmeal. However, the fact that we were at a commissary meant that their swap box would be so much more.

           “Sure. Follow him,” Riggs said as he turned and pointed to one of his staff. The staffer nodded, and turned to take me through the warehouse. I passed through a doorway into the main storeroom. The room was an organized chaos of boxes filled with food and supplies. Around the room, a jar, can, or bowl caught water from the ceiling. The staffer took me to the counter that crews came up to for getting more food. On the other side was a covered porch.

           “Just hop over this. The boxes are on the other side and this way you can stay out of the rain,” the staffer said, and then turned and left.

           I realized that he was right. The counter window was the only option that involved me staying out of the rain. The other options to get onto the second porch was a door that led out into the air. I awkwardly crawled over, and stepped onto the porch. What I found were two large, plastic boxes packed to the brim with all sorts of food. I happily sat down on a nearby bench and began rummaging. A few moments later, Rachel found and joined me. Together we both went through the boxes, finding things we’d eat now and some we’d save for later. By this time, we’d been at Ute Gulch for about ten minutes, and the rain seemed persistent. It had not changed its constant downpour since we had arrived. We sat, and listened. Thunder boomed around us, but not close enough for worry.

           “How much longer do you think we should stay here?” Rachel said after a while.

           “Let’s give it some more time. When it clears, we’ll make our move,” I said.

           So we waited. The storm went on for what felt like the rest of our day. I kept checking the watch, keeping track of how much time we had lost. While we waited, I ate and grabbed some extra snacks to stock up. If we were going to stop, we may need extra food to hunker down. At one moment, the rain lulled. The constant downpour turned into a light drizzle, and our eyes lit up with opportunity. We agreed to get moving and went straight for our gear. I thanked the Ute Gulch staff for the food and shelter and made my way to my pack.

           We got things settled quickly, and within a few minutes we had our packs down and were continuing down the road. We had lost thirty minutes waiting at Ute Gulch. We were not worried. Rachel had put on rain pants to help shield herself from the drizzle. I realized then that I had no rain pants and had forgotten the gaiters I usually bring for walks in the rain and mud. I figured I would just tough it out.

           The mud we walked through, at this point, had become worse. We made our way down the road from Ute Gulch, occasionally taking a slight slide in the mud, but never falling. We kept going until we came across an intersection to the right. Our route involved us going towards Cathedral Rock Camp, a location visited by crews most often on their early days of the their trek. As we moved from the road to the trail, the rain intensified once more. Each step I took down the trail was met with a puddle or run-off of water. My pants began to soak and I felt the water go into my boots. After a few more minutes of the rainfall on the trail, every step I took ended with an uncomfortable squish. Water began to ooze out of the seams and sides of my boots. I could do nothing except what I decided upon ealier. I toughed it out.

           At sudden moment, flash came through the air, followed seconds later by a resounding boom. Rachel and I both stopped and looked at each other. After a moment, we shrugged and tried to keep moving. After a few more steps, another flash came through the air. This time, the boom was quick and loud. We shielded our ears and crouched by reflex.

           “Let’s wait this one out and hunker down!” Rachel yelled to me.

           I nodded in agreement and began to put an estimated thirty feet between us. If a strike hit near us, we would have better survivability if we were not right next to eachother. A strike usually sends electricity all around it when it hits. We both found a little shelter under trees that weren’t too big, and squatted down, feet together. As I squatted, I decided to also grab a quick snack. I had stored a granola bar in my hip belt pocket. Now was as good a time as ever to eat something. Nature had forced us to take a quick break, although we were maybe a mile away from Cathedral Rock Camp. Another flash occurred, followed by a more distant boom. The rain had begun to suck motivation out of me. I began to despise the weather, and chewed my food in some sort of spite towards the rain. I wanted nothing more than to be warm and dry at that instant. However, this wasn’t the first time I’d had similar thoughts. I quickly convinced myself to make it to Clarks Fork, a staff camp at the base of Shaefers Pass.

           For a moment, I stood in defiance to the rain. Sqauting made me feel as though I were giving up. Another flash. This time, the boom had been over five seconds away. A good sign that it was going past us.

           “It’s moving on!” I called out to Rachel. “Let’s hoof it to Clarks!”

           In an instant, we both stepped back onto the soaked trail and began to move. My feet were soaked in their boots, continuing the trend of squishy steps. However, my sudden burst of enthusiasm helped me ignore the annoyance of it all. We moved quickly and soon passed by the campsite sign for Cathedral Rock Camp. Our trail dipped down, towards a small valley with a creek in it. Originally, Cathedral Rock Camp had been in this little valley. However, the sites were flooded during the 2015 flood. In order to make sure those at Cathedral Rock Camp would be safe in the future, the sites were relocated to the hillside just north of the original area.

