#to network and eventually maybe grow further in that position

[theyarebothgunshot]

jsyk, i'm about to have 3 weeks off of work and i Will make it everybody's problem (be online a lot)

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Fancy Feathers: An Unexplained Complexity in Evolutionary History

One of the most complex and highly intricate wonders of the flying world owes nothing to DaVinci's studies on mechanical flight, the Wright Brother's pioneering of aviation, or any other human-derived aeronautic technology. The most sophisticated piece of engineering used for flight has its origins in the Age of Dinosaurs and is one of the most common sights in our everyday lives: feathers.

Feathers as We Know Them

Modern-day feathers come in a seemingly infinite variety of sizes, shapes, and textures. Though their diversity is immense, each type is made of beta-keratin, a structural protein found in the skin of both reptiles and birds, and their branching structures have the same basic parts. The main shaft is composed of a hollow barbless base, known as the calamus or quill, and a central shaft, called the rachis. The rachis branches into main barbs and they branch even further into barbules.

The variety of feathers comes from small modifications to this basic branching structure to serve different functions. Feathers fall into a few general categories, which will be briefly describe here, and many more specific subcategories.

Bristles have a simple, stiff, and tapered rachis with few barbs. They are usually found on a bird’s head around their mouth, nostrils, and eyelids. Some experts think they are for protection much like eyelashes, others believe they serve a sensory function as evidenced by the nerve endings found at their base, and many support both theories.

Filoplumes are also simple and mostly bare of barbs except a tuft at the tip. They are found near contour feathers. Given their placement and the presence of unmyelinated nerve fibers, which are those that support peripheral sensory functions in their base, filoplumes act like whiskers by sensing the position of contour feathers.

Semiplume and down feathers are mostly hidden underneath outer feathers. Their loose branching structures appears fluffy and is highly effective for insulation.

Contour feathers include those that cover the surface of the bird. As their name suggests, these feathers follow the shape of the body, streamlining and weatherproofing it along the way like overlapping shingles. From the central shaft extends a series of slender barbs, each sprouting smaller barbules that are lined with tiny hooks. When these grasp on to the hooks of neighboring barbules, they create a structural network that is almost weightless yet remarkably strong. As the outer visage, these feathers also support decoration and camouflage.

Contour feathers also include the amazing evolutionary innovations mentioned in the introduction: flight feathers. Flight feathers are long, stiff, asymmetrically shaped, but symmetrically paired feathers on the wings or tail of a bird. They are built for durability, shaped for precision, and combined with musculature to produce the ultimate flying tool. The wing feathers, known as remiges, have uniform windproof surfaces, or vanes, on either side of the central shaft created by the interlocked hooks found on the barbules. These feathers are asymmetric with a shorter, less flexible leading edge that support stability and maneuverability. Similarly structured tail feathers, known as retrices, are arranged in a fan shape that allows for precision steering during flight.

While we can simulate some of these characteristics with our flying technologies, we have yet to create a machine that is as versatile, efficient, and effective as bird feathers in flight. Even more impressive, birds are not stuck with one set of feathers for their whole lives. Damaged or worn feathers can be replaced through the process of molting. During a periodic molt, old feathers are shed and new ones grow in their place keeping birds in top flying shape. You can’t say that about any of our manmade flying machines.

The Question of the Evolution of Feathers

The consensus among paleontologists is that birds, known taxonomically as the class Aves, are a group of maniraptoran theropod dinosaurs. Evidence found in the fossil record suggests that most major lineages of modern birds arose near the end of or right after the Cretaceous period (between 65-60 million years ago). Feathers now exclusively occur in avian dinosaurs (e.g., birds), but that was not always the case. With the discovery of the bird-like dinosaur Archaeopteryx in the 1860s and confirmed with further feathered dinosaur discoveries in the 1990s, feathers have been found on much earlier, non-avian species suggesting that their evolutionary beginnings stem at least as far back as the Jurassic.

Several theories have been explored and subsequently unraveled in recent years regarding the origin of birds and the evolution of feathers. Once the link between birds and reptiles was evidenced, some scientists theorized that birds did not evolve from dinosaurs. Instead, they are related by a distant common ancestor that has yet to be discovered. This theory, however, does not account for the striking similarities between the skeletons of birds and those of the highly feathered theropods.

Others theorized that maybe scales and feathers were both flat because feathers were an elongation of scales with frayed edges that eventually became the feathers we see today. They supposed that this growth over generations could have been prompted as an adaptation for flight. Maybe they helped these reptiles live in tree canopies by aiding gliding, which turned into the capability of flight. Such a “feathers-to-flight” theory would nicely tie up answers to all of the questions posed above and was fairly long-lived. With the discovery of hundreds of feathered, ground-running theropods, however, this theory proved to be discardable. So, too, dinosaurs far removed from theropods and even further removed from birds have been found with feathers that were not used for flight.

The feathers on the earliest non-avian dinosaurs did not look like the modern-day feathers described above. This fact has led to a new line of thinking about the transition from scales to feathers. From what we know from the fossil records, the earliest feathers, sometimes called protofeathers, were small, hollow filaments that appeared more like fuzz than feathers. Studying feathered specimens chronologically, the feathers slowly became more and more complex over time possibly because of an evolutionary impetus. The study of this feather development has prompted a new look into the genomic manipulation of placodes. Integumentary placodes are embryonic structures involved in the development of hair follicles, feathers, and teeth. Recent studies using modern genomic methods to identify feather-associated placodes have demonstrated the ability to turn scales into feathers. By turning key molecular circuits on and off at critical stages of scale development, researchers have been able to stimulate feather-like growths in alligator skin cells.

Though interesting, indeed, and something to keep an eye out for in new studies, none of this research is conclusive. Other studies suggest that convergent evolution might solve some of these riddles or more digging for fossils might be the best option. In any case, there is still much to learn about how the feathered dinosaur that you watch at your birdfeeder or hear outside your window evolved into what it is today.

Jane Thaler is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 03 | Local Networking | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 12.9K

Last time on SR02: Drinking games are fun but you probably went a little overboard last night when you let your feelings of animosity towards Jungkook get the better of you. The experience has at least allowed you to work through some of your anger. Then he surprised you by helping get you to bed when you started feeling sick… so he’s not all bad. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to patch things up?

Tags: Fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, jealousy, sexual tension, sloppy makeout sessions, Joonie is Y/N’s best boi, girls helping girls, friendship feels

CW: drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, mentions of negative body image

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (3/?- Ongoing)

AN: I was inspired to write this next instead so please enjoy! Do not repost. masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook awakens to Seokjin’s bony fingers poking his side. He attempts to roll over with a grumble, forgetting where he willingly chose to spend the night before a collision with the floor reminds him. Seokjin cackles out a squeaky sound as his friend groans and reaches for the couch cushion to bring him to his feet.

“How did you get in here?” He murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh… what time is it?”

“Is that any way to greet a guest? Didn’t I say I’d be back to make breakfast for Y/N?” Seokjin is already picking up the hoodie partially hidden beneath the blanket nearby. “Hmm what’s this?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and he tries to snatch it back from him, but Seokjin has already turned away and draped it around his back. He quickly feeds his arms through the sleeves and contentedly sighs.

“Oh, little Jungkookie…” he begins in a teasing voice, “don’t tell me you’re stealing her clothes now and wearing them like some creepy pervert.”

“Tch. No. She left it on the couch.” Jungkook flares his nostrils and scoffs. “Take it off. You’re going to stretch it out.”

“It’s oversized. It’s fine,” Seokjin fires back, holding up a floppy sleeve and waving it in his friend’s face.

Jungkook crinkles his nose in disgust, catching the subtle scent of his friend already diluting yours. “God. Stop wearing so much cologne.”

Seokjin forcefully blinks, briefly scrunching his features as he holds back what he really wants to say. “Cologne? I’m not wearing any. You must be smelling my natural irresistible scent. Intoxicating, isn’t it?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna make it stink like you.”

“Hmm? Do you think she’s going to get this back and feel compelled to… ” The older man zips the hoodie and lifts the fabric to his face to take a deep inhale. “Smell!?”

When Jungkook groans at his laughter Seokjin quirks a brow at him. “You were sleeping with this over your face so I thought you might suffocate in such a delicate scent. Really my balancing aroma means I’m your savior. You should be bowing down to me.”

“Whatever. You gonna cook or what?” Jungkook asks, waving a dismissive arm as he crosses the room.

Seokjin recognizes the path his friend takes as the one leading to his bedroom. “What? Are you going back to bed? Don’t expect me to bring a plate to you in there.”

“Don’t worry,” he sighs as he passes the bathroom, hearing the water from the shower beating against the tile floor. He’s never had to pee so badly in his life. “I’m just going to awaken the princess.”

He pauses to press his ear against the door to his room. He can’t hear anything. With a careful, quiet turn of the knob, he cracks the door open just enough to listen for movement. It’s not until he’s sure of the sound of your soft snoring that he opens the door further to peek inside.

Your body is turned so you’re facing the empty side of the bed and at some point you’ve swung your leg over his comforter to trap it between your thighs. You almost look content with your nose buried in his pillow. It’s easy to forget that a scowl isn’t a permanent expression branded on your face when you look so peaceful and sweet.

The carpet muffles his footsteps as he crosses the room, sinking to his knees as he approaches the side of the bed. He places an elbow on the mattress and rests his chin in his palm as he reaches out to touch your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers, a soothing tone coating the word.

His fingers trace a gentle path up your arm but you don’t stir. Still knocked out? He knows he shouldn’t be surprised. You really did have a lot last night. He’s just glad you didn’t throw up, especially not on his favorite set of polyester sheets. They’re far too expensive to be covered in puke. If he had known you’d be sleeping here he would have changed the sheets like he normally does for company. He’s not exactly used to sharing his personal belongings. It’s much easier to keep everything separate. Compartmentalize. But here you are fucking all that up, like you do.

Before he can even register all of the reasons he should not have his hand in your hair, his fingers move of their own accord, gliding through it like they belong there.

“Mmm… That feels good,” you murmur, leaning into the touch.

Your eyes open, the thick fog of sleep slowly lifting with your eyelids. You’re not sure you’re seeing the person before you properly so you rub your eye with your knuckles and groan.

“Please tell me you’re not who I think you are.”

“Who do you think I am?” he whispers teasingly, failing to keep the laughter from his question.

“Jungkook,” you groan in warning, turning your face into the soft pillow to hide. “Go away.”

“Hmm,” he hums, carefully massaging his fingers along your scalp. “I thought you said it felt good.”

Blood rushes to your ears as you fight to not melt straight into the mattress. You definitely said that out loud. That was a thing you said to Jungkook. Out loud. Fuck. It does feel good, too good.

“Yeah, well…” Your strangled, frustrated sigh cloaks the delight in your tone as you force yourself to look back at his face. “That was before I knew it was you.”

His focused expression morphs into a cheesy smile. “Now that you know it’s me, it really goes from being good to being great, huh?”

You attempt to smack his hand from your hair but his fingers get caught in a massive tangle of knots. You immediately yelp a pathetic sound, sitting up and yanking your head back, which only ensnares him further.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait!” he warns, volume of his tone rising as he climbs up on the bed to lessen the strain on your scalp. “I think my ring…!”

“Ah….! Ah!”

He can’t help the devilish smile that curls his lips at the sound. The labored breaths you offer so freely begin to lodge themselves into his brain for later recollection. For now he suppresses the laughter bubbling in his throat and places his other hand around your head.

“Hold still, princess,” he whispers.

He leans over you to get a better view of the strands trapped in the fine metalwork looped around his middle finger.

“Fucking hurry up,” you hiss, trying to ignore the heat building in your face.

He sighs a loud, frustrated sound at you. “Gimme a sec.”

It’s not like he’s taking his time. He’s not. So what if you’re laying in his bed? So what if you’re cute when you whimper? So what if the scent of your shampoo is making his stomach do somersaults? He pauses to quietly inhale, hoping it’s enough to satisfy the tingling desire in his chest.

You turn your head to the side and do your best to focus your eyes anywhere but the heavy creases lining his obliques. Luckily the ink on his skin steals the entirety of your attention. Your eyes follow a trail of grey brush strokes along his side that seem to grow purple in hue as they wrap around his shoulder and encircle an image you can’t quite make out from your current position. You turn your head, angling yourself slightly to attempt to see more. A sharp tug quickly pulls you back to reality.

“Ow! Jungkook! Fucking pull it out!” you bark, frustration seeping through your tone.

Every time you think you’ve successfully suppressed your feelings of infatuation, they resurface and leave you feeling like a moron. You know better yet you still fall victim to your mind’s own blind spot. Why does having crushes on people have to make you feel so oblivious?

“I’m trying!” His tone is defensive and pouty. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re yelling at me, you know.”

“Hey!” Seokjin’s call causes you both to jump. “What is it that I’m hearing right now?”

Jungkook laughs, “I’m being a gentleman and pulling it out.”

Seokjin snorts. “That was fast. The least you could do is close the door. Come out for breakfast when you’re done.”

“Seokjin…No! That’s not…!”

There’s a lump in your throat and you realize you can’t form words to continue the rest of your objection to his assumption. You pound a fist against the muscular chest hovering over you. Jungkook coughs as though the air has been knocked from his lungs, quickly following it with a laugh as he pulls his fingers from your hair. The ring remains caught within your locks.

“I want that back,” he says, climbing off the bed and focusing his attention on the dresser nearby.

He digs through until he pulls out a t-shirt, pulling it over his head. You’re working the ring from your hair, carefully pulling it free. A flannel shirt smacks your face and lands in your lap just as you sit up.

“I want that back too.”

“Why would I need your shirt?” you sneer, balling the flannel up and tossing it back at him. “Mine’s perfectly fine.”

He catches it in one hand and throws it back at you quicker than your brain can register the action. You fail to miss the way his eyes rake over your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He shrugs with an air of nonchalance. “Thought you might be cold.”

As he exits the room, he shuts the door. It’s after you hear the click of the mechanism that you see the bra you’ve obviously discarded at some point during the night splayed out on the floor just beyond the foot of the bed. You turn the ring around in your fingers a few times and drop your gaze to two very hard nipples threatening to cut holes in the fabric of your shirt. You drop your forehead into your lap and gather the fabric of the flannel around your face.

“Fucking hate you,” you whine into the flannel.

Moreover, you hate the way your heart beats faster every time he teases you. You hate the way you’ve started thinking about him again. You hate the attention and love it all in the same breath. You hate the way you’ve begun to crave it and you’re afraid he knows it. You sigh and rise, looking around for your phone. You vaguely remember kind of maybe possibly setting up a potential date with Jason. It’s better to focus on that than whatever nonsensical feelings are stirring on your Jungkook radar.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It’s not until you’re sitting at your desk three days later that you second guess your profile pictures on tinder being the most up-to-date. Do you still look the same as a year ago? Two years? You don’t even feel like the you that you were a month ago. How are you supposed to show your most genuine self when you’re so worried that someone is going to accuse you of being insincere about your appearance?

Pushing down your insecurities and trying to get your mind off of things, you sift through personal emails on your second monitor. Checking for bills due before heading into the lab is a good way to clear your mind of unnecessary noise. Focus on here. Focus on now. But even staring at the screen for the electric company’s login page can’t save you from wandering back down the road of worry.

Jason’s been nice. He was patient with your social anxiety when you said you didn’t want to meet right away without getting a sense for him first. After a few weeks, you forced yourself past the discomfort because you started to like who he presented himself as. But pictures and long texts at the end of a busy day can only tell you so much about him. It’s time. You’ve been hinting at it for a while and now it’s finally going to happen. Who knows? Maybe he’s just as scared as you are. He said he can relate to the anxiety so maybe you can bond over being awkward together. But what if he sees you and doesn’t like what he sees? What if you’re nothing like what he thought?

You take a deep breath as the bill payment goes through and you close the tab, moving to the next cluster of emails to clear from your inbox. They’re mostly newsletters you don’t have the motivation to unsubscribe from and the daily recipe emails you swear you’re going to try out when you have more time to learn to properly cook a meal. It just seems like so much effort right now to your stressed out brain. You don’t even bother looking at any of them.

Delete.

Just as you’re about to close the tab, a new promotion notification pops up.

[IRON KINGDOM IS LOOKING FOR HEROES]

Despite every fiber of your being telling you not to, you open the email. You scan the corny greeting and find an offer for a free month of personal training for new clients who sign up for a membership. You’re relieved to see the email is signed by trainer Hwasa and accompanied by cute animated doodles of an arm flexing with 8-bit plus symbols, sparkles, and a big “LVL UP!” sticker.

Their marketing tactics sure seem geared towards gamers. No wonder Jungkook works there. It’s a bit cheesy, but you can’t help but find it endearing. Maybe a gym will give you the confidence you need to stop worrying about your appearance entirely. Fat chance. But it’s still a chance. You star the email and close the tab, heading back into the lab to work on today’s repairs.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Late night?”

You rub your eyes and yawn at the cafe table, thankful when Namjoon slides an iced-coffee towards you. You’re grateful you haven’t put on makeup today because it would have smeared all over your hands. When did 11am become too early for a Saturday?

“Thanks, Joonie.” You smack your lips before trying to hide your smile by sipping through the straw. “I stayed up playing games with Jason.”

“Oh?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Have you guys met in person yet?”

You shake your head. “Next week. We’re supposed to… go to an arcade bar. But we played some co-op games on Steam last night.”

Namjoon offers a blank stare. “I have no idea what that means.”

“We chatted over headsets and played some stuff together. It was fun.” You smile down at the cap on your drink as you take another sip.

“Did he sound like a nerd?” Jennie teases as she sits down beside you with her own cup of piping hot coffee.

“He had a deep voice actually. I was surprised,” you admit, an air of infatuation dressing your tone.

“Deep like Namjoon’s?” Jennie asks, elbowing you playfully. “Or Taehyung’s? What if it’s one of them and they’re just fucking with you? Totally cat-fishing.”

Namjoon squirms in his seat across from you, not wanting to admit his once moronic idea to give you some hope by making a fake profile to build you up and deleting the whole thing as soon as it was made. He laughs into his cup. “Like I could do that.”

You laugh and wave her off. “Namjoon’s is like rocky deep and Taehyung’s is like breathy deep. This is more like…”

“…Yes?” Jennie rolls her hand towards you repeatedly. “Words?”

“Rocky deep?” Namjoon frowns and pouts quietly. “What does that even mean?”

“It means it’s got grit, but it’s pleasant. You’re fine, Joon,” Jennie explains, dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand.

“…Buttery?”

“Oh.” Jennie quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued as she sips her coffee. “Smooth and silky hmm?”

“Uh….” you purse your lips. “I mean… more like N…Nasal butter.”

Coffee spurts from your companions’ mouths and noses. They both quickly gather napkins to deal with the mess.

“Hot! Hot! Ow! Fuck. Wow. Never say that phrase again in your life, Y/N!” Jennie coughs. “Just say. Deep voiced nerd. That’s all you gotta say!”

Namjoon is cackling like a madman, despite the fact that he’s still wiping at his nose and mouth.

You purse your lips and shyly tap your fingers together. “I thought it was a good description.”

“Which is exactly the reason why I re-did your profile in the first place,” Jennie huffs, wiping down the table.

“Okay so….” Namjoon struggles to contain his laughter. “Are you excited to meet Jay-Jay in person now? Or should I call him Nay-Bae now?”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Guys, look. I’m super fucking scared to meet this guy. What if he doesn’t like me?”

They both answer at the same time. “He’ll like you.”

“You guys are biased because you’re my friends. But like. You know not everyone is attracted to everyone else. Everyone likes something different. So like… what if he’s not attracted to me in person?”

“He’s seen pictures of you. He shouldn’t have swiped right if he didn’t find you hot,” Jennie says matter-of-factly. It almost makes you believe her.

“But those are mostly selfies. Good angles, y’know? The body shots are older, like a year or two?” you try to reason.

“Y/N. Your Zelda pic is from Halloween, which was months ago, not years. He’s going to like the way you look and if he doesn’t he’s a moron,” she fires back.

“I just… Don’t feel like the person shown in those pictures. I don’t want him to think I’m lying to him.”

Jennie bites her lip, knowing how insecure you are about your body image, how sensitive you are about it. Years of being bullied tend to have that effect on people.

“Honey, if he thinks you lied in your photos then he’s not the guy for you,” she says, hugging an arm around your shoulder.

Namjoon nods empathically. “Besides, he may not be right for you either. It’s a test to see if you’re compatible.” His eyes widen and he sits up straight. “Oh. Treat it like a test! You did well on exams, right? Well, this is just a kind of exam that you get to grade. Think of yourself like a… professor.” His face splits into a goofy dimpled grin.

Jennie smacks her hand to her forehead. “Namjoon…”

Just treat it like an exam in prerequisite courses. What did you do for those? Truth be told you soaked in lectures and relied on cramming for exams an hour before taking a test. The weird part is that you would walk in nervous, but you’d sit down and take a deep breath and you’d tell yourself something. What was it?

I know it or I don’t.

No amount of stressing ever changed that phrase. By the time you got the exam in front of you, you could admit if you were lacking in knowledge somewhere and that would be your own fault. The essays were easy enough to bullshit if you knew the general premise of the question. Either way you figured out what needed more studying and you fixed the problem for the next test. Convert that to dating?

Your brows are furrowed and you’re staring at the table with your lips slightly parted when you answer. “We like each other or we don’t. Either way it’s okay because I can always try again with someone new.”

Jennie raises her eyebrows, shocked at your response. “Yes.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon says, offering a soft smile.

From behind the counter a few feet away Yoongi glances up at the three of you, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hands are already working to pour a perfect heart shape into the milk of another customer’s latte, but his eyes remain fixed to your table. Namjoon’s wave pulls him back to reality and he focuses on the task at hand before milk can spill over the side of the cup. You turn in sync with Jennie, just in time to see Yoongi delicately setting out the cup on a plate and calling for its recipient. He offers a cocked smile and subtle nod in your direction before focusing on his next order.

“That boy is a workaholic,” you say, picking up your cup and tonguing the straw to your iced coffee before taking a sip.

“Workaholic? I guess you’d know all about that, huh?” Jennie teases, facing you again.

“I take breaks,” you say defensively. “I do.”

Namjoon takes a long slurp of his coffee and focuses on the bland painting nestled in the corner of the cafe.

“When’s the last time you took a lunch break, like, away from your job?” she prods.

“I… don’t have time for that… But I do pay my bills at work, which totally counts as a break.”

“Wild.”

Namjoon chuckles, covering his grin behind his hands. “Oh, that reminds me. Geeksquad, you cancel your free week before it charges you?”

You pout, working your straw in and out of the lid with restless fingers before rolling your eyes with a huff. You tap your phone to wake it up, knowing if you don’t do it now you’ll forget. “Thanks, mom.”

You’re greeted with the email you’ve been staring at all week, tormenting yourself over a response. “Hey, uh, so… remember how I was talking about being worried about the way I look?”

Namjoon sighs like he’s about to die on a battlefield over this. “Geeksquad. You’re gorgeous and smart and funny. You need to stop stressing over this.”

You blink a few times in surprise, feeling the heat rising in your face and hoping it’s an invisible involuntary response. “Oh. I, um…” A nervous laugh escapes your lips. “I wasn’t asking you to talk me up again.”

He clears his throat loudly, clearly embarrassed for overstepping. “Ah no, I wasn’t. I was just saying… in general. You know? You sell yourself short.” He’s quick to down the liquid in his cup and dart his eyes elsewhere. Is there a hole he can go crawl in?

“Now I’ve got enough from the both of you to trick my brain into producing dopamine for the day. Thank you.” You laugh. “But… I was just thinking… maybe a good way to boost my confidence on a larger scale would be to maybe join a gym?”

“What gym?” Jennie asks, raising her eyebrows with a knowing smile.

“Well…” you focus on canceling the trial at your fingertips while you talk. “Iron Kingdom is running a special where if you sign up for a membership you get a month of personal training for free. I was thinking of signing up with one of the coaches there… Not Jungkook,” you clarify.

