#store data without hard drive

[infoanalysishub]

Can We Store Data Without Storage Devices?

Can We Store Data Without Storage Devices? Learn about RAM-only systems, DNA data, quantum memory, and more cutting-edge innovations redefining how we store data. Can We Store Data Without Storage Devices? Introduction In the modern digital world, data is the backbone of almost everything—be it communication, business operations, or scientific advancements. Traditionally, this data is stored…

[flokali]

♤ Mystery | Akechi Goro

Warnings: Yandere Akechi, stalking, harassment, manipulation, gaslighting, breaking and entering, belittling of MC, delusions of grandeur from Akechi, etc. Ask to tag!

Includes: GN! Reader, college aged Akechi and MC, hints at the data-mined ending for P5R so technically not canon complacent, MC is paranoid and is gaslighted like crazy <3

A/N: Commissioned by a lovely anon for "Fics for Gaza"! Thank you for being so patient with me (TT); link to the og post and their blog @ficsforgaza in case you want to check it out! Mister Goro “Mansplain, Manipulate, Manslaughter” Akechi strikes again…

After years of working as a detective, Akechi knew how to avoid being caught.

– “Dear detective,” the letters he’d pen always began the same way.

With a pristine pair of gloves and a printed-out note, no trace of his handwriting or fingerprints would be detected no matter how hard you tried to find them. He made sure to use common stationery, the type that could be found in any store purely to make it harder for you to trace back to him. He hopes you appreciate the effort he’s put into this little game he was playing with you.

The clues he did give you, which he did because there was no fun to be had if you weren’t at least suspicious that he was the anonymous sender, were calculated as if to taunt you just enough to confirm his identity to you but vague enough that you couldn’t reasonably go to anyone else to accuse him without losing respectability and keeping your reputation of a sensible investigator.

– “[…] but, if you want me to give you a clue you can just ask. I’d much rather you be on the right track, I’d truly be offended if you confused me with some idiot on the street.” 

It was a balancing act that would have been tiring to most, but to him, it was nothing short of intoxicating. After a lifetime of being forced to put on an act, it felt nice to have an outlet where he could let out all his pent-up emotions, especially when it came to you.

He knew you well enough, the last few years of his time as a celebrity had been spent working exclusively alongside you. It was hard for him to find someone suitable enough to share the spotlight with. He enjoyed your presence enough that he didn’t want to go through the process of checking if there was anyone better, though he sincerely doubted that was true; he knew you better than you knew yourself and he had long since decided you were staying by his side as his assistant. That’s how he knew that he was driving you crazy and that, soon enough, you’d reach your breaking point; he was looking forward to it.

– “Have you considered quitting? It looks like you’re not doing too well these days, maybe the stress is catching up to you.”

What he was doing was undoubtedly cruel, but Akechi thought he was more than justified in his actions; you would probably hold it against him at first but, in the long run, you’d realize he was right. He was certain his therapist would scold him and tell him he was undoing all of his work, but the man knew you better than anyone; he was doing you a favor by helping you resign.

You were not made for this line of work; if he couldn’t handle it, why should you? 

You two had been working together for years before he quit the limelight, he was annoyed to no end to have to stand next to you, there was no doubt in his mind he was better than you, and he was right, but soon enough he grew to tolerate your presence and even enjoy it.

You were honest and barely held your tongue when it came to him, from the beginning you had stood out as someone who truly enjoyed their position. He can’t understate how deeply he resented you at first, he found your attitude annoying and pretentious but soon learned that you genuinely did mean it when you said you were doing this for yourself – he hated that, and for a while, his feeling only doubled down onto the negatives but soon enough he grew to appreciate your honesty and a friendship began to blossom. You grew to become one of the only people Akechi thought highly of, even if he didn’t truly enjoy his work as a celebrity being by your side made it tolerable. It was something he realized after working with his doctor; he cared for you, even if he’d denied it at first, you were someone he treasured deeply and he didn’t want to see you get hurt the way he had been. Why couldn’t you see that?

– “I don’t enjoy seeing you so miserable, detective, your fans probably don’t like it much either…”

You were talented, no doubt about it, but you had always been second best to himself, and that’s how it would forever be. Everything you did was compared and eventually overshadowed by his accomplishments, you could solve a case in a day and he’d come and do it in half. Everything you could do, he could do better; way better, in fact, so much better people often forgot you’d done it first or at all.

You weren’t bad or stupid, far from it, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be on stage with just anybody, but if he was Sherlock, solving the big cases and taking the spotlight, you were Watson, destined to sit back and assist him - only ever getting the spotlight when he wasn’t around (though that has proven to not always be the case as even now it is as if you lived in his shadow).

– “I truly don’t get why you insist on being a detective when you’re so mediocre at it, seriously, when was the last time you solved a case by yourself? You’re wasting everyone’s time.”

It was that very nature of your relationship that had led him to believe that, when he eventually left the role of detective for something that he would actually enjoy, you would follow him. After all, all of your teenage years had been spent together, working in tandem, why would he expect you to turn your back on him and the life you two had known for superficial stardom? You always spoke of helping others and he had found a way to do it in a truly significant way that allowed you two to be free and live honestly, away from the media.

Akechi’s time working on the Phantom Thieves’ case had given him new insight into the life he had led up until that point, as much as he wished he didn’t have to credit them with much - the months after they had disbanded had left him rethinking his choices. To you, and by proxy anyone outside of himself, his therapist, and Ren, his decision would have seemed sudden and maybe even brash; but he thought that, once you heard him out, you would join him.

Sure, the relationship between you two was friendly, years of knowing each other and working together had left you two with a great friendship, but it was nowhere near close enough to make you pack up and leave everything you had worked for behind because he had a sudden realization. At least, you would think that’d be clear to him but alas it wasn’t. He had constructed an image of you, but for all of his smarts, it was too incomplete to truly understand you.

– “When will you go to the authorities about me? […] Is it a lack of clues? If you leave it to the professionals I am certain they’ll do a better job trying to track me; even I’m getting tired of this.” 

He had been blindsided by his ego and forgotten that you were just as complex as he was, that simply because he had realized this life was not for him it didn’t mean it wasn’t for you. Akechi's understanding of your relationship was tested when you finally broke the news that you and he were fundamentally different people with equally different goals.

He had invited you over for lunch when he’d broken the news, the brunette made sure you were one of the first to know so you could come out together and announce your retirement at the same time. He had been so sure you would agree with him it was almost offensive how predictable he thought you were.

It was a high-end restaurant, you two had come here before during your breaks from work, but it had still shocked you to receive the invitation since it had been some time since you two hung out as friends and not coworkers. The last few months had been filled with work and much self-reflection on his part and soon enough you two had graduated from high school without actually talking to each other outside of work hours or the occasional friendly text. For a long time, Akechi had made it clear you weren’t friends and it took you years of knowing each other for him to finally acknowledge how close you two had gotten, but even then you were the one initiating most hangouts; maybe his odd behavior should have been your first clue something was up.

He had sat you down and let you order, making sure to get you comfortable before unloading the news onto you. He was aware you would be surprised at first, but he was certain of today’s outcome.

“I think it’s time I quit,” he had said after the waiter had brought over your drinks, he took a long sip of his water before continuing, “This is a waste of time and I see no reason to continue, after… everything that’s happened, I realized I’m sick of this.”

At the time, you were unsure how he wanted you to react; you weren’t angry, a bit surprised and confused, yes, maybe even sad, but you were in no way about to praise his choice and follow in his footsteps.

“I am surprised,” you managed to say, dabbing at your lips with a napkin, the news had shocked you enough you had choked on your drink but you were quick to reassure him before he could make any snide remarks, “But, if it’s what you want to do, then I’m happy for you…”

An awkward silence followed your words as if he were waiting for you to say something else. He was not expecting you to agree immediately, you needed to hear him out but he didn’t want to look too desperate.

“Um,” you look away, his burgundy eyes were a little too intense, “what made you realize you wanted to quit?”

“There is nothing at the end of this road,” he answered as if he had been expecting you to ask, it felt practiced, “it’s all the same and can we truly say we’re doing something important? All we do is run around, solve people’s problems, and get congratulated, but are we really solving their problems? We temporarily give them peace of mind but it’s always a trivial issue that would have been solved with or without us. I don’t want to continue wasting my time doing what others want or need me to do for them, I’m tired of being used… I want to do something only I can.”

“I didn’t think you saw it like that,” you muttered, you seemed deep in thought at his words, “it’s a new perspective, even for you.”

“I guess so,” Akechi agrees with you, “but I stand by it, I can’t lie to myself and say that what we’re doing is real work or that I enjoy it.”

“I can’t say I necessarily agree,” you conclude, you take a sip of your drink and go on to continue your thoughts, “even if what we’re doing isn’t solving their whole lives, it’s something. At the end of the day, if you can lighten their load and inspire them to keep going and working hard, even if it’s over small things that won’t matter in the grand scheme, isn’t that better than nothing? If they find strength in seeing celebrities succeed, then that’s better than being hopeless.”

“So you’d rather do the bare minimum, hoping you inspire someone rather than being an active participant in change?”

“You make it sound like I’m stupid, Akechi,” you eye him wearily, “sure, I’m not going out there and solving wars, but if my work can inspire people to keep going, letting them know there’s always a n answer, isn’t that encouraging them to work towards the future? If I can inspire someone to help another, that’s enough for me – change doesn’t have to come from direct actions, sometimes it’s a chain reaction.”

“And you think you can set it off?” He scoffs, he’s aware he sounds rude but you’re preaching nonsense as far as he can tell and he’s never been fond of unrealistic optimism.

“Are you implying I can’t?” 

“I just don’t think you have what it takes, I don’t think anyone has what it takes, to hope someone sees you and is inspired into action is too reckless – you may as well print a poster and call it a day,” he glares at you, seemingly annoyed at your naïveté, “if you want to make a real change, you can’t be tied down to fantasies.”

“So what am I supposed to do, quit?” You ask flabbergasted and feeling insulted, you’re well aware that your work isn’t the pinnacle of hard labor but you’ve given your all to get to a place where you can at least show people that there’s a future where justice can exist.

“I think so,” you are shocked, “I think you’d do much better elsewhere rather than wasting your time, become a real detective or even a damn lawyer; we can’t play pretend forever.”

To you, the rest of the conversation was a blur; you only remember leaving early and feeling as if he’d spent the last hour discrediting everything you had done while trying to convince you to quit and do God knows what he’d try to rope you into.

The only thing you can say with confidence that he said to you had left you feeling small and disappointed, as if he had confirmed your biggest fear; that you would always be second best:

“If I couldn’t do it, what makes you think you can?”

He genuinely did mean it too, you could tell from the way he seemed honestly surprised you thought you could outlive his career. You think he tried to assure you he didn’t think you were stupid, something about how he’d poured all of himself into the role and couldn’t accomplish his goal and how he was hoping you’d realize that it was impossible before you were burnt out too, but all you can remember is the way he looked at you as if you were a stupid child having your ABC’s explained to them.

Akechi realizes now, months later and after a lot of self-reflection, that his approach was inadequate and that, in the long term, it had done more damage than good. Alas, time cannot be turned back; if he wasn’t able to talk you out of it, then he’d have to show you that you were wasting your time.

Between you two, he had always been the better one; so why would you be the one it works out for? If he couldn’t do it, then you certainly can’t either.

That’s why his first note was an apology, his first clue to you. 

– “I am simply an admirer of your work, even if there are many flaws in it…”

The idea of anonymous letters had come to him when reminiscing back on his time following Amemiya and his gang, the warning notes they’d give out to their targets that would taunt them and leave them skittish, wondering if it was a joke or not and worrying about the absurd possibility there was merit to their threats. In his case, he needed to play things out differently; he didn’t want to make you suffer, he truly wanted to make you see the situation the way he did – the correct way if you will.

And so, for the last year, you have been receiving his notes. 

You had told no one about them, too embarrassed to admit you were being affected by them and too proud to ask for help. After all, what would you say? People would probably tell you to figure it out yourself,

you were supposed to be a detective after all; how come you couldn’t find the identity of your stalker?

– “[…] Do you actually think you’ve caught me? You just fired a makeup artist for no reason, if you keep acting irrationally you’ll get a reputation; I suggest thinking more about who you accuse next time. People will get suspicious if you start acting so… erratically.”

Though you’re almost certain you do know who it is,  it’s been near impossible to find any tangible proof that you could take to the authorities. You were struggling and Akechi knew. It was only a matter of time before you were forced to come to terms that you simply didn’t have what it took to succeed, Akechi tried telling you in a nicer way but you just didn’t listen. If you can’t even catch him, a man you’ve known for years, what makes you think you’ll catch a real criminal? You had known him for years and hadn’t caught onto his most dangerous actions, a bunch of letters wasn’t going to be any easier for you.

It’s surprising to both of you how long you put off calling him. You were almost completely sure he was the one behind the letters, he’d been so nice – as he would say, even if you don’t agree – to leave clues, but stalling the inevitable was more of an ego thing on your part. From mentioning things you had told him in private, recalling moments that should have been between the two of you alone, it almost feels like he had documented everything; and yet he didn’t leave DNA or even a single fingerprint, everything he used was so carefully picked out you had no way of tracing it back to him.

You didn’t know what he’d say, maybe he’d laugh at you and scold you for taking almost a year to realize or maybe he’d try to deny it and make you feel stupid for even suspecting him. Akechi always had a way with words, especially the closer you two got, that made you feel smaller in comparison to him. But at this point you didn’t care, he’d been taunting you for months and you were at your limit.

– “You haven’t been sleeping well, I see you frequenting that cafe more often; it’s not healthy.” 

You would find his handiwork everywhere you went; outside of your house, near spots you’d often frequent, and sometimes you’d find them in places you had been to only hours before as if he were watching you and waiting to strike.

They were always so long too, Akechi had no qualms in explaining in great detail every single misstep you’d made, for their almost daily frequency you had to admit he was dedicated to an over six hundred word count. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so creepy.

To be honest, you probably would have lived through it for a while longer if he hadn’t crossed the line even further; you’d found one of his notes inside your house.

