#I have that first panel on a loop in my brain he's just so Extra. the confetti. the flower petals. the poses. the random ass radio?!??!

[yeonban]

Fyodor was so foul for this. L + ratio to him bc if Nikolai tried to kill ME w a plan as elaborate as the Meursault prison break I'd kiss him first and foremost and only THEN ask for the antidote

[grumpyhedgehogs]

transitive properties

Summary: Cody is Kote. Kote is glory. Cody is glory. Part 5 and final part of the “scraps” series. AO3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, canonical character death, blood, open ending.

The Death Star is as clinically detached as he has ever seen it. CC-2224 was only stationed here for a short stint; Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker and their friends came along not long after and saw to that. Cody wonders idly, waiting for the doors to another set of stark corridors to open for him, if the soldier he was would have had any opinions of the place by now. The ship--if it can be called such--has been around for months, destroying planets and menacing others for the fun of it.

But Cody knows CC-2224 wouldn’t have any thoughts on the Death Star. Puppets don’t think. ( At least, Cody thinks bitterly, not the ones who don’t have Sith powers at their beck and call. )

He has to get back on track. Cody enters another corridor, walks down it with his steps measured carefully, not too slow, not too fast. He’s sweating all over, dampness coating the inside of his blacks. This place crawls with disquiet; the very air is different here, void of life. But he has to keep on track. There are no mobile weapons Cody can steal for the Resistance, but he has managed to transfer some electronic files to a datachip from a terminal. Knocking out the guard on duty and stuffing him in a supply closet was actually fairly easy. Cody’s not sure what information he has now but he’d rather it be in his hands than on the Death Star.

There are a few prison cells on the Death Star; he remembers helping escort the princess of Alderaan to one. The path is familiar, his feet leading him while Cody’s head is stuck in the past. How many others has he brought here? Not many, not on this ship, but on others. Oh, on others. How many defeated Jedi struggled in his grip as he brought them to Vader?

Sweat drips into Cody’s eyes under his bucket. The stormtrooper helmet has less insulation than clone armor did, but they also don’t regulate air intake as well. The robe and his insignia are hidden under the crisp white cape he’d taken off the unconscious guard. The Empire does so like their pageantry. He wishes he could rub his fingertips over the robe’s rough weave, like he’s taken to doing to seek some comfort; but it’s important that Cody doesn’t make any sudden moves. He took out the security guards in one of the observation rooms but he’s not sure how many observation decks this place has. He must stay on track. He must be fast.

The keycode to the prison cells is hard to punch in, his hands shake so much. He could hear Wolffe in the back of his head telling him to pull himself together. Fox would be ashamed of Cody letting his nerves get the best of him. Cody sucks in a breath, lets it out, and enters the universal override code. The doors are too loud as they slide open; Cody grinds his teeth down hard and suppresses a frustrated noise.

It takes a moment before any movement comes from the cells. Cody doesn’t blame the prisoners; they’re probably expecting Vader, or a trick. But he doesn’t have time for this. “If you want to leave here alive,” he chances calling out, “you’ll get up and come with me. Now.”

Perhaps the wrong thing to say to trauma victims. Cody doesn’t have time.

(“You catch more flies with honey, dear heart,” Obi-Wan says in his head. Cody grinds his teeth again.)

A Twi’lek man steps tentatively out of the fourth cell on the left. A Clawdite woman comes from the third cell on the right. When an Utapaun and a Togruta join them in the corridor Cody thinks he may be sick in his helmet. (“Steady,” Obi-Wan would tell him, gently, kindly. “No use fretting over the past now. One step at a time, Cody.”)

Four prisoners and a datachip of information Cody isn’t sure is worth the trip. This is how effective Cody is now. He shakes himself from his wallowing and gathers the prisoners. “I’m from the Resistance,” Cody tells them. These days it almost feels like the truth; it’s better when Rex is there with him. “I’m here to rescue you. We need to be quick, and as stealthy as we can be.” The Twi’lek is limping. The Utapaun is a foot taller than everyone else. They’re going to be fairly obvious. Cody wishes he’d had the foresight to reprogram one of the droid guards to take with him. He’s not going to be much cover by himself.

“How will we get off the ship?” The Togruta speaks up, her voice hushed, strained. There are old bloodstains on her tunic. Cody pulls a few packs of bacta from his kit and passes them to her thoughtlessly.

“Security had the logs of every escape shuttle on the Death Star. We’ll take them at around the same time, they can't go after all of us; each pod only takes two people, three if we squeeze. Here,” and he projects the map of their route using the comm installed in his vambraces, a gift from the Rebellion’s quartermaster, “this is our path. If we get separated, memorize this and run .” Cody points at the Utapaun and the Twi’lek. “You and you, you’re going to be the most obvious; we’ll let the others go first, then you. I can carry you if I have to, but if you can run through the limp it’ll leave my hands free for shooting.”

“I can do it.” The man nods, eyes wide in his face. The Utapaun shakes his head before he stoops, loops the man’s arm around his shoulders, and lifts him into his arms. When he meets the visor of Cody’s helmet, he shrugs, shifts the Twi’lek’s weight, and nods for the others to lead on.

“I’ll bring up the rear and draw their fire. Let’s move.”

Cody shows them how to stick close to the walls, to clear the corners. The Clawdite palms the extra blaster he passes to her deftly and takes the lead. The Togruta sticks close behind her as they move swiftly ahead of the group.

“You’ll be slow carrying him all the way.” Cody checks another corner and pulls them up short as a couple troopers pass by. The other prisoners hide around the opposite corner until the guards are out of sight, then dart onwards. Cody ushers the men ahead of him and hurries behind, shooting a searching glance over his shoulder.

“I work manual labor on cargo ships.” The Utapaun says. He barely sounds out of breath. “I have him.”

That works for Cody.

Something pulls at Cody’s attention when they pass through another corridor. He ignores the tingle going up his spine, the niggling in his brain. They’re close to the finish line. A minute more before the guards he knocked out are found, maybe less. Just another level before they reach the pods, and the elevator is right there at the end of the hall. They could get out of this.

But that something makes Cody pull up short, nearly jerks him around on his feet. It’s like someone shouted his name, like when Obi-Wan would get hurt on the battlefield during the war and he’d go down quiet but Cody’d just know .

The doors to Vader’s chamber taunt him from the other end of the hall. He hadn’t realized they were so close.

“What are you doing?” The Clawdite hisses from behind him. The elevator doors swish open. “Come on!”

His blaster drops, hanging at his side uselessly. Something is pulling him towards those doors. It doesn’t feel like Cody knows a Force push or pull feels. Obi-Wan had used that on him plenty of times when facing down a tank or a thousand droids. This is something else, something more. He needs to follow this.

“You know the path.” He calls, absentminded. “I’ll catch up.”

“You’re leaving us?”

“Call it providing a distraction.”

For how secretive Vader is, his doors don’t withstand a single blaster shot to the control panel. The intimidating black slides open before Cody and he steps inside. There’s a strange seat in the middle of the room that cracks open like an egg and waits for him to lower himself in. He doesn’t, but looks around instead, ignoring the alarms that blare as he does. He’s attracting attention, stalling, losing time, why is he here--

And then his eyes land on the lightsaber and Cody understands.

Obi-Wan’s weapon is familiar in Cody’s hands. He’s held it a dozen times, passed it back to his general again and again and again. “This weapon is your life,” Obi-Wan would tell Skywalker before handing it off to Cody like it was nothing. (It meant something. He never said, and Obi-Wan never did either, but. It meant something, when Obi-Wan did that. Cody knows.)

Cody clutches the ‘saber close to his heart and runs for the elevator.

There are troopers outside the doors when they open. He raises his blaster, fires off a shot, two, three. A trooper takes one in the bucket and goes down, another catches a bolt to the chest and is blown back. But then a bolt sears past Cody’s trigger finger, close enough to burn, and he yells. The blaster drops from his hand. Another bolt catches the side of Cody’s helmet as he lunges forward and gets into cover. The bucket heats with the blaster fire, singeing his scalp. He wrenches it off and almost doesn’t register the pandemonium on the landing platform in front of him over the ringing in his ears.

There’s a horde of troopers and Imps welling from all sides. He’s pinned at one end of the platform and he can see the Clawdite and Togruta climbing into a pod on the other side. They'll make it out of here. The pod’s sequence is already glowing on the control panel; as soon as the doors close the pod disengages from the main ship all shouting and blaster fire is drowned out by the sound of a shuttle jettisoning off into space. The Utapaun crouches behind some supply crates ahead of Cody, half curled over the Twi’lek defensively. Cody’s distraction probably should have been a little louder.

He shucks the cape, annoyance at the extra weight flitting at the edges of his attention. The robe flutters with his movements before settling back into place, hanging over his shoulder unevenly. Without the cape his insignia stands out proudly; if Cody dies here today, he’ll die with the 212th and the Jedi in his heart and on his breast.

Cody pulls one of two sonic charges the quartermaster allowed him for the mission and tosses it into the center of the room. The blast goes off and sends enough of the Imps back that when Cody shouts, the Utapaun has time to rush to another pod. Cody dives for the cover they’ve vacated and rolls onto his heels, rising to scan around. The Utapaun is having trouble juggling the Twi-lek and entering the ejection sequence. If he can give them enough time, Cody could get there and squeeze into the pod before they blast off. He needs to provide cover fire but Cody doesn’t have a blaster .

Cody swears and pulls out his last sonic charge. The Imps are starting to surge back again, maybe fifteen in total. His last detonation cleared off about half of the enemies in the room altogether, but they’re spread out now. He’ll have to come up with another option if he doesn't want to wait until the crowd converges on the prisoners and risk taking them out with the Imps.

The same something that pulled Cody to Vader’s chambers screams . At the same moment, the doors to the main hanger across from the escape shuttles open and Darth Vader sweeps inside.

His breathing is loud in Cody’s ears. The Imps freeze for a moment, shock and fear spreading through the crowd like wildfire. It gives the Utapaun the moment he needs to enter the sequence but Cody sees the Twi’lek surge in his arms, cowering back from Vader’s presence, twisting and tangling himself up. He’s in the way. if he doesn’t get himself under control they’re both done for. If Cody doesn’t do something now, as Vader takes slow, sure steps into the room, they all are.

(“ Now, Cody! ”)

Cody stands, vaults over the supply crates, and steps between Vader and the escaping prisoners. He places his hands on the hilt like he’s seen Obi-Wan do a hundred times and flicks the ignition switch. The blue fire blazes up in a long line beside his face, flickering over the scar on his temple. He feels his expression drop into place, hard and steady, carved from stone.

(Carved from stone the way Obi-Wan always was. He misses him, Force, but Cody misses him.)

Vader stops. Cody wonders if he’s startled the Sith. The insectoid facemask tilts, considering. “CC-2224.”

“My name is Cody.”

“You will stand down.” Every regulated breath makes sure the words are measured. Cody’s skin crawls.

“Never.”

A lightsaber must never be crimson. Obi-Wan always looked sick when a Sith’s weapon ignited. Cody watches Vader lift his and feels everything but mostly a cold determination. “Then you will perish.”

Cody sneers, all that rage and grief and guilt welling up and choking him so much he can barely get his retort out. Then, a second before he speaks, that strange something wraps around him again, warm and calm like a security blanket. It’s Obi-Wan. Cody knows it. He knows.

Cody plants his feet, Obi-Wan’s lightsaber in his hands and Obi-Wan’s memory alive in his heart. “At least I’ll die like a Jedi. You can’t say the same, Skywalker. ”

Red clashes against blue and for the first time in a very long time Cody revels in battle.

[sirsharp-a]

ALEENA. ❜  ( 3 )

Summary:  Owing a favour on this side of town is never a good thing. Warnings:  N/A, just a bit of fun/fluff. Part:  1  |  2  |  3 |

    “So this is what the famous Aces do in their free time?”

    “Hell yeah,”   Fayze replied, swinging the plastic gun back into its slot.  The  YOU SURVIVED  screen lingered for a few seconds before flitting back to a simple demand for credits.   “Gotta decompress somehow, right?  How better than to kick the shit outta some zombies?”

    “We prefer to play games together,”   Seb chimed in, eyes drawn to the latest addition to their troupe.  He couldn’t say he minded having such a pretty girl following them around.  She came across as somebody he could get along with, tough to truly please but ultimately content to go with the flow.  People who wanted for too much only annoyed him.   “Better not to incite any sort of competition between two collaborative musicians, right?”

    “Right,”   Fayze agreed, slinging an arm around his bandmate’s shoulders.   “No need to keep scores between friends.”

    The first thing immediately noticeable about them, aside from their lavish house and their material wealth, was just how close they were.  Though she’d only been in their lives for a grand total of an hour or so, she could see that their bond went beyond playing music on stage.  They did everything together, as if they were two halves of the same vessel, and they did very little to foster resentment between one another.  Any opportunity for envy or bitterness to arise seemed to be quickly quelled by two young men that had nothing to rely on but each other.  That much, at least, she could respect.

    There are too many fake people in this district.  Too many relationships that aren’t real.  They sell you happiness through a screen, and when you can’t live up to it you wonder what’s wrong with you.  Why you can’t be happy like the people in the movies.

    “What sorta games do you like?”

    “Huh?”   It felt as if the world had slammed into her, distracted mind dragged forcibly back to the present.  For a moment, she felt strangely out of her element, the 8-bit trills and the automated voices accompanying overpriced video games phasing into one monotonous ringing sound.  The jazzy carpet multiplied, neon lights bleaching her skin varying shades of baby pink and blue.  Eventually:   “Uh…  I like the dance machines.”

    “Oh shit.”     “Hold up.”

    Both boys stared at her for a few seconds before Fayze exploded into a giddy series of bounces.  He remained in place, like somebody playing with a pogo-stick, but his excitement was evident--  infectious, even, for Seb soon began to smile.

    “We’re SICK at those!  C’mon, c’mon, we should play a few rounds.”     “Oh, I don’t know…”     “Oh come on!  It’ll be fun.  Plus, you get to see Seb jerk it out to Waka Laka.”     “If you choose that song, I’m out.”

    Before either of them could protest further, Fayze looped an arm with one theirs and dragged them towards the machine.  They were largely unoccupied, people gravitating towards casino machines and shooting games instead.  That suited their purposes just fine.  If nothing else, they wouldn’t have to come off of them until they ran out of credits--  or until they grew tired of it.

    Fayze fed the slot some coins, watching as the screen lit up.  A catchy theme song began to play as a list of playable tracks was displayed, ready for their seasoned perusal.  His arm swept outwards, back bent in the form of an overdramatic bow.   “The floor is yours, Aleena.”

    “W-Wait, I thought…”     “Show me what you can do!”

    Part of her wanted to refuse.  The last thing she needed to do was make a mistake in front of two people that she idolised, but if she couldn’t afford to laugh at herself…  hell, they’d probably dislike her more.  Nobody liked a stick in the mud--  not even if said stick was pretty, or witty, or a prescribed girlfriend. 

    Trying to muster up confidence, Aleena allowed herself to smirk, stepping up onto the panel.   “Fine.  But I’m picking my own tune.”

    There was an obvious hesitation marking the start of her routine, the sort of bashfulness that could only be brought on by a distinct need to not embarrass oneself.  However, by the time the first round was through with, she’d largely forgotten about her prestigious audience, her attention wholly ensnared by the rhythm.  By the time her conclusive score came up on screen, she was basking in the golden light of an impressive 93% accuracy.

    “DAMN!  You’re good,”   offered Seb, genuinely a little surprised.  Most people didn’t get those sorts of scores if they were casual players ( which in and of itself was fine too, not everybody had copious amounts of free time to blow on video games ).  It made him wonder about her history with the game.   “But it’s our turn now.”

    “Waka Laka, Waka Laka, Waka Laka--”     “We’re playing Chrome Vox first, man.”

     Aleena supposed that the least surprising thing about this entire ordeal was the fact that two electronically-based musicians from Vidé were fans of clubstep music.

    “Holy shit!”   she exclaimed as she watched the arrows begin to fall.  Trapped in her thoughts, she hadn’t paid attention to the settings they’d chosen, stunned to see a flurry of directional cues flying past at record speed.  What was more surprising was the streak of constant ‘perfect!’s.  It certainly suited the chaotic nature of the track, but by God was she going dizzy just watching it.  How could they even begin to focus on such blinding movement?

    They moved largely in sync, legs resembling a hurricane when combined.  Their time learning choreography for a life in the spotlight shone through the further into the song they got.  When the notes slowed a little, a build-up to what would no doubt be the ‘drop’ of the song, Aleena yelled out an enthusiastic:   “You guys are killing it!  How do you still have a combo?!”

    “Just wait!”   Fayze called back, voice filling lulls in the rhythm.   “The track goes apeshit in ten!”

    ‘Apeshit’ was an understatement.  She watched with a stupefied fascination, enraptured by the speed at which they could move their feet without falling over.  They even added a couple of extra movements every now and then;  little spins and turns, flourishes that only added to their conjoined performance.  For a moment, she wondered if they shared a brain.  Their coordination would stun even the best of players, she thought to herself.  It’s one thing to be good at it on your own but to have two people in perfect tandem like that?  That’s something else.

    When the chimed  “Perfect!”  left the machine, she watched both men turn around and high-five, panting lightly.

    “Remind me to never go up against either of you,”   Aleena said, a hand tracing one of the railings now that they were both stood upright.   “At least on these.  On a shooting game… eh, I could probably kick your asses.”

    She watched as Seb glanced at Fayze, their eyes meeting in a momentary flash of pride, only to settle back on her a moment later.

    “That a bet, baby?”

    With their lack of competition between one another, she’d failed to see just how confident Fayze could be when he was challenged within his element--  at least when he was kidding around.  She found herself grinning, the tips of her pointed ears twitching somewhat.

     This is nice.      This is making me forget just how fucked up this whole thing is.      This makes me feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.      This makes me feel comfortable.

    “Hah.  If you want it to be, superstar.”

[gripefroot]

Bucky’s Girls

Fury wasn’t sure what to expect when he knocked on the bright blue door. 

It takes a minute for footsteps to sound; hands on his hips, Fury eyes the boxwood wreath, the bright blossoms spilling from the window flower boxes, and the porch swing squeaking slightly in the wind. More domestic than he expected. But somehow he's not surprised, either.

The blue door opens, and Fury tries very hard not to look at the pink-jeweled tiara on Bucky Barnes’ head. Doesn’t succeed. Forces his eyes back to Barnes’.  

“Oh, hello,” Bucky says, and a grin stretches across his face. It throws Fury for a loop, almost - he’s not used to Barnes smiling, even after all this time. You’d done quite the number on the man. 

“I have a mission for you,” Fury says without preamble. “Where’s the missus?” 

“At the store,” Bucky says promptly. “She’ll be back in a half-hour. Come on in.” 

Fury bristles, but steps over the threshold and onto a woven rug over the hardwood floor. Bucky locks the door behind him, and after a moment, Fury hangs up his trenchcoat on the coat rack, right next to two pink rain jackets; one patterned with flowers and one with rubber ducks. 

“Daddy!” comes a shriek from further inside the little house. “The cookies are ready!”  

“Be right there!” Bucky calls back, and then shoots Fury another grin. “Hungry?” 

“How many licked fingers have made it into the batter?” Fury asks, not missing a beat. Bucky chortles, and waves him inward.  

“You’ll see.” 

The cookies are imaginary, but the twin girls with bright Bucky-blue eyes and flickering Agent 28-dimples are not. Fury blinks as Bucky sits down on the ground at a small table, laden with empty cups and saucers. It’s all a bit freaky - the Winter Soldier solemnly accepting a pink teacup from his daughter with his metal hand, and pretending to sip from it. And then blowing on it, because “it’s too hot.” But Fury is used to not being frazzled by things that hurt his head. And Bucky Barnes, surrounded by stuffed animals and sequin pillows, is one of those things. 

One of the girls stands up in her purple tutu, and holds up a turquoise teacup to Fury. “Thank you for coming,” she says politely. “I hope you like mint.” 

“I do,” Fury says gravely, and pinches the handle of the cup between his fingers. “I didn’t realize we were having a party, otherwise I would’ve brought my tiara.” 

The girl giggles, and the one still sitting gasps. “We have an extra! I’ll go get it!” 

“No, Winnie - I wanna get it - ” 

“Winnie will get it,” Bucky says firmly. “Beck, I need a refill.” And a narrowed look is shot to the elder daughter at Fury’s side, who scampers back to the table to serve her dad more “tea.”  

Fury crouches down, and Winifred plops a purple tiara with feathers right on his head. She grins impishly, (why does the resemblance to 28’s mischievous smile make him so nervous?), before bounding back to the party.  

“Come sit,” Rebecca says imperiously to Fury. She scoots closer to her dad, freeing up about a foot of space between her and Winnie.  

He has no choice but to obey.  

It’s the sight you come home to a little while later - Fury is thankful he’s not in the habit of blushing, because the sight of your raised eyebrows in the doorway of the girls’ room while they dish out imaginary cake next, just might have set him over edge. A previously-unseen cat winds itself around your legs, yowling in greeting.  

“Hello, Nick,” you say with amusement, as Winnie runs up with a plate of cake for you, which you accept.  

“28,” he says stiffly.  

“He has a mission for me,” Bucky says offhand, as a teddy bear/Becca gives him a massive squeeze around the next. His nose crinkles, and he pats the bear on the back as Becks giggles.  

“Well, it’s getting late,” you say after swallowing the “cake.” The cat sniffs at the empty plate. “Stay for dinner, Nick?” 

Fury pretends to think about it. “As long as it’s something good. I’ve been spoiled with all these rich snacks this afternoon.” Winnie hides a giggle behind a hand, and Fury sends her a deadpan wink. Bucky snorts.   

“It’s always good,” you assure him. “And you know us - we never talk missions on an empty stomach. Makes us reckless.” 

“It’s true,” Bucky agrees.  

“Sounds like a plan, then.”  

Becca hops a bunny into Fury’s lap next, and he pets its soft ears.  

He’s still brushing off purple fuzz from his black shirt after dinner; when he’s full of pasta and it’s time for ice cream to be passed around. The cat is meowing on the ground, but is generally ignored as the girls start slurping up their dessert. Fury eats his with more decorum.  

