#it would be really silly for him to access his memory files that way actually but

[dandylovesturtles]

once again writing fanfic for an AU that's not mine

uh hi so I guess it is Crying About Future Donnie Hours except this is actually a different future Donnie than the one everyone else is crying about.

I have wanted to write something for @kathaynesart 's Replica for awhile now and I got an idea and I decided to use @tmntaucompetition as an excuse to write and post it, so I guess you could say this is propaganda I didn't expect it to be the day after my poll though so I kinda scrambled a bit aaaaa lol

Replica is one of my favorite ROTTMNT comics, it's one of the first I found after I watched the movie, and I love it so much. If you haven't read it please do! However, there is one part of the comic in particular (and especially one line in particular) that has stuck with me since I first read it, and I think about it a lot. So consider this my little homage to that part of the comic, and to the character who says it.

Also there is a short section of this that is just dialogue from the comic so obviously all credit for that dialogue goes to Kat!

And Kat I really hope you don't mind me playing around in your sandbox a bit /)_(\

Anyway I don't normally title these but I did give the gdoc for this one the title: The Needed Functions to Appreciate It

I hope you enjoy!

~~~

As an AI, experiencing the apocalypse was different.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. did not have to feel the aching gnaw of hunger, or the bite of the cold. He did not feel the sting of acid rain on skin, or the seeping of blood from injury. All the physical sensations his family and friends suffered, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was spared them all.

That did not mean he didn’t feel.

…

“Hey Dee?”

The “Hm?” he got in response was distracted. Donnie was often distracted those days. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. didn’t resent him for it. He knew how busy Donnie is - he cataloged and prioritized the to-do list himself, after all.

“I still have the timers Raph asked me to set for his training in the system, and all his old records. What…” He hesitated. “What should I do with them?”

“Oh.” That got Donnie to pause in his work oh so briefly. His finger tapped twice on the enter key without pressing. “You can delete all of that. Might as well free up memory space where we can.”

“Okay.” It was the right answer. Members of the resistance were allowed to set timers and save some personal files on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s system, and protocol dictated that forty eight hours after loss of vitals, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. should clear such files.

It had been three hundred and fifty seven hours since Raph flatlined. He should have cleared these ages ago.

“Hey Dee,” he said again, more quietly this time, and Donnie actually looked away from his work and gave him his attention.

He hadn’t had a physical body since a raid over a year before; he was just an artistic representation on the monitor. Donnie promised to make him a new one, but S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. could see both the parts inventory and the to-do list and he doubted he would be able to do that. Usually it didn’t bother him, but he thought that day that it bothered him a little.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, and Donnie’s face shifted to something more sad.

“Ah. You have developed a lot of sentimentality…” Donnie sighed, not unkindly. “Well, you can keep it. I won’t make you delete it.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. bounced around the monitor a moment while he mulled it over. Donnie didn’t look away, though one of his battleshell arms took up the task of typing on his computer.

“Isn’t that not good, though, dude? Like… it’s useless now. It’s just taking up space.”

“Yes… sentimentality and practicality are often in direct conflict.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes roving to the ceiling. “Sometimes we just can’t let things go, even against our better judgment, because they remind us of something or… someone.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. zoomed himself in so he filled more of the screen. “Do you get sentimental, Dee?”

Donnie’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Yes, unfortunately so. I find it vexing… though, Mikey would say, “That’s what makes you a person, Donnie, don’t fight it!” or something like that.” 

“But if it makes you hold on to useless stuff, or do things that aren’t necessary, isn’t that bad?”

“Ah, such is the nature of emotions, Shelldon - they often lead us to do things that are, for a lack of a better word, suboptimal… Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a switch so I could just turn the pesky things off. I would focus so much better if I never had to feel… anxious or frustrated or… or sad.” He slumped forward, hugging his arms around himself. “If I didn’t have to… to miss anyone.”

“...That’s the worst one,” said S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., and Donnie nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, it is.” He turned to face S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., eyes glossy. “But-”

ERROR: Memory file corrupted.

.

.

.

.

“It is a convincing replica. Expertly crafted. You act just like him… Be careful that it does not interfere with our intended purpose.”

“Need I remind you, one of my core purposes is to act as a support to Donatello’s family. That includes you, even if you have chosen to forego the needed functions to appreciate it.”

“A necessary purge to keep the Kraang’s whispers at bay.”

“Was it? That is not what Donatello ever wished of you. Even when you decided to take on this burden.”

“Not having to ‘feel’ has its… benefits.”

“And Donatello was quite firm that you not lock yourself away-”

“Such advanced artificial intelligence, yet you still fail to recognize your own ignorance.”

“To what, exactly?”

“To the bliss in not having to miss him.”

.

.

.

.

Username: OMEGABOOTYYYSHAKER9000

Password: ****************

MEMORY FILE ACCESS AUTHORIZED

Enter date: XX/XX/20XX XX:XX

RETRIEVING MEMORY FILE. . . SUCCESS

AUDIOVISUAL PLAYBACK BEGIN

“But even if missing them keeps you from performing optimally… Running from bad emotions means running from the good ones, too.” Donatello sighed. “At least, that’s what Mikey said to me after Papa… And it took me awhile, but I realized he was right. Don’t tell him I said that, though, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your secret is safe with me, dude.”

“Thank you, Shelldon.” He reached with his hand and touched the screen, and even though they couldn’t actually feel each other, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. moved like he was nuzzling his palm. “When you see Raph’s training records, it makes you sad, but also makes you remember all the things you loved about him, right?”

“I guess, yeah… He’d always scratch my head when I came to give him his training report. When I had a body.”

“Mm, so that’s why you always went to do it in person.” Donatello chuckled, rubbing his thumb on the monitor. He was sad, then, thinking that he couldn’t build S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. a proper body. Always lacking the time and materials…

“Is it worth it, though?” asked S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.. “The good feelings, when there’s bad feelings, too?”

“Maybe that’s one of the great mysteries of life, Shelldon. All I know is… I don’t want to give them up. Not anymore. And… it’s easier to deal with, when you’re not alone.” Donatello pulled his hand back, and looked at him very seriously. “Anata wa hitorijanai. That’s as true for you as it is for any of us. Your family will always be here for you, when you miss Raph, or anyone else.”

Maybe it made S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. feel better. He smiled, as much as his facial design would allow.

“Okay. And I’ll always be here for you too, Dee.”

“Thank you, Shelldon.”

“Love ya.”

“I love you too.”

End playback? Y 

PLAYBACK ENDED

#dandy fanfiction #rottmnt replica #future donatello #S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N #future donnie #it would be really silly for him to access his memory files that way actually but #I needed a way to clearly delineate the shift in perspective lol #so don't mind me

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 4: season 7 or taken over

Xisuma slowly blinks at the console logs for the server again. He's very tired; he's been collecting blackstone again, and it's very tiring, collecting blackstone. He's been building a lot of pretty houses, and stocking a lot of shops, and he hasn't had time to look at the console much recently. He probably shouldn't be now, because he's tired, and tired people make mistakes.

He makes a lot of mistakes; he's silly like that. A big derp. It's why he has to be careful, since he's been tired so much lately. He definitely shouldn't have the console open.

It's just, earlier Impulse had a question, since his moss farm kept lagging, and Xisuma thought it would be easy enough to try to find the root cause of. And he did find the root cause of it--Impulse's farm is too fast and his storage simply doesn't keep up with the amount of moss--but there's... some other things...

He blinks again at the dates on the server files. The last edited dates. Slowly, he clicks again on his own player data, and tries to make sense of what he's reading. Files like this, they aren't really meant to be that human-readable. It's--well, it is mostly json, so it's mostly human-readable, actually, but a lot of it is still encrypted, for player safety, which would. Maybe explain what he's looking at? He thinks? He's--well, he does have root access, is the thing, because he's the admin, but he still shouldn't be able to look at any player willy-nilly.

He's a little too much of a derp to be trusted with that. He probably shouldn't even be looking at his data! It's just. That last edited date. Xisuma doesn't edit his own player data. That way lies madness. He's, uh, pretty sure he knows some people who went a little mad doing that. So the fact of the matter is--well, it's not the only file that's been edited recently, he tells himself. Just because it's a lot of memory files that seem to have been edited, as well as access permissions--that's... normal enough for a new season, right?

He's...

He doesn't notice his other self walk up behind him.

"Oh, hey Xisuma. You finished gathering materials for our next build, then?" Evil Xisuma says. All of Xisuma's hairs stand on end.

"I mean, I've gathered enough to get started," Xisuma says.

"Pity. I was really hoping you'd manage to get everything. I thought maybe we'd finish today, but I guess we can't now."

"I--you're right. I'm really sorry."

"No, no, don't worry, don't worry, my friend," Evil Xisuma says. "We probably couldn't have finished today anyway, even if you said you'd try for it."

Xisuma's heart is in his throat. "Sorry, my head's just been. You know how I am. Silly me, forgetting things."

Evil Xisuma shakes his head. "It's awfully lucky I came back this season. Think of all the important things you'd be forgetting without reminders!"

Xisuma looks down and away.

"Gosh, and now you're... playing around in the admin console?"

"Oh!" Xisuma says. "It's, er, nothing really big..."

"Can I see it?"

He barely resists the urge to close out of his player data and hide that's what he'd been looking at. He doesn't know why he wants to hide it. It's not like--well, if Evil Xisuma got mad about it, it would be... right, wouldn't it? Because, well, Xisuma knows full well he shouldn't be looking at or editing his own player data. Editing your own data is the way to madness, and Xisuma, well, he's been so tired lately. He could easily accidentally hit a button. He could easily accidentally hit delete. He has root access, after all.

His heart is in his throat again. He shuffles his feet. "Sure," he says, finally. "I, er, I promise, I wasn't doing anything. I just noticed the last edited date on, uh, files that aren't automatically created by the system? And I thought, gosh, that's weird. I'd only been in there to check on Impulse, really, after he'd had some lag issues. I was just finishing up. It's nothing--the date's weird, though, right? That's all I was noticing."

He watches Evil Xisuma's fingers scroll through all of Xisuma's data. It's not quite fast enough that Xisuma isn't sure he's reading it, and suddenly, Xisuma feels very small.

Finally, Evil Xisuma hands Xisuma's tablet with the admin console open back to him. Xisuma looks down, and Evil Xisuma has closed out of the player data again.

"You just forgot the last maintenance date," Evil Xisuma says.

"Really?" Xisuma says.

"Oh, yeah, for sure. You're so tired lately. You silly derp. You've just been forgetting things easily. You should really get more rest!"

"Oh, but then we won't finish our projects," Xisuma says.

"I guess we wouldn't," Evil Xisuma says back.

"It's just--it's. Most of the time, access permission for player memories isn't edited during maintenance, and I just--I don't remember putting your name down?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Xisuma tries to think.

"I don't know," he says finally, small, unable to meaningfully articulate anything about what's wrong with it. "I guess it only makes sense, if I'm forgetting things so easily."

"Exactly! Gosh, we make a good team," Evil Xisuma says, and he smiles at Xisuma. Xisuma crookedly smiles back.

"Yeah, we do," Xisuma agrees.

"Don't pull that out again unless I say so, okay?"

"Okay," Xisuma agrees automatically, and then he knows he will not. It makes sense. If he was upsetting himself over nothing like this, why, imagine what he'd do if he could open it whenever? He'd just constantly be upsetting himself!

"Now, my friend, let's return to building the Evil Empire."

"Let's!" agrees Xisuma, and just like that, the entire encounter slips from his mind.

#hermithorrorweek2023 #a bee fic #hermitcraft #xisuma #evil xisuma #emotional abuse #mind manipulation #(like genuine warning for emotional abuse here albeit like. somewhat subtle manipulation type.) #if this fic is late in my time zone. no it isn't. #anyway. i will never stop thinking about. whatever was going on between xisuma and evil xisuma in season 8. #anyway. ANYWAY. god one day i'll write the Very Dead Serious Take on that plotline. maybe this is one piece of it. #anyway the horror here is only barely the implied possession it's more the implied. emotional abuse. #GOD i will not stop thinking about the implications of that storyline whether intended or not #like. i'm forever like. did he INTEND to imply the abuse that so many of those cutscenes imply #or was he just trying to write evil xisuma acting like a villain? #anyway this isn't how i'd write evil x for any season that isn't season eight specifically btw you can blame it on jeff if needed

[meloncalic]

Captain’s Log

an ISWM fanfic heavily inspired by Alone with My Thoughts - Noah Floersch

(i have had this song on repeat since @spiritmoon23 recommended it with engie and it spurred this headcanon that i wanted to flesh out)

this was also written quite mediocrely, quickly and minimally edited

warnings: none? angst out the wazoo tho

The Captain had terrible memory. If you asked Mark, he would say they have no faults, they are perfect, the very apex of their species... except for that.

On the Invincible, there were many, many things to keep track of. That’s why, despite how silly it would look to others, the Captain would always be seen with an arm lifted up to their face mumbling into their device.

“What are you always saying into that thing, anyways?” 

“Just boring captain stuff.” they replied with a chuckle and a dismissive wave.

Though it wasn’t entirely false, they were the only one to access it, so it was never really a worry. Mark never pressed further, content with the answer.

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

Though the passage of time really didn’t exist per-say, he would guess he’s been in the room trying to rebuild the Warp Core for about a couple days.

And he already missed them.

A freak collision in the wormhole sent him here, without his Captain. Without anyone really.

Normally, he would only (rarely) leave the Warp Core to eat and use the bathroom. But, on particularly bad days, he wanted to just take a walk and clear his head.

It was pretty depressing, the empty Invincible. Mark was so used to the (somewhat) organized chaos of the ship that it felt unnatural for no one to be there. Nothing. No sign of anything, save him and the core.

He found himself close to the cabin wing. He debated whether it would be ok for him to sleep in his own bed, instead of passing out on the cold, hard floor of the Warp Core room, tool in hand.

Mark shook that thought away. He had to use every possible moment to try and get back, to fix everything. He probably should be there right now, instead of wasting time here—

He came across the Captain’s cabin. Mark felt his hand come up to press the scanner to let himself in, almost on autopilot.

He had never been inside, as he didn’t want to cross that boundary, as close as the two of them were. He respected their privacy. It was quite plain, with a bed, desk, and some lighting.

On the desk were scattered several pens, notebooks, and paperwork. But that isn’t what caught Mark’s attention. A blinking red light from under the numerous papers did, however.

The telltale sign of a low battery was coming from the Captain’s personal device, one that he noticed was slightly different than Mark’s own as he turned it in his hand.

He didn’t know why he went to charge it. The Captain wasn’t here to use it, so who would need it?

As he plugged it in, he accidentally touched a part on the screen, and the sudden laughter made him jump.

*kzzk*

“BAHAHAHAHA!! NO!! No way!! wh—GAHAHAHA—what in the Cosmos possessed you to do that you absolute dingus!! 

Dingus? that’s a new one, Cap. Is that worse than Asshat? Celci, should I be offended?

The answer to that question is always yes, Asshat. Now can you PLEASE stop horsing around and get back to fixing this CryoChamber?”

*kzzk*

It took everything in him to not start crying. It hit him all at once. That was the Captain. Their voice. They didn’t just use this for official reminders, they used this for memories of their time here. This is one of multiple recorded files.

70, to be exact. Little snippets describing funny things that happened on the ship, actual Captain reminders, and secret little recordings of the most mundane conversations, always filled with laughter from the crew.

By the time Mark had listened to them all, the device flashed a bright green, seemingly charged.

It felt wrong to just leave it unused.

He made his way back to the Warp Core, a new fire of determination in his heart. A faint click was heard in the room.

“uh...”

“Captain’s Log: Entry 71, the wires at the base of the Warp Core seem to be attached properly now, giving...”

#markiplier #in space with markiplier #iswm #engineer!mark #h-hey guyss whats up... #how we doin on this fine day #>:) hehe #IDK WHY IM ON SUCH AN ANGST TRAIN LATELY #but anyway if you read this i love u with all my heart i am not that good at writing and i appreciate anyone reading this #this is the like.. second fanfic ive ever really done.. pls be nice #calscribbles

[gb-patch]

Ask Answers: January 17th, 2021 (Part 1)

More ask answers! It’s gonna be a lot today, so we’re splitting it into two.

i love Cliff and Kyra's relationship so much ?? even though they had issues they managed to work things out and remain friends through the years! it's so refreshing over the narrative of people resenting each other after they break up.. im kind of curious tho , do they see each other strictly platonic now or is there still something lingering?

Aw, I’m glad to hear you like their relationship. Their feelings are very platonic now. Kyra views him as an ex and co-parent and then a friend as time goes on. Cliff does struggle not to think of her as still his family, even though he’s not romantically attracted anymore. But he’s knows it might be crossing a line to be that attached to a woman who divorced him and so he tries to let her just live her own life.

Can i ask just how tall Cove exactly is in Step 3? And will he be even TALLER in Step 4? My short heart cannot handle this. (Also this game is absolutely flawless and I haven't been able to stop thinking abt it since I played. Planning on getting the dlcs soon, y'all did SO WELL!!!!!!!!!) 

Haha, thank you very much.

Step 1: 4'1 feet Step 2: 5'4 feet Step 3: 6'0 feet Step 4: 6'4 feet 

Hey! So, I know Steam is having its fall sale/boxing day sale or something so i was wondering if you guys were gonna participate in that?? I was thinking of buying XOXO Droplets (the extended version) but i didnt want to do anything before there was a potential sale. May seem like an odd question, but I was genuinely curious. I can't wait to play the full game when i get it tho :D

I’m afraid we have some things we wanna fix in XOXO Droplets before really promoting it/pushing it with sales, so for now it won’t be participating in Steam sales. Hopefully we can update it soon.

Hello I'm still trying to get the CG for Step 2-3 and didn't see or get it when I told Cove of the deal in the Dinner moment like your guide says. I got the achievement but no CG. Is there another choice I'm suppsed to make after telling him?

Make sure you go back to the house with Cove after he leaves and don’t stay in your living room.

* don't be suspicious* *don't be suspicious*  ...Hi, there's another way to pay for the Our Life +18 dlc besides Patreon? Patreon have very limited payment options and I've been struggling with the platform. Anyways, thanks for the amazing game I hope I could support any way ^u^

Haha, right now there isn’t anything specific, but once it’s finished in a few months we’ll look into other hosting sites.

do you think we can get another our life dlc plzzz i would pay so much for it <3 i want to see their life together when they have kids or pets or just live with the two of them and i really want them to adopt kids too since jamie is adopted :)

I’m afraid we likely won’t. As much as we love OL: B&A, we’ve gotta start putting our whole effort into new projects soon. Maybe someday we could come back and do special new content, but it’d be quite awhile after all the planned DLCs have released.

How do you delete a save file? 

On PC or Mac you hover over a slot and hit the delete key, or you can go into the saved data folder and delete the files directly. On Android I’m afraid I don’t know. You can save over them with something else, though.

this is like. totally embarrassing and silly to ask but im dying here; i love cove so much i wanna climb that boy like a tree. so basically what im asking here is like. will the nsfw dlc have explicit stuff or is it more like an implied kinda situation? cuz i want some full on nsfw shit im so thirsty for cove and only this can satisfy me

It’s truly 18+ and explicit with nude art and straightforward descriptions of sexual acts. That’s why we can’t release it as part of the main game, haha. I’m glad you’re into Cove~

Hello! I've really been enjoying Our Life and am noticing some animation changes with the update! I just had a question though. In Step 2 we meet Jeremy but I was wondering if he was only meant to appear in Step 2 as a typical mean kid or is there more we don't know? 

Jeremy is a horrible pill in Our Life, but he is also a beloved romance option as a teenager in our other game XOXO Droplets. His personality is quite different once he grows up more. I imagine Cove and the MC would be pretty surprised.

Hi! i absolutely adore our life so far and I can't wait to continue supporting the game with the upcoming dlc drops! i was just wondering if y'all were planning on uploading any art for steam icons/the steam point shop in general<3 

Thank you! And we might. But we’re first trying to focus on making a new game update since there are still some improvements we have in mind.

I hope this question doesn’t come off weird but would Cove be the type of guy to memorize your period? I imagine he’d be the kind of best friend/boyfriend who would keep track of your cycle to support you during it or something like that 

We’d be shy about it at first and avoid mentioning what he was doing, but he would try to keep track of it based on any insight the MC gave him. The longer you’re with him, the more it could be just a normal thing the two openly talked about.

Hi there, how often do you do auditions? I am a voice actor and would love to be part of a project ?

We usually have auditions two to three times a year. Our next planned casting call will be for side character in Our Life Step 4.

Are the 5 moments included in the Derek and Baxter DLCs different from the normal Step 2 and 3 DLC? And will they focus exclusively on Derek and Baxter respectively? I was a little confused when I read the DLC FAQ. Thanks! 

Mostly they’ll be completely new Moments that star Derek or Baxter. Though, for example, Derek’s DLC will allow you to take him to the Soiree. If you go with Derek that will remove your ability to go with Cove in the Cove Step 2 DLC.

Sorry if you've already said this, but how will your character transfer over to the patreon exclusive NSFW DLC?  Can it access your game memory or will you select traits your character showed and choices you made from a list? 

It’s a standalone event that happens for MCs who are in a relationship with Cove and have been dating him for a while. Other details about the MC/their dynamic with Cove will just be picked in the event itself. It won’t try to take data from a specific save in the actual game.

I love your games, but currently only have an Android. When will you put your other games on android? 

I don’t know. They might not able to be formatted for Android very well, unfortunately. We’ll see how much time we’ve got later this year to try figuring it out.

Thank you so much for all the questions :D

#ask #asked #our life #Our Life Beginnings & Always #ourlifeba #gb patch #gb patch games

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

The Nightmare

Written for The X-Files Horror Exchange, hosted by @xfilesfanficexchange. The prompt is from @baronessblixen - I hope you like what I did! Tagging @today-in-fic

A/N: The title is inspired by the painting “The Nightmare” (1781) by Henry Fuseli

prompt: demons | 4k words | season 5 | horror 

Mulder and Scully drove through the Vermont countryside, carefully navigating the winding roads covered in leaves. It was early fall; the trees had just begun their metamorphosis and the view was stunning. Scully wondered if Mulder specifically picked their current case so they could enjoy the seasonal foliage, because if so, she very much appreciated that level of planning.

They pulled up to a small inn with Victorian architecture; the house looked like it belonged in a novel with a governess as the protagonist. It was very quiet - the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees - which unnerved Scully, who was used to the incessant din of city living.

They got out of the vehicle, both admiring the tableau. She turned to look at her partner. “Really, Mulder?”

“What?” he asked, as he tried to pull their luggage from the trunk.

“Is this really a case or are you trying to get a free vacation on the bureau’s dime?” she chided.

He squinted at her, confused by her line of questioning.

She gestured to their surroundings. “Vermont in October… quaint bed and breakfast… are we really here for work?”

“I hate to disappoint you, Scully, but this is not a romantic getaway,” he said, “but it could be if you play your cards right.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Mulder continued, “This town is so small that this is the only accommodation available. Unless you’d prefer to camp out in the woods?” 

Scully rolled her eyes and followed him inside, where they met the proprietor, Grace. She had gray hair but her presence belied a much younger woman. Grace showed them to their rooms and advised them that she would be around to answer questions and cook them breakfast in the morning.

Scully had to admit that this place was a lot nicer than some of the other motels they had stayed in. There were big windows that faced the changing forest and the bathroom even had a clawfoot tub. The only problem was that the heater was on overdrive. The climate was definitely cooler than Washington, but it wasn’t cold enough to warrant the sauna-like temperature. She couldn’t find a thermostat, so settled for opening the window a touch to let in the fresh air. Scully was marveling at the view when she had the sensation of someone watching her. Usually it was Mulder, which should make her uncomfortable but she was used to it at this point. However, when she turned around he wasn’t there.

“Mulder,” she called out. They were lucky that they snagged the two rooms that had a connecting door, so they didn’t have to traipse down the hall to talk to each other. 

“Yes, dear?” he responded through the open door. 

She made her way over to his side. “Were you just in my room?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said. He was pulling clothes out of his suitcase. She wondered briefly how none of his suits ever seemed to be wrinkled even after being packed away but hers always were.

“My room is really hot. Have you seen a thermostat around?”

He suggested she check with Grace, so she went down to the first floor. Scully didn’t see her anywhere, so she decided to explore a little. There was a parlor with sofas and chairs to sit on and a dining area with a few tables of varying sizes. Scully examined the portraits hung on the wall: many of them were black and white and seemed really old. As was common for the era, no one pictured was smiling and their blank stares made her shiver. She heard a creak behind her, but when she turned around there was no one there. Scully laughed to herself; she was getting spooked for no reason. 

