#this rant directed at the one assistant manager. the store manager is on my side and had photos of the first reaction saved on her phone

[green-and-grey]

misjudged how long my special gloves would last and yesterday i ended up having to use the store's gloves for an hour

my hands and wrists and forearms still feel like they're sunburnt and covered in poison ivy and it hurts when they brush against even the softest objects. the only thing that's not painful to the touch is cool, running water.

I'm about to camp out at the kitchen sink and pour a cup of water over my arms repeatedly for hours

[sanderssquip-au]

Broadway - Part 1

"Did you get it!?"  Roman burst excitedly in on a very distracted Thomas.  He held up a small, grey pill and a bottle of mountain dew, nodding.  "Perfect!  This will be brilliant!"

"I dunno, Roman, it seems kinda... sketchy.  What if it doesn't work?  What if-"

"Oh, hush, worrywart, that's just Virgil talking."  He waved dismissively. "You won't get anywhere in life without taking chances!  Just take it so we can see how it works!"

"What's just who talking?"  The anxious side appeared on the stairs, nodding to Roman and then doing a doubletake as he noticed Thomas.  "Woah woah woah.  I thought we agreed that you weren't going anywhere near that and that Roman was a stupid idiot who didn't know any better."

"Virgil, we only agreed on one of those things, but...  I dunno, he can be kind of... persuasive.  You have to admit it sounds kind of cool."

"It's sketchy, untested, undocumented technology in a pill that you got for four hundred bucks in the back of a shoe store.  Yeah, what could go wrong?  Rhetorical question, I know what could go wrong, so let's review: number one-"

Virgil was very rudely interrupted by Logan rising up.  "I agree with Virgil.  Although it would be... fascinating, to see how this complex technology works, the risk of harm to Thomas is too great to ignore."

Roman groaned.  "I thought you, for one, would love the idea of a computer helping you with managing Thomas's health!  I mean, you're basically a robot yourself, I'm sure you'd get along!"

"The brakes, Princey."  Thomas warned, prompting Roman to step back sheepishly.

"I'm sorry!  It's just- I don't see why you're all so against the idea of getting help!  The way it was advertised, this could get us to broadway!  It could make us famous - and- and healthy, to boot, aren't you supposed to like that?"

"Thomas's mental health should not be dependent on a piece of technology."  Janus added, Roman groaning loudly upon his entrance.  "We're doing just fine without it."

"Ha!" Roman scoffed.  "You're only saying that because you're scared you'll be replaced because it'll be better than you!"

"Projection, Roman."  Janus smirked.  Roman had nothing more to say after that.

"I- I think-"  Patton looked to Janus worriedly.  He nodded.  "I think Thomas should try to be, ah, genuine!  And shouldn't- um- have to use it!  At all!"  He hesitated, before quickly adding.  "But if he wants to then I'm not going to stop him."

With that, each of the present sides broke off on their own, mostly very heated tangents and rants, before the mass of voices was broken by Thomas himself.

"GUYS!  I think..." He paused, holding the pill in his hand.  "I think Roman's right.  There isn't any harm in trying, right?"

"Actually-"  Both Virgil and Logan cut in, but were quickly shushed by Roman.

"Go on, Thomas."

"Right.  Well, uh, I think... it could be just what I need, right?  I mean, I haven't been doing too great lately, and I know you all haven't been either, so maybe... maybe it can help?"

He looked to each of the sides in turn.

"Patton?"

"Well, if you think it can help, I'll support you as much as I can."  He gasped.  "Maybe it'll just be like a new friend!"

"Virgil?"

"I still think it's a stupid idea, but whatever."

"Right.  Logan?"

"I suppose it could be... useful, if it works as advertised."

"Janus?"

"I think..." He hesitated, not used to being asked his opinion.  "I think that if you really believe it can help, then go for it.  But... do be cautious.  You don't know how it works, and I don't want you getting hurt."

Thomas smiled encouragingly.  "Of course.  And, Roman, I think we know what-"

"I know it's a lot to ask.  But I'm glad you trust me.  I promise it won't be as bad as some of you are making it out to be."

And with that, Thomas swallowed the pill and took a swig of mountain dew before anyone could change his mind.  

There was a moment of silence.  Anticipation, as Thomas braced himself for anything that could happen.  And then, rushing through his body like a tidal wave, searing pain that knocked him to the floor of his living room screaming.  Virgil ran to his side and cast a deathly glare at Roman, who was standing paralysed in his spot, unable to come up with anything that might help.  Patton and Janus both rushed to comfort Thomas, urging Logan to figure out what was going on, to no avail.

Calibration in process.  Please excuse some mild discomfort.

"What the fuck!?" Virgil screeched, no longer even trying to keep Thomas calm.  "What does that mean!?  What the-"

"Language!" Patton shouted over the top of Thomas's screaming.  "Just- I'm sure everything's alright, just stay calm.  It'll be fine.  It's fine."

The pain halted for a moment.  Patton sighed in relief, putting an arm around Virgil's trembling shoulders.  

"See.  I told you.  It'll be-"

Access procedure complete.

Virgil practically sunk into the father figure's arms, shaking and hyperventilating as Patton tried to calm the poor side down.

Discomfort level may increase.

This time, the shocks manifested in every one of the sides.  Virgil bit his bottom lip and clung to Patton's side, trying his hardest not to scream as Patton hugged him just a little too tight.  Logan managed to remain fairly calm, but Janus - knocked to his knees by the sheer shock and now whimpering quietly and praying that the other sides were too distracted to hear - noticed him shaking as he comforted a screaming Thomas.  Roman was on the floor and shrieking possibly louder than Thomas.  But it passed.

Accessing neural memory.

Accessing muscle memory.

Thomas Sanders.  Welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor.

Thomas blinked.  A cloud of static seemed to clear in his head, and he lifted his head up from the carpeted floor, groaning.  A suited figure stood above him, hands behind its back and wearing a bemused expression.  Its eyes were a piercing electric blue, causing Thomas to have to squint to see it properly after having his eyes squeezed shut for so long.  Its hair was fairly short, almost like his own, except... maybe a little fluffier?  And it wore a suit and tie, which he couldn't help but feel fairly intimidated by.  

"Woah... You, uh, you actually... work?"  Thomas managed to get out, still staring, dumbfounded, at the hologram in front of him.  It smirked.  

Correct.  I am a SQUIP model 3.0, slightly outdated but I can assure you that I am in perfect working order. 

The figure looked around curiously at each of the sides in turn. 

But, for the record, your - ah - 'situation' is rather unusual, so please bear with me in the case of anything unexpected.

"Unexpected?"  Virgil butted in, pushing forward and looking the squip dead in the virtual eyes.  "How unexpected?  You aren't gonna - you know - self-destruct in Thomas's head or anything?  Possess his body and kill someone?  Take over the world?  What if-"

The hologram held up a finger to quiet him, looking relatively amused.  Anxiety, correct?

"Virgil.."  He muttered under his breath.

Right.  I can assure you that it is not within my programming to do any of those things.  My prime directive is to assist Thomas in improving his life.  

"See!"  Roman exclaimed triumphantly.  "That's what I said.  He- they-"

He paused and turned to the squip.  "Pronouns?"

It/its.

"Right!  It's going to help us.  I told you it wouldn't be harmful.  Didn't I tell you?"

"We still don't know that..."  Virgil muttered, still sore from the electric shocks.  Patton immediately interrupted, jumping forward and waving excitedly, his eyes lighting up like fairy lights.

"I think it's great!" He squealed.  "You're like another side!  We haven't had a new addition in so long!"

Janus loudly cleared his throat.  

"Okay well maybe that isn't true but still!   I'm Patton by the way.  This is so exciting!  And your eyes are so cool!  And-" he gasped excitedly, dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper.  "I have a robot son."

The squip blinked confusedly.  Thomas shrugged.  "Just... let him adopt you.  It's easier for everyone involved."

It nodded, still very clearly confused, which Virgil laughed at - before immediately cursing himself for getting too comfortable.  Janus smirked from the corner.

"Glad to know it wasn't just me."  He rolled his eyes playfully before stepping up to shake the squip's hand.  It took it.  "Janus.  It's a pleasure."

The sentiment is returned.  It smiled, either unaware of the fact that the snake was looking it up and down like it was a murder suspect or just not caring.  It did, however, give him one glance and nod approvingly.  He raised an eyebrow.  Oh, don't think much of it, I'm just quite impressed by your taste in outfits.  That's all.

"Is that-"

Not sarcasm, no.  I genuinely think you have good taste.

Janus hesitated.  "Thank you..?"

It smiled at him, opening its mouth to speak but being interrupted abruptly by a very confused Logan.

"You're an AI, right?"

Correct.

"You're... incredibly complex for modern technology."

The hologram put a hand to its chest in flattery.  Thank you.

 "It's difficult to imagine that you don't have some ulterior motive," he muttered, speaking at an unusually quick pace that the others recognised as meaning he was confused.  "I mean, of all the possible applications for such mindblowingly advanced technology-"

I'm flattered, Logic.

"Logan.  Surely you can't just be to... assist Thomas.  There has to be something you're hiding."

On the contrary, my objective is rather transparent.  It's just whatever Thomas wants it to be.  After all, isn't the overall purpose of AI to improve the life of humans?

Logan nodded, still muttering under his breath but too low for anybody to hear.  This time, it was Roman's turn to speak.

"So... you're essentially one of us, right?"

The squip processed that for a moment.  I don't believe so.  Although our purposes are extremely similar.

"Good enough for me!"  He proclaimed, over the sound of Janus scoffing.  "As long as you're here for the good of Thomas - and so long as you can do what your advertisers promised - you're alright in my books."  

I assure you that you won't be disappointed, ah-

It raised an eyebrow.

"Prince Roman."  He grinned, taking a small bow.  His face lit up when it returned the gesture.   "I look forward to working with you.  Let's get him to broadway."

[quirkydeaky]

supercar or supergirl?

AN 80s ROGER TAYLOR IMAGINE

[credit to original owner/poster of this gif]

W/C: 1181

Warnings: swearing, smut! [18+], dom!80s rog

Summary: you have tried encountering with roger before, but you lost your chance. another chance arises when you’re forced to do a job you’d never thought you’d do and your luck is in store.

A/N: this is my imagine from my fresh imagines book on wattpad where original imagines about queen and borhap cast are posted and you can request from many prompt lists or even with your own plot, check it out! profile is @quirkydeaky and i have another book, a fanfiction based on roger that’s almost finished. if you would, give it a read or even give the summary a read and let me know whether its worthy to post on tumblr. all the love <3

.

Being one of those girls forced to dress in short, tight and skimpy dresses was never something you originally thought you'd be into, let alone do.

But here you were, a girl forced to dress skimpy, full face of makeup being applied on your face that took well over an hour, but nonetheless you enjoyed doing it because you were up early and prancing around in the small bathroom of your apartment as the vinyl spun on your record player in the corner of your room.

"Ooh, you make me live; ooh you make me live now honey!" You sang as you cam to a standstill to apply a top up of mascara.

Mascara was your least favourite product to apply because you tended to smudge it while dancing around and it forced you to have to re do your eye make up, which unfortunately you didn't have time to do today, so coming to a standstill, you applied the second coat carefully and successfully managed to not smudge it onto your sparkly eyelids.

You always were torn when you couldn't buy a set of fake eyelashes when you had to dress for the supercar races, but you simply couldn't afford them. Only doing this supercar gig of presenting flowers to the winners around once a month and working at a cafe only three other days of the week meant that paying bills sometime came to a standstill.

Nonetheless, you tried your hardest and managed to make rent every month, while still enjoying living in London while attending University, living the best single life.

Little did you know, that was all going to change today.

-

"And now we have... y/n! Presenting second place too..." The voice blared into the background and you almost lost your footing when you saw who was less then 20 metres away from you in the crowd.

Roger Taylor.

Roger fucking Taylor.

You have had the biggest crush on this man for god knows how long, probably ever since you attended that Smile gig when they were just starting out and some other chick one him over and got his attention rather then you.

Now was your chance.

You stepped up onto the podium, flicking your hair slightly when turning around to hand the bunch of flowers to the supercar driver who was awarded second place.

You stuck your bum out, feeling your dress ride up and you were also praying that maybe, just maybe, that some of your bum was poking out, praying that your uncomfortable g-string would just corporate this one time.

Giving the man a kiss on the cheek and shaking his hand before turning around and throwing it up in the air, giving another reason for the crowd to cheer for you, while making some men swoon at your presence not that far i front of them.

Roger included.

You had caught his eye as soon as he saw you to the side of the stage, not long after looking up from his watch as he had a rehearsal to get too, but when seeing you standing there and with his attitude of a cocky bastard, it gave him a reason to stay for the presentation.

He had been here purposely of a way to relax, writing for the upcoming album was stressing him out, not to mention when the boys had ideas and he didn't.

And he desperately needed someone he could rant his worries too.

He thought he needed it verbal, but once seeing you, he definitely thought not.

Physical was the only option and he could sense it through your being and through your actions that he were guessing - and hoping - were directed towards him, that you were asking for his attention.

