#yes I’m one of those need constant maintenance work people

[jaguarracing]

my joints make waaayyyy to many noises for it to be healthy…

…also I miss my physio and osteo

#like mates I had JUST got on a good alternative every second week rotation and it was great #I HURT IN ALL THE PLACES!! #god I need a proper massage #my poor neck and traps #yes I’m one of those need constant maintenance work people #blame the strong horses I rode as a kid for my fucked shoulders #oh and my oddly loose joints and tight muscles

[ellana-ravenwood]

“You are not hard to love” - Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Something very VERY quick, that I suddenly felt compelled to write, once again in the middle of the night. I didn’t plan on writing it, but here we are. This is for anyone who ever felt like they were “hard to love”. You’re not. You just haven’t found the right person...Anyway, here. For you : 

__________________________________________________

To be “hard to love” is a character flaw Bruce always felt he had. 

It was actually hard, to exist with this knowledge, no matter how little he tried to make himself feel. Or not feel, for that matter. 

As “Brucie Wayne”, a lot of people liked him, and the rest hated him for being so arrogant and smug. There were no inbetween. 

Many people judged him to be just another idiot with a lot of money. They hated his guts. Or they admired him for his self-confidence. Still thinking, though, that he was a bit of a dunce. 

It was fine. He wanted them to think that of him. To see him for someone he really wasn’t. So it’d blur the line, so they’d never guess who the Batman really was. 

As a result, it was difficult, to love, truly love, “Brucie Wayne”. Then again, he wouldn’t want anyone to love him for what he wasn’t. This public persona of him, would never know real love. It was fine. 

But his real self. His real self. 

Batman. 

Was probably the number one reason Bruce felt he was so hard to love... 

Who would want to put up with this shit ? Who, in their right mind, would want to love a man like him ? Bruce knew himself very well. Unfortunately. 

Sometimes, even him couldn’t stand himself. 

He knew he could be abrasive, arrogant, self-important, cold, too focus on a task at hand to care about anyone’s feelings etc etc...He knew that his real self, the one he showed more with his Batman side, wasn’t very likable. 

He found it hard, to connect to others. It was hard to stay connected anyway, when he was always stuck in his own head. 

He knew himself very well. He did. He knew how he was, and he couldn’t possibly see anyone putting up with it, and loving him. 

He didn't even like himself very much...

Every single time he fell in love, things didn’t end well. Because he’s too high maintenance. Because it’s hard to keep up with him and his moods...even for someone like Selina Kyle. 

Even she, whom he felt understood him more than anyone he met before, got tired of his games. Ah, but she was also too fiercely independent for what he wanted. Mmm...But who was he fooling ? He knew she’d never stay too long with him, not only because she was independent, but because he was too difficult to be with. 

And it hurt. It really did. 

Because deep down, what Bruce really wanted...It’s love. Real love. True love. Unconditional love. As stupid as it might sound, to anyone knowing him. Ah but, if you truly knew him, it all made sense. 

He would never admit it, not even to himself, but his fear of being completely abandoned ran deep. And his want of finding someone who would accept him for who he truly was was even deeper. 

But he was hard to love. 

Who could ever put themselves through the ringer like that, and love someone like Bruce Wayne ? Like...Like Batman ? 

And then...then you came in. 

************

He still thought he was hard to love. Difficult to be with. 

Your relationship, at that time, was somewhat new. It hadn’t been serious for long. But serious it was, in Bruce’s eyes, at least. 

Ah but he kept thinking he was too hard to love. That you would leave for sure, once you would realize it. His insecurities got the best of him often, even as he tried to ignore them and just enjoy what he had for the time being. 

Up until...

It happened shortly after his first real fight with you. He had one of his “dark day” (which he didn’t have much anymore), where he would be ultra-focus on his Batman work, and be a jerk to any outside distraction. 

Except you would have none of it, as you were trying to tell him something important. And thus, the fight began. 

And he shut down. Put up walls, once again, between him and you. Because that’s what he did. And it made everything worst, of course. 

He couldn’t stand the flood of feelings that came from being too emotional. Angry because of the fight, sad too, and absolutely terrified he might lose you if you guys fought enough for you to realize he’s just...Too hard to love. 

So he suppressed his emotions. As usual. It was much easier for him to give you the silent treatment than go through the pain of talking it out. It was too overwhelming for him, he wasn’t good at the whole “feeling things”. 

He was too afraid he’d say something he would dearly regret. He knew it was healthier, to talk it out. But he just couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with those emotions. And so he shut you out, you got frustrated, and then Dick tried to...

The sweet little boy tried to get you two to talk, to calm down, and Bruce snapped at him. He didn’t meant to. He instantly regretted it. But he did.

Which was the last straw that broke the camel back for you. You told him to “go to hell”, took Dick’s hand (who looked absolutely crestfallen, just remembering his facial expression made Bruce’s heart hurt), and left. 

Bruce felt like this was it. He just ruined the one good thing in his life. 

The one thing that, after years of being stuck in the dark, brought him light. 

You, and his newly adopted son. 

Lights of his life. 

He needed you two. But he understood if you decided to go...He was too hard to love. He would let you go, if it meant you’d be happier (what a fool). 

He was too much, too much. 

For hours, hours and hours, he beat himself down for it. Stuck in his own head once again. Hating himself. 

Sitting alone in front of the batcomputer, barely paying attention to what is scrolling on the screen...Bruce felt like shit. 

Why ? Why did he have to be like that ?

Why couldn’t he...be someone who was easy to love ? Who wasn’t a constant challenge to everyone around him ? 

Yes. That’s it. He was a challenge. A challenge who could’nt-

Footsteps. Taking him out of this darkness spiraling downward and downward. 

And it’s you. You’re right there. Looking at him critically, and he’s sure...

He’s sure you came to break up with him. That he shut you out one too many times. That him being a jerk to little Dickie was too much. That-

“There’s-”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t hear you say it. So he cuts you off, with words that made his heart bleed : 

“I know, we’re done.”

“Excuse me ?”

He can’t look at you. Can’t bear it. He turns around, and continues, trying to sound as neutral as possible, trying to not let his voice crack, going right to the point, as fast as possible, so he can keep it up : 

“I went too far. Too many times. You’ve...had enough of me. I understand.” 

“What ?” 

In your voice, he can hear surprise. Ah. You were too nice to realize that one day, it would come to this. That one day, you were doomed to leave him because he was too much. 

You were too...good for him, to him. Too good to realize he knew it all along. 

And so here you were, surprised he figured it out. Surprised he knew, before you told him, that you were leaving him. 

“I know I’m hard to love. I do. And you-”

“Wait wait wait, uh ? You think I’m gonna bail out because you were a jerk ? You think you’re too hard to love ? Oh Bruce...”

There’s a short pause, as if you’re searching for your words. 

He looks up at you, feeling a dash of hope invade his heart. He tries to fight it, but he can’t. Because...Because...Finally, you say : 

“Bruce. When we started this, when it became serious, when I decided to jump in your life and in Dick’s...I knew what I was getting myself into. I know you enough. I know the Batman side of you. I know you have moments you’re just...you’re just too stuck in your own head, and in your pain. I know.” 

You put a soft hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you by raising his head. 

“I know what you think of yourself. And I know what others think of you. You’re arrogant, cold, unforgiving blahblahblah insert many more words saying how difficult it is for you to show your true self and emotions. But...But I also know that’s not all there is to you. I know you, and others, are wrong about you. Too hard on you. I know you.” 

You take a step closer to him, and lay your forehead against his. 

“I know you’re funny, like, seriously hilarious. No one ever made me laugh like you. I know you care, sometimes too much, and it’s why things are so hard for you many times. I know you’re actually a great dad, no matter what you think. I know many admire you, you’re truly amazing. You’re smart, caring, loving...I know that it’s hard for you to open up, to love...but when you do, when you do...You love really hard, Bruce. Fully, intensely, passionately, with your entire being. I never felt so loved, than when you hold me. When you-”

There’s a short pause, and Bruce realizes it’s because you’re blushing and have to regain control of yourself again. It doesn’t surprise him. What you’re saying right now, makes his heart beat a hundred time faster, and he can feel his face burning. 

Only you, ever made him blush so...

You take a deep breath, and say : 

“All my life Bruce. All my life I felt I was hard to love.” 

At this, Bruce can’t help but scoff, and he’s about to say something but you cut him off sternly : 

“I’m not done, mister. As I was saying, my entire life, I too, felt like I was hard to love. But when I met you...When I met you, I realized I felt that way because the people around me always made me feel like that. Always made it sound like it was a chore, to put up with me. That they could love me without making any compromises, while I had to change completely for them. Because I was too “difficult” you know ? Because sometimes, I too would have mood swings, or a need to be alone, or...just things that are not considered normal. That are associated with being hard to love. And I was surrounded with people who made me feel bad about this. Who made me feel like I had to change to be normal, and to finally have love.” 

Your arms snake around his shoulders now, and you hold him tight against your chest, kissing the top of his head. 

“You made me realize, Bruce, my Bruce, that...That I’m not actually hard to love. That I was just surrounded with people who weren’t willing to make the effort for me. Which is fine. No-one has to put up with anything if they don’t want to. But...Nobody is hard to love. They just never found the right person. The one willing to fight for them. It’s what you made me realize.”

He holds you back now. With all his might. What is this stinging feeling in his eyes ? 

“I love you. Unconditionally. I know who you are. And I want to fight for you. I will always fight for you. I’m not promising that I’ll never grow frustrated, and yell at you back, to then storm off. I’m not saying we’ll never fight. I’m just saying...It doesn’t matter. Because I love you. And I’ll always find my way back to you.” 

In your eyes, he can see it, there’s a strong light shining. 

One that proves him you love him. Deeply, and unconditionally. 

One that led him out of a dark pass many times before. 

One that proved...That proved maybe, he wasn’t that hard to love. 

Not when he finally found the right one. 

He couldn’t believe you ever thought YOU were hard to love. Ah. Has anyone in the world ever been as perfect for each other as you two were ?

“I love you.” 

He says. His entire being, all his emotions, poured in those three little words. 

“I love you too Bruce. And believe me, saying those words to you ? It’s very easy.”

His arms around you tightens even more. And then you add : 

“Now that this is out of the way...We can talk more about this later, but for now, there’s more pressing matters at hands. I actually came down here to ask if...if you wanted some ice cream ? Dick and I went out for a little bit, and brought all our favorite. Yours, too. We thought we’d need a “pick-me-up”. All of us. As a family. We’re supposed to go through things together...And ice cream helps, yes ?”

He nods. His throat too tight to say anything. And for the moment, it’s fine. He’ll tell you later. He’ll tell you how much you mean later. If he can’t find the words, he’ll find other ways to show you. 

You know anyway. You know he loves you. Just as strong as you love him. 

He loves you just as you are. You love him just as he is. 

“I love you.”

He whispers, and you smile at him, of this life-changing smile that showed him the light... You peck him on the lips, before taking his hand and walking out of the batcave, to the Manor. 

Where ice cream, and a very sweet little boy eager to raise his dad’s spirit, were waiting. 

Unconditional love. 

Bruce Wayne, wasn’t hard to love. And now, he was surrounded with the right people to make him understand this.

__________________________________________________

I just have a lot of feelings about Bruce Wayne haha. I just wanted to write a little something. It also stems from my own feelings. I’m sure we all felt at some point, that we were/are impossible to love. That no one will ever put up with our shit...yet there are people unwilling to give up on you, people who make you “better” etc etc. So. Yeah. I wrote this very quickly. Once again, watch me feel too much in the middle of the night haha. Sorry if this isn’t very good, it’s one of those “bonus” story I suddenly think about and write quickly in one sitting. I enjoyed writing it, but I admit it took less effort than most stories. So. Yes. 

If you liked it, don’t hesitate to leave a little feedback and reblog if ya want :). 

#Bruce Wayne x reader #Bruce Wayne imagine #Batman x reader #Batman imagine #Batfam x Reader #Batfam #DC reader insert #Bruce Wayne needs love ok ? #We don't talk enough about how hard he is #on himself #like he ain't flawless for sure #but he's so unforgiving of his own #mistakes and such #anyway here we are #fem!reader

[yamigooops]

Tire Tracks

pairing: street racer! bakugou x mechanic! y/n

words: 2.8k

warnings: language 

Cars were your whole life. You grew up in your father’s mechanic shop and learned everything you knew from him. Customers came and went, some more frequently than others, but cars were the one constant thing in your life. You were able to lose yourself in the process of finding and fixing problems, speaking better with parts than with people.

You barely even registered the smell of oil and gasoline anymore. The thin layer of grime that coated your arms was like a second skin, and you were at home here. The cars all around you purred and multiple gaudy sound systems pounded in the crisp night air. The roar of engines was music to your ears, and you had spent the first 45 minutes of the meet up going around looking at the different setups people had.

Now, though, you were doing final checks on the one car that brought you here: Bakugou’s suped up racer. You rebuilt most of the engine yourself, put countless hours into making it faster and stronger. This car was your baby just as much as it was his, and you felt a twinge of nerves knowing what was to come.

“Everything ready down there?” barked the man in question. You finished double checking the last bolt before pushing yourself out from under the vehicle, only to find the blonde staring down at you impatiently.

“Yeah, it looks fine, no thanks to you,” you huffed, sitting up and wiping your hands on a nearby towel. “Listen, I get that you’re gonna go hard tonight, but if you fuck this car up again, I swear I’m done with you.” You put as much threat into your voice as possible as you stood, putting a hand to your hip and glaring at him.

A sly grin split his sharp features. “Aww come on, Y/N, we both know you wouldn’t give up that easy on her,” he taunted, placing an elbow on top of the car and rapping it with his knuckles. “You love her too much.”

He wasn’t wrong, this car was your pride and joy. “You’re right. It’s the person inside I’m worried about,” you rolled your eyes and turned away to open the hood. You had already triple checked everything underneath, but you needed something to occupy yourself with, so you didn’t have to be around Bakugou.

You had known the fired-up blonde ever since middle school, when his dad started coming to yours for maintenance. See, his dad was a local racer, and heard that your dad had the best service around. Well, he would often bring Bakugou in order to teach him about the inner workings of a car. Because of this, the two of you had practically grown up together, spending weekends at the racetrack and weekdays learning what your fathers had to teach you.

But that didn’t mean you liked one another.

Katsuki had always been full of himself. It could have been because of his looks or his dad’s success, or any other factor, you didn’t really care. All you knew was you hadn’t had a normal conversation in longer than you could remember. They always ended in one of you riling the other up, sometimes becoming yelling matches if things got really serious.

You sometimes questioned why you still worked with him, the little asshole. When you both turned 16, your parents decided to buy a junk car, and have you fix it together to test how much you had learned over the years. It took almost 6 months to get it into good shape, but you did it, the only setback being that you were constantly bickering. It was nearly impossible to make decisions about what to do because neither of you wanted to give in to the other.

After that, you continued to work on cars and decided to go to mechanic school after high school. Katsuki went to a traditional 4-year college, and you thought that would be the end of your tormented relationship with him, but no. He contacted you after two years and asked if you would help him with a project, which you agreed to. Ever since then, you’ve become somewhat of a team, travelling around the country to compete in race after race. Some were sanctioned and official, while others tore through backroads and had come to an end when the cops arrived.

Bakugou was one of the best street racers in the country, pushing himself and his vehicle harder than most were willing to do. His lack of inhibition and self-confidence were the keys to his success. Well, those and the fact that you were always there to fix up the damage he caused. You had been doing this together for four years, now each 24 years old, and you couldn’t help but admit that these races made you feel… alive. The whine of an engine as it shoots past you at near top speed, the screeching of tires as they skidded around tight turns, it was all like a fever dream.

The only issue with Bakugou’s racing was he tended to be reckless. Scuffed paint jobs, cracked tire plates, he always pushed his cars to their very limit and made you deal with fixing his mess afterword. Yes, sometimes he would help you, but seeing as you were the actual mechanic on the team you were stuck with the majority, if not all of the work.

“This race’ll be easy, Y/N. Don’t even worry. I mean, we’re gonna be on a dirt road in the middle of a field for god’s sakes, at least there are no buildings or streetlights to worry about,” he called from his place beside the car.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you groaned. “You’ll look at that open road and think it’s okay to push as hard as you can!”

“Babe, that’s what makes me so good,” he chuckled, stepping up beside you at the hood.

He always did that, calling you pet names just to piss you off. It always did, making your insides squirm with distaste. At least, you told yourself it was distaste.

“You’ve already checked this thing like four times, just settle down it’s fine.” His voice, normally course like metal grating together, had a softer edge to it. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his crimson ones, and nodded. Pulling the hood shut, you turned around and leaned against it, crossing your arms. You looked over Bakugou as he pulled out his phone to send a text.

He’d recently gotten a haircut, shaving the sides of his head short and leaving the top to its normal spikes, and you had to admit, you thought it suited him better. It showed off his sharp jawline, which had only grown sharper as you got older. His bare arms were cut, unsurprising as he spent a great deal of time in the gym. He wore his signature high-necked black cutoff with a bold red X on the front, with army green cargo pants that cinched at the ankles. As per usual when he raced, he did his dramatic eye black to intimidate his opponents. It usually worked.

“Listen, I just don’t want you messing her up again, okay? I put so much into this car and the past three races I’ve had to set aside hours to fix her. I can’t keep doing that when I have paying customers that need my help too,” you tried to explain calmly. His head snapped up.

“I’m a paying customer too, don’t I get the same attention that your others get?”

“You’re more of a…side hustle.” The words came out with a bit of a grin.

One of his arched eyebrows raised dangerously. “A side hustle? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Working with you is like a second job. I spend so much time on this damn car, and looking at your ugly mug, that it’s like working another part-time job on top of the shop.”

His lips turned down in a scowl and he took a menacing step forward. “First off, you get half the earnings every time I win. I don’t have to do that. Second, I’m hot as fuck, thank you very much.”

You scoffed. “You’re average at best,” you lied. You agreed with him of course, but you’d never tell him that even if you were on your deathbed. “Also, the earnings are the way you pay me for all the shit I do for you, remember? That’s the agreement. Plus, most of that money goes right back into her,” you smacked the hood. “So, in reality you pay way less than any of my other costumers.”

He paused at this, taking in your words. “Guess you like me that much, huh,” he chuckled after a moment. The words brought a flush to your face, and you silently thanked the fact that it was nighttime, and the only illumination came from the cars around you.

“No, it’s just because I’ve known you for years. Sometimes I consider upping your rates though, just to piss you off.”

That got him scowling again, an expression that made you much more comfortable than that devious smirk. “I hope you know your sense of humor really sucks.”

“Bakugou!” A rough voice called from behind the blonde, making him roll his eyes and turn around.

“What do you want, shark week?” He growled, facing Kirishima who was making his way over with a smile.

“Just came to make sure you were still up for this race,” the red head grinned, displaying his sharp teeth.

“You really think I’d back down against someone like you?” Bakugou crossed his arms and relaxed onto one leg. “This is gonna be easy as shit.”

Kirishima chuckled, “Don’t count me out so quick man, might not be as easy as you think.” He glanced over Bakugou’s shoulder and spotted you behind him. “Hey Y/N, you here to patch his ass up after the race?”

“You know me so well, Kiri,” you smirked. Bakugou let out a grunt, punching Kirishima’s shoulder playfully, the other man simply laughing at the disgruntled racer. “Best of luck out there,” you smiled genuinely. You had known Kirishima since high school, where he and Bakugou were best friends. They frequently raced these days, constantly trying to one up each other and keeping a running tally of who won. Currently Bakugou was up by two, if you remembered correctly.

“Thanks Y/N, your faith means the world,” he replied with another toothy smile.

“Hey, quit trying to poach my mechanic,” Bakugou yelled spiritedly.

At this, Kirishima simply laughed, turning to leave. “Just came to say good luck man, I would never try to steal her away from ya. You’re like a match made in heaven. I don’t know anyone else who could put up with your bullshit.”

“I don’t know of anyone else either, I’m really doing the world a favor, huh,” you called, loving the way your blonde partner whirled around and glared at you.

“See you guys after the race!” And with that, Kiri was walking back to his own car.

Bakugou stood there for a moment before turning around to return to the car. He was quiet for a moment before speaking up. “Y’know, you don’t have to keep working with me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you don’t…” he said, so softly you almost didn’t hear.

You looked over at him in surprise, “What do you mean, I never said I don’t want to work with you.” It was so unlike him to say things like this that you were completely taken aback.

“It didn’t sound like that just now,” he grumbled, not looking at you. “I know I can be a lot to handle, so I guess I wouldn’t blame you.”

You chuckled, making him look up curiously. “Bakugou, I’m a lot to put up with too. I’ve known you for long enough that it doesn’t even phase me anymore,” you said honestly.

He stared at you for a moment longer than necessary, making you flush slightly. “Yeah, whatever,” he growled in classic Bakugou fashion.

“Racers!” came a shout from nearby. The official of the race stood between the two cars, looking to the two men. “Are you both ready to go?” Both gave a thumbs up, and the man nodded. “Come line up at the start then!”

Bakugou took a deep breath before putting on his jet-black helmet and getting into his car with a sharp slam of his door. You moved away from the vehicle to let him go line up before returning to the side to say your final words to him. “Remember what I said,” you warned, leaning against the rolled down window. “Don’t fuck her up this time, got it?”

He smirked at you and narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about Y/N, this is an easy course.” “It better be, for your sake,” you rolled your eyes with a grin. You loved how amped up he got at the starting line.

“See you on the other side, kid,” he nodded. You gave him a thumbs up and stepped away from the car. The official made his way into the center of the two cars, and you made yours over to your pickup truck to watch the race. You climbed up into the bed and leaned against the cabin to look over the field. From up there you could see almost the entire track, and since the cars’ lights would be on you wouldn’t have any problem keeping track of them.

You watched as the official signaled to prepare to start, the engines of both cars revving loudly. A crowd had gathered to watch, and you smirked, knowing that only got Bakugou more amped. Loudly counting down from three, the official dropped the flag and the two vehicles were off, tearing into the darkness as fast as possible.

Bakugou accelerated just a bit faster, edging in front of Kirishima, who swerved slightly to avoid him. They made their way around the course, Bakugou maintaining the lead for most of the time, but losing it several times. Nearing one of the final bends, you saw the headlights on Bakugou’s car dip dramatically and fall a bit behind Kirishima’s for a moment before pulling back ahead. You got a bad feeling in your stomach at that. However, it was over in an instant, the blonde coming in first by a decent margin.

As he got out of the car, Bakugou was swarmed by the crowd. It took you a moment to make it out in the semidarkness and jumble of bodies, but as you hopped out of the bed of your truck and made your way over to Bakugou, you spotted it. The left half of his front bumper was crumpled and scraped. Anger swelled in your stomach, and you pushed forward with renewed vigor, shoving people aside and coming to a halt in front of the man in question.

“What the fuck Bakugou?! What did I tell you literally RIGHT before you left?” You got in his face as he took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Look at your fucking bumper! How the hell do you explain that, huh?!” Your anger at his carelessness blinded you to the way he was looking at you, the hunger in his eyes.

Just as you were about to go off again, you felt his hand grasping your chin roughly. This was such an unexpected move that your mind blanked in the seconds to come. “God you’re fuckin sexy when you’re mad,” Bakugou growled, pausing a moment before hungrily pressing his lips to yours. The first thing you registered was the heat. They were burning against yours, and they were soft, much softer than you would have guessed.

Snapping back to yourself, you put a hand on his chest – his muscular chest – and pushed away. You looked away, trying to clear your head. “Woah, you can’t just… kiss me…” you gasped.