Scully returned to the photographs. 

“That was my grandmother as a child, with her family,” a voice came right over Scully’s shoulder. She jumped a little.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Grace said with a slight laugh.

She continued, “They all lived and died in this house. My great-grandfather decided to convert it to an inn to make some extra money, but my family has always lived on the premises, even to this day.”

“Wow, so this house has been here a long time,” Scully commented.

“Yes, it has. My ancestors almost lost the property during the depression that occurred in the late 1800s. But my great-grandfather found some old railroad bonds that were worth a lot of money so he was able to pay off his debts. Family lore alleges that he made a deal with the devil in exchange for the bonds,” Grace chuckled as she said the last part.

Scully tried to keep her expression neutral but thought it was a strange story to share with a guest.

“Of course, I don’t think that’s true at all,” Grace continued. “More likely it was a rumor started because some of the townspeople were jealous of his good fortune. But a lot of my guests seem to really enjoy hearing that little story, particularly during this time of year.”

“My partner would love that story,” Scully said with a smile. She knew he was one of many that would get a real kick out of a tale like that, especially while staying in an old bed and breakfast, right around Halloween.

“How are the two of you settling in?” Grace asked.

“Now that you mention it, my room is actually really hot. Is there a way to turn down the heater?”

Grace frowned. “That’s odd. I actually haven’t turned the heat on yet. It’s still early enough in the season that the sun does a good job of warming the house. Though, it’s cool enough outside that if you open the windows, you should be fine.”

“Scully,” Mulder interrupted, now standing in the entryway to the parlor, with the case file and notes in his hand.

“Are you ready to go?” he inquired. She knew that they were due at the police station so she said goodbye to Grace. On her way out, she glanced back at the portrait on the wall, and could almost feel the stare of Grace’s great-grandfather, the alleged deal-making gentleman, on the back of her head when she walked out.

----

It was late by the time Scully and Mulder returned to the inn. They had met up with the local detective, who gave them access to the evidence and even more detailed case notes. Scully conducted an autopsy while Mulder visited the crime scene. After the long day of travel and work, she was happy to have a comfortable bed to sleep in, even though she was too tired to try out the clawfoot tub. Scully drew the shades, but left them parted slightly, so that she could feel the soft breeze from the open window. She noticed that it was full moon and hoped that its luminescence wouldn’t keep her up. She closed her eyes and fell asleep quickly...

Scully woke with a start. She attempted to roll over to turn on the bedside lamp, but realized she couldn’t move at all. It’s okay, I’m still half-asleep, she thought. But when Scully tried to sit up, it felt like there was something pushing down on her chest. A feeling of panic began to overwhelm her and her breathing became shallower. Her room was completely dark, which was odd because before there was a sliver of moonlight between the shades. The most terrifying part was that she could hear loud, raspy breathing. Was it hers? Or something - someone - else’s?

After a few moments of paralysis and her heart practically beating out of her chest, everything dissipated - the labored breathing gone, the weight removed from her sternum, and the darkness lifted. Scully slowly tried to move and once she realized that there were no lingering issues, she ran to Mulder’s room. Fortunately the connecting doors were unlocked. 

She jumped on his bed and shook him awake. “Mulder, there’s something in my room.”

Mulder woke up instantly, asking “What’s going on?” as he started to get out of bed.

“I swear someone is in my room!” Scully exclaimed, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice.

Mulder got out of bed to investigate and she followed him closely behind. He flicked on her light, which illuminated the room and showed that nothing was out of place. Mulder checked the closet and her bathroom, while Scully remained by the connecting doors. It seemed silly to be scared, but all she could think about was the pitch blackness, not being able to move and the noisy panting that sounded like it was from a person. Scully blushed a little when she saw her gun was on her bedside table. There was really no reason to bother Mulder when she could protect herself.

He met her at the doorway after his inspection was complete. “There’s no one here, Scully.”

She shifted on her feet, reluctant to be alone again. He must have been able to sense her hesitance at sleeping in her own room because he led her back to his bed, where she sat down.

“I’m sorry, Mulder, I really thought there was someone there.”

She started to explain the incident as Mulder got back into bed. She hoped that he wouldn’t comment on the fact that she was making herself comfortable as well, by laying down next to him. She didn’t want to go back to her room but she also couldn’t bear Mulder making a joke right now when she was still feeling a little frightened. 

He listened to her tale with interest and then asked, “Scully, have you heard of sleep paralysis?”

“Mulder, I’m a doctor. Of course I have.”

“Well, I hate to be the voice of reason, but your experience matches all the symptoms,” he stated with a chuckle.

“But it really felt like something was holding me down…” she trailed off, shivering slightly at the memory.

He brushed back a lock of hair that was plastered to her cheek from sweat.

“Did you know that hundreds of years ago, people didn’t know about sleep paralysis as a medical phenomenon and used to believe that a demon was sitting on your chest? And that’s why you couldn’t move?”

Scully wrinkled her nose. “Mulder, your bedtime story needs some work.”

Mulder laughed, “I can certainly arrange for sweet nothings to be whispered in your ear, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She snuggled into the covers a little more, and raised her eyebrows as if to say go on.

“In Newfoundland, the creature on a person’s chest was called The Old Hag. It’s actually a popular figure in their culture. There are a few ways to prevent the Old Hag from visiting, one of which is to sleep with a bible under your pillow…”

Scully fell asleep to the slow cadence of his voice and the feeling of his fingers brushing through her hair.

----

The next morning, Mulder and Scully ate a quick breakfast in the dining room. There didn’t seem to be anyone else staying at the bed and breakfast, which added to unsettledness Scully felt. Once Grace left the house to tend to her garden, Scully turned to Mulder conspiratorially.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but…” she paused for dramatic effect. She owed him for letting her stay in his room last night, and she knew he would like this story.

“...Grace told me that there’s a legend in her family that her great-grandfather made a deal with the devil.”

Mulder looked intrigued. “Do tell.”

“Apparently, he was going to lose the house but found some railroad bonds out of the blue. So I guess he sold his soul for them?” she mused.

Mulder leaned back in his chair. “You know, Scully, in Greek and Brazilian mythology, you can make a deal with the devil, or rather a demon, at a crossroads. It’s also a popular theme of a lot of American folk music. I bet we could find one around here, see if her story is actually true.”

Scully glared at him. Now he was taking this too far. “No, Mulder. We have a real case to work on. Plus, even Grace doesn’t think the story is true.”

“So why are you telling me then? Do you think it has something to do with last night?” he questioned.

Scully turned back to her oatmeal. “Of course not. I just thought you would find it interesting, is all.” 

It was a small lie. She had forgotten about Grace’s tale until Mulder mentioned demons last night when he was providing historical explanation of sleep paralysis. Naturally, she didn’t think there was a demon (or Satan himself) in her room last night, but it was an odd coincidence. 

“Uh huh,” Mulder said skeptically. 

Instead of arguing, Scully glanced at her watch. “Come on, Mulder, we have to get going. We’re meeting the detective in twenty minutes.” She pushed away any thoughts of demons and deals out of her mind, so she could concentrate on her job.

-----

When they got back to the bed and breakfast, Scully decided to test out the tub. She was happy that there was hot water and some nice soaps for her to use and that it actually looked clean. But when Scully exited the bathroom, she was concerned by how warm her room still felt. It was so strange: old houses tended to be drafty, not the other way around. Scully attempted to open her window even more, but it wouldn’t budge past the three inches it was already opened. She wondered if she should amend her opinion of this place.

It was only ten o’clock, so Scully decided to go downstairs and see if she could find Grace or a thermostat. It was eerily silent and only a few dimmed lights were still on. Grace didn’t seem to be around anywhere. Scully was, once again, drawn to the photos hanging on the wall. She tried looking for the one Grace showed her but it wasn’t there anymore. However, upon closer examination, the portrait was still there, but Grace’s great-grandfather was no longer in it! Instead, it just featured his wife and daughter, sitting on a divan. Scully could have sworn that the first time she looked, there was a man standing behind the two women. 

Suddenly, the lights went out. Scully was so startled, she let out a little yelp. Luckily, she made it back to the staircase without running into something because there was moonlight streaming in from the windows. Scully exhaled and reminded herself that this was nothing like last night, which was sleep paralysis. Even still, she hurried upstairs before she could be disproven. Once back in her room, she triple checked that her door was locked, just in case. She thought about telling Mulder about what happened, but she didn’t want to give him any more reason to go looking for a crossroads.

However, it didn’t matter, because a few hours after Scully fell asleep, she was awoken again, but this time by Mulder.

“Scully! It happened again!” he whispered eagerly.

“What?” she grumbled, still half asleep.

“I woke up and couldn’t move. The room was completely dark, even though it’s nearly a full moon. The same thing that you experienced!”

Scully sighed, “Mulder, you said it was sleep paralysis last night.”

“Scully, I don’t think so. I’ve experienced sleep paralysis and this was different. Plus, the story you told me at breakfast changed my mind about this situation.”

He walked around to the other side of her bed and pulled back the covers and started getting in.

“Mulder!” Scully exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m not staying in that room. That was freaky, Scully.”

“So you’re going to sleep here?” she asked, incredulously.

“What, you can sleep in my bed but I can’t sleep in yours? It’s the twentieth century.”

Scully sighed, “That doesn’t even make any sense, Mulder, but fine. Just don’t hog the covers.”

She turned over so her back was to Mulder. She could hear his breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep and it was surprisingly very soothing. Scully tried to concentrate on that instead of the weird things she had experienced in this house. She couldn’t wait to go home.

----

Scully was not one to give into her imagination, but all day she’s felt like someone was watching her. It was a prickly feeling that gave her goosebumps. It started in the morning, when she went downstairs for breakfast and noticed that Grace’s great-grandfather was back in the portrait. Scully did a double-take when she walked by, and stared at it for a full minute, completely stunned. She was either going crazy or something very weird was going on. Neither explanation was very good. 

A few hours later, when her and Mulder were in the car, they drove through a four-way intersection that didn’t have any stop signs. Mulder laughed about the hijinks bored teenagers get up to, but Scully couldn’t help but notice that they had passed through a rural dirt crossroads. There was no one else on the road and no sign of life at all, which was eerie, but Scully ignored the feeling. Luckily, they were able to close their case so tonight would be their last in Vermont. 

Later that night, she wasn’t looking forward to sleeping alone in her room, even though Mulder was just on the other side of the wall. She got ready for bed and kept thinking she saw something out of the corner of her eye. But whenever she whipped her head around (and almost gave herself whiplash), there was nothing there.

Scully could hear the TV in Mulder’s room, so she knew he was awake. She decided to see what he was up to. When she walked to their shared doors, he was sitting on his bed, flipping through the few channels available before landing on a nature documentary.

Without turning to look at her, Mulder asked, “Scully, are you going to bed?”

“Mhm,” she said, non-committedly. “We don’t get a lot of channels here, huh?” 

She was trying to come up with a topic of conversation that would justify her loitering in the doorway. But she didn’t have to, because Mulder walked over to her and put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the room.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” he asked with a slight smile. “That way we can protect each other.”

“That’s not what.. I wasn’t…” she tried to argue but Mulder’s smile just widened. 

“Oh, of course. I’m the one that actually needs protecting. You would be doing this as a favor to me,” he kept going.

Scully laughed. She appreciated him not giving her a hard time. Mulder could be really sweet, when he wasn’t driving her absolutely crazy. They both got into bed and Scully pretended not to notice that they each had their designated side now. She trusted Mulder, had since they first started working together, and sleeping in the same bed wasn’t actually as weird as it should have been. She just hoped it would be an uneventful night...

----

For the third night in a row, Scully awoke to a pitch black room. There was no moon light streaming in from the window, even though that was the case when she fell asleep. She couldn’t even tell if Mulder was still beside her. The feeling of something pressing down on her chest was back and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart rate started ratcheting up. There was something breathing loudly in her ear. That couldn’t be Mulder, could it? She thought. Scully lay paralyzed for a few moments until the pressure let up. She blinked and the room returned to normal, meaning the glow from outside was bright enough that Scully could see the outlines of furniture. Was it still here? Scully didn’t know and was terrified. The room felt oppressively hot, like a sauna. She pulled the covers completely over her and Mulder, even though she knew a thin comforter would not protect her against anything natural or supernatural. She moved closer to Mulder, gently placing her palm over his mouth and pinching his upper arm. He grumbled and tried to pull away from her, so she placed her lips against his ear and whispered, “It’s here.”

He froze and turned his head slightly to look at her. She wondered if he could feel the thick air too.

Suddenly, a loud BANG sounded through the room. Both of them screamed and jumped up. Scully turned on the lamp, as Mulder grabbed his gun. Her eyes travelled around the room and noticed the bathroom door was now closed. The loud noise must have been the door slamming shut.

Mulder got up to open it, but it was jammed. He eventually pushed his way through using his shoulder. Scully was right behind him and saw that all of the toiletries had fallen off the counter. The bathroom had a small window, but Scully could see that it was secured.

“Maybe it was a draft?” she asked quietly, even though she knew that was unlikely. If anything, the rooms were stuffy and too warm, which would not indicate any type of draft.

Mulder just raised his eyebrows incredulously. He picked up a can of shaving cream off the floor, now with a cracked cap. It must have hit the floor with some force, indicating that the vibrations from the door slamming wouldn’t be enough.

“Regardless, I’m not staying in this room,” Mulder announced. Scully sighed, but didn’t disagree with him. They both moved to her bed instead, but Scully didn’t sleep at all until the first rays of sun appeared over the horizon and the room was bathed in golden light. 

-----

Their flight left the regional airport at noon, and then they had to connect in Newark before finally making it back to DC. Scully was looking forward to sleeping in her own bed, uninterrupted, unlike the past three nights. She and Mulder didn’t really talk, just packed up their belongings and brought them to the car. Scully returned their room keys to Grace, who was trying to push coffee and muffins on the pair before they left. 

“Grace, if you don’t mind me asking: whose room did I stay in? Like before this place came a bed and breakfast?” She hoped that it wasn’t a rude question.

Grace looked at her strangely but responded with: “It’s funny that you ask, the two rooms you stayed in were actually the master suite a long time ago. My great-grandfather needed an office after he opened the inn so he connected the two rooms. You haven’t seen anything… strange… have you?” she asked curiously.

“Um, no, just wondering,” she said, probably a bit unconvincingly. 

When they finally reversed out of the driveway, Scully looked back at the inn. It still appeared to be a charming bed and breakfast but after her stay there, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding instead. She glanced up at the window of her room and saw a dark figure standing in the window.

Scully blinked and the shadow person was gone. She quickly turned back around in her seat.

“Scully, are you okay?” Mulder asked. She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“So what do you think? Poltergeist or crossroads demon looking to make another deal?” he queried with a grin.

Scully fiddled with her seatbelt. “Neither, Mulder. It was sleep paralysis. We just both happened to experience it at the same time.”

Mulder’s mouth dropped open. “Do not tell me that’s what you really think.”

Scully started snickering at the expression on his face. “I had you.”

“You did not.”

“I so did. Anyway, Mulder, I’m surprised by you. Why didn’t you want to stay and investigate more? We were practically living in an X-File.”

“Ah, you know. We don’t get paid enough to work two cases at the same time. Also, sometimes it’s nice just to let things remain a mystery.”

Scully rolled her eyes and laughed, “That was deep, Mulder. But I have another theory: you were scared.”

Mulder looked offended, “I wasn’t scared! You came into my room first. I was just doing you a favor the other nights.”

Scully started to debate that he was the one that screamed last night, which Mulder denied. She knew that this argument would entertain the both of them until they arrived back home, at which point they would call a truce. Mulder would help Scully with her luggage and she would make sure that he was going to stop for dinner, since he never had food in his fridge. And they would both agree that some mysteries were better left unsolved.

#i tried to write a mix of spooky and humor #the horror part was a fun challenge since i don't usually read (or write) horror #but i love scary movies and shows #i hope i did the prompt justice #the x files #txf #the x files fanfic

[writingpaperghost]

There is a Me Who Can Become Strong (Chapter 6)

Chapter 6: A Hollow Beating in the Heart!

Saki's not acting herself today, but there's a Bugster to deal with so... They start hearing a bit more of this black Para-DX.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/32857183/chapters/82387561

Emu stands outside of Masamune’s office in Gemn Corp, clutching the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat in his hand. He wants to return it, he does, but something about going in there and actually giving it to Masamune didn’t feel right. He’d thought about asking Saki or Asuna to do it, but he figured that it wouldn’t do him any good going out of his way to avoid Masamune. He was doing a lot to help the CR, right? So he shouldn’t feel so distrustful of a man he only met yesterday.

Standing outside, especially since anyone could walk by and see him, wasn’t going to do him much good. But somehow he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Still, he finally steeled himself and entered.

“Um, Mr. Dan?” He called, trying to his best to be polite. After yesterday, he was already hoping that Masamune didn’t have too negative of an opinion on him. Masamune was at his desk, typing away at his computer.

“Hojo,” There’s something in the way that Masamune says his name that feels wrong, “What brings you here?”

Holding out the Gashat, Emu answers, “I’ve come to return the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat that we retrieved yesterday.”

At that, Masamune looks up, “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“What?”

“Keep it, so you can better fight the Bugsters,” He insists, “That’s a part of what they’re for, anyway.”

Looking at the Gashat in his hand, Emu doesn’t feel quite sure at taking Masamune at his word, “Are you sure?”

“Quite, it will do you more good than it will sitting around here.”

---

Mu and Graphite sit on the couch, Kuroto over at his desk across from them. It’s not clear what Kuroto was working on, but Mu was certain it would be fun and make people smile, like all of Kuroto’s games. Assuming he was working on a game and not a Gashat, of course. He thought that it was always really amazing watching Kuroto work on things, but he couldn’t see what Kuroto was working on from here. Normally, he’d get up and look, or ask, but he couldn’t move much right now.

Mostly because Graphite was situated in a manner that had him curled up on Mu’s legs, arms around him. For some reason, Graphite was oddly more clingy than normal, which was strange in and of itself, because Graphite wasn’t ordinarily what Mu would call clingy. Normally, Graphite only ever acted any way similar to this when… Mu was a little more out of it. But he wasn’t, he hadn’t been forced through… those things, that would make him out of it, since around the time he was started to be allowed to go out. So he wasn’t sure what had Graphite acting like this.

Of course, the most direct way would be to ask, and Mu was comfortable enough with him to do just that. “Graphite,” He began, “Is everything alright?”

“Why?” Graphite asks, raising his head up from its place on Mu’s shoulder, “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re clinging,” Kuroto notes, sounding terribly unimpressed. He glances up from his computer, “Did seeing Brave really shake you up that much?”

“It did not!” Graphite hissed back, gripping Mu tighter.

Mu was confused, though, “What do you mean by that?” He looks at Graphite, “Hey, what was up with Brave?”

After a moment of looking at Mu, Graphite buries his face in Mu’s shoulder again and mumbles, “She was my host’s fiancée.”

“Oh!” Mu cried, “That’s terrible! But was that really enough to make you… upset? Or did you get more of your host memories…?”

Graphite grumbles something.

Dryly, Kuroto says, “I don’t think even Mu can hear you,”

Repeating his words, but lifting his head so Mu can make them out, Graphite says, “It’s also seeing you fight Para-DX. You could have gotten hurt, especially when Para-DX reached Level 3.”

“Oh…” Mu said, “Well, I was fine. He’s pretty strong like that, but it turned out okay.” He reaches his arms out and wraps them around Graphite in a hug, “Besides, if something did seem like it would have happened, then you would have come to help, right?”

“Of course,” Graphite huffed, “As if I would let any of those Riders harm you.”

“So it’s all okay!” Mu chirps, then looks over at Kuroto, “Which reminds me, I’m going to keep using those Gashats.”

The look that Kuroto gives him is enough to know that he’s not happy about that statement, “No.” He says, “It’s dangerous.”

“You’re still recovering from using the Proto Gashat,” Mu counters, “It’s too dangerous for you to keep using it. I’ll be fine, at least until you can find a good solution.”

Kuroto stares at him, then sighs, “Fine, fine, you have a point.”

Mu smiles at him, doing his best to be reassuring, prompting Graphite to snort, “Don’t force it, Kin,” He finally loosens his grasp on Mu, “You look too uncomfortable like that.”

Dropping the attempt at a smile, Mu frowns slightly, “Right,” He sighs, “So are you going to let go of me anytime soon?”

“No.”

“Silly dragon,” Mu sighs, “You’ll have to let go eventually.”

“But not yet.”

---

Alongside Asuna, Emu searches for the person that the Bugster with the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat had been looking for the day before. They’d return to the college of music, hoping to find him.

After a while, Emu abruptly asks, “Why do you think Kiriya lied about that Bugster, uh, Graphite, being the black Para-DX?” Because they all knew that was a lie. He’d said he’d seen Graphite become the black Para-DX. Emu might have considered asking Kiriya himself, but he was still in the hospital and unconscious. Nico carried him back the day before, much to everyone’s surprise. She said she’d had help, but no one saw whoever it was.

Asuna replied, “I don’t know. I doubt he knew that Graphite was a Bugster but…” She shrugged, “I can’t say why he’d lies like that. I guess he just does that sometimes.” That felt far too simple for Emu’s liking, but he didn’t think he’d get a better answer. At least, not from Asuna.

They’re attention is drawn to a pair, “Ah, Yoko, I won’t be so busy soon enough!” The man cried.

The woman, Yoko, just looked at him sadly, “No, no, Seiichi, I think we just…” She trails off and takes a deep breath, “Need some time apart.”

“I see,” The man, Seiichi sighs, “If you say so…” Then, sadly, he walks off.

Watching him leave, Yoko falls to her knees. Some part of Emu thinks that it’s a bit melodramatic, but then he sees her keep falling. Then glitching. Grabbing the Gamer Scope from his neck, Emu rushes over to her. The screen told him what he already knew.

“Game Disease,” He said, though he didn’t imagine Asuna needed telling. The only strange thing was that it was showing two strains. The Gekitotsu Robots strain, and the DoReMiFa Beat strain.

It was about then that Saki arrived. She seemed a bit… out of it, but based on what he’d been told yesterday, it wasn’t too surprising. “I see we have a patient,” She says. She seems a bit distant.

“Saki,” Asuna says, looking at her with concern, “I didn’t think you’d work today.”

“Bugsters,” She says the word with far more venom than normal, “Don’t stop for anyone.”

There was a lot to unpack there. Unfortunately, like many times of important or possibly important information, Emu was forced to file it away for later review. Right now, they had a patient to focus on.

“Miss,” He called, “Can you hear me,”

“It… doesn’t matter,” She says, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Miss-“ Before he can say anything else, a Bugster appears from her. This one has two arms connected to some kind of tail. Given how Saki’s been, both yesterday and now today, Emu was hesitant to ask Saki to deal with it, at least on her own… But he didn’t have access to Level 1 and Nico was nowhere to be seen. Kiriya as still unconscious in the hospital, so he couldn’t help even if Saki would accept it, which he imagines she wouldn’t.

So he had no choice but to trust that Saki would be fine on her own. Unfortunately, he didn’t think that would be the case.

Taddle Quest!

“Let’s hurry this along,” Saki says, sounding none to happy to be there. Emu winces.

Let’s game! Metcha game! Mucha game! What’s your name? I’m a Kamen Rider!

Standing in Level 1, staring down the Bugster, Saki takes her sword in hand. She switches it to fire, only for the fire to cover her entirely. Emu startles, but holds himself still. Clearly she meant to do that. Obviously. Then Saki begins to the attack the Bugster, repeatedly hitting the Bugster. Finally, it’s destroyed, Saki catching Yoko as the Bugster fully separated from her. With the Bugster, it was another Bugster like the one from yesterday, again with a Gashat in its forehead.

“We Bugsters,” A voice begins and everyone turns their attention to Graphite, who’s appeared in his human form, “Have our own goals. My goals, though, are not the same as theirs.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emu asked, “You’ve managed not to tell us anyone’s goals.”

Graphite shakes his head, “Don’t worry about that, just know,” He points at Yoko, “I’ve infected her with both of the strains for those purposes.”

Saki sets Yoko down and turns her attention between Graphite and the Bugster. She seems conflicted. Emu decides that he’ll let her figure that out, instead taking out his Gashat.

Mighty Action X!

Level Up! Mighty Jump! Mighty Kick! Mighty-Mighty Action X!

