#if any of this audio recording is even a tiny bit true i hope that company burns to the ground

[wherelanguage-ends]

.

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Mon 14 June ‘21

Louis Tomlinson Cooks is here!! Yeah it’s 100% for sure as delightful to watch Louis make himself a sandwich as you might have hoped, but how was his cooking? Well I’ll let Louis rate himself-- “I’m not gonna lie not that appetizing is it, I mean look at it,” he says when it comes time to taste his creation, plus, “chopping peeling slicing not great to be fair- everything else I’m all right” (he’s… not wrong, even aside from the peeler issues has this man ever held a knife??) but- “it probably tastes nice though as I said it’s not about presentation for me… [munches cutely]... it’s actually pretty banging, that’s actually quite nice!” Success! Maybe it’s cause he knows the secret to faking good cooking- “as you can see I don’t have a lot of cooking ability so the more butter the better,” I mean the experts can tell you, that’s advanced stuff right there! #Louis-aChild! Substituting mustard and ketchup for coleslaw is a bit of a bold move, but in a belated attempt to convince the kiddos to eat some healthy veg even though he won’t he does bravely try the cucumber strips despite being “not really a man for cucumber” and makes a pained attempt to be positive- “bit of crunch.” Oh and speaking of crunch I’m relieved to have learned that the waffle is NOT a waffle, it’s a crispy waffle shaped bit of potato; a much more reasonable fish sandwich addition than the American version of a potato waffle! Full Time Meals polled to see what people think of Louis cooking; the two choices are “it was amazing” and “the best,” THEY GET IT. My kind of Louis poll! Helen Seamons rated him a “10/10 for effort and entertainment”, Masterchef acknowledged Louis as one of their own, and Marcus Rashford keeps it simple- “my guy” with a lil heart. YEAH, SAME.

Harry showed up in Italy, where he was papped in Venice being driven around (with PA Luis) on a boat (as you do, in Venice). He’s in a cool embroidered Bode shirt and shades and fancy hair, looking good. He’s seen carrying his suitcase, taking photos, and resting his head on his arms looking like a model. One might think, since we just saw the My Policeman cast and crew on set celebrating the wrap of the shoot, that they were done filming and Harry was off to do something different, but nope, he’s there to film! The book has key scenes in Venice that folks had been wondering about the filming of, and David Dawson is also being boated around Venice for the paps, so, it seems that was just for the wrap of the *UK* filming, which makes sense I guess since it would mostly be different crew I imagine, and perhaps some of the main cast are done as well.

Liam’s NFT sale is happening tomorrow! If you’re confused and want more info, I’M NOT GONNA HELP THAT MUCH… uh but I mean you can check out Liam’s youtube video explaining though I would guess that won’t help much (even Liam thinks so; “there’s probably websites that explain a lot better than me” he admits). There is a roundup now posted of what’s on offer for the buyers of the NFTs but I’m gonna be really honest with you, I’m more confused now than I was before. It’s clear that there are only SIX LONELY BUG NFTs right? They for sure said that I believe. But the packages for each different piece (token bundles) seem to me like they’re available to multiple buyers? Like maybe you don’t get the NFT but multiple top bidders on each get the extras? Like they can’t be selling multiple copies of the NFT... can they?! Isn’t the WHOLE POINT that only one person gets to own it? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW I AM SORRY. What I think I understand to be true: the six NFT buyers get to go to “a once-in-a-lifetime immersive dining experience at Resorts World Las Vegas” (this is the dinner with Liam and “a selection of crypto leaders from around the world” which takes place on display inside a giant glass box) and also “a bespoke commemorative presentation box containing the world’s leading holographic display... with audio... and a custom made Lonely Bug commemorative coin,” and “a unique QR code directing the owner to a special ‘Director’s Cut’ edit of the short digital film ‘Making Of Lonely Bug Collection’ which features unreleased footage from the day of the drop showing the creators' reactions when the winning bids came in” (I mean YEAH I would think it’s unreleased it literally hasn’t happened?) But then there are really a lot of other extras including tickets with Meet & Greet access to any Liam Payne headline show around the world, admission to pool and cinema parties in Vegas with Liam, signed art, non-Liam extras (I will literally bid to NOT have 20 minute phone calls with those crypto entrepreneurs PLEASE… but that’s just me), and access to an online party hosted by Liam; I really get the impression many of these, especially the last one, are just crypto tokens that are for sale that aren’t linked to the main Lonely Bug NFTs and many more than 6 people can buy them but a lot of the extras I’m not clear on which it is. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll understand better WE WILL SEE.

Liam also dropped by the discord last night to say some hellos (after a “long long day”) and that he “bought a piece of NFT art of myself tonight I’m going to give it as a prize Monday night so someone can own a piece of art that was owned by me” (an even less tangible bragging point than simply owning an NFT wow that’s an achievement) and the most important update- “I want a French Bulldog”! Oh and he said “that’s like one I did myself” in his fanart channel to a pic of a tiny crocheted illustration of Louis and Harry holding up a rainbow flag. Didya Liam?? (...Liam is crocheting??) Anyway I recognize who it’s supposed to be because it’s based on a familiar piece of fanart, but Liam definitely might NOT realize it’s meant to be someone specific, and tbh I’m more <eyeballs> at him saying that at the rainbow flag crocheted thing than at it being shippy.

Our Song acoustic version is out this Friday!! And Niall talked about NH3 some in an interview today; “I’m in the studio most days, it feels really good. I’m kinda in the latter stages of it and then I’ll go get a band together and go in and record the whole thing. I’ve just kind of been writing for the past 9 or 10 months and really enjoying it” and “It sounds like a complete album. God knows when it’s coming out because I’d like to be able to get around the world to see all the fans as well” and “It’s different. It sounds a lot more grown up. I’m 27 so it’s about time. I really wanted to kinda cement a sound. The singles I’ve released previously have all been kinda different sounds. I would like to have my ballad sound & like a cemented uptempo sound.” He and Anne Marie also talked about one of the other songs they wrote together saying, “It’s kind of like a, how do you describe it- guitar driven meets Tom Petty meets Katy Perry meets…” but say “We haven’t really decided if we are putting it out yet, the conversations are kinda happening... but it’s completely different (from Our Song).”

[imnotwolverine]

Wolfie’s Fic Recs | The Grand Library of Kink 1/2

THE GRAND LIBRARY OF KINK - Allow me to give you a list of treats to quench the unbearable thirst between your thighs. 

>> Looking for part 2 of this list? <<

🖐WARNING: NSFW - SMUT below the cut 🖐

Author’s note: Let’s be honest. You probably are prowling the Tumblr grounds for the same reasons I am: there’s some darn good porn fics out here. And in the year I’ve been in the Cavillry, I’ve gathered a most wondrous collection of soft to extremely kinky fics. Time..to make a more comprehensible list of my favourites thusfar! (💦It’s long, so you better have some fresh panties at the ready💦)

In this library you’ll find:

Part 1:

Self-help 101  

Cherry Popping Goodness 

Vanilla With A Sprinkling Of Sex Toys 

Vanilla - Toybox Special 

Henry’s Hands Special

The Hook-up

Part 2:

Sensory Delights

The Triple Threat  

Fuck - The Geralt Special

Take It Like A Pussy - The Napoleon Special 

Hammer-time - The Walker Special 

Cpt. Cunnilingus - The Syverson Special

Thighs And Canes - The Sherlock Special 

Fem!DOM 

--

Self-help 101

[This one’s all about the act of self love - solo masturbation]

Toys are for boys. Unless it’s in the bedroom..right? Almost The Same by @lunedelorient  [Henry x Reader]

Mike can’t help himself as his gaze falls upon your lipstick stains on a beer bottle. Where else would he like those stains to be? Lipstick by @emyearns [Mike / reader]

A toy arrives to sweeten the lonely nights when Henry is away. There’s only one minor detail as the package is being unwrapped; she isn’t alone yet. Flying Solo by me [OFC x Henry Cavill]

I love fics written in Henry’s point of view. In this one Henry can’t take it no more. He simply needs to let off some steam; I Need A Woman by @chamomilebottom [Henry Cavill x reader]

This man gets caught..a lot, doesn’t he? You give Henry a helping hand as you catch him in the shower in Welcome Home by @rosethornsanddaisies [Henry Cavill x reader]

I wasn’t sure whether I should put this in the self-help section. So consider yourself warned: watch out..you’re in for a solo-lovin’ surprise in On Display by @ladyreapermc [August Walker x Reader]

--

Cherry Popping Goodness

[There’s a first time for each flower to bloom - loss of vaginal/anal virginity]

The bookstore meet-cute, the skipping heartbeats, and the fluster of cheeks as she just read a steamy passage of her book aloud. It’s the perfect recipe for romance...though there is one tiny, tiny... Her Minor Thing by @ladyreapermc [Henry Cavill x erotica novelist!OFC]

For one night only, gigolo August Walker will make all your fantasies come true. His specialty? Sweet, innocent little flowers. Velvet Chains by @littlefreya [August Walker x reader]

The morning after the cherry popping, a bud starts to bloom. White Honey by @littlefreya [Henry Cavill x reader]

This fic! This. Fic. I hadn’t seen I Capture The Castle when I read this fic, but it made me fall for Stephen so freakin’ hard that I kind of watched the movie straight after. It’s sweet, blushing-cheeks worthy and utterly cinematic. Bluebells by @yespolkadotkitty [Stephen x reader]

August Walker, a virgin? Well..there’s a First Time For Everything by @hope-to-hell [August Walker x reader]

Theseus didn’t mean it to go this way. But he was so thirsty - and now for more then just a drink of water. To Die of Thirst by @hope-to-hell. [Theseus x reader]

It’s Geralt’s first time and isn’t a Witcher body just a fascinating thing..hmm... Anatomy Lessons by @princess-of-riviaa [Geralt x experienced!reader] 

I didn’t know bullet point lists could be this sensual and H.O.T. - First Time w/ Henry by @henchry [Henry Cavill x reader]

GOODNESS ME. Can first times be like this for everyone, please and thank you?! My Flower gives you squirt-inducing, sweet talkin’ Henry making the most out of this special little moment. By @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

Wait till marriage with August? Highly unlikely....right? Uncharted Territory by @chamomilebottom [August Walker x reader]

Now onto some other sanctuaries to plunder. (Anal that is) Poker Night @foodieforthoughts [Syverson x OFC]

Lets @littlefreya’s words entice you into a new world as you and Henry finally pick the Forbidden Fruit (yep, anal again) [Henry Cavill x OFC]

And now we’re on the anal train, I do notice that men barely ever get any backdoor lovin’ from their partners. And I know, I know: most men are really apprehensive about it. But goodness can it be good! Sy has learned of it’s sweetness and reminisces that first time in Sy And The Sex Tape by @hope-to-hell [Syverson x reader]

--

Vanilla With A Sprinkling Of Sex Toys

[Couple’s sex with just a touch of kink] 

Let’s start with a game. Written in the language of love (French that is), this enticing bit of foreplay gets the blood streaming alright. Invisible Touch by @emelinelovesjc [Henry Cavill x reader]

Is it time for my favourite poetic foreplay fic?! YES it IS! Ode by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether just does something for me and I can simply not explain - just go ahead and read it and see for yourself! [Henry Cavill x reader] 

The key to good sex, is foreplay. And teasing during an event? You bet your  sweet ass you can get Henry riled up. Tease by @captainbigdy [Henry Cavill x reader]

Ready for some myrrh mountain-esque, super indulgent eroticism? Read Confessions by @captainbigdy [Henry Cavill x reader]

Birthday sex

What do you give a man who has it all, for his birthday? A little boudoir, a little make-out on the couch and...Happy Birthday by @rosethornsanddaisies [Henry Cavill x reader]

Apparently boudoir pictures for Henry’s birthday is on y’alls mind! A Picture’s Worth by @sunflowersstan gives you a belated birthday present - but that definitely should not spoil the fun. [Henry Cavill x reader]

Home (coming)

For once, Henry is forgiven for his ungodly early alarm clock: it’s beach time! And Kal will be there too. Home by @chamomilebottom [Henry Cavill x reader]

Henry, unfortunately, isn’t always home. In fact, he’s away quite a lot. Meaning it’s all the important to make up for lost time: Welcome Home by @geralt-of-baevia [Henry Cavill x reader]

And what’d you do if he finally comes home, but an impromptu surprise party is organised by his friends? Better Keep Quiet, baby. By @toomanystoriessolittletime [Henry Cavill x reader]

Does that come with side effects? When a 200 pound beast tackles you after coming home, you just might feel it in the next few days. Lust Worthy by @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

Home is also domestic goodness ( “Can I, baby?” He whispers against your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it, his eyes searching to meet yours. >> I mean..YES YOU CAN!! DO WHATEVER YOU MUST YOU HUNK OF A BEAR 😩) in this sweet ficseries chap by @lovelycavills: The Night [Henry Cavill x reader]

Tropes to lovers 

Friends to lovers trope, anyone? Of Fck It by @tillthelandslide gives you beers on the couch, friendly banter and then WOOPSIEDOODLIEDOO. [Henry Cavill x reader]

More friends to lovers with one accidental wet dream while lounging on the couch with Henry. Dreaming by @yoursecretsmutblog [Henry Cavill x reader]

Or perhaps PA/boss to lovers? Thunder by @toomanystoriessolittletime gives you Henry in full Geralt gear and rain..lots and lots of rain - meaning it’s time for a ..😏break. [Henry Cavill x OFC]

One more PA story to get the storm in your pussy settled. Years after working for Henry, you send a drunk text and he Answers. In the flesh. By @toomanystoriessolittletime [Henry Cavill x reader]

Audio porn

Another thing I got quite attached to while I learned all about my kinks here on Tumblr, is audio porn. And what better than to have Henry do some audio recording for us thirsty women? Erotic Audios Present... By @thetaoofzoe [Henry Cavill x OFC]

More audioporn!Henry? @toomanystoriessolittletime has got you covered with Talk Dirty To Me, starring photographer Henry who has had.. a bit of a past - and doesn’t his voice sound terribly familiar? 🧐[au!Henry Cavill x reader]

Communication

Smutty fics practically always skip the “So what do you actually like”-part. Well. This fic covers it - and then some. The Interview by @peachyvulpixie. [Henry Cavill x OFC]

And communication is very - very important. Especially when moving stuff around, right Henry? A Little Bit To The Left by @lunedelorient [Henry Cavill x OFC] 

Communication is also key when you want to decide on sub/dom dynamics. Switch has daddy vibes, but in a domestic, confidential, well-established relationship. By @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader] 

Or, you may just want to tell sweet Henry that it’s definitely okay to get a little louder between the sheets. Express Yourself by @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

A thrilling ride

Want to “chose your own adventure” in smutty style? @sciapod’s got just the thing you’re looking for with BD Morning Energy  [Henry Cavill x reader]

Sometimes it’s rough, sometimes it’s sweet, but ever and ever; it’s truly Henry. Read about various types of horny Henry in Shapeshifter by @wanderinglunarnights [Henry Cavill x reader]

Body/orgasm insecurity

This was a very personal piece to write. I have difficulty reaching orgasms, especially with a partner, so for all fellow ladies with the same little problem: Henry is here to give you some Riding Lessons between the sheets. [Henry Cavill x OFC]

And I’m so, so glad that there’s at least a few of you here on Tumblr who can also get a little worried and even impatient between the sheets. Thankfully Henry is the posterboy of Patience, ready to unravel you piece...by.. delicious..piece. By @captainbigdy [Henry Cavill x OFC] 

Nipple love

Female nips get all the lovin’. But male nipples? Not often. Tease by @the-soot-sprite will make sure that is taken well taken care off. [Henry Cavill x reader]

Alright, and now for a little female nip-nip action, let’s dive right into the action. Rough lovin’, shovin’ Cavill is showing you how terribly fucked out he can get you in In My Thoughts by @jolly-polly [Henry Cavill x reader]

Horizontal vs. vertical sex 

Shower sex is such a delectable topic to read about (even though in real life it’s usually awkward and impractical). Let your dreams bring you..after workout Showers with Henry by @darklydeliciousdesires [Henry Cavill x reader]

Or perhaps honeymoon shower sessions? Mirror by @tillthelandslide [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Did someone say honeymoon? Marshall remembers having to climb through that darn window the night before he married you and it makes for a super sweet, domestic fluffy smutty sex scene. And did I mention there was family right at the other side of the door? 👀 Locked by @fourmarkdove [Marshall x reader]

After all that working out it’s time for some food. But what would Henry prefer: ragu or you? What’s Cooking by @writingforhenry [Henry Cavill x reader]

Netflix and Chill

Netflix and chill, anyone? This Movie Night becomes a little steamy 💦 by @writingforhenry [Henry Cavill x reader]

It’s really difficult to watch tv with Henry around, and Freya gets a little frustrated with his incessant teasing; can a woman not just watch some Mindhunter in peace, damnit?! The Refund by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Play-time! 

From game play to girlfriend play during an extremely boring day in lockdown. Confined by @darklydeliciousdesires [Henry Cavill x reader]

More game chair smuttiness? It’s Game on! Mic on! - And ..Eh.. wait..what?! By @thecavillchronicles [Henry Cavill x reader]

Is tickle-play a thing? After a long day where everything seems to have gone wrong, you just need a good shag and Mike will make sure you can Sleep soundly tonight. @emyearns [Mikey x reader]

Alright, it’s a thing. Here’s some more tickle play with Marshall. Laughing During Sex by @promptandpros [Marshall x reader]

Hereby I declare that hairplay is also a thing. And with curls like Henry’s..I mean..come on. Love So Soft gives you dry-humping like horny teenagers after a bad day - and yes..hairplay. By @princess-of-riviaa [Henry Cavill x reader]

Needy Henry

Sad sky eyes are in dire need of some medicine, but Rose doesn’t realise until she’s getting some action for herself that the best medicine for Henry’s malady, is probably not watery soup. In Morbus Et Salus by @fanficsrusz [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Drunk Henry is in need of a midnight snack. And it’s a good thing there just happens to be one in his bed. Drunk In Love by @angrythingstarlight [Henry Cavill x reader]

And the next morning he might just be a really, really needy bear. (My boyfriend, for one, is always EXTRA horny when he is hungover 😂) Five More Minutes by @angrythingstarlight [Henry Cavill x reader]

A few more

And five minutes is probably all you get when you have kids. But it just makes these little mommy and daddy moments all the more sacred. Close To You by @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x reader]

There’s also not a lot of time when you’re in a limo, trying to get your groove on. 🎶Driver roll up the Partition pleaseee 🎶by @fanficsrusz [Henry Cavill x reader]

Now to finish off this vanilla segment: vanilla kisses! Lick Me Till Icecream by @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

Vanilla - Toybox Special 

[A special toy segment for you vanilla(ish) lovers] 

When it’s play time - long work day or no - Henry better be prepared for some frisky business. On Purpose by @wanna-do-bad-things (also hell yes for including some toys!) [Henry Cavill x one very frustrated OFC]

More toys? MORE TOYS! Command And Obey brings you dom!Henry being a terrible teasing ass, but alas..it still gets you all kinds of wet *shrugs* By @wanna-do-bad-things [Henry Cavill x reader]

Perhaps need some dom!Clark instead? With toys? We’ve got you covered. By @poledancingdinos [Clark x OFC]

Now, let’s not forget about Henry’s favourite toy of them all. His bike. In Good Vibrations by @deathonyourtongue [Henry Cavill x reader]

You find Henry pleasing himself with something you didn’t even know he owned; a fleshlight. Henry’s Toy by @viking-raider [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

Henry’s Hands Special 

[I can’t be the only one who has the hots for hands]

Having a bad day? Talented fingers belonging to one caring man of a Henry are here to let off your steam. Burn The Couch by @meowpurrbooks [Henry Cavill x reader]

I’m glad I’m not the only one who has a complete and utter obsession with male hands. This fic is amazing in every way. It’s got suspense, hands AND Henry; Idle Hands by @thelastsock [Henry Cavill x Reader]

More handsy stuff is offered in this private drawing session. Draw Me With Your Fingers by @emelinelovesjc [Henry Cavill x OFC!author]

This fic? ..it’s hands-on work. I must give a disclaimer: I’m hard to please when it comes to daddy!fics, but this one I truly enjoyed. It perfectly rides (hehe) the fine balance between rough throat fucking, choking and usage of the endearing nickname ‘little fawn’. Hands by @twhstuckylover [Henry Cavill x reader]

Henry’s hands are here to warm you up on a cold day in Finger Work by @yoursecretsmutblog [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

The Hook-up

[A little less established, a little more messy. But definitely h-o-t-h-o-t-h-o-t]

Changing rooms may just hide a Dirty Secret (and crotchless pantyhoses) by @foodieforthoughts [Henry Cavill x OFC]

Being toyed around, Henry can’t stand it any longer - and goodness where did he leave that darn bowtie?! Caught In The Storm by @thelastsock [Henry Cavill x Reader]

Syverson is also not one who likes to be toyed around with, especially when you’re in the same bar wearing that deliciously short dress and his favourite high heels. Mine by @yoursecretsmutblog [Syverson x reader]

Dancefloor delights and popping buttons (is this a good time to admit I have ripped some shirts like that? *woops* 😅) - this quite exhibitionistic fic is an utter delight and I’m Glad You Came  by @foodieforthoughts [Henry Cavill x reader]

Since this is steady-hook-up I wasn’t sure whether to post it in this segment or the Vanilla segment, but ..yea..it definitely deserves a read! Rules Of Engagement has Em and Henry coming to the realisation that a friendly hook-up isn’t all that easy. Especially not when one foul IUD throws baby dust in their busy lives. By @ladyreapermc​ [Henry Cavill x OFC] 

Marshall specials 

An old friend/lover shows up just when you find yourself with the predicament of a broken down car. Before you know it you’re having car sex with one curly haired police officer in..yea..a police car. A Perfect Shitty Day by @toomanystoriessolittletime [Marshall x reader]

OOPH you girls are in it for the Walter hook-ups. Forget That Asshole follows up after you had one particularly disappointing blind date. And thankfully a blue eyed sweater-bear-man is there to provide you some much needed consolation.  By @penwieldingdreamer [Marshall x reader]

Sex on set

On set things might just get a little steamy, so might as well take ..*clip scene* ACTION! Touch Me Tease Me by @deathonyourtongue [Henry Cavill x OFC]  

More on-set delights? Perhaps with a touch of embarrassing nerves? Directed By La Petite Mort by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

>> Looking for part 2 of this list? <<

--

Artworks/edits are mine ❤️And as always: if you have more fic recs to add, share them in your reblogs/comments! 

--

[my-writings-and-musings]

Could you perhaps do Rung's Cyclonus', Tailgate's and First Aid's reaction to their human S/O being trapped in the same room as Rung and Whirl while Fort Max he has his psychotic episode? And Fort Max isn't exactly gentle with them either so

Couple of broken ribs there at least

I love how you guys are so invested in this situation and all the potential prompts because it miiiiight just be from one of my favorite issues of MTMTE... Changing canon for all of these in that Rung emerges from this whole situation with his head intact.

