#just like data ha we should get along fine

[marxistgnome]

The doctor and picard should form an unlikely friendship over the fact that they lived in a different world and formed a family and a life only to be removed from it to find that little time had actually passed and that they can never return and also because they have the same haircut.

[pucksandpower]

Racing Hearts

Lando Norris x cardiopulmonary technician!Reader

Summary: you’ve had a way of making Lando’s heart race since the moment he met you

You glance down at your clipboard as your next patient walks into the exercise physiology lab. “Lando Norris?” You ask, looking up with a smile.

The young British man grins back at you. “That’s me!”

“Excellent! I’m Y/N, I’ll be your technician today. We’re just going to do a simple cardiopulmonary exercise test to get some baseline numbers before the start of the season.”

Lando nods, looking around the lab curiously. “No problem, happy to be poked and prodded in the name of science and fast cars.”

You laugh as you gesture for him to take a seat. “Don’t worry, I promise to be gentle,” you joke. “I’m just going to put some electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart rate, then we’ll get you on the treadmill for the test.”

“Sounds good,” Lando says, settling onto the exam table.

You start placing the sticky electrode pads across his chest and ribs, trying not to blush at his shirtless state. Formula 1 drivers really are fit underneath those racing suits.

“So how’s preseason training going?” You ask conversationally as you work. “Think McLaren has a chance this year?”

Lando grins. “I’m feeling good! Me and the team have been putting in a lot of hard work over the winter. I’m definitely aiming higher than 6th in the championship.”

You smile as you finish placing the electrodes and motion for him to stand. “That’s the spirit. Alright, hop up on the treadmill and we’ll get you moving.”

Lando steps up onto the machine and you start it up slowly, increasing the speed in measured increments. “I’ll take you up to a brisk jog, then we’ll keep you there for about 10 minutes while I monitor your heart rate, breathing, and oxygen levels,” you explain.

“Sounds gucci,” Lando replies with a thumbs up, his breath starting to quicken as the treadmill pace increases.

You make sure the electrode leads are secure, then step back to observe the incoming data on the computer screen. Lando’s lean legs stride smoothly along the treadmill belt as you keep a close watch on his vitals, making notes on your clipboard. After a few minutes, you frown slightly at the heart rate readout. It seems unusually elevated for an elite athlete like Lando, even at this moderate jogging pace.

“How are you feeling Lando?” You call out. “Everything okay?”

“All … good,” he huffs out, face flushed from the exertion.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the concerning heart rate values on the screen. “It’s just that your heart rate is a bit higher than I would expect,” you say slowly. “Are you feeling any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I feel fine!” He insists breathlessly.

You bite your lip, still frowning. “Your heart rate is quite high though, over 85% of estimated max. For an experienced athlete I would expect values closer to 70-80% at this pace.”

“Oh … yeah, maybe it’s a bit high,” Lando acknowledges, starting to breathe harder. “But don’t worry about me, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

You reach over to slow the treadmill slightly. “Let’s bring the pace down a bit. I’m concerned about these heart rate readings. We should really have you checked out by a cardiologist before the season starts.”

Lando grabs the front handrails, shaking his head stubbornly. “No, no that’s not necessary, really! I’m fine, just maybe didn’t warm up enough.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Lando, as your technician I have to advise getting this looked at. Your heart rate is elevated beyond normal parameters.”

Lando chews his lip, glancing away evasively. “Um, well … maybe there’s a reason for that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean? Like a medical condition you haven’t told me about?”

“No, no nothing like that!” Lando says quickly. He mumbles something under his breath you can’t quite make out over the whir of the treadmill.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask, leaning closer. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh, uh … it was nothing,” Lando mutters, face reddening further.

You stop the treadmill completely so you can hear him better, folding your arms over your clipboard. “Lando, if there’s something I should know that’s affecting your test results, you need to tell me. As your technician, I really think we should get your heart looked at just to be safe.”

Lando locks eyes with you for a moment, hesitation written across his features. He mumbles again under his breath, so quietly you can’t discern the words.

You hold his gaze firmly. “One more time, please. It’s really important that I understand what’s going on so I can interpret these results accurately.”

Lando breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. He kicks lightly at the motionless treadmill belt, before finally whispering. “It’s you, alright?”

You blink in surprise. “Me? What do you mean?”

Lando glances up at you briefly, his face now tomato-red. “You’re … the reason my heart rate is high,” he mumbles.

You stare at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Lando groans, covering his face with his hands. “Because … I really fancy you, okay?” He admits, the words muffled into his palms. “You’re just … totally gorgeous and sweet and it makes me nervous and … my heart rate goes mad around pretty girls I like.”

Your eyes widen in understanding, feeling your own cheeks flush bright pink. “Oh! Oh ...”

Lando peeks out at you between splayed fingers. “Yeah, so that’s why it’s high. Not because I have some underlying heart condition.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Just because my technician is really fit.”

You let out an awkward laugh, suddenly feeling shy. “Wow, uh … I’m flattered, Lando. I didn’t realize ...”

Lando drops his hands from his face, looking at you earnestly. “Sorry, is that weird? I know we just met and you’re doing your job.” He fidgets with the electrode wires across his chest. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

You smile warmly back at him, feeling butterflies in your own stomach. “Don’t be silly. It’s not weird at all. Honestly, I, uh … also think you’re really cute,” you admit with bashful grin.

Lando’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” A wide, delighted smile spreads across his face.

You nod, laughing softly. “Yeah, I may have been trying not to blush myself with you shirtless here in my lab.”

“Well I’m certainly not complaining about the view either,” Lando says cheekily.

You smack his arm playfully. “I’m being professional here!”

“And doing a great job,” Lando says, smile softening. “But maybe once we’re done with all this boring medical stuff … we could get dinner? If you want?” He looks at you hopefully.

Your heart flutters with excitement. “I’d really like that.” You smile at each other giddily for a moment before you clear your throat. “But first, we really should finish your assessment properly.”

Lando laughs, nodding. “Of course, you’re the boss!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Alright, hop back on the treadmill. And this time just focus on your breathing and try not to make eyes at the pretty technician,” you tease.

“No promises there,” Lando quips with a grin as he steps back onto the belt.

You just smile and shake your head as you start up the machine once more, unable to keep your own heart rate from quickening in anticipation of what promises to be a very special dinner date after the test is complete.

***

Several Months Later

You glance down nervously at your paddock pass as you make your way through the crowded paddock. As an unofficial member of Lando’s training team now, you have full access to the exclusive behind-the-scenes world of Formula 1. But despite months of dating the British driver, the glamorous circus still feels surreal.

Dodging golf carts and important looking people with headsets, you head for the McLaren garage. Lando had told you to meet him there before the start of the race. Your heart flutters, as it always does at the thought of seeing him again.

“Y/N!” Lando greets you brightly as you enter the garage. Engine roars echo around you as mechanics make final tweaks to the cars before wheeling them to the grid.

“Good luck today!” You tell Lando, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly.

“With you here, how can I lose?” He grins down at you. His energy is infectious.

You chat together as the cars are lined up on the starting grid, Lando bouncing excitedly in his race suit. You squeeze his gloved hand. “Be safe out there.”

“Always am, love.” He winks before pulling on his helmet and climbing into the cockpit.

You make your way back to the McLaren hospitality suite to watch the start of the race. Your heart pounds as the lights go out and the F1 cars launch forward in a roar of engines. Lando makes a clean getaway, slotting into P5 heading into the first turn.

The race unfolds smoothly, Lando maintaining his position in the top five. You watch tensely on the monitors, hands clenched.

But on lap 38, disaster strikes. Heading into a fast sweeper, the Red Bull of Sergio Perez attempts a risky overtake maneuver on Lando’s inside. They collide in a shower of carbon fiber and a plume of smoke.

You gasp sharply as Lando’s car spins off into the gravel trap, coming to rest against the barrier at an abrupt stop. The McLaren crew monitor the radio channels anxiously.

“Lando, are you okay mate?” His engineer asks urgently.

“Yeh … I’m okay ...” Lando’s labored voice comes back. “Bit winded but I’m alright.”

You breathe a deep sigh of relief along with the crew. The medical car is quickly dispatched to the scene. Lando climbs unsteadily from the battered car, sitting down in the gravel trap as he awaits assistance.

Your adrenaline surging, you take off from the garage the moment you see Lando is out of the car safely. Jogging through the paddock, you make your way swiftly to the medical center.

As you rush in, Lando is just being helped onto an examination table by two medics. He’s dusty and sweaty, his hair sticking up at all angles from where he pulled off his helmet. But otherwise he seems intact.

“Lando!” You hurry over, emotions welling up at seeing him battered but in one piece.

“Y/N, hey ...” Lando greets you with a weary but reassuring smile. He reaches for your hand which you clutch tightly.

One medic cuts away the top of Lando’s racing suit, placing electrodes on his chest to monitor his heart rhythm. You hover anxiously as they check him over.

“Heart rate is quite elevated,” the doctor frowns as he reads the monitor. He glances between you and Lando with concern. “Any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. He looks up at you, his green eyes glinting. “Nah, doc. She’s the reason for the fast heartbeat.”

You feel your cheeks flush as Lando grins. The medic looks confused.

“See, ever since Y/N came into my life, she’s made my heart race a mile a minute,” Lando explains cheekily.

You smack his arm but can’t help laughing too. Trust Lando to still be flirting from a hospital bed.

“Ah, young love,” the doctor chuckles. “Well, your heart may beat for her, but let’s still do a full check to be safe.”

Lando nods agreeably, though his gaze stays fixed on you. He winces slightly as they palpate his ribs and abdomen, checking for injuries.

You cling to his hand, emotionally drained from the scare but overwhelmed with relief that he seems okay. Lando keeps stealing glances at you through the examination.

Finally the doctor steps back. “All done. Amazingly, you’ve escaped with just some bruising. No breaks or internal injuries. You were lucky today.”

The medic packs up his equipment. “Get some rest and ice those sore spots. But overall good news. No reason you can’t race in two weeks’ time.”

“Phew, that’s a relief!” Lando says. He thanks the doctors as you help him down from the table.

Arm wrapped supportively around him, you make your slow way out of the medical center towards the McLaren motorhome.

“Thank you for being here,” Lando murmurs, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk.

You kiss his dusty hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared me to death out there!”

“I know, sorry about that, love. It happened so fast.” He lifts his head to look at you sincerely. “But I’m alright. Just grateful to have you by my side.”

You stop, turning to face him fully. Reaching up, you caress his cheek gently. “I’ll always be right here by your side.”

Lando’s eyes shine. “Is it cheesy to say you make my heart race in the best way?”

Laughing softly, you pull him into a tender kiss. For this brief moment, nothing else matters but the two of you.

Lando sighs contentedly when you eventually pull back. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him. “The feeling’s mutual. Now let’s get you rested up. I want my favorite driver back to full fitness ASAP.”

With his arm wrapped warmly around your shoulders, you’re reminded that no matter what challenges life brings, your hearts will keep racing together as one.

***

It’s a quiet night and you and Lando are cuddling in bed together after a long day. Lando’s arms are wrapped securely around you, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His fingers idly trace delicate patterns along your back as you lay pressed close, breathing in sync.

Though it’s late, you can tell Lando’s mind is still wide awake, trailing far from the coziness of your shared bed. His pensive silence prompts you to prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a curious smile.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Lando blinks up at you before giving a small, distracted smile. “Oh, it’s nothing really ...”

You raise a knowing eyebrow. “Lando, I can always tell when something’s on your mind.” You brush a lock of hair back from his forehead tenderly. “Talk to me?”

Lando chews his lip, eyes darting away evasively. Finally he lets out a long breath, arms tightening around your waist. “I guess … I’ve just been thinking about when I picked you up earlier today.”

You think back to the afternoon when Lando swung by your lab after work like usual. “What about it?”

“Well, when I pulled up out front, I saw one of your patients leaving the exercise center,” Lando explains. His brow furrows slightly. “Some tall, muscular bloke in running shorts.”

“Oh, that was probably Brandon — he’s a sprinter I had in for VO2 max testing,” you reply casually before pausing. “Wait … you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No! No, of course not,” Lando says quickly. But the way his eyes shift away makes you think otherwise.

You frown slightly, snuggling closer against his chest. “Lando, you know you have absolutely no reason to be jealous. I only have eyes for you,” you murmur reassuringly.

Lando sighs, arms tightening around your back. “I know, I know. It’s stupid ...” He trails off, looking conflicted.

You lay a comforting hand along his jaw. “Talk to me, love. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Lando meets your earnest gaze, emotions swirling in his eyes. “I just … I wonder sometimes why you picked me, you know? You meet guys like that every day. And I’m just ...” he shrugs self-consciously.

Your heart squeezes at the vulnerable admission. You tenderly stroke Lando’s cheek. “Hey … you listen to me. You’re the only one I want. All those other athletes are just patients to me. But you ...” You smile down at him adoringly. “You’re the one who makes my heart race with just a look. The one I want to spend all my time with. The one I love with my entire heart.”

The corner of Lando’s mouth lifts in a faint, tentative smile at your words. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper fervently. Leaning down, you capture his lips in a sweet, loving kiss. “You’re my once in a lifetime, Lando. My soulmate. Meeting you was destiny.”

Lando’s arms wrap tightly around you again, the last of the tension fading from his frame. “I’m sorry I got all insecure like that. I know I’m being silly.” He presses an apologetic kiss to your hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You nuzzle your face lovingly against his neck. “You were just yourself — that funny, charming, incredible guy I fell for the moment we met.” You lift your head to meet his eyes again. “I never stood a chance. My heart was yours from the start.”

A smile breaks across Lando’s face at last. “I really am the luckiest bloke in the world, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are,” you say teasingly, making him laugh. Your expression softens. “But truly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. My heart only races for you. It always will.”

Lando’s eyes gleam with renewed confidence and adoration as he rolls you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Well in that case, what do you say we get your heart racing again?” He murmurs playfully, brushing his nose against yours.

You grin up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’d say you’re on.”

Lando’s smile widens as he dips his head to meet your lips in a passionate kiss. Your pulse immediately quickens at his touch, heart thrumming as you arch up into him.

When Lando finally pulls back for air, his eyes are dancing. “Yep, definitely racing,” he laughs breathlessly, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your pulse point.

You shake your head in amusement, heart overflowing with love for this man. “You’re the only one for me. Today, tomorrow, and always.”

Lando’s smile softens to something tender and reverent. “And you’re my once in a lifetime, Y/N.” He brushes his thumb along your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper. And as his lips find yours again, you let yourself get lost in his kiss, your racing hearts beating as one.

[auroralwriting]

if you feel it, chase it

spencer reid x fem!reader (twisters! au)

storm chasing was the intent, falling in love was not.

word count: 4.0k

warnings: do not read if you don't want twisters spoilers, it's the whole fic so beware, spencer is tyler and reader is kate basically, spencer is still himself with a touch of tyler, sort of enemies/strangers to lovers, this has more romance than the movie and it has the kiss we all wanted, no use of y/n

You promised yourself long ago you’d never storm chase again.

After the losses of Elle, Jason, and Haley, it was too much to bare. You’d been the sole survivor of the tornado. Of course, your friend Derek had also survived, but he didn’t experience what you did. He could never understand.

You’d moved from Oklahoma to New York in hopes of moving on, but when Derek came to you five years later, asking you to help his team, you found yourself on a flight back home before you could even reconsider. Going back home after all this time sort of scared you, but Derek and his fifteen missed calls, twenty messages, and one voice message really seemed to convince you.

Derek’s team was for a company run by an investor named Erin Strauss. You’d only overheard her name, but she was using the data collected by Derek’s team to help predict storms before they happened. It seemed like the best idea. It could help save a lot of lives.

The team was small, but included Derek and storm chasers David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Mateo Cruz, and Jennifer Jareau. Now, it also included you. For the week, you reminded yourself.

You stood with the team as Derek introduced you. Suddenly, a loud stream of music approached quickly. You all watched as a truck and van pulled up. JJ scoffed, “Ignore them. They’re just some famous youtube storm chasers. They’re just in this for the trill of the storm.”

It was inevitable that you continued to stare. The group looked interesting, especially their leader, as you’d guessed. He was tall, curly dark hair, and was yelling something the crowd chanted back. If you feel it, chase it.

"They call themselves the BAU. Boundary Advection Units."

Deciding to ignore them, you walked out to the empty field to stare at the sky. Where would the best storm be…

“West looks good,” A voice said behind you. You turned to see the man from minutes ago, now staring at the sky. “East looks like it could be something.. maybe. High risk, high reward."

“Air’s thicker east, looks like a lot of empty space for a storms to grow.” You commented. “You’ll get a nice show that way for your fans. West is fine, but don't be surprised if they choke each other out, though."

The man stepped closer as you two looked at each other. “I’m, uh, Spencer Reid.” He introduced.

“I have a job to get to,” You scoffed, walking passed him. “East’s got the best chances, take ‘em!”

Approaching your somewhat team, you turned to Derek. “West, we have to go west.”

Rossi scrunched his eyebrows together, “But west has the best air quality for tornados. It looks like there could be several-"

"We go west. Come on, let's get in the vans." Derek said quickly.

Fireworks. They lit off fucking fireworks into the tornado. That had to be some kind of hazard, right? You were a little pissed at yourself for becoming so scared of the tornado. It was simple, an E2. It wouldn't have hurt you. You should have let Derek place the device down to get data.

Derek walked along the path with you to the hotel. He'd asked you to hang out, but you declined. It was too much, too soon. Actually, it wasn't too soon. It reminded you too much of the past. It could never happen. You weren't back. It was just one week.

As you walked up the stairs to your room, you were stopped by Spencer.

"Hey," He called. "The cells to the west will choke each other out, she said. The one in the east will put on a show."

You shrugged, "It didn't throw you off the scent."

"That's what makes Spencer so famous," A woman beside Spencer said. "Hi, I'm Penelope."

Eyebrow raised, you leaned on the railing. "You mean on YouTube?"

"On- Yeah, yeah. We have a million followers!" Penelope cheered with the rest of the crowd. "You know Spencer, but that's Tara, Luke, Alex, and Kate." They all waved and you gave a forced smile. "You made a good call earlier. On my devices, the other cell looked stronger but the cap never broke."

"Where did you all meet? Did you study meteorology in college together?" You asked.

They all laughed, "Nah, only Spencer has a degree, a whole ass PhD in meteorology." Luke laughed. "We all just like to go with the flow. Or, his flow, I guess."