He was going to focus on the Bugster. Whatever exactly was between Saki and Graphite wasn’t his business. He needed to make sure their patient would be okay.

After a moment of deliberation, Saki finally lands her attention on the Bugster. Emu’s thankful, not that he says anything. Before they can do much the Bugster throws an attack at them.

“DoReMiFa Beat is a dancing game,” Asuna reminds them.

That alone was enough prompt, as the music notes came towards them. Emu’s able to hit each note perfectly, though Saki’s another story. She truly seems like she’s trying to hit the notes, but every time she’s just the slightest bit off. This results in her taking a bunch of damage, while Emu took none.

Emu hoped that Graphite wouldn’t choose to intervene at any point…

“Hey, dragon dude!” Nico appears, already in Level 2, aiming her gun at Graphite, “Don’t think I’m not still annoyed about yesterday!”

Graphite scoffs, but assumes his Bugster form either way.

Annoyed at the damage from the Bugster, if nothing else, Saki is nearly trembling as she flips the lever on her Gamer Driver.

Level Up! Taddle meguru! Taddle meguru! Taddle Quest!

Emu decides that he’ll need to step it up too, taking out the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat.

Gekitotsu Robots!

Buttobase! Totsugeki! Gekitotsu punch! Gekitotsu Robots!

Graphite turns his attention to Saki, “I have a few feelings to sort out, Brave,” He says, giving his weapon a few experimental swings, “I hope you can help with that.”

Leveling her sword at him, Saki harshly responds, “Gladly.”

The other Bugster focuses on Emu and Nico, much to Nico’s annoyance. “Why is the dragon so focused on her?” She wonders, dodging the Bugster.

“I think it’s personal,” Emu answers.

None of their fighting does much. The Bugster lands a hard hit on Nico, knocking her transformation out. Saki doesn’t fair much better against Graphite. Whether it’s that he’s just that strong or whatever is really between him and Saki, he’s easily able to knock her transformation out too.

Emu was half ready to try to take on both Bugsters at once, but then the black Para-DX appears. There’s definitely something off about him that Emu can’t place, but he also doesn’t have time to focus on that.

“Graphite,” The black Para-DX said, same voice as before, “You get the Bugster and get going.”

Oddly, Graphite seems hesitant, “Are you certain…?”

The smile when the black Rider responds is almost visible, “Well, I think I can handle Para-DX… After all, his friends aren’t in any position to fight.” There’s a threat there and Emu isn’t entirely sure whether or not the black Para-DX will follow through.

“Then we’re gone,” Graphite grabs the Bugster and the two disappear.

Tension rises as Emu watched the black Rider. He’s not really sure what he’s going to do, but Emu knew he had to be careful, with Nico and Saki around. He couldn’t trust the black Para-DX not to attack them.

The black Para-DX shrugs, “I don’t know about you, Para-DX… but I- I don’t really want to fight,” He gestures to Nico and Saki, “So why don’t you get your friends somewhere safer?”

Unfortunately, Emu thinks he’s going to have to take the black Rider up on that offer.

---

“Seriously,” Emu says, staring at Saki, who’s sitting at the table in the CR, a slice of cake in front of her, “What is up with you? You’re acting really off.”

Taking another bite of cake, Saki takes her time answering, “I am not acting ‘off’.”

Emu blinks, “Yes, you are. You’re not normally so aggressive. Is it Graphite? Or something else?” He casually leans against one of the chairs, “Poppy wouldn’t tell me much, last night. But if it’s going to effect how you deal with Bugsters, than I think I, as your teammate, have a right to know.”

It looked for a moment like Saki was going to protest, but finally she sighed and set her fork down, “Six years ago, my fiancé died,” She said and Emu hadn’t exactly expected that as what she’d open with, “He’d been infected with Graphite’s strain of Game Disease. Taiga was his doctor, and…” She shakes her head. He thinks that she means the man who was supposed to be Snipe when she says Taiga. “He’d been working to help people injured when he was somehow infected. He hadn’t wanted to tell me, because he knew I would worry and he hadn’t thought he was deserving of that worry. He’d been very distant, he always had been. Hiro was… reserved and it had frustrated me. But when I’d found out what happened, when I finally got Haima to tell me…”

Saki takes a deep breath, “I guess being faced with death was enough for him to really feel the need to get his feelings out. He expressed so much to me that day, I knew for certain afterwards that I truly loved him and he truly loved me, even if he hadn’t been the best at expressing it. But he knew he wouldn’t survive and I knew the chances were slim. I’d fallen asleep at his bedside that night. When I woke up… he was gone. Almost like he was never there at all, no body, just an empty bed. Taiga and Haima came in after they heard me scream, apparently. They didn’t need me to explain what had happened. Haima… was his father. He looked so devastated.” She’s not looking at him anymore. She’s looking down, at her lap, “That day, I swore to become the best surgeon I could, for Hiro. So that no one had to lose their loved ones. So no one would have to go through what Haima and I had gone through that morning.”

“Now,” Emu realized, “You’re faced not just with someone with his face, but also the one who was responsible for his death.”

“And on the anniversary of it, to boot,” Saki shakes slightly. Emu’s not sure he’s ever seen her quite so emotional. Not like this. “So… pardon me if I’m not myself. It’s… hard, even six years later.”

“Of… course,” He assured, “I’m not going to… hold it against you.” How could he? He understood the feeling far too well. Just around four months ago, on the anniversary of it, he shut himself away and broke down crying, realizing just how close he was to achieving Emu’s dream.

He realizes, belatedly, that she’s crying, now. It’s quiet, that’s why it took him so long to notice, but it’s there. He’s not really sure what to say. He wants to try to say something reassuring, but he’s not really sure what. He’d dealt with his grief alone. He supposes Saki probably at least shared it with the director.

“I’ll…” He began, “I’m going to go talk to the patient.” He just needed to get out of there, before he said or did something stupid. He felt bad about just leaving Saki like that, but he honestly wasn’t sure what he should do. He wanted to help, but…

Ugh, he hated feeling helpless like that.

Well he might as well go and actually talk to Yoko, like he said he would. He recalls Asuna’s conversation with her earlier, when Yoko had first arrived at the CR. According to Asuna, Yoko hadn’t wanted her now former boyfriend to know that she was sick. Which might have made sense, if they hadn’t literally just broken up that day. Obviously he cared and would want to know about it, so why hadn’t she wanted him to know?

Not to mention how her Game Disease only flared up while she was watching him leave. Even though she was the one to say they needed to be apart, she was getting stressed by it. Which, while Emu certainly wasn’t an expert on relationships – as in he knew very little – he didn’t think would be normal.

Entering the patient’s room, he hesitates for a moment. He’s not entirely sure he’s the best suited for this… Then he shakes his head, no, he had to do what he could. Saki certainly wasn’t in the position to, and Asuna had already tried as much as she probably could.

“Ms. Horiuchi?” Emu called, catching her attention. He begins to walk over, “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Oh, what is it?” She asks, “Is something wrong?”

He smiles, “No, nothing really. I was just wondering…” He pauses, taking a deep breath. This is definitely not his strong suit, but he’d just have to treat it a bit like with Alhambra. Engaged couple breaking up is sort of like a couple just. Breaking up normally. Close enough. “Nurse Asuna mentioned that you specifically didn’t want us to inform your boyfriend – or is it former boyfriend? – well him, that you were sick. Is there a reason why?”

She hesitates, before answering, “Oh, no real reason…” Emu hopes the look his gives her is enough to show that he doesn’t really believe that. “Well, if he knew I was sick, Seiichi would drop everything to come be with me. But he’s working so hard to try to get into the orchestra, I don’t want to distract him from that.”

Somehow, that sounded a bit familiar. Not exact, but he wondered if Graphite chose Yoko on purpose, or if it was just coincidence. He really didn’t know what the Bugsters were after, and Graphite had declared his goals were not the same as other Bugsters. Still, it seemed that he’d found the source of her stress.

“If he’s worried about you,” Emu begins, “Then shouldn’t he know?”

“He’ll worry more,” She sighs, “He’s so dedicated and I’m just trying to keep him from getting distracted.”

Emu wasn’t sure how well that would work, but he also wasn’t really sure what else to say. Matters of the heart were a complicated thing for someone who’s had no romantic relationships and limited skills with people in general. Children were easy, adults were not.

“And if you die?” Emu’s startled to hear Saki, standing in the doorway. She seems to have recovered from earlier rather well, but Emu wasn’t really sure what people usually looked like after those sort of things anyway. Regardless, she did not look like someone who’d just been crying less than ten minutes ago. “He’d be heartbroken to find out you were sick and he never even knew.”

Yoko looked down at her lap. “I just don’t want him to get hurt,”

Then, Emu came to a realization, “If the Bugster attacked Seiichi, it would stress you.” He stands up and looks at Saki, “Saki, we need to find him.”

Saki purses her lips before responded, “Yes, we do.”

---

It didn’t take long to find Seiichi, and predictably, the Bugster was there too. And alongside the Bugster was Graphite, watching from afar. Emu can see Saki tense when she sees him.

Pulling out the Mighty Action X and Gekitotsu Robots Gashat, Emu tells her, “Focus on the Bugster,” When it looks like Saki’s about to protest, he adds, “I’ll keep Graphite from interfering.”

“Intern,”

“No, Saki,” He insists, “Focus on getting the Gashat so you’ll be stronger. As it is you don’t stand a chance. I might be able to at least hold him off.”

She still looks like she wants to protest, but at last pulls out the Taddle Quest Gashat and her Gamer Driver, “Fine, but only because you bring up a valid point.”

Both transforming, they set their sights on the Bugsters they’re ready to fight. Hopefully Emu’s Level 3 might be enough to stand against Graphite, at least for a bit. Immediately swinging at Graphite, he gets blocked by the Bugster’s weapon. Then thrown back a bit. Okay, this might be a bit harder than he thought it would be. Or rather, he could understand why Graphite was able to shove away Saki and Nico so easily.

Saki changes the stage that they are on to a forest and begins to fight the Bugster. Because the Bugster attack rhythmically, it quickly became easy enough for her to dodge the attacks. She’s able to counter with a few of her own before her opening arrives. With her sword in ice mode, she inserts her Gashat.

Taddle Critical Finish!

Slashing at the Bugster, it’s quickly destroyed and Saki now has the DoReMiFa Beat Gashat in hand.

Game Clear!

As Emu attempts to block one of Graphite’s attacks, only for it to knock him back and out of his transformation, Saki activates the Gashat.

DoReMiFa Beat!

Do-Do-DoReMiFa-So-La-Ti-Do! Ok! DoReMiFa Beat!

She dodges out of the way of Graphite’s attacks, countering with her own, each in the beat that the Gashat had begun to play. Though it clearly wasn’t doing much more damage than Emu had been, if more at all, it was still enough to push Graphite back. Finally, Saki takes the Gashat and inserts it into her sword, now in fire mode.

DoReMiFa Critical Finish!

The attack, despite landing clear on Graphite, doesn’t seem to do much. Still, he staggers back a bit. “Brave,” He says, “I doubt this will be the last we see of each other. Don’t think you’ve beat me yet!” And then, Graphite’s gone, just like before.

---

Watching through the window in the CR into the observation room, Emu and Asuna see that Yoko and Seiichi are reconnecting. Yoko seemed to have explained her thought process while Seiichi simply seemed relieved.

“Well that went pretty well,” Emu says, wondering if the two had sorted out everything. They couldn’t really hear the pair. He looks around, noticing that only he and Asuna were in the room, “Where’s Saki?”

“Oh,” Asuna responds, “She had somethings she wanted to do. Don’t worry, I think she’ll be fine.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Emu decides to take her at her word, “If you say so,”

---

“Haima?” Saki calls, entering Haima’s office. He’s at his desk, the only place he is when he’s at the hospital and not out and about or at the CR. She knew she’d find him here. In her hands, she holds a box with a cake inside.

“Oh, Saki,” Haima looks up from his work. He smiles at her, “How have you been?”

She laughs a little, like he doesn’t see her daily, “I’ve been okay. You know how today always is.”

His smile falls a bit, “Yes, it doesn’t seem to get much easier,” He regards her for a moment, “You had a Bugster today, too.”

Choosing not to respond to the last part, she holds up the box, “I brought cake,” She said, “This is the one that Hiro always liked.”

“Of course, I guess you haven’t been here the past few years,” Haima moves aside some papers, “I always make sure to put a piece out for him,”

“Yes…” Saki says sadly, “But now we’re able to save people. So no one else has to leave out a piece of cake for their loved one.”

“And you’re all doing a great job,”

---

“I wonder what mo – Kujo, said to that black Para-DX to get him so beat up, yesterday,” Nico wonders from her perch on a hospital bed in Taiga’s clinic. “I mean, that was pretty bad.”

Taiga sighs, “I don’t know, Kujo’s always been sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong,” He shuffles some papers then takes a moment, looking at the room that Nico had commandeered. “I’m really not getting you out of here, am I?”

“You want my help?” Nico stretches, wincing slightly, “Then you let me stay here. It’s cheaper than a hotel.”

“You have plenty of money,”

“That’s not the point, old man.”

“I’m not old,”

---

“Graphite?” Mu asks, looking up from the game he’s playing. Previously, one could hear the sounds of DoReMiFa Beat and some cheerful pop song playing. “Why does Brave want to fight you so badly. Your host was her fiancée, yeah, but…”

Over in the corner, Graphite is adjusting some pillows and blankets on a mattress, forming what Kuroto has more than once referred to as a nest. Mu watches warily, hoping not to get dragged in, because then Graphite would make him sleep again. “Because she’s hurt,” Graphite answers, “And she blames me for his death. It’s easier for her to blame me and for her to take it out on me, in hope that it might do something to lessen her pain.”

Mu frowns, “Does she really think that’ll work?”

“Do you?”

He doesn’t answer.

#kamen rider exaid #kamen rider #emu hojo #my writing #saki momose #there is a me who can become strong

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 83

First, and most importantly: Happy Transgender Day of Visibility! To anyone who was given the wrong gender at birth, I see you and you are safe here.

If you don’t read further because of that? Well.... I don’t want you reading my stuff. The Ark is welcoming and loving. So.

If you are still with me: I actually had to start a second google doc for the story, just to continue with this chapter.... It’s mind blowing that I’ve gotten so far.  With everything going on in the world at the moment, this story has been a great escape and something worth carving out time for.

THAT SAID... Please don’t hesitate to send me asks, messages, or submissions.  I love hearing new ideas, or having the chance to talk about the things that just don’t make it on the page. Even if your ask/message/submission isn’t story related, shoot it on over.

Thanks for this chapter goes out to a whole host of people: @satan-parisienne, @baelpenrose, @zommbiebro, and @charlylimph-blog (I don’t care how often this site unfollows me from you, I will chase you down!). I genuinely don’t think I could have created so much, so consistently, without all of you.

Charly and I chose to walk to Xiomara’s office rather than take a transport.  Even though I was a bit shaken by what happened with Jokull, the exercise gave us both an opportunity to burn off nervous energy.  By the time we arrived, both of us were calmer and had our thoughts together.

Once access was granted, the door slid aside to reveal not just Xiomara, but Tyche.  I wasn’t sure if Xiomara wanted her to hear what happened, given how much stress my fellow Councillor placed on secrecy for her operation. “I need to report an incident involving Jokull Bjornson.”

My glance at my sister was met with a scoff. “Do you really think I believe you won’t tell her what happened?” Xiomara stared me down like I was an idiot.  “First things first: are either of you ladies injured?”

I shook my head carefully, while Charly grinned sheepishly. “See, here’s the thing - “

“Charly Harper, why is there blood in your mouth?” Xio’s eyes darkened as she leaned forward intently.

A hand flew up to cover the younger woman’s mouth as her eyes got wide. “Oops…” She started fidgeting with the strings on her sweatshirt. “We were minding our own business, I swear, just walking along, and - he’s so rude!  Obviously he could see Sophia wasn’t paying attention, so he stood in front of her, because he’s rude.” She started gesturing frenetically, like she was reenacting the events.  “I pulled her out of the way so we could just go on minding our own business, like we were, but he kept stepping in front of her, and then he kind of sideways called her stupid and refused to use her title like the sexist pig I bet he is, and then he, I dunno, hit on me? It was gross.” I nodded and shrugged, making her wince.  “But anyway, Sophia tried to stop him and then he was so mean and all standing over her, and I thought he was going to hit her so I shoved her out of the way, and I was right, because he hit me instead, and I may have.. I mean, I did obviously - “ she gestured at her mouth “ - but I only remember his clavicle, not his arm, and - “

“For the love of life, please take a breath,” Xiomara interrupted, throwing her hands in the air.  “What did you do?”

Before she could respond, I cut to the chase. “She bit the shit out of him. Twice.” I ignored Tyche’s snort and turned to Charly. “I thought he hit you after you bit him?”

“Well yeah, then too, but he hit me the first time trying to punch you.”

“I didn’t see that part,” I murmured.

“Duh. You were on the ground, silly.”

The sound of a cleared throat brought us back to the task at hand. “So, you were approached by a suspected cult leader, who seems to have instigated an altercation, and Miss Harper’s first reaction was to bite him?”

“No, I told you, I pushed Sophia out of the way first.”

There was the slightest upward twitch in Xiomara’s mouth. “And you say you were provoked?”

“Yes! He tried to hit Sophia, and hit me instead! I was protecting her.”

“She’s capable of defending herself.”

“And? You wouldn’t ask Tyche these questions.”  Charly stared Xiomara down, frowning.

I had no idea what was going on here.  We came to report something that might be relevant to the operation to infiltrate the cult… Why did it seem like it was turning into Charly being grilled?

The silent tension in the room drew out agonizingly before something broke.  I jumped with a dignified squeak when Xiomara threw her head back and laughed.  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I just… the mental image of our attempted-Viking-overlord being attacked by a woman half his size is just…  That’s the best thing I’ve thought of all day.”

“He was very confused,” I agreed.

Tyche stood, hands on her hips. “Hang on a sec.  You said he hit you twice?”

“Ugh, he hits like a baby,” Charly whined before pausing.  She tilted her head and turned towards me. “Actually, that doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.  

Xiomara abruptly stopped laughing and snapped her head around to stare at Charly intently. “Yes. Please explain.”

Charly scratched her cheek absently. “We stopped at a medbay… Sophia insisted in case he had something yucky in his blood, seeing as I got a mouthful of it.  Even the red marks he left on my face were mostly gone by the time I was scanned.”

“Okay…” I mean, I was there, I already knew all this.

“This guy is freaking huge, you all.  Like Xiomara pointed out, he’s literally twice my size.  He should have hurt me a lot more, just by accident.  There is no way his knee-jerk reaction to being bitten twice, and hard enough to draw blood, is to just tap me on the face hard enough to make me let go.” Her face screwed up in confusion.

“I thought he knocked you down?” Xiomara asked for clarification.

She shook her head vigorously. “Nope.  He hit me just hard enough to hit the nerve right here.” She pointed to the hinge of her jaw. “It basically made my jaw all fuzzy and tingly, and I couldn’t hold on. Gravity did the rest.”

Tyche’s eyes narrowed, and she turned to Xio. “So do we think dumb luck from a wuss, or very deliberate action?”

“I don’t know,” came the response. “Either way, he clearly didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Wrong. So wrong,” Charly argued. “The first time he hit me, he was aiming for Sophia, and would have hit her pretty hard in the kidneys.  He just managed to get me in the upper shoulder, instead, since I’m shorter.  I think it’s clear he didn’t want to hurt me, but he definitely wanted to hurt her.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to me, and I felt sick to my stomach. What the actual fuck did I do?

Xiomara nodded intently, which was pretty much expected. When I looked at my sister, she was nodding, too, biting her bottom lip like she was thinking about something.  That wasn’t the part that concerned me.  What concerned me was her loose posture, leaned over with both hands on the back of a chair, while she stared into space.  For anyone who didn’t know her, it looked like she was trying to wrap her mind around the information I just gave her about her partner.  No white knuckles, no clenched jaw.  It made no sense.

Why wasn’t she mad? “Why me though?  I don’t even know this guy!”

Xiomara pulled up her datapad and flicked a file at me.  When I opened it, my eyes got wide. “Yep. His psych profile. Read ‘em and weep.”

As I read the information in front of me, repeating it out loud. “Ambition, enhancement, memory, clarity.”  That right there is why the Miys picked you. Empathy, enhancement, memory, clarity. Those are your defining attributes. I heard the ghost of Simon’s voice echo in my head from when I first woke up here. “He hates me, because he sees me as a weaker version of him?” I asked hesitantly.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” Xiomara confirmed. “He doesn’t have access to those profiles, unless someone hacked in, and Derek says they haven’t been touched.  But he may see you being in a position of power as an insult.”

When Tyche rubbed her face with one hand, it clicked. “You fucking knew,” I whispered, too betrayed to speak any louder. Snapping around to face Xiomara squarely, I resisted the urge to scream at her. “I thought you weren’t keeping us in on this?  The whole point of bringing this to you was to keep my family out of it, for once!”

Unperturbed, Xiomara held up one hand for permission to speak, and I nearly slapped it back down.  Instead, I growled and crossed my arms. “She’s helping in a different capacity, one I have requested she not disclose to you.  It is essential that what she is doing be kept secret. So, yes, she knew, for about two hours longer than you have.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh. Oh. This is… this is recent.  Like, today recent.”

“Yes, today recent,” she confirmed, leaning back with a sigh. “And yes, I was prepared for the chance that he would approach you.  No, I wasn’t just going to leave you to the wolves, but it turns out that wasn’t even necessary.” With one hand, she made a sweeping gesture at Charly. “Between her, your sister, and your partners, I am reasonably certain you should be safe at all times.  Just don’t take any chances, okay?  Have Maverick, Conor, or both walk you to and from your office every day… so sweet, right?  Eat lunch with  someone we trust. That kind of thing.  Nothing really changes, just be alert to your surroundings.”

I groaned loudly. “Xio, I just got my personal shadows to let me walk to work by myself.  They are never going to let me live this down.”

“There are worse things in life than having loved ones who want you to be safe. I think you’ll live.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #aliens #humans are space orcs #science fiction #original fiction #my writing #apocalypse #earth is space australia #tw blood #tw: violence #cult

[crescentmoon223]

Two Worlds Collide Chapter 17

Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully

Chapter 17

(read it from the beginning here)

Scully stood beside Stella on the beach as the moon rose over the lake. A branch cracked somewhere in the woods behind them, and she couldn’t help smiling as she saw Stella clench the can of bear spray in her right hand. Scully wasn’t worried about bears, or mountain lions, or anything else that might be roaming these woods. Nothing was going to ruin this weekend for her, not after her reunion with William and the beautiful moment she’d shared with Stella on a mountaintop that morning.

After their hike, Scully had met Mulder in town for coffee before he flew back to Virginia. Consulting for the FBI was a good thing for him. There was a light in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since they left the X Files ten years ago, and she was so glad to see it. They were both stronger and happier now, and after this weekend, she was more secure about where they stood in each other’s lives now that they were no longer a couple. He seemed to be too.

After coffee with Mulder, she and Stella had gone for another swim in the lake. Then they’d eaten pasta together on the back deck, and now they were down at the lake so she could show Stella the Milky Way before they flew home tomorrow.

“Mulder once told me that starlight is where lost souls go,” she murmured, looking up at the heavens. The sky glowed with millions of stars, eclipsed by the moon that hung silvery bright over the lake in front of them, reflected on its surface in glittering ripples.

“Do you believe that?” Stella asked.

“No.” She smiled at the memory. “But it’s fascinating to think that some of the stars we’re looking at right now are long dead. They’re so far away that their light is still shining on us thousands of years after they’re gone.”

“Never really thought about it,” Stella said, her t’s neat and clipped. After all this time, her accent still made Scully swoon. Maybe it always would.

“Look, there’s the Milky Way.” She pointed at the milky strip overhead, stars so close together the whole sky seemed to glow.

“Okay, that is impressive,” Stella said.

“Worth coming out here for?” Scully threaded their fingers together. Stella’s skin was cool from the night breeze. Her hair had shone like spun gold in the sunlight earlier, but it glowed a shining silver in the moonlight now, equally breathtaking. Scully loved her so much she felt like she might burst from the power of it.

“That remains to be seen,” Stella said, casting her eyes in Scully’s direction. “Depends whether we make it back to the cabin in one piece.”

“The inimitable Stella Gibson is afraid of bears,” she whispered, giving Stella’s shoulder a playful nudge.

“Fuck off,” Stella muttered, but there was laughter in her voice.

They stood there for a long time staring up at the stars before making their way back to the cabin. They went to bed early that night, since they had to be up at the crack of dawn for their flight home to London. Was London home now? As she drifted off to sleep beside the woman she loved, she had a feeling it might be.

