#things i am thinking about re: current Venom

[kitausuret]

Venom #20 preview below cut + thoughts

So I've been looking at this preview for Venom #20 and like... since there's a shadow over his groin, do you think Eddie gave himself a... y'know...

...I mean, I don't know why he wouldn't, and I'm certainly not complaining about getting to see naked Eddie Brock drawn by Cafu, but it's something I think about and it makes me giggle like a twelve year old.

There is so much potential for good body horror with this premise but listen. I have priorities as far as what I'm going to focus on.

Edit: the title of the issue is ALL OUT. That's. That's hilarious. Okay Al Ewing is my friend now.

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

1, 2, 3, 8, and 11 for the writers ask game! 👀

1. do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road?

most of the time, i know at least the Gist of how a story will end as i start writing it. things can and do change during the writing process, but because i have a history of Not Finishing Fics, i am now loathe to commit myself to writing (much less posting) a story if i haven't at least outlined the way in which i expect said story to end. and that's especially so for multichaps! with oneshots, im a little more flexible, mostly because there's fewer threads of continuity to keep straight lolol

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

oooooh this is tough! mostly because my memory is terrible rip

well, in this thing of darkness (i acknowledge mine), there's an upcoming plot development that i can't speak too directly of (since it's not posted yet lol), but i can say it was not something i had planned from the start, and i think it opens doors for me in the potential sequel(s) i want to write someday re venom's motivations as a character. ALSO, re if memories could fade away (an mj bday fic i wrote), that story was supposed to be a little mj&ned friendship piece that exploded into something which toes the line between prose and poetry and tentatively offers a backstory for mcu mj (who currently lacks but very much deserves actual depth as a character). simply put, i am not immune to the power of michelle jones-watson

3. on a scale of 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

depends on the fic! i think my mjflash plot in this thing of darkness (i acknowledge mine) adds a lot to the narrative im constructing, but i also think including mjflash in Walls or kataang in my children will listen series, for example, wouldn't have benefited either story, hence why they're gen fics

8. what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it?

i Love constructive criticism (it's the only way for my writing to improve!) and i like to think i take it well, but only when i ask for it, and note that i only ask for feedback a) from my friends and professors and b) on original writing and academic work. fanfic is a hobby for me, i am not getting paid, and im sorry but i just don't want criticism on something i only do for fun 😂 like i cannot FATHOM the arrogance a person must possess to leave unsolicited criticism on a story they are literally getting FOR FREE!! what!! imagine going to a free orchestral concert and telling one of the violinists afterwards why you think they played x, y, and z badly. HELLO??? IT'S SO RUDE??? now, it's totally different if an author requests critical feedback, of course, but when they don't??? this is my biggest pet peeve fr, especially bc there's no way to be totally sure how old a fanfic writer is, if the language their writing in is their first language, how long they've been writing, etc. etc. if people had left some of the "critical" comments i've seen across fics on the work i was writing at 12, i promise you i might not be writing fic today!

in sum: i love concrit, just not regarding my hobbies

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

butterfly kisses is full of bug facts i researched, including that when left on a car in the heat for too long, the dead bodies of love bugs are so acidic they can erode the paint (not so much now bc car paint is made to withstand that, but still). for match point, i did a lot of googling about what people need to wear when riding motorcycles (and ended up having to disregard several things bc Plot, but i was very intrigued by the fact that many motorcyclists have custom-made boots).

overall, i don't Hugely worry about research for my fics. if something needs to be researched, i'll do so, and if nothing does, then nothing does, yk? i tend to be more focused on character dynamics and introspection in my writing, meaning i rarely find myself needing to research, for example, worldbuilding (if that makes any sense lol)

[softgrungeprophet]

the fine line of understanding that queer subtext can and does exist now and historically and that queer readings of texts are often actually very well-supported in many cases, and also understanding that just because this is true does not make a text "literally" gay and that misleading people into a media that has very little there when you insist that it's "so canon" is not actually helpful, when instead you could discuss more fruitfully the context, history, symbolism, imagery, purpose of subtext, metaphor, etc. and how xyz would be shifted from subtext to text if x were to happen, and so on and so forth. not so much, "this is gay," but rather "this is queerable and could be shown so, blatantly, with a slightly different camera angle."

don't get me wrong, a lot of queer theory stuff i find intensely condescending and/or pretentious and i am not really a fan of "queering the [blank]" as a phrase for that reason; i didn't like my queer theory class, but queer theory still permeates regardless of whether a single college class managed to approach it in a way that wasn't pretentiously bland in its so-called queerness.

that class was also a creative writing class, which i enjoyed more, but one of the first prompts was to write about... an injury or hurt or something. i don't remember the exact prompt. and this was within the first week of class, and when most everyone in the class wrote of physical injury, the teacher had the audacity to be surprised that almost no one had written of their psychological and emotional hurt and i was just thinking like...

ma'am i'm 21, and i don't know you, and i don't know these people. i'm not unloading my traumas onto a group of strangers lmao (several of us talked and laughed a little about that at our table, even, like. did she really expect us to, essentially, trauma dump? to people we don't know? lmao? it doesn't actually feel good to bare yourself raw all the time.)

she was also the teacher who thought it was incredibly unusual of me to describe sunlight as "golden" because sunlight is scientifically blue (according to her) and it really was like, have you never read a book? do you know about rayleigh scattering? do you know about color perception? do you know that not everything is literal? how are you teaching a creative writing class when you apparently don't understand things like descriptive prose or extremely common metaphors lmao... for that matter how are you teaching a queer theory class when you can't even conceive of the most common non-literal descriptions of one's environment?

the other teacher was the one who docked me two full credits lol

the nice thing about that class though, was that it was full of queers. very pleasant to be in a class full of other GNC, gay, trans, and other queer people.

anyway what was i talking about

oh yeah subtext and the way people will say something is literally actually kissing gay when it's actually subtext (and often simply unintentional homoeroticism)

(this unintentionality happened a lot with supernatural, i feel... i won't go into that though.)

currently just thinking a lot now about the often purposeful queer subtext in spider-man (and f4) comics, with characters like harry osborn, johnny storm, venom etc. sometimes it's very minimal. sometimes it is outright blatant. even demonizing. re the latter, more noticeable stuff like direct metaphors for spousal abuse in venom comics as well as moments like johnny being referred to as "light in the loafers," which has one meaning and one meaning alone. ntm the comments from Zodiac—about johnny and his "beards," about how johnny makes him sick.

but also the quieter stuff, like with harry and peter's relationship and the intricacies of their intimacy. how that ties to toxic masculinity and ending the cycle of abuse. how love and friendship, closeness and understanding, is the salvation. it is not necessarily gay but also not necessarily straight you know? and being written by JMD as most of it was, I'd be willing to buy that he did this on purpose, but i would assume that his main purpose, as it always has been, was to break down toxic ideas about male friendship and emphasize that this physical and emotional closeness and trust is healthy—breaking down patriarchal violence, more than it is doing anything gay or not-gay.

also thinking about flash and his ''dna sample'' and the ''bromantic silence'' and when i think about that stuff, i think... dan sl*tt, my enemy.

and i think "be brave, johnny storm"—not nearly so mean-spirited, not a no-homo joke, not a dig about the character being either a stalker or gay for dick, but nonetheless, still... dan sl*tt, my enemy. but who knows how that was going. it could have been editorial, or he could have chickened out, or both. his later writing of johnny and the way the character is forced into a heterosexual relationship based on external insistence that they are soulmates (despite the fact that the person making those decisions was shown to be a fraud as part of the plot twist) is deeply unsatisfying as well as lacking in much nuance or deconstruction of how that plays exactly and precisely into compulsory heterosexuality... (oops!)

and his lack of sympathy for stuff like manipulation and abuse while writing johnny is simply not funny the way he thinks it is. but when has dan ever been that funny, except for once or twice every five years?

and just thinking lately about the arguments for what is and is not queerbait—a lot of it simply isn't, it's true. a lot of it is simply subtext. it's not marketing. it just... is. (of course sometimes it is marketing but that, interestingly, tends to be more on a celebrity basis than a story basis) (and yet ironically we still have people questioning andrew g as if he has not said explicitly that he is attracted to men, as if he did not fight tooth and nail for what he believed in) (but omg maybe that singer is gay) (but to be clear i support gender nonconformity among all people, even celebs, and it annoys me the way my mom's response is to assume that if they're amab and not out as gay or trans then they must be untrustworthy when they dress femme. like, i do understand that there is a history of homophobic and transphobic gender nonconformity in punk and goth circles but i think to inherently distrust anyone with a dick who wears women's clothes isn't really... much better...)

anyway re queerbait in media, especially when it's w/ supporting characters, it's like... probably not bait, so much as it is the fact that those characters are simply not going to be explored in depth unless you're like, JMD i guess lmfao — not that you should just happily accept whatever crumbs you're given or celebrate essentially meaningless leftovers, but like, sometimes it's really just that the character isn't important. but that's it's own thing of course—the fact that it's always side characters. cause you can get away with it right??

when you have a creative team knowing they will never get this approved if they ask, even for a supporting character, and so they slide it under the radar with jokes and body language and subtle inferences (or not so subtle), and make wink-wink comments on social media that they can delete, or they are esad ribic (icon, role model) and make many a gorgeous cover and panel with blatant homoerotic tension and male nudity and sexual subtext and the publisher doesn't even notice. (or pretends not to)

even the aforementioned "be brave" scene... was that bait, or was it simply corporate meddling with a character who is considered in some ways a mascot...? is it symptomatic of that exact "always side characters problem" (especially when you consider the next major arc included the classic "supporting cast non-threatening (to straight men's sexualities) lesbian side couple") or was it possibly an unwillingness to commit? i won't try to figure it out cause I don't know but that won't stop me from wondering anyway.

i feel like sp*deyp00l is the closest to bait in the comic circles i've been in, as something i have actually read content of, and know the titles of the trades and issues (well some of them) and know how that plays directly into the "bromance" marketing and jokes.

i won't go into my other thoughts on the relationship, though.

idk idk just musing

there's no purpose to this post, it wasn't really prompted by much of anything, just stuff that's been on my mind lately.

[songmingisthighs]

[9.55] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ good thing you're smart, if not Wooyoung wouldn't have a whole attitude change

⇁ tw : violence, torture, kindapping, mafia life

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

You don't remember how long it has been since they captured you. Being stuck in a basement would do that apparently.

Whoever was behind your capture had been torturing you beyond your own imagination. They had starved you, hit you, kicked you, attempted to drown you, tied you in an uncomfortable position every night, and sent in someone to make sure you don't get an ounce of sleep.

All that just to get information on Wooyoung.

Currently, you're being tied to a chair, being once again interrogated for informations you had no clue about, "things would be much easier if you'd just give us what we want," the buff man in front of you said, he held a knife to your cheek but at this point you couldn't even flinch, "where is Jung Wooyoung's headquarters?"

Your cold outfit was clinging onto you like second skin, it's uncomfortable and it's dirty, the cold had definitely impacted your health.

Recently all you've been able to feel is just the headache and the burn from inside your body. Not even the abuse given to you was able to inflict you pain.

Everything's just numb.

You look up at the man, almost with a challenging look as you press your face daringly to the blade, "I. Don't. Know." you spat each word like venom.

The man laughed, pretty amused at how daring you are being, "you're his wife, there is no way you wouldn't have known," you rolled your eyes at him, bitter that he used the word 'wife' because you know fully well that Wooyoung would never treat you as such, "then I must've not been his wife now, am I?" You retorted back at him, slightly shocking him because this is the first time within the (apparently) 7 days you've been captured that you had said something else other than 'I don't know' or 'fuck you'.

Everyone was startled at the revelation, they probably hadn't concidered that you might not be Wooyoung's wife. No one really know about Wooyoung's personal life, it seems.

Seeing their hesitance, you take this as your chance of escaping.

The buff man grab your hair harshly, his eyes narrowing at you in suspicion, "don't lie to me, whore, if you're not his wife, then why'd you have a wedding ring on?" "Stole it from my mistress before I ran away, needed the money," you lied easily, surprising yourself.

"And why are you wearing it?" He asked again, "to make it less inconspicuous, people need to believe that this belongs to me or else they'll alert the cops that I'm a thief,"

He seemed to be having an inner turmoil on whether or not he should believe you.

With how you've been acting and the lack of evidence that you are Wooyoung's wife, you could really have been the wrong target.

"That means Handong lied to us," he said as he push your head away, talking to one of the men next to him, "bring him in and get this bitch out," he said simply before turning back to leave.

But before he walked out of the room, he looked back once more at you with a bitter smirk, "make sure to... deal... with her first, insurance for your silence,"

When the doors closed, 5 men approach your figure, still tied on the chair.

One of them crouch down in front of you, he brush your hair out of your face with a sad smile, "I'm sorry that we have to do this, pretty girl," confused at what he said, you just stared at him. But then he suddenly slap you so hard that you fell down along with the chair you're tied to.

And thus began one of the longest night of your life.

Meanwhile Wooyoung was getting antsy. His men couldn't find you anywhere and there isn't a second when he didn't regret turning his abundance of cctv off

He spent his days either in meetings or trying to track your whereabouts. San had to step in and actually force him to eat, going as far as cuffing him to his chair and spoon-fed him, even throwing a cheesy "would (Y/N) be happy to see you in this state?" At him to which he replied, "considering how I treat her, I wouldn't be surprised if she is,"

So far, neither yours nor his parents were aware of your disappearance. His dad only asked about you once to ensure he still has leverage, which of course Wooyoung lied, he's already stressed over your disappearance the last thing he need is for his dad to bit his head off.

Each night he spent sleeping in his bedroom, moping to the fact that he genuinely misses and worried about you. He regret taking you for granted, taking your presence for granted. Now, he could only imagine your sleeping form next to him using the memories of when he actually slept in bed with you. He used to be able to feel your warmth next to him, now it's just cold and he dislike it.

Tonight was no different. Before he got into bed, he went to the walk-in closet and look at all the dresses he had brought you to events that you went to (re : events he was forced brought you because his parents would be there). He remembered every how you looked in every single one of them.

It's pathetic of him, to be pining over the woman he claimed to have no care about.

Just as he turned the walk-in closet's lights off, there were commotions from downstairs, then a huge bang like his front doors had been barged open.

Diving into his instincts, Wooyoung grabbed the nearest gun he had hid all around the room and ran out, thinking that it was a raid by his rivals.

But when he looked down from the second floor to the living room, his heart wrenched and he froze.

San had you in his arms, you looked sickly pale with bruises all over your exposed arms and legs, clothes had chunks of them torn, and you weren't moving. One would assume that you're dead.

Wooyoung dropped his gun and ran to his friend who had just put you on the couch.

The sight of you looking so broken panicked him. He wanted to hold you and be glad that you're home, but he doesn't wanna hurt you. He wanted to tell you how sorry he is and that he'll make up to you but he's not sure whether or not you're still alive.

He snapped his head towards his staff, "call the doctor! Call Kang Yeosang in!" He barked to which his staffs immediately obeyed, scrambling to do as he ordered.

"God, baby, who did this to you?" He muttered to himself, reaching forward to brush your hair out of your face.

You stirred a bit when you heard his voice ans managed to open your eyes despite the splitting headache and the soreness all over your body.

When your eyes met his, you smiled, "hey, what are you doing in my dreams?" You croaked out, throat obviously sore and beyond parched from having been denied fluids for so long. It was your turn to brush his bangs from his eyes, something you've always wanted to do but know never could considering his dislike that turned out to be hatred towards you.

You suddenly frown at him, making his gaze on you softer, "I'm sorry," you muttered, not able to speak louder. At that, he tilted his head, "for what?" "Not being able to stay gone, I had to had the will to live, I should've let them kill me," you said before you slip into unconsciousness, rendering Wooyoung speechless at your words.

Before he was able to retaliate, San had swoop you back into his arms to take you to an empty room so Yeosang could come in and treat you.

"No," Wooyoung called, stopping San in his tracks, "bring her to my- our room, she should feel comfortable," to which San just nodded and obey, knowing how important it is to have you next to him as much as him next to you.

Yeosang came in not long after and spent 3 hours cleaning and stitching your wounds, checking for possible internal injuries, all the while making sure he's handling you with the utmost care as Wooyoung had been glaring daggers at him. Whether it serve to be a warning to not harm you or a sign of jealousy as Yeosang had a perfectly valid reason to cut your shirt and shorts off for handling.

"I can't make a clear diagnosis without checking for internal injuries, we have to take her to the hospital," Yeosang said. But Wooyoung just snap at him, "then freaking bring the machines here! She's not leaving this mansion and she's not leaving my side!"

Both men just stared at each other for a few minutes, Yeosang holding onto his ground on wanting simplicity, and Wooyoung being afraid of losing you from his sight again.

Knowing how stubborn his friend can be, Yeosang was first to crack, sighing and nodding at Wooyoung, "I'll see what I can do," he said simply before going out to talk to San about possibly transporting some of his machines.

The rest of the night, Wooyoung took care of you. He had put you in one of his large, white button up because it's the easiest to put on you. He stayed by your side in a chair, afraid that he might hurt you (than he already necessary does with his words) if he were to slip in bed with you.

As he watch you, his hands moved to held yours in his. His thumbs were rubbing the back of your hand when it suddenly caught on something.

Looking down, he noticed that it's your wedding ring, matching his own which he's wearing.

It brought a smile to his face seeing you're still holding onto it so dearly. You could've left it for him to find and throw away the day you left, but you had decided to take it with you.

Could it be that despite everything he's done to you, you don't want to completely erase him from your mind?

And that's what made Wooyoung broke down and cried.

He didn't deserve you, not one bit. But despite that, he knows that he's the only one capable enough of taking care of you, to provide for whatever it is that you need.

So at that moment, with you back in hia arms, he decided to step up and assume his responsibilities and treat you as how you deserve to be treated.

[colossal-fallout]

heyoooow congrats on 500 followers 🥳 first off i wanna say my appreciation to your blog. thanks for letting me hang here! i only interact with a few blogs (4), and you’re def one of the peeps who made my quarantine and mental stuff bearable. your writing def gives me comfort considering my current state, so thank you sm for existing :) anyw i wanna participate in your event sooo

for character, i really cant choose between mikasa and annie so you choose for me 😂

starters: can i get hcs of gn gamer!reader who plays all the time, and their s/o complains bc of it, so reader kinda teaches them but s/o kinda sucks... 💀

main: maybe character gets jealous oneshot?

dessert: fluff text messages

again thank you soooo much ♥️

Hey there, I'm extremely overjoyed I have been of some help to you and that you like it here. Thank you for your kind words and I appreciate you so much 💕

Comin' right up ☕

Starters

Annie -

Annie doesn't mind so much that you play your video games. She likes the quiet time where she can read while you run through a virtual world doing your thing.

If you get too carried away though and get raged or agitated, she'll tell you to quiet down.

If you don't - she'll get up to a different room with a deep sigh.

One day she asks if you could teach her and she could play with you sometime. It'll be a good way to spend quality time together.

You start her off with something easy and a two player. Mario Kart.

You can't help but laugh as she constantly drives into the walls and comes in last - her annoyed pout just the cutest thing.

"This is dumb..." She'll sigh. She won't stop playing though.

"Annie. Press down the A button just before the go light."

"I am and I keep skidding out!"

"Because you're hitting it too early."

"You're lying. There's no such thing as a start boost."

"...I'm not lying."

Mikasa -

Mikasa likes to watch you play your games. She likes how excited and happy you get when you do something you're proud of.

"Well done." She'll smile when you finally kill the Blood starved beast.

But she doesn't like doing it for too long. She prefers it when you're doing something together. So you suggest to teach her so you can play together.

You decide on playing Minecraft with her - a nice peaceful game for her to start off with.

She gets the controls pretty quickly. What she can't understand are the physics and other rules.

"How is that tree floating up there?"

"It's just how the game is, babe."

"How is it possible this bridge isn't falling down?"

"I... I don't know. Try not to think too much about it."

Accidentally burned down your house you built together. She teared up with guilt.

Always. Always leading creepers to you asking you to save her.

Will die under collapsing sand and gravel. A lot.

"Babe, I died again! All my stuff is down in that cave..."

*sigh* "Alright. I'll go get it..."

Main

"Hey babe." You smile, delighted to see your girlfriend after a long day.

Her bright blue orbs look right through you - dead eyed and a frown tugging at her lips.

"Annie?" You frown, removing your jacket. "Everything okay?"

"Fine." She mumbles with venom underlying her tone.

"Annie." You arch an eyebrow, obviously not convinced by her weak attempt of a lie.

She doesn't have time to reply as the rest of your comrades walk through the door after a hard day of training. Sasha's laughter rings out loudly, breaking the uncomfortable silence between you.

"Connie fell flat on his ass!" She continued her conversation with Mina who is giggling behind her hand.

"I'm not surprised. Sounds like Connie "

"There they are!" Ymir smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "I've been looking for you, good lookin'"

"You've just seen me like an hour ago." You laugh, oblivious to Annie's blazing glare.

"That was too long ago." She teases, placing her cheek against yours.

Annie's brow furrows and she snapped. The band of her jealousy wound too tightly around her ego as she grabs Ymir by the neck and pushes her off you, right across the room and against the wall.

"Annie!" You gasp.

"Woah!" Sasha exclaims, stopping her conversation.

"What are you doing?!" Ymir snarls in her face as Annie holds her still.

"Go anywhere near them again, and I'll snap your neck like a twig. Got it??"

Ymir smirks. "Oh? I should have figured you as a jealous type."

"Annie, that's enough!" You call, the authority in your voice surprising everyone in the room.

Annie loosens her grip, but her warning glare doesn't leave Ymir as she runs her throat - a red mark already appearing on her skin.

"I'm with you, Annie. I want you. No one else. Now give your head a shake and get back in the game." You hiss, pulling her to the side as the room slowly and awkwardly begins to re-errupt into conversation.

"I'm sorry..." She mutters.

You were pretty surprised at Annie. You had no idea she could be insecure in you and your relationship. You spoke all night about a lot of things. But mostly how she should never ever fear that you would want anyone else other than the beautiful Annie Leonhart.

Dessert

Mikasa

Annie

[thelastspeecher]

Egg Stan Origins

In my notes earlier today, I saw that someone had liked one of my Egg Stan ficlets, and I decided to reread said ficlet.  And then before I knew it, I was writing stuff for the Egg Stan AU, because I can’t control myself.  So here, have...whatever this is.

——————————————————————————————

              Ford slowly drifted back to wakefulness.  As he opened his eyes, a fish darted across his field of vision.

              Shit!  I’m underwater!  Panicking, Ford began to swim for the surface, before realizing that he wasn’t drowning.  He let himself sink back to the ocean floor.  Why can I breathe underwater?  He held out his hands to inspect them.  His mouth went dry.  Thin, red webbing stretched between his twelve fingers.  He looked down at his legs.  Or rather, where his legs used to be.  In their place was a large, extravagant tail with golden scales and red fins.

              “Fuck,” he whispered.  He ran a hand through his hair.

              I’m- I’m a merman?  How did that happen?  He racked his brain, desperate for answers.  The creature!  The last thing he remembered was being on the ship, with a massive sea serpent bearing down upon them.  When the serpent opened its mouth to spray venom at him, Stan had jumped in front of him to act as a shield.  Stanley!

              “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Ford muttered, frantically looking around for his twin.  There weren’t any other mermen in the vicinity.

