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inkbybambi · 7 months

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bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."

and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"

the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.

they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."

something shifts after that.

he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.

he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.

nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

he starts sleeping in your bed.

he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

he starts taking the balaclava off at night.

a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.

"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"say please," he rumbles.

"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

but you? he feels feral with need.

"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."

and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.

"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

time bleeds together.

his contract renews on the twelfth month.

he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.

you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

you've never felt more secure. more protected.

until —

he doesn't know how it slipped past him.

he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

you look one second too late.

simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

fuck.

at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.

price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.

you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.

twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.

a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.

you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

riley.

#ink by bambi #simon riley/reader #simon riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon riley/you #simon riley x you #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #mondern warfare smut

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saiidahyunie · 1 month

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i wonder everything about us

minatozaki sana x f!reader || last part from ballroom extravaganza and pt.1

synopsis: your composure is starting to break, and it lands you in front of the very person that started it all.

warnings: fluff ; angst ; cursing ; alcohol ; arguing ; reader is a dumbass/conflicted ; misscommunication ; 127 doyoung and g-idle miyeon appear! ; dahyun, minju, and somi also have a small cameo ; tzushu and seuirene ship ; almost cheating sorta? ; kinda proofread

a/n: wrapping up the sha rich story here. enjoy! :)

there’s been more situations worse than this one. break the eggs and someone’s gotta make the omelet.

“who was that?”

you’re sitting on the couch while mina paces in front of you, arms crossed over with your chest in a self-soothing gesture. sana was sent back to your room, but you can’t help but wish that she was right here and next to you—it would make you feel braver than she was.

“well?” mina demands. “who?”

“my…she’s my girlfriend.” the lie you just spat tastes like ash in your mouth.

“she’s older.”

“not by much,” you protest. “only eight years.”

“eight—? y/n, you’re almost twenty-two. what are you doing with a woman nearly in her thirties?”

“i’m turning twenty-three in a month or so. don’t insult me.”

“i just don’t know what a twenty-nine year old woman would want with a college kid.”

“kid?” you scoff. “geez, that’s so rich coming from you. how old is your business associate again?”

“this isn’t about me, smartass. it’s about you getting involved with someone whose intentions are a big fat question mark!”

“so what?! why would it matter if i’m graduating next semester with my life ahead of me. stop treating me like how auntie was with you!”

mina stares at you, silently, and her lack of reaction only serves to piss you off even more. so you keep going:

“and sana doesn’t have any shitty intentions with me! she’s my—my girlfriend and she’s good to me! she treats me well and she likes me. she texts me everyday and she comes over all the time and—!”

“does she help with expenses?”

you’re stopped dead in your tracks. “what?”

“does she give you money? you haven’t complained about finances recently.”

“i never complain about fiances, mina.”

“i know, but i can always tell when you’re stressed about them and you haven’t been. so let me ask again: does sana give you money?”

“i—” you stammer with the words. you can see the deeper question in mina’s eyes, probing you. forcing you to be truthful. “she…”

“i think if you’re gonna ask y/n about her finances, it’s probably safest to talk to me.”

the both of you whirl around to look at sana. she has her arms folded, foot bent as she leans against the wall. her expression is polite but her gaze is flat, angry. the simultaneous relief and anxiety that swells within you is strong enough to make you unsteady, and you’re grasping at the arm of the couch.

mina, fortunately, is ignorant to this.

“what did you say?”

“i said if you’re asking about whether i give your cousin any money, your best bet is to come directly to me instead of interrogating her.”

“you’ve got a lot of nerve to say that shit to me when this was happening behind my back.”

sana just shrugs. “i just don’t appreciate what you’re implying.”

“and what exactly am i implying?”

“that i have shady intentions towards y/n, which i don’t.”

your heart in chest thuds, staring down at your trembling fingers, clenching them over your lap. mina’s eyes flicker towards sana’s richard mille. “that’s a nice watch. you make money?”

“mina.” you hiss.

“i make a comfortable living.”

mina scoffs and rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath. “rich people bullshit,” you can faintly hear her say. sana doesn’t reply, face remaining placid. her and mina have a loaded exchange of looks, before your cousin falters, gaze flickering to you.

“you want dinner?” mina inquires.

you blink. “i’m…why?”

“answer the question.”

“i guess im hungry?”

“wonderful.” mina snaps her stare back to sana, voice hard. “what about you?”

sana’s tone is emotionless. “i could eat something.”

“great,” mina says, zipping up her puffer. “let’s go get some thanksgiving dinner then.”

—

you all pack into mina’s car to drive to some restaurant of her choosing, the silence tense enough to cut. when she parks alongside the street, she orders you out of the car, telling to secure a table.

stumbling out, your characteristic grace rendered to nothing due to your anxiety. you step inside the small, hole-in-the-wall pizza restaurant, and ask the hose for a three person table booth. seeing that sana and your cousin aren’t behind you, you allow the host to lead to the table that’s in a corner to the far end of the entrance. after three excruciating minutes, you see the pair walk inside. sana’s expression is blank, and mina’s is unreadable. this does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves.

they sit down, mina across from you and sana at your side. she places her warm hand over your trembling knee, thumb stroking your skin to calm you, grasping it, intertwining fingers. sana squeezes back for comfort.

“so,” you begin shakily. “um—”

“you lied to me,” mina interrupts firmly, eyes hard, reducing you to a feeble child. it angers you. “why did you lie to me?”

“because i knew you would do this. because i knew you were gonna say something about it to auntie sometime later.”

“about what?”

“my decisions. my life. the way i choose to live my life. it’s why you do shit like this.”

mina narrows her eyes, offended. “care to elaborate more?”

“come here under the guise of checking up on me. interrogate me.”

“i only came because i knew you were lying to me.”

“and i lied because i know how controlling you are just like auntie!”

mina’s expression sours. “i’m not controlling like her.”

“yes, you are.” you snap. “you’re either controlling or completely detached. you either forget to call me for two months because you’re busy or you do random check-ins with me everyday for a week. i’m twenty-two years old and you still treat me like this only because auntie’s health hasn’t been well.”

“i don’t have any other choice.” she says tightly. “i don’t know how much auntie has left with time, but—” mina catches herself off, jaw clenching, and looks away from you. you and sana. “we may not be related by blood, but i still consider you my family. i’m sorry if i came off as cold or unmoving, but you’re all i have left.”

sana shifts beside you. “maybe i should—”

“no, it’s fine.” mina says, and glances back up. brown eyes meet yours, a mirror image. “i was just about to leave anyway.”

“what?” you gasp out.

“you shouldn’t.” sana interjects.

mina waves a dismissive hand. “i’ve said everything i wanted to say. to both of you.”

“don’t go if you’re gonna regret it later, mina,” sana warns. mina barks a laugh, tightening her jacket. “if you wanna be apart of our family, sana, learn the way we operate. y.n and i don’t carry regrets.”

she pointedly glances at you and you respond with shaking your head, mouthing a silent no. without any further ceremony, mina shoulders her handbag, moving to step forward. however, she hesitates and looks back at you, stopping in place.

“if you want me to be convinced you can hold out on your one, then act like it. stop giving so much of a shit about what i have to say. i spout just as much crap as everyone else. it’s up to you if you want to ignore me if you want.”

speechless, your mouth is parted, but mina was already on her way out of the restaurant by the time you can think of any words. when you see the black streak of her car driving way, you sigh, burying your face in your hands.

“i’m such a bitch.”

“don’t talk about yourself like that,” sana says, voice firm but touch soft, stroking down the line of your back. “she told me in the car she was gonna leave.”

“why?”

“same reason she just gave just now. she said everything she wanted to say to both of us.”

“and what did she say to you?”

“a better question is what i did say to her.”

you can’t help with the rush of cold fear that grips you. “what did you say?”

“what i felt about you. what you are to me.”

and it’s not the truth because it can’t be the truth—mina would’ve throttled sana otherwise—but the tenderness in her voice implores you to look up from your hands at her, to believe her. she reaches over to brush your hair out of your face, eyes sweet like liquid candy, mouth curling to smile. you crumble, falling into her.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry you had to put up with that.”

“it’s fine, sweetheart.”

“no, it’s not. it’s awful and it’s unhealthy and i’m dumping my baggage onto you.”

“i don’t care. i want to know everything about you.” you flush, and sana adds, “also, if you think that’s bad you should meet my family. i’ve grown up with struggles of not being up to par with my relatives and being the laughing stock because of my lack of success. it’s half the reason i’m calling out of thanksgiving tomorrow. that and the fact that i’m working.”

“what?” you gasp, sitting up. “you’re working tomorrow?”

sana toys with a lock of your hair. “people get injured everyday unfortunately.”

“we should do something.”

“you don’t want to eat here?”

“i get one dollar pizza with irene at least once a week. we should do something special.”

a grin cracks sana’s face in half, radiant. “what if i made us dinner?”

“you can cook?”

“of course i can. i even have a special bacon mac and cheese recipe.”

“but i don’t have bacon.”

“we can take the subway to the grocery store and then take it back to your house when i can cook. c’mon, it’ll be fun.”

you bite your lip to suppress a smile. sana kisses it free. when she pulls back, you lean into her palm, lashes fluttering against the skin of it.

“okay, you lead the way then.”

—

grocery shopping with sana is efficient.

she doesn’t linger in aisles to windowshop. sana simply grabs what she wants and goes, one hand gripping a pack of bacon and a box of mac and cheese, the other hand clasped with your own. they’re in and out within five minutes.

the subway ride is almost as quick but fun, which is a strange thing to have on the g-train but it’s true. sana crowds you against the pole, shielding you from the other passengers as she whispers her judgment of them in your ears, speculating that the married couple standing across from them is miserable, will always be miserable, because they can’t ever feel what you and sana do.

the game is mean-spirited, you know, but sana’s ridiculousness makes you laugh. makes your stomach bubbly and your body light, fizzy like you’re made of crisp champagne. as sana kisses the curve of your ear, you think that you quite like the idea of being in on an inside joke with her.

you’re stumbling into the apartment within the hour, teeth chattering from the cold. sana removes your coat and scarf, hanging them on your rack before taking the grocery bag and hurrying into the kitchen. she looks excited, her lips spread wide in a near-permanent grin. you settle onto one of the high chairs, watching sana waltz around your kitchen like it’s familiar to her. it must be at this point.

“so. bacon mac and cheese.”

“a family recipe,” sana says, pulling a pot from the bottom cabinet. “my grandma used to make it for my mom when she was a kid. growing up pretty poor so she says this was basically a delicacy to her.”

“i can relate. when i was little, my favorite thing to eat was those cup ramen noodles that mina and auntie used to throw bits of beef and chicken in.”

“cup ramen is always good.”

sana fills the pot with water, placing it over the stove top and setting the heat on high. she then walks to your fridge to pull out a bottle of prosecco. “this is fancy.”

“hardly,” you snort. “i got it for fifteen bucks.”

“all wine target the same whether it’s five or fifty dollars. take it from someone who drinks the fancy shit at parties,” sana says, popping the cork off. she grabs two glasses and files them halfway before passing one to you.

sana raises it. “cheers.”

“happy thanksgiving.”

so you and sana drink. relishing in the sweet, crisp burn of the prosecco as it goes down, the alcohol warming you instantly. sana’s eyes on you are equally warm and dangerously fond. you take another sip to swallow down the mutinous rise of hope.

soon enough, the water starts boiling and sana pours the macaroni in, stirring it. you like it. you like the look of sana in your kitchen, her ease. the domesticity implied. you basically want to sink into it.

you get off your chair to slowly approach sana from behind, sliding your arms around her middle and leaning your cheek against the curve of her shoulder. sana leans into you, and you rise up to your toes, pressing lips to her cheek, kissing sana softly. when she sighs, head tilting down, you kiss sana again. again and again. wanting a tattoo of your affection to be left behind.

dropping back to your heels, and sana’s gaze finds yours, soft as silk. she curls her hand into your hair and brings you close, mouth against your forehead, nose in your hairline, breathing in.

“go sit down,” sana murmurs. “finish your drink.”

you step away from sana, chest hollow like you’re leaving something behind.

—

sana feeds you bites of mac and cheese that tastes a bit burnt.

“a capricorn mars?” sana asks, lips around the same fork. she dips it back into the bowl to fish for more macaroni. “what the fuck is that?!”

“okay so, everyone has planet placements—asteroids too but that’s more specific—and each of the planets has a specific meaning. i already explained that your sun sign—”

“capricorn.”

“capricorn, right—was the core of your personality. your moon sign is your private face, or your emotional center. mercury is communication. venus is romance and aesthetics—which might be an additional for you. and mars is aggression and sexuality.”

“and mine is in capricorn?”

“yeah, and capricorn is the domicile of mars.”

“it means that capricorn and virgo are already ruled by mars. the placement feels natural.”

“ah.” sana’s arms tighten around you, setting you higher up on her lap. “so that means i’m naturally aggressive and sexual?”

“no,” you laugh. “it means that it’s just an easier fit. that there isn’t any friction between the planet and sign. like, capricorns are very expressive in their confidence and humility. grounded with their words and they don’t sugarcoat what they say, they mean it.” you say, tapping sana’s chin, tugging on it with your thumb. “and they do it straightforwardly. mars suits it.”

sana nips at your thumb. “like you aren’t.”

“i’m a gemini,” you say. “a dynamic sign. two sides to show to the world.”

sana grins, and you move your hand up pushing her hair back. “how do you know all this stuff anyway?”

“i had a light…astrology phase in high school.”

“astrology?”

“yeah. my stuff might be off, but that’s to the best of my memory. but i dabbled with oujia birds. summoning, that kind of shit.”

“summoning?”

“i never actually summoned anything,” you mutter, flashing. “none of the spells worked.”

sana laughs, which earns your glare. you shiver when she reaches up and traces the curve of your ear.

“this explains the bit of eye bags to sell the dark look i’m getting out here.”

“pfft,” you stifle a laugh, turning your head off to the side. “the eye bags were from an insomnia phase i had during my first year of college. i didn’t know how to function at times, and my roommate was genuinely concerned when i brought up my terrible last two years of high school. i think i might’ve scared her.”

“really?”

“that’s another story for later, but let’s just say that it wasn’t pretty if you saw me like that.”

“wow,” sana says, impressed with your growth and resilience. “i was totally normal during high school.”

“i see and believe that.”

the only warning before sana flips you over and pins you on the couch is a flash of teeth, a mean smile. you cry, “the macaroni!” but sana already has it safely on the ground, her other hand moving to tickle your ribs. you’re shrieking, jerking in her hold.

“don’t!”

“what?” sana asks, laying over you, fingers sliding up your waist. “you’re ticklish?”

“no.”

“i think you are.”

“i’ll kick you.”

“no, you won’t,” sana says, but traps your thighs between her knees anyway. she lowers her head, mouth warm against your neck. “you’re too sweet.”

“sana—”

she offers you no mercy. with a simple crook of her fingers, she’s tickling you, trapping you against teh couch as you squirm and giggle beneath her. sana’s hands dip past your shirt to find your bare skin, relentless. while you writhe, sana shoves her face into your neck and hums.

“y-you’re–sana, you’re gonna kill me!”

“no, i’m not.”

“i can’t—” you erput into another laughing fit, tears in your eyes. “i can’t breathe!”

“you’re such a baby,” sana says, but slides her hands away to rest them on either side of your head. once you’ve recovered, you wrap your arms around sana’s neck and secure her to you. sana kisses the ridge of your jaw, sinking into you with a deep exhale. as if expelling a weight inside you.

“do you want to watch a movie?” you ask, fingers toying with the ends of her hair.

“sure. something nice.”

“like what? a rom-com?”

“yeah. i like those.”

you laugh. “do you really? i was expecting you to be more of a different answer than that.”

“were you expecting action movies?”

“but you prefer romance?”

“if they’re good.” when you look at sana disbelievingly, defensiveness enters her tone. “what?”

“i don’t know. a lot of people didn’t like them because it set unrealistic standards. or, at least that’s what my ex said.”

“well, your ex was a fucking idiot,” sana says heatedly. “there’s nothing unrealistic about it.”

there’s nothing unrealistic about grand, sweeping gestures and spotanoeulsy confessing your undying love in the middle of an airport?”

sana raises her head from your chest to look at you. “not unless if you’re a coward.”

you snort, a slow start to what would eventually become a full belly laugh. sana’s expression sours with every giggle, but when you throw your head back and knock it against the arm of the couch, sana reaches out to cradle it. while you recover, sana chooses a move, fingers soothing the bump.

—

by the time the credits of the second movie roll, sana rises from her position on your chest to sit up. she rubs her palms over her face, yawning.

“i have to go,” sana says with some regret, her eyes half-lidded. “i have work in the morning.”

you want to protest but feel ridiculously for it, childishly selfish. instead, you give sana a tight smile and follow her to the door, grabbing her coat from the rack to help her in it. you then take her scarf, pretty purple and wooly in your hands, holding out to her. sana smiles and drapes it over her neck. the open door behind her lets in an icy chill, and she binds you against her, broad palms cupping your face.

you love sana’s eyes. it strikes you suddenly as she tugs you closer, dazzling brown swallowing your vision. you wish the whole world could be that color. it could be that beautiful.

“i’ll call you tomorrow,” sana says.

your voice is soft, too small in your throat. “okay.”

sana smiles and ducks down to kiss you, lips warm and sweet and awfully chaste. you surge closer to meet her, trying to deepen it, but she doesn’t let you. she simply pecks the swell of your bottom lip again and leans back to look at you. the overwhelming affection on her face sends a bolt through you, sends a shiver up your spine that she mistakes for chill. concern flares in her eyes as she takes the scarf from her neck.

“are you cold?” sana asks, already pulling it off, settling it over your shoulders. “is it because the door is open?”

“i—” you can’t speak over the wool that covers your mouth. sana sloppily wraps it around you, her own body heat bleeding into you, nestling sweetly like hot chocolate beneath your skin. after she’s thrown the tail over your head, she tucks the scarf under your chin and asks, “is that better?”

“yes,” you manage to croak out.

sana smiles again and kisses you for the last time. when she steps back, the distance hurts. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you soon,” you whisper out to her, hand lingering out. the last thing you see before sana locks the door behind her is her smile.

it almost hurts not to follow.

—

“y/n!”

you pause, just steps outside of the auditorium. turning to see doyoung, your thesis editor and a TA for the psychology and ethics class. you smile as he approaches you, adjusting your coat against the chill. “hi.”

“hey,” doyoung says, grinning. “you just watched the lecture, right?”

“yeah. it was great. i didn’t know you were gonna attend.”

“i didn’t know you would attend either,” he says. “if i did, i would’ve asked if you wanted to sit together.”

smiling, close-mouthed, unsure of how to respond to that. doyoung barrels on before you can settle on anything. “do you want to meet her?”

“who? the lecturer?”

“mrs. cho, yeah.”

suspended in time for a second, you blink. “you know her?”

“yeah! i was one of her research assistants about a year and a half ago. she’s great. do you wanna meet her?”

“uh—sure, i would love to,” you say, a bit mystified, trailing after him when he starts to walk back into the auditorium.

doyoung leads you towards the stage where a woman who appeared to be around your height stands, chatting amiably with one of your professors. when doyoung calls her name, she looks over to you, sending a broad grin.

“kim doyoung?” she asks. is that you?”

“yes, ma’am,” he says, climbing onto the stage, reaching back to help you up. “it’s really nice to see you again.”

“it’s great to see you! how are things?”

“great!”

“and you’re almost done right? got not long now before you’ll be on the way out into the real world.”

“yeah, i’ve got most of the things done before applying for graduation. i even do some editing for other students on the side. speaking of.” doyoung reaches back, setting his hand on your back to gesture you forward. “this is one of the students i edit for.”

mrs. cho shifts her attention towards you. noticing how remarkably pretty she was up close compared to sitting a few rows back. she has bright red hair that was noticeable from far, fair skin with rosy cheeks that encapsulate a bubbly personality when she spoke to the class. for some reason her laugh and mannerisms were similar to a familiar person. you couldn’t put your thumb to it, but the fact that her occupation was also in the medical field should’ve sent the alarms ringing.

“and who this might be?” she asks.

“y/n l/n. she’s a bachelors student in the pipeline for the masters program.”

“y/n–” her eyes shot up. you’re startled by the intense reaction of you, the way her jaw drops like the two biggest dots were just connected. “y/n l/n? are you actually y/n l/n?”

“uh.” you’re glancing at doyoung who seems confused as you were. “y-yes, that’s me.”

mrs. cho covers her mouth with both of her hands, hiding her smile. “my goodness that’s amazing! do you know sana?”

“sana?” your heart swells, stomach sinking as the realization slaps across you ten-fold. how could’ve you been so blind? one of sana’s closest friends, miyeon. miyeon. sana’s shown the pictures of her on that one hangout they had when they were in medschool, dressing up like boys with dad hats backwards and nerdy glasses that looked surprisingly cute and wished sana looked like that for you.

“no way.” you breathe out.

“oh my god!” miyeon echoes. “this is crazy!”

“who is sana?” doyoung asks, reminding you abruptly of his presence.

“my best friend,” miyeon eagerly replies, gaze unwaveringly on her face. “this is incredible.”

“you know me? or at least about me?” you ask, reeling. “sana…she’s told you about me?”