The flight was uneventful, although long. They took a taxi together to Scully’s flat, heading straight upstairs to bed since they both had to be at work the next day. Stella sat on the edge of the bed in her white lace-fringed nightgown. “Do you have any lip balm? The flight dried me out.”

“Yeah, just look in the nightstand.” She gestured at the table by the bed before heading into the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she came back out, Stella was curled up in bed with a smug grin on her face.

“Look what I found?” She held up Scully’s hot pink vibrator.

Scully felt her cheeks heat to the color of the toy. “Yes, well, I’m sure you have one too…or more than one.”

Stella gave her an amused look as she pressed the silver button at the base of the toy, frowning when nothing happened. “Thought we might have a little fun with it together.”

“Well, it looks like it needs to be charged.” Scully leaned over to kiss her. “But I don’t think I have the energy tonight anyway. I have to be up in six hours to work a twelve-hour shift.”

Stella pressed the button again, confirming the vibrator was dead before setting it on the table beside her. “Used it up, did you?”

“Um, the opposite of that, really. I don’t think I’ve turned it on since I got here.” She grinned at Stella. “You’ve kept me plenty busy.”

Stella lifted the covers, and Scully crawled in next to her. They shut out the light, and she was asleep almost immediately, deep and dreamless until the alarm woke her the next morning “Ugh.” She rolled over to silence it, brain foggy, eyes gritty. “Jetlag.”

“Tell me about it.” Stella blinked at her from the other side of the bed, looking similarly wrecked. But this was part of the job—for both of them—so they got up without further complaint and got ready for work. Before she walked out the door, though, she took a moment to pop the vibrator onto its charger.

By the time she dragged herself back through the door some thirteen hours later, she’d forgotten all about it. She was exhausted, but Stella—beautiful, workaholic Stella—was still at the office. She’d texted earlier to say she would probably sleep there and that Scully shouldn’t wait up for her.

Well, if this was the price to pay for their weekend together, she would happily pay it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, though, she wondered if Stella was doing this to return some space between them, if she was regretting the things she’d said and shared in Wyoming. Scully pressed a palm against her forehead. She was overthinking this. Stella was busy after taking yesterday off from work. And if she needed some time to herself after their long weekend together, that was fine too.

Scully heated up a microwave meal for herself, and then she marched straight upstairs, ready to fall into bed. The vibrator sat on her nightstand, fully charged. She unplugged it with a smile, remembering the way Stella had held it last night. Just for fun, she pressed the button to turn it on. Nothing happened. She pressed it again. Silence.

“Well, that’s too bad,” she muttered to herself. She tried it a few more times, and then sent a text to Stella.

Sad news. The vibrator is dead.

Almost immediately, Stella texted back. Well then, I’ll have to take you shopping for a new one.

Don’t be silly. I’ll order one online. Scully had never actually visited a store that sold them. Why put herself through that potentially embarrassing situation when she could shop anonymously on the internet—and most likely have access to a larger inventory, not to mention customer reviews?

Where’s the fun in that? Stella replied.

The fun comes after it arrives. She added a winking emoji.

I’ll take you shopping on Saturday.

Fine. Good night, Stella. Don’t work too hard.

Night, love.

Scully pressed a hand against her heart. Yes, it was a British term of endearment, but Stella had never used it with her before, and…gah. She set the useless vibrator aside and lay in bed, still wearing her scrubs, asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

***

Stella worked until her eyelids felt like sandpaper scraping over her eyeballs every time she blinked. It felt good to be back in her office. The fatigue was like an old friend, welcome and familiar. The cot behind the desk was her mistress, offering a respite—albeit brief—from the file in front of her.

Wyoming felt surreal, almost like a dream. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Scully, fingers buried deep inside her as she told her she loved her, hand in Stella’s as she showed her the Milky Way, blushing furiously as Stella held her vibrator.

Dana.

Stella inhaled sharply, pressing a hand against her chest. She’d been wrong on that mountaintop because her declaration of love changed everything. Now, it was a tangible part of herself, something she was aware of every minute of the day. This was it for her. There would never be another person to infiltrate her heart the way Scully had. And yet she still feared the painful, inevitable truth. It couldn’t last, not for someone like her. It would end, the way all her relationships did. Scully would return to America at the end of her fellowship. And Stella would have to remember how to live without her.

What did a life without her even look like? Stella lifted her head, realizing that it looked like…this. An office devoid of personal photos, case files stacked in front of her, a harsh fluorescent bulb overhead, burning her eyes into dust. With a heavy sigh, she shut off her laptop, turned out the light, and crawled onto the cot waiting for her, barely conscious long enough to pull the blanket over herself.

When she woke, voices echoed outside her office, officers working cases, fighting crime, chasing killers, an endless cycle of good versus evil. She lay for a moment, staring up at the white-tiled ceiling overhead, grateful she’d managed a few peaceful hours of sleep. She rolled to her side and picked up her phone, blinking past the grittiness in her eyes.

Morning. Hope you catch whatever fucker you’re after this week.

It was from Scully, of course. No one else texted Stella outside of work, which was either sad or efficient, depending how she looked at it. A smile tugged at her lips as she scrolled through her camera roll to the selfie she and Scully had taken atop that mountain on Sunday, both of them smiling widely, arms around each other, cheeks pressed together.

When was the last time she’d taken a carefree photo like this?

She couldn’t even remember. With a sigh, she sat up, stretching past the various aches and pains in her body. Truth: she wasn’t as young as she used to be. She would be up for promotion soon. Was it time to give up this life, move up the management chain, let someone else lose sleep over the rapists and murderers not yet caught?

It was a question for another day. She set her phone on the desk, grabbed a clean change of clothes from the closet, and made her way down to the locker room to shower and prepare herself for the day ahead. Thirty minutes later, she called DC Welsh and DC Copeny into her office to discuss strategies and steps in the Flynn murder. After that, she headed to the morgue to receive the autopsy findings, and then walked straight into a meeting with her boss, Chief Superintendent Chris George, and several other high-ranking officers to discuss the department’s crime solving rate so far this year.

She’d just returned to her office, sinking gratefully into the chair behind her desk, when she heard a familiar laugh. She looked up to see Scully charming Anwar behind the reception desk. Scully watched with a dazzling smile as he leaned back in his chair, entertaining her with one of his wild tales, hands up and waving wildly. His gaze dropped—just briefly—to Scully’s cleavage, visible above the vee neck of her scrubs, and then he leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

Stella stood and walked to the door of her office, leaning a hip against the frame, left eye twitching furiously as she chewed her bottom lip, eyes searing into the top of Scully’s head until she finally looked up, meeting Stella’s gaze. She didn’t bother to blink, letting Scully feel every possessive ounce of her displeasure.

Scully had visited headquarters often enough that Anwar and most of the junior officers up front knew her by name. They knew she was here to see Stella. Maybe some of them had their suspicions, but honestly, she doubted it. They had assumed Scully was a friend, a colleague even, simply because they hadn’t bothered to pay attention. And therefore, Anwar felt comfortable flirting with her right under Stella’s nose.

Scully walked toward her now, holding Stella’s unblinking gaze. She reached the doorway in which Stella remained unmoving, hip cocked, arms crossed over her chest. She waited until Scully was right in front of her, and then she uncoiled herself from the doorframe, placing one hand possessively on Scully’s hip, just low enough to make her intention clear.

She looked toward the reception desk, catching Anwar’s gaze. She made sure he saw, and more to the point, that he understood, and then she kicked the door to her office shut behind them.

#Two Worlds Collide #fanfic #Stella x Scully #Stella and Scully #The X Files #The Fall #Dana Scully #Stella Gibson

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Word Count: 5180 Author’s Note: This replaces that Five Minute Ficlet that got so long and out of hand. Now it’s longer and more out of hand but at least it can have a read more thing, right?

XXX

You flipped through the patient chart and furrowed your brow. You had to have missed something. So you flipped through the file again, slowing down to check each page thoroughly. You hadn’t missed anything, the digital transfer wasn’t corrupted and you only had a transfer order for the patient coming in from the Enterprise. You didn’t even know what was wrong with him. Just his name and and order to transfer care to Yorktown Surgical Clinic 3.

You sat down at the console and hailed the Enterprise MedBay.

“Hi, it’s Y/N from YSC3. I’m just going through the file you sent on Ensign Crawford. I don’t appear to have Doctor’s Order or a med reconciliation,” you addressed the nurse when he answered.

“Med rec and orders are sitting on Doctor McCoy’s desk, awaiting signatures. He’ll send them when he has a chance.” The nurse was dismissive. “We’re still dealing with the aftermath of an away mission, so we’re really busy and I need to free up these beds. The Transport should be arriving in twenty.”

“I can’t actually accept transfer of this patient without orders,” you pointed out.

“I’m sure you can handle it,” he countered. “McCoy is a little busy to be fussing over orders.”

You cocked an eyebrow in surprise and nodded. You were about to say something more when a medical transport came through the bay doors of the clinic with the patient in question. Your jaw dropped.

“I hope there’s more information with him than you’d already sent me,” you huffed angrily.

“His chart is on the PADD I sent with him.”

“Tell Doctor McCoy I need those orders stat,” you barked and closed the channel. You bit back your displeasure and smiled at the transfer team, taking their report quickly and reassuring the patient that you had him well in hand.

“I’m just going to do a quick assessment on you, Ensign, and then see if I can’t track down some info on you. Before we start, can you tell me how your pain is?” As soon as you saw him, you knew his admitting diagnosis, at least. Above the elbow traumatic amputation of the arm. From the look of the tissue, it was fresh and likely still painful.

“I missed my morning dose of hydrocortilene because of the chaos of the transfer. I’m solidly a nine of ten,” he offered. You grimaced and quickly worked through your intake assessment.

Once you had the Ensign settled with a snack and drink, you excused yourself to the nurses station to hail the Enterprise, but this time you went right over the nurse’s heads and attempted hailing the Chief Medical Officer. When he didn’t respond, you hailed the Captain.

“Captain Kirk, I’m sorry to need to contact you, but I have been trying, unsuccessfully to contact Doctor McCoy for quite some time,” you began.

“He’s been quite busy, Lieutenant, but you’re in luck, he just walked in the bridge,” Captain Kirk smiled and gestured to the man standing beside him. You were stopped in your tracks for a moment, the man was so handsome. When you just stared dumbly at him he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

“Lieutenant?” You hadn’t offered your name in your hail, choosing instead to identify only your location.

“Sorry,” you snapped out of your reverie. “I have Ensign Crawford here with no orders. He’s complaining of pain. I need a med reconciliation and new orders on him, stat, and I was flipping through his PADD and have an incompletely history on him.”

A scowl settled across Doctor McCoy’s face, and he turned to face Captain Kirk.

“This is why I told you I want that jackass out of my MedBay,” he snapped. He glanced over his shoulder to look at you. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, he wasn’t supposed to be transferred without my go ahead. I’ll be right on that. For now, give hydrocortilene, thirty milligrams by hypospray.”

“Thank you sir,” you nodded and ended the communication to take care of Ensign Crawford.

Ensign Crawford responded well to the pain meds and you watched from across the clinic as he drowsed and finally fell asleep. Content that he was settled, you began to work on his chart. Orders had arrived while you’d been administering the pain medication and you were impressed by Doctor McCoy’s quick response. When Ensign Crawford wakened with a strangled scream, you dropped the PADD and rushed to him. He was sweaty and his pupils were blown wide with fear.

“Ensign?” You asked from a distance. You’d learned your lesson as a young nurse never to get too close to someone coming out of a nightmare or delirium. It was a quick way to get badly hurt. His eyes took a moment to find you but then he was able to focus and you saw him relax a little.

“I had a nightmare. The pain is back,” he moaned. “It’s worse than when the damn Gorn tore it off.”

You sighed and nodded. You’d seen this so many times with amputations, as the nerve endings tried to make sense of the injury to them, pain got worse, or phantom pains started. It was just your luck that right as the young man had been discharged properly into your care that the clinic was short the doctor for the day. You were going to have to contact Doctor McCoy again. You hailed the Enterprise again and were pleased to see the handsome physician’s face up on the screen nearly immediately.

“What now, nurse?” He asked, a little gruff. “I’ve sent you comprehensive orders and discharged him to the clinic doctor.”

“My apologies, Doctor McCoy, we are down a Doctor today and since you’re familiar with the patient, I felt you were my best course of contact. The ensign is having nerve pain -“

“This is new,” he interrupted, a question in his voice.

“According to the charting from nursing, this has been ongoing for three days. The most recent charting indicates a query about substance seeking. There’s not notation as to whether you were made aware,” you replied. “As he has nearly nothing for PRN meds, I felt that you would have better insight.”

“I’m just pulling up his chart,” Doctor McCoy replied. “The boy is an uncomplicated case, and it was a stand-out to me that he wasn’t having nerve pain. I’m quite upset to see this was ongoing with no communication to me. I’d like to try low dose gabapentin. It’s old fashioned, but you should be able to synthesize it on-site with no issues. I’ll transfer orders to your PADD.”

“Thank you, sir. Sorry to be a bother. I haven’t processed the orders completely, but I’ll let you know if I need any further clarifications,” you smiled.

“I look forward to it,” he winked before closing the frequency, and your heart gave a silly little jump that told you you were interested.

“Too bad he’s on that damn ship,” you grumbled and went back to the ensign’s chart.

XXX

You unfortunately had no further reason to contact the handsome doctor. His orders were clear and Ensign Crawford stabilized easily once his pain was controlled. The Clinic doctor returned the following shift and soon the young ensign was healthy enough to ship to Promixa to be fitted for a prosthesis. Doctor McCoy became a happy memory as the days rolled on and new patients became your priority.

You were gazing out the clinic window, staring at the stars as the gleamed through the dome surrounding Yorktown. Yorktown was amazing, and while it was in space, it wasn’t exactly what you’d been thinking when you’d joined Starfleet. You had wanted to see space, deal with frontline injuries and triage, use your trauma skills. There wasn’t a lot of excitement on Yorktown.

“You’re unhappy, aren’t you?” Dr. Alanna was the most perceptive of the doctors in the clinic. You turned to face her.

“Not unhappy,” you denied. “Bored though?”

She smiled in response. “Take a few days leave and blow off some steam. Have fun, get wild.”

“Well, if you insist,” you laughed. She nodded.

“Take a hypo with some electrolytes in it, and do something shameful,” she winked.

“Might be hard here,” you retorted with a snort.

“I have faith in you,” she laughed.

XXX

You were lost your first day of leave. Leaving behind Earth had meant leaving behind some of your favourite activities, like hiking. You weren’t sure if you missed the climb or the inevitable leap into a cool mountain lake to cool off more, but you missed everything about your outdoor adventures. Yorktown had a climbing gym, and a number of swimming pools, but it wasn’t the same as seeing the world spread out beyond a mountain peak.

As a result, you floundered on that first day, so uncertain of what to do with your free time that you just puttered in your quarters. The place was spotless by mid-morning, and you found yourself completely at odds with the idea of another three days without working.

You flopped on the couch and picked up your PADD, accessing the services and amenities section of the Yorktown welcome guide. There was a Federation run shuttle tour of the nearby planets that looked interesting, and before you were even sure it was what you wanted, you were booked on the afternoon shuttle.

The shuttle ride was bumpier than you’d expected, and you felt a little nauseated by the time you landed, but as soon as you stepped out into the fresh air and warm sunlight of the planet, your complaints were forgotten. The tour guide gave you a basic rundown - the planet was uninhabited, but did have a small Federation outpost and mine on the surface.

You logged your intended plan with the guide and headed out into the wilderness. Using the map provided when you’d registered, you knew it was a short walk to the base of the nearby mountains, and the guide had promised amazing views from the summit.

The day was humid, and warmer than you were used to, but the sun felt so good on your skin that you pressed forward. Once at the summit, you took in the beauty of nature and relaxed. It was quiet and peaceful on the mountain.

When you stood to head back to the shuttle, a wave of dizziness crashed over you and you stumbled, and fell, hitting your head on the rocky ground. Your eyelids grew heavy and you could have sworn you saw a group of people approaching as you drifted out of consciousness.

Consciousness was slow in returning, first with a persistent ringing in your ears, then glaring red behind your eyelids. When you finally came awake, it was to the sound of guttural speech that you didn’t understand.

So much for the planet being uninhabited except by the Federation outpost. You lifted your eyelids just enough to see and hopefully not let the aliens who had you know you were awake yet. You carefully moderated your breathing to replicate the slow pattern of sleeping and took in as much as you could through without moving.

You were in a makeshift camp, from what you could see. A craft that was unmistakably a shuttle, although of unfamiliar construction, was a few metres away, an awning of torn fabric staked out as what could only be a temporary protection from the sun. You were laying in the dirt at the edge of a forest clearing, a blanket thrown across you. Your head wasn’t uncomfortable, so you guessed they were trying to see to your well-being.

You opened your eyes cautiously, and slowly pushed yourself to sitting. The two aliens sitting nearby looked up. They were vaguely humanoid in appearance.

“You wake, good,” one of them spoke, their words short and heavily accented. “Federation?”

“Yes. On leave. I wanted to hike,” you offered. The first one to speak looked as though he was struggling with the translation of your words.

“Recreation,” his companion offered. You nodded. You gestured to the camp.

“Did you crash?”

“The atmospheric pressure disrupted the shuttle. Safe landing but engines failed,” the second replied. “Need supplies.”

“We can’t be far from the base,” you offered. “Help me back and I’m sure -“

“No,” the first interrupted.

“But -“

“We are not Federation,” the second offered by means of explanation. You furrowed your brow and looked harder at the two, trying to identify them from any xenoanatomy texts you’d used in school. Prominent ridged brows, sharp teeth, dark bronze skin.

“Are you Klingons?” Neither responded, and for the first time you had the sense to be scared. “I had to file a plan with the tour operator, they will be looking for me.”

The first made a face. “We exchange you for parts.”

“Or we could just head to the base and -“

“Enough! You are a prisoner, and we will use you as leverage to get what we need,” the second snapped. “The Federation will not just give us the parts to repair our shuttle. But in exchange for your life -“

“I think you overestimate my value,” you laughed, fear making you bold. “I’m just a nurse. I work on a starbase. I’m no one special.”

“They will negotiate,” he replied confidently. “Even now, a Federation ship has come into orbit. You will see.”

XXX

The frustration you felt building inside you clashed with a niggling drop of anxiety. Together, the emotions made it impossible for you to sit still, and you fidgeted and fussed until you finally couldn’t handle it anymore, and rose. Both men jumped up, one pointing a weapon at you.

“I need to move,” you offered. “And I need to pee.” They both looked confused and you sighed. “Eliminate waste?”

Recognition crossed the second Klingon’s face and he nodded, gesturing his head toward the shuttle. “There’s a latrine around the back.”

You stretched your arms above your head and bent from side to side, working some of the stiffness out of your joints before making your way around the back of the shuttle. As promised, a very rudimentary pit toilet was there and you were careful in relieving yourself. You took the opportunity to assess the layout of the land and realized the Klingons hadn’t been thinking about securing a prisoner when they set up their camp. They’d only been thinking about securing themselves.

While there were good sight lines from the front of the shuttle, the back, where you were, was butted against a low hill and completely obscured a natural break in the trees. It would be easy for you to sneak away under cover of darkness. You’d just had to convince them you were trustworthy enough to continue not guarding.

You returned to the campsite and noticed the firewood was getting low.

“Would you like me to go collect deadfall? It will surely get cold tonight,” you offered. It took a moment to translate your question and then the second Klingon nodded.

“We will go together,” he agreed, gesturing in the opposite direction of the shuttle. You followed him into the woods, and started collecting fallen branches. “You have some survival training.”

“All Starfleet members have,” you nodded. “But I also grew up in a very outdoor oriented family. We used to camp and hike a lot.”

“For fun?” He asked.

“Of course. For fun, and family time, and fitness,” you nodded as you piled your arms with wood. He tucked his weapon away and started loading his own arms. You continued on in silence until you were nearly back to the camp.

“I had understood that humans did not care for rough living,” he offered. You laughed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to live out in the woods, but I enjoy being in nature on my terms. I love the fresh air, and the beauty. Relying on my own skills makes me feel stronger,” you offered.

“And yet humans pursue only peace,” he commented. You laughed again.

“Maybe now. But human history is filled with war and bloodshed,” you corrected. He looked more angry than usual, but you thought it might be that he was attempting to understand the strange dichotomy you’d offered.

“I hope you eat meat, or you will be hungry.” The subject change was abrupt and you nodded, dropping the firewood near the fire. At least they were going to feed you. The entire experience didn’t stand up to what you had learned about Klingons in xenoanthropology. These Klingons are more gentle and kind than you were expecting. Then again, they were vulnerable sitting ducks on a Federation occupied planet, so keeping their hostage safe and healthy was probably important to their escape plans.

They offered you a bitter meat that made you swallow back gags of disgust. It wasn’t rancid or rotting, but tart and somewhat acidic. The drink they offered you wasn’t much better, but you knew if you were to escape, you’d need to be nourished.

Darkness fell and the Klingons took watch shifts, with the less friendly Klingon disappearing into the shuttle to rest. You huddled near the fire, stoking it with small twigs to keep it alive but keep the light down. You got up to use the latrine and your companion sat up, alert.

“Latrine,” you offered, disappearing behind the shuttle. You returned quickly, hoping it would cause him to let his guard down. A short while later, you rose again, and he picked up his head again and watched as you disappeared behind the shuttle wordlessly, returning quickly.

The third time you rose, he didn’t move. His eyes followed you, but as soon as he saw you were walking toward the shuttle again, he looked back to the fire and added wood to the embers, stoking it better than you had. You could hear the wood snapping as it caught. Good. He would be temporarily blinded by the increase in light.

You crept up the hillside, obscured by the shuttle and disappeared into the blackness of the forest. As soon as the light from the camp dimmed, you sped up, less cautious about the sound you were making. And once your eyes fully adjusted to the dark forest, you began to run as quickly as you could. By the time the Klingon shouted in alarm at your absence, you could barely hear him.

XXX

You ran until your lungs burned and then ran a little further, finally stopping when you reached a clearing you knew would be dangerous to be caught in the middle of. You tried to get your bearings as you skirted the perimeter of the trees, but the night sky was unfamiliar, and you had no real idea what direction you’d been running. When the Klingons had carried you back to their encampment, they hadn’t brought your rucksack. You had no comm, no tricorder, no weapon, nothing.

You forced your breathing to steady, concentrating on any sound that was coming from behind you. There was nothing. Klingons were not known for their stealthy ground attacks, but you still knew your own silence remained important. These Klingons hadn’t seemed like the Klingons you’d read about in textbooks. So maybe they were able to silently track you.

As you came to the far side of the clearing, you continued into the woods again, and found yourself climbing up. It wasn’t an arduous climb, but your feet slipped a few times on the loose scree of the slope. You finally reached the top of the hill, and reached up to pull yourself over the ledge. To your surprise and amazement, it was the summit of the mountain you’d climbed. And your bag was still there, where it had been discarded.

You tore into it, first grabbing your canteen and drinking deeply of the cold, clean water. Your rummaged a little further and pulled out a protein bar and had to force yourself to chew slowly as you dug your comm out. You should have had great signal to the tour base, but nothing was coming in. You pulled your bag over your shoulder and started to descend the mountain, using the marked trail you’d first climbed, searching the channels of your comm as you went. You finally managed to secure a connection, and thought absently of the Federation ship the Klingons had referenced.

“This is Lieutenant Y/L/N hailing orbiting Federation starship, please respond,” you addressed, crossing your fingers. There was a few moments of silence and then a response.

“This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, what is the purpose of your hail?” The familiar captain’s voice made your body relax.

“It’s a little embarrassing Captain, but I had an accident while on leave, and then was taken hostage by -” your voice cut off with a scream as phaser fire blew past you. You dove to one side of the trail and began to run. “I’m under fire from Klingon aggressors, please beam up!”

“Did you say Klingons, Lieutenant?” Kirk’s voice crackled over the comm.

“Sir, you’re breaking up, please beam up!” You replied, dodging branches and stumbling down the hill at breakneck speed.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Scott of the Enterprise. I’m having some trouble triangulating your location, can you get out the trees, hen?” A thick Scottish accent came across your comm, crackly and broken. You gave it a look of disbelief.

“I’m under fire! You want me to dodge out of the trees into the direct line of fire so I can be shot at and maybe beamed up?” You screamed into the comm.

“Well when you put it that way, it sounds a bit daft, but yes,” he replied.

