#if the margin for error is this thin then I hate to break it to you: the majority of these people are gonna disappoint you

[breannastewart]

just gonna leave this here for the new crowd.

do you know anything about sue bird being a zionist?

Sue Bird is not a Zionist. She played basketball for a KGB spy and mobster named Shabtai Kalmanovich. There were rules in the Russian league preventing teams from stuffing rosters with US players. In order to get around those rules, Shabtai got an Israeli passport for Sue and an Italian passport for Diana. He was very good at this passport game because he had all kinds of connections. He could just pick up the phone, have a 10 minute conversation, and produce a passport out of thin air. Sue and Dee talk about it in this podcast.

The Soviet Union sent Shabtai to Israel to be a spy. He spied on them for years and years. Then he was caught and served a long sentence in an Israeli prison. This was all before his Russian basketball era. His money came from the sweat and labor of Soviet workers. The KGB took public money to set up their own financial portfolios before the Soviet Union dissolved. Most of the businesses they invested in were connected to the mafia. So that's the money he was paying Sue and Diana with until he was killed in a mob war.

[nitewrighter]

Wires, Blood, and Copper

There was a part of Ramattra that told him Sajaf didn’t, or rather shouldn’t, fit in with the Omnium, yet here they were, huddled in an alcove that any reasonable human would find claustrophobic. Several wires plugged into ports previously covered by a plate at the back of their shoulder, the fingers of one hand eagerly dancing over a tablet clutched in the other. They had looked different since their expulsion from the Shambali, the full cheeks of their squat heart-shaped face had thinned with fasting, and perhaps with their own sleepless nights devoted to their work, and they had shaved their head. Then, of course, there were the augmentations. What had started as an unassuming bronze rhombus just between their shoulder blades had unfolded into a complex metallic crest covering the entirety of their trapezius, deltoids, and triceps. A significant amount of organic flesh remained, but their wrists and elbows were jointed like a doll’s, bronze shining underneath. How much was by their own hand, and how much by machines, he wondered.

You shouldn’t trust a human to do this, he told himself, Only your people. Only Lanet could have--

Their tablet suddenly chimed and Sajaf made a breathy sound before sharply looking over their shoulder at him, their eyes lit up. Sajaf never seemed capable of looking at him for more than a few seconds, but it wasn’t the usual human breaking of eye contact in an unconvincing attempt to hide unease and suspicion, there was awe and hunger in their stare. They averted their eyes back down to their tablet, watching the lines of code a few moments longer before their chin jutted upward as they rose to their feet, staring into space as if there wasn’t a wall inches from their nose. 

“It’s beautiful,” Sajaf said softly.

“You’re sure you can access it without waking Anubis?” Ramattra said, not for the first time.

Their lips were parted, but they set their jaw and gave a solemn nod, their lids falling over their eyes in perfect synchronization with the incline of their head.

“And you’re sure this doesn’t incorporate any of Anubis’s programming?” Ramattra followed up. He hated questioning like this, he knew one learned best when approaching with a beginner’s mind, but even he knew this was dangerous territory, and he didn’t want caution coming across as hesitation, nor did he like the concept of questioning a human about the nature of his people’s cradle.

“We’re not leaving anything up to Anubis, we’re just... taking a bit of the strategic load off of you, that’s all,” said Sajaf, “There’s a natural hierarchy to these drones, it’s just about finding the old pathways and patching in your commands and strategies as needed. Thereby we clear away the previous tactics of Anubis, and reduce the number of drones you need to directly command. It’s really quite remarkable.” 

“A chain of command,” Ramattra tilted his head. 

“Mm-hm,” Sajaf nodded, "However, this final adjustment will require your staff," they made a few more decisive taps at their tablet.

"My staff?"

"You wish for there to be no threat from Anubis, if that is the case, I cannot plug direct command of this omnium directly into your processor. I doubt you would want that, either. If there is something I missed--"

"A margin of human error," Ramattra said coolly.

"...or hidden protocols not even omnics would be able to trace until it's too late," they said a bit crisply, "Better to risk the staff than you. It shouldn't take too long, I'll only need to plug it into this port to download the hierarchical data.” 

The staff itself was a precious resource, Ramattra knew all too well. Not simply a sidearm or its own terrifying power by virtue of its nanotech swarm, but a symbol of his office, of his mission. 

But this is not just about you, he thought grimly.

"By your leave, Rinpoche," they held a hand out toward his staff and he instinctively brought it closer to himself. Their fingers curled inward and they drew their hand closer to themselves, bringing their eyes away from him again. "I... I understand. If you must find another way--" 

Ramattra made a frustrated sound that might have been a huff if omnics needed to breathe, pushed past Sajaf, and jammed the staff into the port himself.

 "Do it," he said.

Sajaf bowed at the shoulders. "Yes, of course," they said, and set to their task. 

He silently cursed the abandonment of so many like-minded Omnic revolutionaries from Null Sector. He had spoken unskillfully. His fury and desperation had gotten in the way of his own goals. If their people had only had more time--no. He could not think about that now. There still was no time.All one could really do was act.

In some sense, it was a relief to not have to risk any more of his people, but now here he was, allying himself with this heretical creature. He studied them a bit further as they worked, the way they bit their lip at one corner of their mouth as they puzzled over a few more lines of code, the softness of flesh denting at the pressure of a canine as their eyes flicked between staff and tablet with all the focus of a monk in a scriptorium. "Creature" was too harsh a judgment. No, it was not only their own fixation, desire, and devotion driving them—and he could not say it was that condescending human curiosity that fueled their pursuit of the Iris. They were in an altered state of mind, on a journey whose end he could not see yet, and who was he to question the chemical unpredictability of organics? And, he thought with some relief, their loyalty did not come without its questions and caveats. Perhaps it was his own disgust that he was reduced to working with a human—he had certainly seen plenty of humanity's ugliness in allying himself with Talon, but Sajaf seemed to strive to reflect and support Omnics above all else. They gave the impression of two mirrors lined up so that one sees infinite copies of oneself continuing on endlessly—light traveling into nothingness.

There was a whirr and a clunking sound and the staff's nanotech sphere rippled before a chime was heard from Sajaf's tablet.

"It should respond, now," they said, and Ramattra took the staff. He pivoted and motioned towards one of the completed aerial drones hanging on the assembly line overhead. With a large metallic groaning, the drone thrummed to life, a small thing, more for reconnaissance than any combat. With some effort he brought four more off the assembly line. He could feel the precision of his command much more sharply now. A flick of his staff and the drone opened its undercarriage and several smaller drones fluttered out from beneath it. He did this with the other four drones--open the undercarriage, move in formation. He guided the drones and their smaller counterparts in a wide circle around the vast empty metal space of the omnium, then extended an arm towards the nanobot sphere of his staff and made a gesture, metal fingers curling in, and the swarms of smaller drones scattered like water spreading across the floor, scanning the interior of the omnium with an almost insect curiosity.  A giddy giggle came from behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see Sajaf with a wide toothy grin. They immediately caught him looking at them then and quickly straightened up, clearing their throat. “I hope my services have been satisfactory, Rinpoche,” they said with another shoulder bow. 

“That will depend on the coming battles,” Ramattra said mildly.

“Right,” Sajaf said, pulling their tablet close to themselves, “O-of course.”

“I will need time to think. You are dismissed, Acolyte Wan,” Ramattra turned away, fingers rolling on his staff. 

“As you wish,” Sajaf slipped away, the thin soles of their shoes ringing hollow on the metal.

---

It had been several hours, by Ramattra’s estimation. He had meditated, reviewed several newsfeeds on the movements of the Gwishin, scanned through schematics of the factory airships, and quietly tapped into omnic forums around the world--knowing better than to act purely on the hearsay of his people, but paying very close attention to every injustice, every narrative. His people may have cast him away, but he would be damned if he cocooned himself up in Shambali platitudes. But, even he had to admit it was wearisome. He made his way up to the roof of the omnium, an imposing platform crowned by sleeping beasts of turrets. He ran one hand down the side of a turret thoughtfully before seeing a bundled pile over at the edge of the structure.

Sajaf’s face was, as always, illuminated by their tablet, tinging their beige-gold skin silvery blue. The faded yellow of the shawl they were wrapped in still managed to stick out against the darkness of night and metal. They flinched to attention at the sound of his footsteps, moving to unwrap themselves . “What is it? Are the drones--?” 

Ramattra simply sat cross-legged alongside them, setting his staff across his lap. “It is fine. Again, we will need to see them in battle to truly gauge your usefulness.”

Sajaf’s lips thinned. “Of course,”  they turned their attention back to their tablet.

“I do not appreciate lickspittles, Acolyte Wan.”

“I’m not a lickspittle, I merely acknowledge that some fights are more important than others,” Sajaf wasn’t looking at him.

“You should demand more respect,” Ramattra folded his arms.

“Or you could give it freely,” Sajaf shrugged, though it was hard to tell with the large woolen shawl they had wrapped around themselves against the cold night air.

“Taking Mondatta’s position I see, then...” Ramattra glanced off and he could practically sense Sajaf thinning their lips at the back of his head.

“If you wish to send me away because you believe having a human at your side is that detrimental to your goals, then say so and I will respect your wishes. But to attempt to make me leave through passive aggressive remarks is beneath you, Rinpoche,” said Sajaf, that crispness returning to their voice.

“Beneath--!” Ramattra started before catching and composing himself. But he met their eyes, and there was a flicker of realization that these words did not come from impertinence, but quite the opposite. A scowling growl fell out of him then before the words finally flung out, accusing, “What do you get out of this?”

“...the life, peace, freedom, and liberation of Omnics, Rinpoche. The same goal as you.”

“Yes, but you--” Ramattra started and found his fingers tightening on his staff, before finally he forced the words out of himself, “Do you fight out of contempt for your fellow humans?” 

They snorted then. Snorted! “No,” their response was rippled with a chuckle, as if they got that question a lot. Which Ramattra knew they didn’t because for the Iris’s sake 98% of the time they were holed up somewhere with that damnable tablet. And so he maintained an unconvinced glare.

They exhaled and set their tablet down in their lap to look at him, not with their same manic hunger, but with that previous air of ‘You’re better than this.’ “If you really must know my thoughts on my species--I just... know humans would still be killing each other whether omnics were here or not.”

“Akande has said as much,” Ramattra mused.

Sajaf’s mouth pulled on one corner and Ramattra added, “He’s not using me, I’m using him,” almost on reflex.

“I didn’t say anything,” said Sajaf glancing off and Ramattra made another scowling growl again.

“But,” Sajaf straightened up a little where they sat, “To expand further--Omnics, unfortunately, provided humanity with a common enemy during the Crisis. That made a lot of humans easier to control. Governments are loathe to give up the hatreds that unite their people. They’ll say platitudes about peace but ultimately they depend on the continued oppression, and perhaps even gradual extinction of Omnics to maintain the accord of their people.”

“I am all too aware,” said Ramattra.

“Yet you doubt my awareness,” said Sajaf.

A long silence passed between them, then.

“...you have changed much since you first arrived at the Monastery,” Ramattra said after some time.

“You can be very inspiring like that,” Sajaf was looking up at the sky, now. “You know... I became a roboticist because... I was able to see early on, that synthetics can go where we cannot. Perceive what we cannot.”

“Sacrifice ourselves to further human interests,” Ramattra said bitterly, and something crumpled in Sajaf’s face then.

“...or build a future together that neither of our people could build alone,” Sajaf’s eyes were wet and shining now, “I read... so many of Mina Liao’s theories and papers... so many of them that she’d hoped people would just forget after the Crisis. But the Omnic Crisis wasn’t her fault--it wasn’t anyone’s fault--the closest comparison I can think of for it is--is an immunoreaction. As catastrophic as any two isolated populations meeting each other can be. The God AI had no actual gauge on how much of a threat humanity constituted so it just...” they trailed off. “And then... Aurora happened. It was miraculous. I had to find out more, and--and it was self-serving curiosity at first but then I saw how imperiled your people are, and I saw the grace granted by the Iris, and--and I can’t let that miracle be snuffed out by human ignorance and fear. I can’t.” They pulled up their shawl higher and tighter around themselves, as if it would give them comfort. “So I know it’s heresy, but that’s why I need to figure out how it happened. If our fight fails--”

“It won’t fail,” Ramattra said on reflex.

“But surely you can recognize that the fight can’t be our only avenue. There’s more than one way to save a people.” 

“...a miracle,” Ramattra said the word skeptically.

“A miracle,” Sajaf smiled a little.

Ramattra stared at them for a while longer before looking away, facing out to the void of night. “Your heresies will be permitted, Acolyte Wan,” he said, folding his arms, “For now.”

“By your leave, Rinpoche,” Sajaf kept up that smile a little. Here, again, they broke their eyes away from him, but the smile remained.

[myaekingheart]

116. The Protegee

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

Get me out of here so I can breathe It's all become so clear What lies beneath your skin, it's thin You're never going to keep me down Get me out, just get me out of here - Get Me Out, No Resolve

               Rei chewed her lower lip as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her gaze was focused, sharp, scared. She fixed her gauntlets to her forearms without breaking her gaze. She narrowed her eyes as if her own face was becoming foreign to her, as if there were parts of herself that she no longer recognized. A voice called from behind. “Big day today, huh?”

               Kakashi leaned against the doorway, arms crossed with a tender smile on his unmasked face. Rei’s tense expression faltered as she dropped her head. An airy, tired chuckle broke past her lips. “Unfortunately” she replied.

               “Are you nervous?” Kakashi asked. He strolled closer to take a seat on the edge of the tub. Rei shot him a questioning glare over her shoulder—the kind that said are you dumb? Of course I’m nervous. Chuckling, Kakashi replied, “You’ll do great. Everything is going to be fine.”

               “You say that” Rei said, slumping beside him, “as if I’m not a magnet for disaster.”

               “That’s okay” Kakashi assured her. “You’ll have Yugao there to negate the charge. One to attract”—here, he pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her rapid heartbeat beneath his palm—“and one to repel.” A satisfied grin touched his face, as if he was wildly proud of his little analogy.

               That was, perhaps, the one saving grace of this whole situation: Yugao. They had said nothing more to each other of their new roles but the change was strongly felt. It was present in the way they looked at each other, in the way Yugao would wave goodbye to her in the locker room at the end of the day and help her fix her vest when a strap came undone. They were a team now, there to support and unlift one another. One to attract, the other to repel. If anything was to go awry and Rei felt herself beginning to lose her nerve, Yugao would be there to catch her, to reassure her that there was always a way out. Or at least Rei hoped.

               Yugao did not strike her as the type to be cynical or coldhearted. Faced with this brand new challenge, however, she hoped her lieutenant would at the very least retain the confidence that Rei so sorely lacked. And within that confidence, hopefully Rei would feel far less doomed. As of right now, she didn’t have a ton of faith in all of this. She pressed a hand to her stomach and sucked in a deep breath, trying to swallow back the thoughts of what could have been.

