#i saved it in reference to myself before i came up with this code name djdkdkdk

[lilacerull0]

it's so funny that i have irlhouse as a saved url

[juniperberries-canisroot]

404: DragonBorn Not Found

My first time playing Skyrim wasn't on the Switch, which is what I play exclusively on. One day I will get a PC ;-;

My first time was actually on an Xbox. I don't know what gen, it was old and second hand. Sis and I split the cost so I only paid 7$. Not sure if it came with Skyrim or I bought a secondhand Skyrim while at the GameStop cause I heard it was an open world fantasy game, and I love open world fantasy. I pretty much knew nothing about the game or the Elder Scrolls series as a whole.

Anyway I start it up one day and make a Dark Elf character cause I heard there was dragons in the game. I knew the main focus of the game was about dragons, and Dark Elves are natrually resistant to fire, so I thought that would help (I mean technically it does but I didn't know some dragons would breathe frost later on).

I get stuck somewhere in the opening scene where the mages are shooting fireballs at Alduin. I remember thinking to myself 'you idiots, he breathes fire, you can't hurt him with your fireballs'. I'm lost at this point (I'm extremely directionally challenged) and resort to letting myself get killed so I can start over, ish.

I get killed and teleport back somewhere and eventually make it out of Helgen and to RiverWood. I talk to the locals, get quests, make friends with Faendal and get some arrows and a bow. Since I only had two major quests, BleakFalls and go to WhiteRun, I figured the game must want me to go to BleakFalls.

I remember getting horribly lost while tryin to go there and trying to hunt deer in the nearby woods for food. I was really bad at hunting and archery.

I don't remember if I ever made it to the end of Bleak Falls and I don't think I ever made it to WhiteRun. Somethin happened (that wasn't related to the Xbox or maybe the game being second hand) and I ended up losing all my data. Which wasn't alot, for Skyrim. I lost my data for Fallout: New Vegas and Halo. Idk which one. We had like 2 or 3 different ones. My dad, who put in waaaaay more hours into playing with the console, lost his Khajiit Skyrim character, his completed Fallout 3 game, one or two FarCry games that he really liked, his Halo data, basically the whole console got wiped. Our player profiles where no longer on the system.

The culprit? Sis's now ex BF tried to connect the old gen Xbox to the WiFi. Somethin clearly went horribly wrong and it caused all its data to be erased.

Since I've been playing for over a year and have become obsessed with the game, I've had this idea that I want to 'honour the lost' Dark Elf character I made before, thou I really don't know how. I guess I kinda did that with my main, CL, by making her a Dark Elf. But CL has become her own character now who was actually based on an OC by the same name, so she doesn't resemble '404'. That's the name I call the lost Dark Elf in reference to the error code 404: Not Found. I forgot her original name.

I kinda want to make a save and story where the joke is no one knows who the DragonBorn actually is. They know the DB is doing things, like killing dragons, bandit camps, ect... But no one ever really *knows*. She's like a phantom, no one knows her name, what she looks like, they just know some entity called the DragonBorn is going around and doing things. No one knows the elf, her name, most will say they've never seen her before and if she isn't standing within their eyesight, they will have no recollection of a female dark elf with black hair styled in a Mohawk. She's a memory you just can't remember. The DragonBorn is a faceless entity, devoid of a phyical body. The most anyone was ever knows about them is what stories spread across the land spoken by those who have never met or seen them, and the remains of those fallen by their power.

[thebibliosphere]

So some people are @’ing me (sorry, inbox is still closed and my IMs are a Nightmare atm so I’m largely avoiding them while I try to work) wanting to know how the Scots Wiki thing could have gone on for so long without anyone noticing, and tbh, there’s several factors at play here.

One, Scots is a marginalized language (and I will not argue this point. It is a language, not a dialect of English. If you’re going to argue this with me then save yourself some time and fuck off now.) that is primarily spoken, so it doesn’t surprise me that people didn’t even realize the website was a thing. We’re not used to seeing our language written down, and those of us who are, only ever see it at academic levels. Or y’know, Scottish Twitter. There’s also issues regarding dialect, and how there’s not one true form of Scots, so wrangling a project like Scots Wiki would require massive effort on behalf of people who both know it, and are technologically savy enough and have the time to do so. Which is where point two comes in.

Namely that up until recently, Scots was not a part of any official curriculum. We were banned from speaking it in my school, and often told to “speak properly” if we lapsed too far away from Queens English. Scottish Literature only became a thing when I was in my final year of high school (15 years ago), and even then it was an elective and not compulsory. You could choose to study your own language in your own country if you wanted to. But the only books you could read were things like Robert Louis Stevenson and Rabbie Burns. Hardly conducive to the study of contemporary Scots as a living language. I only actually got to study it linguistically when I was in my second year of university and opted to take it as an extra class, and the department was constantly underfunded and struggling. They still are. 

My parents were certainly never allowed to study it, and while I was merely scolded for sounding “uneducated” by my teachers if I used Scots words in the classroom, my dad tells stories about corporal punishment being doled out to instill a sense of fear around using it instead of “Proper English”. So while I still spoke Scots at home with my family and friends, there was also a deep sense of shame about it. I was sent for elocution lessons, partly for a mild stutter, but also to make me sound more British. Because my parents knew, they knew if I wanted to get ahead in the workforce I needed to sound less like myself and more “proper”. And I didn’t really realize how right they were till I got a job working at an English based publisher who were surprised to find out I was Scottish. Apparently I “sounded much smarter than that”.

And the microaggressions didn’t end there. It came out in the form of things like “you’re surprisingly thin, I thought all Scottish people ate deep fried mars bars” or making jokes about Scottish money being fake so they could pay me in monopoly money if they wanted to. (Legal tender discourse explained.) They used to refer to me in the office as “the smart” or “civilized Scot”. Usually before they laughed and handed me off to some American writer who needed help unpicking the mess they’d made of their Scottish dialogue. And I would smile and nod and grit my teeth, because it was that or make a fuss and potentially risk losing the only career job I’d managed to get because they made it clear over and over, there were plenty of people who could do my job.

Except there isn’t, not really. Oh there’s plenty of folk who speak it and could have a fair crack at it. But there’s not many actual Scots Linguists. Certainly not enough to save a language. I don’t even qualify as one. I just studied it for two years out of sheer interest. So things like the Wiki project rely not only volunteers, but on people being aware of it. And as mentioned, there’s very good reasons for Scottish people to either not know it existed, or to not want to be associated with it. The Scottish Cringe is very real. And it’s the end result of generations of cultural death and the insidious mantra: “speak properly” repeated over and over again until part of you believes it. I still code switch if I need to do something like talk to the bank or talk to a client. I tell myself it’s because I’m living in America and I want to be understood. But I did it before I moved here. I did it while living in Scotland, because I knew having the “proper” accent helped.

So yeah, the idea of a brony destroying a Scots based wiki with nonsensical gibberish sounds funny. But only until you realize it’s part of a broader problem rooted in systemic cultural and class warfare. It’s also why it’s no very funny when people post things like “what language is that LOL” under Scottish media, because the answer is Scots. And it’s dying.

Edit: I also shouldn’t need to say this, but seen as how this is tumblr and we are in Hell: if any of you take this post and use it to play oppression Olympics with Black and marginalized people I will manifest in your home like snakes, rip your spine out through your toes and beat you to death with it. Our history of oppression does not negate the harm we do. If anything it means we ought to know better, and the fact that we don’t is beyond reprehensible.

[milkdoie]

mark lee as your boyfriend.

layout somewhat inspired by @chocolvte, so credits to her! (i added the playlist myself)

not requested!

— HEADCANONS. a little insight on the basics of your relationship!

you guys give off very much “best friend” vibes so nobody ever thinks you’re dating

like i’m serious, it took the members three months to actually figure out you two were dating, and even then they thought it was a prank because of how platonic you guys actually came off as

but you still hold hands in public so it’s OKAY you’re still cute don’t even worry about it <3

mark bought matching tshirts for the two of you on your birthday IM SAD he was so excited to give it to you and everything

he was so shy at first,, like he was always sweating whenever you hung out with each other, constantly stuttering over every other word because he was nervous HEKFJSJ

your relationship is really playful!!!!! you’re able to make fun of each other and push each other around like best friends

but you’re also able to be serious and laid back; yk like a calm conversation about the future or just comfy silence while you two cuddle <//3

the duality between you two is probably one of the things that make your bond so strong tbh

you guys made up a code language so you can talk shit about your enemies even when they’re around ;)

— NICKNAMES. three nicknames he’s given you!

dude ; what were we really expecting? of course he calls “dude” what did you think i was gonna say? :/ but in return you call him “bro” so honestly it’s just a mutual habit.

babe ; i don’t see mark as someone who would use all those cheesy nicknames, so he sticks with ones like “babe” to keep the cringe levels to a minimum.

your nickname ; this is the nickname almost everyone in your life refers to you as,, if they’re close of course! he thinks it’s really pretty and it also saves him some time if your name is long HEKFNSJ

— PLAYLIST. the two signature songs you enjoy listening to together!

vacation by gaeko ; mark has been recommending you songs to listen to since before you were even dating, and not only was this the one you ended up liking most, but this was the first song you guys both listened to as a couple. it makes him happy that you’re so interested in what he enjoys :(

let me know by lany ; just a really good song you two are able to vibe with no matter how often you play it.

— EVERYDAY TEXTS. your daily messages!

[911nmg]

Bring me out of the dark

YThis is the second chapter of a Bucky/Nat normal life au fic I’ve been writting.

The complete series can be found on AO3.

The themes are quite dark so this are the trigger warners for this chapter:

TW: Implied/Reference torture

TW: PTSD, flashbacks

Can’t sleep! Can’t breathe!

Bucky’s POV

The alarm finally went off, marking another sleepless night. The wait was over, I had given it my best shot, done everything I was supposed to, and it had still backfired.

Either way, I had to get going. Steve was going to be here in a couple of hours, and getting ready on one arm definitely took longer than it used to with both.

I brewed myself some coffee and fumbled with the plastic knife, trying to both keep the bagel in place and spread jam over it was still hard, no matter how many times I practiced with the occupational therapist.

He hadn’t managed to teach me as many new motor patterns as we both would have liked, turned out I was a complete lefty, so turning to my right hand was nightmarish, however Clint was definitely a master when it came to adaptations. From weighted plastic cutlery, to squeezable bath product bottles marked with different shaped gomets, even the meal delivery service I was subscribed to had been his idea!

He had said it was a blessing with two kids under five, and he swore by it. I definitely could see why. Nutritious food made in five to ten minutes in the microwave. It had been hard dealing with the beeping in the beginning, but now it saved me so much frustration and time.

The pang started on my missing fingers, then made its way up. Awoken by the single beep the machine emitted, or maybe the slightly burnt smell of the bacon.

- Fuck. Not again!

There was no arm anymore, just a big scar following my collarbone and a patch of scarred leathery skin. Yet the hot pain radiating from my nonexistent wrist up was a daily occurrence.

- There's nothing there - I repeated the useless mantra, closing my eyes and rubbing at the air, as if I could get my muscles to relax - There’s nothing there, there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there...

I proceeded as usual, pushing the white, hot, pulsating pain to the back of my mind, and placing the bacon on the other half of the bagel. Bitter, sweet and savory, the best combination of tastes for a breakfast if you asked me.

Taking my pajamas off was another thing I still struggled with. Well... the dressing and undressing in general, even with adapted clothing. Clint had made a joke about seeing me naked more than his wife, but to work through the frustration was the only way out, right?

Showering was another task that had changed quite a bit. It had to be done in the dark, since looking at my body just... I was swinging there. My arms numb and my body exposed. A canvas for their anti american sentiments. Blades, knives, razors, even scissors...

- You are safe - My ragged breaths hurt my insides - You are home.

Name five things! Five things... White tiled floor! I took a long breath of air and kept it inside. Navy towels, wicker laundry hamper... I allowed the air out, exhaling as slowly as I could. It still came in short ragged breaths. Then repeated the process. Dirty mirror, gomet coded bottles, Steve’s red toothbrush still on the cup...

Once my breath had evened out I showered quickly: in, shampoo, soap, rinse, conditioner, comb, rinse, out.

Spray deodorants were the best, no caps to fumble around. Boxers were hard to slide up with only one hand and not looking down, it could be done. Socks though were the death of me.

I had started using a contraption where you slid the sock on, then lowered it to the ground and pushed the foot through. It was one of those teleshopping things I’d thought useless before the war, but it was surprisingly effective.

A soft gray t-shirt followed, it was new, something Peggy had bought for me at Decathlon for its breathability. The empty long sleeve hanging limp at my left side felt disconcerting, so I just yanked at it until the stitching gave up. Better.

Then came jeans, he had graduated out of his joggers a month back, they still had to contain elastic though, and they’re closed with a big snap hidden underneath the metal button.

Finally shoes, I checked the alarm clock, 8:10, the time was close to Steve’s arrival. I had changed to slip on sneakers and zipped boots, I’d rather forget how expensive my wardrobe change had been, hadn’t it been for Pops inheritance I’d have had to rely on the charity of my friends, burdening even more. Not that it was unexpected, the army didn’t treat his veterans exactly well, not even those with a bunch of medals. Had learnt it the hard way when the colonel came back from Iraq.

There were steps up the creaky stairs. Knocking followed - Bucky. It's me, Steve. The key turned on the lock. I stared at the door, willing myself to stay seated on the bed, as calm as possible, as my friend used the spare key to let himself in.

- No knife? - He teased - What a boring welcome.

I had finally managed to stop standing guard, knife in hand any time someone came near my door, or knocked, it felt good, him acknowledging my progress in a lighthearted way.

Steve came every saturday morning to help me with the house. Some things weren’t possible on my own anymore: riding my bike or playing guitar were the ones that hurt the most, however, on a scale of usefulness it had more to do with changing my sheets and sweeping and mopping the floors. He also took me to therapy, unsure I’ll go if left to my own devices, and kept me company afterwards, in case I became a fucking mess of nerves.

- Here - He throws a stack of papers at me - Read through and tonight you can ask Tony for any clarifications.

- What’s this?

- The Bionic project, you are in, if you want.

The NYU logo occupied half of the page, then were the names: Stark, Banner, Strange, and a bunch of medical organizations. I could have an arm again?! A functioning one?

- I thought severe PTSD disqualified me.

- Tony has his ways - He started rummaging around the house, finding every speck of dust and fighting any dirt with his usual obsession. A given when getting sick as a child could mean dying at any time.

I skimmed through the pages, I could grasp the basics of the science behind it: intramuscular electrodes would be placed at the base of my neck, circumventing the damaged area, then connect to a fixed metal plate that would act as a processor and allow access to my injuries, then a complete bionic arm would attach to that.

Risks: worsening of phantom pain, complete paralysis and even death.

- How come they’ve founded this? The risks are severe...

- They had success with under the knee, over the knee, and along the arm amputations so...

- Do you trust this?

He smiled softly, warmth coming through in his voice - I’ll trust Tony with my life.

- Then it’s done - I searched for a pen, and in a blurry penmanship I signed my name at the end of the informed consent formulaire.

- Maybe you should talk it out with doctor Sullivan before making a rushed decision.

- You have too much faith in that woman.

- And you, far too little.

He grabbed my leather jacket and pushed me to the door and into the car. The ride was smooth and quiet, interrupted only when I realized - Wait? Did you say we’re meeting Tony tonight?

- We’re going to the ballet. All of us. It’s Natasha’s debut as Giselle, and as a principal dancer with the company. Tony got us tickets at the front box.

- That must be expensive.

- Don’t think about it.

- Stevie, you’ve all done so much for me this past year, I... I don’t want to be a burden - I stared at my feet, guilt had its way of turning my stomach, as if someone had stabbed me at the gut. A feeling I could definitely pinpoint with accuracy.

- This is what friends are for - He retorted.

- I’m such a fuck up...

He squeezed my thigh, hard, stopping the shake in my body - You haven't slept in a while, have you?

- Not really.

- You start spiraling when you stop sleeping.

- Do I?

He gave me a pointed look - You aren’t taking the sleeping pills.

- I get nightmares with those.

- Then get Sullivan to change them!

- You don’t get it...

- You’d rather stay awake than face the memories, I get it. But your body is going to give out eventually, Buck.

I promised to think about it and entered the old building. Sam worked there during the week, in the child protection department, that’s how we got to meet the doctor, and his double duty as both a psychiatrist and therapist. “Global approach to trauma therapy” was Sam’s pitch to Steve, and he had forced me into it ever since.

- James - She called softly, trying not to startle me, as if I hadn’t been listening to the muffled voices, her armchair moving and the door opening.

- Tense already? - She closed the door behind us, again with minimal force, and I struggled with having her in my blindspot - I haven’t even started to prood at you for information yet.

Sarcasm, that was the only reason I had stayed on therapy with her, I couldn’t take a sympathetic shrink with a “poor you” approach.

She sat on a comfy armchair opposite me, taking her black notebook from the side table and placing it over her crossed legs.

- How’s your week been?

- Good.

She sighed - This is not going to work if you are not honest, James. You know it. Stop wasting both our time.

- It was relatively good - I insisted, because it had been - I went to OT twice, had my three meals a day, manageable phantom pain.

- Did you go out with friends?

- Tonight.

She seemed kind of impressed, her softly wrinkled face keeping a smile in check - How about showering? Has it gotten any easier?

I nodded no, she took note.

- Are you keeping the stump clean? We don’t want you taking antibiotics until we create a new super resistant bacteria, do we?

- When I shower I do wash it.

- When? Aren’t you showering everyday, lieutenant?

I seethed at that - Do, not, call, me, that - I knew I was being disproportionated but I didn’t care. James Buchanan Barnes, the hero, discharged with honors and a raise through the ranks, recipient of a purple heart. That wasn’t me.

- Don’t raise your tone with me, young man - She replied, scolding me as if I were a kid.

- Sorry - I got back on my sofa. When had I risen from my place? - Shouldn’t have threatened you.

- Shouldn’t have triggered you, either - She shrugged - I have to, though.

She pondered the following question with care - Are you refusing to take sleeping pills because you think of it as a sign of weakness?

- No! - I scoffed at the idea - I just don’t want to sleep!

- I know your dad was diagnosed with PTSD as well - So she had decided to push my buttons - He refused treatment, didn’t he?

- The colonel did what he thought best.

- Drank himself to sleep?

I found my fists rolled up and tried to relax, slow steady breaths - I’m here. And I’m not falling for that.

- So you are getting how many white nights a week?

- Four, maybe five - I squirmed in my seat - They tend to come together, three nights in a row, then I sleep for one or two, then I stay awake again for a couple days.

- We can search for a medication that helps with the nightmares, James - She tried to coax me softly - You’re doing so well in other areas, but we can’t make progress if you don’t get to sleep.

- I’m fine.

She resigned herself, pushing her back to her seat, widening the distance she had shortened between us.

- Have you been able to see yourself naked?

My brows might have reached the ceiling, because she bursted out laughing at my shock - What? Are you prudish, James?

- Didn’t expect the question. And no, I’m still showering in the dark and dressing without looking down.

Honesty. I couldn’t watch the scars and stay present, no matter how much I tried.

- How about cutting your hair.

- No buzzing, no scissors.

- We could try it here, you know? I could cut your hair while we work on grounding techniques, that way I can see if you are applying them correctly.

- You? You want to cut my hair?

- I want you to face the trauma in a controlled environment. If you’d prefer a striptease is fine by me.

That time I did laugh. Seemed like a good compromise.

- How about we try? We can stop at any point.

- Now?! - I keep a pair of scissors in my bag. Come here.

She made me sit on the carpet in front of her and started chatting. What would I be doing that night, had I watched any good tv series lately, anything to keep me grounded.

Yet, the moment the scissors closed near my ear and its sound registered, I went back. I was going to die. Another shiny metallic object impacted against my back, lodging itself between my shoulder bones, a sharp cry. I was going to die. Someone slashed through my abs, warm sweet blood dripped onto my pants and the concrete floor. I was going to die.

- James - She sounded as if we were underwater - James, look at me - She slapped my face lightly until I locked eyes with her - You are home, you are safe, say it.

- I... I’m home, I’m safe?

- You are. You are safe - She promised, nodding with all her might - Say it again.

I’m home, I... I’m safe.

- Come on, sound convinced!

- I’m home. I’m safe.

- Good - She kept rubbing circles in my back until I stopped shaking, forcing me to repeat the words again, and again, and again.

- I’m such a fuck up... - There were tears rolling down my face.

- You need help. That’s it - She sentenced.

- What I need is a bullet through my brain.

She grimaced but said nothing, she didn't seem to find it as serious as previous times because she didn’t call for a psychiatric hold at the nearest hospital. Maybe knowing Maria had taken my gun also helped.

- It’s quite probable you’ll crash in a while, panic attacks tend to strip one of energy - Still, please, go out tonight. And take this - She placed a prescription on my hand.

- I bet a hundred dollars that if you take them every night, next week won’t be as hard. But you have to take them. - Easiest hundred bucks of my life - I accepted, letting her help me from the floor.

She had been right, as fucking always, I had crashed just after lunch, but Steve had followed her instructions and woke me up. I appreciated it. And Steve was ecstatic at the chance to show me the huge banner occupying the side of the building. It was a photo of a waifish woman in a long white tutu, red hair in a bun, pained eyes barely looking at the camera, soft arms raised above her head and a splash of freckles across her skin. She was gorgeous. Natasha.

You can read the whole work here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41646183/chapters/104463261

[poeticandors]

You Are The Reason

Cassian Andor x Reader

Word count: 13.6K (my longest one shot EVER sorry guys I hate myself)

Summary: You have known Cassian for what seems like your entire life, and you have loved him almost just as long (without him knowing of course). What happens when a member of the Rebellion approaches you and tells you that he has just gone missing? How far would you go to protect and save the one person you care about more than yourself? And what does this mean for you and Cassian after? 

Warnings: NSFW 18+, graphic depictions of torture (beatings and knife TW), smut BUT THEN FLUFF AT THE END 

A/N: Inspired by a few requests that we from so long ago, thank you for the two anons and @fanfiction461 for bearing with me I am so sorry it took this long I have been wanting to write this for so long but I just couldn’t until now. 

I also just want to thank @spectre-leader​ @firefeatherx​ @jesus-buck​ @woakiees​ @damndamer0n​ @damerondjarin​ and @tintinwrites​ for listening to my rambling, helping me with this fic, and encouraging me to publish this and for entertaining me with their reactions. I really appreciate you all.  And I want to thank all my readers who have been patient with me throughout this ordeal, now it’s time to get back to my other fics lol. 

GIF by @jynandor​

The smell of various foods being cooked and the chatter of merchants trying hard to sell their merchandise to the dwellers walking around surrounded you. Were you hungry? Sure, and the delicious smells weren’t helping. But you had no time to stop. 

Looking over your shoulder, you pulled your bag up higher as you continued to be unnoticeable during your walk through the crowd. It was second nature to you, trying to appear as a member of the crowd when in reality, you were capable of taking out any one of them who came up to you. 

