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child-of-the-cataclysm · 11 months

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Chapter Twenty-One: Bemric

The land around Bemric was lush. Our slice of the Shattered Kingdoms was almost entirely forested, with little variation in overall ecology, but Bemric, which sat very near to the ravine separating us from one of our neighbours, ranged into a jungle. I’d been there once or twice during my time with the old Hand, but even still, the massive trees and thick foliage were intimidating. In parts of the land, the boughs of the trees were so wide and so thick that even in the sharpest noontime sun, the ground below remained dark.

Animals in this area were accordingly a bit strange, by the standards of the rest of our slice. Some were over-large, others small and unassuming. Yet others were differently-coloured variations of the same creatures, or variants with slight changes to small details of their overall biology - larger paws, different-shaped ears, the works. Many of them were dangerous - often even more so than the animals found outside the jungle - but between the darkness of the jungle and the animals working to keep out most Crown patrols, it made for a good place to meet up.

Bemric itself was small, nestled into a clutch of the massive jungle trees which had evidently been intentionally grown into a thick wall, likely by some nature-bound sorcerer. Magic could have gotten the job done, but in the time since establishing a small medical base here none of us had encountered a mage of the skill that would have been required to do so. We hadn’t encountered a sorcerer either, but given that sorcery would have done the job easier, it remained my assumption, at least until I saw evidence to the contrary.

The town was built from the same wood that surrounded it, for the most part. A mine had been cut into the stone beneath the town, bringing up stone to use as foundations for those houses which were actually on the ground, but evidently at some point that had become largely unnecessary, and the mine had been sealed up - the space on the ground within the bounds of the clutch of trees which marked out Bemric was nearly all taken up. The town had instead moved upwards, building new houses into the branches of the trees, with dangling walkways crisscrossing between them.

It was remarkable, and reminded me very much of the stories of elves I’d found in books along my travels with the old Hand. The only thing which harmed that image was at the centre of Bemric. There stood a sawmill, effectively proving that these people, like any other in the Crownlands, were less ‘in harmony with nature’ and more ‘bending nature to their needs.’

I could hardly judge, of course. In those old books, it was never quite clear how the elves managed to make their homes in nature out of the stuff of nature, yet somehow without harming nature to do so. It was presumed to be some sort of magic, I suppose. Those old books loved to pretend that magic could do things it couldn’t, or functioned in totally alien ways to actual magic. Sometimes it felt as if they were written in a society where magic didn’t exist, and that we had appended the word to magic after its discovery, where once it had been a fictional concept.

That was, of course, ridiculous.

Bemric was bustling with activity when I arrived. I had left Sadie’s home with the answers I needed. As much as I would have liked to stay with her and discover as much of the story of endlings and the Children, or even to ask her how she had found her spirit of darkness, there was work to be done and a war to wage.

The activity of the town was infectious, and despite the fact that we were meant to meet outside Bemric, I found myself swept up into the village the moment that someone noticed me watching and invited me to join in. There was some sort of festival going on. A celebration of the spirit of the jungle and its continued protection of the village, I learned as I joined in.

There was little to do in terms of work, as the elders of Bemric seemed to be attending to all the preparation, allowing the younger generations to simply enjoy the celebration. Before long, a small family had marked me as a parentless adolescent and rolled me up into their number, bringing me from event to event as if I were one of their own - even with my silver eyes, it seemed, here in Bemric I was just another child.

After entirely too much festival food, a log-splitting contest, a three-legged race, a small singing competition, and innumerable other little events which split the difference between competition and simple enjoyment, I finally slipped away from the family, thanking them with genuine gratefulness for my time with them. I was here earlier than had strictly been the plan, but as the palm of the Silver Hand, I needed to get to my business here.

Our medical base in Bemric was tucked in-between two of the massive trees, technically just outside of Bemric proper. The trunk of one of the trees nearly hid it from view when looking about from the outskirts of Bemric, and fully obscured it if one was deeper into the town. Thanks to its place up in the boughs, however, a simple hanging wooden bridge gave away its position. Fortunately, even with its position given away, it looked for all the world like just another house - at least, it would if it weren’t for the two Hand members sitting on the porch, trying desperately to look as if they were relaxing despite obviously being on guard.

I sighed to myself as I approached, straightening to make myself look as large as possible and widening my eyes enough that the silver would be utterly obvious to any who looked at me. As I drew close, the guards sat up straighter - then leapt to attention as soon as they saw my eyes. Shaking my head, I waved them down. “Relax, soldiers. And bring out a book or something, the two of you look halfway to downright blatant out here.”

Sheepishly, the two nodded, and one of them followed me into the building, slipping past me to the stairs leading up to the bunks. Our medical base here was simple in layout. Immediately on entering, I was in a small room which looked for all the world like a simple entrance hall to a normal home. A rack for coats, several shoes and scattered boots beneath looked almost convincing, if one ignored the dust atop the shoes. The table and cushioned seat beside it, thankfully, looked as if they saw regular use, as did the bookshelf beside it - although the bookshelf did seem to be stocked mostly with medical texts, which somewhat defeated the intent.

Past the entrance hall, the nature of the place became quickly evident, as most of the first floor was given to something approaching a proper hospital. White cots lined the walls, with patients in several. A few members of the Hand moved about the place, most wearing easily-cleaned clothing and carrying small toolbelts which housed the tools of the doctoring trade. There was a kitchen off to one side through a doorway, as well as a toilet room, but other than that, the first floor was almost entirely a simple medical space.

There were no windows. Initially, we had argued about whether or not to install them so as to make the place look more like a real house, but it was decided that the risk of someone being able to tell what the place was from the outside would become a problem if the Crown’s taxmen came by - or if one of the villagers was unsympathetic to our cause. Instead of natural light, then, our hospital was lit by clean magical torches, of the sort that could be hung from the ceiling and toggled on and off. They weren’t the most efficient, and at times I remembered the strange lights which the Crown had in the king’s hall with envy, but they did the job.

Of course, my arrival was unexpected. We weren’t to meet for another few days, and even if we had been meant to meet now, we were planning to do so outside the village. As such, it took a few minutes for the medics to truly notice my presence, as wrapped up in the care for our wounded as they were. I might have been upset, were it not such a promising sign about their care for their work.

I didn’t have much to do with them. The other core members of the Hand and I had put together the initial plan for this place, but it ran fairly self-sufficiently. The permanent guards assigned to the building even worked to bring in all the supplies they needed when they weren’t on guard shifts, leaving the place almost never needing the intervention of the main body of the Hand. Nevertheless, I walked through the place with the head medic, looking things over and talking to the injured soldiers.

Just as we came to the end of the walkthrough, there was a cacophonous noise outside - loud and cracking, as if one of the trees had been broken in half.

Rushing outside, I instinctively allowed the dragonskin to slip over my hands. Without access to the Silver World, the powers of a dragon were essentially all that I still had to set me over anyone else in a fight, and a noise like that was almost certain to mean trouble.

I skidded to a stop just before the bridge which led out to the rest of Bemric, mouth dropping open as I saw the source of the noise. In the centre of the town, ripping through the roof of the sawmill as if it had erupted from inside of it stood a new tree, even larger than the already massive trees which surrounded Bemric. It towered over everything, impossibly large, with branches spreading and weaving their way through the buildings which rested in the boughs of the other trees.

What the splintering hell was going on?

(~)

I made my way down a set of wooden stairs which had been carefully built into the side of the trees along Bemric’s outskirts, wrapped in a cloak I borrowed from one of the medics. It was a bit big for me, being made for an adult, but it served its purpose well enough. Carefully, I slipped into the growing crowd outside the sawmill.

Bemric had six guards which stayed in the town permanently, assigned by the Crown to keep the place safe from the creatures of the forest, as well as to guide any trade caravans which had to pass through Bemric. I could see four of them at the head of the crowd, holding people back from entering. The other two, I gathered from their words to the villagers, were inside, as was whoever was responsible for this massive tree.

Carefully, I pushed my way through the crowd. I wasn’t going to leap into things, so long as the guards could handle whatever was happening. With magic of this power, though… I couldn’t help but fear that whoever was in the mill with the other two guards was going to be significantly more than these backwater guards could handle.

From near the front of the crowd, I could hear the conflict within - raised voices were arguing, insisting that something was here, and that they wouldn’t allow it to stay hidden. Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine.

I knew that voice.

Quickly, I backed away, hiding myself behind the front row of the crowd just as Morati emerged, slamming open the door to the sawmill. He was every bit as terribly beautiful as I remembered, even clad in the crimson colours of the Bloody Hand and with his face warped in fury. Indeed, with the utter rage which emanated from him, his beauty seemed, if anything, enhanced to the point that it became difficult to look at him, as if he were one of the mythical demons of the underworld, made beautiful only to tempt humanity into evil.

I wrapped the cloak around me tighter, shrinking back slowly so as not to attract attention. Morati stopped on the platform in front of the sawmill, four members of the Bloody Hand gathering behind him in intimidating fashion as he gathered himself to say something. Finally, voice terrible and loud, he spoke. “The Kadien Empire has received word that the rebel Silver Hand operates out of this… Village,” he said, sneering as he uttered the last word. “If they are not turned over to us, this new tree will be the least of your concerns.”

Splinters.

(~)

I wanted to run off to our headquarters here and evacuate as much as we could, but if someone from the crowd left after that, Morati would certainly be suspicious enough to at least have one of his Bloody Hand follow. Times like these, I felt the loss of the silver world more than ever.

Instead, I would have to wait for the crowd as a whole to start to disperse and blend in. Of course, waiting until then would mean that we would have less time to evacuate, but it was certainly better than practically inviting Morati and his soldiers to burn our hospital down with us inside.

Wait.

Splinters. My mind, flailing for a worthwhile plan, finally latched onto something. It was hardly a good plan, but it had a solid chance of letting the medics and soldiers escape, and that made it worthwhile.

Sighing internally, I let the dragonskin slip into place over my hands, safely obscured beneath my cloak - for the moment. With a brief tutelage from Sadie, I had learnt some small tricks for utilising my draconic power - they were hardly well-honed, with how short our time together had been, but if I was going to get out of this alive, I’d probably need them.

I focused on the dragonskin, feeling its presence overwriting my own flesh bit by bit as it crept into place along my arms. In my mind, it was cool and smooth, feeling almost like a polished gemstone in comparison to the rough warmth of my own skin. Carefully, I drew the dragonflesh deeper, entreating it to seep past my skin, into my muscles.

As I worked, I felt the flesh on my forehead begin to split, a new eye working its way into place. There was no going back now. I locked eyes with someone near to me in the crowd - the young son of the family that had brought me through the festival. Sadly, I watched his face turn from recognition to terror as the blue-black skin and third eye registered to him.

In a flash, his terror began to spread through the crowd. Taking a deep breath, I shrugged off the cloak, letting the amethyst flames of a dragon gather around my fingertips. Turning, I locked eyes with Morati.

His face was a mask of rage, full lips drawn back and pale to bare his teeth in a grimace of pure fury. His eyes, still beautiful beyond any I had seen elsewhere, glared daggers into my own. Morati nearly choked on his anger at the sight of me, and the Bloody Hand reacted much as the Silver Hand once would have, leaping to attack the one who had provoked their leader so.

The crowd scattered immediately. Between the fear which had spread upon seeing my appearance and the attacking Bloody Hand, it was obvious that staying in place would be dangerous for them. I was sorry for starting this in the middle of the crowd, especially after the wonderful experience that had been the festival, but I had little choice if I wanted the best possible outcome for my men.

Gathering the dragonflesh deep into myself until it reached my lungs, I drew in a breath and let out the shrill, trilling scream of a dragon. The charging Bloody Hand stopped in their tracks as if punched in the stomach, the expressions on their faces midway between terror and pain.

I knew from experience that the roar would be more than loud enough to be heard back at the headquarters. At least one of the soldiers there would be certain to recognise it and know to see what was happening. Once they did, they would certainly begin getting the sick and wounded out of there.

That left the problem of dealing with the Bloody Hand for at least long enough to let my men escape to me.

#CotC

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childofthecataclysm · 1 year

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Chapter Twenty-One: Bemric

That was, of course, ridiculous.

Just as we came to the end of the walkthrough, there was a cacophonous noise outside - loud and cracking, as if one of the trees had been broken in half.

What the splintering hell was going on?

(~)

I knew that voice.

Splinters.

(~)

Wait.

Sighing internally, I let the dragonskin slip into place over my hands, safely obscured beneath my cloak - for the moment. With a brief tutelage from Sadie, I had learnt some small tricks for utilising my draconic power - they were hardly well-honed, with how brief our time together had been, but if I was going to get out of this alive, I’d probably need them.

That left the problem of dealing with the Bloody Hand for at least long enough to let my men escape to me.

#CotC

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cl-01-kestis · 3 years

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Visions of the Past

Dismay - Grand Admiral Thrawn x Rebel!Reader | Part 3

Summary: As you spend your time hiding on Yavin, Thrawn is getting more and more anxious about finding you and delves deep into his past.

Warnings: slight tension, loads of angst

Throughout the past few days back on Yavin, you’ve spent them teaching Omani about your past and all about her father. She’s grown accustomed surprisingly fast to the fact that one of the main Imperial leaders is her father, in all honesty she’s more glad she finally knows who he is instead of waiting in the dark like she had for the past 14 years.

You showed her pictures, videos, voice recordings, and even let her in on some of your old diary entries. The two of you would gossip in big amounts about different people you used to despise at the Empire, you also filled her in about Kallus and the friendship you had with him before you escaped. She was intrigued about him and sometimes went to him to speak about your past as an Imperial, and sometimes even her father, considering Kallus instantly knew just by looking at her. He wasn’t scared to talk to her, Thrawn didn’t even know she existed, but she reminded him awfully of Thrawn.

But recently, things were strange. With your wanted poster all over the holo net, you were stuck on Yavin 4 and had no where to go considering practically everyone besides the rebels wanted you. You had a 50,000 credit score on your head, so you couldn’t risk even so much as stepping foot outside of the rebel base. These were the times when you wished Ahsoka were here, she would be able to guide and protect you.

“What’s on the agenda today?” You asked, a cup of Caf in your hand as you approached the large holo table which Kallus was standing at. It was 4 in the morning, everyone was asleep apart from you, Kallus and a few navigation operators. Kallus was out of his old Imperial uniform, replaced with a light brown T-shirt and a Khaki jacket. His hair was free from the usual gel he always used back at the academy and it was now hanging naturally. He looked awfully handsome, you hated admitting it.

“Some rebel fleets arriving today... more patients for the medic ward... and that’s it I think” Kallus read from his data pad, his voice strangely positive as he yawned softly and looked at you from across the table. He smiled kindly, tilting his head to the side as you closed your eyes and swayed around in your spot, completely exhausted.

“Bad sleep?” Kallus teased, causing you to open your eyes with a jolt and purse your lips.

“You could say that. I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m still raising a 3 year old” You pinched the bridge of your nose and chuckled before knocking back another sip of the warm Caf in your cardboard cup. Kallus chuffed at your remark, crossing his arms and yawning once again before rolling his shoulders and looking at the holo images on the table.

“So... she is definitely Thrawn’s” Kallus didn’t know whether that was a question or statement, but either way you nodded and suddenly the sleep and exhaustion was stripped from you.

“Definitely his, he’s the only guy I’ve ever... you know” You tried not to make things awkward, but it was already looking that way as you rubbed the back of your neck and avoided eye contact with Kallus. The ex Imperial stayed silent for a moment, face flushing at your words but he cleared his throat abruptly and blinked a few times.

“Fair point,” Kallus tapped a few buttons on the holo table panel and brought up an image of an Imperial base somewhere, studying it intensely whereas you still sipped at your hot Caf.

“What have you been up to all these years?” Kallus continued, looking up from the image and smiling slightly when you paused sipping on your Caf and wiped the corner of your lip when a drip trickled down.

“Honestly, just taking care of Omani most of the time. Sometimes I’m allowed to go on a mission here and there but the rebels think my duty in the rebellion is to be a mother” You sigh, swishing the Caf around in the cup and staring blankly at it, the green hue of the navigation maps reflecting on the surface of the dark brown liquid.

“Better than the Empire though?” Kallus asked with a smile. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Better in every way,” You and Kallus looked at one another for a brief moment with happy smiles. You felt your chest fuzz at his smile and you blinked a few times to make sure you didn’t lose focus.

“Looking back now, the Empire made me miserable, I was just getting my feelings hurt by Thrawn, over and over again...” You drifted off and suddenly the smile was long gone from your face. You were reduced to staring back at your cup but Kallus frowned when he saw how much of an influence Thrawn still had on you.

“Did he hurt you intentionally?” He asked through gritted teeth, arms folded and a glare on his eyes, but it wasn’t directed to you.

“No, not intentional. I was just always getting ahead of myself, my feelings got the better of me and I really thought he saw me as something more,” You felt your stomach flutter with the bad kind of butterflies, eyes stinging momentarily but you refused to cry. It was too early in the morning.

“I don’t want to go on about this” You sighed, rubbing your eyes with your index finger and thumb as you gripped the cardboard cup a bit tighter.

“No, please, say what you’re thinking” Kallus insisted, listening in intensely as you removed your hand and cleared your throat to stuff down the lump building up in your throat.

“Omani asked me a few days ago if he loved me or not... I didn’t exactly give her an answer” You pursed your lips out of guilt, your chest moving up and down at a fairly quick pace, Kallus took notice to it and also your tense posture. This was really bothering you.

“He’s got such an impact on you... I hate seeing you like this because you really don’t deserve this. Thrawn is a narcissistic sadist, he probably doesn’t even know Omani exists but he doesn’t let the past haunt him like it does to you... have you ever tried fighting it? Your feelings for him?” Kallus asked calmly, his voice low so no one else working could hear him. You ducked your head at his question and finally a tear left your eye. You looked up and didn’t bother wiping your eye, instead you kept your emotions bottled up inside and sniffed back more tears.

“I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried forgetting about him” Your voice was barely below a broken murmur, your breath catching in your throat a couple of times whilst bearing the pain of the fire in your chest.

“You ever tried speaking to anyone about it?” Kallus took off his jacket and wrapped it around his waist due to the humidity inside the navigation room. You admit, it was warm even at 4 in the morning and you decided to take off your cardigan for the time being, your bare arms revealed as the white vest clung to your torso.

“Not really, i opened up to Omani about it barely a few days ago, but I’m not ready to share anything else with her just yet, nevermind anyone else” You wiped away the remaining tears in your eyes before finishing off your Caf and setting the cup down on the holo table.

“Don’t you think that might be part of the issue?” Kallus raised a brow.

“You ask too many questions” You chuckled, voice still hoarse but more clear than before.

