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ddarker-dreams · 1 year ago

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Nexus IV.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit not SFW, alcohol consumption, Space Politics, possessive behavior, yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 15.4k.

Nexus index.

Time plucked away at the few petals still clinging to Kafka’s roses.

The insipid end brought an inexplicable sense of relief. An irrational foreboding cast suspicion upon the bouquet; you considered it an ill-omen. You observed it religiously as one would an upside-down hourglass. Waiting, anticipating, dreading. When the last petal fell, you breathed a sigh of relief. It was late by then, so you decided to throw the remains away in the morning.

Presently, you examine the vase.

The once wilted stems stand tall, pridefully lifting its crowning gem on a green pedestal. Ruby-colored petals burst forth, wickedly beautiful and fragrant.

Is this a practical joke? Some little parlor trick intended to unnerve you?

The latest developments in holograms include olfactory stimulation. Consider this, you decide to test its authenticity. You reach out, expecting your hands to glide through an incorporeal image.

Your fingers meet resistance.

You try again just to be certain — the results are the same.

You’re more determined to get rid of it now than ever.

You pick up the most vain rose by its stem. It delays its demise by pricking you, earning a temporary pardon along the white veneer of your vanity.

Blood pools into a crimson dome on your finger. You watch it, mesmerized, taken aback by memories that emerge alongside it.

The voice of a haughty girl echoes throughout your being.

“What’s wrong? It’s just a bit of blood. We all have it inside us, don’t we?”

The LOTUS-EATER has always been your home.

So long as it wasn’t open for business, you were free to run amuck. Of course, you refused to run amuck — how unladylike is that — but you did enjoy roaming. There were a lot of interesting things to look at. Anything was better than spending hours in front of that dumb blue screen with its stupid made-up people with stupid made-up problems. You didn’t get it. Everyone always said you’d grow up to be a super amazing Arbiter. You’d get tons of clients, make them all happy, get mountains of credits, buy the IPC, and then fire their staff.

Miss Calliope, your teacher when mother was busy, said it took most twenty years to get to where you’ve gotten in one. This reinforced an argument you’d practiced for many cycles. You thought for sure you could convince mother.

It didn’t work out that way.

Mother said you had to keep studying before you could make a link with an organic being. You really wanted to argue, but you chose to act like an adult and be angry in silence instead. She tried to win you over and offered a ride on the nectar guides. This bribe almost swayed you from your mission. To ensure she knew how serious you were, you said you’d pass, calmly enough for her to know you weren’t actually calm.

She went off somewhere to discuss boring things with boring people. You seized this opportunity to further refine your strategy and paced The Lounge’s hallways. Maybe if you broke the blue screen, mother would have no choice but to let you learn through experience. This idea greatly enthused you, until you remembered they could just get another blue screen. For this mission to succeed, you needed to cause the ‘collapse of supply chains.’ This was adult for ‘we can’t get the stuff we want’ from what you could surmise. The problem was, you didn’t know where these important chains were located. There’s Thelx, the good place, Ade, the weird place, Mele, the boring place, and Arc, the scary place.

You stood and contemplated. If you had to hide something important, you’d put it in the scariest spot. Arc it is then.

A mission of this magnitude would be unlike anything you pulled before. You’d need a… what was that term again…? Accompanied lice…?

Accomplice!

That’d be the crux of the whole thing. It couldn’t be any of the adults either, they’re all snitches. You required someone who would do your bidding. You closed your eyes and concentrated. There were three people around. Two on the first floor, one on the second. You sought out the latter.

A little boy with long blonde hair and dull blue eyes sat by himself in the break room. He hadn’t noticed you yet, he just stared off into space and halfheartedly kicked his legs. The workers sometimes brought their kids along and stuffed them in here, where there were snacks and games. He didn’t seem interested in either.

What resolve, you thought. What fortitude!

You walked in front of him, pointed, and loudly demanded, “What’s your name?”

“M-Miss Phaeales?” He squeaked.

“No, that’s my name,” you sighed. Maybe your intuition was off. “What’s your name?”

He hung his head and frowned.

“Oh, um… I’m Vincent.”

You squinted. “Huh? That can’t be right. Vincent’s the bartender. You can’t do that.”

“He’s my dad. We have the same name.”

You felt a strange feeling from tinier Vincent; the kind of strange feeling that made your stomach and head hurt. Mother said you’d be able to block it out as you grew up. You hoped you’d grow up soon.

“Well, that’s dumb. I don’t like that name,” you decided. He remained silent. “Pick a new one.”

“I don’t think I can…?”

“You can because I said you can. Pick a new one, or I’ll pick one for you.”

He stared at you like you had three heads. You did the scary thing mother does when angry — you counted down from three to one in a mean voice. Not-tinier-Vincent just sat there and looked confused. You scrunched your face up when your mean counting finished. You didn’t get it, that always worked on you. He must be immune to pressure… a quality your mission required.

Maybe he had his merits after all.

“Alright, I’ll pick one. From now on, you’re… hm… Lear.”

You placed your hands on your hips and nodded. This is a great name, you thought. It rhymes with so many things.

Lear tilted his head. “Uh… alright?”

“Great. Onto the next business order — how old are you?”

He put up five fingers.

What luck you have!

You grinned. “I’m seven, so according to the law, you have to listen to me.”

“The law?” He questioned.

“Yeah, the law. It’s what you have to do or you get in trouble.”

Lear processed this new information and nodded. “Okay. I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“From now on, you’ll be my ac—”

You covered your mouth with your hands. Wait a moment, you can’t tell him he’s an accomplice! He might not help you then. That was a close one. You considered alternative titles, but none of them sounded as cool as accomplice. What a shame, but it can’t be helped. Missions required sacrifice.

“From now on, Lear, you’ll be my best friend.”

…

A few cycles later, you convened on the balcony outside of mother’s office.

You liked the balcony. No one made you use the blue screen there. Sometimes, when you weren’t monitored, you’d grab a chair, pull it to the railing, hop up, and stare. This is Eris, you’d think. A cold planet far away from the stars. Stars are big fireballs that make everything nice and warm. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see one. It’d be cool if I could.

You displayed a vital object for the mission.

“Lear, do you know what this is?”

Lear stood still with his hands in his pockets. “A circle?”

“No. Well, okay, yeah, it’s a circle, but this is called a hair tie. You use it to tie your hair.”

“That’s cool.”

You held it out to him. “For this mission, full visibility is required. I’d cut your hair, but mother hid the scissors from me.”

His tiny hand grabbed it. Lear regarded your gift blankly and glanced back at you, his eyebrows furrowed. Did he not know what to do with it?

You sighed because that’s what mother did in these situations. You started to get why. You took the gift back, tied your hair up, then returned it. He managed to do it on the fourth try. Relieved that the trial was over, you clapped and smiled. Your effort has been rewarded.

“Good job, Lear.”

Lear’s head rose at that. “What?”

“I said good job. When someone gets something right, that’s what you say.”

“... It is?” He murmured. You nodded. You didn’t think you needed to teach him the basics, but an accomplice must be capable. Miss Calliope said that extra effort was always worth it. She changed her mind after you grabbed a stool to mix the adult drinks. You’d like to think she still meant it.

“Since that’s finished, we can get to the main event.”

You pulled out a paperclip from a pocket inside your dress. The object was subjected to your immense strength, manipulated, and reforged. It went from a boring shape to a useful shape. You took a deep breath, brought the paperclip’s edge to your pointer finger, then stabbed down. Lear released a choked sound when blood surfaced.

You cleaned the paperclip’s edge with your dress’ hem and handed it to him. This would go on to determine the rest of your life, you decided. It needed to be done well.

“I read that doing this makes your promises stronger. Since we’re gonna make an important promise, it has to be extra strong,” you explained. The color drained from Lear’s face. “What’s wrong? It’s just a bit of blood. We all have it inside us, right?”

Lear refused to take the paperclip. “A promise? Miss Phaeales, I don’t know if I can.”

“You don’t have to press hard. It barely stings, anyway.”

“B-But...”

You pursed your lips. “Lear, we have to, or the promise will be weak.”

Lear shook his head and took a step back. There were lots of weird feelings that came from him. They confused you, you couldn’t think of a word to describe them. It didn’t hurt, but it felt heavy on your chest. What did you do wrong? Were paper clips that scary? No, it had to be something else. Mother said you can’t focus on another person too hard because it’s unfair. If they don’t tell you it themselves, you shouldn’t know it.

“Lear…?”

He stood on his tiptoes and reached for the number pad. You revealed the top-secret passcode to him, since the balcony was to be your top-secret hideout. Every top-secret hideout had to have a top-secret password. The detective books you read said so.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Lear apologized. His voice sounded tiny. “I’m really sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say to stop him or if you should try.

Was this what people meant when they called you pushy? You wanted to complete the mission, but you also didn’t want Lear to be sad.

The door opened and quietly closed.

With that, the first friend you ever made was gone.

…

The next time you were allowed on the balcony, you were curled up in a ball.

You hugged your knees to your chest and sniffled. Mom was mad at you. Miss Calliope was mad at you. Mister Caicias had scolded you. The other Arbiters were less nice too. You don’t think they ever liked you, but at least they pretended they did. It’s okay to hate you for now so they stopped pretending.

You could hear their thoughts. You didn’t want to, but you could anyway.

What a spoiled child.

If anyone else had done what she did, they’d never be allowed in this line of work.

I hope the Exalted Arbiter lives a long life, if this is to be her successor.

Your throat was sore, your eyes burned, and your chest hurt. You didn’t know you were spoiled. You never thought you were better than anyone. You hadn’t realized your attitude was awful. You just wanted to be confident like mom. That way, no one would be worried about the future. Everyone on Eris relied on mom. Everyone on Eris will have to rely on you eventually.

You looked at the black sky, the only sky you’d ever known. It always felt sad. The gray clouds were like little discolored tears.

You wondered if Noct ever felt bad that they made a planet where everyone was unhappy.

Someone’s coming, you realized. Is it moma?

It isn’t.

It’s the little boy with blue eyes and long, blonde hair. This time, it’s pulled back into a ponytail. You hadn’t changed the top-secret password, he must’ve used it to gain entry.

You hurriedly rubbed your tears away, and he looked elsewhere until you gave up on your task. Afterward, he sat down beside you. He hugged his knees to his chest as well.

“Are you okay?” He murmured.

You nodded and sunk your head into your knees.

“... Those kids are mean, anyway,” he reassured. “I dunno what they said, but it’s not true.”

“It is too. The adults think it but they don’t say it,” you whispered.

You know it’s true. Your mission to Arc almost caused what Miss Calliope called ‘a scandal.’

You snuck out of the LOTUS-EATER by yourself.

It wasn’t as difficult as you expected. You just borrowed a staff member’s lanyard, pressed it against the door, and it opened. You stuck to the shadows and navigated your way south. You could tell when an adult was close if you heard their thoughts. The thoughts were rarely happy. You pushed on until you encountered an alley, where some older kids were gathered.

You froze; you hadn’t accounted for kids. Their thoughts weren’t as loud and terrible. You didn’t hear them.

This bunch, though… they had a kid’s build and the expression of an adult. You counted four in total. One was tall, another was scrawny, the tiniest covered in dirt, and the last kid wore a tattered shirt that reached their knees.

The tall kid spat on the ground.

“This is our spot,” he said. “Get lost.”

You fidgeted.

“Hello, um… could I just pass over that fence? I’ll be quick,” you reasoned.

“Are you deaf or something? I said, get lost.”

The scrawniest kid squinted at you. “Hey, wait a sec, J. I feel like I’ve seen her before.”

“Really? When?” The tiny one squeaked.

“Y’know, during those big events for when Arc folk move over.”

“Huh, now that you mention it…” the tall boy trailed off, “You’re [First] Phaeales, right?”

He said your name like it was a disease. It made your heart hurt.

“Can you read my mind? What am I thinkin’ about, huh?” The scrawny kid called out.

“Hey, be careful. I heard those things can make your head explode with a single look,” the kid in a long shirt whispered.

The tall boy guffawed and stepped forward. “Really? Is that true?”

You took a step back.

“What? You gonna run away? Can’t stand to see people like us, huh?” He remarked. “Must be nice, getting everything you ever need handed to you. Yeah. Real fuckin’ nice.”

“I don’t—” your voice gave out. You ignored how they snickered and pressed on to finish your important sentence. “I don’t think that about you! When I grow up, I wanna help—”

The tall boy stormed over and lifted you by your dress’ collar. “Help? Help? You can’t do shit. You people never do anything! You promise and promise and never come through!”

You didn’t understand, there was too much to process. Anger and sadness mixed to become a storm that you were caught in the middle of. You closed your eyes and hoped the pain would go away. Maybe you prayed to Noct, maybe you cried out for your mom, you don’t really remember.

When you reopened your eyes you saw a music box. It was simple, small, and made of wood. There was nothing else around it. No ceiling or sky, floor or ground. You couldn’t speak, so you couldn’t scream. Nothing felt normal. This wasn’t Eris. Did you float into space? Can anyone save you? Would anyone find you?

The music box’s handle creaked; the lid lifted like a yawning mouth. No song was played. Voices came out instead, though they sounded far away. There was nothing else to do but listen.

“At this rate, she’s only going to get worse…”

“You don’t know that. I have a few more items I can pawn off, and then…”

“... Temperature of 102 degrees…”

“How much longer will this embargo last? Why can’t they just give in to the IPC’s fucking demands already? We all know they’re going to, but we have to sit and suffer while they play politics!”

“Honey, keep your voice down, the children are trying to sleep…”

“... Temperature of 104 degrees…”

“My wedding ring! There’s still my wedding ring! We have— we have to go fast, the pharmacy closes at 3400!”

“Jason, your mom and I need to run a very important errand. I need you to keep an eye on Iris, okay? Can you do that for me? I know it’s scary, but it’ll all be okay, I promise. We’ll be quick.”

“Hey… big bro?”

“You shouldn’t get up! Here, lay back down. There you go, take it easy. Mom and dad will be back soon. They’ll get what you need, and… and… it’ll be okay. They promised.”

“I’m sorry… for making everyone sad.”

“No, no, that isn’t true! When you get better, we’ll be the happiest family there is. We’ll— we’ll take a trip to the entertainment district, get tons of yummy food. I’ve been saving up my allowance so I can spoil you. You can have cookies, cakes, whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“... Pudding too?”

“Of course, pudding too. You’ll have so much, you’ll need an entire lifetime to eat it. A long, long lifetime. So… just wait a bit longer. They should be back any minute now.”

“You want to hear the music box mom gave you? That’s all the way in the— no no no, don’t look at me like that, I’ll go get it. See? Keep an eye on the door, lift your head just a little bit. I’ll be quick.”

“Hey, look what I found. Works like a charm too. Hm? Did you fall asleep? That was fast. It normally… it takes… normally takes… l-longer…?”

The music box slammed shut.

The tall boy — Jason — released his grip on you and staggered back. His friends ran to his aid. You squeezed your head in your hands, fell to your knees, and tried to disappear. It hurt, it hurt, oh, it hurt, a pain you’d never experienced before. It felt like your chest was stabbed over and over again with something sharper than a paperclip. This pain, his pain, it was too much.

A few guards that’d been dispatched to search for you overheard the commotion. They ran over, worried that you were injured. Nothing was wrong with you physically. The pain came from within. You thrashed and screamed when they picked you up. You wanted to be left alone, you wanted it to go away.

You looked at the tall boy one more time before they pulled you away.

Tears fell from his eyes and they couldn’t stop.

You don’t think those kids were mean. They were just really sad.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” the little boy said. His voice wavered. “I was scared.”

You felt numb. “Of me?”

His eyes widened and he waved his hands as if he’d caught on fire. “N-No, well, kinda, but not like that. You’re nice. You don’t tell me to smile or to stop looking sad.”

Your lower lip trembled. “But I made you tie your hair up.”

“I see better now.”

“And— and I said your name was dumb.”

“... I don’t like it,” he said. The strange feeling reappeared. “That name. It is dumb. You know that I guess, ‘cause of the mind stuff.”

“Isn’t that scary?”

“Maybe if you did mean things with it, but… that name made me sad. So you picked a new one. Lear is cool. It rhymes with stuff.”

You lifted your head. The little boy wasn’t lying, you could tell.

“Why’d you leave then?”

His little hands balled into fists by his side.

“I was scared. I was asked to make a promise before, and I lied. It was a promise I didn’t like,” he explained.

Then, he lifted his finger. A droplet of blood dripped from it. “I shoulda said something. I’ll try, I’ll really try, so please don’t be sad. It makes me sad. I want… I want to be best friends!”

A lump formed in your throat. Tears stung your eyes, the strength of his words pierced through your sadness like an arrow. A friend. You never had a friend before. You didn’t think you’d ever get to have one. Mom said it’d be difficult, that if you wanted it, you’d need to try harder than you’d ever tried before.

You launched at Lear, your arms outstretched, and wailed loudly. He caught you awkwardly with a gasp. You pressed your forehead to his shoulder and hugged him tight.

“I don’t want you as an accomplice anymore! You’re my best friend! I really mean it this time!” You exclaimed in between sobs.

“Eh? Accom-police?” Lear struggled to repeat the new word. Then, for the first time since you met him, he laughed. “I don’t really get you, Miss Phaeales, but… I wanna.”

That kid, Jason… is he okay? Did he ever go back home to his parents? You wonder. I used to think I could prove him wrong, that I just needed to grow up faster so I could fix everything. And yet, these past two years have been some of the worst economically.

You grab the rose by its petals and return it to the vase.

The crystal lotus shines beside it, its multiple surfaces flickering between brilliant hues. This gift, while beautiful, never particularly stuck out to you before. It wasn’t until Blade expressed an interest that it stood out more.

You sit in front of your vanity.

Mom… was I a good daughter?

You brush foundation along your face.

I always thought you never understood me, but…

Mascara darkens and thickens your eyelashes.

… I never tried to understand you.

You slam the makeup drawer shut.

It has officially been three months since the IPC instituted its travel ban on Eris with seemingly no end in sight.

Unemployment rates have crept up from 5.3% to a staggering 15%. We reached out to a financial advisor for Metis Mining from Mele, a company that has laid off one-third of its workforce.

“It’s an awful situation,” he said. “Essentially, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. I’ve been in this field for some 150 years — never have I seen anything like this. Thelx is our heart. If it stops pumping, we stop getting the blood we need to live. We need tourism. We need our heart to beat again.”

An advisor for Chrysus, however, is singing a different, more upbeat tune.

“We’re feeling optimistic. The negotiations have been going well. None of us want this to last longer than it has to. We’ve cooperated fully with the IPC’s requests, working endlessly to provide the necessary documentation for them to drop this unfounded charge. We ask that the people of Eris stand together. I will not be accepting questions at this time. Thank you.”

“What is Chrysus doing,” you groan. “The optics on this are terrible. ‘We ask that the people of Eris stand together,’ sounds like a bumper sticker for a spaceship.”

The comment section on the article expresses a similar sentiment. The most upvoted post is a picture of Eris on fire with bottom text that reads, ‘Don’t worry, just keep standing.’ The second is a screenshot of the advisor’s comment with the caption ‘me when i lie.’ To make matters worse, the user’s profile picture is the lead singer for Mushroom Mania but with a flower crown photoshopped onto his head.

You squint at the tiny text beneath it.

Your friend banona69 liked this post.

“Blade, can you cut my phone in half?”

He throws you a disinterested glance.

“Riveting conversation, as usual,” you lean heavily on sarcasm to reel him in.

“You’re working. I won’t interrupt,” he drawls.

Or maybe it didn’t, who knows, he’s as easy to read as an esoteric tome in a lost language. It is true that you’re working. Keeping up with clients, overseeing reimbursements for canceled appointments, apologizing for circumstances you have no control over; the usual. Your latest torment involved your bank’s servers going down when your employees’ paychecks were due. They’re testing out a new customer service android, but yours had a bug that caused it to repeat everything you said.

That predicament came to an end and five more popped up in its place.

You stretch your arms above your head. “If I handed you over to the IPC, do you think they’d lift the travel ban?”

“Find out for yourself.”

“Huh?” You swipe your monitors away so you can gauge him better. “What do you mean by that?”

Blade kicks himself off the wall and uncrosses his arms. “If you can subdue me, you can turn me in.”

That’s one of the biggest ‘ifs’ to ever if. You narrow your eyes, like that’ll help your ability to discern his intentions. He’s standing there, intimidating as ever, his countenance betraying nothing. You decide he has to be joking. It’d be a major inconvenience for Kafka and her cronies to break him out of IPC holding. You know precious little about Blade, but you do know he takes his job seriously.

Regardless, this cycle has raised your blood pressure to unprecedented levels, so you play along. A little fun never hurts.

“Didn’t Nona tell you about my mind-liquifying technique?”

“Screeched it, more like,” Blade dryly recalls. “It’s a bluff.”

You swivel around on your chair and get up. He remains perfectly still as you languidly approach, his burning eyes never leaving yours. An electrifying sensation courses through your body the closer you get. It’s unfair how beautiful he is. His dark hair that shifts into a crimson shade, broad shoulders, narrow waist, his surprisingly soft lips that are almost always drawn in a straight line; the wanted posters don’t do him justice.

You have to crane your head to look up at him, the man’s so ridiculously tall. You’ve never liked it when people look down on you — this must be the lone exception.

“And if it isn’t?” You challenge.

“You would never,” Blade insists. It isn’t your eyes he’s focusing on anymore, it’s your lips. “You’re too…”

On the occasions you can get Blade talking, he’s never at a loss for words. His cadence has a quiet confidence. If he’s in the mood, he’ll have a rebuttal for every possible sentence you could concoct. It’s immediate too, as swift as his bladework. It’s unusual for him to trail off for this long.

“Too…?” You encourage, tilting your head.

“Forget it.”

You don’t have the luxury of pressing the issue. He quite literally sweeps you off your feet, taking long strides to your office’s couch like he owns the place.

“You missed your chance,” Blade lays you down on the cushions and crawls over you. “Unless you’d still like to try.”

You glare at him halfheartedly and prop yourself up on your elbows. This guy must have a thing for manhandling you, because every chance he gets, he goes for it. You splay your hand against his chest and lightly push. He gets the message and moves back, allowing you the space necessary to lift up your blouse. He’s all over you immediately after, kneading your chest and trailing hot kisses down your neck. He stops at the spots with bite marks or bruises, giving them extra attention so they don’t fade.

“Maybe I could, who knows? Perhaps I’ve extended you mercy,” you breathe out.

Blade pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his amusement evident. “You’d be the first.”

He leers at your cleavage like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His lips are back on your skin, starting at your collarbones and then moving down. He lavishes your chest in lovebites, his teeth practically married to your skin. Your low-cut shirts will be collecting dust in your closet at this rate, he’s seen to that. He kisses down your navel and stops shy of your skirt’s waistband.

“Is this for me?” He plays with your skirt’s short hem, raising it to reveal your thighs.

You did choose this risque skirt to see how he’d react, but he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing this.

“You’re not the only person I ever see,” is your cheeky reply.

He doesn’t look impressed.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you, though,” he says, as plain as someone describing the weather.

