#I get so frustrated when we don’t have a sorting system so I’m ensuring we have one from day one now

[mcwhytubers]

I want to finish our storage system but Iskall literally won’t let me pick up a single piece of diorite so I can create a sorting spot for it.

[elliewiltarwyn]

FFXIV Write 2024 | #14: Telling

Word Count: 628

3rd Astral Moon, 15th Sun, 1577 6UE

The city-states of the Eorzean Alliance have all had their particular unique nuisances. But so far, Ishgard is managing to outstrip them all.

We’re still tromping back and forth across the central Coerthas highlands - still trying to find any sort of clue to the location of Cid’s missing airship. The problem is that we are being hamstrung by the most frustrating obstacle possible: noblemen and their politicking. They had been obstinate and off-putting enough when we sought their aid even before the reveal of draconic rosaries stashed within packages trafficked by one of the High Houses; the manner in which the one guard captain had brusquely informed us “your request will, of course, need to be postponed, for it is the duty of every Ishgardian to root out and destroy heretics��all else must wait until this matter is resolved” was… well, if Longhart hadn’t outright stamped on my foot, I likely would have blasted the smug bastard right then and there with a Stone spell (and likely landed us in even deeper trouble, putting us even further from our goal, but come on).

Getting conscripted into defending this frail lordling from these accusations of heresy was also immensely frustrating… if just in the sense of, even when we’re so distracted from our main purpose in these lands, there’s no way I can turn my eyes away when there’s such a blatantly obvious miscarriage of justice happening before them. There was something obscene about the sheer speed with which the inquisitor moved to charge and convict Lord Francel, while simultaneously ensuring that nobody would bother lifting a finger to answer our one simple question. They’re so wrapped up in finding heretics in every lingering shadow that they can’t be arsed to assist a small adventurers’ party with one simple request…

I have many thoughts about what Ishgard regards as heresy and how it levies accusations of such, and none of them are kind—and it is telling how corrupt these structures are if these brazen, careless accusations are enough to nearly murder an innocent man. (And on that note, what the hells kind of justice system is Witchdrop!? Awfully convenient that either outcome leads to the death of those who stand trial atop it. Do they not see how easily a system like that can be leveraged to execute politically inconvenient foes—well. That’s very much the point, isn’t it…)

If naught else, at least Lord Haurchefant, the garrison commander of Camp Dragonhead, was gracious enough for our assistance in saving Lord Francel to grant us hospitality in spare quarters ere we continue our quest. It would turn out that I’d learn some further secrets in those bunks later that night… but if I’m being honest, I don’t fully feel comfortable even writing those revelations in this private journal, as they concern someone else’s past traumas that were evoked by witnessing the farce upon Witchdrop.

However, I still find it necessary to note that, in response, I ended up telling Lily about myself and one of my own past traumas. She’s…the first person I’ve told since joining the Scions that I was born male - a situation I would bet gil on the Holy See finding heretical in some inane fashion. And she reacted in the exact opposite manner from the last person I told; she gave me a great big hug and thanked me for trusting her enough to tell her that.

I didn’t necessarily doubt that Lily would accept me for who I was, but I must admit it’s deeply relieving to actually have that out in the open. Maybe there’s something to the idea of trusting the people around me enough to tell them something like that.

[spoonsforminutes]

UPDATE: i got dropped from IOP.

Honestly? I was fully expecting this outcome, and although I am frustrated that I won’t get an opportunity to ensure that my therapist personally changes her transphobic ideology, this is so much better for my physical and mental health. Misgendering hurts, and especially as someone with chronic pain, that hurt is both emotional and physical. I will often say that my trauma feels like I have an open shotgun wound in my chest, and each additional instance of misgendering feels like a stab to the gut. I’m somewhat mad at myself for not being able to defend myself in the moment, but that is not my fault nor my responsibility. I work in the research; I am WELL aware that many mental health facilities do not have LGBTQ-specific training, but I did get an opportunity to speak directly to the director of the outpatient program. I expressed both my personal concerns as well as future concerns for future patients, and thankfully he was very understanding, and ofc bc it’s me, he agreed with my points because I backed them up with research (which i found with a 5 min goggle search so there really is no excuse for mental health professionals to not be aware). He reassured me that not only did he share my concerns with his superiors, but training will be implemented to hopefully cover the basic aspects of keeping trans and queer individuals safe when receiving mental health treatment.

So although this sort of leaves me in a difficult spot, I actually feel more capable than I did when I first started treatment which I find kind of funny that it’s the people who hurt me that end up teaching me the most valuable lessons about my own worth. It might’ve been harsh to invoke the discrimination lawsuit, but it helped because my abuse specifically centered on the idea that my personal ideas, opinions, and interests were foolish and deserved to be mocked, even more so when my family members thought I was being too “gay” or “trans” or even “mentally ill.” So even though I can very much win an argument with sources and come to logical conclusions, my self-confidence is so low that I still doubt myself. That’s why I’m glad it was an issue with my gender identity because honestly? My therapist was also pretty ableist. She refused to validate the fact that I found empowerment with my chronic pain, instead calling me sad, and as with the entire medical system, DBT can be pretty ableist. I think regardless of disability, all people should approach medical professionals with the knowledge that they could be wrong and won’t admit it. Blindly trusting anyone, even someone who is supposed to take care of you and ensure your safety, can backfire. We need to trust people, so please continue putting your trust in others, but the moment they don’t show any concern for you, protect yourself and leave. It is never worth it to stay and suffer through a situation. 

Ultimately, in this political climate, marginalized people don’t have the luxury of being nice and waiting around for people to show us basic respect. Every time I am in a situation where pronouns are shared but I’m the only queer person in the room, I always tell people that I understand if you make mistakes and accidently misgender me. However, I can blatantly tell when someone is transphobic because it will either come from someone who is loud about their hate or from someone who believes they can get away with hate because “you aren’t like those other filthy queers.” I’m not apologizing if I find that I’m not in the mood to play rainbow capitalism BGF.    

So it’s gotten to that point. i’ve been receiving IOP from a mental health clinic, and my group trauma therapist is transphobic. Even more so, she’s been taking advantage of that fact that we unpack serious things in group settings, and I have a habit of dissociating to perpetuate her transphobic ideas in which it is my fault if i feel bad when someone misgender means. I have severe trauma from emotional abuse and neglect which only ended 6 months ago, at least in terms of my family having enough power and ignorance to believe that they were justified in the way they treated me, but i am still very much healing. I’m trying so hard to survive and get away from my abusive environment, but i’m realistic. i plan to move next year in jan, and in the midst of trying to pay all my bills and not go insane from the lack of financial freedom i have beyond necessities and bills, i’m trying to save as much as i can while also being nice to myself.

but today someone in my group was expressing distress over using a feminine term to refer to me when i’ve explained that i identify as transmasculine, and i was too busy doing something else, so my therapist took it upon herself to explain that it was my fault for feeling bad when people misgender me and that it is my responsible to correct people. which like, she’s a white cisgender woman who has trauma and is likely autistic so i’ve been giving her the benefit of the doubt, but no, she’s completely wrong. as a mental health professional currently in charge of my safety, she is directly endangering my health. i sent her an email after i processed what the fuck happened, and basically said this is your one warning to stop being transphobic and read up on all the ways your behavior threatens my physical and mental well-being, and if so necessary, i will seek legal action for discrimination. i have been gaslight a fuck ton so i have no confidence in myself, but my gut has been seeing all the news that more and more confirms the worst, and my c-PTSD symptoms are getting worse. history repeats itself, and i feel like i’m the one who recognizes the pattern except, you know, i’m part of the group that people currently want to see dead. and people praise me and treat me nicely bc they see an intelligent woman (which trauma-reinforced but also i fucking had top surgery last year????) but i think they view me as an “acceptable” queer person. which nooo, i did not spend so many years facing abuse literally just because i felt intense fucking pain that no one thought they could understand only for people in power to continue treating me like shit and then getting angry when i don’t roll over and die. i identify as a threat and a thing you do not want to cross. my years of sickness and illness mean that i don’t respect anything unless it has blood, sweat, tears, and defiance written all over it. you HAVE to feel pain to feel human, and all fucking pain is valid. i am so sick of watching a whole community of people being looked over and forgotten about, for even the “acceptable” ones of us having to beg for crumbs of decency. it’s inexcusable, and i legit do not give a shit for why we have to wait around for a bunch of people to decide that others get to live. i’m living NOW. DEAL WITH IT

[monocytogenes]

Let Yourself Breathe

This is something of a gift for @nirikeehan that I’ve been picking at between chapters of All the Times We’ve Said Goodbye. Pravin/Lana isn’t the main ship there, but I did romance her ingame, so. :)

I never was super into the whole Revan arc plot (spoilers below) apart from the class story-specific stuff, but Lana and Theron’s dynamics were so good. Pravin and Theron’s relationship was a constant dick-measuring contest (it’s always kind of funny for me to see how much agent/Theron content is out there because Pravin was like ‘FUCK the ENTIRE SIS I do not trust ANY of you PRICKS’) and he generally agreed with (and flirted with) Lana...with a few really interesting exceptions.

This is the aftermath of Lana purposefully getting Theron captured, which Pravin is not happy about on principle, and them talking it over/bonding afterwards.

—

As the door slid open, Pravin was greeted by an animated scene—Lana and Theron both on their feet, shouting at each other.

Lana’s features were tensed in stern frustration, back ramrod-straight and arms crossed. Theron was gesticulating in open-palmed fury, jaw tight, posture hunched and one leg forward as though rearing to dash at her.

“—like I’m disposable, because that’s just how Sith Intelligence operates, huh—?!”

“I knew you’d come though alright, and really, you should taking that as a compliment—”

Pravin cleared his throat loudly. Lana’s head swiveled; Theron’s eyes flickered towards him.

“What’d I miss?” Pravin asked flatly.

“Did you know Lana set me up?” Theron snapped.

“As I said, I read their intentions and made a tactical decision to ensure that we—”

Pravin interrupted. “Wait, what?”

“She sensed them coming and had me go in anyway so I’d get captured!”

“It was a perfectly good opportunity to get you past their defenses and into their systems—”

“Yeah, sure, right after they tortured me—”

“You got him captured?” Pravin regarded her in disbelief.

“Because I knew he’d free himself in short order and extract valuable intel,” retorted Lana.

“After having to plan on the fly because all my gear was confiscated and, oh, did I mention the torture—?”

“It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” Lana insisted.

“I kind of prefer to have a heads up when my supposed ally’s going to send me into a life-or-death situation!” hissed Theron.

“Like you would’ve agreed if I—”

“Beniko,” Pravin turned on her incredulously. “Are you mad?”

“We needed him in there,” she maintained, looking affronted. “And had I posited the option to him he wouldn’t have gone for it.”

“Then we would’ve found another way.” Pravin shook his head. “That was totally out of line.”

“It accomplished what it was meant to accomplish—”

“And what if it hadn’t? What if he’d got killed because you’d given him no chance to prepare?”

“Then that would’ve been a severe miscalculation, but clearly—”

“Lana.” He spat the name, guttural and hard-edged, and she fell silent, glowering at him. “You don’t deceive your own. Ever.”

“He’s not my agent,” she muttered.

“Oh, whoop, there it is,” Theron declared. “Fuck that Republic scum, right?”

Pravin eyed him in annoyance. “Shan, shut up.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side on this,” Lana said to Pravin.

“Can’t you?” Pravin scoffed, his voice rising. “So what if he’s not ‘your agent?’ So what if he’s done daft, reckless things before—you thought I’d be all peachy with this? Do I have to spell out for you why I’ve got a problem with a Sith keeping critical information from a field operative?”

“This is different,” she insisted.

“No no, it’s not, because this, like that, is about respect. If you can’t respect his expertise, if he can’t trust that you’ll be frank with him, then I don’t care how brilliant a tactician you think you are—you’re a liability. You are hindering this operation. And you need to get your damned priorities sorted before you wind up with no help at all.”

Lana gave a wordless huff.

“You owe him an apology,” demanded Pravin.

“I’m not going to apologize for being right,” said Lana, sweeping from the room in a miffed whirl of robes.

Pravin sighed, massaging his forehead.

“Well,” remarked Theron, stepping up to stand beside him. “Uh. Thanks for having my back.”

“She knows she’s full of it,” said Pravin, gaze lingering on the doorway. “She’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Yeah, I was getting that impression.” Theron hesitated. “So, what was that about a Sith keeping intel from—”

“Mind your own bloody business.”

“Alright, alright,” said Theron, holding his hands up in surrender. “Forget I said anything.”

*

After a good half-hour, Pravin tracked Lana down to a nearby cafe, where she’d claimed a table beneath a shady awning in the dying twilight. He settled in across from her, watching her golden eyes flick briefly to his face before returning to the milling passerby, heavy-lidded and tired.

The chair creaked as he sat back, following the turn of her head, hands folded in his lap.

She took a measured sip of her caf.

“I am doing the best that I can under challenging circumstances,” she said, setting the mug down. “I hope you recognize that.”

“I do.”

“I keep thinking, if only I still had a team of analysts at hand. A whole cadre of associates I could trust, rather than just...”

“An enemy agent, a wanted criminal and a dead man?”

“Put that way, it almost sounds charming,” she mused. “A ragtag band of unlikely heroes.”

Pravin snorted. “That seems a bit presumptuous.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw a wan smile turn her lips. “Says the man who saved all those civilians.”

“You don’t need to kiss up to me,” he told her, smirking over his discomfort.

“Don’t I? ‘Before I wind up with no help at all.’”

He looked at her then, at the remorse that had settled into the curve of her mouth, the misty sadness in her eyes.

“I’m not the one you kriffed over,” he said quietly.

“I’ll say something to him later,” she promised. “Some manner of apology. I rather doubt that’ll mend things, though.”

“If you approach him in honesty I think it’ll be a good first step.”

“I can’t be too honest. He is SIS.”

“I don’t know. A bit of heart may make him less inclined to be a cock to your personnel in the future.”

“That seems an optimistic take for you.”

“Don’t you dare call me an optimist; you’ll make me break out in a rash,” Pravin grumbled.

Lana chuckled. “Well, you are likely correct. I don’t have your instinct for this sort of thing.”

“You have the Force; I’m certain your intuition’s better than you think. You just have to...” He gestured as he chose his words, a pensive sweep of his hand. “...stop treating this all as a test. Some trial where you’ve got to work with perfect logical detachment because everyone’s watching and waiting for you to stumble. Shan’s competent, I’m hopefully more than competent, Jakarro’s useful enough—not an ideal crack team, sure, but you’ve got support. Utilize those relationships and, for stars’ sake, let yourself breathe.”

Lana gave a shaky nod, staring into her caf. “...I…I’m simply all too aware that if we’re unsuccessful here then not only will the political consequences be severe, but my own place in the Empire—”

“Yes, I know.” A twinge of muddled feelings tightened his throat; he swallowed to clear it. “But shutting out the rest of us is not going to help you control the outcome. If anything, it’s going to worsen your odds.”

She proffered a palm over the tabletop, still not looking at him. He hesitated, then slipped his hand into hers. Her grip was bony, skin calloused near the base of her fingers from the hilt of her saber, slightly slick from the port city’s intransigent humidity.

“I’ll meditate on that advice,” she said after a silence. “I do appreciate that you and I can talk this way. Can you imagine Theron and I having this conversation?”

“Like a slow-moving speeder wreck.” He lifted his chin, imitating Theron’s accent. “’See, Lana, your problem is that you don’t care about people and think you’re superior. Have you tried not being such a bitch?’”

Lana cracked up, bringing her other hand to her mouth. “Stars, you sound just like him.”

“I have been stuck listening to him for several weeks,” Pravin murmured. “For the record, I still find him right obnoxious.”

“He’s grown on me, admittedly. Sometimes when we’re getting along, I feel as though in a different world I could’ve called him a friend.”

“Now don’t tell him that; he’ll think you’re talking out your arse.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” She shifted her grasp, stroking her thumb across his knuckles in the process. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Go on.”

“Do you find him handsome?”

Pravin gave a dismissive tsk. “Not with that personality.”

Her smile turned mirthful. “I thought I’d noticed a flutter of something the few times he’s grinned at you or—”

“Alright, let me clarify.” Pravin withdrew his hand, motioning in exasperation. “If I met him in a cantina on Narsh or something and didn’t know about his allegiances or propensity to be a nosy little shite, then yes, solid eight out of ten. But as it stands? More like a three, with fleeting exceptions if he’s being abnormally charming.”

“He can have that air about him now and again,” Lana agreed. “Reminds me of you on occasion.”

Pravin made a face, catching another laugh from her, then regarded her slyly. “So I’m charming, then.”

“Of course. Wasn’t that a required competency in your training?” she quipped.

“By that same token you ought to be immune to my wiles.”

She tipped her head back, draining the dregs of her caf as though it was liquor. “Maybe I don’t want to be.”

Pravin studied the lingering curve of her lips in tempered interest, letting a comfortable silence pass between them before he spoke again.

“For what it’s worth—” He pointed at her. “—Ten out of ten.”

“You’re lying,” she insisted, blushing.

“No I’m not.”

“I’d have thought that my being Sith would’ve knocked a few points off.”

“You are the most reasonable Sith I’ve had the pleasure to meet,” he informed her. “By a long shot.”

“The competition isn’t exactly fierce on that front, is it.”

“Given that the comparable parties include ‘literal terrorist’, ‘psychosis case study’ and ‘bloke I walked in on whilst he was choking out my colleague’, the bar is so low it’s practically underground.” He sniffed at his own joke, then eyed her more plainly, softening his tone. “But to be more specific, it’s like—”

He drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “There’s so many of your kind who walk around believing that being able to snap a neck with the Force demands that people like me worship at your feet. To which I say: so what? One can accomplish the same end with a blade or a blaster, poison or a well-timed shove off a ledge. I’m not impressed by that. But you—you’ve never asked me to be. You sought my help not to enrich yourself, not as some sort of petty power-play, but because you actually cared about righting wrongs. And as much as I’m loath to admit it, somewhere deep down in my cynical, seditious heart, I rather admire that.”

Lana stared at him for a long moment, fighting a grin.

Shifting her mug aside, she rose slightly, leaning over the table and pulling Pravin in by the arm. He laughed a surprised what before she kissed him, her touch more tender than hungry, breathing a sigh against his lips as she withdrew.

“...You’re welcome,” he said in reply, a bit off-kilter.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for some time,” she confessed. “What you said, it—it means a lot, coming from you.”

“Exactly how long have you dreamt of kissing me?”

“Oh, please.” She rested her face in her hand. “I don’t know. Since we embraced, probably.”

Pravin snickered, ignoring the way his own cheeks had darkened. “You mean when you seized hold of me in a moment of unbridled grief and I sort of stood there in confusion?”

“My recollection is somewhat different.” She smirked. “I seem to remember you patting my back.”

“Ah. Perhaps I’m not giving myself enough credit.” Slyly, he added, “Perhaps we could give that another go under less strenuous circumstances.”

“And try not to be quite so harried about it?”

“I’d say ‘stuffy,’ but that too.”

“That may require some effort. We are both Imperials, as our associate is so fond of reminding us.”

“No matter how many times I endeavor to correct him,” Pravin muttered. “Former Imperial, you Coruscanti twit.”

“It’s all the same to him, I fear.” She shook her head. “But I agree, we should. I should be getting back to work now, but sometime—”

“How about we walk back together?” Pravin offered his hand.

Her gaze was warm, as soft as her lurid eyes could allow. “Yes, let’s.”

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal​

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the  ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

[rhysdasiorarchive]

The flurry of emotions flooding through Rhys’ system as he ran through the details in his mind to commit each step of Seth’s poor decision-making to memory was impossible to stifle and despite his best efforts, Rhys was positive his frustration was evident. It wasn’t that he was angry, no, not at all – he couldn’t be. He had no room to be. Every witch made questionable decisions from time to time, typically stemming from a good place, or at least trying to and Seth was no exception. Rhys couldn’t fault him for it, not really. It was simply disappointing to know that the younger witch hadn’t felt able to come to him about it when things first began to get out of hand. Now they had quite the problem on their hands. Still, ruminating upon emotions wouldn’t solve a thing. Time was of the essence and the sooner they could fashion a workable plan into place, the better. “You don’t need to apologise,” Rhys kept his tone as gentle as he could manage as he spoke. The last thing Seth needed was further reprimanding when he was likely well aware of the severity of the consequences of his actions. “You were only doing what you thought was right. No one can criticise you for that. We’ll get this sorted, all right?”

It took a vast amount of Rhys’ self-control not to scoff at Seth’s reluctance to have anything happen to him. As things stood, Rhys was willing to do whatever he could with little care for cost or consequence if it meant ensuring Seth’s safety and survival, his own health and well-being be damned. He couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly hesitant to agree to Seth attempting to rid himself of the curse he’d brought upon himself in the first place – wasn’t that the crux of the matter entirely? Clenching his jaw in silent disagreement, he waited patiently for Seth to finish before steepling his fingers in thought. “It’s ultimately your decision how we proceed with things, but I’m very reluctant to agree. If you really want to give it a go yourself, that’s fine, but I’d like to be present just in case anything goes awry. It’s not that I don’t trust you, you know I do, but as things stand, I couldn’t let you do so alone in good conscience.”

"You're right. It's definitely a ten," Seth murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. The worst of it was over; Rhys knew now and the young witch visibly deflated into his chair as his mentor called him out on holding this for so long. He grimaced, fully knowing that he'd had plenty of opportunity to share this development and plenty of time. Both Rhys and Shade had every right to be pissed that Seth basically sat quietly on this for two out of the three years Lilith gave him. It wasn't meant to be disrespectful or a slight against the two men he cared about most here in Krovs in different ways, it was just how Seth had been programmed. He'd spent his whole life handling his own problems and suffering in silence that he only recently learned how that affected others he held dear and supposedly close. His therapist pointed out recently that if he wasn't honest with the ones he claimed to care about, did he even really care about them or consider them truly close? "I know I can," he said quietly, dropping his gaze back to the floor. "I'm sorry. I should have said something sooner. I'm working on that." Slowly but surely.