“Why not?” He murmured in your ear, absolutely glowing with his victory. He was always an impulsive guy, but that doubled when he won. He was known to break things when he beat someone, so part of you wasn’t surprised that he did that, but it was so unexpected that you never would have thought it would happen.

You looked up at him and found a grin resting on his lips. You felt something in you snap, something that had been holding you back from what you’d wanted to do so many times before but never had the courage to do. Giving a minute shrug, you said fuck it and went in again. It wasn’t a sweet kiss though. He threaded his fingers through your hair, and the hand holding his helmet released it, coming to dig into your waist. It was hot and heavy, filled with anger and pent up emotion and victory. It was a kiss years in the making, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted it to happen. This man was leaving tire tracks on your heart, driving right through the barriers you tried to put up to block him out.

And you were okay with that.

#bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugou fanfiction #street racer au #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfic #mine #my post

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write Day 1

Foster – “encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good)”

“I still cannot believe you built a bloody airship! I mean, I’ve done maintenance work on them under Cid or Stephanivien’s tutelage, but you BUILT one, from practically nothing!”

Tataru looked up from the pile of paperwork she was dealing with and grinned at Franks. “What, you didn’t think little old me could do it all by myself? No, wait, that’s not it, is it?? You’re JEALOUS!”

Franks threw down the cloth he’d been using to clean his gun and tools only moments before. “Of COURSE, I’m jealous! You know how many times I’ve tried to make time with either one of them to learn more about magitek engineering? I’ve lost count, because every time, without fail, either I have to cancel because the star’s in peril again or one of them has some company emergency or other to deal with! And now here you are, buildin’ an entire AIRSHIP! Hells yes I’m jealous!”

Tataru spasmed as she tried to hold back her mirth, covering her mouth, but there was no hiding the look in her eyes. First a few giggles escaped her, growing more numerous and loud, until she released peals of laughter, falling over in her chair. Franks eventually joined in, the pair enjoying a simple moment together.

Eventually Tataru managed to get herself under control. “Well, hopefully one day, this will all be in our pasts and you can spend the rest of your days building and maintaining magitek, if you wish. Think you’ll open up Cid’s first competition? Or maybe work for him? Wait, can you stand to be around Nero that much?”

Franks chuckled as he resumed cleaning a wrench.”Honestly, once you recognize and accept that his boundless arrogance is an attempt to mask both his profound fear at having to essentially restart his life in a formerly-hostile land AND trying to sort out exactly how he feels about Cid, he’s really not that bad. But while working at the Ironworks would certainly be enjoyable, I think my place is in Ishgard, in the Machinists guild. I want to be at the forefront of that discipline, both training new recruits and helpin’ Stephanivien come up with new tools for them to use. I foresee workin’ closely with the Ironworks to make that happen, though, so it’s really the best o’ both worlds.”

Tataru nodded. “I don’t know what the Scions will do once this is all over. I don’t even know if there’s really a place for us once the world is saved, if such a thing is even possible. But I might quite like working for Cid, I think. There’s a lot of upsides. Good pay, constantly getting to learn, don’t have to leave Mor Dhona…”

“Not to mention being in constant proximity to a certain Lalafell engineer…” Franks added, smirking as he looked over in her direction.

Tataru flushed and quickly looked away from his knowing gaze. “Y-yes, I suppose being near my good friend Wedge would be a nice perk!”

“Uh huh” Franks replied, not at all sounding like he was buying that description for one second. He finished wiping down the last piece of his aetherotransformer, and with practiced ease, began reassembling the components. With a final click, the device came together and lit up from within. Giving it a final examination, he returned it to its place at his hip and began reassembling his gun. “So…this next question might seem cruel, and if it’s hurtful please tell me so I can apologize, but I’m curious. You’re clearly a good engineer, which means math isn’t a problem for you. So why have you had such a problem with arcanima?”

Tataru had returned her attention to her paperwork, but the question stopped her mid-sentence. She looked back at Franks, her expression one of sad acceptance. “Thank you for saying it like…. that”

“Tataru, I’m so…”

“No no, it’s not bad. It’s nothing I haven’t asked myself and wrestled with, but I came to an answer a while ago.” She picked up a small clock that adorned her desk. “When I’m building, anything from constructing an airship to something simple like sawing wood…the math is there, a physical object in front of me. When I can see, can feel, the results right then, it all makes sense in my head. But with Arcanima….it was all in my head for me to unravel before it would manifest the magic. That’s harder for me. Not impossible, I don’t think I could have manifested a carbuncle or a Ruin spell otherwise, but I was a lot less confident, doubly so when I had to fight with it. I think that confidence, or lack thereof, is why my carbuncle didn’t do what I want.”

Franks nodded. “That absolutely is understandable. Everyone learns differently after all.”

Tataru’s smile brightened. “And really, I’m somewhat glad it didn’t work out! I wouldn’t have been able to find my talents as a crafter and intelligence gatherer for the Scions if I hadn’t accepted defeat with a grimoire!”

Franks laughed. “Absolutely true. I’ve no idea what would have become of the Scions if you hadn’t! We probably would still be wondering how we’d pay for the fare to Kugane! Definitely wouldn’t be eating as well, that’s for sure!”

She had to laugh at that. “Oh, I get it, I’m just your bank lender and chef, is that it?”

“In all seriousness, do you still wish you could join us in the field? Fight alongside everyone?”

She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I won’t deny the idea doesn’t STILL have some appeal, but I know I’m way more valuable to the Scions in my current role. I do wish I had a more reliable way of defending myself, especially should the Garlands attempt another Waking Sands massacre, though. I suppose I’ll just have to hope the people of Revenant’s Toll are more capable of defending us than the citizens of Vesper Bay were.”

Franks looked back down to his gun, nodding. “Mmm, makes sense. Even if you aren’t in enemy territory, as it were, traveling around isn’t always safe. We might just have to….” he stopped, nearly dropping the assembled firearm.

“Have to what, Franks?”

“I can’t believe I never thought of this. How did it not occur to me?”. Franks stood up, slinging his weapon across his band into the holster that held it in place. He looked to Tataru with an almost manic gleam in his eye. “Go get something warm to wear, Tataru! We got someplace to be!”

Tataru looked confused “W-where??”

Franks grinned. “Ishgard!”

A bell later, the air around the Ishgardian aetheryte gave a slight pop as it was suddenly displaced by the appearing forms of Franks and Fearless. Both shivered, if only briefly, before their bodies re-acclimated to the colder temperatures that they had grown used to those many moons they’d spent in the city.

Both were quickly recognized by practically everyone they passed by, and while Franks had little hope of recognizing most of the people who spoke to them, Tataru seemed to know everyone, able to call them by name and ask personal questions that she’d had to have learned about on those random evenings in the Forgotten Knight. More than once, she was able to recognize fully helmed Temple Knights by voice alone. Franks, for his part, hurried them both along, seemingly eager to reach their destination.

“So where ARE we going, exactly?” Tataru asked in between a conversation with one of Hilda’s people in the City Watch and a noblewoman of a minor house. Franks didn’t reply aside from a grin on his face until a few minutes later when he stopped in front of a building and pointed. “There!”

Tataru bid one more person farewell and stopped to take in where the pair had arrived at. Sounds of rhythmic thumping filled the air, which smelled of flame and metal and soot. She looked up at the building. “Skysteel Manufactory? What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see!” Franks called back, already having made his way to the corner where one needed to turn to enter the Manufactory’s font door. Tataru squeaked and started after him as quick as her smaller legs could carry her. By the time she rounded the corner, Franks had already thrown open the wooden doors of the entrance and strode in.

“Franks, my old friend!” a voice cried out from within. Tataru quickly ran to catch up, and as she entered the door, the eyes of an Elezen man quickly jumped to her. “And mistress Tataru! What a surprise!”

“Good to see you too, Lord Stephanivien!” she replied, smiling.

“Whatever brings Ishgard’s savior, and most importantly my best machinist, and the Scion’s….erm…what IS your official role within the Scions of the Seventh Dawn these days, milady? If half of what Franks tells me is true, “secretary” would seem a woefully inadequate title! Perhaps ‘the very hull on which the entire ship is built’? No? Too long?”

Tataru giggled. “Oh no, milord, ‘secretary’ is just fine. I like it, makes people underestimate me! And that’s how I get em!”

“Who’s come calling, milord?” came a voice from the upper levels of the Manufactory. A woman’s head peaked over the railing, her blond ponytails dangling from the sides of her head. “I thought I heard….TATARU!” With that, she bolted for the stairs that led to the entryway, sliding down the rails. Tataru ran for the woman and lept right into her arms, hugging.

“What’re ye doin here, girl? I thought you were busy keepin’ them Scions from fallin apart!”

“I don’t know, rightly! Franks dragged me….” Tataru trailed off as she noticed that Joye’s braids had somehow completely undone themselves, and her hair was a wild mess. “Are you ever going to tell me how you do that??”

“Dunno what yer on about! FRANKS!” she turned and yelled at the man who’d been quietly conversing with Stephanivien. “Why you dragged this poor lass all the way out into the cold arse o’ this time o’ night without tellin’ her what’s goin on?”

Franks smiled, leaning away from Stephanivien, and crossed his arms. “Well, Joye, I’d like to introduce you to someone that, well, you don’t really need introduction to! That lady you’re hugging is Tataru Taru, Scion of the Seventh Dawn, the glue and rivets that keep the very organization held together, and-“

“We know who she is, ye daft sod!” Joy interrupted, setting Tataru back on the ground. “Ya literally just watched us have a mini-reunion!”

“-AND, assuming she’s amenable, the newest member of the Machinist’s guild!” Franks continued, as though he hadn’t been interrupted.

THAT got everyone’s attention. Both Joye’s and Tataru’s jaws dropped. Stephanivien simply smiled.

“Wait…this is your solution to me wanting to increase my martial skillset?” Tataru asked.

Franks threw his arms out, gesturing around to the manufactory around them. “It’s a perfect idea! Think about it! You’re already proficient with magitek, you’ve certainly proven that by now! You already know what I’m guessing is about 80% of the members already! You don’t need any extensive training in magic or heavy melee arms, all you really need to learn is how to shoot! I don’t doubt you can get the hang of that, especially with Joye teaching you!”

Joye looked down at Tataru. “Aye….aye I can! Tataru, this’ll be great!”

Tataru still appeared in shock. “But…I don’t…I don’t have a gun! And I bet they don’t keep ones sized for Lalafell around!”

Stephanivien knelt down to face her. “As it turns out, my dear, we actually made a custom one for a colleague of ours from Garlond Ironworks. He frequently comes to collaborate with our fair guild and commissioned a carbine with which to recreationally shoot. He keeps it here, as well. I believe you are acquainted with one Wedge? His weapon should suffice for you to practice with until we can build a custom one for you. I daresay he will not object either, would you not agree?” He winked almost conspiratorially.

“I know where it is! Come on Tataru, let’s go blast some training dummies!” Joye practically dragged Tataru behind her as she ran outside. Tataru didn’t require TOO much prompting, however, as pretty soon, she was running full steam out the door behind Joye under her own power.

Stephanivien turned to Franks. “Seems you have a knack for fostering talent in people, my friend. I heard of the fortune that befell the Baroness de Jervaint, and now you’ve added a new member to our guild’s ranks as well! I know you must wear any number of metaphorical hats, but I am quite glad the Machinist’s goggles are among them!”

Franks smiled. Whatever the future held, he was glad to keep building towards making it better.

#Final Fantasy XIV #ffxivwrite2021 #oldmanfranks

[a-lil-perspective]

I have been silent for some time now. I have refrained from exhibiting any plaguing thoughts that might warrant me the label of “that person”, but I’m at the point where I’ve had my fill.

Ramble under the cut so as to not... offend or inconvenience anyone. There’s absolutely no obligation to read this. It’s Tumblr. You can block/ignore me. The option to do so is readily accessible.

I’ve been a Bad Batch fan since day one. While I didn’t start creating that very same day, it was relatively close. Point being, I’m a long-time dedicated fan. As the premiere to their series draws closer, I feel like there is going to be a great shift, rift here. That being said, I figured now is as good a time as any to make this post.

I love those boys beyond words. They’ve been the one constant in my life amidst a rapid and debilitating change. I love getting to give them life, even if my interpretations aren’t the most accurate.

Yes, I am a new Writer and yes, I am new to Tumblr, as I am sure both of those things are painfully apparent.

I get that it is impossible to please everyone. It’s something I’m learning more and more with each passing day. It’s something that gets harder to swallow, even more so.

I’d like to say that being here has been a largely positive experience, with all of these great connections and opportunities. But honestly? It’s been more isolating than anything. I’ve actually never felt more isolated than since I joined a year ago.

As a content creator or even just a general blogger, I don’t ask for much. I don’t ask for anything, in fact. I consider myself very low maintenance. I don’t demand/harass/play the martyr for reblogs. I have never mentioned it once, and never will. Some people on here are so damn passive-aggressive about it, and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing. It’s very stigmatizing. While I completely understand the frustration surrounding the like-to-reblog ratio, I think it’s neither tasteful nor reputable to threaten to call people out for not reblogging your fics. I wish I could say I was joking on that one. But I’ve seen it profoundly. Not cool.

And yet, no one says anything or raises any concern there.

Yet I make metas, harmless rambles, and I get shot down? Seriously?

—I need to “chill”, it’s “overkill”, I’m “overthinking”. I and my content are apparently just so damn arduous to interact with.

If you don’t like me, please just move on. There are plenty of other Bad Batch creators for you to enjoy. You know that. My work is absolutely not the final say, and I’ve never claimed it to be.

What is so wrong, with sharing one’s thoughts? Why do people inherently have a problem with other’s creative efforts? I see it time over again. Why do I feel like if I was making a bunch of smutty posts it wouldn’t be as much of a problem, that it in fact would be infinitely more welcome? (Absolutely NO shade to people who create smut, okay? I’ve made my own share. I admire those bold enough to do so regularly. I absolutely love them. Please teach me your ways).

This ramble really has nothing to do with the most recent event regarding my contributions. Rather, it’s a culmination of experiences over the past several months that have brewed and festered to the point where I can no longer keep downplaying it.

Social media, at its core, is one big popularity contest. It always has been, it always will be. But I’m not here to win. That’s never been my objective. That’s not what I’m about. Surprise (or not), I am not a popular blog. Not by a long shot. I’ll never claim otherwise.

I don’t ask people to view/interact with my content, I’m not an activist, I can’t even fathom exuding that kind of confidence. Even though I, admittedly, crave it. I suspect I crave interaction as much as the next creator. It’s a nice feeling. Yet there’s never been any obligation for it, especially with me, so I don’t understand what the problem is. As I’ve said, there are ample ways for you to block/avoid me. It’s the internet. In this day and age, there’s no excuse for viewing anything you don’t want to.

I came here in the hopes of finding like-minded individuals, uplifting and interacting, and exercising some otherwise stunted creativity.

All Tumblr as taught me is that creating and contributing is largely a thankless, empty endeavor. You can give and give and give and be reduced to nothing. There’s a profound imbalance between “giving” and “receiving”, and in regards to both ends of the scale, it’s became apparent to me that if you don’t cater heavily and in unreasonable degrees or get “noticed” by a popular blog, you get nothing, and your efforts are null and void.

Truthfully? I constantly feel like I walk on eggshells here, and it’s all I can do to not crack under the pressure, even though it’s my blog and my headspace. I should feel comfortable and free to express myself here, and I don’t, and I’m unsure of how to achieve that sense of stability. To be completely honestly I feel like a constant bother and a nuisance. When I post, I literally feel like there is a collective eye-roll that comes with people receiving a notification from my blog. Even though I know, rationally, that can’t be true, that’s an absurd level of thinking. I can’t say I can pinpoint exactly where it stems from.

But regardless: I hardly ever talk about/create the things I actually want. I only recently just got ballsy enough to share some metas, and we all know how well that’s going. I try not to have smut out of respect for my asexual/minor mutuals, even though the tag to blacklist is very much an option. I try not to bring up conflicting topics, Tumblr, political, or otherwise, even though with proper tagging I could. But I try not to even bring that into existence. Even though it’s my right to, I don’t.

I don’t actually feel like I fit into any narrative here, especially in the Bad Batch fandom; even though we are all basically the same steadfast group of bloggers. We all know who we are. We all coexist in the same space. It’s nearly impossible to be unaware of each other, at this point.

And yet, I’m not in a bunch of Discord servers or backed by a team of beta readers and all that jazz. It’s basically just me talking to myself out here. It’s very isolating.

Part of that—most of it—is my own crippling social anxiety, and the genuine belief that I don’t deserve to be in the same space/servers as all of these brilliant creators. Because I’m just me, and there’s not a whole lot of value there. With that mindset, it’s hard to actually feel like I belong anywhere. I know that is a mindset I have to conquer alone.

My excitement over my creations has largely dwindled into nothing. I seldom ever bounce my ideas off of others—another issue that stems from the fear of presenting as a burden—and even though I try to write for myself, even that fire has pretty much died out. I’m not even sure how or if I could even reignite it, at this point. It’s really quite sad. It makes me very sad, actually. All I wanted was to safely ramble, project all my thoughts and creativity that has otherwise been repressed through prolonged detrimental circumstances.

More than anything, I wanted to find and hold onto something that makes me feel useful, meaningful, happy. More and more I wonder if that’s even possible. I don’t think it is, not here. I often wonder if joining and sharing on Tumblr was a horrible mistake. I miss the innocent joy of when I first started creating. It was so simple. I’m trying to find that simplicity again.

But I’m burned out. I’m running on fumes. I have been for some time.

At this point it goes beyond just “taking a break” from Tumblr. It’s the fact that it all feels like this meaningless, monotonous cycle. I wonder every day if I am an isolated case in experiencing these emotions.

And yet, come tomorrow I will still be here, business as usual.

I’m not asking for sympathy or playing the victim or attacking anyone or trying to guilt-trip into more interaction. I am very aware of my shortcomings and incorrect mindsets. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. I feel very disconnected from everyone here and it’s lonely. This took a lot for me to share. I will most likely delete this because anxiety will eat me up, as it does with everything I post. Yes, everything.

#personal #lil rambles

[pedros-mustache-main]

like the movies

summary: he’s the writer; you’re the muse. there’s a cup of coffee somewhere in there, too.

word count: 3.3k+

warnings: fluff & pining—so, a change of pace from my usual angst. :) also: a serious lack of dialogue because i am feeling verbose. 

a/n: this is entirely @joemazzmatazz‘s fault. it was her idea (albeit given to me actual ages ago), but she said “do it” and who am i to say no? anywho, i’m relatively uncertain about how this turned out, but have it regardless!

your latte is hot, almost too hot. it burns your tongue on the first sip.

but you welcome the heat and the momentary burst of pain. the weather swirling outside borders on atrocious: freezing rain mixed with snow flurries, bloated, gray clouds, and a thin layer of ice on all surfaces. though the tip of your tongue stings upon that first sip, the heat that rushes to your chest pushes away the dreary weather you’d slogged through to get to the coffee shop.

you’re a regular here. not a regular regular, but regular enough that the interchangeable baristas recognize you and you recognize them. you exchange tight-lipped smiles and nods of greeting when you approach the counter, but nothing more than simple pleasantries. you don’t know their names, and they never ask for yours, but they remember your order: frosted blueberry latte with extra foam. it’s gotten to the point where you can simply walk up to the counter, money in hand, and the barista can repeat your order before you open your mouth.

it’s the little things, you suppose. in this little corner of the world, you feel seen.

today, you have your laptop open, latte pushed to the side, and a cherry and almond scone on a bright blue plate. you resist the urge to pull your foot up on the chair and rest your chin on your knee. though you’re here more often than you’re at home, this isn’t your living room. you settle for sliding your ankle beneath your opposite thigh.

being a paralegal is decidedly unglamorous. sure, it sounds highfalutin to the person sitting beside you on the airplane, but damn, if it isn’t stressful. you feel like a glorified secretary most of the time. pushing papers and getting signatures and making tens of phone calls to people and places that are not interested in speaking to a lawyer isn’t really what you signed up for. at least, it’s not what you ultimately want. it pays the bills for now, though; a partnership… that’ll come later.

you’re lucky enough that you can work remotely, hence your sturdy corner of the café. from where you sit, you watch customers enter and exit the shop. each time the door opens and the little bell tinkles above, a blast of cold air rushes into the cramped space. you enjoy watching the reaction of newcomer­—the way they stamp their snow-covered shoes on the wood floor and shiver, turn to their companions with a smile, hurry to the counter to order something sweet and warm. in those moments, you grow wistful, your heart lurching with loneliness. it’s been a long time since you’ve had anyone to meet for an afternoon coffee date, friend or otherwise. your job doesn’t afford much downtime, and what downtime you do have is devoted to menial life responsibilities. 

your phone buzzes, and you glance down. a text from your boss. time to refocus.

you work for a while longer, nibbling on your scone, sipping from your latte. the emails pile up, and your phone buzzes incessantly. a headache forms at the base of your skull as you struggle to keep up with the constant flurry of communication.

after receiving a terse email from your boss’s legal partner in relation to something that is no fault of your own, you shut your laptop. a five-minute break; you deserve that much. rubbing a hand down your weary face, you grab your purse, slide out from behind the table, and head for the restroom. in the poorly lit bathroom, you splash some cool water on your cheeks and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. you look tired, feel it too. the dark bags under your eyes bely how little sleep you’ve gotten in the last week, and your shoulders droop under the weight of the world. maybe by christmas…

who are you kidding? christmas is just as busy as any other time of the year. people don’t stop needing lawyers just ‘cause it’s the holidays.

when you return to your makeshift workspace, you immediately frown. you freeze several paces from the corner of the table and glance over your shoulder, tightening your grip on the strap of your purse.

someone had been at the table in the five minutes it took to freshen up.

nothing is gone, thank god. (in retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have left your laptop and phone sitting in plain sight. call it naivety, but you like to think the best of people. however, your line of work consistently reminds you that the bad in people often outweighs the good.) your laptop, though, has been nudged to the side, the movement causing the charging cord to fall out. several drops of dark liquid—spilled latte—dampen the corner of your yellow legal pad.

what truly catches you eye is the square piece of paper resting on your laptop’s keyboard like a discarded feather.

you look over your shoulder again, but the shop is largely empty save for the baristas and an older couple in the far corner. the weather is certainly a deterrent from lingering. perhaps someone had come in while you were in the bathroom and left you a note. had your car been hit? you hope not. you don’t have the extra funds for vehicular maintenance right now and even less time to fix whatever damage had been done.

leaning forward, you lift the piece of paper, and your chest tightens.

it’s a drawing—a drawing of you. blue ink scattered across the page in swirling lines forms the hazy outline of your profile. your chin rests in your hand, and the artist made certain note to emphasize your eyelashes, which are not that long in actuality. at the bottom of the page, a message in curling script: when you are old ­— yeats

your mouth runs dry, your palms moist with nerves. returning to your chair, you quickly type the words into the search bar of your browser. you remember enough from high-school english to know yeats is a poet, but when the poem loads and you read the words, you feel like you might fall over.

your neck snaps up, cracks at the sudden movement. someone had been here in the café long enough to watch you, to sketch you, and to think of the yeats poem in relation to you.

how decidedly… romantic. like something out of a chick-flick.

despite the warmth in your chest, you shut your laptop, fold the sketch, and shove it in your coat pocket, willing yourself to forget the random happenstance. things like that—serendipitous moments of romance—only happen in the movies. they certainly don’t happen to you.