“of course she has! she talks about you all the time. she even mentioned that you were a psychology student, but i didn’t know that you studied at this university.”

your lips quick. “what a small world.”

“it definitely is. so tell me more about your degree. sana said that it had something to do with kids?”

“well, yeah. i’m studying child’s psychology with a cognitive-behavioral focus. doyoung’s helping me with my thesis right now actually.”

well, you might’ve just embarrassed yourself. doyoung already mentioned that to her.

“interesting, but cognitive-behavioral?” miyeon playfully raises her brows. “what are you doing attending the lecture of an exponential researcher?”

“i find it to broaden my avenues, besides being well-rounded.”

miyeon laughs, delighted. “that it does, my dear. sana said that you were bright in studies.”

your cheeks flush, the natural instinct to ask for what else, what else has she said, forming. that is, until doyoung says, “sorry. i’m a little lost. how do you know sana, y/n?”

speechless for a moment, you’re transported back to the soft golden lights and the shine of her oxford shoes, the taste of lemon drop martinis on your tongue. the four seasons and five hundred dollars in your purse, completely unexplainable much like sana is, because there are no words to describe her.

there are, however, words to describe you.

“y/n,” miyeon says, leaning forward to take your chin on her fingers, startling you. “is the greatest gift sana ever had the pleasure of finding.”

and all at once your excitement dashes into nothing, letting dread sink into you, curling around your body like a vice, tigeting around your neck. suddenly, miyeon’s enthusiasm takes a different meaning, another shape. it’s not friendly but sordid. not curious but propositional. maybe, it might’ve been, if sana ever offered to share.

it’s the thought that makes your heart crack open. just a few days ago, she was in your house, laying over you, kissing you with enough affection that you could drown in it. you thought—you’re not even entirely sure why anymore but you thought—it was real. it could’ve been real. the hope was there.

“wow,” doyoung says, laughing awkwardly, but the sound barely registers over the roaring din in your ear canals. “i didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

she’s not my fucking girlfriend, you’re saying to yourself visioulxy, spiterully. with sorrow. sana’s not your fucking girlfirned and she never was. you were just her gift. a thing to fuck around with.

“i’m sorry,” you say, blinking fast, speaking through the lump in your throat. “i really have to go.”

“oh.” miyeon looks genuinely disappointed, but you can’t be sure. perhaps it’s because she was hoping you’d offer a more nicer regard than what just transpired now. you wonder about the stories sana’s told, if she’s shown miyeon your pictures. “well, it was nice meeting you. i hope we’ll see each other again.”

you nod once, a jerky motion, and a spin of the heel to race out of the auditorium. by the time you reach to the chill outdoors, you’re crying, hot tears streaming down your face, heartbreak nearly forcing you to the knees.

wiping them away roughly, shame makes you red-faced. once you tended to the other cheek, fingers tugging the scarf around your neck, it feels like a collar to a degree–and you’re choking on another sob.

a terrible tragedy it seems, to be owned.

—

avoiding contact, you’re fielding sana’s calls for the next week or so.

you can’t claim that you don’t mean to because you do. every text asking is everything okay? something wrong? gets a yes, of course. every text asking are you okay, are you mad at me? gets a no. no, of course not. why would i be?

how amusing that you have a chock-full of little excuse, but the end result still stands: you don’t want to talk to sana.

this also means that you're miserable.

the tried-and-true method of compartmentalizing your feelings ceases to work when your sorrow over sana bleeds into everything. you can’t focus enough to do your assignments, be mindful enough to smile at work, to write when doyoung says that you should. to eat, even, because it’s hard to stomach anything when you’re angry at her and it’s hard to exist and not speak to her. over the course of three months, sana’s embedded herself into every facet of your life. function without her now is like forgetting how to breathe.

you could say that you’re taking the misery right on the chin, pushing through it like the grown woman you’ve claimed to be, at least proficient enough to hid from everyone else not involved. tzuyu notices this, she notices everything, and she makes it her mission to know about everything.

which is why you’re not surprised when she randomly bursts into your room on a saturday night, phone still buzzing from when she tried to call you.

“get up!” tzuyu snaps, marching over to yank your covers off; you’re curling over the pillow. “come on, get up! you’ve been ignoring my calls for, like, a week and i’m sick and tired of your wallowing.”

voice muffled into the sheets. “‘m not wallowing.”

“yes, you are,” she says and throws open your blinds, exposing the stained brickwall on the other side. “irene told me you didn’t go to class with her this week, which i know means that you were holed up in here crying or something. which, i might add, you never informed me of, so not only are you sad but you’re keeping secrets from me. bad friend behavior, y/n.”

“it’s not bad friend behavior. i just didn’t feel like talking about it.”

“well if you’re not gonna talk about it, you’re gonna do something else.” you hear your closet doors open and perch your head up to see tzuyu rifling through your clothes. after a moment, she makes some pleased sound and toesses a white dress onto your boed, one that sana had bought you a few weeks ago. the memory is blanched just by looking.

“we’re going out tonight,” tzuyu announces. “i have shuhua waiting in the car and i made plans to meet up with irene and a few friends of mine at a club in manhattan. i’m not leaving till you get dressed.”

“i’m not going.”

“yes, you are.”

“no.”

“you are.”

“tzuyu,” you say, with a note of pleading. “i really don’t want to go.”

“and i don’t care! you’re going.”

“no,” you repeat firmly, drawing your knees up to cocoon yourself. “i don’t want to go. i don’t want to drink or go to manhattan—”

“does sana live in manhattan?

“i don’t want to talk about sana.”

“well, it seems like you don’t wanna do fucking anything!” tzuyu throws her hands up, lovely face twisted up with exasperation. she nudges the dress closer. “and like i said, i really don’t care. if you’re not gonna talk about your feelings then do something equally as unproductive and distract yourself from them instead of crying. you’re being ridiculous.”

“no, you are,” you retort acidically, and it seems as though your outrage needed an outlet, because you can’t stop yourself from spitting the vitriol that spills forth. “and you know what? you are ridiculous. in general, you are fucking ridiculous. you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and you act like it. me signing up for that stupid app was your idea. me meeting sana was because of you. and sana—” calling me her gift, reducing me to something that’s owned, tainting the concept of belonging— “i-it’s your fault. everything is your fault. it’s your fucking fault!”

tzuyu’s face is unchanged, perfect and placid as it always is. finally, while you heave, restraining another fit of tears, tzuyu exhales deeply and tilts her head, expression softening. “are you good now?”

“no,” you mumble. “i’m angry.”

“good.” tzuyu sits down on the edge of your bed and tugs you close, resting your head on her shoulder. “be angry with me. just don’t hole yourself up in your room alone. you’ve done enough of that.”

you sag into tzuyu. “i’m sorry for yelling at you. what happened isn’t your fault.”

“it kind of is.”

“no, it isn't. maybe giving the idea was, but everything i did was because it was a choice i mad. even being hurt now is my fault. i always knew what i was to her.”

“so? it’s kind of difficult to have sex with anything for three months and not get attached to it. i get weepy when i have to throw away my vibrators.”

you snort, pushing tzuyu away. met with a smile of hers with your own, “are you ready to go out now or do i actually have to respect your wishes this time.”

debating, eyes flicking to the dress by your foot. you know how it looks on you, how the fabric shimmers under a certain light and the fit clings to your body. you know it’s effect on sana, even, how her eyes darkend when she first saw it on you, how she raced to get it off. the faded memory stings as the thought of sana always does now, like a sharpened blade, but tzuyu is right. it isn’t healthy to sustain this level of feeling for days on end. maybe it needs a change of pace.

“fine,” you say, looking at tzuyu. “help me get ready.”

tzuyu squeals before grabbing your face to let her kiss your cheek.

—

you and tzuyu greet shuhua by the car just half an hour later, who rolls down the window to wolf-whistle you as they approach. tzuyu opens her coat and grabs you by the hand to spin you around.

“you look hot!” shuhua says. “i’ll be surprised if you don’t go home with somebody tonight.”

cheeks flushing after the compliment. “oh, uh, i’m not really—”

“honey, don’t scandalize y/n so early in the evening,” tzuyu says, popping a kiss to her mouth as she gets in the car. “you know y/n doesn’t talk about ex–say in polite company.”

“since when am i polite company?”

“hi, shua,” you mumble, sliding into the backseat.

“hey, babe. are you excited?” shuhua turs around. both her and tzuyu stare at you expectantly from the front seats, making you feel strangely like a child on their first day of school.

“...yes…”

tzuyu sends shuhua a firm look. “start the car.”

it’s saturday night, the drive from queens to manhattan takes about forty minutes. you’re spending the majority of the ride staring out the window, willing yourself not to think of the familiar surroundings, of the shops along the street that have developed new meaning. luckily, before you can get lost in your budding melancholy, shuhua parks the car along the side of the street and unlocks the door. with a sigh, you step out.

there’s a long line leading into the club that tzuyu bypasses with ease, simply flashing her ID at the bouncer before he allows you three inside. the club is ritzy but stereotypical. brith, multicolored flashing lights threaten to blind you and the pumping music that makes your ears ring. hand in hand, tzuyu directs through the throng of gyrating bodies to a VIP lounge near the back, where you can see a round table filled with people.

irene notices you first, and she jumps out of her seat to rush toward you, bee-lining for you specifically, enveloping a hug that you gratefully sink into.

“you look so pretty!” irene yells when she steps back. “i was worried you wouldn’t come!”

“i did!”

“thank god! come say hi to everybody!”

following her to the table. irene slides back into the booth to nestle beneath the arm of a handsome black-haired man that you recognize immediately, much to your delight. “seulgi!”

she cracks a smile. “sup.”

“i didn’t know you’d be here.” or really, that their relationship had progressed so well. perhaps you might have if you kept in touch more proactively, which suddenly makes you feel like a very shitty friend.

“how are you?” you ask, sitting down next to the pair.

“i’m good. you?”

“i’m…well.”

“uh-oh.” seulgi pushes a drink towards you. “be grateful i can’t cut you off tonight then.”

not thinking of a reply, uncomfortable at having been perceived so clearly, you raise the straw to your lips.

“hey tzuyu! we’re here!”

the three of you look over to see three people ambling towards you, a shorter woman in front, two slightly taller behind her. up close, you can see that she has dark, long hair. she’s wearing a black leather jacket with a handbag to her side. when she catches your eye, she smiles.

tzuyu leaps up from her seat to hug the woman, extricating herself quickly to hug the other two women tagging behind. her voice is a squeal when she screams, “dahyun!”

gesturing to them to sit down next to her, and as they all scoot into the booth, dahyun’s attention flickers towards you, down to your dress.

“y/n! y/n, this is my friend dahyun! she has a brother that works on the same racing team as him!”

“hey.” dahyun says, leaning forward, extending her hand, and you shake it. when you pull away, she wraps her arm around the brunette beside her.

“this is minju,” dahyun says, and points to the blonde at the end of the booth. “and that’s somi.”

“it’s nice to meet you all,” you say.

“it’s great to meet you. you’re y/n, right?”

“yeah.”

“cool!” dahyun’s mouth curls, more a smirk than a smile. “tzuyu has told me all about you.”

“has she?”

“yep. she thinks you’ve hung the fucking moon or something. is it true you volunteered at a women’s shelter for fun?”

you blush at the question. “i wouldn’t say for fun. i just…got along with the kids there really well.”

“a saint is what you are, according to tzuyu.”

“oh, i wouldn’t—”

dahyun surprises you when she stands up and slides over chaeyoung and somi to sit next to you, smelling the rich perfume she put on. your fingers bunch up the dress when she throws her arm over the back of your seat.

“so,” dahyuns starts again, sinking into the vinyl seat, too comfortable. “what else do you do aside from rescuing cats from trees?”

“i’m not a firefighter. never done anything like that.”

“it was a joke, lovely.” your flush depends, and dahyun adds, “but i’m serious. what do you do?”

“i’m a waitress currently, but i’m working towards my bachelors in child’s psychology. masters after, but i’m sure you knew that already.”

“yep.”

“and you?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink, beer bottle sweating around your fingers. “tzuyu mentioned you work with your mom?”

“yeah, just a normal front-desk job. pretty nice until all of the calls get backed up.”

“yikes. sorry to hear that.”

dahyun’s mouth quirks, and you swallow a squeak when she reaches over to ruffle your hair, startled by her familiarity. she keeps her hand there.

“you’re sweet, you know that?”

your face is burning red hot, stomach churning. you can’t think of anything to say but get off. “um—”

“but fuck the job conversation,” dahyun says, leaning closer to you, eyes flashing with mischief. “you wanna get fucked up?”

—

to your better judgement—along with the credit, this is something that you don’t really do on a weekend basis—getting fucked up.

it takes a few beers and sojus to get loose enough to smile freely. you’ve lost the count from five shots onwards to keep you laughing, swimmy. dahyun leads you to the bar to take more shots together—your idea—that’s immediately chased down with lime juice, shoved into your mouth by dahyun’s fingers. the burst of citrus in your mouth.

there’s no food to sober up with, so you decide to get that stored energy on the dance floor, sweating profusely. you switch between the different groups—first spinning around in a mid circle with shuhua and tzuyu, then joining irene and seulgi as they move together. you’re being dragged in between, irene laughing against your neck, head being thrown back into seulgi’s shoulder, the light’s over-bright above you, a shimmering multicolor. you’re laughing, and laughing, and laughing, even when a flash of green against the ceiling makes you want to cry.

it’s so easy to stop thinking.

which is exactly the case when dahyun finds her way onto the dance floor, swaggering. selugi spins you towards her embrace and she catches you, hands securing the waist, fingers sliding down to your hips. her voice rumbles from her chest and into your ears when she speaks, mouth skimming the curve orf it. “you know, tzuyu really wanted me to meet you.”

you wrap your arms around her neck. “she did?”

“yeah, she did. said you needed to meet someone new.”

“oh. i didn’t know.” dahyun leads you into a dance, slipping their knee between your legs. something cold curdles up in the pit of your stomach, but the warmth of the alcohol makes it easy to ignore. have fun, you remind yourself.

“yeah, thank god she did,” dahyun says.

the music, booming club/house hit, robs most of your hearing, but when you sway your hips and she follows the motion of it, moving with you, you can hear the dark rumble of her groan, can feel it when dahyun says, “fuck, you’re so hot. you wanna get out of here?”

that cold pit in the base of your stomach explodes, icy panic flooding your insides. dahyun’s eyes widen with shock as you push her away from you, and when she tries to tug you close again, you bat her away, snapping, “no.”

you stumble to the end of the club, shoving on your coat as you rush out into the cold weather. you tremble more from the alarm than the chill when you pull out your phone and scroll through the contact list.

sana answers before the end of the first ring. “y/n?”

“i’m coming to your house,” you announce, waving widely as you try to flag down a taxi.

“is something wrong? your voice sounds weird. do you want me to pick you up?”

“i’m coming,” you repeat. “to your house. so tell your doorman to let me in.”

“baby, are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

the pet name stings. as does your persistent loyalty to her. wouldn’t have been so freeing to make her hurt? “no.”

“y/n—”

“i’ll see you now.”

you hang up just as a taxi stops beside you. opening the door and climbing into the car, slurring out sana’s address. given that her apartment complex is close, the drive takes under fifteen minutes. you had to swipe your card at least three separate times for the payment to go through. you nearly trip when stepping out, knees shaking and coltish, but right yourself quickly to march into the building. the red-headed doorman gives you a sour look that you meet with a scowl. thankfully, though, he lets you in without a word.

the journey to sana’s apartment is a blur. recognizing the soft elevator music and the ding as it opens. your heels click against the marble floors when you stumble down the hall, hands aligning against the wall to keep your balance. when you find sana’s door, you knock on it hard, speaking into the peephole. “it’s y/n. let me in!”

door swung open instantly; sana must’ve been waiting for you. heart throbbing when you see her, brown hair around her shoulder, barefoot and not-entirely relaxed, but she herds you in before you can get emotional, following you to the living room.

“are you okay?” sana asks.

“no.” you throw your purse down and wrestle to get your coat off. sana steps forward to help you but you shake your head, scoffing at her injured look.

“you’re drunk,” sana observes with disapproval., “why are you drunk?”

“i went out with tzuyu.”

“are you okay?” sana asks again.

“no. i’m drunk.”

sana’s expression shifts, wavering between panic and concern. you wonder what she has to be worried about, if she carries the past week with her the way that you did. but of course not, you think bitterly. why would she care at all?

“do you need water?”

you don’t reply, still struggling to take your coat off, suddenly overheated. sana watches you, making a frustrated sound deep in her throat. she runs her hand through her hair. “i don’t know what you wnat me to do then, baby.”

“i want you to stop calling me baby.”

“what?”

you whirl around. “i want you to stop with the pet names. i want you to stop with the gifts. i want you to stop sending me money. i-i want you to stop—talking to me like you care about me. it’s cruel, sana.”

“y/n, what are you talking about? of course i fucking care about you.” sana’s eyes widening. “did you take any drugs?”

“no!” you yell. “and no, i didn’t take any drugs!”

“then what the fuck is your problem?”

“my problem,” you spit, narrowing your eyes, speaking through your teeth. “is that i don’t want to be your damn sugar baby anymore!”

“what?!”

“yeah! your sugar baby, sana. does it make you feel bad when i say it? because it makes me fel fucking worse.” your voice cracking, shaking your head. “and i take it anymore.”

sana grasps the side of her hair. “take what? take what anymore? what the fuck are you talking about?”

“this!” you gesture between you and sana. “i can’t— i can’t keep pretending that i’m okay with this. that you can go to my house, fuck me, and then venmo me some money after like it’s okay. like i’m your—at first i thought it would be fine. it hurt me, made me feel sick, but i thought….i guess i thought that things would change but they haven’t. they haven’t and it really fucking hurts.”

“y/n, sweetheart, my love—” you flinch—”i’m really gonna need you to start making sense before i lose my fucking mind.”

“what doesn’t make any sense to you? my feelings? did you really expect that you could get to fuck me fore three months and i wound’t feel anything? am i that much of a fucking doll to you?”

“wha—?”

“you know, tonight i met this girl that was really into me,” you say, and giddily watch sana freeze. “tzuyu introduced me to her. she thought we’d be good together. she wanted me.”

sana’s face goes flat, hands stalling in the air between them. your pulse skips at the sudden coldness that grips her, the way her eyes darken, like the brief seconds of peace that precede the explosion of a volcano.

“what?” she asks quietly. “what did you say?”

“but i didn’t want her!” you cry. a jolt of panic runs through you, as fierce as your heartbreak. “i didn’t! she said she wanted to sleep with me and i said no! because of you, sana! because i like you! i really, really, really like you and i have feelings for you, and—”

“are you saying you could have cheated on me!” sana yells. “did you just admit to my fucking face expect me to thank you?!”

“cheat on what? you’re not my girlfriend, you’re my sugar mommy! thats’ what this whole argument is about!”

“i’m not your damn sugar mommy! i told you from day-fucking-one that i hated that shit! i think it’s disgusting! i told you that! if it were up to me, park jihyo would be dead in the fucking ground!”

“oh.” stumbling back. the shock crashing over in waves, realization threatening to wash over you. “i–oh, fuck. god.”

because sana was right. she did tell you that, just twenty minutes into the first meeting. her giving money to you after the first date misled you, given the impression that this was something sordid, but sana never acted that way. not once. she only ever treated you like…

you cradle your face when sana paces in front of you, muscles tense with rage. her fists shake by her sides, knuckles white, and you have the sudden urge to throw yourself down at her feet and kiss them, to beg for her forgiveness.

“i’m sorry. sana, i’m so sorry.” you gaps. “i didn’t—i misinterpreted everything, and i—”

sana stops in place to look at you, blazing eyes rooting you to the ground. your breath twists in your lungs as the words melt on your tongue, leaving you with nothing. because you have nothing. there’s nothing to say.

and sana takes you in, the trembling and tears, you being desperate for forgiveness. she runs a hand over your face, sighing heavily. “you’re way too drunk to be having this conversation.”

“i’m not.” you’re not lying. if you were a tad bit less sober, the doubt would be hurting just as much.

“yes, you are.”

“sana, i won’t be able to sleep unless we talk this through.”

“i don’t give a shit. you’re going to bed.”

you whimper as she marches past you, stumbling after her to follow. she stops when you reach the bedroom and open the door for you to head inside. you do, slowly, like you expect to face some form of punishment or further scolding, but sana only walks to her drawers and fishes for a t-shirt, holding it out to you.

as you take it, she leaves the room, giving you privacy to change. you sniffle quietly as you shove your dress down and off around your feet, and slip the shirt on. just as you bend to take off your shoe, sana comes back into the room, carrying a glass of water. she watches you struggle for a beta before sighing and placing the glass down on her nightstand. you nearly weep when you watch sana kneeled down in front of you, her hands going to your ankles. “sana, i—”

“not now,” she says, looking up at you, eyes still hard and angry, but her fingers gentle, thumb tapping your bone, “we can talk about it tomorrow.”

when sana’s done, she steps back, lining upr your heels against the wall.

“get in bed,” sana orders

“sana, i-i can sleep on the couch,” you say weakly. “i really don’t need to take your bed. i’ve had enough trouble already. ‘

“i don’t care. get in.”