The younger witch shifted his gaze up, eyes widening a little as Rhys volunteered himself. "I mean, yeah, I'd be fine with that. I do trust you. It's... She's a really old ass succubus that we're working with. As much as I appreciate you volunteering yourself like that, I'd hate for anything to happen to you in the process..." Seth trailed off, remembering the last time he and a loved one found themselves in a dangerous situation. That event inevitably led Seth here now confessing to Rhys that he'd sold his soul to a demon. "I'd at least like to give it a shot on my own first, see what we're working with before I pull in anyone else. She won't kill me, I know that." They had a contract, after all.

[sam-t-a]

Speaking of reading too much into things......

When I saw Han Seok's gummy bears, at first I dismissed it as blatant ppl, but then the sugar on top of the absinthe came and couldn't help it.

If you've seen death note then you certainly remember the detective L, who wasn't himself a murderer, but who was manipulative and ready to use torture and unwilling human experiment subjects to reach his goals. The writers said he was written as a sociopath. L had an obsession with sweet foods and in a prequel to the manga written from Mello's perspective, it's said that this might have been his way of balancing out the bitterness of the cases he deals with.

The first time Han Seok eats gummy bears on screen is when he's killing his father. He later talks about how his father never loved him and how he envies Vincenzo for being loved by his parents, so I'm assuming resorting to killing his father must've left a "bitter aftertaste". When he finds out that Han Seo has known about it the whole time, he makes him eat one too, as a sort of "welcome to my world, here's how we do it", but he notably had to force him to eat it because Han Seo might be part of his world, but he's been an unwilling participant from the get go.

But in the general sense, I keep going back to the "Nothing's a problem to me as long as I don't feel like shit" sentence from episode 9. Psychopaths are perpetually bored and under-stimulated (think "valuable sparring partner") and extremely lonely people, so Jang Han Seok's life is one long pursuit of not feeling like shit, and he'll invest in anything and everything that can "sweeten" the very bad deal he's stuck with.

Psychopaths also crave control over everything, but are highly impulsive and lack self control. This sometimes works in Han Seok's favor since it makes people fear him and follow his orders more thoroughly (such as the car scene with the two lawyers), so he doesn't think about it too much since it's good for business.

But when it backfires, a psychopath's lack of self-control frustrates them to no end. We see this in a couple of his interactions with his brother. He laments losing his temper after holding a knife to Han Seo's throat and he gives him a "look what you made me do" look after maiming him with the thingamajig he threw at him. He seems to realize that pushing his brother past a certain point, or at least flipping the table and ruining breakfast and hurting himself in the process isn't good for business. Having his brother walk out of his office with a bleeding head wound is particularly not good for business, especially since that was the first time he hurt his brother in a way that left a visible mark. In those situations, he seems aware that he should be behaving differently.

But he can't help himself.

And I think this is one main reason why everyone hates Choi Myung hee so much more than Han seok. She doesn't lose control. She knows exactly what she's doing and never does anything that could hurt her. Every dispicable decision she makes is a pursuit of feeling good (or better), rather than an attempt to not feel like shit.

Now here's why I think the show's decision to make Han Seok a psychopath and its emphasis on the corrupt justice system is so brilliant, and why I'm comparing with L.

People on the extreme end of dark triad personality traits are unable to get the inherent value of justice, BUT they can be convinced of the value of a justice SYSTEM. The system protects them from harm and following its rules protects them from accountability. In that light, a potential serial killer could be downgraded to a ruthless executive who exploits loopholes in the law but doesn't break it. In death note, L is recruited at a very young age onto the "good side" which very likely stopped him from becoming a serial killer himself.

But for that to work, these people need to be sure the justice system a) applies to everyone else so that it can protect them from harm, and b) applies to them so that evading accountability can be an actual incentive to follow the rules. In the series, the justice system is corrupt beyond measure, and Han Seok's father goes to disturbing lengths to ensure that it stays that way. It takes a village to raise a child and it took a village to raise this child so poorly, to the point where the only way to defeat him becomes introducing a new player equally unrestricted by the formal justice system but highly dedicated to the concept of justice as inherently valuable: Mr. Vincenzo Cassano.

[dabi-drift]

Yaoyorozu, Hawks, Bakugou, Amajiki, Dabi, Mirko & Geten with a Genderfluid S/O:

If you want any characters adding here or to anything else I write, just drop me a comment or an ask!

Momo Yaoyorozu:

☿ It was hard enough for you to acknowledge your own gender- fully understanding it was a different topic - so coming out to Momo was going to be tough.

☿ Really tough.

☿ She was a lovely girl and a wonderful girlfriend.

☿ But could you really expect her to be supportive of something so complex?

☿ Your gender fluctuated a lot - sometimes you'd feel distinctly outside the binary, and sometimes you'd feel more masculine, or more feminine.

☿ You hadn't noticed this until recently; you rarely gave gender a second thought.

☿ Looking at yourself in the mirror and questioning everything that felt a little off, you'd figured that maybe you just wanted to feel special, a little different.

☿ So you researched. A lot.

☿ You had a system that no-one understood because you were still deep in the closet: a different coloured strand/extension in your hair (on one side only) that stood out but was never questioned.

☿ Red = Feminine, Purple = Non-Binary, Blue = Masculine, Green = Third Gender/Multigender.

☿ Coming out was a decision you spent countless nights debating.

☿ No-one 'deserved' to know, it was really nobody's business…but being gendered correctly 100% of the time did sound nice.

☿ Deep breaths, and positive thoughts.

☿ "I identify as…no, I am genderfluid. You, eh…you should probably know that."

☿ This sweet, precious thing was confused at first.

☿ But you explained it:

☿ "Sometimes I'll feel more masculine, more like a boy, sometimes feminine, neither or both/all genders? I'm still wrapping my head around it too, but eh…it can change a lot. Sometimes a few times a day. Um…sometimes one gender will stick for a while. That's why figuring it out can be…confusing. But it's also enlightening, uh…kinda nice, warm, y'know?"

☿ Instantly says she understands and supports you.

☿ Expect a flurry of hugs and kisses.

☿ Acts like a very proud girlfriend.

☿ Pays extra attention to your hair - never wants to get anything wrong.

☿ If she does, she'll apologise immediately and reprimand herself.

☿ Go easy on her, she'll be an utter mess.

☿ Overall, her love for you is unconditional, and she makes sure that you know she's sorry.

"You shouldn't ever have to be scared to explain who you are."

Keigo Takami/Hawks:

☿ Keigo knew something was amiss.

☿ You'd been dating for two years, and although he never pried, he couldn’t help noticing the way you'd suddenly become uncomfortable when someone addressed you, or when you stayed in one set of clothes for too long.

☿ It wasn’t always the same, and he just figured it was anxiety and general insecurities coming to the surface.

☿ So he held you closer, wrapped you in his wings and fussed over you for hours (or however long his job would allow).

☿ He didn’t have a lot of time to consult the internet.

☿ He also didn’t want to pressure you into revealing anything.

☿ But now, the topic was unavoidable.

☿ You'd broken down, crying and mumbling to yourself when you thought he couldn’t hear you.

☿ He finds you kneeling in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom.

☿ Rushes to your side in an instant.

☿ "What did the mirror do to you, dove?"

☿ Very, very worried, feathers shaking around you.

☿ Defensive birb, ready to protect you from that loathsome mirror.

☿ "I-I look so…so girly today! It's awful! My chest, and…and…I don’t have a binder, and I…"

☿ Doesn't understand, but is determined not to worsen your mood.

☿ "Hey, look at me. What are binders, and where would we get one?"

☿ He places both hands on your cheeks, and you lean into him.

☿ "They're…they flatten your chest, um…sports bras and binders…I-I've never bought one, so I don’t know…"

☿ He nods. "Do you wanna come with me to look for one?"

☿ You're perplexed - shouldn’t he be weirded out by this?

☿ He laughs, and somehow, it warms your heart. "I just want you to be happy. I'd do anything to make that happen, angel. You might need to explain all this to me, though. I'm a newbie, after all."

☿ He takes physical notes - nothing will catch this man out.

☿ If someone misgenders you, he'll correct them immediately.

☿ If someone acts ignorant or spiteful, he'll 'politely' tell them how to adjust their attitude, and how to address people outside the gender binary.

☿ I.e, respect them even if you don't have a complete grasp on their identity, and never, ever misgender or marginalise them.

"You are yourself, not how others perceive you."

Katsuki Bakugou:

☿ You decided to use pronoun badges. There were some awesome-looking designs out there, and you'd been feeling a little more confident lately. It couldn’t hurt to clue your classmates in, right? Plus, you supposed Katsuki ought to know…he was your boyfriend, after all. He'd definitely be pissed if he discovered this a few years down the line, rage about you not placing enough trust in him, and it'd be a huge mess…

☿ You'd never interrogated him on LGBTQ+ issues, so you weren't sure how he'd take your news; he wasn’t always the most accepting (Midoriya & the quirkless community being obvious testaments to that).

☿ Needless to say, instead of being confused, he was frustrated. Why was he with someone who didn’t even know their correct pronouns? He pointed it out, very matter-of-fact.

☿ When your dazzling smile suddenly dropped, he became concerned. Was he the idiot after all? Why did he upset you? What in the Nine Circles of Hell possessed him to do that?? He didn’t even say anything bad! All he mentioned was…

☿ Oh. Shit.

☿ This boy isn't accustomed to apologising, so don’t expect it to flow naturally. He’ll try, because he loves you, but he won't keep eye contact for very long and he'll recant every few seconds.

☿ This perceived insincerity only masks his guilt, though. He’ll beat himself up for years, unless you stop him. This boy has no chill. He's always the first to go off on people when they disrespect or degrade you, so he's gotta make amends in some way, right?

☿️ Honestly, if there are any pronoun badges with really cool or pretty designs, he'll buy them for you. He'll also get for himself, to prove his acceptance and solidarity. He won't ever allow you to feel alone again. He's more than okay with your identity - it changes absolutely nothing about you. If anything, it gives you a sense of completion. He's here for that, 100%.

☿️ You better believe he'll fight for your rights.

☿️ If there's any hate/intolerance directed at you, he'll explode. Quite literally.

☿️ You'll be tasked with ensuring no-one dies. Unless you want them to, of course.

☿️ They'll deserve it.

☿️ Katsuki is very perceptive, so when he gets to grips with it, he'll most likely notice every indication (however subtle) of a gender change. He'll carry spare pronoun badges around, just in case you lose yours.

☿️ Secretly, he's swimming in pride.

☿️ He's kinda like 'Yeah, that's my awesome partner! Look how cool they are, flaunting their pronouns like that, all confident and happy!'

☿️ This boy adores the ever-loving shit out of you. He hates reflecting on the day you came out, because he handled it so poorly at first. Thankfully now though, you're more secure.

"Gender doesn't matter. I'm gonna be a hero, not a hater."

Tamaki Amajiki:

☿️ (Y/n) wasn’t a dead name, but sometimes the very mention of it made your skin crawl.

☿️ It was a gift from your parents, so you wanted to keep it.

☿️ But it was a very gendered name - you couldn’t escape that.

☿️ So you decided on a few more - ones both your mind and heart adored.

☿️ The names corresponded to different gender identities, and although you weren't out just yet (though you planned to be shortly), they gave you the fluffiest feeling.

☿️ Because you hadn't come out, you didn’t bother making it easy for people - no different coloured bracelets, rings or anything to highlight your gender at the time.

☿️ In your heart, you knew who you were.

☿️ Still…everything seemed tied to the binary - official documents, school, the chatter of other students…you'd seen and heard it all.

☿️ These people didn’t accept non-conformists.

☿️ So why should Tamaki?

☿️ Sure, he was kind-hearted, heroic…amazing, but what would he do? What would he say, when you finally came out? You couldn’t remain in the closet forever.

☿️ No way that was happening! You were human too, your feelings mattered! Surely you were allowed to voice your truth…

☿️ Tamaki loved you.

☿️ He'd be accepting…right? Memorising some more names and pronouns shouldn’t be so tricky.

☿️ To minimise discomfort for both of you, you chose to explain things in his room.

☿️ He got really nervous at first - he thought you wanted to break up.

☿️ Boy was sweating profusely, coming up with all sorts of counter-arguments in his head. He really, really loved you.

☿️ "(Y-Y/n)-"

☿️ "Um, could you maybe call me (O/n) today? It's an…off-spectrum day."

☿️ Cue more confusion than Momo.

☿️ He'll ask about it in a really gentle voice - being anxious himself, he can easily pick up on other people's signs.

☿️ "Basically…my gender's fluid, so…you know how 'sex' is biological and 'gender' is a sense of identity? Well, sometimes I align with my birth sex, sometimes I don't. Today is…one of those days."

☿️ He'll hold your hand while he listens, squeezing it periodically to reassure you.

☿️ Now it's your turn to question the strength of your relationship.

☿️ This boy's love is deep, though; he cares way too much to let anything come between you.

☿️ Plus, nothing about you has actually changed.

☿️ You've just come into yourself, gained more comfort in who you are.

☿️ Tells you how proud he is.

☿️ Asks you to let him know when you sense your gender change, so he never calls you by the wrong name or pronouns.

☿️ It's They/Them today, but who knows about tomorrow? Or even an hour from now?

☿️ Finds gender-neutral compliments and nicknames, and does a ton of research.

☿️ Has an entire script in his head - if you want to come out but can't speak for yourself, Tamaki will push aside his anxiety and recite the words he's practiced a million times.

"You've finally found yourself - only change if it feels right."

Touya Todoroki/Dabi:

☿️ Your identity was really important and dear to your heart.

☿️ But that didn’t stop those you cared for tearing you apart whenever you tried to speak up.

☿️ Your family, your friends…you loved them, but they just couldn’t accept you.

☿️ So you killed them.

☿️ You went on the run, evading police and heroes alike for years.

☿️ And then, you found the League of Villains - a strange dynamic, kind of like family but much more welcoming.

☿️ Yet, your identity stayed hidden. You didn’t have the strength to harm all these people, if they rejected you.

☿️ Besides, there was more solidarity here than there ever had been with your blood relatives.

☿️ Dabi was your companion, though whether that meant closest friend or love interest, you didn’t know.

☿️ He was observant, transforming his thoughts into words regardless of how that affected people.

☿️ He pointed things out immediately.

☿️ "New bracelet?"

☿️ You paused, half-shocked, half-afraid.

☿️ You knew that he'd see through any lie you posed.

☿️ The truth would be the only thing to save you from his flames.

☿️ "That means something, doesn't it, (Y/n)?"

☿️ Step 1: put the drink down so you don't shatter it in anger.

☿️ "Yeah, um…this colour means 'masculine'. I'm a guy…now."

☿️ His face betrayed nothing.

☿️ "Like a reverse Magne?"

☿️ You wondered if that was a genuine question or an attempt at humour.

☿️ Todorokis don't understand jokes.

☿️ "No…she's a transgender woman, I'm genderfluid. I'm not confined to a single gender. It, uh…it changes."

☿️ His nod didn’t instil you with confidence.

☿️ "You out to the others yet?"

☿️ "Didn't think they'd accept me."

☿️ He made a 'Really? You're the least weird of the bunch' face.

☿️ "Ah, I'll just burn 'em if they don't."

☿️ You were too stunned to employ a comeback.

☿️ He contemplated for a while.

☿️ "So, you got any other names?"

☿️ Helps you plan how to come out to the rest of the League.

☿️ Will legitimately burn the haters.

"Found families are more accepting than the real thing."

Rumi Usagiyama/Mirko:

☿️ You bought three mugs - 'It's a Girl', 'It's a Boy' and 'It's a Mess'.

☿️ The excitement had been bubbling away inside you for weeks.

☿️ Rumi still didn’t know that you were genderfluid, but she was about to learn.

☿️ There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that she'd accept you.

☿️ You hadn't told her yet because it was a big thing - lots to take in, and you needed to be completely sure of it, and of your relationship.

☿️ You weren't gonna tell just anyone.

☿️ Dating Rumi was awesome, and this was just the next stage.

☿️ It didn’t go according to plan.

☿️ Not at first.

☿️ "You're pregnant?!" Was her very concerned response.

☿️ She kept muttering about how she needed some space to think things over.

☿️ Until you dragged her back, exasperated but determined to explain yourself.

☿️ "It's in reference to myself. I wanted to let you know, in a funny way, that I'm genderfluid. There's a Girl and a Boy one, and the other is for Non-Binary."

☿️ She made a noise like she understood, but you saw the confusion.

☿️ "Today's an Enby day, but you might have a girlfriend tomorrow. Or a boyfriend. Who knows?"

☿️ In an instant, the biggest smile took control of her face, and she brought you into a crushing hug.

☿️ "So I could have a girlfriend, a boyfriend and a murder partner??"

☿️ "Eh…if you can do the jail-time, count me in."

☿️ This one won't necessarily search for information herself, but she will consult you whenever she's having a difficult time processing something.

☿️ You're like,, the expert in all things LGBTQ+, and she loves listening to you talk so passionately.

☿️ She's really glad you told her - that you trusted her with something so important.

☿️ She feels loved, and makes sure you do too.

☿️ Asks if you ever thought she'd reject you.

☿️ "Nah. We'll go strong forever, Rumi."

☿️ She's overjoyed, honestly.

"You're so brave for coming out, and if someone doesn’t like it, I'll kick their butt."

Geten/Iceman:

☿️ Geten didn’t have the faintest clue about gender identities. He accepted male and female, but without a proper education or motivation to learn anything beside his quirk, you didn’t expect him to understand. You would've held it in, if you were strong enough to deal with the constant misgendering.

☿️ If you use Neopronouns, you're especially worried. They aren't as widely welcomed as the general She/He/They. And Geten being the angry, feral gremlin he is, his temper was a major concern.

☿️ You couldn’t change for him, so if he decided to lash out or disapprove, you'd be crushed. You'd obviously have to walk out of the relationship, if he didn’t do so himself. As deeply as your love ran, you simply couldn’t put yourself through such anguish. You weren't of the soundest mind, so to be rejected by Geten…

☿️ He isn't gonna understand unless you sit him down, crack open the slideshow presentation and maybe start crying? He'll feel guilty, but he doesn't ever wanna see you in distress. He said as much, in the beginning of your relationship.

☿️ So cry. Cry your little heart out, and he'll do everything within his power to comfort you. He's not the most receptive to other people's emotions, but with you, it's different. He's always by your side, always watching over you. His hugs are a little stiff, but wrap your arms around him tightly, and he'll protect you with his life.

☿️ "So…genderfluid?"

☿️ His tone is gentle, like he's afraid to cause any more tears.

☿️ "Yeah, um…you identify with your birth sex, right? Well, I don't…not all the time. And if you could…could use those pronouns? That would mean…a lot. To me. It'd mean everything, actually…"

☿️ He's quiet for a while, still trying to make space in his brain for all this new information. It isn't something he needs to 'come around to', though. He'll be completely painful and respectful. He's bound to slip up a few times, but he'll always correct himself.

☿️ Hates seeing you cringe whenever he makes a mistake. Always vows never to let it happen again.

☿️ You're okay though - you know it's gonna take time.

☿️ Angry boi never uses your gender identity as an insult, and openly condemns (threatens) anyone who does. He'll want to prove himself - prove he's gonna love you regardless of gender, regardless of everything!

☿️ Honestly doesn't know why you were so nervous to explain this. When he said his love was unconditional, he wasn’t lying.

“There’s no way I couldn’t accept who you are.”

[ninjago-happens-here]

'Bandages come in many ways. There are gauze bandages, treating all kinds of wounds the Ninja may have. There are bandages used to prevent injury in Martial Arts. What P.I.X.A.L. is wondering, is that if mankind has a bandage for the heart.'

@ninjago-angst-week am I late or what? Sorry but I think spewing out 21k words over teh course of 3 days killed my motivation. It took 3 days just to write 6.1k words.

Summary:

P.I.X.A.L. notices that the store of bandages is running low. She thinks about all the times she had to use them on one of her teammates, and its purposes.

“Hey Pix! We’re running low on bandages. Can you help us order some before we go to Shintaro?” Nya’s voice came from the medical bay of the Destiny’s Bounty. The Ninja and Master Wu were going on a trip to Shintaro. Unfortunately, Pixal never got an invite, but she has long been used to being left behind. It’s not that it was a bad thing, per se. Pixal knew the importance of having a backup, and having someone watch over Ninjago whilst the Ninja were gone. Still, to distract herself after placing a digital order, she thought about anything that could distract her. That thing just happened to be about bandages.

Bandages. Neat, white little things that wrap around any land or sky creature. According to Wikipedia, a bandage is a piece of material used either to support a medical device such as a dressing or splint, or on its own to provide support to or to restrict the movement of a part of the body. When used with a dressing, the dressing is applied directly to a wound, and a bandage is used to hold the dressing in place. Other bandages are used without dressings, such as elastic bandages that are used to reduce swelling or provide support to a sprained ankle. Tight bandages can be used to slow blood flow to an extremity, such as when a leg or arm is bleeding heavily.

At first, that was all P.I.X.A.L. knew about bandages. Given that she was built with the main purpose of being Cyrus Borg’s assistant, her primary knowledge consisted mostly of the ins and outs of Borg Tower, emergency protocols, customer service skills, and basic first aid, given that her maker was frailer than your average Ninjago citizen.

Of course, the longer she worked under Cyrus Borg, the more she learnt about the medical field. Curious about Mr Borg’s special circumstances, she was permitted to look through the internet for more information. In no time at all, she learnt about surgery, prosthetics, all different kinds of medication, and how to diagnose illnesses. In her given free time, she studied all the information available on the internet about the medical field. Even though the information was useless to her, an android who had no physical weaknesses like the humans do, her system determined that whilst the knowledge was a bit excessive, it only helps to prepare her to care for Mr Borg.

