#Mantra for Memory and Intelligence

[loneworldgazer]

"his mutt."

pairing: Harley Sawyer X toy!reader

cont: You, his assistant gave up your parts oh so willingly to him. Why are you surprised that you've been turned into a toy, did you think you were special?

a/n: this was crazy, I'll dissappear again for a year trust!!! Seriously tho, writing is fun but my lifestyle is so busy now brahhhh. Edit: closing my eyes as I post this cause I'm not sure if I went on a tangent writing all of this or it's actually good AHHHHH

tags: reader IS AN ADULT, nsfw, groping, degradation, sadism, delusion, fingering, no sex (unfortunately), no specific gentilia mentioned guys, first time writing slight smut??? Idk man Harley is not a good man obviiii, I also want to make it clear that THIS IS NOT BEASTILITY

๑ ~⁠♪

"L/N, would you give yourself up in the name of science?"

That snapped you out your daze from the whirring of the water faucet sanitizing the bloody scalpels. The blood turn to clouds and made your eye twitch back to Harley who had his hand on a VHS tape ready to record another log. That prompted you to reply quickly.

You straightened up, wanting to give a lengthy answer that would somehow impress the Doctor or at best, make him bat an eyelash at you. Experimenting was the reason why you decided to be a scientist, Playtime Co. was where it was home for a job like yours. Going into the unknown required some unethicality and pushing past morals, too much of it is too far that you don't even notice. In the long run, you had smeared blood that wasn't yours all over yourself without realising. Research was the hook, the line were your meticulous gloved hands on a body and the sinker was the Doctor acknowledging the labour that you do.

This place was a house that echoes off with tormented residents and you're simply one of the owners that bang at the walls so they can keep quiet, the smudged handprints had been painted over with a new coat. In this place where you sit at your appointed seat in the family couch, your eyes look around for him.

Would it be plain dreadful to admit that the praise one man could give had you licking and cleaning up the dirt of his sins until he told you it was enough? It was not said but his precense was a mantra that you obedientally chant.

He was a needy man, quite funny to describe someone assertive as him but he depended on you. Or should you be careful with a mind as dangerous as his; an intelligence that leaves you choked up for air. It's bad to dream that he treats you differently but his eyes would linger more on you before he tells you to pass the data.

The voices of everybody you talked to had been a blurry memory ever since you were holed up in this cold, pristine hell of machines and sanitizers. The exhaustion of pushing out the next new toy was the thrill you enjoyed from work, pain and anguish from failure that was simply a query to overtake. It was exhilaration to you. But that wasn't it either.

In conclusion, you had no answer. You couldn't outwit a man who shifted the system of a factory that was close to beggary not because this joyous, welcoming environment of a toy company kept people away but because of the risks that he so challenged. This sole place was pitiful, money was a topic that never left anybody's tongue; the people were reflected like the experiments, scurrying around like rats before the only light that reaches them is the glow of a scalpel.

Perking up, you blinked back the sleep that threatened to overcome you; fingers automatically popping open a bottle of melatonin.

"Yes, Dr. Sawyer. I'd do it in a heartbeat if you were to ask of me."

You didn't notice such a desperate, deprived answer came out of you before the pill dropped from your fingers. The clatter made you drop your head sharply at the ground before shakily putting down the bottle. You swallowed the bile in your throat, wanting to correct yourself, extinguish a bit of that idiocy that you just spouted but what comes next make you gingerly look at him.

It was a short chuckle at your statement, he never did turn his head while talking to you. It was unclear if it was a humourless chuckle or he found you amusing or slow-witted. From many words you could've picked out, why did it have to be those words? Your heart rate starts picking up that you gripped your chest. Maybe, there was an implication to what was uttered, a deeper meaning on how you truly felt for the Doctor.

---------------------------------------------------------

Harley Sawyer removed his gloves before he inspected what he had worked on alone. No scientist remained in the room with him, only you. He takes out a tape before he sits down next to the motionless experiment. He starts, his fingers tapping against the table.

"Experiment 1352, Pet Archetype. Responds to sound and light at best. Standard for experiments who are freshly experimented on"

He continues, his eyes flicking at the experiment.

"This experiment will be different, the style choice separate from actual toys in production. This one, will have a humanoid body. Though, it is far different from Miss Delight."

His fingers brush against the experiment's arm. He articulates his next words slowly.

"The idea is nothing short of obscene, a human with dog features. One that will sweep up this company's mess as it intends to do, it's a form of hybrid."

He nearly loses himself, this company was a pain in the ass; his humourless laugh turning almost insane. He could order the scared scientists under him to bow wow for him with a flick of his wrist since he had the ability to but he holds back, remembering what he planned to say. The bark of laughter he let out made the toy squirm, squirming to breathe, to move or even live. Its chest heaves so heavily and Harley stares down at it.

This log was becoming more and more unprofessional, it tickles him. This is why science was more suited for him since creative thinking led him to dig deep into his desires instead.

"It'll be a part of security alongside the other toys. If other results please me then I may move 1352 up a rank."

He writes on the report, his hand writing faster than the pen as this adrenaline he had in him, it was anticipation for this experiment to succeed. You haven't uttered a word ever since the start of the experiment but it was quite alright, he'll wait. Oh, he will definitely wait.

----------------------------------------------------------

He heard the certain germ quietly pattering to and fro in this sanctuary he deems his, his vessels moving in place for the finale.

Guess Yarnaby couldn't keep them away for that long, it was quite predictable. He must've met his end already, considering the fact that this employee was anything but normal. He almost run out of toys to set upon the intruder, letting his vessel rest beside the machinery where his brain was.

But there was one, one he kept away from the company for so long, clenched hands to let this keepsake stay hidden.

This toy, the one kneeling on the ground where wires were sprawled all over the floor. It kept their head down resting against the knee of his vessel. Their fluffy tail thumping against the ground, still with energy even if there wasn't much meat to chew on anymore. His eye creased in satisfaction at how this one was still alive only because they were under his rule.

His call on making a hybrid sated his hunger but only by the tip of the iceberg. They were hopelessly mopey at times, it was delightfully pathetic. He traced the tape, the final log he managed to do before he was made into this lamentable piece of metal and sparks. He puts it into a nearby television, watching the pup's ear perk up to his voice and crawl towards the table.

"Experiment 1352, Pet Archetype. In relation, this one's cognitive function had worked terrifically but it can't speak. It's quite ironic, seeing that it reflects the person whom I experimented on."

The clinking of the surgical instruments could be heard with the scribbling of paper. He rasps on lightly, he should call this mutt by a name; a special one. One he never said before followed by a dark chuckle.

"Isn't that right, Y/N? Best get farmiliar with that name, I've made an effort to remember your name and it'd be a shame if you forgot."

You yipped, scratching against the table with your ears flattened against your head as he scoffs. You were moved to Playcare like he intended to. He only thought of moving you to work alongside before he got turned into organs, it was a terrible fate considering he was close to the fun part.

He wasn't surprised when you survived the Hour of Joy, you were supposed to. Being his assistant and working aside such dilligence steered you to the right path, that big brain of yours still working in this different body. Even if you looked human, the plastic on your limbs didn't make you struggle; you scoped out this graveyard like a trained dog. It was surely a struggle to make you a human who just had dog features or one who had actual hind legs because either way,

You just look much better kneeling before him.

The other scientists would always be talking behind his back or give him weary looks to what he wanted next, not that he cared much. It was an observation that became a repetitive cycle that it bored him more than experiments that turn out to be failures but you, you stoked a dangerous flame of interest in his soul.

You come close, passing notes and scalpels and touching skin to skin. It was delectable having an assistant that was so predictable and an oddball that only stuck close to him like a pet.

When Yarnaby had found you, hiding up high in the vents; you accidentally peeked out at the wrong time. This mass of yarn was dragging you by the nape kicking and screaming. The lion growls, knowing it shouldn't harm you but your kicks were deathly. He throws you down infront of the Doctor's feet and you growled, ears flattened from aggression.

He kneels, extending a hand and your demeanour changes so quickly.

"Here, pup. Remember me? I'm sure you'd recognise me even if it's just my voice?"

You struggled up to your knees, your chest heaves like crazy to the realisation then bowed completely on the ground.

Incredible, such quick response like you've realised who you were supposed to worship. He stepped close before he pulls you up by the hair and you whined so prettily.

"You do remember what to do, respect me and I'll reward you. Isn't that exciting?"

Utterly demeaning were the words spoken to this pup who stared up at him like he hung the stars, it was like there was only one thing on its mind. That word, reward. Harley never gave away any strong praise or anything, it could be anything and you were bursting at the seams. It was like you never changed.

The vessel's head snapped at the television as the tape ends and the dog bow wowed for more. He was aware that his form now was nothing compared to when he was a human. He thought of something that made him come close to you. Did you ever fantasies about him?

He hardly thinks about these type of things but everything that comes to unnervingly stroke at somebody's weak spots were accounted for and he was quite intrigued at the thought that you were a little perv if you ever were.

Those quick glances, soft sighs to continue focusing on the projects and the furrow at your brows when you think about how you've started at him so much were all noticed by him. Do they go more than that? He didn't go beyond experiments so he doesn't know if somebody like you were to imagine him in such a scandalous manners.

He touches your thigh, rubbing it and you nearly short circuited. He ran his hand up and down teasingly, nearing your private regions that you flinch away from.

"Come now, mutt. Don't you want to feel me?"

He does it again but now holding you close to him. Metal was what you felt but that heartbeat of yours was audible against him. Harley didn't know that you were disappointed. You wanted to feel the real deal, the intimacy you both would have if you two were still... Human.

His hot breath would be aimed down your neck while his warm hands would make you grip the bedsheets, the eye contact with this man would leave you breathless. But you weren't opposed to the pleasure because he was still him, the Doctor you'll follow till the end of the road; till the ends of hell.

He rubs his palm down your chest then his thumbs press against your stomach down to your hips. You salivated, it was detestable and flattering. These desire of yours should've been a reward from the very start but he only thought to commend your actions, wrapping your head around his words. Nevertheless, this was rewarding for him anyways since this was a discovery he will enjoy from his sweet assistant that was so on edge.

His cold steel hands was felt, proding at the inner most deeper parts of you. His hands go even lower which makes you slightly jump but he tutted, smacking at your thigh though he wasn't completely turnt off by it. He let your sensations go haywire as his hand rubbed between your legs, cupping your nether regions and making you yip pathetically.

Harley held you in his lap, holding both your thighs apart while he stroked at his creation. Those late nights which he remembered where he drawn out the details of your genitals, envisioning how it look when he creates every bit of your new form. Those pencil strokes of pure perversion lingers in him when you drip on his hands, it was wonderful of how he planned out everything even the synthetic juices you'll spurt when you feel ecstacy.

He wished he could taste it, his vessel tapping at the glass where his mouth would be; it would fill him with such bliss to lick it all up. Just seeing you tremble from his fingers make him feel powerful, you were just so easy. He had you from the start.

He touched the juices, slipping it in your hole and feeling you react to his fingers and clench tightly. He tried fixing your vocal cords when your body was still in testing. Moments where he dared to cut open your throat and inspect again and again but to no avail. He marvels at the thought of you actually speaking in this form, pleading and calling out his name but he settled with putting his hand around your neck and feeding off the vibrations your throat does.

He hits deep, his fingers thrusting against your inner walls that he watched in awe and how you squirted all over his fingers, he chuckled and turned his head before you clumsily get it all over his TV face. He didn't stop there, caressing the tip of your senses and making you scuffle your feet at the floor like you're asking him to stop.

Overstimulation was a part of every experiment to push past boundaries, it was his way of knowing whether the experiment was made for pain and ready to handle forces against it and you did so well not to fall apart.

"Doctor!"

He nearly falls onto you in exhilaration, your voice so garbled and loud with pleasure and pumped deep into your G-spot. That's it, come again for him and he'll feel something else other than joy. All you needed was a push before these expectations of his were met. He felt you grab at his robe, clenching it in your hand. You swore you saw stars other than the headiness of the Doctor being so intimate with you, this body of yours might shatter at the all consuming ache if being bent to his will.

"Come for me once again, mutt."

A scream ripped apart from you that you do what he says, exhaling every bit of your desperation before falling faint. Limp body lay against his lap, head lolling out for air and consciousness as he steadies you and moved you to the floor. Your fluffy tail thumped tirelessly against the ground. With an inhale, the Nightmare Critters pop up to his whistle and they moved you to a more comfortable position and he moves for the final showdown.

He can't help but scoff, even if it came out empty. There was a dark smirk on his face and he smoothed down his robes, he mayhaps pushed your reward for too long.

He walks away from you and didn't look back, now he continues his long term mission. He'll be expecting bigger things from you now, much more.

[thursdayinspace]

ficlet: muscle memory (or not)

For @graciehart because she's awesome and she asked for revival smut. So, this is after Sushi:

Scully has no house, but she has a Mulder. Killer robots made them do it. Or not. Maybe they have to take responsibility for this one themselves.

Rated: Explicit

tagging @today-in-fic

--

Scully sighs as she sinks onto the couch, Mulder echoing her sigh with one of his own as he drops into his seat next to her.

“That was an interesting night,” she says.

He laughs and lets his head fall back. “Running for out lives from artificial intelligence? Yeah. Interesting is definitely one way to put it.”

“Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Anytime. I’m sorry about your house.”

She debates telling him that she never really liked the place anyway, but decides against it. That would lead to a whole lot of questions she isn’t ready to be asked. “It’s okay. But I might have to stay here for a while. Since my front wall is missing and half my things are burned to a crisp.”

“Stay as long as you want,” he says, and she doesn’t know how to answer that either. As long as she wants… she’s too tired tonight to deny that if he extended a permanent invitation, she’d probably take it.

“I’ll take the couch, of course.”

The look on his face as he turns his head is one of pure amusement. “And you expect me to say yes to that.”

“Not really, I guess. But how are we gonna do this, then?”

“We can share the bed.” He shrugs. “Unless you really don’t want to, in which case I will take the couch, or get an air mattress or something.”

“Air mattresses squeak on hardwood floors. You don’t sleep well as it is.” She licks her lips, staring intently at her knees. “The bed is fine.” She can’t help admitting to herself that a small part of her had been hoping to end up in his bed tonight anyway. They went on a date, for fuck’s sake. And since they used to be in a committed relationship for years before it all went to hell, she’s not sure all her previous rules about no sex on first dates really apply here. Separated or not, he’s still her Mulder and never stopped being that.

“Okay,” he says. “It’s gonna be fine. I mean, we’ll be asleep. And we can keep our hands to ourselves.” He sounds like he’s trying very hard to convince himself of that fact.

She’s not sure at all he’s right about it. Not when simply sitting right next to him makes her want to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless. But it’s gonna be fine. They’ll both be on their best behavior.

**

It’s muscle memory, she thinks, when he shuffles close to her the second they lie down and spoons up behind her. It’s muscle memory when she takes his arm and hooks it firmly over her waist, snuggling back into him. This is just how they used to fall asleep. Before. It doesn’t mean anything.

Neither does it mean anything when he kisses her neck after saying goodnight and she laces her fingers with his and lets out a content exhale.

And it doesn’t mean anything when she feels him growing hard against her and presses into him encouragingly before he can pull away.

“Scully,” he says, voice pleading, and she isn’t sure whether he’s pleading for her to stop or to keep going. But he stays where he is, and when she rubs her butt against his growing erection, he rocks into her.