“really, it’s—”

“get. in.”

her tone leaves no room for debate, and you clamber up to slip beneath the covers. you stare up at sana, hoping she’ll offer to climb in next to you, but she pushes the water towards you, instead.

“drink.”

“i’m not thirsty.”

“it’s not for your thirst. it’s so you have enough wits about you in the morning. and, also, for right now. i’m not exactly trusting your judgment.”

sana drops three ibuprofen tablet into your palm. while she watches, you dutifully swallow each one, gilt hollowing out your stomach. you open your mouth to speak, but she nudges the glass up, silently demand you drink. she doesnt’ stop until you’ve downed the whole thing. once it’s empty, sana nods with satisfaction and steps back.

“we’ll talk in the morning. for now, please go to sleep.”

“sana.”

“go to sleep,” she repeats, an edge to her voice. “if i hear anything else, i—” she stops herself. roughly shakes her head. “i can’t guarantee what i’ll do next.”

you flinch when the door slams shut behind her, throwing yourself down onto sana’s pillow. a sob builds in your throat when her scent hits you in full force, and you inhale it greedily, chest stuttering as you curly around it, clinging to it like it can morph into her skin.

and sleep is also unkind. it’s only gracious enough to give you any reprieve when the sun peeks over the horizon. you fall into it fruitfully.

—

you’re awoken to a soft touch, a hand gently shaking your shoulder. “y/n. y/n, get up.”

sana’s voice registers, at first distant and tinny, then overwhelming, a sharp spiek into your barin. you jolt up, nearly headbutting her as you scramble to face her. sana moves to sit on a chair she’s pulled up the side of her bed. she looks at you calmly, her hands folded over her knees, foot bouncing, because she can never be fully at ease. her body doesn’t let her.

“good morning.”

everything that you’ve been feeling the night before suddenly rises to the surface again in an overwhelming rush. you can’t even think to compose yourself. your head and heart aches too much to try.

“i’m sorry!” i cry. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i didn’t— i honestly thought—i don’t know why—no, i do know why but—i didn’t think i was cheating on you. i thought you were my s-sugar mommy and i thought our relationship was transactional. it’s why i was so nervous when you met mina because i thought she’d find out. i had no idea—”

you huff, words croaking out into a sob, and sana moves her chair to the edge of her bed to cup your face. you lean into it, tears smearing against her skin.

“i’m not going to say that i’m not angry, because i am. or that i’m not confused, because i really am. but i think i’m starting to understand where the confusion is.”

“i’m sorry.”

“is it because i gave you money?” sana asks, ignoring it.

you nod. “yes.”

“even after i told you that i thought that shit was gross?”

“it wasn’t then,” you say. “i didn’t go out with you with dual inteitinons. i thought it was a date.”

“which it was.”

“i realize that now.”

“so, it was after? when i sent you—”

“a thousand dollars, sana,” you breathe—still, even now, in disbelief. “which, you have to admit, is a little ridiculous to send someone you met when they were first trying out to be someone’s sugar baby.”

“that’s why i sent it. i knew you needed it. i though you’d understand.”

“i didn’t. and even if i did, can’t you admit that’s strange? or at the very least, kind of offensive?”

“no.” sana slides her hand down, thumb tapping your chin like she did when she first kissed you. “id’ be strange if it was for anyone but you.”

a rosy flush stains your cheeks, spreading high. “i don’t know what that means.”

“i think you do.” she slips her hand away and leans back. her face hardens when she says, “no about that girl—”

“we never kissed!” you say desperately. “we never kissed. she never touched me, not really. we just danced. i only said that because i wanted to provoke you.”

“you nearly did. i swear to god, y/n. i wanted to do something about that.”

you grab sana’s hand and lift it between you two. “i’m sorry. i was being spiteful.”

“it’s fine. i’m not angry with you.”

“you’re not?”

“no. but if kim dahyun—”

“how do you know her name?”

“she texted you. i blocked her number—ever ends up horribly injdured and is brought to me as a patient, i’m passing the cart to the next surgeon.”

“you’re not funny.”

“who said i was joking?”

“sana.”

before you can scold her, sana wraps an arm around you and secrues you to her, heart pouding a slow righym against your ear. you feel her chin drop onto your crown, her hand sliding up your back.

“i love you, y/n,” sana says. her hold tightens when you freeze, but she continues, undeterred. “i love you and it only took me about a week to realize it.”

tears crowd your eyes in earnest. sana’s name comes out as a gasp, but she pulls you back to cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “i love you. this has never been transactional for me. not once.”

“i—”

“you got something to say to that?”

“sana.” she stops to watch you, eyes going soft as you start to weep. she presses her lips to your forehead, then shifts so that your face falls into her neck. you cling to sana, mouth moving against the skin of her. “...’ove you.”

“what?”

“i said i love you.”

“i know. i just wanted to hear you say it again.”

sana laughs when you pinch her side, and you two settle into a comfortable silence s you sid and hold each other, sinking into bliss. that is until sana says, “does this mean you’re cool with getting married? you know, eventually?”

“what?”

“i told you i wanted to marry you and you said you loved me. that wasn’t a no.”

“you didn’t propose.”

“i thought i was implied.”

“an implication is not a proposal, sana. that’s been our whole issue.” you say as sana frowns. “and i don’t wanna think about getting married until sometime later.”

“so what do you want to do in the meantime, wander around like two hopeless romantics that we are?”

“well—” you rise up to your knees, words purposefully slow as you push sana to the bed and climb over her. her hands find your waist, sliding up. you kiss the grin from her lips.

“just stay close to me. that’s all i ask.”

#hyunie #twice imagines #twice x reader #kpop x reader #sana x reader #twice sana #sana #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader #sana imagines #twice fluff #twice angst #sana angst #sana fluff #twice x you

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captainremmington-13 · 2 months

Text

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova.

SUMMARY: The 10th Annual Hunger Games begin, and things quickly dissolve into chaos. Bellova grows increasingly furious about Coriolanus’s dedication towards Lucy Gray Baird. When she realizes he has cheated just to keep her alive, she decides to ruin him once and for all.

Warnings: spoilers for TBOSAS, death, violence, cursing, overall dark stuff (it’s the Hunger Games franchise so that’s sorta a given)

A/n: I am using a combination of the movie and book version of the events that occur in this chapter. I sort of streamlined the events to make the chapter less boring. Also, I highly recommend listening to “…Ready For It?” and “Look What You Made Me Do” while reading this chapter.

Other than Sejanus throwing a chair at the screen and screaming that everyone in the room was a monster, Lamina killing Marcus in an act of of mercy, and Lucky’s stupid commentary, nothing much had happened yet.

Bellova was disappointed that her tribute was dead. Not because she cared about her, but because it meant she was missing out on the mentor experience. The thrill of having a say in someone else’s survival seemed quite exciting.

If she wasn’t so pissed at Coriolanus for his behavior towards Lucy Gray, she would’ve reconsidered his proposal to work together.

When the day was coming to an end, the majority of Academy students started to leave for their homes. Only a handful remained, consisting mostly of the mentors.

Bellova stifled a yawn, leaning back in her chair. Things has gotten dull, with the tributes doing nothing but finding places to hide from each other. She hoped that Dr. Gaul had something exciting in store for them soon, or people would start switching to Billi Bumble’s horrible comedy channel.

She picked up her Academy satchel and stood up from her seat. She noticed that Coriolanus was still present and slumped over on his desk, his head resting on his hand. He looked so peaceful asleep, his long golden lashes fluttering slightly. The light from the ceiling made his light blonde curls glow ethereally.

He looked like an angel.

Bellova suddenly felt a strong urge to wake him up. She had avoided him for the entire day out of spite, but was starting to miss interacting to him. It was routine, bantering and bickering every day. Not talking felt…weird. And lonely.

She sighed. On rare occasions, she wished she could go back in time and change the way they formed their relationship. Instead of it being based on competition and rivalry, it would be full of support and affection.

Then, an unpleasant thought hit her.

He had only stayed so late to ensure nothing happened to Lucy Gray while he was away.

Now utterly furious, she slung her bag over her shoulder and started towards the door. ‘He’s such a pathetic sap,’ she thought. ‘He’s acting like a fool, I really should stop associating myself with him.’

But she found herself glancing over her shoulder to look at him one last time. And she knew, deep down, that she’s always come back, no matter how much he pissed her off.

She’d never be able to stay away from him.

Not for long, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova passed out as soon as she climbed into bed, and didn’t wake until nine hours later. She hadn’t slept well in nearly a week, as she was still recovering from her injuries. This was the first time she was able to achieve an uninterrupted night of sleep since before the bombing.

When one of her maids woke her up, it was already 8:00. Usually Academy classes started promptly at 8:00, but because of the Games, the schedule had been loosened a bit. And Bellova, who didn’t feel like interacting with anyone, was in no rush to arrive on time.

After eating a breakfast of fruit and assorted pastries, she slowly pulled on her uniform. She has always hated the Academy uniforms, but with the right accessories and makeup, she had learned to make it presentable by her standards.

Bellova checked her makeup one last time in the mirror and then headed downstairs to meet her driver at the front of her estate. He opened the passenger’s side door for her as she slid into the seat.

“How are you this morning, Miss Bellova?” he asked, starting the engine and taking off towards the main road.

“Fine,” she said, leaning against the window. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope that once the Games are over, you can rest up properly.”

She nodded. “That would be nice. As much as I like the Games, they’ve caused quite a lot of stress this year.”

He laughed quietly. “Most certainly. Everyone was so worried about you when you were hospitalized, your father most of all. I haven’t ever seen him so upset in my twenty years of working for him.”

Bellova sighed. She and her father, Julio Augustus Reginelle, had a nice relationship. But he was rarely home, for he worked almost ten hours a day and often didn’t come home until Bellova was asleep. She cherished the rare moments she had with him. He had taught her to be proud of her wit and her combative nature, even if it sometimes got her into trouble.

“You are much more like your father than you realize, Miss Bellova,” her driver said.

“How so?” she asked.

“You are both kind until someone disrespects you. You are incredibly intelligent just like him, and pursue your goals relentlessly.” He paused for a moment. “And, you seem to have the same disdain for certain other Capitol families.”

Bellova raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“Well, he’s not fond of the Cardews, as you know. He thinks they hold too much power for how little work they actually do.”

Bellova laughed. “That’s true.”

“He has never gotten along with the Creed family. He finds them irritating and foolish.”

She smirked. “I’m not surprised. Festus can be insufferable. Who else?”

Her driver sighed. “He despised Crassus Snow.”

Bellova felt her stomach twist. “Really?”

He nodded. “I don’t know exactly why he hated him so passionately, but I’ve heard they were rivals during their Academy days.”

‘I suppose I really do take after him then,’ Bellova thought, remembering her and Coriolanus’s worst arguments. ‘Crassus’s son gets under my skin nearly every day.’

Her driver pulled onto Scholars Road and stopped in front of the Academy’s main building. He stepped out of the car to open the door for her, and she gave him a nod of thanks.

“I’ll see you later, Miss Bellova,” he said, bowing slightly and getting back into the car to drive off.

As Bellova walked to the auditorium where the mentors were undoubtedly already at work, she pondered what her driver had said about Crassus Snow and her father. She was eager to know more about their history, but didn’t want to pry too far. Her father had a temper just like her, and she didn’t want to be on the wrong end of it.

When Bellova reached the room and walked through the doors, she immediately noticed three things: one, that Coriolanus looked exhausted and distressed, two, that he has brought his cousin Tigris to watch the Games, and three, that Sejanus was missing.

She grabbed a spare chair and sat next to Coriolanus. He didn’t greet her or even glance look at her.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asked, looking at the large television screen in front of them.

He scowled. “I’m not in the mood for your snide remarks, Bellova.”

“Clearly something happened. Either tell me or I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Coriolanus gave her a sharp glare, but sighed in defeat. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Satisfied, Bellova turned her attention back to the Games. According to Lucky Flickerman, one tribute, Bobbin, had died overnight. However, there was no footage shown of him perishing.

Bellova found that awfully suspicious. There was such a lack of action in the arena that the gamemakers would have undoubtedly shown the death of a tribute.

When Bobbin’s death was announced, she noticed Coriolanus tense ever-so slightly. The average person wouldn’t have noticed, but she had learned to read his body language as well as the back of her hand. Clearly, something about his death made him nervous.

She decided to cast it aside for the moment. She’d pry the information out of him later.

“They aren’t showing us what happened to that little boy,” Lysistrata Vickers said. “He clearly was killed right there. There’s cameras everywhere. It doesn’t make sense.”

“They said they were old cameras, Lyssie,” Festus responded. “Probably just another one of Coral’s.”

“Festus, sit down,” Lucky Flickerman ordered. “Same seats.”

Festus scowled but did as he was told. He and Lucky clearly had some animosity, and it was quite amusing to witness their petty interactions.

Suddenly, after a few moments, Lucy Gray appears on screen, looking horrified. Bellova had to bite her lip to refrain from grinning. It seemed that the songbird’s luck was finally running out.

Jessup emerged a second later. He was clearly not well, he looked much worse than he did before the Games.

“What’d you do to me?” Jessup shrieked, backed Lucy Gray against a pile of rubble.

“Nothing!” she responded, her eyes wide with fear.

“Lyssie, what is he doing?” Bellova heard Coriolanus asked frantically.

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata replied, bewildered. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

“Jessup going after Lucy Gray,” Lucky commented.

“Stop running!” Jessup demanded. “What did you…” He groaned mid-sentence. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lucy Gray insisted.

“Both tributes from District 12. The same district folding in on itself.”

“Wait, look. The foam,” Coriolanus said.

“I think it’s rabies,” Lysistrata said, clearly disturbed. “That bite. From that train.”

Coriolanus stared at the screen, looking helplessly at his tribute who was nearing her inevitable doom. Then, he turned back to Jessup’s mentor.

“Send him water.”

“Wait, what?” Lysistrata asked.

“You remember the posters in the war? Rabies. It makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone.”

“That’ll scare him,” she protested.

“Yes. Away from her,” he insisted.

Bellova stood up. “Coriolanus-“

“Bellova, be quiet,” he snapped, not even bothering to look at her. “Jessup is done. Lyssie, you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

Lysistrata clearly didn’t want to, but with a few clicks on her computer, water was being sent to Jessup by a drone.

“Thank you,” Coriolanus whispered.

Within minutes, Jessup was dead, and four lethal tributes were cornering Lucy Gray.

“Oh, look at this,” Lucky Flickerman said. “The Pack doing what they do best. Packing it in. Lucy Gray is swarmed, cornered. Mizzen, propellering his net.”

It looked again as if she was done for, but then-

“Mr. Snow going for his communipad,” Lucky continued. Bellova saw him send nine - no, ten drones towards Lucy Gray.

Bellova knew exactly what he was doing. He was using the drones to give her a chance to escape.

The drones came flying into the arena, causing The Pack to scatter. A few of them got hit, causing them cry out in pain and tumble to the stone-covered floor.

“These drones are not very good,” Lucky commented, as if it weren’t obvious. Some of the students who had caught onto Coriolanus’s plan started to jeer at him.

“Hey!” Vipsania Sickle said indignantly. “You can’t attack the tributes.”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus said casually, as if he was completely innocent.

After gathering her bearings, Lucy Gray scrambled into a tunnel with Coral on her heels. She managed to pull the vent closed just in time, the metal door nearly crushing Coral’s fingers.

Bellova positioned herself a few inches away from Coriolanus. She was seething, but it didn’t show on her face. She simply looked indifferent, despite all of the violence that had just occurred in the Games.

“Snow, do you that time before the Dark Days when you pulled on my pigtails, so I slammed your face against my school desk?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What about it?”

Bellova smiled crookedly, the violent glint in her eyes making Coriolanus visibly uncomfortable. “I’m about to fucking do it again, and this time, you’ll have more than a bleeding nose.”

He straightened his posture, smoothing out his Academy blazer.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Bellova’s hands twitched. She knew that decking him in front of the majority of the student board would get her in severe trouble, but it was very tempting.

Instead of punching him, she started to storm out of the auditorium.

“There goes Miss Reginelle. Clearly, the violence on screen has finally gotten to her-“

“Shut the fuck up, Flickerman, before I snap your microphone in half!” Bellova hissed. She threw up open the doors, and made sure to slam them behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the hallway outside of the auditorium, leaning her head against the wall behind her. Her anger was threatening to spill over, and her father would be very disappointed in her if she murdered someone on Academy grounds.

She had vowed to make Coriolanus pay if he pulled any more strings for his little songbird. And he had by sending that fleet of drones after her attackers. But clearly, nobody batted an eye at that. He had not been punished, or even reprimanded.

The thought of Coriolanus thinking longingly about Lucy Gray was almost enough to drive her mad.

Before she could do anything drastic, she heard the speakers inside the auditorium amplifying Dr. Gaul’s voice. Curious, she stood up and pressed her ear to the doors.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss, one that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has, this morning, succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.”

Bellova felt her heart drop. Felix wasn’t all that bad, when he wasn’t bragging about his life at least. She had even gone to the end-of-year Academy gala with him a couple of years ago. They had a wonderful time, and she was gifted a priceless gold necklace by him at the end of the night. She had worn it for a week straight afterwards, which delighted the young son of the president.

“Out there in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such a victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games.”

She gasped. She knew Dr. Gaul well enough to know she was completely serious. If she wanted someone gone, she’d stop at nothing until they dropped dead.

Mere moments later, Coriolanus burst through the doors, nearly slamming right into Bellova.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, scowling at him.

He sneered down at her, beginning to walk away. She followed him, despite knowing he really didn’t want her to. “As if I’d tell you.”

Bellova sighed. “I told you earlier, Coriolanus, if you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own-“

“Fine!” he huffed. “I’d do anything to shut you up at this point. You’re insufferable.”

“The feeling is mutual, Snow. Now spill it, what’s going on?”

Coriolanus, against his better judgement, told her everything. Well, almost everything. He told her about how he retrieved Sejanus from the arena, but omitted the part about killing Bobbin. He explained that he needed to see Dr. Gaul immediately, for the stitches in his back from the previous evening were coming loose.

Bellova frowned. She briefly felt bad that he was in pain, but couldn’t bring herself to actually care. She was still angry at him.

She also noticed he said was being very vague with his details. He was definitely hiding something.

“What’s that face for?” Coriolanus asked as they approached the Citadel, which housed Gaul’s laboratory.

“What face?”

“That scowl. You’re clearly not pleased about something, so what is it?”

She smirked. “As if I’d tell you,” she said, mimicking his words from earlier.

Coriolanus’s jaw clenched, which satisfied Bellova immensely. She loved seeing his patience waver, it was strangely addicting.

“Will you ever learn to keep your bratty mouth shut?” he asked, his voice raising a touch.

“Bratty?” Bellova scoffed. “I’d prefer it if you called me a bitch.”

Dr. Gaul’s lab was just a few corridors away at this point. Bellova knew that causing a scene here wouldn’t be wise, but she honestly did not care. She could easily talk her way out if it.

Coriolanus glowered at her, his blue eyes icier than ever. “Go back to the auditorium, Bellova. I know you love watching the Games, and you’re probably missing all of the action.”

She laughed. “So all of a sudden, you want me to be happy. Seriously, Snow, if you want to get rid of me, just say so.”

He smirked at her condescendingly. “Then I will. Get out of here, you have no place in Gaul’s lab anyway. It’s too much for your pathetically shallow brain to comprehend.”

Bellova stared at him for a moment. It has been awhile since he’d said something quite that harsh. It was normal for him to question her intellect, but calling her dumb? That was low, even for him.

Coriolanus was obviously anticipating a slap to the face. He was not prepared, however, for Bellova to swipe her claw-like nails across his face like a wild animal.

Stunned, he watched Bellova walk away as the new gashes on his face began to sting. As she reached the end of the hall, she screamed “You’re such an asshole!” before disappearing from Coriolanus’s sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the stands instead of with the mentors, watching as Dr. Gaul’s “rainbow of destruction” engulf the remaining tributes in the arena.

She had no idea that when Dr. Gaul said “rainbow”, she was referring to hundreds of colorful, deadly snakes.

She watched, entranced, as the beautiful mutations smothered the tributes, picking them off one-by-one. She had never admired the “mad” scientist more. Her work was truly beautiful.

Wovey, Reaper, Mizzen, and Coral were soon dead, lying lifelessly beneath the swarm of snakes.

“Now, all colors lead to Gray,” Lucky Flickerman said.

Coriolanus stood watching the screen, amazed at his own success. “She’s… She’s won. It’s over, she’s won.” He looked over to Dr. Gaul, who was standing to the side. “She’s won, let her out.”

The doctor smiled. “Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow.”

Bellova bit back a laugh when Lucy Gray began to sing. At least she’d be able to get in once last performance before her vocal chords went slack.

“Dr. Gaul, she won!” Coriolanus repeated, desperation seeping into his voice. “It’s over, let her out.”

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” someone asked.

“Must be the singing,” Coriolanus replied. “It’s calming them.”

He really was a terrible liar.

“She can’t sing forever,” Festus said.

Bellova noticed some of the students around her begin to cry as they watched Lucy Gray sing shakily. ‘Pathetic,’ she thought.

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus begged. “Get her out. Get her out!”

One by one, the Academy students began to chant “Get her out! Get her out!”, almost overpowering the sound of Lucy Gray’s singing.