The presentation was over and the three girls assisting with the presentation, yourself included, ushered to the side of the stage, but you decided to stay in front of the other two so you could give a knowing eye to the man of your dreams.

And it seemed he was waiting for you to give him that knowing eye, trying to stay still in the now evaporating crowd until he caught your attention.

You gave him a nod with a flick of the head back, telling him to meet you out back, and he seemed to be confused but started moving eagerly towards the back when he had pointed toward that direction and received a thumbs up from you.

-

Ten minutes later and with as little as an introduction of names, you were pushed up against the door of the small change rooms you and the two other presentations girls got, and with them being long gone with the day being over - you had the whole change room to yourself.

Well, not to yourself - but with Roger.

His lips were on your neck, but soon moved towards your lips to stifle a moan as his hands danced around your hips, pulling the waistband part of your g-string out to the side and snapping it off completely, you wincing in pain but in satisfaction at the same time.

Two digits immediately came to rest above your heat, and you squealed in delight as one entered you and one played with your nub of nerves.

"Baby, gotta be quiet for me, yeah? There's people out and about."

You moaned into his mouth as he brought you closer and closer to your climax, now up to his third finger pumping in and out of you.

It had been a while since you had done this, but it wasn't like anything before. Good god, that man knew how to use - and curl, might you add - his fingers.

And when you think the pleasure could stop, a fourth finger entered you while his thumb circled your clit and you swore you saw stars as you immediately came all over is fingers, him being annoyed you came without permission and he decided immediately after looking at his wristwatch that you were going to have to wait.

"Open." He said, motioning towards your mouth and you opened as wide as you could and hummed at the sweet taste of yourself.

"Now, you're going to have to wait for being a naughty girl and coming without daddy's permission," Once hearing this, you whined and stomped your foot repeatedly out of annoyance and he put a hand over your mouth.

"It's either you wait or you never see me again, and I don't think either of us would like the second option, would we baby?"

You shook your head.

"Good girl, well, here's my number, call me tonight and, uh, we can organise to meet at my place again, what do you say?" He asked as he swiped his thumb over your lips before passing you a piece of folded paper.

This man was prepared.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes daddy." You mumbled, puckering your lips for a kiss, which he gave happily.

"Good girl, 'might see you tonight after rehearsal love."

He kept his word, and my, you didn't have one ounce of sleep that night, either.

[drowningotometrash]

Because I’m currently obsessing over Love and Producer (Mr Love Queen’s Choice), I HAVE to rant all about it, and what better place than here lol. I never really thought I’d be this into it as I saw waaaaaay too many ads for it prerelease. I was actually like “mehhhhh I’ll think about it”, until my friend mentioned she liked it and I was bored.

Love and Producer is a Chinese game that has blown up quite a bit in the Chinese community. The taiwan ver was released late last year, approximately a year after the initial release in China, and is also the version I’m playing. You can choose VAs of all versions in the settings, currently there’s Mainland Chinese, Taiwan and Japanese. The Japanese release of the game is actually slated for 2019, but you can already choose the Japanese VA. And despite me usually liking Japanese voice acting, I SWEAR you’ve got to go with the mainland Chinese ver for this game. It simply is a lot more natural and flows a lot better. And note, the music is AMAZING in this game, I’m utterly obsessed. And the card illustrations and CGs are glorious.

Unlike quite a lot of otome games, the charm of Love and Producer for me is the plot. Like Mystic Messenger, L&P is quite plot heavy. In fact, there are 21 chapters released thus far in the Chinese ver (14 for the TW ver) and the first 10 still feels like the prologue, though I’ve heard it gets quite angsty later on.

The plot revolves around you as a producer of TV shows. You’re in charge of the production company that your father has left behind, and it’s steadily loosing viewership. Through various events you come to meet 4 men and they all seem to be interested or know you. You have dreams that you can’t explain and some parts of your memories are obviously suppressed. Eitherway you come to learn of Evolvers, humans with the Evol gene which makes them super human, and that an organisation is trying to capture and harm these people.

There are only four date-able characters, and they each play a significant role in the plot. Rather than say that the game is for you to “date” the 4 guys, occasionally it feels more like a story about people with super powers. In fact you learn more about the characters through side dates with them than the actual main plot line. Though I’ve heard later on you do get to choose whose route you want to play, but as of ch 14 you are still on the main route with all 4 guys. And it’s quite interesting because I do occasionally feel like the asshole that’s stringing 4 guys along as you jump from guy to guy in each chapter lol. But like previously mentioned, it’s because each guy actually does have a role to play in the plot and you need them to push it forward. Though you jump between guys, it is to let you have an initial grasp of these four people that are involved in the conspiracy around Evolvers. And for once I still haven’t managed to pick out my favourite character yet, I just love them all.

So now onto the guys:

First is 許墨 Xu Mo aka Lucien

He's a director and assistant professor of the local university. He's basically the mysterious guy. Very kind and gentle to MC but you know that he’s definitely not all he seems to be. He’s the kind guy you first meet when trying invite him onto the last episode to save your show. He always seems to know a bit too much and you some how end up as neighbours. Xu Mo is the warm but reasonable and the scientific person who helps you a lot with ideas and suggestions for your shows. He’s also the guy that will leave subtle hints for you even before events happen to you. He’s the kind that’s warm but you definitely feel he’s got a barrier between him and everyone. Though you are naturally much closer to him than others, there’s still a distance. Everything about him is mysterious and there’s an underlying sense of danger around him. Out of all characters, he is the only one who’s Evol is still unknown.

Next guy is 李澤言 Li Zeyan aka Victor

His japanase VA is Tomokazu Sugita, the same guy who voices Oda Nobunaga in IkeSen. And what can I say, he’s the typical rich CEO who basically is the guy who funds everything. He’s mean but always helping you, calls you an idiot, teases you and refuses to admit that he cares. You actually call him out on his tsundere attitude on dates lol. He’s basically the Han Jumin of the game, but not as competely out of the loop as Best HusbandTM is. He seems to have a fondness for animals, esp Chibas. He’s also a great cook, sharing memories in regards to pudding with you. He definitely knows you from before though details still aren’t exactly revealed yet (or I haven’t gotten there yet lol). His Evol is related to Time Control.

Side note: His assistant is the best.

Third is 白起 Bai Qi aka Gavin

Baiqi was your senior in high school. The rumoured bad boy who got into fights all the time and with atrocious grades. You were actually afraid of him during high school. However he suddenly transferred away and you never saw him again until the events started happening. Currently he's working as a police officer at the local Police station, though everyone thinks he doesn't care about his job. But he's actually a secret agent working against the organisation targeting Evolvers. He's the special forces guy that has always liked you but is not good at or used to expressing his emotions. Despite being the guy with the clearest and most direct connection with you, he never tries to push that on you. He also doesn't try to correct the assumptions you used to have of him. His Evol is Wind/Air related, as he straight up tells you "As long as you are in the wind, I will know where you are." He is also the one who clearly displays his protectiveness over you.

Side note: His self proclaimed sidekick and best friend is always trying to make you realise he's always liked you.

Extra side note: I was so shocked when I discovered who his Mainland Chinese voice actor was. As I hadn't looked up anything before the game, I was halfway through the released chapters before I found out. I was so shocked. With Japanese seiyuus you tend to be able to recognise them if you've watched one too many anime. But here? I even went back to listen through the story portions again and I couldn't (and still can't) link up the voices lol.

Lastly is 周棋洛 Zhou Qiluo aka Kiro

He's an idol superstar. Basically he can act, sing and model. He's the most popular celebrity and he can attract fans from all walks of life. He's the typical bright bubbly guy who lights up your life or tries his hardest fo cheer you up when you are down. He loves snacks and calls you Miss Chips as you met over a bag of chips at a convenience store I wish it actually were that easy meeting celebrities. You both love to eat and bond over food. You gradually discover more sides to him and he definitely knows more, but he's still a bright boy at heart (at least from where I've gotten so far). His Evol is Absolute Attraction.

Side note: If you thought I was shocked when I found out who voiced 白起 Bai Qi, I was utterly floored when I discovered who voiced this guy. The difference in characters of the roles the VA played in a previous show is too shocking. I still can't link up the two and was literally flabbergasted when I found out.

There's also a unique feature of this game called "By Your Side". It's basically an ASMR recording of the characters speaking to you softly as he lays beside you and lulls you to sleep. It's definitely very soothing though I haven't tried to fall asleep to it. However only one segment of one character, 許墨 Xu Mo, is free. You'd have to pay if you want to unlock the rest.

[prorevenge]

How I stopped my co-workers and I being bullied, by outing that awful woman as a serial sexual assaulter. TW mentions of sexual assault.

I think this is a pro-revenge, if not tell me and I will post it elsewhere!

Also, this will be a long one... I am very verbose, and it spills over into text too!

A long time ago I worked for a fast food place that has a very noticeable “golden” (bright yellow usually) symbol.

The People Involved:

Me: a 17-19 year old male living in a medium sized town in the UK. (I am now old, relatively, damn, how does that happen? :) ) Also a giant toker at the time, had dreadlocks and smoked almost everyday.

Bitchqueen: a hostile, but shockingly beautiful, and thoroughly nasty human woman, approx 19-23 ish during all this nonsense.

TheBigMan: a 2nd assistant manager who I got on really well with from day one. He took no shit from bullshitters, had zero tolerance for Bitchqueen (his usual greeting was something like “Hey Bitchqueen, who are you going to pick on today?”) and if he saw her bullying someone he would just walk in between her and the victim and bend down to stare in her face. She would walk off and pretend nothing had happened. More than once he stated if BQ were a man she would have been beaten senseless by him by now. He hated violence, but she was really awful! Also he was a bit of a unit. As in 250lbs of muscle and a gym obsession long before it was cool! Also a fairly big smoker, we used to get high after work a lot with some of the other employees.

AwesomeManager: my stores 1st assistant manager, who was a wonderful women who helped me as a human a lot in a huge number of ways. Protecting me from Bitchqueen was only part of it.

Senior Area Manager: who I will call SAM, since all the actual Sam's I have know have all been good dudes too! Also a great protector from the BS of BQ.

MonsterBitch: the new store manager and the proximate cause of her own, and BQ's downfall. Also a troll faced harridan who oozed hate and bitterness.

So time to tell the tale of how it panned out.

I had been there a year or so before Bitchqueen was promoted to manager. Until then she was obnoxious but powerless, but somehow, after marrying the store manager she got a promotion (jumping the next two steps up at that) to second assistant manager. Surprising eh?

I had been warned by TheBigMan when I was first hired to never be alone with her as she had a number of young men fired for “groping” her by her Store Manager-BF/Fiancé/Husband (even when the video showed that there was no close contact let alone groping in some of those cases . I was super careful in this regard.

Bitchqueen started playing games with the rota against me and a few others she hated. I think she hated me because I got along with most people, and she always hated sociable and non-bitchy people. Her favourites got the best shifts and the people she hated had our hours cut and shifted about without warning. She would pencil in changes a few minutes before a shift started (I caught her doing it but her store manager husband didn't want to deal with it) and then send home the one who turned up for their (now given away) shift with a warning. She would then call up and scream at the one who was off, but now suddenly on shift, for not arriving when they had no idea the shift was changed. It's sort of genius really, getting two workers Bitchqueen hated in one blow! She did try this crap on me but I just called Awesome Manager and she checked the computer records and sorted it out, she also let Bitchqueen know she was going to be checking the rota daily and approving all changes, so Bitchqueen had to find a new tactic.

I was a pretty hard worker (it made the time pass quicker for me) and was friends with the AwesomeManager (and TheBigMan), who protected me from Bitchqueens bullshit almost all of the time, and would fix things when shit happened while AwesomeManager was off work. I also cultivated a good relationship with with our SAM, and he ended up setting up a special store rescue team to sort out failing (franchise usually) stores in the area, placing me in charge of it as the top trainer of the group (Bitchqueen was maybe 7 months into being a manager at this point). This made me more or less untouchable (as long as I kept my nose clean) and so Bitchqueen went mental. She started on my friends, bullying and abusing them in work, and trying to get them all written up. They told me and I told AwesomeManager, she slapped Bitchqueen down again, metaphorically of course. TheBigMan made some complaints about her treatment of the other staff and she calmed down a little. Until her husband got “promoted” to a different store some distance away. Later SAM admitted this was an attempt to calm the drama at our store... But how wrong it all went!

Our new store manager was a MonsterBitch, but good at hiding it to begin with. After a few weeks AwesomeManager noticed that only young women were getting accepted after interviews, and pointed this out to Me and TheBigMan, and asked us to keep out eyes and ears out for anything dodgy going on. It wasn't long until it became clear what was happening.