              Maybe he avoided this fate?  Doubtful.  Ford’s eyes landed on what looked like a large fish egg, partially buried in the sand. He swam over, rendered clumsy by his new tail, and gently lifted the egg from the sand.  The egg was red but transparent, allowing him to see the very young mer curled up within.  Is this- is this Stan?

              “No.  That’s not possible.”  Ford spoke aloud in an attempt to convince himself.  The mer in the egg suddenly twisted around, revealing its face.  Ford’s heart plummeted.  The mer had a face he recognized well.  No one outside their family had that large, ruddy nose.  “Stanley…”  Ford held the egg close to his chest, panic rising.

              Stan’s been turned into a mer child still in utero. I’m fully grown, but a merman. What am I supposed to do? Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of voices in the distance.  He swallowed nervously.  I’m not one to typically ask for help, but I don’t really have a choice, do I? Ford swam towards the voices.  As he got closer, he saw the source – a young merman and mermaid, probably related, judging by their similar features.

              “Excuse me,” Ford called.  The merman and mermaid changed course, swimming over to him.  “I- I need some help.”

              “Why aren’t ya speakin’ Mermish?” the merman asked in thickly accented English.  His tail was a burnt orange, contrasting with his dark hair.

              “I wasn’t aware that merfolk had their own language,” Ford said.  The merman and mermaid looked doubtfully at each other.  “I- I’m human, you see, and-”

              “Uh, if you were a former human, you’d have a belly button,” said the merman, sounding suspicious.  Ford looked down.  His jaw dropped.

              “What the-”  He stared at the completely smooth skin where his belly button had previously been located.  “I don’t- I don’t know how that happened.”

              “Who’s this lil feller?” the mermaid cooed, peering at the egg Stan was in.  Her accent was just as thick as the merman’s.  She and the merman had the same large nose, but her hair was caramel-colored, matching her pale yellow tail.

              “My twin brother.  What happened to make me like this, it- somehow it affected him more severely and-”

              “What’s a twin?” the merman asked.

              “A sibling born at the same time as you.”

              “Yer claimin’ this cutie is from the same clutch you hatched from?” the mermaid asked.

              “Yes?  No? Look, I don’t understand your mer terminology, I’m human!” Ford burst out.  The merman and mermaid exchanged a concerned look.

              “It’s okay,” the mermaid said soothingly.  She held out her hands.  “I can take yer brother so’s ya can swim better.”

              “No!”  Ford held Stan’s egg even tighter.  Stan swirled around in the egg.  Alarm flashed in the mermaid’s eyes.

              “Okay, okay,” she said.  “I won’t take ‘im.  But I think that it might be best if ya come with us to our house, at least fer the night. It’ll get dark soon.  The guppy eels come out when the light fades.”

              “G-guppy eels?” Ford stammered.

              “They eat eggs ‘n guppies,” the merman said. Ford’s heart leapt into his throat. “Are ya goin’ to come with us, stranger?”  Ford swallowed.

              “I don’t really have any other choice,” he mumbled.  The merman patted him on the back.

              “That’s the spirit.  Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of room fer the both of ya.”

-----

              By the time Ford and the merfolk arrived at their destination, a large underwater cliff face, he was exhausted.  Not just physically, though the swim had been more taxing than he expected.  He was also mentally weary from the immense amount of information he’d learned from the merfolk.  Apparently, humans did turn into mers on rare occasions, but when they did, they kept their belly buttons.  In addition, mer eggs were laid in massive clutches and kept in something called a “guppy basket”.  His hosts had assured him that they had a guppy basket where Stan could go.

              But he’s not leaving my sight.  The merman, whose name was Lute, looked at Ford with some amusement.

              “Yer a bit out of shape, ain’t ya?” he asked. The mermaid, who was named Angie, punched him.

              “Be nice,” she chided.  Ford’s initial assessment of the two being related was correct; they were siblings.

              Not just siblings.  Clutch-mates.  From what Lute and Angie had told him, clutch-mate seemed to be the closest mer analog to a twin.  Clutch-mates were siblings that hatched from the same clutch of eggs, though they sometimes hatched days apart.  

              “I’ll go alert the folks we’ve got a guest,” Lute said.  He opened a door into the cliff that Ford hadn’t seen and ducked inside.  Ford looked askance at Angie.

              “It’s an optical illusion thing,” she said with a shrug.  “Unless ya know where the entrance is, ya can’t find it.”  Of the two siblings, she seemed the kinder and gentler, taking what Ford said at face value.  Unlike her brother.

              Though she could just be humoring me.  I’m fairly certain they think I’m having some sort of nervous breakdown.  Angie smiled at Ford, then opened the door.  I’ll take humoring me over mocking me.

              “C’mon on in,” she said.  Ford reluctantly swam inside.  He was in a pleasantly homey living room that, if it weren’t underwater, could be mistaken for belonging to a human family.  Potted plants lazily swayed from small currents.  A middle-aged merman and mermaid sat on a couch, speaking with Lute.

              Presumably, these are Angie and Lute’s parents. One of the many things he’d been told during the swim was that merfolk lived with their parents until they had a mate, after which they would find their own place to live.  As unmated merfolk, Angie and Lute had yet to move out. Lute was a carbon copy of his father, with the exception of his tail color; his father’s tail was blue.  Angie looked exactly like her mother, down to her tail color, but had her father’s large nose.

              “This must be the poor young man you found,” said their mother, catching sight of Ford.  She got up from the couch and swam over to him.  “Hmm…”  She looked him up and down.  “What’s your name, son?”

              “S-Stanford Pines.”

              “That’s not a mer surname,” the mother commented idly, still looking at Ford with a thoughtful gaze.  “But it is a human one.”  She smiled. “Let me introduce myself.  My name is Sally MerGucket, but if ya like, ya can call me Mrs. MerGucket.”

              “Mrs. MerGucket,” Ford mumbled.  Mrs. MerGucket nodded.

              “My mate Mearl is on the couch.”  Mr. MerGucket smiled warmly at Ford.  “It looks like you could use a guppy basket fer that egg.”

              “No, he’s going to stay with me,” Ford said firmly.

              “Of course he will,” Mrs. MerGucket said, sounding surprised.  “The basket will go in the same room ya sleep in.”

              “…Oh.”

              “Come with me, dear.  I’ll show you to yer room fer the night.”  Mrs. MerGucket took Ford’s hand and led him out of the living room, down a hall, and into what was clearly a guest bedroom of sorts.  Under normal circumstances, Ford would ask a million questions about the furniture in the room, particularly the bed, with a frame made of what appeared to be living coral.

              I don’t feel much like asking questions right now, though.  Ford looked down at Stan’s egg.  Through the membrane, he could see Stan sucking his thumb.  Mom always hated when he did that.

              “Stanford.”  Ford looked up.  Mrs. MerGucket sat on the edge of the bed.  She patted the bed.  “Sit with me.”  Reluctantly, Ford swam over and sat next to her.  “May I?”  Mrs. MerGucket held out her hands.  Ford shook his head, keeping Stan close.  “That’s quite all right.”

              “You don’t believe me, do you?” Ford asked quietly. “That I used to be human.  Your children certainly don’t.”

              “Yes, they’re convinced that ya hit yer head,” Mrs. MerGucket said.  “They were worried fer yer health, as well as the health of the egg, since a confused guardian ain’t a safe one.”

              “You’re dodging the question.”

              “I didn’t mean to.”  Mrs. MerGucket sighed.  “Stanford, I believe ya.”  Ford’s head whipped up.  He stared at her.  “I suspect my children would, too, if they weren’t used to human behaviors.”  Ford frowned.

              “What do you mean?” he asked.  Mrs. MerGucket gestured to her torso.  Ford’s eyes widened.  Unlike her mate and children, Mrs. MerGucket had a belly button.  “You’re…”

              “Yes.  I used to be human.  Since I helped to raise my children, they don’t realize yer behaviors ‘n tendencies ‘re human through ‘n through.  But I’ve spent enough time among merfolk to tell ya used to be human, too.”  Mrs. MerGucket looked at Ford thoughtfully.  “Well.  Either that, or ya were raised by humans.  But I suspect you’d be a tad more traumatized, were that the case.”

              “I’m feeling fairly traumatized at the moment,” Ford mumbled.  Mrs. MerGucket put her hand on his shoulder.

              “Son, you can stay here as long as ya like, okay?”

              “I just want things to be the way they were yesterday,” Ford whispered.

              “I understand.  Unfortunately, I ain’t sure whether there’s a way to do that.  But we’ll do our best to help.  Once we hear yer story from ya, rather than from Lute, we’ll have a better idea of what happened to ya.  But that can wait until you’ve had some rest.  You ‘n that lil egg have been through a lot today.”

              “Yes,” Ford said, his voice breaking.  “We have.”

              “I’ll bring ya the guppy basket to put the egg in, okay?  And once that’s done, ya can get some sleep.”  Ford nodded woodenly.  Mrs. MerGucket left the room.

              “Stanley,” Ford whispered helplessly to the egg that had been his brother.  “What- what are we going to do?”  Stan offered no answers, merely curling up tightly within his egg.

-----

              Stan’s egg rocked back and forth within the guppy basket.

              “Be patient,” Ford chided as he combed his hair. He’d learned the hard way that if he didn’t comb regularly, small crustaceans would take up residence in his thick curls.  After spending a few months with the MerGuckets, he felt more or less settled as a merman.

              At the very least, I feel less like a fish out of water.  Ford managed a small smile at the almost pun.  Every day, he learned more about merfolk and mer society from the MerGuckets.  They had yet to determine what sea creature had transformed him and Stan, however, and as a result, were no closer to reversing the process.  I suspect Mrs. MerGucket was right.  What happened to us can’t be remedied.  His good mood evaporated.  Stanley and I are stuck.  Said stuck egg abruptly rolled in the basket.

              “I told you to calm down,” Ford said, swimming over.  He wasn’t sure how much Stan was aware of in the egg, nor how much he would recall when hatched, but couldn’t shake the habit of talking to the egg like nothing had changed.  Like Stan was still his stubborn, adult self.  “I’ll put you in the sling in a moment.”  The egg rolled again.  “Fine!” Ford grabbed the egg sling off his dresser and put it on.  While it was impossible to carry an entire clutch in an egg sling, merfolk used them to keep close eggs they were concerned about.

              Luckily, I only have one egg, so transporting the full clutch isn’t an issue.  Ford froze. No.  Did I just- did I just think of Stan as being my child?

              “Everything all right in here?” a voice asked.  Ford looked over his shoulder.  Fiddleford treaded water in the doorway, smiling at him. A few days after Ford came to the MerGucket home, Fiddleford, Angie and Lute’s older brother, had returned home from an internship.  Very quickly, Fiddleford had become Ford’s favorite of the MerGucket children. Angie was kind and quite brilliant, but rambunctious in a way that reminded Ford of Stan and was thus painful to be around for long.  Lute was abrasive and curt, and still didn’t seem convinced Ford was telling the truth.

              Fiddleford, however, was gentle and warm, with an intellect to rival Ford’s.  The fact that Fiddleford was obsessed with human culture, and thus fascinated by Ford’s stories, only served to deepen their connection.

              “Yes, everything’s quite all right,” Ford said. He carefully placed Stan’s egg in the sling.  “Stan’s just being difficult this morning.”  Fiddleford swam over, frowning.

              “He’s just an egg.  How could he be difficult?”

              “Oh, he’s been moving around a lot.”

              “He…”  Fiddleford’s eyes widened.  “How long has this been goin’ on?”

              “A couple of days.  Why?”

              “Stanford, eggs start movin’ when they’re gettin’ ready to hatch,” Fiddleford said gently.  Ford’s mouth dropped open.  “I reckon ya might want to put the egg back in the basket.”  Numb, Ford did as he was told, removing Stan’s egg from the sling and gently setting it inside the guppy basket.  The egg began to rock and roll in earnest.  Finally, a tiny hand punched through the egg’s membrane.

              “He’s…” Ford whispered.  His voice failed him as he watched a newborn mer crawl through the hole.  “He’s…”

              “Quite the looker,” Fiddleford said quietly. The newborn mer, with fins and scales a drab green color, scrunched up his face and began to cry.

              “What- what do I-” Ford asked desperately. Fiddleford scooped up the newborn mer and gently placed him in the egg sling Ford still wore.

              “Newborn guppies like to be held,” Fiddleford said.

              Right.  Mer children are referred to as guppies.  And they don’t get their mature scale and fin colors until adolescence.  Ford stared down at the guppy curled up in the sling.  He was the spitting image of old family pictures of Stan.  Which makes sense, given that he is Stan.  Ford hesitantly stroked the guppy’s cheek. The guppy leaned into the movement with a soft crooning sound.  …Is he?

              “Is somethin’ wrong?” Fiddleford asked hesitantly.

              “I…”  Ford swam over to his bed and sat down.  Fiddleford followed, sitting next to him.  “I think that some part of me expected the Stan I knew to hatch from the egg. That he would be himself, with all his memories and quirks, but…a child.”  His voice began to quiver.  “That obviously isn’t the case.  He’s my brother, but not- not really.  Despite my best attempts, I’ve lost him.”

              “Don’t think of it that way,” Fiddleford said. He placed his hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Think of it as him gettin’ a fresh start.  Ya told me how yer pa wasn’t kind.”

              “No, he wasn’t.”

              “Well then, this is a chance fer him to get the kind of father he didn’t get the first time,” Fiddleford said gently. Ford swallowed.

              “…Yes.  I- I suppose you’re right.”  He removed the guppy from the sling to nestle in his arms.  The guppy looked up at him with curious brown eyes.  Ford carefully removed stray bits of egg from the guppy’s thick, brown curls.  “Hello.” The guppy cocked his head, interested. Ford held him close.  “It’s good-” he started.  His voice gave out.  He took a deep breath and tried again.  “It’s good to see you again, Stanley.”

[tossawary]

Some random favorite lines (with commentary) of Chapter 23: “Swallowing Your Heart” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” because I’m doing a re-read. Not a full list or full commentary.

-

Liu Qingge shoves him off his sword.

Plot twist! Betrayal! Shang Qinghua doesn’t have time to get over his shock at such an attack before Liu Qingge has caught the riderless sword in one hand and caught the swordless rider over his shoulder.

The Bai Zhan Peak War God flies on to Qian Cao Peak with his new cargo.

Shang Qinghua slaps the man on the back and wheezes.

“Have you done that move before?!” he demands, because that was so fucking smooth it’s offensive. It really does offend him! He’s super offended right now!

“Mingyan,” Liu Qingge says, like this explains everything. “And Fanli.”

It kind of does explain everything.

- 

AN: That LQG effortlessly manhandled SQH in the same way that he manhandles his sister. This is how LQG shows affection. LMY is not a fan of it either. 

-

“Ming Fan is a good sparring partner,” Binghe says as part of his tirade, like he’s confessing something. “But he needs sooooo many compliments to soothe his pride. ‘Oh, I knocked Shixiong over because he’s such a good teacher! Thank you, Shixiong, for helping me practice this move. Shixiong, I really admire how you don’t let the little things bother you because you’re so confident and skilled.’ I think he’s getting better now, but it’s still tiring sometimes. Uncle, some people really can’t take even a well-meaning criticism without falling apart.”

- 

AN: This conversation was definitely a jab at Shang Qinghua relationship with Mobei-Jun, but it also extends to Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu. 

- 

Binghe says that he also heard some Qiong Ding Peak people are here now, but he doesn’t know what they’re doing. Beyond that, not that much has apparently happened while Shang Qinghua was sleeping the day away! Liu Qingge came by, probably to report to his scheming wife, who was yet again totally and embarrassingly correct about Shang Qinghua’s state of being. Chen Xuan, whom Binghe embarrassingly correctly identified as Disciple Dumpling Thief’s Friend, dropped by, but only to say not to worry about the day-in-day-out of An Ding Peak.

- 

AN: Binghe knows Shang Qinghua’s nicknames for his favorite disciples. 

- 

Binghe curls up with his arms around and his head resting on Shang Qinghua’s stomach, while Shang Qinghua rubs his protagonist son’s back.

- 

AN: Either of these characters getting unconditional platonic affection is SO UNUSUAL that it hurts. People need hugs at all ages! 

- 

The kindest option here might be the demon lord coming back sometime in the next few days and pretending the entire interaction never happened. Shang Qinghua will tell the man that it was a human thing, some kind of nervous fit, and beg forgiveness for his lapse in presentation! Well, he probably should, except… he doesn’t really want to do that. He doesn’t really want to go, “My king, my apologies for the mess! Let me, ah, let me just swallow all of those words I threw out there, just chew them back up, gulp them down into some vital organ to rot there forever, so we can never talk about them ever again.”

Mobei-Jun seems to still be his Mobei-Jun, looking at that confrontation in hindsight, and not… not any other Mobei-Jun. People in general seem to have stayed the same, besides Peerless Cucumber being fitted into the picture as some mysterious intruder. All those years of service and loyalty and companionship Shang Qinghua remembers with Mobei-Jun haven’t vanished on him. “All current achievements have been preserved” and all that!

So, part of him wants to go, “So! Those things I said! What about them, huh? Do you have anything to say to any of that, my king? Anything at all?” 

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua wants to OPEN UP and he can’t make himself take that step when his nephew’s life is on the line. MBJ has not made himself explicitly safe yet. Unspoken understandings can only go so far here. 

- 

“Was it something really bad?” Luo Fanli presses, leaning back along his desk until she’s practically lying down on it.

Not in a sexy pose or anything, just in a put-upon flop, kind of like a tired child finding the oasis of a department store furniture display during a too-long shopping trip or a toddler denied candy pouting on the floor of the grocery store. His little sister-in-law is not greatly concerned with dignity, much to her sister’s dismay and the eternal frustration of Qi Qingqi. She says life is too short for it.

“No one died.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it means that everyone lived through it,” Shang Qinghua explains.

-

AN: Shang Qinghua’s relationship with Luo Fanli is fun. I’m looking forward to putting Luo Fanli in a room with Shen Yuan. SY needs friends. Luo Fanli @ Shen Yuan: “Idk, he’s a weirdo, but he’s uncle-shaped, right?” 

- 

Except when Shang Qinghua opens the soup container, it’s still completely full. None of his disciples - who are very, very good at acting like they’ve never been fed ever in their life - have helped themselves to even a taste. It’s a big pot! There’s plenty to go around! More than Shang Qinghua could reasonably eat by himself! And yet…

His disciples have been way too nice to him lately. He feels like he should be checking his pockets for whatever they stole from him when he wasn’t looking. Did the System replace his bratty disciples with good alternate universe ones?! He hates it, thanks!

- 

AN: This is SUCH a low standard... and yet...! It’s very funny to me how much his disciples not stealing food from a sick man says here. 

SQH: “Why are all my disciples such sticky-fingered brats?!” 

LJH: “Because you think it’s funny.” 

SQH: “Oh, yeah.” 

- 

Wow, Peerless Cucumber doesn’t seem pleased to see him! Shang Qinghua hasn’t suffered a glare that venomous since… well, Shen Qingqiu, maybe? Okay, so maybe the switch would have worked a little bit! But Shang Qinghua is still glad it didn’t happen, even if the System fucked up the rest of reality (somehow, Shang Qinghua still hasn’t figured out how exactly) out of revenge for its own shitty choices falling through.

“Where have you been?” Peerless Cucumber demands.

“Busy?” Shang Qinghua answers, coming closer but not sitting down. “Look, the System just rewrote bits of reality on me because of your fumbled arrival tipping some invisible scales and it has not been forthcoming about the changes. I had things to check on and things have been a bit political. I sent you a message.”

“That message said a lot of nothing,” Peerless Cucumber says, but with less venom.

“Aha, yeah. Well, I’m here now.”

Peerless Cucumber looks frustrated, but finally scoots over so that Shang Qinghua can sit beside him on the bench. Shang Qinghua gingerly sits, giving the kid space.

Shang Qinghua is being super calm for the other transmigrator right now! He’s very calm here! The calmest!

- 

AN: SY really is a scared kid putting up a front. Which works out, because SQH is a dad here (and thinks SY’s insults are mostly just funny). 

- 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shang Qinghua can see a Qian Cao Peak cultivator standing impatiently by the Qiong Ding Peak guard. And… someone bouncing on their toes in a Qing Jing Peak uniform? Speak of the half-demon future tyrant of this world!

“Looks like we’ll have to continue this later,” Shang Qinghua says.

“My assisted meditation appointment,” Peerless Cucumber confirms glumly, looking as though he’s never experienced inner peace in his life and has no intention of willingly doing so. 

- 

AN: I took SY as genuinely having a knack for cultivating and that’s the interpretation I’m using for this fic, especially since I gave the Original Shen Qingqiu health problems that nearly killed him. In an earlier chapter, Mu Qingfang mentions needing to “replace Shen Qingqiu’s entire cultivation system”, which I planted for Shen Yuan getting a free, extremely stable highly developed cultivation system as part of his transmigration later. 

I mean, Shen Yuan manages to weather Liu Qingge’s qi deviation, a great deal of stress, Without-A-Cure, and etc., and he’s remarkably stable through most of it. So I’m leaning towards “a little bit of System assistance” here. The System was going to replace both Shen Qingqiu and SQQ’s unstable cultivation system out for Shen Yuan and a more stable cultivation system. 

SQQ still has a cultivation system. If he didn’t, it would have been mentioned by now. SQQ is repeatedly stated to be improving well in this chapter. I think Mu Qingfang would have noticed if SQQ didn’t have cultivation anymore. 

- 

“Then wouldn’t you be Luo-Shixiong to me?” Peerless Cucumber suggests wryly to the protagonist, who is both about five years younger than him and still shorter. (Mu Qingfang said that their guest seems to believe that he’s newly twenty. Whether or not the kid is editing his age up or down, Shang Qinghua has decided that he’s just not going to fucking think about this fact.)

“Uh,” Luo Binghe says, looking stunned and then to Shang Qinghua for help. Ha, he’s flustered, which doesn’t happen often. That’s adorable.. “...Maybe?”

Shang Qinghua snorts and remains unhelpful. Ning Yingying is actually about a year younger than Luo Binghe is, Shang Qinghua knows, but she’s been a member of the sect for significantly longer. Binghe might have some shidi and shimei soon with the next entrance test and he’s been very excited about that, but he clearly doesn’t know what to do with a “shidi” closer to his young auntie’s age than his own. Kind of weird seniors and juniors are just part of the sect experience, nephew! Get used to it!

“Thank you, regardless,” Peerless Cucumber says.

“Of course,” Binghe agrees quickly.

- 

AN: SQH is probably going to look back on this moment and go, “Hmm.” 

- 

‘You’re very resourceful,” his sister-in-law says slyly.

“I am very resourceful,” Shang Qinghua allows, and in a fit of affection reaches up to pinch Luo Jiahui’s cheek like she’s Binghe. “And I have the world’s wisest and least bossy sister-in-law, too! How fortunate I am!”

Luo Jiahui slaps his hand away with a giggle, turning slightly pink.

“At least you know it!” she says.

- 

AN: I’ve been wanting to make SQH pinch someone’s cheek for ages now. 

- 

“...You looked very scared that night,” Luo Jiahui says finally. “It might have seemed worse to you than it was. If your demon can’t be understanding of one bad night, then it’s… I don’t know if there’s a way forward with him at all.” She fixes a determined expression and says, “If any offers are retracted then we’ll manage just fine without him. We’ll tell Qingge and he’ll help. And so will Fanli. Our family won’t fall apart so easily. Hua-Ge doesn’t have to take care of everything and be everything at once to everyone.”