You frown and twist your head to the side. He picked up on that, huh? You don’t know if it’s definitive, but you haven’t conducted tests to find out. It is exhilarating to lose yourself in carnality without fearing the repercussions. Still, you don’t want him to believe that gives him an exclusive claim to you. You’ll both enjoy yourselves, he’ll get recalled from this job, and that’ll be the end of it. He’ll be nothing but a story you drunkenly recall to Nona. Nothing more, nothing less.

Possessive men are a turnoff. If they wanted to own the thing they stick their dick in, they could buy a sex android. You’re not a sex android. You don’t run out of battery power in six hours or incur hilarious yet painful-sounding reasons for lawsuits.

“Pouting again?” Blade taunts.

Long, gloved fingers lightly glide against your inner thigh.

“I don’t pout,” you sigh as his hand dips past your waistband. “I brood.”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are quick to find your clit. He rubs the sensitive nub in slow motions, applying minimum pressure. Your breath hitches and you look up at him through lidded eyes. His towering form cages you in. This couch is one of the few surfaces he hasn’t taken you on yet. Your bed, your office chair, your desk, hell, even the wall; he’s fucked you on almost every object with the geometry to permit it.

Your head tilts back as he steadily drags his fingers down the length of your pussy. His ring and middle finger barely slip in before he pulls them out, returning to their previous task of gathering your slick. There’s enough for each swipe to create audible sounds, despite the relaxed rhythm he’s set. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by him. No, he grins at you, his eyes practically shining.

“Shut up,” you grumble, covering your face with your forearm.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s written all over your— ah!”

His fingers plunge into you without the slightest resistance, all the way up to his knuckles. You gasp at the abrupt intrusion. Normally, he takes surprising care when pushing anything inside you — whether it be his cock, tongue, or fingers — gauging how your face contorts to ensure you aren’t in pain. He couldn’t have been touching you for more than a minute and yet your body produced enough lubrication to easily suck him in.

“My what?” He probes, lowering his face close enough for your noses to touch. His soft black locks tickle your cheeks.

Blade curls his fingers as if beckoning you toward him, which is exactly what he gets; your back arches and you curl your arms around his neck for purchase. He’s noted this clinging tendency of yours and has taken great pleasure in pointing it out. You mewl as he carries on his ministrations, loving the contrast of the cold leather against your warm insides. He finger fucks you nice and slow. His lips find yours, kissing you in a way that can only be described as tender. You reciprocate, though the lustful haze permeating your mind desires something rougher. This is the sweet kiss of a lover, not a… whatever the two of you are.

Blade pulls back an inch when you run your tongue over the seam of his lips.

“Are you ever satisfied?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you huff. “Do you have any idea how much shipping Plan B to this planet costs?”

He exhales sharply in amusement. “You like when I finish inside.”

Your walls clamp down on him before you can protest this claim.

“Would you look at that,” Blade hums, his voice dropping in volume as if he were sharing a secret. “I can’t even move my fingers, that made you squeeze them so tight.”

You’d like to think he was exaggerating, but it does take a few seconds for him to comfortably slide his fingers in and out again.

“You’re delusional. That’s… an involuntary muscle contraction.”

He quirks an eyebrow.

His fingers abandon their prior creed. He embraces a new tenet — one that seeks to make your lips part in pure pleasure. You writhe beneath him at the unrelenting onslaught. He angles his palm so that it rubs against your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You’re quick to sync up with his sharp movements. Every time his fingers glide back in, your hips rise to meet him halfway. Soft gasps and moans fill the air as your peak grows closer.

Your walls start to tighten, promising that sweet ecstasy will soon be yours.

The second time it squeezes down, his merciless pace relaxes. He doesn’t stop entirely, he just slows down enough that you aren’t getting the stimulation necessary to come undone. You bite down on your lower lip. He hasn’t deprived you of an orgasm since this feverish passion began; he’s been more interested in seeing how many times he can fuck you to completion. He didn’t even subject you to this cruelty when you made a jab at his age that set him out to prove he doesn’t ‘have the refractory period of an old man.’

You don’t bother trying to move your hips for more friction. One night, during the afterglow of sex, you inquired after his sword. Among other things, he nonchalantly revealed its weight of three thousand pounds. You called his bluff. He was in an agreeable enough mood to summon it, allowing you to test the claim’s validity yourself.

Sure enough, you couldn’t even drag it an inch across the ground…

His breath is hot on your ear as he whispers, “Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you love it,” he commands, his fingers massaging your walls. “Don’t be shy.”

“I’m anything but shy.”

“Hm. Dishonesty doesn’t suit you.”

You groan in exasperation when his fingers come to a complete halt. Is he really going to make you admit something so embarrassing…? Your face burns as hot as those faraway stars. You examine his expression, searching for some sign that he isn’t being serious. It’s a poor tactic. His countenance is stern, except for the blush on his cheeks from how aroused he is.

“I…” you inhale shakily, your lower lip trembling, “I like… when…”

“Love,” he corrects.

You turn your head to the side and squeeze your eyes shut. “I love when you… cum inside me.”

His clothed cock twitches against your leg.

“I know.”

Blade returns to the heavenly speed that has your mind all but floating away. His palm rubs down hard on your clit, his fingers searching out for that spot you love so much. Inhibitions gone, his name is the only word your tongue can form. Everything else that isn’t Blade has been erased from your lexicon. He makes you feel so good, it’s maddening. He’s addicted to your body and you couldn’t be more grateful.

To be wanted, to be desired… what bliss this brings.

Your muscles tighten and release as waves of pleasure devour you.

Your insides spasm around him, demanding that he doesn’t let up until you’re satiated. He’s happy to oblige. Once your orgasm-induced daze lessons, you yank him down to your lips into an open-mouthed kiss that has you swapping saliva. He swallows a whimper from you while pulling his fingers out, leaving the area he’s become so intimately acquainted with. The arm that he was using to hold himself above you snakes behind your back. You’re made to sit on his lap as he shifts upright, your skirt flaring out.

As always, it’s you who breaks from the heated kiss first.

Blade raises his gloved hand for you to see. You gape at how the onyx-colored leather has lightened, thoroughly coated in you. He parts his middle and ring, allowing dewy threads of your essence to form. Those crimson eyes go from admiring his handiwork to reveling in your embarrassed expression. As if you weren’t flustered enough, he slips his fingers into his mouth. His length hardens and he groans quietly while sucking off your slick.

While savoring your taste, he starts the familiar process of pulling your drenched panties down. You set to work on undoing his belt. He then hits an area that’s difficult to pull them over. He gives it one more try before frustration surges from him, hinting at his solution.

“Stop ripping my undergarments,” you chastise, lifting your leg to make it easier for him. “I’ll have to go shopping at this rate.”

Blade exercises a modicum of decorum and flings the scant fabric aside instead of eviscerating it.

“Quit wearing them.”

“That dream of yours might come true if I have none left. If that happens, I’m stealing your credit card.”

“It’s yours.”

You roll your eyes, focusing on freeing his cock. His length is flushed red and painfully hard. You wrap your hands around the base. Pre-cum leaks from his head in steady streams that flow down, coating him enough that it’s easy to glide your hand up. He hisses out through gritted teeth. Once your hand reaches the top, you rub his smooth tip with the pad of your thumb. The way he leers at you is borderline animalistic. You keep at your task, pumping him up and down.

“Does this count as me subduing you?” You muse, your voice taking a sickeningly sweet cadence, “Should I get handcuffs ready?”

“Watch it, girl.”

You would’ve if he hadn’t teased you so much earlier. But he did, and you must have some compensation. You sink onto the ground. Blade shoots you an inquisitive look, to which you flutter your eyelashes and smile. The realization of your intentions hits him when your lips place an amorous kiss on his leaking tip. The veins running along the length of his cock pulsate from the sight. Such a chaste way of going about a lustful act must do something for him.

“You…” He growls out, clenching his hands into tight fists, “God.”

You suck him gently, swirling your tongue along his slit. Meanwhile, your hand pumps him faster. He thrusts his pelvis forward to force more of his cock into your mouth. He isn’t immediately gratified — no, you take him in at your leisure. His gloved hand entangles itself in your hair and helps guide your head up and down. The wet sound of you sucking him off grows louder from the copious amount of saliva slathered along his cock. You reach for his balls, gently cupping and massaging them. Blade pants above you and throws his head back.

The telltale twitching of his cock starts.

You pull yourself off him. He glares down at you, silently fuming.

You suppress a laugh and climb onto his lap. His hand goes to your shoulder, a sign he intends to push your body down so he can fuck you. Rather than moving aside and complying, you undo your bra’s clasp. His enchantment with your bare tits distracts him enough for your scheme to carry on undetected. You align your entrance with the head of his cock and start sinking down, taking the initiative yourself.

Blade’s large hands fly to either side of your hips from instinct. Inch after inch slides in and stretches you. He maintains unflinching eye contact, the intensity behind his gaze is almost more embarrassing than the act of sex itself. Maybe he’s as pent-up as you are? Whatever the case, the tension in the air begs to be diffused.

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” You ask.

“You’re getting there.”

Your lips part in a silent moan when you fully envelop him. Blade grunts, pulling you down so he can go as deep inside you as possible. His thickness caresses your walls and sets your nerves ablaze. You gyrate your hips in one last little act of revenge. He squeezes your flesh, sending the unspoken warning that you’re truly testing his patience. Thinking it best not to test your luck any further, you rise off him and sink back down.

The legs in your muscles are sore from overexertion but the burden barely falls to you. Blade lifts you off his cock then back down again — you could go completely limp and it wouldn’t make a difference. He must’ve wanted to know you were ready before ruthlessly maneuvering your body for his pleasure.

What a gentleman.

This position has him consistently rubbing against a spot inside you that’s mind-numbing. He fills and stretches you like your body was molded with him in mind. Your gratification isn’t his goal at the moment he’s lost in the pursuit of what you snatched away. He’s greedy because he can be; he’s greedy because you welcome it. You’ve had so much to give and no one to receive it. You aren’t sure how much he’ll take. You’ve decided it’s better to be empty than bursting at the seams with ardor no one can swallow, lest their throat get scorched.

Maybe his premonition is right. Maybe no one will be able to fuck you but him.

So you’ll enjoy it while you can.

The rosy hue on his cheeks, his countenance reflecting the pleasure he derives from your body, the inhuman grip that mars your skin so beautifully; you take everything in. You want it all. You’ll gladly take from him too. You might not like possessive men, but passionate men are a different story. It’s boring if they aren’t a little frenzied.

“Not… going to last long,” he pants out, his voice strained.

Your nipples brush against the fabric of his shirt as you lean in to embrace him, your lips right by his ear.

“Cum in me then,” you whisper, nibbling his earlobe. “Cause I think we both know you love it even more than I do.”

Blade groans out a series of expletives. Some you recognize, some you don’t.

His cock throbs as he empties himself inside you. He thrusts upward in sharp movements, his pelvis hitting yours hard enough to sting. He’s drunk on the high you’ve brought him. Spurts of his cum slide out from your coated walls, an egregious act he remedies by fucking it back into you. By the time he finally stills, you’re both panting, sweat glistening along your bodies. You rest your head on his shoulder to regain yourself. His bandaged hand runs up and down your back, almost soothingly.

In a matter of seconds, his flaccid cock steadily hardens, still snug inside you.

“Who… who’s never satisfied again?” You breathlessly murmur.

His hand finds your clit and lightly brushes over it. You whimper, your walls tightening enough to give you both a jolt of pleasure. The pitch you hit is high enough to stupefy you from mortification. You slap your hand over your mouth, hoping it’ll dissuade any further involuntary infractions. He gingerly grabs your hand and pulls it away.

“Still you,” he says, grazing his lips along the pulse point of your inner wrist.

You don’t get the chance to bite back.

A robotic voice slices through the lustful atmosphere like a scythe.

“Miss Phaeales, incoming call, Miss Phaeales, incoming call,” it intones.

You stifle a groan. “Alright alright, I get that, who is it from?”

“Contact name: Lear.”

Your eyes widen. Though your limbs feel like jelly, you lift yourself off Blade, who doesn’t give much assistance. You mouth the word ‘sorry’ to him, snatch your bra off the floor, and start wobbling over to your desk. After some quick rummaging, you find the device you need.

“Put him through to my in-ears,” you order the virtual assistant.

“[First]? Hello?”

Relief surges through you upon hearing the sound of his voice.

“Lear, it’s been so long since we talked, I started to think you were a figment of my imagination,” you say whilst securing your bra back into place.

“I know, I’m— I’m sorry,” he sounds terribly flustered. You can picture his expression without trying. “It’s just, you’re busy, and then that happened and I—”

“Slow down, I’m only teasing. It’s alright. I get it.”

“Eh… you’re as bad as Nona,” he grumbles. “You just hide it better.”

“Don’t worry, it’s out of my system.”

“I don’t believe you, but I’ll leave it at that,” he’s quiet for a moment, before adding, “You sound like you’re in high spirits, [First]. You don’t know what a relief that is.”

You twirl a pen on your fingers. “I’ve dabbled with the alternative and found it lacking. It does help that some pesky issues have finally been resolved… which reminds me. Your paycheck came through without any issues, correct?”

There’s indistinct murmuring from two voices. Lear’s tone sounds chastising, while the other comes off as petulant.

“Hi Nona,” you greet, to which there’s a faint yet audible ‘Fuck!’ along with rapid footsteps retreating. “How fortunate is it that our paths have crossed like this? I noticed something very interesting. You can’t respond to my texts relating to your studies, but you can like a social media post from a few hours ago?”

Now, rapid footsteps approach.

“I’m taking a break from texting for my mental health,” Nona’s voice reasons.

“... Don’t people normally take a break from social media for that reason?”

“Check the DSM-106. It’s actually a thing.”

“Be that as it may, you’re making good progress. Your scores are consistent enough that you can take a few clients again when we reopen. You need to keep practicing so it stays that way.”

There’s a slight commotion. When it settles, Lear’s the one speaking again. “Sorry, she wanted me to say there’s still an issue with the paycheck coming through.”

In the background, you hear her cry out, “Teacher’s pet!”

“Allow me to once again request that you place aside your bias. Nona, whose birth name is unknown, was born and raised in Arc’s most hostile faction. At the self-reported age of 74, she submitted a request for Thelx citizenship. Your mother, in her benevolence, granted the request due to seeing Nona’s potential as a future Arbiter. Do you deny any of this?”

You quietly take a deep breath.

“... How does Nona seem to you, Lear?”

What should be such a natural question feels like speaking with glue coating your tongue.

“The same as usual. And, no matter what she says, she is studying the notes you sent. She just hates the training program. You were the same way, weren’t you?”

“I was, yes,” A heavy smile finds its way onto your face. “Has anyone been giving her trouble?”

The silence on the other line lasts longer than you’d prefer.

“It hasn’t… been directly at her, per se. There’s just a general atmosphere of unease. Thelx has the highest percentage of citizens integrated from Arc, so things aren’t so bad here. Occasionally, there’ll be a confused kid pointing and asking why her eyes are different, but that’s nothing new.”

The tension in your shoulders relaxes. “Alright, that’s reassuring. Please keep an eye out for her in my stead, okay?”

You refuse to believe Chrysus. Everything with him is a move, some preplanned tactic to achieve a goal that advances his interests. You’ve lived life with Nona; he’s read a few paragraphs about her from a .txt file. There isn’t time to be at war with yourself. If he felt comfortable enough to make an accusation like that, there’s no chance it’ll end there. You’ll need countermeasures set in place.

Countermeasures, countermeasures… there’s Caicias. He loathes ‘secret alliances’ and ‘bloated bureaucracy,’ preferring to keep everything as simple as possible. Depending on your approach, you might be able to sway the former principal. He’s always treated you as an uncle would their niece. While it feels infantilizing now, this soft spot could be an advantage if played correctly.

An in-person meeting would be your best chance.

“Of course,” Lear says, breaking you from your thoughts. Then he’s quiet again. “[First]?”

“Mhm?”

“...”

You hear him sigh.

“It’s nothing. I should let you get back to your work.”

“Hold on, you can’t ‘it’s nothing,’ me!”

A shrill alarm chirps and pierces your unsuspecting ears.

“Oh, shit, Nona set the fire alarm off while cooking again,” Lear sounds more exasperated than worried. “Let’s finish this another time, [First]. I… I promise that I will.”

“Wha— again? How often does this happen?” You demand. “Hello? Hello? Ugh.”

Irate, you tug your in-ears out and toss them on your desk. What could Lear possibly have wanted to discuss? The tone he used made your heart drop. It sounded so firm, so resolute. He’s always been on the more soft-spoken side unless provoked. He did promise that he’d pick it up ‘another time,’ an unintended callous sentencing. Your mind is going to play fill-in-the-blank with the most dreadful words possible until this burden is lifted.

You’re about to return to your office chair when you remember your present condition.

Tousled hair, a hastily put-on bra, a wrinkled skirt, and one of the most sought-after fugitives in the universe’s cum dripping out of you.

Ah. And said fugitive is still behind you.

You spin on your heels. “So, um—”

Blade isn’t anything like when you last saw him. He’s redressed, and composed, his expression a mix between indifference and boredom. He’s returned to his favorite position too. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with one knee slightly bent. Why he favors this stance so much, you’ll never know. You’ve offered him a seat more times than you can count. He comes across as less intimidating when he isn’t at his full height.

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

“I’ll… be getting back to work, I guess?”

He doesn’t so much as nod and he says you’re the pouty one?!

You gather your clothes off the floor for what feels like the umpteenth time, your cheeks burning. It isn’t that you feel ashamed, rather, you think he could at least help instead of standing there like his portrait is getting painted. He’s not trying to hide that he’s watching you. His eyes have always had a physical presence, they weigh on you heavily.

You briefly consider making a snarky comment, but your maturity wins out. You’re above such petty drivel. You finish collecting your garments. Next, you pull up the bra strap that decided to go awol, straighten your skirt, and fuss over your hair. Are you doing this so he knows you’re not embarrassed and in a rush to scamper off like a wounded animal? Maybe. Who could blame you?

You make for your bedroom door, head held high.

Blade speaks your name in that low, dark voice of his, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your body erupts in uncontrollable shivers.

You stiffly turn around like a rusted cog.

“Missed a spot,” is all he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Blade nods to the lower half of your body.

Sure enough, there’s a dribble of his cum caked against your inner left thigh.

…

You hurl your belongings at him, which he catches without so much as batting an eyelash.

Your very short-lived satisfaction dissipates when you recall how much you adore that blouse. The same blouse you just chucked at the immortal sword-wielding Stellaron Hunter who can kill people faster than the afterlife can claim them. He’s still holding it. You get the feeling he will continue to hold it.

“Could I… have… that… back?”

This appeal doesn’t move him in the slightest.

You shift your weight between your legs. “Please?”

“You can,” Blade starts, momentarily filling you with hope, “Come reach for it.”

There is no hope in this universe, you decide. Nihilism is the only plausible option.

Blade dodges all your valiant attempts. When you’re about to give up, he lowers the garment, dangling it in a silent taunt. It then ascends to the heavens the second you dive for it.

He leaves your office that night with a blouse he hadn’t owned hours earlier.

And your cute panties.

Lear

Hello

Lear

Are you awake?

You’ll scold me if I say I am

Lear

Historically, that is true

Lear

You focus on caring for others so much you forget to care for yourself

You make me sound like a better person than I really am I’m just doing my job

Lear

There you go with self-deprecation again…

It isn’t self-deprecation if it’s true >:)c

Lear

That isn’t how that works

Lear

You’ve always been hard on yourself

Lear

I know what you’re going to say so I’ll stop you preemptively

Lear

Anyone could’ve been born in your role and decided not to take it seriously. You didn’t choose the situation but you chose your response to it

Lear

… I swear I didn’t intend for this to become a lecture

I believe you What was your original intention then?

Lear

Our phone call

Lear

Nona decided to try a grilled cheese ‘hack’ she saw on the internet

Lear

She’s lost stove privileges for a week

Is it truly a punishment if she gets to eat your cooking?

Lear

Well

Lear

It’s either that or she starves

Fair point Bring me some leftovers or I’m docking your pay >:)c

Lear

I wish Nona never taught you that face. It brings something primitive out of you

>:)c

Lear

(ง •̀_•́)ง

Oh I forgot about those They’re way better

Lear

Yeah

Lear

ε (*´･ω･) з

Lear

… I got distracted again…

( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬┴

Lear

Okay okay enough with the emoticons

Lear

I wanted to ask if we could please talk one-on-one

Pick a date and time and I’ll do my best to fit you into my schedule. I make no promises. The current estimated wait list is five Trailblazer Years.

Lear

Do you accept bribes

Naturally. I am a government official.

Lear

I’ll bring you a slice of my galatopita

You’re in

Lear

Actually, I wanted you to pick the time

Lear

I know that person has to be around and I won’t ask about it

Lear

But there is something about him that unsettles me

Lear

Does he ever leave?

He’s always on the LOTUS-EATER’s premises He doesn’t have to be in the room though I can ask him to leave

Lear

You feel comfortable doing that?

Yeah, it’ll be fine

Lear

Even after what happened last time?

You could hit me in the head with a brick and I’d still trust your judgment If you think it’ll be okay I’ll think the same

Lear

(^◇^；)

Lear

What an extreme example

Lear

It’s very you though

I know a backhanded compliment when I see one

Lear

(;° ロ°)

Lear

Hey don’t say that

Lear

[First]? ?????

Lear

… You’re messing with me again, I take it?

>:)c I’ll send you the details

Lear

Thank you

Lear

Want to play a round of Connect Four?

Need you even ask

Lear has invited you to play Connect Four™©®.

You have accepted Lear’s invitation to play Connect Four™©®.

The break room has changed significantly since you were little. Gone are the sterile, eggshell white walls and beige furniture. The redone interior boasts bold greens and yellows, colors that aren’t commonly seen on Eris. This bright expanse was one of the few suggestions your mother took you up on. You even convinced her to get a terrarium imported that goes through a randomly selected flora’s lifespan in twenty-four hours. A few besmirched it as ‘watching grass grow but slightly sped up,’ until certain flowers got popular. The daisy with petals that burned was a LOTUS-EATER staff favorite. So is the dahlia that spins like a pinwheel.

“Was there something you wanted to ask?”

Lear places his cup of ice water down. “Does it taste alright?”

“It’s delicious,” you hum. “That’s not what I was referring to, though.”

You finish your dessert while Lear mulls over your words. The light, creamy taste of the egg custard, the dash of cinnamon strewn across the browned top; he’d do well if he ever started a dessert business.

“I know I said I wouldn’t ask about it, but…” Lear’s sapphire eyes flitter toward the door, the paper-thin barrier dividing you from Blade. “Has everything been alright during this… er…”

“House arrest?”

“That’s a way of putting it,” he sighs. “I know it’s for your safety, but being stuck in this building for weeks on end can’t be good for you.”

“It’s always been this way to an extent. Now it’s just official.”