She nods. “I mean they’re pretty popular and cheap. Exercise is a natural mood booster. Just know you’ll probably see him from time to time.”

“How often could I possibly see him if I’m going before work?”

“Bold of you to assume you’re gonna be getting up before you absolutely have to,” Namjoon jokes with a laugh. “I’ve seen you pre-coffee at six am on a weekday. I think you’d rather die than be up earlier than that.”

He’s not wrong. You click your tongue and give a slow half-nod, half-shake of your head. “I have an iron will, Joonie. I can condition myself.”

He scoffs. “Riiight.”

“Besides, I’ll be more accountable if both of you are going with me.” You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Hey don’t drag me into this. I’m content waking up at six thirty every day. Don’t ask me for more. I could maybe do after work.”

Your sweet smile turns into a sour pout before turning to Jennie. “You said you’d sign up with me before we knew Jungkook worked there.”

“Workouts before I’m awake were not part of that discussion. I will gladly do weekends with you,” she agrees.

“What is this, split-custody?” you whine.

She sighs. “Fine, I will sign up for classes with you too… if you stick with it. We’ll get Namjoon to sign up for one too.”

“What?” Namjoon shakes his head. “Hold up. I never agreed—”

“We’ll make a thing of it. Get a meal after,” she says with an aggressive smile as she kicks his shin under the table. “My treat.”

I’m bribing you to do this for her, Namjoon. That’s what she’s really saying, but you appreciate the sentiment anyway.

“We’ll let you pick what we can sign up for together,” you offer as your consoling statement.

He finishes his coffee with a heavy sigh. “Alright. Alright.”

He’ll have to ask Jungkook what the most low-effort class at his gym is and hopefully he won’t poke too much into the reasoning for his sudden interest. Knowing his friend, though… It’s a matter of time.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Since Yoongi is thinking of applying for a bartending job at a new place that just opened up, Hoseok insisted on having the weekly Saturday night hangout there. Something you instantly like is that the space is divided into a louder dance scene and a muted lounge atmosphere separated by a wall of glass that mutes just enough sound to dull the loudest out basslines in the next room. The high energy of the club heavily contrasts the laid back scene in the lounge. Ups and downs. Seesaw is a fitting name.

You’re more of a lounge kind of girl, enjoying a noticeable lack of vibrations rattling your skull as you settle down with a new drink. Jennie and the others may favor the other side and you’ll no doubt be dragged back in, but a moment of respite is all you really need right now. You run your fingers through your hair as you tie it up, staring down at your phone. Jason sent you a selfie and he’s every bit as cute as the photos you keep going back to look at. Sweat lines your brow as you attempt to make yourself presentable enough for a photo of your own.

Taking a look around the room self-consciously, you lift the phone and don a plastic grin. You snap a pic that you spend ten seconds internally tearing apart before sending. You tip the glass towards you, the orange juice and tequila going down all too easy and leaving a tangy taste on your tongue. When you wait for the dots on the screen to stop moving, your stomach drops.

JASON: lmao looks like someone photobombed you. You look good though.

Good. You look good. Not cute. Not hot or sexy. Good. Why does that feel so mediocre? Maybe it’s because he’s never actually said “you’re beautiful” or anything to that effect. It’s not like you need to hear it all the time, but every once in a while would do wonders for your confidence.

You’re not even worried about the first part of the text until you scroll back up to scrutinize your features once again and see a familiar dark haired figure in the background with two middle fingers raised. You zoom in on the figure and grit your teeth when you realize he’s sticking his long tongue out with a knowing grin.

“Getting a better look?” Jungkook asks, chin digging into your shoulder as he leans over you and plants a hand on the table. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.”

“Jungkook,” you warn, fire flaring up in your gut. “Go back to the noisy side where you belong.”

“What, you think I don’t like it quiet sometimes too?” He almost sounds offended as he hops into the chair beside you. His tight-lipped smile and quirked brow fill you with feelings of mistrust. “Keeping quiet can be a challenge. And I always like a challenge.”

“Is that why you’re still bothering me?”

He takes the orange off the rim of your glass and pops it into his mouth with a shrug.

“Stop trying to ruin my chances with Jason and stop stealing my fruit.”

When he smiles at you the orange rind peeks out from the space between his lips and you sigh in frustration.

“I left your cherry.” He points to the fruit half buried in ice as he places the empty rind on the table.

He laughs when you crinkle your nose at the mess he’s made, wiping the table down with a napkin.

“Jason,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s been like a month hasn’t it? Has he even eaten you out?”

Your eyes widen and you flounder to formulate a response.”Ah–I–You–Uh–K-Kook!”

“I mean– taken you out?” he laughs hard at the way you trip over your words. “No, no, wait. The first one. I meant the first one.”

“Does this work for you?” you question after taking a long sip from your drink. “The dirty jokes. The crass humor. The douchebag behavior…”

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “I thought we had something special, Princess. You were in my bed and everything just last week.”

“Okay you’re–That’s–Totally out of context.” You take another sip, reaching the red syrup at the bottom before digging your finger past the ice to reach the fallen cherry. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

His smile falters for a fraction of a second. “Depends on the girl. You’d be surprised by how many say they don’t want an asshole and they roll their eyes at the jokes, the crass humor… Just like you do.” His voice gets low and breathy, shifting in his seat so his shoulder touches yours. “But that douchebag behavior, as you put it…”

Steady fingers reach for the nervous pair tapping the table beside your phone and you tense. His hand is warm and soft as it curls around your cold, clammy ones. Your breath hitches in your throat as you fix your eyes on his thumb kneading soft, comforting circles into the back of your hand. Your eyes rise slowly up to the owner, never moving past his jaw, too afraid to meet his eyes. Why couldn’t these stupid crush feelings just go away when you started talking to Jason?

“It’s a tactic. It’s a game to me. And it works…” he chuckles a subtle sound, watching the way your gaze lingers on his lips. “It’s flirting, Princess. Do you want me to stop?”

“I…” The truth is that you don’t know. Your body aches for him to continue but when it’s over and he’s done playing games with you, you’ll feel like a fool again. Is it really worth it?

Dark eyes bore into yours, a look of longing in them that almost makes you forget they’re attached to the face of a fuckboy. You blink slowly, caught in the trap of featherlight touches you know you could leave in an instant. So why don’t you? It feels so fucking good to be touched, to feel wanted, even for a moment. You find yourself leaning into it, leaning into him. Even as he feigns a shy smile and chuckles, you hate yourself so much for not breaking away from him. A strangled noise escapes you that sounds like a laugh that is alien to your own ears.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he whispers, followed by a whimsical laugh.

Fuck. Why did he have to be the one to say it? Friends don’t count. Jennie and Namjoon don’t count. But Jungkook? He’s not exactly the same classification of friend as either of them. Are you even friends? Last week he made a point of calling you everyone else’s friend, but never called you his. Is it because he wants something more or because he sees you as something not worth calling more? Your lungs are burning. Are you holding your breath? It feels like you’re holding your breath. Your chest rises and falls in rapid succession.

You take a deep inhale and try to calm yourself enough to rip the band-aid off. Maybe he’ll get the hint. Maybe he’ll stop hurting you. You swallow, not knowing if you can play his game but knowing that you have to try.

“I’ll admit… When I met you I felt attracted to you.” In an attempt to seal the emotion from your voice, the tone sounds deeper, almost sultry.

He smiles like he knows he’s won you over and closes his eyes, leaning in further. He opens them promptly when you place your fingers to his lips and push him back.

“But then I met the real you. Pompous. Arrogant. Shallow. Narcissistic. You think you’re God’s gift to women, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You play with people just because you can, like a boy who never grew up. So, let me be clear. I know what I want and it’s not you. I will never want someone like you. Go back to the noisy side and you might find someone who does.”

He doesn’t make a sound as he pulls away, hands sliding off you entirely until they’re hanging over his own thighs. You can feel your lip quivering but if he sees it he doesn’t mention it as he leans back in his seat and pokes his tongue into his cheek. There’s too many emotions coursing through your own brain to properly read his expression. Any guess you might make would be tainted by your hopes and subsequent disappointment. It’s gone as soon as you blink.

“The noisy side is fun too. Thanks for the orange,” he says, flashing you a toothy grin that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle as he casually strolls away.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Twenty minutes have passed and the sting of your words remain. He tilts his head back and downs another shot, setting the empty glass down the bar counter before disappearing into the crowd. For twenty minutes he’s been telling himself he’s unbothered by your comments whilst thinking of nothing else.

I will never want someone like you.

Not the first time he’s heard that one, but it has been a while since he’s elicited such a negative response from someone. How could you say that with such malice? It’s not like you have any reason to sing his praises, but he wonders how low he’s become in your eyes.

You think you know me so well, he thinks as he tightens his jaw, trying to focus on any of the warm bodies darting in and out of his periphery.

The more he thinks about it, the more annoyance becomes a prominent figure in the forefront of his mind. He’s bothered by the fact that he’s bothered, but maybe that’s because he realizes now that you’re not hanging around Namjoon to try and get closer to any one of them with malicious intent. So what do you want? Do you really just want friends? It’s hard to believe his assumptions were the ones that were wrong, but it seems pretty clear now; you’re not using his friends at all. You just stumbled into this family like a graceless clutz with your jokes, your wit, your kindness, your… nerdiness.

It’s infuriating just how likeable you are. How was he supposed to know that you weren’t putting on a front? It’s hard to find genuine people in this fucked up world and he’s done his best to barricade himself within the ones he’s found. Skepticism has been his guardian; it’s protected his friends from those who would use them and it’s kept the rest of the world a safe distance away. But here you are again making him question himself. It’s annoying.

Navigating past writhing, sweaty bodies, Jungkook dons a scowl and looks around for his friends as he tries to push down his feelings of irritation. He’s hoping to find Namjoon on the outskirts of the dancefloor when he spots Seokjin and Taehyung laughing across the way. He feels his body relax a little and he breathes a sigh of relief, knowing a distraction for his mind is imminent. Just as he’s about to be free of the crowd, there’s a body colliding with his. Lean, tattooed fingers reach out to steady the girl around the waist. She’s already apologizing for her partner’s lack of skill as she turns around.

Agitation dissipates in an instant as he comes face to face with your now wide-eyed friend, Jennie. Maybe she’s exactly what he needs right now.

“You don’t have to throw yourself at me like this you know.” He grins, already moving his hips to the music. “Wanna dance?”

She closes her eyes for just a second, letting her hips sway beneath his palms to the beat. It’s then she catches herself and slaps his hands from her hips. “I’m already dancing with someone else, thanks.”

Jungkook’s expression sours as she turns away from him to look for her dance partner, grumbling how Jungkook scared him off. Am I just completely off my game tonight? What is wrong with me?

He sighs and makes his way towards his friends, hoping sharing some drinks with them will lead to a lift in his mood. He spares a glance up to the glass separating the lounge from the club. You’re fixated on your phone, leg bouncing anxiously back and forth and he finds himself wondering what could possibly be so enthralling, so nerve-wracking that you’ve already downed most of your next drink. He rolls his eyes. You’ve consumed enough of his thoughts for the evening. Whatever the cause, he can’t be the solution. You’ve made that much clear.

Jungkook drapes his arms around both of his friends, interrupting whatever conversation they’re in the middle of. “I’m bored!”

Seokjin blinks rapidly in disbelief. “What’s this? You’re alive?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, reaching his palm down to tweak Seokjin’s nipple through his shirt, causing him to shriek and shy away from him.

“What? You disappeared so suddenly I assumed you must have been lured to your death by a pretty face!” he argues, rubbing his palm over the tender spot on his chest and maintaining a fair distance from his friend.

Jungkook scoffs, poking a finger in his ear and blocking out his elder’s words before turning to Taehyung. “Tae, you up for a game? First to five?”

Taehyung sucks his teeth and gives the room a once over. “Dances? Kisses?”

“Numbers.” Jungkook declares. “She has to text you first and you have to show proof.”

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. Deciding he could use the confidence boost, he nods. “Yeah, I think I could do that.” He turns his gaze on Seokjin. “You in?”

Seokjin’s sour expression morphs into a wicked grin. “I’ve got nothing better to do. Should I see if anyone else is game?”

Jungkook tongues his cheek and laughs. “You think you can keep up, old man?”

Seokjin moves in to pinch Jungkook’s arm and quickly backs away before he can retaliate. “I’ll show you how a real man woos a woman.”

“Let’s get a round first,” Taehyung suggests, already making his way to the bar.

Jungkook takes out his phone with a grin, sending a group text announcing the start of tonight’s shenanigans. He makes sure to include you.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Namjoon thrusts the water towards you. “Drink.”

You know you should. That last Tequila Sunrise went down way too easy and you’re starting to sweat just sitting here. You attempt to shimmy your hoodie off while maintaining a death grip on your phone. It doesn’t go well.

“Joonie,” you pout.

He pries your phone from your sweaty hands, allowing you to free yourself from your sweaty confines.

“You get this back when you drink some of that,” he argues, pointing to the glass of water. He grabs a french fry off the plate he ordered for you both to share. “Eat some of these, too.”

He talks while sucking in air between his teeth, as if to cool the hot potato scalding his mouth. “Hot! sssch-Hot!” He promptly spits half of the fry back into his hand. “Uhhh, maybe wait a sec though.”

“What? Is it like, hot?” you ask in the most valley girl voice you can muster. You offer him a napkin with a giggle. “You’re a mess, Professor Kim.”

He sheepishly takes it from you, disposing of his half-chewed food before grumbling, “Geeksquad, I swear—”

You simply take a fry from the plate and nibble at it with a smug grin, quickly moving onto the water he provided you. The pair of you sit together in silence for a minute, carefully picking at the plate of fries. Once you’ve sucked down more than half the glass of water you reach your hand out in a grabbing motion.

“You shouldn’t have to try so hard,” he says, handing over your phone

“But I like him,” you counter, mouth full and licking the salt from your fingers.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I wanna know why this guy keeps putting off meeting up.”

“Maybe he’s nervous, too.” You shrug, scrolling through your missed messages.

It’s a painfully short catch-up session and your heart sinks at the realization that he’s not doing anything to keep the conversation alive. You place the half-eaten fry currently in your hand back on the plate, appetite completely dissolved along with your hopes.

“I want another drink,” you mumble, staring down at the screen.

“What did he say?” Namjoon asks, scooting his seat closer to yours so he can read the conversation and you let him.

“Nothing… Nothing and that’s the problem,” you admit, feeling a sting at your eyes.

Nononono not my makeup. You dab at the inside corners of your eyes and swipe your fingertips along the edge to clear the tears before they fall.

“How am I supposed to go on a date with him if he won’t talk to me? I feel like I always have to initiate and keep it going and compliment him. It’s exhausting. Does he even like me? Why did he swipe on me?”

“I think he likes you… But it does seem like you’re carrying the conversation,” he admits, scrolling through the messages. “He might be more introverted than you… Or he’s keeping his options open.”

There. He said it so you don’t have to. You’re not sure if you hate him or love him for it. You lean back against your seat and look forlornly at the plate of fries. Most people your age don’t have reservations about seeing more than one person at a time, so why is it so hard for you to do? Jason is your only prospect and it’s exhausting even trying to manage that much. You can’t imagine having several other conversations happening simultaneously.

“So what do I do?”

“Put Jason on the backburner.” He presses the power button on your phone, the screen going black before he taps on your glass. “You finish your water, eat some more fries, and come dance with me.”

“I dance like a fool,” you remind him. “You really wanna be embarrassed?”

“We’ll both dance like fools then,” he says while filling his mouth with fries. “Come on. Don’t just watch me eat.”

You oblige him with a grin, matching the amount he’s stuffed his face with and laughing at each other’s puffed cheeks. Both of your phones buzz against the tabletop in unison and you exchange a curious look before checking your messages.

JUNGKOOK: numbers game JUNKGOOK: first to collect five wins JUNGKOOK: person has to text you as proof

You cringe and fire back a text to let everyone know you were included on a group text you definitely wish you weren’t.

YOU: ew JUNGKOOK: oh sorry princess must have included you by accident 🥴🥴🥴  JIN: You can play if you want! I can be your wingman. Together we will take down the maknae JUNGKOOK: lol JUNGKOOK: i guess you can practice flirting 😏 TAEHYUNG: Buying a round first JIMIN: 😱Coming!!\ HOBI: 😈 JUNGKOOK: Joon Yoongi in or out

You quirk an eyebrow at Namjoon. “Do this often?”

He shifts uncomfortably, visibly wilting under your gaze. “I mean, sometimes it’s fun to get drunk and flirt.” He grabs his beer and polishes off the last of it while texting back a response. “Judging me, Geeksquad?”

BUZZ. BUZZ.

NAMJOON: Gimme a minute.

You roll your eyes and grin. “No more than you judge me.”

“So a lot then. Got it.” He laughs.

You hum in contemplation as your fingers tap against the screen.

YOU: im in if you buy me a shot

The texts come through all at once, filling you with regret.

HOBI: COME GET IT JIMIN: Okay!! 🥰 TAEHYUNG: Coming up YOU: I was talking to the party leader YOU: please don’t buy me multiple shots JUNGKOOK: wooooooooow okaaaay JIMIN: Don’t worry I will drink what you can’t 😂

Namjoon is already laughing. “You did that to yourself.”

“I just want to beat him at his own game,” you grumble. “I think I’m just addicted to wiping that stupid smug ass grin off his face.”

“You know what I think?” He points a fry at you accusingly, waving it in your face before it breaks half, the errant piece falling into your lap. “I think you guys should date. You would make a cute couple.”

Your nose crinkles in response and you glare at him.

“Kidding, kidding….” He laughs when you lightly smack his arm. “At least you guys are talking again.”

You grimace, remembering your earlier conversation with Jungkook. The more you think about it, the more a sense of dread grows deep within your chest. You feel terrible about the things you said. You meant them at the time but now you just feel guilty because replaying them in your head sounds cruel. It’s not that you don’t want to fix things— you do. 

Last week showed you he’s capable of some semblance of kindness. You thought maybe you could press the reset button on your whole friendship if he ever nutted up and apologized, but he’s only dug himself into a deeper hole since then. Every time you think you’re about to move past it, he does something that causes that anger to flare within you.

You sigh. “He gets under my skin, Joon. I don’t think I’ve ever been so mean to someone before. Ever. I wanna knock his teeth out of his skull.”

He chuckles. “I know… And I know it’s hard to believe but he’s a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

“Must be buried deep down,” you snort, finishing off your water, “if ‘sorry’ is too hard of a word for him to say.”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows and nods. “That’s fair. I’m not going to make excuses for him or tell you to forgive him. He can be an ass. He has been an ass to you. All I’m gonna say is that we all have flaws. We all have defence mechanisms that seem logical to our own brains based on our experiences… our feelings… our trauma. We all got issues. Say what you want, but you’re not exactly an open book, Geeksquad.”

When you look like you’re about to object to that statement, he cuts you off. “Just listen.” He lines up the salt and pepper shakers on either side of the vertical menu standing in the middle of the table. “You got two closed off people like this. They complement each other pretty well but there’s this wall between them, right?”

“Tch. Namjoon…” you scoff. It takes everything you have to hold back the smile curling the corners of your mouth. “Are you calling me… salty?”

He rolls his eyes and cringes with a grumble. “Like talking to Jin sometimes, I swear… Look. There’s a door on the side right over here. And here.” He points to both sides of the menu with a fork and a spoon. “But they’re both too busy yelling over this wall, mishearing every other word. They’re forming assumptions about the other without ever having a conversation like civilized people face to face. But if either one walked a little bit, they might see something more than they previously imagined.”

“Hmm,” is all you manage to answer, biting your tongue to prevent you from speaking any further on the subject. “I finished my water, mom. Are you done playing with the table’s accoutrements?”

He snorts, dropping the utensils. After stuffing one last fry in his mouth he wipes his hands on his jeans. “Alright you know what I gave you my hot take. Do what you want.”

“What I want is to show this guy how it’s done,” you huff.

“How? We’ve all seen you dirty talk your cup like you’ve never seen porn in your life,” he jokes.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t have to win. I just have to beat Jungkook. That is my only goal. Besides, I can be charming in my own way Joonie,” you argue, grabbing a handful of french fries. “I have… finesse.”

In fate’s comical stroke of irony you fumble some of the fries on the way to your mouth, like one does when inebriated. You shamelessly fish one from your cleavage, moving your breasts around and inspecting the space between to ensure nothing is trapped in your bra. You look back up at him with a sheepish grin and pop the fry into your mouth.

He drops his forehead into his hands. “Yeah, sure. Finesse.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Something you’ve learned about yourself in the last forty minutes is that you are terrible at this. It sounded like a great idea to enter this competition but you should have known better. You don’t even talk to people you like. Why did you volunteer to talk to absolute strangers? Anxiety swells inside your belly like a balloon, mixing with the alcohol you’ve continued to consume within this time and creating a sloshy mess that makes you contemplate your existence.

For the first ten minutes you struggled with the internal conflict that is approaching a human being. What if they are absolutely out of your league and smite you on the spot with rejection? Mortification seems a fate worse than death far too often. You wish the ground would do you a solid and dissolve into liquid. Then you could just dive in and majestically doggie-paddle away from your problems.

Once you gathered enough courage to engage someone in conversation you were so nervous that you lost your balance, accidentally knocked his drink from his hand, and he promptly excused himself. You haven’t seen him since. The next one didn’t go much better. Stammering and stuttering over your words is about the least sexy thing you could do while trying to be smooth. You excused yourself from that one.

The last one you came down with a case of the hiccups mid-introduction, appearing far more inebriated than you are– at least more than you think you are. That guy raised his eyebrows at you and laughed. He fucking laughed in your face. What little confidence you had at the start of this event has quickly shattered into a thousand shards of self-loathing, each one picking a different part of your body to critique and pin to your brain like a bulletin board of shame.

You lean your elbows on the bar and spread your fingers out against your forehead, looking down at your cup. You wish Jennie was here to get the numbers for you. She would excel at what seems a hopeless task for you. A check-in text revealed she is safe and still having fun with some guy who is apparently “awesome.”

You haven’t seen her all night and you don’t feel like interrupting whatever fun she’s having with Mr. Awesome just to settle your petty squabble with Jungkook. At some point you have to take care of your problems on your own. Maybe you just need to face the fact that he’s going to completely destroy you in this pointless competition.

Have some humility, you tell yourself. It’s okay to suck at things.

It seems far from okay, even though you know it absolutely does not matter. The tears are already building behind your eyes and you’re not quite sure why, but it probably has something to do with the bubble of anxiety slowly creeping up your throat. You swallow, feeling it form a knot and clog the passage at the acknowledgement of its existence.

The guilt over your conversation with Jungkook remains a steady source of the anxiety that gnaws at the corners of your mind, telling you that you should apologize for your harsh words. He hasn’t said anything about it or given any indication that he’s bothered. After all, it was the truth wasn’t it? But the words sit in your mind, heavy in their cruelty. Have you become the person who says hurtful things in the face of adversity, who lets their emotions twist them into someone they never wanted to become? All of the embarrassment and rejection are extra layers that inflate the bubble in your throat.

You push the remainder of your drink away from you as you stand, looking around with a tearful pout. There’s enough light to scan the vicinity for the faces of your friends but you come up empty. It dawns on you for the first time how badly you have to pee so you make your way to the bathroom, relieved that there doesn’t seem to be a line of women holding the door open for one another.

As soon as you’ve passed the threshold of the heavy door the tears freely stream down your face. Your vision blurs with the rising heat in your cheeks. There are a group of women huddled around the sinks and mirrors and they all look up to watch you stumble towards one of the stalls with your hands out for balance. You can’t see their faces through your tears but you know they turn their attention towards you, voices falling into a hushed whisper.

Some of their outfits cast an ill-defined shimmer in the light of the restroom and your gut sinks, knowing they’re probably dressed in beautiful clothes you could never have the confidence to wear yourself. You quickly cast your gaze to the shiny tiles at your feet, the silver glitter embedded in the swirled white marble giving you something to focus on as you pray they’ll be gone by the time you come out.