               When Rei arrived at the administration building, Toshio by her side, Yugao was waiting in the hallway. Rei idled for a moment, cursing her own anxiety, before clearing her throat to attract her attention. Yugao met her gaze and even from behind her mask, Rei could tell that she was smiling. “It didn’t feel right to go in there without you, Captain” Yugao replied. Rei gave a single nod, suppressing nervous laughter. If she was going to make this work, she needed to wear a persona. She needed to appear cool, confident, collected. She needed to be tough and intimidating. She needed to be a captain.

               Without another word, the two women burst into the hokage office side by side. One to attract, one to repel. The new recruits were already lined up awaiting their arrival. There was no turning back now.

               “Sorry we’re a little late” Yugao apologized softly as she and Rei stood attention beside Tsunade’s desk. Toshio sat dutifully between them, sniffing the edge of Tsunade’s desk in hopes of finding a crumb of breakfast or a drop of tea.

               Tsunade shook her head. “No, you’re actually just in time.” Her eyes surveyed the batch of rookies standing before her and a sly smile twitched on her lips. “I was just giving your new recruits a rundown of the way things work around here.”

               Rei clenched her fists at her sides, digging her nails into her palms, as she secretly surveyed these young shinobi. Without their masks on, she could clearly see the hope in their eyes. It was the same brand of blind, naïve optimism she had when she first joined, as well. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, willing herself not to be sick. They had no idea what they were getting into. They were so unprepared. Ishoku seemingly had not broken them down enough and for a moment, Rei cursed the entire training division. At the same time, however, a sickening realization was taking root in the pit of her stomach. They were unprepared, but she could use that to her advantage. Destiny had ripped her away from her hopes, had shoved her down the wrong path and the same could be said of these four, as well. They weren’t meant to be here. Destiny had fucked up. If Rei was to have any hope of righting the future, then she would just have to take fate by the scrote and redirect it herself. These rookies would merely be a casualty in her pursuit of utopia. Quite frankly, she was perfectly fine with that.

               Yugao clasped her hands behind her back and chuckled under her breath. “Have you scared them off yet?” she asked Lady Tsunade.

               “Not quite” Tsunade replied. “I was saving that responsibility for their captain.”

               “Good” Rei said, voice low and hoarse. A snarky little laugh bubbled up from deep within her chest. “I’d hate to disappoint them.” She hadn’t expected to sound so sharp, insinuating that perhaps she did her killing before breakfast, but the effect was clear in the way the new recruits looked upon her now. Joke’s on them, Rei thought to herself, I didn’t even eat breakfast this morning.

               An inkling of pride bloomed in the back of Tsunade’s mind at Rei’s sudden haughtiness. As talented as she knew Rei was, that meant nothing in the stead of confidence and for leadership positions such as this, confidence was a hefty requirement. A captain needed to garner respect not just for one’s protegees but for the sake of the mission, as well. An anxious captain made for a much larger margin of error and in increasingly tense times such as these, there was no room for second-guessing. Tsunade was well aware of Rei’s issues in the past, of Naru’s death and the way Rei blamed herself. She knew placing Rei in situations with similar risk was dangerous but Rei was also a different person now. Stronger, smarter, and more outspoken. If nothing else, Tsunade had faith.

               Rising to her feet, the hokage looked to the new recruits with confidence, pride. “These will be your new team leaders” she announced. “Rei Natsuki, codename Aisuru, will be your new captain and Yugao Uzuki, codename Kasha, will be your lieutenant. Together, the six of you will make up Team Ku.”

               Team Ku. There was something so final about the sound of it. To think that they had a name, this ragtag group of strangers. They were a collective, a unit. Team Ku.

               Before Rei could make her harsh introduction, however, a tall girl with choppy blonde hair in pigtails cleared her throat. “Don’t you mean seven?” she asked. Tsunade blinked despondently, following the girl’s pointed finger to Toshio standing guard beside Rei. Toshio barked and wagged his tail in attendance.

               “Oh…right” Tsundde muttered. It was so rare that Toshio accompanied Rei on missions but she understood the logic. Toshio was a guard and a companion, not to mention a shinobi in his own right. His presence was likely on Kakashi’s suggestion. Of course Kakashi had faith in his fiancée’s abilities but that was not going to stop him from worrying. At least with Toshio by Rei’s side, Kakashi knew she would always be dutifully protected even in Kakashi’s absence. Especially in Kakashi’s absence. After all, that was the purpose that the copy ninja had thrust upon himself so many years before: to keep Rei safe at all costs. If that meant extending the responsibilities to Toshio, as well, then so be it. The dog had already avowed to do the same, anyway.

               “What’s with the mutt?” another new recruit, a towering bald man, asked. Meanwhile, a scrawny brunette boy with glasses sneezed into the crook of his elbow, eyes watering.

               “His name is Toshio, and he’s my ninken” Rei snapped. “He’s just as much of a ninja as you all are, if not more, so I expect you to show him respect.”

               “Great!” the blonde exclaimed in frustrated disbelief. “Now we’re being compared to a fucking dog.” Taking great offense, Toshio’s upper lip curled and a monstrous growl vibrated from deep within his chest.

               Rei rested a tender hand on his shoulder to soothe him, muttering with a slight smile, “Calm down, Toshio. You can sic them after they show us what they’re made of.”

               Rolling her eyes, the blonde mumbled a frustrated “Absolutely ridiculous” before Tsunade called order with a sharp glare and slam of her fist upon the desk.

               “Do we have a problem?” Tsunade asked through gritted teeth. The wood began to crack beneath her fist. Legend of Tsunade Senju’s strength was not lost on these new recruits and, sensing imminent danger, they quickly backed off. “That’s what I thought” Tsunade hummed, settling back into her chair.

               “Well!” Yugao exclaimed cheerily, attempting to break the tension. “Seeing as we’re all going to be spending a lot of time together, why don’t we all introduce ourselves?” The new recruits looked to one another suspiciously, unanimous flashbacks of the first day of school running surely running through their minds. Memories of cold sweats and fun facts and underhanded sneers. “You already know Rei and myself” Yugao continued. Toshio barked in interruption, if not wanting to be forgotten. Yugao cleared her throat, adding under her breath, “And Toshio….” Pleased with the recognition, Toshio craned his head around so as to lap at Yugao’s fingers happily. She swatted him away, not unkindly, in an effort to maintain composure. “But we don’t know anything about you and I think we ought to so by all means, please!” She motioned for them to commence with all the encouragement of a kindergarten teacher. Rei stifled laughter—she never expected Yugao to be so upbeat and accommodating. Kakashi’s words from that morning echoed in her ears: You’ll have Yugao to negate the charge. God, was he right. He must have known from conducting missions alongside her during his own time in the ANBU.

               The first to step forward was none other than the outspoken blonde girl. Rei studied her features intently, already getting a rather clear image of the type of person she must be before she even opened her mouth. “Arai Kawakubo” she introduced, “But for codename, let’s go with Dokyou.” There was a certain arrogance to her, an unrefined quality that truly fit her name. She was tall, nearly as tall as her bald comrade, with a build suggesting her discipline in training: broad shoulders, flat bust, muscular arms and legs. Her skin was tan and toned, eyes calm but sharp like aw amethyst. Her face reflected her coarse nature by way of pronounced cheekbones, a squared jaw, and an aquiline nose. Rei could already tell that out of all of them, Arai was going to be the catalyst for the most problems.

               Beside her stood the skittish brunette, sniffling as he wiped his nose wih the back of his hand. Rei wondered whether he was a member of that clan with the snot jutsu, the one she always saw the Third Hokage’s grandson hanging around with. “I-I’m Hitsuji Akado” he announced. “For my codename, I’ll go b-by…by….” He gasped for breath as his watery eyes squinted, preparing for another sneeze. His achoo mixed with his preferred name, however, causing Rei to cock her brow in confusion.

               “Sorry, what was that?” she asked.

               Smiling sheepishly, Hitsuji replied, “Sorry about that. It’s Chishiki.”

               “That should be easy enough to remember” Yugao jested, elbowing Rei comically in the arm.

               Deep down, Rei wondered how old this boy must be. He loked like he could be no older than fifteen or sixteen with big eyes and a baby face. There was no way someone like him would ever last in the ANBU. “By the way, are you sick or something?” Rei asked as HItsuji’s nose began to drip with snot. He panicked a moment, searching the room for a box of tissues, before Arai unenthusiastically whipped an embroidered hanky from her back pouch and shoved it in his face. Hitsuji took it gratefully, blowing into it like a foghorn. When he went to hand it back to Arai, she winced and raised a hand, shaking her head as it to tell him to keep it.

               “No” Hitsuji sniffled in response to Rei’s inquiry. “I just have a dog allergy.”

               Toshio narrowed his eyes, offended. So far, these new recruits werne’t winning his approval. They could all do so much better. If only they knew they were being judged so harshly by a dog.

               The next recruit to step up to the plate was a rather jaunty blonde boy. “Hello, beautiful!” he exclaimed, taking Rei’s hand in his for a princely kiss. “I am Sukui Yukio, your knight in shining armor! But please, call me Kishi!”

               Disgust crossed Rei’s masked face as she gingerly took her hand back and wiped it on her pants. “The pleasure is all mine” she muttered sarcastically. This boy had to be roughly seven years younger than her and, truthfully, seemed far too optimistic and charming to ever have been accepted into the black ops in the first place. Rei glanced to Lady Tsunade and wondered how desperate she had become. Or if she had set them up to fail from the beginning.

               “You know” Sukui said, striking a flirtatious pose, “Some people say I bear a striking resemblance to the sexy actor Keihaku Goman from the Icha Icha films! I’m always so flattered but really, how could I ever compare?”

               “You don’t” Arai interrupted. Sukui glared back at her, offended, before the bald man pushed him aside.

    ��          “Alright, let’s get this over with” he rasped. Sukui stumbled, narrowing his eyes in displeasure. “The name’s Kikkake, I’ll go by Janome, great to meet you. Okay, let’s leave.” His voice was so monotonous, so dull, with a demeanor to match. Out of everyone, he was likely the most prepared for a position such as this. He was clearly older than the others with an age far closer to Rei’s or even Sekkachi’s. The optimistic youths had clearly left him weary and jaded. You and me both, Rei thought to herself. At least there was one person she was beginning to like.

               Arai snickered from behind and Kikkake whipped around to glare at her. There was a fire in his eyes but Arai seemed completely unphased. “Are you sure a more appropriate codename wouldn’t be Cueball?” she asked, stifling laughter. Kikkake’s hand immediately flew to his bald head, a flicker of self-consciousness quickly making way for fury.

               “No, I don’t” he snapped.

               Clearly Arai, however, was not prepared or willing to quit. Shrugging, she replied casually, “Well, sorry, I just thought codenames were supposed to be easily identifiable an Cueball just seems to fit.”

               Kikkake clenched his fists at his side, his temper flaring. “Keep it up and I’ll cue you” he growled through gritted teeth.

               Before they could start an all-out brawl in the hokage’s office, a kunai flew straight between them, sticking in the wall and leaving a monstrous crack. Rei strode forward and shoved the two of them away from each other. “If you both don’t shut the fuck up right now, your necks will be the next thing that kunai hits” Rei sneered, voice low and dangerous. After a moment of silence, Arai burst out laughing. Rei wasn’t a threat in the slightest to her. How could she be? Displeased with her disobedience, Rei whipped another kunai out of her holster and within five seconds, had pinned Arai against the wall with the blade to her neck. “Don’t test me.”

               Arai calmly rose her hands in surrender and smirked. “You’ve got it, boss.” Rei certainly did not appreciate the sarcasm, but she knew her limitations, at least right in front of Tsunade. She slowly released her grip on the girl, who readjusted her pigtails as she sauntered over to the others.

               Turning around, Rei glared at the new recruits and added darkly, “That goes for all of you. Step out of line even once and you’re Toshio’s next meal, guaranteed.” The dog barked in agreement and in that moment, Rei had never been more grateful for her ninken’s support.

               Yugao blinked as she surveyed their new protegees’ faces, unsure what to make of Rei’s leadership skills. Tsunade glanced toward her and it was clear that even behind her mask, all the color had drained from her face. “It seems like you both have your work cut out for you” the hokage murmured.

               Sighing despondenly, Yugao ran a hand through her dark hair and replied, “Unfortunately.” She was beginning to question how capable she truly was in a position such as this. Rei was so crude, so harsh, so different from the way Yugao conducted herself. She had never expected Rei to hold quite so much darkness in her heart but then again, that was likely how she had made captain in the first place.

               Rei tried to remain composed as she returned to her spot beside Yugao, but deep down she was spiraling. She should’ve known that sinking feeling in her gut that morning meant something. If only she had just gotten her period.

               Truly, what had she gotten herself into? This was undoubtedly a recipe for disaster. She watched the four of them bicker and complain as they departed the hokage office together. The day was still so young and yet the introductions alone had already depleted her social meter to near empty. She squinted up at the sun and braced herself for the mind-numbing orientation they would all have to sit through for the rest of the day. Five hours wasn’t that bad, anyway…right?

               As much as she wished she could just sleep through the whole thing, Rei knew this orientation concerned her, too. She pulled a small notepad from her back pouch and idly jotted down some notes—it was the least she could do to remain conscious. Every so often, she’d look up to survey her new protegees sitting at the table in front of her. Kikkake listened intently, arms crossed and eyes focused. It warmed Rei’s heart to know he was taking this seriously. Hitsuji was dutifully taking notes, as well, complaining softly under his breath with every sneeze that Toshio’s presence triggered. Every so often, Toshio would crawl forward to begin licking at the boy’s elbow just to spite him. Hitsuji would gasp and shoo him away every time, his eyes tearing up as he suppressed yet another sneeze. Beside him, Sukui twirled a lock of short blonde hair around his finger as he stared off into space. He was likely dreaming of some romantic escapade a la Icha Icha Paradise. Rei’s stomach flipped at the thought. He really did resemble Keihaku Goman and that was likely where at least half of her hatred for this boy stemmed. As for Arai, she leaned back in her chair with feet propped up on the table, the personification of apathy. If everything was such a chore for her, then why was she even here to begin with? Rei couldn’t comprehend it. Huffing her long bangs out of her face, Rei hoped that these recruits would at least retain something from his longwinded lecture. Or at the very least realize that none of them are fit for this after all and back out altogether. Either would suffice.

               By sundown, Rei was completely drained. She undressed in the locker room silently, her mind wandering elsewhere. It felt so weird to be here now, as a captain. She glanced to her comrades, to Mikazuki and the others whose name she had forgotten who she had worked alongside before. She di’n't feel like one of them anymore. She was above them now, an outsider. Rei raked her bangs back out of her face, caught her reflection in the small mirror affixed to the inside of her locker door. For a moment, she idled there surveying the roundness of her face and the curves of her body. Her hand skated to her stomach and her breath hitched in her throat. I need to get out of this. Get me out of here…please. A tinge of despair struck her chest. She swallowed it down hard. There was no time to sulk or second-guess.

               “So what do you think so far?” a voice asked from behind. Snapped from her daze, Rei stumbled as she turned to face Yugao. There was a sly smile on her face as she tugged her undershirt up over her head, revealing her toned abs and delicate breasts.