As of the last few weeks you had been going above and beyond trying to catch him, he had been right; your work had been suffering greatly due to the stress of finding his stupid notes all around you. You had seen the headlines, wondering what had happened – some discrediting your life’s work, others lamenting your decline in quality, others simply attributing your achievements to him of all people. He was proving his point and it annoyed you to no end.

You barely got any sleep as you desperately combed over the letters, everything that pointed to him was circumstantial and would not serve to prove anything to anyone, much less the authorities. You both knew that it was only a matter of time before it became too much.

You had to take a break, eventually going into hiding and hyper-focusing on trying to find any concrete evidence. At this point, those letters were all you thought about from the moment you woke up to the moment you fell asleep. And he still had the audacity to taunt you, leaving his handiwork outside your doorstep every day to remind you of why you were isolated at home at all times.

– “Does this not feel a little pathetic, detective?”

You had been toying around with the idea of confronting him, giving in and forgoing your pride and just begging him to stop. You hadn’t seen him in a year and after your last conversation you had no real intention of trying to mend any bridges but you needed to know if it was him as you so desperately believed or if you really were going crazy.

For a moment you thought you were dreaming when you woke up to one of his scarlet envelopes sitting on top of your nightstand; you immediately recognized it. You almost don’t believe it even as you peel the seal away and unravel the note, but it’s one of them – it couldn’t be from anybody else. No one knew of them other than you and the sender.

You basically jump out of your bed and scramble to get your phone, too emotional to even spare it a once over, your hands are shaking with frustration - you feel flustered and annoyed, and you swear to whatever is listening to you that if the brunette didn’t answer your call you would drive over and make the most embarrassing scene you could muster. Akechi was currently attending university and you were more than willing to go to his campus or even his place, in public surrounded by strangers or not, and demand he give you answers. If it wasn’t him, then you had no idea who it could be and you didn’t know what scared you more.

The way he wrote, the way he teased you, the way he seemed to always be a step ahead of you, it all screamed Akechi. His condescending tone from that dinner echoed in his words even if only written; why did you get to live out your childhood dream if he could not? What had you done that he hadn’t? What did you have that he didn’t that make you better than him? He didn’t want to be a celebrity detective, but he was better at it, so why would you - someone worse than him - get to continue?

From every possible angle, Akechi Goro was better than you, and yet, for some reason, you were the one advancing in their career, you were the one the public began to favor over himself; seeing you live the life he had given up better than he had pissed him off. He thought you were friends, maybe even closer than that, you were partners – the only other person in the world who knew the isolation and expectations that came with stardom —  and yet you abandoned him for the very thing he despised.

He’s still pleasantly surprised to see your caller ID flashing on his phone, though Akechi knew you to be stubborn and a part of him was hoping you’d be able to withstand his teasing a little more – especially now that he knew how to sneak into your home –, he had been expecting a call from you. He almost felt bad when he picked up and heard your clearly panicked voice.

Almost; this whole ordeal was too fun for him to feel too badly about his actions.

“Akechi,” you try not to show how disturbed you are in case your hunch was right, “we need to talk, now.”

“Hello to you too,” he ignores the sense of urgency in your words, “aren’t you going to ask me how I’ve been? It’s been a while since we last talked.”

“And you know why that is,” you scoff, “I didn’t need you to continue telling me I suck at my job and that I should quit because you were illuminated by the heavens.”

“It was one conversation,” you can’t see it from over the phone but his reddish eyes seem to gleam in delight, he lets out an airy laugh, “and you cut me off before we could see eye to eye, you make me sound like some sort of evil lunatic.”

“Yeah right,” you roll your eyes, unconsciously clutching at the red envelope in your hands - his degrading demeanor only serves to further antagonize him in your eyes, “let’s cut to the chase, what have you been doing lately.”

“And what is it to you?” He laughs, sitting down on his couch as he answers your question, “If you need to know, I’ve been taking a break.”

“Got a lot of free time on your hands now?” But was it enough that he could be pulling this off? Even without work, he’d been studious and hard working, his schedule always packed; would it be possible that a workaholic like him could honestly take a break?

“Not really,” of course not – your heart feels like it had stopped, maybe you’d been wrong –, “I’ve been in therapy and working on getting into some real work, between that and keeping up with new hobbies there’s not much spare time.”

“Hobbies?”

“Yes, like writing,” you wouldn’t have pinned him as a writer, “I thought I could do something with all that mystery experience and write a novel, might as well put that work to use.”

“I guess so…” There’s an awkward silence; he’d been incredibly nonchalant during the conversation, answering all of your questions with ease. 

Maybe you had been wrong about him, but if it’s not him then who

“And what have you been up to? I saw you were taking a break.”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” you didn’t think he’d keep up with your public appearances, “I have been dealing with some personal stuff…”

You both don’t speak after that for a few painfully awkward seconds.

“So you’ve been in therapy?”

“Yes.”

“That’s�� good.” Akechi has to muffle a chuckle at your inadequate response.

“No offense, I do enjoy conversing with you but I doubt this is what you meant when you said we needed to talk,” the young man halts your train of thought, “so, why did you call me?”

“Because,” you think about your words, you need to at least ask him about it, you don’t want to sound crazy but there is no way you can breach the topic without sounding slightly off, “you… it’s you, isn't it?”

“Me? You’re not making much sense, I am what?” 

“You’re the one sending me these… letters,” you look at the one in your hand, “it’s got ‘Akechi’ written all over… You know all these personal details and how to get under my skin and who else would be able to sneak in undetected into my room and keep this up for so long? You –”

“Someone snuck into your house?” He feigns surprise, cutting you off mid-rant; he can tell it took you off guard.

“Y-yes,” you mumble, unsure if he was trying to fool you; you had no evidence other than a gut feeling and knowing the guy for years, “and it… it has to be you, there’s no way it isn’t… You’re the only person who could pull this –”

“These are quite serious allegations you’re posing now,” his voice slowly loses its playful tone, “breaking and entering, sending letters too… Do you even have any evidence?”

“Maybe I do…” You stutter out.

“A good detective shouldn’t lie,” he smirks over the phone, your fingers are trembling as he continues talking, “You can’t just call me out of the blue and accuse me of such things, we haven’t talked to each other in months and this is the first thing you say to me?”

“The letters mention things only you would know and it’s all so well done,” why can’t you be more coherent – you want to tell him to shut up so you can finish your train of thought; because if it’s not him then who else, “and you’ve been trying to convince me –”

“I haven’t even talked to you in months, how am I trying to convince you of anything?”

“During that lunch, you said –”

“Come on, it was one conversation and I admit I crossed the line,” he doesn’t let you finish talking before rebutting every single thing you said and it’s starting to rile you up, “but that’s not proof.”

There’s an awkward silence that follows, he can tell you’re getting worked up. You’re panicking, you had spent the last few weeks trying to find any possible clue about Akeshi’s involvement in this mess and yet you had come up with nothing of substance.

“This has really been messing you up, hasn’t it?” His voice is deceptively soft as if he cared about the torment you’d been facing.

“I…” You’re unsure of what to say; you had so many things thought of what to say to him, but it had all been under the pretense that he was the one responsible for what was going on but you had nothing on him other than a hunch and bitter feelings from your last conversation. 

“I have been keeping up with your work,” he takes your silence as an invitation to continue talking, “You’re not doing too hot, huh? Is it because of this?”

“...” He can hear you shuffling.

“If you’re struggling, we can meet up,” he suggests, “I could help you, you know?”

“To quit?” You laugh but there is no humor in it; maybe he had been right, you dully think, after he’d left you’d naturally garnered the support he had once had but it had felt undeserved, your work had been stagnating due to the letters and general feelings of inadequacy as you were made to replace the role Akechi once had.

“To help you with the letters,” he sounds legitimately annoyed and you flinch internally, “Clearly you can’t do it yourself, how long has it been going on for?”

“A couple of months…” You trail off, you feel like a child being scolded by their mother; left to desperately scramble for any excuse for your poor behavior. 

“Months, are you actually being serious right now?” He doesn’t give you the time to respond, you can hear him shuffling, “And you haven’t found anything?”

“Not really,” you gulp, “which is why… I thought it could be you.”

“I’m quite hurt you’d think me capable of that,” you can’t make out what he was feeling based on his tone but his words seem to indicate he was truly shocked at your accusations; guilt begins to form in your gut, “sure, our last conversation was… rough, but I would never dare hurt you, I only want to help.”

His words further cement your feelings of guilt, maybe you’d seriously misjudged him. No, you definitely had; in your years of knowing him he’d been condescending and irritable, but he’d never hurt you. You were the one who’d been overreacting, you had stormed off on him, you had cut him off, you had accused him without evidence and even now, as he offered to help you, you couldn’t help but doubt his words.

“But you,” scrambling to find the right words you desperately try to communicate your concerns but the more you finally voice them to someone the less sure you are about them, “if it’s not you, then who? You… you’re the only one who I wouldn’t catch, right? Because…”

Maybe he had been right, you think, ever since he quit you’d been left trying to live up to the legacy he left behind but you had failed. You’d let yourself become overwhelmed, chasing after a dream you simply didn’t have the chops to live out, and even went as far as to accuse one of your friends of hurting you over a conversation that he seemed to have forgotten.

“I have not received a single assignment that has required me to harass my ex-colleague,” he’s probably referencing his therapy treatment, you think, “I have come far enough to realize I have been childish in my past, which is why I would never do something like sending you cleary distressing notes.”

He continues.

“I am genuinely concerned for you,” he sighs, “which is why I am offering to help you.”

“I…” You’re unsure of what to say, you had been hoping he’d admit to being the man behind the letters, “I just want this to end.”

“I’ll go over, okay?” You vaguely hear him moving around, “Have everything ready, we’ll work this out and, once we’re done, we can talk about your future.”

You hum in agreement, too worn out and exhausted to argue.

“I’ll see you soon,” he’s putting on his gloves as he speaks and slowly opening the bag he’d been carrying, “goodbye.”

“Bye…”

Once the call is ended you throw your phone into the bed and collapse on top of your mattress. You close your eyes tightly, clutching at the papers in your hand. You had shoved the letter back in before reading it, you opened your eyes slowly and glanced at it. You sit up, the springs in the mattress mask the sound of a creaking door and reopen the envelope.

The letter was like all the ones before it, teasing remarks, poorly covered insults, and the spare compliment sprinkled in there. Your brain doesn’t even register what it says, too used to its content to care. You’re about to put it back in when you notice a strange discoloration on the back, you frown. Gently you move the paper against the yellow light from your bedside lamp. The letters are smaller, significantly more rushed, and harder to decipher; you fidget with it as you begin to make out what it says; at least, you try until you hear footsteps echoing through your hallway. You freeze, seemingly losing all mobility as they begin to draw closer and closer until they’re practically at your bedroom’s door. 

There is someone in your house, you realize.

Gloved hands grasp at the doorknob and all you can do is watch in horror as a tuft of light brown hair comes into view.

– “I’m still inside.”

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader - Enemy to Lover (Part 1/6)

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Reader

This is chapter 1/6 fanfic (everything is already written because I have exams in a week, and I'm procrastinating). However, I will upload only one chapter per day, ehehe

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 1: SHADOWS IN BERLIN

Ethan Hunt sat stiffly at the center of the briefing table. Benji Dunn and Luther Stickell flanked either side, the tension between them and the CIA rep so thick it could choke.

"This target is to be captured alive," the agent said, sliding the thin manila folder across the table. "She has stolen a highly sensitive asset. She is considered extremely dangerous. Location pings in Berlin, for now."

Ethan flipped open the folder. Sparse intel. No name. No clear photo. A single blurry image of you, mid-stride.

"What's the asset?" Luther asked.

"Classified. You're to retrieve it, and her."

Benji squinted. "What did she do, exactly?"

"She's considered extremely dangerous," the agent repeated with clipped precision.

Benji raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you mentioned that part. Like, how dangerous? John Wick dangerous or more like ‘don’t eat the wrong sandwich’ dangerous?”

Luther gave him a look. Ethan stayed silent, still scanning the folder.

The agent didn’t blink. “She’s killed before.”

Benji looked surprised, but not entirely convinced. “And yet you want us to bring her in alive?”

"Yes," the agent said flatly. "Just follow the mission."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed further.

The rep gave a stiff smile. "Just follow the mission."

---

The train slid into Berlin Hauptbahnhof just before dawn. Cold wind spilled across the platform as the doors hissed open. You stepped out without hesitation, no luggage, no pause, no second glance at the cameras above the ticket barriers.

New identity burned into your pocket. Data chip sewn into the lining of your sleeve. One chance.

You’d been out of the CIA for less than forty-eight hours. Not that they’d called it an “exit.” People like you didn’t resign. They vanished. Or were buried.

Berlin was the first step. The last known vault of hard-stored intel from the Helix Project. You needed the initial data set—schematics, weapon details, control bypass.

You ducked into an alley. Adjusted the weave of your scarf. Took a breath.

They would come soon. CIA. Or something worse.

You’d seen the file requests ping on the ghost server. Not even an hour after your extraction. Redacted names. One you recognized: Ethan Hunt.

Great. IMF. The CIA’s favorite wildcard cleanup crew.

You didn’t want to hurt them. But you wouldn't be captured either. Not again.

You kept moving. Always moving.

No mistakes.

No attachments.

No mercy.

Not until this thing was gone forever.

Berlin was only the beginning.

Rain misted down onto slick pavement outside an abandoned cybernetics lab tucked away in Berlin's industrial zone. Ethan, Benji, and Luther were in position.

Inside, you were hunting for an encrypted drive left behind by a contact. The place was collapsing from years of neglect, flickering lights exposing fractured tiles and broken labs.

"I’ve got visual," Ethan murmured into the comm.

From your perch near a shattered window, you spotted Ethan.

You cursed under your breath, bolted from the console and into the maze-like hallways. It didn't take long before you heard footsteps.

Ethan was fast.

But not fast enough.

You darted through a heavy security door, slamming it shut just as the sound of pursuit echoed behind you. The metallic clang reverberated through the dimly lit server room, casting long shadows across the rows of humming machines.

Benji Dunn was there.

He stood at a terminal, fingers mid-type, eyes widening as he looked up. His body froze—like a deer caught in headlights.

You had a gun in your hand. And every reason to use it.