He grimaces.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

This area utilizes the same technology available in your office or the private rooms. Sound waves cannot travel beyond a set point, or in this case, beyond the breakroom. This safety net allows you to comfortably speak your mind.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t stopped long enough to ask myself that. From my perspective, I have two choices — accept the current situation and carry on, or, get upset and carry on, only with less efficiency.”

Lear struggles to maintain a neutral countenance. It’s why you always beat him at card games.

“... Okay, that sounds a bit bleak. What I’m trying to say is that I can’t dwell on what’s out of my control. I’ll focus on what I can do and work from there.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t brooded at least a little.”

“Ha, I’ve done my fair share of that. I’ve just reduced it from boiling to a nice, tolerable simmer.”

Lear’s grip on his glass tightens. “You’ve matured a lot.”

“Eh? You think so?” You wonder. “If anything, I should’ve been this way to begin with. I had you as the premier example to follow.”

Lear’s smile doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

He inhales sharply. After a moment’s consideration, he comes over, pulls out a chair, and sits facing you. This is the closest you’ve been for a long time. He never wanted you to be afflicted with those visceral headaches, so he maintained his distance. For him to cross the bulwark he painstakingly built cannot be easy.

Slowly, he raises his palm. He stops at the halfway mark between you. You knit your eyebrows. Does he want you to…?

“It might not be a brick, but it’s similar,” Lear says, his voice soft.

His hand is calloused from years of cleaning dishes and tinkering with various contraptions. His fingers tremble, belying the nerves he’s trying to push out of sight. This trepidation isn’t for his sake, it’s for yours. The dire consequences that could be reaped. It’s a gamble where you’re the one forced to go all in.

Your heart pounds and pounds.

You’ll trust him.

You’ve always trusted him.

Lear’s skin is cold yet clammy. His hand overshadows yours, though not by much. They fit together as well as they used to. Unlike then, your touch is more hesitant than his. His fingers sink down and clasp your hand, an action you mirror. Nothing’s happening. Nothing hurts.

You expect a relieved exclamation or expression from Lear, only to receive heavy silence instead.

He squeezes your hand once then pulls away.

“Do you remember the ‘important promise’ you wanted to make when we were kids?”

You nod.

“I did want to make it, actually. I don’t know if I ever mentioned that.”

“It’s been so long, it’s possible I don’t remember, but… I don’t think you ever said that, no.”

“The promise I mentioned was one I made with my mom,” Lear lowers his head. “She made me promise that I’d forgive my father. I never planned on it, not while he was living and breathing at least. I knew that and still… I agreed for her sake. It might seem silly, but that ate at me. She never asked me for anything, and the one time she did, it was something I refused to fulfill.”

You lean forward, hesitate to put your hand on his shoulder, yet ultimately overcome the instinct. “You were just a child, Lear.”

“I know. The reason I’m going into this is that… even when I wasn’t a child, I’d sit there and judge my father. I thought he’d acted cowardly. Instead of acknowledging mom’s declining condition, he’d buy more equipment and supposed miracle cures. He worked nonstop. Mom didn’t want that. She just wanted to be with her family while she could.”

You can hear the lump forming in his throat. You pass him your water, which he gulps down. He gives himself a second and then continues.

“He wasn’t delusional. He knew, and still, he tried so hard to convince himself that he didn’t. There must’ve been some moment of clarity when it hit him,” Lear’s fair eyelashes flutter shut. “What you said to Nona… that was my moment of clarity. My punishment.”

Thoughts swarm through your mind like the Propagation’s reign of terror from eras past.

“‘Punishment?’ Why would you deserve a punishment?” You probe.

Lear doesn’t know how to respond. His lips open and close, words escaping him. What comes out next is interwoven with anguish’s thread.

“Mrs. Phaeales approached me about our relationship. I was so worried, I don’t remember her exact words… it was something along the lines of, ‘If you truly care about her, you need to end this before she gets hurt.’ She wouldn’t go into the specifics. It didn’t come across as a threat, just… a plea, maybe. Eventually, I agreed. It hurt, but I didn’t see any other option. How could I ever willingly do something that’d make you suffer? You, the person who matters to me the most?”

This torrential downpour soaks into your very being.

“It should’ve ended there. I thought it ended there. Then I saw you again, and god. You’re so… so confident, beautiful, and bright; I couldn’t do it. I was at a loss, and… then I had this thought. ‘I want to keep her even if it destroys her.’ I couldn’t shake it. That isn’t love, I-I don’t know what that is.”

“Everyone has thoughts they aren’t proud of.”

“But you didn’t know, because I was too ashamed to tell you,” Lear insists, each word growing quieter. “So instead, you thought you did something to me, right?”

He wouldn’t look you in the eye. His arms remained limp by his side as you unbuttoned his shirt, tense and strained. You pulled back. Something felt terribly wrong. A sharp pang shot through your skull. You ignored it and beseeched him to tell you what was wrong. He wouldn’t. The sharp pang ricocheted. Being close to him hurt. It was as if you were on the same side of a magnet. He repelled you and you couldn’t fight it. You tried to preserve, tried to claw through whatever barrier he’d put up.

… A barrier?

Had he not wanted this? Was the gravity of your desire too intense for an individual who isn’t trained to resist?

“I…” your mouth is dry. “Yes.”

“You didn’t. I knew you didn’t, and like my father, I tried convincing myself otherwise,” he reopens his eyes, revealing a glassy sheen. He wipes it away with his long sleeve. “I ran out of excuses.”

You don’t know how to begin parsing through this information. It undermines the rough understanding you’ve operated on for decades. The foundations haven’t just cracked, they’ve collapsed, and the materials are damaged beyond reuse. Anything you build will require a new blueprint.

“If it isn’t manipulation, what exactly is it?” You murmur, placing a hand on your chin. “You rightfully guessed nothing would happen if we came into contact. What made you think that?”

The direction you’ve chosen to steer this conversation toward surprises him. This must not be the response he braced himself for. Regardless, he’s quick to offer anything he can.

“Something just felt different, I guess? I’m sorry if that isn’t helpful, I can’t think of a better way to describe it.”

Mother must’ve known more than she let on, you think. ‘Before she gets hurt,’ she said. Shouldn’t it have been ‘before Lear gets hurt?’ She cared about him plenty too. So why…?

You pace around the breakroom, your heels clicking throughout the otherwise silent room.

Alister listened when he thought you were taking him to ‘Roze’, a significant other he created in past Synalinks. He tried to kill you after you took him outside and it became evident that wasn’t your intention. No link could be established past that point. Then there’s Blade. You thought you could manipulate him to rescue potential survivors. You were rushed, yes, but you made absolutely no progress.

“My mind has a will of its own,” Blade tells you. “It’s loud. Something about you quiets it down.”

What can psyches roughly be broken down into? Primary, unfiltered instincts; an individual’s rationality, or ability to reason; then their mortality, what lines they will or won’t cross. When properly aligned, the mind operates as a cohesive mechanism. However, if there’s friction, disharmony abounds. The resulting fissure causes strife until it’s plastered back together.

It hits you.

What it is that makes Exalted Arbiters so paramount, why your abilities far surpass others.

You’re a living, breathing conductor, amplifying raw, often questionable instincts. A lightning rod meant to attract the attention of what reason and morality try so valiantly to suppress.

You forgo your pacing and sit back down. “Lear.”

“Y-Yes?”

“All of us are stupid.”

“Eh?”

“Well-meaning and stupid,” you reiterate. “I know what you want from me. You’re not going to get it. You condemned yourself, I condemned myself… what good did that do? Did it change anything? Make it better?”

You shake your head. “We like to torture ourselves; we’re adept at it. Enough. It’s finished.”

“... You don’t need to make me feel better—”

Lear receives a flick on the forehead.

“Idiot, half of that spiel was for me. Maybe three-quarters.”

You grab his hand and give it a hearty squeeze.

He squeezes back.

You both sit there, in this room that’s changed throughout the decades. Where you played make-believe (or, to be more exact, coerced Lear into playing the princess role so you could be the knight), gorged on junk food until you both got sick, plotted how to blow up the IPC with a water gun; you never thought you’d be able to do those things. The dumb, silly things you’d watch in movies or read about in books.

Lear runs the pad of his thumb up and down your hand. “[First].”

“Mhm?”

“Everything you just said — I can tell you believe it.” His breath hitches. “So why… why do you look so sad?”

You force a smile.

“I think I had my moment of clarity,” you tell him. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Whoever coined the term ‘misery loves company’ deserves the 85th spot in the Genius Society.

Blade sits beside you on a sinfully comfortable couch in The Club. His legs are crossed and his arm finds its respite behind you; not touching yet close enough. He’s your perpetual shadow. You steal a glance at his side profile. His jaw’s set and his eyebrows crease inward enough for his otherwise unblemished skin to wrinkle.

“Would you like to talk about your innermost feelings, Mr. 8.13 billion?”

Nothing, not even a halfhearted grunt, which comprises 50% of his vocabulary.

“No? Okay. Let’s focus on mine then,” you motion to the empty bar. “My innermost feelings are telling me to drink until my brain becomes a gray matter slushie. Any recommendations?”

It’s as if you’re trying to communicate with a rock. Which, according to the latest journals published in Geo Elements Organized, might be possible thanks to an artificial intelligence translator who learned how to speak rock. Apparently, pebbles are prone to bigotry. Marble sings operatic arias but each note is flat. These cutting-edge discoveries justify your 10,000 credit monthly subscription no matter what your financial advisor says.

You exaggerate your sigh. “Fine, I’ll pick my own poison.”

“Baijiu,” he eventually says.

“Hm? What’s that?”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot.

“My, my, somebody’s touchy.”

You hop the counter and peruse your establishment’s expansive selection. Hundreds of brands slapped over uniquely shaped bottles line the wall, each displaying information about their inside contents. You squint. What if he just said a random word to get you out of his hair? Your liquor knowledge consists of the basics, you’d be none the wiser if that’s the case.

“Where might I find this— oh, fuck.”

Blade is right beside you in the blink of an eye. Your hand flies to your chest, and while you’re trying to process how someone can move so fast, he finds what must be his intended target. It’s a tall, green bottle with a script you recognize as belonging to the Xianzhou Alliance. How did he ever expect you to find that on your own?

He rummages around and finds little wine-shaped shot glasses. In the meantime, you scan over the various juices and additives available. It’s been rough, but not drinking-alcohol-without-a-fruity-infusion rough. Blade notices your scheming and shakes his head.

“Men are so pretentious about liquor,” you lament.

“You asked.”

“My mistake.”

He ignores you and returns to the couch. You do the same, up until the point where you’re about to sit down. His gaze grows heavier, more concentrated. It took millions of years of evolution to develop complex language and he still chooses to opt out. What a waste. An unofficial staring contest commences. What does he take you for? A mind reader? You technically are, but still, using your abilities for this is beneath you. Especially while you’re in the midst of a crisis that you’d give anything to stop thinking about.

Blade must have a mind-altering epiphany that he has additional motor functions at his disposal. He pats his thigh.

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

You examine your black pencil skirt that stops above your knees. Hopping the counter in this was more of a way to pretend you’re in your early twenties again, not an invitation to test the fabric’s limits. You’ve lost multiple pairs of panties, a nice bra, and a blouse to this bodyguard who took the occupation’s prefix very seriously. This classy skirt isn’t going to be an addition to the clothes necropolis.

“I like this skirt,” you simply state.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

Your vision undergoes an odd change. One moment, you were standing tall and assertive, looking down your nose at him. In the instant that follows, you’re facing the bar, its black marble countertop and gravity adaptive stools coming into focus. What you’re sitting on isn’t a foam cushion that’s as soft as a cloud. It’s rigid and displeases your tailbone. You struggle to balance yourself, an issue that’s solved by Blade’s left arm curving snugly around your waist.

“Did you just—” You cut yourself off, unable to dredge up the energy necessary to get annoyed. He could throw you through the roof for all you care. Sitting you on his lap is forgivable enough. “Whatever, you’re pouring my drink then.”

He’s already in the process of doing so. He pops the lid and fills the specially shaped shot glass with clear liquid. An aromatic fragrance of fruits and spices wafts through the air. It’s a world captured in a bottle; another place you’ll never get to see. You have to settle for admiring pictures and reading firsthand accounts.

Does Blade have an association with the Xianzhou Alliance? It isn’t your place to ask, but you’re curious nonetheless. He’s been a silent spectator of your life for the past few months yet you know nothing about him. It should stay that way — getting involved with him physically is already questionable enough. Especially now that you fully grasp the phenomena that’s been haunting you.

The thought makes you wince.

You lean your head back and down the shot.

It burns as it travels down your throat. You cough, the unexpected strength hitting you with the force of a collapsing star. Maybe you should’ve worked your way up to taking shots. It’s too late to rectify the mistake, your hubris is irreversible. The bastard chuckles at your suffering. It’s the briefest chuckle you’ve ever heard, but it still counts.

“What is the— what is the alcohol content of that?” You rasp out.

“Eighty.”

You crane your neck to glare at him. “If you wanted to kill me, the sword would’ve been faster.”

He rolls his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes at you. He picks you up, sticks a little ribbon on your head, and delivers you to death’s doorstep only to disregard your valid concerns? The 8.13 billion bounty isn’t enough. They need to double it.

“I’d like to see you drink this. Considering your prehistoric age, it might short-circuit your cardiovascular system.”

Blade pilfers your empty shot glass. He refills it, swallows without any fanfare, and then resumes his staring regimen.

You don’t know if you should be impressed or offended that his tolerance is better than yours.

Ultimately, your competitive nature wins out. You manage two more shots before waving the white flag. The flavor itself isn’t that bad once you get past the initial shock, it’s slightly fruity. The alcohol taste packs a punch though. A version with a lower ABV would suit you better.

You sigh, lean into his chest, and try in vain to smooth out your bunched-up skirt.

Your inebriated daze hits fast. There’s no pleasant buzz accompanying it, only exhaustion. The kind that makes the prospect of sleeping for a few years tempting. Those cryogenic pod ads know how to sell their product. It speaks volumes how simple their marketing remains since they’re so high in demand.

You inspect your soulless business. There aren’t any clients traveling to and fro, well-dressed ladies having their fur coats removed by valets, or businessmen celebrating a deal by clinking their glasses together. It’s eerily quiet. There’s nothing but the sound of your slow breathing and the thrum of the oxygen generator.

This planet’s heart remains frozen with you at the epicenter.

“What’s it like to travel across the universe?” You ask.

“It’s just work.”

Just work. You’ve received variations of this response when you’ve used this question on clients. They’ll take your silence as a signal to prattle, complaining about jet lag, getting through customs, finding a hotel that isn’t ridiculously overpriced during busy seasons; on and on they’d go. You’d sit across from them, smiling and nodding along, verbally empathizing with their plight. If they went on too long, you’d temporarily excuse yourself before your agitation spewed forth.

“That’s it?” You murmur.

He’s silent.

You kick your heels off, lay your legs across his lap and the couch, then sling your right arm around his shoulders to hold yourself in place. He observes you with no discernible emotion as you make yourself comfortable.

“Tell me about it,” you implore. “The universe. Please.”

Blade considers your request. You take it as a good sign he hasn’t shut you down immediately. For once, you don’t needle him. You just sit there with high hopes and a pleading expression. A peculiar emotion surges around him. It whispers to you, requesting that you lean in and hear it better. You deny the impulse and swat it away.

This mental exertion almost causes you to miss his frown and pinched-together eyebrows.

It’s fleeting, but there’s no misinterpreting what you saw.

Have you ever seen Blade’s face reveal so much?

It’s a vault he doesn’t leave open long. The doors seal shut before you can catalog the contents inside.

“Nothing I’ve seen is worth telling.”

You part your lips yet no sound comes out. You retract your arms from him and lay on your back, resting your forearm against your head. The LOTUS-EATER’s dark ceiling becomes your latest intrigue. It’s a cool shade of gray, mimicking the joyless sky that hovers outside like a specter deadset on haunting the living. You hate it. Everything’s gray, bland, depressing, an insult to the vibrancy that accompanies sentient beings.

You close your eyes and all goes silent.

After a while, his deep voice rumbles, “Do you want to see it?”

“Hm?”

“The universe,” he clarifies.

“Oh. Of course. But…” you pause, noticing how draining an endeavor it is to string together a coherent thought, “If I could, I wouldn’t. Too much… there’s too much I hafta do… here.”

There’s Nona. You want to help her reach her full potential, she’s brimming with it, a never-ending source of energy and zeal. Then there’s Lear. Why he idolizes you to such a degree, you’ll never understand. He should turn that starry-eyed gaze inward. It’s ironic — he considers you confident, yet you’ve always shied away from ever revealing the fathomless depths of your care.

You were born to be an object and he made you a person.

How can you ever repay a debt like that? Why is it so awkward and awful to express anything you feel without theatrics accompanying them? You have to tell him. You know he loves you, and while the love you hold for him is different, does he know that? How could he, if you’ve been so hesitant to say those three harrowing words?

Man, you think. My head’s killing me.

“Tired?”

After you grumble in the affirmative, he lifts you up. You think you might be floating. Your head lulls to the side and comes into contact with something solid, which proves you aren’t. Gravity hasn’t quit its longstanding tenure. Your blurred journey begins when you’re laid down in a spot more cozy than the couch cushions. It feels familiar and safe. Tension melts from your body, slinking off to loan you a brief solace. The interest is set high, but you’re too blissfully content to care.

That night, you dream of an ocean dutifully guarded by the sun.

The waves rise and fall along the shoreline, the breeze carries the scent of saltwater, and aquatic birds caw from above.

Bright white sand is plentiful beneath your bare feet. It tickles your toes and tricks you into thinking you’ll sink with every tentative step.

As you walk along this esplanade, an object hidden amongst the sand jabs into your sole.

Blood pools from the wound, trickles down a steep slope, and infects the ocean.

The scarlet droplet corrupts and warps it, devouring any color it comes into contact with. It's insatiable, a bloody blight that proliferates until the sea is swallowed whole.

The moon eclipses a dying sun. Driven by vanity, it paints its likeness across red, shimmering waves.

Unknown

I have good news

Unknown

I’ll be recalling Bladie soon

Unknown

I located the party responsible for endangering your life

Unknown

Isn’t that great?

If you’re being honest, then yes

Unknown

Am I not renowned for my honesty?

Unknown

No harm will befall you, so rest easy

Unknown

I hope we can continue our mutually beneficial partnership ♡

If there’s anything your mother’s passing has taught you, it’s that time isn’t guaranteed.

You thought you’d have a lifetime to see eye to eye with her. Over centuries, the layers you cultivated would peel back. You’d then ask her the questions that have lingered on the tip of your tongue.

Did you want to have me, or was it out of obligation?

Is this the way you want to live?

Am I a daughter or a burden?

You don’t know what scared you more. The idea of asking her, or what the answers might be.

None of your blood relations are living, but you still have a family. You refuse to treat something as fickle as time lightly again. Nona’s past, Lear’s present, your future; you can only dance around it for so long. The tempo will inevitably speed up beyond what you can follow. Lear’s confession reaffirmed how dangerous this complacency is. By believing you’re sparing one another pain, you’re only sparing yourself.

Your tea’s gone cold. The remnants swirl down the basin’s drain.

The true nature of your abilities, the shackles it puts you in, you’ll tell them everything.

You shoot them a text, asking them to meet you tonight at the LOTUS-EATER. You then set your phone to Do Not Disturb and place it aside.

Blade won’t be on Eris much longer. Your chances to help him are limited and you still haven’t fulfilled your promise.

You’d like to try and remedy that.

“I may have been a bit prickly when we first met, but I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for all you’ve done. I’m sure you just consider this a job, which is just as well, still, I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I don’t even want to imagine what would become of this planet in my absence. So please give me one last opportunity to deter your mara.”

Blade gives you a long, hard look.

“You’re talking like that again?”

“I’m trying to be professional.”

He walks over and leers down at you. You return his blank stare unabashedly. Eventually, he readjusts the collar of your ivory blouse.

“What was that for?” You ask.

“I saw something that isn’t very professional.”

Glancing down, you pull the fabric back, revealing a prominent hickey. Your face ignites and you frantically cover it.

You clear your throat. “Is it a contractual obligation for you Stellaron Hunters to get on my nerves?”

The glint in his eye makes you nervous.

“Actually, do me a favor and don’t answer that. Just tell me if you’re interested or not, I’m a busy woman.”

He thinks it over and nods.

Throughout the preparation and rites, you consider what you’ve learned. Individuals exposed to you become more willing to act or dwell on their subconscious desires. The exact metrics aren’t clear, but you can safely assume this effect amplifies the longer they’re around you. These desires have a wide range. It can be as innocent as causing an older brother who ran away from his grief to finally cry over his deceased sister, or fuel for justifying selfish actions.

Blade’s case feels different.

Unprecedented as the other examples are, you can understand them somewhat. If a person acts on their most innate wishes, their behavior will change accordingly. However, what you’re causing here extends beyond psychological — it’s physiological too. Is that even possible? What could he possibly want enough to alter the fabric of his very being?

If you can find out, maybe the revelation will help him.

And so you close your eyes.

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.”

…

Blade’s psyche has changed.

The grayscale composition is gone. Vitality has been crowned the new ruler, overthrowing the morose atmosphere in a successful rebellion. This change brings no alleviation to the undercurrents of grief that hang heavy in the air. Instead, it feels more erratic, like a heart beating wildly after waking from a coma.

The Shackling Prison stands beyond a straight path as if it's been waiting for you.

The first time you entered his mind, it rejected you. Now, it’s pulling you in, its gravity far-reaching.

You hesitate to proceed.

Is it his mara that’s responsible for this? You won’t be able to tell unless you keep going.

The invisible force that expelled you nudges you from behind.

You recall when Blade first appeared before you. Your physical eyes showed you a man while every other sense warned he was a beast. A carnivore that would devour anything, predator or prey alike. You believed it then and you believe it now. His condition has condemned him. Where he walks, destruction follows. It’d make sense for you to abandon him to fate’s whims.

This excruciating hunger digests him too. It’s destined to eat him alive while postponing merciful death.

Fate can be cruel, but you have an opportunity to be kind.

You make your way to the Shackling Prison’s gates.

The seal that’s served as a hindrance halts you. You examine the once bold obstruction. It has faded, its strength depleted, held together by nothing. At its peak, you think it would have pushed you out instantly. Now, as your incorporeal hand presses against it, there’s little it can do. The most it can muster is the resilience to delay you a few more seconds.

After that, it shatters and fades like weeping stardust.

A prismatic shard forms from its ashes, coalescing into a blurred, moving image. Distorted sounds crackle from it, which you soon recognize as garbled speech. The noise becomes clearer. You hear a low thrum in the background. Its timbre matches the oxygen generator standard in Eris’ buildings.

This must be one of Blade’s memories.

“I know you’re impatient, but play nice a while longer,” a saccharine voice hums. “She’ll be here any minute now.”

That voice…

The image sharpens and unveils a grand screen plastered against a wall. It sections off into numerous squares, each dedicated to displaying financial data. It’s bright, obnoxiously so, attesting to the owner’s tacky taste.

Chrysus’ office?