I had made pretty good friend with one of the new hires (I admit it, I was interested and she was hot ), I will call her ShyNSweet, she was a lovely but very sheltered young lady from a nearby village, living in a house share in the town we worked in. She went out with “the girls” a group centred on MonsterBitch, Bitchqueen and a couple of MonsterBitch's “friends” on a Friday, and the next day in work was really distracted. We finished at the same time so I offered ShyNSweet a lift (that is I gave her a ride home in my car for our American friends) and she said yes since we lived pretty close together. In the car I asked if she had a fun night (just asking to fill the time, I wasn't digging at this point) and she replied in a very non-committal way. I remembered her saying she had a great time to Bitchqueen earlier during our shift so I asked her if she was OK. She burst into tears and told me that she had been the back of a Taxi with MonsterBitch and one of the “friends” (Bitchqueen was upfront) and MB and the friend had been groping ShyNSweet really hard (she showed me some bruises on her sides and thighs later, she said she had more on her boobs) and telling her she had to go back to their house and “experience real sex”. I was livid! But I tried to be outwardly calm. I told her that they should be punished, and I would support her, and I knew that SAM, AwesomeManager and TheBigMan would all have her back. I recommended we go to the police, but she was afraid she would lose her job. I knew she wouldn't, but couldn't convince her quickly and I didn't want to traumatise her further, so I just said what ever she chose I would support, and to call me if she is ever in a similar situation and I will come get her. She hugged me for ages crying and we went and had a cup of tea in her house. Her flatmate knew something was up and I encouraged ShyNSweet to tell her too. She did and I left after making them more tea.

I had to do something, but I couldn't directly involve ShyNSweet, and although I knew SAM, AwesomeManger and TheBigMan would believe me I had no direct evidence of an assault. So what to do? Well the first thing was to check where I stood legally, and it turns out the UK is a one party consent recording jurisdiction. As long as I am in place with no reasonable expectation of privacy I don't have to inform anyone I am recording audio or video, at least according to the lawyer I asked who is a friend of my step-father. Work counted as no expectation of privacy, so I was good to record everything. Of course back then the smallest video cameras were the size of a small shoe box and really expensive, and I was a burger-chucker, so cash was tight (smoking a lot of weed didn't help there either). But you could get some reasonably cheap audio recording stuff, that with an ok microphone could be hidden in my shirt. So I started a log of Bitchqueen and MonsterBitch's antics in the store, it was nearly 8 months of recordings in total before the fan was struck by faeces. While they didn't direct much at me anymore I was able to capture multi-minute rants from both of those awful harpies on almost every shift for about six months, in one recording I got Bitchqueen ranting at a co-worker for about 20 mins and then me for another 30 mins or so after I redirected her towards me. They would call workers (almost always men, but any woman who had turned them down got some shit thrown their way too), stupid, useless and worthless etc, with lots of fun adult words mixed in. They also got into the habit of threatening everyone they dislike with firing.

I also got a lot of audio from young women about how creepy and sexually inappropriate MonsterBitch, Bitchqueen and their little gang of “lesbian” managers (most of them were or had dated men, so Bi I guess, but horrible humans regardless of their orientations) were to the women who worked for us. I got several direct statements about female co-workers being abused and told to keep quiet by the abuse gang members on various girls nights out, and a few of them referred to bad things happening at MonsterBitch's house when they were too drunk to remember everything. Basically we had a blackmail and rape gang operating in our midst!

The final attack on me came when I was called into work by AwesomeManager and told I was being investigated for smoking weed on shift. While I did smoke a lot of weed at the time I never went to work high (food you get fired for eating without permission and the munchies don't mix), and anyway that day in particular the accusation was dated was one where I hadn't had any for a couple of days or been able to sort any out for a smoke after work either. So I was totally truthful when I was asked about it by AwesomeManager, and she said that because of the bullying she was escalating this to SAM, so she “suspended” me on full pay pending an investigation. The next day SAM called me and asked me to come for a formal interview, as the first part of the information finding process. He also said TheBigMan was on shift and would be happy to be my witness. So I went down and sat in the crew room waiting for SAM with TheBigMan. SAM stuck his head around the door and said “Deny everything to do with weed!” and winked. He stepped out again and then opened the door with a serious face and asked myself and TheBigMan to come through to the back office. We went through a few questions and I answered everything truthfully (pretty sure SAM thought I was smoking that day but gave no fucks about weed) and the interview ended with SAM reinstating me, paying me for the previous day and the interview day and giving me another store to fix for two weeks to get me away from Bitchqueen and the pack of harpies.

When I was back from the failing store, but not working that Monday, I got a call from ShyNSweet. MB and BQ had told her she had to come to their “Girls only” house party that Friday (it was going to be a BBQ and probably a lot of raping drunk girls by hostile lesbians). The rape gang had been telling all the attractive girls to go to the party or “think about finding a new job if you can't be a team player”. (MB, BQ and another horror worked at our store, the other 3 worked at a nearby store)

And that was the straw that broke the proverbial camels back! I had those awful bitches!

I had organised the audio files into groups by person and topic, I had over 10 hours of insults and abuse recorded and I had nearly another 10 hours of staff telling me how they had been abused by BQ, MB and their pack of rapists.

I called SAM and told him I had to speak to him that day, he agreed and we met at a competitors store (I think they have a kingdom of burger chuckers ;) ) at lunchtime where I sat him down in front of my awful (at the time super cutting edge lol) laptop and had him listen to bits of the rape allegations first.

He started shaking with rage after about 30 seconds, stopped it and told me to go to the police.

I then started on the abusing rants messages and he listened to bits of a bunch of them and asked for copies of those files. I had already burned them to CD so I handed them over and went to the police station.

I asked for a woman police officer and had her listen to the abuse allegations. She took a CD copy of those and told me to be quiet while the investigated. I said fine, but that this Friday the rape gang would have a number of under 18's at an alcohol fuelled rape party. She asked for and got the address and details. I passed on the names of all the women who I knew for sure had been attacked in the past too, since the police wanted to contact them to confirm things, the police here never give out witness information so I was safe from retaliation.

The next Thursday I was on a late shift, so I arrived around 15:15 and when I got there the store was shut but the staff were inside. I got let in and told what had happened.

MonsterBitch and Bitchqueen had been on day shifts and were apparently non-stop talking about how great their girls only party would be, how any girl who had a boyfriend would dump him after spending the night with them, and how any women who didn't attend were basically traitors to womankind. After about 6 hours of this, and at around 14:00 6 police officers come into the store and arrest MonsterBitch and BitchQueen on suspicion of sexual assault, blackmail, extortion and assault. They were both removed in handcuffs and SAM was there just after the police to shut them out of the computers and officially suspend them. When I arrived they were just getting set to re-open so we got back to work.

Later I got more info on the case, my best friends older brother was in the police force locally and he kept us updated. MB's rape house was raided, the police found lots of videos of what was clearly assaults on drunk and non-consenting women. They got lots of text message evidence for planning sexual assaults and talking about how to control young female employees to get them to have sex with the rapists. They also had lots of threatening messages to victims to be quiet or face revenge/loss of job etc. All their victims were under 20, with most being 16-18. But the deepest fuck up for them came from this evidence, and I had no idea when I got this all in motion.

MonsterBitch had picked up a young woman from a club a few months earlier. This young lady was up for lesbian sex with MB, BQ and another friend, while a fourth on filmed it. But the young lady was 15 and just looked over 18 with makeup etc. So the rape gang had produced child porn inadvertently.

MB, BQ and all the other managers who were involved were fired after the arrests/charges.

They were all charged with a number of things, but the courts back then were even more lenient to female sexual offenders than they are now, so none of them saw prison. But they were all banned from working with children, or in an environment where children will be present, and the ones who were married/in a relationship were all divorced/broken up inside a year. Because of the UK laws at the time they were also not named publicly.

I know Bitchqueen never really recovered or grew past this, I see her now and again if I visit my mother, and she is still beautiful, but so clearly broken its almost sad.

ShyNSweet was my girlfriend for a year or so a few years later, we parted on good terms as she was off to study overseas.

AwesomeManager went on to be a store manager, and then a Pro Dominatrix, which wasn't a real surprise to me ;) She was/is a fun lady

TheBigMan, went on to run an IT dept in a large company, still a top bloke!

And I ended up in a field I love, being paid actual money to more or less mess about all day, and that is doing my job! :)

(source) (story by burgerchucker)

[class-act-theatre-demon]

Rehearsal rant!

With---THAT'S RIGHT! YOU GUESSED IT!---your's truly, Maggie

So,

Not many of you know this. Not only am I dedicated to my school's self funding theatre program as well as high school Chorale, but I'm also part of a rather sizable singing group---Eagle Entertainers---directed by our Chorale teacher that does mostly a capella performances. We have a couple songs put together for our concert happening this upcoming Tuesday. One of which is You're the One That I Want from Grease. Our director decided let's spice this up a bit and elected to have a peer of mine, who I love and respect, choreograph a dance for the song based on the Just Dance video she found. She was initially teaching us the dance herself, but had to leave town on personal business. The day before she left, she and our vocal director put me in charge of teaching the rest of the choreography to everyone else. My friend marked notes in the sheet music provided and gave me a few demonstrations before she had to leave. I felt confident.

I went into rehearsals with a smile and hope. I tweaked a few things here and there to fit the comfort of the group with the permission of our director. I then reported back to my friend via Snapchat with updates and concerns. During these rehearsals, I was blown off and belittled by one of our sopranos. (She has been known to cause seriously, unnecessary drama during musical season. Many of my castmates don't care for her. She pouted and whined and trash talked for weeks after audition callbacks and castlist announcements when she was cast as newsie IKE instead of Medda Larkin. She often sang over our much more talented Medda Larkin in rehearsals. She didn't get the role because she causes issues and quiet frankly cannot develop a character deeper than a dollar store kiddie pool cause she can't act---she's saltier than the ocean itself. That's just a tiny bit in the garden of garbage she's dragged through everyone else's happy life. She has screamed at fellow singers and made them cry before concerts, purposefully excluded people in open group conversations, upstaged other actors in order to be the center of attention---this was told to us by professional judges who run the WNY sector of the Jimmy's national high school theatre awards---blown off rehearsals just because she thinks she can do as she pleases whenever she pleases, has fought with our directors, insulted staff behind their backs, made our prodigy dancer cry and flee the building because oh yeah SHE KNOWS BEST, talked shit about our vocal director for tiny mistakes and then pulls a Jekyll and Hyde pretending as though she adores her. During a rehearsal, our director had to leave early to attend a very important function and left me in charge and to assist our choreographer. Said choreographer was having considerable difficulty getting everyone to listen because there were side conversations going on and she was on the cusp of losing her voice entirely. I took it upon myself to redirect them and get the rehearsal back on track by shouting (without a negative tone), "Hey, guys! Mrs. Hillery needs your attention, please!" Everyone listened and she was in the middle of talking when this rude ass chick mockingly yelled at me, "Sorry, are you the director, Margie? I didn't think so" in front of our entire cast and paid teacher/choreographer who later told me that what she did to me was way out of line. I've asked this girl countless times not to call me Margie because it was a nickname used by other people to bully me as a child and BECAUSE I'M LITERALLY LISTED AS STUDENT PRODUCTION DIRECTOR IN THE PROGRAM AND THE ACTUAL PLAYBILL ITSELF AND I KNOW THE SHOW INSIDE AND OUT AND COVER Hannah and Mr. Jacobi and Stage Manager and back up newsies and backstage mic vocal support AND OPEN THE SHOW WITH MY SELF SCRIPTED PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT! She has done this and so much more to ruin other people's theatre experience and personal lives, but I'm not going to go into further detail for the sake of brevity. Did I mention that I'm actively pursuing a professional career in theatre as an actor, will soon enough be studying it in college, working up my credits at an Equity theatre and joining the Equity Actor's Union because I'm passionate about what I do because I love it and hope to entertain and inspire the audiences I perform before???)

This by no means makes me better than her. Just saying! Back to my story...

I was put in charge of teaching choreography because our vocal director and my very talented friend said I would lead well, get the job done, and that they know I'll do it all with a smile on my face in the process because that's the type of enthusiasm I bring to every rehearsal and performance regardless of the medium because this is the stuff I live for.

This girl had the balls to call me out on my mistake of saying step ball change instead of step ball step. She passive aggressively harped on it for the whole rehearsal. Then once my friend came back and rejoined the group, SHE BROUGHT IT UP AGAIN AND STAYED ON IT FOR FIVE WHOLE MINUTES and wasted precious time we had with our athletes before they had to leave for track practice. I get there's a difference I KNOW BECAUSE I TOOK FUCKING TAP AND JAZZ AND ACRO FOR YEARS. I let this go. I let it go. Let her be rude. Who cares, right?

We continue to run through the dance a few times. Everyone is dismissed and I hang back just to debrief and recap with my vocal director. That same fucking soprano also hung back and decided to tell me that I'm too "enthusiastic" while I'm performing the song. She told me I should reel it in so she and a few others will look good without putting much effort and ENTHUSIASM into the performance. That's all well and good.

Here's what I said to her: Oh, okay. I can do that. Yeah, no big deal. No problem. Thanks for the feedback.

Here's what I wanted to say to her: Step ball change up your fucking game and get on my level, ya simple bitch.

My point is: I DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING TO HER AND SHE'S CONSTANTLY RUDE. DON'T LET TOXIC PERFORMERS GET THE BEST OF YOU. It's just not worth it. Be better than them.