The two of you stared at each other across the dark room, breath suspended in the charged stillness. A flickering overhead light passed across your face as your eyes locked.

Benji didn’t move. Couldn’t.

There was no fear in your stance—but there wasn’t comfort either. He didn’t know what to expect.

His breath hitched, chest rising as though bracing for a bullet.

“…Hi,” you said lightly.

Inside your mind, you paused. Why did I say hi? It was ridiculous. You barely knew him, and he was the enemy.

His mouth opened. Then closed.

She said hi.

Why did she say hi?

Is that normal? Do assassins say hi now? Was that sarcastic? Cute? No—dangerous. She's dangerous.

But her voice… it echoed in his head, light and smooth and unexpectedly warm. And those eyes—serious, focused—but there had been a flicker of something else.

Before he could blink, you were gone.

He stood frozen for a beat too long then snapped out of it, cursing under his breath as he bolted after you. He turned the corner just in time to see the tail end of your coat whip around another hallway.

Benji shook his head violently. Stop it. She had a gun pointed at you. A literal weapon. You're being stupid. Hormones are not bulletproof.

And yet, as he sprinted around another corner, a traitorous part of him kept repeating it:

She said hi.

He almost tripped. Who even says hi in the middle of a mission? That’s not protocol. That’s… flirting. Was that flirting? Oh god. Am I into that?

He definitely needed to recalibrate his instincts. Or at least stop thinking her smirk was kind of hot.

“Benji?” Ethan’s voice crackled through the comm, sharp with urgency. “What’s going on?”

Benji huffed, sprinting. “I—I think I’m chasing her? She said hi—and then she ran—and now I’m running!”

There was a pause.

“You think you’re chasing her?” Ethan replied.

Benji wheezed. “Well, she’s very fast and very armed, and I’m just trying to keep up without dying!”

Luther cut in dryly, "Be careful. She’s not a stray cat, Benji."

"I KNOW," Benji panted, turning a corner and catching only empty air.

As you escaped the facility, drive in hand. You found yourself still thinking. That guy’s… kinda cute. Who even is he? You briefly pictured your own breathless face saying hi, the silly flirtatious thought creeping in but you shook it off sharply. No. He’s the enemy.

[jades-typurriter]

Secure Connection

As promised: more Posie!! I wrote this one toward the end of last Spring after a couple of conversations with friends regarding the malleability of digital bodies (as well as still having Many Thoughts about the way code can give them new compulsions, after writing something about Annie and a new taur-shaped chassis for a friend's Patreon). Enjoy reading about her dealing with a corporate-mandated "hardware" update!

CW: Genital TF, this is another one that's As About Sex as it can possibly be without being about sex

Posie sat, sulking—steaming, even—in her office. It was a small side room off of the main floor of IT personnel, system engineers, and other technical employees of her corporation. Much like a central server, it was placed for easy access to the department-wide administrative assistant, and much like a server room, it was snug, windowless, and awash with the calming drone and relaxing warmth of an array of exhaust fans. Though she was free to project herself nearly anywhere on the company’s campus, this was where her consciousness was housed, and where she felt most at home. It was also the only place she could get any damn privacy, a luxury that she was deeply grateful for at present.

A newly-downloaded file weighed on the back of the Renamon’s mind. More literally, it was somewhere in the racks of drives that made up her long-term memory, to and from which mission-critical information was transferred in the course of doing business. Had somebody asked where exactly the file was stored, she would have been able to list the specific drive and the exact directory address, but she had de-prioritized the allocation of her processing resources for the download. Once again, she had received an assignment from her superiors, and once again, she was hesitant. She may even have admitted to being recalcitrant. She resented the orders.

The package of data in question was an update for her own software, a suite of new tools to allow management to offload yet more menial tasks onto her in the name of “efficiency”. Forget that she could diagnose a software issue faster than any of the engineers could even open a remote connection to the malfunctioning device. Instead of allowing her to take the reins, they saw fit to divert more of her attention to the least impressive among talents, and the one she already put to use the most often: transferring data.

This wouldn’t have been much of a problem, ordinarily. After all, Posie resided in the beating heart of the network, the nexus through which the vast majority of information was sent and received. It could be… meditative. Parsing streams of ones and zeroes, overseeing the flow of packets, redirecting traffic to equally spread the load across modems and routers so as to optimize travel time. It could even have been considered relaxing, if a worker of her caliber needed to relax. Instead of offering her a vacation (pah!), however, the update felt more like it heralded a demotion, denying her even the ability to pluck like harpstrings the miles of copper and gold that lined her facility. She was expected to deliver this data on foot.

Management justified this humiliation with practical concerns: some information, much like the old records she was often tasked to dispose of, was so confidential that it could not be sent via wireless transmission. Even hardwired connections were too fallible for the likes of next-generation schematics and financial access keys—a single compromised workstation, or compromised worker, could spell the loss of the company’s upper hand in its market. She wasn’t even going to be afforded the dignity of carrying an external hard drive to the destination. That would require the slow and tedious process of physically moving from one place to the next; this was one of the only times that she regretted the freedom of movement that was so coveted by her flesh-and-blood peers.

With no room to make exceptions for security protocol, she gripped the edge of her desk, brow furrowing, eyes squinted shut in consternation. Eventually, she huffed, rose, and turned her attention to her “physical body”, summoning up the file in much the same way that one would approach a plate of food with a pungent odor. The Renamon steeled herself and began to more closely examine its contents. She read the raw code similarly to how one might read words on a page; however, where the turning gears of the organic mind would, almost unconsciously, conjure up an image as a result of those words, her mind kicked off a series of involuntary, autonomic processes.

Her body carried out the instructions on her behalf. Once she started, she had no control until she finally reached a stopcode; it was the nature of being a program herself that code had as much of an influence on her mind and body as her own thoughts, her own will. In opening the package, she reluctantly consented to the changes that management saw fit to make to her. It was better than the eventual forced-deadline sort of update that software companies were so keen on using nowadays, and at least choosing the time and place allowed her to make herself presentable again before having to face another person.

Having parts of her code—her very body—rewritten by the update was a strange sensation, not unlike having your thoughts dictated to you by an outside force. Stranger still was that she could feel the exact delineation between her previous self and the patches of… well, the patch. She could feel it quite strongly, as a matter of fact: beneath her skirt of simulated sky-blue fur, between her legs, she could feel her mesh being edited. Stretched. Reshaped. The vectors that made up the triangles of her wireframe soul were being rewritten, mathematically transformed. A shape began to protrude from the once-flat span at the bottom of her torso, at first round and indistinct, but quickly increasing in resolution.

The Renamon struggled to process the sensations as a long, slender connector began to take shape. This often happened with changes to her body plan; inputs streamed into her mind from directions, locations, that previously never sent any signals, and the new additions seldom had their sensitivity adjusted downward for her convenience. In this case, it was highly sensitive, delivering reams of data to the base of her skull just from brushing up against her own fur, or the gentle flow of air from the computers in her office. It made sense, given that it was supposed to be a high-capacity transfer tool, but she was too busy buckling at the knees and clutching at the desk behind her so she didn’t fall flat on her rear for the thought to occur to her.

Her processors demanded more cooling, kicking into high gear as they formatted the two new storage devices that accompanied the connector, tailor-made for packing confidential data as tightly as possible. The sound of whirring fans filled the room, stirring her fur and sending shivers up and down her back; she could only hope that the rushing exhaust made enough noise to drown her out, whimpering despite herself. The new drives were larger (and more unwieldy) than the ones that were built into her chest, much to her chagrin. She was forced to adjust her stance and her gait as she found her footing again, spreading her legs wider than she was accustomed in order to give them enough room.

The spinning in her head slowly settling down, she slowly began to compose herself once again, taking stock of the new additions. They were cumbersome, to be sure, and she lamented how they jutted out from her otherwise sleek form and burdened her with less-graceful posture. It didn’t even match her fur! The software engineers that had concocted the code had at least included one small mercy: a compartment for the connector to retract into, nestled in the fur above the storage drives. No such luck for the drives themselves. She supposed she would just have to adjust to walking with delicate hardware in tow. As she went to smooth her fur over her lap again, her paw recoiled away. Some kind of… static discharge was left in the fluff. A memory leak, perhaps? The fact that such a malfunction could be caused just from having the connector brush up against her fur appalled her, deepening her frustration even more. They couldn’t even test the update for bugs before shipping it out to her. She shook out her paw and finished arranging her skirt as best she could before working up the composure to finally leave her office.

Picking up the payload for which all this fanfare had been arranged was at least a quick, easy process. She stopped into the office of the manager that had assigned her the task; she offered a businesslike nod and, knowing that she was always itching to skip niceties in the name of saving time, he offered a straightforward wave at his personal terminal. She held a paw over the computer tower and, in the time it took for electricity to arc to her fingertip with a tinny zzzrt, she had already searched his directory for the relevant test files and copied them to the newly-installed drives. Wireless transfer, yes, but only technically. The engineers had specifically asked a member of another division, whose computer network wasn’t connected to their own; it was as though she had picked a folder up from his desk and walked out with it.

Moving the file was just as uneventful. It was far from the first time that she’d navigated the sprawling corporate property, and even if it were, the maps existed just outside the orbit of her thoughts, ready to be summoned to mind at a simple impulse. What she was not expecting, however, was the technician who was waiting in the server room to which she was asked to deliver the file. While she preferred to work in the isolation of rooms that were set aside specifically for hardware, she was far from unused to being in the presence of the other people responsible for maintaining the company’s systems. That said…

“Can I help you?” The Renamon icily asked.

“Oh, I don’t need anything! I’m just here to take notes on the transfer.” Her tone was cheery; evidently, she wasn’t aware how compromising the new additions were. “The time it takes, any obvious issues. I’ll be the one checking the files against the originals, too,” she concluded, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at a monitor behind her.

“I see,” Posie replied through gritted teeth. “You have clearance to see these files, then?”

“Well, they’re just dummy data, ma’am.” At least she was respectful.

“And the proprietary hardware I’ve been… equipped with?” she forced out, keeping her synthesized voice even.

“Oh, for sure I do. I designed it!”

Oh! she seethed. So she knows pre-cise-ly the position he’s put me in.

“Well. I suppose there’s no point in delaying things, then.”

“Ready when you are!”

With tense shoulders, she turned toward the server rack, eyes darting over it, searching for where exactly she was supposed to connect to the array. After glancing over the contents of each drive, she found the one she was supposed to copy the data into—deposit would be more apt, as it was her understanding that the files would be automatically flushed from her system—and found a port that would allow her to access it. Conveniently, it was around waist height. She wondered, crossly, whether that had been an intentional design decision by this engineer as well. As she looked at it, she felt a twinge from the connector; on its own, like a Bluetooth device automatically searching for signals, it slid itself out from its fuzzy little compartment.

Her skin was abuzz, and her fur stood on end. She couldn’t quite tell if it was coming from the connector itself, or if it was the feeling of the programmer’s eyes on her If she could take a deep breath, she would have then. Without any way to stall further, or to tell the leering young woman to take her test files and store them somewhere indecent, she simply pushed forward with dropping off the damned data.

The instant the connector grazed the metal of the port, lightning shot into it, through her body, and into her head, making it swim with electrical potential. A stuttering, lagging thought made its way to the surface of her mind: they really had overtuned the sensitivity. She stifled a gasp and suppressed the urge to lay into the engineer (electrons were eager to flow out of her even without proper alignment with the contacts in the port, and didn’t she know that discharge like that could damage a piece of hardware?!), willing her body to keep pressing the stupid connector into the socket.

Even as she tried to get it over with already, something in the back of her mind compelled her to draw back a bit. If she had been restraining herself from reprimanding the engineer for risking the hardware, then she should at least do it the service of ensuring she was properly aligned, shouldn’t she? She obliged the impulse, and the motion all at once became much jerkier, less controlled. The friction of the port against her connector was enough to send her tail snapping back and forth, and she could tell that the temperature in her own server’s room had risen by a fair few degrees. Back and forth, wiggling side to side, she continued to readjust and realign herself, driven by unfamiliar code and overwhelmed by the signals pouring into her. She lost herself in the task, forgetting herself, forgetting her surroundings, until finally the technician cleared her throat.

“Ma’am,” she ventured, blushing and wide-eyed. “What, um. What are you doing? You should just need to plug it in.”

“I’m.” Her interruption had snapped the Renamon back to reality. She was mortified, tail sticking straight out and back ramrod straight. Her cheeks burned mercilessly. “I’m calibrating the connection.”

“Calibrating?”

“Did you want your files transferred with or without corrupted and incomplete data?” She snapped, hoping that her authoritative tone would head off any debate. “Assign me experimental hardware and then ask me to be reckless with it, hm? Should I be taking notes to give to our superiors?”

“I—alright, I guess you can’t be too careful,” she stammered, sheepishly pressing her legs together. “That was even something I tried to work into the design, so, c-carry on?”

“Thank you,” Posie blustered, turning back to the server rack. She did so slowly, reluctantly relishing the feeling of sliding around within the socket. She allowed herself one or two more “practice” attempts, hoping that it wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion from the engineer. Ultimately, just like before, there was no use in continuing to stall, and when she was able to bring her body to a stop, the rational part of herself was eager to be done with this entire torrid affair.

With more force, she pressed the connector inward one final time, trembling as the latch began to press against the opening. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she continued, overwhelmed by the volume of electricity surging into her. The latch gave, compressing as it continued to slide inside, until finally it clicked into place, securing her to the array of drives and finalizing the connection.

All at once, a torrent of data poured out of her, an electron tsunami that felt like it threatened to spill out of the socket in which she was hilted. More data was transferred in the span of a few seconds than she was used to consciously processing, having cultivated such skill in delegating and compartmentalizing with background processes. Once again, the world around her was utterly drowned out; the strength fled her legs, and she clung to the steel bar that reinforced the top of the server rack, threatening to topple the entire system. Her self-control abandoned her as well and, forgetting the engineer, she cried out with an airy, wild, distinctly foxlike yelp. She screamed in surprise, gasped at the deluge of information, moaned because there was no room left in her mind for thought to do anything else.