“No,” Bucky says firmly to the cat. “No ice cream for you.” It yowls again, tail flicking in the air, and saunters off.  

A spoonful of chocolate ice cream drips onto Rebecca’s shirt - you reach for a napkin to pass to her, but she scoops it up with her fingers, practically shoving her entire fist in her mouth to lick clean as Bucky’s eyes twitch.  

"Honey, let's wash that shirt yeah?" he tries, making as if to stand.  

"I'm saving it for later, Daddy." 

“But honey…”

“No. Dad.” 

Your eyes widen, and Bucky shakes his head at you. Fury doesn’t laugh, even though he wants to. The Winter Soldier...at the mercy of his girls.  

Fury is really glad he made the trip upstate, even if the house is a little far from the freeway. 

When the girls are sound asleep in bed a little while later, the cat comes back to wind itself around Bucky’s shoulders in apparent forgiveness. The dining table gets wiped down, and Fury pulls out his phone to set up a projection at last. The sun is gone outside the windows, replaced by a purply dusk as you turn on the light above the table. 

“I know him,” you say, sitting back down beside Bucky with an orange as you nod your head towards the flickering photo in the projection. “He runs a trafficking ring in Shanghai. Almost got him once, but he slipped past us.” You hold out a hand to Bucky; absently he pulls a knife from his jeans and passes it over to you.  

“He looks familiar,” Bucky admits. “Don’t remember hearing about him in Shanghai, though. Thought it was Madame Zizi that did the bulk of trafficking there.”  

“After she was arrested, Mr. Ping picked up the market,” Fury says. “I had six agents trailing him, but last week four of them disappeared. The Avengers are split between that government problem in Lebanon and the UN conference in New York City, otherwise I would be interrupting your little setup here.”  

Your lips twitch, as a curl of orange peel falls onto the table.  

“I can take care of him,” Bucky says, but his eyes are on you. “Got me a team?” 

“As many agents as you need. Any specialties.”  

“Mandarin speakers, a couple men that can pass as creepy buyers,” Bucky sighs. You slice off a sliver of orange, and hold it out to him - he leans over to slurp it right off the knife, and Fury raises a brow.  

“I can take care of that,” he says mildly. “I was hoping to leave tonight, if at all possible…” 

The kitchen is quiet. You’re still smiling, as you glance over at Bucky’s rueful expression. And slurp up your own slice of orange. “You have to be back in two weeks for the girls’ spring concert,” you tell him. “They’d be devastated if you missed it.” 

“I know. Two weeks should be plenty of time to take down a gang leader, right babe?” Bucky says lightly, and Fury blinks - he’s seen enough jabbering to know that some very real feelings were being suppressed here.  

“You could do it in one, if you had me,” you tease back.  

“I don’t doubt it.” Eyes locked with yours, he takes another sliver of orange, and your smile stretches across your face. Fury coughs.  

“I can give you a ride back to the city,” he offers - a split second of silence that stretches through the entire kitchen with a shimmering sense of regret - and then Bucky nods.  

The porch swing creaks, and Fury laces his hands behind his hands as he watches the stars come out above the treetops. In the yard dozens of lightning bugs are like stars on the ground; green and glowing as cicadas buzz distantly. Apart from that, it’s quiet; the nearest neighbors are at least a mile away, and town is five, through foothills and forests. He likes it. Waiting for Bucky to suit up isn’t so hard on his nerves with such a view…  

Finally the blue door opens, and a porch light flickers on. All geared up and armed to the teeth, Bucky’s lips are pressed in a grim line as he tucks some stray hair behind his ears. You follow, not smiling for once, and wait in the doorway as Fury stands.  

“I appreciate you taking this on at the last minute,” he says - to Bucky and you. “We’ll get you back before your concert.”  

“Thank you, Nick,” you tell him. Bucky turns back, and squeezes your hand. Fury looks away, and starts down the porch steps. After a moment, Barnes follows. 

~

Not for the first time, you check your watch as the babbling excitement builds in the auditorium. Two minutes 'till showtime, if it’s punctual. Probably won’t be. A shame, really - tonight’s a night that you’d appreciate some delay. The Agent part of your brain throws out a few options to pause the show: find the electric panel and smash up some circuits; break the accompanist’s ankle; and a classic - pull the fire alarm. Knee jiggling, you glance at the clock on the wall - one minute ‘til.  

The parents in the audience around you are quieting as teachers get up to close the doors. But from behind there’s an “oops!”, followed by a gasp and a polite “excuse me” - the last of which in a familiar voice that makes a smile curl your lips, and a shiver to crawl seductively up your spine. Then the doors clang shut, and a familiar tread comes down the aisle.  

Even though you know he won’t have any issues picking you out of the audience, it’s difficult to resist turning ‘round to watch his approach - so you don’t - and twist in your seat to send a grin back. The lights are already dimmed, and Bucky’s hulking shadow draws near. Mutters break out as he passes, and when he’s about ten feet away, you realize he’s still wearing his combat gear.  

“Sheesh!” you whisper, as he ducks down to slide into the seat you’ve been saving next to you. “Couldn’t have changed first?” A ripe, slightly barnyard-y scent is coming off of him - Bucky’s face breaks into a grin, highlighting a splatter of dried blood across his face and neck. It’s a tough call between admonishing him and laughing - so you cover your mouth with your hand, and giggle. 

The lights on the stage go up, a scattering, nervous sort of applause breaks out, and the burn of stares on the back of your head only deepens your amusement. Bucky’s metal arm goes over your shoulder (probably reflecting everywhere, but you aren’t looking), and he tugs you close to whisper into your ear. 

“Hey, babe. I made it.” 

“You cut it close,” you murmur back, as the choir teacher mounts the stage. “When was the last time you showered? You stink!”  

Bucky blinks. “Um - when did I leave, again?” 

“Two weeks ago!” 

“Yeah. It was then.”  

Wrinkling your nose, you give a soft snort as he tugs you close, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.  

“At least I made it,” he growls into your ear, and as his fingers find yours to wind through them, a few more shivers race across your skin, and a little sigh escapes your lips. 

“Yeah, you’ve shown up to your daughters’ elementary school chorus concert in full combat gear and blood stains,” you tell him out of the corner of your mouth. “I’m going to tell everyone. You’ll never live this down.”  

The first stream of kids - the youngest class, with Becks and Winnie in the very center as the tallest - start filing on the stage. Bucky’s fingers squeeze yours, and his nose nuzzles into your hairline.  

“Missed me?” he murmurs.  

“So much. We all did.”  

The children are all lined up, and you grin as Rebecca nudges Winifred and jerks her head towards Bucky, and both their faces light up.  

“Worth it,” Bucky whispers, and gives them a little wave.  

“Yeah,” you whisper, and snuggle deeper into his one-armed embrace. “It is.”

[phantomrose96]

new episode

the fact that Tanjiro gets his sword - literally is only weapon - snapped like a shitty piece of plastic cutlery and still gets right back up to fight Rui is, if nothing else, respectable.

one single attack destroyed the only thing in Tanjiro’s possession capable of killing demons and Tanjiro’s over here like “maybe I can bop him on the head with this hilt”

Inosuke, inches from death, encountering someone really cool he admires a lot “hey fucking fight me”

oh inosuke same

absolutely worth mentioning they literally shut off all the music and sound for the last panel. just a pop noise to Giyuu’s face and silence. 

the rope scene is just. top notch visual gag.

like we see Giyuu getting out this big-ass rope with no explanation while Inosuke challenges him to fight. And then it’s 7 seconds of the camera zoomed in on Inosuke’s face as he yells about Tanjiro being wrong. THEN pan out and we see Inosuke’s been tied up in the tree in the meantime. without Inosuke realizing. I’m living.

Giyuu “probably thinks child leashes are a great invention” Tomioka.

both Giyuu and Tanjiro are the Protective friends just polar opposites of the spectrum

Tanjiro - responsible dad friend: looks out for all his friends. gently but firmly scolds them for misbehaving. will put own happiness aside for the happiness of his friends. Giyuu - callous granddad friend: WILL protect his friends, but as curmudgeonly as possible, with no hint he has any emotional investment. "back in my day corporeal punishment was normal and i turned out alright". would probably let children play with swords unsupervised.

the first (and only) sensible person to appear in this entire arc.

the Rescue Squad’s just fucking... wrapping up spiders to bring back to base. Like I KNOW the spiders are the transformed demon hunters who got infected. but still the sight of them like... swaddling spiders up in blankies for transport is. um. 

EXTRA respect to Tanjiro for never just Putting The Damn Box Down even while he’s getting his ass kicked in this fight. like he’s been carrying his Entire Sister on his back this entire time. Boy’s got the strongest shoulders in anime history

poor Nezuko tho is getting jostled around a shit ton in that box.

OH. YO. BRO

SO WE ARE NOT FU CK I NG AROUND THIS EPISODE ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT

I really do like how ANYONE, regardless of whether they are human or demon, is always shocked when they realize Nezuko (a demon) would protect Tanjiro (a human), and vice versa

Rui: is she... is this girl... your sister? Tanjiro: well she WAS before you turned her into mince meat, fucker

Rui slicing his own “older sister” into pieces is really... wow, yikes

me: -clutches heart at the above frame-

Tanjiro, screaming at the top of his lungs, covered in blood and pointing a broken sword at a demon monster 10 times stronger than him: “OH IM GONNA FUCK YOU UP” Rui:

I just realized Rui sounds like Shiggy Tomura

oh. oh fuck

bro

BRO

listen if i screen-capped this fight every time it threw me for a fucking loop then this live blog would be 10 miles of screenshots i gotta chill back on that but holy FUCK

he fucking LET Tanjiro get him SQUARE IN THE JUGULAR just to show off that Tanjiro’s blade doesnt have the strength to kill him FUCK.

the animation for this fight is SOMETHING. THE FUCK. ELSE.

not so fun fact: every member of the MadLad trio has said this exact line at least once this arc

GOD theyre hitting with the.... precious family flashbacks... the gentle and haunting music... the dead father in Tanjiro’s memory... oh we’re hitting on something big

Shinobu’s line earlier about “we see our life flash before our eyes because its our brain’s last desperate attempt to pull on some past knowledge to save ourselves” is.... VERY RELEVANT. 

the swelling music... theyre gonna use that to seamlessly cut from flashback back into the realtime fight arent they. FUCK. WOW FUCK ITS CHILLS TIME

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I CANNOT DO THIS JUSTICE WITH SCREENCAPS. 

I REALLY CANT.

THE ANIMATION IS GODDAMN BREATH TAKING. THE MUSIC IS PUTTING MY HEART IN MY THROAT.

THIS IS ART.

He’s still

willing to die in this fight

in order to save Nezuko

fuck....

oh

oh

oh

OH

SHE SPOKE

SHE FUCKING SPOKE

SHE FUCKING SPOKE

GUYS

GUYS

THEY BLED THE FINAL FIGHT MUSIC RIGHT INTO THE CREDITS

RIGHT INTO THE MONTAGE OF HIS FAMILY

I CAN’T EMPHASIZE ENOUGH HOW GOOD THE MUSIC IS. JUST. PERFECTLY COMPOSED. PERFECTLY TIMED.

NEZUKO SPOKE

SHE FUCKING SPOKE

AND IM A WRECK

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 15/?

May I? - 15/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Screenshot by @ geekygwen

At first, Data did not realize he yelled. The noise was ripped from him so suddenly that it took him by surprise. But he could not dwell on the sudden outburst. He needed to act quickly.

Oxygen. She needed oxygen.

He carefully lowered her down before turning towards the emergency supplies. They were secured under the floor of the cockpit via a hatch. He pulled the cache out, ripping the lid open to find what he was looking for.

Inside was a plethora of survival items. Along with the basic human necessitates such as bedding, clothing, rations, and water, he was able to locate several oxygen masks.

The battery-operated mask turned on without issue. Data brought it back to Faith. He slipped it on over her nose and mouth, ensuring it was properly secured. Then, he waited, watching the digital readout on the side. Soon, her breathing returned to normal and the mask's sensors showed she was receiving proper oxygen.

Data allowed himself a moment to breathe, metaphorically. It was within his programming to protect lives but seeing Faith in danger had touched him on another level entirely. He did not understand it completely. He supposed it was his positronic brain's version of panic. Seeing someone special to him hurt was never easy.

He had never yelled before. That was new. 

Data took in Faith's naked body and returned to the cache. Withdrawing a spare jumpsuit, he took the time to carefully dress her before wrapping a blanket around her still frame. With no life support controls, the temperature had begun to drop and he did not wish for her to be cold.

Faith's pulse and heart rate were steady, yet she had not regained consciousness. Each oxygen mask had a battery life of seven days and there were four in the cache. While he did not need one himself, he did not feel comfortable allowing her to rely only on the mask to support her breathing. Especially if they needed to leave the shuttle.

The sleeping area was destroyed, a mess of twisted metal, wires, and a gaping hole on one side. Data scoured the room for any personal items before manually sealing the doors to that section. He found Faith's sketchbook and his uniform but nothing else. 

After, he did a sweep of the remaining areas to assess the damage. Before he attempted, he needed to ensure there were no other major damages. A quick scan revealed no additional hull breaches.

Data returned to check on Faith, who appeared to be asleep. He watched her for a moment, stroking her hair before continuing his work.

He had to connect himself to the shuttle in order to provide some semblance of power to work with. Even then he was only able to access the emergency stores. Thankfully, it was enough. The backup power kicked in, restarting life support and lights. Unfortunately, there was not enough for communications.

By then Faith was awake, silently watching him work. "What's the damage?" she asked, her voice warped by the mask.

"We have minimal life support," Data said, closing the console panel. "I have sealed off the sleeping area due to a hull breach. However, our emergency supplies are well-stocked. We are safe for the time being."

"Well, that's something at least." Faith slowly pushed herself up to sit. "Did you dress me?"

"Yes. I did not wish for you to get cold."

"Thank you. You do know you're still naked right?"

Data looked down at himself. "Ah. So I am. Excuse me." He picked up his abandoned clothing, only to find them torn. "It seems my uniform is no longer wearable."

"I mean, if you want to go naked, I won't say no."

Data pulled one of the spare jumpsuits from the cache. "Being stranded on a strange planet may not be the ideal location to remain nude."

Faith sighed dramatically. "Why is it that every time we get close the ship gets attacked in some way?" she asked. She sat with her back against the wall, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

"It does seem that way," Data agreed, taking a seat next to her. "How are you feeling?"

"My head is a little fuzzy but I'm okay," she assured him. "Is life support stable enough for me to remove the mask?"

Data picked up the tricorder he had used to help fix the power. After a quick scan, he shook his head. "It does not yet appear to be safe."

Faith sighed and silently leaned into Data for support. He put down the tricorder, tightening his hold on her. She was scared if her trembling body was any indication. 

No words were spoken, though Data did not feel the need to speak. Simply holding Faith was sufficient. When she withdrew, she touched her forehead to his briefly before taking a deep breath.

"Okay," she said, voice firm. "Now that we have life support, what should we do?"

"I believe you should remain seated for a while. You lost oxygen for several minutes. I do not wish for you to push yourself too soon."

"Well then after that."

"We should survey the area outside the shuttle to ensure we are in no immediate danger. If we are not, we will remain here. The Enterprise will come searching for us once her repairs are complete."

"What I want to know is what the hell happened? The shuttle was working just fine. What pulled us to the planet?"

"I do not know. Normally, I would suggest we try to determine the cause. However, given our current predicament, it would be ill-advised to wander too far. The Enterprise's sensors would be able to detect any anomalies from orbit."

"Good point." She glanced through the windshield of the cockpit. "It looks like there is some light out there, though I don't know what the day cycle on this planet is."

"We will go outside after you have sufficiently rested. Unless you feel you are up to the task."

Faith sighed. "Not really, but let's do it anyway. The sooner we look around, the sooner we can come back."

"Quite right. Let us see what is out there."

Faith stood, dropping her blanket as Data grabbed the tricorder. They both attached phasers to their hips before Data opened the shuttle door.

They were met with a blast of cold air and Faith shivered. Data's tricorder showed the temperature steadily decreasing.

"We will not stay out for long," he assured her. "The temperature is dropping significantly."

"Wish there was something warmer to wear," Faith muttered, tugging at the jumpsuit.

Together, they stepped out of the shuttle. They had landed in a dense, dead forest. There were plants and trees, but nothing looked healthy. It was all brown and crumbling. With his tricorder, Data began to take readings as Faith followed close behind. 

It looked like the shuttle had dragged along the ground for some time before it ultimately came to a stop. There was a deep groove in the hard dirt behind it and a large tree looked to be the cause of the breach in the sleeping area.

"Getting anything interesting?" Faith asked.

"Nothing unusual," Data said as they made a wide loop around the shuttle. "I am getting traces of the alien DNA we found. However, no significant readings to point us towards what brought us here."

Data noticed Faith seemed jumpy. She remained unusually close to him while they walked and frequently looked over her shoulder.

"Something is definitely wrong here," she muttered.

Data paused, looking up from the tricorder. "What do you mean?"

"I can't explain it. My gut tells me we're being watched."

Data scanned the area with his eyes. "I do not see anyone. The aliens do possess cloaking abilities, however, the tricorder is only picking up faint traces of the DNA. If they were here, it was not recently."

Faith took her phaser out of her pocket, setting it to stun. "Let's keep moving."

The dead forest seemed to go on forever. They walked until the shuttle was out of sight, only to be met with more forest. The air had become colder and a heavy wind began to pick up. When he heard Faith's teeth begin to chatter, Data decided they were done with their first exploration. 

"We should go back to the shuttle. I do not wish for you to get sick."

She was too cold to answer, only nod as she trembled. Data put the tricorder away and wrapped his arm around her. His body remained a constant temperature which he hoped would help against the cold. 

They returned to the shuttle and had just stepped inside when a storm began to rage. Snow and ice swirled around them. As soon as the shuttle door was closed, Faith wrapped herself in the blanket again. 

"I'm really glad you got life support going because I'd definitely freeze to death otherwise. How's the oxygen now?"

Data did a quick reading. "Minimal for our needs, but steadily increasing."

Faith removed her oxygen mask and placed it on the floor next to her. "Thank the stars, that thing was uncomfortable." She shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "Don't suppose we have more of these blankets do we?"

Data put down his tools and walked over to the cache, pulling out all the extra blankets he could find. "This should help," he said, draping them around her until she was thoroughly bundled.

Faith chuckled. "Thanks," she said. "You know, you can come in here with me and warm me up better than these blankets ever could."

"I do not see how that is possible. My body maintains a constant temperature of…" He paused when she raised her eyebrow. "Oh. You were being flirtatious."

"A little. Yes."

"I see."

Data sat down next to her, sliding in close when she opened the blankets. He put his arms around her waist as she enveloped him. "Is this sufficient?"

"Hold me closer."

Data did as she instructed, pulling her so her chilly body was flush against his. "Better?"

"Mmm, much." She snuggled into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. 

Data held her close, feeling her body temperature slowly return to normal. "It appears as though we are stuck here for the time being. What do you wish to do? I did manage to find your sketchbook."

“Oh, you saw that?”

“Yes. I did not mean to pry. I was simply curious about it.”

“It’s okay. It’s just something I was trying when I have some downtime.”

“Do you wish to sketch now?”

“No. I want to stay snuggled here with you. In fact…” She drew closer so their lips brushed. "Let's start with kissing and then see where it leads."

"As you wish." Data cupped her cheek and kissed her deeply.

She responded with a content sigh, kissing him back. He could feel her smile rather than see it and the notion that he made her happy by a simple press of their lips was most curious.

They held each other as they kissed. He was in no rush to push things further. She seemed perfectly happy sitting there with him, snuggled in blankets as they kissed. 

When they separated so she could catch her breath, her smile remained in place. "I know we're stranded on a random planet in a broken shuttle but at least we're together," she said. "If I hadn't been here, you'd be stranded alone and I would have never forgiven myself for letting you go."

"I understand your sentiment, though I cannot help but feel responsible for your safety."

"How so?"

"If something were to happen to you, I do not know how I will react."

"Well, then I'll just make sure nothing happens to me." 

Data doubted it was as simple as she made it sound. There were very few outcomes for their current situation. But he knew that this would not be the time for complete honesty. So he decided to refocus the conversation. 

"Now that the danger has passed, I have an inquiry," he said.

"What is it?"

"How would you describe my abilities? Sexually."

Faith pulled back, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You want me to rate you?"

"It is the only way for me to improve my performance," he explained. "As you know, my experience is limited and I do not wish to leave you less than satisfied."

"Oh, trust me. I was plenty satisfied," Faith smirked with a wag of her eyebrows.

"On a scale of one to one-hundred, using percentages, where would my performance fall?"

"Data, babe, I'm not going to rate you."

"But I wish to improve."

"I understand that I really do," she assured him. "But I don't want you overthinking. You were great. Phenomenal. If I need you to do something different, I will tell you in the moment."

"Like when you asked me to decrease my speed?"

"Correct." She smiled. "I'm more interested in what you thought of the experience."

Data considered her words. "It was...intriguing," he said. "While I was able to feel the tactile side of the equation, part of me wished to know how emotions would have heightened the experience. That is what I meant when I said I would not be able to 'feel' your mouth. I knew it was warm and wet, your tongue was soft. But there was nothing else associated with those words."

Her expression softened and she wrapped her arms around his arm in a light hug. "Was it difficult to enjoy?"

"No," Data assured her. "I found the sights and sounds you made quite enjoyable and I did manage to achieve an orgasm."

"Yes. Yes, you did. Is that also automatic or—?"

"It is based on stimulation though there is a timed factor to it, which I can extend if I wish."

"Mmm, good to know." She kissed him softly. "You were magnificent and if we hadn't crashed I probably would have initiated sex."

"Oh." Data lacked any other response to the mental image. "That is on the list so I would not discourage you."

Faith laughed, resting her head on his shoulder again. "I'm glad to hear it. Though I don't think I'm really going to be in the mood for much until we're rescued."

"I understand." Data contemplated for a moment. "Faith, I have another inquiry."

"I'm not surprised," she teased. "What is it?"