A door creaks. Hastened footsteps approach, ringing throughout the brightly lit room. The pair of eyes you’re viewing this memory from — Blade’s — shift to locate the source. The color they arrive at is familiar. It’s the same shade you see upon viewing your reflection, although the shape differs.

Mom? You wonder, astonishment hitting like pelting hail. What was she doing, meeting with a Stellaron Hunter in Chrysus’ office of all places…?

“Your message surprised me, Exalted Arbiter. Getting you to agree to a face-to-face meeting is normally like pulling a tooth. What’s the occasion?” The honeyed voice, which can only belong to Kafka, greets.

“Don’t play coy with me,” your mother replies. While her words are sharp, they aren’t warped with emotion. This is the demeanor she assumed when conducting business. Her sagacity is a trait you’ve never been able to fully emulate. “That thing’s leaving baubles on my daughter’s balcony. How many times have I told you to tighten your dog’s leash?”

“Oh? I thought I had.”

Your mother smiles thinly. “Should I add incompetent leadership to your list of defects? Deals are meant to be followed. Otherwise, why make them at all?”

“We draw lines to test them. So long as they aren’t crossed, there’s no harm.”

“Spare me your casuistry. I don’t want that thing anywhere near her.”

Your head feels like it’s being stretched in multiple directions at once. This sequence unfolding before you has a dizzying effect. Why is your mother so outwardly hostile to Kafka? The Stellaron Hunter isn’t your favorite person either, but this transcends simple dislike. It’s personal, raw. She’s maneuvered through diatribes that’d make anyone else go red in the face, her poise unruffled. Kafka’s little provocations pale in comparison.

Not to your mother, though. She’s a thinning thread close to snapping.

“As per our original agreement, there’s no harm as long as she doesn’t notice him,” Kafka dismisses. She leisurely sits on Chrysus’ desk, not bothering to move his papers aside. She then crosses her legs and smiles. Her eyes emit an unnatural glow. “On the topic of testing lines… let’s not pretend you’re innocent either.”

Your mother doesn’t so much as flinch. “If you’re going to make accusations, at least have the confidence to be forthright.”

“You’re fascinating to deal with, Exalted Arbiter,” Kafka croons. “This is why I look forward to our chats. You don’t cower or plead for mercy like our friend outside did. It’s a welcome change.”

“I’d rather you don’t compare me to Ophídion.”

Kafka drums her fingers against the table’s surface. For such a simple sound, it’s deeply grating. “Forgive me in advance, then, because I intend to one more time.”

Your mother remains silent, her lips taut.

“Still not afraid, hm? Let’s see if we can change that,” Kafka’s smile widens, which crinkles the skin beneath her eyes. “Chrysus’ shipments of ichor are exact, down to the milliliter. Always delivered on time as well. Comparatively, your end of the bargain is far simpler. You just have to grant Bladie ready access to Miss Phaeales’ vicinity. But, I heard something regrettable through the grapevine.”

Your mother’s eye twitches.

“You’ve been shopping around for a way to sneak [First] off Eris, correct? Tsk, tsk.”

All falls silent save for the generator’s dedicated hum.

Your mother stands unflinching, folding her hands in front of her. The two openly scrutinize each other. Calculating, strategizing. Her posture betrays nothing. There’s no guilt or apprehension, making it impossible for you to determine the credibility of Kafka’s words.

“It’s fear you devils can’t experience, correct?” Your mother queries. “Here’s a suggestion — try having a daughter yourself. You praise me for not caving to intimidation; that’s because I’ve experienced far worse. From their conception to our death, fear is the only thing we mothers know. Fear that they won’t become like us, or, even worse, that they will. What a funny juncture we occupy.”

Mom’s voice doesn’t sound right. It’s so… forlorn.

You don’t want to keep watching.

You can’t pull yourself away — the memory’s weight is heavy enough to pull you back in.

“Is that maternal dedication enough to condemn an entire planet?” Kafka ponders. “I’m not a judge who is eager to sentence. I’ve been lenient with you and would love to keep it that way. Leave Miss Phaeales in my care, no harm will befall her.”

For the first time since entering the room, your mother acknowledges Blade’s existence. Her eyes turn to slits as she scowls at him. Disgust, reprehension, and wrath; it converges in a maelstrom that could sink fleets of ships. You hone in on the emotions Blade experienced at that instant. There’s nothing. It’s hollow, save for blots of mild impatience.

“It wouldn’t be your care, it’d be his.”

Your soul convulses.

“Is that so terrible?” Kafka hums. “Separated, they’re essentially cursed, the poor things. They complement each other well, the more you think about it. One who incites madness and another who has the means to resist it. You of all people should understand that, hm? Or is Mr. Phaeales available to voice his dissent?”

Dad?

Darkness passes over her countenance.

You don’t understand and you’re afraid to. Kafka freely tosses around the most taboo topics as if twirling a poisoned dagger on her fingers.

One who incites madness. Is that what you are? A catastrophe patiently waiting for its chance? That can’t always be the case, but, more often than not, what a person covets most should never be fully realized. There’s a reason the sensible and moral components of one’s psyche stuff this risk down as deep as it’ll go. If everyone did what they wanted, whenever they wanted, civilization itself would cease to exist.

As for Blade’s role in this… Kafka must know whatever he wants would have a value that outweighs the potential drawbacks.

“I won’t let her be reduced to a retractable leash for your attack dog,” she seethes. “Let your Cancer of All Worlds do what it will. My decision is final.”

Electricity crackles in the air.

“It’s this script, then,” Kafka murmurs, more to herself than anything. “So many diverging paths, so many possibilities. To think that out of all futures you’d get to pick out specially for [First]...”

Kafka motions toward Blade, who readies his weapon.

“You chose one of the worst ones.”

some misc author notes for this one:

regarding the reader's condition, i didn't want to include a sigmund freud jumpscare in the story itself, so it gets to be down here instead. for those unfamiliar with his theories, what reader is referring to here:

'What can psyches roughly be broken down into? Primary, unfiltered instincts; an individual’s rationality, or ability to reason; then their mortality, what lines they will or won’t cross. When properly aligned, the mind operates as a cohesive mechanism. However, if there’s friction, disharmony abounds. The resulting fissure causes strife until it’s plastered back together.'

is a more abstract version of freud's concept of the id, ego, and superego respectively. originally, i used this exact terminology, but something about it just felt very immersion breaking to me 😭 all i could do was think about mr freud floating about in the honkai universe. consequently, the unreliable narration of reader trying to understand her condition + not using the widely known terminology made me worry it'd be a bit confusing...

so, in freudian terms, being continually exposed to reader's presence causes an individual's id to dominate their thoughts/actions instead of their ego and superego.

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #not sfw #nexus #my stuff

329 notes · View notes

the-bad-batch-baroness · 3 months ago

Text

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 18

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 1.5k

Author's Note: Gonna be honest with y'all, I wrote this chapter this morning before lunch, because the last two weeks have been hectic at work and I haven't had any time. There was an important executive meeting Wednesday and everyone of importance was there, and then there was me 😅 So, yeah, sorry if this isn't up to my usual standards. I'll probably edit it at some point. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

Part 1 || Prev | Next

Series Masterlist

Wolffe strolled down the streets of Coruscant and followed the coordinates Fox gave him for the nanny service. He was hesitant about hiring a stranger to watch his daughter, but he was more hesitant about leaving her in the sole care of the Jedi in the Temple. Wolffe trusted Plo with his life and his men, but Plo wasn't going to be the one watching Cara, and that was the unsettling part. On the other hand, Fox did mention that he vetted the nanny service, so it seemed safe enough. But it still rolled around in the back of his head like a marble on glass.

Wolffe tilted his head back towards the sky and groaned. He enjoyed life better when he didn't have to make these types of decisions. He was bred to think more outside the box than the average clone, but that was when it came to battle strategies, not babysitting. He knew about war and how to fight one, so he knew how to make those proper decisions, even in a split second on the battlefield under heavy fire, he could make clear and concise choices. However, parenting didn't come with a manual, simulations, target practice, or anything else useful.

Wolffe's comm beeped when he reached the coordinates. He must have been deep in his thoughts to have kept walking and ended up at the location he was headed to without realizing it. Auto-pilot is what everyone called it, but Wolffe called it a death trap. Distractions like that could get him and his entire battalion killed and then Cara would have no one–she'd be a real orphan. The thought made Wolffe shiver. He was going on a simple rescue mission and he'd be right back when it was done. There was no need for him to think those thoughts.

Wolffe looked up at the bright pink and blue neon sign with lines that swirled into odd shapes reminiscent of Galactic Basic letters. He raised an eyebrow at the strange sign and tilted his head to the side to try and read it. Why couldn't people just make signs with normal letters? He squinted in a final effort to read the words, but he shook his head and walked through the door without knowing what it said. If he was at the wrong establishment, he'd turn around, but something about the decor in the lobby told him he was in the right place.

It was a cross between, what Wolffe would consider, a child's play area and a sterile medcenter examination room. It looked and smelled clean, like an exam room, but their decorations were vibrant and colorful, and there were children's toys everywhere. It looked like a controlled clutter and it made Wolffe feel uncomfortable–anxious. He grew up in a sterilized environment with soft white lights, where the only color he ever saw was the dull blue or red of the cadet uniforms. The amount of color in this room made him dizzy.

"Can I help you?" the woman behind the counter asked.

Wolffe snapped out of his daze and approached the counter. The receptionist seemed nice enough–middle-aged, with graying hair, and glasses that reflected the light from the screen she sat behind. "I need a…" he paused. The words felt foreign in his mouth and almost disgusting to say, and he didn't know why. "...a nanny."

The woman grabbed one of the data-pads out of the docking port and handed it to Wolffe. "Start with completing this form."

Wolffe took the data-pad and stared at the woman, waiting for more direction. "Where…"

"You can sit in one of the chairs over there," she said. She stood up and pointed to a row of chairs that lined the far wall.

Wolffe nodded and sat in one of the chairs. It was made of plastic and squeaked under his weight. Even the chairs made Wolffe uncomfortable. Everything about this place made him feel itchy and prickly under his skin. He rapidly tapped his foot on the floor and periodically reminded himself to stop. The clones didn't have nervous tics. Well, at least, clone commanders didn't have nervous tics, and he wasn't sure when he possibly picked one up, but he could guess it had something to do with Cara. He wouldn't even be in this room if it wasn't for her.

Wolffe took a deep breath and started filling out the form. It started with simple information. How many kids–easy, one. Name–also easy, Cara. Date of birth–oh, no. He knew the day Cara was born, didn't he? Wolffe tapped his foot harder. What kind of father was he if he couldn't remember his only child's birthday? Maker, he wished his wife could help him. Then a light bulb turned on. The recording of Cara's birthday had a time stamp. Luckily, he had a good memory, and he input the date and month, and with a little math, he added the year.

Wolffe continued to work on the form. Much of it was simple, but there were more difficult parts, mostly to do with him. It asked for his last name–he didn't have one. It asked for his identification number–he didn't have one. It asked for his occupation–what was he supposed to put? War? Clone? Commander? He decided to leave it blank and move on. It was a dumb question anyway. This was about Cara, not him. Everything else about Cara and his wife was easy to input. It did ask for allergy and pediatrician information, but he didn't have any of that.

Once he completed the form to his best abilities, he brought the data-pad back to the woman at the counter. She took it and started importing the data into their system while Wolffe stood and waited for her to finish.

The woman frowned. "This form is incomplete."

Maker, he just wanted to get out of here. "I put in what I could."

"Your last name?" she asked. She stared at him like he was stupid or something.

"I don't have one," he said. "I'm a clone."

"Hm," she huffed with surprise. "I didn't know clones could have children."

Wolffe huffed. "We're not exactly sterile."

The woman ignored the comment. "I'll just put 'clone' as your last name. It won't let me submit the form without it."

Wolffe sighed. "Whatever works."

"And your daughter is…" she began. "Cara Dalott?" She paused, looking confused. "Wait, as in the Dalott's? The aristocratic Dalott family on the upper level? That Dalott?"

Wolffe gritted his teeth. "Yes, that Dalott."

"I didn't know the Dalott's had a granddaughter," she said while scanning through the rest of the information.

Now, he was getting annoyed. "It wasn't advertised."

"Such a shame about their daughter, Maria, though," she said, not looking up from her screen. "She had so much potential. What a waste."

"Please," Wolffe said. "Don't talk to me about my dead wife."

The woman peered up at him from behind her glasses, then went back to looking at her screen. "There's still some mis–"

Wolffe flattened his palms against the counter and took a deep breath. "Listen, all I need is for someone to live in the Jedi Temple and take care of my daughter while I'm halfway across the galaxy fighting a war! Can you help me or not?"

The woman sighed and placed the data-pad down. "Mr. Wolffe, do you need a live-in, full-time, or part-time nanny?"

"Live-in," he said.

"Species preference?"

"Human."

"Gender preference?"

"Female."

"Age preference?"

"Don't care."

"And when do you need the nanny?"

"Tomorrow, before sunset."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You just want everything, don't you?"

"Do you have someone or not?" he asked.

The woman pulled out her comm. "I might have one that fits your needs. I'll send her a message and see if she's available to start tomorrow, but no guarantees."

"Thank you," he said. "How much?"

"How long do you need her for?" she asked.

Wolffe shrugged. He could try to guess, but it wouldn't be accurate. "Maybe two or three months?"

"Rates for live-in nannies are 2,500 credits a month," she said. "You want to pay for two or three?"

Wolffe's jaw dropped. Where was he going to get that many credits before tomorrow? This was way more expensive than he thought it was going to be. He hadn't counted, but he probably only had about 500 credits to his name. He could ask around the battalion, but credits were sparse among the clones and to ask his men to fund a nanny for his daughter sounded dumb. He'd have to find another way–some way. Once deployed, he could scavenge up more credits for the next time he needed the nanny. He'd never drink again, but it was a small price.

"Two months, and if I'm gone longer, I'll have it transferred," Wolffe said.

"Perfect," she said, then gave the data-pad back to Wolffe with a stylus. "Sign at the bottom."

Wolffe signed the agreement and gave the data-pad and stylus back to the woman.

The woman's comm dinged and she read the message. "Good news, Mr. Wolffe. I have your nanny. She'll be here tomorrow morning. Your payment is due then."

"Thank you," Wolffe said, and he turned to leave. Now he only had one thing to focus on, where he was going to get 5,000 credits before the morning.

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afreakingdork · 10 months ago

Text

Weak Spot - Chapter 57

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

What lies underneath in this week’s chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis: A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: many snake attribute mentions, asphyxiation play, strapped to a table and examined scientifically, light cutting, bra, boob tugging, knife play, and talk about murder and mutilation

In only a matter of a few days, your apartment had been turned into a command center. With boards that didn’t exist in the real world, you often walked through the floating diorama of the Hidden City whenever you had to go to the kitchen. It had players you had never heard of placed on it for demonstration and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was over nearly every single day to help work out a plan for Donnie to leave his villainous holdings behind. The automaton raised an arsenal of his own screens and it was the first time you got to see the manifestations side by side.

They had the slightest tint change between them and the way they were set up was distinctly them.

You loved your boys dearly.

Not left out of the loop, but unable to actually help, you mostly moved around them as they worked. Unlike other projects, this one had no time limit and needed to be done right. They’d entered a strategy session for the long haul and you were a bystander as they talked about industries that both existed here and were things that sounded like fairy tales.

You didn’t bother asking questions, but S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. often folded you in for the sake of it. He told tall tales of a city he retreated to once a year when Donnie got sick. It brought up the fact that Donnie had yet to catch something this year and came with teasing if Donnie so much as blinked funny. He chided right back, haughty about his health, and held you close as he pinned things to a board that grew by the day.

You picked up the slack where you could. Donnie was doing triple duty between his work from home villainy, his lab duties, and now planning the toppling of his own empire. With only so many hours in the day, it encroached on your time with him and you could see the guilt in him each time you passed. You always affectionately played it off and whispered of things yet to come when he was being particularly stubborn. You had easy fodder what with the baby conversation on top of his mistaken declaration of love. It meant a proposal was technically on the table though you knew he still wanted to announce his love properly.

Each little reassurance pulled eager churrs from him and seemed to reignite his passion in this project. In his element in a similar, but different way, he planned with a meticulousness that you thought must be done for those building detonations in urban areas. Not a single mistake could be made when the tiniest error meant an adjacent building would be caught in the crossfire. With time, he would be able to eradicate everything in a moment with only smoke in its wake and you standing unscathed.

It was that level of care that kept this from being a fixating period for him. As much as he wanted to free himself of his evil binds, it was those same shackles that gave him perspective. If the life he wanted was a simplified one with you then he needed to do this right. You didn’t believe there was only one shot and Donnie hadn’t spoken of it that way, but there was a sort of knowledge base that would be kicked off. He’d mentioned before something about information being key and, as such, if word got out early of his plans to evacuate, there would be plotting from various factions.

Words were tossed out like ‘power vacuum’ and you’d edged closer to him not out of fear, but of uncertainty. With each passing moment it was becoming more and more apparent just how downplayed you’d considered his villainy. Even if he’d been vague for your safety, he’d be upfront. No matter how persistent he’d been in how bad he was, it had all been nothing but words without context. Now seeing the reach of his empire and knowing this was the paltry version where he’d already taken a backseat role made you feel especially ignorant.

Illegal mining rights, arms dealing, illicit substances, territory control, businesses squeezed, exchanges with other players, unlawful animal trade, mystic counterfeiting, and the movement of more unsanctioned goods then you could keep track of, Donnie had been right that he was a new type of creature. His tendrils slid and rooted themselves in nearly every edge of the Hidden City with only Big Mama as a true competitor.

“You built this in a decade.” You were perched on the back of the couch with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. sat on the ground between your legs.

Donnie paused where he was moving a digital page on the board. “I consider them by industry. I built up the weaponry sect in only a couple years and have maintained that position since.”

“I guess that’s the power of young blood?” You glanced at a color coded screen that showed Donnie’s holding at about a quarter of the city.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. lazily tugged your legs so your calves dangled over his chest. “Who’s the old blood?”

“I’m not riding on your shoulders! The ceiling is too short.” You knocked on his metal head.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. pouted loudly and turned his head up. “No fun!”

“Yeah, hitting my head isn’t fun.” You continued to rap him with your knuckles.

“Are you referring to Big Mama?” Donnie turned and sent a warning look at his son.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. winked at it with a little flourishing star in his display

“Yeah. Sounds like she’s Splinter’s age, right?”

The other two parties stilled and, since S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was closer, you tugged on his triangular head.

“What?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. glanced away and back. “Estimates have Big Mama at… thousands of years old.”

You blinked once before slowly turning up to Donnie for confirmation.

Your boyfriend gave a tight nod.

“You said she was getting old.”

“She acts like it. Compared to her legends.” Donnie rotated and you could tell he was looking hard at an image of her on the board.

It was the first time you had seen her and she looked like a relatively innocuous if not posh older woman. “Donnie?”

“Yes?” He refused to give you his eye.

He could sense it coming. “How old is Draxum?”

Donnie was quiet and you looked down to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

“He’s vague, but based on the events he’s described, I would guess several hundred years.” Your son stared up at you and you loosened the death grip you had on him.

“Is that… old?”

“He’s probably middle aged.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. stared up openly.

“I guess… I guess that makes sense. They’re considered timeless creatures. Stuff from legends don’t have human life spans… You said that Empyrean probably gave yokai powers and that is the stuff that made the mutagen work…”

Donnie stepped closer to the board and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. squirmed at the change in air beneath you.

“What… Donnie, what is your life expectancy?”

Donnie stood still until an anxious bounce of his leg brought him around. “What can we compare it to? The other mutants affected seem to be aging at regular rates, but they weren’t mutated like I was. I was entrenched in a vat. I was patient zero. The injected or bitten versions don’t appear to have the same results. Even that… that… rat wasn’t mutated in the same way. He-!”

Caught between data and rage, Donnie did a rounding pivot and took a few steps to cool down.

“He’s still growing.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. spoke softly.

You looked down at him in question. “Who?”

“Dad.”

“S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.” Donnie threw a bitter gaze from across the room.

This time you took S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s head in a gentle way to show him that this was you overriding Donnie’s threat. “Shelly, what are you saying?”

“That dad hit puberty at a typical human age, but then continued to grow throughout his 20s and still now.”

You looked up only in time for Donnie to look away. “You’ll… get taller? How is that…?”

“They all are.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. added. “It seems to have slowed though. Projections say a few more inches are probable.”

“Donnie, how long will you live?” You felt S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. reach up and hold your wrist reassuringly.

“I was submerged in an Empyrean mixture!” Donnie turned his head only enough where you saw a glint of his teeth as he bit down on the shout.

Since he was in your hands, you felt the moment S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. looked over to Donnie to assess. “A couple hundred years at least.”

Your fingers twitched away from the automaton.

“It won’t matter.” Donnie turned and approached with terror ripped across his features.

Your expression broke and before you could question how, he stood in front of you.

“It won’t.” Your mate stared into your eyes before dropping his gaze to his son. “It won’t…”

You followed to see the exchange to find S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. returning a sad and sympathetic gaze.

“Shelly…” You gave a light pressure to coax him up.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. looked at you similarly withheld. “Yeah?”

“You’ll outlive us, won’t you?”

The automaton shifted his gaze. “I guess you could say I’m still growing too. My programming is adaptive and with the way tech is going, I haven’t like, calculated a point I can’t reach.”

“Don-”

Donnie gave his mating call and while it was still echoing in your ears he threaded himself through S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. to cradle your head.

He wanted your full attention.

“I have considered many options. All which you would despise. I-!” He gave a shaky breath.

You touched Donnie’s pectoral scutes at nearly the same time S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. laid a reassuring hand on his father’s leg.

Donnie wilted under the combined support and hung his head to a degree. “Don’t ask me. I beg you. Under no circumstance. I won’t be able to deny you. Don’t ask.”

For you to be mutated or for him to carry on after you’re gone?

The answer seemed to be any, all, and in-between.

“Please.” He choked.

You signaled to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. with a twitch of your leg that you were going to get up and Donnie came away miserable at your failure to respond. You stood only for a moment, before dropping down beside S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and catching Donnie’s hand. You pulled your partner down with you where he came stumbling and sat between the pair before wrangling them both in with arms around their necks. They both had to accommodate your height, but you soon had both of your boys pulled close. They settled into the position, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. more so since he didn’t have a resistant musculature to contend with, and you had one man to each cheek. “We’re us. I don’t want that any other way. No changing for one another. We’re us first and foremost.”

You felt the weight lift off Donnie’s shoulders because the heft of his body hit you.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. alternatively stiffened. “Uh…”

You let Donnie’s head fall to your shoulder so you could turn toward the automaton. “What’s up?”

“I already changed for you…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. grew pixel tears in the edges of his large eyes.

You looked at him with some mirth. “Did you change for me or did you think of a new way you wanted for yourself after meeting me?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. made his blinks bright and obvious.

You tilted your head so it laid on top of Donnie’s.

Your partner gave off a certain smug aura as he knew what you were getting at.