Rung

·He's accustomed to the risks inherent to his profession, and despite his tiny size compared to his larger patients he's more than capable of handling himself in most crisis situations, you knew that the moment you heard that one of his more recent positions involved treating the Wreckers. But when Fortress Maximus burst in to his office, clearly in the fog of an agonizing psychotic episode, he felt fear like he hadn't in ages. His terror isn't for him however. You were preparing to head out so Whirl could have his appointment, your smile as casual as could be as you bid him goodbye from the doorway, when you were snatched up by the colossal Autobot forcing his way inside. Just seeing your fragile organic body in that gigantic fist... Whirl had been unable to stop him before being stabbed to the floor, and he'd been equally incapable of doing anything to save you as he was pinned to a chair with a few errant pieces of warped metal.

·With what Max endured, he knows the hulking mech is suffering from pain he hasn't even begun to acknowledge, but that doesn't make it any easier for him to stay calm and proffesional as you're held firmly in his grasp. Words can't begin to describe how badly he wants to ask for you to be released, even if only to be set down on an available surface so you can breathe, as his sharp audials can pick up every tiny gasp from your struggling body. Yet he doesn't dare to risk upsetting the mech and potentially spurring him to squeeze. His always in control temper is almost able to break loose as Whirl antagonizes Max with you in such a vulnerable position, but he settles for broadcasting audio from his thumb's recorder to the camera he spots on the ceiling. All he can do is hope the bots watching are planning a rescue in short order...

·Things go south quickly when Maximus realizes his demands aren't being heeded, and of all those in the room it's you that pays the highest price. His thumb being torn off hardly compares to his agony watching you be held aloft as a warning and squeezed, your hoarse cry of agony wheezing out into a whisper as your bones audibly crack. Max actually seems horrified for a moment, particularly as you cough up crimson, but he doesn't end the ordeal. Clearly guilty but not deterred, he only lays your tiny body on a nearby surface as he returns to his demands. Nothing had ever hurt more than the agonized little coughs you emitted as you lay so perilously still... It had been enough to compel him to try the worst thing one can do in a hostage situation, ask something of the captor, even if it's little more than weak pleading for only your release.

·He has no way to describe how badly he wishes he could tear himself from his bonds, but when the footage of Overlord is projected on the wall and Maximus collapses under the weight of his trauma, he still finds the softness in his spark to lean forth and comfort the weeping giant with an embrace. While he'd hear later there were plans for taking a shot through one of the many windows, the presence of your tiny body had made it impossible, and thus he had the freedom to end the situation on peaceful terms. Fort Max had been gently led to a guarded room for solitary confinement, Whirl had been proffesionally extracted from his impalement, and you had been rushed to the medical bay while he was still being unstuck from the chair... He hadn't even cared about his missing digit when he'd been told you were being taken to a private room for emergency treatment, from which the medics had refused him entry due to the intensity of your injuries.

·When he'd finally seen you afterwards it had almost broken his spark. You had looked so unlike yourself; frail, lifeless, and connected to a number of life saving machines that beeped and hummed to keep you stable. It didn't matter that you'd be fine, the suffering you had endured already and would face while recovering was enough to overwhelm him with guilt, as he blames himself for the whole ordeal. He hadn't seen the potential for Maximus to suffer a break, and hadn't even been able to talk him down, resulting in suffering for you and so many others. Though he's encouraged and comforted by his friends, he keeps a tireless vigil at your bedside until you wake, occasionally brushing a digit against your tiny hand to provide some reassurance that he's here and watching over you.

·When you do wake up, he's the first thing you see, his gentle smile looking down at you while he welcomes you back to the waking world. The guilt behind his lenses is even more apparent than the pain in every part of your body. Initially he's steadfast in denying he has any such inclinations. All he wants to focus on is your recovery, and making certain you're not traumatized by what you've experienced, he says and insists in a way you know is merely half true. Only when you've recovered enough strength to pressure him does he break, expressing his boundless guilt at having failed you in such a high stakes situation, which he shouldn't even have allowed to happen in the first place. Your reassurance that the only one to blame for the ordeal is the mech who tortured Fort Max brings a measure of perspective, but it's the feeling of your hand in his that solidifies the sense of comfort, your total lack of blame allowing him to turn some of his boundless forgiveness inward. You made it, everyone had made it, and the two of you could bask in the wonder of that simple victory together. That was enough for now.

Cyclonus

·It takes a full legion of bots to hold him back when news of the situation reaches him. You'd been near Rung's office when Fortress Maximus had apparently grabbed you in his rush, and he cares little for calm or strategy when the full weight of the situation is explained to him. The only two other bots in there with you are Rung and Whirl, meaning that you're not only without protection, you're in the middle of a powder keg. He's only prevented from overpowering the barricade when a firm reminder gets him to see the need for caution; all Max need do is bat you aside with his hand and you'll die, which makes your survival unlikely in the event of any altercation. Such painful logic reigns him in to a simmering silence. Joining the main team on the bridge, mostly so he won't try another break in, he's left to watch everything play out on the security feed.

·He only has optics for you as he stands silently by. Though his motionless self could be mistaken for a glowering statue, any bot who looked closer would see the rage boiling in his glare, and how his claws twitched every time there was sudden movement on the screen, which was often due to Whirl gesticulating and Maximus pacing with his weapon ready to fire. Like a hawk ready to dive, he keeps track of it all. You're the center of his focus of course, but he needs to be ready the nanosecond you need him, and that means knowing the terrain to plot out potential rescue missions. Ten minutes into the ordeal he already has fifty or so plans to remove you from just as many scenarios that might play out. While he's initially fine letting the commanding officers take control for the sake of a unified front, that quickly ends when he sees that no effort is being made to storm the room in order to ensure there are no casualties, a goal he hardly agrees with.

·For all of his efforts he fails to hide how incredibly worried he is for you in this situation. Though he snaps the instant someone tries to reassure him, declaring that he has no undue concern but merely wants them to consider the delicate nature of organics, he convinces no one. As he watches Rung lose his thumb, his claws dig so deeply into his crossed arms that they bleed. The lack of audio which follows only makes his worrying turn to nauseous panic. Watching your impossibly tiny form sit tensely on a table brings up a deep buried bit of self loathing, an internal voice taunting him for putting his spark on the line for something so weak, but he crushes its efforts by thinking back to the happiness you've given him. You aren't weak, he's seen the strength of your spirit time and again, your body is simply fragile... As if to cruelly make his point, Fort Max picks you up in a sudden rage, holding you aloft as he roars threats none of them can hear before he squeezes.

·The sight simultaneously breaks his spark and flips a switch inside of him. Ultra Magnus himself is an insignificant obstacle as he does what he should have when this whole thing began; run to your rescue. Cries for him to stop go unheeded, and thankfully for the sake of saving time most are smart enough to get out of his way. As fast as he is, the room you're held in is a fair distance from where he was, and thus there's an agonizing amount of limbo he has to endure on the way there. Even through the dull camera feed he could see how you'd spasmed in Maximus's grasp, and the way your face had contorted in absolute agony... It hurt in a way he wasn't ready to comprehend. There's no way for him to know if you're even still alive, but as unthinkable as losing you may be, he's well aware of what will happen if he arrives to find you lifeless behind the blockaded doors. Hopefully for Fort Max it won't come to that.

·There's a sobering dose of bewilderment when he arrives to see the doors opening of their own accord, but that hardly delays him for long, and he barrels forward to discover a hostage situation that's been settled for precious few moments. Ignoring anything and everyone else, he grabs your tiny self and runs, silent as he's informed through comm that Maximus has surrendered and the medics are ready in the medbay. Unable to be grateful at the sight of you so damaged, he holds you closely but gingerly as if he might break you further, willing your ragged breaths to keep coming unaided for just a little longer. One of his last thoughts as he arrives at the medical bay and the medics take you away is how small your body is in his claws, which somehow makes what's been done all the more agonizing. What reason would any member of his species have to hurt something so incapable of fighting back? As he waits in the common area for news of your condition the question almost mocks him with his own history of misdeeds...

·Seeing you after the surgery does nothing to quell his conscience. Though he's told you'll live, it's difficult to restrain the urge to execute violent revenge on your attacker, and only his greater need to ensure your safety prevents him from doing so. The vigil he keeps over you is tireless and appears stoic to others, but when he's certain you're alone his demeanor is soft and caring, his digits gently adjusting your blankets or brushing errant strands of hair from your face as he waits for you to regain your strength. You awaken slowly and peacefully to the sound of a regal baritone singing a soft song in a language you don't recognize. A familiar thumb brushes your face as you open your eyes, the gigantic claw that greets you not intimidating in the slightest as you behold the faintest hint of a smile on a face otherwise wrought with pain. He's barely able to contain his guilt as he relays his ineffectiveness during your capture, but his gratitude to see you alive is equally obvious in the way he relaxes as you lay your hand in his palm. Weak as you may be, you reveal that you were still conscious when he took you to the medical bay, and how his protective grasp around you had allowed you to believe everything would be okay. The news has a profound effect on him. To hear that he brought peace to you even once, in a manner similiar to what you do each and every day, is beyond anything he could ever imagine. It's enough to make him content just to enjoy the simple gratitude of having you back.

Tailgate

·When he's informed that you're being held hostage he nearly has a panic attack, and when the details of who you're with are relayed only his drive to protect you prevents full on fainting. Through his panicking he's able to convince the commanding bots to let him in the crisis room, if only because not knowing what's going on behind the heavy doors simply tears him apart in a way he can't endure. Knowing what you mean to each other, he's allowed in, and his little visor locks onto your image on the screen without hesitation. Nothing beyond your somewhat blurry face exists in his mind. Small hands clasp as they usually would to hold yours, but the emptiness due to your absence makes him feel pain instead of any kind of comfort, something he doesn't know how to process as he watches you with sad intensity.

·From the moment Maximus makes his first demand he's pushing for your rescue and advocating giving whatever Max wants to facilitate your release. Though he knows that isn't possible, the helplessness of being stuck on the sidelines makes him desperate enough to want Rodimus to give it a try. That sense of powerlessness is exacerbated by the sight of you being held up in the giant's fist. He's woken up after six million years to find someone he adores, and he's going to lose them like this, after so little time together? It's not fair to anyone, but especially you! Rage boils over in his spark as the injustice of it all tempts him to consider charging in himself. All you ever did to Fort Max was be nice, and this is what he does in return? Knowing the bot is suffering a psychotic episode does nothing to quell his anger.

·With nothing good happening on the screen, he tries to recall all the happy moments you've enjoyed together to keep himself calm, replaying the fun movie nights and dates at Swerve's that showed him how wonderful life could be... But the strategy does little to help with his traitorous optics constantly flipping back to the video feed. Nothing has changed each time, but he still can't help looking in some desperate hope that Fort Max will realize you are innocent and either let you go or end this entire ordeal. In his frustration he snaps at the commanding bots for not doing something, and their continued lack of action angers him almost as much as their reassurances. Don't they know how important you are to him?! How you made everything better and that losing you might destroy him?! He's on the verge of a kind of furious panic attack when the situation on the screen goes south dramatically fast.

·Being a small bot means he knows how terrifying it is to be grabbed and pinned by larger Cybertronians, but he can't even begin to imagine how afraid you must be when Fort Max swipes you up far more aggressively than before after an argument none of them can hear breaks out. You're endlessly brave as always, resisting the urge to scream despite the fear and pain visible on your expression, but his worrying turns to a near breakdown when you're held up high and squeezed. The spasm that passes through you is so great he can practically hear the crack of your little bones despite the lack of sound coming through. Resisting the urge to be sick, he grabs onto Rodimus and demands that action be taken before he's forced to do something himself, and despite his tiny size his tone is determined enough to give every present bot pause. By convenient timing that moment is concurrent with Rewind finally getting into position and projecting horrifying images of Overlord into the room, debilitating the hulking Autobot and leaving him helpless whilst Rung talks him down. With you lying motionless in the line of fire Rodimus makes the call to quickly but peacefully have security forces take the room.

·Tailgate is tearing down the hallways before anyone can say another word, desperate to see you as soon as he can if there's still time. The distance between the command center and Rung's office means that he takes some time to arrive, and while he's a quivering mess of panic by then it's only made worse when he hears you're already in the medical bay and receiving emergency care, as your injuries are potentially fatal. Between exhaustion and grief he briefly loses consciousness, but when he awakens in the medical bay he has to be kept from leaping off the berth to aid you. Hearing that you've been stabilized gives him some level of peace, but he still pushes to see you as soon as he can, and no number of visitors can distract him from the agony of waiting, leading to him absolutely jumping when he's told he can see you... Though he finds no comfort in finally beholding your broken body on the medical slab. Still, he takes a dutiful place by your side and whispers idle conversation in a tireless watch that breaks only when he's forced into brief naps by sheer exhaustion.

·Your slow return to consciousness is greatly sped up when, in a rather natural gesture, you squeeze the familiar presence in your hand and get a loud squeak of surprise as a result. A blue visor brimming with tears welcomes you back to wakefulness, but the babbling that pours from the minibot is so emotional you hardly catch even a word at first, and your aching ribs make it almost impossible to speak loudly enough to get his attention. Once he finally gathers himself enough to speak clearly and relay the situation, he's despondent about his nonexistent role in your rescue, something you have to reassure him isn't his fault in the slightest. Weakly but with a smile, you reassure him that thinking about him was the only thing that kept you calm. He tears up again, but this time in a kind of relieved happiness, his helm gently leaning forward to nuzzle you with soft buzzes of affection. Knowing he was able to help in some small way... there's still a lot of healing to be done, but he's determined to stand tall by your side through it all, because you've reminded him that he's strong enough to hold others up.

First Aid

·As a medic, he's usually one of the first bots informed when something goes wrong, to get him ready for a potential influx of patients if nothing else. But this time he's contacted because he's an affected party, and his ever present ability to stay calm is put to a whole new kind of test. Though he manages to keep the panic on the inside, it's raging like an inferno in his spark as he's escorted to the crisis room, his imagination keeping him fully stocked on all the potential ways you could be hurt. Considering Maximus grabbed you in a rush to drag you into the situation, it's not at all unlikely you're already injured. Watching the grainy footage of you in the company of your less than ideal fellow hostages has his processor simmering with terrible possibilities. The reports from the medical bay regarding the rampage victims leave little doubt; Maximus is as powerful as he is unhinged.

·His optics are locked on the screen the instant he manages to gather himself. Every movement, every action and once the audio starts coming through every word is analyzed. Between searching for a solution and ensuring you're okay his thoughts are absolutely racing. There has to be a way to get you out safely, and the moment you're freed as you will be he'll need to be ready for any potential injuries. Losing you isn't an option. In the short few months since meeting you he's become so very close to you, closer than he's ever been to anyone, and in that brief amount of time he's already realized he wants to be with you always. You make him feel worthy, which is perhaps why this helplessness is so incredibly agonizing. For the first time since your relationship began he's feeling that certainty of his incompetence once more.

·The pain of his own self depreciation is offset by simmering anger at his commander's inability to resolve the situation. Deep down he's experienced enough to know they can hardly be expected to control a situation so volatile, but that logic hardly has an impact on his passionate need for action. It only gets worse as things in the room deteriorate. Whirl is hardly staying still to prevent further injury from his impalement, and while Rung covers his bleeding hand to prevent further energon loss, the casual way Max ripped off his thumb makes it clear he has no qualms about violence. An unyielding imagination fills his processor with terrible thoughts about what that same strength could do to your tiny body. Grisly images flash before his optics and drive him to try begging for action once more, though it appears too late as you're suddenly snatched up in a gigantic hand.

·The universe stops moving as you're squeezed with what he knows is too much force for your body to safely handle. The lack of sound doesn't stop him from identifying that you've undoubtedly broken bones, and in fact his hyperactive processor is already trying to work out what damage has been done. Crushed ribs, snapped clavicles, perhaps a fractured humerus, and then there were your softer organs and tissues... The blood on your lips as Maximus lays you down on the table makes it clear something important has been injured that needs immediate medical care. Demanding that a rescue be launched for your sake, he's given a rare bit of luck in the form of two minibots on rivet duty. The specifics of the operation are a blur he can't bring himself to care about, even as the gory footage of Overlord covers the wall, as your limp form is all that exists in his perception. Attempts to count your very breaths only end when the situation is reclassified as under control and he's moving before anyone can say another word.

·Immediate communication with the other medics keeps him in the loop, so he knows you've been extracted the moment it happens, and he plots his course to intercept the team that recovered you even before they reach the medical bay. A random bot on the security detail has you cradled in careful but uncertain hands when he arrives, and is more than willing to hand over the tiny body to someone who actually knows what they're doing. First Aid feels his processor split between his medical training and his personal feelings for you, with the former a calculated source of experienced reason and the latter a maelstrom of agonized panic. Though he's more than able to keep the proper half in charge, he's unable to prevent his emotions from tearing into him as he gets you to the medical bay, where Ratchet and Ambulon have already prepared for emergency procedures. His CMO is adamant on his involvement being voluntary, emphasizing that he knows all too well how hard it is to operate on those you care about, and that he can focus on their other patients if this will be too difficult. First Aid replies that he's grateful for the offer but unwilling to choose anything that doesn't mean giving his all to save you.

·Stabilizing you is a team effort only made possible by the research each medic did in advance on your species, and while he's grateful he took the time to prepare for something such as this, he'll never regret anything more than having to use that knowledge. Waiting for you to wake is harder than it's ever been for any of his past patients. As a medic he has work to keep him busy, but he constantly finds excuses to check in on you, and every spare moment is spent by your side. He checks reports, takes his meals, and even rests all at your bedside. By great fortune he's present when you finally wake up, and you've barely opened your eyes by the time he's checking you over. A worried expression is the first thing you comprehend as a gentle voice asks if you have any sedentary pain. Somehow it's a relief to have your worried medbot be the first thing you see, but you quickly put together this isn't just his usual level of concern, and that there's active remorse in his features. Firm insistence is required to get him to confess; for all of his analytical skills, he couldn't think of a way to resolve the situation to save you. It seems to surprise him when you bring up that he's literally one of the bots that saved your life. An attempt to deflect on the grounds that being a medic is just his job is stopped by himself at your look of silent pleading, and he remembers in an instant how much faith you have in him. Even if he doesn't always feel worthy of that admiration, he knows there must be something to it if it's coming from one such as yourself. That simple reaffirming of his abilities lets him focus on the miracle of having you here with him, and he begins gently and lovingly fussing over you as he always does, bringing the smile back to your face that he so adores.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 5

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Revenge is sweet but a well-timed dick joke is sweeter. xoxo gossip girl. Please supervise one Bucky Barnes on the internet. Questionable music taste. Detention is the price we pay for justice. Bruce Banner is too precious for this world, too pure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​ @downeyreads​ @hermione-grangers-wife​ @individualistfem​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! 🎶🎵I love you biiitch ain't ever gonna stop loving you biiitch 🎵🎶

"Initiate phase one," I added a growly undertone to my whisper, holding my phone inconspicuously, as if I was making a simple phone call. There was no answer but I didn't expect one: I was testing the voice recorder app that I had downloaded for the sole purpose of documenting and relaying the inevitable fall of one Flash Thompson. 

Making my way through the crowd of students during the busiest time of the day, I made the most intrigued and outraged facial expression I possibly could. Spying my targets, I leaned against a nearby wall, putting a hand over my mouth in fake outrage, keeping my eyes wide and trained on the opposite wall. Just as I had predicted, the two sophomore girls started giving me side-eye by minute two of my staring and finally approached me as I contemplated the wall for whole five minutes.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" The brunette asked, her blonde friend hanging a step back.

"Yeah, totally," I mumbled. "I'm, like, shook beyond imagination, but nothing, like, bad."

The girls traded a curious look, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. The greedy gleam in their eyes had me internally cheering. "What happened?" The blonde one asked, coming closer.

"I'm not sure if I should tell that to anyone," I stammered, watching them bodily move forward. "Well, okay, I can't keep quiet. But you must never, ever speak of it or I'll get expelled or something," I said nervously. They both nodded so rapidly it reminded me of Funko Pop figurines. "You know the senior guy, Flash? Brown hair, kinda hot?" Again, they both nodded, conspicuously grinning. "I think I just saw him in the closed girls bathroom on the third floor with, like, some brunette from Ms. Johnson's History class," They both gasped. Predictable. "But that's not the worst! They were like, y'know," I made an obscene gesture with my hand and they instantly covered their own mouths with their palms in shock. "And the chick was like 'is it in yet?' and he was like 'yah' and I just closed the door and ran, oh my god I hope they didn't hear me," I squealed at the end, playing the part of a mortified teenager.

All three of us giggled uncomfortably for a moment. The blonde girl stared at me suspiciously. "And what were you doing there?"

I faked a nervous stammer, looking around briefly and showing them my lighter for a moment. They both gasped and nodded in recognition. "Don't tell anybody or my mom is going to have kittens," I pleaded. Both of them nodded solemnly, noticing their own group of friends approach. I used the brief moment to get lost in the river of pupils and by the time they turned around to introduce me, I was already at the opposite part of the hallway.

For the time being, everything seemed peaceful. There were a few giggles and side-eyes directed towards Flash Thompson but nothing out of the ordinary. He was disliked by most of the student population even if nobody dared to admit it outright. I took care to walk around without my earbuds for the day and pulled out my phone to record the most interesting conversations around me whenever I caught the tell tale signs of a gossip mill beginning to run its course around the school.

"Oh my god, I heard about this girl that was caught fucking Flash in the girls bathroom and she literally said 'is it in yet', can you imagine the shock, jeez!"

"Some chick literally just rejected Flash because his dick was too small."

"Rebecca from AP chemistry told me someone saw Flash's micropenis. Poor guy!"

"I wonder if his girlfriend dumped him because he can't do shit, I mean, he doesn't look like the type to eat the kitty."

Those were just the highlights of the Friday afternoon. Come the weekend and the news of Flash's unfortunate condition will make the rounds through every single group chat that the school has and by the time Monday rolls around, nobody will have a clue who started the rumour in the first place. I had to carefully select the girls who were to distribute the rumour and I was happy with the outcome: Marissa and Layla with their squad of chatty, bored rich girls were the perfect choice. I thought they would jump at any opportunity to cause drama and I was right.

It was sufficient to say I was bristling with pride as I cut and compiled the audio track from today's school day before sending it to the group chat.

Clint, Peter and Natasha appeared online as soon as the message delivered and I was delighted at their response. Romanoff's kind words, specifically, made me all warm and mushy inside. I didn't resist the feeling, basked in it even as I did a happy dance around my room. Peter's nonsensical string of emojis was another point of laughter for me. 

It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about killing Thompson's reputation... Alas, simplicity is the way to success when it comes to large crowds of teenagers. That tiny little vindictive part of me was very much looking forward to the weekend and the results of the inevitable distortion of the rumour I had started. Who knew, maybe by Monday Flash Thompson would not only have a micropenis but horns and hooves as well.

Near bedtime, I had all the avengers send me their regards and thumbs up. I answered the flurry of texts as quickly as I could but there was no point in keeping up with ten or so people constantly streaming their questions, opinions and comments. 