"In analyzing the noises you made during our intimate time, I realized that I did not make similar verbal attempts to encourage you. I do know moaning and sometimes talk is prevalent in erotic media. Do you wish for me to simulate such things?"

"Data, let me give you some advice," Faith said in a gentle tone. "Don't worry or put too much stock in what you've seen in porn. Most of it is purely for show and not a real representation of sex."

"I see. That does remove several items from my list." 

Faith blinked up at him with wide eyes. "Maybe you should send me a copy of this list," she suggested. "Just to make sure I am comfortable with what's on it."

"That is understandable. I will send it to you once we are back on the Enterprise."

"Looking forward to it," she said, stifling a yawn.

Data held Faith close, listening as she began to doze off. They had nothing to do but wait, so he decided it would be a good a time as any to activate his own dream program. 

"There is a portable bed in the cache if you would like to lay down," he told Faith as she yawned for the second time.

"Only if you lay with me."

"I had a similar thought. It has been some time since I dreamt."

"Great. You do that, I'll have some rations."

Data untangled himself from Faith's blankets to lay out the emergency bed. As it inflated, she ate and drank, her eyes growing droopier by the minute. By the time she was done, she looked like she was ready to pass out again.

"I don't know why I'm so tired," she said. "I just woke up a few hours ago."

"It has been a difficult time," Data said, helping her lie down on the bed. "Perhaps your body is fatigued by the crash and oxygen deprivation."

"Maybe." Faith yawned again, curling against his side as soon as he lay next to her. "I am glad we don't have to wait until we get back to the ship to share a bed though. That's nice."

"Yes, I agree." He slipped his arm around her, enjoying the warmth. "Are you comfortable?"

"With you, always."

Data smiled at the sentiment. It did not take long for Faith to fall asleep, which he found strange. She almost always took time to get comfortable before she was able to rest. Regardless, he closed his own eyes soon after.

They were in the forest together. He had not dreamt of her there since the first time. Yet, there she was, her dark hair shining in the sunlight as she sat among the roses. 

"Data, come on, join me," she said, extending her hand. 

He smiled and reached for it, her fingers curling around his as he did. She gave him a smirk and yanked him down. They tumbled down together, Data still smiling as Faith laughed. She rolled them over so she was splayed across his chest, her wavy brown tresses draping over their faces like a curtain.

"Gotcha," she said and kissed him.

Data kissed her back, reaching to tuck her wild hair behind her ear. They withdrew and she looked down at him with such love and adoration he wished he was not dreaming. Would he ever be able to look at her that way? Would she always give him such admiration? Or was their time together limited? 

He could only give her so much.

As if she could read his thoughts, her smile faded and she looked up. But her next words were not what he was expecting. "Someone's coming…"

Data did not wish for her to worry. "We are alone. No one can harm us here."

She did not appear to hear him. Quickly, she scrambled off him and took off running. Confused and concerned, Data rose to his feet and gave chase.

But the forest was no longer bright and as he lost sight of her, his peaceful place changed. 

The woods became dark and twisted, nothing like they used to be.

This was not right. There was no sun. No birds. Only howling wind and emptiness.

Data ran. He ran as fast as he could, yet could not escape the crushing darkness around him.

Faith, he thought. I must find Faith. 

Suddenly, a pitch-black shadow sprouted from nowhere and he crashed into it, flying back so violently he rolled on the ground before he was still.

Data awoke with a start, immediately noticing that Faith was no longer at his side. He sat up with alarm, looking around the shuttle.

Except, there was no Faith. Actually, there was no shuttle. 

Data found himself in a square room, with only a dim light above which cast the edges of the room into shadow. Gray metal walls and floors were all around him 

"Faith? Faith!" he called. There was no answer, only his voice echoing back. 

He saw a set of doors and immediately headed for them. They did not open as he approached and try as he might, he could not pry them apart.

He was confused, unsure of where he was or how he got there. It startled him that he was alone and his mind began to calculate many theories as to what happened to Faith. None of them were favorable.

Data turned back towards the room, only to notice something tucked in the corner that he missed before.

 A chair.

A very familiar wooden chair with a purple jumpsuit draped over it.

"This is not possible," he said out loud as he approached the only piece of furniture in the room. His hand touched the object, proving it was not a hologram or projection.

Just then the doors opened and Data turned, expecting the intruder yet still surprised by his appearance.

"Hello, Mr. Data," the man said with a smirk. "I told you we'd see each other again."

Data felt his hands ball into fists as he faced his enemy. "Kivas Fajo."

Fajo grinned, arms spread wide. "Oh good, you remember me," he said, stepping further into the room. "You have no idea the lengths I've gone through to bring you here."

[fireproofkings]

The making of a sweater series

Part 1 || Part 2

Two things before we start: First, this is a long one and it has a few photos so buckle up if you’re reading. And second, I apologize in advance for the state of my nails in any of the pics, I know they are incredibly awful, but I promise I’ll do them tomorrow.

If you know me, you know I am the worst at keeping up with things, and if not, the fact that I have 7k drafts can give you a pretty good idea.

Last Saturday (July 11th) I went out and bought everything just as I expected, but while I was out shopping, Louis decided to attack us.

That’s one of those things you will always remember what you were doing the moment the news hit. I was buying all the supplies to make Harry’s sweater when Louis announced he was finally free.

My phone was blowing up, and when I went to check why, all of my group chats were screaming, and the lovely Ed (@literlarryreal) was sending me long voice notes telling me all the thoughts she has and let me tell you, it was a ride.

Yes, I cried in public and no, I am not ashamed to say it was not the first time I have done so with something Louis related.

Anyways, getting back on track, I spent way more than I was expecting to, but it’s alright lol. I am confident it’s all going to be worth it.

Under the cut you can find a summary on everything that happened this week with the process, and more pictures of Jack, my dog.

Here’s everything I bought that day. The quantities are exactly what is in the pattern in JW Anderson’s website (plus an extra colour I bought but then found a better match for, which I might use if I run out of any colour). I did end up finding everything, but I had to go to a few different stores to do it. There’s kind of a shortage due to the current situation and the fact that these aren’t essential goods.

I wanted to start that same Saturday, but I decided to finish that scarf I was making before, just so I wouldn’t have to go through all the trouble of changing needles and storing it away where it would probably get messed up, so I finished it and here’s a photo of it:

I ended up doing an infinity scarf, and have some yarn leftover, maybe I’ll do a hat or something like that in the future. Yes, those are my PJ’s don’t judge me.

Then I procrastinated starting the actual sweater for all of Sunday and Monday (12th and 13th). That’s something I tend to do, if you haven’t noticed.

One thing I hadn’t thought of as particularly hard, ended up being something out of my nightmares (I also tend to over exaggerate, if you’re reading this, you’re really getting to know me lol).

That green square is incredibly awful.

The pattern itself isn’t that difficult, but if you have to undo some lines it completely falls apart and you have to start over. This happened to me like three times the first time I attempted it.

Usually it takes me half an hour to 45 minutes to do one square, this one took literally two hours and a half. But it was so much easier and quicker the second time around. Putting in a lifeline and doing tallies in a notepad every time I finished a line helped a lot.

Jack did end up making it better. Even if him laying directly on top of it made it difficult to work.

On the other hand, the black and red jacquard squares were something that had me slightly worried. The technique is kinda confusing and is very easy to mess up if you are not paying attention.

The first few lines I did wrong, but then I learned how to do it properly and while the handling of the multiple strands of yarn is difficult, you get the hang of it pretty quickly.

But then, horror struck.

I realised that for some reason I was doing the squares 12cm long and not 14cm like they are supposed to be. So that panel was going to end up being 6cm shorter than the others in total, which doesn’t seem like much but was definitely going to show.

Here you can see the mess. I had to undo basically two whole squares, since the first one was 14cm (I really don’t know what was going on in my brain) and the second one, which was a jacquard pattern one, could be continued, but those two squares cost me about a whole day of work.

I was so frustrated I decided to stop for the day and take a long hot shower.

I came back to it the next day and Jack made it all better (can you sense a pattern -no pun intended- here?).

So, to wrap it up:

They are lined up in the way they go in the completed sweater. The little notes on top help me keep track of which one is each of them. The numbers in blue show the order in which they were done.

The first one was pretty easy except for the green square I talked about before, I started that one on Tuesday (14th) and finished on Wednesday (15th). That same day I started the second one which I finished early on Thursday (16th), it was really uneventful which I appreciated a lot, apart from my pointer finger hurting from pushing the needle, so I decided to invent some kind of protection with tape and silicone, which failed extremely, because it rides up and falls off.

Here you can see my failed attempt at some kind of protection for my pointer finger. I basically need a thimble, but I can’t find one online.

Maybe the uneventfulness of panel number two was to make up for the absolute nightmare that was the third panel that I had started that same day, the one I talked about being 6cm too short. It threw me off the loop for the rest of the day, which meant I only finished it late on Friday (17th) and by then I was too tired to do anything else.

Yesterday, on Saturday (18th) I started the fourth one, but I didn’t have the energy to work that much, and today, Sunday (19th), I haven’t done much more than a couple of rows.

By this point I have 3 completed back centre panels and another one 3/4 of the way done. I just have that 1/4 and the two side panels (that include shoulder shaping) left to finish the back, and then I have the front, sleeves, cuffs, collar, ribs, and button band to finish the knitting. Then it’s all ready to sew together.

Just as I did with last post, I want to close this off with some pointers for what is coming, just to keep myself on track and look back to later:

This week I want to finish the back and leave it all ready for sewing when I’m done with the rest of the knitting.

I have to write for a fic exchange I wish I had started earlier but I’m still confident on the time I have left, so that will be my priority, and not knitting.

I start classes again on August 3rd and I hope to be finished by then (with both the sweater and the fic lol), I am kinda confident I will be able to do it since I’m kind of 1/3 of the way through, so if I keep the same pace, or an even better one, I’ll be able to make it.

Something I’m not looking forward to is doing the shoulder shaping, I have no idea how to.

I have been worried the yarn I bought isn’t going to be enough (it might be just my anxiety talking), but I think it’s going to be okay since I am nearly 1/3 of the way through on the squares with one of the colours, but I haven’t gone through that amount of yarn yet.

I have made the executive decision to not do the tassels with the left over yarn and to sew the panels and ribbing together right sides together (so the seams will be on the inside) to give it a more polished look, but this might change in the future.

I’m starting to see it take shape, even if only the back, and I’m really excited!!!

If you want to see the other posts in these series go to the top where the other parts are linked or go to the tag here.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “Astrodust”

Hope you guys have fun with this one. I’m currently taking a class on this sort of thing, and its really quite fascinating. I thought it would be fun to do a story based on the idea :) Tell me what you think. 

Hurry it up, Convict, damn if this goes any slower ill have evolved and regrown my leg by the time you finish.”

The outer hull cameras flashed with movement as “Conn.” Flipped the captain the bird and went back to his work, the true meaning of the gesture was rather dampened by the fact that Conn only had four fingers. Thousands of white tendrils billowed into space behind his thin white frame. Large black eyes glittered in the light of the nearby gas-giant as he worked. Krill shifted nervously as he watched the creature work, floating eerily over one of the outer panels of the ship, a tool belt strapped about his thin waist, he looked oddly out of place with the tools gripped in his thin fingers.

Conn, as was his moniker, was a Starborn, a member of a sentient telepathic race of space creatures capable of surviving in the vast blackness of space. They had come across them not so many months ago, and during those few days of contact captain Vir had been, in order, saved by them, induced into aggressive tonic colonic seizures, burned by the cold, driven into a near crazed state, and then almost killed brutally by way of functional brain wiping.

He was not particularly fond of the Starborn to say the least. Turns out Conn, or “Convict.” As the captain so fondly called him, was not far off from the actual idea. When the captain had come into his life, he was only a day away from execution on accusations of, “Attempting to maintain secret thoughts.” Not only was it a delinquent, but it may as well have been a convict, and, according to the Catpain, Conn was an absolute ass. So far, he was the only person Conn had been able to contact telepathically, and he seemed to glee in annoying the captain to no end. Krill was under the impression he only kept Conn around because he had agreed to help with dangerous exterior repairs for the ship.

“Shove it up your ass, Convict.” The captain grumbled turning towards the controls to the ship. On the screen, the glowing white creature bared its teeth in a sick approximation of a grin shoving the tool back into the belt loop and slamming the panel shut in the silence.

“What did he say?” Krill wondered.

“Nothing useful.” The Captain muttered before leaning back in his seat, “You know that gasline that broke before we ran into the Starborn, yeah, anyway, in all the confusion, we forgot to fix it, and it may take a couple of days if he wants to do it correctly. He will want to go through my ‘memory bank’ for the instructions, and he suggests that we don’t travel during that time. Seems that the warp destabilized the mainline enough that he’d be worried about doing another one because, as he says, our stupid little air-heads would explode…. Little bitch.” He added as an afterthought.

“What are we going to do till then captain, the admiral won’t like it if you’re late to your own ranking ceremony.”

“Yeah, I know, which is why I’m not particularly happy about it, but I’ll call it in and we can check out one of those moons we scanned in on when we warped in. It looks like there might be a breathable atmosphere, and that means….”

“Life?”

“Bingo…. Get the HELL out of my head, Convict!”

Krill stepped back a little in surprise. It was really disconcerting when the Captain did that. He didn’t tend to talk to Conn inside his head, and voiced his thoughts aloud out of habit. It lead for some very interesting outbursts in the middle of a quiet morning.

Vir motioned to Sunny, “Grab a team of your Drev and the marines, get a landing party ready, and set up my gear. I’ll be down as soon as I requisition the parts for repair, and tell this asshole how to fix the ship. Krill.” He turned away from Sunny and glanced over at Krill, “I want you with us this time. It seems like every time we end up planet side someone has to stick their squishy bits into something painful… me…. Mostly me.”

Sunny nodded, “Yes sir.” Stepping off the deck and clattering down the hallway. Krill sighed but followed after trying to decide just exactly which medical pack he should be taking. It didn’t take him long to decide he should take the extra-large size. He would have to find one of the marines to carry it for him seeing as it weighed more than Krill overall.

***

Captain Vir had strapped himself into the pilot’s seat flipping switches and turning dials like he had been born in the cockpit. The rest of the crew sat back joking and laughing quietly. After the first few months of unease around each other, the marines had become good friends with the Drev soldiers. It didn’t really surprise Sunny, she knew the marines, and if anyone had a Drev mindset, it was those men. Krill sat with them, his diminutive frame dwarfed by huge, muscle bound marines, and the 7-10 foot tall Drev. Sunny stared straight ahead at the wall unwilling to acknowledge the figure that sat next to her.

Moss, once upon a time she had liked him, and fancied him a good match as a future partner, but now, she could muster up nothing more than mild contempt for the Drev that had spurned her advances. She was one of the clan’s greatest warriors now, and she would not go sniveling back, no matter how many times he insinuated he would be interested. Perhaps she would find a better match, perhaps she already had.

Too bad, she thought, maybe if you had bothered to consider me BEFORE I became the greatest warrior the clan has known, than I wouldn’t be so inclined to reject you. She felt the engines below her rev, and Captain Vir maneuvered the ship into the airlock. Ahead of them, space opened above.

The captain jerked in his seat with a yelp. The crew turned to look, finding that Conn had snuck up against the side window and was making faces at the captain. Vir slammed his fist against the glass where the Starborn’s face was, “F*** off.” The Starborn gave a cheery wave at them as he floated into the airlock to retrieve the tools he would need for the repair, and then they were off, coasting through space.

The captain was the best pilot that Krill had ever known, and their entry into atmo was remarkably smooth. He easily maneuvered them through different layers controlling the ship as it tried to shake. Looking out the window, the sky above was blue; that was a good sign. They rocked into the landing sight not minutes later, and the captain powered down the ship running a quick atmospheric scan, “Oxygen content is a bit higher than normal, but it’s definitely breathable.” He said as he unstrapped form his seat. The marines and the Drev racked their helmets in response before moving back to preparing their weapons. Marines secured magazines into their rifles, while the Drev prepared a more eclectic variety of weapons.

The captain grabbed a rifle off the rack, and loaded it falling into a bent knee isosceles stance at the back of the group rifle down and ready finger hovering over the safety. The rest of the crew stacked up on the door while Krill watched, “Go.” The captain ordered flicking the safety off his weapon, as someone shoved open the door and the group of them flooded outwards weapons held at the ready fanning out into a wide half-circle. The captain fell in behind the marines taking a deep breath of air and scanning across the horizon.

“Report.”

“No signs of life sir, well, no animals anyway, tons of plants though.” One of the marines said nudging a nearby plant with his boot. It was an odd looking thing, a collection of roughly tubular stocks branching out of a single point. Each of the tubes had a channel running through the middle most closely resembling some sort of underwater sponge. As the marine’s foot came in contact with the plant, one of the stocks contracted lightly making a light puffing noise. The Marine took a step back.

“Careful, marine, we don’t know anything about this place, so it’s best to keep our hands and feet to ourselves.” The captain said coming forward to examine the plant, “Alright everyone, this is a simple recon mission. We walk around, maybe we take some samples with us back to the ship. If we see any wildlife, do not, I repeat, do not approach it. Do not touch any of the planets with bare hands until we have samples, and definitely do not put anything in your mouth….”

“Speaking from experience, CF?” One of the marines responded cheekily. The captain flipped him the bird, and the motioned them to move out. Krill remained at the center of the group where he would be most protected. Off to his right, one of the men carried the medical bag. As he floated, he clung to one of the Drev soldiers so that he wouldn’t slow them down or be left behind.

They adventured on the surface of the planet for some time, finding an eclectic array of plants getting bigger and bigger and taller and taller as they went further in. Those large sponges reached the height of a man’s chest by the time they decided to turn around. The captain lamented that they couldn’t stay here after dark as it seemed there was evidence of bioluminescent proteins in the plantlife.

They were almost to the ship when one of the marines let off an explosive curse. The group turned to look at him to find him shaking his foot and hopping up and down. The plant next to his foot was smoking.

“The hell, marine.” The captain demanded,

“Sorry sir,” He stammered, “I scuffed my boot on the ground, steel toe you know, and there were sparks everywhere.”

“Shit, get this under control till we burn down the entire planet, the higher oxygen content will make the fire worse than it should be.” At his order the group quickly surrounded the, now smoking, plant trying to create a barrier so it wouldn’t be able to move. It was a good sized sponge thing, and by the time they were done, the entire plant was up in flames billowing smoke left and right.

The group of them stood back to watch it burn glowering at the marine who had started the fire in the first place. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry, Captain.” They all shook their heads at him. The captain reached up and wiped at his forehead with a hand. A light sheen of sweat glittered at his hairline, “Damn, it’s hot.” He remarked absently. One of the marines took a deep breath and nodded, he was sweating too.

“Worked up a bit of a sweat there.” Another commented hand over his chest, “I didn’t think we were working that hard.”

The man glanced down at his watch in confusion, “Hm, that’s weird.” One of the other marines looked over his shoulder, “120 bpm, dude, you’re out of shape.”

The captain glanced down at his watch, “Shit, me too.” He commented, “Anyway, we wait to make sre this burns out, and then we head back towards the ship.” The marines nodded, and the group of fanned out sitting on rocks or standing in the light of the sun.

The captain stood next to Sunny and Krill rifle resting lightly in its tac-sling. A trail of sweat trickled down the side of his face. “Hot.’ He muttered again.

“No it isn’t. “ Sunny said, the surface of the planet was at 65 degrees by her reckoning, as far as she was aware that was within comfortable temperature for a human. The human turned to look at her mouth open in protest, but as his eyes fell on her face her jerked back in sudden startlement nearly tripping over himself and back onto the burning sponge. Sunny caught him by the arm. The captain rubbed his eyes, “Thanks sunny, I thought I saw…..” He looked up eyes going wide, he jerked away from sunny violently backing away with his hands up. His pupils had contracted.

“Captain, are you ok?” Sunny asked.

One of the marines screamed.

Everyone turned to find the human hopping around batting at his uniform screaming, “Get them off, get them off GET THEM OFF!” There was nothing there.

Off to the side one of the marines was resting on a rock staring upwards into the empty air tilting his head back and forth as if he was following some unknown object back and forth across the sky. Another stood next to him her hands outwards staring at them with wide eyes, “When did my hands get so…. Massive?” She wondered idly.

Sunny turned to Krill, all of the Drev did, “What the hell.”

Captain Vir had backed away a few steps, tripped over a rock and landed flat on his back. He was staring up at the sky an expression of memorized wonder on his face. Krill jabbed a hand at the Drev soldiers, “Get them onto the ship, NOW.  Something is effecting them, and if it’s effecting all of them, than it has to be in the air.” The Drev soldiers did as told each scooping one of the humans up in their many arms. It was a rather odd image, Drev soldiers cradling fully-armed marines like you’d carry a child.

Sunny approached and hoisted the captain into her arms. The man lolled listlessly against her arm. His skin was tinted a warm pink about the cheeks. They hurried onto the ship just then. Some of the marines struggled, others commented on things that weren’t there. The one who had commented on the size of her hands earlier gave a wide-eyed look at the ship, “its breathing.” She commented, “The ship is breathing.”

The door slammed shut behind them. One of the Drev soldiers slipped into the captain’s chair. He wasn’t a particularly skilled pilot, but he could make it out of there.

By now Krill had begun looking over the captain. The man was warm to the touch, and indicated an abnormally high body temperature on Krill’s equipment. His heart hammered away at an unreasonable pace as he lolled in his seat.  He found similar things on the other marines, not to mention clear evidence of visual and auditory hallucinations going right along with changes in perception.

The Drev looked on uneasily at the humans as they shifted and squirmed seeing things that weren’t there and responding to conversations they weren’t having. Captain Vir lay on his side now, “I can’t move, head, too big.” The marine who had been screaming about getting them off earlier, was now crying. They were crawling under his skin now, he saw them.

One of the marines had to be restrained. He wanted to step outside to, get some fresh air.

Krill used the coms to call up to the ship, demanding that the medical staff be waiting for them when they got there.