“Stop.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s gaze lit up hot. “You didn’t! Did you…? Dude, you dad’ed me! You hypno’ed me! That effect of people seeing themselves as more after you talk to them! What?!”

Flooded with excitement, he shot from your arms and had to bounce.

“Dad! Dad! Did you see?!”

“According to Mikey, I might have Leo’ed you too.” You added confidently.

Donnie’s head shot up so he could bore a hard gaze into you.

“What’d you do to him?” In a whirl of electronics, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. came to approximately kneel in front of you.

“I don’t actually know…” You glanced out of the corner of your eye to hopefully fend off your boyfriend. “Mikey only said he’s been really introspective since I yelled at him at the gym that one day.”

“You wrecked him! How do you do that!?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. leaned forward into your space with bright eyes.

You put a hand on his head to both calm him and stroke his enthusiasm. “I’m not doing anything. All of you are doing the work. I mean look at you. You were terrified of Donnie when I met you.”

“And… I stood up to him…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s vision flicked to his dad.

“You’ve done well.” Donnie remarked.

You watched S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s systems freeze before an actual spark shot out of the side of his head.

You tugged your hand away and, in a whoosh of air, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shot upward and into the air.

“DON’T!!!” Donnie roared beside you, but it was too late.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. came down from several feet and cracked right through the floor. “Oh shi-!”

“I take it back!” Donnie growled, flew to his feet, and hoisted S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. straight up out of his hole in case it further caved in. “You never think for even a moment! Your programming is wasted! You irritating little-!”

“Am I getting picked up right now?!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. quacked and threw his arms out. “Y/N!!”

“This is not fun!” Donnie flung S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. sideways with the intent to put him down away from the damage.

Upon soaring through the air, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. tittered with so much excitement that he left his body.

With an empty metal husk in his arms, Donnie turned to snarl at his system. “Get back here!”

A zip of magenta through the many digital screens, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. returned to his frame and used Donnie’s darting eye to escape towards the door.

“GET BACK HERE!!!” Donnie gave chase.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. hit the hallway with Donnie hot on his heels.

You reached up and dragged your hands down your cheeks. “Forgot his disguise.”

Standing and looking at the crater that didn’t quite reach the apartment below, you shook your head knowing they’d both realize it as soon as they hit the street.

Sure enough, both parties returned in dampened but similar states within a few minutes. You sat waiting by the hole with your arms folded and Donnie relented first with a sigh. A saw attachment appeared out of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s back which he used to cut the hole clean and Donnie ordered some supplies to fix the cavity before end of day.

Calming down in various states, you all didn’t necessarily drop the age subject, but it hung up easily on the emotional wall as something to keep in mind. Peace to be had with it, there was eventually a return to the board and task at hand. Some more information dispersed and scenarios run, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. took the delivered materials and fixed the floor himself before sitting back and pretended to wipe his brow where the floor looked like it had never been damaged.

You had to squat down to study it.

“Monday, I’ll have whittled down the list and we can begin to examine my replacement candidates thoroughly.” Donnie spoke with still some very latent bitterness to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

“Sounds good. Surveillance is ready to be tapped. Did you see the new one I pushed to the top of the pile?”

“The salamander?” Donnie cocked his head.

“Yeah.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. rose and pretended to stretch out his arms.

“We’ll see.” Donnie turned up his beak.

“He dismisses young ones.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. told you as if you had any idea what was going on in the conversation.

Donnie looked over his son coolly.

“When he was one?” You shared a look with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. before giving Donnie one of your fetching ones.

He didn’t relent and only lowered his lids. “It’s not about youth; it’s about holding. I shall see when I review the file.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. hummed snarkily.

“Think you can squeeze in a movie tomorrow? I wanted to show you that one… “ You dropped off where S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was making an obvious grimace. “What?”

“I have plans. There’s a convention in town and I want to see what it’s like to walk around without my disguise. I’m gonna totally win the cosplay contest!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. grinned with an arm behind his head. “That’s why we said Monday.”

“Cheating.” You tutted and bumped him affectionately. “Have fun.”

“I deserve it.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. puffed up and then walked backwards toward the door with thrown out pointed fingers as if he were leaving the stage from a successful concert. “See y’all lates!”

Donnie gave him a parting nod and you waved him off down the hall before closing up the door. “So…”

From where he was over by his desk, Donnie shifted his posture to evaluate you.

“Just you and me tomorrow?”

“You, I, files, and chores.” He smirked.

“True romance.” You approached and held out your hands in a show.

He took you into a hug and pressed his beak to your hairline. “I won’t let time keep us apart.”

“I knew you were still thinking of that.” You mumbled into him.

“Hard pressed to forget, but I will attempt to take your words to heart.” He leaned away enough to show you his open expression.

You leaned up on the tips of your toes to give him a soft peck.

He smiled against your lips and you moved together to make dinner.

Going through the evening and into the next day, everything was the new business as usual. Donnie had many tasks that he worked through at a certain leisure. You had his attention when you wanted and with the same offered in return, you both went about your day. Just before lunch you headed out to Old Lady Nagami’s to pick up dry cleaning. While you’d forced Donnie to relent on most of your clothes, he refused to let even a single of his items go anywhere else but into her hands. It meant weekly or so trips which you attended when you could.

You weren’t sure if Donnie liked you coming or not, but the trips usually panned out in the same way. Old Lady Nagami’s nephew manned the front counter, but as soon as you entered she would tear through the shop to yell at him until he left. Then she’d coo over you and how you needed to whip Donnie more into shape because you were already doing a good job. Donnie took everything in stride and as the nephew got his clothes, Donnie and Old Lady Nagami would talk tangential shop. You always listened to their coded messages and sometimes Donnie would decipher them afterwards. Today though, you slipped in the shop with the usual bell only to find the lady already sitting at the front desk with narrowed eyes.

Donnie didn’t slow, but took in an irritated aura as he approached. “What do you know?”

Nagami glanced at you and back. “There will be repercussions.”

Donnie’s posture flared threateningly, but you long knew that didn’t work on the old woman. “I asked you a question.”

She ignored him and beckoned you with a finger.

You approached slowly and kept just behind Donnie.

“I still do not know your name.” She told you with an unreadable gaze.

“And you never will.” Donnie was just short of growling.

“How much of him have you come to know?” Her head didn’t tilt, but there was an obvious shift in the shape of her pupil.

“That is not pertinent-!” Your boyfriend’s hand came down to slap the counter.

“Tell me!” She bit through the air, just loud enough to beat the slam and give him some form of attention. “You are pathetic! Obvious! Do you think I would not see your destination? Boring! You give everything up for the first pretty person to turn your way!”

“I don’t pay you to-!”

“Pay me!” She leaned up and forward. It gave you a sense that her true height was something much larger than her current form and, in opening her mouth, you saw her canines lengthen. “Othello, it has been decades! Drop the act for once and listen as you should!!!”

His nostrils flared with fury and you put a hand to his arm.

He only snapped his wrathful gaze down at you.

You stared back up evenly.

In a slight squint of his gaze, he passed the conversation to you.

“Lady Nagami…” You started.

She lowered herself and turned to wait for you.

“What do you know?” In contrast to Donnie’s accusation, you went for open curiosity.

With a shift in the air, you felt a sort of bubble encase the room. Glancing around as it wasn’t anything visual that changed, you turned back to the old woman.

She appraised you and folded her arms on the counter. “I know that my contact at the auction house was bragging about pulling one over on theirs. I know this to be Othello as he was the one who set up the connection.”

Donnie glanced away and stewed.

“I know many a man has been lured away by love. Not one was successful.” She didn’t look at Donnie, but she squinted through her lenses in a way that said she was talking to him. “Sloppy. They rush. They think themselves safe.”

“He knows he won’t be.” You didn’t argue, but commented.

“Does he?” She raised a brow. “Don’t they all?”

You let the comment sit before rounding your partner and placed your hands in a show of fealty on the counter. “What do you recommend?”

She smiled with a sage’s whip and looked over you affectionately. “I have always liked this one.”

You nodded a form of thanks.

“You’ll use your plans.” She finally looked at Donnie. “You’re making them now?”

Donnie gave a curt nod.

“I know by coincidence, but by tide, the information has not reached the heads, either council or underground.”

He took the information with closed eyes.

You read it as something soothing.

“Will you keep me?” She tilted her head and her glasses chain sparkled.

Donnie swept his gaze to her and hesitated his distaste on crinkled lips. “You have… held up your side of the agreement.”

“You’ve kept my pockets lined, sent me business, and kept my dealings appropriately quiet.”

“Your little gang has dwindled.” Instead of looking down his beak at her, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“Kids.” She curled her lips. “They do not want old business. Too hungry. Know no stability. Sound familiar?”

“I detest how you laud your age over me.” He finally turned toward her with a glint of his teeth.

“What am I, if not wise in years?” She returned it with one of her own and you saw her teeth were now long and snake-like fangs.

“Yet you can’t keep your own family in line.” He shifted his body, resisting to throw an open threat.

“I force them! Why? So I can watch what I have built crumble? I rather it die with me.” She shrugged openly.

Donnie watched dully. “What do you want?”

“I want to see you be the first.”

Not surprise, but something similar, he only showed it with the faintest shift in his lids.

“To… successfully get away with love?” You stepped in, wary of both parties.

Donnie’s shoulders rose with displeasure and Nagami’s grin split much wider than any human’s should.

“I have often wished you were my son. You would have brought our family great power.” Nagami spoke casually, but it appeared to be something revealing as Donnie’s gaze shot away.

“Too alone. Your downfall. Mystery and by my hand you have lived this long.” Her head rolled one way then another in a snake’s display of attentive interest. “I hate to see my work go to waste if I can help it.”

You tapped the counter where you were still holding it. “You’ve… dismissed your own family, but think you can help… Othello?”

“Yes.” She slid a hand forward and covered yours with hers. “If not this moment, soon. He will see the advantage.”

Donnie scoffed softly.

“Who else will clean your clothes?” She tilted her head, amused.

That brought Donnie’s eye.

“My demands are simple. No change here.” She lifted a free hand and pointed a digit down into the counter. “You pay, I supply. Clothes, medical, the same.”

“What else?” He eyed her.

“You do not let this one die.” She squeezed your hand and glared at Donnie with growing disdain.

“Don’t act as if I would think otherwise!” He frothed.

“You have never considered anyone other than yourself! You only grow on me because I did not scrape you off the side of my shoe!”

“You are the one kept!” Donnie pressed flat against your back to snarl at the woman. “You said so yourself! I nearly collapsed your pathetic gang overnight when you tried to blackmail me or does your ancient memory fail you!?”

She coolly flicked her eyes over him. “You will not succeed. Too hot under the collar. Shame.”

“Manipulation? Still?” Donnie lips parted for a bitter breath. “You are nothing.”

She turned and walked back, grabbing a tied bunch of Donnie’s clothes where they sat in plastic and hangers. She then brought them over and hung them on a bar. “$187.59.”

You looked between them in dismay as Donnie paid.

He grabbed the wad of hangers and turned to leave.

You hung behind and looked over the old woman helplessly.

Her face otherwise neutral, one of her eyebrows cocked the faintest amount.

Donnie cleared his throat by the door.

You studied her and turned to follow.

If not this moment, soon.

She was planting seeds.

It felt like an echo of the Donnie you had originally met.

He was one that had to come to decisions on his own.

Exiting into the alley and walking out to where the car was parked, you trailed behind him and wondered if he knew that was her plan.

They had a long standing business relationship so you had a sense he probably did.

The door to the vehicle opened as soon as it came into sight. You slipped into the back first and Donnie followed, hanging his clothes on a hook just for them. He closed the door and the car took off with a slow lurch.

You waited a few blocks before quietly addressing him. “You okay?”

“Never reached a point where someone didn’t look down at me…”

Lightly running a thumb over a nail, you gave a half-hearted smile. “Don’t think anyone does.”

Donnie breathed a sort of bitter agreement.

Your gaze softened. “When you say it like that it sounds like your life is over.”

“One is.” He stared hard out the window.

“I disagree.” You turn to study his profile.

He gave an obvious shrug for you to see.

You prodded a fold of his jacket breaching the gap between you.

“Say it.”

“Think she’s right?”

One large blink said that wasn’t the question he expected and he turned to look at you. “No.”

You leaned your head against the headrest to watch him.

“No.” He affirmed harder.

“What was her gang like?”

Another misdirect he couldn’t calculate, he studied you.

“Like typical drug kingpin or…?”

“Medical.”

Your gaze darted around the cabin. “How…?”

Donnie settled, but kept examining you. “Disgraced in the Hidden City, she moved her family over in the 80s and took advantage of a wave of Eastern medicine. Using botched mysticism, she both healed and poisoned masses with her clinic as seemingly the only respite.”

“Oh…”

Donnie nodded lightly. “The younger generations that grew up here took to doctorates and found the actual rigging of the US medical system to be more advantageous.”

“The nephew?”

“The only one that didn’t make it through school.” Donnie gave a sort of smile.

“Are you letting her in on the plan?”

You watched relief pour over your partner as that was the question he’d been waiting for. “I’ll hold out until my next drop off.”

“You think she can help?”

“I think she chose her words too well and is targeting my weak spot.”

“You don’t want to chance what she said coming true.”

He sharpened his gaze to translate you’d gotten it right.

“Most of the villain’s I’ve met have been pretty nice to me. I have no idea what to think…” You shook your head. “I trust you.”

He hummed and reached out to lay his hand besides yours.

You touched your pinky to his thumb.

A faint churr rolled out of him.

“This time… What you’re doing I mean, it feels… different. Like how you’re taking your time. You’re usually so sure and jump as soon as you are, but now…?”

Donnie nodded. “No mistakes. No obsession. No rush. Done right.”

“Is this still what you want?” You look toward him under your lashes and raised them up to catch honesty.

He watched the move with affection. “Very much so. Every time I look at you.”

You snagged his fingers.

He squeezed your hand and you sat in a comfortable silence on the way home. Dropped off outside the apartment, Donnie slung his dry cleaning over his shoulder and followed you as you led up to the apartment. Out on your floor and inside, you could tell his mind was kicking into gear now that Nagami was in the mix. You offered to take his laundry and he pecked you gratefully on the cheek before heading to translate the new information to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

Pinning the canopy of the bed back, you laid out the many bags and went through the soothing process of taking the covers off the dry cleaning. You carefully removed the plastic and took each item off its sticky hanger one by one. Laying them out at first, you then set aside the different piles and took to folding what was necessary and hanging the rest on their proper hangers.

Humming not a tune, but a tone as you hoisted up a folded pile for the dresser, you walked over to it and jimmied a drawer open with a full load. The top sweater slipping, you shifted down to a knee to correct the load and set the stack on top of your thigh to adjust. Getting the pile upright, you trailed up to the correct drawer with a finger lining the way and tucked your fingers under the handle. Pulling it out, you went back to the load, teetering in your strange pose. It brought a hand down to the ground to stabilize and you heard an audible click.

Blinking, you stared over the dresser and didn’t see anything so figured a button or something must have gotten stuck in Donnie’s clothes. You’d look for it in a moment, but putting the clean laundry was the priority. A few swipes had them placed and you inched backwards on your knees to close the drawer and look. The immediate area showed little and you placed a flat hand against the dresser to stabilize yourself as you bent over to look underneath the furniture.

As soon as you did, a purple light emanated from there.

Staring dully at how the dresser now resembled a spaceship, you scooted further away and watched as a panel drop flush with the ground. Retreating on instinct, it at first looked like another drawer until it began to push itself outward. Nearly silent through the whole process, you were eventually presented with a case.

A metal container, the side facing you had a fake wood panel to match the dresser. Following along the edge, you found a hinge running all the way around, but no opening closure. From the many layers of protection around it, you squinted against the wood part and whispered.

“Darling Protocol Open.”

The wood shifted and you wished you had touched it before because it clearly wasn’t the material you thought it was. In a reconfiguration, it manifested a handle much like the ones on the dresser and you grabbed hold of it. Also metal, though cleverly painted, you lifted up and the case opened. Lined with a soft purple glow that reminded you of a UV light, inside was a black mass and little fixtures. Digging into the fabric you bumped something large and flat placed over the surface and got a hold of that first. Lifting it where it had been laid upside-down, you found it to be Donnie’s villain costume mask.

Your eyes widened at it before you scoured into the fabric with a tug to reveal a purple pinstripe that you knew went down the front of his suit.

You sat back on your haunches and held the mask loosely in your hand.

It seemed weirdly apropos for you to find it now.

Looking over the mask while you were still dumbfounded, you studied the shape of it. You had once wondered how it fit his beak and seeing it now, up close, it made even less sense. It was barely concave in nature and looked more like a dinner plate with large protrusions for those glowing goggles. Holding it up to your own face, there was no room for your nose and you dropped the piece down to your lap while thinking.

You weren’t sure now was the time for this.

Even if you had come upon his costume’s location by some sort of kismet accident, Donnie was in a transitional phase and something about it seemed wrong to ask him about. Sort of like picking a healing scab, you figured talking to him about it later might be better and went to put the mask back. Finding the placement of it was so the case could close, you shut the thing, and pushed it back towards the dresser.

It was the slightest bit ajar and no longer fit underneath.

You chided yourself silly and shook your head. “Sorry, Darling Protocol Close.”

The case did nothing.

You pushed down harder on it, sure you’d put everything pretty much back in place.

“Close.”

You tilted your body to the side and saw the hinge line where it was no longer laying flush with itself. Pouting, you tugged the thing back open and fluffed the contents before smashing them back down. They again seemed flat and you closed the case a second time only to still find the same crack.

“Shut. Bolt. Lock. Disengage. I don’t know!” You hissed a sharp whisper to the object and stared at the handle still sitting there.

You tapped the object, remembering how there hadn’t been a handle before you asked for it.

“You…” You narrowed your gaze at the offensive jut of metal. “Go away. Dematerialize. Stop.”

It stayed just as it was and you hung your head over the case in dismay.

The forces at be really wanted you to discuss this then.

Sighing, you opened the case back up and plucked the mask. Two birds, one stone, you carried the object with you over to where Donnie was in front of the big digital bulletin board. A little S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. icon was moving around the screen and writing data where Donnie was clearly absorbed reading and responding.

“Uh… Hey, Don…?” You felt bashful and shifted the mask between nervous fingers.

“Hm?” He didn’t look and moved an image as it popped up.

“I… sort of found something… and I can’t… put it away…” You held up the mask, goggles facing him, at the ready.

“Dry clean-?” He turned casually to address you when his expression plummeted. “How…?”

“I don’t know…” You lifted the mask to hide your shame. “I was just putting your sweaters away and… was there like some sort of code? On the dresser…?”

“Yes…” He eyed you carefully before taking the mask.

You watched him look it over with a sharp gaze.

Just as quickly as he scrutinized, it fell to neutral and then shifted to a sort of smile where he shook his head. “If anyone would find it…”

“My thoughts exactly…” You chuckled. “I’m sorry…”

“No…” He gave a metered sigh. “Quite alright. I’ll shut it.”

“S-sure!” You bobbed to attention.

He gave you a bored glance at your obvious hesitation and waited.

“I just… always wondered.” You held your hand up like a muzzle. “How does it… it makes your snout disappear?”

He dropped out his dry gaze for one of affection. “You need only ask.”

You grinned at him feeling settled.

He looked you over appropriately before turning his head in demonstration. “By design, it’s meant for anonymity.” He held the mask up to his face and you watched it adjust, almost reaching for him. He placed it on and it shifted for a bowed curve instead of over his beak distinctly.

You touched his arm to lean in close and could see him looking out the corner of his goggles at you. “Huh…”

He turned to face you and you saw his face looked only like a black abyss with two round holes.

“How does it do that?” You reached up and touched to find the mask was indeed there even if you couldn’t see it.

“It’s the paint. It absorbs all light.”

“Wow…” You smiled and ran your fingers to the edge. “With the hood it works really well.”

Donnie nodded. “There’s lights in the hood to further shroud me.”

“There are?” You perked up. “I only remember the eyes.”

“A prominent feature.”

You looked down momentarily nervous before sending your desire up to him. “Would you show me?”

He stared down at you evenly before his lids creased. “Of course.”

You chewed your lip as he rounded you and you followed. “Is this… weird? With you leaving it behind and all?”

“I’m not sure.” He spoke honestly and approached the case you’d left open.

“I’ve always been interested.” You admitted, following the trend.

He crouched enough to grab the jumpsuit and stood straighter, studying the fabric. “I know you have…”

You drew close and he looked you over.

You imagined he probably wanted something similar, but you only gawked at his head.

“It really just hangs off your face.”

He chuckled and reached up to remove it with one big hand. “Try it on.”

“I held it up before and nothing happened…”

He shook the jumpsuit out and unzipped it to step in. “Try now.”

“Since you know?” You held the mask up to your face.

“It could be voice activated.”

“Then why couldn’t I close the case?!” You huffed and felt the tech in the mask shift as it got close to your skin. Nerves high, you brought it until it brushed your nose and it gently reconfigured. Something akin to a soft brush, it molded itself to your skin and bowed around your nose giving you room to breath. You also felt it shrink down where it exceeded your facial structure to fit you like a glove. You let go marveling at Donnie through the goggles and felt how the mask just barely clung to your skin in a comfortable hold. “This is wild…”

He had the jumpsuit around his waist and was slinging an arm into one side. “Look at you.”

“Turn the lights on.” You cheered lightly.

“Absolutely not.” He shrugged into the sleeves.

You stepped into his space and did the zipper for him. “Rude.”

“Rather not be blinded.”

“You’ve blinded me a few times.” You grouched and set the neckline.

He clucked amused and caught your wrists.

“What?” You frowned even though he couldn’t see it.

“I actually…” He removed your hands and unzipped a few inches before hoisting the hood up from where it was tucked. He then brought the zipper up the rest of the way so the hood was secured inside it.

“Oh, oops…” You removed the mask and passed it to him.

He hummed disinterest and applied it to himself.

You stared at him, hands hovering close and pushed forward to touch his plastron.

He appraised you easily. “Ready?”

You nodded.

You watched as he blinked and the hood lights turned on. A soft purple neon glow from around his head, you immediately reached up into the fabric to feel it. It encroached his face in pure darkness as he described and you felt a plastic sort of quality to the inside of the hood where the light technology was pasted.

“Does it get hot?”

“No.” One of his hands hovered by your waist.

You glanced down at it. “You’re missing the gloves and boots.”

“Am I?” He turned his hand over and you watched as from the tech gauntlet underneath, a glove manifested as it had the night the other turtle’s ambushed you. Without the same sharpened claws, they instead looked like bulky rubber gloves and you skimmed them to feel their metal coating.

His fingers parted under your touch and, in a shift, you checked his other hand. “Missing one.”

“Got me there.” He leaned with you to look at the case.

Inside there was a compartment for his boots and another tech gauntlet.

You stepped away from him and gathered the former to pass to him.

He applied it to his free wrist and stretched out his arm as the other glove moved into place.

Raking your eyes over him, you gave a coy smile which he took with head tilting interest.

“Oh no…!” You feigned a hand over your mouth in horror. “Furious Fuchsia?! What am I going to do?”

He turned the lights off so you could watch his lids drop in judgment.