But that’s not what you wanted. You just wanted to make it back to your room at the inn you kept for yourself— frequent payments going to the innkeeper to ensure that no one ever takes your room. Bouncing between worlds was what you normally did; getting any information you could that you knew would be useful against the Empire. But this was the one place you might even consider home.

Finally making it to the inn, you immediately knew something was off once you reached your room. The small trace of mud right in front of your door caught your eye, and you could smell the faint scent of a cigarra leading into your room. The innkeeper knew enough not to ever bother you, and you knew for a fact they didn’t take up a smoking habit.

Has someone come after you? 

The hair stood on the back of your neck— you were on high alert now. Keeping your hand on your blaster at your hip, you slowly open the door, and step inside. Scanning the room, you caught sight of a shadow lurking in the corner, and whip out your blaster. The figure moves, and you aim directly at them as they speak.

“Take it easy—”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” 

The figure— a man— slowly emerges into the light, hands raised out in surrender as you keep your blaster raised on them. The light from outside flashes a streak across his face, but you still don’t recognize him. You keep your back foot planted, in case you need to make a run for it as he steps closer. 

“So, Nova wasn’t code for any hidden information. It was the name of a person.”

The name set something off in you. There was only one person who called you that— and the last time you saw him was days ago. 

Nova.

You didn’t even know where the name came from. Instead of your real name, he’d begun to refer to you as Nova. 

Why do you call me that? 

I don’t know, he shrugged. It suits you.

So the fact that this guy happened to know this specific name meant something was wrong. And if something was wrong, you had to get out of there immediately.

Just as you go to turn, the man reaches for his blaster.

“Don’t try to run.”

Your grip tightens around your own, but you notice that he doesn’t even pull his blaster from the holster. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because we would just find you all over again, and I really don’t want to spend the next few moments chasing after you.” 

You stare at him, not moving as he lowers his hand from his side. The fact that he not once even removed his weapon befuddled you. If he was after you, wouldn’t he have threatened you or tried to attack you by now? 

“...Who are you?” 

“That’s not important.” He answers and you scoff. “Now, are you going to lower that?”

“Not until you tell me why you’re here.” 

The man sighs and steps closer into the light, in which you finally take notice of his jacket. Standard military, on his shoulder sits a patch the same color as his jacket as if to hide some type of insignia. You recognize that type of tactic instantly and it finally hits you.

“Are you from the Rebellion?” You ask, watching as the corner of his mouth twitches up. 

“You’re a good observer. I can see now why Andor—”

“Cassian Andor?” You speak quickly, the slight panic evident in your tone. Cassian would have scolded you for that, for sure. 

Don’t give any indication— even the slightest hint of panic or lack of comfort, he told you many times.They will use that against you.  

But he wasn’t here to reprimand you. 

When the man nods after you speak you step deeper into the room, but slowly begin sidestepping as you keep your blaster up. There was no room for more mistakes here, you had near to perfect aim, so if this guy tried anything funny he wouldn’t even make it close to you. And you didn’t even have to worry about anyone else because from what you’ve observed, he was the only one here. There were no sideways glances or movements to indicate he was communicating with anyone other than you. You made sure to pay close attention to each and every movement after spotting him.

At least that Cassian would have praised you on. 

“What… what’s happened to him?” 

“Captain Andor was recently sent undercover to extract some needed information from a weapons dealer. While he was successful in gathering that information, his comm was disconnected before he was able to make it to his ship. We have reason to believe that he’s been captured.” 

Captured? The word played on a constant loop in your mind. You could hardly believe what you were told. Cassian… was captured? 

The last time you saw Cassian, it was just days ago. He came to visit you, like he often would. You two were close, always have been since you were young. While you weren’t a member of the Rebellion like he was, you still managed to get information that was circling around— information you knew you or the Rebellion could use against the Empire. You were his best informant, and possibly his best friend. You were the only one to know everything about him, and the only one he let his walls down with. He wasn’t like that with anyone else— he did not trust easily. But with you, for some reason it was different. 

And it’s also why you couldn’t be honest about your true feelings. He was the only person to know every single detail about you. The only one you trusted, and he was the closest thing to a normal life you had. You had fallen hard into a ditch you couldn’t climb out of, one filled with nothing but longing. 

A longing for someone whose entire life revolves around his job— the Rebellion. He did not have time for relationships, everything was strictly for the Rebellion, always. You could not risk losing him, the only person that made this type of life worth living, over your silly feelings. 

But he never brought up this mission with you. Was he afraid to ask you? It didn’t make sense, you would always accept when he asked you to be his backup. Would it have even made a difference if you went with him? 

“...How do you know about me?” You question, loosening your finger on the trigger, but still aim directly for his heart. 

“We didn’t. But he left some messages for his droid. One was to ‘Find Nova’.” He steps towards you cautiously. “We thought it was code for something else, maybe some information he managed to get. We didn’t know it meant… you.” 

At least you know he never put you in a position where you would be known. But the fact that he told the Rebellion to look for you must have meant he was in deep bantha fodder. Finally, you lower your blaster— not daring to loosen your grip. 

“What do you need?” 

“Well, obviously Captain Andor seems to think you’d be of use in retrieving him. We’ve already tracked his last location, we just need someone capable of handling it.” 

“And you want to send me?”

“Well, he did give us your name. And from where I’m standing, it seems he’s kept you hidden for quite some time now. Why give us your location? Why send us to you if he didn’t think you were capable enough to retrieve him?” 

That was the real question, wasn’t it? Cassian trusted you with his life, did he really trust you enough to know you would be the only one to get him out of whatever trouble he was in?

Sure, you were tactful, good with a blaster, and were capable of defending yourself— all the skills taught to you by Cassian himself. He had trained you how to be observant of your surroundings, to look for ticks people can give off depending on the situation. Even taught you how to prepare quickly in case you needed to run. Sometimes he would not tell you he was stopping by, and would surprise you with a scenario where you would have to defend yourself from him. 

What you thought meaningless tests, he reminded you of the type of world you lived in. And being tied to him would have repercussions. If anyone knew about you, that would put you in some deep trouble.

You stare up at the man as he steps closer to you. “What does Captain Andor think you have that could save him?”

Then it hit you: all the information you seemed to pick up about the Empire and the Rebellion. Cassian had to have known that whoever captured him would love whatever information you had. So that had to be the only reason he wanted the Rebellion to find you. 

The only way to get Cassian back was to trade yourself for him. You did not care much what would happen to you. And you would be damned if you let anything happen to him. 

++++++

It took some time, but you were finally able to make it to the planet where Cassian’s signal had gone dead. From the information you were given, there was a gang residing there that was known for causing trouble around the town. As you roamed around the town, you managed to catch word that it was that specific gang who captured a man. 

They were not sympathizers for either the Rebellion or the Empire, so it would make sense that they found out who Cassian was and decided to take him for the hell of it. 

You hope he was still alive. If he was, then the fact that you had information on both the sides could be useful enough for a trade. 

As you take a sip of your jet juice, your eyes roam along the cantina you made it to. At the bar, you spotted a few members of said gang taking shots and laughing at their own jokes. You figured the easiest way to get taken to their hideout was just to let them capture you, so you had a moment to think of just how to do so. 

Grabbing your drink, you loosen up one of the buttons on your front shirt before making your way over. One of the men pushes away from the bar, and you take your chance to roughly bump into his shoulder. 

The man turns, and you pretend to sway as if plastered. He raises his brow down at you and you scoff.

“Watch where you’re going, bantha fodder,” you slur, and the man is quick to grab hold of your arm. You grit your teeth, looking up at him.

“Hey—“

“Sure you don’t want to apologize for that, sweetness?”

“Apologize? For what? You were the one in my way.” 

His grip tightens around your arm as you challenge him. “Feisty one, eh? You could be a lot of fun.”

You yank your arm away, glaring up at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to grab a lady?”

In an instant, you throw the remainder of your jet juice in his face, and toss the cup to the ground. A few of his men stand up, but he raises his hand— stopping them. 

“No need to fuss,” he grins smugly, wiping his cheeks. “Seems like she was just headed out, anyways. Isn’t that right, sweetness?” 

“Yeah, I was,” you sneer, before finally turning in your heel and leaving the cantina. 

If these guys were as bad as you had heard, then they would be after you in mere minutes. As you turn down an alleyway, you stay aware of your surroundings— Cassian would’ve praised you on that. From the corner of your eye, you spot movement, but feign obliviousness as you continue walking in the dark. 

It was quick— just like you knew it would be. A hand covers your mouth and pushes you against the brick wall, your cries muffled as your cheek scrapes along the stone. A body presses up against you, and you feel the hot breath of your assailant fan against your ear as they lean close. 

“Can’t use that mouth of yours now, huh sweetness?” The man from earlier asks. You struggle against him, feeling movement behind you. 

You were prepared, you thought of the various scenarios that would happen when they made their way to capture you. But it still caught you by surprise when you felt the prick in your neck and the warm fluid rushing now through your veins. 

Instinctively, you try fighting the sleep, but you could already feel your body falling slack into the man’s arms. Before darkness takes over, you’re sure that you saw a flash of Cassian’s face, and can only relax. 

++++++

A faint voice is heard— and though it sounds as if it’s far away, you know better. You feel a few small pats against your cheek, and you can’t help the way your head tilts to the side although you try so hard to remember just how your muscles work. 

The musty smell of wherever you were had your stomach churning, you would not be surprised if at any moment you threw up all the contents in your stomach. It was cold and damp— you were sure they stripped you of your jacket as you suddenly shivered— goosebumps covering your arms. 

Your shoulders were now being shaken violently, and it did not help with the queasiness you were feeling. 

“...-ake up, sweetness,” the voice finally breaks through the hazy fog in your mind. “Come on, that’s it.” 

Wherever the group must’ve taken you had to have been isolated from the rest of the town. Although it might have just been the effects of the drug, you still couldn’t hear much of the commotion that you had when you walked through the town, so either you were underground or on the outskirts of town. 

You can only manage a small groan, the very thought of even trying to articulate words or even trying to deal with the dryness of your mouth is a difficult task for you. It feels like small weights are tied to your eyelids; you try so hard to open them when you feel hands grab your arms to pull you up. A deep chuckle is heard— amused at your inebriated state. 

“Bix, go fetch this sweet girl some water.” 

There is a grunt in response, you suspect from Bix, and suddenly you feel a hand clamp onto your chin. This is when you use everything you can to open your eyes, and although all you can make out is a blurry figure it is enough. 

“There she is,” he grins, his fingernails scratching against your skin. You try pulling away, but he keeps a firm grip. “You know, I have a lot of fun planned for you.”

“Here’s the water, Terek.” 

The man— Terek— takes the canteen from Bix, and spins the cap off with his free hand. He pushes it to your lips, and you practically guzzle it down like you had been stranded in the deserts of Tatooine for days. But as soon as he had given it to you, he pulled the canteen away, and all you could do was watch helplessly as he poured the rest on the ground. 

“Now,” he tsks. “I think we’re ready to have a little fun, don’t you?” 

No, no, no, you think as he stands up. You need to tell them why you’re there. Why you wanted to get caught, who you needed to see...

Cassian.

He was here in the same place as you. You were so close to him. If only you could fucking find the words to speak or move your body the way it needs to.

As Terek walks up to you, you slowly begin to mumble. He smirks, kneeling in front of you.

“You trying to say something, sweetness?” 

“...W-Wai… wait,” you finally manage to breathe out, and it feels so good to have at least a small ounce of control despite the drug flowing through your system. 

“Wait?” He chuckles. “What do you expect me to wait for—“

“I… You have s-something— someone I need,” you slur, pushing yourself up. 

“Oh? Is that so?” 

You nod, slowly gaining more control over your movements. “A�� rebel.” 

Terek’s brow raises, and he sits for a moment as if processing everything, before he gives you a sly smile that sends a shiver along your spine. You try not to show your discomfort, Cassian’s familiar words ringing through your ears. 

Don’t give any indication— even the slightest hint of panic or lack of comfort. They will use that against you. 

When Terek speaks, the tone of his voice is teasing— almost sing-songy. 

“Ah, I see now. It was all a ruse, wasn’t it?” He traces a finger along your cheek, but this time you’re able to pull away. “Bumping into me at the cantina, letting us follow you along down the alleyway. All part of your little plan.” 

Terek stands up, snickering as he looks down at you. 

“You know, I actually feel flattered. I mean you took the time to find out about us, planned out a way to piss me off, and therefore decided to put yourself in this situation just to get to that man.” 

He walks over to a small table, grabbing an item but you can’t quite make it out as he shoves it into his pocket. As he turns back to you, he grins.

“But there is one thing that is just picking at my brain. What could you possibly have that I could use instead of my rebel friend, hmm?” 

He lifts your chin up with his dirty finger, and you try hard to focus on him. 

“In...information,” you pull your head back from him, swaying a bit. “I can give you… any information.”

“What makes you think I am incapable of getting information, sweet girl?” 

“Because… I can give you information about the Alliance and the Empire. You won’t… won’t have to get it from anyone else. You have me,” you mutter. “Just… let him go.”

Terek watches you, before he turns and barks orders at his men in another dialect. A few of them leave, while two others make their way to you. To no avail, you try crawling away only for them to yank you up by your arms. 

Your legs felt as if they were made up of Andorian jello, how they shook when they pulled you to stand upright. If you were to stand up with no assistance, you would have only fell back to the ground. You struggle to find your footing as they walk you up to Terek, who smirks down at you. 

“Time for some fun.” 

++++++

You were dragged along to another room, one in a similar grotesque state as the previous one. The men pulling you along paid no mind to your frail state, and you were sure if they continued moving you the way they did that you were going to vomit. 

There was no way of knowing what was going to happen. Terek hasn’t so much as looked back at you the entire walk through their hideout. All you knew was that Terek seemed giddy— there was a slight spring in his step in a cruel way. 

“Wakey, wakey!” Terek chimes, and you are brought to a halt behind him. He wasn’t talking to you, though. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I came bearing a gift. One I think you’ll enjoy very much.” 

As soon as Terek steps to the side, you’re shoved down to the floor. You stay lying flat on the floor for a moment, your mind spinning. Placing your palms out on the floor, you struggle to lift yourself up. 

“Nova…” The faint whisper of the name has your heart catching in your throat. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of someone struggling followed with a loud thwap. Looking up, you see one of Terek’s men bring their blaster back as they step out of your line of view. Now you are staring as Cassian tries to recover from the blow, shaking his head until he locks eyes with you. Two men continue to hold him as they restrain his wrists together behind his back before pushing him to his knees.

While you are relieved to see Cassian, the queasiness in your stomach is now from the realization of the situation setting in. You take a moment to just look at him. There are a few bruises on his face, paired with small scratches and dried blood. He looked exhausted.

“Aw, look at that,” Terek chuckles. “A wonderful reunion! You know, I thought today wasn’t going to be eventful at all but...”

He walks past you and over to Cassian, grabbing his chin roughly. “Did you know that that woman over there wanted to be captured? She was offering to trade herself just to get to you, I mean… she must really care about you, huh?”

Terek practically throws Cassian’s face to the side before spinning on his heel, smiling down at you. “Isn’t that right, sweetness?” 

You keep your eyes on Cassian, his jaw tense as he glares up at Terek. Cassian’s eyes then move to you, his gaze slightly softening. All you wanted to do in that moment was rush over to him— to embrace him, to help him, to protect him— but you couldn’t even move properly. 

Terek takes a moment, exchanging glances between you both before his expression brightens in an evil way. 

“Oh, oh… I see what’s going on here!” He laughs, pointing between the two of you. “How did I not see it!” 

Terek claps his hands together, before striding over to you, bending down in front of you. He blocks your view of Cassian and grabs your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks tight as he forces you to look up at him.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen but you don’t respond, trying to keep your emotions in check. He looks over his shoulder back to Cassian, but you can’t see his reaction. When he looks back down at you, he tenderly brushes his thumb against your cheek. 

Suddenly, he reels the same hand back and you don’t even process what happens because in the blink of an eye you topple back down to the floor, a searing hot pain across your cheek. Your mind is in a flurry— the mix of being slapped hard and the effects from the drug has you struggling hard to focus. 

You hear Cassian grunting and another hard hit from a blaster as you shake your head. Terek is now hovering behind you and pulls you up by the collar of your shirt, his nose brushing into your hair as he leans down.

“Answer me when I ask you a question, sweet girl,” Terek sneers into your ear, his entire demeanor changing. Letting out a soft whimper, you close your eyes as he releases your shirt and you fall back to the ground.

“Oh, you do,” his tone changes back, and he chuckles. “That’s why you went through all that trouble.” 

Terek kneels back down next to you as he pushes your hair out of your face, feigning pity as he caresses the same spot he slapped you. 

“Does he know?” He whispers. ”Please tell me he doesn’t because that just makes things a little more interesting.” 

You dare not answer again, waiting for another slap as he pulls his hand back but you don’t feel any contact. 

Instead, he lifts you up by your arm, practically dragging you across the floor as you can’t manage to find the strength to lift your legs up. Then, he drops you to the floor only for a moment so he can get behind you and lift you up so you are now sitting up, resting against his chest. Terek holds your head up by wrapping his arm across your neck. 

Cassian is directly in front of you, inhaling sharply through his nose. You are forced to look at him, feeling helpless and despicable as Terek holds you up. 

“Now, we’re going to play a game. For your sakes, I hope you both participate,” he chuckles into your ear. 

Cassian stares down Terek, and if looks could kill you knew he would be dead in an instant if it were up to Cassian. 

“Okay, sweetness, I want you to tell me the truth. Do you love him?” 

Your breath hitches, and all you can do is look at Cassian with a mix of panic and remorse. This is not how you wanted to admit your feelings. Hell, you didn’t even plan on facing them at all.

Although you know it’s all a game for Terek— a harsh, cruel game— it’s torture for you, and he knows it. How could you answer him? How could you possibly look Cassian in the eye and admit your true feelings?

So you stare. You stare and try to read the look in Cassian’s eyes, but you can’t. All those times Cassian had you work on analyzing people’s emotions, but you could not read his own at this moment. 

“Don’t make me ask you again,” Terek growls deeply against your ear. “Do you love him?” 

And you still can’t bring yourself to answer, instead you look to the ground, trying hard to bite back tears. 

“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

You look up as soon as the first punch is thrown, eyes wide with terror as Cassian’s head falls to the side. As soon as he lifts his head back up, another punch is thrown. Then another. And then another. The pain of just watching was unbearable— it was as if you were getting hit alongside him. 

“Stop!” You finally shout, struggling in Terek’s hold. “Don’t hit him!” 

Terek’s men pay no mind to you, and this time you watch as Cassian takes a blow to the stomach, hunching over until he is pulled back. 

“You know what you have to say, sweet girl.”

Cassian’s eyes meet yours, and you begin sobbing, silently begging them to spare him— to spare him from the physical pain he was subjected to as well as to spare him from having to hear you admit your feelings. 

“I’m sorry,” you start to let your head drop down. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No, no, no,” Terek quickly grabs your chin, forcing you to lift your head to watch as Cassian gets punched in the ribs. You are screaming now, but Terek’s voice still manages to break through. “You know what you have to say. Don’t start apologizing now—”

“—I’m so sorry, Cassian—”

“—This could have been dealt with easily,” he continues to say over your screams. “All you had to do was—”

“Okay!” You shout and Terek holds one hand up. 

Cassian groans out in pain, as Terek’s men step away. Each breath he takes seems just a struggle for him, and all you can do is sob at the state he is in. 

“Aw, don’t cry. Don’t cry, Shh...” Terek presses his cheek to yours. “Now, I will give you one more chance to answer: do you love him?”

Looking up with tear-filled eyes, you watch as Cassian slowly lifts his head up. The sight of fresh blood upon his face churns your stomach— you don’t want him to have to suffer anymore. Fixing him with an apologetic look, you swallow thickly.

“It’s true…” You whisper, only for your voice to rise just a bit. “It’s true,  I do love you, Cassian. I always have… I’m sorry…”

Cassian’s expression is light and you thought for a split moment that there was a bit of hope in his eyes. But then he closes his eyes, and that one movement seems to shatter everything inside of you.  

How did you expect for him to look? Relieved? No, of course he wouldn’t. Because although Cassian did care for you, it did not mean that he would reciprocate your feelings and suddenly love you as well.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Terek hums, looking down at you. Your head drops, and you watch as the tears from a small, barely there puddle on the floor. “Or was it?” 

Terek gasps playfully. “Oh, no… you’ve been keeping this to yourself, haven’t you?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut— you hope that if you do all of this goes away: Terek, the torture… the look on Cassian’s face. 

“Oh… I wonder just how long you’ve kept this for yourself, sweet thing,” Terek clicks his tongue. “Must’ve been pretty lonely, craving a man who didn’t even know the true extent of your feelings.” 

He lifts your chin up, gripping it tightly as you keep your eyes closed. “Let’s see how he feels about all this.”

He begins brushing the tears off of your cheek. You flinch from his touch and he chuckles. “My, my… isn’t she beautiful? Even after crying?” 

He turns to Cassian, who glowers at Terek as he continues to drag his thumb down your cheek. He does not even look at you. 

“Do you want to fuck her, Cassian?” 

The way Terek says his name fills you with such disgust. You were such an idiot. You did not mean to say his name, it just came out. If you weren’t in the situation you were in now, Cassian sure would have given you a piece of his mind right now.

Cassian’s entire body becomes tense, and while you have seen him angry before, the look he gives Terek causes you to shiver. 

“I mean, with a face like hers,” Terek squeezes your cheeks. “How could you not want to stare down at her while you fuck her hard and rough? Oh, I bet she makes the sweetest sounds.”

But Cassian continues to stare straight ahead, not flicking his eyes over to you once. Your heart aches— the fact that Cassian can’t even bring himself to look at you hurts you in the worst possible way. 

When Terek releases your cheeks, you are relieved. Until he grips your hair tightly and yanks it back. A slight whimper escapes you and Terek chuckles deeply, trailing a finger along your exposed throat. “See? Oh, Maker. You could definitely have the time of your life getting the best sounds out of this one.”

You are sure he’s ripped some strands of hair based on the stinging pain of your scalp. All you can do is stare at the ceiling, feeling Terek’s disgusting warm breath against your neck as he continues to taunt Cassian.

“If you want, I can give you both a few minutes of alone time. We won’t even peek… much.”

A string of chuckles are heard, but then it is soon followed by the sound of someone grunting and scuffles. You manage to look down, only to catch a glimpse of Cassian now being shoved onto the ground while another man covers his face, blood gushing through his fingers. 

“Oh, seems that we might have struck a nerve. Which makes me wonder…”

Terek suddenly pushes you to the floor, and you feel as if you can finally breathe freely. It felt as if he had been holding you up for hours, you did not even realize that the drug was slowly fading away from your body. You were able to push yourself up just barely— enough to watch as Terek makes his way over to Cassian who is now being pulled back up by two men.