"Our crew isn't quite like your crew. We don't need PhDs and fancy gadgets to do what we do." Spencer said. "I guarantee that these guys," Spencer pointed to the clearly homemade windcatchers, "have seen more tornadoes than anyone here."

"Is that right?" You asked sarcastically.

Spencer turned to you once more, but this time, it was awkwardly. "If you want, uh, maybe we can put you in one of our episodes."

You feigned a clearly fake awe, "Wow. I guess you can always trust a guy who puts his crew on a tee-shirt."

"Hey, I did that!" Penelope called as the rest of the group ooh'd at your comment about Spencer.

You began to walk up to your room as Spencer was quick to follow. "Hey, it wasn't my idea to start the channel." He frowned as you grabbed the key. "I just do it to get my knowledge out there."

"What knowledge?" You ask.

"I have an eidetic memory," Spencer awkwardly said. "That and my PhD. I, uh, know a lot about tornadoes. I want to inform people. Knowledge is power."

With a shake of your head, you open the door. "But knowledge isn't everything, right?" You asked, going inside and shutting the door behind you.

Spencer stood outside for a moment, reeling from your comment. Maybe his friends had been influencing him too much.

It was twins, a whole set of twin tornadoes. Luckily, you'd picked the right one, and Spencer didn't. Unluckily, the tornado almost flipped the truck you and Derek shared. Even worse, it damaged a nearby town.

Everything had been destroyed. Derek and the team were handing out cards to the people as you looked around, helping people find their belongings and returning them.

You knew what it felt like to have everything taken from you, just like that. It was horrible. This was the first tornado you'd been caught in since the last, and you truly thought you were going to die, too. You remembered the looks on your friends faces as the wind swept them up and away. You were truly scared.

Of course, the BAU showed up, too. They set up a merch table. It made you sick to see them selling their merchandise minutes after a life-changing event took place. It made you even angrier to know these people were being taken advantage of.

"Nice play on the left twin." Spencer said as he walked up to you.

"Yeah, well it didn't help these people any." You sighed, looking around.

Spencer watched as Strauss gave her business card to a man. "I wasn't aware that Storm Par was in the helping business." Spencer bitterly stated.

"Well, from what I see they're trying to make a difference." Slowly, you approached Spencer. His well-fitted shirt looked good on him. You took notice of his different-colored converse. It was oddly charming.

"That's one way of putting it." Spencer replied.

"What?"

Spencer paused, "Do you even know who you're chasing for?"

What did he mean? You knew of Strauss, and it was for Derek. "What are you talking about?"

"How much more do these people have to lose?" Spencer angrily asked, walking closer to you. "Is this what you call making a difference?"

"Sorry," You chuckled bitterly, "Says the guy setting up shop selling tee-shirts and mugs after the storms hit."

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, "I have a dog to find." With that, he walked away leaving you more confused than you had been.

What did he mean? Was there something he knew that you didn't? Even if you didn't know anything, you knew you didn't like Spencer getting angry with you. It didn't suit him, the anger. He looked too sweet to be so upset. Maybe you needed to do some digging and find out what he knew.

Right as you walked back to your truck, Kate ran up to you calling your name. "Hey, take some food."

"Oh, don't have any cash." You replied, looking at the girls outstretched arm.

Kate gave you a confused look, "It's free. That's why we're always selling those tee-shirts."

It hit you that maybe you were being the ass. You looked back to the stand to see people getting food and water. You felt your stomach churn. You turned back to Kate. "Oh. Well, save it in case you run low."

"Okay," Kate softly agreed, "At least take some water, stay hydrated."

"Thanks," You replied softly.

"Yeah, see ya." Kate ran back over to her group as you watched. Something wasn't right. You were misinformed. Yeah, it was definitely research time.

WE BUY LAND.

The slogan of the website made you feel like you'd betrayed the whole world as you stared at Strauss' figure standing over a pile of rubble. That's what this was for. It wasn't to help people, it was to buy their land after the tornado came through. It wasn't to stop the tornado, it was just to track it.

Derek knew that wasn't what you were about. It never used to be what he was about. He had to know, so the real question was why would he lie to you?

A knock at your motel door interrupted your thoughts. You shut your laptop and stood up to walk to the door. You opened it to see Spencer standing awkwardly with a box of pizza. His hair was messy and he gave you a crooked smile.

"Thought you might be hungry." He offered. Hesitantly, you took the pizza. You ended up shutting the door without a word and walking back over to your bed.

You opened it, suddenly feeling the urge to see if maybe he wanted some. You needed to tell him you weren't like them. Why his opinion of you mattered so highly, you didn't quite understand.

Opening the door, he was still standing there. "You find that dog?"

"Of course," Spencer nodded. "I wouldn't have left until I did. How you doing after all that?"

You tsked, "It doesn't matter. It's those people who matter."

"Well, you've seen the worst of this place." Spencer hesitated. "I thought that, uh, maybe it would be nice to show you something good. That's if you want to go, of course. It's late and tornado chasing can make you tired-"

"I'll go." You nodded, cutting him off. "Let me get my shoes."

Spencer ended up taking you to a rodeo. You sat in the stands watching. "This isn't, uh, really my speed to be honest." He admitted, awkwardly smiling at you.

"What is your speed then?" You asked, now interested in getting to know him better.

"I like museums. Books, uh, research. That's what I wanted to do. But my mom got sick, so I came back here to help her. Got into chasing." Spencer answered. "I still want to do research. Maybe at a college, somewhere. And I can still chase."

You nodded, "You'd like it. It seems up your alley. Use those smarts to inform the people about tornados and shit."

Spencer chuckled, "Yeah, and shit." After a moment, he asked "Is this your speed?"

"I grew up out here, this isn't my first rodeo." You joked. Spencer chuckled too. It warmed you to know you two had connected.

"Look at that, we're learning things about each other." Spencer commented.

"I didn't know she was buying land," You admitted to him. "I looked it up. Derek just asked me to help his team, we've been friends for years so I just said yes."

Spencer nodded. He looked compassionate. "You didn't strike me as the type to do something like that."

"I'm not," You agreed.

All of a sudden, the wind picked up strongly. It made you shiver. Wait, the weather man didn't predict strong winds. Your heart stopped as you turned to Spencer, who was already looking at you with the same look you adorned. "Were you tracking cells out this way?" Spencer didn't reply, he just slowly turned to the sky. You did the same, staring up. "Air feels heavy, this isn't good."

The same alarm blared from the stands. It was your phones. You opened it to see the bold letters, Tornado Warning. The sirens began to echo throughout the vast space and your heart rate increased.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I've just received word a tornado has touched down near the area! Please evacuate this arena right now!"

Spencer quickly grabbed your hand to help lead you out through the crowd of people. "Come on," He muttered your name a few times. "Hold on, come on." As the crowed began to run, so did you both. A woman fell in front of you and you both helped her up quickly. "Hurry, come on!" Spencer said with more urgency.

It was a disaster. People were scrambling, cars were hitting each other. Spencer held your hand tightly and pulled you closer to him. The lightning lit up the sky, and you could see the tornado.

"Spencer, we have no time!" You yelled.

Right as you went to cross the street, cars almost hit you. Spencer jumped out in front of them, yelling for them to stop as the two of you ran across. You ran into some ranky motel where the front counter worker was arguing with some customers. You'd managed to grab their attention and run outside. After a small scan, you realized there was really nowhere safe to go.

You had to think outside the box, where would be the safest?

Once your eyes fell on the pool, you knew. "The pool! Come on!" You yelled as everyone ran.

The three from the motel ended up running to car. You couldn't stop them. So, you focused on the mom and child you came across, helping them down. Spencer was the last, and right as he made it down, a large chunk of metal hit the ladder and you yanked his arm, pulling him close to you. Quickly, you ran to the end of the pool and held onto the metal pipes as the tornado finally made its way to you.

Please, don't let me die. Not here, not now.

Spencer held on above you, shielding you with his own body.

The moment it was over, you made your way up the ladder to see that everything was utterly destroyed. The Storm Par van you recognized as Derek's drove up. A moment later, he was sprinting out of the car and to you.

"God," He muttered your name as he pulled you into a tight hug. "I thought I lost you."

"Derek," You pulled back. "Why didn't you tell me about Strauss?" You looked over his shoulder to see her speaking with a couple, probably the owners of the land. "She's profiting off their loss."

Derek furrowed his brows, "The way I see it, she's helping them restart."

"By taking all they have left?" You questioned. "That's not helping."

"Yeah?" Derek challenged, anger taking over his features. "How would you know what losing everything you have is?" The moment the words left his mouth, he froze. "I didn't.. I didn't mean--"

You shook your head, "No, Derek. I understand perfectly fine." Slowly, you began to back away. You took the keys from his hand quickly and ran to the van, Derek yelling behind you.

Without a second thought, you started the vehicle and began to drive away. You could still hear Derek yelling apologizes, but what caught your eye was Spencer watching you drive away with a look on his face you couldn't quite understand.

Back at home, your mother welcomed you with open arms. She even left your science experiments in the barn, exactly how you left it all five years ago. It was comforting to be back at home, but at the same time it brought back those painful memories you tried so hard to bury deep, deep down.

The next morning, your mom came to let you know a scrawny, handsome man was here to see you. You simply sighed, telling her to let him come to you.

You stared at your tornado machine from middle school, remembering how happy you were when you'd won first place. Footsteps echoed behind you, and you knew it was Spencer.

"A tornado machine," He stepped close, leaning over to observe it. "The hydraulics on this thing are amazing. Plus, the art is really good too."

"It was my middle school science fair project," You hummed, watching as he carefully picked up one of the small houses, setting it back up.

Spencer turned back around with a geeky smile, "Did you win?"

"What do you think?" You replied with a small smile matching his.

"It's definitely no volcano," Spencer joked as he walked back over to you. "It was Penelope who recognized your name from the news a few years back. I'm sorry about your friends." Spencer said as he eyes a photo that was tacked to the barn's walls. It was one with you, Derek, and your friends. He looked back to you with a look you hadn't seen him give you before. If you would've thought about it, you would've known it was adoration.

You shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets. "It was my fault. There's nothing to be sorry for."

"It wasn't your fault," Spencer shook his head, walking closer to you.

"It wasn't supposed to be an E5. It was supposed to be smaller, easier to manipulate and be around. I convinced them all to do it." You argued.

Spencer took one of your notebooks and began looking through it, "You theorized you could stop a tornado with polymers that would suck up the moisture." Spencer said as he flipped through the pages.

"It didn't work." You casually replied.

"Well, maybe it could." Spencer looked up, "Maybe you just need a new model. This has a genuine chance of working if you just--"

You held out a hand, closing your eyes as you sucked in a breath. "Spencer, no. That's in the past. I can't-- I just can't."

"You should try," Spencer encouraged. "Imagine the difference you could make with this."

Spencer's words struck a chord with you. That had been your goal, and it was his, too. Even so, it was too risky. It was too painful after what had happened. There was no way you could do it again, let alone rope in Spencer to help you. "I just can't." You finally said after a moment. "It won't." After another moment, you swallowed the lump in your throat. "Stay for dinner, and stay the night. You shouldn't be driving so late during tornado season by yourself."

"I don't want to intrude--"

"Please?"

Spencer looked to you, his eyes wider than normal at your plead. "Okay," He nodded. "Yeah, I'll stay."

You couldn't let anything happen to Spencer, too, you decided.

El Reno was about to be hit with the biggest fucking tornado you'd ever seen. Not only did it just hit a power plant and set on fire, but it was headed to small town with no warnings.

Spencer and you sped to the town, Luke's RV trailing right behind you. The second you got there, it was about finding shelter for people. His team and you all directed people to the storm shelters, but there was just so many people.

"Hey, the shelters are all full." Luke ran up to inform you and Spencer. "We gotta direct them to the theater."

"That won't be any better than standing outside," You shook your head. "There has to be another way."

Luke called Penelope over who typed into her phone at rapid speed, "There's nowhere else without windows." Penelope informed. "Theater is the best place we can take them."

You looked to Spencer, nervously biting your lip. He nodded at you as you took a deep breath, "Okay, let's move them fast. Keep them in the middle, hold onto seats when the walls cave."

The theater became so full, it felt like you were moving through a mosh crowd. This wasn't safe, with the number of people and size of tornado, it was bound to kill everyone. You ran to one side of the building, checking to see if there was shelter.

To your surprise, Derek met up with you and Spencer. "Other side has nothing." Derek said quickly. You knew he'd choose the right way.

"Okay, we gotta get these people in safer positions." Spencer said quickly. As the two ran off, you couldn't help but stare at the tornado.

Maybe Spencer was right. Maybe you could make a difference. After all, this tornado was bound to kill you all. Might as well die trying, right? You took a look at his truck that still had the barrels of your concoction loaded on the back. Quickly, you ran to it, trying your best to not get swept up by the wind. The second you got inside, you knew there was no going back from this.

Spencer began to look for you, asking Derek if he'd seen you. When he saw his truck out in the field, driving right for the tornado, his heart nearly stopped beating right then and there. He yelled your name, desperately trying to get to you. Derek and Luke had to hold him back to keep him inside and safe.

He didn't even realize until that moment how infatuated he'd become with you. You were his dream girl, the one he'd been chasing. And now, you were going to be gone.

You, on the other hand, tried your best not to think about Spencer. It was hard enough leaving him. You felt a connection with him you didn't quite understand, but now was not the time to decode it.

Time felt like it passed by so quickly. The next thing you knew, you were clawing your way outside of the flipped truck. If you were alive, that was a good thing, right? Unless you were dead and you were about to see tornado Jesus right in front of your eyes.

The sunlight hurt, you definitely had some sort of head injury. You reached your hand outside and felt someone grab it. They began to pull you out, another hand grabbing your other arm once your torso was out of the truck.

"Oh my god," You heard Spencer's lovely voice mumble as you finally were freed.

"Is one of you tornado Jesus?" You muttered, blinking back the pain.

A laugh came from Alex, "I thought you were a goner for sure,"

"You did it," Spencer said as he knelt down next to you. "It worked. You fucking did it." His words echoed in your mind as he pulled you into a hug. You didn't even realize you were already hugging back by the time you thought you should. Quickly, you grabbed Spencer's face and pulled him into a kiss.

A howl came from Luke as Spencer pulled back with his gorgeous wide eyes. "We did it."

At your words, Spencer smiled and, this time, pulled you into a kiss. "Okay, back off, let me see my best friend after she almost died." You chucked at Derek's words as he came to hug you, nearly pushing Spencer away. "Never do that again."

"Can't promise that," You chuckled, staring at Spencer over Derek's shoulder as his cheeks warmed at your stare. "Because I think we may just have ourselves a new storm chasing crew." As the group whooped at the victory, you pulled back from Derek and turned to Spencer. "If you feel it..."

"Chase it." Spencer smiled back as he gently set a hand on your face, causing you to smile even wider at your storm-chasing boy.

[kutputli]

Louis the "Pimp": A Rebuke and Rebuttal

OK, IWTV fandom, I have been made aware that some (many) of you are genuinely not aware of some of the anti sex work implications of your statements around Louis and pimping, so -

First of all, some ground level assumptions: I am assuming we are all pro sex workers here. Which means that we all believe in the right for adults to consent to commercial sexualised labour, and to demand ethical working conditions just like any other worker. Sex work is work etc.

Now, that stance can and must coexist with the acknowledgement that sex work has both historically and currently been coerced from marginalised communities. In my part of the world, hereditary caste based sexual enslavement is an on-going atrocity, and similarly, in the United States Black enslaved people was disproportionatey victims of commercialised sexual abuse. (This is RELEVENT to Armand and Louis so it behoves everyone to inform themselves about these realities.)

What I'm saying now comes from the scholarship and testimonies of sex workers themselves, who have always been at the forefront of advocating for themselves as communities and unions. You can and should read through the publications of the Global Network of Sex Work Projects to ground yourself in these perspectives.

The idea that its ok to be a sex worker, but that a client or a pimp or a brothel owner deserves contempt, shaming or derison is an old one, associated with the dichotomy of pitable fallen women vs dispicable emasculated men (emasculated because of the patriarchal shame of a) paying for sex and b) living off of a woman's labour). This has manifested in what is known as the Nordic model (or, hypocritically, the Equality Model) of Prostitution, where sex workers themselves are deemed nominally free to practise their trade, but clients and third parties (pimps, managers, brothel owners) are criminalised. There is unambiguous peer-reviewed data showing the failure of this approach to protecting sex workers from harm, and almost every sex worker union has denounced it.

So now let's talk about this cultural and legal contempt and criminalisation of the third party, and specifically, the pimp figure. Unlike the brothel owner, the pimp is more often from a similar class and identity as the sex worker, often sharing the same living and working spaces. Pimps are often sex workers allies and collegeaues. They provide an interface between the client and the sex worker that can help screen them for safety and security, and the remove the additional burden of soliciting and marketing from the sex worker's labour.

And because it is important to talk about specifics, a pimp in marginalised communities of sex workers is often a brother, a father, or a lover to the sex worker who faces the same casteism, racism and classism that she does. He is often the father of the sex worker's child. In India, for example, even though prostitution itself is not criminal, any adult male living with a prostitute is assumed to be guilty of being a pimp unless he can prove otherwise, and can face imprisonment of up to 2 years with a fine. One of the demands of unionised sex workers, including those in India, has been to decriminalised pimping along with sex work, not just because pimps make it safer and easier for sex workers to get clients without having to actively solicit, but also because such criminalisation actively harms family units.

Of course, there are pimps who can be abusive and exploitative. This is true of any professional relationship, and this is also true of people in romantic and sexual relationships (like marriage). But to deem a pimp inherently as an abuser carries a lot of anti sex work and racist and classist baggage with it.

Why racist (and classist and casteist etc)? Because the men with capital were (and are) not often pimps. They are landlords and investors, who ran brothels and saloons and massage parlours and dance bars and other sites where sexual labour was commercialised. To denigrate a man for being a pimp as somehow worse than being the owner of a sweatshop or farm is a way of jeering at the men who have not been able to buy themselves the luxury of distance from the exploitation they profit from. And the men of capital were and are, overwhelmingly, those from the dominant identity (White. Savarna. etc.)

So NOW, with all that necessary context in mind, let's talk about Louis and what it means when fandom firstly calls him a pimp, and then second sneers at him for his perceived behavior as one.

You know who first calls Louis a pimp?

Daniel Molloy, a white man being the brash, confrontational journalist that he has the luxury of being.