I settled on a single easiest response: pulling my dad's old uni sweatshirt over my tiny lacy pajamas to preserve some modesty, I settled in front of my mirror, turning on my Bluetooth speaker to play "Boss Ass Bitch". In true gen-z fashion, I put on my best resting witch face and solemnly lip-synced to the song's eponymous chorus. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper and my prismatic highlighter glittered enigmatically in the cold light of my blue lava lamp.

The response was, once again, delightful and I genuinely belly-laughed at the adults' attempts to meme after Peter. His blushy face emoji started a whole nother conversation that I didn't participate in but watched from the sidelines with glee, snorting every time his friends and mentors gently teased him about the very obvious crush he harboured on me. 

Seeing Peter starting to go absolutely nuts, I interjected with an offer (more like a dare) of a lip sync battle. He jumped on the bandwagon, immediately going offline to undoubtedly film an epic video of what I thought would be dorky-dancing to some hipster song. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a pre-recorded tik tok video of him and Ned fighting with lightsabers while mouthing the words to Fergalicious that played over the Imperial March.

Weirdos. I still followed him on the app, though, it was pretty funny.

Bucky interjected with a very well executed rendition of "Bring Me to Life": he was wearing his full Winter Soldier get-up, complete with an AK-47, dramatically serenading Steve who looked seventeen shades of done with his partner's antics. Wanda's following twenty second voice message consisted of nothing but pure hysterical laughter, summing up everyone's reaction to the video. Bucky was going to go viral one of these days...

Obviously, I had good competition and nobody else seemed to want to participate so I rearranged my surroundings a little bit and stood up at my full height and swapped the old sweatshirt for a cute crop-top hoodie. My thigh-highs were on display and with my make-up, I looked like a proper internet e-girl. I leaned against the mirror as I mouthed along to the song with my best interpretation of the famous Lucifer smirk, seasoned with a tiny bit of angelic innocence: "Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you..."

Needless to say, I won the competition. Eventually Wanda joined in, looking menacing and ominous with her dark clothes and Natasha's red hair flashing somewhere in the background; even Tony did a round (AC/DC as his soundtrack of course) with one of his Iron Man suits but nothing beat my stunt and the reaction that it caused.

I had accidentally called out Bruce with the choice of my song and his teammates gave both of us a lot of cheeky comments about it. We relented and flirted with each other a bit as the conversation flowed into more mundane discussion; I said my good nights somewhere between Tony's bitching about the hobbies of my generation and my nightly skincare routine. The little green heart that I'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks greeted me just as I was about to lock my phone.

Bruce was really too precious for this world. My crush on him was different than the one on Tony, it mellowed out in comparison. I wanted him to hold me, to stroke my hair, to call me his darling and wrap me up in one of those dorky button-ups that he insisted on wearing in spite of Tony's unwanted, however very valid, fashion advice.

For all that's worth, the scientist probably knew or at least suspected and had the good grace to play along just enough to satisfy my deep need for attention... Without crossing any actual lines. It was frustrating, it was disappointing but I had virtually nothing to complain about. Besides, I didn't want to lose the quirky friendship that we had. Banner was, probably, the least judgemental person I knew and I wasn't about to trade that for an awkwardly stolen kiss.

Monday and Tuesday passed in a flurry of giggling and snorting every time Flash walked by. His girlfriend broke up with him, very publicly, accusing him of cheating and he didn't even deny it - just insulted her and stormed off, leaving even his friends looking lost and clueless. I started dragging Peter and his two pet nerds along with me just about everywhere I went in case Thompson decided to do something stupid again. If judging only by the looks he was throwing our little company, he was on his way to figuring out who began nibbling at his reputation.

The week was coming to an end and the rumour began dying off, slowly. That just didn't sit with me, I wanted the fucker gone. Due to the obvious time constraints, I approached MJ regarding Peter - after a brief argument, we came to an agreement regarding Peter's safety should I need to leave him alone in the hallways or at lunch. 

I needed to do this alone so if I got caught, I won't drag them down with me. Granted, I would probably get something like a suspension and the school will attempt to call my mother (she never picks up) but that's about it. That's where her reputation comes in handy-people consciously avoid dealing with her, she can be that unbearable.

But first, I needed to get a teacher that's on my side. After carefully considering the candidates, I settled on my Social Studies professor - he taught the college-level classes and was overall a very chill, nice dude. And he disliked bullies with a flaming passion. So it didn't take me long to work him into a righteous fury - just a quick chat over a cup of tea in his homeroom and a few pictures of Peter's bruised face, complete with my own pleading puppy eyes. We agreed Mr Davies would "accidentally" leave the teacher's lounge unlocked during third period and I would sneak in. The plan wasn't foolproof but if it worked, not only Flash, but also his whole misogynistic, bigoted family would go down.

As I was leaving, Mr Davies looked up at me with a bright smile: "Give them Hell, alright?" And I suddenly noticed he was, in fact, very attractive. The smile brought out the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the crow's feet around his eyes - he smiled a lot. Silver strands mixed in with the wooden brown of his hair.

I let my eyes slide over him briefly before baring my teeth in return. "I owe you one," I don't know what possessed me to say that. My mouth really had a mind of its own sometimes. The room suddenly became hot.

"Sure," He replied, totally oblivious.

On Friday, I made myself a small nest in the empty classroom opposite the teacher's lounge and sat waiting for the signal from Mr Davies - he'd tap on the door once and I'd quietly go inside the teacher's lounge, retrieve Thompson's file and make my way back to the empty classroom to grab my backpack and carry the file to my locker for further examination. 

The first part went successfully and I managed to snag Thompson's file. It was heavy and hefty, all the evidence of his rowdiness compiled into one flimsy plastic folder. There were A LOT of pink slips and I rejoiced internally: at least there was a paper trail of his exploits. The principal didn't do anything about it which was... If not against the rules then at least frowned upon; the plan was to take copies and anonymously submit them to the school board prompting at least an investigation into the blatant disregard for Flash's immoral and illegal behaviour.

On my way back I stumbled upon the principal herself which got me not only a stern talking to, but a whole detention for skipping class. Whatever, I was too elated from potentially ruining the life of a dumb fuck who ruined my friend's face.

Surprise came in the face of Mr Davies, who, having heard the commotion in the hallway, stepped out of his class and saw me being lectured by the principal. 

"I'll take her for the detention," I heard the familiar voice behind me. The principal nodded solemnly and I had no choice but to sigh in resignation. "Three thirty, be here," He nodded to me, walking back, looking way too smug for his own good. So I wasn't the only one excited about the successful completion of stage two of my nefarious plan. Cue evil laughter.

[musichelan]

Stray Kids reaction: you're a tomboy but you wear a beautiful dress for the first time

i've been putting off this one for a bit because 1) im not sure how to write a tomboy and 2) it'll lean more towards the female but i wanna make it as gender neutral as possible!! i hope you can enjoy it anon!!

bang chan

he was so used to you wearing like a tomboy

and he wasn't expecting you to show up in a dress

you wanted to surprise him during one of your dates

so you picked up a pastel yellow lining dress and wear it

when chan looks up from his phone his jaw drops

you're wearing the softest dress in existance to see him

making you look softer than usual

chan blushes

you look amazing and he's ready to fight the world if said otherwise

throughout the whole date, chan will sneak a glance at you and looks away shyly if you caught him

"take a picture, it'll last longer, " you say when you caught him looking at you for the nth time

chan shyly giggles

and will actually takes out his phone and takes multiple pictures of you

the happiest and shyest boi

minho

minho didn't notice anything different at first

he takes another look when he feels like he had to

than boom

his eyes widen as his brain finally registers what you're wearing

he gulps, unsure of his actions as he gets up from the floor

"baby, what's this?" minho asks

you playfully leave a kiss on his nose, "because i feel like it"

"but you never wear a dress before!!"

"are you saying that i don't look nice in a dress?"

you turn away from minho, feigning hurt

minho quickly pulls you back into his arms, whining

"you look different, that's all! i promise! you look amazing! beautiful! ethereal!" minho throws out every word he can think of

you smile, "i'm just messing with you, min"

"y/n!"

changbin

the first time you wear a dress, changbin was shook

he didn't show it tho

he acts all big and tough in front of you, only telling you you look amazing in your dress

it lowkey hurts you a tiny bit

you want changbin to say something more

little did you know, changbin's fanboying over you behind your back

after the date he just talks about how ehtereal you look in a dress

nonstop fanboying

seriously

to the point where minho secretly records changbin's fanboying over you wearing a dress and sends it to you

with the caption "please collect him, he's being annoying"

you laugh to yourself

you start to blush when you listen to the audio minho records

it looks like the boys are going through this almost everyday

and you decide to go and collect changbin and make him tell you how he feels about you wearing a dress

by the recording minho sent you

hyunjin

to be honest, hyunjin wouldn't be much surprised when you finally wear a dress

i have this feeling where he's always pestering you to wear a dress so you can match during your dates

but you never agreed because dresses are annoying (they are)

hyunjin was happy that he finally manages to get you to wear a dress

he even has his camera ready

he squeaks excitedly when you open your bedroom door

you're wearing a sea blue dress, somewhat like cinderella's dress but shorter

still fairy-like tho

hyunjin starts taking photos

"stop taking photos!"

"i can't, you look beautiful" hyunjin sends you a gummy smile, leaving you even more whipped

the things you'll do for love

jisung

mixed reaction of changbin and hyunjin

but trust me when i say this boi will be more excited than hyunjin

and he'll talk about you wearing a dress in front of you

even praising the grounds you walk on with that dress

he'll make seungmin give you an impromptu photoshoot

cheer you on with the maknae line at the background while seungmin takes photos

jisung is more bubbly than ever that day

he's content with your threats of "never see tomorrow's sun ever again" if he makes you wear a dress again

seungmin promised to help you if it comes down to that

making jisung slightly more worried but he ignores that

jisung is sure he will cherish the photos when seungmin finishes developing them

felix

felix is just throughout blushing

he isn't sure how to react, but he knows he gotta say something

words can't express how he feels

you actually are wearing a dress today

"lix?" felix snaps out of his thoughts

he just shyly giggles before hiding his face in your neck

“you can’t avoid my question like this, lix,”  you laugh at your boyfriend’s cuteness

felix only whines more

he tugs slightly at the hem of your dress, muttering something

“what was it, lix?”

“i said, i thought you couldn’t be even more beautiful in the past, but then you look like an angle” felix says, slightly louder

you can feel the heat from felix’s cheeks

you laugh

“this will be the first and last time im wearing a dress, felix lee”

seungmin

seungmin melts when he sees you in a dress

you look like an angle walking on earth, in his humble opinion

photos, so many photos

seungmin will proudly show the photos to anyone who asked to see his s/o

he makes sure you are indeed comfortable with the dress before taking pictures

if you express any emotion that’s near to being upset with the dress

he’ll let you take it down and wear whatever you want

which almost always is one of his shirts 

but when you did let the dress to stay on you a little longer

seungmin can’t help but takes more photos

he smiles that gummy smiles of his and is overly soft

you make fun of his every soft state but he ignores it

jeongin

jeongin really can’t shut up

he just keeps up rambling about how beautiful you are

but when you actually wears a dress (a.k.a you’re picking your wedding dress)

jeongin shuts up

you look different

more ethereal than he thought you will be

with the fluffy white wedding dress taking your body so well

his brain short-circuits

no words brain empty

you have to close his jaw for him

“how do i look?” you twirl in front of him, showing off the wedding dress

chan laughs at jeongin’s dumb-struck face

“he can’t form words to tell you how amazing you’ll look” chan answers for jeongin

you giggle at jeongin’s expression

he looks dumb

“pick a sexier one, “ chan whispers, “he looks dumber when you wear those”

it’s true, jeongin looks even dumber when you show up in a tighter wedding dress

that last point from jeongin’s is on purpose, i’ve been having very hard feelings for the maknae ever since god’s menu

[heart-eye-harrington]

hold me closer, tiny dancer

Summary: based on the Elton John song

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: one (1) curse word

Author’s Note: hello! this is my first mulit-part writing and I am so excited! I’ve wanted to write this idea for so long and am happy with it so far! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Hope you’re staying safe and sane, sending love♡

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

Quiet towns were inhabited by two different types of people; those who were content with the quiet, who bought houses in a cul-de-sac, settled down, and found comfort in routine patterns of life, and those who despise it, counting down the days to when they could get the hell out, when they could run away to somewhere they felt would be exciting. People bought their tickets out in a variety of ways, some worked dead-end jobs to save up money, others poured their efforts into talents or skills that would ensure them good cash once they were gone.

Very few straddled the line in between wanting to stay and wanting to leave. They could see the charm in the tight-knit community and small buzz in the streets, but something deep within yearns for more. 

One breath of life in the stagnant air was art. Being able to create something new, express oneself in more than words. While it wasn’t something the entire community took notice of, it was all a small subset clung to. Like dandelions growing in the cracks of the sidewalk, breathing new life into the existing set solidarity. It wasn’t easy, but life would find a way. 

The small theatre in Hawkins was never as crowded as Hawk Cinema, meaning the owner welcomed any performers with open arms; the Hawkins High drama department, starting bands, amateur comedians and dancers from the local dance studio.

The owner was a kind old man, Mr. Dave, who knew how much the space meant to people. He allowed the aspiring artists in almost every day, and most took full advantage of it. His only condition, he was allowed to check in every once in a while to observe. 

⋆★⋆★⋆★

The shopkeeper’s bell chimes through the small lobby, causing Mr. Dave to lift his gaze from the day’s newspaper. A grin spreads to his ever rosy cheeks when his gaze falls upon you and the duffle bag resting on your shoulder.

“Good morning sweetheart.”

“Good morning Mr. Dave. How are you today?” his cheery expression only grew with your words. You adored him and always made an effort to strike up conversation, the least you could do for everything he did for you and the community.

“Doing alright, how bout yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Is there?-” he laughs, cutting you off before you could finish. He knew how shy you were about dancing in front of other people. He was honored to be the only exception

“No sweetie, no one else is here. Go in there and dance your heart out.” You flash him a smile full of appreciation, and with a quick nod, you enter the auditorium. 

He was telling the truth, it's nothing but you and the stage. A familiar warmth and excitement wash through your body, tingling with anticipation. You felt your muscles cry for joy. Your body craved ballet like it did a warm fudge brownie, and your craving was about to be satisfied. Not wanting to wait a second longer, you rush to the stage, eager to start.

Placing the duffle bag on the worn wooden stage, using your now freed hands to take off your jeans and sweatshirt, revealing the leotard underneath. You place the discarded fabric into your bag, exchanging them for your pointe shoes and cassette player. 

You knew Mr. Dave wouldn’t mind if you used the audio system, but there was something so intimate about having the music to yourself. It was just you, the singer, and the stage. You were free to move however you wished. 

You place the headphones over your ears and clip the player to the waistband of your stockings. Clicking play, a soothing voice begins singing. You stand, take a deep breath, and move.

The music is soft at first, allowing you to slowly warm-up. Small, precise movements allow your muscles to awaken, but when they do, they want more. As the music grows and swells, so do your movements. Arms move to create stronger lines and spins get tighter and faster. As your mixtape goes on, the music slows again. Feeling warmed up enough, you go into full pointe. The moment you fully extend and place all your weight on your toes, you fall.

Hitting the floor with a soft thud, you mentally curse yourself. You knew these shoes were dead, but wanted to milk them for any life they had left before shelling out more money on a new pair. You had a spare, but that didn’t mean you wanted to use them yet. A groan rumbles through your chest as you sit up, drawn from your thoughts by movement in the dark auditorium. 

“Sorry Mr. Dave, I hope the noise didn’t scare you. I’m alright,” you call to the shadow. When it doesn’t respond, instead continuing its journey to the stage, unease slowly adjusts its grip on your heart. The feeling isn’t long-lived, as the shadow makes its way into the lights illuminating the stage. 

He wears a concerned and embarrassed expression on his undeniably beautiful face. He rakes a hand through this mop of wavy brown hair, which you can instantly read as a nervous habit disguised as an attempt to keep cool. 

“You sure you’re ok?” his voice is sweet, making you feel a sense of comfort around the stranger. You reach to your shoes and begin untying the laces.

“Yeah, thanks.” your gaze stays trained on your handiwork, feeling a sudden shyness under his watchful eyes.

“You were amazing. I’ve never seen someone move like that. It was like I could hear the music you were dancing to without even needing to listen” There’s a sense of wonder in his voice, its tone soft yet true.

“…. I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner, I-I just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt.”  you blush at his words, standing to put your shoes away and stealing a look at him. His hands are dug into his pockets, eyes trained on the ground near your feet. You allow a smirk to grace your face at the nervous energy you both emitted. 

“I’ve never seen you here before. Are you a performer?” you look up to him as you dig through your bag. 

“Oh God no. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. My friend Robin’s in a band and they’re practicing today. She wanted me to watch them, something about L.A.” your ears perk up.

“L.A.? What are they gonna do out there?” 

“Beats me, but she’s wanted out of this shithole for as long as I can remember.” you nod, zipping up your bag after getting the new shoes, ribbon, and sewing kit. Looking up to him, you pat the space on the stage next to you. He takes the invitation with a small smile and sits. 

“What’s all this?” his words are full of curiosity, a door to a world he had never seen opening before him. You giggle at his tone. 

“I have to break in a new pair. Pointe shoes are basically an extension of your body, so you have to fully customize them.” You place the ribbon on the side of the new slipper, taking out the needle and thread, and expertly sew the ribbon and attach it to the shoe. All he can do is watch in awe and the speed and grace in even your sewing skills. It’s evident that you could do this in your sleep. You’re done both shoes in record time, and hold one out to him. After the expected quizzical look he shoots you, you place it in his hand. 

“Feel how hard it is near the toes?” His fingers move across the smooth satin before gently pressing on the toe area, afraid to break the seemingly delicate footwear. Upon pressing down, he’s surprised to feel how hard the area is.

“It’s to support your foot when you go up on your toes. My old pair were used to death so they got flimsy. That’s why I fell, no support.” You hold out your old shoe, urging him to feel the difference. It is softer, and he’s surprised you didn’t break an ankle.

“So, we have to break these new ones in. Wanna bang?” He looks at you with wide eyes, the conversation taking an unexpected turn. Looking from the shoe in your hands and up to him, you instantly realize your mistake, nervous laughter filling the air. 

“Easy tiger, it’s not what you think. Banging is when you bang the shoe against something hard to make it a bit more malleable. Like this.” You grip the arch of the slipper and slam the toes against the stage, a loud bang echoes throughout the theatre. You watch as the tension in his shoulder releases, replaced with a goofy grin. He holds the shoe just as you did and taps the ground. You laugh, urging him to go harder. Hesitantly he follows your advice, the bang echoing just as yours did. 

“Yeah! You got it!” Before you know it the two of you are wailing the shoes against the stage, the cacophony mixing with your shared laughter. For a second you forget you’re strangers, embracing the oddity of the situation. The moment is short-lived, as a voice edges through the noise.

“What the hell is going on in here?” The question doesn’t come from a place of anger, but of pure confusion. You and the stranger stop the pounding and laughter, embarrassment trapping it in your throat. You look up to see a girl with short dirty blonde hair followed closely by two guys; one with a buzz cut, the other a mess of curls. The boy beside you sits up, clearing his throat.

“He-hey Robin! What’s up?”

“I think I asked you first, dingus.” she chuckled, shaking her head. She leaves him alone for mere hours and he’s already finding his way into another story. 

“We’re banging,” he replied effortlessly. The smile playing his lips gone the instant the words left his mouth, realizing the band was just as clueless to the meaning of that phrase as he was mere minutes ago. The realization came at your expense as he felt you awkwardly shift beside him.

“Her shoes, we’re banging her shoes” he sheepishly taps the toe against the hard wood of the stage to demonstrate. The trio in the audience do their best to calm the giggles brought about at the scene before them. 

An awkward heat fills your entire being. You hated sitting here in front of strangers as they laughed at you. You knew it was of no fault to the boy beside you, whose name you assume is Steve after hearing Robin call at him. Eyes locked with the worn stage, you raise your gaze just enough to see the pointe shoe hanging loosely in Steve’s hand. As if scared your motions will activate another horror, you slowly reach for it. He almost jerks away, sadness etched in his features at how his blundering could change your joyous demeanor so quickly. He lets you take your shoe back, relaxing when you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, silently telling him it’s ok. 

“I should probably get out of your hair” your words don’t seem to be aimed at anyone in particular, head ducked down. 

“Wait. We were laughing at him, not you. You don’t have to leave just yet, it’s gonna take a bit for us to get our gear in here.” Guilt was evident in Robin’s words as she attempted to fix the awkward first impression. Her bandmates behind her reflect her remorse.

“No, no it’s ok. I have to get back to the studio anyway. But, thank you. I appreciate it.” The band nods and makes their way out of the theatre to get their equipment. You surry behind the curtain on the side of the stage to put your sweatshirt and blue jeans back on. Walking back into the light of the stage, you see Steve still standing there, a sheepish look on his face. 

“Sorry about that.” was all he could muster, the motion causing your heart to flutter. 

“Steve, it’s fine” you giggle, doing your best to convince him. 

“Wait, how do you know my name?” 

“Your friend Robin said it.”

“Now I feel like a dickhead not knowing yours”

“No one said it.” You both laugh at the small back and forth. After a moment you give him your name, and he gives a warm smile in return. 

“Well, y/n, will I see you again?” joy washes over you like the hot sun. It’s a feeling you could get used to. 

“Yeah, you will. I’m here almost every day.” You stare into his eyes. They’re some of the prettiest you’ve ever seen, the stage lights twinkle in the mix of hazel and honey, or maybe they were always like that. Either way, you could get used to getting lost in them. You blink, snapping out of your trance. 

“I’ll...see you around” You sheepishly turn, hoping he didn’t notice the blush rising to your cheeks. Maybe if you hadn’t been so worried about yours, you would have noticed the pink creeping onto his face as well.

[nokomiss]

unprecedented times

title: Unprecedented Times

summary:   Stiles is handling quarantine like a champ, and is absolutely not pestering Derek at all.

Notes: For @lielabell, who requested sterek covid socially distancing fluff fic. Hope you enjoy!

***

Official Stilinski Mission Log: Day 2

It has been over forty-eight entire hours since having contact with the human world. Built a fort out of the toilet paper Dad commandeered from the convenience store. (okay, bought, whatever.)  Plan on living out of the fort until the world returns to normal.

Stiles was like, the best person ever to be quarantined. Like, seriously. He had an entire internet full of interesting information at his fingertips, and he absolutely did not miss Scott, and there was zero chance at all of him going all cabin fever-y and chopping through doors like Jack Nicholson.  

Zero. He was so fucking chill with not seeing or touching or being near anyone. He was going pull off this shit like The Martian. He wasn’t going to lose his shit at all.

Seriously.