Cassian still does not turn to face you, instead watches as Terek leans down close to him. Although you can’t see his face, the picture of him grinning smugly at Cassian is clear in your mind simply from the tone in his voice. 

“You don’t just want to fuck her, right? You love her too, don’t you?” 

The tension in the room was palpable— a least to you. Everyone else just seemed eager to hear just what Cassian had to say. 

Not you. 

You were not ready to hear what he had to say in response to that question— especially after you had just admitted your feelings to him. But then it dawns on you.

He doesn’t feel the same way. 

Which, of course he doesn’t. How could he? More importantly, why would he? 

There was not anything special about you. All you knew how to do was sneak around and trade around information. Cassian could easily find someone to replace you. 

All the times you thought that there could be a chance with him— all the memories that flood your mind of the possible maybe you thought at the moment that he cared for you as you had for him— wither away. 

Another minute goes by and Cassian still does not answer. Terek lets out a sigh, and you quickly look to the floor as he begins to make his way back to you. 

“I told you both, but it seems that you are just as equally stubborn.” You feel a pair of hands lift you up by your arms, and suddenly you are back to facing Terek, who stops in front of you. He shakes his head, putting on a mock pout. “I’m so sorry about this, sweet girl.” 

The slap is hard and fast across your cheek, just like the first time moments ago. You hear Cassian yelling something that you do not catch, but Terek does not let up. Another hard slap hits your opposite cheek, and you can’t help it as your vision swirls while your head falls to the side. 

Even as you are indisposed, Terek hits you again. This time, his fist is closed and connects hard with your jaw. Instead of keeping you up, Terek’s men let you fall to the ground and you feel Terek’s hard boot connect with your abdomen, knocking the air clear out of you. Cassian must have said something, because Terek halts the next blow to turn to him. 

“Is there something you’d like to say?” He asks, palms splayed open. “This can all stop.” 

Despite the dizziness and aching pain in your torso, you manage to barely lift your head off the ground. Your vision sets, and you are able to see Cassian as his face twists in anger. 

But when his gaze flicks down to you, his features soften— his eyes apologetic and begging for forgiveness. His eyes do not leave yours this time, staring deep into them. 

“Nova…” You do not expect him to speak, and you definitely do not expect him to continue to do so in Festian. 

Cassian had taught you a few basic phrases here and there when you asked. But, there were times where he would randomly speak to you in Festian without translating. There was particularly one phrase that he would always tell you, and no matter how many times you bugged him about it, he would just simply smile and say the same thing after. 

I’ll tell you another time. 

So it caught your attention when you heard him speak that same phrase to you with a different look in his eyes.

“Oh, now you’re not playing fair,” Terek waves a finger at Cassian, before glancing over to you. “Well, if that’s how you want to play it…” 

Terek stalks towards you, like a hungry nexu on it’s way to pounce on its prey. Your eyes move down to his hand as he reaches down to his side, and when you see light reflecting from the blade, your throat tightens. Trying to crawl away from him with no avail, Terek easily lifts you up by your hair, and drags you along the floor back towards Cassian.

At this point, your heartbeat rings in your ears— you can barely hear Cassian yelling as you are brought in front of him with the blade now lined up with your throat. Terek presses up the blade against your skin, and you try everything in your power not to move. 

Balling your fists up— trying to still the trembling throughout your body— you don’t even realize that you’re crying until Terek reaches up and wipes a tear away. 

“Now, since you don’t like to play by the rules, I’m proposing a new game,” Terek articulates each word as sharp as the knife in his hand. He grips tightly onto your hair, and you don’t hold back the cry as he does so. 

Cassian’s eyes widen at the sight of the knife, and he tries desperately to pull out of the henchmen’s grasp. Terek laughs— a dark and evil sound— at his despair.

“Here's what you’re going to do, Cassian,” Terek sneers. “You’re going to tell our girl here that everything is going to be okay. That she will be okay.”

The tears are falling harder now as you feel the edge of the knife push harder against your skin. Your hands are on Terek’s arm, trying to pull it down, to pull the knife away, but it’s no use. He keeps it in place. 

“I want you to lie to her. Go on, make her believe that she’s going to be okay.”

Cassian stares, his eyes flicking back and forth from the knife against your throat to your tear-filled eyes. You had never seen that level of fear from Cassian before, and it only urged on your own. Closing your eyes, you try to steady your breathing until you hear Cassian’s voice.

“...Nova,” he says, the name so soft— softer than you’d ever heard him say before. “Nova, look at me.”

You hesitate to do so, but slowly open up your eyes to see him. His expression has changed, it is much more calmer than before, as is the tone of his voice. 

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, I promise you.”

He says it so tenderly that you... almost believe him. The gentle regard in his eyes, the quiet, calm tone of his voice.  But you know better. He was trained to do anything in his power to get people to believe him— to believe every little word that comes out of his mouth. 

There is a quiet moment between you both as you stare into each other’s eyes, as if it were just the two of you and there was no Terek or his men in the same room. It takes you back to all those quiet moments you had spent with him when he would visit with you— talking about plans of when the war was over or how you would both change certain aspects of your lives. That sense of comfort and hope fills you, and you find yourself giving him a sad smile as if you do believe him.

“Alright, take him away.”

In an instant, that hope is torn as Cassian is being pulled up to his feet, and you immediately fear the worst.

“No!” You scream, trying to pull out of Terek’s grasp, but he only pushes the knife harder against your neck. You ignore the sting of the blade as it barely pierces through the top layer of your skin as they drag Cassian away. 

At this point, you are not scared of the knife anymore. You are scared— no, you are terrified of what they are going to do to Cassian. 

“Ah, ah, ahh….” Terek hums, leaning close to you. “You’re going to stay with me and play a little longer, sweet girl.” 

Cassian calls out your name and tries hard to yank himself away, his eyes still glued on yours. The room fills with your sobs and Cassian’s voice as he continues shouting the entire time, until his shouts fade away the further they take him. 

When you can no longer hear his voice, a part of you feels empty. It’s almost as if your heart was ripped out of your chest and dragged away with Cassian as they took him out of the room. Was this going to be the last time you saw Cassian? Was the last thing you said to him going to be you admitting your love for him?

Did he even believe you when you did? Or did he just think that it was all to get them to stop hurting him? 

The next thing you knew, you were being pushed onto the floor and flipped over onto your back. As you kick and squirm and scream, Terek straddles you, making it hard for you to try and get away. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head as you sob, before holding them down with one hand and bringing the knife back up. 

Terek starts to drag it just barely along your cheek, and you automatically freeze out of reflex. He grins— an evil image that will be etched in your mind until he is finished with you. 

“Who knew rebels could fall in love, hm?”

Closing your eyes, you feel the knife continue to move along every inch of your face in a tantalizing way. The end of the knife pricks into your cheek, and you feel a drop of blood slide down your cheek along with your tears. You did not even realize you were holding in a breath until you felt him lean down. 

“Now that we’re alone, what do you say we have some real fun, hm?” 

This was not how you wanted it to end. You did not want to die at the hands of some gang leader, but all the training you went through, all the escape tactics Cassian taught you, was simply nonexistent in your mind at this point. 

All you can do is lie there, feeling helpless and alone. You close your eyes, trying to think of something, or rather someone else as you wait for your untimely demise. 

Imagine your confusion when you hear the shot of a blaster but don’t feel any sense of pain. When you open your eyes, you watch as Terek topples over on top of you. Staying completely still, you wait for him to make another movement only to realize he was not even breathing. 

Before you could take a moment to process everything, his body is being moved off of you, and your eyes are met with Cassian’s. 

“Cassian,” you breathe out his name softly— he was okay. He was alive and breathing. He was right there in front of you, close enough for you to touch. They managed to get to him before the worst could happen. And you were so relieved.

Just as you go to reach up for him, a pair of hands slide underneath your arms to lift you up. Looking up, you see the Rebel, Melshi as you remembered from his visit, helping you stand. Instinctively, you clutch onto him, not wanting to be pulled away from the first sense of safety you found since getting in this mess. 

“You’re okay,” he says as he lets you hold onto him. 

“Took you guys long enough,” you mutter, reaching into a secret pocket in your pants and placing the tracker in his hand.

“Sorry, had trouble with his other men stationed outside.”

You nod simply, before you glance over at Cassian, who watches you closely as you continue to hold onto Melshi. Your heart races as he takes one step forward, his mouth opening as if he wants to tell you something. 

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he presses his lips together in a thin line and nods up at Melshi, before turning back and talking to another Rebel. 

You didn’t understand. There wasn’t anything he had to say to you? He didn’t want to talk about what happened? Did you really ruin things from your confession? 

The lump in your throat grows, but you hold back your tears. You could not display your true emotions— you did not want Cassian to see the hurt. 

“Come on,” Melshi‘s voice pulls you from your thoughts, leading you out of that terrible room. You still clutch onto him, trying not to take notice of all the bodies as he takes you to the transport.

++++++

You followed Cassian’s own advice— put up your own walls to hide your feelings. The entire flight back, you sat quiet as Melshi placed bacta patches on your visible injuries before leaving you be. Cassian had made his way to the front of the ship, glancing at you every now and then as he took care of his own injuries. 

It did not surprise you that he still had not made any effort to talk with you, though with every gaze thrown your way it sure seemed like he wanted to. You were confused, so to say, but you remained impassive. 

Maybe Cassian not talking to you was the best thing to happen. Maybe Cassian was not meant to be in your life forever. Hell, with the lives you both live how could you think romance was on the table? 

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you could easily get over this and focus on yourself and what you could do next. 

“Hey,” Melshi walks back, handing you a canteen. “We’ll take a look of your injuries when we get to base.”

“I’m fine—“

“You’ve probably got a cracked rib guessing from the way you wince each time you take a breath.”

You do not respond, instead look up at Cassian as he makes his way to the cockpit. He still had not made any attempt to talk to you. 

Melshi sighs. “At least let the doctors take a proper look, and then you can be on your way.”

That catches your attention and you look back to him. “Wait, do you think they’ll let me take a ship?”

He scoffs humorously, shaking his head. “I highly doubt that, but I can get you a ride if you need one.” 

“Can you?”

He nods, “Buddy of mine has to make a stop at the Ring of Kafrene, but I’m sure they would—“

“No, no… that’s perfect for me.” 

Before Melshi can speak, Cassian walks up. Instinctively, you straighten up, as if waiting for him to speak to you directly. 

“... We’ll be landing soon.”

“Yes, Captain,” Melshi stands, moving to grab his equipment while you are left alone with Cassian. 

The anticipation of waiting for him to say something— anything— hung thickly in the air. So much runs through your mind as he stares down at you, and you wonder what kind of thoughts are running through his own. He looks around, before he steps closer, and you see the soft glow in his features, especially his eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

You blink once, then twice, and then a third time. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

You were not quite sure why you answered with that. You did not mean to seem harsh but it was quite obvious you weren’t okay. You knew that. 

Cassian knew that. 

His demeanor changes instantly, and he is back to being the Rebel spy. He shakes his head, his hands moving to his hips. 

“You shouldn’t have been there. They shouldn’t have found you— I… I shouldn’t have given your name to them.” 

“Yeah, but you did,” you mutter softly. “And I was there. I was there to help you, to rescue you.” 

“By trading yourself for me? Why would you think that would work?” 

“I told them I could give them information, he seemed interested—“

“Nova, he didn’t care about the information. Why didn’t you see that earlier?” He snaps. “You should have known that was all a game to him.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I was more worried about finding you and trying to get you out.”

“I had it handled.” 

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” you answer, staring up at him— challenging him. 

The ship shakes as it lands, but Cassian keeps his gaze on you until another Rebel comes up to him. Part of you is thankful, because you knew at any moment you would probably burst into tears. 

As soon as the ramp lowers down, you hastily make your way out of the transport in search of the medbay. The humid air hits your skin, and you can feel the sweat forming on your brow as you make your way through the crowded hangar. With every step a painful jolt shoots up from your side, and you try pressing your palm flat for some added pressure. 

You thought back to that conversation: did Cassian just think you were simply an idiot? Why didn’t you see that earlier? You picture the annoyed look in his eyes, you should have known it was all a game to him. 

And maybe he was right, you should have known from that moment you encountered Terek that he was never going to let you and Cassian go without repercussions. 

But what infuriated you was the fact that all Cassian seemed to think of you was that you were clueless. That you went in simply without thinking and were just being an idiot.

Just as you make your way past a group of pilots, you feel a hand grasp yours, and quickly turn around. Cassian has his back to you as he pulls you along, leading you out of the hangar to a more secluded area. 

As soon as you both are alone, Cassian stops and turns to you with an unreadable look on his face. He still has your hand in his, and doesn’t seem too eager to release it.

“I have to go to the medbay,” you sigh, moving to pull your hand away. Cassian ignores your statement and continues to keep a tight grip on your hand. 

“Nova, what’s going on?”

“We already talked about this—“

“No, there’s more and you’re just not telling me.”

Turning away from him, you try to keep your thoughts exactly that— all you wanted to do was get checked out in the medbay and catch a ride away from this humid, seemingly crowded base. 

But Cassian was not stupid, he could easily read you like a book— you wouldn’t even be surprised if he could even read your thoughts at some times. 

Your jaw tightens, and all you can do is shake your head at him. “I’m sick of this.”

“Sick of what—“

“Sick of you thinking I am just clueless in these situations. That I don’t know what I’m doing— I knew what I was doing the moment I let them take me.” 

He says your name but you don’t relent. You’re angry— angry that he is trying to get out of talking about what happened other than you being there. 

“And I’m sick of you trying to cause a fight over something else rather than talking about the real issue here.”

“And what’s the real issue here?”

“What did you say to me? Back there when Terek…” 

You cut yourself off, unable to finish the sentence before exhaling shakily. “I know that the situation wasn’t… ideal, but what I said was the truth. And it kills me that you had to find out that way, but it’s true. I do love you, Cassian. I always have. But the look on your face after I said it I just…” 

You finally look up at him with pleading eyes. “What did you say when Terek… You’ve said that to me before, and every single time I asked what it meant you never told me. But then out of the blue you say the exact same phrase when Terek was playing his game with us. So just… please. Please, Cassian, be honest with me.”  

Cassian remains silent, and all you can do is stare at him, silently begging him to speak even if it’s to reject you or even if it’s any indication that he does harbor the same feelings you do. You just want him to tell you what he never did all those other moments he spent with you.

He opens his mouth and you all but ready yourself until he looks behind you, his gaze darkening with emotion. When you turn, you spot Melshi jogging up to you, nodding at Cassian before moving his attention to you. 

“Sorry for interrupting, I was just checking to see if you went to the medbay yet.”

“No… not yet.” 

“Okay, well make sure you do and come find me after, okay? I’ll help you out.”

“I will,” you smile softly. “Thank you, Melshi.” 

“Of course,” he turns to Cassian. “General Draven is looking for you, Captain.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” Cassian answers, stiffly. You take note of his tone, glancing over at him. Melshi doesn’t seem to catch it, instead salutes him before giving you a nod and walking off. 

“So, you’re friendly with Melshi now?” 

A flicker of irritation flashes through you— he was not being serious, was he? Was he just trying to say anything to get out of this conversation? You can only scoff at his words. 

“So now you’re just trying to start another fight? Is that it?”

Cassian’s previously hardened gaze eases, and he moves to reply but you are too fired up to let him speak. 

“I just don’t understand you, Cassian. You say or do one thing and then the next you’re back to being this…” you wave your hands out at him. “And I’m just— I’m sick of it!” 

“Nova—“

“Don’t. Please, just… I’m tired, Cassian. I’m tired and I’m confused and I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

You feel tears begin to brim— the ache in your chest becomes overwhelming the longer you stand there staring into Cassian’s eyes. You were tired, physically and emotionally. There was not much more you could deal with, especially not this. 

“What was it you said to me? Please… I don’t know how much longer I can dance around this with you. I’ve known you for so long and yet you still build up these walls when you’re with me that I can’t seem to get past.” 

You didn’t even know you had begun to cry until Cassian brought his hand up to your face, gently brushing the tears away with your cheek.  He has comforted you before— held you when you had nightmares. So instead of pulling away, you can only lean into his touch automatically despite the emotions boiling within you.

“I just want the truth, okay? Why can’t you just give me that? How much longer do I have to beg for you to—“

In a moment faster than light speed, Cassian had used his hands to grab your cheeks and pull you towards him, capturing your lips with his in a fervent, passionate kiss. You’re too shocked to move away, so many thoughts running through your mind that it all becomes a blur in an instant. 

It was everything— the moment his lips touched yours, you melted. You became putty in his hands as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. 

But yet…

After years of imagining what his lips would feel like pressed against yours, you wanted to lose yourself within the kiss, you truly did. But as you pull back and stare up into Cassian’s dark luminous eyes, you’re left more confused than ever. 

Was there a sense of affection in his eyes? Or were you just hoping that it was there, just as you had hoped he loved you the way that you love him?

Or worse, was he just playing you? Was he just using every skill he was taught on you and this was the spy you had heard many stories about? 

Your name rolls off his tongue in a whisper that pulls you from your rambling mind, and before he can speak, a deep voice calls for him. The both of you turn your heads, but Cassian is the one who takes a full step away from you. 

Just like that, his walls were back up.

“Captain Andor,” the man you assumed to be General Draven walks up, glancing between the both of you. You avert your gaze, looking down at the floor to give them a sense of privacy.

“General.” Cassian salutes— ever the perfect soldier.

“We’re going to need your report on the incident right now, we’ll be meeting in the mission briefing room.”

“Yes, General.” 

He soon walks off the way he came, and you are left once again in the midst of an awkward silence with Cassian, as if what happened moments ago didn’t happen. He stares down at you, regret littered upon his face— like he is torn. 

Please don’t go.

“I, Uh…” he breathes out, not quite sure what to say. But that alone was enough for you to dismiss it. “Nova—“

“It’s fine,” you shake your head, avoiding his gaze. “You should… you should go. It’s important stuff…”

He says your name softly and steps towards you again, but you squeeze your eyes shut and close in on yourself. 

“I have to go to the medbay, anyways.” 

Cassian sighs, and takes a moment before he whispers an ‘okay’. You feel him brush his fingers against the back of your hand before opening your eyes. 

Don’t cry, for the love of stars, don’t you dare cry. 

“When I’m finished, I’ll come find you. We can… we’ll talk, okay?” 

You can only manage a small nod and force a smile— hoping it’s convincing enough that you are okay. While he stares at you, obviously not convinced, the good soldier in him follows his orders and turns to leave. 

All you want to do is scream. And shout. You want to hit the wall or kick the metal crates next to you. You want to cry. 

But you don’t.

Instead, all you do is stand in place, watching Cassian round the corner to leave you behind. The kiss plays over and over in your mind, like a broken hologram you needed to fix just to skip over the next part as a way to get over the sorrowful ache in your chest. 

You shouldn’t have expected anything less. Part of you debates running after him, but you can’t think clearly enough to decide what action you would take. Would you have kissed him again? Or would you just go straight to demanding an explanation from him and possibly end up starting another argument? 

Despite everything running through your mind— despite what your heart was telling you to do— the only thing you could physically do in that moment was let your legs with each shaky step lead you to find Melshi.

As you look through the hangar, you’re too preoccupied to notice the tall droid standing in your path. You manage to glance up just before running into it, and you look up to see the familiar reprogrammed Imperial droid.

“Hello, Nova.” 

No matter how many times you insisted he call you by your real name, K2S-O still used the same name Cassian would. Cassian would bring him along for visits every now and then, and you got on well. You always teased that Kay liked you more than Cassian did. 

“Oh, hi Kay.”

“Are you looking for Cassian? He’s meeting—“

“No, no.” You shake your head. “I’m… I was just with him, so… I was looking for the medbay.”

“Well, it’s in the opposite direction. And you seem to be in a hurry to leave. Would you like for me to get the Captain?”

“No, Kay,” you sigh. “Just… don’t tell him you saw me, okay? Please?” 

“You seem to be in distress.”

A dry chuckle escapes you, and you close your eyes. “Just… please, if he asks about me just say you didn’t see me.” 

“I see. I will tell him exactly that.”

You hear heavy footsteps walk away from you and when you look back up, you see that Kay is gone. Part of you feels guilty for having Kay lie to Cassian for you— you know how loyal the droid is to him. But you just needed to leave, to clear your head. 

As soon as you spot Melshi, you take the one chance that you can get to do exactly that.

++++++

It would have been a lie to say that you were handling things well since you’ve been back home. Since you didn’t get the proper medical help back on Yavin IV, you had to stop by the nearest medic to get checked out. After a few bacta patches were wrapped around you and a lovely health stim was injected into you, you thought you would be good to go. 

If only the trip to the medic was able to help the rest of you heal. 

Sleep was rough. There were some nights you had made it through, but others you were lucky to even get through one or two hours. If you weren’t tossing and turning all night from the pain in your ribs, there were images of Terek flashing behind your eyes— you could practically feel the knife against your throat each time. 

And then of course there was Cassian and the kiss. You wondered if you made the right decision, leaving without telling him. He deserved that at least… right? Did he even bother looking for you? Even if he did… it was already too late. 

You tried not to think about the kiss often, but it was hard to do so since it was something you had truly longed for. The warmth of his lips against yours and the way that his hands felt as they held your cheeks… it was everything you had imagined. 

A few shouts between a shopkeeper and a customer bring you back to the present, and you quickly hand over a few credits before gathering your small bag of fruit and making your way home. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. 

Pushing past various individuals alike, you keep your head down as you continue back down the path to the inn. You really needed to find a way off this small moon— maybe finding a small job to help get you some extra credits or making yourself worthy of becoming a crew member on a ship would be the best ways to go about it. Either way, a fresh start might do you some good.

As you turn around a corner to an alleyway, an eerie feeling slithers its way up your back. Was someone following you? Did someone from Terek’s group survive and track you down? With your heart pounding, you try casting a look over your shoulder, but all you saw was a stray tooka cat running through the metal trash bins. Shaking your head, you quickly turn on your heel and practically run back to the inn. 

It’s nothing, it’s nothing. No one is following you, all of Terek’s men are dead.  

It runs through your mind like a mantra spoken by the Guardians of the Whills— you knew it was impossible for any of Terek’s men to survive the raid from the Rebellion and if they had, it was impossible for them to know where you were. 

Practically out of breath, you finally make it to the inn, and rush straight for your room. You make sure to lock the door and turn the lights on, feeling a little more relieved when you do so until you hear someone take a step behind you. 

“You left.” 

The bag you were carrying slips from your hand at the sound of his voice, and you listen as the shurra fruit you purchased tumbles along the floor. You don’t even bother with the fruit as Cassian walks out from the corner of the room, his eyes never straying away from you. 

He’s healed well, you note as he stops in front of you. His bruises shrunk down with a bit of yellowing around the edges, and the cuts that once littered his cheek and lips were nonexistent. 

You were too focused on looking over him that you didn’t take into account what he was doing here. It had been a few weeks since the incident, and you figured that he was going to stay focused on Alliance stuff. Were you happy that he was here?

Deep down, yes. 

Although, the expression on your face probably told him otherwise. 