When you emerge from the stall you stand at the sink, vigorously washing your hands and wiping your eyes with your wet knuckles before bringing your face down low enough to splash and clean.

“Hey…” A soft voice makes you look up from the sink, water dripping from your hair, down your forehead and into your red, puffy eyes. “Are you okay?”

You sniffle and blink a few times as one of them hands you a couple paper towels. Embarrassed, you wipe your face and slowly let yourself focus on the group. There are four of them and, as you suspected, they are all fucking gorgeous. Two of them have long black hair that dances over the skin of their shoulders with each swaying movement. One is wearing a blinding red-sequined dress and reaching down to adjust the strap of her heel. The other dons a flowing white dress that exposes her shoulders, the modest look complemented with knee high boots that could captivate anyone’s attention.

The third girl has her brown hair tied up in a tight ponytail away from her face, playful bangs just barely hiding her eyebrows. She looks so sophisticated in her simplistic black wrap dress. You wish you could look as half as beautiful as she does. The one closest to you has long blonde hair styled in waves that frames her face perfectly. Her makeup is absolutely flawless. She must have just touched it up. Looking at the white crop top and matching white jeans, you’re astonished to find she hasn’t spilled or wiped anything off on herself.

Are they as drunk as you are? You surmise they might be as you look from their outfits to their expressions. The way they frown and attempt to comfort you with misty, compassionate eyes has fresh tears spilling down the contours of your face.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you choke out, wiping at your cheeks.

“That’s okay!” the one in red says, stumbling towards the blonde as she attempts to remove the shoe strapped to her foot. The other two catch her before she smacks against her backside. She wears a sheepish grin and takes off the other shoe through hissed teeth. “Ah! Better! Nobody knows anything for sure, if you think about it!”

She waves her strappy heels in her hands as if that proves some deep wisdom she’s trying to demonstrate.

“What’s wrong?” the blonde asks, ignoring her friend as she cocks her head to the side.

“I tried to get back at him. He made me think he was one way and then he wasn’t. He’s a jerk!” You hiccup, as though these women already know your history with the person consuming your thoughts. “I want to get over it but he never even— he didn’t even— not once— he-he didn’t say sorry.”

The four girls huddle against each other, nodding as they listen to your rambling as though it’s a sermon worth extracting a lesson from.

“So then tonight I blew up and I was like, hey you’re a dick and I liked you but that’s over because who could love you? And I was like, oh no I was too mean! And I was about to apologize. But then-but then he wanted to play a game with his friends and he sent it to me too. Collecting numbers. And I was like, no! You know what? I’m gonna play and beat you because fuck you, Jungkook. And now I feel so… stupid be-because… I can’t do it! And he knew it. He’s right.”

You start to sob and the girls begin to make a fuss, all talking over each other to try and quell your tears.

“No no no! Honey, you can do it!”

“What is it?”

“Don’t cry!”

“Fuck Jungkook!”

“Look. There’s no man on this earth ruining your makeup over,” the blonde says, grabbing another paper towel and running it under the water.

“Unless it’s a really good blowjob.” The woman in red grins from ear-to-ear, unashamed of her boldness.

“Oh my god, Joy.”

“Sounds like some fuckboy shit.” The woman in the black dress crosses her arms, tapping her fingers on her elbow as she stands up straight. “Okay, how do we beat him?”

Brow furrowed, you look at her as though she’s grown another head. “I can’t. I tried to get numbers and I just made a fool of myself.” You hiccup. “I swear I’m not even that drunk. I’m just horrible at talking to people and I get so nervous that I–” Your lip quivers and you grimace, knowing your face is scrunched up into ugly-cry mode. “I freeze. And that’s probably why… why…”

“Hey, no more of that, babe,” the blond says, dabbing at your smudged eyeshadow and seeing if she can salvage any of the liner you had been wearing. “We’re gonna get you back out there and help you win. You gotta be your most fabulous self when you get to throw it in his face.”

“Getting numbers…” The woman with the heels in her hands leans on the others. “Any ideas?”

“What if we just give you ours?” The woman in the white dress smiles at you and comfort floods your senses. “Is he really gonna check to see if we’re men? Does that even matter?”

You struggle to blink and look at them all through the blonde’s constant dabbing above and around your eyes. “I need to have five numbers text me first. That’s all they said when they were going over the rules.”

You give the one in black your number first and she smiles. “I’m gonna text someone to help if they end up calling any one of us. My brother is here with his friends. He’s a shit, but he’ll help me out if I ask with minimal questions. Oh, I’m Seulgi by the way. You can put me down as any name you like.”

You feel your phone buzz twice. Great. Think of fake guy names. I can’t even think of a story how I might have charmed these ‘guys.’

As if reading your mind, she continues on, “Or you can just use the names of his friends. This is Joy, Irene, and Chungha.”

The two of them wave at you and the blonde smiles. “He sounds like he’s the worst. He’s gonna be so pissed you got numbers faster than him. It’ll be great.”

The contact Seulgi pulls up next makes you stare at the label as the Chungha wipes lines down your nose and chin. It reads: [DAMN BROTHER].

“Th-Thank you…” You sigh in disbelief. “You guys are the nicest people I know. I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t.” Chungha laughs. “I just fixed your makeup. How much time do you have? We wanna make this believable.”

You fish the mobile device out of your back pocket and scan through your group chat. “Looks like most of them are still at two or less.”

“Still got a shot then,” Seulgi comments with a grin. She’s clearly the most sober in the group. “We’ll space it out every ten to fifteen minutes or so. Seem reasonable?”

How do you thank these strangers? You are truly at a loss for words. A small nod and a wide grin is all you can manage.

“Do you wanna dance to kill some time?” Joy asks with a giggle.

“You should sit down and drink some water,” Irene chides. “Or someone will step on your toes.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

After drinking water and conversing with your newfound friends for some amount of time, you’ve almost forgotten about the game. Seulgi’s brother and his friends have joined your booth and you have to admit that although strangely cozy it’s socially draining. It’s not until Chungha nudges you to check your phone that you find more than a few of your competitors have reached their fourth achievement. You quickly text that you have the number you need and that you can keep going if they really want you to. The responses start pouring in, a mixture of confused and surprised. In Jungkook’s case, he calls bullshit and asks everyone to meet back up where they started: the bar.

Although you rise from the booth on steadier legs and hold a clearer mind, suddenly you’re feeling nervous. Your new friends assure you that no matter what they have your back. They all toss their cellphones on the table in a circle.

Chungha starts writing down names on napkins and matching them up with the devices. “If any of them ring we will make sure someone answers.”

After exchanging hugs with all of the girls, you make your slow descent down the stairs. Namjoon and Seokjin are already waiting for you at the bar.

“Oh! Y/N, my friend! You had me fooled!” Seokjin slaps his hand around your back, squeezing you towards the broad expanse of his chest. You take a few seconds to yourself, trying to remember how to breathe.

“How the hell…?” Namjoon asks the open-ended question with a big smile and you respond with a goofy one of your own.

“Uh-ehhehehh. Well…” You scratch your cheek and sheepishly present your phone. “I was told my failure to communicate effectively was charming in its own way.”

Namjoon quirks a brow at you and snorts. “Eloquent. Been drinking water, huh?” He drapes your hoodie around your shoulder. “Here. You forgot this earlier.”

You’re about to thank him when the rest of the group huddles in around you.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you ask, avoiding the glare Jungkook is throwing your way.

Hoseok is scrolling through his phone. “Hmm… Oh, he texted me. He’s…” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Busy.”

You raise a brow at the tone of his statement but don’t get a chance to ask what he means because Jungkook is already tapping your shoulder.

“I want to see your numbers,” he whines. “I don’t believe this.”

You’re annoyed but it’s not like you can fault the skepticism in his tone. While you didn’t burst into panic mode tonight, you’re pretty sure it’s because you were too drunk to spiral into a pit of despair over your embarrassment. Maybe you can find comfort in that while Jungkook scrutinizes your messages.

You can see his jaw tighten and shift from side to side. As his tongue pokes harder into his cheek with each new message he opens, you bite down on your lip to keep yourself from laughing. He forces a smile as Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok all crowd around him to peer down at the screen. He looks up and blinks hard. It’s hard to miss the fluttering of his lashes when he blatantly rolls his eyes.

You tilt your head to one side and smile at him sweetly. “Yes, Jungkook?”

“Looks like you won.” His tone lacks malice but even with his face partially obscured by the long hair falling across his face you can tell he’s annoyed. He sighs and raises his eyebrows, using his pinky to swipe the hair from his face. “You know, actually now that I think about it, I feel like it’s kind of unfair.”

“Here we go,” Jimin mutters, rolling his eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s just a sore loser,” he leans in to whisper. “He does this every time someone else wins.”

“I’m just saying I feel like it might be an easier game for girls,” Jungkook says defensively.

“What? Are you kidding me?” You nearly lunge for him in your fury. “Why is it easier? Because guys prey on girls all the time? Especially the ones who are drunk and vulnerable?”

Jungkook looks taken aback that you would jump to such an assumption. “Ah, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You don’t know how many times I messed up. It was really hard for me,” you snap, poking a finger against his chest. “I bet you didn’t have someone laugh in your face, did you?”

Nonononono don’t you fucking cry, you tell yourself, trying to hold it together.

Jungkook’s brow furrows, passing you a look that you swear is almost sympathetic. “No. I didn’t.”

You don’t need his pity. Tearing your gaze away from him, you look over your other companions. They wear uncomfortable grimaces and concerned frowns. The air between your group is heavy, charged with a palpable tension. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling embarrassed by your admission of one of tonight’s failed attempts.

A laugh escapes with your held breath and you shake your head. “It’s fine. Don’t look so sad for me. It went well after. It takes more than that to make me cry, you know.”

Oh no. They know. They know I lied about everything. I have to say something. I have to come clean. I’m guilty.

The cheerful pep in your tone seems to break the tension because Seokjin claps his hand around Jungkook’s shoulder and smiles. “That’s our girl!”

Maybe you’re better at lying than you give yourself credit for.

“She won fair and square. So I think she gets the prize.” Taehyung displays both sets of teeth with his charming, boxy smile.

You cock your head to one side. “Prize?”

“Winner gets dinner!” Hoseok sings as he takes your hands in his and wiggles them back and forth.

“Your choice, bought by the one who started the competition,” Namjoon chimes in.

“Why wasn’t this said at the start? I feel like I didn’t know all the rules. Maybe I don’t want that. I don’t have to eat with you right?” you ask, frowning at Jungkook.

Even when you win, you lose. You take your phone back and shove it into your back pocket.

Jungkook breaks into a cheesy grin that causes creases to form on either side of his nose. “If you want to. I know it’s tempting.”

“I make him get me something really, really good when I win,” Taehyung says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “And then I eat it in front of him.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “But then I get a burger of my own, so does it matter?”

“Wait, what would have happened if Jungkook won?” you ask, wondering if you should have just stayed on your path of failure.

“Then the person in last place buys the winner food,” Namjoon responds simply, leaning across the bar to order another drink.

Oh. That’s worse.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You won your first game!” Jimin throws his arms around you and presses you tightly against his chest.

“Blipp! Achievement unlocked!” Taehyung laughs from behind him.

Jimin leans against your ear and whispers, “Oh, you smell good.”

It sends a shiver vibrating down your spine that he no doubt feels. When he pulls back to look at you, an innocent smile plays at his lips. Your mouth hangs agape as you stand there blinking stupidly at him, trying to decide if you want to look at his soft lips or enticing eyes. Who does he think he is, smiling like he hasn’t caused a short circuit in your brain? It’s like he gets off on it.

“Let’s dance to celebrate,” Hoseok suggests, rolling his hips dangerously close to you.

It’s then you remember there are more people in the immediate vicinity besides Jimin and yourself. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you purse your lips and compose yourself as one by one the group starts to split in two directions. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin make their way towards the crowd of dancers. Jungkook stands there looking at you as Seokjin and Namjoon turn their attention to the bartender.

“I think I’m gonna hang here instead,” you call, eyes falling back to the muscular figure before you.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he reluctantly shuffles towards you. You think he might be sulking until the soft tips of his fingers brush across your shoulder. “You did good. Congrats.”

He mumbles something else but you’re sure you didn’t hear him correctly. There’s no way he apologized, even in passing.

You look at Jungkook’s back as he walks away, trying your best to divert your traitorous eyes from wandering down towards his ass. You sigh and rub at your temple with your fingers. It felt okay. Why didn’t it feel great? As you turn your attention towards the bar your eyes pause on a familiar face staring back at you. Long blond hair frames her amused features as she leans back in her seat, sipping on a cosmo.

“Boys are dumb.” Chungha laughs, placing her drink back on the bar just as the bartender places a glass of water next to it. She drops her lime wedge into the water and offers it to you. “Wanna drink, babe?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You’re glad you made the switch to water hours ago. Seesaw is only a few blocks from your apartment so you might actually be able to save money and walk home tonight. Chungha has been talking your ear off about her stressful job but it’s not like you mind letting her dominate the conversation. It’s kind of nice to listen, especially when your energy is dipping. You smile at the bartender when he takes both your empty glasses away and a flash catches your eye from across the bar. There’s a girl posing for selfies with someone.

She must not have liked the first photo because her hand goes up and there’s another flash that distracts you from the way Chungha excuses herself and promises to come right back. You rest your chin on your palm and watch another pair of hands wrap around her waist. They slowly travel across her hips and as they travel lower you can see the tattooed expanse of his meaty biceps. She starts giggling and reaching back to pull her companion forward and your stomach sinks like someone’s tossed a heavy boulder in it. Jungkook’s long hair brushes against her cheek as he nuzzles into her neck.

Your jaw tightens as you watch, eyes refusing to leave the sight of him kissing up her neck. She turns towards him and pulls him to her lips as his hand flies up to cradle her jaw. Why does the sight make you feel so sick? Why can’t you look away? Maybe he can feel you staring or maybe it’s just coincidence, but fate is cruel. His eyelids flutter open and meet yours across the bar even as his companion is shoving her tongue into his mouth. Your mouth goes dry and the stone in your stomach breaks into a thousand shards that poke holes into your chest. Pins and needles threaten to pop your lungs like balloons as anxiety inflates your chest.

His brows are furrowed, concentrated as he keeps his gaze on you and continues kissing her. Those eyes staring back at you are dark and hungry, something you’re not quite used to seeing even through his fuckboy antics. They’re taunting, goading you to say something, to do something. You can’t help but think for a moment that maybe he’s looking at you because he wants it to be you. He wants you to see what you’re missing. It’s like he’s pleading for you to take her place.

Or maybe your delusional brain is creating a fantasy based on lack of romantic interaction.

Chungha scrapes her chair across the floor, causing you to jump and force your eyes away, but she’s smart. She follows where your eyes had been, watching Jungkook switch to pretending to be invested in his partner and occasionally darting his eyes back to you.

“Hey, isn’t that… Douche guy over there?”

“What? Is it? Psshft.” Your attempts at nonchalance are pathetic and you both know it, but you still continue on anyway. “Wow he’s just… making out. Over there. At the bar. Huh. Wow. That’s a lot of… tongue. Don’t you think he should like… move it back somewhere private?”

“He keeps looking at you.” She scoffs. “You know what? I think he’s trying to make you jealous.”

“What? Why? He doesn’t even like me,” you try to reason, not wanting to let hope bubble in your belly.

“Well, you told him off earlier, right? He definitely seems like the kind of guy that wants what he can’t have as soon as he hears he can’t have it. It’s a game to him.” She laughs as she watches you watch him. “It’s working isn’t it?”

“I wish I knew how to beat him at this game,” you say, catching his eyes and noting the satisfied smirk on his lips as he brings them back to his girl.

“I have an idea.” Chungha wears an impish smile as she cradles your jaw with delicate fingers, bringing your gaze back to her. “But only if you’re okay with it. ”

Your heart skips a beat as she carefully watches your expression. You nod, blinking a few times in surprise. “Y-Yes.”

“Is he looking?” she asks, brushing her fingers through your hair.

You’re so focused on her flawless makeup application and how good it feels to have someone’s fingers roaming through your hair that you almost forget to look. “Mmm-uhhh…… Yeah. Yeah, yup. He is.”

She laughs, sliding her hand over the back of your neck and closing the distance between you. Her lips are soft and instinctually you close your eyes, losing yourself in the kiss for a moment. It’s been a long time and it feels just as good to kiss someone as you remember. Your eyes snap open and you look across the bar to find Jungkook’s jaw completely slack. His eyes are wide with the image of the pair of you burned into the backs of his retinas. His arms have fallen limp against his companion and she takes the time to drunkenly nip at his lip and do all the work herself.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity to taunt him back, you deepen the kiss and grab the sides of her head, sliding your fingers through her silky blond locks. You ensure your tongues visibly slide against one another for the show you now know he’s watching. When you pull back you gently suck her bottom lip through your teeth, hoping Jungkook feels the exact same way you felt watching him.

“Did we get him?” she asks with a shy smile and embarrassed giggle.

You savor the look of blatant amazement on Jungkook’s face. You completely forget how embarrassed you would normally be in such a circumstance and you laugh. “Oh yeah. We got him good. Wow, thank you so much. The look on his face is priceless.”

“What the fuck.”

The familiar breathless whisper has you looking past Chungha at Namjoon. He’s holding a handful of nachos loaded with toppings at the halfway point between the plate and his mouth, which is hanging agape. All of the toppings on his chip fall to the bar with a splat.

Seokjin pokes his head from around Namjoon’s hulking form. “Wow, I love this bar. Let’s come back often.”

[angelanimedesaray]

Push and Pull Prologue: The Raid

AN:  All right, here it is, to celebrate 500 followers, I’m posting this little fanfic idea I’ve been sitting on for a few months.

Clarification--this is not happening in conjunction to events from Avatar the Last Airbender.  They won’t be running into Aang, Zuko, Katara, etc, its an AU, not a crossover.  Though there will be similar themes/events, and maybe think of it as further back in the Avatar Timeline for world events.  There’s still the war, Firebenders are still raiding/taking Waterbenders, the air nomads are still wiped out, etc etc.  It’ll probably make more sense as we go along/as I write it.

Characters:  Firebender!Levi, Waterbender!Reader, various background characters

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Peril, Tension, Life or Death Situations, Raids

Word Count:  1880

Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

The scene wasn’t one of ice and water, of snow turned to ash falling from the sky.  This wasn’t the north or the south pole--it was a colony, located on the banks of the ocean, a prosperous trading town of people with lineages from both the northern and southern Water Tribes.  A water network spiderwebbed through the town strategically for message and parcel sending as well as ease of access to water, and further still in order to help irrigate the fields outside of and around the town.  At the moment, those channels weren’t being used to help in daily tasks--they were being used to feed into the defense of the villagers against the Fire Nation raid.

If the Fire Nation had their way today, those channels would probably disappear from a sudden lack of use.  If there were no waterbenders to utilize the channels to their fullest capacity, and to keep the channels clean, the town would most likely switch to other means that didn’t depend on waterbending.

Amidst the sudden waves and swirls of water and ice through the air, there were blasts of fire, screams from the normal citizens and chaos all around.  Buildings were on fire--occasional put out by a waterbender that could spend a split second to do so, which wasn’t often.  Any waterbender that appeared in the open was quickly surrounded by Fire Nation soldiers to subdue and capture, or to execute, the individual.  It was almost systematic how they flushed out the waterbenders, forcing them to step out into the open to defend themselves or the people around them, just to descend upon them in a concentrated show of force and drag them away.

Of course, that’s how it normally was supposed to go.  Something had changed recently, though he didn’t know what caused it, and there were far more executions than captures, like they were trying to carry out another genocide.  As if the extinction of the Air Nomads wasn’t enough, they were going after waterbenders now, too?

His task was not to burn down the village, or to necessarily fight against the waterbenders.  He did when he was faced with one, but for the most part he kept moving, going from house to house to carry out the task he’d actually been given.  His job was to round up any water benders or potential water benders that weren’t blatantly fighting, to catch any of the water benders that might slip through the cracks.  Normally they had him at the front and fighting in the worst of it, but recently, it seemed even his commanding officers could feel how close to his breaking point he was.

Levi had been on a few of these raids by now, and each time they left a sour taste in his mouth.  When he’d joined the military, as was expected of firebending boys in the Fire Nation, especially ones they’d picked off the street that didn’t have a wealthy family of any kind of position to protect their autonomy, this was not what he’d expected to be doing, even with his already low standards and reluctance to even be here.  His bitterness towards the Fire Nation and especially its military was growing, the pure indoctrination of the people around him disturbing.

And now, witnessing what was being done to the waterbenders was sickening.  He couldn’t imagine this happening to his own people, yet here they were, wiping out an entire integral part of their culture.  He wasn’t fond of where he came from, but that didn’t mean he wanted it wiped out, or an entire part of the culture that he belonged to eradicate so brutally like this.  Seeing it done to the waterbenders…

Again, even his commanders seemed to know he was just about at his breaking point.  Much more of this, and he’d be trying to desert.  He’d already come up with a few escape planes, all he needed was an opportunity...and the final push to take the risk.

Tuning out the chaos around him, Levi continued his check from door to door of the houses, looking for people that were hiding, particularly for anyone that ended up waterbending at him, or someone that held themselves like a bender.  If he found a bender, he would drag them out and hand them off to one of his superiors that was trailing not far behind keeping any fleeing benders from slipping past to the town’s outskirts.  If there was no bender inside the house, he’d mark the door with a fire blast and keep going.

The routine continued, as grueling and sickening as ever, Levi feeling like every step brought him closer to claiming he saw a bender dash off to the fields and taking off by himself, only to keep running until it was all behind him.  He opened the door to another house, stepped inside…

...and was immediately accosted by a splash of water to the face, knocking his helmet off but hardly doing much else.  He went on the defensive for a split second off a reflex, ready for a brawl in case it had been a warning shot, before he took in the full picture in front of him.

It was a girl, a couple years younger than him.  Old enough to have started training, but too young to have accomplished much unless she was a prodigy or forced by circumstance like he had been.  She was coming out of the ending stance of the move she’d just used to splash him, moving like she was getting ready to attack again if she needed to.  Her eyes were full of fear, but they were determined, and that wasn’t stopping her from attacking with what little she knew.

Behind the girl, there was an older woman, the mother most likely, reaching out with a hand on the girl’s arm as if to try and stop her, far more unbridled fear in the woman’s eyes as she realized the weight of what her daughter had just done, revealing herself like that.  In the woman’s other arm was a young boy, his head turned inwards into her chest so he couldn’t see what was happening.  Despite the mother’s insistence, the girl was standing squarely in front of them, trying to protect her family with the few waterbending moves she must have been taught.

Levi locked eyes with the girl, staring intently at her and feeling everything stop for a single moment, felt himself staring down at the edge he’d just about fallen over, felt like everything was holding its breath to see what he would do.

“Lieutenant!  What’s going on in there?  Is there anyone inside?” came the impatient voice of his superior from outside.

If he acted right now, he could brush off the delay as searching the hiding places before he left.

Still holding the little girl’s eyes, Levi picked up his helmet, seeing her tense and the puddle of water that was on the floor now from her first attack start to rise.

“It’s empty!” he called back, and the water fell back to the ground, mother and daughter looking at him with shocked, wide eyes as he quickly dried off his helmet, put it back on to hide the water on his face, and pointed towards the baskets in the back corner that would be much better hiding places, especially if they put cloth or something similar over their heads.

He turned and left the house without even looking to see if they’d accepted his suggestion of a better hiding place, walking out the front door at a brisk pace and shutting it firmly behind him.  With a strong punch towards the wooden surface, he left a blackened scorch mark on the door before he moved on to the next one.

He couldn’t do that for everyone, his superiors would catch on if he didn’t find anyone, but...he had reached his breaking point.

No more.

“Lieutenant, aren’t you supposed to be on watch next?  What are you still doing here?”

