#and somehow one singular reply took me… 6 hours????

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

Limits (Stiles)

*****This is kind of based off of my personal head cannon of Stiles having a rough childhood. What makes me think this? I don't know. Its just a vibe I get from him.*****

Everyone had always told him war was awful, and didn't he know it. Andrew Stiles- Drew to his friends (or Stiles to the military) was stuck in a forest in the middle of Europe never knowing if that day could possibly be his last.

"When he got up this morning, he didn't know that today was his last," he thought to himself. Remembering that just mere hours ago Lieutenant Turner had given his life for his platoon so they could escape. Tears sprung.to his eyes at the image of Turner lying dead. on the forest floor. He did his best to swallow down the tears along his 4th cup of coffee Something about losing someone so close to you so unexpectedly makes you think of your own mortality.

"Stiles!" barked Pierson, the Sargent who was now in charge. "You're on watch tonight! Drop that joe and move it!”

"Yes, sir!" he replied scrambling to his feet. He did not feel like keeping watch that night, but he figured the fresh air would do him good. Grabbing his gun, he headed off to the watch point.

Settling in with his canteen and rifle, he prepared himself to sit in that spot for the next four hours until someone else took over. The first hour went by relatively quickly, as did the first half of the second. By the time two hours had passed, the poor man was bored out of his skull.

"I can't wait to get back to Chicago," he whispered to himself. "Then I'll never have to deal with Pierson again. That is, if I even get out of this mess alive. With him in charge I doubt it."

This wasn't the first time the negative thoughts has entered his mind. He was usually able to distract himself with tasks around the camp, but this time he couldn't for obvious reasons. So he decided the next best thing to do was to distract himself with memories of home.

He had always loved the days when school has been cancelled because of the snow. The snowball fights with his brother and sister had been great. Although sometimes they were a bit one sided considering Timothy has been confined to a wheelchair since the age of 6 and Esther showed little interest in the game.

"I'll have to go back to Rainbow Cone with them when I get back." he thought to himself. He remembered the day it opened. Their father had taken him and his three older brothers- eight year old twins Michael and David, and a five year old Timothy- the day the ribbon was cut and they enjoyed a lovely day out together.

It was the only clear memory he had of his father, as the following year he had gotten in a car accident on the way back from taking his older brothers to a play at the local theater. His father and the twins perished in the accident, and it had been the thing that left Timothy paralyzed from the waist down. Esther had been born two months later when Drew was four.

Right now he was grateful his brothers weren't here to see the mess he was in. Timothy was a big softie.

"Just like I am," he thought to himself. "I gotta visit their grave when I get home." They'd buried the twins in their father's arms, a point of contention between his father's parents and Drew's mother. A singular tear rolled down his cheek. What if his mother had to bury yet another child? This one lost not in an accident, but in the fields of war.

"Dad," he whispered under his breath, his voice threatening to break into sobs if he spoke any louder. "Dad, Davey, Mikey, please get me through this. Somehow, someway just get me out of this so I can go home." He was crying now.

"I just want to go home and see Mom again. And Timmy and Essie. I miss home. I miss home so bad." Taking off his already tear-stained glasses, he leaned up against the sand bags and tried to pull himself together, but he just couldn't seem to stop crying. As Zussman had said a few weeks prior, everyone has their limits. And he had finally hit his.

[vivisextion]

I first saw Slipknot at age 14.

No one knows how I managed it. I'm not sure I even remember. These days, you have to be 16 or 18 to get into Standing areas. I do know I had to buy tickets on the phone, back in the old days (2005, that is). A singular ticket, too - none of my friends, not even the classmate who had gone with me to see Linkin Park the year before, was that into Slipknot.

But I HAD to see them. This was the Subliminal Verses tour cycle, and Vol. 3 was my first and favourite Slipknot album, even to this day. It's the reliable old warm blanket for my soul whenever I need it. It's on right now, as I write this.

My memory isn't that good, but luckily I unearthed a livejournal (livejournal!) diary entry about the event I made the next day.

August 16, 2005. I went right after school. I went to a very conservative Anglican secondary school, too. I tried not to get caught in the bathroom, as I coloured my nails black with permanent marker (I know, don't laugh) and changed into my standard metalhead baby outfit - Slipknot band shirt, black cargo shorts, and my pride and joy: steel-toe boots I somehow managed to cajole my parents into letting me own.

I caught the bus to the open-air war memorial park where the gig was going to be. I got there at 4pm, 4 hours early. A couple other maggots were already hanging around. I found myself surrounded by tombstones, and I read them all. It was the middle of the Hungry Ghost Festival, too - a very fitting time for Slipknot to pay a visit to this godforsaken hellhole of a small town I lived in. (Especially given the paranormal circumstances surrounding the making of Vol. 3.)

While I wandered around the venue (no security or sound guys were around at all), I spotted two white vans pull up to the stage, in the middle of a clearing. It was them! I spotted Joey and missed him by a hair's breadth. I was quickly ushered behind the stone archway entrance by security then.

(Funnily enough, while walking around, I got mistaken for Joey more than once. I am the same height as him, had the same long black hair, same pale skin, and was wearing almost exactly what he had been. One person claimed from behind, I was a dead ringer, apart from when I turned around, and they realised I was Chinese.)

It was soundcheck time. A sound guy testing the mics would say random things, like "testing one two three two one.... fudge fudge, I like fudge...." The band even did Purity, so us earlybirds were given a rare treat, and we screamed along from the entrance, and drummed our fists on the sides of nearby porta-potties. I hope no one was in there at the time. Whenever we got a glance of any of them, we'd scream and cheer. Finally they left again, but were soon to return.

This was the first time I'd been a part of the metal community. I was barely allowed internet in those days. But here, random strangers were friendly, striking up conversations like they'd been friends for years. Two big guys, called Trevor and Ted, looked out for me the entire gig after, keeping other big dudes from crushing me too much (I'm 5'3, remember). Other people commented on me being so baby, because I was only 14, and said they would take care of me.

When we were finally let in, right after the usher cut the rope, I ran in, screamed "WOOOHOOO!" along with a few friends I'd made. I only briefly stopped to receive this RoadRunner Records compilation CD from a roadie, then resumed running like a madman screaming and dashing into the VIP cage.

I was right up against the barricade - the first time I would ever be at a gig. People from assorted magazines and press took photos of us, and I think I got my photo taken about 10 times at least.

(This is how I got in trouble with my parents the next day. My photo had ended up in a local paper - you can see examples of that here. They had no idea what I'd been to see the night before, and were horrified when they saw what Slipknot looked like.)

We saw Sid filming us from the stage with a camcorder and screamed at him. We saw Jim and screamed at him too, and he flashed the victory sign back at us. I remember Metallica playing at the time, another one of my favourite bands.

The concert was a brutal religious experience I will never forget. People with their arms outstretched, crying and screaming out loud, moving like the devil possessed them.

The new friends around me made sure I was alright after every song! There were huge guys fainting behind us who had to get carried out, but I endured, a tiny 14 year old child. We got a family speech as per tradition, of course. "Are you guys out there all looking out for each other? We're all one big family, and we gotta look out for each other." What Corey said held true - strangers hugged, shook hands, talked, and made friends. I was heartened by how close-knit the maggot community was. It really did feel like a family, and it's felt like that ever since.

Of course, I did my first Jump The Fuck Up. It is possibly the most euphoria I've ever experienced all at one go. (Later, in 2020, I was extremely disappointed that I didn't get to do it again in London.)

They did the death masks for Vermilion, and I remember Chris helping Sid fix his mask and shirt when they'd changed back. Sid hung out near Clown's drums for most of the time too, and hugged him from behind and just latched on at one point. It was pretty adorable.

Fun fact: The version of Eyeless you hear on the 9.0 Live album is from Singapore, as is Eeyore. There are very few photos and videos from the crowd of this gig, because in 2005, very few people had camera phones. The crowd at the Slipknot gig in 2020 was a sea of arms with phones, filming the gig rather than experiencing it. Yes, I'm going to be that cranky old geezer who complains about the good old days.

Joey as usual, was fucking amazing and never failed. However, due to the fact that I was right up front, only his tiny head was visible behind his vast drum set, I couldn't see him the entire gig.

Amazingly, the government told Slipknot they were not allowed to do obscene gestures, curse, vomit (possibly due to the decomposing crow pre-show ritual), simulate humping on objects, throw faeces, or jump off stage (looking at you, Sid). I don't think our totalitarian government knew who they were dealing with, because watch what happens next.

Near the end of the gig, Corey tells the crowd “your government has given us a laundry list of things we aren’t allowed to do, your government has told us we are not allowed to swear”. Crowd goes “BOOOOOOOOO” and Corey goes “BUT WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!” And they launch into Surfacing, the last song. Everyone riots. Best night of my life.

You can find the setlist from that gig here. It had everything I wanted and more.

This story later got immortalised when Kerrang asked maggots for gig stories, for an article which came out in 2020. I had forgotten entirely, until people began messaging me to tell me, and one friend sent me a scan of it!

On the way out, I managed to get a shirt. I remember calling my best friend at the time, and got everyone at the merch booth to go "IF YOU'RE 555 THEN I'M 666" for her. This shirt has since been lost to the landfill, because my Christian mother took it upon herself to dispose of it the first opportunity she got. Needless to say, our relationship is not very good.

After that, I even managed to get that Roadrunner compilation album they were giving out signed. The band was staying at the Carlton. Unfortunately, Joey wasn't there, neither was Clown, and Mick was swarmed by guitar nerds so, 6/9 it is. It is a great regret of mine that I'll never have anything signed by him, nor will I ever get to see him perform ever again.

The next day, I went to school, my head swimming. Yes, I went to see Slipknot ON A SCHOOL NIGHT. I was a giant bruise, from my ribs and my chest, to my hips and knees, from being slammed into the barricade like a screen door in a hurricane. Most of all, my sore, headbanged-out neck could barely hold my head up. Classmates thought I had been in a fight. I was torn between battle-scarred exhaustion and hyperactive ranting about the most amazing gig of my short life (it still is, to this day). When teachers spoke to me, I wanted to reply, "Fuck trigonometry! I've just seen SLIPKNOT. Do you not understand that my world is different? Do you not understand that *I* am now different?"

My country was a small, conservative town that Slipknot had graced with their unholy presence. Corey Taylor once said that where he grew up in Iowa had a way of making a 16 year old boy feel like a 36 year old man (or something to that effect). I felt that in my weary bones as a teenager, being from a place just like that. Years later, Watain would run into worse trouble, and wouldn't even be allowed to perform. The Christian stranglehold is stronger than ever. It was a good thing that back then Slipknot had the element of surprise, striking serpent-fast and choking this society by the neck for a too-brief time, before they departed.

After that, my desire to play the drums only grew like a weed. Joey Jordison had, has, and will always inspire me as a drummer, and seeing the beast live (or what little I could spy behind the massive riser) had only spurred me on. I had always been a noisemaker, be it driving my parents mad with chopsticks on pots and pans, or driving my teachers mad with pencils on my desk. But of course, my parents wouldn't have any of it. I'd have to wait a good 14 more years before I'd be able to afford lessons and later, a kit of my own. Better late than never, right?

There will never be enough words to describe the impact Joey has had on my life. And it isn't just Slipknot, either. I could write another essay on his time with the Murderdolls and its influence on my own gender-non-conforming ways. Suffice to say, my wardrobe doesn't look too dissimilar to his during the early Dead in Hollywood days.

I told my boss I could not come into work today. I was grieving. I said that my music teacher died, as I didn't think she'd understand the magnitude of my loss. In a way, it's true. And I am not the only one Joey has nudged on the path to being a musician, that much is certain. To the rest of us, I wish strength and love for you in this difficult time. The best way to honour Joey, who truly loved music, both the creation and appreciation of it, is to pass that gift on. Teach it to someone. He is the reason I picked up the sticks in the first place, and one day, they'll be handed on, the heavy metal baton for the next generation.

And finally: remember that the ones we have lost are never truly gone.

Vinnie

P.S. See if you can spot me in the crowd photos in this post!

[re-diesirae]

6. Claire

She was running through the chaotic streets of Raccoon City. The hordes of undead tailing right behind her with their horrid growls and that putrid smell of the dead. She had run out of ammo, which meant that if she got cornered, she was in trouble.

She had gotten separated from Leon, and she did not even know if the young man was still alive at all.

Claire took a turn and found herself cornered; it was a dead-end, and she had no bullets. The horrid cannibal monsters were moving slowly to her.

It was it; this was her end.

Claire woke up, startled, and she felt the sun rays coming through the holes in the ceiling, hit her on her face. Her breathing was agitated, and she took some seconds to recover.

She hated those nightmares. They were a recurrent thing, but it had been a while since she dreamt of Raccoon. The city where everything began vanished. With the years, the memories from the place had gotten buried under fresher incidents. Her nightmares were often about nonsense or about places she had visited more recently.

Claire looked around her, remembering where she was. It was morning already, and Leon did not wake her for the shift.

She was slightly annoyed, but at the same time, she was grateful. She knew Leon had done it to let her recover.

She stretched and grabbed her head. The pain was still there, but it was significantly lesser, and her vision was back to normal, too, which meant the effects of the hit were starting to pass.

"Hey, good morning, sleeping beauty," Leon greeted her, and she rolled her eyes.

Claire had forgotten how much of a charmer Leon was when it came to dealing with ladies. Their interactions were on the friendly side, and he had long stopped using his flirty tones on her, so it was the first time in years that she heard him use that tone with her.

"Good morning, cheater," she answered, "I thought we agreed you would wake me up for a guard shift."

Leon snorted.

"I tried, but you just fell asleep again."

"I...I did?" Claire answered in shock.

"Yeah, after saying you wanted ten more minutes," Leon smirked, "Besides, you looked to be enjoying yourself. When was the last time you had a good night of sleep?"

When was it? Claire tried to remember when was the last time she had slept more than three hours without interruptions, but she couldn't remember. Between nightmares and work, she had skipped a lot of sleeping hours in the last few months. Naturally, Claire would not tell him about that.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I am just asking," he replied, shaking his head. "You just looked like you had not slept well in a while."