[lefaystrent]

Variants ch.2

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: none

Summary:  Patton was surprised by the mutant robbing the jewelry store one night. It was a “right time, right place” circumstance for Patton in that he happened to be there to see them break into the store. And by break in, he meant that they seeped into shadows and appeared on the other side of the windows without breaking anything at all. 

Chapter Navigation: one

AO3 Link

“Well this isn’t ideal,” Logan muttered to himself before ducking at another gunshot.

Yes he was being shot at. No this was not according to plan.

If he had the option, Logan would simply use his powers to shove the dumpster he hid behind down the alley and at the angry drug dealers currently shooting at him. There was just one problem.

He didn’t have his glasses.

Telekinesis was certainly a useful and powerful ability, when one could see what and where to move things in the first place.

“Wonderful,” Logan growled to himself. “My greatest weakness: the Velma complex. I should reconsider my thoughts on investing in contact lenses no matter how repulsive the idea is. Then again, it is perfectly suitable for one to be squeamish about foreign objects touching their eyeballs, but I digress. Contacts would not be able to be knocked off so easily from one’s face, and with them one would be able to see where to aim a dumpster at. But jinkies, I’ve lost my glasses. And would you hoodlums stop shooting at me! I am trying to rant, please and thank you.”

“Get out here mutant freak!” one of the shooters yelled from the mouth of the alley.

Logan’s eye twitched. “How polite of you.”

With no other options available and Logan’s patience snapped, he chunked the dumpster down the alley anyway. It would leave him exposed for more time than he was comfortable with, but hopefully his pursuers would be distracted long enough for him to run deeper into the alley system and lose them. Also, for lack of a better term, fuck it.

Logan sprinted at full speed, the sound of gunfire blasting into the night once more. Luckily, he rounded a corner without any bullets hitting him. Beyond the huffing of his breath he could hear the pounding of footsteps following behind.

Objectively, the situation was not good. Logan’s heart thrashed so erratically in his chest at the thought that he might just die here. Adrenaline worked overtime to keep him going, but the world had been reduced to a dark blur and his breaths hitched painfully sharp in his throat.

Logan rounded a corner, scrambling against the brick wall he nearly face-planted into. He picked up the pace when he saw that the end of this particular alley led to somewhere lighter, presumably a street. It’d be more out in the open, giving the gun-wielding criminals the advantage, but there was no going back now.

The yells and pounding steps behind him never stopped. The muscles in his legs burned and threatened to cripple him. Logan cursed himself for not practicing cardio more.

As he reached the mouth of the alley, Logan tripped on something, and next his palms were skinning against the harsh surface of concrete to minimize the damage of his fall. On instinct, Logan rolled over onto his back, ready to use his powers on anything that so much as approached him.

But that’s the thing. Nothing happened.

Over the roaring in his ears and his ragged breathing, Logan squinted at the mass of shadows in the alley, unable to make out anything, sight or sound. There were no more yells, no more gun fire.

Any moment now, one of them would jump out to kill him. He couldn’t let his guard down. His body tensed, a live wire ready to spring into action. All of his senses screamed at him that any second now . . .

Any second . . .

Logan cautiously sat up, gaze never straying from the alley. He didn’t dare hope for a second that his pursuers suddenly lost interest and called off the chase. And the longer he sat there, the more he realized the possibility of a surprise attack from them was also unlikely, given their noisy chase. If anything, they would have ran out and shot him dead.

The fact that Logan wasn’t dead right now meant that something must have gotten to them first.

“Hello?” a voice called out from the alley.

Immediately Logan stiffened. His mind buzzed frantically from thought to thought, unable to settle on anything concise. All he could do was wait until something happened.

“Is that you, Logan?” the voice spoke again, coming closer.

The buzzing in his head stopped. That was his name. This person knew his name.

Friend?

Or foe . . .

A figure finally emerged, completely unrecognizable except that his shape was vaguely human. And tall, much too tall-looking from where Logan sat vulnerably on the ground.

He was half a second away from letting his self-preservation win out and throw this person with his powers, but they said carefully, “Hey, it’s me, Patton, remember?” and the world stopped.

“Patton?” Logan blurted.

The jewelry store. The reaper. The bespectacled man who rode in his car, the one with kindness in his eyes that nearly hid the cleverness underneath.

“It’s really me, kiddo,” came Patton’s reassuring reply. “Guess it’s a small world after all.”

Logan barked out a laugh, caught up in both relief and bemusement. He wanted to flop backwards in an exhausted heap, but he had to know. “My pursuers? What about them?”

“The bad guys with the guns? Oh, I gave them a time-out! Firearms are serious business, and they didn’t even have any carrying permits!”

Logan stared at him incredulously. “You took the time to rifle through their pockets to confirm that?”

Patton’s hands flew up to his mouth in a gasp. “Did you just make a pun?”

“What? No, I mean, at least not intentionally.”

“Well shoot, it sure did seem like it.”

Logan really did flop on his back this time. “I just nearly died and you’re partaking in the lowest form of comedy. Unbelievable.”

Patton leaned over him. This close, Logan could discern an apologetic smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m just glad I managed to cut them off in time.” He held out a hand in offer.

Logan took it and was on his feet quicker than he thought he’d be. Patton steadied him. “Your assistance is appreciated. When you say ‘cut them off’, by that you mean . . .?”

“I uh . . . kinda knocked them out? Don’t worry though! They should be okay after a while. It’s just that I heard the gunfire and came running, and when I saw them chasing someone down I knew I had to act fast.”

“Wait, so you just happened to be in the area?” Logan asked, because surely not . . .

“How else would I have known to come help?” Patton responded, eyes bright with a sincerity that Logan didn’t doubt. While Logan was beside himself processing this, Patton busied himself checking Logan over for injuries. He still had hold of his arms and turned his hands over, palms up. “Logan! Your hands, you’re hurt!”

“Just scratches,” Logan murmured absently.

For days on end, Logan had been tracking down the drug dealers, surveying where they operated, finding them to work out of a shabby motel downtown. And here Patton had just been in the right place at the right time?

Of all the odds . . .

“Patton,” Logan cut him off mid-ramble. Patton trailed off and looked at Logan questioningly, worryingly, his eyes warm in the glow of the street lamp.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he stated.

“Indeed. We need to get out of here. Did you happen to drive here, by chance?”

Logan had parked too close to the motel. He had intended to make a quick getaway after putting a stop to the drug dealers. Now it would be a risk to return to it in the event that the authorities had been alerted and were already there (which was highly likely, with that much gunfire giving them away). Thankfully, Patton had parked some streets down in the opposite direction.

“But what about your car?” Patton asked him as they walked at a brisk pace.

“I’ll have to come back for it at another time, when things have quieted.” Logan only hoped that it wouldn’t be broken into or stolen until then. “In the meantime, I shall find alternative transportation to get around.”

“If you think that’s best . . .” Patton conceded reluctantly.

They were traversing through a neighborhood of apartment buildings and homes now. A couple of them had lights on inside, but most were silent and the only other sign of life the two saw was a passing truck.

“So what happened back there?” Patton asked, filling in the silence. “Are you really okay, Logan?”

“Rest assured, I am not injured.” Logan winced after saying that. Now that the adrenaline was easing off, he could feel a throbbing in his head. “Mostly, at least. I had planned to confront those criminals in the motel room that they were running drug deals out of. What I did not account for was the motel manager being involved. They snuck up behind me, distracting me enough that one of them threw something at my head, knocking my glasses off. I could not locate them before I was forced to . . . before I initiated a tactical retreat.”

“You mean ran away?”

Logan scowled and coughed. “While not completely inaccurate, I believe the way I phrased it has better connotations.”

“It’s okay. People waving around guns can be scary,” Patton said, and the way he smiled reminded Logan that he was walking beside someone who probably had worse experiences than what he had faced tonight. With his cheery disposition and his deplorable love of puns, Logan had almost forgotten that Patton was a veteran.

“Quite,” Logan agreed. Curiosity lingered, imploring him to ask Patton about his service time, but he refrained. It would be intrusive.

Resisting temptation, he automatically went to straighten his tie only to drop his hands. While his current attire was more suitable for crime-fighting, he would rather be in his usual business-casual wear than a hoodie and jeans.

He cleared his throat again. “Though your assistance has been most useful tonight, I would typically have been fine managing on my own, if not for my lack of glasses.”

“Wowzers, that must be tough. I can’t even imagine not being able to see well enough to get around.”

Logan looked at him in deep confusion. “What are you talking about? We’re the same, or even if you are closer to twenty-twenty than I am, we are still in a similar state.”

Patton just stared at him with a ‘huh?’ expression, completely lost. Surely he was joking.

“Patton, you wear corrective lenses the same as I do. Therefore, it should not be all that hard to imagine yourself in my situation.”

It dawned on him slowly, the dots connecting one by one. Patton stopped walking and blinked at nothing, eyes wide. Then in a flurry of over-dramatic gestures, he laughed and talked fast. “Oh right! Completely forgot there for a sec, so used to wearing my glasses. Yep, can’t see a thing without them!”

Logan said nothing, but he couldn’t shake the distinct notion that Patton was lying. It would be an innocuous thing to lie about, so why would he? And yet, it reminded Logan of that night they first met when Patton denied being a mutant. There was something about his mannerisms, a vague thing that Logan loathed himself for not being able to pin down. He worked best with concrete evidence, but he couldn’t deny that Patton struck a familiar cord in him.

After all, when Logan wasn’t out patrolling the city at night, he pretended to be an ordinary citizen as well.

The two vigilantes made it out intact that night. To be sure that the police located the drug dealers left in the alley, Logan phoned in an anonymous tip. Patton gave him a ride home. More than that, he gave him his number.

“It’s good to have friends at your back, and we make a good team. Don’t ya think?” Patton offered with a wink and a smile.

They weren’t friends. Not really. Allies would be a closer term to what they truly were. And in this line of business, even those could be a liability.

Then again, if he learned anything that night, his own shortcomings could leave him at risk. And he’d rather not experience such a blind panic ever again.

Patton’s number found a place in his contact list. Logan told himself that this would be the alternative to contact lenses.

Weeks went by, crime in the city ensued, and Logan and Patton faced it together more often than not. As Patton had said before, they did indeed make a good team. While Logan had a knack for tactics, Patton was startlingly adept at reading people. More than once Logan had watched him disarm people by words alone.

“Do you have powers of persuasion?” Logan asked at one point.

Patton laughed as if he had told a good joke. “No, I’m just a dad.”

It frustrated Logan. Because for one, Patton had no biological children to speak of. For another, Patton’s true power continued to elude Logan, leaving nothing but inklings for him to trail clumsily after. When he had initially begun crime fighting, it had been out of a strong sense of justice and the ability to do something about it. Nowadays, Logan chased after the mystery Patton presented for him. If he paid attention, he’d notice when Patton slipped up.

When the time came, it wasn’t so much that Patton slipped up.

Logan had been grocery shopping when it happened. He perused the fresh produce, almost absently answering his phone.

“Logan!” Patton said before he had a chance to greet him. It had only been one word, but it was hurried and frantic.

The produce immediately lost all his attention. This was more important. “What’s wrong, Patton?”

“Hartview Bridge, possible bombing, too far away to confirm yet. I’m almost there, where are you?”

A . . . terrorist attack? Patton sounded as if he were running, running straight to the potential terrorist attack. There had been a potential terrorist attack and Logan just stood there, staring at zucchini, wondering where he fit into all this.

Still processing, Logan answered mechanically, “I’m at the grocery, the Miller’s Fresh Foods on Second Street.”

“Good, that’s not too far. Hurry, Logan.”

Logan shook his head, brows furrowed. “Why? What can we do? It’s the middle of the day. Surely the proper authorities are already handling it. We would just out ourselves—”

“Oh my God,” Patton gasped, cutting him off. Logan knew that it wasn’t because of what he had been saying. Ice prickled in his stomach.

“Patton? Patton, what happened?”

“It’s collapsed, the bridge, I see it,” he responded, voice thick with emotion. “Parts are still collapsing, they’re falling in—”

A rush of background noise filtered through. Then the line went dead.

Logan abandoned his shopping cart without a second thought and booked it to his car. He didn’t even put on his seat belt. He floored it through traffic. Any cops that would have pulled him over for speeding were already speeding themselves. But closer to the river where the bridge crossed, a wall of traffic halted any more progress. Logan couldn’t see much from here, but other people were getting out of their vehicles or running down the sidewalk, some away and some towards the bridge. Logan jumped out as well.

The sun was shining bright, not a cloud in the sky, mocking in its ideality. There were people everywhere, many of them pulling out their phones to record the chaos. There would be nowhere to hide here, not like he was used to during his nightly patrols.

But Patton was up there, and if he waited any longer the police would section off the entrance in a security perimeter.

Pedestrians either ducked out of his way or were pushed through. Logan didn’t have time for politeness. As he neared the bridge, he could see where vehicles had crashed into each other, some of them toppled, some on fire, creating a mess of mazes and barriers. Up towards the halfway point, the overarching steel beams had collapsed where the bridge caved in, making the structure look as if a giant hand had smashed down through the center.

Logan didn’t realize he had stopped running to take it all in. He’d never seen such chaos and destruction. Smoke filled the air and people ran past him in various states of injured. He swallowed roughly, forcing himself to stay composed.