“Well, that dishy doctor better be on duty to patch me up!” you screamed and ran back onto the path, immediately needing to dodge another phaser blast. You shrieked and started to lose your balance. The edge of the path, you knew from the daytime, led to a steep fall to the bottom of the mountain should you topple that way.

“Much better, just getting a lock on you now,” came the Scot’s brogue.

“I hope you’re good at catching moving objects Mr. Scott!” You dove off the edge of the cliff and flipped onto your back midair, pulling your phaser and shooting up into the black of night. You felt a little like an action hero instead of a space station nurse, and thought if you had to die, at least it was going to make a good story. Right as you resigned yourself to the splat on the ground below, the golden beams of the transporter wrapped around you and you thudded down onto the solid flooring of the transporter bay. “Ow.”

“You’re a bit of the cowboy, aren’t you? That was quite the exciting transport, hen.” With those words you were able to identify Mr. Scott. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, getting your bearings. Everything hurt. As you breathed in though, you noticed a particularly painful area on your shoulder. “Oh, shit, you’ve been hit.”

“It figures,” you groaned and closed your eyes, letting the black welcome you.

XXX

You wakened to the steady rhythm of your own heart beeping above you. You craned your neck and checked your vital signs and sighed with relief. Everything was normal. Which meant you’d received prompt and adequate care. You tried to sit up and an alarm sounded. With a roll of your eyes, you silenced the alarm and dangled your legs at the bedside, tentatively checking the range of motion in your arm. A nurse approached in haste.

“You shouldn’t be up,” she scolded, a warm smile on her face. “Although I understand. It sucks to be the patient.”

“Thanks. I think I need to pee,” you mumbled, somewhat groggy still. She nodded and helped you to your feet and then over to the toilet.

“I’m sure this set-up is no different than the starbase. Ring the bell when you’re ready and I’ll help you back to bed.” She pointed at the button on the wall and left you alone. You took in your appearance in the mirror and were a little horrified. Your hair was a greasy mess, you had a number of bruises on your face and the bandage on your shoulder was showing signs of your wound still draining. Phaser wounds were a bitch to treat, so you weren’t surprised that it wasn’t completely healed yet.

You grated against needing help back to bed, and slowly made your way back on your own, only to be stopped by the familiar handsome features of Doctor McCoy.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” he chastised, his tone lazy and oozing charm. You looked him in the eye and shrugged.

“I needed to pee?”

“I’ve had the pleasure of Christine Chapel in my medbay for long enough to know she wouldn’t have left you to your own devices. Why didn’t you ring the call bell?” He countered, slipping his arm under your good one to help you back to the bed.

“Because I’m perfectly capable of ambulating to and from the toilet,” you groused. He smirked as he pulled his tricorder out and scanned you.

“I’m going to peel back that bandage on your shoulder and take a look at the wound. While you were out, we did two passes with the dermal regen, but it’ll need some more. The muscles will be sore for quite some time, and I’ll give you some physiotherapy exercises for range of motion. No overdoing it. I’ve been in touch with your superior, and she’s extended your leave. Captain Kirk wants to keep an eye on you until the Klingons that did this are caught. He found their camp, but they’d abandoned it and torched the shuttle,” he offered. It was so much information that your brain swam.

“Wouldn’t it be safer to drop me back at Yorktown?” You asked.

“Well, darlin’, where I come from questioning your captain’s orders is called insubordination,” he retorted. You heard Christine scoff from the nurse’s station and tilted your head.

“In my experience, most nurses know when their docs are lying,” you countered. He smiled and said nothing, finishing the assessment without a word. When he stepped back from you, you gave him an expectant look.

“Well, I might have told him I need to keep an eye on the healing,” he finally admitted.

“Any doctor could -”

“Your file said you applied for exploration missions before your placement at Yorktown,” he interrupted.

“I didn’t exactly join Starfleet to work in a clinic,” you nodded.

“I just happen to have an opening in my crew right now,” he explained. “I thought it would be nice to keep you around, see how you get on with the staff. I already like you.”

“Oh, you do?” You asked, wincing as he palpated the skin around the phaser wound. He mumbled an apology and administered a pain med by hypo.

“I like the way you handled Crawford. I liked the way you handled hailing the captain to get me. Your C.O. seems to think the sun rises and sets on you. She said yours is the only clinic she is comfortable leaving without a doctor of the day,” he explained.

“How long have you been looking at my records? I can’t have been out for that long,” you demanded.

“Since that first day,” he admitted, a light flush rising over his cheeks. You looked away, secretly delighted that he’d noticed you, even if he was going to be your CMO, which meant nothing could ever happen. You had a healthy respect for watching a nice looking man work. And the Enterprise was the flagship.

“I’ve heard Jim Kirk plays fast and loose with the rules,” you commented. McCoy smirked and gave you a non-committal little shrug.

“Depends on what the rule is,” he replied. You could feel the heat searing your cheeks but decided to say what was on your mind. Trusting your gut had got you saved, after all.

“Fraternization?”

McCoy’s smirk spread into a grin and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “A five year mission is not the time to be worried about who’s bunking with who, sweetheart. He’s only really strict about officers and ensigns. You’re a lieutenant. Don’t go messing around with the ensigns or yeomen and -”

“I have my eye on a lieutenant commander, actually. He’s a bit gruff and can be cranky when he thinks his time is being wasted, but he’s always been pretty sweet to me. I mean, I’m a little broken right now so I can’t chase after him. But do you think playing the helpless invalid might help me?” You interrupted.

“I have it on good authority that he likes a woman who’s a challenge,” he replied, his voice going husky. He stepped a little closer and pushed the hair off your face. “Strong enough to hold her spine straight when a doc tries to tear her down. Clever enough to escape from Klingons. Tough enough to jump off a cliff to try to get away. That’s the kind of woman that interests me. Not some wilting flower.”

“Stupid enough to try to kiss you, even though you might be her CO soon?” you asked, tilting your head up to his. He answered by dropping his mouth against yours.

“Smart enough to see an invite,” he murmured between gentle kisses.

“I hope you like stubborn too because I’m going to be pushing hard for a discharge,” you laughed.

“I would call that motivated and goal-oriented.” He pulled back and a soft smile was on his face. It made him look younger. “As eager as we both seem, I would like to recommend we take it slow. We’re only two years into the five. We’ve got lots of time.”

“And we’re only just responding to chemicals right now,” you agreed. He pressed another kiss to your mouth and stepped back, as Captain Kirk entered, making a face that made you realize he’d seen the kisses.

“Chemicals and Kissing? That’s never a good thing,” Kirk commented. “Did you come into contact with any strange plants? Weird pollen?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Doctor McCoy was referring to plain old sexual chemistry, Captain. No sex pollen.”

Kirk shook his head. “Bones never has -”

“That’ll be enough, Jim. This is different, and it’s not sex pollen,” McCoy interrupted, scowling. “Back to the bridge with you, or I’ll catch you up on your vaccinations.”

Kirk arched an eyebrow and let out a soft huff of amusement before throwing up his hands in surrender and backing out of MedBay. McCoy looked back at you, and his features softened. “Time for you to rest. We’ll run the regen again this afternoon.”

You settled back against the firm mattress of the BioBed and nodded, closing your eyes. The interaction had left you tired, but ultimately hopeful that you’d met your match in the handsome doctor.

[thefuturistknows]

Hinc illae Lacrimae | Tony & Steve

“—if anything changes, you know where to find me,” Steve said from behind the bars.

Tony ran a hand across the ache in his chest until he reached his opposite shoulder, and pressed his fingers against all the tension that lived there.

...

“I don’t, actually,” Tony said. He dropped his hand back to his side then looked back to Steve with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know how to find you anymore.”

He spared Steve one last lingering look. For a moment, he wished he could at least be united with Steve in the way that both of their convictions meant that they would have to give up on each other, but when he turned away, he still felt the heaviness of the one-sided sacrifice of their relationship. He’d always known he’d be lucky if he meant half as much to Steve as Steve meant to him, and today he knew he’d never been that lucky.

Ghost of a Chance | Tony & Steve

Taking place after Various Methods of Escape and Hydroponics

Steve tended to be rather cruel in Tony’s nightmares. At least by now he knew enough to call it cruelty, and not justice, or being right.

Not just justice or being right.

Tony turned so he was lying on his back, groaned, and started cracking his knuckles one by one. He was shirtless and his sweat had soaked the sheets beneath him.

They were Steve’s sheets.

Waking up in Steve’s bed always tasted like a familiar kind of failure, like all the times Tony had promised himself he would clock out of the liquor before blacking out and then he didn’t. He had told himself and others – namely Rhodey, he was the only one that knew – that he would stop doing this. He would stop spending so much time here. And then five minutes to “think” always ended up turning into half an hour, which always turned into “wearing his jacket,” which turned into “going through his closet because these days his jacket smelled like the wrong cologne,” which was bound to turn into crying at some point, which could easily lead to jacking off on Steve’s bed and sobbing his loneliness and dreams and nightmares into his pillows.

Well, in any case, this time he hadn’t cried even once since the whole Siberia stunt yesterday. Or… nine hours ago, to be more precise. Tony had been sleeping for five of those hours, so maybe it wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. It certainly didn’t feel like one, mostly because all he felt was hollow. Maybe not even miserable, just hollow. Which wasn’t an improvement. A serious depressive episode wasn’t in the least bit welcome under the present circumstances.

Tony closed his eyes and mentally checked for any communication attempts he might have missed. Ross’ radio silence post-Siberia continued to be disturbing. Tony knew he must be in trouble for disrespecting orders to lay low, and he also knew he’d been demoted. His difficulty in accessing Raft files wasn’t the only evidence of it, but it was the one that bothered him the most. JARVIS had been running his decryption program for about six hours now.

Ross aside, people – well, the ones who gave half a shit about him anyway – usually gave Tony like a day after a mission before they started pestering him again, so at least he had some time.

(Unconsciousness didn’t seem to be working in his favor anymore, so really, he’d trade that spare time for the punch in the face it would take to motivate him to do something halfway useful.)

Coffee was probably the next best thing. With his eyes still closed, Tony stretched an arm to rummage through the sheets until he found his underwear. His pants were on the floor, easy to spot once Tony finally sat up on the bed. He couldn’t immediately locate his tank top, and he lost the patience for trying very soon. Being shirtless effectively meant that he’d be better off avoiding public areas in the building, which meant drinking that three or four-day-old coffee out of one of Steve’s mugs (again) so as not to leave the apartment.

He stopped by the bedroom doorframe, then leaned on it. Lingered. He reached for the light switch on the wall and turned it on.

The bed wasn’t just undone on one side, since Tony tended to back up to the center when there was no one there with him. Or even if there was. This time there hadn’t been anyone, of course. Steve’s jacket was still draped over the back of his chair; Tony always brought it back so it could rest next to Steve’s other things, waiting there just as he’d left them. Tony thought about his own tank top back there, hiding somewhere, like it fit and belonged and like Steve was about to walk out of the bathroom fresh out of the shower and make some silly comment about how late it was and didn’t Tony have anything else to do.

He remembered placing his watch next to Steve’s phone in their hotel room in Austria, then looking at that and wondering what their intimate bedroom messes could look and feel like. But those sheets and the mattress and the pillows didn’t smell like Steve anymore. Tony wasn’t even sure he really remembered his smell. Steve hadn’t slept here in so long.

Tony stepped back into the bedroom and opened the closet.

Too fucking small, it certainly would have never worked out.

(Maybe if they had knocked back a wall or something.)

Tony had already known that the closet was too small for the two of them, of course, from having opened that door numerous times before over the past few months. He recognized the clothes hanging there from his own memories and mental images of Steve, and from all the times he’d looked at them as they hung in there, abandoned.

Tony knelt so he could open one of the T-shirt drawers. He picked a generic white one so people wouldn’t think much of it if he were ever caught wearing it. He put it on, and it was too large for him, and against his skin it just felt like some T-shirt that was too large for him.

(Tony had looked at Steve back in Austria and he’d thought, what if I lose him, what if I lose him -- foolishly, as if he’d ever had him – what if all he was left with were those memories that would never be as vibrant and kaleidoscopic as one real moment with him?)

There was a box in the back, Tony could see it from where he was kneeling. He knew what was inside: some of Steve’s art supplies. He hadn’t looked at the sketchbook. It was maybe the one thing he hadn’t looked at. There must be so many hours of Steve in it, of his hands, of how he looked at the world, of how he put it to paper. So much of him.

Not until he dies, Tony had told himself the day he’d first found the box. Not until Steve died. Not until this world ran out of Steve and Tony had to conjure him up by looking at those pages.

But now he kept staring at the box and it kept calling him and that call hurt him not into crying or screaming, it just hurt him into the breathless silence of how he cried and screamed in those nightmares where no one could hear him.

(The Steve Tony had found in Siberia was so much grayer than the memories he had of him.)

(What if I lose him, what if I lose him? He’d thought back then, and God, it had happened. He was gone. That colorful Steve had stayed there under the morning sun where Tony had wanted to kiss him.)

Tony brought the notebook back to bed with him.

* * *

Cartoons.

The team.

Cityscapes.

Motorcycles.

Hands.

Noses.

Dogs.

A hotel room and a Ferris Wheel and almost lovers and Tony Stark.

I love you, Tony Stark.

I’m not very good at this.

I love you and I wish I could say it.

Everything’s so fragile.

if I thought you loved me too

You deserve someone who sticks around.

I do think about it a lot

wake up with you

every morning drinking coffee in an empty kitchen with you

your hands on me. And mine on you

your hands on my throat.

How much I trust you.

you might be the only person on Earth I’d let touch me like that.

I’m sorry.

You’re beautiful.

let’s go to Europe

maybe we can start again

I’ll stick around

just us

I’ve never been to Ireland

my parents would have liked it if I’d gone.

if I’m dead.

I hope I’ll throw this away

I loved you.

I fucking loved you.

I hope I told you so

I loved you.

I miss that.

It’s not really mine to miss, I guess

I hope

It’s late.

I will.

I want to.

I’m scared to hell, but I want to.

I love you, Tony Stark.

Tony ended up ripping off the last page. He took it to the workshop, where JARVIS scanned it and analyzed it and concluded that yes, it was all Steve. It was all Steve besides Tony’s fingerprints and the traces of Tony’s sweat from when he’d laid the side of his head against the open notebook, staring at at the empty space next to him.

* * * 

“I’m locked away, Tony. What more harm can I do?

The smart hologram of Steve wasn’t technically in front of Tony’s real eyes. It was looking in the eyes of Tony’s hologram, but Tony could feel the stare anyway, even as a third party observer of the interaction. The neural link between his present self and the projected memory was perhaps the most impressive aspect of this new psychiatric project of his.

“I’ve told you what I’m willing to do. That’s all I have, Tony. I’m--”

The window and the steel bars materialized between them, along with the rest of Steve’s cell and Tony’s close surroundings. Tony could see Steve sinking, pulling away. He could feel himself losing Steve all over again.

“—if anything changes, you know where to find me.”

Tony deviated from the memory when he stepped toward the window and grabbed a steel bar with both his hands.

“I love you,” he said.

He’d never said this out loud to Steve before. I love you. It came out more like a croak.

“Does that change it? Does it change anything?”

God, he knew he shouldn’t use this technology to procure would-be answers or to indulge in the pain of lost possibilities. This wasn’t Steve, this was a composite. This was Tony’s memories and impressions and nightmares and wishful thinking.

Tony still leaned in to search his eyes.

“You found it,” Steve said.

“Do it because you love me.” This was the closest Tony had been to crying since Siberia. “Register and come back home because you love me and you don’t want to hurt me. I’m hurting.”

This was so fucking manipulative, even by his standards. It was also quite possibly the one angle he hadn’t tried, and this was a simulation, and Tony was getting nothing out of it besides Steve’s bright-eyed stoicism.

“I’m fixing your bike even when it doesn’t need to be fixed and -- I’m wearing your clothes, and I’m sleeping in your bed, and I’m crying on your pillows, and it’s just like when my mom and dad died – Steve –”

“Tony –”

“Everything is falling apart!” Tony stepped back from the bars and covered his eyes with his hands. “It’s falling apart! It’s just like I said, and I don’t know what to do and you were supposed to be helping me, I can’t just fix it -- how can you treat me like I can just waltz in and fix it?”

“I already said I never asked you --”

“I’m asking you! To help me!”

“You’re asking me to register!”

“Potato-fucking-potahto, Rogers!”

Tony uncovered his eyes. He was sweating.

“I can’t do it, Tony, I’m sorry.”

“Liar.”

“I am sorry.”

“Well, then, that’s a change.”

Tony braced himself. Steve still hadn’t stepped away from the window, and maybe this time there was something broken on the curve of his lips.

(God, was this all his subconscious could give him? Sorry?)

“Do you still love me?”

One second. Two. Three.

Too much hesitation.

“Don’t talk to me, Tony.” Steve said, firm, if not coldly. “Don’t talk to me about how I left you and how I didn’t help you.”

Tony shook his head, then looked to the side.

“Don’t do this to me,” he said.

“Don’t talk to me about how I left you when you know what happens and you had me in your arms –”

“Stop.”

“You had me in your arms, and you brought me back here, and you walked away!”

“Shut up!”

“You had me in your arms!”

“I’m not here to talk to the nightmare version of you!”

“Oh, am I? The nightmare version?”

Tony looked at Steve again. Steve was pressing the side of one tight fist to the window.

“Maybe that’s what you made me.”

* * *

The projection froze and frayed on the edges and suddenly Tony was just a third-party observer again.

“Sir,” JARVIS started. “You have a new urgent message from Commander Hill.”

“I don’t care!” Tony screamed. “I’m having a damn conversation!”

A message window appeared right in front of him. Tony snarled, arms folded tightly across his chest, but started reading anyway. If it was important enough for JARVIS to push past his authority like that, then he had to fucking read it.

I don’t know how much you know already, but this is the worst of it.

Tread carefully.

He didn’t, of course. He charged right into it. And suddenly his trembling wasn’t anger anymore, or hurt.

Tony lowered himself to sit on the floor when he heard Steve screaming his name. It was from an audio file recorded in the sensory deprivation tank. He hugged his knees to his chest and hid his head in them, then he had to bite into his knuckles like that could keep all the terror at bay long enough for him to think past it.

He’d held Steve in his arms.

Steve had been in his arms and he’d delivered him to –

* * *

Tony had sent in the Iron Legion before he was even done assessing any specifics of the situation. JARVIS advised against the move: the Legion wasn’t quite stealthy, and even generously assuming that a half-baked impromptu, uh, prison take-over? (whatever it was gonna be) was a good idea – which it wasn’t, as JARVIS also emphasized – he may at least want to use the element of surprise in his favor.

Anyway, he wasn’t as interested in the element of surprise as he was in the element of fire power, which was why he didn’t count the whole stealth thing as a priority when he chose his armor either.

Of course, the prison was on a damn lockdown by the time Tony started getting close, which shouldn’t have annoyed him that much given the fact that he was supposed to know that would happen since he’d chosen to send a small pack of hostile robots to announce his arrival. In any case, it turned out that having JARVIS units on the inside made it easy for him to penetrate the electronic defenses of the Raft, which, of course, had been part of the plan all along. Obviously.

Now, it was kind of funny to be inside the prison looking for entire levels dedicated to torture and experimentation, given the fact that Tony had come to this place a thousand times and he was well aware of its structure and he’d seen the blueprints and he’d still somehow missed a floor, or five.

Well. Tony finely disrupted his way to what he’d always thought to be the bottom level and he looked at the floor and –

“No way,” he laughed. No way this would actually work.  He used his wrist lasers to cut an opening on the ground. “No fucking –”

Sure enough, that piece of the floor fell down. Onto a whole other level.

Okay. Whatever was masking all this structure, it had to be magic or alien. Tony could not have been so pathetically out-scienced.

He tried to fly down there, then he ended up crash landing quite spectacularly because suddenly his whole suit had died around him. His head was suddenly uncannily quiet.

Some kind of intelligent power dampener around here.

(Alien. These people probably had easier access to alien tech.)

(Unless Strange had also been –)

Jesus Christ, no. Focus. Tony manually unlatched the armor, got out of it, grabbed a detachable hand gun and all the explosives he could carry.

As it turned out, the Iron Legion had been at least kind of on its way to being a passably good idea, because it seemed to be doing a good job keeping most of the inconvenient action upstairs. By the time he got close to the place where Steve was supposed to be, according to Maria Hill’s files, Tony was bleeding from like ten? eleven? places, but he still had enough explosives to blow past the last door on his way.

The room was flooded in emergency red light when Tony came in. Maybe the sirens would have bothered him if it hadn’t been for years of handling Extremis in his head, or if he hadn’t already completely lost his cool a little while ago.

Steve was unconscious inside a vertically suspended tank. That was filled with water.

No. Not water. Liquid. PFC. The intel he’d received claimed PFC.

If it were just water, Steve would be dead.

Tony climbed onto the platform where the controls were. They were inactive. They were inactive and he didn’t have time for this shit.

He shot at the heavy latches keeping the tank closed from outside. One time. Two times. Then he was out of bullets. He threw the gun against the barely twisted metal.

He’d have to go out and find a machine gun or something. He –

He tapped the bracelet he was still wearing – Steve’s – and the holoshield materialized by his arm.

(Note to self: the power dampeners were energy signature-specific. They had Tony’s, but he’d never shared this one with anyone. No one.)

(Just him.)

Tony jammed the shield into one of the latches, one, two, three, and a desperate fourth time before he turned his attention to the glass. He knew it was bulletproof and unbreakable but he tried it anyway, God, if he could get so much as a crack to start draining the liquid out –

He couldn’t. He deactivated the shield and looked at the latches again. He placed the side of his wrist against one of them.

Well, here goes nothing, he thought, turned his head away, then reactivated the shield. It suddenly pushed back against Tony’s forearm, but part of it had materialized inside the latch, and fortunately whatever alien/magical bullshit this place had going on hadn’t completely broken physics yet, so the law of impenetrability of matter had the first latch bursting apart next to Tony’s arm.

(All right, fractured left ulna, most likely.)

One latch was enough for Tony to use the shield, now on the other arm, as leverage to force the door of the tank open.

It finally gave out, and started opening on its own. The liquid started pouring out first, then Steve’s body was limp against the glass on front until Tony could push himself into the chamber to reach for Steve and pull him out –

He fell back to the floor with Steve in his arms, and by now he was crying. Tony laid Steve’s back on the ground and he had to sob into Steve’s emaciated chest before he could gather his own breath enough to give Steve mouth-to-mouth and try to force the PFC out of his lungs.

Tony pulled away when Steve started coughing, to give him space, then he sat back and, in horror, covered his mouth with both his hands. Even so, he could barely suppress the sounds he was making.

The sounds Steve was making were a hundred times worse.

#hinc illae lacrimae #a man outof time #torture mention #//can you fuckENING BELIEVE i looked for a latin phrase to name this thing. there's no point. i'm just being melodramatic. i'm so mad #also this is uh super not proof-read IT'S 2 AM!!!! I'M PAST MY ESTABLISHED MIDNIGHT LIMIT #also yeah always remember that i'm Very Bad at action threads and all i can really do is purple prose and psychobabble #yes. bye. sorry for the wait and hopefully it makes.................... sense...................... sweats nervously

[no6secretsanta]

Hi, @spyed10! I hope this fulfilled your hurt/comfort request, I decided to take it in a bit of a different direction! Happy Holidays! -From @silver-eyes-hair-ties

Nezumi was having a hard time getting used to the new No.6.

Not that he didn’t enjoy it.  He rather liked the mishmash of eclectic buildings which ringed the Old Quarter, markers of the place where the wall once stood.  Several beautification programs later, the brick and stone homes were painted with murals, inset with mosaics, and home to pastel birdhouses.  This area was meant to represent the marriage of No.6 proper and the West Block; supposedly the two were more beautiful for having been joined, but Nezumi had his reservations, naturally.

The grocery bag on his arm was weighing him down considerably, and he hefted it to his other shoulder.  Shion just had to have all of these canned things, he thought, but he soldiered on to Shion’s third-story apartment.

He made it to the door and jiggled his key in the lock--Shion was supposed to be in meetings about the placement of the new memorial park until late at night.  Nezumi was used to their new, tentative routine: Nezumi took care of the shopping, oftentimes picking up around the house while Shion was away. He made dinner for when he was off at the theater and Shion came home from work, overworked and too exhausted to cook himself a meal, then set out for work himself.  