"Well, I hardly think that sleeping in a dilapidated cottage surrounded by mutant monsters can be considered a good sleep."

Leon snorted.

"Anywhere is a good place when you are exhausted," he reasoned.

Claire was not going to argue that. She had to admit that even though it had not been the best sleeping in her existence, she had rested nicely that night. She was not in her best shape, but at least she would not be as useless now.

"I am not discussing my sleep patterns with you, Leon," Claire sighed. "We should head out and try to find a way out of here."

"Yeah, but first, let me see your head."

Claire did not argue, and she allowed the agent to check her. After some minutes, he stood and helped Claire on her feet. The auburn headed accepted his hand and pushed herself up. She tested her stability and was rejoiced to see that she wasn't dizzy anymore. However, her head still hurt, and if she made the wrong move, she was sure she would stumble.

"How is your head?" Leon asked.

"Stingy, but alright. I am ready to go."

"Are you sure? I think we can afford some minutes if you need them."

"No, I'm ok. Let's move."

"Ok. I tried to contact Hunnigan several times yesterday. My signal still has interference, but I think I managed to connect. She might be able to track our location, and I am sure your dear brother will be here soon."

"Yeah, with the big guns, I supposed."

"I just hope he won't use them against me."

"Nah, not even Chris is that unreasonable, and if it makes you feel better, I can talk on your behalf," Claire chuckled, "he usually listens to me."

"I bet he does."

"Alright, then. We must try to stay in one piece until then," Claire reasoned, "We can try to gather supplies as we go, but I don't think our captors have left ammo lying around for us."

"One never knows," Leon said, checking his gun, "So, just like old times?"

"Yeah, I guess you don't get the pleasure of going solo this time, superagent," Claire smirked, picking her rifle and walking out.

"I have no complaints about my partner," she heard Leon mutter behind her.

The place looked a lot different in daylight. Compared to other places she had been, Claire was pleased to see a change of scenery. The sight of trees, grasslands, and the fresh air was a nice change from the acrid air of tunnels and underground facilities.

"Oh, that's right," Claire said, "The locals here..."

"Yeah, they are infected by an improved strain of Plagas."

"An improved strain of Plagas?" Claire said.

"Hum, yeah. I had the pleasure of dealing with it some years ago, during a mission in the East Slav Republic. Aim at their heads, but be careful since some of them can mutate after being destroyed."

"I guess that makes sense. I thought the symptoms looked familiar, but I couldn't quite connect them to anything I knew," Claire nodded, "I guess you've been busy, Leon."

"I could say the same about you."

Claire chuckled. They all had been busy. Chris and the BSAA were always fighting in the frontlines when an attack came, while Leon and the DSO worked diligently tracking terrorists, as well. Claire wondered if she would ever get to spend a day with her family and friends like any other person.

"What can I say? Work is a demanding boyfriend," Claire shrugged.

"Well, you sure have a singular taste for your boyfriends. Have you not thought of getting a real one for a change?"

Claire snorted at the suggestion. Getting a real boyfriend was something she had long given up. Her work demands rarely gave her free time, and what was the point of having a relationship when she had no time to dedicate to it?

"I am fine. I never had a real one when I was young, and the Racoon City mess just put an end to any attempts. It doesn't matter."

"You didn't have a boyfriend before this began? Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"Really? Why?"

"When I met you, you looked like the kind of girl that any guy would chase around."

"Oh, well. I suppose there were guys interested, but if Chris didn't chase them away, it was my personality who spooked them."

"Chris scared off your potential guys?"

"Yeah, something like that, but it wasn't all his fault. I played my part, scaring some, too. "

"I can't see how you would do that."

Claire snorted.

"Please, Leon. Honestly, I am surprised you were not scared the first time we met. What guy feels comfortable with a tomboyish girl who handles guns and fights as I did?"

"I think that was what I liked most from you..." Leon answered sincerely. "You were not of those girls who waited for someone to save her."

"Well, I guess you have a weird taste, as well," Claire laughed, "Besides, my luck with men sucks. Either they get killed, or they turn out to be traitors..."

Claire sighed. Why was she telling him this? Leon had no interest in that, but surprisingly, she found that telling him these things was easy.

"What do you mean with that?" Leon asked curiously, "Any ex-boyfriend that I haven't heard of?"

Claire stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him skeptically.

"Leon, you can't be talking seriously."

"Why not? I'm trying to catch up. It's been ages since we had a casual conversation," Leon said, "When was the last time we talked about something that was not related to a mission?"

He was right. Even their friendly calls ended up being about their missions and their jobs. They rarely talked about anything outside of that. They had crossed paths in one or two of the BSAA meetings, but they had never stopped to chat about things outside their work.

"So, ex-boyfriends?"

"None," Claire sighed, "I met a couple of nice guys once, but they got killed in an outbreak. Then years later, I met this colleague at TerraSave. I thought he was a decent guy, but it turned out he was selling us as guinea pigs to Alex Wesker in exchange for a sample of Ouroboros. As I said, my luck with men sucks."

Leon didn't answer. He continued to listen to her as she spoke.

"Looking at the bright side, Chris gets to brag about being the only man in my life."

"That's a lie," Leon said, "You have other men in your life."

"I suppose I might, but I have morals, Leon. I can't call someone taken as my man," Claire chuckled, "What about charmer?"

"What about me? I guess I am the same as you. My job is a demanding girlfriend."

"Really? There I thought you would have made some progress with Ada."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but Ada and I have a different kind of relationship."

"Yeah, right. That's what you call it."

Claire chuckled in amusement at Leon's look. She knew those two had something between them. That was the main reason why Claire had given up the idea of getting together with Leon in the first place. Even if she had a crush on him back then, Leon's thoughts were always about Ada, and she could not compete against that.

"Oh, Leon..." Claire said, looking ahead.

Leon looked as well and gave her a silent nod. The two jumped into some bushes and stayed low as a group of infected locals walked past them. To their relief, none of the infected noticed them, and so far, there had been no signs from the mutant creatures that Claire had met the night before.

"I think the wisest move now is to avoid conflict unless it is necessary," Leon said.

"I am with you with that. You'll want to save your bullets for the big ones," Claire nodded, looking at him.

"Big ones?" Leon asked with a frown.

"Yeah, nasty things. They took me by surprise yesterday, and I blew up the town in panic. The explosion was a little bigger than I thought, but well, I was desperate, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I didn't meet any last night," Leon said, "but I trust your word, any idea of what it is?"

"Nope. I've never seen anything like it. I dare say it might be a new strain. I guess we get the privilege to test them."

"What an honor," Leon said sarcastically. "Alright, so plan. We need to figure out the terrain, so I think we should try to find a good vantage point to look at what we are facing. There's a rocky cliff in that direction, do you see it?"

"Yup, I do."

"I hope you are in the mood for hiking."

"Leon, if you know me the way you say you do, you'll know I'll never be in the mood for hiking."

Leon smirked.

"But I'll do what I've got to do."

"That's the spirit," he said, "Don't worry. I can carry you if you get tired."

"Excuse you. I might dislike hikes, but I don't need anyone to carry me."

"Of course. It's nice to see that good old Claire is still there."

"The old Claire has always been here," she said, winking at him. "Just improved..."

And broken, too.

Claire followed Leon as he led her through the forest. She was not usually the kind to follow the lead quietly, but she did not feel the energy to act on her own now. There was some comfort in Leon's company that gave her a sense of reassurance. It was a similar feeling to what she felt when Chris was nearby.

The thought was naive and perhaps a little silly, but something about having them close always made Claire feel like nothing could ever harm her. Realistically speaking, it was nonsense, but psychologically, it was something different.

"Strange..."

Leon's whisper pulled Claire out of her thoughts. The woman looked at the agent, who was standing protectively by her side.

"I expected more hostiles, but we've barely encountered some Plagas infected. Don't you find it odd?"

Claire pondered the question. He had a point. Things were unusually calm compared to the hell she had faced the night before. It was almost as if daylight had brought them some peace.

"Well, it is a very different scenario from last night," Claire agreed, "Perhaps they are more active at night."

It was a wild guess, but it was the only excuse she could come up with to explain it.

"That's not a common trait when it comes to Plagas, but you might be right," Leon reasoned, "Well, then maybe we should restrict our moves to daytime. It might slow us down, but between speed and safety, I vouch for the latter. Especially if there's limited ammo in the equation."

Claire nodded. Moving in the daylight had its other benefits too. They had better visibility so they could avoid hostiles with more ease, and if the lack of the nasty monsters was a hint, then maybe they were indeed safer during the day.

"Yeah, that might be the best," she sighed.

"Don't worry. We'll make it out of this one."

"Yeah, I know," she nodded, "Leon..."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

That caught Leon by surprise. The blonde turned to look at her quizzically, and she smiled at him weakly.

"What for?"

"Eh, well. I don't know. For being here now, I mean," Claire said shyly, "I suppose it was hard to reach me, and you didn't have to, yet...you are here."

Leon looked at her and smiled, shaking her head.

"Don't be silly," he said, "You don't need to thank me for that. If it hadn't been me, it would have been your brother, but neither of us would let them take you away so easily."

Claire smiled. He was right. Chris would never stand doing nothing while she was getting kidnapped.

"Yeah, you might be right."

Leon put his hand on her shoulder, and she found the touch comforting.

"I wanted to ask you," he said as they began to walk again, "Do you have any idea of what they would want to kidnap you?"

That was a good question. Claire wasn't sure herself.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she sighed. "I receive a lot of hate mail, so maybe it is someone who holds a grudge against me. I don't know. It could be someone targeting Chris, too. Both of us have rubbed some people the wrong way for a while."

Leon didn't reply. He walked lost in his thoughts, and for a moment, Claire wondered about what he was thinking.

That's none of your business, Claire.

Claire shook her head and kept on walking behind him, pushing the thoughts away.

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! http://discord.gg/wr48UmENbx

[snowdice]

Gaps in His Files (Part 8) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Erm. Logan says a few not so nice things about people who struggle academically which are very wrong. I think from context it is clear that the author doesn’t agree with it. As a teacher I do not endorse his statement and in the missing 10 years he’s learned the lesson for himself... he’s just a very dumb smart high school kid. That being said, I thought I might warn you all especially with the fact that people might be in the middle of finals and a little emotionally vulnerable to that one.

Patton spent most of the morning getting Logan familiar with his red files while also asking him subtle questions about his real opinions on things. The mention of the crying thing did sting a bit even though Patton already knew it made Logan uncomfortable. Patton knew that from the beginning, but he’d still let Logan force himself to try to help when Patton was upset.

God, Patton was a bad person.

After he’d helped Logan get a good feel of the newer files, they started brainstorming about how best to work on recovering his memories over lunch.

Patton had thought they were on the same page, that being they were going to read through the pages in his files hoping he’d remember something in them. However, now he was doing that finger tapping thing on the table while he chewed slowly on his sandwich.

“What?” Patton finally asked.

Logan had clearly been waiting to share because there was no pause before his response. “Have you heard of Blight?” Logan asked, casually, as though that were not a name that made most of the population shudder when they heard it.

“This is nothing like that,” Patton said firmly before he continued with that line of thought.

“Why couldn’t it be?” he asked with a curious head tilt.

“Because… because it’s not,” Patton said.

“Do you have any evidence that it isn’t? Just because it was a device instead of a superpower does not mean it is not the same methodology.”

“It’s just not,” Patton said, “It can’t be.”

“Why?” Logan asked again.

“Because none of them recovered,” Patton tried not to snap.

Logan hummed. “Ah. That seems like an emotionally charged conclusion.”

“Can we please just not talk about it?” Patton implored, turning back to his lunch even though he wasn’t hungry anymore. There were a few moments of silence.

“Did you know,” Logan started, and Patton sighed, “that Blight was on record as having telekinesis before she revealed herself as a Mind Warper? People say she must have implanted false memories in her victims, but if she really was then it would be evidence of-”

“The Monofacultas Theory,” Patton finished for him.

Logan gave him a startled look. “You know it?”

“I’ve known you for over three years Logan and while I agree that the theory is interesting and feasible, there are no known cases of someone having a set of powers that span more than one of the Tri-divisions.”

“If Blight had telekinesis there is. She would have had a physical power as well as a mental one. Witnesses said…”

“She tore the minds of an entire city apart at the seams and restructured them to her desire. Excuse me if I don’t trust the validity of those mind’s statements especially when they have been disproved by video evidence.”

“Just because she didn’t use telekinesis for that one situation caught on video doesn’t mean she couldn’t.”

“Fine,” Patton said. “Say you’re right. Why does it matter?”

“Well I have telekinesis.”

“So, you want to… move your memories back into place?”

“Basically, yes.”

“With your telekinesis?”

“Well, brains are ultimately physical objects.”

“And you are going to not simply give yourself a stroke because…?” Logan shrugged. “Absolutely not Logan.”

“It would be interesting,” Logan said, eyes alight. “I could prove that powers are not truly divided into physical, metal, or energy powers but are originally one singular power that develops due to circumstance during early childhood.”

“If your brain doesn’t literally explode because you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“All science has risk.”

“No, Logan.”

He gave him the look that Patton was not allowed to call a pout.

“Can we at least try some less extreme methods of memory recovery before the theoretical methods with no hard evidence? Like continuing to read your files to try to jog your memory naturally as we had discussed.”

“Fine,” he agreed, looking downtrodden. Patton really hoped he got his memory back before he got too restless and tried something like that.

“If you’re finished eating, we should get back to reading,” Patton said. Patton was certainly finished with his lunch.

The afternoon went well without any major disasters or talk about dangerous methods to get memories back. Logan had not remembered anything, but he’d been calm and patiently started sorting through his files in chronological order. Then, when Patton left him alone for a moment to go to the bathroom, he somehow managed to find his daily planner from where Patton had hidden under a blanket in the front hall closet.

“It’s fine,” Patton insisted from the couch, watching him pace back and forth and wringing his hands. “I called your advisor and told him you wouldn’t be able to meet with him because you were sick.”