Muffled yelling broke through to him. Nearby, a damaged car sat. The driver’s side door was bent from some form of impact (a collision with another vehicle?), and the woman behind the window beat frantically to get his attention.

Logan ran over to it, stumbling over debris. He tried the handle, but the door was too damaged.

He cursed. Now that he was here, there was no choice.

“Lean back!” he yelled to her so that she could hear him. She did as told, too scared to do otherwise.

It would be too risky to mess with the glass. Logan held his hands up, focusing on the seam of metal where it should open. A wave of blue-green energy washed over it. He balled his glowing hand into a fist and yanked with all his might, forcing the door to open, almost tearing it from its hinges. The woman screamed, covering her face with her right arm. The left one was held against her as if hurt.

“Can you walk?” Logan asked, willing away the light from his eyes so as not to scare her further. She looked at him, shakily nodding. “Good. Here—”

He helped her stand, and once she had her feet under her, she gave him a watery smile. “Thank you,” she said before fleeing as fast as she could off the bridge.

Logan picked his way through the wreckage, yelling for Patton when he could but becoming quickly distracted each time his help was needed. A group of people were trying to move rubble off an unconscious man. Logan moved it with his powers. A car exploding sent shrapnel flying. Logan sent a wave of force to push someone down before they could be decapitated, and at the same time he caught a child before they fell through the bridge’s broken railing to the river below. One of the steel arches above groaned and snapped with a horrible shudder. Logan threw up his hands, wrapping the broken beam in light. The weight of it proved to be too much, but he managed to slow its heavy descent enough and maneuver it to fall safely.

One thing after the other, Logan saved whoever he could and prevented further injury when possible. Surprisingly, the first responders neither feared nor stopped him. In fact, they grasped that he was there to help and soon were directing him to where he was needed next. At one point, a firefighter hopped onto the bed of a truck, waving his arms to get his attention.

“Over here! Mutant guy, over here!” he yelled, and Logan followed. He had been gravitating towards the middle of the bridge all this time, where a sizeable chunk had caved in and nothing but empty space lingered. For the first time, Logan got an unobscured view of it.

The road ended in an abrupt jagged edge, pieces of it still crumbling off. On the other side of the gap, there was just as much disorder and people trying to survive.

“LOGAN!” a voice screamed, jarring him out of his shock.

He looked to his right where a city bus had plowed through the railing. The length of it was almost entirely over the edge, the back of it held up only by Patton himself. He gripped it underneath and somehow kept it from tipping over. His biceps bulged from the effort. Patton’s feet dug into the ground, leaving behind warped tracks as he was pulled forward minutely.

Patton’s glasses were cracked and a line of blood seeped down his face from a cut on his temple. His eyes were pleading. “I can’t hold it.”

However strong Patton truly was (and it was now apparent that it was supernatural), he couldn’t pull the bus up.

Surging into action, Logan held up his hands. His telekinesis, while strong enough to lift a dumpster, couldn’t lift something as heavy as a bus. Not alone, that is. With his powers and Patton’s superior strength, they managed to pull the bus backwards, inch by painful inch, until all of its wheels sat on a stable surface. The first responders dove in after that, helping people off the bus and escorting them to safety.

Both he and Patton were panting from their combined effort, hands on knees bent over as they tried to catch their breaths.

“Not a mutant, huh?” Logan gasped out.

Patton sent him a tired glare. “Lo . . . shut your ever-flapping gob smacker.”

Logan snorted, but agreed that now wasn’t really the time to have this conversation. Not with people dying and everyone starting to look to them for answers.

“Oh, would ya look at that bird,” Patton commented, and Logan stood up straight to see a helicopter hovering in the near distance. A news helicopter, filming everything including them.

He groaned. “You do realize that we’ll never be able to return to our regular lives now, don’t you?”

Patton pulled off his glasses and tossed them aside carelessly. He didn’t squint after, proving that he never truly needed them. He stood there proudly, hands on hips and back straight.

“It’s a little scary, isn’t it?” he grinned, bumping shoulders with Logan. “But I don’t regret it. How ‘bout you, partner?”

“I regret many things,” Logan deadpanned, making the other laugh.

“That’s the spirit!” Patton clapped him on the back. “Handle things on this side, okay kiddo? They look like they could use some help over there.”

“What do you . . .” Logan began in confusion before Patton performed a running leap over the broken gap, launching himself high into the air before landing safely on the other side.

Logan adjusted his tie, disgruntled.

“Incredible. He calls me ‘kiddo’ and then proceeds to yeet himself over a broken bridge. I am a grown man, you know.”

He turned away to get back to work.

tag list: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @merlybird500 @mirror2thespirit (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list) 

[akiiwan]

I really need to get out this experience I just had earlier tonight. Thank you for reading & holding space if you are able. ~Not sure how to CW this, still shaking, still feeling like I'm going to throw up.~ First of all, my therapist has told me that I need to practice not isolating myself & talking about the things that cause me hurt &/or trauma instead of pretending they didn't happen, stuffing them away, or trying to run from them. I have been tapering off of a psychiatric med that for me(or my brain) has not been a good experience for about 3 weeks or so. For the last few days I've found myself in crisis that can't even really be explained with life altering symptoms like self harm that I really don't feel like going further into. Not only am I in the middle of switching psychiatrists, but the next appointment I have is over 3 weeks out. The old white dude I was seeing that I transferred from is out of the country apparently & didn't properly tapper me off. When the nurse I spoke with today spoke with the only doctor who was available, they said I was having very severe (but common!!!) withdrawal symptoms from tapering off of this med. Mind you, this is after I've already self-harmed & was trying not to do it again despite feeling that way + dealing with intense suicidal ideation. ANYWAY, 10 minutes before 5pm, when the nurse & doctor are scheduled to leave, she calls me back & says that I need to get to the pharmacy immediately to pick up a 1/2 dosage to keep tapering down & would be sending it in right then. The pharmacy I like to use has limited hours, & also closes at 5pm (would Never have made it). So I reluctantly had them call it into the so-called tumwater walm*rt pharmacy since they would be open until 9pm. we get into the car & the nurse informs me that i need to hang up with her & actually call them to make sure they got it with no issues before they leave for the weekend. I did that & confirmed I was all set to go + also let the pharmacy know I was on my way when I called. Arriving at the pharmacy, driving through the parking lot at walm*rt it's literally a fucking 'maga' convention or some shit. Driving by the main entrance to park there's literally a truck with a sticker of "make america great ag*in" on their back window & an old white couple loading shit into it. I couldn't fuckin take it anymore, as we passed in the car, I rolled the window down & yelled "america was never great & will never fucking be great". Apparently that was enough to start a bunch of shit... We (my husband & I) go park just a little further away than normal bc of the snow & bc it was so busy. I stayed at our car to rant a little bit before going in to try releasing some of the anger & tension that caused, but apparently to no avail as a wmart employee (of course, some old white guy doing carts) watched me the entire time, even as I walked up to the store. Before I even got to the door, I noticed that same employee that had been watching me that I was trying to just walk past gave me the most aggressive & honestly terrifying look. While still walking, not even breaking stride to engage, I shouted at him "fuck all you maga losers" or something to that effect I really cannot remember to be honest. All I know is I know I was on a mission & actually really focused to go get my medication & get the Fuck Out. So while I defended myself from his purposefully intimidating + vicious gaze just by no longer saying silent, he got on his radio & said hell knows what on it. I continued walking fast, straight to the pharmacy with no further words, just trying to get there as fast as my body could carry me. As I walked up to the counter there was a small line with 1 person standing & (of course) a random middle-aged white guy sitting waiting in line 2nd. I politely asked him if he was in line while my husband stood in front of me & offered me to sit while he stood to wait. He confirmed being in line. Directly after, some large old white guy I've never seen (about 6'2" maybe 6'4" or something) got behind my husband. To distract myself from anxiety/everything that just happened, I started talking to him about stuff we did the day before. The old white guy that came up & stood behind my husband stood there for a few seconds, then threateningly walked up to me as I was sitting down waiting & literally interrupted me talking to my husband + said to me "you should clean up your mouth, no one wants to hear that language, you're in public"... "you should go home then if you don't like it, you fucking racist." I said. OF COURSE, of freakin course the middle aged white dude on the other side completely entered himself into this & said "how does this have *anything* to do with race?!" like he had ANY CLUE what was going on. I said one more thing like something to the effect of "yeah I know what this is really about you heard me tell whoever that you maga losers can all fuck off" to both of them - basically he had coincidentally heard what I said to those old white people or some shit idk honestly. IT GETS BETTER - (sarcasm, obviously) The store manager, assistant store manager, & the rest of his entire entourage -literally all white people- ambush us at the pharmacy & say they will not be filling my emergency script & I can leave for ""harassing their customers"". The store manager (some 100% bald middle-aged white dude who no shit literally looked like a fucking skinhead) & whoever the fuck was next to him would not even look at me nor acknowledge me As A Person. They even said right in front of me like I wasn't even there they would only speak with my husband (who also happens to be white). No shit. As my husband tries calmly to explain our/my situation, he cut him off & this dude(store manager apparently) looked at me for one split second with the most disgusted & threatening look even leaning into it, said "what is your name"? "I don't need to give you that information" I replied. He literally turned on his heel & said "fine, I'll just get it from the pharmacy" like that isn't illegal as all hell. My husband, trying to de-escalate & just get my emergency script at this point & save me from more BS told him my deadname right in front of me as the sm stormed off with his entourage. 2 employees remained. The assistant store manager - a white woman who looked confused + shocked? i guess idk I have problems reading people as someone who is neurodivergent. There was also another employee who was also a white woman who had visible tattoos. Long story short, they sit with me while my husband & myself wait once the shit ass of a store manager informed them they would be filling it bc the wmart employee with the tattoos literally confirmed EVERYTHING in my story as she walked by at the time of the old white man approaching me FIRST when I was sitting down in line. After filling my script I walked directly out the door to the EXACT same wmart employee that started all of this. He had already been tipped off not to engage or even look at me (like he did before). So instead as we walked to our car he made sure to exert his "power" over me by walking as close as possible while passing opposite directions on the sidewalk in front of the store. I wish I was making this up. Not even going to try to sugar coat it, I feel scared as hell making this post for So Many reasons. I know I am a light-skinned &/or a "white-passing" POC that does pass either way in certain situations. Being mixed with white, regardless of whether it's winter or summer, I still benefit from this viscous cycle that is white supremacy. I know that & I acknowledge that. So it just makes this post that much more awkward I suppose?, but I know I cannot invalidate my own experiences & I also cannot change how I am perceived as I move through the world. It's definitely different every damn day. So much so that I never really know where I stand or where my presence is welcome or unwelcome or what to even expect from people.

TL:DR; My friends of color in this area or passing through: stay the fuck away from the tumwater walm*rt literally at all fucking costs. it's 100% unsafe.

Thankful as all hell for the community I've chosen to surround myself with & that we've moved into an area that seems a lot safer & with a lot more POC community to connect with + continually feel safe around to help manage my C-PTSD.

[fuck-customers]

Long rant

Fuck my coworker! She's a newer hire, brought on over a month ago to be another cashier. (Smaller grocery store in a small community.) She got over 2 weeks of training on cash (1 week on opening, 1 closing, and a few extra bonus days with extra training on cleanup - something that most people don't get) and she is absolutely atrocious at her job. She's still constantly making mistakes. Big ones. Sometimes she does things that our assistant manager (who's been at the store for 5 years) doesn't know how to fix. She doesn't know the codes for anything and even has to double check the code for bananas more often than not! She's let multiple people leave without paying for their groceries (they'll tap their card and she'll let them leave without making sure it goes through), she leaves her receipts an absolute mess (we pile interac receipts in a little Tupperware and instead of stacking them she throws them everywhere and sometimes puts cash receipts in there, too), she doesn't put all her bills facing the same direction in her till, she talks too much (to the point customers have complained about it), she is absolutely awful at bagging, forgets to give people their change or gives them the wrong change (once gave a guy $43 in change when he gave her a $20 bill for a $12 purchase.) And! She doesn't do her duties! Behind our tills we have a list of the things you have to do as opening, cleanup, or closing cashier. It's real basic. Take care of lotto, unlock/lock the ice, turn on/off the keno TV, and a list of the stuff to clean. Basic stuff. She never does everything! Opening, she went out and unlocked the ice and put out the lotto sign but didn't relock the doors when she came back in. And then proceeded to tell every customer that attempted to enter that the store was still closed. Until she realised she should lock the doors. And then she didn't re-open them until the manager called down to the tills to tell her to open the doors, cause it was 10 past when we open. On closing, she didn't count all the lotto, put the cig cart locks on the ice and ice locks on the cigs (leaving one of the ice boxes unlocked), didn't bring the sign in, didn't gather the lotto sheets and log sheet to send to the office. On cleanup, she never signs off the till in the deli and desn't clean the traps under the till. And! Holy hell, her and cigarettes!? A nightmare. We have all the cigs arranged so the king's are on the right of the regulars. Apparently, the fact they are all arranged in this way, plus the fact that regular size cigs are so much smaller AND kings say KS on th, isn't enough for her to tell the difference? She traced the height of each kind onto the side of the cart so she could measure! That's without mentioning the fact that she regularly leaves early.... Fr tho, nobody likes her. All the cashiers are fed up with her bs. But due to the store being desperate, especially with summer coming, nothing's gonna happen. Unless my other badass 60-something year old lesbian coworker flips her shit on her lmao.

