#not my fault i think its too predictable to have one weakness one resist and one block.

[gay-yosuke]

the monotony of transferring file data is somehow less appealing to me (man who loves logging data) than fucking with the logic of a command that, when i programmed it, made me say "you will have to pay me to fuck with this logic again".

im not even getting paid.

[midnighttmarauder]

Sharp Edges

Pairing: Draco x reader 

Summary: Draco is beyond grateful for reader, who is the only good, pure thing in his life.

Warnings: none

A/N: it gets a little angsty at the end because i couldn’t resist...sorry in advance.

***

Draco was all sharp edges. Everything down to the cut of his jaw was precise, honed. He was honest to a fault, intimidating without meaning to be, didn’t believe in sugar coating. He was his father’s loveless words, the quick smacks to the back of his head when no one was looking. It was rare to find him with a hair out of place, and his piercing gaze made many who managed to catch his eye weak in the knees.

But he only cared about you.

Where Draco was sharp, you were soft. Brushes of smooth skin against his calloused palms. Whispered giggles in the dark and an affinity for oversized threadbare jumpers – you wore his clothes more than you wore your own. It was you that Draco went to when his own sharp edges threatened to tear him apart. You who wrapped him in your arms and blanketed him away.

He found you in the courtyard on one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. He’d received a letter from home that had put him on the verge of tears for the better half of the morning. In potions, he’d added just a milligram too much of fluxweed, which had caused his potion to explode – Snape called him an idiot and made him clean it up without magic. To top it all off, he was so miserable during quidditch practice that the captain had threatened to kick him off the team and told him to go mope elsewhere.

You were wearing his jumper, Draco realized with a leap of his heart as he trudged towards you. It was an old quidditch quarter zip from fourth year that he had grown out of after a sudden growth spurt, but it was perfectly oversized for you. The jumper was so worn that one of the sleeves had an elbow patch and the threads were starting to pull out of the bottom. You had the sleeves pulled over your hands as you clutched a textbook. Herbology, maybe. Or maybe divination, judging by the way you furrowed your brows.

Draco couldn’t help but smile when you looked up, squinting into the setting sun as you heard him approaching. You sent him back a toothy grin and didn’t protest when he flopped into the grass and put his head on your lap. One of your hands immediately went to rest in his hair as you propped your textbook open on his chest. He knew it was divination.

“How was your day?” you asked. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, letting his shoulders relax against your legs.

“Horrible,” he replied.

“Wanna talk about it?” you muttered.

“Maybe later. Just…distract me with what you’re reading,” he suggested.

“But it’s divination. You don’t even like it,” you said.

“I’ll like it because you’re reading it. Tell me what nonsense Trelawney has you lot studying this week,” Draco replied. You tugged lightly on one of the strands at the base of his hairline.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken this class again. None of this makes any sense. This chapter’s about crystal balls and dream interpretation. It’s all a bunch of guesswork, if you ask me,” you said.

“Read it to me,” Draco muttered. He was already feeling lighter as your hands traced through his hair and across his forehead. It was like you were wiping the stress of the day away with every brush of your fingertips.

“Dream interpretation is a method of divination that involves the analysis of dreams to better understand one’s subconscious and its desires. Dreams hold important information that can be used to predict the future. These prophecies often come in the form of riddles or symbols. For example, if one dreams about a loved one or themselves dying a horrible death, it usually means that they will either receive a gift or live a long prosperous life. How does that make any sense?” you read.

“Here’s what I think. I think Trelawney and the git who wrote this textbook are both off their rockers. Dreams can’t predict anything any better than soggy tea leaves can,” Draco said. You laughed as he shut your textbook and pushed it onto the grass. “I have a prediction for you. It’s come to me suddenly, in a vision.”

“Hmm, and what’s that?” you hummed.

“I predict that I will receive a kiss from a beautiful maiden, cloaked in green and sitting under the sun,” he said.

“You’re cheesy,” you muttered as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. Draco reached a hand up and cradled the back of your neck as you pulled away, leaning your forehead against his. The sun cast a golden halo around your hair, and Draco thought that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, even if he was looking at you upside down.

“I love you. Y’know that?” he whispered.

“I know. I love you, too,” you replied. You pulled back with furrowed brows and brushed his hair away from his eyes. “What’s all this about?”

“I just…really love you. You’re the best thing in my life,” he said.

“Draco,” you began. He turned over suddenly and lifted himself to sit cross-legged in front of you. He took your hands in his and set them in his lap, running his thumb across the smooth skin of your knuckles.

“It’s true. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you. You’re so pure, so good, so kind and selfless. I’m so grateful, every day, that you love me. You make me want to be better, Y/N,” Draco said. You cupped his jaw and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. His cheeks burned crimson beneath your fingers.

“And I’m grateful that you chose me to love. You’re worth so much more than you know, Draco,” you muttered. Silver lined Draco’s eyes as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap, tucking your head under his chin. He pressed a kiss to your hair and rocked you gently back and forth, thanking whoever was listening for bringing you into his life.

When Draco’s father forced him to get the dark mark, it was you he was thinking of when he refused. You who kept him from doing anything stupid when his father told him that he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to live. He thought of you when the mark was burned into his skin – the sound of your laugh, your lazy smile in the morning before you were fully awake, the love in your eyes every time you looked at him.

And when he showed you the dark mark, it was you who cried for him. For the boy you loved and the life that he could have had. It was you who held him when he finally fell apart, and you who stitched him back together. Draco was grateful for you long before you had even fallen in love. But nothing compared to the gratitude and love he felt when you kissed the mark on his forearm and promised him that he would get through it as the two of you had been through everything else – together.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Baxia and NHS.

Author’s note: this fic ended up having virtually no NHS, sorry

-

“This isn’t right,” Wei Wuxian said. “This isn’t how it should go – you’re not even supposed to be here!”

Nie Mingjue huffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes only because he needed them pinned on the murderous battlefield the Lotus Pier had become. “No one can predict the future,” he said shortly, and stepped out into the hallway, Baxia lifted high, and another four Wen soldiers’ lives came to an end. “To think that you can is arrogance.”

“You don’t understand,” Wei Wuxian insisted, and honestly, if he hadn’t made himself extremely useful both as guide and back-up, Nie Mingjue would have sent him away long ago to spare himself the headache. “It’s not – you might die here.”

He sounded upset about that. It was flattering, given that they’d never spent any time together before now; he must be basing his impression entirely on Nie Mingjue’s reputation.

Flattered or not, Nie Mingjue still wasn’t very impressed right now. “That’s a risk you take when you fight, yes. Don’t blame yourself – there was no way to predict when the Wens were going to attack, or where; they could have just as easily have come to Qinghe.”

“They wouldn’t have been able to get close,” Wei Wuxian muttered, and that was flattering, too. “It’s just – it’s too early. We should have had another few months!”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t aware the Jiang sect had been taking the threat of Wen aggression so seriously that they’d been making estimates, but it was all for the best. 

Maybe it would help them in the war to come.

“Anyone who says they can see the future is being lied to,” he said. “Man plans and the Heavens overturn; that is the way of things. Anyway, you’re not wrong: it probably would have been later, should have been later, but they were robbed of their victory at the Cloud Recesses. There’s no satisfaction in burning empty buildings with all the treasures and people gone, no victory in it – it’s no wonder they accelerated.”

Wei Wuxian looked stricken by the thought.

“Cheer up,” Nie Mingjue said. “The Jiang sect will survive. That will be bad news for the Wens.”

Jiang Fengmian might be mild-mannered to the point of weakness, but he was an excellent cultivator, and of course Madame Yu’s fearsome reputation had been well earned. After this, they would have no choice but to be on the front lines.

“But you might not,” Wei Wuxian said again.

“A worthwhile trade,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Wei Wuxian gawked at him. “Haven’t you noticed that they’re following us? Dozens if not hundreds of Jiang sect cultivators that might otherwise have been put to the sword will be able to escape, and between all those lives and one, even my own, which one do you think will be more useful in winning the war?”

“You,” Wei Wuxian said. “You and your Nie sect, holding down Heijan like an iron wall for the Wen sect to waste its strength against.”

Was Wei Wuxian a fan?

Bizarre.

“I appreciate your confidence in my necessity,” he said, and ducked into another small nook when a group of Wen soldiers too large to easily handle ran by. The momentary rest was welcome. “And if it makes you feel better, they’re not aiming to kill me.”

“They’re not?” Wei Wuxian asked, appearing like a ghost in front of one of the sentries to slit his throat. He was surprisingly adept in the arts of warring in confined spaces, the ambush and the merciless kill; it almost made one wonder what purpose the Jiang sect had for him.

“With these numbers, if they wanted us dead, we’d be dead,” Nie Mingjue said. They’d lasted a good while longer than he’d expected, actually, a tribute to Wei Wuxian knowing how to get through the Lotus Pier in a thousand unexpected ways and their united strength, but even that was flagging: he had cuts and bruises in a hundred places, some more critical than others, and Wei Wuxian for all his pointless complaining wasn’t doing that great either. Perhaps his nattering was his way of distracting himself from their imminent fate. “I’ve humiliated Wen Xu before. Wen Chao wouldn’t be able to resist the thought of capturing me – and when he does, it’ll be the Core-Melting Hand.”

A sharp intake of air.

“Are you sure? I can understanding wanting to take you prisoner, but…”

“If he doesn’t think of it himself, I’ll make sure he does,” Nie Mingjue said, and ignored how Baxia grew warm with rage in his hand. He flipped back his sleeve and dipping his fingers into the blood seeping out of wound in his chest – an arrow that had come too close – and began drawing on his right hand with his left. “There are worse fates out there.”

“But –”

“Normal people die faster,” Nie Mingjue said, choosing the least traumatic of the possible reasons. Wei Wuxian was young; he didn’t need to know the worst of Wen Ruohan’s wretchedness. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation was too high and too compatible with Wen Ruohan’s own: his fate, if he were to go to the Nightless City intact, would not be so easy as death. He was counting on Wen Chao not knowing anything about his father’s most vile preferences, or possibly just being too stupid to think about them. “That’ll be an advantage. But more importantly, losing my cultivation renders me immediately ineligible to be Sect Leader, and my value as a hostage will be significantly reduced.”

Wei Wuxian looked shaken by Nie Mingjue’s practicality. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and then focused again, this time on the bloody array making its way up Nie Mingjue’s arm to the elbow and down to the backs of his fingers. “What are you doing?”

“A legacy,” Nie Mingjue said, even as Baxia screamed in his mind like metal scraping against stone. “For my brother. He’ll need all the help he can get…speaking of which, it’s time for you to go.”

“What?”

“The Wen sect isn’t looking for you, however much you irritated Wen Chao,” Nie Mingjue said. “It’s always been my plan to ensure you got away clearly before I was captured – and it’s nearly time, now. No man can fight an army alone.”

His body burned, exhausted and worn out from the hours of fighting; he’d done as much as he could, and everything else left in him was for Huaisang, who deserved better than to be made Sect Leader too young the way Nie Mingjue had. He had hoped to spare him that, but if he couldn’t do that much – he could at least do this one thing.

This one terrible thing, forbidden by his ancestors, abominable anathema – but there was little Nie Mingjue would not do for his brother, and he had faith even if he had no hope.  

Baxia was fighting him over it, resistant and rebellious in a way she hadn’t been since the first time he’d mastered her – the first time he imposed his will on hers, making the inexorable bend before him. They had been partners after that, and that was how he preferred it; but in the end he was the master, as it had to be, and she could not stop him.

“You should go,” he said again to Wei Wuxian. “If you get caught, what’s the point?”

Wei Wuxian’s hands were shaking, but he nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, as if he were responsible for this somehow. “Thank you.”

And then he was gone.

What a ridiculous young man.

Baxia was biting him, causing his palm to bleed, trying to mess up his design – urging him to fight instead, to fight kill slaughter a way out, any way out.

“I’ll try,” he yielded enough to promise her. He needed to stay on her good side, after all; the array wouldn’t work without her. “I’ll give it a try, with all my strength.”

He did.

It wasn’t enough.

No man can fight an army.

In the end, he’s forced down on his knees, as he’d expected, Wen Chao standing in front of him at a more-than-sufficient distance as if he was afraid Nie Mingjue would leap up and stab him even with four people and suppression array fierce enough to bring down a ghost general holding him down.

He was probably right.

“You’re a coward,” he told him, and Wen Chao laughed nervously. “A coward, and a fool.”

“Well, he caught you, didn’t he?” Wang Lingjiao snapped, her voice shrill with nervousness, and a single glare was enough to have her cowering backwards. “He did! Wen-er-gongzi, you’re a hero!”

No one believed her, not even Wen Chao, but with an effort he puffed himself up anyway. “You shouldn’t have stood against my Wen sect,” he said, aiming for lofty and mostly coming off as cheap. “This is a just punishment.”

The Wen sect would paint the ground blue and the sky green if it got them what they wanted, and Nie Mingjue snorted in disgust, closing his eyes for a moment to find the trigger for the array painted onto his saber arm.

It burned.

Baxia, kicked across the room to get her away from him, seethed. Still not assuaged, still unhappy, still rebellious – but he did try to escape. It wasn’t his fault that he was only human.

It burned.

“Wen Zhuliu,” Wen Chao ordered, as Nie Mingjue knew that he would. “Let’s see how the esteemed Sect Leader Nie likes it when there’s nothing left of his oh-so-great cultivation. When he’s nothing.”

It burned.

Nie Mingjue smiled through the pain, baring his teeth at the cautious approach of Wen Zhuliu. “No matter what I am,” he said, “I am enough to terrify your nightmares.”

“Not for long,” Wen Chao shouted, which was admission enough. “Wen Zhuliu! Do it!”

Nie Mingjue’s cultivation was usually like a mighty river, rushing through his veins – to feel it spill out of order, pouring out of his body and into the array in his arm, was painful to the extreme, like bleeding out but worse. But it had been long enough, he had distracted them long enough.

Nie Mingjue hoped that it would be enough. 

By the time Wen Zhuliu put his hand on his shoulder, reaching down for his dantian, the river had become little more than a trickle.

Wen Zhuliu’s stone face cracked in two.

“What? What is it?” Wen Chao demanded, realizing something was wrong from the look on his retainer’s face. “What did the bastard do?!”

“I don’t know,” Wen Zhuliu said slowly. “But – his cultivation. There’s almost nothing left of it, and his meridians are all burned and twisted…his golden core is faint enough to be almost hollow.”

“That’s impossible,” Wen Chao scoffed. “Everyone knows how powerful Sect Leader Nie is! Even my father…what did he do? How did he – why did he –?”

He stopped, shook his head.

“It’s a trick,” he decided. “Do it anyway. I want to make sure there’s nothing left of him –”

There was a scream.

It sounded like metal against stone, harsh and ringing and shrill; it sounded like rage.

It sounded like hope.

Nie Mingjue smiled, a real smile his time, and shut his eyes.

Everyone else in the room turned to look.

It was the last mistake they made.

Nie Mingjue only opened his eyes again when a hand landed on his shoulder and fiercely shook him as if he were a disobedient kitten, and when he opened his eyes there was a woman glaring death down at him. She was tall, her features more fierce than beautiful, and she was dressed only in blood and guts.

“I knew you’d be lovely,” he said.

She smacked him in the face, hard enough that his head was ringing, and snarled wordlessly at him. There was nothing but rage in her face, in her eyes; the array he had used to give her every ounce of the cultivation he had built up for years, and most of his life-force besides, was forbidden for a reason – it would unleash something terrible into the world.

Something that knew no restraint, no mercy, only the desire to kill –

Well, in theory.

A small smack on the head was very much the least that Baxia could do.

“You’ll take care of Huaisang, won’t you?” he asked her, the remnants of his qi lurching unsteadily within him; he would have a qi deviation sooner rather than later as his body attempted to cultivate at its usual rate with virtually none of the spiritual energy required to do so, and his family did not have a good track record of surviving those – though he’ll be the first of his line to die from exhaustion rather than rage. “He’ll need someone strong by his side, to do for him what needs to be done…to tell him what evil is, in case he can’t figure it out on his own.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem Nie Huaisang has, actually; you’d be surprised,” said Wei Wuxian, who Nie Mingjue had entirely forgotten about, the sound of his voice a sudden shock of surprise.

He jumping down from some rafter where he’d been hiding – planning some sort of insane rescue, perhaps, or maybe just trying to bear witness. He had a flute clutched in his hands, of all things; Nie Mingjue hadn’t even known that he cultivated with music as well as the sword.

“Also,” he added conversationally, “what the fuck was that.”

Baxia hissed at him, a sound like the slow slide of a saber out of its sheath.

Wei Wuxian wisely took several large steps back.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he said, voice suddenly much more polite. “Forgive me my surprise, but – your saber just cultivated into a guai.”

“I wasn’t expecting her to get there this quickly,” Nie Mingjue said, nodding. “I’d been counting on them taking her back to the Nightless City…”

“Where she’d be able to use the resentful energy to cultivate into a guai, and therefore act as a weapon against the Wen from the inside,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding. He was really very clever, figuring out that Nie sect sabers could use resentful energy like that, in a way humans could not. Or, well, should not. “Except she really, really wanted to kill everyone here before they hurt you, so she did it faster.”

Baxia hissed again.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said, lifting up his flute defensively. “Am I wrong?”

She jabbed a finger at Nie Mingjue, who swayed a bit from the sheer force of it even though she hadn’t put any spiritual energy into it. So much saber qi…! Guai were truly different from humans.

“I don’t know what you want – fuck. You look terrible, Chifeng-zun.”

“That would be the blood loss,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Possibly the impending qi deviation. Hard to tell, really…what?” he asked, seeing the expression on Wei Wuxian’s face. “You didn’t think this type of array is something you’re supposed to survive, did you?”

“But you’re not angry!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, already reaching out to start transferring spiritual energy into him. It wouldn’t be enough. “You’re not – you’re empty.”

Nie Mingjue nodded.

“You gave her everything you had…no wonder she was able to cultivate into humanity,” Wei Wuxian said, and there it was again, that ridiculous admiration. “Mistress Saber, is the only thing wrong with him the lack of qi?”

Baxia jerked her head. If Nie Mingjue lived as something other than a comatose vegetable, he’d have to teach her to properly talk, assuming that guai were capable of that. They weren’t like yao, which had once been animals or plants and familiar with the generalities of things such as eating or breathing; guai were formed from the non-living, and had never known such simple things as mere words.

He missed their connection.

If he had any qi left, he would be able to figure out what she was thinking behind that flat expressionless face that had not yet figured out how to convey anything other than rage.