‘No,’ Bellova thought desperately. ‘Don’t. Just let her die.’

Then, Coriolanus said, “Who will watch the Games if there’s no victor?”

The chanting came to a halt.

Dr. Gaul looked around, seeing that she was vastly outnumbered. “Get her out,” she murmured just loud enough to be heard.

“She’s won! Lucy Gray!” Lucky Flickerman cried over the roar of the student body. “Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th Annual Hunger Games!”

Bellova’s face burned with fury, her patience finally snapping after days of wearing thin.

She was no longer willing to overlook Coriolanus’s behavior. She had let him get away with too much.

It was time that he faced some real consequences.

As she exited the hall quietly, she smiled, a cruel, twisted smile. She knew exactly how she would make him pay.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This was another decently long chapter, and I believe it has been the most intense one yet. Stay tuned for Chapter Six!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x oc #original character #thg prequel #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #dr gaul #lucy gray baird

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rageprufrock · 8 months

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hello, I hope you're doing well. I was wondering if you could answer a career-related question of mine. I'm a young woman (21) in an extremely male-dominated field. I want to go into project management, but I am not prepared to deal with the insane male egos/fragile masculinity I had to experience during my internships. it doesn't help that I've been a passive person my whole life. how do I overcome my passiveness? how do I even begin to learn leadership and project/people management? 1/

I'm going to be honest, you're catching me at a disadvantage because I'm allergic to project management. Like if I'm sharing an area code with that shit I'm itchy. I'm joking, a little, sort of, because the unfortunate truth is about 50% of my job on any given day at this point is project managements but I still hate it. The point is, I'm not your best point of contact for it, because while I can do it for my specific area of expertise, the practice by itself is not my ministry, if you get my drift. Project managers are lunatics who you will find snorting crushed up Excel spreadsheets in truck stop bathrooms, and for that I fear and respect them.

For the passivity, maybe have some thoughts that might be helpful.

So like, you're probably not going to like hearing this: but oh my God, you're--so young. Like I refer to someone on my team who is 30 this year as the resident fetus. You have nine years before you hit fetus status. So much of you're feeling is only going to be remedied with time and experience, and your fearfulness of speaking or standing out right now in a professional environment isn't a mark of failure in yourself, it's a natural part of your growth and progression.

It is absolutely normal and completely fine that when you were in an intern (or honestly, even early career!) situation, presumably surrounded by people who were more experienced than you and have significant seniority to you, you felt were feeling at sea with the egos and politics.

Here's a dirty little secret, especially re: internships:

Many interns get brought in on projects that are far, far, far beyond their actual scope of capability.

That is because we have no actual expectation that you will deliver any work or usable outputs on it, but we want interns to get excited about what we do, to feel like their work could be important, for them to get a taste of the what it will be like when you actually get your feet wet and have more professional seasoning.

For example, people who summer at law firms get a red carpet experience rolled out to them, and they get to sit in on really exciting high profile client meetings! These are not things that will happen for them again for a long, long, long fucking time once they become associates! Once they've got you in their claws, they no longer care about giving you enjoyable stimulus, now you gotta start billing.

In organizations I've worked at in the past, I was fully happy to welcome interns with like 4 minutes of "experience" into very sensitive high level meetings--with the understanding that (a) everybody there knew they were the intern (b) the objective was to show them what the work could be like and (c) that nobody would actually ask them to throw themselves into the demented fray of the actual work.

The goal isn't to scare you off. We know that the stuff you're seeing a lot of times as an intern is really terrifying, for a lot of reasons. If you're in a room of people with 10 or 20 years of experience on you, then...yeah, it's going to feel awkward. You're not even a full time employee! Of course it's going to be weird and nervewracking! If you didn't feel weird and nervewracked about it, I would ask you to bottle whatever it is you're taking and sell it to become a billionaire.

Beyond that, the rest of it will come with time--truly.

When I think back to the person I was at 21, at 22, I feel such a strange tenderness toward her. I feel so protective. She had no idea what she was doing, and she was doing her best to do her best every day. She failed a lot. She was a mess. The people around her knew it. She knew it. She wasn't the greatest at what she did, or a very good friend, but she was trying so desperately to keep her head above water and only sometimes succeeding.

So much of the vulnerability you're feeling will be remedied in tiny, unnoticed ways. With every day and week and hour, you'll gain some new insight or capability, and some afternoon or month far from today--but closer than you think--you're going to look back and realize you've built yourself an entire suit of professional armor, and have no idea where it came from. You feel passive and ill equipped right now--but that's only because you are ill equipped right now, you just tumbled out onto this strange new world.

It's going to take a while to get your sea legs--just try to be kind to yourself as you do it.

You're going to crush it. I just know it.

#professional advice #advice

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theextendedzodiacas · 2 months

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Would it be weird to ask how you pick images for your moodboards?

not at all! here is my process:

-color-coding: obviously, at least some images in the board must be the blood color of the sign caste

-lunar sway "mood": prospit signs are lighter/happier, derse signs are darker/angstier. very rarely derse/prospit color coding will creep in

-visual reference to the aspect of the sign: this is a little more abstract, but: sky/birds/lungs for breath, clockwork for time, frogs or space for . space . bones/graves for doom, empty space or fog for void, angels for hope, lightning/shattered glass/broken objects for rage, blood or blood-like imagery for blood (or images of holding hands, physical connection to other people), brains/webs/computers for mind, plants for life, hearts for heart, and "light" (sun, gold things, northern lights, reflections, celestial phenomena) as well as dice or books for light. sometimes color-coded woth the aspect color

-relevant additional themes: here i look for images with text relevant to the request, animals, fashion, pictures of couples for relationship boards (if necessary), any image which could give the "feel" of my understandings of each class or internal state meant to be reflected in the board, or images pertaining to a specific aesthetic vibe/theme like whimsigoth or what have you

-texture images: these support the color-coding, provide associative transitions from one image to the next, and generally serve to make the disparate elements of a given request cohere into an aesthetically unified whole.

then, of course, arrangement. once i have selected the images, i spend time laying them out in a way that is pleasing to the eye and draws the focus to other images in the board. this means flipping images so that their focus points "inward" or "outward," shifting them around so that images that are cut off in certain areas are on the edges or corners, and occasionally editing the images to, again, assert color-coding in cases where the additional themes leave little room to affirm a given unique sign. many requests are so heavy with additional themes that the only reference i can devote to the sign itself is color-coding, with maybe one or two visual nods to the aspect.

i prioritize photographs over drawings and graphics---if my board includes a pride flag, it's a photograph of a physical flag, meaning that i have to get creative for labels which do not have photos of physical flags. i also never include a graphic of the sign itself, to devote more space to the symbolism of the board i'm working on. i do not use anime screencaps or images from cartoons, though i do use movie stills.

i know for most people, moodboards are just "a vibe." some people don't seem to understand that while yes, i am working towards the depiction of an emotional vibe, i am doing so using a specific visual language in a limited amount of space, and straight up . . . it's extremely difficult to find usable photos of non-physical, temporally bounded things like ambivalence towards a relationship or nuanced inner feelings. ("unusable photos" being things like shutterstock images of "couples quarreling" or "woman thinking over salad".) if a requester wants an abstract state represented visually, it's helpful if they provide their own symbols for the theme they're trying to actualize . . . but if every single one of the nine images is dictated to me in the form of symbol-themes, it's like . . . where is the room for the actual sign in all this, and why are you coming to me if your vision is strong enough for you to just make your own board? (i do put a decent amount of time and effort into each board and rely on a large stockpile of saved photos, but . . . even just starting out, it did not take me long to make a decent board.)

i use pixlr to arrange and edit my moodboards and gather my images from tumblr, google images, unsplash, pexels, and when i was starting out i did use pinterest (but i don't have an account lol)

i hope this was understandable & enlightening!

-mod 8ean

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lullaebies · 9 months

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Hello there!

Do you have any sunfyre/Aegon headcanons ?😭

For sure! These two are very fun.

Aegon II and Sunfyre Headcanons ☀ Aegon claimed Sunfyre on Dragonstone. I have a lot of versions of how he claimed him, but let's put in one - He was around nine, and the royal family went for a visit there. Aegon could hear the wild dragons beefing on Dragonmont, and being the trouble child he is, at some point he broke off from his Kingsguard to go look. He ended up seeing Sunfyre and another young dragon fighting over some cattle, and obviously he kept his distance, wondering how to leave because it was dangerous. The wild dragon saw Aegon and started to come towards him menacingly, but Sunfyre, still pissed, got in the way and made him flee. Aegon thought himself food, using jumbled Valyrian to tell the dragon to keep still, but Sunfyre didn't see him as a threat and went back to the cattle he won. Aegon went back to the castle thinking about the golden, impressive dragon that won his fight despite being young. On the last day before they left Dragonstone, he escaped the guards back to claim Sunfyre, who was sitting perched on a nearby cliff. He went home to KL on dragonback. ☀ Sunfyre's claiming was one of the things Viserys I really took pride in for Aegon. "My son claimed this beautiful dragon," he would say to people in joy. It cemented Sunfyre as incredibly important for Aegon, and despite him not liking Viserys, Sunfyre became synonymous with self-worth to Aegon. (Off-topic but relevant: Following Sunfyre's claiming, Helaena and Aemond also started to attempt to tame dragons - they got the same message.) ☀ Sunfyre is actually well adapt at fighting because he is extremely noticeable due to his coloring. When he comes to KL, Aegon is worried because there are power struggles in the pit between him and Dreamfyre who is much bigger than him, but while Sunfyre can't quite beat her, he does make an impression and gets his respect after a few altercations. Aegon is surprised to one day find the two dragons coiling together. ☀ Aegon used to fly around the city with Sunfyre a lot both because he's a show-off and because Sunfyre was fussy about staying in the pit a lot when he first came over. Sometimes scales fell off of Sunfyre to the commonfolk and finding those was considered a good luck sign in KL [as the scales could be sold for good money to jewelers!]. The scales are considered 'fake' golden dragon coins. ☀ In their deteriorating days in Dragonstone, Sunfyre and Aegon both kept themselves alive on pure will that fed each others. Aegon II kept on going in the security he found Sunfyre again and he can still carry on, and Sunfyre kept on going feeling that Aegon still needs him to settle all in this war, dying right after the 'mission had been fulfilled'. ☀ The golden statues that were meant to be built of Aemond and Daeron were to be made golden as inspiration from Sunfyre as well - gold became associated with the colors of the allies that fought the war until the very end with him.

#hope these suffice!#aegon ii targaryen #sunfyre #hotd #fire and blood #my headcanons #answered

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shadow4-1 · 1 year

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Philip Graves Headcanons (SFW):

How Does He Smell?:

- When he smells good he smells good. Usually he only smells this great when he's on leave since he has access to his finest collection of colognes. This man spares no expense! He just has to have the newest Creed or Tom Ford scent. He usually sways toward warmer scents like vanilla and cinnamon but is also a sucker for cleaner scents. He starches his dress shirts when he irons them so that scent of fresh laundry always seems to follow him around. He doesn't smoke but will occasionally vape from time to time and so some of the fruity scents he exhales sticks to his jackets. If he moves the right way he just smells sweet and fresh. This man might as well be a dryer sheet!

- When he smells bad he smells bad. To be fair, it does take him a while of physical exertion and/or extended periods of stress to get to that point. After a rough day in the field expect him to smell like sweaty, stale polyester and whatever he's been rolling around in. If you get too close you might catch a whiff of his body odor (which isn't as strong as some of the other guys, P.U.!) but it's acrid in a rotting citrus-y kinda way. He's just a hair's width away from that gross onion smell you'd associate with B.O. but thankfully, either he doesn't have that gene or his love of sweet scents keeps him from reaching that point.

Additional Fact: His socks might as well be a bioweapon, especially after he's been in the field or he's had an intense workout. He's been to a dermatologist, he even uses foot powder, but for some reason his feet just smell. He swears he doesn't have a foot infection but whatever that smell is can't be normal.

What Kind of Deodorant Does He Use?: This guy uses Native brand deodorant. The scent is "Buttercream and French Vanilla". When he gets it he tears the packaging off so that none of his guys know. He's not self-conscious, alright? It's just a secret or else everyone would totally copy him!

What Does He Wear?:

On base, when he's not out in the field, he sticks to a gray t-shirt and black sweats with generic black sneakers. Occasionally he'll wear a beanie if it's cold or a black cap if it's hot but mostly just prefers to wear his sunglasses (even indoors). He's got a different pair every week but he finds he mainly likes polarized sports glasses and aviators. If it gets really cold he'll wear his service boots with his favorite, black pullover. When it comes to his athleisure wear on base he's not as picky compared to his regular wardrobe. As long as there's no holes or tears it's perfect.

At home he dresses to the nines. Whether it's to go to the grocery store or head to his favorite bookstore/coffee shop, he's always dressed up. He prefers a classy look. You can usually catch him outside in slacks, Oxfords, a nice leather belt, and light colored button-downs. He irons everything to a crisp so he can look on point. Depending on how fancy he feels like being, he'll throw on a tie and matching cufflinks. Can't forget the sunglasses either.

Additional Fact: Because he has to wear socks all the time he's got a really stupid foot tan. That doesn't stop him from wearing his sandals during the summer.

To bed he wears what you'd expect for a bachelor to wear. Sweatpants without any boxers underneath. Although, he only really feels comfortable doing that at home. On base he'll wear a gray tank top and some basketball shorts.

For Halloween he'd argue that he's an adult and that dressing up is for children. But! If it was a funny costume idea he'd say yes. He'd be that one guy who shows up to the party in an inflatable t-rex costume with his tactical vest on top. Or he'd wear a completely low effort costume like a t-shirt that says "F.B.I. - Federal Boobie Inspector" with matching sleazy aviators.

Who Is His Favorite Person?: Shadow Company Sergeant Dipaolo. They had gone through so much together. He was one of the only people he could trust.

What Is His Favorite Food?: Salad. He knows its weird but he loves fucking salad. He doesn't care about the toppings or the dressings but his salads have to have fresh lettuce and tomato. He swears he's not a health nut but he knows he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on when he knows he eats like a literal rabbit.

How Does He Sleep?: He tends to sleep on his back but will occasionally sleep on his side. If he has a nightmare he'll curl in on himself into the fetal position. He's a decently heavy sleeper, light noises won't wake him. However, a loud noise or jostle will instantly shock him awake. He sleeps with as many blankets as he can get his hands on because he gets cold very easily. He sleeps better with a partner. Their presence is warmth and safety. He prefers to not sleep entangled in each other because the slight jostling of his partner wakes him up. That doesn't mean he's not a cuddler, he just likes to roll over and slip into sleep after he's gotten his fill. Despite LOVING his super expensive Tempurpedic mattress back at home he can sleep virtually anywhere. He's pretty sure at one point he really did fall asleep standing up during a transport.

Additional Fact: He's used to running on little to no sleep but will get addled and aggressive much more easily. Lack of sleep worsens his mood significantly and makes the likelihood of a breakdown more likely.

Biggest Insecurity: He's got imposter syndrome big time. He totally deserves everything he has! No one in the Shadow Company knows that he's really a fraud who's holding everything together with duct tape and string. He's really nothing special, just your average white guy with a gun but no one else seems to see that. Everyone sees him as a great commander who looks after his own. He had been so much happier as a sergeant, he didn't want to be a commander, but Shepherd pushed him. How could he say no when saying no would've exposed him for the weakling he truly is?

Best Trait: The gift of gab! He could talk anyone's ear off, flatter the bone out of a dog's mouth, you name it he can say it with the grace of a seasoned politician. His mouth has gotten him in so much trouble and yet it's his biggest asset.

Additional Fact: He's had a few singing lessons to perfect his easy cadence. If he's happy or excited (or been drinking) he's not afraid to belt out a few lines from his favorite songs. He's a mega fan of Michael Bublé and tries to imitate his style of singing, but mixed with his southern accent? Yeah...he's not quitting his day job anytime soon.

#cod fanart #cod mwii #mw2 #phillip graves #call of duty #modern warefare 2 #commander graves #cod headcanons #mw2 headcanons

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brightgnosis · 6 months

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Hermit Spread

1. Cloak: Can I remain still? 4 of Wands [Reversed]

Personal celebration, inner harmony, conflict with others, transition. The Four of Wands reversed can indicate that you have achieved a level of inner harmony and stability. If you doubted yourself in the past or struggled with self-acceptance or empathy, the appearance of this card is a welcome sign that you have found a sense of greater balance within yourself. You know who you are and why you are here. You have ‘come home’ to yourself and your Inner Being.

2. Staff: What helps me move forward? The Lovers [Reversed]

Self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values. The Lovers card is pure love and harmony. Reversed, it can signal a time when you’re out of sync with those around you, particularly your loved ones. You may find your relationships are strained and communication is challenging. The Lovers Reversed also speaks to self-love and respect; to what extent do you honor and accept who you are and the value you offer in this world?

3. Lantern: What protects me? Queen of Pentacles [Reversed]

Financial independence, self-care, work-home conflict. When the Queen of Pentacles is reversed, you are turning her caring energy inwards to yourself; you are nurturing yourself on a personal level and generally paying more attention to yourself and your needs. You are tending to yourself, knowing that to care for others, you need to first care for yourself.

4. Star: What truth do I share? The Hanged Man [Reversed]

Delays, resistance, stalling, indecision. Reversed, this card can show that you know you need to hit the pause button, but you are resisting it. Instead, you fill your days with tasks and projects, keeping busy and distracting yourself from the actual issue that needs your attention. Your spirit and body are asking you to slow down, but your mind keeps racing. Stop and rest before it’s too late.

5. Mountain Top: What challenge have I overcome? 9 of Wands [Reversed]

Inner resources, struggle, overwhelm, defensive, paranoia. The Nine of Wands reversed suggests that you are struggling to keep working towards your goal. The challenges on your path are relentless, pummeling you with setback after setback. You don’t know if you can cope with it anymore and may be ready to give up. It can also appear when you feel overcome by your responsibilities or lack the support of those around you. Sometimes, the reversed Nine of Wands can indicate paranoia, defensiveness and concern that everyone is out to get you. You may think you are always under attack by the same group of people or you are unfairly targeted. Often, this is a sign of fear from within you rather than an actual external threat.

6. Mountain Range: What challenge do I face? The Hierophant

Spiritual wisdom, religious beliefs, conformity, tradition, institutions. The Hierophant card represents an established set of spiritual values and beliefs and is often correlated with religion and other formal doctrines. Before you can discover your own belief systems and make your own choices (as associated with the next card, The Lovers), The Hierophant encourages you to learn the fundamental principles from a trusted source.

7. Beard: What wisdom do I possess? Knave of Swords

New ideas, curiosity, thirst for knowledge, new ways of communicating. The Page of Swords is full of energy, passion and enthusiasm. When this card shows up in a Tarot reading, you are bursting with new ideas and plans for the future. You have a curious mind and a thirst for knowledge. As you explore this fresh way of thinking, you are asking lots of questions and gathering as much information as possible.

8. Age: What does experience illuminate? The Magician [Reversed]

Manipulation, poor planning, untapped talents. On one level, The Magician Reversed shows you are exploring what you wish to manifest, but you are not taking action yet. You are uncertain if you have everything you need and may be unsure about how to make it happen. If you are already acting on your goal, The Magician Reversed can be a sign that you are struggling to see progress or success.

🃏 'Harmonious' Tarot by Lo Scarabeo 📑 '365 Tarot Spreads: Revealing the Magic in Each Day' by Sasha Graham

This account is run by a Dual Faith «(Converting) Masorti Jew + Traditional NeoWiccan» & «Ancestral Folk Magic Practitioner» with 20+ years of experience as a practicing Pagan and Witch. If that bothers you, don't interact.

#Personal #2023 #Divination #Personal Divination #A Direct Look At My Practice #Tarot #Cartomancy #Lo Scarabeo #Harmonious Tarot #Oklahoma #Religion & Magic

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aestriiea · 1 month

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is that JAZ SINCLAIR? oh, no, that’s ASTRID BLACKWELL, a TWENTY-SIX year old SALES ASSOCIATE AT SECONDHAND STYLE IN QUILPUÉ / FREELANCER who uses SHE / HER pronouns. they currently live in EL PALACIO HOUSING, and the character they identify with most is JOSH WHEELER FROM DAYBREAK. hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas!

tw: undiagnosed mental illness, unstable home life, substance abuse.

━━━━⊱ BASICS ⊰━━━━

⠀full name⠀⠀astrid blackwell. ★ ── goes by dawn, especially online but has no qualms with people using her given name friend, foe, or otherwise . ⠀nicknames addie, iz . ⠀birthdate⠀⠀october 29th, 1997 . ⠀zodiac⠀⠀ scorpio, year of the fire ox . ⠀gender⠀⠀cis female (she/her/hers) . ⠀hometown⠀⠀doesn’t claim any one place . ⠀residence⠀⠀el palacio housing, viña del mar. ⠀languages ⠀fluent english. advanced spanish, german , japanese,. elementary korean . ⠀part-time job⠀⠀sales associate at secondhand style ⠀sexual orientation⠀ bisexual (considers herself as questioning).

━━━━⊱ PERSONALITY ⊰━━━━

⠀alignment⠀⠀chaotic neutral . ⠀temperment⠀⠀choleric . ⠀virtues⠀ affable, idiosyncratic, and humorous . ⠀sins⠀⠀temperamental, reckless, possessive .⠀ ⠀personality type⠀ enfp-a ★ ── extroversion (e), intuition (n), feeling (f), perception (p). the ⠀campaigner/free spirit .