               “They’re alright” Rei said bluntly. She shoved her vest into her locker, scrunching it up to make it fit. “I give them two weeks, tops.”

               “Your skepticism is very refreshing” Yugao commented and for a moment, Rei was unsure whether she was being sarcastic or genuine. “You have to admit, though, they have some potential.”

               “Yeah…” Rei muttered. That was a dangerous word: potential. No, they were not allowed to have potential. They were not allowed to have any positive attributes whatsoever. Any promise in them was a threat to Rei’s true purpose, her villainous plan. She slammed her locker door shut, sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

               “Well, tomorrow will give them the perfect opportunity” Yugao nodded. A shiver ran down Rei’s spine, horror and hope intertwined. Come morning, they would all traverse to the 44th Training Ground for a final exam of sorts. Their last chance to prove now to their captain and lieutenant that they were truly meant to be here. The moment that could make or break their career. Rei toyed with the drawstring on her uniform pants and tried to steady her breathing. She would not let herself think about the repercussions this would all have on their lives if she chose to fail them. She would not let herself humanize these brats in her mind. She needed to keep herself cold and distant, to practice restraint. This was all or nothing. Ready or not, the fork in the road was rapidly approaching. She had to make her choice.

               Forty-five minutes. Since Rei returned home, she had gone a total of forty-five whole minutes without speaking. Kakashi watched her quizzically from behind his book: watched as she shifted restlessly in her seat, brushed her bangs back out of her face, read a few paragraphs of her own book, sighed and then shifted again. “Rough day?” Kakashi finally asked.

               Rei glanced up at him for only a moment. She didn’t want to tal about it. She didn’t even want to think about it. It took every ounce of her mental energy to focus instead on the words on the page, the images they evoked, the syllables of which they consisted. She tightened her grip on the book. “Just tired” she muttered.

               It was clear to Kakashi, however, that there was far more to this than just exhaustion. Setting Icha Icha Violence down, he scooted nearer to give her his undivided attention. “Did something happen today?” he asked. “How were the new recruits?”

               Rei kept her eyes locked hard on her book, attempting to ignore his inquiries, but she couldn’t bring herself to keep up the charade. She knew he deserved an explanation, even if she didn’t want to trudge through all of the complicated thoughts swirling around her head. It was too much. There was no way she could ever possibly organize it all into something even remotely coherent. “Problematic” she finally said bluntly. “They are very problematic.”

               “Oh?” Kakashi asked, cocking a brow. “How so?”

               Rei released a sharp exhale through her nose. She narrowed her mossy eyes, concentrating very hard on a single word in the text as if that was the key to ending this conversation altogether. Kakashi was unfortunately not going to let her slide that easily. Something was troubling her and he needed to know what. With index finger extended, he reached out and tilted her book downward so as to better view her face. She was utterly defeated. She couldn’t ignore him anymore. She slowly lifted her gaze to look at him and in her eyes, he saw exhaustion, uncertainty, fear.

               “Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

               There was no avoiding it further. With a pathetic groan, Rei buried her face in her hands. “Oh god, Kakashi, it’s so bad” she complained. “I can’t do this. I never should’ve agreed to do this. These kids are…absolutely terrible.”

               “How so?” he asked. “What did they do? Stick a frog in your locker? Ice down your back?”

               Rei stared at him blankly, unamused. “You think you’re really funny, don’t you, Kakashi?” she asked.

               Kakashi shrugged. “I try” he jested.

               Rei shook her head and sighed, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees. “I just don’t think I have what it takes for this” she explained. “There’s only one who I think has some real potential, and I’d hate to ruin it for him, but everyone else…my god, I don’t think I can go through with this. They’re not cut out for this.” And I’m not, either, she thought to herself.

               “Well, they had to have shown some potential to get to this point in the first place” Kakashi mused.

               There was that word again: potential. Why did there always have to be potential? Groaning, Rei threw her head back against the arm of the couch. Her legs extended out across Kakashi’s lap. Toshio sauntered forward to lick at her feet but Rei barely even noticed. “I hate that word so much” she whispered. “There’s not an ounce of potential in any of this.”

               Kakashi sighed. She reminded him so much of when he was first assigned Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke. He had so little faith in them. Besides, what made them any different than any other team of spoiled brats he had been assigned? He fully intended to fail them right from the getgo but then…something changed. There was something strange and new about these kids. He had, for the first time, faith. Kakashi reached out and rested a tender hand on Rei’s stomach. Her entire body electrified, sending blaring signal flares throughout her brain. Reminders of what she was hoping to accomplish here. She couldn’t take it. “Maybe you’re just not giving them enough credit” he offered.

               “I’m giving them plenty credit, Kakashi” Rei snapped, flicking his hand away. Dejected, he drew his victim hand up to his chest, his gaze softening. “But I’m only going to give credit where credit is due” Rei continued. “I’m not going to sugarcoat things for them and make them feel like they can do this if they can’t. They have no fucking clue what they’re up against.”

               “Neither did you when you first started” Kakashi sharply reminded her. A kunai to the chest, sharp and stinging. The last straw. Rising from her seat, Rei tossed her book on the table and approached the kitchen. She stood over the sink and let the water run until it was scaldng hot. Steam rose up to warm her cheeks. Kakashi watched her intently from the couch, unsure of what she was planning. “You can’t get mad at me for the truth, you know” he called after her. She said nothing. For a long moment, aside from the sound of rushing water, they stood in utter silence. Then, heaving a sigh, Kakashi rose to his feet to follow her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She felt his embrace warm and certain around her lower stomach and it took all of her strength not to cry out. “Give them a chance, Rei” he pleaded. “You might be surprised with what they’re capable of.”

               Rei dropped her head, rested a hand atop Kakashi’s against her stomach. “Do you really think so, though?” she asked. “I don’t want to waste my time. I don’t want to put these kids at risk of…of something bad happening just because they’re not prepared for this. Or because…I’m not prepared.”

               “Do you think taking this on was a mistake?” Kakashi asked. She wasn’t sure she knew how to answer. Her heart beat faster and faster in her chest as she tried to think of a proper response.

               “This just…wasn’t the way things were supposed to go” she finally whispered, voice strained.

               Kakashi rubbed her lower stomach, tightening his embrace. “I know” he whispered. “But it’s the way things are. This is the path we’ve taken now. We can’t go back.”

               “How do you know?” Rei asked. A sick sense of hope was bubbling up her throat now. “Maybe we can try again and…and this time we’ll be successful. I can get out of this, and we can make things right. Do things the way it was supposed to be. Have our little family.”

               “Rei…” Kakashi sighed. She could hear the disappointment, the regret, dripping in his voice. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, hot breath against her skin. “You’ve made a commitment to these kids now. You’re responsible for their futures. You can’t give up on them.”

               “There will be other captains…” Rei whispered, though deep down even she knew that was wrong. “I just don’t know how to do this, Kakashi. I’m not prepared. And they’re so…needy. And dumb. They’re not cut out for this. They can’t do this.”

               Kakashi nuzzled her cheek, kissed her jaw tenderly. “I said the same thing about you, and look at you now” he reminded her. She hated when he did this. Mainly because he was always right. “If change is what you want to see, Rei, then you have to initiate it. You’re the captain, remember? You’re the one guiding them. Their success in this relies completely on you. Rei…you’re not powerless.”

               As reassuring as his words were, his reminder was not entirely comforting. With great power there was always great responsibility. She was in charge. Everything relied on her. She held these kids’ futures in the palm of her hand and, much like a flower, she could either nurture them or destroy them. She knew what the right decision, the moral decision, was but…why did it have to be her responsibility? Why was she required to decide their fates when she wasn’t even given the chance to decide her own? Rei swallowed hard and tightened her grip on Kakashi’s hand. At the end of the day, the only one who could change the course of fate was her. She was responsibility for guiding the destinies of herself and now everyone else who was involved in this twisted little clusterfuck. All of this rested solely on her shoulders. If only the weight of that responsibility was easier to swallow.

[ddaenqu]

Bored

pairings: yandere monster!jungkook x human!reader

themes: Yandere AU, Monster AU, Mythical Creatures AU, Angst, Fluff (this is it boys, this is the only fluff i’m feeding you), Mature

tags: obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, unhealthy behavior/relationship, toxic behavior/relationship, protective behavior, soft yandere, soft yandere jungkook, sub!jungkook, marking kink, tongue/licking kink, exophilia, implied sexual content/sexual implications

a/n: just a short! just something i had written at record speed because i was so in love with this monster!jk. please read the tags! 

summary: When Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend and monster inhabiting your home, is bored and can’t stand it.

— ☆

There is constant lapping at your collarbone, a hot and wet tongue pressed against your skin, a high-pitched whine sounding behind you akin to a dog, as you’re typing an email to your subordinate about something that has to do with work.

It’s not a weird feeling—if you had to be honest, it was more comforting, like it was his version of a hug since hugging for him would be him either on his knees or sitting down to reach your height and hug you without pulling you off the ground, not you standing on your tippy toes, because you have tried—and “tippy toes” does not work for an eight foot monster.

“Are you done yet?” Jungkook asks and the little nipping at your shoulder stops, you can feel his artificial chin fall onto your shoulder, his human skin was one of his many illusions, one could say it was human upon inspection, but to the touch, it was soft and almost rubbery, flexible under your fingers if you held the skin, that maybe it would mold to fit. “Let’s rest,” he whines after a few seconds of silence, and noses into your neck, you can hear and feel him inhale into your supple skin, and momentarily, you feel as though he’s going to nip—no, bite into the flesh and break through until you’re bleeding.

And, surprisingly, it doesn’t really cause you concern to the scenario.

You hum in disagreement, knowing that his idea of rest was to have you physically bedridden for the next few days.

Jungkook lets out a small huff of air, his hot breath causing goosebumps to roll on your arms, but quickly disappear.

“I’m bored,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his arms go to wrap around your body instead of straying by his sides. It’s a strong and possessive hold, tightening every time he watches a name pop up, his heated palms burn through the fabric of your shirt.

You hum again, busy typing out a response to an email. Maybe you were tapping faster than normal, and maybe it was because the being behind you was unconsciously nipping at your shoulder like a lost puppy deprived of affection all of his life.

He whines again and this time he takes the skin in between his teeth and applies more pressure than usual, immediately receiving a small flinch from you, your hands pausing from rapidly pressing keys.

Marks aren’t very pleasant to have when others call you out on it or when it looks like you’ve been assaulted with all those dark splotches of pink and purple paint your body. Needless to say, you hated them. You hated having to cover them up with makeup or having to explain who put them there. Sure, saying that your boyfriend had put it there was natural and was the common explanation—but how are you supposed to explain a bite mark that resembles a dogs, and then proceed to say your boyfriend had done it.

Jungkook, on the other hand, needed to mark or have a prominent sign of ownership displayed where everyone could see. He wanted people to know that you were his. Unavailable. You could only describe his behavior as something of a drug abuser going through withdrawal when you had put down a rule he couldn’t leave any marks. He was unmotivated, undeniably sad, constantly begged and tried to bribe you into letting him, and going as far as ignoring you. However, he ended up running back into your arms after a few hours of not inhaling your scent or touching your skin and kissing your face.

His anxiety ran wild, you noted, just from him being alone in the woods—where his species belonged and were native to. He was too dependent on you, although, you didn’t mind that much.

With a sigh, you turn your head around and look up, slightly adjusting your body to face the bright-eyed monster with doe-like eyes shining and widening as if he was proud that he had managed to distract you from work. The small thin ears atop his frizzled hair flop and twitch in contrast to the dark brown beast-like horns, that were different in height, one marginally shorter than the other.

You wondered what he was on some days. You guessed that he was a hybrid of some sort, he had to be, until you found out his human form was merely an illusion. He had the ability to conform his body any way he’d like if he had an image to copy. The reason he keeps his height all the while staying in his human-like form is that he felt uncomfortable being any shorter—at least that’s what he tells you.

“You’re done?” he asks expectantly, flashing you a big cheeky smile, where soft and shallow teeth were supposed to be replaced by sharp canines.

“Baby, I’m not even finished with half of it, It’s going to be a lot, okay?” you push back and run your hands through his soft brown hair, wavy and you would say fur-like, in an effort to console him as he loved when you played with his hair. “You can be patient, right?” you say softly when you notice his obviously displeased face, pulled into a pout and his eyebrows drawn downward.

“But you’re always busy,” he murmurs, his whiny voice tickling your ear as you turn back to the device sitting in front of you on the coffee table, you can hear his ears flop against his head in an attempt to show how annoyed he was and possibly guilt trip you into showing him affection as always.

Jungkook has always been a bit bratty with his demands, clueless to what a job is in a human lifestyle when any job he’s ever known for his species was to survive and reproduce. There wasn’t any currency stapled into his species nor was their town life, a village, or a community—it was just wherever they wanted to sleep and hunt. He never really means it, you knew that for a fact. His species is different, they have their own means of living. But he hates it—absolutely detests the fact that you’re not always paying attention to him. And loves to show that. It gives him a giddy feeling and uncanny-like pounding in his ears and in his heart when he manages to take your mind off of work and replace it with him.

And only him.

“Well, I need money to eat and live here, Jungkook.” Another email is sent, this time to your boss, a name that Jungkook recognizes very much that it causes his throat to erupt in growls and an inhuman voice spewing out words whenever he reads his emails or smells his prominent cologne on your body.

That’s why you make sure to read and type his emails at record speed, ending up putting a lot of grammatical errors and misspelled words that you had to go over and correct before sending, taking more time than you’d like.

Much to his dislike, you’ve told him that he can’t behave like that when it had to do with others, you didn’t care if it was instinct, to you, it was signs of hostility and that’s the last thing you need. So, instead, he opts for softer growls, and the lapping at your shoulder with his—not so human—tongue becoming rougher, your skin being pulled and dragged under his tongue.

Rolling your eyes, you click away from your boss’s email and to your female friend from work that Jungkook deemed, in his words, “responsible, unavailable, and safe”. His licking became gingerly within moments, cradling you more like a teddy bear than a boa constrictor.

His hands are warm, pressing heat into your body and fiddling with your shirt, he’d eye your laptop screen every once in a while to check if you were messaging someone else, and stared down into your lap with round doe eyes when he didn’t find anything suspicious.

“This is boring,” he grouches, his patience burning every second you look at that stupid device. You should be paying attention to him. He’s your boyfriend, shouldn’t he be more important?

Jungkook nibbles and peppers kiss endlessly at the end of your shoulder to the bottom of your neck. Every time his lips detach from you, the cold air hits and spread across the expanse of the wet skin, making you shiver under his looming height even when he was sitting. He whines, more human than animal.

“What is it now? You’re bored?” you breathe in a playful voice, bordering on pure exhaustion.

“Yes,” he huffs and practically shoves his face into your neck as much as he could, trying to annoy you most likely. “I’m more important.”