[lykezoinks]

[ a/n: alright, this is my last entry for @klangst-week. thanks everybody for all the likes and reblogs! it keeps me writing, and it’s just nice to see people enjoying what i’m putting out! also, the works everyone’s created have just been amazing, so keep it up, y’all! ]

title: impulse control words: 3,547 prompt: secrets/betrayal rating/genre: T for language, modern au, college au, angst & hurt/comfort with a tinge of humor trigger warning(s): mental illness (implied depression and anxiety), depersonalization, mentions of injury (bruises and blood) extra notes: keith and shiro are adoptive brothers (it’s mentioned very briefly), klance is established

Yes, he works in the most hipster coffee shop within a twenty mile radius of campus. And yes, he loves it. Sure, The Underground sounds more like a sketchy bar you’d find in an alleyway that may or may not host fight clubs every other night, and yeah, it kinda smells like pencil shavings even after he mops the floors three times at opening, but at least it has character. Most people would roll their eyes at the always pretentious shop-goer in their thrift store clothing and knit hats, but Lance can’t help but find them interesting. Not that it surprises anyone.

Lance became famous around campus after only one year of being a— totally amazing, if he may say so himself— residence hall assistant. Almost anyone who lived in Levine Hall found a friend in Lance McClain. Eager to please and even more eager to befriend, it’s no secret that he falls in love with almost every social interaction he can muster up.

So he really doesn’t mind if a customer wants to discuss their latest film project, and he’s always happy to adhere to any non-dairy milk preference. Though he doesn’t have a septum ring to match his coworkers’ and he’s a bit too smiley for the spoken poetry nights they host on the stage in the back, that doesn’t stop anyone from placing a dollar in the tip jar after he compliments their tattoos or ends a pleasant conversation with a smile and a wink.

The night shift is easy enough to work. People stop entering the cafe sometime after ten, staying their welcome to study on the couches and leaving before closing. Lance’s manager insists Lance work the front while Floyd takes on the side work. So the remainder of Lance’s shift is spent leaning his elbow against the counter and letting his fingers fall one-by-one against his cheek. He tells leaving customers to enjoy the rest of their night as they leave behind a buzz of idle chatter and a ding of the door. Once the cafe clears out, all that’s left is the sounds of Floyd sweeping the floors and an acoustic song from some band that Lance thinks should have never left their basement.

“Am I free to go, bossman?” Lance asks, drumming his hands against the counter, wiggling his hips in time with the beat as his eyes dart between Floyd and the analog clock on the wall.

“You’re good to go,” Floyd nods, sliding Lance’s wallet across the countertop.

With a happy sigh, Lance punches a few buttons on the register, pulling the drawer out and placing it in the office in the back before clocking himself out and grabbing his keys from the hook. The second he does, his phone rings from its spot in his jacket pocket. Slipping it into his palm, he drags his thumb across the screen and cradles it between his ear and his shoulder. “Perfect timing! How’s it hangin’, Pidgeotto?”

“Lance! Hey, um…” The way Pidge says ‘Lance’, high pitched and cracking, tells him he’s about to get bad news. Before he can stop her, Pidge is already stringing together a plethora of subject changers that just seem ridiculous given that the two of them weren’t on a particular subject to begin with.

“Pidge,” Lance interrupts partway through some bullshit commentary having to do with the ‘crazy weather we’ve been having.’ Lance knows that no one has to explain climate change to Pidge, given its something she rants about at least twice a day. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, okay… Um, we’re at Black Spot… And, uh— Hunk… Hunk, would you— No, grab him! Jesus… “

“What happened?” His sigh is heavy as he closes the door behind him after giving Floyd a curt wave, already headed toward his car. The Black Spot never means anything good, ever. Why his boyfriend so loves the town’s shadiest bar is beyond Lance; he doesn’t exactly find peeling paint and stained floor boards charming. And the muscled biker guys that do nothing but take up space at the bar to glower at the assorted whiskeys along the wall and ramble about their Navy days— or something like that— don’t exactly put Lance in the partying mood.

“Lotor happened.”

“Oh, God…” Lance drags a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t need context. Any instance in which Lance’s current boyfriend and Lance’s ex-boyfriend are in the same room usually results in disaster. And a night in the E.R. And, lo and behold, by some cruel twist of fate, these disasters are becoming more and more frequent in recent months. Lance is half convinced that they’re destined to kill each other, like Lotor is Tybalt and Keith is a far less flamboyant Mercutio. Lance refuses to be the Benvolio in this situation. “Just stay put. I’ll be there in a sec.”

A near collision and a half-assed parallel parking job later, Lance walks himself outside the bar, feeling exceptionally underdressed as the Winter weather dusts over his arms. He has to push himself through a crowd of people waiting to be let in by the bouncer before he sees a head of familiar wild hair. In her NASA sweatshirt and minimalist alien hat, Pidge looks like she belongs at a performance art showcase rather than a night out on the town, but Lance is too exhausted to comment on his friends’ poor fashion decisions. Even if that Hawaiian shirt is so not Hunk’s color.

Instead, his focus shifts onto his leather-clad boyfriend, and rather than point out the fact he looks like a Danny Zuko knock-off with a red beanie and black baby gauges in his ears, he steps forward with his arms crossed instead.

“Hey, Lance,” Pidge sighs, sounding somewhat relieved. Hunk is a bit busy grabbing at Keith’s shoulder every time he tries to take a step toward the street. Handling a Drunk Keith is like— as Keith would say in True Texan Spirit— herding cats.

“Hey,” Lance says briskly, marching passed Pidge to strap a hand on the collar of Keith’s jacket. “Lemme see.”

Keith huffs and turns his head, looking utterly indifferent as Lance’s eyes widen.

“Shit, Keith…” He squints a little, scanning over his boyfriend’s busted lip and the fresh patch of bruises, purples, blues, and reds bleeding from underneath one eye, across the bridge of his nose, and all the way under his other eye.

“It’s not that bad,” Keith slurs, holding up a wavering hand.

“Not that—!” Lance has to close his eyes and suck in a breath through his nose, counting to ten just like Mama McClain taught him, before he can open his eyes again. But his glare doesn’t disappear.

“Sorry, man,” Hunk all but mewls beside him, rubbing at the back of his neck in a flustered fashion. “I tried to pull them off of each other as soon as I could.”

“It’s not your fault, big guy,” Lance assures, turning to his best friend with a soft smile before glaring right back at his boyfriend. “It’s yours.”

“Why is it that all of a sudden—” Keith starts, but Lance knows better than to let him divert Lance’s attention.

“There’s no way Lotor with his pretty boy hands was the only culprit. Who the hell were you picking a fight with this time?”

Keith chews at the inside of his cheek, opting to take out his pent up anger on the ground as he fixes it with a fiery glare.

Pidge steps in for him then, pushing her circle glasses further up her nose. “The usual suspects.”

“Great,” Lance grumbles, never breaking his staring contest with Keith’s profile. “So now you wanna take on Lotor and his frat buddies. All of whom are very rich… And can hire very. Good. Attorneys.”

“Lance.” Hunk sets a hand on Lance’s back, offering a sympathetic look that makes Lance’s hunched shoulders deflate. “I know you’re mad, but do you really wanna do this out here?”

It’s then that Lance realizes he’s making a scene, the crowd of people on the street gawking in their direction. And he also realizes that it’s making Keith antsy. That’s apparent in the way he starts shifting his shoulders in every which way and pales a little in the face.

“We’re the ones who let your boyfriend off his leash,” Pidge admits, saying “your boyfriend” like he’s now completely Lance’s responsibility. Saying it like she hasn’t been Keith’s best friend since the fifth grade.

Lance fishes his car keys from his back pocket, still trying to cool off from the anger burning something fierce in his chest. “You guys enjoy the rest of your night, okay? I’m gonna take Keith back to the apartment.”

“Are you sure? We can come with you,” Hunk offers, the concern never leaving his eyes for a moment.

“No, seriously, it’s fine. Besides, I thought I saw a familiar little curly girly named Shay head into that other bar a couple blocks from here.”

Hunk reddens just a little, but nods in agreement as Pidge makes some complaint about being a third wheel. In a mess of goodbyes and repeatedly reaching for Keith’s hand— his opposition to PDA is counterproductive given that he can’t walk by himself without stumbling— Lance finally gets the chance to unlock his car and slide into the driver’s seat. Keith flops down into the passenger’s seat next to him, pulling one leg up to rest his foot on the polyester as he plays absently with the laces on his high tops.

The drive home is silent, mostly because Lance can’t think of a decent lecture that won’t end in a two-way silent treatment, something that’s proven to be agonizing given they’re the only two living in a one-bedroom apartment. After Lance parks, helps Keith climb the stairs, and fumbles with the key in the lock, Keith finds a spot in their too small kitchen, sliding down the lower cabinets to sit cross-legged on the floor. Because apparently he’s a household pet.

Lance rifles through the freezer, snagging a bag of whatever’s packaged and frozen before all but chucking it onto one of Keith’s thighs. Keith seems to get the message, picking it up and hesitantly pressing it to his multi-colored face. Lance finds the place on the floor across from his boyfriend and sits back on his thighs, staring. For a long while, the only sounds in the room are the hum of the refrigerator and their neighbor’s dog yipping through the walls.

“Are we gonna talk about this?” Lance says it more rhetorically than anything.

Keith swallows hard, trying to cover up half of his face with vegetable medley. His voice is muffled by the plastic when he says, “About what?”

Lance rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He has half the mind to storm off into the bedroom and leave Keith to tend to his own wounds. But being a middle sibling of six has taught him patience if nothing else, so he counts to ten again. “About why your face looks like a Goya painting,” he deadpans.

Keith fidgets under Lance’s gaze. His knuckles would be white if they weren’t bruised too. “You know how your asshole ex is.”

“Keith, you have got to pull your head out of the Middle Ages! I’m not some damsel in distress whose honor you have to defend.” Though Lance would admit it was hot the first time… But seeing Keith beat up with dried blood caked all over his features every other weekend is starting to look less suave and James Deany and more thoughtless.

Keith drops the bag of frozen vegetables. Then his nose twitches. To the untrained eye, it would go unnoticed, but Lance has been dating him for two years and three months. And a nose twitch means that Keith’s hiding something.

“But this has nothing to do with that, does it?”

“Lance, would you just let it go—”

“Okay, fine. You want me to let this one go? Then we can talk about last week. Or the week before that. Or the week before that.”

Keith tries for a glare then, a practiced stare that looks like flames are licking at his irises, but Lance is immune from prolonged exposure.

“And I know you’re not that drunk, so let’s not act like this was impulse alone.”

When Keith shrugs off his jacket and tosses it across the room, Lance sees that the bruises aren’t just on his face. His heart jumps up to his throat as the sound of the ice machine crunches in the background.

“Would you just tell me why you’re being more of a brooding edgelord than usual? Why do you have to be so emotionally constipated?” He places either hand on Keith’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. “Let me be your laxative.”

“You really have a knack for making up the world’s most disgusting metaphors.”

“It’s a gift. I’m thinking of turning it into a career path.”

“Stick to astrophysics.”

“Stop changing the subject.” It’s clear that neither of them is budging, so Lance just arches a brow and asks, “Do I have to call Shiro?”

Keith slams his back further into the cabinets with a groan. The older brother card is always the trump card. “Do not tell Shiro about this, please. I’m still getting lectures about my stupid cafeteria fights in high school.”

“Then tell me what’s going on! I thought when we said we were gonna be more open with each other, it was gonna be a two-way street. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Nothing’s going on, Lance, okay? I hate your ex-boyfriend and his stupid frat bro sidekicks, and I shouldn’t have had that last shot of moonshine, alright?”

While it is incredibly tempting to comment on the moonshine bit, Lance holds off. Because something else catches his eye. Crossing his arms over his chest, he refuses to break eye contact, giving Keith just a few more moments to tell him the truth. The clock ticks away, and there’s nothing. “You’re biting your lip,” he says finally.

“So?”

“So, one, stop it; it’s busted and you’re gonna hurt yourself. And two, that means you’re not telling me something.”

“Would you quit psychoanalyzing me!?”

Patience be damned. Something in Lance snaps then, something that makes his teeth grind and heat bubble in his chest. His fists tremble a little before he throws his hands out to his sides and starts getting to his feet. “Fine, you know what? Fine. Forget I asked. God forbid someone try to care about you, Keith, damn.”

He steps to leave, but as soon as he does, Keith clasps a hand onto his wrist and pulls just a little. The moment Lance turns his head, eyes sharp with ice and prickling rage, he feels his heart jump. The anger slowly trickles out of his system, sending a shiver down his spine. Keith looks a little broken, shoulders squared and eyes pleading in a way that’s so unlike him it makes something in the back of Lance’s head scream.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just… You’re gonna think I’m bat-shit.”

