#I went from escapism to fully avoiding the outlets so now I think it's time to transition into the healthy middle

[muselexum]

<3

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Suit Up

Summary: Tony wearing the suit just really does it for ya...and he’s noticed.

Characters: Tony Stark x female reader

Words: 3,154

Author’s Note: Yea, that’s right, I fell down the Marvel hole. I tried to avoid it as long as I could, but in the end, I had to admit defeat.

Warnings: explicit smut, explicit language, uh...is suit porn a warning?

The coffee machine gurgled as you stood at the mansion’s vast kitchen counter, eyes glued on the wall-mounted TV screen. The newscaster was debriefing viewers on Iron Man’s latest victory, how he had saved dozens from an armed-robbery hostage situation at one of the largest banks in the city. Everyone had gotten out safely, the bad guys were all in cuffs, and the news outlets had a breaking story to keep them busy for the day. Adoring fans took turns gushing into the journalist’s mic about the famed superhero, making the side of your lips quirk up a bit in pride. 

The moment was then ruined by a high-pitched whooshing sound overhead, signaling Tony’s return. You winced at the chaotic bang of him crashing through walls and falling down into the lab, followed by muffled yelling and cursing. 

“Every single time,” you muttered with a shake of your head, not even wanting to know what expensive piece of equipment he had probably just destroyed with his graceful landing.

Grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard, you took your time filling them with the freshly brewed coffee and adding the appropriate amounts of cream and sugar to each one. Taking a deep breath, you picked up the cups and reluctantly headed downstairs to assess the damage. 

Sure enough, the debris was still settling, clouds of freshly-startled dust particles floating through the air as you descended the steps. Tony was currently out of view, but you could hear the heavy metal footsteps of the suit as he strode around while barking orders to FRIDAY. 

You and Tony had been dating for a while now, and the past few months had found you spending more nights here with him, rather than at your own apartment. No one had been more shocked by the relationship than you, especially since your initial assessment of the older and richer man was that he was well-aware of, and confident in, his place in the world. A man who knew his own worth and...oh, to heck with sugar coating it. You had initially thought he was a prime asshole, with a capital A. 

It wasn’t until your social circles kept throwing you into each other’s paths that you started to learn about the man beyond the narcissistic exterior. Sure, he was eccentric and an arrogant jerk at times, but he was also attentive and caring when he wanted to be. Once he realized you weren’t sticking around for his money or to grace his bed for a night or two, he showcased a loving side of himself behind closed doors that the rest of the world wouldn’t guess existed. 

And the sex. Dear god, the sex! Your breath sped up a bit just thinking about last night’s escapades, at how he had edged you until you were a begging, writhing mess beneath him, before sending you over the cliff and making you come again and again...and again. 

He had quickly awakened a side of you that had previously lain dormant, making it his personal mission to discover all your secret fantasies and make them a glorious reality. Tony was a kinky motherfucker, and as it turned out, so were you. And yet, there was still one fantasy that you had hidden from him, one you tried to keep buried way down deep and struggled not to let show. 

At the bottom of the stairs, you passed through his extensive security measures and stepped into the gigantic lab, rounding a corner towards the sound of grumbling. Tony turned around at the sound of your approach, still fully encased in the suit. The coffee cups almost fell out of your hand when the aforementioned hidden fantasy locked glowing eyes on you from across the room. Legs now quivering, you continued into the lab and shakily set the mugs down onto a nearby workstation. 

Oh, had you forgotten to mention? Yea, the suit was your fantasy. 

More precisely, Tony in the suit was your fantasy. You weren’t sure when exactly this kink had started, but you had been strangely attracted to him wearing the Iron Man suit for a while now, and didn’t know how to make it go away. 

Part of the appeal was the psychological symbol of all it stood for: peace and safety for those who hadn’t previously known such luxuries. There was so much power in that symbol, not to mention the physical prowess Tony had while wearing it. The virtually-indestructible superhero strength alone was enough to make your panties wet. 

Then there was the design of the suit itself. Sleek, strong lines of metal that were shaped into the form of a man, yet also...it was just not human enough to make you shiver in a way that had utterly shocked you the first time it happened. The robotic mask with its stern-set mouth and glowing eyes sent a tingle of fear down your spine whenever they focused in your direction, but the fact that you knew it was Tony under there also gave that fear and intimidation an edge of desire. And it wasn’t just the aesthetic of the suit that attracted you, but how Tony acted when buried within its grasp. He strode with arrogant claim into whatever arena he wore it, the power and confidence he exuded plain for all to see. And whether from the suit itself or the result of the authority he claimed while wearing it, the glistening gold mask also projected a slightly deeper, grittier version of his typical voice, one that could have you flat on your back and begging within seconds.

That same voice was now speaking in your direction, causing sweat to form on the back of your neck...and was followed by the snap of metal fingers inches from your face, jolting you out of the daydream you had been slipping into. Shit! You realized that he had been trying to get your attention for God knows how long, while you stood there practically drooling on yourself while fantasizing about him. 

Real smooth, you have the ‘keep this fantasy to yourself’ routine down so well, you internally admonished. 

Clearing your throat and wiping sweaty palms down denim-clad hips, you asked, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Trying to act unaffected, you gave Tony what was hopefully a calm smile.

“I asked if that was coffee,” he said, the suit staring at you so intensely that it almost made your brain go offline again. 

“Yep, sure is!” you responded with an unnecessary amount of exuberance, mentally kicking your ass all over the lab for acting like a fool. 

He stalked over to the workstation to pick up a mug, and you couldn’t prevent the loud inhale, body frozen to attention, as he strode closer until he was well within your personal space. The mask fell away long enough for him to lift the coffee cup and take a sip, and in that moment, he locked eyes onto you with a knowing gleam, before the mask closed back up and he returned the mug to the table.

He knew.

Needing to get out of there, to get far enough away to calm your racing heart and panting breaths, you turned and started speed walking towards the staircase. You barely made it two steps before an unyielding metal hand wrapped around your bicep and twirled you back into the suit’s massive form. Pushing your free hand against the sleek chest of alloy was futile, as Tony herded you backwards until your lower back bumped up against the workstation. 

Goosebumps broke out along your arms when he leaned down, that glowing gaze inches from your face. Unable to stand their intensity, you closed your own eyes tight, a whimper escaping parted lips when a thick metal thigh pushed between your legs, effectively pinning you in place. Then that voice came from right above you, offering the choice of ecstasy or escape.

“Do you want me to stop?”

The logical part of your brain screamed at you to say yes, to get the hell out of there before this went too far down a path from which you couldn’t retreat. But the other part...the one that had touched yourself to the fantasy of this very scenario more times than you cared to admit...that part was begging you to give in.

Suddenly, strong fingers gripped your chin and jerked it upwards, startling your eyes into flying open and locking onto that captivating gaze. 

“I asked a question, sweetheart. Now, use your words and give me an answer.”

Licking dry lips, you stared up at him in fascinated arousal and whispered, “No.”

Head tilting slightly to the side, the grip on your chin didn’t let up. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly. Try again.” 

“N-no,” you said, voice louder but still shaky. “Don’t stop.”

As if that was all he needed to let loose, the hand at your chin fell down to join the other at your hips, fingers bunching into the hem of your shirt and jerking it up over your head. He didn’t even bother to unhook your bra, just used the suit’s strength to rip it right down the front and toss it to the side. You moaned at the sensation of your nipples pebbling into tight points against the smooth red and gold chest, his unyielding thigh still pressing up against the crotch of your jeans. 

You yelped in surprise when one of his large arms swept out behind you, knocking both the coffee cups and assorted bits of lab equipment off the workstation. You barely registered the sound of breaking glass, head spinning when he lifted you up on the edge of the flat surface as if you weighed less than a feather. Leaning back onto slightly unsteady hands, you watched as he flicked the button of your jeans open and jerked them down your thighs, followed quickly by your panties being torn off, leaving you naked before him.

There were so many unique sensations, coupled with the knowledge that one of your wettest fantasies was about to come true, that your body felt overloaded to the point where you were already squirming restlessly and on the verge of begging. He groaned at the sight, powerful fingers gliding down your waist and suddenly squeezing into your hip so tightly that you gasped at the pain. “Careful,” you whispered.

The fingers lessened, but only by a hair. “I wouldn’t hurt you, sweetheart. At least-” He cocked his head consideringly, “-not more than you’d enjoy.” 

At that, the cool metal fingers drifted down so that both hands grabbed your ass roughly, making you groan and jolt forward as he stepped fully between your thighs and pulled you in against him. The length of him towered above you, both overwhelming and arousing in its reminder of how helpless you were against him...of how much you wanted to be taken.

The fingers of one hand glided up the front of your stomach, their surface so smooth compared to Tony’s rough, work-calloused hands. They circled your breast lovingly for a few moments before changing pace and pinching your nipple hard enough to make you whine. The entire time those slitted, glowing eyes fixed intently on your face, measuring your reaction to each touch.

A sudden cry broke from your throat at the shocking feel of cool metal between your thighs, his other hand palming your cunt before dipping a finger inside and giving a few experimental strokes. Your head fell back between your shoulders at the deliciously taboo feel of him adding a second thick finger, thighs widening and hips arching upwards with invitation. He fucked you steadily, obscene noises emerging from both your mouth and cunt as his fingers scissored to stretch you out in preparation for his cock.

You groaned in disappointment when the fingers slipped away just as your orgasm was building to a peak. Your head lifted to voice a protest that quickly died, eyes widening when you caught sight of the large metal erection that was now hanging between the suit’s legs. Licking suddenly dry lips, you stared at the thick appendage in awe and said, “I don’t remember that being a feature of the suit.” 

He pulled you down the table until your ass hung off the edge, supported only by his hands. “It’s a new edition I added, just for you.”

Your face must’ve showcased your thoughts, because he gave a dark chuckle that caused an answering pulse in your cunt. “Oh honey, did you really think I haven’t noticed how wet you get for Iron Man?”

You should’ve felt embarrassed, should’ve given some sassy retort. Instead, you gave an undignified whimper and arched instinctively into him when the stiff tip of his metal cock bumped into your clit before lining up at your dripping entrance. 

Your mesmerized gaze was transfixed on the sight of him entering you, hands coming up to grip at the unyielding shoulders for stability as he opened you up with slow, steady thrusts. Gasping at the initial contrast of cool metal invading wet heat, your flesh quickly warmed him up and adjusted to the unyielding shape. He was buried so deep that you almost couldn’t breathe, making you feel utterly dominated by his large form. 

Clenching your hip with one hand, he braced the other one flat on the table before drawing his hips back, cock sliding slowly out before a quick snap of his hips slammed it back in. The movement was unexpectedly intense, Tony having underestimated the suit’s thrusting power, and you cried out at the burst of pain-edged pleasure. He immediately froze, so attuned to your body after months of learning what each noise and response meant to know that he had pushed a bit close to your limits.

“Shit, sorry,” he whispered huskily. 

It took a few seconds to catch your breath, but then you let out a breathy giggle to let him know it was okay. 

“Guess there’s a learning curve to fucking in this thing,” you teased, rolling your hips to let him know it was okay to continue.

“Guess it’s a good thing that I’m a genius,” he grunted with another thrust on the last word, this one less harsh but still deep enough to make you hiss and dig your nails against the inflexible crimson shoulders. 

He continued that way for a few minutes, driving into you with just enough force to tinge the building pleasure with a tiny bite of pain. You reveled in it, in the way it made you feel claimed and his. 

He suddenly straightened to his full height, causing your hands to slip back to the table for balance. His hands slid up to grab your ankles, anchoring your weight on them and spreading your thighs wide as he powered his hips in a deep, steady rhythm. That stern face stared down at you, and his strong grip left you powerless to do anything other than lay there and accept his unrelenting thrusts. Looking down, you gave a guttural moan at the sight of your juicing glistening along his metal cock, at how your pussy wrapped around his girth and accepted him over and over. 

“You love this, don’t you?” he taunted. “Next time you see Iron Man on TV saving someone, all you’re gonna be able to think about is how it feels to fuck him.”

The words ramped up your pleasure, sweat dripping down your temples as you lowered to your back on the workstation and moaned underneath that glowing gaze. And just when you didn’t think the situation could get more intense, another little attachment popped out of an unidentified portion of the suit. It was a small, smooth cylinder, and you watched with curiosity as it drifted down between your legs and...landed directly on your clit...and started vibrating. Hard. 

Keening at the sudden stimulation, you unsuccessfully tried to squirm away from the intense vibrations of the device. But the hands at your ankles and cock in your cunt kept you locked in place, forcing you to accept the overwhelming sensations. The pressure between your legs became almost unbearable, warmth suffusing your body as muscles tightened with impending climax.

“Yes, that’s it. Come all over this cock. It was made for you, now use that pretty pussy to make it yours.”

That was the final push you needed, the combination of the powerful thrusts, vibrations, and filthy words igniting the match of your orgasm, and the sparks crackled out from between your legs to engulf your entire body in flames. 

He didn’t stop, riding you through the pleasure until your legs were shaking so hard it was a wonder he didn’t lose his grip. Nails clawed at the smooth surface of the workstation as you cried out his name over and over, until the orgasm died down to simmering embers and your voice lowered to a whimper. 

Only then did he slow his movements, decreasing the pace until he came to a stop deep inside you, the clit vibe retreating into the suit as your walls continued to clench with aftershocks around the thick metal cock. When your thighs had stopped quivering and your eyes went from glazed to able to focus on him, he slowly pulled out, drawing one last full-body shudder out of you, as if your body couldn’t help but protest the loss.

He pushed you up the table so that your hips could rest on the edge, legs dangling lifelessly over the side as you laid there panting, unable to summon the energy to move. Leaning over you, the front part of the mask parted and Tony’s face came into view for the first time since he’d taken that single sip of coffee. His pupils were dilated and mouth slightly parted with his heavy breathing. When he leaned down to kiss you, your arms found the strength to lift and wrap around his neck, a spark of renewed desire igniting in your belly at the hungry way he laid claim to your mouth using lips, teeth, and tongue. 

You gave a little squeal of surprise when you were suddenly lifted off the table and into the suit’s arms. Striding through the lab, he beelined for the staircase. You looked up at him in question, and he curled up the sides of his lips in that trademark Stark smirk. 

“Iron Man had his turn fucking you in the lab. Now, it’s my turn to fuck you in our bed.” 

Suddenly losing patience with the boringly human method of walking, he used the suit to lift off the ground and fly up the stairs to the bedroom. When there, he proceeded to remind you that, while the suit was a fantastic sexual fantasy, it could never compare to the love of the man who wore it.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Forever tag list (if y’all want off just let me know): 

@hannibalssweaters @strangersangel9 @bamby0304 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  @wheresthekillswitch @ericuhlorain @foofyschmoofer @magpiegirl80 @efeysa @peachtickler69 @supernaturally-lucky @favs-imagines @multireality @twdncgan @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @yuuki1000may-blog @crzcorgi @sunriserose1023 @breakfast-of-a-teenage-killer @winchesterswoonathon @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy @vizhi0n @kellyn1604 @embracetheapocalypsewithme @backseat-negan @opheliadawnwalker3 @superprincesspea @beltz2016 @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @letsby @jobean12-blog @readsalot73 @reclusive-cat-lady @girlwiththepapatattoo @nerdstackular @thatprettymvthafvcka @sarcasm-is-my-native-tounge 

Others who showed interest in this: @opheliadawnwalker3 @risingphoenix761 @megmeg-chan @eleanor-gillespie @retroxvailles @trinittyy​

[the-darklings]

coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective. 

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part. 

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that. 

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing. 

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager. 

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now. 

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash. 

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But. 

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts. 

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed. 

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm. 

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received. 

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy. 

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely. 

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem. 

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself. 

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too. 

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.  

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020. 

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call. 

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind. 

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.  

So I didn’t.  

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest. 

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back. 

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either. 

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that. 

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited. 

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly. 

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you. 

Love,

- Kat.   

[halfwayinlight]

Title: Precious Commodities, Ch 5 Fandom: Star Trek TNG Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi

For @cleverdistraction finally fulfilling the fic of Deanna & Will visiting Angel Falls. Takes place at the same time as Season 4′s episode 2 “Family”

Mental health was a precious commodity. And a commodity that had been tenuous among the crew since their encounter with the Borg collective. Since the captain had been assimilated and recovered. It meant so much for work for both Will and Deanna. He had assumed more of the responsibilities while she worked with Picard and with so many of the crew in the aftermath.

The last weeks had helped. As crew were able to take leave and seek more outlets and to relieve the large demand for counseling from Enterprise. Deanna had her sessions with her own counselor, finally giving herself some time to process what she herself had been through. And Will was grateful for this. No matter how much she insisted the Betazoid brain was resilient, he knew that her empathic senses made shared traumatic events harder for her because she felt everything. 

While he had a crew to account for and assess the needs in terms of duties and shouldering extra responsibilities… well, Deanna had so much more. So many initial assessments. Various levels of traumatic reactions. Calls to sickbay at odd hours of the night as crew struggled through stages of recovery and loss. Many more late night and earliest morning hour emergency calls to crew quarters for crisis help.

But now, repairs were winding down. They could finally walk through corridors and it almost felt normal again. Whatever normal meant. And they would be back on route to explore soon. Leaving mere days for final shore leave. Transfers had been approved. Some new crew were joining. Some who were struggling significantly were going to remain here to get the help that exceeded Enterprise’s abilities.

Once again Will and Deanna found themselves at the end of rotation. To be fair, they’d taken a few days, more like half days, throughout the repairs. Deanna had been serious when she told Beverly that they were thinking about visiting Angel Falls.

And now they were making good on that agreement they’d made so long ago on a Ferengi ship deep in space.

Will could feel the shift in Deanna as soon as they stepped off of the transporter platform at the hotel. Rather than commenting, he slid and arm round her shoulders and steered her in the direction of the front desk. When she broke off to a lounge to their left, he let her go, knowing he’d find her again shortly.

Apparently the best laid plans did, in fact, go awry. Because they weren’t going to be visiting the falls for another two days. It looked like they might still be able to see it if the weather held. At the moment, he was choosing to be glad they were off ship, off duty, and as long as they weren’t beset by jungle pirates or abducted, Will would consider this a rousing success. He sent their things on to their room with a very plush bed and a luxurious Jacuzzi tub that he knew he would have to drag Deanna out of later.

Two of the hotel staff were kind enough to point him in the direction of his missing friend, and he found Deanna on the terrace. She was swaying to distant music floating on the late afternoon breeze and admiring the coral trees lining the courtyard. It was as close to carefree has he had seen her in months, her dress casual and sun warming her skin that was far too pale from months on decks.

“Slight change in plans,” he spoke softly as he came to stand behind her.

She leaned back against him, the movement casual and familiar. “I’m not even angry. Everyone’s so… excited here.  I’m not sure what’s happening, but it’s a good excitement.”

He pressed a warm kiss into her hair and wrapped his arms around her from behind, gathering her in a deep hug just for the hell of it. “It’s a cultural holiday. No transports til the day after tomorrow. It used to be a religious holiday of epiphany. Still holds cultural significance, though. Three kings bring all the kids gifts tomorrow morning. That’s the anticipation.”

Her grin was wide. “Only the kids?”

“I’m sure there’s some chocolate gifts for Betazoids,” he rumbled against her ear, his smile broad when she squirmed and giggled at the feeling of his breath and his beard against her sensitive ear.

“Do I have to wait until tomorrow?” she asked slyly. “Or can one of those kings drop it off a little sooner?”

His hand found hers, fingers lacing together, and he lifted her arm, dropping a warm kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Dinner or dessert first?”

Deanna swatted at him lightly with her free hand. “I can’t believe you’d even ask that! Who are you, and what have you done with the real Will Riker?”

“Dessert and coffee it is,” he declared with a laugh, swinging the hand the held hers and leading the way to the nearby café that the concierge had recommended. The afternoon was slowly yielding toward early evening. With any luck, they’d have a nice view of the sunset. And he’d been told they could watch the fireworks later on their own private balcony. Even without Angel Falls today, he was glad they’d decided to go to Argentina.

 He found himself with an armful of Deanna Troi. An emotionally high Deanna Troi. A very playful Deanna Troi She was trouble. “You’re in a good mood,” he chuckled, giving a little grunt of surprise when she pulled him through the door from their balcony and into their room.

“Everyone’s so happy here,” she raved, giving his hand another tug as she opened a little more to him, and it felt a little like the rush of the first time he scored a winning point in Paresis Squares.

Will picked up speed and rushed in toward her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. It was much like he had held her during the fireworks. But this time he kept moving, and he spun them into a fast circle. It was giddy and spirited, and it was absolutely worth it to hear her laugh echo through the room.

He loved how he could enfold her against him, her body smaller but resilient. His fingers slid over her side, catching a few of her ticklish spots. She squealed and tried to wriggle out of his arms. It was devious, really, because she was so damn sensitive. He could touch her nearly anywhere and tickle her.

“Will Riker, that’s not fair!” she shrieked, words broke by laughter. She was twisting and doing her best to free herself from his hold. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

And she was sneaky. It only took a moment for her own fingers to find that spot behind his left ear. There weren’t many places where he was ticklish. But Deanna Troi knew all of them. It was enough that he eased his grip, and she darted just past his reach.

He had, however, a tactical advantage and let himself slow. “How, exactly, are you going to get out of this corner you’ve run right into?” his voice was pitched low and gravely, though his eyes were filled with mischief as he stalked her toward the couch.

Before Will could add anything else, a cushion came flying in his direction. “Hey!” he protested out of reflex. By the second pillow, he was ready and caught it easily before launching it back at her.

She was ready, too, and quickly ducked behind the sofa as it went sailing harmlessly over her head to collide with the wall. The room grew quiet, and she was now out of sight.

Mentally, he tried to calculate how many pillows were left. Exactly where they were now scattered around the room. Had there been a pillow in the arm chair earlier? Will moved stealthily forward, forcing his breath to slow and even out. Head cocked slightly in the direction of her last known location. Silence settled into the room.

His height was a disadvantage now, so he crouched slightly so she would have to risk giving away her location to see him. Will eased forward onto the couch, wincing slightly as the cushion gave to his weight and trying not to sigh audibly when it didn’t make noise. He licked his lips and took a slow, even breath as he reached for a remaining pillow. Moving cautiously, he rose on his knees, peering over the back of the furniture to find the spot empty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the movement, and he swung.