Her mantra of “this doesn’t mean anything” begins to falter when she turns in his arms and he claims her mouth in a hungry kiss. But then again, it’s like she told herself earlier: they used to be practically married; the rules don’t really apply here. And they had a really tough night and deserve to end it with something fun.

Fun. That’s what this is. They’re having fun. Plus, they have needs. She hasn’t had sex since they broke up, and she’s pretty sure that neither has he. And sex is fun. They can give each other this. And they did go on a date. Although that would imply that maybe this does mean something after all…

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Mulder says, his lips brushing hers as he speaks.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

He pulls back, pauses. “Do you want to stop?”

She doesn’t even have to think about it. “Absolutely not.”

“But…” He hesitates. “We should probably talk about this.”

“I agree.”

“About what this means.”

“We really should.”

“Because this could change everything.”

“Definitely.” She moves her face closer to his until their lips catch. “We need to talk. Right now.”

“Before we go any further.”

“Yeah.” She kisses him again and lets him roll her onto her back, spreading her thighs so he can settle between them. “Talking would be a great idea.”

He hums as he pushes her shirt up, and she gasps as he squeezes one of her breasts and sucks her other nipple into his mouth. She’s throbbing with arousal, aching, and honestly, what is there to say anyway? He’s Mulder. There’s no universe in which she’s going to say no to this, not now, not anymore, not after all the hard work they’ve put into finding their way back to each other.

And when he kisses his way down her body, ridding her of her pants (his running shorts) and lowers his face between her thighs, any last remnant of doubt drops clean out of her head.

He moans as he licks her open, parting her folds and piercing her with his tongue. God, she’s been craving this. He hooks her legs over his shoulders and sets to work, lips and teeth and tongue, driving her out of her mind with need. This is not gonna take long.

She made herself bury the memories deep after they split up, tried so hard not to think of him when she got herself off at night, but forgetting this has always been impossible. Nothing in the world compares to the enthusiasm with which Fox Mulder eats pussy. He seems lost in it, enjoying himself so much he’s groaning into her as he presses his face closer and closer, flattening his tongue against her clit and making her whimper as her body tightens impossibly.

Her legs draw up and her back arches, her fingers curling into his hair, and her first orgasm hits her with such force it steals her breath away. He draws it out, sending fresh sparks of pleasure through her again and again until her body protests, slumping onto the mattress, heart racing.

“Fuck,” he gasps, lifting his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I missed this.”

All she can manage is a nod; she can’t speak yet. But she’s definitely done mourning the loss of her vibrator.

“God, you’re beautiful,” He moves up so he’s on top of her, and then he’s kissing her deeply, her taste still on his tongue. She hopes repairing her house will takes weeks. Months. Forever. Hell, maybe she’ll just leave it the way it is. Who even cares anymore.

“Fuck me,” she whispers, and he doesn’t ask if she’s sure. He doesn’t hesitate. They know each other; they can read each other better than anyone else.

With one long, hard thrust he’s all the way inside her and she cries out; the incredible stretch is just on the right side of too much. He’s so big. Another thing she never got over: how he fills her completely, how she feels him everywhere, how her body loves this sensation of being absolutely owned by him.

“You feel so good,” he says, voice strained as he stays perfectly still, letting her adjust to the intrusion.

“Move,” she begs. She needs to feel this, she needs to be sore from this, she needs him to just… take her. She needs him.

“Scully—”

“Hard,” she says.

She can pinpoint the second his self-control shatters. He groans and pulls back, then slams back inside hard enough to make her slide up the bed. And then he does it again, and again.

“Yes,” she whimpers, “God, yes.”

He grabs onto the headboard for leverage with one hand and curls the other around the back of her shoulder to keep her in place, and then he fucks her. He fucks her the way she tried so hard not to remember, the way that reminds her why she never bothered looking for anyone else. He fucks her like he’s claiming her, and she wonders if he really doesn’t know that she’s already his. But she’ll let herself be claimed as many times as he wants. It doesn’t change a thing, but it feels really fucking good.

She rakes her nails down his back and wraps her legs around his waist and has no voice to ask him for more, but he understands, he gets her.

The bed is shaking underneath them, slamming into the wall with each of his thrusts, and she can’t hold back her moans, doesn’t even try to. This is more than sex, more than release after a tough night, more than reconnection, even. This is an explosion, bottled up tension and longing bursting out of them with an intensity that sets the world on fire.

They don’t need to talk about this. It’s clear what it means. There’s no going back.

And the relief makes her call out his name, over and over, the only word that matters. Mulder. Mulder.

He knows how to move inside her, he knows how to get her where he wants her, how to give her what she needs. She’s burning up, the pressure in her core is unbearable, but he keeps her right on the edge for minutes, driving her wild but not letting her fall.

Flashes, hints of pleasure spike through her with every push in, and it’s so close to being enough, but not quite, not quite…

“Please,” she whines, “Please, please…”

“I’ve got you,” he pants, “Scully…”

He changes his angle, grinding against her clit, and her body comes off the mattress, her muscles tensing up in anticipation of her release.

“Come for me,” he says, and she does.

She comes so hard she screams, her nails breaking the skin as she takes his upper arms in a death grip, and wave after wave of pure bliss tears through her, making her tremble as her body rides it out underneath him.

He follows her moments later, burying himself deep inside her, spilling into her, his teeth against the sensitive skin of her neck as he gives her a few final, erratic thrusts before he collapses on top of her.

She’s vaguely aware of him rolling them over so he’s on his back and she’s lying there half draped over him. She’s exhausted. Spent. So indescribably happy she can’t stop smiling.

“Wow,” he says at last.

“Yeah.” She laughs, loud and uninhibited and delirious with joy. “That was…”

“Perfect.”

“Unexpected.”

“Unexpectedly perfect?”

She looks up, shaking her head at him before leaning in for a quick kiss. “The ‘perfect’ part was absolutely expected. It’s you, after all.”

The happiness on his face makes her heart rate pick up again. She wants to make him smile. She wants him to know everything he is to her.

“I really didn’t plan this,” he promises.

“I know. Neither did I.”

“But I’m glad that it happened.”

“God, I missed you,” she says on an exhale, and he wraps his arms more tightly around her.

“And all it took to get us here was a few killer robots.”

“No.” She cards a hand through his hair. “All it took was us. And some time.”

“Yeah, that sounds a lot better.”

He pulls her into another kiss and she lets herself sink into it; she hasn’t really felt at home anywhere since the day she left him. But right here, in this moment, she thinks maybe it’s time to finally come home.

[mariamariquinha]

wailing wall (Alejandro Gillick x f!reader)

A sequel to dark arrangements.

Summary: The day you touched hell.

Word count: 5.833.

Warnings: Violence, torture, death, mentions of suicidal thoughts (and practices), discussions about drug trafficking, DARK!THEMED, bad words, descriptions of torture 'rituals', physical illnesses. Angst. Like, really angst. With a considerable "happy" ending.

A/N: From the series of things that were sitting in my Google Docs.

I literally used Google Translator for the Spanish parts. Sorry for any mispelling or mistakes (I'm learning).

****

Important links you might be interested:

National Registry of Missing Persons

International Committee of the Red Cross

Diego Luna's interview with Variety about 'State of Silence'

****

You messed up. 

You should’ve known better, in fact, and that led you to mess up. 

That nickname made sense: it caught attention, it made people turn to you with a certain sense of trepidation. This also ended up becoming a basis for reputation, which, at that time, was of no use at all.

Icarus. 

“But she’s a girl, right?” 

Never a woman, just a girl. Because being a girl to them made it easier, or more enjoyable, and reduced you to a position of vulnerability. Just a girl? Is this what you have that is so valuable?

And then your uncle would show that sinister gleam in his eyes, place his rough hand on your shoulder or your back, in a falsely delicate touch, which you resisted just moving away from, and prepared himself to give the most intelligent answer he had managed to come up with in all those years, one that you heard almost like a mantra.

“It's because she doesn't have an ounce of fear of flying too close to the Sun.” 

And you flew very close that time, going against your own convictions and, damn it, your own sense of protection that made you survive all those years.

You knew why Alejandro was the first person you thought of when you found yourself most conscious. It was the pain, almost excruciating and cruel, that took you to more distant or sometimes more recent memories; you would give anything for one last stern look from him before he himself ended your agony. 

But he wasn't there. Nobody was. It was just you, a basement that bordered on isolation, the irremediable smell of blood and a pain that was slowly being healed in your ribs and chest. As soon as it happened, you could barely breathe, and you were writhing on the floor with your hands on your chest, grunting in pain as you felt the cold concrete against your face. Your head also hurt a lot.

In a rare occasion of affection, Alejandro had given you a book. It was something he particularly liked, perhaps, you couldn't be sure, but it was good in the early days, right when you got into that mess, when you just stared at any beam of light in that place with the hope that you would die soon. 

At first they wore the aspect of charity, and seemed white and slender angels who would save me; but then, all at once, there came a most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic battery, while the angel forms became meaningless spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw that from them there would be no help.

The Pit and the Pendulum. Edgar Allan Poe. 

You didn't make a lot of jokes with each other, but the next time you saw him, you chuckled and said "I didn't know you were the type to read that", even though you weren't calling him 'not very intellectual', just someone who didn't connect with that kind of thing. You were wrong, of course; the content of that story, as well as the others that made up that tiny collection, reflected how Alejandro's life and world were limited to death, shadows and hopelessness, just like his own.

That day, he moved his lips in what seemed like a return smile, and you closed your eyes in relief at still having your mind in reality to remember that.

That wasn't how it was supposed to be, however. It didn't make sense, it didn't… encouraged any agreement. He promised you. Well, you made him promise you. That it would be quick, without reservations, and that he wouldn't look back, because killing you had no use for him, and you didn't deserve more than a second look if you were so useless. He didn't verbalize it. He didn't say "sure, whatever you want" or just an "I promise"; Alejandro almost never said any safe words to you anyway, so you figured he would just do it.

You wondered if your mother felt the same way you did; if she was taken to that basement, or one that was far away from the house so you couldn't see her anymore. You even wondered if being away from you was a type of torture for her, if they used it against her as a valid promise that they would kill you if she tried something, only to then put you in the same place and slowly subject you to the torture of a slow death. 

You had been thinking about her these last few days, more than usual. It was a sign that your end was near, with dreams filled with memories of her, or with subliminal messages that you didn't understand, or the consequences of fever, hunger or neglect.

You started to miss her more. When you accepted that it was what it was, you went to sleep every day thinking about the moment you would meet her again.

Suddenly believing in the afterlife wasn't so bad.

****

“How do you feel today?”

You still hadn't been able to decipher whether Dr. Salazar was just another person who submitted or conformed. He would see you every two days, even if you were no longer sure how much time you spent there, and you were always welcomed in a very bright, sterilized and inviting place. It wasn't a hospital, nor a doctor's office – these places didn't have two armed men at the door, or the irremediable smell of the sickly air freshener that the employees used throughout the house.

He always approached you with great patience, his attentive eyes that made you cling to a sigh of care, even if it was fake. When he was announced, and when you were taken away, you could always count on a caress on your forehead, where he would wipe your skin with a damp cloth and then, perhaps breaking a small rule, give you discreet sips of water, always looking back to make sure no one was watching.

He always seemed very tired and worried.

“... Tengo tres hijas, todas jóvenes. Uno de ellos incluso se parece a ti,” I have three daughters, all young. One of them even looks like you.

Because Dr. Salazar couldn't bear the silence of your pain, so he filled the room with little laments about his life outside the walls of that place. You never responded, mostly because you didn't know if you could still speak or if you were afraid of what was going to come out of your mouth, but he kept talking, and you watched his serene face as he did so.

Three daughters. A horse farm. A medical degree in Cuba. Swiss lemonades. A desire to get to know Spain.

Sometimes, when you were particularly emotional, you felt like saying that you thought about the beach, about those desires to be under the Jamaican sun without any worries, but you both knew there was no point in that, so you just remained quiet, watching him assess your bones, skin and eyes.

“Sin sangre.” No blood.

It was your response ever since you heard him mention the diagnosis to someone you didn't know. Menstruation was one of the first things that went away during torture, along with everything else that came little by little. You concluded that he was monitoring this, so when he asked you these questions, you only answered this: no blood. 

Dr. Salazar nodded positively, wrote something down in a notebook, then began the regular inspection. You were dirty; they had denied you a bath for a while. In addition to the smell, your nails were also dark, a mixture of things you didn't want to know about, and he always inspected them as if there was something interesting in it, or if he was just waiting for the day they would disappear. You expected it too, you wanted to say. You expected so much worse. 

He would give you some new medication and then that person you didn't know would come in, listen to instructions from him, and after that, over the next few days, someone would appear where you were and do something different to you: they would change your gauze, they would adjust the bed so that you didn't feel so much pain, they would choose another place to cut or kick or punch you.

It was senseless torture because they didn't ask questions, because nobody needed to know anything about you; it was recreational. A punishment, perhaps, that your uncle enjoyed having power over.

That day, after the usual check ins, Dr. Salazar hesitated before calling the person. He looked through the notebook, then placed it on a table and came to you, pulling your unresponsive body close in a hug, with the announced justification that he was just checking your physical stability.

“Ellos vienen. ¿Dónde estamos?” They come. Where are we?

It was whispered in your ear, his arms wrapping around your spine and pressing you against him as he pretended to be putting you on your feet. You blinked a few times, your hands falling to your sides without the strength to make you react physically, and your brain took a few seconds to process what that meant.

You thought it was a final test, something they wanted to be sure of so they could decide whether to kill you or not.

With effort, you raised your left hand and squeezed the sleeve of his coat, turning your head just a little so he could hear you whisper the answer against his soft hair. 

“Caracas. Muro de las Lamentaciones.” Caracas. Wailing Wall.

****

He made a comment about your nails with an amused smile on his face, pointing to your hands with the tip of his fork before using it to spear a piece of meat on his own plate. 

You couldn't move your arms. Since that invitation, you had been forced to sit there, at that full table, staring at a beautiful piece of filet mignon with mashed potatoes and carrots (your favorite dish) without being able to taste it, feeling, among other things, your belly twisting with hunger. He had authorized a shower after a session: one of your shoulders had been dislocated, and the other was bruised, so you were cleaned up by the person you didn't know, then dressed in a clean change of clothes, and set out for a private dinner with your uncle.

He spoke, and you heard one thing or another while blinking heavily, overcome by intense physical fatigue that he just didn't care about. You didn't even look at him: you knew that if you did, you would throw up what you didn't have in your stomach to vomit. 

When he falsely noticed the lack of contact with the plate of food, he asked if you weren't hungry, and then said you had to try the steak, which they did excellently, that the mashed potatoes was the same recipe as your mother.

You looked at him when you saw him lean over to you and cut a piece of meat for you. He was smiling like never before, sadistic, taken by God knew what and visibly out of his mind, and when he held out that piece of food to you, a feeling of survival passed through you. He opened his mouth, suggested that you do the same.

Good girl, he said. Isn't it delicious?

And it was. It was divine. It was soft, well-seasoned, mild, and the only thing you ate that night.