Lance exhales low and deep, turning fully and sitting back down across from Keith. He sets a gentle hand on Keith’s knee, trying to get him to make eye contact. “Try me.”

Keith’s mental illness has been the elephant in the room, always noticed but never talked about. Because Keith refused to talk about it. It took a full year’s convincing, mostly on Shiro’s end, just to get him to start seeing help. Some days he was a mess of the emotions he never learned how to process, and Lance would try his best to be there for him. Other days were better. Other days he was just silent and spacey and tried not to cry.

“No one knows this, okay? Not even Shiro, not even my goddamn shrink, so you can’t…” He trails off, and Lance tries to squeeze his knee in support.

“Keith… Keith, look at me…” When Keith looks up, his eyes are growing misty, pink rings already apparent on the brims of his eyes. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Offering a weak nod, Keith takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he forces himself to speak. “I just… I thought that maybe… Y’know how sometimes people… I don’t know, I thought if I was… Fuck.” He holds up his hands before Lance can say anything, blinking away whatever tears form in his eyes before he lets out a breath and continues. “I thought if I could feel, I don’t know, pain… If I could feel anything I’d stop feeling like…” Keith clamps his teeth down on his lower lip again. Whatever tears he blinks away only come back.

Lance sighs, reaching out his thumb to slip Keith’s lip from his teeth’s grasp. “Keith, you can cry—”

“No, I can’t,” Keith starts, though his voice trembles despite himself. “Because if I start I won’t stop. And I just— Fuck, I just need to say it.” Lance can practically feel the frustration radiating off of the other in waves. With a steady breath, he takes a hand in Keith’s, holding it to his chest and letting Keith know he has Lance’s full attention. Keith hisses in another breath and tries again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… Lately, it’s just like, like nothing is fucking real, and I can talk and hear and touch things, but it’s like I’m not really there. Like I’m in some weird dream world, and I’m just watching myself or something. Or like everything’s not really there, or maybe it is, and I’m just not a part of it… I don’t know, it feels like I’m going insane.”

“Keith…” Lance doesn’t know where to go from there, watching his boyfriend struggle around his words with a pain sinking into Lance’s chest.

“Sometimes I don’t think I even sound like me… Like when I talk, it’s some kind of automated computer message, y’know? And I went home for Christmas. And I thought… I don’t know, I thought being home and in my own bed might make me feel normal again. But it didn’t. And nothing feels normal, nothing feels… Damn it, I’m going insane.” That’s when Keith’s face twists, twists into something that’s a punch to Lance’s gut. And Keith is squinting his eyes closed, sniffling loudly before a sob emits from his throat.

“You know… You don’t have to be so strong all the time…” Lance says in a whisper, tucking a strand of Keith’s hair behind his ear.

Keith looks up at him, eyes watery as he sobs again, pressing his face into Lance’s chest. Lance wraps his arms around him instinctively, feeling Keith shake, choking and whimpering against him. Lance can only hold him closer, shushing him tenderly as Keith claws at the back of Lance’s shirt, gripping onto the fabric like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Each broken little noise that leaves Keith is another twist in Lance’s heart, and he doesn’t dare let go.

“It’s okay, you’re okay…” Lance coos, pressing tender kisses on the top of Keith’s hair. “You’re okay, baby… You’re okay…”

Keith doesn’t stop weeping, not until his throat is raw and all he can do is let silent tears roll down his cheeks as he snivels and tries to breathe normally again.

By the time he leans back, sniffling and rubbing under his eyes with the back of his palm, there’s a wet patch on Lance’s T-shirt. Lance doesn’t mind, too busy trying to read Keith’s expression, setting a hand on the back of his neck.

“Do you feel any better?” Lance asks softly, ducking his head into Keith’s line of sight.

Keith nods his head slowly, wiping his nose with the white cotton of his T-shirt with another wet snivel. “Sorry about your shirt.”

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes just a little. “I have other shirts.”

“Yeah.�� Keith’s breath shudders once more as he collects himself and blinks the wetness from his puffy eyes, tears caught on his eyelashes. “I’m just sorry I—”

“No. No… We agreed no more apologizing about this.”

“No, you said ‘Keith, stop apologizing every time you cry.’”

“Okay, smartass.” Lance rises to his feet, offering his hands and pulling Keith up along with him. With a steady breath, he places a gentle kiss on the corner of Keith’s lips, mindful to avoid the forming scab. “Thank you… For sharing that with me.”

Keith nods solemnly, probably thinking something snarky about how Lance is talking like his therapist. So Lance goes for a subject change, placing his hands at the base of Keith’s neck.

“How about you wash your face and pick out a movie, alright?”

They spend the rest of the night tangled up in each other, Lance refusing to move his arms from Keith’s waist even as Keith awkwardly holds an icepack to his face. Eventually, they drift to sleep, heart beats pumping in time while Lance tries his best to whisper words of comfort.

“I love you… And you’re here. Even if your mind’s playing tricks on you. You’re here, and you’re with me. And I love you…”

[miu-paras]

Lvl. 5 ⋮ Red // Final Chapter

October 5th, 2019. 11:50 AM. ♪ - Sidewalks and Skeletons / Above (Part 1) | Disasterpeace / Vignette: Corruption (Part 2)

Several things happened when I got back to Earth.

First thing I did was panic.

A natural response, really. It had clearly been a fucked up night, one that only got worse the longer it went on. We had an entire army of android police on our asses, not to mention all the hitmen on Pixul’s side out to get us after the stunt we pulled.

We stole everything. Every device, every piece of gear, weapons, modifications, or tools at their disposal were gone. At least from her grasp, anyway. Now, they were here on Earth, surrounding us in scattered piles on the floor. All because I wanted Pixul, Vex, and the thing that tried to turn my mind into pudding to go through as much agony as they put me through. It was worth it, yes. But it left a disaster at our feet, that at first sight seemed impossible to fix.

Second, Spike and I worked hard to clean up the mess we made in the shooting range. Once I was done muttering about how my sensei was most definitely going to kill me, I shaped Red into a rolling cart large enough to carry the stolen artillery. It took several trips and significant manpower, with me pulling the cart with my mind and Spike pushing with all four arms and every ounce of Talurian strength he could muster, but we successfully managed to smuggle everything into an abandoned city building blocks away from the training space. It had a basement level luckily, and we were able to unload our hefty boon there for the time being. Until I could figure out something better, at least.

Third, I armed both my own home and most of the city with deadzoners. It took some time to figure out the algorithm, and Red had to offer assistance throughout the process, but I was eventually able to finish the custom programming, effectively making Tokyo a massive blindspot. My location could no longer receive transporter signals. I didn’t want anyone from Nuva being able to simply beam their way into my home again, let alone finding our cache of Pixul’s stolen goods.

Pixul…

Part of me wondered how angry she’d be when she found out what happened. Not just our escape, but her stash as well.

And another part of me wondered if she was even alive. How could she be? Not after we…

Enough of that.

Fourth, I raided the conbini and the outdoor supply store for as many goods and utilities as I could get my hands on. Food, sleeping bags, blankets, lanterns, anything that would help Spike feel more at ease. He refused to stay at my place, no matter how many times I offered.

“Someone has to keep watch over all this stuff,” he kept saying. I wouldn’t argue, of course. I was too tired to after the night we had. I’d eventually have some questions to ask about… all of this. But for now, that wasn’t the priority.

Fifth, I went to bed. And I slept like a fucking baby. For at least 24 hours.

That was, until the memories flooded my head again. Memories of Kalar lost in a fit of violence and rage, obsession blinding them from everything else. Memories of my mother fighting them. Of my mother… killing someone. And from that memory blossomed another, one equally disturbing. And another. And another.

My mother, my ima, was an assassin. More than just that, really… they were a harbinger of death.

I couldn’t sleep anymore after that.

It was a few days after the incident. I’d taken time to relax, as did Spike, whose real name I still hadn’t learned. I focused on work, on my beautiful girlfriend, my family, my friends. Anything that could somehow help distract from the fact that hundreds of stolen alien weapons were hiding in a basement somewhere in Tokyo under the watchful eye of a four-armed stranger who would absolutely eviscerate anyone that tried to touch it.

But now I was here, sitting cross-legged in the center of that basement floor, with Spike sitting across from me. Finally, a chance to talk. To figure out what our next move was.

And who the hell he was.

“Let’s start with your name, maybe?” I asked, breaking the pregnant silence between us. Spike straightened in response, eyes that stared aimlessly at the floor suddenly shooting up in my direction as he cleared his throat.

“I’m Sai. Short for Sai’xhanzi,” he began, “Born and raised in the slums of Gan’em.”

“And you… work for Pixul? Or used to? Or never did…?” I tilted my head slightly.

He shook his head in response. “Ah… the last one. I’ve got my own group… one that’s been fighting against Pixul and the many crime bosses in Gan’em like her for a long time.”

My interest piqued; an eyebrow quirked in response. Instinctively, I leaned in, waiting for more information.

Sai sighed, shaking his head again before continuing, as if searching for the right words to articulate his thoughts. “I’m from a street gang, known as Xh’andor. ‘Vitriol’ in your language. But we’re not like the other gangs in Nuva… we’re here to protect the slums.” A sternness entered his voice as he stared back at me. “For a long time, our communities have been torn apart by gang wars, violence, dirty black-market dealings, and corporations pushing us out of our homes. Most folks don’t have the means to recover, and just end up homeless, jobless, in debt, or worse… after a while, after seeing so many suffer at the hands of corruption, losing their livelihoods to the violence and devastation they never asked to be a part of… I just couldn’t take it.”

Sai stood, slowly pacing around the room, perhaps restless now that the difficult memories of his home resurfaced in his mind. He stared mindlessly at the stacks of weapons splayed out all around us, head turning only slightly in my direction. “I formed Vitriol to fight against corruption. To be the answer to all the madness that seemed endless… we stuck to local gangs for a while. Intercepting smuggled cargo, thwarting ambushes, engaging in all-out fights if we had to. We stole from megacorps too—whatever tech we could get our hands on… but lately, we’ve fallen pretty low on resources. Not enough to help those we promised to defend, and certainly not enough to continue the fight. Those of us with prosthetics were at a disadvantage as well, with our own limbs failing us from time to time. Things got rough, so… we had to change our tactics.”

He turned to face me fully this time. “I decided to go undercover, act as a double agent underneath one of the biggest distributers in Nuva’s underground trade. That’s when I found out about the giant weapons cache… and that’s when I found out about you.”

I blinked, suddenly wary about where the story was going. Sai could tell, and they immediately moved closer, dropping to a knee so they were eye-level. “I need your help, Miu. You’re a genius, from what I’ve heard, and from what I’ve seen. I know you were the one to disable the deadzoners. I saw how you defended yourself against the Vaanen. And then there’s your stunts in Talur… you’re… you’re exactly what we’ve been searching for.”

He paused again, the sigh he released more tapered this time. He was nervous. He was trying. Begging.

“You’re not a weapons dealer, I get that. You don’t want to be involved in all this, I get that too… but think of all the good you could do. Think of what we could do to more people like Pixul. Like Vex. People that only want to cause more suffering. I swear to you… your inventions will only be used for good. That’s something Pixul couldn’t promise you.”

I had to admit he gave a good pitch. Better than the vague, sinister one I received from Pixul, at least. But I was still on edge. Conducting business with him meant connecting myself with Nuva further. And last I checked, we were on Gan’em Most Wanted list before we high-tailed it the fuck out of there.

“How do I know this won’t put me in more danger?” I asked, my own voice now matching his sternness. “We angered one of the biggest gangs in Nuva. The Vaanen know our faces, and no doubt are hunting us down as we speak. There’s no safe place for you—for us—to conduct any sort of business with this big of a target on our backs. Besides, I… I’m not the genius you think I am…” I frowned, my gaze lowering slightly.

He huffed once, only quirking his brow with a half-smile. “You could’ve fooled me.”

The comment was enough to almost bring a smile to my face, one that would’ve matched his had I not shook my head and sighed. Slowly, I could feel myself being won over, but something still held me back from being pulled over the edge and onto his side, still sheltering me away from full acceptance. Like a pendulum off rhythm, or a scale out of balance. Something was… off. Uneven.

Something needed to give.

“Thanks for saving my life,” I said, offering a soft smile.

“You saved mine,” He shrugged. “We’re even now.”

My smile faded. “No. We’re not. Because now you’re asking for something else.”

He frowned as well, a brow raised to me. “W-well, I—”

“Y’know, prior to the beginning this year, there wasn’t much in my life I had to worry about. Other than my job, my loved ones, or whatever tournament I had in the coming days or weeks or months, I managed to live a pretty carefree life… until now. Now?? I have aliens up the fucking wazoo, and it seems like they only ever want something from me. Build them a bomb. Build them a mech. Build them bombs and mechs en masse until my arms fall off like I’m some god damn one-woman factory and nothing else! But has anyone ever stopped to say ‘Hey, Miu. What do you need’? NO! Because it has never once occurred to anyone that I came to Nuva with my own problems, my own questions, most of which are still largely unanswered and now have more problems tacked onto them. But no one, not a single fucking person, has so much as tried to give a SHIT!”