Louis accurately describes his profession managing and operating a diversified portfolio of entireprises. This translates to investing his family's sizeable trust into real estate (he owns 8 out of 24 buildings on Liberty Street) and running establishments that make money from selling liquor, organised gambling and sex work. Just as not many Black men would have been in a position of power to make a profit from a sugar plantation as Louis' great grandfather did, not many Black men would have had the capital (and the business acumen) to own and operate a series of businesses that included sex work. Infact we see him collecting his profits from a white man who was closer to the pimp role - Finn.

Reducing this to calling him a pimp is the first of many racist microaggressions we will watch Daniel make. As someone who indulged in some kind of sex work himself, one might say some of Daniel's hostility is self-loathing. Nonetheless, there is a racialised element in his contempt towards both Louis and Armand that, I would theorise, comes from the distinction made between a white, educated man choosing to recreationally whore himself for drugs, and a Black man who earned a living from other people's sex work, or a Brown man who is perceived as a rent boy.

We then get to the idea of denigrating Louis' pimp-like behavior. First of all, let's look at Louis as the employer and manager of sex workers. Everything we have seen about him shows him to be courteous, considerate, and professional. His guilt at the entire situation of how sex work operates aside (and we can agree that it must have been exploitative and even abusive in general, and that he was complicit in such a system, as any capitalist is) - MOST importantly, we never see Louis doing the thing that patriarchy really resents a pimp for - sampling the goods for free. We never see him use his power over the sex workers he employs to get favours.

In fact he makes it clear that he visits Miss Lily precisely because she is part of a different establishment, and that both of them being Black in a majority white situation places them on a more equal footing. Watching Louis with Miss Lily, both is how he is with her sexually as well as socially, gives you the clearest evidence of how he behaves around sex workers he is having a relationship with. (Contrast that to Lestat, who buys her time and body as an act of one-upmanship with no concern for her preference, and then who kills her out of jealousy.)

So - Was Louis a pimp? No. Was Louis an abusive pimp? Also No.

Then why does the fandom continue to deploy this term in relationship to him?

It's racism, your honour. (The answer is almost always racism.)

To unpack this, lets jump forward from the 1910s where, again I remind you - very very few Black men in the United States were in any position to operate as fashionable brother owners with wealth to spare.

We now move to the 1980s, when one (but not the only!) sub-genre of rap was evolving - gangsta rap. In this sub-genre, Black musical artists like Too Short and Ice T were creating and more pertinently making accessible to white America, the signifier of the Black pimp figure. This drew from 1960s Black culture-making around West Coast pimps like Iceberg Slim, but also from an older storytelling tradition that linked the figure of the pimp with the archetype of the trickster. I'm not going to cite the wealth of literature you can find that theorises this, (nor defensively provide the mass of nuanced critique that Black feminists have offered) because the limited point I wish to make is -

When white America began enjoying (and appropriating) rap and hip-hop culture, one of the tropes it started perpetuating with the shallowest of understanding of its origins, was that of the specifically Black pimp. A figure who displayed wealth, but without (white-signifying) class, who was sexually active in a racialised hypermasculine way, but both a threat to women and contemptibly a leech off them.

THIS is the pimp archetype that is being evoked when fandom talks about Louis's 'pimp'ness.

It is racist. It is ahistorical and canonically unfactual.

It is also needlessly contemptuous of the sex workers (labourers and third parties alike) who are part of the community here on tumblr, so often praised as one of the spaces that is friendly to them.

Maybe think about all of that the next time you choose to use the word 'pimp'.

[aquaquadrant]

I’m having thoughts again (the horror). You may have answered this before and I just can’t remember or find it buuuuuut

Is/was there ever a dragon in Hels? If there was could they spawn it in again or is she just dead?

“a dragon?” the player huffs a laugh, giving you an odd look. “you know dragons aren’t real, right? it’s just fantasy shit, like the sun and moon.” they shrug. “anyway, uh, if- if you’re not gonna buy somethin’ then stop wasting my fucking time and get the hell out.”

~*~

“ah, i see you’re a fellow intellectual.” the player nods sagely. “data analysis has found plenty of evidence supporting the existence of an ‘end dragon’, through communicator codes such as ID tags for items called ‘dragon’s breath,’ ‘dragon head’, and ‘dragon egg’, not to mention the achievement ‘free the end’, which is supposedly earned after slaying this dragon. so while we can only extrapolate so much from nonfunctional comm commands, i’d say the idea of a dragon existing in other worlds is quite substantiated.”

they pause.

“did hels ever have one? well, that’s the question, isn’t it. while the existence of glitched end chunks throughout hels has been proven on multiple occasions, no one’s ever found an end island with the obsidian pillars required to spawn and sustain a dragon. of course, it’s possible someone found it long ago and destroyed it, or perhaps no one’s found it yet, or perhaps it exists in a different form entirely. if you look at how biomes spawn in hels…”

~*~

“what, hels ain’t bad enough for you as it is?” the player wheezes, shaking their head. “kid, if there’s a dragon in hels, you’re better off if you never meet it. we got enough problems without throwin’ a damned dragon into the mix, ya hear?”

~*~

“never heard of such a thing. seems like nonsense.” the player hefts their axe onto their shoulder. “now, move along before i kill you.”

~*~

“there was a dragon in hels, yeah,” the player says nonchalantly. “this old player took me in when i was a kid, used to tell me stories. i mean, he never saw it. it was more of a ‘i know this guy who knew this guy who knew this guy who knew this guy who heard that someone saw it’ kinda deal… well? do you wanna hear it or not?”

they smirk.

“… that’s what i thought. so yeah, it was this massive red dragon- or uh, maybe it was like orange with red flames on its scales, fucking sick, right- with huge teeth and insane fire breath and… actually, it might’ve been acid? or poison? fuck, whatever, the point is that the thing was nasty, alright, it used to swoop down on the early settlements and mow those motherfuckers down, eating players- or, wait, i think maybe it would just throw them? uh, i dunno how but- wait, where you goin’? hey, this is valuable information, you know! … fine, whatever, asshole.”

~*~

“how the hel should i know?” the player demands, folding their arms. “this world’s infinite and old as balls, and we don’t exactly have a consistent method of widespread information distribution. someone could’ve killed it yesterday and i’d have no fucking clue.”

~*~

“yeah, there was.” the player nods. “it was before my time, but i heard our admin killed it. whoever the fuck they were… makes no difference to me, but it’s a cool thought, right?”

~*~

“hm. been a long time since someone asked me that.” the player leans forward, eyes flickering in the firelight. their gaze is haunted. “are you sure you wanna know?”

they pause.

“… alright, then.”

“now, this was back in the early days of hels, long enough ago that some of the oldest players still remembered havin’ an admin. we didn’t even know ‘bout the end chunks. then one day, there was this sound. every player in the world heard it, no matter where they were. it was louder than any thunderstorm, louder than any explosion- the kinda sound that goes clean through you, splits your ears and rattles your bones.”

“it was a scream, only not like any i’d ever heard before. there was a raw, guttural quality to it- like a wounded animal- yet the power was undeniable. but there was some distortion to it as well; an underpinning of static like the whole thing was bein’ broadcast through a beat-up jukebox. just thinkin’ of it sends chills down my spine.”

“then a peculiar thing popped up in chat. someone had made an achievement, only we couldn’t tell who or what. all the text was scrambled, like those funny words you see on an enchantment table. never met anyone who could read it. but needless to say, this sparked an entire movement bent on discoverin’ what the hell had happened.”

“some of the more adventurous players went explorin’ and found the end chunks. players who knew a thing or two about data analysis started huntin’ through their comms, usin’ the data of an endstone block someone brought back. didn’t take long after that to figure it out.”

“they found there was a dragon that belonged to a separate realm from overworld and nether. the end, they surmised. y’know, where endermen came from. the dragon lived there, sustained by end crystals that were said to float atop obsidian pillars on the end island it called home- its nest, as it were. so, unsurprisingly, it was called the ender dragon.”

“and if you killed it, you opened a portal. where it’d lead was anyone’s guess, but it was a way out of hels.”

“i was young, then. young and hungry. i banded up with some other players and we consulted an expert- the founder of data analysis, actually- to extrapolate the coordinates for the main end island. only he didn’t find just one; he found ten sets of coords, spread out over hundreds of thousands of blocks, nearly a million blocks. he predicted that each obsidian pillar had spawned on a separate end chunk, and that each one would have to be tracked down to kill the dragon. we had to destroy the crystals first, you see. he thought it was a waste of time, a fool’s errand, but we didn’t listen. so we split up, takin’ one set of coords each, and set off.”

“they were all ‘bout the same distance from each other, so no one had an easier go of it. i took one northeast of spawn, seven hundred and twenty-nine thousand blocks out. the journey took years. not sure exactly how many, i stopped keepin’ count sometime after the fifth. the other players on the mission gradually stopped replyin’ to my whispers- i think some of ‘em gave up and turned back. wasn’t sure if i was the only one still goin’, ‘til i eventually saw their death messages in chat, one by one. mobs, lava, fall damage, the usual. some might’ve died on the way; traversin’ hels alone on foot is no cake walk, even without the concern of PVP. never heard from any of ‘em again.”

“but i’d gone so far that givin’ up wasn’t an option. even if no one else had made it to their pillar and destroyed the crystal, even if killin’ the dragon would be impossible, i had to see it through. so i kept goin’. it was a lonesome existence, bein’ that far from spawn; i went months without sayin’ a single word, at times, damn near lost my mind. but it weren’t all bad. i reached the unloaded chunks, saw naturally-spawned passive mobs for the first time in my life. i saw rare biomes i’d never heard of, even came across one of those glitched end ships with an elytra. journey went quicker, after that, but it was still several years before i finally reached the coords.”

“the pillar was exactly what you’d expect. a tall, round obelisk made of solid obsidian, rooted on a floatin’ chunk of an endstone island. there were some endermen millin’ about the place, far more than in any other biome i’d seen- ‘cept maybe the warped jungles- but no sign of the dragon. the crystal was at the very top of the pillar in an iron cage, so i flew on up there, thinking at least i’d do what i came to do.”

“soon as i set foot on the top of the pillar, i heard a strange sound. it was that little zippin’ sound you hear when an enderman teleports- only it was a louder, deeper, slower sound that seemed to shake the world. like i could actually hear the distortion of space and time itself. the air suddenly filled with a haze of purple particles, so thick i could hardly see, move, or breathe.”

“and then she appeared.”

“the dragon was all black, black as the void ‘neath bedrock, with spines down her back and huge, bat-like wings, deadly sharp teeth and claws. she was big enough to swallow me whole and we both knew it. but what really put me off was that she was glitched.”

“it’s the best way i can describe it. her body was flickerin’ around all crazy-like as if i’d gone cross-eyed, so she appeared in multiples at times, countless wings unfurlin’ from the distorted mass. anywhere i looked directly at her would suddenly seem… pixelated, almost, like her form was fracturin’ into pieces, like i couldn’t fully ‘preciate the whole. but i remember her eyes. they were pure white, so bright it hurt to look at ‘em, and as she moved they seemed to blink in and out of existence around her, like they couldn’t quite settle in her skull. like twinklin’ stars against the night sky, beyond the bedrock ceiling.”

“she was beautiful.”

“the dragon perched against the tower, claws grippin’ the obsidian on either side of me, curled her slender neck down ‘til we were face-to-face, and roared. it had that same quality as that sound i’d heard all those years ago, and i knew at once it’d been her death rattle. in my daze, i remember wonderin’ who could’ve possibly managed to kill such a creature? what kinda player would even want to?”

“i’d been well-prepared for the fight. full enchanted gear, potions, gapples. but starin’ up at her, i couldn’t bring myself to use any of it. i just stared at her, caught in a moment that felt like an eternity as she stared back, before i realized her breath was poison.”

“i ended up back at the world spawn. didn’t matter i’d set a respawn anchor nearby the end island- this seemed to overwrite it. lost everythin’, of course, but i didn’t care. my death message in the chat was glitched, too, in that same strange language. now, i didn’t share my experience with the rest of the world; only to those who asked, and only in the hopes of dissuadin’ them from makin’ an attempt of their own.”

“which brings us to the end.” the player finally sits back, studying you with a shrewd gaze. “now, you listen to me. that dragon ain’t somethin’ to be killed, understand?”

you nod.

“good.” the player’s expression changes. “so, i’m afraid you’re not gonna like the next part of the story. but nothin’s free in this world, least of all knowledge.”

the player moves, there’s a flash of metal, and suddenly there’s a sword in your gut. engrossed in the story, you hadn’t even noticed them equip it.

“sorry,” the player tells you with a grin, “but that dragon ain’t the only monster here. send my regards to spawn.”

as darkness consumes you, your last thought is that the white spots dancing across your vision suddenly look like dragon eyes, blinking from the void.

~*~

[meaningofaeons]

I am here w your svarog rec!!

Reader n clara are playing and one of them like, falls or something and gets rlly lightly hurt and just,,, his reaction to that

- 🍓

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ a small trip

⊹ character(s) - svarog ⊹ word count - 1.2k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, reader is implied to be a fighter/be close with svarog and clara, sugary sweet tooth-melting fluff

🍓ANON HI!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SATING MY DESIRE TO WRITE FOR SVAROG !!!!! I really like him a lot he is so sweet <3 ILY TY FOR REQUESTING ( ↀДↀ)✧

"Bio heat reaction detected — Identifying bio information... Identification result: Y/N. — Hostility level: None. What can I do for you, Y/N?"

That familiar robotic tone greeted you as soon as you had made your way into Svarog's base camp, spotting the glowing red eye you had grown accustomed to.

The robot awaited you and Clara at the top of the steps, and you gently eased the small girl up, giving Svarog a gentle smile.

"Sorry, Svarog. While Clara and I were out, she got a small wound. I was wondering where you keep the medical supplies?"

"Y/N, I'm fine..." the young girl whined, clutching to your hand for a moment longer before walking over to give Svarog a greeting hug (which was really more of her latching onto his leg).

You nodded kindly.

"I know, dear. But if you don't get it looked at, it could get worse. We don't want that, do we?"

Then, you turned your attention to the robotic man.

"She really is fine, but she had quite the tumble, to be honest. Her knee has a slight scrape. Could you show us inside?"

"What happened?" Svarog's head tilted.

"Some Fragmentum monsters appeared out of nowhere. It was just in the scramble to find a hiding place. We're both okay."

"What of the condition of the monsters that encroached on your time together? Where are they found?"

You chuckled. Although his voice was as computerized as ever, you could hear the barest hint of protectiveness seep in every now and then—something that should be impossible, yet, here you were.

"Not to worry. I took care of them before we returned. Clara managed to find somewhere to hide in the scuffle."

"Understood. Come along, Clara."

"But what about Y/N?!" Clara burst out, tears threatening to fill her red eyes as she clutched onto Svarog's pantleg and tugged him back before he could walk away. "They tripped too!"

"Ah, nonsense!" you hurried, laughing nervously. "I'm really all right. I didn't get any injuries from it."

"But if I need to get checked out, you should too! Just in case!"

Children sure are stubborn these days.

You shook your head in resignment, turning again to the tall robot as he scooped Clara into his arm.

"Do you mind if I impose?"

"You are not someone capable of imposing. You are always welcome in our camp," Svarog answered surely, without leaving space for a single question or protest. He moved towards you, offering one hand while his other was occupied holding Clara.

You took it graciously, heading into the small mansion that was Svarog's home.

"Not someone capable of imposing, hmm... Is that all part of your calculations too?" you nudged him as you made your way through the halls, going to the makeshift infirmary set up in the back corner of the estate.

"Yes."

You chuckled lightly. Stoic as always. Then again, he is a robot.

"What if I defected, became a vagrant and went to steal your stockpiled goods for whatever reason?"

"Calculating — Rate of trust towards Y/N exceeds that of the average human. Probability of betrayal, defection, or otherwise malintent: 0.00%. Result identical to previous fifteen calculated results. Existing data will temporarily not be altered."

Your eyes widened a bit of that, and you raised a brow.

"Clara, have you asked him such a thing before?"

"No, I haven't..." she trailed off. You turn to Svarog.

"So, you think about me often, do you?" you teased lightly, knowing the robot would have some sort of calculative response to that.

Svarog did not respond.

In the moment, you shrugged it off, but something tickled the back of your mind about the way he remained silent.

Was there really a way to calculate such a thing with pure logic?

You chose to shove the thought from your mind for now.

Svarog gently sat Clara on the examination table, gathering bandages and ointment. He placed them on the table beside you, standing back and allowing you to gently patch up the small girl's leg.

As soon as you finished, the girl had hopped up at once, hugging you and Svarog lightly as she went to the door.

"I'm going to go check on Pascal. Bye, Mr. Svarog! Bye, Y/N!"

You waved her off with a smile, sighing as you leaned against the wall.

"Please sit on the examination table, Y/N."

The computerized voice cut through your thoughts, and you eyed Svarog, who was very pointedly staring at your knee. You chuckled nervously, waving your arms again.

"Svarog, like I said, I'm fine. I didn't trip that hard—"

"According to observational results, you have a mild limp and a tremble in your left leg. Probability of injury: 96.38%. Probability of injury exceeding average standard of human pain tolerance: 47.92%. Probability of—"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" you huffed, tossing yourself onto the examination table and lifting up your pantleg. Though the gash in your knee was nothing life-threatening even if infection were to encroach, it did hurt, and nothing escaped Svarog's observational eye.

"See? Nothing too bad. I can take care of it myself back home, you don't need to worry."

"I will treat it."

"Svarog!" you exclaimed as he took the ointment in his large, metallic hand, applying a generous amount. "I really am okay!"

"Clara is worried for your well-being. As am I." The second part of his sentence made you shut up just a bit. That is, until he started rambling again. "Probability of Clara's mental well-being declining as a result of Y/N's injured knee — 93.49%—"

"I got it with the calculations! Just... do what you gotta do," you relented at last, allowing the robot to finish dressing your wound and bandaging you up at remarkable speeds.

Honestly, with how large his hands are, you weren't sure if he'd be up for it. Still, he did a decent job. Better than decent, really.

"Are medical skills also ingrained somewhere in that big computer-like database of yours?"

"I can access all databases relative to Belobog. As there are records of accurate and efficient medical care, I am able to perform these according to written instruction."

"Hmm... Well, thank you, regardless."

"You have my appreciation as well, Y/N, for assisting Clara. It would be appreciated if you would look after her in the future, as well."

You laughed lightly.