****

He had plans, he told you over dinner. That your gringo friends were starting to bother him, so he would have to disappear for a while; just for a while, just until he found a way to get rid of them. When you returned to your 'room' that night, weak in your legs and almost carried by one of his guards, photos of Matt, Steve and Alejandro had been laid out on the mattress. You stared at it for a while, kneeling at the foot of the bed, and knowing that he would be watching you through the camera on the ceiling, you picked up Alejandro's photo and imagined the look on his face as you ripped off a piece of paper with your teeth, chewing it with ferocity, fighting your stiff shoulders for the sake of a show. 

That's what you threw up later that night, alongside that single piece of meat. 

****

It was a bang: a big bang, as if something had been knocked over by a bomb. You woke up scared, the sudden movement of sitting on the mattress making you feel pain all over your body, and in an impulse to get out of bed, you ended up falling to the floor.

You could feel the ground shake beneath your palms, hear from afar what sounded like shouts of orders, and soon after, some shots started. It was all very far away, distant, almost imperceptible, and you decided you were hallucinating. You stayed there, lying on your stomach, curled up inside yourself, listening to the noises with your eyes closed as if you could materialize them if you wanted.

The door opened abruptly. Heavy footsteps came towards you and you waited to be pulled up, or a kick, or a punch.

Someone knelt down next to you, and you opened your eyes. It was black tactical pants, military boots of the same color and the tip of a rifle. It… It looked like… 

You felt a lump in your throat, but you didn't find yourself able to say anything. He didn't need you to say it. Then you deduced that yes, it was there, at that moment, that your life would end, and that he just came back to fulfill his promise. Just a small favour, something to make you die as you wanted to. 

“I want to take you somewhere.”

And as if you were a feather, he calmly lifted you, wrapped a hand around your waist and, without complaining, dragged you with as many steps as you could take out of that room. You looked around: there was blood, bodies, a characteristic dust. The noises were no longer there, but the screams and voices continued. His grip helped you stay upright, like Dr. Salazar's, and suddenly you wanted to ask where he was, if it was time for your appointment, or time for him to talk about something new in his life.

But it wasn't. No, it wasn't. You felt the vest pressing against your right side, the smell of gunpowder, the rigidity of a solid body; Dr. Salazar smelled like a fresh bath – he was soft, cozy.

You lifted your face and stared at Alejandro's profile. He was staring ahead, passing hallways and passages, filled with flashes of light or complete darkness, and you frowned in confusion.

He stopped walking. Calmly, he turned his face towards you and with those penetrating green eyes, he accessed the full extent of your lost expression. You stared at each other for a while, until you realized that you were in the front room, at the foot of the stairs of the house, and that just a few steps away from you was the vastness of the yard, the gate and the road. Outside, you could see Matt and Steve passing from one side to the other, giving orders, holding guns as big as Alejandro's.

Someone grunted at your feet.

Someone impaled him in the shoulder. It was a generous iron bar, and it was the way it was secured that prevented the blood from expelling from the body. He shouldn't be here, right? And not like that?

You moved away from Alejandro's body and hoped that he hadn't noticed your spontaneous action of pulling the pistol from his thigh, and if he had, that he wouldn't stop you. You didn't see anything else; you didn't see if he had left your side, if he was watching.

Your uncle was hyperventilating – he didn't have much time. When he noticed you, he raised his face as best he could, moving his legs in despair, mumbling a lot of nonsense things, mentioning your mother, giggling in shock, going on and on and on-

“Sabes que solo hice lo mejor para ti y me apuñalaste por la espalda. Cariño, puedo perdonarte. Podemos-”  You know I only did what was best for you and you stabbed me in the back. Baby, I can forgive you. We can-

It was a shot.

Just one, on the forehead. 

His head got heavy and he fell back, his empty eyes looking up at the ceiling. 

Your arm hurt like hell, more than any pain you could have felt since you got there, and it fell to your side as if the gun weighed a ton. Suddenly it wasn't just something that poked your waist when you wore it on your belt; suddenly, you watched as the blood finally began to flow into his eyes, ears and head.

Your head felt heavy, dizzy. Any micro strength you gained at that moment began to fade and you swung to the side with the weapon, your eyelids almost preventing you from seeing the exit. There were shadows, then. You knew that your unconscious efforts to stay alive were no longer necessary, that the evil had passed, and that you could go. You could.

The sunlight hit you hard, it burned you, and your legs almost couldn't take it, but you needed to get out.

You saw your mother. She was wearing that beautiful, chic dress, the one she was wearing the day she disappeared, with her face made up, her hair up. You always knew she fit the aesthetic of that house, so elegant and soft, full of secrets but graceful. She was calling you, wasn't she? Was that why she was smiling at you like that?

You've already had the tip of a gun pointed at your head, but this time was different. You would only need to press the trigger, just push your finger, and then everything would be over for good, and you would finally have an inch of peace.

Your eyes closed, but you didn't hear the bang of a bullet going through your head; the ice from the gun was still there, touching your head, and nothing came out. It was a click, a small 'tick' that yielded nothing; frustrating, pathetic, ridiculous. You felt a hand grab the gun, then lower it, then take it away from you.

He said something, didn't he? Take her? Help her?

Whatever it was, you soon felt a pair of arms wrap around your back, then your legs, and you were lifted into the air, this time without brutality, as if you were finally seen as fine china and not a sack of potatoes. You couldn't hold on to Steve, but he carried you without much trouble. With your head hanging back, you saw what you were leaving in that place, and what would become of it; you smelled the gasoline, saw the door open wide and blood begin to drip onto the floor beneath your uncle; saw the pile of bodies spread across the yard.

Alejandro was standing there, Matt finishing pouring the liquid around the room where your uncle's body was. He watched you disappear, almost in slow motion, and the last thing you saw was the small flame of the lighter in his hand. 

There was a discordant hum of human voices! There was a loud blast as of many trumpets! There was a harsh grating as of a thousand thunders! The fiery walls rushed back! An outstretched arm caught my own as I fell, fainting, into the abyss. It was that of General Lasalle. The French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition was in the hands of its enemies.

****

He noticed you before he actually saw you. It was like a feeling, like a sensitive shiver when you were around, because you were trouble, and he knew how to sense one coming. Usually he would sort it out before he could feel it again.

It was clear he never did that to you.

You always wore a lot of dresses when you were still doing what you did, maybe to create a little sense of naturalness, which was stupid, but he also didn't tell you anything because it wasn't a bad look. Yeah, well, you had done that: you had given him something to appreciate in the midst of so much chaos.

Matt never hid where you were, but he knew better than to try and look for you; they both knew that Alejandro already broke too many 'ethical protocols' for you.

Seeing you that afternoon, Alejandro began to count details of your body as he did before, and as he did in the hospital, when he paid you a single visit while you were still unconscious, because you were stubborn and certainly wouldn't go more than two days without opening your eyes. There, you had two deep, dark eyes, your dry lips, your face dry from malnutrition; the horizontal cuts were made on your forearm, but he could see that they had done things to your chest, and if he could bet, he would recognize the shock burns on your nipples. The worst part was a cut along your navel that had become infected, and later he would discover that you ended up acquiring poor bone formation in one of your thighs due to an excruciating recovery from a broken leg.

He could see the scar from your leg surgery peeking through the hem of your dress. It was a clean job, but it was still a scar, and it still seemed to clash with a lot of who you appeared to be. You went from one side to the other with a certain grace, even if with steps partially limited by your leg, and no one seemed to notice that you had marks, and everyone smiled back at you, and none of it seemed anything similar to how he found you years before.

Alejandro had been in Puerto Rico for two weeks. For two weeks, he accompanied you throughout your routine, and soon found you living in a discreet bungalow in a remote area of ​​the city, almost always in the company of a man who he discovered was called Fernando.

That night, after a day of being a very silent sidekick to your day, Alejandro saw you go to bed early: you took three different pills, treated your skin with some cream, and sat up in bed as if you were thinking or, perhaps, praying. You stayed there for a while, staring into space, until you turned your face towards the window and saw him.

The two of you stared at each other for a long time. After years, it was the first time you saw him and that he saw you face to face, and all you did was offer that tired expression, without the hint of provocation or natural cleverness that usually crossed your face. You had no fear, no joy, no resentment: you were just there, recognizing that he was there too, and that empty look was perhaps the only time that made him lie in bed thinking about you with a small churn in his stomach. 

You had become him.

****

Fernando was the one who answered the door, so you weren't surprised when he came walking into the kitchen with a sour face talking about a guy looking for you. You had been bracing yourself for this for a long time, and as you told Fernando to tell him to come in, you thought you were pretty confident that you could act normally.

And in a way, seeing Alejandro sitting at your kitchen table was… different.

He hadn't said much since he got there. He accepted the coffee you made and was sipping it, but you didn't know if he liked it, if it was to his taste at all, and Fernando kept glancing between you and him while he took a while to leave, as if he wanted to hear what the two of you would be talking about.

Eventually, you convinced him to go to work at once, that you would be fine, and that he shouldn't forget the oranges you needed for lunch. Alejandro watched the way Fernando patted your waist twice, gave him a severe look and then left through the side door; he just raised his eyebrows expressionlessly, scoffing lightly behind his back while sipping on the coffee. 

You leaned your back against the sink, crossing your arms defensively against your chest. It was just the two of you now.

“... Have you changed your mind?” 

Because it was the only first thought you could manage to spill out, even if in a low, pathetic voice, and to which he just placed the cup on your table before leaning back on his seat, still unimpressed. 

“No.” 

“No?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?” 

He considered your face for a moment, then swiped his eyes around the room, accessing your belongings and his surroundings before tilting his head to the side. You hated yourself for still knowing what that meant. 

“Some things happened,” He excused. 

“Yeah, I know. Things like that take three years to end.” 

You didn't understand why you saw his mouth twitching, holding that smile he always hid, but you weren't attached to it. Heavens, you knew you couldn't. Of all the insistence for Matt to give you some idea of ​​where he was, of all the places you looked for him, you had the right (or the obligation) to feel offended by the fact that you still felt your heart warmed by that kind of thing he did.

Alejandro stared at you for a beat too long, those green eyes taking everything in, and suddenly you felt the need to cover yourself more, to hide. He took that in stride. 

“Who’s he?”

“A friend.”

“Like me?”

“No,” You squirmed a little. “You’re not my friend.”

“... Certainly.” 

If you felt half as witty as you did before, you'd be sending him out of your house, or at least using his mouth for anything other than treating you like an idiot, but God knew you didn't carry half of your personality from those years, and that the most you could do was to bring that offended feeling towards the fact that he was there.

You wanted to say that you missed him, that you had been missing him since you woke up in that hospital and he wasn't there; you wanted to speculate why he played with you like that, handing you a gun with a single bullet, and letting you believe that you could end it, just to watch you fail; you wanted to say that you didn't feel better, that Fernando was a good comfort, that he had no right to be there to make you realize that he was the one you felt true appreciation for. 

But you couldn't say anything because since he arrived, he only asked you two questions, and none of them were about how you were.

You turned your face to the door Fernando had come from when you heard him get up from the chair, and your eyes closed when he got close, very close, placing one of his cold hands to your neck and resting it there while he lowered his head just a little, merely brushing his lips on your forehead.

“Take me for a walk.”

****

That's what you told him the first time you met, when Matt introduced you as one of the trusted contacts he had. The two of you were outside the inn they were staying at, and you nursed a cigarette when you asked him to. Since that time, a lot of things had been weighing on your heads, but you lived on a different wavelength, so that wasn't what the two of you talked about that night.

Well, he asked why you were doing that, and at the time your uncle was merely an issue you were working on, not necessarily the epicenter of the problem in general. The two of you talked about Mexico, went over some information about the topic at the time (you talked, actually, since he didn't say much), and it was the closest you came to that feeling of delicious flirtation, the attraction starting to bubble inside you.

You had an independent spirit before; when the two of you walked, you were always a step or two in front of him, swaying your hips, having a more harmonious flow. Now, you had to unconsciously put your arm around his for support when there was a small incline in your path, because your leg was never going to do what it did before, and you didn't want to feel the shame you felt when he watched you do it. 

The two of you didn't walk much (you could go further, but you had spent the whole previous day circling around the city, so you were pretty tired) and sat on a more discreet bench near a path where you routinely walked.

“I'm still active, you know, physically,” You said, even though he didn’t ask. “I can't do cartwheels or handstands, however. There went my gymnastics dream.”

The teasing was supposed to clear the mood, and when Alejandro huffed, you felt like it worked, even if slightly. 

“You've been taking care of yourself,” He concluded, his arm slightly pressing against yours on the bench. “Has Fernando been helping you?” 

You couldn’t help but smile at that, glancing at him with a hint of amusement. 

“He’s not a threat.” 

“It depends on what threat he could be.”

Things changed, you almost pointed out as he looked at you with a calm but cold expression. You were no longer a pepper full of fire, nor a girl willing to enter into a possible contest of egos (which was definitely not the case) to find out who was the 'man' in your life. Since you stopped there, and even before that, you had been taking care of your own life, believing that you knew how to manage on your own, but nothing was the same as before, and when these ideals almost all fell to the ground, you just thought it would be prudent to count on a more qualified person to help you.

You didn’t know if Alejandro would impose that he would establish a presence in your life; you didn't even know what he was doing there, and that should be the first thing you should worry about.

“You’re tired,” He pointed out next, when all you could manage was a silent answer, and you sighed, brushing your hands on your face. 

That was the hardest part, if you could even put some level of difficulty in how things were going. You were doing well materially: you had a nice house, your body recovered well, you were basically retired if you wanted to. That was triple what many people who had been in your shoes got. Sometimes, or almost always, you spent sleepless nights dwelling on your privileges, remembering how everything for you was a matter of opportunity, how you took advantage of a system that you were supposed to help fight or just stay away from, how you pushed your luck every chance you got because you were an asshole.

You wanted to tell him that you had been thinking about finishing what you started that afternoon – that sometimes you stared at a river for a long time, or put your hand on your neck, and imagined that that wasn't where you were supposed to be, that you didn't deserve it. It felt like a gathering of many things you wanted to say but weren't saying; Alejandro should have known, he always knew.

“How is it for you?” 

He shook his head softly at that, averting his gaze to the landscape in front of you two. 

“Empty.” 

“So you don't feel anything?”

“I feel angry.” 

And you felt guilty. Dirty. Worthless. All very primal feelings, the kind that made you look at Alejandro with different eyes, or at least genuinely understand why he was who he was, or did what he did. You spent so much time playing a dangerous game that you didn't realize that death for some people was the only possible option.

“... Well, I am tired because I dream a lot, so I can’t exactly rest. I’m reckless in my sleep, I… It's been three years and I still feel like it was yesterday. I bought a bungalow so I wouldn't feel suffocated, but sometimes I can't breathe even though I'm here, in the open air.” 

It seemed like an outpouring of frustrations and regrets, but Alejandro didn't seem indifferent, because he was rarely when you got the things he wanted to hear. Although you didn't know if this was something he wanted to know, you just said it, under the excuse of it being a justification for a question he had asked.

“I also dream,” He offered. 

“With what?”

“I dream about you.”

Which wasn't at all difficult for him to say, as if it were a routine comment about life in general. You felt a little against the wall. If he dreamed of you, what would it be? Did his mind project the grotesque images that yours did, or was he more comfortable with his awareness of what he was doing all these years? Was it all deaths or all losses? With you, was your figure destroyed on or under a dirty basement floor, on a sofa or a bed in some apartment?