Levi straightened from where he’d been enjoying the last of his tea, setting the saucer and cup aside with a cool look towards the one who’d shouted at him.

“Finishing up.  I’ll be there before the shift change,” Levi returned flatly, watching the one who’d called him out slink away under his gaze.

He wasn’t in a hurry to get to his post for the watch around camp.  The last thing he should be, tonight of all nights, was clearly in a hurry or in any way eager to get to his watch along the perimeter of the camp.

His tea finished, and the man who’d called him out sulking away, Levi put his helmet and face mask back into place, heading towards the section of the camp perimeter he was supposed to be stationed at tonight for the watch.  His pace was casual and relaxed, and when he reached the point he was to be watching, he did in fact stand there, staring off into the trees around them, eyes narrowed, looking for danger…

...watching people slowly trickle into their tents to sleep...glancing around to see less and less people paying attention to him, sucked into their own watches or trying to hurriedly finish their tasks for the night so that they could turn in…

He waited a few more minutes, listening to the natural sounds of the forest around them...and when he was certain no one was looking at him, he simply walked right into the trees.

He didn’t run, he didn’t want to draw attention.  He just slowly and quietly slipped into the cover of the trees.  As soon as he knew he would be hidden by the brush and the darkness of the forest, he started peeling off the uniform in swaths, dropping the face mask, the helmet, the exaggerated pauldrons, all of it came off him piece by piece until he was in casual fire nation clothes he wore underneath.

Able to move much stealthier in the dark now, and aware that it wouldn’t take long for someone to notice one of their watchmen was missing, and even less time to realize it had been the one they were already watching for some kind of act of defiance, Levi moved quickly to get what he needed and start putting distance between himself and the camp.

Back along the main road they’d traveled to find this clearing that would fit their camp, Levi had tossed a pack with supplies he’d been carrying and had mixed in with the other supplies he’d been in charge of so it wouldn’t look out of place.  Tossing it into the woods gave him the chance to come back to that same place and re-find the bag, grabbing it and then simply running, now that he was far enough from camp he felt he could afford the little bit of extra noise in favor of putting more distance between himself and the Fire Nation Army.

He had his plan, he knew what he needed to do in order to blend in, and he already had the best place to lie low once the army moved on from this particular area.

And not once did he look back.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn​ @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus​ @sunny-flo​ @thirstyforsometea​ @hauntedhousecat​ @peaches-and-clouds​

[poptod]

hey again! i was wondering if u could do an elliot x reader, kinda like an enemies to lovers, where he thinks they’re an average person until they outsmart him which both impresses and pisses him off? but like sweet at the end? also from his pov so that we can hear his little monologues? i’m a sucker for happy endings. thanks and love ur writing

notes: sorry this is a tad late again. had a rough morning. i know nothing about cyber security and absolutely nothing about mr robot. i tried my best thank u for requesting :) hope you like it

++

Be it the end of days, Elliot would not call upon you. Of course he wouldn't – he barely knew you, only your name and face and the position you held relative to him. Another worker much like himself, just far more normal than him, and far less intelligent than him. That fact didn't stem from any specific dislike for you; just the truth. Among your coworkers you did not stand out, a tactic he often wished he had.

You were barely on his radar, at least not until the question of method came up during a meeting. Some hellhole business had hired them for cyber protection, and out of all those gathered at the tables, Gideon called upon you and him for answers. Elliot suggested the method they usually used – application security. You did not. Instead, with the tip of a pen pressed delicately against your chin, you told Gideon and those present that it'd be a better idea to use network security. Not a massive difference, but a big enough one that your suggestion irked him. The way you said it, too – "I think network would be better," so kind and sweet, a facade so heavy Elliot was surprised you still had a job.

For some strange reason your boss agreed with you.

And you ended up being right.

And suddenly, you became a lot more of an important person in his life, in the definition that he hated you. He payed more attention, and with that he noticed something he should've known all along. You were smart. Like him.

You were smart – so what? Confusion persisted when he tried to think of why that irritated him so terribly. Maybe it was because you remained normal. The two of you were equals, so why did he have issues? Where were yours? From everything he'd noted of you, and as of recent that was quite a lot, you were perfectly fine. No anxiety, no nightmarish mental disturbances, no addictions, no loneliness – kindness was your 'thing'.

Maybe he was just jealous.

The thought stewed like sick in his head as you laughed, the soft sound coming from the break room to his desk, just to make his fist curl and his jaw grind. This feeling, it felt... less than normal. Just like every single fucking thing about him, and he dug his nails further into his palm.

Be it the end of days, Elliot would not trust you. It couldn't be real – you never cried, you never looked stressed, and though you weren't always smiling you were certainly never frowning. Of course, he only noticed this while at work. After hours he found your various online accounts, and what starts as pure curiosity turns into a search for your records, wondering if there's anything that's ever been wrong with you.

Beautiful hair, soft skin, shining eyes, and a smile that could melt ice away from even his heart. No, nothing wrong there. Happy parents, no sign of disability, financial security. Nothing wrong there either. Good friends, useful hobbies, beautiful eyes. Beautiful eyes, saccharine like warm honey and sweet mints. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and waving away the people in his head, redirecting his attention to trying to get your medical records. Just out of curiosity. He doesn't get it – at least not that night, but he knows he'll get it eventually. Just a matter of time, and it's better than simply asking you, an act he would never find approachable.

On Thursday, despite his own leanings, he does actually talk to you. For the first time, and it's quite a lot harder to hate you when you smile and listen carefully to the words he says like they're the most important thing in the world. He'd expected your upfront kindness to be rude and subtle, that passive aggressive thing rich people loved to use. It's still polite, of course it is – you don't know him, although he'd bet he knows you. Nonetheless you act like you don't know him, and while most people would consider it a hindrance to conversation, you use it to your advantage.

You ask him if he's comfortable as though it's a normal question. You make sure you aren't bothering him, you ask if he wants to talk about the project, you respect every boundary he sets, you wait for him to respond as he talks to himself in his head, but the most surprising part is that somehow it feels normal. Like these are normal questions to ask, like you do this with everyone, and by the end of it he's wondering if you actually do do it for everyone.

Later you ask him if he wants to go out with some of your coworkers for a drink. He says no, you don't try to get him to come, and you give him the option of coming later if he wants to. You also tell him he's welcome on any other evening out. Over the next couple weeks you stay true to your word – you ask him if he wants to come, and one evening he says yes. Not out of any pressure from you, just simple curiosity to your behavior outside the workplace.

Turns out you aren't all that different. You keep up that rule of comfort, and as you meet multiple people in the crowded bar he wonders how the hell you keep up with it without bursting out in irritation. Even he can't keep up, and he's one of those specific people, the kind that need alterations to interactions to be comfortable. You hold open the door for those behind you, you bring drinks to those who ask you to carry them, you listen to the stories of strangers and friends alike. You smile almost the entire evening.

And he catches you in that smile, your eyes meeting his. Recognizing him you smile even wider, waving at him as a pleasant blush covers over your cheeks, a genuine happiness to simply be near him in a way that might mean you're friends.

No one smiles when they see him. He's a bit of a horror story in the office, but you smile.

It's a nice feeling.

Be it the end of days, he would not join your life. He's too much of an embarrassment, too much of a fuck-up to exist without guilt in your story, too terrified of hindering your potential. You're perfect, and while at first he didn't believe it to be true it's clear now.

He avoids you for the most part. Ducking out of rooms and meetings, staying right at his desk, leaving work early or late relative to your schedule. At first when you pass by him (rarely with his efforts), you still smiled and waved silently. After a while, you stop smiling, and a little while later you avert your eyes at his presence. He feels horrid for what he does, seeing how you're even now trying to make him comfortable through recognizing his disinterest in you and accordingly growing a faux disinterest in him.

It's not like that unhappiness is always visible – in fact, it rarely shows, only in the moments where your eyes mistakenly meet. However most other hours of the day you're working with that tapping of your foot and the soft humming that he can only hear if he strains. That or talking to your coworkers, helping them through difficult issues and scanning through data.

Even with his special steps made to rid you of his unpleasant life, there are moments where it's unavoidable to in the very least be near each other. Mandatory meetings and office parties that he's roped into, unwillingly of course, but as his coworkers drink you join him on the faraway couch looking over the bustling, tipsy crowd.

"I know you don't like me all that much," you say, words soft and not meeting his eye. You remembered he doesn't like eye contact all that much. "I just want to apologize if I ever said or did anything to offend you. I didn't mean to, you seem like a very kind person."

He scoffs, and in confusion you look to him.

"You know I'm not nice," he mutters almost under his breath, but as always you pay close attention and decipher his words.

"Not to people you don't trust, no. Sometimes people find it hard to trust others and that's perfectly okay," you say with a smile, one that he quickly looks away from. "But you're not cruel. You're actually rather polite when people respect you in return. It's not an uncommon trait at all."

You think he hates you and you're still trying to make him feel better.

"How the hell do you do it?" He finally asks, the words blurting out before he can fully process what they mean. When he hears what he says his heart stops, shivering in the silence of your reply, anxious to see if you'll even answer at all.

"Do what?"

"Be nice. To everyone," he explains himself, growing quiet with each passing second.

Again you pause, thinking on his question before you answer.

"I do get annoyed with people a lot. I don't want to do things for people sometimes, but when people ask of me something I ask myself, 'what do I lose from doing this?' and 'what does this person gain from me doing this?', and usually it doesn't cost me anything, and most times it relieves stress off a lot of people," you say, using small hand gestures as you speak. "That, and it takes very little effort to make sure people are comfortable. Also helps you to get to know the person better, you know? You get a lot information about people when you know what makes them comfortable."

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. Instead he scoffs, stands, and leaves.

Be it the end of days, he would not ask anything of you. You're perfectly happy, and he's mostly satisfied knowing that you're more human than he previously thought. Not fully satisfied – a part of him wants to be close to you, yearns for that warmth you could so easily give him, that kindness in you that he finds so rarely. But he does fine on his own, and so do you, and he finds he doesn't know how to go about becoming friends with you. He doesn't know how, so he doesn't try.

Time passes and he tries to think of you less often, only successful once every two full moons. The rest of the time he looks across the clean-cut cubicles for you, over the grey wasteland for your glow, aching to hear that distant humming again. You come to him in dreams and hallucinations alike, and sometimes he even falls for it. He lets himself believe it, that you'd somehow find your way to his apartment, that you'd be willing to offer familiarity and kindness – even to someone like him.

Fortunately the two of you are on good terms, relatively. Better than they were when he was avoiding you entirely. Now he's just not interacting with you. He's fine being in the same room, hell, he's fine standing next to you, but he doesn't strike up a conversation. Neither do you, and the polite but work-centered relationship continues.

On a rainy evening his boss catches him before he can leave, asking if he could put in a few hours off the clock, and everyone knows bosses never ask. So he sits back down at his desk, thinking bitterly on what he could be doing instead of stuck inside lifeless walls as rain and hail batters hell against the skyscraper windows. Outside, there aren't any lights – he's too high up in the sky to easily see the lights of cars and restaurants on the streets. All he can see is a powered out building's dark windows, so he doesn't linger on the view long.

Slowly most other people file out, but he's not quite done with the assignment. It's not quite right, something's out of place, hidden from his searching eyes that scan the bright screen so ferociously. A burning sensation begins to grow in his head, begging him to return to his home computers where the pixels aren't quite so large. His tie holds a tight rope around his neck, his breathing growing harsh, and the trance of discomfort only broken when the sound of a curse, followed by the slap of a hand against a counter and a choked sob, reaches him.

Peeking over the walls he looks to the break room, the source of the noise, and in the seemingly empty office (completely empty to you), you're curled up on the floor with your hands over your eyes. His breathing halts when another sob wracks through your body, your shoulders shivering with the intensity that holds him in place, unable to look away or to move closer. A screech comes from your shoe when it slides across the linoleum floor, curling your legs tight against your chest.

You're muttering something – something he can't quite hear, but he's spoken the words himself enough times that he thinks he knows what you're saying.

Shut up.

Please be quiet.

Go away.

He knows what that means to him. Breakdowns, unrelenting voices, pushing him and criticizing his every move, but that's him. That's normal for him, he's broken in that way and a dozen others. You're not.

You're not broken at all, and for that a new curiosity blooms in his chest. It's a little sick, but it pushes him to approach you, slow footsteps making themselves clear to ensure you wouldn't jump.

"Hey," he says rather lamely, his voice low and cracking with his insecurity. He's not usually on the giving end of comfort, and to be fair, he's not usually on the receiving end, either.

"I'm sorry," you get out, your tone like the creaking of a rotted door, tired and broken. You keep your face hidden in your hands. "I didn't know you were here."

"It's... I don't mind," he says, this time much more even, and with that clarity you recognize him.

"What are you doing here so late, Elliot?" You ask softly, your breathing beginning to even.

"Gideon asked me to," he answers. "You?"

"Needed to look over some coding," you mumble, finally raising your head from your hands. Strands of hair stick to your skin, wet from tears and blushing from the heat of your hands.

Shifting slightly, he moves from a knelt position to a sitting one, his legs crossed as he sat in front of you, using that patience you so often had and this time using it to your advantage. He can wait – it doesn't cost him anything, and it would mean the world to you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks quietly when you fully get your breathing under control.

"Thank you," you murmur, staring at the ground beside him. "You ever have.. these thoughts, they... bad thoughts, that just keep on telling you to do bad things?"

"... yes," he answers hesitantly.

"You can't tell anyone this," you add quietly, to which he fully agrees. He's giving a part of himself here, too. "... but it's worse than that. They can put these visions in my eyes, it's usually manageable. Bugs that aren't there. Ghost fingers on my face and back. Sometimes it gets bad though, and it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to keep it secret. I could get fired, you know."

"I know," he says almost automatically, but he does know what it's like. To question what's real, never knowing if those words in your head are your own, unable to see past the charade of a reality. "I get them too," he says, and immediately he knows he's chosen the right words for once.

"Thank you for telling me," you say, always a mediator between the worlds people make up in their minds. "It really does make me feel better that I'm not alone."

You're emotional. He knows that, he knows you're interested in the emotions of yourself and others, but only now does he realize it's actually clinical kindness. Respect above all, thank you for the littlest things, and a plain explanation of your own emotions. Maybe it makes it easier for you – he knows he certainly appreciates it. Sometimes it's hard to decipher facial emotions, and having you tell him straight lets him skip past that uncertainty and into a place he knows he can help from.

Be it the end of days, he would protect you. You're like him, and he's like you, and while the differences are too clear to those viewing your friendship, there's actually more similarities than differences. Sure, you're wonderful with social interactions, but you also hear voices, like him. You have breakdowns, like him, you handle your emotions with very specific preferences.

Somehow you become part of him – the innocent part, the part worth saving, and that's why he would protect you. You're a part of him in a way that makes him think maybe I'm not all bad, as long as the part that isn't bad is you. He lets you in bit by bit, inviting you to his apartment on a whim, even letting you cook dinner for the two of you.

You stay over one night. Not on purpose, but you fall asleep on the floor, facing the buzzing television with your dirty plate beside you. Keeping quiet he takes both your plates, leaving them in the kitchen before joining you on the floor. Hesitantly he raises his hand, reaching for you with delicate fingers aiming to brush the stray hairs falling upon your sleeping face. He does just so, taking in a moment where he can touch you without fear. Where it's just you, no crying thoughts on how you might despise this time spent with him, how you hate the way he moves and speaks – it's just you.

And you've turned into everything.

The flowers growing in the cracks of cement. The rain that patters against the forest canopy, slipping past the leaves, mist creeping up through the mountain's valley. The sun that shines warm against his clothes and melts sweet ice cream. The bird song in a city park. The mother with her child. The poetry of old and new poets, the bubbles in soda, handwritten words on rough parchment. You are the paint on the hands of budding artists, the soft pillowcases of a bed loved by a decades-old couple, the posters hanging in a teenager's room, every lovely thing in the world, every action, scent, feeling, and taste imbued with a life given by those who adore their worlds so dearly.

Be it the end of days, he would love you, and nothing more.

[jemej3m]

RADIO CALLER AU RADIO CALLER AU RADIO CALLER AU

OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY

I’m way too lazy to link the rest of the parts so here’s the latest one lmao srry 

p3

*

Wymack settled into his chair. He well trusted Neil by now, but Minyard had a reputation that precedented him, so Wymack wouldn’t let the man derail the show with his presence. 

He hadn’t told Kevin about Andrew’s sudden and startling reappearance yet: He knew his son would grow too fanatic and overenthusiastic, and probably put Andrew off all over again. Wymack looked into the man’s credentials: His behavioural record was tarnished to all hell, but every one of his grades had been stellar. It was baffling enough that the name Minyard had remained, lodged in his brain, until Neil had finally admitted who he wanted to co-host.

It was a Tuesday evening, already hitting close to midnight. Through the glass Neil was setting up, the routine old hat by now, but Andrew was lounging in a chair he seemed too familiar with, a lolly-pop in his mouth. 

Wymack leaned into his soundboard and spoke into the comm. “You sure you’ve never been here, Minyard?”

The candy came out of his mouth with a pop. “Nope.” Neil sent Minyard a quiet smile and jostled his shoulder gently. Minyard flipped him off. 

I’m too old for this.

‘This’ entailed: Obvious, middle-school flirting and being away past ten o’clock, both of which Wymack’d had enough of to last the rest of his presumably short lifespan. 

He simply shook his head and settled further into the chair to watch the slow as it went live. 

“Welcome back to Mid-Nights, with me, the same person who’s been hosting this show for months and yet still repeats his name, Neil Josten.” He grinned into the microphone and winked at Wymack, who rolled his eyes. Minyard mirrored him. Maybe Andrew would be the one to finally tame Josten’s shitty attitude. “But guess what? There’s someone else here with me today, cohosting tonight.”

“It’ll be a one-off event, undoubtedly.” Minyard said into his mike. 

“Am I introducing you?”

“You dragged me on here, junkie.”

“I did, didn’t I. Cohosting with me tonight is Andrew Minyard, who’s got some new music and absolutely scathing opinions to share with you all. It’s a pleasure to have you here, ‘Drew.”

“Call me that again and I’ll sew your lips shut.”

Neil just laughed. 

Wymack didn’t have to worry. Neil seemed well versed in conversing with Andrew, who, despite his misgivings, was very good at what he did: Things ran incredibly smoothly, to the point that Wymack realised it was ridiculous that he was here. Of course, he needed to assess Minyard to see if he was up to a permanent gig if he ever wanted one, but Neil easily had it under control. Minyard was way too familiar with the space, the boards and controls: He had to have been here prior, but Wymack wasn’t going to ask.

They made a good pair, Wymack thought. He wondered what they’d say if he offered them a prime-time spot. 

It hit about two-thirty in the morning and Wymack hit the comm button mid-way through a song. “I’m going home. Congrats, Minyard. You better not have razed my studio to the ground by the time I get back here in a few hours.”

“Can’t make any promises.” The pint-sized man muttered. Wymack simply shook his head and tucked his chair under his desk, shoving his notes into his bag and filing out with his keys hanging off his ring finger. 

It could just work. Neil and Andrew in evening peak-hour, the most promising intern Robin running graveyard shifts, and Allison moving up and out to the news broadcasting position she’d been offered. 

It all fit together, like a hideous puzzle. Wymack didn’t mind: He’d keep adding pieces and making the FM-OX network a home for his kids.

*

“How’d you like that?” Neil insisted, forever obsessed with his work. Andrew rolled his eyes, standing up and pushing the chair under his desk. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

“You can’t think you’ll successfully entertain me with your own obsessive tendencies.”

“Fine.” Neil challenged. “I’ll let you drop me home if we go to Sweeties on the way.” 

Andrew narrowed his eyes. Neil didn’t give in to an argument so easily, especially not one that had been consistent over the past few weeks. Neil, as Andrew eventually discovered, walked home in the dead of the night after his show. Like the reckless idiot he was. As if his striking features and scars didn’t draw enough attention to him: He deliberately put himself in harms way so often, and so carelessly, that Andrew wondered what kind of childhood he must have endured to be so infuriatingly reckless. 

He’d asked Neil why he was so obviously flippant about himself. Neil had retorted with a sharp “I do care. I just can’t trust anyone to look out for me in my stead.” 

“Can’t, or won’t?” Andrew offered. Neil, in a particularly bitter mood that day, had said nothing else. 

Now Neil was letting Andrew drop him home. He had to want something. 

“Only if you get me fries and ice cream.”

“Pl - Don’t put them together. I’ll be sick.”

Andrew noticed the way he caught himself before saying ‘please’. It was the little things about Neil that had him stumbling over himself as he fell deeper and deeper into the hole that was being attracted to Neil Josten, when he realised that Neil adhered to every one of his boundaries. 

“Funnily enough, I couldn’t give less of a shit. Let’s go, Josten.”

They’d queued good music on the station in their absence and listened to it whilst Andrew drove with the windows down, careening into Sweeties’ drive-through. Neil had a small smile playing across his lips, curls fluttering in the breeze. When the car rolled to a stop his cheeks were flushed red, looking utterly windswept. Andrew had to avert his eyes. 

Neil ordered for him, seeing as he’d spent the past four hours talking intermittently - more than he’d ever had to before, but also surprisingly easy when it was with Neil. 

The other man said just what Andrew was thinking as they sat in the parking lot, Andrew dipping curly fries into strawberry ice-cream and Neil breathing in the steam from his black coffee. 

“And to think this all happened because you called me one night.” Neil muttered, a teasing sparkle in his eye. 

“You were confounding enough to keep my interest.” Andrew said dismissively. 

“Am I still? Confounding?”

Yes and no. Andrew felt like he knew nothing about Neil. He’d known Neil did a course with Kevin and got into FM-OX through Kevin’s connections. He knew he didn’t talk to his family, that his scars were a premeditated attack from someone he knew. He knew Neil liked the colour grey and fruit and obscure, unknown musicians and the radio and that he didn’t celebrate his birthday. He didn’t have a car and liked going for jogs in the morning and took his coffee plain black and had moved around a lot as a kid. Neil was smart enough to entertain anyone on a specific topic, but he never let on that he knew more than he should for some scrawny young guy in the middle of a scrappy South Carolinian city. 

Other than that, Andrew had nothing. Neil was like water between his fingers: Cool, refreshing, but impossible to get a grasp on. 

“You’re still irritating.” Andrew answered. Neil just snorted and drank his coffee. “You haven’t eaten and definitely shouldn’t be drinking coffee at this hour.”

“I can take care of myself,” Neil argued, hiding behind his cup. 

“Clearly.” Andrew grunted, shoving the car into reverse once he’d finished and pulled out of the empty parking lot. 

Neil’s home was relatively close to FM-OX studios, a decrepit looking doorway between two crusty shop-fronts that lead to studio apartments that looked down on the street. Neil clambered out but turned around and leaned back into the car with a shit-eating grin. 

“I had a good time, ‘Drew.” Like he was dropping Neil home from a date. Should he walk him to the door? Kiss him on his doorstep? How horrifically cliché. 

Andrew scowled. “Don’t get comfortable, junkie.”

Neil winked. The fucking bastard winked. “Keep an eye out for a call from Wymack. He might just have an offer that’ll be too good to resist. See you soon, Minyard.” The car door slammed behind him. 

Andrew was too late, distracted by watching Neil in his jeans and button-down walk to the front door of his apartment block, but still muttered “Fucking asshole.” like Neil was still there to hear him. 

He thought he’d be exhausted, but he was fucking wired beyond belief. Even when he laid on his bed upon arriving home, he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. Sleeping would reset the day. And Andrew wouldn’t admit this to anyone, not even to himself: 

He didn’t want it to end. 

*

ibfnakhrualhifwkjdbhferghifwuekjnhv HOW MANY PARTS WILL IT TAKE FOR THIS PINING TO BE OVERRRRR

[ahiddenpath]

Ability to change, potential, and agency

I’ve been thinking more about the ideas in Kizuna that I brought up in my (spoiler heavy) Kizuna novel thoughts post, and how they relate to the (this link is also spoilery) fic I am considering.  