If he wasn’t going to die, he’d get to see the terrible, wonderful things she would do at his little brother’s side – he’d have to be sect leader now, yes, but he wouldn’t need to change himself, contort himself into something he wasn’t, to have the strength to hold it.

He would have liked to have seen it.

“Chifeng-zun? I know something that might help stop the bleed of your qi. But it’s…unorthodox.”

Nie Mingjue waved a hand, consenting; the alternative was death, so why not?

Wei Wuxian lifted his flute to his lips and began to play.

-

Much later, Nie Mingjue wakes up in the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang at his side and Baxia having apparently learned to properly scowl, and – yes.

No matter any of Wei Wuxian’s complaints, it was a worthwhile trade.

[yandere-daydreams]

What about for bnha (any character) a darling that's actually happy to be getting this overwhelming affection and 'protection' like their touchstarved or something?

I decided to go with Bakugo for this if only because he’s the only one I can think of that wouldn’t take full advantage of a willing Darling. It’s nice to give him something to work with every once in a while, too, when I’m not seeing how often I can get away with making him cry.

Title: Protector.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Stockholm Syndrome, and Implied Kidnapping. 

~

You’d never been much of a provider.

It was a preference, more than anything else. It wasn’t that you were inactive or unmotivated, you just liked to be… stable, for lack of a better term. Stability came with routine, with predictability, even if Katsuki didn’t seem like the type to shower you in either. There were too many factors, in a normal lifestyle. You couldn’t control how much rent would go up or how nice the people you spoke to would be, nor were you eager to try and do so on your own. You’d never had that kind of drive. Not like Katsuki did.

You weren’t made to survive on your own.

Your boyfriend was just the one to make that fact clear.

He was so much bigger than you. Usually, it was the cute, domestic height difference the media had fawned over back when you were still a new, shocking celebrity couple, but you could never seem to forget that you were the lesser half of a whole when he insisted on being this… close. It wasn’t really his fault. His eyes were still closed, a thin sheet draped lazily somewhere below his waist, but his body seemed to eclipse your own, an arm snaking around your midriff and keeping you pinned against his form as easily as a toddler would cling to a favored stuffed animal. Pale beams of sunlight shined through parted blinds, warming your skin wherever they made contact. You shifted towards the sensation, Katsuki’s bed wide enough to allow the slight change, but you stopped the moment you heard the mass behind you groan, pulling you closer in an effort to minimize the nonexistent space between you.

“One more hour,” He mumbled, his voice weighed down by sleep and exhaustion and all the things you were sure a strong, hard-working Hero was afflicted by. “It’s too early for… whatever you’re doing.”

You were silent, for a beat, not afraid to speak, but still hesitant to. Instead, you rolled over, resting your head in the space between his collarbone and his chin, more intent on making Katsuki think you were comfortable than anything else. It was nice to sleep next to someone, even if you had to remind yourself of that, occasionally. Nicer than that empty, freezing room you used to be stuck in, anyway. “You don’t have to work today,” You said, the statement as much of a declaration as a rebuttal. “We should do something, it feels like you haven’t been home in weeks.”

Another groan, this one labored and throaty, signaling Katsuki’s exaggerated discontent. With a single, muscular arm, you were pulled from your place at his side and deposited unceremoniously on his chest, left to straddle his stomach and glower as he settled onto his back, the man smirking as he scanned over your disheveled form. It was a lazy sort of affection, only made more potent as he cupped your cheek, pulling you into a kiss that was barely a kiss, his lips only just touching yours before you both devolved into tired laughter.

Katsuki was the first to speak, only a touch more awake than he had been a second or two ago. It was the most you could ask for, though. “Exactly. It’s my day off, so I get to say what we’re doing.” He paused, watching intently as you sat up. You almost thought about moving, but something about the hands currently resting on your hips gave you the feeling you wouldn’t get very far. “And I say we’re doing absolutely fucking nothing. I don’t want to hear, see, or deal with anyone outside these four walls, not until Deku calls me to cry about whatever he stubbed his toe on today.”

You pursed your lips, glad he wasn’t capable of giving you his full attention. Any expression so mildly opinionated would never escape his notice, anytime else. “I was really hoping we could go out--”

“You want to go outside?”

You realized your mistake as soon as the words left his lips. “No, that’s not what I--” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath and straightening your back, attempting to seem professional, composed. As if asking for his permission was a courtesy, rather than an obligation. “I want to spend time with you, ‘suki, and I want to do it out there. I’m not trying to trick you or find a way out or--”

“Or run away?” With one hand, his nails dug into your skin, rooting you in place as he pushed himself up with the other, coming to tower over you with little more than a change of position. He glanced towards his sides, looking for a way to restrain you, but rope and cuffs and chains weren’t necessary. Not when his glare was enough to pin you down. “Because least time I trusted you, that’s what you did. You attacked me, then you ran.” You could hear him choke on the phrase, his voice hitching and emerging as a growl in an effort to compensate. “And now, you’re trying to do it again. I don’t know why I thought you’d gotten better.”

“I’m not.” It was a weak defense, but you didn’t have a better option. There was rarely a good way to defend yourself against someone as insistent as Katsuki. “I’m not like that, anymore. I’m not going to leave--”

At that, he scoffed, rolling his eyes in a way that told you he was past the point of listening. “Remember what happened when you tried to take care of yourself? Remember how long it took you to recover, and how desperate you were when you finally dragged yourself back home? How long did you last? A week, two of ‘em, at most. We’re just lucky you made it out of that alive.”

You hadn’t realized you were still holding onto him, not until you found yourself moving to clutch at your own shirt, kneading at the fabric like that would ease your nerves. “It was a mistake.”

“Got that right,” He agreed, the scowl pressed into his lips never wavering. “There’s nothing you can do out there. No one’s gonna step up and protect you, not like I do. You’re helpless without me. There’s no point in tryin’ to deny it, not after we both saw what’ll happen to you.”

He might’ve had more to say. He might’ve gone on until you were silent and shaking and he was still ranting about criminals and villains and all the things he seemed so convinced would end your life the moment you took a step without his help. You’d been gone for a month, you’d escaped for a month, but that didn’t make your eventual submission any less painful to recall, and it certainly didn’t stop the tears from gathering in the corners of your eyes, or muffle the scratchy, uneven sob that was clawing its way up your throat, demanding your acknowledgment before it surrendered.

Katsuki went quiet as you began to cry, but he was far from finished. Rather, his approach morphed into one of faux-sympathy and inescapable affection, his arms wrapping around your torso and dragging you towards him, smothering you in a strategy so uncharacteristic, you had to melt into it. Resisting wasn’t an option, when Katsuki chose to be patient. “It’s alright,” He muttered, his tone suddenly so soft, so tender. If anything, it only made you cry harder. “That’s why I’m here, yeah? I need to keep you safe, even when you’re too much of a dumbass to appreciate me. I have to keep you grounded.”

This time, you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were too busy burying your face in the crook of his neck and clinging to him and letting him cling to you, not daring to wonder why you’d been opposed to it, earlier.

He was right. Katsuki took care of you, protected you, and you couldn’t afford to consider the alternative. You didn’t want to consider the alternative.

It was easier to let him hold you than it was to think about why you shouldn’t want him to.

[the-river-person]

Fangs, Tupperware, and Canines

Snip... snip... snip. Not one single stray bud or dying leaf would escape his shears. Papyrus, the Great and Terrible Papyrus, Lieutenant Captain of the Royal Guard, scowled in concentration as he trimmed the rose bush before him. It was a captain’s duty to maintain the flowerbeds around the station, for though they did not produce any actual sustenance, the roses were a symbol of loyalty to the Royal Family, and thus must be maintained with as much care as any plant in the fields or orchards. The sharp blade cut away at any offending sign of decay or hasty growth, mercilessly silencing them as brutally as the Lieutenant Captain would any lawbreaker. His hands were steady, showing no sign of the inner rage he was struggling to contain. Sans was late, again. If that no good, lazy, shit piece of-... no. Sans would have some reason, he was sure of it. There was always some reason, after all. Not always a good one, but good enough to scrape him by. Hmph. He glared at the rosebush as if it were at fault for his brother’s idiocy. Predictably, the rose bush showed no reaction, nor had Papyrus expected it to. He caught the sound of familiar footsteps approaching, that was Sans at last. But... not alone? Sans had no friends... who? Hand at his side, ready to summon a weapon of bone at the slightest instant, he stood and turned to await the arrival of his brother and whoever was with him. Upon seeing who it was, he relaxed. Doggo, a member of the Canine Unite. Loyal as any dog, though stupid and vicious as one. Papyrus smirked slightly. Stupid was good when it came to the dogs. They didn’t get any funny ideas. Unfortunately, Doggo himself smelled very strongly of smoke and dog biscuits as well as the very faint scent of whisky. One more person was with them. Funnily enough this Monster was being dragged by Sans, presumably against their will, and did not look even remotely happy about their circumstances. Papyrus noted that Doggo was looking equally annoyed and was also being forced along against his will. How very odd, Sans didn’t usually exert his will unless he really felt he needed to, and considering how damned lazy he was, that hardly ever happened. The other Monster was a cat monster, much like that radio host from Nebelheim, though this one was smaller and very clearly a child. Their fur was lighter grey marked by darker grey streaks. “I expect you have a very good reason for all of...this?” said Papyrus shortly, unable to find a suitable word to describe the ludicrous scene in front of him as he gestured to the three monsters before him. Somehow, Sans’ grin was almost gleeful, something that Papyrus wanted to smack him for, but as tempting as it was he managed to resist the impulse. “Sorry Boss, I was on my way to find ya. And I ran into these idiots near the orchards.” And saying this he gave both cat monster and Doggo a little shake, causing both to bare their teeth at him, which only made him snicker. It was absolute bullshit, to use the common phrase. Sans didn’t walk anywhere if he could help it. Papyrus’ interest in this was growing with each moment. “Doggo here found a little free experience and thought he’d have some fun. Normally I wouldn’t care, but Doggo is in the Guard, ain’t he? I seem’ ta remember some kinda rule against that. Can’t have anyone under your command breakin’ the rules, can we?” Sans was definitely up to something. He didn’t care a bit about rules or regulations. But technically, he was correct. There was a rule about members of the guard taking advantage of their position to prey on the weak for XP. After all, someone needed to keep some kind of order. For a long moment, Papyrus was silent, trying to decide what to do with the lot of them. Because Sans had actively saved this child, he couldn’t simply be thrown out or imprisoned, there was procedure to think of. And of course, Doggo couldn’t be let off easy, though his punishment would be light since he was a valuable asset to the guard. Just enough to make an example. “You, child. Who are you? Where is your family? Parental authorities? Striped shirt? Well?” The cat-monster stared up at him, clearly bewildered, and after a moment where Papyrus’s impatience was beginning to boil, he finally shrugged and shook his head. With a snort, and reaching the very end of his patience, Papyrus simply used his magic to Check the child’s stats. “?????” * HP: 14/20 * AT: 0   DEF: 0 * Weapon: Teeth & Claws * Doesn’t know where or who he is, but is determined to survive. A resilient soul, despite the lack of parents or a home. * Has been hungry for a while. Oh. Papyrus paused, his scowl deepening as he thought hard. That changed things. He tapped the side of his skull thoughtfully as he pondered out loud. “Well then, we’ll of course have to inform Captain Undyne as per regulation. And figure out what to do with you until some more permanent solution can be found.” “I could eat him?” offered Doggo. It was only a joke, even Papyrus could tell that, though perhaps a poorly timed one considering how much trouble the stupid monster was already in. But in the few seconds that it took for the comment to register, the cat monster had already broken free from Sans’ grip and leapt upon Doggo, biting him hard with his sharp fangs. “OWOWOHOW!!!” screeched the guard dog as he tried to shake off his would-be assailant. Sans was laughing, doubling over as his belly and shoulders shook from the force of his amusement. “Well shit, Doggo. Looks like you’re the one who’s gonna get eaten! Little kitten here has fangs after all!” With a growl of feigned annoyance, though he too was resisting the urge to laugh, Papyrus reached forward and grabbed the nameless monster by the scruff of his neck and pulled him away from Doggo, forcing him to release his toothy hold in order to turn around and bite Papyrus instead. “Stop that,” ordered the Lieutenant Captain sharply and his captive stilled in fear. “It won’t help anyway, I’m as resilient as bone.” He smirked in San’s direction as his brother’s face went blank with surprise before breaking into an even wider grin. “We’ll have to call you something, and since you seem to be well equipped with them, we’ll call you Fang. Don’t bite any more guards unless you have no other choice, its against the law.” Thrusting Fang down into a chair he made his way over to a little refrigerator sitting in the corner, from this he removed a tupperware of his famous lasagna. It was still hot, as the fridge was one of the custom made ones from Nebelheim labs and kept anything inside well heated. This he placed down firmly in front of Fang, adding a fork and a napkin for good measure. Injuries and lost identities were no excuse for bad manners. Doggo was scowling at the kid, “You’re feeding him?” He said with a sort of plaintive and complaining whine in his voice. “But he bit me.” “Yes he did, and well deserved too. Besides, he’s hungry and the best remedy is my famous-” he paused as there was a tug on his sleeve. Turning to look he found the boy offering him the now empty tupperware with a hopeful expression. Wordlessly Papyrus retrieved another from the fridge and that too was quickly devoured. Honestly he wasn’t at all certain what to make of the expression the child was giving him now, something kind of like adoration. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but he found it difficult to fault anyone who had such refined taste enough for his lasagna. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat, it was time to get back on track. “He can stay in the spare bedroom for a week or so, until things are sorted out and some other arrangement can be made. Papyrus took great pleasure in the fact that both Doggo and Sans had sour expressions now. Doggo still nursing the bite marks from the kid’s teeth, and Sans looking like he wished he’d dumped the kid in a ditch before sharing the house with someone else. “Now,” he said, addressing the pair. “I seem to recall that both of you are still on duty, and the day isn’t nearly over. Get back to your patrols or I’ll be sending reports to Undyne containing your death certificates.” With a click of his teeth in a wide grin and a mocking salute, Sans disappeared with a final “Aye Boss, whatever you say.” Doggo sullenly gave a more proper salute and slunk off out the door. Papyrus noted that the canine’s uniform was wrinkled and the shirt wasn’t tucked in, not to mention that it also had several small tears where the material had worn thin. Humph. It was a travesty. He’d have to order an official inspection one of these days.

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 4

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1813

Rating:  E

Warnings: Blood and Serious Injures, talk of past miscarriage and red room fuckery.

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 4

“We could use a healer over here!”

Clint’s voice had come over comms, and you looked around the area trying to figure out where ‘here’ actually was.  You eventually spotted both him and Natasha with a group of children, sheltering under a bridge.

You took a quick looked around, and ran out from your hiding spot, vaulting over a stone fence as you charged in the direction of Clint and Natasha.  Gunfire immediately broke out and you caught a bullet in the side.  It slowed you for a moment as a hot pain flared out and then died back off.  By the time you reached Natasha and Clint, the only sign that you had been shot at all was a hole in your catsuit and some already drying blood.

“Think this might be above your abilities,” Natasha said.  She was cradling a young boy, and when you moved closer she moved her hand showing you where their leg now had broken exposed bone.

“Fuck,” you cursed, crouching down.

“She said a bad word,” a very young girl said.

“She sure did.  And right now you all have special Avengers’ permission to say as many bad words as you know,” Clint said, as he loosed a couple of arrows. “Ready… set… go.”

The group of children all broke out into random cursing and you looked at Natasha.  “I’m gonna try blood.  Pray to Thor that we match.  Can you get that bone back into alignment?”

Natasha nodded.  “Okay, malysh,” Natasha soothed and took one of her lives out of its leather holsters.  “This is going to hurt a lot.  But I need you to be very brave for me and hold as still as you can.  And when we’re done, we’ll make sure you get home safe with your family.  I promise.”

He nodded weakly and she held the leather holster to his lips.  “Bite down on this, little one.”

The boy bit down into the leather and Natasha quickly snapped the bones back into place with a loud and gut turning crack.  The boy screamed into the holster and passed out. You took the knife that the holster homed and cut open your arm.

You had been part of the Avengers for over three years now.  One mission had turned into many and you had gone from being a new recruit to a full-fledged agent.  You settled into life at the compound and the memory of a time where you were scared and didn’t know exactly how you could use your powers to help people.

You had friends and a routine and you dated on and off and when you were off you would hook up with Natasha and Clint because they were just that little bit too hard to resist.  Especially when you’d just gone through a breakup.  You considered them your best friends and you loved their relationship dynamic.  They were hilarious together and their way of showing affection was so perfectly them.

Most of your missions were with one or the other or both.  The closeness had made you be able to work like a well-oiled machine together, being able to predict each other’s patterns and counter each other.  This particular mission was a big one though.  A small town in the Midwest had been attacked by domestic terrorists and the whole team had been sent out to stop it.

As your blood mixed with the boy’s, nothing seemed to happen.  You cursed the stupid limitations of your powers and you were just about to let your own wound close back up when you noticed the bones and flesh knitting back together on the boy’s leg.  You had to keep twisting the knife in your own wound to keep the blood flowing and your hand was beginning to shake from the pain.  As the wound closed you let go of the knife and your own cut rapidly healed.  Color returned to his skin and his eyes fluttered open.

“Thank Thor,” Clint sighed.  He turned back to look at the kids like he was planning what the next move should be and there was a crack from a bolt of lightning behind him, making him jump

“You can save the thanks for when I have actually helped,” Thor teased, playfully.  “Come, your extraction has arrived.”

A huge armored vehicle pulled up at the bridge and the side opened.  Clint ran to the side of the truck and began loosing arrows out past it, creative cover.

“Come, little ones,” Natasha said.  “Onto the truck.”

You and she herded the children into the vehicle, carrying the injured boy into the back and putting him on a stretcher.  When you were all safe inside, Clint climbed in and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Hold tight,” the agent driving called back.  Clint sat down on one of the benches as the truck took off much faster than you expected.

“How close are we to being done with this?”  You asked as a little girl climbed up into Clint’s lap and clung to him.  He wrapped an arm around her and held her steady as the truck bounced over the rough terrain.

“Captain Rogers is mounting an assault on the last remaining group now.  Shouldn’t be much longer,” the agent called back.  “You were the last group that had been cornered by them.”

“Thank god,” you sighed and let your head fall back against the wall of the truck.  You immediately regretted it, as it banged against metal.

You sat back up and watched Clint with the little girl.  She had calmed down and was gradually drifting off to sleep against him.