She never really needed to apply all that knowledge about serious and fatal cuts, but when Borg gets even the slightest injury, P.I.X.A.L. was there to offer her assistance.

A year after she had been created, Cyrus Borg had offered her to take a test of the field in medicine. P.I.X.A.L. had immediately felt lighter and better somehow. When asking Borg why she was feeling this way and if robots could get sick, Borg had laughed in surprise and shock.

“That feeling is happiness, P.I.X.A.L.! It’s an emotion that all living creatures feel, you included.”

“But I am not living-“ Mr Borg cut her off.

“Technically, you are right, P.I.X.A.L., but you are intelligence, and intelligence is what defines life. You can adapt, change, and overcome as all living beings do. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise! Because that would be an insult to my intelligence!” Cyrus Borg said encouragingly. “And robots can technically get sick, from a digital virus. But I created you to be strong, stronger than I ever will be. You should not have to worry about them.”

P.I.X.A.L. nodded her head to show her understanding. “Then I will go to the exam.”

P.I.X.A.L. didn’t pass on her first try, but Mr Borg told her that it was alright, given that she still did very well considering that she only had the free internet to look for answers to a test she was unprepared for. It was human for her to have failed.

“So why did you send me there with no preparation?” P.I.X.A.L. asked with a shaking voice.

“To prepare you for failure, my dear!” Cyrus Borg said patronisingly. “Since I’ve built you, you’ve been perfect in many, many ways. And that isn’t a bad thing! But life isn’t that simple. You may fail in one way or another in the future because like humans, the circumstances may not be what you desired and plans can fall apart due to errors. What I want you to know is how failure feels like, and I will help you recover from it.”

P.I.X.A.L. nodded. It won’t be long before she faced her first, real big failure.

- Lloyd - The first time she had to really apply those skills that she learnt was when the team had seen Lloyd in the village. After he was pulled out of the ocean because he had to escape from an exploding plane that the Digilord had trapped him on. The locals had wanted to help, but Lloyd wasn’t feeling like having strangers cut him up, so they offered him some basic and outdated medical supplies.

P.I.X.A.L. could see him trying to treat himself and to stay awake, and she could see him hiss as the alcohol drizzled on his wounds.

“LLOYD!” Kai shouted in a tone that conveyed panic. This made the young ultimate spinjitzu master look up from his handiwork and immediately break into a smile. As the team had rushed forward to greet him, P.I.X.A.L. could see that his shoulders were sagging, probably from relief.

“I’m so sorry that I got caught guys,” Lloyd wheezed with an apologetic smile before keeling over, to which Cole caught him with shaking hands.

“Oh god, Zane, quick, do your thing!” Kai panicked even harder, hands jittery as if he was in an internal debate about whether he should do something or not.  “I’m trying Kai! I just- my hands keep shaking for some reason!” Zane gritted his teeth in frustration. “I’m gonna run some diagnostics on him” “Okay, Cole, lie him on a flat surface- medic! Medic!” Nya screamed out.

It was at this moment that P.I.X.A.L. knew that was her chance. To repay Zane for his heart. To prove to the team that she was useful. To finally implement her knowledge. Sometimes, she wonders if she’ll ever have what Zane has with the other humans, but for now, she is glad that she can separate her emotions from her work.

“Let me handle it,” P.I.X.A.L. said authoritatively. Running a scan with her own diagnostics, P.I.X.A.L. isolated the most dangerous injuries before telling the group out loud, staring at her apprehensively.

“Master Lloyd has suffered a concussion, lung damage due to smoke inhalation, and fractured bones in his tibia. He also has a sprained ankle and several bones on his upper chest area have several bruises. Luckily, there is no internal bleeding. He also has some first and second-degree burns, but those look like they have been treated by the ocean water. However, he is at risk of hypothermia should he not change out of those clothes. Other cuts and bruises should not be life-threatening as long as we keep the infection away, and-“

“WE GET IT! Can you just PLEASE start treating Lloyd NOW?” Jay shrieked in frustration. P.I.X.A.L. blinked. Oh right, the ninjas are still panicking.

“Apologies, can I have a look at the medical supplies?” Taking a scalpel out of the medical box, P.I.X.A.L. removed Lloyd Garmadon’s shirt and so multiple bruises as well as the look of someone who’s emancipated. It didn’t really make any sense to her, but she supposed that being drained of his elemental powers must have caused some damage.

“To treat his concussion, he needs peace and to rest. I would like if all of you can speak in whispers from now on,” P.I.X.A.L. began. The soup suddenly looked ashamed and guilty, with Jay whispering a soft ‘sorry’.

“To treat his hypothermia, we would need blankets-“

“Why can’t I just warm him up with fire?” Kai cut across. “Well, the extreme heat can damage the skin or, even worse, cause irregular heartbeats so severe that they can cause the heart to stop. However, starting a campfire some meters away could help a little. using this fire, we can make some warm beverages and some food.”

“Just say what we gotta do doc, we’ll listen!” Nya begged swiftly. P.I.X.A.L. thought for a moment, before choosing to sort people out based on their perceived abilities.

“Kai, Jay, Cole, Sensei Wu, and Sensei Garmadon- please look for blankets in the village and start a campfire over there,” Pointing at a spot a satisfactory distance from Lloyd, P.I.X.A.L. continued with giving instructions. “Start making some sort of soup- not too heavy. Zane, Nya- you’re with me.”

Garmadon, who was silent all this time, started to protest. “I cannot leave my son, Pixal.”

“Fine, you may stay and just keep tending to the campfire,” P.I.X.A.L. conceded, not wanting to waste time arguing. There was the matter of fact that the smoke inhaled by Lloyd Garmadon could be fatal, but there was not much that she could do in his location. All she could hope to do was to treat his minor injuries before ensuring that Lloyd is stable enough to go to a hospital in Ninjago. Which would have been impossible, given that the Digilord had control of the city already. What could she do? Maybe there’s an elemental master of the air who could treat Lloyd?

“Pix, do you not have any ideas on how to treat the smoke inhalation?” Zane looked at her with kind and understanding eyes. Pixal nodded, defeated, before preparing a cast. “We need concentrated oxygen and a nose tube or a tube down his throat. Unfortunately, there is nowhere in Ninjago where we can get to such technology.”

Hearing this, Nya immediately perked up. “But we can make them. Zane, do you have any wires that you can spare for a bit?”

“Redirecting power from the right hand,” Zane replied as he opened up his arm to take out a tube. He’s so self-sacrificing. For some strange reason, P.I.X.A.L. felt her heart beating faster. Maybe Zane was nervous? “Nya, if you could please clean this?”

“Of course. HEY KAI!”  “Yeah, sis?”  Nya was looking at P.I.X.A.L. expectantly. Oh yes. she was supposed to know this, wasn’t she? “Can you get us 10 cups of potable water and 1 cup of vinegar? Also, get some detergent or soap.”  “Okay Pix, not gonna question this at all!”

Meanwhile, Nya was using pure H2O to just start blasting the tubing As much as they wanted Lloyd to not die from smoke inhalation, they also didn’t want him to be infected. Speaking of infections…

“Ow!” Lloyd woke up sleepily as Zane used one hand to dab his cuts. Looking sheepish, Zane immediately offered an apology before Nya cuts in and admitting her mistake.

“Go back to Lloyd,” Nya said, petting his hair. Once Kai had returned with the necessary materials, Nya sanitised her hands before delicately cleaning the tube with 10 parts water and 1 part vinegar.

Tightening the wrappings around Lloyd’s ankle, Pixal studied her handiwork. The splint was holding up nicely against Lloyd’s leg, and all the infections on Lloyd’s legs were taken care of. Seeing as Zane is treating Lloyd well enough, P.I.X.A.L. immediately began to start diagnosing Lloyd’s burns before seeing blood flow from Lloyd’s back.

“Oh, dear.” In her hast, P.I.X.A.L. had forgotten to check Lloyd for injuries from behind. Maybe she wasn’t as professional as she thought. There was no other choice. Looking at Zane firmly, they pushed Lloyd onto his side as he gave a pained groan.

P.I.X.A.L.’s mechanical heart sank. Lloyd had a reason for sitting up without any support. There were several pieces of debris stuck to his back, and they were all pushed in due to them lying Lloyd on the desk. Nya looked up from her task in horror.

“I’m so sorry Lloyd, I didn’t know-“ “Nya, please focus on your task,” P.I.X.A.L. cut her off before she could begin crying. She felt bad, but what’s done was done. Blocking Lloyd from’s Nya’s view, P.I.X.A.L. picked up a pair of tweezers before picking up the small pieces. But the large piece of metal stuck in his shoulder blades- Pixal had to cut Lloyd’s skin to get that out. Eyes narrowing, hardening her resolve- P.I.X.A.L. lightly cut Lloyd’s skin using the scalpel before pulling up a long shard of bloodied glass. Picking up some of the unused water, P.I.X.A.L. quickly cleared Lloyd and the flat-surfaced of their blood. Applying pressure to those wounds would be hard from this angle, so after disinfecting the openings, P.I.X.A.L. took several rolls of bandages before tying them around Lloyd’s chest. Not too tightly, that would further bruise his ribs- but tight enough to ensure a sense of security and staunch the oozing bleeding.

“Zane, do you have an oxygen filter?” Nya asked, having been satisfied by the cleanliness of the tubing. Sanitising her metallic hands, P.I.X.AL. heard Zane sigh before declining.

“I do. Mr Borg wanted us to be at least a little environmentally friendly, given that the Nindroids would be using large amounts of energy every day. So I can filter out excess greenhouse gases in the air and store them in their solid form before giving the raw materials back to Borg Industries,” P.I.X.A.L. offered.

“You’re a lifesaver Pix,” Nya said in relief, handing P.I.X.A.L. the tubing. P.I.X.A.L. smiled. She supposed that she actually was. Opening Lloyd Garmadon’s mouth, P.I.X.A.L. inserted the tubing down his throat with NIndroid precision. Connecting the end to her oxygen filter, P.I.X.A.L. adjusted the settings so that she was inputting air composing of at least 60% oxygen into young Garmadon’s lungs.

As Zane finished applying some frost to Lloyd’s burns, the 3 of them stood there and watched as Lloyd breathed in and out.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’ll go find what the guys have been doing,” Nya informed their group. “I too will go into the village, but to ensure that we have permission to stay here for the night,” Zane stated, giving a nod to P.I.X.A.L., before walking away into the dusk, right hand locked and useless.

P.I.X.A.L., knowing that she can’t really move, sat next to Lloyd Garmadon as she watched the campfire grow as shrieks from the ninja team rose. At the end of today, all P.I.X.A.L. wanted to do was to just shut down and recharge. She knows she doesn’t need to know that she had half of Zane’s heart (which just skipped another beat for some unknown reason), but all she wants was a break.

Too bad that being a ninja means that you don’t really get to choose when to stop. P.I.X.A.L. thought to herself.

But at least today, I’ve proved my usefulness. I can repay Zane for his heart.

- Kai - Having been stuck alone, disassembled and scrapped, P.I.X.A.L. found that she really, really missed the Ninja team. She also missed Zane, though he was in a cell next to hers. He’s been offline for such a long time, P.I.X.A.L. had fears that he would never wake up.

But he did. And the ninja had rescued them from Chen. But along the way, they had lost Sensei Garmadon, and the year apart had caused some major issues.

Kai doesn’t know that they’re here. But he shouldn’t be here either after Zane had ordered that everyone go to rest after this long day. Still, the glint of red from his eyes even scared P.I.X.A.L., but she would never tell anyone that. She watched as Kai shredded the bandages he wrapped around his hands by destroying a metal training dummy, before turning around to wrap some more.

“Why is he doing that?” P.I.X.A.L. wondered from inside Zane’s head. Zane started whispering, “He… has some anger issues.”

“I get that Zane, I mean why’s he wrapping his hands in bandages?” P.I.X.A.L. corrected herself. Zane quirked an eyebrow but continued with answering P.I.X.A.L.’s questions. “Well, martial artists wear hand wraps and bandages because they can prevent injuries and improve the power of their punches. Wraps and bandages also protect the martial artist’s skin and soften the impact on hard surfaces.”

“I see,” P.I.X.A.L. stated whilst both of them cringed, as Kai delivered a particularly hard blow to the metallic dummy that Zane was supposed to fight with.

“KAI, PLEASE SHUT UP!” came Jay’s voice from down the corridor, moving closer towards them. Zane and P.I.X.A.L. watched in apprehension as Kai breathed heavily, staring down the metallic dummy before all the tension from his shoulders sagged.

The Nindroids watched as Kai cleaned up the training room and head out to use the bathroom to wash up.

“He’s being too hard on himself for the death of Lloyd’s father,” P.I.X.AL. commented blandly. Zane shifted from his position. “I’m afraid that that’s not the only reason. Do you remember Jay telling us that Kai had almost killed both Lloyd and Skylor using Chen’s staff?” P.I.X.A.L. stayed silent.

Bandages come in many ways. There are gauze bandages, treating all kinds of wounds the Ninja may have. There are bandages used to prevent injury in Martial Arts. What P.I.X.A.L. is wondering, is that if mankind has a bandage for the heart.

- Jay - It was only a few days after Master Wu had been lost in time. Whilst the Ninja team were recuperating and in shock, Pixal has been remotely using Samurai X to patrol the cities whilst maintaining in the current Ninja’s headquarters- the electronic system of Yang’s temple. P.I.X.AL. had really wanted to go full into Samurai X, but she knew that she could not just desert her teammates at this moment. But there wasn’t much she could do, other than counting reps for Lloyd. (You skipped a number, I know what you’re doing Pix, and I ain’t gonna stop training-) helping Jay prepare breakfast (Jay! The pancakes are burning!) or accompanying Zane as he retrieved bits and pieces from all the fighting. (Someone has to clean up Ninjago city, and I guess that that would be me and Samurai X.)

P.I.X.A.L. knew that she shouldn’t be keeping Samurai X a secret, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt a strange sense of duty, and the ability to finally be on the front lines, fighting the same enemies as Zane. And she wanted some secrets to herself.

Still, it surprised her when Jay had demanded her full attention during one of her free times.

“Hey, umm… Pix? Do you- do you think you could maybe check out my left eye?” Jay stammered whilst twiddling his fingers. Pixal was curious, but she’s already moved to Jay’s laptop. “Why do you ask so? Did your eye get hit sometime recently?”

Jay had flinched at the word ‘hit’, but shook his head at the word ‘recently’. Huh. Maybe it was phantom pains? Still, Pixal had run a diagnostic on it.

“I can’t seem to find any physical abnormalities, but if this is a case of phantom pain, over the counter pain relievers should work.”

Jay nodded whilst his eyes were blank seemingly off to another world or lost in his memories.

“Jay? Jay, can you hear me?” Pixal once again ran a diagnostic scan. It seems that Jay was slipping into dissociation. Dimming the lights in his room as well as all the screens the blue ninja had put into his room. Pixal started playing a calm Ninjago lofi mix from the speaker she was in. She gently called Jay’s name and he slipped back into reality.

“Jay, just take 2 doses of ibuprofen. They’re at the lowest shelf at the kitchen counter. If it hurts again, tell me and we’ll bring you to a professional.”

Jay who was nodding at the instructions froze at the thought of being taken to the hospital. Still, he slid off his bed and made his way downstairs. Pixal filtered through the electronic system of the temple, landing new the smart fridge and watched as Jay swallowed 2 pills dry.

It seemed to create some results because Jay stopped shivering and shaking. Pixal wondered if that was just a placebo or an actual effect. Still, watching Jay’s face relax in bliss, free from whatever pain that was bothering him, Pixal knew that she made the right call.

- Nya - S9, fight with SOG

It had been brutal. Pixal was just treating the training injuries Lloyd had when Skylor came into the noodle house, helping Nya to walk as her left arm dangled without any purpose. Immediately, Pixal stood up and took quick strides, scanning Nya for all her injuries.

“We were getting supplies when a bunch of Harumi’s goons jumped on us, we had to be quick so that none of them could call up for back up, when-“  “When- fuck, when this dude pulled out a fucking gun,” Nya said, pained and heaving as Skylor slowly helped her to sit on the training mat.

“So you were shot?” Lloyd’s voice came from behind Pixal as he took the medkit to the mat. Nya eyes looked everywhere but at him. Gesturing to her limp and bleeding arm, she gave up all her dignity. “Yeah, right here.”

“Okay, Nya, here, take these.” Lloyd handed her 2 tablets of ibuprofen and a cup of water. “W-what? No, I can’t take these!” Nya hissed in pain.

“Yes, you can!”  “What if we need them later? What if one of us loses an arm or something happens where we have a worse injury?” “That does not matter, Nya. Look, I’ve been shot in Ninjago city before, I know how it feels.”

Pixal immediately flashes back to the nights where she had to help Lloyd through a computer screen, and her metallic fingers curled up. It was horrible, watching him choking down painkillers before trying to pull the bullet out himself. Never again.

“Nya, it would be alright, just take these- we can always go out to get more,” Pixal tried coaxing Nya to just swallow the pills.

“Take them or I’ll force you to take them, Water Ninja.” Skylor admonished. With the combined strength of their motley crew of 3, Nya hesitantly reached for the medicine, almost choking as she had swallowed too much water at one go.

“Okay, good, now we just need to pull the bullet out,” Lloyd reached into the medkit, pulling out a pair of tweezers. Pixal watched as his hands, fatigued from all the trains, couldn’t stop shaking.

“Wait, Lloyd, let me see if the bullet should be removed at all.” Pixal interrupted, taking a more in-depth scan at Nya’s shoulder. In the meantime, Lloyd started to check through Skylor, who said that he was all clear except for a few knuckle bruises. Of course, Pixal would check on her later, but now she had to make sure that Nya would be alright.

“The bullet has missed your major arteries and it actually isn’t in too deep, possibly because of the protection offered by your suit-“ “Just tell me when you’re gonna remove it!” Nya snapped as her brow furrowed in anticipation.  “Well, let’s see… first, we need to remove the clothing around the area of the wound, which-“

“AHH!” Nya shrieked as Pixal twisted and pulled out the bullet without any warning. “Sorry Nya, sometimes fear of a thing could be greater than the actual danger that it poses,” Pixal explained as Nya stared at her with a look that could only scream betrayal.

Dropping the bullet to the ground, Pixal took up some disinfectant and sanitised the area around the entry wound. Nya hissed as Pixal gently presses a cotton gauze to stop the bleeding before finally applying some sort of disinfectant cream. She finished off the wound with a bandage around Nya’s arm, with extra padding using gauze at the point where the wound is at.

“Alright, so now you should not move this arm too much for the next few days, and in the next few weeks, you would not be able to raise it over your shoulder. But in a few months, you can use it again and in a year it would be pretty much healed up so that you may do your weight lifting sessions with- with Cole again…” Pixal said, starting brightly but dropping to a small whisper.

The mood suddenly went from cheery to depressive. “Remember to take lots of rest,” Pixal finished lamely. As Lloyd escorted Nya to the sleeping bags they had gathered, Skylor picked up the bullet Pixal had removed.

“Girl, you were quite mean back there,” Skylor began. “And I think that you’re cool. One problem- the pharmacies have not been able to continue business as normal. All the drugs have to be given to the Sons of Garmadon. In the meantime, all supply chains are disrupted. Over the counter medicine won’t be so easy to find. “

Pixal kept quiet. “Well, I’ll have to keep this bullet as a souvenir for Nya. FSM knows that she deserves this.”

Of course, the bullet would be lost later as they were hunted down throughout the city. But every time Nya changed into her swimsuit, Pixal could see the bullet wound. The scarring left wasn’t pretty, but Pixal thought that the courage Nya showed made her the most beautiful woman she’ll ever have the chance to meet.

- Cole-  Cole was alive. Cole was alive!

Pixal watched as the Ninja went into a momentary stop before cheering and becoming more alive. She saw Nya pass the Scythe of Earth to Cole, who promptly swung it into the oncoming Oni. Pixal was trying her best to fend off the Oni herself, but her mind, or rather, motherboard, was spinning really, really fast. How did Cole survive? It should have been impossible!

Pixal heard that Cole justify his survival, stating that the Oni clouds must have broken his fall. He didn’t know how he wasn’t attacked at first, but many tendrils then came to attack him.

Still, this was impossible for Pixal to figure out. Was it because Cole had been a ghost? Maybe it was his elemental power protecting him? Or perhaps it was divine intervention? Either way, Pixal was going o scan him later if there was even a later.

“Watch out!” Pixal saw a blast of green hit the Oni in front of her. I can’t afford to get lost in thought now! Come on Samurai X, focus! She chided to herself.

Yet, as the battle once again turned tides, and the elemental masters got together to do the Tornado of Creation, Pixal watched from her position behind the holding doors to see Lloyd Garmadon get thrown out of the tornado, hitting his head with an earth-shattering crack as he collapsed against the walls of the monastery before debris-covered him.

Frantically approaching him, Pixal saw out of the corner of her eye that the rest of the ninja were left dizzy, exhausted, and possibly some having passed out. That was alright. It was time for her to do her duty anyways.

However, whilst lifting slabs of concrete, Pixal felt her heart drop. The calculated survival rate of the impact sent shivers down Pixal’s circuits as the percentage just kept. Dropping. Lower.

Heaving the last piece of concrete off the young bearer of green power, Pixal heard her teammates rushing into the scene. She could have warned them, said something, said anything. But her joints were frozen in place with something much colder than what her sensors had detected when she went into the Oni cloud.

The motley crew, now only 5, took the last piece of debris off from their teammate.

“Lloyd. Buddy, wake up,” Kai pleaded, desperate.  “He-He's not moving!” Nya exclaimed, voice shaking as tears start to form. She looked at Pixal, asking for anything, anything at all.  “Someone find Wu. Where’s Wu?” Cole ordered.