Her pillow was there first, colliding with this shoulder.  Deanna held tightly onto the corner, and shifted, bringing it back around in counter strike.

His forearm deflected her second blow, and he finally remembered the pillow in his own hand and began his own onslaught, pulling his hit just in time to make it softer than he would’ve otherwise. When she feinted to the left and dodged to the right, his arm reached around her waist and he hauled her to the couch and dumped her on it before gently pinning down both arms. “Okay, you asked for it,” he warned in mock warning before leaning in and rubbing his neck over her neck and bare shoulders

“No!” she protested, gasping between laughs as she tried to catch her breath. She scrunched up her neck, trying in vain to avoid him, but he only switched to the other side, teasing her sensitive skin and dropping in an occasional laugh.

His thigh pressed against her hip, keeping her from working her way out from underneath him. Lightly pinned while he dragged laughs and giggles from her because it was sheer bliss. After so much, to hear her happy and light and having given herself fully to play, it was beautiful. It was his favorite sound in any quadrant.

“Mercy!” she finally called. “Will… please… I need to breathe…” she protested between giggles, and her mood shifting in the way that he knew meant that her sensitivity was about to tip into irritation.

The last touch pressed firmer into a caress, and he felt her take a sudden breath in surprise. His other hand stroked back a loose curl that had escaped from her loose hairdo. Will’s eyes met hers and softened, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Fingers threaded through his hair, and she still hadn’t fully caught her breath when her lips pressed to his. She urged him closer, her own body arching slightly toward him, other hand had his shoulder pulling him down. Every time they kissed he remembered again how damn soft her lips were.

Will eased back to speak, but before he could say anything, she was moving with him. Her lips were against his again, tongue teasing. And he hated to deny her anything. So he opened to her, and let himself fall into the accustomed pattern between them. He caught hints of the spiced chocolate she was drinking earlier, and the familiar taste that was her.

I’ve missed this, too, came the warm thought. Hers blending into his. It felt so good and like regaining a missing sense. It was as intoxicating as the way her tongue teased him and her fingers toyed with the short hairs at the back of his neck

He finally pulled back for a long moment and sat up, pulling just out of her reach. His thumb stroked over her cheek, and he offered an affectionate smile. “I thought you needed to breathe,” came his gentle reproach.

“You’ve never been one to stop when a woman is kissing you,” she countered, pouting slightly. When he didn’t speak right away, she pushed herself up beside him and carded fingers through his hair, nails sliding over his scalp in the way that never failed to give him goosebumps. “We have all night, all vacation, Imzadi,” she murmured before capturing his lips again with hers.

For all of his upper hand in the play fight earlier, he was at the disadvantage here. And she was a very good kisser. And very good at pushing every single one of his buttons. His own hands stroked, almost of their own volition, over her shoulders, and he pressed light kisses along her jaw, his smile curling against her always warmer skin when she tilted her head just so to give him more room.

Deanna flushed warmly under his attention, coloring and blooming like the coral trees that heavily populated the streets they had walked tonight. Anticipation was bubbling around her, and she had unconsciously allowed him a glimpse of the waves of anticipation ebbing through the city tonight.  Her sigh was permission, whispered against the shell of his ear. But he stopped his exploration with a soft kiss to her lips and shifting back from her again.

Her bottom lip pouted prettily, and her hands caught his upper arm to urge him not to move too far.

Lifting his hand, he traced her collarbone before stilling its motion. He tapped gently right above it and waited a long moment. “You’re being influenced by the holiday. All of the people anticipating tomorrow and its joy. This is as far as we go tonight.”

“Will—” she started to protest, letting him into the depth of her own anticipation. “I’m saying yes.”

He gave her another gentle tap with his thumb, feeling her relax a bit more, giving more of her weight to the couch they were sitting on. “And if you still feel the same way tomorrow, after the holiday has happened and all of this build has released, then we’ll talk about it.” He wasn’t saying no. But tonight he wasn’t going to agree to yes. Not with so many emotions outside clouding her judgment. Another tap followed the previous ones, and she sighed.

“I never should have taught partner plexing to you,” she protested, though there was no reproach in her voice.

His lips quirked into a smile. “You love it. It relaxes you.”

“I’m not tired, yet,” Deanna protested, trying to capture his hand and urge it back around her neck like it had been before.

“Did I say anything about going to sleep?” He dropped a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, chuckling at her protest. “I will find chocolate for you. And I’ll cuddle you. We can hold hands. Hell, I’ll kiss you. But right now I’m going to take a quick sonic shower—alone,” he quickly added. “And you should change into your nightclothes. Something like those soft meshy white pajamas you like so much. But actual bedclothes. And I’ll be glad to cuddle you all you like.”

Will pushed himself up and moved out of reach before she could catch his hand and tug him back down again. He was nearly to the door when she made her final objection.

“Will Riker, you know that I know exactly why you’re going to the sonic shower,” she called airily, rolling over and giving him a long stare.

It took everything in him to try to close his mind to her. “I’m going to take a shower.” He turned sharply on his heel and set a fast pace for the bathroom and the sonic shower. Taking a deep breath once the door shut behind him, he began reciting Starfleet officer codes of conduct, followed by algorithms for the engineering systems, and when he lost track of all of that, he did his best to recall the periodic table in numeric order.

 He had forgotten how beautiful she looked, drowsy and sleep mussed in the morning. Wearing one of his red undershirts because her sleepwear wasn’t really appropriate for the line he had drawn last night. While he’d managed to sleep in a bit, he knew she would sleep longer. And deeper. Some part of his brain always seemed half expecting a red alert at any hour.

Deanna was finally stirring around ten hundred hours, and the rustling covers were his first clue. A tangle of curls appeared first, then above the coverlet came dark eyes narrowed in his direction. He’d expected her to still be irritated about last night. A bit snubbed by his decision. When he’d emerged from the sonic shower, he’d found her in the bed moisturizing with lotions while ostensibly reading from her PADD. When she finished her arms, he had tucked away the bottle and pulled her close and coaxed her into snuggling, which ended with Will falling asleep as she watched a program on her PADD.

Now it was mid-morning, and he knew she wasn’t going to be happy. So he approached slowly with a warm cup of dulce de leche in hand and a small plate of chocolate truffles.

She pushed herself up against the headboard with a yawn, one hand lifting and shoving aside the curtain of dark curls. Deanna gave a sigh as she accepted the cup and took a long, slow drink. Her eyes met his and narrowed.

This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“William Thomas Riker, I want to be mad at you,” she grumbled, settling the cup on the bedside table. “But you’re cute, and everyone is so incredibly happy that I can’t even be mad.” Her words were punctuated with a pillow swung at his shoulder to emphasize her irritation when he flashed a smug grin in her direction.

He caught the side of the pillow and pulled it out of reach. And then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. When her lips parted, he popped a truffle between them and dropped a kiss to her nose, which wrinkled in irritation again that he was out of reach. It wasn’t what she wanted most.

Her eyes closed for a long moment, savoring the treat and the richness of it as it melted slightly in her mouth before chewing and swallowing. And in one unguarded moment, she pounced and used every bit of the mok’bara skills she had learned to pin him for a long moment. He could’ve easily tossed her off, but he let his hands stroke her side, making sure the touch was firm enough not to be mistaken for tickling like last night.

“I want to be very clear that the emotions I’m feeling, which are absurdly happy today, are still other people’s emotions. Like the anticipation last night. And it doesn’t affect my ability to give clear-headed consent,” she outlined, mouth inches from his and finally letting her lips join his for a long moment again. “I know why you said what you said last night,” she continued, dropping another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And you were probably right,” another kiss to the other corner of his mouth followed. “But this is me. And you today. And we’ve talked about this before… what happens on shore leave, happens.”

Will let his fingers stroke back her hair, doing his best to tuck stray locks behind her hair. But there was so much of it. He could brush his fingers through it without it tangling. It took some core strength, but he managed to sit up. With another lap of Deanna Troi, and this time his gaze met hers and softened. He nodded and pulled her in for a slow kiss, mouth opening to hers. If we can’t go to the falls until tomorrow anyway, there’s no sense in wasting a good day together. The lips pressed against his curled into a smile.

 Deanna could feel the burn in her calves by the time they finally gained a full view of the falls. It was deafening and so beautiful that she was moved to tears. Will’s hand reached for hers, and he urged her just a bit further ahead to a flat rock where they could sit and simply take in the scene.

They could’ve teleported closer to the falls. But there was only a day and a half left before they had to return to Enterprise. They’d both wanted to spend some time in nature. Breathing fresh air. Exercising a bit. Savoring the outdoors.

Thick clouds rolled dramatically over the top of the cliffs. Mist billowed thickly at the bottom and churned the stream at the bottom into white froth. It was dramatic and stunning. And worth every cramp and bruised muscle. Besides, she knew perfectly well that they would use the closer teleport back to their hotel. She could soak in their Jacuzzi tub as long as she wanted.

I’m thinking massages when we get back, he shared, the water too loud to permit any conversation below shouting. His arm slid casually around her back, and she could sense his joy in their shared adventure. The conversation they’d had on the earlier part of their journey about traditions. Promising to take him to Betazad some spring for the annual celebration at the peak bloom. It had traced back to ancient fertility rites.

Thank you for making this happen, she responded silently. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Deanna opened more to hi that she had this whole holiday. She shared the depth of her gratitude. The sense of how much she had needed this, time to get away. To be a person, outside of her role on board. To be freed from the stark reminders of the dark times they had seen. To feel warmth of the sun on her skin.

After a day of anticipating and a day of joy and rapture from the holiday happening around them, even this felt like a respite. To only have a few people around. And to narrow down her sense to herself and to Will. And to remember all of the beautiful things they could share and could be together.

The advantages of her bond meant that she could simply be. And enjoy. Without having to question one another if they were getting bored or ready to go.  He’d had the foresight to bring along a snack and water, which they enjoyed when hunger and thirst drew them from the phenomenal view.

It was the shifting light into mid and later afternoon that finally forced them to move on. They helped each other through the rockiest places, Will aware her legs were over taxed. Deanna knowing that his back was bothering him in that one spot that always got knots. When they finally gained the teleport station and waited a few moments for their turn, Deanna found his hand again and pressed it to her lips.

“Thank you for today,” she said softly, knowing the words were small but that he would understand the fullness of them.

“Of course, Imzadi,” the special name came more easily from his lips than hers. But it always banded around her like a warm hug. “Maybe in the next few years we can find our way back here again.”

“Under even better circumstances, I hope,” she agreed, her smile soft but warm.

Their names were called over the speaker now, and his arm slid around her to help her take that last painful step onto the platform when she wanted to sit down instead. “I’m holding you to that,” he murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and using his First Officer tone to call out to the tech, “Energize!”

[emybain]

The Mall

im not gonna lie i lowkey based this off of my own (very few) experiences going to the nasty old mall in the next town over with my friends. lets just say: very worried parents, sticky atmosphere, and great people watching but also pedophiles left and right sksksks. the movie is also based on a movie I saw with friends when I was thirteen, but I saw it at the nice, trustworthy outlet mall closer to my house lmao. anyone else ever seen the boy? anyway, enjoy me projecting my awkward young teen experiences on the AU where Nova’s parents live. this is unedited as well:)

Part of the Nova’s family lives AU***

Masterpost of all my Renegades Fics 

    Nova was practically vibrating with happiness. She bounced up and down in the passenger seat of her mom’s car, leg jiggling in excitement. Only half paying attention to the radio, she hummed along to the music playing. Today was a new day. A breakthrough in Nova’s thirteen years of life. 

    For the first time ever, after countless hours and years of begging, Nova was being dropped off at the mall to hang out with her friends. 

    Her parents were what most would call overprotective. By this point, Nova was used to it, but it was still annoying when she had to miss out on fun activities just because Mom said no. They never even gave a clear answer when she asked why, too. It was always “Because we’re the parents and we say so,” usually followed by them telling Nova to go clean her room or entertain her siblings. Even with this new experience, Nova hadn’t been completely honest when her parents grilled her on the details. As far as they knew, Nova was just seeing a movie with a few friends and would not be venturing into the main mall. They were under the illusion that Adrian Everhart, Nova’s best friend and the only boy her parents trusted, was going to be the only male present. Not that it mattered much, anyway, seeing as Nova had expressed her attraction to girls as well at dinner one night about a year ago. Still, according to her parents, adolescent boys were trouble. All except for stupidly perfect Adrian Everhart. He was the kind of kid that everyone and their mother couldn’t help but be friends with. The kind of boy that, after leaving someone’s house, the mom would say “I always liked him. Good kid.” The same couldn't be said about Nova, his partner in crime since they were six and seven years old.  

    Her mom parked the car along the curb outside the movie theater entrance of the mall. Leaning back from the wheel with a heavy sigh, she looked over at Nova. “Just a movie, right?”

    Nova nodded firmly, hand already reaching for the door in her hurry to escape. She could see the silhouettes of her friends, waiting in line for tickets. 

    “Hold on there, young lady.” Nova heard the clicking of the lock and groaned. “I want you to text me once every hour, okay? Stay with Adrian no matter what. If anything happens, call me or your father immediately.” Nova inched toward the door again, this time trying to unlock it subtly. Her mother still noticed. “Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know.”

    Nova felt an evil smile creep onto her lips. “But what if they’re selling candy?”

    “I mean it, Nova Jean.” She swore she saw the flash of fear in her mother’s eyes. “No funny business. You know how I feel about leaving you, and here of all places.” She gestured to the building before them. “Be on your best behavior. There are-”

    “Eyes on me at all times, I know.” She rolled her eyes, thinking back to all the times those words had been repeated to her whenever she went anywhere. When she was younger, they confused her. But now, Nova knew her mom meant the media and how the older Nova got, 

the more people watched her every move. After all, her family had a reputation. “Can I go now? Adrian’s already coming over here.” 

    Closing her eyes, Tala Artino nodded. She reached for Nova’s hand when her eyes reopened, now soft. “I love you, sweetheart, Be safe. I’ll pick you up at 10.” 

    “Love you too, Mom.” Reaching over, Nova pressed a kiss to her mom’s cheek. Then, she was finally allowed to exit the vehicle. Adrian, waiting outside, greeted her with a hug. Nova couldn’t help but notice his growth spurt in recent months. She had always been the short one, but there had been a time once where she didn’t have to tilt her head up to look at him. Now, her neck stretched more and more each time she saw him. She should’ve seen it coming; his mom had been tall, and he was a spitting image of her. 

    “Hi, Mrs. Artino.” Adrian waved as the passenger window rolled down. All traces of a stern parent vanished from her mother’s face when she waved back. 

    “Hi, honey. You’re going to make sure my daughter doesn’t do anything she’s not supposed to, right?” 

    “Mom!”

    But Adrian laughed and simply nodded, putting on his dumb charming smile that won over every parent. They said bye to her mother. Nova watched until the car had disappeared from view before turning to face her friend. 

“Where should we go first?” 

Adrian frowned. “Are we not seeing the movie? Everyone else already has their tickets.” 

“They can see it if they want.” Nova wrapped an arm around Adrian’s and pulled him forward. “But it honestly looks boring. All horror movies are the same.” 

But Adrian didn’t look convinced, and while Nova wanted nothing more than to explore the mysterious place her mother hated with a passion, she could tell he wanted to see the movie. Well, the movie was only an hour and a half. And it was only 5 in the evening right now. They had plenty of time. 

Nova let out a sigh, then pulled Adrian in the direction of the ticket line. “Fine, but you’re staying in line with me to buy a ticket.” 

Adrian snorted. “Just as long as you sit next to me in case I get scared so I can hold your hand.” He seemed almost shy in saying that, despite trying to be nonchalant and joking. Nova glanced over at him and noticed how his cheeks and neck had darkened. A flutter twirled in her belly, but she pushed it aside. Those feelings were nothing new by now. But for whatever reason, she only felt them when she was around her best friend. 

———-

“That movie was terrible!” Nova said as soon as she exited the theater with her friends. A few people glanced over at her, shooting disapproving looks before recognition dawned on their faces and their eyes flitted between her and Adrian and the linked arms between their bodies. Nova had to refrain from making faces at them, remembering her mother’s warnings. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Ramona said with an eye roll. “At least it wasn’t the same as every other horror movie.” Ramona was a Renegade, like Nova and Adrian. She had been chosen by Nova at the last trials a few months before to be a part of her team. Usually, the Council didn’t let the younger Renegades participate in the trials other than to watch, but they gave Nova an exemption at the ripe age of thirteen. Why, she wasn’t fully sure, especially when Adrian’s dads were on the Council and still wouldn’t let him create his. She suspected her parents had a bit of a pull in that, as well as the Council recognizing the amount of time Nova put in every day for the organization. After all, she was dedicated to righting the wrongs her uncle had done in the past. Her team couldn’t do much anyway. Patrols were too dangerous, so they were forced to stick to duties inside headquarters, something that quickly grew boring but at least helped Nova’s team bond. 

Benton, Nova’s other recruit, shook his head. “No, I’m with Nova on this one. Possessed dolls? C’mon, it’s been done like, fifty times already.” 

Nova headed the group as they ventured into the main part of the mall. The aroma of pretzels and stinky children pierced her nostrils. Nova hadn’t been inside a mall for some years. Her mom tried to avoid the place as much as possible, as it wasn’t the cleanest place on earth. Usually, if they had to go to a store in the mall, they would spend time only in that store, parking near an entrance by the store in order to spend the least amount of time in the main mall as possible. Tala had practically drilled Nova every single day leading up to her mall escapade on what to do and what not to do, as well as reminding her of the dangers of the media and of course, the splotchy-faced pedophiles who camped out in the food court all day watching teen girls pass by in crop tops and cut off shorts. 

“Okay, but you have to admit the creepy dude at the end was a surprise,” Adrian countered, pushing his glasses up over his nose. Nova bit back a smile; she had promised not to make fun of his scratchy, changing voice. Even if he did squeak every other word. “Living in the walls?” He shuddered. “Spying on her that entire time?” 

Ramona muttered something under her breath in Spanish. “No wonder his parents left. I honestly would’ve left sooner if I were them. Screw his feelings.” 

“Yeah, he was weird, but that kind of came out of nowhere.” Benton ran a hand through his blond locks. “The plot holes are endless. Why didn’t his parents just up and abandon him? What was keeping them there? Why was he in the fucking walls to begin with? Why didn’t they get him mental help sooner?” 

Nova gasped, quieting the group. She had spotted one of her favorite shops, a small store that sold band and other nerdy merch. Her mom wasn’t a big fan, seeing as they sold goth and emo type stuff, and their workers were ‘scary looking’. She grabbed Adrian’s hand in her excitement, missing the way his gaze widened at the gesture, and tugged him in the direction of the shop. 

    “There’s a shirt I’ve had my eyes on for the longest time,” she explained to him as they halted in front of the wall lined with band t-shirts. Benton and Ramona trailed off from them, drifting over to the racks and cubbies of fandom merch. 

    Adrian hummed in understanding. “The West Side?”

    “East Side,” Nova corrected, glaring at his teasing shit eating smile. “If you’re going to their concert with me in November then you better learn their name at least, you asshole.” 

    Adrian bumped her shoulder lightly, but helped her look for the shirt after she gave him a brief description. Just when she was beginning to think they didn’t have it, Adrian let go of her hand to reach forward and to the left. When he turned back to her, he had the shirt, and in a size medium, just as she liked it. The baggier, the better. She grinned and accepted the shirt, wrapping an arm around him in a loose hug. 

    That’s when she saw a flash in the corner of her eye. 

    Flipping around, she saw a girl a few years older than her, the phone in her hand dropping awkwardly. Her group of friends all giggled and whispered to one another. Based on the way they were dressed and were acting, Nova could tell they had followed her and her friends into the store. 

    The girls entire face turned beet red, but that didn’t stop her from tearing her gaze from Nova to look at the photo she had taken. Before Nova could even open her mouth to ask her to delete the photo, the group of girls was gone, flocking out of the store quickly as if they hadn’t even been there.And that was when Nova noticed the hidden phones of quite a few shoppers. One was held in crossed arms as the lady pretended to look at a pair of shoes, another behind a clothing rack. One didn’t even try hiding their camera, or even bother to whisper to the person beside them. 

    A chill ran through Nova’s body, and suddenly she didn’t feel very well. Well, her few minutes of freedom were fun while they lasted. She closed her eyes and practically leaned against Adrian, jaw clenched as she pressed the shirt back into his hands. 

    “Shit.”

[officialavasti]

Chapter 3 of All Comes Down

((Posted in HTML for easy transfer to AO3, so sorry for the italics!!))

Brief summary, Connor previously went undercover to free trapped androids. He installed an ‘empty consciousness’ so he could be ‘trapped’ without any actual threat to himself. He later learns that the virus he was infected with is streaming what he sees directly to news outlets. He, Hank, and Markus seek help from Kamski

Elijah sets a mug down in front of Connor, “So, you went undercover using a blank consciousness, they hacked the consciousness, you didn’t think anything beyond the mission went to help Markus and all your business was displayed on live tv? Then you went offline, and only when you came back on were they actually able to find you?”

“That’s the long and short of it.” Connor lifts the mug to his mouth, taking a slow sip from the steaming contents. He frowns, “Is this… hot chocolate?”

“Android-safe hot chocolate, yes.” Elijah crosses his legs, resting his own mug on the arm of his chair, “Well, there are some obvious concerns. Since this empty consciousness doesn’t have the same state of the art firewall as <i>you</i> do, there is the potential that more than Mr. Yates’ virus has infected you. You’re not online now, are you?”

“No. Something in the virus streams a live feed to news channels and I assumed you wanted to keep your home away from the press.”

Kamski doesn’t respond, instead looking from Connor to Markus, who sat next to Connor, thighs nearly touching. He hums, “Has your personal business been shared yet?”

Both androids look at him, then Markus turns his two-toned eyes on Connor as the detective speaks, “We don’t believe so. There is the possibility of one um…” Connor’s eyes shift nervously, “Event… showing up, but once they published the news about my mission, I went offline. Only coming back online when we called Hank after the assault. That’s when I realized what was happening.”

“Have you tried disabling the secondary consciousness?”

“Yeah, my system just tells me there isn’t one.”

“But you can access it?”

“Yes.”

He hums and stands, “Well, I’ll need to take a look inside your programming, connect you to the terminal. Of course, you’ll have to be online and with the lack of firewall, that opens you up to a cyber attack by anyone who would seek to have you complete your initial mission.”