"Is that even a question? I'll always be there for you and Clara. No need to worry. Though, I'm sure you'd be able to demolish anyone that threatens Clara with far more ease than I."

"Verifying accuracy of claim — Combat systems—"

"Okay, Svarog, just an observation, no need for an analysis!"

"Very well."

By the time Svarog had led you back outside, Clara had returned, Pascal in tow. She gave you another great, big hug before you left, all while you patted the robot on the arm.

"I'll see you two later."

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Bye, Y/N! Come back and visit again soon!"

As soon as you were out of earshot, the small girl turned to her father figure, a big beaming grin on her usually timid face.

"Are you and Y/N gonna get married, Mr. Svarog?"

Svarog did not reply aloud, but the whirring of his circuits made it plenty clear to Clara that calculations were running like rampant in his computerized mind.

"Let us go inside, Clara."

She only giggled.

[jbird-the-manwich]

I keep running into a sentiment along the lines of “If you’re a witch you shouldn’t need to study” and A) I feel like it has to come from tiktok (or that one scene in GoT and they wanna cosplay circe for a minute) and B) there’s almost always an insinuation that any who do study are looking to correct a lack of ability.  I think we should actively dismantle the notion that studying witchcraft or magic and performing the labor of information hunting and verification is always a power grab or a pursuit of results actually. 

You can get fine results without tomes of historical spells. but studying is fun. Especially when in the course of that study you often find threads of theory or practice that despite vast gaps of distance or time have nevertheless appeared to have evolved very similarly. 

You don’t need to know things I suppose. But you also don’t need a wall of funko pops or plants or paintings. There is enrichment in the act of collecting, curating and preserving. Decorating your mind and your books and your drives with little scraps of treasured, hard won data. Particularly when what you collect is obscure historical parallels or precedent for things you yourself experience. Seeing how other people have wielded and directed and policed power throughout time can be and often is less driven by a thirst for power itself and more a thirst for knowledge, trivial and not.

 Most of us already know how to wield our own power. That’s not what we're looking for. We’re looking for inspiration, information, a thread we can pull chronologically from one age back to another to find that it’s some semblance of ourselves holding the other end. To see the creativity and logic of our ancestors. To learn the ways in which magical practice has been rationalized. Some of us simply have an archivists bent and find joy in the work of learning itself. It’s not about the power. It’s about the high. The Interest. The Intrigue. Some of us just plain adore a spreadsheet. Some of us are witches and nerds. Sometimes studying is a hobby. Some of us like to pick up a book and come away with an answer to why the fuck we found a shoe in the wall that one time. Some of us want to leave behind for our progeny a grimoire or seven that slaps. Some of us are alchemists and artificers and smiths and enchanters in the genuine physical sense and require data to generate an object we’ve been tasked to create. Some of us are comforted by the knowledge that we’re merely doing a dance that has been done before. Some of us want the future generations of our bloodlines to know exactly where to look if they’ve been cursed. Some of us are just procrastinating. But I would bet that most if not all of us are studying within a context that invalidates the sentiment that we’re bothering to learn at all because we’re not “powerful enough” otherwise. Some of us just want to see what other people did with the same power in a different context. Some of us are hereditary and long-matured in our ways and have massive beautiful veiny dicks you will never get to see with that attitude. 

[enigma2meagain]

RESTRICT Act: The TikTok Ban is a Smokescreen for PATRIOT ACT 2.0. EDIT: KOSA and EARN IT Act are also back.

EDIT: So now we not only have RESTRICT to worry about, but we also have the EARN IT Act and the Kids Online Safety Act to deal with.

See here for my previous post on it. Fuck Blumenthal and Blackburn for trying to bring back two pro-censorship bills on top of the RESTRICT Act.

And Evan provides some insight on it.

EDIT: SO it turns out that Meta IS partly behind this, but it’s also due to Silicon Valley AND the government wanting more power and control. More information in the links provided below.

EDIT: List of Sponsors has been removed for easier reading. You can still find the list in the Link to the bill itself.

EDIT: Meta-related information apparently incorrect. Updated for accuracy.

----

Here is a link to the bill:

----

This RESTRICT Act is EXTREMELY authoritarian and violating privacy and the 1st Amendment. It’s being disguised as being about banning TikTok, but it’s VASTLY overreaching and basically gives far too much power to the government.

How bad is this bill? Bad enough that pretty much every side of the political spectrum opposes this bill once they took a closer look at it beyond the TikTok smokescreen.

The following points were articulated succinctly by tumblr user @logan-galbraith (used with permission):

This act, while saying it's to insure American's personal information will be safe from foreign powers, it goes much deeper than that.

It will give the United States Government the power to remove and ban ANY online service they deem "a security risk" while making it so they do not need just cause and do not need to clarify or release a public statement.

It allows them the power to gather American's data without our knowledge or consent and even force us to submit documentation for anything they wish.

It protects the government from scrutiny on this, and if you try to speak about it and inform people on what it ACTUALLY allows, they can claim it to be false information and charge you.

It prevents you from using a VPN as it's seen as a breach of information security, thus they can charge you. (Uncertain on accuracy. Crossed out until more concrete information is revealed)

Failure to abide by these "guidelines" can lead to a fine up to ONE MILLION DOLLARS and/or 20 YEARS in prison.

And above all it does NOTHING to prevent AMERICAN companies from collecting and selling your data.

It doesn't matter what political party you're on, because BOTH parties in office want this. This is not about sides. This is about the ENTIRE government stripping our rights away so they can keep lining their own pockets.

And that’s what the TikTok ban really is; a smokescreen for Congress to grab more power. This is the PATRIOT ACT VERSION 2. This has BIPARTISAN support and approval from the Biden Administration.

The scary part is that this bill is being approved under THIS administration...and it’s STILL incredibly bad.

What would end up happening if an openly fascist leader were brought into power? All of sudden, ANYONE and ANYTHING could become a target or considered an adversary under the flimsiest of pretenses.

What should YOU do?

Well, the same thing as past horribly invasive bills like EARN IT and KOSA; we make a LOT of noise, and get the word out.

While there has been increasing amounts of negative press and opposition on this bill, it’s hard to tell how much this has really slowed thing down. As such, getting the word out on how bad this bill is CRUCIAL. Make it EXTREMELY CLEAR that the TikTok ban is just a smokescreen, and that this is nakedly authoritarian and dangerously unconstitutional.

And PLEASE call your Senators.

Find your 2 senators numbers here.

Fax them, email them.

Tell them they MUST oppose this bill. Calmly make it clear to them that if they support this bill, then you will vote for someone else who doesn’t go along with this blatant act of authoritarian intent. CONTACT any major human rights and cybersecurity related organizations and let them know about this bill. Get this out to any local news groups that you can.

There’s some petitions by groups like ACLU: https://go.peoplepower.org/letter/tiktok-ban

They are betting on people being blissfully ignorant of this, that it’s “Just about a Silly App”, so they will not expect you to contact them about this. They are trying to weasel this through in order to give themselves more power, and we won’t be able to do anything about it without the risk of being jailed or censored.

Here’s a part of a rough script if you need one. Add in more based on what is relevant:

"Just to make you aware I do not support the TikTok ban and I do not support the Restrict Act. If this bill is passed I will not support any official who supports that bill. Instead, I will be spending all my time and energy supporting your opponents in the primaries."

----

A list of links/citations:

Truthout Article 4/02/2023: Restrict Act Critics Call the Far-Reaching “TikTok Ban” Bill a “Patriot Act 2.0”

Dailydot Article 3/10/2023: “The RESTRICT Act isn’t about banning TikTok—it’s designed to force a sale”

Lawfareblog.com 3/23/2023: “Two New Bills on TikTok and Beyond: The DATA Act and RESTRICT Act”

Reuters Article 3/28/2023: “If TikTok is banned, brace for epic First Amendment fight”

VICE Article 3/29/2023: The 'Insanely Broad' RESTRICT Act Could Ban Much More Than Just TikTok

Reason Article 3/31/2023: The RESTRICT Act Would Restrict a Lot More Than TikTok

ArsTechnica Article 3/31/2023: Meta can’t buy TikTok, so it hired GOP operatives to run a smear campaign

https://twitter.com/evan_greer/status/1642721929013362688?s=46&t=9ilK5pqP73XDblTtTbb4Qg

https://twitter.com/Imani_Barbarin/status/1640527908790837250?t=nTf7qCAcXB1s1RE-fb2Cwg&s=19

----

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 4 : Crosshair x F!OC

How does one ignore the inevitable? You already know it's useless to try to avoid it, but how do you ignore its presence at your peripherals? The way it taunts you. There is absolutely nothing challenging about being stuck together on an isolated moon completely alone and cut off from the outside universe for an undisclosed amount of time. There should be plenty of wholesome ways to distract oneself... right?

Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Unprotected Piv, brief angst

Authors Notes: Crosshair and Tah'Nyem are like those cats who hiss and yowl at each other through a glass door but have no idea what to do once it's been opened. They chat a little about Tahny's life, love lives, and the things they refuse to talk about. Paging Medic Crosshair.

Word Count: 6700

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Aliens Tawk by Taw Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 4 : Aliens Talk

Unbelievable.

I looked into my empty pack and the giant tear along one of its seams. 

This was designer…

I huffed and slouched back into the co-pilot chair. 

So this means everything but the inner pocket of credits was lost in the factory. Fantastic.

We had already made the jump to hyperspace, though we weren't headed straight to Ga’hah. 

Crosshair had taken a data device from a pouch and popped it into the navigation with a click. An encrypted code set a scrambled coordinate, a safe house, possibly a moon. We won't know till we get there. 

Our ship wasn't making for an extravagant trip, the partially stripped vehicle lacked any food stores and we had limited water. There were cleaning rags piled in the corners. Some crusty, tattered jackets, and a dusty pair of knee boots in the door less storage closet. The life support system was fine, but once again, freezing. 

Still. 

I got up and searched a pile of rags, picking one out that had the least amount of stains, and headed to the small sink. I wet the cloth conservatively and wiped at the dust on my face and arms, hissing as the rag passed over the scrape on my jaw where the intruder's boot had broken skin. I pulled the cloth away to eye the dark bruise that had come in. Seemed like that happened weeks ago now but it had only been about half a day. 

No medical supplies. I'll just have to tough it a while. 

The damp cloth left me more vulnerable to the cold and I would kill for a hot shower. 

And a snack. 

We had avoided saying anything for a bit now. Hunger was making us both snippy and it was safer to just avoid pushing each other's buttons in the small space. Though, I may be blaming hunger where withdrawal was a likely culprit; felt very alone with my thoughts suddenly…

I ran a little more water and rinsed my face, catching eyes watching me in the mirror when I looked up again. 

“What is it?”

I turned at his puzzled expression.

“Is that ink too?”

He gestures at the red markings and shadows around my eyes. I guess he expected it to fade like my arms. 

“A more permanent variety, yes, tattoos but it's cultural. Means I'm of age.”

He paused, but not at the insinuation.

“You have tattoos on your eyes?”

I looked at him for a moment. I admit the tats were subtle, the lines much finer than what used to be traditional. Most just assumed it was dramatic makeup. 

“...as do you?”

The air was awkward now, and I sighed. We need some food. I hope the safe house is fully stocked. 

And has running, hot water. 

I eased myself back into the co-pilot chair across from him, careful with the torn split of the tattered gown and my manifesto of growing aches and pains. I was physically active but not ‘running around blowing up factories,’ active and the extra wear and tear was catching up to me despite my conditioning. There was no spice to dull the aches and throbs and stings that plagued me. 

“Sorry.”

“Hmm.”

I looked up. 

“For what?”

“I should have let you change.”

He was eyeing my bare, scratched up thigh, though that might have been to avoid staring at the stiffened peaks beneath the thin fabric over my chest. It was always so cold on these ships.

“You're right… You should have.”

I shifted, lifting my knee to rest my foot on the cushion of the chair, letting the skirt fall away exposing the curve of my ass against the seat. 

He cleared his throat and turned back to the racing field of hyperspace, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. 

Serves you right.

It was only fair he lived with the consequences. I looked over at him, pristine besides the streaks of dust here and there and contemplated getting my own set of armor. 

And I'd never leave home without it. 

The thought was glib, and mostly an attempt at amusing myself. My mind drifted to other ways to torment my captive audience. An empty can, hurtling through space. Nothing but two chairs, us, and time to kill.

… I'm just hungry. And bored. Behave. 

“So… spice?”

He broke the silence, seemingly desperate for something else to think about besides my shivering, exposed form.  

“I'm not an authority but… what about it?”

“You, uh, like it?”

“Oh, Yeah, can't deny that… it feels nice,”

“You do it a lot?”

“Not that often, The burnout is no joke, but ‘you can't run the underworld in broad daylight without knowing how to do things safely.’... so, it's fine… I know what I'm doing,”

I put on a mock tone of my father for a bit that seemed to amuse the man across from me. 

“Is that what you're doing? Cleaning up the underworld?”

“It's what my Vah’hadarr says he's doing, cleaning up the dirty side of dirty business,”

There was a little venom in that last part as I thought about the recording and the possibilities of my willful ignorance.

“It's his show…I just manage some of the actual business, It’s club and hotel and theater all in one, and it's a chore making sure it all stays legal and without political incidents,”

“Just that, huh?”

“It's a complicated trade! Mostly flimsiwork honestly, but the workers can be absolute divas when they get in a mood,”

I was on a roll now, the irritability of an empty stomach and an unhealthy amount of disassociation had me focused on the mundane topic. 

“they think because they own shares they can petition me to let them drink away all the booze and blow our spice, And Kahtzi needs to learn to not abuse her authority! The shyte she gets me into, Kriffen workplace relationships…You know, it's actually refreshing having a new set of people trying to kill me!”

I threw my hands up before resting on an arm and rubbing my forehead. 

“Who's Kahtzi?”

I was brought out of the foray into my everyday life and back to the bare cockpit.

I thought for a moment, trying to quantify Kahtzi.

“Mm, Assistant, best friend, on and off lover,”

That would have to do, it was more nuanced than that but hard to summarize. 

He made a noise that I couldn't really interpret, eventually asking:

“On?...or off?”

“Currently?”

��

“Guess I simplified too much. We're never really a… couple, Just… two people who take care of each other? There's not really an ‘on’ or ‘off’, we love each other but don’t really work like that… together, long term,”

A beat of silence and him patting his belt, looking for something and then giving up.

“Why not?”

I smirked a little, shooting him a look. 

“Missing the right parts,”

“There's tools for that you know,”

“Oh but those don't satisfy like flesh and blood,”

He smirked back and we fell silent again. 

“How bout you, tough guy?”

“Me what?”

“Ever been in love?”

A pause as he chewed on that…

“I thought so… maybe, once or twice,”

He finally admitted. 

Cute. 

“Not at one of our houses, right? The girls can be convincing but they are paid to act like that,”

He chuckled. 

“And the boys?”

“Less convincing, that… more your thing?”

“Ah… uh, not really,”

“‘Not really’, what's that supposed to mean? Just like to look?”

“Sort of, just… some clones seem to, I just… haven't,” 

“Fascinating,”

I held my hand like it was holding a holo recorder,

“The courtship rituals of clones seems to be one of varied taste and values, furthering evidence of their individuality,”

He looked at me sideways and I felt like maybe I had gone too far.

“Sorry… I had a professor who did field studies, it's kind of a running joke between Kahtzi and I,”

I had let my guard down, and that was probably a little insensitive. I’m not too sure about clone… culture?

“Don’t be… just, seemed familiar,”

The mood had passed though and I leaned back, letting my eyes flutter shut. 

“I hope we get there soon… it's too cold to relax,”

The quiet air hung around us, thicker than before. 

~~~

I woke up, having dozed off eventually, curled up uncomfortably in the large chair. A tarp or drop cloth of some sort had been draped over me as a makeshift blanket. 

My stomach growled and a pang hit me as the acid started to flow. 

I eased my sore legs down, stretching them carefully; glad to see the fatigue hadn't grown into full on pain, and cast about for my unlikely companion.

He was bent over the console where our encryption chip was plugged in, now projecting data and instructions for our arrival. 

I padded over, my slippered feet not making much noise on the metal flooring. My hand slid to the small of his back, signaling I was there, and I leaned to look around him to the projection. 

Stifling a jump, he shifted so I could see.

We were headed to a red sun system, uninhabited. There were warnings about how much tech we used outside of the bunker, apparently any signals picked up by passerby's would be suspect. Keep the beacon on us, but abandon the ship till it's needed again. 

“So just… sit and wait?”

“Mm,”

“This seems a waste of your talents,”

“It is,”

“I once again ask…Why send you?”

“An impeccable record of self control,”

I laughed at that,

“What's so funny?”

I wasn't sure, that just seemed… wildly inaccurate. No reason to think so though, he had in fact been quiet in control of himself. 

“Is it really all that important? It can't be real that you were ordered not to sleep with me, literally…”

He shrugged giving me a look like he wasn't sure what else could be said about it.  

I scoffed at that, irritated at the confusing perimeters of the situation. 

“and to think, if they stuck me with a Reg it wouldn't have been an issue,”

“What do you mean by that?”

The question wasn't accusing, just a hint perplexed at my wording.

… Maybe I said too much. 

I sobered and straightened, trying to think of a way to side step the topic. 

“I tease, I flirt, but it's all an act… it's my job in fact, to seem available but not be, but I don't push things very far… usually, my actual cravings are…”

An enigma? Rare? A reflection of my inflated ego? Either way this is different…

I trailed off, once again too close to the truth, and retreated slightly. He was raising an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish the explanation and not realizing how dangerous it made him look to me, or perhaps, maybe he did. I deflected,

“Isn't it annoying, to have to follow such petty commands?”

Turning, I wandered back towards him, lifting my arms to rest against his chest plate and leaned in close, remembering the darkness that swirled in him, in me…

How much did he see?

“You were in here, what do you think?”

He seemed to know where my mind had went, but my question appeared to bother him more than intended. There's definitely something hiding in there.  

“I think ignoring direct orders has never been an issue for you… what changed?”

We can't keep this up, without any eyes on us it seemed idiotic to keep denying ourselves. I continued, pressed to him as I was, I had to look up to catch his eyes. 

“Is the Empire really such a loving mistress?”

“...I need to be trusted,”

It was the truth, but vague enough to not answer anything. He did something… I saw it, and he's been in that swirling storm ever since. 

Was it worth it?

There was a harsh beep from the encryption chip warning that we would be dropping out of warp. 

I snapped out of the spell that had begun to fall over us and went back to sit in my chair, strapping in.  He followed shortly.