⠀hobbies: painting/sketching/drawing, researching conspiracy theories, consuming c-list movies, thrifting clothes, skateboarding, drumming, eavesdropping on xime, keeping up with brainrot internet trends, visiting art galleries, stargazing . . .

⠀aesthetics: always wanting for more, the scent of lavender upon your pillow, icarus flying dangerously close to the sun, drumming beneath your skin, clothing speckled in paint stains, and late nights spent dancing under the moonlight . .

★ ────────────────

astrid typically comes across as an outgoing and hyperactive individual, always looking for people to meet and things to do. she excites easily and is fond of activities that are seen as reckless and get her adrenaline pumping making her gravitate towards partying and generally dangerous behaviors. she's very rarely serious most times save for when speaking about her family/upbringing, or opening up up about her lack of direction. but she doesn't open up easily instead defaulting to deflections to turn the conversation around on others. she's very loose-fisted when it comes to spreading money which when paired with her reckless personality and less-than-stable income often ends up in disaster. when she opens up, however, people are quick to notice that her happy-go-lucky attitude struggles to maintain itself when faced with her true feelings about nothing mattering. ★ ── tw: astrid has undiagnosed borderline personality disorder & bipolar i which doesn’t necessarily cause her to act this way but it does play a large role in her personality and behavior. when manic it’s near impossible to reason with her and she tends to contant those closest to her, rambling about “grabbing the world by the balls” via a number of schemes and outings that put her in harm's way. when depressive it’s hard to get a hold of her but she does seek out companionship during these moments, just rarely the right kind.

⠀loosely based on⠀⠀josh wheeler daybreak, joy wang eeaao, korra tlok, clementine esotsm, dean winchester supernatural

━━━━⊱ BACKGROUND ⊰━━━━

astrid was born to two american citizens, however, she was born in mannheim, germany due to her father being stationed there for the first nine years of her life.

she loved growing up there but when looking back finds it difficult to pinpoint particularly happy moments.

it's tainted by the news that was given to her only a week after her birthday, they'd be moving back to america.

like most children, astrid didn't want to move. this was her home, with her friends, and her school. why did they have to leave?

she was offered no explanation just firm tones and heavy scolding when it was found that she'd unpacked half the boxes two days before they were to go.

her mother attempted to coax her into cooperating but her father's cold anger prompted her to do the opposite of that.

even if unable to do much about the move, astrid found that she and malicious compliance got along.

if she was tasked with something, she'd do it. just not well. but at a point even that began taking too much out of her and Virginia had little else for the tween to do.

so she took up art, her interest stemming from murals and graffiti that'd been plastered all over germany. she took it upon herself to bring a bit of 'home' to this pitstop.

her first arrest is at fourteen, well it's more of a detainment. she'd been caught red-handed. literally covered in spray paint while her 'acquaintances' scattered like rats leaving the half-smoked joints and empty cans of beer at the less-than-aware girl's feet.

her father grounds her. berating her for being an embarrassment, god how could god have given him such a failure of a child.

it's not the first time he's spewed such venom her way but this time it doesn't just sting, it burns. through the thick skin she'd been blessed with straight through to her chest and she figures. well might as well live up to the expectations.

her behavior worsens, at times taking a life of its own. she's up for days on end, frequenting parties meant for a more mature audience. when her fakes get cut, she slips a hand into her mother's purse seeking funds to pad her lifestyle. it's not as though she cares enough to notice the missing money. or astrid.

it's as though she's finally settling into a scene with like-minded people, they're in parking lots before the sun rises and even after it sets.

stargazing settles her mind, she doesn't mind the cramped truck bed or the scent of stale beer coating their breaths. she's at ease.

then all at once she's uprooted once more. this time they're set to move to japan, she begs to be left behind. threatening emancipation. life on the streets would be better than being suck with them for another night.

she packs a bag and sets out lord knows where to. it'll work out it always does. maybe it was the strange cocktail she'd made lined with pills and caffeine to help her stay up, or the off-putting way with which she ambled about.

a call to the police about a strange figure shuffling through the yards of their residential neighborhood put a stop to that plan before she'd made it out of the town.

even her mother has no kind words for her this time. drugs? 'i thought we raised you better than that.' as if.

japan could've been a new start. for astrid. for their family as a whole. but she's barely taken her shoes off before she's confronted with the news. boarding school. honestly, she wondered what took them so long to ship her off. she doesn't complain. she's too tired to.

the different setting does little but upset astrid further. she doesn't fit in. barely understands the locals and most of those who speak english want little to do with her.

her volatile nature making a debut in the form of an argument with her father at the entrance of the building. she wishes death upon him before her mind can tell her mouth to stop but doesn't apologize. she just hurries away. ready for the next three years to flow past.

and they do. she learns japanese as best she can with her less-than-admirable attention span most energy spent on trying to sneak off campus or see what she can get away with.

on her 18th birthday, an envelope arrives. with her paperwork, a letter, and a check evidently signed by her mother. she doesn't read it. context clues are more than enough for her.

her 'trust fund' only funds her travel expenses. where she'd once hated being constantly shuffled from place to place, it'd in some twisted fashion become a part of her. stability sending waves of unease through her. she had to move.

at first, she's directionless but soon art takes the forefront of her adventures, astrid doesn't call it studying. she's staying in hostels, getting food poisoning but learning all the same. about cultures and the people it produces. and about herself.

chile is meant to be a pitstop of sorts, she's but a whirlwind blowing through the area. but the land, the people, the art. open themselves before astrid, and as soon as she's figured she's seen it all and it's time to go more comes along.

she's only 22, it's not as though she'd run out of time soon. she opts to pause for a moment. her feet deserve rest after all.

#જ⁀➴ 𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅 ꙳ ( 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 : 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈 ) ꙳#valpohqintro #EEEEE #SHE'S HERE!!#astrid blinked and four years had gone by...

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sith-qween · 1 year

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Come, Let Us Teach You

Fandom: DBZ

Pairings: Reader x Vegeta, Reader x Nappa, Reader x Raditz

Words: 2.6K

Rating: M (later on)

Warnings: Sayian Reader, Mating Cycles/Heats, Ginyu Force, Dark Frieza, No protection, probably more, I will update as we go lol

Everything had been building up for the past few weeks, and this is a very literal - everything. Words couldn't possibly begin to describe the frustration that danced right on the tip of your tongue, nor would they get to know it. You refused the right to spill from between your lips, letting everything boil up in a bitter stew that was solely for you, yourself, and you. Had it not been for some recent events and obvious assaults on your tail, this would've been the time you fell into habit, letting your tail lash out your emotions. However, after numerous missions, that had proven to be a massive hindrance.

The scowl on your face was enough to keep anyone, and everyone who passed you in the halls from speaking to you, or even casting you a second glance. However as you started to near the lunchroom, your steps started to slow down. Vegeta had said he would wait outside your room and you would both go down to meet the others together, or at least that had been the impression you had been given. Mind you he had not been there when you finished getting ready; and for whatever reason, that thought just made your blood boil more so.

As your steps slowed to a stop, you continued to think about the situation that had happened not long ago. The prince had been down on his knees, between your legs. Something you were sure some girls might have swooned over in the past knowing that their 'Prince' wanted to pleasure them. However the thought only caused more frustration.

Why did he even do that!? It wasn't exactly like it had been unpleasant, or even bad - in fact it had been the exact opposite. It was wonderful, and even better than you could have imagined. Not to mention, despite all of your protests and desire to keep those three men as far away as possible, you couldn't help but feel the nagging and longing in pit of your stomach that had been craving for him to continue, to show you others ways he could make his name fall from your lips.

But no.

He decided to do a half assed job and then leave you hanging. Not to mention just leave you on your own.

Feeling your hand clench at your side, you practically puffed out your chest in denial as you spun on your heels and headed off in the direction away from the Lunchroom. Sure, you were a little on the hungry side, but you were a Saiyan - when weren't you hungry? Taking a small breath you took the familiar hallway down towards the many training rooms; the one place you feel like you could unwind and feel safe - if only for a little while.

Your steps were strong and confident, exactly the opposite of what was going on inside of your mind; but it wasn't like you would give Frezia's lackeys the pleasure of knowing that. If you walked so tall and proud after what happened, it would surely strike fear into those low life scum, right?

Punishing in the familiar numbers you took a deep breath and sighed as the doors whirled shut behind you, the familiar smell of training equipment and odourless soap from when people are brave enough to use the showers here. Luckily this was the private training place for the Saiyans - all four of them. That was the one perk about Frieza being so racist towards you, as you guys got things like this all to yourself - which was perfect for times like this. It meant that you had a space to practice away from everyone else, no one was going to be around to bother you because they didn't want to associate with you - it honestly worked out in the end.

Stripping yourself from your armour, you stood in the black spandex that you wore underneath. Taking in a deep breath your chest expanded before slowly sinking, trying to ground and focus yourself, you gave yourself some time to stretch out your muscles, feeling the burning aches and pains from before and from the lack of using them. You couldn't help but groan at the feeling, it wasn't right to feel like this, you shouldn't have been lying down for as long as you had been, it was pitiful.

Once you had gotten the knots out of your muscles and you were ready to go you got right into it, wasting no time jumping right into the extreme stuff, making sure that your muscles stung and ached for a real reason, not because of the silly excuses that you had been down and out. They should be hurting from overuse and hard work, nothing else. From having bots firing at you, and working on your reflexes, and how to take on enemies that outnumbered you, all on the higher settings. You had taken a few hits, unable to move quick enough to get out of the way. However that never seemed to extinguish the fire that was burning behind your eyes, it only seemed to fuel it further, causing rage to build and the intensity to grow.

Having a few burns in your suit, it exposed the scorched skin under it - you eventually figured you had done enough of that. You were slowing down, which meant it was time to move on to something else, like working on strikes against the dummies.

Your breathing was coming out in short breath, pulling you head back a drop of sweat rolled from the tip of your nose as you steadied the dummy. Moving over to the edge where you had set your armour you grabbed the first towel you could and dried your face off, not hearing the soft hum of the doors it down you turned around and jolted slightly when you found yourself face to face with two familiar faces. It took everything you had not to look disgusted, or to even lash out when your eyes fell over the grin on the blue skinned man, and the matching one on the red skinned man.

"Surprised to see either of you in this room, I figured you wouldn't want to be near a Saiyan, let alone in a room alone with one" you practically sneered. You were able to hide your discomfort at being in the room alone with them, however that was coming out in nothing but sass and attitude and you mentally flinched, you were in no condition to be giving these two attitudes, and you knew that very well.

"Com'on doll face, you think a little monkey scares the Ginyu Force? Or have you forgotten who that was again?" Jeice laughed, his white hair cascading down his back like always, and his arms folded across his chest with that cocky, shit-eating grin he always seemed to wear. You couldn't stop the slight flinch that happened when he made mention of your last interaction with the duo before you.

"I just assumed a member of the Ginyu Force wouldn't want to sully anymore of their reputation by hanging around with a monkey." you shot back. Your eyes were a cautious glare, never letting either of them from your sight as you tossed the towel aside. You couldn't trust them as far as you could throw them, nor did you let any of their movements go unnoticed. Eyes carefully watching both of them like a hawk.

"C'mon now doll, you think anyone has the guts to speak out against what we do? We are Frieza's elite men, only the foolish ones will dare to say something." he said, pride rolling off in tongue as he spoke, clearly aware that he was right in this situation. it wasn't often you felt like a deer in the headlights, and there was something starting to tick in your mind. Something pushing you towards fighting everything your mind was saying. Oh how you would love to wipe those smug looks off their faces, to show them up and come out on top.

"My bad, I guess I'm foolish." you snapped, annoyance evident on your face.

"Well we already knew that" Burter spoke up, a grin on his face to match his partners. It was all reflexes that caused your [e/c] optics to glare daggers towards the man, the clear distaste for them so clear, but not a single word dared to fall from your lips. On a good day you might be able to spare and keep up with one of them, but two of them while you were injured. Well, you liked a fight, but you weren't an idiot, or you were trying very hard not to be an idiot.

"C'mon Doll, what's with the sour look? You looked so much sweeter the other night." He boldly stated, a sentence that had your blood boiling beneath the surface.

"I would rather you both left me some time to train, I have missions I need to be ready for soon." you responded simply. It was clear that you were fighting to keep your tone level and non-threatening.

"Has the little monkey lost some of her fight? Did Lord Frieza knock some sense into you, literally?" the accented one spoke up again, stepping forward with a presence you didn't like. The tip of your tail flinched at his approach and you met his gaze, jaw clenching however remaining silent. While you were doing everything in your power to keep yourself under control and keep your temper caged, it only seemed to egg the two of them on - sparking a challenge in their eyes as you resisted their jabs.

"Maybe she was disappointed, he beat her ass instead of kissing it." Burter sneered, a knowing look on his face.

And that was the last straw. Rage reached your eyes at last, a fist aimed right for his face managed to hit before a knee met your unguarded stomach. For a moment you were so glad you had not eaten anything, otherwise you were almost a hundred percent sure that it would've ejected itself from the impact. However the lack of food was almost as bad, as you could nearly see stars. However instincts were kicking in and you couldn't stop as you grabbed the knee, and brought a leg around to knock into his shoulders - eyes focused on your target.

However while you had directed your attention towards Buter, you had forgotten about Jeice who had waited for a weakness in your attention before he grabbed your hands and slammed you into the wall. Your legs banged the bench under you as you hissed out and tried to wiggle away from his grasp. An ache growing in your stomach, making you wish you had eaten a little bit, just enough to have given you more strength. While your teeth were bared and you were ready to start throwing insults, a warm breath on the shell of your ear paused your thoughts if only for a minute.

"If you behave now, we won't have to report this little incident to Lord Frieza. I am sure he wouldn't want to hear about you starting trouble so soon after the last time, what do you think?" he questioned. You didn't even need to see him to hear the shit-eating smirk that was sure to be lighting up his red face. He must have felt the tensing of your body because he chuckled darkly, knowing you understood what it would entail if Frieza found out. However the fear of what might come from the twisted mind of Frieza scared you more than whatever the two of his little minions could even think of doing to you.

"Seems like she knows her place well enough not to cross those lines. Maybe the monkey knows well enough when to bow her head after all." a sneer. Your fists balled into fists against your back, a tensing of struggle was enough to cause a tsk to fall from your captors tongue. You could feel the eyes all on you, and it only caused the fire to burn higher, but fear was encasing your limbs, keeping you from lashing out again - he wasn't holding you hard enough to immobilise you, and you both knew it. As the panic was starting to dust over your mind, the hiss of the door was enough to draw your attention that way.

You weren't sure if it was happiness, glee, or dread that was starting to ink your heart now. It pained you to know they would see you in such a weak position, however, you knew that with them there it would be enough to hopefully get you out of the trouble you had gotten into. As your eyes fell over the familiar faces of your teammates, they lingered on the burning rage that was the prince.

While you thought next to little about the rage that was veiling the man's face, it was enough to send a warning to the two men in the room. The grip on your hands was released and you braced yourself on the wall before standing upright again. Clearly neither of them were in the mood for a real fight, or at least this was what you had gathered. It was silence that fell over the room as the two of them held an unspoken conversation.

Eyes narrowed towards the prince, you could practically see the gears rotating in his mind as he weighed his options and choices on how to handle the sudden interruption. Jeice narrowed his eyes before his head turned towards Burter and he nodded, leaving the two of them to depart from the room in silence, but not before leaving a glance in your direction.

A cold look came from the prince, his eyes falling upon you - however you didn't dare lift them to meet his own. It was a silent form of protest against the other, you didn't dare look up to see whatever emotions might be shining on his face. The mock, the distaste, the confusion, or even rage? You didn't know and you weren't about to know. Instead you grabbed the towel and you wiped off some of the sweat that had remained from before, acting with a tall posture, like none of what just happened really happened.

"If you were into that kind of training [y/n], you could've told us." the bald Saiyan jested with a deep laugh as he stepped properly into the room, acting as if it didn't phase him to have walked in, "besides, I am sure we are better company then those two. I mean, it would hurt a little bit if you favoured them over us." he laughed out, causing you to roll your eyes before looking in his direction

"Sometimes you make me wonder if your company is all that great to even begin with." you retorted with a small scoff. It was almost empty really, a natural response to his comment however without the real emotion behind it. You couldn’t have fooled yourself even if you had wanted to.

"Come now, [y/n], you can' honestly mean that? I know I am a pleasure to be around." Raditz chimed in as he joined his comrade, causing your attention to turn towards him, a weak laugh coming out in response as you rolled your eyes and moved away to start collecting your things. You should really wrap up for the day, and get something to eat. Not to mention the desire to avoid any questions that might be asked about what had just happened - especially coming from Vegeta.

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dustedmagazine · 5 months

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Chris Forsyth — Solar Motel (Expanded) (Algorithm Free)

Chris Forsyth marks the ten-year anniversary of his turn from towards rock with this expanded edition of Solar Motel, augmented with two previously unreleased studio tracks and a side-long live WFMU recording of “Paranoid Cat.” The two newly released tracks are a revelation, solidifying and reaffirming Forsyth’s connection to Television (he studied with Richard Lloyd) with cartwheeling guitar riffs and roiling, surging percussion in the epic vein of Marquee Moon.

Forsyth was just off his 2011 release of Paranoid Cat when he made Solar Motel, stillstruggling for a way to incorporate a palette of influences—Television, Takoma-style fingerpicking, psych and drone—into a coherent aesthetic. Our own Bill Meyer saw him as only partly successful at this on the previous album, calling Paranoid Cat, “an album that is full of good ideas lifted from other people’s work, but he makes such good use of them that it’s easy not to care.”

Solar Motel, Forsyth’s first full-band album, was a big step towards the driving, boogie-ing, rock-leaning long grooves that we have since come to associate with the guitarist. In the notes, he says, “Solar Motel is the first record on which I overtly took rock tropes and twisted them into new shapes, incorporating so many of my interests and influences - the twin-guitar elegance of Television, the sprawl of West Coast psych, the boiled down Rock Minimalism of Rhys Chatham, the abstract tangles of free improv, an undercurrent of ecstatic jazz energy, and the studio textures of Eno/Cale/Roxy ‘70s art rock.… Solar Motel basically set the template for much of what I did for the remainder of that decade.”

The band for Solar Motel included Forsyth, drummer Mike Pride, bassist Peter Kerlin and keyboard player Shawn Edward Hansen, all musicians that Forsyth had worked with previously in various roles and configurations. It was recorded mostly live, though Forsyth put in additional guitar after the fact to build up Television-like layers of interplay. The music took shape in four numbered tracks Solar Motel I through IV. “Part I” opens with tense, staccato guitar, at first alone, then joined by a second guitar and bass. The groove is insistent, cleanly minimal, and over it, Forsyth improvises warm, fluid arcs of solo guitar, and as it goes, the texture becomes less of a drone and more of a warm, living jam. This becomes a pattern over the next three track, as taut, disciplined motifs blossom into full-band free play. Repetition becomes a launching pad for the wildest swirls of improvisatory ornament, with sweet lyrical mid-range guitar vaulting over motorik grooves.

All that is still there, still striking in the way it marries austere experiment to lighter flaring guitar solo. If you haven’t heard it—or haven’t heard it in a while—all four original tracks remain very much worth a listen. However, it’s the new stuff that you’ll want to spin right away, because these two unreleased tracks take the basic experiment and launch them into richer, more exciting directions.

“Harmonious Dance,” at just under nine minutes, is the expanded release’s best tune. A slow chime of guitar notes hitting turbulence early on in Pride’s swelling drum roll. The notes get bigger, more resonant, more sustained as they go, taking on the burnished glow of Lloyd and Verlaine in tandem (though without the trebly yelp of vocals). “Long Warm Afternoon” starts out with warmth and sustained tones, building shimmering textures of guitar over a steady thump and roll. Both cuts feel less restrained, less tightly disciplined than the original Solar Motel cuts. It’s as if Forsyth had a concept for setting down guardrails and eventually swamping them with sensory data, and it took him a while to implement it fully.

The WFMU recording is fine, too, letting the twitchy glamor of “Paranoid Cat” stretch out, catch fire in a truly insane instrumental freakout and somehow stuff all that back into the bottle for a reprise of the original melody. But if you need a reason to check out this ten years after reissue, I’d look at the two unreleased tracks, where Forsyth and his band hit a groove they’ve been riding ever since.

Jennifer Kelly

#chris forsyth #solar motel #algorithm free #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #reissue #television #guitars #jam #peter kerlin #mike pride #shawn edward hansen #jeff ziegler #philadelphia #psych

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grabthathorn · 1 year

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Hello! It's a-me! The unhinged Langley simp but this time I'm thinking about 99 and her muscles. She's a buff woman that honestly no one could rival with (other than Zoya); which makes me melt when I think of 99 x Hella. I too, want an Absolute Unit™ of a murderous destruction to be so... soft towards me. Thinking of sharp, crazed eyes turning gentle whenever they land on her sun. Big, sharp claws running through her sun's hair before placing kiss on its ends (a worshipful gesture that she sometimes does unconsciously. Any sinner is retching at them lol). Her Mania skyrocketing only to drop down when she hears Hella's voice beacuse, beacuse no matter what she will always recognise her!!! No matter how deep she is ending in her mind!!!!!!! About how she's ready to kill, to die for her. Just to make sure her sun is as free as she can be in a world that wants them to be chained down.