whomever had left the note, well—at least they’d brightened your day. your mother would call it a gift from the heavens, an angel smiling down on you.

shaking your head, you gather your things and hurry out into the cold, wintery weather. you refuse to allow yourself to go home and daydream. you could use the note as a bookmark, sure, but there was no use in dreaming about the artist. no use whatsoever when you would likely never cross paths again.

except you do go home and daydream. why you ever thought you could keep yourself from mulling over a moment rife with potential is ridiculous.

all throughout the evening—as you make your stir-fry dinner, as you draw your bath, as you change the sheets on your bed, and fold the laundry—you consider the possibilities:

you’d been at the café for a handful of hours, but how much had you truly paid attention to the patrons coming and going? barely, if you’re honest with yourself. you had noticed the older couple when they came in; you’d wondered how they’d managed to get from the parking lot to the warmth of the coffee shop without slipping on the icy sidewalks. you’d noticed, too, a man who looked a lot like how you imagine paul bunyan: massive height, plaid shirt stuffed in worn jeans, impressive beard. no one else of note sticks out in your mind hours later.

what had you been doing all afternoon? hopefully you hadn’t done anything embarrassing. god, sometimes you have this habit of resting your fingers over your mouth in such a way that it pushes up your nose to resemble a pig’s snout. had you done that? sometimes you fiddle with your hair too much and bounce your knees and hum to yourself. you want to sink below the suds of your bathwater when you recall your propensity for talking to yourself.

your thoughts turn fanciful when you finally slip beneath your covers.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “you’ve got mail.” only instead of emails, you could exchange notes in a coffee shop and forgo the business rivalry part.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “sleepless in seattle”: soft and sweet and really good with kids.

maybe you just have a thing for tom hanks.

you turn your head with a girlish grin, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t daydream, but how could you not? yeats’s poem filters through your mind like the moon filtering through your curtains: how many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true, but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

with a muffled squeal, you allow yourself a moment to thrash in delight—like a schoolgirl with a crush and a note checked yes i like you tucked beneath her pillow. the idea that someone somewhere notices you, of all people, is simply too much to bear. you feel like your heart will explode and sunbeams will burst from beneath your skin. you feel warm and happy and drunk on possibility.

you settle, then, and sigh, smoothing your hands over the rumpled comforter. you’re a professional, though. a paralegal, for god’s sake. you’ll go back to the café. maybe not tomorrow, but you’ll go back. just maybe—maybe, maybe, maybe—you’ll run into your artist again.

you return to the coffee shop in two days, lugging your over-stuffed bag with you, earbuds snug in your ears. when you cross the threshold, you can’t help the way your eyes immediately scan the customers who have parked themselves in the various sitting areas. you’re looking for your artist, obviously, but you have nothing to go on other than the note tucked away in your jewelry box at home. a few words, a carefully drawn profile—that’s not enough to determine who had created the note from a simple glance.

begrudgingly, you remind yourself once again that life isn’t a movie. there’s no tom hanks waiting for you on the other end of the note. it’s silly to dwell on it any longer, really. you’ll get too wrapped up, too attached, and that wouldn’t bode well for the upcoming holidays.

the table you usually occupy is already taken by a man in a red sweater. his head is bent over his laptop, glasses slipping down his strong nose. you try not to take it to heart; the table was never explicitly yours. with a soft grunt of effort, you drop your belongings in an orange armchair across the room before meandering to the counter. julie (at least, you think that’s her name?) smiles when you approach, and she rings up your order, asking about the weather and plans for the holidays.

once your coffee is in hand, you return to your new seat and relax in the accommodating plush armchair. maybe the man in the red sweater had done you a favor after all. you glance up to look at him. if he stays as long as you often do, his ass will ache by the time he leaves. the wood chairs offer zilch in the way of comfort.

you quickly lose yourself in work, but the idea that your artist could be in the same room as you never truly leaves your mind. you find yourself glancing about the room from time to time, studying those who come and go, wondering if perhaps they were the one who saw something worthwhile in you. no one catches you eye; everyone is too busy with their own affairs, and you don’t blame them.

by the end of the afternoon, you find your latte completely and utterly forgotten. it’s cold when you take a tentative sip, and you sigh. maybe not five dollars wasted, but five dollars you had meant for a hot drink, especially considering the cold weather. rising from your seat, you take the latte to the counter and ask the barista to pour your drink in a to-go cup with some ice. might as well make the best of it, and you don’t like things to go to waste.

when you return to your chair, you nearly drop the plastic cup.

another note.

“holy shit,” you breathe. instinctively, your palm tightens around your cup, and the plastic gives a small crack. you wince and double-check to make sure no leaks have sprung before picking up the folded piece of paper on your messenger bag.

your fingers tremble as you flip open the folded note.

the same blue ink, same hurried penmanship. no drawing this time; only words.

she sat, much as i did, working fervently. i couldn’t help but watch, and maybe that made me a creep, but i’d been called worse. she sat with an heir of regality, her chin held firm, eyes dancing about the room like she owned the place. not haughty or self-possessed. just sure of herself. what did that make me then? alone in my corner? i didn’t like to dwell too long, so i—

the words stop in time with the seize of your heart.

you can’t seem to look away, to look around the room again in search of your artist, your writer. your heart pounds in your chest, flush rising on your cheeks. eyes—you feel eyes on you whether they are present or not. you feel dizzy. never have you felt so… seen, so noticed. not even in past relationships have your boyfriends took such care to notice the minute details of your being.

the strange urge to vomit rises in your throat. you aren’t afraid; you aren’t creeped out.

you’re just… overwhelmed.

so, you tuck the note in your pocket and leave, careful to keep your gaze on the floor as you exit. just in case your writer is still there, still watching.

you’re nothing special, nothing like the paragraph they penned. they should get that through their thick skull before they find themselves disappointed.

you don’t return to the coffee shop until after the holidays.

it’s not that hard to stay away. the hustle and bustle of work combined with the hustle and bustle of family gatherings keeps you from finding the time for an afternoon of solace anywhere, let alone the café.

you must admit that you think of your author often, try as you might to forget them.

by now, you have the cadence of the yeats poem memorized and the prose of the paragraph tattooed on the front of your mind. each time you pass a couple in a warm embrace, you wonder what became of your writer. you wonder if they think of you as much as you think of them; if they ruminate over the possibility of a life that cannot be.

if this were a movie, you would run into your author by random happenstance. you’d bump into them at the market, spill your legumes on the floor, touch hands in your haste to right the mistake, and—boom—as you look up, it would all fall into place.

if this were a movie, you would see them in the library or the post office or the deli or—

—or the coffee shop.

you sigh as you enter the café, wishing for your author to be there, knowing they won’t be. it is enough that you’ve experienced two mysterious love notes; things like that don’t come in threes.

that’s only in the movies.

the café still has its holiday decorations up. twinkle lights hang draped across the ceiling, and music filters over the sparsely filled tables and chairs. in the post-holiday haze, you didn’t expect the café to be crowded. in all truth, the sight of few patrons eases your mind.

less of a chance to run into your author. less of a chance to reveal yourself as the decidedly uninteresting person you are.

you set your belongings down at a side table, and as you reach for your wallet, a presence hovers over your shoulder. frowning slightly, you straighten, prepared to ask the person to kindly give you some space. when you do turn, your heart leaps to your throat, and the wallet in your hand clatters to the table.

it’s your author. you just know it.

there’s something vaguely familiar about the man, about his strong nose and groomed facial hair and crystal eyes. he’s tall, warm looking, like a hot drink on a cold day or a crackling fire. his eyes scan your face as though he is worried, as though he’s uncertain of what he should do now that you’ve actually faced him.

you speak before your thoughts catch up with your heart. “you wrote those notes, didn’t you?”

he nods, and the movement—so gentle, so reminiscent of a small boy on the verge of a scolding—makes you love him all the more. “yeah.” he sighs, lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “yeah, sorry about that. i wanted to apologize. wasn’t sure i’d get the chance, if you’d come back again.”

you shake your head. “no, don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

it’s his turn to frown, and he looks up from the table. you lose your breath momentarily. god, his eyes are blue. “when you left last time i thought… well, i thought i’d scared you off.” with a rueful chuckle, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “would serve me right, too.”

“why do you say that?”

“i mean, notes on your laptop when you aren’t looking? intently watching you? kinda stalkerish, huh?”

you can’t help but smile—smile at him, at the nervous twitch of his mouth, at the way he avoids your gaze. “i guess.” on a daring move, you reach out and touch his elbow. when you touch him, he feels like home. “but i don’t want you to apologize. i like the notes. i haven’t thought about anything else since you gave me the first one.”

“really?” there’s a hopeful tone in his voice; it sets your heart on fire.

“yeah.”

“i’m writing a book—a novel, really. i saw you so often that any time i got stuck, i just wrote about you instead.”

you could kiss him then and there. instead, you tell him your name, and he grins.

“i’m gwilym.”

“tell me, gwilym.” you pull out your chair and motion to the café counter. “how would you feel if i bought you a coffee? i want to hear more about that novel.”

“i’d—i’d like that.”

he follows you to the counter, his hand brushing the small of your back.

the barista—matt, you think—looks up from the register and laughs. “holy shit, i won!” he looks over his shoulder. “hey, julie! you owe me a fifty.”

you glance at gwilym, but he’s already looking at you. you smile.

matt continues. “we had a pool to see how long it would take for you two to get together. you were always looking at each other but never at the same time. you knew that, right?” still laughing, he rings up your orders without be asked. “coffee is on us today, guys.”

as you wait for your latte to be steamed and gwilym’s chia to be poured, you tuck your lip between your teeth to stem your widening grin. gwilym is strong by your side, the perfect height for you to rest your head on his shoulder. you look up at him, at the noble planes of his face, and your chest squeezes. when he looks at you again, your chest squeezes even tighter.

maybe life is like a movie after all.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #bohemian rhapsody #j writes

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 29 (NSFW-lite)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read chapter twenty-eight (NSFW)

Title: ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

Words: 5.6k

Summary: I am very uncomfortable with the vibe we have created in the studio Infirmary today...

Warnings: mentions of abuse, suicide

ST Rambles: So... I graduated nursing school. And will be taking my licensure exam next month and start working as well...

In my time away, other than the above mentioned accomplishments, I've been reading a lot of books and even went to see an internet friend just last weekend. Life got insane and I needed to focus on school, and I do appreciate the patience and enthusiasm.

I hope this was worth the wait. I hope the next part will be even more so ;)

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Fucking, fuck!

“I know in academy you were told to pierce the skin at a forty-five-degree angle, but it works a lot better if you-,”

“Go in at a fifteen-degree-angle, go parallel to the skin. I know,” you huffed, embarrassment burning your skin. “That’s not the issue. I do that. The issue is-,”

“That is the issue,” Silver corrected, interrupted. Your preceptor-for-all-intents-and-purposes crossed her arms and stared at you with hard, unyielding eyes. “You won’t listen to me,” she spat. “You are the issue.”

Calliope Silvren, or “Silver”, as she’d informed you upon meeting, was everything you were supposed to be. And you hated her for that fact, hated her for that and so much more.

She was intelligent and concise and respected, she knew everything and made sure you were aware that you didn’t. During the past eleven hours, not with so many words, Silver had made it clear that you were never supposed to be here to begin with, that hers was the name in the original provider candidate pool and you were nothing but a fluke, a nobody, nothing.

Compared to Silver, compared to Calliope fucking Silvren, who’d graduated valedictorian, who had star-white hair and golden skin, whose eyes were a harsh sea of frozen cerulean, whose legs were long and lips were full and head was high and posture was perfect – compared to the program’s prototype? What were you other than a fluke? A whim? Compared to her, how were you anything more than the fascination you’d been labeled as from the very start?

As you stared up at her, her height almost that of Kylo’s, and felt the wrath of that frozen sea that resided behind her glare, you couldn’t speak. Every word of defense left you, and your mouth dried and your chest hollowed. Because her words not only rippled through your head but echoed through the unit’s halls so every nurse and physician and maintenance worker had heard them. Heard her and how superior she was, heard how incompetent you were.

Silver knew what she’d done, could feel the eyes of her coworkers gawking at her scolding; you knew by the smallest quirk to her lip, the slightest tick in her platinum brow. She had you trapped and on display, and all you could do was stand here and take it. The Board was watching, and so was Hux – CB-7070 always shadowing ten paces behind – you had no choice but to remain neutral-faced and silent.

She spoke your name and it was beautiful, a voice like sugar even when it slithered and bit like venom, “We’ll pick up tomorrow. If you absolutely need me, I’ll be organizing my report sheets for the oncoming shift.” When no one was looking anymore, her eyes narrowed and she leaned in. “Busy yourself for the next hour.” A sneer slipped past the benevolent mask she wore. “Don’t need me.”

With a steel spine, she whipped past you, stalking off toward her task, the white of her hair streaking from your periphery. And there you were, clutching an IV starter kit – missing the needle, much like you’d missed the vein – trying your hardest to keep from showing any emotion whatsoever. Less people were gawking now that Silver had left, but you still felt eyes on you. Whatever lay in those lingering stares, pity or humor or apathy, it all burned you, reminded you how temporary you were. Not only in this place – the “Infirmary” as the staff referred to it – but in your life, as well.

Smoothing the skirt of your uniform, you cleared your throat and turned to do as you were instructed, catching CB-7070’s visor for a second before peering around the unit. She faced you, and even though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she may be the only one around who was on your side. The white of her helmet glinted as she gave a small nod in your periphery. Yeah, she wasn’t so bad, no matter who she’d report to the second you got back to the Consulate.

The Infirmary was a large unit, and, unlike any place you’d practiced in since graduation, it was efficiently staffed and stocked. Safe nurse-to-patient ratios, sufficient supplies, and an allocated provider available for any emergent orders or treatments. It was a surreal representation of the “hospital utopia” you’d heard of all throughout school.

But, aside from its apparent perfection, some characteristics of the unit confused you, but you didn’t ask about it because no one else seemed to think it was weird, and Silver didn’t exactly foster a great learning environment.

What struck you first was the Infirmary’s construction and layout. It was all glass, floor to ceiling windows that offered full views of each patient in their respective rooms. You’d watched the sun dance across the sky as the day went on, nothing hindering you from the beautiful view of the sea beyond the fanned-out city below. The only thing that offered a semblance of privacy for each patient was the wall-spanning mirror positioned in front of their beds. None of them saw each other, but it was still odd that there seemed to be no concern towards the errant lapse in privacy policy the design created.

At the center was the nurses’ station, large and circular, a skylight fixed right above. The staff used the lack of patient privacy to their advantage, peering above the counter to make sure their assignments were doing alright. Their assignments who were all under the age of twenty. Some much younger, just grasping at adolescence, others kissing young adulthood – those seemed much worse off, something darker rimmed their eyes, ghosted behind the lifeless face all of them wore.

It was a strange environment to be in, even more so due to how vague the progress notes were, history and physicals extremely short and never too in depth, especially when it concerned anything related to the patients’ family history or living situations. Something seemed off, something that tugged at you and made you yearn to break past the flat affect each patient met you with.

So many were here for a few hours and then gone the next, a constant influx of admissions and discharges. But, so strangely, there was never any patient education given, never any parents or guardians for the younger ones to go home to. They were always escorted from the unit by two “official personnel”. And watching their faces as Silver told them they were done with treatment and could leave, it killed you to see the faintest slash of fear quiver their bottom lips.

Beyond that, beyond seeing these younglings so fearful and defenseless, what clawed at your gut the most was that none of them had a name. They had no birthdate information, no address listed, no family contacts entered or even offered. They were all in the system only by the letters “FL” followed by a code of eight numbers. The nurses would refer to them by their room numbers to make it simpler, but none of them shared your concern for the lack of identity these patients were plagued with.

Yes, something seemed off, seemed wrong here. Something waswrong here, but you feared you would be gone before you ever knew what that was.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a tray left on an isolation cart next to a door. Heeding Silver’s command, you approached it, discarding the IV kit and feeling CB-7070’s focus catch your every step. You’d passed this door frequently, never seeing anyone approach it for longer than a few seconds at a time, assuming it was a closet for extra supplies or scanning machines. But the meal card on the tray indicated differently.

This was a patient’s room. The room number matched, there were no other doors labeled with it that you could see. No staff paid you any attention as you peered around. The only one watching was your white-armored shadow standing against a pane of glass.

Shrugging to yourself, feeling you couldn’t possibly get in trouble for delivering a patient’s food, you said over your shoulder to CB-7070, “I’m taking this in. I shouldn’t be long. Don’t follow me in here.” More to yourself, you sighed, “Even if I am the only one here concerned about privacy, I’d prefer not to violate anyone’s rights on my first day.”

CB-7070 nodded. “Affirmative,” her modulator croaked.

A swipe of your new badge gained you access past the door, a whoosh of air whipping through your skirt as it closed behind you. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from a holo-chart programmed into the wall. It appeared you were in an antechamber, those that often came with isolation patients, but there was nothing indicating this patient had any infection or ailment that necessitated a gown or mask.

The air was stale, like nothing and no one had stirred it in a few days, and the only glass visible was that of a window peering into the room beyond – or, it would be peering, were there not closed blinds on the other side of it.

You saw yourself in that darkened pane, clutching the tray to yourself, the first glimpse you caught of your face since the start of shift. Truthfully, you looked awful. Hair frizzed at your temples, a sheen of oil had gathered on your forehead, and exhaustion was evident in the puffy bags beneath your eyes.

But it was an earned appearance, no matter what Silver wanted you and everyone else to believe. Today you did your best and you interpreted and communicated abnormal findings, you assessed every patient without bias and documented everything you did. There were things you were unsure of, not having performed many skills while being assigned to Kylo, but you always asked for help, even though you realized it would be met with disgruntled aggravation after the first few times.

You had done everything right, understanding the consequences if you didn’t. As far as you were concerned, and even as much doubt as she’s caused you in the singular day you’ve known her, Silver was the problem. Not you.

And, not for nothing, the IV you missed earlier… not entirely your fault.

Kylo Ren picked the wrong day to Force-edge you. Or maybe it was you who really initiated the torture, but he’d been the one to follow through with his threat. Every hour had been memorable.

The first three had luckily occurred when you were away from patients but did earn you a few wary glances from the unit staff, your jaw set firm as you gave them a reassuring nod, hoping they couldn’t see how badly you were shaking as your cunt spasmed toward orgasm, but never got there.

There was something vicious in the rate at which he was forcing you toward the edge. Even though you couldn’t see or hear him, you felt like he was tormenting you with spite in mind rather than pleasure, like something you’d said or thought had angered him.

You didn’t have much time to consider that, though, as the hours went on and you’d begged the stars that the slick slipping from your center wouldn’t go past the hem of your dress. A few times you’d cursed the damned uniform, but quickly turned to cursing Kylo Ren for the ever-so-slightly too high hem. It’d surprised you that he never acted on those silent curses aimed at him, that it hadn’t earn you another hour riding the edge of pleasure while choking down the gasps and moans he’d surely intended to draw from you.

During lunch, you’d found a corner and ate alone, speaking to the wall and scorning Kylo under your breath, spitting empty threats, telling him to stop, to slow down. When that hadn’t worked and the Force picked up in pattern and pressure, nudging your clit just right, your hands had clamped around a plastic fork as you held on for dear life. He was nowhere near you and you’d almost cum four times over the course of your twenty-five-minute break. At that point, you’d considered begging him to let you cum, but part of you knew that would only lengthen his schemes.

Other times during shift, when Silver was rolling her eyes when you’d asked for her help, you’d felt the light, teasing lance of the Force trail along your neck. When you were priming tubing for a new admission, you’d felt the strange, unseen presence caress your ear like Kylo’s tongue might. And one hour, right after the previous had left you wondering if you’d be able to stand the next time you needed to – that hour where you’d traded your curses for pleading, traded the harshness you were spitting for the simple, hushed breaths you needed to outlast the never-ending torrent of pleasure he kept surging through you – the Force was kinder, something sentimental in the way it’d weighted your body like Kylo would, draped itself along your shoulders as sweat dried on your brow and the shaking of your legs settled.

A delicate, “Thank you,” had breathed over your lips when the Force – when Kylo’s teasing – seemed it would let up for the remainder of your shift.

But, of course, that peace had been temporary, a strategy to lapse your guard, to make you vulnerable when you’d most needed a clear mind and a steady hand. It had started with the gentle lulls you’d been left with, a stroking tendril swift over the column of your neck, the tourniquet tight to the patient’s arm as you poked their forearm in search of a vein. And when you informed Silver you’d found one, the Force deftly switched its attention to your pussy.

Silver had been scrutinizing you before, but when your shaking hand and short, shallow breaths appeared as fear instead of the pleasure they were born from, her brow had narrowed that much more. When you’d anchored the vein and aligned the needle – at her all-important fifteen-degree angle – your hand had shifted, jumped as your thighs tightened and you fought to trap a moan in your throat. It was an accident that the needle pierced the patient – and, worse, through the vein – at a greater angle, and it wrought you with emotion. Guilt for hurting the patient, shame for screwing up under Silver’s icy appraisal, and unyielding anger for Kylo Ren for causing your fuck up and not being able to explain that.

So here you were, taking the brunt of criticism and punishment for a mistake you wouldn’t have made had it not been for Kylo Ren, and studying your reflection in the scant light offered from the holo-chart of a patient you hadn’t known existed up until three minutes ago.

“Kylo,” you breathed, reaching for the second badge-scanner, “I can’t look bad here. The Board is watching. Hux is watching.” You glimpsed the radar fastened to your wrist, directing your tired eyes at Kylo’s indicator like he could feel your attention on him. “Give me this last hour and let me be good. Let me do well. Let me prove that I can to everyone who believes otherwise.”

A few seconds passed by as you waited for a reaction. Nothing came. The Force remained absent from you, and your shoulders dropped in relief. With a final glance at the chart, noting the patient’s identifier and checking it against the meal ticket, you swiped your badge and the entrance rushed open.

Darkness met you once more, but this darkness was heavier somehow. Not in the way untouched rooms are usually heavy – not with dust or grime – but a heaviness that clutched at your heart. It pressed into you, taunted you even as you remained a step outside the threshold. It was only shadows, unmoving and unremarkable darkness, but it clawed at you. It writhed at your feet and stirred your heart.

This was the darkness that lived behind each of those younglings’ eyes, but here it was concentrated, like this was the very source of it. Like this was its home.

“Hello?” you croaked, still not daring to pass into the shadow-thick room.

No answer, not even a stir. Nothing but that unyielding darkness.

You cleared your throat. “I, um, I have your dinner.” You took a small step forward. “Sorry for the wait… if there was one.”

More of the same. More of nothing.

A light switch entered your periphery with your next step, and you reached for it, but before you could flip it—

“If I wanted it on, do you think I’d be sitting in here like this?”

The voice was weak, small, but not that of a child. Not even that of an ill person, or an elderly one. It was male, though. Boyish, but not a boy’s. Somehow, the voice was young and old at the same time, as if the boy had lived long years already, and those years had worn him down.

The voice was a singular stream against the dark’s thick, silent wrath, and it was hollow, empty like the shadows before you should be. As the question ended, you found that it wasn’t bitterness or pain that lived in its tone, but rather a broken apathy, like whoever this was had cared and fought for so long but had ultimately lost in the end.

“Not that anyone here is really concerned about what I want,” came the voice again, an edge weighting its words.

Finally, you stepped completely into the room. You had to swallow a gasp when the entrance at your back locked shut. The tray jostled in your arms, but you succeeded at remaining upright.