- 

AN: LJH channeling some “dump him! dump him! dump him!” energy. 

- 

Shang Qinghua has never been able to picture cutting ties after all this time. What would he even say? “My king, I think our arrangement has come to an end. I promised to serve you for the rest of my life, but that was when I didn’t think my life was worth very much.” He can’t see that going over well! It’s never really been an option, anyway, since Luo Binghe can’t not unlock his demonic powers and go to the Demon Realm. The System won’t have it.

- 

AN: If SQH said that to MBJ, that would be a one-hit KO, probably. 

Break the man’s heart, why don’t you?

[bookaddict24-7]

I said at the beginning of the year that I would share my reviews more on my blog instead of just on Instagram and Goodreads. I’ve been reading a lot so far this year, so my reviews will be delayed on here. I’ll hopefully post five (mini-ish) reviews per week!

Friend me on Goodreads here to read my reviews in real-time!

Since I’ve already posted the first ten reviews on here earlier in the year, we’ll start with reviews for books 11-15. Let me know if you’d like me to re-post the earlier reviews in this format! 

___

11. The Call by Peadar O’Guilin--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“I’ve had the ARC for this book on my shelves for YEARS. I’m happy that I also have an ARC of the sequel because this book was a lot more entertaining than I thought it would be. This is such a unique fey story. The idea that in a dystopian world, teenagers are essentially stolen for three minutes to be hunted down and tortured is something I’ve never seen before. I enjoyed the unique premise AND also the other story of our MC having to survive not just the imminent call, but her horrible classmates. My attention was captured from the very beginning and I can’t wait to read the sequel!”

___

12. Waiting for Tom Hanks by Kerry Winfrey--⭐️⭐️.5

“I remember when I first heard about this book, I was excited. I loved the concept and am a huge fan of romcoms. And then I read this book. The MC uses her love of romcoms as the base for her ideal man to a toxic level, even going as far as just being impossibly naive. Her idealization went from adoration to obsession. It was worrying and the real MVP is her best friend for calling her out on it. In this book, her best friend was the best character. She was also a massive bitch. She was just so rude for no apparent reason other than a nickname given to her by the love interest. The poor guy couldn’t even breathe without her snapping at him. Sure, it’s supposed to be this cute enemy (not enemies because she was the one that hated him) to lovers, but there’s a line between dislike and pure rudeness. Also, that conclusion. There’s a moment near the end after the big climax happens (and it wasn’t even a big event, it was pretty tame) where she is again her unreasonably rude self even though there is no reason really for his sudden turnaround. Also, hey, the spice? I KNEW it would be tame af. I just KNEW it. These books should come with a warning, aha. Anyway, I wasn’t a big fan, but others might like it—it just wasn’t for me.”

___

13. To Sleep in a Sea of Stars by Christopher Paolini--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“Okay, first thing I’ll say is that this book is COOL. The concept and the action scenes are really neat—it’s like reading a super sci-fi version of Venom, aha. The second thing I’ll say is that this book was way longer than it needed to be. This could have easily been multiple books. Props to Paolini for not leaving his readers with huge cliffhangers, but this was just so long. It almost felt episodic, like each part of the book was another problem they had to solve. I did like the arc of the MC and how she had to not only learn to live her new life, but had to work through her grief. She was a powerful character who was ultimately flawed enough that it made her even better. The cast of characters around her all had so much life and loved their interactions, especially Gregorovich. I listened to the audiobook alongside the physical book (because this is a SUPER intimidating book) and the way the voice actor said his name made me smile every time. That computer, in my opinion, was the best comic relief in this book. He also made me think of AIDAN a lot (from ILLUMINAE). The last bit of the book is just 100+ pages of glossaries and timelines and I’ll be honest, by that point I was exhausted because again, LONG book. I’d recommend this to anyone who like space operas and pretty cool action scenes. Also, if you’re a fan of Marvel, this one felt like it in many aspects.”

___

14. The Reptile Room (A Series of Unfortunate Events #2) by Lemony Snicket--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“Alright, this one was better than the first book! These poor children just can’t catch a break and seeing as this is only book two, I am both nervous and excited to see what other problems they face!”

___

15. A Rogue of One’s Own (A League of Extraordinary Women #2) by Evie Dunmore--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“I’m so glad this book was as fun as it was! I’m always so worried when I read a sequel or companion to a book I really enjoyed. But this book was fun, sexy, and had the beautiful trope of enemies to lovers. Much like with the first book, I thought it interesting to see what the suffragettes went through—especially while falling in love. This book raised the important question of what to do when you are fighting for something that seemingly (on the surface) opposes what you’re currently experiencing. Not only did this book have a great conclusion to that question, but the author also offered some more insight in the author’s note. This isn’t a five star read for me because the characters were so frustrating. I do love that they grew and learned from their mistakes, but sometimes I wanted to throttle them. Anyway, this is a great series if you’ve recently watched Bridgerton and want more historical romance with humour and sexy times!”

___

Have you read any of these? Would you recommend them?

___

Happy reading!

[pengychan]

[Batman: TAS] Clockwork, Pt. 1

Summary: To say the Clock King was pleased to see Hamilton Hill lose his bid for re-election would be an understatement - but suddenly nothing in Gotham is on time anymore, and he has to choose the lesser evil. Characters: Temple Fugate, Hamilton Hill  Rating: K    

A/N: Happy birthday, @vampirenaomi​! If you wondered about my radio silence these days, this was why. I was hoping to get the entire thing done by today, but I couldn’t make it. Will do my best to get the second and final part done by Christmas! (Also, little heads-up for everyone: the plot bunny for this thing actually hit me a long time ago and I promise the election fraud plotline in it has nothing to do with the insanity currently going on in the States.)

***

“Freeze!”

The order comes a quarter of a second after the first cop reaches the roof, predictable as the stroke of midday that will follow in precisely twenty-five seconds. The Clock King estimates it will take him exactly another fifteen seconds to reach the ledge, at which point he will have ten more to turn and throw in a mocking comment before his ride arrives. 

Excellent. His plan has been running as smoothly as sand in an hourglass.

“I said freeze!”

Temple Fugate entirely ignores the order and keeps walking to the ledge, pocketing his watch and twirling his cane in his free hand. It is an unspoken rule in Gotham, it seems, to do anything but freeze whenever you’re told to. It only occasionally works - not in a pattern he’s been able to reliably discern, to his annoyance - when it’s Batman to give the order. Or, well, Mr. Freeze, for reasons that should be quite obvious.

An interesting fellow, that one. Intellectually gifted - he wouldn’t mind conversing with, provided that he leaves his freezing gun at the door. Fugate generally pays little mind to his colleagues, even less after having to endure the indignity of being referred to as the White Rabbit by Mr. Tetch - a comparison that he found nothing short of insulting, because he is never late. Not anymore.

Not since the one time he was late and lost everything. But he’s getting it back, one timepiece at a time. The one he just took back from the museum is a priceless one, which he acquired by sheer luck only months before he was forced to sell every single piece he ever collected to pay--

“Stay where you are!”

The Clock King reaches the ledge, turns, and gives the three cops walking towards him with their guns drawn a tip of his hat. He might have thrown an explosive watch or two at them, of course he came prepared, but they are still far away enough he knows he needs not bother. Even if they decided to sprint now, they would never get to him on time. 

“Apologies, gentlemen, but I must decline your invite to stay. I have a lot of lost time to make up for,” he declares, and lets himself fall back exactly at the strike of midday. He straightens himself in mid-air, knees bent to prepare for landing on the roof of the eleven-fifty-eight train downtown going through the elevated tracks right no--

Except that there is no train beneath him. Fugate falls past the exact point where a train should be and is thrown entirely off balance. By the time he does connect with something, it’s with his left shoulder first.

“Aagh!”

He cries out, more in outrage than actual pain - though there is pain, train tracks are extremely unpleasant to pull upon from a height - and sits up, dazed, trying to make sense of that nonsense. He looks around, ascertain that there is, indeed, no train in sight. What… what just happened? The eleven-fifty-eight train is always, always precisely two minutes late. 

Where is it now? It can’t have been on time, he would have heard it rushing past. Is it even more late than usual? Has it broken down? Has the schedule changed? This is an outrage - is nothing in this world reliable anymore?

“Hey! Are you all right, uh… sir?”

Fugate looks up, and sees the three cops looking down at him from the roof of the museum. “It’s Clock King to you,” he snaps, though without much venom. That is… a rather civil enquiry, and he sees no reason not to be equally civil. “I have had softer landings, but I’ll live,” he mutters, standing up and rubbing his battered shoulder. The one talking, the big one, looks relieved. 

“Good! Listen, uh, Mr…”

“Clock King! It’s not that complicated!”

“Right, right. Mr. Clock King, don’t go anywhere - we’ll get you help.”

Of course, on account of not having been born yesterday - his birth took place fifty-seven years, ninety-two days and approximately seven hours ago - Fugate has no intention to wait there until they get help. “Ah, I believe I have to decline your offer, unfortunately, and be on my wa--”

“No, look - things are never so bad. Don’t do this. You’re in a dark place, but it won’t last.”

He pauses, taken aback. Their tactics to get fugitives to surrender certainly seemed to have changed since last time. “... Come again?”

“Get off the tracks, there is no reason to do anything drastic. I am sure we can help - professionals can help.”

The cop standing right next to him - the third is surely coming down the building heading his way - nods in agreement. “It’s going to get better, okay? It will be all right.”

… Wait. Wait a moment. 

Fugate sputters a moment, face ablaze as incredulity and outrage threaten to choke him. “Is this-- are you-- is this some kind of suicide prevention talk?” he yells, pointing up accusingly with his cane. “What in the world makes you think it is the appropriate response now?”

The two of them blink a moment, then exchange a glance before looking back down at him. “... You just jumped off a roof on the train tracks.”

“I am aware! But the eleven fifty-eight train is always exactly two minutes late! Is should have been--”

His words are covered by a warning cry from one of the cops first, then vibrations on the tracks, and finally by a dreadful, loud horn. 

Ah. There it is.

Right after turning to see the eleven fifty-eight train rushing towards him, Temple Fugate has enough time to make two calculations: the first is that it’s five minutes late, which is entirely unacceptable. The second is that he has approximately nine seconds to get off the tracks before he’s turned into something resembling strawberry jam, which is highly concerning.

He doesn’t quite manage to estimate precisely by how many seconds he manages to avoid that fate, but later on he decides that is probably for the best. 

***

Hamilton Hill, former Mayor of Gotham City, is rather enjoying his retirement. 

Well. Perhaps losing re-election for Mayor and spending most of his time in his mansion to lick his wounds is not precisely what most people would consider a vacation, but saying he is ‘taking some time to spend with his family’ got most attention off his back for now. 

There is the fact he’s been divorced fifteen years and Jordan is off to college, so the house is empty aside for himself and some domestic staff, but that isn’t something the general public needs to know. He needs some time, is all, to recover from a loss that was unexpected as it was painful, and then to figure out where he’s going from here. 

Back to practicing law, probably. He enjoyed that. Maybe returning to the courtroom having to worry only about the fate of the person he represente and not the entire city will do him good. Gotham is far from an easy city to serve as Mayor, so much so that some of his closest friends delicately suggested he belonged in Arkham for just wanting the job. And maybe they were not too far off, Hill muses. Maybe losing the election was a blessing in disguise. 

… Maybe he needs another glass of port.

He is pouring himself said glass when the glass door leading to the balcony opens, letting in a gust of cold wind. That could mean a number of things in Gotham: that the latch of the window was not closed properly, that a criminal is breaking in, that Batman is breaking in. 

All three things have happened remarkably often in the past decade or so, and Hill simply got used to visits from a masked vigilante, or the occasional kidnapping scheme that would later be foiled by said masked vigilante, so he’s not overly worried. But perhaps, as he no longer is the Mayor, this is simply a matter of closing the glass door properly and--

“Hill,” a voice proclaims. 

Well. It was not the latch.

Hamilton Hill makes the decision to gulp down half the glass before he turns. “Mr. Fugate,” he greets politely, before his eyes even rest on the figure standing rigidly on the balcony. He recognized his voice quite well, of course. When someone tries to squish you between the hands of a giant clock, you do tend to remember what they sound like. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Temple Fugate lets out a noise of mild disgust. “I highly doubt you’re any more pleased to see me than I am to see you,” he informs him, stepping inside. “But as the situation in Gotham City is most dire--”

Hill downs the rest of the glass. Fugate trails off, then reaches into his pocket to pull out - of course - a watch. He stares at it for a moment before he looks back up at Hill, at the glass in his hand, at the liquor cabinet he’s standing at. “It’s eleven thirty-two in the morning,” he finally informs him.

“So it is.”

“Not even noon yet.”

“And…?”

“Don’t and me, Hill! Isn’t it-- far too early to be drinking whatever it is you’re drinking?”

Ah, Gotham truly was like no other city, was it? The only place where a man who kidnapped and tried to kill you can later show up to lecture over socially acceptable times for alcohol consumption, without any self-awareness whatsoever. Hill supposes Fugate truly is a man born in the wrong time: he would have been right at home during prohibition. He considers voicing that thought, but in the end he shrugs. 

“I’m only having a glass. I’m not drinking myself into a stupor.”

“Your demeanour suggests otherwise.” Fugate frowns, or at least it looks like he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell, with those glasses, but he seems mildly offended. “A reasonable reaction upon seeing me would be fear,” he adds, pointing towards him with that curious cane of his, part sword and part clock hand. “Possibly a scream, if not too drawn out or grating, followed by an attempt at running for your life.”

Ah, here comes the lecture in proper hostage etiquette. “Let me reassure you, it is not down to alcohol,” Hill informs him, putting down the empty glass. Honest to God, he would be more worried if he found himself facing a run-of-the-mill goon with a gun; people like that are more likely to simply shoot you dead. But those like the Clock King, or the Joker or whoever was out in the streets that week? They would come up with an elaborate scheme that gave Batman plenty of time to intervene.

Maybe the best course of action would be to stall for more time, until Batman does intervene. 

“Don’t take it personally, Fugate, but I have been Mayor of Gotham for too long not to get used to some things,” Hill adds. “No Tuesday is complete without at least an attempt at kidnapping me.”

The frown turns into something closer to disgust. “It’s Monday, Hill. have you truly lost all sense of time?”

“Happens when you’re on holiday, I suppose. I am no longer Mayor of Gotham City.”

“I am aware. About that--”

“I am a private citizen with a lot of time on my hands.”

“Not for long!” Fugate snaps, stepping forward with the cane pointed at Hill’s chest. Ah, yes, there come the death threats and-- “You must return into office!”

… Wait. What? Hill blinks, and moves the cane aside with one arm to look at the Clock King’s face more closely. “... Come again?”

“Are you deaf? I am here to make sure you take back your office.”

Who are you, Hill thinks, and what have you done to Fugate?

“Are you well?” he finds himself asking instead, and Fugate groans, throwing up his arms. The cane very nearly knocks a very expensive lamp right off the nearest table. 

“Of course I’m not! Two months with a new Mayor, and this entire city is in shambles, Hill!”

That’s not exactly what Hill expected to hear. He has been told that his replacement made a few… questionable choices, appointing questionable people in delicate roles, and there have been some complaints - but no account he’s heard so far made the situation sound quite that dire. Not that he doesn’t get some vindication over being told that the man who ousted him is making a dreadful mess of things. 

“Is it now?”

“Of course it is!” Temple Fugate paces back and forth, features twisted in what’s nothing short of anguish. “Nothing - and I do mean, nothing - is on time anymore! The trains, the buses, everything is all over the place!”

“Yes, I did hear that the public transport office had an overhaul--”

“Not that your administration was ever able to make things run on time,” Fugate cuts him off, clearly not inclined to hear a single word from him at the moment. “But most things were reliably late. There was a schedule, there was a pattern! Now there’s nothing but chaos! How am I meant to carry on in such a world?”

Hill opens his mouth to suggest he loosens up, remembers what happened last time he advised him as much, and chooses not to. “Surely, it is not quite that bad--”

“Yesterday there was the inauguration of a new mall. It was meant to be at midday - the ribbon was cut almost sixteen minutes late, Hill! What sort of administration is sixteen minutes late?”

"Yes, that is, er. Absolutely unacceptable,” Hill says. He knows better than dismissing it as something minor, considering that it’s distressing Fugate enough to make him turn to the man he probably despises the most in the entire world. “However, there isn’t much I can do--”

“Once you’re the Mayor again, you can put things in order,” Template declares, pointing at his chest with his cane again. “And everything will be just as it was before. Until I exact my revenge on you, that is. Which will be--” he pauses, and a look of discomfort crosses his features at the realization he doesn’t have a set time for that. “... Soon,” he finishes, not very threateningly. 

Hill frowns, pushing the razor-sharp tip of the cane away from his rather expensive shirt and, rather more importantly, the general vicinity of vital organs. “Fugate, as much as I’d like to help you - possibly with better results than last time I attempted to - there is nothing I can do. I lost my bid for re-election. I cannot just waltz in my old office and declare--”

“You can,” Fugate cuts him off once more.

“Yes, I suppose I could, only to be arrested before--”

“This election was rigged.”

Hill trails off, his brain grinding to a halt. “... Come again?” he hears himself muttering, searching Fugate’s face for any sign that he may be joking despite his strong suspicion that Fugate is simply incapable of uttering a joke. All he gets is an annoyed hum.

“Get your hearing checked,” the Clock King mutters irritably. “Surely you must have suspected it.”

He didn’t, not really. The race was rather close from the start, his opponent a new face who made plenty of promises Hill already knew he would be unable to keep but which, apparently, many couldn’t resist; alluring lies often hold more sway than less glamorous truths. He’d thought he would win, sure enough, but that it would be narrow. So his defeat by a rather small margin had been… a surprise, sure enough, but not something he’d thought beyond the realms of possibility.

“I… not really.”

“Hmph.” Fugate scoffs, and sits on the nearest armchair. He may very well be sitting on a stool, because he doesn’t lean back: he remains upright, back rigid, both hands on the handle of his cane. “Unexpectedly gullible for someone sly enough to engineer my demise.”

Oh, for God’s sake. “I engineered nothing. I only suggested you took your coffee break fifteen minutes later than usual because you were so tense--”

“The plaintiffs were represented by your law firm! Am I supposed that your advice making me late for the court date was a coincidence, Hill?”

“Yes, because it was! I had nothing to do with that case, I knew nothing about it - it was only some advice in a conversation you started in the first place.”

The last statement seems to hit a nerve, and there is something on Fugate’s face, a twitch that passes immediately but doesn’t go unnoticed. After all, Hamilton Hill built his career on being able to take note of every telling twitch and expression shown by witnesses and defendants. “... You have thought of that, haven’t you? That it was yourself to start talking that morning, not myself. There was no plan nor conspiracy. You were not targeted. It was a terrible coincidence-”

Fugate’s hands clench on the handle of his cane, so tight the knuckles go white. His jaw clenches before he speaks, words cold and clipped. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“It all happened by chance. Out of your control. Accidents happen whether or not we believe--”

“Silence!” Fugate snaps, tapping his cane on the hardwood floor and likely leaving a hole in it. “I will get you back for it, mark my words, but this is not the reason why I’m here. And you have already wasted--” a pause to check his pocket watch. “Fifteen minutes of my time. Now, do you want to hear what I know, or not?”

Hill sighs, and sits on the armchair across him. “How do you know the election was rigged?”

“I crunched the numbers. Something is not adding up.”

“My entire campaign team crunched the numbers--”

“People who were not me,” Fugate cuts him off, a sharp edge to his voice. “And who forgot to keep an eye on the time.”

Ah, of course. Of course it was going to boil down to time.

Hamilton Hill can feel the beginning of a violent headache starting to build up behind his eyes.  “All right, I’ll hear you out.”

“You’d better.”

The headache immediately spikes a notch. Hill glances back at the liquor cabinet, thinking he could use another glass of port. “Can I offer--”

“I do not drink. Certainly not before noon.” Fugate’s voice sure is full of judgment for someone who goes around with glasses looking like the face of a clock, stealing timepieces from auction houses and museums and throwing around explosive pocket watches.

“... Right. Coffee?”

“I have my coffee at three in the afternoon. On the dot,” is the stiff reply. “As you very well know.”

Hill almost considers asking why not three-fifteen, then his gaze falls on the razor-sharp tip of the Clock King’s cane and he decides against it. 

“... Very well,” he finally says, leaning back on his armchair. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

*** 

The key, as it’s the case with most things in life, was in the timing.

It was something easily overlooked by most people who poured over the election result, exit polls and whatnot, but Fugate found the answer by painstakingly looking through the transcript of all votes registered by the brand new voting machines, which allowed one to give their vote at the press of a button. There were no names, nor details to match individual voters to any vote, but he found something better.

On each of them, he found timestamps.

One of the tenets of Temple Fugate’s existence is that everything has a chronological order. Everything has a discernible pattern. And where order and pattern are disrupted, it can only mean one thing: human intervention. Bumbling, chaotic, life-ruining human intervention, like sand in the cogs or a too-jovial councillor suggesting a break fifteen minutes later. Fugate has seen human intervention at work more times than he’d have liked.

But until he began looking into this, he had never seen anything quite like it.

“So something is wrong with the… timestamps?”

Unsurprisingly, former Mayor Hamilton Hill is having trouble keeping up with his explanation. “Yes. In the districts of Gotham where you were expected to perform better, the pattern was disrupted.” Fugate pulls out his notes from the breast pocket of his jacket and hands them to Hill, who opens the folded pieces of paper to take a long look. “Your team poured over nonsense like age, or gender, or race and class--”

“It isn’t nonsense, it helps predict--”

“But none of them,” Fugate speaks a little louder, cutting off whatever nonsense he was about to spew, “looked at the time in which each vote was cast. One after another, polling stations in each of those districts had precisely a two-hour window during which not one vote was cast in your favor.”

Hill blinks down at his notes, adjusting his glasses as though to see better. “What? Not one?”

“Not a single one, you can check the timestamps yourself. Just read - the pattern is clear.”

He sees it, Fugate can tell from the way his eyes widen. He may be dense, but not so dense that he couldn’t see the pattern now that it had been pointed out to him. He stands and begins pacing back and forth, eyes glued to Fugate’s notes. 

“I think, these polling places-- I would need to look at a map to be certain, but--”

Well, he has picked that up on his own. If not stubbornly determined not to be impressed by anything this man does or say ever, Fugate could say he is impressed.

“No need. I already did, and saw what you are seeing now. This happened in polling stations close to each other. There was the first one downtown, then another a short distance away, then another a short distance away from that one… and so forth.  It, whatever it was, moved across the city with brief pauses consistent with the time it would take to drive from one polling station to the next. This kept up for the entire two days the polls were open,” Fugate adds with no small amount of disapproval. 

He sees no reason why the citizens of Gotham would need more than one day to pick their Mayor, but apparently the change was brought forward upon suggestion of Bruce Wayne, along with the decision to hold the vote over a weekend. Something about allowing more time to vote to people working long hours. How typical, catering to people who cannot be on time by giving them more time.

Unaware of his musings, Hill is still staring at the notes, then at him, then back at the notes. “I… how can it be?”

“Is it possible someone was able to sabotage the voting machines?”

Hill frowns, ceasing his pacing, and finally shakes his head. “I don’t believe so. Those machines were inspected before and after, and are not connected to any other device. They store all votes within their own memory and at the end of the day, the data is saved on an external device. There are witnesses for all candidates each time, to ensure everything is transparent.”