I love how 99 looked at this gremlin, barely at her titties level, and really went "I would kill for her. I would die for her. Ethier way, what bliss."

Just... Ninety-nine going so very soft on Hella who actually quietens down whenever she gets affection from big buff lady.

I'm also thinking about loud, barsh, sharp around the edges Hella who loves to be embraced by 99 and never letting go no matter how sometimes the touch is hurtful (but she will heal and 99 DOESN'T need to know, mind your own business, fucker). About her just hanging on her forever-ride just to feel her close (and is so, so, so afraid to let go). And how she always thinks about her whenever she gets or demands something good (because I like to think that, just like 99, she associates everything good, be it snacks or toys or anything really, with big ball of rage that is soooo beloved). I'm thinking of her bending her back till it snaps just to make sure 99 is safe and sane beacuse there's nothing more loving than act of keeping someone so precious to oneself alive no matter what fate throws their way.

Just pure love between two broken people who makes world feel a little less broken.

I'm thinking! I'm aching! My heart bleeds and goes out for the broken and unloved finding solace in each other!!!

Unlovable hand!!!

I'm also thinking about Langley turning me into a human pretzel but it's not the time for that lmao. I wish she would DESTROY me.

honestly these two get me soft - i just finished playing the recent event (my characters were low-leveled no one come for me) and ninety-nine's brief mention was so cute

(also sorry for the time it took to respond)

A Brief Stay

(Hella/Ninety-Nine)

“Hella?”

The last moments before unconsciousness took her were filled with cacophonous cries, the smattering of blood, and the searing pain that wove into the very fabric of her being. It was not an uncommon feeling, to be overwhelmed with anger and mourning, but it hurt just the same every time.

Missions go awry all the time, yet Ninety-Nine never cared unless it was her at risk. The sunlight she couldn’t bear to lose.

When Ninety-Nine’s eyes drew open, the environment she was in was far different than all of the ones she had seen before.

It was sterile, there were no masked men and women prodding at her, waiting for her body to turn. It smelled pleasant, with no lingering iron baked into the sheets of her bed or the walls of the room. It lacked the chains For as much as she could see, she was safe.

But safety only meant so much when she was alone.

A dark-haired woman entered the room, hand in pocket. “You’re awake.”

Ninety-Nine didn’t even bother responding, sitting up and ready to pounce when the doctor’s gaze redirected itself to the former lab rat’s side.

Glancing down and following the doctor’s gaze, Ninety-Nine found none other than Hella, curled up against her side and clinging to her gown, sound asleep. Her shoulders immediately dropped, and she returned to laying down, choosing instead to wrap her arms around Hella and hug her close.

“You’re lucky the Chief was lenient,” the doctor sighed. “...And that she recovers quickly.”

Marking a couple of things down on Ninety-Nine’s chart and giving her one last glance-over, the doctor left the room, letting Ninety-Nine have her privacy.

With a yawn, Hella buried her face into the crook of Ninety-Nine’s neck, whispering, “Don’t do that again.”

“You were hurt,”

Hella pulled back to grimace, staring up at Ninety-Nine with a face nothing short of pure disappointment. Despite the woman being significantly shorter and wielding a pipe in comparison to a large sword, Hella was often the one to chastise Ninety-Nine, who gave way to her every time.

“I can heal myself.” Hella deadpanned.

Ninety-Nine opened her mouth, shut it, then tugged Hella into another hug. “...Okay.”

Though the exchange had its tense moment, it quickly passed, and the two were back to their usual routine and nigh-inseparable. A comfortable silence took them as they searched for something to occupy their time, settling on a magazine about the latest and greatest to come out of DisCity.

Not that either of them cared all too much about DisCity - the only thing they could be bothered to care about was each other.

“You two should get- “ the doctor paused in the threshold of Ninety-Nine’s room when she spotted the two curled up, reading said magazine. “I’ll have Anne bring over your meals.”

Hella peaked over the magazine with a smug grin, then returned to reading. Ninety-Nine didn’t notice the brief exchange of glares the two shared, too immersed at a nice jacket and dress. The kind that she’d figure Hella would wear if she wasn’t caught up with Sinners and MBCC and the lifeblood of DisCity.

At the side of her face, Hella spat out, “Who the fuck would wear that?”

“I think it would look nice on you.” Ninety-Nine commented.

“I like my beanie, thank you.”

The former lab rat didn’t even notice there was a beanie in the magazine to begin with.

Ninety-Nine angled her head to get a better look at it, then the one atop Hella’s head. To say it was well-worn was an understatement, but it carried the same charm that Hella often did. She shrugged, kissing Hella on the temple, and looked back at the magazine.

Hella rolled her eyes, flipping to another page.

#quinnanswers #path to nowhere #hella99 #ninety-nine #hella #quinnsdrabbles

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forbelobog · 11 months

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gepard's relationship with his parents is...not the best. and by parents i mean his father. the landau name has a lot of prestige in belobog, there was a lot already on gepard's shoulders before he was even a toddler, being the first born son. his military training started early - much earlier than should have been allowed - and nothing less than exceptional was acceptable by his father. the abuse was sometimes physical, but the vast majority of it was verbal and mental. their father would berate his children if they didn't meet his absurdly high expectations.

his mother, while kind and nurturing, did little to interfere if his father got a little too rowdy, a little too harsh, a little too mean which, in my book, makes her guilty by association. still, he would have much rather had her in his life than not, and he loves her dearly. where his father was cold and efficient, his mother was warm and doting. she babied gepard whenever she got the chance, him being her only son.

to gepard, his father is a righteous man of dignity and respect, but deep down even he knows the way he was raised - the way serval was raised - was harsh. there were many times serval put herself between gepard and their father just to save gepard from their father's ire. her desire to protect him resonated with him a lot, and he took it to heart. his desire to protect not just her, but the people of belobog, is largely her influence. he does something similar to this for their younger sister whenever he can. when serval "left" the family name, or stopped speaking to their father, he felt a little...betrayed? it felt like she turned her back on gepard specifically, but with time and discussion he's come to realize she had to do what she felt was best for herself, and gepard supports her now as best he can. but their father really planted a lot of seeds in his brain that almost kept him from seeing why serval did what she did in the first place.

gepard's feelings toward his father are difficult to say the least. on the one hand, he believes the man was just trying to instill values in his children, and make them achieve their best, even when it was difficult. on the other, gepard still tenses whenever his father is around, and he knows that's not how a parent should make their child feel. his biggest fear, for a long time, wasn't death or pain or the dark or anything like that - it was disappointing his father. in fact, death was something he was expected to observe. since he was old enough to understand, he was told about the glory of dying on the battlefield, the honor of giving your life for belobog and the supreme guardian. his own self worth suffered because of this.

landau senior is...traditional. gepard is expected to carry on the landau name, meet a woman, have children, the whole nine yards. gepard has yet to tell his father that he's gay, and considers the idea of never telling him at all. it's hard to predict what the man's response will be.

in short, gepard's father was and still is a big ol' swinging dick, and his mother - while caring and supportive - made excuses for the way her kids were raised.

#( ( headcanon #abuse tw #death tw #it's been on my brain since #yesterday #when i read a phenom hc from serval #got me thinking about gepard's side of their childhood #long post #i could go on and on about how twisted gep feels about his dad #how back and forth he is #but me objectively looking outside in?#dude's a dick #who raised his son to be a soldier with no personal wants

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bubbleonice · 8 months

Note

For your next Timothée reading.

Today, Kid Cudi unfollowed Timothée on social media and in the past couple months a friend from school unfollowed Timothée. Will Timothée’s association with K continue to have an impact on his longer-term friendships where they part ways on social media (if not more distant IRL)?

I think I heard about the Cudi unfollow was just a rumor? But I can take a look at wether this is going to have an impact on his longer term friendships.

2 or pentacles: The Two of Pentacles card in regards to friendship means things are okay. They could be better but your friends are helping support you, and you them. Are these friends true friends, and likewise, are you theirs? Is any party in the relationship parasitic, making it a one-sided relationship? It might be time to phase them out.

9 of pentacles reversed: The Nine of Pentacles Reversed can show cracks that are beginning to appear in your current, stable life. Perhaps things are not as solid as they seem, and you might not be seeing the symptoms or cause just yet. It can also represent an idyllic life you are aiming for, but something is stopping you from achieving it. It may be worth your while to think about why you aren’t already achieving your goal, identify any problems and work towards solving them.

The High Priestess reversed: It is important not to jump to depressing conclusions as this card is not a harbinger of doom. But she does point to all not being what it seems on the surface. The energies of the High Priestess reversed suggest the attitude of “Trust, but verify,” will be extremely useful to you when it comes to agreements with others in general. Overall, however, the High Priestess reversed is not a bad card. She simply suggests that we look deeper; at everything and everyone, including ourselves and our own motives.

When the High Priestess reversed is significant in a reading about friends and family, it is an indication that people are at least somewhat vaguely confused. This is an important time to spell things out to your nearest and dearest but also for them to do the same. Communication can be unclear when she appears and so can the impressions that you are picking up from your friends and family members. Just, make sure you are all on the same page before doing or saying something that cannot be undone or unsaid. The High Priestess reversed also suggests that this may not be the greatest time to befriend new people and to try to bring them into your circle of friends. People may not be as open to that as you’d expect so don’t be pushy about that kind of thing now; it may backfire on you.

So in conclusion this is my interpretation. His friends are ok with it and tolerates it, but they are not liking it. They are confused and Timmy is not communicating with them about Kylie. They are all baffled like the rest of us, not really knowing what’s going on. In respect for Timothee they are not directly dismissing her, but they are not open to welcome her into their circle either. They feel intimidated and awkward about the whole situation, but they also love Timmy too much to not support him.

#celebrity tarot #intuitive readings #tarot reading #timothee chalamet

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ariadnelives · 2 years

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RHAPSODY IN BLUE

A new short story, set in the Ariadne’s Angels universe, is now available! You can check it out at AO3, or under the read more!

2618

“ You girls are angels ,” the crying woman had told them. A young Pilar Aguilar and Racquel Ramos had taken her words to heart. Up until then, they had been in it for survival, and of course, to feed Pilar’s nine-year-old sister, Sasha. That was, on its own, a noble fight.

However, the woman’s words had made it clear to Racquel that they had a gift. Sasha wasn’t the only starving child on Mars, and she had the power in her hands to take some of the hoarded wealth of the system’s plutocrats and put it towards something worthwhile.

Racquel and her partner in crime were scarcely older than Sasha themselves. She was coming up on her twelfth birthday, and Pilar had only just turned thirteen. In the early days, they had no idea how far in over their heads they’d gotten.

“You sure this is the place?” Racquel asked, crouching behind a concrete pillar on the top floor of a parking structure, “this is like… what, a nightclub?”

“Romano does business out of here,” Pilar replied, “Big mob boss. Deep pockets. Really bad dude. If we’re looking for people with too much, who deserve to be robbed, first place to look is in this guy’s orbit. While they’re in there, we’re cleaning out their cars.”

“You’re sure we’re not gonna get, you know,” Racquel said, dragging a finger across her throat, “whacked off?”

“Romano’s gonna whack a couple of little girls?” Pilar said, “please, if he catches us, just start crying, then punch him in the nuts and run. You got the scrambler?”

“Yeah, it should work,” Racquel replied. “Do you know what we’re looking for? Are we sure they’ll even have anything in their cars?”

“Everyone here is rich as shit,” Pilar said, “and most of them are tied up in something shady.”

“Aren’t all rich people?” Racquel asked, smirking. She was new to her radical views, and still felt a little thrill every time she voiced them.

Pilar smiled. “Now you’re getting it,” she said.

Racquel positively melted inside. Pilar was, by a wide margin, the coolest girl she’d ever met. She had been relatively popular at school, due to her smarts, high social status, and the fact that she was, admittedly, pretty adorable. The other students all wanted to be her friend, although due to her incredibly strict home life, she was rarely allowed to spend time with them outside of school. She’d gone to an incredibly affluent Catholic girls’ school, and she’d never quite been able to connect with any of her friends there in a meaningful way.

It was like there was a distance between them. They seemed concerned with all the wrong things, who was invited to which party, who’d made a fool out of themselves by associating with the wrong sort. She got along with almost everyone, but didn’t really feel like they actually knew each other. It didn’t help that most of the other girls at school had recently become very, very interested in boys, a subject she just couldn’t relate to. It was like everything else they said to her: she assumed it was fake, and that they simply said it because that was the proper way for a young girl of their station in life to feel. She’d learned quickly to feign interest, because her friends were quick to grow suspicious if she admitted how much she did not care about boys.

All of that had changed last night, when Pilar had caught her crying in her sleep, and she’d confessed everything about her parents, and her old life, expecting to be thrown back out on the street. Instead, Pilar pulled her tight and showed her compassion. Racquel, for the first time in her life, felt like someone else actually saw her. This scrappy, smooth-talking, tough, beautiful girl with holes in her dirty jeans and her greasy hair tied back with the torn-off sleeves of her t-shirt.

Beautiful, she’d thought, and suddenly it was like a floodgate had opened inside her. She suddenly understood everything her schoolmates had said about boys. It wasn’t that they were faking their interest, or that they had feelings she did not. She’d simply been looking in the wrong direction the whole time. She’d always known there were girls who liked other girls, but she’d only ever known high-society phonies, never anyone who would’ve stirred up these feelings in her.

Being an incredibly impulsive preteen, immediately upon realizing this, she’d lunged at Pilar and kissed her. Pilar was so surprised she almost started laughing, but she was quick on her feet, and kissed Racquel back.

Pilar had known about her interest in girls for a long time, and knew about her interest in Racquel ever since she’d seen that EMP Scrambler. This girl was a bona fide genius, and Pilar was transfixed to meet someone so smart, especially another kid.

“Come on,” Pilar said, “the coast is clear. Let’s see what these creeps keep in their trunks.”

A machete lodged itself in the concrete above them.

“You goddamn street rats think you can steal from my clients?!” screamed the machete-wielding lunatic standing over them. Her bionic eyes were flaring wildly, her blue mohawk falling down into her face, and a vein in her forehead was throbbing.

“RUN!” Pilar screamed.

Racquel did not take this advice. She had prepared herself to use Pilar’s first “if we get caught” plan, and immediately began to cry, and threw her fist forward, connecting with the deranged woman between the legs.

Their assailant crumpled, and Pilar and Racquel scampered down the ramp of the parking structure.

“Next thing you build,” Pilar panted, “some sort of getaway vehicle! We did not think this through!”

“I can’t drive! I’m 11!” Racquel huffed and puffed as they ran.

“Some kind of legs?! Just… something that lets us go faster!”

They arrived at the ground floor and the exit was within sight, when the blue-haired maniac fell down the gap in the center of the spiral ramp, landed on the ground floor, and executed a flip to place herself directly in Pilar and Racquel’s path.

Pilar and Racquel stopped in horror. How had this woman not broken every bone in her body? She had just dropped four floors at top speed!

“ Lucky shot, kid,” she said, “don’t think you’re gonna get me in the jewels twice.”

“Please don’t kill us!” Racquel said, “we can get you money. Lots of money!”

“I already have money, you little fuckin’ weasel,” their assailant said, pointing her machete right at Racquel’s throat. Pilar’s eyes flared, and she fumbled with her small pocketknife, as though she expected to take on this madwoman herself.

“Oh, a little tough guy, is it?” This woman asked, “what are you gonna do, shitbird, you gonna fuckin’ shank my ankles? You just saw me drop four fuckin’ stories without a scratch. You think some fuckin’ Oliver Twist-ass urchin with a knife is gonna do shit to me?”

Pilar flicked the knife open and stepped forward.

“ Relax, knight-in-shining-fucking-armor,” their assailant said to her, “I ain’t gonna slice and dice your little girlfriend. ”

Both of their eyes flared.

“Or not girlfriend, Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” she said, “didn’t mean to cause some sort of goddamn middle school drama. I don’t kill kids. Not a fair fight.”

“So we can go?” Racquel asked.

“Oh that’s goddamn rich,” their assailant said, dropping her machete, and then moved so fast that she was holding each of them by the ear by the time the machete hit the ground. “Name’s Blue. I own this place. You’re coming up to my office to explain yourselves, and you ain’t fuckin’ leaving until all my clients have taken their ugly-ass luxury cars and all their fuckin’ shit out of here with them.”

She grabbed them both by the ears and pulled them directly towards the elevator. Both girls tried to pull themselves away.

“Look, your ears are coming to my office,” she said, “I suggest you join them.”

Raquel and Pilar followed this advice and walked at a brisk page to keep up with Blue so their ears wouldn’t be torn off. She sat them down in two plush chairs in her office, and locked the door.

“Now,” she said, “you girls are going to explain to me what exactly you think you’re doing here tonight.”

Both girls remained silent.

“You. Short one,” she said, pointing her machete at Racquel. “You got a name?”

Racquel knew full well there would be a massive reward for her safe return to her parents right now, and would rather die than let anyone claim that reward. She was also, however, only 11 years old, and still not very quick on her feet.

“ ...No?” She had to try.

“No name, huh?” Blue asked. “Look, kid, I’m not trying to bust you. I honestly don’t give a shit who you are, outside of our little business together here tonight. I just need something to call you.”

Pilar, much quicker on her feet, recalled a conversation they’d had recently about an old Greek myth the two girls had bonded over. “Her name’s Ariadne.”

It was like a lightswitch clicked in Ariadne’s head. The name “Racquel Ramos” suddenly seemed almost alien to her. Pilar had named her, and there was no going back now.

“That’s me,” Ariadne said, “Ariadne.”

“Hmm,” Blue said, producing a wallet that Ariadne recognized as her own from her empty palm, and pulling out a card from within. “So you’re not Racquel Ramos, sixth grade student at St. Joan Preparatory Academy?”

Ariadne could’ve sworn ice flooded through her veins.

“Because her parents are looking everywhere on Earth for her,” Blue explained, “it’d be unfortunate for them if she was on Mars, the one place they can’t look for her.”

Ariadne said nothing. Pilar started looking for ways out of this situation for the both of them.

“Relax, short stack,” Blue said. “Tall one, have you ever met someone on Mars who’d do Raul and Rosario a favor, for any amount of money?”

Pilar shook her head no.

“And what’s your name, tall one?” Blue asked.

“My own business, ma’am,” Pilar replied.

Blue stared at her angrily for a second, and then burst out laughing.

“You’re crazy, kid!” Blue asked, “bona fide fuckin’ lunatic. You’re lurking around in parking lots, trying to rip off mob bosses, neither of you is armed, neither of you knows how to fight, no exit strategy… you’re pretty goddamn young to have this big a death wish, sweetie.”

Pilar looked embarrassed.

“Unless…” Blue finally saw it in both of them. “It’s not a death wish, is it? No, you’re both… Christ alive, why didn’t I see it before? You two have heard the call, haven’t you?”

“I don’t think the clergy would have us,” Ariadne replied.

“Shut the fuck up, kid,” Blue said in her gentlest tone of voice, “remember, you’re the one who forgot to bring a weapon on a crime spree, and I’m still the one holding the machete. No, I’m talking about… it’s like, there’s been something missing inside you, your whole lives.”

Blue’s whole demeanor changed. She stared off into the distance, as if Pilar and Ariadne weren’t even in the room. They both got the sense that they were seeing a side of her that she didn’t often let people see.

“Like, you spent your whole life just spinnin’ your wheels, sittin’ in place, can’t even figure out where you’re even tryin’ to go. And then, one day, something falls into place, the wheels hit the ground, and you just start goin’. Suddenly, you know exactly who you’re supposed to be. You stop seein’ the shadows on the cave wall, and start lookin’ at what’s castin’ em, and then finally, seein’ the sun and realizing it can be yours if you just stand up and walk out of the cave. The whole path becomes clear, and all you gotta do is walk it, and you’ll be who you need to be.”

Blue snapped back to reality.

“You two felt that, didn’t ya?” Blue asked, suddenly snapping back to her original demeanor. “That’s why your dumb asses tried to rip off those mob bosses.”

Pilar and Ariadne were shaken by her speech. Neither of them had put it to words yet, but that was exactly, to the smallest detail, what they had both felt when that woman had told them “you girls are angels.”

“Your faces say it all,” Blue said. “You were stealing from these fucksticks because they got too much and too many people don’t have enough. Too bad your first steps landed you in the crosshairs of somebody whose job it is to keep their shit safe. Lucky you, following the call never leads you someplace you’re not supposed to go. You were supposed to make that mistake, because you needed to meet me.”

Ariadne and Pilar looked at one another. Ariadne asked, “why?”

“What, you taking stupid pills?” Blue asked. “I heard it too, duh-doy. When I was not much older than you.”

Blue rifled through her desk, and pulled out a map of New Moyamensing. She lay it flat on her desk, pulled a balisong from her pocket, flipped it open, and pierced it directly into the map.