With a sugary tone, you asked, “How will you eat if you can’t see your food?”

A huffed laugh, tired and bitter. “You should work on that nurse voice. Not very convincing.” A long, deep breath filled a few otherwise silent moments. “Send that tray back. Give it to someone who wants it.”

Without your “nurse voice”, you said, “Why did you order it—”

“—I didn’t. I never do. I’m being kept here, why would I want to sustain myself to make my stay that much longer?”

“Kept?” you whispered.

The longer you stood in place, the more your eyes adjusted. The room was still suffocated by the swamp of darkness, but there was some light after all. Scant, but there, a beam of the setting sun speared the room, and from what you had begun to make out of the body in front of you – a small form curled in the center of a bed – you found he was staring out of the broken blinds from which it came, like he was looking at something. Looking forsomething.

“Kept. Held prisoner. Restrained but not restrained because thatwould make this whole operation illegal, right? Whatever way you want to put it, I’ve made it obvious I don’t want to be here.” A long pause and a sad sigh. “Starvation is a better fate than most here, anyway.”

The more he spoke, the clearer it became that his voice wasn’t hollow, but burning with quiet fury. For what, you weren’t sure, but you realized this was the first patient who had spoken all day. And his tone, his words, only solidified the fact that there was something very, very wrong going on.

You walked closer to him, past the foot of his bed until you saw where the small slant of light was focused, what he continued to brokenly fawn over.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, leaning down so you could match your view with his.

He turned his head from the mostly covered window, the creak of light only possible through a bend in the blinds, and he looked at you, a flash of realization spreading through his features before he reined his expression into a void of dull emotion.

He stared at you as you stared at him, appraising you just the same. He was young, but it appeared as though his youth had been leeched from him. Long dark brunette curls framed his face and teased his shoulders, heavy with oil inherent of unkemptness. An immense sadness lived in the downturned state of his mouth, a contrasting anger set in the crease of his brow. And when you finally found his eyes, you restrained a shiver, as the deep hazel burned with that cleave of sun and struck you with the anvil of pain and desperation that lived in them.

He wasn’t alarmed at your proximity but confused. With a shaky voice, and something of a weak sneer biting at his mouth, he said, “You’re a sick, brutal cunt, you know that?”

“What? What do you—”

“What am I looking at? Do not patronize me!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you stupid or just cruel?”

“I’m not either, I—”

“You’re both!”

“I’m temporary! I don’t work here! I’ve been here for one shift! I’ve been on this planet for one day!”

Without missing a beat, but less heated and more restrained, the boy said, “Just stupid then.”

He continued to glare at you, but your eyes wandered back to the break in the blinds, and with narrowed eyes you found something that resembled a racing track. It was far out in the distance, but you knew that was what he had been focused on, sure of it by the way his demeanor shifted when you looked back down at him.

“Help me understand, then, if I am so stupid,” you whispered.

“You aren’t any different from the others, no matter if you’re temporary or not. Whatever that means, anyway.” The boy’s jaw set so firm you swore you heard it crack. “You don’t want to understand. If you did, if anyone cared so much, the Infirmary wouldn’t exist.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Help me?” the boy barked. He considered you for a moment, sun and shadow warring across the hollows of his cheeks as he did. Those pained eyes narrowed a fraction. “Who are you? What does temporary mean?”

You leaned away from him, straightening your posture and setting his tray on a counter off to the side. You offered your name, just the first, and dragged an absent-minded finger over the embroidery of your uniform. “Temporary means…”

Perhaps it was his already non-existent trust in you, but you did not think that informing him of the real reason you were here – telling him that your license and life were on the line and you were here so the Board of Physicians would have ease in their decision to end your life or not – would do much to foster his confidence in you, you took a second to frame it in a way that would appeal to him.

Clearing your throat, you kept his stare and said, “Temporary means that I’m here for less than two weeks, and I have no loyalties to any staff here. Temporary means that I do care so much, and I do want to help because temporary also means that I’ve seen some weird shit today, and I don’t understand it.” The boy’s brows raised for a fragmented second, but you knew you’d gained at least a small portion of his respect, so you continued.

With a lowered voice and an unbreakable stare, you said, “Temporary means that I am on your side, and if you let me, if you help me to understand what is going on, I will help you as best as I can.”

The boy shifted, ringing a hand around his opposite wrist, toying with the identification band secured there. He never stopped looking into your eyes, and you knew he was searching for deceit, but the longer he stared, the more he came up short.

You offered him your hand, observing how he flinched away from it, but keeping it extended as he considered it for another few moments.

“I told you who I am. Will you tell me who you are?”

It seemed like the darkness that surrounded you was watching with bated breath, watching in awe as the boy’s gaze remained on your extended hand.

He swallowed, and ever so slowly, with a hesitation that struck through your heart, he lifted his hand and clasped it around yours. The light from the broken blinds coiled around your matched hands, and for the first time today, you felt hopeful. And no matter how dim and breathless it was, a flicker of that same hopefulness played through his eyes.

“I…” the boy hesitated, so you squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring nod. His shoulders relaxed with his next breath. “I am Quynnland. With a ‘Y’.”

“Quynnland,” you parroted, trying it out and letting his hand go. “Do you have any nicknames? Like Quynn? Quynnie?”

“No one calls me Quynnie!” he roared. “Nobody calls me that except…” Quynnland shifted in bed, away from you, turning his face back toward that racing track. His bottom lip quivered, and he appeared as if you’d just lashed him with molten plasma.

“Quynnland,” you soothed, “nobody calls you that except who?”

He remained quiet, but he shuddered, and you saw the light glint off a stream that found its way down the slate of his cheek.

“I want to understand. I want to help you.” You swallowed against your throat, which had become markedly thicker since you last spoke. “Please, help me help you.”

Quynnland’s chin rose, his eyes fell shut, and he balled his hands into tight fists. He wasn’t angry, but in pain, and you knew from the sight of how broken he was that he’d been in pain for a long time now. Perhaps, it seemed, he had never known a day without it.

Just when you were about to speak, Quynnland coughed against a sob and whispered, “They won’t let me see him. He’s there on his own. He’s never been alone for this long.” A tight breath whipped into his chest. “They’re keeping me here so I age out. They’re keeping me away from him.”

“Who is he? What are you aging out of?” The more he offered, the more questions you thought of.

“I almost got us out this time,” he whispered. “I almost saved us both, but they caught me and dragged me away from him. He’s young, but that never stopped them before.” A wheeze of pain slipped from Quynnland’s lips. “They probably broke him just enough so he could still work.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you kept quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quynnland spoke again. “My brother. That’s who gets to call me ‘Quynnie’. That’s who I tried to save, and that’s who is suffering because I failed.” He pushed an aggravated sound from his lungs. “The only way you can help me, is if you help him.”

“How do I do that?” you asked, watching as his fists relaxed at his sides.

Quynnland opened his eyes and bore the full weight of their pain into yours. He took a long breath and squared his jaw. “You get him away from the wardens, and then you get him out.”

“Where is he?” you asked, needing to know what that racing track he kept glancing toward was.

He went to answer, but a rush of motion sounded beyond his door, and just as quickly, the entrance to his room shot open. Quynnland ducked his head and balled his fists, and you turned to see that it was Silver who stood in his doorway. She wore an unfamiliar face, one of shock and terror, and you went to speak, but her hand whipped out and signaled that you would notbe saying a word until you left this room.

She stared at Quynnland a moment longer, surveying him like she’d never seen him before. “Eat your dinner. I won’t have you starving to death under my license, not now that this will be your last stay here.” Silver more so talked at him rather than directly to him, and her tone was hard and full of disgust.

It gave you another reason to hate her.

You wanted to reach out and take Quynnland’s hand, but Silver snapped at you before you could. “You,” she sneered. “Out. Now.”

The ice behind her eyes had seeped to her tongue, and her words froze the very blood in your veins. She watched you as you stepped around her and into the antechamber, and you glanced the final withering, aghast glare she shot at Quynnland as you did.

When you reached toward the door that opened to the hall, Silver caught your wrist just before your badge met it. She was eerily silent for a moment, and you swore she was practically shaking with rage, but then she settled herself and stared down at you with such concentrated antagonization that it knocked the breath right from your lungs.

“What made you think you could go into this room? I never went near this room with you today. Why would you be allowed to enter it alone?” She was seething, but she hid it behind something of a gnarled smile.

“There was a tray just sitting outside, unattended to. I figured I would find something to do and deliver it to the patient. No harm done.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on you. “Are you aware what this patient is here for?” she asked sweetly, but it came off as clear condescension.

Silver waited for you to answer, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted from humiliating you again. So you remained silent, and she sneered at you. “Exactly what I thought. So why would you interact with a patient you know nothing about? And did the double security not tip you off that you were somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“Look, Silver,” you huffed, enjoying the disgust that smeared across her features as you said her name, “I saw a tray. I had nothing better to do. My badge had access to the room. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

She cast you an undying glare, and her eye twitched when she gave you a once-over. “This patient willfully tried to kill himself and his brother last week. Did he tell you that?”

Your heart blackened, and your ears rang with silence as she let her words sink in.

Silver was pleased with your shocked silence. She went on. “Oh, and did he tell you just how many times he’s tried to do this exact thing in the past?” You remained wordless, feeling betrayed for reasons you couldn’t understand. “No? Not even a guess? Well, he’s a unit regular, if that gives any indication.”

She waited again and was once more elated to be met with silence. “It’s the same story every time. The wardens say he takes his kid brother to the shore and plans on swimming out to the Falls and either drowning to death or dying from impact.”

You swallowed in vain, mouth drier than sand. A part of your knew you didn’t want the answer, but you still asked, “How old… how old is his brother?”

A sick, deathly smile creaked across her perfect face. “Of course, we don’t know exactly, but previous scans estimate that he’s no older than seven.”

Seven. A child. Quynnland had tried to kill his brother… had tried to kill himself and his kid brother…

“Next time, don’t poke around business you don’t understand,” Silver cut your panic short, her frigid tone icing your skin with gooseflesh. “Your shift is up.”

She shoved your shoulder on her way past, but before she could activate the door the room filled with bright red light, and a shrill alarm screamed through the ruby darkness.

It was your watch.

Endless, screeching notes sounded from your wrist. Your stomach dropped, and you couldn’t think for a moment, completely thrown back to that last hour on Starkiller Base.

Kylo was in trouble. Kylo was hurt. Kylo needed you and you weren’t there.

When you lifted your arm as your heart sank through the floor and you read the continuous scrawling message, your feet pounded the ground and carried you away from the unit to wherever he was, wherever your radar was guiding you.

All you could think of was him lying under you, his blood slipping along your skin, and his still, comatose body. And as you made your way to him, not seeing the world around you, hardly aware of CB-7070’s footfalls booming behind you, you kept rereading the message that raced along your watch’s screen, and as you turned corner after corner and fled down hundreds of steps and staircases, the simple, abbreviated message taunted you with the past.

ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

As it scrawled endlessly across the small screen, all you could think of was how this felt too familiar to the day Starkiller exploded. And the only thought that remained, the only one out of the thousand that flooded back from that day, was that you would fight for the future you’d realized you wanted then.

Only now did you admit the full truth of that thought: the only future you wanted was one where you could be with Kylo. The only future worth having, you realized, was the one where you would spend it with him.

So you ran toward your future. Just as you had run that day not so long ago, you ran toward Kylo Ren.

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #smut #angst

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 10 Saturday School Kids Can Be Cruel.

Friday night had been pretty fun when Penny finally got home. She had called Pietro earlier in the day to tell him not to make her too much for dinner because she had a big lunch. She managed to keep the petit fours a secret until she got home. When she did get home, she plopped the box down on the table while he had his back turned and shouted “SURPRISE” as he turned around. He was so surprised he almost dropped their dinner, but Penny took the tray off his hands before anything got ruined. That night they had baked potatoes with tiny cakes and tea for dessert. The following morning Penny woke up to a pre-made plate of bacon and eggs, some money, and a note.

“ Morning Penny, They had to call me in for some emergency maintenance on the mech’s cannon again. There’s gonna be a lot to be done so I won’t be back till tomorrow. Be safe while I’m gone; remember to eat and stay charged.”

“Love you Sunshine, Dad.”

Penny: He won’t be home till tomorrow. I’m going to be alone here until tomorrow.

Penny frowns unconsciously; she had rarely been away from her dad since she was stationed. His presence had been her only constant comfort since the tournament; she hadn’t gone a day without him and she had never thought about what would happen if she had to. It’s honestly quite scary to be alone with nothing be her thoughts. Whenever she was, everything felt so small, so quiet, so….. suffocating like a black void pooling around her.

Penny: No one will be here when I get back or when I go to sleep tonight. When it’s dark, it’ll just be, be-

Penny shakes her head, pushing out the worrying thoughts before they get worse.

Penny: Stop. You are fine, you are strong, you are not hopeless, and one night on your own will not hurt you. Just eat your breakfast and go to work.

Penny sits down at the table and quietly eats her now cold breakfast. Once she’s done, she washes her dishes, turns off all the lights, and heads off to her morning patrol. The patrol went well, no robberies or emergencies today, for some reason this didn't make Penny happy, even though it meant she would have less paperwork at the end of the day. Before long, it’s time to help at the training facility. Saturdays and Sundays were always the easiest days of the week at the facility as most academy students rested or went home on weekends, and most hunters took it easy on the weekends too, so besides makeup sessions and a few fitness hobbyists, no one came in. Which meant Penny was never requested on these days. Or so she thought. When she arrived, Penny is told that a team has requested her assistant for their session and was waiting for her in her usual room. This surprised her but Penny did as she was told and headed towards the training room. As she walked, she wondered who could have possibly asked for her on a Saturday afternoon. Could it be Winter? No, she liked to train by herself. Academy students? No, any student who came in on the weekend was to be monitored by a teacher. Could it..Ciel?...No there was no possible way she had asked for her. Penny kept pondering, but no matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t guess who could be waiting for her in that room. She’d just had to go in and see for herself. Once she finally reached the training room, the moment she enters the room, something tackles her! Penny wrests her attacker onto the floor and pins their hands behind their back. She’s about to question them when she feels something touch her back. She grabs it, gripping it tightly in her hands. She looks at it and sees it’s a long fluffy orange tail.

Penny: An orange cat tail? Neon Katt?

Penny looks down and realizes she’s holding down Neon!

Neon: Yeah, it’s me. And if not too much to ask, could you let go of my tail and GET OFF ME!

Penny: Right away. I’m so sorry!

Penny lets her go, and they both get off the floor. Before Penny can ask why Neon tackled her, Neon starts rolling towards the rest of her team. Penny tries to keep up and ask her what’s going on, but Neon wouldn't even look at her. When they finally reach the rest of the team, FNKI Neon hides behind Flynt. Penny gives up on Neon and decides to just wait to ask one of the others.

Penny: Good afternoon Team FNKI.

Flynt: Hey Penny, nice to see you.

Ivori: Afternoon to you too, Ms. Penny.

Kobalt: Sup Penny, hope you got affairs in order cause you’re about to see hell. (chuckles)

Ivori: Koco!

Ivori pops Kobalt in his side with the handle of his whip. Kobalt rubs his side in pain and annoyed.

Kobalt: Ow, the hell Ivy!

Ivori: Could you please not act like a jackass for one minute.

Kobalt: How was I being a jackass? We know what’s about to go down, I was just giving her a heads up!

Ivori: Still, would it kill you to show some tact for once. I mean Is it really so hard for you to-

Penny: Excuse me.

Both young men stop and return their attention to Penny.

Penny: What exactly is going on? I have no idea what is happening and what exactly I’ve done to get this kind of reaction. Could one of you please explain?

Flynt: Yeah, sorry about that. You see what happened was-

Suddenly, Neon pushes Flynt out of the way and gets in Penny’s face. She gets less than an inch away from Penny’s face, looking really upset.

Neon: You didn’t call.

Penny: Excuse me?

Neon continues to stare her down, arms crossed with a big frown on her face.

Neon: You didn’t call me! I gave you my number, asked you to call me, waited two weeks for you to call, but you never did. So rude!

Penny: I am sorry Neon, I have been very busy for the last few weeks and hadn’t thought about our conversation since then.

Neon: Wow, talk about thoughtless. Or am I just that forgettable to you?

Penny: No, I just had over things I needed to give my full attention to at the time. That and I didn’t have anything to talk about.

Neon: Uh, That’s so not true! What about that “secret mission” Ironwood has you working on?

Penny: I’m not supposed to talk about that.

Neon: Yeah, with civilians! You’re supposed to gossip about your crazy missions and stupid paperwork with coworkers, stupid. Sharing wild stories is like the best thing about being a soldier! And besides, this isn’t just an everyday mission; it's one the General himself had to come to your house and get you out of bed for. How could you not wanna talk about that?

Penny: How did you know about that?

Neon: Same way I shoulda heard from you. Now talk! I wanna hear everything!

Penny stares blankly at Neon as she piece together what she just heard. She looked over at the rest of Team FNKI; the three young men were standing awkwardly, embarrassed but unsurprised by Neon’s actions. Finally understanding what’s going on, Penny turns her attention back to Neon.

Penny: So if I’m hearing this correctly, you request this room and my presence with sole purpose of having a recreational conversation?

Neon: Yeah!

Penny: And you do realize that in doing so, you are misappropriating both military equipment and personnel?

With that, Neon’s pout drops, and so does her tail, Flynt facepalms and hangs his head, Ivori does everything he can to avoid making eye contact, and Kobalt’s looking around and whistling, trying his best to play it cool. Penny crosses her arms, unimpressed by their silly plan.

Penny: Team FNKI, please leave this area immediately so that others may use it properly.

Neon: What! Oh come on, no one even comes here on Saturday!

Penny: That is incorrect and irrelevant; this room is for training purposes only, not socializing. If you aren’t going to train then you have to leave. Those are the rules we must follow as soldiers.

Neon: OMG, Are you really doing this right now? Ugh why do you have to be such a narc-

Neon is quickly interrupted by Flynt getting in between the warring redheads.

Flynt: Okay, I’m sensing way too much hostility here, so why don’t we all just take as sec to calm down and come up with some kind of solution.

Neon about to start arguing again but Flynt turns to her and puts a hand on her cheek; he caresses her cheek with his thumb and lightly scratches her jawline with his other fingers. Soon Neon lets out a low purr as she full calms down from her hissy fit.

Flynt: Kitty, I know you just wanna talk, but we gotta follow the rule. So, how about this, you like skating, right?

A now calm Neon simply nods her head as she continues to receive scratches.

Flynt: Then how about you do a little speed test, you race around the room a few times while Penny tracks your speed and you two talk as you go. Me and the boys can stay here and do some stretches while you ladies race and chat. Sound good to you?

Neon: Yeah…Sounds…good.

Flynt: Good.

Still scratching away, Flynt turns his head to Penny.

Flynt: Sound okay to you, Penny?

Penny: Since the activities are forms of training, yes that would be acceptable.

Flynt: Great, thank ya Penny.

Flynt takes his hand off Neon’s cheek onto her shoulder and rolls her towards Penny as he returns to his spot next to Ivori and Kobalt. Penny and Neon walk to the edge of the room near the entrance; once there, the two stand close to the wall, and Neon takes a starting stance. Penny clicks her heels together and starts her rocket boots; they’re on a lower setting to match Neon’s gliding and sets an internal stopwatch. Penny gives a quick glance to the boys, and they were indeed doing stretches as promised, then looks back to Neon. They make eye contact, Noen mouths, “Ready?” and Penny holds up a hand and starts counting down. 5….4……3….2….1.

Both girls dash off at tremendous speeds. They remain neck and neck as they go around the room and soon Neon starts talking again.

Neon: So what’s going on with this secret mission?

Penny: I’m investigating a crime, and I need to go undercover to find the perpetrator.

Neon: Cool, so are they just dropping you in or what?

Penny: No, because of the lifestyle and living situation of the people on the suspect list, I have to receive some training on how to behave and act without seeming suspicious.

Neon: Oh, is it like stealth training?

Penny: Yes and no, I’m taking etiquette lessons so that I may infiltrate Atlas high society.

Neon: Woah, really? Damn that’s like straight out of a spy movie! So who they got teaching you to act all distinguished and junk? I don’t know we had an expert on that stuff just lying around here.

Penny: We don’t, an elite is instructing me as a form of repayment for saving his life at a party.

Neon: Uh ew, you’re getting lessons from some old fart elite. Gross.

Penny: No, he’s actually a teenage boy. And he’s not gross; he’s very clean and friendly.

Neon: A teenager! They seriously gotta another kid teaching you? Way to pay off a life debt.

Penny: It’s actually very nice; Our ages being so close makes our dynamic fairly even, he’s intelligent, easy to talk to, and very kind, and the way he teaches is unique and very fun.

Neon: Ooooh cool. Is he cute?

Penny: He’s…more beautiful than cute.

Neon: Oh yeah? How exactly?

Penny: Well, he’s has a model’s figure, lean, long legs, high shoulders, and excellent posture. You could take a picture of him at any angle, and he’d always look amazing. His face is also gorgeous, pink lips that look nice even in a smirk, high cheekbones, a cute little nose, and his eyes! I’ve never seen a pair so blue and shiny before; they look like a deep sea with the brilliance of a gemstone. And his hair is so soft and neat that it looks like silk and is white as fresh snow.

Penny begins to sway from left to right, hands behind her back and a sweet smile on her face. She’s slowing down and moving further and further away from the wall as they go. Neon slows to match her speed.

Neon: Wow, so he’s grade A in the looks department. What about his personality?

Penny: As I previously stated, he’s very intelligent. He’s also creative and well-spoken I could talk with him for hours if I had the time to. He’s a bit abrasive, not cruel by any means just very direct and confident, and charming and witty (giggle), which is a little funny because his first name starts with Whit. (giggles)

Neon: (giggles) Sounds like you really really like this guy.

Penny: I do. Being around him is just so….wonderful. Sometimes when I’m with him, it feels like it’s just the two of us; I have his full attention, and he has mine. It’s very..cozy and a bit

A slight blush glows on Penny’s cheeks. She turns around and starts flying backwards.

Penny: exhilarating. So much so that sometimes I feel a little dizzy and get this thumping feeling in my chest when he looks at me for too long or says something really nice to me. It’s really-

Penny is intercepted by her accidentally backing into the wall of one of the obstacles. Luckily for her, her aura was active, and she had slowed down so much that the impact was damaging in the slightest. Still hurt a bit though.

Neon: Ooooooh shit.

Neon rushes over to Penny, having been in earshot of the collision come running to see if everything’s okay.

Flynt: I heard a bang. Who got hurt?

Kobalt: 5000 lien says Neon got bored and pushed her off a platform.

Ivori: Koco I swear to every God if you don’t stop I hit you right in the-

Neon: Will you two mouthy douche cakes shut up and actually help!

The two stop their bickering and go to Penny. They try to help her up, but Penny puts her hands up as they try, and they back up to give her some space. Penny turns off her boots, takes a second to regain her balance, and steadies herself fully on the floor. The team begin conversing about what’s just happened.

Ivori: Are you okay, dear? Do you need us to get someone?

Penny: No, thank you, I’m fine. My aura was activated, and it was a slow speed collision, so there was no damage aside from the initial shock of the impact.

Flynt: But why’d you crash?

Penny: I-

Neon: Oh, it was nothing really. Penny just go all wispy talking about this dreamy boy she met.

Penny: W-what? What are you-

Kobalt: Oooh, so that what you two were talking about. A boy.