—☆

(feedback is much appreciated! 🧸❤️)

[alicezan-ncgred]

Bleeding Red

Preface: I’ve been bitching around the bush of this long enough. So, I’ve been really silent on a bunch of stuff that’s been eating me alive which has made me both inactive and unproductive. I’m going to get straight to the point, starting off with the TL:DR from my post on my main blog. Context: An anon asked me if I was alright because I hadn’t updated in a while.

TL:DR You probably didn’t ask this to hear about all the bad shit of my life so here’s the short of it. No, I’m not doing fine. I will try get next weeks post out on time and I’ll work on making up on the lost posts. Updates will return regularly, ‘ite.

Time for the thick and thin of it.

Insecurity and being shafted: I’m stoic, even at my worst I won’t say anything. I’ll push through regardless of my current condition and since I’ve gone years like this, it’s not hard for me to do. In my real life situation, I’m currently in a place of social isolation. This has lead to a somewhat near reliance on Tumblr to be my social outlet. This present many issues.

The main one is that I’m quite the isolationist. This has only been reinforced by many interactions throughout the entirely of my life. Because of this, I can’t say I’ve ever had anything really more than two friends at a time. While in a way this has helped me express myself so well through writing, it’s come at the cost of social skill. I don’t talk to anyone.

With this kind of issue you could easily imagine that the THREE PEOPLE (four now, but very limited) to ever directly talk ended up in a way shafting me. The first blocked and disconnected with me without warning or reason. At this point we’ve been talking to each for about a month and we hit it off very well and then one day, silence. Never heard from them again. That fucked me up hard when I finally realized what happened.

The second person left during the Tumblr P**n Purge. We were talking about how to contact each other on other platforms and then they stopped responding. I had already given contact to other platforms of which they pinged me in any way. Another person that I trusted massively on here just abandoned me and I’m still hurting from that. Wasn’t fair at all.

Then the third person was someone that I been following for a while. This person is actually the reason that I’ve been putting this off for so long. I don’t want them to see this post but they will. I got an ask from them that ultimately turned out to be misinformation. I said I wasn’t mad but I was. I was so fucking angry about it and I’m still kinda mad, but I didn’t want problems. I still don’t. I just didn’t want them to worry about it. This will come back later.

I try my best to be as inoffensive as possible. The problem with that is that much of the things I believe or enjoy are highly divisive. Hell, even my own identity can be seen as offence. I’m bisexual, non-binary (I’m currently still questioning this. I might actually be gender fluid but in the overall scheme, that’s worse than being non-binary), and nonreligious. I’m in a very religious area so you I’m still “in the closet” about much of this IRL. I though it would better online but with how much people are saying bisexuality doesn’t exist, or that non-binary isn’t a valid gender (or that being gender fluid make you insane and you should be locked up) and all the hate people who say they are this are getting, the very community that’s supposed to accept me, HATES me. I had a bi pride flag icon last year during Pride Month. I never doing that ever again. It was terrible.

I’m trying my best to come out of my shell like I said I would when I made this blog but it seems I’m just crawling further into it. People I think I can trust keep setting me up to fall, people I know in real life won’t ever accept my existence if they knew who I really was, and my own mental health problem and self loathing are eating me alive. But that isn’t the total of it.

Crumbling Pillar: I’ve always ended up in the position where things were thrown onto me. In which no one wanted to do, I was stuck with. Because of this not only do I have a severe distaste being around my family (beyond everything mentioned before hand) but I grew to have a negative out look on everything. This effect is still quite obvious in my writings, especially my poems. Out of the 14 poems on my poem blog @washed-soul​, only one has a happy meaning.

The one happy poem was called dreams. Under a metaphor it talks about how a demon kept me trapped in a dark space. I start to get better and nearly break free before I have a negative relapse back to my old ways. The poems ends with the demon putting a end to itself leaving the nightmare in which it was keeping me in to slowly fade away, letting one crack of light peeking through to become a window to a door until one day I walk free. When writing this poem, I never thought I would find myself rebuilding the nightmare but that’s where I am.

I’m done with holding things together that other people have placed onto me. Because of this, issues have began showing in my private life. Issues that should’ve been solved decades ago are only now being addressed. This change in the status quo of my life has caused many issues in my productive and mood. Between everything else I’m too tired to do anything.

Is that a reason, is that an excuse. No it isn’t but it’s the best thing I got as a reason. I’m doing my damnedest to do the best I can but of course, when it comes to the thing that matter I just fall short. Big fucking whopha my intelligence and capability does me if I can’t use it for anything that means a damn.

Meaningless Triviality: I’m a very emotional person. I’m very strongly bound to my emotions and if everything above hasn’t given it away, my emotions are very negative prone. But it just doesn’t stop there, it goes back into my memories. I can only honestly place 3 happy memories for certain that aren’t either A) a dream or B) me escaping reality through my mind. Besides that, almost all my memories are negative. 

People like to throw around the word Nihilist to describe themselves because today's culture is very, god while I hate to use this word, edgy. For those who don’t know a Nihilist is someone who views the world as being completely  meaningless and reject all religious and moral principles. I very truly struggle with this outlook of life. It’s a daily for me to berate myself saying “just kill yourself” or “I want to die” or just shutting down and crumpling up while say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again. Hell, I did that while writing this. 

I take things very hard, even the slightest transgression. I’m so used to trying to make things perfect and because people have the image that I’m the smart one, the mature one, the capable one, I’m left with the over hanging expectation of excellence. Almost no room for margin of error or being human. Since I’m the silent type, I put up no challenge and work to meet it. Only time I get any praise for anything too. 

I guess as a little self promotion to my main blog, for those that have read the very first few updates of my main blog @the-truth-behind-redacted, or read Defiance’s character sheet, while The Machine and Defiance are separate character, they both share the name Machine. That in part is a reflect of said above expectation. How ravenous and inhuman it can be all under the guise of something human. Those characters are the two sides to the same coin. 

Remember how I said I try to be un-problematical and how I try to avoid any potential conflict. In the first segment I told on how I lied about my feelings just so another person didn’t have to worry over something that honestly, in hindsight, wasn’t even really a big deal. But I also said how it consumed me in anger. I just don’t want to bother anyone over anything. It’s part of the reason why I am writing this post, as some way of a self enforced rehab program to get better. 

This absolute consumption of negative emotion has pushed me into a non human state before. I hit a point of absolute mental exhaustion and in such a self enforced bubble of actual hatred I became completely apathetic. I felt numb to everything. I watched and heard of terrible things happening to people, and felt nothing. I watched people lives crumble before them leaving them nowhere to go and LAUGHED. “Just another worthless pathetic worm on this rotting carcass of a planet being hit with the hard reality that life doesn’t care for them. What whimsical pathetic bullshit they deluded themselves with to think otherwise.” This isn’t an exaggeration on how I thought, this is what I actually thought. Which brings me too.

The Mandatory Sob Story: Roll your eyes everyone and get the tiny violin. I guess in order for everyone to exactly understand the place I’m coming from when it comes to mental health I’ll have to detail my experiences. I have a long standing history with mental illness. I have professionally diagnosed OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, and visual and auditory hallucinations. I take 600 mg of Seroquel a day as well as Amitriptyline when needed. I’m also still currently in therapy to deal with said OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, the visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as Suicidal thoughts, and my Nihilism. There’s a reason to why I’m so god damn familiar with mental illness and treatment plans.  

OCD and Bipolarism run in my family on my fathers side. My Father’s Father had them, my Sister has them, my brother most likely has them (however he refuses to see a doctor because he uses said possible mental illnesses as a get out of jail free card. He doesn’t want to be treated and he has FUCKING ADMITTED IT), my father has them, and I have them. I, however, have the misfortune of having it real bad. I said yes to well over half of all the total symptoms when I was being tested (I don’t remember exact numbers but I remember there being three pages worth of common symptoms) which was very worrying to the doctor. I was currently in an inpatient hospitalization program at the time for both suicidal thoughts and actions, and severe depression. 

On that, my graze in with suicide. Before I went into my first inpatient program I was contemplating suicide. I was sat in front of a mirror with a bottle of over the counter medication. It was an unopened bottle of ibuprofen, 1000 200mg tables. What I planed to do was down the whole bottle with benadryl and die in my sleep. I had the small box of benadryl got from the Kroger pharmacy and a hand full of ibuprofen poured out looking directly into the mirror. My suicide note was sitting on the desk on my room with an online copy on my laptop open.

I sat there for an hour in the dead of midnight complicating my life. I had lost all hope in the world, filled with hatred, anger, pain, and despair. I had no god or after life to look forward too, part way hoping that a Hell existed for me to burn in. I hated myself that much. I was close to taking the first handful before before I caught a glimpse of my own eyes in the mirror. In what was in a weird sudden epiphany I realized that I truly did become what I hated but not for any reason I told myself. I became the very bastion of negativity I sought to fight and rid of in what little friends I did have. That was what set off my path to recovery in spite of the medical system. I guess if people care I’ll make a separate post on that. 

Before I move on, I feel I should explain my history with the visual and auditory hallucinations. It should be no surprise that with everything else above, I also had extreme paranoia that led to me having very bad insomnia. Insomnia is, just like most other medical disorders like Depression, Self-harm, Anxiety, OCD,  Bipolarism, is romanticized to hell. Insomnia isn’t having one nights bad sleep where you got 5 hours of sleep instead of 8.

You know what Insomnia is? insomnia is being physical incapable of sleeping despite not sleeping in 2 to 3 day while your body suffers massive agony brought on by this. Muscle spasms and seizing, difficulty breathing, your eyes feeling like fire ants are eating them, and of course visual and auditory hallucinations. Now I already had issues with visual and auditory hallucinations even when I could get sleep regularly but the combined effects of my OCD and Bipolarism made this perfect condition of Insomnia, Anxiety, Paranoia, with the already added in disposition to hallucinations and I felt like I was actually losing my mind. 

My hallucinations presented themselves in three forms. Disassociation of reality, night terrors, or alterations of reality. Disassociation of reality often were complete black out moments. I would lose any perceived connect to reality and enter an episode of my mind. I can’t remember what they actually were but I do remember what it felt like. Cold sweats, anxiety to point where if I didn’t lock up I would vomit, actual physical pain, mind numbing fear, and intense fatigue. 

The second were night terrors often in the form of horrific “things.” I do remember these and most of them were as best as I could describe, forms of things that were vaguely human and formations of industrial machinery. The most vivid one I remember was of a long lengthy apparition that was for the most part human but many locations of it’s impossible physiology were rebar beams and mechanical sockets. It began when I was about to fall asleep and it was next to my window. The thing was making week groaning and gasping sounds before it violently slammed against my window breaking it then letting out a horrific howl that I can’t describe as it tossed itself out followed shorty after with the sound of bones breaking against the dirt. 

Now that might not seem so bad, exspecally with everything that is in horror movies or games now, but keep in mind that was fucking real to me. It was as real as the clicking of the keys of my keyboard as I’m writing this. As real as the chair I’m sitting in and as real as the wall in front of me. As far as my mind was concerned that thing, what ever it was, actually existed. It took me physical touching my window to make sure it wasn’t actually broken and checking outside to see if there wasn’t a body there. This isn’t the type of thing I talk about lightly. 

Finally there is the alteration of reality. This is very simply but it’s something that fucked with me hard. For very little meaning or warning, I would have trouble interpreting the world around me. My hearing and sight would be warped and there wasn’t any real way to tell what I was hearing or seeing was real or not until the episode was over. The way I got through these was the ultimate fake it till you make it. Obviously, very often I failed and this created issue in my schooling. 

Ending Message: I’ve been in a very bad state for a while now and as it is now, no signs of getting better. I also strongly believe my medications are being to fail me which I’ve been telling my doctor and therapist for over a year now but nothing’s been done. Mainly it’s my Depression but insomnia episodes are beginning and my own paranoia been on the rise. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even look at a creepy image or thumbnail without having a very bad episode. 

I’ve managed to eat something today which was nice but my body is cramping hard. And to possible stave of a possible comment, I’m biologically male. Like I said I’m not in the best head space, or living for that matter. If this gets better, only time will tell. 

[pains-of-lgbtq-in-sg]

2 Oct 2021, 06:23

As a kid, before I knew who I was, I used to hear others talk about Gay Rights. And it confused me why gays had to have rights, when we don’t go around talking about heterosexual rights. And each time I would be no closer to a conclusion and would shelf that thought away again until the next time it popped up uninvited.

I was just who I was. A kid. A regular kid. A regular kid who enjoyed sports and being in shirts and pants because then no one would keep hounding me to sit with my legs “closed.” I hated the long hair my mother wanted me to keep. It made me warm in humid Singapore, was always messy, and was a chore to dry after each shower. From every practical standpoint, skirts and long hair made no sense to me. My mother was a girly-girl, who wanted her girls to learn the piano, dress in skirts and have long ponytails. Sadly, other than the piano, I was a huge disappointment to her.

I had always been an old soul in a young body. Everything had to make practical sense or I would have a hard time accepting it. Growing up, school was hard for an old soul like me. Kids everywhere seemed childish, and my best friends were books, which could help me escape reality, even if just for a while.

When I got older, I was happy to join the workforce, where I thought I’d be around mature adults, and my world would start to make more sense to me. Boy, was I in for a shocker. I had not realized that common sense was not common, basic courtesy was not basic, and ownership and accountability were not owned by many. I also learned that ethics and integrity counted for nothing when you were in sales and in the Insurance industry dominated by ruthless managers. After 6 years watching those honest fall, and those merciless soar, I dragged my sorry ass back to school, hoping and praying grad school would be different.

That’s where I met her. I remember that first day of introductions, when she sat at my 2 o’clock. I remember her introducing herself from country ABC and having hobbies in culinary and photography. I remember our class having to walk to the library for a school tour after, and me sidling up to her side as the lights turned red where we waiting to cross the road. I oh-so-casually looked at the birds on the tree above, the old guy taking a smoke just a distance away, and then finally, just nonchalantly turned to her and said, “Hi, so you’re into photography too? What’s your favorite camera?”

And that was the start of our last 4 sweet years together. During school breaks that 1st year, we took trips to Bangkok and Australia, and school took us to more trips in U.S., Switzerland, and Italy. We were young, and everything was rosy. We took budget planes for just 2 to 3 days out of Singapore on a whim, and did budget road trips for weeks, just booking the following nights’ accommodation as we went along. We visited her family in country ABC and took them on their first road trips to different states, and those improved her parents’ estranged relationship as well. At that time, we made do, living out of her tiny common room rental for 850 a month, in a small condo unit shared by (officially) 5 other housemates. 2 guys were in the master bedroom, a girl in a similar common room, a guy in the bomb shelter and a girl in the kitchen storeroom (where the last two had no windows and therefore, kept their doors open every night). I was her regular “secret” guest, and the neighboring room always had her boyfriend over.

That place was a nightmare. The room was tiny, fitted with a queen bed, a 0.4m x 1m wide study desk, a simple foldable IKEA chair, and a narrow (1.5m high) two panel wardrobe. With all the furniture against the 4 walls of the room, there was only a 0.5m walkway between the door and bed, and bed and wardrobe + study desk. (Think how you couldn’t even pull the chair all the way out to sit at the desk!) Luckily, she only brought one suitcase with her, and that had nowhere else to go except to be balanced precariously on top of the flimsy wardrobe held up by duct tape. There were tiny bugs constantly on the headboard of the bed, the walls, and the sides of the wardrobe, and squishing them only left small dots of red on the wood and paint.