Read on for more, but here be Kizuna novel spoilers.

To recap: in the Kizuna novel, it’s put forward that, as humans age and make the choices that will shape their lives (mostly career choices in the novel), they lose potential.  Basically, as you map the course of your life, you lock yourself in, and your potential diminishes.  Partner digimon are apparently fueled by this potential, so growing up ultimately destroys a partner digimon.  Whomp whomp.

I am throwing around the idea of writing a fic where the Chosen try to figure out what “infinite potential” is (Digimon Kizuna: Infinite Potential).  Likely, Koushiro and the older kids would be researching and exploring while the 02 kids handle digimon crises, since the older kids have lost their partners.  Trouble is...  Geez, what the heck is infinite potential?!

Eventually, it hit me...

“Taichi, Yamato, you’ve changed.”

“Agumon, Gabumon, you never change.”

Variants of this exchange popped up a few times in the Kizuna novel.  It’s reasonable, since change is inherent to possibility.  If nothing changes, no new possibilities can exist.

The older Chosen are on the horizon of the biggest changes of their lives thus far.  Moving out, college, planning their careers...  In contrast, partner digimon cannot change.  Even when they evolve, they’re fueled by the growth and potential of their human partners.

I’m wondering...  Ultimately, does the human/digimon bond dissolve because digimon can’t change?

I should back up here and mention that I think humans represent infinite potential, especially as adults, when they have agency and control over their lives.  However, as children, their lack of agency restricts them to a relatively unchanging lifestyle.  Their parents provide for them and make choices for them, and they spend their time at school for years.  It’s true that children learn, develop, and grow, but they’re not independent, and they lack agency.

But as the Chosen become adults, we see their lives expanding beyond the digimon.  They can’t be with their partners all the time; they have work, classes, a network of relationships, responsibilities.  Although they love the digimon, the relationship has changed.  Instead of playing with them and interacting with them on their level, they are taking care of them, keeping them out of trouble, and trying to figure out what to do with them when they go to work, class, or meet up with non-Chosen friends.  Even in Tri, the Chosen commented that, “It’s like we’re taking care of the digimon now.”

Menoa’s solution is to capture Chosen children in a childhood state, so they stay developmentally on par with their partners.  Taichi and Yamato know that the Chosen must continue to grow, no matter the cost.

So maybe, infinite possibilities means giving the digimon the ability to grow and change, so they can remain on level footing with their humans. 

Okay, so...  My next step is to figure out how the Chosen can give their partners the gift of agency/ability to change/potential.  How can the digimon learn to have their own lives, where they grow and enjoy things outside of their human partners?

Relationships absolutely can span the years, and even lifetimes.  But in order to survive, they have to adapt as the individuals involved change.  I’m positing that it’s time for the digimon partners to develop alongside their humans.  It will change the nature of their bond, and maybe they won’t be Chosen/digimon pairs anymore.  Now, instead of evolving further as their humans mature, the digimon will be able to grow, develop, and change on their own. 

Maybe there isn’t a way to reclaim active Chosen status after a certain point in the Chosen/digimon relationship.  But that doesn’t mean that the Chosen and their digimon can’t be together.  In fact, this partnership may be more equal, based on mutual trust and respect, no duty or fighting involved. 

I think I’ve found my story, but I need to figure out how the ability to change/agency can be given to digimon.  Do the 02 kids try to find Homeostasis or Yggdrasil in the Digital World while Koushiro tries to program the “spark of life in data” that Menoa couldn’t find?  I have no idea.

Okay so that was a LOT of talking!  Did it even make sense?  One second, I feel all, “AHA!”  The next I’m all, “Wait uh what?”  XD XD XD  

Edit:  To be clear, I dunno if I’d call this a theory- at this moment, there is no Kizuna sequel announcement, and there may never be.  This is just an idea I want to explore in a fic.

[whitepaperresearch]

Present status Of Alcohol Addiction In India

Introduction

These days routinely we can hear the typical term; 'Alcohol Addiction'. An enormous number of us use the term without having any coherent data on it. In the current Indian circumstance, it's fundamental to have an away from of alcohol and alcohol impulse as bit by bit alcohol use is growing in our country. There are various effects that alcohol can have on the body and the presence of a person. Alcohol reliance even can do enduring wickedness to our physical and passionate prosperity. Thusly, what about we start to find some alcoholic data.

Section by part control

What is Alcohol and Alcohol Addiction?

Alchol

Alcohol is a liquid outlined by yeast or various microorganisms when ages (isolates artificially without oxygen) the sugars present in different food. E.g., wine is created utilizing the sugar of grapes, ale from the sugar of malted grain, juice from the sugar of apples, vodka from the sugar of beets, potatoes or various plants [1]. More info here White Paper Research

Table 1: such blended reward and its alcohol content

Snappy Effects of Alcohol:

The effects of alcohol on the tangible framework occur inside five minutes of alcohol being flushed. In any case, the effects may be the comparable for all who drink alcohol. It varies from individual to singular dependent upon body weight, age, prosperity, sexual direction and even the environment. Scarcely any second effects are communicated underneath:

several drinks: One feel free, obsession level decreases, Reflex round portion ends up being all the more lethargic.

a few additional refreshments: Slurred talk, coordination diminishes among body part, perspective changes a large part of the time.

• More refreshments: Vision get darkened, allows totally go on body to part advancement, disorder.

• Still more refreshments: Vomiting, feeling napping and disorder.

• Even more refreshments: Coma or passing can happen

Alcohol Addiction:

Alcohol propensity or alcohol dependence is an illustration of alcohol use that incorporates issues controlling the drinking of alcohol, being charmed with alcohol, continuing to use alcohol regardless, when it causes issues, drinking more to get a comparable effect, or having withdrawal appearances when one rapidly lessening or quit drinking of alcohol .

Symptoms of Alcoholism:

Having blended beverage will not by and large be treated as alcohol reliance. Eventually alcohol impulse can be difficult to find as alcohol is for the most part available and recognized in various social orders. In fact, even in scarcely any cold climatic locale it is critical to get by there. Some wide results look like:

• Being not ready to stop or confine the proportion of alcohol usage.

• Spending a huge load of time to drink alcohol.

• Putting alcohol above other individual commitments.

• Feeling want to drink more alcohol.

• Avoiding the contact of close people.

• Wasting a huge load of time or money just to drink alcohol.

• Being strong without drinking it.

• Increased slowness, distress, or other extraordinary topics

Certain Background of Alcohol Use in India:

The Ancient and Medieval Period:

In Indian old composing returning to the Vedic time span around 2000 BC, it is referred to that various beverages contain ethanol. Two sorts of drink were referred to; Soma and Sura. In reality, even the outcomes and harms of extreme use of beverages are referred to. Soma is the refreshment of the social top notch and it is credited with positive attributes. On the other hand, Sura is a developed reward created utilizing rice or sugarcane. It was eaten up by saints to fabricate their intensity and guts. In the post-Vedic period, there might have been no further notification of Soma. In the standard Ayurvedic structure alcohol is furthermore used as a fixing.

In the obsolete age, there was data and availability of blended beverages anyway the reward was never a piece of the eating routine in India. Demanding principles were there to portray who could drink and under what conditions.

The Colonial Period

Preceding securing opportunity in 1947 India remained under British standard for pretty much 200 years. In this outskirts period, alcohol usage step by step extended and the social aura towards blended rewards changed in that period so to speak. Bit by bit refined beverages of significantly higher alcohol content replaced standard blended rewards. After that better maturing cycle, packaging and new development were prepared and come about the blended reward transforming into a disaster area conveyed business thing.

As the British were more normal and adjust to alcohol, they progressed alcohol use. Offering grant to enormous processing plants the common government allowed to neighborhood production of blended rewards. Bit by bit it got maybe the fundamental associations of the British government and Indian normal residents get accustomed toward the western lifestyle.

Purposes for Alcohol Addiction:

As of now, we comprehend what alcohol misuse is. We should discuss the reasons what license a person to move from having an accidental drink to full alcohol obsession. There are such innumerable major and minor factors. Relatively few of them are:

• Stressful Environment: If an individual have a disturbing work, he may likely drink more alcohol to find support from the pressing factor. Stress may not be reliably from work or work, it may create from family issue, ailment or association issue, etc

• Drinking just to have the taste: Few youngsters and adults essentially drink blended reward just to know the inclination surprisingly. Eventually such an interest makes the affinity and after that obsession.

• Drinking at an early age: Research says that the people who drink at an early age will undoubtedly have alcohol reliance because of the past inclination just as the obstruction power of body increases.

• Mental clinical issues: such a psychological issue like distress, disquiet, bipolar disarray, etc increase the inclination of alcohol misuse. Drinking alcohol is the second and short lived game plan of discarding mental issue in this way, most of people endeavor right now technique.

• Taking Alcohol with Medication: Many people ingest meds with alcohol. It's a regular practice. Some medicine can construct the destructiveness of alcohol. Surely, even sooner or later it might be dangerous.

• Genetic issue: Family history accepts a critical part to infer that one individual will be alcohol reliant or not. This is a clear natural collaboration as we in general understand that the characteristics can be imparted from parental age to the bleeding edge through DNA.

• Lack of family oversight: A nonattendance of help from family or watchmen can lead an adolescent to be alcohol subordinate. Financial condition of the family furthermore can affect on it

Creation and openness of Alcohol:

India is the third-greatest market for blended rewards on the planet. Alcohol creation, solicitation and use all the three limits are extending bit by bit. Underneath annexed table and graph show the associated information.

Table 2: Selected State-wise Production of Alcohol in India (2009-2010 to 2012-2013) (In Million Liter)

In Table 3, the growing up alcohol formation of our country is showed up. Alcohol creation has a remarkable business regard as the interest for alcohol is growing rapidly and reliably the Indian government acquire a respectable proportion of advantage through this business.

Table 3: Annual dirtied spirits creation in India by year. (April – March)

There are government selected alcohol shop or bistro for all intents and purposes in every city and town of India. Thusly, one can without a doubt get it in his grip. Basically in each state following 21 years old people are allowed to buy blended beverages.

Appreciating Pattern India:

In 2016 alcohol usage in India was about 5.4 billion liters and around then it was evaluated that in 2020 alcohol use would reach about 6.5 billion liters.

The ordinary alcohol confirmation per experienced childhood in our country is generally not actually some other made nation like the United States, yet there are various profound customers among young Indians. Men will undoubtedly drink alcohol than women in our country. It is represented that in 2020, male shoppers consumed around 18.3 liters of blended beverage per capita. Isn't it a matter of pressure?

As demonstrated by an examination, more than 88% of young Indian people developed under 25 purchase alcohol. Undoubtedly, even it is unlawful several states. This was a clarification for the hindrances or forbiddances on alcohol in specific states of our country [9].

Among the Indian metropolitan networks, Mumbai is on the top similar to alcohol use. 39% of complete wine usage is done here. After Mumbai Delhi eats up 23% and Bengaluru 20%. Under referred to figure 1 shows its nuances.

Figure 1: Major Wine Consuming Cities in India,

Examines were done in the last piece of the 1970s and mid-1980s discovered that12.7% of assistant school understudies, 32.6% of school understudies, and 31.6% of youthful non-understudies gobbled up liquor. During a similar period, clinical understudies unequivocal essentially higher ordinariness of liquor utilization of 40%–60%. Studies during the 1990s proposed forbearance rates of 83%–97% in 15–19-year-olds .

Tendency for an Alcoholic Beverage:

As demonstrated by the assessment it is dispersed that Indian purchasers favor whisky than some other blended beverage or it will in general be said that whisky is the most sold alcohol in India. Related data is showed up underneath in figure 2. In India, the tendency of wine is less as its creation isn't actually some other blended beverage.

Figure 2: Alcohol Preference in India,

Alcoholic Epidemiology:

You will be puzzled to end up being more acquainted with that around 140.6 thousand individuals passed on taking into account liver cirrhosis accomplished by liquor use across India in 2016. Street traffic wounds and risky improvement were also essential among clients of the prize during the cognizant time-frame .

Not simply liver cirrhosis or road setback, there are moreover different occasions of afflictions achieved by drinking over the top alcohol as it can hurt both our mental or genuine prosperity. Under in table, a part of the models are noted for better understanding.

Table 4: Major disorder and injury conditions (%) inferable from alcohol around the globe

Very few dangerous prosperity diseases can be achieved by over the top alcohol drinking:

• Breast infection: Alcohol use increase the risk of chest dangerous development. Researches have exhibited a straight developments in the peril of chest danger with growing ordinary volumes of use of alcohol.

• coronary sickness: Compared with now done eating up, low-to-slight affirmation of alcohol is related to decrease CHD (Congenital coronary disease) occasion and mortality. For more ordinary volumes of alcohol affirmation, the danger rearranges.

• Intentional injury (severity): Alcohol has been ceaselessly related to awful bad behavior, notwithstanding the way that the affiliation may not consistently be causal.

• Liver disease: Worldwide alcohol is conceivably the primary clarifications behind an end-stage liver issue. Up to 90% of hefty consumers have oily liver, an infection this is just to a great extent dangerous and normally settle inside around fourteen days if alcohol confirmation is stopped. In any case, 5% – 15% of casualties with alcoholic oily liver develop cirrhosis

• Alcoholic cirrhosis: Patients who have alcoholic cirrhosis have comparable clinical features of various causes as cirrhosis.

• Morbidity: Though all liver cirrhosis in India presumably will not be alcohol related, an evaluation of Indian assessment of biopsy-attempted events of liver cirrhosis from 1933 to 1975 found a total recommend of 16% of casualties with alcohol dependence. Nevertheless, in current years, the power of alcohol related cirrhosis is extending. In a current analyze in Kerala, in 60% of casualties with cirrhosis in a colossal tertiary center, alcohol utilization changed into the explanation. Practically 80% of the alcoholics had been moreover smokers. Essentially all alcoholics make oily liver, which's reversible after restriction from alcohol.

Mind science and Alcohol Addiction:

Alcohol subordinate people have a substitute kind of mind science or because of different kind of cerebrum science, they become alcohol subordinate. Both the announcement can be legitimate. Permit us to discuss that.

• Every individual endeavors to do whatever he feels right, so the alcohol subordinate people also envision that they are in like manner settling on the best choice.

• Even ensuing to understanding that they are inaccurate, they can't leave the reliance and reliably endeavors to devise the very justification that this is the last time and starting there forward, they won't contact alcohol.

• Disease speculation says that alcohol issues achieve individuals with regular issues which makes it incredible for the addicts to control their alcohol propensity.

• According to Biological theories that acquired and genetic added substances in alcohol dependence issues while diffused points of interest aren't by the by seen.

• According to Psychosocial hypothesis that private mental issues, social, and normal segments lead youth to alcohol dependence. Evidence displays that a dangerous combo of innate, social, and mental segments underlies dependence issues .

Family Issues Due to Alcoholism:

• Damaged Family Relationships: One way wherein alcohol habit impacts families are in broken associations. Gatherings of individuals stricken by alcohol abuse consistently battle to make intense eager bonds, even inside their own circle of relatives unit. This generally starts with the watchmen.

• Developmental Problems in Neglected Children: Children of mother and father who fight with alcohol misuse are at better peril for scholarly, lead, and enthusiastic issues. Since a typical 6.6 million youngsters stay in families in which alcohol enslavement is accessible, that is an immense concern.

• Domestic Abuse: One of the best quieting aftereffects of alcohol fixation is an improved danger for home abuse in the family. Abuse joined to alcohol misuse may be both eager and physical in nature.

• Drained Family Finances: The dependence of drinking alcohol reliably is expensive. While the whole sum spent on alcohol will run contingent upon the repeat and kind picked, the costs move up.

• Physical And Mental Health Problems: Finally, battling with alcohol misuse impacts the physical and mental wellbeing of most prominent individuals from the family. The man or woman thwarting dependence will adjust to real health burdens due to the effect of unequal alcohol use .

Alcohol and Sexual Risk:

In our overall population men generally have more social opportunities than women seeing alcohol utilize similarly as sexual activities. Secondary school pregnancies moreover are on the rising. Sexual experimentation outside marriage is growing. Dangerous sexual practices continue to pay little regard to an avowed STI/HIV status, as referred to in India, Zambia, Belarus, etc

Liquor use has besides been related with early sexual encounters. Liquor use and sexual danger practices are especially common in settings, for example, dance clubs, bars, dull houses, expressway eating joints and lodgings, and back rub parlors. Liquor use and sexual danger practices increment during express great occasions and good times across nations .

Govt. Rules and Alcohol Addiction:

Reliably 3 million people give because of the destructive effects of alcohol. So The World Health Organization (WHO) has communicated ten key zones of system options and interventions at the public level to decrease the grimness and mortality in view of harmful usage of alcohol and their after social outcomes.

• Leadership, care and commitment.

• Health associations' reaction.

• Community activity.

• Drink-driving techniques and countermeasures.

• Availability of liquor.

• Marketing of mixed prizes.

• Pricing strategies.

• Reducing the negative delayed consequences of drinking and liquor inebriation.

• Reducing the general flourishing effect of unlawful liquor and casually passed on liquor.

• Monitoring and observation.

End

Ensuing to looking at all the subjects now we have an away from of alcohol and its risky effects. We moreover know the better option for our physical or mental prosperity. As of now our decisions ought to be adequately ready to obtain a strong and well off life. There will be a couple of choices to disturb our mental or genuine sickness, anyway the essential concern is that we can pick them for our better life. Thusly, it's about our understanding, our thinking, our care and a strong 'NO' for alcohol. Get in touch with us for alcohol propensity treatment nuances

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hands, Peaches... Chapter 207 - Worry

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she’s certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit….

Chapter 207 - Worry

[With a broken generator, Blake, Negan and the Saviours know they have a hard winter ahead.]

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

Blake paled, clutching Mia tighter to her hip, as she stood up straight, moving quickly over to where Negan stood.

Their generator was broken and by the looks of it, the rest of their winter was going to be hard. Without power, heat or hot water the survival of the Sanctuary residents was going to be difficult, Blake knew that.

Since Eugene's stark announcement a murmur of voices was already steadily growing around them as lieutenants all shuffled about exchanging anxious look with one another.

She knew that once this got out to the other Saviours, the workers, the families, there was going to be nothing that could stop the ugly rumours and the worrying.

Blake knew she needed to help. Her position of power here at the Sanctuary had to mean something.

"We'll be fine," she said suddenly, in a loud voice, gazing around, not at Negan, but at everyone else standing in the bleak room. "It's gonna be hard, but we'll make it all work."

Everyone fell silent, looking to Blake now, Negan included, staring at her like she was the most precious thing to him, before giving a hard sniff and leaning back on his long legs, addressing the crowd too.

"Peaches here is right," he barked. "This shit is gonna be hard, but we are the Saviours. And we need to keep doin' what we've always done. We man the fuck up, we deal, and we come out the strong motherfuckers we always come out as."

Blake was almost certain she'd heard this speech before, but it of course was enough to sate the murmurs of the crowd all around them

"So, Eugene," Negan uttered again, taking a looming step into the portly man who was still stood before them in his long black coat. "You up for sharing exactly what it is we're lookin' for out there with Simon, Arat an' the boys?"

"I am," replied Eugene with a prompt nod.

"Alright then," said Negan gruffly. "The rest of you I want out there fetchin' supplies, blankets, coats, all of that shit. Oh an' some of you need to start boardin' up soma' those broken windows. Get this place sealed up."

The crowd all shuffled, nodding again at the dark-haired man.

"Well then alright, lets get the fuck to it before we all start freezin' our balls off in here," he commanded, gesturing with his hand for them to go.

And go they did, the rest of the room clearing away before their eyes

Blake remained by Negan's side, peering up at him as the last couple of people filtered out of the room.

"People are gonna get sick," Blake said in a worried voice.

Negan gave a sigh, dragging a hand down his tired-looking face. "I know, Darlin'."

He didn't say anything further and neither did Blake, for right now both adults knew just how all this was going to go down. Winter was harsh and even with Carson here, the likelihood of sickness was bound to rise. And with the Saviours living in such close proximity to one another, something like that was bound to spread quickly.

Mia in Blake's arms gave a whine, as the blonde shushed her gently again, pressing her lips to the tops of the toddler's dusty hair.

"I cowld," the baby girl murmured, turning her face towards Negan and chewing on her little fist.

Negan gave another huff at this, reaching over and smoothing his large hand over Mia's soft hair.

"You an' her need to get somewhere warm, Peaches," he said seriously. "It's gonna be dark before we know it an' I don' wan' the pair of you traipsin' up an' down those stairs after sundown."

"I need to go see the workers first. They're going to be panicking-" began Blake, but Negan cut her off sternly.

"No, Peaches. An' I mean it this time," said Negan standing up straight and glaring down at her, his dark eyes burning with love and concern for her. "You can go see them an' settle their damn nerves tomorrow, but tonight I need you to go back to our room an' stay warm. We clear?"

Blake knew that she would normally have scoffed at Negan's commands, but right now, maybe it was to do with the small life she had growing inside her, but she didn't really feel like arguing.

So much to Negan's obvious surprise, Blake closed her mouth, giving a nod in return and replying.

"Ok. Just for tonight."

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

By the time Negan strolled in through the door to his and Blake's room a few hours later, looking harassed, the temperature had dropped at least four or five degrees.

Normally, Blake suspected that she wouldn't have noticed the slight drop in temperature as darkness fell. But now, she could feel the icy wind that seemed to blast out from beneath the doors, creeping into the bones of, likely, every person in the Sanctuary.

Mia was already tucked up in their king size bed asleep, with an extra fleecy blanket thrown over the covers just in case.

Blake knew that she was lucky. Being with Negan meant that they had an abundance of everything up here. A gas lamp, extra blankets, winter clothes in her and Mia's closet…

Blake knew that she and the toddler would be safe and looked after no matter what, but it was the others at the Sanctuary she was concerned about. Those who worked for points. Those who toiled hard to earn just a small portion of what she had had given to her.

The blonde woman, who was sat on one of Negan's large leather couches, legs tucked up beneath her staring out at the darkened sky though the window, turned to look at the dark-haired man as he entered their room.

"How is everyone?" she asked in a quiet voice, as Negan tossed Lucille down onto the sideboard and glanced over at Mia sleeping soundly in their bed.

"Cold….and pretty goddamn nervous," he sighed, running hand down his exhausted-looking features.

Blake chewed on her lip as Negan moved over and slumped down into the seat beside her on the couch.

"It's only gonna get worse," Blake mused in a quiet tone as Negan looked her way.

He was silent for a long moment, sighing again.

"C'mere," he finally murmured placing an arm around Blake's shoulders and tugging her body close to his.

The blonde cuddled herself into him, tucking her face into Negan's tanned neck.

She didn't want to think about what would happen if a part for the generator wasn't found. Could they survive the winter? Longer even than that?

What would happen if the place eventually became uninhabitable?

There were now hundreds of Saviours. Where would they find a place with heat and power big enough to house them all?

But that wasn't the only thing worrying Blake and she knew it had likely crossed Negan's mind too.

What if the other camps- Alexandria, the Hilltop and the Kingdom, found out about this? It would certainly mean that the Sanctuary's defences would be down and it could be seen as an easy target.

All Blake knew now, was that they all needed to stick together.

They all needed to survive, to stay strong, just like Negan had said.

For if they didn't, Blake knew that this could be the end to the Sanctuary as they knew it.

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

Sorry this was short. Been busy with my new job so struggling to find time to write/upload. Hope you are all still enjoying it.

If you’d like to be tagged or untagged let me know.

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[piaciibo]

Why CompTIA Certs are worth your time

When I went off to college, I knew that I wanted to work in Cybersecurity. I chose to go to school in Pittsburgh and earn an Associates degree (all that was available, at the school, at that time), in Information Technology, with a focus in Cybersecurity. At about the 2/3rds mark of the entire program is when my class would be broken into one of two paths: Security or Network Administration. Knowing what my goal was, I wanted to make it into the Security classes so badly.