Logan frowned at him. “You shouldn’t’ have done that. I could have gone. I don’t want to appear irresponsible by skipping meetings.”

“He wanted to talk about your research. You would have had no idea what he was talking about,” Patton reasoned.

“I would have managed.”

“Logan,” Patton said patiently. “Your research area is partial differential equations. Do you even know what those are?”

Patton could tell by the look on his face that he had no idea. Yet he still stuck his nose up in the air. “I know what a differential is, and I know what an equation is. I am sure I can figure out how to do parts of them.”

“You haven’t even taken multivariate calculus.”

“It can’t be that hard.”

“It is,” Patton groaned, “It is hard.”

“Perhaps for you,” he said hotly.

“No,” Patton ground out. “For you. The 28-year-old you spends hours a week trying to understand these things and he has a bachelor’s degree and almost 6 years of graduate education under his belt. You are in high school.” Logan just gave him a withering glare and turned his attention back to the planner.

“I’m supposed to teach two courses tomorrow,” he said.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Patton said.

“I have a responsibility rather or not I have my memories.”

“Logan, listen to me. You have not graduated high school. You cannot teach a calculus class.”

Logan bristled. “I took calculus last year and got an A.”

Patton had to take a steadying breath. “That is not the same as teaching it.”

“It can’t be that hard. I will simply explain the information to them.”

“And when one of them asks you how to add two fractions?”

Logan’s eyebrows crinkled. “That is a basic skill. I am sure anyone in a college calculus course can do that easily.”

“You have clearly never taught a day in your life.”

Logan bristled. “Any adult who cannot add fractions should immediately be kicked out of university and returned to kindergarten where they belong.”

Patton looked at him for a moment hoping perhaps he would figure out on his own why what he just said was completely out of line. He just kept his jaw stubbornly firm. Patton took a breath. “And that is why you cannot go and teach these students.”

Logan scoffed. “I am not sure why my future self would put up with such things.”

“Because you almost failed your real analysis course,” Patton answered in a heartbeat. “Your first semester of teaching, you were also taking a first-year graduate real analysis course and you couldn’t understand a word of measure theory. It was the first time in your life that you had to work for a C. One day you looked at your students and came to the realization that the look on their faces when you tried to explain the product rule to them was likely the same expression your professor saw on yours when he tried to explain the existence of non-measurable sets. We all have our strengths and weaknesses and if we let someone else draw the line for stupid, there is every chance we’d end up on the wrong side of it. So,” Patton said crossing his arms, “I am not going to let you go ruin your own reputation with your students as a teacher who is not an asshole because you’ve not had to toe your own line yet.”

Logan met his eyes, clearly wanting to argue, but Patton just kept his face strict and his arms crossed. Logan’s face cleared suspiciously quickly, and he backed down. “Fine,” he agreed. “I will stay here.”

“Good,” Patton replied eyeing him. “Now put down the planner and let’s go back to work.”

Want to read more? Use the links below!

AO3 Part 9

My Masterpost 

[mss4msu]

“Do I Wanna Know?” (Chapter 6)

Summary: On a visit to a local nightclub, the lounge singer catches your eye. Soon becoming a regular at the club, the way you look on the dancefloor gets his attention. You begin to hear stories about the notorious crime lord who owns and operates the small nightclub. When your friends worry that you’ve gotten mixed up with a mobster, you wonder if it’s better to be left in the dark and find yourself asking, “Do I wanna know?” if you’re getting involved with one of the most revered mobsters in the city.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Words: 4266

Warnings: Language, Slight Violence

A/N: This is a mega turning point for the story and I’m super excited for y’all to find out what comes next! This chapter is vvv long and has another song in it because that’s fun for everybody. Peep that cute lil Rocky Horror quote drop bc it’s almost spooky time.

Read the Full Story Here

The song in this chapter can be listened to here

Your new promotion made work much more exhilarating, due in large part to seeing James Barnes far more often than you ever would have anticipated. He seemed to be in the office every day, even though you knew many of the conversations he stopped in to have with you could have been solved over an email or at least on a quick phone call. Of course you didn’t mind, as he was gorgeous to look at and a pleasure to converse with. The only irritating thing about James’s frequent visits was that they meant that Tony visited you far more often too. You didn’t know if it was because Tony didn’t believe you were competent or if James was really just that high profile of a client, but even without you letting him know, Tony would show up at your office either while James was still there or right after he had left. While it was frustrating, Tony crashing your meetings wasn’t all bad. Every time it happened, James would wrap the conversation up quickly and leave. Within 15 minutes of James being gone you would get a call that you had a delivery at the main desk. Every single time it was an order of a dozen white roses with a card that said, “Thanks for all your hard work, boss.” While you knew it was probably inappropriate for James to be sending you flowers at work, you tried to remind yourself that he was just a client and reasoned that he was just praising your efforts on his account.

In an attempt to keep things professional, you decided you should stop visiting James at the club. Every meeting that wrapped up before Tony could interrupt it ended in James asking if he would see you that Friday and you telling him, “I’d like to, but I can’t.” You were afraid that, if you did see James outside of the office, things would go from professional to unprofessional very quickly.

While you tried your best to keep James as just a client, one day Tony pushed you too far. You had been having a very productive meeting with James, where you were making good progress in liquidizing his assets to reinvest them in other markets to increase his profits, when Tony came into your office without knocking and took a seat next to James. Tony made a show of sitting down next to James on the couch, putting his feet up on the small coffee table, and staring at the projection of your laptop’s screen on the wall.

“Ahem, anyway,” you cleared your throat before continuing, “If we divert some of the funds into this other account, I think that would really benefit you.”

“Why is a man who owns a nightclub investing in a car company?” Tony asked with disdain as he made a big deal of squinting at the projection.

“Why did a man who owns a nightclub invest in a tech company?” James replied with a smirk.

“I believe it is best to diversify his portfolio in case the market performs poorly in areas he has already invested in,” you answered. After weeks of Tony interrupting you, you had finally grown a bit of a backbone.

“You mean if my company fails?” Tony huffed.

“Well, (Y/N), I trust you to do what’s best for me,” James looked at his watch, “Ah, I’m afraid I have meetings elsewhere. I have to be sure the nightclub,” while his face didn’t show it, you could hear the sneer in his voice, “is fully functional.”

“Of course,” you stood up from behind your desk to shake James’s hand, “I’ll draw up the numbers and get them sent to you. I really think this could be a favorable investment.”

“I look forward to it,” James shook your hand with both of his, “Tony,” he said with a quick nod to your boss before leaving.

As soon as James had left the room Tony stood up and came at you, yelling, “(Y/N), what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Excuse me?” you cowered into your seat.

While Tony had shared plenty of opinions about how you were handling James Barnes’ assets, he generally saved them for when James was also present. This was the first time he had approached you about them one-on-one and your heart began to pound.

“James Barnes is a high profile client and we can NOT afford to lose him over a silly investment in an area that he does not know anything about because a silly should-be assistant got too smart for her own good.”

You took a deep breath and fought back the tears that stung your eyes, “Mr. Stark, when I make him the investment profile, I include a full description of what the company makes and how it distributes its products as well as information about their mission and the diversity of their staff. Plus I do research into how the market has been trending before even bringing anything up to him in the first place.”

“And you actually think that’s enough?” Tony asked with a sudden calmness in his voice that did not match the fire raging in his eyes.

“Yes?” you couldn’t help that it came out as a question.

“Hmmpfh,” Tony sneered, “I guess we will find out if it is,” and with that he got up and left your office.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding as soon as Tony was gone. You slumped into your desk chair and your head began to pound. You just sat there, for five minutes with your eyes closed when the sudden ring of your phone startled you.

“Hi (Y/N), there’s a delivery for you at the desk,” the person on the other end of the line said to you.

“Thanks, be there in a moment.”

You groaned as you pushed yourself away from your desk and forced yourself to stand up. You had to steady yourself on the desk as your head pounded harder from the slight change in elevation. You slowly walked to the front desk, the knowledge that you had flowers waiting for you not even making you feel better. You got to the front desk and were slightly taken aback by the lack of roses waiting for you.

“This just came for you,” the receptionist said as they pulled a box from the table that had a singular white rose tied to it.

“Thanks,” you said with slight confusion in your voice as you took the box and walked back to your office.

You sat down at your desk and carefully removed the rose from the top of the box and set it gently down next to you. You took the lid off the box and found a card that read: “Get on your dancing shoes. See you tonight, boss.” You unfolded the tissue paper in the box and inhaled sharply. Inside lay a beautiful pair of classic black Louboutin pumps with the iconic red soles. You wiped your hands off on your pants before you dared to take them out of the box to look closely at them. They were the most beautiful shoes you had ever seen and you only pulled your eyes away from them when your cell phone began to vibrate violently on your desk. You carefully set the shoes back in the box and picked up your phone. You had multiple notifications from Instagram:

WhiteWolfandtheHowlers messaged you:

“Hey, doll.

I’ve got a table reserved for you tonight.

After that beatdown Tony gave you, I figured you could use a night filled with a bit of debauchery.

Don’t forget to wear the new shoes.”

You cocked your head to the side as you began to question how James knew Tony gave you a beatdown today, as he should have been long gone by the time Tony really went in on you. You took a deep breath, your fingers dancing above the keyboard as you tried to decide what to say back.

You finally typed and sent back:

“You know you have my work number, you could have just called. I don’t think I should come out tonight.”

The screen showed that your message was immediately read and a text bubble soon appeared, quickly replaced by the message:

“If I called you on the office phone, who knows who may have been listening in. Plus I couldn’t have called you doll while you’re at work, could I boss? Show starts at 9 in case you’ve forgotten.”

“You mean listened in like you somehow did to know Tony went off on me today?” you typed before erasing it and instead sending:

“I suppose this is true. Yes, I know what time the show starts, I just don’t know if I should come.”

“Why is that?”

You gulped, your head beginning to pound again as you sent:

“You’re my client, Mr. Barnes. I don’t want to disrupt that partnership by socializing outside of business hours.”

“Afraid you’ll fall for me, doll?”

Your heart fluttered and you took a second to reply:

“I just don’t want to get into trouble with my superiors.”

“Based on how earlier went, I’d say you already are. See you at 9, doll.”

You let his message sink in. He wasn’t wrong, you had already pissed Tony off enough and didn’t you owe it to yourself to actually enjoy your weekends instead of putting in extra work to try to prove yourself? Especially since trying to prove yourself didn’t seem to be working anyway.

Ultimately you decided to send:

“See you at 9.”

He liked the message immediately but did not respond.

You looked at the clock on your wall and your heart rate escalated as you realized it was already 6:30pm. You needed to eat, get home, change, and get to the club all in just over 2 hours and Friday traffic was always awful. You wanted to invite your friends to join you, but you knew at this short of notice there was no way they would be able to come. You quickly packed up your things, gently placing the shoe box in your bag for safekeeping, and called your car to pick you up. Your driver was waiting for you when you got downstairs.

“Hi, Peter, how’s it going today?” you asked as you climbed into the backseat.

“Hi, Ms. (Y/L/N). I’m doing alright,” he replied nervously.

“Peter, Tony’s not coming with, you can relax.”

You had learned very quickly that Tony was strict with the drivers and did not allow them to share any information about their personal lives or really speak at all during drives. Each drive with Peter Parker began with the Stark formalities until you were far enough away that there was no chance Tony would be able to join in on the ride. Once you were safe, Peter would finally let his guard down.

After getting 10 minutes away from the office, Peter took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, (Y/N), I’m doing alright. I’ve been taking night classes recently and I think they’re going really well.”

“What are they in?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of photography and journalism. I’d really like to contribute to the local newspaper, but so far they keep turning me down.”

You continued chatting for the remainder of your ride, which took far longer than you would have liked due to the traffic. By the time Peter pulled the car up to your apartment, it was already 8:00pm.

“Shit, that took forever. Peter, I need a ride to Mr. Barnes’ club tonight and need to be there before 9:00pm would it be terrible to have you just wait here for a bit so I can run up and change and then you can just zoom me over there quickly? Maybe we can go through a drive through for some food on the way?”

“Sure thing, (Y/N).”

“Alright, thank you Peter! Be right back,” you hopped out of the car and quickly got to your apartment and stripped off your clothes, pawing through your closet before finding one a suitable black dress for the night. You ran into the bathroom and touched up your makeup, applying some glittery eyeshadow and a fresh layer of mascara. You then went to the door and gingerly took the shoe box from your bag. You held your breath as you opened the box, still in disbelief that James had spent that much money on you. You slipped the shoes on and let out a long sigh at how perfectly they fit and surprisingly comfortable they were. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror before grabbing your wallet and keys, shoving them in your purse, and running out the door.

“Thanks for waiting, Peter,” you said as you got back into the car, your heart beating rapidly as you saw that it was already 8:15pm.

Peter quickly hung up a phone call and looked anxiously at you in the rearview mirror, “Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).”

You were too preoccupied with being late to even notice Peter’s change in tone. He began to drive and stopped at a fast food drive-thru so you could order a meal, which you ate as carefully as you could to avoid spilling as Peter navigated the start and stop traffic to the club. You arrived to the club at 8:55pm, which was cutting it far too close for your taste.

“Thanks Peter! Is it alright if I call for a ride home later?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Ms. (Y/L/N),” Peter replied.

“Great, thank you!” you yelled back at the car as you jumped out.

You began to walk toward the door and couldn’t help your mouth dropping open at the line that wound its way down the sidewalk.

“Damn,” you muttered to yourself as you walked past the door and toward the end of the line.

“Hey! (Y/N)! Get back here!” you heard a voice yell behind you.

You quickly turned around and saw Steve waving at you from behind the bouncer. You walked up to the door and the bouncer stepped aside for you after getting a knowing look from Steve.

“Hi, Steve,” you said as he grabbed your hand and pulled you inside, “Don’t I need to wait in line or at least be carded?” you asked guiltily, thinking of all the people waiting outside.

“Funny,” Steve replied with a smile, leading you to the front of the club.

Steve snapped his fingers at the bar as you passed it and you were immediately followed by a waiter with a tray of drinks.