In no time, Master Wu arrived and lifted Lloyd’s arm, checking his pulse. He would find nothing there.

“You can do something, right? Right?!” Jay panicked.  With a defeated look that Pixal knows is mirrored in her eyes, Wu shook his head and said, “There’s nothing to be done.”  Nya finally cries out, sobbing. “Oh, Lloyd!”

PIxal wanted to cry as well, but she never could. When rebuilding her body, she had used the same blueprints that Cyrus Borg had with some upgrades. One thing she didn’t consider adding was the ability to cry because there wasn’t any time. She had to save Lloyd from the vermillion. But what she can’t save Lloyd from, was from an early- early- d… fate.

There’s nothing Pixal could do. And she felt hopeless.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Garmadon backed away from their small group, and in a flash, she felt her wires burning. She couldn’t just let him leave. Not after what he’s done.

Yet, just as she was about to boost straight towards the Oni and tackle him off the mountain, Lloyd started to cough. Lloyd. Started to cough.

Whipping around to see a golden petal float away, she watched the team cheer as Lloyd started to breathe. How- this was impossible!  Pixal almost short-circuited from shock. There had been no way! No way! She didn’t even go through all 5 stages of grief yet.

And not too soon, Lloyd woke up from a sleep that she was sure that he never would.

Catching him mumbling something about the First Spinjitzu Master, Pixal smiled. Divine intervention had definitely happened at least once today. The first time being….

“Cole, please come with me to the med bay,” Pixal requested with a smile. Divine intervention or not, five-sixths of the Ninja team knows how to hide a serious injury, and she had to be certain. Cole, who looked shopped, resigned himself and walked with Pixal o the medical centre. For now, she trusted that Zane was doing all the scans that he could to make sure that Lloyd was right in the head, and sought out to take care of her own, albeit selfish, worries.

Scanning Cole on both sides, Pixal noticed a particular bad bruise on Cole’s spine. Yet falling from that height and the fact that Cole isn’t paralysed due to spinal injury made Pixal reaffirm her theories that the First Spinjitsu Master was alive, just in another realm.

“You know, Lloyd might have actually seen the First Spinjitsu Master,” Pixal began, which led Cole to choke on the water he was ordered to drink. “No way, he must have just hit his head hard…”

“I’m sorry Cole, but the injuries you have is comparable to sleeping on a rock hard bed for one night, not falling from a height of 500m, even if your fall was broken by the Oni cloud, you should still have been paralysed,” Pixal explained.

“So God is real and Lloyd’s sharing a fourth of his blood? Neat! Next time tell him to not scare us with a fake-out,” Cole brushed it off.

At this time Pixal was about the shutdown and delve deep into theorising. Lloyd technically had a fourth of his grandfather’s blood and possessed the same power, could he possible have powers that control life and death-

Yet, she watched as a steady stream of Ninja enter the medbay, and resolved her thoughts to her inner GPU. She can think later. For now, she had to make sure that everyone is okay, and everyone will be okay. Even if she threatens Loyd to shave his head so she can get a better look at his skull, to which a chase around the monastery ensued. Her family was alright for now, and the concerning mortality of humans was left deep in the recesses of her mind.

- Zane - Too soon, Pixal had to face her own mortality. Being a Nindroid, her lifespan would naturally be much longer than a Ninja’s. But she still could be erased, dismantled, destroyed, sent to another realm-

The days waiting for the group of 6, not 5, to come back were some of the hardest. Even though all Pixal wanted to do was to shut down, lie on her bed and stare into the picture they had taken on their first date, Pixal knew that the team was entrusting her to keep Ninjago safe. Even if it means recapturing escaped convicts. Even if it means fighting the… undead-dead Preeminent (Pixal still hasn’t figured out how she worked). And they had to find ways to reach the Never Realm, by going through different infusions of travellers tea.

Yet, all the waiting and longing was worth it. Pixal prefers a Zane stuck in another realm for 40 years as to no Zane. There was no other choice. Yet, as she sees her loved ones trudging out of the frosty realm, some of them had worst frost bites than others. Even though all Pixal wanted to do was to smother Zane in a hug, she can see the edges of Lloyd’s skin turning a deep, dark black. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Nya taking care of Cole whilst Jay and Kai attempt to remove the ice from everyone else, including lubricating Zane’s frosted joins. She had not a single moment to lose. This kind of frostbite was not exactly lethal immediately, but losing limbs could mean the end of Lloyd’s ninja career. So calling everyone to attention, she went all in to salvaging Lloyd’s limbs, doing everything she could.

Later that night, Pixal spotted Zane wandering around the outskirts of the monastery whilst the Ninja finish up dinner. She watched as Zane’s hands gripped the staff so tight that the wood would be snapping in 3…2…1.

A harsh crack and splinters flying out later, Pixal could see the shaking in Zane’s hands as he cursed, something that the Zane she knew never would.

For her, it had been a hellish week. But for Zane? It must have been a hellish 40 years.

“…Zane?” Pixal called out from the monastery doors. Zane immediately whipped around before pointing the tip of the staff towards her, to which Pixal reflectively grabbed. Zane, eyes widening in shock and horror, immediately released his grip on the now shorter staff, before turning around, trying to run away. Pixal won’t let that happen.

“Zane,” Pixal said once again, hand now gripping onto the collar of Zane’s Gi. “Please don’t run away from me.”

Zane, froze, hands twitching before dropping them to his side. Pixal released her grip before tapping Zane on the shoulder, asking him to turn around.

“Pixal, I’m- I’m sorry…I just can’t- I can’t trust myself right now,” Zane vented out hands fidgeting with each other. Pixal smiled sadly. She knew that not everything could go back to normal so fast, but still, she had hoped that it would have been easier than this. “If you don’t trust yourself right now, why not spend some time with me?”

“Pixal- I…I could hurt you-“  “Yes you can, but don’t think that I can’t protect myself,” Pixal snapped back whilst carefully reaching to hold Zane’s hands. Once she made contact, Zane flinched back, before slowly reciprocating the action. “C’mon Zane, let’s go back into the monastery-“

“No!” Zane protested, wrenching Pixal back. Pixal clasped her other hand on top of Zane’s. “Not to the dining room. I’m thinking med bay.”

Pixal could see Zane’s processing unit cycle through his thoughts, noticing that it had considerable frost damage. Before long, Zane nodded his head, allowing Pixal to pull him into the light.

Opening the cupboards, Pixal took out a few rolls of bandages before carefully wrapping them around Zane’s hands. The ice ninja watched with curiosity as Pixal carefully finished tying and tightening the strips of cloth.

“Why are you doing this? You and I both know that Nindroids don’t need bandages,” Zane asked. Pixal smiled, looking at Zane’s now steadier hands. “Maybe bandages can’t fix our metal skin, but it still makes us feel better.”

Zane paused, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know how you’re right PIx, but they do make me feel more sure that my powers won’t hurt anyone accidentally. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now let’s get back to dinner, we have some desserts to bring out.”

Bandages. As much as PIxal uses them and finds them efficient, she can’t help but hope that team doesn’t need to use as many. But this time, t’s just a trip to a legendary city full of peace and prosperity. Maybe this time, Pixal doesn’t need to bandage their wounds away.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstein II

Prompt: Thinks about Logan breaking his clean streak on self-harm

Thank you for the prompt, babe! I’m a massive nerd so here you go!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Self-harm, self-doubt (kinda), our boi Logan not having a good time. Please be careful guys I messed myself up writing and editing this so PLEASE PLEASE be careful

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 6908

Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem: For any consistent formal system, there will always be statements that are true, but that are unprovable within the system. The second incompleteness theorem, an extension of the first, shows that the system cannot demonstrate its own consistency.

Wittgenstein II: For a large class of cases of the employment of the word ‘meaning’—though not for all—this word can be explained in this way: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

*       *       *

Despite what you think it is, it’s not a cry for help. It’s not a desperate attempt at anything. It’s not out of control.

It’s just an option.

Logan is Logic. That is his job, that is what he does, that is what the others rely on him to be. Thus, he is not an accurate facsimile of a human person. He does not experience certain things that a human does, and as such, he should not be held to the same standards and expectations as a human, as he is not one.

He is not a human. He should not be treated as such.

Logan is Logic and thus he must be. He has work to do. Anything that risks interfering with the work must be avoided at all costs. Thomas relies on him to sort through the noise and arrive at the clear, simple, clean solution. Oh, yes, those solutions might not always be as clean or clear as perhaps everyone would like, but it is Logan’s job to ensure that they are as close to that projected ideal as possible. Even if they all acknowledge that such an ideal is impossible to truly achieve, that does not render it irrelevant for use.

An unfortunate side effect of being a metaphysical humanoid is that there are certain things projected onto him that have no strong basis. It is one of the many unfortunate aspects of living in a world that is so—sometimes frustratingly—anthropocentric. The inability to extricate the human bias from any given set of observations is an issue that has plagued many disciplines for centuries, from science to philosophy. Because of the influence of sensory perception on any piece of information, there will always be things that are either assumed that should not be, or things that are taken for granted when they must be considered. There will always be things that humans cannot prove. It is impossible to prove certain things within a given set while existing within the set.

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem.

Logan is not human, and yet he is assumed to bear more similarities to a human than he truly possesses because Thomas is human. Thomas perceives him in a specific way that is in direct opposition to the function that Logan needs to fulfill in order to be useful to Thomas.

Thomas, as a human, assumes that Logan possesses human traits such as emotion, irrationality, and the inability to behave logically separate from the two aforementioned traits.

Thomas, as a human, requires Logan to be a being of pure Logic, in order to assist in scenarios that arise from the three aforementioned traits.

Logan is what Thomas requires him to be, but he cannot exist as something that Thomas does not see.

There is a small grey area in which Logan can therefore find a solution. Thomas has an abstract awareness of the existence of Logan, but he is not directly interacting or seeing Logan when Logan is not actively working with Thomas or talking with him face to face. If Logan is not being seen at that particular moment, the bounds of his existence are allowed to modify themselves in order to be the most productive. The meaning of the word is its use in the language.

Wittgenstein II.

Logan requires himself to be a being of Logic, and thus when he is not directly seen by Thomas, he must strive as close as he can to that point in order to be the most useful. If he can perform the logic and derive the solution before Thomas sees him again, then the fact that he will once again be altered is inconsequential. All he must do is remember.

Of course, the process of getting as close to that ideal as possible is difficult. Particularly when the switch must occur directly after filming. The process is not typically one that allows for the human traits Logan bears to be kept aside. No; between Roman’s stubbornness, Patton’s exclamations, and Virgil’s interjections, the three of them combined with Thomas’s inability to keep control of them for more than approximately ten seconds ensures that Logan’s capacity to control his emotions is a moot point.

The good news is he has learned how to curtail these emotional outbursts to exclamations of excitement over Thomas’s choice to pursue something or slight judgment towards the attitude the others possess. Or sass.

Mostly sass.

And it is not as if he never allows himself to retain the more human traits when he is away from Thomas. Socializing with the others is an important aspect of his existence. If they are all to work together for Thomas’s betterment, isolation would be counterproductive. And to say that their presence was merely an obligation or necessity would be a falsehood. When he has the capacity to enjoy things, he most certainly enjoys spending time with them. And when the emotions are simpler to handle—contentment, for example, or fondness, derivatives of happiness—they are simpler to put aside when he must work.

When they are not, the process is not nearly as…clean.

Frustration. Anger. Confusion. Other derivatives of sadness. These ones are troublesome. Mainly because they do not remain static—their meanings change as often as Logan looks to see what they are. They do not always stay the same word. They switch and flip and it is quite vexing. Which, of course, only serves to exacerbate the issue. The only commonality is that they all produce and/or derive from a sense of hurt.

Therein lies the solution.

There is a—quite clever, if Logan has to admit—loophole that Logan has devised in order to get to work. Emotional pain is something that he does not—can not—understand within himself. Physical pain, on the other hand, is a survival mechanism. Processing physical pain is much simpler, more distanced, and much easier to put aside than the complicated human emotional pain.

A loophole.

One that Logan has jumped through over

and over

and over again.

Just as Logan can adjust himself based on the meaning of ‘see,’ so too can he adjust what it means to feel ‘pain.’

The loophole works, and thus it is true.

Logic.

Of course, Logan is aware that this particular loophole is not one that would be approved by many people, let alone the other Sides. They, however, can afford to retain the emotional human traits that enable them to perceive it that way.

Hurting them would be…counterproductive.

But if they do not see it…

“What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

That is not the same thing. They have no risk of feeling the same type of pain. Nor will Logan take any measure that will endanger anyone other than himself.

Not that this is endangering himself.

It is simple. Logan needs to work. This allows him to work. There is no risk posed to anyone else, including Thomas.

Therefore it is true.

And it’s not as though Logan does this often. It’s not every day, it’s not even every other day. And it’s not much. Never that much.

Just…a quick one, two, three, four, five.

Then he can go to work.

The pain fades, as it always does, and his mind is clear, ready to be filled with the logic of what needs to be done and the quiet assurance that whatever it is will be untainted by human emotion.  Occasionally the loophole will not stay open as long as he requires, but that is easy enough to remedy.

The others do not notice—and if they have, though he doubts it, they have never let on—and as such he makes an effort to conceal the loophole to the furthest extent he can. After all, it would not be ideal for the loophole to close, preventing him from using it to work.

It’s always small. It’s always hidden. It’s always private.

And if it isn’t executed as…precisely as he anticipates, well.

The others have never question why he keeps the first aid kit in his room.

There is a brief moment, early on when they are figuring out the dynamic between the four of them, that there is a name put to the loophole that gives Logan pause.

Fortunately, it was not him they were paying attention to.

“Virgil,” Patton says quietly, sitting next to the shaking Virgil on the couch, “can you take a deep breath for me?”

Virgil shudders. Roman makes eye contact with Logan as he comes down the stairs and quickly moves them to the kitchen.

“Is everything alright?” Logan asks as they move past the counter.

“Yeah, Specs, I think so,” Roman mutters, glancing over his shoulder, “I think it’s just a panic attack.”

“‘Just,’” Logan murmurs, “does this—has this been happening more often?”

“I think so, but I haven’t—we—“

“We have not been around Virgil long enough to ascertain a pattern.” Logan glances over to Patton, still mumbling softly to Virgil. He catches his eyes and shakes his head minutely. “What do we do afterward? Do we need to grab some food, water, anything?”

“Can you go get his headphones?”

“Are they in his room?”

“…I would presume so.”

Logan sighs. “I don’t want to violate Virgil’s trust by entering his room while he’s not there.”

“I’ll just go stick my head in.”

Roman vanishes and Logan turns, purposely paying attention to his hands on the glass, on the tap, on the counter, not looking over to the living room. When Roman reappears with the headphones and a quiet ‘they were on the doorknob,’ he risks a glance back over his shoulder.

Virgil’s leaning fully into Patton’s arms now, Patton murmuring softly into his ear. His breathing seems to have slowed considerably. Patton glances up again and nods.

“That’s us,” Roman murmurs, taking the headphones as Logan grabs the glass of water and walking over to the couch.

“Hey, Stormcloud.” He sets the headphones on the couch behind Virgil and carefully takes his hand. “You doing a little better?”

“Mm.” Virgil rubs his cheek against Patton’s shirt. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Logan assures, setting the glass of water down on the coffee table. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Virgil shifts in Patton’s arms. “It’s annoying.”

“What is,” Logan asks, “taking care of you? Of course it isn’t.”

“Logan’s right, as usual,” Roman adds with a wink.

“You’re alright, kiddo.” Patton plants a kiss on his forehead. “And you’ll never be annoying to take care of.”

“…never?”

“Never.”

“Here,” Logan says when Virgil still looks unsure, “why don’t you name everything that you think will be annoying, and we’ll tell you how it won’t be?”

“Oh, great idea, Specs.”

“…panic attacks?”

“Not at all, kiddo.”

“Insomnia?”

“You know my sleep schedule’s as off as yours,” Roman says, “what with time in the Imagination being different.”

“Nightmares?”

“Dreams are difficult,” Logan says, “even when you are awake.”

“Self-harm?”

“Never,” Patton says, Roman not far behind. Logan, however…

Logan sits quietly for a moment. He is, of course, familiar with the term, however, it is not one he’s heard in…

A while.

He offers his assurances that of course, he would be more than happy to help Virgil with any issue he may have, including self-harm, but the conversation lingers in his mind long after Virgil giggles at Roman’s antics and falls asleep on Patton’s lap. And certainly long after everyone has bid each other goodnight and Logan has retreated to his room.

Perhaps…

No. Logan is not human, and thus he cannot be held to the same standards and definitions. If this self-h—if this loophole is required in order for him to function, then it is not the same thing.

If he thinks he hears a soft hiss in the darkness as that conclusion crosses his mind, he dismisses it quickly.

…it still may be best to…attempt to refrain from using the loophole.

The loophole has not been necessary for a long time. Whether it is because Logan has gotten adept at reaching his necessary headspace without it, or there has not been sufficient ‘pain’ for the loophole to be required, there sits a shelf in his bathroom that has remained untouched for a significant period of time.

Surprisingly enough, this is one of the only things for which Logan’s impeccable sense of time does not seem to work. Neither does the possibility cross his mind that the two could be related.

Regardless, it is something of a shock when he reaches up to grab something and his fingers find the wrong shelf.

He pulls his hand back quickly, surprised to see the dull shine of blood on his finger. He glances back up.

Ah. Yes.

Well, it is always good to be aware of one’s options.

He turns the water on and runs his finger under the tap, watching the red dilute and fade, feeling the sharp little sting as the water hits the cut. After a few moments, when the water runs clear, he removes his finger and goes to dry it off when he puts pressure on the cut again.

His fingers part and there it is again. Dull, wet, and a little shiny.

He squeezes.

The blood fills the cut again.

He runs it under the tap.

Clean.

There is something strangely satisfying, he has discovered, about watching simple repetitive things. Watching the waves go out and roll back in. Watching the soft tick, tick, tick of a metronome hand going back and forth. Watching the gentle breathing of a sleeping animal.

Squeeze. Blood. Wash. Clean. Squeeze, blood, wash, clean. Squeeze blood wash clean. Squeezebloodwashclean.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door.

“Logan? You in there?”

Logan blinks. “Yes, I’m in here.”

“You coming down for dinner?”

“Yes, I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Great.”

Virgil’s footsteps trail away as Logan washes his hands. He turns off the bathroom light and locks his door behind him.

“Oh, Logan!” Patton reaches for his hand when he passes the plate back. “You’re bleeding! What happened?”

“Simply an accident,” Logan says smoothly, brushing Patton’s concerned look aside in favor of a smile, “I reached for the wrong thing in the bathroom.”

“Oh, well, alright.” Patton gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Just be careful, alright?”

“Always.”

Janus gives him a strange look but says nothing.

Life is…good.

Thomas has been paying more attention to them recently. All of them. Virgil is talking more, Patton is explaining things, Remus is being listened to, Janus is being included, Roman is being cared for…and Logan is being seen.

It’s good. Things are…good.

And something niggles in the back of Logan’s mind, even as he smiles, talks, is with the others.

Something that tells him he has to work.

He tries. He honestly does.

He talks with the others, and they help, truly, but there are some things they cannot give him. And he cannot help them the way he needs to if he isn’t working himself.

He cannot help Patton if he is not distanced enough from the emotional turmoil.

He cannot help Virgil if he is not able to embody the logical reassurance.

He cannot help Roman if he does not offer firm, rigid guidelines.

He cannot help Remus if he is not able to critically examine his ideas.

He cannot help Janus if he can’t think.

He cannot help Thomas if he continues to be like this.

And the knowledge that he can’t help…hurts.

Well. He knows what to do.

He stands up from their dinner one evening and accepts the hug Patton gives him. Even as Patton’s arms curl around his waist, the contradictions in his head make his eyes close. It is warm but it shouldn’t be. It is safe but it shouldn’t be.

It feels good but it shouldn’t.

That’s not what Logan is for.

Roman offers him a hug too but he declines, saying he has some work to take care of. Roman pouts.

“But I haven’t had a chance to see you lately,” he says quietly, reaching out to lay a burning hand—it’s not burning, it shouldn’t feel like it’s burning, this is wrong—on Logan’s arm, “won’t you come on a walk with me? We can go to the garden you like, I’ll see if I can have the herb section all ready, too.”

It shouldn’t feel like Roman’s smile is melting Logan. It shouldn’t feel like Roman’s hand is holding him together. It shouldn’t feel like this.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Logan’s mouth says, “perhaps tomorrow?”

“That’s a promise.”

Roman lets him go and turns to Patton. Logan moves to leave but finds his way blocked by Virgil.

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“I did that on purpose, L, don’t worry.”

“May I ask why?”

Virgil shrugs. “Wanted to talk to you.”

It shouldn’t feel like the hairs on Logan’s neck are rising. It shouldn’t feel like his chest is getting hot. It shouldn’t feel like this.

“About…?”

He shrugs again. “Haven’t had a chance to see you a lot.”

“I can assure you that I have been present,” Logan says, “and I can distinctly remember spending time with you over the last three and a half weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I just—“ Virgil scuffs his shoe along the carpet— “just feel like I haven’t seen you.”

Logan blinks. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Just—never mind.” Virgil waves him off. “Good luck with your work tonight.”

“Thank…you…”

Logan starts up the stairs. He gets to his room, unlocks the door, and steps inside.

It shouldn’t feel like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel like that weight resettles onto his chest.

It shouldn’t feel like his hands are tingling.

Logan bites back a curse and goes to the bathroom.

It’s gone too far. He—he can’t make it to his work headspace on his own. They’re too loud. There are too many of them. He can’t focus. He has to stop this. He has to remove himself from this set.

He can’t fail Thomas like this.

No one can see him.

He has to change what it means to feel pain.

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstien II.

Logan takes a deep, slow breath.

In.

Out.

He knows how to do this.