Along the way, I went from feeling energized and driven , to feeling abandoned by my classmates and a girl who I had come to like quite a bit. It wasn’t their fault, or mine, things just happened in a way that I wasn’t prepared to experience, and I allowed my drive to disappear. I didn’t care anymore, after about 3 quarters. I stopped showing up on time, and sometimes at all. I stopped putting in the effort necessary to perform at a level which would push me to achieve my goals. I did not make it into the Security classes that I had wanted to be in so badly, a year before.

Despite the many times I attempted to leave school, I decided to stay every time either because a teacher would talk me out of it, or simply because I didn’t have a car. I hated how poor I was. I hated how inaccessible many of life’s fruits were to me at the time. I finished school and came back home for my three month unpaid internship. At the end of my internship, I had earned my position in the organization and was their newest Tech Specialist.

Working in Tech Support obviously was NOT what I wanted, but, was to be expected for someone so young, and so early on in their career. I was 19 years old, and could be considered “Successful” but I wasn’t where I wanted to be, and so I was unsatisfied. I knew what I wanted to do, but had no idea how to get there. I remembered that my teachers back in Pittsburgh talked about some CompTIA certifications that were available to help you along in moving your career in the direction you wanted it to go.

With this knowledge, and a new drive to succeed, I began the journey I find myself on to this day. I bought the book for CompTIA’s Security+ SY0-401, and started reading every single day. I felt that this was a great way to get started, and that if I could just get this certification, that I could be taken seriously in Security and maybe get a security role in some company outside of the one I was employed by. By the time I finished the book (About 3 months of rigorous study time between phone calls on-shift), I believed myself to be ready and also - burned out.

Burned out on the material, I decided to take a break and return to it again later. A few weeks go by, and I picked the book back up, to review material. I felt, again, that I was ready to take the exam, so I pulled up the CompTIA site, to find out something that would derail me for the next 11 months. The exam I had studied for, had expired. I didn’t even know they would, or could, after such a short period of time (3 years).

A year goes by, and I had learned my lesson. Sick of working in Tech Support, I decided to buy the books for the new exam (SY0-501). They arrived the next day and I had the killer mentality activated. I wanted it so bad, that I studied for roughly 4-5 hours per day. I studied at home, I studied at work, I studied in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. I wanted it BAD. I already knew most of the material from the first exam, so a lot of it was a refresher, but, I did see some new material popping up and that was important for my eventual result.

After 3 months of hardcore work, I was ready again. I took and passed the exam. Now, Security+ Certified, I figured, I could land a security job. After all, that’s all that made it worth taking, right? WRONG

My knowledge and ever-growing interest in the field didn’t matter when I applied to tons of places. I had waited to apply for jobs, so that I could further develop, and I felt as though I had, considering the limitless reading on security topics that I was doing. I was fully invested in making myself “hire-able” and yet, when the time came for me to get my hopes up, I did, and I fell hard. Nobody wanted me to work in their SOC, or as a specialist of any time anywhere. I took another job, for more pay, but, it was still in Tech Support.

So, now, I am still working in Tech Support and I have a Security certification that is sitting stagnant. I figured, maybe the reason they didn’t hire me was because I didn’t have enough on my resume to prove I could do what I was applying for. I decided to go after another CompTIA certification. I bought the books for CySA+, and they arrived a few days later. This time around, I wanted to maintain the family man figure I had become, so I took it a little bit slower this time, and consumed the material as quickly as a humble schedule would allow. In less than 30 days, I had studied, scheduled, and taken the CySA+ CS0-001 exam. I passed!

Now, with two security certifications, I can hold my head high and go get me a security job. WRONG. Still, I found little interest in me as a candidate, and maybe that’s because I live in a highly populated area where talent is rich. I won’t take a pay decrease, because I have a family to support, so I have decided to study and eventually take the new Pentest+ exam (PT0-001).

So after all of this effort, spending over $700, and not getting hired, why is it that I love CompTIA? Don’t I want to credit them when their certifications earn me the job I want? Sure. But here’s the deal - I am self-aware and I know what I need to do to get the job I really want. I can’t expect an employer to hire me because two certifications say that I know what I’m doing. They need a bigger sample (which is why I’m writing this, to be honest). As someone who is passionate, I need to increase my visibility to the audience that I want hiring me

The reason I love CompTIA and the material that they provide, is because they offer young people (and anyone early into their IT career, of course) the opportunity to learn and prove their knowledge to employers in the IT workforce. Say what you want about the reputation of the certifications, they teach you valuable material. I am living proof - have a conversation with me about security and you’ll see that despite the reputation of the certifications, I certainly know my stuff.

Reading CompTIA’s material has made me a better support technician, but, has also taught me new concepts and led me to new ways of thinking that I wouldn’t otherwise have. I owe my skill and broad knowledge to CompTIA, and because of them, I can project my knowledge into many situations, which helps me get noticed internally at work. I may not be able to come in to work on my first day as a Security Analyst (one day) and just work without training, but, I can definitely talk the talk, and I can understand concepts and can learn things in a practical setting very rapidly due to my prior knowledge gathering. You’d be hard-pressed to find another support tech who knows as much as I do about security, who has no role or experience within the field as of yet.

To date, I have read the following CompTIA books, which have molded me into a very knowledgeable, hard-working technician:

- Linux+

- Network+

- Security+ (2)

- CySA+

and now Pentest+

If you are just after a job, you need to change your field. If you want to be educated, and know what you’re talking about, you can’t go wrong by starting here. See you in the SOC one day soon ;)

[thechaoscryptid]

Hello, for the winter prompts can I request Kakuzu and Konan for #14- the power goes out in our apartment building, but i’m not prepared for this, and you come to check on me

I’m so sorry this took me so long! (doubly so tonight because my stupid laptop ate the first draft *grump*) I’m so not used to writing these two, so I hope I got it sort of right 😅

(Modern AU, lawyer!Konan)

It’s a very rare day Konan has time for indulgences. She keeps a rigid schedule of full courtrooms, research, and networking, and by the time her tasks are all finished, the only thing she wants to do is lay down so she’s awake enough to do it again in the morning. Rarer still are the days she’s able to put her electronics away and let the world slip to the wayside, but today...

Wind howls outside, low and mournful as it kicks snow and ice against the windows. The Ootsutsuki matriarch has been put away after months of fighting, the world is in the lull between Christmas and New Year, and she is doing her best to not consider the fact that it’s likely, at this very moment, someone’s been sent to dispatch her. She knew it was possible when she took on the case and was more than willing to endure the risks. 

That doesn’t mean it’s easy to feel like a sitting duck.

Water ripples as she sinks down in the bath and puts her hands over her face to cover a low sigh. The candlelight flickering over the walls is at once calming and anxiety-inducing, on one hand cheerful and on the other casting long shadows across the surface. The warmth is more than welcome, as is the soft scent of lavender before her head dips below the water. 

Being enveloped like this is soothing, even as her lungs burn and her blood whooshes loud through her head. Every second is long, longer than they have any right to be, and the splash when she surfaces is a roar until that quiets along with everything but her breathing. She’d call it the quiet before the storm, if the storm wasn’t still raging outside, because it’s an eerily silent quiet.

Too quiet for comfort.

Her skin prickles with anxiety now instead of heat, the feeling of a thousand unseen gazes gathering at the base of her neck and spreading outward with icy fingers of dread. 

Still too quiet, and dark, even with the candles.

There’s no power.

The dread increases until she’s absolutely crawling with it, too keyed up to enjoy the warmth and comfort without worrying there’ll be a bullet in her head at any second. She stumbles out of the tub, unplugs the drain, and blows out the candle--a mistake, now it’s pitch black--before stumbling through the hallway and into her room. 

She can’t remember where any of her flashlights are, or if they’re packed in any of the boxes Nagato has been helping her with over the last two weeks. Moving during the middle of winter and the busy season wasn’t her choice, but the surrounding authorities thought it pertinent.

She can’t completely disagree, not after seeing the evidence of what the family does to do the people who displease them. 

Her foot catches in her sweatpants as she pulls them on, nearly putting her on the floor as she struggles in the dark. Her sweatshirt goes on hard as well, arms tangled and wet hair catching in the hood before she yanks it down with a growl. The silence somehow grows to a booming crescendo that has her sitting on the bed with her hands over her ears before it’s shattered by a simple sound--a knock on the door.

She hasn’t had much use for the gun in her dresser drawer before now, but she takes it out and loads it before padding into the hallway. Whoever it is knocks again and she’s unwilling to answer as she makes her way to the door. She perhaps should have realized she wouldn’t be able to see who’s in the hallway, though, and all she sees is a faint flicker of light in the blackness.

“Who’s there?” she asks, pretending her voice doesn’t crack and her fingers don’t shake. 

“Neighbor,” comes the gravelly reply. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” she counters. 

The light moves closer to the peephole and she gasps as a twisted, knotted half-smile appears. She sees his lips moving but can hear nothing, too distracted by the scars ripping across the man’s face.

“Hey,” she hears eventually. “I asked if you needed anything.”

“For you to leave,” she says. Then, “Please.”

“Have it your way,” he says. “Figured you might want company, especially now after the trial.”

Konan slowly lowers the weapon and takes a step closer to the door. “What about it?”

“I’ve had my own dealings with them. I know. But you’re obviously not in the mood, so--”

“Wait.” She cracks the door open to see wild hair pouring out from a hood, deep black circles under his eyes where the candlelight doesn’t reach. “Is that--” Gesturing to her face, she keeps the gun hidden behind the door. “This?”

He nods solemnly before turning away again. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just figured you’d be worrying, maybe in need of supplies. Young woman alone and all.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“I’m making an offer,” he says. “Take it or leave it, but I’m going back to my apartment in five...four...three...”

Konan scoffs and lets a bit of tension bleed from her stance, leaning almost casually against the wall as the man looks at her from the corner of his eyes. “What’s your offer, then?”

“Flashlight, if you need one. Some food and company if you’d like more than that. Maybe we could swap stories about the shit we’ve seen,” he rumbles. “Or not.”

Though still on edge, she opens the door a few inches further and jerks her head down the hall. “Can’t remember where my flashlight ended up. As for company...” She sticks her hand out to shake his once, tells herself tonight’s as good a night to die as any. “Konan.”

“I know who you are,” he says. “Kakuzu.”

“Ah--” Konan smiles and looks down, chewing her lip before pointing across the hall to where his door’s open. “I’d be grateful, but give me a minute?” Wouldn’t do to terrify him with a gun, even if she is leaving soon. She can hide it in the end table.

“Suit yourself,” he says. The candlelight dances on the walls until it disappears behind his door with a click, and Konan breathes a shaky sigh of relief as she shuts herself inside. Metal weighs heavy in her hand--she’s never been fond of the weapon, but its familiar grip is better in her hands than that of another. 

She bangs her shin on the way to the end table to stash the gun, bites her lip against a pained groan before there’s another knock on the door. Carefully avoiding the heavy tote this time, she opens it to see Kakuzu’s face lit up like a skull in the harsh glow of the flashlight. “Welcome back,” she says.

“Wine,” Kakuzu says, holding up the bottle with his other hand. “You looked tense. Not that I wanted to, well, relax you for a purpose. It seems like you’ve got a lot going on, is all.”

Konan grabs the bottle and the flashlight, ushering him ahead and lighting his path as he walks. “You’d know, if you were close with them. Sorry about the mess. I’m leaving soon.”

“Smart.” Kakuzu makes his way to the couch and sits down, spreads his arms across the back as though he’s making himself at home. “But stupid to take the case.”

“Probably stupider yet to invite the mysterious man from next door in,” Konan says. She doesn’t sit, instead making her way to the kitchen and searching for the bottle opener she’s absolutely positive is in the top-most left drawer. There’s no bother with glasses, not tonight. “But here I am, because if you were going to kill me, I can’t imagine I would’ve made it this long.”

Kakuzu chuckles darkly. “You’re right.”

“So...” She turns and leans against the counter, tipping the bottle to her lips as she notes the distance to the knife block, just in case. “What’d they get you for?”

“Guess.”

“Ratting.” When she swings the beam over, he’s grinning. “And it was a warning.”

“Oh?”

“If you’d been privy to any actual secrets, they’d’ve killed you outright.” The wine is pleasant as it slides down her throat, and she waits for confirmation before continuing. “Why’d you do it?”

“Reasons,” he says.

“You’re a man of many words, aren’t you?” She takes a few steps toward him before crossing her arms and aiming the light just to the side of his face. “A little strange, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he says, but gestures to the couch beside him, then the chair adjacent. 

Konan chooses the chair, still a little unsure of his intentions. It’s a precarious balance, this carefully treading the line between wariness and wishing for something more than isolation. She takes another drink and settles her elbows on her knees. “We have the night, Kakuzu, and I’m heading out soon. Tell me about your mysteries? I’m probably the best person around to hear them.”

[phases-of-the-fallen]

Explanation

fandom: alternate timeline of Dreamswap by kai

characters: Waning Crescent, Comet

warnings: cursing, mention of murder and death, 

word count: 2,112

Summary: Waning Crescent and Comet talk about what’s upset WC so much.

“So, are you going to tell me what in the fuck happened on your last mission that freaked you out so badly?” Comet asked after he sat down in his boyfriend’s lap, nuzzling into the other’s chest a little bit. “It’s going to bother me until you spill, and you know it helps to tell someone else about whatever is going on, so that we can figure out how to deal with it.”

Waning Crescent swallowed hard for a moment, fidgeting with his hands for a couple of moments, rolling the pen that he’d been using to sign paperwork for a couple of moments before saying “I had gotten a report that Full, Half and New Moon was in Underswap 7651. I went to check out the report alone, as that particular timeline has been under the protection of JR for decades, and New Moon at least should have remembered that, as I’ve captured him there twice. Although the tacos there are some of the best in the multiverse, so perhaps… That’s why they were there.”

“Uh-huh. Having a run-in with those three - even if they did manage to escape you - shouldn’t have scared you that much though. You’re still all wound up by what happened…” Comet pointed out, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist, wishing he could pet the other’s wings, but the other’s wings were currently intangible so that he could sit on the chair without needing to be on the edge of the seat.

“.... How much do you know about Full Moon? Like his past, before you two met?” Waning Crescent responded - he wasn’t deflecting. He was going to explain - he just wanted to know if Comet had known that Angel had been bonded with a determined spirit and hadn’t told him.

“That his timeline was that endless void that you found the both of us in. He was grieving about something, but he never told me what. Apart from that, I know nothing more about his past then you do… Why? Did he do something weird again?” Comet responded, frowning a little and waiting for Crescent to get to his point.

“Ah… I… I accidentally killed Full Moon. He jumped in front of my claymore as I intended to pin down New Moon and I couldn’t get my blade away in time, and… My blade pierced his soul and he died.” Waning Crescent explained. His voice failing him for a couple of moments “And then a determined spirit - one who Full Moon had apparently had absorbed their soul, appeared and offered their soul to New Moon, who… Who took it. A strange, purple button appeared in front of New Moon and he… He resurrected Full Moon in front of me. Full moon had just finished dusting, and he… He’d come back. New Moon started to laugh and I… I fled the battlefield.”

Comet was still for a very long time, or so it felt to Waning Crescent, before he cleared his nonexistent throat, saying quietly, his voice a little shaky “Okay… So New Moon can resurrect people and has a Determined Human’s soul backing his power now. That… That could be bad, but we’ve dealt with monsters who have absorbed multiple human souls, and -”

“New Moon is not a monster. Neither am I. We have the physical appearance of skeleton monsters, but that’s as far as the similarities go. You’ve seen the shape and color of my soul, Comet. One of the constants in this multiverse is the shape and color - or lack thereof - for monster and human souls. New Moon and I… We were created by the previous guardian of emotions, as she… They? Were dying. She summoned the both of us. We are the… We are positive and negative emotions - and the magical power behind them, given form and substance. I… I may be able to show you my true form, if you promise not to freak out on me.” Waning Crescent explains quietly, fidgeting more intensely with the pen in his hands. It was almost impossible to not look at Comet directly, given that the other was still in his lap, but he was just barely managing it.

"Uhh... Okay? Promise me that like... Your body won't... I don't know... Disintegrate or vanish when you do? Or that you can switch back?" Comet responded after a moment's hesitation, trying to process what his beloved was saying. Waning Crescent had said that he was the guardian of positivity, but he hadn't really known what the other meant. None of them did - though they all felt the uplifting effects of his aura. 

"No, my body won't disintegrate - but as my true form contains the essence of my soul as well as all of my magic, my physical body will go limp and even grow cold and void of my magic, if I leave it for too long. Though that shouldn't be necessary. You may want to get off of my lap, as my physical form will be unable to hold you close during that time." Waning Crescent explained quietly.

“I… Okay then. Thank you for the warning.” Comet responded, part of him wondering if he should maybe convince the other not to do this. This felt… A little bit strange and like the other was making an impulsive and probably bad decision, and he was processing everything else that Waning Crescent had told him.  Comet got up, taking a couple of steps back. “So… You can… You can show me your true form, if you want to.”

Waning Crescent nodded, letting his eye lights fuzz out as he gathered all of his magic into the core of his body, first his soul taking shape, before he pushed himself further from the body. It had been quite some time since he’d done this last, and it was a bit of a struggle at first - but eventually, he was in his original form - a yellow-colored ball of condensed positivity magic and awareness. He floats over to Comet, gently coming to rest on one of the other’s shoulders, letting out a soft trill. He pulses a bit of magic through Comet before returning to his skeletal form “So as you can see… It’s not that a powerful monster is in possession of a determination soul… But…”

“A… A Guardian has absorbed a human soul. And I’m guessing that neither of you have ever done that before - and if the previous guardian did, she or they didn’t ever write down whatever the fuck happened, and if it’s possible to undo it without causing damage, since the two of you still have that weird destiny bond thing that makes it impossible to kill New Moon without it also killing you.” Comet finished, frowning a little bit. 

He had known that there was something odd about boss - but he hadn’t realized just how unique Waning Crescent was - were there other Guardians in the multiverse, perhaps hidden in obscure timelines? Protecting… Who knew what? “But… You mentioned New Moon being in possession of a Button - considering the fact that when he used it, that world didn’t Reset, he doesn’t have the ability to Reset a timeline - thank the fucking stars, as that could cause a shit load of trouble. He used it to heal Full Moon - which will be annoying to try to capture them, since with a press of a button, they’ll be back to full health again…”

“I… You’re right, of course. I probably just overreacted. They have a powerful healing ability that could potentially be a great hindrance, depending on if New Moon can resurrect dead criminals and decides to try to do so in order to create chaos… It’s unlikely, though. He mostly just flees and hides with his companions.” Waning Crescent mused “And no, there are no records of a Guardian absorbing a human soul, not to my knowledge. The previous guardian of the… Of the emotive balance was contemptuous and very wary of mortals - chasing away any who attempted to live near them. They were periodically attacked for the power they held, and was eventually struck down in a battle - though they were able to kill their attacker, before they created us.”

“Huh.” Comet remarked - he’s pretty sure that Waning Crescent is leaving out a few key details, but he’s not going to push for more than the other is willing to share. He already knows far more about the true past of the both of them than… Probably anyone else in existence, with the possible exceptions of Full and Half moon, depending on how much, if anything, New Moon had told them of his past. “So, what’s the plan with the three assholes?”

“I’ll update the orders for the undercover operatives. To watch out for any on The List, but for them to not approach New, Full, or Half moon under any circumstances, and if they are in a timeline for more than a couple of hours, to report directly to me, so that I… I can observe them directly.” Waning Crescent decided, nodding a little to himself firmly, before he asked “Does that sound reasonable to you? We can hope that his new powers only extend to that resurrection ability, but until we know for certain…”

“It’s best to limit the potential damage that New Moon could do, if at all possible. It’s going to take time to spread those new orders throughout our network, but I’ll be sure to send it to the regional heads myself.” Comet responded, turning partially, intending to leave.

“Absolutely not - for one thing, I need to make sure to write down and encode those orders… And another thing is, don’t think I haven’t forgotten that your appointment with Healer Ara regarding your pregnancy isn’t today in less than an hour and a half.”

“Oh come oooon! We’ve known that I’ve been pregnant for what? Two weeks now, at most? I’ll be fine.” Comet huffed, pouting a little that he’d been caught out so easily. He was excited to be carrying a soulling… But all of the information about what he could and what he wasn’t going to be able to do as the pregnancy continued was more than a little daunting “Hey… So uh… Since you’re not… Not a monster or a human, do you think that will affect the development of our soulling?”

“I… I don’t know. It’s one of the things that we will need to discuss with Dr. Ara and their Obstetrics team.” Waning Crescent answered honestly. He was worried about how the soulling would continue to grow - and he knew that Comet was as well.

“Yeah… Still not sure how I’m pregnant in the first place… ‘s not as if I have a soul…” Comet muttered, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He’d kind of assumed that he’d be unable to have kids that way, because of his condition. 

“But the deep scans showed that you did have one at one point… And again, that’s some of the things that will be gone over in that appointment today. Do you remember that Dr. Ara took a sample of your magic to have it tested?” Waning Crescent prodded gently. 

“I… Yeah, you’re right. I’m just… I’m so nervous about all of this - th-though I am excited as well. We… We’re going to have an ankle biter all our own. Look out multiverse, because our kid is going to be one hell of a force of nature. That much I can feel.” Comet answered back, rallying himself after a moment, his eye lights a pair of stars - one yellow, the other blue and purple, a grin appearing on his face.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Waning Crescent responded with a fond smile appearing on his face, hugging his beloved boyfriend in close, a soft purr rumbling in his chest. “Now… Help me word the updated orders correctly?”

“Eh… You know that sort of thing is not my strong suit. Point me at an AU and tell me who to stab? I’m good. Tell me who to threaten and scare? I’m good. But the whole… Leading a secret service and army with a silver tongue? That’s all you, boss.” Comet grumbled, though he did follow the other back to the desk, claiming Waning Crescent’s lap as soon as the other sat down. It was nice to be close to the other like this, and he hoped that the obstetrics appointment would answer a lot of the questions that both of them had. This new healing ability of New Moon’s could be a pain in the ass… But shouldn’t prove to be too much of a danger...  Right?

[redslilstories]

Intimidating Cuteness

Author: lilyme (aka. redslilstories aka. me ;)) Summary: There was something going on inside the hospital. Something thought long in the past. To some it was confusing, to some even scary. But overall it was... cute. Pairing: Callie/Arizona Rating: T Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Grey's Anatomy". They were created by Shonda Rhimes and belong to her and the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended!All mistakes are mine.

Miranda Bailey loved herself a rare, quiet day at the hospital. A day that gave her a little bit of time to breathe. To go see if everything around her surgical wards was in order and her staff was doing alright.

She found it important to catch a disturbance in the force very early on to prevent it growing into a huge mess.

On her tour she stopped on the third floor nurses station to ask for the nurses' attendance report of the last few months and the schedule for the next weeks. She wanted to see if there were necessary improvements to make and maybe some additional nurses needed – if budget allowed.

After a while Deluca sat down at the station with a pensive expression on his face, looking into the direction of the hallway he had just come from. But since his mulling didn't appear to be work-related, Bailey chose to not ask him about it just now, still busy with her work at hand.

Five minutes later, Schmitt came along, looking a little anxious.

'It's getting weirder', Bailey thought in amusement, as the young man halted at the station. From the looks of it with a task on his mind, but something seemed to be hindering him from following through with it.

And it possibly had something to do with the direction both the surgeons had just emerged from.

Before Bailey had a chance to inquire what was possibly going on around there...

"Hey, has anyone seen what Robbins is up to?" Meredith Grey neared them from around a different corner with a tablet in her hand.

"You saw that too?" Schmitt's head shot up from where he must have found the floor very fascinating until now. And immediately that spooked out look was back in place, Bailey noted.

Next to him, Deluca showed a look of interest and equal perturbedness.