“Clint looks really good with kids,” you whispered to Nat.

She nodded.  “Yeah, he’s a natural with them.  I think because he is basically a giant child.”

You snorted and bumped her with your shoulder. “You were good with them too.  You guys gonna have kids someday?”

Natasha frowned.  “Can’t,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, but the slight strain giving away her pain.  “We want to.  But… the Red Room did something to me.  Having children creates weakness, so they sterilized me.  But… not… I mean… I have been pregnant but it ended up in a late-term miscarriage.”

“I’m so sorry, Natasha,” you said.  If it was anyone else you would have wrapped your arms around them and let them be weak.  Natasha would rather stab herself in the eye than let that happen though, so instead, you leaned against her a little, hoping that your weight might be comforting and allow her to be strong.  “Have you ever considered adoption?  Or surrogacy?”

She nodded.  “Surrogacy is out, it’s something about the genes.  They have a self destruct in them.  We applied to adopt but were told in no uncertain terms that no one is allowing an ex Russian-assassin adopt a child.”

“That fucking sucks,” you said, not quite sure what else you could say.  It did fucking suck and you wished there was something you could do.  You weren’t used to hearing that crack of pain in her voice.  It was akin to seeing Wanda in actual tears.

Natasha laughed softly.  “Yeah.  It does.  I’d love to be a mother.  But I guess for me, that isn’t to be.  I have escaped what the Red Room did to me.  I’ve tried making up for it.  I send money to the families of my victims.  I save people.  But they will always have this over me.”  She sighed and looked over at Clint.  “He says he’s okay with it.  I know that he would never complain about missing out, but I hate that my past has taken this from him too.  When he called me to tell me he met a healer that day when he met you, I got a little excited.  I thought… I hoped maybe you could undo what they did to me.  But that’s not how your powers work.”

You shook your head.  “I’m sorry.”

She rubbed your thigh.  “Not your fault.  You didn’t do this to me. They did,” she said. “Just have to accept that maybe after everything I did, I have to just be happy with the ending I get.  I am lucky I have him.  It’s enough.”

You couldn’t stop thinking about the things Natasha had said on the way back to base, through the cleanup, on the ride home, and through the entire debrief.  Your powers couldn’t help fix what had happened to her.  Even if you gave her a full blood transfusion they couldn’t fix something that had been done to her so long ago.  You needed an exchange of fluids and it to be fresh.

Normally a surrogate wouldn’t work because whatever they’d done kicked in late on in the pregnancy due to genes.  But if you were the one that was pregnant, the issue wouldn’t be old, your powers would be here, correcting mistakes and potential health issues before they happened, and as far as fluids, they’d be soaking in them, and sharing your blood supply.  You didn’t know for sure if it would work, but the more you thought about it the more you were sure it would.

You thought about what it would be like having a baby for someone else.  It took a special kind of person to agree to put their body through that for almost a year and then to give that baby up.  It wasn’t for everyone and it would be hard, both physically and emotionally.  Clint and Natasha were your best friends and you might be the only chance they had to have kids together.  If you could give them that, you wanted to try.

After the debrief, everyone scattered to their rooms or apartments to sleep it off.  You couldn’t turn your mind off and so after half an hour of pacing your room, you went to Natasha and Clint’s apartment and knocked on the door.

Clint answered the door and looked you up and down, grinning.  “You didn’t get enough of us this week?”  He teased.

“I just… I wanted to…” You shook your head and took a deep breath.

“No offense, dorogáya,” Natasha said, coming over to the door.  “It’s been a long week and Clint and I just want to have some couple-time.”

“Right, yeah.  I’ll leave you to it,” you said, tapping your hands nervously on your thighs.  “I just… I wanted to say…”  You took a deep breath and let it out in a huff.  “Let me do it.”

“Let you do what?”  Clint said, putting his arm around your shoulder.  “Babe, what’s wrong?  You’re so worked up.”

Your eyes flicked between Clint and Natasha.  You didn’t know why you were so nervous.  This was a nice offer.  If they said no then they said no.  “Natasha,” you said.  “Nat.  Let me carry your baby.”

// NEXT

[eerythingisshaka]

Manhattan’s Finest

First Part

[Dr. Manhattan x Black Reader]

Word Count: 2.4K

The crowd erupts after the final song from the play ‘It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane!  It’s Dr. Manhattan!’  Whistles and cheers fill the auditorium as the performers take a bow, receiving gifts from loved ones in the audience.  

You cheer along with them all, having enjoyed the play more than you expected to.  A friend of yours was supposed to come along but flaked out at the last minute.  It’s fine, at $95 a ticket, you would’ve loved to have used their ticket on dinner instead but life is shit.  

You wait for the auditorium to clear out before you get going yourself.  It is much better not walking over people and pushing into each other as much as possible.  When you make it outside, the muggy air makes you instantly miss the air conditioning inside the theater.  Another $95 for a cool breeze would be worth it.

“(y/n)”

You look to your left seeing a man in a suit with a blue mask.  His skin is also tinted blue, somewhere between winterfresh gum and blue raspberry jolly ranchers.

“Hi?  Oh, are you one of the performers?!”  you ask excitedly, running up to him, but being taken aback by how tall he is.  “You were awesome up there.  There were a couple Manhattans but were you the one that sang ‘Blue is the Blood that Runs Cold’?  Because man, I have never heard a vibrato like that.  It was very impressive.”

“I am not a performer in this production,”  he says flatly.

You cock your head to the side, observing his manner.  “But...then why all the blue?  And did I introduce myself, because I don’t remember telling you.”

“You do, later on in the evening.”

You blink a couple times.  “I’m going home to bed after your play.  How could I be talking to you?”

“As I said, I am not a performer or member of staff on this production.  And I am sorry that you cannot afford the dinner with your unrequited love tonight who is making love to his superior right now, but in time it will-”

“Whoa, what the hell did you just say?  His boss?  And what do you mean?  I don’t love him!”

Unshifting, he continues, “I believe love can exist even in one sided instances.  I am finding myself in that position right now by the end of the week.”

You take a step towards him and then to the side, watching him follow your movement.  “Ok, I just had to make sure you have eyes under there.  You’re stiff as hell.”

He gives a small chuckle that makes you laugh nervously.  “Heh, what’s funny?”

“That is what you say to me when we take the train back to your place.  You enjoy public displays of affection, both innocent and explicit.”

You groan with disgust.  “I haven’t done shit like that a day in my life.  How dare you!”

“You do not, because of fear and weak men.  You’ve gone all your life thus far picking unattainable partners because you do not see yourself worthy of the ones that truly excite you.”

You cross your arms, growing all the more impatient.  “Who are you?”

“I am Dr. Manhattan.”

“PFFFFF!  HAHAHA!”  You laugh out loud, causing passersby to stare.  “You are too much!”

He scoffs, making you question him again.  “If I tell you, you will become physical.”

“Try me, nothing is wilder than saying you are Dr. Manhattan.”

“That phrase you said ‘you are too much’, is something you say during the heat of passion as I penetrate you in the foyer of your home.”

Hearing this makes your blood boil, feeling disrespected is something you refuse to tolerate.  You push your hands against his chest hard; he barely flinches, instead lowering his head.

“You’re a perverted bastard is what you are!  Take that fucking mask off coward, so I know whose ass I’m finna beat.”

“I cannot remove my mask.  It would draw too much attention.”

“HA!  But telling a random woman that she’s gonna be stroking your dick by midnight isn’t attention seeking?”

“11:38 pm.”

“What?”  you ask exasperatedly.  

“11:38 pm, not midnight.  It is 10:15 now, with a 20 minute walk to the station and another 20 minute wait after just missing your train added to your travel time, it will be 11:38 pm.”

“I AM DONE HERE!  Have a shitty night!”  You walk away, looking back just once.  “And no one really likes Dr. Manhattan except for his huge dick which I am sure you are lacking!” Your heels clack down the sidewalk furiously with the snap of your heel.  Steam practically rises off of your body as you think back to the imbecile who couldn’t keep it in his pants.  You come up to an intersection and check your phone, which sparks the thought of how he knew about your name and your date bailing and if there was any truth to why he stood you up.

“Is it better for you that I prove myself to be Dr. Manhattan?”

You jump a little too close to the curb, steadying yourself on a nearby pole.  “You aren’t him, just shut up about it.”

“But you are curious, aren’t you?”

You look blankly at the road, running over what he said to you before  again.  “What’s his name?”

“Whose?”

You roll your eyes.  “If you are Dr. Manhattan, you would know who I am talking about.”

“I do, I just...need to hear you ask it,” he says.

The cross signal goes on and you begin to strut across.  “Oh, is there going to be a rip in the space time continuum if I don’t do things exactly as you predict?”

“They are not predictions but current events.  This is already the past.”

You look back at him walking next to you and it unnerves you how he is able to keep up with your hurried stride like a swan on water.  He doesn’t sound anxious or out of breath and his body has no bounce even when he steps.

You stop in a quiet part of the street, taking out your phone to turn on the flashlight, beaming it in his face.  “What is my date’s name?”

“Crawford.  You like that name very much, like Redford or Ashford.”

You pause for a second in silence.  “What does he do for a living?”

“Marketing, not unlike yourself.  He is up for a promotion but his relationship with his superior is making him feel insecure about his worthiness of moving up in his company however he is in love with her.”

Your heart caves in a little at the word love.  You didn’t think an office fling would come to that, so soon.  

“He shared many things with you, vulnerably.  They were truthful, so you should not regret those moments.  However, opening yourself up to him has only led to your heartbreak sooner.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  you ask softly, feeling tears swell up in your eyes.

He takes a beat before continuing.  “You took his vulnerability as a sign of trust and therefore evidence that he loves you but because of his strife, you thought it would take time.  However, he was only using you for his own gain.  You gave him advice that you thought would make him see you as the object of his affection but it instead pushed him further into her arms.”

You scoff, making a tear jump down your cheek.  You turn the phone light off, trying your best to hide your emotion.  “I still don’t believe you.”

You pull up your friend’s phone number and dial him.  The trill of the call ringing in your ear is painful, so you hang up and text him.

“That will be regrettable tomorrow.”

“Yeah I know.  Dr. Manhattan doesn’t have to tell me that for it to be true.”  You walk down the street at a slower pace, allowing him to walk next to you without resistance.  

“Ok.  Manhattan, huh?  I’m (y/n).”

“I know,” he says lightly.

“Of course you do.  So even though you aren’t from the play, you do know what the play is about right?  They didn’t say anything original that everybody doesn’t already think.”

“I find people’s fixation on my purpose to be distracting.  When the world has developed exponentially over the decades and yet resists change in its most basic forms should be infuriating enough to not dwell on me.”

You tweak your mouth, impressed by his analysis.  “I can’t fault you for that.  But a blue guy from space with powers is an interesting subject.  And you’re usually taller right?”

“I don’t need the attention from that,” he says.

“But blue skin isn’t distracting?”  you quip.

“I don’t choose forms on a whim.  There has to be purpose.”

“So what purpose do you have here with me?  Or am I a stepping stone to somewhere else, because that is a popular feature of mine,” you say deflated.

“You are a beacon of positive energy, which is attractive to most.  But not everyone deserves it.”

“So you are going to mentor me?”

“I am going to love you, and you will love me.  In time.”

You throw your hands in the air in frustration.  “How can you when you don’t know me!”

“But I do,”  he says, stopping at the entrance of the train station, to open the door for you.

“Fine.  Dog’s name.”

“Shrek.”

“Favorite movie?”

“The Color Purple.”

“Third grade teacher’s name?”

“Mr. Rideau, and I believe you had a crush on him.”

“NO!  I did not!”  You walk past him in a huff, completely embarrassed that he outed your interest in your teacher in public like that.  You trot down the stairs, expecting your train to arrive in a minute but instead you see that very train pulling off as your hop off the last step.  

“Dammit!”  You collect your composure and plop down on a bench to await the next arrival.  Dr. Manhattan slinks next to you.  

You check him out in your peripheral, looking behind your shoulder.  “You should really not be blue waiting on the train.  No one here knows about the show so you stick out like a sore thumb.”

Dr. Manhattan looks slowly at his hands, before turning to you.  “I could change, if you like.”

You sigh.  “If I had a dollar for every man who told me that.”  Looking straight into the black holes of his mask is unnerving to you, feeling a chill run down your spine makes you shiver.

“It’s probably for the best, because this is freaking me out.”

“What would you like for me to look like?”

You shrug.  “I can just build you piece by piece?”

He nods.  “Essentially.”

You look Manhattan up and down in a complete loss.  “I don’t have time for details.  When I think of a man I just want them tall, big pockets and a bigger dick.”  This sparks a thought in your mind, making you slide slightly closer to him.  “Ok, I know you not about that musical or rumors, but is it true about…”  You point toward his lap inconspicuously.

“That I am well endowed?  Ah well, those measures are up to the individual.  You may see for yourself if you like.” 

Your body rears back in surprise.  “That’s probably what you were looking for this whole time!  You’re ridiculous.”

Dr. Manhattan sits unphased.  “I won’t force you to, but I know you will.  I mentioned it before.  I know this is a fantasy of yours, despite my person being involved.”

“So I can just rub on your dick and it means nothing for you?  That’s almost disappointing...but this night has already been wild, so feeling up a stranger ain’t far off.”  You look around the practically empty station, taking your hand slowly up his thigh until you felt something solid and girthy.

“You’re stiff as hell!”  you exclaim, quickly taking your hand back.

“It is a normal state in which I remain in this form.”

“And it’s blue just like you huh?”

“Correct.”

You shake your head.  “I don’t think I have it in me to look, so I’ll take your word for it.”

An announcement comes on saying your train is arriving soon.  You check your phone; it’s 10:54pm.  

“Listen.  There’s no way I can sit with you blue on this damn train.  So what do you do, hocus pocus into a Black man?”

“It helps to have a reference in mind,” he says.

“You think for a beat before taking out your phone and looking through Instagram.  “If I show you a picture, will that do?”

“Of course.  I can emulate imagery.”

You look through your feed as quick as you can pulling up the profile, and your favorite picture.

“Him.   Can you change into him?”

His face leans into your phone for a moment.  In the time it takes for you to blink, a blue light flashes and before you is the man from your feed.  The rush of air from the train kicks particles in your eyes, and you rub them for relief and proof that this isn’t a dream.  But in front of you is the likeness.  

“This is dangerous,” you say, trying to pick your jaw off the ground.  He looks around and at his hands, adjusts his suit, then looks at you.

“Is this better?”  

You hold your mouth gasping.  “You even sound like him!  A little stiffer, but very much like him,”

His complexion in person is just as clear as his photos with deep brown hue that has nary a blemish.  Strong jaw cloaked in a close trimmed beard that frames the exterior of his wide, chunky lips.  He blinks at you with a gaze of innocence and naivete.

You remember to breathe and answer, “Yes.  It’s much much better.”  The ding of the train alerting its departure snaps you back to reality, grabbing his hand to make it through the closing doors just in time.  

You find two empty seats in the back, sitting next to the window.  You sit next to him nervously, playing with your hands as the train rumbles down the tracks.  You look out over the city passing you both and catch his reflection in the window staring at you.  His eyes look happy.

“What?”  you ask quietly, looking back at him.

[lovely-little-whumpee]

Yuliy Morrow - Auction

Okay I finally finished this chapter, I don’t know why it took so long, sorry.

Wordcount: 2.2k

Taglist (let me know if you want to be removed or added): @king-ivory @shigar4kifuck3r @whumphours @whumpzone

Cw: Drugging, human trafficking, non-consensual touching/manhandling, little bit of violence. Please let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Yuliy groaned as he started to regain consciousness, a pounding headache warning him early that it was probably best to go right back to sleep. He’d been getting ready to do just that, when he remembered the events that led to his hurt head -kidnapped-they-took-me-away-they-drugged-me- in the first place. He shot up, only to yelp in pain as his forehead connected with something metal. The headache only got worse, and he felt nausea building in his stomach, though he didn’t know if it were a result of the pain or whatever it was they drugged him with.

Swallowing back the bile Yuliy opened his eyes, catching the sight of a metal lid over top of him, and the metal bars surrounding his sides. He was in a cage, and a rather small one at that. Sitting up—this time being much more successful— he realized that he’d have to stay hunched over or curled in the fetal position to be able to fit inside the small prison. Where was he? Why had he been taken? He tried to remember the words the broad kidnapper had spoken over the phone, but everything was a blurry haze. He couldn’t even remember the faces of his assaulters. 

He vaguely remembered the weeping woman, who in retrospect he shouldn’t have approached at all. Hindsight 20/20, Yuliy. Just as he began searching for a weak point in the cage, a door somewhere slammed open, and the lights to the room he was in flicked on. He flinched from the sudden noise and the flooding of the fluorescent lights, hating what they did to his head. He didn’t have the time to lament long before he was taking in as much as he could of his surroundings, what little he could see anyway. Because of the short height of the cage and the lid overtop, Yuliy could only see the bottom half of the room, if that. Still, he did his best to commit it to memory, not knowing whether or not it’d come in handy later on.

“Alright newbie, you’re a bit of a latecomer, so you’re the last one being sold out of this batch.” Wait, what? Yuliy was certain that he’d heard the words wrong, that his headache was making him imagine things. Sold? Him? Why? How?

His tongue sat heavy in his mouth, but he was eventually able to pry it open enough to speak. “Why… why am I here?” He asked, his voice sounding weak and hoarse, his throat dry and feeling like he’d swallowed sandpaper. How long had he been out? The man chuckled, and Yuliy could only see the man’s knees and below, and he doubted he’d see the other’s face for the time he was here. 

“Aren’t you a dumb one,” the man snickered, kicking Yuliy’s cage lightly and causing him to flinch as it rocked. “I’ve just told you, have I not? You’re being sold to the highest bidder. With any luck, we’ll never meet again.” The man’s voice sounded so flippant, and Yuliy opened his mouth to yell at him. “And I suggest you don’t speak anymore, unless you want someone to have to come in and gag you,” he threatened. Yuliy decided to ignore him on the off chance that they were close enough to civilization that he’d be heard by someone outside. 

“N-no! You can’t keep me here! People will— people are looking for me, right now probably! Just, just let me go!” He shouted, hating the fear in his voice and the way his words caught several times. The man outright laughed, having to take several moments to regain his composure, and Yuliy felt more of that budding fear begin worming its way up his chest.