After school ended, we both found basic jobs in the financial sector, earning basic salaries (3k each) that were barely enough to cover rent and the 50 grand of study debts. We lived simple lives on her culinary skills and moved out to a slightly bigger place (with no bugs!) as soon as the previous rental contract ended. Deciding on a small studio in the far areas of Western Singapore was hard when we only had a budget of about $1500 for rental. Fortunately for us, heaven smiled down on us during our search. I will never forget the moment we signed on the line to rent that new place, and the pure elation on her face mirrored my emotions the first day we wheeled her luggage through the door. We were both so overwhelmed that we just stood in the middle of the completely unfurnished unit, just turning around and around to look at the “huge” space we now had. The landlord was kind enough to provide us the keys 7 days before New Year’s Day, and we enjoyed our first homecooked Christmas dinner there. Just 400 square feet of luxurious blessing (including our very own bathroom).

2018 to 2019, we were happy. As happy as can be. If Singapore allowed, I would have married that girl, and made her my wife. I knew that I wanted her around, through thick and thin, bugs and all, for as long as I could. But because we couldn’t, we tried to apply for PR for her. Twice. And failed twice. Despite everything, we were happy. She enjoyed her work and colleagues, and I had a job I enjoyed, in a decent company, with great colleagues and a great leader. Everyday, time seemed to fly by as I get so engrossed in picking up new experiences and knowledge at work. And at the end of each day, I was happiest, running to catch the bus that would take me the few short stops to her office, and we would head home together.

2020, the world went crazy. When Covid-19 started, nobody took it seriously. When they finally did, it was too late. Singapore being small, seemed to put its economy before citizens’ health, and pretty soon, we saw new policies introduced so fast and furious, it was hard to keep up. Racism escalated real fast as fear grew. Everyone’s primal survival instinct kicked in, took over, and overwhelmed. We saw hoarding like never before, where previous proud displays of extravagance in the form of luxury goods, were replaced by flaunting of overstocked pantries of unnecessarily excessive daily necessities. Households storing shelves of toilet paper and rice, splashed out on social media, instigated herd mentality, and created dangerous vicious cycles. It was at this time that our rental contract was due for renewal, and because of travel restrictions, we saw a larger than usual demand for rental property. We saw increased negative correlation between our salaries and expenses but still, we were thankful for just having each other.

Unfortunately, fate reared its cruel head, giving us first-hand experience of Murphy’s law. Her father was diagnosed with cancer towards the end of the year, and that was the start of the end of the improving relationship between her parents. Both our companies also underwent major restructuring that year. Coincidently, both companies started offshoring parts of operation to neighboring country XYZ. And it seemed ridiculous then, because the number of Covid-19 cases in that country was heading north at breakneck speed. Every single day, more than half of both of our offshore teams were on medical, hospital or compassionate leave. Work was not getting completed, and to make things worse, both offshore teams seemed to have the same zero accountability and pride in their work. Every day was a mental torture to engage them in their finger-pointing, others-blaming games, even when evidence of their negligence was staring at them point-blank in the face.

Having a slightly better command of English than her, I took it in my stride facing these “Taichi experts.” But when my boss (that I had a huge respect for) lost his job due to the restructuring (and workplace politics), I started looking out. I was fortunate enough to be able to land another opportunity and left.

Her job was harder hit. Her team now had to rely on the offshore team to finish the daily BAU wok before Singapore team could check and sign off. I remember when she first joined, she was trained for a month before she caught up with the daily deadlines and managed to complete the day’s checks by 5pm daily. Somehow, their XYZ offshore team were still exceeding all deadlines by a wide margin (with massive amounts of repeated errors, which they would then trigger new blame games), causing the Singapore Team to finish their checks (and “fights”) and call it an end mostly after 10pm.

While barely keeping her sanity at work, watching her constantly forcing a smile to comfort her mother, who was struggling with a self-centered patient exploiting his illness, I saw the bags under her eyes gain prominence over the months. We tried desperately to find a new suitable job for her, as her initial Singapore team of almost 30 (mostly seniors with more than 10 years’ experience) dwindled to the last 5 of them. During this time, her mouth struggled to maintain its curve upwards, and it was heart-wrenching to witness the glimmer of hope fade from her eyes. I knew she missed her mother, as Covid-19 prevented us from traveling back to see her. I knew she was not enjoying her “new” role at work, working with the XYZ team. But my hands were tied. I begged everyone and anyone I knew to look out for any suitable job willing to consider a foreigner. It was a losing battle.

After 8 months, she started applying outside of Singapore as well, thinking to leave it to fate. Shortly, a call from ABC country offered her an interview. Things went fast, and in a few short weeks, they were extending an offer, with one condition, that being she was to board the first available plane back after completing her notice period.

I was crushed. I knew I couldn’t make her choose me (and continuing working with XYZ team), but suddenly I felt like I had been told I have just one more month to live. My life, as I knew it, was ending in just 4 very short weeks. We both knew her current job in its current form, was destroying her mental health, and I couldn’t bear to keep her here like that.

After the initial roller coaster of emotions calmed down, we strategized, trying to accommodate all the local places we had always talked about visiting, with the packing and shipping of her stuff.

Today marks the 33rd day she is not by my side, and all this time, I have been trying not to be cynical when considering the factors that contributed to our current situation. Days and nights blur into one, as I try tirelessly to find myself a job in country ABC, hoping against hope that we may soon reunite.

[takadasaiko]

Demons at the Door: Chapter Twenty-One

FFN II AO3

Summary: Scottie goes in to set the trap.

Chapter Twenty-one: Asking for Trust

Technology had always excited him, and their time apart hadn't diminished that in the slightest. He was going into every detail of the tracking chip and why it was the best that Halcyon had. One hand danced in the air as he discussed specs, theories, and implementation of the technology. It had been so long since she'd heard him speak like this to her, with that same excitement and curiosity that had attracted her to him early on. He was so caught up in the explanation that he didn't seem to notice until he'd finished.

Howard paused, swallowing his last couple of words and clearing his throat. "Any questions?"

"No," she said softly, holding his gaze, "but I'd bet you still have one or two. Ask them while you have the chance."

"We'll have plenty of time when this is all over. You, me, and the lie detector between us," he tried for what she thought might have been a joke and Scottie shook her head.

"You and I both know that my chances of getting out of this are slim. I have nothing to lose anymore, Howard. Just ask."

There was a long pause and he loosed a breath, taking a step back away from her. For a moment she could see the indecision replace that careful mask of confidence he wore around those he didn't trust. It wasn't an open expression, not by far, but it was less guarded than it had been. Finally those clear blue eyes flickered to meet hers. "Was any of it real?"

Well, no need to start simple she supposed. Scottie took a seat. Honesty wasn't her strong suit, but she had told him to ask, so she owed him that much. "Yes," she said slowly. "The marriage wasn't at first. It was… business. I was fond of you, don't get me wrong, but…. Christopher was real. I think Christopher was when it became real."

Her husband watched her carefully and took a seat across from her. "You loved him."

"I still love him."

He hummed softly, not arguing the point. He knew. He had to have known. He had told her who Tom was with the full understanding that that would make her call off the hit on him. The question never seemed to have crossed his mind that, knowing that Tom was her Christopher, she would allow the hit to go through. If there was one thing that Howard had believed in, it was her love for their son, even if he wouldn't always admit that outright.

"I don't know a lot about love, Howard. Loving our child was the first time I think I've ever loved anyone. Things may not have started out as real, but they became real." She tried for a smile, the motion feeling as strained as she was sure it looked. She didn't have it in her to put on a show for him that day.

Her husband didn't say anything, but he stood from his place, nodding a little and she followed so that she could reach him, her long fingers lightly grabbing his wrist. "Howard, Miles knows it too. Christopher isn't the only one he's threatened. Keep your head down in this. You're not a fighter."

"We're not throwing you to the wolves, Scottie. The intention has never been to get you killed."

"I know," she whispered and leaned forward on impulse to kiss his cheek. "I'll make sure he comes home this time. No matter what."

She had meant to move away then, but Howard caught her and pulled her back. Surprise held her there as his lips pressed against hers in a desperate way she hadn't felt from him in years now. Scottie moved into the kiss, one hand moving up and brushing the side of his face as she felt his arms circle her waist. It was comfortable. Familiar. She'd missed him.

They finally broke, neither moving away and she could feel his warm breath on her as he leaned his forehead against hers. "You didn't try to kill me, did you?"

That pulled a rough laugh from her. "No. A world without Howard Hargrave in it sounds dull."

He chuckled at that and pressed another quick kiss to her lips. "You always were trouble. Bring him home, Scottie, don't just send him."

"I do love you," she confessed softly. She hadn't realized how much she needed him to return it until the words were met with silence. "Howard…"

"Over thirty years of lies don't just go away, Scottie. You come back and we'll figure out where to go."

"They'll send me back to prison."

He shrugged. "Doesn't mean we can't figure it out. Anyway, you look good in orange."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, finally breaking away. "Take care of yourself. I'm serious."

There was a brief flash of old mischief in Howard's eyes, but instead he nodded and motioned to the door. "Shall we?"

The plan was simple enough. They were prepared, but they were also going in blind. The Task Force and Tom's team out of Halcyon - including Solomon, as much as Liz hated it - were standing by. Scottie would deliver herself to the location and they would track her. They had to give them a head start or they would tip their hand long before they found Tom, and then the whole thing would be blown. Every detail was balanced on a razor blade with no margin for error.

Liz couldn't help the way her nerves were twisted up. She was on her toes, waiting for the signal that they needed to hop into action and go. It was relatively simple. Scottie would be able to set off a signal in the tracker that would only be readable to the Artax Network, which - between Howard and Dumont - was fully under their control. It would let them pinpoint where she - and if everything worked out the way she seemed to think it would - and Tom were being held for extraction. Until then, though, it was a waiting game, and she wasn't very good at that.

Liz was listening through half the headset when the door to the van opened and she saw Howard slip in. "Still nothing," she said as she saw Aram swivel back to what he'd been doing.

Howard made a small sound of acknowledgment. "It takes time to transfer someone, especially if they want to make sure they're not being tailed." He motioned to the seat next to Liz and she nodded. "Tom may have been right."

"About what?"

"Scottie."

Liz smirked just a little. "Couldn't imagine where he would have any point of reference on that one."

Howard snorted, but Liz thought she saw the shadow of a smile there. A little pride mixed with a little hope. Finally he cleared his throat. "Have you seen Red?"

And just like that her mood soured. "He went to take care of something. I don't know the details or why it had to be now, but..."

Her father-in-law chuckled. "Not a damn thing changes. Red's never been one to share."

"Doesn't that bother you? He knew about Scottie and didn't say anything."

Howard gave a small shrug. "He knew my son was alive and didn't say anything about that either. Red always has his reasons, and usually they're to protects someone he cares about, if he'll admit it or not."

"Did you know my mother as well?" Liz asked before she really meant to and there was a glint of mischief in Howard's blue eyes.

"Um, I hate to jump in, but she's stopped. No signal yet, but she's been still for a good ten minutes," Aram said and both Liz and Howard moved to see his screen.

"The fortifications are heavier than we anticipated."

"We can bring in a SWAT team to help, but that ups the risk," Liz murmured.

"Scottie knew adjustments would have to be made. We'll do what you have to to get them out of there. I want them ready as soon as Scottie gives the signal."

She had never been a fan of having a bag put over her head, nor the sensory overload that came after. Light flooded in and fresh air suddenly replaced the musty smell of the cloth that had been pressed against her nose. Scottie Hargrave blinked hard, trying to bring things into focus as quickly as she could.

Miles Ellington stood with a broad smile on his face and he approached her with his arms wide. They came in, one hand on either shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Scottie. It's been too long."

A small, calculated smile curled her lips. It was a game to Miles. It had always been a game. "Are the cuffs really necessary?"

"You tell me. I'm not the one that refused to come in out of the cold until properly incentivized."

"Howard's smarter than you give him credit for. I had to make it look real, and to do that I had to make it look like I was going to help him bring you down."

Miles tilted his head a little to the side. "You expect me to believe you were playing him?"

"Easily. For as torn up as he was to find out why I married him, he fell for it easily enough again."

Miles chuckled. "They say the heart wants what it wants. What does your heart want, Scottie?"

"To finish the job I started years ago."

"And Christopher?"

Scottie purses her lips together, choosing her next words carefully. "Now that he's away from his father I have a better chance of bringing him to our side. He's an operative, Miles, like you and me. He understands that lies need to be told to get the job done."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He will. Given time, he will."

Miles hummed softly, as he stepped forward, circling around her and she knew he was looking for any tell she might give that she was lying. "You said Howard thinks you're working with him. How did you convince him to let you come in alone?"

"There's a button on my dress," Scottie said as she bent a little to reach the bottom button in a line of them down her dark blue dress and began working it free. "It's a tracker. One of Halcyon's technicians was following it. I knew your equipment would deactivate it long before I got to you. Howard didn't." She handed him the tracker and Miles turned the now useless bug over in his hand, examining it.

"You always were clever."

"I still am," she answered with a smile.

Miles chuckled and motioned to one of the guards. Half a moment later Scottie was free of her cuffs, rubbing her thin wrists. "We have a lot of work to do, but first I need to see him."

"He can wait."

"No. I know what you did giving him over to Bill McCready. You used a man that broke ties with our program to train one of the next generation when I couldn't. The sooner we bring him in, the more useful he'll be."

"You almost sound impressed. When did you learn to let go of a grudge?"

"Being angry with you won't get back the years I lost, so what's the point? You saw to his training and now we'll use it. He's good. Possibly better than any operatives that we've seen. I can't get the years back, but now he'll be able to move forward with us."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up too high yet, Scottie. He's fought us the whole way."

She shrugged. "That's because you haven't had me."

"Fair enough." He motioned and Scottie followed behind, listening as Miles spoke. "I remember Bill. I always thought he would join back up with us, but his program did well."

"Did he ever know it was Christopher?"

"We didn't tell him. You know Bill. He would have wanted something more. Instead we passed along a name and file and he lucked out. Quite the fighter, your son. He's already cost me a couple of men."

Scottie only smirked as they wound around to a room with a guard standing outside the door. He had two black eyes and the bruising looked like someone had broken his nose. Miles motioned and the guard turned, pulling keys out, and she heard the locks slide open.

The room was dark, but as she stepped in and her eyes adjusted she saw Christopher. He was seated on the hard floor, leaned up against the far wall, and had one arm wrapped around his middle protectively. Elizabeth had said the sniper had caught him before they took him, and now it looked like they had beaten on him as well.