Neon: Yup, she was so caught up in her gushing that she slammed herself into that wall. (laughs) Can’t say I blame her though, all cute girls go a little brain dead when they think about their crush. I know I did.

Kobalt: And since when did you count as a cute girl?

Neon playful elbows Kobalt in the side, and Kobalt returns the favor while Penny looks on, confused by their words.

Penny: Excuse me, but do you mean by a crush?

Neon: Oh, you know.

Penny: No, I do not know.

Neon: You know it’s when you really like someone.

Penny tilts her head to the side, confused.

Penny: But I like a lot of people.

Neon: Yeah, but a crush is when you really like someone. Like you like like them.

Penny: Like like?

Kobalt: You know, they make you feel all floaty, makes your head all foggy, and gives you butterflies in your tummy.

Penny: How would someone get insects in my stomach?

Neon and Kobalt sigh in unison, frustrated with her lack of knowledge. Meanwhile, Ivori walks up to Penny, dusts off her sleeves, and takes both her hands in his, taking over the situation.

Ivori: Sorry about those two. They have don’t know how to take anything seriously. Now the gist of what they were trying to say is that a crush is when you have some romantic feelings for someone.

Penny: Romantic..feelings?

Ivori: Yes, when you’re with this person, it’s very special. They’re beautiful to you; they make you feel warm and safe and happy. You want to hold them, laugh with them, kiss them, and just be romantic with them.

Penny: But I’ve never wanted to ki-

For a second, the unconscious thought of kissing Whitley plays through Penny’s mind. Suddenly the thumping in her chest returned, and her face started to redden. Penny tries to make the thought go away, but Ivori’s words keep replaying in her head, and memories of Whitley pour in with it. Her face gets redder and redder until she’s at the max amount of flushed her body can be. She tries to speak her mind still jumbled.

Penny: I-I d-don’t have r-romantic fe-feelings for hi-(hiccup)

Penny quickly rips her hands from Ivori and covers her mouth, astonished that she had somehow just said a lie.

Kobalt: The hell was that!

Penny: N-nothing (hiccup)

Neon: Wait a sec, I’ve heard about this. She hiccups when she lies. You lied, you’re totally crushing on this guy, aren’t you?

Penny: No I’m not-(hiccup)

Kobalt: Holy shit, that’s fucking adorable! Do it again! Do it again!

Neon: Penny’s got a crush, Penny’s got a crush.~

Neon chants in a sing-song voice, Kobalt chuckling at her side.

Penny: No, I don't-(hiccup) Stop it!

Neon continues to chant and Kobalt joins in, Penny just covers her face, silently praying for the ground to swallow her up and away from this as they continue heckling her. After a while Ivori decides that enough was enough and gets in the two jokesters faces.

Ivori: Both of you stop that right now! Can’t you see that hurting the poor girl’s feelings!

Neon: Ugh, Lighten up we’re were just kidding around.

Kobalt: Yeah, you’re supposed to tease people when they get a crush. We did the same thing to you.

Ivori: That was different, you don’t make fun of a little girl. Especially one like Penny.

Neon: Oh, come on, if she’s gonna be a soldier, she has to be able to handle some hazing.

Ivori: But you still shouldn’t be prying into her personal life like this.

Flynt: All three of you shouldn’t have been prying at all.

Flynt final chimes in, having stayed silent for far too long.

Flynt: Koco, Kitty cut it out right now; it's not funny. Ivy, you should’ve stayed out of it; you played right into their game and lost. Take your L and walk away.

The three listen and stop arguing, and Flynt turns to Penny. He takes off his shades, gives her a reassuring smile, and pats her shoulder.

Flynt: Penny, I understand you’re vulnerable and awkward right now, that’s normal. If you wanna talk about this, we’ll gladly listen but if not that’s okay too. We won’t push you, and I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable today.

Penny: Thank you Flynt Coal, your apology is accepted.

Flynt: Okay, now if there’s anything you need feel free to-

???: Excuse me.

Everyone stops in their tracks as a familiar voice rings out into the room. They look towards the door to see Winter walking towards them, stern-faced as always.

Winter: Apologies if I’m interrupting your conversation Team FNKI, but your time is almost up, and I need to have a talk with Penny. And since it seems like you have already finished up, I’d like you all to leave.

Flynt: Yes Ma’am, let's go people, time to bounce.

Flynt gives Penny a wave and heads towards the door, followed by Ivori, who gives her a sweet smile, followed by Kobalt, who ruffled her hair, and lastly Neon, who gave her a peace sign as she rolls past. Once they’ve left the room, Winter and Penny are left to converse.

Winter: Penny Polendina.

Penny: Yes, Winter Schnee.

Winter: I understand you have had a change in schedule.

Penny: Yes, I have.

Winter: When you return to your usual schedule, I’d like you to join me on my errand.

Penny: You mean the-

Winter: She’s asked for you, said that your presence was calming. I’ve already spoken to Ironwood, and he’s approved the change. As soon as your investigation is over, you’ll be accompanying me for this task twice a week. Understood.

Penny: Affirmative.

Winter: Excellent, now run along the carrier for the evening shift is leaving soon.

Penny: Yes Ma’am, have a good day.

Penny exists the room, leaving Winter alone to train, soon she’s back in Mantle and headed to the station to fill out her daily reports. It doesn’t take long as it has been a very uneventful day so she finishes in around two hours. From there she walks home, unlocking the door and stepping into the living room, turn on the lights as she enters.

Penny: I’m home-

Penny begins her usual greeting before remembering that she’s alone. Her smile drops and she heads to her room, taking off her boots along the way. She sets her backpack and boots down the flops onto her bed, she looks up at the ceiling, wonders what she should do until it’s time for her to sleep. She pulls out her scroll, hoping to find some entertainment, and notices a text from Neon reading “If you wanna any advice on how to get a date with Atlas boy, text me 😸🌈😉.” She goes red at the memory of teasing she received early and responds with a simple “No thank you.” She decides to go on her Individeo, a video, and streaming platform, app to watch some videos. She pulls up a video on making your own custom guns, she had seen the tile and saved it for another time days ago. As she watches she remembers that she saved this specific video to show her dad because she thought some of the ideas for the weapons could be used to improve some of their own guns. This realization weights on her as all the ideas and facts she wanted to discuss with her dad float around with nowhere to go. Speaking of her dad he wanted her to eat whiles he’s gone.

Now Penny could survive solely off of electricity but thanks to her biofuel converter and new nervous system she could enjoy food and turn it into fuel, making her more eco-friendly. She closes the video app and searches her memory bank for phone numbers for local restaurants that delivered. She forms a long list of options but as she has limited funds and would hate to inconvenience anyone Penny starts disqualifying the higher prices and further away eateries. Soon she narrows it down to a list of three options, a pizza place, a burger place, Ms. Ling’s. From there she evaluates them base on quality, quantity, and service rates. In the end logic and curiosity wins out as Penny picks out the one she never had before, pizza. She calls in for one medium-sized cheese pizza, just to test out the taste, and is told it will take 45 minutes to deliver. She takes this time to wash up and change into her pajamas. When the food does arrive she goes downstairs, pays, and takes her pizza. She sits the box on the table, opens it, and takes out a slice. Penny takes a bite and it’s greasy in a good way, the cheese is nice and stretchy, the tomatoes sauce compliments the cheese, and the crust has a pleasant crunch. But it just doesn’t feel tasty, it tastes good but for some reason, it just doesn't feel the way to supposed to. Penny eats two more slices then puts the rest away in the refrigerator. She goes back upstairs, brushes her teeth, plugs up, and heads to bed early.

She closes her eyes hoping to see her dad’s smiling face when she wakes again.

#penny polendina #pietro polendina #flynt coal #neon katt #Ivori #Kobalt #winter schnee #rwby fanfiction #rwby #fanfic #cute #god help this sweet bean #broken machines #beta tester

[writeyouin]

Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – The Arena

A/N – I finally came back to this, my poor abandoned baby.  As usual, a special thanks to @rocksinmuffin​​ without whom, this story wouldn’t exist.

Warnings – Minor suicide mention.

Rating – T

“That is the cruellest thing I have ever seen you do,” Swerve glowered at you.

“It had to be done. There was nothing else for it,” You replied nonchalantly.

“RODNEY DID NOTHING WRONG.”

“He existed.”

“SO YOU JUST KICKED HIM OUT FOR EXISTING?”

“Look, you get to choose your Animal Crossing villagers, and I get to choose mine.”

“Abuse them, more like,” Swerve pouted.

“Fine, do you want to play on the switch and adopt an ugly-ass hamster who does nothing but bitch all day?” You asked, holding the console out to Swerve.

He took it from you, placing it on the tallest shelf in the hab-suite, “You can have this back when you learn kindness, you monster.”

“… That’s just mean,” You said, looking despondently at the shelf which was labelled No Man’s land. Beside the switch was a copy of Harry Potter which had been removed from you until you could read it without yelling at Snape every time you saw his name, and several pictures of Getaway which you had scrawled insults on; Swerve wasn’t punishing you for those, he just liked admiring them every now and then while you worked on new insults to scribble.

“Okay, fine, you can have it back right now, if you say that hamsters are cute,” Swerve grinned.

“Clearly, you’ve never seen one in real life. They work for the devil and steal people’s souls. I’m ninety percent sure that they also have armies ready to-”

Pain wracked your body and you woke up screaming to find your captors prodding you with weapons akin to cattle prods but much larger and stronger. It was the same creatures that had captured you.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” You yelled through the pain.

The humanoids didn’t reply, staying eerily silent; you wondered whether they were even capable of communication in a way that you might understand.

“All right, that’s enough… For now,” A human called, stepping forward, looking completely out of place among the others.

Your captors backed away, leaving you alone with the human on the opposite side of the cell. You glared at the woman, who couldn’t have been older than thirty. She wore acidic green armour that bore a symbol of a decapitated robotic head with wires and cables sticking out from the neck; the ensemble made you nervous.

“So… You’re our newest contestant. How dull,” She commented boredly, examining you.

“Contestant? What do you mean?” You asked fearfully.

Once again, you were left without a reply as the woman pulled out a dictation machine and began talking into it as if you weren’t there. “Subject is of questionable build. A Minibot. No definable insignia – probably a NAIL. Presumably no fighting skill of which to speak. No weapon attachments that can be seen. One noticeable draw to the crowds is that it’s a female – a rarity in itself.”

“Oh my God, are you- Fuck, are you putting me in the hunger games?” You demanded incredulously.

“The bot uses organic terms in communication. It’s possible that it has spent much of its time around organic communities rather than with its own kind.”

Although you knew you could argue that you weren’t originally a Cybertronian, you decided that it probably wouldn’t get you very far with your captor; she was clearly only interested in her job, whatever that was. You doubted that you would get anywhere talking to her.

“So that’s it? You’re going to put me into an arena to fight? Did I get it right? Hey! HEY, I’M TALKING TO YOU. YEAH, BITCH WITH THE BAD HAIR, YOU!”

The childish attempt at an insult earned you a bemused glance, and the woman paused the dictation machine.

“You ought to mind your manners, or you’ll be in a much worse condition before the fight, and that will only bore the spectators,” She warned you.

“I’ll behave, if you at least tell me your name. I’d like to know who I’m insulting.”

Your roguish attitude earned a sadistic smile; it wasn’t every-day that your captor met a Cybertronian with any spirit left, “Lady Ouida.”

“Stupid name,” You murmured, mostly to hide your fear. “So I’m right about this being a colosseum of sorts?”

“Yes. You are to fight in the arena.”

“And if I win, I go free?”

“No. If you win, we kill you anyway. The people are out for Cybertronian blood after all.”

“Wow… That’s so fucking stupid. Like for real, did you take this out of a book? It’s not very creative is it? How many movies have you seen where the hero is thrown into a death ring to battle? Plus, there’s not going to be much of a fight. I mean, look at me. My arms are all fucked up from your bodyguards, I’m clearly not a fighter, and I’m like only three feet taller than you. Factor in multiple opponents and you get a five-minute fight, tops which will mostly be me running for my life.”

“You don’t seem too concerned with your fate.”

“Bitch, I am terrified, but I’ve seen death and been dragged back from it. I have defined the meaning of an out of body experience. Right now, I am competing with forces that you cannot even imagine in a brain that was not meant for me. In other words, there is nothing you can do that is worse than what I’ve been dealing with for the last forty-eight hours so GET FUCKED.”

The words PERSONALITY MALFUNCTION appeared on your visor, and you knew they were true. In your human form, you tended to avoid confrontation where you could. However, faced with the prospect of unavoidable death, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. There were only two options left for you anyway. Die in an arena, or wait for the Lost Light to come to your rescue. As you stared into the grinning face of Lady Ouida who had developed a sudden interest in you, you hoped it was the latter.

Chromedome sat miserably in the brig, having been put there for attempting to forcibly alter Swerve’s memory banks with mnemosurgery. He had lost count of how many times he had been in that exact scenario, where mnemosurgery was the only way forward, but nobody else would see it that way. How many times had Rewind refused to talk to him because of it? How often had he been forced to alter Rewind’s memory afterwards so he wouldn’t leave him? Chromedome held his head in his servos, thinking of Rewind. He wouldn’t believe it if Chromedome said it was all for Swerve. So what if mnemosurgery felt good, as long as it helped people it wasn’t that bad. Sure there were risks, but there were risks to all sorts of things that people did anyway.

With nothing else to do but think of his failure, Chromedome waited despondently in his cell, with the faintest of hopes that Rewind might deign to visit him, even if it was just to yell.

Ultra Magnus watched the security footage stoically from the computer panel in his office. As well as Chromedome, he was also watching Swerve, who had been restrained for his own safety and was sobbing loudly, screaming your name, and Whirl who was in the med-bay, awaiting yet another energon transfusion. Of the three, Whirl worried Ultra Magnus the most; he was not taking well to Ratchet’s surgery. He had damaged one of his internal components beyond repair and it was now up to Perceptor to create a suitable replacement. The replacement would undoubtedly need constant maintenance for the rest of Whirl’s life if he survived, but it was the only way forward.

Ultra Magnus looked up as the door flew open, and Rodimus came barging in.

“THIS IS A DISASTER!” Rodimus roared.

For once, Ultra Magnus didn’t have the spark to placate Rodimus; he was right, everything was going disastrously.

“WHIRL IS DYING. CHROMEDOME IS ALL KINDS OF MESSED UP. REWIND BLAMES ME FOR WHATEVER REASON. SWERVE IS SUICIDAL AND (Y/N) IS MISSING. Please tell me you have something that might help fix this mess?”

“I do not,” Ultra Magnus replied quietly. He had never felt like such a failure. Under his watch, everything had gone wrong. The Magnus armour was getting heavier every day; he didn’t deserve to wear it.

“FRAG! WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? SHE COULD BE IN DANGER. THE ROD POD’S TRACKING SYSTEM IS FRAGGED. THE CREW ARE FURIOUS. THEY HAVEN’T BEEN THIS MAD SINCE-”

“OUT OF THE WAY, COMING THROUGH,” Nightbeat’s voice called in the corridor as he weaved through the few bots out there and made his way into the office with Megatron close behind him.

“Rodimus. Ultra Magnus,” Megatron greeted professionally, before gesturing for Nightbeat to take over.

“I FOUND (Y/N),” Nightbeat began ecstatically, completely missing the sombre atmosphere.

“What? How?” Rodimus asked, dumbfounded.

“I watched the Rod-Pod’s ejection from the bay and followed it through the security cameras. After that, it was simply a matter of predicting several plausible trajectory’s considering that (Y/N) isn’t a pilot-”

Rodimus waved his arms, “Forget I asked. Just tell me where she is.”

Nightbeat ignored his disappointment that the big reveal had been ruined; it had taken a lot of work for him to covertly listen to all the radio stations where you might have landed and then locate you from that. “She’s on a privately owned planet called The Arena.”

“The… The Arena?”

Megatron nodded solemnly, “Yes. My research tells me that they capture stray Cybertronians and-”

“Don’t tell me. They put them in the arena ‘cos they think that’s creative… Primus, that’s annoying. All right, plan time. We change course, go to The Arena, break in, rescue (Y/N) and make everything go back to normal. Any questions?”

Megatron took a moment to consider the plan, “How-”

“No? Great. Then let’s go. We’ve got work to do.” Rodimus transformed and drove out of the office to head to Brainstorm’s lab. He had brushed it off with his usual casual demeanour but just like everyone else, he was furious that anyone would want to hurt you. If he was going to rescue you, he would need weapons; the morally-grey kind that Brainstorm made.

Swerve sniffled, feeling pathetic as coolant that he couldn’t wipe away under his constraints dripped down his front. Yet another failed suicide attempt to go on his record; he couldn’t even do that right. He remembered the last time he had done something so drastic, when you had come to save him from himself; you had probably only married him out of pity. Despite the depressing thought, Swerve found himself unable to believe it. You had married him because for some reason that he didn’t understand, you loved him. The two of you had spent one year married and it had been the best year of Swerve’s life. When you brought up the idea of sparklings on your anniversary, Swerve couldn’t believe that life could be any better, and now after all of that you were gone.

Although Swerve longed to wallow in self-pity, he couldn’t help thinking of Chromedome. It seemed that his last conversation was finally sinking into Swerve’s processor. What was it he had said exactly? Swerve vented air through his systems, calming himself so he could isolate the memory file.

“YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT (Y/N)!”

While it was true that Chromedome could have just said that to stop Swerve from ending his life, there was also a slim possibility that Chromedome really did have new information about you.

Swerve kept replaying the memory’s audio, listening for the truth. As a bartender, he liked to believe he was good at separating lies from the truth, but when the other bots were sober, he wasn’t very good at it.

“(Y/N)…” Swerve whispered your name, wondering what he might not know about you as of that moment.

What if you had come back and he was wallowing in his cell, too wrapped up in himself to know about it? It wasn’t possible. If you were back, it didn’t matter what state Swerve was in; he would have been taken to you. Unless…

Swerve struggled to sit up, his processor racing with endless possibilities pertaining to your fate. What if he hadn’t been taken to you because your new body was failing? What if you were dying and Swerve wasn’t there? What if he was the only one that could help you?

Unbalanced as he was, Swerve managed to stand up. He started kicking at the door, yelling as loud as he could.

“HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE! TAKE ME TO MY WIFE! TELL ME WHERE (Y/N) IS!”

Swerve didn’t pay much heed to what he was saying. All he cared about was getting to you, no matter what it took.

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#swerve #swerve x reader #swerve x human reader #ll #lost light #The Lost Light #mtmte #more than meets the eye #maccadam #transformers #transformers idw #idw #tf #reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #chapter 6 #chromedome #ultra magnus #rodimus #Nightbeat #megatron #the arena #changes

[mt-clydesdale-poke-santuary]

Meet the Team: Battlers (Dr Mal)

One of the most common questions I get asked at seminars, meetings, research tours and even school field trips is: do you have a battling team Doctor? And the answer’s yes, but not exactly. I was never part of the battling circuit but I do have a team that’s won quite a few battles. 

As one of the lead researchers and site supervisors, I’m in charge of both maintenance and security. In order to perform those tasks, I need a hardy team who can chase off poachers and handle the less than developed terrain. This team includes six pokemon who patrol on shifts with some of Jules pokemon, and our regular security team. The umbreon you see with me is my partner, Puck, who does not battle, and the Mismagius and Mightyena-Pirelot mix are my service pokemon. 

My battling/security team on the other hand are:

Darke: Tyranitar

My dear Darke who I raised from a shy little Lavitar, Darke’s been with me since I was 11 and basically filled the role of starter for me. He’s a lovely, sweet boy but his near constant death stare tends to scare people off. He’s my top battler and always packs a punch that’s either hard or impossible to just shake off. In the many poaching raids we’ve withstood, Darke has always been instrumental in keeping everyone here safe. He’s one of the most powerful pokemon we have at the Sanctuary and takes that responsibility very seriously. 

Shadow: Houndoom

Shadow was a gift from my sister  when she found out I’d be working at the Sanctuary full time; he was trained as a security mon and originally meant for a school but couldn’t adapt to the children. Shadow’s a bit more standoffish than my other pokemon, prefers to patrol on his own and scare off would be trespassers with methods that are a little...much, but he’s very loyal and obedient. At the first sign of danger, he alerts my battle team and Dr Jules’ Beedrill swarm, after the threat’s passed, Shadow will make sure all the wild pokemon are accounted for. 

Sir Theodore Bearnstein Poui III: Tediursa

The cutest little man I own with one hell of a temper! Sir Ted is a rescue from an experimental breeder so while we can obviously tell he’s a Tediursa, his Ursaring-esque temperament and the uncommon colouring leads me to think he might be mixed with Pangoro. Mixed or not though, Sir Ted is one of the most aggressive pokemon I’ve ever met, he’ll fight anybody and anything, no matter the size or type, and he can back it up. He’s a little terror that we all love. Him and Dr Jules’ Hatterenne get along scarily well. 

Laggie: Laghoul

Laggie is actually a Laghoul who’s lived on this land for the last fifty years, or more. She’s not officially a part of my team but when I do my own patrols with Darke, she falls in step with us, and if she’s hurt, she’ll let me call her to a temporary pokeball. She’s our backup security alarm when poachers manage to cut the power to our system. Laggie will howl long and loud until everyone’s awake or the person runs away. 

Sweetie Baby (Arabelle): Dralibis

My darling Sweetie Baby who was a gift from Dr Jules and who I never meant to add to my battling/security team but she has a fierce protective streak in her. The first time we had a full scale security breach and poachers were able to steal some of our wild pokemon, Arabelle brought down a localized thunderstorm so fierce it immediately ended the fight. The poachers ended up needing to be saved by our team, it was either that or be washed out to sea. Dr Jules Milotic picked them out of the water and Arabelle stood guard with her while we dealt with the frantic pokemon. 

Now she patrols twice a day with Miliotic and spends the rest of the time being an adorable little sugar lump.

And lastly, but never least,

Narine: The Cocombat!

Narine used to be my grandfather’s pokemon but after the old man’s passing, he was registered to me and I brought him to the sanctuary to roam in peace. I really should’ve known better with a Cocombat as old and stubborn as Narine though. He’ll walk the land the entire night long and won’t hesitate to bat a nut straight at a trespasser’s head. We’ve had more reports than I can count of poachers being scared off by nuts coming at their face. I’ve also yet to catch them in action, but I’m nearly certain Narine is friends with Laggie and the local Maraubeau. Maybe we’ll see all three together some day. 

#pokemon fanregion #pokemon ask blog #fakemon #my dedicated band of fuck it uppers #they're always ready to throw down and I love them SO MUCH

[isolaradiale]

When the final wire was cut, the entire city went black. The power grid was not tied to the network, but the outage was NULL’s only shot at preventing Ofiuco’s retrieval after she fell from the sky. The entire city fell still for five minutes before power returned, but this light only served to illuminate the next phase. It wasn’t like GPU had been without a backup plan. If they didn’t have a way to leverage the arrest of the Stars, then at the very least they could throw a wrench in their operation. 

However, the light of the moon and stars that shone down on the city in the dead of night was obscured by a sudden apparition. A floating island that existed beyond the flight limitations of the city obscured the view, almost the same size as the city itself and becoming a constant and looming darkness over the cityscape. It cast things into uncertainty, and all of the Shades remaining on the ground flocked up and into it... before a loud rumbling began. 

The island suddenly dropped and it inevitably looked as if it was about to crash into the city itself before stopping in a convenient location: just below the maximum flight limit. Beams of light soon extended from all around the floating island’s perimeter to Spirale below, their uses initially unclear.