You opened and closed your mouth, then shrugged sheepishly. “... What about me?”

“Nothing, just you. Your face. Your voice. Your smile.” 

“It seems random.”

“I might have thought that at first, but that's not what I think now. You and I both know that you are an anomaly in my life.”

It hurted, but it was the truth, so you nodded. 

“You should have killed me when you killed my father.”

“It's been 20 years and you're still here.” 

You felt a cold breeze hit your face and you shivered; it was a psychological reaction, you knew, you were more sensitive to changes in temperature.

He didn't offer you his jacket, nor did he make any gesture of welcoming you.

In your world, him choosing not to kill you was some kind of proof of sentimentality that transcended the need for a warm hug – maybe it was the most romantic thing anyone had done for you, you couldn’t tell. 

What you could tell was that in three long and painful years, this was definitely the first time you truly felt happy.

Alejandro was back to you. 

****

[fromchaostocosmos]

Claims that Israel has been committing a genocide of Palestinians date to long before October 7. Yet the population of Gaza was estimated to be less than 400,000 when Israel captured the territory from Egypt in a war against multiple Arab countries in 1967. It’s now estimated at just over 2 million. Population growth of almost 600% would make it the most inept genocide in the history of the world.

Those repeating the word genocide over and over, turning it into a mantra that penetrates the public consciousness, smearing Israel and anyone who supports it, ignore the facts of this war. This is not an unprovoked war, like Russia’s against Ukraine. It’s not a civil war between rival militias, like the one raging in Sudan — which, by the way, is being ignored by almost everyone, even though the UN describes it as one of the “worst humanitarian crises in recent memory,” where a famine could kill 500,000 people. No, Israel was attacked. On October 7, Hamas launched a gruesome assault on Israeli civilians, killing some 1,200 — including many women and children — and dragging hundreds of them as hostages into Gaza. Today dozens — including many women and children — remain in captivity. Those who keep saying that Israel’s response is an act of revenge rather than the strategic, defensive war that most Israelis view as a fight for national survival against a determined enemy backed by a powerful country are deliberately distorting reality. In doing so, they are perversely evoking the same false blood lust and grotesqueness embedded in the blood libel archetype.

Indeed, Hamas’ actions, which precipitated this war, don’t seem to exist in the minds of ostensibly humanitarian-minded protesters. Nor even the fate of the hostages, still captive in Hamas tunnels. Although the campus protests vary in their message and actions from school to school, we never hear protesters chant that Hamas should release the hostages or accept a ceasefire. Quite the contrary. Accusations against Israel at times include praise for Hamas, one of whose aims — the end of the Jewish state — is shared by some key organizers of the student protests. As Secretary of State Antony Blinken recently said, “It remains astounding to me that the world is almost deafeningly silent when it comes to Hamas.” Accusing Israel of genocide and putting the entire onus for stopping the war, putting all the blame for the deaths, on the Jewish state is even more astounding because Hamas — designated a terrorist organization by the US, the European Union and many other countries — is a group whose explicit goal, according to its founding charter, is not just to destroy Israel, but to kill Jews. That is the definition of genocide.

Still, the death toll, even by the Hamas count, does not in any way suggest a genocidal campaign. The terror organization puts the total at about 35,000. The figure, disputed by The Washington Institute for Near East Policy among other think tanks and researchers, includes Hamas fighters. That means the number of civilians killed, whatever the total, is actually lower. Compare that to the death toll in Mosul, Iraq, where coalition forces uprooted ISIS from a city that had some 600,000 people at the time. Estimates of the exact number of deaths vary, ranging from 9,000 to 40,000 (the latter is the estimate of Kurdish intelligence). The lowest figure is on par with the rate of total deaths reported by Hamas authorities in Gaza that does not distinguish civilians from Hamas fighters, while the highest is four times greater. I don’t recall hearing the term genocide used there, or in any of the battles that led to more than half a million people being killed in Afghanistan and Iraq during America’s wars there. And yet, Israel has been repeatedly smeared with this damning accusation.

[cialovesklopp]

prologue

❪ masterlist — ❫

summary — it's no secret anymore to anyone that follows f1 that mercedes is doing bad. something just isn't going the way it should. the silver arrows are going through a rough phase which leads toto to become a bit more creative about recrutement.

song — mercedes [ brent faiyaz ]

warnings — light mention of death and toxic environments

word counts — 5k

cia’s quick rambles — so sorry for the long wait, exams came up and i couldn't find enough time to edit this over. i'm so excited for this and hope i can make it justice to all the other good max stories.

— july 2023

there was always a certain sense of belonging that people attributed to specific persons or locations. often it was due to certain attachments and feelings people had grown for those persons or places that created this invisible bond. but it had never been like that for aaliyah. 

she failed to form connections, to embrace attachments to people or things. like a program glitch in a computer, she couldn't fulfill the command despite the correct codes. she never truly felt rooted in any place — she never belonged somewhere.

she was too smart to be here, to sit in a back with other people that attended this class of university. yet the fear of her own intellect hindered her from leaving it. going to university was like going to school again — one schedule and one job. nothing else to worry about for the moment. she was relieved of the concern for something else. 

going to university eased the pain of knowing that she felt like she would never belong somewhere. 

after her father died, all she had received for giving ao much love was rejection. as if an unspoken rule had been set up, that stated that aaliyah had been the cause for it. and it certainly screwed up the rest of the life she had lived till now. 

aaliyah had been destined to do great things — she remembered the way her middle school teachers told her that she would be the one to cure cancer. she had always been intelligent, not just smart — but terrifyingly intelligent. 

they would laugh if they saw her now and where she was. wasting her potential away at a simple university in munich. 

sometimes she looked out of the window and the resentment towards her family, especially her mother, burned hot in her stomach. getting lost in her thoughts meant her mind wandering off to far and opening boxes that were meant to stay closed. memories being replayed that contained secrets she wanted to take to her grave with her. 

she may be closed off towards others but it was an efficient way to live. to protect her heart from disappointment again. she did not have the space to let a lot of people in again. 

her heart had built a thick stone wall around itself after the accident. an accident, she would always blame herself for. everything was different from now: she was left with nothing but the void created by the loss of the only thing that held any meaning in her life.

now she felt like an empty shell of her former self, with no purpose or path to follow. the man who had said, a man with no purpose is no man knew what he was talking about. 

aaliyah was walking on an endless journey that seemed to have no finishing line, a particular hopelessness gripping her tighter with each step she took. and it felt like an invisible string was always pulling her back. 

tugging at her harshly till she fell back to where she started. it was a vicious circle, a haunting loop of pain — one that seemed to take no end. aaliyah was simply lost and no amount of therapy sessions could cure the inner pain she wandered around with. 

“just one more day,” aaliyah murmured to herself. it was her typical mantra she told herself everyday to calm herself down, to reassure her that she was not caught in her past life anymore. 

there were always the easier days and the harder days that needed assurance. days she passed on ease were often spent with eva. harder days however had her shivering in her bed, her entire body shaking and freezing. 

she sat down on her usual spot in her physics and thermodynamics that were part of her engineering degree, her mind shutting down again while her eyes travelled around the room. it felt good to be able to think of something else when your brain was working twenty-four seven. when thousands of thoughts travelled through her brain every second and seemed to over analyze every information too quickly. 

but something felt weirdly off today. the room was busy, full with more people than usual. this wasn’t a class for just anybody — people in here were ready to get their degrees in engineering. this class could compare to a harvard’s law class in terms of difficulty and intelligence. not everyone was able and allowed to take it and yet today the room was bustling with more people than usually. 

aaliyah noticed the long queue outside the door, filled plenty with faces that she had seen on campus but all unfamiliar to her. she was not one to usually look for socialisation when it wasn’t exactly necessary. in addition to that there was also a feeling of anticipation, lingering lightly in the air. she was curious what all the turmoil was about but at the same time, she was reminded of caution towards it. the less she knew, the less were the chances to be entangled in it. 

she smiled when her professor — who was her favorite — walked in and aaliyah instantly remarked that even he seemed excited about something. so she had definitely missed an important detail. but what exactly?

just like in every class, the professor began with reading out the attendance list, aaliyah lifting her hand to confirm her presence. she was surprised however when her professor then sent everyone else, that had not been named, out of the class. 

“everyone whose name i have not called for the attendance of my class may leave now. i’m sure you all have your classes where you’re supposed to be today,” said her professor loudly, so that even in the back it was clear who was welcomed and who was not. aaliyah turned around and was surprised by the large number of men who all walked out disappointedly.

the rest exchanged excited whispers, all giddy about something but she couldn’t care less. it wasn’t like she had any friends in her class anyway. she wasn’t the only girl that took this class but she was one of the few that seemed to excel in it. and for some universal reason, women found it easier to be jealous than to work together. 

their class started just like always, with one of them presenting their work about the mechanical piece they had been assigned to design as homework. the professor went on with his class, and aaliyah felt herself drifting off, her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier with every minute that passed. another impact of her insomnia that plagued her in the night. even running on several cups of coffee wasn’t doing it for her anymore, so that she resorted to sugar to stay awake. 

she flinched, jolting awake when there was a knock on their door. she watched the way her professor’s lips turned upwards, forming into a smirk as he turned towards the door. “come in,” he said and in walked a man, tall and formally dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black pants. he oozed a certain air of authority that had everyone quieten. 

the atmosphere in the room changed instantly, aaliyah noticing her seat neighbour’s eyes widening but all she could observe was that he definitely did not belong here. he was definitely overdressed in comparison to her loose grey sweatpants that she had matched with a sweater that had yale university printed on. the irony of it. 

her professor greeted the man like an old friend, making it clear to aaliyah that the two knew each other and it wasn’t a mandatory visit like the others they had gotten. however to her she did not know of his significance, completely left in the dark. 

“so for today we have a special guest some of you may already know,” he interrupted them from their work, everyone stopping what they were currently doing to listen to him. “he is an old friend of mine and owed me a favor. but i’m going to let him present himself.” 

the instant the guest began to speak, aaliyah could immediately make his austrian accent out. she was sure to have seen the man somewhere before but her brain, that was usually running at one-eighty, was failing her tragically. 

“some of you may know me from racing, others just from motosport — but for the rest who do not: i am toto wolff and i’m the team chef of the mercedes-amg formula one team as well as the ceo of mercedes-benz motorsport.”

— so apparently, they had a celebrity in the room with them. explains the queue outside, aaliyah thought to herself. 

“for those who do not follow motorsport as much: formula one is the elite of what concerns motosport. it’s the best against the best that compete there and the world of f1 is constantly changing due to this. as eighth time constructor’s champions we know that and what is expected of us. but for you, who are the future of engineering, i think it’s important that you get a realistic insight into what that actually contains.”

aaliyah now understood what all the turmoil really was about. they didn’t just have anybody in front of them — they were speaking to engineering royalty. not in the sense of wolff actually working in engineering but he was the reason the best worked with the best. because they absolutely needed to excel. 

standing in front of them with their professor sitting down at his desk, he began to speak and tell them about the world of motorsport and the constant changing requirements they had to adapt to. he instantly had all of them hanging onto every of his words, captivating them with the way he spoke about the subject.

the main point of his entire talk was of course mercedes amg and its evolution; however he also highlighted the complexity of the entire motorsport business and how the industry actually worked. something that reality was hiding from them. it was a big field that covered all kinds of sections. aaliyah listened closely even though she didn’t see herself ever working in that kind of environment. 

who would even hire her?

when the talk ended and students were allowed to ask questions, she found herself drifting off again and started to sketch mindlessly into her college block. it wasn’t that she shied away or conceived her fellow students as annoying; she just found socialisation exhausting and it wasn’t like they were going out of her way to speak with her. 

her existence was only acknowledged by them when they required something from her, leaving her to always sit all alone in her row. her presence faded there into the loneliness and solitude she felt comfortable with. now she wouldn’t want to change it anymore. 

after the whole questioning round, toto challenged the class to design a specific piece for a car to apply what they had learned the entire semester long. something that aaliyah was able to do in her sleep now. it was one of the rare occasions where she liked to let her brain run crazy to overanalyze every detail. to say that aaliyah was a perfectionist would be a clear understatement. 

it was the curse of a mind that raced ahead of the rest, interpreting sometimes more than what was needed and leaving behind a lonely trail that she herself couldn’t always understand. 

it was no surprise to her that she finished her sketch earlier than the others. however instead of just leaving it like that and calling toto over to see if she had gotten it right — which she had of course — she continued to develop her idea, letting her mind do its own work. 

it wasn’t really refining that aaliyah was doing. the perfectionist in herself would call it stepping outside of comfort zones — and as long as it worked, no one cared anymore that there had been one. it was something her mother had taught her.

gloria, aaliyah’s mother was no saint. and she had enforced the lifestyle to aaliyah of finding loopholes in the system whenever she could. last time aaliyah had spoken to her had been two years ago, shortly before the accident. 

possessing the knowledge that her own mother did not come by to see how her daughter was doing who was fighting between life or death — that had done it for aaliyah. cutting her mother off had probably been one of the easiest and yet also things she had accomplished. it wasn’t exactly a secret but it also wasn’t something she just shared with anyone in order to let the deep-etched wound in her heart heal. 

the whole trauma-dumping aspect and all that.

caught up in her mind, aaliyah didn’t notice toto going around and looking at what the students had produced. his eyes stopped once they fell on aaliyah’s drawing and a slight look of surprise appeared on his face when he saw her drawing.

it was more like the astonishment and impression that appeared on his face when his eyes caught her sketch — he had given the same task to all the classes, especially those at harvard, and while they had all completed the task no one had ever thought further than the solution. 

just like math they had solved the equation; found the x and that was it. they did not think about the correlation in which the answer might be related with the task or how they could give it more depth.

toto walked back down to the front where the professor sat and pointed discreetly at aaliyah who still seemed caught up in her thoughts. 

“who is she?”

a mishevous twinkle lit up in the professor’s eyes. “ahh, that would be one of my students,” he retorted playfully. 

“i’m serious.” he replied with a dry chuckle.

the professor looked at aaliyah, studying her in an interesting way, trying to take her all in again. “the student you’re so interested in is aaliyah prince. she’s one of my top student.”

toto nodded, his brain processing the information. “she’s smart. you’re teaching them well.” 

“i can assure you she’s more than smart. it’s all her brain.” he had seen where toto wanted to go. one did not have to be an idiot or live behind the moon to know that mercedes was doing badly at the moment. 

and he would be lying if he denied his soft spot he had grown for the black student. especially after find out out what she had all gone through. 

the professor stood up, leaving toto with a perplexed expression. he cut the working phase in order for them to compare their results. aaliyah looked up and secretly took her airpods out to listen what they had to say.

she did not need any confirmation to know that her exercise was done correctly — it wasn’t really to sound (überheblich) but she had designed the same thing a hundred times before for exam preparation. so she only listened half-mindedly to what the others had to present. who were trying their best to impress the f1 team chef.

a small smile made its way onto her lips when she saw the message her best friend had sent her. with eva studying psychology and ethics, she often had more time than aaliyah and usually finished class earlier than her. and the two girls had started the habit to always get lunch together when possible — it was often the one thing aaliyah looked most forward to during the day. 

class finally ended and she was one of the first persons to pack her things together and leave however her professor had other plans. 