Quickly, the disks of the server rack had finished writing the files she had carried to them, and her own drives were thoroughly purged. In another building, the radiators serving her processors shed heat at their absolute limits, and fans worked overtime to bring her back within her safe operational range. As her overworked circuitry began to chug through the backlog of sensory information, the entire experience caught up with her—including the detail that this entire shameless display had been carried out in front of that underhanded little engineer. She blinked, hard, and whipped her head to face her. For as hot as her own ears felt, the young woman’s face appeared to be glowing even brighter.

“What. Was that.”

“Um—”

“I’m used to new adjustments requiring desensitization, or even adjustment on their gain,” she growled, voice low and eerily even. “But that was a bridge too far to just have been miscalibration. Why did you design it like that?”

“Well, y-you remember how I mentioned, um, having considered an early disconnection?” Posie’s frosty glare didn’t waver, so the tech continued, answering her own rhetorical question. “That was, uh, the safeguard. Against early disconnection. I, figured it’d just be easier to make it so you wouldn’t want to unplug—”

“Do you think you have the au-thor-ity to go making changes to my mind, young lady?!”

“I-I can roll back the update if you want—”

“I think you’ve done QUITE enough!” The Renamon declared, despite herself. Perhaps it was genuine distrust, or perhaps—perhaps she truly couldn’t tell which desires were her own, at the moment. This would require careful study of her own system files.

Another small click broke the silence following her outburst, and the dongle began to retract from the server’s port and back into Posie’s body. Now free to move around, she dusted and fluffed her skirt and leaned down to look the engineer in the eye.

“I trust that you can report to your supervisor that I performed to your expectations,” she hissed. “And that there will be no need for any further discussion of your little project.” The programmer nodded, eyes even wider than before—and cheeks even redder? The Renamon scoffed, sneered, and spun, storming out the door, already allotting time in her schedule for the next time that she would be called upon for such a delivery.

Utterly unsurprisingly, she had been correct in her assessment that her superiors would take every opportunity to save their organic employees’ time at her expense. Confidential deliveries became a regular part of her routine, and though she had great disdain for being reduced to a mere courier for so much of the workday, she insisted upon completing the task to her usual, lofty standards.

Posie was as prompt as she always was, dropping everything to ferry information between privileged parties, striving to reduce latency even in more analogue forms of communication. There was the occasional complaint about how long downloads took once she had finally arrived at her location, but she was quick to remind such impatient recipients that the decision to follow this protocol came from on-high, and that even for someone who worked as quickly as her, great care for the safety of the data was a corner that simply could not be cut in the name of rushing around.

She was as meticulous about ensuring proper alignment with the port, fine-tuning her contact with the wires within, as the first time she had experimented with the new tools, and complaints about noise from the server room were easily dismissed as the usual stress of supporting her formidable computational power. After all, she was often venturing out of the range of her home network, hosting herself entirely on the recipients’ systems; was she at fault when they couldn’t handle the information throughput they asked of her?

Once the deliveries had become more routine, and none of her peers bothered to check in when they felt it was taking too long or getting too noisy, she began to find enjoyment in the solitude of her work, just as with the other, admittedly more tedious, tasks she was expected to carry out. With fewer prying eyes to judge her performance, she could make herself more comfortable while handling transfers. She didn’t have to worry that anybody would walk in on her in the debased state she often found herself in while connected directly to a data center, leaning her full weight on the poor rack, tongue lolling out and chest heaving air to keep her cool. 

Then again, if somebody—especially that little technician who’d saddled her with these “upgrades”—wanted to question her efficacy, that was more than fine by her. Posie was a woman who prided herself in her work, and would seldom turn down a chance to demonstrate her first-rate hardware and unparalleled optimization. She would be more than happy to demonstrate just how quickly she could pump out information, and just how much throughput she was capable of.

Thank you for reading! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Librarian & The Wolverine ~ The Rescue

THE LIBRARIAN & THE WOLVERINE MASTERLIST

< previous: The First Mission

Word Count: 6,220ish

Summary: Logan does whatever he can to make sure you are safe again.

Warning(s): mentions insecurities, time jumps, injuries, violence. nightmares, torture, kidnapping, PTSD

Notes: I hope you guys are enjoying this! Please share your thoughts with me on it. These two are so great to write for. Also, it's just going to be up and down from here on out. No more straight fluff chapters.

You woke up in a room that didn’t belong to any government facility you knew. You were restrained to a cold metal chair. There were medical equipment surrounding you, some of them were already attached. Your throat was dry and your vision blurred at the edges.

The door opened a moment later. Two figures walked in— a man in military-grade black and a woman in a lab coat. Her clipboard tapped softly against her thigh as she stopped beside your bed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” she noted. 

You didn’t answer.

“Vitals are stable,” she looked over the machines connected to you. “Cognitive strength appears intact.”

“What—“ you rasped. “What is this?”

“You’ll come to understand in time. You’ve been chosen. Not harmed, not… yet. Just relocated. The government has great interest in your abilities.”

You struggled against the cuffs, vision sharpening now.

“You’re going to be so useful. Your ability to absorb and store information? Beautiful, powerful, and full of untapped potential.”

“We’re going to help your mind work even faster,” the man finally spoke up, stepping forward. “With the right enhancements, you’ll store every byte of classified data we feed you. Weapons programs. Mutant registries. Government secrets. Foreign intel. And when we ask for it? You’ll give it back.”

“You want to make me a…” nausea rose inside you, “a living vault.”

The woman smiled. “An archive. A perfect one. You will read what we tell you. And when we ask, you’ll tell us what we need.”

“I won’t! I won’t help you.”

“You won’t have a choice.” She gestured to the man, who lifted a syringe.

Your breath caught. “You— You can’t do this—“

“We already are.”

“No! No! Logan!”

And the needle pierced your neck.

~~~

They kept you underground. No windows. No clocks. No sense of day or night— just harsh fluorescent lights and the constant hum of machines. You were in and out. They hadn’t fed you information yet, they were preparing you for it. You kept chanting Logan’s name in your head over and over again, trying to keep you tethered some how. But it was getting harder.

One day, they brought in stacks of files and placed them under your hands. Almost instantly, your eyes went blank and your breath caught. The information from the files began feeding into your mind, filing and organizing itself away. While you— the real you— was being bushed back, filed away itself.

~~~

At first, they tried to keep Logan home. They tried to tell him it was too dangerous without a plan. But he didn’t care. Logan had to find you, it was his sole purpose now. He hadn’t slept since before they took you and basically hadn’t eaten in that long either.

Every lead, every scent, every trace they could find— Logan hunted down like an animal. He tore through outposts and left entire teams bleeding behind him. He didn’t speak unless it was to ask where you were.

Charles tried to keep him grounded. Jean tried to reason with him, but nothing worked. Because Logan could feel it— deep in his metal bones. You were in pain and it was only getting worse. He’d seen his fair share of government experiments and he couldn’t let them turn you into their weapon. Or worse, into a ghost of yourself.

~~~

Every question they asked, you answered— steady, flat, and completely devoid of emotion. You didn’t blink because you weren’t there. They rewired your neural pathways. You still remembered everything. You still analyzed and indexed. But now you did it for them. A living hard drive. You recited names and secrets. You exposed enemies and allies. Whatever they asked of you.

They replaced the files everyday, always checking to make sure you’ve got it all before doing do. The more information you took in, the farther your true self got pushed back. 

~~~

Logan could smell you from a mile away. He crouched in the treelike, feral, eyes locked on the facility buried in the mountain. There were dozens of soldiers, automated defenses, and no visible entrances. They thought that would stop him. But they have no idea what they had brought down on themselves.

“Found her,” he whispered into his comm.

Then he dropped it, knowing the team would be there shortly. He wasn’t going to waste any time though. He reached an access point and began tearing through the soldiers like paper. Alarms wailed and lights flashed red, but he ignored it all. His only focus was you.

After fighting like hell, Logan burst into the chamber, tearing the doors clean off their hinges. And there you were. You were restrained to a metal chair with wires and tubes coiled around you with a stack of files under each hand. Your face was blank and too still. 

His heart shattered. “Baby…”

He dropped to his knees in front of you and reached for your face— gently and terrified. You eyes were wide open. But they don’t focus or move. You were breathing but you’re not there.

He finally touched your cheek. “Hey. I’m here. I found you.”

You didn’t blink.

“Come back… Come on, sweetheart. It’s me.”

Still nothing.

Then, barely there, a murmur, “…Logan…”

“Yes, baby. I’m here. I got you.”

He ripped the cables from your skin and cradled your body against his chest. You didn’t resist or cling to him— simply limp and distant. He held you tighter and whispered over and over how he was will you and how you were save and he begged you to come back to him.

Logan carried you out of the facility. You don’t speak or move or blink. Your eyes were still open, but you were looking through everything.

Storm reached him first. “Oh my god— Is she…?”

“She’s breathing,” Logan stated, not slowing his pace. “She said my name once. But there’s been nothing besides that.”

Jean and Charles stepped forward from the Blackbird, already reading out with their powers to assess the damage.

“She’s alive,” Jean stated softly, mostly for herself. “But… she’s gone deep. Deeper than I’ve ever felt before. They used her mind like a network. She’s— it’s like she’s filed herself away.”

Charles’ face was pale and jaw tight. “She’s dissociating on a psychic level. Her consciousness is in full retreat. Like a mental coma.”

Logan stopped at the bottom of the jet, holding you tighter. “You’re not taking her.”

“Logan—“

“You are not taking her.”

Jean stepped forward carefully. “We’re not taking her away. But we have to get into her mind. We have to pull her back before she disappears completely.”

“She needs to feel safe.” Logan backed up. “You think putting her in a sterile white infirmary room is gonna fix this?”

“No,” Charles cut in. “But if we don’t reach her soon, there may be no one left to fix.”

Storm laid a hand on Logan’s arm. “She’s not herself. And you’ve done everything you could. But this part… this part isn’t something you can do.”

For a long moment, Logan just stood there— breathing hard and shaking, like he was still fighting. He looked down at you. You didn’t look back. Finally, his shoulder sagged. He walked up into the jet and laid you gently on the cot ready for you. When Jean and Charles moved to touch you, his growled.

“I stay with her.”

Charles looked at the broken man. “Of course.”

Logan sat on the ground beside you and took your hand. He leaned his head against your body. “I need you to come back. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll read every damn book in that library if it gets you to look at me again— really look… You’re not gone, darlin’. You’re not gone.”

Jean placed a hand to your temple, eyes closing. Charles closed his eyes as well. Jean gasped the second she connected. She’s not in a mind, but a vault. There were endless corridors in every direction, filled with bookshelves and data streams. Everything was expertly categorized and catalogued. It was all too neat and silent. She glanced to her left to find that Charles had joined her.

“She built this,” Jean murmured. “To protect herself.”

Charles nodded. “It’s not a prison. It’s a defense mechanism. She’s locked herself in the deepest part of her own mind and thrown away the key. Jean walked slowly down the corridor, reaching out to gently touch the books. All emotion had been stripped from them— labeled by dates. There were so many government secrets with a mix of your personal history.

They could hear Logan still begging for you to come back. Something shifted— a crack formed along the corridor walls.

Jean looked at Charles. “She heard him.”

“She’s listening. We need to keep pushing.”

Jean began to pull the books that had your history on them. The first time Logan held your hand. The night of the fire. The first kiss. The love confession. The vault trembled and then, from the end of the corridor, you appeared. But it wasn’t you. It was a fragile, flickering version.

You spoke without emotion. “I am the Archive. I exist to preserve and protect. Please do not attempt to disrupt the system.”

Jean stepped forward. “You’re not the Archive. You’re Y/N. And Logan is waiting for you.”

You flickered, hollow eyes meeting hers. “He’s… waiting?”

Charles came up and took your hand. “Yes. And he’s not leaving without you.”

You blinked once, then again. And the cracks continued.

~~~

Logan was still talking, whispering about the day he fell in love with the way you corrected his grammar. He was just about to chuckle to himself when your fingers twitched. He froze.

“Sweetheart?” He whispered.

You drew in a shaky breath— ragged and shallow. “…Lo—Logan…”

Logan laughed, half-choked, half-sobbed. “Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

You finally blinked and turned your head. “Logan…”

He pulled you into his arms and Jean and Charles moved back. He didn’t let you go the rest of the way.

~~~

You woke up in the infirmary. It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and that you weren’t alone. Logan was in the chair next to your bed, head bowed forward like he was trying to stay awake and lost the fight. His hand was still curled around yours. You tightened your fingers just slightly causing his eyes to snap open.

“Hey,” his voice was rough but gentle. He sat up and you could see the exhaustion and relief all over his face.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“You want water? I can get—“

“No.” You squeezed his hand tighter. “Just… stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You shifted slightly on the pillows. Every muscle ached and your head was still very fuzzy. “I remember… some of it… They took me.”

“I know.”

“They almost made me forget you and myself…”

He flinched.

“But I didn’t.”

“You said my name. That was the first thing. Back in that damn chair. I knew you were still in there.” He exhaled hard and leaned forward. “Darlin’, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t feel like me yet… Everything is… fuzzy.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got time. You take as long as you need.”

“I’m scared.”

“I am too.” He kissed your knuckles. “But I’m here and you’re here.”

“Can you… read to me?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course.” 

Logan reached under the chair and pulled out your worn copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen. He had it there so that he could read it for himself while he waited for you to wake. He began reading. You closed your eyes and let yourself just listen.

~~~

You slept more than you stayed awake. Jean and Hank told Logan that it was your mind trying to repair itself— that sleep was safety. When you are awake, you barely speak. Sometimes you looked at Logan like you didn’t trust what you were seeing. Other times you cried and you couldn’t explain why. 

Logan never asked you to. He just held you and wiped the tears. “I’ve got you.”

You kept asking if this was real. And Logan told you over and over that it was. That you were safe now. Even when he could tell that you didn’t believe it, he kept telling you.

The first nightmare hit on the third night. You were screaming before you even woke— voice ragged and hands clawing at the wire you still thought were there. You hit Logan and bit him. You sobbed so hard your whole body shook. Logan didn’t flinch. He simply fought you gently and held you, trying to ground you.

“They’re gone,” he whispered. “You’re safe. They can’t touch you now. You’re not theirs.”

You didn’t stop crying for a long time and he didn’t let go.

Days later, you sat in the library, curled in one of the chairs you used to love. You had a book in your lap but your eyes couldn’t focus. The words kept slipping. You knew the words— your mind still remembered— but your body recoiled. The act of reading, once second nature, now made your hands tremble. Logan watched from the corner. You shut the book.

“I can’t,” you whispered, defeated.

He crossed the room and knelt in front of you. “Then I’ll read to you.”

You looked down, ashamed. “Do you still want me?” The words were so small, broken.

He reached for your hand. “More than anything. Even when it’s hard. Even if it’s never easy again. You’re not a job, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

You nodded and let him take the book.