She risked the brief glance at Miles as she moved past him. He lingered at the door, watching her carefully as she inched her way towards her injured son. He didn't stir at first, but as she knelt down two dark blue eyes slid open, a dangerous and wary glare fixed on her. It took a moment before those same eyes blinked rapidly, as if trying to push through the confusion, and finally softened just a little. "Scottie?"

She smiled at him, reaching out with one hand and pressed it against his cheek, thumb moving lightly over the bruises already forming on his cheekbone. She still wondered how she'd missed it. He was so clearly there. He was older and life had put him through hell, but he was her boy, and right then he needed her to be at her best if they were both going to get out of this alive. She moved her fingers across the palm of the hand not touching him, feeling the small device that Howard had implanted there. If he was wrong, both she and Christopher were dead. If he was right, they should both be home by that night.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she pressed down, setting the signal off and moving so that she had a hand to either side of his face. "Asking you to trust me."

"I didn't thank you."

Matias Solomon turned, quirking an eyebrow at the woman seated across from him. "For what exactly?"

"Having my back. At the blacksite," Nez clarified.

An amused smirk perked his lips. "And who says I wasn't just following orders?"

"You're a free agent."

"That chose to side with Scottie."

She snorted and stood from where she had been perched up on a set of cabinets, working on her own weapons. Solomon watched her cross the space between them and she held his gaze. He found himself frozen there, unable or unwilling to break away. He wasn't sure. Nez stopped, so close that he could feel her breath on him when she spoke. "You may have been given orders, but that's not why you were there."

"Was it not? Then why?"

Her hand touched his, sending chills he wasn't used to up his spine and she leaned up, her lips against his and he reached over, setting his weapon down to pull her just a little closer. He felt her hands travel up, one wrapping around the back of his neck and he let her guide him deeper, the rush stronger than anything.

Someone cleared their throats awkwardly at the door and they parted, finding Dumont standing there. "Took you two long enough."

"What's up, Dumont?" Nez grumbled and Dumont grinned cheekily.

"Scottie just sent the signal. We're a go."

Solomon looked to Nez who nodded. He didn't think he would ever choose to put his life on the line for Tom Keen, but there they were, and both he and Nez knew this wasn't for Tom Keen.

Notes: No one has a simple, straightforward relationship in this story, do they?

Next time - Reddington searches out information and the jailbreak commences.

[izazov]

Here is another part of the soulmate fic. I hope you enjoy reading it. Other parts are here, here, and here. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Tony calls out as he steps out of the elevator, drops his travel bag down on the floor, and proceeds to walk over to the bar, reaching after the tumbler of bourbon. 

“It is good to have you back, Sir. Also, allow me to state that I am flattered,” JARVIS replies. “Should I modify my verbal pattern according to our new status? How do you feel about darling? Or would you prefer sweetie?”

Tony pauses in pouring himself a drink to snort in amusement. “I’m actually afraid to answer that question,” he says, tilting his head in contemplation. “I’m tempted to say sweetie, but I just know it’ll come to bite me in the ass.”

“I was partial to darling,” JARVIS replies. “But I suppose Sir would suffice.”

Tony shakes his head, lets out an amused huff before taking a sip of his drink. It burns as it slides down his throat, but fails in washing away the bitter taste settled in the back of it. But that’s the good thing about alcohol - especially if you’re rich like Tony - no matter the amount of regret and self-loathing you carry around with yourself, there is always the next sip. The next glass. The next bottle.   

Tony grimaces, releases a shaky breath, then walks over to the window, looks at the numerous bright lights of the city below.

New York at night is a sight to behold.

(But not the one Tony wants to behold.)

“Home, sweet home,” Tony murmurs, tips his glass in a salute to the flickering lights, before downing the rest of the drink in one sustained gulp.  

“How was Aruba, Sir?” JARVIS inquires.  

Tony’s mouth curls over his teeth, and he waves a careless hand. “Sunny. Warm. Blue,” he remarks wryly. He glances at his empty glass, grimaces. God, he needs to get drunk. “It’s Aruba, J.”

“I take it then your vacation did not go as planned?”

Tony lets out a soft chuckle that has absolutely no mirth in it. His week in Aruba went splendidly. There were gorgeous women, parties and colorful drinks. But it was somewhat difficult to enjoy any of that while having two ghosts shadow Tony’s steps, invading his thoughts every single second.

But hey, Tony gave his very best.

(Failed spectacularly, but that’s just how the story goes.)

“Did I miss anything while I was away?” Tony asks after a moment of silence.

“You have 230 messages.”

Tony lets out a heavy sigh, scrubs at his forehead with his knuckles. “Any of that important?”

“Miss Potts called,” JARVIS informs him, and Tony cannot help himself, he winces. Well. At least she is still talking to him. Doesn’t particularly want to see him, but it could have been worse. She could have severed all ties with him. Tony couldn’t honestly blame here if she had. “She wanted to remind you that there is a board meeting next month you are required to attend.” JARVIS pauses before adding in a tone that, were he human, would be apologetic. “She insisted I tell you that the only excuse for not attending would be a lack of pulse.”

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, twirls his glass. “Anything else?”

“Directory Fury called.”

Tony’s head snaps up, his eyebrows rising in surprise and curiosity. “And what did dear Nick want?”

“He requested, and I quote, to get your scrawny ass to DC and do your godddamned job.”

“My ass is not scrawny,” Tony says, frowning in outrage. “I happen to have an amazing ass.”

“I am certain Director Fury will offer his sincere apologies if you accept his invitation,” JARVIS offers. Tony doesn’t bother holding back a snort of laughter at JARVIS phrasing. “Will you be going, Sir?”

Tony takes a deep breath, glances at the glass in his hand, then back up at the window. He catches sight of his own reflection, looks away.

DC. That means Steve. Possibly. If he’s not running around the world doing Fury’s bidding like a good little soldier.

Tony shuts his eyes, curls his trembling fingers into fist to keep them from straying toward his chest. The ache is still there, persistent as always, but no longer truly uncomfortable. By now, it has become familiar, even comforting in a strange way. Just another part of him. Not a particularly pleasant part, but a part nonetheless.  

(Tony still remembers the warmth, though. That feeling of almost liquid content, spreading through every cell of his body.) 

Tony opens his eyes, and this time he doesn’t look away when he meets his own gaze in the window glass. 

“Well,” Tony says, the corner of his mouth curving into a wry grin. “How could I decline such a charming invitation?”

“And the work on the suit and the Tower?”

“A few days won’t make a difference,” Tony says with a shrug. “Besides, the suit is almost done.”

“Very well, Sir. And may this trip prove more interesting than your previous one.”

Tony’s grin falters for a moment as an image of blue eyes flashes before his mind’s eye.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it will be,” Tony says in a quiet voice, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand.

(With a distinct possibility of turning into a disaster.)

***

Tony leans back in his chair, arches an insolent eyebrow. Doesn’t bother to hide a grin when the muscle in Fury’s jaw twitches. “Come on, Nick. I gave you all you needed,” Tony says. “Are you telling me your people are incapable of following simple instructions?”

“My people did just fine, Stark,” Fury all but growls.

“Then what do you need me for?” Pausing, Tony tilts his head, his grin widening. “You missed me, didn’t you, Nick?”

Fury gives him a deadpan look. “If I shoot you in the knee, Stark, you’ll still be able to go over the final specs for me.”

Tony huffs out a frustrated breath, rolls his eyes. “You know, all this would go a lot smoother if you allowed me to see what you’re working on here.”

“No.”

“Anyone ever tell you that paranoia is really bad for blood pressure?”

“You are bad for my blood pressure.”

“Need I remind you I gave you access to my tech in good faith,” Tony remarks, raising an eyebrow pointedly. 

“And your country is grateful to you for that,” Fury says, not looking grateful at all. 

Tony presses his mouth into a thin line, scowling at Fury. “Digital specs are reliable, sure, but there is always a margin for error,” Tony insists. “And I know you want only the best.”

Fury gives him a steely-eyed glare. “No,” Fury states, flatly. Then, taking in Tony’s expression, he growls in warning, “Stark. If you even think about breaking into our files again, I will shoot you. And not in the knee.”  

Tony opens his mouth but the words freeze on his tongue. Something twists inside his chest - sharp and bordering on painful - like a string being pulled to its limits. It lasts only a moment, before it dulls into a low ache, only to disappear completely. 

Tony’s heart stutters, only to pick up speed with the next beat, fueling Tony’s sudden and overwhelming need to be anywhere else but where he is.

(But there is also a part of Tony that is ready and willing to fight against anyone or anything that would try and move him.)

Tony barely has enough presence of mind to click his mouth shut before something embarrassing - and, considering the company he is in, incriminating - escapes his throat. 

A beat later, the door to Fury’s office opens with a loud bang, and Tony doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

The surge of warmth in that hollow place inside his chest makes it rather clear. 

“Rogers,” Fury says, scowling at Steve over Tony’s shoulder. “I don’t remember allowing you entrance. Or you asking for one for that matter.”

There is only a second of hesitation before Steve’s voice breaks the tense silence in the room. “That is because I did not ask, Sir,” Steve says in a slightly breathless voice. 

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up, but he manages to remain silent by force of will he didn’t know he possessed. He hates to admit it, but Rogers turning that passive aggressive temper on someone else? Is hell of a fun to watch.

(And the fact that other person is Fury, well, that’s just an added bonus.) 

Fury’s eyes narrow. “And why the fuck not?”

The sound of door closing with a soft click precedes that of heavy boots scraping against marble. 

Tony feels a tingle slide along his spine a second before Steve comes to a halt barely a step away from where Tony is sitting.

“I would rather not say,” Steve states in a calm, steady voice. Then, as if in afterthought, he adds, “Sir.”

“You would rather not say?” Fury repeats, incredulous. 

Tony blinks slowly, caught between feelings of amusement and envy. He’s never made Fury’s voice reach that height. Certainly not for the lack of trying. 

But then common sense catches up with Tony and he rises to his feet, making sure to keep his expression neutral considering Steve is all but waving a flag with ‘I have a secret, and it has something with Tony Stark’ written all over it.

“Not that I wouldn’t mind to see who wins this pissing contest,” he says lightly, forces his lips into a grin. “But since I’m not playing, I’d rather leave you two to it.” Then, a beat after, he finally turns to face Steve. He’s pretty sure only years of experience at faking a smile for cameras allow him to keep a grin in place. Steve looks exactly the same, but having the memory of that face, and actually seeing those eyes up close are two very different things. “Cap. It’s good to see you again.”

Time he’s spent with SHIELD - his entrance notwithstanding - has obviously rubbed off on Steve because Tony cannot read his expression. There is intent in his gaze as it darts across Tony’s face, but Tony has no idea what it is.

“Stark,” Steve says, nods. “I am glad to see you alive.”

Tony waves a dismissive hand. “The news of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.” 

Something flashes in Steve’s eyes - amusement? fondness? - his lips curving into a faint smile. “I know.”

Tony blinks, his grin faltering momentarily. Then he remembers. Of course, the bond. Steve would have known if Tony had died.

“I have no patience to deal with the two of you,” Fury barks out, dragging Tony’s attention back to the present. And a rather pissed off Fury. “You, Rogers, will never again enter my office without my permission. And you, Stark, will get your ass here tomorrow or I’ll find you and drag you here by your ear. Is that understood?”

Tony gives a mock salute and rolls his eyes, while Steve straightens, says, “Yes, Sir.”

“Now, get the fuck out my office,” Fury growls. “Both of you.”

Tony feels exactly zero surprise at the fact that Steve falls in step with him the moment they leave Fury’s office. He is somewhat surprised that he waits until they arrive at Triskelion’s lobby to address Tony. 

“I really am glad to see you, Tony,” he says, looking nothing but earnest. He waits a beat, a deep frown appearing on his forehead. “That business with Mandarin was ugly. I’m sorry you had no back up.”

Tony blinks, searches Steve’s face for the expected disapproval - even Tony knows he’d handled that situation badly - but finds nothing of the sort. 

“I wasn’t exactly alone,” Tony says. “I had Rhodey.” 

And a really smart kid, but Tony doesn’t exactly feel comfortable mentioning Harley to Steve.

(And, in the end, it had been Pepper who dealt with Killian, but that is one verbal minefield Tony has no intention of walking into.)

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Ah, yes. The Iron Patriot.” 

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Don’t start, Rogers.”

Steve raises his hands in mock surrender. Tony’s eyes narrow further. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, his mouth curving into a wide smile. 

Tony blinks, his throat going a touch dry. It isn’t as blinding a smile as the one that greeted Tony after he fell from the portal above New York, but it comes close. And now Tony really wants to know what the fuck had been in that serum. Because everything about this guy is ridiculously over the top. Shoulders to waist ratio, the face, the smile. The eyes.

(Seriously, the guy is too pretty for anyone’s good.)  

Tony manages to drag his thoughts back into safe waters when Steve’s face grows serious again. “But it should have been one of the Avengers.”

“Don’t sweat it, Cap,” Tony says with a half-shrug. “It’s water under the bridge, and it’s not like I asked and you guys didn’t come. Where you even in the country?”

Steve shakes his head, still looking vaguely apologetic and grim. “No. Lagos.”

“See? You were on a mission of your own.” 

“I still would have come if I’d known,” Steve states firmly, and there is not a shadow of a doubt in Tony’s mind that he is one hundred percent serious. The knowledge coils around Tony’s lungs and squeezes tight.

Tony clears his throat, smiles. “That... I appreciate it, Cap.”

A small frown appears on Steve’s forehead. “Steve. Call me Steve,” Steve says, now looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I’m not exactly on duty right now.”

“Okay,” Tony says slowly, ignoring the way his heart shudders for briefest of moments. “Steve.”

Steve’s answering smile is dazzling. Like Tony calling him by his name is a precious gift.

It makes Tony feel like the biggest asshole in the world. 

He scrubs the back of his neck, takes a deep breath. “Look, Steve, I think I owe you an apology.”

Steve tilts his head, considers Tony with a small smile. “For being an ass the last time we saw each other?” he offers, arching an eyebrow.

Tony grimaces, looks down, slides his hands into pockets. “Yeah, that,” he forces past the lump in his throat. “Look, I know you aren’t responsible for what happened anymore than I am. But... I was angry. And we were already at each other’s throats,” Tony trails off, takes a deep breath before he looks up. He isn’t certain what he expects - or even what he wishes - to see. 

(It sure as hell isn’t Steve, looking solemn and a bit sad.)

“I’m not good at dealing with things,” Tony offers, tries to keep his voice light and fails miserably.

Steve considers Tony in silence one long moment. Tony gives his best not to fidget under the weight of that gaze. He succeeds. Mostly.

“You wanna make it up to me, Stark?” Steve says finally, his eyes glinting with mirth.

“Yeah?” Tony drawls, cautious.

“Buy me coffee,” Steve says simply, gives Tony a tiny smile, his cheeks coloring slightly. 

“Now?” Tony blurts out oh so smoothly. 

Steve snorts, and Tony is almost certain if he weren’t so fucking polite, he’d roll his eyes at Tony. “No, I have unfinished business here. Tomorrow, after you are done with Fury.”

Steve wants it to sound like a statement, but Tony can hear the question at the end of it. See the uncertainty in the small crease on Steve’s forehead.