Get to the bathroom, close the door. Now there are more walls between him and everyone else.

Turn on the shower. It’ll be easier to clean up.

Put the blade right next to the razor. If necessary, blame the razor.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Always in the same place.

Ignore the other scars.

Pull the skin taut.

Make it precise.

Step a little more out of the water.

Remain in control.

Don’t grip the blade so hard it trembles.

Where no one can see.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In…

Out…

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

In.

Out.

Now the other side.

Reach over.

Step so the water doesn’t run over either thigh.

Ignore the blood running down the other leg.

Pull the skin taut.

Make it symmetrical.

Adjust the grip on the blade.

Don’t bite the lip until it bleeds either.

Ignore the shine on the blade.

If the lines aren’t right they will have to be fixed to match.

Don’t be sloppy.

Do this right.

In.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Logan leans his head back and closes his eyes. The blade is set down onto the smooth side of the shower. Water runs over his hair, down his back. The temperature is warm.

The water beats down over his head, his neck, his shoulders, his back. Unbidden, his shoulders relax and slump, his head bowing forward under the guidance of the water.

He cups his arms over his chest and turns. The water pools in the cavity of his arms, overflowing until it laps gently as his collarbones and down the creases of his elbows, landing with soft smacks on the shower floor. He watches it land, watches the little ripples and distortions from the falling water refract little artifacts of light onto his arms through the surface. Watches the water slowly start to run a faint red as he lets the water begin to run down his legs.

It hurts.

It stings and sticks and it isn’t clean, not by any means. It hurts and it feels and it’s the perfect loophole for Logan to jump through.

Now, if he closes his eyes, he should see—

Roman’s soft voice asking if he wants to go on a walk.

Patton’s hug, wrapping him up perfectly.

Virgil’s quiet remark that he hasn’t seen Logan recently.

No.

No, no, no!

Logan’s eyes fly open and he looks down. He—this should’ve worked. He jumped, he jumped, he used the loophole, this should be—

The blood is gone. It’s all gone. The tile isn’t stained, the water isn’t stained, everything is clean. But it—it hasn’t worked, did he—

The cuts are uneven. They’re too short on one side, too tilted on the other. They’re too faint. They’ve already stopped bleeding. They already blend in with the other scars.

No!

No, no, no, he has to—

This has to work.

He has to work.

Okay, okay he can do it—do it again. Do it properly.

Grab the blade.

Don’t worry about the grip.

One,

Two,

Three,

Four,

Five,

Six.

Okay. Now to the other side.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six.

Patton’s laugh. Roman’s touch. Virgil’s gaze.

One two three four five six seven.

One two three four five six seven.

No, no, no, no, why isn’t this working? This should be working, he shouldn’t be feeling this anymore, has he—has he forgotten how to do it right?

It’s been too long, he doesn’t remember, this isn’t how this is supposed to work, the loophole should’ve stayed open, he needs it to stay open, he has to—he has to work, he isn’t useful if he can’t work!

Don’t worry about the numbers.

Overload the system.

Drown it out.

Drown it out.

Ignore the dull red shine all over the tile, the blade, the legs, the fingers.

Drown it out.

Make it stop, make everything go away.

Ignore the sting, if the feeling is still there it hasn’t worked.

Drown it out.

Drown it out.

Ignore the knocking on the door, it’s not there.

Drown it out, drown it out.

“Logan?”

“Logan, are you in there?”

Drown it out drown it out.

“Logan! Logan!”

“Logan I swear I’m gonna break your door down!”

Drown it out drown it out

“Logan! Logan, can you hear us?”

“Damnit, Logan, answer!”

Drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitout

drown

it

out

…

Logan blinks.

The shower is covered in a dull, red, wet, shine.

His thighs burn.

His hands carefully set the blade down on the tiled edge.

The water runs over him, running and running and running.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, it runs from red to pink to clear.

Logan stands and shuts off the water.

The towel is black.

He dries.

He dresses.

His clothes are black.

His hair is wet.

He puts his glasses on.

Mutterings are coming from the other side of his door when he exits the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He tilts his head.

“I don’t know what’s going on!”

“He seemed alright at dinner, what’s—“

“He was not alright at dinner, in fact I don’t know how long it’s been since he’s been alright—“

“I swear to unholy fuck I’m gonna break this fucking door down.”

“Please do not break my door down,” Logan says.

The voices stop.

“…Logan? Logan, is that you?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh thank god—“

“Are you alright?”

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“If you don’t open this fucking door—“

“Alright, alright, I’ll open the door, one moment.”

Logan opens the door and takes a step aside as the others spill into his room, Patton and Roman looking around, Virgil taking up residence on the desk. Remus walks in slowly, followed by Janus. Janus shuts the door and stares at Logan.

“Why didn’t you answer at first,” Patton asks quickly, “we were worried, did you—where were you?”

Logan indicates his wet hair. “In the shower, I’m afraid. It is both quite difficult and quite…impractical to come to the door while occupied.”

“Oh…okay.”

He adjusts his glasses. “May I ask why you were all outside my door to begin with? It has only been…a little while since I’ve last seen you.”

“A little while,” Janus muses, still staring at Logan. “How long exactly?”

Logan tilts his head, eying the clock over Janus’s shoulder. “Thirty-five minutes and forty-six seconds.”

“And why would you need to look at the clock?”

“…surely all of you are no stranger to losing track of time in the shower.”

He gets a round of vague agreements from Virgil, Patton, and Roman. Remus remains silent, prowling around the room.

“We are not,” Janus murmurs, “but you…”

Logan swallows. “You have not answered my question.”

“We,” Patton says, gesturing to himself and to Roman, “followed Virgil.”

Virgil hunkers on Logan’s desk. “I came because I heard Remus and Janus shouting.”

“…and why were you shouting?”

Janus just stares at him.

Logan’s throat begins to run dry.

“…Janus?”

“I believe you know the answer, Logan.”

He swallows. “You must be mistaken.”

“Please,” Janus says, almost too quiet for the others to hear, “don’t make me do this.”

Logan swallows heavily.

“Do what?”

Something flickers across Janus’s face as he looks at Logan.

He looks at Remus.

He nods.

No.

No, no no.

Logan was so careful.

He can’t—

Remus reels back and kicks Logan’s bathroom door open.

“Remus!”

Remus pays Patton no mind, striding in and away from Logan, even as Roman rushes after him.

Logan is frozen.

“Remus, what’re you—hey!” Roman makes an indignant noise as Remus shoves him back out through the door. “Remus!”

Logan can feel Janus’s eyes on him as he scans Remus’s hands. He’s not holding it. Did he—did he miss it? Is something—

He knows when his gaze flicks up to catch Remus’s that he’s been well and truly caught.

“You do know what my job is,” Remus hisses, “don’t you?”

Logan raises his chin. “And you know what mine is.”

“If you think that even begins to explain this—“

“Explain what?” Roman looks frantically back and forth between the three of them. “What the hell is going on here?”

No.

No, no, no, no, no, Logan was so—he was—he’s been—it can’t—why didn’t it just work? He could’ve been fine, this would’ve worked, he could’ve worked, he wasn’t—how did they see?

“Logan?”

“Logan, look at me.”

“Lo, you’re panicking—“

“Way to go, you two, look what you’ve done.”

“We’re trying to help him!”

“You’ve messed up a perfectly good Logan, that’s what you did. Look at him, he’s having a panic attack!”

“Logan,” comes a soft voice in front of him, blocking out the others into a distant murmur, “Logan, look at me.”

Logan blinks.

Remus’s face swims into view, concerned. He reaches out to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“You’re panicking, Lolo,” he says quietly, “you gotta calm down.”

“I’m not panicking,” Logan tries to say, only his throat won’t work.

“Why are you doing this,” he tries again, but nothing’s happening.

“What’s happening to me,” he tries desperately, only for nothing, nothing to work.

It isn’t until Remus’s thumbs come away damp that he realizes he’s crying.

“Lo—a little help here!”

“Logan!”

Logan collapses into Remus, who quickly wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him into a seated position, cradling the limp form in his lap. Roman, who rushed forward when Remus cried out, pulls him closer, laying his legs across his lap, not caring that his trousers started to soak.

“Easy there, Specs,” Roman hushes, hand drawing little patterns on Logan’s damp knee, “shh, shh, you’re okay.”

Then he looks down.

Logan can pinpoint the moment Roman sees the patterns of wetness through his jeans.

Roman’s eyes widen.

“Oh, Logan…”

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Janus turn toward Patton and Virgil. He can’t move. He can’t—it hurts, it hurts—

“Oh, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs, cupping the backs of Logan’s legs, “oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck!”

“Oh my gosh—“

“Logan—“

“Oh, kiddo—“

Oh. Virgil and Patton are here now. Great. Is it great? What is—how does this—Logan hurts.

Janus crouches down by his face, gently cupping his cheek and leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

“Come on, sweetie,” he whispers, “I know it hurts, but you have to breathe.”

Is he—has he been quiet this whole time?

“At the very least you’ve got to breathe. In an out, come on.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

No…

That didn’t work last time…it didn’t work…it didn’t…

“…didn’t work,” Logan mumbles, “it didn’t work.”

“We’re not trying that, sweetie,” Janus says easily, “we’re trying something else. I still need you to breathe for me.”

Logan breathes.

“Shh, shh, there you go, just like that…” Someone rubs his knee gently. “Just like that.”

They’re all here. They can all see. They can—does that mean Thomas can see? IS that why Logan—is that why it’s been so hard?

“None of that now, sweetie,” Janus chides, lightly chucking Logan under the chin, “stay here, stay with me…no drifting off just yet.”

They’re all here.

Virgil frowns. Then he glances at Patton. “Pat, let’s go get L something to drink.”

“But—I—“

“It’s too much for him, Pat,” Virgil says softly, “with all of us here, he’s getting overwhelmed. Let’s go and then we’ll come back, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

As they leave, Roman shifts to let them by, and the fabric rubs right over the cuts, making Logan hiss through his teeth. Even though it’s quickly shushed by Janus, he doesn’t miss Roman’s wince.

“Yeah, denim over the fresh ones is rough, isn’t it?”

Logan goes absolutely still.

Judging by the way Remus growls and Janus turns, that’s news to them too.

Roman just looks at them all and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, please. It’s not all long sleeves and pants all summer for no reason.”

“R-Roman, you—you—?”

“Yeah, Specs,” Roman murmurs when Logan can’t find his words, “me too.”

“Oh, we are not done with this conversation,” Remus mutters, softening slightly as he turns his attention back to Logan, “but c’mon, Lolo, you gotta—you gotta believe we’re as shocked about you, too.”

“But—“ Logan stammers— “but you—Roman you—you’re—“

“What, Logan,” Roman prompts gently, “what am I?”

“You’re—you can feel, and—and—“

“I can feel, Specs, that’s true.” A rueful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m sure that the…idea that it’s not always ideal isn’t that foreign to you, huh?”

“But you have to feel to work, I—I can’t, the loophole—“

“What loophole,” Remus asks sharply, “Logan, what are you talking about?”

“I—“

Janus cups his head again, easing himself down, mindful of Logan’s legs. “Why don’t you explain that to us, sweetie,” he says softly, “help us understand?”

“You—I—“ Logan tries to breathe. “I…I have to be useful. I have to—I have to be Logic. You—you all…Thomas needs Logic.”

“So...?”

“So I—Thomas still sees us as people, or—or at least Sides of people which means he end—endows us with certain human traits and—and qualities.”

Janus nods.

“I can’t—in order to be useful I can’t feel, I have to be Logic.” Logan swallows. “But if Thomas can see me then I have to be what he sees.”

He swallows again.

“So if I take myself out, then I can—then I can be Logic.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean you aren’t what Thomas thinks you are anymore,” Roman asks gently, “so you…aren’t you still in the…aren’t you still in?”

“The meaning of words is dependent—“ Logan swallows— “dependent on the context, so if I can change the—the context then I can take myself—myself out.”

Roman squints. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Oh, Logan,” Janus murmurs, “are you telling us that you’ve determined that this is the correct course of action through logical principles?”

“Excuse me he’s done what?”

“You cannot prove certain things about a set while using the language of the set,” Janus says softly, his gaze locked on Logan’s, “and the meaning of a word is dependent on its use within the language. Does that sound familiar?”

Logan nods. “Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstein II.”

“You’re operating under the assumption that your role as Logic is the determining factor,” Janus continues, “and that in order to fulfill that role to its greatest potential, you must remove yourself from the set of emotional beings, including a re-contextualization of what it means to feel.”

He nods.

“But if the language has become re-contextualized, then attempting to operate under all the other assumptions the previous language affords is illogical, let alone the fact that it renders the act of removing oneself from the set redundant. Another language is required to derive a solution ytt it would be impossible to translate the solution into the language of the original set.”

Janus cocks his head.

“And haven’t you yourself created an assumption about the nature of the original set? The role you play within it and its very existence prevents your leaving of it in its entirety.”

And Logan’s poor, tired, illogical brain is so, so lost.

In the distance, Roman huffs. “Okay, so I’ve got no idea what the fuck we’re currently talking about.”

“Same here,” comes Remus’s voice.

Janus smiles gently. “You’ve overlooked something, sweetie,” he says, stroking Logan’s cheek, “about you and how much we care.”

“What…what did I miss?”

“You said that you need to be useful.”

Roman makes an ‘ah’ sound. “You could’ve just led with that instead of showing off.”

“I most certainly was not.”

“Yeah, you were, Janny, shut up.”

Roman shakes his head fondly and leans closer. “You don’t have to be useful, Logan, nor do you have to worry about not being exactly what you think you do.”

“B-but—“

“Shh,” Roman murmurs, gently stroking Logan’s leg, “can I talk for a minute, sweetheart?”

Logan nods.

“Thank you…you think that you’re not being you because you’re getting emotional, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…well, have you considered that you’ve got a warped perspective of yourself because it’s being affected by your own perception?”

Janus turns to Roman. “My, my, Roman, discussing the limits of sensory perception?”

“I do listen to my dear darling nerd,” Roman hums, lightly showing Janus’s shoulder, “but anyway, Logan, you have to realize then, that means that you can’t objectively say you do or you don’t have these traits because you’re being affected by them.”

“Gödel,” comes Janus’s voice.

“Yeah,” Remus says, “and also that just because you think you’re only wanted because you’re useful doesn’t mean that we think that.”

“And there’s Wittgenstein II.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Isn’t that what you told us,” Remus continues, “that you can’t logic your way out of everything? You’re no exception to that, Lolo.”

“Logic can be used in a lot of ways to justify all sort of things,” Janus agrees, lightly tapping Logan’s cheek, “and just because something may be logically valid doesn’t make it true.”

“That’s why we have you.”

Logan balks at Roman’s words. “M-me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Roman smiles, “you. You with your feelings and your care and your you-ness. You’re a part of this set and you’re not going anywhere.”

“And we don’t want you to.”

Logan’s thighs burn.

“Shh, shh, sweetie,” Janus hushes as tears start to well up in Logan’s eyes again, “it’s okay, we’ll help you—oh, sweetie, it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let us help you clean them?”

Unbidden, Logan’s face flares bright red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie…”

Roman gently nudges Remus’s arm. “Let me. You two go check on Patton and Virgil.”

“What?”

“Roman—“

“Come on,” Roman coaxes, “it’s not like I don’t have the practice.”

“We are so not done with this conversation,” Remus mutters as he squeezes Logan’s waist, “but is that okay, Lolo?”

Logan nods. Better just one than all.

“We’ll be back,” Janus promises, giving his cheek one last pat as he leaves.

“Easy does it,” Roman murmurs as he starts to lean Logan back against the wall, “do you have a long shirt?”

Logan motions wordlessly toward the closet. Roman finds the softest shirt Logan owns—how Roman knows is beyond him—and lays it gently in Logan’s lap.

“Change,” he says softly, letting their foreheads rest together for a moment, “I won’t look.”

The cuts have dried to the jeans and they burn, Logan biting his lip to keep from crying out as he gets them off. He’s panting by the time he’s done. Roman turns back with the first aid kit in his hands and kneels down. Logan stares at a spot on the floor, far away.

“Alright,” he says, pulling out the wipes and bandages, “Logan?”

“Mm?”

“You tell me to stop, I stop dead,” Roman promises, “but you must tell me, alright?”

“I will.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. This may sting a bit.”

It does, but Roman is careful and thorough and far too good at this.

“How do you think it was for us,” Roman whispers when Logan voices that last part, “when we realized?”

“My apologies.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant. I just meant that you’re so important to us, Logan, you, that this…this hurts. And I don’t ever want you to think that this is necessary for us to love you.”

Love.

The word stutters in Logan’s throat.

“Too much?” Oh. Roman must think it’s his legs. “Here…”

Roman reaches out and gently rests Logan’s hands on his shoulders.

“There…Keep your hands on my shoulders. Then if something hurts too much, you give me a squeeze and let me know, hmmm?”

“…okay.”

Love…

One of the larger cuts stings horribly as Roman begins to clean it and Logan tenses, his hands gripping Roman’s shoulders.

“Hurt?”

“A little.”

“Here…” Roman leans down and blows a stream of cool air over the cut. “…better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m almost done.” He carefully applies the bandages, smoothing his hand across them as he finishes. “There…all better.”

He packs away the first aid kit, only to pause and look up when Logan’s still staring at the same spot on the floor. He stops, setting the kit aside and taking a seat near his hips, reaching and twisting to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“Hey,” he calls gently, “talk to me, sweetheart.”

Logan wets his suddenly-dry lips. “I don’t think I’ve…processed this yet.”

“That’s okay, Lo, it’s not gonna be a quick thing.” Roman glances back. “And certainly not if it’s been happening for a long time. Though, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think any of us have fully processed it either.”

“I…”

Logan gets interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

“Can we let them in, sweetheart?” Logan nods. “Come in.”

Patton appears first, holding a glass of water out to him. Virgil comes in next, holding a massive pile of blankets, helped by Janus. He can hear Remus take the kit and put it away.

“Hey, there, kiddo,” Patton whispers as Logan starts to drink, “there you go…thank you.”

“How’re you doing, L?” Virgil tilts his head a little. “All things considered?”

All things considered…

Logan takes a deep breath and turns, trying to look at his legs.

Before he can, Remus has his hands over his eyes.

“Ah!”

“Sorry, Lolo,” Remus mutters, “but even I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“…if I don’t look, it—I…”

Did it happen? Did I—did it work, did I not—did I do it wrong? It has to be done right, I need to—dull, red, wet, shine, one, two, three, four—

“…alright,” Remus whispers, removing his hands.

The bandages cover most of it.

His hands tremble.

It hurts.

It hurts.

“H-help me.”

“I’m here,” Roman says instantly, rushing forward to pull Logan into a tender hug, “I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

He tries to hug him back but his arms are shaking too much so he can’t.

And this, more than anything, is what makes him finally start to fall apart.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Roman adjusts his grip, settling Logan’s arms over his shoulders. He cradles Logan like he’s something precious, something true.

“Can we help,” comes Patton’s strangled whisper, “can we help too, Logan?”

“Please?”

Patton is behind him in an instant. Remus clings onto him from the side. Virgil wraps them all in one of the weighted blankets as Janus pulls Logan’s legs into his lap.

“Don’t worry about figuring anything out right now,” Patton murmurs, “or jumping through any loopholes. Just…just be for a little bit, yeah?”

Logic disappears in a soft puff as Logan buries his head in Roman’s shoulder and cries.

Set complete.

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[vodkassassin]

LiuShangMo and LQG seeing MBJ being handsy with SQH and throws hands. That's *his* squirrelly fellow Peak Lord! SQH is scared and horny, while MBJ is dazed and like "Oh no I want both" while getting thrown through walls.

Wow Cher, go take a drink of water, you sound a little thirsty there 👀

I think I gave Shang Qinghua too much power in this... eh. When you snap, you snap! He deserves it. @cherfleur

—

Shang Qinghua drops the scrolls onto the large, ornate desk with a heavy sigh, wiping one hand across his brow. He looks down at them and contemplates just leaving them there for future-Qinghua to deal with, but the voice of reason at the back of his head makes a sarcastic quip about how well that always works out for him, and how he’s always so exhausted whenever he finally does return from a long day only to find unfinished work that he’d procrastinated, and so he resigns himself to sorting through them now.

Each scroll gets slotted neatly into its respective shelf above the desk, a miniature library of diamond-shaped holes that expand just above the area of the workspace. There’s another shelf to the left of the desk that rises up from the floor and reaches halfway up the wall toward the vaulted ceiling, veritably filled with even more scrolls and work that honestly Shang Qinghua would love to never have to ever think about again, but….

Even if he never actually signed up for this, it still is technically his job. So.

He slides scroll after scroll into the loose system of organization he has going on here, far less complicated than the one he’d had to design for the actual, legitimate library of the Eternal Winter Palace. Shang Qinghua can still remember the soul-consuming, absolute horror he’d experienced the very first time he’d walked into that place, when Mobei Jun had been showing him around, years ago. If he hadn’t remembered the details of the demonic history he had plotted for this part of the Realms in his first life before, then he certainly knew all of it and then some after he’d been forced to, for the safety of his own mind, reorganize the entire, expansive ancestral libraries of the ice demons. An endeavor which had taken him just under a decade to complete.

The demons, it seems, had little to no sense of organization in their lives. They just wrote down what needed to be written and then stashed said document or scroll into the dark library to never be seen again. Heavens forbid if anything needed to be dug up for later referencing. No fucking wonder the political atmosphere of the demon realms were so stagnant and slow.

Anyway. They weren’t like that anymore! Shang Qinghua has since taught them all better. Every single demon in the palace, from Mobei Jun to the youngest kitchen maid, knows the system of organization that Shang Qinghua has worked so hard to put into place, as well as what would happen if any of them were to ever attempt to somehow mess it up.

“Hey,” a bored and impatient voice sounds from behind him. “Are you done?”

At the demand, Shang Qinghua turns away from his desk and gives his companion a narrow glare.