“ Stealing shit from the mafia don’t hurt ‘em in the long run,” Blue explained. “Mob dicks, they exploit people who are already poor. You ain’t hurtin’ em taking a few trinkets from their cars, they can afford more shit. That’s why I do business with ‘em. It pays to have dirt on people like that. I learn enough of their secrets, I guarantee return customers. I got return customers, I get more dirt. Every dollar in my pocket is one they don’t have. But you really wanna hurt them? You really wanna help people? They’re predators , preying on the poor. You wanna deal with them, you gotta go after the big sharks.”

“ How do we do that? ” Pilar asked.

“ You shittin’ me, kid?” Blue said, “I stabbed a knife into a map like 40 seconds ago, and you haven’t even looked at where? ”

Pilar and Ariadne leaned forward. The financial district. Mars One Bank.

“That bank houses the safe-deposit boxes of the 10 richest people on Mars,” Blue said. “The real scum of the system. The wealth they hoard is why there’s enough poor people for the mob to exploit in the first place. Clean those boxes out without being detected, and I’ll show you what you need to know to follow your calling.”

Ariadne and Pilar glanced at each other in giddy excitement.

“Ma’am, do you believe in fate?” Pilar asked.

“Beyond the calling? No, it’s all a bunch of bullshit. Things just happen, or they don’t,” Blue explained. “And if I hear the word ‘ma’am’ pass your lips again, I’ll take them away from you.”

“ We were there earlier today,” Ariadne said. “We already did it. Those boxes are empty. ”

Blue laughed. “You’re shittin’ me. Where’s the loot?”

Pilar looked uneasy. “Pawned,” she said. “Used the money to buy dinner for the other poor folks living under the bridge.”

Blue laughed a deep belly-laugh. “You are crazy. The shit in them boxes coulda bought your ticket anywhere in the system, and you spent it on one dinner?!”

“I’m 11,” Ariadne pointed out. How was she supposed to know what that stuff was worth?

“That’s when we heard the, uh…” Pilar said, “yeah.”

“The calling?”Blue grinned madly. “Welcome to school, girlies. You just got yourselves a teacher.”

2315

The unusually tall, bearded man with cheekbones that could cut glass and long black hair that blended seamlessly into the wide-brimmed black hat that very few had ever seen him without piloted their stealth cruiser to the twelfth location of the night. His message was, unfortunately, not sinking in with his young daughter.

“Consider yourself fortunate, Princess,” he had lectured her on the 16-day journey from the Oort hypersphere all the way to Earth, “most young Oort have already heard the call of our people by your age. They don’t get to experience this rite of passage.”

“So you’re telling me,” Princess said, “that I could’ve been spared the joy of this little vacation if I’d pretended to hear the call when all the other kids did?”

“Have some reverence for the old ways, child” he spat back.

“Old ways?” Princess asked, slumped down in the passenger’s seat. She wore the black slacks and button-down shirt that was customary for this rite, in order to help her more easily remain unseen. It didn’t help, however, that her ringlets of electric blue hair stood out even in the dark of night. “The Oort didn’t exist yet when Lola was my age. How can we have ‘old ways?’”

“You don’t know your history,” her father replied, disappointed. “That’s the purpose of this trip. To show you where it all began. Why it all began.”

“Yeah, I know we came from Earth,” Princess replied. “Everybody knows that. We just went further out than anybody else, lost contact, and–”

“We weren’t called the Oort then,” he explained, “but our people have always existed. We’ve had many names through the millennia. Shadowmen. Fair folk. Tylwyth Teg. In my family’s homeland, we were called Dwende. In your mother’s, Chaneques. Throughout history, we have always heard the call. More often than not, we had no choice.”

Princess rolled her eyes. Her father had always been superstitious, and it was no surprise to her that he believed the old myths of the Oort having supernatural roots on Earth. She herself had never quite believed this. She’d seen the advanced technology people grafted into their bodies, and the genetic mutations and modifications so many, including her parents and grandparents, had received. Of course, she believed in magic , any idiot could do it, and she used it herself fairly regularly.

This was the problem with the concept of “the supernatural.” Nothing could be supernatural, because if something existed, it was natural. Any magic you study hard enough is just science, and any science you don’t understand might as well be magic. The first caveman to generate and harness the power of fire– a mythical hero named Terstam in Oort culture– was looked on by his peers as a sorcerer.

As far as Princess was concerned, “the call” probably didn’t even exist. Most people, at some point in their lives, have a dream, or an ambition, or even just a goal, and many of them set out to achieve it. The Oort are technologically advanced enough to make most dreams, ambitions, and goals incredibly achievable, so most Oort who set out to do something, manage to do so. After 17 years of life, not having heard this mythical “call” everyone was always hammering on about, she was convinced that it was just a collective act of wishful thinking. People had noticed a phenomenon and ascribed an otherworldly explanation to it, like the Mandela Effect, or the belief that a lull in the conversation always occurs on the half-hour.

“This world, all the worlds of the sun-seers, are culturally poisoned by their sin and vice,” her father explained. “You have seen this firsthand. They indulge their lust, their greed, their gluttony through rank exploitation.”

“Believe it or not,” Princess replied, “I already knew all that without my father taking me to a strip club.”

“You haven’t heard the call,” her father replied, “we aren’t going back to the hypersphere until you do. There is no better way for you to understand why our ancestors chose to remove ourselves from the culture of the sun-seers, why we must continue to remove ourselves from it, than for you to see its depravity with your own eyes.”

“Look, daddy I get it,” she said, “the system is a messed-up place. You don’t have to trot me around to strip clubs and crack dens to scare me straight.”

“ If you haven’t heard the call,” he explained, “you don’t ‘ get it.’ You cannot.”

“How do you know I haven’t heard the call?” She asked, frustrated. “Maybe I have! Maybe I just… thought it was something else!”

“ One of the gifts of our people,” he explained. “We see people as they truly are, not as they sometimes appear to be. It’s how we knew you were a girl when you were born, even though the sun-seers would’ve branded you a boy, forced you to spend years playing the part before you figured out who you really were.”

Blue sighed. The one commandment of their people: THIS ABOVE ALL. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE.

“You know how much I appreciate that,” Princess replied, “our people– you and mami, letting me grow up as I actually was.”

“And despite this,” her father said, “you are unsatisfied in our home, in the cloud.”

“Of course I am,” she said. “All day, I go to school to learn how to maintain the equipment that grows our food. Then I come home, and maintain the equipment that grows our food. I go to bed, and do the same thing the next day.”

“Without us, people starve. Feeding people isn’t a noble calling?” Her father asked. She thought at first that he was patronizing her, but something in his eyes told her that he was actually asking.

“Of course it is,” she said.

“People starve if no one does what we do,” her father explained. “When I was a boy, there was a food shortage. I heard the call then, and did everything I could to ensure there would never be one again. Your mother did too. It’s how we met, and fell in love. I’m thankful the universe called me to this task, because it brought you to me.”

“Well, I gotta give it that,” Princess replied. “It’s just not… my calling. It’s not that I don’t care if people starve, it’s just…”

“Someone else is already doing it?” Her father asked.

Princess chuckled. “Yeah, I guess they are.”

“I don’t know what your calling will be, my darling,” he said. “I brought you here, to the beginning of all things, to the spark that lit the flame of our people’s flight to the promised land, in the hopes it would present itself. If our life is not what calls to you, it would be a cardinal sin for you to live it. This above all…”

“…To thine own self be true,” Princess completed, almost by reflex. Unfortunately for her father, she shared the gift of their people, and could read him like a book. “But you hope your life does call to me.”

“Is that so criminal?” He asked, “for a father to wish his daughter could stay close to him? But I know it’s not meant to be. You are meant for something… more… than I can give you.”

Princess looked at her father. He was near tears, but maintaining a brave face.

“It is said,” he explained, “that those who do not hear the call until they’ve come back to the beginning are meant for great things.”

“It is said,” Princess corrected, “that all are meant for greatness.”

“A liberal interpretation of the scripture,” her father conceded. “People rise to the level they’re capable of. We Oort are the supermen, the truly extraordinary, who are capable of more.”

“ We are the lucky,” Princess insisted. “When we hear our calls, we have the resources to see them through, and a community to support us.”

“We are truly blessed,” he said.

“Imagine what the people down here would accomplish,” she said, “if they could just… do whatever it is they had their hearts set on.”

“You’re starting to sound like Brother Y,” her father chuckled, referencing the mad preacher, barely older than her, who, like many of the Oort, believed that their gifts should be shared, for a price, with anyone clever enough to find him, and foolish enough to agree to a deal with him.

“Is he so crazy?” Princess asked. “Why shouldn’t we share our gifts with them?”

“I’ll show you,” he said. “Our next stop… these are people who have every privilege on Earth.”

He stopped the ship on a hilltop overlooking a gathering of people carrying dim, smoldering torches, setting up some sort of effigy on the next hillside.

Princess got out and looked out at the silhouetted figures erecting what appeared to be a cross.

A man who appeared to be their leader began to speak, but Princess couldn’t hear a word he was saying. The crowd began to whoop and cheer, though, and something about it made her skin crawl.

The leader shouted a slogan that Princess couldn’t quite make out.

“See the hatred of the sun-seers,” her father whispered to her. “See how they use power when they’ve got it. Imagine what these men would do with our magicks.”

The leader brought his torch to the cross, setting it ablaze. The bright light of the burning cross illuminated the leader, and his assembled forces, clear as day. Princess saw their bright white robes, their pointed hoods, and with the gift of the Oort, could see the vile, ugly truth of their being.

The hatred within these men would destroy everything it touched.

Suddenly, Princess saw what her father had been trying to show her all along. The depths of evil that her ancestors had sought to remove themselves from. She heard music that she knew only she could hear, and felt every drop of blood in her body coursing through her veins.

“ Our founding parents,” she said, “the pioneers… they saw this… and they ran?”

“We could not be part of the sun-seers’ hatred,” he said. “This is why we live in secret. Why we don’t… uninhibit those who aren’t worthy of our gifts. People whose calling leads them down the path of hate and destruction.”

The electronic thrum of the music rang in her ears, and she could hear a vocalist calling to her from centuries in the past in a language she couldn’t understand:

“ Wem der große Wurf gelungen

Eines Freundes Freund zu sein

Wer ein holdes Weib errungen

Mische seinen Jubel ein! ”

“No,” she said firmly, “that’s not how I’m gonna do things.”

Her father stared at her in awe, overjoyed. “You’ve heard the call.”

“Get out of here, daddy,” she said, “I don’t want them seeing you.”

“They won’t,” he said.

“Your calling is at home,” she said.

“I have a greater calling, right here,” he said. “Do what you must. Make me proud.”

She walked onto the ship and grabbed a spare can of fuel and a large utility blade, then moved steadily towards the rally, without responding. She couldn’t even hear her father over the sound of the vocalist’s dulcet, almost synthetic tones.

Calculations flew through her mind faster than she could comprehend, telling her muscles exactly how to move to do what she needed to do to become herself.

She got as close as she could to the assembled men while still able to remain unnoticed, and as she heard their chants of “WHITE PRIDE! SYSTEM-WIDE!” ringing through the night, decided she didn’t want any of them to get out of this without knowing what had come for them.

She let out a shrill, piercing ululation, sharp enough to cut through the hateful chanting on the air and the glorious, joyful music running through her head, and every hooded head turned to face her as she launched herself into the air, 25 feet above the assembled crowd, and sliced through the can of starship fuel so that it rained down on the whole group. She landed several feet from the leader, thrust her blade between his knees, and yanked it up sharply, cleanly bisecting him. She was panting with rage and excitement. The assembled men attempted to scatter, but she moved too fast. With another swipe of her blade, she cut through the base of the burning cross, and kicked it towards them with strength she didn't even know her body was capable of, so that it landed in the middle of the assembled group, causing an explosion that blasted most of the men to shreds. There were only four survivors, and none of them were fast enough to avoid Princess, whose body moved of its own volition and, one by one, she and her blade danced from man to man and cut each of them to ribbons, their clean white robes ripping into jagged red scraps, their screams of pain and terror drowned out by the beautiful tones of the synthesizer in her mind, calling forward to her from centuries ago, and the vocalist’s electronic jubilation.

She finally understood what it meant to be Oort. She had always been smart, always a gifted magic practitioner, and had a healthy appreciation for the body modifications that gave her people their abilities, but she finally got what everybody had been telling her all her life.

Like every Oort before her, Princess was uninhibited. She had heard the calling, and transcended the self-imposed illusion of human limitation. Her blade, her cause, was now an extension of herself.

She felt almost contemptuous of her forebears. All this time, there were people spewing such hatred, causing such suffering, and her ancestors had chosen to run and hide. She was never meant to stay on the Oort hypersphere. All her life, she’d felt like she was overflowing with hatred and rage, and had nowhere to put it, because she lived in a community built on tolerance and self-expression. The idea of unloading it on someone undeserving never would’ve even occurred to her.

The same could not be said of the sun-seers. Many of them would gladly, even gleefully, direct their own rage and hatred at innocent people.

She heard the vocalist’s words ringing in her ears as she surveyed the righteous carnage she’d just left in her wake:

“ Froh

Froh wie seine Sonnen fliegen

durch des Himmels prächt’gen Plan

Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn

Freudig, wie ein Held zum Siegen ”

Isn’t it wonderful , she thought, that people like that will finally get a taste of their own medicine?

She returned to her father, who gazed at her in awe, and nodded solemnly. “As I said, you are clearly meant for greater things. You will not return to the Hypersphere.”

“Where will I go?” She panted.

“ Your Lola was similarly called to leave her home,” he said. “She will take over your education from this point on. She has… connections , in her life on Mars, which will aid you in your calling.”

Princess laughed confidently. “Did you see what I just did? You really think I need training?”

“It is the fool who thinks herself an expert,” he replied, “and the wise will always think themselves the true fools.”

“Fuckin’ A,” she said, the words just feeling right in her mouth, “I should’ve been doing this shit the whole goddamn time!”

Her father smiled. He didn’t need to say it. He’d always been able to see his daughter’s true self, to hear her true voice. He was immensely proud that she’d stopped holding herself back, so he could finally actually hear it aloud.

2618

It had been six weeks since Blue had taken them in. At Pilar’s insistence, Sasha was to receive no direct training from Blue.

Blue had urged her to budge on this. She could see Sasha’s potential as clear as day. Pilar, however, was absolutely firm that Sasha should never need to fight.

“Whatever floats your boat, kid. You know she’ll hear the fuckin’ call too, eventually,” Blue said, “doesn’t have to be fighting. You just let me know when that happens. I’ll see to it she becomes who she’s supposed to be.”

“She’s supposed to be nine years old,” Pilar said, starting to tape her hands up for a sparring session. “Focus on me.”

“Hey dumbass,” Blue replied, “you’re supposed to be thirteen. Ever tried it? Kiss a girl, sneak into an R-Rated movie, write some Val Deimos fanfic.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Pilar said. “I have something else I’m supposed to do.”

“You wanna know something about the call?” Blue asked. “No bullshit, no jokes, just the straight dick? You gotta be true to it, but it doesn’t gotta be all you are. I’ll help you pursue your calling, but it can’t be all business. You still got a childhood. Use it.”

Pilar finished taping her hands. “Just… show me how to keep her safe. That’s what I’m good for and that’s what I’ll do.”

This rubbed Blue the wrong way.

“Fuck it,” Blue said, “sparring session cancelled.”

“ What?! ”

“We’re doin’ something else today, you thick-skulled little brat,” Blue said, “why am I bothering teachin’ you to fight? You’ve heard the call. All you gotta do is listen to it and you’ll make it through any fight. Clearly you know what’s best, so why not give you your final exam now?”

“Final exam…?”

“You and me, one on one, for keeps,” Blue said. “I’m goddamn invincible. You beat me, you can beat anybody.”

“I’m not ready for–”

“Tough tits,” Blue said. “Somebody comes for that little sister of yours, you think they’re gonna wait until you’re fuckin’ ready? Tell you what. You live, you’re good enough to take care of your sister. You die, I take on the responsibility myself.”

Something deep in Pilar’s bones told her this was wrong. She was meant to be Sasha’s protector, and Ariadne’s. To leave their safety to somebody else would be tantamount to betraying the very essence of her being.

“Look, I get it,” Pilar said, “I was being dramatic, and I’ll focus more on–”

Blue produced a throwing knife from her empty palm and flung it past Pilar’s left ear.

“ Jesus!!” Pilar yelled.

“MOVE, BITCH! GET OUT THE WAY!” Blue said, queuing up another knife. “I’m not gonna miss a fuckin’ stationary target a second time!”

Pilar started to move as quickly as she could, dodging knife after knife as they lodged in the walls of the sparring room behind her, split-seconds after her heart moved out of their path.

“ You’re insane! ” Pilar yelled.

“AM I?” Blue shrieked, and flung a volley of knives at Pilar, who was forced to bend over backwards to avoid them. “WHY?”

“ I’m just a kid! ”

“ Oh, NOW you’re just a fuckin’ kid?” Blue said, launching more knives in Pilar’s direction. “Because before, you were big miss bodyguard, talkin’ about ‘boo hoo hoo, all I’m good for is fighting.’ What happened to that? ”

“I was just–”

“It’s fuckin’ sinister is what it is!” Blue insisted. “You wanna protect your sister? You wanna protect that little fuckin’ girlfriend of yours?”

“ YES! ”

“ And you don’t think they feel the same way about you?! ” Three more knives lodged themselves in the wall in Pilar’s wake.

Pilar’s muscles were burning, her joints screaming, but every fiber of her being told her that she had to win this fight. Blue would not hold back, and if she lost, she would surely die. Ariadne and Sasha’s safety would be left in the hands of this madwoman, and neither of them could be who they needed to be.

Pilar closed her eyes and, by sound and feel alone, dodged six more knives.

“Now you’re fucking getting it!” Blue screamed. “I’m every enemy you’ll ever face, and they will kill you! Any protection you give your little fuckin’ squeeze and your kid sister is worthless if you don’t protect them from that! From losin’ you!”

On the word “you,” she launched another knife at Pilar’s head. Pilar ducked at exactly the right moment and slid between Blue’s legs, popping up behind her and throwing a blow at the back of her head.

“You ain’t doin’ them any favors talking about how you’re good-for-nothing,” Blue said, swerving aside effortlessly, catching Pilar’s hand, and flipping her over her shoulder. “Be kind to yourself, there will never be another you!”

Pilar got to her feet, and Blue produced six more throwing knives in her hand. On each word, she sent one flying through the air at Pilar’s body: “ THERE’S JUST NOBODY ELSE THAT’S YOU! ”

Pilar closed her eyes and listened to the signals of her body and spun, dodging each one expertly, but managed to grab the handle of the last projectile mid-flight, and turn its momentum back against Blue.

She opened her eyes just in time to see the blade collide with Blue’s forehead. It bounced off and clattered to the floor.

“ JESUS CHRIST AND HIS GODDAMNED VIRGIN MAMA!” Blue yelled, grinning widely and beginning to laugh with genuine pride and joy in her voice. “Honey, you did it! ”

“ What the fuck?! ” Pilar asked, barely able to catch her breath.

“You actually got the jump on me, and you killed me!” Blue laughed.

Pilar looked at the ground, at one of the knives embedded in the ground. And then she noticed: hundreds of notches, all around the floor and walls, each one exactly the size of the tip of the throwing knives. Precisely the size they would need to be for a blunt knife to stick in the wall without needing to be sharp.

Pilar picked one up. Rubber knives. They might have left a bruise if any of them had hit her, but nothing worse than she might’ve gotten in a regular sparring session.

“You tricked me,” Pilar said, “I was in no danger.”

“No, I lied to you,” Blue replied.

“If one of these had hit me, the game would’ve been up,” Pilar said. “How would you have made your point then?”

“You really still don’t get it, do you, shit-for-brains?” Blue smiled. “I’m only doing this because I see you brats as you really are. I know that when push comes to shove, each of you will do the goddamned impossible. That’s the essence of what it means to be– well, people like you and me.”

“You bet on me passing the test,” Pilar said. “You were sure none of these things would hit me.”

“I didn’t even have to fake it,” Blue explained, “I’m fuckin’ glad we’re on the same side. You’d be really fucking annoying as an enemy.”

“How did you know?”

“In the parking garage,” Blue said, “I threatened that little girlfriend of yours with a machete. You stood up to me, a lunatic twice your size and much better at fighting, with a pocketknife. I saw you, really saw you, there and then, and I thought ‘imagine what that kind of bravery would lead to, with my skills.’”

“I think I’m starting to get you, Blue,” Pilar said.

“You starting to get that you’re fucking good for something other than fighting?” Blue asked. “Getting that through that thick fucking skull of yours? You got people who give a shit about you. Not everybody’s so fucking lucky. I’ve met people who are only good for fighting. You know what I do with them?”

Pilar looked at her expectantly.

“I fight them,” Blue said. “Guess how many of them lived. If I didn’t see somethin’ good in you other than your fists, you wouldn’t be standing here wondering about it.”

“You know,” Pilar pointed out, “when you ignore how you say things, you’re actually pretty nice.”

“Don’t go fuckin’ telling people, I got a rep to maintain,” Blue said, “and I won’t hesitate to whoop your narrow behind if you screw that up for me.”

The door slid open, and a haggard, disheveled Ariadne poured through, covered in engine grease, it with a pipe in one hand and some sort of makeshift device in the other. Twenty minutes ago, Blue had administered her final exam. She’d locked her in a sealed room with no technology except a security camera to monitor the test and a speaker to deliver the instructions. Blue told her, through the speaker, that she had 20 minutes to escape before she killed Pilar. Blue, to the best of her knowledge, had not left any means of escape, but her calling told her she was doing what she needed to do to help Ariadne become who she needed to be.

