#let's just say my digital footprint of that moment and forward will always be on my twt

[cliji]

big things happening in the vengerivia family group chat

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[hresvelged]

well, well, well. the bell tolls on another winter yuletide and he thinks not of the tally board when he watches her in the snow this evening. she’s coarse and cold and— (something else, just like the snow. beautiful? could he say that?) but, he knows her mind is set on a course so distant, she seems so far away, even now as the snow falls before her. Ferdinand understands that the greatest gift he could probably bestow on her today would be peace of mind, but it wouldn’t be him if he came around empty-handed, would it? it didn’t matter how far away she seemed. and it certainly didn’t matter to him how wide the white, white field was between them. the aegir finest, starkly bright, made a quiet trail of footprints to her. his dear rival. “edelgard.” voice even, emotions scarcely sealed, he couldn’t hold down a smile as he regarded her. “here, for you. an Aegir original.”

he had thought to give her something more… oh, he didn’t know. something more gentle? she would not have appreciated it in the present, however, but he thought, if they lived until eighty, she would one day appreciate his sensibilities. he didn’t look down at her, but wished for her to embrace a side often neglected in favor of war song. but, having done all the work to select hair ribbons for her and all, he found himself staring back at something in the window that he could not deny she would prefer more. pocketing the ribbons (perhaps for another time, another season, far off) he instead walked into the blacksmiths and asked if they could teach him how to make it himself. And so, in a couple of weeks, he left the smiths with a pewter letter opener, smithed to look like an imported silver sword with a jeweled handle. its sleek black box was wrapped in lavender, to regard her eyes quite fondly.

“thank you. for the year, that is. it’s riveting to have a rival as capable as you are.” he stares up at the snow for a moment, smiling, before meeting her gaze. “oh, but come the new year, and i’ll have more challenges in store for you! look forward to it!”

♪ ❆ HAPPY HOLIDAYS! ⋆❅ ˚₊⋆

As the snow melts atop her crimson cape and blends into locks of ice, she stares into gray cascades. She's always looking forward; always thinking about what's to come. The sternness on her face stands strong against the cooling ice sprinkling itself on porcelain gloves and red tights.

It is his voice that cuts through the solitude, steps but close behind. A brow arches, lips drawn of surprise. "Oh? It's fortunate you happened to find me by my lonesome." How odd, she thinks. Odd for her silhouette to greet his own with naught but cold sweeping past them. In a way, it feels befitting for someone like Ferdinand. "Well, regardless. An Aegir original, hm? I will see that for myself, it appears.."

Carefully does she unwrap the item, folding purple into squares. Silently. Her hues fix on the letter opener as she looks into its stillness. The princess remains a moment longer as she lingers on its practicality. Forehead wrinkles fall, replaced by a nod. "I do require tools like this. Thank you, Ferdinand— For the gift." Especially with the number of letters she's received as of late. "I can tell you put thought into it. Consider the effort noticed." Edelgard lifts the present out of the box and moves it closer to her line of sight. As snowflakes sparkle, an airiness seldom exposed finds itself upon her face. "I could do without the challenges, though." Moving the gift to her rightmost, she clutches it among hidden digits.

"Approach me after class tomorrow. I need to speak with you about an important matter." When that hour comes, she has prepared a brand new floral tea set. It is a purposeful act, unveiling itself only when she is ready. As Ferdinand stands here in front of her, with a memorable persistence and a gift given, does she find herself reflecting. When the future comes, she has hopes he will continue to stand under the Empire's banner. The snow falls stronger.

"Before then, let me say one thing. That determination you hold is your own doing— Including where we find ourselves now. This gift.. I accept it not because of where it's from, but of the person who gave it to me." As she places it back in the box and closes its lid, Edelgard tucks it under her arm. "When the next moon springs itself upon us, I hope you will remember this."

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Footprints in the Sand

Part 10: Start a War

Summary/Author's Note: TWO MONTHS. Two fucking months Oberyn was silent in my head and y’all suffered for it. I just knew everyone would stop caring about this fic because I let you all down but I posted that it was coming back and my inbox and DMs have been BLOWING UP all fucking night. I love you guys and I am very emotional. Enjoy. 

We had to have just a little drama but of course I would never keep our main three from going to Dorne. Oberyn knows perfectly well that there will be consequences to his actions--he does not care. We are officially in double digits people?? This is unreal. Also, please listen to this song to get the feeeeeeel of what’s going on. 

Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 4.1k Warnings/ratings: 18+/R - Distress, Sad!Oberyn (this was hard to write but I fixed it), murder, throat slashing, Oberyn is angry and reckless.

[Parts] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]  [MASTERLIST]

The waves crashed against the rocks with as much gentleness as was possible for the crags of King’s Landing. The air was cold, but the sky a crisp blue as the sun started to peak over the water. It was a good day for sailing, a good day for travel, and most importantly a good day for going home. Oberyn leaned on one of the posts on the boardwalk leading out into the waters as he watched his soldiers ready the ship. He held the slip of parchment in his fist, torn between crumpling it, re-reading it for the hundredth time, or throwing it into the ocean. 

‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

Six words. After this week was that all they meant to you? The note was signed at the bottom with your name but he couldn’t believe it. His guts churned with the idea that what the three of you had shared in the brothel could be summed up in such a small note. He crushed it in his fist again and swallowed the lump in his throat as he tossed it into the sea. He watched it float down to the surface before getting swallowed by a wave and wished it was the sorrow he felt instead.

“My love?”

Oberyn looked over his shoulder as Ellaria came to stand behind him and put her hand on his sleeve, the other gripped his bicep as she bowed her head to kiss his shoulder. Her eyes were red and despite the stern, stoic way she held her body he knew she had spent most of the morning with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She had put most of her energy into ignoring their existence, and he didn’t dare bring attention to them.

“I thought she’d come,” Oberyn said flatly as he looked back out onto the horizon.

“So did I,” she whispered against his cloak.

He knew it had been quick, a passion spurred on by spite and excitement, but he thought despite the amount of time, there was a certain kinship between you. The idea of not belonging in one place, of wanting to see what wonders the world held--they could give that to you. That and so much more. All it required of you was a leap of faith and yet you were choosing to stay with the Lannisters.

Looking back to the city, looming in the twilight of the morning, it was as if he was waiting for you to come running over the hill. If it was possible, he would stand here and wait as long as he had to.

"I vow to worship your body with my mouth, hands, and cock, every night once we're in Dorne." “Promise?”

He had made you that promise against that table in the library with his cock buried inside of you and you had called him your prince. Had it all been for nothing? Was it just a pretty sentiment said in the height of ecstasy? The thought made a twinge of pain blossom in his chest and he pushed it deep into the background of his subconscious. If you truly didn’t want to go to Dorne, if you didn’t want Ellaria, if you didn’t want..him--he wanted to hear it come from your own lips.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he rubbed his beard in thought. “Who did you say brought the note?”

“I don’t know,” Ellaria answered honestly. “Your men said the messenger was wearing Lannister colors.”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Oberyn stood up straight and walked towards the plank ramp that was leading up to his ship. He stopped the captain of his guard with a gesture of his hand and the man stood at attention with his hand on his scimitar. “Change of plans.”

“But, my prince--” the man looked startled as he faced him. “We’re almost ready to set sail.”

“Then you’ll be ready when I return.” Oberyn held up his hand and stopped another of the guards from walking one of the horses up the ramp.

“Return?” Ellaria spoke up and turned Oberyn to face her instead. “What are you doing?”

“She didn’t write that, Ellaria--”  

“Oberyn--”

“Someone else did.”

“Listen to yourself--”

“My gut is never wrong. She’s in trouble--”

“Oberyn!” Ellaria grabbed both of his upper arms tightly, digging her fingers into the fabric of his yellow sleeves as she fought the urge to shake him. “I thought she would come, as well. I’m heartbroken that she--” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “That she doesn’t want us. But what are you going to do? Storm the Red Keep with a handful of men? And what if you’re wrong--what then?”

“I’m not wrong. And I don’t need a handful of men--I have me.” He gave her waist a squeeze in return and leaned forward to capture her lips and kiss her hard. It was brief, but it caught her off guard just enough to release her hold on him as he walked around her to the horse.

“Don’t do this,” Ellaria pleaded once she recovered, but it fell on deaf ears. Oberyn was many things, but with his fearlessness often came a stupidity that Ellaria knew was going to put her in an early grave.

“Captain,” Oberyn addressed the man from before as he undid his traveling cloak and tossed it to one of the other soldiers.

“Your grace?” The stoic man stood up straighter and gave a nod of attention.

“No one, except myself, is allowed on this ship. You are to stay with my paramour and keep her safe at all costs, do you understand?” Oberyn gave him a very serious gaze and the other man nodded.

“I’m coming with you,” Ellaria protested, but Oberyn shook his head as he grabbed the horn of the saddle and hoisted himself up onto the animal with a swing of his leg.

“No,” He said curtly, rubbing his hand along hers on his knee to soften the sting of his words. “You are correct in saying I will not be able to take the Keep by force. I’m going to go get her, and come back unseen--I need you ready to sail the moment our feet touch the deck.”

“This will have consequences.”

“Everything we do always does.”

She bit her lip and lowered her dark eyes at him. There was no arguing with him. He had clearly made up his mind. “Be careful.”

He grinned and gave her a nod. “I always am.”

“If that were true, I would worry less,” She said. He chuckled before clicking his tongue and spurring the horse forward back across the dock and back into the city.

--

It was early enough in the city square that barely anyone was in the streets. The shops and carts were still closed and the morning air was the cold, crisp kind that seemed to permeate one’s lungs and make them feel clean. The metal shoes of the horse clopped softly as Oberyn turned the reins and clicked his tongue again leading the animal down an alleyway.