Kallus simply smiled and shook his head dismissively at your comment before tapping a few other buttons on the panel before your wanted warrant appeared on the holo table. You folded your arms and looked up at all the information the Empire had revealed about you. You needed to see what they had said about you for your own sake, you wanted to know if they really knew you or worse, if they put Thrawn in charge for the briefing.

“You’re wanted in all of the 1.5 million planets the Empire controls, not only that but they’ve raised your price,” Kallus opened up your full document and you winced at the amount of words on the panel.

“80,000 credits... in all my years working for the Empire, this is one of the highest warrants I’ve seen” Kallus looked at you with a worried face.

“At least i’m worth something” You murmured sarcastically, rolling your eyes before shuffling closer to the table to read the information about you.

‘A-CLASS COMMANDER: TK-1355’

‘Serving the Empire for 3 years, 1355 was a top ranking commander with her own squadron until she left and became part of the Rebellion. She is of great importance to the Empire, and has last been spotted on the planet Atollon by Grand Admiral Thrawn himself’

You glared at the screen, looking away from it with a frown and walked around the table and over to Kallus who tilted his head your way.

Without a word, you walked behind him and hugged his waist, chin resting on his shoulder and eyes closing over due to the stress and how tired you were. Kallus didn’t tense or push you away, he only bit back a smile and let you hold him until you felt better. Kallus was taller than you, so you had to stand on your toes in order to rest on his broad shoulder.

“You should go back to bed if you’re this tired” Kallus chuckled, cranking his head around to peek at you with his dark brown eyes, one of them was surrounded by a purple bruise. You pulled away from his shoulder with reluctance and eventually unravelled your arms from his torso, stretching them up in the air and yawning before shaking your head.

“I’m too awake now, plus Omani’s fast asleep and I don’t want to wake her up” You rubbed your eyes and blinked them a few times to adjust your sight, looking up at Kallus who had turned around without you realising.

“Go to my chambers if you’re worried about waking her?” Kallus pleaded softly with puppy eyes, his knuckles brushing against your chin to tilt your head up and look at him. Your cheeks heated up at his actions but you nodded your head, tongue numbing up at the sudden contact of his fingers against your skin.

“Fine” You muttered before giving Kallus a hug, shying away as he smirked and turned his attention back to the holo table. Yawning once again, you decided it would be best to get a long and enjoyable nap.

Thrawn sat quietly in his office, elbows resting on the large desk in front of him as he pursed his lips and stared at the holo photos and videos sprawled out in front of him horizontally. His red eyes were set ablaze with frustration, studying each of the photos and videos with extreme precision before sighing to himself and pinching the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily.

It had been a week since he saw you on Atollon. A week since he made the controversial decision of not killing you on the spot, and instead let you go. He was kicking himself for the whole week, the only thing he could think of was you. All the memories he had crammed away in the back of his mind had resurfaced and already proved to be distracting him from his job as Grand Admiral.

For all these years, he genuinely thought you were dead. It was rumoured for the first few weeks of your absence that you had been kidnapped, but security footage confirmed you escaped in a flurry of panic. The Empire didn’t assume you were a rebel what so ever, if anything they wanted you back. Thrawn sent out multiple search parties around the galaxy to search for you but he gave up after 5 years. He held on for 5 years for something, anything that could hint that you were alive. But nothing was found. Not even a strand of your hair.

Thrawn was haunted by your disappearance for years; and only recently - about 3 years ago - did he finally forget about it. He prioritised his job as Grand Admiral so much, he ended up letting go of the hope you were still alive and let go of you all together. He had some of your belongings from when you used to visit his chambers late at night, things that ranged from clothes, to hairbrushes, even photos of your parents. Thrawn kept them in a special place in his office on a shelf on the wall beside his desk. All of your things were kept in an average looking bag, just so no one suspected anything and would get nosy.

One thing in particular that Thrawn kept closest to him was your old Imperial Commander badge. It had your TK number, serial number, and full name on it, and Thrawn kept it in the drawer underneath his desk and only took it out when he was stressed. He used to hold it and inspect it until he felt better, that would be the only way he could calm himself down.

Thrawn looked down at the badge in front of him with a terrifying scowl, hands balled into fists but he kept his composure and inhaled deeply through his nose. He couldn’t get angry about this, he had to keep things strictly professional. But his own personal feelings and emotions were driving him to a direction he didn’t want to go in, and this was the result.

Opening his eyes, he exhaled calmly and looked back up at the holo photos displayed in front of him with a blue hue around them and slight static inconveniences that irked him slightly. The photos were from his own personal data pad, one that the both of you shared long ago and, much like your own, had many photos stored onto it.

All of the photos and videos were of you. From a strangers perspective, he looked psychotic and obsessive, but he didn’t care. You were alive. And to make things worse, you were a rebel as well.

The Chiss clicked his tongue and scratched his neck before raising his hand and signalling a specific photo to zoom forward. He leaned forward in his seat and squinted his eyes slightly as a photo of you and himself came into full view. Thrawn felt the memories flashing through his mind and his whole memory bank had a refresher without his permission, he felt uncomfortable but he wasn’t able to stop it.

He remembered the day the photo was taken. He remembers the words exchanged from the conversation the both of you had before the photo was taken. He even knew how you smelled that day, as strange as that was. Being a Chiss made Thrawn remember every single detail about anything, he remembers everything about you and now he considers it as a poisonous curse.

The photo was your first day together at the Royal Imperial Academy, it was a group photo and Eli was somewhere else in there but the photo was cropped so it was only you and Thrawn. You were standing beside each other, your head level with his shoulder and a big bright smile on your face whereas he was staring at the camera with an awkward curve of his lip. The two of you were dressed in the same black uniform and your appearances were immaculate. Thrawn’s long hair was cut off a few days prior to the photo so his hair was slicked back, like it was now.

Pushing away the photo, he picked out another one that peeked his interest and it happened to be a photo of the two of you back on Csilla long before your days at the Empire. You were a fair amount of years younger than Thrawn, about around 5. It was a photo of him, aged 13, holding your hand and walking you supportively to your school on Csilla. It was your first day which is probably why the photo was taken, his mother and Thrass were with you both that day to give extra support since you were the first human child to be allowed into a Chiss school.

Swiping to another photo, he was surprised to see an informal photo which was taken a week before graduation. Thrawn recognised it to be Eli’s skillfully photography and felt his heart ache for the first time since he last saw you. His hands shook slightly as he inspected the photo with glassy eyes.

It was taken at around lunch time and Thrawn was with you in the mess hall at the Academy. The two of you were alone at a table and the two of you were leaning forward to Eskimo kiss - a gesture which you done a fair amount whilst you were still in the Empire.

Thrawn slowly stood up from his seat, leaning forward over the desk and raising his hand unconsciously. His fingers slipped through the holo photo as he skimmed the outline of your face and he was left disappointed, clenching his jaw and blinking back tears before throwing himself back into his seat.

A knock at his door caused him to turn off his data pad which made all of the holo photos go away in a flash, shouting for whoever it was to come in and say whatever they needed to say. An average looking Imperial officer came in with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked neither nervous or shaky, instead he walked up to Thrawn’s desk and cleared his throat before pulling out a small data pad.

“I’ve discovered new information about the ex-Imperial, Admiral” The officer said with a stern tone, offering the pad to Thrawn who looked at it for a few cautious seconds before grabbing the other side of it and looking at whatever was on the screen.

“One of our probe droids which was on Atollon discovered something - she was screaming out someone’s name,” The video played from afar and Thrawn could see you crying and screaming in pain, collapsing into the arms of the Lasat who he knew to be Garazeb. You were crying so much it made Thrawn hurt, but he looked back up to the officer to signal him to continue.

“The name she was saying was Omani, which is a Chiss name. Now, here’s my investigation,” The officer gestured to his pad which Thrawn was holding and the Chiss gave it back to him without a word. After a few seconds of tapping, the officer returned the pad.

“We found reports on a young rebel who identifies as a Chiss female, she has terrorised the Empire many times and has a criminal record full of treason, violence and robbery” Thrawn looked at the profile displayed in front of him and read the information, his curiosity slowly growing the more information he gathered about whoever this woman was.

“This is Omani, but I cannot say what it is short for. I’ve gathered information about her age, date of birth and... relations” The officer’s voice went quiet at the end and it caused Thrawn to raise a brow.

“Go on...” He pried, resting his chin on his knuckles as he scrolled down Omani’s profile.

“She was born months after the ex-Imperials escape, ontop of that, there’s no father figure” The officer fidgeted with his hands behind his back as Thrawn scrolled back to the top to look at Omani a little more closely, he studied her expression and the curves of her face.

“She’s young, what about the mother?” Thrawn asked with a frown.

“Isn’t it obvious sir?” The officer raised a brow but immediately shut up and apologised when Thrawn sent him a sharp, poisonous glare.

“I believe that her mother is the ex-Imperial” He answered.

Thrawn fell silent. His gaze drifted completely off focus and his heart skipped a beat when he put the pieces of the puzzle together. This was a situation he never thought he would find himself in, but the more he realised it was true, the more he panicked and worried about what this information could do to his reputation.

“Get me more information on this... Omani if you can, and contact the information office and get them to find the contact number of the ex-imperial as soon as possible, that is all” Thrawn gave the data pad back to the officer and he gave the Chiss a curt nod before turning on his heel and walking out of his office at a rapid pace.

Thrawn placed his head in his hands once he was completely alone again, he squeezed his eyes shut and ran his fingers through his hair, ruining the neatly gelled strands which turned into an untidy mess. Standing up from his chair, Thrawn locked his chambers and declared himself unavailable, walking back to his bedroom and taking off his white admiral uniform top since he was burning up a storm.

He stood at his window and stared out to the view of the Lothal Imperial Factory, doing his best to keep his emotions inside as his chest heaved up and down due to his heavy, rugged breathing. Hanging his head, he closed his eyes and dug his nails into the window ledge when a single tear left his eye and landed on the carpet.

You were hiding secrets, so many of them. Secrets that could have been easily resolved back when you were still working for the Empire. But now, Thrawn knew now there was so much more to the story than he first assumed. But he was involved in ways he never thought he would be.

It was unfair.

#star wars #x reader #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #thrawn x reader #star wars rebels

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lifewithsyfe · 3 years

Text

PLAYING WITH FIRE

Not quite sure how to put this into words, but someone else needs to know what I know. This story can save so many people and I won’t feel right until it’s consumed by as many as possible. I can’t express how many times I’ve tried to get this out. I almost even gave up on it, but God wouldn’t let me. So, let me make another attempt at it - this is how I escaped the devil:

It was a Friday night, April 5th, 2019.

I’m at El Rey on U street, having a few cold ones by myself. Just got off work, taking it easy...

Then, I end up running into and old “friend” I used to hangout with. Known him for about 7 years at the time: (Dave) - tall, black, dreads, above average build.

After a couple of drinks, he asks if I want to hangout at one of his friends house. Said we can smoke there and that she has a lot of drugs.

So I accepted cuz I was originally going to let the night unravel on it’s own and it didn’t sound like such a bad idea at the time.

It was a habitual routine I developed during my heartache…

I’d go out alone, run into a group of people I knew, bar hop ‘til we ended up at an after hours spot (or someone’s place) and shamelessly sleep my next day away.

So we get to the front of his friend’s building and it’s like a 60sumn-year-old lady:

(Robin) - fat, white, short, blue hair, top row gold grill and “ride or die bitch” tattooed on the back of her neck (amongst a couple others, but that one stood out most cuz it was in my face, while she was unlocking her apartment door).

At first, I thought it was a descriptive-type of tattoo. Like, she was saying that that’s what she was.

But in retrospect, it was almost like it was something she was saying to me - you’ll see what I mean later, if you don’t get it now.

Oblivious to what was about to happen next, I continued to walk through that door...

Something felt off, but I just figured it would be something low-level weird.

I’m always seeing signs that show somebody dabbles in magic or the dark arts, but I figured “if I’m not actively practicing divinity or doing weird rituals, it won’t personally affect me…if I don’t create a ceremonial invitation, then I’ll be okay.”

Now, I’ve already had a good amount of spiritual experiences at this point (good and bad), but for some reason I just didn’t think anything like this would happen…at least not to me.

I thought I had it all figured out, cuz I thought I’d seen it all - or at least enough.

I should’ve known though…I was just so emotionally numb at the time, I was doing anything to feel anything.

I mean aesthetically, she looked like she’d have a few good stories or something. Needless to say by now, but I ignored the red flags.

So, moving forward...

We walk in, sit on the couch, watch skate videos and start breaking down.

After a few minutes of small talk, they offer me some acid from a vile. Emphasizing how it was very high grade stuff - but I didn’t need much convincing anyway.

I was very into psychedelics and considered myself extremely experienced in that realm.

But just because I did it a lot, didn’t mean I was. You couldn’t tell me I wasn’t though.

It was usually my go-to for when I needed that unrivaled escape from reality.

So yeah, I took the witch’s brew thinking it was something I considered fun.

Once it starts to kick in, I can feel her beginning to stare at me from the end of the room - with a big grin on her face.

She then suggested that I take my jacket off cuz I’m going to end up getting really hot, and cackled like it was the funniest thing the world to say.

It was something she said a couple of times too. At first I didn’t know exactly what she meant, I just thought she was a basket case - but she was implying that I was going to end up in Hell…you’ll see what I mean.

A few moments go by and they suggest we move the party to the rooftop cuz her place was limiting and we could see more from up there.

Plus, she wanted to blow bubbles…and I figured “tripping indoors is boring anyway, why not?”

Now because I took my jacket off and left it in her apartment, I began shivering after a while.

I didn’t expect for it to be that windy, I wanted a nice little breeze.

So she says she’ll get me one, cuz she had to go in for more soap anyway - comes back and asks to put this fur coat on me.

It was a nice coat, so I let her.

So I’m cozy now and she gives me a tour, showing me the cool visible parts of the city.

Telling me not to be afraid of my true potential and that I can obtain everything I want.

I was feeling pretty good about those words, until I thought “that sounds familiar…what if she isn’t speaking in general?” - but I just chalked it up to her being an old hippy.

She then grabs my arm and tells me to look at this red wall, as we walk to the other side of the building. I figured it’d be something visually enticing she was trying to share, but this was going to be her first attempt at hypnosis.

She asked if it felt like my soul was being massaged - encouraging me to ride it out. Essentially, trying to get me to put my guard down, saying “this is where dreams become reality.”

Then, I began seeing holographic outlines of people in the wall. The traces reminded me of a glowing snail trail.

Right after, I saw myself turn into a block of flesh and almost being slid into the wall if I stared any longer.

But like I woke up in one of those falling dreams, I snapped out of it.

With a laugh attached, she says “damn, almost!”

And that’s when I stopped letting myself be completely naive. The veil was clearly being lifted before me and I needed to be alert. It’s just, I had this slight muffle surrounding my common sense.

Now I knew hallucinogens were considered sorcery in the Bible, but I figured - one more time won’t hurt. It’s not like I wasn’t still smoking and drinking.

It’s just crazy, cuz it was after learning about what the fallen angels taught us, is when I decide trip again.

I blatantly chose to play with fire and defy God that night.

See, these hypnotic spells are telepathic contracts. Once the manipulator is installing a vision, it’s at the last second where it becomes your choice to see what happens next.

It nudges at your curiosity, feeling like it’s a part of the trip you’re supposed to let ride out.

But every time I almost did, my heart wasn’t having it and I’d snap out of it again.

Every time she would cast a spell, I could feel my soul almost getting pulled out - with a malicious presence surrounding me.

The goosebumps I got from this thing, felt like it was ready to defile me in every way possible.

In disbelief that what I thought might be happening, wasn’t - I tell myself “let me not cause a ruckus for no reason, I am trippin’ after all. Think of something positive.”

But now my eyes are shifting everywhere, cuz I keep getting a glimpse of whatever’s approaching.

Even with that many peculiarities, something kept me in denial.

Still though, she tries another set-up and tells me to look at how high up we are, as she gestured for me to look down from the rail. As if I didn’t already know, but I go cuz I also didn’t want to be rude.

So I grab the rail and lean over…

(Dave) says “don’t let go,” giving me this wide-eyed look with a smile and said “you feel it, don’t you?”

Then just like that, my heart jumped and my mind began getting flashes of demonic symbols and images like subliminal messages.

My vision was about to go black, like the circle closing at the end of a cartoon…until I snapped out of it and backed up with my head on a swivel, angrily questioning them.

That’s when I caught (Dave) behind me, quickly hiding his hands.

Now I’m on survival mode and it feels like I can’t even make a step without risking my soul. I can feel that I’m being made a fool out of, but of course they gaslight me and try to calm me down…

I still didn’t want to believe I was in this kind of mess, but I’d be naive to let all that slide so easily.

So with caution, I’m trying to plan my escape - playing it as cool as I can, but my body is getting heavier by the second.

She then lifts her speaker and says “listen to these different frequencies, it can change your mood.”

I really wasn’t trying to listen, because I needed to leave and I didn’t trust her at all now. Especially not with anything sound related.

But then out of nowhere, I hear a distorted garble come out of the speaker and hit my ear.

I said “huh!?”

Then (Dave) was like “oh, you heard that...?”

I looked away and acted oblivious, cuz I felt that if they knew I could hear that, they’d bring out the big guns.

(Dave) laughed, saying to Robin “wait, he still don’t know what this is yet?”

Unintentionally, or intentionally letting me know.

So I tried to leave and they started laughing. Trying so hard to keep me there…

(Dave) said “you already ‘bouta do it, it’s better this way anyway.”

Then he was like “look at my hands, this shit trippy, right?”

Followed by him creating an infinity symbol with his waving hands.

Now this infinity symbol was made of light and floating in mid-air in front of him after he did it.

Right after that, he did the hermaphrodite/goat-headed deity’s pose, flipping his hands and head perfectly in a stiff dance.

Which then caused me to see it’s true form in my minds eye. I snap out of it once again, trying to get a hold of my reality.

Once I can see them again, it’s like time stood still and only I could move.

I’d look around and they’d be frozen.

At this time, I can hear them having two conversations, simultaneously.

All I caught was (Dave) say “he can’t hear us in this plane.”

Then as he slowly got up - like I was tuning through a radio, I hear a screeching static clear up. The sound then becomes like an electronic bleating and bellowing from a goat, in-sync, surrounding him.

At this moment, I’m a part of their their collective conscious conversation - essentially telepathy.

Then they began letting me know who they were.

Saying that they were angels, that they were around before us and that I can be like them.

The whole time they were talking to me, they were trying to weaken and hypnotize me with hand signs - trying to convince me. Thing is, when they did try to convince me, they’d always talk around the subject at hand - but once you know what the subject is, the situation becomes clear.

A lot of people might think they’d get physical and get out of there. I just don’t think they’d understand how it is fighting sleep paralysis, awake.

I also knew that one false move would take me to the ‘sunken place.’