“Here you are,” Steve gestured to the table right in front of the stage, taking drinks off the tray the waiter had brought and setting them down in front of you.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can drink all of these,” you said hesitantly.

“We were unsure if you would have any guests joining you.”

“Just me tonight,” you replied.

“Well, drink what you like and someone will come back later to clean up the remnants,” Steve said before walking away.

You looked at the array of drinks on the table. There were glasses of wine, a few mixed drinks, and a couple cans of beer. You decided after everything you had been through that day, you’d start off strong and grabbed what seemed to be a Manhattan directly in front of you. You finished it in a few gulps. You moved on to the chocolate martini, taking a long swig of it and almost choking as the sound of Steve yelling out the announcement for the White Wolf and the Howlers startled you.

The curtains whisked open and directly in front of you stood James Barnes, who was looking you straight in the eyes. He gave you a wink before he started to sing.

I’m a puppet on a string

Tracy Island, time-traveling

Diamond cutter-shaped heartaches

Come to find you four in some velvet morning

Years too late, she’s a silver lining

Lone ranger riding through an open space

In my mind when she’s not right there beside me

I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can’t help myself, all I

Wanna hear her say is “Are you mine?”

Well, are you mine?

Are you mine?

Are you mine? Woah, ah

James didn’t break eye contact with you, and licked his lips at you after asking “are you mine” before moving on to the next verse.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I need the deep end

Keep imagining meeting, wished away entire lifetimes

Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days

Great escape, lost track of time and space

She’s a silver lining climbing on my desire

You could’ve sworn his eyes were getting darker as he continued to sing. He began to slowly grind on his microphone stand and it had you feeling butterflies in your stomach.

And I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can’t help myself, all I

Wanna hear her say is “Are you mine?”

Well, are you mine? (Are you mine tomorrow?)

Are you mine? (Or just mine tonight?)

Are you mine? (Are you mine, mine?)

And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

So in case I’m mistaken I

Just wanna hear you say, “You got me, baby

Are you mine?”

She’s got a silver lining

Lone ranger riding through an open space

In my mind when she’s not right there beside me

I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can’t help myself, all I

Wanna hear her say is “Are you mine?”

Well, are you mine? (Are you mine tomorrow?)

Are you mine? (Or just mine tonight?)

Are you mine? (Are you mine tomorrow?)

(Or just mine tonight?)

You were completely mesmerized by James Barnes. James winked at you as the curtain shut in front of him. You weren’t sure if you had accidentally spilled a drink on yourself given the hypnotic state James had you in or if you were slightly dampened for another reason.

You finished the martini and moved on to a glass of red wine as you sat waiting for James to come out to see you like he had done last time. Two bands and two glasses of wine later and James still hadn’t come to join you or whisk you away to dance. You decided you should probably use the bathroom as the next band set up. A waiter directed you to the area near the bar and you quickly used the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, flattened your hair down, and adjusted your boobs to get them popping more.

As you exited the bathroom, you were feeling a bit brave and a whole lot of reckless thanks to how much you had to drink. Rather than return to your table, you decided that, since James didn’t come to you, you would go to him. You snuck around the side of the dance floor to the door that led to the backstage area. You gave a quick look around before opening the door and quickly going through it. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. The loudness of the new band starting their set caused you to slightly stumble as you walked up the few stairs right inside the door. Your eyes becoming more comfortable in the dark lighting, you walked down the hallway. There were more rooms than you had expected, and they were all ajar enough that you could see bands warming up and hanging out inside of them. You continued past the bands, smiling to yourself at the thought of surprising James.

How should I greet him? You wondered, A handshake? A hug? A kiss? Just thinking of his lips against yours made you shiver with anticipation.

You felt like you had been walking for ages and you still hadn’t come across James. You thought about giving up when you reached a closed door at the end of the hallway. It was removed from the other rooms and the first door that had been completely shut. You stood there for a moment and your heart fluttered as you heard James’s voice from behind the door. You knocked lightly on the door and waited to hear him invite you in. You heard nothing, so you knocked a little harder. You still heard nothing, so you tried the doorknob. It turned. You took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

You froze and instantly sobered up as you saw what was happening inside the room. Steve was repeatedly punching a man who was tied up to a chair as James and another man tied to a chair watched.

“Tell. Me. What. You. Know.” James sneered at the man not getting punched with a tone that made your skin crawl.

“Never,” the man with a thick Russian accent responded before spitting on the ground.

“Looks like we need to try something else then,” James retorted as he smacked the man upside the head and furiously spun his chair around so they were face to face. He pulled a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket and made an ordeal of putting them on, “I’ll give you one more chance to talk.”

“Fuck you!” the Russian yelled, spitting again.

“So be it,” James said before landing a hard blow against the Russian’s jaw, “Steve, you can stop, that one looks like he’s about gone. He probably doesn’t know shit anyway.”

“Yes sir,” Steve huffed, stopping his own blows and turning to face James as he landed another punch to the Russian.

Steve’s mouth fell open as he looked past James and saw you, slack jawed and with tears brimming in your eyes.

“Shit...Buck, stop!” Steve yelled over the sound of the Russian’s scream of pain from a hard hit to the side of the head.

“Why?” James grunted.

All Steve could do was point. James turned around and the sneer on his lips quickly changed into a look of panic.

“Deal with this,” he muttered, as he slipped off his brass knuckles.

Your fight or flight response kicked in and you ran away. You fumbled through your purse for your phone and dialed Peter’s number. Although your mind seemed clear of the alcohol, your body was not and in your attempt to call Peter you tripped and fell. James caught up with you and joined you on the ground.

“(Y/N), you’re bleeding. Let me help,” James said, looking at the huge gash on you had gotten on your knee, pulling the handkerchief from his pocket, and placing it against the cut.

You winced, not from the pain, but from his touch against you, “Get away from me,” you choked out as the tears began to burn out of your eyes. You grabbed your phone and heard Peter asking for you on the other end, “Come get me, Peter,” you said, stifling your cries and quickly hanging up

“(Y/N), what you saw back there…”

“I don’t care, just get away from me!” you yelled, pushing him away from you and trying to hoist yourself up off the ground.

“Please, (Y/N), let me help you,” James said, standing up and offering you his hand.

You got yourself to a standing position on your own, “James stay the fuck away from me,” you heaved through sobs as you stumbled down the hallway.

Through your tears you fumbled down the steps and took a deep breath in before going through the door. You knew James was behind you the whole time, but you didn’t dare turn around and he didn’t dare speak again. You were afraid you would cry harder or maybe even throw up if you made eye contact with him. You tried to go as nonchalantly, but quickly through the club as you could as your knee gushed blood down your leg with every step. You got to the front door and pushed it open. You saw your car waiting and ran to get in. Rage and frustration had deafened you, but as you struggled to buckle up in the backseat, you faintly heard Peter talking to someone.

“Drive Peter!” you yelled.

Peter quickly peeled out from his spot and began to drive you home. The ride was silent, which you were thankful for. Your anger and fear fought each other the whole way and you didn’t know which emotion should win. You were afraid of everything that you had seen and angry at James for being involved in whatever it was he was involved in. As much as you hated to be, you were also angry at yourself for letting your guard down and going to look for a man who was involved in some fucked up shit.

“Here you are,” Peter said as he pulled up to your apartment.

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you got out of the car.

You quickly got your keys out and let yourself into your apartment. You kicked the shoes James had bought you off and didn’t care where they landed. You ran into the bathroom and immediately threw up into the toilet. You lay on the bathroom floor, nauseous and crying before passing out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Do I Wanna Know? Tag List:

@mrooks0205​ @shann-the-artist-moon​ @ashtheteenagewitch​ @abschaffer2​ @nuclearuniversalrage @nootrishus​ @brilliantbellesoares​

Bucky Barnes Tag List:

@basementcafe​ @ria132love​ @courtmr​ @jobean12-blog​ @gloomyleaves

Permanent Tag List:

@sophiealiice @mrsdeanwinchester19 @thisismysecrethappyplace @ailynalonso15 @221bshrlocked @hazellnut94 @libbymouse @nerdypinupcrystal @hufflepuffchloe @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @dibsonamericasass

[recurring-polynya]

You might have noticed that I am more than a little obsessed with @kaickos‘s Squad 6 Guard Dog and All-Round Good Boy Milo. She was kind enough to let me write a fluffy little story about him. It is not 100% consistent with the beautiful comic she is drawing about him, because we were working in parallel and great minds work alike, but maybe not perfectly alike. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this over my Thanksgiving weekend. (Seriously, BEHOLD HIM )

Shinigami’s Best Friend (AO3 | ff.net)

Squad 6 acquires a guard dog.

Rated T because apparently I can’t even write some fluff about a dog without cussing. It’s Rukia’s fault, I swear!

Captain Kuchiki Byakuya stepped over the large lump lying across the entrance to the Squad Six Captains’ Office. He smoothed his haori as he sat down at his desk. He read three memos from his inbox before he very calmly said, “Lieutenant, what is that pile of damp fur doing in the doorway?”

His adjutant, Lieutenant Abarai Renji looked up from the mission report he was writing up. “Ah, he appears to be sleepin’, sir.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. Eleven years of working with this lummox, and trying to get information out of Abarai was still an enormous trial. “But why, Abarai?”

“Well, he had a very exciting day, sir. ‘Spect he’s worn out.”

Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut. “Let us back up. What… what kind of animal is it? It is an animal, yes?”

“He’s a dog, sir.”

“Really ? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, sir. I thought you knew about dogs, sir. Pretty sure you mentioned havin’ a couple once or twice.”

“I do. I own three dogs, actually.” They were champion hunting dogs, of the finest bloodlines. They were creatures of pure muscle encased in velvet coats, noble, handsome, and perfectly obedient. They looked absolutely nothing like this sentient dust mop, who was currently snoring softly and kicking one hind leg frantically. “My dogs are kept in a kennel, where a dedicated servant looks after their needs. Why is this one in my office?”

“Oh, well, sir, I’m trying to find him a home. Returning the favor, as it were.”

“The favor.”

“He saved my life, sir.”

This is the point where Byakuya should have known he had lost, because Abarai delivered this phrase exactly as he did when he told the story of how he had met Rukia. Byakuya did not ask for further detail, but he received it anyway, in typical Abarai fashion.

Abarai had been leading a sweep of one of the higher numbered districts of Rukongai -- his own home district, as it happened-- for an elusive Hollow that had been terrorizing the area. He had noticed the dog investigating a rubbish heap as he himself investigated a blind alley. Finding it to be empty, he turned to leave, when the dog let out a frantic bark of singular intensity, a bark that imported the urgency of the situation so clearly that Abarai drew his sword immediately, just in time to block the razor-sharp claws of the Hollow that was materializing from the shadows behind him.

“The thing was apparently able to travel from shadow to shadow, sir, completely untraceable,” Abarai noted. “But the old fellow sniffed him right out and let me know! Once I spotted it, the Hollow wasn’t that tough. Got his mask in one blow, but if I hadn’t seen him in time… Well, sir, you might be holding lieutenant auditions this afternoon, is what I’m saying.”

The alleged canine rolled onto its back, its legs hanging in the air.

Everything about this story sounded like, as Rukia would say, “some bullshit.” But Byakuya had put up with Abarai for long enough that he knew it was a trap to dwell on how they had ended up in this situation. It was more important to focus on how they were getting out of it.

“You said you were going to find it a new home,” Byakuya pointed out. “When is that slated to commence?”

“Well, I needed to file my report, first,” Abarai explained. “And it’s gettin’ kinda late in the day. Figured I’d probably just take him home with me, send a few texts around. See if anyone’s looking for a dog.”

Something about this struck Byakuya as a bad idea, but he did not want to get drawn any further into this nonsense. “Very good, Lieutenant. While, obviously I am grateful for his… services… to the Sixth Division… I do not wish to see him tomorrow, do you understand?”

“Oh, you won’t, sir!”

- - -

It was the next morning.

Byakuya was here.

Abarai was here.

“The dog is here, Abarai,” Byakuya observed.

“His name is Milo,” Abarai announced.

“Why is the dog-- Milo? What kind of name is Milo? Dogs are supposed to have names like Sakura Bloom Cascade. Mountainside Granite Crest.”

“Are they? I dunno. Ichika picked it. I think it’s after a character in one of her books.”

The dog was much cleaner than it had been the day before. It had clearly been bathed, the tangles teased from its coat.

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “So it is your dog now.”

“No, sir, course not! Rukia’d be pretty pissed, I think, if I did something like that without consulting her.”

“She is still in the Living World?”

“Yeah, for a few days, yet.”

“Ichika will grow attached to it, if she has not already.”

Abarai regarded him seriously. “Me and her had a talk about how he’s just a visitor and he can only stay for a few days. She understood.”

“She is very pragmatic,” Byakuya agreed. Amazingly so, all things considered. “So tell me again why the dog is back my office?”

“Oh, well, Iba said to bring him by, see if he gets along with Gorou.”

Byakuya wracked his brain. “Is Gorou the Seventh’s adjutant?”

Abarai gave out one of his barking laughs. “That’s a good one, sir, I’ll have to tell Iba that.” He abruptly realized that Byakuya wasn’t joking. “Uh, Gorou is Iba’s dog. He used to be Captain Komamura’s. He lives at the Seventh, the whole squad is real fond of him.”

“Perfect,” Byakuya replied. “I hope it goes wonderfully.”

  - - -

When Byakuya returned from his afternoon theoretical tactics exercises (which is what he wrote on his agenda when he wanted to go play shogi with Captain Hitsugaya), there was a distinct absence of canine in the office.

“The meeting with Lieutenant Iba went well?” Byakuya asked.

“Oh, yeah, those two old boys got on like a house on fire,” Abarai announced.

“Excellent,” Byakuya replied. He had just gotten settled at his desk again, when there was a rap on the office door.

“Third Seat Ohno and one good dog!”

“Come in!” Abarai called cheerfully.

The door slid open, and Milo trotted into the office, followed by an uncharacteristically smiling Third Seat Ohno. The dog sat down neatly in front of Abarai’s desk, and barked exactly once.