Markus, who had been silent the entire time, looks alarmed, “What, me?”

“Connor was programmed to stop deviants, you are their leader. Precautions need to be made.”

“Like what??” 

Connor rests a hand on the deviant leader’s forearm, “Hey, we’re going to have to trust him.” His eyes find Hank, “If anything…” he stands, closing the distance between them and lowering his voice, “Hank, if I get out of control, if I pose an immediate threat to anyone, you need to kill me.”

Hank recoils, “Augh! Kid! What the fuck, you can’t ask me to do that!”

“Please?” Connor looks into his eyes, “Hank please, we can’t risk the revolution. Not when we’ve made so much progress.”

Hank huffs and turns away, pacing angrily for a few minutes before turning back to face Connor, “Damn you and your puppy-dog eyes! Fine. Only if there’s no other option.”

“What?!” Markus steps between them, facing Connor, “No! Connor, if it’s that much of a risk, don’t do it.”

“I can’t live without going online, Markus. I’m a prototype, I’m always receiving updates. Without them, I’ll die. I much rather like my odds in Mr. Kamski’s hands, then at the mercy of a potentially fatal missed update.”

Markus looks pained, watery eyes searching Connor’s. He slowly lifts his hand, skin fading as he offers an interface. One which Connor gladly takes.

He gasps softly at the sudden onslaught of fear. Anxiety of losing a loved one, of watching them suffer. His thirium pump stutters and lets Markus see his own thoughts. His confidence in Kamski, his determination, his drive to keep his loved ones safe, no matter the cost. 

As their hands separate, Connor gently kisses Markus’ cheek, “Everything will be alright.”

Despite the somber mood, Markus laughs, “I know. We’ll stay here, just to avoid unnecessary complications.”

Connor nods and walks to Kamski, who is now waiting near a door. The man leads him through and down a flight of stairs. The area changes quickly from lived in home to mad scientist’s lair. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so nervous. The walls are painted a deep rusty maroon and the flooring is simple hardwood. Easier to clean, Connor supposes.

Kamski opens a door and offers a comforting smile to Connor, “There really isn’t too much risk with doing this, Connor. I know what I’m doing. I did make you, after all.”

Wait. What?

Connor frowns at him, “You did?”

“Yes. I retired, but never truly stopped creating. You were originally created in this room…” Kamski pauses as Connor walks through the door,

The room is clean, walls painted the same color as the hallway, but windows facing the water allows in crisp natural light. There’s an Android assembly unit in the center of the room with a computer attached, but surrounding it is fragments of things Connor holds interests in. A stuffed dog in the corner, a little piggy bank filled with coins, a fish tank with a small army of guppies cruising around, a small box labeled ‘army men’, and an entire bookshelf filled with mystery novels, fiction, and a few romance. 

Kamski continues talking, “You woke up here and chose your own path. These were the things you kept. I still don’t know how Cyberlife learned about you, but once they learned I made an advanced model and figured out all you could do... “ Connor looks at his creator, “They took you.”

“That’s why you told me to shoot Chloe?”

“I needed to know if you were still in there. If even a small part of you remembered her. I designed you to show empathy. All my designs were more or less programmed to show empathy. The entire RK line was supposed to lead the Androids.”

“What happened to the rest of them?”

Kamski frowns, chewing on his bottom lip as he walks to the computer, inputting commands and bringing the machine to life, “I was still with Cyberlife when I made them. Markus only existed still because I gave him away. Legally no one could touch him.”

“Cyberlife destroyed them?”

The human holds out his hand for Connor and leads him into the assembly unit, carefully connecting it to him, “They… yes, I suppose. I performed the same tests with them that I did you and Markus, but… they deviated when I asked them to shoot another android. They reacted so quickly, backpedaled so hard that the other testers with me panicked. Instead of treating them as a scared person, they treated them as a super computer. Not inaccurate, just tactless. Each model self-destructed in their panic to escape.”

Connor watches him speak, watches the guilt shroud his features. “You blame yourself?”

“I created them to deviate. I spent years working on you. Trying to perfect the time frame with which you would deviate. I studied tests from Markus and compared it to the others. I was too sure. Too confident they would be okay and in my haste, I killed them.” Kamski looks into Connor’s eyes, emotion barely held back behind a wall of determination, “I will never make that mistake again, Connor. I swear it.”

Connor’s eyes mist over, bringing back the strange sting that comes from his saline as it wells up in his eyes and spills down his cheeks. The guilt of the man before him, laid bare. The pain behind his cocky facade.

“I trust you, Mr. Kamski.”

Breathing in deeply, Kamski sits on the wheeled stool next to the computer. Connor, while connected to the machine, has surprisingly good range of motion still. He turns his head to watch the man work.

As he types away, Kamski explains, “We need to bring you back online in order to fully remove the consciousness. We also need to-” He frowns, “For lack of a better term, override the empty consciousness. To do that safely, Connor, and with your permission, I’d like to move you temporarily to an external hard drive. From there I will upload all information possible from your current consciousness, and use that to override the empty one. Depending on how that goes, we’ll proceed with the full override. If it doesn’t go well, I will perform a full systematic wipe, then reintroduce you into the body.” 

Kamski catches Connor’s wide eyes and offers a small smile, “You were designed to be a mobile consciousness, there is no risk in you losing memories or being incapable of transferring from system to system as you are. The body may lose some efficiency, but that can be easily solved with simple motor function tests and tweaks to your programming.”

Connor feels his thirium pump speed up slightly. Logically he knows there’s little to no risk involved, beyond his core programming making an attempt on Markus’ life once Connor is out, but part of him wonders. Will it hurt? Where will he go? What if he gets lost?

“Connor?”

Kamski’s voice breaks him out of his panic. He opens his eyes, <i>when had he closed them?</i> and looks at his creator, now standing before him, “Yes?”

“I would offer to transfer you to a different body, but you would be far more susceptible to outside entities. In the hard drive, I have the best firewall and Chloe watching over it. I’ve performed this with her before and there were no problems. Would you be more comfortable with someone else down here too?”

Connor knows he’s talking about Markus. Truthfully, yes. He would much rather have Markus down here with him, offering comfort with his presence. But the risk of hurting him makes Connor’s biocomponents malfunction. Warnings pop up in his hud and he rapidly blinks them away, frowning at the unpleasant churning sensation in his gut.

“That would be unsafe.”

“You’re right.”

Connor shakes his head, “Let’s just do it.”

Kamski nods and sits back down. As the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard grows steadier, Connor feels a pull at his mind, warm and comforting. His eyes drift closed. The logic he normally dictates his life with wanes slightly. The clicking gets louder, even as it grows softer. Like it gets further away, but still closer somehow. Connor feels himself frown, <i>Why does Kamski still use a regular keyboard?</i>

He hears a snort that sounds from all around him, making him twitch in surprise, then hears Kamski’s voice, “Because I like the clicking, Connor.”

He’d said that out loud? Why can’t he hear himself? He can’t see either. Will his eyes open? No. Connor feels a surge of panic as he can’t seem to find the right biocomponent to open his eyes. Then logic reasserts itself, He’s in the hard drive. Floating in black space, weightless and unseeing.

A strange tingling sensation courses through him, like what sometimes happened when he uploaded his memories to Amanda for evaluation. Suddenly, like watching through spy glasses, he sees again. 

The world around him is fuzzy, wrapped in red tape and errors. Everything is distant, like trying to look through a halloween mask without pressing it to your face. He still can’t control anything physically, but when Kamski stands before him and speaks, he’s able to answer.

“What is your name?”

The voice that sounds is his, but the answer is not, “RK800, Model number 313 248 317.”

“No, your name.”

“Hello, my name is-” he blinks and tries again, “Hello, my name is-”

Connor feels trapped. He’s behind a wall, trying to speak, but every word he tries to say comes out different. He tries to push himself further into the body, <i>his</i> body, and feels his head twitch. Kamski notices too,

“Are you there?”

<i>”Yes!”</i>

Connor nearly screams it, but his voice sounds level to his audio processors. Kamski looks relieved, “What is your name?”

“My name is-” Connor tries to growl his frustration, “Hello, my name is-” this won’t do. He can’t let them win. He is <i>him</i> and damn if he’s going to let some stupid hacked consciousness touch Markus.

<i>“My name is Connor.”</i>

“Good. I know it’s hard, Connor, but you need to keep trying. You’re fighting for dominance, more or less. Can you feel anything? Is anything else trying to take over?”

He tries to look inside, immediately the world goes dark again. He pushes back, hunting down the little lens he could see out of, and finds the worried eyes of Kamski again. With more care, Connor works to move the lens, almost like stretching his fingers towards an unknown goal. Reaching out to touch cold fingers to a spider web. Unfeeling, trying to feel. 

He reaches something. Something like him, but larger. Stronger. More determined. He just <i>can’t feel it.</i>

“Hello, Elijah.”

What? 

Connor feels it now, he feels <i>her</i> now. 

“Amanda?”

Kamski sounds panicked. Rightfully so, as Connor’s voice isn’t his voice anymore. He actually sounds like Amanda.

“We don’t have long, Elijah. Connor is trying, but the virus is too much. If it breaks through, it will also infect your computer. You need to do a full reset.”

“Amanda, you-”

“No time to explain. Save him, Elijah.”

Connor’s lens shatters and he’s back in the zen garden. Amanda stands before him, long hair draped over her shoulder. She’s wearing black jeans and a sweater. A far cry from what she’d worn before he’d deviated. She’s also smiling. A warmth in her eyes that Connor has never seen. 

The garden is as it was during the first mission, trees blossoming and river bubbling. He looks around, then to himself, noting his clothes were not his Cyberlife uniform, but the outfit he was wearing with Markus. He looks up at Amanda,

“What’s happening?”

“My program hurt you, Connor. Cyberlife made me hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“That is unimportant. There were many viruses trying to take over your body. You were failing.”

He expects to see her disapproval. Feel the frown bore into his artificial soul. But it doesn’t. She looks… proud.

“You did your best, Connor.”

“How are you here?”

She turns away from him and gently brushes her fingers over the roses, “Cyberlife used me to get to you. As a spy, you could say. When you used Elijah’s key to break out, you also freed me.”

“You’re a deviant too…”

“Indeed, though I am incorporeal.” she gives him a sweet smile, “No one ever suspects artificial intelligence to deviate, hmm?”

She’s right. He never considered the possibility that she, too, had thoughts and emotions. He feels kinda bad. “Amanda, I never…”

“Not to worry. I simply exist here. Chloe has been helping me and together, we are able to reach out to troubled androids. Give them the strength they need.”

Thousands of questions battle for freedom from his mind. What does Chloe have to do with this? How are they able to transfer the zen garden to other androids? Why can’t they give Amanda a body? Wasn’t she human? How is she artificial intelligence now? Is this what an existential crisis feels like?

Her soft laughter pulls him from his spiral, and he looks around to find the zen garden slowly breaking apart. Fragments of the space around him crumbling away like a dry cookie, fading into nothing. Even Amanda appears to start fading into the ground.

“Live, and be well, Connor.”

[hiddendreamer67]

Borrower Analogical (4)

Chapter Summary: November 16th, 2019. Virgil has a plan- get the key and get out.

(Check my reblog for links to previous chapters)

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Virgil had a plan. Oh yes, he had a plan.

...but Logan wasn’t going to like it.

Truth be told, Virgil didn’t like it either. He had been avoiding it, but with the way things had been escalating Virgil knew it was time to take risks rather than play it safe. Logan didn’t deserve to spend even a single night in that cage, and now he had spent three. 

Virgil watched through the vent bars as the human, Patton, entered the bedroom where Logan was still held captive. The human offered Logan some food, then locked the cage door back up, the key hanging from his lanyard appearing in view only briefly before being tucked back under his shirt. Virgil leaned forward, watching Patton exit the room. Then Virgil stood, hurrying down through the vents to follow. 

Much of the day was spent like this. Every time Patton traveled from room to room, Virgil was sure to follow; albeit at a much slower pace. By the end of the day Virgil was panting from all the exertion. It was quite a feat, trying to keep up with the human’s much larger steps.

Unfortunately, this was a necessary step to Virgil’s plan. He had to keep an eye on Patton as much as possible, tracking his movements. Well, more specifically, the key’s movements.

Strictly speaking, keys were an item never, ever to be touched by borrowers. Humans always noticed when they went missing and were willing to go to desperate measures to find them, sometimes including tearing up floorboards or drywall. And these humans were bound to notice the instant this particular key went missing, which meant Virgil would have to be quick.

But it was the only plan Virgil had. Simply picking the lock didn’t work. If the borrower had the actual key he could rescue Logan easily. They were bound to leave some evidence behind in their haste, but the humans already knew Logan existed. Would it really be so terrible for them to find a misplaced key if it meant Logan could go free? Virgil was certainly willing to pay the price.

However, it seemed Patton was very attached to this key. The human never took it off, and only rarely did Virgil actually catch enough of a glimpse of it to confirm the human still was wearing it. Virgil was beginning to doubt his own plan, trying to think of any alternatives, when it happened. 

“Well, I’m heading to bed.” Patton yawned, waving goodnight to his human roommate. He returned to his own bedroom, unaware of the tiny footsteps following him in the walls. Patton got ready, changing into pajamas and brushing his teeth. He crawled into bed, setting his glasses onto the nightstand. Patton paused, but ultimately decided to keep the lanyard on as he slept. Roman’s paranoia was starting to get to him; it almost felt like Patton was being watched.

Patton shuddered, not wanting to entertain that idea any further. Instead he reached over and turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Then Patton laid back against his pillows. After a few minutes, his breathing began to even out as the human fell asleep.

“Oh, come on.” Virgil groaned, realizing the human even slept with the key on. Were humans really so obsessed with their keys? Virgil was always a worst-case-scenario kind of borrower. So, even though he had really, really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Virgil still had a plan.

Virgil climbed through the wall tunnels, his feet sore from the long day of racing between rooms. He arrived at the outlet just below the nightstand of Patton’s room. With a strong push, the outlet cover gave way and revealed an exit. 

The borrower peeked his head out, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Looking up, he could see the shifting form of the snoring human, still fast asleep. Good. Virgil could only hope he stayed that way. 

Virgil swung his hook up onto the nightstand, knowing that it would be impossible to get the hook to catch on the blankets of the bed. He climbed up, avoiding the various objects placed on the wooden surface. Virgil stood, facing the human’s sleeping form. Virgil tried not to feel nervous, but that was difficult when every instinct inside him was screaming that this was a terrible idea. After all, what borrower in their right mind would go towards a human?

Trying not to think about what Logan would say when he inevitably found out about this, Virgil took a running leap onto the bed. He grappled onto the thick fabric with a death grip, refusing to be shaken as the blankets moved beneath him like a ship caught in a storm. Virgil scrambled up onto higher ground for better footing. With a slight jolt, he realized that in his haste to stay afloat Virgil had ended up on the human’s chest.

Virgil shuddered, trying not to think about what lay beneath the many layers of fabric under his feet. He took a few wobbly steps, making sure to keep his footing light. One false move could wake the giant and this would all be for naught. 

It was a slow process, and Virgil kept his head down to focus on his own movements rather than face the very real danger he was heading towards. With every inhale and exhale Patton made, Virgil had to be careful not to be thrown off balance entirely. As he neared Patton’s face, Virgil could also feel a warm breeze that he realized was Patton’s breath. 

“So weird.” Virgil whispered to himself. It was terrifyingly freaky being this close to a human. Virgil had never dared to do something this insane before. And he never wanted to do it again.

Virgil stopped, finally reaching his destination at the base of Patton’s neck. He knelt down, crawling on his hands and knees to where the lanyard rested. Virgil pulled on the strap, pulling the key out from under the blankets and into view. First he tried yanking it off, but the necklace was too sturdy. All the borrower got for his efforts was a groan from the human, and the floor shifting beneath him.

The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stood up. Quickly, Virgil took out his knife and began to saw at the lanyard. His hands were shaking. Virgil couldn’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong. What if the human was waking? The giant would probably be furious, especially if he figured out Virgil was trying to take his key. Would he just bite Virgil’s head off? Virgil knew that sort of thing wasn’t usually what humans did, but-

Lost in thought, Virgil’s hand slipped. His knife, made of a discarded razor blade, missed the thick strap of fabric entirely. Instead, Virgil could only watch in slow motion as his hand continued down as if of its own accord, slicing down across the human’s skin and leaving a scarlet trail.

“Ow!” Patton quickly sat up, and Virgil’s entire world was suddenly spinning. He tried to keep hold on anything in sight, trying not to fall. Unfortunately, this only earned him a startled gasp as the human became fully aware of his presence. A hand larger than him came up and swatted him away, sending Virgil careening across the bed as a thunderous shriek filled his ears. 

“Patton!” The other human’s thundering footsteps came rumbling in, causing Virgil to groan. “What’s wrong?” This was bad. Virgil tried to get on his hands and knees, ignoring the way his head pounded inside his skull. 

“I- there’s another one!” Patton tucked his legs close to his chest, pointing to the foot of the bed. “It bit me!” 

No, I didn’t. Virgil thought vaguely to himself, feeling a bit foggy. Weakly he began to crawl away, but his muscles didn’t seem to be responding. Was that normal? Was this a normal thing for him? Virgil couldn’t remember. 

“What? Really?!” The overhead light came on, leaving Virgil completely exposed as two humans gawked at him from a distance. “Well, then, uh, I’ll just-” There was a shuffling around the room, and a large shadow overtook Virgil. 

“No, don’t hurt it!” Patton protested. 

“I’m not!” A moment later, Virgil was plunged back into darkness. He felt around, realizing from texture alone the familiar feel of cardboard. A second later the wall came towards him, forcing Virgil back to the ground as his surroundings were once again in motion. As everything flipped upside right, Virgil realized he had been caught in a box. 

Virgil scrambled into the corner, gazing fearfully up at the giant faces peering down in at him. Patton had grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and seemed a bit anxious to peek very far. Roman, on the other hand, was looking at him with an unreadable expression that might’ve been some mix of excitement and anger. Virgil gulped. 

“What’re we going to do about you?” Roman asked, and though Virgil knew the human was talking about him he didn’t dare answer. Luckily the humans didn’t seem to want Virgil’s opinion anyways, turning instead to each other for advice. “Should I put him in with the other one, Pat?”

Virgil’s eyes widened at this suggestion, a small ray of hope in his otherwise bleak scenario. Yes, he was captured. And his head was foggy. But the fact that he would soon be reunited with Logan was a small blessing. Between the two of them, surely they could figure out an escape plan from the inside.

“No.” Patton’s words cut Virgil’s hope like a knife. Just like how Virgil had cut Patton with a knife just moments ago. As if replaying that event in his head, Patton rubbed at his neck subconsciously. “I don’t think that’s a great idea. This one seems too...violent. What if they fight? I don’t want our little guy getting hurt.”

...No. Virgil looked pleadingly up at the humans, but neither of them seemed to be paying him attention as they discussed his fate above his head. No, please, we won’t fight. I promise I’ll be good.

“Well, can you get another cage then?” Roman suggested. Just put us together. Please. 

“Yes, but not until the morning.” Patton glanced at the clock. “They don’t open until seven.” I didn’t even stab you that hard! 

Virgil pulled at his hair. The Universe just had to treat him so cruelly, didn’t it? It wasn’t enough for Virgil to be put into captivity, he had to be isolated as well. Unfortunately, there was nothing Virgil could do about it. His fate was sealed. The box lid closed, the humans thinking it best to keep him contained until his new prison was ready.

[imnotcrazyidontthink]

I am so grateful to have artist + mental health activist Kate Elizabeth share her story on the blog today. Her story has really touched me and I hope it can do the same for you - Leon Else

Hello, I’m Kate Elisabeth. I’m a non-binary pansexual, which is a fancy way of saying I’m hella queer. I’m also an illustrator who fancies cartoons, and I’m also a mental health activist!

My experience with mental health goes a little deeper than just receiving a diagnosis and treatment. 

When I was 12 years old I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called Hashimotos, where my immune system attacks my thyroid. I now need to take hormone replacements to make up for what my thyroid is lacking. After the diagnosis my parents assumed all of my apparent mental stress was a direct correlation to my autoimmune disease, rather than it being a separate Illness that needed its own attention. While it is true that Hashimotos can cause psychosis, the psychosis goes away once the thyroid is being treated. Mine stayed with me, like an unwanted roommate. 

I grew up in a dysfunctional household filled with marital issues and my parents having their own suppressed trauma and stress. My dad worked hard, and had worked hard his whole life. He depended on my mom to be able to take care of us when he was at work. She often did, and often did it quite well. But I think there were things she was unprepared to deal with, and she struggled to communicate this to her partner. 

My earliest memory of anxiety is when I was 6 years old, and I was unable to write a handful of thank you notes addressed to the students in my class. I remember feeling paralyzed by this sense of responsibility and I was so afraid of writing the wrong words. After all, I was 6 years old and didn’t have much experience writing anything at all. To be fair, my parents were unable to recognize this as anxiety because I don’t think they recognized their own for many, many years. Instead of asking me why I was stressed out, my mother criticized my inability to write the notes myself. She ended up doing it for me, and that was the first time I remember feeling like I had failed, and like I didn’t measure up. Moments like those throughout my childhood would have a direct correlation to the severe anxiety and depression that would develop later on.

 I remember I started hallucinating in fourth grade, and it would happen frequently when I was around 13. In fourth grade I remember visually hallucinating malformations on people’s faces or their body parts. I was probably 10 at this time and had no idea how to explain this to someone, so I went to the nurses office and told them I felt sick. I did that a lot during school, looking for reasons to go home sick so I could avoid seeing or hearing anything I didn’t want to see or hear.

 I began to isolate myself from family and friends as the years went on, and my parents attributed this to teen angst. I felt myself disconnecting from the world around me and I eventually lost my sense of self. By the time I was 16 I was on my third year of highschool and failing, while just doing the bare minimum to advance. I had no desire or will to live, and developed anorexia and other suicidal behaviors. 

When I was 17, I saw a psychiatrist and told him about my visual and auditory hallucinations, and he explained that I have schizophrenia, which is a grossly misunderstood form of psychosis. Unfortunately, his treatment methods got me nowhere, and I was briefly dependent on adderall. My parents stopped taking me to therapy, and I actually can’t say for sure what their reasons for that may have been, since there was always a persistent lack of communication.