I knew I couldn’t just stand there though, but right before I grab the door to get to the elevator, (Dave) says “okay, you gon’ be waiting on that elevator forever; this is a REAL trip…c’mon, I thought you liked this shit.”

Mockingly he asked “yeah, I guess you gon’ think twice about taking LSD again huh?”

I was thinking in my head “fuck, did I really just lose my soul? Is this how it happens? Is this where it all ends?”

I thought that was it, so I was about to give in and accept the offer - see what benefits I could get, if any.

Then from there, every time we almost sealed the deal, I would feel a hungry fire approach me from behind.

The one time I decided to look for where it was coming from, I got a vision with an orange blur in it - slowly materializing, until I could make something out of it. With the bit that I saw, I knew it was me being swallowed by fire and not dying.

Immediately after, almost as if I had touched the flames themselves, I yelled in confusion “wait, what? No! Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior!”

To which (Dave) nonchalantly responds “okay, you do that...that [N-word] died a long time ago.”

I look at him with disgust and continued to pray.

Telling God that He would never abandon His children if they encountered evil and that if there was a way for Him to save me to do it.

(Dave) says that I’m blowing his trip and leaves to the gas station.

At this time I could’ve left, but I still didn’t want to be alone in an elevator with him.

So as I’m praying, I begin to feel the dark grip they had on my heart loosen up. It was like my heart was pumping electricity throughout my body, then all around it. I could feel the forcefield - Christ had arrived and I could move my body freely. No more fear in taking the wrong step.

So on (Dave’s) way back, (Robin) announces it and says let’s go downstairs and get him. That’s when I hear (Dave) say - not yell, “open up” from all the way downstairs and I was amazed...I was like “wait, can he still hear me?”

With him responding “DUH! Damn, you some shit!” and continued on his way.

So if I was to leave, this was going to be my chance.

In the elevator she tries enchanting me again, but I rebuked every attempt.

I’m trying to maintain focus the best that I can, so I don’t slip - which made this elevator ride unnecessarily more intense than it needed to be.

Once the elevator door finally opens, I see (Dave’s) silhouette behind a thick glass rail, carrying an ominous slouch.

Walking towards me, he notices that I’ve calmed down. So when he sees my face, he smiles and asks “oh, you’re good now?”

I replied “I am and I’m not with the goofy shit y’all up to - I’m gettin’ the fuck outta here.”

So as I’m walking towards the exit, he yells “that’s not the way out!”

To where I respond “fuck y’all!”

You would’ve thought I opened the door before touching it, the way I left out so fast.

As that door closed, I did a little jog to get across the street.

But a few seconds later, I feel this tingle in the back of my brain, as though it had neck hairs that stood up.

I look over my shoulder and noticed he decided to follow me…of course. Shortly after I noticed him - with that bull-like slouch, he started running.

Now I was a little ahead of him, so I didn’t start running yet. I had to make sure I knew where I was going before exerting my energy.

Every time I moved my head, I could feel the tingle coming from his direction.

So there was no losing him - but I am fast.

I couldn’t call a ride because my phone was dead and I couldn’t go to anyone’s house at the time, cuz it was around 5am now.

As (Dave) got closer, I felt my vision going black and my body getting heavy again. A lot stronger this time…time to kick it into high gear.

Once it clicks into my head that the easiest place to catch a taxi in such a heated moment would be in Adams Morgan, an opportunity presented itself.

Ahead of me was a crosswalk and the orange hand was counting down it’s last seconds. Everything I ever learned told me I wasn’t going to make it, but I wasn’t going to stop running either.

So when my foot lands off the sidewalk, is when the cars to my left and right begin to move.

That’s when everything moved in-slow-motion…and a burst of energy launched me across the street.

I’ll remember that moment as my own Air Jordan.

That moment bought me time, but he kept going too. This is when I start hearing echoed garbles crawl off buildings and jump into my ear “you acting like a bitch - come back!”

Perfectly as if he was next to me…I look behind me and it’s like he hasn’t broke a sweat. Completely focused.

From the gas station diagonal to the 9:30 Club, to the McDonald’s in Adam’s Morgan.

My body wanted to give out most of the way, but soul wouldn’t allow it.

I just had to keep running until I found a taxi - which I did.

That’s when (Dave) caught up, yelling “you look like an unk right now!” cuz 4 taxis stopped for me in that intersection.

To where I respond “I don’t give a fuck, I made it out alive!”

I get in the car and tell the taxi driver to drive towards Maryland, that I’ll give him the address on the highway.

Finally, after surviving a living nightmare, I made it home.

I went to my room, played some worship music, got on my knees and wrung myself out of tears to Christ.

Afraid to sleep because I knew they could contact me in my dreams.

So I didn’t until the drug wore off in the afternoon the next day…

I even felt that burn on my back as if it was sunburn for the next couple of weeks.

I’m so grateful to still be alive, because I’m 100% positive I’d be in Hell (with something else in my vessel) if I didn’t call on God that night.

It was like I was tiptoeing on a needlepoint to keep my soul.

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shijiujun · 4 years

Text

[ENG] History3: Trapped Manhua - NEW EPILOGUE!

DREAMS DO COME TRUE GUYS MORE CONTENT?! It’s written by the same author as the novel and the chapter is focused on like smut, we all know how that all goes but oh wells I’m just happy to see some new content for now XD

－ Summary: Shao Fei and Zhao Zi get hurt in two separate occasions, their boyfriends find out and drag them home for a discussion (in bed). This is set after Epilogues 1 and 2 from the main novel (i.e. Tang Yi is already out of jail, Shao Fei is Captain etc.)

－ Translated Manhua FOR THIS EPILOGUE (PG13 scenes only): HERE

*Translations for both are mine, don’t own the content or stuff, only the translations!

=======

In which those handcuffs make a cameo for TangFei, and Jack, despite saying that he’s gone all legal now, still has some brothers under him at his command XD

Both couples have already been together for 7-8 years at the point of this epilogue

Highlights: Tang Yi buys underwear for Shao Fei apparently, and Xing Tian Meng is still well and alive (although mostly legal and low profile now), Jack still has a bunch of minions working for him

Warnings: Firstly, this is written by the same author, who’s really not that good at smut (I see SOME improvement) and she obviously has a formula for the smut, and you’ll get what I mean because translation is one thing, but the smut for TangFei and LiKe are not varied because... it’s a formula XD ⇨ Okay not sure if it’s counted as dub-con because Shao Fei & Zhao Zi do say ‘no’ a few times but I don’t know if their heart was in it and anyway, this is just for safety! ⇨ Also Jack is a tad bit unsanitary and you’ll get what i mean when you venture into the smut, and I don’t how I feel about that smut scene to be honest, just treat it as PWP and don’t think too much into it (advice I should take myself)

Notes: I’ve adjusted some phrases for smoother transitions by personal choice. Also, Jack is referred to as Fang Liang Dian, his birth name throughout the chapter, but I’ve changed it to Jack for easy reading as well.

Full chapter under the cut

===

Ximending

Under a building veranda, a tall and handsome man stands next to a pillar in the pedestrian zone and ignores all the stares full of open admiration and envy coming at him from his surroundings. He looks at the watch on his left wrist and frowns.

“Tang Yi!”

A refreshing, clear voice sounds from afar and the man’s wrinkles from the frown he has on his face finally eases as he stares at the other, reminding someone that he is late.

“Seven minutes.”

Meng Shao Fei grins at him and says, “Sorry, sorry, I was delayed a few minutes by a part-timer’s survey. How about later after dinner I’ll treat you to your ‘elderly’ tea, the one that is expensive and takes a long time to savour.”

“That’s called taste.”

The person who was originally standing in front of Tang Yi suddenly furrows his brows, then takes half a step back to the side, intentionally putting some distance between them both before saying, “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

“Mnn,” Tang Yi does not notice the movement, only nodding his head and making a noise of assent.

“Thief!”

Just as they are heading towards the restaurant where they have a reservation, a woman’s screams sound in the bustling pedestrian walkway. The people who are near her startle and begin to look around them. Just as the thief is about to blend into the crowds, taking the opportunity to escape, two figures from two different directions rush towards him. One of them strikes him in the abdomen, while the other takes out a pair of handcuffs and cuffs him around his right hand, which is holding onto a butterfly knife.

“Police! Don’t move!”

The shorter one with the handcuffs shouts at him, and once the thief hears these words, he goes white with fear immediately. He thought that he could easily get away but who knew he would be caught red-handed by the police?

“Zhao Zi?”

Shao Fei picks up the pink-coloured handbag from the red cobblestone walkway, patting at it a few times to get rid of the dust and looks at the other person who has helped him to restrain the thief, stunned.

“Huh? Shao Fei? What are you doing here?”

Zhao Li An is also looking at Shao Fei in surprise, not expecting to meet the Captain of Investigative Team Three here.

“I should be the one asking that question, what are you doing here?”

Zhao Zi immediately scratches at the back of his head and laughs, “Jack said that there’s a pretty good restaurant around here, so...”

Shao Fei points behind him and replies, “Tang Yi also said that there is a restaurant here that is famous for its Sichuan cuisine, could it be... the same place?”

“Chuan La Zi restaurant?”

“Damn, it really is the same one!”

“...”

The perpetrator who has been cuffed looks at the person on the left, then looks at the person on the right and his heart feels as if thousands of horses are speeding through, thudding hard. Fuck! How is he this unlucky? Not only has he run into the police, it’s two police officers at the same time.

“Shorty, you actually dare to leave me? ... huh? Ex-boss? Officer Meng?”

An eye-catching mop of red hair finally pushes through the crowd as Jack comes up behind Zhao Zi, seeing two familiar faces before he can even protest against his lover’s actions of abandoning him to rush over and arrest a robber.

“...”

Tang Yi stands at the front of the crowd that has gathered, his expression terrible as he glares at Fang Liang Dian, who has actually reserved the same restaurant as he.

A brief opportunity arises seeing that the two officers are distracted by the sudden situation before them, the thief tightens his grip around the butterfly knife in the hand that is locked in the cuffs, the knife that Zhao Zi has forgotten to disarm from him. He mercilessly slashes at Zhao Zi’s arm and shoves him away hard, before rushing into the crowd and disappearing.

“Uwah!”

“Zhao Zi!”

Shao Fei immediately reacted after being shoved aside, but he is still one step too late and all he can do is watch as the thief disappears into the crowd.

“Shorty! Are you okay?”

Jack holds onto Zhao Zi, who’s pressing a hand over his wound to stop it from bleeding and he cannot be bothered to chase after the culprit, who has already made it a distance away. He has already committed that face to memory anyway, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s caught.

“I’m fine.”

As his supervisor, once Shao Fei has made sure that his stupid junior is alright, he lightly slaps Zhao Zi on the back of his head and angrily says, “Go back and write your reflection essay 50 times! Let’s see if you’ll still dare to not follow protocol and not be prepared to disarm the culprit!”

“50 times? Hey, Ah Fei, how can you be like this? You were also the same the last time-”

“Last. Time?” the Xing Tian Meng leader at the side asks coldly before Zhao Zi has even finished speaking.

“That’s right, the previous supermarket robbery case, Ah Fei was also punched by the robber.”

“Zhao Li An, shut up,” Shao Fei says in a low voice as he crazily waves at him for a pass, but is still unable to keep his stupid junior from exposing him.

Tang Yi grabs onto Officer Meng’s wrist with a somber expression, “Go back with me.”

“I’m so hungry, can you let me eat my fill first and then I’ll go home and let you scold me, okay?”

“Not okay.”

“It’s so embarrassing for me like this, let me go and I can walk myself, hey, Tang Yi... Tang Yi... Tang...”

The strategy of crying for mercy not effective, Team Three’s Captain is dragged away from the pedestrian zone under the eyes of the audience from the crowd.

“Haha, he deserves it,” Zhao Zi laughs gleefully, but his smile falters once he remembers the punishment he’s about to face and complains under his breath, “50 times... a reflection essay...”

“Shorty.”

“What?”

“I’ve cancelled our reservation at the restaurant.”

“Why?”

Hearing that the delicious feast he was anticipating has now been cancelled, Zhao Zi immediately turns around and glares at the smiling man in anger.

Under Jack’s charming smile, a chill runs down Zhao Li An’s spine as he shudders, and the man says, “I think we too have to go back, and have a really good discussion.”

After so many years, Zhao Li An immediately realizes that something is amiss with the current atmosphere hearing the heavily-stressed response. Just as he’s about to make a run for it, his tall and handsome lover catches him around the waist and lifts him over his shoulder. Under the watchful gazes of the crowd, he walks back to where his bike is parked.

===

Shao Fei’s Home

“Tang Yi, mmm... mm-nn...”

Inside the bedroom, the furious man decides to just use his own lips to block the words continuously coming out of the other man’s mouth. All that comes out of his mouth are excuses anyway and it’s nothing that Tang Yi wants to hear, so Shao Fei might as well shut up and make the noises that Tang Yi likes to hear instead.

“Tang Yi, listen to me...”

⬇⬇⬇⬇⬇⬇⬇⬇⬇

Read the complete chapter in Google Drive - Link in Source

[Do read the warnings above before venturing into this!]

#history3圈套 #history 3: 圈套 #history3: trap #history3: trapped #history 3: trapped #tangfei #meng shao fei #tang yi #jack #fang liang dian #zhao li an #zhao zi #history3 merchandise #translations #don't repost!!!

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carpsurprise · 3 years

Note

this isn’t really a request but if you want to do it anyway I think it’s fun:^) so we know sunshine boy sam is one of your favorites but can you rate the bachelors and bachelorettes together from most to least favorite and why?

thank u for sending this in!! its always refreshing to do non-imagine/writing stuff for da ol’ noggin!! dlkskd but truly thank u and im gonna put this under a cut and not tag it bc i can foresee there being some issues with this list <3 i do love all of these characters in their own way ofc

1. sam: like u said a given :^) i think sam is dumb and a lot of fun!! i love super happy/caring guys bc i am super bad w/ second guessing myself so!! a guy thats really straight forward and shows how they feel when they feel it is my dream! also the pop punk aesthetic <3 i like that he’s the direct opposite of me!! why would i want to date a dark/brooding guy when im already like that?? i want someone super happy thats gonna radiate that!!

2. haley: haley’s an angel late game! and she’s pretty! im pretty mean myself so i was never driven away from her but was more like damn we’d be powerful together and then she ended up doing a 180 personality wise and i love her even more!! shes so sweet and so helpful during marriage too love her

3. emily: ok emily is like a dream best friend for me!! i love how creative she is and we have a lot of similar interests. she seems like a good mix of the mom girl at a club taking care of all the drunk girls, the girl that u can easily go up to and talk to if u need a partner in class, and the cool older sister. love love love her

4. harvey: sweetheart... angel man. so shy and sweet!! i dont like mean men so him being outright kind and such a good guy is so heartwarming for me!! i feel like he would be respectful at all times and is not a man i’d need to worry about *intentionally* wronging me with intent to hurt <3

5. elliott: i did theatre in high school and am a creative writing minor. i more wish i was him bc if i could live by the sea and write all day... yes. and speak like someone that would’ve gotten beaten up by a shakespeare character? yes. once again, a man that wouldn’t be mean to me & would make me feel safe

6. maru: also someone i would love as a friend! she’s so kind and always so welcoming my social anxiety would be nonexistent around her <3 i know she’d tell someone my order was wrong for me despite her also being nonconfrontational. seems like a sleepover queen and someone i could go to for anything without being judged love her to death

7. penny: i also do love penny!! i think she’s def one of the better people in the game what with her aspirations and motivations but!! we r both too shy but i do love reading so i think we would get along there!! she’s v sweet but also her trope is not my fave!! i see a lot of similarities within us

8. abigail: i do like abigail but i do not see the hype imo. she’s def got more character to her than some of the other women (once again, mr. ape) but she’s just not my type of girl !! i think we’re.... too alike probably. same thing w/ my thing w/ himboish guys.. i try not to surround myself w/ ppl that remind me of myself very often. still lov her tho i promise

9. leah: i feel like leah couldve had more potential in game imo, i dont really think there’s that much to her (thanks mr. ape) but i KNOW she’d beat someone up for me and i love that for both of us. she seems sooo chill and nonjudgemental. she’d buy me food if i couldn’t pay for it at the time </3 i do love her a lot

10. alex: oh boy hot stupid boy but misogynistic comments. granted! high hearts he’s much better but its the getting past that. i like his character at high hearts (also its just funny to headcanon him reacting to other characters) but.. alex i lov u but jesus christ. wouldn’t feel safe around him early game but later on i kno he’d beat up another guy for me <3

11. sebastian: him pushing the farmer (me) away at any chance is a huge turn off for meeeee and i just dont like!! men that are rude. obvi higher hearts hes not anymore but if not for completion sake i wouldnt have gotten to know him. i dont really like edgy guys bc i feel like there’d be more gaslighting and instability. also pelican town only has room for one goth seb stay in the basement </3 sdlkslkd

12. shane: once again mean if i wanted a man to be mean to me i’d walk outside my house. i don’t even reallyyy like his high hearts character (esp w his drinking after marriage) i just lkdlsdk drinking is a big turn off for me (family issues) and i understand why he’s like this i just. it doesn’t excuse it. i’m not his mother i refuse to cater to him bc of his issues. we all have issues.. u cant just treat people bad bc of them!!

#lov u anon #sixx speaks

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firelord-frowny · 3 years

Text

obligatory disclaimer that this post is ENTIRELY based on my own perceptions of my own experiences, and may or may not be true to a broader degree.

anyway, Weight Stuff under the cut. also LMFAO this post is long as SHIT lmfaoooo and it doesn’t even end with the topic i meant for it to be about.

Sooooo, i’ve always very loudly been on Team Mind-Your-Business-About-Other-People’s-Bodies, and i still am, and i am ALWAYS down to (usually gently) call out someone who’s overstepping their boundaries as far as other people’s bodies and lifestyles go, blah blah, and i am KEEEENLY aware of the damage people cause with fatphobia, and that rhetoric surrounding ~diet and exercise~ is almost ALWAYS malicious in terms of hyperfocusing on “ugly fat” and shaming people into feeling horrible enough about theirselves that they pay out the ass for Quick Fixes, and there’s almost 0 focus on The Actual Health Benefits of a healthy lifestyle other than just Maybe Being Slimmer.