“Cassian…” Is all that you can manage to say as he reaches down to pick up the fruit, handing them to you. You try ignoring the way his fingers linger against yours as he places them in your hands, taking his time to pull away. 

“You left,” he says again— dark eyes boring into yours. “I went back and looked everywhere for you. Twice.”

“I…” 

You hated that you couldn’t find the words to explain. Absolutely hated it. The longer you stared at him, the longer you began to regret the decision you had made. Maybe you shouldn’t have left, but you did. 

“When I finally told Kay, he said you asked him not to tell me that you left.”

That damn droid, you think, although you don’t really blame him. He was loyal to Cassian.

Cassian waits for you to answer, but you still can’t. Instead, you move to the small table you frequently ate your meals at to set the fruit down. Footsteps come up behind you, but you don’t turn to face him. 

“Why did you leave?” He asks in a whisper you barely catch. “I told you that I would come back so we could talk about what happened. I meant that.”

Talk about what happened. Closing your eyes, you can easily picture Cassian grabbing your face and pressing his lips to yours. It makes your heart race in the most wonderful way possible, even though at the time you were just so confused and still in shock from the events before. You still were. You didn’t know why he had kissed you or what his reasoning was— you kept telling yourself that it wasn’t what you hoped it to be, and that you were just over analyzing. 

Another soft step is taken towards you, and you can feel Cassian closer than ever. 

“...Nova—“

“Why did you do that?” It comes out too quick before you could stop yourself. “Why did you kiss me?”

It takes everything in your power not to face Cassian— you didn’t want him to see you in this vulnerable state you were in. Instead, you wait. 

You wait, and you wait until he finally speaks.

“...Because I didn’t know how else to tell you how I feel about you,” he mutters. “When it comes to… words, I… it’s hard for me to express myself by using my words. You know that.”

He’s right. For as long as you’ve known Cassian, he was more of a physical person— he relied on action rather than words. So when you finally turn to face him, it’s there that you realize just how vulnerable he is in this moment. His gaze is fixed on yours, but you know his mind is racing trying to choose what he should say next.

“So when I kissed you… I was hoping that— well, I just hoped it would show you how I truly feel. But me leaving right after… I shouldn’t have done that. I regretted it the moment I took that first step because I should have stayed and told you that…”

When he tries to continue, you watch his mouth open and close until he groans, running his hand down his face in frustration. He lets out a breath, before looking back at you, and taking a step towards you until his chest is just centimeters away from yours. 

He leans close to you, and gods, when he whispers that familiar phrase you can only stay frozen in place. You stare up at him— waiting for him to speak again.

“...You’ve always asked me what it meant, and I told you I would tell you someday.” He swallows. “It’s because I was terrified then, but now…” 

Cassian’s fingers brush against your hand, the simple touch sending your heart in a flurry of beats.

“You mean everything to me. You appeared in my life so suddenly like… like a sudden bright light— one that I have dreaded losing sight of.” He grabs your hand. “When they were taking me away, I thought that was going to be the last time I saw you. It was like the light was dimming with every step they took but then…”

He looks down, bringing your hand up to his lips as he holds it tightly. 

“I wanted to tell you right then and there how I truly feel about you. But I just…”

You place your hand on his cheek, lifting his gaze. His eyes meet yours without flinching, a sparkle of intensity between you both. 

“Tell me,” you breathe out in a mere whisper. 

You wonder if Cassian can hear the heart races due to how silent it is now and how close he is. If you were just a few centimeters closer…

“I love you. I’ve always loved you, stars, Nova. You’re my everything. You’ve always been.” He admits. “That’s what I’ve been telling you from the first moment you asked what I meant. Every time you asked me what I was saying… that was it. I was telling you that I love you.”

And that was all you needed to hear.

Those words— finally hearing what he has struggled to say and what you weren’t sure to be true before— work their way through your mind over and over on a loop. In an instant, you’re the one who closes the small space between you as you press your lips against his in a desperate, long awaited kiss. Cassian wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer as he returns the kiss. 

Everything in that moment is all you’ve ever dreamt of— as if fate was in play here. Many nights spent fantasizing about this among other things were just that, fantasies, but Cassian was here and just as real as ever. 

When Cassian’s fingers dig into your waist, you let out a hiss, and he quickly pulls back. He watches as you press a hand to your side, scared as if he was the one who hurt you.

“Sorry—“

“I’m okay, still a little tender,” you reassure, stepping closer to him. “I’m fine, Cassian.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I am,” you nod, before grabbing his jacket and pulling him back to kiss you. 

He still seemed hesitant to grab you, but when you place his hands on your waist he seems to relent. What he doesn’t do is hold back when kissing you, and you were grateful for that. You wanted him— all of him in that moment.

Sliding his jacket off, you let him lead you back towards the bed. His fingers tease your skin at the hem of your shirt, before he breaks the kiss to pull it over your head completely. His eyes slowly trail down along your body, and he freezes as he sees the small cuts and bruises. 

His expression changes, and you press the palm of your hand against his cheek. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” He asks, genuine concern laced in his eyes. “I know you… went through something horrible—“

“We both did, Cassian,” you brush your thumb along his skin. “I don’t want to stop. I want you… I want to feel you.”

Cassian’s eyes study you, searching for any hint of hesitation or even fear probably. In return, you give him a small smile, and you watch as the gaze in his eyes softens. He kisses you, a deep and passionate notion, and you each fumble with the rest of your clothes.

He lies you down, hovering over you as he moves between your legs. He trails feather-light kisses along every inch of your skin, as if trying not to miss any spots. He leads a path from your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts until he moves over. He kisses your right mound, carefully kissing and flicking his tongue over your nipple while he caresses the other one with his hand. Soon, he switches over, doing the exact same thing.

You’re sure that he can feel the way your heart beats, how it races with each kiss, nibble, and lick he gives you. A quiet hum escapes you, and you glance down as you feel Cassian continue his course. He takes careful measure to kiss every bruise and cut that litters your skin along your torso, a silent apology almost. 

Arousal pools between your legs with every single touch Cassian makes— you’re sure to be dripping by the end. Cassian moves down lower, his lips brushing against your thighs as he inches closer to your aching sex. 

“You smell so sweet,” his voice comes out in a deep whisper. “Always wondered what you tasted like. Had so many dreams about making you come with my mouth.” 

His fingers brush against your wet pussy lips, gathering the slick as he moves up and gently circles your sensitive clit. By this time, you’re already lost. Your mind is left in a daze; the touches, kisses, and the words coming from Cassian hits you hard each time. He had dreams about you—like you did him— but hearing him saying this out loud only turned you on even more. 

He looks up, staring deep into your eyes.’”Can I...“ 

When you feel Cassian begin to push your thighs further apart, you sit up, and pull him back up. Confusion covers his face and you kiss him deeply. While the thought of Cassian delving between your thighs and making you come just from his mouth sounds exquisite, you simply want to feel him inside you already. When you tell him just that, he nods, and presses his lips to yours as you lie back down. 

His hard cock brushes against the inside of your thigh, and fuck you are just aching for him. He nestles between your thighs, breaking the kiss to stare down at you.

“Are you—“

“Don’t you dare stop, Cassian Andor.” 

Something flashes in his eyes, whether it be amusement or adoration, it’s gone before he leans down to take your lips with his. Cassian grabs one of your hands and presses it next to your head, entwining his fingers with yours, and when he pushes inside of you, you see stars. 

No, you see the entire galaxy.

You and Cassian seem to inhale sharply at the same time, and he squeezes your hand tightly. He feels perfect, as if you were both made for each other. And when he starts moving, it’s even better than you’ve imagined. 

Sure, you were no stranger to sharing a bed with someone, but it was nothing like this. It wasn’t the face of whatever current partner you were taking that flashed through your mind, but it was always Cassian’s. For so long, you had wondered what it would feel like to have Cassian inside you— to feel his hands caress every inch of your body as you both bring each other to the brink of ecstasy. 

You no longer had to wonder, because every thrust from Cassian was everything. This wasn’t just sex with Cassian, this was making love, and by the gods you never wanted to forget this moment. It’s slow, but hard— like he is trying to make sure to hit every spot inside of you. His fingers dig into your hip, but the pleasure you’re receiving erases any sense of pain you felt from your bruises. 

When you throw your head back against the pillow, Cassian is quick to kiss your pulse— a moan escapes you as he begins flicking his tongue and sucking your skin. You try rolling your hips with his, meeting each thrust as they increase with pace. He never once releases his grip on your hand, instead presses it deeper into the mattress while the other hand lifts your leg around his waist. 

The new angle exposes more of you, and as his cock hits that spot inside of you, you’re left begging as you writhe underneath him.

“Kriff, Cassian—“ you’re cut off with a gasp. “Don’t… don’t stop.”

When he speaks, it’s in whispers of his language that you barely catch. Only… when you come out of your daze to listen to what he says, your chest bursts with a warmth you haven’t felt in so long as you recognize 

I love you. 

I love you.

You’re my everything.

I love you.

And stars, the way he says your name each time is like music to your ears— a symphony of moans which would soon reach that wonderful climax. 

Your free hand cups the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair gently as you pull him down to kiss you, muttering your love for him as well. Cassian returns the fervent kiss, as he snaps his hips hard into yours over and over again. You’re so close, you can feel your orgasm practically begging to be released with every moan of his name that catches in the back of your throat. 

When it finally hits you, you’re left in such a euphoric daze that the only thing you remember is the way Cassian clutches on to your hand and how he rides you through it. White lights soon flash behind your eyelids, and you can only hold tight onto Cassian. You barely catch the way he kisses your neck or how he urges you to come earnestly through short breaths. With the way your cunt squeezes around him, Cassian soon follows with his seed pouring into you.

Small whines as Cassian loses himself are heard, and as you fall slack into the mattress, you feel Cassian bury his face in your neck. He slowly rocks into you, sending jolts of small pleasure through your body, until he finally comes to a stop. Neither of you move right away, instead bask in the way your breaths sync together.

When you do move, Cassian is the first to do so, but only to kiss you lightly along your neck. You hum, tilting your head back until Cassian is now looking down at you. So many words, so many things to say to you are probably running through his mind right now. 

He brushes his thumb along your cheek, staying silent as he takes all of you in. He leans down, kissing you over and over again as if this was the last time he was going to be able to do so. 

He only stops when you pull away, and even still he has to touch some part of you to know that this is real. When you push back his hair, he relaxes. 

“...Cassian?”

“Hm? Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you shake your head, smiling. “I just…”

“What is it, love?”

Love. That’s what all this— what everything has been between you both. Unspoken, but there. Now that it’s said aloud, you never want to stop hearing it, or saying it for the matter.

“I love you.” 

When Cassian smiles— a wonderful sight— you truly feel whole from the way he gently touches you and the soft response of his voice.

“I love you, too. My Nova.”

[connordavidscamera]

Living, Learning, and Filming Ch. 9 | Connor Brashier

a/n: this hurt me so bad.

Summary: maybe he’s making a (b)rash decision.

Warnings: angst, just a little

Word Count: 1.6k

***

Week 8

“Hey, Bri. That offer to go out still stands?”

He sits from his position on bed and looks at me standing in his doorway. He doesn’t ask why; he knows something’s wrong and he has for a few days now, I know he’s not stupid. “Yeah, tonight?”

I nod, “I need to get out.”

“Give me twenty minutes. Do you want to invite anyone? Sam? Shawn?”

“No,” I say too aggressively. I shake my head, “No,” I say again. “Sorry. You get ready, I’ll be in my room.”

Brian nods, “Okay.”

I leave down the hall and disappear back into my room where I’ve been holed up basically since Shawn told me he and y/n were going on a date. Which means she and I haven’t filmed at all this week. Which is going to make it hard for us to turn in a weekly checkpoint, but I don’t care right now. I know I should, but I don’t because I know if I’m getting the failing grade then she is too. We’re both suffering and that brings me some comfort - even if I know it shouldn’t. 

I’m staring at her name in my phone, still the same, never changing: Wifey ;P

Maybe I should change it though. She’s not my girl; that fact is painfully clear now. But when I go to change it to y/n instead, it looks wrong. Anything besides what I already have her as is wrong and I know it. So I leave it and go back to my computer where I have some of the videos that didn’t make the cut for any of our other check-ins. The first one to pop up is of her sitting on her bed, reading dramatically to me with big hand gestures and a possible English accent? I’m not quite sure what she was going for. I can’t help but laugh a little as I watch her and relive the moment. 

She was all over the place that day and it was fun to watch, too fun. I got so much footage, but I promised I wouldn’t put it in the film. But watching them back, I can’t see why I shouldn’t. These are the moments that need to be in it because these are the moments that I could feel myself falling in love with her. That’s what the whole project is about, us falling in love, and these are the moments where I actually caught myself doing so.

I don’t realize what I’m doing or what time it is until Brian comes into the room, dressed and telling me the Uber is here. I blink because I don’t think I have in a few minutes and that’s when I see just how much I’ve cut together. I don’t bother watching it back, that’s for a later time. So I save what I’ve done and close my laptop. 

“Ready?” Brian asks, clapping my shoulders.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

---

“So what made you change your mind?” Brian asks, handing me a beer while we lean against the bar, scanning the crowded place.

“Just needed to get out.”

“You never just go out for the hell of it.”

“Sure I do.”

“No, not usually. You usually have a reason. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it y/n?”

“Brian.”

“Connor.”

I sigh and take a big swig of my beer. “She’s on a date with Shawn tonight.”

He coughs, setting his bottle down, “She’s what?”

“Shawn asked her out.”

“What? That’s against bro code. Why would he do that?”

“Fuck if I know. But he did and she said yes and they’re on a date right now.”

“Hence the going out.”

“Yep.”

I see him nod out of the corner of my eye and he takes the bottle from my hand. 

“Hey,” I object.

“You need something stronger than this.” he waves the bartender over. 

“What can I get you, handsome?” she asks him. 

“Scotch neat, two please.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

“Scotch?” I ask him. 

“Trust me, you’ll need it.” He looks around again, “So, we’re getting you laid, eh?”

“What?” I stare at my red-haired friend next to me. 

“There’s a blonde over there. She has a friend too. What do you think?”

“Brian, I don’t think -”

“You’re right. You’re too sober. You need a couple more drinks in your system.”

“No, that’s not it.” 

“Here’s your scotch, sweetheart.”

Brian smiles widely at the bartender, whose name tag says Taylor. “Thank you, love.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re trying to take home the blonde or her friend,” I mutter, taking the drink from him.

He shrugs, “Well, you’re taking one of them home, so get your drink and let’s go.”

I don’t want to. I know I don’t want to and I know that doing this is wrong. And I know that it’s just one date. And I know that I’m in love with y/n. And -

“Hi, I’m Connor. Can I buy you a drink?”

She giggles. Y/n doesn’t giggle, not like that. I think I need another drink.

---

She’s kissing my neck, grinding against me, leaving lipstick stains on my jaw. I know I should be enjoying it, but I hate it. I hate every second of it. And I hate that I’m not pushing her away. Her nimble fingers unbutton my shirt a little more and I don’t stop her. I kiss her a little, trying to get myself to like this, to enjoy it. She moans, but it’s loud, not near as soft and intimate as y/n’s. She’s putting on a show, and she’s not y/n. She’s not y/n and I absolutely fucking hate it.

The knock on the front door saves me from letting this go any further and I’m grateful. “Give me a minute, yeah?”

She hums, kissing my mostly bare chest. “Hurry.”

I don’t bother trying to make myself presentable before I open the door, but I wish I had because this definitely is not what I should have looked like for her. 

“Y/n? What are you doing here?”

She comes in, not paying much attention to my appearance and I’m glad but now she’s inside and she’s bound to notice at some point. “Okay, so I’m going to say something and this is really hard for me to do and I don’t even know if I should do this, but if I don’t do it now, then I probably won’t do it ever.”

“Honey, what are you talking about?”

“You’re still in love with me, right?” she asks, and that’s when she looks up. I notice the fire in her eyes and then I notice it slowly fades as she takes in my appearance. “Oh.”

“No, no. y/n. Look at me, look at my eyes. Talk to me.” I take her face in my hands, forcing her to look me in the eyes. She doesn’t say anything, only searches my features. “What’s wrong?” Her thumb comes up to my jaw and she wipes at the lipstick that I know is now staining her finger. I deflate. “It’s not what you think.”

She removes my hands from her face, taking the rest of me in. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“No! No, please don’t. Stay. We can talk about this.”

She shakes her head, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Connor, you coming back?”

My heart breaks when y/n’s shoulders sag. “You’re busy. I’ll just… see you later so we can work on the project.”

“No, y/n. Please, stay.” I put myself between her and the door.

“For what, Connor? Because no offense, but I don’t really want to get to know your date.”

“She’s not my date,” I say and realize that makes it even worse.

“Right. Well, for future reference, that shade of pink isn’t your color.”

“Baby,” I reach for her hands, but she shrugs me away.

“Don’t call me that. Just let me go.”

“I can’t. Not until you tell me why you’re here.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. That’s…” she looks over at the girl in my doorway and then back to me with a sad smile, “That’s painfully obvious.”

“Don’t leave, please. Just let me explain.” I beg when she opens the door.

“There’s nothing to explain. I was an idiot to come here in the first place.” 

“No, you weren’t,” I protest, following her down the hall to the elevator. 

“Connor, just go back to her, please. I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something.”

“No you won’t. You and I both know that. Why’d you come?”

“I went on a date with Shawn,” she says, finally turning back to me.

My stomach turns. “I know.”

“It didn’t go well.”

Immediately I feel myself growing angry. “What happened? Did he try something with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He and I just didn’t work together romantically.”

I let out a deep breath. “Okay. That’s good. I mean, I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, but -”

“I came to tell you that I was in love with you, Connor.”

“You what?”

She scoffs, “Go back inside, Con. This was a mistake.”

“Y/n. No, stop. You’re in love with me?”

“Yes! I am utterly and completely in love with you. But-”

“No, no buts.”

“But you have a girl in your room. And she’s asking for your attention. You should go give that to her.”

“But I don’t want to! I’m with the girl I want to give my attention to.”

She shakes her head, “I can’t be here right now. Okay? I can’t be around you.”

“But-”

“I’ll see you in class.”

“Wait!” I beg just as the door to the elevator opens - yeah perfect timing. 

“I guess we both lost, huh?” She gives me a tight lipped smile and the door closes on us. 

I run my hands angrily through my hair and slide down the wall, resting my head on my knees. Our project was supposed to be about love. I don’t think either of us knew that we’d experience heartbreak too. 

***

I hope you enjoyed! Please like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

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[anomaly00-archive]

700 Follower Celebration: A Writing Journey (1/?)

Hey guys! So, to celebrate this milestone I’ll be doing a series of posts talking about how my wip has changed, their inspirations, my growth as a writer. though it’s only been maybe 2? years since I started writeblr, I’m pretty sure I, and my works, have undergone *many* a transformations. And speaking of transformations, this post is dedicated to the journey of my most fickle and ever-changing wip: When Comes the Dawn

The first WIP I ever introduced to tumblr – and my first multi-chapter project ever is When Comes the Dawn, a fantasy/court-intrigue tale featuring court politics, magic, death-defying princesses, and cloak-and-dagger schemes. It is the story I hold near and dear to my heart, even if I do have an on-again-off-again relationship with it. But the story you know now is vastly different to what it used to be. Really, the only thing remotely similar to WCTD and its predecessors are Charles and Fenice (and that’s just their names!)

WCTD started out as a very ambitious high fantasy AU fanfiction with a highly convoluted story line that existed, predominantly, in a 1,500 word prologue and hours upon hours of daydreaming. It did not help that, paranoid little gremlin that I was against people who might look over at my word doc by chance, I coded all of the names of these fanfic characters, keeping only the first letter the same. This eventually led to a detachment between the OG source material and my own work and I just ended up scrapping the entire thing and keeping my cast of (now original) characters. Thus began the era of Chronus. Or, proto-WCTD as I sometimes refer to it.

Chronus had very little connection to present day WCTD except for the name Charles, Fenice, and the three gods that created and watched over the universe. In WCTD, the Trinity were more akin to the gods we have today; igures of worship, omnipresent, with not a lot of proof for their existence except faith-- and I’m saying this as a Catholic. In Chronus, they were actual characters. The gods of Creation/Life, Destiny, and Time/Death (the latter being named Chronus so y’all know where I got the name) watch over the world and intervene when they need to. The lore of the story: through some convoluted circumstance, Chronus ends up dying which is a pretty big bummer since, y’know, his death left the entire universe in stagnation and nothing could die. Uh, the logic gets iffy around here but just understand that Creation and Destiny managed to save the universe but are forced to enlist select humans into being temporary gods of death in exchange for granting their desire. Fenice was one of these humans, Charles was a part of her “wish,” and...more convoluted plot stuff that I honestly can’t remember.

I hated how I spent more time trying to logic the entire plot and ended up scrapping the entire thing. After taking a few months break from this story, I started again by recycling characters and concepts I like. And once again we are left with Fenice, Charles, and the Trinity.

I recycled the backstory I used for Fenice and Charles which had them as royals; a prince and princess caught in the midst of a succession game a la War of Roses. Here, Fenice Alexandra and Charles Alexander were twins tied at the hip, on the run from their power-hungry uncles and planning a way to reclaim their birthright.  I made it through a few chapters, a bit of outlining, and weeks of thinking before I found myself dissatisfied with this story and scrapping it once again. Around this time, I realized I wanted to add magic but not have magic and magical fights be a huge part of the story, so I feel like adding an adventure element would be counterproductive. I also got the idea of a world where everyone had magic, but one of the main characters did not.

I played around with Fenice and Charles’ relationship for a while. One had Fenice being the significantly younger sibling with magic and Charles the older and without (the opposite of where we are today). In every iteration of the story I always had Fenice as the main POV character, so with this set-up, to create conflict, I had the idea of Fenice not wanting the throne (despite being the chosen heir and more than qualified for the position) scheming to get Charles the crown instead (what Charles wants be damned).  Others had this same setting but with Charles still being chosen as heir despite not having magic (which was apparently the number one unspoken rule of succession) which created resentment in Fenice...and made proto-Dantalion (called William at the time) look like a fool. But both these scenarios were just...not something I was particularly interested in. Fenice was insanely OP, everyone looked stupid to me, and honestly? It just seemed boring.

I knew I was close to a break through, so I decided to switch it. Fenice, the elder sibling without magic, who, by a tragic twist of fate, had everything that should be hers instead given to her younger brother. Then, I separated them; the elder lived away from court, the younger lived close to it to wipe away as much chances of them getting along. Then, I worked on their parents. Here, Dantalion, Illysandre, and Titania came into existence. Then, more characters, more plot lines; I connected relations, brewed up even more backstory and lore to make sense of this plot line, steeled myself from making a spin-off prequel, etc. etc. Finally, WCTD reached where it is today. I have no doubt that it’ll still go through massive changes in the future, but for what it is now? It’s the closest I’ve ever been to the story I want to tell.