By the time thirty minutes had passed, all of the humans were completely overrun by unknown images and stimuli. The female marine was smiling and rocking, while one of the other marines had to be restrained from digging at his skin. Captain Vir lay with his cheek on the floor absently stroking the cold metal with one hand. He repeated the action over and over again as if he was stroking a cat or a dog, or something particularly fluffy. They approached the ship, and Conn idly floated over to meet them, likely to annoy the captain for a fifth time that day, as he grew closer, the starborn stopped in id space and slowly began backpedaling. His head tilted back a little and he stared upwards at the sky, mouth open hands out to either side. Whatever was affecting the human had clearly made it through the mental link and into Conn’s head.

They floated past and pulled into the docking bay where the medical team was waiting just beyond the airlock. Krill barely had the patience to wait as the compartment was filled with air. The medical team rushed inwards and to the door as it opened. The humans were carried out squirming and babbling. One of the marines had to be strapped down.

“Get them on a saline drip.” Krill ordered, “They’re losing water fast from the high body temperature, get some blood samples. Don’t touch them if you don’t have to, we think they caught it from the air, but we can’t be sure.”

The female Marine was still smiling staring up at the ceiling like she was staring at a choir of angels. A tear dripped down the side of her face.

They were wheeled away into the interior of the ship as the crew stared on in confusion. Captain Vir was rolling from side to side against the orders of the medical staff looking up at their faces with wide eyes, “Aliens,” he whispered.

They were all pulled into the medical bay and transferred to the beds. Space suits, and uniform jackets were pulled off as they were started on saline drips. A few of the marines were relatively calm, but others not so much. Symptoms of paranoia grew and grew and grew until one marine was convinced they planned on stealing his liver.

“What the hell is happening here!” Krill demanded, but none of the medical staff seemed to have an answer. They had been working a while, the captain had curled into a tight ball and refused to uncurl. The symptoms of whatever it was didn’t seem likely to abate any time soon.

As they were working, one of the young airmen walked into the infirmary. He was holding a bleeding hand at elevation, but as soon as he saw what was going on he paused, “Shit, sorry, I can come back later.” Krill growled but shook his head and came over to examine the young man. he sat down for Krill and craned his neck at the captain in the next bed. The man was staring at the edge of the bed with a look of fear in his eyes, “Damn, who gave these guys the bad acid?” the airman wondered

Krill stopped bandaging his hand long enough to look up, “What did you say….”

The man shrugged, “oh sorry, nothing.”

“No, do you know what’s going on.”

The boy blushed, “I well no, but I know what it LOOKS like.”

“And what is that.” Krill demanded impatiently

“Well it looks like all of them are tripping acid.” He paused when Krill stared at him blankly, “Like drugs, you know hallucinogens Lucy in the sky with diamonds, golden dragon, Looney Tunes, Tab, Purple Heart, stardust. Come on magic mushrooms, Molly, angel dust.”

Krill shook his head, “What are the words coming out of your mouth.”

The kid shrugged, “I mean what I said, it looks like they are on acid, you know hallucinations, changes in perception, synesthesia, high temp, and increased heartrate. These guys have got to being some weird shit right about now…. Don’t tell me they didn’t know what they were doing?”

Krill remained silent.

“Well shit, better put on some calming music and hope it doesn’t get bad. You don’t let someone on a trip when they don’t know about it cause….”

Just to the side captain Vir began to scream eyes wide staring at the edge of the bed, he pulled back scrambling away like something was crawling at him over the edge of the bed, the crew had to grab him and hold him as he tried to fight them off convinced of something only he could see.

“Because it could turn into a bad trip really fast.”

The captain was shaking spouting nonsense as they strapped him down. While some of the other marines seemed content to lay there and stare at the ceiling, while others, like the captain fought against something only they could see.

Krill turned to the young man, “How do we get rid of it.”

The kid shrugged, “Far as I know, you can’t just have to wait it of might take six maybe eight hours, but that’s assuming they smoked something conventional and THIS does not look conventional. These guys are tripping hard. No funny perception problems, no special colors. He looks like he’s seeing Satan.”

Krill was not pleased, and the kid turned out to be right. The humans were like that for the next six hours convinced of the things they were seeing fighting against the medical team when they could. Captain Vir seemed suspended in a bubble of absolute horror head moving around breathing hard like THINGS were crawling over the ceiling tormenting him. The Drev soldiers seemed absolutely fine, and Krill didn’t have problems either.

When the humans finally started to come down the young man had convinced them to play some music. Groaning and shaking their heads, the marines started to look around in confusion. Sunny sat next to captain Vir patting his arm as he slowly began to recognize her. The visual disturbances slowly faded until he was lucid enough to look down at his restraints, “This shit again?”

They untied him, and he leaned back looking exhausted, his stomach growled, “That must be what hell feels like….. what happened?”

Sunny frowned, “That kid said to tell you…. Tripping acid, said you would know what that means.”

“F***, really but, how. I’ve never…. Wait. That plant, the one that caught fire.” He glowered over at the marine, “Sanchez! You went and f****ng got us all high.”

“Sorry, Captain.” The man groaned

Captain Vir sighed breathing deeply, “And people do that shit for fun? No thanks, not on your life, no thanks.”

He paused head cocked to the side, “Couldn’t tell if you were a hallucination or not.” He muttered into thin air, “Well SORRY, didn’t mean to accidentally get high and disturb you. You know what, maybe I will. Next time you piss me off, I’m going to get high, then maybe you won’t root around in my head so much.”

Krill wasn’t totally sure if the Captain was still coming down or just talking to Conn. Either way, he vetoed any and all trips back to the planet, at least by humans. It was too easy to mess with the neurotransmitters in a humans head. From what he learned from later research, hallucinogens supposedly acted as a serotonin agonist, and serotonin had a lot to do with perception. The increase serotonin was suspected to cause hallucinations and perceptual disturbances. Some humans were said to do this for fun.

Captain Vir didn’t seem amused, and had to have a long conversation with the crewman who knew about it.

At least Conn seemed less inclined to annoy the man…. even if just a little.

  Street name: Astrodust 

Classification: hallucinogen 

Cite of action: Serotonin 5-HT  re-uptake transporter

Taken: Smoked, trans-dermal application 

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 9

[Am I procrastinating? Damn right, I am! 2020 is just a throw-away year, y’all. Strap in, it’s a long one.]

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Pairings: Loki x OC

=

Delilah flipped through the papers in her hand, filing cabinet drawer open, as she put them away in their designated location. Her day had been the normal array of meetings and putting out imaginary fires before she had been left alone to her fortress of paperwork a half hour earlier. It was getting late into the evening, and though Lilah knew she should have called it quits hours ago, she had decided that finishing this menial, mindless task, would be the perfect excuse for sleeping in tomorrow.

She slid another file into its allotted slot, when the hair on the back of her neck all stood at attention. It wasn't that playful sensation in the back of her head when she felt Loki was trying to scare her, and it wasn't the cursory glance of the maintenance staff cleaning up, after hours. No, she was being well and truly observed. She couldn't see anyone out of her peripheral vision, but she could practically feel their heartbeat. 

Bending to lower some files into the lowest drawer, she silently unholstered a pistol taped to the side of the furniture. She wanted to groan. That gun had been there since her first day of work nearly a decade ago and this was the first time she had ever needed to reach for it.

Straightening up, she took a few steadying breaths. Turning on a dime, she shot a single round, catching the intruder in the chest. For a moment, she debated between throwing up and screaming for help, but neither would do her any good at this time of night. Instead, she stepped lightly to the lifeless figure. He was dressed head to toe in tactical gear, several guns strapped to his person, and Delilah had managed to catch him just above the bullet vest. This was unlikely to be an isolated incident, and she didn't want to wait for his friends to show up.

With a weapon raised, she quietly hurried down the corridor, using any and every shortcut she knew to get back to the rooms. If she could have FRIDAY wake the agents, they could possibly live to see another day, but she did not enjoy the fact their fate depended on the least trained individual in the entire building.

"I really need to go to more voluntary training," she muttered to herself, turning down a hallway, only to find a group in the same tactical gear. She shuffled backwards, gasping. Her feet lost their grip on the ground below and she was forced back into a closet, hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"It's me. It's only me." Her struggles settled down to a bare pant at Loki's voice. "There was a patrolman coming up behind you." He turned her to face him, moving her face this way and that to assess the damage. "Are you alright? I heard gunfire."

"That was me." Loki looked oddly impressed at the response. "I'm not entirely useless."

"You're entirely too modest. Where were you scurrying off to?"

Delilah sighed, puffing her cheeks out as she thought. "They disabled FRIDAY. I need to reach a securely rooted computer to sound the alarm." There was shuffling just behind the door. Loki and Delilah held their breaths, trying to think themselves invisible as the intruders ran past. The echo of gunfire further away made her start, and she found herself clutching onto the front of Loki's shirt, rooted to the spot.

"Hey. Hey! Where's the nearest secure whatever you need?" Loki cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to focus on him, rather than the thunder-like sound of bullets. It was a helpful distraction, but it made her no less terrified of what lay beyond their door.

Delilah stuttered, her brain a mess. The adrenaline had started to fade and her fear had begun to take over. Not to mention the guilt of having put a bullet through someone's chest just a few minutes prior. "Um… I–I… er…" Her eyes caught the barest piece of an insignia for Stark Industries and lightbulb came on in her brain. "Tony. We need to get to Tony's case."

He rolled his eyes, groaning. "Nowhere better, really?"

"Loki–!"

He clapped his hand over her mouth. "Don't yell, you imp! You'll give us away!" Eyes wide, she nodded frantically, and he lowered his hand. "On the count of three, we'll go through the door, take a right and we'll walk as quietly as possible to the Memorial Hall. OK?" She nodded again. "If someone comes and they shoot, you get behind me. If I die, you run. Do you understand?"

"No, but–"

"Do you understand?"

There was a beat of tense silence between them before she nodded and Loki grasped at the doorknob with determination. He mouthed his count: One, Two, Three, and swung the door open. They crept away to the right. As they turned the corner, two figures were incoming. With a flourish of his hand, there was a dagger in one of their chests, but before he could reach for another blade, thunder rolled beside him, leaving him slightly deaf in one ear. The figure crumpled to the ground in a heap.

"Color me impressed," he whispered, taking Delilah's hand and pulling her along. He stopped only to collect his dagger, as well as the daggers attached to the fallen men. Loki sighed. No magic meant he had to police his daggers like a commoner, but it didn't mean his aim was any less true.

Down the hall, they could see the shining beacon of Tony's hologram in the darkened room. Lilah ran ahead, sliding to a stop in front of the case while Loki dealt with a couple of intruders who had just stumbled into the hall. She dropped to her knees, opening the panel just below the hologram as Loki rejoined her.

"Pygmy puff, what the hell is going on?" The hologram whispered, bending down to talk to her.

"Not sure. All I know is that someone's put FRIDAY offline. I need to sound a warning."

"Behind you!" Tony warned, and Loki spun, digging the blade of his weapon to the hilt before kicking the attacker back to retrieve it. "What's he doing here?" Tony eyed Loki distrustfully, and on any other day Delilah would have thought it was sweet, but right now, she had to figure out what the hell had happened to their security system.

"Saving my ass. What’s it look like, Tony?" She groaned. "Where the fuck is the keyboard!?"

"Jesus, settle down, Li! It's under the external drive." The projection held his hands up in defense. "Be gentle. It's my first time," he joked as she stuck her arm into the box and dislodged the keyboard from its hidden recess. "It's gonna get a little loud here, kids." From atop the box, two miniature missiles flew out and locked onto a new wave of attackers. Neither Loki nor Delilah were surprised.

"Tony, someone's been tweaking your algorithm." Delilah commented, her fingers a blur over the keyboard.

"What?" He bent over her work with a frown. "That's not my coding."

"I know! Do you recognize it?"

"No, I don't know anyone who's that sloppy," he retorted. "Other than Criss Angel here."

"Not the time, Tony!" A peal of automatic gun fire echoed the room. Loki had snatched her back so fast, she felt a little like a ragdoll, and the hologram was quick to wave them both behind the display. "Really? Bulletproof glass?"

"I'm worth it!" He said defensively. "You didn't seem to mind when I was saving your behind earlier."

"Well, yeah, but–" More gunfire followed, and Delilah let out a scream of pain.

Loki bundled her up, pulling her further behind the display, leaving the extra screen and keyboard forgotten. He smoothed his hands over her, looking for a source of pain. "Delilah? Talk to me."

"Fucking ricochet off the fucking glass," she hissed, holding onto her leg with a groan.

"We need to get you to the infirmary and–"

"I'm fine." She groaned, though he continued fussing over her. It took a jolt of her pulling on his shirt to rouse him from the panic. "Loki, I'm fine. I swear. It's just a graze."

"Oh, God. Are you two–"

"Shut up, Stark!" Loki and Delilah both echoed, narrowing their eyes at the projection.

Delilah reached for the keyboard and continued trying to restart FRIDAY from Tony's hub, to no avail. "Tony, how do we get FRI up and running?"

"There's a failsafe in the basement. It'll override any programming that they've coded into her. In it’s a drawer labeled Taxes. Problem is, you're gonna need Bruce for the final jolt."

She nodded, pulling herself up to test putting weight on her leg. It was blindingly painful, but she could walk. "That's fine. Lo, you go get Bruce, and I'll start the resetting FRIDAY downstairs, OK?" She had intended to just run the opposite direction to Loki, but he reached out to grab her wrist at the last moment, pulling her back roughly.  

"I'm not leaving you, if that's what you're suggesting." Loki announced, decided.

His human companion growled. "For fuck's sake–we don't have time for this, Loki! Just go get Bruce."

"Are you mental? You'd have to navigate several floors on your own. They might be waiting to ambush you!"

Delilah pushed at his chest, trying to usher him the other way. "Loki, you are the patron sinner of logic and thinking three steps ahead and you know splitting up makes sense!"

His thumb, index and forefingers gripped her face at the hollows of her cheeks. In the low light, he looked eerily like a nightmare creature, angry and out for blood, but more importantly, worried out of his mind. The expression wasn't a particularly common sight on his face, and his hesitation sent a cold drip of fear down her spine. "I don't give a flying fuck what I would do on my own in the name of logic. Those rules are non-existent for you." Delilah raised her eyebrows in surprise. Cussing wasn't Loki's style (at least any cuss words used in the current century), so it was particularly impactful when he slung the phrase out like it was nothing.

Delilah bit her tongue, taking a deep breath and concentrating, instead, on the burning in her leg. "Where's Bruce, Tony?"

Tony looked like he was thinking as he accessed the building cameras. "Mess hall. Trying not to go savage." Loki and Lilah nodded to each other. "Hey, hey, hey. You keep an eye on her, Danny Phantom. Got it?"

"Won't let her leave my sight, I assure you," Loki called over his shoulder as he ran after Delilah. 

He pressed her back against the wall as a group of soldiers in black, trying not to stare at the long swooping eyelashes that were fluttering against her cheek. Loki shushed her quietly when she went to say something, holding a finger to her lips. Another three watchmen strolled past and neither moved for a few seconds after the coast was clear. It was an open area to the mess and they'd be exposed all the way there. Not to mention, they didn't know what would await them on the other side of the door. Taking in a shuddering breath, Delilah offered her hand, waiting for Loki to thread his fingers through hers. With a nod, they shot off, Loki dragging Delilah after him because of his significantly longer strides, and they slid into the mess hall with a sigh.

Bruce swept Delilah into his arms and squeezed her as tightly as he dared before setting her back down, leaving her to teeter uncomfortably on her feet. "Finally! Are you OK? Who the hell are these people?"

"I don't know, but they took down FRIDAY. I need you to help me reboot."

"Are they with him?" His voice grew into a roar as he stared down at Loki, eyes dark.

"No," she assured, turning back to glance at Loki, who seemed fidgety around the gentle giant. "At least I don't think so. It'd be too much of a hassle to keep me alive all night if this were all him."

"It wouldn't be the first–" The snarky remark was cut short by a knife whizzing through the air beside him and finding its mark in the chest of an intruder who had attempted to sneak up.

"Not that I don't adore the scathing review of my character, could we please not give these people an opportunity to kill agents in their beds?" Loki rolled his eyes, his hand instinctually reaching for Lilah to have her lead ahead.

The basement was nothing remarkable. There were boilers, power switch boxes, and server panels that kept the compound running. Loki looked at the room as if it were the landscape of some distant planet. Delilah had tugged him to some dark recess in the room, past mountains of circuit boards and wires. She opened a drawer in one of the various cabinets against the wall, labeled Taxes, and just as Tony had promised there were two terminals and a set of relays with the words Smash Here written on some silver duct tape. Beneath, there was a set of laminated instructions which she quickly glanced over, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

"Loki, I need some help!"

He was beside her a moment later, wiping blood off his knife. "Yes?"

"I need you to help me type. To reset FRIDAY, commands have to be typed into both terminals at the same time," she explained, pushing one of the keyboards towards him.

Loki hesitated. "I… maybe I should get Banner in. He's better at this–"

"You can drive spaceships. I'm pretty sure you can handle typing."

"We have no use for this crude technology."

"Yeah, well, right now this crude technology is all that's standing between us and reinforcements, and Bruce's fingers are too big for this keyboard."

He looked like he wanted to protest, but her narrowed eyes offered little purpose in complaining. "What do I have to do?" His dagger disappeared into a sheath behind his back and he reached for the keyboard.

"There's a reset code, but in true Tony fashion, it can only work if they're typed at the exact same time. I'm going to need you to keep perfect pace with me, or…"

"Or?"

"It might completely wipe FRIDAY's interface off the server, but, you know, no pressure."

"Just keep pace with you." He stared at her for a second too long, enough for her to shift her gaze at him and tilt her head in question. "I can do that." He studied the keys with rapt interest. "Norns know I try hard enough," he added under his breath, leaving Delilah to ponder the severity of his words.

"Alright. Take a breath and in 3, 2, 1…" She started calling out the code, line by line, watching as Loki carefully matched the clacking of her keys with his own. It was a long program and Lilah was sure the Science Bros™ had made it so infuriatingly difficult just for giggles– she didn't think they could ever foresee FRIDAY going dark because of some crappy Trojan. When the final return was entered, the screen flickered with the message Pressure realignment pending. "Bruce!"

A scuffle was heard just outside the door before Bruce peeked into the server room, carefully skirting towers of data to avoid collision and potential loss. Delilah set the relay on a countertop and gestured the green genius with her hand. Banner stared at the thing for just a second before letting out a roar and driving his fist down on it, leaving the counter creaking and slightly dented. A second later a beep, followed by a Good evening, Strongest Avenger echoed.

"Oh, thank God! FRIDAY, code purple. Security code three-six-eight dash fourteen thirty."

"It looks like someone jammed the locks on the agent barracks. Do you want me to remotely unlock the hallway, Del?"

"Yes, please!"

"It's too bad you won't be able to see them free, Lilah." The trio turned. At the door stood five men, guns raised with Dwyer leading the pack. Banner lumbered, ready to pounce, but a small dart cut through the air and stuck into his neck before he even had a chance to make any headway. He fell unconscious with a mighty thud.

Loki hastily shoved Delilah behind him and brandished his dagger. "Oh, I knew I didn't like you even before you drugged me."

"And if you had just died, Delilah wouldn't have to die now." Dwyer sighed.

A sadistic sort of smirk tilted the corners of Loki's mouth. "If you come near us, I'll slit your throat, you pustulous bilge snipe."

"Oh, I'm not going to do a thing. You are." If the Asgardian was confused by the comment, he didn't mention it. "Those drugs weren't just for me to watch you trip. They had a special little ingredient to help ply your mind. Thor will be so distraught, he'll beg to join our cause. Magic is the devil's plaything, after all."

Loki caught Delilah by the wrist, pulling her back behind him when her ire got the better of her and meant to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face. "Thor trusts me about as far as I can throw Mjolnir. Why would he be surprised if I went feral again?"

"I'm afraid you've missed a lot. It's not your fault, really." He sighed wistfully, though it was all for show. "I mean, he didn't even want you out of your prison cell. Said it was better for everyone if you were kept there or taken back to New Asgard. That you didn't belong in the world." Loki glanced over his shoulder. Lilah was staring at the floor with a frown and his heart sank. "If it wasn't for Delilah you'd still be rotting in the dungeons. Not that she's any better. I mean, she'll let you walk around with the rest of the humans, but will sure as hell leave you collared like a dog. When's the last time you even thought about doing magic?"

"He never asked me to take them off, so I haven't. He's already adjusting to a whole new decade, much less–" Delilah snapped, nearly growling.

"You don't fucking trust him!"

"Standing next to Loki is a risk. There's nothing he wants that he doesn't get and the bracelets can only motivate him. I wouldn't be in this room, with him if I didn't trust him with my life!"

"Then take them off!"

"No," she hissed, glaring daggers at the man. "If the choice is you killing me or turning him into a weapon, then shoot me now."

Dwyer laughed. "Oh, I’m turning him into a weapon regardless." He dug into his pocket and pulled a glowing yellow stone that made Loki blanch even paler than his usual self and take a half-step backwards. "What? You don't like your friend, anymore."

"You don't know what you're playing with, Dwyer," Loki said, carefully. "The Stone controls you as much, if not more, than you control it."

"Oh, this isn't the original stone. Stark got desperate, at one point, and tried to recreate the stones to undo everything Thanos had done. This was the only one he got close to replicating with Vision's help." He tossed it into the air, like a penny. "Much less fuss, just as effective. Now, ask her to unbind you."

"What?"

"She said she would do it if you asked. So, ask her. It's obvious Lilah already kneels for you quite readily. Might as well make it worth my while. I don't want to waste the stone's power on her."

"Keep her name out of your mouth or I'll relieve you of your tongue!" Loki growled and it was Delilah's turn to hold him back.

"It's OK." Loki pulled away from her, holding his hands to his chest. "It's happening one way or another. I'd rather consciously free you, if that's alright with you."

"You have nothing to prove to him," Loki whispered.

Delilah smiled and brushed his cheek with her thumb. "I know, Lo. It's not for him."

"Or me." He added, passionately.

Lilah sighed, looking between the men before gesturing to Loki's hands. "No. Keep the dagger," Dwyer urged when Loki offered her the hilt without hesitation. 