He’d been back in No.6 for only a month, but the theater in the West Block was more than happy to have him back (and at a higher pay rate).  Shion didn’t really ask him about his travels, but he figured he would open up in time. The small apartment wasn’t built for two, but Shion insisted that Nezumi take the futon, at least until he could apply for housing through the city, and Nezumi gladly took him up on his offer.  And so they continued.

Nezumi toed off his boots at the doormat, but a pair of worn brown leather shoes were already placed haphazardly against the wall.  Nezumi furrowed his brow and set the groceries on the counter.  

He padded into the living room, assessing his surroundings.  Maybe he’d taken his work home with him; it was unlikely that Shion would take a day off, and it wasn’t unusual for Nezumi to find him with files and folders splayed all over the coffee table.  Shion, however, wasn’t at his usual workspace.  It was then that Nezumi heard gasping breaths from the direction of the bedroom.  

Oh no.

“Shion? Shion!!” Nezumi called, and he sped toward the sound of Shion’s distress.  The first thing he saw was a mound underneath the blankets on the bed, with a barely concealed tuft of white hair peeking from the top.  He rushed to the bed, grabbing hold of Shion’s shaking shoulders.  

“What is it, what’s wrong?” he barked, then winced at the harshness of his own voice.  His fear was too raw, too loud for the space.  

Shion just pulled the blankets more tightly around himself and kept his back turned.  Nezumi could hear the shaking breaths with their shallow inhales and forced exhales.  He hissed helplessly through his teeth, then vaulted up over Shion, hands on either side of his covered head.  

“Hey!” one hand gripped Shion’s shoulder, hard, and he felt the body below him flinch.  Then, a pair of red-rimmed eyes peered up at him.

Nezumi immediately pulled his hand back, but stayed hovering above Shion, who quickly wrestled himself from the blankets. He grabbed Nezumi, pulling him down on top of him and burying his face in his neck.  Nezumi felt telltale wetness soak his collar and immediately softened.  

“Shion?” he asked again, and this time he received a sniffle in response.  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Shion quickly shook his head, and Nezumi felt the tendrils constricting his heart and lungs loosen slightly.  Shion’s death-grip around him was worrying, to say the least, but he could handle it if he knew there was no physical injury to tend to.  He had no leverage in this position, and his arms were pinned to his sides by Shion’s hold.

“Could we, um… Maybe re-situate? I won’t go anywhere, I promise.” Nezumi whispered, nervous about breaking the near-silence when Shion’s breathing was beginning to slow. Shion’s vice-like grip retreated, and Nezumi nestled himself underneath the covers with him.  He was surprised to find Shion’s dress shirt, pants, and tie still on.  He held Shion’s trembling hands in his own, trying hard to meet his shifting eyes.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nezumi asked, and when Shion’s brows furrowed, he ran his thumbs over Shion’s hands.  

Shion’s voice was a hoarse croak.  “I’ve been doing better, Nezumi, I really have, but today I just--” his voice cracked and the floodgates flew open. “It could be anything, a noise or a smell or a phrase and all of a sudden I’m back there, in the Correctional Facility.”  Shion bit down on his lip, hard.  Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.

Nezumi waited for Shion to continue; things like this couldn’t be rushed, and he knew that as well as anyone.  The feeling of sinking, of suffocating on something you thought you’d put behind you, was all too familiar.  Nezumi had hoped Shion would never feel that way, but after all he’d been through it only made sense.  No one escaped unscathed, not even Shion. He couldn’t protect him.

“It was the sound of the air in the vents.  Something about it reminded me of that time, when I almost lost you and I panicked.  I felt like I was there, and I was trying to keep you alive all over again.”  Shion pulled Nezumi in close, grabbing at any part of Nezumi he could reach.  Nezumi rubbed his back in slow circles, allowing the close contact.  

“I’m here now, Shion.  You can feel me, I’m safe and whole.  And so are you.”

Despite Nezumi’s words he still had a crease between his brows.  Nezumi leaned in closer, waiting for some kind of resistance, and when he found none he kissed the offending spot. Shion looked surprised at this gesture, but his cheeks reddened just the way Nezumi thought they would.

Predictable Shion, he mused, and he brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.  He noted the contrast between Shion’s pale scar and the blush painting his cheeks with subdued interest.  Now wasn’t the time to rekindle past flames, he chided himself.

“Here, give me your hand,” Nezumi murmured, then took Shion’s hand in his, pressing Shion’s open palm to his own chest. Shion looked at him quizzically.

“You can feel it, can’t you?”

“Of course… It’s pounding, Nezumi, are you alright?”

Nezumi didn’t expect Shion to be so perceptive; he tried in vain to will the flush from his face.  

“I’m fine, Shion,” he muttered.  He could feel Shion’s eyes boring into his face in the near-dark. “And I’m here.  My heart is beating, and I’m not hurt.  I’m not going anywhere.”

A stray tear slalomed between Shion’s nose and his cheek, and before Nezumi could get carried away and kiss it, he allowed his voice to flutter into the space between them.

“What helps, usually?”

Shion had stopped trembling, and now he was taking deep, purposeful breaths.  “Just… Breathing? Sometimes a bath, if I’m not feeling too out of myself…”

Nezumi smiled reassuringly.  “Want me to go get one ready?”  He immediately noticed the set of Shion’s shoulders, the tightening of his mouth.  

“Could you, um… Stay for a bit, actually?” he asked.  His voice was small, weaker than Nezumi remembered ever hearing it.  His arms circled Shion protectively, instinctively.

The change in Shion was instant.  He melted into Nezumi, and his steady breaths puffed against Nezumi’s cheek.  He tried to gain access to Shion’s skin to maybe soothe him further, but he huffed at the buttons and tie in his way.  Nezumi deftly worked the offending necktie off, then began on the buttons of Shion’s dress shirt.

Nezumi could feel Shion’s gaze.  “Just relax, your Majesty.” he cooed.  He pressed his fingertips into Shion’s tense shoulders, and he tutted when he found them full of knots.  “You don’t take very good care of your body, you know.”

Shion harrumphed.  “I’m doing important work for the city, I can’t always afford to.”

“And what if you dropped dead from overwork?”

“Nezumi, that doesn’t happen--”

“But if you did? I’m sure you’d be rolling in your grave for all the work you still had ahead of you.  You have the time, Shion, you can take care of the city and yourself, too.”

Nezumi had Shion’s shirt thrown on the floor and was beginning to slide the belt from his hips.  Shion stayed his hands. “What?”

Shion’s look of befuddlement was endearing.  “I’m, um, not exactly sure what you need my pants off for…”

Nezumi rolled his eyes.  “If your Majesty permits it, I would like to tend to these poor muscles. Including your back and legs, which I’m sure you neglect to stretch sitting at your desk.”

Shion blinked up at Nezumi owlishly.  “Oh, um… Sure.” He wriggled his hips and let Nezumi get him down to just his briefs.  Nezumi rolled Shion onto his stomach so he could straddle his legs and stroke his lower back and sides.  The muscles fluttered under his hands, and methodically he probed into knots and pockets of tension until they were all but dissolved.  Some of the problem areas had Shion squirming, but soon the hard work was done and Nezumi paid particular attention to gently relaxing his shoulders and neck.  

“Mm…” Shion sighed into the pillow under his head.  Nezumi noted this with pride; he knew he had skill intuiting peoples’ bodies, but this talent was one he hadn’t had the time to practice.  

“That’s much better,” Nezumi purred, and at last leaned back onto his knees.  He waited for Shion’s replay, but none came.  Just as he leaned forward to shake Shion’s shoulder, ask him if he was alright, he heard a distinct snore. He chuckled behind his hand.

“Silly little princeling…” he whispered, and laid a kiss indulgently at the nape of Shion’s neck, just below his hair and over top of his snakelike scar.  Upon inspection of the bedside clock, he decided he had enough time to catch a quick nap before starting dinner, so he curled up on Shion’s side and let himself drift off.

#no. 6 #no6 #no.6 #nezushi #spyed10 #silver eyes hair ties #silver-eyes-hair-ties

[bahannah01writes]

Bring Me A Dream (Pt. 5)

Summary: You’re still at the park and for some reason Mark feels like quizzing you, good luck!

 Little shorter, but that’s okay! Honestly, full on fluff and whatnot, hopefully you will all enjoy! Also, I edited this late at night and may have missed a few things, but tomorrow I’ll relook over it and what not! Just wanna get this up for yall ;3

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Check out the masterlist is here :)  

Tags: @kourt-kay @boots-jpg @bananakid42 @mtttme @let-it-go-and-live-again  if you want to be on the tagged list,  just message me and it shall be done!

Enjoy!

~~

      “Look chickadee, it’s you!” Mark exclaims as he points to a little gray bird with a primarily black head of feathers aside from a single white stripe from its beak to the side of its head. Its feathery form bounces about in the tree- slightly jittery but overall it seems to be relaxed as it takes its time just exploring the tree around it. Whether or not Mark meant to be teasing or playful, you smile cheerfully and watch the tiny ball of feathers with adoration.

     “Mark, that is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” You begin a light giggle on your lips, “how on earth am I that adorable little bird?” You’ve seen chickadees before, but you always seem to forget just how precious they are. Your current beaked buddy looks to be the size of your palm, if not smaller.

     Although you aren’t looking, Mark rolls his eyes playfully as a crooked smile slides onto his expression, “I swear you make me be cheesy,” he shakes his head and turns to look at you, “You’re that ‘adorable little bird’ because you’re one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.” Yet, the raven-haired lad also feels the need to add a quick quip to counter the cheesiness of his previous statement, “Plus, I’ve gotta say, you have a bit of a bird brain.”

     Your head whips over to look at his with eyes wide and brows knitted together, “I do not!” You protest, your lips shifting into a proud smirk, “I think I’m quite smart!”

     Mark raises a teasing brow, “You sure about that?”

     A slightly shocked gasp leaves your lungs and you can’t help the hint of laughter that escapes you- you give him a friendly shove after shaking your head. “You asshole! Yes, I am positive!”

     He hums in thought and strokes his stubble, “You’ll have to prove it…” Mark trails off as he tries to think of a way to ‘test’ you, the moment you see a shit-eating grin cross his face you realize he’s found his solution. “I’m going to give you a test on the most important subject ever, can you guess what it is?” The way his eyebrows wiggle in anticipation gave you a rather good idea of what this ‘subject’ may be.

     “Is it you?”

     “No! Ha I- Oh wait,” Not expecting you to get it, he chuckles sheepishly, “Actually, yes, that is the topic.” A light rouge dusts his cheeks in response to this ounce of embarrassment, you simply proceed to laugh at his silly blunder, “Oh shut up,” it is now his turn to return a friendly shove in your direction, which almost ceases your laughter. A bubble of joyous giggles escaping every now and again. “Are you ready for your test, chickadee?”

     “Ready as I’ll ever be, Markimoo!” You exclaim, being a Dream Maker does have some benefits like being able to access vague memories- though this would still be far easier if he would be asleep and you would be in your true Dream Maker state; a time in which you could assess his memories in depth. Nonetheless, you believe you’ll do fairly well in this test of his. You watch as he prepares the questions in his mind, his lips purse as he tries to think of question, the hand resting on your arm subconsciously traces circles into your skin. Ever since that most delightful chase and him carrying you for about half way across the park, in a rather uncomfortable manner as well, the two of you stopped at a charming park bench under a shady tree. Though, eventually, you’ll return to your previous settlement. For now; however, this bench is just perfect.

     “Okay, we’ll start off easy. What’s my whole name?” The tiny circles stop and instead his eyes land on yours.

     “Mark Edward Fischbach, simple.” You shrug, leaning into him further, “What else you got?”

     He chuckles and tells you what else he has, “And where did I live before L.A?”

     “Cincinnati, Ohio,” Albeit, your answers may roll a far bit too fast off your tongue, but as you assume, his fans could have probably answered quicker than you just did. Mark nods and mumbles something about doing a good job.

     “What did I do in high school? Like, ‘club’ wise?” Mark inquires, and while for a moment you weren’t exactly sure what he meant, you soon come to the realization.

     “Oh! You were in marching band! Trumpet, right?” A bright smile crosses your lips, which Mark returns along with a light laugh.

     “Right,” He assures, and in deciding to throw you a wild ball- he asks a most obscure question, “What was my high school nickname?”

     Your brows knit together as you scan over your mental files for the answer. Whatever it may be, obviously hadn’t been impactful in his life and would be a trivial little fact about himself. “Can I get a hint?” If you can at least have some tidbits of information around the nickname, it may bring up some memories and lead you to the answer.

      You hear him give out an audible and exaggerated sigh, “I guess so.” He ponders quietly for a moment as you try to hold back a giggle from his reaction, “People started calling me it because of a glitter incident.”

     A glitter incident? Glitter is that bothersome and sparkly infestation of colors, isn’t it? Most commonly used in crafts and is noted for its persistence, no matter how hard you try- you can never get rid of that sparkling parasite. A name pops into your heard and you begin to wonder. Maybe that’s it… “Does it rhyme?”

     “It does.”

     “Was it Markle Sparkle?” You ask, unable to withhold a laugh or two due to the silliness of the nickname- if that is what it was.

     “It was!” He exclaims with his own laughter following, “I was ol’ Markle Sparkle because someone threw glitter all over me.”

     Your laughter only increases as you shake your head, “Oh God, I kind of want you to be Markle Sparkle again,” you say along with a devious, but playful, smirk spreads on your lips.

     Mark shakes his head and pokes your nose as if scolding you for such a thought, “No, he is not making a comeback! Glitter is like the herpes of crafting, I don’t want it in my house,” his boisterous laughter only gets louder and you’re reminded that indeed, you can still hear it from miles away if you want to.

     “Better watch out then, Markimoo!”

     “Says the girl who hardly knows Los Angeles well enough to find a craft store,” He quips with a cocky slanted smile and you blink before proceeding to shake your head again.

     “Alright, you got me there. I can admit when I’m defeated,” You admit and while you’re about to add on, he starts to talk instead.

     “Y’know, while Markle Sparkle won’t be coming back, I actually do have a few other personas who’ve come back lately,” He looks toward you and sees the swirling confusion in your eyes, “Do you know what I mean?”

     While feeling as though you may have an inkling as to what he’s talking about, you’re still uncertain and in case it may somehow relate that beast, you figure letting him explain may be best. So, you offer a nervous chuckle and shake your head, “Not exactly?”

     The glimmer of excitement that lights up in his brown hues tell you that he doesn’t mind explaining at all. In fact,  he’s rather excited and enthusiastic as he begins to talk about this concept of having personas separate from yourself- like a version of yourself in a different reality or universe per se. “So, for a long time on my YouTube channel, my fanbase and I have made these alternate versions of myself. And for a while, they were around every now and again, but now, I’ve really brought them back and they’re becoming something much more than before. It’s always so much fun to make videos as these egos and see all the ideas my fans have about them. It’s the best,” He explains, the smile never leaving his face and the light never leaving his eyes. In return, you gain some of that light as your heart fills with joy from watching him shine while talking about this passion of his.

     “It sounds fun!” You beam, “What are these egos? If you don’t mind me asking.”

     Mark chuckles and shrugs, “Why would I mind?” He sighs happily and starts to name off his most popular egos, “There’s the two ‘main’ egos: Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache. Then there’s a few others like Googleplier, the Host, Bim Trimmer, Ed Edgar, Dr. Iplier, and the Silver Shepard. There’s a few more, but those are the main ones.”

     You awe at the idea and begin to ponder to yourself how these alters came to be and you can’t help but admire the creativity of both Mark and his fanbase, “There’s so many…” And because of a curious thought, you laugh and look up at the sweetheart, “Out of your egos, which do you think would like me?”

     It’s a simple question but it hard Mark repeating that lovely yet loud laugh of his along with a faint, but visible, blush on his cheeks. With his free hand, he scratches the back of his neck and thinks over your question, “For your own sake, I wouldn’t say Dark or Wilford- maybe even Google. I think Bim Trimmer would like you a lot- probably find you cute,” he quickly offers a cheeky wink, “-though, you might have to compete with Matthias.”

     Laughing, the two of lean in closer to one another, “Is this yet another person I have to meet?”

     “Definitely.”

     “Marvelous!” You decide to shift and simply move to rest your head on his lap, his fingers soon find your hair and begin to mindlessly play with your locks, “So, why not Dark or Wilford?”

     Mark can’t help but shake his head, “Because they aren’t as nice as I am,” he looks up to the clouds and continues speaking, “Dark is practically everything I’m not. He’s manipulative, deceptive, and emotionless. So, if he liked you, it may mean good things for you. While with Wilford, he’s just insane,” he chuckles, “loves to kill and doesn’t see anything wrong with it all while being as bubbly and odd as a wacky reporter. With either ego, you wouldn’t be well off. Which is why it’s a good thing they’re just fictional.”

     For some reason, you an interest in these egos and make a mental note to ask him more about them later on.

      “Jack has one too,” Mark interrupts your thoughts though your eyes light up as you look up at him.

     “Really? Oh we can call him later, right? I’d love to hear about his, as well!” You chime, already wondering about the possibilities of what his egos may include.

     “Course! And until we can, you can always Skype or text him if you want- Signe too.” Mark points out and your love for your Danish friend rekindles and a new excitement bubbles up in your mind at the hope of talking to her soon.

     “Absolutely! I’ve missed them so much.”

     “More than me?”

     You roll yours eyes and smile up at the doof above you, “Hardly, you goofball.”

     “Good, otherwise I wouldn’t buy you anymore slushees.” How dare he! Threatening so significant in your life? What gives himi the right to take away your frozen splendor? Obviously, he sees the shock on your face and bursts into laughter, “Why do you look so offended?”

     “Because it’s my chilled haven!” You explain, trying to hold back the smile on your lips and act serious.

     “I swear, you’re the most passionate person about slushees that I’ve ever met,” Mark raises his brows, amazed by your love for slushees. If you love him half as much as you love those slushees, he thinks that you’d be going all ‘Yandere-chan’ on his ass.

     “Says the guy who almost instantly asked me to cook for him when I came back after months of being away,” You watch as Mark opens his mouth to try and defend himself but then closes it realizing you caught him in a corner, eyes hiding from your own, he chuckles lowly at his own love for very specific food- mainly being anything cooked by you. “Truce?”

     “Truce.”

     Everything is just about packed up into the car as the sun begin to sets on this Californian day. The orange sky mixes in with the clouds to create floating, fluffy forms along the skyline, the rays of the sun give their last effort and shine brightly as they descend, causing trees and bushes to become a silhouette against the plains. Sunsets were something you always found yourself missing when you were back home, as there are no sunsets or sunrises. There are only changes of the blue in the sky- though every now and again the yellow light beams through the clouds and casts in a beautiful and soft light into your world. But here, in the realm of Dreamers, a sunrise or sunset surpasses those short moments in your world every time.

     Mark catches you in your daze and the corners of his lips turn up into a gentle smile, adoring the way you seem to lose yourself in the beauty of nature. Ever since you came into his life, you seemed to do that. And to be completely honest, he finds it unbelievably cute. To be so intuned with nature and being able to take time to simply watch it, he admires that about you. YouTube has made it a bit harder to do that, yet with you, he remembers how to. He may never say it, but Mark’s thankful for that.

     A breath passes his lips as he approaches you and rests his hands on the trunk of his car as he leans against, shifting his weight onto his right leg. “Y’know, it’s almost as radiant as yourself.”

     The little giggle that escapes you warms his heart, the way your face lights up with both embarrassment and pure happiness only adds to that. No matter how cheesy his lines may be, you always laugh- whether it’s because they’re good or just goofy, he isn’t quite sure, though he thinks it may be the latter. “Back at it with the pick-up lines, huh?”

     “What can I say? I’m just that smooth.”

     “You mean you’re just that dorky.”

     “Eh, tomato, tomato, amiright? Besides, you like them.”

     “Regretfully, I do like a few.”

     “And that’s why they’re worth it, if I can have you laugh and like at least a few of them, my mission will be complete,” Mark admits, which earns him a swift kiss on the cheek, rendering him speechless for a moment due to being overjoyed.

     “I think it’s already complete, Markimoo.” He looks over and while you’re still facing the sunset, you sneak a glance from the corner of your eye and for he sees such felicity in those spectacular orbs of yours. Mark wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer to him, which to happily oblige by, and then places a sweet kiss atop your head.

     “Maybe the first part, but I’ve still got a lot in store for you, chickadee. Just you wait.”

#markiplier x reader #mark fischbach x reader #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier imagines #bmd #bahannah01

[love-in-nature]

My Neighbor Fen’harel Chapter 7: Why

Read full story on my AO3.

The rest of the week was relatively uneventful.  Emmy wasn’t plagued by any more unwanted dreams, and Solas avoided conversations in his bedroom, so she hadn’t heard him again.  Fen'harel hadn’t e-mailed her since their last chat, not that she checked multiple times a day.  Darcy had adjusted to the new apartment.  Everything was officially unpacked.

As for work, the days went by with a mixture of transcriptions, digitizing of old photos, and working through a particularly extensive collection, which had come in shortly before she had started, centered around the Hero of Fereldon.  It was interesting, but there was a lot for her to work through.  On top of that was the usual e-mails, entering of meeting minutes, and general reference questions sent her way by librarians when they needed extra help or had a patron who wanted access to particularly delicate materials, something her or Merrill would need to supervise.

Today was a Friday which meant a new shipment of donations had come in early that morning.  She’d arrived at work by 6 to meet the delivery and since had been working through it with Merrill.  As usual, much of it was things that they had no use for.  One only needed so many diagrams of old toilets after all.  Part of preserving history was deciding what took priority since it was simply impossible to properly store and catalog every single bit of it.

Merrill spoke behind her, “Another toilet.  By the Dread Wolf, how many of these are there?”

Emmy snorted, “There have been an awful lot of them with this one.  You’d think we were receiving donations from a toilet factory or something.   Whoever this private collector was their grandparents must have had some odd fascination for them.  Or a kink.”

There was quiet for a moment, “That’s a thing?  How does…”

Emmy finished up cataloging the last bit of paper in the box in front of her.  When she’d finished typing in the information, she tucked the document into its correct pile and stood, “I’m not sure I want to know, but I’m fairly certain it’s a thing.  There’s a kink for everything.”

She glanced over at Merrill as she went to grab a nearby cart.  Merrill was shaking her head and mumbled, “Sometimes people confuse me.”

“That makes two of us.”  Emmy started moving her document piles onto the cart as she asked, “Ready to take the stuff down?  We might actually be out of here by five for once.”

Merrill laughed as she stood to gather her piles, “Oh, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if that happened.”

When they got to the elevator Merrill didn’t question why Emmy chose not to use it.  Merrill knew her habits.  Instead of using the elevator, she would push a cart into the elevator, hit the appropriate button, and then take the stairs and meet the items.  It was never an issue.  The elevator was ridiculously slow.  Still, Emmy had braced herself for questions the first few times.  When none had come, she’d started to relax.  The lack of prodding was just another thing to love about her new co-worker.

Just as she was reaching the bottom of the stairs, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.  Merrill pushed out the cart and looked up, then her eyes went past Emmy’s shoulder, and she beamed.  

“Professor Evans!  It’s been a while.”

Emmy’s stomach dropped as she turned to find the last man she wanted to see.  He stood holding a medium sized tome in his gloved hands.  On his lower half, he wore pants that she refused to acknowledge flattered his thighs and sculpted rear.  On top, he had a neatly tucked white button up under a dark vest; the sleeves had been rolled up revealing the lightly freckled skin of his forearms.

At Merrill’s words, he had turned his head to look at them.  She only caught a flash of his eyes on her before they went to Merrill and he gave the woman an easy smile, “Hello, Merrill.  It has been a busy first week back, so I have been unable to make it here much.”

Emmy’s eyes narrowed, and she frowned, “This isn’t a public part of the archives.  These items are—”

“I have been given permission.  I am well aware of how to handle such things.”

Merrill pushed the cart forward, cheery and completely unaware of the tension that sparked in the air, “Professor Evans has a lot of experience handling old documents.  In fact, he has been able to teach me a few new things.”  She laughed as she pushed the cart to the area where the first pile of papers was to be stored.

“Be that as it may, these are my responsibility now and—”

He spoke over her as his eyes went back to the book, “Why is this filed under the fall of Arlathan?”

She ground her teeth, “Excuse me?”

“It seems to me this would be more suited under something to do with Tevinter history.”  Without looking up, he carefully turned the page and added, “It would perhaps aid you with your answer if you came close enough to see the item in question.  I would not bite you if you did.”

She noted he hadn’t said he didn’t bite.  She couldn’t help but think it was because she knew he did bite, that he wanted her to be reminded of those circumstances when he had bitten her.  How many times had she woken up pleased with the light mark he had left behind on her skin?