“Yes, that is what I suspected.” Fugate frowns, rubbing his chin. “I have looked for a link between your Mayor Sanderson and the company that manufactured the machines, but found none. Well then. This only leaves one option.”

Hill blinks, trying to think what he may mean and drawing a blank. “What option?”

“If the devices and therefore the votes were not manipulated, then the voters were. At least to a more extreme degree than they usually are during your campaigns.”

Hill gives him a look that somehow manages to be insulted, stunned, and confused at the same time. “I beg your pardon?”

“You may not have my pardon, Hill, but I will repeat myself,” is the dry reply. “You must agree this very clear pattern must have been the result of an external intervention. If the machines could not be compromised, then the people in the voting booths were.”

Hill stares. Opens his mouth. Closes his mouth. Stares some more. 

“... Not that I don’t appreciate you keeping silent for once, but as I cannot read your mind--”

“Is this-- what are you exactly suggesting, Fugate? Some sort of mass bribery?”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Word could have got out immediately if such an attempt had taken place. I said the voters were manipulated, not bribed - were you not listening?”

A scoff. “Manipulated with what? Hypnosis?”

“You say that like no such thing occurred in Gotham before.”

For the second time in less than a minute - Fugate probably knows exactly how many seconds - Hill finds himself opening his mouth to speak and then closing it without uttering a single word. He is right, something remarkably similar did happen from time to time in Gotham, usually the work of… of…

“Now, I cannot imagine Mr. Tetch has any stake in this, but the man is not above selling his machinery for money. It is a possibility worth exploring, don’t you think?” Fugate says.

Tetch isn’t above giving people wildly unfitting and unrequired nicknames either - White Rabbit, the notorious latecomer, what an insult that has been - but that is beside the point at the moment, and Fugate doesn’t bring up that particular grievance. 

“I… yes, I suppose it is,” Hill is muttering, looking at his notes over and over as though he thinks anything has changed while he wasn’t looking. “I should call the police, perhaps Commissioner Gordon--”

“Forget the police, they’re busy giving misguided anti-suicide speeches these days. Perhaps once you’re the Mayor again, you can see they are hired in Arkham.” Fugate stands, adjusting his tie. “I know exactly where to go to gain some intel.”

“... Right. I’ll get my coat.”

Fugate blinks. “... I beg your pardon?”

“It’s cold outside. I am not sure how you manage to stroll around with only a suit on, but--”

“Whatever gave you the idea that you are coming?”

“Why else would you show you up here to tell me all this?”

“To let you know what an imbecile you are for letting someone steal an election from you. Put that coat down-- Hill!” Fugate barks, but it’s too late: the coat is on and Hill is buttoning it up, looking back at him. Good God, he misses the days Hamilton Hill feared him. 

“I am not about to leave you a choice, Fugate,” he says, much too flippantly for the Clock King’s taste. “This is personal. I am certain you of all people understand.”

“That’s not-- well--” Fugate is taken aback, fumbles for words. It is only a couple of instant, but it is enough for Hill to get coy. 

“Good to see we reached an understanding. Are we going, or are you inclined to waste more time, mmh?”

The remark makes Fugate want to smack him with his cane, or better yet skewer him with it, but that would be rather counterproductive as a dead man cannot be elected Mayor and he needs Hill alive for… a little while longer. Just enough to fix the utter mess his successor has made of things. A sixteen minute delay on an inauguration, for God’s sake. How is anyone meant to live in such chaos?

The thought of ending that particular brand of chaos is what eventually stills Fugate’s hand. He takes in a deep breath, relaxing his grip on the cane. “... Very well. But you will do exactly as I say. No speaking, no initiatives. And if you’re going to take any advice from me, put your hat on and lose the glasses,” he adds, turning back towards the window. “The place we’re heading to is both rather cold and not someplace you’d want to be recognized if you wish to avoid a potential scandal.”

“Fugate?” Hill calls out, causing him to stop walking and look at him over his shoulder. Chickening out already, is he? He almost smirks, waiting to hear excuses as to why he has just realized he really cannot come with hi--

“You do realize we can get out through the door, right?” Hill says instead, pointing at the door behind himself with his thumb. Something about his raised eyebrow makes Fugate scowl.

“Well, it is not often I get the luxury to go through main doors, since you made me a wanted fugitive,” he mutters, crossing his arms. 

“I thought I made you late.”

“It is the same thing!” the Clock King snaps, and stomps out of the room, using the window out of sheer spite.

[kitausuret]

“nobody can take 'symby is sweet on any of Eddie and or Flash's current or past lovers' away from me” this is beautiful, I love it! ❤️

LOL thank you, for context everyone, I'd left these tags on a recent reblog - but it's true! I just really like the idea of the symbiote being sweet on those who its host(s) love, or have loved. I don't even have a whole lot of canon to back it up it's just vibes. 😭 Well, except for maybe that moment when Flash slipped and said "we" re: failing to protect Betty... hehe. (This was ASM #660-something I think..)

Am I looking into it too deeply, especially considering it was written by Slott? Probably! But also I don't care. I think that it should be allowed to think Betty is wonderful. In fact, here's a little snippet from my upcoming chapter of Dust to Dust when Eddie and his beloved other run into Flash's ex at a bagel shop:

[Eddie] tried to mentally prod the symbiote for assistance, but it directed him to look towards the metal cafe chairs set up around small, wobbly tables.  “Betty?” “‘Betty’?” he repeated, bewildered. Just then, a brunette woman looked up from her laptop and immediately got that look in her eyes - puzzlement, followed by shock, followed by apprehension. ... His other, however, was bubbling with what seemed like affection, almost like seeing an old friend.

Additionally, I was always a little annoyed by how many writers wrote the symbiote as borderline antagonistic towards Anne. It just felt weird to me! I actually have another WIP loosely inspired by MC2 where ultimately what I want is for Anne and Eddie to repair their relationship - and for Anne to have a better relationship with the symbiote, too.

After she and Eddie have gone on a few dates and they've deliberately avoided talking about the symbiote, she tells Eddie she'd like to see his other, and says the following:

“But I know when it bonded with me, it did so in an effort to protect me. The way you would. And I’ve…” She paused, as if trying to find the right word. “...discussed this. With my therapist.”

Not to mention I have MANY feelings about this Venom: Along Came a Spider scene after the weird uh... symbiote-through-the-phone thing. Which was weird as hell but I'll take whatever I can get when it comes to a three-way symbiotic connection because that's my jam.

And furthermore, I don't see anything wrong with the idea of a host still desiring a relationship with another person, especially if they'd been with that individual prior to bonding to the symbiote.

Not to go on too far of a tangent but I think this is part of why the Venom films have appealed to me so much. People who know me know that I ship the Dan/Anne/Venom/Eddie ot4 pretty hard (like I'm literally incapable of writing anything in that universe without them) but also I just really love a world where Anne has a much better relationship with the symbiote. It is, in fact, super fun and delightful.

SO, with all that in mind, thank you so much for giving me an excuse to ramble about one of my favorite headcanons. I'll close this out by my favorite Symby/Flash/Valkyrie panel in existence from the Thunderbolts Annual.

Cheers! 🎉💕

[thewordjunkyard]

A Wish Well Made Chapter 1

Author’s Note: Hey! if you think I missed a tag or the rating, then let me know! I’m putting down all I can think of, but I’m only human! Thanks and happy reading.

Fandom(s): Danny Phantom

Summary: A fight leads to Desiree granting a wish for Tucker and Danny. This is a bad thing, right?

Rating: Teen

Tags: Danny Phantom, Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Desiree, Swearing, Cursing,

Ships: None Currently. 

Chapter 1

He was done.

He didn't want to do this today.

Or any day for that matter.

But he needed to set the record straight.

For his sake.

_________________________________________

“No. I'm going home and doing my homework for once.” A boy with raven hair and light blue eyes sternly said. He was making eye contact with a girl in gothic clothing. She has deep violet eyes and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail on the top of her head.

She was glaring back in draggers.

“You can't just say no!” The girl argued. “She could destroy the town! You saw what she could do at the meteor shower last fall!” The girl gestured in a certain direction in the park they were in. “Are you honestly just going to ignore her wish granting?!”

The boy held his ground. “Yes. Sam, I'm going to ignore it because there are other people who can catch her.”

“Oh yeah? Who Danny? Valerie?” Sam's voice dripped with venom at the mention of the other girl's name. “Or your parents? The G.I.W.?” Sam put her hands on her hips. “Or do you mean your sister and us?” She gestured to an African-American boy in a red beret and thick rimmed glasses. The boy was watching the exchange between his best friends in silent horror.

Sam was pushing buttons. The boy knew. But he could only watch.

Danny's eyes flashed from blue to an acid green. It was mostly hidden by his bangs, but the boy in the red beret saw the change. “Um, Sam-” the boy tried to mediate.

“Stay out of this Tucker.” The girl growled at the boy in glasses. Danny snarled at Sam as his hair moved out of his now acid green eyes.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

“Don't tell him what to do Sam.” Danny growled out. Sam wasn't phased by the tone or the eyes. “If he wants to talk, then let him talk! His opinions matter.” 

“This is between you and me Fenton. Not him! So his opinion doesn't apply here!” Sam raised her voice.

Tucker started to back away slowly from the two. Tensions have been high for a few months now. Danny was under constant stress from ghost hunting and school. Sam wasn't making it any easier by telling Danny that he was just overreacting to it all. Brushing him off and urging him to keep fighting ghosts. It was going to turn on their heads sooner or later.

Tucker honestly loves them both, but even he knew Danny had limits, even with ghost powers.

Danny was going to snap. 

Like he was right now.

Tucker hugged himself as Danny growled like an animal. “He is a part of this group as much as you.” Danny snarled. Tucker's eyes widened as he saw Danny's teeth. His canines were unnaturally elongated and sharp. “He deserved the RIGHT to SPEAK!” Danny bellowed at Sam.

Sam held her ground fearlessly. She had a scolding look to her face. “What could he honestly add that could be sooooo helpful.” Her tone gave a bit of sarcasm.

Ouch. That hurt Tuck's heart.

She didn't mean for it to come across that way.

Right?

Danny stepped closer to Sam's face and said dangerously low. “Maybe if you let him talk, we'll know.” They were a breath apart with Danny a few inches taller than Sam. They were glaring dangerously at each other as Sam turned quickly red in the face.

She moved her arms up to push Danny. Tucker saw the motion and quickly shoulder shoved Danny out of the way. Sam pushed Tucker to the ground. He landed on his elbows. 

Tucker was okay. He wasn't physically hurt.

But he was emotionally exhausted.

“WHY YOU LITTLE- OOF!” Tucker quickly got up and tackled Danny to the ground. Tucker pinned his best friend to avoid the boy from hurting Sam. She didn't mean to push Tucker or tried to with Danny. She was just mad. And people did stupid things when they were mad.

Like picking fights with a teenager who could literally pick up cars and throw them across town.

Oh man… Danny could honestly kill somebody if he wasn't careful.

Danny looked at Tucker with a fury in his eyes. “TUCKER!” Danny screeched. “LET ME GO NOW!” Tucker didn't move, and Danny didn't move him with force like he could have.

A minute passed before Tucker spoke. “You need to cool off.” Tucker looked concerned. “You don't look like yourself D.” Tucker used an old nickname of Danny's.

A really old nickname.

Danny stared at Tucker for a few seconds before relaxing a small bit. He was breathing heavily. He felt like punching down a wall, or yelling.

Yelling down a wall sounded great about now.

Tucker looked back at Sam. She was standing there. Arms limp at her sides with wide eyes. She was staring at Danny. Like she just now noticed how mad he looked. “Sa-am.” Tucker breath shaky. His nerves were fried. “Go.”

“Tucker I-”

“Go.” Tucker added more emphasis this time.

She got the message. 

She jogged up the trail that left the park. When she was out of sight. Tucker looked to the halfa pinned beneath him. 

Tucker had the boy by his hands above his head. He was being pinned by one of Tucker's knees in the admin. His closed eyes had dark circles around them. His canines were long and sharp. He was breathing heavily through his teeth in a way to calm himself.

Danny never forces himself up. He never forced Tucker off of him.

Danny had a weird rule about that.

He would have forced anyone else off him by now. Used his super strength to get up and fight on.

But not with Tucker. Tucker was the only exception. And well… Jazz. Tucker didn't fully understand it, but he didn't have to. It was Danny after all.

A few minutes passed, and Danny's anger slipped into sobbing. Tucker moved off of Danny and released his hands. Tucker was soon wrapped up in an embrace by the young halfa. 

Danny buried his head in his best friend-no, brother's- shoulder and cried. “I-I just wanted t-to get my res-search paper d-done.” Danny sobbed. Tucker rubbed circles into his back. “I don't want to f-fail.”

“I know man. I know.” Tucker soothed. “We can go to my place and get started if you want. There are other folk who can take care of the ghosts.”

“I w-wished I wasn't such a f-freak.” Danny sobbed.

“Dude, you're not a freak. If I had to wish for anything, it would be for you to stay the same, powers and all.” Tucker said. “And maybe for you to be less…”

“Fucked up.” Danny sniffed. “Believe me, I want that. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if the portal never fully opened, or if Sam never talked us into hunting ghosts.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Didn't Sam make a wish similar to that during the meteor last semester?” Tucker furrowed his eyebrows together in thought.

“It was to never meet me, and in turn you, but she was wearing the Specter Deflector so she remembered.” Danny sniffed again. He stopped crying at least. 

Tucker huffed annoyed. “We never said we didn't want to meet her.” Tucker mumbled.

“Exactly!” Danny leaned up and broke the hug to look Tucker in the eye. His nose was running and his eyes were red from crying. “WHY are we still friends with her!?” Danny croaked. “She has been nothing but a pain since I got my powers!” He pointed to the direction Sam left the park. “She didn't even let you have a chance to talk!”

“Duuuude, that was so uncool.” Tucker slump where he sat.

“And it's not the first time she's done it either! Last week for the molecule model thing, she didn't let you do anything! I saw from my table.” Danny was mad, but he was a lot calmer than a few minutes ago.

Tucker groaned. “It was soooooo unfair. And that was one of the few projects I was looking forward to! I can't believe Mr. Mindle assigned us partners for the thing.” Tucker crossed his arms.

“I know! I was just lucky not to get Dash as one.” Danny grimaced. “I might have actually hurt him that day if we were partners.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was a looong day.”

Tucker smirked. “Bet it made your day to get paired with the cute smart girl.” Tucker wriggled his eyebrows.

Danny lightly glared. “Seriously Tucker?” Tucker innocently smiled. Danny rolled his eyes. “Okay. Fine. It actually did. But not for the reasons you're thinking of.”

Tucker was curious now. “Really? How she made your day?” He was really curious to know how one project together made Danny's day.

“She was just- I don't know.” Danny found it hard to explain. “She just- gave off this welcoming and non-judgy vibe? I think. She was super nice and wasn't all in your face about stuff. She even explained to me what the molecule model was, and the difference between the carbon molecules in diamonds and graphite.”

“Danny, we were told that three weeks ago.” Tucker said after a moment.

Danny groaned and put his face in his hands. “All stupid Ghost hunting is messing with my studies!” Danny looked up at Tucker. “It's a wonder that I'm passing at all…”

“Hey. Solid C+ is better than Dash record F-.” Tucker smirked.

“You don't know that he has an F-.” Danny said. He squinted his eyes at Tucker. “...Do you?”

“Not only do I know, but can back it up with math. Care for the statistics?” Tucker gloated.

Danny lightly laughed. “Maybe another day.” Danny looked up at the sky. It was still daylight outside. “We should get going. How-how do I look?” Danny asks hesitantly.

Tucker did a once over. “Your eyes are back to blue, but your teeth are still sharp.” Tucker kept scanning Danny for anything weird. “You look tired, but otherwise normal.”

Danny sighed and got up. He offered Tucker a hand up as Danny said “I feel tired.”

“I feel you D.” Tucker took Danny's offered hand.

Once to their feet, Danny and Tucker started to walk to Tucker's house, where Tucker's parents and warm fresh baked cookies will greet them. Studying and talking filled their afternoon with a fresh of breath air.

Desiree hazed into existence at the park. The ghost child was too upset with his goth friend to notice her.

She was graceful for that.

The halfa looked ready to kill if his sergeant brother hadn't stepped in.

Their conversation after the goth girl left was interesting, to say the least. Desiree almost granted the ghost child's wish when his brother negated it with his own. But they were getting clever, but she had her loopholes.

The brother left the wish open-ended, and the ghost child continued it with the conversation.

She could use whatever they said to grant their wish. It will take more time to grant it, but it is possible.

Been awhile since Desiree granted a wish like that.

[politeanarchy]

There’ll Be Paperwork (a WIP)

Here’s the beginning of a thing I’m writing, in which a snake-demon causes some unintentional problems in the early days of the Earth.

...

Corporation Replacement Request Form Date: 4003 BC Requesting Entity: Principality Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate Cause of Discorporation: demonic bite

It had been several months since Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden. An angel and a demon had been quietly following them for most of that time. On this particular evening, the humans were huddled close to a small fire, doing their best to comfort one another against the chill that followed after sunset, while the angel and demon peered warily at them from behind a couple of concealing boulders.

"We could have a fire, too," said the demon.

"Of course we can't, they'd see it!"

"So?"

"So then they'd come to investigate, and they'd find us, and then they'd be exposed to your evil influences again. Goodness only knows what else you'd manage to tempt them into, given the chance."

The demon made a sort of diffident hmmmm-ing noise. "Don't know what anyone expects me to do, with you here thwarting me left and right." He shivered. "Aren't you cold?"

"Here, sit next to me." The angel shook his wings, then fluffed them up and wrapped them around himself and the demon. "Better?" He picked up a fig from the small stash of fruit he'd brought along and which they'd been sharing fairly amicably.

"A little," agreed the demon. He nibbled a couple of grapes, while trying to pretend not to huddle a little closer to the warm angel. "Besides, if we talked to the humans again, wouldn't it give you a chance to help them, with, you know, blessings or some such?"

"I certainly wish I could help them," the angel fretted. "They're  going to need it, especially since I'm pretty sure Eve is going to have her baby soon." He bit into the soft ripe fig, leaving his fingers slightly sticky with juice.

"How do you know that?" asked the demon. "Have you got a heavenly memo saying that angelic messengers are going to be popping along with it shortly, or what?"

"What? No! That's not how it works at all." The angel waved his hands and gesticulated impatiently, still holding the bitten half of the fig. "You see, she...well, and...I mean..."

The demon wasn't making much attempt to follow the explanation. He knew where humans came from: the Almighty made them, then put them on the Earth, gave them a few simple (and probably contradictory) instructions, and turned them loose. And honestly, the angel's incoherent ramblings wouldn't have made much sense even if the demon had been listening. Whereas the waving hand holding the fig was exactly the sort of thing that predatory reptiles were built to notice.

The demon watched him closely, yellow slitted eyes tracking every motion, head swaying.

"So after nine months...at least I think...oh, this is ridicu— Hey!"

There was a sudden movement, like a snake striking. The angel was startled to find that his remaining fruit had been stolen, licked out of his fingers by the demon who was still holding him by the wrist, staring with intense focus at the remaining patches of sweet juice.

"I beg your pardon!"

"Sssorry. Inssstinct."

They stared at each other, the space between them charged with complex tensions.

"You're still holding my hand."

"I ssuppose I am." Without breaking eye contact, the demon brought the angel's fingers back up to his mouth and deliberately licked some juice off them. This resulted in a sharp intake of breath from the angel, followed by a wicked smile from the demon. "Dissstracting, is it?"

"No! Yes. I mean..."

"You don't ssseem to be asssking me to ssstop, though."

"Why are you doing this, anyway?"

"Dunno. It's interesssting." He was looking sleeker and more sinuous than usual, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air, teeth grown longer and sharper.

The angel may have been aware of the changes, but was also pretty sure he could take his hand away any time he felt like it. He just didn't happen to feel like it, at the moment. It was quite interesting, this business of how bodies reacted to different things. He was here on Earth to observe and learn, after all. In fact, it was practically a duty to find out why it was that this made him feel so uncomfortable, while at the same time making him want it to keep happening.

So he made no move to reclaim his hand, but continued to gaze at the demon curiously. And permitted the demon to close his sharp-toothed mouth around one finger, gently licking off the last traces of fig juice and noticing how its flavor combined with the taste of angel skin.

It was unfortunate that at exactly this moment, a bright light and a swell of unearthly music announced the imminent manifestation of some new angelic presence just a few yards away, on the other side of the boulders they'd been hiding behind.

The demon, startled, bit down hard on the angel's finger.

"Ow!"

"Oh, shit! Sorry! I didn't mean to—"

The angel, after the initial shock of being bitten, realized that something was very wrong with his physical body. Waves of pain were spreading up his arm from the bitten finger, and his eyes wouldn't focus properly. "You idiotic serpent! I think you must be poisonous!"

"I'm not poisonous, I'm venomous!"

Frantically, in his last conscious moments, the offended angel gathered all his holy righteousness and human irritation, and used them to smite the demon as hard as he could.

A few minutes later, when two angelic messengers arrived on Earth to help Eve with the birth of her first baby, they didn't even notice the fading traces of a discorporated angel and a discorporated demon, dissolving quietly into dust and aether. If there was a faint smell of sulphur and charred feathers and ozone, they put it down to the humans' campfire.

Aziraphale shortly found himself back in Heaven, and was eventually presented with a commendation for his heroic actions in the service of protecting Adam and Eve by fighting and eliminating a demonic threat. He shook his head and made a tut-tut sort of noise, and may even have gone so far as to say hmph.

However, it was a relief to return to the familiar serene brightness of the celestial realm. To join in the choirs singing "Holy, holy, holy." To contemplate the ineffable wonder of it all, and especially to think about the Earth, so complicated and confusing. To worry a little about how Adam and Eve were doing. To wonder what had become of the demon who was so full of curiosity. To miss having a body that was able to experience physical sensations. To admonish himself for being full of unseemly questions and unsuitable desires.

He stared out across an infinite expanse of pristine firmament and fidgeted, tapping his fingers and wondering what to call his current state of discontent. Heaven didn't understand the concept of boredom, but Aziraphale was beginning to.

"Aziraphale! Just the angel I was hoping to see."

"Gabriel." He nodded politely at the Archangel.

"I've come to inform you that you're being re-assigned to Earth. From what we hear, some demonic force is causing problems again. Might even be the same one you got rid of when you were down there before. Aaaaand since you handled him so neatly the last time, well." Gabriel smiled, smooth and shiny as a platinum credit card.

Aziraphale stopped himself from jumping up and down, and suppressed a joyful cry along the lines of "Yippee!" Instead he smiled back, and hoped he was projecting a sense of cheerful enthusiasm for duty rather than oh thank goodness I can finally get out of this stifling office. "I'm always happy to help, in whatever way the Lord should require of me."

Gabriel beamed, and punched him playfully on the shoulder. It hurt a bit. "That's the Holy Spirit I like to see!"

Aziraphale wondered whether Gabriel's rampant enthusiasm meant that no one else had been willing to take the Earth job, or if he was just imagining it. It didn't much matter, he supposed. He was impatient to get going as soon as possible.

"When should I expect to leave, then?" he asked.

"Right away." Gabriel materialized a stack of pages, and handed them over. "You'll just need to fill out some paperwork, first."