Delilah slid her fingers over the pressured pins on his wrists, the metal detecting her fingerprints before clicking quietly and dropping to the floor with a deafening clatter. Her fingers twisted into his and squeezed reassuringly. As much as he tried, he couldn't find it within him to look away from soft eyes. It hurt how little fear he saw, the blind trust. When had he earned this no-questions-asked vote of confidence? He felt the magic trickle down his spine and couldn't even bring himself to feel glad to have it back. Not when he was sure that was coming would be awful.

"How's it feel to be a big boy again?" He hated Dwyer's voice for breaking through what should have been a private moment; that he too could see Delilah laying herself bare to his tempest. "It's not going to feel good for long." He whispered some words to the stone and it only glowed brighter, forcing Loki to look away.

"Loki," she whispered as he teetered, his head bowing. "Focus. You can do this."

Loki straightened up, his eyes wrenched closed. Blindly, he reached for her, closing his fingers around her wrist uncomfortably tight. "Delilah, please go."

"Don't give up on me, Lo. Just–"

"LILAH!" He snapped in a half-growl. He was gritting his teeth now and the hand on her was shaking uncontrollably with effort. "Lilah, please. My love, please run." He blinked his eyes up, eerie blue and shining with tears. "Go now. Run." She hesitated again, frozen in place. "RUN!" With a start, she stumbled back, bolting out the back of the room and into the emergency stairwell.

Despite the blood rushing in her ears, she could hear the pounding footsteps behind her, like a predator stalking her every move. A blade whizzed past her. Then another. And another. He was playing with her, enjoying watching her squirm as she feared for her life and scurried like a mouse. When she exited the stairwell at the next floor, he was standing right outside the door. She yelped, stumbling back against the slab of metal when he swung a blade at her head and just narrowly missed her. 

Lilah drove her elbow against the still-sore ribs on his left side, watching him stumble back with a hiss, but return with even more fervor. A swipe of the blade cut a path across her jaw, just shy of slicing into her jugular. With a jolt, he rammed her into the wall, knife at her neck just barely skimming as he slowly pressed the blade into her warm skin. The pain radiated through her body, fueling her adrenaline and she kicked him square in the chest, knocking him onto the floor. The crack of his head on the floor jarred his brain enough that he blinked in confusion for a moment.

"Loki, snap the fuck out of it!" He hoisted himself back onto his feet and charged. Delilah remained in a fighter's stance, fists up, aiming at anything she could reach while also avoiding his daggers. She managed another jab at his head and stomach, slowing him down. "What are you doing? Letting your mind being invaded by some mortal with some sick delusion of grandeur to get you to act for him? You know me–I’m your friend!" He faltered. "Since when do you obey anyone other than yourself?"

The dagger ready to fly towards her head dropped to his side as he considered. Lilah would have laughed if she wasn't in active danger– leave Loki's ego to save the day. If she could count on two things in the Universe, it was that the Sun would rise and Loki would think very highly of himself. She inched carefully towards him, his ghostly stare following her across the hallway, though his body remained unmoving. He was now within arm's reach. He didn't react when she touched his chest, her palm sliding up his front, winding up his neck and onto his cheek. There was the slightest change of pressure and she realized it was him barely pressing his jaw onto her palm out of instinct.

"God, I'm so sorry for this," she whispered as she reared back and decked him in the jaw so hard it made her whole arm ache. Loki raised a hand to his face and hissed, turning his eyes back on the panting woman for her to notice that his eyes were the seaglass green she was so familiar with. "Good to know this stone has the same design flaws as the other one."

It was a minute or two of quiet contemplation and confusion before Loki managed to return to the present. There was blood on her neck that he knew he was responsible for. The reality of the situation flooded him with a gasp and he threw his arms around her form and pulled her into his chest. "I nearly killed you. Oh, gods, I very nearly killed you."

"You're OK. Everything is OK." She whispered, carding her fingers through his hair as he panted. Delilah bridged the gap between them with her lips. She had nearly died and she would be damned if she dared feel guilty for indulging in a kiss. Not when he tasted like cinnamon from the pastries he hoarded in his rooms, spicy and familiar. He clung to her form, fists grabbing handfuls of her shirt as if she'd disappeared if he let go.

"You're bleeding. I– I… you're bleeding and I nearly–"

Lilah smiled through tears. "You didn't. Thankfully, you obey no one but yourself."

"No," he objected, vehemently. "It was you. No one but you." His mouth desperately searched for purchase on hers repeatedly, as if it were the only thing keeping him from breaking. And it may as well have been, for all either of them knew. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are, Lo. And you can make it up to me later, but right now, maniac with a Mind Stone– what are we doing?"

"Running sounds like a champion idea," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Loki–"

"I know, I know." He was silent before reluctantly loosening his grip on her with a sigh. He rubbed at the marks where his manacles had been with a conflicted look in his eyes. "I may have an idea."

Ten minutes later, he marched back into the basement, eyes glowing blue and tossed the bloodied, carved body that was once Delilah onto the floor before Dwyer's feet. He let out a chuckle, nudging her slack head with the toe of his boot. "Oh, that didn't end too good for her, did it? How'd it feel, Loki? Dispensing with the only person who would have given you a second, third, or millionth chance in the world? You really are just a snake in the grass." Loki stood still, shoulders squared and awaiting his next command. "You seemed to fawn after her, too. Did you like her?"

"More than anyone," he replied, mechanically and the villain laughed.

"Oh, that's even better! You've always been such a good pawn– for your parents, for Thanos, the Avengers, me. Now, before you make your exit, how about you leave your brother a little goodbye note. Make it poignant, OK?" Loki flourished his hands and a projection of him glimmered in pale blue light, moving as it spoke a pre-recorded message of revenge on humans and vengeance on his enemies. "Good boy. Now, put the shackles back on." Loki collected the metal manacles and slid them onto his wrists, feeling the instant relief of no magic in his veins to cloud his judgement. "Any last words?"

Loki smirked, the expression looking manic on his bloodied face. He sank slowly to his knees with one fist over his heart. "My Queen. Precisely on time." Dwyer turned, suddenly. At the door, Delilah stood, gun loaded and raised with Sam, Bucky, and a dozen SHIELD and STARK agents, in tow. The body on the floor had lost its glamour and turned into one of the black-clad intruders.

"You tried to trick the trickster god? How stupid are you? Really?" Bucky asked, weapon at the ready.

Dwyer cackled, hands raised in surrender. "This is cute. You think this was the big one? You haven't even seen the tip of the iceberg. How's your Doctor Strange doing?"

"I'll check in with Stephen– you rally these people up and destroy that stone replica." Delilah's gun lowered, clicking softly as she put the safety back on and sliding into the back of her trousers. "Lo?"

Loki shook the cobwebs out of his mind and offered her a weak smile. He felt heavy and confused. The short freedom from his shackles should have been a breath of fresh air, and it turned into the worst nightmare he had had in a long while. Not to mention there was the issue of his brother. He had never expected Thor to simply give up on him, much less without a needlessly emotional conversation beforehand.

"Are you OK?" Lilah looked worried and it was actually painful for him to see her bleeding by his blade and still worried about him, of all people– Loki of Asgard, a snake in the grass.

He nodded, his eyes falling to the ground. "Mind is a little muddled, is all."

Delilah offered him a sad smile. “How about we get you home?”She gestured with her head to the door. "Come on. I'll call Stephen on my way to yours."

[kyotakumrau]

京個展~子宮で視る脳排泄~

kyo’s solo exhibition ~Observation of the brain excretion in the uterus~ 2018.05.09-19 report

The gallery LE DECO is located a few minute walk from Shibuya station so it didn’t take long to get there (only if you use the right exit though 😂). But on the first day we got quite bad weather, so it was a relief when staff let us in. On the side note, kudos to the staff member who had to announce ‘people who came to see [Observing of the brain excretion in the uterus] please line up to use the elevator’ over and over. He definitely made passersby do a double take hearing the event name 😂

The entrance floor - 6F

Once in the building we were told to wait for the start of the time slot. There was a screen with a projector showing the live footage from DIR EN GREY mode of VULGAR tour and sukekiyo, followed by the short interview (it will get a separate post). I actually didn’t notice it at first, but on the second day I went with a friend who is Toshiya’s fan and she pointed out that DIR’s footage was a perfect 'Kyo’s angle’ - the most you could see of other nembers was Toshiya’s or Shinya’s arm 😂 At some shows that’s exactly what I see… sukekiyo’s footage was from Kyo’s birthday show at Mynavi Akasaka BLITZ, I really hope it will be released at some point! I really enjoyed seeing this performance again. *On the 13th dir mode of kisou*On the 15th there was footage from sukekiyo’s 2015 The Unified Field tour instead of DIR’s. *on the 16th there was DIR footage from the mode of TMOAB.*on the 19th VULGAR again (inside joke - and we couldn’t become one).

The stamps for goshuin books were also located on this floor and some people used them when we were waiting (and no one was actually checking if you used a goshuin book or not). There were two designs, Zemeckises one with Hui and Kyo’s picture drawn by Junji Ito.

When it was finally time for the time slot to start staff started to call people one by one. On the first day people were surprised as they didn’t deduct that the 1st slot numbers start from 101, but staff quickly changed the way of calling from number 1 to 101 ;) Over the number 50 they changed to calling by 5s. Upon ticket check we received a small water bottle with a label with a event logo and a silver plastic bag. When checking the bag later I saw it had 'Kyo’s mask’ and a memorial ticket inside. Each mask had a small curse omikuji glued on the back, there were five kinds (collected all to be happily cursed!😍):

◆平等とは平等で非ず・ equality is never truly equal ◆己を決めるのは己のみ・only I decide about myself ◆時間は必ず貴方を良くも悪くも変えてくれる・the time will always change you, be it for better or worse ◆噴き出す感情はそのままで良い、より人間らしく・it’s fine to just let strong feelings out, it’s more human ◆状況を変えられないのではなく変えないだけ・it’s not that one cannot change the situation one just don’t And from this point we used stairs to move between floors.

The Zemeckises floor - 5F

This floor entrance greeted us with a dark red curtain, The Zemeckises sign over it. On the second day they added draped brown curtain with decorative tassels over the plain red one (was it one of the things that didn’t arrive on time? *on the 15th I noticed there were two additional panels! (CHAOS one and 'cute guy’ one)). Inside we could enjoy various panels with what I’m guessing were scenes from the upcoming picture book. It was so lovely to see Hui so much! One of them had Hui-chan standing in front of the bridge leading to a small street, on the buildings and shop signs we could see sukekiyo name and their various songs titles.

It was also nice to see the set of 4 TVs previously used at Madaraningen shops and sukekiyo shows. This time they played three Zemeckises videos in the loop. First one that was used to promote VITIUM (introducing family living in the dark forest), Second was the promotion of PERSUASIO - Mama murders someone, Penyu is being persuaded he should bear darker intentions towards humans and older bro introducing sukekiyo as their footage was on TV Third had all family members saying what they are missing: Big bro: DIR音源がない Raimi: 心がない Mama: sukekiyoのライブがない Baby bro: ダブルチーズバーガーがない Papa: ママのご飯がない Penyu: お菓子がない Penyu held a book and walked through the forest, his whole family following him closely. He ended up on the ground, family jumped on him, there was a light flashing from his eyes and… cliffhanger 😂

I liked here how '3D-ish’ the panels were, for example there was a standing figure of family members in front of the panels creating a scene together. The figure of Mama who was sitting with Raimi even was sat on the chair in pieces so if you looked from the right angle it looked very good! There was also a proper figure of Papa with his eye lit up in red connected to the panel with dressed up Mama (it was in front of the TVs). I don’t want to explain panels too much, Kyo said in the interview that it was hard preparing this floor because the book is not out yet, but some of them were also used as the designs for goods.

The Shikkaku floor - 4F

It was absolutely brilliant ♥♥♥ From the first view - after going through the first black curtain with exhibition name on it, this exhibition entrance was done in the form of red PVC strip seethrough curtain and before entering a staff member handed each of us a torch. Because this floor was quite dark, there was enough light to walk around safely, but to be able to observe photo prints you had to use the torch. There was a white cloth draped from the ceiling, hanging loosely at some places, and there were some metal fixtures that were painted black, but overall the room was kept quite simple; all added to the atmosphere. With the industrial music in the background it created an incredible effect! 

Photos were hanged in black wooden frames around the floor. I was really impressed with the time span that photos came from! (*confirmed by yahoo news that it took over 4 years) Shikkaku vol.2 will be a delight for our eyes and hearts. There were so many styles and ideas. The ones that really stood out to me was Kyo sitting in a seated venue (this one was moved to a lower spot on the wall on the second day, I don’t know why), black hat photoshoot and one with his hand on the first plan. And the ones near the dam. And the ones with the eye. And… they are all so good!😂 

The really big surprise when going for the first time was noticing the 'faces wall’ that was around the corner. Interesting, morbid, fascinating, meaningful, shocking, so very much Kyo! Silicon casts of Kyo’s face were displayed in two ways. Four of them were hanging on huge hooks. One was pinned in a glass case like a butterfly. But the one that probably caught everyone’s attention the most was a plaster casting that was put in a rectangular dish filled with fake blood. Quite slimy and sticky fake blood. I don’t know if it was deliberate, but as a woman I couldn’t help thinking about the uterus in the exhibition title seeing the consistency and color of the fake blood… The dish had a sign 'ご自由にお触りください / please touch freely’ and. It felt so weird to touch the cast of his face, even more if you touched the blood. In the beginning of the 1st time slot the face was clean, but later people covered it with blood. It was absolutely fascinating to be able to see how it changed through the day - during the last time slot on the second day the silicon face casts on hooks had some bloody streaks as well and there were many 'spills’ around the dish. It was also fascinating to watch people’s reactions - so many didn’t like the slimy texture or got freaked out when discovered it was quite sticky. And compared to the previous exhibition’s box with a casting of the hand hid in slimy balls - there was no staff with wet tissues nearby ;) The 2nd time I visited I went straight for this floor when most people went for goods to have few minutes alone with it :3 *on the 15th I went for the 1st time slot and the fake blood was much more jelly like at first, but as people touched it and it got warmed up it got more sticky. Also the face in the dish of blood was cleaned but it stayed slightly pink in some places. *on the last day (the 19th) it was so jelly like you could take a chunk in your hand, it was still very fun to play with! 😁

There was one more point of interest on that floor. Kind of hidden behind the wall was a tiny tiny room, more of a box that had a short video footage with Kyo from the photobook cover photoshoot. It created quite a line on the first day. But on the second day the video footage was moved from the hidden box and displayed on the wall, the image was quite distorted because of the angle and the uneven wall. My guess is that Kyo wanted to avoid people queuing inside.

The merchandise floor - 3F

I simply followed the person in front of me first time I visited and they went to the goods floor first; it actually turned out to be a good choice as some items got sold out (I got the last black Junji Ito shirt that time), same in the next time slots - as soon as the word that some items are in quite limited quantities got out they started selling out faster. They had 3 tables - from the right - for ordering photobooks, picture books and reprints, for purchasing goods and for using capsule toy machines. I think the 'hottest commodities’ were Junji Ito’s collaboration t-shirt, capsule toys and plushies. And if you spent over 3000 yen (?) on The Zemeckises goods you received a cute clear bag as a present :3 I’m glad I got the goods I wanted at the first try as later I could enjoy the exhibition more freely. On the same floor there was also a huge panel with a photo of Kyo that we were allowed to take photo of (and with, if someone was so inclined ;)).

And an extra: Madaraningen POP UP SHOP - B1F

A nice accent when going down the stairs to the basement was the neon Madaraningen sign waiting for us at the bottom. As we entered there was a projector display and three panels with Kyo wearing various new items on the left. Turning right there were racks with clothes, some tables (with postcards and for placing orders). I only got postcards as I’ve already ordered some stuff after sukekiyo shows. There were two sets - one with 4 postcards (A) and one with 3 postcards plus a random 'kinda-polaroid’ of Kyo (B).

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

December 15, Christmas Caryl

@freefromthecocoon sent me a prompt asking me to write a Christmas Caryl based on The Gift of the Magi short story. Here’s my humble attempt (also on 9L)

The Gift of Us

Carol had wracked her brain for days trying to decide on the perfect present for Daryl. She really wanted to make this Christmas—their first together as a couple—special, but with the world given over to the dead, her options had drastically diminished: weapons (a necessity, but not an exceptional gift), clothes (giving him shirts or pants or shoes that had once belonged to someone else didn’t feel special, no matter how much they needed attire), food (stale, canned, jarred, or a fave made with paltry substitutions hardly seemed worthy), something for his motocycle (Aaron had assured her he had everything Daryl could need for the bike), and good loving (well…that was already a given).

For the time being, they had walls, relative safety, a home, gardens, weapons, and food, all the things that mattered now, and she desperately wanted to give him something that would last, something he’d appreciate, a gift to convey just how much she cared about him.

From the en suite bathroom where she stood brushing her teeth, she stared at his side of the bed. His nightstand, stark compared to hers, held a lamp and a box of bullets that matched the gun inside the drawer. His pillow, undisturbed for nights now with his absence, remained fluffed but askew. The duffle he’d recently started using—“Don’t need a closet,” he’d explained in that gruff voice of his when he’d set it on the floor near the bed. “Got nuthin’ to fill it with. And…just in case we gotta leave quickly…”—held his few possessions: some clothes, a sheathed knife, extra bullets, a few tools. He’d lay his angel-wing vest over the bag like a gothic sentinel when he wasn’t wearing it, but its absence only deepened the longing in her chest for him. The room held other traces of him—a lighter and motorcycle gloves on the dresser, a pair of shoes next to it, and a pack of energy drinks she couldn’t stand the taste of sitting in the corner—and an overwhelming sense of emptiness engulfed her.

She missed him. He’d left nearly a week ago with Tara and Rick to scavenge, and though she expected their return any day now, Christmas, according to the calendar the Alexandrians had kept, was only two days away.

Rick had promised Michonne, just as Daryl had promised her, that they’d return in time to celebrate. She only hoped they hadn’t run into any trouble that would prevent them from keeping their word.

Carol finished brushing her teeth and stopped at the threshold of the room again, scanning it for ideas once more.

And then it hit her.

She’d need materials, several hours of free time, and a few lessons from Margaret over at the Kingdom.

Tomorrow, she determined. She’d trek over there, ask Margaret for help, and, if lucky, complete the project early enough to return home. She’d rather lose sleep than have Daryl arrive home, on Christmas Eve no less, without her there.

Snuggling down into her lonely bed, she smiled contentedly to herself, relieved to have finally settled on a gift both unique and meaningful.

Now if she could only pull it off…

******

Avoiding an overhanging branch as he traipsed through the frozen forest, Daryl blustered a sigh, wondering yet again what he could give to Carol for Christmas. Over the years, he’d brought her treats and trinkets from the runs and hunting trips he’d led: a few shirts in her favorite shade of red; a lamp for her cell when she’d mentioned the prison felt cloyingly dark; a pair of earring studs when she’d realized one of hers had fallen out of her ear somewhere along the way; warm, fuzzy socks when it got cold. But this gift needed to exceed any of those trifles; he wanted it to communicate how much Carol had come to mean to him.

He’d considered the usual (clothes, jewelry or accessories, chocolate, or books or puzzles, her favorite pastimes) but nothing struck him as significant enough.

What would relay to her how she’d helped him grow into a person, a man who’d learned how to love and let others love him? What could he possibly give her to let her know how gratitude filled him when he recalled her dragging him back from his destructive path after he’d failed to bring Sophia back to her?

He’d watched her grow, too. From a quietly brave woman to a revered leader, experienced in strategy and with weapons, and light years beyond any of their family and friends in the art of war.

And then it hit him. A gift to illustrate how far she’d come and sentimental enough to portray his love for her.

He’d just need to stop at the Hilltop before returning to Alexandria.

“Should be home by tomorrow,” he threw over his shoulder at Tara and Rick as they followed in his tracks.

He quickened his pace, his footsteps lighter now that, not only would he be back with Carol tomorrow, but he’d have the perfect gift to give her on Christmas.

 *****

“It’ll cost you that knife.”

Carol’s hand flew to her hip, the focus of Margaret’s pointing, and wrapped her hand around the hilt. She drew her brows together. “My knife? The Kingdom has plenty of weapons. What do you need this one for?” She asked amiably, but she didn’t like the sound of someone asking for her weapon. Besides, she’d had her knife since the prison. Using it felt like second nature, and she’d be loathe to give it up. “I thought you’d be willing to help me…” ”I am,” the woman, not much older than Carol, assured. “But seems we’re running low on weapons lately. And now that the communities are bartering and bargaining with each other, it’s kinda the rule. I can help you—and I will. Today, since that’s what you want.—but it’ll cost you the knife. Been needin’ something I can hold on to when I’m out there running and fighting. It’s easy to lose your weapon. Suppose that’s why you got a knife with a knuckle guard. Seems that’d suit me just fine.”

Carol eyed Margaret cautiously, furiously debating in her heart whether to give up the knife that had nearly become a part of her or simply walk away. There were others Carol could ask to assist her with her gift for Daryl, but she’d seen Margaret’s supplies and handiwork firsthand, and no one would do a better job. She couldn’t mess this up. Not over a knife. Not when she could just as easily use or claim one of Alexandria’s many knives as her own.

Daryl—and his Christmas present—meant more to her than any hunk of metal.

“Deal,” she conceded, removing the knife and its worn-out sheath from her belt loop.

Margaret turned the weapon over in her hand, then gripped it for good measure. “It’s perfect,” she noted.

Carol nodded regretfully, her mind now focused on Daryl’s gift. “So…how long do you think it’ll take to complete the project?”

“Oh, we’ll be done in a few hours,” Margaret assured her. “Now, let’s go pick out the right color.”

 *****

It hadn’t taken much to get Rick and Tara to agree to stop at the Hilltop. They wanted to check in on Maggie (he did, too) and see what, if anything, the community could spare for trade.

Daryl spent time with the woman he saw as a sister—she thrived here as the leader, and the Hilltop seemed just as healthy—before he excused himself and headed toward the line of huts against the compound’s wall.