That was, until, people began to step out of them. These weren’t NPCs nor agents, their ranks instead populated by the monstrous and the villainous. Enemies and rivals gathered from the worlds the characters had all been taken from, their sights set on razing the city. Chaos immediately unfolded where they landed, structures and people alike targeted while some of these foes sought conflict with their greatest nemesis. 

LISTEN TO ME PEOPLE OF THIS ISLAND CITY.

If it was a device capable of receiving a signal, this distorted voice boomed over it. Many believed the speaker to be an enemy at first, probably one of the agents that had turned their world into disarray. Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

I AM AN EX-MEMBER OF THE GPU AND BOTH MYSELF AND ONE OTHER HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH YOUR ISLAND STARS FROM WITHIN THE ORGANIZATION FOR THE LAST SEVERAL DAYS. GPU WILL DESTROY YOU REGARDLESS OF WHETHER THE STARS TURN THEMSELVES IN OR NOT, AND BY THE TIME THE MAINTENANCE DROID IS ABLE TO CONVEY THIS MESSAGE TO YOU THE PROCESS MIGHT HAVE ALREADY BEGUN.

YOU AREN’T DREAMING. THE ENEMIES THAT HAVE LIKELY POURED OUT OF THAT FLYING STRUCTURE ARE ALL VERY REAL AND VERY POWERFUL. SOME OF YOU MIGHT RECOGNIZE THEM BECAUSE THEY WALK, TALK, OR GROWL LIKE FOES YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED IN YOUR OWN WORLDS. DON’T BE FOOLED, THEY ARE IMITATIONS MADE COMPLETELY UNDER THEIR CONTROL. HOWEVER THEY ARE VERY DANGEROUS, AND POSSESS THE FULL RANGE OF ABILITIES YOU KNOW THEM TO.

MY PARTNER IN THIS ENDEAVOR TOLD ME THEY’LL BE MAKING SURE THE ISLAND IS LOWERED ENOUGH THAT IT CAN BE REACHED, AND WE’LL ENSURE THE LIGHT LIFTS CAN BRING THOSE WITHOUT WINGS TO THE SURFACE. IF YOU WISH TO KEEP ON LIVING YOU NEED TO NOT ONLY PROTECT YOUR CITY, BUT BRING THE FIGHT TO THEM AS WELL.

Whether these words inspired or not depended on the listener, but there was no denying the immediate threat of the invading force as well as the personal nature of some of these opponents. 

“To those ends, a gift!” This time the speaking voice was a familiar one as a dot of pink light zipped up from the depths of the hole, a familiar android plastered across every screen in the city. This time though her eyes weren’t red. A wave of light reverberated across the city from the flapping of Ofiuco’s wings, granting all it touched their weapons and abilities back for the time being. “Don’t forget there are people from the city itself still working with NULL. I know this is all hard to understand. You don’t know why you’re fighting nor do you know what you’re fighting.”

She exhaled before looking at the floating island above. “I guess there will be some explaining to do when all is said and done, but go! You need to reclaim the starry sky!”

INFORMATION

Welcome to part 2 of Security Breach! There’s a lot to cover here so we’ll try to be as specific as possible. But as always if you have a question don’t be afraid to send it to the ml!

What has happened? With the network shut down thanks to all the cut wires, NULL has wordlessly moved into their backup plan: completely razing the city from within.

To those ends they have summoned a floating island that eclipses the city, and from it enemies pour down from both the top and the light elevators that extend to the city from the floating island’s surface. 

These are not normal enemies however. They are villains and monsters from the worlds of your muses (more information including guidelines in the FAQ section). While they walk, talk, and hit as hard as the real things, they are completely under NULL’s control and share their goals.

This is a grand battle that will be fought on two stages: on the island below and flying structure above. 

Ofiuco has granted everyone their powers and abilities back, but is also enforcing a cap so the enemy forces can’t use game breaking powers. Since this is universal it will also affect the characters within the group (more information in the FAQ section).

For those that are powerless: you will be able to access your Fantasia avatars via the Spirale Alternate World Life app. This feature will be removed at the end of the event, and it will not work for characters that already have powers. 

We will be running this poll until 12:01AM EST on May 1st. Based on the results the story and aftermath of the event will change. 

FAQ

Everyone’s powers are unlocked but are there limitations like in part 1? Yes there are! Abilities used must be tier 6 or higher by vsbattlewiki standards. Obviously these could easily destroy an island, but while structures can be destroyed the island Spirale is on and the island in the sky are both impervious to damage from these attacks. If your character possesses an ability that exceeds this ranking you can tone it down, but some things are strictly off limits like conceptual abilities in certain instances (conjuring items or allies en masse, erasing existences, etc are not allowed). These guidelines are consistent between both sides so as not to break the world.

What’s this about Fantasia and the Spirale Alternate World Life app? Last summer we held an event called the Fantasia War where characters were placed in a fantasy setting with fantasy avatars. At the event’s conclusion we made Fantasia into an MMO game that can be accessed in the Intraspace, and everyone’s avatars have been preserved there. The SAWL app is an app we introduced to allow MMO characters (like from SAO) to be able to switch between their normal and game forms at will, and it is having its functionality temporarily  boosted to let people use their Fantasia avatars, including the attached powers, during the event. This app will not show up for anyone that has powers of their own. 

If your character was not present during Fantasia you can still create your own avatar! You can still find the list of available races here and list of available spells here. 

Villains and enemies are pouring out of the flying island? What does this entail? Essentially what it sounds like. You will have the unique opportunity to bring in villains, monsters, or machines as agents of NULL. They will act as they would in canon, but are dedicated to their cause of destroying the city and killing off its citizens. There are, of course, limitations:

only one boss-tier enemy per mun per series can be brought in. you can bring in as many trash mobs (generic monsters, grunts, etc.) as you want, but you can only choose one powerful opponent. you can just say what kind of mobs might be running around for others to deal with in their threads, but the boss-tier foe must be controlled by you.

boss-tier enemies can be sentient, but they don’t have to be. if you want to bring in things like giant machines that are piloted by grunts, these still count as boss-tiers however.

you cannot bring in an enemy that exists on the masterlist

enemies, including boss-types, can be overlapped throughout a cast to avoid the possibility of someone claiming a boss just to deny other cast members from interacting with them. however do not have these duplicates interact / in the same thread.

The best way to keep this in order would be to make a post introducing the kinds of trash mobs you’d see running around as well as the boss-type you plan on controlling. People can then use the mobs in their threads if they choose, or approach you to interact with the boss. Likewise, you can keep the boss for more personal threads or drabbles. It’s really up to you!

I don’t really have any enemies in my series and I’m not comfortable using mobs from others. Are there any other options for what I can fight? Yes! The Shades are still around, as are a plethora of generic fantasy monsters for you to fight!

Are the weather conditions from part 1 still ongoing? No, those have come to a halt! However the island above blocks all of the weather in general.

Speaking of the floating island. We can go to the top, right? What’s up there? To put it simply: it’s a mess. Whether NULL had difficulty importing code or if it was just a big error, assets from every series imaginable compose the landscape. Maybe you’d see a building from BLEACH, but then one from Naruto right beside it. Some assets have even been merged together. Pieces of it glitch out and redesign constantly, so it’s almost a depressing mockery of Spirale in a way. There are hills and rivers too, but even those are constantly shifting position.

While tons of enemies have poured onto the streets of Spirale, there are plenty waiting on standby atop the flying island. To go it alone would be a terrible idea.

Can we destroy the flying island itself? No! You can destroy the structures on top but new things will eventually sprout up in their place. The ground and undersides seem to be protected by an impenetrable barrier. But even if you could, do you really want it crashing onto the city below?

Where should we put big, newsworthy posts during this event? Please use the tag ‘#isola sb2 news’ as opposed to the regular ‘#isola news’ tag during this part of the event. We anticipate a lot of people are going to want to do cool and interesting things that they want everyone to see so we want you guys to have a space for this, but we also do not want to clutter the regular news tag.

I have an additional question! Feel free to send it to the masterlist! Due to the nature of this part and all of the potential moving pieces we’re sure people may have questions or concerns that haven’t been covered.

When is part 2 expected to end? A week from now on May 1st at 12:00:01AM EST. We’ll likely be polling around the middle of the week to see if people would like an extension however! 

#isola event #isola event: security breach pt2

[britts-galaxy-brain]

The Normalization of Toxicity

This will be my last post, and unless some miracle occurs within the greater Tumblr community, my last time on Tumblr in general. I’ve been thinking on giving some sort of final update for a while now just to get some things off my chest. This may be long and/or rambly. I will be linking some resources at the end of this post that have helped me tremendously over the past couple of years.

First off, I would like to express my utter disgust at what this website and by extension the fandom communities in general have devolved in to. I greatly underestimated just how out of control this beast had become. Before I got on Tumblr for the first time, I had heard the rumors but assumed they had been wildly exaggerated. How wrong I was, and yet I remained in denial during most of my time here, including when I was sharing information and speaking openly with people I should never have trusted. That is the only thing I feel I need to sincerely apologize to Lily for. Yes, what she has done and continues to do is reprehensible. Yes, everything I have shared about her is true and I have done my best to keep every bit of this sensitive information as accurate as possible. I absolutely should NOT have shared it with the people I did. All I succeeded in doing was feeding the beast, and contributing to the mental distortions and distresses that causes her to act the way she does in the first place. I did so with the best of intentions, albeit I was tainted with anger in such a way that I was denying at the time. I didn’t handle this well. I didn’t research the audience I was sharing this information with. That was a massive mistake which ended up producing the exact opposite results than what I hoped would happen (either Lily would see the pain she caused people and would be inspired to change for the better, or would be ousted from her position and be unable to hurt others). 

I stupidly believed the people who claim to care about this sort of thing were being genuine. They aren’t. These self-described ‘hunters’, at their core, mainly care about fueling the drama they use as an escape from their real life. The worst of them use it as a means to cover up their own closet skeletons and stroke their own egos. In the short time I was regularly involved with all of this, I witnessed an increasing amount of instances that have left me completely dumbfounded. Open predators are defended by some, while the ones who claim to want “justice” do nothing that would actually bring any sort of justice. These people are quickly forgotten within the internet’s short attention span, and they are left to continue to do what they do. People bandwagon around them, reducing the impact these people leave and making it harder for their actual victims to be taken seriously. It’s difficult to know how much of the dishonesty is intentional, or a result of moderate to severe uncontrolled mental illness. In Lily’s case, most of the conversations surrounding her involve debating her political and entertainment opinions rather than things she’s done that actually warrant discussion, and even that has been handled incredibly poorly and has just fed into her self-defenses. I do not excuse myself from feeding into it as well.

On the topic of mental illness, I realized a hard truth during my hiatus. The things we use most as coping mechanisms are actually harming us. I quit social media entirely for a few months, and realized I really was addicted. I also realized the memes and self-deprecating jokes we think are cathartic and helpful are feeding into these negative feelings about ourselves. They reinforce the identities we’ve built around ourselves. “Being trash”, “depressed”, ect become a comfort zone because that is what becomes familiar. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not railing against social media in general, just how we’ve been using it. Think about the last time you scrolled your Facebook feed, or whatever you spend a lot of time scrolling on. You automatically relate to and maybe even laugh at self-deprecating images and jokes. “Hah, I’m so fucking depressed.” “Hah, I’m garbage.” “Hah, I have no friends.” “Hah, I want to kill myself.” Now think about when you see something positive. “Psh, that’s not me.” “I don’t deserve that.” “I’m actually ugly, but okay.” You push against anything positive because on a deep level, it scares you. It threatens the identity you’ve built around yourself, which is the thing that gives you a sense of grounding to the world around you and the role you play in it.

I was an absolute MESS when I first started challenging my own darkness. I hadn’t realized just how deep I had gone. I was horribly paranoid. Angry. Deeply depressed. My memory is still recovering from the several years of constant extreme stress I went through. I’m finally getting stable, which is genuinely the first time in my life I can say that. It felt fucking weird for a while, and it still does at times. It feels strange being comfortable in my own home. It feels uncertain but great that I’m at a point where I can afford my bills and still have some money left over. I’m finding interest in old and new hobbies. I have real goals for the future that I am actively working toward. I have a support system that cares about me enough to tell me the truth instead of enabling my bad habits and behaviors, and it took a long time for me to trust that they truly had my best intentions at heart. 

It has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever experienced. I had to break and completely reshape myself. It has taken daily maintenance, practice, research, ect and I have gotten lazy and fallen off the wagon multiple times, but I absolutely refuse to let myself go back to where I was. Never again. It has cost me quite a few people that I thought were friends, and most of my family. I’m still not quite where I want to be with myself, but I’m taking steps to get there and I feel like I’m making real progress. 

I guess the point to this is to hopefully send out a message of hope to those of you who want to get out of the dark, and are ready to do so. There are ways to heal, and you deserve that, regardless of your past or what other people have said about you. It’s never too late and it’s okay to hurt and grieve during this process. It isn’t easy, it can take quite a while and a LOT of willpower, but it is doable. 

I may check back at some point to see if anyone has any questions or would like advice, but I won’t be discussing Lily any longer, nor will I be resharing any information about her. It’s out there in multiple places if you really want to find it. 

That’s all for now. I wish you all the best and hope this reaches someone. - Thought Bubble https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCpuqYFKLkcEryEieomiAv3Q - Therapy in a Nutshell (licensed therapist specializing in anxiety, depression, attachment styles, and trauma-related mental illnesses. Uses neuroplasticity along with other therapeutic practices. This one has helped me the most.) https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCybBViio_TH_uiFFDJuz5tg - Einzelganger (Philosophy channel with a focus on stoicism and individual existentialism.)

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiRiQGCHGjDLT9FQXFW0I3A - Academy of Ideas (Philosophy channel with a focus on self-mastery.)

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-tLyAaPbRZiYrOJxAGB7dQ - Pursuit of Wonder (Philosophy channel with a focus on existentialism in relation to the world as a whole.)

#toxic #philosophy #self-help #self esteem #fandom #mlp #mlp fim #thought bubble #update #peet post #lily orchard

[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

Spencer x Ghost?

Spencer x Ghost

(AAAAA- it has been months since you sent this to me, and all i can say is im so sorry) Side note I have my friend @lethalbreadkills helping me with this one!

For reference: Maddie (maddiefriendlovesbilly) is green, Jimmy (lethalbreadkills) is red (((its 4:30 at the time i have joined this so im dead braincell wise sorry yall))) and Orange is stuff we decided together :3

Also this is so very chaotic im so sorry for this anon but this has been in my fuckin drafts for SO LONG and this is the only way its getting finished (its now 5 am uwu) im so sorry for all the shitposting i do its a mess. I shouldnt have been allowed here. (we finished at about 5:30 am its hell <3)

Sphost? Ghencer?? Sphoster??? I adore and despise them all equally.

We have decided that it should be BeanieGhost

Anyway I think this ship is really cute

They’re both so neurotic I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue

One of them starts a rant on some topic and the other joins the hell in

I’m an advocate of LETTING SPENCER INFO DUMP BECAUSE HE DESERVES IT OKAY

And Ghost would let this dream come true???

I would die for both of them and if Spencer told me I had to die I wouldn’t even complain, no questions I’d just be like “Aight.” I trust him that much.

(Not sure I trust Ghost’s judgment enough to do that unquestioningly; sorry Ghost)

Back on topic

I can’t imagine these guys on anything that comes close to society’s definition of a date

It’d be more like “hey you wanna come on this hunt with us?” “maybe, depends if there’ll be snacks” or like chilling in Spence’s room binging the entire star trek: original series in one sitting or “oops sorry about that level 11 entity that attached to my soul and is now wreaking havoc in your house, wanna make out later to make up for it?” “Fine but you also have to play three rounds of Call of Duty with me afterward”

They wouldn’t be romantic often but like highkey? I can see them throwing themselves into the line of fire for each other with a recklessness only they could survive

We can’t forget that Spencer is a more than 60,000-year-old overpowered demon/god/entity/thing, which, yes, could throw a slight wrench in this ship for multiple reasons, but I choose to make angst out of it instead.

Side note: Ghost is a chronic conspiracy theorist (and you can’t tell me otherwise) and every once in awhile Spencer will offhandedly say something like “Y’know I helped the Egyptians build the pyramids” and Ghost just goes fucking feral.

Look, I’m not saying Spencer IS touch-starved and most likely has issues creating and developing relationships and therefore avoids interpersonal connection, especially offline, but I AM saying he is prime material for it. (thats a lie thats exactly what shes saying don’t believe it) (I’m projecting okay dont judge me) (loser imagine projecting)

Imagine with me for a second: Why does Spencer willingly stay with a family who locks him in their basement with only minor complaining? He’s a near all-powerful entity just released into the world for Spence’s-sake - If he wanted to, there’s no telling what havoc he could wreak! So why doesn’t he? Why would someone so powerful, so terrifying, so dangerous that a group of people decided to seal him away forever stay with the first family he finds in sub-par conditions for years - especially someone who’s seen to be as high-maintenance as Spencer? Let me hit you with a theory: He’s chasing the feelings of validation, safety, and love - no matter how rarely it’s shown - that a family can provide. Being socially isolated for even a few years can do a number to a person’s psyche (I should know, I’m projecting onto this character right now), let alone thousands.

Now maybe Ghost can’t match thousands of years in isolation, but damn if he doesn’t have a few years of crippling loneliness on his record too.

I can see the two of them learning how to be vulnerable around others together, emotionally and physically; learning how to open up and how to talk through issues; and some third point, because points are better in threes.

(May I suggest that these losers are both trans but thats just me adding in my own projection lmao)

(You absolutely may)

Imagine the conversation thats just “so i have a murderer in my head thats an ass” “rip to u ig sounds like a you problem :///”

imo spence has trouble expressing emotions other than like,,, annoyance and haughtiness, its like sort of his go-to defence, so showing Ghost his emotions is a big step for him

I hear you, and i say yes good. (found this one headcanon that i kinda live by where he was uh, either autistic or adhd i dont remember but theres that too) OH yeah that would be at thing huh. Spencer: *is emotionally vulnerable @ ghost* ghost: oh shit im trusted??? Oh fuck uh.

Yeah so like…. Ghost and spence showing emotion at eachother is kind of :flushed: ghost be like: whats an emotion. Imagine having emotions fuciiing loser hhaha,,,, *laughs nervously*

Ghost is also very emotionally distant with most people so it would probably be like “what??? The fuck?? Emotions?????? You have those???”

Ghost and Spencer be like *gay*

So another idea is that maybe Spencer realizes Ghost doesnt play any games [like the uncultured SWINE he is] and decides he must [remedy] this and so he introduces him to like, nintendo first. (some bitches thought that said nintendo fortnite. Im bitches) and theyre playing like, mario kart or smash or smth and Ghost gets really [fuckin into it]

Ghost and spencer: *literally in eachothers laps playing fucking wii tennis*

Spooker: what are the- *TOAST FUCKING SLAPS A HAND ACROSS HIS MOUTH* shut up you dont wanna know what happens when its mentsonssbfdjfsd (sorry i had a stroke uwuwuwuw)

(Theyre in denial we don’t judge in this house)

They will not hesitate to play dirty either, they will straight up push each other over and vaguely flirt

Ghost is losing and straight up fucking goes “ur hot” and spencer actually dies and boom ghost is the winner. sparkle emoji Magic sparkle emoji

“I am Not a HomoSexual:™:” “Yeah, sure you aren’t” “Screw off”

Pet-names-ish: Asshole, Gaymer-Boy, casual insults, Mr. Spirit Bitch, Mistake, Loves Ghosts More Than His Boyfriend What A Fucking Loser aka Gay-ass

Pros:

They both open up a lot most likely. Gain someone to trust since they’ve sort of been through the same things (though on much different scales)

I can see soft hours of hanging in each other’s bedrooms

Spencer is a tsundere you cant tell me otherwise youre just a coward if you disagree

So is Ghost so this can only go well

Every time Ghost has to solve a case at the Acachallas Spence is just peaking out from his basement like “the fuck is this?? Hot Man??????”

Enemies to lovers 500k (Gets Hot and Steamy :flushed: NOT CLICKBAIT!!!!11!!!!! 18+!!!!!!! GAY LOVE StORY!!!!!!) Lemonz!!! Made from teh Sexiest of Wattpaders UWUWUWU YAOI Boys Love don’t like don’t read!! (this is so fucking stupid jkfnd) I hate this with a passion Q^Q. All my years of being a basic watpad fanboy have helped me to the moment i bring maddie to tears

The steam is just like,,,,, holding hands and being angy all the fuckin time the steam is literal because their anger translates into actual steam

Cons:

Their angst has nowhere to go and it just sits between them like two raccoons at a dumpster-style mexican standoff

They really start off hating each other huh. Like, I know this can still lead to healthy relationships but neither of them are very good at healthy relationships with people he hasn’t known for his Whole Life so that’s an Oh No.

They totally feed off of each other’s stupidity (but this could be seen as a pro too so take that as you will) as well as anger - im talking one-upping each other kinda shit

Its ridiculous honestly how intense it gets, like they straight up need intervention sometimes because they dont realize they can just STOP

Conclusions:

I think this would be a relationship that would that a lot of time and hard work to make work, but i think in the end it would be really super cute!! Like it would make no fuckin sense to anyone else but somehow they’d understand each other and help each other through their similar issues. Also theyre both big nerds in different ways and i think they’d have just ranting sessions back and forth over and over and it would be soft!!!!! So yeah, i think it would work, at least, i want it to :D

So. Maybe?? I feel like it could, but they’d need to work pretty hard to make it healthy and not constant fighting. Could be stupid amounts of cute and wholesome but also could be stupid amounts of oh no and pain, depending on how the two act. If they learned how to get along with each other and work past their differences it could be super cute and soft. Just a very, er, bumpy beginning. And middle. And end. (this makes me very nervous,,,,why did you mention an end) (wouldnt you like to know weather boy) (TvT) UFDUNS bumpy but soft . Agreeing with the loser gay, want this to work it’d be interesting :3

#spencer x ghost #jess writes #ishhhhh??????? #venturiantale #venturiantale pie #johnny ghost #spencer acachalla #johnny toast #jimmy casket #fred spooker #let me know if you enjoyed this or not it was intense #sr #ship review #ship reviews #vt ships #vt ship reviews #vt ship review #vt sr

[iriswc1995]

Ash In Ordina

Chapter One:  ‘Home’

The screech of the railcar grinding to a halt startled her awake.  Ash peered from under her hood, instinctively grabbing the hilt of her sword.  The car was empty save for her and a few wandering ghosts.  It was difficult to see through the smeared windows.  It was utterly dark outside.  She sighed, wiping crumbs from her eyes and standing up.  After a moment, the doors hissed open, and she stepped through.

The ‘station’ was hardly more than a platform of corrugated metal, dripping with rust, that bridged two sides of the yawning darkness below.  Orange lights gleamed like eyes on the distant walls that did little to reveal the vastness of the dozens of floors extending above and below.  Ash made her way across, combing fingers through her matted hair.  Past the station, a blue light illuminated a lone figure leaning against the wall of the corridor.  He had a boyish face, a mess of dreadlocks, and perpetual bags under his eyes.  His left arm was a cybernetic prosthesis, which he waved as she approached.

“Heya.  Glad you made it.”

Ash nodded and pulled her coat closer around herself.  “Lead the way, Cygnus.” 