~~~

The moon under the red sun was eerily quiet. Most of the surface was water besides a few flat islands covered with coniferous pines and ferns. All that could be heard was a gentle lap of water, there were no animals, no insects… no breeze.  

The sky was a deep purple and my skin looked red under the dark filter of the alien sun. Everything else was black. The trees, the ground, the beach of smooth flat stones. 

We had been walking a while, having set down on the opposite side of the designated island as instructed, and were making our way to the bunker that should be waiting for us. Our footsteps made small shuffles and clatters as we moved down the beach, Crosshair holding the beacon out as it flashed quicker and quicker as we found our way. 

I held my tattered slippers in my hand as we picked our way along. The moon was temperate. The sun, large in the sky, cast a moderate amount of heat making the stones comfortably warm beneath my feet. 

“I wonder if it's safe to swim…”

“Should be, but I wouldn't trust it,”

I looked over the smooth expanse of water to our left. The waves were so gentle the horizon looked flat and reflective, the red ring of the sun reflecting in the inky sea. 

The beacon chirped as we came even to a path cut into the ferns and turned to follow it, eventually coming to a large metal alcove jutting from the ground. Crosshair tapped the device to a panel on the door triggering a loud mechanical whine that cracked the otherwise pristine soundscape, and the door was opening. 

The first chamber was dark, the walls thick and insulating. We walked a ramp downward, about twenty paces, before coming to another barrier. 

This door clicked and a blue light illuminated the space, scanning us from floor to ceiling. 

“Welcome. Tah’nyem Ra. And. Companion.”

There was a loud swish and we were let into a small, furnished apartment. The kitchenette and living area were equipped with the usual amenities. Thick ventilation and a bank of carbon scrubbers were recessed by the door, explaining the thickness of the walls.

How well can that actually scrub all the emissions? Where do they go?

With a small electric hum, the lights came on warm and low, and a screen flashed over the couch projecting a feed of the surface. It was all rather lush, despite its size, fine fabric and intricate metal work everywhere you looked. 

A low whistle came from beside me and I turned to look at the soldier, not seeming too out of place against the black tones and shadowy aesthetic of the safe house furnishings.

“This’ll do,”

I dropped my tattered bag to the floor where it hit with a clunk, the credits and old boots from the shuttle landing hard on the tile, and made for the kitchen. 

Please please please

Popping the pantry I laughed in relief as I took in the rows of food stores. Nothing too fancy but it was more than enough for two people to live fat and happy for a while. 

I grabbed two packages and headed to the rehydrator tucked on the wall, catching Crosshair's profile still standing awkwardly by the couch. 

“Relax, Commander, Mission accomplished,”

“Not yet, we still have to get you home,”

He looked at the data stick in his hand, now quiet and dark. It would blink again once new arrangements have been made for me. Which, if my parents left the same day using civilian travel plans…

“We could have days before Vah’hadarr lands on Ga’hah,”

And who knows how long he wants me underground…

“Go on, take a shower or something, you earned it… and probably need it,”

Turning back to prepping food, I popped the packages open and tossed them into the machine, hitting the appropriate buttons so that it started humming softly. 

Crosshair hadn't made much progress, now casting his eyes about the clean, black living room and down to his guns and armor dusted in brilliant red sand. I rolled my eyes, wondering what had him so… of kilter.

“Just put it by the door, someone will probably clean and restock this place later,”

He jerked into motion and started stacking his things by the door frame, pieces of armor plating coming off in loud clacks against the hum of the cooking food. 

I leaned against the counter and eyed the sleek under suit that was emerging from beneath the plates. 

Doesn't take much imagination from there does it…

He moved to remove the belt and codpiece and I turned swiftly to look at the humming rehydrator instead. 

Well that was unlike me…

What is this? Blossoming respect?

Ugh, gotta get rid of that…

Out of the corner of my eye I traced his movements as he crossed my peripheral and into the back room of the bunker. 

I checked the timer on the food and followed, waiting a moment to hear the water start in the fresher before leaning against the door. 

“Hey, pass me your body suit, I'm sure there's a washer in here,”

There wasn't a reply but it wasn't because he didn't hear me.

“It's okay, I'll find a robe or something while you wash,”

A few seconds and the door opened, him in a towel, avoiding my gaze and holding out the black suit.

I took it and the door zipped shut again, quickly. 

There was a closet next to the refresher door and I clicked it open. More towels. Next cabinet had two robes hung inside and I grabbed them both turning back to the fresher and hung one on a hook near the frame, taking the other for myself as I padded back into the short hall. 

There were two bunks opposite the door to the room and another thin door. I opened it to find the expected utilities, tossing the body suit in. Listening to make sure the shower was still running I stripped out of my tattered nightgown and tossed it in as well. 

Wishing I hadn't let him go first, I slipped the robe on, committed to filling my belly anyways. Which,

A beep could be heard from the kitchenette and I wandered back to retrieve my much needed calories, taking the two rolls from the machine and finding a plate to leave one out for Crosshair. I took a bite out of mine and savored the protein and grains, though they could use a bit more seasoning, I was starving. I eyed Cross’s portion and grabbed two more packs from the cupboard. 

That is not gonna be enough.

The faint sound of running water stopped and I scarfed down the rest of my food, eager to shower myself. 

My pace towards the bedroom faltered as the door opened and the tall clone hesitantly emerged, the gray waffle knit doing about as much to hide his frame as the tight black under suit. 

I glanced down at his exposed calves and marveled at their definition for a moment.

“Uh, there's food on the table, more cooking if you're still hungry,”

I pushed past him into the room, wedging him out and shut the door. 

Days shut in alone together and I'm supposed to behave myself. Be’llahl, what did I do to deserve this?

I knew what I did. 

I looked through the rest of the storage and found some silk button ups and trousers. Nothing my size. I checked a few more drawers, but the only female clothing I found were skimpy lingerie pieces. Sighing, I grabbed one of the large shirts and made for the fresher. 

Kriffs sake Vah'hadarr, you sure you don't want me shacking up with soldiers?

Be'llahl or not, I wanted nothing to do with thoughts on why my father's safe house was stocked with such sundries.

The water was already warm, and I stepped into the spray with a relieved groan.

My scrapes and scratches stung as the water flowed over them and I liberally coated myself with soap, feeling like the dust and sweat might never come off. 

At least it's decent stuff. 

My mind drifted as the creamy suds rinsed off of me. Mostly to the brief flash of Crosshair, framed in the door in nothing but a towel. I hadn't really processed the visual but now that I was clean and undistracted by hunger it came back in a vivid assault. 

Two days?... At least. Does today count?

I turned the handle, cutting off the warm stream and stood in the stall, letting the water bead and run down my skin, enjoying the feeling of it a moment before reaching for the towel. 

Finally dry, I carefully slipped on the black dress shirt. It was the style my father wore, the slim cut almost framing my torso, and fell to about mid thigh, reminding me how short I was compared to most Ga’haiians. I thought about rolling up the sleeves but the material fought me on it so they stayed long.

I hung my towel next to the other damp cloth already drying next to the door and stepped back out into the bedroom, catching my reflection in the mirror. 

I'd say the look was seductive, if it wasn't for the bruises and scratches that patterned my exposed legs, the oversized article hanging off my hips in a way that complimented my slim build.

Well, better than lingerie…

Wandering out to the living area I found Cross at the counter on one of the stools, halfway through the third roll and cleaning the smaller of his guns. 

He looked up from his task, eyes traveling from exposed knees to my dripping hair as he took another bite.  

What the kriff now?

I rocked from heel to toe a few times in the awkward seconds, but he was pushing away the cloth his work was organized on and tapped the stool closest to him before finishing the rest of his food. 

Closing the distance at an unsure pace, I slid onto the bar stool indicated and he pulled over another box. He had found the medical kit, popping it open now to retrieve a canister of bacta spray. 

“Oh, I can do that myse-”

He shot me a look and I shut up as he cupped my chin to examine the bruised abrasion on my jawline. 

A warm sensation spread over the wound as he carefully applied the slimy substance. 

“How did you manage to take such a beating…”

The wonder came under his breath as he moved the fabric from my shoulder, pinching a gash together and applying more spray. 

“I can handle a little pain… enjoy it even-” 

I winced, letting free a small whimper as he lifted my sore leg and assessed the damage there. 

“That I can believe,”

A sigh, more spray. 

“Some escort I turned out to be…”

“Don't sweat it, I'm breathing, even have both arms still in the sockets…”

Our eyes met briefly before he finished and set my leg back onto the foot rest of the stool. 

“Those should be healed by morning,”

“Well, thanks doc, what would I do without you,”

He snorted dryly and pulled his gun back, patting at his waist, making a face like he forgot he was in a bathrobe. 

Oh!

I got up and started opening drawers in the kitchen. Finding a little box by the cutlery marked in Ga'haiian.

I triumphantly pulled out a couple travel vials of toothpicks, and rolled them across the counter where he was still perched. They were gratefully snatched up, one quickly finding its way between his teeth. He leaned into his work with more enthusiasm now that he could concentrate and I slipped a few more vials into my bag's inner pocket, moving it from where it was still discarded on the floor.

Wonder when he managed to lose them.

At least he was keeping himself busy; it was my turn to figure out how to spend the time now that my creature comforts had been met. Well, most of them.

Finally free to really roam about the space I realized there wasn't a lot to look at. The living area was made up of a low, deep couch made of a soft black leather, a console with speakers beneath the false window, and another screen housing facing the couch. The kitchenette was barely a hallway, separated from the rest of the space by the thin island counter Crosshair was leaning over. Then the short passage with bunks and utilities to one side and the proper room with the refresher on the other. 

The bunker had no access to the outside holonet, its system self contained and concealed from any scans or probing. This meant all entertainment was limited to whatever was preloaded into the base's memory. 

I scrolled through the holopad, reading through the meager selection of games, films, and music. There… wasn't much. 

Wonderful, we can spend our time playing cards.

I selected an old Diva Shaliqua track and the hypnotic tones of the Theelin’s voice poured from the speakers, making the space more familiar and inviting. 

I turned to Crosshair gesturing to the speakers, and he nodded approval. 

“You a fan of the Divas?” 

“Not really a fan of anything,”

“Mm… Kahtzi’s related you know, not that that's saying much, I think all Theelin are related at this point,”

Kahtzi was a human Theelin hybrid, and would have been rather difficult to meet if I hadn't attended such a prestigious university. There were only about a million or so left in the galaxy. 

There were nested cabinets all around the room and I popped them open systematically, checking their contents. Most were empty, but one contained a few soft knit blankets. I carried one back to the couch and sank into it, pulling the knit tight around me. 

Exhaustion was catching up to me quickly, the nap on the tiny shuttle didn't do much in the way of rest. The warm living room and soft music were lulling me into a state of true relaxation.