“Hey there,” Boyd, a teenager Daryl remembered from his brief stay at the community, greeted as he approached.

“Hey,” Daryl returned, his eyes quickly roaming the three-sided shack they used for blacksmithing and hide-tanning. “Your dad around? I could use his help with somethin’.”

“Whaddya have in mind?”

Daryl spun to see Trevor, the tall, lean Southerner in his 40’s who knew more about hides and tanning than any man he’d ever met.

“Got somethin’ I was hopin’ you’d help me make. Today if possible.” Daryl described exactly what he had in mind.

“Sure will be nice,” Trevor stated. “But…it’ll take some time.”

“I’ll stay as long as it takes,” Daryl assured. “Think we can finish it today?”

“I already got the materials, but…you know I got a schedule to keep, what with the trade items for the Kingdom due soon and the snow comin’ off and on.”

“I could help you?” Daryl suggested, praying Trevor wouldn’t take him up on the offer. He much preferred the woods and hunting over a kiln and pelt work. Besides, he wanted to make it home to Carol, the sooner the better. And definitely before Christmas tomorrow like he’d promised her.

The man chuckled. “I know you ain’t any good with that stuff. You lived here for a short time, remember?”

Daryl’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Yeah, I know. Well…what can I do?”

Trevor considered it for a moment, then said, “Tell you what...I’ll help you—guaranteed we’ll get it done today—if you trade me for your vest.”

Daryl’s brows knit together. “My vest?”

“Yeah. That thing’s a rare beaut, what with those angel wings and braided panels on the sides.” Trevor leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “Works like a magnet on the ladies, too. I seen ‘em checkin’ it out.”

Daryl reared back slightly. “The vest?”

“Or you,” Trevor smirked. “But since I ain’t you, I’ll try the vest.”

He’d never known the vest to help him with the ladies before, and he’d had it since long before the turn. As much as his crossbow, it was almost a part of him. He hated the idea of seeing it—yet again—on someone else and thought it a steep price for what he was asking.

Still, the gift he’d have for Carol would be well worth it if she liked it half as much as he thought she might.

“Alright,” he conceded ruefully, shedding the beloved vest like a second skin. “Let’s get started. I wanna get home as soon as possible.”

 *****

Carol carefully withdrew Daryl’s gift from her knapsack and laid it on the bed. It looked perfect, the color an identical match, the handiwork exquisite, the details refined. Not a curve or stitch out of place, it would replace the old set nicely.

And she could hardly wait to present it to him.

She’d returned after nightfall to an empty house but had no doubt Daryl would make it back by tomorrow like he’d promised, as long as nothing untoward had occurred out on the road.

With one last satisfied look at the gift, she folded it up and tucked it into the small Christmas bag she’d finagled from the stash Carl had found. Downstairs, she snipped a piece of string from the kitchen catch-all drawer and tied the handles together, then set the gift on the coffee table.  

Carol hummed as she heated up a pot of lentil soup (the only kind left in the pantry), wondering where Daryl was right now. Several miles out? Approaching the gate? Walking up the street? Had they run into any trouble? Were any of them hurt? Even now, after months on end without enemies tearing at their compound, innumerable dangers abounded. Wounds and starvation, random enemies and thirst, nature and mistakes…just a few of the pitfalls that could befall them. They both worried when without the other.

She knew he and Rick would have kept track of the days, and Tara likely kept them in line with her sass and wit. Carol smiled at the thought, stirring the pot one last time before turning off the stove.

She heard the front door rattle, then Daryl’s voice reached her. “Carol?”

“In here,” she exclaimed as she rushed to the front of the house.

Daryl barely had time to close the door before Carol threw herself into his arms. She radiated warmth in contrast to the biting cold outside that had seeped into his clothes and his bones. “Hey,” he murmured against her hair, wrapping his arms snugly around her.

“Hi.”

Her breath teased his ear, and he nuzzled into her embrace, gently kissing her neck.

She felt like home: safe, warm, welcoming. Unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Each time he left or she set out somewhere, his arms—his heart—felt bereft. But coming home to her, reuniting with her after an absence, made up for all the lonely days, frigid nights, and dastardly deeds he had to endure to get back to her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, we’re all good,” he answered as he withdrew to give her the once-over. “How ‘bout here?”

“Status quo.” She looked up at him, this man she loved. His bright eyes stared heatedly at her, his cheeks pink from the cold. He looked tired but no worse for the wear of having been gone for nearly a week. “You made it back for Christmas.”

“Promised you I would,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss her.

Even now, after months of being with her, allowed to kiss her, hold her, touch her, love her, she made his blood boil, his heart race, and he didn’t know how this hell of a world granted him the treasure of loving Carol.

His lips, like the rest of him, were cold, but firm as she welcomed him home, and she sunk into his embrace, pressed herself against the solid wall of his chest. Unlike those who’d come before, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, the muscles of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart sent a thrill through her instead of a ripple of fear. She doubted she’d ever get used to the haven of his embrace.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she pronounced as he pulled away.

He chuckled, the pink in his cheeks deepening slightly, and he kissed her forehead. “To me,” he corrected. “But let me shower this week off’a me and we can get back to the merry-making.” He winked at her.

“Then hurry it up,” she encouraged, lightly pushing in the direction of the stairs. “Merry isn’t all I’d like to be making.”

“Impatient, aren’t ya?” he teased over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m patient,” she punned. “Been waiting for a week now. I’m tired of being patient.”

She heard him chortle as he headed up the stairs, and a smile spread across her face at their banter, her heart light and happy.

She turned the soup back on to simmer, keeping it warm for them, and toasted some of the bread they’d bartered from the Kingdom. She couldn’t make him a feast after his trek, but she could have a warm meal ready.

Fifteen minutes later, Daryl’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he came into the room, looking clean and refreshed, his hair wet. He’d donned black sweat pants, a long sleeve, dark blue shirt, and a clean pair of socks.

“Somethin’ smells good,” he complimented, turning toward the stove and peeking into the pot in order to hide the gift he’d brought down with him.

“I think that’s you,” Carol stated, running her hand across his back as she moved around him to grab bowls from the cabinet.

He turned as she moved, heading toward the living room, but stopped abruptly when he saw a small gift already sitting on the coffee table. Unsure who else would’ve brought Carol a present—she deserved them all, but times what they were, he hadn’t expected anyone else to go out of their way—he did a one-eighty and stood watching her.

Unaware of her audience, Carol set the bowls on the counter, withdrew spoons from the drawer, and began ladling soup into the bowls. “I made dinner.” She looked over her shoulder, unsure where Daryl had gone, and did a double-take when she saw him standing watching her, one hand behind his back.

She stood up, facing him. “What?”

He cleared his throat and slowly stepped toward her. “I…got you somethin’.” He withdrew the gift from behind him as he neared her, watching her face for her response.

Carol’s eyes slid over the gently-wrapped present, the simple tan cloth giving away a two-inch thick, one-foot long shape, before sliding up to Daryl.

“Merry Christmas,” he declared.

Her face broke out into a smile that reached her eyes, and his heart sped up. “You didn’t have to… I can’t believe you did this.”

Pleased by her genuine joy, he held the gift out to her, and she reverently took it, sliding down into one of the dining room chairs. He sat in the chair next to her, and they half-turned toward one another.

Carol gently pulled the strings of twine until the bow untied, slid it off the package, then unrolled the cloth from a sanded pine box. Her eyes, a question mark, flicked to his, but he remained silent, waiting for her to open the box.

She snapped open the latch and lifted the lid to find a knife sheath, tan in color, with a belt attachment. Carol picked the sheath up to get a better look at the brand on the long, blade-end.

A Cherokee rose.

Daryl watched emotions play across Carol’s face. Surprise, curiosity, awe, then…sadness as she noticed the rose?

His heart fell. For so long, he’d imagined the Cherokee rose as their…thing. A symbol of hope, it’d become a marker of them, their relationship. From Sophia and that grave he still thanked the Powers That Be was empty, to a blackened forest and the memory of all that white-petaled flower represented to him. To them, he’d thought. But now tears filled her eyes, and…well…he felt at a loss.

He watched her eyes slide up to the lighter brand, more of a drawing than an impression in the leather, and she held the sheath closer to her face. Recognition dawned as she took in the monochrome rainbow, and she grasped the sheath to her chest in both hands, squeezing her eyes shut.

To the best of her knowledge, Daryl didn’t do leatherwork. He’d gone out of his way to make this. And the added details of the Cherokee rose and the rainbow…her heart broke at the time and effort he must’ve spent to make such a wonderful gift. And she couldn’t even use it.

Daryl sat, riveted to the chair and so confused he was afraid to breathe. He thought for sure she’d like it. Personalized and safer than that old raggedy one she had now with the seams falling apart, he knew it’d keep her safe and her knife handy. He hadn’t meant to hurt her with the symbols…only to keep Sophia and him with her, close to her. A sort of…talisman of protection.

He swallowed hard, believing he’d made a colossal mistake. “Carol…I…I’m sorry. I just…”

“It’s gorgeous.”

Her voice came softly, filled with wonder, and he sat in silence once again.

She stared at him, his body tense with uncertainty, and she realized what he must be thinking. “I love it,” she whispered, her voice still filled with tears. She looked at the sheath once again. “The Cherokee rose…us. And the rainbow…Sophia. So you’ll both always be with me. Protecting me.”

Daryl felt relief sweep into his body. She didn’t hate it, understood it just as much as he’d wanted and hoped.

“It’s…amazing. I love it. But…”

But…? His heart fell again, afraid of what she’d say.

“Daryl, I…I don’t have my knife anymore.”

Of the many scenarios that had quickly crossed his mind, that wasn’t one of them. He shook his head, clearing away cobwebs. “Whaddya mean you don’t have your knife?”

Carol set the sheath back in the box and, without a word, got up, retrieved the gift bag from the coffee table, and set it in front of him. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

Her words, though stained with tears, sounded genuine, but Daryl still gave her a quizzical look as she wiped tears from her face.

“Open your present,” she entreated.

None of this made sense, but Daryl dutifully untied the twine from the bag and removed a handful of neatly-folded, flaxen-colored material. He raised his eyebrows as he unfolded it to reveal angel wings. Wings that looked exactly like the ones on the vest he’d just traded.

Just before he’d left, Carol had told him exactly what she thought of that vest. “Those wings are starting to fray,” she’d said as he’d thrown it on.

“They’ll be alright,” he assured himself more than her. “Cain’t exactly go to the store and get another. Or the tailor and get ‘em repaired.”

“No…but I can’t imagine you without them. You’ve always been there to swoop in and bring me back to safety.”

He’d met her gaze. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Just seems like any time I was too far gone or on the brink, you’d come in and bring me back to myself…and you. Like my own personal angel.”

He’d leaned to kiss her then. “Ain’t no angel.” Another kiss. “But I’ll be back soon, and I’ll take you to heaven.”

She giggled as he kissed her again. “See you soon,” he’d promised, then he’d headed out the door to go meet Rick and Tara.

Now, he stared at the details of the wings, the arches of the tops, the layers of feather-work, the long, swooping plumes that would’ve covered most of his back. An exact replica of the wings that adorned the vest he’d given up to ‘buy’ her sheath.

“It’s only part of the gift,” Carol explained. “I’ll remove the old ones and affix these.” She saw his reserved hesitation. “If you want…?”

Daryl gently laid them out on the table, admiring the handiwork, the details, the thought she’d put into this. And hated the words he spoke next.

“I don’t have my vest anymore.” Before the shock on her face wore off and she could ask, he said, “I bartered the vest for the sheath. Wanted to give you somethin’ nice for Christmas. It’s our first…ya know, together.” He took her hand in his. “And I know that sheath you got is comin’ apart. Afraid you’re gonna accidentally get stabbed. And I’d like to keep you around for a good, long while.”

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Oh, Daryl. I traded my knife for the wings. I wanted your gift to be special, too. I know how much you love that vest—and I do, too. I just want my angel around.”

With her free hand, she pushed the hair away from his face and laced her fingers through his now-dry locks.

“What a pair we are, huh?” Daryl scoffed, stunned that they’d both bartered away the exact items the other had gotten a gift for.

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “I guess so. But this is still the best Christmas ever.”

He quirked his head. “How so?”

“You gave up your most prized possession for me. I gave up mine for you. And the gifts we got one another? Here? At the end of the world?” She raised her tone with each question, indicating how ridiculous it should’ve sounded. Instead, it made perfect sense: the two of them, together, giving up all they had for one another. “Look how much love we have.”

He nodded, conceding her point. “’Spose so.” Then, his expression turning playful, he leaned toward her. “And there’s more where that came from.”

“That’s right…you promised me a trip to heaven.”

“Ummhmm,” he murmured against her lips, and proceeded to take her there with touches as soft as rose petals and angel wings.

[the-voice-of-hell]

The Septagram

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-   Previous   -    First   -

-

***

Maddy mixed up some chloroform, from a recipe she found online.  It didn’t feel right, but brutalizing her uncle and grandmother didn’t feel right either.  Better if they went along peacefully.  She kept it in a nail polish remover bottle, hoped it wouldn’t kill too many brain cells when deployed.

She knew her father was out preparing Kevin’s SUV for a midnight run.  Or he was already done and coming back inside.  She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.  Just a regular modern gal, about to kidnap her family from The Kingdom of Hell on Earth.  Yeah, it was showing.  She was tired, wired, and unkempt.

A rap on the doorframe - her dad’s personal rhythm.  She knew it well and wasn’t startled.  “Daddy.”

“Snookums.  Are we about ready?”

“Yeah.  Got some clean rags.”

“Nothing but the best for your Gran and Uncle.”

She made a face at him.  “Tasteless.”

“What?  You gotta make light when things get dark.”

“Light this.”  She pushed a rag at him and he snatched it.

“I guess here goes nothin’.”

They stole up the stairs quietly as they could, soft creaks muffled by thick carpet.  At the top of the landing, they looked into the dark hall.  A night light in the bathroom at the far end was the only illumination.  Grandma’s bedroom would be on one side, Kevin’s room on the other.

They took deep breaths in near synchronization and Maddy doused their rags heavily with the creepy chemicals.  Her dad looked at her with sad determination, then marched down the hall briskly.  They didn’t want the fumes to fade before they did the deed.

Maddy must have stepped too hesitantly, because as she approached the bed, she heard her uncle yelp in the other room.  Her Grandmother rolled over and stared at her.

She came over and sat on the bed quickly, holding her arm as if to comfort her.

“Shh, I think they’re in the house!”

Grandma sat up in the bed abruptly, startled by the idea of the demons attacking her boy.  “They wouldn’t!  They promised!”

She was distracted enough.  Maddy struck like a cobra, rag over the mouth.  “Shh, shh, shh,” she said.  The old lady jerked momentarily in horror, then died away.

Maddy shook her head and trembled.  “Oh no!”  She squeezed and patted the body, frantic.

Her dad came into the room in a rush, his feet heavy in the hall.  “Are you alright?!  Oh.  You should step back, Baby.”  He practically hoisted her with his big hands, and assumed her position over his mother, picking up a frail wrist to try the pulse.  “She’s fine, just... That’s some tough stuff you mixed up.  They both went down like Joe Frazier.”

He looked up at her and smiled gently.  “You’re such a softy.  Like a kitten.”

Maddy nodded, but then she noticed something and her eyes went wide.  Jason followed her gaze to his mother’s arm.  Something was glowing under her pyjama sleeve.

He pushed up the sleeve to see the Mark of Bymaan, blazing with unnatural light - like a neon sign embedded in her flesh - and they heard a soft whine coming from it.  Then they heard doors and windows begin to crash downstairs.

Jason scooped up his mother and hustled to the closet, and Maddy came inside with him.  Barely a second later, unseen intruders were ripping at the panels, rattling, and finally busted the doors right out of their tracks.

The demons grabbed his mother away, battering at him brutally.  Maddy was forced screaming into the darkest corner.  Dozens of hands in different sizes and shapes grabbed and pushed, and at last they were hauled into the open part of the bedroom.  Jason and Maddy could see her grandmother laid out on her bed, demons patiently waiting around her, but they were personally restrained.

The tallest demon at the side of the bed turned to face them, pointing an accusing finger.  She was made out of a loose pile of porcelain products, with uneven cracked teapots for comically oversized breasts.  Her fingertips were clothespins.  “You have assaulted those under the protection of the Queen.  You will be taken to her dungeons to await sentence.”

“What?,” Jason yelled.  “You can’t be serious!”

“Whosoever bears not the mark of Bymaan, whence your hand falls upon one who does, so too shall her hand fall upon you!  Cuff ‘em, boys.”

Maddy and Jason Homme were in the grips of demons.  They were marched from the house of their family.  Outside, they stood at the curb, waiting for something.  At least for the moment, they were together - side by side.

Jason said, “Baby, if there’s one thing I regret more than anything else--”

“Don’t say it, Daddy.  You couldn’t have known.”

“You’re right.  I couldn’t have known, but I can still regret it.”

A lizard man with a marching band jacket and horse head said, “You regret this?  I don’t wanna be here either.  I just discovered The Hallmark Channel.  It’s fucking beautiful.”

“At least let me talk to my daughter in peace, ya damn stormtrooper.”

“I’m never gonna know if Jessaphine finds true love with Corvin.  I’ll bug you all I want.”

“Fucking demons.”

Maddy squeezed up her face, but she didn’t cry.  No more of that.

***

The cops and troops loaded into two armored personnel carriers that had been parked in a nearby alley, along with Park, Infante, Iphigenia, and Jelly Sue.  Some of the cops were touching their deltoids or other areas gingerly - they had fresh tattoos of the seal of Abalaam under the fatigues.  Infante didn’t like it, so Park ducked out of receiving his own at the last minute as well.

The APCs pulled about forty miles per hour down Rainier, a sergeant in each nervously eyeballing all the camera angles of the outside, looking at every twitching demon that happened by.  They were having parties on their newly acquired lawns, joyriding past them on the streets.  Apparently off duty, none seemed to raise an alarm about the military vehicles in the neighborhood.  Or was it the protection of Abalaam?

They pulled a hard right onto Yesler with no interference, then left onto the tight little lanes of 17th Ave.  The APCs jumped a curb, crashed a side fence, and parked in somebody’s backyard.

“Sitrep,” Abraham commanded.

A sergeant replied, “Clear as it’s gonna get.  Any of these houses could be hot.”

“It’ll have to do.  Park, Iphigenia, you’re with me.”

“Yes sir.”

“...”

They followed Abraham up a ladder to the roof of their APC and stood at his sides.  He pointed into the dark sky ahead.

At first, Iphigenia didn’t notice anything.  Then she realized there was a massive black tower there, hard to see against the night sky.  It was about five hundred feet across and thousands of feet tall - very hard to guess just how much.  Then they noticed the others - towers to the left and further away.  One was partly covering their view of The Columbia Center - the tallest building in Seattle a week ago.

“Holy Hell,” Park said.

“That’s about right.  It is the power of fallen angels - the ophanim who once turned the celestial spheres,” said Abraham.

“How the fuck do you know that?,” Ippy asked.

“That’s how I got this tour, ma’am.  Occult knowledge.”

“Sure,” said Park.  “This one is the objective?”

“They’re in there, somewhere,” Abraham said.  “Bybaal and the murder club members under his seal.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ippy.

“What’s the best approach?  I wouldn’t even want to guess,” said Park.

“Two APCs, two teams.  Opposite sides of the tower.  Infiltrate and ascend, sweep until we find them.  Kill anything that moves.”

“And the death shield?,” Park asked.

“Iphigenia, Infante, and anyone with the seal of Abalaam should be fine to kill the bastards.  How about you?”

Park cracked his neck.  “I can lay down suppressive fire.  What do the breach points look like?”

“That’s the problem.  There are a lot of unknowns.  I’m aware of two ways in.  On the east and the west, there are some high doors - sixty and seventy feet off the ground respectively, with no ladders ropes or lifts.  We’re climbing - and hoping the outside of this thing is as poorly surveilled as it looks.”

“Holy Hell.”

“Do you have a better idea?”  Abraham looked at him with a smile.  Did he know about his oracular insight?

“No, no… Let’s just do this.”

They split into teams.  Iphigenia and Jelly Sue were with the squad under Sgt. Blahm from ICE, taking the harder climb.  Infante and Park were with Abraham and others on the shorter climb.  They’d decided it was the more dangerous route because it was more likely to be surveilled, based on the lay of the neighborhood.

Ippy would have left Jelly in one of the houses, but she had a feeling she could find a safer place inside the monolith.  Surely there were rooms in there where nobody went.  Out in the residences, demons were running amok.  But could Jelly pull herself up the rope?

The soldiers didn’t think it was worth waiting to find out.  Blahm ordered two guys up the ropes first, they tossed an extra one down with a strap to loop around her.  Ippy helped her into it, and they hauled her up.  Ippy didn’t wait for the ascent, taking up a rope and climbing alongside, ready to catch her.

The door was large enough for a giant to walk through - a portal with no covering of wood or iron, leading straight from the open air into the halls of the black stone monstrosity.  Jelly Sue and Iphigenia stared into the hall ahead while the rest of the soldiers climbed up behind them.  It was as tall as the entrance, piercing the building all the way to the other side.

Hundreds of feet away, they saw the other team coming in through the wall - black silhouettes of army men, soft amber city light behind them.  There were halls leading off to the sides, or at least openings carved in the stone that could house such.  The lady held her doll’s hand and looked to the sergeant.

“Before we go anywhere, we find a place to hide her.”

“This is my command, but alright.”  He picked up his radio.  “Infante, you see us?”

The voice came through, “Copy.  SAC wants us to work south, your team north.  Over.”

“You all in?  Over.”

“Affirmative.  Let us know when you are, and we’ll roll.  Over.”

“Copy.  Out.”  He did a quick headcount - just a few still climbing up.  “You can be with our point guys on the first sweep.  Come and get her if you find something you like.”

She nodded.  Despite the label on his uniform, he didn’t seem like a completely unreasonable asswipe.  Yet.

Blahm picked up his radio.  “It’s time.”

“Copy,” said Infante’s voice.

He put down the radio and gestured while giving orders.  “Yarrow, Buckner, you breach on the left.  Gorman, you’re with her on the right.  Dr. Miller, you watch the girl.  Everyone else follow the hands.”