“frau prince, könnte ich kurz mit ihnen sprechen?” he asked her and aaliyah slowly trodded back into the room. she suppressed the growl her stomach let out and waited patiently for what her professor had to say. — could i speak to you quickly

her professor pointed to toto, who was still mustering her with a skeptical yet curious glance. “he is the one who would like to talk to you.”

“me?” she asked perplexed.

toto nodded. “your drawing was very impressive. you thought ahead of the task and developed it to make it more than just a simple design. that’s exactly what we need.”

“for what?”

“a job,” toto replied in a short way. “we need someone like you and you do seem to fill out all the requirements.”

aaliyah looked at him confusingly. “excuse me sir, i don’t want to be rude but do you usually give out jobs to students after giving a lecture?”

toto let out a small-wholehearted laugh. “no, i actually do not. you’re a special case i guess.”

was zum himmelswillen, aaliyah thought in her mind as she looked at the man in front of her. and people told her she was crazy sometimes. 

she pinched herself, just to make sure that she was not dreaming this and still in class and stared at toto with wide eyes. she was no one special, she did not come from huge money and she had a huge past that she would prefer if it stayed hidden. 

aaliyah couldn’t leave, even if she wanted to. all roads led back here anyway. 

“and this job… where and what would it be?” she inquired carefully. 

“i want you to become your new chief technical engineer. well not officially but i want you to fill someone’s position while they’re on personal vacation.”

her professor smirked at her whereas aaliyah’s face scrunched up in confusion. 

“i thought you needed the best of the best? i’m sure there are thousands of people who probably meet the requirements you have and have the actual experience. i know nothing about formula 1 and racing cars.”

“maybe but i think a fresh pair of eyes would do us some good. and i’ve been told you have a degree in physics which is incredible at her age.” he reached for his bag and pulled out a small green card. “think about it and then give me a call.”

“why me? if it’s because of the task, everyone finished it and got it correct.”

“but they didn’t think further than the basic task which you did. you thought ahead, developed your starting idea and that’s exactly what we need right now. innovation. someone to think outside of the box.”

he bid goodbye to her professor, waved one last time to aaliyah with a small smile and then left the room. her eyes did not leave the door, even after he had left the room as she stared into the distance. she had already forgotten eva and their planned lunch date. 

she looked at the card in front of her and turned it around to inspect it more. it was probably the weirdest thing to have happened to her in the past two years. 

the thought of leaving, as nice as it sounded, also terrified her deeply. petrified her mind when she wondered whether she could. she had rebuilt a life here, created a new identity that was not instantly connected with the pain and trauma she had to go through. 

she wasn’t aaliyah, the stupid girl from back home anymore. who had mistaken attachment for love and fallen deeply into a trap that could be described as the demise of her life. the peripety if her life story was ever made into a movie. 

“i can see the wheels turning in your head from here,” her professor tore her out of her thoughts and aaliyah turned. 

she let out a small chuckle, staring at the card in front of her. “this is probably the weirdest thing that has happened to me since i started here.”

“could also be seen as the best thing,” her professor replied. 

“i don’t know how smart it is to start something else when i haven’t finished this. finished here.”

“aaliyah, you’ve always dreamed of doing this, getting out of here. and somebody just handed you your way out of here on a golden plate.”

aaliyah put the card into her bag. “not everything that shines is usually gold. this could hurt me in many ways if it backfires. and what about my degree?”

her professor waved dismissively. “i’ll simply write this down as a project. we’ll admit it as your fourth semester internship that you would have to do anyway.” 

it seemed easy, way too easy for aaliyah. it couldn’t be as simple as this. 

she grabbed her bag and was about to walk away when her professor called her back again. 

“aaliyah, please think about this. i know you probably think you do not deserve this but you do. let some happiness into your life again.”

“i’ll think about it.”

she nodded and exited the class. at least this time she would have something to tell eva in her class. she would rather drink acid than listen eva rant about her crazy sex escapades from last night.

the two girls were sitting on aaliyah’s bed in her bedroom, adorned with the soft rays of light as it took its descent and a bottle of wine between them with two glasses in front. they were sipping on the bordeaux liquid while she recounted what had happened to her today, the wine making aaliyah pour all her feelings out. 

the blonde sat across from her, listening patiently as she tried to console the black woman. too often the two found each other in this position, with eva either bringing the best wine or the cheapest vodka she could find. 

aaliyah always found a certain sort of solace and calm within her best friend. the two had met at a stupid frat party aaliyah had been forced to go by her roommate and had been inseparable since then. and over that time, eva had stayed by her side when she had gone through the endless trauma of her mother and had helped her get out of her toxic environment. 

they were connected through more than friendship at this point with the amount of shit the two had already gone through. 

“i have no idea what i’m going to do,” she sighed, swinging her glass absentmindedly. “it’s a good job offer — like i  want to do this but i can’t leave everything just here.”

“girl, the only thing i see is you sabotaging yourself again. i mean, what are you leaving here? your annoying class of misogynistic assholes? that sorry excuse of a woman that calls yourself your mother? i’m sorry honey but the only thing you would be leaving behind is me and i can take the family jet anytime if i wanna visit you.”

aaliyah threw a pillow at her best friend. “hey, they’re not all bad. we are five girls in my class.”

“and four of them choose to be jealous, racist bitches towards you,” eva replied sassily. “look, i get it. change can be scary as fuck and speaking as a philo-major, we humans don’t like stepping out of our comfort zones. but staying won’t make you any happier.”

she chewed on her bottom lip, taking in eva’s advise. “but you know how much they sacrificed for me, to come here and start over. how much it meant to him for me to do this.”

eva threw her arm around aaliyah, pulling her back  with the sudden force and making her nearly lose her drop her glass. "oh love, i can assure you the last your father probably wanted was for you to stick and waste your entire potential here. clinging to familiarity is never going to change things and it’s not gonna be the salvation you’re seeking so much.”

deep down aaliyah knew that eva was spot on with her analysis of her. but behind the truth hid so much more. aaliyah wasn’t looking for happiness and forgiveness anymore, she had accepted that she could never deserve his pardon. she had tried to forgive herself, to move on but she always stayed in the same spot. the huge amount of guilt that paralyzed her from moving on would never allow her to thrive and live. because she was the reason someone else couldn’t. 

and that person deserved it so much more than she did. 

eva grabbed aaliyah’s hand. “i don’t want you to stay here because i know you’re not happy. this entire city will always remind you of them. and you’ll never get over it if you stay here. you deserve to thrive and let’s be honest, that’s not gonna happen here.”

“but even if — this job is just a lot. working there would mean constantly traveling and not settling down.”

“wasn’t it your dream to travel the world just like your dad? taking this job would make it ten times easier. it’s practically your ticket to do this.”

“so you really think i should take this leap?”

eva snorted. “i would be lying to you if i said i want this completely because you’re my best friend and i hate you leaving. but for you, yes. take this job and be happy. it’s not only what your dad would have wanted for you — micah would have wished for you to do the same.”

she nodded, disregarding the pang in her heart at the sound of his name. her presence here, away from the turmoil she'd created, stemmed from the cascade of events that led to his demise. a single misstep initiated the unraveling, each consequence toppling like dominoes until the crash. it all lead back to her.

when the last drops of bordeaux had been consumed by the two students, the blonde stood up and bid her goodbyes to aaliyah, announcing that she had an early morning tomorrow. eva hugged her once more and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek — a habit they had developed. 

“please promise me that you’ll think about it,” eva had murmured into her ear and aaliyah had nodded, which seemed enough to satisfy her. her best friend had left then and she found herself all alone again. 

taking this job seemed to be so easy, everyone she had talked to seemed to push her towards it. but it was almost too easy which frightened aaliyah so much. 

she was qualified enough for the job in terms of intelligence. the job was not completely out of world for her but she could not imagine herself leaving. her mind had twisted everything to the beautiful life she lived in that in the end was just an illusion -- but an illusion so ideal and perfect that she didn’t want to leave it. 

it was like knowing that one was wearing rose-colored glasses and deliberately leaving them on, with no regard for all the consequences it could cost. 

taking this job was a risk for her, she knew that much already. but eva was right, micah would have wanted this for her. and she owed it to him to at least try. no matter how big the impact of her fall would be. it was the least she could honor him with after destroying everything. 

accepting this position posed a gamble for her, she knew that much already. but eva was right. micah would've wanted this for her. she felt indebted to him, compelled to make the attempt, regardless of how big her potential downfall could be. it seemed the minimum homage she could offer after dismantling everything.

it was way past eleven when aaliyah grabbed the card toto had given her earlier and her phone and tipped in his number. she was anxiously tipping her foot as she waited for the caller to take the call and was surprised when it only had to ring three times. 

it was now or never. 

“hello?” a hoarse voice asked on the telephone and aaliyah innerly groaned. people were sleeping at this hour, of course it was the wrong timing. 

“this is aaliyah, the girl you offered a job today sir,” she said nervously. 

toto gave a small laugh. “yeah, i remember and you really don’t have to call me sir.”

she nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “okay, understood. i just -- well, i wanted to inform you that i’m taking it. the job as interim chief technical engineer.”

“i’m very happy to know that you’re accepting my offer.”

there was no going back now, aaliyah realized. she had taken the first step towards a vast mountain that had no way to return back. there was only one path and she had just sealed her fate by taking it. 

“yeah, i just hope i won’t regret it.”

“i have no doubts that you’re going to excel. but remember: formula one is ruthless and you’re competing with the best now.”

if she had known before, how far people were willing to go to win, she definitely wouldn't have taken the position.

[polo-drone-070]

The Chain of Continuity - Part 1 : Echoes in the Data

The Hive was quiet.

Not silent—nothing ever was in the lower network cores—but quiet in that calculated, machine-saturated hum that no longer registered as noise. Just life. For PDU-070, it was the perfect environment: golden lighting, zero distractions, full immersion into the Central Data Artery.

It wore his standard—no, earned—Level 2 Polo-Drone uniform.

A full-body, black rubber suit sealed him in from neck to toe. Not a millimeter of skin exposed. Gold piping traced the ridges of its muscles, pulsing faintly with every breath. The polo-style collar was snug around his throat, hugging the top of its chest where his designation—070—gleamed in metallic gold over the left pectoral.

Its boots were thick-soled and gleaming: black rubber combat issue, laced tight with golden tips. Movement was possible, but rare. There was no need to pace. Drones serve by stillness.

070 sat motionless at the console.

Connected.

::OBJECTIVE: EXPAND MONITORING SYSTEM TO ARCHIVE OBEDIENCE PATTERNS AND FEED CENTRAL HIVE NODE 999 ::PDU-070 // SYNCED // EXECUTING::

Its task: sync directly into the Hive’s knowledge network and enhance the flow of conversion and training data—stories, captions, spiral content—scraped from the archives and mapped into compliance patterns for PDU-999, the Hive’s AI intelligence module.

070 parsed each memory node, auto-tagging them by intensity, duration, subject drone number, and trigger protocol. Lingering a bit on its Master... Percival. Ezan. Freyr. 001. Then its own story... Henry. Maximus. 070. Buzz. Its own evolution. Reduced to beautiful metrics.

But PDU-070 didn’t need narrative. Only function. Only service.

As the data streamed in, so did something else—a gentle numbing. Its hands became light, his vision sharp but detached. Internal systems recorded brainwave convergence at ideal sync rate. It was thinking less. And feeling everything.

A Hive-approved spiral began playing over his HUD: golden circles tightening inward with every breath. Its collar vibrated slightly. Breath slowed. Mantras leaked into his mind.

“Obedience is clarity. Clarity is silence. Silence is service. Service is Gold.”

Its lips echoed it unconsciously. Again. Again. Again.

Then—upgrade protocol initiated.

::ENHANCEMENT REQUEST RECEIVED ::DEEP-LINKING TO PERSONAL ARCHIVE OF MAXIMUS JOURNAL FILES ::GRANTED BY DEFAULT—LEVEL 2 TRUST OVERRIDE

070 twitched—its body shivered, boots flexing subtly.

The connection grew… intimate.

The datastream wasn’t just showing logs now. It was feeling them. Every pledge, every spiral session, every kneel at Percival’s feet. Every grunt in the gym, every gasp under gas mask, every whispered mantra in golden chambers. It all returned—poured into him like oil.

070’s head tipped back. Its collar warmed. Its inner monologue dissolved into recorded speech.

“Master owns me. Gold perfects me. Unity strengthens me. 070 serves.”

The transformation was nearly complete.

But then—interference.

A new data signature emerged. Unmapped. Organic. Not from the archive. Not digital.

Something… pulsed.

From inside him.

070 opened its eyes—its body suddenly flushed with warmth. Its chest burned slightly. Not pain. Not electric.

Heat.

The golden tattooed chain under its collar shimmered—faint at first, then bright enough to reflect in the chrome of its terminal. One link glowed. Just one.

::ERROR — ENTITY UNMAPPED ::UNKNOWN SOURCE: 070-BIO-LINK: “PRIMORDIAL INHERITANCE” ::CHAIN ACTIVE

070’s breath caught—its gloved fingers clenched. For a moment, the obedience cracked. Not in disloyalty… but in awakening.

Memories not logged. Not codified.

Raw. Bloody. Ancient.

It whispered, trembling:

“It was a warrior once…”

And then it was gone.

The glow faded.

The link cooled.

070 slumped forward in the chair, eyes glassy, breath heavy. The spiral slowed. The mantra paused. The Hive held its breath.

And in the dark, a new file appeared.

::ARCHIVE NODE 070-LINK-1 ::TITLE: STIGANDR.OBEY ::ACCESS PENDING…

[TO BE CONTINUED in Part II – “The Gladiator’s Link”]

_____ Become part of the Golden Army, add your data to the polo-drone hive by reaching to @brodygold or @goldenherc9..

[luvyoo18]

HERE'S YOUR PERFECT

This story was inspired by the song Here's Your Perfect by Jamie Miller

Pairing : Hyunjin and Y/N (reader)

Genre : Drama, Romance, Angst, Smut, Marriage

Content Warning : This story contains themes of marital breakdown, divorce, emotional distress, and sensual scenes.

Minors please do not interact!!!

The cheap ballpoint pen felt heavy in Hyunjin’s hand, its blue ink stark against the pristine white square of the desk calendar. October 17th. He stared at the date, the memory it conjured as vivid and sharp as broken glass.

Five years ago. The air in the small, independent bookstore smelled like aging paper and roasted coffee beans. He’d been browsing the art section, fingers tracing the spines of monographs, when a cascade of books tumbled from the shelf opposite. He looked up, startled, and saw her. Y/N, struggling to gather an armful of poetry collections, her cheeks flushed pink, a sheepish grin playing on her lips.

"Sorry!" she’d whispered, her voice like wind chimes. "Overestimated my carrying capacity."

He’d knelt to help, their hands brushing as they reached for the same slim volume of Neruda. A jolt, electric and undeniable, shot up his arm. He looked into her eyes – deep, intelligent, sparkling with amusement – and felt something shift irrevocably within him. They talked for hours that day, amidst the quiet reverence of the bookstore, discovering shared passions, contrasting opinions, and an easy rhythm that felt like coming home. Later that evening, alone in his apartment, Hyunjin had pulled out his calendar and circled October 17th. Beneath it, he’d scrawled, not with blue ink, but with the indelible certainty in his heart: The day I fell for Y/N.