           We hustled down the hill. It opened up from the tree line, revealing meadows. We felt exposed with the storm clouds nearby, so we jogged into the trees on the other side of the meadow. We had to find a way across the Cimarroncito Creek. It was no doubt flooded, as the reservoir that sourced it would likely be overflowing with the amount of rain happening in the area. For a moment, Rachel lead the way, moving us slightly west along the Northside of the creek. We had thought that there was a quicker way across, but the flooded Cimarroncito Creek offered no safe passage where we looked. The traditional route seemed unnecessary as it went east for a short time when we needed to head south and slightly west. We wondered up the side of the bank for about ten minutes until we decided to head east and look farther down the creek.

           Going east, we eventually found where a trail met the creek and another trail began on the other side. However, the water submerged most of the good rocks that would have been used as stepping stones. Instead, the narrow tops of a few rocks stubbornly protruded out of the water. We quickly but carefully stepped across the top of the exposed rocks, taking care to not fall into the rushing, brown water, and continued up the hill. Our trail slowly crawled up the hill through a series of switchbacks until it final emerged onto a road. We took a quick moment to drink some water and check the map. The trail went across the road, but ran parallel to it. Only difference in the two was that the road was exposed and the trail was in the trees. The trail also bent and curved with the contours of the hillside. Both lead to an intersecting road that would put us on the trail to Clarks Fork.

           Rachel wanted to take the trail. I offered no contest, but secretly wanted to stay on the road. The road was flat. We both made our way up the trail. Almost immediately there was a sudden climb. It wasn’t high, but Rachel immediately changed her mind.

           “Nevermind. This goes uphill. Screw that,” she said as we both made our way back down to the road.

           “My thoughts exactly,” I replied.

           The road was also a little more scenic. Along the way we got an unobstructed view of Cathedral Rock, the formation by which the area is named. Massive spires of red stone discolored by blue and green lichen reached towards the sky. Almost directly below it, the dam for the Cito reservoir, as it is casually called, could be seen. Water poured and raced over its spillway. We walked along the side of the reservoir, taking in the sight and the breeze that came with it. At this time, we noticed the rain had finally stopped. There was a slight mist, but we were drenched enough to not feel it.

           Eventually, we found our intersection. Another road branched off, up the hill to our left. Without discussion, we began climbing it. It was steep, but short. A year ago, I had ridden up the road on horseback with a wrangler and horseman. The climb was steep, but quick. The road flattened out into a meadow at the top and met the trail to Clarks Fork. As we neared the top, we found something odd. Packs and gear were scattered to the right, amongst some trees. A set of trekking poles and a cooking pot full of packaged trail food had been thrown about in the road. At first, we immediately assumed the worse. A crew had ditched their gear for some reason and a bear got ahold of it. We stopped to inspect the scene and gather what information we could. Typically, bears that create a taste for human food must be put down. They cannot be simply relocated as they will still rely on human sources for food. This way, they can endanger campers and hikers. The best way to avoid this is to take care of your food and gear. Don’t let a bear get it.

           Upon further inspection, and to our relief, we saw that a bear had not gotten the food. Instead, the crew had just left their gear here. Still, not a good situation. We couldn’t just leave the gear sitting here, but we also wanted to keep moving to stay on our own task. However, duty called.

           “Hello!” Rachel yelled, trying to get the attention of anyone nearby that wasn’t us.

           We stood for a moment, listening. Soon, I heard voices down the road we had just came from.

           “They might be coming up behind us,” I said.

           The voices drew closer, and soon red t-shirts appeared. We looked towards them. The crew stumbled up the muddy hill, talking among themselves. Several young men were in the front of the group. Some older men, the crew adivsors, followed close behind. Not a one of them had a pack on. This was their gear.

           “Hey there!” I called out.

           Crew members in the front of their group looked up and waved. Some smiled, some looked like they didn’t have any notice at all.

           “Where were you guys?” Rachel asked as they drew near.

           “We were at the Demonstration Forrest,” one of the boys in the crew replied, a smile creating an innocent and unaware look about his face. The Demonstration Forest was an area with a shelter on the northeast side of the reservoir. Crews usually went there to meet with Foresters and Conservationist who would teach them about forest ecology.

           “And why didn’t you have your gear with you?” I finally asked.

           “Well,” started the boy, taken off-guard by the question. The smile left his face. “The storm was really bad and-“

           “I think they know there was a storm,” another boy in the crew added in.