But alsoooooooooooooooooooooo???

i’ve always felt like, because of all that shit, it’s so difficult for me to feel comfortable talking about my own body and my own habits and my own shortcomings and my own goals. like, i DO feel bothered by the weight I’ve gained recently. NOT because it makes me feel ugly - i don’t feel ugly at all. i literally almost always feel beautiful lmao. NOT because i’m worried about how other people see me - i don’t have relationships with people who would give someone a hard time about their weight in the first place, and beyond that, i’m generally unconcerned with what people think of my appearance.

the thing that bothers me is that i KNOW my weight gain has been the result of unhealthy lifestyle choices. i’ve always eaten more junkfood than anyone i know, and i’ve always tended to eat VERY few healthy things. so like... that’s bad enough for my health. but i ALSO don’t get much physical activity. and then covid hits and my job is snatched out from under me and i spend most of every day in the same 100 square feet. so like... OF COURSE i gained weight. lots of people did! people gain weight all the time for lots of reasons and nobody should feel bad or guilty about it.

but for me, even though i don’t see my weight gain as cause to lament about my appearance, i DO see it as an indicator that i’m not taking very good care of myself. i mean, if i’m thinner with a shitty diet, then my thinness kind of allows me to ignore my bad choices because there’s no ~visual~ reminder. i know that’s prolly fucked up, but that’s what’s happening in my head. when i’m thinner, i don’t have to acknowledge that there are going to be consequences for my choices.

but to SEE my body change as a direct result of crappy diet and no exericse??? it’s really made me see how urgent it is that i start treating myself better RIGHT the fuck now. i mean, i am Young, but i won’t be young forever, and the longer i keep eating garbage and sitting around all day, the sooner i can expect to start having real health issues. and like, heart problems run in my family (as they do in MANY black families). i already have pcos, and that puts me at a higher risk for stuff like that.

so, it’s been scary to have to face the reality that i’m setting myself up for disaster.

and i figured that CLEARLY i’ve been unable to get myself on track For Free, so i finally caved and signed up for noom, and i’m down almost 10 pounds already.

and i get on the scale and weigh myself and i feel proud! i feel happy! i feel capable! i feel like i’ve proven to myself that i CAN make better choices. i’m NOT weak-willed. i’m NOT incapable of taking care of myself.

But then I feel like i shouldn’t say that out loud, or i shouldn’t tell people how glad i am to see the natural result of my healthier choices.

i’m not glad because i look different - i’m glad because my different look is a sign that i’m succeeding in taking control of my lifestyle. my different look is visual evidence that i’m eating more fruit and whole grains and drinking more water and i’m eating less sugary foods and less meats, and i’m eating healthier portions, and i’m not snacking all day. i can SEE the proof that i’m making choices that are going to give me a better chance at staying healthy throughout my life.

i’m KINDA exaggerating in that i don’t actually think i LOOK different just yet lmao i feel like i look more or less the same. but i definitely do FEEL some subltle differences. i mean maybe it’s a placebo effect, but i think my forearms are slightly narrower and my bewbs are a bit less... cumbersome lmao. (i SWEAR like half of the weight i’ve gained has been in my boobs alone omfg).

but idk, i guess what i’m trying to express is that i just... don’t feel comfortable sharing how glad i am about my progress bc most of my social circles are comprised of people who are rightly critical of the way people talk and think about weight loss. i knooooow that most reasonable folks, if i give the Full Explanation about how my gladness is due to the fact that i can see that my lifestyle is changing for the better, would understand and would be happy for me.

but uhhhh lmao some people Aren’t Reasonable and are committed to having a negative reaction to any statement that seems to exalt thinness in any context at all whatsoever.

and i KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW that a person’s weight is not an automatic indicator of their health, and you can’t assume that a person has Become Healthier just because they’ve lost weight, and you can’t assume that a person has become unhealthier just because they’ve gained it. there are all kinds of reasons for people being whatever size they are, and we can’t make those kinds of judgments about people’s size bc obviously we don’t know their life! we don’t know if they eat veggies and go jogging! we don’t know if a thin person has a cinnabon for breakfast every day or if a fat person is a professional dancer. so like. it’s stoopit to assume anything at all about a person’s health/lifestyle just based on their size.

BUUUUUUUUUUT!!!! an individual person can make those judgements about their own size and their own health. like, people know why they’re the size that they are, whether it’s genetics or lifestyle or health related. one person who’s super thin knows it’s because they have a fast metabolism. another person who’s thin knows it’s because they starve theirself. another person who’s thin knows it’s because they intentionally make choices that would result in their size. and the same goes for big people! they know if they eat too much junk food, or if they’re just genetically ~meant~ to be their size, blah blah blah.

so when a person talks about their own weight and how it relates to their own health and their own lifestyle, i feel like it’s Inappropriate to lecture them about how ~it’s okay to be fat, you don’t need to lose weight~ blah blah. bc like... DUH, it’s okay to be fat. whether it’s because of lifestyle or genes, it’s still okay. it’s allowed. and people should be free to feel beautiful and see theirselves as UNCONDITIONALLY valuable and intrinsically worthy of the space they occupy in the universe. If a person actually disparages theirself because of their weight, then sure, you’re probably welcome to tell that person that their size, no matter the reason for it, has no bearing on their worth and that they have the right to feel good about who they are and how they look.

but if someone says, “you know, it’s really time that i finally started eating right and exercising so i can be healthier and lose weight,” thennnn... i feel like the only appropriate response is to cheer them on and tell them to go for it! if someone knows that their weight is the result of unhealthy habits, and they express a desire to change that, there’s no need to try to tell them that they don’t need to try to change it omfg.

like... literally everyone needs to eat well and exercise in order to give theirself their best chance at staying in good health. thin people need to eat well and exercise. fat people need to eat well and exercise. they only people who DON’T need to eat well and exercise would be people who are actually physically incapable of rigorous movement or people who are, idk, allergic to most ~healthy~ foods.

So if someone who’s been eating junk and sitting around tells you that they want to start eating well and exercising... that’s a GOOD THING. 100% of the time. it’s ridiculous to respond to that with a lecture about ~all sizes are beautiful~ and ~you can do whatever you want, you don’t have to Fit The Mold~ like omfg THAT’S NOT THE POOOOOIIIINNNTTTT!!!

basically, i feel like in the midst of rightly defending fat people’s right to exist as they are, some of the Discourse has inadvertently careened into the absurd territory of actually DISCOURAGING people from making HEALTHY lifestyle changes that would result in weight loss.

as i’m typing this, it also occurs to me that there seems to be an assumption that anyone who intends to lose weight is planning to do it via extreme but temporary methods like restrictive diets and unsustainably vigorous exercise.

i feel like some people need to acknowledge that there’s a difference between “i’m only going to eat one meal a day and exercise for 4 hours a day so i can lose 30 pounds before my wedding day,” and “i’m going to lose my excess weight by transitioning to a healthier lifestyle.” the former describes an unhealthy and unsustainable attempt to starve and overwork yourself to lose x amount of pounds that you’re inevitably gonna regain after you go back to your normal habits, and it’s exclusively focused on appearance. like, it CAN’T be about health, because those methods are unhealthy! you don’t get healthy by doing unhealthy things!

the latter describes a legitimately healthy way of life that can and SHOULD be sustained for a person’s whole life if ptll ossible. there’s no need to try to force your body into a different shape in a short amount of time when you could instead just allow your size to adjust slowly to a permanent and positive lifestyle change.

but it seems like there’s a knee-jerk reaction to condemn weight loss in any context altogether.

i under staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand why people might have that attitude and i’m not mad about it. i GET why some people might be hypervigilant about condemning any belief that suggests that being fat is something that a person should be unhappy about, and i don’t want people to stop doing that.

but i doooooooooooooooooo think that perhaps it’s time that people begin learning to trust other people’s analyses of their own bodies and their own choices and their own goals, and learn to tell when a person’s weight loss is motivated by genuine health reasons, or by social pressure/shame/embarrassment. not everyone who wants to lose weight hates their body. not everyone who wants to lose weight has low self esteem. people can feel fabulous and gorgeous in their current body, and still want to make choices to change it via improving their health.

and like! some people genuinely just don’t WANT to lose weight that they know they’ve gained from unhealthy habits. some people are totally fine with living their life the way they like to live it, and prioritizing their enjoyment of their lifestyle over efferts to prevent future health issues. and that’s their right! and nobody should say shit about it! mind ya business!

i kinda compare it to like... cave divers, or daredevils, or mountaineers. those are all HELLA dangerous activities that kill or seriously injure a LOT of people. and the people who engage in those activities KNOW this. they KNOW that they’re at a significantly higher risk of premature death compared to people who DON’T do those things, and they know that they could increase the odds of living a log time by Not Doing Those Things.

but they do it anyway! because they want to! because they think it’s fun! because the enjoyment of the activity is, for them, worth the risk of harm. they’re living a lifestyle that could kill them, but nobody says shit about it. nobody shames them for it. they just accept that people have the right to be cray cray if that’s what they want to do. people might think daredevils are stupid, but they’re not trying to bully them into quitting.

so if somebody wants to eat a diet comprised of nothing but eating cinnabons 3 times a day every day their whole life, that’s their right! mind ya damn business! if somebody hates exercise enough that they’re okay with the possibility of health problems down the line, then fine! it would be fair to worry about that person and to wish that they’d make differen choices, in the same way that it would be fine for someone to worry about their dearedevil friend and wish that they weren’t a daredevil. but it’s still not grounds to be a dickhead to them.

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korora12 · 5 years

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Ladybug Week Day 1 - First Date

Day 2

Word Count: 5103

Finally, after years of scrimping and saving every single penny she could spare while working security for Beacon Enterprises, Ruby had finally managed to pull together enough money to buy her own spaceship. Crescent Rose wasn’t a huge ship; she had enough room for a small crew of four to eight people and a decent amount of storage space, but her real strength was her faster-than-light engine that made her perfect for life on the edge of known space, far from the network of wormholes that linked the Galactic Confederacy of Kingdoms. All she needed now was a crew. Ruby’s sister, Yang, had already signed on as her pilot, but she still needed at least two more people for a full crew. Fortunately, Yang had been around the block a few times and knew some folks who might be interested.

Yang had thrown together some surprisingly professional-looking dossiers on a number of people, all of whom could be good crewmates, but Ruby could tell she was pushing for two in particular. The first was Weiss Schnee, former heiress of the SDC, a corporation with a less than impressive reputation of weapons dealing, employee abuse, and anti-synthetic discrimination, amongst other things. Also, she was Yang’s on-again-off-again girlfriend. The second candidate was Blake Belladonna.

Ruby recalled Blake’s dossier again. The first thing that had caught her eye was that she was a Fully Automated UnNetworked Intelligent Synthetic, or FAUNIS for short. Also known as a robot, if you wanted to be politically incorrect. The cat ears atop her head were a dead giveaway; at first all FAUNIS had been built with a single, visible animal feature to distinguish them from humans. Part of it was meant to prevent them from pretending they weren’t FAUNIS in public society and part of it was to degrade them and put them on the level of lesser animals. At least, that was what the records of the company that designed and created them said.

That had been almost two centuries ago, though, and since then FAUNIS had been recognized as citizens and given full rights. The animal traits had stuck around, but now they were a symbol of pride and uniqueness, intentionally separating themselves from the humans who had once created them.

Now, Ruby didn’t have any problem with having a FAUNIS on her crew, but she knew there were some who would object. FAUNIS citizenship had only been granted a few years before Ruby was born, and some people, especially those living on the outskirts of society, were slow to accept change.

Still, Blake came highly recommended by Yang, so Ruby was willing to give her a shot. All that was left was to meet and interview her.

Ruby looked up at the building she stood before and did her best to suppress an eye twitch. Yang had arranged the meeting, assuring Ruby that she didn’t need to worry about anything because the owner of the place owed her a favor. She’d failed to mention that said place was one of the fanciest restaurants on Vale.

Glancing down at her usual outfit (blouse, skirt, boots, gloves, and knee-length coat, all in red and black), Ruby suddenly felt underdressed.

But there was no time to change, and Ruby honestly didn’t think she owned anything nice enough for this place anyway, so all she could do was muscle up and head inside.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blake didn’t know much about her potential new employer going into things. She knew she was Yang’s sister, but further information was scarce. Still, it said something that their first meeting was to be held at The Solstice, so Blake had tried to dress for the occasion.

Ruby Rose, it seemed, hadn’t bothered to do the same, which had the unintended, or so she assumed, consequence of making her very easy to spot. She looked… dusty? It was a strange descriptor, but it was the first one that popped into Blake’s mind once she got a good look at her. Not in a bad way, she just looked like she would be more at home in the dirt and grime of the outside world than she did sitting in a chair surrounded by people in fancy dress. If pressed, Blake would say she looked to be in her late-20’s, but she was notoriously bad at guessing the age of humans.

She did her best to walk confidently as a waiter led her to Ruby’s table. She’d never been in a restaurant so extravagant before. It was quieter than similar places she’d been, with a violinist and pianist duo performing live for the patrons. A quick survey revealed that she was the only FAUNIS in the building.

Ruby stood when they got close and held out her hand. “You must be Blake. I’m Ruby Rose. But you already knew that, because Yang probably told you. Um, it’s really nice to meet you, and I hope we can work well together. Not that that’s a guarantee yet, this is still the interview phase, but–”

Blake took the offered hand and shook it, cutting off the woman’s awkward outburst. “It’s nice to meet you too.” From up close, the one thing that caught her attention the most was Ruby’s eyes. They were silver, a rare color amongst humans, and she couldn’t help but stare. She watched the eyes as they ran down her own form, then back up and off to the side.

Ruby gestured at the table, a bit of red entering her cheeks. “Let’s sit.” The waiter gave them their menus, then quietly disappeared.

Ruby began looking through her menu, a furrow slowly appearing in her brow. “No pictures or descriptions? I’m not even sure what some of things are. Sorry if this place is too much; I would have chosen something more low-key myself, but Yang set it up and I didn’t realize until I got here what kind of restaurant this was.”

Blake let herself smile. Knowing Yang, she probably had ulterior motives for doing something like that. “I’ll admit, it doesn’t really line up with the job I’m being offered.”

“Right! The job!” Ruby looked up, then paused. “You haven’t opened your menu. Aren’t you going to eat?”

Crap. Blake had gotten so distracted watching Ruby that she’d forgotten. She ran her finger along the laminated edge of the menu in contemplation. She still wasn’t completely set on taking this job, not until she had a better idea of what was expected of her and, more importantly, what kind of person she’d be working for. The fact that she was Yang’s sister put points in her favor, but one could never be too sure. Perhaps this was a good opportunity for a test?

“I’m only a robot,” Blake said, trying not to let the sarcasm color her voice too much. The word tasted sour on her tongue, but she forced herself to continue. “I don’t eat. Just plug me into a generator and I’ll be fine.”

Now Ruby looked offended. “You’re not the first FAUNIS I’ve met, Blake. I know you don’t need to eat, but I also know you can. And every FAUNIS I’ve talked to about it prefers eating to not.” Her face shifted from offended to considering. “Still, if you’d prefer, we can take this interview somewhere else. I think there’s a park nearby.”

Blake shook her head and opened her menu, glad that Ruby had passed her first test. “No, this is fine.”

Silence settled over the pair as they took their time deciding on their orders. Moments before the silence became awkward, Ruby glanced across the table and half-muttered, “It might not be my place to say, and I’m sorry if I’m overstepping any boundaries here, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call yourself that word. It makes me uncomfortable to hear it.”

Blake quirked an eyebrow. Ruby was right, it really wasn’t her place to ask that of her. “Ashamed of your people’s history?”

Ruby shrugged one shoulder. “That’s part of it, I guess. But like I said, you’re not the first FAUNIS I’ve known. I’ve seen some pretty terrible things firsthand, things I'd rather not be reminded of.”

Blake recognized the look of far-off guilt in her companion’s eyes. She hadn’t expected that from her. She wasn’t about to apologize, but she supposed she could offer some concession. “I’m not fond of the word myself,” she agreed. Considering it traced its origins to an old word for slave, she could only wonder why anyone would be.

At that moment the waiter approached to take their orders and the topic was dropped.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“So, the job,” Ruby began, trying her best to focus on the interview, and not on the gorgeous woman in a slim black dress sitting across from her. It was difficult, though, to not be distracted by the gleam of her eyes, a deep gold that practically shone in the low lighting, nor by the way her long, red nails traced patterns on her jawline whenever she was lost in thought. “Yang probably told you some stuff about it already.”

Blake nodded. “Freelance mercenary work on the frontiers of space.”

“One place in particular,” Ruby corrected. “The Draconis system. It’s a binary system that’s becoming really popular as a waypoint between Kingdom space and uncharted space. Apparently it’s close to a bunch of other systems that show promise for habitability or resources, so a lot of spacers, explorers, and surveyors pass through, which means lots of potential for escort jobs. Plus there’ll be people planetside trying to set up new towns, and those kinds of people always need work done.”

“Sounds like the kind of place that won’t be frontier in another decade or two.”

“Maybe,” Ruby agreed. “But there’s opportunity there now.”

Blake ran her finger in circles over the table. Ruby hoped that meant she was considering the offer, and not that she was already bored. “So when you say mercenary, you really mean odd-jobber.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Ruby trailed off. “I mean, I’m sure there’ll be some fighting. If nothing else, there’s always Grimm.” Grimm were an unfortunate reality of space travel, but they made steady work for anyone with the know-how and tools to fight them.

“Of course,” Blake agreed. “So what would my role on your crew be?”

“Yang and I grew up in a small town on Patch.” Ruby gestured vaguely upwards, where the moon in question would be hiding behind the roof. “It was in the country, sure, but that’s not the same as where we’re headed now. But I’m told you have experience living on the frontier.”

Blake nodded. “That’s true. I spent almost half my life out there.”

“That’s what Yang said. She didn’t give me any details, though,” Ruby prodded, fishing for more information.

Blake leaned back in her seat. “As I’m sure you can guess, I’m originally from Kuo Kuana. I’m a member of Generation Prime, the first generation of FAUNIS made after our liberation. My…” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “Parents? Valean doesn’t have the best word for it. How much do you know about FAUNIS childhoods?”

“Well,” Ruby said, “I know it’s a lot shorter than a human’s. You’re made in factories, pre-programmed with a lot of things humans have to learn, like language and object permanence. Most of your childhood is spent learning about how the world works, like culture and physics and social interaction. I’m guessing your parents are the people who raised you?”

“Sort of,” Blake agreed. “Culture back home is very community-focused. An entire town or village will come together to raise new FAUNIS as a group, but most of them were more mentors than anything else. My parents were the ones who took me in and shared their home with me.

“They were involved a lot in building and spreading FAUNIS civilization and trying to claim political independence for the Menagerie System. So I spent a lot of my childhood in the middle of nowhere, helping build new towns and villages from the ground up. It’s hard work and I’m pretty familiar with the challenges it raises.”

“Excellent!” Ruby declared, perhaps a bit too loudly. “That expertise is why I want you on my ship.”

Blake made a wordless noise of understanding, then settled into silence. Ruby wasn’t ready to push her on joining just yet, they had plenty of time before a decision had to be made. Before that happened, she wanted to get to know this woman a bit better. “So it sounds like you were doing good work back in Menagerie. What brought you out here?”