“Is there a problem?”

Of course, now his eyes were on her, intent as they took in her face.  The feeling of heat that rose to her cheeks made her blood boil.  

Damn him.

When she spoke she kept her voice cool, “Just a tiny, inconsequential memory, nothing worth note.  Honestly, it’s surprising I even recall it.”

A hint of something flashed in his eyes before they quickly flicked back to the book, “I see.  In that case, are you going to come look or shall I start reading passages out loud.”

With as much dignity as she could manage she stormed over to him.  The way he held the book forced her to move close to see the text, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body against her skin.  It was like sunshine on a warm day and his scent—

Traitorous.  Horrible, stupid body.

She forced her eyes to focus on the text in front of her.  Ancient Tevene still was not her strongest area of expertise, but she was getting better.  As she translated it her mouth moved unconsciously going over each word.

When he spoke, it was hushed so that Merrill couldn’t hear it from her place down the stacks, “You still do that thing with your mouth when you translate.”

At his words, her eyes flicked up to meet his.  He was looking at her with that piercing gaze she knew so intimately.  The one that had always made her feel more bare and exposed than any time she had been nude with him.  

She stood there completely paralyzed by his examination, unmoving even as the voice of reason screamed at her she needed to back away.  Even as it reminded her that, in her study of the book, she had pressed herself against his arm and this was not good.  Tendrils of longing had already started to wind their way through her, thick and overwhelming.

When she managed to push out words, they were much less chastising than she’d intended.  Her body continuing its treachery,  “I fail to see how what my mouth does is any concern of yours.”

His eyes flicked to her lips then back to the book, “It is distracting.”

“Oh forgive me, I thought you were here out of professional interest.  I will strive to spare you from temptation in the future.”

“Spare me?”

“Yes, temptation is the road to all things bad after all or something like that.”

She saw his fingers flex against the cover, “How do you know I wish to be spared?”

Her heart did an uneven thump in her throat, “Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard me, but I will repeat,” his face remained completely neutral, but she greatly doubted she was holding her composure nearly so well, “How–”

Merrill’s voice chirped in from his other side, “All filed.”  Merrill’s eyes went to the book he had been holding, the book that the two of them hadn’t even really addressed, “You two still figuring out the filing for that thing?”

The suddenness of Merrill’s interruption finally got a reaction from Solas.  It came in the form of the slightest jump, but it was enough that his arm temporarily knocked against one of her breasts.  The action sent a jolt of electricity down her spine and had the small hairs on her nape standing on end. 

At least it was enough to finally get her to put space between them.  Her voice was impressively neutral when she spoke, “I recognize the text now.  It is written by a Tevinter, but it is about the fall of Arlathan.  The man was traveling and saw aspects of it, which is the key interest in the diary.  Therefore, it is prudent to file it here instead of amongst things related to ancient Tevinter.  The rest of the diary holds nothing that we didn’t know about Tevinter through other texts.”

She heard him inhale as he shut the book and placed it back in its proper spot.  Then he pulled off his gloves, and she saw the smallest hint of a tremble in his fingers.  It was childish, silly, but it made her smile.

Then he spoke, and her smile left, “I wonder, why you assume that this man’s words are fact.  We know the Tevinters have a habit of taking and twisting history to their ends, especially when it comes to the People.”  As he pulled off the last glove he turned to face her, “I do not mean insult, I am simply curious if you have reasons or are simply taking the words of a dead Tevinter as truth.”

How dare he.  He comes into her archives and questions if she is doing her job properly.  After all, he had done to her.  After everything, he pulls this shit.  Arrogant son of a bitch.

“Are you suggesting that I don’t do my research?”

“Not necessarily.  I simply was wondering at your reasoning behind believing the diary contained truths instead of made up tales based on things Tevinter found and stole as their own.”

She was surprised that fire wasn’t coming out of her ears in some cartoonish mockery, such was the rage that boiled in her blood.  She wanted to wipe that fucking calm look off his face, to push him against the shelves and kick his legs wider.  Then she’d put her knee in the little triangle of his groin and pull herself up him, making him grunt with pain.

She’d rip open the collar of his shirt and put her hands around that long graceful neck of his.  Then she’d squeeze and squeeze as he struggled beneath her.  The scent of his skin, sandalwood, books, and ink, filling her nostrils as she felt the heat of him under her fingertips.

“What are you imagining, Miss Lavellan; your expression is,” He paused a beat, and his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip, “filthy.”

Totally forgetting Merrill was standing right there, she spoke, and her voice came out so husky it would make a phone sex operator sound like a nun, “Bare hands on your neck, strangling you.”

His eyes went dark, “Is that your new kink.”

“It seems to be one you alone bring out in me.”

His pupils got even bigger, eyebrows lifting as he opened his mouth then closed it.  It would appear that she had rendered him speechless.  It was beautiful.

Merrill cleared her throat, eyes wide as she looked between the two of them, “Are you two–”

“No.”  They answered at the same time, in the same tone, as they continued to stare each other down.

“Right.  I’m going to uhm… go take the cart back now.”  Merrill rushed away, and Emmy hardly registered the ding of the elevator as she went.

With one wide stride, Solas moved, so he was so close to her that the tips of his perfectly polished shoes touched her run down brown boots.  She swallowed, her knees feeling like jelly.  She wanted to slap him, to tear his eyes out, to rake her nails along his skin, to have his mouth on hers, to devour him as he devoured her in return.

When he spoke his tone was so cool and collected you would think they were two old friends having a conversation over coffee about the latest book they’d read.  “Why are you here, Em?”

Her heart clenched at the shortened use of her name, “Don’t call me that.”  Then a thought came to her and she glared at him as best she could, given how close he was, “Why?  Do you think I came because you were here?  That I hunted you down or something?”

Finally, an emotion crossed his face, a small hint of surprise chased quickly by the slight tilt of his head, “Did you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I didn’t.  After it finally sunk in that you’d disappeared, I didn’t look, not even once.”  Then her voice fell to a whisper, “It hurt too much.”

“Em.”

She saw his hand move in the side of her vision and took several large steps back away from him, “Stop calling me that, I hate it.  And I meant it hurt too much then.  When it first happened.  After a few months…” She paused then forced the lie out even as her body seemed to protest it, “I just didn’t care.”

With one last glance in the direction of the nearby stacks she turned from him without allowing her eyes to look at his face, only sweeping over his chest, “You know what happened.  Everyone knows.  After all of that, I just wanted a chance to have a normal life.  Try to have a new start.”  She gave a soft bitter laugh as she started walking away, “Only my luck could have that attempt end up like this.”

Sure she was no longer fighting to “save the world,” but her life had still managed to remain complicated in creative and messed up ways.  Just as she was starting up the stairs, a hand was on her elbow, firm but not enough that she couldn’t yank free if she wanted to.

“I am sorry, Emmy.”

For some reason she didn’t pull away but froze, only moving enough so she could turn her head to look at his chest, the strong line of his jaw, “It was a long time ago.  I got over it a long time ago.  There’s no need to go there; I don’t want anything from you.”  

A lie.  Such a huge lie that it burned like acid on her tongue.

“I know, and it is selfish of me, but I need you to know.  What we—”  She saw his deep breath in the shuddering lift of his chest, “What I felt, it was not a lie.”

His words made her knees go weak once more.  She wanted to sink to the floor with the force of them pressing on her.  Part of her wanted to really talk to him, to ask him all the things she had wanted to ask him since the day he left.  To discuss everything like the two adults they were.  But a bigger part of her couldn’t go there because she was terrified it would break her.  Only recently had she started to truly feel like she was piecing herself back together again after everything, she couldn’t shatter again.

Instead of being an adult and facing her feelings she pried her arm free as she said, “Are you done or was there more you needed to say to try to make yourself feel better?”

He frowned, “That was not my intent.”

“Wasn’t it?  What was your intent then?”  His mouth opened, then shut again, and he shifted.  She turned from him once more, “As I thou—”

“I would like if we could be civil.  I do not expect you to forgive me.  I do not expect your friendship or anything else from you but…”  She had stopped on the steps, and he paused to find the right words, “I would not make your life harder if I could help it.  You must understand that I have my reasons for being unable to leave, if I could, I would.”

Why?  Why did those words sting so terribly?  If he left that would solve her biggest problem, everything would be simple again or as simple as they could be.  She could start trying to build a life for herself.  A life without him in it.

He wanted to run from her.  Again.

She turned to face him; now she stood three steps above him so was able to look down her nose at him, “Tell me, is it habitual for you to run from all your problems or just from me?”

From the look on his face, she was fairly sure she’d landed a solid punch.  He took a deep breath then turned towards the elevator.  She thought for a moment he would simply leave, but he stopped before turning back and crossing over to her in a few quick steps.  He stood on the bottom step so his face was more even with hers and she was within a foot of him.

“You are the only thing that has ever terrified me enough that I felt I had no other choice.  Wrong as I was.”

Despite the fact that his words made a familiar desire pool in her lower belly she managed to keep her tone even, “Oh yes, I’m completely terrifying.  The thing of nightmares and you always had a choice, Solas.  You could have said something, anything.  Broken it off like a normal person.  Just vanishing was–”

Now when his hand came up to brush a knuckle across her cheek, she didn’t jerk from him or slap him away.  She allowed it even as it made her forget how to breathe.  “Cruel.  Inexcusable.  Unforgivable.”  He let his hand fall back to his side with a soft sigh, “All would be appropriate words in this case.”   He started to turn and go but then paused, “Emmy, you are not of nightmares.  You are of the sweetest dreams; the ones that I never even knew I desired, knew I needed, until you.”  He shook his head, “I am sorry.  Good night Emmy.”

With that he turned from her, once more going to the elevator.  She stood in frozen silence as he waited for the doors to open.  It felt like an eternity as she fought for words to say, fought to still the racing of her mind.  She felt her body shaking and hated herself for it.

When he did finally step into the elevator, he looked at her one last time.  His expression visibly pained, tormented, and so lonely it made her ache.  She didn’t move, though something deep in her core was pushing her, telling her to go to him.  She couldn’t.  She couldn’t let herself surrender to him like that again, never again.

The doors closed and he was gone.  She stood there for another minute, took a deep breath, and pulled out her phone.  She scrolled through her contacts with shaking fingers till she found the name she wanted.  Then she selected it and started up the stairs, phone ringing in her ear.  

After she was halfway up, a voice sounded in her ear, “Emmy, so you do know that you can use the phone for more than just texting!  It’s a miracle.”

Despite her best efforts, her voice shook as she said, “I would take you up on those drinks now.”

“I’m getting on my coat now.”  There was a beat and some rustling from the other end of the line before a hesitant, “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine.  Just meet me at the Singing Maiden, if Bull is with you bring him along too.”

“As if I could stop him.  The man already has his coat on and is half out the door.”

She smiled as she reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall to her office, “Good.  I’ll text Sera.”  She paused a beat, “And Dorian?”

She heard the slamming of a car door in the background, “Yes?”

“Thank you.  You’re the best.”

“Naturally.”

She gave a small genuine laugh, “See you soon, Dorian.”

With that, she hung up and went to gather her things.

#solavellan #solas #lavellan #solavellan fanfic #solavellan modern au #modern au #professor!solas #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age au #university au #merrill #dorian #my writing #my neighbor fen'harel #why you do feels solas #why #this was supposed to be my light fic #feels #suggestive flirting #flirting #i hate you but i love you #why do you do the thing

[alphawave-writes]

Experimental Design chapter 3: Dominant

Synopsis: Robotnik and Stone must go on a mission to find the mysterious 'Black Dragon', but a few sexy encounters might give Robotnik a whole new perspective on 'torture'.

Read it here on or AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

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-

Robotnik said he'd have a punishment for Stone, but he didn't. Not for lack of trying. He had an entire list of potential punishments that he’d been stockpiling in encrypted documents, waiting for the day that Stone did something to warrant their use, but what punishment was suitable for ‘too much wriggling’? He tried to think of something, but Stone’s wriggling had seemed to seep his brilliant mind, distracting him from his work even when Stone was not physically present. This wasn’t the first time Robotnik’s thoughts had drifted to Stone. The agent had a way of getting into Robotnik’s head, but there was something almost insidious about the way Stone controlled his thoughts now, reminding him of that gentle smile and the strength of his impossibly warm hand as it gripped Robotnik’s shoulder.

He should've made better notes. As a scientist he prided himself above all else for his extensive note-taking, but it seemed the variables had increased. Robotnik didn't remember Stone ever smelling so good, but the faint musky scent of dollar-store perfume was enough to make his mind blank for just a moment. Robotnik had taken a sample from the air and traced the perfume to a cosmetics store in the nearby downtown area, but when he went to smell it for himself, it didn't smell nearly as good. In fact, it smelled exactly like how Robotnik expected dollar-store perfume to smell like.

He still bought it and tested it on himself, knowing enough about aromatic chemistry that the oils from his skin could alter the scent, but it still didn't smell nice. He should throw it away, but there was something about the scent signature that reminded him of Stone. With every inhale, memories of Stone's pouting lips and almond-shaped eyes resurrected, and those memories sent another spark of longing in his gut. Robotnik kept the bottle in his perfume cabinet next to all the expensive ones that he used on occasion. Just in case he got a spark of inspiration.

Luckily for Stone, Robotnik had no time to dole out his punishment. Today he had a task to perform, and he was certainly going to get it done now before it took any more precious time out of his busy, important life. Robotnik was only given vague instructions of where he needed to go and what he needed to find, but he was a genius with technology at his side. Finding people in this day and age was easy. In fact, it was so idiotically easy that he relegated Stone to find the address, who of course took his sweet time. At least he eventually found it before the end of the day, and he seemed to have fun with his little assignment judging from that massive grin that cut beautifully across his perfectly trimmed face.

"I've already put in the GPS coordinates in, and it will be a fifteen minute drive, doctor." He handed Robotnik a latte. "I also made you a drink. Your usual latte."

Robotnik huffed, though he couldn't help the smile that peeked out from underneath his moustache. Before he might go and say something remotely sentimental, he snatched the coffee out of Stone's hand and took a sip. As always, it was perfect. "This coffee is the one thing that has not disappointed me today." He pressed some buttons on his gloves and a tiny little chime could be heard, signaling that the mobile lab was now in motion.

Robotnik had just settled back to his computer when he felt Stone's presence behind him. Stone was wearing a different perfume, Robotnik realised, and this one smelled even nicer than yesterday's. It was muskier, with an hint of something woody, like sandalwood or cedar. It reminded him of Stone's gyrating hips yesterday, and the day before when Stone was on all fours in front of him, and then every other time he had forced Stone into an awkward or humiliating position.

A brief mental image flashed before his eyes, of grabbing Stone by the lapel of his jacket and pressing his nose down to his throat so he could finally, finally know the secret to that intoxicating scent of his. It was going to drive him crazy, threatening to undo the lines of logic that kept his mind running.

"Sir?"

Robotnik stirred, blinking away the image. He only just realised that his breathing rate and heart rate had increased slightly. He took another long sip of coffee to calm himself down. He made a mental note to add 'scent' to his list of variables for future experiments. "J-just annoyed about this task that buffoon Senator Walkie-Talkie put me on."

"You did insult his mother four times," Stone commented. "And his sister three times."

"His mother is a forest hag that eats children for breakfast, and his sister is a vacuous princess stuck on her fairy tale tower."

"Five and four," Stone smiled.

Robotnik rolled his eyes. "This is the first and last time I do that man's bidding. He may be providing me with some of my funding, but I refuse to be his dog. I'll do his silly little recon mission, but if he puts me on another task after today, I'm using the blackmail file." A sardonic chuckle escaped his lips. "When I'm through with him, the Panama papers will seem like a sticky note on a fridge."

"Or the Paradise papers," Stone added.

"I worked really hard on those two," Robotnik grumbled. "Uncovering all that dirt wasn't easy, even for a genius like me. Let's hope this next one actually does some serious damage."

Stone opened his mouth, no doubt ready to acknowledge his genius with that amazed face of his, or perhaps express his surprise at Robotnik’s involvement in these two world events, but then the mobile lab had rolled to the stop. Another chime. They’ve arrived at their destination.

The door rolled down, and Robotnik tip toed his way down, his polished brogues making an unpleasant crackle as they stepped on gravel. Stone was behind him as always, staring up at a neon sign for a nightclub called 'The Manor'. At least, it was a nightclub officially, but according to Senator Moby Dick, 'The Manor' had links to the seedy underbelly of the city, with a basement floor that was only accessible to those with the correct password. What occurred in the basement floor, the Senator did not say, but it was obvious that it offended his delicate sensibilities. Whatever it was, that was exactly where he needed to go. After all, the basement was where Robotnik could find the Black Dragon.

Just outside the entrance was a small line of guests in big coats and even bigger boots, waiting for their turn to be checked by the security guards. The line was progressing at an incredibly slow pace. At this rate, it'd take a good half hour before they'd get to the front.

Not if I have anything to say about it, Robotnik thought.

"Come on, Stone," Robotnik grumbled, pulling Stone by the arm all the way to the front of the line. He pretended not to see that look of soft surprise on Stone's face, lest he feel another way of confusing, ugly, human emotions.

The two guards at the entrance didn't look too pleased. They were bigger than Stone, with bigger muscles and even bigger sneers.

"Name?" The first asked.

"Why do you need my name?" Robotnik asked.

"Security," the second guard gruffly responded.

"Have you imbeciles been living under a rock your whole life? I'm Dr. Ivo R—" He was interrupted by Stone putting his hand in front of his mouth, stifling him.

Stone gave a polite smile as he said, "Stone and Reznik. We've got an appointment with the Black Dragon."

The first guard gave a quizzical look while the other one coughed nervously into his hand. Robotnik used the distraction to move Stone's distracting fingers away from his lips.

"We don't have all day," Robotnik snapped.

"Takes all sorts," the first guard mumbled as they checked them over for weapons before letting them pass.

Robotnik huffed, deciding at the last second not to scold these guards for their incompetence, and stormed on through to the reception. He was forced to pay an entry fee for both himself and Stone, and then had to suffer the absolutely humiliation of giving them his coat for safe-keeping. He liked his coats. Would've preferred to have them on his person, but at least he still had access to his most important gadgetry; namely the spy camera on his glasses and a few mini-badniks in his pocket, ready for deployment.

Stone gave his own suit jacket to the receptionist, revealing his surprisingly tight black shirt. It made sense that Stone would be muscular given his occupation. Not needlessly muscular like the oafs at the entrance. No, Stone's muscles were form and function, a well-rounded mix of type I and type II muscle fibres. Robotnik wondered what those muscles would look like in the flesh, without a pesky shirt to obscure them from the world.

Stone looked at Robotnik for a second before approaching suddenly, his face inches from Robotnik's nape.

Robotnik stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you blend in." Stone popped the first two buttons of Robotnik's shirt before taking a few steps back to admire his handiwork.

Robotnik didn't see how a few buttons could change his appearance, but at least Stone wasn't so close to him anymore. It wasn't the same when Stone was the one entering Robotnik's personal space. If this wasn't a public setting, Robotnik might punish Stone here and now. Given his way, he’d strip Stone down to just his underpants and have him parade himself throughout the club. But it was, and though many of his contemporaries claimed he lacked basic social understanding, even Robotnik knew his limits.

Judging from that small little smirk, Stone knew he was safe as well. "You look better like this, doctor."

Robonik's lips twitched, trying his hardest not to smile at the unwarranted compliment. "Of course I do. Now, let's get this over and done with, Stone."

They stepped through the curtained door to find themselves in the main area of the nightclub. Once upon a time, the nightclub used to be a factory, judging by its crude brick interior and vast open space, but at least they've done something to make it look more professional. There were bright lights, and a neon lit bar, and a dance floor with a DJ playing some atrocious modern club music.

It all looked like an ordinary club on first glance, but Robotnik prided himself on his observation skills and his tremendous IQ to spot things no common idiot would notice. The clientele was made up mostly of men, and some of these men made some dubious fashion choices, what with their leather garters and their gigantic boots. There was also a door at the end with a second set of bodyguards, asking for a code. Most people got turned away. That was where he needed to go.

Robotnik was about to tell Stone this, but the agent stared wide-eyed at the scene, as if transfixed by an unseen entity. Robotnik snapped his fingers, and Stone seemed to come to.

"You do remember what we're here to do, right?"

Stone's brows furrowed. "Sir, do you know what this place is?"

"Just answer the question."

Stone seemed ready to protest, but then he let out a quiet breath and seemed to regain his sensibilities. "We have to find the Black Dragon, and deal with them accordingly. The senator said it will become obvious what we need to do once we find them. Or it," he quickly added.

"I'm assuming you're not so much of an idiot that you couldn't sneak some fire power in."

Stone smirked as he pretended to check his shoes. He lifted his pant leg just enough for the end of a military-grade handgun to peek out. Stone glanced up at Robotnik, which reminded Robotnik of Stone on all fours and the strange mix of emotions that filled his chest and took ahold of his mind.

He had to say something. Anything. Robotnik knew this was going into some uncharted territory, and he was not going to explore it without a data pad to record results. "Why Reznik?"

Stone stood up properly. "Hmm? Oh, that. I just thought it sounds close enough to Robotnik."

"But you used your own surname," Robotnik pointed out.

Stone tilted his head. "You didn't actually think Stone was my real name, did you?"

"O-of course I know it's not your real name," Robotnik lied, because of course he never considered the idea that 'Stone' was a cover name. Agent Stone was just Agent Stone. He wasn't worth the neurons spent memorising his real name.

So then why was Robotnik now so insanely curious about Stone’s real name? What could fit this man better than Agent Stone?

Stone laughed his quiet, melodic laugh. "Maybe I'll tell you my real name some other day, Ivo."

Robotnik bristled. "I did not give you permission to call me Ivo."

"You can punish me some other time," Stone patted him condescendingly on the shoulder before pushing past the throngs of people.

Robotnik ignored the heat creeping up his chest as he followed Stone, shoving past half-naked men with leather straps on their chests to make his way to the bar.

The lone bartender was polishing empty beer glasses when Stone sat down at one of the stools. Robotnik grumbled to himself as he took the seat next to Stone, surveying the options of alcoholic beverages on display. He never liked alcohol personally. He claimed it was because it killed his brain cells, but the real reason was that he never liked the taste. That, and he refused to associate with those frat dudes from college who insisted that a keg stand was a true judge of mental and physical fortitude.

"Any drinks, gentlemen?"

"Water," Robotnik said.

"I'll have the same, thanks," Stone smiled, gracing the world with his pearly whites.

The bartender flitted about, filling two glasses with water from the tap before dropping them on two of the bar's coasters, the logo of the club printed in bold red. Stone was about to open his wallet, but Robotnik had already slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter and said, "I'm paying for both. And keep the change."

The bartender shrugged, while Stone stared at Robotnik. He tried not to glance back as he took a long gulp from his glass, wincing at the metallic aftertaste. He didn't see what the big fuss was. It was just money.

"I don't remember you lot," the bartender said. "You two new?"

"We are new," Stone said. "You wouldn't happen to know how we can get downstairs, would you?"

The bartender's brilliant blue eyes narrowed. "Why you asking?"

Stone paused for a few seconds, his tiny mind struggling to compute a reason as to why they wanted to go downstairs. Of course Stone would blow their cover already. He was strong and capable and a bit smarter than the average person, but he was still an idiot compared to Robotnik.

Robotnik was about ready to throw him a bone when Stone said, "We're a couple."

In Robotnik's defense, he did not spit his drink out. Even if he thought about doing it.

"A couple?" The bartender asked.

"Y-yeah." Stone found Robotnik's hand and entangled their fingers together, lifting them up so the bartender could see. It took all of Robotnik's willpower to not slap the hand away. He was starting to feel some funny things again. "It's our first time here, but our friends recommended we come here," Stone continued. "Said we should try the Black Dragon."

"The Black Dragon?" The bartender looked Robotnik up and down, not unlike how a judge would appraise a dog for a grooming competition. "I'm assuming you're the top."

"Of course I am the top. I'm always at the top," Robotnik replied.

The bartender stifled a laugh, while Stone looked away in embarrassment. What was wrong with what he said? It was a perfectly true statement.

"You two are some weirdos, but then again this place kinda caters to your bunch." The bartender shook his head. "If you've got an appointment, I guess you must be alright. Just head to the door on the opposite side over there and tell Terry that Matt approves."

“Thanks,” Stone said.

Robotnik downed his glass of water in one fell swoop and stood up, not bothering to wait for Stone. He heard Stone scramble to finish his drink before jumping out of his seat.

“Hey, wait up, sir.”