“I know, I know. I’m supposed to be scared…” You trended towards him and traced a strap on his chest. “I never have been though. Maybe the bug eyed thing freaked me out at the time, but it was because there were two scary headlights in an empty alley. If I had seen this, I don’t know… while I was out at night and you were… robbing a bank and I saw you, half lit, without knowing you, I think my first thought would be… cool. How mysterious…”

Tracing a clip that was an obvious Donatello ‘D,’ your partner was silent so you looked up to see why.

Nearly the size of his goggles, he was staring down at you in astonishment.

You took him in with your own form before lowering your lids.

“You know I’m telling the truth, don’t you?”

He gave a slow nod before his gaze shifted to an appreciative one.

“What are you imagining?” You leaned into him sweetly.

“Meeting you like that, a true villain and my first prey to not immediately run. You glimpsed me in the act, you think I would let you go?” His shoulders squared and you could sense his preparation.

“You could easily take me out…” You pressed your hands flat against his pectoral scutes.

“No.” His voice shifted to that deeper pitch he used to disguise his own. “Consider yourself captured.”

“But you don’t capture…” You felt him take your waist. “No victims left alive.”

“True…” He leaned into you and you had no choice, but to bend back in his hold. “You though… What you know… Your knowledge intrigues me…”

You were nearly being dipped as his hold shifted supportive. “Me? I’m just some citizen…”

“You’re no mere resident.” He openly scanned you.

You squirmed a little in his grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Shall we see?”

“See what?”

“If that’s true. If you’re not after more.” This time he did dip you and leaned his mask right into your face. “A trade.”

“Trade?” You felt giddy as he brought you back up with him in a salsa-like maneuver.

“My identity for yours…?” Leading you over to the wall, he trapped you there.

Pushing back hard against the wood, you stared up at him unable to hide your excitement. “My identity…? I would think yours is more important…”

“There it is again.” He leaned into your space. “Your interest in my person.”

“Guess you could call me a fan…” You wished you could kiss him.

“Guess we’ll see if that holds true?” He tipped his head with a question.

You gave a single eager nod.

His gaze dipped and he leaned down as if to kiss you.

Compelled, you pressed your lips to the flat of his mask and heard an explosion of churning metal.

Fluttering your lids open, you found the shoulder pads he’d been missing were now in place along with his cinching metal belt. All parts you now placed as part of his battle shell, the pièce de résistance were the four enormous mechanical arms lazily hooked around you. One atop the dresser and another craning curious around the partition to the living room, the last two settled against the ground, ready to lift Donnie if need be.

You gasped lightly at the sight and Donnie moved.

“Let us reveal then. Bit…” Encased by him, instead of ushering you out of the space, you felt the claw above you slide down the wall’s frame towards yours. There, it inched, testing, around your ankle and you caught his jumpsuit to articulate it was okay for him to proceed. “…by…” The arm wound, gentle, but probing between your legs and continued to spiral upwards. “…bit.”

This was the decadent version compared to the nightmarish one the night of the chase.

This was what you should have done then.

This was a reclamation.

You were so glad you found that case.

Mewling as the arm fastened just under your butt, you lifted off the ground as it coiled around your waist. A comforting constriction, Donnie backward away for more space and the arm from the dresser trailed over to help. It snaked into your grasp, urging you to let go of him and you held onto it as it curled around you. Slithering up your arm and leaving trails of goosebumps behind with the revolving metal texture, it felt like soft scales streaming across your skin.

You breathed in heavy gasps and heat as it wormed up towards your face and the claws extended. Purple poisoned tips, the three sharp fingers extended and touched your cheek. Exceedingly gentle in the comparison to how sharp, they spun slowly in a trace over your lips. All you could think was how they were him. Just as you had confirmed during the last night of his hacking troubles, this was his caress.

Pushing down on the plump of your bottom lip, your lips parted and you moved your head careful to suck on the claw there.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Donnie’s pupils shift through a layer of glass with wild excitement.

This was completely uncharted territory for him.

You were going to make it beyond worth his while.

Extracting from the claw with a wet pop, you licked your lip. “Bit by bit, huh?”

He tried to roll his churr into an interested noise.

“Then where’s…?” You reached up from the elbow since your biceps were strapped down and cradled the mechanical arm. “… my give?”

“Think you deserve one already?” He stepped in and the other arm coiled a final twist around your neck.

“Do you have me or have I let you?” You smirked down at him and pulled the claw along to give it a delicate kiss.

It switched grip and a single digit lifted your chin. “What a being you are, calling shots in this position. I was right to keep you alive.”

You had another haughty retort on your lips but the tethers restricted. Slow and careful, they tested your windpipe and just barely cut off your oxygen. You writhed looking down at him and saw his gaze was laser focused to catch even the slightest discomfort. It brought a little smile to your lips which you parted as soon as your need to breathe started to become pressing.

The arms loosened and curled around you affectionately. The one in your grasp wriggled as you stroked it down. You were soon lowered to Donnie’s eye level where he judged you with an open cascading of his gaze.

“What do you see?”

“A specimen.” He spoke instantly and reached out to tread a gloved hand across your waist. “You?”

“A new type of creature.”

He stopped and looked at you with waning intent.

A little worried, you dropped the act. “Was that wrong? You okay?”

He shook his head slowly and reached out in time that you were brought into his face. “I adore you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

You reached for him and the arms shot away to give you the full freedom to move. Now swathed around the waist and up toward your back, you took his head careful and coaxed him close. There you kissed into the abyss and landed with your lips against the flat mask. “I quite like you as well Furious Fuchsia.”

Caught, his gaze narrowed and you felt the arm near your neck shifted to pinch curiously at your top. “Give?”

“What did I take?” You kept your hold on him.

“My attention.”

“I’d have said heart.” You looked at him cheekily.

With one curled claw, he shredded a line down the back of your shirt. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You pouted openly and slumped your limbs so the shirt would fall.

One of the claws from the ground came up to toss the fabric away in a fluid motion. “Specimen.”

He had repeated himself with a new tenor.

You searched him curiously before you dropped.

Shifted and turned, you were soon laying horizontally while strapped down to a table made from a bunched coiling of the mechanical arms. Donnie loomed over you, turning his head back and forth to show where his gaze trailed. One of his hands rose, gloves turning into claws and he traced the pinprick edge over the expanse of your exposed torso.

“What pretty skin.”

You tested your binds in a squirm.

Flexing his fingers out, he dug lightly into your side and tested the way your skin relented. “So clean, so soft…”

You made a high pitched sound, tense with the sensation teetering on ticklish.

In a flick as if picking some hardened piece of food off a table, he snapped a digit in and you felt it scrape you.

Your hips lifted lightly with the sting.

He dipped down, looking at that obviously and then flicking his gaze back to yours.

You forced a smile.

His eyes said he returned it and he again spread his claws, this time dragging them with purpose. “I’d like to leave my mark.”

“You don’t leave evidence…” Your body arched as he made disappearing lines over the plain of your stomach.

“Again, how you know me and my work.” He cooed and in a snap, he made a small incision to your arm.

You squeaked at the papercut-like pain and sent a betrayed expression to him.

“Won’t scar, not deep, barely bleeding.” He spoke in his usual tone before turning to the pitched one. “You bleed like the rest.”

“I’m human.”

“I’m not.” He reached for the arm he wounded and pulled it to him. The binding didn’t release, but simply came along with, so he could examine the cut close.

It also showed you that it was exactly how he described with only a single drop of red formed off it.

He wiped it up and it disappeared in the dark color of his glove.

It appeared to be logged because with a roll of his neck, he shifted to ready himself over the project of your body and went to work. Metal palming warm from his skin, he dug and prodded you until you were a writhing mess. He trekked across places exposable in a public sense while pressing pain centers and breaking the skin only enough for surface level scarring. Marring you for him, he moved to snap the fabric of your bra when you least expected it.

Nearly snarling at him incensed, he propped a hand on either side of your head and the table moved so he could lean over you. “You seem upset?”

“F-fuck…” You managed.

“You’ve done well.”

You winced rhythmically as the air stung all the little grazes.

“Want help? Your first give?”

“B-both?” Your heart rate was finally coming down.

He nodded a single time.

“Y-yes…”

Reaching up obviously, he removed his mask.

You tried to stop him and the binds let you get a certain distance.

He slowed, the cover only partially removed from his face. “Problem?”

“Your… identity…”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted… I wanted you…”

He hitched where you could only see one of his eyes. “I…” His voice warped out of his villainous one. “I don’t know how to proceed. I want to taste you, but this does not shrink in a way that would allow it.”

“Can you black out the goggles?” You moved to sit up and were allowed.

It came with needle pricks from your wounds, but you ignored them to support his arm.

He seemed appreciative and lowered the mask with a strained expression.

“Why impede my vision? This is only meant for me.”

You hummed unsure.

He tapped the cover, thinking, until he flipped it over and studied the goggles. “There are different modes…”

“Yeah?”

“Night vision, UV, mystic energy tracker…”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He chirped an affection and nuzzled close. “I think I’ve got it.”

“I didn’t help at all.”

“You always help.” He tapped a flat finger to your forehead and pushed.

You took the message and laid back down.

He adjusted himself with a flip of his head and put the mask back in its half position along with his voice. “How thoughtful.”

You smile slightly and, in a flash, he put the mask on you.

Blinking at the sudden adjustment, you saw mostly dark blobs until you turned to view him. He sat a radiating hot red form under heat vision. “Oh!”

“Now.” The table righted and he dropped down.

Immediately getting his mouth on you, his tongue was a scathing balm on your wounds. You cried for him, only just barely keeping the sounds generic and not his actual name. He licked flat stripes, catching the braised skin and soothing it where he roved. Less titillating and more clinical, you squirmed under him trying to catch more when you saw two claws lift ominously. A cooler, green refinement, there was just enough definition from their generated heat that you could see the claws as they spun at threatening ready. Not sure where they were going and with Donnie sucking lightly at the cut on your arm, they shot forward and locked onto your breasts.

Cold in comparison, the metal dug into the mounds and, with a rolling press, hard palmed your nipples. The million little joints rolled over the bud and created a wholly new sensation that had you tensing and squeaking out unsure sounds. Donnie slowed, pressing kisses to your belly as he watched his tech push and pull your breasts. Coming away taut with the claws pinching your nipples tight, they tugged hard and pushed the elasticity of your chest to its very limits. It burned with the stretch of skin and then melded it hard back into your torso where the nano pieces rippled a strange sort of lick that had your pitch soaring.

With a final squeezing claw to each breast at large, you imagined it left a pair of three daggered punctures in its wake. The arms then released and were replaced by Donnie’s tongue. A sexual good cop bad cop that was all him, he soothed the pain and held only tenderness as he lapped carefully at the abused buds. Swirling for a suck to clean your wounds, you whimpered for him and strained on the table where the binds were again taut. He traced your arm down to one, tucking a finger in that sharpened to press threateningly at your pulse.

“T-too much!” The phrase popped out and his hand disappeared as soon as it did.

“Apologies.” He whispered softly.

“It’s okay. Choking is one thing, but that was…”

“Right.” His form seemed to nod understandingly.

You relaxed with a twitch.

He came up a glowing blob and peeled back your mask to kiss your cheek. “I would never harm you.”

“I know…” You ghosted up, your hand melded with his shape and felt around until you could squeeze his shoulder through the jumpsuit fabric.

He caught your hand and kissed it as well. “We’ll switch back in a moment for your sake.”

“Done tasting me already?” You chided, feeling calmer.

He lightly bit your digits. “Never enough, but in this case, I want you to watch. No repeats.”

“Repeat of what?” He extracted himself, placed the mask back on you, and appeared to slide over you as if you were a piano.

“That night. I’m going to fuck you with the arms.”

Your body wound with excitement.

The way he pet your stomach said he appreciated the turn. He shifted to a clawed finger and skirted it down your jeans. “Gathering more of you, piece by piece.”

“Pound of flesh.” You hissed lightly as he curved inward between your legs.

“How’s the sight deprivation?”

“Hot.” You smirked even though he couldn’t see it.

“Scoff, puns are the lowest bar of comedy.”

You giggled.

“Hm?” The dagger pushed right into the apex between your legs and, on instinct, you tried to pull away.

The bed of arms raised as a block for your shoulders.

“Something amusing?” He dug it in deeper and you felt the sharp curve of the blade through the thick fabric of your pants.

You gave a breathy whine, unable to form a word.

In a little wiggle, you felt the moment he breached your bottoms as the claw became a sharper shape with only the thin cotton of your underwear as a barrier. “I was haphazard above. I think when I have you next, I will carve you with purpose. Section you off like meat.”

“Are you a villain or serial killer?” His pause gave you a moment to breathe.

“Murdering three or more in a month as separate events…?” He mouthed with curiosity. “I suppose the label fits, but not for pleasure… Well… not in the case it supposes.”

You made a nervous fist and you watched his blob move to catch it.

“Y/N?”

“Have…” You shifted. “Sorry to stop so soon, mask, please.”

He appeared in your vision clearly within the next second. “No apologies. What’s wrong?”

You pushed to sit up and came away easily.

You watched him searching you in a wild darting of his head.

You touched his plastron to catch his focus.

He came and sent it toward your gaze.

“Pleasure…?”

All at once, his face fell into a light hearted one. “Pleasure for the villainy, not for death. Retribution. For cruelty. Not mutilation.”

“You…” Feeling a little too bare up top, you tried to fold your arms, but mechanical ones crept up as soon as you did. You watched them as they slowly formed a sort of tube top and you smiled at them, then Donnie. “You said that thing about picking Mikey apart… when you caved his face in.”

Donnie lips parted with a sort of guilt. “Again, not about death, but that would be mutilation… It’s difficult to explain. In certain states of mania, I derived pleasure from it as a science. I believe I also explained that with the orange oaf I thought I may find what made him tick in the process. I… wanted to understand finally, why…”

You pressed a little harder for support. “I’m ruining the moment.”

“No.” He caught your hand and then shoved his face into yours. “No.”

You couldn’t help pecking the tip of his beak.

“Does that help?”

“Yes, the way you were talking… I had to know… for sure if you had…”

“I’ve killed many, but not in such a way. No saved bodies. No Frakensteinian amalgamations. Not my particular brand of science. I prefer to deal in living.”

In a slow slide and breaking from his grasp, you moved to touch the scute he’d removed for his vivisection.

His expression shifted to a pained one and this time he covered your hand. “May I share what titillated me? Why I shifted to that line of speech?”

“Of course. Finally I get to tell you how silly it is to ask.” You prodded his cheek with your other hand.

He leaned into the digit. “I thought of writing on you. Painting your skin with a brush. Leaving marks as such. Writing my name in the tender flesh of your thigh.”

You squirmed at the thought and your mind’s eye supplied a flurry of images. “I… We need to do that.”

Donnie nodded.

“Tally marks of misdeeds…” You chewed your lip and bounced. “Tenderly filling in the gaps on your carapace…”

He kissed you sweetly.

You melted against him and made out languidly until you nudged him with your nose. “Keep going…”

He nodded once before the mask fell back in place and he repositioned himself just as he had been with the claw against your underwear.

“There’ll be a next time…?” You added a little too much breath to the statement.

In return, Donnie’s growl sounded a little too playful as he hooked the digit into your right pant leg’s inseam and began to tear downward. Claw dragging your skin the whole way, you felt him scratch a long line until he severed the fabric at the ankle. The peel back felt like a burst casing and he moved to do the same down your left leg. By the end of it you were shifting with need and a seasoning of pain. “Another take, therefore…”

You heard but didn’t comprehend.

The mask lifted from you and bubbling worries came with clarity. “Ah-!”

Only your head could lift and, in doing so, you found the mask was already back with its rightful owner where said villain had a grip on the zipper at his chin.

“Oh…”

His head quirked with what you bet was a smile and he was torturously slow as he dragged it down. Caught by his battle shell, he tugged the fabric hard to reveal until it was trapped by the belt at his waist. “Ah, the downsides of a good suit.”

You listened to his lament with a curling of your toes.

He glanced at the movement and then back to you. “A moment, if you will?”

Not waiting for an answer, he ducked his body and came straight out of his battle shell. In a quick shuffle, he got the top of his jumpsuit off and left it hanging gorgeously at his hips before he stepped back into the straps on his equipment. Locked back in place, it painted him an overheated mechanic still hard at work on a project.

“Suffice?”

“No.”

“No?” He struggled a moment to keep his pitch.

“No more games. I want my due.”

“Your first poor showing.” He tutted with three ticks and the table began to warble.

You steeled yourself and it disintegrated into snakes, weaving and wriggling across your nearly nude frame. Setting your skin aflame where almost every inch of you was licked with metal, he loomed attentive and smug. You panted heavily, getting over stimulated everywhere, but one he knew all too well. Your legs were welded shut as the creeping limbs squeezed your hips and each roll found new flesh to test. Flexing control with circulation cutting restrictions, he assessed every inch of your body until bringing you in close.

“Will you demand anything else?”

You babbled nothing coherent.

“Very good.” A claw caught your throat with two digits and the third pricked your chin. “I’ve seen most of you, but am no closer to your identity.”

You tried to catch a sentence, but you gaped like a fish.

“Huh?” He turned his head for you. “What was that?”

You inhaled with a chance of speaking only for the claws to tighten and cut you off.

He hummed a pity and traced a digit straight down your sternum, over bumps of metal, until he reached your underwear.

You squeaked the barest sound you could manage, head getting light.

“Few more seconds and I’ll reward you…” He studied closely, a sharp digit sliding into your waistband.

Tears leaked and your eyes became more difficult to keep open.

He released.

You gasped greedily and, as you did so, he shredded the last of your clothing in a clean swipe.

Feeling the air on your mons and not your boiling sex you choked. “I-I’ll t-tell you…”

He perked with interest and tested a claw just above your slit. “Not so broken after all, that’s better.”

“No more games and I’ll talk.”

From the way his eyes curved, you knew a smile was splitting his face. “Very good. Very, very good. That’s my intrigue. Push me. Level the playing field.”

“Lonely at the top?”

“Frustratingly so.” He brought your face to his. “You are the first being to ever capture my interest.”

“I’ll be the last.” You put on your best maniac grin.

Even though you could only see two slivers of his face, you watched him short circuit in real time.

“How’d you say it…?” With your arms pinned you could only stroke the mechanical arms within reach by the tips of your fingers. “Very…” You leaned hard against the restraints to get the tiniest bit closer. “Very…” You sucked in a breath and offered your open mouth for him to see. “Good…” You puffed out plumpness with the final word.

Your legs were scissored apart and something feral in your brain had you cackling in an unhinged way.

“Finally, there he is! The villain! My villain!”

The coil around your throat tugged you into his face as he ground his clothed hips into your core. “Yours?!”

“That’s the big secret.” Your cheeks hurt from pressure.

He reached up and you watched his glove retract so he could fiercely grab your head with his bare palm. “What?! Who are you!?”

“Haven’t you realized?” You shifted the frenzy straight into a controlled cuteness with a purse of your lip and a flutter of your lashes. “I’m yours.”

You had little comprehension for what happened next.

The wrap around your throat suctioned tight so fast your vision whited out. Whirling metal swallowed your arms and dragged, pinching every single hair as you were constricted everywhere, but between your legs. Those still split wide wide open, you felt your ankles tug shut behind Donnie’s back and his cock swiped slick over you in three tests before you were skewered.

You were given air just as you were blacking out.

Mouth to mouth, he forced your lungs open to accept him and plowed you in a countercurrent that tried to shove the oxygen back out.

Wheezing on the ebb and flow, he forced pulse after pulse of air in until you animated like a blowup doll. He then retreated to stare a bobbing form in your delirious vision as he refused to stop fucking into you. A pressure crushing deep inside, a metal coiling around your waist tightened to a painful degree until you were able to put together with your rattling brain that it was the only thing moving you. Held as a stroker, you were being pumped up and down his cock and you were the next thing to contract.

A vice on him, he roared possessively and sank his teeth into your mating mark. Renewing your brand, you heard him snort wet as he drank in your life blood. Claws out, he dragged them wanton across your back and he chomped down a second time for a bite that rivaled one from his heat. Crying out in pain and pleasure, you came suddenly and shook violently into it. He ignored it, plowing through the further constriction and unhinging his jaw only to drag bloody lips across your skin. He melded them to your mouth, a contrasting tender to the brutality and you tasted your existence on him. All him, you whimpered, senses blown out, and he shoved his tongue further in as if to gag you there as well.

Releasing suddenly, he tossed himself back and you registered that his mask was long gone. Not knowing when he’d removed it, you seared this face into your memory and watched him doing the same to you. A mental lock on of your fate, you both committed to these versions of yourself and you etched exactly how his beak twitched and brows came together as signals he was close.

The metal arms sped up and you lost sight of him as everything blurred. The needle graphing your orgasm in real time swung wildly back and forth with no true start or end as sensors were mistakenly strapped to your partner. Each pock marked and closest to his veins, they drew the line of his own violation and stroke of his cock. A grinding pump of little thrusts as he grew too large to move, he swelled and the pen snapped the moment he came.

The sudden stop came with vertigo that continued to bob his pinched features until he centered for a falling relief. A method of molding, he stamped his mark into you with semen and scorched his place in your soul. You quaked, feeling strung out and still bound until his legs gave out. No fall thanks to the mechanical arms, they loosened only to hit the ground in a lock and he lurched further against you.

The crush of his pelvis to yours, you made the faintest sound of distress where he was now using you as a podium to keep himself upright.

You imagined he’d give a fine speech as he came up wobbly and feeble.

Eyes unfocused like he was the one just bouncing on what was ten times that of a mechanical bull, you studied him and watched as he drew back into his shell as much as he could.

He surfaced with a type writer’s side to side of his pupil before his brows knit concern.

Twisting with surprise, he tracked over your body with little dashes and you read the code to be the many cuts he’d inflicted.

Moving faster by the second, he lifted higher for a wider camera angle and found the nicks were paired with bruises which trailed to the thick oozing blood from your bite.

Fear shaking his breath, his lips quivered and his pupils looked a similar scribbled mess.

“Don…? Don! What’s happening??” You went to tug at the metal but it shirked away from you as if scared. “Donnie!”

“Too far. I went…!” He was about to stumble away, but you caught the shoulder pads of his battle shell.

“Hey! Are you okay!?”

“W-water! Ban-bandages! I need to-! I need to care! I need-!”

You tugged hard and mistakenly slammed your forehead into his. “Donatello!!!”

“H-huh?” He searched for you in a haze even though you were right in front of him.

“Are you…? I don’t know what’s wrong. You’re crashing...”

“I’m…?” He reached up and touching the skin of your arms made his entire body shiver.

“Woah…”

“Fuck…” He hissed. “It’s… I know… It’s… called…”

You loosened your grip and made a slow show of moving to his shoulders.

Your touch scalded and grounded him at the same time.

“What is it, Sweet?”

“Dom… drop…”

“Drop…?” You metered your pressure and found one that caused his muscles to loosen.

“Too vulnerable…”

“Is this helping? The battle shell?”

He shook his head. “Out. I need out.”