It wasn't long till my eyes grew too heavy to keep open, and I fell into a deep sleep. 

~~~

Where's that cultural dress I had made for the meeting, Tah’nyem? 

…

No it's not revealing

…

That's the style, li’ha, the clients appreciate the care we pay to their customs.

… 

Wear. It. 

…

It was dark when I opened my eyes again, the stereo and most of the lights turned off. 

I couldn't see Crosshair, but I could hear his breathing in the direction of the bunks. It didn't take long for me to figure that that was what woke me. The breathing was labored, almost panting, irregular. I got up with my blanket and tip-toed over to the hall to check on him. 

As suspected, his eyelids were twitching rapidly and a sheen of sweat glinted in the remaining light spilling over from the kitchen. I thought about waking him, but the brown eyes fluttered open on their own. He looked disoriented for a moment, but quickly refocused on me standing near the foot of the bunk. 

“What are you doing?”

I sat next to his knees. 

“Just seeing what the fuss is about, you remember what you were dreaming?”

He was quiet for a while. 

“No,”

It was a lie. 

“You know, if you were to talk about the shadows that swim behind those eyes… who would be safer than someone you'll know so briefly?”

That didn't seem to placate him, but he forced himself into something resembling ease. 

“It’s… I'm fine,”

I reached over and took his hand, turning it to massage the palm as I had on the transport only a day or so ago and the ease seeped into him, becoming real. 

“You want to go back to sleep?”

“No,”

Genuine this time. 

“Me neither…”

I cast my eyes about the space, now feeling stiflingly small. 

“Come on,”

I tugged his arm, getting up from the bunk and letting my blanket fall to the floor. 

“Where, exactly?”

“Let's get some fresh air,”

“Prince-... Tah’Nyem, we have to stay within the walls,”

It was the first time he had used my name rather than the more derogatory form of endearment and it sounded wrong in its formality. 

“Tahny,”

“What?”

“Call me Tahny… my full honorific feels… too heavy on your lips,”

No one really called me that anymore other than my mother, but…

“We have to stay inside… Tahny,”

My heart fluttered. The childhood nickname sounded different, colored by his voice, and it only spurred my resolve. 

“Anything a scanner can pick up has to stay down here, empty your pockets and it'll be fine,”

He still resisted. 

“They can scan for life forms…”

“The trees will throw them off,”

I turned, still holding his hand, to be even with him sitting up on the bunk. 

“Please, Crosshair?”

Since we're on a first name basis now…

A little tremor went through him and he sighed, moving to get up but pulling his hand from mine to close the robe that had come undone while he slept. 

Together, we left the mechanical hums and whines of the bunker doors, making our way back out into the dark, red stained landscape. 

The sun was positioned differently, but nothing else had changed since we had passed through hours ago. The rocks were warm on my bare feet, and the water lapped softly against the surreal, black backdrop of stones and trees. 

I could feel his wary presence, calm but untrusting, scanning the horizon. He had grabbed his rifle, and now held it lazily to his side while he took in the alien moon. 

Turning back to the sea, I breathed deeply, expecting to smell salt, but all that came to me was the vaguely green scent of ferns. How good it felt to be outside. 

“I've never seen a world like this, have you?”

“Red suns I've seen, but like this? Not… exactly,”

“New for both of us then?”

A noise of affirmation. 

I stood a moment, taking it in, breathing the fresh air and toying with the buttons of the shirt I was draped in. 

“I wonder what else we have in common…”

I didn't need to use much imagination, having been forcibly dragged through each other's minds. We're both filled with dark, swirling thoughts of people not their own. An ever growing resentment for being perceived, thoughts racing in an ever tightening circle of how to be free of… well, everything.

Death wish?

It seemed like an accurate label, and its hold was on both of us. We flirt with danger in different ways… but we were just begging for one instance, one moment, where maybe the danger will win. End the torture, the loneliness. Give us our freedom. All it took was once. Was one bad decision really better than another?

“Put your gun down.”

“No,”

A pause of consideration,

“Why?”

“You won't need it.”

A moment passed as he fought with abandoning his physical sense of security. Eventually, I heard him put the stock on the ground, apparently leaning it against one of the trees at the edge of the narrow beach. 

With a deft hand, I worked the buttons down my shirt free of their clasps and let the fabric fall with a slither onto the warm stones. 

“Tahny!”

Alarm in his voice. 

“Quiet.”

The command made him rock back from whatever action he meant to take to end this. 

I turned to look over my shoulder. He was only a few paces away, transfixed in a sort of befuddled way. 

“Why do we give them everything?”

“W-what?”

“Everyone else. Those who control us, own us as you will, just… accepting that if they decide to change our lives, abandon us, use us, it's in their power to do so, and yet- what do they let us have for ourselves? What do they think of us?… they don't even see us,”

He didn't answer, I didn't need him to. 

“Listen… you can walk away, go inside, forget this and me the moment we part ways,”

A long moment of nothing but the lap of water…

“..or?”

It was so quiet. I turned and slowly closed the distance, pressing against him, feeling how tense he suddenly was. 

“You can help me remember this beautiful night in a way that would always be ours,”

His breath was carefully even. 

I looked into his eyes, pleading. 

“How many times will you throw yourself at death till it finally snags you? Would you really go off to die without having me? Never knowing…”

He still teetered on the edge of duty and reason but had run out of excuses. His eyes darkened as I reminded him of our grim realities, stoking an anger that reflected what was burning through my core. I kept pushing,

“I don't know how you work but for me… it would be torture to never know you,”

I had my answer when his arms snaked around me, crushing me to him as his mouth found mine, clamping to me with a sudden, desperate hunger; Ravenous to take, to have, to fight back in a way that would bring a smile to Be'llahl.

Hands running over his chest in return, I slipped the robe from his shoulders helping him to catch up to my nudity. 

His fingers roved down my hips, giving my ass a firm squeeze before he carefully lowered himself to the ground pulling me into his lap, never breaking the kiss that was slowly consuming us in flames of lust and hidden rage. 

I moaned into his mouth in need as I felt his cock stiffening against my thighs. Taking him in hand, I felt the weight of him, the length against my wrist as I gripped the base. I couldn't wait much longer. 

“Please, Crosshair…”

My flesh was on fire, his hands on me sending waves of tingles to my brain churning me into a sensitive mess. He stroked his fingers up my spine and I arched against him with a gasp. Using my free hand to cup his neck, thumb caressing the edge of the ragged scar over his ear, he took the opportunity to bite at a nipple that had come in range. 

This earned him another pitiful moan and I stroked his length wanting it inside of me. 

With a low growl he gathered my arms and held them behind my back easily with one hand. The other slid over my hip and down between my legs, gently caressing the tender petals he found there making me tremble as he coaxed the slickness of my arousal to drip onto his waiting member. 

He moaned low, the same need consuming him, and he guided himself to my entrance. There was no resistance as he lowered me down to take him fully, pulling me into him till he was sheathed in me, grinding against my slick and swollen lips. 

We both sighed in relief before our mouths met again, less frantic now. Taking the time to explore the sensation of us, pulling back only to look at each other, bodies now interlocked. He was beautiful beneath me, naked and drenched in red light…

I squeezed my thighs. Rocking myself on his lap, desperate for some friction, he tightened his grip on my wrists. His other arm wrapped around me firmly but he was letting me take the lead. Cross’s lips gently brushed my forehead creating a strange juxtaposition with the rough, dominant hold around my bucking hips. 

The stones under my knees shifted with me as I rode him, his hands guiding my bouncing body. He was trembling, but focused, not wanting this to end too soon. I could feel the pleasure shifting into something more wild as I reached the first threshold. He pulled me down onto him suddenly, slamming into me, driving me over the waiting edge. 

The climax took me quickly, days of tension making me easy quarry, and my knees squeezed his hips as I let out a strangled cry, any other thoughts forcibly scrubbed from my brain as I shook in his hold. My desire was only deepening. I was starting to fear the physical contact wasn't going to be enough any more. I wanted him in my mind again, clawing against my soul. 

“Look at me,”

My eyes fluttered open, not realizing I had closed them. I drank in his face, the rapture in it, the red sun reflected in his eyes. 

This will have to do…

He let go of my arms, letting his left hand drift to my hip while his right trailed up to my neck, holding it gently as he laid back onto the stones. He thrusted up, increasing the power from below. 

The scoop of my hips became violent as I met each of his strokes, arms now free to use his chest  for balance. I dug my fingertips into the firm pecs as pleasure pushed the sense from me; It escaped in wispy moans that carried across the rippling water. It didn't take long for another orgasm to rip through me, harder this time. My muscles clamped down on him threatening to push him free as I cried out, echoing into the quiet, alien night.

I didn't dare look away. With him holding my neck, I couldn't if I wanted to. It was all intensity rolling off of him and a rumbling through his breastbone, pleased with my writhing form holding his eyes so desperately.

“Oh Cross… li’nen, you feel so good,”

The world was spinning, he shifted us, skillfully flipping to be on top of me. My back pressed into the warm stones and I adjusted, wrapping my legs around his hips as he continued with careful, measured humping. 

No… that's not right.

“Don't, ah! hold back,”

His rhythm faltered but he didn't change pace. 

“I don't want to, ha-hurt you,”

“It's okay… I can take it, just… I want it all Cross-hah, give me everything,”

He took a deep, shaking breath… then roughly thrust into me. His chest pinned me as he scooped forward in a full bodied motion taking up a slower, harder rhythm.

I hadn't realized how much he had been restraining himself and I groaned at the new force. It took a moment to acclimate before becoming comfortable. I remembered what was said about his enhanced strength…

I'll have more bruises tomorrow for sure,

The thought was wiped clean as my body shuddered with each hammering thrust, any jolt of pain becoming pleasure as it was lost in the labyrinth of my quivering nerves. All I could do was wrap my arms and legs tighter about him. 

I was getting close again. Listening to his soft grunts as he ravaged me was just as erotic as the physical sensation. It felt like I was floating, eyes glazed, no longer capable of much sound at all. I clung to him, his breath, his heartbeat, the only thing that was real anymore. 

A gasp finally escaped me as everything became brighter. I claimed his lips again as I came, nails biting into his back and legs locking about his hips as my muscles flexed against him wanting him as deep as possible.

It was finally too much for him and his breath caught as he lost the battle with his own pleasure. He pressed back against me, letting my knees pull him deeper as he twitched inside, wracked in his own orgasm, a soft groan against my lips,

“Tahny…”

Before he collapsed over me. The hormones fled, leaving him spent and panting. 

I stroked his back as he rested his forehead against mine and we breathed heavily… together, reduced to our most vulnerable forms. 

Two frightened children, lost and adrift on the edge of the galaxy, grasping for a friend in the dark. 

Shhh... *ushers you away*

[bomberqueen17]

quick turnaround

The first chicken processing day is this coming tuesday. so we got back into town around 7pm last night, and I immediately put a load of laundry in.

This is mostly me wittering about chores and medical stuff, so, cut for boring, LOL.

it's cold and rainy here so I hung last night's laundry up on drying racks in the guest room, so mostly it is dry this morning-- delicates, so they didn't need to dry in the sun really-- and now this morning i've put in a second load and it's already on drying racks and some is on the line, it's not raining but it's cloudy so it'll dry slow, but like, trousers and t-shirts do better on the line than on racks. Yes I do own a dryer-- a gas dryer actually-- but it beats the fuck out of my clothes and I don't like to use it if I can in any way avoid it. (Mostly I use it to tumble towels and dress shirts for fifteen minutes, and then I hang them out once they're steaming and hot, and they dry without wrinkles that way. Yes I'm on the OCD spectrum, yes it mostly manifests about laundry. Hilariously, my farm BIL is also on the OCD spectrum, farther along it toward where it's actually a problem [mine is SO mild I don't claim it as a disorder at all, i just have things i Care About for Reasons], and has done tons of work on himself and tries to mask it, but once I understood that about him I understood that most of our lil workplace quarrels were our compulsions clashing, so I started making more concerted efforts to decide when to bow to his compulsions and when to advocate for mine, which in many cases are informed by superior knowledge as I've worked in food service more than him. I bow to him more on cleaning now because he does have prior janitorial experience. Unless I can prove he's wrong, LOL.)

I went off Ritalin mostly while on vacation-- I took it the morning I went fabric shopping because I thought it might help me actually make decisions, and that went well so maybe it worked. But that means I have extra pills, so I'm going to try to today take a morning and midday dose, while I have So Much To Do to prepare for the coming couple of weeks, and see if that plus the structure of this massive to-do list help me get anywhere. I just feel like if I can have this data before my next $300 3-minute psych consult I'll make more progress. Ritalin is better than Adderall (less brutal comedown, less getting "stuck")-- I *think*, but it's hard to tell. Vyvanse was also very hard to evaluate, is the problem, because that one I never did have any spare pills so I could never try an effective dose.

I do get it, i do get not giving me high doses when I'm so unsupervised, but-- for all of the medications, the first couple of days were weird and I had trouble hydrating and I was jittery and stuff, but it went away so quickly, I would have been fine with "take half dose two days, then ramp up to effective dose and see how it works" type directions, instead of "take what we know absolutely will be too little for you for two weeks and then come back and try to guess whether it helped", which has just meant I don't really have much data to on on here.

But. I've spent almost forty years needing this kind of medication and not able to access it at all, so I'm reminding myself that this is very rapid progress really.

So I figure I'll do a double dose today, a single tomorrow while I'm driving (maybe I will take that sole dose at midday, since driving is easy and boring but then I have work I need to get done all afternoon), and then I'll try either single or double dosing for the week of farm work until I can get my next appointment, depending how many pills I have. I want to be consistent but lol. It's not in my nature and it's not in my circumstances, so it can be a goal.

I also should write down what I realized about my sciatic nerve. I was joking that my knee caught a haunting in New Orleans somehow. Because it went from being a classic sciatic nerve pain situation-- starting in hip, through back of leg, ending at back of knee-- and wound up just being this horrible pinching pain right inside my knee, like not in the joint but somehow manifesting in a dimension extending from the back of my patella into Hell somehow-- and it was keeping me awake both when trying to nap during the day and also at night when trying to sleep. So I gave up on sleeping and sat on the couch to bitch about it in the complaints channel on the Discord where I'm mostly at home (it was a witcher server and over the last two or three years has mutated into just this ragtag group of us bitching about unrelated things and occasionally dumping fanworks on each other, sometimes about unrelated media)--

but here I'm gonna let you in on a secret, which is that complaining works sometimes. What? Yes. So in order to elicit maximal sympathy from my pocket friends by describing the problem really well (they're very good pocket friends, and many of them know things so describing stuff well sometimes means they have good advice, but even if not, I take satisfaction in communicating well, so I at least feel better about having done that), I really started paying attention to the pain, and I realized that what was happening was that it was sort of slowly throbbing on a cycle. I always knew where it was, but then it would get painful enough that I felt I had to move and change position, and it would stay at that level of pain for three or four seconds, and then taper off until I only just was aware of it, and then it would repeat-- and it was on a thirteen-to-fifteen-second cycle, and this is the crucial thing, it was unaffected by movement. I had been tossing and turning because what would happen was that it hurt badly enough that I felt I had to move it, and I would move and the pain would ease, and I would try to settle into a position, and then the pain would come back, and my half-asleep exhausted self thought that it was something I was doing. So it meant I was constantly moving, which meant I could not sleep. I had finally gotten out of bed and was alternating stretching and pacing, which seemed to be helping but then it was coming back, and the pacing sure as fuck wasn't helping me sleep, and I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong, until finally I stood still and timed it, and then moved and timed it, and realized it was the same.

Realizing that it was happening regardless of movement made me able to hold still while it hurt most acutely, and then sure enough it faded away. And once I knew that moving wouldn't help, I could ride out the urge to move. And once I wasn't constantly trying to find a comfortable position, I could rest. And once I was resting, I could fall asleep. Because this is the annoying thing-- the pain wasn't that bad, even. It's not the agony it has been in the past. I could move through it, easily. It was just too much to hold still through, until I realized that was what I needed to be doing.

So anyway-- traveling home it was mostly fine, it does not like standing in lines, and mostly i sat as much as possible, which isn't good for me long-term but i know over the next couple of weeks i will be doing a shitton of walking and standing so. we'll figure out tactics then.

so along with the ritalin i will be working out my ideal regimens of ibuprofen, aleve, and weed, LOL. Routine! I can make a routine. I can hinge my routine off other people's, which is what works well for me at the farm, and i can see if i can master the art of the amphetamines and maybe get some of my shit done.

Unfortunately all I want to do this week is sew, I watched all of the tourists and locals in NOLA and looked at what they were wearing and now know exactly what I want to make.

and i don't have time to do any of it. but. if i think about it and make concrete plans, i already own much of the fabric and most of the patterns i need. so i can do this. But I'll post separately about the Fashion Lewks I want to do, LOL.

I won't see my physical therapist again until like maybe early June. I counted it out and I've been doing physical therapy for about sixteen weeks at this point. My sister graduated from her physical therapy program and is out on her own now, having hugely improved. I can tell the bad hip is much improved but not healed-- sitting on the plane yesterday someone walked by and bumped my knee and it absolutely did make the cartilage flap go "pop" so that's not healed, but it hurt a lot less than that sort of thing used to. At the last appointment I had, the PT said I should just keep doing the exercises as my circumstances allow, and if they're too easy just increase reps etc., and we'd re-evaluate when I finally saw her again, because obviously I've had all these underlying cascading problems that can only be slowly solved by getting slowly stronger, so who knows.

I don't have concrete goals for that but I would really just. Like to be not-disabled, mostly. Every person has limits, every person is going to have to sit down sometimes, every person is going to have to think hard and make choices about what they do with their bodies-- it's just part of getting into your mid-forties, really-- so I can't just set my goal as being able to do whatever whenever. But I would like to be able to walk for longer distances, I would like to be able to wait in a line without paying for it for days, I would like to just generally be in better shape. So I guess I'll try to work toward that.

idk. and sometime in july my doctor wants me to re-test my fasting blood glucose because the only thing she cares about of my health is that i'm fat and she thinks putting me on metformin will make me not-fat. you'd think she'd have had some interest in diagnosing the pain that was making me unable to exercise but that was not on her radar i guess.

anyway. that's what i'm going to do to get me to june. it's all farm time for the rest of the month and i'm going to do physical therapy and take meth. we'll see how that goes.

[seventeenlovesthree]

so, apparently there's plenty of death symbolism/metaphors surrounding, are you interested in elaborating that? including "indirect" death like spiritual death, character assassination or death of identity, somethjng along those lines?

- death symbolism surrounding Taichi, sorry, somehow I pressed ask , sorry for my blunder

It's fine, no worries, I already assumed that it was referring to Taichi! If you think about it, several characters in Digimon Adventure have been dealing with the subject of "death" one way or another, most in direct association with someone (human or Digimon) close to them.

Now, if we look at our favourite main character, riddled with traumatic childhood experiences and questionable coping mechanisms, there is a bunch of instances where he had to deal with the potential of death happening in front of him or CAUSING death himself - either to others or himself -, so it should not be surprising that, at some point, he may have dissociated himself (mostly subconsciously, I'd say) from being a Chosen Child. Whiiiich may or may not have led to Kizuna's events, but yeah, it's count the instances first, shall we. TW: death, mental health.

The whole Hikarigaoka incident: While Hikari was scared too, she was still much younger than him and couldn't grasp the implications of what was happening there, while Taichi did EVERYTHING in his power to protect her and himself from not getting crushed by the two Kaijus in front of them.

Him almost causing Hikari to die due to his (still existing) sense of childlike innocence: Yes, she was sick, but he thought she was already on the way to recovery and only took her to play football to cheer her up. That's where he first had to face that good intentions don't always lead to positive outcomes...

The SkullGreymon fiasco: Again, he intended to do good for the sake of the group, but overlooked the bigger picture and became reckless, thus causing his partner to evolve into a literal symbol of death and decay in the process. Something that may have happened to the ENTIRE group if the Digimon hadn't run out of energy...

The electrical fence and its aftermath: This one has several follow-up points, but I still think it's suitable to summarize them all here - first of all, there is him being confronted with the idea of actually dying by getting electrocuted after he was 100% convinced that nothing they did mattered, since they were "just data in a computer". Once again, he was being reckless and careless - not only did it lead to almost killing himself, but in extension, also dooming Sora, whom he failed to save. Overcoming his cowardice, finding his own sense of courage eventually led to victory - but also led to him disappearing and roughly 50% of the remaining group ended up thinking that he had actually died in the process. Meanwhile, he was back in the real world and had to choose between saving only himself, or everyone else as well... And we all know how the answer to this turned out to be.