As everyone headed into the first hall on the left, he pointed left and right, splitting the remaining troops between the sides of the hall, then took up the rear with Miller and Jelly Sue.

The situation felt so tenuous.  This was a building for giants.  What happened when the giants came home?  Ippy felt like they were so many rats raiding a pantry, as if the owners or house cats were never going to show.

The whole building seemed carved from a single piece of black stone, almost completely unadorned.  There were some kind of metal fixtures hanging from the ceiling - chandeliers?  Hard to see, unlit in the dark.  Ippy didn’t bother with a flashlight, trying to see by that of the soldier’s.

They came to the first door on the right.  Gorman looked across the hall to Yarrow, who counted it off on fingers.  When his fist closed completely, it was time.  They whipped around the corner.

Nothing.  The soldier ran his flashlight over the walls, then to the ceiling.  There was some furniture in here.  It looked like a rococo parlour that got coated thoroughly in tar and left to harden for a hundred years.  But they were pretty quick to rule out anything man-sized hiding in there -- especially when the rest of the troops filed in.  Ippy got bored in a hurry and came back into the hall.  Gorman followed.

“Hey.  You should have a flashlight too.  If you surprise any of us right now, it’s a bad idea.”

“Whatever.”

They approached the next door on the right, Yarrow and Buckner on the left.  Ippy could see Jelly Sue’s hair faintly illuminated near the back by the screen of Blahm’s tablet.  What was he playing with on there?

They kept clearing the floor.  The cops were getting tired and they’d barely begun to sweep the tower.  It was going to be a long night.  They moved, they sweat, they almost lost their disciplined movement, got ahead of themselves.

Ippy didn’t help much.  These rooms had the same problem as the suburbs - they were wide open and looked homey, by some kind of hell standards.  Too easy to imagine some creeps strolling in and finding Jelly.  Unacceptable.

Jelly Sue walked with the sergeant and the doctor.  Miller was very nervous about the way they came, spending most of her time looking there.  Blahm seemed heedless.  He had planted a motion sensor back there and was just trusting the tablet to let him know of an ambush.  Jelly looked from one to the other, and ahead at the monkey men bustling this way and that through the hall.

Miller grabbed her eyes.  “Oh god, worst time for a migraine.”

Blahm didn’t look at her.  “Sorry.  You should hydrate, doc.”

“I feel like my eyeballs are the size of tennis balls.”

“They are,” said Jelly.

Miller’s skin was covered in shining sweat.  Her whole head was bulging, but eyes most of all, eyelids straining to keep the huge orbs in place.  Her lips were thin, quivering, forming a small beak.  Her neck had become almost too thin to keep holding up her swollen dome.

But she took no notice of her own deformity, shaking her head at Jelly’s comment and reaching for a canteen.

Jelly Sue took this information onboard, then checked to see what Blahm was looking like.  His eyes were also bulging, head sweating.  Drops landed on the tablet screen and he smeared them away.

“I’m Ippy’s sister.”

Blahm chuckled but Miller was startled.  “Whoa.  She speaks!  You don’t look like each other.”

“Well… I can drink water.”

Miller handed her the canteen.  Jelly dutifully pretended to drink from it, then handed it back to her.  “Thank you, Dr. Miller.”

“You’re welcome.”  She looked like a nude baby bird wearing a cheap human wig, smiling with her beak.

Jelly smiled sweetly, and the smile faded as she turned to look at Blahm.  He was also birding out.  She looked forward at the troops, blank again.

Iphigenia had a growing awareness there was something wrong with the cops.  Around the time half the halls on their side of that floor were cleared, she caught a good look at one in a flashlight as it wheeled by.  His eyeballs had become gigantic, sealed in with straining, veiny eyelids.  His lips were a dainty beak, his nose reduced to cornified nostrils atop the beak.

Was it even Gorman?  Name tag said so.  Some quality in his voice remained recognizable, though it was now higher pitched, breathless.  “This whole floor is abandoned.  This fucking detail sucks.”

“Yeah, sure does.”  She wished she had a mirror to give herself a look.  She touched an eyeball.  Felt normal.  Radio chatter in the halls was beginning to get more frequent.

The order came down the line - pick up the pace.  Less time clearing the corners - more opportunities for danger to slither out of the darkness.  Ippy and the birdmen soldiered on.

Infante finally got a chance to talk to Park and Abraham at the same time, nobody else in earshot who would hear over the boots.  He put a hand on each of their shoulders, looked at them wildly.  “They can’t tell.  They don’t know!”  He said it as quietly as he dared.

Abraham brushed the hand off.

Park held it.  “I noticed.”  He looked to Abraham.  “It’s the seal, isn’t it?”

Abraham wouldn’t meet their stares.  “It might be.  The enemy is sealed by Bybaal, the men are sealed by Abalaam.  Maybe as the seals converge… I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!,” said Infante.  “You didn’t get the seal because you knew.”

“Stow it, Sergeant!  I didn’t get the seal because it’s powerless if I apply it to my own flesh.  It would have been a waste of time.”

Park pushed himself between and nodded at their superior.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  But can we pick up the pace here, before these birds need to leave the nest?”

“OK.  But Infante, you better get back in your place.  We need you where the action is.”

Infante complied, shaking his head as he went back to the point.

Abraham picked up his radio.  “Blahm.  I’d reckon the objective could be up eighty floors.  We need fast and dirty.  Report when you’re done with this floor.”

“Copy that.”

Abraham looked at Park.  He was convincing.  Park knew better than to ignore all the red flags, but the big man in the buzzcut really looked humane, like he believed in what he was doing, what he had dragged them into.  Like he regretted the transformation in his troops.

Park still couldn’t decide if it was safe for him to kill any of the enemy.  If they had that death shield and he didn’t have any mystical exceptions, it would instantly take him out.  His indecision kept him in the rear with Abraham.  They moved on.

***

A cop car with the roof ripped off roared up to the curb, and Maddy and Jason were shoved in the back.  A vulture-turtle-thing in a peaked police cap perched on the trunk, clawed feet piercing metal, and held a taser at the two menacingly.  The front seat had another two demons squeezed into it.  The plexiglass divider was still in place, so Jason couldn’t even spit on the bastards in disgust.

They would have talked more, but as the car roared along, the wind made it hard to hear, and they were in no mood for shouting.  They had been defeated.  Kevin and Grandma were surely recovered from the chloroform by now.  Did they even understand what had happened?

Then they noticed the black citadels.  Jason had witnessed the rise of the one on Beacon Hill, and was disappointed to see even more of the creepy towers.  Madison looked at him in fear.  Was that where they were going?

“Hang tight, Princess.  We’ll get out of this somehow.”

The vulture cackled.  “Like hell you will!  Nyeeheheheee!”

“Oh, Daddy.  I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.  No point having the argument about who was the sorriest.  He knew in his heart that he was the King of Sorry.

The car whipped past one of the citadels shortly after turning off Rainier.  They could see guys climbing in through one of the doors, dozens of feet above the small surrounding buildings.  Strange sights.

It careened down Broadway wildly, leaving the clustered citadels behind to head toward the tallest one - looming at the north end of the Capitol Hill.  Broadway’s usual evening rabble of college students, hipsters, vagrants, and yuppies were outnumbered ten to one by their new neighbors - the demons.

Past the famous strip, the road bent into 10th avenue, which had a lot more trees and nice three story apartments.  But the east side of the road, the apartments were a tangled wreckage, mostly collapsed and shot through with black chunks of rock ranging in size from small car to double-decker bus.  It was the base of the citadel.  If Volunteer Park and the adjacent cemetery still existed, they were a few thousand feet up, atop the monolith.

The demons steered the cop car into the rocks.  Maddy and Jason braced for the impact, but all that came was a slight jolt.  There was some kind of secret passage.  They drove down a sloping rough-hewn stone hall, lit by veins of unnatural pink light between the rocks of the walls.  One tire blew out, then another, from speeding over the rugged surface.

The car sloped up again, into a vast and darker cavern, and bottomed out on the floor after a jump, scraping to a stop.  They piled out of the car, kicking off the doors, and pulled the humans out of the back seat.

“Daddy!”

“Maddy!”

The demons laughed and dragged them apart.  They kicked and twisted, but were lost to each other.  The dungeons awaited.

Maddy was tossed in a medieval looking holding cell, big enough to hold dozens more prisoners.  And yet, she was alone.  Why did they leave her alone?  The inside of the cell was pure darkness.  Only some kind of debris was visible on the ground, lit by remote pink light from outside the cage.

The air was cold on her sweat, but for now the tension and fear kept her warm inside.  It smelled like wet dirt with faint notes of pet store ferret.  Maddy gripped the bars as the demons capered away, and dragged herself back to her feet.

“Bastards!”

She had to calm down, take stock of the situation, make a plan.  This couldn’t be the end.  It wasn’t exactly a cutting-edge facility.  Could she dig her way out with a spoon?  No way she was going to wait to stand trial in Demon Court.

The bars were wide - but just not quite wide enough to squeeze through.  Some were loose, but just firm enough that she doubted she could unroot them without days of effort.  Everything was maddeningly close to breachable, but not quite.

She needed to rest.  What she really needed was a full night of sleep, but she couldn’t take a chance on that.  She lay down carefully on the stones, right there by the bars, rested her head on her arms, and had a cry.

Jason was belligerent the whole way, and got beaten for his efforts.  He was tossed into a cell without even having his cuffs removed, tased to keep him still long enough for the door to get locked behind him.

That hurts about as bad as it looks on the TV, he thought, waiting for his body to recover.  When he was finally able to blink away the tears from his eyes, he saw an olive-skinned woman looking at him in gentle concern.  She had the look of a native from somewhere south, maybe as far as South America, and nearing middle age.

“Ma’am, um, ah...”

“Josie.  I’ll help you sit up.”  She did.  It wasn’t much of an improvement.

“Gracias.  I’m Jason.”  He looked around.  There were no lights in the big cell, but sickly pink flames burned out cracks in the floor outside, giving enough to see by.  There were a few other humanoid figures in the cell, farther away.  “Co-ed dungeons, eh?  What are you in for?”

“I locked my daughter in her room because she got that mark.  That’s what they said to me.”

“I was trying to…  It doesn’t matter.  We gotta get out of here.  How come you don’t have the bracelets?”

“I did not fight so much.  I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t pay to have a temper.”  He slumped forward, face against the bars of the cell.  “Have any of you tried to get out yet?  What’s it look like?”

She looked very sad, suddenly evasive.  “It’s no use.”

“That’s not all, is it?”

Her eyes burst into tears.  “We won’t live to see the trial!”

Jason did his best to get close to her, only able to maneuver on his knees.  “Josie, get a grip!  Tell me what it is!”

She nodded, and gestured to the humanoid shapes.  “One of them is a monster.  He eats one of us, then gets too stuffed.  Then later on he eats another one.  It’s… maybe every six hours.”

“So this cell was a death sentence?  Goddamned demons!”

***

Jen and Sergio had been left in a cage dangling over an abyss.  It was a shaft through the monolith that probably terminated over a thousand feet below.  They were thirty or more feet from the nearest walls.  The cage was locked tight, hardly enough room for the two of them.  Their bodies were close, aching, sweaty.  They spoke gently to each other.

“How you holdin’ up, Serge?”

“Tired of waiting.  They make it so uncomfortable.”

“Yeah.  It’s because they know we’re superheroes.”

“Superheroes?  Like Superman?  I am not a superhero.”

“Well, you hafta admit, we’d bust out of a regular jail no problem.  So it’s super-jail.  For superheroes.”

“OK.”  He rested his head on hers again, careful not to come down too hard.  “Maybe we can fall asleep.  Can you fall asleep?”

“Like this?  I think the word for it is passing out.  Probably not for a good long time, Serge.”

She hadn’t been that close to a man in a few months, and that man hadn’t been so powerful.  Sergio was as strong as Jen at least, and leaner.  Even the pain and peril couldn’t keep it from being at least a little arousing.

She didn’t like to think about herself in the equation of attraction.  It was a little denial she allowed herself - just try to have fun, don’t imagine that anyone could ever find you attractive, let good times happen when they can.  But this guy was so out of her league that it provoked bad feelings.  She tried to keep her feelings in check - he’s an ally, a friend in the same boat.  Comrades, yeah.  It wasn’t working.

Sergio’s world was all workouts and dick-measuring contests with incredibly vain men, until the apocalypse came down.  Now he was a goat-murderer and super-pelotero.  But he was still human, and was so grateful for Jen taking him in, treating him like a friend.  He didn’t have a genuine friend in the Estados Unidos.

He could feel the strength through the softness in her body.  Something in that power felt compelling.  It reminded him of the few times he’d been tempted by homosexuality, rough-housing with his friends in Venezuela.

He had an idea, but didn’t want to offend her.  Siempre yo puedo dormir después de un orgasmo.  Podemos..?  He wouldn’t say it.  It was absurd anyway.  But what would he say?  What would he do with his last days?

“Jen.  They are going to kill me.”

“Why you wanna think about that buddy?”

“It’s OK.  I killed a lot of them.  Even though they are devils, maybe I deserve it.”

She jerked her head back enough to look him in the eye, more or less.  Her glasses were badly fogged and beaded.  “Stop that!  We’ll get out of this somehow.  I know it!”

“It is more easy for me.  To think I am going to die.”

She shook her head.  “OK, think what you want.  But don’t tell me about that.  I’m not going to let it happen.”

He nodded.  “Well, you know what I think.  So you know.  I have a wish before I die.  It is nothing big.”

She shook her head.  “Don’t say it.”

“I don’t know,” he looked side to side, cheeky.  “Maybe you’ll like it.”

Her eyebrows were knit in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Can I kiss a pretty woman one time, before I die?”

She was shocked, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “You can say no.”

Her face went red.  He felt the warmth coming off of it.

After a terrible little eternity, her expression softened, and she kissed him.  She missed his mouth almost completely the first time, then he angled himself to better be reached.  They locked lips.  It was bad on so many levels - his stubble, her glasses, their sweat, their discomfort.  But they weren’t playing.

She broke the makeout session enough to say, “If you think you’re gonna die, why only a kiss?”

“Oh?  What do you mean?”

“Let’s … Well we can’t fuck in here, but we can do handies.”

“Handies?  Oh.  Yeah, that sounds fun.”

They loosened their pants.  After a few orgasms, they both passed the hell out.

***

In the Cherry Hill citadel, Iphigenia found a wardrobe Jelly Sue could hide in.  Baby bird head Dr. Miller said she couldn’t fit in beside her, and Ippy said she’d be better off hiding alone - no guard.  She also asked for a moment alone.

When she got it, “Jelly Sue.  I have to go kill these guys.  It might be a while, but I’ll come back.  I will come back.”

“It isn’t safe.”

“I know.”  She hugged her tightly, and reluctantly let go.  “You’ll see me again tonight.”

“OK, Ippy.”

She closed the wardrobe and rejoined the troops.  The cops were rushing the floors now.  She found it agreeable.  It boggled her mind the place was so abandoned.

Maybe it was incomplete.  Maybe the rough-hewn stone of all the furnishings, walls, ceilings, floors was because the material was yet to be refined into the palace it was meant to be.  Maybe when it took its final form, it would be populated with man-sized maggots and flies in Regency era clothing.

She’d fallen to the rear so she wasn’t there when the monster struck.  She couldn’t see it - just one of the soldiers flying through the air, bouncing off a wall dead.  Guns started to go off.

Baby bird heads flopped madly on skinny necks.  Who were these people?  Cops and soldiers, special agents and sergeants.  They did their best to move strategically, going into side rooms and angling around corners, looking for any trace of the enemy.  It quickly became apparent there was more than one enemy, they were unnaturally strong, and they were completely invisible.

Iphigenia backed into the room where she’d left Jelly Sue.  She wasn’t going to let it turn into a gun battle.  Anyone who came through the door - birdhead or invisible demon - and she’d send them back into the hall.

A soldier tried to come into the room and she leapt at him, pushing him back into the hall with a single kick to his bulletproof vest.  He looked as shocked as his malformed eyeballs were capable of looking.

Then he stopped short.  He’d chanced to bump into one of the invisible demons, and whipped around, unloading his submachinegun at point blank range.  Bullets pinged all over the hall, and a ricochet ripped through his skull.  He was instantly dead.

She knew it was the death shield.  They weren’t just invisible - anyone lucky enough to kill one would be killed in turn.  Anyone except her.  She felt bad enough about the getting the cop killed that she decided to head out into the hall - closing the door behind her.

Blahm was up against a wall, whipping his head back and forth, MP5 in hand.  She went against the wall beside him.

“Hey, you got smoke cans that won’t burn our eyes out?”

“N-no!  It’s all tear gas!”

“Damn.”  She looked around.  “Anything we can set on fire?”

He let his gun hang from its strap while he muddled around in his pack.

While she was waiting, a huge powerful hand gripped her arm and jerked her into the air.  Another grabbed for her hammer hand and she smacked it away with a flourish.  She couldn’t see the thing, but from the slightest feel of it touching the weapon, she guessed where it was well enough to make it hurt.

She was still in the grip, arm threatening to come out of its socket.  She kicked her legs.  They tapped an invisible body here, there.  It was humanoid enough - aside from being about nine feet tall.  Assuming its head was in the usual place, she whipped the claw side of the hammer straight into its face and it let go of her arm.

Like the first goblin she’d killed with the weapon, she was above the foe, smashing it up with brutal overhand strikes.  The goblin’s body was much smaller.  This would take a lot more work.  Its invisibility wasn’t perfect, an outline rippling wherever it moved quickly.  Its blood spray was like a blast of clear boiling water.

Somebody punched her in the back and she felt like she was being stabbed with a burning knife from the front.  No, she looked at her yellow coat, splashed with blood.  She’d been shot.

Somehow Ippy was coming to imagine she was bulletproof.  It was a rude awakening.  She slouched against the wall next to Blahm, hoping if more stray bullets came they’d get stuck in him.  “What do you have?”

“Road flare!  Pretty smoky.”  He lit it up and handed it to her.

She didn’t accept it right away, one arm weaker from the gunshot, the other holding the hammer.  She took the hammer into the weak hand and accepted the flare with the other.  “Alright.  Alright.”

Blahm took stock of the battle.  Some guys were in the rooms, some in the halls.  All were being careful not to shoot in the direction of friends, but it was hard to know where to shoot at all.  The invisible demons could be seen in glimpses, but they weren’t sitting still for the men and their automatic weapons.

He gestured for people to get out of the hall.  The stone walls could minimize friendly fire.  Then he hustled for the nearest room.

It was the one where Jelly had been stashed.  Iphigenia almost tried to tackle him, but she restrained herself.  She didn’t know how much blood she could afford to lose.

She jogged down the hall, putting more smoke into the air.  A cop popping out of a room nearly shot at her, but caught himself.  Suddenly she was off her feet again, a big demon pinning her to the wall.  The sparks spraying off of it, the smoke curling around it from her torch, revealed a face like that of a man.  She thought he looked a little like Bryant Gumbel.

Before she could make a move, the cop opened up point blank with his submachinegun.  Immediately the gun jammed in a way that shot a piece of shrapnel into his brain with lethal speed, and he collapsed.  The death shield.

But that also meant the demon had died.  It fell away and slipped to the ground, hammer throwing sparks where it bounced.  Then she was on her way again.

The B team radioed about the attack, though Abraham’s men could hear the gunshots from across the floor, down twisting halls.  Abraham shouted for the men to head that way for backup, eyes peeled.  Reversing course left Infante and Park in the middle of the crew.  Park decided if he saw an enemy, he’d shoot to maim if he could.

Infante smiled.  “About time, eh?”

“Don’t look so pleased.”

They came out into the main hall that cut across the floor.  So far there had been one of these on every other floor, portals at the ends exposed directly to the night winds.  Park was grateful for the breeze.  Then the guys started flying.  Some kind of giant invisible demon was hitting them from the front.

Infante lifted his assault rifle and let off a three round burst.

Park was sure he’d turn out to not be immune to the death shield, despite the evidence from back on Hilltop.  He was sure one of those bullets would bounce back their way and ruin his perfect face.

It didn’t happen.  A spray erupted in the air like water and the invisible form rippled as it fell to the floor.  Guys rushed around it.  Nobody had been killed.  The guys who were tossed got back to their feet and joined the charge.

As they hustled around the invisible corpse, Park tripped on something meaty and fell, taking out the guys who were hustling behind him.  He lost track of Infante in a heartbeat.

“Fuck!”  He was well and truly tangled.  Whenever he tried to plant a palm on the ground to get up, he’d just end up slapping something big naked and oily.  Or one of the other troops would accidentally kick him while trying to extricate themselves.

A meaty hand gripped the back of his bulletproof vest and hoisted him back to his feet.  Abraham said, “Shape it up, soldier.  You’ll want to see the show.”  Park could barely hear him between the gunshots.

The troops got untangled and ran ahead.  Park was following, but Abraham held him back.  “You’re not supposed to be in there, Detective.  You have a different purpose.”  The smooth deep voice reached him through the din, somehow, like it was breathed straight through his ear into his brain.

He was suddenly dizzy, leaning against the rough stone wall.  The submachinegun was heavy in his hands.

“Take a look,” Abraham said.

Park looked around the corner.  The troops had mostly gone into side rooms to clear out trouble there.  Aside from the dead, only a few remained in the hall - including Infante.  It was very smoky in there, perhaps from the gunfight before they showed up, and the smoke made it pretty easy to tell where the giant demons were.  The guys at Infante’s sides used suppressive fire to keep the demons in line, and the hero mowed them down - free from the effects of the death shield.

Abraham said, “Excellent, excellent…,” as if he could see through Park’s eyes.

“There’s at least six guys down out there.”

“But we’ve got a handle on it now, don’t we?”

Park got a grip on himself, shaking off the weird spell, and went into the hall.  The dead guys on the ground unnerved him with swollen bird heads and thin necks.  He looked in the first room and saw nothing, went to the next, had to duck back into the hall to avoid friendly fire.