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Old talks' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Old talks"

Chapter Summary : After receiving an weird transmission from the MI5, Yirina is, with Park, wondering about who sent it.....until she realizes.......

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3900

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

I couldn't believe it that I was never able to remember properly that today, the May of 8th was the day of my birthday and Park.....well....she remembered it very good. Our trip to get to London, it was just an perfect occasion for her to celebrate my birthday with only the two of us, away from work for just one simple day. We were going to put aside our mission against Perseus & Stone and just be ourselves....maybe finally fullfill that little dream I had to have love in her office, on her desk as it was an perfect occasion. It was like one of the many birthday presents she could have given me to be honest.

But everything can't happen without a little something that will occur like that and that little thing was the knocks on her door, stopping us in our moment alone, getting ourselves back to work and like nothing happened here. However, as I thought to be just an simple transmission that the MI5 was given by their mysterious source that could have given us a lead on Stone....became suddenly too personal for me as their source wished me an 'Happy Birthday'....to me....only me...something wasn't right.

As I was in my seat, having finished to decrypt that transmission and still astonished by that, I looked at the MI5 agent who couldn't know where to go right now.

"Uhmm..." I started, looking pale on my face. "Can I....can you leave the office for an minute ?" I asked him as I wanted just to be alone with Park for the moment. "It's serious." I added in a low voice

"Yes....yes, miss." He agreed, looking a little bit stressed with me acting like that before he stepped out of the office, leaving me & Park alone.

"What the hell ?" I whispered to myself as I redressed myself on my seat, my eyes focused on the two papers that was in front of me. "How it is possible ?" I asked, still to myself.

"What's wrong ?" Park was confused at seeing me like that, she wasn't understanding me at all.

"Someone I don't know wished me happy birthday." I replied, joining my hands together, trembling. "That's the problem, right now."

"And ?" She raised an eyebrow, still not understanding. "It should be good." She added, trying to reassure me.

"You don't understand, Park." I breathed, not angered at all. "Someone INSIDE the Perseus Collective has done it." I insisted on the 'inside' word.

"Shit." She looked away, now realizing my words and my state, feeling so weird right now after I told her that.

"That's means that Perseus and the others know that I'm alive." I said, looking sure of my words. "If Freya & Stone maybe never told an thing.....Stitch did." I added, referring to what I heard from the two when I was dragged into that plane in the Tempelhof Airport.

"I could understand Freya's motives but Stone....." Park whispered, biting the right part of her lips, at hearing  saying that Stone hide the fact that I was alive....and I think she was right about it. "They gave you an target in the back....and I will make sure no one hit that target." She affirmed.

"Maybe but in every encounter I did with them, was it 'Bell' or 'Yirina Grigoriev' who acted ?" I told her, remembering well that it was 'Bell' who was in line when I was facing Freya or Stitch. "They maybe think that I'm sort of.....not myself." I suggested.

"Oh, I see what you mean." She snapped her fingers towards me, her arms posed on her desk. "For you, they're thinking that we did something on you." She was right in her words and I could see the guilty part on her face. "By giving them the illusion that you're Bell, it's actually given you an chance to maybe make Freya defect." I nodded to her idea, been right about it.

"If I can make her slowly realize that I know well of my state, I could try to make her join our side." I continued in her idea, explaining it further. "It will be hard but it can be done." I added, not even sure of it in fact.

"Do you.....do you think that she will accept the fact that you are playing an act with 'Bell' when you will told her about the truth ?" She asked me, looking worried about it.

"She will have to." I replied, putting my arm on the chair's armrest. "Even after she has done to me, I need to try to save her from Perseus madness." I looked down for an second, away from Park "We still have this link as 'sisters', you understand ?" She nodded to me.

"You want to do this because you know that she is forced by Perseus to stay." She supposed and I nodded back.

"It's what I want to believe for." I said, taking an breath before rolling my eyes to the ceilling. "The call I gave her after our raid on that safehouse, it's something I can use to bring her to the right side." I added. It was maybe an dangerous move each time I was going to do that and even if I only did this once, I know that this mean is understandable....Park believe in it too.

"Of course." She breathed in approval.

"But now, I wonder who in the Perseus Collective can send me......" I started before I stop myself, having suddenly an revelation about the transmission "What if this person was no longer from Perseus ?" I got up slowly from my seat, pointing at the papers. "What if.....it was Zasha themselves ?"

"What make you think of that ?" She asked me curious.

"First, it's my code that is used and only me, Zasha & Portnova is able to use it." I responded, raising my right index finger first. "And second, it's always the MI5 who is receiving the transmissions, meaning that it's someone inside the country who is doing it."

"Shit, you're right !" She got up from her seat, looking amazed by me before I decided to walk away from my chair to go outside, prepared to talk to the MI5 agent with the transmission paper in my hand.

"Excuse me, sir ?" I called him out as he was standing next to the door, probably awaiting for the order that he could come back inside.

"Yes ?" He turned around to look at me, getting away from the wall he was leaned on.

"Those tranmissions...." I started, showing him the paper I took. "Did you try to know about the person behind them ?" I asked him fully.

"Well, in fact, I also came here for that." He replied, delighting me before I let him go back inside Park's office to continue this conversation. "We know exactly who is doing all of this for us !"

"You have a name ?" Park questioned him, leaned against her desk, crossing her arms as the man took a file out of his jacket, handing it towards me.

"Yes, name's Remi Baker." He responded as I looked at the file he got out : a false act of birth and an picture from an security camera of Zasha on it, behind an reception desk, giving something to the person in charge of the reception.....they faked their identity to avoid Perseus suspicion. "In fact, this transmission didn't came by usual : they literally gave it to our receptionist at the Thames House." He added, giving me an info about how the picture was taken.

"But why they took that risk to do this instead of the usual way ?" I told him, curious about why Zasha will have done this like that.

"We don't know either but with that, we were able to know who was our mysterious R." He exclaimed, biting his upper part of his lips. "We just discovered that they are living not so far from the MI6's HQ : in the Kennington neighborhood in an apartment complex."

"Shit, that's means they established themselves well in London." Park admitted, looking outside and seeing the city. "What's the situation now ?"

"They have been put under heavy surveillance for the moment." He replied, sounding sure as me, I was panicking in the inside at fearing the worst for Zasha. "We're planning to move on them in the afternoon."

"Wait, we need to be there." I expressed almost loudy about it...I couldn't let Zasha go away like that from the MI5 and it was my only chance to see them. "I know that it must be weird for you but....they're my friend."

"Really ?" I nodded to him.

"Listen, it's been 3 years that Yirina wasn't able to see them and we can try to have them come without any harm." Park defended my opinion to him, making me proud of her again like always. "You have to let us be there." She added, putting her hands on the desk behind her. I could see the agent scratching the back of his head, not sure before he resigned himself.

"Okay, I will talk to my superiors about that." He then start to walk away slowly, waving at us before he left the office behind him, closing the door.

"Damnit." I whispered to myself before I decide to gave Park the file as she didn't really see it. "All this time, Zasha was just nearby." I added as Park looked at the file.

"Seems that they managed to create themselves a new identity." She exclaimed, surprised to see what was in the file. "They're pretty talented."

"Always has been like that." I smiled about it before I pointed to the file. "I know it's maybe dangerous but...maybe that Zasha have to come with us at West-Berlin." I suggested, causing Park to look at me with an raised eyebrow "Maybe it's too hard to ask but while they're with us, the MI6 can put an heavy protection on their brother for the moment."

"Interesting idea." Park put her hand on her chin, trying to think about if it was an good idea or not from me. "It could work." She removed herself from the desk, putting the file on it. "For now, we have to wait that the MI5 allow us to go talk to Zasha in person."

"And what do we do now ?" I raised my shoulders, looking around the office.

"Well, we can eat and....wait." She replied before she moved to take the cake on the plate in her hands. "Hungry ?" I nodded to her as she sit down again on her chair and me, doing the same before we start to eat the cake.

Now, we needed to wait for the MI5's approval to let two MI6 agents to have an talk with 'Remi Baker' aka Zasha Smirnov.....my best friend from my old life. We ate the cake very fast in almost 20 minutes as it was big enough only for 2 persons, meaning me & Park herself. Aftet we finished eating, we were still waiting in her office, trying to find something to do so to pass the time, we decided to try to find some informations in her old boxes and files to see if we didn't miss anything about Perseus, Stone or anyone else in case.

We didn't find anything on them, it was always something that we already know about them or something that wasn't very useful for us. 3 hours after the MI5 agent left us in Park's office, he finally came back to us with great news at the end of the afternoon : we were authorized to participate in the surveillance of Zasha at their apartment in the Kennington neighborhood and maybe to talk to them before he left us again. Once we were prepared, it was time for us to go.

We took Park's car and we decided to directly go to the address where Zasha was living and to be honest, it wasn't very far from Century House meaning that we could have just walk to get there instead of taking the car but it was too late to think about it as we were arrived at destination when I start to think of it.

"So, what's the plan ?" Park asked me as we were in our car, parked in an parking just in front of the apartment complex at the other side of the street, with me stressing in the inside while I was looking at the entrance.

"I think that I need to go alone for the moment." I responded, looking back at her, sure in my voice. "Zasha will maybe panick if they saw me & someone that they don't know." I added as I removed my M1911 from below my jacket.

"You're sure of it ?" I nodded to her, putting the M1911 in the glove box.

"I can tell you when it's good for you to come." I affirmed, pointing at the small device in our ears. It was Park's idea to take them for us in case, staying in contact.

"Okay." I breathed before I started to open the door until I felt Park's hand on my shoulder.

"Be aware, Yiri !" She advised me, looking at me with an grin.

"I will." I said, reciprocating the grin before I managed to get out of the car, ready to go face Zasha after all these years.

I took a deep breath as I started to walk to get to the apartment complex, not stressing at all...stressing a lot in reality....walking through the street before arriving in front of the entrance....trembling. I stayed like it for 2 minutes straight in front of it not moving at all before I finally decided to enter the complex, getting myself into the empty hallway. First thing to do was to go check the mailboxes next to the door. I was looking until I found where Zasha was living under their fake name : at the second floor.

Another deep breath later and I start to get up the stairs, fearing at each time I will make an step the moment where I will see Zasha in front of me and then, I finally arrived in front of their door before I knocked two times, feeling all the stress and discomfort in me. I started to think that maybe Zasha has changed in three years...maybe that they pissed at me because of Portnova's state, I think that it wasn't going to be an easy talk to handle.

I heard some footsteps inside and the door getting unlocked but the door didn't get open after the unlock, leaving me with the urge to open the door by myself slowly. I entered the apartment, seeing it as an modest one but simple to leave in.....until once I had my feets in it, I could feel the cannon of a gun touching the left side behind my neck.

"Who are you ?" It was Zasha themselves, not having apparently seeing my face as I slowly raise my hands.

"Z-....."

"Don't look at me !" They ordered, cutting me as I was going to look at them, turning my head slowly before getting back in front of me. "Tell me who you are ?" They asked again before I took another deep breath, closing my eyes, hearing the door getting closed

"Yirina Grigoriev....been looking for....Zasha Smirnov." I replied in a low voice as I started to feel the gun getting away from my neck, making me look at Zasha again....they didn't change by an lot in three years : still looking the same nice-looking person.

"Yi-......Yirina ?" They were looking stunned to see me and me too. "I....I....." They started to said before they decided to hug me with all their might and then, I do the same.

"It's good to see you too, Zasha." I affirmed before we broke the hug and we could see that we wanted it to last more longer.

"I...I thought you were dead." They looked at me with wide eyes, precisely at the scar where they touched it with their hands. "What happened ?"

"It's....it's a long story." I snorted, breathing hardly from talking about it now to Zasha as they were touching the scar I had, putting my hands on their arm. "You....you might want to sit down, maybe ?" I proposed and they nodded.

"Yeah, sure." They started to move to a seat as I do the same, getting seated in a couch as they sat on an different chair from me. "I can't believe it." They breathed at me, fully seated.

"I can say the same, Zed." I smiled, talking to them with their nickname. "The bullet....deflected....skull's harder than we thought." I taunted, pointing at my scar before I returned back to a normal face, trying to not be sad. "Bad things happened to me." I admitted, biting my lips to it.

"Explain, please." They were sounding willing to hear my story.

"Well, to start....Arash Kadivar....left me for dead in Turkey before I was captured by the CIA..." I started, sniffing to each cut, my voice trying to not crack. "I worked with the CIA to stop Greenlight but....again, I was left for dead by the man who did something bad on me..." I added, putting my hands on my face. "Zed....the CIA has brainwashed me."

"No...." They were more shocked to hear this from me, they were feeling stressed and uncomfortable.

"Because of them, I'm trying to recover all of my memories I have lost." I continued, still my face in my hands before I looked at Zasha, removing my hands. "I spent 3 years in an coma in Moscow."

"3 years ?" They whispered and I nodded.

"Because of the bullet that was supposed to kill me." I pointed at my scar again. "My memories are going well and to say, I feel more better to remember them." I exclaimed, almost trying to smile about it. "What...what about you ?" I asked them as I looked around them "Where's Dedov ?" I added before I could see their face decomposing themselves.

"Dedov....Dedov never actually left the USSR." They replied, sending an feeling of terror and shock in me, Dedov wasn't here with Zasha. "Perseus has, in fact, captured him and the letter of Dedov I had, it wasn't him at all." He continued, making me more sad on my face, holding back my own tears and Zasha too was doing the same. "It was just an trap organized by Perseus...it's been 3 years that I'm alone in here, trying to survive at my best."

"I'm...I'm...I'm sorry, Zasha." I breathed, feeling an tear on my face.

"I don't know how I didn't end my life when I learned that you were dead, that Dedov was captured by Perseus....and that Portnova was never able to come here." They said to me, in the most sadest voice I heard from them. "I've been....surviving alone....for 3 years, Yirina." They added before starting to cry slowly, not moving as I started to move next to their seat.

"We can change that." I told them, putting my hand on theirs. "I need to know : how & why did you start to help the MI5 & the MI6 ?" I asked them.

"Last year, I learned that Perseus was still around...and then, I decided to act on my own, making some travels in England and sending them encrypted transmissions for them to decrypt." They responded, giving me an answer on how they were able to have intels on Perseus. "The first two years....I wasn't able to do an thing."

"Listen, now, I'm working with the MI6 since some weeks." I started, wanting to reassure them. "I've been given an opportunity to redeem myself for what I did." I continued, reflecting to my personal goal I had since I learned the truth on that stretcher. "And for that....I need you to come with me to work with the MI6."

"I...I don't know, Yirina." They said, getting up from their seat to move next to an dresser where an single picture were on : a group picture with....me, them, Dedov, Portnova and even Beans. "I'm maybe fighting Perseus by helping the british but in the inside...."

"I know..." I started again, putting my hand on their shoulder. "I know where's Portnova : still in Moscow." They looked back at me with wide eyes, surprised. "I know that you maybe don't want to go back to Russia but really, I need you."

"You...you need me ?" I nodded to them.

"Zed, you're my friend, I promised to protect you and to fullfill that promise, I need you to stay with me." I fully answered, adding to my nod to them as I looked at the picture. "I promised to protect you all and it's time for me to do it."

"Do you think we can do it ?" They asked and I nodded.

"We are going to do it." I affirmed to them as I could see an smile on their face as an sign of approval. "I wanted to know : did you...did you proposed to Portnova ?" At this moment, they opened an drawer from the dresser, taking an ring with them, meaning an no for me.

"I couldn't do it because I was still shocked by the files we have decrypted." They showed me the ring from up close.

"I think that you need to take it, you might need it." I tapped on their shoulder as an best friend, with an smile on my face. "You want to come ?" They nodded to me.

"If I can see Portnova again....and maybe Dedov." They snorted, looking at the group picture before taking it from it's framing, wanting to take it with them. "We need that for us."

"Yeah." I breathed, approving their idea. "I need you to take everything you want to take and also if you had that....intels about Perseus operations."

"Of course, I will, Yirina." They took a deep breath before they started to walk away to get to another room, getting their things ready. In me, I was feeling so good about having seen Zasha back but also sad about learning of Dedov disappearance. 5 minutes after they left, they came back with an big bags in hands. "Where are we going ?"

"We....well, the team I'm working with has an safehouse....in West-Berlin." I answered, making them look at me with wide eyes. "Yeah, I know, I hate the place too." I added, seeing them rolling their eyes about it.

"Anyway, I know I will be safe." They affirmed before they took their apartment keys in hand from the table just next to them. "Let's go then." They started to walk to the door, leaving the apartment with me behind them.

"Don't worry, I'm staying with you all the time." I reassured them as they were locking the place down.

"Tell me, Yirina." They started as they were finishing to lock the door from outside before they looked with an curious look on their face, knowing that it could be either an serious question or an funny one. "Is the MI6 making a lot of coffee ?" They asked, making me laugh, knowing their love for the coffee.

"Of course, Zed !" I continued to laugh about it as I make some best friends taps on their shoulders as they were also laughing too. I was so happy for them to have an simple laugh just after what I learned and they needed it and me too.....

"I have someone that does them very well !"

[fuckingfinwions]

Anaire first heard about her family’s fracture from the potter.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true,. She heard about Feanor’s death the same day as everyone else, it was the only thing anyone was talking about.

She didn’t attend the funeral, as she felt no sorrow at his death, but her cook brought the news. Apparently, “the king’s reclusive brother” had been at the funeral, his first formal appearance since Feanor took the throne. Maedhros’s coronation was two days later, and Anaire scrambled to get an invitation. He would be addressing the whole city afterwards, a great speech in the town square, but she had no interest in that. What she cared about was the ceremony for the council, in front of a few hundred nobles. Unless Maedhros wished to pretend Nolofinwe was dead, her husband would have to formally cede his claim the throne. She would see him, hear his voice for the first time in decades.

Still, Anaire was cautious. Argon, for all he wished to meet his father and siblings, was not allowed to attend. She sent him out of the city entirely, to a cousin of her mother who lived halfway up the Pelori. Though none but her and Nolofinwe knew the truth, the resemblance would be unmistakable if they were in the same room. Anaire herself dressed finely but not extravagantly, in hopes of blending into the crowd, and promised herself that she would not cry out no matter what horrors she saw.

After all that effort, she only saw Nolofinwe for less than half an hour, across a crowded room. Anaire recognized the robes he wore; the had been sewn for Aredhel’s first begetting day. She supposed they had been in storage all this time, too fine for a servant but too festooned with his emblem and Finwe’s for anyone else to wear. He stepped forward, and she held her breath, not wanting to miss a word out of her husband’s lips - and hoping, perhaps, that he’d finally denounce his tormentor.

But Nolofinwe only said “I, Nolofinwe Arakano, son of Finwe Noldoran, acknowledge Maitimo Neylafinwe as the rightful King of the Noldor. King Nelyafinwe inherits his right from King Curufinwe, who inherited it from King Finwe the Wise. Myself and my house have no claim on the throne, nor shall we attempt to usurp the proper order.”

Nolofinwe left the stage, and rather than returning to his seat, seemed to be walking out the hall entirely. Anarie wondered if it could really be so simple. Was this all Maedhros demanded? Could she have her family back under one roof tonight, as long as they avoided politics for the rest of their days? She gathered her purse and started to stand up, ready to follow her husband.

Nolofinwe saw her though, and shook his head sadly. He glanced towards the doorway ahead of him, and Anaire saw that it was flanked by royal guards, one of whom already was unclipping something from his belt. Nolofinwe mouthed “Them, not me,” and went through the door, the guard reaching for his wrists and pulling him around the corner.

Anaire sat through the rest of the coronation without paying it much attention. If she paid too much attention to Maedhros, she would think about how he could’ve freed her family and had not; murderously glaring at the new king would draw suspicion. Instead she thought about Nolofinwe’s words. Presumably he was referring to their children? Had he somehow traded their freedom for his own? Or were they still captive, and he was begging her to save her efforts for them?

Anaire thought on this over the next week. She moved back into the house in the city center, as it was the only place her family would know to look for her, rather than the smaller home on the outskirts she shared with Argon. She waited for an piece of news or gossip, but there was no more about the secondary royal family than there had ever been. There were rumors about the sons of Feanor, that King Maedhros had stripped all of them from rank and then immediately given them titles. But the titles seemed to be fewer than he had brothers, rather than more as she would expect if Nolofinwe had bought status for their children.

So eventually, Anaire went to the pottery shop on the far side of town. The owner of the shop knew Aredhel was Anaire’s daughter, but had flatly refused to so much as let them go to dinner together, for fear of Feanor’s anger.

“She’s not apprenticing with me anymore. Said King Maedhros didn’t want her in the city, so she was going to Valmar. Apparently some Vanya named Elenwe was going to take her in. I don’t know why; there are a dozen better potters in the city, and someone who can clean a house can’t be hard to find either.”

The potter looked at Anaire to see how she took the news. She had never asked in detail why her student hated the palace so, but it hadn’t been hard to guess, sitting gingerly on her return and with rope marks when she rolled up her sleeves and bite marks when she tied back her hair. The potter hoped that this Elenwe would be kinder, but she very much expected Aredhel would have more of the same, and had no intention of discussing it with Aredhel’s mother.

However, Anaire was practically beaming. “Elenwe of the Vanyar? Well, then I simply must visit her, it’s been too long since I last traveled west.”

Anaire managed to compose herself for long enough to walk home, but she was overjoyed. Elenwe was Turgon’s wife, and Anaire had met her a few times. (Never with Turgon present, his absences form the city were far too sporadic for her to plan around.) Elenwe would look after Aredhel, even if there was no useful place for her in the household. And if Aredhel had mentioned Elenwe, that meant she was hoping Anaire would find her, that she thought it was safe to do so.

(Perhaps, even, there would be more of Anaire’s children there. Turgon for his wife and Fingon to lead the way on their journey. She had not seen either of them since they were children.)

- Anaire tells Argon it’s safe to come down from the hills

- They wait a month in case Maedhros is having Aredhel’s route watched

- Argon and Anaire travel to Valmar

- Introductions! Aredhel and Elenwe recognize Anaire. Anaire can kind of recognize Turgon.

- Argon is a surprise to everybody. Aredhel had relayed the “guess what we have another kid” message from Anaire to Nolo, but it was all couched in metaphor so Feanor couldn’t find out. “Tell your father I miss him very much, and the seasons seem to fly by without him to mark them even as the years drag on. It seems only yesterday it was sunny June, but now it’s dreary November and winter will be cold alone.” June and November were the months Anaire had bad morning sickness with Turgon and Fingon.

- Aredhel assumed this was some sort of code, but she’s not looking for more info about her family’s sex lives than she’s forced to know.

- Idril is around 5 or so years old. Argon is like sixteen. (using equivalent human ages)

- After initial introductions, Elenwe takes Idril to play in another room, so that the long lost families can reconnect

“So, how much does Argon know?” Turgon said to Anaire, who is apparently his mom?

“I’ve discussed the appropriate things for someone his age.”

Aredhel: “You realize that neither of us knows what that means right?”