[skyrimaddiction]

Different Characters meeting my OC Syan Part 2

See Part 1 here: https://skyrimaddiction.tumblr.com/post/613971069135716352/different-characters-meeting-my-oc-syan-part-1

Part 3: https://skyrimaddiction.tumblr.com/post/615307555752771584/different-characters-meeting-my-oc-syan-part-3

Kodlak: He was in the basement of Jorrvaskr listening to Vilkas talk of his struggles with the beastblood, when he heard the door open. A new scent filled the air, and Vilkas and him both silenced their conversation so that the newcomer wouldn’t overhear them. They both turned to look at the newcomer. Kodlak instantly recognized her. He was filled with surprise, and then joy, trust, and familiarity. It was a woman, and not just any woman, but the woman from his dreams that will stand beside him in the afterlife and fight Lord Hircine to save the other trapped souls from his hunting grounds. He knew her as a trustworthy and formidable ally. One he called friend, and he knew he could trust the future of the Companions with. He would name her Harbinger when the time was right. The red-headed high elf approached him and they spoke for the first time. Kodlak knew that she would still have to prove herself to the others and gain their respect and trust. He asked Vilkas to test her skills in the yard. Vilkas begrudgingly agreed and lead her towards the yard. Kodlak watched as they walked away, and he smiled to himself contently. He was glad that she had finally arrived. He knew she had arrived in Whiterun a few nights ago, as everyone kept re-telling the story of how she leaped onto a Giant’s back and blinded it with daggers. He knew Farkas was fond of her, Aela was impressed by her, Skjor had no opinion yet, and Vilkas didn’t believe the tale. None the less, she was already making waves in Jorrvaskr. Kodlak might not know how things will turn out during her time in with The Companions, but he knew the end result. The friendship and trust he had for Syan might only exist now in his dreams, but he knew in time they would come to fruition.

Brynjolf: He got word from one of the guards that a newcomer had seen right through the visitor's tax scheme at the front gate. Most people didn’t bother to even question it and just paid. Odd that a newcomer saw it right off the bat. He wanted to see just who this person was. He knows every face that resides in and around Riften, and he laid eyes on her right away. It’s a woman, a red-head like him, except she is an Elf, an Altmer. Her long red hair flowed gracefully in the gentle breeze. The fall color foliage only amplified her beauty. He noticed right away from her armor and weapons that she too, must get by on less than honorable means. Scavenging and looting most likely. He approached her and mentioned how she’s never earned all that coin doing honest work. She only raised an eyebrow at him, looked him up and down, and said: “Alright, what am I doing and how much are you paying?” She was sharp this one. He told her the plan to steal a ring from Madesi’s StrongBox and plant it inside Brand-Shei’s pocket. He drew everyone’s attention in the market, and as soon as the crowd gathered, he lost eyes on her. He had never lost eyes on anyone before, this surprised him, and also confirmed that she was exactly the fresh blood the guild needed. Not even two minutes pass by, and she’s in his eyesight near Brand-Shei, giving him the signal that the job was done. Impressive, and nothing went wrong. He mentioned that there was more work and coin for her if she was interested. She said, “You’re with the Guild.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. This lass was proving to be quite something else. “Yes lass, if you are interested in joining, make your way down to the Ragged Flagon.” She nodded and walked away, heading to all the vendors to sell all her looted goods. She had all the male merchants wrapped around her fingers, and all the women envied her. When she talked to Grelka, she was a hard bargainer, squeezing out every Septim she could. This lass was going places. good places. He knew he needed her in the Guild, and maybe, just maybe, she will help them turn things around and get them back up on their feet again.

Ancano: He had heard that a new student had arrived at the college, and he made it his business to see to it that he learned as much about her as possible. When he saw the high-elf woman for the first time, he was suspicious. The Thalmor keep track on every high-elf in Skyrim, and he was not notified of any high-elfs being sent to or heading towards the college. Mirabelle was giving her the tour, and Ancano trailed behind them at a distance, eavesdropping on them. Apparently, she had come to learn more about destruction magic. He could sense an air of danger around her, and he knew that he must keep a watchful eye on her. He continued to trail her, as she had her first class with Tolfdir. He asked her to wield a ward spell to block his magic attack. She claimed she had never used a ward spell before, but her instant mastery of the spell was astounding. Ancano only grew more suspicious. Either she was lying, or she had great magical instincts. If that was the case, he would need to be very wary of her. Ancano considered himself to be the most powerful mage in the college, and any new threat he must address swiftly and discreetly. He knew she was dangerous. The class was dismissed and told to meet up at the old ruins of Saarthal. He stepped in her path, blocking her from leaving. “Pardon my intrusion, I am Ancano, the Thalmor Advisor here at the college. It is my business to know everyone and everything relating to this college, yet I know nothing of you, please state your business here so that I may get back to my work.” Syan’s eyes met his, and he could sense the seething hatred for him, and a creeping sense of dread drenched through his bones and into his core. He stilled with fear. Syan replied, “Who I am and my business here is none of your concern, not get out of my way, or I will make you.” Her threat was laced with so much venom, Ancano felt his throat close up, and he couldn’t speak a single word., let alone breath. He quickly side-stepped out of her way, and watched as she walked away, throwing a menacing glare over her shoulder back at him. He finally was able to breathe once the college doors closed behind her. That woman would be the death of him. He knew it, so he had to make sure he disposed of her before she came after him. This woman was more dangerous than anyone knew, and Ancano knew that most would not be able to see it. Dread filled his body once more. This was not going to end well.

  Astrid: She was pissed to find out that someone had stolen a contract that should have been the Dark brotherhood’s. Someone got to the old crone at the Riften Orphanage before they did. Whoever this person was Astrid was dead serious about finding out. She spoke with all her contacts in Riften, yet no one knew a damn thing. She finally had to speak with the children of the Orphanage as a last resort. She had slipped a sleeping potion into the other worker’s drink, so she slept soundly. The children all sat in their beds, with looks of fear and uncertainty on their faces. Astrid pulled up a chair. “Do not be alarmed, I am only here to see if you are happy with our…..services.” She said calmly. The children eased and nodded enthusiastically. They all took turns replying “She was the best!” “She slit Grelad’s throat and blood was everywhere!” “We miss the pretty elf lady! I wish my hair was red like hers!” “Her eyes were pretty too, like sunshine!” Astrid had enough information to go on by her appearance at least, but now it was time to figure out who and where she was. Alas, the children didn’t know, so she had to continue gathering information elsewhere. She spent weeks contacting all her sources trying to get any information about her. Ironically, the information she already had, from a few previous contracts, and a new contract that came in. A few people had already placed contracts for Syan’s death, and Astrid had sent out new recruits to take care of her, except the assassins failed and were killed by this woman. The Thalmor then approached Astrid as a last resort, as their previous attempts to kill her were unsuccessful, so they were willing to pay to have someone else deal with her. That contract too had failed. When Astrid realized that the few failed contracts she had were all for the same woman, she was able to piece the puzzle together. The woman was a red-haired high elf by the name of Syan. She had a primary residence in Whiterun, and was with The Companions, Thieves Guild, and the College. She was rarely in one place for any length of time. Constantly wandering about Skyrim on various missions and jobs. You would think that someone who was deeply involved in various parts of Skyrim would be easy to find and track down, but it made it increasingly more difficult. Astrid would need an exact itinerary of all the jobs this woman was on, and try to best guess when and where she would be, which was impossible. Astrid bribed one of Whiterun’s guards to send her letter by horse once Syan had returned to Whiterun. This would at least give her a few hours to be able to dispose of her. Finally one day a courier on horseback arrived with a letter for Astrid, it was from the guard in Whiterun. Syan had returned. Astrid immediately set off on Shadowmere towards Whiterun, pushing Shadowmere to run as fast as she could. Astrid arrived a few hours after nightfall. The guard told her that Syan was still in town, and was currently in her house. Astrid snuck in and slowly made her way up to Syan’s bedroom. At this point, Astrid needed to and wanted to slaughter her, the brotherhood was already in bad shape, and these several failed contracts were only making matters worse. She crept closer and closer to Syan’s bed until she was right at the foot of it. Syan appeared to be sleeping soundly. Astrid drew her dagger when a swift kick sent her flying backward. Astrid clumsily fell into the table and chair in the corner of the room. Syan rose from the bed, wielding two daggers. “Only a coward strikes when one sleeps.” She said venomously. She then lunged at Astrid, delivering swift kicks and slashes. Astrid barely managed to block her attacks and was losing ground quickly. Syan moved in a way Astrid had never seen before. Astrid grabbed her dagger and began to counter-attack, only to miss as Syan dodged her swings effortlessly. Syan grabbed one of the rafters in the ceiling and swung a fierce kick into Astrid, who went stumbling down the stairs and onto the kitchen floor. Syan swiftly landed in a crouch on top of Astrid and brought the twin daggers to Astrid’s throat. “Who sent you?” Syan inquired fiercely. Astrid laughed, “Who hasn’t? I’ve had multiple contracts placed on your head, and you’ve killed every one of the assassins I sent after you. Most impressive. However, you stole a contract that was rightfully ours, and we do not tolerate that. So, you owe us a contract, a life for a life. I have three individuals in an abandoned shack in the swamps outside of Morthal. There is a contract for one of them. You have to guess which.” Syan’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I would even consider that?!” Astrid raised an eyebrow, “Because you would have already sliced my throat open if you had no intention of listening to what I had to say. Perhaps, you would like to join us, get your hands a little….bloody yourself. Earn some gold, settle a few vendettas. All in the name of Sithis and the Dark Brotherhood. Interested?” Syan slowly lowered her daggers before sheathing them. “It would help to know who wants me dead so that I can except more threats from them in the future.” She said. Astrid replied, “If you were a part of the brotherhood, these contracts would be null and void, and no one would dare put a contract on your head again.” Syan contemplated before agreeing to meet Astrid at the abandoned shack. Astrid left swiftly and returned to the sanctuary. Syan was dangerous, very dangerous. No one had EVER gotten the drop on Astrid before. Astrid would have to tread carefully, who knows what this woman could do, as the saying goes, keep your friends close, your enemies closer.

[shatteredglassanimated]

Shattered Glass Animated Season 1 Episode 7 - Thrill Of The Hunt

Blackarachnia is forced to re-live a traumatic event from her past when Megatron is kidnapped by a mysterious mech named Lockdown.

“Can you believe the depravity of some humans? This so.. primitive and vulgar! I think I’m going to regurgitate just from looking at it.” Blackarachnia looked down on the crate in front of her with barely veiled disgust.

Megatron raised an eye-ridge beside her putting down an identical container. “It is merely a box of spare parts, Blackarachnia.”

Blackarachnia huffed. “You mean the Resistance actually uses those for their machines? That’s even worse!”

The metal parts in the box glinted innocently in the moonlight shining down on the old warehouse. Following a tip from the Resistance, the Decepticons had searched the place out in order to provide their human allies with some much needed materials. Not all of it could be taken of course, but the Decepticons had resolved to transport as many of them as possible.

“Well, they don’t have much of a choice now, do they?” Blitzwing chuckled, walking over to lay a hand on Blackarachnia’s shoulder. “Try not to think too much about it. Just enjoy the temporary silence.”

Megatron nodded. “Blitzwing is right. I know things have been stressful lately and I have been demanding a lot from you and Starscream in particular. A simple errand like this might be the closes we will come to resting for a while.”

Blackarachnia ex-vented, crossing her servos. “Fine. I’ll try. It’s just...” He bent stingers twitched on her back, eliciting a couple of small sparks. “I’ve been having a bad feeling ever since we got here. My stingers are aching worse than usual. Normally, that means trouble.”

Megatron looked at her, optics growing sad. “We... have never spoken about that mission since, have we? It must still trouble you.”

Blackarachnia stiffened. “It doesn’t matter, because I still don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped, glaring up at Megatron.

“W-Well, you don’t need to,” Blitzwing said quickly, laying a calming servo on the smaller femme’s shoulder-plate. “Like I’ve been saying, perhaps we should just enjoy the quit night.”

Just then, the sound of an engine tor through the air. At almost the same time, a red light flared up, across the field. The Decepticons whirled around. The source turned out to be a black and dark-blue muscle car, flashing it’s headlights right at them.

“So much for silence,” Blackarachnia remarked, clenching her hands into fists.

Megatron raised a hand to placate her. “Easy now. It might well just be a human who lost their way.”

“I don’t think so,” Blitzwing said nervously, optics never leaving the muscle car. “Aaron told me this district has been vacated for solar cycles.”

Megatron frowned. “Perhaps we should-”

Before he could finish, the car jerked forward. It raced at the three Decepticons, on a clear collision course. They jumped aside, the car narrowly missing them. The muscle car didn’t stop, instead driving onto the road and towards the city.

“Do you think it’s one of Sumdac’s?” Blitzwing asked, staring after it with wide optics.

Megatron’s optics narrowed. “If it is, we cannot risk it getting away. Both of you, transform and rise up!”

Blackarachnia, Blitzwing and Megatron transformed. Megatron informed Starscream and Lugnut about what happend over the comlink, while Blackarachnia jumped onto Blitzwing’s vehicle mode, digging her pincers in to not fall off. The followed the car from the air as it sped through the streets, it’s driver evidently not caring whether or not the citizens were fast enough to dive out of their way.

A human man and woman attemtped to cross the street, as the car turned around the corner, making no effort to slow down. Megatron quickly transformed into robot-mode. He landed on a nearby rood, cut the billboard off with one of his swords, then jumped down onto the street with the board on his back, creating a makeshift-ramp.

The muscle car neither slowed nor stopped. It raced up the ramp and jumped right over the terrified humans, landing and driving on as if nothing happened.

“Perhaps you should look both ways before crossing the street next time,” Megatron joked to the humans, setting aside the board.

The humans nodded hastily, then quickly made their way to the sidewalk.

A few streets away, Blackarachnia and Blitzwing scanned the ground for the muscle car. Blackarachnia jumped off of Blitzwing’s back, transforming into he robot-mode and planted herself firmly in the car’s way. The car didn’t stop. It drove at her, engine’s howling.

Blackarachnia stiffened. The sound was familiar, somehow. It seemed to drown out everything else around them. She thought she heard someone call her name, but by that point she wasn’t in the present anymore.

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Blackarachnia made her way through the dark alleys of Central City as silently as she could manage, optical sensors always vigilant. Although she had studied the citiy’s map extensively and so far the infiltration had been going smoothly, her pessimistic nature prevented her from cooling it a little just yet. After all, she had rather painful past experiences with running out of luck at the worst time possible. For what had to be the hundredth time this solar cycle she silently cursed Megatron for having chosen her for this particular mission.

“You have been on Cybertron more recently than all of us,” he had said, almost apologetic. “And your organic half makes it impossible for them to pick up your energy signature. I know of no other bot I could entrust this mission to. Please give it some thought.”

In the end she had caved, with grumbling and more than a few words that some would call unbecoming of a femme.  After all, Megatron rarely asked a fellow Decepticon to put themselves in danger if he wasn’t absolutely sure they could handle it. Or if he didn’t have a choice. With this, it was a mix of both. Blackarachnia had to admit, she had already been half convinced to go when he had told her it was an extraction mission.

One of their spies, who had been penetrating the Autobot Intelligence Office for some time now, was said to have been compromised. He’d apparently run into trouble trying to escape the Elite Guard and was now stranded somewhere around the area she was currently sneaking through. Hearing this story, something in her spark just...reacted. Blackarachnia knew, probably better than anyone else, what it was like to be alone on a hostile planet, with seemingly no one coming to your aid. Merely remembering the feeling of despair and fear made her flinch.

But she had been found eventually. And so would their spy.

A re-assessment of the area’s map on her wrist-monitor told her she was getting close to the rendezvous point.  Keeping her optical sensors open for any hints of a trap, she stepped out of another alley and onto a deserted cross-road between four large structures. If their intel was correct, the area was largely deserted, so there was no risk of a random Cybertronian citizen suddenly sticking their helm out of a window and surprising her or her target. Speaking of…

There was no sign of another bot here. Had she come to the wrong place? Just as she thought about risking a scan of the perimeters, she heard clunky, uneasy steps coming from her right. She whirled around, stingers at the ready. Across from her stood an Autobot, about two times shorter than her, stocky in build, with a strange, blue ornament on his helmet right above his piercing red optical sensors, leaning heavily on the wall to his right.

Blackarchnia was about to jump him and give him a good taste of her narcotic venom, when he raised a hand.

“Wait! I’m the one...you are supposed to meet.”

His voice sounded exhausted, like he was in great pain. Blackarchnia halted in her movements, giving him a skeptical look. “You’ll excuse me if I find that hard to believe.”

The Autobot chuckled sheepishly. “I am deeply sorry for my appearance. Normally I would change and show you my real form but you see...I’ve had a few altercations on my way here.” He stepped out a bit further into the light. Blackarachnia flinched.

His right leg had been ripped off from the knee up, leaving nothing but a couple of sparking cables. That was enough to dispel most of her leftover doubt. She highly doubted any Autobot would go so far as to dismember themselves on that level just to fool a potential infiltrator. Letting some of the tension go out from her body, she made her way over to the spy, supporting him on his free shoulder and getting a closer look at his leg. The cables shocked her when she attempted to examine them manually, making both of them hiss in pain.

“Well, that’s gonna be a real fixer-upper later on,” she remarked with grim humor.

The spy-bot groaned, sinking into her shoulder a bit. She nudged him lightly.

“Hey, stay with me! You can take all the stasis naps you like later, but right now I need you to stay online. What’s your name?”

The question seemed to at least partially pull him out of his pain induced daze. “They… gave me the name Longarm… when I came into their ranks…but…my real name is…Shockwave...Ma’am.”

That got a smile out of her. “Don’t give me that ‘ma’am’ slag. We’re both Decepticons, aren’t we? Call me Blackarachnia.”

“Y-yes, ma’am – yes, Blackarachnia,” Shockwave quickly corrected himself returning her smile. She couldn’t help but notice it looked a little weird on that Autobot face-plate of his, like he wasn’t used to making expressions. Nevertheless, it was nice to see he was comfortable with her presence. She had expected at least some comments about her organic parts, but she supposed his situation gave him little room to complain.

“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, I need you to listen Shockwave. You see those two antennae on my back?” He nodded. “They’re stingers that release a strong, narcotic venom when applied. I’m going to use them on you, so I can patch up your leg.”

“N-no!” Shockwave exclaimed, optics wide with fear. He tried to straighten himself in order to look at her, which proved to be both difficult and painful with his damaged servo. “I carry valuable…access codes...in my processor. They are too important...to be lost!”

Blackarachnia sighed, adjusting her position so he wouldn’t fall over. “Cool your crankcase, will you? It’s just a small dose. I’d need to administer ten times that much to damage your memory core.”

That seemed to calm him down a bit.  After thinking it over a little, he gave her a nod. Blackarachnia had to suppress a relieved vent. Repairing him while he was still fully online would have been extremely unpleasant for them both.

She shifted her arms so she was now holding him around his shoulders. “This will sting a little,” she warned him, gently touching her stingers to the spots between his shoulder plates and his helmet. When she released her venom he flinched a little, but then slowly went numb in her arms, his optical sensors slowly offlining themselves.

She lowered him to the ground and leaned him against the opposite wall, pulling out the tools she needed to work on his leg. It took quite a bit of time, since she didn’t have exactly the right spare parts on hand. The defaults she’d packed for emergencies would have to do for now. With their help she at least managed to re-build the base structure of a leg.

Just when she was about to adjust her handiwork a little, she heard a noise down the street. Blackarachnia turned around quickly, putting herself between the direction she thought she’d heard the sound coming from and Shockwave’s motionless chassis. She strained her optical sensors to the max, but try as she might, she couldn’t make out anything in this darkness. Then someone called her name...

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“Blackarachnia!”

She flinched. Someone tackled her, throwing her to the side. They rolled around, her ending up on top.

The muscle car sped by, backlights slowly disappearing into the night.

Megatron touched down next to them. “Are you alright?“ he asked, bending down to offer them his hands.

“I’m fine,” Blackarachnia snapped, slapping away the hand offered to her and jumping off of Blitzwing.

A whirring sound informed her that Blitzwing had switched.

“You call that fine?” Hothead yelled. He, too, ignored Megatron’s offered hand when he pushed himself onto his pedes. “You froze up like it was december and you still had a crankcase!”

Blackarachnia whirled around, glaring up at Hothead. “I didn’t freeze up! I just...” She paused, stingers on her back twitching. “My Cybertronian parts must have glitched.”

“Well, you’re evidently not the only one glitching,” Hothead huffed, glaring in the direction the muscle car had disappeared in. “What was that human’s malfunction?”

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The muscle car drove down the streets. It had dimmed it’s lights for the time being. Inside, a small monsitor lit up, showing images of the three Decepticons that had chased it a few moments ago.

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Back at the mines, Blackarachnia stared intently onto a screen in fron tof her. It displayed a scan of her stingers. The venom-flow was irregular, but that wasn’t new. There was nothing else out of the ordinary. That should have calmed her down. Instead, the feeling of dread in her tanks only grew. That muscle car had awakened memories. Memories long buried. It send off wanring bells in the back of her processor. She didn’t want them to be right.

“If I’m not mistaken, this marks your tenth self-diagnostic tonight,” someone said behind her.

Blackarachnia turned. Megatron was standing in the doorway, smiling slightly. “How many more will there be?”

“As many as neccessary,” Blackarachnia answered curtly, turning back to the screen.

“Do your stingers bother you that intensely?” Megatron asked.

Blackarachnia stiffened. “Still don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You should.” She heard Megatron stepping closer. “Believe me, I understand better than anyone the need to surpress the darkness in ones past. But sometimes, it might help to open up. To a friend, or an unbiased third party. You know I am always there if you wish to get something off of your chestplate.”

“Are you done?” Blackarachnia snapped.

Megatron ex-vented. “Apparently I am.”

She heard him walk out of the room. Part of her felt guilty. She knew he’d only wanted to help. But the part of her that dreaed the possibility of re-living that one solar cycle again, after having successfully buried it for so long wanted to stay put and find something else to blame for what had happened earlier.

Her optics stayed glued to the monitor. Eventually she gave up, switching off the monitor. She crossed her servos and tapped her pede in thought. She should apologize. Perhaps even voice her suspicions. There was nothing to gain from hiding in the med-bay.

Determined to get over herself, she walked out into the tunnels and made her way to the main room.

She heard Professor Black’s voice before she entered to see the group assembled in front of the monitor. He had chosen to settle in the Decepticons’ base, instead of accompanying the rest of the humans, reasoning that if anything were to happen, the Decepticons already knew of a way to “contain” him.

“-so I have been monitoring the local traffic police. And I’ve come across these surveillance recordings.” He had to have done something after that Blackarachnia couldn’t see.

The screen displayed footage from the view of a police drone’s in-built camera, chasing a familiar muscle car. Blackarachnia stiffened as soon as she saw the dark blue headlights. The omnious glow filled out her vision, until suddenly the walls of the mines were once again replaced with the streets of a small, cybertronian city.

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Cursing under her breath, Blackarachnia  turned back to her patient.

“Change in plans,” she murmured, although she doubted he could hear her. “We’re moving out now. Sorry in advance for the next part, but I think you’ll agree I’m a little out of options.”