She followed a few paces behind him through a labyrinth of oily hallways, trying to stay alert.  There was never much in a given Tower to distinguish one area from another, save the occasional worn sign.  What was different was the layout, and the people.  Smells of dirt and skin and cooking meat surrounded them as they entered a crowded intersection crammed with dingy shops.  This district had working traffic lights to dictate the constant flow of activity, which the pair pushed their way through as hastily as possible.  A thin stairway led to an auxiliary floor, where Cygnus cut the chains on a gate that led to maintenance.  Ash perked up a bit.

“Home sweet home?”

“Not yet.  Watch behind us.”

Complex webs of pipes and wires guided them through the dark, claustrophobic maze.  Cygnus didn’t say much except to warn her about a gap in the floor or the sound of footsteps approaching.  Ash stayed relaxed.  She trusted people who lived behind locked doors or in cramped spaces more than whoever was patrolling outside them.  As much as she would trust anyone besides Cygnus, at least. 

The arrival of more ghosts, pale and eerily indistinct like clouds of water vapor, signalled their exit from maintenance and back into a populated area.  Cygnus slowed his pace as they entered a long living hall, lined with apartment doors and people who were either hunched over or entirely prone along its sides.  A nearby sign read ‘District 17, Floor 3.’  Ash squinted.

“I thought you said you’d found somewhere isolated.”

“Again, we aren’t there yet.  We’ve still got a bit to go.  Are there ghosts around or something?”

“No more than usual.  I hope you got some food, by the way.”

“Two large pizzas, right?”

She chuckled.  They carefully wove through the carpeted halls of the district.  Thousands of people could live in a single Tower, and the corporation heads tended to cram in a lot more than that.  Ash wove disdainfully at buzzing flies and ignored the hands reaching out for her as they passed.  It’s crazy the kind of thing that the city can make into a routine, she thought bitterly.

Then, her sword vibrated in its sheathe.  Ash slowed her pace and looked around, flicking the hilt with her thumb to reveal an inch of the blade.  A familiar surge of adrenaline pulsed through her.  Her vision reddened, beginning to switch focus, blurring the halls around her but sharpening the humanoid figures, including the wisp-like forms of the ghosts.  The sword was a slender katana Ash had held on to for almost ten years, and it was unlike any other piece of equipment she’d found.  Glancing to the left, Ash saw a small group of wisps huddling together, but these ones were bright red instead of pale. Though they were partially obscured by a wall, she saw them suddenly begin moving downwards as a single unit, presumably down an elevator shaft.

“Ash?  What’s up?”

Cygnus had stopped a little ways down the hall.  Ash looked around for another moment before running to catch up.

“Nothing, for now.”

“We can’t stop for every skeleton bird ghost you see flying around.”

“That was one time, dude.”

He smirked and continued walking.  The apartments fell away behind them as they climbed another set of stairs.  Ten minutes passed before Cygnus stopped in front of a door that was dirty enough to look like it had merged with the floor and ceiling.  Wires drooped haphazardly above their heads, some of them still sparking.  He typed in a code on the number pad and the door lazily forced itself open.  The lights inside flickered on.  It was a laboratory, full of old computers lined up on desks.  Every surface was coated in dust, and the shelves were lined with boxes that had long ago been combed for anything useful or valuable.  What few tools littered the floor were rusted nearly to pieces.  In one corner of the room was a set of monitors that looked newly-cleaned, hooked up to several smaller devices that no doubt belonged to Cygnus.

Ash sighed and stretched her arms, immediately settling into one of the darkest corners of the room.  A small sleeping bag was already rolled up here; Cygnus knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to be using any chairs.  She started to unroll it as Cygnus sank down at his desk and started typing away.

“Where’s my pizza?”  Ash asked.

A moment later, Cygnus tossed over an almond nutrient bar.

“Fuck yes.”

She tore into it without hesitation.  It had been a while since it’d felt safe enough to rest.  Their last hideout had been compromised so completely that they’d come a long way to find somewhere new, as far as possible from the patrols of Ordainers.  An hour passed quietly, save for the tapping of keys and the rhythmic scrape of Ash sharpening her sword.  She wasn’t even sure it ever needed it, but it was something to do.  Surviving in this city consisted much of filling the silence.  Ash stood up and sheathed her sword, leaning it against one shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a look around.  I saw something with Red earlier.”

There was the heavy sigh she’d braced herself for.  Cygnus stared hard at the empty space beside her.  “Ash.  We’ve been here all of five minutes and you’re already wanting to find trouble?”

“I’ll be more careful this t-”

“Every time, she says that every time and what do I do?  Not much, just get walked all over.”

“You know that’s not what it’s like.”  She walked over to Cygnus’ desk and put a hand down on it, waiting for him to look at her fully.  He finally did, resting his cheek on his hand.

“It always starts like this.  That’s all I’m saying.”

“This is important.  I saw red ghosts.  Something serious could’ve happened nearby, maybe a Dissonance.”

“Ugh.  Fine.”  He sat back, firmly rubbing his brow with his non-cybernetic hand.  He always did that when he was annoyed.  It was charming enough to make Ash smirk a little.  Even when he was stressed, Cygnus always thought about things carefully.  He took an earpiece from the desk and handed it to her.  “Call me when you’re back.  If the cops are chasing you again, don’t lead them back here.”

“Mhm, I won’t.”

“I mean it.  I’m not getting in another gunfight.  Good luck out there, I guess.”

----

Charred metal and snapped wires made her surroundings smell like a welding shop.  Sickly white lights illuminated the elevator shaft at the end of hall, right where Ash had seen the red specters.  It looked like it had been out of order for a long time, and wherever the car itself was stuck certainly wasn’t on this floor.  Ash braced herself; before taking a running leap, wrapping her arms and legs around the steel cords suspended in the shaft.  After getting a decent grip, she let go with her hands and allowed herself to slide downwards with the cords braced against her shoes and coat sleeves.  Several minutes passed, and when Ash felt her muscles start to ache, she picked another opening in the shaft to leap outside again, now on a much lower floor.

She stared down a hallway that was so ill-maintained it was listing partially to one side.  The floor was a mess of rubble and detritus, but the power still worked enough to illuminate the hall with the flashing signs and video advertisements that lined the area.  Ash stepped carefully through the neon-painted darkness.  It seemed like this had been a major thoroughfare of some kind at one point, but had gradually fallen into disuse as people migrated to higher floors.  Sometimes it was almost surprising how decayed certain areas of the city could be.  It was less so when Ash remembered that most Towers were so large, a missile could hit one part of it without people who lived on the opposite side noticing.

A red blur suddenly darted through her vision at an intersection up ahead.  Another ghost.  She walked up to where she had seen it and focused her vision, unsheathing an inch of her blade again.  Ash had seen ‘ghosts’, for lack of a proper term, ever since she’d first claimed this sword, which she called ‘Red’ for simplicity’s sake.  From the very start, it had been obvious it wasn’t a normal weapon, and it only became more intriguing as she learned its exact properties.  In addition to greatly enhancing her strength, it had the ability to sense an afterimage of beings who had died but, as far as Ash could tell, not yet fully passed on to whatever comes next.  The red ones in particular were those who had died fairly recently or in an especially brutal manner, still clinging to the memory of blood running through their veins.  

However, the sword also left a murky redness in its wake that could be followed by Distortions - or anyone else with a means to track it.  The perfect weapon for finding trouble, or for trouble finding you.  

Ash made her way down a spiraling concrete staircase while checking the gun at her hip, making sure it was loaded and ready.  While bullets were typically ineffective against the Distorted, she always had it ready in case she ran into a less paranormal opponent.  

Emerging from the staircase, Ash entered a room so colossal that a layer of cold fog obscured the opposite wall.  She blinked a few times, hesitantly stepping inside.  It seemed like an old hanger of some kind for transport shuttles or private vehicles.  Monolithic pillars supported a dizzyingly high ceiling, through which soft footsteps would echo like rolling thunder.  Much of the hangar was flooded, knee-deep, with what Ash hoped was just dirty water as she waded through it, alert for any sign of movement.  

She caught some when another ghost darted into a nearby office building, a crimson haze trailing behind it.  

Ash followed, running up the stairs to the railway where it had vanished.

A few kicks to the thick iron door broke it open just enough for Ash to cut through the lock with her blade.  It had been a while since she’d seen this many red ghosts in such a short time.  This had to be a Distortion, a group of Harvesters, or maybe some kind of turf war between rival gangs.  

The dark, brutalistic hallway of the office was eerily silent.  Ash stepped inside.  Her breathing slowed, hand tightening around Red’s hilt.  The only sound was the water gently dripping from her cloak.  One of the doors on the side of the hall was leaning open.  Ash peeked around the corner.  

The stench hit her like a solid wall.  Rotting flesh.  A single light flickered on and off above a sizable office space with desks, computers, cubicles, all in disarray and coated with dust.  Stretched between them and along the ceiling were dark, ragged curtains that almost resembled party streamers.  Whole cubicles were wrapped in them.  Ash covered her nose and stepped inside, looking around.  A stench this awful meant the deaths were recent.  It smelled like a big  pile of corpses - Ash lamented how well she could recognize that.  Flies and moths danced beneath the broken light.  On the chairs in front of each desk, an old suit and tie was draped, presumably the uniforms of the staff who worked here.  All of them were drenched with blood.  That accounted for some of the stench, at least.  But there were no bodies.  

Ash’s eyes flicked back and forth, her hands shaking.  One of the curtains stretched across the entrance of a cubicle to her left.  She experimentally nudged it with the hilt of her sword.

A sickening squish.  A few drops of blood.  Ash’s stomach turned, her eyes widening.  Then, a voice.

“ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ~ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ… ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ~”

Scratchy and inhumanly shrill, the voice was shockingly close.  One of the ceiling panels near the flickering light gently peeled aside, until an impossibly long, sallow-skinned arm slithered from the darkness.  The panel thudded to the floor.  A horrifying visage, an absurd  facsimile of a human face, stretched and twisted, with bulbous eyes and stained teeth, smiled down at Ash.

“ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀᴀᴀᴀʏʏʏ~”

Ash drew her sword and leapt upwards, cutting at one of its arms, but like a skittering spider it retreated into the darkness.  The muffled tapping of fingers filled the room before it slunk to the ground a short distance away, fully emerging this time.  Its entire body was similarly twisted and elongated, and other than a vague humanoid shape and a head of patchy black hair, its overly-tight office suit was the only human thing about it, which only served to accentuate its monstrous, distorted nature.  Ash gritted her teeth, pointing her blade towards it with both hands clasped around the hilt.  This thing was disgusting, but it didn’t seem to have an overly adverse effect on her sanity.  Hopefully that meant no mental hazards to watch out for.  Its stance was spindly, off-balance.  Mindless.  She could win if she could corner it.  She slowly circled her prey, simply ripping through the curtains of flesh with her body mass.  The creature jittered and spasmed, lunging towards her with a clawed hand.  She ducked, and slashed upwards, but it was too fast again, skittering across the rims of the cubicles.

“ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴏʜ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴡᴇ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ꜰɪꜱᴄᴀʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ!”

Ash took out her gun and aimed towards the creature.  It continued moving in its frenzied pattern, and she aimed for a moment before firing three times.  Two of the bullets connected, blood coating the wall behind it.  As expected, it only flinched slightly, and began scuttling towards her again.  Her eyes gleamed in the dark as she grabbed a nearby chair and twirled her body, throwing it as hard as she could.  It thudded against the creature’s torso, and at the same moment Ash charged forward, cutting a red line across its waist.  It let out an ear-piercing squeal, and a flailing arm caught Ash’s head, sending her sprawling.

It jittered in place for a few moments, a cacophony of screams and squeals, before suddenly charging directly for her.  Ash tried to get to her feet, but its hand locked around her throat and carried her forward with its weight.  Her spine thudded against the door she’d come through and they came fully through the wall.  They careened over the railing, spiraling two dozen feet down to the hangar floor and splashing into the murky water.  Ash’s head swam with color.  She coughed, gagged, tried to reach for Red... its gnarled fingers were still locked around her throat.  It picked her up out of the water, reaching high above its head.  Its face wore a warped smile.  

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ~ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏɴꜱ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ~ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴅᴀʏ!  ꜱᴛʀᴇᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʏ ʜᴏᴏʀᴀʏ~ ᴡɪᴅᴇ, ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ɢᴏ~”

Fingernails dug into the back of her neck and tore outwards, beginning to peel the skin from her spine.  In doing so, its grip loosened slightly, and she swung back and forth to gather momentum before kicking it in the face.  One of its eyes popped, oozing dark pus, but it didn’t blink or flinch.  Ash’s lungs screamed for air.  This was bad.  She was too weak.  Her gun wouldn’t work.  Red was down in the water somewhere.  Out of reach.  Could she try to draw strength from it, even while she wasn’t holding it?  She had never tried before.  Seemed like now or never.

She closed her eyes and focused.  Focused on the red haze.  The smell of rust.  Sharpening instincts.  New sights and scents.  The world condensing to the head of a pin.  The tip of her blade.  Blood.  Thirst.  Strength.  Survival.  

Crimson haze ebbed from Ash’s form.  A guttural growl emerged from inside her, the raw sound of a desperate animal.  The creature continued laughing, and began slamming her against the ground, again and again.  Pain stabbed through her head, through her back.  But if pain was wood, she was a fast-catching fire.  She couldn’t muster as much strength as usual, but this had to be enough.  Her throat screamed for relief, but she forced her hands away from the creature’s fingers and grabbed its forearms instead.  She started to pull down, blood trailing from beneath her squeezed eyelids.  She felt the creature’s misshapen bones start to bend.  It squealed, shaking her back and forth, but she didn’t let go.  She pulled harder.  Harder.

SNAP.

Its arms broke at the wrists; its hands going limp around her throat.  She fell to the floor, sucked in a breath, and quickly dived, swimming between its legs as it screamed.  Her hand trailed along the concrete, searching.

“ᴅ-ᴅ-ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴᴏᴡ!  ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ!”

She felt it, and picked it up.  Holding her blade aloft, she swept it into its sheathe and sprinted at the creature.  Staggering, arms hanging limp, it turned to stare at her.

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅ-”

“Shut up.”

Warped guts exploded from the cloven rift in the creature’s midsection, the inertia of the blow forcing it backwards.  Ash twirled her blade, kneeled, and stabbed behind her, piercing what was left of its torso up to the hilt.  Blood rained down on her.  A few deep breaths later, she felt the creature’s weight begin to lessen.  She stood up fully as it dissolved into blood and flecks of pale ash that began to disintegrate in the dark water.  

Ash slashed the blade through the water to clean it before resheathing it, sighing and rubbing the back of her head.  She watched the pool of viscous remains spread further throughout the hangar.

“If someone else were here, I’d say something badass, like ‘party’s over’ or something.  But there isn’t anyone else here, so.”

She heaved another sigh and rolled her shoulders, starting to sluggishly wade towards the exit.  Hoping Cygnus would be able to stitch up her neck so she wouldn’t need to find a surgeon again, she began the long climb back to her new home higher in the Tower.

#writersontumblr writing horror cyberpunk

[jeminy3]

Blind Roy - Office Woes

This was meant to be part of a series of more Blind Roy drabbles, titled and focused on things like being back in the office, conversations with each individual team member, talking grimly of the future with Grumman, etc. But all my writing juice went into other stories (like the Elicia story, The Things We Carry), so they never really came together. This is just leftovers. 

Features: Blind Character PoV, insecurities, workarounds for disabilities, Team Mustang being supportive like a good team should.

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Disclaimers:

- Realistically, Roy would be forced to retire from the military because of his blindness, but I didn't double-check that until I'd written out most of this because I'm PRETTY sure that in Brotherhood, he says something about continuing to pursue his goals despite his blindness. But whatever, it's an AU.

- I know Braille wouldn't exist in the FMA verse, or would go under a different name, but whatever.

Also, here’s another Roy doodle.

--

Roy's first day back in the office was difficult - much more difficult than he imagined.

He spent the majority of the day shuffling slowly around rooms with arms outstretched, running into walls, knocking things over, feeling his way around doorways and chairs and tables, much like - well, a blind man. He would've laughed at himself, if not for the quiet shame and anger that gripped him.

And a strange sort of denial did, too. Years from now, he'd look back on these days and realize that his biggest mistake was thinking he could somehow function exactly like he used to and therefore not become a burden to those around him. Because the worst parts of it all were his constant, stubborn refusals to accept help, even from his own squadron.

It takes him almost two weeks before he finally relents to using a cane at everyone's suggestion, after growing incredibly tired of crushing his nose, bumping his head, stubbing his fingers and toes, and wounding his pride in front of other officials while navigating their offices.

The sounds of people snickering softly behind his back hurt more than all his bumps and bruises combined. He expects them to multiply upon starting use of his cane, but to his surprise, they don't, and eventually stop altogether.

He gets a reason why when he offhandedly comments on it one day, as he's getting ready to head home for the evening.

"Another day done, I suppose. Almost surprised I'm still in one piece."

He hears a questioning sound from Riza. "How do you mean, sir?"

"Well, besides surviving the day without hurting myself for once-" He gestures with his cane. " -I haven't heard any, shall we say, disrespectful sounds from anyone in my vicinity. Maybe they're finally wise enough to hold their snickering for when I leave the room."

Riza makes an odd sound, as if holding back a laugh herself. "Well I wouldn't say that, sir..."

"...Hm?"

There's a shifting of fabric from Riza's uniform, as if she were lifting an arm to adjust her collar.

"Just between us, sir, if it eases you... myself and the others may be responsible for that. I've done my best to shut down any potential disrespect towards you during our meetings, and Fuery's encouraged us to take problem folk aside and give them, as he says, 'a good talking-to' about your condition."

There's a lightening in her voice, as if she's smiling. "And it looks like our efforts have paid off."

Roy was silent for a good few seconds, gaping a bit. He was... shocked, a little, that his squadron would go so out of their way for his comfort, even his pride.

Eventually, he'd learn to stop being so surprised.

--

Progress on paperwork nearly came to a complete halt during his first few days.

Unable to read, Roy had asked Riza to read the forms aloud to him before he signed them, but that method quickly proved to be inefficient. Not only was listening to Riza's droning voice a battle to stay conscious by the end of the day, but the strain on her soon proved to be too much.

"-and so, as per the order of Colonel Roy Musta- Agh. Ack." Riza chokes, then breaks down into a coughing fit.

"...Lieutenant? Are you alright?" Roy asks, snapping out of his boredom.

It takes a few seconds before she's recovered enough to respond, and when she does, her voice is still noticeably rough. "I'm- Urgh- I'm sorry sir, but I don't think this will work. I'm losing my voice," she says hoarsely.

Roy does his best to stave off a surge of panic. These forms need to get done. "Er- Well... Then uh, bring Falman in to take over until you recover, Lieutenant."

He hears her sigh softly. "Apologies again, but I have to disagree, sir. Falman has his own duties and can't spend all his time reading to you. Same for the others."

"...Besides, he's not even here today," she adds. "He's out on reconnaissance, remember?"

Roy sighs deeply, sinking into his desk and rubbing his temples. "...I'd forgotten. Sorry, Lieutenant. It's just- the meetings, the forms- it all blends together sometimes. You know."

Riza makes a "hm" noise in agreement, but nothing else. An awkward silence falls, and Roy can imagine her staring him down accusingly, since she'd already suggested a better alternative earlier today, but Roy had refused it, as usual.

At this point he was just delaying the inevitable. He lets out a long, loud groan of defeat. "Fine, fine. I'll stop putting it off. I'll try to learn that 'brell' language you told me about."

"It's called Braille, sir."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes... And we'll have to reprint everything with that special paper... Ugh, the print department's going to moan at me, I just know it."

"I should hope not. Not when their Colonel has a disability that needs accommodation."

Disability. Roy flinches a little at the word, associating it with years of well-meaning but nonetheless other-ing societal norms. Nursing homes, therapy wards, parking spaces and public seating set aside and marked with garishly-colored signs.

"Er- Can you... not call it that, Lieutenant? It's not disabling, just ah- challenging, that's all," he says.

He hears her sigh again, and the sound of her uniform shifting, then feels her hand on his shoulder. Her voice is soft, perhaps softer than intended from her hoarseness, but there's something undeniably sincere in it.

"Roy, please... it's alright."

Her voice is closer to him now, and Roy can imagine her leaning down with a small, gentle smile near his face, offering tender support against his bull-headed stubbornness that masked a deep, all-consuming shame inside him. It eases him, a little.

Roy breathes out slowly, relieving a tension in his shoulders he hadn't noticed was there.

"I... I'll try, Riza. Thank you."

--

Luckily for everyone, the Braille system works out better than expected.

Frustrated with the amount of time it took to reprint everything traditionally, Roy, in his usual manner, came up with the brilliant idea of using Alchemy to convert them instead.

It takes some time and convincing to the higher-ups, but eventually, with the help of Major Armstrong and a few other alchemists, Roy creates a new and fairly simple system. All one has to do is place a stack of documents, along with a small amount of extra wood chips, in an array that instantly thickens the paper and raises the correct pattern of bumps, both for letters and lines to write into.

Then it's arranged for a specialized alchemist to be tasked with learning braille, translating documents, then recreating them using this process.

It turns out to be quite a bit faster and more efficient than traditional printing methods, since mistakes happened rarely compared to the sometimes-unwieldy machines, and in turn, this significantly cuts down on costs from maintenance and wasted paper.

East Headquarters’ Treasurer and Senior Accountants commend him for the idea and its execution, and begin sharing the idea with the officials at every other military office. Soon there’s talk about installing a similar system in every printing facility throughout Central City, even the country beyond, potentially opening up a significant breakthrough in readership for the similarly-disabled.

Roy was just happy he could finally fill out his paperwork by himself with little issue, but he’s certainly not above claiming it as another of his many impressive achievements.

As for writing out new documents himself, the solution was more simple. He has Riza bring in a typewriter to type his words as he says them aloud to her, and uses a ruler to keep his signatures straight on the plain, non-textured paper. Then the proofs are brought to the printers to reproduce as proper forms.

--

It took time - a long time - but eventually, Roy forms a mental map of not only his office, but of his personal apartment, the surrounding hallways and rooms of the apartment building, the whole interior of East Headquarters, and everywhere else he frequented on his daily routine, largely helped by his memory of what they looked like before he lost his sight - and by his squadron, of course.

Eventually, he also learns to stave off the irrational fear that things could be switched around without him knowing, that doorways and furniture would change position for no reason, and he didn't have to feel and re-feel everything every other day just to make sure. Slowly, he learns to trust himself and his connection to this dark world that was familiar, but at the same time strange and terrifying.

And of course, his squadron would never be so discourteous as to move something in his office without telling him.

#roy mustang #fma #blind!roy #riza hawkeye #team mustang #jeminy3 art #jeminy writes

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 34: Tʜᴇ Iʟʟᴜsɪᴏɴ Oғ Sᴀғᴇᴛʏ

Masterlist

Episodes: Fog Of War; Long Into An Abyss

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for. 

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jasper, Monty and I followed Maya from the room in a nervous silence. She led us through multiple doors until we finally reached a small maintenance room where she abruptly stopped and turned sharply around to face us.

“We don’t have much time but we can talk freely here.” She explained as she addressed the boys, then seemed to suddenly remember that I was there and regarded me with a scrutinising expression. “Who is this?” She asked in a low, accusing tone and I raised a brow at her. 

“This is Indigo, she’s family. You can trust her.” Monty answered in an unimpressed manner as he protectively stepped closer to my side and levelled her with a glare that warned her not to push the matter.