“Captain’s in the office, Milo, you gotta go greet him first,” Abarai informed the dog, as though he was talking to a human.

Bizarrely enough, the dog stood up, ambled over to Byakuya’s desk and repeated the procedure. “Er, at ease,” Byakuya informed the creature.

The dog looked back, questioningly, at Renji.

“Good boy,” Renji informed him.

The dog then went over to the corner, took an extremely loud and messy drink from a water bowl that had not been present yesterday, and then flopped down on a pillow that had also not been there yesterday.

“How was he?” Renji addressed the Third Seat.

“Oh, he was great! He loved chasing the ball. Fourth Seat Kuchiki wanted to throw that frisbee thing he has, but I told him, I won fair and square.”

“He just has to work harder tomorrow,” Abarai suggested.

“He can try,” Ohno replied, a competitive sneer creeping onto his face. “Anything you need, sir?”

“Get those mission reports from the unseated guys organized and filed, would you?”

“No problem, sir!”

Ohno saluted smartly and left.

Byakuya stared at this spectacle.

Their Third Seat was a prissy, waspish stickler for rules. He despised messes. He despised deviations from the usual order. Primarily, he despised Abarai.

Byakuya could feel an elongated “whaaaaaaat?” forming in his mouth, but he somehow couldn’t manage to get it out.

However, after their many years of working together, Abarai was quite adept at reading his captain’s unspoken thoughts. “The seated officers just love Milo,” he provided. “I told Ohno and Kuchiki whoever won their spar could give him his afternoon runabout. Both of ‘em went in-all in for it, I was surprised. Wouldn’t’ve pegged Ohno for a dog guy. Learn something new every day, eh?”

“I thought the dog was going to live at the Seventh!” Byakuya finally managed.

“Oh, no, sir, they’ve already got a dog.”

Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut.

- - -

Over the next few days, Milo made a grand tour of the Gotei 13.

He had pleasant visits at both the Third and the Fifth, but neither extended a permanent invitation.

Milo did not care for the Eleventh. “Too excitement much for an ol’ boy like him,” Abarai explained.

A thank you card arrived from the Coordinated Relief Station in appreciation for “cheering up the patients.”

He was promptly banned from the Ninth, something about a fundamental incompatibility between dogs and newspapers.

Captain Yadoumaru claimed to be “a cat person.”

Milo actually did find a new home at the Tenth for all of an hour, before Captain Hitsugaya, who had been in a meeting, promptly delivered the dog back to the Sixth, glaring harshly at Byakuya, as though he had anything to do with it.

Surely, something would pan out sooner or later.

Surely.

- - -

Friday brought Milo again, along with a very shamefaced Lieutenant Abarai.

“What is the excuse today, Lieutenant?” Byakuya intoned.

“Well, Rukia got home last night, sir,” Abarai explained.

“Ah. So you will now actually be seeking a home for Milo.”

“Not… exactly. Um, do you remember when I said I had a good talk with Ichika about settin’ expectations?”

“Relying on the practicality of a seven-year-old did not turn out as you hoped?”

“Ah, Ichika’s not the problem, actually… it’s just that same talk didn’t work so well on Rukia.”

Byakuya glared at his brother-in-law.

“Well, you know how she is about cute stuff! I mean, look at him, sir, he’s such a charming guy! ”

Milo, as was his usual habit, was asleep on his back, limbs splayed in all directions. Most of him had fallen off his pillow. His tongue had also fallen out of his mouth.

“Perhaps he could spend his days over at the Thirteenth, then,” Byakuya suggested dryly.

“Oh, no, sir, Lieutenant Sentarou’s allergic, you see.’

“I see. You do have a house, Lieutenant. I have been there.”

“Well, sure, sir, but now that Ichika’s in school, no one’s there during the day. He’s so social, I don’t think he’d be happy all by his lonesome.”

Social. Of course. A dog who appeared to sleep for upwards of 22 hours per day.

Byakuya folded his hands. “I have been very tolerant, Lieutenant, but the Sixth Division is a place of calm and deportment and…”

In a flail of legs, Milo suddenly rolled over and sprang to his feet. A noise was emanating from deep in his little doggie ribcage.

“What is happening?” Byakuya asked, alarmed. “What is that sound?”

“He’s growlin’,” Abarai replied curiously, brows creased. “You have a bad dream, guy?”

Milo crept over to the office door, lip curled, hackles raised.

“HEY, BYAKUYA-BOU!”

Every muscle in Byakuya’s body seized. He scrabbled for Senbonzakura.

The door was thrown open and that frightful woman, Shihouin Yoruichi, pranced in.

Or at least she started to.

“Guess who’s back in tow-- aiieee!” The Demon Cat danced backward when she noticed the ball of grey and white fur growling at her feet.

“Milo, heel!” Renji commanded, standing up.

“Milo, belay that!” Byakuya ordered, also standing.

“What the--?!” Yoruichi exclaimed. “When’d you get a dog, Renji? I know that thing doesn’t belong to Byakuya.”

“He is a member of the Sixth Division!” Byakuya roared.

Yoruichi tried to take a step forward, and Milo slunk around her, his growl rising in pitch. “I was just stopping by, can’t stay. Too busy, y’know.” She pointed an index finger at Byakuya. “I will find you later. I know where you live.”

“Ah, too bad, I am dining with the Abarais tonight!” Byakuya snapped. “At their house, where Officer Milo spends his evenings!”

“You are?” Renji asked, puzzled.

“Yes, it is the night you make that thing I like, is it not?”

“You don’t like anything I cook,” Renji pointed out.

“I have changed my mind!”

Yoruichi was growing more and more uncomfortable with the dog snarling at her heels. Finally, she leaned down, made an angry hissing noise and dashed out, slamming the door behind her. A moment passed, then the door slid back open and stuffed her head back in. “I’ll get you, Kuchiki! And your little dog, too!”

Milo barked a single bark at her.

Yoruichi shuddered and slammed the door shut again.

Milo very triumphantly trotted back to his pillow, circled once, and settled back down.

“Good boy,” announced Byakuya.

Milo was back again the next day.

When Byakuya entered the office, he and Abarai stood up in unison to greet their captain.

Byakuya strode up to the dog. “You have proven yourself useful,” he announced. ���As long as you continue to do so, you may stay.” He knelt down, and affixed a handsome leather collar around Milo’s neck. From it hung a badge. On one side was etched the character for six, on the other, a camellia. “But members of the Sixth Division must be in uniform.”

[teecohenc]

stitch by stitch, tear apart .

WHO: Tina Cohen-Chang & Tanya Cohen-Chang with mentions of Ji-Hun Cohen-Chang, Santana Lopez, Sam Evans, Hunter Clarington & Rachel Berry.  WHAT:  Happy Holidays???? ( Not in Castleport, my dudes ).  WHERE: Tanya Cohen-Chang & Ji-Hun Cohen-Chang’s home. WHEN: Thanksgiving. WARNINGS: Mentions of parental death & hints at depression. 

“Mama?” Tina called out as she carefully stepped over the threshold and into to her old family home; a dark and barbed weight settling in her chest as it tended to do ever since his funeral.

Honestly, she didn’t know how her mother could stand to still live in a place where each room was now a crippling reminder of the sunshine presence that would never fill them again. Hell, it was only last week that she’d been able to put back up her favorite framed photo she had of her and her father ( her, sitting atop his shoulders at 6 years old with a missing front-toothed grin while he laughed and laughed and spun them around ) without collapsing into tears.

They’d both agreed weeks back that Thanksgiving wouldn’t be celebrated this year. The mere idea of it was just too hard to comprehend. Truthfully, there was nothing more Tina wanted than to just stay at home for the night, curled with Salem and a few mugs of generously spiked cider while she watched a mind-numbing series on Netflix. But her mother had asked her over the day before yesterday, and there was no way she could or would refuse.

However, the sight of the small, well-loved living room table filled with gimbap, kimchi, and soju all laid out neatly across its surface was pretty paramount in both startling and confusing the absolute hell out of her.

“What—?” but her voice cut off as soon as her mother appeared from down the short hall. For a long moment, Tina just watched her come closer, incredulous to what was happening, as a rush of blinding anger came to the forefront of her senses. Was this for real? Why in the hell would she do this? Why would she do anything that would make them remember him so soon? Too soon.

“His favorite foods from home that he liked to make,” was all Tanya offered after a tense silence, but it only made the emotions ricocheting inside of her that much worse. What was she thinking? Was she serious?! But just as she opened her mouth to shout and reprimand her mother with everything she had, she found herself beat to the punch yet again.

“Don’t. Please.” Another leaden pause thickened the air like a suffocating smog.

“You know he wouldn’t have wanted the house like this, Tina; filled with this awful silence and sorrow. You and I mourning. You know he would have hated it.”

The harsh words were loaded and like a violent shot to the chest — her breath hitching as she tried to fight back the hot press of tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes.

God, hadn’t she cried enough? Why couldn’t it just stop already? Why did she do this?

Tina opened her mouth once more — to say what, she wasn’t too sure — but the sudden and harsh bursts of fury, sorrow, and loneliness she’d felt coalescing to dangerous heights mere seconds before died out when she caught the open and earnest look reflected in her mother’s own watery eyes; something she hadn’t seen in months.

It reminded her of the days she and her mother and father spent during her youth; goofing around in the kitchen and dancing sporadically to old rock music, or camping out in the backyard as her dad made silly-voiced shadow puppets on the tent walls with a flashlight, and so, so much more. Each moment was filled with the same heartfelt and loving air that she’d always felt and cherished the most from her parents that surrounded practically everything they did. They were the memories ( and everything that came with them ) that she’d so desperately tried to shove down in the aftermath of her father’s death for fear of a complete and utter breakdown. But in that one, singular instance and whispered plea from her equally suffering mother in her old family home, she found that she now, more than ever, wanted desperately to cling to them like a stubborn, spoiled child.  

And despite vaguely wishing she’d been talked to first about the whole set up; despite being ambushed and knowing she had the right to be upset in some form or fashion, Tina looked at her mother, over to the table of food that her father always swore by for the heaviest of hearts, and felt her tight, burning muscles lose all their fight and strain. 

Fine. Fine. She was right, wasn’t she?

Wasn’t she . . .?

Nodding her head, Tina smiled a choppy, but somehow sincere smile of her own as she pushed down the niggling urge to run off and throw up.

“Yeah. Okay. . .”

&&. ___________

It was a mere few hours later, and she was on that pleasant precipice of tipsiness that came just before you fell straight into being drunk. There were only a few traces of food left in bits and pieces on the table as she watched from her place on the couch — whole body warm and uncontrollable giggles tumbling free — as her mother regaled a story about the utter disaster that was her father’s proposal. It was one that she’d heard about a million times before, and yet, it never got old.

The start to their rather unexpected evening had been difficult and somewhat stilted despite the mini intervention of sorts. But once they’d stared to eat and the more they talked and began to laugh and tentatively reminisce ( the more they drank ) the easier and more enjoyable it got. Hearing about her father like this: happy and silly and whole as he ever had been, and from the only other person who knew him so well and loved him just as much as she did was something she hadn’t realized she needed; something she didn’t think would be so cathartic after the endless sad of it all.

Tina had just poured two more glasses of peach soju for her and her mother once their mingled laughter finally died down, when Tanya slowly leaned back with a small, satisfied sigh and smiled in that seeking, motherly kind of way.

“. . . How are things with you, though, honey? You know, outside of work. You’ve had so much go on with that poor Rachel girl, and this town’s never-ending need for drama outside of themselves. I haven’t heard much from you about, well . . . any of it lately.”

Well, that was absolutely a conversation that didn’t need to be had.

“Yeah, it’s all fine. I mean, it’s been hard, of course, but I’m . . . you know, dealing. I have Hunter, my friends, and work, so I’m not lacking,” she replied airily as she waved the question off. But Tanya just stared at her daughter for a long, calculating moment, and Tina felt her stomach drop at what she hoped wasn’t coming.  

Anything but that. 

“You should know better than to try and lie to me like that, sweetheart.”

Fuck. Fuck. Of course, yet again, her mother had gone and disarmed her with only a sentence ( paired with the liquor in her system and slew of emotions and issues ) as the repressed realities of the past year came slithering like grotesque vines to grip at her heart. How exactly did one tell their mother that, besides an old schoolmate dying after months of being missing, she and her friends had also been dealing with some freak tormenting them with secrets and blackmail? How she’d been on a rollercoaster with Hunter from the second he’d gotten back into Castleport that finally seemed to be slowing down and in their favor for once, or the nasty fight she’d got into with Santana that left her feeling enormously guilty and murderously irate at the same time? And worst of all, that she’d gotten Sam’s father drunk, took him home, and took a picture of what she’d done in order to save Double C’s from being shut down ( or worse ) after a series of horrible threats?

. . . Then there was her father; the haunting, painful memory of how he’d smiled a ghost of her favorite smile at her as she held his hand tight in hers ( as though that was enough to tether him to life ) before closing his eyes for the final time.

How it felt that she was just a hollow shell — a husk of nothing important or worthy of anything, and maybe she always had been.

Tanya must have seen the clear crumbling wall of emotions falling across her daughter’s face; her own showing nothing but heartbreaking empathy as she gently reached the short distance across the couch they sat on and cupped Tina’s face in her gentle hand.

“내 작은 해바라기가 너무 슬퍼 보인다.”

That.

Hearing her mother speak so gently to her in Korean along with the nickname she’d had since birth was what broke the damn, and hard. There was no stopping it. 

Tina let out an ugly, wrenched sob as she buckled forward and into her mother’s ready, protective, and comforting embrace. Her whole body shook as she cried — cried for everything that’d been her life as of late, and to the one person she knew would just let her, without judgement, without discomfort, without fear or phony reassurances, cry.

There, a daughter curled up with her mother in a heavy home filled with old, bittersweet memories and an emptiness that was felt achingly.  

And there she stayed for a long time.  