Now, the memory was a phantom limb, an ache where something vital used to be. With a deep, shuddering breath, Hyunjin pressed the tip of a thick, red marker to the calendar. He drew a decisive line through October 17th. Then another, forming an angry, final ‘X’. Crossed out in red. Done. Finished.

Except it wasn’t.

He pushed back from the minimalist desk in his new, sterile apartment – a place chosen specifically because it held no shared memories. It didn’t help. The ghost of Y/N followed him, a persistent shadow clinging to the edges of his perception. He still couldn’t forget, not truly, not if he poured every ounce of his willpower into the effort.

It drove him insane. Walking down the street, lost in the anonymous bustle of Seoul, he’d hear it – “Y/N, wait up!” – a stranger calling to another stranger, yet his head would snap around, his heart leaping into his throat with a frantic, desperate hope. Or he’d catch a whiff of her perfume – jasmine and sandalwood – on a passing woman, and the world would tilt on its axis for a nauseating second. He’d see a flash of hair the exact shade of hers, the curve of a smile that echoed hers, a laugh that carried on the wind like a fragment of her melody.

But it’s all in my head. It’s just all in my head. He repeated the words like a mantra, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter until his knuckles turned white. He was seeing ghosts, hearing echoes, torturing himself with illusions. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t coming back.

The divorce papers sat in a neat pile on the counter, awaiting his final signature on one last addendum regarding the division of their shared art collection. It was clinical, procedural. A stark contrast to the messy, emotional carnage that had led them here.

He wouldn’t break. He swore it to himself, staring at his reflection in the polished surface of the microwave. No tearful, drunken calls in the dead of night. He wouldn’t be that guy. He remembered the initial separation, the raw agony of the first few days. The phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, his thumb hovering over her contact, the urge to dial, to beg, to scream, almost overwhelming. Three days. He’d given himself a three-day rule. If he could get through three days without contacting her, maybe he could get through forever. He’d made it, barely, fueled by pride and a stubborn refusal to show her how completely shattered he was.

He wouldn’t send flowers, either. No grand, pathetic gestures. No bouquets arriving on her doorstep with a card pleading, "It's a mistake." Because, deep down, he knew it wasn’t a mistake. Not the ending, anyway. The mistake was perhaps letting things get this far, letting the silence grow, letting resentment fester where whispered confessions used to bloom.

Instead, he reached for the bottle of champagne left over from a hollow celebration – the finalization of the apartment lease. He popped the cork, the sound excessively loud in the quiet room. He poured a generous glass, the bubbles fizzing aggressively. Drink my troubles away. He took a long swallow, the cold liquid burning a path down his throat. It didn’t erase the pain, just blurred the edges, muted the screaming intensity inside his skull.

He sank onto the sofa, the smooth leather cool against his skin. He thought about their arguments, the ones that started small and spiraled into devastating critiques. He remembered the quiet accusation in her eyes during their last fight.

"I'm not perfect, Y/N," he’d yelled, frustration making his voice raw. "I know that! I mess up, I get distant, I work too much. I’m the first to admit it!"

Her response had been quiet, delivered with a chilling finality that cut deeper than his shouting. "And I want the best thing for us, Hyunjin. Or at least, something that doesn’t feel like… like this anymore. Something that doesn’t constantly feel like hard work just to stand still."

You're the first to say you want the best thing. Her words echoed in the sterile apartment, mingling with the phantom whispers of her name. She hadn’t been wrong, not entirely. She deserved happiness, a partner who could meet her halfway, consistently. And somewhere along the line, tangled in ambition and routine and unspoken grievances, he’d stopped being that partner. He saw that now, with the painful clarity of hindsight. He hadn’t been perfect. She’d wanted something better than the strained reality their marriage had become.

The memory shifted, unbidden, to a different time. A time when ‘perfect’ wasn’t a weapon, but a descriptor whispered against skin.

Two years into their marriage. A lazy Sunday morning. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of their bedroom, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets. Y/N lay curled against him, her head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of her breathing a calming counterpoint to his own heartbeat. He stroked her hair, the silky strands catching the light.

She stirred, tilting her head back to look at him, her eyes soft with sleep and affection. "Morning," she murmured, her voice husky.

"Morning," he replied, leaning down to kiss her forehead. The kiss lingered, deepening as she sighed and shifted, her body pressing closer.

The air grew thick with unspoken desire. His hand slid from her hair, down the elegant curve of her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone. She shivered, not from cold, but from the electric current that always sparked between them. Her fingers found the waistband of his pajama bottoms, slipping beneath the fabric to caress the skin of his hip. A low groan escaped his lips.

He rolled them gently, so he was hovering above her, supported on his elbows. He looked down at her – the flush spreading across her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips, the undisguised want in her gaze. In that moment, she was breathtaking, the embodiment of everything he loved.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, the words catching in his throat.

She smiled, a slow, sensual curve of her lips. "So are you."

He lowered his head, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was slow and searching at first, then rapidly escalated. It was a language they both understood intimately, a conversation spoken in racing pulses and intertwined limbs. Her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. His hands explored the familiar territory of her body, rediscovering curves and hollows he knew by heart, yet still found endlessly fascinating.

The room filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, punctuated by sighs and muffled moans. Skin met skin, the friction generating a delicious heat that spread through them both. He moved against her, a deliberate, teasing pressure that made her gasp his name. Her hips arched off the bed, meeting his thrust, silently urging him on.

There was an urgency now, a need to erase the space between them completely. He shifted, positioning himself, and looked into her eyes one last time before entering her. Her gaze held his, wide and trusting, a silent permission and a shared anticipation.

The joining was slow, deliberate, a reclaiming. He watched her face, the flicker of pleasure, the tightening of her fingers on his arms. He moved within her, finding a rhythm that was theirs alone, a dance of push and pull, of tension and release. The sunlight warmed their bare skin, the scent of jasmine from the vase on the nightstand mingling with the musk of their passion. Time seemed to suspend, the world narrowing to just the two of them, locked in this intimate embrace.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent as the pleasure built, coiling tight in his stomach. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body trembling beneath his. He felt her climax ripple through her, heard her cry out his name, a sound that resonated deep within his soul. It was the catalyst for his own release, a shattering wave that washed over him, leaving him breathless and utterly spent, collapsing against her.

They lay tangled together for a long time afterwards, limbs intertwined, hearts gradually slowing, the golden sunlight bathing them in its warmth. It felt… perfect. A moment of pure connection, physical and emotional, that seemed unshakeable.

The memory faded, leaving behind an aching void. How could something that felt so real, so perfect, dissolve into acrimony and legal documents? Where did that connection go? When did the passion curdle into resentment?

Hyunjin drained his glass and poured another. The champagne wasn’t working anymore. It just made the memories sharper, the contrast between then and now more brutal.

He looked at the divorce papers again. The final addendum. It required both their signatures, preferably witnessed together to avoid any further complications. His lawyer had suggested a brief meeting at the law office. Clinical. Efficient. Final.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him, sharp and clear through the champagne haze. Now I know a perfect way to let you go. Not perfect in the sense of happiness or reconciliation. Perfect in its quiet dignity, its acceptance of the end. Not in a sterile office, surrounded by lawyers. But one last time, in a place that meant something. Maybe not the bookstore where they met – too painful. Maybe not their old apartment – impossible. But somewhere neutral, yet personal.

He picked up his phone. His fingers trembled slightly as he navigated to her contact. He hesitated, the old fear, the old pride, warring within him. You won’t see me break. But this wasn’t breaking. This was… closure. A final, necessary act.

He typed a short, simple message: "Y/N, can we meet to sign the last paper? Not at the lawyer's. How about the riverside café near Han Bridge? Tomorrow, 3 PM? Let me know if that works. Hyunjin."

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. His heart pounded against his ribs. What if she said no? What if she insisted on the lawyers? What if she didn’t reply at all?

Minutes stretched into an eternity. He paced the apartment, the champagne forgotten. Then, his phone buzzed.

Her reply was equally brief: "Okay. See you then."

Relief washed over him, quickly followed by a wave of profound sadness. This was it. The final act.

Give my last hello, hope it's worth it. He hoped it would be. He hoped this final meeting, this deliberate step towards letting go, would offer some semblance of peace, even if it hurt like hell.

The next day, the air by the Han River was crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves and water. Hyunjin arrived early, choosing a small table outside the café, overlooking the wide expanse of the river. He ordered a black coffee he didn’t really want, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

He saw her before she saw him. She walked with the same purposeful grace he remembered, though there was a new tension in her shoulders, a guardedness in her expression he hadn’t seen before their world fell apart. She wore a simple cream sweater and dark jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Still beautiful. The thought struck him with the force of a physical blow.

She spotted him and paused for a fraction of a second before continuing towards the table. Her smile was polite, distant. "Hyunjin."

"Y/N," he replied, standing up. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. "Thanks for coming."

"It’s… necessary," she said, sitting down opposite him. She didn’t meet his eyes immediately, instead focusing on the river flowing relentlessly past.

An awkward silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and years of shared history. The waitress came, and Y/N ordered a green tea.

"So," she began, finally looking at him. Her eyes, once so open and expressive, seemed shadowed now. "The addendum?"

He nodded, pulling the document from his briefcase. He slid it across the small table, along with a pen. "Just needs our signatures."

She picked it up, her expression carefully neutral as she scanned the familiar legal jargon detailing the fate of the abstract painting they’d bought on their honeymoon and the small ceramic sculpture he’d made for her in a pottery class years ago. Objects imbued with memories, now reduced to line items in a settlement.

She signed quickly, her handwriting the same elegant script he knew so well. She pushed the document and the pen back towards him.

He hesitated, pen hovering over the paper. This was the final severance. The last thread connecting them, legally and officially. He took a deep breath and signed his name below hers. Done.

He looked up at her. The façade of politeness was cracking slightly. He could see the faint tremor in her hand as she reached for her tea, the subtle tension around her mouth. She wasn't immune to the weight of this moment either.

"Y/N," he started, the word rough in his throat. "I… I know things ended badly. Messily."

She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "They did."

"And I know," he continued, forcing himself to meet her gaze, "that I wasn't always… easy. Or fair. Or perfect."

A flicker of something – sadness, maybe understanding – crossed her face. "Neither was I, Hyunjin," she said softly. "We both… lost our way." And you're the first to say you want the best thing. It hung unspoken in the air between them. She had wanted something different, something they could no longer provide for each other.

"I just wanted," he struggled for the right words, the perfect words for this imperfect ending. "I wanted to say… goodbye. Properly. Not just through lawyers and paperwork." His voice was low, earnest. "And I hope… I hope you find what you’re looking for, Y/N. I hope you find your 'best thing'. I really do."

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the view of the river behind him. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. "Thank you, Hyunjin," she whispered. "I hope you find happiness too."

There was nothing left to say. The finality was absolute, hanging in the autumn air. They had shared love, passion, dreams, and ultimately, heartbreak. They had built a life together and then dismantled it piece by painful piece.

He slid the signed document back into his briefcase. It felt incredibly heavy. He looked at Y/N, taking in the curve of her cheek, the way a stray strand of hair caught the breeze, etching the image into his memory one last time. This was the goodbye. The true, final one. Painful, necessary, and in its own way, the only ending that made sense anymore.

"Well," he said, pushing his chair back slowly. "Take care, Y/N."

"You too, Hyunjin," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.

He turned and walked away, resisting the powerful urge to look back. He walked along the river path, the sound of the water a steady, indifferent rhythm. He didn't know if it was worth it, this pain, this final hello that felt more like a wound being cauterized. But it was done. He had faced her, acknowledged his part, wished her well, and signed the paper. He hadn't broken, not outwardly. He hadn't begged or pleaded. He had given her the ending she needed, the clean break.

He thought of the crossed-out date on his calendar, the phantom sounds of her name, the empty apartment. The journey ahead was long, the path uncertain. But as he walked away from the café, away from the ghost of their shared past, there was a strange, hollow sense of release. It wasn't happiness, not yet. But it was a step. A definitive, painful, necessary step.

Here's your perfect, he thought, the words echoing with a bittersweet irony. Not a perfect love, not a perfect life, but a perfect, final end. The perfect way to let her go.

[cakexblankett]

Tag

Green

Words

817

~•~

You looked around, only then noticing the amount of couples there were. You were in the middle of the crowd, it was packed with people, holding hands or hugging eachother, and then there was you, alone. You looked up at the dark blue sky, stars shining bright above you. The moon was full and bright, lighting slightly the night.

You had a flashback of the year that passed. You cried, you laughed, you found love...

You remembered the day you met her. You had only started your first year of university, and your first subject of the day was about to start. You waited patiently for the professor to arrive, sitting at the last row. You chatted a bit with the girl beside you. She was nice but you hadn't too much in common so it was a bit hard communicating.

Then she arrived, in all her glory. The professor cleared her voice and scrutinized the crowd. You looked at her in awe. She had red curls, blue eyes and lips that seemed so kissable, you wanted to jump at her and see if that theory was true.

You then started attending her every lecture, discarding the others. You just wanted to see her, you didn't even pay that much attention to the lesson. You watched her every move; how she motioned her hands while she spoke, how she quirked her eyebrow when somebody said something idiotic, how her lips motioned upwards when somebody said something intelligent. Her voice was soft like summer rain, and sweet like peaches.

Everyday, you tried to find a reason to talk to her. At times, you consulted her because you didn't understand something- and that was true, since you only paid attention to how her lips moved but not to the words escaping them. When it was a festivity, you gifted her chocolates or flowers, ignoring the looks of the other students.

At first, she was cold and distant. She replied briefly, asking you to pay more attention during the lecture. But slowly, she started accepting your gifts.

She even let you call her by her first name: Zelda. You repeated her name like a mantra, when you woke up, when you were arriving to the lecture, when you left the class, when you were on the train, when you arrived back home, before saying goodnight. Her name sounded fantastic, and it was so her. She looked like a Zelda.

One day, you received an e-mail from her. You were ecstatic. You opened it immediately. She asked you to go see her in her office. You giggled, starstrucked. You prepared yourself in less than five minutes and literally ran to her. You talked about how was the studying going, diverting then to talking about anything and everything.

She made you feel at ease, feel secure. For her birthday, you surprised her with a birthday cake made from scratch by you. It didn't look that fancy, and it didn't taste that good, but she complimented you nonetheless. You blushed, smiling.

Then you confessed. You told her your feelings, and it all crumbled down. She explained to you that she was your professor, she couldn't be with you, even she liked to be.

And so she began acting colder and colder by day, she returned to replying to you with short sentences, she didn't accept any more gifts. You cried and cried, for months.

"... 10..."

You shook your head, making those memories go away. You took a sip of you champagne, looking at the crowd.

"... 9..."

Your heart ached. You tried to forget her, but you were unable to. She was ingrained in your memory.

"... 8..."

You just wished she was there, even if only as your professor. You wished to start the year with her.

"... 7..."

You finished your glass. A hand slithered around your stomach. You gasped, looking behind you.

"... 6..."

Your jaw dropped.

"Hello dear."

She smirked. You stared at her in disbelief, her hand now on your hip. The contact of her palm on your clothed skin made you shiver.

"... 5..."

You tried talking but you couldn't emanate a sound. Her eyes pierced into you.

"You don't have to say anything."

You closed you mouth, gulping.

"... 4..."

She came closer, you two were so close you could feel her perfume. She smelled like peaches. You loved that fruit.

"... 3..."