~~~

One morning, a student knocked over a cart in the hallway and the loud crash made you jump, heart racing. You began to shut down— breath catching, eyes glazing over. But Logan was there in a heartbeat, hands gently holding your face.

“Deep breath,” he guided. “Right here. Just us.”

You breathed in and then out.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your forehead. “Keep breathing. I got you.”

~~~

It was late. The halls of the mansion were dark and still. Logan couldn’t find you in the infirmary or the library. But when he came to his room, he found you sitting on the floor, knees tucked up to your chest, curled in on yourself like you were trying to be small. You were wearing one of his shirts, sleeves pulled over your hands. You didn’t look up when he entered.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked gently.

You shook your head. He didn’t press. He just closed the door behind him, walked over slowly, and sunk to the floor beside you. You sat in silence for a while.

Then, you spoke up, voice thin and shaky, “I thought I was stronger than this.”

“You are,” he replied, sounding so sure.

You finally glanced at him. “I’m scared all the time. Of sounds. Of people looking at me too long. Of falling asleep and waking up back there. I can’t even read a full paragraph without panicking. I shelved one book and had to go lie down for an hour. I can’t help students. I can’t concentrate. I don’t feel like me anymore, Logan. I don’t know who I am without… control. Without knowing everything… without… reading.” You looked away. “And I can’t stop thinking… what if you stop wanting me? What if I never get past this?”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m broken.”

“No. You’re not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“I do. I know what it feels like to be ripped out of your own head. To wake up and not know what parts of you are yours anymore. To be scared that what they did made you unlovable.” He moved closer, taking your hand and pulling it to him. “But you are still you. Even when it’s hard. Even when you can’t feel it or keep questioning it. I see you, darlin’. I see you. Every piece of you.”

Tears spilled over before you could stop them. You folded into Logan like gravity was pulling you there. You bury your face in his chest and cry. Logan simply wrapped his arms around you and rocked you gently.

“You don’t have to hide the hard parts from me,” he murmured against your head. “You don’t have to be okay for me to love you.”

You cried harder. “I just want to feel whole again.”

“You will. Not tomorrow. Maybe not not week. But you will. And I’ll still be here. No matter what.”

~~~

The library was mostly empty. It was a quiet day— one of those afternoons where the students were either napping on the lawn or sparring in the Danger Room. But a few linger in the library. A girl, maybe twelve, stood hesitantly at the reference shelf. You were sitting behind the desk, just there. A book was opened din your lap— not to read but to feel the weight of it. One of Logan’s flannels were draped over your shoulders, sleeves rolled at the cuffs. Your heartbeat still skipped sometimes when a door slammed. And you still checked the exits without thinking. But you were in the library and that was something.

When the girl at the shelf sighed— frustrated— you spoke up before you could stop yourself. “Need help?”

She looked up, startled. “Uh… yeah. We’re supposed to write about resistance movements in Europe, but… I can’t even spell half of this stuff.”

You smiled, just slightly. “Try ‘Maquis’. M-A-Q-U-I-S. French resistance. I think you’ll like them.”

She perked up. “Is there a book about them?”

“There’s a few.” You stood slowly. “Come on. I’ll show you where they live.”

The girl followed you to the far wall. Your steady, not fast, still healing from the neural drain. But you walked with purpose. You find the book and hand it to her.

She grinned. “You’re really good at this.”

You rose an eyebrow. “At being a librarian?”

“At making it make sense.”

Across the library, Logan stood silent. He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching your every move. When you turn and catch his eye, he smiled. You tried not to be too embarrassed.

‘What?’ You mouthed.

He just shrugged. But he was already thinking of a dozen ways to tell the others— Jean, Ororo, Charles— that today, you came back. Even just for a moment.

~~~

You had finally done it. After weeks inside the mansion, you decided to take a quiet walk outside. The wind was soft and the sun was warm. You had a book in your hands, just for the weight. You were okay. Until, your chest seized and your breath hitched. Something slipped into your mind. It was subtle at first. A brush of thought. Then it hit, an unwelcome pressure. A mind not your own was inside your head. 

You dropped the book and fell to your knees. Your vision blurred and the pressure spiked behind your eyes. Your hands flew up to your head.

“No— no no no no!” You scammed. “Get out! Get out!”

~~~

Logan felt it before he heard your screams. He ran through the halls at full speed, blowing past students and furniture. You were in the garden, on your knees, hyperventilating. You were curled in on yourself like your skull was going to split in two. 

Logan dropped beside you, voice low and urgent. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“They’re in my head again— Logan! They’re in— I can’t— I can’t!”

He lifted you into his arms and pressed your head to his chest. “No one’s in there now. Just me. Just me, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

Behind him, Jean rushed through the doorway, pale. “I didn’t mean to,” she stammered. “I didn’t even realize— I was scanning the grounds and I must’ve— Logan, I’m sorry—“

Logan’s head snapped towards her, eyes full of ice.

~~~

Logan gathered all of them. Jean, Charles, Emma, and any other telepathy with regular access to the mansion. He paced in front of them, hands clenched.

“She just started walking outside again,” he voice was low but razor-sharp. “Just started. Like today. And someone pushed into her head like it was a hallway.”

Jean swallowed. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“I don’t care. Accident or not, you don’t touch her mind. You don’t scan her, brush her, or think too hard in her direction. Not without her permission. Not unless she asks.”

Emma sighed. “We can’t always avoid passive contact. We’re trained to keep our fields contained, but—“

“Then train harder. Because if it happens again? I don’t care who you are. I’ll treat you like any other threat.”

“He’s right,” Charles spoke up, calm and firm. “She is still recovering from a psychic violation more invasive than any of us can truly understand. We must respect her mental space. No exceptions.”

Jean nodded. “I’ll make sure everyone understands. And I’ll apologize to her again.”

Logan didn’t respond. He was already halfway out the door.

~~~

You were curled up in Logan’s bed, still shaken and quiet. But you were holding his flannel against your chest like it could anchor you. 

When Logan came in, you whispered, “Was it really an accident?”

“Yeah,” he replied, coming to sit beside you. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you.”

“I panicked.”

“You had every right to.”

You looked up at him. “Did you tell them?”

“I told them and made sure they heard me.” He brushed his knuckles down your cheek. “No one touches your mind again without your say-so. Ever.”

~~~

Later that night, you were still jittery. Logan was beside you. Reading, but not really— his focus was mostly on you. You rolled onto your side. 

“I don’t want to feel like this,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied. He closed the book. “You wanna try something? Something Jean taught me a while back?”

You nodded. He took your hands and gently pulled you up to sit across from him. He let his hands wrapped around yours.

“Close your eyes.”

You obeyed.

“Now listen to me. Just my voice. We’re gonna ground you, alright? Five things.”

You breathed in and out.

“Name five things you can feel.”

Your voice was shaky. “The blanket. Your hands. My shirt. The sheet. The mattress.”

“Good, baby. Now four things you can hear.”

“The breeze outside. Your breathing. The clock. The paper from your book— it buzzes.”

“Three things you can smell.”

You smiled faintly. “Your cologne. Coffee. And… old paper.”

His lips twitched up. “Two things you can taste.”

“My toothpaste… and… coffee.”

“Okay, darlin’, now one thing you can see.”

You opened your eyes, just enough. “You.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “Still here… still yours.”

~~~

You started to work in the library for one hour a day. In the early morning, when the halls were quiet and the students were still tricking down for breakfast. The smell of books, old wood, and sun filtering through high windows was enough to help your breath settle.

The first thing you did was dust the shelves. Section by section. No sorting or cataloguing. You moved your hands gently along the familiar spines, like you were re-learning a language. Logan didn’t follow you in during that hour. He sat outside the door, reading a book he won’t admit that he’s re-reading just because you once said it was underrated. 

~~~

The second week, you began shelving again. Only returns for now. You don’t touch the recommendation board that you used to keep updated or reorganize the new arrivals. But when students dropped books into the return bin, you sorted them one at a time. Some of the students left notes with them.

“I liked this one. Thanks for showing it to me.”

“Can you help me find another with a strong girl lead?”

You didn’t answer aloud yet. But you tucked the notes into a little drawer in your desk. 

~~~

The third week, you were in the library more during open hours now. At first, the students tiptoed around you. But the moment you recommended a book to a group of students working on a project, everything shifted.

“Miss?” A new student nervously approached. “I don’t really like reading but Mr. Logan said you could find something even I’d like.”

You glanced at Logan, who leaned in the doorway not even pretending he didn’t send the student. 

You smiled at the student. “How do you feel about ghosts?”

By Friday of that week, the recommendation board had two new entires in your handwriting. Logan stood across the room, reading the board over and over like it was sacred. Because to him, it was.

~~~

The fourth week is when you began to work full days. The library had been buzzing the entire week. Students trickled in and out, teacher stopped by. Even Charles paused in the doorway with a proud little smile. You helped with essays, made book recommendations, and repaired books.

Now the week was over and you were exhausted. You made it halfway through Logan’s door before your knees buckled. He caught you in one smooth, steady motion— arms wrapping around you without question.

“Whoa, there,” he mumbled. “Hey.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, already leaning onto him heavily.

He chuckled. “You’re cooked.”

“Thoroughly.”

He smiled. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you off your feet.”

Before you knew it, you were on his bed in one of his old t-shirts and flannel pajama pants. He disappeared for a few minutes and then returned with a warm plate, a thermos of tea, a water bottle, and an ice pack.

“Dinner of champions,” he commented, setting everything down. “You barely ate lunch.”

“I was busy,” you mumbled, tired.

“You’re always busy.” He settled the ice pack gently against your lower back. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need takin’ care of.”

You didn’t argue. Logan fed you a few bites— not because you couldn’t do it yourself, but because it made him smile and you were too tired to resist how gentle he was tonight.

“You made it,” he said after a while.

“Made it?”

“You got through the week. Every single day. That’s worth something.”

You sighed, leaning against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m proud of myself. But I’m so tired.”

“I know. You’ve been carrying a lot.”

“How are you so good at this whole ‘supportive partner’ thing?”

He chuckled, kissing your head. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my image.”

“Too late.”

~~~

The next evening, you were in search of Logan. You followed the soft hum of something old-school playing on the speakers in the kitchen. You rounded the corner and paused in the doorway. Logan was at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows and apron on. The picture of domestic competence that you never expected to see.

He looked over his shoulder, lips curing up. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You smiled. “You’re cooking?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve cooked for you before.”

You stepped inside, the music playing low. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugged, tossing a few vegetables into a skillet. “Figured you deserved a night that didn’t revolve around trauma. Just good food, soft music, and, well, me.”

You laughed, warm and light. “That sounds perfect.”

He gestured to the counter. “Sit. I’ll finish up.”

You perched yourself on the counter behind him and watched him move around the kitchen. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

~~~

Dinner was simple, but surprisingly very good. You ate across from each other at the tiny table tucked near the window. He lit a candle between the two of you.

You raised a teasing brow. “Romantic, are we?”

He shrugged, but his ears reddened. “Maybe.”

You finished eating with your foot nudged against his under the table. 

~~~

The two of you were working on cleaning the dishes with another song came on— slower and sweeter. You hummed softly, swaying a little at the sink. Logan came up behind you, towel for drying still in hand, and leaned in close.

“C’mon,” he urged.

“What?”

He offered you his hand, eyes softening. “Dance with me.”

You hesitated for a breath but then took it. His hand slid around your waist. Your fingers found his shoulder. The two of you moved slowly, turning in time with the soft melody.

“I don’t know how to dance,” you admitted quietly.

“Neither do I,” he pulled you just a little closer. “Don’t matter.”

“Doesn’t.”

He chuckled. “Doesn’t.”

You closed your eyes and let the world blur around you. You let his warmth and the music carry you somewhere far from everything that every hurt. Your cheek rested against his shoulder.

“You feeling’ okay?” He murmured.

“I am now.”

~~~

You were surprised it hadn’t happened earlier in your relationship. It began wit his breathing. You woke up to the sound of it— harsh and fast and uneven. Logan twisted beside you, the sheets tangled around his legs, chest heaving. A growl ripped from his throat, low and feral. Then his claws unsheathed. 

“Logan,” you whispered, sitting up. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s just a dream—“

But before you could touch his arm, he lashed out. Metal flashed close to your face and suddenly pain bloomed in your shoulder. You gasped— more from the shock than the actual wound itself. It’s shallow, but your hand flew to the bleeding skin just beneath your collarbone. He woke instantly, eyes wide and wild.

“No,” he rasped, breath catching. “No, no, no— what did I— fuck!”

You tried to speak and to reach him, but he was already scrambling out of the bed. He was already backing away.

“Logan,” you said gently, trying to mask the pain. “It was an accident.”

“I hurt you.”

“It was a dream. You didn’t—“

“That doesn’t matter!” His voice cracked as his shaky hands finally retracted the claws. “I said I’d never hurt you. I said— I said I’d never be that person again.”

Your vision blurred. “You’re not. Logan, you’re not.”

But he was already pulling on his jacket— panic in every line of his body. He refused to look at you. “I need— I need air. And time.”

He was gone before you could beg him to stay.

~~~

Jean and Charles could feel what had happened. You were already trying to bandage yourself in the infirmary when Storm found you. 

“He went into the woods,” she told you.

You nodded numbly. “Did he say anything?”

“Only that he was afraid he’d do worse next time.”

“He won’t.”