*

Official Stilinski Mission Log: Day 3

Friends have abandoned me to my fate. No one is willing to rescue me from my boredom. Have tried calling most boring person possible and he managed to scowl at me over the phone. Not even video, just… an audio scowl. Probably should have recorded that for posterity,

“But you’re immune, right? So just come on over,” Stiles whined into his phone.

“We have no way of knowing that,” Derek said firmly.  Apparently he and Scott had been sharing notes, because that was exactly what he’d told Stiles, too.

“Uh, you’re a werewolf who has never had so much as sniffle? Dude, you’re invincible,” Stiles said.  

Derek sighed, and Stiles did his best to not memorize the way it sounded in his ear for replaying later on during Special Stiles Time. “Stiles. I’m not breaking quarantine just because you’re bored. It’s been two days.”

“Uh, it has now been three days, thank you very much,” Stiles informed Derek. “And I think that, if you look at the science, you’re wrong.”

“Goodbye, Stiles,” Derek said. 

“Wait! At least sing me a song--” but Derek hung up, leaving Stiles stuck in the wasteland that was his room, alone except for Netflix and Fort TP.

*

Official Stilinski Mission Log: Day 6

Fort TP has become a refuge in these troubled times. Have installed christmas lights and a Ouija board, but so far have been unable to contact any interesting conversationalists.  Had brilliant thought about creating a vaccine using werewolf dna, but realized that would infect people  with lycanthropy which potentially could cause even more problems long term.

Stiles, after suffering through an online class that was seventy percent his professor talking about the fact that it was an online class, thought he should treat himself,  so he video-called Scott.  

Scott was deemed essential, since puppies need to be fed and walked and taken care of, so Stiles got to take a tour of the vet’s office and make cooing noises at all the puppers that Scott introduced him to.  It was easily the highlight of his week.  

After Scott introduced him to a particularly charming shepherd, Stiles casually asked, “So you’ve been in town the last few months… how’s ole grumpypants holding up? Still sad and alone?”

Scott looked up from the dog, and gave Stiles the exact same look he’d just given a beagle who had fruitlessly tried to steal treats from the counter.  “Are you asking if Derek is single?”

“Uh, no, I was asking after his mental well-being,” Stiles said defensively.

“He has the pack,” Scott said. He grinned at Stiles. “Single, though. He mentioned you called him.”

“I never.. I was just bored,” Stiles said and abruptly hung up the phone, even though it meant not seeing the shepherd dance with Scott.  

*

Official Stilinksi Mission Log: Day 15

Have new working theory that Beacon Hills is actually under a curse. Maybe i should learn magic to break the spell and return life to normal. Well. What passes for normal around here.

“So like, I’ve had so much time to think, and I realized that this is like freaking utopia for you,” Stiles said.  He had chosen to ignore Scott’s teasing and continued to call Derek daily, because Derek was sad enough, he definitely needed the cheering-up that Stiles could provide.

“Is it really?” Derek’s eyebrows did the thing that they do, like they’re emojis punctuating his sentences. Like billboards over Derek’s eyes flashing the eyeroll emoji.

“I mean, brooding, staying at home, not talking to anyone… you must teach me the secrets of your ways,” Stiles said. “It’s totally unfair how good at this you are. Look at you, my man. Lemme see what you’re wearing. Are those actual jeans?”

Derek shifted the camera to focus solely on his face. “Stiles, please tell me you’re wearing pants.”

“Of course I am,” Stiles lied, even though the first rule of Fort TP was No Pants Allowed. And actually, if he was British, he wouldn’t even be lying, a fact that he considered telling Derek smugly before deciding to let it drop.  Not his underwear, but the topic. 

Not that he would be opposed to dropping his underwear for Derek, but that was neither here nor there. And a topic totally under the purview of ‘things Stiles didn’t let himself think about while actively having a conversation with Hottie McEyebrows.’

Stiles was so desperately horny, was the problem though. It wasn’t that he had an active dating life at college, but he at least had contact with other humans and that somehow made jerking off in the shower less depressing.

And he didn’t regularly video chat with Derek while at college, either, which… possibly was a contributing factor. Derek’s face should be illegal, seriously.

“If you don’t have any more insults for me,” Derek said, “I’m gonna go now.”

“And do what?” Stiles said, hoping for an exciting answer. “Gimme some ideas, Dere-bear.”

Derek blinked a few startled times, looking more like a confused kitten than the werewolf he was, and then said, “I’m going to just. Go. Now.”

Stiles tried to stop him, but the annoying thing about video calls was that he couldn’t fling himself bodily in front of the end-call button.

*

Official Stilinksi Mission Log: Day 16

Is it normal to miss standing in lines? 

When Derek answered, his hair was wet and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Water droplets rolled slowly down his pecs, as if in slow motion. 

Stiles made a sound previously only heard from Muppets and turned off his phone.

Mortified, he didn’t call Derek again for two days, even though he hovered his finger longingly over his name at least once an hour.

*

Official Stilinksi Mission Log: Day 18

A positive in all this: hiding your face in shame is so, so much easier.

Stiles kept replaying the noise he had made upon seeing Derek’s glistening torso -- and it wasn’t even like he’d never seen Derek’s shirtless body, seriously, sometimes it was like Derek was allergic to shirts, and when he did wear them, they were so stupidly tight that they might as well not even exist at all, and his reaction had been --

Well, his reaction had been what his reaction always was, only this time in his outside-voice.

Probably he was making it weirder by  not calling Derek for his daily dose of entertainment. Since Derek had to be aware of Stiles’s hormonal reaction to him. He was a werewolf. He could probably sense horny from a mile away.

Though that theory was shot down a bit by exactly how many teenagers Derek had spent prolonged amounts of time with. Stiles sent Scott a slightly panicked do werewolves smell boners text that he immediately regretted.

Scott immediately responded with an upside-down smiley face and  not through the phone.

Scott was easily the worst best friend ever. Easily.

*

Official Stilinksi Mission Log: Day Whatever

Fort TP is dwindling alarmingly. Must venture into the wastelands to procure building materials.

The grocery store, as it turned out, was still there.  Still just standing in the parking lot, lights on, shelves at least mostly full of food and essentials.

Not the essential Stiles was after, though.

He was staring woefully at the empty shelves when he heard the squeak of a cart turning into the aisle, then stopping abruptly.

“Hey, you’re going the wrong way down a one-way---” Stiles began, then stopped just as abruptly as the cart as he realized he was bitching at Derek.

Derek looked like he wanted to slink away into the shadows, but unfortunately for him, no shadows were to be found in the toilet paper aisle.  He was wearing a pink floral mask that looked absolutely precious with his leather jacket, and Stiles felt his mouth quirk up into a snicker.

“What?” Derek said defensively.

“You look cute,” Stiles said, which was true on oh so many levels, and he was so happy that his own mask (plaid and not nearly as festive) covered the blush that resulted.  Looking closer, he could see that it wasn’t a pink floral mask, but rather, a pink mask covered in tiny pastel chibi wolves.

“Cora thinks she’s funny.”  

“Cora is my favorite Hale,” Stiles said cheerfully, a total lie, but worth it to see Derek’s eyebrows veer together crankily.  

He edged his cart closer.  Close enough that he could tell that Derek, besides having put on actual jeans and leather jacket to venture to the grocery store, also smelled unfairly good. Stiles was pretty sure he smelled like Fruit Loops, and he was wearing sweatpants with a threadbare Beacon Hills t-shirt. 

Derek was absolutely close enough to smell him, and his conversation with Scott flashed through his mind like it was accompanied by the Kill Bill sirens. Whatever happened, he couldn’t let Derek know how desperately he wanted him.  

Their carts were facing each other, creating a socially responsible barrier that Stiles had never resented so fully until this moment.  “They’re out,” he said dumbly, gesturing towards the empty toilet paper shelves.

“Um, isn’t your little house made of toilet paper?” Derek asked. “Do you  really need more?”

“It’s a fort, thank you very much,” Stiles said with great dignity.  

“Sorry?” 

Stiles wondered why Derek always looked so wrong-footed when he was talking to him. 

 “It’s really nice to see you in person,” he blurted out, because apparently a side effect of never seeing people in the flesh was forgetting how to have a normal interaction with them.

But then Derek’s eyes crinkled in a way that showed he was actually smiling under his mask, and wow, Stiles hated that mask for obscuring that view, and said, “Yeah, it is.”

“Wanna shop together?” Stiles asked, because he was unwilling to walk away.

Derek nodded, and the next hour was the best Stiles had spent in months. Possibly ever, even though he never got to get any closer than six feet away.  An entire Derek length, he thought ridiculously. A prone Derek on the floor, that was the distance they had to keep.

Stiles bought way too much junk food and made fun of Derek’s basic groceries.  Leaving in separate cars felt like torture.

*

Official Stilinksi Mission Log: Day 19

Contemplating trips to the grocery store in hopes of bumping into… someone you know… is not socially responsible. Don’t do it, Stilinski.

“Stiles, you realize it’s only been a few weeks, right?” Lydia said.  He could hear the tapping of her fingertips on a keyboard in the background, and of course Lydia was still motivated enough to do schoolwork, even when talking to someone as brilliant and entertaining as Stiles.

“Lydia. You’re a genius, you know perfectly well we’ve been at this for 456 agonizing hours.”  Stiles was honestly disappointed; he’d thought that Lydia would understand his plight.

“I know, I’ve actually had the time to thoroughly research my final paper,” Lydia said happily. “I’m thinking of trying to get it published.”

“Yeah, I totally am doing that with my papers, too,” Stiles said, which. Theoretically he could, as none of his final papers had been written yet. Probably he could make a scientific breakthrough if he really wanted to.

“Uh-huh,” said Lydia, who knew him entirely too well. “So what’s your quarantine hyperfixation been? Please don’t say that tiger guy.”

“Nope,” Stiles said. “Not a tiger guy.”

“A wolf guy maybe?” Lydia’s voice was sly.

“What did Scott tell you?”

“Nothing,” Lydia sing-songed. “Allison, on the other hand, mentioned that you’re mooning over Tall, Dark and Moody.”

“I am not mooning! I have never mooned in my life,” Stiles protested.

Lydia’s silence was pointed and devastating.

“Okay,” Stiles said, because she had a fair point. “Maybe I’ve been known to moon gently over someone. But. I mean. You’ve seen him. You know what a trainwreck of precious proportions he is. I mean. I can’t help it!”

“Oh, sweetie,” Lydia said gently. “You’ve got it bad.”

Stiles couldn’t even argue.  He was so fucked.

*

Official Stilinksi Mission Log: Day 27

What a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Stiles practically skipped down the stairs, awash in his own brilliance. Building a pantry onto Fort TP was something he couldn’t believe it took him nearly thirty days to come up with.

Well, maybe he could. Things were starting to get a little fuzzy. Probably he should be putting more effort into his schoolwork.

He heard voices as he turned into the living room, but didn’t think anything of it until the couch and table came into view. Well, more notably, his father’s open laptop, full-screened onto an image of Melissa McCall with her shirt flung open.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said as Melissa echoed him and jerked her shirt closed.

“Oh my god,” said the Sheriff, and while his shirt was blissfully on, his pants were clearly unbuttoned, belt hanging open. “I forgot you were here.”

Stiles clamped his hand over his eyes, but his mind traitorously kept replaying the one-second image of Scott’s mom’s tits. “Where else would I be?”

There was a telling silence, and okay, maybe Stiles’ brain wasn’t the only fuzzy one around here.

“I’m just gonna…” Stiles kept his hand over his eyes resolutely as he backed out of the living room towards the front door. “Leave. Now.”

“You don’t have to--” his dad said, though even to Stiles’ ears it didn’t sound sincere.

“Bye,” Stiles said, flinging himself out the front door and finally removing his hand from his eyes. Then he remembered, oh yeah, keys are a thing that exist, and knocked loudly before opening the door again and grabbing them.

Stiles drove aimlessly around town, drumming his fingertips on his steering wheel, full of nervous energy. He thought about calling Scott, but he didn’t trust himself to not blurt out something about how great his mom’s tits were, so he decided that only one of them truly needed to be traumatized this day. Things were rough enough as is.

Eventually, aimless driving lead him to the parking lot outside Derek’s loft.  Stiles sat in the Jeep for a few long moments, trying to decide whether this was a good idea or not, before deciding, fuck it.

He went inside.  Knocked on Derek’s door, like that was a normal thing he did all the time. And when Derek opened a few moments later, a confused look on his face, Stiles further added to his confusion by flinging himself forward.  His rough plan had been to hug him -- it had been so long since he’d had physical contact -- but apparently his body didn’t quite get that memo and instead he kissed him, full on the lips.

“Mmrph?” Derek said into his mouth, which -- okay, that made it even better.  Derek seemed to think so, too, as the kiss lasted way longer than an impulsive greeting-kiss between friends ought to. Probably included more tongue, too, but who was Stiles to say that wasn’t normal.

When they broke apart, panting, and Derek looking almost preciously confused, Stiles said, “Hey, now we have to quarantine together. Neat.”

“What?” Derek blinked at him a few times.

Stiles pushed his way into Derek’s loft, glorying in how different it was from his own room, and said, “I’m just gonna hang out here until the plague’s up.”

He headed over to the sink, washing his hands like a responsible houseguest as he explained the situation. “And they were doing that right there, in front of my Twizzlers!” he concluded.  

Derek just said, “Everyone’s a little frustrated right now…” like he thought that the Sheriff had every right to have sexy video meetings right there in the living room.

“Of course we are!” Stiles exclaimed, inadvertently flinging soap across the room. He finished rinsing his hands as he said, “but we keep that shit to our bedrooms and the shower, right?”

There was a faint flush to Derek’s unfairly beautiful cheekbones, and -- oh, okay, so maybe Derek didn’t. Stiles cast his eyes around the room and felt a montage of Derek having Special Derek Time in various spots around the loft flash before his eyes. Probably now Derek wasn’t the only one blushing.

“Well,” Stiles said. “I mean.” He looked around again. “As your houseguest, I grant you full permission to do… whatever you like… in the living room.”

“Gracious of you,” Derek muttered. Then he looked back at the door. “Wait, houseguest? You don’t even have bags.”

Stiles didn’t. Stiles decided to brazen it out. “Where we’re going, I won’t need bags. Or clothes. Hopefully?”

Derek blinked at him again, and Stiles decided that meant to go for it, so he kissed him again, this time with intent.

“Yeah, okay, it is unprecedented times,” Derek mumbled into his mouth. “Clothes are very much optional.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice.

[iffeelscouldkill]

Adjusting [Part 3: Campbell]

A/N: It liiiives! Here is a long overdue Chapter 3. As compensation for the wait, this chapter is longer than the other two chapters put together :D

I originally drafted this chapter some time ago, but then once I started serialising the fic on AO3, decided that I wanted to rework the middle part. I wound up redrafting most of it over the past few months, and it was a bit of a slog at times, but I'm much, much happier with the final result. A big big thank you once again goes to my wonderfully encouraging beta @dragonsthough101, and to @whelvenwings for writing with me and listening to my Fic Woe and helping me fix That One Section that I was struggling with!

A heads up that this chapter contains some quite heavy conversations about wartime under an oppressive regime, loss and regret. There are no graphic descriptions of violence, just a lot of fairly grim introspection. It probably goes without saying, but I'm not a military veteran myself, so I based all of this on the podcast canon and my own imagination.

Please take care of yourselves, and I hope you all enjoy 💜

---

Summary: It turns out that there isn’t a blueprint for quitting your job, turning your back on the organisation that you’d built your life around, committing treason and abandoning your friends and family to go travel across the galaxy with a band of wanted criminals. Fortunately, RJ now knows some people who have been there.

Or: Five times that RJ McCabe shares a late-night drink with someone on the Iris 2.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Read on AO3

---

About three weeks on from the Iris’ flight from New Jupiter, Sana calls a crew meeting. It isn’t their first by any means, but until now, crew meetings have either been about the division of chores or about pooling information to convey to the resistance movement. This one is different.

“We’re making another stop-off,” she tells the crew once they’re all assembled, Arkady looking half-asleep and disgruntled at the earliness of the hour. “I’ve arranged to meet a… long-time contact of ours. I know that we need to be careful about who we trust outside of the crew on this ship and confirmed members of the anti-IGR resistance, but… he’s a friend. An old friend.”

RJ raises their hand. “Is it Ignatius Campbell?” they ask, feeling like they’re on a quiz show.

Arkady revives slightly and snorts. “Got it in one, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” RJ shoots back automatically. This is old, well-worn banter between them at this point.

Sana blushes slightly. “Right. I forgot that of course… you and Park know exactly who Campbell is.” She gives them a sidelong look, and RJ suspects that she’s remembering her fractious exchange with Campbell after Elion, and thinking about exactly what they would have heard.

“If it’s any consolation, we’ve been trying to forget about the recordings, too,” Park offers, slightly abashed, as he always is when this subject comes up.

RJ finds it awkward, too, but doesn’t see any point in pretending that they weren’t at one point on very different sides. Or that listening to the recordings from the Rumor wasn’t literally their job. But Park is right – they have been doing their best to forget about those long days and nights spent cooped up in their tiny office, replaying audio over and over. Know thy enemy had practically been RJ’s motto back in those days, but the Rumor crew aren’t their enemies any more. And RJ wants to move on from the person they were back then.

“I’ve spoken to Campbell a couple of times since… Well, since Elion,” Sana continues. “Trying to smooth things over since we-”

“Accused him of backstabbing us?” Arkady volunteers drily.

“To be fair, we really didn’t have any other good theories about what was going on,” Brian puts in. “None of us would have ever jumped to ‘an invisible robot nanoswarm’ as the source of our leak.”

Sana nods. “I know, and Campbell understands that, too. That’s why he’s willing to meet with us, and help us out – with supplies, and with information about the situation on Telemachus as well as some of the other Regime planets.”

“What about payment?” Violet asks. “We’re pretty light on funds at the moment, and we don’t have any cargo to trade either.”

“Campbell has agreed to effectively give us the goods on credit, with the understanding that we’ll pay at a later date,” Sana replies. “We’re also trading a little information in exchange for what he knows. Nothing top-secret, just a bit about the Regime’s movements, to help him keep two steps ahead.”

“And did you ‘barter’ with him to get him to agree to that deal?” Arkady asks, raising her eyebrows in a significant way.

Sana reddens a little, but says with dignity, “I don’t know what you’re implying. But yes, we did haggle for a bit.”

“Nice to hear that you two are back on ‘bartering’ terms,” says Arkady with a smirk.

Krejjh, looking between Arkady and Sana, grins as if Ferin has come early.

Ignoring this, Sana continues, “It’s obviously too dangerous for us to land on any of the IGR planets, so I’ve arranged to meet Campbell on Halton Station, in the Neutral Zone.”

Brian instantly perks up. “Dude! We’re going to Neuzo? Wait, isn’t Halton Station-”

“Where Thasia and Emily Craddock grew up,” Krejjh finishes eagerly.

“Yeah. To be honest, I picked it half because I knew the name, but it happens to be in a particularly convenient location for us, too,” says Sana. “It’s also not that populated, so there’s less chance of us attracting unwanted attention.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to go outside?” Krejjh asks, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, for the gentle caress of the wind! The touch of the ground beneath my feet!”

“I don’t see why not,” Sana says with a smile. “Just try to keep things, uh… low-key?”

Arkady snorts eloquently.

Later on, RJ is on joint kitchen cleaning duty with Violet, who is chatting aimlessly about the rendezvous with Campbell.

“…it’s just going to be Sana, Krejjh and Arkady going out to meet Campbell on Halton Station,” she says. “It’s still not safe for Brian to set foot on Neuzo, and having a huge group would definitely attract unwanted attention. So, I guess we won’t get a chance to meet Campbell this time, unless he comes back to the ship.”

“Is that likely?” asks RJ.

“If things go well between Sana and Campbell, I guess,” Violet says with a small smile. “At least, that’s what Arkady thinks.”

“So, are Sana and Campbell… a couple?” RJ clarifies. Violet laughs a little, moving a dishrag in slow circles over the countertop.

“Not that I know of? My impression from Arkady is that they’ve always been close, but never actually, uh… been romantically involved,” says Violet. “Then, after Elion… well. We didn’t really know who we could trust, and… Campbell was one of the only people who knew about our destination and had our new IDs. Or at least, so we thought.”

“Mmm,” RJ responds, which seems safer than ‘Sorry for being part of the evil government eavesdropping operation that made you paranoid and destroyed your friendships’.

“But now it seems they’re patching things up, so maybe…” Violet smiles brightly. “It would be great if they could make it work.”

“That’s true,” says RJ with as much enthusiasm as they can muster. Romance has never held much of an appeal for RJ – it’s nice for other people, but RJ realised some years ago that they just don’t feel the thing that people have devoted endless poems and novels and movies to, and trying to get invested in other people’s romances feels similarly awkward. But RJ likes Sana, and she deserves to be happy.

Violet, who is sensitive to that sort of thing, seems to pick up on RJ’s train of thought. “Sorry, I realise we might seem a bit… romance-obsessed on this ship sometimes,” she says with an embarrassed smile. “If it gets to be too much… feel free to tell us to knock it off any time, really.”

RJ thinks about working under the IGR, and the way that no-one ever felt safe being themselves. They’ve already started to take this new freedom for granted – but that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten the way things used to be.

“It’s fine,” they say.

 ---

This time, it’s not unsettling dreams or racing thoughts that are keeping RJ awake. It’s just energy. It’s midnight, but they feel as tense and jittery as though they’ve just downed four mugs of that overbrewed sludge the IGR used to serve employees in the breakroom.

A lot happened during the day. A huge amount of planning went into the rendezvous with Campbell on Halton Station, and even though RJ wasn’t part of the group who went out to meet him, they were involved in every other part of the endeavour.

Halton Station might be in the Neutral Zone, but they’d already established that the IGR was willing to cross huge lines and even violate the Treaty in order to get what it wanted, and the crew of the Iris is wanted on every IGR planet. It’s impossible to be too careful. Park and RJ had advised Sana to the best of their knowledge on steps that the IGR might take to try and survey the area, on the resources that they might try to use.

Meanwhile, Brian and Krejjh – both over the moon at being back on Neuzo, where they first met – had taken it in turns to tell stories about Ryedell Station, where Brian once worked as a bartender alongside his friend Alvy Connors.

Inside the Republic, the Neutral Zone was referenced only sparingly, and always characterised as a den of vice and iniquity. RJ had hardly ever thought about it except to be glad that they’ve never had the misfortune to set foot on any of its stations. But hearing stories about a place where humans and Dwarnians co-existed alongside each other, talking, trading, bartering… It’s made RJ realise just how narrow their world was until recently. And it’s sobering.

Sure, they’ve been watching Dwarnian soap operas, which deal with a completely alien (literally) species and set of cultures – but those are overblown and feel removed from RJ’s day-to-day reality. This doesn't.

So, RJ processes by pottering around the kitchen, making a late-night cup of tea. The light in the kitchen is kind of busted and it only emits a very dim glow – Sana has been swearing that she’ll tackle it once they’ve got the supplies from Campbell, but RJ finds it soothing, particularly at this hour.

It does make them jump, however, when the door suddenly slides open to admit a tall, dark shape.