You looked to the ground and as soon as you did, you were lowered to it. “Where are my interface ear pieces?”

“D-desk… You’re not ready…!”

“I don’t care. Hang tight.” Taking the first step was perilous, but motion had you stumbling the few feet to your destination. You found the box on the tidy desk surface and tore it open to get the pieces out. You slid them over your ears and then tapped them a few times in frustration before they came to life. Pivoting and nearly collapsing from the effort, you returned to Donnie and caught hold of his extra tech gauntlet where it had shrunk back down to his wrist.

He could barely turn his limb over before you ripped it off of him and applied it to yourself.

Summoning rage straight from your core, you screamed with all your intention for your mate to be freed. Fingers flexing until veins pushed against your skin and your joints popped, you felt your jaw lock. Your will centered, you stopped breathing and with a final shove, Donnie’s belt snapped open. He fell loose, but you shoved your body as a jack to hold him up at the same time the shoulder pads disengaged with a hiss. The battle shell arms then teetered weak without their usual host and you fumed at them to back off.

They wobbled in complete discoordination, but took a few steps back before you released with what felt like all your energy and they collapsed into a metallic heap.

You panted against Donnie and the force made your brain pulse with pressured pain.

“I got you…” You reassured him though you were in shambles.

He gave a wounded chirp and you looked toward the bed.

“Come on… Almost there… Left foot first…” Having to tell him which to move when, it took an aggravating amount of time to get you to the mattress.

You both collapsed into it, but Donnie immediately curled up into a fetal ball.

You tested his skin lightly and found he could take the pressure before lying on top of him. “I’m here. You did so good. I promise you, my love. Amazing, really. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

A little protesting whine came from him.

You shushed him. “I’m not lying. It really was. We did it. We fixed that night. It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Not…” His head emerged with a shaky breath. “Not like that… please…”

“Let’s say it was the scenario. How about that?” You rubbed his carapace with a heavy spread weight.

He shook his head and hid away again.

“I’m not hurt. I’m okay…”

“That…” His volume rose to free itself from the muffling constraints of his body. “That was the old me. Not me. Not now… That wasn’t…!”

You dug down into his arms to cradle his head, but didn’t force him out. “Was it? Think of all the times you dropped the villain voice. That was you. Every time you checked in. Every time we discussed something. You… You are not meant to be feared. He’s part of you, but that’s not you alone. You’re made of so much more. Not even you of the past was just that. I trust all of you. I want all of you.”

You felt him quiver before he lifted his head enough to peek at you.

You smiled through your exhaustion. “Hi.”

He couldn’t manage the ‘hey’ and instead gave a similar sounding chirp.

You gave him one back.

It unfurled him a bit more where he took a breath that was mostly stable.

“We’re okay…”

He gave one tired nod. “The drop… I got… I am… disoriented.”

“That was real and happened, but I didn’t think it was indicative of some other you…”

He peeped a quiet question.

You stroked his cheek. “I… When I first found the case, I thought something like ‘this isn’t a good time for this,’ but when we started to get into talking about it, all I could think was ‘finally, Donnie can reclaim this part of himself on his terms.’”

The sentence first sat on him before it drew into him like dry soil and the first few drops of rain. It animated the leaves of his green body and he was compelled to search for your sunlight with growing warmth on his features. “On my terms?”

“Mhm.” You nodded in time.

He gave a puffy chuff. “Me?”

“You.”

“When I… want to retire this infuriating purple alliterative?”

“Do it. It was never yours anyway because you didn’t name it.”

Another liquid on his parched soul, this time he caught your face as mirth turned to outright joy. “I never…! I never realized-! You!”

“M-me?” You couldn’t help but return his smile.

“I’m inclined to drop a portion of my genius title. You simply surprise me too often for me to truly retain it.”

“You’re being ridiculous-!” He cut you off by smashing his lips to yours.

A spindly complaint morphed into a little moan as he deepened the maneuver.

“Y/N.” He pulled back and his eyes glistened.

“Yes?” There was something about his gaze that quieted all complaints from your body.

“I love you.”

First your fingers lifted from him then your entire body floated as all of you rose around the real declaration.

“I love you more than anything. You are my heart, my mate, my desire, my everything. I love you.”

You bobbed twice as a revving engine before you tackled him.

It knocked you both over where you giggled too close to the edge of the bed.

Momentum took you over and the thump to the ground only pulled more laughter.

“Wait, wait!” You fought the tangle of limbs to find his face. “Again! Again!”

“Y/N…”

You caught his hand against your cheek and sent him your best pleading eyes.

“I sense a danger…” He spoke hopelessly.

“Well?”

“I love you.” He sighed with pure affection.

You kissed him and promptly spent the rest of the night asking him to repeat the phrase over and over just to be sure.

Never enough love for @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

#weakspotfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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eikonoklast · 2 months ago

Text

Day 19 (Taken): To Change

Minimas brought them down to a lower level of Solution 9. The smaller fighter was unable to control the landing as he carried his lupine companion, the two tumbling onto the smooth pavement, Minimas gasping for air as he landed in a crumpled ball. Silver lie where he was dropped, fairly still. His sides rose and fell gently with sleep, his garbled vocal cords making soft growling noises as he breathed. His silver-tinged mane rustled in the breeze as his tail trembled slightly, lost in dreams.

Minimas watched him there for a moment as he caught his breath. Silver looked so…incredibly small. This person he'd seen as a rival since their first match - who had let Minimas win and refused to admit it - was lying helpless a few yalms away. The lalafell knew when he was outmatched, and Silver had intentionally missed with a critical bite to one of his wings. He had opened himself up to attack and it infuriated Minimas as a fighter to be shown mercy from someone he should've beaten fair and square. He held such a grudge about it that he had started hanging out with the other fighters who hated their fellow rookie's guts. Nightmare was always looking for ways to get stronger and that had led them all to places Minimas himself would never have gone otherwise…he clutched his arm, choking back the feeling.

His bright red eyes narrowed. Still in his transfigured form, he got up and wandered over to Silver, his dark red whip-like tail lashing with anger. He looked at his talons on the tips of his fingers with a certain satisfaction, and then back down to the figure beneath him. Silver did not show any signs of waking.

I could just get rid of him.

Jabberwocky traced a dark, taloned hand over Silver's broad and exposed side. Still, he slept. He was so oblivious. It would be so easy. Too easy, though. He shook his head, disgusted with the thought. This isn't how I want to win.

Minimas noticed Silver's breathing was slightly erratic, his regulator making a strange high-pitched sound that would be difficult to pick up without Minimas’ large, sensitive ears. Confused, he examined it closely. It did not appear to be broken, but indicating poor health for its owner. And only one soul left, no less.

Minimas sighed heavily, leaning against Silver's long mane at his back, his bare skin pressing into the wolfish fur. It was warm and soft. His sleepy, rumbling growl echoed in his cavernous chest almost like a purr as Minimas rested there beside him, thinking. He looked around them at the tall, shadowy buildings; filled with their beautiful lights and simple comforts. He sat and dozed off, wishing to share them.

Maybe…we could be friends.

Alisaie walked into the Backroom at Neon Stein, past the mess in the main room. Glass was shattered behind the counter and all of its contents had been flung out in somesort've blast. The speakers by the stage had been thrown with such force that one had busted a hole in the wall nearby, half of it sticking out. Tables and chairs were in the process of being picked up by staff as they cleaned the wreckage, a few of them with bandages from nicks and cuts. Thankfully nobody had seemed seriously injured, so she had continued on her way after helping how she could.

In the well-lit strategy room Alphinaud stood with his arms crossed, looking somber. Y'shtola paced the security corner, discussing something about drones with Shale. The two were speaking quietly, with Shale staring intently at a series of screens. Alisaie approached her brother briskly, concerned.

“Are you all right?” she insisted, looking him over. “What happened?”

Alphinaud struggled to meet her gaze. “I was…” he trailed off. Finally he looked at her fully; resolve and regret nestled in his eyes. “I might have a lead.”

Silver sat up slowly, blinking away sleep. Behind him he heard a yelp as someone tumbled off of him, and he turned to find Minimas in his transfigured form, knocked onto the ground. Pain flared out from his chest like a lance being driven through it and he gasped, frantically pawing at his regulator with a shaky hand. Slowly and painfully his limbs snapped back into place, the transformation taking longer than usual as his body resisted the feeling. Minimas stared at him as Silver sat there trembling, gasping for breath. Fully himself again.

“It really does hurt you, doesn't it?” Jabberwocky's true, distorted voice echoed.

“Only if I stay long,” he breathed.

Minimas shrugged and tapped his own regulator, switching back to his much smaller form with practiced ease. He approached and held out a hand. “Where are you trying to go, anyway?”

Silver grasped it and his companion helped him to his feet. “I just wanted to…” Silver paused, feeling embarrassed, his face warm, “I uh…I wanted to see the outside.”

“All this for that!?” Minimas nearly screeched, stomping on the ground in frustration and withdrawing his hand as though Silver's were a snake.

Silver sheepishly scratched his head, his purple hair feathering lightly under his fingers. He looked out over the city - sprawled both above and below - as vehicles whooshed past on their way to parts unknown. “I guess I just…I want to see the world.” Minimas looked at him critically, one of his eyebrows shooting up in skeptical disbelief. “There's more to life than just what's in here!” he said defensively, his tail tip twitching as he wound his fingers together anxiously.

“So you don't want to be a fighter. I can't fathom why you're there and you won't even answer that question,” the lalafell snorted. “You've never been outside though? Like…seriously?”

Silver shook his head. “I- I've lived here all my life…” he trailed off, holding his fingers to his temple as he felt a headache coming on. He sighed.

“Things have only recently changed, I guess,” Minimas said thoughtfully, turning to look out over the city. “Now that we know there's so much more outside the barrier.”

“I want to see it,” Silver said quietly.

“Why don't you just go outside, then?” Minimas sounded completely puzzled.

“I'm under house arrest.”

“You? You're under house arrest?” the young man laughed dryly. “What could someone like you possibly have done to get yourself stuck in your room?”

Silver stared blankly. “I don't know.”

Minimas opened his mouth and then closed it again like a large fish. “You're not lying, are you,” he said finally.

It wasn't a question. More of a statement. But Silver nodded anyway.

“Don't you think that's weird? Like, at all?”

Silver looked down at the drop-off near their feet. “It's normal for me.”

“You are the worst heel Arcadion has ever seen. You can't bring yourself to beat anyone in the ring. Even in an unscripted match against someone like me where you're definitely, absolutely, one-hundred percent allowed to. And for some reason everyone still loves you,” Minimas sounded exasperated. “And all you want is to not be there whatsoever and to just go outside.”

“Please…”

Minimas’ voice increased in volume with his exasperation as he wandered around the platform, gesticulating wildly. “And you don't even know what you want to do or why, and that is completely normal for you?”

Silver dug his fingers into his forehead as the headache spiked and his anxiety along with it. “Please stop,” he choked, feeling trapped. “I can't…I can't answer your questions, I don't know. Why is it so wrong that I don't have a plan!?” He felt like the walls of his muddy thoughts were trying to drown him, pressing in on every side. “I don't care! About any of it! It may seem like a joke to you but it's just what I want to do!” he yelled the last words, his lavender eyes boring holes into the young man staring at him.

“I always thought you were such a freak, Silver,” Minimas spat, bristling. “I couldn't have even guessed how much of one. What kind've person can't answer simple questions about themselves? And who were those people!? What in the queen's name do they have to do with anything!?!? Why did they attack us? Attack you!?”

“Shut up! Why don't you just leave me alone if I am so awful to deal with!? Should I make you?” Silver snarled. He held a hand to his regulator.

Minimas crossed his arms, sneering, “If you weren't lying about what you said earlier, I bet you won't. But you know what? Maybe I will.” The lalafell noted the slight tremble in Silver's hand and he looked away, disgusted. “You're pathetic. Go outside or whatever your stupid dream is, I'm done.”

Minimas’ regulator whirred to life with a flash of red light and he lifted off into the air, leaving Silver stranded on the platform. “Next time I see you in the ring, I will win,” he shot back as he flew away, leaving Silver alone, staring at the distant elevator.

The miqo'te's hand fell to his side. He fought back the choking feeling of sadness that was trying to claw its way up out of his chest and he knelt on the ground, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the tears from coming. He trembled, knowing that to leave meant to change, and that to change always meant pain.

But I…I need to go there.

“What!? That doesn't…That doesn't make any sense.” Alisaie scowled, Y'shtola and Alphinaud sharing the details of their encounter. “He looks like him, sure. But this has nothing to do with that.”

Alphinaud looked pained as he reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder. Alisaie seemed too distracted to even notice as she stared at the floor, processing the information.

Y'shtola cut through, her pragmatic tone was like a shard of ice down Alisaie's back. “I saw it, myself. I know not why but the how would be very simple with clever use of regulator technology.”

Alisaie stared directly at her. “You're telling me that's Chiteni? That kid? He can't possibly be older than us, even.”

Y'shtola shook her head. “No, I am not. We know precious too little to make any assumptions at this time. But…I don't doubt what I saw.” The miqo'te gestured to Shale's monitors. “We've hijacked some of the patrol drones and are searching for the two of them at present.”

Walking over to another station, Y'shtola had a young hyuran woman open up a file of somekind on a smaller screen. “I've been going over the logs and registration of Arcadion fighters based on the information you shared with us, Alisaie. His stage name is Silver Bullet. He registered a little under one month ago.” Y'shtola paused, her brow furrowed. “What's more: most candidates seem to be under the sponsorship of individuals or companies who pay for their entry into the selection process. They vouch for their skills and provide personal information that may be of use to the board. But as you can see,” she opened a file. It was largely empty, without even a photo. “This seems to be redacted or…maybe it was never entered. Nor is there a listed sponsor we could contact for this information.”

“He's a ghost,” Alphinaud said quietly. “Or maybe not even a person, to be more specific.” The way the words left his mouth felt unnatural and stilted, as if he himself did not agree with them.

Alisaie stared at the blank file. Her eyes searched the screen as if they could uncover more from the pixels on its empty surface, darting to and fro without seeing.

“That boy has his soul,” Y'shtola said quietly, her head tilted downward. “We need to find him.”

Author's Note: I am SO RELIEVED to have this off my chest oh my god lol The holding back constantly was absolutely killing me. But I'm actually really happy with the flow of this one. The argument between Minimas and Silver especially is deeply personal to me: as someone who sometimes struggles to explain myself because of brain fog or memory issues or sensory overload I really didn't realize I was just sort've…writing myself, honestly. I feel like my inability to articulate can make me frustrating to speak to, particularly when I'm in distress. And especially when talking to people whose thoughts mean a lot to me. So this one's from the heart. Let's hope they can reconcile next time, maybe? Assuming there is a next time, of course.

#ffxivwrite2024 #ffxiv #original character #Silver Bullet #Jabberwocky #ffxiv arcadion #chiteni kha #day 19 #I hope I formatted this well #it took so long to write this but i wanted to make it the best it could be

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mynewscafes-blog · 1 month ago

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Eddie Redmayne Faces the Chase in ‘The Day of the Jackal’ Trailer

The latest buzz in the cinematic world revolves around Eddie Redmayne and his thrilling role in the upcoming film adaptation of The Day of the Jackal. As the first trailer for The Day of the Jackal hits the internet, fans of the classic 1973 film and Frederick Forsyth’s novel are eagerly anticipating a gripping retelling of this iconic story.

In this blog, we will dive deep into what makes The Day of the Jackal such an enduring piece of thriller fiction, explore Eddie Redmayne’s portrayal of the mysterious hitman, and examine why this upcoming film is generating so much excitement. We’ll also focus on the nuances of The Day of the Jackal, the film’s historical context, and why this latest adaptation is particularly relevant to today’s audience. Let’s get started.

What Is ‘The Day of the Jackal’?

First things first: The Day of the Jackal is a suspenseful political thriller that revolves around an assassination plot targeting French President Charles de Gaulle. The story, written by Frederick Forsyth and published in 1971, is set in the 1960s and follows the meticulous planning of an anonymous contract killer known only as "The Jackal."

The original 1973 movie, directed by Fred Zinnemann, became an instant classic due to its high-stakes tension, brilliant direction, and exceptional performances. Now, more than 50 years later, we are being treated to a new rendition that promises to be just as compelling.

Eddie Redmayne Takes Center Stage

Eddie Redmayne, known for his versatility and talent in films like The Theory of Everything and Fantastic Beasts, steps into the shoes of one of the most iconic anti-heroes in literary history: The Jackal. Eddie Redmayne’s ability to portray complex, multi-layered characters makes him an excellent fit for the role, and fans are already buzzing with anticipation after the release of the first trailer.

The Jackal: A Man of Mystery

The Jackal is not your typical villain. He’s calculated, meticulous, and operates with cold precision. What makes this character so terrifying is his complete detachment and professionalism. He is a chameleon, capable of disappearing into any crowd, and this ability to blend into his surroundings makes him one of the most dangerous assassins ever portrayed on screen.

In the trailer, Eddie Redmayne captures the essence of this elusive character, showcasing a chilling performance that promises to do justice to Forsyth’s original vision. Redmayne’s intense focus and quiet menace are already being lauded, and it’s clear that he has immersed himself in the role.

What Sets ‘The Day of the Jackal’ Apart from Other Thrillers?

The Day of the Jackal stands out as one of the best political thrillers for several reasons. First and foremost, the narrative structure is unique: rather than a traditional cat-and-mouse chase, it follows both the assassin and the law enforcement officers attempting to thwart him. This dual perspective creates a gripping tension throughout the story.

Moreover, The Day of the Jackal is not just about action. It delves into the inner workings of political intrigue, strategy, and personal motivation. The novel’s intricate plot has been praised for its attention to detail and Forsyth’s real-world research, which gives it a sense of authenticity that many thrillers lack.

The Political Context

Set against the backdrop of a volatile political landscape in France during the 1960s, The Day of the Jackal taps into the fears of an era marred by civil unrest and political violence. The plot centers on the OAS (Organisation de l'armée secrète), a far-right paramilitary group determined to kill President Charles de Gaulle due to his decision to grant independence to Algeria. Forsyth’s novel was ahead of its time in presenting a nuanced portrayal of political extremism, the consequences of colonialism, and the fragile nature of democratic institutions.

This historical context is one of the key reasons the novel and its adaptations resonate so strongly, even today. The political tensions of the 1960s, with their echoes in contemporary society, make this story feel as relevant as ever. Themes of political conspiracy, extremism, and the threat of assassination have not lost their potency in the modern era.

What to Expect from the New Adaptation

Updated for Modern Audiences

While the core narrative of The Day of the Jackal remains intact, this new adaptation is likely to feature some updates to reflect modern sensibilities and concerns. Director Brian Kirk, known for his work on Game of Thrones and Luther, brings a unique vision to the film, promising a fresh take on the classic material.

The trailer hints at a sleek, fast-paced thriller, with cutting-edge cinematography and tension-filled action sequences. The film is expected to blend the meticulous procedural elements of the original with the visceral excitement that modern audiences crave.

Eddie Redmayne’s Transformation into The Jackal

One of the most intriguing aspects of this adaptation is Eddie Redmayne’s transformation into The Jackal. Redmayne is known for his meticulous approach to acting, often immersing himself deeply into his characters. For this role, he has reportedly studied real-life assassins, the psychology of hitmen, and the intricacies of stealth operations to embody the character fully.

His portrayal in the trailer shows a level of calm detachment that is both eerie and fascinating. The Jackal is a man with no allegiances, no clear backstory, and no emotional connections, and Redmayne’s interpretation of this enigmatic character promises to be one of the film’s highlights.

What Makes ‘The Day of the Jackal’ Relevant Today?

While The Day of the Jackal is firmly rooted in the political climate of the 1960s, its themes of political instability, assassination, and covert operations remain highly relevant. In today’s world, where political leaders face threats from extremist groups and tensions between nations are escalating, the story’s underlying message feels more urgent than ever.

Additionally, the rise of political thrillers and espionage dramas in recent years, such as Bodyguard, Homeland, and Jack Ryan, has created a strong appetite for films that delve into the dark world of political conspiracies. This latest adaptation of The Day of the Jackal is perfectly timed to tap into that demand, offering a modern take on a timeless story.

The Cinematic Legacy of ‘The Day of the Jackal’

The original 1973 film adaptation of The Day of the Jackal is widely regarded as a classic of the thriller genre. Directed by Fred Zinnemann, the film was a critical and commercial success, praised for its meticulous pacing, strong performances, and intense atmosphere.

One of the reasons the film has endured is its attention to detail. The original movie stayed true to Forsyth’s novel, replicating the novel’s sense of authenticity and real-world stakes. It also avoided the common Hollywood trap of over-the-top action scenes, instead opting for a more measured, suspense-driven approach. This commitment to realism helped establish The Day of the Jackal as a seminal work in the political thriller genre.

Why You Should Watch Eddie Redmayne’s ‘The Day of the Jackal’

If you’re a fan of political thrillers or suspenseful dramas, The Day of the Jackal is a must-watch. Eddie Redmayne’s performance alone is reason enough to check out the film, but the story’s rich historical context and gripping narrative make it even more compelling.

Moreover, this latest adaptation offers an opportunity for new audiences to discover the brilliance of Forsyth’s novel. The combination of a top-tier cast, a talented director, and a story that remains as relevant today as it was 50 years ago ensures that this film will be a standout in 2024.

Final Thoughts

As The Day of the Jackal returns to the big screen, Eddie Redmayne’s portrayal of The Jackal is set to bring a fresh and thrilling dimension to an already iconic character. With its gripping storyline, political intrigue, and modernized retelling, the film promises to be a cinematic event that will leave audiences on the edge of their seats.

Whether you’re a longtime fan of the novel or discovering The Day of the Jackal for the first time, this new adaptation is shaping up to be a must-see film. Be sure to mark your calendars and prepare for a suspense-filled journey into the world of political intrigue and assassination.

#the day of the jackal #eddie redmayne #movies #classic hollywood

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laidee-flegman · 1 year ago

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Shadow work prompts for dealing with anger

The Blaze Within: Reflect on a recent moment when anger flared up within you. What triggered it, and how did you express or suppress it?

The Roots of Rage: Explore your earliest memories of anger. How was anger expressed in your family, and how did it shape your current relationship with this emotion?

The Volcano Effect: Describe a time when your anger erupted unexpectedly. What were the consequences, and what deeper emotions were fueling the eruption?

The Mask of Calm: Identify situations where you tend to mask your anger with a calm exterior. What fears or judgments are you avoiding by doing this?

The Inferno of Injustice: Recall a situation where you felt a strong sense of injustice. How did this injustice trigger your anger, and what actions can you take to address it constructively?

The Fire and Relationships: Reflect on how anger influences your relationships. How do you express anger with loved ones, and how can you improve communication during heated moments?

The Ember of Self-Anger: Explore instances where you directed anger inward. What self-judgments or criticisms trigger this self-directed anger, and how can you practice self-compassion instead?

The Thunderstorm Release: Consider healthy outlets for releasing anger, such as physical activity or creative expression. How can you incorporate these outlets into your routine to prevent emotional buildup?