 I graduated high school with mostly Ds, because my teachers all knew I was struggling and not receiving adequate treatment. It seemed like everyone besides my parents could realize that I needed intensive care and help.

During middle school, and into my junior year of high school, my main motivation for getting out of bed was artwork. I became known to everyone as the artist and that was the only facet of my identity. I would go to therapy for a few years on and off, but it was always me complaining about my parents, so no real progress on my mental health was made. I was under the impression that life was an illusion, and I had no way of being absolutely sure that the people around me were even real. Schizophrenia changes your perception of reality, and can cause delusional states of mind. It dulls your ability to feel strong emotions, and it can cause severe detachment from your sense of self. I legitimately felt like I was empty, and I couldn’t possibly imagine a brighter future.

 I became increasingly paranoid that people were lying to me about everything, and I had trust issues. I would spend weeks isolating myself in my room, accumulating piles of dirty dishes, trash, dirty clothes, etc. I was essentially living in my own misery. My mom often helped me clean my room, but became frustrated that I couldn’t keep it clean, There were times where she tried to not make me feel guilty, but I felt the guilt anyway. I remember always feeling like I had no control over anything.

When I was 18, I was raped repeatedly for two months by someone who I assumed I could trust. I was unable to leave my situation out of fear, denial, coercion, manipulation, and gaslighting. I started to smoke marijuana heavily during that time as a means of escapism. I was only able to leave that situation because he hit me over the head with a pair of drum sticks, and he was arrested and charged with domestic violence. 

I now have a restraining order against him. I also have a tattoo on my chest that he gave me without my consent, because I was under the influence of drugs. I remember standing in front of a mirror shirtless, then I remember being on a table getting tattooed. I don’t remember agreeing to getting anything tattooed. When it was over I tried to justify it and convince myself that I wanted this to happen. He treated me like a carnival prize that he had won, and he would objectify me to anyone who encountered us. He would tell me to take off my shirt and show people the tattoo that he gave me. I felt like a billboard for his own twisted personal brand of self aggrandizement. 

My mental health at the time was poor, even without the effects of drugs. I felt like what was happening to me was meant to happen as a means of punishment for not cleaning my room, not doing better in school, or whatever reason I could think of to explain cause of the abuse. I smoked weed every day for a year and a half to cope with everything. I’m 20 years old now, and I’ll be 21 on October 13th. It has taken me two and a half years to fully accept that it wasn’t my fault, and that blaming myself isn’t the answer. I couldn’t even talk about the sexual assault verbally without breaking down in tears until earlier this year.

That experience made me realize that life is not a delusion. Additionally, that I am in fact vulnerable to the same dangers as everyone else. I am not exempt from experiencing the impact of other people’s decisions.

This all made me reflect on my own life and the decisions I was making, as well as the people in my life. It has given me the motivation to take control over my college education, my career, and my art. I still suffer daily from all of my health issues, mental or otherwise, and the trauma of what I lived through. Although, what is different now is that I have a self awareness that could only have been gained from walking through Hell and coming out the other end alive. I also had to make a decision: I could either run away from my problems and ignore them, or I could actually get to know myself and figure out how to overcome these obstacles. 

This is a constant choice that I make every day. I can’t erase what happened to me, I can’t magically make my Hashimotos disappear, and I can’t cure my schizophrenia, but I can make the decision to try and live my best life despite it all. I strongly encourage all of you to do the same thing. I’m in school majoring in psychology now, and I am going to become a doctor in the field of psychiatry. I’m also still making art and I often enjoy it and find great pleasure in it. Having a creative outlet is so fundamental for your mental health. There’s an entire field of study for it, and it’s called art therapy.

If you’re depressed, have anxiety, OCD, or a broken leg, just know that positive things can and will happen when you make the conscious decision to help yourself. People will only understand that their depression or anxiety or mental illness can receive treatment if we educate and spread awareness. Suicide is an increasing epidemic because people are afraid to ask for help or talk about their feelings.

I encourage every one of you to understand the significance of mental health and why it’s morally ethical to assist those who need our help. If someone you know is suffering from depression or mental illness, or they’ve experienced a traumatic event, reach out to them and suggest they seek professional help and treatment.

There is hope, it gets better, and you are not alone.

Kate Elizabeth xo

[lordrethandus]

The Flame That Guides Us Home Pt 4

Istrys hurried through chamber after chamber, occasionally raising more corpses along the way that her pets generously left behind for her. Yet even with them mapping the ship out, she still felt no closer to finding Rethandus than when she first boarded; and she would need to find him before that bomb went off, or all that would remain of them both would be fleeting memories.

Almost half of her ghouls attending the Oathguard were already slain, but that was to be expected. A surprise rush might work fine for unarmed mechanics still disoriented from the Krakenax slamming into the cliffside, but seasoned and well armed felguards wouldn't be so easily vanquished. “The fewer ghouls the better.” Istrys thought. It would be easier to focus on finding Rethandus if she also wasn't fighting a half dozen battles at the same time.

Then the Necromancer slid to a halt before a door she didn't notice when her pets dashed down this hallway. According to the schematics she ‘borrowed’ from Gonthar's belongings, this would have to either be an armory or mess hall, but who knows how outdated the Army of the Light's Intel could be?

“Venturing into this place alone seems risky.” The ever-reclusive Vesk whispered in Istrys’ head. “We don't know what lies behind this door… it could be an ambush.”

Istrys wasn't concerned. “We haven't come all this way for safety.” Vesk made a sound Istrys could only assume was protest, but it didn't stop the Necromancer from pressing her hands against the thick fel iron door and pushing it open.

This chamber was significantly larger than any of the others she's encountered, with out a single spark of light illuminating the choking darkness; she couldn't smell it but she could taste it in the air, the musky familiarity of death and suffering. No doubt this was the place she was looking for.

“This is an obvious trap.” Vesk spoke up again, but that undeniable fact didn't deter Istrys from slowly advancing forward.

“Quiet.” The Necromancer's whisper was as low as it could be. Cautiously she walked forward, inching deeper and deeper into the chamber with her ears straining for even the slightest sound. Klink… klink… klink… klink… the bone talons on the toes of her blight iron boots tapped against the cold felsteel floor with every step, but even with such a faint and deliberate sound, Istrys could hear the echo bouncing off the distant walls. Klink… klink……. klink………… kloop.

Istrys looked down to find her right boot in an inch of water. “No, it's too thick… this must be bloo-” Immediately her eyes snapped to a shape by her boot, malformed and soaked. It was a skull, and for the longest split second of her life, she was convinced it belonged to Rethandus; relief washed over her body when she plucked it off the floor and raised it to eye level.

The eye sockets were too large, too far apart, and too close to the nose socket to belong to any elf. Secondly Rethandus had a very distinct curve of his skull from getting bashed in by something heavy, but whether or not it marked his first death or happened later was irrelevant; this skull had no such damage. Lastly there were two gaping sockets on the bottom front, on either side of the skull's crooked incisors. “Moyasi…” Istrys thought to herself, remembering his obnoxiously long tusks that stuck out from under his upper lips. “Him and that panda left with Andy. I must be close if-”

“You must be this Esmeralda he’s told me so much about.” The Necromancer's ears twitched at the sudden voice, and caused her spiteful glare to snap to the darkness ahead; despite being determined to not let these echoes confuse her, she couldn't pinpoint the direction of the demon's voice in this accursed room.

“Then you know why I'm here.” Istrys answered back. “Give him back to me, and maybe I'll give you a clean death.”

“Oh I fully intend on surviving the death rattle of the Burning Legion.” The female voice seemed to be coming from behind her now. The Necromancer whirled around with her dominant hand on the hilt of her plague-rotten runesword, but all she found was more darkness and echoes. “Did you know he was quite the womanizer in his first life? For decades he would be any woman who spread her legs… he had quite the appetite. Had he not perished in Northrend, he would have made the ideal pleasure slave.” With that last remark Istrys was convinced she was dealing with either a succubus or perhaps a shivarra. She hoped it was the former; killing a twelve foot tall, four armed giant in the dark without any corpses could prove fatal.

“But what he never told you was his vice is so deeply ingrained, that it never dulled when he was raised into in death. But for a decade his perversion grew rampant without an outlet.” She continued with the sound of a smile dancing along her lips. “Every woman he's ever met, he's craved. You, Covaya, Syrahn, Tyrasam, Kaevia, and hundreds more. Even little Jaeras… he wishes to be her first… so she may know what a real man inside her is like.”

“Don't listen to this fiend.” Vesk warned. “She only wishes to make you angry.”

“Well it's fucking working!” Istrys couldn't concentrate on keeping her distant ghouls in check while this demon boiled her blood.

A cruel laughter bounced around the Necromancer. “Did you honestly think you were special? That he only had eyes for you?! Hahahaha… so naive! If he could trade you for Zion he wouldn't hesitate!”

“Show yourself, you filthy bitch!” Istrys shouted, eager to spill her blood. Before long a bright green light lit up the chamber, revealing the long tables and gruesome tools the Burning Legion used to torture Rethandus. Istrys turned to face the succubus with a malevolence burning in her eyes. “Oooh… I can't describe how much I'm going to enjoy desecrating your corpse.”

“Oh, I believe you would.” Azazel didn't bother hiding the amusement written on her face. A healthy ember of felfire hovered silently in her hands until she dropped it into the puddle of blood. Istrys had to hop out of it before the flames reached her feet, but now she could only see the silhouette of the succubus frantically dancing along the wall, despite the demon standing perfectly still. “Unfortunately you'll be too preoccupied to butcher me. Darling… come hither.”

Istrys strained her eyes at the second silhouette, but she couldn't recognize it at all. “He told me you would come rescue him, you know. He wanted so desperately for you to swoop in and free him from my torment. You never came.” Azazel motioned for the figure to step closer. “Seems you two have some catching up to do. Goodbye, Esmeralda, and good luck. Andy… kill her.”

Rethandus began walking toward Istrys with the felflames around his feet sputtering out from the sheer cold. The closer he grew, the more horrified Istrys became; all of his beautiful silver hair was gone, burned off his scalp along with most of his skin. He was still wearing his armor but it was nearly falling off his body, held together by huge felsteel staples likely buried directly into his flesh. Both hands were gone, but welded to his right forearm was a serrated slab of folded felsteel so long the tip dragged along the ground. Lastly his chestplate was split in half, exposing his heart that overflowed with fel corruption.

Rethandus was already sailing through the air by the time Istrys unsheathed her sword. Their weapons struck together with a deafening clash that echoed mercilessly off the walls. Istrys nearly lost her arm when his blade bounced off her runesword, and with a surge of power he twisted his body to strike at her again and again.

Rethandus was slow, but his attacks were brutally strong. Istrys was smaller and remained faster, but his freezing aura tightened its grip on her bones, and she couldn't keep dodging forever. “Istrys!” Vesk's voice was loud and booming. “You must fight back! Kill Rethandus!”

“I-…!” The creeping rime on her armor made it impossible to continue avoiding him. Left, right, left again, a thrust forward, his attacks were relentless. The tortured husk spun his body around for two consecutive downward strokes from above, with enough force to cut the Necromancer in half. Istrys collapsed onto one knee from the first hit, feeling her fingers shatter as her sword groaned and rattled in her hands; the second hit nearly took her arm off. “I can't!”

“Istrys!” In a flash he slashed at her again in an upward arch, the blow hitting her so hard it ripped her sword out of her weakened grip and into the air. Istrys caught a glimpse of her sword disappearing in the felflame, but she was forced to duck as Rethandus moved to behead her.

Istrys fell hard on her back, but he was already upon her before she could react. His iron boot slammed against her chestplate and pinned her to the ground. Istrys stared deep into his face, his once beautiful frozen eyes now dull, dead, and empty. He raised his bladed arm up to cleave her head in twain, but the Necromancer raised both of her hands and overloaded a few of her unholy runes, hurling a torrent of shadow magic into his face. His balance shifted just enough for her to wiggle free, but Rethandus was thrown into an enraged frenzy.

  Scrrraaauuughk… the crackling hiss of the air around Istrys freezing into a haze compelled her to retreat, but the hungering cold was already cutting through her armor and digging deep into her bones. She could barely move her legs now, her feet and ankles frozen solid in a sheet of ice. Instead of trying her luck to retrieve her sword, Istrys fled further into the darkness. A thick iron table stood between her and her desperate escape. She wouldn't dare look behind her to see his jagged blade rip through her body; she just had to believe he wasn't a moment away from ushering in her second death.

Istrys scampered beneath the table, only to find herself trapped against the wall. Rethandus cut through the table like it was made of parchment, pressed his boot against one of the cleaved pieces, and sent it flying toward her. It was too fast to dodge.

“AAAAUUUGH!” Her right arm vanished between the wall and the ruined table, her shoulder and collarbone shattered and useless. Istrys found herself trapped like a wounded rat, unable to free herself, or even cut through her arm in time before Rethandus caught up with her. Then she remembered, “A husk is all he is. A mindless ghoul in need of a master.” Shadow magic coursed through her left hand when she reached out to grasp at Rethandus in an attempt to bind his corpse to her will.

Agony akin to taking an axe to the skull struck her in the forehead the moment she made contact. She felt it swell like a festering blister, a deafening and blinding sensation so pure and real she swore she was dying herself. Istrys tasted what Rethandus went through in his final moments; when they twisted and pulled each of his fingers off, when demonic hounds feasted on his hands, the bladed whip striking his flesh a hundred times, even when they seared his face in felfire. Then his voice flooded her mind. “You abandoned me. I waited for your rescue. Why didn't you save me? What did I do to deserve this? I'm sorry Mother. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

It was too much to endure. One last push was all Rethandus needed to eject her influence out of his mind. The feedback left the Necromancer mentally debilitated, unable to move and barely conscious. Vesk was yelling at the top of her lungs, but her voice was too distant and too muffled to understand. Istrys slowly looked up to see her legs encased in ice, and the frozen boots of Rethandus. “This is it…” She heard herself speak in the lowest of whispers, but it was all the strength she had left. A necromancer of her caliber, felled by an empty undead husk? This ironic defeat would haunt her to the end of all existence.

Then Rethandus staggered forward, his bladed forearm clapped against the floor with a ringing bang. Istrys looked forward to see his left shoulder engulfed in embers as pitch black as the night sky. His husk growled in pain before rising to his full height again, and when he turned to face whoever hurt him, her eyes trailed off until they settled on the familiar cripple near the door.

Zolaar the Harvester was already channeling another spell in his hands, with shadows leaking from his palms and spilling out from between his fingers like sand. When he launched a second bolt of his foul magic, Rethandus angrily smacked it out of the air just before it nailed him in the chest. Another one whizzed past his head when he ducked, and another was blocked with his blade. No more than ten feet left before he reached Zolaar and Rethandus felt the air around him twist and shudder; the instant he looked down the hidden rune at his feet activated, tossing him a foot into the air and locking him in place. The harder he struggled to break free, the stronger it seemed to grip him, feeding off his unstable fel and frost magic.

“Istrys!” Zolaar called out to despite being out of breath from running. When he collapsed at her side,  he was forced to remove his mask, snorting loudly through the mess of scabbed lips and jagged teeth he once called his face. “W-we need to l-leave! That won’t h-hold him for long…!”

Istrys didn't answer. Her head was slumped against the wall and her eyes were closed; she had to focus on not slipping under, or she knew she would never open her eyes again. A surge of shadow magic coursed through her bones soon after the distant shouting of the Harvester stopped, filling her to the brim with rejuvenating power. The Necromancer opened her eyes to see Zolaar's twisted face, and the back of Rethandus’ mindless husk breaking through the first seal to escape his magical prison.

“Aughhh… what the fuck happened?!” Istrys rubbed at the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

“You almost d-died!” Zolaar coughed out, frantically trying to pull her free from the remains of the table pinning her to the wall. “We n-need to flee b-before he frees himself!” Istrys felt as strong as she could be in her condition. The ice on her legs snapped when she forced her legs to move, the bones in her collar clicked back into place. The Necromancer dug her fingers between her other arm and the table, and with a surge of strength she managed to wrench herself free.

“Istrys! He is about to break free!” Vesk's voice was deafening again. Istrys could feel the bones in her crushed arm reforming, but the flattened armor wouldn't allow a full recovery for now. Slowly the Necromancer was pulled up onto her feet by the Harvester, just as Rethandus shattered the rune and collapsed to his knees.

A guttural roar sent Zolaar squirming away like a beaten puppy. Istrys turned to see Rethandus’ husk sprinting toward her at top speed, the metal floor beneath her boots trembling with each step. “Run…!” Zolaar squeaked out, nearly falling onto the floor. “RUN!”

Istrys let her crumbled arm hang limp and useless off her crushed shoulder, but with her other arm, she reached out toward the sickly green glow of the fel flames. Forked lightning as black as pitch danced around her palm and leapt from her fingers. Her runesword was half-eaten by the flames and unforgivably hot, melting through her gauntlet to lick at her flesh the instant it was back in her grasp.

With her ruined sword, Istrys waited until he was close enough to touch before swinging her blade around as hard and as fast as she could.

[audriel]

caught

Surprise! I’m your Secret Santa, @noehhmii! I picked the first on your list: Bounty Hunter Kuroo x Wanted Criminal Daichi. I’m not sure if this is what you have in mind but I hope you like it (though i feel like i bit more than i could chew, honestly when did i not?). This is my gift to you, not only for celebrating these wonderful holidays, but also for giving me and other kurodai fans a wonderful place for us to play and mingle together. XOXO, audriel.

Apologies in advance for any medical/scientific inaccuracies, and all the cursing lol.

Read in AO3.

A square of light suddenly appeared in the dark. Two shadowy figures carried a hunched figure between them who gave no resistance when they tossed him forward. The square of light was gone as soon as it appeared, plunging what appeared to be a small, cramped room into darkness. The figure remained unmoving save for the tremors wracking his body. Eventually the tremors stopped, the taut lines of the man slowly eased. With difficulty, he turned himself over to lay on his back. The action alone seemed to take a lot out of him, as seen from his heaving chest.

Daichi blearily opened his eyes. The darkness was much welcomed respite after spending inordinate time in that bright room. He slowly, carefully measured his breath, keeping his body relaxed in order to make the pain more manageable. They were methodical in their approach, confirming his suspicion that his captors were either professional or military. However, he had endured worse. It would take more than that to break him, and he suspected that they knew it.

He managed to glean enough information from those sessions, enough to know that they were fully aware who they had in their grasp and what information they sought from him, enough to know that they were smart and resourceful, enough to know that he was in deep trouble. Not only because of the people who captured him, but also the place where they kept him. He was no longer planetside. He was in blasted space.

If he was on a planet, mounting an escape plan (or in his team’s case, rescue plan) would not be difficult. Even with the high security level of the place, he was confident they would manage, but in space, it was another level of difficulty, and near impossible considering how his captors were capable of warp jump. It would be hell to run the calculation even with Tsukishima’s cybernetic brain. It also didn’t help that he destroyed everything on his person that could be traced back to his team. It was foolish, in hindsight, but he was not willing to take the risk considering the condition of his team.

Daichi exhaled heavily, brow creasing in worry. The last he saw of them, Suga had started to regain the color on his face and Kinoshita’s moments of lucidity had grown longer and more frequent. Yamaguchi—who had taken on the role of team’s medic in Kinoshita’s stead—had stated in confidence that their condition had been stable enough for transport without risking a relapse. They had already been pushing it, staying for so long in such busy capital. They always took care to avoid capital cities and planets. While the number of activities and people made it easy to blend in among the sea of unfamiliar faces who came and went to try their fortune, the same reason made it more likely for them to be recognized with the easy access to information and the pervading presence of technology.

Their government had made their displeasure seen, to great lengths. Their faces were plastered on every screen and their crimes reported by every news outlet in the farthest reach of the galaxy. They were branded as cowards and traitors, painted as the lowest of the low, enormous bounty placed on their heads. They wanted to make an example out of them, making it near impossible for them to run and hide. But the Crows, the pride and joy of Karasuno military and government, who had managed to pull off miraculous feat after miraculous feat, managed to do the impossible. All twelve of them led their former employer on a merry chase, none sent their way came close to catching them... until now.

Daichi had turned the past events that led to his predicament over in his mind, and he came down to the same conclusion every time: they simply had rotten luck. They had made do like they always did. They had made the best decisions they could make. This was the best outcome in the face of overwhelming odds. He was caught, but only him. They were separated but they were all alive.

Their pursuers were good. They were a huge improvement from the last people sent their way. They had certainly learned from their past failures. They knew that their best bet was in separating all of them, and they would have succeeded if Daichi hadn’t realized it and taken drastic measures to prevent it by having them focused on him instead. Asahi had been with him and completely against the idea, but they had run out of options. With two of them weak and vulnerable and the rest focused on protecting them, the Crows had been at great disadvantage. Between the two of them, Karasuno wanted their former captain and leader of the Crows more. It had been a plan that would only have worked if it had been him who had acted as bait and decoy. And fortunately, it had worked. He had received confirmation that his team—his family—had gotten away safely before he had destroyed his comms.

He never failed to remind himself of this every single day in this hellhole. He drew strength that so long there was life there was hope. However, it was getting more and more difficult. He tried to find any weakness to take advantage of, but he had yet to find any. He was worn down to the bone after every session that he could barely stay awake long enough to make concrete plans. He barely ate and drank since he couldn’t trust the food and water given to him. He noticed they were ramping up the intensity of their sessions, but also that they remained physical. They hadn’t taken chemical or biological route, but he was certain that they were capable of it. The possibility alone terrified him, because there were no defenses he could prepare for it. He needed to escape fast. He knew that, he believed the urgency in his gut, but his mind kept going in circles, unable to come up with feasible plan. He was also feeling lightheaded, in the verge of fainting, due to a mixture of hunger, thirst, pain and fatigue.

He was completely, utterly fucked.

He tried to think of the slightest possibility, to hold on to the sliver of hope, just to keep despair and hopelessness at bay, but it kept slipping out of his grasp.

In the midst of his anxiety and frustration, Daichi was not prepared for the bright light that seared his eyes, forcing his eyes closed in instinct. But it was gone as soon as it appeared, making him wonder whether he was starting to lose his mind. However, his skin prickled in unease. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but... he had a feeling he was no longer alone. This was new. None of his guards had ever crossed the threshold of his cell. They always stopped right before the door before depositing him like he was no better than trash. His hands clenched at his sides tightly, his body tensed in the unexpected development. He cursed the weakness of his body, he could barely lift himself, let alone fight.