“Apologies,” says the man, in a rough voice accented with a slight drawl. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ignatius Campbell,” says RJ in realisation. His voice, though RJ has only ever heard it over comms (and recorded comms at that), is pretty distinctive. Also, process of elimination dictates that there’s only one person this could be.

“The very same,” says Campbell, inclining his head forward. The door slides shut behind him. “And you must be RJ McCabe? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

RJ would like to say something witty like ‘The one and only’, but doesn’t really think they could pull it off. Instead, after a few dumb moments of deliberation, they manage, “You can call me RJ.”

Okay, so maybe they’re more tired than they realised.

Campbell raises his eyebrows a little. “Well, then, you can call me Ignatius.”

RJ doesn’t think so. Even Sana still calls him ‘Campbell’ – well, at least as far as RJ knows. Does his presence on the ship mean that the rendezvous has “gone well” like Violet and Arkady hoped?

The water comes to a boil, and RJ busies themself with pouring it out. “Would you, uh, like some tea?” they ask, mostly out of politeness – Campbell doesn’t really look like the tea type.

“Actually, I was planning on drinking something a bit stronger, if you don’t mind of course,” Campbell says, pulling out a battered metal flask from the pocket of his heavy brown coat. “It’s not moonshine,” he adds, at RJ’s slightly sceptical expression. “Just whiskey. You’re welcome to some, if you want.”

The opening notes of ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ immediately start up in RJ’s head, and they inwardly curse Violet, who has a habit of humming it when she’s nervous. And when she’s happy. And when she’s been spending time with Arkady.

“I’ll pass, but thanks,” says RJ, taking their tea and sitting down with it at the table. Campbell manages to locate a mug and pours his whiskey into it, but stays standing, drinking it slowly and staring into the middle distance. It puts RJ a little on edge, but they force themself to relax and remember that Campbell isn’t a threat.

It’s harder to resist the impulse to run through the collective intelligence that the Intergalactic Republic had on the man known as Ignatius Campbell. Known contact and long-time associate of the crew of the Rumor; expert forger; suspected aliases include Alexander Cole and Jonathan Johnson. Based in Telemachus, but with an extensive network of affiliates and possible connections across multiple galaxies.

As if picking up on their thoughts, Campbell suddenly asks, “You used to work for the IGR, right?”

RJ tenses. “Emphasis on ‘used to’,” they reply.

Campbell waves a hand. “Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to accuse you of anything. God knows everyone on this ship has stuff in their past they’d rather not go back to – me included,” he says, a little darkly. “No, I was just wondering what kind of intel they might have on me up there. Any good rumours?”

“Most of it was inconclusive,” RJ tells him, but thinks back anyway. It already feels unnatural trying to access the headspace and knowledge that they had while working for the IGR, after going to such pains to put it behind them. “W- They suspected you might have links to the notorious pirate Kim Hoff and her Bald-Cat gang, potentially as a supplier of intel or documentation, but nothing was proven.”

Campbell gives a low chuckle of amusement. “Believe it or not, I’m not the one on this ship with links to Hoff,” he says. “Though I can’t say we’ve never crossed paths.”

In response to RJ’s look of confusion, he elaborates: “She was Brian Jeeter’s thesis advisor.”

“You’re kidding,” says RJ in disbelief.

Campbell lays a hand on his heart. “I swear – you can ask him about it. For all that he might seem mild-mannered and harmless, Brian Jeeter has some interesting connections.”

“I’ve heard about his run-ins with the Dwarnian mafia,” says RJ, partly to show that they aren’t completely uninformed.

“Yeah, that’s another good example,” says Campbell. “There’s a reason why I’ve kept doing business with the Rumor crew all these years: they have some damn good stories to tell.”

RJ snorts in acknowledgement. If it weren’t for the fact that they’ve listened to some of the Rumor crew’s insane exploits (and been present for one or two of them) they wouldn’t have believed half of the stories that they’ve heard since they came aboard the Iris.

Neither of them says anything for a while, and RJ contemplates taking their tea back to their room so that they can carry on thinking. But the prospect is dull and a little claustrophobic, and part of them wants to take this opportunity to find out more about this person who is obviously so important to their crewmates.

“So…” says RJ, and Campbell’s gaze flicks over to them from where he’d been contemplating the cupboards. “What’s got you up so late, drinking whiskey in the kitchen with a total stranger?”

One corner of Campbell’s mouth quirks up. “You’re not a total stranger,” he points out. RJ just raises an eyebrow, and Campbell relents.

“Not sure, really – Sana and I were talking, but then she wanted to crash, and I wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. Got a bit too much going round in my head.”

RJ nods; in other words, a very similar reason to their own. “So I take it you’re staying the night?”

This immediately makes Campbell flustered, and RJ can’t make out his face very well but they imagine that he’s probably gone red. “I – I mean I am, but I promise that there’s nothing improper- It’s just for the one night. And we’re bunking in separate rooms,” he says in a rush.

RJ snorts and manages to keep from rolling their eyes – just about. “Calm down. I wasn’t trying to imply anything,” they tell Campbell. “I only asked because I’m on breakfast duty tomorrow morning, so I wanted to know how many people I’d be cooking for.”

“Oh.”

“Also, ‘improper’? What millennium is this, again?”

Campbell coughs, and says with the air of someone trying to pull the conversation back on track, “So – what about you? What has you up in the kitchen past midnight?”

RJ sips their tea, stalling for time as they try to decide how much to say about what has been keeping them awake. They settle on,

“I guess I’m… learning a lot about the universe that I never had the chance to before. Working for the… for the IGR, you’re told that only you have access to the real facts about everything – Dwarnians, the war, the upper limits of science and space exploration – and that anyone who tells you differently is lying or trying to confuse you. I prided myself,” they stress, bitterly, “on the thoroughness of my research. On having all the information. Now I realise just how little I really knew.”

Campbell nods, slowly. “All repressive governments control their people’s access to information,” he says. “The better to make sure that no-one gets any ideas of their own.”

“Yeah, I know,” says RJ, a little wearily. “I’m not under any illusions about what the IGR really is. Not anymore.”

“But you were,” Campbell points out. “Sure, maybe there were things you could’ve questioned and didn’t. There are also folks up at the top of the whole operation who have access to all the information and make a very different choice with it. At the end of the day, you still thought for yourself when it counted. You got out.”

RJ eyes Campbell warily. “I’m not fishing for reassurance here,” they tell him. “You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Campbell holds up his hands in apology. “I know,” he says. “It just sounded to me like maybe you were being a little harsh on yourself.”

RJ shakes their head and searches for the right words. “When I joined up with the Rumor crew on New Jupiter, it wasn’t some heroic stand,” they say eventually, quietly. “It was a strategic decision I made to survive. If I’d stayed where I was, I would have been killed on sight.”

“The crew of this ship knows a thing or two about survival,” Campbell tells them. “They’re not all on some grand moral crusade.”

RJ knows that Arkady worked as a guard for the IGR, that Violet used to be a government scientist, that Krejjh fought in the war on the Dwarnian side. But on nights like these, the gap between their experiences still feels vast.

The others, they all have this bond, a camaraderie forged from venturing out into the deepest parts of space, from facing near-death experiences and defying the Regime side by side. RJ might have tagged along at the end, but they don’t have that history. They haven’t earned that bond, yet.

RJ realises that Campbell is still watching them – considering, almost. Their first instinct is to break eye contact and look away, but instead they meet his gaze, raising their chin slightly. RJ thinks they see Campbell’s mouth twitch into a small smile.

“You know that I served in the military,” he says suddenly. It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” RJ replies cautiously.

“Do you want to know why I left?”

“Uh…”

RJ is well aware that Campbell fought in the war. They vividly recall the argument with Sana where Campbell angrily spoke about losing ninety percent of his first unit. RJ remembers listening to that exchange in their cramped office with Park, and looking over at him, wanting to ask for more information. But Park’s brow had been furrowed, his expression dark as he stared down at the wood of the desk, and the question died on RJ’s lips.

Park had fought in the war, too.

RJ doesn’t feel like they have a right to Campbell’s story any more than Park’s, but apparently, he's offering. “If you’re… okay with telling me,” they say uncertainly, pressing their mug between their palms until it’s a little painful. “I’m… sure it was nothing good.”

Campbell gives a short nod, his expression grim.

“I enlisted in the military in 2178, two years before the coup,” he says. “My first unit, they were… a really good group of people. Some of the best I’ve known. When the coup took place in 2180, we were excited. The old government had left the military drastically under-funded and over-stretched. The Regime promised better funding, better resources, more troops – of course, they accomplished that via the Mandate, but they made that seem like a great thing. A stable career path; an opportunity for everyone who was able to “serve the human race”. As they put it.”

RJ nods slowly. “I know. They’re pretty big on teaching that as part of the history of the Republic,” they say. “‘How the Intergalactic Republic transformed our military’.”

“Yeah, well, I experienced it first-hand. And for about a year, everything was as promised. But then my unit got word that we were being redeployed to the Dwarnian stronghold of Nreech-shlegga.”

RJ frowns. “As in… the Battle of Nreech-shlegga?”

“The very same,” Campbell confirmed. “But this was years before that battle. We were told that it was a small outpost, largely unmanned – an opportunity to score an early victory over the Dwarnians and make an incursion into their territory.”

RJ feels a sick sinking feeling, and unconsciously grips the edge of the table with one hand. “What happened?” they almost whisper, although they know the answer.

“On the basis of the briefing we were given, we stormed the stronghold,” Campbell says, and RJ suspects that he might not really have heard their question, lost in the memory. He’s not looking at them anymore, staring down at his mug, but he doesn’t drink from it. “Of course, Nreech-slegga was the exact opposite of what we'd been led to believe – it was an extremely well-defended military stronghold. My entire unit, barring myself and six others, was wiped out in less than an hour.”

Campbell is silent. RJ breathes out quietly, trying not to interrupt his thoughts by drawing attention to themself. Their throat is dry, but they’ve drunk all of their tea and daren’t move to make some more.

Several long minutes later, Campbell shakes himself a little, seeming to come back into the present. “Sorry,” he apologises gruffly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Don’t apologise,” RJ says quickly, and then clamps their mouth shut, in case they sounded overly familiar. But Campbell nods, and they think they see his lips quirk upward slightly.

“What did you do… after?” RJ ventures, after another long moment of silence. They hate to pry, but they’re still not clear on why Campbell decided to tell them this in the first place. Maybe he’s not sure anymore either.

Campbell nods again, once, as if agreeing to something inside his head. He meets RJ’s eyes again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I defected from the military?”

“Of course,” RJ says immediately. “After what they did to your unit? Your superiors must have known the reality of the situation, but they withheld crucial intel. It cost the lives of dozens of good soldiers.”

“I notice you haven’t considered for a moment that the IGR might have had a good reason for giving those orders,” Campbell points out. He sounds amused.

“I—” RJ falters. “I mean. How could they have?”

People died needlessly, they want to say. But they know that while they were on the IGR’s payroll, they came across all kinds of evidence of similar incidents and found ways to rationalise them, to explain away the devastating loss of human life. Like the planet where the inhabitants were left to starve without aid after their food supply was consumed by ants – because of “improper paperwork” and “budgetary concerns”. Or the fate of the original Iris, in which an entire crew had been murdered in order to silence one man.

Why had it taken RJ so long to see the Regime for what it really was?

Because it’s easy to make excuses, to explain things away, when it’s not your life on the line, RJ’s brain supplies. When you’re not the one they’re coming for.

“If you see any of the Rumor crew, or Agents McCabe or Park, shoot to kill.”

Until you are.

“You’re right,” Campbell says, and RJ stares at him for a few seconds, having lost the thread of their conversation. Their head feels heavy and over-full, their mind whirling. “My superiors had perfect intel on the situation in Nreech-slegga and knew the full extent of its defences, but they lied to us because they wanted to test the Dwarnians’ response times on their own territory. We were just cannon fodder to them.”

The phrase rings a bell in RJ’s mind – they remember him using the same words to Sana in ‘Report 6: Parallel’. They nod mutely.

“But in the wake of The Nreech-Slegga Disaster, as it became known – though only among the troops, as official reports of the incident were largely suppressed – they told us that they’d been fed false intel by double agents working for the Dwarnian Federation. They even used it as an excuse to purge a few members of the rank and file who’d fallen out of favour.

“I could tell something was off about it all – if the Dwarnian counter-intelligence efforts were so effective, why tip their hand so obviously? Why waste them on eliminating a single ground unit? But at the time, I couldn’t envision a life for myself outside of the military. And I was afraid to follow that train of logic any further, for fear of where it might lead me. So I stayed enlisted – for three more years.”

“Three… years?” RJ echoes in shock. “But…”

“Why would I stay?” Campbell finishes for them. “It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you’re on, to leave behind everything you know. I didn’t have them, then.” He stares off into the middle distance, mug held loosely in one hand. “A lot of people who fought in the war didn’t really believe in the Regime’s cause. They had their own reasons, and I told myself I had mine.”

Campbell raises his mug to drink from it again, and then – evidently finding it empty – picks up his flask and drinks directly from there instead. “But I spent a hell of a lot of time regretting those three years.” His voice is a low, bitter growl, almost too low to hear.

A more profound silence descends this time, and RJ isn’t sure how to break it. Their instinctive response to hearing how Campbell lost his first unit had been to assume that he would have left the military and refused to serve under the regime that caused the deaths of his comrades – just as many people would question why RJ had stayed and continued to work for the IGR after Park was taken away. 

Like Campbell said, at the time, they thought they had their reasons. It's only in hindsight that those reasons become a lot harder to justify.

It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you're on, Campbell had said. RJ can't find it in them yet to think of their decision to turn against the IGR as something that took "guts". 

But no matter how adrift they've been feeling since then, they also haven't regretted it for a moment.

“Apologies,” says Campbell abruptly, and RJ looks up from toying with their mug, surprised. “I probably shouldn’t have dropped all of this on you at once. It’s just been… on my mind, what with the renewed crackdowns from the Regime, and skirmishes breaking out everywhere…”

RJ’s stomach turns over. They knew that there were protests on Telemachus, and a couple of the other large planets as well, the ones that were harder to control. But they hadn’t realised it had broken out into all-out fighting.

They realise that Campbell is still looking at them, and try to force their mind back to the subject at hand. “No, it’s fine – it actually helped. Uh, it’s nice to hear…” They trail off, not sure if it would be presumptuous to say, ‘a story similar to mine’. RJ isn’t a war veteran. It’s not the same thing at all. “That is, I uh, really appreciate you… trusting me with this.” There.

Campbell gives them a slight smile, and then ventures, “I’m not sure how well it’ll go with the aftertaste of whiskey, but… can I take you up on that tea?”

“Oh! Sure!” RJ jumps to their feet so quickly they almost upset their chair. They do their best to cover it up by holding the box of tea out to Campbell, who raises his eyebrows. “What kind would you like?”

“Uh… Why don’t you choose,” Campbell suggests.

“Oh, if you’re sure…” RJ looks down at the tea, wondering what kind would be appropriate to give a former-soldier-turned-forger after a heavy conversation about serving under an oppressive regime. They decide to go for vanilla and honey.

As RJ is busy boiling the water again, making another cup for themself at the same time, they realise that Campbell never actually told them how he came to leave the military. They wonder if it would be pushing it to ask him, or whether it would be best to leave the topic alone.

They procrastinate by pouring out the water, then finding a spoon to stir the tea with. “You can leave it in for as long as you want to – three minutes is usually a good amount of time,” they tell him, handing over the mug and the spoon.

“Thanks,” says Campbell appreciatively. “It smells good.”

“You’re welcome.” RJ goes back to pour out their second cup of jasmine green tea. Campbell gives a little chuckle to himself, and RJ looks over, curious.

“Oh, it’s just – I realised that after all that, I never finished my story,” Campbell explains. “But uh, I’m sure you’re sick of hearing-”

“Actually, I was wondering-” RJ begins, and then stops awkwardly. “Uh. That is. I’d like to hear the last part?”

“All right then,” says Campbell. His manner is a little more relaxed than before, and RJ senses that this part of the story is easier for Campbell to tell. 

“I served in the military for three more years,” he says, “after the Nreech-Slegga Disaster. I rose up the ranks a little bit – but not that much. I wasn’t great at taking my superiors’ orders without question, especially when they were irrational, stupid orders. A lot of soldiers who started out below me on the pecking order quickly got promoted ahead. But that was fine – I never wanted to be in command. I knew there was all sorts of corruption in the upper ranks of the force – bribery, dirty deals, a comfortable life lived on military funds.

“But the breaking point really came when I was put into a situation that reminded me vividly of the Nreech-Slegga Disaster – a campaign where we were given almost no information about the situation on the ground, and were ordered to go in, guns blazing, and mount an attack. I refused to lead my men in blind – I demanded more information from the officers in command. And when they ordered me to go ahead with the offensive regardless… I left. I couldn’t watch it happen again.”

“Where did you go?” RJ asks.

“I disappeared,” Campbell says simply. “I had an old friend I’d never completely severed ties with who had links to the criminal underworld. Not, uh, Sana,” he adds quickly. “We met later. I went underground with a new identity, and set about methodically erasing every trace of my former life. Officially, I’m listed as Killed in Action during the offensive that I refused to participate in. I honed my skills as a forger at the same time.”

“Did you have, uh…” RJ realises partway through asking the question that it might be an uncomfortable subject – well, another uncomfortable subject. “…family? You don’t have to answer that,” they add awkwardly, but Campbell is nodding.

“My parents had passed away, but I had a brother I’m close to. I wasn’t able to make contact for several years. But now I… see him, occasionally. And his kids, my nephews.” He says the last part softly.

“That must be nice,” RJ says without thinking, and then flushes when Campbell looks at them quizzically. “Um, that is…”

At that moment, the door slides open and a voice says, “Hey, I woke up and I wasn’t sure where you’d – oh! RJ, sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Sana stands framed in the doorway, wearing loose sleeping clothes, her hair twisted into a side braid. Because she’s Sana, rather than being embarrassed or discomfited, she immediately shifts into Concern Mode. “Is everything all right?” She looks between the two of them, obviously curious as to how they came to be talking in the kitchen.

“Hey, Sana. Everything’s fine, we were… just having tea,” RJ says.

“I think mine’s vanilla and honey,” Campbell adds, lifting his mug. Sana seems tickled by this, grinning broadly.

“All right, well I’ll leave you both to it, if you’d prefer – I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay–” RJ says, at the same time as Campbell begins, “Actually, I’d be happy to come back to–”

They both stop, and RJ presses their lips together in amusement and then stands. “I’m gonna head back to my room. It was… really nice talking to you, Mr. Campbell.”

Campbell gives an exasperated huff at being called ‘Mister’, which makes RJ smile. “Likewise,” he says.

“Goodnight, then, RJ,” says Sana, standing to one side so that RJ can get past her. “Don’t be afraid to come and knock if you still can’t sleep.”

RJ nods, though they have no intention of doing anything of the sort. “I will. Oh, and Campbell?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like eggs?”

This throws Campbell for a loop. “Do I… like eggs?”

“For breakfast tomorrow. Sana said there would be some eggs in the supplies we were getting, so I figured I’d make eggs.”

Campbell laughs a little with surprise. “Sure. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

“Great.” RJ looks back at Campbell. “See you at breakfast.”

What they really mean is:

Thank you.

[lucky-dreamfisher]

BATIM Chapter 2 - Detailed Analysis #3

Right outside Sammy's office we can find Wally's audio log. But something's very strange about it! 

The tape ends with "I hope nobody tells Sammy!", yet it's placed in a spot Sammy would definitely find it. Looking closer, we notice a splatter of ink behind the shelf with the audio log. It was attached to the wall in the same way as the speakers in the main hall. The audio log and the Bendy cutout are both clean, despite having huge splatters of ink behind them - a sign they were placed there already after the leak was made. 

Ah, yes Audiolog/Name_Sammy, my favourite BATIM character. Funny how his favourite song keeps changing with each loop.

Come to think of it... "Bendy" was asking Sammy about his favourite songs, wasn't he? I wonder if that was when this audio log was recorded? Norman did say that Sammy was willing to kick the entire band along with himself out of the recording studio, just to keep his Sactuary a secret from them all. Why on Earth would he record instructions on how to get inside and keep it in Wally's closet, of all places? 

Speaking of Sanctuaries, this is the first mention of Joey's. It probably refers to the area between the Vault and the Ink machine, with a copy of Henry's desk inside it. The fact that Joey was willing to share such a secret personal fact with Sammy may hint that there was a time he put a lot of trust in the man. 

By the way, Wally's closet sure contains a lot of objects we can find as offerings in Bendy's shrines! Either he was involved in some shady occult stuff during his time working at the studio, or the closet was open moments before we arrived, and Sammy used it for storage after the studio closed down. Considering that suspicious audio log outside of Sammy's office, here's what I think happened: 

Bender is trying to prevent us from leaving the studio, but he also wants to keep us busy, as he prepares for the next step in his grand scheme. He asked Sammy about the songs, in order to record the instructions for us to get inside the Sanctuary. He then put it inside Wally's closet, tossed the keys into a random garbage bin, and left Wally's tape by Sammy's office, to send us on a pointless fetch quest. This bought him some precious time. 

Considering the message on the wall, the ritual circle, and the freshly lit candle, Sammy still visits his Sanctuary on a regular basis. As we approach the circle, we can hear strange, unidentified whispers. 

We can also find Joey's untitled book inside. Was this where he learned everything he knows about the rituals? That's unlikely - we can find copies of this book all over the studio and I don't think Joey would be this open about magic with all of his employees. Did Joey personally teach Sammy about the occult? Or was it something he's learned during the 20 years of his imprisonment? 

Upon leaving the Sanctuary, we encounter another Bendy cutout scare. As we turn our back to investigate, we are attacked by a group of Searchers. It was a trick! 

There's an ink trail leading from the cutout to the Sanctuary. Sure enough - there's a Searcher waiting for us inside after the battle ends. Another Searcher is hidden between the instruments, while 7 more are blocking our way out of the recording studio. Once again, it's 9 searchers in total - those must be the same band members that we'd killed before. This gives us some idea about how fast searchers can respawn. 

The cutout used as the decoy seems to be one of those Sammy moved around the room earlier in the chapter. We can see him standing next to the other cutouts, as he watches the massacre unfold. It's no wonder Sammy doesn't wish to face us in an open battle - we've proven ourselves to be capable fighters. 

As we descend to the infirmary, we meet yet another searcher. Was this the one who moaned as we played the organ? He's fairly close to Johnny's room, close enough to hear the instrument and close enough for us to hear him. We may have killed him when he flooded the studio, which explains why he's not thrilled to see us down here. 

Worth noting is the fact that there are stairs leading down to the infirmary. This would imply that Joey's illness hasn't yet rendered him immobile. Considering that his meetings with Thomas down in the sewers started in 1943, his disability happened very late in the studio's history. There's an appointment with Dr Hackenbush on the meeting's board in the administration, so whatever happened to Joey must have happened at some point between the moment when the Ink machine was finished, and the moment when the studio closed down. 