Apparently he knew exactly what his colleague was talking about. But the two of them were alone with that.

"What?" Meredith's face scrunched in bewilderment.

"What?" Deluca and Schmitt returned as one, the younger man pinching his glasses closer to his face, Dr. Grey's confusion being likewise confusing to him.

"You didn't mean...?" Deluca continued, but when Meredith's face no sign of cluing in, he paused.

"I was just asking because I need her for a consult," she drew out in explanation. "What are you talking about?"

Bailey nodded along with the inquiry, her curiosity now piqued as well.

"Nothing," Deluca returned and Schmitt shook his head in non-verbal agreement.

But the women wouldn't have it. They needed to know what 'that' referred to.

"Schmitt... Deluca...," Bailey admonished them while Meredith crossed her arms and gave them her most intimidating look.

The intern finally caved, "I just caught her... them... in the attendings' lounge".

With all eyes now on Deluca, this one added. "And me in the elevator earlier".

"Okay," the Chief returned, "but what do you...," she prompted, still not following what the problem at hand actually was. Until... her eyebrows shot up as a possible scenario dawned on her.

"Oh, no!" Deluca negated, standing from his chair and holding out his arms emphatically. "Nothing like that. They were decent. Just really..."

"Cuddly and in love," Schmitt added.

"Who's the other one?" Bailey questioned further. It was none of her business and usually she kept out of any personal matter, but if it happened inside her hospital and affected the processes in it, she had to know.

The men just looked at each other. And Bailey and Meredith contemplated if it was someone unexpected.

Someone they wouldn't imagine cuddly and in love with Arizona Robbins.

At least... not anymore.

They exchanged a look. Could this really be? Had they really found their way back again? After years of separation and having lived themselves apart? The last one quite literally. Two people living in the States could hardly live further apart than those two had. Until recently.

"I think we should...," Meredith pointed into the direction, and Bailey cocked her head with an agreeing jut of her lip. They needed to see this for themselves.

They abandoned the baffled men and hurried off to the attendings' lounge.

Almost missing Schmitt's hesitantly begging voice that spoke. "Can you tell Dr. Torres Dr. Hunt is looking for her...?" Seemingly unheard by the two women, he turned and confessed to the Deluca, "She scares me".

He had a reason. Upon the news of her return, stories of everything Torres-related bas eventually also reached the interns. And had some effect.

Callie Torres... had an everlasting reputation at the hospital. Dating from years back where at times she could seem a bit intimidating and aloof. Plus there was also the stories of resident Torres always being the first to answer a page and showing up a mere minute after an emergency came in – no matter what time of day it was. To this day it was still a mystery to most people, how that was possible.

Deluca, who knew Torres enough to not be intimidated and especially knew the answer to this mystery from his roommate, meanwhile pondered a problem himself. "I might have to consider looking for a new place."

On their way to the mentioned location, Bailey and Grey were joined by Amelia Shepherd. "Hey, where's the fire?" she joked confronted with their determined pace.

"Possibly some rekindling in the attendings' lounge," Bailey returned and Amelia scrunched her face in confusion at the unexpected reply.

"What? I don't...," she wondered, but stopped, when they had reached their destination. And just like that found herself unable to voice more than a surprised, "Whoa...".

Because there they were. Still on the room. With Callie sitting on the sofa and Arizona relaxing in her lap, with her arm drawn around Callie's neck and its fingers lazily weaving through the long dark hair. In between she put sweet little kisses on the brunette's cheek and temple, while the other woman was apparently trying to work... as far as the tablet in her single free hand indicated. If she was actually being successful in that... was unclear.

The new arrivals watched through the open door. Not very sneaky of them, they knew. And not very sneaky of Torres and Robbins either.

But who knew if they even tried to keep it a secret.

"Uh-hum," Meredith cleared her throat to get their attention. "Hey, uh, Arizona, could you hop off? I kind of need you for a consult on Mrs. Cooper," she smirked, choosing not to comment on their cozy embrace just now, rather letting her face speak. Talking about this situation could come later.

Bailey on the other hand, opted to share her thoughts now. "It's good to see you back," she said in a genuine voice.

It counted for several reasons. Callie being back at the hospital certainly was an amazing development. Torres was still the most accomplished ortho surgeon she had ever known. And the two years spent in New York, while little successful on the relationship front, had not diminished any of that.

Quite the contrary.

And seeing Callie and Arizona back together was also something she didn't object. It always had been clear to her that those two belonged together, no matter what.

"Oh, and Schmitt said to say that Hunt is looking for you," she added, but had Callie confused for a moment. Confused and also slightly blushing from the continued attention of their three friends lingering in the doorway.

"Uh, 'Schmitt'?" she chose to distract herself. She still not entire caught up on the new interns and residents in the hospital. Given it was her second week back, it was not that bad, she hoped.

"'Glasses'," Amelia provided, having entirely forgotten what she had wanted to do before this interesting situation had turned up.

"Or 'Blood Bank'," Arizona added one more of the many nicknames the man was known by, as she stood up and offered Callie a hand. She smirked at her new old lover's tinted cheeks.

They had been dating for a while in secret. Having been in a long-distance-relationship for four months before Callie finally had the chance to move back to Seattle.

And of course then... with the prospect of them both working at Grey Sloan Memorial again, they had wondered about how to break the news of their newfound togetherness to their friends and colleagues.

This right here... was actually not the worst start.

"Oh... right!" the brunette realized. "I saw him through the window. Why didn't he tell me himself?"

"Um, well...," Amelia prompted to the enamored position they were just scrambling out of. With Arizona right now straightening the front of Callie's scrubs that had become a bit crumpled.

Bailey shooed her away with an amused hand on her arm, before turning back to the two lovers. "I guess he's heard all the intimidating rumors about you," she grinned at the oddness of all these stories being a stark contrast to what she was currently seeing here.

"Which is not the worst thing," Meredith shrugged as they waited for Callie and Arizona step out of the room.

One could see that the two of them were happy together. And no matter what the hospital rumor mill or anyone else would think about this, this was what really counted.

END

[ink-logging]

More Superhero Comics, Revealing My Reactionary and Facile Engagement with Art as Little More Than the  Accrual of Social Capital, Benefiting Nobody But Myself, 4/7/19

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol. 4: The Tempest #5 (of 6), Alan Moore, Kevin O’Neill, Ben Dimagmaliw, Todd Klein: This is an often very funny issue, set up like a pasted-together UK edition of old US pre-Code horror and crime comics, which, in addition to being funny, plumps up the page count as the plot moves maybe two or three tics forward in advance of the very-last-issue-of-LoEG-ever. The conservative in me wonders why we’re being this digressive in the penultimate number of the entire saga, but then -- at least since “The Black Dossier” -- this project has been more about positioning various strands of fiction and their accrued cultural baggage against one another than telling a propulsive adventure story. Anyway: the realm of Faerie, having easily survived an attempted nuclear strike on the collective imagination by a military-corporate black ops fiction squad comprised entirely of various revamps of James Bond, has brought in every character from every game, comic, cartoon, TV show, movie and book reality with everything for a HUGE apocalypse! 

Scenes of bedlam involve: the life story of Victorian painter and murderer Richard Dadd; cameos by Stardust the Super Wizard and David Britton’s Lord Horror; the oeuvre of musician Warren Zevon, brought to terrifying life; a Corbenesque image of a nude muscleman’s massive dick flapping into battle in 3-D; Mick Anglo’s Captain Universe, presented by Moore in unmistakable evocation of his own Marvelman/Miracleman stories of decades ago; a ghost wearing the word CRIME on his head a la Charles Biro’s Mr. Crime, the greatest American comic book horror host; at least one figure from the annals of racist caricature firing powerful sound waves from his mouth; a monster named Demogorgon, the leviathan of Populism, which the heroes allegorically cross as a footbridge en route to a safehouse named the Character Ark; a page-long parody of Batman (via the forgotten UK superhero playboy character the Flash Avenger), describing his origin as motivated entirely by hatred of the poor; a text feature telling of UK comics artist Denis McLoughlin, who worked consistently since the end of WWII, never made enough money to retire, and spent decades as an elderly man drawing for survival on titles he hated, eventually taking his own life in his 80s; and the secret of what happened to all the British superhero characters after the midcentury, which is that they were all eaten by Capitalism, pretty much. I laughed a bunch, but if you think LoEG is tedious shit, this probably won’t turn you around.         

*

Savage Dragon #242, Erik Larsen, Ferran Delgado, Nikos Koutsis, Mike Toris: The latest installment of the longest-running Image comic written and drawn by one of the Image founders, now deeply dove into problematic network tv drama stuff. The Dragon’s relationship with his partner Maxine is still strained in the wake of her sexual assault, a video of which the Dragon viewed in the police archives; meanwhile, the mother of one of the Dragon’s young children has been telling them all the truth about their parentage, further disrupting the peace of the household. Also, a formerly aggressive sex robot has joined the gang, dressed as an anime maid. And, the Dragon reluctantly teams up with the mid-’00s-vintage sexy heroine character Ant (which Larsen purchased from creator Mario Gully a few years ago) to foil a scheme by elderly elites to project themselves into the bodies of mythic gods in order to provoke the Rapture. Most interesting to me, however, is a bonus segment in which Larsen presents newly-lettered pages of his preliminary solo work on “Spawn” #266 (Oct. 2016), which would later be filled out by contributions from Todd McFarlane, colorist FCO Plascenscia, and letterer Tom Orzechowski. 

As usual, I prefer the ‘unfinished’ version (top) to the official release product (bottom).

*

Superman Giant #9, Erika Rothberg, ed. 

&

Batman Giant #9, Robin Wildman, ed.

These are two of those 100-page DC superhero packages they sell for five bucks exclusively at Walmart (for now; later this year they’re gonna have them in comic book stores too), which marry one new 12-page story per issue with three full-length reprint comic books from elsewhere in the 21st century. I just wanted to know what was inside them. Here is what I found:

-The new Batman comic is written by Brian Michael Bendis as a very conspicuously all-ages prospect, where the story is about nothing more than what it’s about, and the title character is presented as a serious-minded but inquisitive and compassionate man of adventure. This issue -- just in time for the remix of “Old Town Road” featuring Billy Ray Cyrus -- Batman and Green Lantern travel back to the Old West, trade in their superhero outfits for cowboy clothes, and meet up with Jonah Hex. Nick Derington draws the heroes smooth and squinting with Swanian sincerity, and Dave Stewart colors it all bright and sunny. This is not my thing at all, but it’s confident to the point of acting like almost a rebuke to the rest of the book, where literally everything else is chapter whatever of a nighttime doom ballad drawn by either Jim Lee or something trying very hard to look like him. 

-Like:

I can spot the differences, sure - if nothing else, reading superhero comics trains you to spot differences in otherwise similar things. But, there is absolutely an aesthetic at work. The top page is from an issue of “Nightwing” that tied into the 2012 “Night of the Owls” crossover in the Batman titles, produced by a seven-person drawing and coloring team fronted by pencillers Eddy Barrows & Andres Guinaldo. The writer, Kyle Higgins, has Dick Grayson fight his semi-immortal great-grandfather, who is an assassin for the Court of Owls: one of the more popular recent Batman organizations of villainy, presented here as a fascist group mediating society’s function through murder from the gray space between social classes. The Graysons, therefore, are the Gray Sons, but Nightwing resists the pull of destiny by winning a big fight, slinging the villain over his shoulder, and walking away toward a better future of just beating the shit out of bad people instead of killing them, I think. The Batgirl story -- from 2011, written by Gail Simone -- is comparatively orthodox, finding the character gripped with uncertainty about the superhero life and going about some downtime character-building activities, though most of it’s a big fight with a villain with a tragic past. The penciller, Ardian Syaf, kind of has trouble blocking the action so that characters’ movements are clear; I think Syaf is best known for having his contract with Marvel terminated in 2017 for slipping what were widely interpreted as anti-Christian and antisemitic references to Indonesian politics into an X-Men comic. 

-There is a whole lot of Jeph Loeb among the reprints. He is not a writer who has been in critical fashion for much the past two decades, but he has undoubtedly sold a lot of comics for DC, and they probably feel he can do it again. The Batman book is serializing (deep breath) “Hush”, a 2002-03 storyline notable for its extraordinarily easy-to-solve central mystery, and generally being a taped-together excuse for Jim Lee to draw as many popular Batman characters as possible across 12 issues; it sold like hot cakes. The highlight of chapter 9 is probably a bit where a three person fight ends in one panel, and then one of the characters leaves, and then a second character wakes up from unconsciousness and also leaves, and then the first character comes back and nurses the third (also unconscious) character back to health, and then Batman arrives, all in the transition between the aforementioned panel and the next, which takes place in the same room; such is the befuddling desire to race ahead to more spectacle. Jim Lee (with Scott Williams and Alex Sinclair) is indeed Jim Lee (et al.) throughout, though at one point the team drops a howler of a swordfighting panel where Batman’s blade appears to grows to JRPG length due to what I think is the colorist filling two whoosh lines with the same hue as the swords.      

Meanwhile, the Superman book is serializing a 2004 storyline from “Superman/Batman” -- the series where Loeb has Superman describe the action on the page with his own Superman-branded captions, and Batman does the same with Bat-captions, and Superman says tomayto and Batman says tomahto -- in which the late Michael Turner, one of the rock star 2nd generation Image artists, illustrates a new introduction for Supergirl. But this isn’t quite the same comic that was originally published... can YOU spot the difference?

Is this like how Walmart won’t sell CDs that have an explicit content sticker, but with teen superhero g-strings? It’s hard to explain to younger readers how the low-rise/thong panties combo forever sealed the horniness of a generation of het male superhero artists into the late 1990s, and maybe DC doesn’t want to face that. Or, they’re just leery of how Turner slipping some peekaboo glimpse of Supergirl’s underpants or bare thighs into virtually every panel in which she is depicted below the waist might affect the marketability of the comic in 2019 - although I guess it could have happened in an earlier reprint somewhere too.

-The new Superman comic is a series of 12 splash pages depicting a race between Superman and the Flash. There is very little sense of speed, because Andy Kubert (inked by Sandra Hope, colored by Brad Anderson) draws the characters as frozen in time in a way that prioritizes muscular tension in the manner of contemporary superhero cover art; at one point the two characters part the sea with the force of their bodies, and it looks to me like they’re gesticulating in front of a theatrical backdrop. And, anyway, the story pulls back almost every other page to depict Batman standing on a ledge, or Lex Luthor in a sinister chair -- or some birds flying next to a building, or the Earth as viewed from space with streaks on it -- as the race occurs deep in the background or off to one side. The point is not excitement, but reflection, as imposed upon us by the between 13 and 21 narrative captions and/or dialogue balloons pasted atop all but the first page. 

The writer is Tom King, whose “Mister Miracle” (with artist Mitch Gerads) gets a double-page advertisement later in the book, festooned with breathless blurbs from major media outlets. His narrator here is a little girl who is literally chained in captivity, clutching a Superman doll, and delivering her soliloquy in a manner of a superhero-themed TED talk with handclap repetitions on the nature of contradiction. Being faster than a speeding bullet is a CONTRADICTION. Being as strong as a locomotive is a CONTRADICTION. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound is a CONTRADICTION. Superman is about to lose the race, but then he wins, because to beat the Fastest Man Alive is... a contradiction. No wonder the GQ entertainment desk was blown away. DC comics do this kind of thing a lot, where they just have the writer tell you how great the characters are, and since you’re still reading superhero comics in the 21st century, you’re expected to pump your fists in recognition, because you and the writer and everyone at DC are just big ol’ fans... but I am not, because I am Jesus Christ, the only son of God. 

-Elsewhere in the Superman book is an issue of “Green Lantern” from 2006, drawn by Ethan Van Sciver (inked with Prentis Rollins, colored by Moose Baumann), who is known today mostly as a conservative ‘personality’ online. He also netted more than half a million dollars last July in a crowdfunding campaign to make a 48-page comic book which he has not yet finished; funny to see an American right-winger on the French schedule. Funnier still to see the kind of people (mostly guys of a certain age) who mill around such personalities croaking about how diversity is ruining comics, because ALMOST EVERY FUCKING STORY IN BOTH OF THESE 100-PAGE BOOKS IS DRAWN BY EITHER SOME DUDE FROM THE 1990s OR SOMEBODY WORKING EXPLICITLY IN THAT STYLE, but - I guess when you’ve been pampered for so long, every paper cut feels like a ripped limb. Speaking of dismemberment, the writer here is Geoff Johns, who is often pegged as a superhero traditionalist, though he also has a grasp of gory pomp which occasionally pushes the comics he writes into a Venn diagram set with loud youth manga... at least in terms of how the action plays out, all broad and pained. So, needless to say, he’s currently writing “Doomsday Clock”, which is DC’s present attempt to extend the publication life of the valuable “Watchmen” property, so that they needn’t return it to the original creators, per the original writer, Alan Moore.  

-To hear Alan Moore say it, the America’s Best Comics line was done on a work-for-hire basis as a means of ensuring prompt payment of the various creators from Jim Lee’s WildStorm, the original publisher. WildStorm was then acquired by DC (Jim Lee is now their co-publisher and chief creative officer), and Moore -- who has been (fairly) criticized in the past for taking ethical stances that cause financial harm to his artistic collaborators, who are in a less economically flexible position than writers in the comic book field -- allowed the line to continue under DC’s ownership, as to cancel everything would disadvantage everyone working on the titles. One of those titles, “Tom Strong”, was written by Moore and pencilled by Chris Sprouse for a while, and then there was a long line of guest creators, and then Moore and Sprouse came back when the ABC line wrapped, so that the concept could reach its logical termination point in an apocalyptic manner... Moore does love an apocalypse. The final story in the Superman book is a very recent, late 2018 issue of “The Terrifics”, in which we find an attempt to revive the DC-owned Tom Strong characters as players in broader DC stories. Jeff Lemire & José Luís are the primary creators. Jack Cole’s Plastic Man is there, as well as the John Ostrander/Tom Mandrake version of Mister Terrific. It’s a lot of offbeat characters; we even see Moore’s own parody of Hoppy the Marvel Bunny, because, I mean, Alan Moore does a lot of riffs on preexisting characters too, right? It’s a big blob of cartoon whimsy, filled with available characters running around. If they’re available, you might as well roll ‘em out, off the new releases rack and into a supermarket reprint package stacked in a box next to squeeze toys and discount Pokémon merchandise, which I bought, because it was really cheap.

-Jog                   

[templarbear]

So I finished a thing...

Last semester was very stressful, and to help relax, I started writing Destiny stuff again. This summer I’ve continued it, and I’ve been fixing up one of the stories I was working on before my Destiny hiatus. It’s a bit of an extension of headcanons and stuff I’ve RP’d, really fleshing out my Guardian, Dutch-37 and some of the people from his past. I thought I’d share the first chapter with the Destiny crowd here! Without further ado, I present to y’all...  37

(TW for Space Fantasy Violence, Some Language)

Chapter I

Three Guardians huddled together in their makeshift barracks, trying to block out the sandstorm which wailed around them. The barracks was a former Cabal observation post, solid, but worn from years of battle. Holes in it were crudely patched with lashed down Phalanx shields, which unfortunately left cracks for the storm to get in. As the trio sat quietly, the shield which served as the door was opened, sand and wind flying in as a fourth Guardian stumbled in.

“Thank the Light, I thought I was going to be blown away,” said the newcomer, a Warlock wearing the bond of the Praxic Order, “I’ll tell you what though, once the storm finally breaks, we’ll be reconnected to the Vanguard network.” 

    “Thanks Felix,” said the Hunter sitting on the floor, her long scarlet cloak wrapped around herself like a blanket, the sigil of the House of Devils painted on it. “Sooner we can call in a relief force and fresh supplies, the better.” As Felix entered, he shifted one of the Cabal shields, moving it across the opening to seal the barracks. The storm finally somewhat silenced, he removed his helmet to reveal a young human guardian, with close-cut black hair and deep brown skin. A streak of white face-paint marred his otherwise smooth skin. 

    “Mind you,” he said, “That’s if the Vanguard can spare anything for a small outpost on the Martian Front with only one fireteam of Guardians.” 

    “It’ll be alright,” said a Titan, bearing the mark of Pilgrim Guard. His heavy armor had seen many firefights, as evidenced by the numerous burns, scrapes, and scars which dotted its surface. “We can hold.” 

“Of course we can,” said the last Guardian, a Warlock by his armor and bond, which was that of the Crucible. “But not all of us are so good at punching things as you are. We need more ammunition, and I wouldn’t say no to some replacement troops.” The Guardians sat for a while, talking some, but mostly catching up on rest that was long overdue. At last, the storm outside began to quiet down, and they exited their barracks, wandering about their home away from home. The base was positioned overlooking a long canyon, with a low trench dug around it. Aside from the barracks, there was one building with a communications array set up, and various crates set around the area, which had been tossed around in the Martian storm. Poe-5, the Titan, accompanied Felix back to the comms building, where they began to scan channels for the Vanguard’s encryption. Dutch-37, the other Warlock, strode over to the trench line, peering through the scope of his auto-rifle across the sand as the Hunter dropped down beside him.

“See anything Dutch?” she said, lifting her own rifle to scope in. 

“I’ve got nothing,” he replied, holstering his rifle on his back. “Hopefully the Cabal stay back for a while until we can get a hold of the Vanguard.” They both turned to see Poe tapping his helmet as Felix tinkered with something inside. 

“With those two, I wouldn’t count on it,” she said, a wry tone in her voice. Dutch chuckled. 

“Have a little faith in them Caitlin, they’ll get it eventually.” She rolled her eyes inside her helmet. Across the way, Poe straightened up excitedly. 

“Guys! I’ve got a connection!” He turned toward them, his Ghost broadcasting the relay into all of their helmets. “Vanguard Actual, this is Cliffside Outpost, how copy?” The line was somewhat clouded by static, but after a moment the Guardians heard,

“-Outpost, we copy. What’s your sitrep?” 

Poe took the lead, saying, “We’ve held off several Cabal advance groups, but we’re getting low on ammunition and supplies. Requesting a relief force and resupply, over.” They waited a moment, as silence met them from the other end. 

“Alright, we’ve got a relief force heading out in half an hour. Supplies will be arriving with them. When they get-bzzt-head back to Transmat Zone 25 for pick up. We’re cycling out another Guardian unit nearby so we’ll have-bzzt-them there to catch a ride back to the Tower.”

Felix pumped a fist excitedly as Poe replied, “Thanks Vanguard Actual, Cliffside over and out.” The Guardians all shared a cheer, glad to finally be heading home for some time. Dutch smiled, and headed for the barracks. Inside, he walked over to the cot he had set up, taking down his decorations and stowing his notebooks inside of his pack. While he had a bit more in his apartment in the City, Dutch rarely brought anything with him on deployments, except for his notebooks and a few pictures with his Fireteam. Picking up the nearest one, he looked at the photo of him and Felix wearing paper Crota heads as Poe chased them with a sword.

“You know, one of these days I’ll finally get a look inside of those notebooks of yours,” Caitlin said, making Dutch jump a mile. He threw her a slight glare, sticking the last of his belongings into the pack. Finished, he sat down on his cot, removing his helmet to reveal the dark blue alloys of his Exo skin. He had two small horns above either eye, each yellow, and a yellow splatter he had Felix paint across his face. 

“Maybe Caitlin, just maybe,” he said as she removed her helmet to reveal a human, with shoulder length red hair which was tied into a loose ponytail and an array of freckles across her nose. “What makes you so interested in them anyway?” 

“Well,” she said, beginning to pack up her own area, “you guard them pretty well. I mean remember when Felix tried to steal one and you put him in a headlock?” Felix, who had just come in, shuddered. 

“Hey I was almost free when you guys broke it up,” Caitlin and Dutch both chuckled, fully aware that the small Dawnblade was hardly a bastion of physical strength. “But seriously Dutch, what’s in there that you’d choke your best friend out over it, huh?” he asked the Exo. 