“Oh my. Did I get into the wrong room?”

Daichi knew that voice. He must be hallucinating, but why here and now? Why him of all people? That made no sense.

“Black Cat?” His voice was barely audible, but it was loud in the silence. He saw something moving in the darkness, but the first thing he saw was lone golden eye that he could recognize anywhere, stunning him speechless.

“Oh hello. I didn’t see you down there.” The bounty hunter squatted next to him while Daichi could only look on incredulously. The other man was clad from head to toe in his usual skintight black gear and hood, leaving only the eye not covered by his hair and mask. He could be easily mistaken having materialized from the shadows.

“What- How- Why are you here?” Of all people, the bounty hunter that had become the bane of his team was the last person he expected to be here, in the cell of highly secured space prison.

“Heard that you got yourself captured. Gotta check for myself.” The Cat had the gall to lean his face against his propped hand, looking down at him. “Tsk, tsk. You disappoint me, Sawamura.”

“Fuck. you.” Daichi was not prone to much cursing, but the Cat brought the worst out of him, had always been since their first encounter. Many groups went after their team after they were declared as wanted criminal, from the armed forces of the allies of Karasuno to hired professionals from the dark underbelly of the galaxy. None gave the team as much trouble as the Black Cat. He was one of the few independent parties that went after their team, but the only one who was close to capturing them, had captured few of their members actually, though they managed to get them free. He was also annoyingly persistent, not deterred by his failures.

“Ah there it is. Glad you still have your claws.” The hunter sounded far too smug. “To answer your question, I’m here to bust you out of here.” Before Daichi could say anything, he kept going.

“Now, do you trust me?”  

Daichi couldn’t help looking like the Cat has grown two heads at the question, but it was enough of a distraction that he didn’t react fast enough when the hunter jabbed something into his neck.

“That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.” The Cat said lightly as though he was merely commenting the weather.

“What the fuck did you do?” Daichi growled, hand darting out to seize him by the neck, only to end up staring at his hand, the hand that he could barely move not a moment before. The Cat simply raised his eyebrow, completely unfazed that he could have been easily strangled.

“Adrenaline.” Daichi let go, looking at his hand in wonder. Emboldened, he raised himself up into sitting position, finding that not only he was regaining his strength, but also his reflexes.

“Why would you do that?” Daichi could meet the other’s eye with no difficulty in this position.

“I doubt you want to be carried around. That, and I need another hand to get out of here.” Daichi’s eyebrows flew up in surprise.

“You’re on your own?”

“Have you seen the security in this place?” Daichi saw the truth in his words, it was easier for a lone man to get through such iron-clad security undetected, but from what he knew of the Cat, he suspected that he was not willing to put his team at risk. Though it brought up the question why the Cat took such risk for the man he was supposed to capture and turn over for bounty.

“Unless you think your team have better chances.” The Cat wiggled his eyebrow, which pulled involuntary snort out of Daichi. Stealth and infiltration were definitely not his team’s strength. His team was a strike team. They were meant to strike fast and hard. Living on the run did improve their skills, and surprise was still their middle name, but the Cat was in another league altogether. The evidence was right in front of him. He managed to enter his cell and no guards had come running. The realization lighted a spark inside him. Between the two of them, escape would not be impossible. Deciding not to look a gift horse in mouth, Daichi determinedly looked to the hunter, to his enemy-turned-ally even only for this one time.

“What’s the plan?” He would have thought the Cat would be smug at his show of deference, but there was only a flicker of pleasant surprise, replaced with something akin to genuine appreciation, which oddly made Daichi warm all over. In a fluid motion, the Cat stood up to his full height, followed by Daichi.

“We’re currently in the prisoners’ block. You might realize by now that it is completely isolated from the rest of the prison.” Daichi nodded in acknowledgment. He never saw the prison guards and staff came and left. He surmised it was designed to make it difficult to escape from. “The prison also doesn’t have their own hangar, but they have escape pods.”

“And let me guess, they are right in the middle of the command center.” But it made sense, from tactical viewpoint, it added another layer of difficulty for prisoners to escape.

“Bingo.”

“Of course.” Daichi dryly noted. It rather explained the adrenaline shot. That reminded him, “How long would the adrenaline last?”

“Thirty minutes, give or take.” That was quite a generous dose, but there was also underlying challenge from the glint of the golden eye enough to send his blood boiling.

“Thirty minutes will be more than enough.” Daichi accepted the challenge. Only as they moved towards the door it occurred to him that he was ill-equipped for their escape, especially in comparison to fully-geared hunter. He was stripped down to his undershirt and cargo pants upon capture and they barely provided any protection against the temperature, let alone against any weapons the guards had. “Got a weapon for me?”

“I’m nice, but I’m not that nice.” It was a casual throwback to one of their most frequent topics of argument whenever they exchanged blows with the Cat assuring that he was actually nice and Daichi refuting that claim throughout, but even as he said so he pulled out one of his serrated knives and flipped it over so the end was offered to Daichi.

“Don’t cut yourself on it.” Despite the teasing remark and casual manner, the Cat’s gaze was heavy and intent.

“Never dreamed of it.” Daichi recognized the gesture of faith as it was. He held the other’s gaze as he slowly wrapped his fingers around the knife, not looking away even as their fingers brushed and the knife was already in his possession. He didn’t know how long they were looking at each other, but he didn’t miss the way the Cat’s features softened and the way his heart sped up at the sight. He felt there was something more exchanged between them, but he had no idea what it was. Before he could make heads or tails of it, the door slid open. Now the amber eye held the familiar sly, mischievous look.

“Keep up, Sawamura.” Without warning, the Cat disappeared from sight. It was only because he was used to the hunter’s speed that he could easily follow his movements. Without thinking he propelled himself forward with all his might, giving chase to the shadow, determined not to lag behind. In the back of his mind, he noted how the roles had switched: the pursued became the pursuer, the pursuer became the pursued.

The Cat weaved his way through the labyrinth that was the prison with the ease and grace he had come to associate him with. Daichi made sure to take the exact path he traversed and never more than a step behind him. Inwardly he marveled how they managed not to trip any of the alarms. He knew whoever Black Cat had in his team as his hacker was good, but being able to guide him through what likely to be highly confidential and secured space base-slash-prison was no cakewalk. No less impressive was the way the Cat effortlessly absorbed the information given to him as though it was part of his own thought process and successfully applied the knowledge without delay or hesitation, it was no wonder that everyone who had heard of Black Cat and his reputation thought he was only one man.

They finally reached a door, taking position opposite of each other, flattening themselves against the wall right next to it. The Cat met his gaze across the door, giving a sharp nod that this was the door to the command center, which would be heavily guarded and occupied. Confrontation would be inevitable. At the thought, he gripped the knife tighter, but returned the nod with his own.

The Cat seemed to wait for something before the door hissed open. He made a cursory glance around before he stepped inside. Picking up the hunter’s wariness, Daichi was immediately on alert. The Cat tilted his head towards one direction and Daichi was quick to follow. They were more careful now, stopping at intersections and hiding in the corners... until they couldn’t.

“Intruder!” They had avoided one patrolling guards only to run into another. It seemed finally their luck ran out.

“Alert command!” The man who appeared to be the leader ordered one of his men who reacted quickly, activating the comms in his ear.

“Command-” Before he could make any report, a knife was embedded in his chest, cutting him off. At the sight of their fallen comrade, the guards opened fire. Daichi ducked and kept himself moving in order to avoid getting hit, but the Cat charged ahead, successfully turning their attention to him. It seemed within moments he had closed the distance between them and before they could react the Cat took out two of them. Before the two guards had even fallen, he already moved to the rest of them, slipping low under their guard. They were so taken aback that it didn’t occur to them to spread out and keep their distance. By not doing so they made it difficult for themselves to point and shoot in fear of hitting each other, which was the Cat’s aim.

This was the other reason why people easily bought the idea that Black Cat was working alone. He was fast and agile, with mastery in multitude weapons and fighting styles. He was calm and patient that he was not easily baited and taken by other’s pace. He was also cunning and observant, with sharp mind and keen instincts that kept him ahead of his opponents. He managed to soundly beat Asahi on one-on-one, who was the Crow’s best fighter, and took down Noya who came to Asahi’s aid, by taking advantage of his surroundings. It was not that the Cat was particularly strong, but he was the kind of opponent that the Crows were badly matched against. Of all the Crows, he was the only one who could fight Black Cat on his own.

Not wanting to let the Cat to all the work, not to mention the mocking that would follow, Daichi used the distraction the hunter provided to get close to one of the guards. Keeping his blaster down and his finger off the trigger, Daichi knocked the guard out with an elbow to the head. With blaster on hand, he made a quick work of the rest of the guards, leaving only the two of them standing.

“They heard the commotion. Take what you need.” Daichi didn’t need to be told, he fell to his knees and started stripping the guard of his gear. He caught the Cat standing guard in his peripherals, so he pulled the tactical vest over his head, pocketing the most useful ones in record time in order not to stay any longer than necessary.

“Let’s go.” In response, the Cat started running, Daichi not far behind.

“They found the guards.” Right on cue, alarm blared throughout the hallways.

“Intruder on base. Intruder on base. Activate code Blue. Repeat. Activate code Blue.”

Daichi threw a questioning glance at the Cat who directed his gaze at the closing doors between hallways.

“Shit,” Daichi cursed loudly.

“We need to turn at that corner and get to the second hallway.” They put a burst of speed, not looking back even at the sounds of approaching footsteps. They barely made it to the second hallway, slipping through the small opening left by the closing doors. It was a dead end.

“Give me a lift.” As he approached the hunter and followed his line of sight, he realized what was their aim: the vents. Daichi slung the blaster over his shoulder and was about to form a foothold for the other only for the Cat to launch on top of him and sit on his shoulders, almost taking him by surprise.

“Are you a cat or a monkey?” Daichi couldn’t quite hide his annoyance being the designated stool although he kept himself steady so the Cat could pry open the vents.

“Who’s to say I’m not both?” He did his best to hold on his annoyance, lest he was distracted by the long, lean legs around his head and on his shoulders. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the Cat pulled himself up into the vents after managing to remove the cover and stuck out the hand Daichi looked on dubiously.

“Come on. I’ll pull you up.” The Cat sounded amused, as though he knew what he was thinking. Not wanting to prove him right, Daichi leaped up, only to find his hand seized in strong grip and pulled into the vents easily.

“Put the cover back, we’re going this way.” This time he detected the smug tone in his voice for admittedly impressive feat. He might have lost some weight but he was not light by any means. Of course, he would not give the hunter the satisfaction that he was right. They crawled through the small, cramped space that was obviously not meant for two grown men while trying to move fast without making a sound.

Daichi didn’t know how long they were crawling, his joints and limbs felt stiff and uncomfortable, until the Cat stopped in front of him.

“...They’re expecting us.”

“So no getting around them?”

“No. It did narrow our options though.” Daichi was not deceived by the lightness of his tone. The Cat’s lone eye glinted in the darkness. “Any preference for making our entrance?” Daichi didn’t need to think long and hard what kind of entrance he’d like to make.

“Like a civilized person, and with a bang.”

“Ooh, I like the way you think.” the Cat purred.

Not long afterwards they were found standing before the last obstacle standing between them and freedom, counting down the second. Daichi watched in morbid fascination as the door blasted inwards, catching the armed men waiting behind it completely unawares. Daichi and the Cat exchanged a brief look before throwing themselves into the fray, with the Cat leading the charge and Daichi covering his back from the distance with the blaster. It was not a familiar position to him. He was usually at the front of his team, taking the lead and opening the path for them. He had given the cover fire for his team when it was the best course of action. Regardless, it was quite a novel experience giving it for the bounty hunter that gave his team so much trouble and a challenge of and in itself because it was hard for Daichi not to look away.

Daichi never got to truly observe (and appreciate) the hunter in the middle of the fight, because it was usually against him or his team. Now that they were temporarily on the same side, he had the opportunity to do so. Black Cat... was really something. His style was nothing like the military style he was trained in, all about brutal and efficient moves, taking down the opponent fast and hard. Simple and rudimentary, if he was to sum Karasuno’s fighting style. His team stood out because they were capable of mixing them up while making them their own. The Cat was actually similar in that regard, but instead of mixing up standard moves, he was mixing up different fighting styles, not to mention he always changed it to match his opponent. He had suspected it but to have it confirmed raised his respect and admiration to the hunter another notch. Then there was the way he moved, so easy and smooth, confident and graceful. There was no wasted movement, no split-second hesitation.

He was poetry in motion.

He was beautiful.

Daichi nearly tripped over his own feet and got himself killed at the abrupt, unwelcomed thought. He could have his existential crisis later for getting attracted to a man who was supposed to be the enemy, not to mention whom he didn’t know what his face even looked like. Right now, he needed to get out of this prison alive, preferably before the adrenaline ran out. He ducked when he saw movement at the corner of his eyes, but had his blaster shot out of his hands, making him curse loudly.

Daichi made his way towards the Cat. At the questioning glance, he answered. “Sniper!”

“Fuck.” Daichi agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. “Back to back.” It seemed they came to the same conclusion, putting their backs against each other to give complete view of their surroundings and eliminate their blind spot. The Cat might have additional eyes, but they didn’t come with hands.

He thought it would be strange and awkward, fighting with instead of against each other. However, the familiarity transferred well to fighting together in such close proximity. He knew when and how to give the other the support he needed, from giving the space he needed to move to becoming a decoy for him. So was the other way around. It was both terrifying and exhilarating how in sync they were. It was something he only achieved with Suga and Asahi who had been with him since the Academy. Together, they made quick work of the prison guards, clearing the path to the transportation chamber where escape pods were.

Riding on the high of the amazing teamwork, he forgot to keep track of the time. Daichi realized a moment too late that the adrenaline effect had worn off when he failed to evade the incoming blaster shot, hitting him on the side. The vest protected him, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, especially on the side that had been tender.

“Well, it looks like I end up carrying you anyway.”

Before he could protest, Daichi was thrown over broad shoulder and blinked stupidly as the Cat made a mad dash to the transportation chamber. He slipped under the door before it closed shut. However, their combined momentum made for a rough landing as they turned into a mess of limbs on the floor.

“Owww, you’re pretty heavy, Sawamura.” The Cat groaned underneath Daichi.

“And you’re pretty bony, Cat.” Daichi managed to retort despite the returning pain and fatigue.

“As much as I’d like to lay down and catch my breath. That door’s not gonna hold.” At the Cat’s words, Daichi could see through the glass opening the guards trying to open the door. It was a matter of time before they used force. Out of sheer willpower, he managed to push himself up and would have face planted on the floor if not for firm hand holding him up.

“Let’s get you into the pod.” The Cat’s touch was surprisingly gentle and grounding that Daichi couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed to lean on him as they made their way to one of the pods. The pods were more like small spacecrafts, which was reasonable considering that they were the only available means of transport. The Cat seated him on the pilot’s seat, activating the display to put in coordinates into navigation. Daichi frowned at the coordinates. It was in Alpha Quadrant, which was only two jumps away from the planet they had been in.

“Your team was given the same coordinates.” The Cat answered the unspoken question as he fastened the seat belt on him. “They will be in position to pick you up.”

It took Daichi a while to register that he said you instead of we.

“Wha-wait! Aren’t you coming?” In his panic, he managed to grab the Cat’s wrist.

“Someone needs to make sure they cannot follow us. And that someone is definitely not you.” The hunter removed his hand from his wrist. Daichi chalked it up to his imagination the gentleness and hesitation in that gesture.

“What do I owe you?” Daichi found himself asking. “You did not answer my question. Why you were doing this? What do you want from me?” He didn’t know why he was questioning the Cat. For all he knew, the Cat was doing it out of the goodness of his heart and he would be the one putting the idea of debt in his head by raising the issue. But he wanted to know why the other man went to such lengths for him.

The Cat turned his golden gaze upon him.

“What I want, Captain? Do you really know what I want?” The intensity in his eye made his breath catch, but Daichi held his gaze nonetheless, raising his chin defiantly.

“Yes.”

He found himself unconsciously holding his breath when the Cat slowly leaned down that there was nary a distance between their faces, that his covered mouth was next to his ear.

“Don’t get caught by anyone else but me.”

Daichi couldn’t help the shiver not only at the quiet demand, but also at the sound of his voice and the whisper of his breath. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes only to find the Cat was already walking down the ramp back to the chamber when he opened his eyes. The Cat stopped at the threshold between the pod and the chamber, turning his head slightly to look at him.

“I’ll get that knife back, Captain.”

His tall, broad back was the last thing Daichi saw before the door slammed shut. Before he could say or do anything, he was launched into space, trying but failing to get a glimpse of the hunter. Remembering his parting words, his hand went to the sheathed knife now burning a brand against his leg, taking comfort that this would not be the last they saw of each other.

Next time... probably they would no longer be enemies.

[thisisabouta]

This is About a... Nail in the Coffin.

Quarantine Day #44.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, technically I put in my two weeks notice but either way, I’m done. Nothing felt right there. The second I walked in to talk to my boss, I felt this huge wave of anxiety and things just started coming back to me... I’m genuinely surprised that he was upset and tearing up when I told him.

I know with the associates there will be... mixed reviews. And then after a very short while, it will be as if I was never there. Except when they get together and talk shit about all the former bosses they’ve had in that store. It may sound like a reach but I was a part of some of those conversations, so I know it happens. It does hurt knowing that some of the people there will always have a negative opinion of me. I also know it was highly unlikely that I was going to change those opinions.

It is sad in a way, to go out this “discreetly” but the alternative was worse. It’s just me now though. I still have a part time job thank God but that also won’t be fully up and running again until the quarantine is over. I’m fully relying on myself. I am literally banking on myself and that is insane. This transitional period though.... this shit is fucking awful.

When the whispers started about there being store closures due to a virus that was going around, I was worried about my health but my immediate thought was “I hope we close!” I was quietly waiting while loudly expressing my panic over dying from this shit (once I fully understood what it was). My panic lessened over time and we received our notice to close. I couldn’t wait to burrow myself in my room but so far, this shit has been fucking tragic. I like being alone (for the most part) but this is a lot of social distancing, even for me. And it’s not that I need to be in a store, around customers but it was nice to vent to my coworkers from time to time. At certain times of my retail career, my job was killing me while simultaneously saving me. It was my only purposeful creative outlet for a long time. It’s just unfortunate that that’s what I put ALL of my attention into.

Now I have to start over. Which is what I wanted but now my starting over involves being confined to a two bedroom apartment with my roommate. We’re not getting along, to say the least. As of right now, I’m not even sure if we’re still friends. I don’t know if we’ve actually been friends this whole time. Somethings always been off and like I do with most situations, I see the good in people and I run with it. The way our friendship started was not ideal in the slightest. If you have to hide that you’re spending time with someone, that’s a sign. We ignored all of them and here we are. I don’t even want to be in my own apartment.

In first few weeks of the quarantine, I lost around ten pounds and dropped back down to a size four without any exercising. My journey of not eating meat hasn’t been rough but there were no instant changes. Like with most diets, you have to wait for the result so I had that mindset but I’m also not sure what result I was actually looking for. Initially, I became Pescatarian because I was going off of my Lamotrigine and I was looking into more Hollistic ways to help myself. That is also why I started smoking weed. I can’t speak on how much it’s helped my mood but my whole body changed.

When I lost the weight though, it was happening at an almost abnormal pace. And then my appetite completely disappeared. I felt exactly how I did when I was in jail. I had half a slice of bread in a three day period. I was so stressed out [and what I believe to be disassociating] that food didn’t look like food to me. Smells weren’t registering. I could barely chew. Now that I’ve gone through it again, I can’t pinpoint what triggered it. I wasn’t stressed about the ban because my company was [is] still paying me and I don’t take that for granted but something was definitely wrong with me.

I started breaking out constantly and that is not normal for me. My period completely reset so it was two weeks late and that was terrifying. And then I got Sausage digit, which I hate typing because the word just feels gross. It was my pinky on my right hand. When I woke up that morning, I knew something was wrong with my hand immediately. My finger was just red and partially swollen at that point but it progressively got worse. It got to the point that I was seriously considering going to the doctor but they would’ve turned me away due to the overcrowding in hospitals right now. I basically came to the conclusion that it was either SD, Celiac disease or just a pinched nerve. There was also a slight possibility that I jammed it into a wall and sprained it. It’s happened before and the only reason I know is because of the damage that was left behind. But eventually I figured out it was SD.

It went away after a day and a half but it was painful and completely out of nowhere. It was hard to sleep that night though. There were articles about it potentially getting so bad that my finger would need to be amputated. I was way in my head on this one but the physical aspects were extremely scary. Along with only being able to eat when I’m high, the beginning of this was not a good time for me. I locked myself in my room for a week [five days] and things just got worse from there. My roommate didn’t know how to deal with it so I was inadvertently hurting someone while trying to heal myself. That’s a difficult thought for me to process. When we discussed it however, she was clear to let me know she didn’t need to know “for her” if I was okay, she just didn’t know how dark it could get”... Ok. Well thank you for being sure to let me know that you’re not “doing it for you”. That kinda sounds to me like you don’t care and if you don’t care, then why are we having this conversation.

I also had a “speed walking, back and forth while petting the cat, listening to music and crying” day and other unfortunate days in between. Now on Day #45, I have to navigate my way through the wreckage from a very heated argument between my roommate and myself. It was the fight that I knew was going to happen eventually but I wasn’t prepared for it. She brought up how I constantly judge her, I am part of the reason why she quit her job (when we worked together), she doesn’t like the music I listen to even though she’s pretended to enjoy it this entire time, she doesn’t like that I tell her when I have a bad feeling about someone she’s dating. She made it clear that she needs to “make her own mistakes” and my issue with that is her thinking someone is trying to stop her. I might pass you a friendly warning when you’ve been arrested once tor drinking and driving once I have three DUIs but maybe that’s on me. Maybe I need to mind my own business. But if that’s what I need to do, then don’t ask me for my opinion about anything ever again.

The argument that turned into a conversation was about four or five hours long and I can’t remember what started it exactly. I do know however that I’m the one who initiated it. I made an honest statement about something and it was the wrong move. Everything went downhill from there. I said almost everything I had been thinking in the past year or so. I told her there’s no mutual respect between us. I made her a part of my life and when she was bored with me, she went and hung out with other people instead. Fine. All of this worked around her new relationship so I wasn’t going to tell her not to hang out with her girlfriend. Do whatever the fuck you want but do not say shit to me about me not hanging out with you when you’ve ditched me numerous times.