Wait, what is THAT? Why are there two shafts inside the studio with the exact same name? That's either a sign of some strange cartoon physics, or a deliberate intent at hiding the existence of one of the shafts from the employees. Joey could then openly discuss meetings in the other Shaft 9, without worrying that someone might overhear it and identify the place. 

The only person who must have had knowledge about the other shaft's existence would be Thomas, as he was the one in charge of installing the pipes around the studio. Could this be the true reason behind Thomas' secret meeting with Joey? He may have stumbled across something during his work, that he wanted to discuss in privacy. 

Down in the sewers, Sammy is still watching us. He doesn't begin to act until after we kill Jack Fain. It's possible that he was the one who instructed Jack to keep the valve away from us. This would explain Henry's "I don't sing with psychos" message, as there is nothing to suggest Jack is one. The black messages in the sewers must have been left by Sammy, which means he came down there to visit Jack on a regular basis. 

More boards. These had to be put up already after the studio's closure, otherwise poor Jack would have had trouble getting to his desk. Yet another obstacle thrown in our way just to slow us down? 

We have to feel sorry for poor Jack. He is the first ink creature Henry killed, which didn't pose a danger to him. Swollen Searchers seem to be unable to use force, not even to defend themselves. Their bloated bodies burst even from a tiny prick of a needle. Any attempt to strike us would probably kill them. 

As we turn the valve, we can hear the sound of the miner searcher spawning in the ritual room. The hat suggests it was a member of the maintenance. The closest room showing signs of activity from the maintenance staff was the room we found the axe in. It may be that the searcher is following us, because it wants to retrieve its axe. 

This time Henry doesn't say he's sorry. Maybe because he really didn't have to do that this time around? He's growing colder. 

As we take a peek inside Sammy's office, we find another secret message "Creator, You Traitor". On a meta level it's a nod to the Bendy fansong playing in the radio on Sammy's desk. In-universe, it's an interesting implication that Henry, much like the ink creatures inside the studio, refers to Joey as their creator. If Henry is an ink creature, it would mean he was aware of it at the time of writing this message. 

Here's something with massive implications for the lore - the blueprints for the ink machine. There's Wally's name on it, as well as "v.02" in the corner, suggesting that it's the second such design. One of the textures in Joey's apartment from Chapter 5 spells it out in a more explicit way: there was a second ink machine, and Wally has designed it. From the looks of the design, the second version of the machine is the one we've seen back in Chapter 1. The first design might have been the small machine we see in Joey's apartment. 

Why give this task to Wally, out of all people in the studio? Was it simply cheaper than giving this task to Thomas and the Gent company, or could it be that Wally's name was placed on the design plans because Thomas wanted to hide his involvement in Joey's shady business? 

It's also strange that Sammy would have these plans in his office. He's not an engineer, so why would he have any interest in them? They're right next to a burning candle as well. Could it be that someone left these plans here for us to find? 

We have to chuckle a bit at the fact that Sammy has apparently thrown Joey's book in the trash. Not a fan of his writing, apparently. 

There seems to be an interesting relationship between Sammy and Joey. Joey may have given out copies of his book to every employee, but he certainly wouldn't go around telling random people about his secret Sanctuary. Furthermore, Joey seems to have taught Sammy how to create the ritual circles. Sammy is also one of the few people in the studio, who refer to Joey by name, suggesting that the two used to have a close relationship.

There is another, darker explanation for Joey's suggestion regarding the Sanctuary. Looking out of the window in Sammy's office, we have a clear view of the entrance to the infirmary - and to the sewers. Joey's solution to the floods was one that was not permanent - perhaps deliberately so. Sammy was likely to notice Joey and Thomas sneaking down to the sewers. It was therefore in their favor to make Sammy keep away from his office, as often as possible. 

This might be why the pump was installed in Sammy's office, rather than in the room right next to it, or any other place inside the Music Department.

[alchemist-shizun]

As expected, Dealing with intrusive thoughts is now one of my favorites

Here I come with almost all of my reactions on the episode, even though I tagged the spoiler warnings I put everything under the cut just in case. Enjoy the emotional rollercoaster while I'll probably go and rewatch it again.

Okay kinda expected one or two of the warnings but all of them together what is gonna happen???? (Though they make sense after reading the title)

HELLO FRESH BACK AGAIN

"I'm awesome and I can do this" there goes my boy. *said boy falls flat on the floor* ...come on

I felt that yawn bc I stayed up all night waiting for the video but it dropped at 8 am, I'm an idiot who should've gotten more sleep

"help me" why is he such a mood "everything is going wrong in my life" same but YOU SHOULDN'T SAY THAT LET ME HUG YOU

They're all sinking up so fast god I missed my bois. Also the general awkwardness of Virge and Pat, greeeeat something will go wrong

Virgil just ignoring everything and touching the railing, a mood

ALSO PLEASE LET ROMAN IN THE SITUATION

SECRET SECRETS ARE NO FUN TELL ME NOW OR ELSE WE'RE DONE

wait why does Ro want to be deeply troubled- man are you okay-

LOGAN'S HERE

"your most extreme reaction is an eyebrow raise" "FALSEHOOD" "I stand corrected" omfg

"what are you ta- what are you talking- what are you talking about?" I loved that whole take it made me feel complete

"Look I barely got any sleep" this can apply to a lot of us and I love just how we're all always like "TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF" but in the end this is where we all end up anyway

Okay I'm very curious about these troubling thoughts though

"so sushi" FUCCC I DIED RIGHT THERE

"Don't act like that was an accident" "everybody, Virgil. Let's give it up for the Purp Man" these speak for themselves. Also the purp man is my new fav nickname and I'm gonna use it.

4:17 Patton is adorable bye

"if you continue to push this we're going to end up in really dangerous territory" AND THAT'S WHERE THE TENSION STARTED TO BUILD UP

great flick

"am I delirious or is this the funniest video I've ever made" I felt that

YOU HIGH-JOCKED

okay but when Thomas starts disassociating I also feel really weird like as if there was something blocking my own hearing for real?? And not just the audio edited like that?? Maybe I'm just too tired

WHAT WHO WHHH first intrusive thought making its way what is gonna happen

OH MY GOD ROMAN WATCH OUT ALSO THAT'S DEFINITELY A NEW DARK SIDE OR SMTH LIKE THAT

W HO THE FUCKLKDSL IS THAT A MOUSTACHE IS THAT GLITTER WHAT IN THE WORLD IS HE WEARING WHAT IS HE DOING THERE PLEASE- okay but he looks crazy af I like that

"-evIL" "-SHOW UP"

First time I watched the scene where Ro gets knocked out I literally just screamed "ROMAN" in a high pitched sound I was shook wtf my bOY

Patton and Thomas's yells in unison plus "YOU KILLED HIM" I just I JUST

"Ah, he's the Duke" "....... boo" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Okay but his voice is so on point with his character portrayal he's so weird it's awesome?

SONG SONG SONG and oh goodness the visuals I can't fathom how much editing work must have gone through this, they're all so talented.

"aunt patty naked" A G AI N??

"IM GONNA WHIP YOUR BUTT"

a snaKE IT'S DECEIT oh my these silouhettes are so great this is my favorite scene

this is gonna be stuck in my head all day

THE COOL MIRROR EDIT.

god i hate him so much already but i'm super intrigued he's so chaotic the whole team made a wonderful job i'll never stop saying this

"i'm really stupid right now" just how much out of context relatable content are we going to get on this fine day?

omg the dark version of creativity, which can be associated with intrusive thoughts, that's very clever

THE JUICY STUFF DANCE

"Repression can be very bad indeed" I mean he's right tbh it leads to never solving the problem at all

GO LOGAN GO HAVE YOUR TIME TO SHINE FINALLY i missed him

"i can't hear youuuuuu" much like "I don't understand what you're saying I don't know anything about words" THE DARK SIDES ARE ALL SASSY LITTLE BITCHES

pattonnnn did a real good job

THE BRAVE HANDSOME UNBEATABLE ROMAN and mashed potatoes

"scary" and Virgil just gives Thomas a look idk I live on the little details (Im ten minutes into the vid and look how long this post already is)

GEE Remus (already using his name bc it's shorter) looking so offended at the label and then pointing out it should be a Virgil problem whAT DOES THIS MEAN IM SHAKING

WHY WOULD HE BE DECEIT AGAIN IM DYING. "Idk if you guys can tell but I'm a little silly"

"then why are you lying" no everybody I don't need angst

THE BLACK AND THE WHITE THEORY I SAW GOING AROUND good job to whoever thought of that

JOAN

the forbidden dance

INTO A BUTTHOLE WHAT IS IT WITH HIM AND BUTTHOLES

there u go thomas said it too

haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate FHDSLAKLFD

irresponsible parenting, Logan completing the parental unit of the sides

"maybe there's hope for you after all!" me looking at all my wips

REMUS' LAUGH IS PERFECT. also "BITCH WHAT IS *YOUR* DEAL"

"you've never been one to soften the truth" OH BOI HERE WE GO

"do we have some case of brain swap???" I legitly said "maybe" in unison with Patton the first time

Vee pls stop putting Thommy boy down he's having a bad time

Logan trying to put some sense into the situation is my only spark of hope for this to turn back good

REMUS IS SO DRAMATIC

That lick was ....... let's pretend it never happened

"you know who can help us with that???" DECEIT'S SONG COMING UP that was great, imagine the chaos that the duo would create

"THATS WHAT REPRESSION IS?"

gasp Remus trying to make Virgil angry at Logan shall not stand DON'T PUT THEM AGAINST ONE ANOTHER HE'S JUST TRYING TO HELP

"you all are not listening to Thomas" this is the development I needed

"you're just para-" and he cuts himself. You all know what I'm talking about. Foreshadowing probably? This happened too back then when Roman was almost calling him the same. And then Virge looks so hurt I- "thank you for being on guard" that made me want to cry idk

the whole speech Logan gave? Pure gold. That was perfect.

HE SAID FIGURATIVELY *CLAP CLAP CLAP*

"UH RECORD SCRATCH?"

"does this make me cool?" djslagrkglhf also the teeth thing right after what the

... the deodorant eating ...

DUKEY

The first time I watched I thought his name was spelled Remis that's how dumb my Italian ass is

Still I love his name bc I'm a nerd for ancient culture, ESPECIALLY Roman (and ancient Greek but it isn't mentioned here) and I love the little thing they did with both Creativity names, super clever and very much liked on my part.

"I would never hide anything from you" and he looks at Virgil JUST ALL THIS FORESHADOWING

LOGAN SHOWING HIS TEETH BACK UP

"how about you shut up" Roman what the hecc man

THAT THING INTO LOGANS HEAD UNSETTLED ME A BIT

what are they doing to him today let him rest

double blow

"can we logic our way out of that?" everybody nodding was so pure

"shit"

THAT FUCKING JUMPSCARE I'M SORRY WHAT THE FU

"not all thoughts are meaningful"

He's go- no he's back again

THE CALLBACK MENTION AND PATTONS REACTION... probable foreshadowing to what Joan said about there being a part two of SvS?

"When are you actually gonna jump out of a moving car I've been bringing it up for years" so it's not just me..?

"it is okay if the thought happens to cross your mind"

"everything is okay" I'm going to cry I needed that

I love how Logan touches the topic that there is no problem in seeking help from therapists. There's a lot to say on this, but I was really glad that was pointed out since the are a lot of stereotypes on the matter

why did Virgil look like he was about to cry

Patton I love you

Thomas going to rest is what everyone wanted to see

Virgil confronting Remus I'm living you're doing amazing sweetie

"you tickle me emo"

"it was just like old times" then Pat and Lo's looks in this essay I will

ROMAAAAN

VIRGILS SMILE

"YOU'RE ALIVE"

"I LOVE YOU" ME TOO!! ME TOO ME TOO

"are you good?" "are you hurt at all?" I love when the sides look out for each other

"I'm sorry Logan" right through the heart. Another development.

I need y'all to look at Virgil in this exact second because. he.

that's my point.

All those smiles while Logan's talking are making me alive

"No seriously, you're ... really ... cool" I started tearing up right here. Twice. And then Logan sinks down cause he's not at all used to this and he's feeling t h i n g s please keep on being appreciated you deserve it

Also Patton always learning from his mistakes and understanding them when he does something wrong or he thinks in the wrong direction, that's something I think a lot of people need to learn, including myself. Like, it's okay to be wrong and make mistakes, just do your best to make sure you're improving yourself afterwards, instead of dwelling on it too much

"I don't like him" makes two of us

"Soooo you have a brother?" oh boy

The m i r r o r it's making me cry

"He's gone now and he's never coming back!" "I don't think that's-" "BYEE" what was all that talk about repression for if you contiNUE TO DO THIS ROMAN please I beg of you let us hELP YOU he's making me die inside

Oh boi the big moment. I already expected a bomb to drop since Virgil was the last one remaining.

"You okay buddy?" "Huh?" op somehow was already found crying

"I'm a little disappointed in myself" istg all that foreshadowing mixed with me wanting to hug him

The music picking up tension, this is poetic cinema let me tell you

I noticed how he calls them "the others", all these tiny details is what I'm living for

"I should know better" I couldn't beLIEVE IT, also how he seemed to be so frustrated made something inside me break

the pause and then "Because I was one of them", the music stops for a second, a little second in which you can hear my distant screaming "GOSH HE SAID IT IT WAS TRUE"

Thomas is speechless and just stares at him while the music picks up again and then Virgil's sigh and expression sinking down like "there you have it. that's the truth. and you can't do anything about it" he looks so defeated I'm breaking down.

Did I already mention poetic cinema? I just love angst and this scene was perfect

First time watching I, too, barely understood anything I was listening to in the last parte because all of that was really a lot to take in.

"Those thoughts that you may have thought do not define you"

"[the thought] may simply be that we are really okay"

"Go to bed!" me

no im not in the mood for food because for some unfathomable reason I had anxiety before the video dropped yay me

WHY ARE U DRINKING RED WINE WITH THAT DISH

GAVIN BEST BOY EVER

and last but not least: are you fucking serious Remus

THERE'S A SNAKE IN MY BUTT FANDFKJL

I didn't expect this topic at all and I am so glad it was talked about, thankfully my intrusive thoughts do not bother me as much as I realized other people's do. And I never saw anyone talking about this before, which is why it makes this video so important. I saw a tweet recently about someone saying that it is okay if you think about weird things, the important is that you never act on them, that's what makes you a good person. But I think this video really explains it far better and I never realized how common something like this was? So yeah another time in which I've been educated and couldn't be happier about it. These people really are bringing light to the world gah I LOVE THEM.

oKAY guess I'm done this was a wild ride and yeah I tend to point out EVERYTHING, so here you have it, as I already mentioned if you feel the need to geek out too, I'm here for ANYBODY! (pls I have no friends)

[so101powersangrelive]

The Ultimatum Experiment

The first experiment that Pam offers in her book could be best described as an ULTIMATUM. In this experiment, we'll give the FP 48 hours to deliver an unexpected gift or blessing. We won't specify anything specific; we'll just ask it to send us a gift that we wouldn't normally receive — something truly unexpected, so it's dead obvious when it arrives and it can't be written off as coincidence.

I initiated this experiment at 7:10 pm on Thursday, September 8th, 2016 as I was hiking down a mountain. I actually made an audio recording of the request that I made to the universe. Here's the transcript of what I said…

Thu, Sep 8th, 2016 at 7:10pm

Dear Universe,

I am asking you to give me conclusive proof that I am a creator, that I create with my thoughts and desires. What I am asking you to do is to deliver to me some unexpected gift that will be blatantly obvious when it arrives. Something that wouldn't normally occur and something fairly impressive and convincing because I'm doing this as an experiment that I will publish on my blog for all to see. And I'm asking for it in the next 24 hours. I'm asking for this deadline because if we go too long, I might not be able to suspend my disbelief in this process, and doubt might creep in. And we don't want that to happen because doubt is a manifestation killer.

Thanks,

Jeff

Notice that my statement was more like a request than a demand or command. This is just my style; a full-on ultimatum would have worked just as well. The FP doesn't care exactly how you express your desire; it just responds to your thoughts and expectations.

Also, notice that I accidentally gave a deadline of 24 hours rather than 48 hours as intended. Hey, I had a brain fart, what can I say. But guess what? My gift was delivered within 24 hours! Actually, it came in well short of that, it arrived the very next morning — a mere 14 hours after initiating the experiment! Here's the email that I received that contained my unexpected gift…

From: The Editor, WakingTimes.com

Sent: Fri, Sep 9, 2016 at 9:17 AM

Subject: Can I publish your epic article "The Multidimensional Self"?

Hey Jeff,

I trust all is well. Doing great here. Wondering if I may have your permission to post your epic article on the multi-dimensional self. http://divine-cosmos.net/multidimensional-self.htm

Thanks in advance for your consideration,

Peace

Unexpected But Just What I Needed and Wanted!

This request for permission to publish my article The Multidimensional Self was truly UNEXPECTED! I hadn't submitted this or any other article to WakingTimes.com. In fact, I hadn't submitted an article or had one published by another website for quite a while. And my blogs traffic and engagement was suffering because of it.

Since my budding writing career and my blog is the centerpiece of my life right now, the growth of my blogs audience is of great importance to me. I'd actually been thinking quite a bit about my need and desire to get another guest post on another website and had been doing a lot of thinking about what sites to submit to.

So of course, I was delighted when this unexpected, but very appropriate gift arrived, and I immediately seized the opportunity. The success of this experiment is a great example of how manifesting works — it draws to you information, people, things, and CIRCUMSTANCES consistent with your strongest and most predominant thoughts and desires. Even thou I hadn't specified what I wanted the Universe still delivered exactly what had been on my mind and most important to me!

Now It's Your Turn

Can I coax some of you into trying this experiment and reporting your results back here in the comment section of this post? Suspend your disbelief for 48 hours and dive into this experiment! You've got nothing to lose and so much to gain. What could be more important than discovering that YOU ARE A CREATOR!

Let the magic begin!

Jeff

jeff@divine-cosmos.net

So universe- one all we you us..... make it undeniable- blatant conspicuous and loud - I need a blessing . I need proof ! I neeed demand desire a great gift that I am held back from asking from within a d throughout. I’m asking out of a deep need. It is a request abd with great gray better expectation than I have now the words to use... please within all that is better that I will not unsubscribe to - the smile - the kiddos - that love and people - individuals are not separate- very special. And and and.... fir all thru me as a vessel, 24 hours from right now, July 10, 2019- in the jaw of attraction prove that I am as I believe and with non accusingly aware so tiny so big- I give permission to ask expect and genuinely revive receive the blessing the gift of my hearts desire that helps me to pay forward. Humbly and expecting no less than the sonething that will be what surprises and regenerates forward live and blessings, movement security and true unfaltering forever faith and hope and creative manifestations tibtge better is better .... 6:17pm . I kniw I’m your j let me be who I am truly meant and deploy desire to be . I ask fir all this and more drone here thismonebt and every moment thereafter - you have the better you kniw the j niw go with my best and least ready for, most needed, my gift of gifts I’ll see what you provide by my demand and experiment. No harm no foul free and ckear to alll - loud and happy with love from here to tonite thank you directly in advance theoatrrnand viberatikb is even so much more perfect . Amen love and one .

and and let To all be benefiting from this tans not ever short of infinite.

Thanks

Till then

J

Already moving out of the way and manifesting without a doubt- but will see it and loud gafagagaga

[dipulb3]

Epson Home Cinema 880 projector review: Bright and cheap, but that's about it

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Epson Home Cinema 880 projector review: Bright and cheap, but that's about it

The Epson 880 is a tale of two specs and a price. On one hand, it’s the brightest projector I’ve measured recently, dethroning the previous champ after less than a month. On the other hand it also has the worst contrast ratio I’ve ever measured, worse than even cheap portable projectors that are much dimmer. On the third hand (third hand? Whatever, go with me here), it’s only $600. So it’s inexpensive, but you sacrifice a lot compared to projectors that cost just a little bit more. 

Like

Stupendously bright

Prodigiously bright

Bright

Don’t Like

Weak overall image quality

Terrible contrast

Details look soft

No zoom

Few projectors can better compete with ambient light than the 880. It will still lose to the sun or some lamps, but it will be more watchable than most projectors in less-than-completely-dark conditions. It can create a massive and bright image. It’s small and highly portable, while being significantly brighter than a true portable projector — one that runs on batteries. It even has excellent color.

Unfortunately the image is quite washed out, it looks softer than its 1080p resolution suggests and with no zoom or lens shift, it’s far harder to position in a room. While the $600 price tag is tempting, my advice is to save up for something like the BenQ HT2050A.

Lumens, lumens, lumens

Native resolution: 1,920×1,080 pixels

HDR-compatible: No

4K-compatible: No

3D-compatible: No

Lumens spec: 3,300

Zoom: None

Lens shift: No

Lamp life (Normal mode): 6,000 hours

1080p resolution for $600 is pretty impressive. It wasn’t too long ago $1,000 was the full HD threshold. As you’d expect for a budget projector, it’s not HDR, 3D, nor 4K compatible. That’s fine at this price.

One way Epson saved money to get you resolution and brightness is by removing a zoom control from the lens. The lack of zoom makes it harder to position the 880 in your room. The projector has one place it can sit/hang to fill a specific-sized screen and that’s it. If you don’t have a fixed screen, like you’re just shining it on a wall, then this isn’t an issue.

Let’s talk about those lumens. This thing is a beast. I measured a remarkable 232 nits in its most accurate modes. This converts to roughly 2,085 lumens. That blows away our previous light output champ, also an Epson, by 20%. It’s always a fair assumption with TVs and projectors that prices will go down while brightness and resolution will go up. Even so, that’s a big, impressive leap. In eye-bleed Dynamic mode you can get 359 nits out of this thing! That’s over 3,000 lumens and brighter even than the LG laser projector that costs $3,000. It wasn’t long ago that TVs struggled to produce 3,000 lumens. 

Remarkably, the 880 runs on a regular lamp and not some mixture of phosphorus and napalm. It’s rated for 6,000 hours in Normal brightness mode, which I’ll be surprised if you use often. The dimmer-but-still-bright ECO mode gets around twice that.

Geoffrey Morrison/CNET

Budget-level connections

HDMI inputs: 1

PC input: No

USB port: 2

Audio input and output: 3.5mm stereo output

Digital audio output: No

Internet: No

12v trigger: No

RS-232 remote port: No

MHL: No

Remote: Not backlit

Inputs are sparse, which is again fine at this price. One HDMI gets the job done along with 2 USBs. There’s a 3.5mm audio output, or you can use the meager built-in speaker.

The small remote has tiny buttons, but thankfully you only really need to use it for setup and to turn the projector on and off.

In the Normal lamp mode the 880 is pretty loud, which is typical for small, bright projectors. This might be more of an issue than usual depending how big your screen is, since without a zoom you might be forced to place it closer to your seats than you’d like.