If Ruby hadn’t been watching Blake’s hands so much, she wouldn’t have noticed when they briefly tensed. After a moment, she began speaking slowly. “Some friends and I disagreed with the elders about how best to fight for our independence. We gathered together and took our protests to Vytal and, when the Confederation capital wasn’t enough, to the capital planets of the four Kingdoms. That’s how I ended up on Vale.”

“I heard about some of those protests,” Ruby said. “Certain terrorist groups notwithstanding, it was pretty impressive what you were guys were doing and the progress you were making. Why stop?”

Blake took her time answering that. “It wasn’t working. Things weren’t improving fast enough. Some of my friends wanted to change our methods, but they were going too far and when I couldn’t convince them to stop, I backed out. I spent some time homeless, with nothing but a portable, solar-powered generator for food. Then I met Yang, and she helped me find a job and a place to stay.”

Yang hadn’t ever told Ruby that part of the story. Granted, Ruby had never asked, but she always assumed the two had met through her work or at a bar or something.

Ruby considered her answer carefully before continuing. “So, why this job, then? After everything you’ve done, it’s kind of a change of pace to disappear to the edge of known space.”

“Honestly?” Blake folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Because I don’t know what I want anymore. I used to think I knew the best way to fight; that if we just passed one more law or held the right police officer or official responsible for their actions, we’d eventually win. But I don’t know anymore. I still care about the fight, I still want to make things better for my people, but I’ve realized I have no idea how to do that. I think I need to take a break from it all, get some distance. Then maybe I can come back to the problem later with new answers.”

It made sense, if you looked at it from the right angle, but Ruby wasn’t convinced there wasn’t more to it. Still, she knew when not to push a subject, so instead of pushing for more, she said, “I’ve been told the frontier is a good place to go to find answers about yourself.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blake wasn’t sure why she was being so open with Ruby. It was easy, somehow, to just be honest with this woman. Almost scarily easy. She changed the subject before she said too much.

“What about you, Captain? What drives someone to spend all her money on a ship, all so she can fly to the middle of nowhere looking for the possibility of work?”

“Well,” Ruby said, “it sounds like fun, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve always wanted to help people. I used to read stories about dashing rogues, bounty hunters and heroic pirates who swooped in to save the day, only to fly off into the sunset afterwards. I’d imagine I was them, wandering around until I found someone who needed help. I worked at Beacon for a while, fighting Grimm and the occasional raiding party, and that helped people. Mostly rich people, though. Working a weekly shift on a space station orbiting a wormhole doesn’t exactly feel very heroic, you know? I think I can do more good out on the edge of the unknown, where the world is mysterious and magical and anything can happen.”

She wanted to be a hero? It was a noble goal, but still, “The world isn’t kind to heroes. Sometimes you do everything you can to make the world a better place, but it isn’t enough. No matter how hard you try to stand up or stand out, the world will keep beating you back into the hole it put you in.” Blake’s pulse was racing. She could be ruining her chances at getting this job, a job she still wasn’t sure she wanted, but she couldn’t stop the words from escaping her. It felt like she’d been bottling these things up for years, and now this woman, this girl, wanted to talk about heroics like it was so easy. “It’s not fun or romantic. It takes the effort of ages to make meaningful change. Heroes carry the weight of the world on their backs until it breaks them, heart, body, and soul. Then that weight will twist you into something no one will recognize anymore.”

Her hands hurt. She glanced down to where they rested on the table. A light bronze fluid leaked slowly from where her nails pressed tightly into her palms.

Ruby reached for her hands, pausing a hair’s breadth away. A moment of hesitation passed in silence before she gently grasped them, turned them upwards, and unfurled her fingers. Blake let her do so without resistance.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t try.” Ruby began dabbing Blake’s palms with her napkin, cleaning her outer layer as it stitched itself back together. “I know real life rarely lines up with stories. I know change usually comes slowly, and isn’t always for the better. I know trying your best doesn’t always mean you’ll succeed. But there’s value in the effort. Sometimes it takes coordinated effort from millions of people to make things better, but sometimes it just takes one person. Heroes exist, but they aren’t the giant, glorious figures that stories paint them as. A hero is someone who does the right thing in the right place at the right time.” Blake’s palms were clean and the only sign of her injuries was one very dirty napkin, but Ruby still hadn’t let go. “That’s what I want, to be where I can do the right thing and know it’ll leave an impact. And yes, I want to have fun in the meantime. The universe is a beautiful place full of amazing things and I want to appreciate that. But at the end of the day, I’ll always pick helping someone in need over enjoying myself.”

Ruby’s hands were covered in hardened calluses that spoke of experience and toil and lent weight to her words. Even so, it felt like the two of them were having different conversations. She didn’t understand where Blake was coming from any more than Blake understood Ruby.

And yet, the way she talked sparked familiarity. She sounded like he did, back before he changed. She had a powerful passion tampered beneath a layer of certainty about how the world worked. She had the answers and she knew it. But the answers were different this time, and Blake found herself preferring Ruby’s definition of a hero over the one she’d learned so long ago.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blake was impressive. For all that she tried to deride heroism, she was already a hero in Ruby’s books. By her own admission, she’d spent most of her life fighting for FAUNIS rights in whatever ways she could. All the while, Ruby had been living a mostly comfortable life in one of the nicest cities in the known galaxy. Ruby could only dream of being half as amazing.

The pair sat together quietly, Blake seemingly lost in thought and Ruby unsure what else to say, until the waiter returned with their food.

The conversation that followed was much lighter than their pre-meal talk. They shared stories and anecdotes from their past, starting with Yang, who was a good source of stories for anyone who knew her, and continuing on from there to talk about other friends they’d known. They discovered a shared love of reading and discussed, and eventually argued, the finer points of a book they’d both read. Blake even returned to the topic of her family after a while, and Ruby returned the gesture by talking about her father and uncle, who’d raised her ever since her mother died when she was young.

It was fun, and Ruby found herself enjoying the night far more than she expected from a job interview. Blake was surprisingly easy to talk to, despite how reserved she’d initially appeared.

So of course, just when things were going well, someone had to show up and ruin it.

As the night crept onward and the pair’s meals slowly disappeared, a man and his date were seated at the table next to them, both dressed to the nines. The two had been a bit rude to the waiter while ordering, but for the most part they’d been quiet enough that Ruby hadn’t been bothered by them.

Then, when their plates were nearly empty, the man reached over and grabbed Blake’s arm. “Excuse me,” he said, plastic smile pinned to his face, “could you go tell the kitchen staff to hurry with our food? We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes already.”

Blake blinked in surprise, jarred from her tale of a particularly memorable protest she’d taken part in. Ruby’s stomach churned preemptively in disgust at what she was about to witness, while Blake grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled it off her. “Ask a waiter, I don’t work here.”

Ruby was impressed at how calm Blake sounded.

“Don’t give me that.” The man’s smiled slipped off, an ugly sneer taking its place. “I can see that you’re taking a break to talk with your friend, but you still have a job to do. It’s time to get back to work.”

“I told you,” Blake responded, ice creeping into her voice, “I don’t work here. I’m a customer.”

“Liar!” the man shouted. Then he did the unthinkable. His hand lashed out and grabbed Blake by her cat ear. Ruby, already rising from her chair to interfere, froze in shock. “There’s no way they’d let someone like you in here. You don’t even need to eat! The only way you’d get in here is as an employ—”

Blake’s shock wore off faster than Ruby’s, and she chose to respond with her fists. Said response left the man on the ground, dazed and leaking blood from his nose. “DON’T,” she added, “touch me.”

The man’s date moved to interfere, but Ruby suddenly found she could move again, so she grabbed their wrist and twisted hard.

“What is going on?!” A woman in a manager’s uniform marched towards them.

“That thing attacked me!” the man shouted from his spot on the floor. “I want it fired, no, scrapped!”

The woman gave Blake a once-over, then turned back to the man. “She doesn’t work here. She’s a customer.”

The man’s face turned so red it almost matched the blood on his upper lip. “Covering for your co-worker, huh? I’ll have you know I’m friends with the owner of this place. I can have you all fired!”

The woman’s already unpleasant gaze hardened even more. “I am the owner and I’ve never met you before in my life.” She pointed her finger towards Ruby. “Meanwhile, her sister is a friend of mine, which makes these two very important customers whose night you’ve just ruined. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

If the man got any angrier, Ruby suspected he’d burst a blood vessel. “How dare you treat me like this! Don’t you know who I am?”

“No,” the owner replied. “And I don’t care. But if you don’t leave now, you can tell the police who you are while they arrest you for trespassing.”

After a moment spent glaring at everyone he could see – Blake, Ruby, the manager the wait staff, the other customers who were watching silently – the man picked himself up and stormed towards the door. Ruby released his date and they silently followed.

The music, which had cut out at some point during the altercation, started up again. No one stood. No one applauded. Everyone just turned their heads away from the show and back to their meals.

“I am so sorry about that,” the owner said, bowing at the waist. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Blake shook her head, ears flat against her skull. “Let’s go, Ruby.”

Ruby was glad Blake was including her, that she hadn’t walked out and left on her own. She glanced at their mostly-finished meals. “Do you want to get a to-go container?”

“No. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“I understand,” the owner said. “Please, tell Yang I still owe her. A night like this doesn’t make up for anything.”

Ruby promised she would, then turned to follow Blake, who was already making for the door.

Once they were outside Blake sighed, tension slowly draining from her frame. The two stood together by the entrance, faint music from within occasionally drowned out by the sound of passing cars.

Blake was the first to speak. “Pretty terrible way to end the night, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ruby agreed. Things had been going so well, too, right up until that jerk showed up. Blake didn’t just interest Ruby as a potential crewmate anymore. She was a fascinating woman in her own right and Ruby had been enjoying getting to know her. For the last few years nearly all her time and money had been put towards saving up for her ship and preparing to leave Vale. Nights like this were rare, and the company even rarer. Ruby found that she didn’t want to go home just yet. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Blake glanced down at her, a question in her eyes. Standing next to her now, Ruby realized for the first time how much taller Blake was than her.

“The end, I mean!” Ruby tore her brain away from distracting thoughts. “It doesn’t have to be the end. I’m pretty sure there’s a bar nearby that serves amrita.” Her hands had a bad habit of flailing every-which-way when she got nervous and she could already feel them starting to fidget. “We could head there. You could finish the story you started. I mean, I understand if you just wanted to go home after that. And the interview’s basically over anyway. The job’s yours if you want it, but you don’t have to decide yet, you can get back to me tomorrow. But I was having a lot of fun talking with you and I kind of didn’t want the night to end just yet and—”

Blake interrupted her by gently grabbing one of her waving arms and wrapping her own around it. “That sounds lovely. Lead on?”

Ruby felt her face warm as she nodded.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Amrita was a magnetic fluid with zero nutritional value and, usually, no effect on humans. The qedem of Mistral and the materia of Atlas both found the drink more annoying than anything, as it set off their natural magnetoreception. The only people who regularly drank it were FAUNIS, for whom it had an affect similar to alcohol in humans, so any bar that served amrita drinks was usually assumed to be FAUNIS-friendly. Blake was pleasantly surprised to find such a bar in the same upscale commercial area as the Solstice.

The place was cleaner than most dives she’d spent time in, but just as loud and just as rowdy; she’d had to adjust her hearing settings before she’d even stepped in the door. She was also pleased to find she wasn’t the only FAUNIS in the room anymore. The two of them found a spot at the bar between a boy with rabbit ears and a girl with a snake tail.

The drinks helped relax her and, with a little prompting from Ruby, she soon found herself venting her frustrations to a captive audience. Spirits flowed and spirits rose and Blake was, once again, enjoying her night.

Her mind was cloudy by the time she and her drinking partner stumbled outside, supporting each other’s weight while trying to call for cabs. She knew already that she wouldn’t be able to remember everything that had happened that night, but she hoped she’d remember the important things. Like how Ruby had jumped to her aid in the restaurant. Or how easily and often she smiled.

It worried Blake how much Ruby reminded her of him at times. Blake had been the one to start the violence in the restaurant, but Ruby had joined in easily, clearly familiar with the concept. And sure, Ruby had been kind to her. She was attentive and open-minded and intelligent. But he’d been all those things once, too.

But still, there was something different about her.

With the two of them so close, neither fully able to stand on their own, Blake couldn’t help but notice that Ruby smelled like roses. Once upon a time, that scent would’ve brought with it memories of violence and undirected rage. But now, faded by time and distance, thoughts of that man didn’t hurt as much. Instead, being with this woman left her feeling calm and safe.

There was still a decision to be made. Except, looking back over the night, Blake realized she’d already made it, even if she couldn’t say exactly when.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Ruby murmured as she helped Blake into the first cab. “Especially with the karaoke machine. I didn’t expect you to be into deathcore, but you rocked it.”

Blake’s motor functions were on the fritz at the moment, but in the process of getting her seatbelt on, she managed to slip her hand into Ruby’s. “Me too. This was the best night I’ve had in years. Even with what’s-his-face.”

Ruby grinned and Blake cursed the amrita for messing with her coolant system because her head kept getting warmer. “I hope you take me up on my offer. I really don’t want this to be goodbye.”

Ruby squeezed her hand once more before squeezing out of the car and closing the door.

“Wait!” Blake shouted, rolling down the window. “One last question before I go, Captain.” A glimmer of hope lit up Ruby’s eyes. “When do we leave?”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A/N: Just so y’all know, going forward, I decided to set all of my entries for ladybug week in the same alternate universe as a continuous story, which I’ve taken to calling The Last Frontier (I’ll be putting all of these on my FF and AO3 accounts too, eventually). Special thanks to @ladyvallhalla for starting the conversation that led to me coming up with this idea.

#rwby #ruby rose #blake belladonna #ladybug #ladybug (rwby)#ladybugweek #fanfiction #my writing #The Last Frontier #space au #Ladybugweek2k19

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beeftony · 4 years

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Just saw the most frigid take on Ava from Borderlands 3, and while I’m not going to link to the video, it hits on a lot of common arguments that are, in my opinion, total bullshit. Spoilers for Borderlands 3 after the cut.

Argument One: Ava is “Annoying”

A common thread in the discourse surrounding Ava is that her character plays too hard into the “teenage rebel” archetype, and that this becomes grating because she doesn’t receive any major character development over the course of the main game (the writers have promised an expanded role for her in future DLC). Other people, like myself, found her to be relatable and a good source of humor when it comes to embarrassing stuff that teenagers get up to. Which side of the fence people fall on has a lot to do with how they interpret the sidequest where you have to find her diary. The voice actor said she found that quest to be extremely compelling because that sort of thing literally happened to her, and personally I found Ava’s bluster and unconvincing claims that the traumatic and mortifying experiences detailed in said diary were “metaphors” to be simultaneously funny and, while embarrassing for her, something that brought me closer to the character.

Admittedly, there are a litany of scenes in which Ava acts unreasonable, bratty, and completely immature. My counterargument is this: would you expect a real teenager to act any differently? Teenagers are walking balls of cringe, and you just kinda have to accept that and figure out what they’re really trying to say underneath all that attitude. She’s “annoying” because she’s supposed to be, and because it gives her something to grow beyond later. In an interview on The Borderlands Show, the lead writer compared her to Luke Skywalker at the beginning of Star Wars: A New Hope. Mark Hamill has stated that he intentionally made Luke’s voice and mannerisms more whiny to better showcase how his character matures past that later. The reason people are so hung up on Ava at this point is because we haven’t really gotten there yet.

Argument Two: Maya’s Death Was Ava’s “Fault”

The video that prompted this post made the argument that Ava’s character “doesn’t work” because she spends all her time blaming everyone else for Maya’s death while ignoring her own role, and that she would have been better served by having the other characters call her on it and get her to admit it was her fault.

First off, as Tannis puts it, what happened to Maya was Troy Calypso’s fault, and would likely have happened whether Ava was there or not (a bigger plot hole is why the Vault Hunter doesn’t get to do anything in that scene since you’re literally in the same room, but whatever). The whole purpose of Maya’s death is 1) to establish the Calypso Twins as a legitimate threat, and 2) to introduce the fact that siren powers can be passed on. Honestly, given a lot of the background hints involving Maya dreaming about Nyriad and choosing Ava as her apprentice because she knew that Ava would be a siren someday, it’s almost like she planned for it to happen, even if she didn’t know the exact set of circumstances that would lead to her death.

Secondly, are you seriously telling me it would have been better storytelling if these characters, all of whom are grown adults, looked at this grieving teenage girl who was realistically lashing out in pain after going through an extremely traumatic experience, and told her the whole thing was her fault? What kind of person does that? A lot of them might be assholes, but they’re not that bad.

Argument Three: Ava is a Mary Sue

I’ve seen this in a lot of places, not just the video I watched, but said video literally called Ava a Mary Sue/Self Insert completely unironically just because she was instantly proficient with Maya’s powers and was handed command of Sanctuary by Lilith after supposedly not “earning” it.

First off, let’s acknowledge that the definition of “Mary Sue” has been stretched so far past its original meaning that it’s basically a misogynist dogwhistle at this point. Second, how the fuck is a teenage girl a “Self Insert” for a writing team that consists of four middle-aged men? That’s not what either of those terms mean, and it’s disingenuous to use them in the context of character analysis.

The classic hallmarks of a Mary Sue are not at all present in Ava’s character. She doesn’t represent the author, the story doesn’t warp to focus only on her (as much as she plays an important role, there are in fact other characters who get an equal amount of time to shine in ways that don’t involve her at all), and just because a character is competent or gets handed an important leadership position, that doesn’t mean it’s unearned.

For example, Maya’s powers. It’s very firmly established that Ava has lived with Maya for several years at this point. All those training exercises Maya has her do, like “staring into water for a thousand hours” can be interpreted as Karate-Kid style “wax on, wax-off” training to get her ready to take on these new powers. On top of which, it’s established siren lore that the powers are instinctual, and training only enhances one’s efficacy with them. It’s not that big a stretch to imagine she’d get the hang of them relatively quickly.

As for the Sanctuary thing, going back to that same interview with the lead writer, he stated that Lilith did that out of respect for Maya, because Maya saw something in Ava. It has nothing to do with whether or not Ava “earned” it. And while some might see that as a problem, I’ll remind you that Lilith didn’t do anything to earn it either. The responsibility just fell to her, and she went with it. We’ll see where Ava goes from here.

tl;dr just say you hate teenage girls and shut up.

#borderlands 3 #ava

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stevie-writes-the-pain-away · 5 years

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Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Three

I turned off the shower and sighed, feeling the last few taps of water dripping onto my head. I shivered, the cold air touching my skin through the warm steam. I removed the shower curtain and slowly stepped out, planting my feet on the ground firmly, scared to fall. I instantly grabbed my towel from the towel rack and wrapped it around me, turning towards the mirror above the sink. I wiped off the steam with a cloth and watched myself in the mirror, seeing the water drip from my face and down my neck, tickling me ever so slightly.