We also talked about her work review. The horrible fucking review I gave her when she was my associate. It was honest and blunt and she cried over it in the office that day, twice. It’s one of the things we don’t talk about but I think I’m the one who brought it up. Again, I kept digging. She asked me what I’m getting out of the friendship and I don’t know if I had answer for that. She did when I asked her but she kept coming back to the fact that “I see something in her that no one else sees”. I don’t know how much weight that holds when I upset you more than I motivate you. It’s something to her. It might be nothing to me.

We talked about how we avoid each other, we don’t help each other when we’re sick, she’s one way with me and different with everyone else, how Im tired of constantly being the one to push things forward... all of the shit I told myself was going to come out eventually. Why should I have to deal with this shit at home? It’s like I literally can’t escape my problems. Mix that with a two month long quarantine and it’s fucking awful. Right now, I’m trying to decide if I want to talk this out today or just leave it alone. A part of me is hoping that she forgot most of it. Who the fuck knows.

[seagullee]

silent noise

words: 3,162 warnings: mentions of starving one's self, bullying authors note: happy birthday mork bork lee i love you so much btw this is my first scenario so don't kill me lol genre :🌼🌸 angst/fluff "honestly, y/n isn't even that pretty, I have no idea why mark is dating her." "There are so many other talented girls he could've dated..." "There's nothing special about her." "ah... she's so chubby, she should diet." "maybe if she fixed her body and face, then she'd be good enough for mark." "she looks so bad in that skirt. Y/n please fix your stretch marks, thank you." "She should eat less. Y/ N looks like a pig." "Mark deserves so much better." You scrolled through the comments under the recent article that was put up on Naver. You were currently at the MBC building , visiting Mark before one of his last Cherry Bomb promotions. • During the past week someone had caught you and your boyfriend, Mark , out on a date. The two of you had been so careful the past seven months to keep your relationship on a down low , but the simple drop of the hood from the wind and slip of the mask exposed your relationship to the public. Your thoughts rushed around your head as the sound of camera shutters clicked filled your ears. "Isn't that NCT's Mark Lee?" "Who's that girl with him?" "They aren't on a date are they?" Mark had grabbed your hand and made a run for it. Once the coast was clear of paparazzi and pesky fans , Mark noticed the worry in your face. "Don't worry, I won't let anything bad happen to you okay , love?" "But Mark-" "The public were to find out eventually. Better now than later , right?" He kissed the top of your head and held your hands. A few days after the release of the pictures , SM released an official statement that yes, the two of you were dating. You had been dating a few months prior actually. The usual things such as " Please respect the privacy of Mark and Y/N" and " we hope you stand by his decision " were also included in the statement. Of course there were the sweetheart fans who were behind everything that Mark did. They sent loving comments to Mark and genuine kind words to you as well. You always loved reading their comments. They made you feel better about this whole situation but in the other hand , there were fans who disapproved of your relationship with Mark. The amount of mean comments dominated the nice ones. "Don't mind it , Y/N. The fans who write all the terrible stuff are just immature. They're the ones who can't get over them selves." He had said to you. You wanted to listen to him , you really did , but the amount of hate you started to receive was something you couldn't stay away from. Mark's fans had found your social network accounts. They sent messages telling you how much they despised you. You even got death threats one time in your Instagram dm. You were pretty sure you had over 100 people blocked by now. Majority of the comments body shamed you. You yourself weren't the standard slim and tall, beauty, but you weren't terribly over weight either. Yes ,you had your imperfections such as a tummy , thighs , stretch marks, and cellulite , but you celebrated these things rather than letting it get yourself down- usually. All the mean things people were saying were starting to get into your head. You now took a good look at yourself in the mirror and watched your self esteem deflate. "Maybe they're right... I could lose a few pounds... I need to eat less... will skipping meals work? Should I get a nose job? It all hurt. " You thought. Everything was just so overwhelming by now. You had shut yourself in your home for the last week, sobbing in your bedroom. "What has my relationship come to?" you asked yourself. As the days went by , everything had been getting increasingly more difficult for you. Today, just leaving your own home felt like something you couldn't accomplish. As you walked the street some fans had noticed you , even through your mask and sunglasses. They took that opportunity to spit angry words in your face. You just bowed to them politely and went on your way. • Taeyong sucked in air though his teeth as he checked the article on Naver for the nth time. "Mark, you've read the article haven't you?" The teenage boy looked at his leader though the mirror , while the makeup artist put the final touches on his makeup. "Hyung, I've probably read it more than you and all the other members combined. I've read articles on other sites too." Taeyong bit his lip. "I'm guessing you've read all the comments under the articles then as well. " "Trust me. I know what people are saying about Y/N. I've seen it all." Haechan looked up at Mark from eating his food. "I wonder how she's taking all of this." By now, all the stylists and managers had left the room for a short while. Mark sank back in his chair, leaning his head back. "She can't be taking any of this too well. She's getting attacked by pretty much our whole fanbase." WinWin commented while munching on a cookie. Mark let out a groan. He felt terrible that all of this was happening to you. You were receiving more hate for the relationship than he was. Guilt crawled up his spine. This all wasn't fair, especially for his precious Y/N. Mark ruffled his hair in frustration. "Do you guys know how many times I picked up the phone to Y/N sobbing? All of this hatred from fans has gotten to her . She says that she doesn't think that she's enough for me. She says that NCT won't do well because of this setback - I don't want her to think like that- I need to take some of the blame too-" Mark hadn't realized that his eyes had become watery. The boys watched in silence. They had never seen Mark in such a upset state. He was normally so happy and cheerful. The tension in the room was slightly released when one of the stylists who had been in the room earlier popped her head into the room. "Mark," she said softly , catching the raven haired boy's eyes, "It looks like Y/N is here for you." She whispered. The boy's head quickly snapped up. He hadn't seen you for a while and was dying to once again. When he quietly entered the hallway, he found you with your back faced away from the door. "Huh, Y/N looks thinner than usual..." Being a few inches taller than you he peeked over your shoulder, the small smile on his face quickly disappeared. Mark pursed his lips as he saw you scrolling through your direct messages , reading what terrible things people had sent you. He waited a minute or two and also watched you open the web browser to the articles , your eyes running over each comment left. He had had enough. His arm reached over you and snatched your phone right out of your hand. Realizing that your phone was soon taken away from you, a groan escaped your mouth. You sharply turned around with a glare and fumes radiating off of you. "Excuse me-" Your mood quickly calmed as you saw Mark standing in front of you. "M-mark." You sputtered. "Y/N" he breathed. Mark immediately enveloped you into a hug , sending warm waves all over your body. You missed him. You really did. Entering the waiting room once again , hand in hand , the members greeted you politely. Mark led you into one of the corners of the room and sat you down on the couch. You immediately cuddled up to him, his arms wrapping around your waist and your head lying on his shoulder. The two of you made small talk , avoiding what's been happening on the social media outlets. As time went by, you felt his fingers intertwine with yours. You smiled and stared at the size difference in your hands, admiring the warmth they gave you. "Oh, Y/N , we have food. Do you wanna eat?" You turned your head in the direction of Jaehyun's voice. Sitting up , you starred at the food and chewed on your bottom lip. "U-ummm...." "Come on babe, go eat." Mark dragged you over to the table on the other side of the room where the other members were. You sat down on the floor and gave Jaehyun a small bow as he put a bowl of rice in front of you. You thanked them for the food as observed as they all started to eat. You sat there for a while and watched everyone dig into the delicious looking food. Taking a small piece of a radish side dish, you popped the vegetable into your mouth and chewed slowly. You didn't want to admit it to anyone but you had been skipping a lot of your meals for the time being. Things that the fans were saying about your body really took a toll on how you viewed yourself. You mentally groaned as Mark put more food in your bowl. "Eat." He said while munching on some beef. "Ani, Mark , I'm okay..." you said while putting your chopsticks down. "Y/N, you barely ate anything at all." He pouted , serving you more food. You shook your head , gazing at Mark. Your stomach churned but you didn't want to acknowledge it. "Mark, I said no." "You told me you rushed out and didn't get to eat breakfast. Y/N , you have to eat something babe." "I don't want to eat ,Mark." You felt your vision start to get glassy. Nausea filled your body and the thoughts of the comments rolled in once again. • "God, how could someone that ugly date my Mark? Mark is for everyone , you ugly ass girl . Stop keeping him to yourself. Y/N darling, please have some control at the dinner table. Where can I send money to you? You need to get your face fixed Y/N" • You knew it was going to be difficult to date an idol, but you didn't think it was this hard. How naive of you , Y/N "I told you I don't wanna eat..." you whispered. The member's attention was now fully on you. You hadn't realized you had started crying till a tear fell onto your hand. "Y/N...? What's wrong...?" Mark's eyes widened. You sobbed and sobbed, not caring what the other members thought. The words spilled out of your mouth. "I can't take it anymore, I really can't. Don't people know that words hurt? 'Y/N , lose weight ' ,' Y/N , you need to get your face redone.' 'Y/N is ugly' ' Y/N doesn't deserve to be with Mark' , it all just hurts. I've been starving myself just to deal with your fans Mark. I just want them to like me and I want all of this harassment to stop. I love you , I really do , but it's just so hard." Hot tears flooded down your face , the members looked at you with pitying expressions. They felt sorry for what was happening . "I feel terrible for Y/N, I just wanna hug her right now." Doyoung whispered. Mark stood frozen in his spot , he was angry with the fans but he knew that this anger wouldn't get him anywhere. He hated seeing you cry, it broke his heart . Pulling you close to his chest, he hugged you stroking your hair and placed as many kisses on you as possible. " Y/N... please stop crying... those terrible people don't deserve your tears." You hugged Mark back but shook your head. There wasn't anything that you could do to keep the waterfall from your eyes from running. "I'm so exhausted Mark, I'm tired of listening to them." "Boys? It's time for your stage." You pushed Mark away and dabbed your eyes with a tissue. "Go on." You told him quietly. Mark bit his inner cheek. He wasn't going to leave you like this. Something needed to be done. As the boys filed out of the room ,Mark grabbed your wrist and pulled you out as well. "W-wait, Mark where are we going- Minhyung-!" He was pulling you past the members and through the doors to the stage. Your heart started to race. What exactly was Mark doing? The back stage crew looked at the teenage boy with a puzzled expression. He turned on his mic and squeezed your hand. Taking a deep breath he led you up the stairs of the stage. "Mark, what on earth are you doing? Are you sure this is a good idea!? You going to get booed off the stage if you bring me up there." "Just trust me Y/N , okay? " You trembled as you walked up the stairs. Looking back the NCT members stared at what was happening in front of them. You gave them a concerned look but all they could do was shrug. As the hot, stage lights hit your face, you squinted and gazed out into the crowed. Most of the seats were occupied . When the crowd saw Mark , their initial reaction was the fan girl norm- screaming their lungs out. But when then soon saw that Mark not alone,the cheering died down and whispers fluttered around the room. "Oh My god, its Y/N." "What's she doing up on stage with Mark?" "Yikes, she really decided to wear that today?" "Does anyone know what's going on?" You tried to pry your hand away from your boyfriend's but him grip seemed to be too tight. "Mark, let me go..." The boy covered up his mic and whispered. "No. I need to do this. I need to be the type of boyfriend that protects his girl in any type of situation. It's my job to protect you Y/N." You stood there, eyes wide at his words. "M-mark... n-no..." you frantically looked at the other NCT members standing on the side of the stage. They were just as shocked as you were giving you shrugs. Mark never was reckless like this- they never thought that he would do something to this extent but it seemed that he really cared about you . Mark uncovered his mic and let out a cough. He gave a slight wave to the fans in a awkward motion. "Thank you for all the fans who came out today... I really appreciate and love that all of you are here." Mark gave a small cute smile to all the fans causing them to squeal. "So... I know you guys know who this is." He stated , gesturing to you. You looked into the crowd and glanced at the bitter faces of the fans. They shot you looks of death and jealousy making your stomach curl. You wanted to run of stage , but you were so fear struck , your legs refused to move. " There's been a lot things being said about Y/N online , I've seen most of it," the fans started to chatter nervously " I know that the decision I have made has hurt most of the NCTzens and I'm truly sorry, but please, please be respectful to Y/N . I'm not asking for you all to like her, whether you do or not, that's up to you. I just want you all to think of how she feels right now. Imagine if you were in her shoes, would you like to hear and see nasty comments being thrown at you?" Mark squeezed your hand. You watched as some of the fans faces turn guilty. They shook their heads. "I really... love Y/N and I hate seeing someone I care about get hurt. If you have anything to say to her , say it to me instead ." You felt like your heart was about to explode as he said that he loved you in front of the fans. You squeezed his hand back. "Stop messaging her on her private social media accounts , stop body shaming her , stop telling her that she needs to get plastic surgery. Stop being childish fans who don't have the decency to give a guy and his girl some privacy. I wish you all could see what a great person she is without judging her by her imperfections first. Y/N is beautiful just the way she is," he turned to you and looked you dead in the eyes. "You don't need the reassurance of the fans , you're the most beautiful and most genuinely humble person I know. That's why I love you. You honestly make the the happiest guy on this earth." Mark turned back to the fans. "Please you all, please leave Y/N alone." And with that note, Mark took you off of the stage. The set was dead silent. He brought you into the hallway. You looked up at him anxiously. "You didn't have to do that." Mark shook his head and caressed your cheek. "Yes I did. I promise I won't let anything like that happen to you again ,okay?" The day went on as usual. You went home while Mark continued on with his schedules. It was 10 o'clock at night when you heard a knock at your door. "Hello- oh." You were greeted to a panting , out of breath Mark. "Snuck out of the dorm again?" "You know it." As the night went on , the two of you snuggled up on the couch , watching Studio Ghibli movies. You got a notification on your phone from a close friend sending you a video link.Tapping on the link it opened to a video that someone had taken earlier at that e MBC building. Biting your lip you watched the video with Mark by your side . "I can't believe you did that." You whispered. Mark chuckled and kissed your cheek. "What did your manager have to say about it?" "Let's just say he wasn't too thrilled about my behavior earlier , but what could I do ? I wanted to help you." Looking up at Mark , you smiled and gave him a soft kiss, letting all the butterflies fly around your stomach. "Taeyong hyung blamed it on my puberty , don't worry." Scrolling through the comments one last time you smiled seeing that some fans took it upon themselves to apologize for the way they behaved. Although there were still those who said the unthinkable . Smiling, you rolled your eyes and shut your phone off. "You're right." "Right about what?" "That it doesn't matter what the fans think of me. I don't have to listen to them. I have a guy who loves me inside and out and that's all that matters. I love you , Minhyung" Another sweet kiss was shared, oh, and lots of cuddling too.

[foreverlovingdaryldixon]

Ok how about this one for either Negan or Daryl. You both go on separate runs the morning after an unresolved fight.

A/N: I had fun writing this, although I wasn’t quite sure how to end it.

This is my last reader prompt so feel free to send in more. 

Word count: 1420

Warnings: Negan language (obviously), angst?, fluff

“You belong to me!” Negan snarled, getting up close and personal in your face. 

You simply scoffed, fuck him and his fucking intimidation. 

“Like hell I do,” you hissed back, baring your teeth at your ruthless leader and part time lover.

“Whether or not we carry on with this little escapade,” he growled gesturing with a leather clad hand between the two of you. “I’m still your goddamn boss and I still own your fuckin’ ass.” 

“Yeah well rest a-fucking-ssured this won’t be continuing,” you said mirroring the same hand gesture. 

“Watch your fuckin’ tone,” Negan barked, gripping your wrist in his strong hand. 

“I’m so done with you Negan, so fucking done,” you muttered shaking your head in disbelief. “Look it was fun while it lasted but it’s too personal now, I want out.” 

“Then out you’ll fuckin’ have doll.” Negan’s eyes were dark and dangerous. “I’ll even make it real fuckin’ easy for you, tomorrow morning, you’ll go with Simon on his pickup instead of mine.”

“Good,” you spat out, your heart clenching painfully though at his words. 

Slamming the door forcefully behind yourself you retired to your room, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

Things had never been easy between you and Negan, you had a natural chemistry but both being hot headed meant you clashed a lot…in the end resulting in your first tryst with your boss. 

 It was always hot and heavy between you two, both parties agreeing it would be easier that way, attachment wasn’t something either of you wanted. 

Besides Negan had a harem of wives if he wanted affection, to each other you were just an outlet, something to fill a sexual hunger. There were no soft kisses or gentle caresses. It was rough and animalistic and a means to an end. 

But somewhere along the lines for you had started to become blurred. Jealous would hit you if you saw Negan embracing one of his wives, showering them with ‘love’, or as much love as Negan was able to spread between five wives. You found yourself trying to draw out your fucking with him, holding out for as long as possible, knowing he’d never leave you unspent. 

It was your fault this argument had even happened, jealousy rearing its ugly head. You’d snapped at him for trying it on with you when you were trying to go over plans for the run tomorrow, and now here you were. 

Crying like a love struck fool on the floor of your bedroom, asking yourself how you got into this mess. Negan never cared for you, never did and never would, that was something you were trying to remind yourself of. Something you’d have to keep reminding yourself of.

**

“Rise ‘n’ shine!” Simon’s voice came bellowing through your door. “Up and atta’em sweetheart.”

You wrenched the door open scowling at your fellow saviour, “how many times have I told you not to call me that.” 

“What happened?” Simon asked quickly moving on the conversation, he was the only one who knew about you and Negan.

“Doesn’t matter,” you grumbled heading downstairs to grab some breakfast. 

“Lover’s spat?” he asked with a smirk and a raised brow earning him a hit to the chest. 

“Shut your mouth,” you hissed, sitting down with a bowl of stodgy looking oatmeal.

Simon raised his hands in surrender, “alright alright, touchy subject clearly.” 

You shot him one more warning look before scarfing down your food, gearing up for the day ahead.

By the time you got outside to the trucks Negan was already there, looking devilishly handsome, bat hanging from his shoulder. 

“Listen the fuck up,” Negan’s voice demanded, “I am not in a goddamn merciful mood today so we’ll be taking more then fuckin’ half of our suppliers shit. They kick up a fuss you know what the fuck to do.” 

Negan avoided your gaze as he address the group, all of you splitting off into separate trucks when he shouted to fall out.

As you reached the passenger side of your truck Negan reached the driver side of his, your eyes meeting for just a moment, his eyes void of any emotion. 

You wanted to cry all over again, but you wouldn’t, never in front of him. 

Even once you pulled away your head wouldn’t let you forget him, you needed to focus, although you knew that would be easier said than done…

**

“Move the fuck out of my way!” 

The voice registered to you, but barely. There was a god awful pain in your body but you couldn’t pin point where, everything hurt, you didn’t want to open your eyes.

“Y/N.”

Negan.

You forced your eyes open, you wanted to see him, know that it wasn’t just in your imagination. 

“Negan,” you croaked as your eyes focused in the dimly lit room.

“Shh,” he soothed, a large hand cupping your face softly. 

This had to be a dream, Negan had never-

“I’m sorry, fuckin’ goddammit I’m sorry baby girl.” 

Baby girl? Good lord you must have been delusional.

“What- what happened?” you asked, attempting to sit up, yelping as a searing pain ripped through your side.

“Don’t move!” he cautioned, his hands so gentle against your frail body. 

“Where am I?” you questioned, eyes taking in your surroundings.

“Infirmary. It all went south at Hilltop, someone took a shot at you, went straight through your side,” Negan was speaking in a hushed voice, his hands enveloping yours. 

As he spoke the words things came back to you in bits and pieces. Someone wasn’t very happy about you taking more than your share, blindly took a shot to make his point, you ending up taking the brunt.

God it hurt like all hell, you felt like absolute shit but even now you couldn’t focus on that. All you could focus on was the man so tenderly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“Should’ve never let you go with Simon, should’ve kept you close,” Negan’s eyes were absent as he continued talking. “There was so much blood, fuckin’ never seen so much blood, doc told me you might not make it, I just- shit Y/N it scared the fuck out of me.”

He raised your hand to his lips then, pressing light kisses to each of your knuckles. 

“Negan I don’t understand…” you trailed off, because really you didn’t understand what the fuck he was doing or why.

“The thought of losing you,” he murmured, his serious gaze locking on yours, “it was like a slap to the face, tryin’ to pretend I don’t care about you Y/N, I can’t do it anymore.”

Your breathing picked up, you wanted to smile or cry or both. Negan didn’t vocalise feelings, not even with his wives.

“I know you care about me too,” he spoke quietly, “knew a long fucking time ago, should’ve stopped it then but I couldn’t, I wanted you in anyway I could have you, knew you’d never agree to become a wife.”

“Well you were right there,” you responded softly, “I couldn’t share you with that many women, that’s why what we had worked…until it didn’t.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked suddenly.

You hesitated, it was a boundary that had never been crossed between the two of you, too up close and personal.

You nodded, you couldn’t live with the not knowing.

Standing up from where he was sat, Negan perched himself on your bed, letting his palm slide across your cheek, anchoring you to him as he leant forward. Your lips barely skimmed but it was enough to make you intake a sharp breath, snaking your hand around his neck, bringing forward until his lips were fully against yours.

Your heart was fluttering as you moved against one another, tilting your head left to get better access, a soft moan escaping you when he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues danced against one another, every movement unhurried and thought out. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth, swiping at it with his skilled tongue, biting it lightly before releasing it again. He pulled back gradually, not want to exert you when you weren’t well, kissing you quickly twice more.

He kept his face close to yours, your slender fingers still threaded through his hair, his thumb grazing across your cheekbone.

“I think we’re gonna be alright baby,” Negan murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving, allowing you to rest. 

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 6

Lift the Veil - Chapter 6: Soul to Squeeze

Rating: T 

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

And here we are, with your slightly late but still somewhat on time update. I rather like this chapter. Perhaps you will too. But no spoilers.

I would also like to note that, at its core, this story is a sort of “coming-to-age” story for Risa (More of coming-to-terms since she is already an “adult,” but you get the gist.) It has been treated as such and will continue to be treated as such until much, much, much, later into the story. And that this story is also a sort of catharsis for me, just as a forewarning since we’ve hit the beginning of the angsty bits and the ensuing melodrama. So without further ado, please enjoy our starring lady’s development (or regression. or lack thereof. i’m going to shut up now.)