Geoffrey Morrison/CNET

Picture quality comparisons

The 2250 isn’t a direct competitor at twice the price of the 880, however it does show what’s possible if you want to go with an LCD projector. The BenQ HT2050A is still one of our favorite projectors. When new it was around $1,000, but now it’s often around $750. While that’s technically 25% more than the 880, as you’ll see I feel this is a reasonable amount to spend for the increase in performance. I connected all three via a Monoprice 1×4 distribution amplifier and viewed all on a 102-inch 1.0-gain screen.

There’s no escaping the 880’s poor contrast ratio. While viewing a movie with letterbox bars, in this case Thor: Ragnarok, the bars go from black on the BenQ, to fairly black on the 2250, to flat out gray on the 880. The image looks very washed out and flat. I measured an average contrast ratio of 221:1, the lowest I think I’ve ever measured. The 2250, for comparison, is 1,026:1 and the BenQ is twice that. Interestingly, in person the 880 doesn’t look that much brighter than the 2250 despite measuring 20% higher light output. Both Epsons are so bright the 880 doesn’t draw the eye as much as you’d think. In turn both are definitely brighter than the 2050A, but that projector isn’t exactly dim.

A bit more surprising is how soft the 880’s image looks. All three projectors are 1080p. The DLP-based BenQ looks sharpest, as is that technology’s biggest strength. You’d think the 2250 and 880 would look fairly close, since they’re both the same resolution and are LCD-based, but not so much. My guess is that a combination of a cheaper lens and low contrast are making fine detail less apparent.

The 880’s color is good, I’ll give it that. Spot on greens, reds and blues. In this regard it actually measures better than many projectors that cost far more. This isn’t as noticeable as you’d hope, however, given the contrast. It doesn’t hurt to have good color, of course, especially when bright DLP projectors usually have fairly mediocre color.

Geoffrey Morrison/CNET

The 2250 shows that LCD can look good, though perhaps it’s just expensive to do so. $1,000 is a lot of money for a 1080p projector these days. Which brings us back, as we often go, to the HT2050A. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but it does most things right, looks great and just costs about $150 more than the Epson. Yes, that’s 25%, but this is one of the rare cases that I recommend spending a bit more since you’ll get a much better image.

I didn’t have the Optoma HD146X or HD28HDR on hand, both of which are closer in price to the 880. Going over my notes and measurements, the 146X had a contrast ratio of 568:1 and the 28HDR a 716:1. Neither are great numbers, but both would have more apparent depth and look less washed out than the 880. Both were dimmer and had worse color, but I think most people would prefer the better contrast ratio and sharper image of those projectors compared to the 880. That said, in all three cases spending a little more gets you a much better picture.

Sing me home, Bruce

You’ve got to hand it to Epson for making something so impressively bright for so little money. It wasn’t long ago that this kind of brightness was unheard of in projectors and 1080p was unheard of at this price. But I spent a lot of my time with the 880 trying to figure out who this projector is for. What’s the niche? And to be honest, I couldn’t quite figure it out. Sure it’s bright, but a lot of projectors are bright. It’s small, but a lot of projectors are small. Gaming maybe? But the input lag is an issue there.

What I finally settled on is that the 880 is a muscle car. If all you want is a flashy 0-60 time for not a lot of money, this is definitely your 1970 Dodge Charger. But beyond blinding lights, it falters. I adore the price and I rarely, rarely, rarely recommend spending more on gear than you need to, but in this case the picture quality available for just a bit more money is worth the extra outlay.

Geek Box

Test Result Score Black luminance (0%) 0.946 Poor Peak white luminance (100%) 231.5 Good Derived lumens 2085 Good Avg. grayscale error (10-100%) 2.401 Good Dark gray error (20%) 2.688 Good Bright gray error (70%) 2.225 Good Avg. color error 3.737 Average Red error 2.019 Good Green error 6.949 Average Blue error 5.381 Average Cyan error 3.365 Average Magenta error 3.239 Average Yellow error 1.469 Good Avg. saturations error 2.58 Good Avg. color checker error 2.2 Good Input lag (Game mode) 51.5 Average

Measurement Notes

The Cinema picture mode and 3 color temperature setting proved to be the most accurate. The darkest images, well, as dark as you can get with this projector, were noticeably blue. A full-black image was more like a full-navy image. Bright images lacked blue slightly, though this wasn’t as noticeable to the naked eye.

Colors were impressively accurate. Red was very slightly orange, but otherwise the other primaries and secondaries were pretty much spot on their Rec 709 targets.

In this mode, the 880 produced 231.5 nits and an average contrast ratio of 221:1. A new record, albeit an inglorious one. The Dynamic mode, which lacks any semblance of accuracy, did manage to produce a remarkable 359 nits.

[quinzelade]

The Magnus Archives: Hunger

New statements have been unearthed. New statements that scratch the surface of the dark entities in our world. Beings of vast power, unknowable motives.

But sometimes...they need to feed.

Note: This is pre-season one finale Jonathan. I miss his snarky commentary about every statement he reads...and Martin.

If you want update alerts, feel free to follow me on Archive of Our Own. I am under ‘Quinzelade.’ TMA doesn’t appear to be on FFnet at the moment.

--

Weeping

--

Case #9980529 — “Weeping”

Statement of Joanne Jefferson, regarding an abandoned church of dubious location. Original statement given May 29th 1998. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

--

I can still hear it.

Breathy, whispering, pleading. It scratches at my skull—every waking moment, every second of sleep.

How many are like me, the teeth in their traitor’s mouths strangers to their tongues? Wearing the smell of another, with eyes that lie—eyes that are wrong?

Do you often get statements like this? Cryptic and mired in self pity, no use to anyone except my own conscience? I’m not here to take answers from you, and yet I’ve done nothing but ask questions.

I’ve had a long time to think. A long, long time. The pen feels strange in this hand, the fingers too long and many for my liking. I remember better days, when pens rested against the familiar grooves of my knuckles, and I would clutch hard. Those hands would ache for so long after writing.

--

Archivist’s note:

The bottom section of the page has been covered in large, scrawled words that say, “Do you know people like me?”

Part of me can’t help but think, yes, I do know people like Miss. Jefferson—more concerned with writing war and peace over her chronic hand ache than anything of actual note. Given the presence of dramatics this early in, I have little hope for the rest of her account...but I’ve already started now. May as well continue.

Statement resumes.

--

Sorry. Sorry. I should start again, but looking over this mess, I know couldn’t write it any other way. It is a confession, as well as a warning. About the church.

I can’t tell you where it is. When I try to remember, I feel pains in my head and then I hear it. Louder, like it’s trying to suffocate my thoughts. Endless noise, over and over until…

I don’t know where it is. All I can tell you is this began in the Kielder Forest and ended somewhere in Wales. Everything in-between...you’re the experts. I’ll leave the deductions to you.

I used to be an avid walker. Hills, valleys, forest trails...I adored it all. I even went on a hike through Svalbard once, in my youth. It ended badly. Very badly. Badly enough that the travel company who organised the trip were investigated for negligence. Or they would have been, if all their offices hadn’t been abandoned with no trace of the owners.

I’m not surprised the Foxheaths went on the run. Unlike Rob, I was lucky—the frostbite only took two of my old fingers. I survived because my friend, Paul, pulled me out of the freezing water, but even then the cold nearly killed me. I don’t think you can appreciate true cold until you’re in its grasp. It chokes you, burning away all your senses so that suddenly you are numb. Only when you warm up again is there true pain. Your own body betrays you, screaming to return to ice and the chill, deadening everything until nothing remains.

I still don’t know where they took me. All I can remember is sitting in a tiny, miserable shower in some facility on the ice, the luke-warm spray like molten metal on my frigid skin. After that, I ended up in a hospital. No idea how I got there, either.

I promised I’d never go walking again. But a few years later, I met a man called Chris, and over time, we became a couple. He was passionate about ‘The Great Outdoors’ as he called it, and had this amazing smile whenever he talked about walking. He listened when I told him what I could remember about my awful trip, and slowly but surely, he convinced me to return. Small ambles to various hills and valleys and forests, and over time I fell in love with hiking all over again. I fell in love with him, too. He was perfect.

The last trip I ever took with him was to the Kielder Forest. I’d never been there before, and Chris had been itching to go back for some time, which was unusual for him. Chris liked exploring the unexplored, but this was apparently an exception. England’s largest woodland, he told me. He described a vast, endless ocean of trees, the forest floor blanketed with leaves from seasons past.

I booked the weekend off work especially for it. I was so excited, so happy Chris had returned the buzz of going somewhere new. My skin prickled with anticipation, my stomach whirling as I imagined the deep forest, far away from the rest of the world. Just me, Chris, and the silent trees.

The start of the walk was wonderful. The plan was to make our way to a spot Chris had camped at last time. We had supplies, a tent, and a little bit of wine to help the evening pass. We walked and walked, Chris telling me about the various animals and plants as he held my hand, dappled sunlight filtering through from above.

As we walked, though, I had the feeling of being watched. Like when you’re alone in your room, but another presence is filling the corners. The house is quiet. It’s dark. You know no one is there, and yet you can feel it—unseen eyes burrowing into your skin, gnawing their way to the bone. You turn, and the hidden things in the walls smile as your eyes rake peeling wallpaper and closed doors, finding nothing. It knows you sense it, but you’ll never find it. Not until it wants you to.

The trees were watching me.

Chris was puzzled by the way I kept glancing over my shoulder. I tried to explain it, but his brow just furrowed with concern. We walked on, our conversation a little more forced, Chris trying to distract me. I glanced around again, but nothing had changed. Except the trees looked...denser.

I tried to stop, tried to keep staring ahead, but I could feel it reaching out to me, breathing down my neck. My skin prickled, and I turned once more. Still nothing.

Again and again I’d look around, until I was struggling to see in the low light. The forest was thick and heavy, sunlight straining to fight its way through the canopies. I clung to Chris, panic rising in my throat, but he seemed oblivious, squinting through the darkness of the ever deepening woodland as though it had always been this way.

Thin, hard fingers raked across my head, and I screamed. I pulled sharply away from Chris, to see branches tangled in my hair. Chris laughed, telling me not to worry, but I stepped back, holding up my hands. The trees were pressed right to the edges of the path, the way we came now lost in a sea of bark and leaf. I asked Chris where the trail was, and he shrugged and pointed ahead.

“But where does it go?”

He shrugged again, unconcerned, and held out his hand. “To the unknown. The best destination.”

I took his hand. I didn’t know what else to do. He led me on, and I bit my lip, trembling as I felt sharp, inanimate fingers poking into my spine. If I kept walking, if I refused to look back, then we’d be safe. They wouldn’t follow.

The trees bent over us in gnarled arches, but aside from their outstretched limbs, never strayed a single root onto our path. I decided the trail was our saviour, keeping the trees at bay. The thought stopped panic from overwhelming me at any rate, and I managed to keep my breath steady and quiet, praying for it to end.

Suddenly, it did.

We came into a clearing, the trees standing sentinel, daring to go no further. In the centre was an old church. The stone was pitted and crumbling, shingles falling from the sagging roof and cratered steeple, from which atop sat a cracked spire. It looked as if the metal ornament—possibly a cross or some other symbol—had been torn away long ago. The doors were old wood and framed with tarnished metal, and the stained glass windows still intact. The glass was so filthy, though, I couldn’t see the pictures.

Chris shook his head and apologised, saying he must have taken a wrong turn. But then he tilted his head to me, his face lit up with delight. “What an amazing find,” he said. “And we have a solid roof over our head for the night.”

“Night?” I checked my watch, confused, and was shocked to see it was evening already. We’d only been in the forest for a few hours, and yet here we were, the day gone.

I looked up to see Chris walking towards the church. Panic stabbed through me and I ran to him, gripping hard on his wrist. Something didn’t feel right.

The church waited.

I begged Chris to stay outside. That we should find somewhere else, that we had tents, that the roof could cave in at any minute. He wouldn’t listen. Pulled his hand free, apparently fed up of my skittish behaviour, and strode over to the door. Despite its age and rot, it opened as if freshly oiled, and Chris walked inside, turning on his torch.

Fear consumed me. All at once, I knew he shouldn’t be in there. The church seemed to swallow him as he disappeared into the dark, the door swinging silently shut.

My breaths came out, short and shallow, and I turned to look at the trees. They remained still, denser than ever. I dragged my eyes back to the church, which sat docile. Chris was alone in there. I shook my head, trying to loosen the stupid fears digging their claws into me, but they held tighter. I knew something wasn’t right. I couldn’t leave him in there.

Taking a deep breath, I turned handle and stepped inside, focusing everything on following Chris. I didn’t think to even reach for my torch.

The door slammed shut behind me, making me jump and plunging me into dark. The cold hit me. My chest tightened as I drifted through the black, ice in my veins, waiting to drown. Something brushed my face and I gasped, finally snapping to my senses and fumbling for my torch. Light—blissful light—flooded the room, and I saw an old spider’s web, stretching across the archway. I brushed it aside and moved further in.

Broken, dusty pews were strewn all over the bare stone floor. My light trailed from shattered wood and ruin to the walls, which were carved so intricately it was a wonder the detail hadn’t been lost to time. I moved closer, peering at them, forgetting everything for a moment. As I stared at them, the designs seemed to flow together, forming a shape that looked strangely like an open mouth.

A shiver ran through me and I turned away. The odd carvings left me unsettled. I tilted my torch up to the stained glass windows; thin dark shapes swayed behind the grime, but I paid them little attention. The colours were muddied with age, with flashes of vibrance lurking beneath the filth. And yet the depictions were clear enough. Each pane was filled with countless people. Some were on their knees, others on the floor, but all wore the same tortured expression. Even now, I’m not sure if it was pain or despair. Their faces were screwed up, mouths open in what looked like a scream. Tears stained their cheeks, their eyes narrowed slits. Some of them clawed at their faces, fingernails clogged with meat as deep, ruddy trails were left behind.

I don’t mind admitting the windows made me feel sick. The anguish in them brought me back to earth with a bump, and I remembered I was looking for Chris.

I called out to him. No answer. I shone my light around the room, but there were no doors, save the one I’d come from. No alcoves. Nothing. He was just...gone.

Panic came back in waves. I flicked the light around again and again, searching for him. I saw him go in. I went in right after him. There was nowhere else he could be. I called out to him again, tears pricking my eyes, and the air grew colder still. I could see my breath misting where my torch beam cut through the black. I needed to get out. Maybe Chris had slipped past me for a joke, gone back without me noticing. I knew it this couldn’t be true. I hoped for it anyway.

I turned, barely aware of what I was doing, and wrenched the front door open. My scream caught in my throat as my light met something that rooted me to the spot.

Trees.

Trees, lined up against the entrance so tightly there wasn’t a single gap. Trees, packed together as if they were a wall. I backed away from the door and flicked my light up to the windows again, finally realising what the dark, thin shapes moving outside were.

I looked back at the door. The bark remained in place, teeth clamped shut over a lipless mouth.

I let out a moan and stumbled away. My foot snagged on a piece of broken pew and I fell to the floor, my torch hitting the stone with a dead clunk. It rolled lazily away, the shadows created in its wake mocking me.

From the back of the church came a low, muffled sob.

I froze, wondering if I’d woken an animal, or—even worse—Chris was still in here, but hurt. I got onto my hands and knees and crawled across the floor, barely aware of the tears sliding down my face and dripping to the floor. The crying grew louder, magnifying into a harrowing sound—a miserable weeping.

I felt my way across the church, broken wood and close stone pressing into my palms, until my hands enclosed around my torch, I lifted it up, the light skittering along the walls as I trembled, and slowly got to my feet.

The sounds led me to a wall. I leaned forward, and sure enough, the weeping could be heard within the stone. Without thinking, I pressed my palm to it, and instead of cold, it burned, almost hot enough to scald. The stone seemed to melt away, and when I shone my torch to the floor, there was no sign of it. All that was left was a yawning, open space.

“Chris?” I whispered, crouching down and peering into the gloom. My torched pressed feebly against the darkness, holding it at bay rather than piercing it. I moved inside the small tunnel, the stone rougher than the church. It scraped at my skin, like a cat’s tongue, and the warmth in the tunnel seemed to increase. I continued, my heart hammering against my ribs. Every bit of common sense I possessed screamed for me to leave, to run. But...Chris was missing. And the trees had shepherded me into a pen.

The heat of the stone was now unbearable, sweat trickling down my face, stinging my eyes. I blinked, and all at once saw a pale, thin figure curled up at the end of the small tunnel. It was a frail, pitiful thing—its flesh mottled and dirty, so skinny its bones look ready to rip through paper-like skin. Its breathing was laboured, rasping, and it covered its face as it lay shaking on the floor. Its sobs rang hard against the stone, and I felt a pang of pity.

I reached out. As I did, the figure looked up. I saw grey eyes, dry as bone.

My fingers pushed through its soft, clammy flesh. Cold ripped through me—through my arm, to my shoulders, my body, my legs…. I tried to scream, but it pinned my tongue. The chill splintered me until I could feel no more, floating in endless numb, and my vision faltered.

I was back in the frozen sea, drowning. Darkness encased me, the cold reaching its crescendo, my lungs choking for breath. This time, it would not let me go.

Slowly, the light came back, the torch half-blinding me. I was huddled at the end of the tunnel, my own body slumped opposite me. I was not that body. She shook her head, straightened herself up, and picked up the torch. Her grey eyes fixing on mine. There was something unreadable in her expression. Then, without a word, she backed out of sight.

I tried to follow. Tried to move. But the numbness was all around me, and I was held in place. I watched, horrified, as the stone wall shifted back into place, moving closer and closer, melting into me, until my body was encased. I try to call out again to Chris. To my body. To anyone to save me. My voice was muffled by the stone, jaw unable to move in its new mould.

I can’t begin to describe what it’s like, unable to move or breathe or speak. Alone in darkness, limbs aching from neglect and starved of all contact. No matter what I write, it would never do it justice. I spent every second wishing I was dead.

I don’t know how long it lasted. I didn’t keep track. I don’t even know why I stopped crying in the end. One day, I just...did. I was empty. I had nothing left to give.

The church...somehow, I understood it at last. It had been waiting for this, and hungered for a new taste.

I had a choice. There were no words—there were never any words with the church. But still somehow, I knew I could choose. Faces flickered past me, old, young—male, female. I picked a woman who looked like me. Her eyes were wrong, but that wouldn’t matter.

As soon as I picked her, within a day she was offered. A horrible weeping filled my prison, and I recognised the sobs as my own, though I hadn’t shed another tear. My cries for help, wordless begging, pleas for warmth. The church had kept them all, and now here they were, pulling in a fresh body.

I could have warned her. But I didn’t. She reached out, her blue eyes wide, her naive face screwed up with concern. She touched me.

Burning molten metal cascaded onto me, my body pressed against blistering walls. Screams gurgling in my convulsing throat, unable to escape, as my flesh bubbled and melted.

And then, gradually, slowly, it faded. And I was panting, leaning against the tunnel wall. I could feel my skin, the shape of my nails, the clothes, so rough and yet so soft, hanging off me. The wetness of my mouth and the foreignness of the stolen body. The warmth was suffocating me, and I drank it in. I wanted to drown in it, burn in it.

Finally, my gaze drifted over to the ghostly figure now in my place. She stared back, her blue eyes fearful, brimming with tears. I knew the cold stayed her tongue. I edge out of the tunnel, not wanting to look at her any longer, and sat on the floor. The limbs of this body—well used—did not hurt when I moved them, but I remained sitting anyway, not wanting to push myself too hard.

I tried to ignore the girl, visible in the short tunnel, and instead glanced around me. The people in the stained glass windows were still there, contorted with grief—and two new figures. On the window above the opening, there was a woman with long red hair and grey eyes, dragging her nails down her face so blood flowed. Beside her, another redhead, but with brown eyes. She stared straight at me, her mouth twisted into a cruel, jagged smirk.

A wail brought my attention back to the tunnel. The church wall was slowly sealing itself. I caught a glimpse of my victim’s terrified face, cheeks wet, and then she was gone. Even when the stone grew still, I could hear the faintest muffled sobs.

I left her there.

Outside, I found myself on a lonely peak, surrounded by hills and valleys. In the distance, I could see trees. I started my way down a nearby footpath, but every time I looked back at them, they seemed to move further and further away. They’d delivered my replacement. Their job was done.

I staggered a little as I continued on the old path, which winded down and out of sight. In the distance, I could see a little village. It seemed as good a place to go as any.

The people there called the body ‘Anna.’ They smiled at it and waved as it passed, unaware she was long gone. As soon as I learned where I was and the body’s place in the world, I sold all of Anna’s things and took off. I couldn’t bear to be around strangers any longer, smiling faces who called me by a taken name and thought she was still there. The very sound of it made me feel sick.

I’m not Anna. But I’m not Joanne either. I don’t know who I am anymore.

I didn’t search for Chris. I couldn’t.

The warmth is all consuming, and the cold haunts my sleep. I’m afraid to cry. Every night is the same. I dream of tears and an open door. There are the trees, waiting for me. I turn away and I am in the church. My own body is there, staring at me with grey eyes. She laughs before dragging me towards the open wall—a hungry mouth, eager to taste an old, forgotten meal.

--

Statement ends.

I can’t help but feel unnerved by some of Miss. Jefferson’s word choices. ‘Burrow’ in particular. The recent sightings of Prentiss...they have me on edge. At least she stuck to a theme throughout her statement, and kept her meandering to a minimum. More than I can say for some. A pity then her actual story is about as believable as Elias’ promises of a pay rise for allowing Martin on my team.

I knew I should have gotten it down on paper.

At any rate, all aspects of Miss. Jefferson’s statement were easy enough to disprove. There have been no known records of a church matching the one described in the Kielder Forest or Wales. Granted, despite Sasha’s efficiency and Tim’s...well. They can’t cover such a wide area by themselves, even with their various contacts. But I don’t intend to waste their time or—more importantly—mine chasing a moving ruin across the country.

Admittedly, searches into Miss. Jefferson’s background reveal another woman who matches the original date and place of birth given by Miss. Jefferson at the time of her statement. The date of birth is some fifty years previous. Martin—who was likely given tips by Sasha—managed to find a series of photographs, and show a woman with red hair, who matches the description given by Miss Jefferson. By all accounts, she spent the last twenty years of her life alone, and died relatively young.

Just...one thing I noticed. In some of Miss. Jefferson’s photographs, particularly the oldest ones, her eyes…it’s hard to tell, with the red glare typical of photographs from that time period. But in the older ones, her eyes look brown. In the later photos, they appear to be grey.

Probably a trick of the light.

End recording.

[buttonholedlife]

A Chat With Grounded Concept Resident Pablo Mateo About His Adventure With Techno-- Telekom Electronic Hammers

Unless you stay in Berlin, there is actually a possibility that you have not yet been aware of Pablo Mateo, but that's very soon to transform. The Berlin-based selector and developer, that is actually a citizen of the urban area's approved Ground Concept techno celebrations, has actually just released, his debut album on Len Faki's Amount trace.

It is actually a praiseworthy job that, after his previous launches on Marcel Dettmann Records, LACKREC, Dred Records as well as Perish Orakel, features an especially atmospherical, experimental-edged approach to techno. Once the release is out, TEB senior editor Sven von Thülen met with him to locate out additional concerning his creation methods and the tests that he is actually looked at on his long route to global recognition.