She produced a long spider threat and wrapped Shockwave up tightly, giving the string a few tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come off. Then she changed into her spider form, using her hind-legs to lift Shockwave onto her back and secure him there. He was heavier than she’d anticipated and she briefly wondered if that was because he had to compress his true size and mass into this presumably smaller Autobot chassis. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“I’ve got our escape route all mapped out,” she told him, keeping her voice low in case her audio sensor hadn’t been acting up earlier. “Hang in there, I’ll have you home in under an orbital cycle.”

Swift as can be she crawled into the narrow street behind her. She would make her way back to the nearest sewer plate, use her string to get herself and Shockwave down and from there it was only a few clicks to her small, but fast ship. If she was lucky, Shockwave should have rebooted himself again once they were on board and she wouldn’t have to spend the long ride home in complete silence. She was rather curious to hear his story.

What could have possibly been important enough to break off his mission, steal from the Autobot Elite Guard and try to make a run for it on the same orbital cycle? If nothing else, having these questions answered would satisfy her curiosity. If he was even allowed to tell her, she mused.

She was torn out of her thoughts by the unmistakable click of biolights being activated. Right behind her. Blackarachnia cursed internally. The next moment, a piercing blue light flared up all around her, making her squint and slow down. Fortunately, her training prevented her from stopping in her tracks entirely. It also caused her to come out of her daze way faster than a civilian would have.

“Go find someone else to play with, Auto-bastard!” she snapped, spitting a sticky spider-threat onto the nearest structure and pulling both her and Shockwave upward. She regretted the decision almost immediately. It was one thing to swing around when she was alone and had all her servos free, it was another thing entirely to be doing it with a Primus knew how many tons heavy fellow Decepticon on her back.

Both of them ended up smacking against the structures wall far lower and harder than she would have liked. 

No time whining over spilled oil, she thought, clenching her denta when her sensitive belly protested against the rough impact.

With a determined vent, she started climbing, using two of her hindlegs to check on her passenger. Fortunately, the string securing Shcokwave’s chassis to hers seemed to hold tight for the moment. Dragging him and herself on top of the structure, she took a quick look around. Going into the sewers where she had intended to was not an option anymore. But she was good enough at terrain assessment to relate the structures around her to the map she’d been studying before her departure.

The area was densely cultivated enough for her to jump from one structure to another, even with Shockwave on her back. The Autobot had no way of following her up here fast enough to see where exactly she went. Taking as much of a run-up as she could with the weight on her back, she jumped onto the structure to her right. Her joints began to ache from the impact but she paid it no mind. She could work out her dents when she was back on the ship.

Repeating the process a few times, she made her way over Central City, optical and audio sensors sharp. She had no desire to be jumped like that again. Eventually, her internalized map of the area told her she was close to another sewer entrance. It was farther away from the ship than her original access point, but certainly safer to use for now. She carefully crawled down the side of the structure she was currently on, grunting with effort.

“You owe me big time for this,” she whispered, forelegs scraping as she tried to prevent herself from slipping.

It became easier to walk when they were back on the ground. Then trickier again, when she had to use her pincers and forelegs to open the duct cover. Then even more tricky when she had to rope Shockwaves’ still motionless form down into the dark, without making too much noise. At least she could climb down in robot-mode this time.

Her steps seemed to echo unbearably loud on the ladder, only barely drowned out by the sound of muck and oil rushing by. When she had made it all the way down, she took some time to check up on her charge. He was still not fully online. Good for him.

And then she heard the roar of an engine. Blackarachnia cursed. She transformed back into her spider-form and clumsily heaved Shockwave on her back. When the pursuer came around the corner, she was already scurrying down the pipe. Suddenly, a row of spikes protruded from the ground. If she’s still had tires in her alt-mode, they would have been shredded. As it was, one of her spider-legs merely stepped unlucky, coming directly on top of one of the spikes.

Blackarachnia hissed in pain, using her seven intact legs to make a turns. She let Shockwave slide off her back. She had no chance of out-running this Autbot with an injured leg and a massive weight on her back. There was no other option but to fight. She transformed into robot-mode, quickly laying a hand on Shockwave’s servo, not letting her optics leave the Autobot.

He was about a few steps away from both of them. When he saw she had transformed, he stopped and did the same. Blackarachnia clenched her denta. He was taller than her, but a lot of ‘Bots were. There were spikes all over his shoulder-plates and neck. His optics were a strange tint of blue. Not as light as a Decepticons, but not entirely dark either.

“Now what are you hiding, spider-bot?” he grinned. “Wouldn’t be a Decepticon-double agent by any chance?”

He raised an arm. His fist came loose, shooting right at her head. Blackarachnia pulled up her arm, hoping that donwloading Shockwave had provided her with something useful. It did. There was now and arm-canon mounted on her servo. One shot and the Autobot’s projectile exploded into tiny pieces.

Blackarachnia lunged forward, stingers out. She didn’t want to give her opoonent time to recover. Unfortunately, he hadn’t needed it anyway. The Autbot grabber by her unarmed servo and threw her over his hip and on her back, hard.

He made a disapproving sound, off-set by the ever-present, smug grin on his face-plate. “That all you got? You’re gonna put me to sleep.”

Blackrachnia glared at him. “I’ll put you to sleep alright.”

She bent her stingers down on his arms. When he pulled back, she raised her arms cannon and shot at his head. He dodged. The beam his the ceiling instead, making rubble rain down on her. Balckarachna grunted, trying to pull herself out. The Autobot looked down on her triumpahtnly.

He pulled his intact servo back. The last thing she saw was his fist coming down on her face-plate.

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“Blackarachnia?”

Her optics activated in a snap. Blitzwing was standing in front of her, already in vehicle mode.

“Did you hear what Megatron said? We will be searching the human in the muscle car from the sky.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t throw a rod,” she snapped at him. She rubbed her servo. There was no arm canon.

“Blackarachnia,” Megatron’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “If you feel unwell, you can monitor us with Professor Black from here.”

“I’m fine!” Without waiting for a response, Blackarachnia transformed into her alt-mode and jumped onto Blitzwing. “Let’s ‘rise up’ or whatever.”

She could feel the others were not entirely convinced, even without seeing their face-plates. Her irritation grew. Why couldn’t they just drop it? It was her problem, not theirs.

The Decepticons took off towards the city. It didn’t take them long to find the muscle car again. It wasn’t particularly hiding. When Lugnut spotted it engaged in a police chase, several droned in hot pursuit.

On Megatron’s orders, Lugnut took care of the drones. Megatron flew closer to the ground.

“Human,” he called out to the still dirving car. “This does not have to get violent. We only wish to talk.”

Instead of answering or stopping, the car’s exhauts port released two strange little balls. Upon touching the ground, they released a thick black smoke, clouding the Decepticon’s vision. Megatron barely managed to stop himself after almost ramming into another human vehicle coming down the street.

It’s humand river hit the breaks as soon he saw Megatron’s robot-mode, but couldn’t prevent his vehicle from ramming tino the Decepticon’s leg. Megatron bent down to eye-level with the human.

“I apologize for the damage to yor vehicle. I believe something called ‘insurance’ will take care of it?”

The human nodded silently, eyes wide. Megatron gace him what he hoped was an ecouraging smile, then transformed and took off again.

Meanwhile, Blitzwing and Balackarachnia were already on the muscle car’s tail again.

“Lugnut,” Blitzwing called. “We are sending him your way!”

Lugnut’s red biolights flashed up in fron of the muscle car.

The car’s hood slid open,and a strange looking contraction rose up from it. It turned to Blitzwing, then to Lugnut, shooting out two strange projectiles while doing so. The two Decepticons had not time to evade. Both of them were hit.

Blackarachnia hurt Blitzwing make strange sound underneath her in warning. His vocalizer sounded glitched and slow. Thinking quickly, she shot a thread out to a nearby building and drilled her legs into his armor-plating, just before his engines gave out.

The thread caught them mid-air, enough for Blackarachnia to lower them down to the ground slowly. She jumped off and both her, Blitzwing and Lugnut transformed back into robot-mode.

“Coward!” Lugnut huffed. “Relying on such dirty tricks...”

Blackarachnia didn’t answer. She was starin at nothing i particular, optics wide.

“That car...,” she croaked, slowly wrapping her servos around herself. “That weapon just now...No, it’s impossible!”

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She came back online slowly. The first thing she noticed was a strong ache in her stingers. When she tried to move them, pain shot down her back and she hissed. She was lying on a metal floor, the room around her dimly lit. Shockwave was nowhere in sight.

She scrambled to her feet, still only barely conscious and limped towards the light. It turned out to be a forcefield-door. She was in a cell. Blackarachnia fought down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her at the realization. If the Autobot wanted to kill her, he’d had every opportunity to do while she was in stasis.

She was still online. And sicne the Autobot had shown an interest in Shockwave, he probably was too. They could still escape. She laid her servo on the field, only to retract it immediately when it shocked her.

“Those copy-powers of yours won’t work here,” a familiar amused voice informed her. “That’s a modified stasis field. Organic or not, touching it’s gonna sting pretty bad.”

The Autobot stepped in front of her cell, grinning. He had replaced the hand she’d destroyed with a hook.

Blackarachnia glared at him, hands curling into fists. “You Autobot-bastard!” she spat.

The Autobot chuckled. “Oh, I’m not one of them. Name’s Lockdown.I’m what you’d call... a bounty hunter.“ Lockdown took another step forward to allow her a good view of his chest insgnia. Or lack thereof. Where a faction-insignia would normally be was nothing but emoty soace and a black spot. “Autobots pay real good for info,” he continued in a conversational tone, leaning on the wall. “Battle plans, access codes. Your friend should net me some sweet upgrades.”

Blackarachnia kept glowering at him, but mentally she made an ex-vent of relief. So Shockwave was still alive.

Lockdown’s voice pulled her attention back. “Of course you know what I really live for.“ His grin widened. There was something in it that she didn’t like at all. Apart from everything else. “Hunting trophies. Now you didn’t really have anything, being a part-organic freak and all.” He pulled out a flask containign a deep purple liquid. Blackarachnia felt her tanks freeze at the sight of it. “But that neom of yours? Not too shabby either.”

She suddenly felt very ill. Her stingers. He had.. he had...

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The sound of an all too familiar engine pulled her back to reality. She saw Megatron fly over the roofs in his vehicle mode. She doubted he would hear her if she called out to him now. She would have to try and catch up to him before he caught up with the ‘muscle car’. Blackarachnia shot a string up to a near-bay roof and pulled herself up, not even hearing Blitzwing calling after her.

Megatron had caught up to the muscle car in the meantime. He landed in frot of it, blockign it’s way and transformed back into robot-mode.

“I belive that is enough damage for one night,” he said, coldly looking down at the car. “Now please, step out of your vehicle human.”

“Just one problem,” A metallic voice responded. The car jerked up. Two legs formed, followed by a torso and a head, smirking. “I am the vehicle.”

Megatron’s optics went wide. “Lockdown?”

“The same,” Lockdown grinned, lifting his right arm. A strange gun rose out of his upper servo. Before Megatron could react, a strange vial-like projectle shot out of the weapon, hitting him square in the chest-plate.

Megatron made a glitched noise. He dropped donw to his knees and collapsed.

“But save the reunion-talk until we get to my ship,” Lockdown said, steping over and pulling Megatron’s limp body over his shoulders.

Blackarachnia saw what was happening when she touched down on the street. She raced towards Lockdown and Megatron. Lockdown turned around to her. A hidden compartment in his chest-plate opened, dropping two of his smoke balls. Him and Megatron were onscured from view in seconds.

Blackarachnia ran into the smoke desperately trying and failing to make out two shapes in it. When the smoke dispersed, she was alone on the street.

She shook, gripping her helm with her hands. “Megatron... no...”

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“My scans show no signs of Megatron or the muscle car,” Starscream said.

His ervos were crossed and he was tapping his pede. Both signs that he was anxious, Blackarachnia knew. Understandable. She felt like her armor-plating would crack from all the tension in her body. And her and Megatron weren’t nearly as close as Starscream and Megatron were.

When the rest of the team had arrived at her location, she had told them in quick, short sentences what had happened.

“How does a human just disappear with Megatron and mask his energy signature?” Blitzwing asked no one in particular.

Lugnut turned to look at Blackarachnia, his single optic unreadable. “Would you happen to have an answer to that, Blackarachnia? You saw him last.”

Blakcarachnia flinched. “How should I know?” she snapped, fingers gripping her arms even tighter. “I’m a medi-bot, not a field commander!”

The others stared at her in surprise.

“Is there something you are not telling us about this human?” Blitzwing asked.

Unwanted images flashed before her optics: The cell, the vial with her venom that he’d stolen, Shockwave...

“It’s not a human,” Blackarachnia said slowly. “And it’s not a car. It’s an Autobot, sorta. His name’s Lockdown. He captured me while I was on an undercover extraction-mission lots of stellar cycles ago. He’s... the one responsible for this.” She gestured to her bent stingers. “He’s a bounty hunter. Delivers ‘Cons like us to the Autbots in exchange for upgrades. And takes our personal modifications as trophies.”

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While Blackarachnia told her story, many miles away Lockdown stepped onto the main room of his ship. He was content. The hunt and extraction had gone off without a hitch.

He walked over to the berth he’d laid Megatron on. The Deception was a great deal bigger and stronger than his usual bounties. But the carbonfiber cables holding his arms and legs to the berth could have held a raging warframe for stellar cycles.

Megatron was online, but didn’t struggle like most who had found themselves in his position. His optics just wandered around the room, as if looking for something. Or someone. When he noticed Lockdown had entered, those optics turned to look at him.

“Why?” Megatron asked. “You helped us back in the Great War. What happened?”

Lockdown shrugged, crossing his servos. “Times are changing Megatron. The ‘Bots started to crack down harder on any ‘sympathizers’ to you ‘Cons. I’m just doing what I have to to stay online. And to get upgrades to help keep me stay online.,” He hesitated for a second. “For what it’s worth, it’s nothing personal. I always liked you, Megatron. You were one of the few mechs who put their credit chits were their intake was.”

Megatron snorted. “I’m flattered. I suppose that admiration is the reason my swords are gone?”

Lockdown chuckled. “Ah, you noticed huh?”

He walked over to one of the shelves on the wall. Dozens of modifications and trophies were arranged on the boards, each from a different bounty. Lockdown didn’t need to search long. He knew his trophies well. Giving an almost rueful smirk, he pulled out two long-swords.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe I’ll send them back later. Y’know, leave your ‘Cons something to mourn ya’ with.”

“They will find you before you even leave this planet,” Megatron said, optics hard.

Lockdown put the swords away. “Good. I could use some spare parts.“

                                           ----------------------------------

Blitzwing, Starscream, Lugnut and Blackarachnia touched donw on the ground again, transforming back into their robot-modes.

“We have been searching for mega cycles,” Blitzwing said disheartened. “Where in the world could they be?”

Blackarachnia snarled, fists shaking. “How did I not see it? Lockdown was chasing us the whole time! Hiding in plain sight. And we bought it, bulk, cable and-”

“Wait!” Starscream interrupted. His optics had lit up. “Hiding in plain sight... That’s the answer!” He put a hand to his helm to activate his comlink. “Professor Black, could you overlay the sattelite image of Old Detroit my scan produced with an older one?”

“Of course,” Professor Black answered. “Just let me call up the map from three days ago... huh, that’s strange. There’s a warehouse on your scan that wasn’t there before. Is that of any help?”

“It most certainly is!” Starscream said. “Thank you, professor.”

“A holographic cloak...” Blackarachnia said quietly, optics wide.

Starscream nodded, expression having turned grim. “Masking the bounty hunter’s ship, no doubt. Clever.”

Blitzwing’s faceplate switched to Hothead. “Not clever enough!” Hothead grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s go kick his tailfins in!”

Him, Starscream and Lugnut transformed into their vehicle modes. Blackarachnia stayed where she was.

“I...” she looked down on the ground, arms wrapped around herself again. “I can’t go back there.”

“Are your circuits crossed?” Lugnut shouted. “That scum has our leader!”

Blackarachnia didn’t answer. She couldn’t look at any of them.

“No time to argue,” she heard Starscream say. Her spark sank at the barely hidden disappointment in his voice.

Their engines activated and when she finally found the courage to look back up, they were already disappearing into the night sky.

                                    ------------------------------------------

“You have the leader of the Decepticon rebellion?” Sentinel Prime’s faceplate was full of disbelief.

“Sure do,” Lockdown responded, leaning back in his chair to look up at the monitor. “And I hope your payment’s gonna be proportionate to the occasion.”

Sentinel Prime frowned. “You will get your upgrades, bounty hunter. So long as I get results. Though I am surprised you would sell Megatron out in this manner, considering your history with the Decepticon-faction.”

Lockdown’s grin dropped and he leaned forward. “My reasoning’s none of your concern. Just send me the coordinates I can deliver him to and have my reward ready.”

He ended the call before Sentinel could say anything else.

                                 ---------------------------------------------------

Starscream, Blitzwing and Lugnut landed a few feet away from the false warehouse’s ccordinates, changing back into robot-mode as they did so.

Starscream looked up at the ‘building’, frowning. “Lockdown is smart. We have to be smarter. Be careful when apporaching.”

“To the pit with that,” Lugnut snarled. “Let us seize the traitor!”

Before Blitzwing or Starscream could stop him, he charged at the warehouse with a fierce battle-cry, explosives-servo raised.

                                -------------------------------------------------------

The alarms inside the ship blared. Lockdown observed the camrea footage on his monitor, showing the three Decepticons outside.

“For a race built for fightin’ you’re predictable as ever,” he told them. He pressed a few buttons on the control panel, then headed outside, readjusting his hook.

                                -----------------------------------------------------------

Outside, laser-guns rose out from the false building’s roof, firing at the approaching Decepticons.

Starscream and Blitzwing barely dodged the first few shots. Blitzwing hissed in pain when one of the laser-projectiles hit his left wing.

Starscream propelled himself into the air, skillfully dodging the barrage. Quickly he touched down behind on of the canons, then cut it loose with his claws and shot down the remaining canons.

Lugnut had barely noticed the bombardment. He stubbornly charged for the wall, trampling one of the downed guns without even realizing. He crashed through the wall and into a dark room.

A pair of dark-blue biolights flared up at the other side of the room.

“Come to face your punishment, traitor?” Lugnut growled, readying his explosive.

Lockdown transformed into robot-mode. “Bring it on, Decepticon,” he said, raising his arms.

Lugnut roared and ran forward bringing his arm down on Lockdown. Lockdown jumped aside. Lugnut’s arm hit the wall behind him. The explosive set off, thrpwing him backwards. Lugnut goraned, trying to push himself back up, only to be surrounded by a thick, black fog.

“You think this can hurt me?” Lugnut shouted into the nothingness.

Lockdown appeared at the edge of his vision, dark-blue optics piercing through the fog. “Don’t have to hurt you.”

The fog spread and solidifed, trapping Lugnut in place. Lugnut roared in anger, trying to tear himself free. “Coward! Fight like a Decepticon!”

But Lockdown had already exited the room.

                                  --------------------------------------------------

Blitzwing patrolled the perimeter, sensors at their all-time high. He flinched, whe he heard Lockdown’s engine. Looking around, he saw the bounty hunter’s vehicle mood sped past a nerbay corner.

“I have optics on the bounty hunter,” he called over comlink, transforming into his jet-mode.

He tailed Lockdown through several streets. Hothead took control, changing their vehicle mode from jet to tank.

“You can’t run from me forever, Autobot-scum!” he shouted, turning his canon on Lockdown. A stream of fire shot out of the barrel. Lockdown swerved sideways, narrowly avoiding it.

As if in response, Lockdown transformed his the right door of his vehicle back into an arm, hand clutching a familiar sword.

The tank halted for a moment. “That is Megatron‘s sword!”

Lockdown cut through a nearby pipe on a building. Oil spilled out onto the street. Hothead’s treads slipped, causing him to spin around. He crashed into a nearby wire fence. The impact made him transform into robot-mode, throwing him onto his back, hard. Hothead groaned in pain.

Lockdown appeared in his vision, sword still in hand. “M-hm. Megatron’s sword. And soon I’ll have your flame-thrower.”

He raised the sword over his helm, preparing to cut Hothead’s canon off. He heard a noise behind him. Lockdown whipped around, just in time to see a metal elbo coming towards him.

Starscream rammed into te bounty hunter, throwing him away from Hot head. He landed right between the two, putting his body in front of Hothead. His optics were deadset on Lockdown.

Lockdown stumbled back to his pedes, laughing and rubbing the soot from his face-plate. “Almost forgot about you. Figures Megatron’s number two’d be just as scrappy as him. Gotta say, I’m impressed, Starscream. Been eons since anybody got the drop on me.”

Starscream smirked. “Next time will be much sooner.”

He raised his arm and shot a null-ray at Lockdown. Lockdown blocked it with the sword in his hand, then transformed his left arm into a chainsaw and lunged at Starscream. Starscream dodged his first two strikes, then got both of Lockdown’s wrists. He transformed his intake into the sonic canon and shot Lockdown right in the chest, propelling him onto a scrap-heap.

Lockdown pushed himself up, glaring at Starscream, who was holding Megatron’s stolen sword in his hand. Starscream walked over to him, then grabbed his chainsaw servo and yanked him up, bringing them face-plate to face-plate.

“Where is Megatron?” he asked, voice dangerously low and optics narrowing.

Lockdown grinned at him. “You’ll see him very soon.”

Starscream frowned, then flinched. He looked down. Lockdown was holding a strange gun to his chest-plate. A small vial, obviously just fired from the same gun, was sticking out of it, now almost empty. Starscream felt numbness spread to his limbs. He dropped Lockdown and passed out.

“You still got it Starscream. Always liked your style,” Lockdown told him, rubbing his wrist. “You and I could probably teach each other a few tricks.” His smirk widened and he reached for the sword. “If I wasn’t about to, you know. Hand you over to the Autobots.”

“Step away from the Decepticon.”

Lockdown turned around. Blackarachnia was standing in the entrance to the alleyway. Her optics were steely.

“Wait, I know you,” Lockdown said, tapping the gun in his servo. “My ahdny little venom, right? I’m not good with names and faces, but I never forget a trophy. How’re the old stingers? Still dented?”

Blackarachnia glared at him, gritting her denta.

Lockdown chuckled. “Maybe I should break’em off for good this time.Seems to me there not much use to you know anyways.”

“You’ll never take another trophy from a Decepticon ever again,” Blackarachnia said coldly, sliding into a fighting position.

“No?” Lockdown asked. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

Blackarachnia held his gaze. “Me.”

Lockdown snorted. “You couldn’t stop an oil leak! But don’t worry. I got all I wanted from you a long time ago.”

Blackarachnia screamed and threw herself at Lockdown. Lockdown merely raised the strange gun and shot. The vial hit her straight in the chest-plate, Blackarachnia made a glitched sound, then collapsed.

Lockdown huffed in amusement. “Now that was just sad.” He truned around to leave, but then suddenly felt something wrap itself around his pede. He looked down just in time to see a white thread  before he was aprubtly thrown into the air and against a wall. He jumped up, only to see Blakcarachnia standing across frm him, seemingly unfazed.

“What the-?” He exclaimed. “I shut you down!”

He hastily pulled up the gun and fired another shot. Blackarachnia raised a servo and easily caught the vial in her hand, crushing it. Before Lockdown had time to react, she opened her intake and transformed it into a smaller version of Starscream’s sonic-gun, taking a straight shot at Lockdown and hitting him square in the chest-plate.