Now I was the one pacing, going back and forth while I ranted, and while a surprised Sai did nothing but stare in silence. I paused in my back and forth to take a breath, knowing if I’d gone on for any longer that lightning would be shooting from every inch of my body. Massaging the bridge of my nose, I finally sat down again with a sigh, eventually meeting Sai’s stunned face once my expression was calm.

“I respect what you’re doing. A lot. I really do. And… I do want to help you… in fact, I will. But you need to promise to do something for me first.”

Sai did nothing but nod this time. “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best.”

“Well first off, you’ll need to supply me.” I tipped my head towards the pile of weapons, gear, and materials, “Pixul’s shitty guns will help us get by for a while, but if you’re operating on a much bigger scale… I’ll eventually need more.”

Sai stared at the massive pile as well, then nodded once. “No problem at all. I wholly intend to.”

Glad to see we were still on the same page. Now I just needed to hope I wouldn’t lose him with my next request.

“I also… I need you to find someone for me.” I stated nervously, my leg bouncing rapidly as I continued, “Their name is Iannis. They, uhh… well, they were a server at Pixul’s club? Long, curly white hair, in braids. They had… strange scars on one side of their face…? Pixul had them sent away, and… I need to find them. Does any of this ring a bell at all?”

Sai was silent for a while, brows knitted together as they stared pensively down at their lap. The silence from him only lasted seconds, but I felt my heart beater faster longer it went.

He shook his head, his gaze settling on mine once more. There was a look in his eyes, one that seemed mournful. Regretful.

I felt my heart sink immediately.

“I was there… when they were taken away. They were, umm… quite the fighter. So I helped to pin them down.” He was averting his gaze now, eyes searching for anything else to stare at, as if the shame was too heavy to face, my judgement too scary to acknowledge.

“The Makalden… wasn’t able to sedate them somehow, so… we took care of it. Then they were dragged out, and that was that. As to where that was… um...” He shook his head. “This isn’t the first time Pixul’s had people… sent off. And it’s always the same place. The one place no one could get in, or out…”

He met my eyes again, stern and unwavering yet the regret still lingered. I swallowed, feeling the sadness in my heart being replaced with fear.

“It’s Vano.”

[ Oh no… ]

{ Where’s Vano…? Is that bad? }

[ It’s a civilization to the north. They are completely closed off from the rest of Ulteria due to the region’s high prevalence of Stormers. Not to mention, their sectors are heavily fortified and fragmented across the continent. No one gets in. And even if we could, it’d be like searching for “a needle in a haystack,” as the saying goes. ]

“So that means…”

[ Iannis may be lost to us. ]

“Oh fuck… Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I groaned, head falling into my hands as I fought back to urge to scream and cry. After everything I’d gone through—that we’d gone through—to get to this point… it’d be all for nothing.

“Is there any way you can… I dunno… figure out exactly which sector they were sent to? And who’s holding her? If there is a ‘who’?”

Sai shook his head again. “I could try, but… that’s information only Pixul would know. That and Vex. And whoever they had organize your friend’s relocation.”

My head shot up immediately, the defeated expression wiped clean from my features at the sound of Sai’s last words. “Someone else organized her trip to Vano…” I mumbled beneath my breath, "That’s it then! You just need to find whoever it was and get an answer out of them. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? They’ve gotta be lower down the ladder than Pixul and Vex—”

“They’re traffickers, Miu,” Sai cut me off, “These are dangerous people. I’d be putting my own operation in danger. My own people in danger. Even if there was a chance I could find your friend, I have fewer connections now than I did then. Not to mention, the Vaanen are out on the hunt for us. We have to wait for things to die down before I can do anything.”

I frowned, crumpling into myself like a deflated balloon in the wind, that defeated feeling almost returning. “But you’ll still do it… right? When things die down…?”

Sai let out a heavy sigh. He paced momentarily, hands on his hips, before facing me again. I looked up at him with hopeful eyes, waiting with bated breath for an answer. For a tiny sliver of hope to come and wash away all my worries. Desperately wanting to know I could do something right for once. To finally feel closer to getting the answers I need.

Maybe someone heard my wish.

“…I’ll see what I can do.”

I couldn’t stop myself from leaping to my feet, or from wrapping my arms around my new companion, clinging to him with all the strength I could muster. Sai was more than thrown off by my sudden affection, enough that I almost broke through his stoic demeanor. Four hands reached up to pat my back gently, and I could practically hear the soft smile he bore suddenly widen.

“It’s… the least I can do. You’re doing a lot more for me, anyway.”

I pulled away finally, nodding once with a smile of my own, though it fades once my eyes landed on the pile of weapons once more.

“I’ll need tools… and more metal. Bring me everything your people have in terms of equipment.” I began making my way around the room in circles, surveying the walls, the ceiling, the entrance. “It isn’t much as far as secret bases go, but… this will have to make do.”

“So that’s it then?” Sai asked, tension returning to his body as he held out a hand towards me, “We have a deal…?”

Trepidation crept over me, as if it was only now that I realized—truly realized—just what I was getting myself into. But there was no pulling out now.

And I didn’t want to.

I approached him, palm sliding into his as I gave his hand a squeeze.

“Deal.”

Ascension. Corruption. Dissent.

Do not become attached to the things of this world, for there are many more.

One and two, becomes three.

Three, two, one. One, two three.

The third holds the power…

The third… the third…

This is my last memory of the shar— [ MEMORY REDACTED ].

More than that… this is my last memory of Kalar.

They recited those words like a mantra. Over and over, without any sign of exhaust. And they don’t look uneasy as they do so. There is no sign of tension or anxiety. The unhinged glint in their eye that was present during Ghivussi’s execution is nowhere to be found. In fact, Kalar looked… relaxed. As poised and collected as they usually were, all while repeating those words over and over and over again.

Ascension. Corruption. Dissent.

Ascension. Corruption. Dissent.

Over and over. Without fail…

Things always seemed to come in threes.

Three words. Three worlds.

Three commands. Three prophecies.

Three…

The riddle was maddening.

And yet, my tsanagar seemed to have worked their way through it. Because today, they approached every new step with more confidence than the one before it. They were filled with a new determination. They knew exactly what to do, and exactly how they were to do it. As if it were the only mission with any purpose to them. As if it were all they had left.

Night. The 36th hour of Sandis Errmis.

Kalar grasps the [ MEMORY REDACTED ].

It glows upon contact, the device vibrating in their hand, heating up as the light it emitted became more and more intense. The light burns through the Minister’s palm; my healing manages to mend the seared flesh in equal pace, allowing Kalar to maintain their grasp. Over time, the whispers returned again, as did those three commands. Three steps to follow. Three prophecies to fulfill.

One of death.

The mysterious passing of Salas. Then the murder of Malvas. Umvis’ demise was unforeseen, but clearly tied to it all. Then there was Ghivussi’s execution. Death… death was prophesied. But the question of why still loomed over me like a specter.

One of cycles.

The cycle of loneliness. Salas is lonely. An outsider in Essa, or so it seemed. They cling to Vasniar as an escape, as a connection to the home the once had. An obsession they later carefully instilled in their child. Kalar, already feeling disconnected from their peers, clings to their religious beliefs, as it was the only thing left connecting them to their late ima. Faith and isolation, only strengthened by [ MEMORY REDACTED ]. Worsened by the loss of their greatest love.

The cycle of violence. It runs through the Aedonnoe bloodline. Malvas continues it, with cutting words, stringent teachings, and far too harsh reprimands. Kalar keeps to tradition with their own children—in some ways worse than their ima. Unable to break away from the only form of love they’ve known. The only form that seemed to have any permanence, as kindness always seemed to kill.

The cycle of… cycles. Of never-ending loops. Fates we cannot avoid no matter what steps we take. A butterfly effect, yet all the dominos fall in the exact same order, at the exact same place, each and every time.

But what was the third…

Kalar stares deep into the [ MEMORY REDACTED ], light filling their pupils as radiating colors danced across their face. And as it happened, the whispers grew louder. And louder. And deeper. So much, one could feel the ground beneath their feet tremble with each passing word.

And there it was…

One of rebirth.

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

No…

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

I’m so close…

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

There has to be something here… anything. One last thing…

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

[ M-MEMORY REDACTED ]

[[ MMEMORY REDAACTED ]

[ [[ MM-ME[MOR[[RRY RRREEDD[[ACTE—

…Darkness…

Darkness, and then light.

Something is different. This memory… it does not feel like something I databased. It does not feel like anything pulled from Kalar’s own mind. No… this wasn’t like that at all.

This was all mine. My own memory. One buried deep within the recesses of my programming, underneath years and years of service to my wielder. Devoid of tampering, of holes or missing pieces. It was as clear as day. A mind—mymind—freed from any connection.

Freed from Kalar, who sat before me, meters away.

It was an odd feeling. Like being a turtle ambling about without a shell. A moth just as it emerges from its cocoon, awkward and uncoordinated in its flight. I have lived my whole life, whole centuries, tied to this person. And now I am without them, freeform and floating in an ethereal space. Nothing about it felt right. If anything, it was rather… scary.

I was afraid. Terrified. Yet the closer I came to my tsanagar, the more I realized they weren’t. They were still just as at peace as they were before we ended up in this strange place. As if they expected it—wantedit

As if it were prophesied to them.

“One of cycles…”

The cycle of loss.

I was inches away from them now, and I settled my incorporeal form beside them. Their eyes were on me. Those piercing, icy white eyes that seemed so calm, so filled with a tranquility they’d been vacant of most of their life. Perhaps this was all they were seeking—to be at peace with themselves. To be free of the isolation. The fighting. The inescapable loops. Free of their fate.

Yet still… it felt like more than that.

A smile graced their lips, and their hand stretched towards me, fingertips just grazing past my spectral form.

“I will miss you, Kalonis.” They spoke my old name softly. A sadness began to swell within me at the words, and for a second I thought if I was capable of mustering it, tears would be coating my ghostly face.

Their hand pulls away from me, their smile fading as they turned their attention forward once more. The shard appeared in their palm, its triangular form glowing and pulsating more and more as Kalar’s grasp grew more firm. Beneath us, the ground began to shift and rumble, growing more violent with each passing second. But Kalar seemed undeterred, their arm trembling as they maintained their grip on the device, which was now shifting color. Darker tones filled their crystalline surface, purple, pink, and blue shades turning darker as they swirled around black, mixing to change their hues. Underneath Kalar, cracks began to form in the ground that previously had seemed like an empty, white void, splintering further and stretching past my tsanagar. The more it spider-webbed, the more I was certain we would fall through. Instead, the crevices opened further, making way for dark, inky fronds that slowly rose from the void, latching themselves onto Kalar like vines, snaking around her limbs and waist and constricting with all its might.

It was a sight that looked all too painful, but the Minister was unphased. My tsanagar was calm, at peace despite the chaos unfolding.

The price to pay for the power they wielded was death, and they accepted it.

 [ M-MEMORY CORRUPT ]

The tendrils coiled around them fully now, nothing left in sight but the band that decorated their head, and the shard they grasped in their palm, now completely blackened and dull. It was then that the booming voice returned.

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

The voice grew louder and louder, repeating its commands over and over until Kalar had memorized it enough to whispers the words alongside it. And with the words came visions, images flashing in front of my vision before quickly disappearing. They were hard to discern, and even harder to make sense of.

That is, until the voices reached me as well.

THE TRANSGRESSOR PERISHES.

THE EXILED BEARS THE SUN.

ONE AND TWO, BECOMES THREE…

“The third holds the power in the end,” Kalar finishes.

An image flashes before my eyes. A barren wasteland, darkness blanketing where a great civilization once stood. Now it was all in ruins in ashes, and only shadows remained. Shadows and tendrils, jutting from the earth.

Another flash. A child falls upwards into the sky. Light radiates from every inch of them, pouring from their fingertips, their eyes, their mouth. They let out a mangled scream, one that carries until their back hits the ground—foreign ground—as the light around glowing more and more furiously.

Another flash. The child is old now. In their mouth, they carry an apple, held in place by their teeth. In their right palm rests a Maladian pine fruit. The left palm remains empty, that is until the light leaves their form, their ethereal glow replaced now with a dull, solemn statue of stone, and their left palm now heavy with the same fruit.

A final flash. The light wanders aimlessly through a shroud of darkness. Black clouds snuff out any other form of illumination, and the same black tendrils lash out in an attempt to grab or kill the glowing orb. But they do not prevail. For the light is safe. It is home. And it is waiting.

Suddenly I am pulled away from Kalar.

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

The distance between us grows, as some unknown force continued tugging me away, rapidly at first then slowly. Slow enough to watch them fade away from me. As if they were ceasing to exist.

Slowly into darkness I fell.

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

We returned to reality, me back in my metal form, Kalar back to sitting in the center of their quarters, our minds connected once more. They breathed heavily, their panting quickened as they stared wide-eyed at their palms, now blistered and scarred.

[ What… ]

“…Have I done?”

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

This is how it ends, isn’t it?

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

This is how it all ends.

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

I’m sorry, Kalar… my tsanagar… my friend…

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

[ MEMORY CORRUPT ]

Goodbye.