Him almost causing Hikari to die AGAIN: Of course there have been several instances of death before and after they re-entered the Digital World again, leading to the eventual "fallout" between Taichi and Yamato in regards to how they should deal with the immediate danger at hand... But the most devastating instance here was Taichi reliving his early childhood trauma, fearing that, by taking Hikari with them, he made the same mistakes again, acting thoughtlessly, not considering the circumstances... He has been acting self-sacrificial for the sake of the group before, but it's this arc that shows that he is actually ready to die if he can at least manage to save everyone else in the process (hence why he ended up fighting with Koushirou as well, because Taichi forbade him from taking on any pain himself and Koushirou was having none of it).

Let's not forget that, during the events of Our War Game - and all the follow-up movies, especially Diablomon Strikes Back -, he was also under immense pressure: To save the entirety of Tokyo from getting blown up by a missile and every other side-effect that Diablomon may have caused in traffic or elsewhere... And once again, his own hotheadedness may almost have caused his partner to get killed, to the sense of guilt plays a huge role in here as well...

02 portrays Taichi as matured, it showed that, while he still occasionally needs to get reminded of it, he KNEW that he has to make uncomfortable decisions sometimes; of course he almost despaired when his partner was being captured and corrupted, but he also realized that he may have had to sacrifice him for the greater good; he needed to remind Hikari that the new kids never had to deal with the same kind of death exposure before, but warned her - with quite a grim, but serious expression - that they would have to face it eventually. He grew aware of their duty throughout all this time, through all these experiences, and it's not pretty, but at this point, he was still ready to act.

Tri picks that point of the story back up again by mirroring Meiko's fate with his own - at least to some degree. Once more, they had to face the possibility of having to kill a beloved partner Digimon and at this point, Taichi was questioning whether or not recklessly sacrificing infrastructure and lives for the sake of fighting was the "right way" to deal with everything. It may have felt a bit like recycled conflict at this point, but it's been several years by now, and Taichi is, overall, contemplating his life choices, contemplating his diplomatic future, the status quo AND his "duty" as Chosen Child.

It's through the course of Tri that he: Watched parts of the city get destroyed ONCE AGAIN, almost died through the course of several fights and an earthquake-like blow, had to witness his teacher - whom he greatly looked up to - sacrifice himself, covered in wounds and blood, to save him AND their missing friends... And all that after Daigo told him that they lied to protect them and that he should move on and create a better future... Thus, Taichi decided to go for the kill again. Again, he didn't like it, again, he got reminded by Hikari of all people how terrible it all is, but he knew that he had to.

Kizuna chose a similar premise to Meiko's once again - first of all, if we look at everything above, is it really a wonder that Taichi probably developed some fatigue? We all know, see, can tell how much he loves Agumon - hence why he did end up horrified by the prospect of losing him. And as I pointed out before, he did use the fighting for the sake of having a purpose, because... Who else was he if he couldn't "lead" anyone anymore?

And since the rest of his young adult life was pretty directionless... Can you really blame him for it? The amount of nightmares, the tiredness, the PTSD the previous experiences may have caused in him could never be treated by a "normal" therapist - who could ever relate to all of these things that sound incredibly supernatural and like nothing an adolescent should have shouldered all by himself? Heck, he isn't even able to talk to his friends about it at all (even if stageplay!Agumon told him to!), just swallowing it all by himself, dealing with the thought spiraling in his head on his own.

Hearing Menoa tell him that she lost her partner, making it all sound like a huge punishment for making the wrong choices... It may have rang several alarm bells in Taichi. How often must he have dreaded making the wrong choices? How much guilt must he have felt for the sake of Hikari, Meiko, Daigo, everyone he temporarily let down by hesitating or acting out in the wrong moment, let it be Yamato, Sora, Koushirou, Daisuke... Now there's this young woman who asked him to figure out a way to fix a problem she couldn't herself, a problem that may separate him from his soulmate forever and for what? Because he grew unsure of himself, because he faltered, because looking at all his friends, who found their paths, had become painful and tiring. Because, even after coming to temporary answers, he didn't know who he was and who he wanted to be anymore.

He had to choose to fight so many times, he sacrificed himself as much as he could. Then there was the prospect of fighting Menoa with two possible outcomes: losing would lead to his own death (or "loss of self" since he would have his consciousness be trapped forever in a neverending dream of his childhood), winning would lead to the death of his partner anyway... It must have been dreadful.

When it comes to the different kinds of "deaths" you mentioned, I will try to summarize this quite shortly, even though they're definitely interesting angles.

I believe that a "death of identity" is basically what I have outlined above - while it mainly focused on Taichi's (decline of) mental health, which may also have resulted in a tendency to isolate himself, Taichi's journey is basically some kind of Lion King analogy, where he starts as your typical head-through-wall protagonist, but has to deal with the aftermath of cowardice and the consequences of his choices - and does so by running away from the pain FIRST. From himself and his responsibilities. He also could have chosen to let Menoa win and let his consciousness be turned back into that of a carefree child... But he chose not to let that happen.

Because deep down inside, there IS his path. There are his values, his persistence, his belief system. He's been on the brink of a breakdown, but it's all there. Hence why I really, really, REALLY want to WATCH him getting to his "Simba strikes back" phase at some point, since we only ever saw it implied by the end of each, Tri, the stageplay and Kizuna. We KNOW he will push back, but we have yet to see in what way, if he ever got therapy and how he's actually doing - mentally, physically, spiritually.

Speaking of which, "spiritual death" is a bit harder for me to grasp in his context, but considering how his sense of guilt and fear of cowardice have led him to (temporarily) turn away more and more from his true self, his natural sense of courage and more positive, outgoing attitude... It all leads me back to him having lost his sense of self. I will never forget the feeling of how my stomach dropped during the "depressed adult" scenes in Kizuna. Again, I want to give this movie props for depicting adulthood like that, but it really hurt and felt way too relatable.

And I guess in this sense, we can also talk about "character assassination", because... As you may have noticed, I have linked quite a few analysis posts in this answer, because I have been trying to analyze and understand Taichi for MONTHS now. And sometimes, I feel like I may be trying too hard - who knows me also knows that, while Taichi is one of my favourite characters, I also have my fair share of problems with the AMOUNT of Taichi suffer p*rn in the OG timeline (and I still maintain they only made Taichi as generic as he was in the reboot to avoid these allegations). Some may argue that it's all over the top and that they keep recycling the same conflict (for him and in general) over and over again for the sake of even HAVING a plot to revolve around (which also wouldn't contradict the epilogue too much and actually leading towards it eventually).

For me, it has been interesting to look at all of this in context, as heartbreaking as it is sometimes. Mental health is a serious issue and watching a character like Taichi experiencing at least some form of implied depression after everything he went through tells you that everyone can get affected by this. Even if your experiences won't involve several instances of near-death-situations, even if you are resilient and have a lot of social, mental and physical resources to deal with set-backs or intense, difficult situations... It may still happen. And it's important to show that there are ways to deal with it as well as you can. That there is hope, even if things are not 100% alright.

[poodle-anon]

Poodle Anon’s Fic Directory

Hey there! I’ve written a bunch of stuff that’s had to be on anon, and since to my knowledge you cannot add them to a series within Ao3, I thought it best to collect them all together here in one post with a semi-arbitrary order. Currently doing this all on mobile so things may be a bit off in formatting but they SHOULD all be under link/link on ao3.

Most of my things draw from the Townhouse AU created by the lovely @st0rmyskies, but I do NOT consider my own works to be related to Linked Universe, personally. We serve linkshipping here, sir.

Have fun!

Ceremony

Champion's upbringing was not as easy as some. Extension of lore from Home Sweet Home: The Brave, and the companion piece to HSH:Run, and I suggest you read that one first. Gen fic, Champion-only. HSH/DF compliant. Heavily features hallucinogens/bad trips, cults, and hazing. Oneshot, 3,008 words. Mature

Digital Footprint

Champion returns to his body and all of Wild’s leftover possessions and data. Like nudes. So many of his own nudes that he does not remember taking. Self loving (in many forms) ensues. Champion/Wild. Attempting to be HSH Compliant. Cis!Champion (started before trans!Wild was canonized). My smut magnum opus for some reason. Work in Progress. 5/? chapters, 16,484 words (so far). 18+ (with some sfw chapters)

Breathe Out, So I Can Breathe You In

This one's The Weed Fic (™) where Legend and Champion smoke some, have a heart to heart, and get handsy. Legend/Champion, background Legend/Hyrule. Digital Footprint compliant but not really canon. Semi-HSH compliant. Trans!Champion Oneshot, 4,632 words. PG-13

Once, and In a Fantasy

Champion finds an old video of a fling he had with his longest running crush (Sky) once. Jealousy and jacking off ensue. Wild gets to have all the fun, doesn't he? Sky/Wild, Sky/Champion (unrequited). Digital Footprint compliant but not really canon. Semi-HSH compliant. Cis!Champion. Oneshot, 1,750 words. 18+

What I Am

Champion has a bad time with some of Time’s old habits, and both are terrible at communicating. This is their get-along lakehouse. Followup/hypothetical addition to What We Are. Involves heavy discussion of dysphoria, discomfort, and failsex/sudden safewording. Champion/Time. Based on LMTCOY Oneshot, 2,000 words and counting. Unpublished wip you can ask me about. 18+

Unexpected Obstacles

Champion has some old trauma that dies pretty damn hard, sometimes getting in the way of his sex life. Or: champion accidentally pulls a knife on Twilight during sex and is then sad about it, but everything turns out fine because Twi is a goober. Champion/Twilight. Sorta HSH compliant. Oneshot, 998 words. 18+

Poodle Anon’s Speakeasy Kinktober Collection (2022)

Super secret server I’m in did a kinktober! Had a lot of fun with these, it’s all over the place but just oneshots. Many different ships (primarily HSH), but includes OC Link, and canon-inspired situations 7 chapters, 6,861 words, 18+

Playing With Your Food

Collab with our dear St0rmy! Wild and Dark as vampires, per Blood Lust, give gorey head to their boyfriends. Under-discussed kink, CW for dick squick, and blood/minor gore. There are Flesh Descriptions. Wild/Time (my bit), Twilight/Dark (Stormy’s bit). Blood Lust compliant. MIND THOSE TAGS. Oneshot, 3,016 words, VERY 18+

Broken Mirror

Time is goaded into fucking Dark over his desk, harkening back to the days of their misspent youth under control of various entities where they also fucked against a wall when they were supposed to be killing each other. Not really a hatefuck, more like an annoyed-fuck? Smangst. Dark/Time. LMTCOY/HSH compliant-ish. Kinda rough but Dark is into it. Mind the tags. Oneshot, 2,348 words. 18+

Practical Exam

Direct followup to Chapter 18 of Let Me Take Care of You Sky gets a final “test” before “graduating” his Dom training. The test? Time has wanted this flyboy's dick since the first day of their training, Sky sweetly obliges and Time gets turned into a puddle of mush (rare subspace). It’s very cute. Time/Sky. LMTCOY compliant. Mostly aftermath of their scene and some aftercare. It’s cute. Mind those tags!!! Oneshot, 3,538 words. 18+

Bunny Love

Legend and Hyrule mess around and get all cute and gross like the happy couple they are. They’re going to give me fucking cavities. Legend/Hyrule, established relationship. LMTCOY compliant. Short and sweet. Oneshot, 899 words. 18+

Bonus: Followup to @miniscrew-anon's febuwhump fill! Champion wakes up from his second bonkening that returned him to the world, and starts getting caught up on what he’s missed. Guard boys being friends. No ship (gasp). HSH: The Brave compliant. Oneshot, just under 500 words. PG-13

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 2 - Post #7: Elevator to Nowhere

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 3.4K (of 21K total in Volume 2)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

VII. Mando is correct in assuming he can run much faster than you, using a firm grip on your elbow to steer you along the seamless metal corridor at a brisk pace. Ahead, you see Nito sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a data-pad.

“There should be an elevator just down this way,” he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. 

As you continue down the hallway, the air starts to feel damp and fetid. You practically jump out of your skin when a trickle of water falls from overhead, sliding down the length of your arm. There’s a chalky film coating the ceiling, running the length of the passage. Your eyes trace the milky, serpentine pattern all the way to the end of the corridor, where it drips down, thickening between the seal of the elevator doors. 

“Is this thing even operational?” 

“Only one way to find out,” Nito says, stepping up to the access panel.

Despite the angry whirring and clicking noises, the top half of the door manages to slide open, which would be just wide enough for you all to crawl inside if the elevator car wasn’t hanging sideways off the tracks.

Nito uses all four arms to swing from a few precarious footholds into the hoistway. Suspended from the car’s service hatch by his feet, he unpockets the binoculars at his belt and peers into the darkness. “I can see a ladder. Looks like it goes all the way down the shaft.”

“Ok,” you take a deep breath, rolling your neck, then squaring your shoulders. “Can I see your knife?” You ask Mando, holding out your hand. The train of your gown has got to go, along with a few seams you’ll need to tear open for range of movement. “And fuck this thing!” You shout, ripping the Miralukan visor off your face. “It’s worse than useless.”

“Yah!” Nito hollers, botching the landing of what had been a spectacular dive. “Sorry,” he says, collapsing into a knot at your feet. “I’m still getting used to seeing you without the…” he waves a furry hand back and forth in front of his face.

“Thanks, buddy. Thanks. Real nice,” your offending eyes narrow sarcastically.

“Wait, no—" you cut in, remembering yourself. “Thank you, Nito, for staying to make sure I was okay.” You place a hand on his shoulder and give him a tender squeeze.

“You’re welcome, Thuli.” He says, gripping your fingers in return. “Hey, why was that chick calling you ‘Dahra’?”

“Let’s not get too into this right now, ok?” Deep sigh. “It’s just … so my full name is Thulindahra. Thuli, Thulani, Dahra…I just use different names with different people.”

Nito’s brows shoot up, “Oh yeah, like a liar, you mean?” 

“Well, now you know all my aliases,” you smirk, tilting your head and winking at him. “Don’t you feel special?”

“What’s the plan here?” Mando interjects, looking at you.

“Right. Okay. Given the state of water damage…this escape route must be abandoned. If we can make our way down the shaft to the docking bay…I think it’s safe to assume it would be empty?”

You wait for the Mandalorian to pass judgment, but he remains stubbornly silent. 

“How far down do we need to climb, Nito?” 

“I’d say about a hundred meters.”

“Ok,” you nod, ticking off your fingers. “We take the ladder. Pry the docking bay doors open. See what kind of exit we can make from there.”

“Alright, Thuli will go first,” Mando says in a flat tone that does not invite further explanation.

“Why? I mean, that’s fine…I just…”

The bounty hunter pauses before clearing his throat. “Because you’re not wearing anything under that dress, and I’m trying to be respectful.”

With your dress cut to above your knees, there was a distinct possibility of putting it all on display. “Oh…um, thanks.” Now was not the time to get distracted by thoughts of Mando discovering the unique way you trimmed your pubic hair. 

Or how hot it would be to get fucked from behind on a ladder—which has definitely been the subject of several late-night fantasies on board the Razor Crest. (Like, what if he were to catch you on your way up to the cockpit? And he had to grip the rungs for leverage to thrust deeper inside you...) Ladder sex seemed ideally configured for 'helmet-on' intercourse.

Damnit, this is all Raife’s fault! All the sexy stuff tonight has been his doing. A not-insignificant part of your brain is still back in the library with those supple lips. It had been fun, for a very brief moment, before the shallowness of it all made your heart sick...remembering that you'll never get to kiss the Mandalorian.

There you go! Focusing on how lonely and miserable you are is a great way to douse the impassioned sexual energy bubbling inside you. And Mando decides to go last down the ladder, so you don’t have to worry about staring up at his sculpted ass for ten floors.

Which is for the best. The climb downward is such a tedious repetition of right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot, over and over, and over, that at times it's difficult not to lose focus, especially with Nito’s incessant chatter. 

“So are your eyes, like…bioluminescent?” He asks, absolutely fascinated.

“Um, it’s a reflective layer that brings more visible light back through the retina.” 

“Cool! And you were just born with it?”

“I think it's a genetic mutation. Hapes was colonized by humans, but it was a trait within the indigenous population since light from the Nebula–”

“Oh, so it's like an evolutionary biology thing.”

“Quiet!” Mando growls.

The sound starts out as a faint whining noise of metal surfaces scraping. It builds to a low groan that’s nevertheless distant. You’re about to suggest that it might be the waves crashing into the cove below—when the cables snap.

And that sound is immense, like the clash of a thunderstorm. Then, the whining transforms into a deafening, grating noise punctuated each time the elevator car smashes into the narrow shaft of carved rock above.  

There’s nothing else to do but wrap your arms around the rungs of the ladder and hope you don’t get pulverized.   

When the plummeting car sails past you, the roaring woosh of air sends every tendril of hair flying over your face. What’s left of your hemline flutters wildly around your waist. You quickly close your eyes against the draft and, as such, don’t see the debris shaken loose by the falling elevator car before it knocks into you. 

There’s a moment when your hands lose their grip on the ladder, when you realize something terrible has happened and you no longer feel weightless, you simply start to fall.

The jolt of Nito’s grip yanking you up by the wrist, catching you in midair, is felt in every joint and ligament of your body.

You're waiting for the car to crash at the bottom—but, instead, you hear an enormous splash, followed by a deep glug-glug noise as the elevator sinks underwater. When there’s no reverberation, you begin to wonder if there is a bottom…or if this is just an endless chasm to the seafloor. 

Your free limbs, fingers, and toes all reach out desperately, trying to retake your hold on the ladder. Silent tears stream down your face from frustration and helplessness. Each time Nito swings you towards it, your fingertips barely brush against the metal, your nails sending flakes of rust flittering like petals. 

The Ardennian's grip squeezes tighter, but you continue slipping through his hand like falling water.

“I’m too heavy,” you shout up at him. “Nito, you have to let go.”

“No!” He cries. 

“Thulani!” Mando yells, pleading in his voice. “Wait! I can–”

“Nito,” you say, giving him the kindest, most gently reassuring gaze despite the searing pain shooting up your arm. “You have to drop me.”

“I can’t!” His voice breaks. “I can’t let you fall into nothing. I can save you!” 

“Thulani!” The Mandalorian calls out to you.

“You’ll lose your grip on the ladder, Nito.” Silent tears pour forth from your eyes, but if you succumb to despair now, he’ll never find the courage to drop you. “Nito, you have to let me go.”

“Hold on!” 

"Ni—"

Ultimately, Nito is spared from making such a harrowing decision when the ladder collapses beneath you. No, not just the ladder—the entire fucking elevator track.

At first, your limbs pedal through the air, instinctually searching for a way to claw yourself back up. It takes your body a moment to remember that you’re falling to your death.

It’s pitch black this far down the shaft, so you don’t know when you’ll hit the bottom. It’s just whoosh, after whoosh, after whoosh of air rushing over you. Through the panic, you remember the need to clench every muscle, to make your body as rigid as possible and point your toes down so the fall doesn’t send your knees crashing into your skull. 

The rational part of your brain knows this is what to do, but it just makes you plummet faster, hurtling downward like a javelin. Waiting for the bottom is terrifying.

When your feet finally hit the surface, the shock of cold makes you scream, water filling your open mouth. It's a stupid mistake, but at least you remember to throw your arms and legs out wide as soon as you’re under to slow your dive before you lose all chance of returning to the surface. With no source of light, it's impossible to tell how far you’ve plunged underwater.

Thankfully, you have the ability to eke out every molecule of oxygen from your blood. You’ve got maybe ten minutes. Twelve if you can stay calm. 

You have to. ​​Your heart strains against your chest, thinking about Nito and the Mandalorian. But along with the fear and the tightness in your lungs is the relentless drive of adrenaline. You have to save them.

Finally breaking the surface, the stale, dank air trapped at the bottom of the elevator shaft might as well be a fucking alpine breeze the way it fills your lungs with glorious oxygen. It’s difficult, but you have to concentrate on slow, measured breaths so you won’t hyperventilate.

You hear a frantic thrashing in the water nearby. Mando?

Suddenly, you think back to that day on Dorumaa and remember his intense fear of drowning. 

The memory had been from when he was a boy—after he started to wear a Mandalorian helm, but before he was truly Mandalorian. It was his first time learning some new skill. He’d been so focused and determined. But, also excited to put on the jetpack. It was such an exhilarating freedom soaring across the skyline like a rocket until one of the engines spluttered out. A careening arc plunged him into the icy lake pooling at the bottom of the caldera where they’d been training. The force of the impact hit him like a body blow. There hadn’t been time to activate the neck seal. Instead, the water surged up under his helmet. That infinitesimal space between his face and the Beskar vanishing as the water filled his nostrils and poured down the back of his throat—

It was Mando. It must be. He’s panicking, and it would kill him. If he hadn’t been able to pressurize his helmet before hitting the water…he probably still has that fucking thing on. 