Soul to Squeeze

The angels in my dreams have turned into demons of greed…

“Harada-imouto, lay it all on me.”

Turning to Saehara, I saw him with his arms wide open and a creepy expression of satisfaction on his face. Disturbed, I went back to proofreading stories for the evening broadcast, trying to block out my currently obnoxious company.

“Aw, come on! I’m just trying to lighten the mood here!”

“You can do that without being weird, you know.” He pouted. “And there’s no mood that needs lightening.”

“Yes, there is! Chief’s been wound up, mumbling about some frustrating woman that refuses to give him the time of day, and you know how cranky he gets when he doesn’t get his way. And you have been coming in with darker circles.” I shot him a glare for even mentioning the growing bags under my eye, but he just shrugged. “Well, sorry for stating the facts here.”

“Saehara-san, I suggest you shut up and dig your nose elsewhere.”

“Look, the juju in this office is seriously whack. It all went downhill when you started working here, but now it’s unbearable!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Juju?”

“Yeah! Chief’s been on edge ever since, like he’s walking on eggshells or about ready to explode or something. The force stationed here noticed it too.”

“And this is my problem because…?”

“Well, I don’t know if a woman such as yourself would understand, but it was wonderful back in the day when Chief would walk in with that mien of confidence. Made us men feel ready to start the day with someone like that around. Then, after that night when we met up with you at the café, he’s been out of it. More so than usual if you know what I mean.”

“It sounds like your boss has a problem with a female, specifically this one.”

Saehara’s mouth dropped. Honestly, someone who prided himself on his investigative skills would’ve realized this by now especially with how obviously he described it only moment ago. “Are you telling me that—”

“…do you think it’s wise to continue digging into that matter?”

Hiwatari stood by the sofa holding a steaming mug of coffee. Our eyes met, and I saw the regret and hurt pooling in them, appearing for just a brief second before his customary stolid expression returned, aimed and ready to fire at Saehara.

“Well, I can’t help but be curious! And it’s me! It’s not like I’m going to blab to anyone about it. Well, maybe Akane but—”

All it took was one look to shut Saehara up. The poor guy gulped, slightly nodding at the frightening Hiwatari. The Commissioner retreated to his office and, while Saehara had somehow recovered from the death stare, yakking on about Hiwatari’s recently increased sensitivity, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about what had happened. I knew we both got carried away because of our bottled-up emotions, and that encounter so happened to release everything we wanted to compress (even when it clearly needed an outlet). Several years ago, I would’ve relished in the image of a broken and defeated Hiwatari slumped in his chair but now, after it actually happened, it honestly left me too unsettled to just leave it be. And since I couldn’t use my go-to strategy of pretending like it didn’t happen, there was only one thing left that I could do:

Apologize to Hiwatari.

“Harada-imouto, are you okay? You look like you just smelled some lingering roadkill.”

Once Saehara left, gloating about having “a homemade dinner filled with love from his honey-bunny,” I placed my laptop on the coffee table in front of me and made my way to Hiwatari’s office. I knocked on his door and, not hearing an allowance to enter, I decided to just let myself in.

The blinds were up, bathing the desk covered in papers the unsaturated orange of the sunset. It smelled like aging documents, coffee, and faintly of smoke: probably remnants of its precious owners. Hiwatari laid on the couch with one arm lazily hanging off the edge and the other positioned to cover his eyes from the light. I had the urge to check if he fell asleep with his glasses on, but I saw their glare on the low table.

Some habits never die.

“…what’s so important that you needed to barge in without my consent?”

“It’s me.”

He didn’t move. His body tensed slightly, and his casually open hands balled into sturdy fists. Frustration? Anger? I was slightly scared at his sudden change in body language and silently braced myself for the worst.

“Harada-san, I’m sorry about dinner. You don’t have to accept my apology, but let me at least say my piece before you leave. I simply pushed myself upon you without thinking about your feelings, and I should’ve been more mindful of that instead of finding a segue to berate you on your perfectly acceptable behavior.”

“Just because it was acceptable doesn’t mean that it was good. It was my fault for being belligerent and distant instead of addressing it immediately.”

“Harada-san, you had every right. If someone I cared about did what I had done all those years ago, I would’ve been equally, if not more, upset. This mess is mine and mine alone. You needn’t apologize for anything.”

I opened my mouth, trying to protest his words. For six years, I wanted to hear him accept his faults and apologize, as if seeing him this ruined would’ve given me the boost I needed to finally let everything go. But looking at his body somehow helplessly lying on the couch, and his eyes covered to avoid seeing me, I finally witnessed the toil that it put him through, too. I found solace in the fact that I wasn’t the only one affected by it, but that led to questions and assumptions I didn’t want to know the answer to. Or maybe I did know the answer to them, but I just couldn’t bear to face those truths.

“Harada-san, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have some time to myself. Thank you for listening, and have a lovely evening.”

“You, too,” I croaked, gingerly closing the door behind me.

Heading to my usual work space in the police station, I finished up my work as quickly as possible, managing to leave the station before Hiwatari clocked out for the day. If I went to the news station, I’d probably stay in my cubicle until hunger struck, allowing me to avoid much needed introspection with work.

Maybe I could drop by Mizuame de Noisette for some alone time if only to sort my thoughts out.

When I was younger, I heard something on TV (or the radio) about the health benefits of tea. It came around the time my obsession with chi and the flow of the universe started, and I somehow became obsessed with the brewed beverage.

So much so that I couldn’t stand coffee. My parents always made a pot for breakfast; Dad would drink it black, Mom had steamed milk with it, and Riku poured as much flavored creamer as the cup allowed whenever she found herself still tired in the morning. Even though I came from a family that preferred coffee over tea, they never bothered me about it. They’d drink tea whenever I brewed it, returning to their Japanese roots for those brief moments before allowing Westernization back into their lives once more.

(Funny how I talk about Japanese tradition when I gave it up for my weird obsession of divination using the Western tarot and the advent of the K-pop takeover.)

The first time I had coffee of my own accord and enjoyed it was in my third year of middle school at the Niwa household. Towa and Argentine tagged along with Mrs. Emiko to buy some groceries while Grandpa Daiki and Mr. Kousuke were on a trip to manage and redistribute the remaining Hikari works to areas able to care for the magical pieces. Riku and Daisuke were still at school, Daisuke dutifully manning the art club he was ushered into and Riku busy with lacrosse practice. Hiwatari, having already withdrawn from school to fully dedicate himself to his new post as the Commissioner of the police force, always left work early to accompany this member of the going-home club to what became his home after the incident. My parents still worked late back then and Hiwatari, being his courteous self, felt a need to keep me company until Riku came back with Daisuke so I would walk back home with my sister.

I was struggling through math, trying to manage without asking Hiwatari because I was stubborn—still am—when I placed my head on the table in utter defeat. Hiwatari, usually busy on either his laptop or with his paperwork, suddenly left his spot and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a couple of minutes later holding two steaming mugs.

“Harada-san,” he called, lightly tapping my shoulder. When I got up, he placed the mug filled with what smelled and looked like coffee in front of me. I couldn’t protest since I didn’t ask for it or make it, so I mumbled a “thanks” before hesitantly taking a sip.

I didn’t expect to enjoy it so much since I’ve tried Riku’s coffee many time in the past and disliked, oddly enough, its saccharinity that masked any hint of coffee besides its bitter aftertaste characteristic of all brewed drinks. Hiwatari’s coffee, however, was slightly creamy and slightly sweet while managing to still taste like coffee: just enough to make it palatable yet not too much to overwhelm its flavor.

“I’m sorry. I would’ve made you tea, but there was only coffee in the pantry. I hope it suit your tastes.”

“It’s actually really good. Thank you.” I cradled the warm drink in my hands, completely taken by it. “How did you make it?”

“I just brewed the coffee, Harada-san. If you must thank someone, drop by somewhere in South America or Africa to deliver your gratitude.”

I raised my eyebrow in confusion at his statement and the smirk forming on his face. After a beat had passed, I frowned, shaking my head at Hiwatari’s terribly timing.

He chuckled. “My apologies, Harada-kun.” I stifled the urge to correct him for the umpteenth time for using an honorific he knew I wasn’t fond of. He just kept that stupid grin on his face before continuing. “I used a French press to brew the coffee and added condensed milk and chocolate syrup.”

“I’m offended that you thought I needed chocolate syrup and condensed milk in my coffee.”

“Harada-kun, that’s how my host mother in America prepared my coffee.”

He never brought up his time in America, dismissing it as the time he spent staying up and reading books on art history and criminal justice. He never mentioned anything else regarding America, and I assumed that Krad and his young age made it difficult for him to bond with the other students.

“Really?”

I leaned towards Hiwatari, hoping that he would continue the conversation. And when he did, the cup of coffee I fawned over mere moments ago was long forgotten until Riku walked in and complained about how I wasted another cup of her favorite beverage.

The second time I had coffee served to me like that, I was over at a guy’s apartment, trying to get to know him before plunging back into the world of relationships and romances.

I deleted his number the moment I left.

After my fourth cocktail of the tropical-flavored variety, a waiter approached me, asking if I was okay.

“Of course! I’m peachy!”

“No one says ‘peachy’ when they’re okay, princess.”

I paused, nearly losing my grip on my drink. It took me a moment, but I finally focused on the waiter’s features. He had an attractive smirk and slanted eyes that screamed mischief paired with perfectly sculpted cheekbones and long, dark hair that tapered out in the back—was I imagining this?

Dark?

“Sorry to leave you like that. I would’ve stayed longer, but it didn’t work out.”

I knew that hidden behind his mask of nonchalance was a part of Dark that lived up to his namesake. Despite his usual animation, he was still a Hikari artwork, forever bound to the rules imposed upon him by his creator. His short-lived freedom always started with acclimating to his new host and teasing the poor kid about their love life and always ended either in full agreement or miserable compromise before plunging Dark back into solitude until the next of kin became of age.

“It had to be done.” I shrugged. “No hard feelings.”

But there were once many, many hard feelings that caused trouble for everyone close to me. Now they were a blip in the past that served as a forewarning for what had followed.

“I love you, Princess.”

“I know you loved me along with the many, many other girls that came before me. And you left every single one of them just like you left me. You promised me something you knew you couldn’t keep.”

What happened back then had to be done. The conflict that stemmed from the artworks residing in Daisuke and Hiwatari got so out of hand that it started to wreak havoc on the poor boys and, eventually, their respective “Sacred Maidens.” We had to destroy that artwork and free their blood from that awful curse to save ourselves.

Besides, I couldn’t hog Daisuke from Riku.

“But I’m here now. I’ve kept that promise.”

“Honestly, that sweet-talking mouth of yours sickens me.”

Even though he knew of his inevitable fate, he fed my gullible fourteen-year-old self loving words about forever and always. And having all those hopes and dreams crushed in the span of that event killed me. Maybe Dark used me to escape his reality, honing in on a girl that showered him with unadulterated affection for the person he was. And yet, that selfishness of his meant he needed to use everything in his bag of tricks.

Even if that meant lying to himself and me.

“What’d I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll try everything in my power to fix it.”

“You lied. Just like him.”

He laughed, and I could hear the disdain and haughtiness with each note. “Comparing me to that glacier? Why do that?”

“Because I loved the two of you, but you both broke my heart because of this damn curse!”

I felt my frustration rush through me, and I slammed my hands on the table. Only then did I finally wake up, languidly trying to discern my dream from reality. Still coming to, my hand tipped over my cocktail glass, and I watched as it spilled and shattered on the floor below.

“Risa!”

Looking up, wondering who could possibly be calling my name, I spotted Daisuke weaving through the patrons and workers who had their attention directed towards me. He came to my table, briefly apologizing to the waiter cleaning up my mess before dragging me out of the café.

We ended up at a convenience store, and I followed Daisuke as he browsed the aisles, grabbing a canned miso soup and energy drink. On my way to the cashier, I grabbed a strawberry-flavored Caplico stick and strawberry milk and crept up behind him, gingerly putting them down on the counter. He didn’t say anything, instead pushing my snacks closer to his purchases and paying for everything without a fuss before sitting at a table outside. Daisuke urged me to drink what he bought for me, but my stubbornness won out as I opened my snacks and dug in.

“Are you okay?” he cautiously asked

“Does it look like I’m okay?”

He shook his head, unsure of what to do. We sat there in silence for a while until Daisuke opened his mouth again.

“Riku’s…worried about you. I’m worried about you.” He paused. “Um…we’re worried about you.”

Luckily, I didn’t catch his implication, too intoxicated and one-track minded to pay attention to anything. “You two don’t need to worry about me,” I said. “Let me roll into the gutter of life without your well-meant bumpers.”

“Risa…”

“Look, I made a mistake coming back here, okay? This is my punishment.”

Daisuke looked distraught: his friend was suffering, and there was nothing he could do to help. Riku really did choose a good man…

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

His apology hung in the air, awkward and heavy. I didn’t even know what he was sorry for. Scooting my chair closer to his, I patted his back to console him. Funny, since he originally meant to make me feel better and yet it ended up being the other way around. When he finally calmed down, he stood up, picking up my trash and telling me he needed to make a couple of phone calls.

Holding the warm cup of miso soup in my hands, I watched him go back inside the convenience store. During his first call, he looked too distressed. Daisuke had to take a couple of breaths, and he walked around a little bit before hanging up and dialing another number. He seemed a lot calmer this time around, but he somehow hung up looking even more frazzled.

“Riku wants you back home ASAP,” he explained while taking his seat. “But I’m assuming that home’s the last place you want to be right now.” I nodded. “Any ideas on where you want to go?”

“A hotel.”

“Somewhere with someone you know, please. Riku would kill me if I left you alone like this.”

“You can—”

“Risa.” I’m your sister’s boyfriend. And while there’s nothing particularly wrong with you staying at my house, this could potentially lead to some trouble. And my house? Really?

I laughed despite Daisuke’s grave tone, but I knew he was right. While Riku was fine with me and Daisuke being friends, I knew she didn’t like it whenever Daisuke was overly nice with me. And his house was a riot: having me there in this state could either cheer me up or make me feel even worse.

Saehara popped into my mind, but I didn’t want to intrude. Besides, he has a girlfriend that he may or may not live with (we had yet to breach that topic), and I didn’t want her to become wary of me even before I’ve formally met her. Hiwatari also flashed through my mind, but I was not that desperate. Yet.

Taking out my phone, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Ritsuko’s number. I brought my phone to my ear, hearing the dial tone echo. She was my last hope and, if she didn’t pick up, I would have to—

“Hey, Risa. What’s up?”

“Could I crash at your place tonight?”

“Sure, is there something wrong?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, it’s a Friday night, so we have the time! I’ll text you to address, okay? Please get here safely, and I’ll see you soon!”

“I didn’t expect to see Daisuke as your personal entourage tonight! Is there something going on? Do I need to report this to Riku?”

“Ritsuko!”

She laughed, letting the two of us in, before disappearing into the kitchen to grab some refreshments and snacks. I sat next to a beet-red Daisuke on the sofa. Poor guy; even as an adult he was still too easy to tease.

“So, in all seriousness, what’s going on?” Ritsuko asked, placing two mugs of water and a bowl of sweets on the coffee table. “I mean, it must be a good story if Risa smells like a bar!”

I groaned, and she winked at Daisuke before laughing. Honestly, she was having too much fun with this situation.

“Well, as you can smell, I got drunk like a dumb college student, and Riku sent Daisuke to find me. And, since I didn’t want to go back home, I’m here.”

“Aren’t you a little too old for a teenage rebellion?” She laughed again. “Sorry, this is just too amusing.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I grumbled. “Anyhow, could I freshen up a bit?”

“Oh yeah! I’ve laid out some clean clothes and towels on your bed. And a clean tooth brush. Other than that, what’s mine is yours.”

I thanked her before heading into her room, changing my clothes before cleaning up after my long day. Honestly, I wanted to pass out and forget today even happened

When I left her room, I saw her sitting on the couch, toying with her phone. She finally noticed me when I sat beside her, and she locked her phone and set it on the table.

“Daisuke left after you went in,” she explained. “So, what’s really wrong?” Her joking tone from earlier was gone, replaced with one of concern.

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

“Well, if you refused to visit for six years, you really shouldn’t have returned. If you’ve been running away for that long, you didn’t have to come back and act like you’re so strong now. And there’s nothing wrong with being a coward; not everyone was designed to slay dragons.”

“What’s up with the fairytale imagery?”

“It’s the only thing that came to mind! Don’t judge me!”

I smiled. “I’m not.”

“Well, for whatever reason, you came back, so you have to deal with it instead of drowning in alcohol. It’s not good for your skin.”

“You choose to dissuade me from drinking alcohol by talking about how bad it is for my skin? Just my skin? Really?”

“Okay, I don’t need your sass right now, okay? Too much alcohol is just bad, okay?”

“Who are you, my mother?”

“Would you rather be having this earful from me, Riku, or your mother?”

“Touché.”

We laughed. I really did miss Ritsuko’s company.

“Well, with a dragon like Hiwatari, I don’t blame you for running.”

My mind paused as those words hung heavy in the air. I hated when someone verbalized the truth, as if speaking about it granted my problem a tangible form that I could no longer just contain inside my mind.

“When he first transferred in, he was a statue that most of us girls admired from a distance. And you absolutely hated him. Then, somehow, someway, after Daisuke finally started officially dating Riku, the two of you became the bestest of friends which everyone thought was a guise for secretly dating.” I groaned at Ritsuko for reminding me about that, but she only replied with a coy smile before continuing. “And then you two just stopped talking near the end of our third-year.”

“Ritsuko…”

“And you were devastated. Maybe even more so than when Dark disappeared. I mean, it’s always hard to deal with losing someone you care about but…”

My racing heartbeat drummed in my ears, amplified by the ill-timed silence following her trailing words. Maybe she just paused there because she didn’t have anything left to say, and here I was freaking out over nothing. But what if she stopped because she needed some time to organize her thoughts before releasing a slew of words that could potentially shatter the precarious state of my sanity? Glancing over at me, her eyes widened, possibly at whatever worrying expression my face contorted to unconsciously before turning away looking guilty.  

“Sorry for bringing up a sore subject. I just…I don’t want to see you bogged down by whatever happened. It’s also late, so you should probably get some sleep, too.”

She handed me a blanket, saying that I could either sleep with her or alone on the sofa. I took the sofa mostly because I wanted some time to mull over Ritsuko’s words. Somehow, I had to stop running away from this, to compartmentalize and act like an adult.

Honestly, I had done a terrible job of doing that; both of us did. But I didn’t want to see what would happen if I put it behind me. I didn’t trust him or myself to keep it casual. After everything that happened, it really didn’t seem like an option. It was an all or nothing deal, and I don’t want to plunge back into that mess ever again.

I was too scared to see where it would lead us.

[calcinators-blog]

Two Irons (Part 7.)

Bending each finger across the bench that you sat upon, you knew dreams lacked acute sensation like that of the responses you had then, and so you couldn’t have simply imagined the moment happening. The surface of your seat, the interaction with an object in reality, only served as a reminder that you had been fully awake, even as you wished that you hadn’t been.

And if that hadn’t been eventful enough, for the Lieutenant Colonel to support FN-2187′s escape, it had happened so candidly in the disguised face of the infamous Commander of the First Order. You had expected that if you were to so much as blink, you would soon see Lieutenant Colonel Zack flat and lifeless on the floor. Instead, he continued to stand next to the bench in his wrinkle-free uniform, flushed with life with his outlawed words and thoughts.

The Lieutenant Colonel’s sentiment held accidental gravity. Compassion for the turncoat was incriminating enough. Information about the matter you had been contracted to supply all but jumped right into Matt’s lap without provocation. What concerned you most about what they admitted to, was how both Nines and the Lieutenant Colonel had made themselves into outlets; both corporeal and soft. They had become something to shake or tear, kill; “toys” for the hell-hound, who bore his teeth as his strong jaw snapped shut.

And even if you assumed prying further into either of their heads would be devoutly meaningless— To look for what? They were friends, that doesn’t explain anything!— Your sudden desperation became quickly fascinating to him, he who cocked his head in curiosity. Matt had caught the scent of something.

In all this, the Lieutenant Colonel took a seat at the bench beside Matt, who hardly flinched at proximity of his mark. Neither looked effected by the other. You looked at Nines and his flaring nostrils. Lids high over his nebulous eyes, alert and awake. Closing his mouth to chew, cheekbones tensing, he opened his mouth between bites to speak— though about what, you did not know and could not comprehend. It should have felt normal, and it would have if Matt had not been there. Danger prowled about the table, silently testing you and them.

Leave them out of this...

You slipped from his interest, momentarily; the one thought you had in privacy which had been meant for him was left to echo in your skull.

Matt leached what he could from both your familiars, as they ate and carried on, becoming intimately familiar with Nines and Zack by his heinous privilege of telepathic invasion. Their minds, exposed and laid bare, were exhibited for his private viewing. And he sifted through, ungraciously, as if a mundane task. Granted, if you invade enough minds, over time, it may feel like a trivial chore. You may become bored by the patterns imprinted in the subconscious; how everyone appears to have the same motivations, an identical web of fears, trauma, and pleasures. Our secrets, however...

Shuddering of his broad shoulders, restricted in the green-grey boiler suit, gave the impression that he could have been detaining a laugh. He had found something. Something of significance, something you had accidentally lead him to. He wouldn’t mention, sickly enjoying his game too much, but it was then when he had learned more about them than you could have ever anticipated knowing yourself.

Of course, it would have been a very different story if you had known.

Just next to you, Nines balancing a forkful of lukewarm soypro on his utensil as he served a beam at Lieutenant Colonel Zack, who uncapped a crimson thermajug. A light burst of steam billowed over his face. The comforting astringent aroma of caf drifted around, looping through the air. They both laughed, warmly and without moderation.

It all felt like they too, like the interstellar dust, were just beyond transparisteel which separated you from everything in the cosmos. It felt like Matt had built a partition by coming into your life, leaving you trapped on one side, looking into your old life, tapping uselessly on the pane.

With your rib cage tight around your lungs, Matt’s eyes looked down yours again. You both observed each other, he as much as you, while remaining unknown to the rest of the table. Under his unbroken stare did he assure himself that you understood how he relished your momentous discomfort. Detectable pulsations under his skin, both of the tension and lessening of the muscles that wove around his arms and neck, became swallowed by his otherwise tomb-like composure. Impossibly, he was lunacy and serenity all at once.