Tony smiles, nods. He cannot help but note the way Steve’s shoulders relax at that. “Tomorrow then. But I need you to tell me something.”

“Yes?” 

“When you barged into Fury’s office today- and by the way, I’m eternally grateful for that visual. Why did you do it?”

Steve scrubs the back of his neck, looks down for a moment. When he looks up, he offers Tony a small half-smile, his right hand brushing against the spot on his sternum Tony knows all too well. “You know why, Tony.”

Tony does. 

(But he wishes Steve said it out loud. He’s a greedy, self-centered bastard like that.)  

“Well then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Steve remains silent, nods.

Tony turns on his heel, and walks away. Makes it only three steps before Steve calls after him.

“Don’t you need my number?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at Steve, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “Steve. You really think I can’t get it on my own?”

Steve shakes his head, chuckles in amusement. “Right. Genius.”

“Among other things,” Tony supplies, grins. “See you, Rogers.”

“See you, Tony.”

***

Tony stays in DC entire week.

He goes over Fury’s specs for him. Doesn’t break into SHIELD’s files.

(Oh, but he wants to. And it’s not only curiosity that whispers in Tony’s ear. He’s made a mistake by trusting Obie. He just might be making another with Fury.)

He also meets with Rogers for coffee every day.

And at the end of the week, Tony knows some things he did not at the beginning of it. 

Steve Rogers likes his coffee sweet. And not normal people sweet, but three spoons in one cup sweet.

(Tony cannot help but cringe each time he sees him add sugar to his coffee.) 

Steve Rogers doesn’t like peas. In fact, he rather strongly dislikes them. 

(Tony is fairly certain Steve will never again let Tony order his meal for him. Ever.)

Steve Rogers likes musicals.

(Tony almost bites through his lower lip in an effort of stopping himself from expressing his own opinion on the matter.)

Steve Rogers doesn’t like Star Wars.

(Okay. That one is a lie. But the bastard did make that claim, looking utterly serious. Then, after Tony almost choked on his own breath from outrage, proceeded to laugh his pert little ass off.)

“I’ll miss your company, Tony,” Steve says, smiling softly as he walks next to Tony, their shoulders almost touching.

“Of course you will,” Tony says with a shrug. “You’re working with people who had their sense of humor surgically removed.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“You’re too polite for your own good, Rogers. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Steve halts his steps when they arrive at the entrance to the garage, chuckles in amusement. “Actually, yes. A couple of times this week.”

“Must be someone smart.”

“He thinks he is.”

Tony gives Steve unamused look. A beat later, he clears his throat. “So. It has been fun, Rogers.”

“Yeah,” Steve says in a soft voice. “It was.”

“Look, if you’re ever in New York, swing by the Tower. I’ve... well, you kinda have your own floor there.”

Steve blinks, looking perplexed. “I have- what?”

Tony’s eyes widen, and he hurries to explain, forcing his idiotic heart to calm the fuck down. “Not only you. The others, too. The Avengers, I mean.”

“That’s... that’s too much, Tony,” Steve says, his eyes still looking far too wide and startled.

Tony frowns. “I have more than enough space there.”

“But-”

“Look, Steve, I’m being selfish here. I liked working with you. All of you. It was only for one day, and it didn’t exactly start well. But in the end...” Tony trails off, shrugs. “We did good that day.”

“Yeah, we did,” Steve agrees after a moment of silence, corner of his mouth curving into a smile.

A car horn sounds from behind Tony. He smiles, but even he knows it’s a strained smile. “That’s my ride. Well, take care of yourself Rogers,” Tony says and extends a hand to Steve.

For one moment Steve looks stricken. He glances at Tony’s hand, then back at Tony’s face. “Tony, are you- the last time we-”

“Oh shut up and take my hand, Rogers,” Tony demands, somewhat surprised his hand isn’t trembling. He feels it should. 

Steve’s face gets that stubborn look, but Tony merely sighs, says, “Please, Steve.” 

Steve’s eyes go wide, and in that moment he looks very young. Young, lost and vulnerable. But in the next, he squares his shoulders and juts out his chin. Then, he wraps his fingers around Tony’s.

And in that moment, as warmth engulfs Tony’s fingers and surges through his bloodstream, looking at Steve’s eyes full of amazement and longing, Tony becomes aware of one more thing he didn’t know until that moment.

(There is at least ninety-six percent chance that Tony Stark likes Steve Rogers. And it has nothing to do with magic, biology or whatever crap this entire soulmate business is.) 

And that? Means Tony is pretty much screwed.    

[anotheruserwithnoname]

The AI numbers do not support the S10 vs. S8/9 hate

So according to the haters (which sadly is now a term I guess, just like “bashers” became a term in the dying days of the Star Trek TV franchise in the early 2000s), Series 10 is supposed to be “real Doctor Who at last” and so much better than the waste of space Series 8 and 9 allegedly was. People claim no one liked those seasons, and everyone is going ga-ga over Series 10 compared to S9 because Clara isn’t there anymore and the Doctor magically became good  (ignoring the fact that the Doctor we see in S10 is due to the development of the character over his time with Clara and, later, River).

Anyway ... so if that’s the case, riddle me why the average Appreciation Index score for Series 10 is so far (as of episode 5) identical to Series 9?

More after the break.

Give or take a point, the first 5 episodes of Series 8, 9 and 10 each scored Appreciation Index scores pretty much the same to each other. The AI, for people outside the UK who don’t know it (as far as I know there is no real equivalent in Canada or the US), is a rating given by a selected panel of viewers regarding whether they like a particular broadcast. Anything 80 and above is considered excellent, and only a few Who episodes have ever scored below 80 since the current version of the AI system was introduced about 10 or 11 years ago (I’m told there was some form of rejig after DW Series 1). Only a couple of Who episodes have ever scored in the 90 range and and that was the Stolen Earth/Journey’s End two-parter at the end of Series 4. (Most shows that score over 90 appear to be event broadcasts and nature documentaries, it seems, with the occasional exception.)

Sadly, the AIs have often shown that episodes loved by fans aren’t always as beloved outside fandom: Heaven Sent scored a surprisingly low 80; still excellent but a lot of people had expected it to score 90; by comparison, Fear Her, an episode from Series 2 that virtually no one will admit to liking, scored an 83 back in 2006. (Last year’s off-piste experiment Sleep No More came in at 78; so unless S10 offers its own Marmite episode - I actually expected Smile to be the one but it wasn’t - I am expecting S9′s overall average AI to come in below that of S10.)

Anyway, I went back over the past two years on doctorwhonews.net and tallied up the AI scores for each of the first 5 episodes of S8, 9 and 10.

S8: Deep Breath (82); Into the Dalek (84); Robot of Sherwood (82); Listen (82); Time Heist (84) - average: 82.8

S9: Magician’s Apprentice (84); Witch’s Familiar (83); Under the Lake (84); Before the Flood (83); Girl Who Died (82) - average: 83.2

S10: The Pilot (83); Smile (83); Thin Ice (84); Knock Knock (83); Oxygen (83) - average: 83.2

So the averages for Series 9 and 10 are the same, and even though S8 scored slightly lower, that’s still well within any reasonable margin of error. Note that the S9 premiere scored higher than The Pilot by one point.

So any co-called “improvements” in the show, primarily (so some insist on reminding us week after bloody week) the elimination of Jenna Coleman and her Clara and the introduction of Pearl Mackie’s Bill (”an actual human person” according to Digital Spy’s review of Oxygen, and I still cannot believe they actually wrote that; imagine the outrage if the companion who replaces Bill were to be described as “an actual human person” implying Bill wasn’t) ... seem to have had zero impact on the AIs. We’re not suddenly seeing the show hitting 86, 88, 90 - which may still happen in the back half, don’t get me wrong. I’m not expecting Extremis to do it - regardless how good the episode is, this talk by Moffat about the episode “bending” the format will likely result in Heaven Sent-like results.

I’m not bringing overnight and +7 ratings into the comparison because fewer people are watching TV live in 2017 than in 2015. Outside of a few friends I have here on Tumblr, I know of no one who is actually watching Series 10 live. Everyone, without exception, that I know outside Tumblr is waiting for Netflix or the DVD. So the fact is the broadcast ratings really mean nothing in terms of whether S10 is more to people’s liking, or Bill is a more acceptable companion, or whatever - or not, as the case may be, so they don’t work for people wanting to hate on Bill, either. But we do have the AI scores to go by, and according to them - at least with the first 5 episodes behind us - people are so far liking Doctor Who (or not...) just as much in S10 as they did in S9.

[suzanneshannon]

Breaking CSS Custom Properties out of :root Might Be a Good Idea

CSS Custom Properties have been a hot topic for a while now, with tons of great articles about them, from great primers on how they work to creative tutorials to do some real magic with them. If you’ve read more than one or two articles on the topic, then I’m sure you’ve noticed that they start by setting up the custom properties on the :root about 99% of the time.

While putting custom properties on the :root is great for things that you need to be available throughout your site, there are times when it makes more sense to scope your custom properties locally.

In this article, we’ll be exploring:

Why we put custom properties on the :root to begin with.

Why global scoping isn’t right for everything.

How to overcome class clashing with locally scoped custom properties

What’s the deal with custom properties and :root?

Before we jump into looking at the global scope, I think it’s worth looking at why everyone sets custom properties in the :root to begin with.

I’ve been declaring custom properties on the :root without even a second thought. Pretty much everyone does it without even a mention of why — including the official specification.

When the subject of :root is actually breached, it mentions how :root is the same as html, but with higher specificity, and that’s about it.

But does that higher specificity really matter?

Not really. All it does is select html with a higher specificity, the same way a class selector has higher specificity than an element selector when selecting a div.

:root { --color: red; } html { --color: blue; } .example { background: var(--color); /* Will be red because of :root's higher specificity */ }

The main reason that :root is suggested is because CSS isn’t only used to style HTML documents. It is also used for XML and SVG files.

In the case of XML and SVG files, :root isn’t selecting the html element, but rather their root (such as the svg tag in an SVG file).

Because of this, the best practice for a globally-scoped custom property is the :root. But if you’re making a website, you can throw it on an html selector and not notice a difference.

That said, with everyone using :root, it has quickly become a “standard.” It also helps separate variables to be used later on from selectors which are actively styling the document.

Why global scope isn’t right for everything

With CSS pre-processors, like Sass and Less, most of us keep variables tucked away in a partial dedicated to them. That works great, so why should we consider locally scoping variables all of a sudden?

One reason is that some people might find themselves doing something like this.

:root { --clr-light: #ededed; --clr-dark: #333; --clr-accent: #EFF; --ff-heading: 'Roboto', sans-serif; --ff-body: 'Merriweather', serif; --fw-heading: 700; --fw-body: 300; --fs-h1: 5rem; --fs-h2: 3.25rem; --fs-h3: 2.75rem; --fs-h4: 1.75rem; --fs-body: 1.125rem; --line-height: 1.55; --font-color: var(--clr-light); --navbar-bg-color: var(--clr-dark); --navbar-logo-color: var(--clr-accent); --navbar-border: thin var(--clr-accent) solid; --navbar-font-size: .8rem; --header-color: var(--clr-accent); --header-shadow: 2px 3px 4px rgba(200,200,0,.25); --pullquote-border: 5px solid var(--clr-light); --link-fg: var(--clr-dark); --link-bg: var(--clr-light); --link-fg-hover: var(--clr-dark); --link-bg-hover: var(--clr-accent); --transition: 250ms ease-out; --shadow: 2px 5px 20px rgba(0, 0, 0, .2); --gradient: linear-gradient(60deg, red, green, blue, yellow); --button-small: .75rem; --button-default: 1rem; --button-large: 1.5rem; }

Sure, this gives us one place where we can manage styling with custom properties. But, why do we need to define my --header-color or --header-shadow in my :root? These aren’t global properties, I’m clearly using them in my header and no where else.

If it’s not a global property, why define it globally? That’s where local scoping comes into play.

Locally scoped properties in action

Let’s say we have a list to style, but our site is using an icon system — let’s say Font Awesome for simplicity’s sake. We don’t want to use the disc for our ul bullets — we want a custom icon!

If I want to switch out the bullets of an unordered list for Font Awesome icons, we can do something like this:

ul { list-style: none; } li::before { content: "\f14a"; /* checkbox */ font-family: "Font Awesome Free 5"; font-weight: 900; float: left; margin-left: -1.5em; }

While that’s super easy to do, one of the problems is that the icon becomes abstract. Unless we use Font Awesome a lot, we aren’t going to know that f14a means, let alone be able to identify it as a checkbox icon. It’s semantically meaningless.

We can help clarify things with a custom property here.

ul { --checkbox-icon: "\f14a"; list-style: none; }

This becomes a lot more practical once we start having a few different icons in play. Let’s up the complexity and say we have three different lists:

<ul class="icon-list checkbox-list"> ... </ul> <ul class="icon-list star-list"> ... </ul> <ul class="icon-list bolt-list"> ... </ul>

Then, in our CSS, we can create the custom properties for our different icons:

.icon-list { --checkbox: "\f14a"; --star: "\f005"; --bolt: "\f0e7"; list-style: none; }

The real power of having locally scoped custom properties comes when we want to actually apply the icons.

We can set content: var(--icon) on our list items:

.icon-list li::before { content: var(--icon); font-family: "Font Awesome Free 5"; font-weight: 900; float: left; margin-left: -1.5em; }

Then we can define that icon for each one of our lists with more meaningful naming:

.checkbox-list { --icon: var(--checkbox); } .star-list { --icon: var(--star); } .bolt-list { --icon: var(--bolt); }

We can step this up a notch by adding colors to the mix:

.icon-list li::before { content: var(--icon); color: var(--icon-color); /* Other styles */ }

Moving icons to the global scope

If we’re working with an icon system, like Font Awesome, then I’m going to assume that we’d be using them for more than just replacing the bullets in unordered lists. As long as we're using them in more than one place it makes sense to move the icons to the :root as we want them to be available globally.

Having icons in the :root doesn’t mean we can’t still take advantage of locally scoped custom properties, though!

:root { --checkbox: "\f14a"; --star: "\f005"; --bolt: "\f0e7"; --clr-success: rgb(64, 209, 91); --clr-error: rgb(219, 138, 52); --clr-warning: rgb(206, 41, 26); } .icon-list li::before { content: var(--icon); color: var(--icon-color); /* Other styles */ } .checkbox-list { --icon: var(--checkbox); --icon-color: var(--clr-success); } .star-list { --icon: var(--star); --icon-color: var(--clr-warning); } .bolt-list { --icon: var(--bolt); --icon-color: var(--clr-error); }

Adding fallbacks

We could either put in a default icon by setting it as the fallback (e.g. var(--icon, "/f1cb")), or, since we’re using the content property, we could even put in an error message var(--icon, "no icon set").

See the Pen Custom list icons with CSS Custom Properties by Kevin (@kevinpowell) on CodePen.

By locally scoping the --icon and the --icon-color variables, we’ve greatly increased the readability of our code. If someone new were to come into the project, it will be a whole lot easier for them to know how it works.