“If I told you,” Dutch said, a wry smile on his lips, “then I’d have to kill you. It’s nothing, it’s just my private journals, I write notes and personal shit I don’t need people reading.” Felix raised an eyebrow, but smiled and dropped the topic.

“Alright, but if it’s full of confessions of your love for me, we both know you’ll be disappointed,” he said, his smile broadening as he packed his things. Poe looked over at him suspiciously as Felix waggled his eyebrows. 

“What’s that supposed to mean Felix? You don’t mean to tell us that some poor Guardian has been coerced into a date with you?” Felix spun around to the burly Exo, doing a little dance as he did so while Dutch and Caitlin laughed at the two.

“No tricks, no scams, no gimmicks my friend! Just a cute Titan who saw some of my action in the Crucible last time I was at the Tower!” Poe slapped a hand against his dented helmet, shaking his head. 

“If Saint-14 could see this he would weep. Oh the tragedy, how could a Titan have betrayed us like this?” he cried out in mock anguish. Felix rolled his eyes, throwing his stuff back into a pack.  As the fireteam packed, there was a slight pinging noise outside, and the sound of clanking. “Felix, go take a look would you?” Poe asked. 

Felix, grumbling, turned and walked outside, expecting to find a loose plate bouncing in the wind. As he exited the barracks, the clanking grew louder. Growing nervous, Felix tapped his helmet and opened a communications link to the others. 

“Guys? Something is up, get out here.” He raised his rifle, scanning the base. As the others joined him, he held up a hand. They halted, raising their various weapons in a defensive position. Felix strained to listen as an echo came through the sandy base- heavy, thudding marching. “CABAL!” he shouted, raising his rifle as dozens of Phalanxes marched into view at the base of the hill. Their slug rifles barked as they opened fire on the Guardians, the enormous aliens marching up the hill toward the base. The fireteam slid into the trench they had dug, returning fire. Poe watched as Dutch’s hand cannon brought one down, even as Felix’s auto rifle pinged bullets off of another’s shield. Caitlin’s Ghost took off, quickly buzzing to the communications panel, where it activated the relay before disappearing back to her. 

“Vanguard Actual, this is Cliffside Outpost, over!” Poe shouted as he fired off another round from his pulse rifle, which slammed into the head of one of the Phalanxes. 

“Bzzt- Vanguard, go ahead -bzzt- Outpost.” 

“We have hostiles attacking the Outpost, where are the relief forces and supplies?” Dutch swore as his gun ran dry. The Stormcaller tossed out a ball of lightning which expanded into a storm, downing another Phalanx. 

“Bzzzzzzzt- nearly there -bzzzzt-” Poe swore as the connection went static. The others fired some more, chasing off the remaining Phalanxes who had no doubt retreated to get reinforcements. The reprieve only lasted a minute or two, enough time to grab the remainder of the ammo they had stored away. At the base of the hill, a column of Legionnaires marched up the hill. The haggard Guardians fired back, shifting positions to dodge the grenades and slugs lobbed their way. At last, out of ammo, Felix looked over to see a Phalanx who’d reached the trenchline send Dutch flying with its shield. 

“No!” Felix cried, rage and Light filling him as two flaming wings sprouted from his back. Leaping into the air, a blade appeared in his hands, which he flung upon the Phalanx. His allies shielded their eyes as he showered fire upon the Cabal. At last, the survivors activated their jetpacks, retreating from the burning Warlock in a hurry.  

Exhausted after the battle, Felix landed, his wings fading. Caitling caught him as he slumped down into the trench, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him. The Warlock awoke to a tapping on his foot. Looking up groggily, he saw Dutch offering him a hand. As the Exo pulled him up, he noticed some other Guardians he didn’t recognize setting down crates and establishing a perimeter. 

“Relief force made it,” Dutch said. “Poe has your pack, we’re gonna go ahead and start walking to the pick-up zone.” Felix held up a hand, blocking out the bright sun. He hadn’t been training as a Dawnblade for long, and it still exhausted him every time he summoned the sword. “If you need a minute, we can wait,” Dutch said. Felix shook his head. 

“I’m alright, just tired. Let’s get going.” The two set off, meeting up with the others at the edge of the camp. The Fireteam turned back, waving goodbye both to the outpost they had called home for six months and to the Guardians replacing them there. Turning, they walked, silently, into the Martian sands. As they walked, Caitlin stepped up next to Dutch. 

“So what’ll you do when we get back?” she asked. He shrugged. 

“I have a bit of research I need to get done in the libraries there, but honestly I’m just going to take some time to relax.” He squinted, barely making out the small pickup point off in the distance. “What about you? Any fun plans?” Caitlin chuckled. 

“There may be some plans for the four of us in the works. I just gotta get in touch with a friend first, but you guys will enjoy it,” she said. Dutch couldn’t see her face, but he was sure she had another one of her wry smiles on her face. “That is, if we can manage to peel Felix away from his Titan friend.” The two chuckled, chatting to pass the time until they arrived at the zone. There, they found three other Guardians waiting for them, a Warlock and two Titans. Felix and Dutch recognized one of them, a Warlock by the name of Palus Scrawn. 

“Palus, good to see you,” Dutch said. The other Warlock nodded to him. 

“Felix, Dutch, it is good to see you. How was your deployment?” Dutch and Felix both shrugged in sync. Palus nodded, chuckling. “It was quite the same for me. My research all but ground to a halt here due to the constant stream of Cabal; I look forward to returning to the City, where I can pick up where I left off.” As Dutch opened his mouth to respond, a large gunship came into view, hovering above the assembled Guardians. Wordlessly, they transmatted aboard the ship, which sped off toward Earth. As they flew, the other fireteam all fell asleep, lolling to the sides in their harnesses. Dutch, eager for rest, and Felix, still exhausted from his use of Daybreak, also quickly fell asleep, leaving Poe and Caitlin as the only conscious members of the ship. Poe leaned in to Caitlin, keeping an eye on Palus. 

“Who is that Warlock who spoke with Dutch and Felix?” he whispered to her. She shuddered, a shadow passing over her face.

“He’s eerie. I first met him through Dutch, but my friend had gone on a mission with him. He’s one of those Thanatonauts, the Warlocks that die over and over to try and find new knowledge. I think it’s messed him up a bit. Apparently his Ghost is also somewhat odd, or at least, that’s what my friend told me.” Poe shuddered. He had died several times since his rebirth, but the idea of doing so on purpose spooked him. 

“Warlocks are so odd,” he said, turning his eyes to their sleeping companions. “Caitlin, do you know what those two research?” She shook her head. 

“Not specifically. I know that Dutch has been doing something with the Hive, while Felix works with studies of the Light. Other than that, I don’t really know.” Poe shuddered. 

“Dutch’s research worries me, whatever it is. There was this time on Luna-” He suddenly stopped, choosing to fake a yawn instead. “Ah, it’s not important.” 

She frowned as Poe fell silent, nodding as he sat back to rest. Why didn’t she know more about what her friends were researching? After all, she didn’t want either of them to wind up like Osiris, or worse, Toland. Looking up she saw that Palus had woken up and was staring at her. Without his helmet, she saw an Awoken who was missing one eye. He smiled at her, leaving Caitlin with a sense of unease which she couldn’t shake until the City came into view. 

[jojo-lity]

Iris

thank you for commissioning, i really hope you enjoy it!

pairing: okuyasu nijimura/reader word count: 3709 rating: sfw

ao3 link

“Morioh Grand Hotel, how may we help you?”

The room service worker patiently waited as their guest deliberated over the breakfast options. Conscious of available money and time, she took a simple option, prepared to just get a big lunch if it proved inadequate. Despite her nerves, she managed to get it all down, quickly checking everything one last time before setting out.

Somewhere in that town, where she was walking, Rohan Kishibe lived.

He was a new face in the manga world, but he had carved out his reputation at a phenomenal speed. Naturally, when he had offered the chance for one select participant to learn from him, she had put everything she had into proving herself. Even now, her ability recognised, meeting him was almost as fearful as it was exciting. 

Carefully navigating the public transport network, she made her way to the address she had been given. Assuming that it would be the directions to his home, she was initially dismayed to see a cafe, until she saw him at one of the outdoor tables.

He was working furiously, only occasionally pausing to glance at the vase of flowers in front of him. Not daring to interrupt, she circled behind him to look at the canvas, stunned by the decisive shading and colouring. Far from Rohan’s usual stylised work, it was almost indistinguishable from a photograph.

She waited for him to be certainly finished before clearing her throat. Conscious that he didn’t like to waste time, she launched right into speaking. “Hello!” He didn’t appear to respond to her name, but at the mention of the competition, he blinked and pulled a small photograph from his pocket. Looking closer revealed what she suspected: it was the picture she had submitted with her entry.

“Oh, of course, the contest winner. Sit down, then.” He made a quick gesture towards the table’s other seat, which also had a canvas set up in front of it.

So maybe he wasn’t chatty, but his skills were undeniable. She looked forward to being able to improve her own.

“What’s the first thing you look to for inspiration?” Once she was seated, he questioned her in a clear, rehearsed voice, a single eye peeking out from behind the canvas to stare.

Did she even have a clear answer to that question? She took a moment to think, conscious of his unblinking gaze. “Uh… you?” Everyone liked to be flattered, didn’t they?

“Wrong.” The exposed half of his face retreated from view. “When creating something… your first point of contact should be reality. Always. If you want people to read your manga, they need to understand it. It needs to be familiar to them in some way. So always, build from a foundation of absolute reality.” He spun his canvas around to face her, displaying the painted vase she had already seen. “This is what you’ll start with.”

So she was drawing still lifes? That wasn’t what she signed up for, but she couldn’t argue with Rohan’s results, and it was only the first day. She had weeks to learn about manga.

While she worked, Rohan did the same, though she had no idea what he was doing. It wasn’t her greatest area of expertise, but her finished product was judged as “not terrible”, and she was immediately assigned a new subject. And so it seemed to continue for the rest of the day.

The atmosphere barely shifted from morning to afternoon, until the cafe was suddenly crowded by students on their way home from school. To her, it was inevitable that someone would eventually notice the celebrity in their midst- the only surprise was that it took so long.

“Hey, is that Rohan over there?”

Who was addressing him so casually? She got her answer when their table was crowded by three students, in varying sizes and uniforms but apparently all high-schoolers. They were clearly curious, but to her surprise, that curiosity appeared to centre on her.

“Rohan, no way!” Forgoing a greeting, one of the taller students cried out in shock and anguish. “Don’t tell me that you have a girlfriend!” His purple-uniformed friend patted his shoulder.

“Come on, Okuyasu, there’s gotta be some other explanation. Right?” He grinned at her, a considerably more enthusiastic look than he had given Rohan. Were they not his fans?

Rohan seemed to have nothing to say, too busy showing his notebook to the smaller student (Koichi, she thought she heard him be called), so she went ahead and answered his question. “Nothing like that! I’m just here to learn from him.” 

Okuyasu visibly brightened up, leaning closer to inspect one of her many paintings. “Hey, this isn’t manga.”

“I’m… learning about reality?” Now that someone else mentioned it, maybe it really was strange that manga had barely been mentioned, let alone practiced. Neither of them looked surprised, though, with the boy in purple even muttering about how that sounded like Rohan, all right.

“Hey, this is really good! Come look, Josuke!” Okuyasu held up her rendering of the vase, displaying it with the fascination that she only felt for the greatest works. Her painting was good, but it hardly compared to that- did he really like it that much? His excitement showed no signs of fading as he explored the rest of the day’s works, including the half-finished one resting on her easel. He didn’t so much as glance at any of Rohan’s. “Man, you should be teaching him…” He leaned down to deliver that thought in a loud whisper, conscious of Rohan being distracted but not far away.

It wasn’t the first time she had been complimented, but such obvious admiration produced a curious lightheadedness that made it difficult to respond. An oddly pitched laugh escaped her before any words could. “I don’t know…”

“So you’re just painting stuff you can see?” Josuke’s line of sight travelled from the tree sketched on her canvas, to the real tree that stood some distance away. “I guess that’s cool, but eventually you’d run out of stuff…”

“Then we’d go somewhere else.” She hoped they wouldn’t be spending the whole time painting, though.

“Yeah, I guess… hang on!” His smile was blinding. “You could paint us! That’d be something you haven’t done before, right?”

Even if she had no idea what Rohan would say about it, she was having a hard time thinking of any reason to refuse. He was clearly occupied, and humans were examples of reality, weren’t they? They had interesting appearances and outfits, and… maybe she wouldn’t mind an excuse to look at Okuyasu for a while. Unaware she was smiling until it pulled at her cheek muscles, she nodded, sliding a fresh canvas onto the easel and preparing her sketching tools.

—

Okuyasu had never been painted before. He quickly discovered there was a lot he didn’t know about the experience- mainly, how much staring it involved. She was apparently painting both of them, but her eyes seemed to be on him constantly, following the outlines of his body at a glacial speed. Only the persistent scratching of pencil on paper kept him grounded in reality, and prevented him from getting too embarrassed.

His muscles were starting to cramp when she lowered her hand, letting them both know that they could take a break. Right away, he took the opportunity to stretch, arms flexing under his fairly tight sleeves. If he was still being watched, with a growing sense of admiration, he wasn’t aware of it.

“Hey!” As soon as he was done, he was leaning over the canvas, trying to get an upside-down glimpse of her progress. “Are you almost done?”

She shook her head. “This is only the first stage.” From what he could see, she was right- two human figures adorned the canvas, instantly recognisable from silhouette alone, but rough and lacking in most details. Curious about what their new acquaintance thought of him, his eyes lingered on his own likeness. There was a strong body, created with large, blocky shapes, but the faint lines of his eyes and mouth held a softer quality. Unconsciously seeking a comparison, his fingers drifted to his own lips for a moment.

“You like it?” At her question, he reluctantly tore his eyes away, resuming his previous position.

“Yeah, of course! I’m no art critic, but it’s awesome!” It almost didn’t seem fair that someone so pretty could have so much talent. If she wasn’t so kind, he would never forgive her… but didn’t being kind make it even worse? “So what’s the next stage?” 

She took a small paintbrush from a nearby pot of water, briefly pointing it at each of them. “I have to sketch out the scenery. Then, I’ll start shading in all the darkest bits before adding the rest of the colours.” Okuyasu nodded along with her, doing his best to appear thoughtful.

Whether it was her explanation, his earlier yelling, or just sheer coincidence that was responsible, no further words could be spoken before Rohan looked up and noticed what had been happening right across from him. “You’re still here? Go find something else to do, I’m not done teaching.”

“But-“ He gave them no chance to protest, shooing them away with persistence. Their smaller friend went with them, leaving just Rohan and his student at the table once again. Without even looking at it, he took her canvas and placed it with the others.

“That’s enough of that for now. We’ll go over the basics of manga.”

—

She worked hard all week, picking up new techniques and taking on new perspectives. Though none of it came naturally yet, she was already convinced that she had grown as an artist. She would have been happy to work on Sunday, but Rohan had refused, claiming he needed time to himself. Maybe that wasn’t so bad- she had barely been able to explore Morioh.

The neighbourhoods she wandered through were quiet and lightly populated, the exact opposite of the landscape she was used to navigating. It was surprising how much of a difference it made to be hearing birds chirping instead of trucks and sirens in the background. What was the best way to convey that noise through a drawing? Her notepad and pencils rest at the top of her bag, ready to be taken out at any time, but she kept searching for the perfect place alongside the near-empty roads.

As she circled back towards the city centre, the tranquility slowly faded, bird calls drowned out by laughter. But where was the laughter coming from? That was easy to identify- the teenagers on the other side of the street weren’t exactly being subtle about their joy. It only took one look for her to recognise them. After spending the time and effort to sketch them, they weren’t easily forgotten.

“Okuyasu! Josuke! Hi!” She waved, pleased when they not only waved back, but hurried across the road to greet her.

“Hey! What’s up?” Breathless and grinning, Okuyasu was the first to respond. “Rohan isn’t with you?”

“It’s my day off.” She gestured to the scenery before them. “I was just looking around.”

“Great!” Josuke seemed to exchange a glance with Okuyasu before continuing. “We were heading to Kameyu for some stuff, wanna come? Maybe we can hang out after.”

She didn’t really need anything, but it would be nice to have some company for a while. At the department store, Okuyasu accumulated several shopping bags, while Josuke’s purchases amounted to a few snacks. Chivalrously, he picked up a few of his friend’s bags, and she followed suit.

Their walk back to the neighbourhood was more of a stroll, with plenty of stops to show off some of Morioh’s landmarks to its visitor. She didn’t realise that she had been near-constantly laughing until their sudden arrival at Josuke’s house.

“Well, this was fun, but I gotta go. Mom needed me to fix something, could be a while.” Maybe it was her imagination, but it almost seemed like he and Okuyasu shared another quick look. Before she could be certain, he was hurrying away, and Okuyasu’s attention turned to her.

“I guess you’ll probably be going too?” He said it as if it was inevitable, but not something he was looking forward to. It made something in her chest flutter. Did he really want to keep spending time with her?

“I wasn’t planning on it. Even if you’re going, there’s some interesting stuff here.” Scanning the houses she could see, she picked one out to point at. “Like that one, I’d love to draw that one.” It was huge, but it looked abandoned- most of the windows were boarded up, which wasn’t stopping vines and bushes from growing out of most of them.

To her surprise, Okuyasu perked up, uttering a noise of disbelief. “No way, that’s my house! You should totally draw it!” Lifting his shopping bags onto his shoulders, he broke into a run directly towards the house, vaulting himself over the gate. Still carrying half his bags, she had little choice but to follow at a slower pace.

By the time she reached the house, he had opened the gate, and was holding the house’s door open even while she stood several feet away. His smile was so sweet that it was impossible not to smile back as she passed in front of him.

“Well, here it is!” Once he could close the door, he slipped back in front of her to guide her through the narrow halls. “Kind of a maze, but stick to places with lights on and you’ll be fine.”

Despite the house’s size, there wasn’t much in it. The furniture was minimal, and the few photos he saw scattered around were all of Okuyasu, Josuke, Koichi, or all three. “You don’t… live here alone, do you?” He was still in high school, but he was clearly handling all the shopping himself… it was a possibility, wasn’t it?

“Nah, my dad lives here too.” He gathered all the bags together, thanking her when she handed over what she had carried. “But he’s asleep. Doesn’t really like to be woken up.”

“Oh.” No one would interrupt their time together. She felt a little bad for being relieved. 

“Don’t worry about it.” There was still a smile on Okuyasu’s face. “You can draw whatever you want, I’ll just be in the kitchen. Got a new recipe to try!” So he was cute, kind, and a cook? Meeting him seemed luckier by the second.

Bringing out her pencils and notepad, she took a seat at the dinner table. “So, what are you making?”

She was no stranger to losing track of time, but it was still a shock to look out the window for the first time since their conversation started and realise how much the sky had darkened. Hours must have passed, but a quick once-over of her notepad revealed that it had barely been touched.

“Done!” She was startled once again by Okuyasu lifting a giant pot over his head, steam billowing out above them. “Just gotta put it on plates, then we can eat.”

“We? You mean… me as well?”

“Well… yeah?” He nodded a few times, slowed down by confusion. “I thought you’d be staying for dinner, kinda why I made so much. If you’ve gotta go, I can put some in a box, hang on-”

She interrupted midway through his reach for a kitchen drawer. “No, no, I want to stay!” Dinner or no dinner, she couldn’t say she was ready to leave. Everything she had learned about him only made her want to know more. “Want any help with the plates?”

“Nah, Tonio says I’m really good at it. Watch.” Armed with only a large fork and pair of tongs, he did fill each plate with spaghetti in record time, curling it up into a perfect spiral shape without spilling a drop of sauce. She couldn’t imagine how many times he must have practiced- it was a form of art in itself, despite his claims to have no talent in the field. He claimed to be talentless at most things, then went ahead and proved himself wrong again and again.

“Well, here you go! Hope you like it!” It took a moment for her to stop admiring his smile and start admiring the meal. After seeing it up close, and smelling it, her hopes were confirmed- the small chunks of meat present throughout the dish were chicken. Her favourite. He couldn’t have known… but she wasn’t sure if she believed in such coincidences.

She waited until he sat across from her to start. It seemed a shame to ruin the presentation of the plate, until she tasted it. Then she couldn’t get enough, only stopping to take advantage of the parmesan that he offered. He didn’t even feel the need to ask if she liked it. They were both too busy to talk much, but she had to stifle a laugh every time he slurped up a strand, and when he smiled afterwards.

The sound of him clearing his throat drew her attention away from the last few forkfuls she had been chasing around her plate. As the sun set, the kitchen’s dim light had done less and less to illuminate the corners of the room, creating the effect of a much closer space. “Hey…” His usually-enthusiastic voice was hushed, and had a soft quality that made her heart swell. “Thanks for being here. It was really great to hang out.”

Tossing her utensils aside, she practically leapt to grab his hands. “I should thank you for inviting me! I had a wonderful time!” Her smile was peaceful, but her eyes were shining. It was so nice to be close to him. He was sweet and understanding and warm, right down to the absolute core of him, in a way that she wasn’t sure she had seen before or would ever see again. They were right next to each other, and he didn’t seem to mind that, maybe she could…

Only an accidental glance out the window stopped her from kissing him, instead letting out a cry of dismay. How had she let it get so late? There was the bus she was supposed to catch, already at the stop. There was no way she would get out of the house and across the road in time.

“Hey… are you okay?” There didn’t seem to be much use, but Okuyasu sounded so sympathetic that she couldn’t help but explain her dilemma. Just having him there was already mildly comforting.

As he stood up, he took a gentle hold of her arm, tugging at it until she stood up too. “Come on. We’ll go get it.”

“Get it? But it’s already going to leave, we won’t…”

“We’ll catch up! Come on!” It was hard to refuse when he seemed so certain. After taking a second to gather her belongings, she let him take a firm grip of her hand, doing her best to keep up as he ran right out of the house. “All right!” He yelled as soon as they were across the street, waving his free hand in front of him in a wide sweeping motion…

And there they were, right in front of the bus’ closing door.

In a mild daze, she let Okuyasu guide her onto the bus without protest, and found a seat to sit in before she started thinking. They must have run fast enough to catch up to the bus, but why didn’t she remember half of it? She wasn’t usually someone who failed to pay attention to her surroundings, or forgot things right away.

All that she was certain of was that he had helped her in some way, and that was enough to keep her from worrying.

—

She was happy to say that she had learned from her mistake. After weeks of fun and learning, her final meeting with the friends she had made in Morioh took place right at the bus stop. None of them were happy to see her go, but they had exchanged addresses and phone numbers, and even discussed a potential visit next summer. Saying goodbye turned out to be a little easier, when they knew it wasn’t the end.

She had purposely saved a particular goodbye for last. Even if it had only been a few weeks, she had spent most of her free time with Okuyasu, learning and experiencing everything she could with him by her side. Standing there, she was certain of what she had known from the beginning: there was something special about him, or maybe just about the two of them together.

The way he was freely sobbing seemed to indicate he agreed, even if he was equally likely to express any emotion through sobbing. It was just barely possible to tell that his halting words were expressions of sorrow at her leaving, and implorations that she come back soon. Where words failed to comfort him, hugs seemed to help just a bit.

“You will come back, right? You’re not just saying that?” He was intelligible, which was an improvement.

“Of course! Here, take this.”

His face lit up with understanding when he recognised what he had been handed. A small canvas, still displaying the half-finished sketch of himself and Josuke. He hadn’t even expected her to keep it, much less give it to him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure! This way, I have to come back to finish it, don’t I?” Her smile was bright, but if he had been able to look closely, he might have spotted a few tears struggling to escape. “So don’t worry. I’ll call every day, I’ll write, and I’ll come back as soon as I can. You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

He fell silent for a moment, then he was crying even harder, wrapping around her in a crushingly strong hug. “I’ll never forget about you either! I’ll call every day too! I promise!”

Only the arrival of the bus made them stop hugging, but they were waving at each other until they were out of sight, still together only in their hearts.