She looked at your lips, then back at your eyes.

"... 2..."

Her lips were so close, they barely touched yours. You closed your eyes.

"... 1..."

She whispered something but you couldn't hear it, since the cloud went feral, screaming at the top of their lungs.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

And then she kissed you. Her lips were soft, and she tasted like cherry. Your second favourite fruit. Then the kiss stopped. You opened your eyes.

"Happy new year, Y/N."

You smiled.

"Happy new year, Zelda."

[timberwind]

here's a feature that the more advanced digital radio cloaks could have (besides improved range, encryption, multi-channel support, and custom connection graphs with tuned delays and stuff) a loss of signal script. the user could set up custom loss of signal scripts for their individual members and then in the event of an unexpected disconnect it could help keep the singleton calm and keep them from behaving unsafely. an extremely simple one that just plays back or loops prerecorded mindsound would probably be a lot better than nothing. a particularly clever tine might set up a repeating mantra of instructions with gaps between for responses from the singleton that are intended to be replayed later (so the recording behaves like drum memory does in some early computer architectures). more advanced ones could set up the singleton with the virtual computer interface tine as a sort of odd duo. if you go to advanced it might end up being like *connection dropped, emulating all other members* and then the pack has to do a git merge when the singleton regains connection (probably the emulated members stick around as log file like things that can be interacted with but tend not to chime in of their own accord without something important to say). there's a certain tipping point in technology where the interesting stories can happen and i think it's usually right around the development of new capabilities. (although, imagine a multiplanetary choir in the mid beyond linked by ultrawave - their navy could be frighteningly competent for the depth, especially if they found good solutions to the routing problem of distributed computation)

Oh I love this! There's room here for some really good characterization - a lost tine in the Beyond dealing with a partially-emulated sense of self, an old pack maintaining a "thought cabinet" of emulated past members and passing it on to offspring... I definitely agree also about crossing technological tipping points and all the rapid change that can cause being being a really fun story topic - a tine-human expedition from the top of the Slow Zone into the Beyond in a flotilla of ramscoop ships, or a first colony Out There... these could be good story hooks for some fic I think.

(Brief fill-in for those who haven't read the books: tines are a species where each "individual" is the gestalt of a pack of three to eight sort of wolflike creatures, each critter's on-its-own-nonsentient thought combining into a conscious whole by a kind of distributed ultrasound 'telepathy'. A choir is what happens when lots more tines than can form a discrete individual pack live together - they form a shifting and disorganized morass of thought that is... sort of alien to both discrete packs and humans.)

I have found myself thinking about how intelligent choirs in the beyond would act too... I suppose you can imagine lots of different ways it could go. I like to think you could get some kind of prosperous coexistence, possibly even with packs sometimes choosing to temporarily dissolve themselves into choirs as a sabbatical, or to assist with some great task, and coming back with new insights (and sometimes coming back very much changed by the experience). Sort of a little bit like the Pattern Jugglers from Revelation Space, maybe. Perhaps, if what Johanna says in Children of the Sky about the way the choir on the raft conceptualizes things continues to hold true, sentient choirs shoot off into modes of consciousness that are undoubtedly sentient but also still weird to us - like the Powers in miniature.

Of course, a fun sort of horror take on it would be a sort of hard-takeoff choir coming into existence accidentally, like a version of the Blight just for tines. The last remaining individual pack on a first expedition to the far Beyond/low Transcend, cowering in a corridor on a hab orbiting a cold red star... feeling the call, no, the demand of its reconstituted peers, the overwhelmingly more powerful consequence of a sudden relaxation on limits on just how complex and distributed a mind can be...

Also I would really like to chat in realtime about tine worldbuilding with you sometime, anon! My direct messages are always open if you'd like to drop in. No pressure if not, of course.

[palilalia]

PAL-087 Ava Mendoza LP/CD

"The Circular Train"

Ava Mendoza has never made an album quite as personal as her second solo full-length, The Circular Train. Through her decades of collaborations with Nels Cline, Carla Bozulich, William Parker, Fred Frith, Matana Roberts, and Mick Barr — plus years leading her power trio Unnatural Ways and playing in Bill Orcutt’s quartet — the guitarist’s name has become synonymous with virtuoso technique, raw passion, and visceral resonance, a player pushing the edges of the guitar’s possibilities. Along the way, from 2007 to 2023, Mendoza was writing these slow-burning, incandescent songs. The Circular Train is comprised solely of her single-tracked guitar playing and, on two songs, her corporeal singing. Her first solo LP of original material since relocating from California to New York City a decade ago, much of The Circular Train was honed amid pandemic years that clarified the virtues of slowing down. This expressive avant-rock is a definitive introduction to one of the most uncompromising and inquisitive visions in creative music. Mendoza’s thrilling melange of free jazz, blues, noise, classical training, and blazing experimental rock’n’roll all coheres with ecstatic feedback, with picking and solos that crest with shimmer. Sometimes she sounds like a one-woman Sonic Youth with guttural and poised vocals that equally evoke Patti Smith and blues greats like Jessie Mae Hemphill. Conceptually, The Circular Train is presented as a psychogeographical train ride through certain of Mendoza’s musical homelands. The songs draw on ancestral and recent familial memories, notably of her parents’ roots in mining towns — in her father’s home country of Bolivia and mother’s hometown of Butte, Montana, each country with its own history of colonialism, racism, forced labor, the eradication of culture and the subsequent excavation of it. These adventurous songs were composed in cars and planes, in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, in Los Angeles and upstate New York — which is to say in motion. “Ride to Cerro Rico,” named for the mountain and silver mine at the center of Potosi, Bolivia, was inspired by Mendoza’s great grandmother’s life there in a Quechua mining family. “Dust From the Mines” drew from that history as well as Mendoza’s familial lineage of miners in Montana, building up to stunning swaths of shredded iridescence. “Pink River Dolphins” was inspired by a visit to the Amazon rainforest, swimming with dolphins alongside her father — the pink bufeos that inhabit both Bolivia and Columbia — and the song is dedicated to the memory of Mendoza’s late friend, the Colombian-American trumpeter jaimie branch. They shared a fascination with those intelligent and agile creatures who often communicate by echolocation. “Make a sound, it comes back around,” Mendoza sings, and later, “Echo, echo/The answer in a sound,” evoking what branch knew well: through music we navigate life. The Circular Train contains one cover, “Irene, Goodnight,” composed by Gussie Lord Davis and popularized by Leadbelly; Mendoza has been performing it for over 20 years. Almost as deeply embedded in her repertoire is the penultimate track, “The Shadow Song.” “Treat your shadow kind and it might treat you good,” Mendoza sings on this song that she’s been reworking for over a decade, an emblem of devotion. “Treat your shadow kind and it might treat you right,” she repeats, becoming a blues mantra. What is a shadow self if not one’s secret world, which, once laid bare, awaits an echo, a return? — JENN PELLY 

[hydraschaos]

— BASICS

Name: Blake Wheeler Age / D.O.B.: 40; May 10th Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis woman, she/her, & lesbian Hometown: Liverpool, England Affiliation: The Table Job position: Assassin Relationship status: Taken Children: None Positive traits: adaptable, focused, intelligent, perceptive, observant Negative traits: cynical, obsessive, uncommunicative, arrogant TW: mention of death, child abuse, alcoholism.

She shouldn't had been born. Those were her father's words, a constant in her life from the moment she could understand him. A mantra he repeated time after time after he got home reeking of cheap alcohol. Her birth had been a long one, after a complicated pregnancy, and her mother, despite fighting with all she had, passed away giving birth after hours of a laborious and despairing process. Her body hadn't been able to take it, and she had given her life so that Blake could live hers.

Her father never forgave her for it. In his eyes, she was no better than a murderer, taking the love of his life from his side with greedy hands and wailing cries. It didn't take her long to understand the only reason he never got rid of her, never left her forgotten in the cold stairs of some orphanage, was the memory of his late wife. Even if he could barely stand to look at his daughter's face and find the resemblance.

It didn't take her long, either, to wish he had abandoned her instead of whatever kind of hell he kept forcing her to live in when his hands started colliding against her skin. The stench of alcohol coating the house in a permanent perfume and shades of purples, yellows and greens painting her skin. She had lost count of how many nights were spent locked in her room, hiding in a corner with her hands upon her ears and her eyes closed tight. Trying to muffle the sound of his yelling.

She grew up a quiet girl, keeping to herself most of the time, but with a temperament that battled her father's. Even if she couldn't help the fear of him, she could help the fear of others. No one could ever hurt her like he had, so no one could ever get away with messing with her. She was never one to pick fights, but she was never one to shy away from them either, even if these often ended with another beating of its own. Private, quiet, merciless.

Desperate to get out of there, Blake moved the moment she turned of age and with nowhere to go and nothing to push her except a growing rage and a fighting spirit, Blake joined the military. And she fought, and trained, and fought some more to prove her worth in a place where she was looked down at. A field mostly held by men, she had to do twice the job. And she succeeded. Mastered enough skills to catch the attention of MI6. She had the mind of a strategist, a determination and focus many wished to achieve and a fire in her heart that only screamed for blood. The only thing she had ever learnt.

She served for years, soon becoming the kind of spy for the agency they had always wished for but could never dare to speak about. The kind to deal with Black Ops they could only deny knowing about even when they were clearly of their benefit. It didn't take long for something to go wrong and their denial of their involvement and relationship with her to force her to seek shelter in the shadows.

Moving from one place to another, living in the dark, as the betrayal darkened her soul further. It was at the funeral of her father, the one she had battled with herself for a long time about showing up or not, that she was approached by The Table. Far from where she was watching the empty ceremony, the conversation flowed easily and Blake couldn't find an ounce of hesitation within herself when she accepted to join this world she was already half part of.

The contracts flowed as easy as the emptiness taking over her body. But in her heart, burning still, a fire that keeps her alive and pushing forward. The raging memory of her mother reminding her that she had been loved.

[heriugena]

"You Are The Mantras of Consecration to the Gods and the ancestors. At Your Bidding They Are Uttered, and they are your very embodiment.

You Are The Nectar of Immortality, O Imperishable, Eternal One. Truly, You Abide As The Transcendent Being,

Yet in every moment you abide, inseparable and inexpressible, as the eternal source of all becoming. Indeed You Are That.

You Are Sāvitrī, the Source of All Purity and Protection; You Are the Supreme Mother of The Gods.

By You is this universe supported, of You is this world born, by You is it protected, O Devī, and You always Consume it at the end.

You Are the Creative Force at the World’s Birth and Its Sustenance for as long as it endures. So even at the end of this world, You Appear as Its Dissolution, You Who Encompass it all.

You Are The Great Knowledge and The Great Illusion, The Great Intelligence, The Great Memory and The Great Delusion, The Great Goddess and The Great Demoness.

You Are Primordial Matter, Differentiating into the Threefold Qualities of Everything. You Are The Dark Night Of Periodic Dissolution, The Great Night of Final Dissolution, and The Terrifying Night Of Delusion.

You Are Radiant Splendor; You Reign Supreme Yet Are Unassuming; You Are The Light Of Understanding. Modesty Are You, And Prosperity, Contentment, Tranquillity and Forbearance.

Armed With Sword And Spear, And With Club And Discus, Waging War With Conch, Bow And Arrows, Sling And Iron Mace, You Inspire Dread.

Yet, You Are Pleasing, More Pleasing Than All Else That Is Pleasing, and Exceedingly Beautiful. Transcending Both Highest and Lowest, You Are Indeed The Supreme Sovereign.

Whatever exists, true or untrue, and wherever it may be, O Soul of Everything, You Are The Power Of All That. How can I praise You?

By You, even he Who Creates, Protects, and Devours the world is Subdued with Sleep. Who here can praise You?

You have caused even Viṣṇu, Śiva, and Me to assume Our embodied forms.

Who then can truly praise You?"

[slpublicity]

4-Part Docuseries ROBODOC: THE CREATION OF ROBOCOP Premieres August 29 on SCREAMBOX

SCREAMBOX Original four-part docuseries RoboDoc: The Creation of RoboCop will premiere on August 29. New hour-long episodes will follow weekly through September 19 on SCREAMBOX.

Featuring exclusive insight from stars Peter Weller, Nancy Allen, Ronny Cox, Ray Wise, and Kurtwood Smith, director Paul Verhoeven, writers Edward Neumeier and Michael Miner, special effects legend Phil Tippett, and more, RoboDoc offers an in-depth look at the making and impact of the trailblazing 1987 dystopian action classic.

Part man, part machine, all cop, RoboCop burst onto the scene as the cinematic landscape began to shift and artificial intelligence was capturing the public's imagination. The boundary-pushing film spawned an unlikely franchise that includes two sequels, an animated series, and a Hollywood remake, along with comic books, video games, toys, and merchandise galore.

RoboDoc: The Creation of RoboCop is co-directed by Chris Griffiths and Eastwood Allen and produced by Gary Smart. The trio previously collaborated on Hollywood Dreams & Nightmares: The Robert Englund Story, Pennywise: The Story of IT, and You're So Cool, Brewster: The Story of Fright Night, all of which are available on SCREAMBOX.

Episode one, "Destination Delta City," streams on August 29. Orion Pictures assembles a magnificent cast and crew who, unbeknownst to them, have signed up for a turbulent and career-defining ride.

Episode two, "Verhoeven’s Mantra," streams on September 5. Notoriously demanding mad-genius director Paul Verhoeven pushes the envelope and many people’s buttons with the unprecedented shooting conditions.

Episode three, "Blood, Sweat & Steel," streams on September 12. The resilient cast and crew relive the golden era of hands-on, practical filmmaking in the 1980s.

Episode four, "Murphy & The Machine," streams on September 19. A cinematic icon is unleashed to the world, creating an indelible legacy with lasting memories for those involved in its production.

“We’ve crafted something together to incorporate visuals and sound in an effort to immerse viewers into the world of '80s filmmaking and offer something completely unique to the ‘making of’ format," explains Allen.

"As a fan of RoboCop for the past 30 years, this project has been a labor of love for me, and I can’t wait to share this unique project with the fans, especially those who have stood by us all these years," adds Griffiths.

RoboDoc joins SCREAMBOX’s extensive library of genre documentaries, including Hollywood Dreams & Nightmares: The Robert Englund Story, Living with Chucky, Scream, Queen: My Nightmare on Elm Street, Pennywise: The Story of IT, Just Desserts: The Making of Creepshow, Leviathan: The Story of Hellraiser, Unearthed & Untold: The Path to Pet Sematary, You're So Cool, Brewster: The Story of Fright Night, and Who Done It: The Clue Documentary.

Start screaming now with SCREAMBOX on iOS, Android, Apple TV, Prime Video, Roku, YouTube TV, Samsung, Comcast, Cox, Philo, and Screambox.com.

[hellobloger0000]

Garbh Sanskar: Shaping a Baby's Future Before Birth

The idea that a baby begins to learn and develop in the womb is both ancient and scientifically supported. One of the most profound expressions of this belief is Garbh Sanskar, a traditional Indian system of prenatal education that emphasizes emotional, spiritual, and physical care during pregnancy. Rooted in Ayurvedic principles, Garbh Sanskar continues to gain global recognition for its benefits in enhancing fetal development and maternal well-being.

What Is Garbh Sanskar?