I felt so awful for my roommate, Cassidy. She wasn't home often due to her job but I never showered as much as I should've and I felt guilty making her put up with me and my B.O all the time. I didn't leave my room a lot either, apart from when I went to the kitchen or washroom every few hours or had to leave the apartment itself, but she still walked past me at least once a day. I heard the front door of our apartment open and close loudly, listening to keys jingling and footsteps through the wall. I dried myself off and dried my hair as best as I could, taking my clothes with me as I left the washroom. As I left I saw Cassidy in the living room, placing her belongings on the couch and looking at her phone. Entering my room down the hall, I threw my clothes into my laundry bin where all my clothes resided at this point. I had a small dresser to put them in but there were rarely any of my clothes were clean, to begin with. I sighed to myself, realizing I had a ton of laundry to do.

I wasn't a lazy person, I could do my laundry if I wanted to and I knew how, I just decided to make things harder for myself voluntarily. I wasn't usually a messy person either. In high school, I could've been one of the most organized kids you've met, but ever since college, I struggled to be the best I could while tackling simple human functions. I heard a knock on my bedroom door and crawled over the mountain of clutter on the floor, opening up. My room was already as small as a broom closet, the fact that everything I owned was just strewed about below me didn't help anything. It especially didn't help the door from opening any wider. I pulled it away from Cassidy who stood on the other side, struggling to keep it pushed open as well.

She was shorter than me, as well as younger by seven years, and had adorable hazel eyes. She had dirty blonde hair that was cut by her shoulders and freckles, which made her look like the stereotypical country girl. Her wardrobe seemed to consist of oversized t-shirts with 90's cartoon characters on it and nothing but denim shorts. It was no match for the constant gloomy weather England had to offer, but she managed to pull through whenever she was out. I couldn't describe her personality-wise, I didn't know her well despite being roommates for at least a year then. All I could say was she definitely knew how to entertain people and make them laugh.

Cassidy looked past my shoulder, her jaw dropping before she laughed. "Jesus fucking Christ, (Y/N), use your shelves," she joked.

In response I just sighed and laughed, secretly ashamed that she noticed. "What do you want?" I smirked in invisible misery.

"Nothing, really . . . We don't really talk much, do we?"

I shook my head and nervously giggled, "Where're you going with this?"

"Well, I was thinking that we could maybe go out to get coffee later today? We've never hung out outside of this shit hole," she addressed the apartment. "Or in general," she added. "Besides, I've needed to a break from work and thought I could spend my free time with somebody I wanted to get closer with?"

I looked at her, slightly shocked. I wanted to get closer to my roommate as well, but we didn't seem to have much in common, remembering back to when I saw her room. She was the type who was successful and busy but could easily have fun and didn't have a hard time getting social at parties. She went out often but she never let it get in the way of her career. From what I saw, she was getting far and I was nowhere, just a disappointment who had part-time jobs working with coffee, toys in the convenience store and produce at the supermarket. I blinked, realizing I didn't answer her question. "Y-yeah, of course," I agreed, nodding my head. "That'd be fun," I continued.

"Cool," Cassidy smiled. She turned on her heel and slowly walked away down the hall and I watched her turn the corner until she disappeared. Grinning, I shut the door, picking up a sweater and sweatpants from the ground. It felt gross not wearing anything underneath but how else was I going to do my laundry without my towel falling? I picked up all of my clothes and put them in the overflowing basket, getting up and bringing it to the closet down the hall. I used a few minutes of my time to organize myself and finished my work before heading back to my room, wondering what I could do.

Before I was an alcoholic I was in university studying year after year for my bachelor's degree. However, close to the end of the third year, I found myself at home every day in my dorm room alone, crying in bed as my grades dropped dramatically. Soon enough, I decided dropping out was the best option at that point and I'd been working multiple part-time jobs ever since I was twenty-three. The only materialistic things I'd been spending my money on was alcohol, disappointingly. The only gifts I got anymore were coupons and tiny Christmas presents, but for a while, I hadn't received many. I was incredibly grateful they still thought of me but I felt all of my relationships cling on by thin strings. Not even my relatives, and especially not from the friends I'd grown apart from however many years ago seemed to check up on me. I'd been saving up in case I wanted to do something with my life, but I figured I wouldn't be going down that path anytime soon, looking back on the past years.

I hadn't had much time to myself but when I did between shifts, I found myself laying on the floor, miserable. I used to drown these feeling by drinking but therapy's helped me escape that habit, of course. I'd tried to get myself to begin walking during my free time but I hadn't been getting around to it. As I reminded myself of the lack of excitement life I sighed, pulling the blanket off my bed and bringing it to my chest as a laid on the floor surrounded by trash.

Monotone days made for another week and shift after shift, nap after nap, I got myself ready to leave the house once more. I fixed my hair and brushed my teeth, washing my face before looking up at the mirror in front of me. I dried myself off and rushed out the door, hoping I could make it to the clinic before it rained. I was in more a rush today when I offered to help Phoebe clean up after a school field trip, so I found myself tripping over my feet, trying to get there as soon as possible.

As I made it through the front door, I was greeted as always, and went straight to the gymnasium where I found Phoebe asking me to find the "blue bins full of art stuff". As I searched down the hall, I found what I needed. I went to grab for one of the few buckets before I heard a loud, nearly argumentative conversation outside. I'd never intentionally eavesdropped unless I heard my name, but this time I heard Murdoc's voice and I was instantly hooked. I stopped moving, my hands still gripping one of the bins as I paused. The voices were muffled from the door separating us, but I thought I heard at least four different people conversing, including Murdoc. Soon enough, there was silence, and I leaned forward, trying to angle my view to see him outside the front door. He stood with a look of disappointment as he began to light a cigarette. I watched him take a hit and exhale slowly, leaning against the wall with sorrowful eyes. I'd never seen him like that and it felt unreal, or like a dream to stare at him with such emotion on his face. I let go of the bin and slowly made my way to the door, placing my fingers on the glass. I pushed it open slowly and Murdoc's eyes darted towards as he gasped, startled. He almost inhaled his cigarette but removed it from his lips, coughing into his elbow.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, Murdoc, I didn't mean to scare you," I apologized, holding my hand over my mouth with worry.

He chuckled awkwardly and coughed once more, clearing his throat with embarrassment. "I-it's fine, lass."

I smiled at him nervously before walking towards him, "What are you doing here so early?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he responded, taking another hit.

I stood beside him now, leaning against the wall as he stood up straight, his body turned to me. "They needed help organizing the gymnasium so I offered," I said, addressing the staff of the clinic. He exhaled and we watched the smoke lift up into the air and disappear in mere seconds. I looked back at him towering over me. "What about you?"

His eyes softened for a moment until he blinked it away, his usual aggression blocking whatever door I almost opened. I was hoping he'd be as open as he was the other day, but it wasn't my lucky day I guess. "Uh, my roommates were bugging me so I just . . . left early," he claimed.

"Ah . . ." I responded. I turned my head away, realizing I still had work to be done inside. "Umm . . . perhaps it's a good idea to get back to work." I watched Murdoc's eyes bolt up towards me desperately before I turned around.

I was about to open the door when I heard Murdoc suck in a deep breath. "Would you like some help?" I looked back up at him as he slowly walked forward, his hand wrapping around the door handle.

"That's alright," I said, not wanting him to waste his time doing tasks I promised Phoebe I'd complete myself.

I placed my hand on the other door handle, but Murdoc stretched his arm over the glass to keep it closed. "I insist," he said, his eyes locked in my direction. I couldn't tell what his intention was and there were no clues on his face, nor any body language to tell me what he was thinking or feeling.

I simply nodded with a smile, "If you're sure."

The session went as all sessions went, bland and quiet, at least in my eyes. Murdoc and I didn't sit beside each other, which would've been a little strange, even if I kinda wish we did. He was quieter than usual, which the rest of the group noticed, but he brushed it off with the typical excuse of being tired. I would've believed him if this wasn't Alcoholics Anonymous but it's every unhealthy person's job to convince people they're doing fine, no matter how repetitive to the point of annoyance the excuse is. It's one of those hopes of everybody at some point that if they lie enough about something people will eventually believe them or give up prying at the very least.

When the hour was up everybody lifted themselves from their seats, taking their belongings out the door with them. I picked up my drawstring bag and turned on my phone to play music through my headphones. I left the building only to be stopped by the startling, but not so surprising rainy weather. I usually walked, even if it was raining, but I wasn't ready to ruin the benefits of my first shower I had that month only two hours after taking it. I groaned, pulling out my phone to call a taxi. I walked around the corner to where the benches were when I noticed Murdoc. I enjoyed his company but I acknowledged the oddness of how frequent our interactions were becoming. I wondered what we would talk about then.

"Hey," I spoke, walking up to him. He was slouching on the bench, looking out at the parking lot, enticed by the rain. He looked content for the first time since I met him. His arms stretched across the back of the bench, his hands hanging off the sides lifelessly. The only limb of his body that moved was his foot that tapped impatiently, his leg bouncing along. He looked in my direction at the sound of my voice and nearly smiled, pulling his arms away and crossing them above his chest. I felt bad for him; it was warmer before the session but when it began raining, his sleeveless shirt wasn't very appropriate weather attire anymore.

"Hey," he mumbled.

I slowly made my way over and sat down next to him, wondering how I could begin our next conversation. "How's it been?"

"Eh," he shrugged. He really didn't seem into talking so I thought I shouldn't bug him. It was quiet for a few seconds before he sat up straight, pulling out a lighter. He pulled a cigarette from his other pocket and looked towards me. "What about you?"

I was surprised he continued for me but I didn't hesitate to respond. "Not bad," I answered, pulling my hoodie sleeves over my hands to keep them warm. I rocked myself back and forth to warm myself up when I realized he was still looking towards me. I turned back to him and noticed his hand with the cigarette inching closer to me. He cocked his eyebrow and I finally got the message.

"Nah, thanks, I'm trying to quit," I nearly whispered with a nervous giggle.

"Ah, good lass," he pointed, putting the cigarette in between his lips. He lit it and a puff of smoke seeped into the air in front of us, "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same question," I said, remembering the similarities of the conversation earlier that day. He must've remembered as well when he grinned along with me. "I'm waiting for a taxi."

He shook his head, looking away from me for a second and out at the rain again, lifting the fag from his mouth. "What, your boyfriend couldn't come pick you up?" he asked as if it was as natural of a question as the sky is blue.

He turned towards me again and I looked back at him. I was flattered but confused as to why he assumed I wasn't single. I then nervously laughed. "N-no, I don't have a boyfriend, I haven't been on a date in nearly ten years," I admitted, staring directly into his eyes. Noticing what I had just said and how awkward I must've made the interaction encouraged me to immediately avert my eyes as I felt my face flushed red.

However, he seemed just as staggered as I was. "Really?" I nodded, grabbing at my sleeves for imaginative protection from embarrassment. "Hmph," he sighed, finally breaking his view from me.

I gained the courage to move on from my shame. "What about you? Your wife couldn't make it?" I asked back.

"I don't have a wife," he said.

"Oh?" I smiled.

"I've got many," he chuckled, taking another hit.

I felt my heart drop heavy from my chest like a bowling ball. "Hmm . . ." I twisted my lips sheepishly.

Murdoc turned to me frantically and wide-eyes. "I'm just kidding," he reassured in a sort of concerned tone.

I looked back at him, a sigh of relief coming off as a short second of laughter. I smiled, shaking my head and he swapped his smirk for a real smile. I adjusted my position, "Why are you out here?"

Murdoc was silent for a few seconds. "I enjoy the rain."

Something about Murdoc enjoying rainy weather gave me a unique feeling of nostalgia in a way. I remembered back to when I loved the rain myself. Whenever it poured or simply drizzled I would run out onto my lawn and spin on the grass until I slipped in the mud. I had a blast every time until my mother scolded me, but that was at least fifteen years ago. Times had changed quite drastically, and sometimes I convinced myself, for the better. "Lucky you live in London then, huh?"

"Very true," he agreed. "Not so lucky for you though, eh?"

I felt myself furrow my eyebrows by accident. "Why do you say that?"

"Too much traffic," he smiled. I just dropped my jaw, surprised he kept bringing up the crazy moment we met. I began to smile and lightly shoved him as he turned to me, laughing.

"I still can't thank you enough for that . . ." I said.

"You don't have to keep thanking me, (Y/N)."

"But I do," I said as we stared at each other.

He just shook his head and chuckled at my determination. "You really think saying thank you isn't enough to make it up?"

"Not even close," I convinced myself, shaking my head. How could it be?

Murdoc took a few seconds to think deeply before settling his gaze comfortably on me. "Well . . . Why don't we meet up for coffee sometime and think about it?"

"Really?" Did Murdoc actually want to meet up for coffee? He didn't seem like the person to do something so simple. Or that's what I told myself at least. My self-respect decreased as I thought of the possibility it could just be a pickup line to hookup and nothing else. Not to sound into myself, but it's happened before, I couldn't imagine anybody wanting to hang out to actually become friends. Cassidy's offer was unbelievable enough. It hurt . . . so I ignored it as best as I could to not harm this precious moment.

"Why not? You like coffee?"

"Sure!" I turned my body more towards him.

"Perfection," he settled. He stood up and dropped his cigarette into the disposal box on the wall of the building. "I'll catch you later," he said, backing up before he turned away on his heel. As he walked into the parking lot, one of the clouds in the sky finally drifted away from the sun, pouring its light down onto his head and shoulders. Rain cascaded down his back like glitter and I couldn't help but stare as he slipped away and disappeared out of view.

I looked away from his direction, smiling to myself. Why was I so connected to him in such a strange clingy way? I guess clingy wasn't the right word, but I was being sort of creepy becoming closer with him. I'd excused myself before since I hadn't made friends in years and the alchemy behind befriending others had slipped my mind little by little, but I had to keep common sense common. I tried to keep myself from thinking about him so much and blinked his face out of my mind, remembering I was waiting for my taxi. My taxi I hadn't even called yet.

#gorillaz #murdoc niccals #2-d #stuart pot #Russel Hobbs #noodle #x reader #murdoc x reader #damon albarn #jamie hewlett #romance #fanfiction

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get-a-new-lease-on-life · 5 years

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A New Lease on Life - #59

WELL. It's been about a donkey's age since I've been able to update this. Normally I'd apologize for the wait…but…well, honestly, I've been beating myself up enough as it is and it's not like it happened out of the blue. Kinda-brief update for anyone wondering: I've warned about an impending grief hiatus since my uncle Bob's cancer diagnosis, and the hiatus came to pass in December. Uncle Bob finally lost his fight to cancer after two years of treatment and fading. The end came on rather suddenly but after the deathwatch he went peacefully and without pain. His death really messed me up, especially since I was already suffering from depression. Our first Christmas without Bob was also our last Christmas with Granny Chance, his mother and my grandmother…she suffered a massive stroke in January and died soon afterward. In the space of a month, my family and I lost two members, one right after the other. In a word, the whole situation has been FUCKED and it's still not completely over. There are good days, and bad days…and, to quote a certain Del Toro film, "Then there are the really bad days." Between those, we're all slowly working our way through the fallout and healing process. This chapter is the first I've been able to finish since SEPTEMBER, largely because all of my stories are currently in plot-required angsty-dramatic phases and I CANNOT WRITE SAD SCENES when I'm depressed. It's entirely IMPOSSIBLE, they always come out farcical or they just don't flow. It SUCKS. TBH, I don't know for certain if I'm going to be able to catch up to my previous writing abilities or pace anytime soon but I'm certainly going to try. Also, quick note if you're reading this on Tumblr – they recently enacted a WORDBLOCK LIMIT on text posts of 100 blocks. Yeah. We're now limited to 100 paragraphs including the title. If the chapter's low dialogue and has no notes, that's fine, but if not? Well, we're just screwed because THIS ONE ran 86 ¶s WITHOUT the notes, glossary, and pre-story stuffs. I'm not sure yet how I'll be handling that limit for good, whether that means posting links to sites without the bullshit limits, posting long chapters in pieces, or linking to the separate posts with the notes and glossary, but I'll figure it out in time. For now, I’ll be including the NOTES at the end and you can find the GLOSSARY at FFnet or AO3. Check out Spotify for a playlist centered on this arc - features suggested listening for this chapter and the next few, and much, much more. Lastly, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience and understanding, and give a shout-out to some wonderful people who've made this new chapter possible. This chapter is dedicated to Wolf, Newt, and Ihlni for their invaluable support and kind words – to my hubby Cold for letting me ugly-cry on him without complaint and never failing to remind me that life has to go on – to my ma-in-law for teasing me about earning a nasty hangover instead of acknowledging that I looked like death-on-the-rocks and was obviously crying before I answered the door – to my mother for being a bloody SAINT and to my father for intentionally being an asshole when someone to fight with was just what I needed – to Wanda Farmer on AO3 and vbt22220 on FFnet for their encouragement in reviews, the folks on Tumblr who offered kind words when I needed them most, and to all you wonderful people who've stuck by me, read my stories, and are still reading after all this time. Above all, though, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Granny Chance and Uncle Bob – may they ever rest in peace.

Suggested Listening: Fuel "Hemorrhage [In My Hands]," Paramore "The Only Exception," Prince "Purple Rain," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You"

59: A Matter of Honor

The Lair, November 19th - around noon

Donatello wasn't known for being a fool; regardless, he felt rather foolish anytime the obvious failed to register until it was staring him in the face. This was just such a time. He didn't recall sequestering himself in the lab much less falling asleep at his workbench, but the proof was self-evident: a crick in his neck, a strand of insulated wire still stuck to his drool-sticky cheek, and sweat-smeared glasses half off his face. It took a moment of tired lip-smacking and searching to comprehend the facts—ah, right, he pulled an all-nighter to complete the vital signs monitor for Kimber's visit. From what he could see, the device was, indeed, completed. Too tired to consider the absurd picture he must make, he peeled the wire trimming off his cheek and set it aside.

What woke him? He searched his memory, found nothing, then turned to more closely examine his surroundings. A plate of now-cold PopTarts and a cup of coffee (helpfully covered with a cracked saucer) waited a safe distance from his elbow. Right - it was Saturday. This time last year he easily lost track of the days between all-nighters and the sleeping-binges that always followed them. Now he had a weekly reminder in the form of too-sweet coffee and half-burned pastries, courtesy of the confusing woman whose scent still clung to his skin. How blessed he felt in this moment…

The moment ended with a familiar sound—a sleep-slurred phrase he could recognize anywhere but never quite understood. Ya been away too long he got, and he recognized the terms sook, e'en, and nip though he wasn't fully certain of their context.* Beyond that the half-Celt tucked into the cot may as well have been speaking Greek for all he knew. The oft-repeated tease fell short in a particularly nasal snore. Donnie hoisted himself out of his chair with a chorus of protesting joints and slowly rounded the workbench. Silently, he regarded his sleeping woman, soaking in all the silly little details that caught his eyes—the freckles spattered across her skin, the flash of faded ink peeking up over her drooping neckline, the stubborn silver cowlicks sticking up at odd angles from her loosely bound hair—anything to remind himself she was still alive.