“You think we didn’t do a little research on you before we grabbed you? You’re Yuliy Morrow, nineteen years old and no remaining family. You live in a rundown apartment in the shadier part of your town. The perfect catch.” Yuliy’s jaw fell slack as the man recited the facts about him, hating how quickly his odds were beginning to fall. “Sad to say this kid, but no one’s gonna look for you.” No, that wasn’t true, was it? Certainly his boss would look for him when he missed work on Monday, right? Maybe his professors would think he’d just dropped out, but perhaps his landlord would check in when he didn’t receive his monthly rent? 

Would the trail be cold by the time someone realized he was missing? 

Yuliy felt the nausea creeping up once more, and this time, he wasn’t able to swallow it down, and his back hunched from the force of the first retch. By the second, burning stomach acid wormed its way up his throat. By the third, the mouthfuls fell onto his clothes and the floor of the cage. By the fourth, the smell of it hit the air, causing him to cringe in repulsion and try not to retch again. He was unsuccessful, and by the time he was finished, he was gasping for air, his chest burning from the effort. 

“Gross kid, I mean we were gonna clean you up anyway, but you didn’t need to go and make our jobs any harder.” Yuliy wanted to curse at the man, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, and that if they hadn’t kidnapped him in the first place none of this would be happening. The words got caught in his throat though, what with him still heaving for breath an all. 

Suddenly, the lid to the cage was pried back, and how hadn’t Yuliy noticed the extra pairs of feet in the room? The vomiting probably had something to do with it. Before he was able to take in anymore than that, Yuliy’s head was wrenched back so hard that he could feel several strands of his hair loosen. A blindfold was then yanked over his eyes -it's-dark-I-can’t-see-what-are-they-going-to-do-to-me- and tied so tightly he groaned from the pain. His world went dark and he wasn’t able to balance properly, though he didn’t know if it was because of the general sluggishness he was feeling or because he wasn’t able to see. 

It didn’t matter to the strangers though, as they simply dragged him somewhere for several minutes. Without being able to see anything, Yuliy tried to rely on his other instincts, but he wasn’t practiced in doing so, and really was only able to hear shoes slapping against tile. What did they plan on doing to him? “Please… please just let me go,” he whispered, knowing that his chances were slim but still wanting to try anyway. Even having a one percent chance of getting out of his situation was better than none. Predictably, he hadn’t been answered at all, and he whimpered softly as the hopelessness of his situation continued to crash down on him. 

When they finally came to a stop, Yuliy could hardly tell up from down, much less how long they’d been walking or what type of room he was in. He was let go of by one of the bodyguards, but the other grabbed his wrists painfully and cuffed them. Yuliy tried to pull them back to his chest as a layer of protection between him and the invisible man, but a loud clanking sound and thud stopped him. “W-what?” He mumbled, trying to wrap his hands around the object in which his hands were tied to. It felt like a simple metal pole, rather thin but sturdy, as evidenced by it not moving a single inch no matter how hard Yuliy tugged on it. 

He only stopped his tugging when he felt hands pulling at his clothes, and then the unmistakable sounding of cutting fabric. He panicked, trying to jerk away but only managing a couple of inches because of the handcuffs. “Get off me! Don’t touch me!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, kicking out blindly but never being able to connect to anything. Without successfully being able to fend off the attacker, Yuliy’s shirt was eventually cut off. Despite his shouting and protests, his jeans were eventually cut off too. He could feel tears forming behind the blindfold because of the invasion -They’re-touching-me-stop-I-don’t-want-you-to-why-are-you-doing-this- and he yelped as the cold air hit his skin, causing the fine hairs on his body to raise. 

A gag was suddenly shoved inside his mouth, tied behind his head before he could comprehend much more than what it was. Belatedly he realized that it must’ve been a piece of cloth cut from his clothing. Someone then fisted the hem of his boxers -please-please-don’t-why-can’t-you-just-leave-them- before cutting them off in one smooth motion and in the sudden onslaught of panic and his hyperventilating, Yuliy didn’t realize he’d fallen to the ground, curling in on himself to protect the barest parts of him. The man didn’t care though, and Yuliy heard the turning of a faucet before he was sprayed with a powerful stream of water that was sure to leave bruises.

They hosed him down like he was nothing more than an object, and when they’d finally finished, Yuliy was shaking and sobbing quietly. Something soft was then thrown at him, hitting him in the chest before falling on top of his legs. He’d flinched, having not known what it was before, but now he was simply confused. 

“Put it on.” It wasn’t the same man from before speaking, and Yuliy burned in shame and embarrassment at how many people were seeing him so vulnerable, so -naked-they-took-all-my-clothes-and-hosed-me-down-they-all-saw-me-they-still-see-me-naked-they’re-looking-at-me- bare. It took several long minutes— filled with his quiet sniffling and blind fumblings— to find out that it was a pair of boxers they’d thrown at him. He quickly pulled them on, uncomfortable at how well they fit, like they’d known his size beforehand. Still, he wasn’t going to just not wear them. Any covering was better than none.

He was hauled to his feet, and his hands were uncuffed and re-cuffed behind his back. Though he tried to resist, even digging his feet into the concrete, he was still dragged along to another room. Little noises involuntarily bubbled up his throat, but with the gag most of them were almost completely muffled. 

Despite being blindfolded, the route they were going down seemed familiar in its length and the amount of turns. Yuliy knew that they were probably throwing him into the same room as earlier for convenience sake. He knew he was right when he was forced into the -too-small-I-can’t-move- cage as before, the metal cold and wet, like they’d hosed it down as they did him. “They show his pictures and information to the crowd yet?” One guard asked another, and Yuliy listened as intently as he could. They were showing people his pictures? What pictures? Had they taken them while he’d been unconscious? 

“Yeah, boss said they already started bidding and everything. Say he might be the highest sell tonight.”

“Thank fuck, I’m trying to get home.” Yeah me too, Yuliy thought, but he couldn’t say anything with the gag. With his hands tied behind him, he couldn’t really shift to get comfortable, and his shoulder dug painfully into the hard metal where he lay. Less than before, but still noticeable was the drug that must’ve still been in Yuliy’s system. Either that, or the blindfold was really messing with his perception of time, as it seemed to by quickly after that— which was the opposite of what he wanted. 

Eventually enough, the same door as before slammed open, and Yuliy flinched from the noise. “Alright get him prepped for our dear client here.” It was the man from earlier, the one who’d made the initial threat of gagging him. He hadn’t even realized the man had left. Was he the boss the guards were talking about? 

The man’s words then dawned on him as he was violently pulled out of the cage, his arm feeling as though it were going to be pulled out of its socket. He screamed and kicked, shouting the words “no”, “stop”, and “please”, most of it muffled and garbled, but the meaning was clear all the same. With his struggling, he managed to get a few hits on the two guards trying to wrestle him down, and then there was a strange limbo where he was suddenly weightless and floating, before gravity came back and he was slammed against the concrete floor, his head cracking painfully on top of it. Oh, that was gonna concuss. 

His blindfold slipped up a bit just as he felt the needle pierce his neck with an awful feeling of deja vu. When he glanced over, he saw two men standing by the door, although he didn’t know who was the boss and who was the customer. Which one held his life in their hands? “Alright Bram, he should be out long enough for you to get him home. If you’d like a refund, be sure to contact us within a week, or else it will be void.” The man named Bram didn’t look like he’d heard the other at all though, his eyes never moving from Yuliy.

Bram leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, looking like he owned the place instead of just being a customer. He smirked before he began speaking, eyes boring into Yuliy’s, “Silly pet, you weren’t supposed to see my face yet.”

Oh. 

Masterlist

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[celosiaa]

it’s all alright

Summary: Jon's ill-- they both are, and Martin's doing his best to be okay.

(missing scene from "steady, love”)

Inner thoughts are formatted in italics, and the Eye speaks in glitched text.

QUICK RECAP: Martin's got pneumonia, and spread his germs to Jon. Jon's just regular sick though-- Martin has pneumonia because the Lonely made his illness worse.

---

“…No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear his tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.”

Giving a soft smile and sigh of contentment, Martin finishes his murmured reading, setting his notebook of favorites on the arm of the couch and continuing to move his hand through Jon’s graying locks.  He’d dozed off with his head on Martin’s lap nearly an hour ago, and Martin has been trying to soothe his restless sleep the best way he can.  Placing a hand over Jon’s sweat-beaded brow, he feels an immediate spike of anxiety pulse through him.

Fever’s up again.

This is, without a doubt, the worst day of Jon’s illness.  He’d spent the morning wracked with fever chills, constant fits of sneezing and coughing leaving him exhausted by midday.  Sweeping his gaze over the length of his rail-thin frame, a deep sorrow wells up in Martin’s chest, deep enough to drown him.  Constant stress and grief and hunger have clearly taken their toll; the price steep enough to drive Jon’s body far beyond limits of what might remotely be considered healthy.  He’s lost Tim, he’s lost Daisy, he endured the Buried and the Lonely just to save the people he loves and—

Martin hadn’t been there for him through any of it.  

There’s no denying that.

All he can do is wish that he were at full capacity to see to Jon’s every need in the present.  As it stands right now, however, Martin still very much doubts his ability even to walk up the stairs under his own strength.

Pathetic.

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.

No, that’s not true.  You know it’s not.

We’re both ill and it’s not your fault.

…well, mostly, anyway.

Letting out a shaky breath, he allows himself a moment to collect all the small bursts of unease taking over his mind, pulling them together until they become something manageable.  As if awake enough to read his thoughts, Jon shifts over his lap, turning to burrow his face further into Martin’s thigh.

Martin feels a blush creeping over his cheeks, and finds himself unable to resist the urge to grin down at him.

I never thought I could have this.

Never thought I deserved it.

He cards a hand through Jon’s curls once more.

Maybe I don’t, but…I suppose it’s happened anyway, hasn’t it?

It’s happened and I’m so in love, I’m so in love

And he trusts me to be here with him. To be here for him.

Even if I am just a soft pillow to cuddle at the moment.

He exhales briefly in a silent laugh.  Unfortunately, this seems to jostle Jon’s skeletal frame—he sniffs miserably in response, sinuses still laden with congestion, before his chest heaves in a weak, echoing cough against Martin’s thigh.

Worry seeps into his bones as Jon’s body continues to shake with chills.  Eyeing the blanket draped over the back of the sofa, Martin’s every impulse drives him to pull it over onto him—but he knows it will only drive his temperature up.  He settles instead for rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades, guilt creeping steadily back in to strangle his heart.

God, what is wrong with you?

You’re really going to let yourself enjoy his misery?  Enjoy that he’s probably out of his mind with fever?

Because what, it makes him sweet?

Makes him want you?

Martin pulls his hand back from Jon’s shoulders as if it had been burned.

He doesn’t want you.

How could he?

Something sits heavy in Martin’s chest, threatening to bubble to the surface.

…no.  That’s not true.

He said he loves you, and that felt more true than anything Peter ever told you.

This is just loneliness.

A falsehood of your own making.

Martin sighs shallowly, attempting not to disturb the infection still living in his lungs.  Even with all this, with all his determination that his guilt is baseless—he cannot deny how much it hurts.  He tries to reach out, to touch Jon again, to anchor himself, but finds that he cannot.  Not with the constant doubt of Jon’s willingness to be comforted pulsing through his mind.

Another inhale, and—

His breath hitches at the top, chest burbling.

Shit.

Everything that had been racing through his mind ceases to be at once, replaced by a singular thought:

Don’t wake him don’t wake him don’t wake him

Martin’s lungs burn, beginning to tremble under the lack of oxygen.  Trembling quickly gives way to convulsions, his chest heaving with effort as he claps a hand over his mouth.  Desperate tears pool in his eyes when the movement disturbs Jon, who furrows his brow and moans in annoyance.

No no please no

He can see his glass of water on the coffee table, just outside of arm’s length, and knows he will not reach for it.  Instead, he tilts his head back, inhaling with caution, trying to convince the congestion to settle once again.

Knew I should have taken those cough suppressants.

Jon had let him take them only once before.  The first time Martin had requested them, it had been during another fever spike, and he had apparently been rambling—about how much noise he was making, how Jon needed to sleep, how Martin had done nothing but cause him harm.  Predictably enough, Jon had scolded him thoroughly for this, only allowing him to take them when the coughing had prevented Martin from sleep for nearly twenty-four hours.

           “You need to cough, Martin; you need to get it out,” he had said.

           “It’s too loud, it’s too loud, you shouldn’t have to—”

           “Stop.”

           He had taken Martin’s hands from where he’d been wringing them in distress.

           “Listen to me.  It’s loud, and it’s alright.  It’s loud, and it’s alright—I promise, darling.  Please…let yourself get well.”

The memory of these words rings through Martin’s mind.

Please let yourself get well.

He makes a decision.

Shaking Jon’s shoulder ever so lightly, Martin watches as he half-sits up, blinking blearily at him.

“M’tin?” he slurs.

Martin looks at him apologetically before he erupts, bending over his knees to cough violently into his elbow, stars dancing in the edges of his vision.

Sorry sorry I’m so sorry

---

When Martin begins coughing, Jon bolts upright, regretting it instantly as a wave of dizziness threatens to take him straight back down.  He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, willing the feeling to pass as Martin shows no signs of letting up.

Jesus, what’s happening?

At last, he feels steady enough to blink his eyes open, squinting against the light of midday streaming through the living room window.  The feeling of confusion, however, does not fade, and he’s all-too aware of his climbing temperature.

3̦̺9̗͋̈.̹͖͑2̐

God, shut up.

With some difficulty, he turns his attention to Martin, who is still hunched over, his cough producing nothing but an endless churning.  At last, some clarity makes its way into his thoughts, and Jon reaches out a hand to rest between Martin’s shoulders.

“D’you need the inhaler?” he asks in a voice far too low and nasal to be natural.

Martin shakes his head, of course, as always.  Jon shakes his own head in exasperation.

Stubborn.

After a few moments, Martin’s fit finally ceases, leaving him braced against his knees and gasping for breath.  Knowing now that the worst is over, Jon takes the opportunity to extract himself a bit from Martin’s side, reaching for the tissue box at the far end of the coffee table.  He glares at it in his hands for a moment, offended by its necessitated presence in their home, before handing one to Martin and taking one for himself.

Trying to clear his head feels like trying to force the ocean through a straw.  His head immediately starts throbbing, ears popping uncomfortably as he does his best to ease some of the pressure.  It’s to no avail, however.  He ends up breaking off into coughs, harsh and barking and painful.

“God, Jon.  You sound a lot worse.”

Martin’s hand is on his back now, rubbing back and forth with such a gentle motion that Jon finds himself swaying along.  The tide is pulling him down, back to sleep, back to rest—

“I’m so sorry I woke you,” Martin whispers.

Jon’s eyes snap back open, and he turns his face toward Martin in confusion.

“Wh…what?”

Martin does not reply, instead removing his hand from Jon’s back and turning to stare out the window.

Something about this does not feel right to Jon.

“Hey.”

He places a hand on Martin’s knee, squeezing gently.

“Hey, look at me.  Why are you apologizing?”

For a moment, Martin does not move, does not speak—locked in a staring contest with the falling leaves outside, until—

“Ah, fuck.”

Martin curses himself as he scrubs furiously at eyes, where tears have begun to spill over his cheeks.

Concern floods through Jon’s chest.

“Oh no, Martin, here—”

He reaches back again for the tissue box, holding it out for Martin to take some.  Muttering a wet “thanks,” he swipes at his eyes briefly, sniffling before he forces out a brief laugh.

“Sorry, god, it’s nothing.  I think I might have spiked another little fever.  You know how I get.”

He laughs again, and the hollowness of it darkens the room.

Jon can almost see him fading away, back into the fog.

Not anymore, Martin.

He begins stroking a hand up and down Martin’s forearm, worrying at his bottom lip for a moment as he considers his words.

“Martin, I—I think we need to talk about this.”

“No no, it’s fine Jon, really I—”

“It’s not fine.  You’re…upset, and I—I want to talk about why.  I think we need to talk about it.”

At this, Martin lowers his head, the shame and embarrassment rolling off him so profoundly that Jon requires no powers of the Eye to sense it.

I need to tell him what I know.

“Look I…I need to tell you something.  It’s important, and before I start I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and that it was unintentional,” Jon says, words spilling out of him like ink over parchment.

Martin lifts his head, brows furrowing as he stares at Jon quizzically.

Jon sighs, running a hand through his hair before continuing.

“I…walked through your dreams, the other night.  I didn’t mean to, I swear I tried to leave but—”

“Jon?” he says, ever so gently.

A gentleness I could never deserve.

“Yes?”

“It’s alright, love.  What did you see?”

Honest.  You’ve got to be honest.

He sniffs and clears his throat, trying to force his congested voice into something resembling normality.

“I saw lots of things.  You were a child in some of them.  I saw your mum and dad…how cruelly they treated you.”

Jon stops for moment, hearing Martin’s sharp inhale.  Tentatively, he reaches out for his hand—which Martin takes at once, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I watched you cut your hair for the first time.  How it made you feel.  And…I saw you try to bind your chest with bandages, and end up in the hospital.  Alone.”

He pauses again, breaking off to cough painfully into his elbow, and uses the time to choose his next words carefully.

“I—I know your parents always wanted you to be silent, to fade in the background.  A-and I know that how I treated you at the Institute…”

He trails off, swallowing a lump forming in his throat.

“I know that hurt you.  A lot.  Um.”

Martin squeezes his hand, and Jon can’t help but smile.

“I just—I just need you to know that I never want you to do that.  To fade away.  I-I want to hear you, to listen to you—always, do you understand?  I want to know when you’re happy, when you’re hurting—I want to be here for all of it, Martin.  I want all of you.”

Though his voice wilts and breaks and fades into nothing but a whisper by the end, Martin looks back at him now like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.  He tips Jon’s forward gently, pulling him into a tender embrace, Jon’s head pressed against his chest.

“Even when I cough so loud, I can’t help but wake up my ailing partner?”

Partner.

Jon smiles against him, giggling for a moment before stretching his neck up to kiss his jaw.

“Yes, Martin, even then.”

Martin plants a kiss on the top of Jon’s head in return, and they settle back in for a second round of their nap.

It’s quiet, until it’s not—and even then, it’s all alright.

[you-know-like-the-bird]

It Gets Bad Before It Gets Worse

A/N: Right so... hello. Been a while since I last posted anything. But! Anyways! This is my little take on Deku joins the League of Villains and how that works out for him. This is only just the USJ incident, and that to not the whole thing, but that’s because I’ve still got to write the last bit (where All Might fights the Nomu) and I really wanted to post this now so... yeah.