You have it minor comfortable below. Are you the sort of manufacturer that is actually a lot more efficient when you can fall out of the bed as well as land in the studio? I enjoy the concept of having my own musician workshop, certainly not only a studio space. Specifying my studio up in your home was a real game changer for me. Prior to that I was actually always in a studio complex. For some time, I truly treasured having the capacity to bang it out as noisally as I really wanted, whatever time of the day it was. Ultimately, I recognized that I required a various setup to actually be actually able to produce songs in the method I yearned for to. I need to have an informal atmosphere. I can easily nerd out and also issue on my own along with tiny audio information and after that recoil and most likely to yet another space, rest, checked out a publication as well as widen my focus once more. That is actually definitely essential to me.

Just how did that relocation influence your way of generating as well as your audio? I learned a load concerning sound once I was compelled to create on a reduced loudness level. Also because of the speakers I bought when I relocated, which are actually very crystal clear and also permit a very spatial paying attention experience. Developing a man-made space is actually one of my greatest objectives as well as passions. Bodily modelling is actually absolutely interesting. I think you can hear that in my songs, particularly on my launching cd. My rational hearing capabilities and also my audio design and also post development chops have actually developed a whole lot over the final 2 years. I definitely immersed myself in the entire process and in every parts of audio. Consequently, I began to perform a considerable amount of engineering and also mixdown help others, too.

Somehow, I constantly assumed of you as a developer who strolls the great pipes in between dubby house as well as techno; tech-house if you will. Your debut album, Odd Reflections Beyond The Skies, now completely welcomes techno. I constantly thought about on my own as a techno producer. If you pay attention to my album, you may listen to that, for me, beat is actually certainly not the defining character of a keep track of being a techno monitor or even not. For me, the way you create your music describes it. If you inevitably function along with devices, you are bring in techno. I could possibly simplify enjoy this: If you can not recreate your popular music and also its own feel with a heart band, then you are bring in techno. Technology goes to the center of it. I am actually a synthesis nerd. That's what's intriguing to me.

I expect that my expectation that your outcome had an emphasis on home was a misconception. I obtain where you're coming from. I examine my old reports as studies. They were actually all stepping rocks to lastly manage to produce my noise; my own music voice. 2 of my largest impacts are Basic Stations and also Omar S, as well as up until recently you could really hear that.

Prior to your cd, you 'd only discharged on a crack EP with Juxta Role on Body. It's type of uncommon to discharge an album just before a solo EP, isn't it? I fulfilled Philipp Welzenberg, the tag supervisor, in a comical instant. His cars and truck had just been actually towed due to the police, as well as he was pretty pissed off. I was actually trying to make tiny talk, yet he had not been possessing it in any way. He really did not mince phrases when he informed me that he is actually means as well pissed off at the moment for check chat. That actually amazed me. The way he handled his aggravation. It was true. The next opportunity we satisfied, our team performed talk, as well as I discovered that he was working with Figure, and also he knew some of my launches. From there it was actually a quite all-natural advancement. Ultimately, I gave Philipp a demo along with six tracks as well as, after paying attention, he and also Len were like, "Let's create an album!"

That have to possess believed great to hear. Were you amazed? It was actually terrific. They were actually the initial individuals to ever before inform me, "Do what you prefer. Our team enjoy to possess you, you embody our more experimental edge. Permit's do this!" They really did not wish to rename shit, they didn't also prefer me to edit or even change just about anything. After whatever that had happened in the past, this was actually therefore recovery.

What perform you suggest? A number of years back, I possessed the provide to offer a cd for a major techno label. I was on seventh heaven. I began to purchase tools, as well as for an even though, I truly thought I am only an in far from my huge break. When all of it dropped through, also after being reassured for one-and-a-half years that it wouldn't, I was actually really wrecked. Yet the fallout of this entire mess, which wasn't merely a company trait however also meant the edge of great friendships, possessed a break in the clouds.

Positive side, as in you took it as a course you had to discover? Absolutely. It was a reality examination. And I needed that. This whole instructed me to trust myself more. I asked myself, "Why am I making songs? What perform I yearn for avoid it?" Currently I know what I prefer, and also what kind of surrounding I would like to be actually component of. Enjoying my goals smash produced me a lot more devoted to my songs-- to finding out much more concerning the devices I use. One of the traits that still gets me often is that I had actually entirely approved this tip, this misconception that somebody will happen and offer me my major advancement. Often I ponder what would've occurred if I possessed only self-released all the keep tracks of that were actually blocked out for that album.

I think it's completely easy to understand that you will begin to hope a bit in the illumination of a provide that thought that a prospective activity changer. Yeah, possibly. I fell target to my own narcissism. All of it sounded therefore remarkable, to become part of this large point, that I shed on my own in a fantasy. I distributed whatever I had-- all my tracks. I went all-in without hesitating. Remembering, this is the a single thing that truly frustrates me.

What was actually different when you began to work with Physique? They offered me carte blanche. Coming from the first day, they have actually offered me the sensation that they are actually 110% supporting of my musical eyesight. I rated right into the staff, as well as our team complied with at eye degree. That is actually really significant to me at presents.

This content was originally published here.

[black-strike-otp]

part 28

This one’s pretty freakin’ long and feelsy so ya’ll best buckle the fuck up and get ready for a ride alright? We’re going full throttle now fraggers.

While Blackout went to go aid the crew in prepping the ship for its descent onto Edaps, Novastrike went to the observatory deck or more bluntly, the command center to see what Edaps looked like. It was a standard dirt ball from the look of it. With little to no atmosphere of its own and a brownish-red dust as far as the eye could see and hills that turned to mountains and back again across the planet.

“The primary station for fuel is on the currently dark side of the planet, sir,” a mech stated checking what datalogs there were filed away.

Twitching her ears, Nova glanced back at those in the room at work. She was one of few who were in the room merely to observe the new planet, but those running the ship as well as Neutro and Guard were on duty.

“We’re not going to the primary fueling station,” Guard stated calmly. “Head for station Delta, it should be near the bottom axis point of the planet.”

“Yes sir.”

“The Delta station?” Neutro implored.

Guard gave a brief nod. “Blackout suggested to me that we steer clear of the more populated hubs,” he explained. “This is Vestial Imperium territory we’re in. The last thing we need to do is throw ourselves in the spotlight. So, we’ll refuel, collect supplies, enjoy the scenery a bit...”

“At Blackout’s suggestion,” Neutroboost grunted with anger.

“What scenery?” laughed another mech.

“You prefer the same view from on board the Rising Star?” Guard asked curiously.

“I don’t mind space,” the mech stated. “And there’s some lovely femmes and mechs on board...”

Out of the three femmes in the room, two of them gave inviting flirtatious giggles. Novastrike just rolled her optics. That line was sure to impress.

“Take us in slowly now, we don’t want to make a scene,” Guard stated gently. “We’re strange guests on this world. We don’t know how any inhabitants may treat our arrival.

~

As it had turned out, they were extraordinarily lucky. The Delta facility was deserted save for a single primitive robotic looking individual who appeared to be at work. He seemed shocked at their presence, immediately followed by suspicion as they landed.

Guard was the first to limp out from the space vessel, with Neutroboost and a few others behind him.

“Eh if’n it ain’t a couple of newcomers,” the mech spat in a strange dialect. His Cybertronian sounded rather rusty and ill-used. “A’right, what can I do for ya?”

“We’re just looking to refuel our ship,” Guard said pleasantly. He turned and nodded to a mech on his left who stepped forward with a container. “I assume you take credits?”

“Aye,” the robotic individual agreed. “But at a rate of one credit per one hundred kiskar’s. Credits are practically useless ‘round here.”

The mech dropped the case on the ground.

“Will this do to fill up the ship?”

The robot leaned over his window slightly to view the crate. He sniffed rudely, about to open his mouth-

The mech stepped aside and another came forward with another crate.

Then another mech.

Followed by another.

With wide eyes, the automaton craned his neck to the side to see how far back the line extended. He narrowed his optics with slight distrust towards Guard despite the fact he was already drooling out of the corner of his mouth with delight at all the funds.

“Don’t suppose this is from that Optimus whatsit trying to buy out our favor?”

“Not at all,” Guard stated gently. “As you said, credits are effectively useless to us as well. We’re simply nomads on our way. Would this do to fuel our ship entirely?”

Guard’s smile was warm and inviting. He knew very well this was much, much more than it would cost the small cargo ship to get a full tank.

“Aye, I’ll go easy on ya, should just about do,” the android muttered, trying to hide his delight.

“Excellent,” Neutroboost responded at Guard’s right side.

“I see that you have no available crew to offer a maintenance check on our vessel,” Guard stated with disappointment.

The robot’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, I can have a crew brought out in ‘bout 3 cycles or so if’n ya’d be willing to wait.”

“Of course,” Guard stated. “And, perhaps, keep this off the records...?”

For a moment, the android looked skeptic again. He appeared to desire questioning why, but considered it after realizing just the size of his pay raise was going to be.

“A’ight,” he agreed. “Off the books; 8 cycles then though, I know a couple o’ guys who would be willing to work without questions asked for some extra pay.”

“Suitable,” Guard stated, inclining his helm respectfully. “Thank you for your services.”

The droid laughed heartily. “O nah, thank ya!”

Ignoring the bellowing and somewhat boisterous laughter from the bot, Guard turned to shuffle back towards the ship. There was still mechs stacking up some of the boxes containing firm credits. Neutroboot was quick keep at his side.

“You’re overpaying him,” Neutro hissed. “Why are we throwing away all our credits on this dump?”

“Because they’re worthless,” Guard reinforced. “We don’t need them, and the Rising Star could use a lot of work and some other servos on it for a while. We could use a break. I don’t care how ridiculous the price is. A bit of freedom will do us some good.”

Neutro gave a grunt in disagreement but let it go. He felt a small part of him die to see all that Cybertronian money be handed off to some low-life, but he didn’t dare object further.

~

“I’m not cleaning you when you’re done,” Blackout complained, watching as Scorponok found the nearest hillside to throw himself into and began digging.

They’d moved the Rising Star behind a hillside off from the facility and had cables brought in to fuel the ship. It was a bit of work, but Guard had insisted on the privacy. Even though the Delta station was used very infrequently, he didn’t want to risk butting heads with anyone with any bias towards Cybertronians.

And the moment Blackout had taken a break from aiding in hauling the fuel injectors to the ship, he realized where his bug had ran off to. After being cooped up on a ship for the past months and nearly dying out in space, he seemed all too eager to spread his pincers. Pincers? Well, that seemed the only adequate word, anyway.

A quiet melody of laughter charmed Blackout’s audios and he turned just slightly to see the angelic white figure walking towards him.

“He’s only having a bit of fun, Blackout,” Novastrike reminded him.

“But I’m the one who has to repair and clean him while he whines and fights me the whole time,” Blackout grumbled.

Stepping closer to the large mech’s pede, Nova reached out and patted him gently. “I’ll help you out. We can pin his tiny aft together.”

Warmth pooled in Blackout’s spark and he shivered slightly from the contact.

“I’d appreciate that,” he stated with a far-off voice. “Thank you.”

Arching an optic ridge, Novastrike let out a soft ‘hurmph’. “You okay there? Looks like you got a chill or something. Did that mech’s name- oh what’d you call him- Rapidspin? Rapidstorm? Rapid... Rapid something. Did his ghost just run through you?” she joked.

A waning smile appeared on Blackout’s face. “One could hope not, that mech was delusional.”

“And you are sane?”

“I didn’t try injecting a hundred circuit boosters before taking on a titan-class mech in the Pits.”

A snort of amusement escaped Novastrike. “Your life has always been pretty creative,” she said softly.

Slowly, Blackout glanced off to the side. If only she had any idea. The only stories he told were ones that made his life seem normal at times. Sure, he admitted to some here and there’s, to killing some, but the details were kept out of it as much as possible. He tried to pull out the moments that would be considered funny now that he was out of them.

He was making a lie of himself and he knew it.

The servo upon Blackout’s leg caressed his armor gently and he peered down at Novastrike questioningly. There was a certain kind of magnetism about her touch he didn’t like. It tended to make him want more and roused unknown responses he wasn’t used to feeling stir inside of him.

Scorponok was right about one thing, it wasn’t just about wanting to frag the femme at this point, and that was making it all the more nerve-wracking. But what else was coming of this he couldn’t define. He certainly didn’t need another friend to worry about. It was bad enough he allowed Barricade in so much to be concerned about his well-being.

“I’m sorry,” Novastrike said softly. “I didn’t mean to downplay the things you’ve been through. I just can’t imagine what it must have been like, living before all of this. And the stories of Kaon..”

“I survived,” Blackout stated bluntly.

“But at what cost?”

Why do you care, he wanted to growl, but swallowed it down.

Concern was starting to grow in the little femme’s optics and caused a flurry of discomfort in Blackout so he made quick to look away.

Why did it seem like she could read into him? He always kept his feelings under lock and key, always keep his secrets close to spark. But the way she looked at him, it was like she could tell he was holding back.

Or holding something in.

The later of course was far from true. He’d accepted his life. He wouldn’t change anything about it. It made him stronger, and it made him grow.

Scorponok came driving out from the ground, chirping loudly and diving back in, spraying rubble in every which direction.

Blackout was all too keenly aware of Novastrike’s servo still upon his leg, and the moment she took it off. He flicked his optics down to watch as she turned around to head back to the Rising Star.

He thought about calling her back, but didn’t. The more he let her in, the harder it was going to be to leave.

~

Sand went flying up in every direction like a tornado. Whipping back and forth wildly and violently, Novastrike ran one way and dashed the other, stirring up the dirt and causing it to built up on her armor and on Blackout’s.

Blackout’s pede slammed down inches from her but she was completely unphased. Skidding around his legs she jumped up, blowing head-long into the side of his leg.

A grunt escaped the big mech and he staggered slightly.

“Impressive effort,” he stated. “But you’re going to wear yourself out by using all your energy to run. And your moves are becoming-”

Blackout extended a pede out and the cyber-cat tripped over it as she jumped, going flying across the dirt.

“-predictable,” he finished.

Novastrike tumbled a ways away and rolled back onto her pedes. Although her armor was more rust-colored than white and gray now, her blue optics stood out like startling twin stars.

Blackout gave a slight grunt and turned just slightly, as if he expected the spar to be over.

Dashing across the ground, Novastrike transformed and went hurtling for the space between Blackout’s legs. Her stun gun came up and she fired at the back of Blackout’s knee joint and up at his chassis as he came sliding from beneath him.

The large mech staggered slightly and placed his weight onto his other leg, staring at her in shock.

“What did you say earlier?” she panted. “About never turning your back on an enemy?”

The shock slowly began to evaporate from Satan’s gaze. There was a look of admiration and pride beginning to illuminate Blackout’s optics that made Novastrike’s spark sing.

No, literally. Her spark chimmed a few notes of delightful and confidence hummed in her veins.

“You catch on quick,” he remarked, a large grin on his face. “But that was a cheap shot.”

“Show me what you got then,” Nova huffed, trying to catch her breath. “Or are you scared?~”

Armor plating snapped around Blackout’s arm and he unfurled a smaller pair of rotor blades. “I fear nothing,” he stated with conviction.

From the far safety of the hanger of the Rising Star, Guard smiled thoughtfully as he watched the two exchanged blows. He turned slightly to look at the medic as she stepped over with an irked expression.

“He’s going to agitate his wounds again,” she hissed. “Does he not realize he’s still healing? And all that dirt in his ventilation system, I’m going to be spending all evening on-”

“Let them be,” Guard said gently, fixating his optics on the pair again.

The medic gave a sideways glance towards the Commander. “Guard, just because he lov-”

“It’s good for them both, and I’m sure the damage won’t be irreversible, correct?”

“... Yes, but as a medic-”

“You don’t have to agree,” Guard commented. “Just, follow this one order, please?”

The medic snorted. “Bonding through fighting, huh? Some plan.”

“There’s more to it than that,” the older mech murmured. “Just watch, you’ll see.”

“I’d rather not,” the medic hissed. “I’m hardly a romantic. You enjoy Guard, I’m going to go see about any actual patients who want my assistant.”

The Commander nodded briefly, barely paying any attention to the femme. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

~

Blackout couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was right there. Right in front of him.

Why wouldn’t his pedes move?

There was a shuffle that came upon him much quieter than Blackout would have found capable of anybot to sneak up on him. Then again, he was so distracted, it was no wonder he was startled so thoroughly.

Dragging his leg and using his cane, the old Commander offered a polite nod. “Good to see you out and walking around Blackout. I’m a bit surprised not to see your acquaintance Scorponok anywhere...”

“He’s on board the Rising Star, sir,” rumbled the large mech in a distracted one. “With Novastrike, getting cleaned.”

Guard offered a short nod. He tilted his helm, trying to see around the big mech. Shame flashed in Blackout’s optics as he realized what the old mech was doing and he slowly stepped aside for him to look around him and the Delta building.

A low whistle escaped Guard. “That there looks like a Decepticon ship,” he commented.

“It is.”

“I thought so.”

Silence cut through the air like a knife.

With twinkling warm optics, Guard turned his face to Blackout. “Well, I suppose you’re leaving now.”

Blackout stiffened instantly. There was a heaviness to his limbs he’d never felt before and an underlying feeling of dread eating at him.

“That’s not my appointed vessel,” Blackout muttered.

Guard raised an optic ridge. “Oh?”

“I was assigned to the Nemesis,” Blackout escaped. “Under the command of Lord Megatron.”

“I see. Well, I’m sure someone on board could try getting a signal out for you to your commander, you know. It looks like they’re almost done getting refueled, I wouldn’t dilly dally too long.”

The old mech winced slightly as he forced his damaged leg to lock up and lifted his cane to tap Blackout’s leg swiftly in a ‘get a move on’ gesture. He quickly placed his cane down and sagged slightly, putting his weight back onto his good limb.

With a torn expression, Blackout looked between the Decepticon vessel and the Rising Star. He could see the mechs just around the corner stealing from the Delta station employee. The poor android was trying to shrink away from them as they would strike at him, laughing as he flinched and cowered.

“I haven’t repaid my debt to you-”

“What debt?” Guard asked cheerfully. “I don’t recall asking you to pay a debt. You are the only one who called it a debt. The Rising Star is in much better working condition because of you, and soon we will be in even better working condition after that crew the mech sent for arrives and helps with repairs. I’m sure we can manage. We’ll have a screw look at the weapons system with Novastrike, I’m sure they can get along without you.”

Blackout kept his optics trained on the Decepticons, remaining silent.

“That is of course, you’re welcome to stay if you wish,” Guard ventured as he turned away. His cane produced drag lines in the ground, along with his pede, as he began to hobble back towards the rogue space vessel.

Tearing his gaze from the Decepticon ship, Blackout slowly trained a tired gaze upon the old mech.

“Maybe stay for someone who might miss you when you’re gone,” the elderly mech muttered. “Someone who would be absolutely spark-broken if you left, regardless if they got a goodbye or not. But what do I know? I’m just a crazy old mech. You’ve probably missed your path and your line of work and we’ve kept you too long from that and busy with such mundane, unimportant tasks. We thank you for your services of course.”

An impression of a frown tugged at the corners of Blackout’s mouth. He shifted slightly, taking cover behind the building so that the ‘Cons wouldn’t see him. It felt like such a yellow-bellied thing to do.

“Alright, everyone on board,” one of the ‘Cons shouted. “We’re moving out in six-hundred nanokliks.”

Blackout took a step.

~

“Where’s Blackout?” Novastrike asked, her optics wide as she looked up at Guard. “I haven’t seen him for a while now, and Scorponok took off in a hurry to go find him.”

Tightening his grip on his cane, Guard turned a forced pleasant smile towards the small femme. “I haven’t the slightest clue,” he responded. “Perhaps go check his usual recharge locations, or outside?”

A lightbulb went off above Novastrike’s helm. “Outside!” She cried. “That’s right, he was out there last, maybe he hasn’t come in yet after all. Thanks, Guard, sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” the old mech stated, watching Novastrike take off down the hall. His smile faltered into a troubled complexion as the doors closed behind the little femme.

A vent escaped him, and he turned back to the command console he had been looking at.

“Poor femme,” he quietly muttered.

~

Sprinting down the Rising Star’s hatch and onto planet Epads, Novastrike gasped and wheezed breathlessly, looking around. There was only a handful of the crew wandering around, checking on the outside of the ship or standing around. Guard had given specific instructions that no one try repairing the ship; he wanted folks to rest.

Nova peeled her gaze from one end of the horizon to another.

“Blackout!” she cried out, startling some of those outside. She was tossed a few scrutinizing expressions and offered an apologetic wave and nervous grin at those wandering around.

Seeing no sign of the looming shadow of a mech or his minicon companion, Novastrike took a light jog towards the Delta installation. Maybe he was just out for a stroll. So she just took a wild guess at a direction; the most obvious sole location that they had for who knew how many hundreds of miles.

As she ran towards the building, there was a loud crash of thrusters igniting from a space voyager. The light jog Nova had been taking slowed as she caught a glimpse of the ship as it began to rise up. Her audios pinned against her helm as the clap of thunder from its thrusters began fire up.

As it re-positioned its direction to head skyward and out into space, that’s when Novastrike caught sight of the Decepticon logo on the ship.

Her spark jumped into her throat.

“No,” she whispered, voice growing louder and stronger as she took a step forward. “No. No, no no no please, please-”

The thrusters exploded; sending out a shock wave. The blast had Novastrike fall back onto her aft, optics wide with horror as it shot off like a missile.

Her spark dropped suddenly as she released her breath.

“No, please,” she breathed, lip trembling. A blur began to overtake her vision as her optics began to build up liquid that seeped out.

The ship didn’t show any sign of slowing down as it flew onward, out into the big wide stretch of space.

A small hiccup escaped Novastrike’s vents and she dropped her helm, sniffing loudly. She pulled one of her legs close to her chassis and wrapped her arms around it, resting her forehead against her knee.

Why would he stay? He no longer had a reason too.

Snuffling filth into her passages, Novastrike went to wide at her faceplate with her arm. Her blurry vision catching sight of the shadow that was stretching out from behind her.

Alarm colored the mech’s voice as he spoke up, “Novastrike? Are you... crying? Are you okay?”

She whipped her helm around, blinking rapidly at her tears to see a dumbfounded Blackout staring at her, Scorponok at his side.

“You... Stayed,” Nova hiccuped, wiping at her face.

Guilt flashed across Blackout’s faceplate and quickly disintegrated. “Yeah, I did.” What else was he to say? It wasn’t like he could explain it, either.

Springing to her pedes, Novastrike charged over in a flash. Blackout took a step back out of surprise from the assault, but was even further puzzled as she clung herself to his leg.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she stated through sobs.

Perplexed, Blackout blinked slowly. He pressed his weight to his other pede and went to kneel, pressing a servo against Novastrike’s backstrut in a returned gesture of affection.

“Me too,” he said quietly.