Turgon nodded. “Elenwe and I decided that she would make all decisions about discussing sex, sexual development, and healthy relationships with Idril. Partially because I didn’t expect to see my daughter often, but also because my understanding of age appropriate information is very, very lacking.”

Argon: “I know that you two, and Dad and Fingon, were forced to work in the palace and not allowed to leave. I also know that you were - hurt - and that some of the ways you were corruptions of the marriage act.”

Aredhel: “Most of the ways we were hurt were sexual. And the groping wasn’t actually painful, but I sure as fuck didn’t want it.”

Argon: “I was being circumspect for your sake. I know what sex is, and you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a little kid.”

Aredhel looked at Anaire, who nodded in permission.

“I assume your sex ed came from a different direction than mine did. ‘You know that thing the King does to Dad? If it’s between a man and woman rather than two men, babies can happen! Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it feels painful, and sometimes how good it feels is just another way you’re being twisted up to serve them. Also, the king started doing it to your big brother, so you’re being sent away from your family in hopes that this horrible sex thing will happen to you less.’ But I guess it worked, in that the potter at least was able to explain how women prevent babies in case any of them got the idea to try.”

Anaire was shocked. “I’ve never heard you mention this before. That was why you were apprenticed?”

Ardehel: “Yeah, Dad said I shouldn’t talk about sex with anyone outside the palace. They’d be horrified and try to do something, but they wouldn’t be able to actually help. Then King Feanor would be mad we told, and take his temper out on us, and honestly the difference between him not caring if we enjoyed sex and him trying to make it hurt was pretty fucking big. So I kept quiet. It seemed fair to tell you the broad strokes of what was happening to your kids and husband, but knowing details wouldn’t help.”

Anaire: “I wouldn’t cal the fact that you were in danger of being raped at age twelve a detail.”

Turgon: “She wasn’t. None of us were actually, Feanor didn’t keep very close track of us but dd ask Dad when our begetting days were, and get around to using us for the first time about a month after we came of age. I think Fingon had it worse honestly, he didn’t see it coming.”

Argon: “What do you mean, did he not know Feanor raped people?”

Turgon: “We knew he raped Dad, we walked in on them often enough in the middle of our chores. But he mostly ignored us when we were kids, other than making sure we were around to threaten Dad with. None of us expected that to change.”

Aredhel: “But once Feanor started paying attention, he didn’t forget. Fingon told me later that Feanor used his mouth ten times in that first month.”

Argon: “Wait, Feanor used his mouth - do you mean Feanor kissed Fingon?”

Turgon: “No, Feanor didn’t go in for the fake romance. He made had Fingon suck his cock, and came in it rather than in his ass. Which is generally less painful than unprepared anal sex at least.”

Anaire: “And Fingon and your father are still stuck there? That’s terrible!”

Aredhel shrugged. “I mean, Feanor’s dead, and now there’s only two people allowed to use them instead of eight. It’s better than it was.”

Turgon nodded. “Maedhros is one of the better ones who could have ended up in charge. He goes for his own pleasure rather than pain or humiliation, and he prefers sex in bedrooms - in beds, even.”

Argon, who has not learned nearly enough tact yet: “As opposed to-”

Turgon: “Busy hallways. Up against the wall. Down in the dirt in the stable-yard - or in the woods. Inside a moving carriage. In the middle of the room with nothing to brace yourself on, but not allowed to even fall to your knees.”

Argon: “Is it hard to stay upright during sex?”

Anaire: “Yes, and you don’t need more details.”

Aredhel: “Yeah, he presumably won’t be punished for not knowing them. So Argon, what do you do?”

Argon: “I don’t have a particular craft that calls to me, so I’m still doing general studies.”

Aredhel: “Which is what? I think some of the normal servant kids had education past age ten, but not most of them. Elves are smart enough that you can be literate and know the basics of history and all the math that’s practical by then.”

[xanderwithanx]

Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.

(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)

I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)

Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.

Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!

I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.

On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!

They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.

I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.

Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.

I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.

Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.

After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.

Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.

I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.

Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.

The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.

I'm SO excited to get started!!

I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!

Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.

Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.

Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.

Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!

I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.

We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.

I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.

Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.

It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."

sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/

(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)

I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.

I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!

Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.

I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.

The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 7/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary:  Frustrated by his physical condition and his lack of connection to the Eye, Jon asks Martin to visit Hill Top Road with him.

***

Chapter 7 of post-canon fix-it is up!

Read on AO3 at link above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters here.

***

Over the next few days, Jon continued to struggle. He remained insistent on going into the Institute every day, but even with Martin’s encouragement he had trouble finishing entire meals.

“It’s all right,” Martin told him more than once. “I know you’re trying. Just keep trying.”

Jon would nod. If they were at work, he would catch Martin’s hand between his, just below the edge of his desk, and Martin would quietly tell him about his morning. At home, he would lie back on the couch with his head in Martin’s lap. Martin would come up with something to talk about, unrelated to the entities or the archives or anything that had happened to them. He started saving up topics that occurred to him just so he could have them on hand: a movie he remembered, a funny reddit post, a weird bug he found in the stacks. It wasn’t like Jon really cared; he watched Martin talk more than he listened, anyway. He seemed contented, and that was what mattered. Sometimes he was able to eat more afterward, if he didn’t fall asleep.

***

“Are there still more interviews to be done?” Jon asked Martin one morning, late that week, as they were walking to the office.

“I don’t know,” Martin answered. “I imagine there are. I don’t think Tim’s followed up with any since the ones we did. And I think Sasha’s been around the office the whole time.”

Jon nodded.

“Wait.” Martin reached out a hand to stop him; they faced each other on the pavement. “You're not considering doing them, are you?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to do something different.” Jon took Martin by the elbow and urged him to keep walking. Martin sighed, but did as he wanted.

“Is it—” Martin measured his tone very carefully and started over. “Is it because what you’re doing isn’t working?”

The Eye, you mean?” Jon looked up at Martin. “No, that’s not why.”

“But also, it isn’t working. Right? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jon confirmed. “But that really isn’t it. I’ve… I’ve run out of information. I’m just going further and further back, through anything describing events and people involved in all of it, and it’s pointless. There was nothing here before we came. Nothing real.”

“Yeah?” Martin asked, recalling that he had done most of the talking between them that week. “I assume you’ve looked into—well, let’s start with Jonah Magnus. What was his deal?”

Jon shrugged. “Him, Robert Smirke, Mordechai Lukas—I’ve looked into all of them. They all existed, they were obsessed with the same ideas and concepts, perhaps because of the pull from our dimension… but there was nothing on the other side of those ideas. Not here.”

“I see.” Martin nodded. “And you think the interviews will give you more?”

“Maybe. It’s the only evidence we’ve had of real connections with individuals. You met Oliver Banks. Tim’s discussions with his police contacts—it was Callum Brodie, by the way. They won’t officially release his name, but it was easy enough to find on social media.”

“So that’s what you want to do, then—look for avatars?”

“Yes,” Jon answered. “They pose the greatest threat, and I think they require the most—advancement in their patrons.”

Martin considered. “You’ll let me go with you?”

“I won’t even pretend I could manage alone right now,” Jon said. “I could go with Tim, I suppose, but he wouldn’t go if you said no. That means it’s your decision.”

“Jon.” They were coming upon the Institute now, and Martin stopped him one more time. “Can I ask—if you just let go of all this—what would happen?”

“What do you mean? Happen how?”

“To you. What would happen to you? Would you get better? Would you get worse? I know you don’t know, but—what does it feel like?”

Jon considered. “You’re right, I don’t know. But… it also doesn’t matter. I can’t just let go. I need to do what I can to fix it, whatever that might be. Don’t ask me to let it go. Please.”

“All right.” Martin had already assumed the answer would be something like that. “Then we do the interviews.”

“Thank you,” Jon said quietly, as Martin put his arm around him before walking into the building.

***

Martin asked Sasha if they could do the interviews. She seemed surprised, but was agreeable enough, probably because Martin was the one doing the asking—it provided an implicit indication that Jon was feeling well enough to go, and Martin felt a bit like he had lied to her just by asking. Tim was a little more skeptical when Martin asked him for the contact forms. He ignored Martin and addressed Jon directly across the office.

“You know, Martin and I could still go.”

“No,” Jon said. “It’s too—it’s better if I’m there.”

“You sure?” Tim tried again. “Look, I don’t really know what the issue is, but if you’re worried about Martin, don’t be. Frankly, he’s doing much better than you are, and we’ve—”

“That’s not it. I just want to be there myself.”

Now Tim looked back at Martin and raised an eyebrow, and Martin shrugged.

“All right then,” Tim said, and reached for a drawer on his desk. “There’s a couple that will bring you down toward Crawley, if I remember, and a couple more that are spread out up north.”

“Can I look at them?” Jon said. “I’d like to see what they’re regarding.”

“Knock yourself out,” Tim said, handing them to Martin.

There were no names they recognized, and Jon didn’t think any of them looked particularly promising, but Martin was able to get ahold of two of them and set up appointments for that afternoon. The discussions were frustrating for everyone involved. For one thing, Jon hadn’t quite come to terms with the fact that things went very differently when people weren’t compelled to tell their stories, and Martin had to keep reminding him to be patient. For the same reason, it was hard to tell what was what; one of the stories might have been legitimately Corruption-related, but it could have also been a very bad case of health code violations combined with an active imagination.

“How did you know before if they were real or not?” Martin asked, as they were headed back on the train. “Like, in the beginning?”

Jon leaned back in the seat next to him with his eyes closed. “Well, when they were written down, there was the fact that I couldn’t record them except on the—on the tapes.”

“Right.” Martin frowned. “Obviously we’re not doing that again, but maybe we could try recording on our phones or something and seeing if it works?”

Jon gave a slight nod of his head. “Maybe. We don’t know if it will be the same, though. We don’t really know why that was. Maybe it was all Web, from the beginning.”

“True.” Martin turned it over some more. “Well, when you were talking to people directly how did you know?”

“I just did,” Jon sighed. “I didn’t think of it as anything more than a feeling until later.”

“And you couldn’t tell today?”

“No. Not even a hint.” Martin was relieved to hear it, although he opted not to share that with Jon.

They rode in silence for a while. Martin was surprised to see Jon had not fallen asleep when he checked on him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Jon opened his eyes and turned to Martin, then to the back of the seat in front of him. Martin prompted him again.

“Jon? What are you thinking?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me.”

“What?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon repeated.

“Why?”

“I need to know if I can feel anything there.”

“Why there?”

“When we came here—” Jon stopped and thought for a moment. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s where the separation—the barrier between us and them—would be the weakest.”

“Then it sounds like we shouldn’t go there.” Martin turned in his seat, and Jon finally looked at him. “It kind of seems we should actively avoid going there. Like, ever.”

Jon took Martin’s hand in his. “I just need to know. You—you could be right. About the Eye. Maybe it’s not coming back for me. Maybe it’s done with me.”

Martin breathed out slowly, a careful, measured exhalation. “And what if it is done with you?”

“Then…” Jon paused again. “Then I need to accept it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

A little bit of life came back into his voice. “Then it isn’t, and like I’ve been saying, it’s better to know and get on with it.”

Martin wasn’t sure he agreed, but he kept silent.

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon entreated him again. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Martin exclaimed loudly, and a woman two seats up across the aisle looked back at them. “Oh—sorry. Sorry.”

He waited until she had smiled and turned back to try again, more quietly. “Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yes. In the morning, first thing. Tell Sasha we have therapy.”

“If we go…” Martin sighed. “If we go and you don’t find what you’re looking for, will you—will you try to let it go? I don’t mean everything, we can talk to Tim and Sasha, we can do whatever you want, just—will you try to live without it?”

Jon considered, a troubled look in his eyes.

“I’m not asking for a promise, Jon—I don’t want one. I’m just asking what you’ll do.”

Jon took a deep breath. “I’d like to try. I think I would try.”

“All right.” Jon had won. Martin squeezed his hand, more to reassure himself than anything. “I’ll go with you. Tomorrow morning. I’ll tell them when we get back.”

“Thank you.”

Then next time Martin checked on him, Jon had fallen asleep.

***

Jon’s alarm went off the next morning right around sunrise, before Martin’s usual waking time. Martin was surprised by how much energy he seemed to have; he wanted it to be because he was feeling better, but he suspected Jon was running on fumes and willpower.

“Not going to shower first?” he asked, when Jon stepped out of bed and immediately went to the closet.

“No,” Jon answered. “I’d like to leave as soon as we can.”

“Well, you are going to have breakfast,” Martin grumbled, sitting up and trying to blink away the sleep.

“Martin—”

“That’s not debatable. I couldn’t get you to eat anything last night.” They had ended up taking a cab back from the train station, and Martin had worried for a moment that he was going to have to carry Jon up the stairs. “Use some of that energy to—go pour yourself some cereal or something.”

“Fine.” Jon started to leave the bedroom. “Do you want anything?”

“Nope.” Martin groaned as he started to stand up.

“Well, if I have to, then you should—”

“I ate dinner last night. And part of someone else’s dinner that I didn’t want to go to waste. And it is way too early right now, and—”

“Fine. I get it. I’m going.”

After Martin was dressed, he joined Jon to find him scraping at the bottom of a bowl of cereal.

“How full was that?” he asked, suspicious.

“Overflowing.” Jon regarded him from his seat on the couch.

“Really?”

“No. I don’t know, normal?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Martin sighed. “I’m still really worried, ok?”

Jon softened his gaze. “No, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m nervous. I just want to get this done.” He put one last spoonful into his mouth, and it made chewing and swallowing look extremely distasteful. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Martin said. “Let’s go.”

The train ride out was long, and they had to switch to a bus line in Oxford. They barely spoke, but it wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable silence. Part of it was probably the early hour, although Jon seemed more awake and alert than Martin had seen him in days. He was probably anxious about what they would find; Martin was, at least, so it was easy to imagine Jon was feeling the same.

When they arrived, they stood together, side by side, staring at the front door. The house that occupied the property was the same as he had imagined it from when the other archive staff had visited it before the apocalypse. Apparently built as student housing, no one had ever actually moved in. The front porch was covered in cobwebs. Martin broke the silence they had maintained during the walk from the bus station.

“I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” said Jon.

“Yes, but—I mean I don’t want to go in.”

“I understand. You can wait for me out here.”

“No, that—” Martin looked down at Jon, who continued to stare at the house. “I don’t want us to go in. Either of us.”

They let the silence take over again. It went on long enough that Martin wondered if they could just stay on the front lawn indefinitely, if he didn’t say anything; it seemed like it might be the most reasonable option. Unfortunately, Jon did eventually speak again.

“Martin, I really do understand if you—”

“No. If you’re going in, I’m—I’m going too.”

“I am sorry.” Jon started to step toward the house, but Martin caught him by the arm.

“Wait. Where is—where is Annabelle? Where has she been?”

“What?” Jon asked, turning to look at him.

“I know we haven’t talked about it, and maybe this is a bad time to bring it up—but she came here with us, didn’t she? To this dimension.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where would she go, if not—if not here? I mean, even without what you said about it—just look at it. It’s got to be crawling with spiders.”

Jon furrowed his brow before responding. “She could be here. It’s possible.”

Martin’s pulse quickened. “Well then—wouldn’t we want to not be here? Isn’t that a good reason to stay out?”

“I’m not concerned.” Jon shrugged, leaving Martin in disbelief.

“Can I ask why not?”

“It’s just a theory, but—” Jon walked a few paces and sat on the front step. “I think—I think the entities are getting stronger, regaining their power, in the order that the fears evolved and separated from one another. The dates I’ve pieced together from Sasha’s notes, the avatars—”

“What?” Martin was dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Right. When I—after I killed Jonah, there was a, um…”

“A statement?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there was.” Martin shook his head and moved to take a seat next to Jon.

“I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“It’s all right.” It still hurt every time he remembered Jon had gone up to the tower without him, and Jon knew it. “Go on.”

“They were born in our dimension. They grew there, as one being at first. Then, as animals and humanity developed and changed, and their fears became more specific, more distinct, so did the entities themselves. The Hunt, the End, the Dark—they were first.”

“I see.” Martin thought. “And we’ve seen Oliver Banks and now Callum Brodie. What about—”

“I suspect we want to avoid anything having to do with Daisy, if we can.”

Martin’s eyes unintentionally drifted to the scar that still stood out vividly on Jon’s throat before he caught himself. “And where does the Eye fit in?”

“Soon. If I’m right.”

“Ok.” Martin now realized there had been a deeper layer to Jon’s recent desperation. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I honestly thought it wasn’t important. But now—you brought up Annabelle, and—”

“Right. So where does the Web fit into this theory?”

Jon considered. “If I’m right—if I’m right—we have time. If she is here, she’s likely much weaker than I am. She would have more to fear from us than the other way around.”

Martin sighed. “Any chance we can just burn the place?”

“Tempting.” Jon grinned just enough for Martin to see it. “In the long run, though—”

“Yeah, yeah—it would probably just make things worse.”

“Shall we?” Jon asked, starting to rise to his feet.

“If you have to.”

“I do.”

The front door gave way at a light touch; the knob and deadbolt were completely useless. It seemed like the sort of place that had been broken into so many times that the owners had simply stopped replacing them. The inside of the house was at least as covered with webs and dust as the front porch.

“Well,” Martin said, “I hate this.”

“I don’t love it.” Jon reflexively reached for Martin’s hand. “Come on.”

They walked further into the depths of the house, which was quite large. There were multiple small rooms, which made sense for student housing, and a larger sitting room; it looked like there was a kitchen in the very back. He was so busy looking up to make sure he didn’t accidentally walk into anything, that he jumped about a foot when Jon stomped his heel against the floor.

“Jon, why would you—”

“Spider,” Jon said.

“Oh. Carry on, then.”

“Remember when you used to get upset with me for—”

“Don’t.”

Jon squeezed his hand, and Martin had the odd feeling that he was somehow more comfortable now than he had been for a while. They looked around them from what appeared to be roughly the middle of the floorplan.

“Should we go upstairs, or—”

“Look,” Jon cut him off, and pointed to the floor. Beneath the dirt and footprints of previous trespassers, Martin could see an unmistakable pattern in the wood stain that ran across multiple boards, beyond the edge of the room they were currently in. It gave the appearance of a long, dark, jagged crack. He may not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking for it, but he couldn’t see anything else now.

“Do you think that’s—where it is?” Martin asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jon started to pull Martin toward it, but Martin stayed where he was.

“Do you really have to stand right on it?”

“Just give me a moment.” Jon slipped his hand out of Martin’s before he had a chance to protest. Martin held his breath and gave him five seconds, then ten seconds.

“Anything?”

“Wait.”

Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. He was counting each of them.

“Jon—”

“Wait. Please.” Jon was growing tenser, more anxious.

A minute.

“Jon, I don’t—”

“I told you to wait.” Jon snapped at him this time.

The momentary sting was quickly replaced by concern; that just wasn’t like Jon. He bit his lip, unsure what to do. If he insisted on interrupting him, tried to convince him to leave, Jon might not feel like he really gave it enough of a chance—or worse, he might blame Martin for the failed attempt to find whatever power he was seeking. He’d be too kind to say anything, of course, but they would both know.

He decided to continue waiting, as long as he could make himself. He pressed his hand to his mouth as a reminder. The house was so quiet; it occurred to him he should have been able to hear sounds from outside, but something about the place seemed to be swallowing them up before they could reach them.

In the stunted silence, Martin had the sudden feeling they were not alone.

Before he could make up his mind to disrupt him again, Jon spoke.

“There’s nothing,” he said meekly.

“What?” Martin asked.

“There’s nothing,” Jon said again. “I don’t feel anything. I really thought—” He cut himself off, his expression a mix of loss and confusion and sadness, and Martin was filled with a deep, distressing pity for him.

“Hey,” he said, crossing to Jon, forgetting his trepidation toward the mark on the floor. It seemed meaningless now, nothing more than an ugly accident at the lumber factory. He pulled Jon into his arms. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure it out.”

Jon didn’t answer, but he allowed Martin to hold him, eventually letting the weight of his head fall against Martin’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said quietly.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Martin answered. “Part of me is relieved, I’ll admit, but I don’t want you to be miserable, Jon. Honestly, I don’t. We’ll do whatever we need to do to help make this better, ok?”

Jon fell silent again, and in that silence Martin remembered the feeling he’d had just before Jon had spoken.

“Jon—can we get out of here? Sit outside? We can talk there. On the porch, even. I just have this feeling like—like we’re being watched.”

“What?” Jon pulled away enough to look up at his face.

“Not like—watched, I don’t think that even feels like anything. I just mean—like, regular being watched. If that’s a thing.”

Jon concentrated for a moment, but quickly gave up. “All right. We can go.”

Martin felt a second wave of relief wash over him. It’s over, he thought to himself, at least for the time being. He released Jon from his grasp, turning him gently toward the door—the faster they could get outside, back to the fresh air, the better for both of them.

A few steps, though, and Jon stumbled. Martin, instinctively reaching to support him, assumed at first that he had stepped wrong or tripped over something—but that wasn’t right. Jon was heavy in his arms, and Martin nearly fell himself trying to stop Jon from hitting the ground.

Ok. Martin collected his thoughts as quickly as possible as he gently set Jon down. He’s fainted. That wasn’t great, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given how he had been feeling and his inability to eat. I just need to give him a minute and he’ll come around.

That wasn’t right either, though, Martin quickly realized, because Jon had stopped breathing.

Shit, shit, shit. He had taken a CPR class many years ago, but he hadn’t thought about it in almost as long. What were the steps? He knew Jon wasn’t choking, and he remembered something about checking for a pulse, although he didn’t remember if you were supposed to do that right away or—

Do something.

He reached for Jon’s neck, pressing two fingers against his carotid artery. He waited.

I’m doing it wrong.

He readjusted. Still nothing.

“Shit.” Panic started to well up inside him again. Breaths? Chest compressions?

Call for help.

He pulled out his phone and started to dial, but quickly realized he had no reception. He held it up, moving it around, even standing again to see if he could get a signal, but no matter where he moved he couldn’t get a single bar of service. He thought about going outside to try there, but couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Jon alone in this place.

Chest compressions.

He knelt next to Jon, placing one hand on top of the other the way he thought he remembered. He pressed the heel of his palm against Jon’s sternum, just inches away from the scar he had put there only months ago.

Don’t.

The scar where he had driven a knife through muscle and maybe bone—he didn’t think it was supposed to be so easy to do that, but the cracking sound—

Don’t, not now.

—the cracking sound and then suddenly it had been so much easier, the knife went in and there was that single gasp of pain, and then he’d pulled the knife out because he couldn’t stand to leave it in, but all the blood came with it—

I killed him.

Jon was dying. The tape unspooled; the tower crumbled around them, and Martin held on. Jon lay dead in his arms as the world disappeared around them, and he held on. He held on for so long.

God, it hurts.

“Martin—”

I’m so sorry.

“Martin, let go.”

Martin opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His pulse was racing.

“Martin.”

He was sitting on the floor with Jon—Jon needed him to let go. He did, and Jon immediately took a deep breath. Martin still couldn’t quite remember where they were.