He flew backwards, hitting a nearby streetlamp with a yelp and crushed down on the ground.

“Humans call it playing possum,” Blackarachnia said, walking over to him. Don’t ask me what a possum is.”

She opened her intake again, shooting a clump of thread and pinning his body to the ground.

“I guess it never occurred to you that the venom wouldn’t work on the one ‘Con who produced it,” she told him bitterly.

When she was sure he couldn’t get up again, she turned and ran over to the ‘warehouse’. Their was only one door and it was several times smaller than her. She wouldn’t fit, even in her spider-form.

“Think,” she mumbled to herself, feeling the walls around the door. “It’s a ship. There’s an air lock, not a door.”

Here hand brushed over a strange bump where only smooth wall should be. She gripped into it and pulled. The area around the door tore off, revealing an air lock just about two helms taller and wider than her. The ‘bump’ turned out to be a panel for access. Blacjarachnia pressed her palm against it and activated her download.

The acces protocols flooded into her processor and back into the panel. A siren sounded from insde and the air lock opened to a dark hallways. Blackarachnia looked into the nothingness in front of her. She vented deeply, then stepped inside.

For a while there was only her and the silence of the horribly familiar ship. Memories came back to her and every time they did, she supressed them just as quickly.

She heard Lockdown brag about how good Autbots payed for info. She heard her own voice, desperately calling Shockwave’s name. The worst was the memory of Shockwave’s own pleading voice, asking her to-

There was another door in front of her. Blackarachnia tore herself out of her thoughts and picked up her pace. The door opened to admit her into a larger room, illuminated only by a few ceiling lights. They shone down onto a wide berth. And tied to it was-

“Megatron!” Blackarachnia exclaimed.

Megatron raised his helm, weakly, as if he had trouble moving. “Blackarachnia?”

She ran over to his side and pressed a button on a panel next to the berth. The cables holding Megatron down reatreated: Megatron pushed himself up into a sitting position, grimacing slightly. Blackarachnia felt a mixture of shame and anger. Lockdown had used another venom dart to make sure Megatron couldn’t escape while he fought off the rest of them.

She pulled her emergency-scanner out of her storage compartment. “Hold still,” she told Megatron, letting the scanner wander over his upper body. “And don’t try to talk. I need to make some adjusments.”

Warning sirnes started blaring through the room. The ground underneath them started to shake.

Blackarachnia cursed. “Launch sequence starting. We gotta move!”

She pulled Megatron off the berth and onto his pedes. He was leaning onto her heavily, but still doing his best to walk. They made their way over to the door. Just as she was about to reach out to the panel, the door slid open, revealing Lockdown.

He grabbed her around the neck, puleld her out of Megatron’s grip and threw her across the room before she could react. Blackarachnia crashed into one of the shelves, trophies flaiing down aroudn her.

“Playing possum, huh?” she heard Lockdown snicker through her daze. “Gotta remember that one.”

                                              --------------------------------

Outside, Blitzwing was treated to a rude awakening when the ground started to shake under him.

He gave a pained groan, pushing hismelf up and putting a hand to his still aching helm.

“Why do I have the feeling I will not like what I am about to see?” he mumbled to himself, looking up. The warehouse in front of him folded in on itself, revealing a I-G 200 class starship. The ship lifted off the ground and into the sky.

Blitzwing ex-vented. “I knew it.”

                                           ---------------------------------------

Blackarachnia jumped to her pedes. Using the last of her download, she brought out the sonic gun in her intake and fired at Lockdown. Lockdown dodged and pulled out Megatron’s sword, preparing to swipe at her. Blakcarachnia flinched and stumbled backwards, falling onto her back.

Lockdown placed his pede on her mid-section and grinned down at her, sword raised. “Y’know, I’m really starting to warm up to those copy-powers and strings of yours. Pitiy your a half-organic freak. Maybe those mods would’ve even been worth clearing some space on the trophy case.“

Blackarachnia glared up at him. “You like trohpies?” She bent her helm backwards an spat a long thread onto the nearby shelf. “Have your fill!”

Before Lockdown could react, she grabbed onto the threat. I collided with Lockdown, pushing him off of her and burying him underneath it. He let go of the sword in the process. Blackarachnia caught it ba the handle when it fell, getting back up and walking over to Lockdown.

“Time was I would have used my venom to end this fight painlessly,” she said icily, watching him writhe in pain. “Too bad I can’t dose it properly anymore, huh?”

She turned to get Megatron, when she heard a gltiched noise coming from Lockdown. When she looked at him he was raising his hook-servo. The strange gun, the one he’d used her venom with, rose out of his arm.

“Cyber venom,” he rasped, looking at her with pleading optics. “Use it. Please... please!”

She stared at him. His words were familar. Terribly familiar.

                                      ---------------------------------------------

As soon as the bounty hunter was gone, she started to search her cell. It didn’t take a long to find a spot next to the door close enough to the control panel for a partial download. A few nanokliks later and she was sneaking down the ships hallway.

Voices in the distance led her to a bigger room. Light spilled out from underneath the door.

“You must have some primo-info in that processor, spy-con,” she heard Lockdown say.  “Cause you’re gonna get interrogated by Ultra Magnus himself. Now don’t go anywhere. I have to set up the call.”

She jumped up to cling to the ceiling just in time before the door slid open. Lockdown walked out, fiddling with a device on his wrist.She waited until he disappeared down the hallway, then jumped down and quickly entered the room.

Shockwave was tied to an up-right standing berth. He looked tired and in pain. The proto-leg she’d assembled for his destroyed one looked wrong on him. He perked up when he heard her enter.

“Blackarachnia?”

She motioned for him be quiet, and threw a quickly look back at the door. Lockdown wasn’t coming. She hurried over to Shockwave and started to pull on the cables tying him down.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What’s it look like?” she hissed. “I’m getting you out of here!”

Shockwave shook his helm. “There is no time! He will be back any nanoklik.”

“Well, I’m not leaving here without you!” she snapped up at him. Her servos started to shake. “I’m not leaving you here.”

Shockwave shook his helm again. “Your stingers. Use a heavy dosage. Destroy my memory core.”

“What?” Blackarachnia stared at him, horrified. “Shockwave, no-”

“Blackarachnia, the access codes I’ve loaded into my processor are crucial for the Decepticon’s continued survival!“ Shockwave’s voice was pleading. “We can’t allow Ultra Magnus to get them back!”

Blackarachnia hesitated. It would tae her more time than she had to get through these cables. But her stingers were still hurting and she had no doubt Lockdown had damaged them when he had extracted venom from her. Was she evne able to produce venom anymore? And if so, how could she use it to hurt a fellow Decepticon?

“Blackarachnia,” Shockwave said, looking at her with pleading optics. “Please!”

In that moment, they both heard steps outside the door. Blackarachnia gulped, then nodded. She laid her servos on Shckwave’s shoulderplate and lowered her stingers, flinching. It felt like she was trying to move a damaged servo.

She knew something was wrong as soon as she started to insert the venom into Shockwave’s body. Instead of a steady flow, the venom rushed through her stingers all at once. When it sepped into Shockwave’s system he jerked and then screamed in pain.

“Shockwave!”

Blackarachnia pulled her stingers back immediately, but it was too late. Shockwave had stipped screaming. He was hanging limply from the berth, optics havin offlined themselves. The blue orb on his upper faceplate had gone dark.

Blackarachnia started shaking.

“Shockwave...?” she asked, voice sounding strangely small in her audials.

Instinctively, she scanned his body. She couldn’t pick up an energy signature.

“No...,” she whispered. She stepped back from the berth, shaking.

“What the-?!”

She whipped around. Lockdown was standing in the door. She didn’t give him the chance to react. Blackarachnia dove right under his grabbing servos, running out into the hallway and out of the ship.

Later she wouldn’t remember how she managed to find her own ship.Or how she made it home to New Kaon. All she would remember was Shockwave’s lifeless body.

                                           ------------------------------------

In the present, Blackarachnia glowered down at Lockdown. She curled her hands into fist so tightly they shook.

“You want me,” she said, slowly apporaching Lockdown. “To use that venom to make your pain go away?”

Lockdown grabbed one of his ‘trophies’ , a whip, from the ground and swung it at her. Blackarachnia caught the lash in mids.air, then stomped on the shelves lying on top of him, hard.

Lockdown screamed, letting go of the whip.

Blackarachnia leaned down to him. “I used that venom for medical purposes,” she told him, voice shaking with rage. “Thanks to you it’s nothing more than a weapon now.”

She grabber the gun still mounted on his servo and ripped it off. Lockdown roared in agony, thrashing around but unable to free himself. Blackarachnia slid open a panel on her own wrist and attached the gun to it. She turned around and shot a vial at the nearby control panel.

“No!” she heard Lockdown shout behind her.

The panel threw sparks. The ship lurched. Lockdown, unable to grab onto anything, was thrown against a wall.

“That was for Shockwave,” Blackarachnia hissed.

She ran over to Megatron. He was barely online, but he moved when she pulle dhim to his pedes. Together they ran to the exit. Blackarachnia slammed her fist into the panel. The door opened, allowing Blackarachnia to see just how far above the ground her an Megatron were.

“No turning back now,” she mumbled.

She jumped down, pulling Megatron with her. When they came to building-level, she fired several threats at a nearby roof, wrapping them around herself and Megatron.

“Hold on, Megatron,” she shouted over the wind. “That’s gonna hurt a little!”

The strings holding them pulled taught a few meters over the concrete, aprubtly halting their fall. Then it snapped, resulting in them both painfully landing on the ground with a smack.

Due to the venom still preventing Megatron from more comlicated movement, and the rest of the Decepticons too far awaythey had to walk back to the mines. Slowly and painfully.

                                             ----------------------------------

Blackarachnia finished her medical scan and stuffed the scanner back into her compartment.

“How are you healing?” she asked Megatron.

When they had finally arrived in the mines in the morning, she had ushered him into the medbay right away. The others hadn’t come back yet. Professor Black had been worried when he’d seen them pass by, but Blackarachnia had managed to put his questions off for later, reasoning that she would have to see if Megatron had sustained any injuries from his time with Lockdonw or her escue attempt.

He hadn’t, but she had scanned him anyway, just to be sure.

“The venom is almost out of my systems,” Megatron replied, briefly letting a servo hover over the spot in which Lockdown tranquilized him. “But I am grateful you took the time to look over me.”

Blackarchnia shook her helm. “Not what I meant.”

Megatron ex-vented. “Let us just say I have a better understanding what you went through stellar cycles ago. And why you do not wish to talk about it.”

Blackarachnia flinched.

“Actually,” she said, crossing her servos and looking down on the floor. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just... not easy for me. To remember. But maybe I should.” A little quieter she added: “He deserved better than this.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up. Megatron was smiling at her softly.

“Then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk about at least parts of it sometimes? With a trusted friend?”

Blackarachnia hesitated. Then she ex-vented and let her servos drop to her sides. “What do you want to know?”

[veridium]

5 Questions for Writers

Tagged by the great @teknon to answer some questions about writing. Thank you so much for including me!

Passing it along, I tag @bitchesofostwick, @local-thembo, and @star--nymph to join in the fun if they wish to. (Really I’m just a fan of ya’ll so anything I get to see of your process is terrific).

1. Do you have a favourite character to write? Who and why?

These days Olivia is still probably my favorite. Though, I have to say, the more Fire in Her Mouth goes on and expands into my other OCs’ storylines, the more I enjoy alternating their perspectives. It was always the plan to start off squarely in Olivia’s POV and then gradually extend branches out through the girls and canon characters in the Inquisition ensemble. 

I echo a similar sentiment to Trish’s: I just really enjoy getting to write women and non-binary characters for all of their troublesome possibilities. I like playing around with the idea of “good” representation. It’s incredibly cathartic to write characters who are profoundly wounded, jaded, and prone to hurtfulness, but who are also incredibly strong, wise, convicted. 

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I mean, there are certain tropes I work with by virtue of taking on a DA:I longfic: the reluctant hero, for example, is present in the way Olivia grows in her role. I think tropes can be useful as basic frameworks but I find more fun in playing around with their rules than I do following them. 

Maybe here I’d say I’m referencing more stereotypes than tropes. For example, I try to dispute the idea in Olivia’s storyline that she, like so many worldly heroes, craves a remote, domestically tranquil life at the end of the line with the kids, spouse, and picket fence. That’s not to say to do so is wrong or foolish; I just wanted to write a character who always wants some sort of skin in the game when it comes to the world’s events. Even if it costs her everything, she’d rather say she devoted her all. I think sometimes we give those kinds of iconic happy endings to characters because it makes us as authors and audiences feel a lot better about the trials they endured regardless of whether those endings fit their journey/personalities. What are we making ourselves feel better for, though, when we do that? Are we trying to reconcile the idea that our characters can be hurt and still be “deserving” of that kind of ultimate, normative end? What happens when we dare to imagine something else, somewhere else, as their endgame -- a place that subverts the notion that all we’re trying to do is be deserving or “whole” enough of something we might not even want?

For me, I’m more interested in the ways in which life’s solaces arise in and out of our lives, rather than in a solid destination after we have “suffered enough.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

This always changes for me! Especially when I’m leaning on prior passages for inspiration/tie-in for themes on what I’m currently working on. Right now, I’m still pretty hooked on Chapter 100, “A Serpent’s Parable” from FIHM. It’s partial monologue, but the parallel description is something I’m very proud of: 

Isolde then sighed and pushed over her chalice. It fell loudly, and after the initial impact, it melted down and elongated into a serpentine shape. Extending both ways until a head, erect and pointed towards her, formed with slithering tongue and all. Pure black even in the eyes, its belly scales looked like opals as it wound towards her.

“For the purpose of this, let me introduce a parable. When you are faced with the task of fighting evil as we have been, it is all rather easy...in fact, fun, to think you are victorious by virtue of distracting the creature that holds the venomous bite.”

The smoke-born rats and vermin with pronounced front teeth billowed in the air around it, scattering and circling it. In random turns they began sneaking jabs, biting and scratching away, and cowering just in time into amorphous plumes. The snake hissed in pain and turn around in every which direction the assaults came from. With every attack it grew more frustrated, more incensed at the ghostly antagonists. Eventually it became too preoccupied to advance.

“Over time you learn that they learn. Spats and skirmishes, illusions and petty diversions, they only do so much. You realize that the snake, though made angry or even miserable at your actions, still grows. Your bravery does not stop it taking someone you love, it merely means that they become tomorrow’s meal rather than today’s, for you and your kind were made forever its source of power. Its sustenance for which you must give your life so that the rest of the world makes sense.”

The snake’s shadow stretched farther and farther until Olivia could nearly reach and place her hand within it if she wanted to. The vermin spirits crept in and out of shape, sniveling and striking as they had before. Their growing enemy, sadly, no longer bent and writhed in reaction.

“You are faced with a choice: continue being the hero who’s deeds become songs and silly secrets, suck poison from wound after wound until your mouth no longer waters, pretend that your adventures keep people as safe as you feel you are in your anonymity. Maybe you have saved a child or feed a few hungry mouths. Yet the snake’s fangs are sharper with every year, its mouth so wide it can consume more and more of what is dear to you without hope of salvation. Unless you decide enough is enough.”

Olivia had lost focus on the snake in favor of Isolde. By the time she halted her speech it was almost too late: the snake, offensive once more, lunged for her. In the same sharp moment as it split its mouth to fill itself with her, a blade broad and tipped like that of a staff's swung down. Its sound and shine blinded her to the gore of the head's severance before it fell upside down, gaping with a now limp tongue. A last remaining hiss lost to the sound of the blade cutting the air.

With every last drop of bravery in her body she withheld a scream. Her heart nearly erupted under the weight of its many terrors. Much like her nerves, the snake’s body contorted, until its muscles no longer lingered with life. The rats no longer trifled their foe. Nothing but death had been served on the table.

“At last,” she finished, “you cut the head off once and for all.”

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

This also changes so often! Dialogue is one of, if not the, most fun part(s) of writing for me. I convey my message and themes most starkly in the way my characters talk to each other, and it’s where I put the most forethought. One of the ones I most often return to is the back-and-forth between Veronica and Cybel in Chapter 98: “Humoring Stars.” -- 

“Are you really so sure that everything that does not meet your eye is simply lies? That you, a Mage who spent the majority of her life in a Circle where knowledge was a controlled resource rather than a respected right, are the best person for determining such things?”

Oh, you son of…

“Just because I lived in a Circle does not mean I am without independent thought,” Veronica refused. She was a hard shell to crack but even she was not immune to the coerced inferiority years of Circle life embedded. No one who experienced their captivity was. And to call it out in such a way only made it more painful.

“I did not say that. What I meant was—”

“Shut your mouth. I do not give a shit about where you come from or how special you think you are. You are not going to stick a knife where you think it will hurt me into believing your stories. And if you try to do the same to Gem, then…”

Cybel’s eyes narrowed. “Then, what? You will kill me?”

“I m—”

“You know, Veronica...and that is your name, so I will refer to you as such.” Cybel took on an air of confidence, re-approaching with stiffened shoulders and tilted chin. “Either you have a thirst for death that is beyond the likes of which I have seen anywhere, meaning that deep down your motivation is not merely the safety of your friend and leader; or, as I reckon, you think being a predator cornered is more powerful than a predator caged.” They continued their advance, so stern and so suddenly cold that Veronica’s need to keep eyes on their hands turned into her backing up in sequence with them. It was enraging.

Veronica was backed against the rail, ass and waist pressed like paper. Her hands gripped either side. Cybel looked as they did back when they were threatening her with an arrow to her neck. Curls of hair around their face, tough bottom lip, appraising the validity of a shot yet fired. They halted so close to her that their freckles were countable, as well as the weathered loose strings on the edge of their tucked scarf.

“So what is it then?” they asked when Veronica had no salted quip to offer. “Blood lust, or bloody fearfulness?”

Who are you?

Veronica’s breath caught on the rigidity of her chest. She could be stabbed or choked right then and there. She could be tossed over the edge. Maker, she could be poisoned even if Cybel’s hand was quick enough with a vial or cloth dusted with the right material. Everything about her expedited training was about evaluating what dangers were posed both in front of her nose and beyond all senses. It was intoxicating to think in such a way when previously you were kept like a lamb to a flock, the shepherds heavily armored and sword-wielding rather than gentle guides with sticks. But blast them for thinking it was their right to point it out.

“I will say it again,” she answered with an unprecedented humbleness to her voice that even surprised her, “I do not fall for your attempts to strike at me until I am too weak for your lies.”

Cybel’s irises raised and lowered between Veronica’s eyes and mouth, their own lips parted with their tongue pressed against the back of their teeth. “And there I have my answer.”

[despair-ninja-everything-agency]

Oblivious

I swear I’m not obsessed or anything-

A fic for my Kara ga Gotoku AU. Took me 2 days and 2 restless nights to finish due to college. Title came from Fukan Fukuei’s ED theme. This is supposed to be my take on what happened after Millennium Tower exploded and basically a Nishiki-centric Yakuza re-imagine of Hollow Shrine.

Sorry if there’s oocness with some characters and, as always, if there’s any misspellings, redundancies, and grammatical errors. This is the longest fic I’ve made yet.

Before delving in, credits to @koikoikisses (sorry for tagging :,D) for the concept of Shikiya (Nishiki’s alternate personality). I just take my own spin on it for this AU.

Word Count: 5000+ words

Characters: Akira “Nishiki” Nishikiyama, Shikiya, Kazuma Kiryu, Sakamoto Ryoma (Yakuza Ishin), Miyamoto Musashi (Yakuza Kenzan)

Pairings: NiShikiya/AkiShiki, possible one-sided MusaShiki

Fic under the cut

When he opened his eyes, all he saw was nothing. He was floating aimlessly in this absolute void. He thought he was dead. Felt like he’s dead. Yet, another part of him felt alive. As if there were nothing life-threatening happened to him before.

Where am I?

He thinks to himself.

Why am I here?

Am I alive? Am I dead?

What had happened to him?

What of-

And then everything went white.

-o0o-

He abruptly sits up, panting heavily as if he had just running for a long time. Trying to calm himself, he looks around his vicinity. It’s night time. He’s in a hospital room. Smell of antiseptic enters his nostrils as he breaths in. He bows his head and closes his eyes once he calmed down, trying to recall what happened.

Someone shouted his name. No, not quite his name but close. Then a blinding flash and a loud boom. And then nothing.

He hears the door creaks open. Someone’s coming. Slowly, his eyes flutters open and his gaze directed to where the sound came from. The doctor, a nurse trails behind him, comes to check him up. He’s saying something but all that come out is nothing. Well, at least to him as he doesn’t bother to pay attention. He cranes his head to see the doctor. That’s when he sees it.

Writhing and glowing mass of red lines swarming on the two strangers. Anything beside them are blurred and muted, as if forcing him to look at them. They dance. Whispers on the back of his head beckons him to cut them off.

His eyes wide. His face paling. The sight of it is absolutely sickening. He looks away from them. The lines follow his gaze. Even after he tries to look a different direction, they still within his vision. He screams, clutching his head and screwing his eyes shut. Anything to get those foul sight away. The whispers come back, demanding him to look. The doctor tries to calm him down. He only screams louder, tears streaming down his cheek as he desperately cries for whatever it is to stop. He wails out that name, to that person he wishes is still there somewhere within him.

-o0o-

It took him an hour before he finally calmed down. The doctor and his nurse had left fifteen minutes earlier. The lines are still there, just not as loud and demanding as before. As he lays there, eyes on the ceiling, he wonders what was that. So many questions he’d like to answer yet nothing he could explain. He tiredly shrugs it off, closing his eyes and letting himself drift to sleep.

-o0o-

The same thing happens again the next time the doctor visits. He screws his eyes shut, trembling as he screams and cries.

Make it stop! Please!

He continues his lament.

Where is he? Where’s Nishiki?!

If the doctor is weirded out by that question, he doesn’t show it.

-o0o-

The third time it happened, he had tried to claw his eyes out. The doctor had no choice but to cover them with bandages.

In a way, he’s grateful. Sure, darkness can be lonely. But at least it’s better than seeing those things again.

Like this, he can finally calm down and think. How long had he been out? Is Yumi okay? What about the kid? What’s her name again? Haruka? What about Kiryu?

… What about Nishiki?

He sobs as he remembered. After that day he took over, the poor boy had been pulling himself away into the depths of the mind. He had believed that he would come back, first through his efforts then by Kiryu’s presence. However, it did nothing. That is, until the incident that night. Nishiki had surged out from his isolation and pulled the trigger, destroying the 10 billion yen with the bomb Yumi had set up before. If he hadn’t been dead before, the incident that night surely had killed him for good. Tears stained the bandage wet. He finally realizes one thing.

Akira Nishikiyama is dead.

And there’s nothing he can do but regret and cry, even if it’s not his strongest suit.

-o0o-

Kiryu has visited him today, asking if he’s getting better. He can only nods, not trusting himself to talk after three rounds of screaming and crying.

“Doctor said you asked for Nishiki,” the other man says matter-o-factly.

He steels himself. Ain’t that sound weird, coming from the mouth of supposedly Nishiki himself?

A chuckle breaks the relatively short silence.

“I suppose it’s to be expected”

Huh?

“If you’re not him, then who are you?”

Silence.

What is it with that question? Did Kiryu somehow know him and Nishiki were different? If so, how? How did he manage to know?

Not bother to dwell on those many questions swarming his head, he chooses to answer the other man with a hoarse croak instead.