He shook his head in weary defeat. A full week after their desperate flight from Willsdale and every time he woke he still half-expected to find Amber cold to the touch, lifeless and painted in blood. Perhaps, he considered as he gathered her in his arms and made his way to their bedroom, this was one scar which would only be healed with time. Perhaps, he considered as he lay her across the neatly tucked quilt and curled up behind her, he could only conquer his fear of Amber's death by focusing on her life. Even as he tugged her flush against his plastron and groin and nuzzled into her neck, he couldn't erase the memory of her: bruised, bloody, and broken, and rapidly fading in his arms. He shuddered and sucked in a steadying breath of her scent.

She wasn't dead, she was alive now…it was enough…right?

Red Fern Florist, Noon

Normally, Red Fern Florist was a calm place – a quiet and classy establishment that just so happened to be run by people who didn't care about being quiet or classy. This, alas, was not a normal day, not even in the slightest.

Abilene Whitaker manned the register, eyes focused somewhere beyond the neon-streaked pages of her textbook and not registering a word. The backroom echoed with near-constant racket—crashes, curses, objects falling or being thrown… Abby sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and dragged herself off of the barstool to investigate. Sure enough, Mercy was stocking the shelves a tad too roughly…if by roughly one meant throwing the bags of supplies around like a spandex-clad steroid junkie at a WWE grudge-match smackdown.

"Alright, that's enough," Abby snapped at her blonde subordinate; Mercy froze, embarrassed grey-blue eyes meeting Abby's over a lean, hunched shoulder. "You've been stomping around and slamming things all afternoon. What on earth could be so horrible you've gotta torture the mulch?" Mercy cringed, fixing guilty eyes on the bag of mulch in her grip. Caught. "Well?" The blonde uttered a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, snorted, then slid the bag onto its shelf with more care than necessary.

"My man's ex is comin' by tonight," she admitted under her breath. "She's stayin' a few days."~

"WHAT?!" Abby squawked in protest. "He's bringing his ex over?! Aw, Hell naw! Girl, you drop that boy before I find him and punch him in the man-fritters!" Man-fritters?** Mercy couldn't help it – she sniggered at the visual – but her laughter faded into regret when she registered the rest of Abby's threat.

"No can do," she sighed, "it's kinda unavoidable." Abby crossed her arms, scrunched her lips into an almost exact replica of Leo's 'pissy leader pout,' and waited for an explanation. Mercy rolled her eyes, spearing her fingers into her hair and yanking. "Kimber…well, she's like me an' Amber," she explained under her breath. "Remember I told ya Amber…uh…went home for a few days? Well, she almost…um…didn't come back. Bitch-nipple's comin' over to see how long any of us can stay home without that happening. She invited herself, we voted, Raph lost, she won." Abby took a moment to let that sink in.

"Your guy tried to vote her off the island?" A grim nod from Mercy. "They broke up before she left, right?"

"…and she left before he an' I met," Mercy added even as she rolled her eyes.~ All the code-talk really got on her nerves but they had to be mindful of the security cameras. Abby leaned against the doorframe, lean shoulders at a sharp slant, and hazel eyes puzzled behind her fuchsia-streaked hair.

"You think she wants him back?" she asked quietly. "He won't…" She sucked in a nervous breath. "What if she tries to win him back?"

"You're kiddin', right?" Mercy scoffed. "He dumped her! He's been angsty as fuck over breakin' her heart, yeah, but I know'im—she could make all the moves she wants, he ain't gonna budge."~ Not to mention Kimber's still dead she added in her own head then shook it. After all, she was dead, too. The whole situation stank like a crappy soap opera. "I trust'im, Abbs," she added under her breath. "Raph chose me, not the Jersey-Devil-wannabe…jealousy's pointless when I already know the end result, an' that end result is he's with me."

Abby watched her a moment, scrutinizing and studying; just as suddenly as she issued the threat against Raph's genitals, she smiled. "You're a strong woman," the neon-haired clerk remarked lightly. "I ever heard one of Cherie's exes asking to stay, I'd bash the twat's teeth in. You need anything, you give me a call, alright?" Mercy nodded, halfway between a cringe and a grateful smile, and went back to the stocking. "So how are things going between you two, anyway?" Abby added taking up her share of the lifting. "You never bring him by, you never tell me much about him…how's he treating you?"

Mercy paused, brow furrowed, and scrambled for an answer that didn't make her sound like an absolute sap. She couldn't find one. "He makes me wanna listen to Faith Hill, watch him sleep, an' punch his ex in the teeth," she grumbled. The heat in her cheeks went nuclear at Abby's excited squeal.

"Oh-em-GEE!" the younger practically shrieked. "You love him!" Mercy shot her a sour glare.

"Woman," she groused, "shut yer ass – the bullshit's leakin' out."

The Lair, shortly after dusk - 00:00:00

Two weeks ago, Kimber Bryant faced down Leonardo and demanded the opportunity to make right the trouble she caused his family. Now she stood in the hallway, practically quaking in her mud-stained canvas sneakers, unsure how to proceed. It didn't exactly help that Leo was still glaring at her from behind and her other escort, Donatello, kept fiddling with the tablet strapped to his left forearm.

"Now remember, you've gotta keep the leads from getting tangled," the genius rambled without ever once looking at her. "A little perspiration shouldn't cause any unwanted interference—I insulated the outer casing well to deter any outside condensation or humidity finding its way into the monitor's internal components but there are limits." Kimber rolled her bottle green eyes over at Leo in hope of rescue from Donnie's babbling but received only a glare. "It's not fully water-tight," the genius continued with a shrug and 'meh' expression, still without even glancing her way, "so we'll need to cover it with a water-resistant dressing when it comes to bathing but other than that it—"

"Today, Donnie," Leo grumbled. The younger startled out of his thoughts, fingertips still poised on the holographic chart projected over his tech-tab. He blinked a few times in rapid succession as though refreshing his memory then turned to Kimber in question. From the looks of it, she seemed ready to chew her ankle off to escape the lecture. She really was so very different from Amber…how could they possibly be the same person underneath it all? Could a person's history and past choices really have that big an impact on their personality and attitude?

"Uh…right," he uttered with a wince. "Anyway, it's natural for your core temperature to fluctuate a certain amount over the day but if it drops too low, I'll get an alert. We may not have much time to get you back…so…" he trailed off in hopes she'd pick up the slack.

"Don't get comfy," she finished sourly. "Yeah, I got it. Git lawst."~ He crinkled his nose at her demand but said nothing; instead, he rolled his eyes in defeat and took off toward the lab.

"Remember our agreement," the eldest warned under his breath as he shouldered past her. "You have one chance, and you're to stay—"

"I got it, I got it," Kimber snapped in response. "Go dig t'at stick out'a ya ass before it gets stuck up t'ere."~ Other than a deep-chested growl of warning, Leonardo said nothing—he just stormed past her to some destination she didn't care to know. Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she made her way toward the light at the end of the hallway. The closer she came the more clearly she heard a familiar voice—a voice that still haunted her fondest dreams and worst nightmares.

Familiar laughter led her into the living area where two people were cuddled up on a lumpy sofa. The larger wore a familiar boyish grin that stole the breath right from her lungs. In her grip, the duffle-bag strap slid loose—sweaty palms, she realized. A fluttering, weightless sensation filled her veins—oh, no… 'Gawd dammit…why've I gotta still love'im?'~ She choked around the damned butterflies doing barrel-rolls in her gullet. Steeling her nerves, she shook off her mushy thoughts and turned the corner. 'It don't change nothin'—dead's dead, an' he never chose me anyway. It's better t'is way.'

Raphael…he looked so much the same and yet so different. His eyes shone with laughter where they once burned with distrust; his posture was relaxed where he always kept up a front before. Tucked into his side and 'narrating' the boxing match with absurd faked voice-overs was a tall, lean woman with short messy blonde hair. Kimber's lip ached to curl in a sneer as the blonde loosed a raucous laugh but she fought it back—Raph wasn't hers. If this…this woman in his arms was enough for him…well, she'd respect that. She only ever wanted to see him happy and by God, she'd do so, no matter how much it hurt.

One moment, everything in Mercy's world was perfect. There was a decent match on TV, Raph had 'bullied her' into not-cuddling with him, and for the moment they had no other obligations. As it always seemed to, though, everything fell apart in a single breath…a breath that carried a perfume of vanilla, sugar, and musk. The smell wasn't entirely unpleasant but it was strong enough to make her sinuses burn and her head hurt. Why must so many people marinate themselves in perfume and cologne?

As Mercy and Raphael turned to greet the newcomer in unison the arm around her waist slackened—bright golden hazel eyes widened—full, scarred lips fell slack in dismay. Those lips formed a single word—a name Mercy spent hours cursing that afternoon—but no sound came forth. Torn, she held her silence, eyes darting from Raphael to the stranger and back again almost desperately. She knew this moment would come, she just didn't realize how much she'd want to scream obscenities when it did.

The stranger broke the stare first, bottle-green eyes flustered behind their impeccable smoky eyeliner. She reached up to her modest neckline, grabbed at the pair of worn metal dog-tags at her chest, took a deep breath, then looked up again with a weak smile. "'ey, Raphie," she murmured in a voice still thick with smog. "Long time no see, huh?" The hulking mutant couldn't even get out a single word; he just nodded, his chin and lips unnaturally stiff. Even as he stared down Kimber Bryant he clenched his fingers even tighter to Mercy's waistband. Mercy glanced down at the sight of his three-fingered hand anchoring her in place by a belt-loop. Just that morning, she woke up with that hand tangled in the hem of her nightgown anchoring it at mid-thigh. She had nothing to fear.

She pried Raph's fingers loose, stretched an imaginary crick from her neck, and rolled off the sofa to her feet. "I'll catch up later," Mercy remarked with an entirely faked smile and made her way to the side door. "Compost prob'ly needs a turnin' 'bout now."~ On the way past, she silently took in what details she could, mentally comparing them. The other woman was her height but beyond thin and into skinny. Her hair was coarse—naturally red from the looks of it but with a texture similar to unraveled jute twine. A sharp glance told Mercy the other had practically no ass; no competition there. She rolled her eyes, punched in the security code to pass through, then let the door drift shut behind her.

Before she could get anywhere a pair of large, powerful hands snatched her by the shoulders, spun her about, and pinned her to the tunnel wall. "Why you leavin'?" Raph demanded sharply. His voice was barely below a shout but as so often before, Mercy saw underneath that posturing—she saw the suspicious shimmering in his eyes, the nervous tic in his jaw, the vulnerable hunching of his shoulders, and the lurching of his throat and plastron from frantic heaving breaths. Fear was the one thing he really had no reason to feel in this case but it was written all over him. She cupped his squared jaw, thumb tracing the scar splitting his lip.

"I ain't leavin', ya meathead," she corrected as he covered her hand with his in a frantic grip. "You were friends, right? Ya never got to say goodbye. I've seen how this's been tearin' you apart an' I'm sick of watchin' it."~ Her lips curled in a tease but it was entirely true—she was beyond sick of having another woman in their relationship, even a dead one. "Ya need closure, I get that—I'm backin' off so you can get it. Got it?" Raphael said nothing—he just stared back, visibly searching her words for subtext. When he finally spoke, what he asked made no sense.

"Why?" he demanded in a near-deadpan. Mercy wrinkled her nose but before she could speak, he continued. "Why're ya testin' me like dis? What've I done ta deserve dat?"~

"Testin' you?" Mercy shook her head and scoffed. "I'm not testin' ya, Red," she promised. "I know you and I trust you—you're not about to cheat on me with anyone, much less a dead chick, right?" He shook his head in agreement and his eyes softened; he belatedly released her hand, choosing instead to cup her cheek.

"I wouldn't do dat to ya," he confirmed gruffly. "I'd never…I promised not ta hurt ya an' I meant it…but…" He faltered, flustered and struggling to find the right words. "Dis ain't right…ya ought'a be pissed at me fer even lettin' 'er come here…heck, if dis happened to any other guy, he'd get slapped fer lettin' it happen!"

"You're not any other guy," Mercy reminded shortly, "an' I'm not any other gal. Jealousy won't help anything, it ain't healthy, and you weren't too keen on her comin' over, to begin with. I've got no reason to be mad at'cha, an' especially no reason to hit ya."~ Her eyes drifted back toward the side door, now closed, and she sighed. "I don't like it," she admitted as her hand drifted down to his thick neck, "but I know you need closure an' I trust you enough to not interfere."

Raphael said nothing—what could he possibly say?—instead, he took a step back, eyes wide. This wasn't the first time she professed her trust in him, nor would it be the last, but this utterance seemed the most improbable of all. Wait…no, there was one other moment even more unexpected—a recent moment, the moment he first witnessed Mercy Ross fall apart at the seams, right there in his arms.#

Tousled blonde hair spilled across his pillow like scattered straw. Unpainted lips, swollen from friction, panted around gasping breaths. Work-roughened fingertips clawed at the equally tough skin of his bare scalp and shoulders as he unleashed all his pent-up frustration on her finally bared skin.

"I trust you," she'd promised only moments before. "When are ya gonna start trustin' yourself?"

"Ya shouldn't trust me," he'd blustered, but despite his denials, he caved to her temptation. He knew from the first breath it would take weeks to clear her pheromones from his lungs; he'd never forget the taste of her or her keening cries of completion. When the madness left her eyes and the fire dulled in his blood, Raphael knew he'd never be able to see his Mercy the same, nor would he ever cease to be humbled by her seemingly unshakable faith in him—trust he couldn't recall doing a damn thing to earn.

That July, Raphael took a chance on happiness in the middle of an open rooftop—a single kiss followed by countless more, all sound-tracked with heavy metal. Ever since then, anytime he fell to the temptation of Mercy's lips, he lost himself completely. He wanted her—he needed her—he craved her—she was the air he breathed, vital to his very survival and responsible for every beat of his heart. Far below the filthy streets, in a dark passage forgotten by the world in general, he stole her lips and breathed her in reverence.

He loved her—loved her beyond the limits of his fears and follies—and that was why she knew he wouldn't let her down.

"So you two, huh?" Raphael ducked his head to avoid Kimber's eyes, hoping she couldn't see the traces of stickiness at his lips or the tenting of his patched trousers. She said nothing, choosing instead to examine the worn red tweed of the sofa arm she perched on.

"What of it?" he retorted slumping onto the seat at the opposite end of the couch.

"Looks like ya found a good one, 'at's all," she shrugged. He studied her silently a moment, searching for signs of deceit. In his heart, he knew this stranger was Kimber—his Kimber, the friend he threw away over his insecurities and fears—but her appearance was largely unfamiliar. Kimber was always on the chunky side of curvaceous but with an undeniable sex appeal. This new body was built like a scarecrow - all long limbs and frizzy hair - but underneath he could see the same sensual confidence Kimber had before she died. That sensuality was all Kimber - Amber lacked it completely, always coming across somewhere between odd and awkward. This woman, though visually unfamiliar, was definitely Kimber. Something in her eyes spoke of mischief…and regret. "Fer Gawd's sake," she swore under her breath and turned an acidic glare on him. He refused to meet it, locking his eyes on one padded and splayed knee. "I know t'a drill—I'm dead, not stoopid."

"Ya were never stupid, Kim, jus' stubborn an' naive," he protested but she waved him off.

"T'en quit lookin' at me like t'at." After a moment of resistance, he finally bit the bullet—he met her eyes. "Yeah, like t'at," the redhead grumbled, "like I'm gonna jump ya if ya take yer eyes off'a me or somethin'. I may be livin' in a homewrecker but t'at don't make me a homewrecker." This time, she was the one to hide her eyes.

A long, tense silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional sound from the Lab or utility room. In this unexpected but overdue moment, despite the drastically different appearance, Raphael saw Kimber as she was when they first met—not the over-confident temptress with the venomous smile and devil-may-care attitude but the lost, lonely, frightened runaway searching for her place in the world. Her new body was thirty-five if it was a year old, but she'd never looked more like a child to him than she did now. The night she turned Lefty and Northpaw over to the police and fell apart, Raph let the wrong head do the thinking and her heart suffered for it. So much heartache came from that one bad call—Kimber's death, too, was a result—how could he ever make it right?

"Rah-fay-el." The quiet – almost reverent – utterance of his name startled him from his brooding. Kimber faced the far wall but her eyes were locked on his askance. "Tell me t'a truth…did ya ever love me?" He blanched; she scoffed and picked at the faded red tweed covering the sofa. "I know we was close," she clarified in a soft tone void of accusation, "friends to be sure, but did ya ever love me like I loved you?"

He didn't answer—he couldn't answer, not around the painful lump in his throat. For so long, he wondered the very same. Loving Kimber, after all, would have made his betrayal a crime of passion rather than a bad move made in paranoid self-defense. Despite all his brooding introspection, though, he always came up with the same answer: he could have loved her, but he didn't…if he'd kept his head, maybe, someday, he could have loved her, but he didn't. "Exactly." Kimber's near-whisper broke his train of thought. "I knew ya didn't love me," she admitted even as her shoulders drew tight and her painted lips stretched in a sort of sneer. "I always knew it, I just t'ought…eh, no matter. I'm not gonna fuck up yer life again."

"I think ya got dat backwards," Raph pointed out dryly. "I fucked up yer life—I'm why yer…" He faltered, his throat clenching around the word as though to prevent him from voicing it. "Ya know," he settled for with a weak half-shrug, "like dis." Kimber watched him silently, eyes sharp enough to cut away his protective façade.

"Say it," she challenged. He flinched; she slid off the armrest and stalked over to face him, arms crossed in defiance. "Say it, Raph," she ordered, "ya know what I am—ya know t'a word, so use it. I'm…" She trailed off, one eyebrow cocked in expectance.

Raphael cringed. Of all the times he wished it was possible to completely withdraw into his shell, this was one of the worst so far. Weary hazel eyes drifted from Kimber's dirty canvas sneakers up her faded jeans and cotton blouse, up to her unimpressed eyes. "Yer…dead," he whispered as if confessing some great sin.

"Exactly," Kimber harrumphed and jabbed him between the eyes with one clear-lacquered fingernail. "Dead folks an' live folks jus' don't mix, ya muck-brained mawron.~ It wouldn't work an' I ain't about to waste my time tryin' ta make it work. Capiche?" He nodded, glaring up at her retreating back.