“You were dead.”

“No,” Jon answered, still breathing hard. “No, I just blacked out. I think I’m ok.”

“No. I killed you. There was—there was the knife—where did it—”

Jon, understanding, reached for Martin’s face. “Look at me. We’re at Hill Top Road. We came here together.”

“What?” Martin tried to remember, and eventually the details of their current situation came back to him. He looked around at the house. Jon was so pale. “Oh god. Jon, are you all right?”

“I think so. I think I just blacked out.”

“You weren’t breathing. I swear you weren’t breathing, and I couldn’t find a pulse—”

“Are you sure? Or were you…”

“I—I think so?” Although now that he thought about it, Martin realized he couldn’t be completely sure. “Maybe?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m—I’m ok now. I’m breathing.”

Martin looked around again. He hated this place. “Let’s leave. Please. Right now.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

It was harder to help Jon to his feet than either of them expected. His energy from earlier in the day had vanished almost entirely, and he leaned hard against Martin as they walked toward the door. The porch, which had previously seemed as dreadful as the house, now felt like a sanctuary as the sun streamed onto it through the support columns. It was almost unbelievable that nothing stopped them from reaching it, and Martin collapsed onto the wooden deck as soon as they did.

He made sure Jon had a relatively comfortable spot to lie, and then dragged himself to the steps, pulling his knees into his chest and blocking the light from his eyes with one arm. He stayed like that until he’d relaxed enough to reach into his pocket for his phone again. He had a little reception out here, at least. He scrolled through his contacts until he’d pulled up Sasha’s number.

“Hi Martin,” she answered cheerily. “Everything going all right?”

“Sasha, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Listen, I’m sorry to do this—”

“Martin, I can barely hear you. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah—it is. Mostly.” He was too miserable to think up an actual lie. “Jon’s not feeling well today. I think—I think we’ll need the whole day off.”

“Did you say—is Jon ok?”

“He’s—” He looked at Jon where he lay in a patch of sunlight, eyes closed, taking shallow breaths. “He’s—I don’t know. He’s not great.”

“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need anything?”

“No. We’ll manage.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but he had no idea what kind of help he could even ask for.

“You’re breaking up, but—please keep me updated? I’ll check in later.”

“All right.”

Martin ended the call.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Wobbly Interview: Going for Happy

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Thurston Moore Ensemble/Negativland band member Jon Leidecker has been releasing electronic music under the moniker Wobbly for over two decades now. In Chicago experimental label Hausu Mountain, he seems to have found kindred spirits, matching his far out idiosyncrasies. 2019′s Monitress and its follow-up, Popular Monitress, which came out earlier this month, are albums about and by machines, as Leidecker ran his music into pitch trackers and synth apps on his phones and tablets, embracing the errors and randomness that were produced along the way. While the source material on Monitress was mostly improvised, the songs on Popular Monitress are more structured and composed, resulting in songs like “Authenticated Krell”, which follows a comparatively clean synth arpeggio before being enveloped by texture, or “Lent Foot”, where the various instruments trail each other. It’s remarkable just how familiar certain sounds are even if not traditionally instrumental ones, like the typewriter clacks of “Illiac Ergodos 7!” or the zooming notes of the thumping title track. Blurring the lines between what’s instrument and what’s not, and even further, what’s composed music and what’s not, Popular Monitress is a defining statement for both Leidecker and Hausu.

I was able to ask Leidecker about various songs on the album and their inspirations. Read his answers below!

Since I Left You: You chose to write more structured songs this time around before running them through the pitch tracker. Do those nuggets of recognizable structures make the final product all the more disorienting?

Jon Leidecker: Hopefully! On both albums, the main thing is keeping the focus on just how live those pitch trackers are. It’s Monitress as long as you can hear how they’re listening. For years, it was strictly a piece for live performance--I needed to be improvising myself, and able to respond instantly, to really underline just how spontaneous the machine responses are. So the first record tried to keep more of that sense of flow. Large stretches of it are simply baked down from stereo recordings of concerts & radio performances of it. Overdubbing more layers of trackers seemed legal, as long all the voices were following that one original sound.

Of course, when you play a tune, something composed or even quantized, it definitely becomes easier to hear what they’re doing. The exact same code running on each phone will respond in very different ways to the same source audio, and you get a chorus of individual voices. They play a lot of wrong notes, but oddly, if you feed the trackers lots of consonant, major chords, it stops being dissonance, and you can tell they’re going for happy. You hear these weird things, trying to sing in unison, and..the result is just pure delight. Weirdly emotional! What’s a mistake? What’s music?

SILY: How did you come up with the song titles? For instance, is there anything particularly Appalachian about "Appalachian Gendy"?

JL: They’re mostly mashed up references to landmark works in the field of generative & algorithmic composition, from the 50’s up to the early 90’s. The recent push of stories on AI musical tools seems to be about automation and labor-saving, but the field of how to develop tools for more creative ends goes back all the way to Bebe and Louis Barron going to the Macy Conferences on Cybernetics and designing their first self-oscillating feedback circuit.

So while my tracks aren’t really in the musical style of the works they reference--something like  “Appalachian Gendy”, which sprung up a fantasy Spiegel/Xenakis tribute, got paired to that stompdown track, and once it did, I added a solo on iGendyn.

SILY: To what extent is your music here inspired by the inner workings of the brain?

JL: Once you get a grip on just how simply neurons and synapses interact, how reassuringly physical thinking is, the electronic music I’ve always found most inspiring often involve feedback systems, self-playing devices, generative music, things that learn rather than settle. Music that helps you model thought. The whole East Coast/West Coast 60’s divide in synth design boiled down to Moog reducing your options until you could easily dial in what you already know you want, and Buchla designing uncertainty machines to be networked together until they approach the complexity of an unknown brain.

SILY: "Synaptic Padberg" and "Every Piano" have moments of recognizable instruments as opposed to alien instruments (strings and piano, respectively). Was that just a product of the errors/randomness of the music-making, or purposeful?

JL: It's supposed to sound orchestral, so I hit my Mellotron and Chamberlin apps pretty hard with this piece. Not like anything remains plausibly real once they're getting hammered by the trackers. That is a real grand piano, however: me playing the tune at SnowGhost Music in Montana. Brett Allen deserves an engineering credit, but I also wanted the first listen to make you wonder.

SILY: There's almost a funky rhythm to "Motown Electronium". Do you envision folks dancing to this record?

JL: Would have been plain wrong to put that title on an unworthy beat. What would a room full of people dancing to this even be like? Maybe in Baltimore.

SILY: Do you think "Training Lullaby" is what a computer trying to write a lullaby would sound like?

JL: Not that relaxing, is it? That’s ten seconds pulled from a five minute live improvisation, just a little burst of fury in the middle. Which I’ve heard enough now that I can sing along to it; so now, for me, it is calming.

I finally had to admit to myself that I’m a fan of the OpenAI Jukebox stuff. It’s right at that stage where their results are still primitive enough to remain a little mysterious. All the context and relationships intrinsic to what humans call music is irrelevant to those GANs. They don’t need culture to make music, they just need waveforms. What does it tell us that simple pattern analysis and brute number crunching on a large enough data set can produce those sounds? They’re training us. I have twelve hours of their Soundcloud dump ripped to my phone, and I play it a lot, though I wouldn’t play it for anyone under four. Can definitely sing along to some of the weirder ones by now.

SILY: How did you approach the order of tracks on the record? I'm struck by, for instance, the chaos of "Grossi Polyphony" following the comparative lull of "Every Piano".

JL: Just trying to show the range, and keep the surprises coming. Perpetual variety becomes monotony so quickly, so there is a very careful balancing act to play between shorter and longer tracks. I like a record where on first listen, any new section that begins, you feel like there are no guarantees how long it’ll last, eight seconds or eight minutes. Even things that sound like they should be songs: no guarantees. I still remember the first time I heard The Faust Tapes as a teenager.

SILY: Did you actually use musical dice to write "Wurfelspiel"?

JL: “Wurfelspiel” is just name-dropping Mozart’s generative piece--again, a real piano, but no musical dice involved.

SILY: The beats towards the end of the album--the pseudo hip-hop of "Cope By Design", techno of "Dusthorn Sawpipe", krautrock of "Help Desk"--seem to me to be far more propulsive than anything else here. Do you see a connection between those tracks?

JL: The album hits you with all these miniatures in the middle to keep things moving, and those three are the last little barrage of them before the shift into the final stretch with the longer, more hypnotic pieces. Can be tough to sequence an album when you’ve got so many short tracks, but it’s also total freedom.

SILY: How did you like getting the Hausu Mountain album art treatment?

JL: Totally family. All the Monitress packaging has always been iPhone panorama mode artifacts, visual glitches not entirely unlike what my phone’s trackers do to what they hear. I gave one of those images to [Hausu Mountain co-founder Max Allison] to work with the cover of the first Monitress, and he sent back this image, saying, “Here’s the initial stage: Your photo reduced to color blocks I’ll carefully render out later.” So when the second hyper-detailed one came back in a more proper Hausu style, they already seemed like a sequence, and this second one was already in place, so it all clicked. Any version of Monitress, the music is different, but it’s always the same piece. I’m really happy they asked me for something. [Label co-founder Doug Kaplan] and Max are just coming from the good place.

SILY: Are you doing any live streams or socially distant shows any time soon?

JL: Multi-location live streams are a blast. The time modulation inherent in all streaming is deeply psychedelic. The kind of listening you have to do when you know that the relationship of sounds together in time is different for each musician involved? I’m learning utterly new tricks, and it’s astonishing just how live the result is. I sat in on a live stream with Thurston Moore Group a few months ago, the four of them in London, and me hooked up to an amp not far from where I normally am when I play with them. And everyone agreed: It felt like I was there, right up until the instant I quit the app.

I’ve been pre-recording some home live sets for Hausu, Curious Music and High Zero Foundation. Negativland is putting together an hour long performance with Sue-C for the Ann Arbor Film Festival in late March. I finished an album mostly recorded outdoors with my old friend Cheryl E. Leonard for Gilgongo, and we’re going to try to a few outdoor concerts, too.

SILY: What else are you currently working on/what's next?

JL: The second album with Sagan, with Blevin Blectum & J Lesser, is coming out in late April. That one took 14 years to finish. There’s a trio record with Thomas Dimuzio and Anla Courtis coming out on Oscarson. Doing a revision of the last episode of my podcast on sampling music, Variations, to incorporate that OpenAI music. Some Negativland releases tying together the last two albums. There are about four of five other albums that might be done, though it takes time to be sure.

SILY: Anything you've been listening to, reading, or watching lately?

JL: This month has been Maryanne Amacher’s collected writings, Keeping Together in Time by William H. McNeill, Ministry For The Future by Kim Stanley Robinson, important even with happy ending. Interview with Karl Friston - Of Woodlice And Men.  Listening to a lot of “Blue” Gene Tyranny, Xenakis & Lang Elliott, and last week every Ghédalia Tazartès album in reverse chronological order. I don’t care what anybody says: That guy’s immortal.

SILY: Anything I didn't ask about you want to say?

JL: Thank you for your questions!

Popular Monitress by Wobbly

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Mass Music Measurements Survey Form

A freeCodeCampChallenge

Gaining Speed

This marks my second freeCodeCamp challenge. As I mentioned in my after action report from the first FCC challenge (tribute page), it took some time to finally gain traction and fully complete that project. That was a problem with (one) unnecessary complexity of design and (two) a lack of planning (before I began to code.) It was my assumption that if I laced the project with many working parts, I would learn much, much faster; also, that by getting right to the code, I could pick up the syntax, semantics and general knack for writing (code) in less time. And wow, I was very incorrect in thinking so.

As a response to my previous poor start (with my tribute page,) this time I was better able to address some lessons which had only occurred to me when halfway through the last project. So this time, I really dialed in the importance of streamlining my initial paperwork designs, learning how to more proficiently use Figma and some of its tools, how to better approach icon design with Photoshop and vastly improve my entire workflow. This provided (not only) an easier build, but also a more efficient angle by which I was empowered to catch more lessons along the way.

In the next few paragraphs, I will detail just which specific advantages I picked up in terms of HTML5, CSS3 and JavaScript capability. In addition, I will move through some of the tactics I employed to help me finish this challenge with much more confidence than the last.

Planning Stages

When I set out to hand-write the marked goals (set down by FCC’s challenge,) I do find it tedious. The thing is, I am copying (in my own words) precisely what the challenge is demanding of me. Let me elaborate…

With every line, I am telling myself that I really do not need to do this. I mean, I can pretty easily peer over at the other browser window (when necessary) and see exactly what my marching orders are. Though albeit true, there are a couple of key differences in (one) reading from FCC and (two) writing/reading my own notes.

As I write out every expected step of my project, I can build an image immediately for how I would like my creation to take shape. This falls in line with the visual aspects and design, the color scheme, the functionality of each element and the code itself. It is a powerful method to which I will pay better respect going forward. (I already have plenty of ideas on how to implement more potent procedures — like larger drafting paper, (which will allow for a greater landscape on my pages, maybe using a tablet for notation and perhaps a few voice recordings along the way)). Now, I may be getting ahead of myself! Back to the plans..

And so writing out the objectives is terrific for lots of reasons, but moving to the drawn design itself — this may be the most crucial bit yet. Here’s the deal. When I physically drew the (expected) survey form, I may have well completed the whole project. So what does that mean?

I took so much liberty in imagining what the design should resemble. More specifically, I let my mind wander and allowed thoughts to spill out onto the legal pad before me. This (in combination with my understanding of how everything needed be expressed in code) let me structure my rough draft with such a degree that the next step made the actual coding like an exercise in copy and paste. I’ll expound…

I was drawing parts which were effectively elements of HTML. This was followed by some (more precise) markings of pseudo-code (which amounted to about all of the HTML I required to code for the whole challenge.) So, when I say the planning has proved to be useful, this would be an undestatement. This attention to planning has made it possible for me to avoid the ‘nuts and bolts’ in my code editor. Now, this advancement is massive, because the saved time and effort was a testement to why I was then able to better learn more intricate detail when coding. And now let’s get to those lessons and the code at large.

Within Earshot of Paper and Pencil

My goal is not to elaborate on the use of specific technologies, but more-so the process itself. however, I will briefly touch on Figma and Photoshop…

Using Figma helped me focus on each element and understand how they more literally fit together in the puzzle. I was able to name every piece such that it would show me what my HTML element should be in code and how each need be named. Also, I took those separate entities and grouped them such that I could postion everything exactly as I wished. My next goal with Figma will be to utilize the ‘component’ feature and truly unroll some strong functionality of the software.

Regarding Photoshop, I made a logo for my survey and spun it into a favicon with relative ease. In an attempt to create animations and advertisements for my affiliate site, I have better come to understand Photoshop’s effectiveness. Thereby, building my icon was fairly straightforward. I simply pieced it together with a couple of layers and exported the PNG. I still want to be able to employ SVGs for this application; but until now, I haven’t perfected the craft. I will leave that for the coming FCC challenge. Onward!

Coding the Beast

The first topic to address here is quite obvious for me… SUITE TESTING.

When I began coding this project, I wrote my HTML boilerplate and immediately tied in the FCC testing script so I could begin verifying my code at every turn. I’ll elaborate…

I ran into a few issues with debugging throughout my last project; those were problems which resulted in code errors piling up on me simultaneously. And, while an error (for which you don’t know the remedy) is frustrating…several of those errors (all at once) becomes infuriating. Luckily, I ran into a great solution. Unit testing.

By instantiating the FCC test suite before I began coding the bulk of my project, I was then gifted the opportunity of verifying each of the sixteen goal posts.

In more detail, nearly no problems snuck up on me while coding the breadth of this project because I was adamant on addressing them in real time (as they appeared). What a true life-saver...

Input Text (element, attribute)

I found it repetitive and annoying at first, when the 10th goal of this challenge asked me to give both the input and label elements their own respective and corresponding ids. This was because I (very simply) did not understand the request. Along with that, I definitely didn’t understand why it was being asked (to begin with.) 

That said, I now realize that the goal was to identify the label for the text field, in addition to the field itself. In understanding this distinction, I have now been able to find value in this very feature.

By giving ids to both my labels and input texts, I was then able to style each distinctly and find them with more ease (while peering though my HTML.) Now here’s real solid tip which I will not soon forget.

Don’t Pick More Than One Option!

So, I was writing the code for my radio buttons and what happened next is certainly a rookie mistake. When I navigated to my browser (in order to test the options,) I found that EVERY one of my buttons was clickable. And this, for obvious reasons, is not ideal.

This solution was super easy. All I needed to do was unify (or make each value the same for) the input-radio buttons. After I placed cloned values for each radio button, only one option could then be chosen. Success!

Nitpick the Name and Ids

This is something which should possibly be glossed over. But, when working with various input fields, I was asked to employ many names and ids for each.

While I’m not entirely certain (even now) whether there is a standard for which comes first, I have come to realize that name attributes should possibly supercede id attributes.

Using Visual Studio Code, it seems to like placing names before ids. And in a real life estimation, using name over id seems to be old-fashioned, but admirable.

More seriously, I understand in code, name will be less subjective (while more actionable) and ids will more far more particular and prone to alteration.

Dropdown

I was in a position to use dropdown boxes twice in this project. The problem I came across was that my options continued to begin with the default option as selectable. While I learned the solution quickly and with ease, I believe it should be recorded as vital.

When inserting a placeholder option in a dropdown box, in order to keep it from being a clickable entity, you have to style it as such.

I called the id of the option in my CSS sheet and set its display as none. That easy.

Pseudo Class and Element Selectors

Very little of my experience with this challenge dealt with pseudo class or pseudo element selectors. But, I will cover (in short) what I did learn (with these topics in mind.)

Using a pseudo element selector is the best (or maybe only) way to call an attribute from an HTML element and style with CSS.

This is how I was able to change the appearance of my placeholder text in each input-text.

I know pseudo class selectors are the way to alter elements (in a certain state) like ‘hover’ or ‘before’, but I haven’t used them enough to expand this monologue. That said, I’ll press on…

Attribute Selectors

In confluence with my previous words, I may have provided a misnomer to exactly what was being modified with pseudo-elements. But, I digress (and hopefully you see what I mean).

Using attribute selectors is quite different from other selectors, because you will be placing true brackets in as your selector which house your attribute, followed by an equal sign and a set of quotations (housing your value.)

Looks like this [attribute=“value”]. And that’s that!

Media Queries

While I employed media queries for this project, I have yet to fully grasp exactly how to use them (in reference to appropriation and context.) Therefore, I will not go into detail; but, only mention that I used them to alter my CTA button across pixel-widths. Also, I realized that setting a new media query works better when starting with the immediate values from your last screen size.

A Bit of JavaScript

The big task I pushed for in this project was this: change the client-side font family for a text area as the user types. And by big, I mean, it took me about as long as the rest of the whole challenge to learn this functionality with JavaScript. That said, I now understand much better how JS semantics are employed. And, that’s pretty priceless…

For this goal, I inserted a script with an event listener. First, I started with DOMContentLoaded, which allows for firing without the images or styling need be loaded.

The next bit lets my document be called by its (element) id.

Then, it states that my id will be triggered by any input (via an eventListener) and will force my later instantiated function.

The function declared will let the charCode number equal a string which will be console.log(ed) out as my target.value (of Nunito, sans-serif) with proper style.fontFamily.

Conclusion

Attempting to wrap this project up in a nice bow is difficult, as I have onboarded a great deal of information (from one simple survey page.) After completing this task, I am left with a split-brain. While I have learned so much from something, seemingly straightforward, now I am thrilled to make it to the next project and take on those new expectations.

I suppose my takeaway is that I should fine-tune my HTML and CSS understanding and seriously crack open all that is JavaScript. All which, can wait until tomorrow. Cheers!

[magicalgirlelsa]

Notes and Excerpts from “YoRHa Ver. 1.05″ Novelization

I took notes so I could refer back to them myself as I write fics, but I could never find as much information as I wanted about the stage play prior to reading this, so I thought I’d share for those who may not be able to read it. If you are able to get a copy, I really encourage you to do so! The story is in NieR: Automata: Short Story Long (in Japanese, NieR: Automata: A Short Story.)

I took notes on things like android physiology and psychology, A2′s personality before these events took place, a vague outline of what happened, and more. There are some spoilers for the stage play, but if you’re familiar with her backstory from the game and the “Beasts of Slaughter” audio drama, you already know the gist of them.

[canonicity]

The novelization sees to be from 2017, which means that the version of the stage play it would be adapting is 1.1 (which I believe was released in 2015). This would presumably then be the first time the stage play was updated after the release of the game, despite the novelization being called 1.05. The 1.2 stage play (the most recent, from 2018) came about a year after this novelization.

[plot]

The Pearl Harbor Descent Mission is their first mission. Guided by their operators, Futaba and Yotsuba, and under orders from Commander, 16 units are deployed.

While approaching the ground, they come under fire. No. 2, No. 4, No. 16, and No. 21 are the sole survivors from the squadron. No. 2 becomes the leader now that No. 1 has been killed, but feels unable to lead

They request that Commander abort the mission, as they were not supposed to proceed if they lost more than 4 units, but have lost 12. Command refused, ordering them to proceed and cutting the transmission. No. 2 tries many times to contact Command, recognizing this mission is certain to get them killed, but is ignored by her. Later successes at contacting Command are met only with reiteration that they are ordered to continue the mission.

During an intense battle with the Machines, the 4 YoRHa units encounter members of the Resistance.

Lily (one of the Resistance members) is infected with the logic virus. Until this time, the Resistance (who seem not to have any units capable of hacking) thought the only way to respond was to kill someone as there was no hope of saving them, but No. 21 (a Scanner) is able to cure her of the virus.

The group makes their way to the location of the server room. The Machines have evolved again, and they don’t know how to fight them. Lily, who has become able to use their attacks after being infected with the logic virus, uses a gravity wave to stop the Machines, but she isn’t able to move while keeping the Machines in place. Dahlia, Margaret, and No. 16 stay behind with her. Everyone is aware that the 4 are certain to die. Later, No. 16 detonates her Black Box, taking them out along with the Machines.

No. 21 makes an excuse (perhaps true) about needing to stay behind to hack the elevator to get it to run. The truth is that in addition to this, she is infected with a logic virus that is resistant to hacking. The rest of the group realizes this, and Anemone stays with her to provide a mercy kill. After this, Anemone runs out into the battlefield in the hopes of getting killed by the Machines.

Rose, Erica, Gerbara, Sonia, Shion, No. 2, and No. 4 arrive at the server room alone, where they encounter the Red Girls. The Red Girls inform No. 2 and No. 4 that they were created and sent to Earth to die, that Commander knew the conditions would be worse than she told them, and that abandoning them to this fate was the plan all along.

They have bombs attached to their Black Boxes, which are set to go off if they die in the server room. The real purpose of their mission was to collect data for use in creating future models; it was intended all along that the entire squadron would die.

A strong and unpredictable Machine attacks them. Soon, No. 2 and No. 4 are the only ones left. The Red Girls want to kill No. 4 in front of No. 2 just to see how she reacts, but No. 4 survives and sacrifices herself to save No. 2.