“You know, you didn’t have to come with me,” he shoots back, annoyed.

Liu Qingge’s arms are crossed over his chest, and he glares right back at him from where he’s leaning against the door of Shang Qinghua’s palace suite.

He mutters something, and Shang Qinghua raises an eyebrow, planting one hand on his hip. “What was that?”

“I don’t trust these demons. Had to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?” Shang Qinghua asks, exasperated. “That they’re not planning to attack the sect? That I’m not giving them inside information?”

Liu Qingge scowls. He’s such a scowly man. Shang Qinghua doesn’t remember writing him like this. “No,” the swordmaster says shortly. “I— We know you’re not. Nobody thinks that, not anymore.”

“Then what are you here to ensure? That I’m safe? Because I am safe, Liu-shidi. I’m safer here than I could be anywhere else.” Thanks to his king, there hasn’t been a single attempt on Shang Qinghua’s life in two years! It’s honestly a new record. It just proves how much of a valued and efficient worker Shang Qinghua is considered in the palace. Makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

For some reason, however, his words only make Liu Qingge even grumpier. The man’s hand clenches around the hilt of his sword and he makes a very angry face. Thankfully, it’s aimed at the ground and not at Shang Qinghua, so he knows that Liu Qingge isn’t exactly enraged with him. The fact that he’s enraged at all, though, is still a little nerve wracking.

Shang Qinghua takes a tiny step back. This makes Liu Qingge glare even more fiercely, and the An Ding peak lord does his best not to tear up out of frustration. What the hell is wrong, Liu-shidi? Please tell him, so Shang Qinghua can find some way to fix it so that you’ll stop looking so scary!

Liu Qingge huffs, turning away from him to stare out of the open door instead of at him, like he’s some sort of guard.

“Shidi…” Shang Qinghua hedges, fidgeting with the tail end of his hair ribbon and biting his lip in thought. Is the man even going to answer him?

“There are many powerful demons in this palace,” Liu Qingge finally says, shortly.

Shang Qinghua can feel his soul already exiting his body. “Liu-shidi! Please don’t challenge anyone here to a fight! They take it very seriously in the demon realm! There’s no such thing as sparring. It’s all just fights to the death. If you challenge one of them, they’ll definitely take you up on it!”

Ah! That was absolutely the wrong thing to say! Liu Qingge glances over his shoulder, face thoughtful and considering, and Shang Qinghua can see the glint that enters his eye at his words.

“Shit, no, I meant — Liu-shidi! Liu-shidi, come back here!”

Too late, Shang Qinghua! He’s already out the door, stalking down the hallway like a tiger on the prowl. Fuck Shang Qinghua’s life, honestly. The An Ding peak lord’s shoulders slump, and he hangs glumly from where he’s grabbed onto the door frame, staring down the now-empty corridor with dead eyes.

“Please behave, Liu-shidi,” he whispers. It’s a prayer that he already knows isn’t going to be answered. “... Goddammit.”

Since it’s highly unlikely that Shang Qinghua would catch up to his fellow peak lord before Liu Qingge could make good on his desires and goad a fight out of someone, he decides to leave this, at least, as a problem that is definitely for future-Shang Qinghua to worry about. He closes the door and walks mulishly back over to the desk, grabbing a scroll off the shelf and sitting down to get to work on calculating the tax deficiencies for this month's collection from the merchants in the capital.

Because there is always deficiencies, and the treasury staff of the palace are…. They’re just not really mathematicians. They’re just highly susceptible toward making too many mistakes in the overall count, and mistakes only exist to make Shang Qinghua’s job more difficult. So, he’d long ago told them to just worry about the count of their own departments, and leave the final calculations to him.

It’s a good hour later that the door opens again, and Shang Qinghua is so deep in the slog of long multiplication that he doesn’t even notice someone else is in the room until a large hand settles roughly over his head.

He sits up with a startled sound, lifting his hands to right his hairpiece that’s been knocked askew, even as his face is forcibly turned around and he gets a big eye full of bare chest and black furs.

He blinks, and then jolts out of his chair to stand at his feet and give the scowling Mobei Jun a bow. “M-My king! Forgive me, I didn’t see you come in.”

Shang Qinghua cringes at his own words, glancing fleetingly up from beneath his eyelashes at the demon, who only continues to stare down at him in a glower. Why is his king so goddamn scary all the time? Doesn’t he have any other expression? Why is he so much like Liu Qingge?

And why, oh heavens why, is it so attractive?

You useless fucking gay, Shang Qinghua berates himself from the safety of his own mind. Focus! Let’s do our best not to get beat up today! We’ve been doing so well!

“U-Um, my king…” he tries, hands desperately trying to both keep his hair in order but also not rudely knock the king a hand away. “M-My hairpiece….?”

Mobei Jun’s icy cold stare moves from Shang Qinghua’s face up to his previously neat half-bun, and he finally removes his hand. The peak lord breathes a sigh of relief, fixing his hair while the king takes half a step back and instead looks over his desk, where there are half open scrolls and an ink stone that has been brought nearly to the end of its usefulness.

“You’re working?” Mobei Jun asks, reaching out to touch a finger to the edge of one of the scrolls.

Delicate, tiny vines of frost swirl out from beneath his fingertips and into the paper, and Shang Qinghua makes a noise of panic as he reaches forward to snatch the scroll out from under his King’s hand before the ice can ruin the paperwork.

Mobei Jun retracts his hand, expression dark.

“M-My king…” Shang Qinghua quails, stuffing the scroll into a random empty space on the shelves, disregarding the organization system entirely. He takes the smallest, tiniest step backwards, but the desk hits the back of his legs.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, simply. It’s enough to send the alarm bells ringing in the peak lord’s head.

The king reaches out the same hand, Frost still costing his long, pale fingers, and Shang Qinghua uselessly ducks his head as if there is any way he could possibly dodge the touch.

He expects his king to grab him by the ear, or the hair, or even the chin like he so often does, but instead the wall next to Shang Qinghua’s desk explodes.

Hm.

That…. What?

Shang Qinghua opens eyes he doesn’t recall ever closing, to stare incredulously at the spot where Mobei Jun had previously been standing. The king is no longer there, the room entirely empty except for Shang Qinghua himself, and here is a large, gaping hole torn in the wall to his left.

It takes a few seconds for Shang Qinghua to reboot from his shock, but once he does he slowly walks over to the hole and climbs over the rubble and debris that decorates the floor and peers out of it into the outer hall that it now connects his suite to.

Ah, there his king is, several yards away, brows pulled down in a deep scowl and blade crossed with a rather vicious and antagonistic looking Liu Qingge.

Shang Qinghua figures that he should have probably guessed.

He watches the two in silence as they go at one another as if they’re trying to kill each other, as they most probably are. Liu Qingge makes to go for his king’s throat, but Mobei Jun summons a jagged spear of ice to redirect his blade and bring his own blade, shimmering and blue just like the outer walls of the palace, around toward Liu Qingge’s unprotected side.

Liu-shidi isn’t the peak lord of Bai Zhan for nothing though, and quickly reveals the weakness as only a bluff, taking advantage of the placement of Mobei Jun’s blade to strike out with his leg and disarm the demon of his sword. The weapon shatters against the ground, and Mobei Jun summons a spear to replace it.

Shang Qinghua steps away from the hole in his wall, gazing wordlessly at where there had once been a shelf. Of scrolls. Neatly organized scrolls. Scrolls which had been filled with data and information that Shang Qinghua still had need of. Paperwork that was either already completely or still awaited completion. He can spot some of those scrolls littering the ground, many of them partially or entirely destroyed by the rubble.

Shang Qinghua brings up a hand to press his forefinger and his thumb down against the sides of his nose. He runs at the bridge, attempting to preemptively lessen the impending migraine, already knowing it would be futile. The clanging and clashing of swords in the hall over isn’t helping.

He steps back toward the hole. His foot catches on a discarded scroll and sends it skittering across the floor. Shang Qinghua feels like crying, a little. He takes in a deep breath.

He watches silently as the scroll hits the frame of the door and rolls to a stop at a pair of boots. Shang Qinghua follows the legs attached to said boots and up until he sees the face of a servant demon standing in the doorway, staring at him in stunned surprise. He watches as the demon glances over at the hole in the wall with wide eyes, as he takes in the mess of rubble on the floor and, finally, Shang Qinghua sees the exact moment the demon spots the buried scrolls.

The blood drains out of the servant’s face, and his eyes flit over to stare at Shang Qinghua. The peak lord isn’t sure what expression he’s wearing, since he’s been doing his best to keep it as blank as possible, but whatever is in his eyes makes the demon take a step back.

The servant sketches a hasty bow, turns tail and runs.

Huh.

Shang Qinghua steps back over the rubble to stand on the hole in his wall. His shidi and his king are still at one another’s throats, snarling insults and causing damage in the interior structure of the corridor. There looks to be another hole in the wall, in the very near future, and —wow! Shang Qinghua clenches his trembling hands in the sleeves of his robes, and jumps down from the hole and into the corridor.

He’s had enough! Did anyone up there hear that? System? God? Shang Qinghua has had enough for today!

The An Ding peak lord stalks over to the two opponents currently fighting to the death in the hallway beside his room. They’re so absorbed with one another and the next possible move they could make against each other than they don’t notice Shang Qinghua approach until he’s already got his hands fisted in their collars.

Shang Qinghua floods the musculator of his upper body with his own qi and gives a sharp, vicious tug with both arms. There are twin noises of surprise as both his king and his shidi go tumbling to the ground.

They whip around to stare incredulously at him, both of them offended and incredibly pissed, teeth bared. They look so much alike in this moment that if Shang Qinghua wasn’t just as pissed himself, he might have laughed.

“Shang Qinghua—!”

“What the hell do you think your d—?!”

“Shidi,” Shang Qinghua hisses, and Liu Qingge abruptly rears back, words cutting off.

Mobei Jun falls equally as silent, sitting up to regard the two of them silently, his analytic and battle-oriented mind likely trying to puzzle out what has the fierce warrior that he’d just been fighting on equal footing so hesitant to interrupt the weak and pathetic scribe that Mobei Jun has before used as his own punching bag. His king is so incredibly observant! It sucks that Shang Qinghua is way too mad right now to appreciate it like he normally would.

Liu Qingge shifts onto his knees, sword held over his legs in one tight fist, and he glares up at Shang Qinghua with a clenched jaw.

The An Ding peak lord isn’t having it, though. He’s way past the point of having it. He can already feel the migraine coming on.

“What the fuck,” he demands, “do you think you’re doing?”

Liu Qingge only continues to glare at him without reply.

Shang Qinghua reaches down and unsheathes his blade. Mobei Jun’s eyebrows rise up in obvious surprise at the move, but the king remains silent.

“What,” Shang Qinghua says, “were either of you thinking?!”

Mobei Jun frowns. “Shang Qinghua, you speak like that to this king?” He finally demands, eyebrows scrunched in anger.

“No, my king. No. Forgive this one his impudence, but,” Shang Qinghua holds up a finger, “shut up. Shut up, or I’m going to shred your body through a woodchipper and serve the remains as a shaved ice dessert to your court of bureaucratic idiots at the next feast. Shut up.”

Mobei Jun blinks in outrage, but doesn’t appear as if he knows how to respond to that. He glances between Shang Qinghua, who continues to stare down at his shidi, and Liu Qingge, who glares back.

“Shidi.”

Liu Qingge hunches his shoulders. “He was going to grab you. He should not have tried.”

“You tore a hole in my wall, Liu-shidi! You destroyed my shelf, and half my paperwork and scrolls! You put me back months in terms of work! Months! Liu-shidi!”

Liu Qingge gruffly turns his head away, belligerent scowl on his face. He clutches his sword in his lap like he wants to use it again, but isn’t yet sure on what.

Mobei Jun leans over into Liu Qingge’s space.

Liu Qingge narrows his eyes at him.

“What’s a woodchipper.”

The Bai Zhan peak lord glares. “I. Don’t. Know.”

“Both of you, look at me!”

Mobei Jun stares back at the swordmaster, eyes growing more and more intense, and Shang Qinghua grows more and more furious the longer these two toddlers ignore him.

“... What is shaved ice?”

“Isn’t it self-descriptive?! Shut up!”

Shang Qinghua drops his sword carelessly back into its sheathe, having not drawn it completely free to begin with, and slaps both his hands to his cheeks in frustration. He lets out a growl, glare fixated at the ceiling, before reaching forward to grab his martial brother by the collar.

“My king, Fix the wall with your ice for now.” He says, not even considering the fact that he’s ordering around Mobei Jun, something he’d normally never dare to do. He turns on his heel and begins to drag a sullen and red-faced Liu Qingfe behind him as he goes.

“Liu-shidi, come with me. You’re going to clean up the mess you’ve made, and then you're going to redo any paperwork you’ve lost me. Do you have any idea how many months worth of work you just destroyed? I am going to fucking flay you alive with nothing but a pair of chopsticks, Liu-shidi!”

Liu Qingge slumps in his hold. The man doesn’t even get to his feet. He remains seated stubbornly on the ground and mullishly allows the still-ranting Shang Qinghua to drag him across the floor and away from the silent Mobei Jun, who stares after them in confusion. The Bai Zhan peak lord crosses his arms and scowls, not meeting the king’s eyes.

After they leave, Mobei Jun regards the hole in the wall of the corridor and how, beyond it, Shang Qinghua’s workspace is completely demolished. He wonders why the man hadn’t just gone back through the hole, instead of walking the long way around.

Then, he spots the half destroyed scrolls that clutter up the floor, and winces. Ah.

[ginkgomoon]

Victor’s Aura- A Character Aura Study

This post is my take on Victor’s aura, taken from my knowledge and intuition to depict what kind of aura he has! I did one on Gavin, as well as Gavin’s astrological birth chart so if you haven’t seen them, you can read them after this post!

What is an Aura? “Aura” by the dictionary is “the distinctive atmosphere or quality that seems to surround and be generated by a person, thing, or place”. 

It’s essentially the electromagnetic energy field that surrounds all living things. It’s the magnetic field of vibration like how a lighted candle is lit and how a scent or perfume surrounds a flower. In fact, it’s correctly described as an extension of the body. It’s a part of every cell. Your aura can be affected by anything, including traumas, memories and emotions. It can tell us a lot about a person’s mental, physical, emotional state, vitality and path of life. Habitual thoughts, emotions and even illnesses can be clearly revealed. If a person changes their long standing thoughts and emotions, the aura will too reflect that. 

Victor’s Aura There are many layers to the aura but let’s start off with the “ground” colour. This is the main colour that dominates the aura both in size and intensity. It’s arguably the most important colour as it shows what the person should be doing in their life. 

Victor’s main ground colour is dark yellow (keep in mind this is not defined as “murky”- when someone is lost and muddled in their life). People with dark yellow as their ground are confident, well adjusted and analytical. As a result, they take life one step at a time, one goal at a time, ensuring every project is seen through properly to completion to avoid problems and setbacks later. They are patient people, setting their worthwhile goals in no hurry to reach them, as they know without a doubt that they will obtain their deserved reward in the end. They prefer to do things rationally and in a logical manner, especially at work where they are required to make use of their good memory and love for detail. As they are ambitious and persistent, they often take up roles of leadership, responsibility and of importance. From his corrections on MC’s reports to the food he makes at Souvenir (that is insisted to be cooked according to certain temperatures), Victor is no doubt a detail-oriented leader even whether if the goal he wants to achieve is related to work or not. 

MC: It’s a sort of mark that can be left in literature or in a photograph… and I can feel it. Victor’s eyes are lowered. In his clear and tranquil eyes, there are ripples of light and shadows. Victor: Such as? The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is clear, and I ponder this seriously. MC: For example, the way I write proposals has changed. The format of my proposals has changed. The indent of the first line, font size 15, 1.5 spacing between lines… it’s the format you find most pleasing to the eye! Victor’s eyebrow quirks. Victor: That’s all? MC: There’s more! I’ve become so much more picky with food. I never used to complain that food tastes bad, but eating at Souvenir has cultivated my palate. Now, when I eat even Michelin meals, I feel as if something’s lacking… -CN Exhibition Date 

“What happened with SE is just an example. We’re from different businesses and different fields. There’s no need to compare yourself with me. Also, I’m older than you. When you’ve reached my age, you might attain the achievements I have today.” -CN Night Meeting Date

“Slow and steady wins the race” is the moral that they live by, but sometimes adhering to this credo may frustrate others as they can be so analytical and detail oriented at times- usually at great lengths. A cute little add from the Tender Regards Date around the concept of snail mail, time (Victor’s evol!) and the goal of always reaching your destination in the end demonstrate this this motif in Victor’s relationship with MC.

“Looks like you should have received this Future Mail. Apart from supporting your event, I’m only going to do this once. This will not be repeated. The things I want to say to you are all in this videotape. It only belongs to you.” -CN Tender Regards Date 

“When will you finally understand? It’s all right. I’m patient. I’ll wait for you to see the light slowly.” -Rooftop Date

Although they have feelings, they only ever reveal it to people close to them. They enjoy the detail and technicality of conversations and find it hard to talk about their emotions. Victor’s Exhibition and Tender Regards Date are very useful sources of information in relation to these topics, as it displays Victor’s deep emotions of affection to MC and highlights the importance of expressing emotions to those you love. Dark yellow aura peoples’ greatest lesson in life is to be more emotionally open, and when do they do, it usually occurs later in life. 

“The writer wrote it down herself - “The time I spent loving someone, not a single second of it was wasted.” I rarely hear such words leave Victor’s mouth, and it makes me feel a little surreal. In my memory, we very rarely talk about the topic of ‘love’. Maybe it’s because he rarely says what’s in his heart. Maybe it’s because I’m used to being thick-skinned. We never have the opportunity to seriously understand the meaning in these words. -CN Exhibition Date 

“Do you still remember the special episode on “Feelings” from before? Actually, this theme was inspired by that episode. Giving gifts is a common way to express how one feels. But it’s not that easy to send a gift to the future. With Future Mail, the sender can convey their feelings and surprises in this gift to the other party across time.” -CN Tender Regards date 

People with dark yellow as their ground enjoy system and order such as routines at work and in their home life. This is applied to Victor’s strict schedules in his day to day life, such as taking on what time he sleeps and when he gets up to go on his morning jogs. They need to consider new ideas before grudgingly accepting them. This is especially applied to when Victor always says “just this once” to MC when he’s being “childish” with her (but we really know that isn’t the case, he knows this all too well, too). 

“Because a certain greedy cat always says she wants to eat something sweet after dinner, I made pudding before leaving the house. Do you think this is a mark of how I’ve been changed?” -CN Exhibition Date 

Next is Victor’s “radiating” colour. This represents his interests and motivations. It adds strength to the ground colour. They can work well in harmony, some can conflict. 

I would take Victor’s radiating as violet. Violet is a very highly spiritual colour, as people with this colour as their radiating will have a very spiritual take on life, as they are deep thinkers who like to analyse everything and think matters though logically. They are also naturally intuitive. Violet radiatings have the ability to come up with unique and unusual solutions to problems. As they enjoy learning, they have the potential to become experts in their field of endeavour- which is no surprise for Victor as he’s basically an “on top of the world tyrant” in the industry of finances. In addition, they feel things deeply, but rather operate things on an emotionally free level- again with the ground aura traits to enhance this! However, Victor too, has a high EQ despite this.

“I’m no different from you. There are many things I cannot do or force to make happen. It’s okay to not be strong, it’s okay to not do well. You don’t have to bottle up your emotions.” … “I won’t tell you to keep holding on no matter what difficulties you face. That isn’t realistic. There will come a time when you will become an even better version of yourself who will have enough courage and experience to deal with all of this.” -CN Colours of Rain Date 

Overall, Victor’s aura of darker yellow and violet depict him as more of a straightforward kind of person, hardworking and articulate, however soon we realise there’s more to what we see of Victor, like how MC thinks that Victor comes off as a “heartless CEO” throughout the main story chapters but he slowly warms up to her whilst determining to prove her wrong. Victor is wise, and doesn’t bother to put in his personal efforts to where it’s not needed, but when it’s up to him- he strives to go all the way for perfection and with the best of his ability. He spends a lot of time in deep contemplation to determine his plans of attack which allows him to execute them well. His values and worth ethics will always in the end allow him to make time for MC, no matter how busy he is :) 

And lastly…

Victor leans against the window, his face still written with distaste, but he does not attempt to remove that childish-looking blanket. He brings the red cup to his lips and gently blows on it. The warm light encases him, softening the aura surrounding him. His outline also appears gentler. He doesn’t look as impossible to get close to. My eyes land on Victor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He puts down the cup in his hands, lowering his eyes, as though deep in thought. This is a Victor I have never seen before… In this moment, he seems to have put down his stubbornness and distant aura - becoming someone within reach. Only now does Victor finally feel my gaze. He raises his head to look at me. -CN Warm Date 

All of a sudden, he lifts his other hand gently. A water droplet pelts onto his palm, as though pulling him into the pattering rain. Seeing this, I find myself subconsciously frozen in place. Because of the enshrouding misty rain, the Victor before me appears warmer and more tender than usual. -CN Tender Regards Date 

It always has and always will be MC to see this side of him- the tenderness and the willingness of how he opens up to her- his aura willingly to embrace hers too. Fun fact- auras can deflect off one another if you’re with someone you dislike. But when it’s with two people in love, their auras connect, combine and produce an even brighter and bigger accommodating aura for the both of them. He’s certainly living working towards to achieve his greatest life goals- both in his businesses and being with MC, striving together to make great changes and milestones in their respective industries. Without a doubt, she has helped Victor’s aura grow, expand and shine the many rays through his doubts, allowing a light from within to burn brighter and evolve him into more of the brilliant, hardworking and tender man we know today.