[ravorynselik]

At Sea pt. 6

Karokk stirred with a groan, consumed by the pain in his back. Despite the bruises covering the rest of his body, the crooked discomfort in his back consumed all other feelings, ravenous for his attention. He’d been sleeping with his spine bent backwards over the seat of the longboat for the last six hours or so. The skin between his shoulders was rent from his landing against the seat when Garud threw him to safety. The bleeding had stopped, but Karokk could feel how thinly the skin was healed, and the sticky, cracked residue of his own blood along his unarmored back. Karokk felt lucky to not have broken his back as he wiggled his bare toes in the sickly humid air of the shore.

He managed to pry his eyes open, despite the stinging of the salty mist, his ears still drowning in the noise of the waves breaking against the sides of his beached vessel. Above, Karokk saw a churning sky, a deep darkness eating at the visibility. Green streaks ran through the clouds, cracking along the surface of the billowing clouds like a venomous static. Karokk wasn’t the type to be disheartened, but he understood why it was called the Broken Shore now.

Karokk took a deep breath, his bones creaking as he re-inflated. His hand moved to press against his left ribs as pain pierced him. He exhaled into an exasperated exclamation. “..come pick me up.”

Karokk’s ears were still fighting to wake up, through the fog of noise made up of the waves, the wind, and the cracking of the sky. Beneath those sounds he heard sand and rocks being kicked up on the beach, and a reply whose words he couldn’t understand.

He stretched his right arm upwards, holding his shaking hand open. He expected Garud to come pick him up from his resting place, but was met with a surprise. A hand grabbed his, but it was small and green, leathery fingers wrapping around Karokk's palm. The hand tugged on Karokk's, exacerbating the soreness throughout his arm. Karokk groaned.

"Y'gotta help me kid. I don't got the leverage for a rescue." Karokk swatted the green hand away limply, turning his head to look at the source of the voice. A goblin was leaning over the edge of the longboat, pulling his hand back to tuck into the pocket of his black overalls, soaked in seawater. The goblin had no shirt underneath the tattered straps, but Karokk could see remnants of it wrapped around the goblin's other arm, a white fabric, greyed with sweat and stained with blood. The goblin's face was stained as well, his nose broken between two tired eyes. His skin was wrinkled from soaking in the sea, and his shock of blue hair, which was once styled into a mohawk, if Karokk remembered from their time together on the ship, was now matted down, and mostly dried out.

"Suit y'self, kid. No gold from my pouch." The Goblin began to walk away.

"Wait. Please." Karokk lifted his arms enough to rest his elbows on the seat he'd been laying against, pushing himself up so he could see down the beach in the direction the goblin was walking. There was only one other figure on the beach, an orc, laying face-down with a piece of demonic chitin sticking through his back. "Where is everyone? Where is Garud?"

The goblin paused, turning back to Karokk with a look of disappointment hanging on his brow. "You were out of it soon as y'landed. The demons didn't just give up on us, elfie. Only the three of us made it to the shore." He gave a quick glance to the orc behind him. "Guess I should say two."

Karokk froze, eyes widening. "They- the others-"

The goblin read the look on his face. "They ain't dead. Not all of 'em anyway. The winged ones took a handful, including the cow." The goblin pointed a finger over Karokk's head, which Karokk followed.

There was a hill a couple miles down the shore, a large fel-metal structure resting upon it. Karokk could see specks darting to and from the top of the cage, which he assumed were demons. Karokk planted his hands on the side of the longboat closest to him, groggily working his way up to his feet. "What's the plan then?"

"Got a few supplies left. I can get a flare in the sky to get some troops over here. Alliance or Horde, we've got a chance of them helping in this territory. Everyone needs a friend when demons are crawling." The goblin jerked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to a few bags piled up on the beach. "Gotta try to get it dried out first."

"What about them?" Karokk's eyes were trained on the structure on the hill.

"Guess the troops might try to free them."

"Why don't we? What weapons do we have?" "Kid, you're basically one big wound, and I've only got enough in the bags to get some signals made. We ain't playing hero today." The goblin was digging through the bags, and starting to sort out his engineering bits, having led Karokk slowly down the beach. Karokk's eyes scanned over the dead orc. He felt sorry for the orc, but he was looking for a weapon. He eyed the jagged chunk that was impaling the orc, wondering if he could wield it somehow. The goblin made sense, but he wasn't waiting around. He'd rescue Garud with bloody fists if there was no other option. "Maybe we aren't, but I'll try still."

The goblin shook his head, still looking through his supplies. "Yer gonna get yourself killed, elfie. I'm not waitin' around. If there's rescue, I'm taking it, with or without you."

Karokk started snapping the fingers on his right hand, fidgeting nervously. After half a minute or so, tiny lights appeared from the friction between his fingers, singular glowing points of light, shining with a purity that pushed the smothering feeling of the air away for just an instant before they vanished from existence. Karokk continued the process for a moment until he was hit with a wave of relief. For a glorious instant all his fatigue and pain was washed away. The joy faded, and he was filled again with pain and uncertainty, but he was standing straight. His lower back seemed healed, or at least numbed, and for the time being, there was little more he could hope for. "Weapons? Even a sharp stick?"

The goblin blinked, having watched the once-paladin's display. "One sec, elf." He turned back, digging through his bags once more. He pulled something from it, and offered it up to Karokk. It was a wrench, tarnished from use and stained with oil and grease. "Won't need this for what I'm doing."

Karokk took the wrench, adjusting it in his hand until he felt confident, swinging at the air a couple times as though he were holding a mace. On the last swing, he winced, doubling over for a moment as the piercing pain shot through his left ribs again. "Appreciate it." He lifted his chin to look the goblin in the eye, a weak grin playing across his bruised elven features. “Better hurry with that flare, I won’t be long.”

The goblin grinned in kind, extending a hand to Karokk. “The name’s Grotto, kid.”

Karokk pushed off his knees for support as he stood back up. He reached out to shake the goblin’s hand. “Karokk.”

With that, the elf turned and started toward the hill, one limping step at a time.

[this-book-has-been-loved]

Singularity: Chapter 9

AU where instead of landing in the trash nebula, Pidge finds herself on the same planet as a certain Galra prison camp.

(Holt family reunion fic; no romantic relationships)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Read it on Ao3

Read it on FFN

Chapter 9: Monarch

The emptiness that had consumed her these past few days was gone. Instead she was at war with herself: righteous anger, crippling sadness, and fiery determination fought for dominance. Nervous energy bubbled inside her, and she could hardly keep herself from bouncing up and down on her toes.

One varga—one hour—wasn’t much time to formulate an extensive plan, but they did what they could in the time they had.

They all stood in Green’s hangar, suited up for battle, going over the plan one last time. She had one hand resting on her lion, ready to just climb into the cockpit and go.

Shiro’s arms were crossed, and she could tell he was anxious by the way he drummed his fingers on his bicep. “Katie, this isn’t safe.”

“Dude,” Hunk deadpanned. “You realize there’s nothing you can do to stop her, right?”

Shiro sighed. “I just don’t like the idea of you going in there alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Pidge reminded him. “Lance’ll be there too.”

“Still—”

“And I’ll have Keith for backup,” she continued. “Not to mention the freaking Green Lion.” She looked at him for a moment, then reached out to wrap her arms around him. “I know you feel responsible, or whatever,” she mumbled into his chest. “Because you know me. Because you know my family. And I appreciate that. But for once, can you just let me be the reckless irresponsible teenager I am?”

He laughed once, letting out a whoosh of air, as he pulled her in closer. “Just…promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will,” she told him, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “I promise.” Her smile started to fade. “I’m not letting this mission fail. I’m not leaving him again.”

“You won’t have to,” Lance told her. “This’ll be a piece of cake. Get in, blow some stuff up, and get out.”

“And there’s still Vallen to worry about,” Allura added anxiously. “We haven’t been able to establish contact with the prison whatsoever. Who knows what’s going on down there.”

“Hunk and I will take care of that,” Shiro assured her.

“Is there even a prison camp there?” Hunk wondered. “Or was that all just a ruse to lure us out here?”

“I guess we’ll just have to find out,” Shiro replied with a shrug. “Either way, it’ll keep them occupied so the rest of you can do what you need to do on his ship.”

“Matt said it was a trap,” Keith said softly. “What do you think Reggar has planned for this?”

“Well, he’s definitely not going to keep his word,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “As if he’d actually let them go.”

“Surrender isn’t an option anyway.”

“So we’ll do what we do best and improvise,” Pidge said impatiently. “Can we go now?”

Shiro sighed, rubbing his face in resignation. “I feel like I’m raising a bunch of children,” he muttered. Then, louder, and more clearly, “Go ahead, Pidge. Good luck.”

Pidge cheered, grabbing Lance by the hand to pull him into the Green Lion with her. “Alright, sidekick, let’s get going!”

“Sidekick?!”

Ignoring Lance’s indignant sputtering, she settled into her chair in the cockpit. “Hold on tight,” she called. “Here we go!”

With that, the Green Lion shot out of its hangar, flying through the stars towards the imposingly large Galra warship that hung before them.

“Okay, Lance, you’re gonna have to move fast. I don’t know how many sentries will be in there, but hopefully most of them will leave with me. You’ll have to take out the rest of them and patch into the internal systems. All you have to do is open a hatch in the wall and scan the systems with your gauntlet. Then Coran will be able to hack in and mess with everything so Keith can get on board.”

“Got it.”

“Good.” She tapped at her console, fiddling with a few settings. “You should get to the back room. They might try to access the video feed and we don’t want them knowing that you’re with me.”

He nodded, tearing his eyes from the warship. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

Alone in the cockpit of her lion, she felt the adrenaline rush start to set in. “Alright. Time to kick some ass.”

She took a deep breath, then switched her comms to an open frequency. “Attention Galra vessel, this is the Green Paladin. Don’t shoot; I’m surrendering my lion. If you could open the hangar doors, that’d be appreciated.”

Her transmission was answered without a word; the hangar doors before her merely opened, revealing the purple-lit interior. Then they did one step better: activated a tractor beam.

They pulled her into the hangar, but she still maintained enough control to manage her own landing. She guided her lion to a stop, making sure to leave plenty of room beside her for Keith.

“This is it,” she told herself, watching through the viewscreens as dozens of sentries filed into the bay. Sensing her lion’s anxiety, she placed a hand on the dashboard. “Alright, girl, remember: shields up as soon as I get out. And I promise: I’ll let you know if things go wrong and I need a rescue.” Her lion rumbled, still uneasy but content with her promise. Pidge smiled. “And be nice to Lance,” she chastised.

Green grumbled grudgingly, and Pidge could’ve sworn she rolled her eyes. No promises.

Despite everything, Pidge laughed.

She stood up to leave the cockpit, heading towards the exit ramp in Green’s mouth.

“Lance,” she called, “get ready.”

Green lowered her head and opened her mouth, allowing Pidge to step out.

She was greeted by not just sentries, but soldiers as well. The soldiers appeared to be unarmed, but she knew from experience (namely, her fight against Haxus) that they carried swords. Not to mention the sentries—she counted at least two dozen of them, all aiming their blasters at her. She kept her hands up as she walked down the ramp towards them, eyeing them warily.

“Well, hi, there,” she said jauntily. “Any of you guys know where I can find Commander Reggar? I’m here to return his call.”

She was taken down a series of hallways. Two sentries walked in front of her, and two behind her. The procession was led by a single officer.

She still wore her helmet, and they hadn’t bound her hands.

Though she’d turned down the volume of the comms, she was able to hear the rest of her team as they set each step of their plan in motion.

(“Coran, are you getting this?”

“Yes, just need to—ah! Got it! All ready for you, Keith.”

“On it.”)

She tuned it out, focusing on her surrounding as she was marched towards a set of imposing doors set into the wall.

The soldier put his hand to the scanner and the doors opened. He stepped forward, leaving Pidge and the sentries in the hall. Through the doorway, Pidge could see the imposing frame of Commander Reggar. At the side of the room, nearly out of her field of vision, she could make out a few other figures against the wall. She craned her neck to get a better look, then froze as she took them in. Dad and Matt.

The soldier who had entered before her stood at attention before Reggar and saluted. “Sir, we have the Green Paladin.”

Matt started.

Commander Reggar turned, looking past the soldier and into the hall. He smiled. “Perfect. Bring them in.”

The sentries behind her prodded her forwards, and she stepped towards the doorway.

They’re here, she told her lion. Tell the rest of the team. I found them. They’re here.

They hadn’t expected this. They’d assumed Reggar would have them stuck in a cell somewhere. While this certainly cleared up one issue for them, it still threw a wrench in their plans. They’d have to speed things up.

She could hear the voices from the rest of her team over the comm link as their own lions passed on the information.

“Hold tight, Pidge.” Even with the volume turned low, Keith’s voice still rang clear. “I’m on my way.”

Walking into the room, she made quick eye contact first with Matt, and then with her father. She took a deep breath as she focused her attention back towards the Galra commander. It’ll be fine, she reminded herself. Just keep him talking.

“You are dismissed, Blazak,” Reggar intoned, never once taking his eyes off Pidge.

The officer who had lead Pidge bowed. “Vrepit sa.” He exited the bridge, and she was left alone with Reggar.

She held her head high. “Commander Reggar,” she greeted, meeting his gaze.

“Paladin.”

She took a moment to assess the situation. There was Reggar, of course, standing before her in his full imposing glory. But he was the only officer in the room. The only other Galra there were the sentries: four of them surrounding her, and two by her dad and Matt. Six total. She smirked. This was nothing.

“Alright,” she said, locking eyes with Reggar. “You wanted a surrender? I’m here.”

Across the room, Matt stepped towards her, only to have his path blocked by sentries. “Katie, don’t—”

“I can handle this, Matt,” she told him, sparing him a brief glance.

“Katie.” Her father’s voice was calm but firm, reproachful yet warm, somehow managing to convey a dozen emotions in just a single word.

Pidge squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let herself cry in front of Reggar. “Please,” she whispered. “I know what I’m doing.”

“By all means,” Reggar intoned, his tone dripping in amusement, “let the paladin handle this.”

“Stop,” she told him, and he turned back to face her. “Your fight is with me. Not them. I told you, I’m here to negotiate surrender.”