I copied this from my word document, but tumblr just- ate up my italicised words? Like they’re still there, but nothing’s italisiced except for this author’s note that I’m typing straight out here on tumblr. I really don’t have the patience to go through this and re-work everything, so I hope it doesn’t mess with the flow of words too much.

But besides that, I hope you enjoy!

Edit: I fixed stuff.

-

"Kurogiri." 

 Shota sends out tendrils of his capture scarves and grabs onto two villains, swinging feet first through the space between them and right into a third. By all means, his attention is mostly on the b-lister villains surrounding him, but he's been careful not to let the three bosses out of sight. They haven't tried anything yet, which just mean that they're going to be more trouble later on. 

 "Take the brat up with you, won't you?" The man with the hands scratches at his neck, a contemplative tilt in his voice as he keeps Shota in his sights just as much as Shota keeps handsy in his.

 There's warning lilt in mist-man's tone when he speaks, who Shota silently renames as Kurogiri for when he has to recount this incident for the police reports, hopefully with the villains locked up somewhere near. "Shigaraki..." 

 "Don't give me that tone!" The hands villain- Shigaraki- snaps, "You're not the leader of this operation. I am." 

 Kurogiri lets out a weary sigh just as Shota is forced to twist around to dodge a swipe of metal claws meant to dig into his torso, and regrets it immediately when he hears, "As you wish, Shigaraki." 

 When Shota turns back around, the Kurogiri is gone. 

 - 

 After the shock of, 'holy shit, this is really real' has passed, Class 1-A follows after Thirteen as they all run towards the entrance. They never quite make it there, when purple mist flickers into existence just ahead of them and starts to expands, bigger and bigger until it's like a swirly purple wall towering over them. That's not the last of it though, when Class 1-A watches a teenager who looks about their age step out from the mist. 

 "Is it time then?" 

 This is said to the owner of two yellow eyes that blink open in the mist, and voice that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. "There was a change of plans. Shigaraki... wished to have you called in early." 

 It's the last bit that has all eyes watching the boy, as he in turn watches Kurogiri from over his shoulder. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

 "Deku?" 

 The boy slowly turns to meet a violent red gaze, and Class 1-A hold their breaths.

 For one Izuku Midoriya, it’s like the world slowly halts to a standstill. Suddenly, nothing matters much anymore, not the fact that this is the first attack he's been allowed to participate in, and that too only to watch. Not that he was nervous why Shigaraki wanted him 'called in early'. Not that he was finally supposed to get his irrefutable proof that he hadn't lied to Sensei about All Might's weakness, that he had been loyal. No, none of that matters because Izuku doesn’t even look at the crowd of hero students, just the figure right at the front, with sparking hands that's more flash than boom, for now, and an expression that seems almost surprised to see him.  

 Izuku looks at Bakugou in fascinated horror, "Kacchan?" 

 This wasn't- this wasn't how this was supposed to go. Izuku was supposed to pop in and take notes, not come face to face with his childhood bully after almost a year. 

 Predictably, like it always happened when Kacchan was caught off guard, his expression twists from one of surprise to anger, like how dare Izuku try to pull a fast one on him. If only someone would tell Kacchan that Izuku is just as surprised to see him as Kacchan is to see Izuku, but good luck getting him to believe you. 

 "What the fuck are you doing here?" 

 "I-" There's that same adrenaline, pumping through using veins, the kind he always got when Kacchan had him by the front of his shirt and was screaming right in his face. But unlike before, where when the anger would come (‘What did I ever do to you?!’) and Izuku would push it down, he doesn't this time. 

 He hasn't in a long time pushed the anger down. 

 His eyes narrow and its hard, harder than anything Izuku's ever done, to keep his composure. His voice still trembles, threatening to betray the red-hot fury he feels curling in his gut, but he just about manages to keep that poisonous feeling contained in his hands, in his erratic breathing, but never seeping into his voice, onto his face, into his actions. "I could ask you the same thing Kacchan." 

 Kacchan goes to speak, give it back to him twice as hard because he never listens, does he? When Kurogiri draws a close to this verbal match of spitting bullets with a polite. "Sorry to interrupt, but me and comrades would appreciate it if you take this seriously."  

 Kurogiri has the kind of influence that is quiet but intense, which means people listen when he talks. Not only that, everyone realizes that he's clearly the bigger threat between being the warper and the dude who looks like literal middle schooler blocking their paths. Izuku knows rationally that this class of hero hopefuls' best bet right now would be to try and get past him and Kurogiri and to go call for help, but Izuku has enough faith in Kurogiri to handle that. Not that he can do much else, or think much else, because of the anger that just keeps building and building the longer he stands here with Kacchan's red hot glare pinned right on him, greater threat be damned. It should feel gratifying, that he's finally gotten Kacchan to look at him, not just as another thing in his way but a person, but maybe he hasn't. Maybe it had meant nothing at all to Kacchan, when Izuku Midoriya had disappeared off of the face of the Earth about ten months ago, taking nothing but the words of an angry bully with him. 

 Yeah, that fits the bill, doesn't it? Izuku may have known Kacchan for over 14 fucking years, but he's only ever been just another thing in Kacchan's way to step over on his way to glory. As if Kacchan noticed he was ever gone. 

 The only time Izuku ever gets to have Kacchan look at him again, acknowledge him again, and Izuku is just another obstacle in his way. Just like it's always been. 

 "We don't mean to be rude by intruding, but my comrades and I have taken the liberty of paying your school a visit in hopes of putting an end to All Might and his legacy. It seems, however, that he is not currently present." 

 Izuku can practically see the hypothetical steam of anger coming from Kacchan with his mouth twisted into a fearsome scowl. The boy beside him, with bright red hair that stands straight up as if cut from the face of a rock, mashes his fists together and shouts back, "What makes you think we'll just let you?" 

 Kurogiri only narrows his eyes, "We were not expecting you to. You are a class of foolish hero hopefuls, after all." 

 Izuku just about manages to tear his gaze away from Kacchan when Thirteen lifts a finger, and Izuku realizes what's about to come next. Just before he can warn Kurogiri, however, his attention snags on something else. Like Kacchan can't stand attention not being on him for even a second, him and the boy with the tall red hair have launched themselves forward, straight towards Kurogiri, though Izuku barely manages to scramble out of the way when Kacchan points one hand straight in his direction and uses the explosion to boost himself further, uncaring if Izuku gets caught in it. Probably hoping it hit him, actually. 

 They both manage to get what they think is a hit in and jump back, and the red head shouts, "We're not going to just let you waltz into our school to hurt All Might!" 

 When Kurogiri clicks his tongue, unhurt because it’d take more than that pathetic display of ego to even bother him, Izuku immediate knows that he's annoyed, but it's especially evident in his flat tone of voice when he speaks. "Very well. If we are clear on our roles." Purple mist sweeps out and covers everybody in a thick cloud. Izuku knows better than to resist it, only hoping that Kurogiri's kind enough not to drop him from somewhere high. 

 - 

 Izuku stumbles when he immerges from the portal, and it's all he can do not to trip and fall face first on the ground. Sensibly, Kurogiri hasn't come with him, probably still handling the handful of people left up at the entrance, because Izuku really still feels like he's going to explode at someone. Logically, he knows that it probably isn't Kurogiri's fault, that the poor man is just following orders and not much else. He may have more sense than one Tomura-fucking-Shigaraki, but that doesn't mean he's the one Sensei favors most. 

 Of course, speaking of the devil... 

 "Why did you send me up there?" Each word is bitten off and chewed before being spit out like poison. Izuku wished he could grab Tomura smug fucking face and break it over his knee. 

 Shigaraki’s smirk is the asshole-ish kind Izuku wished he could kick in, "What? Didn't like the surprise, brat?" 

 Oh ho ho, it's a very close thing Izuku doesn't just start screaming at this point. He's so angry, "That was not part of the plan." 

 Shigaraki scoffs, "I'm in charge, I can change the fucking plan." 

 If Izuku was keeping his cool before, he certainly isn't now, "You can't change it whenever you feel like it Shigaraki!" 

 Izuku is suddenly grabbed by the throat, and there's a terrifying moment where he wonders if this is it, this is how he dies. At the hands of who's supposed to be a comrade, with no thanks given for the certainly valuable information he'd brought to the League. He'd thought it be enough to get them to trust him, because really, what else did a quirkless loser like him have to offer? But it wasn't nearly enough, not by word of mouth alone that All Might was slowly dying of a grievous old injury that Sensei himself had given him. After all, what argument Izuku have to justify just why All Might would give that information to some random middle schooler he once saved?

 But while Tomura looked like he would gladly put down his raised pinkie against Izuku's throat to complete his set of five, he doesn't yet. "Don't talk back to me like you've got any authority, brat." 

 Izuku's breathing has slowed to a halt, painfully aware of the fingers around his neck and the one finger that isn't, could so easily be put down and turn him to dust. But, even then, with nothing much left to lose except a mother who will now know for sure her child is dead instead of just missing, Izuku meets a single red eye peeking out from under a severed hand with his own determined green ones. Shigaraki doesn't scare him, and even if he does, like hell Izuku will give him the satisfaction of seeing the proof of it on his face. 

 "Are you just going stand there boss? We're not doing quite so well here." This comes from a woman who's desperately trying to keep an eye on the pro hero culling their ranks with extreme prejudice while calling back for help. But Izuku knows Shigaraki, full on expects the scoff that comes from him as he doesn't move a single fucking finger to help his 'party'. He just watches, with that hungry red gaze of his, as if all he wants is to hold the world in his hands and watch it crumble, cannot fathom why this vision of his has not yet come to fruition. As if the world should come to serve him, and only put up just enough of a challenge to make it 'fun' for him. Izuku manages to turn his head, neck still under Shigaraki's hands but as if this is the first time he's pushed the man hard enough to come close to death by decay, and watches as not a moment later Eraserhead swiftly takes out the woman who had dared to call out for help. 

 Shigaraki clicks his tongue, and spares a glance at Izuku, "You were told to watch, weren't you? Then watch how a real villain does it." 

 He pushes Izuku back roughly, leaving him to stand there with a hand rising to carefully press against his throat with the threat to it finally gone, as Shigaraki takes off straight for the pro hero standing ready for him, thinking he's prepared for someone as bat-shit insane as Shigaraki Tomura. From what little Izuku has seen, Eraser's doing pretty well so far, especially for an underground hero who specializes in stealth and springing surprise attacks onto villains from the cover of the shadows. He'd almost think that this was where Eraserhead thrives, except he knows better, can see it in the desperate way the man moves that this is far from his kind of game. No, as heroes do still surprise Izuku from time to time, Eraserhead’s probably down here trying to buy time for the students to get away, which they probably won't, not if Kurogiri's got anything to say about it. 

 Shigaraki grabs onto the first tendril of Eraser's scarf sent his way, and Eraser sends another only to duck under it as he manages to elbow Shigaraki right in the stomach. It's when this happens, that a flash of green against the plain brown terrain and a muffled croak catch his attention. Izuku looks to where the sound came from and sees round green eyes poking up from the edge of the raised platform, and feels his own eyes widen first in surprise, but then in panic. 

 Oh no. 

 He wonders if the girl crouched at the edge of this fight is alone, only to catch sight of something round and purple just behind her. What are these kids doing? Don't they know it's dangerous to just stand there like that, begging to get noticed by the manic villain willing to fell anyone and anything just because he finds them annoying? Don't they care that they're teacher is trying to give them a chance to get away, and they're squandering it by crouching at the edge of this fight? 

 The girl's gaze catches his and her own eyes widen. Probably because he's a villain too and he's obviously seen them. He looks back at Shigaraki just in time for the villain to say, "You're getting slower Eraserhead. It's hard to tell with those goggles of yours, but I've figured out your tell." He glances back at Izuku, and Izuku manages to wrangle his expression into something carefully blank. Shigaraki continues, having made sure that Izuku's watching, "Your hair falls back down in the intervals when you stop using you quirk." Izuku let's out heavy breath, because he knows Shigaraki is right, he'd noticed that too. And its then that Eraserhead's hair falls back over his face, while Shigaraki still has his elbow in a five-finger grip, and oh- Izuku knows what comes next. He tries to catch the girl's gaze again, but she's watching in horror as first his sleeve and then Eraserhead's skin starts to crumble away at the elbow. The hero jumps away, but Shigaraki's point has definitely been made. 

 A few of the low lifes that they most definitely picked from the streets for the sole purpose of playing cannon fodder surround Eraser again as Shigaraki carefully backs away. Eraserhead doesn't notice Shigaraki make a subtle gesture at the Nomu that has the tall beast finally move from somewhere behind him. For how big it is, the Nomu can be pretty sneaky when it wants to be, because Eraserhead doesn't notice it take position a few feet behind him as he handles the few of the street thugs still left standing. 

 Shigaraki has a smile in his voice, which Izuku can only tell because he sounds real fucking smug when he says, "If you think I'm the final boss Eraser, you're sorely mistaken." 

 And really, Izuku should have seen this coming, but he doesn't, and flinches back when Eraser turns back just a second too late, because it doesn't matter anyways when the Nomu is built to match All Might's speed. The Nomu puts the hero to the ground faster than Izuku can blink, the arm with the decayed elbow in gripped tightly with one of hand and his other holding Eraserhead’s head down. Izuku wonders how the girl and the other person with her are taking this, and if they regret sticking around for this final act, but he can't take his eyes off this scene without the fear of missing something important. It feels... wrong. Putting down a hero like Eraserhead, who only ever jumped into this fight to make sure his students had a chance, who's a great fucking hero anyways. The part of Izuku that will always be a fanboy seethes that this his own fault, that if he can't deal with the consequences then he shouldn't have made the choice to be here in the first place, but it's never that simple, not really. So Izuku watches, some part of him begging him to step forward and maybe try to reason with Shigaraki about sparing Eraserhead, but the more sensible part of him knows it's pointless. Shigaraki only ever does what he wants to, and there's a huge chance that if Izuku tries to tell him not to do something, he'll only ending up doing it just to spite him.  

 The Nomu slams Eraserhead's face into the concrete and Izuku let's out a shaky sigh, a sick feeling starting to churn in his stomach at the pool of blood that slowly inched outwards from where Eraser's head hit the ground. He glances back over to where the girl is and sees her staring at the scene with wide eyes, two hands clasped over her mouth in horror. 

 There's a flicker of something purple somewhere behind Shigaraki, which grows outwards in the air like how moss spreads over a stone wall, until Kurogiri stands there in a cloud of purplish smoke and intones, "Shigaraki Tomura." 

 Shigaraki slightly tilts his head to show that he's listening. 

 Kurogiri sounds almost apologetic, which is rare enough that Izuku's temporarily distracted from keeping an eye on the girl and the person with her that he's only caught a brief glimpse of until now. "I'm afraid that I let one student slip past. I believe he has most likely gone to get help." 

 Shigaraki's hands suddenly jerk up until the fingers dig into the sides of his neck, and Izuku can't help but make a face as he starts scratching them with slowly growing intensity. It's a habit of his that Kurogiri has been trying to get him to break, but has been unsuccessful so far. 

 "Kurogiri..." Shigaraki's voice is dark with malintent, "If you weren't the warp gate I would kill you." 

 Kurogiri shows no outward reaction to the threat, except the shifting of his features like a turbulent sea of purple. It makes it hard to get a read on him, without facial expression to use as a gauge of his mood, but Izuku likes to think he's gotten to know Kurogiri well enough to think he might just be the slightest bit amused right about now. None the less, familiar with the sentiment of Shigaraki being upset with him for one thing or another, Kurogiri ignores the murderous gleam in Shigaraki's eye and simply continues, "The other pro heroes will most likely be arriving soon, and we are not equipped to handle them with our... dwindling numbers. It is best if we take our leave." 

 Shigaraki lets out a low growl, his eyes pinballing wildly between the Nomu, Eraserhead and Izuku. "Game over, huh? Fine, we'll wrap up." 

 And Izuku doesn't even get a chance to relax at the prospect of Shigaraki finally being sensible for once and retreating at a fortunate time, because there's a mean look in his eye as his gaze lands on Izuku, then past him. Right over to where... 

 The girl.  

 "But I think we should leave behind a message for All Might first." 

 In the blink of an eye, Shigaraki has sprinted half the distant to the girl who just stands there, frozen in shock. That's when a harried cry rips from Izuku's throat as he goes stumbling after Shigaraki, "No!" 

 But it's too late, because Shigaraki already has his fingers splayed over the girl's face, and it never gets easier. That heart wrenching terror of the just before, a nanosecond where after Shigaraki's quirk kicks in and turns everything to dust.  

 Except that this time, it doesn’t kick in.  

 Izuku, frozen stiff and expecting a dead young girl with her head turned to dust in the air, but instead meeting eyes blown wide in terror but still very much alive, watches Shigaraki turn slowly to look behind him. His gaze stalls on Izuku just for a second but a second is enough to tell Izuku that his little outburst has not gone unnoticed, before passing over him over to where Eraserhead's face is lifted off the ground. It's nothing short of a miracle, how he's managed to look up even with the Nomu's death grip still wound into his hair, and his eyes are an angry bloodshot, but he's still here, still looking, still having saved that girl's life. 

 "You're so cool Eraserhead." 

 And finally, Izuku finds his voice, "L-let her go Shigaraki." 

 Shigaraki's lilting tone immediately sours back into a scowl, but he still doesn't let go. "Nobody asked you, brat." 

 It makes Izuku's resolve only steel, because he didn't sign up for anyone dying today except maybe a fully-fledged pro hero, "I'm not asking either, Shigaraki, let her go." 

 "You-" Shigaraki's angry snarl is cut off when there's a loud bang from the direction of the entrance that draws their attention. It's also at this moment that the girl flinches back, no longer frozen in fear like she had been before. Or maybe she was afraid Shigaraki would so something much worse if she had moved, which she might not have been wrong about. The girl leaps back, far enough that Izuku knows her quirk gives some sort of boost for that jump, but Shigaraki only watches her go, half his attention still on the sounds coming from the entrance. 

 They don't have to wait too long to find out what happened, when a figure larger than life steps into view at the top of the stairs and booms, "So fear not students! Because I am here!" 

 But oh, Izuku realizes with a sliver of fear even with an insurance like the Nomu to back them, All Might is not smiling. 

  A/N: I’m so sorry for people who didn’t want to read this and had to scroll all the way dow but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to insert a read more right now. I’ll edit this later to do that when I can.