“Shikiya”

-o0o-

Days pass by as he recovers from his wounds. Kiryu visits him once in a while. Most of the time, he takes Haruka with him. A pang of guilt pierces him when she tells him that Yumi died too that night. He apologizes to her, but she tells him it’s fine. He wonders how much of that is true to her.

At times, Kiryu visits him alone, having dropped Haruka to some trusted subordinates.

(Majima, of all people? Really, Kiryu?

You’ll be surprised if I told you what he’s like, Shikiya…)

During those times, they would chat freely without having to hide anything. They talk about life in general, what the outside world is currently like, and other mundane stuff. Kiryu asks him of himself, not as ‘Nishiki’ but as Shikiya. There are times that he would answer but the other times he just silent.

There’s something off… with Kiryu, though.

Sometimes, when they talk, his voice would sound soft and emotional. Kiryu by no mean a cold man, but he was never being one to be too emotional as well. Even if he cries, he still retains some coolness with him. This one’s different. He doesn’t know what it is, it’s just too uncharacteristically gentle and too sentimental to be Kiryu.

Other times, it’s the opposite. His tone would sound mischievous and mocking. Unlike the other voice, this one is completely out of character for it to be Kiryu. Too playful to be him. It is as if there’s venom every time he talks. He does realize it’s just for the show, that this voice does not always talk like this. Still, it makes his whole body shivers in uncertainty and rage. One time, that voice had the audacity to flirt with him. Shikiya wished his palm connected with the other man’s cheek the moment he swung it at him but part of him was relieved he didn’t hurt Kiryu over such trivial thing.

-o0o-

In a few days, he will be discharged from hospital. Most of his burnt scars has healed. Shikiya breaths a relieved sigh. He might need to go back to his mess of a family but he’s ready to face the consequences.

Even if it’s without Nishiki.

-o0o-

Kiryu had offered himself to stay by his side for the night. As always, Haruka was dropped somewhere else, this time by her own classmate’s house. Slumber party, he’d say. Shikiya couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image.

“Y’know… I was wondering…”

That stupid cheerful voice again…

“Hmm?”

“I don’t remember you being blinded. Sure, you were in point blank position. But, if I’m not mistaken, the doctor said your head was intact. So how come you’re having bandages around your eyes?”

Shikiya’s blood runs cold. He hadn’t accounted that Kiryu would ask around for his condition, hoping he’d assumed the bandage was due to some kind of head trauma. Gotta find a plausible reason for it. He’s not ready to tell him it was to isolate himself from even taking a glimpse of those wretched vision.

“U-Umm… He said I got injured on the back”

Silence. He could almost practically feel Kiryu’s gaze on him. He gulps.

“Really?”

He nods.

Another silence.

Shikiya hopes the other man just dropped the subject already.

As the silence stretches far and wide, he sighs as he hears scraping sound of chair against tiles. Kiryu must’ve left for something. The window, maybe. Shikiya lets himself relaxes, leaning his back against the pillow propping behind him.

Something struggles to yank the bandages.

Panic shot through his entire system.

He pins his palms hard against the bandages, grounding it to his face. He cries out a protest.

“W-What are you doing?! Stop it!!”

Kiryu doesn’t listen, judging from the ever-increasing vigor in forcefully ripping the coverings away. Shikiya desperately clings to it, begging for him to not take it away from him.

As the last shred of the cloth falls onto his lap, Shikiya feels his hands being gripped and pried away from his face. He glares at the other man, barring his teeth threateningly. He would’ve maintained that look had his vision’s not being filled with that blurred, muted scene as before. Right in front of him, the same glaring red lines swims about, outlining a shape of a face.

Something different this time. Something that drains any color from Shikiya’s face.

A pair of dark, eerie grayish green eyes bore into his soul.

He squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to look into the nightmare before him.

“Oi! Look at me!”

He feels his body being shaken.

He still refuses to look.

Suddenly, the grip around his hands disappear. He chances himself a look. The lines outlining the other man get yanked as if some force had pushed them away from him. Both men pant raggedly. Silence falls once more, only being accompanied by their heaving breaths. The two watch each other as if having a staring contest.

The lines are still there but what were once eerie green eyes has been replaced by soft blue hue.

“Shikiya…”

The soft-spoken one…

The outline slowly approaches him, cautious not to agitate him too much. He scoots back but his ass already hits the bed’s headboard. Once the outline stands beside him, he looks up at it. His breaths already calm down a bit but it’s still clear from his expression that he’s still panicking inside.

A hand reaches out to his. He considers pulling away.

“Shiki… It’s okay…”

That voice… So gentle…

He flinches when they make contact.

“Close your eyes… Take a deep breath…”

He does so. One, two, three…

That hand squeezes gently against his.

So warm…

He slowly opens his eyes and looks to the side. Everything is back to normal, crisp and full of colors. The lines are gone. There, Kiryu gives him a concerned look. Soft blue hue glows from his eyes.

Was it always blue like that?

“Kiryu…?”

A blink.

Ethereal blue replaced with familiar brown.

“Shikiya…”

Sighing, he lets himself slumping against the headboard, his hand squeezes back at Kiryu’s.

“I’m sorry…”

No, please don’t apologize you idiot! It’s not your fault, it’s mine! I’m the one getting worked up over nothing!

But… was it really nothing…?

He feels like he wants to cry.

-o0o-

Kiryu had explained everything.

The visions… Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. Allowing its user to see the lines of death, the concept of longevity given form. If you cut the line, its owner will cease to live.

Shikiya wouldn’t believe him the first time, thinking he was fucking with him.

Kiryu himself doesn’t seem to be sure about it as well.

He had another guy do the explaining again later.

It’s still him, red shirt and grey suit pants. The blazer had been hanging on the chair’s backrest. But his eyes are different. It glows soft blue from within, overshadowing its natural brown color. His tone, tender than Kiryu’s usual tone.

It’s him. The soft-spoken one.

His name is Sakamoto Ryoma.

Shikiya feels like he’s gonna faint. If Nishiki didn’t pay attention to history classes back at school, Shikiya would’ve think Kiryu’s fucking with him again. Too bad that wasn’t the case (and Kiryu’s shit at acting anyway).

The historical figure, who is currently possessing Kiryu (his descendant, for fuck sake! Shikiya wouldn’t have knew. Nishiki wouldn’t have known), reiterates what his host had explained before only in much more detail and confidence.

Silence ensues as Shikiya tries to process the information.

“Wow…” he whispered.

“Forgive me, Shikiya-kun. I know it’s too much for you to-“

“No, no! It’s okay, Sakamoto-san! It’s just… I didn’t expect to have such power”

“Please, Ryoma’s fine”

He nods.

Neither speaks after that.

Another awkward silence.

Shikiya’s the one breaking the silence this time.

“So, umm… Ryoma-san?”

“Hmm?”

“If you… Were you…”

Shikiya sighs.

“Yes?”

“Is there… someone else? Well, beside you and Kiryu, I mean…”

Ryoma blinks.

“What do you mean?”

Shikiya’s face heats up.

“I-I mean! There’s this… one. Back when I see nothing but darkness. He’s like, y’know? He has Kiryu’s voice but talk like a dick to me. Sounds like an asshole! Fucker keeps teasing me every time! Do you know that he once tried to flirt with me? N-Not like I like it or anything! I already have a crush!”

The not-quite Kiryu blinks before bursting into a laugh.

“D-Don’t laugh!” Shikiya bashfully reprimands.

“S-Sorry! It’s just- I know too well who are you talking about,” Ryoma answers once he calms down, wiping away the tear from the corner of his eye.

“Really? Who is it, then?”

The not-quite Kiryu clears his throat before looking at Shikiya with a serious expression, as if he wasn’t just laughing his ass off from the other’s minor inconvenience a second ago.

“Yes. But… Do you really want to see him? Last time you two together, it wasn’t a pleasant experience”

Shikiya frowns at that, recalling what happened last night. The forceful hands, how close his face was, how he sent shiver down his spine when their eyes meet even just for a moment and how it was distorted by his vision. Sighing, he closes his eyes and thinks. Ryoma patiently waits for him, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable. A minute passed before Shikiya opens his eyes and looks back at Ryoma, nodding a confirmation.

It’s Ryoma’s turn to sigh and close his eyes. Shikiya watches expectantly and wonders. Who is the other man? What makes him so insufferable and yet so endearing?

Before he got his answers, the corner of Kiryu’s lip curls into a manic smile. When he opens his eyes, it glows eerie green. The same one Shikiya saw in his nightmarish vision. Shikiya’s body ceases its movement yet also shivering in anticipation. When he talks, it’s in the same annoying tone as Shikiya remembered.

“It’s been a while, Shikiya!”

The not-quite Kiryu brings up his thumb and forefinger to hold Shikiya’s chin with, causing the latter to flinch. He pushes his chin up, forcing the other to look at him.

“Didn’t know you miss me that much~!”

Fear is all Shikiya know at that moment, recalling the nightmare from earlier night. Noticing this, the not-quite Kiryu frowns and let go of his grip, sighing.

“Hey… Sorry about yesterday… I didn’t mean to scare you… I thought- If you face fear head on, you’d-“

A sigh.

“Look… I’m sorry… I promise something like that wouldn’t happen again…”

He doesn’t trust his words.

Rage-filled punch crashes against the side of Kiryu’s cheek, throwing him off his seat. Shikiya breaths heavily before realizing what he had done, looking at his fisted hand in horror.

“S-Sorry! I-I didn’t know what’s gotten into-“

Soft shuffling noises echo through the room as his victim gets up. Footsteps clacking against the floor, approaching him. And then…

SMACK!!

Red handprint forms on his pale cheek. His lips slightly ajar, stunned at the sudden slap.

“Fight me”

“Eh?”

He looks up at the other man. Gone was that playfulness. His expression devoid of emotion. It is as if he is a different person, yet the cold grayish green eyes staring back says otherwise.

“If you hate me that much, then it’s only fair for you to fight me”

An invitation. Every fiber of his being is screaming to turn it down. To brush it off and cowers in fear, even if it’s not like him to do such thing. Warning him that he wouldn’t stand a chance against the man before him.

Yet, he takes the bait. Turning his fear and sadness into anger, he springs out from his bed, hitting the man with such ferocity it leaves a bruise swelling. His vision blurs, red lines wrapping around his opponent.

Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. Allowing its user to see the lines of death

Kiryu’s words echo on the back of his mind. Momentarily, panic courses through his body. However, he soon turns it into a manic desire. A desire to kill this man before him who had so rudely mock and taunt him.

If you cut the line, its owner will cease to live.

Let’s see if it’s true or not…

Shikiya frantically grabs anything sharp from the table beside him. Anything to cut those lines. His palm pressing against a cold metal surface.

Good, he thinks. This’ll do…

Murderous glint reflects on his eyes as he swings the object at the not-quite Kiryu. The other man dodges it, cruel smile spreads through his lips. His eyes show the same murderous glint as his are, a sight so out of place on Kiryu’s face he just wants to punch it out of disgust. It doesn’t matter, though, as the two set into a wild and fast-paced brawl. Shikiya moves swiftly, aiming for a slash, but his movements are frantic and erratic, going for nothing but the kill. The not-quite Kiryu, meanwhile, evades in such grace and finesse, occasionally throwing a defensive punch at his opponent. They both move as if it’s a choreographed dance except for the frenzied speed of each fighters. Crashes and thuds fill the room they’re in, ransacking it mercilessly with their exchanged blows.

Their fight concluded soon after, with Shikiya straddling Kiryu’s hips and looking down at him. His right hand clutching on the metal object tightly. Both fighters pant heavily, chests heaving from the adrenaline. Shikiya lifts his hands, clasping his fingers around the metal object. Rage-filled expression directed to his opponent, expression unreadable as he watches him. With a cry, he swings the object down…

…it stabs the tiled floor beside Kiryu’s head.

Bitter laugh escapes Shikiya’s mouth. His body trembles as he let out a soft sob.

“I… I can’t…”

He lets go of the object. Clatter fills the otherwise silent room before it too ceases its sound.

“Heh… It’s weird… I’ve been wanting to kill you for what you did… Been wanting to silence you for talking shit to me… And yet, I… I can’t…”

Another sob.

“Why can’t I kill you…? Why… Why don’t I wanna kill you?!”

The not-quite Kiryu’s face soften. The manic smirk and cold scowl have been replaced with as small sad smile. He brings up his hand to brush away Shikiya’s stray hair and cups his cheek. Shikiya flinches but lets him to do so, placing his hand on top of Kiryu’s. He hadn’t realized his flowing hair until now. Fuck! He must’ve look like Nishiki right now. The mental image is enough to make tears welling up his eyes, still unable to cope with the other’s passing. He feels sick for wearing the look of his fallen friend. Kiryu’s thumb swipes away the tear.

“You did good, kid…”

That’s all the other man offers him. He glances to his side, looking at the object that could be his downfall. Shikiya follows his gaze. His eyes go wide when he sees it, realization dawns to him.

A bent spoon lays non-threateningly against the tiled floor.

Shikiya had been trying to kill Kiryu with a goddamn spoon.

The idiocy doesn’t escape him. He laughs, softly at first before turning into a maniacal laugh and ends with a choked one. All the while Kiryu’s hand still attached to his cheek. Shikiya leans to the touch. He closes his eyes, sighing as waves after waves of emotion crashes against him.

“Hey…” He calls the other out in a whisper. “Can I… borrow your shoulder… for a bit?”

The not-quite Kiryu looks up at him and nods, groaning as he feels the shift in weight. Shikiya has laid himself on top of him, face buried against his shoulder. He’s too tired to cry, too tired to argue and talk. He inhales a generous amount of air. Smell of sweat and cologne enters his nostrils, lulling him to unconsciousness. He feels a hand combing through his soft, messy hair. Through Nishiki’s hair. Another pang of guilt stabs him, though he’s too exhausted to dwell on it.

“Musashi…”

Shikiya hums questioningly, muffled only by the fabric of Kiryu’s shirt. He doesn’t bother to look at the other in this state.

“Name’s Miyamoto Musashi”

He hums again, this time in content. He finally allows himself drifting to sleep, aware of Kiryu’s strong arms hugging him securely.

-o0o-

The hospital bill suddenly spikes up. Not from the increase of tax but from the property damage he and Kiryu had caused in his room earlier this morning. Shikiya had insisted he would be the one covering for the bill with the Nishikiyama family’s treasury but Kiryu didn’t listen, apologizing and promising the doctor to take responsibility for the damage they’d done. Just before he left, Kiryu – no, Musashi – had offered to teach him how to control the Mystic Eyes but he refused, not wanting to burden the other man with his problem.

(Wait, THE Miyamoto Musashi?! Kiryu, what the fuck is your family, man?! Are you secretly related to all of Japan’s most influential people?!

Shiki, believe me when I said I’m just as surprised as you… I never knew that until these two came into my life. Did Ryoma-no-niisan tell you he’s part of Shinsengumi as well?

But… Wasn’t Sakamoto Ryoma their enemy? How was he part of Shinsengumi?

Yeah… He’s also Saito Hajime…

He WHAT?!)

And after that, he’s left alone. The room had been cleaned from hazardous debris, though the broken and bent furniture are yet to be fixed. Shikiya sighed and laid back to his bed. So much had happened in such a short time. He shut his eyes, imagining Nishiki’s voice and presence. He wished the other half was still there with him but with everything that had happened? He doubted he’s still alive. Yet he kept on hoping, praying that he survived.

Frustrated, Shikiya forced himself to sleep, convincing himself to just forget it already.

-o0o-

When he opened his eyes, all he saw was nothing. He was floating aimlessly in this absolute void. He thought he was dead. Felt like he’s dead. Yet, another part of him felt alive. As if there were nothing life-threatening happened to him before.

           Where am I?

He thinks to himself.

Why am I here?

Am I alive? Am I dead?

What had happened to him?

What of-

His train of thoughts were interrupted by ghoulish wails in the distance. He looked around, finding nothing but complete darkness. Then he saw it. Writhing masses of restless spirits came into view. The macabre sight almost sending him running on his heels in fear. But then he heard something else, not quite an echoing wail of a spirit. Rather, a whimper of a lost soul trapped among the land of the dead.

Please!

Get away from me!

Leave me alone!

Swallowing, he cautiously approached the masses of death. Then he saw it. Black, slicked back hair. White suit and pants. A figure standing hunched. His back was facing him, hands clutching tightly at the hair it almost looked like it got ripped from its roots.

He recognized that look, recognized that voice.

As he drew closer, flashes of emotions struck him.

Regret. Sadness. Anger. Fear. Guilt. Pain. Anguish.

Loss.

Suddenly, he understood. As the ghouls closing in toward the lost soul, he took action.

Kicking. Punching. Biting. Stomping. Smashing.

He put everything into his being to protect this lost soul, distant yet familiar.

Then he saw it.

Red lines coiling around the ghouls.

He didn’t understand at first but he figured he’d find out as he went.

He noticed at last.

Spirits ceasing to exist once the lines were cut.

And so he did. Cutting every last visible line on the wretched spirits until there’s no more of them.

He looked back at the lost soul. Glaring red lines plastered on its being.

He shook his head.

No, I wouldn’t kill him.

After what I did to protect him.

I wouldn’t waste my effort just to end him.

The lines disappeared.

He approached the lost soul.

He hugged the poor soul.

He whispered the soul’s name.

Shikiya…

The one he had called tensed and slowly turns around, tears staining his pale cheeks as their gaze met.

Ni… Nishiki…

He smiled, wiping the other’s tears with his finger.

Heh… Who’s the crybaby now?

Shut up… You left me…

I know…

I thought you were gone…

I’m sorry…

I love you…

He kept on. Whispering apologies and sweet nothings. Inching his face closer and closer. Until their lips locked into a gentle kiss. Their eyes fluttered shut. Savoring the moment of tenderness. Never wanting to let go.

-o0o-

Shikiya wakes up gasping for air, eyes pried open as he darts his gaze everywhere in the room. Slowly, he sits up, comprehending on his dream in sleep.

There was darkness. Then the eldritch beings. Then silence. Then the familiar warmth. Then…

Part of him doesn’t believe it was real, brushing it off as a dream. He can’t sense him from within, so surely it can’t be real... Right?

But... Another part of him wants to believe it, clinging onto that sliver of hope. If so, then there’s one thing for sure…

Nishiki is in there somewhere.

Akira Nishikiyama is alive.

He calms down, fingertips ghosting over his lips. A tingling sensation and warmth send shiver down his spine as he remembers the kiss. He breaths, shutting his eyes as he replayed that scene, that feeling over and over in his mind.

-o0o-

The night before he’s officially discharged, he chances himself a look on a mirror. His face looks tired. There’re faint eyebags under his eyes. His hair’s in shambles yet neatly parted in the middle. Stray bangs framing his gaunt face.

He looks like shit.

He looks like Nishiki.

Sighing, he combs his hair backwards in hope to achieve his preferred slick back style. It doesn’t work, as strands of hair fall back to the parted style the moment his hand leaves the scalp. He exhales in frustration, slightly banging the mirror as he leans against it.

Soft thud disturbs the otherwise peaceful night. It comes from outside. Shikiya cautiously removed himself from the mirror and approaches the door. Before his hand touching the cold surface of the doorknob, someone barges in so suddenly.

A man… No, not a man. Foul stench fills the hospital room. Rotten flesh splats on the otherwise pristine floor below. His eyes unfocused, rotating unnaturally in different direction. He pauses for a moment, looking at Shikiya with that ghoulish eyes, before charging at him, knocking him against a wall. Shikiya feels a pair of decaying hands pressing against his neck, his windpipe, choking him. He struggles to pry it off, mind starting to become unfocused as air leaves his lungs steadily. He contemplates giving up and ceasing his struggle. What’s the point of living after everything that happened?

Then he remembers. He remembers the three distinct yet similar voices. He remembers the warmth of skin against skin. He remembers the gentler times. He remembers the smell of something other than hospital, something comforting.

He remembers that dream.

No… I can’t die here now.

Someone murmurs something in the back of his mind.

Live.

With renewed strength, Shikiya pushes the monster away. They hit the window, sending them plummeting to the ground below. Shikiya considers himself lucky as he gets up, although his burnt wounds start to feel sore. The monster stirs from its resting place before he rises from the ground, standing and turning to look at his prey in stumble. Shikiya panics, scenes from his nightmare threatens to fill in his vision. His body shakes as he takes a step back.

Use your Eyes.

Subconsciously, he does. His surroundings turn blurred and muted. Red angry lines wrap around the incoming monster.

Breath. Focus. Focus on killing your enemy.

He closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. One, two, three…

He hears grasses scrunched under clumsy feet.

You can do this.

That voice, strangely comforting.

He finally calms down, opening his eyes to look at the monster sharply. He bends down and picks up a shard of glass before dashing at him. With one swift stroke, he slashed the monster, shriek in agony echoes through the night. In his vision, he had cut several lines mostly on the torso. Blood sprays from the monster, covering his assailant with the pungent liquid. Shikiya uses the blood to style his hair to the slick back style he’d been trying to get. His lips twitch into a sadistic smile. It’s been a long time since he feels the thrill of killings.

Abruptly, pain pulses in his head. The shard falls from his grip as he drops into his knees, clutching his head harshly. There’s something in there. Something that forces his soul to leave his body. He withholds, not wanting to be defeated so easily.

I’ll take care of it.

That’s when he feels himself being pulled into the depths of mind. He doesn’t see it but he can feel it. Warmth coursing through his being as familiar hands guiding him. His body moves in automaton, picking up the fallen shard and points its sharp end to his chest.

Trust me with this.

So he did, letting the shard stabs through his chest.

Strange… That doesn’t hurt at all.

Screams and wails overflowing his ears, yet it’s not his voice nor the voice that had been guiding him. The shard slides out with ease once the noises disappears into the night. His body feels light, as if the burden had been lifted from his shoulder. For a moment, he experiences peace.

Shikiya…

That voice whispered his name, gentle and serene. He whispers back, equally as soft.

Nishiki…

Tears pricking the corner of his eyes. He had missed that name for a long time. Ever since the day the older soul retreated into nothingness, returning briefly only to almost disappearing completely from within.

Strong yet tender arms ghosting around his body, hugging him from behind. Shikiya could sense Nishiki’s presence, even if he can’t see him. He rests a hand above Nishiki’s right above his heart. The heart beats steadily. He gazes upwards. Clear night sky speckled with twinkling stars greets his vision.

That’s the last thing he sees before he blacks out.

-o0o-

“How is he?”

“Hmm?”

Kiryu pays him a visit in the afternoon. He has heard the news that the patient Akira Nishikiyama had jumped off from his room and was found unconscious and caked in blood the next day on a clearing behind the hospital, along with an unidentified and mangled corpse. The doctor had decided to extend his stay for a day until he truly recovers. Now, they sit in the messy room, product of the duel a few days back and of that night’s scuffling.

“How’s the other guy?”

“Oh. He’s fine. Just exhausted. Poor guy must’ve gone through a lot after I disappeared”

Kiryu nods in understanding.

The man before him. The Koi. Kazama’s boy. Kiryu’s sworn brother. He’s looking out to the horizon, expression unreadable.

“Kiryu?”

“Yes?”

A pause.

“Thank you…For taking care of Shikiya while I’m gone”

Nishiki turns his head toward him, his lips formed into a grateful smile.

Kiryu couldn’t help but smiles back.

“Anything for my brother”

He’s sure his ancestors would agree with him.

FIN