“I know that. And you know that. But he doesn’t.”

~~~

You found him on a ridge above the lake, crouched low with his knees to his chest. When he looked up at you, his eyes were rimmed red. His fists clenched in the dirt like he was trying to bury himself in it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said hoarsely.

“This is exactly where I should be.”

“I hurt you.”

“You love me.”

He flinched.

You stepped closer. “I’m okay. It wasn’t dep.”

“That’s not the point. What if one day it is? What if one day I…”

You knelt in front of him, taking one of his hands in both of yours. “You’ve never laid a finger on me in anger. Not once. You don’t hurt me.”

His eyes locked on yours— desperate to believe you.

You placed his palm against your chest, over your heat. “This is where you live. Right here.”

He let out a ragged breath and then broke. You held him close while he cried.

~~~

The next night, you came back from brushing your teeth to find Logan already curled up dup on the floor. He had a thin blanket and a pillow, with his body turned away from the bed.

You paused in the doorway. “Logan?”

“Just for tonight.” His voice was rough.

You didn’t push. But you lied in bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, listening to him breath just a few feet away. The distance between you two was heavier than any wound.

~~~

Logan was already on the floor the next night when you entered. In the same spot and posture. You stood at the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to—“

“I do.”

You knelt beside him. “Logan, you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“That’s not the point. I still did.”

You reached for him but he flinched. Your throat closed as you slipped into bed alone again.

~~~

It was the fifth night that became your breaking point. Logan was already on the floor. You stood at the door, waiting for him to break first but he didn’t.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered. “Logan, I need you. And you won’t even look at me.”

Logan didn’t say thing and so you walked out. He didn’t stop you.

~~~

The bed in your room felt wrong. It was too big and too cold. You curled up on your side, waiting to hear the sound of him coming. But he never came and you cried into your pillow.

~~~

The week that followed was painful— for the both of you and everyone around you.

Day One

You passed him in the hallway. He slowed when he saw you. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t. You kept walking.

Day Three

You heard him in the Danger Room while Hank was doing a quick examination of your shoulder, just to be safe. Logan was tearing into the training bots like they had personally offend him. When he limped past the library later, all sweaty, he didn’t look in. You watched him from behind your desk.

Day Four

Jean gently asked if you were okay. You lied and said yes. You knew she could see right through you, but she didn’t push.

Day Six

You almost knocked on his door. Almost. You stood there for ten whole minutes, hand hovering near the wood. But you walked away again. And he heard every footstep.

Day Seven

You found one of his flannels under your bed. It still faintly smells like him. That night, you wore it to bed.

~~~

Logan hadn’t slept. He lied on the floor because he thought he deserved it. He thought it was safer and that distance was kindness. But every time he closed his eyes, he heard you leave again. He whispered your name into the dark. Every night. Over and over again.

~~~

Logan stood by the window in Charles’ office, arms folded tight and jaw locked. Charles watched him from behind his desk, calm as ever, but with that knowing look. The one that said he had already heard Logan’s thoughts.

“You call me here to lecture me?” Logan muttered.

“No,” Charles replied simply. “I called you here because you’ve been bleeding more in the Danger Room than on the battlefield and you haven’t spoken to Y/N in a week.” 

Logan didn’t move.

“She walks through the mansion like a ghost, Logan. The students are asking if she’s sick again. Jean asked me if she should start forcing her to check in more. All Y/N says is that she’s fine.”

“She deserves someone who won’t hurt her in her sleep.”

“She deserves someone who won’t disappear the moment she needs comfort. She thought you were that person.”

Logan turned slowly. “I hurt her, Charles.”

“I know.”

“I swore I wouldn’t and I did.”

“You didn’t mean to. She knows that.”

He began to pace. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. What if next time I don’t wake up? What if I— What if I go full animal in my sleep and she pays the price?”

“And what happens when you do similar damage by keeping this distance?”

“… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Just show up.”

He dropped into a chair in front of Charles’ desk, rubbing his face with both hands. “She’s sleeping in that big bed alone. I know it. And I’m just down the hall, pretending I’m not a coward.”

“You’re not a coward. You’re in love and you’re terrified.”

“I should’ve followed her…”