           The first boy looked at his crewmate, shrugged annoyingly, and turned back to me. It had not occurred to Rachel or me that we probably looked miserable after hiking through the storms.

           “We dropped our gear and made a run for the shelter cause of the lighting,” he finally finished.

           At this point, the adults of the crew had caught up. One of them decided to explain a similar story, but directed his speech towards Rachel. We both explained to the crew that they shouldn’t have just ditched their gear and that they should’ve broken out in lightning position, just we like we had before Cathedral Rock Camp. Soon, they admitted to their mistake. I reminded them to not worry, as they were not really in trouble. Rachel and I encouraged them to be more careful in the future.

           After a few more words with the crew, we felt like they received the right message. We began making our way to Clarks Fork. We left the crew, one of the crew members yelled a familiar question at us.

           “Where are you all headed?”

           “South!”

           We quickened our pace. We’d reached the top of the hill and it was an easy walk through the meadow. Soon, the road met the trail, and we took the trail towards Clarks. We knew the trail would be short and within twenty minutes of walking, we found ourselves at Clarks Fork. As we approached the main cabin, I could see what the Clarks staff were dealing with. The porch was swarmed with participants. Backcountry cabins often boil water and hand out cocoa or cider powder to help participants stay warm during storms. The nearby branding station, small shelter next to the cabin, was roaring. A staffer was stoking the brands in their torch. We approached the side of the cabin and set out packs down near a fence.

           “Let’s keep it less than thirty,” I said.

           “I agree, Rachel replied. “We should eat real quick and change the batteries in our headlamps real quick too.”

           The rain and mist had all but stopped at this point. The sky was a gloomy gray. It was almost 6pm now. As we messed with our gear, another staffer approached us from the cabin. I knew her as Carly, the Camp Director of Clarks Fork.

           “Welcome to Clarks,” Carly said. “Are you all staying the night?”

           “Afraid we’re just passing through,” I replied.

           “We’re Marathoning,” Rachel added.

           As expected, Carly was surprised and we had to explain our late start and how we didn’t think we’d even go past Highway 64. However the fact we weren’t staying may have been some relief to Carly. Her camp was already working hard enough to keep everyone warm and healthy. Not having to worry about two more mouths to feed would be helpful to Clarks. But hey, here we were more than halfway with plenty of time to spare.

           “Well help yourselves to some of our snacks if you all need something to eat,” Carly said as she pointed towards the kitchen in the cabin. I could see a shelf loaded down with an assortment of packaged food.

           “Thank you so much,” I said. “You all seem busy so we won’t be in your hair for long.”

           Carly nodded, and vanished into the cabin. Rachel and I made our way into the cabin and took a quick pick at the snacks on the shelf. As we entered, I hanged my damp rain jacket on a doorknob near a stove. The warmth of the stove might help dry out my jacket. We mostly ate some granola bars, but I found some packaged cinnamon rolls. I ate one and stuffed another into my pocket. A snack for later. After eating for a moment, I decided to wring the water out of my boots. I took them off, removed the soles and socks, and wrung them out on the steps leading into the side of the cabin. Grayish water poured out of the socks as I wrung them on.

           After I tended to my boots and feet, I looked to my headlight. It was a Black Diamond headlight that had always been reliable. I had only had it for about a year, but had gotten a lot of use out of it. I knew the batteries were running low and as we would run out on a nighthike. I had planned ahead for this and packed out an extra set. After I changed the batteries, I hit the power button. The light came on, a burning bright white. The battery light on the side blazed a bright green, then glowed into a strong white, and then the whole thing went out. I thumbed the button again. Nothing.

��          “Are you kidding me?” I said aloud.

           Rachel heard me and came over to investigate. I tried the button a few more times. The light would sometimes come on, but then go out. I did find that if I held down the button, the red light setting would come on and stay on. However, it wouldn’t be bright enough to hike with. Seeing the situation of the malfunctioning headlight, we both thought of what to do. Eventually the Clarks staff saw my situation and were kind enough to help. They gave me an extra flashlight that none of them had wanted, and for good reason. It was small, LED, and red. Both the end and the head of the light were magnetic. You could place the face of the light on a metal table, turn it on, and as it was magnetically hanging onto the table, it would light up nothing. It wasn’t better than my headlamp, but it was better than nothing.

           Our thirty minutes were about up. I grabbed my somewhat warm and dry jacket, my “new” flashlight, thanked the Clarks Fork staff, and went to my pack. Within minutes, Rachel and I threw our packs on and began to make our way up to Shaefers Pass.