[dramarising-replacement]

G1 Hoarder Revamp and the Mountain of Salt

Can we all just acknowledge how much of a total fuck up the new G1 ping system is? I feel bad because they obviously went through so much work and beta testing for this system but it’s absolutely garbage in practice. This isn’t meant as a huge roast (even though I do think the creators could do with getting knocked down a few pegs given how poorly they’ve treated people through this entire process, oops) but I hope they at least see this and see things that they can work on. Obviously, going to them and sharing this stuff in person isn’t possible since L from arcane is notorious for gossiping and overall not super trustworthy, so anon route we go. I’ll give credit where credit is due: they definitely tried to go on the right path and the coding is good in theory. The big issue here is that they tried to fix something that was not great but worked with something that is not great and barely works. Sure there are some good things about the new ping system: if it’s not busy it’s not longer than six or seven minutes to do all of it for a few dragons, which, compared to the previous method? Pretty good timing. Helps automatically tag some colorgroups without having people confused about if their dragon counts or not, and uh... probably something else. The cons far outweigh the pros though: -sheet can only be used one at a time: terrible in theory, terrible in practice, there’s no queue system either so you’re not even guaranteed to go next even if you’ve been waiting ages. This becomes a nightmare around any holiday, as we’ve seen around notn, since everyone flocks to the ping generator and then quickly abandons after seeing the mess there. This should have been something that they found a way to work with from the start, especially since the previous spreadsheet, despite how long it took to sift through if you were actually assed to do all the specifics, could still be used by multiple people. -userface issues: going into the spreadsheet and it may all just be blank, does this mean someone’s using it? Someone isn’t? If you go ahead and assume not you’re going to get warned that you overrode someone since they get the ID to your dragon, if you don’t assume then you end up waiting for ages like an idiot and someone else swoops up the opportunity. The loading bar on the side doesn’t help give that info either since it constantly reloads due to the poorly planned code. Where users have their cells selected also doesn’t help since that isn’t always accurate. There are many times where the loading bar isn’t seen going, there isn’t any visible text on the screen, no comment in the box, but it’s still in use. This isn’t viable for anyone, especially not people who don’t fully understand how the system works. If you’re going to make it for only one person’s use at a time, you need to ensure it’s easier to see what’s going on for everyone. -laggy as all get out: sure, I don’t have to go through 15 pages of different types of pings on the old G1 pinglist and shovel through all the duplicates and specifics list people, but having more than 13 dragons or even doing a bigger lair sale (or even just anything during notn) means you get to wait for the program to chug away for ages (as well as the easy chance for someone to just cut in halfway through a load and have you start all over again or wait) and hope that the three people behind you don’t get impatient or angry as you have to do three separate input sessions rather than massing them all together as you could with the previous spreadsheet. -poorly designed aesthetically: maybe this may sound petty to some, but the design of the system is pretty terrible in terms of layout and color choice. This isn’t to say it’s just ugly though; after speaking about it with people who aren’t neurotypical, have disordered thinking processes, and/or have generalized issues reading things (autism spectrum, dyslexia, semi-visually impaired, etc.) it’s pretty clear that the entire thing is not accessible whatsoever for anyone who can’t immediately decipher what anything is. Black text on bright red is not a good thing for most people beyond old MySpace edgies. If you, as someone without reading or comprehension difficulties, are having a difficult time focusing on it: maybe consider how difficult it’d be for anyone else. The way the rules or tutorial section is laid out also does not help in terms of accessibility! It’s clunky and hard to read, does not flow well, and doesn’t explain as thoroughly as you may think. If you’re someone who uses coded spreadsheets often? Yeah sure, it might be understood. If you’re not? Welp. Good luck kiddo. -very poor user help: this is on the mods or creators more than the spreadsheet itself. If someone has a problem, the first thing you should do is talk with them to find the difficulty and tackle it from there. I’ve seen, multiple times now, where either N (plague) or L (arcane) straight up tell people that they can’t help them and that they should just read the guide on the front page. Like sure, they read them, but something is tricky for them and they’re asking for help. They can read the rules and guide again but without outside help, guess what? Not gonna help them. If you just keep linking them the forum or telling them to read the first page it won’t actually help anyone! One of your jobs as the creators here is to help the community that you made it for, not just parrot that they need to read. Be better. Add that to a system which is not forgiving of any mistakes whatsoever and it becomes a terrible little cocktail. Also does not help that, despite their sugar attitude about having people test it in discord servers, the creators l and r/p (both arcane) don’t actually help people who need help using it. -wait times/queue: this ties in to an earlier point, but there’s no way to organize who goes next. Sure, it might sound strange, but when you have to wait ages to get access despite you being there ahead of anon llama/drama/dingdong/animal because they can all hop in ahead of you, it becomes frustrating. People don’t always type in that itty bitty box to say what they’re doing, and people easily erase it or write over it, or they just outright ignore it. Obviously not everyone is going to do that, but it’s way too easy for people who are greedy/entitled to step over those who are being polite and patient. -no quick ping options this is also kind of minor, but at least with the old spreadsheet you could just click in and say “okay, I just want to ping XXY general for this because I have a quick sale.” Guess what: nah. You have to go through the entire chugging process and queue and everything else just to get that snippet of information on who to ping. What once took maybe five clicks is now five minutes to thirty depending on how many people are using it. Wanna quick check if a dragon with XYZ colours you hatched is one that someone wants specifically? Nah, fuck you. You have to input all the data and wait instead of just doing what was once a super easy quick search. There is so much other shit wrong with this system and I’m honestly surprised N (plague) allowed them to do this. Sure, the old pinglist could have done with some updating, but that should have been done in the form of clearing redundant double pings, maybe a way to sort through specifics like ‘male only’ and mass copy names there. Quality of life things, not this just... total mess. I understand that L and R/P got it into their heads that they needed to fix it and that they wanted to take over the entire system themselves, but they should have kept their pride out of it for once. The sheet to input what dragons you want is also another entire nightmare. It’s frustrating to go through the google poll a dozen times to say exactly what colors/eyes/gender/pasta-shape/siesta-fiesta under the sun you want rather than have a quick way to input it by drop-downs or even just a text based option like the old one had. It’s so easy to forget what you put in or which one you want to put in this time, so easy to end up making mistakes that you don’t see, etc. It’s just not an effective system. It’s great in theory, and sure, it’s all sparkly and new, but it’s like admiring an aluminum trash can. Shiny and sparkly under the sun, still holding a whole lot of hot garbage though. I understand that some people may find it easier, and that’s great! I’ve used it for a few things and yeah, it’s okay, but I wish the old one was back given all the grief and frustration this one has caused. Obviously I’m not in the place to be like DO THIS OR DO THAT since I’m not the one making the sheet here, but I do feel like the people who use it have every right to give commentary and feedback where possible. Even moreso when the creators and team aren’t actually as welcoming as they try to appear to be. As much as it sucks, a lot of L and R/P’s (primarily L) false niceties have kind of come to the surface lately which makes this whole situation just that much more awkward. If people don’t feel like they can approach you because they know you’ll rip into them here or on the anon site immediately, maybe you shouldn’t be a main creator of something for the user base or a mod for a bigger group. Just some side-thought to all this other stuff. Big post, big rambles, I can’t bring myself to organise it though because I’m pretty fed up and tired. Take from this what you may, but basically fix your shit new G1 Hoarder peeps.

[reflectionsofneptune]

little reasons why you could be attracting particular signs

Some reasons why you could be attracting these signs, or signs on these particular house cusps. I had lots of fun w/ this post so take it w/ a pinch of salt. My lil thoughts as usual. Big kiss. 

Aries / sign on your 1st House Cusp

You’re frustrated. Or maybe you’ve suddenly been onset with a surge of energy for a particular project or subject that’s close to your heart. Feeling risky? Or, are you feeling lost? Is there something you want to dive all in to? Are you becoming more confident in yourself? Giving yourself pep talks in the mirror? Daily reminders popping up on the phone? Aries energy is all about putting energy in the world (Cardinal) based on one’s aspirations (Fire). The universe could be asking you to stop being all talk and dreaming of things (Pisces) to the point where all they remain wistful fantasies and take action. (Aries/1st house) Steps forward, no matter how small, no matter how big, count.

Taurus / sign on your 2nd House cusp

You’re hungry. Hahahaha I’m laughing while I double check my fridge knowing there’s nothing there :) :) What are your boundaries looking like? Have you got a firm idea of what you will and won’t stand for? Do you have something in your life you’re nurturing? Do you need to pay more attention to your coins? Working on self-love? Taurus energy is all about consolidating (Fixed) material things and a solid value system (Earth) to help circulate a feeling of stability in their life. The universe could be asking you to to take that vision you have (Aries) and line up all the things you have accessible to you, right this very minute, that can make that happen. (Taurus/2nd house) Appreciate what you have, and watch how many new things pour in.

Gemini / sign on your 3rd House cusp

You’ve been gossiping. So that person you bitched about heard what you said…..and this Gemini in your life…..is here to get the receipts…..i’m sorry, I don’t make the rules. SIKE. What are you paying attention to nowadays? Ideas? Other people’s opinions? Are you learning something new? Maybe you need to not be so attached to ideas, thoughts and concepts coming from other people. Make your own mind up. Do you have interesting ideas you can share with people, but you’re keeping it under wraps? No fair. Gemini energy is all about sharing (Mutable) their opinions (air) with other people. The universe could be asking you to express your unique talents (Taurus) with the world through a platform of some sort. (Gemini/ 3rd house) It’s OK to speak up about your ideas. I bet they’re awesome. 

Cancer / sign on your 4th house cusp

You’ve been crying. Nah I’m playing. (but if you have, that’s OK too). Maybe you’ve been working on your inner child. Have you been taking some time to re-parent yourself with good food, good company and that one film you loved as a kid? Are you healing trauma from your childhood? Maybe healing needs to be done on the female relationships in your life. Maybe you need to be honest about the things in you life you emotionally react to in situations that doesn’t warrant this kind of behaviour. Cancer energy is all about actively (Cardinal) nurturing themselves and others (Water) through comforting actions.The universe could be asking you to look at your thoughts (Gemini/3rd house) and seeing what a direct impact that has on your emotions. What we think has a correlation to the feelings we feel.

Leo / sign on your 5th house cusp

You’re doing too much. There’s probably an area of your life, where you’re shining. It’s possibly your living from the heart now. You’re putting yourself out there. Or, maybe you need to take the time to have some fun? Are you ignoring those recurring impulses to do something creative which will feed your spirit? Leo energy is all about being self-willed (Fixed) in their ability to showcase their creative self-expression (Fire) to others. Leo’s know that they are the shit, you can’t tell ‘em nothin’. The universe could be asking you to find a special way to channel your emotions (Cancer/4th house) into an artistic expression somehow. Creativity is so subjective - beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder at the end of the day. You’re doing amazing, sweetie. *KJ voice* hehehehe.

Virgo / sign on your 6th house cusp

You need to clean up an area of your life. Virgo energy is all about being adaptable (Mutable) with one’s ideas as well as routines and habits in one’s daily life (Earth). Are you becoming more organised? Paying more attention to what you’re ingesting in all forms, staring from the food you’re eating to the people you’re surrounding yourself with? Or maybe you need to Marie Kondo something, bad. Bring order into a chaotic structure in your life. Maybe, those self-defeating thoughts that do no good for your well-being need a stern talking to. A balance needs to be struck between the mental side and the physical side. The universe could be asking you to better shape that creative talent you have (Leo/5th house) and refine it. Not to a level of perfection which is often unattainable, but a little tweak here and never hurt anybody.

Libra / sign on your 7th house cusp

You’re out of balance. Libra is all about a dedicated intention (Cardinal) of obtaining harmony and a sense of fairness in relationships (Air) of all kinds, be it platonic, romantic, professional. Maybe you’ve been giving extra care to your relationships and are showing up for those people that have had your back. Are you missing out on the beauty in life? Vacillating between two things? Or maybe you’ve taken a good look at the people around you, and people who don’t match your energy have got the chop. Can you see two sides to one situation? The universe could be asking you to take a look at how the lens - be it critical, analytical, thoughtful or helpful - (Virgo/6th house) in which you view people hinders or strengths your partnerships.The great thing about life is people are often mirrors, what you dislike in someone else, may actually be present within you on a deeper level. 

Scorpio / sign on your 8th house cusp

You’re sexually frustrated. Are you going through a pivotal change in your life? Or are you tapping into your sexual power? Sexual liberating yourself from things that held you down? Maybe discernment has been strengthened lately and you’re not taking much at face level anymore. Playing detective? Or, are you struggling to open up to others? To be vulnerable. Do you need to let go of something? Scorpio energy is all about a strong willpower and determination in life (Fixed) that comes from a total transformation and understanding of one’s unconscious wants and desires. (Water) The universe could be asking you to look at the ways your unconscious childhood emotional patterns affect your relationships. (Libra/7th house) Life gets better when you don’t hold back and open yourself to experiencing things, fully. Promise.

Sagittarius / sign on your 9th house cusp

You’re been acting reckless. Have you been seeing life from a more expansive point of view? Maybe you’re taking risks in life and they’re paying off in ways you didn’t dream possible. Look at you. Are you wanting to just drop all responsibilities and F off to somewhere completely different? The idea of throwing yourself into the deep end of this thing called life look appealing? I feel you. Or maybe, you’ve being a bit more blunt, honest in life and saying things for how they are. Do you need to lighten up in an area of you life? Maybe, there’s an area of life that needs to you to rely on your higher mind and follow your heart. Sagittarius energy is all about widening their beliefs (Fire) in a curious fashion as they explore life. (Mutable) The universe could be asking you to dive deeper into your shadow side (Scorpio/8th) to aid you in personal growth. 

Capricorn / sign on your 10th house cusp

You’re too preoccupied with your career. Recently, you could have been thinking about what you want to do in life. Getting more serious on your life purpose kind of thing. Perhaps the steps you need to take are becoming more clear. You’re becoming more clear on your position in society. Or, you feel a fear about stepping into your power. You may be questioning whether or not you have what it takes. Possible responsibilities looking more like burdens than opportunities for growth. Capricorn energy is all about disciplined efforts in steps in their world (Cardinal) to secure one’s material security. (Earth) The universe could be nudging you to actually cement your dreams (Sagittarius/ 9th house) house into something practical. Let’s get the bag. I mean, let’s graft for the life that we really want. 

Aquarius / sign on your 11th cusp

You’re being rebellious. Have you been researching a broader range of topics related to human consciousness?  Perhaps you’re investing effort in your friendships. It could be that now the way you react to things, or you’re actively trying to see people, places and things from a more objective standpoint. Or you need to incorporate that viewpoint in your life. Is there an area of life where you just need to be brave and be rebellious? Aquarian energy is all about establishing (Fixed) an inventive and progressive way in which one can use in relating to others in society. (air) The universe could be asking you to further mould what you produce in the real world (Capricorn/10th house) to ensure that it has positive benefits for society.

Pisces / sign on your 12th house cusp

You’re tapping out. Or, you’re not but you are giving yourself precious time to do some productive visualisation. Maybe you’ve been researching spiritual topics such as LOA and manifestation. Do you need to forgive yourself, or someone else? Maybe compassion is how you’re living your life nowadays and it feels amazing. Realising that we’re all connected in one way, shape or form? Pisces energy is all about being the ability to co-exist (Mutable) with whatever life throws at them by relying on their intuition (Water) and connection to a higher power to get them though. The universe could be asking you to look at how you can give back (Aquarius/11th house) or, alternatively, make a deeper connection with yourself. The good, bad and the ugly. Does your ego need a check?

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Worthy (pt5)

A/N: I thought I would try to get on top of things and cue a chapter. @rampant-salamander​ @bolontiku​

Markus, as it turned out, was the goofiest guy I was likely to ever meet. His passion for clean energy was matched only by his passion for collecting vintage pop cans. He was the only person on the team who had an office, and it was cluttered with partially finished projects, and mountains of proposals. And his bookshelf had not a single book on it, but instead was lined with pop cans, right back to the dawn of canned carbonated beverages. It was impressive. He pulled his chair around to sit beside me instead of across the table. And in a move that proved the clutter to be a highly efficient filing system, he pulled my proposals from the middle of one of the stacks of papers.

“Your three proposals have all been greenlit by Pepper and Tony, but I won the coin toss, so I get you first. I suspect that your green washer was your back-up proposal, but I love it. I think it’s important to make clean energy available to every household. Your washing machine is economical to build, and that will make it accessible to all income levels. But it also takes into consideration some pretty fantastic advancements in water reclamation. I was impressed by the various disciplines you worked with to put the proposal together, some clearly not your areas.” His speech was relaxed. He flipped through my proposal, certain areas highlighted.

“I’ve lived in university residences for the last nine years. I assure you, access to space and energy efficient washing machines at an affordable price was something I got quite passionate about as more and more of my clothing was destroyed by or stolen from the communal machines,” I laughed.

“I was particularly impressed with the water reclamation technology you managed to build into the machine. That’s usually a very cumbersome apparatus.” He flipped to the schematics I’d included in the proposal.

“I took inspiration from Mr. Stark’s arc reactor miniaturization, and consulted with one of the senior engineering professors to ensure my calculations wouldn’t decrease the output capacity,” I explained.

“You were the only applicant who not only admitted to consulting, but credited the colleagues you consulted with. My department is a well-oiled machine, and every person has a role to play. Your dedication to teamwork is why I pushed for you to work on this project first. Well, and that it’s really cool.” His compliments were making me feel overwhelmed again. I shook my head and looked away. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m worried about the fall-out when you all discover I’m not as amazing as you think I am.” My laugh was stilted. He clapped me on the back.

“By the time that happens, we’ll have the washer on the market and you’ll have secured your place at Stark,” he laughed. His comment made me smile, but it was seriously terrifying to have so many really amazing people telling me that I was awesome. I was untested, fresh from school and so inexperienced. The only reason I hadn’t hidden in academia longer and gone on to my PhD was because I wasn’t exactly sure what I would do with a PhD in engineering that I couldn’t do with a Master’s. 

“What are the other interns like? I didn’t get a chance to meet them last night,” I asked. Markus’s forehead wrinkled in thought.

“Well, one of them no-showed. So we’re down to just two of you. And the other seems okay. Arrogant. Maybe a little too arrogant. I looked over his proposal and passed on it. It seemed way too easy to weaponize,” he explained.

“Which one is he?” I had a hard time believing someone would give up the opportunity of this internship, but I understood the feelings of inadequacy that came with the pressure of accepting on a visceral level. I probably feel somewhere between the guy who showed and the guy who didn’t on the confidence scale. So I was desperately curious about the one who showed up. Know the competition, and all.

“The kid who proposed the mag-lev technology for automobiles. His proposal discusses crumbling infrastructure, and suggests that a mag-lev device in the shocks of vehicles would help protect the structural integrity of vehicles. He completely neglected to mention that it would also be helpful to the military in hostile situations where IEDs and mines can compromise troop safety. I wouldn’t have been suspicious about the proposal at all if he’d included that application and some research on it, but it was really conspicuous in its absence. I think the first thing Tony has asked him to do is flesh out the proposal with the appropriate defense department research. Like we’ve all said, you’re a stand out.” It was in that moment that I finally clued into why I was feeling so out of sorts. I wasn’t used to being recognized and lauded for my work. I was used to producing and working hard. I was used to long hours of research, long hours of application, long hours of revision. But I wasn’t used to even five minutes of praise like I’d been receiving since I showed up at Stark Industries. And as a result, I felt uncomfortable.

“Can I get you to do me a favour?” I asked, suddenly changing the subject.

“Is it legal?” Markus countered.

“Can you dial back the compliments? I appreciate that you are impressed with me and excited about my work. But I’m not used to anyone being thrilled with me like everyone here seems to be. I feel like an imposter. It’s a lot of pressure.” It felt good to say the words aloud. Markus leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms, and just looked at me. Assessed me. Then he nodded.

“Sure, kid. No more endorsements, praise or approval until you prove yourself,” he agreed. “I give that about a week.” I think he thought he’d mumbled the last part quietly enough that I didn’t hear him. I let out a huff of resignation and shook my head.

“I appreciate it, Markus.” I pushed myself out of my chair. As frustrating as I found the golden child treatment to be, I could step back and appreciate it more knowing Markus was going to let me find my feet. I shook his hand again and headed back out, astonished to see how much time had passed while I was meeting him. Angela was back at my desk, and was holding a paper bag.

“I intercepted the distribution delivery to your room. Check out the towels you ordered.” She handed me the bag. I pulled a towel out and snapped it open. It was even smaller than the towels I already had.

“This said it was a bath sheet in the order book,” I protested. Angela laughed.

“Well, now you have hand towels for eternity. Let’s go get you some decent sized towels. Can’t have Thor seeing you in the altogether again, can we?” She linked arms with me, and started to lead me away from my desk. I barely had a chance to grab my purse and the bag of towels before she dragged me off. “I just need to drop this file off for Pepper, so we’re on our way up before we go down.”

We were intercepted in the elevator by a woman who was obviously fed up with the guy who was with her. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her mouth was set in a thin line. Every time she breathed it was like she was counting in her head. Slowly in, slowly out. I guessed it was my fellow intern, and I wasn’t wrong.

“Ladies.” He winked at Angela and smirked at me. I bit my lip and tried to hold back a snort of amusement. What a dork. Angela smiled at the woman with him.

“Marie! How is day two going? Are you settling Matt in?”

“You could say that. We’re just headed up for a little chat with Ms. Potts about policy and procedure,” she nodded. I looked at Angela in alarm. We hadn’t done that. Angela met my panicked look with a serene one, and just barely shook her head. 

“Ella, this is Marie. She works in the same capacity as I do, and has been assigned to orient the other intern to Stark Industries. Matthew Emerson is from MIT. Ella came from CalTech,” Angela offered. Matthew offered his hand and gave me a once over that was overtly unprofessional. I rolled my eyes.

“A pleasure, Ella. I’m sure we’ll be seeing much more of one another over the summer.” The way he said it made me want to bathe in bleach. I forced a smile and withdrew my hand from his sweaty grip. I turned back to the front of the elevator without saying anything in return.