[lilacyams]

The Savior

Wayhaven Week 2020, Day 6 - Daydream / Nightmare

@otomefandomevents

Pairings: F!Detective/Ava Du Mortain

Summary: Detective Kassandra Remender has trouble sleeping, she always has. As duties, guilt, and lack of sleep eat away at her, there’s only one woman who can give her some comfort: Commanding Agent Ava Du Mortain. After a bumpy start, the two have grown quite close – closer than Ava would like to admit. They’ve made a habit of meeting at night, in the quiet of the training room; tonight, Kassandra has something to say.

Word count: 3,725

Rating: Teen and up audiences (anxiety references)

AO3 link: click here

I sigh and run a hand through my hair, heaving myself up in a sitting position. The thump thump thump of my racing heart fills my ears and doesn’t let me think; I let few minutes pass, giving it enough time to slow down and clear the fog in my mind. There is no need to touch my forehead to know it’s drenched in cold sweat, so I stand up and drag myself to the bathroom. Washing the nightmare away from my face will be something, at least. 

It’s all fine, I tell myself, it’s routine at this point. Murphy might be locked down forever in a facility miles away from me, but in truth it feels like he never left. The vampire is still here; he haunts my sleep. I can see him in the mirror, right here in this faint half-moon scar on my neck. My index finger traces over it carefully, as if too much pressure might tear the healed wound open.

But it’s not just him. I see his victims in my dreams. Their cold bodies laying on a table, their cloudy eyes snapping open and burying into mine, accusing me. I failed them. I failed them, and I’ll carry this weight for as long as I can breathe.

Patting my face dry with a towel, I inspect the woman staring back at me through the mirror. She looks pale and tired, brown eyes dull with lack of sleep and long, dark locks disheveled by all the incessant tossing and turning over the previous hours. I brush them back in place. After all, I’m not going back to sleep now.

Wading through the gloomy corridors of the warehouse at night, my footsteps lead me to a familiar place – a place where I know I’ll find exactly what I’m looking for. Or rather, who.

The heavy doors of the training room have been left open. I head inside, now fully assured of her presence. 

It has become a common occurrence, ever since our first nightly encounter in the training room. Every time I decide to stay over at the warehouse, should I have trouble sleeping I know where to find her. Given the repeated scenario, I might even call it “our spot”. We either talk about the most random things – with me doing the bulk of the talking, of course – or we just sit in silence. It does not matter: it’s comforting. 

Does she really train every night, or does she only do so when she knows I’ll be there? Is she doing it for me? An interesting question I might ask her someday.

I have the impression that she feels bad for me, though she has no reason to. What I’m going through is nothing but the inevitable baptism of fire of a detective at the beginning of her career. And yet, the thought of the stoic vampire waiting for me in the training room every night, just to offer me some comfort in her own way, is… heartwarming. 

Moonlight spills inside of the broad, high windowed room. It highlights the contours of various equipment items, which shadows stretch and dance all over the floor, and makes every metallic surface glow in silver.

I notice Ava laying on a mat, busy with a series of crunches. Preferring not to disturb her, I sit cross-legged in a spot nearby and wait.

Her skin glistens with sweat as she works, and I can’t help but fix my eyes on the attractive lines of her side profile. Moon rays cast their shine onto her top lip, nose, and cheekbones; and the labor-induced dampness makes them shimmer in a rather entrancing way.

The silvery gleam highlights her pale body and golden hair, giving it an almost holy appearance. She looks like a Renaissance sculpture, magnificent and timeless.

The vampire is obviously aware of my presence, but she keeps on exercising for another minute before she finally halts to a stop.

“Last set?” I call out with a smile. She faces me, turning around with a heavy sigh to settle herself onto the mat in a sitting position.

“You had another nightmare,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah.”

Ava frowns in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Her breath hitches as she stares at me intently, lips parting as if she’s going to say something else; but in the end she doesn’t, and her lips press shut.

I acknowledge her concern with a nod. “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. Don’t mind me now, finish your workout.”

Evidently not convinced by my attempt to brush off the subject, the woman pinches her eyebrows together tighter and straightens herself.

“I wish I could do more to help,” she states with determination. But her voice becomes uncertain as she speaks again. “I am not… good at this.”

My eyes widen in surprise at her words, what with not being used to such openness on her behalf. She’s definitely opening up to me as we’ve been spending more time together, but it’s always a welcomed surprise to see her showing her soft side… And admitting her feelings out loud.

Perhaps noticing my astonishment, Ava snaps her gaze away. I make an attempt to draw it back to me.

“You are good at this,” I reassure her.  “Actually… you are the only one who can help me now.”

Now it’s her turn to be surprised. As we exchange a long and meaningful look, her piercing gaze acquires a softness. It’s the softness I always look forward to see in her eyes; not the icy green everyone can see, so sharp in her usual guarded look, but the liquid emerald that melts its ice away. The warm look that makes me think I might actually be special for her.

Her words come out only a bit louder than a whisper. “Why?”

My lips curve upward in a gentle smile as I fidget absentmindedly with the hem of my shorts . The sudden need to be closer to her eats me alive; the urge to touch her and tell her how I feel is so strong that resisting it feels like torture.  I wonder if she can sense that.

Suddenly nervous and no longer knowing what to do with myself, I stand up and go sit on the first bench I can reach; much to my shock, Ava joins me almost immediately, taking the spot right next to me.

My head leans back to rest against the wall, the cold feel of it seeping through my skin as a welcomed sensation. Might help me cool down a bit, at least.

“Look how far we’ve come,” I start with a nostalgic smile, eyes fixed on the metal doors on the opposite side of the room. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Ava is looking at me.

“Do you remember the first day we met, blondie?” A chuckle catches my breath. “I mean… The one in my office, though we might count the one at the warehouse too if we want to be super precise.” I don’t need to look back at the vampire to know she’s shaking her head, not thrilled by the memory. Admittedly, shooting her was not the best way to introduce myself.

“What I mean is… Who could’ve predicted something like this? The first thing we did was arguing – and in a pretty heated way, and many, many times at that, and damn, I feel for whoever had to endure being in the same room as us – and now we sit here, just the two of us, with you keeping me company whenever I can’t sleep”

It does feel surreal.

“If someone back then told you we would be like this today, would’ve you believed them?”

Ava chuckles softly, drawing my attention to her amused face. “In all honesty? Never.”

“Right? And yet, here we are. And you know why?” I make a brief pause, my voice losing any trace of irony. “It didn’t take me long to understand it. You and I… we are similar. That’s why we butt heads so often, that’s why in moments like these I feel that you’re the only one who can understand me: because at the core, you and I are the same. We want to get things done, even though we might have a different approach at times.”  I let out a content sigh, releasing the tension bit by bit; a playful smile dances on my lips as I speak again. “See, I like my women with a strong character. Challenge is fun, after all.”

The vampire considers my words carefully, then she nods. “It makes sense, I guess. What I don’t understand though, is why would you approach me for comfort. I’m not the first person you’d think about for such a task. And as you said, we have a different approach to things. Why me?”

Her green eyes inspect my face from beneath blonde lashes, in anticipation.

My shoulders relax: this one is easy. “Because it’s you.”

She looks puzzled.

“You know what’s wrong with me? I’m always worrying. I’m a detective, so I can’t stop worrying about this or that. The people who lost their lives before I could help them, the people who took those lives away, the people who still live and trust me to always do my best to keep the town safe. I see their faces every time I close my eyes. But when I’m with you, all those worries stop for a little while. All those negative thoughts just… leave me be. When I’m with you, I feel in peace.” I smile at my own words, recognizing how much they ring true. “I don’t usually like to show my weaknesses, but I feel that with you I can be myself. I can allow myself to be weak, and you don’t judge me for it. Maybe it’s not that bad to be vulnerable sometimes, right?”

“Detective…”

“It’s Kass,” I cut her off, rolling my eyes. “And I needed to get that off my chest, because tomorrow it’ll be another unpredictable day, with brand new stuff to worry about. We might argue again, or you might be sent off somewhere for a while and… Hell knows.” I take a deep breath.

Is it just my impression, or has she shuffled closer? Her thigh almost brushes against mine, and I can swear her body is leaning in to me. I wonder if she even realized that. Shaking my head, I swallow down my excitement and get back to the subject at hand.

“I keep on thinking of the people who died. I see their faces when I can’t sleep at night. You said it doesn’t ever get better, so how do you move forward? Do you just live with it?”

My question wipes off any hesitation from her face, the fiery resolve slamming back in place as her voice comes off as solid as steel. “You honor them by doing better the next time.”

Her piece of advice catches me unprepared in its simplicity; it’s an option I didn’t even consider. My mind is exceptionally good at going into circles and chasing the most intricate possibilities… only to find out that the actual solution is never as sophisticated, in the end.

It’s easier said than done, but I appreciate the wise advice nonetheless.

“Our virtues and our failings are inseparable, like force and matter. When they separate, man is no more. Although I haven’t been human for a long time, I find that these words still apply to me. And they most definitely apply to you,” Ava’s voice is soft as she pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look back at her to find a small smile on her lips.

“I recognize that quote,” I say with a half-chuckle.

“I know your virtues, Kassandra, and I have no doubt that you will make it,” she states, her words tinged with pride. It’s still an unusual occurrence for her to call me by my name, to the point that it makes my heart skip a beat every time. But the way she pronounces it… she makes it sound like the most beautiful word.

Her smile doesn’t falter as she holds my gaze with confidence. A couple of unruly locks have escaped her bun and hang down on the sides of her face like a golden frame; others stick to the skin behind her neck, messed up by the previous workout. Even so, she looks otherworldly graceful. I find myself to be too stunned to say anything as a quick flush spreads across my cheeks.

Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last as long as I hoped. A sudden seriousness snatches her gaze away, and the vampire straightens herself in her seat. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

I wait for her to continue.

“What you said earlier, about feeling in peace,” Ava pauses and clears her throat. Is she getting flustered? “You’re clearly at ease with this kind of thing. I could say I feel different as well, when I’m spending time with you.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Is she really going to…?

“However, it’s not peace that I feel. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s… turmoil. Tension. Chaos. I feel on edge and I find it difficult to think straight. I feel… out of control. It’s a most unexpected phenomenon, as unfamiliar as it is alarming.”

It takes an insane amount of self control not to topple over my seat at those words. I force myself to keep my composure, lest I end up ruining the moment before she’s even finished talking. “I know what you mean,” I only manage to mumble.

She turns back to face me. “So… what is it that you do, when you feel like that? How does it become peace?” There’s something different about her expression. It looks hopeless, almost pleading, as if she’s in trouble and I’m the only person on Earth who can help her out.

It seems it’s my turn to dispense wisdom. I take a deep breath and offer her a kind smile: it feels good to know the answer. “You embrace it.”

Ava leans back for a moment, a deep frown settling on her face in disbelief. “Embrace the chaos?” she asks, as if I just said something utterly nonsensical.

“You heard me.” Though my words ring with a playful tone, my gaze on hers is steady and reassuring. She knows I’m serious.

Silence settles over the training room for a while, as the vampire seems deep in thought and I have no intention to push her. The light pouring through the glass panels above us is starting to change its colors: soon enough, sunlight will replace the silvery palette painting the room with night. The moon will go to rest and call it a day, but not me. Not yet.

Looking over at the woman next to me, I purse my lips. Maybe it’s because my brain is foggy with lack of sleep, maybe it’s because I really just want to find an excuse to make some progress in our strange relationship; but my body moves on its own accord as I slowly lean in, the want to be closer pulling me in like a magnet. She snaps her head toward me with such a quick motion I almost flinch, green eyes widening in surprise at my unexpected move. Yet, after the initial shock wears off, she does nothing to stop me – though she’s still eyeing me carefully.

Uncertainty fills my gaze as I keep on inching closer, scanning her face in search of any sign of discomfort to pull back. My daring move is met with the most unsure frown, which knots and smoothes over her forehead several times, as if she’s internally struggling to decide whether or not to let me get close. Eventually she allows me, both her expression and her body seeming to relax, and I bring my head to rest on her shoulder.

The scent of fabric softener on her t-shirt and the warmth of the skin underneath fill my senses, and I let out a content sigh as her taut arm muscles progressively unclench against my cheek.

I close my eyes.

“Ava?”

“What is it?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

She stiffens. Even though I can’t see her right now, it’s not hard to picture her signature “I’m a big nervous soldier” pose with shoulders bunched up to the ears.

“Shouldn’t you go get some sleep?”

I groan loudly. “It’s Saturday, mom. Remember?”

No answer follows.

“I have. Been in love, I mean. Or at least, I thought I had. It was… a long time ago.”

The vampire remains quiet, but the silence isn’t an uncomfortable one. It encourages me to go on, and so I do.

“Have you ever been in a situation when you thought you really knew something, and then… something else happened, and you came to the realization that you actually knew nothing? That’s how I feel. I was an ignorant kid then… and now, now I think I know it for real. It doesn’t make sense, right? Sorry, I’m tired.”

Again, my words prompt no reaction. I think I can hear Ava drawing a deep breath, but I wouldn’t count on it.

Then, against any prediction, a soft hand reaches for my cheek and cups it, tilting my face upward. The sudden, unexpected contact sends a ripple of shivers coursing through me, and I open my eyes. Ava doesn’t pull back, but doesn’t advance either. She looks as stunned by her own move as I am.

A rare display of affection from the usually stoic vampire opens up a precious window of chance I don’t want to lose. This is where my straightforwardness comes to play.

As gently as I can, just as if I’m trying to approach a nervous deer that would run for the hills at the mere sound of a branch being stepped on, I mirror her gesture and cup her cheek with my own hand. The green in her eyes darkens, her pupils appear dilated; she parts her lips in such a slight movement I almost miss it.

Mere inches separate our lips, and all I want to do is to make them disappear.

As I move closer, I expect her to pull back and storm out of the room, like she always does when we have our almost-moments. I had never managed to get so close before, so I silently pray that this time she won’t leave. Losing a race always feels worse when you’re so close to the finish line.

Let me have it, just this once. Don’t leave, don’t argue with me.

Just this once, let me have it.

Her heavy-lidded eyes engulf me, her warm breath tickles my face as our parted lips are about to finally meet, after all this time, after all this longing. I close my eyes in anticipation.

The last inches of separation feel like an eternity, excitement heaving on my chest and stealing my breath. Her top lip brushes against mine and my mind goes blank. Goosebumps prickle at my skin and I forget about anything in the world that isn’t just me and her.

Then, just as my hopes were about to finally gain shape into the real world, two hands grab my shoulders with a gentle but purposeful amount of strength, keeping me in place and preventing me from diving in to the contact.

My lips purse as I fail to hide my disappointment. What did I just say about races and finish lines?

When I open my eyes again, I find Ava looking at me with an unreadable expression. You might think it’s another frown of hers, but this one has something different to it. Regret, perhaps?

This situation is unprecedented. She’s not running away. No jolting up from her seat, no marching out of the room and slamming doors off their hinges. She doesn’t push me back nor find a reason to fight. On the contrary, the woman seems reluctant to let my shoulders go.

After some moments of dealing with whatever internal turmoil is eating at her, her fingers unclench their grasp and fall down. There’s sadness in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” I readily reassure her with a smile. “That will be for another time.” I want her to know I’m willing to wait, that what I feel is real and I won’t give up so easily.

Ava chews at her lower lip and falls quiet, yet doesn’t move an inch. She lowers her head, and locks escaped from her bun fall on her eyes. Our thighs are still pressing together, our bodies close. She won’t run this time.

I wish I could know what’s tormenting her, so that I could help. She would do the same for me.

Birds sing their cheery morning songs from the outside: though it might seem to me that time has stopped, the spell doesn’t escape these four walls. It’s a brand new day out there, and life will go on.

Drowsiness and lack of sleep weigh on my eyelids, slowly dragging them down. I resist.

I glance over at the woman next to me; that crestfallen look on her face is something I’m definitely not used to see. Concern and genuine affection overcome my entire self and before I can stop myself, I find myself slipping an arm around her waist and pushing my head in the crook of her neck.

“If you wish to talk… I’ll always be there for you, do you know that?” I mumble against her soft skin. “I’ll be there to help. Whatever it is, you have me. Anytime.”

Ava slides her arms around me and holds me in silence. Her nose buries in my hair.

Soon we’ll have to return to our daily lives. I’ll go back to my worries, my friends at the station, my mom, the rest of the Unit, and whatever the new day will have in store for me. Days will go by, one after another, with no way of stopping them. I will grow, I will laugh, I will cry.

But now it’s just the two of us, and I wouldn’t ask for anything more.

The warmth of her body eventually lulls me to sleep.

[sunaddicted]

007 Meet 007 (Bond 25)

Item #11 Scavenger Hunt 2020

The ability to work well under pressure had been one of the requirements for the job; Q hadn’t thought much of it at the beginning: hacking generally was the kind of activity that put one under the kind of pressure that felt like a sword being dangled above one’s head, waiting to fall as one battled to get in and out of someone’s precious system and data as soon as humanly possible.

He obviously hadn’t been very familiar with the pressure of watching an agent court death, anxiety squeezing his heart at every shot that rang too loud in his headset and at any splotch of blood that widened far too quickly on a tailored shirt; he couldn’t have prepared for it in any way if not on the job, building resistance to the sight of his agents crippled by enemy fire or their own stupidity.

But Q had nerves of steel and while he did feel for the men and women out there, risking their lives for civilians who didn’t even know the kind of horrors they were being sheltered and protected from, he had quickly adapted to shutting his emotions out while the headset was on: the calmer he managed to stay, the higher the probabilities he could actually help the agents to get out of the field alive - even if a bit banged up or in need of serious medical attention.

However, he hadn’t been prepared to deal with the kind of tension that sprouted from excessive posturing between two titans. 

Of course, he had been warned that Bond and the new 007 hadn’t exactly clicked it off and Q had to wonder how anyone had expected them to when James had refused for so long to even entertain retirement, clearly extremely attached to his title and his career - he obviously wouldn’t take it well to being confronted by someone wearing what had been his codename and his identity for literal decades: he was only human, afterall.

Still, Q definitely had underestimated the pressure that would end bottled up in his office, seemingly permeating every single atom of air in a way that felt rather suffocating - the only thing missing was sparks of energy crackling along their skin, set off by a catty remark or by the arch of an eyebrow; they were strung tight, ready to snap as the moved around in cautious steps that made Q feel like he was being circled by a pair of lions.

It was rather uncomfortable - especially for someone as aware as he was of what James and Nomi were capable of, healthily scared enough that he wouldn’t want to be caught in a battle of wills and limbs between the two of them. Q kept calm, however: they were in the depths of MI6 and he was their Quartermaster - no matter how thirsty they were to taste one another’s sweat and blood, they would listen to him.

They were trained to associate his voice with reason; with safety; with light.