This isn’t limited to Font Awesome, of course. Locally scoping custom properties also works great for an SVG icon system:

:root { --checkbox: url(../assets/img/checkbox.svg); --star: url(../assets/img/star.svg); --baby: url(../assets/img/baby.svg); } .icon-list { list-style-image: var(--icon); } .checkbox-list { --icon: checkbox; } .star-list { --icon: star; } .baby-list { --icon: baby; }

Using locally scoped properties for more modular code

While the example we just looked at works well to increase the readability of our code — which is awesome — we can do a lot more with locally scoped properties.

Some people love CSS as it is; others hate working with the global scope of the cascade. I’m not here to discuss CSS-in-JS (there are enough really smart people already talking about that), but locally scoped custom properties offer us a fantastic middle ground.

By taking advantage of locally scoped custom properties, we can create very modular code that takes a lot of the pain out of trying to come up with meaningful class names.

Let’s um, scope the scenario.

Part of the reason people get frustrated with CSS is that the following markup can cause problems when we want to style something.

<div class="card"> <h2 class="title">This is a card</h2> <p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit, amet consectetur adipisicing elit. Libero, totam.</p> <button class="button">More info</button> </div> <div class="cta"> <h2 class="title">This is a call to action</h2> <p>Lorem, ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipisicing elit. Aliquid eveniet fugiat ratione repellendus ex optio, ipsum modi praesentium, saepe, quibusdam rem quaerat! Accusamus, saepe beatae!</p> <button class="button">Buy now</button> </div>

If I create a style for the .title class, it will style both the elements containing the .card and .cta classes at the same time. We can use a compound selector (i.e. .card .title), but that raises the specificity which can lead to less maintainability. Or, we can take a BEM approach and rename our .title class to .card__title and .cta__title to isolate those elements a little more.

Locally scoped custom properties offer us a great solution though. We can apply them to the elements where they’ll be used:

.title { color: var(--title-clr); font-size: var(--title-fs); } .button { background: var(--button-bg); border: var(--button-border); color: var(--button-text); }

Then, we can control everything we need within their parent selectors, respectively:

.card { --title-clr: #345; --title-fs: 1.25rem; --button-border: 0; --button-bg: #333; --button-text: white; } .cta { --title-clr: #f30; --title-fs: 2.5rem; --button-border: 0; --button-bg: #333; --button-text: white; }

Chances are, there are some defaults, or commonalities, between buttons or titles even when they are in different components. For that, we could build in fallbacks, or simply style those as we usually would.

.button { /* Custom variables with default values */ border: var(--button-border, 0); /* Default: 0 */ background: var(--button-bg, #333); /* Default: #333 */ color: var(--button-text, white); /* Default: white */ /* Common styles every button will have */ padding: .5em 1.25em; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1px; }

We could even use calc() to add a scale to our button, which would have the potential to remove the need for .btn-sm, btn-lg type classes (or it could be built into those classes, depending on the situation).

.button { font-size: calc(var(--button-scale) * 1rem); /* Multiply `--button-scale` by `1rem` to add unit */ } .cta { --button-scale: 1.5; }

Here is a more in-depth look at all of this in action:

See the Pen Custom list icons with CSS Custom Properties by Kevin (@kevinpowell) on CodePen.

Notice in that example above that I have used some generic classes, such as .title and .button, which are styled with locally scoped properties (with the help of fallbacks). With those being setup with custom properties, I can define those locally within the parent selector, effectively giving each its own style without the need of an additional selector.

I also set up some pricing cards with modifier classes on them. Using the generic .pricing class, I set everything up, and then using modifier classes, I redefined some of the properties, such as --text, and --background, without having to worry about using compound selectors or additional classes.

By working this way, it makes for very maintainable code. It’s easy to go in and change the color of a property if we need to, or even come in and create a completely new theme or style, like the rainbow variation of the pricing card in the example.

It takes a bit of foresight when initially setting everything up, but the payoff can be awesome. It might even seem counter-intuitive to how you are used to approaching styles, but next time you go to create a custom property, try keeping it defined locally if it doesn’t need to live globally, and you’ll start to see how useful it can be.

The post Breaking CSS Custom Properties out of :root Might Be a Good Idea appeared first on CSS-Tricks.

Breaking CSS Custom Properties out of :root Might Be a Good Idea published first on https://deskbysnafu.tumblr.com/

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Breaking CSS Custom Properties out of :root Might Be a Good Idea

CSS Custom Properties have been a hot topic for a while now, with tons of great articles about them, from great primers on how they work to creative tutorials to do some real magic with them. If you’ve read more than one or two articles on the topic, then I’m sure you’ve noticed that they start by setting up the custom properties on the :root about 99% of the time.

While putting custom properties on the :root is great for things that you need to be available throughout your site, there are times when it makes more sense to scope your custom properties locally.

In this article, we’ll be exploring:

Why we put custom properties on the :root to begin with.

Why global scoping isn’t right for everything.

How to overcome class clashing with locally scoped custom properties

What’s the deal with custom properties and :root?

Before we jump into looking at the global scope, I think it’s worth looking at why everyone sets custom properties in the :root to begin with.

I’ve been declaring custom properties on the :root without even a second thought. Pretty much everyone does it without even a mention of why — including the official specification.

When the subject of :root is actually breached, it mentions how :root is the same as html, but with higher specificity, and that’s about it.

But does that higher specificity really matter?

Not really. All it does is select html with a higher specificity, the same way a class selector has higher specificity than an element selector when selecting a div.

:root { --color: red; } html { --color: blue; } .example { background: var(--color); /* Will be red because of :root's higher specificity */ }

The main reason that :root is suggested is because CSS isn’t only used to style HTML documents. It is also used for XML and SVG files.

In the case of XML and SVG files, :root isn’t selecting the html element, but rather their root (such as the svg tag in an SVG file).

Because of this, the best practice for a globally-scoped custom property is the :root. But if you’re making a website, you can throw it on an html selector and not notice a difference.

That said, with everyone using :root, it has quickly become a “standard.” It also helps separate variables to be used later on from selectors which are actively styling the document.

Why global scope isn’t right for everything

With CSS pre-processors, like Sass and Less, most of us keep variables tucked away in a partial dedicated to them. That works great, so why should we consider locally scoping variables all of a sudden?

One reason is that some people might find themselves doing something like this.

:root { --clr-light: #ededed; --clr-dark: #333; --clr-accent: #EFF; --ff-heading: 'Roboto', sans-serif; --ff-body: 'Merriweather', serif; --fw-heading: 700; --fw-body: 300; --fs-h1: 5rem; --fs-h2: 3.25rem; --fs-h3: 2.75rem; --fs-h4: 1.75rem; --fs-body: 1.125rem; --line-height: 1.55; --font-color: var(--clr-light); --navbar-bg-color: var(--clr-dark); --navbar-logo-color: var(--clr-accent); --navbar-border: thin var(--clr-accent) solid; --navbar-font-size: .8rem; --header-color: var(--clr-accent); --header-shadow: 2px 3px 4px rgba(200,200,0,.25); --pullquote-border: 5px solid var(--clr-light); --link-fg: var(--clr-dark); --link-bg: var(--clr-light); --link-fg-hover: var(--clr-dark); --link-bg-hover: var(--clr-accent); --transition: 250ms ease-out; --shadow: 2px 5px 20px rgba(0, 0, 0, .2); --gradient: linear-gradient(60deg, red, green, blue, yellow); --button-small: .75rem; --button-default: 1rem; --button-large: 1.5rem; }

Sure, this gives us one place where we can manage styling with custom properties. But, why do we need to define my --header-color or --header-shadow in my :root? These aren’t global properties, I’m clearly using them in my header and no where else.

If it’s not a global property, why define it globally? That’s where local scoping comes into play.

Locally scoped properties in action

Let’s say we have a list to style, but our site is using an icon system — let’s say Font Awesome for simplicity’s sake. We don’t want to use the disc for our ul bullets — we want a custom icon!

If I want to switch out the bullets of an unordered list for Font Awesome icons, we can do something like this:

ul { list-style: none; } li::before { content: "\f14a"; /* checkbox */ font-family: "Font Awesome Free 5"; font-weight: 900; float: left; margin-left: -1.5em; }

While that’s super easy to do, one of the problems is that the icon becomes abstract. Unless we use Font Awesome a lot, we aren’t going to know that f14a means, let alone be able to identify it as a checkbox icon. It’s semantically meaningless.

We can help clarify things with a custom property here.

ul { --checkbox-icon: "\f14a"; list-style: none; }

This becomes a lot more practical once we start having a few different icons in play. Let’s up the complexity and say we have three different lists:

<ul class="icon-list checkbox-list"> ... </ul> <ul class="icon-list star-list"> ... </ul> <ul class="icon-list bolt-list"> ... </ul>

Then, in our CSS, we can create the custom properties for our different icons:

.icon-list { --checkbox: "\f14a"; --star: "\f005"; --bolt: "\f0e7"; list-style: none; }

The real power of having locally scoped custom properties comes when we want to actually apply the icons.

We can set content: var(--icon) on our list items:

.icon-list li::before { content: var(--icon); font-family: "Font Awesome Free 5"; font-weight: 900; float: left; margin-left: -1.5em; }

Then we can define that icon for each one of our lists with more meaningful naming:

.checkbox-list { --icon: var(--checkbox); } .star-list { --icon: var(--star); } .bolt-list { --icon: var(--bolt); }

We can step this up a notch by adding colors to the mix:

.icon-list li::before { content: var(--icon); color: var(--icon-color); /* Other styles */ }

Moving icons to the global scope

If we’re working with an icon system, like Font Awesome, then I’m going to assume that we’d be using them for more than just replacing the bullets in unordered lists. As long as we're using them in more than one place it makes sense to move the icons to the :root as we want them to be available globally.

Having icons in the :root doesn’t mean we can’t still take advantage of locally scoped custom properties, though!

:root { --checkbox: "\f14a"; --star: "\f005"; --bolt: "\f0e7"; --clr-success: rgb(64, 209, 91); --clr-error: rgb(219, 138, 52); --clr-warning: rgb(206, 41, 26); } .icon-list li::before { content: var(--icon); color: var(--icon-color); /* Other styles */ } .checkbox-list { --icon: var(--checkbox); --icon-color: var(--clr-success); } .star-list { --icon: var(--star); --icon-color: var(--clr-warning); } .bolt-list { --icon: var(--bolt); --icon-color: var(--clr-error); }

Adding fallbacks

We could either put in a default icon by setting it as the fallback (e.g. var(--icon, "/f1cb")), or, since we’re using the content property, we could even put in an error message var(--icon, "no icon set").

See the Pen Custom list icons with CSS Custom Properties by Kevin (@kevinpowell) on CodePen.

By locally scoping the --icon and the --icon-color variables, we’ve greatly increased the readability of our code. If someone new were to come into the project, it will be a whole lot easier for them to know how it works.

This isn’t limited to Font Awesome, of course. Locally scoping custom properties also works great for an SVG icon system:

:root { --checkbox: url(../assets/img/checkbox.svg); --star: url(../assets/img/star.svg); --baby: url(../assets/img/baby.svg); } .icon-list { list-style-image: var(--icon); } .checkbox-list { --icon: checkbox; } .star-list { --icon: star; } .baby-list { --icon: baby; }

Using locally scoped properties for more modular code

While the example we just looked at works well to increase the readability of our code — which is awesome — we can do a lot more with locally scoped properties.

Some people love CSS as it is; others hate working with the global scope of the cascade. I’m not here to discuss CSS-in-JS (there are enough really smart people already talking about that), but locally scoped custom properties offer us a fantastic middle ground.

By taking advantage of locally scoped custom properties, we can create very modular code that takes a lot of the pain out of trying to come up with meaningful class names.

Let’s um, scope the scenario.

Part of the reason people get frustrated with CSS is that the following markup can cause problems when we want to style something.

<div class="card"> <h2 class="title">This is a card</h2> <p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit, amet consectetur adipisicing elit. Libero, totam.</p> <button class="button">More info</button> </div> <div class="cta"> <h2 class="title">This is a call to action</h2> <p>Lorem, ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipisicing elit. Aliquid eveniet fugiat ratione repellendus ex optio, ipsum modi praesentium, saepe, quibusdam rem quaerat! Accusamus, saepe beatae!</p> <button class="button">Buy now</button> </div>

If I create a style for the .title class, it will style both the elements containing the .card and .cta classes at the same time. We can use a compound selector (i.e. .card .title), but that raises the specificity which can lead to less maintainability. Or, we can take a BEM approach and rename our .title class to .card__title and .cta__title to isolate those elements a little more.

Locally scoped custom properties offer us a great solution though. We can apply them to the elements where they’ll be used:

.title { color: var(--title-clr); font-size: var(--title-fs); } .button { background: var(--button-bg); border: var(--button-border); color: var(--button-text); }

Then, we can control everything we need within their parent selectors, respectively:

.card { --title-clr: #345; --title-fs: 1.25rem; --button-border: 0; --button-bg: #333; --button-text: white; } .cta { --title-clr: #f30; --title-fs: 2.5rem; --button-border: 0; --button-bg: #333; --button-text: white; }

Chances are, there are some defaults, or commonalities, between buttons or titles even when they are in different components. For that, we could build in fallbacks, or simply style those as we usually would.

.button { /* Custom variables with default values */ border: var(--button-border, 0); /* Default: 0 */ background: var(--button-bg, #333); /* Default: #333 */ color: var(--button-text, white); /* Default: white */ /* Common styles every button will have */ padding: .5em 1.25em; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1px; }

We could even use calc() to add a scale to our button, which would have the potential to remove the need for .btn-sm, btn-lg type classes (or it could be built into those classes, depending on the situation).

.button { font-size: calc(var(--button-scale) * 1rem); /* Multiply `--button-scale` by `1rem` to add unit */ } .cta { --button-scale: 1.5; }

Here is a more in-depth look at all of this in action:

See the Pen Custom list icons with CSS Custom Properties by Kevin (@kevinpowell) on CodePen.

Notice in that example above that I have used some generic classes, such as .title and .button, which are styled with locally scoped properties (with the help of fallbacks). With those being setup with custom properties, I can define those locally within the parent selector, effectively giving each its own style without the need of an additional selector.

I also set up some pricing cards with modifier classes on them. Using the generic .pricing class, I set everything up, and then using modifier classes, I redefined some of the properties, such as --text, and --background, without having to worry about using compound selectors or additional classes.

By working this way, it makes for very maintainable code. It’s easy to go in and change the color of a property if we need to, or even come in and create a completely new theme or style, like the rainbow variation of the pricing card in the example.

It takes a bit of foresight when initially setting everything up, but the payoff can be awesome. It might even seem counter-intuitive to how you are used to approaching styles, but next time you go to create a custom property, try keeping it defined locally if it doesn’t need to live globally, and you’ll start to see how useful it can be.

The post Breaking CSS Custom Properties out of :root Might Be a Good Idea appeared first on CSS-Tricks.

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