“Where are… you two are…” Ariadne asked. “You’re okay?!”

Blue smiled, and looked at the device in her hands, clearly cobbled together from the electronics in the security camera and speaker. Ariadne had found a way.

“I was never in any danger,” Pilar assured her, “and neither were you.”

“I always knew you had it in you,” Blue said, “Just had to find the key to letting it out. Turns out, the both of youse really give a shit about living long enough to save one another.”

Ariadne looked at Pilar. Everything Blue said was true. She had run from her family on impulse, after finding out her parents’ true nature, but she’d been completely directionless, living just for survival, ever since, right up until she met Pilar. Something about her just made the whole world make sense. Pilar and Sasha were her family now, and there was no height she wouldn’t climb to if it meant keeping them safe.

“ Whoever you two fuckin’ idiots are supposed to be,” she said, “you’re supposed to be those people together .”

2624

“The hell kind of wedding present is this?!” Spacebreather asked. “A handwritten book on how to satisfy a woman?!”

“ Right? You’ve never needed a handbook before, ” Ariadne said. “Which is impressive, you know. Since you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

“I’m almost afraid to open this other one,” Pilar said, “look at the size and shape of this thing. Who knows what’s in there?”

“It… doesn’t bode well,” Ariadne said, surveying the box. It was a black box, about eleven inches long, and two square inches thick, tied in a soft blue ribbon.

“You don’t think it’s a…” Pilar hesitated, “…marital aid, do you?”

“I know for a fact the gift shop at her nightclub sells replicas of her own–”

“Okay, like… that does feel like classic Blue, and it’s not like I wouldn’t have bought you one if I’d known about them,” Pilar laughed, “but we can agree that it’s weird if she sent us one, right?”

“Look, I love that woman almost as much as I hate her,” Ariadne said, “but if she sent us a replica of her own dick, I give you my permission to beat her to death with it.”

“Baltimore and Beam got us a new console for the war room,” Pilar said, “Flax got me a new set of knives, and got you a bunch of broken machines to put back together. Why can’t Blue be more like them?”

“Okay, look, we don’t know it’s a marital aid,” Ariadne said, “let’s not get mad at her for something she technically hasn’t done yet.”

“ You open it, I’m terrified,” Pilar said.

“Okay, but if it’s not a marital aid,” Ariadne said, “you know it’ll probably be something way worse.”

“You gotta open it, mi amor,” Pilar said, “this is the most stressed I’ve ever been.”

“Okay, okay,” Ariadne said, pulling the ribbon off and opening the lid, revealing a small envelope on top of a blue silk handkerchief. “Oh! There’s cards! One for me and one for you!”

Ariadne handed the envelope labeled “Pilar” to her new bride, and opened her own.

“‘This is the root of all evil,’” she read aloud, “‘put it towards something good.’ Huh. Weird.”

She pulled the handkerchief aside and saw two stacks of Martian bills, and Ariadne knew better than to question where Blue had gotten it.

“Oh my god,” she said, “there must be millions in here. What’s your note say?”

Pilar looked at it in awe, just stunned, at a loss for words.

“It says ‘get your mind out of the gutter, pervert. More than one thing is shaped like that. If you want one of my marital aids, you can buy one like everybody else.’” Pilar started to laugh. “I hate when she’s right. She’s annoying when she’s right. Why is she always right?!”

“Well,” Ariadne said, throwing a handful of bills at Pilar, “you heard the woman! We’re married now, go get me a damn marital aid!”

“We spent too much time with her,” Pilar laughed. “She really rubbed off on us.”

“I’m glad she didn’t hear you say that,” Ariadne said. “‘Rubbed off on us?!’ She would’ve pounced on that slip of the tongue.”

“‘Slip of the tongue?’” Pilar laughed. “You’re not doing much better.”

“I’ll never get her,” Ariadne said. “She swings a machete at my head, I punch her in the nuts, and she… personally handles our education, for free, helps us steal enough medical supplies to train Sasha, for free, helps us build our home, for free, and then sends us a few mil on our wedding night. What does she get out of all this?”

“I get it,” Pilar said. “She always used to tell me, ‘I’ll take the money, but I don’t do it for the fuckin’ money. Money is a sick muse.’ The money is just a means to an end for her. It’s her… calling.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in all that calling stuff now too,” Ariadne said.

“I know you felt it too,” Pilar replied. “I’m sure you’ll deny it until the day you die, but we both felt it. Together. And every time we’ve dug into it, we’ve hit gold.”

Ariadne couldn’t convincingly protest, so she didn’t.

“ Really annoying,” Ariadne said, “when she’s right.”

“ That’s why she did this,” Pilar said, “somewhere in that… deranged, unhinged mind of hers, she actually believes in our cause. She does all this for us because the things we do… serve her calling as much as they serve ours .”

Ariadne nodded solemnly, then said, “have we considered the possibility that she’s just bugfuck nuts and does whatever she wants at all times, and there’s no rhyme or reason to it beyond that?”

Pilar considered this and nodded back. “I don’t see why both things can’t be true.”

2627

“–and the only person in the universe good enough to stop me is fighting by my side. The only difference now is that you know I’m real, that I’m watching, and most importantly, you know what I’m capable of if I find out you’ve laid a hand on a child. Bye now!”

Blue was fit to burst with pride, watching the flickering hologram of the woman Ariadne had grown into. She’d helped shape these girls and couldn’t help but feel some responsibility for the change they were about to bring into the system.

It was her first time back on the Oort hypersphere in over 100 years. She looked around the room and saw several familiar faces, including at least one other person who she wouldn’t have expected to see back here in her lifetime.

“You are fools,” her father growled from behind her. “You have no idea what you’ve set in motion.”

“Relax, daddy,” Blue replied, “I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing.”

“And what, exactly, is that?” He asked.

“What you taught me,” she said rather calmly. “When I was a girl, you told me I was meant for greatness. That I had big shit to do, and that the worst fuckin’ thing I could do is deny my calling.”

“She’s a good kid, Manny,” La Pesadilla said, coughing out a cloud of smoke. She was flanked by her usual companions, an old black woman wearing a sweater knitted to resemble a galaxy, and a harsh-looking white woman in a white tank-top with close-cropped gray hair. “That little wife ‘a hers too. Annoying as hell, but but good heads on them shoulders.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” her father replied, “and it’s not about how smart they are. Their affairs are not ours. I was against it nine years ago when you told me you were teaching them our ways. I was against it four years ago when your lola started feeding them information on where to strike. Your meddling is going to leave the sun-seers spheres of influence disrupted beyond repair.”

“Pardon me,” La Pesadilla said, somehow feigning a sarcastic curtsy without leaving her chair, “Manuel Ezekiel Paolo Hocson-Guira. God, don’t know what my daughter sees in you.”

The beautiful woman in the sleek black dress sitting next to him, with ice-blue hair and long, pointed black fingernails, scoffed. She’d long since realized that arguing with her mother’s taunts was a fool’s errand. Her husband knew she loved him. She knew he was worthy of her love. He called her his Queen, and that was the only name she needed. Who cared what that bitter old jackal thought of him?

“Disrupted beyond repair is what I’m goin’ for, daddy,” Blue explained. “I’ve been living in the goddamned cesspit the sun-seers call a solar system for over three hundred years. They’re everything you said they were, centuries ago. Hateful. Violent. Cruel. And they live in a system that rewards that sort of behavior. And you were there when I heard my calling. To–”

Manuel sighed. “–to return the cruelty of the hateful back on their heads tenfold. I remember.”

“The sun-seers think our daughter insane,” Queen said, her voice dripping with elegance. “She is regarded as a lunatic. A terrorist. They hate her for killing bigots, rapists, and murderers.”

“In fairness to them,” La Pesadilla said, “she don’t tell anybody that’s who she’s killin’. With our eyes, we see people in ways the sun-seers can’t. Far as they can tell, she’s just… walkin' down the street, killin’ random people.”

La Pesadilla had a point. Blue didn't bother to justify herself to anyone when she delivered her pointed brand of justice — certainly not to law enforcement. She frequently committed murder in broad daylight, in front of dozens of witnesses , because she could see who in any given crowd was a wife beater, or a child molester, or a white supremacist, or any number of other things that sent her into a righteous homicidal rage. She didn't explain why she did what she did because she didn't care whether people thought the worst of her. She didn't worry about possible legal consequences, since the modifications she'd made to her body— including biological, cybernetic, and even magical—made it almost impossible for any agent of human law enforcement to arrest her, kill her, or track her down. Her bases of operations on each planet— usually food and drink establishments she owned— were all fully protected against anyone who wished her ill. Anybody who wanted to arrest her could search the block the restaurant was on for a thousand years and never find it.

Because of this, over the past 300 years, women fitting her description were wanted on hundreds of counts of murder on every populated planet and moon in the system. Of course, no such woman had ever been tracked down, and no law enforcement agency worth their salt would consider “what if all these crimes were committed by one nigh-immortal woman, and the reason nobody's ever been able to apprehend her is that she moves fast enough to dodge bullets and is durable enough to catch them with her bare hands” to be a more viable explanation than “sometimes murders are committed by blue-haired women, regardless of location or time period.”

Nonetheless, Queen was not amused by La Pesadilla's defense of the sun-seers' condemnation of her daughter. “They see her as she appears,” Queen retorted, “ not as she is. If they knew why she did what she did— ”

“Mami, enough,” Blue pressed, “I don't do any of this for a pat on the back. Not my job to save every fuckin' idiot upset about my methods from bein' wrong about my motives.”

“It’s one of her best qualities,” said Father Y, the mad preacher, from his end of the table. “She doesn’t care if people love her for the good she does, or even if they know she’s doing good. She sees something that needs doing, she does it.”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ support, Y,” Blue snapped. “Besides, they’re right. I am a lunatic, and a terrorist.”

Blue had a point as well. After all, she was also wanted on hundreds of counts of theft and property damage, and had no hidden motives for those crimes. The charges of theft were because she frequently went shopping, especially at high-end department stores, and yet had never, in her 300 years, paid for a single article of clothing. The charges of property damage were because she enjoyed smashing things and setting fires, and frequently got bored. At the very least, she tried her best to not smash or burn anything unless its owner was either “irritating to her,” “a large corporation,” or “played music out loud on public transit,” all of which she considered crimes deserving of a hell of a lot worse than having their stuff smashed or set on fire. She made no apologies for these things either — she wanted things for free and she loved smashing stuff. Anybody who had a problem with that, she wished the best of luck in stopping her.

“It’s not surprising you two would side with her,” Manuel replied. “You, La Pesadilla, who meddles to your hearts’ content, and you, Mad Preacher, who’ll give away any of our secrets for money.”

“ Hey now,” Father Y laughed, “I don’t deal in anything so cheap and tawdry as money. ”

“As far as I’m concerned, this should be a tribunal for your head,” Queen snapped. “It’s a matter of public record that Dr. Simon came to you for help prolonging his life.”

“And I gave him sun-seer tech to do so,” Father Y said. “I’ve collected my debt. Got a few hundred souls out of him.”

“ What the fuck are you talking about, Y?” La Pesadilla asked. “Sun-seer tech. Peh! You claimed the soul of an insane cyberneticist 15 years ago, and you gave Simon the tech you took from her– based on our shit, that you sold her.”

“ Semantics,” Father Y said. “Stoker knew her shit. I just gave her a little inspiration. I didn't make the damn thing kill her. ”

“All of this is a goddamned moot point!” Blue shouted. “Who gives a shit whether Father Y or Lola or any of us interferes in the sun-seers’ affairs? Lola blackmails a politician, Father Y sells some shady shit to some cult leader. Yeah, they’re pieces of shit! Maybe I am too! But it’s what I had to do! I was called–”

“–The calling is not an excuse to act without considering the consequences of your actions!” Manuel shot back. “You have set a fire in a world that is not your own! This goes well beyond murdering a few klansmen in rural Appalachia, or butchering every man you meet who beats his wife!”

“ Look at her! ” Blue shouted back. “Daddy, look at this girl and tell me you don’t see what I see.”

“She’s…”

“ What?” Blue asked. “ What the fuck is she!”

“She is… one of us.” Queen replied.

“She is not one of us,” Manuel explained. “She was born of Earth. She’s never set foot in the Oort cloud.”

“She heard the calling,” Blue replied. “She’s one of us. I know you can see her, daddy.”

“I see a girl who–”

Blue, the master of colorful language, uttered the most cutting insult an Oort could possibly hear.

“ Daddy, you lie to yourself.”

Manuel gasped.

“She’s right,” Queen said. “Beloved, it’s plain as day. This girl, born of Earth, is an Oort.”

“Her wife, too,” Blue explained. “And that little sister. Her little girlfriend. In fact, just about every member of their crew is.”

“How?” Manuel asked. “How can that be? She has no Oort ancestry! Her DNA is unchanged, exclusively human! She doesn’t use magic–”

“Not for lack of trying,” Blue added, “I must’ve told her to try it a thousand times.”

“– If this girl can be one of us, what does that mean for us?” Manuel challenged Blue. “What does it mean for them?”

“The Oort were born of Earth, originally,” Blue explained as calmly as she could. “You told me yourself that we existed long before space travel.”

“ I existed before space travel,” La Pesadilla added.

“And what did I tell you, all those hundreds of years ago?” Blue asked.

Manuel thought back to that day. “That all were meant for greatness,” he said. “That the difference between us and them is that we have the resources to follow our calling. And you wondered what the Sun-seers could become, if they had our gifts.”

Blue smiled. “Daddy, I love you,” she said, “but sometimes you’re thick as shit. Don’t you see what I’ve done? I haven’t shared any goddamn Oort technology or knowledge with them.”

“ Impossible,” Manuel replied. “Look at her! Look what she’s built . The space station, the biomechanical cyborganics she used to revive the dead cultists–”

“All her,” Blue replied. “Every last fuckin’ bit. She finds what’s broken and she fixes it. Little goddamn twerp’s got more brains than a zombie buffet. It’d be annoying if it weren’t so damn useful.”

“You’re telling me,” Manuel said, incredulous, “that this Deathsbane’s regenerative serum is not based on Oort science? It took us over a hundred years to develop healing like that.”

“ I was already an old woman,” La Pesadilla chimed in. “Fat lot of good it did me, now I get to be an old woman forever. ”

“Deathsbane is the greatest goddamn medical mind in human history,” Blue replied. “I didn’t tell her how to do shit. I helped her family steal some outdated medical textbooks and… found her a few unlucky cadavers to study. She did the rest on her own.”

“That can’t be,” Manuel replied, “what exactly did you do for them, if they truly are using no Oort science?”

“You’re not listening, Beloved,” Queen explained. “They are using Oort science. It’s just their own creation.”

“I taught them to follow their calling, that’s all,” Blue said. “Saw to it they wouldn’t run into brick walls chasin’ who they were supposed to be.”

Queen smiled. “She uninhibited them,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Princess?”

“ I’ll admit to some magical protection in the first few days. Sue me, I’m a fuckin’ softie. But truth is, they didn’t really need it, so I stopped pretty quick. They figured their shit out on their own. Most people do, when they’re actually allowed to .” Blue explained. “Guided ‘em around a few obstacles, eventually taught them well enough to climb over ‘em themselves. All I did was give them permission to step over the self-imposed illusion of human limitation.”

“And the crew?” Manuel said, quite a bit worried at the implications of these revelations. “You said they were all uninhibited too. Your hand was not in that?”

“All fuckin’ her. I ain’t even met most of those brats.”

“ You’d be surprised,” Father Y offered up, “how much like us a Sun-seer becomes when you give ‘em a clear path between who they are and who they’re supposed to be. Been bangin’ this drum for centuries. The sun-seers, they’re just us .”

“I fuckin’ hate when we’re on the same side,” Blue spat back. “Annoying as he is, he’s right. And that’s what I’m trying to do with them. See, I see the world as it is. Dirty. Cruel. Hateful. Full of wretched, festering monsters begging for the kindness of my blade. That’s what we see.”

“Our most sacred magic,” Queen said reverently. “The ability to see things as they are, not as they appear.”

“But what my girl there sees,” Blue explained, pointing at the frozen face on the hologram, “That’s the next step. See, she don’t look at the system and just see it for the hateful thing it is. She sees deeper than that. She sees what it ought to be.”

“You’re suggesting she’s some kind of messianic figure?” Manuel scoffed, “possessing abilities we do not?”

“Fuckin’ idiot,” La Pesadilla groaned, and turned to Queen. “You know, hon, divorce is always an option, even after 500 years.”

“Not abilities,” Blue explained. “And sorry, daddy, but she’s right. You are being an idiot. ‘Course she’s not the goddamn messiah. But she, and her crew, have a perspective that most of us lack. Back when I was a kid, you showed me the ugliness of the Sun-seers’ world and I was furious that our ancestors ran. I decided to stay and do something about it. Cut the fuckin’ hate out like the cancer that it is. You were proud of me.”

“I am still proud of you,” Manuel insisted.

“ These girls… they’re like me, see,” Blue explained. “They’re facing the problems head-on instead of running. They fuckin’ took down Imperator Susan Goddamn Weaver . The Light will never command anyone again because Ariadne and her little family followed their callings. And since I taught them to find who they were supposed to be and chase it, they teach everybody they meet how to do the same.”

“Proving,” Father Y added smugly, “that there ain’t no difference between us and them. The Oort aren’t special. We’re just people. And people are just us.”

Queen smiled. She’d always liked Father Y, all the way back to when he was Brother Y.

Manuel scowled. He’d always hated Father Y, and it was immensely frustrating to him to admit when he had a point.

“The results will spiral out of control,” Manuel said. “Left unchecked, your interference… their influence, will…”

“…Create a world where everyone has the power to follow the one commandment.” Blue finished his thought for him. “This above all–”

All of those gathered replied in unison, conditioned by centuries of habit. “ To thine own self be true. ”

Manuel sighed deeply, and smiled broadly. “You take after your mother,” he said. “Stubborn and persuasive.”

Blue turned her chair around and admired the map of the solar system on the viewscreen at the back of the room. “She's out here givin' everybody a fuckin' chance. I'm out here cuttin' down anybody who wastes theirs on dishin' out hate and pain. How's that add up? All the survivors, livin’ their truest self,” she said. “Could mean they all die. Could mean a new age of enlightenment. Could mean… some shit we couldn’t see coming in a thousand years. Ain’t it fuckin’ beautiful? ”

“ It doesn’t matter,” Manuel said, realizing the truth behind his daughter’s words. “It’s done. ”

2632

Blue left her lover sleeping blissfully in the afterglow of their recent marathon session. She pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and slapped on her “around-the-house” pasties, and made her way through the space station she’d been kindly invited to stay on for the weekend following the recent celebration, eventually stumbling into the kitchen.

She grabbed a bottle of red wine off the wall, pulled the cork out with her teeth, and began to drink directly from it.

“Cookie?” She called through the kitchen. No response. “Guess I need to do everything myself.”

She began to rifle through the cabinets looking for a midnight snack. She took another swig of Cabernet, polished off the bottle, and found a significant amount of sliced fresh mozzarella in the fridge. She reached for it, and felt a pulse in her cybernetic implants. A light in the center of her hand blinked. She pressed it, and her eyes projected the image of her father in front of her.

“Hey daddy,” she said, “how’d mami’s meeting go?”

Manuel was at a loss for words. How could he put into words how it felt to watch his wife meet with the Chief Magistrate of Mars, and three of the Sovereigns of Earth? The Primarch of Calisto? To have actual, open diplomatic relations with the Sun-seers? To offer the sun-seers a portion of the Oort's food yield to help feed their hungry? This sort of risk would’ve been unthinkable to him even two years previously. How could he put into words what the actions of his daughter’s proteges made him feel? How could he express the depths of his pride, at the world she'd had a hand in creating, without her even asking them to see her as she was, rather than as she appeared?

He tried his best, and came up with seven of the most powerful words any father could possibly say to their child:

“You were right,” he said, “and I was wrong.”

Blue smiled. “I love you, daddy,” she said, “but all I did was fuckin’ pay it forward. You and mami taught me to find myself. I just copied what you did, and these girls…”

Manuel smiled. “Changed the world?” He asked. “Took what you taught them, ran with it in ways that amazed you, impressed you, and surpassed you? Made you proud? I guess you finally know how your mother and I feel. Thank you, for being so… you.”

She grinned broadly, and popped a piece of fresh mozzarella in her mouth.

“Thank you for teachin’ me how,” she said. “Think I could’ve been this fuckin’ fabulous otherwise?”

She said goodnight to her father and took enough of the fresh Mozzarella into a small bowl to bring back to her lover. She produced a lit cigarette from her empty hand and took a puff from it. Nasty habit, she thought, I’d quit if I could fuckin’ get sick.

She looked around at the station around her. This whole station, everything it stood for, and everything its crew had accomplished was all because one day, fourteen years earlier, she’d seen herself in a couple street urchins and decided to take part in an act of creation, instead of engaging in her usual destructive impulses.

“Heh, gotta start listenin’ to my own fuckin' advice,” she said, “maybe I am good for something.”

#short story #writers on tumblr #scifi

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