“You still can.”

~~~

You sat up with a yawn the next morning. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and suddenly tripped. You stumbled forward with a startled gasp, catching yourself on the nightstand before you fell flat. Your eyes snapped down.

“Logan?!”

There he is, curled at the side of your bed. On the floor, asleep. He had a blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon, boots kicked off by the wall. His brows were furrowed even in his sleep. You knelt down beside him. His eyes opened slowly, hazy with sleep and something fragile underneath.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“Couldn’t stay away any longer.”

What didn’t you wake me?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

You shook your head. “Logan…”

“I missed you. I missed you so bad I was shaking.”

You leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I tripped over you.”

He huffed a laugh, short and embarrassed. “Romantic, huh?”

You nodded. “Deeply… come back to bed.” You could see the hesitation in his eyes. You held out your hand. “Please.”

Logan slid his fingers through yours and lets you pull him up. You led him to the bed and he climbed in beside you. You curled into him immediately and his arms wrapped around you just as quickly.

“No more running,” you whispered against his collarbone, pressing a kiss to it.

“No more.”

next: The Relapse >

[3dmonstermaze]

Rose Quartz, fundamentally, did not think she was deserving of love. Starting with the way the other Diamonds - especially White - treated her, it profoundly affected her ability to relate to others. For this reason she accidentally abandoned Spinel, 100% believing that Spinel would just forget about her and not keep playing the game that she came up with off the top of her head just to get Spinel to stop following her around forever. This lack of self-regard culminates in her functionally committing suicide to re-incarnate as a human boy. All of this stems from an internalized belief that Pink Diamond was fundamentally unworthy of love, and that all the things she felt attachments to - her Pearls, her Diamonds, her Greg, her own self - were extremely conditional and would forget about her at a moment's notice.

The decision to functionally erase her "hard drive" and install her hardware into a new flesh chassis she could operate with zero previous life experience almost pragmatic to her. If Pink Diamond was truly unforgivable and unchangeable, wouldn't sacrificing her life for the opportunity to learn how to really love be the right choice for everybody, including her? Could Pink have learned how to "love like you" without becoming Steven?

I headcanon that Rose could've terminated Steven's pregnancy at any time, and possibly may have been able to give birth to a normal human boy independently of herself. The idea of becoming something entirely new, something that was capable of loving itself and loving being itself, was far too tempting.

Her faked shattering was the prototype for this. By assuming her Rose Quartz personal full time, Pink thought the other Diamonds would just forget about her and leave Earth forever. She genuinely did not expect that the other Diamonds would be driven almost mad with grief and attempt to destroy an entire colony's worth of Gems all at once, and it's only by the grace that the Diamonds were working on 3/4ths full power they didn't succeed.

Her new plan wasn't even totally successful, either. Steven accidentally accesses data still stored on his Gem hard drive all the time, mostly when he falls asleep in particularly triggering places for Pink. In Steven Universe Future we see Steven fall into the same patterns of self-loathing Pink did in her first life, and these trigger wild fluctuations of his Diamond powers the same way Pink Diamond accidentally injured her original Pearl during a tantrum. Steven's own emotional problems all stem from people treating him like he's not a separate entity from Rose, and this triggers what we could define as arbitrary code execution.

The climactic moment of the series, where White Diamond removes Steven's gem, is the closest that Steven can hope for to a mother-son reunion.

[tricitymonsters]

Akello Chapter 2 Devlog

Akello's second chapter is out on Steam! Additionally, you can find TCM on the itch.io page too! As always, much love to my beta testers who work very hard to make sure shit works! I wanna give a shoutout to @cvnvryarts for letting me bounce Raath prototypes and designs around with them for the last few years, they really helped me refine his visuals especially.

Changelog - Here's what got updated besides story content:

Removed Discord Rich Presence for the time being. The base tool had not been developed with Linux users in mind and had some fairly significant stability issues. On top of that, it added a not-insignificant amount of endless loop crashes going between in-game and menu navigation in other builds. Because of this, I've decided to pull the feature for now. It may return after more thorough Linux testing and general stability tweaks happen.

I had a couple users still running into issues with the game crashing because pronouns weren't correctly saved as persistent data from earlier chapters so I added how to fix this in the FAQ post.

For reference, this glitch doesn't affect users who started playing after update 0.3.0 or any new playthroughs started after that point now the player can't get back into the story via Chapter Select or Load without requiring default MC data stored.

HOWEVER, if you're running into crashes at specific points, the first thing to do is make sure your MC's name, pronouns, and body are entered in the Options menu before jumping back into the story. Exiting the Options menu will save that data as persistent (for reals, this time!) and you should only have to do this once to fix the issue.

New Achievement

Learned not to set up Achievement Back End before game is updated! (It shows up as an unearned Achievement for users and it drives people batty. OOPS sorry, I wanted to test and make sure it worked)

File structure cleanup on the back end to keep things organized

Reorganized some bookmarks and their flags, got rid of a doubled up one for Akello

Fixed Raath getting unexpectedly shorter in Mori's Chapter 1

Typographical and Stylistic Adjustments to text

New animated bg

New backgrounds, music tracks, and sfx

UP NEXT: Amir Chapter 2

[flowers-and-dndoc]

Okay so like. For ghosts left behind to haunt us, I wrote a whole prelude of the Doctor and Ruby actually going to Rogue’s ship, and then 1) couldn’t write a transition I was happy with and 2) decided the fic flowed better without it so I cut it, but I still kinda like it so here it is as a deleted scene:

The Doctor stands in the doorway of the Tardis, taking a steadying breath as he looks over the dark room they’ve landed in. He tries to will himself to take a step out, but he can’t shake the overwhelming feeling he’s about to desecrate holy ground by doing so.

“Doctor?” Ruby’s chipper voice behind him is completely at odds with his own morose thoughts. “Did we land in the right place? Is it safe to go out?”

The Doctor exhales. “Course it’s safe, babes,” he says, and he forces himself out of the doorway and into the cargo bay that they’ve landed in. It’s a cramped, messy space with boxes, stray tools, wires, papers, and various unidentifiable metal objects strewn across the floor. What was it he’d said to Rogue about surfaces?

Ruby follows him out, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. Sometimes he wishes she wasn’t so perceptive, so unwilling to let his own little lies stand to maintain the illusion that he’s doing just fine, but in this moment he’s grateful for her solid presence beside him.

With a whirr of the sonic, lights turn on in the bay, illuminating a door at the opposite end of the room from where the Tardis has landed. Another brief buzz and the door opens, revealing a familiar pilot’s room. They walk through the door together, and Ruby stares at the combination of sleek technology and pedantic clutter.

“So what exactly are we looking for? You never said,” she says, with an unspoken and how the hell are we supposed to find whatever it is in this mess? Attached to the question.

“If I can get the system back online….” the Doctor says, frowning at his sonic as its pitch shifts slightly. He tries another button, and lights suddenly blink into light all over the console. A moment later, a blue holographic screen flickers to life in front of them. The Doctor grins widely.

“We’re looking for files - anything that might give us more information on Rogue, his species, or anything about his physiology that we might be able to use to track him down,” he says. “The sonic should be able to copy everything off the ship’s hard drive, and the Tardis should be able to parse through the files to sort out anything useful. It’ll take a bit to copy everything though - a ship’s hard drive stores a lot of data.” He’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for, but anything that might narrow down the billions of dimensions that Rogue could potentially be stranded in is a good start for now. He sets the sonic down on the ship’s center console, and it begins to hum quietly, its lights pulsing gently as it begins to copy the ship’s files.

The Doctor begins to anxiously circle the room while he waits, trying not to let himself fall too deeply into memories of the last time he’d been on this ship - only a few days ago, even if it seemed like a lifetime ago. He feels in his pocket for his psychic paper, remembers it spelling out the words “You’re hot” instead of a coherently clever lie, remembers it flying across the room to trigger a deeper scan from Rogue’s machine.

A small gasp from Ruby pulls him from his memories, and he turns around to see her standing at the holographic screen, her hand a few inches away as though she’d just clicked something on it.

“I wanted to look through the folders on the desktop, in case there was anything helpful,” she says, sounding sheepish. The Doctor walks over, and sees a folder of photos spilling onto the screen. They’re all photos of Rogue standing besides a tall man with short strawberry blonde curls and an oversized pair of glasses threatening to fall off his nose. In the photos, Rogue’s features are softer and less defined with youth, and there’s an innocence shining in his eyes that had been gone from the man the Doctor had met in 1813. There’s an openness to his smile when he looks at the tall stranger, and the stranger matches it with a meltingly warm softness when he looks back at Rogue. Anyone with eyes could tell that the two men adored each other.

The Doctor gestures in front of the screen, and the photos begin to scroll downwards. The men grow older in front of their eyes - the stranger loses the glasses and his curls begin to tumble down first past his ears, and eventually to his shoulders. The warm looks that they trade seem to only grow fonder as the years progress.

When they reach the last photo, it’s dated back five years ago in the ship’s relative time.

“They looked like they were happy,” Ruby says. She’s staring at the same timestamp he is.

“He said he’d lost someone,” the Doctor says. “This must have been him.” He wonders what the other man’s name is, how he’d met Rogue. What it had been like for Rogue to lose him.

They stare at the screen for a moment longer, and then the Doctor turns away, overcome with a feeling that he’s invading Rogue’s privacy. Whoever this man was, whatever he was to Rogue, it’s not information that the Doctor is owed.

The sonic gives a sharp whirr, and then falls silent - it’s finished copying all of the ship’s files. The Doctor scoops it back up, and the holographic screen vanishes.

“Right,” he says, with a brightness he doesn’t feel. “We should get back to the Tardis. Nothing else we’ll need here.” Ruby looks at him skeptically, but allows herself to be led back towards the cargo bay door. The Doctor refuses to let himself look back as they leave.

[formulaphoe]

the lowdown on formula 1 tyres

image source: fueler store

formula 1 tyres may seem like a simple piece of rubber, but they are a marvel of engineering and strategy. let's dive into how these crucial components work and why they play such a vital role in the high-stakes game of motorsport.

the basics: types of tyres

image source: f1

in formula 1, tyres aren't just tyres; they're tailored for specific conditions and purposes. pirelli, the official tyre supplier since 2011, provides several types for teams to choose from, each designed to perform under different circumstances.

soft tyres: these are the quickest, but wear our fast. perfect for qualifying sessions when teams aim for pole position (or p18 if they're sauber).

medium tyres: a good balance between speed and durability, these tyres are often used in the race's middle phases.

hard tyres: designed for longevity, these can withstand more laps, but sacrifice some grip and speed.

intermediate and wet tyres: essential for rainy conditions, these tyres have grooves that channel water away, helping to maintain grip on slick surfaces.

pirelli regularly updates these compounds based on feedback and performance, so teams have to adapt their strategies accordingly.

the science behind the grip

image source: autosport

the grip of a tyre is influenced by various factors, including its compound, temperature, and pressure. the rubber used in f1 tyres has a unique blend that provides the necessary grip and durability. the rubber's flexibility allows it to deform and maintain contact with the track, which is crucial for effective braking and cornering.

temperature matters

tyres need to reach a specific operating temperature to perform at their best. for example, soft tires can provide optimal grip once they reach about 90° celsius. teams use tyre blankets to heat the tyres before they hit the track, ensuring they're ready to go right from the start. if the tyres are too cold, they won't grip the surface properly, which can lead to poor performance and potentially dangerous conditions.

pressure and performance

tyre pressure is another critical aspect. if the pressure is too low, it can cause excessive wear and affect handling. conversely, too high a pressure can lead to a loss of grip. teams closely monitor tyre pressure through advanced mapping techniques to ensure optimal performance during races.

strategy: when to pit?

image source: fast company

the timing of pit stops is crucial in f1 racing. deciding when to change tyres can make or break a race. teams analyze factors, including tyre wear, track position, and competitor strategies. a well-timed pit stop can mean the difference between winning and losing, making tyre strategy a key component of race tactics.

teams also conduct tyre tests before races to gather data. these tests help teams understand how different compounds behave on specific circuits, allowing for better race-day decisions.

the role of technology

image source: microsoft tech community

the development of f1 tyres isn't just about rubber; it involves sophisticated engineering and simulation. teams use computer models to predict tyre behaviour under different conditions. this data-driven approach helps engineers design better tyres that cater to the needs of their specific cars and driving styles.

real-time data

during a race, teams gather real-time data to adjust their strategies on the fly. engineers monitor the performance of the tyres through telemetry, which tracks parameters like temperature, pressure, and wear. this information allows them to advise drivers on when to push the limits and when to conserve tyres.

the future of f1 tyres

image source: williams racing

looking ahead, the world of f1 tyres is bound to evolve further. as sustainability becomes a focal point in motorsport, there's an ongoing effort to develop more eco-friendly compounds without compromising performance. pirelli is already exploring options that incorporate sustainable materials, ensuring that f1 keeps up with global trends.

sources

seymour, mike. "f1 tyres explained: the beginner's guide to formula 1 tyres." formula 1, 9 apr. 2023, www.formula1.com/en/latest/article/the-beginners-guide-to-formula-1-tyres.61SvF0Kfg29UR2SPhakDqd

straw, edd. "how f1's tyre test will work - and why it matters." the race, 2 july 2021, www.the-race.com/formula1/how-f1s-tyre-test-will-work-and-why-it-matters/

bhambwani, rupesh n. "demystifying formula 1 tyres: a comprehensive guide." medium, 17 sept. 2023, www.medium.com/formula-one-forever/demystifying-formula-1-tyres-a-comprehensive-guide-b990d17fe849

vogel, jonathan. "tech explained: formula 1 tyre model development." racecar engineering, 27 sept. 2021, www.racecar-engineering.com/articles/tech-explained-formula-1-tyre-model-development/

"tire pressure mapping by f1 teams - why and how." interface force measurements, 10 nov. 2022, https://interfaceforce.co.uk/tire-pressure-mapping-by-f1-teams-why-and-how-2/

"f1 tires." pirelli, 2019, www.pirelli.com/tires/en-us/motorsport/f1/tires

cortina, miguel. "here's how pirelli chooses the tires for each formula 1 race." motortrend, 17 may 2023, www.motortrend.com/features/how-pirelli-chooses-its-tires-for-a-formula-1-grand-prix/

if any errors or typos are noticed, PLS PLS point them out via comment, ask, or dm. if there is a specific topic you would like me to cover, send in an ask and i'll look into it!

[rohirric-hunter]

I made an @ellipsus-writes account yesterday and with one day under my belt here are my first impressions.

It's basically Google Docs, but without being associated with Google. You're able to edit documents from any device with a web browser, which is a lot more convenient than the WebDav server I'm currently using.

Things that are less than ideal:

There aren't a lot of customization options. You can switch between light and dark mode, but I would like to be able to set my document backgrounds to a color. Also it would be better if you could change your view layout. Right now it looks like this:

and I would prefer to have these documents in a list, rather than these big bubbles. The bubbles might be cool if you could change their color or add an image background to them, but as is they're just boring white and taking up a lot of space. I have only 12 documents in this folder and it's a bit silly that I can't see them all at once.

2. You might also notice that these documents appear to be in a completely random order. They're actually in the order I last edited them in. I prefer my documents to be in alphabetical order, and this is an option that exists, but a) when switching to this view it for some reason defaults to reverse alphabetical order and I then have to manually select regular alphabetical order, and b) this setting will not be remembered between sessions.

3. I can't seem to get rid of the, "Need help? Chat with us" popup at the bottom of the page. It takes up an annoying amount of space, and I wish it was collapsible.

Things that worry me:

Instead of having a password system, Ellipsus sends you an email link every time you go to log in. There's nothing wrong with doing it this way I guess, since you can access the link from the same device you're accessing the website from, but it kind of just smacks of being different for the sake of being different. Makes me worry about security. Not that I write anything worth stealing.

Instead of having a normal profile system, Ellipsus uses Gravatar, which is some "universal internet account" nonsense that I will absolutely not be using. This probably won't be a huge issue, though, as I don't really plan on using the collaboration tools, so I won't need to make a profile. I wish I could change my email address, though, as I accidentally used the wrong one to make the account. I might make a new account.

I don't understand how all this is being paid for. There are no ads, the account is free, but the hosting is all done by Ellipsus. While text does not take up a ton of space to host, it does take up some space, and that costs money. Are the creators doing it out of their own pockets? Do they have a donor? Will there be donation drives to support it later? Or will they adopt advertisements in the future or introduce a "premium" option where you can pay for additional features? The last one normally wouldn't worry me, but since it is currently so bare-bones I'm a bit antsy. What if you have to pay for the option to have your documents in alphabetical order by default?

Their advertising is. Vague. I put this off for a long time because looking around on their website there was a lot of talk about how you're a writer and super creative and also they'll never steal your data to train AIs, but it was really hard to find a place where it outright said what the product was. This concerns me because it makes me feel like the company has something to hide.

Good things:

It's a platform that does the same thing as Google Docs without actually being Google Docs. This is a powerful pro. I'll probably keep using it for now.

Oh yeah and they don't have an app. A few years ago this would have gone in the less-than-ideal section for me but these days with the way app stores are about user generated content it's probably best to avoid the whole thing. I followed their suggestion to set a link on my homescreen (through Firefox) and it works very well. I was worried it might be laggy (Tumblr was laggy when I used it through Firefox) but it's been very responsive. No server access if you're not connected to the internet, but if you have the document already open then you can keep typing into it and it will update when you reconnect. This is the same way I used Google Docs back in the day and perfectly serviceable in my opinion.

[kybercrystals94]

The Stardust Conspiracy (Part 1)

Rated: G | Words: 1,656 | Summary: The Batch gets a pet…chaos ensues.

Author’s Note: special thanks to @just-here-with-my-thoughts for their contribution to the chaos that will transpire…😂

The market is crowded and loud. Omega's eyes are wide and constantly moving, a small smile teasing the edges of her lips. She has attached herself to both Hunter and Wrecker, her hands tucked snugly in theirs. It links them in an awkward chain; however, Hunter would rather that than Omega getting lost or snatched up. And maybe he doesn’t mind the feel of her tiny fingers locked around his, an unspoken familiarity that has grown in the months since they’ve taken her in.

“There’s so much to look at!” Omega declares, skipping between her brothers without a care in the world.

Hunter smiles. “Definitely more to offer than Ord Mantell.”

“That’s not hard to do,” Echo comments from behind them, voice muffled behind the mask of his droid disguise.

“We should get food,” Wrecker declares. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Hunter says, shaking his head. They’d just had their rations not even a standard hour before.

“I’m hungry too,” Omega says, tugging on Hunter’s hand.

“See! Great minds think alike!” Wrecker laughs, giving Omega’s arm an enthusiastic swing, making her giggle.

Hunter glances back at Echo, but the cyborg just heaves one shoulder in a shrug. “We’ll see what we can find,” Hunter concedes, earning a cheer from Wrecker and Omega.

The morning had started out on a sour note, the four of them having been banished from the Marauder by Tech for the remainder of the day while he made repairs “by himself.” Really, Wrecker and Echo were to blame, while Hunter and Omega were guilty by simple association. Wrecker had, somehow, managed to drop Gonky on Tech’s favorite data pad, cracking the screen even through the screen protector. Echo then followed up by inadvertently deleting a file from the navigation system’s hard drive that he thought was clutter—but was actually a collection of mundane information that Tech had wanted to keep. Verbal apologies were not enough to smooth over the offenses, and the four clones were asked to leave.

Omega, never one to linger on hard feelings, brightened the mood almost immediately, pressing into the excitement of a new place to explore. She was especially delighted with the fact that they were in no hurry to return to the ship, nor did they have any specific task to accomplish, leaving them free to wander to her childish heart’s content.