His lip curled in disgust. “And yet you bring me but one lion,” he replied evenly. “I believe my terms were for the surrender of Voltron. And one lion is not Voltron.”

“Well four lions isn’t Voltron either,” she retorted. “They can’t form Voltron without me, which is good news for you.” She folded her hands behind her back, blinking up at him innocently. “I’m just here to discuss the terms of surrender in more explicit terms. Your earlier transmission seemed to be…cut short.”

His yellow eyes flashed dangerously. “You forget your place. You’re not the one in charge of this situation. You’re on your own here. There’s nothing you can do against me.”

Her lion paced anxiously in her mind, and Pidge felt the waves of worry emanating from her. It’s okay, Pidge hastened to assure her. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.

“I’m only one paladin,” Pidge reminded him. “There are four others, running around somewhere. They could be back on our ship, or flying around in their lions. Could be worlds away. Could be somewhere else on this very ship.” She shrugged, nonchalantly. “Who knows?”

He glowered, stepping towards her menacingly. “Don’t play games with me, Paladin.”

She shrunk back instinctively, but held her ground. “I’m just making sure all the cards are on the table.”

A second set of doors, on the opposite end of the bridge, slid open and a soldier, though not the one that had led Pidge there earlier, stepped through. “Sir, we have an issue.”

Reggar’s eyes narrowed as he turned towards the intruder. “What happened?”

“It seems the Black and Yellow Lions have opened fire.”

“What?!”

“They’re attacking our ground forces on Vallen. They…they appear to be attempting to liberate the prison.”

With a snarl, Reggar whirled back on Pidge. She didn’t flinch, just stood there impassively, a small smile on her face. “I can guarantee you that whatever you throw at them, they’ll be able to take care of it.”

“Arkul,” the commander yelled, turning back to the soldier. “Attack them with our full arsenal. Don’t let them get away.”

“Vrepit sa, sir.”

The soldier left. Out of the corner of her eye, Pidge saw Matt and their father exchange a curious glance.

“You come here to speak of surrender,” Reggar snarled. “And yet even now your lions attack our forces on the planet Vallen.”

“That’s beyond my control,” she answered cooly. “The Black and Yellow Lions don’t answer to me.”

“This is a waste of my time,” he snapped. “You’re useless to me!”

Green pushed herself to the forefront of Pidge’s mind, nearly roaring, Do you need me to come now? But the paladin merely sent her reassuring thoughts: Hold.

She didn’t realize that she’d said it out loud until she saw how Reggar was staring at her, his brow furrowed. “Your helmet,” he realized.

She froze. “What?”

“You’re communicating with the other Paladins.”

She breathed, urging herself to stay calm. “You seem to be forgetting that I have a psychic bond with a giant magic robot cat,” she deadpanned. “I don’t need a helmet to communicate with them.”

“Then you won’t object to taking it off.” When she didn’t answer, he grinned and turned towards the sentries standing by her. “Remove their helmet,” he instructed.

A sentry reached towards her, and she smacked its arm away. “I can remove my own helmet,” she snapped.

In one deliberate motion, Pidge pulled it off her head, letting her hair fall into place as she stared Reggar down.

The commander started to smile, taking in her appearance, then glancing over towards Matt. “Well,” he mused. “I think that answers a few questions.”

She let her helmet fall to the floor, clenching her fists and glaring fiercely at Reggar. “Let. My family. Go.”

“I think the stakes are rising for you,” was his response. “Don’t forget which of us is in charge here. You’re in over your head, Paladin.”

“Psychic bond with a Voltron lion,” she reminded him. “You lay one finger on me and she starts blasting her way in here to get me.”

Reggar hummed, seemingly unconcerned. “That may be true. But can you say the same for them?” He waved a hand towards the wall where her brother and father waited.

In response, she drew her bayard, holding it unactivated in her hand. She wanted nothing more than to activate it and unleash hell, but with so many added variables hanging in the air….

Come on, Keith, where are you?

“You wish to fight, Paladin?” Reggar said, his voice deathly quiet. “Then I will oblige.” He drew a weapon, a cylinder of metal, and a glowing purple blade burst to life. Pidge grimaced, reminded of her fight back on the castle with Haxus; he’d had a sword just like this one.

“Katie,” her father spoke again. A hush fell over the room. But Reggar didn’t interrupt him, and so Sam Holt continued. “Katherine Holt. If you have a way off of this ship, then you get out of here.”

Pidge broke, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. But she didn’t turn to him—keeping her eyes locked on Reggar and his sword. “I…I can’t.”

“That’s an order, Cadet.”

She winced. He was using his commander voice, which he only ever did when he was upset. “You can’t ask me to do that, Dad.”

Beside him, Matt was just as tense, straining at his bonds. “Katie, you need to leave.”

“No!” she shouted, her fists clenching. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears that she could feel were moments from spilling over. “I’m not leaving you again!” Her voice cracked. “I just got you back,” she rasped. “I…I can’t lose you again.”

Reggar watched her, his face impassive as he leisurely swung his glowing blade. “Well, Paladin?”

Pidge took a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and met his monochrome yellow eyes.

She activated her bayard.

Reggar didn’t make a move to attack her himself; instead he merely directed his attention towards the four sentries that guarded her. “Open fire.”

“KATIE!”

She was a whirl of motion.

She dropped to the floor, letting the blasts from one hit one that had been behind her. She came up on the other side of the first, slashing it cleanly in half. Swiping with her bayard, she cut off the head of the third and sent its body crashing into the fourth, causing them both to clatter to the floor.

Then Reggar was there, slashing at her vehemently. She blocked his swipes against the tip of her bayard, but barely.

Back on Serva, the prison warden hadn’t been too hard to fight. A bit overweight, out of shape, not used to battle—Pidge had been able to take him down with hardly any effort.

Reggar was entirely different.

He had his sword, and he clearly knew how to use it.

Within a few hits, he’d disarmed her. Her bayard fell out of her hands, clattering uselessly to the ground and spinning out of reach.

Before she could make a move towards it, Reggar lunged. In an instant, the tip of the blade was pointed mere inches from her throat. She froze, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as a tense silence gripped the room.

Commander Reggar grimaced, glaring down at her. “You’re not leaving this ship alive.”

[meet-cuteseries]

A Meet-Cute that cannot be calculated...

I am a 28 year old guy and my parents keep reminding me of how single I am everyday. To society, I am at my peak to still be looking for non-serious relationships, but since both my older brothers settled down when they were 25 and have kids running around, my parents seems to think I should go the same route. You can imagine the past 3 years have only consisted of talks about marriage and finding a good girl and being set up with this uncle’s daughter or that aunt’s daughter. I would move away but alas, i cannot leave my younger sister. She’s turning 21 this year and we have been pretty close since she was born. My older two brothers, didn’t worry much about her since they were in their teens and were only obsessed with gel-ing their hair to look cool and get girls, tbh I don’t think it worked that well for them, but anyways they were all about them during that time. My sister was one cute baby and I wanted to be her shield from the world, every year she got older, I got more protective; luckily she loved me too much to push me away during her teen years when every boy was after her and I made a point to scare them off. She probably dated on the sly but once I knew that romance was OVER. I know I was being a bit selfish, but try telling my 23 year old self that it was okay that a guy could hurt her heart so no, I didn’t allow it. Until in walks her current boyfriend, they together 2 years now, but he was the only one that was brave enough to stay by my sister’s side even though I treated him so badly, so after two months of torture I stopped my nonsense and saw how happy he made my sister and that was that, I accepted him. 

Back to my story, I am single and ready for a relationship but honestly, I just haven’t found THAT person, you know. The one that makes time stand still or move so fast that you want time to stand still just for more moments. I never believed in dating for the fun of it, I’m looking for a long time commitment and apparently that’s my problem. My sister keeps saying “You’re so calculated, just go with the flow”, easy for her to say since her daily life doesn’t include numbers (I’m an acccountant, btw). It’s hard for me to just go with the flow so meeting a potential partner means I analyse everything before investing. If there are some gaps or something that I am not happy with, I move on. That’s it. So yeah, i haven’t had much luck due to my nature.

Once a month, my sister and I have a day for us, catching up and what-not. This particular weekend we chose to take a road trip along the coast, stopping at random places and just living out of the car for the day. We planned to drive about 5 hours, maybe 6 and then turn back, not very specific but you know how I said I am a planner, my sister is the opposite and that’s why she took it as her responsibility to plan our outings otherwise she knew everything would be planned to the T if I was group leader. 

I drove the first 2 hours and now my sister in in the driver’s seat and somehow the topic of my non-existent significant other comes up, my sister starts talking and the first words that come from my mouth is “Can I just get a break from this topic, please?” and I get a simply “NO” reply.

My sister continues, “You are an amazing guy, why don’t you just try to open yourself to someone, let someone get to know more about you than the fact that you work out your likelihood of being together within the first 10 minutes of the conversation...” 

“I can’t help that that is where my mind wanders to, what would the point even be of being with someone that I can’t see a future with”

“You know that some things cannot be explained by sums and calculations, some things just work because it does...”

“Well, I haven’t met anyone that makes me think like that, so... Yeah, I’ll just be stuck here then”

“I have an idea!” (Oh no, I thought to myself)

My sister continues, “since meeting people in a normal way isn’t helping you, let’s do something so random and see what could come from it, what do you say? Are you game?”

“Depends, what it is that I must do and forget about me standing with some cardboard saying COME TALK TO ME, I’M FRIENDLY...”, she laughed at that and I couldn’t help but chuckle too, but just the thought of doing that made me cringe.

“No, that’s embarrassing. Why would I do that to you...No, I’m thinking more along the lines of, the next alone female we see on this very beach road (which we were driving on at the moment), you  should go say HI, and strike up a 10 minute conversation with and if all goes well, take her number..”

“That’s ridiculous...”

“No, it’s not and you said you’ll do what I say”

“I said depends”

“Well, this beach road won’t go on forever, Com’n take a chance!”

Since she said it only counted for that beach road, and considering it was like 6:30 in the morning on a Saturday, I figured what the hay, it’s not like a singular someone will really be here at this time of the morning and so I said “OKAY”.

My sister got excited and started scanning the road and no luck for a full 7 minutes and then my sister screeched with excitement. Beyond the slight mist of the morning we both spot a single figure zooming in as we driving towards it. I hoped it was a male, but of course it wasn’t. Just my luck. 

My sister parks the car and looks at me and says “there is your target, go and get her. “, with a huge smirk on her face. 

“I don’t think I can do this”

“You promised!”

“I know, but how do I go up to her and just talk at this time in the morning, she’ll think I’m a serial killer and run away and report me.”

“If that happens, then I’ll let you off the hook. So go now... Come on, Move it!”

I won’t lie, I was nervous because how would I react if I was taking a run along the beach and some random chick stopped me. But I promised my sister and I never break promises that I make to her. I get out of the car, gather up some courage for a minute or 2 that it takes the mysterious woman to finally get to me, so I half-scream “Hey!″, she almost trips when she hears me and looks a bit startled, confused, scared. I couldn’t place the facial expression... In a low voice, she says “hey”, but doesn’t move closer, just stays still at the place I stopped her during her run. I don’t know what to say as we stare at each other for a full 20 seconds (felt more like hours). I clear my throat and started telling her about my road trip and how my sister and I are looking for fun things to do now. She giggles and looks at me, one eyebrow raised and says “Fun things to do at 6:40am?, I’m sorry but everything is closed at the moment.” I did not think that question through clearly, but she was amused so I hope she doesn’t think I’m silly or anything (why am I even hoping anything, I thought). Anyways, I reply, “I mean later on..”. She continues to tell me that there aren’t much to do, the beach is the main attraction, but if I wanted good food, there’s this and this restaurant and honestly halfway through I stopped listening and was more mesmerized by her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes that had this tinge of gold around the edge of the iris. Her face was soft and friendly and her smile, her smile looked like it could get her out of any situation. When I snap out of my trance, she’s looking at me for a reply and I say, “It all sounds great, thank you”. She gives one more smile, greets and continues her run. 

I get back to the car, my sister can hardly wait to hear what happened and I tell her everything. When I’m done, my sister says to me “What is the likelihood?” 

“What do you mean?”

“... of you two working out?”

That’s when it dawned on me, I didn’t even think of that while I was talking to her. It never crossed my mind to make that calculation and I sit there just wondering what just happened... My sister taps me on the shoulder, smiles and says “... some things just work because it does...”

In that moment for the first time, I could relate to that sentence. My sister then says I should message her, maybe she could join us later some time and I realized I didn’t ask her number. My sister basically throws me out the car, “Go get the number, you idiot!” and I start sprinting in the direction I saw her go when I left her. 

I finally see a figure and there she was sitting on a bench, looking out onto the ocean. She’s just staring and looks so at peace that me sitting next to her would just ruin this moment, but I had to know whether there was something here since I literally have never had a connection with anyone like this before and definitely not this fast. I slowly move towards the bench, take a seat next to her and I could’ve sworn when she turned her face towards me, it happened in slow-motion. She looked a bit confused and said “You?”, I let the word linger in the misty air and then replied “Yeah, I just, uhm, thought I should introduce myself properly. My name is T. And yours?”, she smiled and replied “B, I’m B”

“Nice to officially meet you B.”, we both then looked to the ocean and continued talking for over an hour, that felt like minutes. That was it, I have finally met the girl that I would like time to stand still with, so that I could have just a few more moments with her right here; at the beach where we first met. 

[sarahburness]

Neglecting Self Care: The Biggest Mistake I Made (And How You Can Avoid It)

Whether it’s lack of capital, economy or just a bad idea, each business has its own reasons for failing. And even though I’d agree that those reasons are common, there is another insidious reason that can cause a business to fail.

It’s neglecting self-care.

Here’s why I believe in this and how you can avoid it in your own journey.

You are your business

“You are not patient enough. Your lack of patience is killing you and your need of things is killing you.” – Gary Vaynerchuk

Whether you realize it or not, your business is an extension of you. You are your own business.

From culture to product development, your personality and decision-making have a direct impact on every aspect of your business. And that’s why my big “ah-ha” moment came when I heard that phrase.