[the resistance]

The Resistance members seen are said to be the sole survivors of a 160 person troop from the Eighth Descent Mission, 200 years ago. (Perhaps they didn’t know Jackass survived, or perhaps she is an android from somewhere else and joined the Resistance at a later time?)

In the timeline, this event can be found in the year 11732. This is 7,543 years after the collapse of Project Gestalt, exactly 200 years before the manufacture of YoRHa units was approved, and 205 years before the first YoRHa unit was operational.

Despite being created before Project YoRHa (and thus the Council of Humanity) was in the picture, they seem to actually believe in there being humans on the moon. They have tried to contact them and believe themselves to have been abandoned by the humans due to not having heard back.

The Resistance named themselves so as to feel more like a family and individuals, as android units don’t typically get individual names.

[android physiology and psychology]

Androids have “artificial muscles” which can become “tight from nerves,” just as humans tense up. They can also experience many other physiological indications of emotions, such as a heavy body, muscle weakness, difficulty breathing, and stomach pain.

Causes of death for androids include battle injuries, accidents, damage to their chassis (body/physical framework), cognitive malfunction, and logic viruses. (This isn’t necessarily a comprehensive list.)

Androids are, at least up to this squadron, hard-coded to fear their own destruction “to promote higher chances of survival.” Despite this, they are still capable of suicidal thoughts and self-sacrifice.

It seems androids are capable of dissociation and being paralyzed with fear.

Androids can sustain cuts, bruises, and scars. If they can bruise, we can potentially assume that the blood they have is a “layer” between their artificial skin and the machinery covering below it.

For an android, their Command’s orders are absolute. They are also “manipulated” into not questioning fishy things. Even if they notice suspicious things like a recon squad who found the server room and never returned, they won’t falter in following Command’s order to go there.

It’s not supposed to be possible for an android to get lost, due to having location data.

It appears that androids can have symptoms similar to PTSD (such as hypervigilance, nightmares, “people who struggle constantly from the terrible memories they were given”), whether a result of real memories or the simulated memories they are given.

[simulated memories]

All androids (at least between the Resistance members and the YoRHa squadron) are given “simulated memories” to “be like humans.”

“Everyone was aware that simulated memories were not real. But to the individual, they all seemed real. Simulated memories were just as vivid as, if not more vivid than, the real memories they had.” But they still value their real memories more.

These memories can be of happy lives, or cruel experiences. Either way, it seems that these memories influence who they are.

No. 2′s memories are of living alone with her grandmother in the countryside after losing her parents at a young age. No. 4′s were of being a happy, sociable high school girl. Rose’s memory is of being a little boy with a military father. One remembers being bullied. A couple of Resistance members imply their memories are of being child soldiers.

There is no indication as to whether the practice of implementing simulated memories continued or was discontinued after this mission.

[logic viruses]

There are predictable stages of the logic virus infection progressing. The first outward sign seems to be jerky movements, as the virus causes them to slowly lose control of their bodies. When their eyes are shining red like a Machine’s, it’s in the terminal phase.

Machines were already weaponizing logic viruses prior to the Pearl Harbor Descent mission.

“The logic virus that the Machines spread could all of a sudden overwrite data in an android’s cyberbrain. Then it would destroy the android’s consciousness and take over their body.”

There may be different types of logic viruses. When Lily is infected and is saved through hacking, she realizes she is able to use enemy attacks such as gravity wave. They are unsure whether this is a different type of virus, which copies its own attacks into an infected unit, or whether the virus adapted in this way because Lily lacked attack power.

Even after sustaining injuries that would be impossible to survive, a dead android can be infected and “animated” by a machine to attack their comrades.

The logic viruses are also capable of evolution, as No. 21 becomes infected with a logic virus that she is not able to hack out.

[changes between generations]

Rather than having one Operator per field unit, they have Futaba and Yotsuba fulfilling this role for the entire squadron. (Based on the names, there may be two or more other operators who do not appear, but that’s only speculation. In the context of counters, ‘futa’ is two and ‘yotsu’ four, but it might be coincidence; and we don’t know if the first and third, or any others, are even operational if it is true.)

“When Rose and her companions had been manufactured, there had been rumors and stories about humans. No. 2 felt a bit of a generation gap. A difference of two hundred years was no small amount of time. No. 2 rarely heard stories of humans.”

In No. 2′s generation, single-digit numbered models are Attackers, 1x (i.e., 10-19) are Gunners, and 2x are Scanners.

No. 2 is surprised to hear that there is a weapons merchant among the Resistance, noting, “Currency economics had existed a long time ago. She remembered hearing that the occupation of merchant disappeared along with the collapse of the system...”

Unlike the Resistance members, the YoRHa squadron have shields to the logic virus, however these shields are clearly not impervious to being rendered ineffective by the virus’ evolution.

The Resistance members don’t seem to be familiar with Scanner-types or hacking.

Newer models have better resistance to Machines’ gravity attacks, recover faster, and are more durable.

Machine cores appeared to thermal sensors as an unusually cool spot in their bodies, which allows androids to locate their core (which is their weak spot). However, Machines evolved to put heat-insulating material around their core to disguise it. This makes the Resistance members and squadron units unable to defeat them, so presumably weaponry has changed by Automata.

This is said in an interview with Yoko rather than the stage play, but it feels relevant to note that this mission was almost certainly before (and, in fact, a big part of the reason) the “emotions are prohibited” rule was implemented.

[relationships]

“being with No. 4 made No. 2 feel more at home.”

The Resistance works to cleanse the Earth of Machines not for humans, but for each other.

The Resistance see one another as family. No. 2 reflects that she doesn’t understand the concept of a family, but there are a number of parallels between how she acts with her comrades and how the Resistance members act with one another, so the accuracy of this is perhaps debatable.

No. 2 is prone to brooding. No. 4 seems good at picking up on when this is happening, and tries to comfort or distract her.

[Seed]

Seed is noted to be old, both through her memories and the deterioration of her body.

Seed is said to be a celebrated warrior, and says that she “lived with humans, shared experiences, and stormed the battlefield with them.” (Note that this would put her at around 10,000 years old, but since Popola and Devola are that old, it’s not out of the question.) She says she has been to Earth 3 times to fight Machines, and her first mission was in the desert.

Currently, she is an experimental unit whose purpose is to test new prototype equipment and participate in simulations with it, even though the experiments are known to be hard on her body.

Seed either genuinely believes there are humans on the moon, or is lying to No. 2 about it.

She begins to question whether her memories of fighting among the humans are real or artificial. Perhaps it is not a coincidence then that she is soon killed in the process of testing “magnetic field-resistant skin.”

Seed’s death occurred quite close to the Pearl Harbor Descent Mission. No. 2 later speculates that it may be because she was too sympathetic to the YoRHa soldiers, if she knew they were doomed.

At the time of Seed’s death, No. 2 doesn’t understand why, even though Seed should have been backed up and able to be moved to a new body, Commander refuses. She is simply told, “This is already a decided matter.”

[A2/No. 2]

Before and during these events, No. 2 is loyal, naive, and emotional. She gets scared easily and is often on the verge of tears. Her comrades are more important to her than anything else, including her own life.

Granted, given that two or three separate people tell her to find a reason to live, she may not particularly value her own life.

She tries to stay optimistic so long as there is the “potential” for success, no matter how slim.

No. 2 thinks little of sacrificing herself, at one point reflecting, “If she couldn’t become as strong as No. 1, then at least she could become a shield for her comrades.”

Even though it shouldn’t be possible, No. 2 seems to have an abysmal sense of direction. She gets lost in the small Resistance camp. She gets lost in “this small orbiting base” (presumably the Bunker?). It’s acknowledged that this is very odd -- “How the hell could an android get lost? She thought she would be suspected as a defective model.” -- but never explained.

The Commander describes No. 2 as a “mediocre specimen lacking extraordinary qualities.” When faced with this statement, No. 2 apologizes, reflecting that “Just as the commander had said, she was average in every way and had nothing she was exceptionally good at. No. 2 knew it too well.” She also describes herself as a “boring, unexceptional model.”

The word “potential” has significant meaning to her, after Seed told her that “being average means she has the potential to improve in every way.”

“She understood how Lily felt, because she also had an inferiority complex of feeling like useless baggage.”

No. 2 has always hated fighting and wishes she didn’t have to.

“Not wanting to bother her comrades. Not wanting to be a burden to her comrades. That was how No. 2 had fought, in training and on the battlefield. Everything she did was for the sake of her comrades, but her comrades kept dying.”

No. 2 blames herself for the Resistance members dying, since she was the one to convince them to cooperate.

When having to kill her zombified, infected former comrades: “No. 2 felt something die inside of her.”

When No. 2 comes to after the explosion, her first thought is that someone stronger should have survived instead.

She only learned recently (to Automata’s “present day”) that Anemone had survived. Until that time, she had thought herself the sole survivor of the entire mission.

In present day, she continues to have frequent, recurring nightmares of that mission.

[misc]

The androids predating them created YoRHa to spur android evolution, because with the Machines evolving, the androids were struggling in the war.

When a unit has “made significant contributions on the battlefield,” they may fill out a request form to receive a name, which then must go to the board (Council of Humanity?) for approval. This may or may not be the case for Futaba and Yotsuba (since they have potentially numeric names), but is said to be true of Seed. (Whether this is actually true of Seed or was implemented as part of a cover story is, of course, unknown.)

The Resistance wants to give No. 2 a name, but she feels she has “no right to have a name, not without having produced any results.” She asks that they wait until after the mission, but really she is against it without going through the proper channels.

The Bunker(?) has different rooms that simulate different situations, such as one in which location data is not available. However, this does not seem to be where the current units’ battle simulations take place, as Seed remarks that units don’t go there unless they are “experimental subjects or staff.”

excerpts

“What should I do... I can’t be a captain.”

She [No. 2] couldn’t. Why me, she thought. Why did she survive, and not No. 1?

.

Anemone was speechless. No. 21′s eyes were both blood red. It was a symptom from the terminal stages of infection. It was a miracle she was operating the terminal in this state. It wouldn’t have been surprising if she had gone rampant minutes ago. She must have held it together via sheer willpower, to get No. 2 and the group to the server room.

“Please. While I’m still myself.”

Anemone leveled the gun at No. 21. She struggled to keep her hands steady.

“Any last words?”

No. 21′s mouth distorted into a smile. Or rather, she tried to smile.

“Who would you pass them on to, even if I had any?”

“I’ll hear you out. Even if I die right after this.”

“I’m glad I met you. These memories are real. Thank you.”

.

[When No. 2 asks Seed why she takes part in the dangerous and painful experiments:]

“Well, I should be retired by now, after all.”

Seed’s chassis was covered in scars. Perhaps they had stopped production of her original parts; much of her body used parts that were obviously not of her original design.

“I left everything on the battlefield. Do you understand?” she asked, to which No. 2 shook her head. She had never even been in a battle, so she couldn’t imagine a battlefield either.

“Anger, sadness, fear, and even happiness. I have none of it now. There’s nothing in this empty head of mine.” Seed looked down at her hands. “But when I’m holding a weapon, I forget all of that. Even if this is a simulated battlefield.”

.

[Seed’s message to No. 2]

“If you’re seeing this message, then that means I’m no longer a part of this world.”

She stopped breathing. She thought her heart would stop beating too.

“Unlike humans, we’re told that androids have no souls. This message is the closest thing to a soul that I can leave you with.”

“No...” Her voice sounded far away.

.

Why couldn’t they upload her [Seed’s] data to a spare chassis? Technologically speaking, avoiding death was possible. Yet.

“Why? I can’t accept that!”

The commander had already disappeared.

“I can’t... accept that...”

Her shoulders involuntarily shook. Pain rose from the bottom of her throat. No. 2 cried alone in a deserted hallway.

.

The night before--after Lily had told No. 2 that “Rose is my only captain!”--No. 2 had curled up in a fetal position at the edge of camp. No. 2 had felt unreasonably dejected until No. 21 came up to her to explain the situation.

.

What determined who lived was not power or intelligence. It was sheer luck. Even so, she was chosen to live. A fate chosen on a whim. Then, she had to do whatever being a survivor entailed.

Destroy the Machines. Destroy everything. Nobody would get in her way. She would kill anybody who tried. Whoever that person would be. [...]

First, she had to escape this shitty place. After she repaired her chassis, she would go massacre the Machines. She would ruin them, one by one. That was her reason to live...

.

She had died during that battle. Her old self was buried under the rubble with her comrades.

That’s why even if she knew Anemone was alive, she didn’t go out of her way to contact her. She didn’t know what to do if she met her. But now she had a perfect excuse, in the form of a fuel filter, to go talk to her.

She peered toward the direction the box specified. She could see some high-rise structures beyond the sandstorms.

“Guess I’ll go.”

She walked, kicking sand as she went. She called out her comrades’ names in her head. But she felt nothing.

She was empty inside.

[eeveecryptid]

※ BORDERLANDS: CL4P-TP EDITION

Various lines that Claptrap bots have said through Borderlands 1, Pre-Sequel and 2. feel free to change pronouns if needed. May include nsfw material. ( BL3 version here )

"Wow! You're not dead?" "Hey, check me out everybody! I'm dancin', I'm dancin'!" "Unce! Unce! Unce! Unce! Ooo, oh check me out. Unce! Unce! Unce! Unce! Oh, come on get down." "Yoo-hoooooooooo!" "I am the best robot. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I am the best robot. Ooh, ooh, here we go!" "Hey! Over here! I'm over here!" "Still haven't found the Vault?" "I'm over here!” "Rrrrrgh...this isn't working!" "Unce! Unce! I think I lost the beat... but, Unce! Unce!" "Wanna hear a new dubstep song I wrote? Wub! Wub--"  "(name) asked me to tell you about a, uh, ‘little sumthin' sumthin'’ s/he needs done. You should ask him/her about it!" "Did you find the Vault yet?" "Sure is lonely around here." "Oh my God, I'm leaking! I think I'm leaking! Ahhhh, I'm leaking! There's oil everywhere!" "I can see through time..." "My servos... are seizing..." "I can see... the code." "I don't like this... this is making me nervous. Take a deep breath- I can't breathe! This is just a recording of someone breathing! It's not real! It's just making me more nervous!" "I'm detecting a motor unit malfunction... I can't move! I'm paralyzed with fear!" "Please don't shoot me, please don't shoot me, please don't shoot me!" "Turning off the optics... they can't see me..." "The traveler will protect me. The traveler will protect me." "Good as new, I think. Am I leaking?" "The box is awaiting your attention." "Please open the box." "Yeah? Well, hmph!" [ gives the finger ] "Good luck!" "There's more to learn!" "Let me teach you the ways of magic!” "Magic waits for no one, apprentice!" "Still working on that quest?" "Shouldn't you be murdering something about now?" "Hey! You're TALKING to me! And I didn't even have an exclamation point over my head! This is the BEST day of my life!" "Sooooo... how are things?" "Hey, best friend!" "Yessss, look into my eyes. You're getting sleepy. You're getting... zzzzzz... Zzzzzz..." "Success! My spell to make you want to hang out with me worked!" "Stay a while, and listen. Oh god, please -- PLEASE! -- stay a while." "Away with thee!" "Don't you worry, minion! Give me one good shot at that (name) dude and I'll take them right out! I... just got some stuff to do first." "We've really come a long way, haven't we, minion? And you're still just as loyal as ever! Who's a good minion? You are! Yes you are!" "Yessiree! This whole place would completely fall apart without old Claptrap keeping things humming along!" "As a robot, I'm completely immune to (name)’s gas attacks. But that hasn't stopped me from incessantly cowering!" "And I thought bandits were bad BEFORE they had nightmare plants growing out of them!" "You already saved Pandora? But... but I'M the hero of Pandora! It's on my business card! I ORDERED SO MANY OF THEM!" "Sanctuary's gone? But the bank! All my stuff! All my crucial information! YES! I'M OFF THE GRID, BABY! NO MORE CREDITORS! Seriously, I owe a lot of people a lot of money." " The Vault Map is gone! Forever! It will never be found. Never, ever, ever-- is what I'll say to everyone I know while I look for it. " “ I can do more than open doors, sir/ma’am! We CL4P-TP units can be programmed to do anything from open doors to ninja-sassinate highly important Janitor-y officials! ” “ I once started a revolution myself. There were lots of guns and a lot of dying. You'd think I would have gotten some better benefits out of the whole thing but no, demoted back to door-opening servitude! ” “ ---Remember what? Are... are you my father? ” “ Are you god? Am I dead? ” “ I'M DEAD I'M DEAD OHMYGOD I'M DEAD! ” “ Thanks for giving me a second chance, (name). I really appreciate it. ” " Hey everybody! Check out my package! " " Let's get this party started! " " Glitching weirdness is a term of endearment, right? " " This time it'll be awesome, I promise! " " Look out everybody! Things are about to get awesome! " " Eww, what flavor is red? " "Where'd all my bullets go?" " Bullets are dumb. " " I need tiny death pellets! " " RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIIVES! " " Oh, s/he's big...REALLY big! " " I am a tornado of death and bullets! " " Stop me before I kill again, except don't! " " There is no way this ends badly! " " This is why I was built! " " You call yourself a badass? " " Is it dead? Can- can I open my eyes now? " " I didn't panic! Nope, not me! " " Not so tough after all! " " I have gaskets tougher than you! " " That was me! I did that! " " Don't tell me that wasn't awesome! " " Wait, did I really do that? " " Aww! Now I want a snow cone. " " Freeze! I don't know why I said that. " " I can't feel my fingers! Gah! I don't have any fingers! " " Why do I even feel pain?! " " Why did they build me out of galvanized flesh?! " " That looks like it hurts! " " Oh, quit falling to pieces. " " Is that what people look like inside? " " Huh, robot's don't do that. " " Disgusting. I love it! " " It's about to get magical! " " You can't just program this level of excitement! " " Push this button, flip this dongle, voila! Help me! " " Square the I, carry the 1... YES! " " I have an IDEA! " " Round and around and around she goes! " " It's like a box of chocolates. " " If I had veins, they'd be popping out right now! " " Roses are red and/Violets are blue/Wait... how many syllables was that? " " Aww, I should've drawn tattoos on you! " " Tell me I'm the prettiest! " " Trouncy, flouncy... founcy... those aren't words. " " The robot is dead, long live the robot! " " Take these, gorgeous, you'll feel better! " " Some days, you just can't get rid of an obscure pop-culture reference. " " Oh darn, oh boy, oh crap, oh boy, oh darn. " " Do not look behind my curtain! " " I'm made of magic! " " Like those guys who made only one song ever. " " Everybody, dance time! Da-da-da-dun-daaa-da-da-da-dun-daaa! " " I brought you a present: EXPLOSIONS! " " Is this really canon? " " ... You're dead to me. " “ Nobody hurts my friends! " " Wubwubwub. Dubstep dubstep. Wubwubwubwub DROP! Dubstep! " " I'll stop talking when I'm dead! " " I'll die the way I lived: annoying! " " Come back here! I'll gnaw your legs off! " " This could've gone better! " " You look like something a skag barfed up! " " What's that smell? Oh wait, it's just you! " " Yo momma's so dumb, she couldn't think of a good ending for this 'yo momma' joke! " " You're one screw short of a screw! " " I bet your mom could do better! " " Good thing I don't have a soul! " " I'll never go back to the bad place! " " I have many regrets! " " Can I just say... yeehaw. " " You're the wub to my dub! " " So... does this make me your favorite? " " What are YOU doing down here? " " We're like those buddies in that one show! " " This is no time to be lazy! " " You can thank me later! " " You love me, right? " " You, me... keeping on... together? " " You versus me! Me versus you! Either way! " " Dance battle! Or, you know... regular battle. " " You wanna fight with me?! Put 'em up!.. Put 'em up? " " A million baddies, and you wanna hit me? Aww! " " I am so impressed with myself! " " Ha ha, this is in no way surprising! Ha ha! " " Don't bother with plastic surgery - there's NO fixing that! " " I am right behind you, Vault Hunting friend! " " I can do that too! ... Sorta... Except not. " " You jerks have NO idea what you're in for! " " I'm so glad I'm not one of those guys right now! " " YOU! ARE! SCARY! " " That is in no way disturbing. " " I did a challenge? I did a challenge! " " Glad I didn't mess that up. " " I feel... complete!.. That's weird. " " I actually did something right for once! " " Hmmm, the possibilities are an infinite recursion. " " Do any of these come with a new paint job? " " Which of these gives me my free will back? " " The moon is not enough! " " I'd do anything for a man/woman with a gun. " " At least I still have my teeth! " " Coffee? Black... like my soul. " " Crazy young whippersnappers...  " " I've finally got an electric personality! " " Wait, this isn't vegetable juice! " " Cool! Now we're both super-crazy-amazing! " " These are the best kind of cooties! " " Can I shoot something now? Or climb some stairs? SOMETHING exciting? " " Times like these, I really start to question the meaning of my existence. Then I get distra-hey! What's this? This looks cool! " " It would really stink if I couldn't control what I was thinking. Like, who wants to know that I'm thinking about cheese and lint, right? " " How does math work? Does this skin make me look fat? If a giraffe and a car had a baby, would it be called a caraffe? Life's big questions, man. " " Who needs memories when I can do all this cool stuff? Stuff that I currently am not doing! That's what I'd like to call a 'hint'. " " Does this mean I can start dancing? Pleeeeeeaaaaase? " " Ya know when there was that Vault monster scare? I had these friends, and boy times sure were scary! But, I didn't care because I had friends, and they were like... super-friends! And then they left me, but they saved the world and I was like 'I know those guys!' Even though they never came back after that I still knew they cared, because no one had ever been... nice to me before. ... What is this? My eye is like... leaking. " " It's really quiet... and lonely... (hums briefly) Also this 'stopped moving' thing makes me uncomfortable. It gives me time to stop and think... literally. I'VE STOPPED, AND I'M THINKING! IT HURTS ME! " " Oh. My. God. What if I'm like... a fish? And, if I'm not moving... I stop breathing? AND THEN I'LL DIE! HELP ME! HELP MEEEEE HEE HEE HEEE! HHHHHHHELP! " " Ahem, ahem. What's going on? Did I break something? " “ You hear me, (name)?! You killed my friends! You destroyed my product line! I am the last Claptrap in existence, AND I AM GOING TO TEABAG YOUR CORPSE! ” “ You think a door can stop me, (name)?! I was MADE to open doors! ” “ Dammit, (name) - how did you know stairs were my ONLY weakness?! Next to electrocution, and explosions, and gunfire, rust, corrosion, being kicked a lot, viruses, being called bad names, falling from great heights, drowning, adult onset diabetes, being looked at funny, heart attacks, exposure to oxygen, being turned down by women, and pet allergens! Your brilliance is matched only by your malevolence! ” “ I'm just gonna go ahead and cloak now. You can't hear me crying if I cloak! (sobbing) stairs, why did it have to be stairs? I'll never climb those stairs! ”