"Enough of these games," Robotnik growled.

"You're making a scene," Stone said.

Robotnik stopped, swiveling sharply on his heel. “Me? You've been subjecting me to ridicule ever since we got here. Pretending we’re a couple? Unbuttoning the top two buttons of my shirt? Why not just kiss me right on the lips like this is some trashy yaoi manga from the late 90s? That'll really seal the deal, wouldn't it?”

A strange look flickered through Stone's eyes, a flash of lightning before the horrendous thunder. Robotnik only realised he had made a mistake when the thunder hit, and Stone's expression turned dark and cold, a storm brewing behind pitch black irises. “Sir, if I may, this is supposed to be a espionage mission.” He gestured at their surroundings. “Do you know what this place is?”

“Do you think I’m an imbecile? I know very well this is a nightclub.”

“A gay nightclub,” Stone pointed out.

Robotnik went silent for several seconds. His face betrayed no emotion, even as his racing mind struggled to conjure up a response. Looking now at the other clubgoers, it explained most of the peculiarities. It should have been obvious. In hindsight, it was very obvious. Clearly, Stone was distracting him. That had to be it.

Stone smirked knowingly. “You didn’t even consider that possibility.”

“W-why should I?” Robotnik spat.

Stone let out a small sigh. “Doctor, if I may, you are a genius, but I have more experience with this line of work. If we want to go through this mission without incident, we need a cover identity.” He took Robotnik's hand in his own. "We're just blending in. No one will bother us, and no one will ask questions."

Robotnik bit back a frown. He never really liked people touching him. People that did touch him were usually out to harm him in some way. At least, it was true when he was just a child. Stone, however, would not hurt a fly. Robotnik had often wondered why Agent Stone was so highly commended when he was such a pacifist. The main reason why he chose Stone as his assistant was because all his superiors feared the man. But why would they fear such a simple, well-meaning idiot?

He stared at their conjoined hands, then at Stone's expectant face. It was such a stupid expression that he couldn't help but smile a little bit. "If this goes badly, I'm blaming you."

"It won't," Stone smiled. "Trust me."

Despite what little he knew about Stone, Robotnik did trust him. Not that he'd ever say it out loud.

They walked hand-in-hand to the door leading downstairs. The people who used to stare at him had now turned their head away, unconsciously confirming Stone's theory. Robotnik had to admit, it seemed to work, and he didn't have to shove his way through sweaty simpletons either.

The two bodyguards were somehow even bigger than the ones at the entrance, their muscles so big and bulging that Robotnik was sure they were both abusing anabolic steroids.

They glanced Robotnik and Stone over. "Password?"

"Which one of you is Terry?" Stone asked dumbly, even though it was clear by the name tags that the first one was Terry.

"It's our first time here, we've got an appointment with the Black Dragon, yada yada. Matt at the bar said he approves."

The first bodyguard—Terry—blinked rapidly, but stepped outside, having at least enough common courtesy to pull the curtain back for the doorway so they could pass through. Robotnik and Stone followed down the narrow stairs lined with lush red velvet, taking the stairs one step at a time. It was dark, with barely enough light from the lightbulbs above their heads. On one side was a hand-rail, while the other had a variety of different posters talking about different acts. It was a lot of men dressed in various leather gear, holding something. What that something was, Robotnik couldn't tell with the low lighting, but he felt that familiar heat creep up his chest, a feeling he now associated with Stone and experiments and punishments.

It took Robotnik a few seconds to realise he was still holding Stone's hand, and wretched it out of the man's grasp. He made a show of wiping his glove on Stone's shirt before sticking his hands into his pockets. Another strange look passed over Stone's face.

"Do you know what the Black Dragon is?" Robotnik asked.

"No. I thought you did, sir."

"Senator Will-they-won't-they didn't tell me anything, and obviously by that statement, I assume you've also found nothing. I would've thought I'd see some hint or trail about this elusive Black Dragon by now, but there's nothing. Just cryptic garbage that means nothing to us. No poster, no gossip. Nothing." Robotnik felt his eyes narrow, his fingers twitching inside his pockets, as they often did when he was frustrated.

Stone turned to Robotnik. "I know that look, sir. There's something on your mind."

"This isn't right, Stone," Robotnik said. "The circuit is incomplete. There's a missing connector preventing the current from running through my massive mind."

"I'm sorry?"

"We're either missing something, or there's something more nefarious at work. Much as I despise the illogical expression, I have a gut feeling it is the latter." Robotnik glanced at the bottom of the staircase, the sound of murmured chatter echoing. "Keep what little wits you have about you. We could be entering danger."

Stone smiled. "I think we can handle it, sir."

At the bottom of the staircase was a final door. A sign that simply said 'the basement' hung in front. The door was slightly ajar, letting in a slip of noise and light. There was no music, but there was laughter and chatter, and the whooshing sound of a thin object travelling at high velocity. Stone offered to open the door, but Robotnik shoved past and opened the door for himself, letting it swing open.

Of all the things he expected, an almost-naked man getting whipped on their bare ass by a man in a latex bodysuit was not one of them.

Robotnik walked forward slowly, trying to take in the menagerie of leather-bound men participating in what looked like a convention of sorts. There were stalls, and exhibitions, with almost-naked performers tied up in elaborate ways with crimson rope, or strapped to devices and left in vulnerable positions, all but exposing their most sensitive parts to the world. People chatted mindlessly while tugging on the enlarged pet collars of men on all fours, or leading others with blindfolds and ball gags up and down the strips between the stalls like it was a parade. There were handcuffs, and leg cuffs, and ankle cuffs, and a variety of clothing that restricted limbs.

This wasn’t just a gay nightclub, Robotnik realised. It was a BDSM nightclub. A festival of torture for the delight of others. A place of limitless punishment, with the tools of the trade up for sale.

“Uh, sir?”

Robotnik could easily imagine using these implements for his own methods of punishment. Stone had been quite disrespectful of late, and these people were so obedient even in the face of humiliation. He could chain him up, or cuff him up, or tie him up, or strap him down. For once, Robotnik had to admit defeat. His punishments seemed almost laughable compared to these artisans and their gadgets. His ideas were so narrow-minded, so childish, but this scene before him had introduced him to a whole new world of torture.

A swell of excitement filled his bones. His mind was suddenly swimming with ideas. There were so many ways he could punish Stone, and they were right there, hidden beneath the veneer of public decency.

“S-sir,” Stone repeated.

Robotnik shook his head. “C-come on, don’t just gawp like a fish out of water,” Robotnik said, acutely aware that his excitement was creeping into his voice.

They surveyed the stalls and the products they had on offer. Smack dab in the middle, strangely enough, was an information booth, where a bored-looking young woman in a leather bikini and spiked thigh-high boots sat. When they approached, she perked up, the picture of customer service friendliness.

“How may I help you gentlemen?”

“The Black Dragon,” Robotnik huffed. “Do you know where it is?”

The lady smiled pleasantly, although there was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Got a group appointment?”

“Of course we do, otherwise we wouldn’t be asking. Just tell us who the Black Dragon is, and where we can find them.”

The lady giggled into her fist. “Oh darlin’, it’s not a person, it’s…you know what, I’ll let y’all see it for yourselves.” She pointed toward the back. “Right at the end, you can’t miss it. Oh, and enjoy the ride for me, will ya?” She winked.

They followed the woman's instructions, heading deeper to the back. The further they went, the more serious it got. Where people were dressed provocatively near the front, at the back they were all but naked. Genitals and private parts were on full display, alongside more hardcore BDSM gear like chastity gear and clamps. Robotnik tried to avert his eyes but it was getting increasingly difficult. Suddenly he was glad his jacket was back at the entrance, because he was sure he'd be sweating. Even calm and collected Stone looked a bit hot under the collar, glancing furtively between the different implements, keeping his head turned away from Robotnik's direction. Robotnik was kinda glad he wasn't the only one feeling awkward here, even if he felt a little disappointed that Stone wasn't looking at him.

At the literal back was a small crowd observing what looked to be a performance. A proprietor in what could only be described as a sexy ringmaster costume was manipulating what appeared to be a robot in the shape of a limbless mannequin. It would've looked identical to any mannequin in a store, except for the jelly-like material it was made of, and the fact that it was sporting a gigantic cock, complete with fake veins. With the click of a button, the robot moved, repeating a motion like a trinket in a music box. There was something attached to the mannequin, Robotnik realised, near its bottom. Something long and thick and dark as ebony.

He pushed past the crowd, coming close enough to read the sign. The show was for a store that sold sex toys. There were dildos at various price ranges, each with their own length and circumference measurement to the side, as well as a 'performance' price for if people felt brave enough to try them out in front of an audience. Their biggest and most intimidating one? A dildo by the name of the Black Dragon.

Amidst the cacophony Robotnik heard a click. On the opposite side of the stall, just barely in sight, a man had his phone up. By his side Stone tensed suddenly. A second passed as Robotnik's gaze connected with the stranger.

Then, the stranger ran.

"After him!" Robotnik ordered.

Stone didn't need to be told twice. He shoved through the throngs of people, Robotnik following shortly behind him. A few clicks of the buttons on his gloves, and the mini-badniks spilled from his pockets, hovering near the ceiling, tracking the stranger down. Robotnik was never a fast runner, but he didn't think he was a clumsy runner either. And yet he was like a newborn baby compared to Stone with his perfect form, the likes of which an olympic athlete would be jealous of. And those eyes, normally so soft, now sharp like blades and dark as the night. Dangerous.

Stone had almost lost track of the man as they darted through stalls, but Robotnik could see him through his scouting badniks. "2 o'clock, red door," he called out.

They sped forward, nearly colliding with a man in a full latex suit, as the stranger shoved the door open, Stone and Robotnik following shortly behind. It was clearly supposed to be a private room of sorts, with two naked men making out on a very plush bed. They screamed, but a single glance at the badniks made them pile their clothes up and hurry out. As soon as they were out of the room, Stone closed the door behind him and locked it shut.

The stranger pressed a finger to their ear. "Code Orange, I repeat, code oran—gaagh!" Robotnik pressed a few buttons on his gloves and the little speaker in their ear buzzed and fizzed, making them scream in pain.

A wicked grin spread across Robotnik's face. "Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, Little Red Riding hood," Robotnik said, his face pleasant even as his words dripped with venom. "Senator Thickhead couldn't bother to lift his pinky toe off the floor for one second, so he got you to do the job? What was it, blackmail? Murder?"

Instead of answering, the man pulled out a gun. A second later and Stone pulled out his own gun with military efficiency. They both flicked the safety off at the same time.

"John Stevenson," Robotnik uttered. He knew he had the man when their eyes widened in horror. "Think I don't know who you are? A minute ago, you would've been right, but from that itty bitty little spider in your ear, I've now got your whole life in front of me. Two kids and a wife? I wonder if they know what you do."

John grimaced, pressing his free hand to his ear. "Code Orange, I repeat, code orange!"

"Don't bother, no one can hear you. And any incriminating images on that phone are gone already. That's what you get for trying to go against a genius like myself." The phone made a whining sound, and then what sounded like a cackle. It was completely unnecessary to do, but it was worth it for the look of horror that flashed in John's pitiful, ugly eyes.

John's gaze flickered between his gun and Stone. Slowly, he moved his gun, training his aim at Robotnik instead. His hand was shaking, but from this distance there was still a 70% of getting shot. Robotnik's moustache twitched slightly, the only tell he would show as his heartbeat raced and his breathing quickened.

Unfortunately for Robotnik, he was still human. Despite the near limitless knowledge at his disposal, despite the fact that he had the upper hand, even he feared death.

"H-he told me he wanted to get rid of you," John stammered. "And I will. So stand down!"

"You shoot me, and I'll make sure your life is so miserable you'll make Bridge to Terabithia seem like a comedy. From the grave or the hospital, my robots will destroy you so completely and utterly that there won't even be enough of you for your family to cremate into a bottle cap. You are nothing, and you will be nothing in life and death when I'm finished with you."

John's eyes suddenly went dark, and the air shifted. It reminded Robotnik of when the music cut out when playing a visual novel, the world drowning out until there was only himself, and John. The mini-badniks weren't cut out for combat. He didn't have any weaponry that was faster than a bullet. His options dwindled by the microsecond.

Robotnik could count on one hand the mistakes he'd made that he could say were completely and utterly his own. Unlike the very, very few he had made in his life, he would pay the ultimate price for this one.

"I'll take the risk," John said emotionlessly.

Robotnik closed his eyes as he heard the sound of a single gunshot. For what felt like an eternity, he waited for the searing heat and the merciless pain and the cynical laughter of the Devil, but instead he felt a draft as a shadow blocked the soft lights above. He opened his eyes, and Stone was in front of him, smoke billowing from his gun. John collapsed onto the ground, blood oozing from his shoulder to the floor. Reality flooded back as Robotnik heard the commotion outside, people screaming in fear as they raced up the stairs.

He should care about how they get out of here, of the bleeding body on the floor, but instead all he cared about was his own reflection glittering in Stone's soft eyes, frazzled and vulnerable. The last time he remembered looked like this was back at the Orphange decades ago. He never thought he'd resemble that brat ever again, in a gay BDSM club of all places.

"Are you alright, doctor?" Stone asked softly.

He wanted to say yes, because obviously he had not sustained any damage, and obviously this wasn't his first time seeing a dead body. He should say it, and get the hell out of here. But instead he was quiet, staring into the eyes of a man he thought he knew, but didn't. After all, Stone never looked so intense before, with that dark, unyielding stare. Those were the eyes of a merciless killer. A man who has no doubts or hesitation. And that man saved Robotnik's life.

Robotnik jerked his head away. "D-d-don't just stand there and play with your moisturized thumbs. Let's get out of here."

A small, relieved smile played on Stone's lips as he flipped the safety back on. "Right away, sir."

As they joined the crowd and blended in with the sea of black, being jostled and shoved as people scrambled for the entrance, Stone reached for Robotnik's hand, gripping tightly. Robotnik decided not to punish Stone for touching his hand without express permission. Not this time.

Senator Willingham woke up in a sterile room he did not recognise. Tiled white walls and tiled white floors surrounded him. As he tried to move, he suddenly realised that he couldn't. His hands and his legs were strapped to a chair.

When he got used to the light and opened his eyes, Robotnik was before him, a vicious sneer on his cruel, uncaring face. He expected some childish insult, some boast about his intelligence. Instead, Robotnik silently put his hand out to Agent Stone, who produced a folder from his jacket. Robotnik's eyes did not leave Willingham as his fingers skimmed through the folder, taking out a single sheet of paper. He pulled it out with a flourish, and spun it around for Willingham to see.

A cold sweat dripped down his forehead. His face was pale.

"Do you know what this is?"

Willingham let his lips dip, but said nothing.

"That is you, just last week at the nightclub, getting pissed on by two well-known male escorts." His lips curled up into a sinister smile. "Always thought the only subject you ever passed in school was urine."

"What do you want?" He spat.

Robotnik put the picture back in the folder and got dangerously close. "I'll say this so simply, even an utter idiot like you could understand. You'll increase your funding by exactly 50%; that's a 50% increase. You'll let me do my job without your thoughtless intervention. Most importantly, you'll never try a stunt like last night on me, or my agent, ever again. I find out you attempt to blackmail me, or murder me, or do anything that affects me in a negative way, and I will leak this, as well as every sordid, detestable thing you've ever done. You'll be ruined in an instant." Robotnik leaned back upright. "Do you understand me? Or do I need Stone to dumb it even further down to you?"

"You are a maniac," Willingham rasped.

Robotnik straightened up, a darkness that threatened to block out all light. His smile shifted into something that seemed almost pleasant. Something that looked a lot like excitement.

"You know, I must give you credit, you did introduce me to such a lovely place. After all, it opened me up to a whole new world of punishment." A small swarm of egg-shaped robots appeared behind him, pointing their at Willingham's chest. "And you're the lucky man that gets to be my first guinea pig."

Senator Willingham may not have been smart or observant, or anything special in the brain department, but he saw the slightest shift in Stone's eyes as he stared at his boss with admiration, and something much more intense. He'd seen that look before, back at The Manor on the most willing and obedient of submissives. It was the look of a hungry predator masking themselves as prey, thinking about all the different ways it can consume or get consumed. And that look was directed at Robotnik, while the doctor was too busy fiddling with his robots.

I always wondered why he stuck with that vile man, Senator Willingham thought. Perhaps there really is something more going on with those two.

#Stobotnik #Agent Stone #ivo robotnik #dr robotnik #sonic 2020 #sonic movie #Love exploring dark Stone. #I mean he IS with Dr Robotnik for a reason. He's very well aware of what the guy does and yet he goes along with it anyway #Exploring underutilised characters seems to be a kink for me XD

[24heavven]

When was the last time you didn’t have a single thought in your head? When you weren’t worried about running here, or calling so and so, or replaying a conversation you had earlier in the day over in your head. Presence is the enemy of your mind. The more you absorb yourself in the moment, the further your brain gets from the concept of time. Anxiety over the future, regret over the past. Constantly stuck in a pendulum swing from one end of misery to the other. If you’ve ever meditated, you know this process can be reversed and even stopped all together. The process of emptying your mind allows for you to differentiate between the voice inside your head and your true self. Ever hear the expression, “i think, therefore i am”? That was Descartes, and to this day many people still believe this. But to be defined by your mind and thought cages you. How could you ever believe in an afterlife if the only thing that defines your existence is your thoughts? In the last 30 seconds of someones life, their brain will go through a series of events, ending in just the pure “self”. The same feeling you get when you’re meditating.

“OUR SENSE OF SELF, OUR SENSE OF HUMOUR, OUR ABILITY TO THINK AHEAD — THAT STUFF ALL GOES WITHIN THE FIRST 10 TO 20 SECONDS. THEN, AS THE WAVE OF BLOOD-STARVED BRAIN CELLS SPREAD OUT, OUR MEMORIES AND LANGUAGE CENTRES SHORT OUT, UNTIL WE’RE LEFT WITH JUST A CORE.” says Shaw.  

I myself have had plenty of incredibly rewarding experiences meditating. After you get good enough at it, you feel a distinct slip between reality and pure consciousness. Its more like “I am, therefore i think”. You are the watcher of your thoughts, and your emotions represent how you truly feel about them. By not identifying with “the voice in your head” and identifying as the observer of them instead you can begin to let go of anxiety and depression. Eckhart Tolle really said it best - “Be the silent watcher of your thoughts and behavior. You are beneath the thinker. You are the stillness beneath the mental noise. You are the love and joy beneath the pain.” The mind is the strongest tool of all and it’s a pity less people aren’t using it to its fullest potential. 

Everyone knows that Nietzsche popularized nihilism in philosophy. This is the concept that life is inherently meaningless and none of what we do matters because we’re going to wind up dead in the Earths inevitable heat death anyway. There is no heaven, there is no hell. There only is what we’re experiencing right here and there is no grander plan outside of what we can see plainly. This could be likened to a darker version of realism, where morals don’t matter and you’re skeptical about everything. Although there are many versions of nihilism like existential nihilism and moral nihilism, this is the “gist” so to speak.

But what if we are actually living in a truly meaningless world? Would it be beneficial to submit ourselves to this mindset? To abandon hope and reject the prospect of a brighter tomorrow? If the world is truly a dark cold place, the only thing you can do is light up the darkness. If nothing you do maters, why not do better? We may be small, but the difference between 0 and 1 is the same as the difference between 1 and infinity. The universe is incomprehensibly huge and it is likely that our whole history as humans wont mean much to the grand scheme of things. When you look at life in this way, your own interpersonal problems look silly. We are here for a very, very short time. Too many people get wrapped up in day to day trivialities. You only get one chance as yourself and to waste time that could be used to bettering your future is a tragedy. At the end of the day, we are all humans. At it’s core, our experience here on Earth is the same and life is such a miracle to begin with. You’re here on Earth at the same time as the people around you that mean so much, doesn't that, if nothing else, give your life meaning? The chance of that happening was infinitely minuscule and yet it still happened. 

This is called Anti-Nihilism and it can be found in many forms of media if you’re looking for it. It’s the characters out there who bravely give their lives up to a greater cause. They recognize we’re all doomed, and give away all they have to make the world a better place for everyone surrounding them, even if that means dying for it. Shinji from Neon Genesis Evangelion, Madoka from Madoka Magica, Solid Snake of Metal Gear Solid, Ralph and Piggy from Lord Of The Flies. This idea that nothing matters, but order is important nonetheless is present everywhere. The world would devolve into anarchy and violence if everyone abandoned their hope. Hope is really the only thing in this world propelling any of us forward. 

This strikes the middle ground between classic organized religion where youre promised the gates of heaven and eternal bliss, or being an atheist where you go in a box in the ground and its blackness forever. It’s acceptance of the grey area. Life is not black or white, yes or no, on or off. Life is not binary. Many people who have been to the depths of depression and self hatred cling tightly to this. When you’re surrounded by darkness, the light becomes hard to find. But once you see a flicker you do anything to keep it. Accepting life simply for what it is - is freeing. The minute you accept your dissatisfaction with a situation you transmute that dissatisfaction into peace. People walk around everyday searching for their purpose when it’s been under their nose all along, giving your life meaning is the meaning of life. I staunchly believe you are brought into this world to have an amazing time. Your circumstances can be what you rise from or succumb to. 

Esther and Jerry Hicks have written many self-help books. At the time of their writing careers inception, they claimed to have had a spirit called Abraham contact them through meditation. Weather or not that bit is factual - they have a message that rings so true it is hard not to believe they are accessing the “other side”. Through Abraham, they have changed lives and inspired many people to be deliberate thinkers. What they mean by deliberate thinker is someone who consciously chooses better thoughts as they see them happening in their mind. The vibrational power of your thoughts is that which shapes your world around you, and whatever you are looking for you will surely find. The mind is a tool of creation, and not a file cabinet. They speak of manifesting whatever you desire through the power of your mind - and that life can be blissful if only we should choose every day to believe it is. The quintessence of their teachings is emptying your mind through meditation. 

At the other end of the spectrum, we have people like Mitchell Heisman. He was a 35 year old Harvard student who made news back in 2010 for taking his own life as a grand act of destroying self preservation. Beforehand, he had written a 1,900 page document detailing his journey to this conclusion, aptly titled “Suicide Note”. His outlook on life - or rather death - is peppered with religious and political inquisition and the nature of man. Heisman speaks heavily about nihilism. That it is simply in the nature of mankind to want to survive and choose life, a Darwinist knee jerk behavior. That this day in age, the question can be posed - “is choosing death irrational? and for what reason?” Maybe choosing to die is freedom, liberation, the next grand adventure. He goes into detail about his “Me Theory” at the end of his manifesto. His want to know his own nature so greatly overcame him, he began looking at his life experience in abstracts. Mitchell questioned everything so much so, i believe, he became depressed. He states “Disillusioned of belief in my own subjective experiences, at rock bottom, I turned to completely destroy myself. If life itself is without ultimate meaning, and is not fundamentally rationally superior to death, then perhaps the test of the worth of life is found in willing death and self-destruction.” He references Neitzche multiple times, citing that in his journey to self discovery, he can no longer believe anything. The text reads as the ramblings of a madman philosopher on the verge of an epiphany. This is the epitome of a cluttered mind. Heisman thought his way into and out of madness, ending in a bang, taking his own life. 

Our world is one of at least 10 trillion planetary systems in our known universe. A mere grain of sand on the beach of the cosmos. Yet here, on our Earth, we have seen triumph and we have faced heartache as a species. Does our insignificance in size, make our existence insignificant? The short answer is no, just because we are an infinitely small part in the grand blueprint which is the universe does not invalidate us. Much like us humans can see and study and understand ants and yet ants cannot grasp human existence, their conscious experience here does not lack meaning. Paramahansa Yogananda was the first person to come to the West and popularize freedom from the concept of the “self”. Before his coming here we did not even have the language to describe the spiritual teachings he had already mastered. His impact on American society was so profound people began to fear and vilify him as a cult leader or a criminal. He forced physicists to expand the language of physics as they were, introducing consciousness into the equation of matter and energy. He feared that without a radical internal shift towards love and selflessness, we would not survive the atomic age as a species. A concern being brought up every so poignantly again today with nuclear war not far off on the horizon. In the dark landscape set before us today, all we can do is come back to the very basics of whats important here, love. 

Self help literature, Movies, Music, Television, Spirituality, Philosophy. Anti-Nihilism can be found everywhere. Use the space between where you are and where you want to be inspire you, give you hope and excitement. Don’t become a victim to the uncertainty of the unknown. Letting your mind control your life is akin to the tail wagging the dog. The mind is a mechanism, a tool of creation and power. If used improperly, it becomes a cage, a nightmare. Life truly is, what you make of it. “For this is your world. Its the form of realty you perceive.”(Anno, Ep 26)