It’s a simple phrase. But, when you really think about it, it makes a lot of sense.

How?

Well, when I first started, I was working crazy hours and always on the go. I threw all other priorities to the side and only cared about one thing – getting my business up and running.

I figured this had to be done and it’d be worth it in the long run which, to some degree, I would agree. But, in hindsight, I’ve realized how damaging this mentality was.

I was overworking myself and operating at 20%, which subsequently meant my entire business was, too.

I didn’t notice it at the time but the quality of my work was quickly declining. Slowly, I started to lose clients because of it.

So, I tried to replace those clients by marketing with blog posts.

It wasn’t a terrible idea, but here’s the problem – those blog posts didn’t make sense.

And on top of that, when I did get a potential client on the phone, I could never close the deal. To this day, I’m still not sure why but, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because I was strung out and they could tell.

But, as crazy as it sounds, I continued to operate like this for 8 months and somehow survived.

Part of me thinks it was because my original base of clients -the ones I got when I was still sane- stuck with me out of pity.

The other part of me thinks they stuck with me because they couldn’t find a better rate. I’d offered them a good discount to get up and running. In retrospect, that wasn’t the best idea.

But, fragile things can only hang on for so long and one day, it all came crashing down.

I finally snapped and after losing my cool over the dumbest thing (still embarrassed to talk about it), I finally realized that something had to change.

Immediately, I reached out to all my remaining clients and told them I’d be shutting down the business. I notified them of a referral source that was a good friend of mine and one that agreed to honor their current pricing for the next 3 months.

Now, to be completely honest, I was expecting and hoping for some condolences and expected the typical “No, Sean. It’s sad to see you go.” However, as I’m sure you can guess, that didn’t happen.

Instead, all of them replied with some form of “I think that’s a good idea. You could use some time off.”.

Yeah, that was embarrassing.

I continued on anyway. I tried to make the transition as seamless as possible and after I got the last client moved over, I began my “comeback period”.

To start, I immediately sold everything I could, moved back in with my parents and started digging into self-development books.

I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for. I just knew I had to work my way out of this funk.

So, that’s what I started to do and even though this “comeback period” was only supposed to take a few weeks, it ended up taking 6 months.

And as weird as it sounds, it was the best 6 months of my life.

Not only was I able to come back fresh, but I was able to come back with a wealth of knowledge that I wish I had the first time.

I’ll explain that knowledge throughout the rest of this article. But, long story short, business is a marathon, not a sprint.

With that said, hard work is inevitable

“There is no substitute for hard work” – Thomas Edison

Okay, so now I’m going to throw you a curveball.

I know I just spent the first 5 minutes telling you how I overworked myself and ruined my first business. At the same time, however, I’m still realistic. I realized that all good things take hard work.

That’s why I’m not here to tell you that you can’t or shouldn’t work hard. I’m here to tell you that there are ways to blend the two together.

And when you do, that’s when good things start to happen.

There’s plenty of different ways to do this, but out of all the reading and things I’ve tried, I’ve learned that the best way is systems.

Now, I’m not talking about computer systems or anything like that. I’m talking about systems that allow you to absolutely bring it day in and day out.

And to give you a good idea of how you can apply this to your life, I wanted to give you a sneak peek of the exact systems I’ve used to significantly better my life.

Starting with:

Plan your day out the night before

“If you fail to plan, you plan to fail”- Benjamin Franklin

When I first heard this advice, I honestly thought it was crazy.

I didn’t think it’d make a world of difference if I planned my day out the night before and even if it did, I didn’t think it’d work for my business.

I was a client-facing business and new fires happened every day. There’s no way I could have my schedule set in stone the night before.

But then, I read a story about Charles Schwab.

It explained how he was frustrated at the lack of productivity of his staff and after dealing with this for a short time, he finally decided to ask for help.

He made an announcement and promised to reward the person who could increase productivity for Bethlehem Steel.

After a short search, he came across a man known as Ivy Lee. According to Schwab, Mr. Lee gave him a singular life-changing piece of advice.

That advice?

Every evening before finishing work:

Write down 3–5 things you plan to get done the next day

Rank them from highest to lowest priority

In the morning, start working on the task of highest priority

Only move on to task #2 when you’ve completed #1

Repeat

And that was it. That was the singular piece of advice that changed Charles Schwab’s life.

It was so valuable to him that he sent Ivy Lee a check for $25,000 (the equivalent of $297,256.23 in 2015) 3 weeks later.

So, after reading this story I decided to give it a shot and let’s just say, I’ve used it ever since.

I don’t know if I’d consider it an advice worth $297,256.23 but that’s the best part. I received it from the Productivity Planner, an investment that only cost me $25.

This planner does a lot more and really helps me keep track of all the important tasks at hand. It’s something I highly advise for any entrepreneur.

Sleep

Have you ever met somebody that likes to brag about how he never sleeps?

The type that’s usually sending Snapchats at 4 a.m. or has “you can sleep when you’re dead” tattooed on his back?

Yeah, that used to be me. Well, with the exception of a tattoo on my back.

I was always the type that bragged about how I only slept 5 hours a night. I figured that I was outworking my competition and if I just slept fewer hours, I’d get more work done.

It made sense in theory, but here’s the thing: When I was working, I wasn’t productive.

Don’t get me wrong. I thought I was at the time. But, when I compare the amount of work that I accomplished then to the amount I get now (after getting a full 8 hours), the results aren’t even close.

In other words, I finally realized that my lack of sleep and “constant hustle” was just a glorified way of torturing myself and getting nothing done.

Sounds crazy now that I think about it, but the point is sleep is the foundation of productivity.

Without it, you’ll be dragging the next day. Even though you think you’re productive, you’re not going to be as productive as somebody who’s had a good night’s sleep.

So, what’s the ideal amount of sleep then? Whatever makes you feel rested.

For me, it’s 8 hours. For others, it’s 6 and half hours.

Everybody’s wired differently and if you have the flexibility to test it, I think the easiest way to figure it out is by sleeping in without an alarm clock.

See Also: Do You Have Sleep Debt?

Always have a morning routine

“Win the morning, win the day” – Tim Ferriss

Have you ever woke up frantically and just started running around?

I’m not talking about the Saturday morning after a fun Friday either. I’m talking about a typical Tuesday.

One where you spring out of bed, run straight for the shower, scramble around to find your keys, leap out the window, run to your car and start your day.

Okay, hopefully, you’re not leaping out the window. But if you’re anything like me, then you can certainly relate.

I used to start every morning like this after hitting my snooze for 30 minutes and, surprisingly, my days were always frantic.

I was always running around trying to multitask and always felt like there wasn’t enough time in the day. Something I guess most people refer to as a “rat race”.

And then I heard about the concept of a morning routine- an organized morning routine. One that didn’t involve a frantic wake-up or me jumping out the window to start my day.

The logic of this was that if you could find a routine that turned into a productive day, then replicate that routine and make every day a productive day.

It made sense and I couldn’t find any reason not to give it a try. So, I finally mustered up the courage to ditch my current routine and find another one that’d help me start each day off right.

Now, this took a lot of testing and tweaking. But, after months of trial and error, I finally found my sweet spot. The one that’s allowed me to start every day how I want and all jokes aside, that’s actually allowed me to replicate my increased productivity every single day.

Again, everybody’s different and everybody should make tweaks to fit their own needs. But to get you started, here’s the exact routine that I use every day.

My morning routine:

Wake up without an alarm clock.

Make my bed. (We’re completionists, this gets the momentum going.)

Take the dog for a walk. (Try for an hour, but sometimes more. Usually, it depends on the podcast I’m listening to.)

Take a shower, last 30 seconds are cold. It wakes me up and has some health benefits.

Drink 2-3 cups of coffee that’s usually spiked with Laird Hamilton’s Superfood creamer.

Read for 20 minutes while drinking coffee. This can be anything, but it’s usually the Tao of Seneca.

Meditate using Headspace. It helps remove all anxiety and gets me ready to tackle the day.

Open my productivity planner and start getting things done.

And that’s it. That’s the routine that’s skyrocketed my productivity and indirectly made me thousands of dollars.

To be honest, I probably should send Tim Ferriss a $297,256.23 check as he’s the one that got me on this routine. However, I don’t quite have that much change lying around (yet), so please don’t tell him.

Use the Pomodoro technique + productivity music

Alright, so before we get into this one, I want you to imagine a coder sitting in some dark room, music blaring and just absolutely going to town on his keyboard.

He’s likely got a coffee or large soda in front of him, taking a quick sip every 30 seconds before he goes back to typing a million words a minute.

Okay, now take away the “coder” aspect of this and you get me when I’m in one of my “Pomodoros”.

So what exactly is a “Pomodoro”?

Well long story short, Pomodoro means tomato in Italian and the guy who created this technique (Francesco Cirillo) used a tomato shaped timer when he first created it. So, he named it the Pomodoro technique.

Interesting, I know…but it works.

It works because it forces you to remain 100% focused on a task for 25 straight minutes. That means no Facebook, no email, no phone, no coffee refills and no bathroom – unless absolutely needed.

It’s a concept that sounds overly simple and it really is. But, it’s also one that’s helped me get more things done in 2 hours than I used to in an entire day.

I guess I don’t have the exact scientific reasons for this, but from personal experience, it just helps me keep my eye on the prize and not stopping until it’s complete.

It’s much more effective than my traditional technique of working on something for 3 minutes, checking Instagram, seeing if I have a new email, making sure I didn’t miss James Altucher’s latest blog, and then going back to the task for another 3 minutes.

Now, this worked great and didn’t really need any improvements but then, one day, I was reading Tools of Titans (huge Tim Ferriss fan if you couldn’t tell) and I started trying out the productivity music that he listed.

I tried a few of them but the one that really got me going and one I’ve stuck with to this day is “I Choose Noise By Hybrid”.

Again, not necessary, but it amplifies the experience.

Set boundaries – Parkinson’s Law

“Busy is not productive” – Tim Ferriss

In college, it seemed like I had 2 types of teachers.

One that would give me 3 months to type a paper and one that gave me 3 days to type a paper.

I’d always praise the former and cuss the latter (behind their back, of course) but looking back now, deep down, I think I actually liked the latter more.

Not as a person of course. I’m pretty sure they gave tight deadlines to torture us, but I noticed that when I had 3 days to type a paper, I’d instantly go to town and quickly create a work of art.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t a work of art. But, hey, C’s get degrees.

Then on the flip side, when I had a teacher that’d give me 3 months to type a paper, I’d spend the first 89 days thinking about the paper and making myself a mental wreck. Then, I’d spend the last day cramming all the worthless information I could think of onto a piece of paper and pull away with a D.

Not ideal, but oh well. The occasional D still gets a degree.

This is something I chalked up to a life of procrastination. Then one day, I was reading The Four Hour Workweek by Tim Ferriss (surprising, I know) and I came across the concept of Parkinson’s Law.

Tim gave a similar example of how he applied this concept to college papers and after I heard that, it really started to make sense.

If you’ve never heard of Parkinson’s Law before, it’s an old adage that “work expands as to fill the time available for its completion”. In other words, no matter what, you’ll always be rushing to hit the deadline.

Now, this might sound depressing and if you don’t do anything about it, it can be.

But. here’s the good news.

You can actually use this to your advantage. Instead of allowing yourself long deadlines that cause you to be a mental wreck, take a different approach and tighten up your deadlines.

Always work until 11 p.m.? Force yourself to stop working at 6 p.m.

Always work 7 days a week? Go crazy and start taking Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off.

The way you do it isn’t the important part. The important part is that you work less and force yourself to get more done. Kinda like the teacher that gave me 3 days to write a paper.

Ketogenic Diet

“I find I have much better drive and focus when in a state of ketosis. I have a lot more mental clarity and productivity.” – Bryan Barksdale

Have you ever had one of those mornings where everything is going great and you’re extremely productive, but then you go to lunch and want to sleep the afternoon away?

Yeah, me too. And like many others, I just thought this was normal, something I’d have to live with.

But then, I was talking to a friend and he was telling me about this new lifestyle he was trying out.

Now I’ve never heard somebody say they were trying out a lifestyle so he had my attention already. Then, he cranked it up one notch and told me it was actually a diet.

Ohhh boy, another one of these speeches. No, I will not buy your Nutrisystem.

But, we were out to lunch and I didn’t have anywhere to hide, so I continued to listen to his spiel and that’s when he started to tell me that it wasn’t really a weight loss diet. Instead, it was a diet that helped him maintain energy.

I asked him to continue and that’s when he got real excited and started babbling a bunch of fancy words.

From what I gathered, he was able to keep a steady source of energy because his body was running off ketones (energy that’s created when fat is burned) as opposed to glucose (energy that’s created when carbs are burned).

And even though he sounded slightly crazy, at the same time, he kinda made sense.

I was always a sandwich guy, which meant I was getting my fair share of carbs in over lunch. So, even though I’d never heard this logic before, I couldn’t really discount it.

Not until I tried it, at least.

So, over the next 2 weeks, I decided to look into this a little more and see exactly what I had to do. Then, a few days later, I decided to give it a shot.

I told myself that I’d give it 4 weeks and if I didn’t notice a difference after that, I was going back to my Jimmy Johns.

And to be completely honest, I was really hoping it wasn’t going to work. I really didn’t want to have to decide between my Ultimate Porker and increased energy.

Then, I finally hit ketosis (fat burning mode) and holy hell, it was worth it.

My productivity soared. I no longer had afternoon crashes. My memory improved and I was always focused.

Now that I think about it, I kinda feel like Bradley Cooper in Limitless.

(Even though I still miss my Jimmy Johns.)

That’s a wrap

Without you, your business won’t survive.

I know how easy it is to fall into the trap of constant hustle and thinking more work means better business.

But, remember, busy does not mean productive.

You’re better off taking care of yourself and focusing on the long game, not the quick win and neglecting self-care.

The post Neglecting Self Care: The Biggest Mistake I Made (And How You Can Avoid It) appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

from Dumb Little Man https://www.dumblittleman.com/neglecting-self-care/