“What the hell is going on?” Jasper blurted with pent up frustration that was clear in his body language and she glanced down at the floor with a gentle sniff that indicated she was struggling to contain tears. “Maya?” He spoke in a gentler tone as he studied her with concern and my stomach twisted. I wasn’t sure that I trusted the people here and it was uncomfortable for me to witness Jasper becoming so attached to one of them. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered as she viewed him through watery eyes and her bottom lip trembled.

“About what? What do you mean it wasn’t an accident?” Jasper enquired and his tone revealed that he clearly had no suspicions about her at all. I could feel dread building in my stomach as I peeked at Monty who was equally bewildered by Jasper’s naivety and I prepared myself for an argument.

“She means they exposed her to radiation on purpose.” Monty spat and I was stunned to find that he lost his patience first. In that moment I became aware of the similarities in our bonds with our adopted siblings and was proud to find that his annoyance with Jasper’s growing romance was abundantly clear in his tone and body language. “I’m betting it was to get you to be her blood brother.” He announced and crossed his arms as he spoke. Maya nodded regretfully in response and Monty’s tone grew sharper at her confirmation. “I knew it, Clarke was right.” He growled and I raised my brows. I had never seen aggression in him before and it was interesting to observe in someone so relaxed.

“Monty, be quiet.” Jasper instructed firmly before he turned back to Maya with an openly hurt expression. “Did you know about this?” He asked with his voice revealing how awful he felt about the accusation. She shook her head and I continued to view her with suspicion. “And why would they do that to you?” He probed and I found myself disappointed that his usually intelligent nature had been overshadowed by his attraction to her.

“They needed a test subject and they saw that you two were getting along. Isn’t that right?” My voice came out more accusingly than I intended as I crossed my arms at her.

 “Yes, they thought they could use me to sway you.” She admitted and I growled under my breath. I was furious that anyone would try to manipulate Jasper and felt me defensiveness bubbling in my stomach. “They wanted to see what difference your blood would make and honestly, the standard treatment sucks compared to you.” She replied, shifting uncomfortably on the spot as she explained.

“That’s what Dante said.” Jasper murmured as if he was finally catching up to us and I noted that Dante had discussed this idea with Jasper already.

“What’s the standard treatment?” Monty enquired with his usual perceptiveness and I waited for an answer with interest.

“Through there.” She whispered and pointed behind her without being able to look at us.

I glanced at the boys as I felt nerves fluttering across my chest and was fearful about what was about to be revealed to us. She visibly had to force herself to move as she stepped out of sight and we followed in a small anxious huddle. She stopped near a large air vent and stood to one side to allow us to walk ahead. We approached the vent in tense suspension and as we leaned forward to open the slats, I felt my stomach lurch. The large chamber through the vent was filled with copious amounts of people, contained in tiny cages like animals. The space was around ten floors and had numerous alcoves that were all crammed full with captives. Some cages even hung suspended from the ceiling and the structures were too small to comfortably contain their occupants. I stared in stunned silence, unable to form a single word.

“Oh my god...are those...all grounders?” Jasper whispered as he studied the nauseating sight in total horror. I noticed that his hands shook where he gripped the vent and I could feel the shock radiating from him in waves.

“I guess we weren’t the only people they recovered from the fight at camp...we just got the comfortable accommodations.” I commented as I surveyed the grounders. We had been at war with them barely days ago and yet I couldn’t deny that I pitied them now. I was hardly able to believe what I was seeing, despite my distrust of the people here.

“Wait a second.” Monty’s voice became calm and analytical again and he managed to draw my attention back. “Why are you showing us this?” He interrogated as he turned to consider Maya as he spoke.

“Because I’m afraid.” She admitted and knitted her hands together in a gesture that made me nervous.

“Of what?” Jasper questioned as he glanced over his shoulder and furrowed his brows in concern. I swallowed my impatience at his continued infatuation with her. 

“That you’re next.” She confessed, choking up as she spoke and her body language radiated guilt as she glimpsed each of us in turn. I felt my heart skip a beat at her words and my mind raced with the new information. Although I’d been feeling apprehensive about this place since I first woke here, I couldn’t have imagined that a threat this depraved was lurking behind the allure of the food and safety. Everyone here was well practised in the act of behaving as if the mountain was a paradise and I was disgusted to discover the truth.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I groaned as I covered my face with my hands. “We survive war with the grounders just to end up in a blood factory.” I stated with bitterness and Monty placed a gentle hand on my shoulder to settle my dissolving form. Jasper turned fully on the spot to confront Maya and I was glad to finally witness a firmness in his tone.

“Who else knows about this?” He investigated accusingly as he pointed back at the grate in annoyance. His shoulders raised with tension and the sympathy in his eyes was gradually fading to anger.

“Everyone, but nobody talks about it.” She confirmed weakly and her posture became defensive, childish even. “We learn not to ask questions.” She justified as she scanned us guiltily and I scoffed. The tone of her voice implied that they were simply bystanders in this situation and her lack of responsibility grated on me.

“Great, we’re surrounded by sociopaths who are willing to sacrifice people for their own gain.” I growled as I uncovered my face and threw my arms up in exasperation. Maya dropped her gaze to avoid my glaring expression and I rolled my eyes.

“Look, without the treatments we’d die.” She stepped closer to Jasper as she tried to justify her words. I peeked at him to check that he wasn’t falling back under her spell and was relieved to find that he remained tense. “What are we supposed to do?” She muttered with furrowed brows and I observed Jasper crossing his arms sharply.

“Die.” Monty spat as he fixed her with a furious glare and I nodded in agreement. I found that I was glad to have him beside me and even though it was unusual to see him behave this way, I was glad of his backup. “We have to get out of here. Dante said we could leave right?” He turned his determined attention to Jasper and assessed him with desperate eyes.

“He was lying.” Jasper scoffed as he shuffled on the spot and it was clear that the realisation was crushing him. “He knows I’d be too scared to leave, just like he knew I’d do what had to be done to save Maya.” He remarked with a tone that betrayed the hurt in his voice. I squeezed his arm to bring his eyes to me and smiled sympathetically. 

“He made a mistake taking advantage of your kindness.” I stated firmly as I addressed him with a stubborn confidence that I hoped would reach him. “He didn’t account for how heroic and intelligent you are. We’re a hell of a family of survivors, we can figure this out.” I elaborated as I smiled at both of them encouragingly, despite the dread in my chest. There were a few moments of silence as they absorbed my words and I could tell that they were wracking their bright minds for ideas.

“We don’t ask, if Clarke got out, we can too.” Monty asserted as he stepped closer into our tightly knit circle with a new found confidence.

“You’ll never make it.” Maya offered from behind and I noticed that Monty rolled his eyes at the sound of her voice. “Ever since Clarke disappeared security all around the mountain has been increased.” She confirmed with a fearful voice and I hissed under my breath. I wasn’t surprised to find that Clarke was an inconvenience even when she wasn’t present. 

“We have to try.” Monty argued with a fire that I’d never seen in him before now. I opened my mouth to try to interject but Jasper spoke firmly in response.

“We’re not leaving. I won't leave the others behind.” He exclaimed before softening his expression and pointing to the grate. “That means they end up in there.” He commented with a forlorn stare and I sighed regretfully. He was right, if we broke out with just our small family we would be condemning the others to a death. The invasive image of our people filling the inhumane cages crossed my mind and I violently forced it out with a wave of disgust.

“What choice do we have?!” Monty responded with a desperation that mirrored how I felt. 

“I don’t want to leave them behind either.” I confirmed as Monty met my eyes with a mournful face. “But Monty’s right, we haven’t got many options.” I sighed and noticed that now Jasper was studying me with an unimpressed expression. “Clarke’s out there and I doubt that she’s just sitting on her ass. She’ll be searching for help.” I suggested and they both shrugged at my words. “We need to get out, find her and bring back as big a force as we can. It’s the only way we can save them.” I presented my case and waited with anticipation for their opinions.

“It’s too risky. They could kill them all whilst we’re gone. Besides, how would we even find Clarke? Or anyone else to fight with us?” Jasper pointed out and I felt my shoulders drop with disappointment. There were more pitfalls in this plan than I’d realised and although I wanted to believe it was possible, I understood that our decisions carried more importance in this moment than ever before. Jasper took a deep breath and gulped. “There’s only one thing to do, we volunteer.” He declared as both Monty and I jolted into rigid postures at his words.

“Are you insane?” I hissed as I scrutinised him in disbelief. “You want us to just hand ourselves over to them?” I repeated as if I had misheard him. 

“We haven’t got any other choice! It’s the only way to keep us alive, safe, fed and to buy us some time.” Jasper cried with a desperation that was shared between us. “If you really believe that Clarke is out there trying to rescue us, we need all the time that we can get.” Jasper appealed to me and I couldn’t think of any plausible options to challenge this with. I peeked at Monty for alternatives but he reflected the same defeat that I felt.

“For the record, I hate this.” I muttered bitterly.

***

When we returned to the dorms Jasper set straight to work arranging volunteers. He took Harper and Miller to a quiet corner of the room beside the blaring radio and explained the situation. They reluctantly agreed to his insane plan once he expressed that we needed to buy time and I offered to volunteer too. Jasper refused to allow me to join them and instead requested that I act as a guard for the rest of the group whilst they were incapacitated. I was frustrated by this, as I felt a desperate desire to keep the boys in my sights at all times, especially now that I knew what the people here had planned for us. I bitterly accepted that the others required protection and that their ignorance would leave them vulnerable. 

I begrudgingly settled on the bed as they left to volunteer and found myself in a constant state of tension the entire time that they were gone. I attended all of the set meal times so that I could ensure the group remained under observation, but I was unable to bring myself to eat. Instead I picked around plates of food and drank copious amounts of tea in an attempt to stay alert. The night was terrible as I kept watch as much as possible, only occasionally drifting to sleep to be haunted by visions of the boys strung up like blood bags. I heard Bellamy’s voice in my dreams, yelling in frustration at the mess that we’d found ourselves in. Whenever I bolted awake again I couldn’t shake the feeling that my imagination wasn’t wrong. I felt in my core that Bellamy would suggest a more aggressive plan, that he would bust us out of here and I spent much of the night racking my brain for alternative ideas.

By the time the group returned from their procedures I was manic and immediately took both Monty and Jasper into my arms, squeezing them tightly for reassurance. They allowed me to comfort myself with them before Monty led me to sit with Harper and Miller on the bunk beds. Jasper subtly turned up the radio on his way over to mask our conversation. 

“Okay, it’s safe to talk.” Jasper nodded as he settled into position beside me. “We bought ourselves some time but we’re gonna need to recruit some more of the others, only people we trust.” He reported as we all leaned in to listen closely.

I nodded in agreement, glancing around at the relaxed faces in the room. I wasn’t sure how many people remained that I trusted and I couldn’t help feeling envious of their blissfully simple existence. It seemed the five of us had become the new leadership now and I resented being a part of it. I had never desired to lead and although I was always comfortable to share my opinion, I had been content to leave the decision making to others.

“How much more time are we talking about buying here?” Miller grilled as he surveyed the room and from his expression I could imagine that he was having the same concerns. I didn’t even recognise many faces from Bellamy’s militia, which I understood to be Miller’s main confidants. The people here were mostly background parts of camp and I was unsure how much they would be willing to do.

“Long enough for Clarke to break us out.” Monty confirmed confidently and I snapped my gaze to him. I was surprised to find that he believed in my theory until he peeked subtly at me with a wink. I smiled at him and was glad to find that we were on the same page.

“We don’t even know if Clarke’s still alive.” Harper declared as she wrung her hands in worry. 

“It’s Clarke, she’s too stubborn to die.” I commented with a hint of amusement. I leaned slightly forward to catch Harper’s gaze with a supportive smile. “She visited me whilst I was in quarantine. She told me that she thinks there are others alive out there and that she wanted to find them. I know she’ll be out there finding help right now, whatever form it may be in.” I elaborated with certainty and I noted that the others seemed to be intrigued by this revelation.

“She has to be.” Jasper sighed thoughtfully and I nudged him gently. He squinted at me and I smiled as I placed a comforting hand on his arm. I couldn’t stand seeing him look defeated and he’d been moping around in this manner since Maya’s reveal. It was clear that he had genuinely believed in the safety of this place and it was saddening to see his hope crushed.

“Well then she better hurry the hell up.” Miller commented aggressively and the others all stared at the ground with uncertain expressions.

I sighed as I pondered their worried faces. Although we were all straining to inspire each other, none of us had been a part of the leadership in camp and it was clear that nobody wanted that responsibility now. I’d witness the stress that it had caused Bellamy and I dreaded watching any more of my loved ones crushed under it. I took a deep breath and decided to take as much of it as I could for them. 

“I’m sure she’s doing everything that she can out there, so for now we need to do the same in here. Reach out to those you trust, get them onside. The more people we can get to volunteer now, the more we can inspire to volunteer without having to tell them what’s going on. We don’t want to cause a panic. We need to focus on being model citizens; involve yourselves in as much as possible, show your skills and make us indispensable.” I spoke firmly as I gave my best attempt at the kind of inspiring talk that Bellamy often presented in camp. I didn’t have the same undeniable natural charisma that he exuded, but the group seemed to be absorbing my words. “For now, everyone recruit one person you trust and that will fill the bay with volunteers tonight. After that we’ll see what happens naturally, it might be enough.” I ordered and they nodded with an enthusiasm that had been absent before.

We dispersed from our small huddle and each searched for someone to convince. I guided Fox to a quiet area and felt confident that I could trust her due after our history in camp. I quietly explained the situation and although she was fearful, she trusted me to make the best choice for our people. I returned to the group and confirmed that I had sourced a volunteer. The others put forward the names of their candidates and Harper shuffled awkwardly on the spot when it came to her turn. 

“I couldn’t find anyone I trusted enough to tell, I’m sorry.” She whispered as she avoided meeting eyes with any of us. I cleared my throat to prompt her to bring her face up. 

“Well I haven’t volunteered yet. It looks like it’s my turn.” I remarked and smiled at her encouragingly. 

“Are you sure you’re up to that Indie?” Jasper interrogated as he viewed me with concern. He scanned me closely and I could tell that he was reluctant about the suggestion.

“I’m fine, I need to do my part.” I asserted. Before he could argue, I picked up the sign up sheet and added my name to it. “Let’s get this done.” I confirmed as Jasper and Monty glimpsed between each other worriedly.

***

As I laid in the bed of the medical unit with doctors fussing over us, I started to become nervous. A pretty female doctor with dark hair checked my vitals before inserting a large needle into my neck. I hissed in pain and she flinched apologetically at me, before leaning over to the bed beside me to prepare the person that I would be transfusing to. Once she’d finished connecting all the leads she returned to my side. 

“Alright, we’ll administer general anaesthetic. You won’t feel a thing.” She smiled at me encouragingly and I couldn’t hide the feeling of reluctance that flooded my face at the idea of medication.

“Will it make me sleep?” I asked in a small, fearful voice as my stomach twisted in dread. Although I was more than willing to assist in this plan, I hadn’t been prepared to be drugged again and I wasn’t sure that I could survive another round of the horrors that lurked in the back of my mind. She was momentarily confused, before her faze landed on my wrists and understanding dawned on her pitying face. 

“It wont, but we gave the others a mild sedative to help them to relax.” She explained and I felt uncomfortable with the concept that we were all vulnerable here. “I can withhold that if you would like? But it’s a long process without.” She advised and she observed my reactions closely as she spoke.

“I don't want to sleep, I’ll wait it out.” I answered and shook my head firmly. She sighed as she considered me. 

“Indigo, you know that you’re safe with us, don’t you? You don’t need to be guarded.” She suggested as she settled a comforting hand on my arm and I had to control my immediate reaction to recoil from her touch. I struggled to keep the annoyance from my face as I processed her words. It felt like a kick in the teeth to hear the staff reassuring us and comforting us when they all knew what they were keeping us here for. I forced myself to smile calmly in response and took a slow, steadying breath before I spoke again. 

“I’m not guarded, I have nightmares. I can’t forget the things I saw before here.” I justified in the hope that this would seem less suspicious. Although I was honest about the reason that I didn’t want to sleep, I couldn’t deny that I was also afraid to be administered something that would reduce my ability to fight if needed. She watched me with pity and I squirmed in an effort to contain my disgust. 

“Okay, no sedative. Just let us know if you need anything or change your mind. We’ll give you a dose of pain relief just in case.” She smiled in an understanding that felt inauthentic before walking over to a nurse who connected a bag of medication to the drip stand and connected me to it.

After a few minutes I could feel the effects of the pain relief and I felt more relaxed than I had in months. I realised that my anxiety was calmer and the heartbreak didn’t feel as crushing anymore. I leaned my head back into the pillows and felt as if my whole body had become heavier all of a sudden. I stared at the ceiling and as my mind eased, Bellamy’s face filled my consciousness. Before I could put up my internal defences to protect myself from the pain, the memories flashed through rapidly. I was forced to reflect on every moment that I had spent with him, but it didn’t trigger the same desperate feeling as usual. 

I remembered seeing him for the first time in the dropship when we landed on Earth. He was clean with neatly combed back hair and his clothes were only as faded as was normal on the Ark. I could still clearly picture the way that he smiled when he saw Octavia; his eyes still sparkled with hope and joy. I recounted the smug expression that he had when he looked me up and down as I introduced myself with a fizzle of excitement. I played everything back from the beginning and realised how vastly different things were between us from the early days where we argued constantly; I strived to get under his skin and he hid behind skeevy compliments. 

In our last days together we seemed to have reached a peace that neither of us had acknowledged, content to simply enjoy each other's presence. I could still feel the tension in every time we’d touched, clinging to one another in moments of panic, both searching each other out for comfort in the aftermath. I felt a wave of painful regret as I visualised every chance for it to become something more between us that I had missed. It felt like a cruel fate that I only understood the depth of my feelings for him now that he was gone and I started to become aware of the gaping hole in my chest that I’d felt almost constantly since the last time I saw him. 

It wasn’t just Bellamy that was missing from my life; it was Octavia and Raven; it was the home that we’d all built together; it was the leaders that, although troubled people that I didn’t always agree with, kept us safe and banded together even in times of crisis. It was the unity of our camp that didn’t seem the same in our underground prison. The realisation struck that I would likely never be able to fill the hole that their absence left in me. I would likely have this wound forever and if I was going to survive, I’d have to start learning to live with it. As unfortunate as this thought was, I knew in my gut that I couldn’t avoid sleep forever.

I considered the way that I had felt in the white room of quarantine and the drastic actions that I’d taken. Now that the mania I’d experienced during the inescapable times of sedation had passed, I understood that I didn’t truly want to die. Although I felt a constant emptiness that made me question the point in fighting on, the threat of our containment here gave me the powerful sensation that I wasn’t finished yet. I still had people to protect and the loss of Bellamy as a leader had left behind a responsibility that I couldn’t abandon. I hoped that in time I’d find a way to stop the torment of my memories, but for now I would settle for only sleeping as often as needed to survive and denying any triggering thoughts of the Blake siblings. I relied on my bond with Jasper and Monty to give me purpose and that minimised the grief to a size that I could still live with.

When the painkillers finally wore off, I was relieved to be free from the reflection that they’d caused. I was violently sick for several hours following the completion of the transfusion, whilst the patient I’d assisted seemed to be in the best shape of their life. Fox and I were the first to be released and supported each other on the shaky walk back to dorms. Although I still felt nauseous, I was keen to be out of their blatant observation and with people I could trust again. I entered the dorms to find Miller and Monty talking in low voices on one of the bunks and approached to see that they were studying some kind of schematics. 

“Looks like I missed something interesting?” I asked as I arched a brow at them inquisitively. Miller abruptly left when he noticed me and I took his space next to Monty.

“Good to have you back.” He smiled in relief as his eyes scanned me with worry. “How do you feel?” He grilled and I shrugged.

“Awful, I can’t believe that Jasper willingly put himself through this. Although by the sounds of it his treatment was even worse thanks to Maya’s radiation levels. Which honestly just makes it even more unbelievable that he came and asked us to do the same!” I rambled in a muddled mess and realised that I still felt slightly groggy from the medication. “Poor boy was super brainwashed.” I added with an understanding tone as I caught up to my own thoughts and Monty nodded in agreement. I jolted into a slightly straighter posture as a delayed thought struck me. “I was thinking about quarantine and I just remembered something.” I started and Monty’s eyes widened at the mention of this time. “There was a guy... I don’t know who he was, I was super out of it. But he was talking about my blood and how precious it is. I think...Monty I think I’m the reason that they worked out how effective our resistance to the radiation is.” I admitted with a furrowed brow and a terrible feeling of guilt.

“Your blood? But how would they..” Monty trailed off as his attention was drawn to my wrists and I shuffled to ensure they were covered. “You think that whilst they were saving your life, they took the opportunity to use you as a lab rat?” His voice dropped to a dark, disgusted tone that was alien on him and I could sense the rage that bubbled beneath his calm exterior. I nodded back regretfully and he cursed under his breath. “Indie, this isn’t your fault. They’ve been using the grounders for god knows how long, they were always going to realise that we could be viable options. It was just a matter of time.” He excused and I sighed thoughtfully.

“Maybe eventually, but thanks to me they know already. I’ve cost us time.” I stated remorsefully and he shook his head at me firmly.

“No, you’re not taking that on your shoulders, I don’t want to hear you say that ever again, alright?” He asserted and I nodded in an unconvinced gesture. “Well how about some good news?” He smiled at me with a hopeful spark in his eyes and I felt my stomach flip in anticipation. “The Ark made it! We found photos, they’ve set up camp.” He confirmed and I gasped before quickly covering my mouth. 

“Well I wasn’t expecting that, but that’s great! Now we know exactly where Clarke will be headed for help.”  I breathed as I struggled to keep my voice low in my relief.

“I don’t think we can wait for that Indie, we don’t know if Clarke will even find them.” He mumbled before his eyes glazed over and he stared off into the distance. “My parents might be there.” He spoke in a dreamy voice and I reached out to squeeze his hand.

“If they’re anything like you, I’m sure they will be. You’re a pretty hardcore survivor Monty, you must get that from somewhere.” I smiled at him encouragingly and he gripped my hand back gratefully. “So, what’s the plan?” I enquired as I assessed him with a nervous excitement buzzing in my chest.

“We broke into Dante’s office to see if we could find evidence that Clarke’s alive, that’s where we saw the photos from the Ark and where we got this…these are the engineering schematics for this whole place. We’re gonna find a way out.” Monty answered confidently and I stared back at him in bewilderment. 

“That’s a hell of a risk Monty. If they realise we’re onto them we could all end up hanging in that chamber.” I gulped as I ran my fingers through my hair in stress. “You know that I’m all for action but we’re trapped here, we’ve got a lot to lose if we get this wrong.” I confided and even as I spoke I could hear Bellamy’s voice in my mind even louder than my own. I knew that he would already be planning an offensive with no kid left behind. I felt that much of my courage and fire was dampened without him around, and I couldn’t quash my fears.

“We found proof that they’re lying to us today Indie, again. They know our people are alive and yet Dante told Jasper that the Ark hadn’t survived. How long do you think it will be before they ambush them too? And by then we could already have served our purpose.” He appealed to me and I sighed with indecision.

“Guys, Harper didn’t show for breakfast. You guys seen her?” Jasper approached with an anxious energy about him. I noticed that Miller was behaving shifty too beside him and I felt a knot forming in my stomach.

“I haven’t seen her since Dante’s office.” Milled reported and I snapped my gaze back to  Monty with wide eyes, hoping that he could confirm that she was fine. When he met my eyes with equal concern, I felt a sharp anxiety pain flit across my chest.

“So where the hell is she?” Monty asked with a panicked tone as we all stared at each other in terror.

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