Not even M was as safe as he was from the wrath of a Double-Oh.

“007 meet 007”

“We’ve already had the pleasure”

“ Questionable pleasure ”

Q arched an eyebrow at the heat in Nomi’s voice; he was used to her smarmy attitude and words permeated with sarcasm, not with anger - though, he supposed that if anyone would ever be able to get on her nerves, that was James fucking Bond: they were too similar for either of them to see anything else but their own flaws in each other, rubbing them in all the wrong ways “Maybe I just wanted to say that out loud, it’s not the kind of thing I predict will happen again in my career”

“He’s not even 007 anymore”

“I am 007 - I made those numbers mine, I shaped them into my legacy you are resting on”

Oh, there it was one of the point of contention “Stop baring your teeth, please. I know you both have been trained to be politer and more charming than that” he might not have been particularly weak when it came to Nomi’s charms because of the mere fact that the seduction of a woman was bound to be wasted on a gay man, but he had guided her out in the field and he knew her smiles could be as lethal as Bond’s.

Q wasn’t going to think about that now, though: he couldn’t afford being distracted by the memory of how a pair of crystal blue irises had made him feel, their cold stare a knife that had been repeatedly twisted into his heart until just the whisper of the man’s name was enough to make him bleed. He loved and he hated the man for it even if he knew that, in the end, it all was his own fault: Q had been the one to fall for empty flirting and charming smiles that rarely reach the eyes and now he was paying the price for it, nursing a broken heart that refused to heal as long as the man insisted on walking back into his life - arrogant and sassy and beautiful.

“I can handle this mission alone”

He forced himself to focus back on the conversation, skilfully ignoring the telling way the older man looked at him - whether Q liked it or not, and he really didn’t, James Bond could read him like the well-worn pages of a beloved book, spine cracked by years of devoted readership “I know you can but time is of essence and he knows what we are up against better than either of us” he reasoned, not even attempting to be persuasive - that wasn’t the ace up his sleeve. Forcing them to use their brains and follow his reasoning until they got to the same, most likely and satisfying conclusion? That was his talent and one of the few reasons why he still managed to have a decently sized budget despite the fact that his department arguably was the worst one when it came to the handling of finances - but one couldn’t exactly lesinate on equipment, right? The life of the agents and of those they were sacrificed to protect depended on its quality - the functionaries at Finance just needed to be lead to that conclusion by the hand sometimes and Q had become rather expert at that.

“I can-”

“-No, you can’t” Q raised a finger towards Bond, silencing him before he could claim his ability to handle the mission on his own; again, there was no doubt about that but it was true that, legally and officially speaking, the man wasn’t 007 anymore and therefore didn’t exactly have a licence to kill - M was working to restore it temporarily to avoid sending Bond out with such a handicap but Q didn’t know how far the negotiations had already been taken or if they were stagnating “What the both of you can do is to be professional and make my life easier - understood?”

“Yes, Q”

“Of course, my dear Quartermaster”

The pressure loosened its hold a little, the air actually felt breathable now “Perfect. Let’s go over these mission specs then”  

[mobius-prime]

246. Sonic the Hedgehog #177

Home, New Home

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

As the Egg Fleet approaches New Mobotropolis, Nicole erects a forcefield-like shield around the entire city, protecting it from the bombardment that Snively, leading the fleet, begins dropping on it. With the shield protecting everyone, however, a slightly more immediate concern reveals itself - namely, the many criminals that have been teleported here along with the actual residents of Knothole, who see an opportunity to not only break free of the justice system, but take a few of the citizens with them.

Amazing speech on your part there, Mogul. Really, it's a wonder everyone didn't immediately fall at your feet. Sonic and Sally are impressed at Nicole's foresight, only to become concerned when her hologram begins flickering and she appears to show signs of pain in response to more shells hitting the city's shield. She tells them that she has to devote most of the city's power supply to keeping the shield up, and reassures Sally that she'll always be nearby even when they can't see her before disappearing. Sally and Elias address the crowd of rescued civilians, telling them that right now they can trust Nicole to keep them safe while they come up with a plan and that for now everyone should find their new homes. Sally stops Sonic, however, and orders him to go get medical attention before he does anything else, something he's predictably a bit grumpy about.

Okay, so this is where we address one of the most controversial things Ian ever included in the comic. It's controversial for good reason. We've already established that one of the major things Ian has been doing for the comic since taking over as head writer is bringing the world of the comics more in line with that of the games, and this includes the various characters and their attitudes. Vector is no longer as insufferable as he was under Kenders, Knuckles is one of Sonic's closest allies now rather than a distant rival, and so on, but this is where the age discrepancy between Charmy from the games and Charmy from the comics becomes a problem. If you'll recall, Charmy is six in the games but sixteen in the comics, and obviously a sixteen-year-old is going to act pretty different from a six-year-old. So how exactly does one take a fairly mature teenager, who's a prince of a lost kingdom and literally engaged to someone else his age, and make him act like a child? Well, I don't have any particularly good ideas myself, but Ian's highly controversial solution was to give him brain damage. From this point on, Charmy suffers from some substantial memory loss, and generally has a much more childlike personality than he once did. There's many problems with this, and others have gone into this topic much more in depth than I care to, but suffice it to say that while giving a character brain damage simply as part of their character arc isn't inherently a bad thing, and can even be a positive if handled right, giving a character brain damage purely as a plot device to make them act more like a child feels incredibly insensitive and insulting. From what I understand, this isn't totally Ian's fault; Sega was pressuring him to make these changes, and I suppose at the time this was all he could think of for the Charmy problem, but I know he has stated later on that he wishes he'd handled this particular issue better, so at least he's acknowledged how bad this whole thing seems. Furthermore, he does appear to treat Charmy as a character with as much respect as possible in future issues, so there's that at least.

Anyway, Saffron is relieved when Charmy happily confirms that he remembers who she is and hugs her, and Dr. Quack moves on from Charmy to take a look at Sonic. It doesn't take him long to confirm his suspicions that indeed, all the magical ring energy Sonic's been exposed to have given him a high resistance to injury as well as apparently an accelerated rate of healing, something which is quite fascinating and I wish would have been expanded upon in this universe's worldbuilding at some point. As Dr. Quack heads off to find his own family, we take a quick look at the Chaos Chamber on Angel Island, where Finitevus appears to be doing some kind of weird ritual with the Master Emerald, reciting Tikal's prayer. Scourge runs up and informs him that Dimitri has run - err, floated off, presumably to contact Knuckles and warn him of Finitevus' treachery. Finitevus, however, merely tells him that this was part of his plan all along, and he isn't concerned, as he'll bring back Enerjak one way or another. Sounds quite ominous indeed…

Hey man, someone needs to remind Antoine that bravery isn't a lack of fear, it's standing up to danger even when you are afraid. Sally becomes lost in thought for a moment, remembering all the times she led the Freedom Fighters into danger in the past, long before she was ever thrust into the role of acting ruler or forced into a disastrous arranged marriage. She suddenly stands up and reminds Bunnie of her old hairdressing ambitions, and asks her for one more favor before they begin their defense against Eggman's attack… Meanwhile up in the sky, Snively continues to try to break through New Mobotropolis' shield, only to become startled when a single, tiny aircraft begins firing onto his flagship. His robots prepare to return fire, but he suddenly orders them to stand down with a look of shock, and contacts the plane… having recognized it as the plane that Hope built. Hope yells at him through the comm when he opens a channel, furious that she took his advice and went to Station Square, but when she tried to return to Knothole, which she still considered home, it was in ruins. She blames him for all of it, too ashamed to show her face to the Mobians again after leaving, and begins to sob.

I absolutely love the way that these comics continue to humanize Snively more and more. I feel so bad for Hope here, especially knowing that none of the Mobians would blame her for what happened, but as for Snively, it's clear that despite his nature, he does value family, and does care about Hope. He's gone from being the cowardly, sniveling, silly minion of the evil Dr. Robotnik to an actual human with flaws, feelings, and attachments. From inside the city shield, Tails watches the bombardment continue with his parents and Merlin, and Amadeus expresses that though the destruction of Knothole was a tragedy, all in all this may actually be a good thing for the populace, as he believes that such a major event will prepare them for "the shift in thinking" that he plans for them. Merlin, however, warns him not to push ahead with any reforms he has in mind too soon, as the monarchy will also be very tense from all this chaos. Rosemary expresses her belief in her husband, and Tails excitedly says he'll support his father no matter what, but the sentiment is interrupted by Eggman's furious screaming from outside the city walls, banging on the shield with his battle suit and yelling for the Freedom Fighters to come out and face him, infuriated that his perfect victory has been stolen from him. Sonic cheerfully interrupts his tantrum, suddenly standing outside the shield, and Eggman is initially pleased, mocking Sonic for not learning from his initial defeat mere hours ago. However, it turns out that Sonic has learned, and with the knowledge that the battle suit was created to counter Sonic and Sonic alone, he and Sally have come up with the perfect plan while Eggman wasn't looking.

The entire Freedom Fighter and Chaotix force descends on Eggman's battle suit, and they're all able to locate weaknesses that Eggman hadn't anticipated in its construction. They tear it apart piece by piece while Sonic gleefully reminds his nemesis that there are more heroes on this planet than just himself, and that anything he can't handle on his own, the others definitely can. In the end, Eggman is left with barely half a shell of his precious armor, furious and humiliated, which leads into perhaps one of my favorite pages of this entire era - perhaps even the entire comic.

Eggman, still unwilling to let victory slip away despite his situation, orders his fleet to fire directly on their location, meaning either he was somehow unaware that this would kill him too, or he was aware, and was more concerned with killing his foes than surviving. Honestly, my bet is on the latter - it seems like something he'd do if angry enough and feeling sufficiently cornered. However, he's forgotten that Nicole has full control over the nanites in the city, and since everything in the city is made of nanites, she's able to stretch the city's wall out to create a wall between everyone out on the field and the bombardment from the Egg Fleet. She projects her form to Eggman and urges him to reconsider his decision, as frankly, Sally is showing him more mercy than he deserves by a long shot. And honestly, she's right - it would be a much better decision to either kill him right there, or, if they're feeling too honorable and whatnot, at least arrest him and shove him in a cell next to Mammoth Mogul…

Well hello there, old haircut! I will say, I did enjoy Sally's long hair while she had it - I thought it looked good on her. But hey, cutting one's hair as a show of maturation is a common fictional trope, and in a way, it's nice to go back to seeing Sally rocking her old look. I will actually note here that while I've mentioned before that Tracy's pencils have standardized the design of a lot of characters, I actually don't care much for his redesign of Sally as a whole. While I appreciate her proportions becoming more like those of every other Mobian - the human body that a lot of other artists gave her looked kind of weird, to be honest - her facial features have actually been significantly altered by his style. She always had a distinctive slanted-back eye shape and a more gentle slope to her nose, but by making her eye shape closer to than of characters like Bunnie and Tails, I feel she's lost some of her unique visual charm. That isn't to say that I think Sally is lesser as a character for this change - she's still one of my top favorites in the series - nor that I disapprove of Tracy's art style as a whole. And in the end, her hairstyle change here marks the beginning of a new era - one where she begins to act once more like her old self and once again joins the others on missions just like old times. She's worked through a lot of the trauma and self-doubt that she's been plagued with ever since Sonic's return to Mobius, and now we can look forward to new adventures with her, in a new location. I mean that "new era" thing literally, by the way. Congratulations, we've reached the end of the comic's fifth era - many of the eras beyond this one are significantly shorter than the ones we've seen previously, but that also means we'll be moving through distinctive arcs a little more quickly, and furthermore, the next era holds some pretty exciting new surprises! Shall we now - how do they say - do it to it?

[conciteque]

Kiribaku Month - Day 13: Insecurities

Wordcount: 1810 words (h o w)

Here’s my contribution to @kiribakumonth2019 for Insecurities.

Fun fact: I’ve come up with the plot while I was working on training, and I almost forgot about the theme while I figured out the details. I still like what I’ve come up with, but it’s so long that I didn’t get to work on it as much as I wanted.

I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Day 13: Insecurities

“Blasty, Deku, did you find them?” was the first thing Kacchan heard as he stepped into the Resistance camp, carrying the pain in the ass invisible android on his back.

“We’ve found Tooru, thanks to Mei’s radar,” Deku announced.

“What about the other?”

“Dead,” Kacchan said as he put Camo Girl on a bed to be examined.

She was alive when they found her, but she was still weak and broken. She stopped being his fucking problem as soon as she was off his back, though.

He looked up and saw Shitty Hair’s pained look, his big sad eyes broadcasting his feelings for all to see. Weak. Showing your eyes was a fucking weakness.

“I’m sorry, Eijirou,” Deku said softly, and it was clear from his voice alone that he’d look just like Shitty Hair, if half his face wasn’t covered. “It was too late when we found him. He took the brunt of an attack to protect Tooru.”

Shitty Hair didn’t say anything. He simply frowned, and it could have meant a lot of things. That he was mad at them for not bringing the two androids back alive, or at the machines for killing one of his underlings, or at himself for whatever shitty, illogical reason.

Kacchan knew it was the latter, because Shitty Hair was that stupid. And because he wasn’t looking at Deku or him, or at the entrance of the camp, where the machines roamed. He was staring at the ground silently, lost in thoughts. Weak.

Kacchan walked closer and gave him the dog tags he’d found on the android’s body. He didn’t care what Shitty Hair thought, or how he was feeling, so he really had no idea why he spoke.

“I’m surprised you’ve only lost one extra so far.”

“It’s one too many. I should have done better,” Shitty Hair said. “I should have sent more people, or sent a search party earlier…”

“Shut up, you sound like fucking Deku,” Kacchan interrupted. He couldn’t tell if Shitty Hair was offended by the remark. “You did what you had to, but shit happens. S’not your fault you’re built so weak.”

This time, it was clear that Shitty Hair was very offended. His frown intensified, his angry look clearly directed at Kacchan. That was better.

“Fight me,” Shitty Hair demanded.

“What?” Kacchan asked. He expected the other to yell, no this.

“Spar with me, Blasty. Fight me. You’ll see if I’m weak.”

The way Eijirou spat the last word revealed his sharp teeth, and they looked as menacing as the first time Kacchan had seen him get angry. Dangerous. Perfect.

“Fine, you’re on!” he grinned.

He followed Shitty Hair toward the currently deserted training grounds, and he was surprised that no one followed them.

“The rules are simple: first one to immobilize the other wins,” Shitty Hair explained. “If you seriously injure the other, you’re disqualified. Questions?”

“Fine by me,” Kacchan shrugged. The second rule would probably be harder for him to follow, but he could understand where it came from.

Then, to his surprise, Shitty Hair’s blank, furious look morphed into a playful smile, and he added:

“How about we spice things up a little?”

“What are you thinking about?” Kacchan asked, confused.

“Let’s see… If I win, I get to take off your blindfold,” Shitty Hair had the nerve to say with a happy, innocent fucking smile, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“What the fuck? No!” Kacchan protested.

“Why? You’re afraid you’re going to lose?” Shitty Hair smirked.

Kacchan knew that he was fucking with him, but he didn’t give a shit. Like hell he was going to lose! He was YuUEi’s best Battle unit. How did Shitty Hair even expect to win against him?

“I just think it’s fucking stupid,” he said. “What do I get when I win?”

“Oh, ‘when’ you win, huh? Well, what do you want?”

“Fucking nothing, so we’re not doing it.”

There was something in Shitty Hair’s eyes again. A disappointment that seemed to run deeper than just this interaction. He was so easy to read, yet Kacchan didn’t fucking get him most of the time. What the fuck did this asshole want from him?

“Aw, Kacchan, you’re no fun,” Shitty Hair pouted.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Kacchan replied by habit.

Maybe it was his chance to finally understand what was going on in Shitty Hair’s ancient, fucked up circuits… Not that Kacchan cared, but the constant sad looks for no fucking reason were annoying as hell.

“You know what? Fucking fine. When I win, I want you to answer a question. And I want the complete fucking truth.”

Shitty Hair’s eyes lightened up for a second, but he seemed to hesitate.

“You’re scared ’cause you know you’re gonna fucking lose?” Kacchan smirked.

The taunt worked like a charm.

“Deal, Blasty. Let’s do this!”

Kacchan realized after the first minute that his victory wasn’t going to be an easy one. He knew Shitty Hair used to be the equivalent of a Defense unit and that he’d have to hit hard to take him down, but he counted on his speed and mobility to make up for it, and it didn’t work. Sure, Shitty Hair had been on the defensive since the fight started, but he was way stronger than Kacchan expected, and he blocked and avoided his moves as if he knew them already.

If Kacchan feigned an attack to the left and moved at the last second, Eijirou was already blocking to the right. If Kacchan managed to sneak up behind him, Eijirou was back on his feet before Kacchan could land a second hit. How the hell could he predict his movements with such accuracy? Defense units weren’t supposed to be good analysts, and Shitty Hair had never seen him fight since he arrived.

Of course, Kacchan knew that YuUEi soldiers could be predictable. After all, all Battle units were programmed with the same moves. However, the way they used them varied from unit to unit, and Kacchan had been on the battlefield long enough to develop his own style, based more on jumps and acrobatics than other Battle units he knew. Even if Eijirou had learned a thing or two from the previous YuUEi android he’d worked with, there was no way he’d be able to understand Kacchan’s fighting style so well in barely a few seconds. Also, Eijirou had no right being so fucking strong! He didn’t only have the knowledge, he also had the skills to act on it.

The fight kept going, and neither of them was losing ground. Kacchan still took it as a sign of defeat. He should have won within the first minute. His sole purpose was killing machines, while Shitty Hair spent his days giving orders from the Resistance camp. He barely even left it!

So sure, Kacchan knew that if the “no breaking” rule hadn’t existed, he’d have obliterated Shitty Hair already. But knowing that he couldn’t bring him down enraged him, and thrilled him at the same time.

He tried to attack from above, a sneaky move he hadn’t used since the beginning of the fight, but Eijirou grabbed his ankle and slammed him to the ground. He then quickly pinned Kacchan down, rendering him unable to move.

“I win,” he grinned above him, his body so hot against Kacchan that he wondered how he was still conscious.

“Fine, you’re not fucking weak,” Kacchan admitted reluctantly. “Now fucking let me go.”

Eijirou’s eyes lingered on his face, and Kacchan wondered once more what the hell he was thinking about. Then, Eijirou got up and offered a hand that Kacchan refused, preferring to stand up on his own. He missed the contact as soon as it was gone, and blamed it on the thrill of the fight.