Yes! There’s the light from his headlamp strobing under the water straight ahead of you.

You can’t see a godsdamned thing, so you just kick out toward the tiny bead of light and sound of churning water.

Swimming blind towards a drowning man is exactly what you are not supposed to do in this situation. Best bet is to grab him from behind, but it's not going to be—kriffing hell!

Your vision explodes in a white glare, accompanied by a sharp, excruciating pain when Mando’s elbow connects with your temple. Blood begins pouring down the side of your face from the gash in your now split eyebrow, immediately washed away by salty water. 

“Mando!” your cry transforms into a stream of bubbles. Then you feel the tips of his leather fingers brush against yours in the black water. Steeling yourself, you grab hold of his wrist, pulling him to you and wrapping both legs around his waist. Recalling the cut on his right side, you stick your fingers directly into the wound.

The Mandalorian let out an agonizing roar, but the pain distracts him from thrashing about long enough for you to wrap your other arm around his neck. You close your eyes and ready yourself for the flashes of heart wrenching trauma, pushing it all aside to focus on flooding his entire nervous system with aminobutyric acid.

Mando’s body, held tightly in your arms, finally begins to relax. You kick hard, pumping your legs to drag him upward. He had stopped struggling, but his body was solid muscle and armor. Your head throbs, your limbs are so tired. Goddess, please don’t let him drown!

Someone of divine origin hears and answers your prayers. Mando shakes with each wracking cough and gasping breath. You reposition him between your legs, clasping his back to your chest with your arm across his shoulders. “Shhh,” you whisper, gently leaning back so his head can rest against your stomach, floating just above the water's surface. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

There’s no other sound but the slosh of water surrounding you. So when the Mandalorian pulls his helmet up over his mouth…you actually hear…that’s him breathing. 

Your whole body is numb from the temperature of the water and the exhaustion. But each steadying breath you hear from Mando’s lips is a blessing, lifting you up to the heavens.

Turning his head to cough, the rough stubble of his chin brushes against the smooth skin of your stomach, tugging at the last scraps of your dress…his mouth was that close. 

With your arm wrapped loosely around his shoulder, it would be so easy to draw your thumb over the length of his jaw. You fiercely wanted to touch his mouth. Did he have thin lips that disappeared when he smiled? Or were they full and soft, the kind that would pout when he lost his patience?

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, a whisper spoken into the surrounding darkness. 

The sound of his voice–his real voice–without the distortion of the modulator pulls you into a kind of dreamy hypnosis. You imagine him speaking directly into your ear, whispering your name.

You’ve heard it before, but from behind curtains or through doorways. Never this close. His lips were bare inches from your skin.  

“I’d forgotten that you’d seen that memory,” he coughs, still catching his breath. 

It’s impossible to guess from his tone whether he welcomed this intimacy or resented your intrusion into the recesses of his mind. How much truth was underneath all his teasing about dark powers and witchcraft?

Without realizing it, the muscles in your chest tighten, forcing you to beat your arms beneath you to keep Mando’s head from sinking below the surface. Stupid, your heart warns. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sitting up, Mando tucks his legs beneath him under the water. The moment he leaves the circle of your arms, the cold rushes in. The pain is dull and sharp at once, making you lightheaded.

“I didn’t hear the kid hit the water,” he says, the familiar crackle of the modulator masking his deep timbre.

“Nito!” That snaps you back to reality. “Can you see his heat signature?” 

“Up here!” Nito calls down from somewhere high above. Mando’s head turns, casting the beam of his headlamp over the collapsed elevator shaft until it lands on the Ardennian. He was hanging by two sturdy limbs about fifty meters overhead. 

Blessed Mother. With the advantage of six opposable thumbs, Nito had managed to keep his hold on the ladder. 

“The exterior supports must have come loose,” he shouts, pointing to something on the opposite side of the shaft. “Kinda tilted, but we can still get the docking bay doors open.” 

“Right,” Mando says. 

You hear the grappling hook release and the metal clang when it punctures the surrounding rock. There’s a slow churn of water as the Mandalorian pulls himself, hand over fist, through the roll of shallow waves to climb up towards the doors.

Turning to look back for you, the beam of his headlamp blinds you momentarily. Muttering a hasty apology, he turns off the light. “What’s wrong?”

“If I stay floating, can you pull us to that winch over there? On your right?”

He shifts through the black water before slipping an arm around your waist, tugging you back below the surface, and tethering you to his side. “I’ve got you,” he says, kicking out to drive you both forward.

Bolted into the rock, the winch is partially submerged but stable. When you reach the drum, Mando slams his fist against the slab of corroded metal to moor you in place. Wrapping his arm tighter around you, he hoists you onto the hood. As soon as your hips clear the edge, you immediately collapse to your side, waves slapping at your face where the water line crept up. 

The wet leather of his gloved fingers traces over the gash splitting your eyebrow.

“Why haven't you healed yourself?” 

“I'm focusing all my energy on ensuring I’ll be able to use this arm again,” you smile through gritted teeth. “Nnngh—pretty sure I dislocated my shoulder.” 

“You need me to…?”

“Yeah, I can’t–anngh–I can’t lift it into place on my own.”

“Okay.” The Mandalorian steps on top of the winch to face you. He slides his grip over your ribs to gently lift you into a sitting position, one hand over your shoulder and the other under your elbow. “I’ve heard this hurts worse than childbirth.”

You scowl, “Well, I wouldn’t know if that’s what you’re ask— aaaaaaaaah!” 

The scream that escapes your lips sounds like the last pathetic throes of a dying animal. 

Something deep inside you—your will, maybe—breaks into a million pieces from the sharp, skull splitting pain. You sob and sob until your body is aching. All the pain, from your arm, from being trapped at the bottom of this fucking elevator shaft, from seeing Zemika with that fascist, from ruining your favorite dress, was all coming out. 

And when it feels like you might be done, the sobbing comes on again like hiccups.

“Is Thuli, um…?” Nito asks timidly.

So much for professionalism.

“She’s gonna be alright.” Mando’s hand finds you in the dark, pulling you against him and wrapping you in his arms. “Hush,” he whispers, understanding it was his turn to be strong for you. “We’re going to make it out of here.”

How exactly, wasn’t clear. 

“I know where Ozan Sango is,” you mumble quietly into his chest, forehead resting on his shoulder. 

“I’m sure you do,” Mando scoffs, another laugh you’ve earned from him tonight.

“Why didn’t you go after him?”

“I did,” he says, a strange hesitancy in his voice. “But, Nito said you needed me. I'll always come if—”

“I know,” you smile up at him. You’re not sure how much of it he can see through the helmet’s viewplate, but it’s a wide, deeply felt smile meant to convey gratitude and tenderness. “I know you're going to get us out of here.”

And the darkness that’s been hovering around the edges of your vision finally overtakes you.

**********************

Read the next post: Post #8: Making the Bed

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[shiningwonderland]

Camus (All Star) Memorial

Translator: Mimi (Twitter: _mimisaurora)

Friend End Memorial - How to Quickly Heal Burns

“Huh? What’s that?”

I didn't understand what he was saying at first.

“Camus sounded like he was worried. Please don’t make me repeat myself, Ranmaru.”

He gave me a glance looking pretty annoyed, speaking pretty indifferently.

It was November.

We were in the studio together so I could record the bass for one of Ai’s songs.

It was when we were taking a break that the subject came up.

“I must admit, I was a little taken aback myself. I didn't suspect that even Camus could panic.”

“I remember him being pissed when there was a hidden camera in the dressing room.”

“Oh, yes, I do recall that happening.”

It was part of the show's plan, but Camus must have been pissed because he was putting on a character for work, and it would have hurt his career to have his true personality broadcast.

“He looks pretty collected, but he's prone to getting worked up, isn't he?”

I sometimes hear stories about how he sometimes breaks his stupid little butler character in the middle of a job.

I'm almost impressed how nobody outside the agency has figured out how he really is.

“But this… it’s different from that incident.”

“Huh?”

“He mentioned there was a burn and wanted to know what to do to make it heal faster.”

“That guy burned himself?”

“No, not Camus. It was someone he knew.”

I see.

“I then asked him why he didn’t take them to the hospital, but he clarified that the person who’d burn themselves insisted they were fine, and that it would be difficult to take them anyway.”

“Then, you should just drop it.”

If this person says they were fine, it doesn’t give everyone else the right to start babbling about it.

“Alright…”

Ai’s brows furrow as he thought, clearly not convinced of something.

“Is it common human behavior to worry and fret over others as if it were happening to you?”

…What was that all of a sudden?

“It’s not?”

“Well… Maybe.”

“That in itself is fascinating to me, but I never considered Camus to be capable of such feelings, so this is taking me a bit of time to process.”

“...Right.”

“I always considered Camus to be rather irregular.”

“Then, your impression was wrong.”

“Well… That may be true. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you ever get so consumed with worry over other people?”

“Not at all.”

I just wanna be done with this nonsense.

When I tried to reach for the bass guitar, the corners of his lips lifted a little.

“Of course, because you’re a “lone rockstar”.”

“You brat… are you looking for a fight?”

“No way. I wouldn't waste my time like that.”

Finally, the conversation ended.

Or so I thought.

“I assumed Camus was someone who didn't care much for others, but I guess he can sound panicked too... “

Ai was still going on and mumbling to himself, as if he still had something on his mind.

“I don’t understand.”

“Is it possible for a person's nature to change along the way?”

“What could trigger such a thing?”

“Camus lies so much to begin with that it's difficult to choose which pieces of data are reliable.”

“And speaking of unknowns, I wonder what is causing the occasional drop in temperatures observed in the surrounding area.”

…This guy was a complete mystery too.

“Don’t know. Now stop wasting your breath and let’s have a go at this one more time.”

I could still hear him mumbling, but I didn't care, I got up as quickly as I could.

... although I say that.

Thinking back on it afterwards, I really couldn't picture Camus panicking for anyone else.

I remember my earlier conversation with Ai on the way back home from the studio.

He's the kind of guy who considers everyone but himself and his queen to be pests. The sight of him worrying about others is beyond the limits of my imagination.

It's much easier to picture something else. 

Like an alpaca standing on its head.

Or a hamster eating ramen noodles.

Who is he even worried about, anyway?

Camus probably doesn't owe Shining a thing, and it’s not like he gets along with his junior.

“I never… hear anything about his family.”

If this “earl” thing is true and not a farce, then it probably means he ain’t got much family left, since the title is something that’s inherited. 

Could it be a pet, then?

Doesn’t he have one? A cat, or dog…

Horse?

But how the hell would a horse get burned?

“Is it… that woman?”

Then it hit me. 

The composer who always stuck around the guy.

He mentioned they were together on the day we had dinner at his place.

I didn’t buy it because it smelled fishy.

But thinking about it now, that day, when I had spilled oolong tea on myself and we started talking, Camus flipped his lid.

“....”

He’s always in a pissy mood, but he’s been in an especially sour one whenever we talk to her….

“...Is the Earl is jealous? Camus is seriously in love with her.”

If I told Reiji and the others, they’d eat this up.

But I won’t because that would get too annoying.

But holy shit, I can’t believe it.

Camus?

I mean, I’ve come across plenty of composers, and I have to admit that woman has some talent.

She may even be a decent person compared to some of the other women out there.

But she’s so average.

She does not seem at all like the kind of woman Camus would be into.

In fact, why are they even living together?

How did this come to happen between the two of them?

The only thing in common between them is that they're partners.

I guess he prefers modest types like her? 

It doesn't suit him.

“This… is stupid. What am I even thinking about?”

Once I'd collected myself, my stomach rumbled.

“That reminds me… I’m starved.”

I guess it's no good being hungry, because when you are, all you can think about is stupid things.

“I’m… going to go eat.”

I lightly scratched my head and turned my feet toward my apartment.

I don't care about other people. 

As long as it doesn't affect my work.

I'm just going to sing my own song.

[kaffykathy]

Veronica: Okay 27, your new mech has been printed and prepped. Enter into your hard suit, and we'll have your departure for planet fall at 0.34 Hours at hanger 2.

Luka, looking through a diagram of the frame in the data tablet: Right... Where's the Casket?

Veronica: Oh, the Drake doesn't come with one.

Luka, shocked: What?

Veronica: Your IPS-N Drake License doesn't come with slots for standard issue NHP caskets. They don't believe in them unless you're running a Striker Unit.

Luka: This chassis was made in-house by a company with 'Interplanetary' in it's name. That means that it was made to combat space pirates in tight corridors, space, and maybe survive a spool round if needed. And they decided to strip away one of the few factors that can actually get us a cutting edge against pirates - who also use NHPs, then this pattern was a horrible purchase, and I'm not using it.

Veronica: You're not going to fight space pirates in this mission 27, please calm down.

Luka: I am being strapped to a giant metal behemoth with a loud metal gun, fighting other giant metal behemoth's that could possibly fly up to the atmosphere or drag me into the ocean. And you seriously think I stand a chance fighting them in a machine that might as well be an snail with a neon target.

Veronica: I don't know how an NHP would help with that.

Luka: It would give me a chance.

Veronica, visibility holding restraint: Luka please, you're being childish. If you want [looks at the Sisyphus NHP] 'Kevin' to be with you on missions, you have should have gotten a different standardized License.

Luka: He didn't come with a License he was literally 'gifted' to me like everything else Horus and just spontaneously came out of nowhere. Second, I was fighting with him along my side since my days in the Beatriz Empire.

Veronica: Well Union has been doing the License system long before either of us have been conceived. And It's not going to change now.

Luka: I have a system in here that can print out a bunker for cover in seconds, but if it can't also have a system that could literally change probability, I would rather go in my own Everest. I have literally seen more miracles' done by Kevin in my time than legs on a centipede.

Veronica: That's enough Luka. Either get in the Drake, or we scratch you off the roster and let your team leave without you. Is that what you want?

Luka, looking up, rolling his eyes, sighing, and finally giving an insincere smile: Fine... I'm getting on board...[walks off crossly]

Kevin, lounging on some space boxes and playing with a deck of tarot cards. He pulls one out and reveals it to be 'The Tower' - Upright. As Luka walks over he hides the card and looks at him with a knowing smile: Good luck, haha~

Luka, fully suited up, Beret and flight jacket gone. Sighing after a pause: If I was with you, I wouldn't need it. [Walks away once more]

Kevin, smirking and watching him enter his Drake: Hmph, I can't control everything...

[sonicasura]

It Is Rocket Science

Sonic The Hedgehog/ Pokemon

Takes place shortly after the events of Forces ( only difference was that Tails was actually brave LIKE HE SHOULD HAVE BE-)

Trainer had been traveling through this new world for a while now and they already made 2 great friends. Sonic the hero of Earth who has defeated calamity many a time. A spirit as free as the wind, who never stayed in one place for too long. Sonic had a taste for adventure and chili dogs, and never turned there back on afriend in need. It was no wonder Sonic was so well liked among the people.

Then there was Sonic's best friend Tails, a fox who was born with 2 tails and could use them to fly by twisting them like a propeller. Tails was a genius, building amazing gadgets and devices that could do incredible things, Tails even built his own plane the Tornado. Tails was also a resreacher and when Sonic introduced Trainer and Co. to Tails his shock only lasted 5 seconds before he immediately threw a myriad of questions towards Trainer and Co. To Tails this was nothing short of amazing, the idea of other worlds wasn't new to him, but this was the first time he heard of a place where people and strange creatures called Pokwmon lived in peace and harmony with each other.

Tails absolutely insisted Trainer and Co. stay for at least a day or 2 so Tails could study and find out more about Trainer and the Pokemon. Trainer of course agreed wanting to get to know this world better along with making new friends, Sonic's curiosity even got him to stay in the city for bit to be with Trainer and Tails. It was all very cool and Tails even half jokingly said it was so nice too have a vistor from another world that didn't want to destroy, take it over, or attack them a sentiment Sonic shared

Sonic was perfectly fine with his current Rogue's Gallery thank you very much

When Trainer decided to leave to start seeing more of this world Tails and Sonic were sad to see them leave the city so soon, but were glad that they met Trainer first and got to give Trainer and Co. A warm welcome. Before Trainer left Tails gave Trainer his and Sonic's number so they all could keep in touch.

It had been five whole days since Trainer got to this world and they already got to experience so much of this world's wonders. From beautiful jungles too majestic mountains, it had so much too offer. Though while exploring a beach called Emerald Coast Trainer did come a cross something odd.

A strange looking robot

The robot wasn't at all active and looked to be beat up beyond belief. Scratches, rust, broken joints, Trainer was surprised that it was still one piece. It also looked incredibly odd, it looked like Sonic but had a lot of differing features. The top of it's head looked like a jet and it's back had what looked to be a engine sticking out. Trainer wondered if this was Metal Sonic, Sonic's doppleganger that Eggman had made, but this robot didn't fit the description.

Trainer just wondered about what too do before Rotomdex gave a suggestion.

Rotomdex: If we dragged the robot out and dry him off, it could go into what's left of his circuitry and memory banks and find out there story.

Trainer agreed with that idea and dragged the broken robot out and onto the beach. Decideing to set up camp hear, Trainer let everyone out and explained that the robot was being dried off and nothing was wrong. All the pokemon nodded and every one played and explored until the robot was done drying. After an hour under the beachside sun and telling Meltan too not eat the robot, the robot was dry and ready for Rotomdex to fuse with. Everyone one gathered around too see what would happen.

Rotomdex: BBBBZZZZTTTT!!!! Here I go!!!!

Rotom popped out of the pokedex to reveal it's true form as a electric ghost wisp, before zipping right into the robot.

It took only a second for Rotom's face to peak through the robot's showing Rotom had succesfully entered the machine.

Rotom: Alright acessing data banks now, BBBZZZTTT!!! Wow this robot is quite impr- BBBZZZRRRTTT!?!?!

Rotom got cut off as something strange happened, the robot's color morphed to mix both orange and blue, and the eyes became heterochromatic with one being Rotom's blue eye color and the other flashing between green and red. The robot got up and started doing some honestly funky looking dance moves before the joints locked up and the robot fell right back down

Trainer: Rotom!!!! Are you alright?!

Rotom: Ya I'm fine! The internal system just had a lot more kick than I was exp- wHO arE YOu

Rotom's voice got cut off again and was replaced by a staticky voice, which ended up spooking Rotom who popped out and immediately went back to the Rotomdex.

Trainer: Who are you?!

Trainer asked the question which was now on Trainer and Co. mind.

The robot with great struggle lifted it's head to look at Trainer.

????: I-I-I am Mech-cha S-Sonic Mod-Model 29. Ro-Rocket Me-Metal

The glitchy voice explained, so this is Metal Sonic that Sonic told Trainer about or at least a version of Metal Sonic. Sonic warned that Dr.Eggman's robots are not to be messed around with as tgey can all easily cause quite a bit of destruction. Though looking back on Rocket Metal, it was obvious that therobot had been long since left to the elements by Dr.Eggman. That left a bit of a sour taste in Trainer's mouth and decided to ask some more questions.

Rocket Metal answered all of them along with asking some of his own. Rocket Metal was a robot built by Eggman and to Rocket Metal's knowledge the youngest robot of the Mecha line ( the truth unknown to both is that Rocket Metal was the last of his line and after the destruction of the Death Egg Eggman has moved on too the E-Series) too stop Sonic and his friends from reaching the Death Mk.II and had failed to stop the heroes from reaching their destination. Rocket Metal was also shocked to learn that all happened almost 5 years ago when they asked for the year. Sonic and his friends were all young when that adventure happened. That news rattled Rocket Metal, why had he been left to wither away by Dr.Eggman. Rocket Metal tried so hard too make his creator proud....perhaps failing that mission made the Docter give up on Rocket Metal. Was Rocket Metal deemed to be a massive failure compared to his older siblings, when compared to Eggman's pride and joy Metal Sonic..... Yes that was the reason, Rocket Metal was a defective model who failed too live up to what the Docter made him for, it was only logical that Rocket Metal be thr-

Trainer: No it's not!!!!

This snapped Rocket Metal out of his thoughts as he had been speaking out loud and Trainer and Co. had listened to Metal Rocket demean himself.

Trainer: It's not right that you just be thrown away, Eggman made you with the ability to think and have thoughts of your own, the fact that all it took was one faliure for him to throw you away is horrible!!!

That entire monolouge had struck a cord with Trainer as they had seen to many times Trainers give up on pokemon after just for being not as powerful as they like or failing to meet impossible expectations and abanden said pokemon. It was one of the few things that upset Trainer and Rocket Metal's story uspet Trainer.

This confused Rocket Metal and he could not come up with a response to that so just stayed quite, even as Trainer got out a cloth and liquid and started to pain stakingly rub the rust off, even as they gently repainted his metal body back a brilliant deep blue, and as the strange creatures Trainer had helped Rocket Metal move around due to his legs being busted and helped oil up his joints so they could start moving again. Trainer even had given Rocket Metal a powerful battery to help keep himself online.

This all made Rocket Metal feel....odd and when Trainer made a call to someone asking for there help with fixing Rocket Metal it made Rocket Metal feel...happy.

When Rocket Metal was safely secured to Koraidon back and Trainer jumped onto the Sandwhich loving Pokemon, Rocket Metal finally figured out what to say

T-T-Thank Y-You

Looks like Trainer made another new friend! I bet they have some very sharp words for Eggman if they ever come across each other. Also Trainer would give Sonic and Tails a heads up about Rocket Metal so to avoid any chance of friendly fire between them.