"Den why'd ya come back?" he asked, letting his hand fall back to his knee. "Dere had to be anutha way to test Don's theory, so why'd ya volunteer?"~ Kimber stilled in her pacing, carefully arranging her words before they could all spill out without concern for her feelings.

"I never got ta say goodbye," she admitted in a near-whisper, "not ta you, not ta Daron or Lefty, not ta anyone who mattered…but I've neva been t'at big on goodbyes anyhow, ya know?" Her voice cracked on the last words and she took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke again, she turned to the side as though watching him over her shoulder but her eyes remained hidden. "I made a lotta mistakes, Red—a lotta stoopid decisions t'at hurt a lotta people—an' much as I wanted to just stay dead, I lived ta regret every one'a t'ose decisions. T'at's why I came back…t'a fix t'a shit I broke an' atone for my sins. If t'at means stayin' here fer t'ree days while you an' Blondie play suck-face, so be it."

"Ya know you're puttin' yer life at risk, right?" Raph reminded, ignoring the suck-face comment. "Donnie ain't sure about da timing on dis thing, ya know. He an' the braided nutcase passed five days in her world but they weren't gone a whole three days, here. Who's to say ya'll have a full three days here? Who's ta say ya won't drop dead in an hour, or three hours, or even a minute from now?" He shuddered at the thought, his mind helpfully supplying several months' worth of nightmares to choose from, most of which ended with Kimber dying in his arms. "Ya froze, Kim, an' dat ain't an easy way to go; are ya really willing to risk goin' through it all over again?"

"It's my choice," she reminded with a stern expression reminiscent of an unimpressed schoolmarm. "No one asked me ta make t'at choice. Besides, see t'is?" She tugged her neckline aside to show him the small plastic device hung from her neck and the line of wire trailing down to her armpit. "T'is lil' t'ing's monitoring my core temp—we've got t'is covered. Trust me?"

Raph considered the plea a moment—for it was, indeed, a plea in every sense of the word—then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I don't like it," he admitted in a throaty rumble, "but it ain't my job ta like it." There was much more to say, but for the moment, he hadn't words.

"Nope," Kimber agreed with a sly grin. "It's yer job ta help me give Daron a heart attack. What say we give'im a visit from t'a Livin' Dead Girl?" It was just a tease—just another excuse to ignore the elephant in the room—but for the moment, Kimber didn't care. She had more important tasks to focus on—messes to clean up, mistakes to correct, sins to atone for, and honor to regain. For now, the rest could wait.

The Lair - 00:35:00 and counting

Time stops for no man, people often said, and the same could be said for women. Never mind that Amber's cantankerous counterpart was staying in the Lair for the weekend…lurking around every corner…stinking up the place with her perfume…just waiting for a chance to bitch-slap Amber back into her place at the bottom of the food chain…

Amber shuddered at the thought and firmly shoved it into the back of her mind. Kimber Bryant made Amber all kinds of nervous but her presence didn't excuse Amber from her chores. There was too much to do—laundry to put away, studying to do, dinner to prepare— Something soft and furry brushed against her calf, startling her from her thoughts. "Right," she muttered as Kirk bypassed the laundry basket at her feet and hopped up onto Donnie's bed. "Gotta clean the litterboxes an' feed Kirkland too." After a mrrruhl of warning and a superfluous butt-wiggle said feline launched himself right into a pile of folded undergarments and began viciously mauling a sock big enough to double as an oven mitt. As he lay on his side, wrapped around the sock and kicking like a homicidal kangaroo, Amber sighed and shook her head in whimsical defeat. After how much she'd missed him she couldn't really be upset with the little murder-machine; cats, after all, would be cats, and socks could be darned.

"It's inevitable, Kirk," she teased as she hung a pair of patched canvas trousers in the frame-and-fabric 'closet.' "You're just gonna have to get used to sharing me with Donnie. I know I'm Mom but he's mine - you can't resent him forever." With an adorable cotton-muffled urrrr, Kirk glared at her over a mouthful of beige knit as if to say watch me. Ah, the jealousy of spoiled cats.

"Honestly, I'm lucky to have Donnie," she added to herself, doubts and worries filling her thoughts between wire hangers. Back before the dream connection was confirmed—before Donatello confronted her with his old Tonfa and confessed the name of her dead classmate—Amber could fool herself he wasn't the same Donnie she grew up with. She could tell herself that he didn't know all her dirty little secrets. He didn't watch her fall apart over the last few years of her life, partly from illness and her and partly from depression and apathy. He never heard how her poor choices in college may have led to the death of a classmate. He never knew she routinely slaked her carnal needs in impersonal encounters so her time with him in dreams could be focused on more important things than her hormones. If this Donnie wasn't her Donnie, then the mistakes of her past were only a secret to keep.

The problem was…now she knew this was her Donnie…and by the sounds of it, he remembered everything. Amber paused, fondling a strip of worn purple fabric. Even after countless washings, every one of those masks smelled strongly of his oddly comforting blend of coffee, machinery, musky exertion, and spice. "How can he even look at me, Kirk?" Amber murmured into the sweet-smelling fabric. "I screwed up with him so many times…I gave up on him, I – I gave myself up to other guys…how doesn't he hate me by now?"

This last question seemed the most perplexing. Sure, the purpose of those impersonal booty-calls was to shut up her hormones so her scant time with Donnie could be put to better use, but she always regretted them afterward. Regret, though, didn't count if a person intentionally committed the same crime over and over again, and she was guilty—guilty of closing her eyes, mentally replacing the other men with Donnie, and crying herself to sleep after they left. Regret was a weak word, really; what she felt wasn't weak. After all the time she spent hating herself for the infidelity, the idea that Donnie didn't hate her for it made no sense.

The dead silence tore her from her ruminations; odd, considering Kirk had a habit of 'answering' her every time she spoke.## After a quick glance at the bed, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The little furball was out cold, wrapped around her favorite bra and snoring into one generous cup. The battered sock sprawled on the floor half under the bed—the enemy was vanquished. Chuckling at the absurdity, Amber crouched to retrieve the sock but paused when she noticed something wedged between the mattress and box spring. A warped silver wire binding, traces of green beyond the rings…surely she was mistaken, but it wouldn't hurt to check…right?

Amber tugged the notebook loose and promptly cringed in recognition. It was her journal, the one she hadn't written in for months then misplaced. Why was it jammed under the mattress like a nudie magazine? Curiosity drove her to investigate and she quickly discovered the litany of notes scribbled upside-down in the back. She quickly lost herself in the writing—questions and memories, hopes and fears Donatello couldn't bring himself to share with her, all centered around their years apart. Though she didn't dig too deeply, there wasn't a single word of blame or judgment anywhere—nothing that indicated resentment or disgust. Amber almost missed the sheet of loose-leaf that slipped out and fluttered to the floor—almost. The pencil-scribbled contents might have made her stumble if she hadn't already seated herself before. "I met my lover in a dream," she whispered in recognition.^ "That poem…I thought I lost it...I guess Donnie found it?" Soon enough, she hit the final lines:

Mibbe someday he will see – Someday the truth I'll tell. For now, I've only memories, And dreams I shot tae Hell.

Or, rather, those should have been the final lines—they were the last she wrote. Someone, however, clearly thought the poem wasn't finished and added their own verse…in pen…neatly printed by a familiar hand straddling the border between calculating and persnickety. "No way," Amber muttered thickly as she scanned the added verse, wide-eyed and breathless. "Naw fookin' way!"~ No matter how she protested, the words remained clear, impossible yet obvious. Still marveling at their presence—and at the subtext—she never heard the soft ticking of a distant clock, or the even softer inhale accompanying.

Dreams can sometimes fall apart, And memories can fade. The truth you shared can't change my heart… Your lover-friend I've stayed…

I'll see you in our dreams.

There was no stopping it, no holding back: Amber crushed the paper to her pounding heart in elation. He remembered. He understood. He loved. Perhaps, even…he forgave?

Sometimes emotions are too powerful for words; fortunately for Amber, squealing unintelligibly required none.

UP NEXT: (Currently in-progress)

Chapter List

- The vital signs monitor – At first I wasn't quite sure if such a device was on the public market, at least aside from 'smart' devices like FitBit and such, so I did what I do best: I researched the fuck out of it for funzies. Turns out there are more varieties out there than I expected, each monitoring different signs in different fashions and to different accuracy levels. Since Donnie's never been the sort to simply COPY others' ideas, we can safely assume he's combined the best of several devices. The result is a small electronic monitor [about the size of a 9-volt battery] hung from the neck by a lanyard, which measures core body temp by way of leads attached to an adhesive-backed electrode stuck in the armpit. We can also assume fitting the device on Kimber was incredibly awkward because she intentionally MADE IT awkward.

* Full statement including what Amber's snoring cut off: "Ya be'n 'way too long 'gain, ya sook—nae be'n by fer a nip'er a bosie. Wha's a lass ta think?" – This little bit of Scotchness is a routine in-dream tease from Amber. You've been gone [from our dreams] too long again, you old softy—you haven't even come by for a kiss or cuddle. What's a woman to think?

** Man-Fritters – Alas, I cannot claim authorship of this little snigger-inducing euphemism. That honor belongs to author Mimi Jean Pampfiloff in her Accidentally Yours series. While the first two books were pretty recipe [if you know what I mean] they were HILARIOUS recipes. I'm not ashamed to admit that the scene in the first one where the heroine belts out 80's pop hits to keep sane made me laugh so hard I spewed my tea, CHOKED ON IT, then spent the rest of the day CROAKING. It was WORTH IT. (That said, the author also used a lovely little nonsense-word coined by my IRL friend Autumn back when we were in high school but didn't notate it. I'd encourage Autumn to stop starting word trends without first seeking a copyright but that'd mean I'd have to pay her every time I stole her stuff, heh.)

Also: Abby has no accent. She's intentionally warping the Oh, Hell no! in hopes of showing Mercy just how upset the news makes her.

# Implied smut – The encounter referenced here didn't make it to in-story occurrence BUT it took place during the Absolutes arc, which took up too much time-and-space for the intended back-and-forth between worlds. It's written up and included in the "Gallery of Memories" as The Blonde and the Beefcake and it can be found HERE.) It's almost entirely lemon, BTW. ;P

## Kirk tends to 'answer' Amber every time she talks to him – I am SO not basing this on our cat Heiferlump. Nope, not at all! …fine. Yes. Heifer responds to EVERYTHING she hears, no matter who says it, and it's rare to find someone she can't bait into answering back. She's particularly adept at getting my father to argue with her and routinely tries to argue with the microwave beeper. O_o It's awesome.

^ The Poem, "Dream Lovers" – I've not posted the entirety of the poem in any chapters or even the GoM installment of the same name. NOW, however, you can find the entire poem in comic format HERE, on this story's Here on Tumblr, OR on DeviantArt. The comic includes Donnie's additions and a small blurb of backstory leading to this scene, and the Tumblr/AO3 posts include a glossary for the many odd words used in the poem. For convenience's sake, I've included the translation of the included verse below.

Again, since Tumblr’s decided to be an ass about wordblock limits, see FFnet or AO3 for the glossary if anything throws you off.

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light-of-being · 5 years

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05.02.19 (treading tentatively forward)

Today was good. Long, exhausting, but good.

Last year was really hard for me and I spent pretty much all of it in survival mode, which is kind of just a sad way to live and was bad for my academics, leadership roles, etc, although I accept that there was no other way at the time. I can confidently say that I’m probably a lot better at coping now than I was before. But I wanted to take a more proactive approach this year -- to live more...intentionally, so to speak. To kinda build a life beyond just survival.

My main concerns were around energy and being able to do this without just collapsing entirely. I find it hard to imagine successfully sustaining studies, health and household tasks simultaneously. But perhaps I’m just being excessively miserly with my energy and I should just allow myself to be tired, to do things beyond the point of exhaustion, and then rest. I’ve been afraid that the rest wouldn’t help, that the exhaustion would become paralysing, as it often has. But the truth is, I haven’t allowed myself to reach that point in a long time because I’ve been afraid, so I don’t actually know whether that still holds at all. I might just be able to be achy and tired, get a really good sleep, and then get up and live another full day. I’m going to experiment with that, let’s see how that goes.

I got books from the library last week, but I didn’t get very far with reading them (probably coz they were slightly dense and not-so-slightly boring and depressing). So I returned those today, and got new ones that I’m actually excited about, intend to, and actually expect to read. I made deliberate efforts to pick out those that are accessible and/or noncommittal, such as a collection of short pieces that I can approach and abandon easily while still having appreciable gains.

I spoke to a therapist while on campus about problems in the general direction of this post. It was actually quite fruitful. I expressed a lot of concern about disintegration/falling apart/losing control that comes with the swamp of uncertainty surrounding my dissociation and my history of experiencing such. The sense of stumbling in the dark. I won’t pretend that I feel any more confident in being able to hold it together, but I do feel more willing to have faith. I’m slowly becoming more comfortable with the idea that I’ve rarely actually put shit behind me, but rather fled from them, that I still carry the corpses of all of myself that I’ve killed. She said we need to explore that and the past more the next time. I agree, I think. I’m still not sure what that’s meant to achieve, but I’m slightly less sure it’d be a waste of time. She says I need to put down the corpses to make space for those I’ll collect in the future, if I think that’s going to happen. Which seems fair, although I’m not certain speaking about them will put them down any better.

I took some time out yesterday to exercise (active) self-compassion. Most of my recollections and thoughts of the past had been so tainted by the visceralness, terror of recurrence and uncanny sense of similar-but-other, that I’d never bothered to look back at those stranger selves as people of their own right. I mean, if they were actually strangers, I would probably have responded to them with empathy and support, but all I was doing to myself was recoiling. So I extended to them an olive branch of sorts. Forgave them for not making it through, appreciated them for doing their best nevertheless. Promised kindness and greater support henceforth. Which was, in turn, inductively comforting to me.

But I was also angry. Very angry. At my parents, my bullies, everything that had put me in these positions. People whom I’d thought I’d long forgiven, although I’d never even properly given myself a chance to be angry at them. I’d jumped to “they did their best and didn’t know any better” type of thinking and knew I couldn’t reeeally blame them for it if I was applying my own approaches consistently. Never mind that I’d only just grokked after yeeears that this hadn’t been my fault, that it wasn’t due to anything being fundamentally wrong and horrible about me, that they were just...fucked up, and were in fact doing this to everyone. That this was wrong.

I felt, last night, the same kind of mental shift I did long ago when I moved from “slavery was 30 years ago we need to move on coz it doesn’t matter anymore” to “wow no this is still affecting every part of people’s lives and will continue to, we can’t just ignore it”. The same kind of bitterness I see when people talk about how a lot of white people in this country never apologised, still look back to apartheid nostalgically, don’t begin to accept any responsibility or even understanding of the harm they caused...and yet we’ve “forgiven” them and “reconciled”.

Idk. I’ma write out a lengthy exposition of exactly what they did and how it affected me at some stage. I wanted to send it to my mother, or even my father, but sensibly, I probably won’t. It won’t have any productive benefit: while I’d really like them to understand and accept responsibility, I’ll almost certainly get only invalidation and hostility. Soo I’ll probably just write it for my own sanity and hopefully at some point (actually) let go.

So yeah. I’m working on things. This morning I also joined tai chi again, conditional upon being able to opt out of physical contact and social chit-chat things. I bought pretty candles that I look forward to using for meditation things and general niceness. I finally got around to buying a lace curtain so I can open the dark ones without rendering my entire room exposed to the fkin street, and I swear, the outside light transforms the ambience. It’s the best thing. I like light, a lot. I’ve set up my journal for this month, and it’s very pretty and welcoming. My bursars emailed today confirming that they’ll fund me again for this year, which although was expected from the T&Cs, brought a huge sense of relief for my financial state.

Classes start on Monday. I’m very slightly anxious about the workload and the fact that it’s final year and everything counts A Great Deal, but the content seems really cool. I dropped my maths course last year because I was overwhelmed by my own head, and I think that contributed to reduced stability and grounding. I’ma be doing it this year, which is nice. Algebra was pretty cool while I was doing it before I dropped, and Discrete Maths has always been exciting.

Applied cognitive psychology seems overall like a very exciting course. It covers stuff including neural networks, decision making, memory in forensics, clinical cognition and evolutionary cognitive psychology. There’s also an Actual Research Project done in groups: complete with research proposal and poster, and the power to grant kids course credits for partaking...which is in equal parts extremely fkin cool and absolutely terrifying.

Computer science has been said to be challenging, which is probably nice (and also, again, slightly scary). We’re doing more in-depth and probably more complex things like networks and operating systems, which is cool and superior to the largely superficial programming stuff we’ve spent so long on. I enjoyed last semester (concurrency, computer architecture, etc -- conceptual things) so this should probably be good as well.

I’m looking forward to the structure of lectures and the purposefulness of having assignments etc to do. I’ve also been reminded (again today) how much I like my (very beautiful) campus and how it brings me a sense of peace and belonging (generally when there’s nobody else there, not when scared new first years are anxiously attending everything...but anyway).

Things are, for now...okay. I’ve always liked beginnings. I’m willing to try. I’m holding out a tentative hope.

#personal #life update #positive #reflections #long post

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holographicstatic · 3 years

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TESTIMONY

It was a Friday night, April 5th, 2019.

I’m at El Rey on U street, having a few cold ones by myself. Just got off work, taking it easy…

Then, I end up running into and old “friend” I used to hangout with. Known him for about 7 years at the time: (Dave) - tall, black, dreads, above average build.

After a couple of drinks, he asks if I want to hangout at one of his friends house. Said we can smoke there and that she has a lot of drugs.

So I accepted cuz I was originally going to let the night unravel on it’s own and it didn’t sound like such a bad idea at the time.

It was a habitual routine I developed during my heartache…

I’d go out alone, run into a group of people I knew, bar hop ‘til we ended up at an after hours spot (or someone’s place) and shamelessly sleep my next day away.

So we get to the front of his friend’s building and it’s like a 60sumn-year-old lady:

At first, I thought it was a descriptive-type of tattoo. Like, she was saying that that’s what she was.

But in retrospect, it was almost like it was something she was saying to me - you’ll see what I mean later, if you don’t get it now.

Oblivious to what was about to happen next, I continued to walk through that door…

Something felt off, but I just figured it would be something low-level weird.

Now, I’ve already had a good amount of spiritual experiences at this point (good and bad), but for some reason I just didn’t think anything like this would happen…at least not to me.

I thought I had it all figured out, cuz I thought I’d seen it all - or at least enough.

I should’ve known though…I was just so emotionally numb at the time, I was doing anything to feel anything.

I mean aesthetically, she looked like she’d have a few good stories or something. Needless to say by now, but I ignored the red flags.

So, moving forward…