The elevator stopped on the 77th floor and the doors opened. Thor stepped on, munching on what appeared to be a pop-tart, and nodded at us. He pushed the button for the top floor. Apparently we were all headed up to see Tony and Pepper. He was holding the hammer loosely in his grip, and the way the light caught on the surface, I could see the writing on it again. My mind flashed back to the moment I’d lifted it, and the shock that had coursed through my body.

“So, Ella. You don’t look like a CalTech girl,” Matt started. I gave him a questioning look. “I would expect you to be beach ready, with a perfect California tan. Tan lines optional.” He winked. I turned and faced him.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, come on. We all know you only got the internship because you’re the closest thing to attractive out of the women applicants. Pepper needed a sort of pretty chick for the face of her Women in STEM campaign. I just figured you’d be more summer girl than science girl.” His laugh was a derisive snort. Before I could respond, he slapped my ass. I saw red. The rage bubbled up so quickly, I wasn’t even sure where it came from. But I’d been dealing with asshats like him since I’d started university and I was not going to let his type win this round. I set my jaw and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back and pushing him into the wall. He made another disgusting comment. I’m not entirely sure what happened next, but when I came back to myself, I was standing over him, panting, and holding Mjolnir in my left hand. 

“Ella!” Angela reached for me. Thor put a hand up and prevented her from getting close. The elevator doors opened and Pepper and Tony were greeted with what was probably the strangest tableau they’d ever seen. The god of thunder looking on hopelessly as a raging intern held his hammer over the other intern. I could feel the lightning from the handle coursing through me again, but this time it wasn’t as painful or startling. It snapped me back to the present. I looked down at my hand in surprise and back up to Thor, meeting his gaze. I held out my hand without breaking eye contact. He took the hammer from me, and held out his other hand to stop the elevator door from closing on us.

“I don’t recall seeing anger management issues in your background,” Tony had come over to investigate.

“It was a warranted response, Tony. The boy spoke vulgarly.” Thor was in my corner, even if he was irritated that I kept stealing his hammer. Tony looked at Angela, who nodded.

“We were just on our way up to drop off this file,” Angela held the folder out to Pepper, who accepted it. She stepped back onto the elevator, and pulled me to the back with her. I think she was hoping we’d get away with leaving.

“And you?” Tony looked at Marie. Marie stepped off the elevator and gestured for Matt to follow her. He scuttled past me and pulled himself to his feet.

“Matt needs a policy and procedure orientation,” she replied. “From Pepper.” Tony raised an eyebrow, and in that moment, I realized that was code for something else completely. He stepped aside and let Marie and Matt pass him. Angela leaned over to punch the button to return us to the ground floor. 

“Not so fast,” Tony intercepted the attempted escape. “Ella is going to have to explain exactly how it was she came to be holding the hammer. Again. You don’t need to stick around though, Angela.” I sighed and stepped off the elevator, anticipating the worst. Tony led me over to the far side of the room, to the bar. Thor had followed, wordlessly. He dropped a couple of ice cubes into a pair of glasses and poured two drinks. He handed one to Thor and the other to me.

“Vodka, rocks, right?” He confirmed. I nodded. He nodded at a chair and I sat, smoothing my skirt over my knees. “Elizabeth Carmichael. Who exactly are you?”

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Enlighten Me

Pairings: Marcus Moreno x Reader

Summary: You’d been in love with Marcus since you were seventeen but wrote it off as a silly little crush on an older man. After seeing you again when you were 20, about six months after the loss of his wife, romantic feelings for you stir in Marcus that have him feeling confused. Two years of secretly pining after a seemingly impossible relationship leads to some confessions. 

Warnings: Age Gap (13-ish years),  Little angsty, Mentions of his wife’s death, Brief mention of pedophilia (Marcus just says he’s concerned about being seen this way), Brief mention of kidnapping (just super quickly says that reader saved kids from being kidnapped)

Word Count: 4200

______________

You stood in the briefing room of headquarters, waiting for the rest of the Heroics to arrive. Tech-no, Ms. Vox, Miracle Man, and Blinding Fast were the only other heroes there so far and the meeting couldn’t begin until everyone was present. Being in the Heroics Headquarters for the first time in what felt like forever sent nerves throughout your body like the first day of training. Even though you had always felt like a legitimate member of the team, you hadn’t been called on to do a job in a while. It was almost always Miracle Man, much to your secretly jealous chagrin, or occasionally Tech-no, depending on whether or not the problem could be fixed with gadgets. Regardless of who had been called how many times throughout the year, there was always an annual meeting of all the Heroics just to ensure that everyone was on the same page as far as current threats and protocols. This was that meeting. 

You stood beside Tech-no, listening to him explain the newest creation he’d invented in an attempt to block out Ms. Vox and Miracle Man’s incessant voices. Both of the heroes were nice people but they had egos the size of China and it did get grating sometimes. You’d always found it best to just avoid the people who had annoyed you on the team instead of getting involved in the incessant bickering that constantly seemed to be plaguing the team.

“With a simple press of the blue button, I was able to send an EMP straight to the power source of the detonation system. Stopped the bomb and Miracle Man caught the lady. Pretty neat, huh?” Tech-no explained, his demeanor pretty calm despite knowing how excited he got when his devices were successful. 

You smiled at his story, “Wow, that’s amazing!” 

“Have you been called in lately? I haven’t seen you around in a while.” He noted, brows knitting in curiosity. He’d always been like a big brother of sorts to you, one of your favorite people on the team, so of course he would notice your lack of presence, especially after spending so much time together. 

You shrugged, “Not much, only a handful of times this last year. I helped Sharkboy and Lavagirl with those elemental giants in Arkansas back in March and then Invisi Girl and I rescued all those kids from those kidnappers in Louisiana but it’s been a pretty dull year other than.” 

Tech-no’s face twisted sadly, “I’m sorry. I know it’s no fun to get left out of the action.” 

“It’s alright. Just gave me time to focus on my schoolwork.” You lied. Well, not about the schoolwork but about it being fine. You couldn’t lie that there were times you felt like you were treated like you were less important than the other Heroics for multiple reasons. Typically, the Heroics came up in generations where the last generation’s kids would take over for them. Most of the current Heroics had been born in about the same six year time period so they were all relatively the same age. However, your parents weren’t superheroes. They were just normal people who happened to somehow create a superhuman child. On top of that, you were about thirteen years younger than most of them. By the time you had decided to finally seek out help and direction from the Heroics at the age of seventeen, it was clear you were a strange in between age. The current generation had been in their late twenties-early thirties while their children, if they’d had any yet, were in the first two or three years of their lives. Especially after you’d been trained by Grandma Moreno, the team had taken to you quite well but always felt the need to protect you, despite the fact that you had superpowers, just like the rest of them. 

The door to the room slid open soundlessly but after years of training with Grandma Moreno, it was something that you noticed right away. Your heart stopped when you saw Marcus Moreno walk into the room, all geared up and with his swords strapped to his back. Your eyes were trained on his tall strong figure as he glanced around the room, inspecting who had already arrived. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and you could have melted then and there when his gaze met your own. Small crinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes as a wide smile spread across his face. “Mirror! Long time no see! How you been, kid?” He asked happily, pulling you in for a big hug. 

It took a lot of effort to not show how your heart fell when he called you that. Kid. It was all you’d ever be to him. You’d harbored a crush on him since you’d met him, though then you’d written it off as some puppy love crush on an older (and married) man. Over the years, though, the stupid feelings had anything but subsided, choosing to bubble up inside into some ridiculous unobtainable love for a man that would never love you back. Or so you thought. 

When Marcus entered the room, his eyes were automatically scanning the space for your bright smile. It was the same smile that made his heart flutter the way his wife’s did. It was the only other smile to ever have brought him such feelings of longing. When he saw you talking to Tech-no, he couldn’t help the way his lips turned up into a wide smile. 

These feelings made him uneasy, however. It felt wrong- inappropriate to have any sort of romantic feelings or attraction towards you being so much younger than he was. He had known you since you were seventeen and watched you grow into the beautiful young woman standing before him now, only growing more and more radiant with each time he saw you. By all accounts, you were an adult. You were on the verge of graduating from college, living on your own, and working a second job outside of being a Heroic. Even with all this, he was certain that if he had ever made his feelings known, you and the rest of the Heroics would look at him like some pedophile- except he was far from anything so disgusting. Any hint of romantic attraction to you hadn’t blossomed until you were twenty, when you had shown up at HQ one day, suddenly a woman instead of the girl he once knew. Even then, it was only a few months after the death of his wife and he was sure it was his heart’s way of trying to cope and fill the void with a safe presence. He was sure the feelings were purely temporary and hid them away from anyone, even himself for a while, but over the course of the last two years, he was almost frustrated to say they hadn’t subsided. Now you were twenty-two, strong and independent, beautiful and intelligent. 

With all logic, Marcus knew that having feelings for you shouldn’t make him feel dirty, especially when he’d had aunts and uncles that were fifteen years apart in age, but he couldn’t help the way the nickname kid had spilled from his lips before he could catch it in a subconscious attempt at overcompensating for his emotions. He cringed internally but kept an altered look of happiness on his face. He caught the way the twinkle in your eye faded just a little at the name and he felt a little bad for making you feel like a child. 

“Y’know, I have a real name.” You chided, rolling your eyes jokingly. 

Marcus chuckled, “I can’t remember the last time anyone used their real names on duty.” 

You raised your hand towards him, “I can’t remember the last time we didn’t just call you Marcus, even on duty. Besides, this hardly counts as being on duty.” You added, glancing around as more heroes shuffled into the room, clearly splitting off into groups based on how much they could stand one another, which wasn’t much.  

“Well, I don’t really ever go out as an actual Heroic anymore so I don’t really count.” He insisted, noticing how your eyebrow raised, eyes glancing down at his uniform and the swords strapped to his back. “It’s more of a formality for meetings like this. I don’t usually wear it.” 

“Okay, one, you do still count. You’re still the leader of this team. Two, if I have to wear this,” You motioned to your get-up, “You should have to suffer too.” You insisted with a laugh. 

Marcus couldn’t help the way he glanced down at the mention of your suit, though he tried as hard as possible to not make it look like he was actually checking you out. The smokey grey material sparkled ever so slightly in the light and was skin tight, covering your arms and legs entirely. It was modestly cut at the top, though it still showed the curvature of your breasts due to the tightness of the material. Thin black lines drew long angular patterns down your arms, torso, and legs, before disappearing beneath your tall black boots that covered just above your knees. Your hair was braided back back there were still some tendrils that hung loose at the front. You were a sight for sore eyes and Marcus’s eyes must have been aching because he never wanted to look away. 

Tech-no looked between the two of you, noticing the way he was seemingly forgotten about the moment you saw each other. He smirked to himself, noticing how both you and Marcus looked at each other differently than how you looked at anyone else. “I’m gonna go talk to Crushing Low but it was nice seeing you again, Mirror.” He excused himself, patting Marcus on the shoulder as he did. 

“Oh, okay!” You had honestly almost forgotten about the other man, too entranced by Marcus’s presence. 

It got quiet between you and Marcus after Tech-no had left, apparently having provided some sort of unknown buffer between the two of you for your unspoken tension. Marcus stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at you with a smile and you chewed your lip, trying to think of anything to say to break the silence. 

“Well-”

“How-” 

“Heroics, I’m glad you could all make it.” 

You and Marcus had begun to speak at the exact same time, only to be cut off by the ever commanding presence of Ms. Granada as she floated into the room gracefully despite her insanely high heels. With momentarily startled eyes, you shot Marcus an apologetic look before making your way to your designated seat around the large circular table. You sat between Sharkboy and Miracle Man, Marcus taking his seat across the table from you and crossing his hands over the files you’d all been handed. 

The meeting went quickly as Ms. Granada did a recap of the last year. In the file had been a list of all the missions gone on, all villains, new and old, as well as more boring things, like the budget for the upcoming year and guidelines on how to handle the press when situations got more destructive than preferred. 

After she had finished everything up, you all rose from your seats and began to leave, very few members of the team wanting to be around each other any longer than necessary. You decided to hang around HQ a little longer, it having been a while since you’d been to the building. There was one place in particular you’d always loved. In the back of the massive building, there was a garden that had always felt a little out of place amongst all the cold clean metal of the facility but it was somewhere you’d always felt drawn to. There was a small pond with little koi fish that swam around inside and a moderate variety of plants, most of which were actually somewhat tropical looking, all around. Gravel formed a path that wound through the mulch, crunching beneath your boots as you walked and breathed in the fresh air. You knelt down beside the pond and watched contently as the little orange and yellow fish glided through the water effortlessly.

“Had a feeling I’d find you here.” Marcus’s voice startled you and you whipped around in a knee-jerk reaction. 

Your heart rate slowed and you chuckled a little, “Yeah, couldn’t help it. It’s been a while since I got called here to help out with anything. Figured I’d better come to my favorite spots before I didn’t stop by for another few months.” 

Marcus sighed knowingly. He knew you weren’t called in for many missions and he was partially to blame for it. When Granada consulted him on which Heroics to bring in when the world was in peril, he always suggested other people first. Perhaps it was selfish of him but he was honestly just terrified of losing you. Especially after his wife’s death, he wasn’t sure if he could handle losing you as well. It wasn’t that he thought you were incompetent by any means, he was just genuinely scared for you and the idea of Miracle Man getting a good beating made him feel better than the idea of you taking one. 

“You know, you’re still a valued member of the team. Even if you’re not called in all the time.” Marcus tried to reassure you, walking beside you through the winding path of foliage. 

You shrugged, “I guess. I know my powers aren’t as cool or useful as some of everyone else’s. I mean, Miracle Man can fly. Tech-no can build almost anything. Lavagirl can literally control lava. You’re a freaking magnet!” 

You and Marcus both laughed when you called him that and he shook his head, “What are you talking about? You’re amazing! You can create physical projections of yourself! That’s pretty awesome.” 

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks at his compliment but still just shrugged again, “Yeah, but I can only really make them do separate tasks when I really focus on them which is hard to do in the heat of battle.” 

“Hey, you are talking down on one of my best friends and I really don’t appreciate it. You really are absolutely amazing, though, and everyone sees it.” Marcus stopped, hand coming to your shoulder to make you stop as well. A goofy little laugh followed his lame joke and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth blossom in your heart at his compliments. When you locked eyes with him, you were sure he could be the last thing you ever saw and you wouldn’t ask for anything more. 

That bit of doubt still crept up into your mind though, even though Marcus had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world. You glanced away, avoiding his gaze, “If that were true, I’d be picked for more missions. Sharkboy and Lavagirl live on another planet and have a six-year old. I’m single, kid-less, and live twenty minutes away. They both manage to go on more missions each in a month than I do in a year.” 

Marcus’s face fell when you began to walk away again. He never would have thought that his attempts at keeping you safe would have had such an impact on your self-esteem as a hero. Marcus had seldom used his powers anymore, something he felt was unnecessary if he wasn’t actively working as a Heroic, but before he could help himself, his hand had flexed just enough to will the metal vambrace around your left forearm to pull towards him. 

Your eyes shot down to the way your arm was being pulled towards Marcus and then back up at the man in utter confusion as to why he wouldn’t let you walk away. The force wasn’t strong by any means but just strong enough to draw your attention.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized simply, unsure of what else to say. 

As far as you knew, none of what you had just said had been his fault. By the way he apologized, you could tell he wasn’t simply apologizing for the way you felt but it was like he was sorry for something that he’d done. “For what?” You asked, confused. 

Marcus let his grip on your protective vambrace go and you took a natural step towards him, bodies closer than you meant them to be but not making any effort to correct it. “It’s my fault you don’t get called on often.” He admitted, looking away guiltily. 

“What? How?” You asked, desperate to understand what he meant. He was the leader of the Heroics so you were sure that he had some say in who was called in but you had never thought to attribute your lack of action to him. 

“Granada has actually suggested that we bring you in for many missions throughout the years but… I’ve always been the one to suggest other people.” Marcus continued slowly and he could see the hurt in your eyes at his confession. 

Your mouth fell open a little, trying to hide the hurt in your eyes. Did he have any idea how long you’d been feeling undervalued? Less than? Treated like a little kid? “Why would you do that? Do you not think I’m good enough?” 

The look in your eye almost made Marcus regret ever coming clean to you. He had hoped that telling you Granada had requested your assistance multiple times would make you feel better. Instead, he should have seen how this would just make you feel worse. 

Your heart almost broke. You could handle Granada thinking you weren’t as good as everyone else. You could handle Miracle Man treating you like he was better than you (like he did to everyone). You could handle the mothering way Ms. Vox treated you and the way Tech-no treated you like a little sister. The one person whose opinion you valued the most had never outright treated you like you were less than. But now, it seemed that he’d thought you were all along. 

“No! That’s not what I meant at all! You are one of the best people on the team. I just-” 

“You just what?” You snapped more aggressively than you meant to, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. 

Marcus closed his eyes and turned his face away from you, “I just couldn’t risk losing you.” His voice was calm and guilty, remorseful and scared. 

The venom in your chest began to subside at his confession and your voice softened, “You’re not gonna lose me, Marcus.” 

His eyes slid open at the safety of your calmer voice, feeling more able to face you now that he didn’t have to see the anger in your eyes anymore. He swallowed hard, deciding that it was too late to turn back now. “I never thought I’d lose my wife either but… I was scared of being wrong again and losing you too.” 

There was a pause while you tried to interpret what he meant by this last statement. He had always cared about you, that much had been clear, but you���d always assumed that it had been in a brotherly fashion. The way he looked at you now as he poured his heart out to you made you feel like there was a little more behind the words than you ever thought. 

“You don’t have to be scared.” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, as you took another subconscious step closer to him. Marcus’s eyes glanced down at the mere inches between your shoes and his before raking up your body and finally meeting your eyes.

“There’s more than you know.” He admitted quietly, his voice low and raspy. His eyes searched yours, terrified that this was the last time he’d ever see those beautiful eyes looking at him in this same way. He was about to cross a line that he couldn’t come back from but something about today made him feel like he couldn’t go any longer with this secret in his heart. 

“Then enlighten me.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, “I might lose you still if I do.” 

“Then it sounds like you have a decision to make.” You responded, anxiety rising as you looked at him with a straight face. You hadn’t meant to sound so blunt but he couldn’t say something like that and not expect your brain to linger to the worst possibilities. What could be so bad that he was convinced it would ruin your friendship? Was he kicking you off the team? Were you being reassigned to somewhere else in the world? Was about to insist you go back to training? Was he moving? The sudden flood of doomsday-level thoughts concerning your friendship made you vaguely annoyed that he would lead you on with a comment like ‘there’s more than you know’ and then continue to beat around the bush. 

“I think I love you, Y/N.” He blurted out, suddenly feeling a massive weight lifted off his chest. That weight was quickly replaced by a bubbling sense of insecurity when your mouth fell open in a state of disbelief. 

“Y-you what?” 

Marcus’s heart was caught in his throat and his breath hitched, unable to make it past the lump. His nightmare was coming true. This was a mistake. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-. This was a mistake.” 

“Wait!” You reached out to place a hand on his bicep when he turned to leave. He stopped and turned back to face you, hurt evident in his eyes, “Don’t leave.” 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just- I’ve had feelings for you for a while now and I didn’t want to come off as the creepy old guy.” He began to ramble uncharacteristically, the typically smooth under pressure superhero reduced to a panicked lovestruck boy. 

You put a hand over his mouth and looked straight into his eyes, “I love you too.” 

Beneath your palm, his jaw went slack. Slowly, you removed it, biting your lip with a small nervous smile as you waited for him to respond. “You do?” 

You nodded shyly, never thinking that your dirty little secret would ever come to light. “I’ve had a stupid little puppy love crush on you since I was seventeen but I’ve been in love with you since I started college. I was always just worried you’d only ever see me as a little girl.” 

Marcus’s hands nervously came to rest on your hips as he stared down at you in disbelief. He shook his head, “You’re an amazing woman, Y/N. One that’s impossible not to fall in love with.” 

Your hand came up to his cheek, the stubble scratching your skin lightly, “And you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. One that’s impossible not to love.” You mimicked his sentiment back to him with pure genuine intent. 

His hand came to cover yours, pressing his face further against your skin, pulling you closer to him by your hip. It was an innocent move, one of a man desperate to finally experience what he’d been keeping bottled up as a deep secret for the last two years. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” He asked, obviously referring to the thirteen year age gap between the two of you, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.” 

“I know that I’m younger than you but I’m not a naive child. You’re not taking advantage of me at all. Believe it or not, I am absolutely and irrevocably in love with you. If you want me, I would love nothing more than to be with you.” This was it: your all or nothing, all cards on the table, point of no return. The words you only told Marcus in your dreams were spoken and unable to be taken back. 

 His deep brown eyes flicked to your lips and then back to your eyes, his intention clear and awaiting any sign of hesitation, to which he found none. You leaned up on your toes but he finished closing the gap between the two of you, your lips touching in a gentle experimental kiss. His lips were soft in stark contrast to the stubble that scratched your skin. At this close proximity, you could finally breathe him in and it exceeded all expectations. He smelled clean, like freshly washed laundry, but with a hint of what you could only place as men’s body wash. 

Marcus felt the way your body melted into his touch. Your skin was soft as silk against his, your lips like pillows he wanted to stay in forever. Your perfume danced around him, engulfing his senses and rendering him incapable of thinking of anything but you. Finally, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. Your lids slid open only to see him already admiring you. 

“There’s nothing I would love more.” Marcus repeated. Two and a half years ago, he never could have imagined he would ever love again. Two hours ago, he never would have imagined that you could have possibly loved him back. But here you were, gazing up at him in a way he only let himself think about when he was alone, wrapped in his arms the way he dreamt about, saying the words he’d felt guilty for fantasizing about hearing from you for so long.