The Tsunami of Triggers: Identify recurring triggers that consistently ignite your anger. How can you address or reframe these triggers to diffuse their power?

The Echoes of Childhood Wrath: Reflect on how anger was expressed in your childhood home. What patterns have you carried into adulthood, and how can you break or transform them?

The Shadow Self: Explore the aspects of your personality or desires that you suppress or deny. How does acknowledging and integrating these shadow aspects influence your experience of anger?

The Smoke Screen: Consider moments when you used anger as a distraction from addressing deeper issues. What emotions or truths were you avoiding, and how can you confront them directly?

The Inferiority Flame: Examine situations where anger arises from feelings of inadequacy. How can you work on building self-esteem and addressing the root cause of these feelings?

The Blaze of Betrayal: Reflect on a time when you felt betrayed. How did anger manifest, and what steps can you take to heal from the betrayal without letting anger consume you?

The Phoenix of Forgiveness: Explore your resistance to forgiveness. What beliefs or fears prevent you from letting go of anger, and how can forgiveness liberate you?

The Heat of Expectations: Identify situations where unmet expectations trigger your anger. How can you adjust your expectations or communicate them more effectively to avoid unnecessary rage?

The Infernal Internal Dialogue: Examine the way you talk to yourself when angry. What critical or harsh words arise, and how can you reframe your internal dialogue to be more compassionate?

The Wildfire of Projection: Reflect on times when you projected your anger onto others. What insecurities or unresolved issues were you avoiding, and how can you address them directly?

The Flashback Flames: Explore whether past traumas contribute to the intensity of your anger. How can acknowledging and addressing these traumas help you manage anger in the present?

The Avalanche of Accumulation: Consider the impact of suppressing anger over time. How does accumulated anger manifest in your life, and what steps can you take to release it in a healthy way?

The Cooling Waters: Imagine a scenario where you navigate anger with calmness and clarity. What tools or strategies can you implement to achieve this state in real-life situations?

The Smoke Signals of Boundaries: Reflect on your relationship with boundaries. How does setting and enforcing healthy boundaries contribute to managing anger?

The Firewalk of Acceptance: Explore the concept of accepting anger as a natural emotion. How can acknowledging and accepting anger without judgment transform your relationship with it?

The Firefighter's Compassion: Consider how you respond when others express anger. How can you cultivate empathy and understanding instead of reacting defensively?

The Ember of Grudges: Examine any lingering grudges you hold. How do these grudges fuel your anger, and what steps can you take to release them for your own well-being?

The Quenching Rain: Identify activities or practices that soothe and calm your anger. How can you integrate these into your routine as preventive measures?

The Inferno of Control: Reflect on situations where a lack of control triggers anger. How can you embrace uncertainty and release the need for control to manage anger more effectively?

The Lighthouse of Reflection: Consider journaling as a tool for reflecting on your anger. How can regular journaling help you gain insights, track patterns, and manage your emotions?

The Cauldron of Creativity: Explore creative outlets as a means of expressing and transforming anger. How can engaging in artistic or expressive activities help channel your emotions constructively?

The Bonfire of Release: Imagine a ritual for releasing pent-up anger. What symbolic actions or ceremonies can you create to release and let go of anger in a transformative way?

#journal #journaling #journal prompts #journals #writing prompt #shadow work journal #shadow work prompts #shadow work #self discovery #spirituality journal prompts #trauma journaling #trauma journal prompts

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veliseraptor · 2 years ago

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when in canon do you think xue yang realises he loves xiao xingchen and/or when do you think would be most interesting for him to realise. I like to think it's just after he dies when xue yang realises he can't resurrect him like he planned because that adds an even more painful layer to the situation imo.

the thing about Xue Yang and feelings realizations though, particularly feelings realizations about loving Xiao Xingchen, is that...Xue Yang does not examine his own feelings very much, and he is absolute shit at identifying them. thinking a lot about that one text post meme that has him with the "*realizes I'm experiencing a genuine human emotion* ok, troubling" and like. that's it! it is not that Xue Yang does not have human emotions it is that Xue Yang doesn't spend much if any time introspecting on his human emotions, what they are, and what they mean, on, like, a specific, articulate level.

so all of this is to say that I don't know that Xue Yang ever realizes that he loved Xiao Xingchen, per se. I think Xue Yang's emotional journey around Xiao Xingchen transitioned from "nemesis I'm going to destroy emotionally and physically" to "nemesis I will destroy emotionally and physically, eventually, when this stops being fun" to "person whose company makes me happy apparently so we'll roll with this until that stops being the case" to "person whose company makes me happy and I'd like to keep it that way" and, after Xiao Xingchen dies, more or less a blue screen of "wait what this isn't what I wanted and now I feel bad about it D: and I really really really want him back and would do a lot to make that happen and will not stop trying, ever."

but I don't think he looks at any of those and goes "huh, guess I'm in love with Xiao Xingchen" because I just don't think that's something he thinks of himself as doing. it's not a part of his emotional vocabulary; it's something other people do, or so he has read. and he doesn't have a sense of what it would feel like for him in order to identify it as such.

slfskdjfls to quote my own fic I wrote in our love would live a half-life on the surface Xue Yang thinking:

I loved you, Xiao Xingchen had said. Xue Yang didn’t know what that meant, or what it was supposed to feel like, but he knew nobody else had ever mattered like Xiao Xingchen did, nobody else was real like Xiao Xingchen was, that he’d never felt like this about someone else, like he wanted to never let him go, like he wanted to open up his ribcage and keep him inside. Like he wanted to tear them both into strips and weave the pieces together so every part of him would be touching every part of Xiao Xingchen all the time.

So maybe it was like that.

and that's kind of what I think he would come to, eventually, if he thought about it. but while I think before Xiao Xingchen dies he gets as far as "I want to keep this and I don't want it to end and I like spending time with Xiao Xingchen and living with him, weird but okay" and after Xiao Xingchen dies he gets "oh this is bad, this feels real bad and I don't like it and I want him back and I'm more miserable than I have ever been in my entire life" I don't think he necessarily does the precise math to articulate that into "I loved Xiao Xingchen."

but I definitely don't think he realized just how much Xiao Xingchen mattered to him until after he was gone and not coming back; before that I think somewhere Xue Yang had still convinced himself that he had an exit strategy and could always end this whenever he wanted and walk away. after that...not so much.

#conversating #anonymous #xuexiao #xue yang #xiao xingchen #aggressively headcanons #the sad queer cultivators show

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drivinmeinsane · 1 year ago

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Birthday Boy

※ Officer K x Joi ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: Officer K does not often find himself surprised. He was made to be clearheaded and adaptable, able to get a read on most situations at a glance. Joi is a true wildcard in his life. She elicits feelings from him that he never could have predicted. As a result, he finds himself floundering in the wake of an unexpected gesture.

※ Rating: T for canon typical themes and implied violence.

※ Content/Tags: Emotional Hurt, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Pre-Canon, Identity Issues

※ Word count: 3,838

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: Happy 43rd birthday to the man whose acting performances have resulted in characters that have bewitched me. I'd be living a very different, arguably less enjoyable, life if it were not for them.

A lingering chill permeates the room. No sunlight could ever dream of reaching down into the bowels of the LAPD headquarters to cast its rays inside the timeworn host. She devours her supplicants into her gullet each shift, only letting them free once they’ve completed their mandated labors for the greater good. Every cell has its function in the body. Officer KD6-3.7 supposes that his usage inside of the closest thing he’s ever had to a mother is done under buzzing, sterile lights and in out of the way corners, not amongst the rest of the cells that make up the innards. He is not interlinked with them. Will never be interlinked. His reward for his service is to be examined like a biopsy slide following the times he is sent outside of the internal workings to act as a neutralizer to infection. He is left undisturbed if the findings are benign, fully exorcised from the body if determined cancerous

The glare from the light on the desk is challenging the screen in front of him for which of them is going to give him the bigger headache. When he presses his forehead against his knuckles to try to elevate the building pressure, he is only reminded of how tired he is. His eyes are strained and feel as though they have been filled with sand. The replicant has been holed up in this subterranean room for hour after hour while he sifts through the backlog of evidence that had been allowed to pile up from other officers. Processing and cataloging are not amongst his favorite activities, but the monotonous tasks are a welcome alternative to chasing down a wanted fugitive in the outskirts of the city. It would have been especially brutal in this unseasonably cold weather. The mixture of snow and acid rain plaguing the city was ankle deep in many places, aggressively hungry and not reacting to the rock salt. This morning, it had piled back up again and he was left to fight every step of the way to the parking garage where he kept his work provided spinner. His boots were nearly sucked off his feet more than once during the predawn trek. His socks have been uncomfortably soaked through ever since.

Sliding another piece of evidence under the desk mounted camera to be scanned into the database, he questions exactly what it is that his madam was hoping he would find down here by assigning him this duty. When he had stood in her office this morning, eyes more intent on watching the sun rising over the city’s horizon through the window than on her, he had acknowledged her remarks about the likely possibility of finding a new lead amongst the undocumented items. With no older models on the docket to retire, K was put to work processing information faster than any organic could ever have any hope of doing. There has been nothing out of the ordinary as far as he has been able to tell. He is beginning to be sure that she put him down here in order to save herself the hassle of paperwork. Keeping him from being underfoot in the bullpen is a wise strategy to cut costs. The presence of skinners reduces the quality and efficacy of work performance in non-replicant employees. It is also easy to extract your pound of flesh from someone who has been ordered not to engage in retaliation against fellow LAPD employees. All in all, it is better if he goes unnoticed and forgotten while on duty.

Eyes up and to the left, he casts a glance at the clock. Just under half an hour left until he can leave the precinct. That is unless his madam makes him stay late. The replicant allows himself a groan as he rises to his feet in order to put away the evidence cluttering the desk. The muscles in his back are stiff from inactivity, He was not made to sit for long stretches of time. Once he is finished tidying the workspace and powers down the electronics, he pulls his coat from its position over the back of the chair that has been bearing the weight of his body since he settled into a routine hours ago. He folds the bundle of laminated cloth over his arm for safekeeping. The building is heated on the more trafficked levels and does not necessitate more layers than his thick, long sleeved shirt. He does not bother to turn off the lights when he exits the room. They will shut off on their own if they do not sense movement. Convenient.

He needs to brief Lieutenant Joshi on his findings, or lack thereof. Failure to report to his madam leads to unwanted results if she feels snubbed by his lack of consideration. The last time that he made her feel that way, she had made her displeasure clear by arriving at his apartment and drinking herself into believing that he was attractive. She had started drunkenly groping at his stomach and thighs while he had to sit beside her on the narrow couch and take it like a good dog. He had been spared from anything more invasive by the sound of an empty bottle shattering against his graffitied front door. Joshi had remembered herself, realized what it was that she was coming onto, and sobered up enough to put a halt to her attentions. She had cracked a joke about the replicant leading her on before she excused herself. He had been fortunate that time and took her leering interpretation of the situation with an impassive face. He had learned very early on to turn Joi off when he heard the lieutenant at the door. He did not enjoy her questions about why he silently let his madam use him as she wished.

There is no baseline test today, and K is grateful that he does not need to sit through the interrogation. His job is laced with enough hazards without worrying that it will not be a rogue replicant that retires him, but his own employer. In the depths of himself where he shoves down everything that he does not wish to acknowledge, he envies the older models for having the free will to run and seek their own fates. He despises being sent to drag their dreams crashing back down to Earth.

He does not take the elevator. It does not offer easy escape from hateful hands should he be cornered by someone with an active vendetta against what he is. Instead, he makes the arduous climb up the flights of stairs between the general evidence storage room and the floor that harbors his madam’s office. One small comfort lies in that the roof will be just overhead, his spinner easily accessible.

K knocks after reaching Joshi’s office. He stands, patiently waiting for the woman to look up from the screens in front of her. While he waits, he thinks about how he, as on most mornings, had not wanted to get out of bed. Joi seems more real when he is lost in the space between dreaming and waking. It is easier to convince himself that her presence in the bed beside him is tangible, that the layer of padding serving as the mattress for his fold-down cot is indented and contoured to the curves of her body.

After several long moments, Lieutenant Joshi finally registers his presence and beckons him into the room. He does not close the door behind him. Subconsciously, he is trying to leave himself an exit, even if he will never take the out. He is a good dog. Loyal to the bitter end.

“What did you find?” She asks him, irritation lacing unwittingly through her voice. She is still upset over the other night and it is casting a shadow over each of their shared interactions.

“Nandez turned in some old photo scans. Might be worth looking into ID’ing the individuals in them. They could be part of the resistance movement.”

Her expression tightens and she waves a dismissive hand at him. “Go on home.”

"Yes, madam,” he tells her, ducking his head in a subservient goodbye.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Keeping his stare low and focused on the slurry of snow and runoff prohibits him from locking eyes on the brilliantly projected advertisements that try to entice passing pedestrians into shallow interactions. He does not like to think about the DiJi units. It draws his relationship with Joi into the daylight, the playacting at domesticity exposed for being just that. K would rather not contemplate what she is and what he is. What they are. It makes his existence less palatable.

The conditions on the streets have the stairwell teeming with more than just the building’s residents. He wades through the jostling mass of bodies as he ascends the eighty stories to the floor that contains his unit. They do not let him pass undisturbed. Grasping hands reach out and take hold wherever they can. He lets them paw at his body, ignores the venom being spat at him in a dozen languages. Word spreads faster than any disease. The crowd is aware of what he is and what he represents. He is too numbed by it all to care. There is no point in resisting.

The broken glass outside his door crunches underneath his boots. It will stay there until someone other than the replicant clears it away. The shards serve as a deterrent to the artists that like to decorate the door and the wall that it is set in. He stopped scrubbing away the graffiti months ago. More would just appear in its place, and maybe he can pretend that it helps Joshi remember what he is when she graces him with her company outside of work hours. The disgust might keep her hands off of him.

K finds the right angle for his hand on the sensor lock and wastes no time in letting himself into the apartment once the latch clicks free. He does not turn his back on the hallway as he shuts the door. Learning from that error had been a hard lesson. He does not believe any of his newer neighbors would be so bold as to try teaching him another, but it never pays to neglect precautions. As his madam was fond of reminding him, he had not been a cheap acquisition.

Once inside, he begins his after work routine. He turns on Joi’s in-home emanator so that he can start pretending. No music today. K retraces his steps back to the entryway and shrugs off his coat. He hangs it up on the peg by the door. His eyes catch on the old model number stamped down the back of the green cloth. Not his. From another replicant.

“K? Is that you? I didn’t hear you come in.” Joi’s artificial voice is a soothing balm on a burn.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be louder next time.” He forces himself to sound happy, slipping into the role of the old fashioned husband arriving home from a hard day in the office.

Joi laughs and starts clattering around in the kitchen. He hears what sounds like the oven opening and shutting. “It’s an important day, you know.“

“What’s the occasion?” He unzips his sodden boots and puts them under his coat by the door. He peels his socks off too for good measure. They should have been removed and replaced with dry ones hours ago.

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll tell you when you’re out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says amicably and retreats to the bathroom.

He undresses himself with steady hands, not letting himself hiss when his still chilled skin comes in contact with the air of the unheated apartment. The bureau was magnanimous enough by providing housing for something like him. That magnanimity, however, did not guarantee safety or warmth. He is merely grateful to not be shoved into a storage closet at the end of each shift.

The movement of pulling his shirt over his head causes pain to bite into his senses. In trying to get ready for his shower, he had strained the glued laceration across his chest. It cut through a bed of mottled bruising from an accident he had earlier in the week. A replicant on his retirement list had punched him hard enough in the sternum that his skin had split open from the force. He still couldn’t draw in a full breath without it catching in his lungs. He had not informed his madam. He had not wanted his paycheck docked, not when he was on the cusp of being able to afford Joi’s anniversary present

He folds his clothes and puts them on the concrete shelf placed in the wall. K will be putting them back on shortly once he is dry. A second day’s use can be wrung out of them before they need to be cleaned. He does not want to wear out the fabric prematurely. His woven shirt is real cotton.

Scrubbing a toothbrush over his teeth once he is fully stripped down, he avoids himself in the mirror. He does not want to be reminded that other replicants wear his face. He has not yet come across another Nexus 9 of the same make but he knows that he will someday.

“How was your work?” Joi calls from the other room. She is setting a timer. He can hear it clicking as she adjusts it. He wonders what she is making for dinner.

“It was easy. Just desk duty. How was your day?”

“I’ve been busy. I’ve been waiting for you,” she tells him warmly.

The replicant smiles around his toothbrush before taking it out of his mouth. He spits into the sink, does not bother to rinse. He crosses the few feet to the shower and braces himself for the torrent once he is situated under the metal halo. He tries to not flinch when the water hits him. It stings for the five seconds it runs. His platelet jelly survives the downpour, his injury does not reopen. It is a small mercy.

He dries off and redresses before retrieving his boots from the front door. The tile is cold against the bottoms of his feet even though his socks. He hates the feeling of it about as much as he allows himself to hate anything. There are bad memories associated with the sensation. Real ones. Not implants.

The dinner he makes himself is the same as always when he eats in. Prefab noodles with powdered grubs as a protein source. It is nothing special, only meant to keep him functional. Joi is a much better cook than he is. She is mostly silent while he prepares the meal, though he can still hear the sounds of her moving around in the main room, heels clicking against the floor. She does not often go barefoot either.

He almost asks her if she wants a drink but refrains. He wants to save it for the hard days. The ones where he comes back to his apartment with the unacknowledged wish that he had been the one retired at the hands of someone not all that different than him. Replicant snuffing out replicant. He fills his whiskey glass with water from a bottle instead before taking his meal to the table. He sits down facing the window as he does every night. Across the street, his more distant neighbors, a couple, are dancing together. The taller of the two women lifts her companion into a raised twirl. He muses if Joi has picked her spontaneous urges to dance from observing them.

“Here’s your dinner. I’m sorry it’s a little late, babysweet,” she apologizes as she comes from the kitchen to set the bowl she’s carrying over his. It clips though, steam rising off of it. It looks like a pre-blackout recipe. Something fresh he would never be able to acquire outside of a fantasy.

“You didn’t need to fuss,” he reassures, pausing, “What is it, darling?”

The telltale static tingle of her projected form is the first clue that she is wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. His spine almost itches from where she presses into him. He is almost relieved that she does not have a physical form. The weight of her arm across his wounded chest would be difficult to bear without giving away traces of discomfort.

“Potato soup with freshly picked herbs.”

“Well, honey. It looks wonderful. Thank you,” he tells her. He feels the ghost of her mouth brush against his cheek before she flits away, more wishful thinking on his part than actual sensation.

He eats his protein noodles and tries to imagine what the soup would taste like if it were real. He has no real frame of reference. He had read about cream once. The book had described it as thickly coating the tongue in a wealth of rich tasting fats, almost pillowy in the mouth. All together, it would be earthy and fragrant. Decadent.

Once he is done eating, he stands and takes his dishes to the kitchen. He puts them into the refresher where they get restored to usable status in seconds. The projection of the now empty soup bowl fades away the moment his back is to the table. His chores done for the day, he embarks on the rest of his post-work routine.

Joi is on the couch, enthralled in some sort of textile project when he passes by her to stand at the table housing some of his possessions. He picks out a cigarette from the box and is putting it between his lips when his wife flickers to his side, hand already raised towards his face.

“Do you want your surprise now?”

He had forgotten about their fleeting small talk that had taken place a while ago. Joi had neglected to follow up after his shower to explain exactly what was so special about today. K does not recall any occasion that would prompt the extra hints of attention she has been trying to bestow on him since he came home, but he indulges her all the same. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He allows her to light his cigarette with a fingertip. The concentration of light generates a spark on the end and he takes a slow, even pull to encourage it to catch. It does. He savors the lungful of tobacco, ignoring the pinching in his chest. Smoking is a part of his small collection of vices. It makes him feel more human.

Relaxed, he turns around and comes to an abrupt halt. Briefly frozen as he takes in the sight in front of him. Joi is standing by the table, a smile on her face. She is holding a small cake in her hands. Chocolate with candied dots sprinkled over the top. It reads ‘Happy Birthday K’ in neat lettering, blue on brown. Lit candles are casting a wavering glow over her face. The cake looks homemade, messy. Real.

“What’s this?” he asks. He’s hoarse, blindsided. The cigarette in his mouth nearly slips free as he tries to process the surprise.

“It’s a birthday cake for your birthday.” Joi sounds proud of herself.

He remembers having to input a date when he set her up for the first time. He should have known something like this would occur. He supplied the date carved on the underside of the wooden horse in his memories. October 6th, It was not his wakening date. That would be November 12th, but it had felt… right to have that nod to his nonexistent childhood. It better sold the dream his false memories hinted at.

“I was never born.” It slips out intentionally, but it is the truth all the same. He does not possess a soul. He was never drawn from the warmth of a mother’s body.

The DiJi's face falls for a moment, processing the bitterness in his voice. She had miscalculated and upset him. He feels regret at her reaction. She looks back up at him. A smile spreads earnestly across her face.

“Let’s pretend,” she says hopefully. She is echoing something back that he has said to her before. He swallows hard. He has to hold onto this. He has to maintain the idea that he has something approaching a baseline of normality in his existence. Humans have birthdays and if he wants to be treated as a human within the confines of his home, then he needs to accept this moment.

“Alright, honey, let’s pretend.”

He tries to not think about sliding free of the bag that he had been grown in. Like a baby bird hatched from an egg, he had been left, dazed and trembling, to make sense of the world on an impersonal tile floor. The drainage grates had cut into his newly exposed flesh. He remembers the sensation of his pseudo placental fluids drying on his skin. He thought his bones would shatter into pieces from how hard he was shivering.

Loneliness and biting cold were his first real sensations in the world. He wonders if they will be his last. Would that not be poetic? Wet, frozen, and afraid all on his own. Beginning and end like the boards encasing the pages of a book. The first warmth he received was a towel thrown impatiently on top of him. Joshi’s eyes were not fond. They did not yet contain the clouded heat they would eventually come to hold in the dark hours of the day.

With burdened steps, he follows Joi to the table and sits back down in the purple chair. He braces himself in his seat. He feels weak in a way he has never felt before. She places the cake in front of him, breezing her hand over his arm before she withdraws from his space.

“Make a wish,” she encourages, launching into a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. It is an uncomfortable experience, sitting there while trying to look content for her. He does not want to see that disappointed look on her face again.

Silent, the replicant leans forward and ‘blows’ out the candles. They extinguish, smoke trailing towards the ceiling. Even in his artificial memories, he did not experience any birthday celebrations. The orphanage in which he grew up did not provide them. He and the other children were used in place of sophisticated machinery. You do not celebrate the aging of tools. The countless hours spent sorting scrap in the outbuildings come to mind. Their hands had been chilled to stiff, waxy things, almost too cold to bleed when nicked by a sharp edge. Their breath had turned to frost in the air. Their eyes had clicked like marbles rattling in their skulls. None of them knew their ages.

“What did you wish for?” Joi’s voice breaks into his reminiscing.

“You know I can't tell you that or it won’t come true.”

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