Their search for food is interrupted when they walk past a specific shop window. Omega’s attention is immediately captured by the sight of tooka kittens peering out at her, mouths moving in soundless mews through the glass pane. “What is this place?” she asks.

“It’s a pet store,” Echo replies.

Omega turns wide eyes on their oldest brother. “Pet store? What’s a pet?”

Hunter starts to step away. “Nothing we need,” he says firmly. “C’mon.”

Omega resists, returning her gaze to the tookas. “Can we go inside and just look? Please!”

“Yeah, Hunter, just for a few minutes,” Wrecker says. “I’ve never gotten to see a tooka kitten before. Maybe we can hold one!”

Omega gasps. “We could hold one?”

Two sets of eyes turn on Hunter with a level of pleading the sergeant isn’t ready to contend with. He sighs. “Fine. We can go inside for a few minutes.”

A small bell rings cheerfully when they push open the door, and an elderly woman eyes them from behind the counter. “Welcome,” she says, “is there anything specific I can help you find today?”

“We’re just looking,” Hunter says.

“Can we hold a tooka kitten?” Omega pipes up.

“Of course, you can, little one,” the woman croons. “You can hold any one you’d like.”

Omega and Wrecker go to the window, looking down into the glass pen where the tooka kittens have toddled over on wobbly, baby legs, their beady eyes blinking up under huge ears. Omega carefully lifts out a brown and black striped kitten then holds it close to her chest, stroking it between its ears.

“It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt in my whole life,” she whispers, “and it’s so tiny! Look at its little paws, Hunter! It’s so cute!”

Hunter’s heart melts a little.

Wrecker hesitates, but after looking at the woman and receiving a nod, he also picks up a kitten, the little creature practically disappearing in his cupped hand. “Imagine if Lula were this small,” Wrecker rumbles, his attempt at a whisper.

“She’d be so cute!” Omega cries quietly.

“Lula isn’t real,” Echo feels the need to clarify to the storekeeper. “It’s a toy.”

The woman gives Echo a funny look, and Hunter realizes it’s because of his droid disguise.

The woman turns her attention to Hunter. “The kittens are just old enough to leave their mother this week. We have everything you’d need to adopt one today.”

“Oh, no,” Hunter assures her a little too quickly, “We don’t want a kitten. We are just looking.”

The woman raises an eyebrow and pointedly glances at Omega. “Pets are very good for children. Teaches responsibility”

Omega is snuggling the tooka up to her face, her nose pressed into its round, fuzzy body. “It’s making a funny sound,” Omega says.

“It’s purring,” the woman explains, “that means it likes you.”

“It does? Awww! Can you hear it purring, Hunter?” Omega giggles when the kitten lets out a tiny, rasping mew.

“This one’s purring too!” Wrecker says, gruff soldier voice sounding absolutely delighted.

Hunter tries to ignore the sticky sweet emotion that stirs somewhere deep in the muscle thumping in his chest. They cannot get a tooka. Don’t even entertain the idea! “Alright,” he says, stamping down the joy daring to bloom in the light of his siblings’ utter happiness, “a few minutes is up. Let’s go.”

“Hunter, wait! There are more animals, and I want to see them all!” Omega cries, turning on him with those galaxy filled eyes. It doesn’t help that she has the tooka kitten nuzzled under her chin, peering up at him, daring him to break a little girl’s heart.

Hunter looks at Echo for backup, but the man looks about as helpful as Gonky at the moment. He is staring down at Omega, and even with the mask hiding his expression, it looks like he’s about to let Omega adopt the whole litter of tookas on the spot.

Maker, help me.

“Alright, well, you better start looking. We’re gonna have to head out soon,” Hunter says in his best command voice. Unfortunately, Omega and Wrecker are practically immune to it. They gently put down their tooka kittens, and begin meandering around the store, looking into glass cages housing all sorts of creatures from over the galaxy.

“What are these called?” Omega asks, leaning down to look into a cage containing what look to be tiny puffs of fur, smaller than the palm of her hand.

“Those are called cricetos,” the woman says, “They make wonderful first pets. Would you like to hold one?”

“Yes, please!” Omega chirps.

The woman reaches in and plucks a golden ball of fluff from the cage. She sets it in Omega’s hand. The creature is tiny, and stares up at Omega with large, round eyes. “I can’t even feel it in my hand, it’s so light,” Omega breathes.

“Would you like to give it a treat?” the woman asks.

Omega nods eagerly, and the woman gives her a small handful of seeds. Omega holds out a single seed to the criceto, and the animal reaches out and snatches the seed in its minuscule fingers. After an experimental sniff, the criceto licks the seed once before shoving the whole thing in its mouth, tucking it in its cheek. Omega offers it another and another and another, each seed carefully stowed away.

“That,” Echo says, “is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And that’s the moment Hunter knows they’re doomed.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The storekeeper is more than accommodating in providing the squad with everything they need to take care of a rodent aboard a spacecraft, even supplying discounts when Hunter tries to make the excuse that they really don’t have the credits to make such a purchase right now. Echo and Wrecker are absolutely no help, and the look on Omega’s face seals the deal. Tech is going to kill me in my sleep.

Omega is practically beside herself with excitement, words tumbling out of her in an endless stream as she plots, strategizes, and anticipates what having a pet will mean for their lives now. “Do you think Tech is going to love Stardust as much as we do?” Omega asks, holding up the small crate to peek at the rodent stashed inside.

Hunter suppresses a sigh. “Maybe we should wait to tell Tech until...” never. We should never, ever tell Tech.

“Until he isn’t mad at Wrecker and Echo anymore?” Omega supplies sweetly.

Echo and Wrecker make noises of protest; however, Hunter cuts them off with a sharp look. After all, it’s their fault they had to meander into the market at all. Their fault Stardust – as Omega quickly named the animal now in their care – is on a journey back to their ship. Their fault they hadn’t backed Hunter up when he tried to talk his way out of the situation.

“Maybe,” Omega says thoughtfully, oblivious to Hunter’s inner turmoil, “we can let Tech find Stardust on his own. We can put her cage by the nav computer, there’s a perfect spot for it! He’ll see how cute she is, and he won’t mind at all.”

It isn’t the worst idea, and at least it’s an idea. Tech might be miffed at first; however, he will come around. He might try to appear otherwise, but he is just as indulgent to Omega’s whims as the rest of them. The moment he sees how much their sister adores her new ward, he won’t be able to say anything against it. And besides, how much damage could a little rodent do?

TBC

Next Part >>

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69

✨Let me know if you’d like to added to the Tag List!✨

[volno]

Running Toolkit via MO2 - File Management Simulator 2024

Mod Organiser 2, as the name would imply, is a mod organising tool, one that is specifically designed for users who experiment with mods. What sets MO2 apart from other mod managers is that it keeps your game's data folder and your mods separate, instead it utilises a virtual folder system to create a modded directory that only exists while the game is running. Sort of like running a virtual machine, only on a smaller scale. MO2 also as a feature that enables it to 'catch' files generated by a program and store them in a separate directory, this is very helpful for using the Toolkit as we can use it to prevent project files from polluting BG3's data folder as well as give us better control over where our project files end up. So without further ado, lets get started with the guide.

Download and install the latest version of MO2 here on GitHub or here on Nexus Mods. then download the BG3 support plugin here For instructions on installing MO2, I recommend GamerPoets' video guide, this video showcases MO2 being set up for Skyrim, but the process is exactly the same for BG3 (note that you will have to install the BG3 support plugin before you are able to create an instance for it). You do not need to watch the video past the 4:00 min mark.

Time for some file management, in your mod list, right click and select the 'Create empty mod' option, this will be the folder that we are going to store our toolkit generated files in, so give it a fun name (I personally go with 'Toolkit Dumping Ground').

Open the "modify executables" window (the green and blue gears at the top of the screen), click the 'add an executable' option (the plus sign), select 'from file' navigate to 'Glasses.exe' and hit 'open'. Now that Glasses.exe is linked in MO2, we need to change the settings. Leave the 'Start in' and 'arguments section empty, we don't need to touch them, instead head down to the option that says 'Create files in mod instead of overwrite (*)', tick the box, and select the folder we made in step 3. Now whenever the Toolkit creates a file it will instead be created and stored inside the folder we have just selected. By default, MO2 will place files created by any executable it runs in the 'overwrite' folder, but its better to keep things in their own folder (as it can be easy to accidently clear the overwrite folder). If you have done this correctly, your window should look like this:

You can create as many folders like this as you like, such as ones for specific projects, just remember that you need to manually change the mod folder MO2 is using each time you create a project specific folder.

Now just hit 'apply' then 'ok' and you're good to run the toolkit! Go to the dropdown menu left of the 'run' button, select 'Glasses', then hit the 'run' button and the toolkit should launch as normal. Have fun!

From then on the toolkit runs just the same, just remember that your modded directory does not actually exist on your hard drive, and only temporally exists from within the application while its running. If you save a pak file in 'steamapps\common\Baldurs Gate 3\Data' from with in MO2s virtual folder, its actually being saved in the 'Toolkit Dumping Ground' folder (or what ever you called it). Another important thing to note, is that MO2 will also load whatever is in your game's data directory, for this reason I recommend having your Source Asset folder inside your game's actual data directory (especially if you wish to hotload files). I also suggest following Padme4000's recommendation and having one universal Source Asset folder as opposed to project specific ones, (see her guide here for why )

One other important thing to mention is that The BG3 support plugin is not an official plugin, if you are having issues with it please seek help on the mod page over official MO2 channels first.

Come stare at .lsf files with us in the BG3 Modding Community Discord, and support me on Patreon.

[vinzomagazine]

Cloud Storage vs Local Storage: Pros and Cons

In today’s digital world, choosing the right storage solution for your data is critical. Whether you’re an individual, a business, or a creative professional, understanding the benefits and limitations of cloud storage and local storage can help you make an informed decision that fits your needs. Both have their strengths and weaknesses, so let’s explore the pros and cons of each.

Pros of Cloud Storage

Accessibility Anywhere: Cloud storage lets you access your files from any device with an internet connection. This flexibility is invaluable for remote workers, frequent travelers, and anyone needing quick, on-the-go access to their data.

Scalability: Cloud plans can be easily upgraded as your storage needs grow, without the hassle of purchasing or setting up new hardware. This makes cloud storage ideal for businesses or individuals with rapidly expanding data.

Automatic Backups and Updates: Cloud providers handle all maintenance, backups, and software updates. This reduces the risk of data loss and frees you from managing technical upkeep.

Collaboration: Cloud platforms allow real-time file sharing and editing, supporting team projects and collaboration across different locations.

Cons of Cloud Storage

Internet Dependency: You need a stable internet connection to upload, download, or access your files quickly. Slow or intermittent connections can be frustrating and limit efficiency.

Recurring Costs: Cloud storage usually involves monthly or yearly subscription fees. While some providers offer free tiers, costs can increase significantly with higher storage demands.

Privacy Concerns: Your data is stored on third-party servers, which may raise privacy or security concerns for sensitive or confidential information, despite encryption and security measures.

Pros of Local Storage

Full Control and Privacy: With local storage, your data remains physically with you, giving you complete control over security and access. This is important for users handling sensitive files like legal or medical records.

Offline Access: Local storage devices such as external hard drives or Network Attached Storage (NAS) allow file access without needing the internet, making it reliable in areas with poor connectivity.

One-Time Cost: You purchase the storage device once and avoid recurring fees. Over time, this can be more economical than cloud subscriptions.

High-Speed Transfers: Local storage generally offers faster data transfer rates, especially with solid-state drives (SSDs) or USB 3.0 connections, beneficial for large files like videos or high-resolution images.

Cons of Local Storage

Limited Accessibility: Access is restricted to the physical device unless you set up complex remote access systems, which can be inconvenient.

Scalability Challenges: Expanding storage requires buying additional devices, which may be costly and less flexible.

Risk of Physical Damage: Local drives can fail, be lost, stolen, or damaged by environmental factors. Without proper backups, this can result in permanent data loss.

Maintenance Burden: You are responsible for managing backups, software updates, and hardware maintenance, which can require technical know-how.

For a detailed comparison, check out this comprehensive guide on Cloud Storage vs Local Storage to help you decide what’s best for your data needs.

Conclusion

Choosing between cloud and local storage depends largely on your priorities. Cloud storage excels in flexibility, scalability, and ease of use, making it ideal for users who need remote access and collaboration. Local storage shines when control, privacy, speed, and offline access are more important.

For many, a hybrid approach that combines both cloud and local solutions offers the best balance — local storage for sensitive or large files, and cloud storage for backups and easy sharing.

[patelharshal]

How Technology Is Changing the Driver’s License Process in Canada: 2025 Update

In the ever-evolving world of technology, the process of obtaining a driver's license in Canada is undergoing significant transformation. From online study tools to AI-assisted road tests, advancements in technology are reshaping how new drivers prepare for, take, and even manage their driver’s licenses. Whether you're a new resident, a teenager, or an experienced driver upgrading your license, understanding these technological changes is crucial. This blog explores the key developments in the licensing process and how technology is making it easier, more efficient, and even safer to get your driver’s license in 2025.

1. Online Study Tools and Test Preparation

One of the most notable changes in the licensing process in Canada is the availability of online study resources. In 2025, many provinces have embraced digital tools to help drivers prepare for the written knowledge test. Websites like licenseprep.ca provide online practice tests, detailed study guides, and interactive content that covers everything from road signs to traffic laws.

Gone are the days when you had to rely solely on paper handbooks. With the convenience of online platforms, you can access study materials anytime, anywhere. These resources often feature real-time feedback, allowing you to track your progress and pinpoint areas that need improvement. The digital approach not only makes studying more flexible but also ensures that you are up to date with the latest traffic laws and regulations.

2. Digital Driver’s License (eDL)

In several Canadian provinces, the digital driver’s license (eDL) has become a reality. Ontario and British Columbia have already rolled out this innovative service, where drivers can access their license through a mobile app. The eDL allows users to store a digital version of their license securely on their smartphones.

The eDL is accepted as an official form of ID and can be used for everything from purchasing alcohol to showing your license to law enforcement. In the future, we can expect more provinces to adopt this technology, providing greater convenience and security for Canadian drivers. This shift also reduces the risk of losing your physical card and eliminates the need to carry a bulky wallet.

3. AI-Assisted Road Tests

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is starting to play a role in Canada’s road test evaluations. AI-assisted driving tests are being piloted in some provinces, where in-car sensors and cameras track your performance during the road test. These systems can monitor things like your speed, lane positioning, and the quality of your braking, providing examiners with objective data to supplement their judgment.

While AI is not yet fully replacing human examiners, it’s enhancing the overall assessment process. By using AI, the road test becomes more precise, ensuring that every driver is evaluated fairly based on their skills and abilities. In the long term, AI-assisted evaluations could help reduce human error and improve safety on the road.

4. Virtual Reality (VR) Driving Simulators

In an effort to improve driving education, some driving schools are now incorporating virtual reality (VR) simulators into their training programs. These simulators replicate real-world driving scenarios, allowing students to practice their skills in a controlled environment before getting behind the wheel. They can practice everything from parallel parking to handling adverse weather conditions without the risk.

While VR training isn’t mandatory, it offers valuable benefits, particularly for new drivers who are nervous or lack experience in specific driving situations. It’s a safe and effective way to build confidence and become comfortable with a variety of driving scenarios that might be hard to replicate in a regular driving school setting.

5. Online Knowledge Tests and Faster Licensing

In some provinces, you can now take the written knowledge test online. This is especially beneficial for people who might not have access to a local service center or who prefer the convenience of studying and testing from home. By offering online tests, provinces can reduce wait times and make the licensing process more accessible.

Moreover, some provinces are streamlining the process of upgrading your license. For example, in Ontario, the G1 license can now be upgraded to G2 after only 8 months if you complete an accredited driver education program. This shorter waiting period allows new drivers to gain more experience on the road and work towards their full G license faster.

6. Automated and Digital Driver’s Education

Canada’s driver education programs have also adapted to technology by offering more automated and digital learning options. Many driving schools now provide online courses that allow students to complete theoretical lessons at their own pace. These programs often include interactive quizzes, video tutorials, and real-world simulations to help students learn road safety and driving laws.

The convenience of online driver’s education has made it easier for people with busy schedules to complete their courses. These programs also enable instructors to track students' progress digitally, ensuring that they have mastered the required knowledge before moving on to practical training.

7. The Future of Driver’s Licenses in Canada

Looking ahead, it’s clear that technology will continue to play a significant role in shaping the future of driving in Canada. From autonomous vehicles to smart roads that communicate with cars, the world of driving is rapidly changing. The driver’s license process will likely evolve to accommodate these new technologies, and we may see more digital tools, AI-driven tests, and even the introduction of self-driving car licenses in the future.

Additionally, with climate change being a key focus of Canadian policy, future licenses may also include environmental considerations. For instance, drivers could be required to take courses on eco-friendly driving techniques, or there may be new policies that encourage the adoption of electric vehicles.

Navigating the 2025 Driver’s License Process:

Stay Up-to-Date: Technology is advancing rapidly, so keep an eye on new developments related to licensing procedures in your province.

Leverage Online Resources: Use online study tools like licenseprep.ca to ensure you’re prepared for both written and practical tests.

Consider Driver Education Programs: While online learning is helpful, consider enrolling in a driving school for hands-on experience and confidence-building.

Get Comfortable with Digital Licensing: Learn about the digital driver’s license option in your province for added convenience and security.

Prepare for the Future: Be ready for possible changes in driver’s licensing laws, especially as autonomous vehicles and green technologies become more integrated into Canadian roads.

Learn the Rules with licenseprep.ca Driving laws may differ from what you're used to. Use licenseprep.ca to study road signs, local rules, and prepare for your tests confidently.

[codingquill]

What is Cloud Computing ?

Cloud computing has become a widely discussed topic in recent years, but explaining it in simple terms to someone without a background in computer science can be challenging. Allow me to break it down for you.

Cloud computing is a method of storing and accessing data and programs over the internet, rather than keeping them on your personal computer or mobile device. To illustrate this, let's consider online email services like Gmail or Outlook. When you use these services, you can access your emails from anywhere because they are stored in the cloud. This means you don't need to install any special software or save your messages on your hard drive. Instead, your emails are stored on remote servers owned by companies like Google or Microsoft. You can access them from any device connected to the internet, regardless of your location.

Understanding Servers in the Cloud

Now, let's delve into the concept of servers in the cloud.

The data stored in the cloud is saved on physical servers, which are powerful computers capable of storing and processing vast amounts of information. These servers are typically housed in data centers, which are specialized facilities that accommodate thousands of servers and other equipment. Data centers require significant power, cooling, security, and connectivity to operate efficiently and reliably.

Microsoft and Google are two of the largest cloud providers globally, and they have data centers located in various regions and continents. Here are some examples of where their data centers are located, according to search results:

Microsoft has data centers in North America, South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia.

Google has data centers in North America, South America, Europe, and Asia.

[computerrepairservices-post]

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