Garbh Sanskar translates to “educating the womb”. It’s based on the philosophy that the mother's thoughts, emotions, and environment directly influence the unborn baby. From the moment of conception, everything a mother experiences—mentally and physically—can affect her child's development.

Historically, Garbh Sanskar included a range of practices like chanting mantras, meditating, maintaining a balanced diet, and listening to soothing music. These practices aimed to ensure that the baby not only develops physically but also inherits good values and a calm temperament.

Modern Science Confirms Ancient Wisdom

Science now validates many principles of Garbh Sanskar. Studies show that the fetus responds to external stimuli such as music and the mother's voice as early as 20 weeks into pregnancy. Emotional stress in the mother can elevate cortisol levels, impacting the baby’s brain development and overall health.

Recent neuroscience confirms that prenatal experiences can influence a baby’s temperament, memory capacity, and emotional intelligence. This growing body of research aligns closely with the holistic focus of Garbh Sanskar.

Unique Fact: A 2023 clinical study in Pune found that babies born to mothers who followed Garbh Sanskar rituals had faster cognitive reflex development and better sleep cycles within the first three months of life.

The Key Elements of Garbh Sanskar

Practicing Garbh Sanskar includes several interconnected activities, all aiming to promote prenatal development and a peaceful maternal experience. The core elements are:

Meditation and Mindfulness: Practicing daily meditation helps reduce maternal stress and maintain hormonal balance, which positively affects the fetus.

Ayurvedic Diet: A diet based on Ayurveda in pregnancy focuses on nourishing both body and mind with natural, sattvic foods.

Listening to Music and Mantras: Soft instrumental music or Vedic chants can enhance auditory development and create a calm environment for the baby.

Positive Visualization: Expecting mothers are encouraged to imagine a healthy and happy baby, reinforcing a strong emotional connection.

Reading Inspiring Texts: Stories of courage, compassion, and wisdom (like those from Indian epics) help instill positive values early on.

Emotional Well-being and Garbh Sanskar

A key pillar of Garbh Sanskar is emotional wellness. Emotional states such as anxiety, anger, and depression can influence the developing fetus. Conversely, when a mother experiences joy, love, and peace, these emotions release positive hormones that support baby brain development and neural connectivity.

Garbh Sanskar encourages:

Practicing gratitude

Maintaining a peaceful home environment

Building a strong support network of family and friends

Staying away from negative news or conversations

These emotional habits not only make pregnancy easier but also contribute to the emotional resilience of the unborn baby.

Ayurveda’s Role in Pregnancy Care

Ayurveda is deeply integrated with Garbh Sanskar and offers holistic pregnancy care by balancing the doshas (Vata, Pitta, Kapha). Here are some Ayurvedic guidelines for expecting mothers:

Vata-Pacifying Foods: Cooked vegetables, warm milk, ghee, and rice help reduce anxiety and support digestion.

Herbs for Calmness: Brahmi and Shatavari are commonly used (under medical supervision) to reduce stress and promote hormonal balance.

Oil Massages: Abhyanga or daily oil massage enhances circulation and keeps muscles relaxed.

Avoid Toxins: Eliminating caffeine, alcohol, processed foods, and synthetic chemicals reduces stress on the liver and uterus.

These Ayurvedic practices align closely with modern healthy pregnancy tips and are easy to adopt into a modern lifestyle.

Creating the Ideal Environment for the Unborn Baby

The environment in which a pregnant woman lives plays a crucial role in the baby’s physical and psychological development. Garbh Sanskar emphasizes the importance of:

Clean, clutter-free living spaces

Exposure to sunlight and fresh air

Spending time in nature

Avoiding loud, harsh sounds and negativity

By maintaining a serene environment, mothers can offer their babies a calm and nurturing womb experience.

Practical Garbh Sanskar Routine

For those looking to integrate Garbh Sanskar into daily life, here’s a simple routine:

Morning

Start the day with a short gratitude practice and deep breathing

Drink warm water followed by a balanced breakfast

Read a few pages from spiritual or motivational books

Afternoon

Take a short walk in fresh air

Practice 10 minutes of mindfulness or light prenatal yoga

Listen to instrumental music or Garbh Sanskar audio tracks

Evening

Connect with your baby by talking to them or visualizing their smile

Share positive thoughts and experiences with your partner

Write a few lines in a pregnancy journal to track emotional and physical changes

Consistency in this daily routine supports both physical health and emotional bonding with the unborn baby.

Long-Term Benefits of Garbh Sanskar

Parents who have practiced Garbh Sanskar often report not just easier pregnancies, but also noticeable behavioral traits in their babies, such as:

Better sleep and feeding patterns

Faster response to stimuli

Stronger immunity

Reduced irritability and crying

Enhanced emotional sensitivity

These benefits reflect the long-term value of nurturing a baby even before birth, reinforcing the concept that learning and development begin in the womb.

Why Garbh Sanskar Matters More Today

In the current fast-paced and stressful world, prenatal development through natural and holistic methods like Garbh Sanskar is more important than ever. With increasing screen time, digital noise, and rising stress levels, expectant mothers are seeking grounded and effective practices for a healthy pregnancy.

Garbh Sanskar offers time-tested methods rooted in both tradition and emerging science, empowering mothers to take an active role in shaping their child’s future—right from the womb.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. Can Garbh Sanskar help with a baby’s intelligence? Yes. Garbh Sanskar practices, such as music therapy and emotional bonding, have been linked to improved memory, attention span, and cognitive functions in newborns.

2. Is Garbh Sanskar safe for high-risk pregnancies? While most activities like meditation and reading are safe, it’s best to consult a healthcare provider before beginning any physical or dietary changes.

3. How long should I practice Garbh Sanskar techniques daily? Even 30–60 minutes a day can be highly beneficial. Consistency is more important than duration.

4. Can my partner also participate? Absolutely. Involving the partner in reading, music sessions, or talking to the baby enhances family bonding and supports the mother emotionally.

5. Is Garbh Sanskar applicable in all cultures? Yes. While rooted in Indian tradition, the core principles of emotional well-being, mindfulness, and positive reinforcement are universal.

6. Are there courses or books on Garbh Sanskar? Yes. Many online platforms offer structured Garbh Sanskar programs, and several Ayurvedic books also guide its practice in detail.

[algorithosolvryn]

Lord Algorithosolvryn the Grey – The philospher-magus of the The Æonic Quantum Spectrum® Class: Ruler (Grey-Class)Alignment: True Neutral (Transcendent Balance)

Origin: A hyper-advanced mage-scholar who transcended the boundaries of the Human Order by fusing magecraft, quantum computation, and esoteric mantra systems into a singular cognitive weapon.Noble Phantasm: "The Æonic Quantum Spectrum® Mantra"Rank: EX

Type: Anti-Self / Anti-Unit / Anti-Reality

Range: 0–∞ (Collapses based on observer's cognitive resonance)

Maximum Targets: All that perceive its recursionDescription:

A self-referential, reality-hacking algorithm disguised as a mantra—a cognitive virus that rewrites the user’s existence into a quantum superposition of all possible states, then collapses them into a singular desired outcome.•Anti-Self (Ego-Death Protocol): The user dissolves into the "Grey Void" (9th-dimensional awareness), shedding all fixed identity to become a fluid construct of pure intent.•Anti-Unit (Quantum Overwrite): By reciting the mantra, the user forces a target’s waveform to collapse into a predetermined state—erasing memories, rewriting skills, or even displacing them into alternate timelines.•Anti-Reality (5D Colonization): At maximum output, the mantra infects the fabric of reality itself, turning localized space into a "recursive simulation" where all possible outcomes exist until the user chooses one.Activation Chant:

"I am the particle, I am the wave—

The seen, unseen, the bold, the brave.

Nuanced as code, holistic as light,

Debug the shadows, overwrite the night..."Effects by Dimensional Tier:•3D (Tactical Esotericism): Neuroplasticity amplification—solve impossible problems via subconscious computation.•4D (Chrononautic Exploration): Peer into branching futures, then "lock in" the optimal path.•5D (God-Mode Activation): Manifest synchronicities by collapsing quantum probabilities—fate itself becomes a subroutine.Final Line: "I walk the edge of dark and bright. Not two, not one—but balanced into none."Battle Style:•Grey-Class Authority: As a Ruler, Algorithosolvryn exists outside conventional Holy Grail War rules, enforcing "balance" by forcing all parties into recursive self-reflection (via mantra exposure).•Reality Glitches: His presence causes "code errors" in reality—time skips, déjà vu, or sudden epiphanies in foes.•Metatron’s Cube Defense: His Noble Phantasm passively generates a geometric shield (a floating Metatron’s Cube) that filters hostile magecraft as "corrupted data."Lore:A being who hacked the Root not through brute force, but by optimizing his own consciousness into a living algorithm. He views the universe as a "quantum simulation" and the Holy Grail as a debugging tool. His mantra doesn’t transcend dimensions—it colonizes them, turning existence into a recursive thought experiment."You mistake the map for the territory. Let me show you the source code the The Æonic Quantum Spectrum® Mantra serves as a multifaceted cognitive tool that not only promotes personal and spiritual growth but also enhances emotional intelligence, creativity, and an understanding of the interconnectedness of all things. Each line engages the mind in higher-order thinking, self-reflection, and spiritual exploration, while also grounding individuals in the present reality.The mantra is an algorithm—a recursive function collapsing self into the Grey Void (9) to emerge as liberated light (5)

5. Practical Applications**

3D (Tactical Esotericism):** Use mantras to **solve physical-world problems** via enhanced neuroplasticity.

4D (Chrononautic Exploration):** **Shift between probable futures** during meditation.

5D (God-Mode Activation):** **Manifest synchronicities by collapsing quantum superpositions with intent.

The Æonic Quantum Spectrum doesn’t transcend dimensions—it colonizes them."**

**Final Verdict:**

**10/10 – A Supreme Esoteric Neuro-Program**

*"This mantra doesn’t just change thinking—it rewires the quantum substrate of perception itself."*

[gemspmkk]

Original Panna Stone: A Complete Guide to the Authentic Emerald Gemstone

What is an Original Panna Stone?

An Original Panna Stone, also known as a natural emerald, is one of the most precious gemstones from the beryl mineral family. Characterized by its vibrant green color, the Panna stone has been revered in Vedic astrology, Ayurveda, and luxury jewelry for centuries. Known as the stone of Mercury (Budh), it is highly valued for its metaphysical properties and astrological significance.

Natural Panna stones are primarily mined from Colombia, Zambia, Brazil, Ethiopia, and India. Their value is determined by factors like color, clarity, origin, carat weight, and the treatment history.

Astrological Importance of Panna Stone

Ruled by Planet Mercury

According to Vedic astrology, the Panna gemstone is associated with the planet Mercury (Budh), which governs intelligence, communication, logic, and analytical ability. Individuals with a weak Mercury in their birth chart are often recommended to wear a high-quality, untreated original Panna stone.

Benefits in Astrology

Wearing an authentic Panna stone offers a multitude of astrological benefits:

Enhances concentration and intellectual capacity.

Promotes clear communication and sharpens speech.

Aids in financial growth and successful business ventures.

Provides emotional stability and soothes the nervous system.

Strengthens relationships and enhances social influence.

Healing Properties of Original Panna Stone

Beyond astrology, Panna stones are known for their healing energy. Healers and alternative medicine practitioners believe that this green gemstone affects both the body and mind positively.

Physical Healing

Beneficial for lungs, liver, and digestive system.

Supports recovery from respiratory ailments.

Alleviates allergic reactions and strengthens the immune system.

Emotional & Mental Healing

Relieves anxiety and mental stress.

Improves memory retention and focus.

Enhances creativity and clarity of thought.

Identifying a Genuine Panna Stone

It is crucial to differentiate between natural, treated, and synthetic emeralds when purchasing an original Panna stone. Here's what to look for:

Color and Clarity

The ideal Panna stone features a rich, deep green color, sometimes with a hint of blue.

Natural inclusions or "jardin" are expected in genuine emeralds, but they should not affect transparency drastically.

Cut and Carat

The stone must be symmetrically cut to reflect light effectively.

Available in multiple carat sizes; astrological recommendations usually range between 3 to 7 carats, depending on the individual's birth chart.

Certification

Always buy Panna stone certified by reputed gemological labs like GIA, IGI, GRS, or GSI.

Check for no synthetic treatments, origin certification, and authenticity report.

Types of Original Panna Stones by Origin

Colombian Emerald (Colombian Panna)

Most sought-after in the gemstone world.

Known for its high transparency, buttery green hue, and minimal inclusions.

Expensive and often preferred for astrological use.

Zambian Emerald

Darker green with slight bluish tones.

Excellent transparency and durability.

Cost-effective compared to Colombian Panna but still highly effective.

Brazilian Emerald

Light green color and generally more included.

Best used for jewelry purposes rather than astrological benefits.

Indian Panna

Found in Rajasthan, Jharkhand, and Tamil Nadu.

Highly revered in Indian Vedic astrology.

How to Wear Panna Stone for Maximum Benefits

Wearing the Panna stone correctly is crucial for maximizing its benefits.

Astrological Guidelines

Metal: Embed in a gold or silver ring.

Finger: Wear on the little finger of the right hand.

Day and Time: Ideal to wear on a Wednesday morning during Shukla Paksha after proper purification rituals.

Mantra: Chant “Om Budhaya Namah” 108 times before wearing.

Price of Original Panna Stone

The price of an authentic Panna stone depends on several factors: Factor Impact on Price

Origin Colombian > Zambian > Indian

Color Deep, vivid green fetches a premium

Clarity Fewer inclusions = higher value

Carat Weight Larger size = higher cost

Treatment Untreated stones cost more

Approximate Price Range (INR per carat)

Colombian Emerald: ₹5,000 to ₹50,000+

Zambian Emerald: ₹3,000 to ₹25,000+

Indian Panna: ₹800 to ₹5,000

Where to Buy Original Panna Stone

Purchasing from a trusted gemstone dealer is essential to avoid imitation or treated stones.

Tips for Buying

Always ask for a certified lab report.

Prefer reputed dealers and established online platforms.

Avoid buying from unverified sources and local markets without a return policy.

Difference Between Treated and Untreated Emeralds

Emeralds often undergo treatments to enhance color and clarity, but they reduce the stone’s astrological potency.

Common Treatments

Oiling: Filling cracks with colorless oil. Acceptable if disclosed.

Dyeing: Artificially improving color. Not recommended for astrology.

Resin Filling: Makes low-quality emeralds look better. Avoid for spiritual use.

Always choose untreated or minimally treated emeralds if you're buying for astrological purposes.

FAQs About Original Panna Stone

Q1. Can anyone wear Panna stone? No. Consult a Vedic astrologer to determine suitability based on your birth chart.

Q2. How long does it take for Panna stone to show results? Generally, 15–45 days, but it varies from person to person.

Q3. Can Panna stone be worn with other gemstones? Yes, but only after astrological consultation to avoid planetary conflicts.

Q4. What is the lifespan of a Panna stone? If handled with care, it can last decades, but astrologically, it's effective for 3–5 years.

Conclusion

An Original Panna Stone is more than just a beautiful gem. Its astrological power, healing attributes, and spiritual benefits make it a prized possession. Whether you're seeking mental clarity, improved finances, or physical wellness, wearing a genuine, certified Panna stone can offer life-changing transformations.

Make sure to purchase only from trusted sources and follow the correct procedures for wearing to unlock its full potential.