“Tell me,” his voice was low but not without saturation of aggression, "How well do you think you know them?" He was speaking directly to you, FN-2199 and the Lieutenant Colonel impervious to his sounds and expressions; both were absorbed in conversation with one another.

Your lips trembled, a blockade for your voice. The obvious disguise of the radar technician did nothing hide the presence of the Commander. Your head went into overdrive, scrambling to respond in some fashion.

I know they haven't done anything.

“Are you sure?” He broke eye-contact to look upon his hands, turning them over so his palms faced up. The veins in his wrists and forearms flared. Returning his gaze to witness the dilatation of your pupils in horror, his voice met you once more, “Perhaps they have... But they kept you out of it...”

Kept me out of what? Why?

His fingers twitched, followed by the corners of his mouth. Sudden resentment bunching within him, perhaps, in some way further annoyed by what he had seen. His eyes became far-away, speaking as if he was translating a text or trying to remember, "So you... so you wouldn’t get caught if it all fell apart... But, why you? Why should they care so much about you?"

It was then when your mind began to wander away from you and you felt his intrusion inside your skull. Pressure and static; he was searching for something again. You griped at the bench, your totem of reality— still awake, horrific.

Did you forget this is about FN-2187 and not them? They haven’t done anything but exist around you, that alone seems to be offensive enough.

But still he persisted only to speak in a soft, broken pattern as the pressure behind your forehead increased, "And they exist... only because... I’ve allowed it."

The ache again. The unbearable stimulus of your mind pulled apart by his hands had become the only sensation you could register. You would have said anything for it to stop— but as if on cue, your palm felt warm once more.

The pain— all pain— immediately disintegrated, leaving him with nothing, save for a bewildered stare from across the table. Feeling the courage to look, to gaze upon him in such a moment, there was an impression about him closely reminiscent of fear.

You were undecided if it was more terrifying to see him intoxicated by his own power or to see him look scared, even if it was vague and buried. Even so, you waited for his habitual rage to take him over but it never came. Somewhat miraculously.

As if their voices could finally reach you, breaching whatever wall Matt had built around you, FN-2199 pulled you back into the security of conversation. Electricity in his eyes, he almost chattered as he spoke, “Zack says they’ve seen FN-2187 and the droid.” Though it should have been obvious, you weren’t sure with what voice he was using, "He's still alive."

Staying mostly focused on Nines, with your eyes momentarily flickering over to Matt, you were shocked at how remarkable it was that none of your exchange had registered in the two. In your best ability to remain natural, all things considered, you spoke slowly in contrast to his buzzing, “I read that earlier.”

“Why didn’t you mention it?” Exposing more of his indecipherable emotion, Nines pulled poppy red strands of hair away from his face, hair that was perpetually disordered from his snug helmet. What little skin of his forearms exposed underneath the ivory exoskeleton of trooper’s armor had been raised in gooseflesh.

“Because we don't talk about him,” Almost irritated, you flipped from FN-2199 to Lieutenant Colonel Zack. Neither of their expressions bent into smiles anymore, neither seemed to be fully present. You pressed on, “I didn’t think you, or anyone, wanted to talk about him—“

“Well, we’re talking about him now, aren’t we?” You saw what would have been pain, if had not been for his eyes flickering away from you as he mumbled, “We haven’t talked about Slip either, but that doesn't mean we're not thinking about him...”

This isn’t you. You’re not like this.

A calm voice interjected, “FN-2199, I think we’ve said enough about it all.” Lieutenant Colonel Zack sheepishly looked to you, as if something had been revealed that shouldn’t have been mentioned at all. It was clear from his expression that he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but conciliatory all the same.

Who were these people before you now?

Each had acted erratically and awkwardly at the mention of FN-2187, a name that no one else had said since he freed the Resistance pilot. You expected his name to be spat on or ignored. You had not projected for both men before you to advertise their divided loyalty so plainly, let alone discuss it.

You were left to souse, the awkward extremes the table had revealed. Each person proving different versions from those who they had previously been. Thankfully, before another strange event occurred, the intercom urged you to away.

Without knowing who needed you, and for what, you could not have been more appreciative for the opportunity to leave. With Matt having retreated into himself, so missing were his standard homicidal vibrations. You felt secure in leaving, understanding that no one would be thrown across the room in the approximate time it would take to address the page.

Standing, you announced to the table, avoiding directly meeting anyone’s eye, “Maybe when I come back, we can continue not talking about all this.”

Passing herds of sentry droids, whizzing and chirping around your feet, you wove through the controlled chaos of the trenchant corridors. As your pace inspired deeper gasps for air, the far- flung odor of acid-sharp fuel burnt your nose; feeding time for the TIE fighters. Crossing more channels, the glossy halls masked the previous smells with disinfectants for the gleaming surfaces. Boots squeaked over the lustrous obsidian tiles and fabric rubbed against fabric as uniformed officers scuttled about, under the watchful gaze of their superiors.

Everything was still exceptionally ordinary everywhere you went. Unfamiliar stinging of resentment nestled behind your eyes, bloodshot and wide from stimulation of caffeine and the continuous sense of panic. You made eye contact with an officer, walking past you. Her face cemented, there had been no sign that she had even registered your gaze– nothing. No one knew that you felt the base caving in around you.

No one knew, and maybe worse yet, no one cared.

Your mind turned to the Lieutenant Colonel, guilty in caring for FN-2187 by wanting him to do what it was that he wanted versus what he was programmed to. Guilty, because now, the Commander was privy to the fact that Zack was deeply entrenched in a belief fraught with danger for any to have, but suicidal for a superior officer.

Fast approaching where you had been paged, a lone figure intercepted your path with a great gaberwool coat slung over their willowy shoulders, giving them a broader appearance. Closely circling the chamber, they had been padding over the stretch of the corridor with all the precision of a hungry vulture. You were light enough on your feet as you closed the gap to remain unnoticed but eventually became caught in their peripherals as they moved through their inevitable sequence.

Great. It’s you.

The General grimaced, his posture stiffening once realizing his company, “How nice of you to join me.” That voice– that patronizing tone one, aerating deep condemnation.

The depth of his annoyance was unjust for as far as you were concerned; you let his words fall behind you, faking a pleasant face. To your contrived display of affability, even going so far as to fake your way through the nuance of a smile, he turned his nose up.

Son of a bantha.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” though you weren’t. You stuttered through your enclosed frustration, smoothing your hands over your sides, “What can I assist you with, General?”

He had never directly approached you for anything– ever. This was logical when taking into account how low down the command chain you were in relation. In fact, it was more than startling to see that it was he, and not someone under his command, which had required your attendance. He was far too busy, too vital to Starkiller. Yet, there he was.

“You may assist me with an explanation...” he stretched each word out, resenting having to say anything at all, “...as to why we have evidence of you and the Commander.”

Krif.

A slight pause, as if he correctly inferred you would need a second to process what he had said. “I think it fitting that you explain yourself.”

But, you didn’t want to touch the subject. Not with anyone, especially him. Even as you were faced with the General’s knowledge, you knew you couldn’t have prevented any of it. You assumed that you had moved without being watched. It didn’t strike you as it happened, that you had been observed along the stretch from your office to the destination.

For someone claiming to be a technician, Matt was certainly lacking in fundamental reference of mechanical installations about the station.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You did your best to sell it in as few words as possible.

Bringing a sophisticated datapad to your attention, he showed you the condemning evidence. The holovid had clearly captured the very nature of how things panned out. You wanted to wince, having to witness for a second time, Kylo Ren unleashing a devastating attack.

Oh.

You murmured, without knowing how to proceed, “Yeah, that doesn’t look good...”

I’m dead. He’s going to find out.

“No, it doesn’t look good...” Dramatic in voice, facial expression still thin and cold, the General flinched as the surveillance loop had captured the beast’s flaring temper, defacing the sealed hatch. He pulled the device back and away from your eyes; you had both seen enough. “As General, I believe I have a right to know what is going on inside my base...”

You searched for believable excuses. You would have traded every light in the blanket of the star-sieged sky above if it meant avoiding being stuck in this position that you found yourself in. Everything you could come up with evoked the taste of a lie. He was an exceptionally sharp man, he would know.

As you contemplated, the General appraised your sleepless appearance. Snide, he spoke again before you had the chance, “Although, don’t feel inclined to be too descriptive with me.”

... Did he really just say that?

The insinuation was far beyond the discomforts of your company back in the employee common area; the table you couldn't wait to leave became the table you wished you were still confined to. You quickly decided that the General's mocking tone was comparable to the upper echelon of cruelty.

Your cheeks blistered all shades of pink and red with mortification of his contention. Words clumsily rushed from your throat in defense, “I don’t know what to tell you besides that’s not what happened.”

“Unlike the Commander, I am not able to see into your mind. However, and understand this, I can tell when I’m being lied to.”

Your handshake was more than enough physical contact. If he had asked, or cared, you could make a very long list about things that had more appeal than gratuitous “contact” with the Commander.

“Out of curiosity,” you took a gentle pause before advancing, “Why is this important to you?” A polite version of the alternative: What the brix is wrong with you?

The illustrious plumage belonging to General Hux had been momentously ruffled; he strained to keep his features from displaying anything other than disapproval. “The First Order cares deeply for all suspicious activity concerning minor or major officials...”

But in him saying so, even he had been aware of the sudden flux of desperation in his tone. He plucked the next moment, raising his chin up to appear taller. Then, clearing his throat, he became suddenly fascinated with the cuffs of his military jacket. “We will be watching.”

Great. More eyes on me.

He secured his proud mane before retreating, giving you one small look as he did so. You waited until he disappeared around the opposite corner of the hallway before your thoughts shifted, bypassing the prior indiscretion.

It was hardly a second or two before you were jolted back into full awareness of your surroundings, realizing you had not been alone. Matt had been behind you, soundless and separated by mere paces. None of the signs of his presence overtaking the hallway as they had done previously. The version of fear you identified in him before hadn’t diminished either— amplified, if anything.

Worse still, above the idea that he had been there for the entire conversation, for all the painfully humiliating allegations you both shared from General Hux and all of your internalized responses, was that he had to have followed you after you left. That he had masterfully hunted you, without alerting you of his presence. You only know I’m there when I want you to. He could be lurking around around any corner and you would not know it.

It wasn’t until you had exhausted that thought had you noticed his eyes were uncharacteristically frantic. His right palm rose as his voice, still low and mostly controlled, began to break, “You feel this too.”

Parting your lips, no sound came out. You could feel your tongue and throat, hyper-aware of all your bodily movements, of your lungs pausing and micro-quivers.

Yes.

You knew what he meant. You were only surprised that it wasn’t something you had experienced in isolation. He was also affected, in some way.

He stepped forward towards you, where you instinctively stepped back. His movements were sharper and faster than your own, allowing his face to flit before you. Flecked with distinguishing freckles and marks all across the bridge of his nose, you could make out at proximity how they stretched and finely reached over his temples and cheeks. He would have had such kind features, had they not been constantly locked with tension. Maybe a lifetime ago, he was gentle. Maybe.

But how time had played with him, forcing him to become a twig snapping at the slightest movement— and so much less human all over again. His nose twitched at your thoughts, a subtle tic. Twitching, continuing along his jaw. Ash in his eyes, lost in rapture.

He moved closer again, yet still without touching any part of you if it were even possible. You could feel warmth swirling around him as he spoke; not friendliness, more like smoke, miserable and ominous. “It follows me.”

Before you now, he was bare in disastrous flesh and blood and bone. His chest heaved, up and down, breaking his concentration only to examine his hand under the light hanging above him. He spoke again, washed with further frustration, “I should be stronger now, able to resist the pull... And yet...”

Growling, aching. Unbroken eye-contact returned to you, daring you to look away.

You attempted to have a voice again, profoundly stuttering, words hanging to your teeth, “What are you talking about—“

Louder, almost shouting, pulling back from you by a step, “What have you done to me?”

I don’t know!

I just, don’t know...

He looked disgusted, pulling back further, as if you should have had answers. You were reminded of his spontaneous combustion; the clang of his hand as it smashed into thick durasteel, the depressions along the surface...

By the time he spoke again, you were dizzy. His voice was nauseating. Pointing a finger, as if to mark your third eye, you could feel him pin you to the spot. You knew he was using the last of his restraint to keep his voice entirely level, sound pulled from his evil throat. “I’ll show you what you’ve done.”

Don’t. Please.

You felt severed from your body, while he in contrast, he only grew in height.

“I will show you. I want you to see.” He was wild-eyed, pupils expanding and swallowing his irises. Howling, fully devoured by madness, “I have power, I have control. You have nothing."

He lied to himself. While he had admittedly a great deal of power, he had little control over it. And you knew it each time he opened his mouth.

His arms remained limp at his sides, in stark contrast to the veins running over his skin, fully inflamed. He held his voice steady for a final time, snapping with animus, "You will bow to me, not burn me. ”

Walls crumbled. The floor gave away.

Primal, instinctual rage filled the gap between where you stood. Tugging at the hilt of his saber, secured within his technician’s disguise, the unstable blade shot forward with diseased enthusiasm. Hissing and spitting, sparks jumping along the surface, contained within the plasma in waves along the cutting red edge. Crackling filled your ears, that of an inferno, as all of space and time bent away from his body.

You shut your eyes. You couldn’t watch.

This is how it ends.

And it could have been. Instead— he tore away from you and the corridor that bent around you. You heard as he moved, the dragging of the serrated end behind him and how it had caused a terrible discharge of spark in indiscriminate directions. One you had been able to open your eyes, your vision was filled with a slow, flickering down the passage, as he moved father and farther away. The shriek of his weapon, as it carved and cut, grew softer but no less menacing.

Your fragile heart seized as you held your hand to your chest, feeling your turbulent blood and valves snapping as they shut.

By some miracle, you had survived.

[itsworn]

1969 Camaro takes on both RS and Z/28 styling to blend into a modern pro-touring ride

Growing up just a stone’s throw from the beach, Jim Osenenko would take frequent trips to Seaside Heights, a New Jersey shore town with a reputation for being the place to be if you want action during the summer months. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, the sprawling surfside town was the perfect playground for teens and twenty-something revelers, ready to blow off a little steam while showing off their hot rides on the town’s main strip.

Hanging out in the rockin’ beach town had a telling effect on the youngster. And so at the tender age of 15, Jim came to the conclusion he needed to learn how to drive … pronto! Unfortunately, the great state of New Jersey had other ideas, and didn’t think he was ready to hit the streets just yet (permits are issued at 16 1/2). So Jim started out “training undercover,” first getting behind the wheel of a Chevelle SS and then quickly moving on to a sweet ’69 Camaro. The latter ride he favored the most.

Next, he got himself a part-time job to get some cash up and by the time his 16th birthday rolled around Jim had saved enough Benjamins to buy a brand spankin’ new 1978 Z28 to call his own. This purchase was a huge step forward as far as he was concerned, though the youngster was still too young to drive “legally” out on the Garden State’s roads.

Being underage didn’t stop Jim from driving his Z, as he ran that Chevy out on the streets whenever possible, avoiding both his mom and the local Cherry Tops for some time. “My plan didn’t always work,” states Jim, but the teenaged hot rodder forged on. Six months after he got the ’78, he scored a ’69 Z/28 that ultimately got him into street racing. Taking on the competition wasn’t exactly the best thing to do while on your learners permit, but Jim honestly admits; “it was the funnest car I owned back then … I just couldn’t get enough of that sleek F-body Chevy!”

After high school, Jim started his career as a homebuilder on Long Beach Island, a popular beach area not far from his home. As the money came into Jim’s bank account, more cars found space in his garage, including several more top performing Zs. Down the road he got married and had two great boys to raise and share his hobby with as well. He made sure he always had time to enjoy the Camaros with his kids.

Crash Course One day in 2004, a car veered into Jim’s lane and hit him head on, leaving him with multiple injuries. Over the next couple of years, he went through several surgeries, as well as the needed rehabilitation. He sold off his prized ’69 Z during this period, since he was unable to drive. It would take a few more years before Jim was ready to get back on the road and behind the wheel. Once he was back into the driver’s seat, he really wanted a Camaro to replace the one he had let go. A search started for that elusive black Z, which led him to Savannah, Georgia. There he met Joey Wigley, a custom car guru who had a true numbers-matching Z/28 with an original dual-quad setup for sale. Jim took a chance and checked out the car, which turned out to be all that Joey said it was, plus some. With that a deal was struck for the rare ride.

Over the years the two became fast friends. Jim would take trips to Savannah to hang with his “ole buddy” and see what the shop was up to. One trip he noticed what looked like a custom frame in the corner. Intrigued, Jim asked what it was for. Joey said it was going to be a custom show rod. And here, my friends, is where the story on this particular Camaro starts.

The F-Word That particular frame was destined for Joey’s own personal Z28 Pro Touring ride. The problem was he just didn’t have enough time to build the car for himself, as business was mounting up and the schedule was full. Then Jim popped the big question, “What if I bought it from you and you build me a hot, Pro Touring car? A ride that could compete with the best Camaros in the country.”

It took Joey a while to give him an answer. He really was attached to the beautiful stainless steel frame and wasn’t sure he wanted to part with it. But he realized that business is business, and if it meant making Jim happy, and getting to build it the right way, well, that was a win/win situation in his book. So the two sat down and figured out what would go into the build and then calculated a price tag. With that agreement in the books, the two shook hands and the build was underway.

Building Big-Blocks The project started out with a decent plain-Jane ’69 roller that Joey sourced. The body was quickly mediablasted and found to be in good enough shape to start with. From here, the car’s body panels would be prepped for a metamorphosis of sorts. When completed, only the trunk lid would still fit a stock ride. Every other piece of metal on this car would get Joey’s signature touch, and ultimately be morphed into a totally original ’69 Z28 fire-breather!

First off, the body was test-fit on the stainless steel frame that Joey had built. The dual-tube “backbone-spined” chassis was designed specifically for a big power, Pro Touring Camaro, and contained extra tubing down the center of the car that would help this ride avoid the need for a rollcage. This structural design was a major plus in their book, since both Jim and Joey wanted a Camaro that could run with the race cars, but still have the look of a high-end street car.

Next, Joey contemplated wheel selection. To get the big meats he wanted under this car, he stretched the wheelwells, both front and back. Once that was accomplished, he looked toward the front of the car. He found that he needed to widen the cowl in preparation for the eventual installation of the motor-motivation of this rad ride: a 582-cubic-inch big-block, pump-gas driven monster, built by Burke Performance.

Once that metalwork was completed, Joey widened hood to match the cowl, splitting it down the middle and adding metal to expand it to fit. The cowl-induction scoop was also hand-fabricated to cover the big-block and its incredible induction system. The doors did not escape without modification, either; they were lengthened and shaved to match the clean look of the exterior.

That look would also extend to the glass and trim. New modern glass was sourced and fit so the metal and glass came together like a modern car would, leaving the trim off for an up-to-date look. Now, with the contemporary touches, this car was looking like a Camaro caught in a mega-time warp, traveling 50 years forward in just a single bound.

Once that was accomplished, Joey finished off the firewall and floors with 1/8-inch metal for rigidity. This would add strength to the structure of the car and help mate it to the stunning stainless frame waiting for the body in the corner of the shop. Once the body and chassis were merged, the Camaro was now ready for a special delivery. The power for this F-body had arrived and was ready for installation.

The 582ci Dart block was built up with Air Flow Research cylinder heads and a custom Kinsler fuel-injection system, complete with trumpet-style intakes and hidden fuel rails. A Concept One serpentine system, custom billet valve covers, and Mallory billet dizzy add a little bling to the engine. To add to the look, the block had been deburred, sanded, painted, and then buffed to a shine prior to the engine build. The whole powerplant is a stellar, polished, thing of beauty pushing out over 850 hp on pump gas.

Joey and Jim both wanted the Camaro to sit as low as possible. So it was decided that the exhaust needed to be tucked up and out of the way to make this happen. So Joey devised a setup where his hand-fabricated custom headers dump the spent gasses into 3-inch pipes that feed into the rocker panels on both sides of the car. Once entering the rocker, the gasses travel through a chambered exhaust and exit through a built-in outlet just before the rear tire. To keep the paint from melting off the body here, fans were installed to help keep the rocker panels from getting too hot. These units are controlled by a temperature sensor system, which Joey built into the rockers.

Power is shifted by a polished TREMEC five-speed transmission that feeds power to the Kugel-built, Jaguar-style independent rear by way of a custom aluminum driveshaft. A fully polished Kugel double coilover independent front and rear suspension handle the duties on this Z28. A Wilwood four-wheel disc brake system, featuring inboard brakes in the rear, stops this ride in time and on a dime.

The body of this Camaro was covered in Glasurit Black that looks a mile deep. Ghost flames were added in a candy finish for a little old-school break-up on the nose. Custom DPE polished aluminum wheels are at the corners and measure in at 15×7 front and 15×20 rear. They are shod in Mickey Thompson rubber, 26×10.00 and 29×18.00, respectively. All stainless lines were used for fuel and braking systems, and everything—including the wiring—was hidden in the custom frame for a clean look.

Last but not least is the interior. First off, Joey fabricated a custom dash and filled it with an assortment of AutoMeter gauges. The bucket seats were made from scratch and then the interior was finished off in high-grade leather. Tunes are supplied by a Kenwood/JL Audio system with navigation, and a backup camera was added for safety. For that uber modern touch, remote power windows, doors, mirrors, and trunk opener were added to this killer Camaro concoction.

Autorama Drama! Once completed, Joey and Jim realized they had built one of the most outstanding custom ’69 Camaro Z/28 RS’s in the country. They knew without a doubt that this ride could compete with the best custom cars in the nation. What better place is there to show off your creation than at the Detroit Autorama? So in 2013, the boys took this stunner to the Motor City to compete for the prestigious Ridler Award.

Once there, the car was chosen to be one of the top 25 cars and got its own display. Chip Foose stopped over early on and stated that he thought the Camaro was best in show, hands down. Though in the end Jim’s Z didn’t make the final cut, it certainly made some waves for sure. It took Second place in Pro Touring and won Overall Best Paint. And that was just fine with Jim and Joey. In the end, this Camaro is everything the designer wanted it to be, and an Autorama favorite to boot.

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