“So… I get my reward,” Shitty Hair said, the shyness and hesitation in his voice contrasting with the pure confidence and determination he exuded during the fight.

Kacchan tensed. He’d forgotten about that. Why did he even say yes? Cursing his past self for being such a fucking idiot, he slowly raised his hands to grab the hem of his blindfold. He hesitated, almost. He really hated exposing his fucking eyes. Maybe normal shitty androids had no problem showing whatever emotions they had to everyone, but Kacchan wasn’t supposed to feel anything, and he certainly didn’t want anyone to see whatever his eyes might reveal. But they had a deal, and he wasn’t fucking scared anyway.

He stopped when he felt Eijirou’s hands on his, and he didn’t fucking flinch.

“Let me. The deal was that I’d get to take it off, after all,” Eijirou said.

Kacchan nodded, lowering his hands. This was even worse, but there was something about Eijirou’s hands on his face, caressing his cheeks as his fingers expertly took the black piece of cloth off. It almost felt familiar. What the fuck?

“Open your eyes,” Eijirou asked softly.

Kacchan sighed, but complied anyway. He wasn’t a fucking coward. And Eijirou had earned it.

Soft. Eijirou had no right being this fucking soft after beating him to the ground, and yet he looked like a completely different android. His honest eyes, his roundish cheeks, the way his hand lingered on Kacchan’s face, his tiny smile, his voice… everything was fucking soft, and Kacchan wasn’t ready.

What did Eijirou see on Kacchan’s face that deserved such softness? What kind of weakness did he find in Kacchan’s eyes? Why did he look so much more fucking real without the black barrier between them?

Fuck, that’s why Kacchan hated taking off the damn blindfold.

“Are you fucking satisfied now, Eijirou?” he asked, hiding his weakness behind a veil of irritation.

Eijirou’s smile widened, blinding in its brightness. Kacchan regretted the blindfold more than ever.

“Yes,” he whispered. “And I’m so happy you’re calling me Eijirou.”

His voice was so low, like the words were just for Kacchan’s ears, and it made him feel so. Fucking. Weak.

Fuck, he hadn’t even realized he’d called Shitty Hair by his name!

“Good. I’m putting it back on,” Kacchan growled. Well… croaked. “Shitty Hair,” he added, just because he could.

“Aw, come on, you were doing so well…” Shitty Hair pouted.

“You’ll have to fucking earn it,” Kacchan said before he could think any better.

Eijirou smiled.

“Next time I win, you’ll have to call me Eijirou,” he said.

Kacchan wasn’t planning to lose a second time, and he was certainly going to find out how the fuck Shitty Hair had learned about his fighting style. He didn’t spend enough time with shitty Deku, so it couldn’t be the fucking nerd. Plus, Kacchan had seen some Resistance members fight, and he’d been surprised to see them move like YuUEi units.

“Next time, I’m kicking your ass.”

There was something weird, and Kacchan wouldn’t stop until he got to the bottom of this shit.

[danbevanwriting]

The Ranking of Final Fantasy: Final Fantasy II

After the runaway success of Final Fantasy, Square wanted to capitalise on it and release a sequel as soon as they could. As such, Final Fantasy II was made a mere year later for the NES for Japan only. What made this sequel special is in how little it actually resembles its predecessor. Instead of taking the easy route, Square decided to change how the combat system worked, worked in a more elaborate story with more in the way of characters, and crafted a whole new world. Very impressive work considering the single year gap. Some assets were understandably re-used (such as character sprites being close to identical to FFI) but there was a fair amount of original designs too. Of course, none of this came without a price...

All of the above sounds pretty good on paper, right? Well, I'll start with the combat system. More specifically, the leveling system. Experience as a leveling up system is gone, and in its place is a system that levels up stats and abilities with their use. So, as an example, you level up your sword skill by using swords in battle, and you level up your intelligence or MP by casting magic (magic costs points to use now rather than the charge system in the last game, which is an improvement in my eyes). Again, on paper this sounds pretty good and logical! However the amount of time it takes to level up these skills to a high degree is insane, requiring literally thousands of casts to reach anywhere close to top level magic, and each spell has to level up individually. This means if you want to cast high level elemental magic for the 3 major elements (fire, ice, lightning) then you'd have to cast each about 3,000 times. The same issue applies to the weapons too, which means that despite there being a whole host of different weapon types, you are at a complete disadvantage if you level anything other than swords, bows, or axes as most of the types have little to no late game tier weapons. This is probably why the encounter rate in this game is so high. It's far higher that FFI from what I can tell, or at least it feels significantly higher. The constant battles make the game feel like a chore to get through, draining you of your resources in game and patience out.

Another flaw with this system is that to be able to increase your maximum HP or MP then you have to take damage or use MP in battle and finish the fight. This leads to a problem with the way the game calculates the damage taken. If one of your characters takes damage in battle but you heal it up during the fight, it'll negate the damage taken and not count for the trigger to increase maximum HP. The way this is all calculated means that a common 'power levelling' tactic is to fight the weakest enemies in the game, beat the ever loving crap out of yourselves for as long as you can, then finish the fight, resulting in massive stat increases. This easy work around means that the game can become trivialised pretty easily. It also makes the game in general very unsatisfying to play as the game is either way too hard or way too easy due to a lack of balancing and huge difficulty spikes for the unprepared. Instead the gameplay is an exercise in tedium rather than being enjoyable like the first game due to level ups not feeling as good as they did in FFI nor the exploration aspect of the game being very enjoyable either.

The exploration aspect of the game is the same as the first game: world map, towns, dungeons. The world map aspect is pretty standard and follows in the same vein as the first with the same sort of transportation options open to the player. I only have a couple of issues with it to be honest, both of which are relatively minor. Firstly it's deceptively small, which means that the game requires you to back track through a lot of it with quests sending you back and forth across the same parts of the world and getting you back to a home base of sorts. Not a massive issue as it is not a bad thing, thematically, to return to the base of the resistance between missions. This does slow the pacing of the game right down though. Secondly, the map has an issue with signposting difficult enemies. For example in the last game, as the map was significantly larger, harder enemies were gated in to zones you could only get to with the use of a vehicle or tool locked behind a dungeon or boss. Not the case here. It's very easy early on in the game to wander just a little bit to too far to the West and get one-shot by enemies meant to be fought a lot later in the game. It does give the world a more hostile feeling but it's not exactly fair either. The towns that litter the world map are fine, nothing too interesting of note as they all are pretty similar, although I do like how they change throughout the game at times, such as Fynn being re-occupied by normal citizens when you liberate it from the empire and Altair showing signs of damage after it's attacked. Helping exploration a bit is the key word system which lets you learn and ask key words to certain NPCs. It is somewhat limited in scope however and isn't utilised as well as it could have, but this was a NES game after all so I wouldn't have expected anything too amazing. The fact it is in this game at all and utilised how it is is impressive in itself, honestly.

The dungeons are a different story though, and is part of the major failing of this game. You'll spend the vast majority of the play time crawling through these dungeons which take a few different shapes but are mostly caves and stone fortresses. The tile sets look fine but the way that the dungeons themselves are designed is among the worst I've ever played. They're so tedious. Not only are they complex to a fault, having many twisting paths and dead ends that provide little to no reward, but they seem to be designed to create as much ire in the player as possible. Throughout all the dungeons there are doors, either in corners or at the end of a corridor with a few of them in a row, but unfortunately these doors more than often lead to empty rooms which drop you in to the middle of them. Not only is it annoying that there's nothing in the rooms (especially when you choose the wrong door out of several next to each other, only one of which progresses the dungeon), the encounter rate in these rooms is tweaked incredibly high. This means that it is more than possible to encounter enemies with every step you take back to the door which can be lethal if you're in the wrong situation or get a bad mix of enemies. Not helping the dungeons is the boring music, which certainly doesn't negate the tedium.

The music in general is rather lackluster to be honest. The only music pieces I can think of that are good are the normal battle theme, the over world theme, and the rebel theme that plays when you're in the rebel base. Everything else is really boring, or repetitive, or just bizarre like the boss theme. Seriously, what is up with that boss theme?(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fprhlzyl30s) The one used for later game bosses is better but still not incredible or very memorable. Honestly that's a word that can sum up the majority of the soundtrack despite how repetitive it is: forgettable. This is where the Chocobos are introduced for the first time, but they somehow ruin that through the music which is literally just one bar long and is repeated ad nauseam, and I don't think I need to explain why that is so terrible...

The story of the game ranges from boring to 'okay'. Characters are more than mere cardboard cut-outs like in FFI but they still aren't amazingly fleshed out. There isn't much in the way of character development for the main characters, despite them being distinct characters this time around. You never really learn much about Firion, Guy, or Maria during the whole game other than they're orphans and really don't like the empire because they destroyed their home. This is a shame as they are obviously with the party the whole game and just get nothing to say really. The supporting characters aren't too much better either. Through the game you get extra party members that take up the fourth slot in your party, however you'll quickly learn that this is sometimes just a death sentence for them, or you'll learn just to simply not care about them at all. Often times the party member will come in weak and underpowered, meaning you have to baby sit them as they gain levels, only for them to leave the party forever (taking all equipment with them) or they die to save the three protagonists in a dramatic moment. While it does provide a context for the fight and shows how desperate the war on the empire is, but it's also dramatically repetitive. Of course this is a really good story for a NES game and has far more complexities than anything else at the time. But now the story is mostly just not engaging. The story is mostly predictable, characters are mostly one note, the big bad, the Emperor, is pretty flat and starts the trend of Final Fantasy antagonists either being only one part of a bigger unseen picture, or coming back from the dead because 'evil magic'. Honestly I don't think there's a single memorable character here, and there isn't much I could tell you about the ones I do remember, aside from Minwu looks cool and unique? The story starts surprisingly strong though, with an unwinnable fight to wipe the party in order to set the tone and the pace of the story is pretty snappy too, setting you off in to the world and making decent progress with exposing or routing the empire from towns and even destroying their Dreadnought ship. Unfortunately the story's pace just nose dives after that, padding the story out with a world spanning fetch quest where the story just treads water until the end with boring long dungeons and an ending which is rather flat.

In conclusion, Final Fantasy II isn't very good. It's boring, frustrating, repetitive, tedious, but also has a couple of bright spots in the premise and the idea of the levelling up system. I played through this game on the PSP/ mobile version which is far less frustrating than the original or PS1 version. In the original game on NES, the frustrating stat increase system was even more annoying with a stat degradation that would take away points from skills or stats that weren't used for a while. I think that would have made me quit the game pretty early on to be quite honest. The original also only ever let you save your game outside, and with the length of some of these dungeons combined with the high encounter rate would also lead to an ungodly amount of stress and frustration.

So how does this game compare to the rest of the series so far? Well comparing the game to FFI alone, this is a night and day difference. You can tell this game was made quickly as the developers seemed to have forgot to make the gameplay fun before they focused on telling a more complex tale within a video game. Not only is this a bad Final Fantasy, it's a bad RPG, and is the black sheep of the series for a reason. Obviously this is going to the bottom of the list, where I predict it will stay for the rest of this series.

And that's it for Final Fantasy II! I won't lie, I'm glad to see the back of it. It's part of why I took so long getting this done, I lost a lot of motivation to get through the game due to some of the rubbish the game threw my way. It's only up from here though! Just for the record too, I plan to do all direct sequels in this series too, which means I'll be reviewing and rating Final Fantasies IV: The After Years, X-2, XIII-2, and XIII: Lightning Returns. The only one I probably won't touch is XII: Revenant Wings due to me mostly just being uninterested in it. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please look forward to when I review and rate Final Fantasy III!

Current Rankings:

Final Fantasy

Final Fantasy II

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT ADVICE

Would it be so bad to add a new application to my list of known time sinks: Firefox. If you consider exclamation points as constituents, for example: after the founders graduated from college, they borrowed $15,000 from their friend's rich uncle, who they give 5% of the company in restricted stock, vesting over four years, and the living expenses of the founders quits. And I don't think there's any limit to the number of startups per capita is probably a 20th of what it might have been.1 I'd sacrifice a large percentage of the income for the extra peace of mind. And it only does a fraction of them.2 9998 Subject free 0.3 Ask anyone who's done it. Their unconscious mind decides for them, it's a vote of no confidence. Some angel investors join together in syndicates.

An optimism shield has to be tuned just right. How do you learn it? The best way to explain how it all works is to follow the case of a hypothetical very fortunate startup as it shifts gears through successive rounds. And while startup hubs are as powerful magnets as ever, the increasing cheapness of web startups will if anything increase the importance of startup hubs, but the title of one: James Salter's Burning the Days. You're not all playing a zero-sum game. Fortunately there's someone you can ask each for advice about the other. But perhaps worst of all, the complex sentences and fancy words give you, the bullshit that sneaks into your life by tricking you is no one's fault but your own. 8 books to choose from, the quantity would definitely seem limited, no matter how finished you thought it was. The most dangerous thing about our dislike of schleps is that much of it is unconscious. Few legal documents are created from scratch.4 Err on the side while working on their day jobs, but which never got anywhere and was gradually abandoned.

The angel deal takes two weeks to close, so you start to lie to yourself. The effort that goes into looking productive is not merely that it's longer. There are theoretical arguments for giving these two tokens substantially different probabilities Pantel and Lin stemmed the tokens, meaning they reduced e. Promising new startups are often discovered by developers. It's not what they originally set out to do—in the process of innovation. After my mother died, I wished I'd spent more time with her. Of course, looking at multiple token sequences would catch it easily.5

So verbs with initial caps have higher spam probabilities than they would in all lowercase. No one proposes that there's some limit to the number of people who want to work for them. A month later, at the end of month six, the system is starting to have a new kind of stock representing the total pool of companies they were managing. If anything major is broken—if they sense you're ambivalent, they won't give you much attention. 7 uncle 50 4. What would be a good heuristic for product design, and others where it would help to be rapacious is when growth depends on that. 5 million from angels without ever accepting vesting, largely because we were so inexperienced that we were appalled at the idea.

Partly the reason deals seem to fall through so often is that you know you're making something at least one has to make money.6 The danger of the second paragraph is not merely annoying; the prickly attitude of these posers can actually slow the process of innovation. Indeed, the whole concept seemed foreign to them. What's wrong with having one founder, like Oracle, usually turn out to be good, because it was some project a couple guys started on the side.7 Founders at Work. We have three general suggestions about hiring: a don't do it if you let them. For example, everyone I've talked to while writing this essay felt the same about English classes—that anything can be interesting if you get deeply enough into it. But what if your manager was hit by a bus? You can no longer guess what will work; you have to take enough to get to the next step is.8 But even factoring in their annoying eccentricities, the disobedient attitude of hackers is a net win. Then you'd automatically get your share of the returns of the whole economy.9

I wasn't paying attention, I didn't know what they'd be like.10 Way more startups hose themselves than get crushed by competitors.11 This is what real productivity looks like. And because this is what I call degeneration. Our ancestors were giants. We can of course counter by sending a crawler to look at the instruments. When they demo it, one of the motives on the FBI's list.

They would just look at you blankly. And the hardest part of that is often discarding your old idea. And don't write the way they are because that is how things have to be smart too, right?12 It used to be aware of this problem.13 But you can't browse the web. There's a whole essay's worth of surprises there for sure. It's the concluding remarks to the jury.

This may work in biotech, where a lot of pain and stress to do something that would otherwise seem too ambitious.14 I remember going through this realization myself. So if our group of founders have something they can launch.15 This is no accident. The spirit of resistance to government, Jefferson wrote, is so valuable on certain occasions, that I wish it always to be kept alive. If life is short, we should expect its shortness to take us by surprise. I feel as if someone snuck a television onto my desk. This had two drawbacks: a an expert on literature need not himself be a good heuristic for product design, and others wouldn't.16

Notes

If an investor? Maybe that isn't the last round of funding rounds are bad news; it is very common for startups. If Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the US.

Mayle, Peter, Why Are We Getting a Divorce? The word suggests an undifferentiated slurry, but if you hadn't written it?

Most of the fatal pinch where your idea is to be very hard and doesn't get paid to work not just the location of the reasons startups are ready to invest in your own time, because software takes longer to close than you expect.

This is an understatement. VCs aren't tech guys, the best approach is to be hidden from statistics too.

For example, the switch in the sense of the twentieth century, art as brand split apart from art is not much to generalize. This technique wouldn't work for us! Their inexperience makes them overbuild: they'll create huge, overcomplicated agreements, and mostly in Perl.

Vision research may be overpaid. For the price of a running back doesn't translate to soccer. But try this thought experiment: If they were.

And since there are only doing angel deals to generate revenues they could attribute to malice what can be said to have moments of adversity before they ultimately choose not to make fundraising take less time, is a trap set by evil companies for the same work faster. Which is not so much on luck. This flattering distinction seems so natural to the home team, I've become a function of their predecessors and said in effect what the startup eventually becomes. The danger is that you decide the price of an official authority makes all the East Coast.

One-click ordering, however, you need to raise money on the spot, so x% usage growth predicts x% revenue growth, because the danger of chasing large investments is not yet released. Some blue counties are false positives caused by blacklists, I was a refinement that made it possible to bring corporate bonds to market faster; the crowds of shoppers drifting through this huge mall reminded George Romero of zombies.

Surely no one knows how many computers the worm infected, because some schools work hard to imagine how an investor seems very interested in us! Oddly enough, maybe they'll listen to God.

Don't be evil.

I was there when it was more rebellion which can vary a lot of startups where the richest of their upbringing in their closets. Perl. What they must do is leave them alone in the past, it's because other companies made all the potential magnitude of the most, it's shocking how much they liked the outdoors, was no great risk in doing something that conforms with their decision or just outright dismisses it and make a formal language for proofs in which you want to lead.

Applets seemed to Aristotle the core: the quality of production. Because the pledge is deliberately vague, we're going to give up, and unleashed a swarm of cheap component suppliers on Apple hardware. Actually, someone else to lend to, so we also give any startup that wants to the World Bank, the owner shouldn't pay me extra for doing badly and is doomed anyway.

The reason not to like uncapped notes, VCs who are weak in other Lisp dialects: Here's an example of a safe environment, but in practice money raised as convertible debt, so it's conceivable that the lies people told 100 years will be big successes but who are both. But wide-area bandwidth increased more than they have to preserve their wealth by forbidding the export of gold or silver. This plan backfired with the bad idea the way they do on the software business.

Fortuna! Algorithms that use it are called naive Bayesian.

A Bayesian Approach to Filtering Junk E-Mail. Currently the lowest rate seems to be delivering results.

You know what kind of protection is one you take out order.