The shooting stopped and he went in, gun ready.  One birdhead lady was against the wall, exhausted.  He recognized her hair, now perched atop her head like a bad wig - the medic, Dr. Miller.  Next to her, two guys were dead.

“Miller, are there any more?”  He came in, pointing his gun this way and that in the room, using the attached flashlight, looking for any sign of movement.

“Watch out for the-”

He tripped on another invisible corpse and got tangled again.

The troops all formed up in the hall again, and Abraham had Miller treat Iphigenia’s gunshot wound first.  After some very cursory work, he ordered the remaining troops to move on as one team.  Park was glad to have an excuse to get away from him, leaving him to bring up the rear.

As the cops and troops moved onto the next floor, Abraham stayed back, smiling, and jogged the opposite direction in the hall.

***

NEXT

-

[sweet-christabel]

A Trusted Friend In Science

FF.net: (x) AO3: (x)

Chapter Twenty - Unknown year. Near Misses.

After figuring out which testing track Chell was on and reattaching Wheatley to the management rail, Doug once again found himself running ahead with the intention of depositing supplies in some of his now-exposed hiding places. He'd been against it at first, or rather the cube had, not comfortable with the broken-down state the facility was in. Not only was it harder to avoid GLaDOS's cameras with the crumbled walls, but travelling between chambers had gotten more dangerous due to the aged structures. Still, he'd persevered, his unwillingness to abandon Chell overpowering his apprehension.

Wheatley had yet to find a blind spot in which to contact her, but Doug had caught glimpses of him travelling the rail alongside the tests, keeping an eye on them both. He'd seen Chell once, entering chamber two just as he was leaving it. Although she was bearing up well, her expression betrayed her anxiety. There was a raw edge of sorrow to her demeanour too, which he attributed to grief for her father.

"It might help if she knew you were alive," the cube spoke up as he added a full tin of beans to the row of empty cans in one of his dens.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked quietly, mindful of the gaping hole in the wall that led to test chamber three. "Write 'hi Chell, I'm alive lol' on a wall?"

The cube snorted at his heavy sarcasm. "It would get the job done."

"No," he said firmly. "She's seen my graffiti. She probably thinks that whoever wrote all this stuff is crazy. And she'd be right." He glanced up at the murals he'd painted in the room, images that made very little logical sense. During a long-ago period of restlessness, he'd managed to get his favourite song to loop on the radio, and had incorporated the lyrics into his work. The song had seemed to speak directly to him, which had been depressing, but at the same time he'd found its melody soothing.

"You need to get over thinking she'd judge you," the cube told him sternly. "She knows better than that, and you know she does. Let her know you're alive. She needs something to help her keep going. Tenacity alone won't always cut it."

Doug sighed, crouching to avoid being seen by the security camera in the test chamber, and sneaked over to the opposite side of the room. He switched the radio on, letting the music calm him, its familiar words once again questioning whether he'd given up. As before, he felt determined to prove them wrong.

“I can’t just…” he began, trailing off almost at once. “I already told Wheatley not to mention me to her, so doing this just seems…”

“She won’t know everything,” the cube countered. “Just that you’re alive.”

The cube had a point, as it often did when he let his fear control him. He wanted nothing more than to stay there and simply wait for Chell to arrive. He knew that wouldn’t be long, as she was only one chamber behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to face her, knowing that he’d been the one to place her life in danger. Although he was afraid, however, the thought of leaving her no clue as to his survival made him feel almost panicky.

Before he could change his mind, he drew a pen from his pocket and scurried over to the can of beans he’d left for her, bringing it back over to the ‘safe’ side of the den. Hand trembling just a little, he pressed the pen nib to the stark white label and wrote ‘Don’t give up’.

“That’s it?” the cube squawked.

He shot it a look over his shoulder. “It’s enough.”

“But how will she know who…”

“If she hears that song,” he interrupted, “she’ll know.”

The sound of GLaDOS’s voice emanating from the speaker outside the door startled him. He dropped the can and the pen next to the radio, hurrying over to the broken wall panels on the far side of the room. Carefully, mindful of the murky, bottomless drop below, he scrambled out of the den and climbed up the girders and mechanical arms on the outside of the chamber until he was safely perched on top of it. It was slow going, what with the constant ache in his leg and the extra weight of the portal gun, tucked in securely next to the cube, but he made it unseen.

“Now what?” the cube asked.

“On to the next one,” Doug replied softly.

Ever since GLaDOS had dropped her unceremoniously into the incinerator room, Chell had been wracking her brain for an escape plan. So far, she hadn't had much luck, settling back into testing compliantly to keep the A.I. appeased until she thought of something. Although there were still places where she could have gotten out of the test chambers, the sheer drop down put her off trying to leave that way. Despite the boots she was wearing, the fall looked like a death sentence.

GLaDOS wasn't allowing her a moment's peace, constantly prodding and berating her about the fact that Chell had shut her down, resorting to cheap shots about her 'horrible' personality and her adoption. It seemed that the powerful supercomputer had conveniently forgotten that she had been the one to attack first. Chell let the comments wash over her, not allowing them to rattle her. She had bigger concerns than GLaDOS's petty opinions.

A hole in the wall caught her attention as she entered test chamber three, and she darted over to it, wondering if it was an exit. It wasn't, but it was interesting nonetheless. Dropping down into the once-hidden room, she glanced around, taking in the empty bean cans, the outlandish murals on the walls and, most of all, the radio that was playing something other than the irritating Samba tune she'd heard before.

Wait, she thought suddenly, I know this song.

Doug had driven her crazy with it once, playing it on a loop on his car stereo when they'd taken a lunch break outside and retreated to the car to avoid the rain.

Her stomach gave a lurch, and she rationally tried to figure out if it was possible for the radio to have been playing during the entire, unknown amount of time she'd been in suspension. It was unlikely, even with Aperture’s longevity track record. She crouched down to investigate it, checking for wet paint or fingerprints. The toe of her boot sent a tin rolling. Letting go of the portal device, she reached out and stopped it, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise as she realised it was unopened.

She set the device on the ground and picked up the tin, wondering if it had been forgotten about or left deliberately. It was as she was turning it over in her hands that she saw the message, the handwriting shaky but still familiar.

Chell exhaled noisily, closing her eyes briefly. A quick search of the immediate area yielded a pen, the same kind of cheap ball-point that was once found in every office.

Why would he have left that behind? she wondered inwardly. Is it just that he left in a hurry, or does he expect me to use it?

When she looked back at the writing, she saw that her thumb had smudged the end of the D and her heart did a little flip.

Still drying, she thought elatedly. He left because...I entered the chamber. He is alive.

She closed her eyes again, grinning stupidly in relief, then took another cursory glance at the paintings. There was nowhere on them that would show her writing clearly. She would take a leaf out of Doug's book and use the cans. Lunging across the room, she snatched one up and pondered what to write. There was so much she wanted to say. In the end, though, she settled for ‘Please don’t run. Let's escape.' Chances were he wouldn't return, but she resolved to repeat the message at every opportunity.

He’s running ahead of me. So I need to catch up.

Chell wasn’t stupid. She realised that he wasn’t medicated, and she didn’t know how it had affected him. The dioramas on the walls were not the work of an entirely stable mind, and yet he was leaving her supplies that she needed. He’d obviously kept up with his art therapy, which suggested he’d also continued the calming techniques that his regular therapist had taught him. There was a chance that he’d maintained some semblance of his old life. Feeling a little selfish, she clung to that hope. She wasn’t sure how she’d get through to him otherwise.

Spurred on by fresh motivation, she solved the test quickly and progressed to the next chamber, the one after that, and the one after that. She found a few more of Doug’s refuges, some with water and food in, but no new signs that he’d been there recently enough to catch.

GLaDOS had responded to her new determined speed by complaining that she was solving the tests faster than they could be built. Chell knew that that was not strictly true, since what GLaDOS was doing was making the tests usable again rather than building new ones, but she was well acquainted with how her robotic adversary stretched the truth. With more to occupy her mind, she was finding it even easier to ignore GLaDOS’s taunting. The A.I. did not react to Chell’s lack of interest, which was mildly irritating but not wholly unexpected. They were both pros at trying to get a rise out of each other.

In chamber nine, Chell made a slightly startling discovery, catching sight of Wheatley hiding in a blind spot near the ceiling. Since she could only see and hear him when she stepped on an aerial faith plate that shot her up in the air, his explanation for not being deactivated was more garbled than usual, as he did not stop his flow of speech whenever she dropped out of earshot. By the time that GLaDOS lowered the ceiling and cut him off from view, all that Chell had surmised was that the core was attributing his survival to a bird.

Whatever happened to him must have damaged his circuits a little, she theorised.

As she solved the test, she pondered the matter further, stringing two and two together and deciding that Doug was probably involved somehow. She simply couldn't see any other way that Wheatley would have gotten himself fixed and back on the management rail if not with human help. It certainly wasn't a bird.

As she stepped into the elevator, she sighed in frustration. Everything would be so much simpler if she could only talk. She could just ask Wheatley, rather than having to rely on guesswork. Cautiously, she attempted a quiet, "Hello?" She heard her soft rush of breath, but nothing else.

"Godammit," she hissed, partly in disappointment, partly to see if she could whisper. She could, after a fashion, but it sounded difficult to decipher, even to her ears.

Biting down her distress and anger, she picked up her steady mantra that had seen her through her first set of tests: Carry on, carry on, carry on.

Having collected more rain water in the large containers he'd rediscovered in his hiding places, Doug was busy distributing it into smaller bottles that would be easier to carry around. With the cube and the portal gun, he was fairly weighed down already, but the water was necessary. Using a mixture of portals and his old climbing routes, he'd found his way into an old den in the ceiling of chamber twelve. He was far enough ahead that he could take a moment to rest. His leg still throbbed, but it was feeling stronger, and food and water had put a little colour in his pale face.

Setting down his heavy bag, Doug lowered himself to the floor, his back against a mural he'd forgotten he'd painted. It was nice to sit down for a while. He felt as if he'd been running for days, although in reality it was probably only a few hours. Chell was most likely suffering too, her only respite in the elevators between tests.

"Ah! There you are!"

Doug jumped violently as the cheerful voice shattered his peace. His eyes flew open and he spotted Wheatley peering in the gap to his left, between the ceiling and the wall.

"Been looking for you for ages! I've got an idea, right. I'm going to orchestrate a situation so I can have a word with our lady down there, and I need your help for that, cos, uh, you actually have hands."

Blinking as he registered the core's hurried speech, Doug scrambled wearily to his feet, fighting hard to focus on Wheatley as shadowed figures dogged his peripheral vision.

"You're okay," the cube said quietly, injecting some calm into his mentality. "You're in control, not them."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked Wheatley, pushing the hallucinations aside as best he could.

Wheatley fixed him with an eager, blue stare. "Well, I thought she should know that we're working to get her out of there, you know, so that she's ready to escape when the time comes. But I can't do that with Her watching everything. But don't panic, it's okay, right, cos I found a way to slow up the door mechanism. So, uh, if you'll just...follow me. We can use the door to this chamber below."

"Is Chell far behind?"

"No. I just caught sight of her in the test before this one."

Doug nodded and used the cube as a step up to reach the top of the wall where the core waited.

"Wait here," he told it. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"Be careful," it said sagely.

Turning back to Wheatley, Doug glanced at the potential route to the door. "Hmm," he muttered. "Portal device isn't going to help me here."

It was going to be a steep climb above the yawning gap into nothingness. Just looking at it made his stomach flip.

"Although..."

Hopping back down, he picked up the gun and shot a portal into the room’s single compatible surface: a few panels in the ceiling.

"Might make for an easier return trip."

He moved the cube out of its bag, dropping the portal device safely inside. Then he swung the strap across his shoulder and returned to the wall.

"You still have to get down there," the cube pointed out.

"I don't suppose you know how secure you are on the rail, do you?" he asked, glancing at Wheatley with a raised eyebrow.

The core narrowed his optic suspiciously. "Why?"

Doug opened his mouth to reply, but was swiftly cut off by Wheatley's cynical tones.

"Oh wait, wait, wait, I know what you're about. What is it with you humans, eh? You...you...you look at me and all you see is a means to an end. I mean, do I look like a bloody zip line to you?"

Doug glanced at him, trying to keep his expression neutral. With his bottom handle looking so invitingly handy and the management rail gently sloping towards the chamber entrance, the core did rather look like the key to progressing.

"Um," Doug began diplomatically, "well, not exactly..."

"Don't bother," Wheatley snapped, sounding exasperated. "Don't even bother. I can see it in your face, mate, and I'm...I'm disappointed, truth be told."

Doug sighed, holding up a hand. "Now, look-"

"Oh!" the core interrupted. "I just thought of something else that's disappointing. What if our combined weight is too much for this rail, eh? What if we both plummet to our horrible, grisly deaths? Cos you know what, that would be really bloody disappointing."

"It's a short journey," Doug shot back, his voice firm. "I think we'll be okay. I promise you, I don't weigh much. Not after three years without a square meal."

"You want to risk your life, that's up to you," Wheatley argued waspishly. "I don't see why you should drag me into it as well. Good old dispensable Wheatley, what does it matter if he falls into a deadly pit of death? Well I'll tell you why that matters, it matters because....uh....because....well, it just does, okay? Honestly, you humans, you think just because you created us, you're the boss of everything, well you're not. Okay? One day, I might be the boss and, uh, and then...well, I haven't thought that far ahead, to be honest, but something important will definitely happen."

"Meanwhile," Doug cut in, "Chell will have walked right past us and we'll have lost our opportunity."

The sphere halted, optic shifting as he considered. "Ah," he said. "You may have a point there." He glanced down at the drop beneath him, then hurriedly looked away. "Oh god, I really, really don't advise that."

"Look, just don't look down and move as fast as you can," Doug recommended. "We'll be there before you even register that we're going."

Wheatley made a short collection of sounds, imitating a sigh and a few fearful grumbles. "All right, all right. Let's get it over with, for god's sake. And if we die, it will be entirely on your head."

"Fine," Doug muttered, perching himself on the edge and reaching for Wheatley's lower handle. The murky depths of the pit stretched out shadowy tendrils, threatening to grab him and pull him into the darkness.

Oh god, I can't do this.

"You can," the cube called to him. "Don't look. It isn't real, Doug. It isn't real."

"Ready?" he asked Wheatley, thankfully managing to disguise the tremble in his voice.

"No," the core said obstinately. "Just remember to tuck your legs up, we'll be going through a fairly small gap at the end."

"Okay."

Tightening his grip, Doug took a deep breath and let himself slide off the edge. His body swung out into emptiness, the portal device clunking gently against his back. His stomach was immediately invaded by a small army of butterflies, his heart dropping into his shoes.

Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?

Following his suggestion rather more literally than he had expected, Wheatley shot off at top speed down the rail, causing Doug to fight the air resistance as he tried to keep his legs up.

Holy crap!

Keeping a death grip on the handle, staring adamantly straight ahead, Doug clenched his teeth as he battled his fear. But then they were slowing, drifting through a square hole in the wall, turning several corners, then finally emerging in a dimly-lit corridor. Doug let go immediately, landing on solid floor only to lose his balance and stumble against the wall. He was shaking, breathing hard. Wheatley stopped, spinning to face him. It was difficult to tell which one of them had been more terrified. Although it soon became apparent that only one of them was suffering after effects.

"Well," the core said cheerfully. "That wasn't too bad, actually. Reckon we could do that again."

"No," Doug panted, shaking his head as he crouched down, "I am never doing that again."

"It was your bloody idea," Wheatley huffed.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it didn't scare the hell out of me."

Wheatley shook his optic from side to side, mumbling a tetchy, "Humans." Then he paused, tilting to one side as if he was listening to something. "The lift's on its way," he reported. "Come over here, we'll shut down the door."

Still on wobbly legs, Doug straightened up and complied. Wheatley halted beside a panel he'd obviously opened, displaying the mechanism for the door.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Look up in the gap that the missing ceiling tile left," Wheatley instructed.

Doug did so, hopping up onto a nearby desk. He found the nest almost at once, bringing it down into the light with a sceptical expression. There were three eggs inside it.

"A bird's nest?" he said in disbelief.

"Yep," Wheatley beamed proudly. "Chuck 'em in."

Frowning, Doug stared at him. "You want me to...throw eggs in the door mechanism?"

"Yes, it's brilliant. Trust me."

Shrugging, he threw the whole thing into the workings behind the panel. It sparked, emitting a pathetic groaning noise. Then they heard GLaDOS’s words of complaint as she told Chell to stay put.

“Cheers!” Wheatley said brightly, zipping away down the rail, turning into the observation room through the only other open door in the corridor.

Doug followed, keeping out of sight, pulling the portal device out of the bag and hugging it to his chest. He would need it soon. He just wanted to find out exactly what Wheatley was saying.

“I found some bird eggs up here,” the core was explaining. “Just dropped ‘em into the door mechanism. Shut it right down!”

Just as Doug was thanking the heavens that Wheatley had remembered to keep him out of things, there came a whisper of wings, and he just had time to see a dark, feathered shape flit through the open door.  

“I – aaggh!” yelled Wheatley in apparent shock. “Bird! Bird! Bird! Bird!”

Doug froze in bewildered surprise, a guilty smile lingering on his face as he listened to the personality sphere sliding back and forth on his rail to get away from the creature. After a beat, he heard him return.

“Okay. That’s probably the bird, innit, that laid the eggs? Livid!”

Doug shook his head, still smiling, and wondered how Chell was reacting.

“Okay, look, the point is we’re going to break out of here, all right? Very soon, I promise, I promise,” the core reassured her. “I just have to figure out how. To...break us out of here. Here she comes!”

Not wanting to stick around, Doug fired a portal in the wall further down the corridor and dropped through the one he’d placed in the den’s ceiling. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as the connection closed a fraction of a second after he’d passed through. He didn’t have time to fathom why, however, as his awkward landing caused a large panel to fall out of the floor.

Eyes wide as he struggled to regain his balance, Doug watched the tile tumble down past a hard-light bridge and land with a quiet splash in the pool of toxic goo below.

“Shit!” he hissed vehemently. There was a place at the very back of his mind that was grateful for whatever GLaDOS was saying over the room’s speakers that would drown out his panicked word.

He shifted his weight sideways, letting himself fall and roll out of harm’s way. There was no time to take a breather, however. He knew that there was a chance that Chell had caught a glimpse of his lab coat. Even if she hadn’t, she was likely to explore the hiding place at any moment.

Doug hurried over to the cube, quickly repacking his bag. Taking care to avoid the gap in the floor, he passed it, scrambling across the air conditioning ducts and disappearing into the shadows beyond. Behind him, he heard the pop of a portal opening in the ceiling, followed by the sound of Chell’s boots.

“Focus,” cautioned the cube.

I am focused, he argued silently. Come on. We need to catch up with Wheatley.

“Good job with the bird eggs back there,” Wheatley said, as soon as Doug had pinned him down between test chambers.

“Hello to you too,” Doug murmured under his breath.

Wheatley barrelled on, unperturbed. “I’ve been thinking about our escape, right. I’ve got an idea. Ahh, you’re gonna love this, honestly, it’s tremendous. So, I was thinking about how our original plan was just to go up in the lift, okay, and I thought to myself ‘why change it?’ I mean, it’s still the best plan we’ve got going for us so far.”

Doug frowned in disagreement, but Wheatley continued before he could voice his thoughts.

“No, I hear you say, She is still holding us back. And right now, you’d be right. But what if she wasn’t? Um, holding us back, that is.”

“Uh…well, obviously that would be great,” the scientist spoke up, “but she’s not as easy to take down as you might think. I couldn’t do it. That’s why I needed Chell.”

“His plan is to do exactly what we were already trying to do?” the cube put in scathingly.

“Shh,” Doug pacified.

Wheatley peered at him, optic narrowed. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not you. Never mind. What was your idea?”

“It’s simple, really. Genius. We don’t kill her, we replace her. Y’know, do a core transfer and put me in her place. I can summon the lift, we all leave. Easy.”

Doug arched an eyebrow, considering the idea. It wasn’t as ridiculous or far-fetched as he’d expected Wheatley’s plans to be. In fact, it might even be the easiest way out.

“She won’t be eligible for a core transfer unless her central core is corrupt,” he said, already recalling the route to a usable console.

“Yeah, but you can do that, can’t you?” Wheatley asked, tilting a little.

“I can, if I can get to the right office.” Turning back to the sphere, he added, “Have you figured out when you can break Chell out of the testing track?”

“Not quite, but I’ve got a plan for that too. Leave it with me, mate. Working on it.” He bobbed in a confident kind of nod.

“Be careful. She’s always watching.”

But it seemed that where GLaDOS was concerned, Wheatley was as paranoid as he was.

“If GLaDOS finds you or suspects what we’re up to, she’ll fight back,” Doug told him gravely.

Wheatley looked at the floor, an air of nervousness overtaking him. “How?”

“In my experience,” he shrugged, “turrets or neurotoxin. Those are her favourites.”

“Weellll,” Wheatley said, drawing the word out, “I reckon Chell and I could stop by turret control and the neurotoxin generator on our way to the main chamber. You know, shut everything down so that she can’t use them against us. That would give you plenty of time to get to the console thingy and work a little bit of corruption magic. Err….science. Swap that in. Meant science. Of course!”

Doug shot him a quick smile. “Now that is a truly excellent plan.”

The core beamed at him, lifting his lower handle in a vague imitation of a smile.

“I’m going to keep tracking Chell until you break her out,” Doug went on. “Then I’ll make my way to the office.”

“Okay. I’d better go. I’ve got a meeting with the nanobot crew.”

“You’ve got a what?” Doug called after him, but the sphere was already moving along the rail.

“Hmph,” said the cube, with feeling.

“He needs to work on his greetings and leave-takings,” he commented dryly.

“At least he’s not welcoming you with ‘You’re looking good today’ anymore,” the cube pointed out.

Doug rubbed his tired, gritty eyes. “It was never true anyway.”

“Oh, stop.”

“What?”

“Anyone would think you were Quasimodo the way you go on,” the cube scolded. “Let’s get moving. Chell must be in chamber fourteen at least by now.”

Smiling to himself a little, Doug did as it suggested and took off running. 

No illustration this week. I just didn’t have time.