The shadows swallowed him as he moved along the wall and pulled the animal up short, dismounting gracefully. He moved the reins up over the animal’s head and tied the leather straps to a beam that was protruding from the stone walls.

He knew the tower that held the servants quarters and the one that had held the bedchambers for the Lannisters when Elia had been queen. Ellaria would have skinned him alive if she had known that was what he was basing his entire plan off of--a memory of the castle layout that was the better part of a decade old.

He ran his hand along the damp stones of the wall that led down the alley and around the larger part of the tower. There were no guards to be seen, as they were no doubt guarding the doors, but he wasn’t looking for a door--he was looking for a window. He looked up, carefully pulling a bit of the mortar that held the stones in place from the wall and crumbled it between his fingers. Humming his approval, he pulled his dagger from the sheath on his side and reached up as high as he would and started digging one of the bricks loose.

He put his dagger away and grabbed the self-made foothold tightly before hoisting himself up to the metal sconce that held one of the Lannister banners on the side of the wall. With careful, meticulous planning, he found something to hold onto, one right after the other, up the side of the tower. A gap in the bricks, a stone that was slightly larger than the rest, it all served the same purpose. His arms and shoulders ached with the repeated motion of pulling his weight up but he pressed on.

He climbed to where the tower met one of the breezeways of the garden and used it as an opportunity to take a break and reassess. His boots dropped down on the roof of the apex of the tower and movement caught his eye. 

The window directly above him, where he was betting your bedroom was was open. But what was odd was the rope that was hanging down from it, blowing gently in the breeze. No, that wasn’t a rope, that was a long line of bed linens knotted together. The realization made him smirk as he searched the courtyard below for signs of movement.

“Clever woman,” he chuckled quietly to himself.

Staying low, he walked the spine of the roof along the perimeter of the courtyard until he got to the end and looked over into another dark alley. Whatever gods were looking down on him that day, were doing so favorably because just like he had hoped, there you were. You hugged the wall of the alley much like he had, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Not only were you not wearing a dress, leather riding breeches took the place of lacy skirts, but your hair was tucked carefully under the dark hood of your cloak. To the average person walking by, you looked ordinary, easy to miss, unless someone was really looking.

He turned his back to the alley and gripped the edge of the roof, lowering his body down as far as it would go before releasing his grip. His boots made a firm thud on the cobblestone behind you and he moved swiftly, putting one arm around your waist and the other over your mouth. Just as he expected, you tried to scream against his hand but he was quick to speak against your hair.

“It’s me, it’s me--”

You turned in his arms and he loosened his grip enough to let you. The look of utter relief on your face was enough to make his chest tight. He grinned and tucked a strand of your hair back into the safety of your hood.

“Oberyn..”

He let out a grunt and braced his knees as you threw your arms around his neck and put your face against his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around your back and he dipped his head to kiss you softly.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” he said, quietly.

"How did you know to come? I thought you were supposed to sail this morning before dawn. I was worried I would be too late."

“We are--but I knew something was wrong. I knew you didn’t send that note.” he rubbed his hands up and down your arms as if to keep you warm and convince himself that you were indeed real.

“What note?” You asked, a flash of fear crossing through your eyes followed quickly by realization. “Cersei--she said that she was going to send word to you and Ellaria that I had changed my mind.”

“She did,” he nodded. “But it wasn’t very convincing.” He winked and you gave a sigh of relief and hugged him again. "If you don't wish to go to Dorne, I expect to hear it from your own lips."

"No--" you blurted out and put your hand to your mouth, looking around the alleyway for any signs of another person. "No, I want to go--I want you, and Ellaria."

He smiled then and let his large hand cup the side of your face, allowing you to lean into his touch as he backed you up against the stone wall and kissed you deeply. "I was hoping that's what you would say." He whispered against your lips and you put your hands on his chest, gripping his tunic. He allowed himself to indulge for only a moment before he pulled back and said to the space between you, "We need to go. Ellaria is waiting and I fear the longer we wait, our odds of getting caught only increase."

You nodded quickly. "Cersei gave the order that if anyone wearing Martell colors came to the castle, they were to be killed on sight--especially you and Ellaria."

"Did she now? Well, that might make things interesting." He chuckled, but it held no joy, it was a noise of spiteful entertainment. "Come on," he grabbed your hand and walked ahead of you, keeping the majority of your body behind him.

The two of you hurried along the wall and you let Oberyn guide you down the alley and around the corner as he clearly retraced his steps. He stopped abruptly, almost causing you to collide with his back as he spotted his horse, now being inquisitively observed by two of the king's guard. They carefully untied the beast from its tether to the wall and looked at one another in confusion. Two against one? Those were favorable odds in his eyes.  

"Stay here," he said, planting you against the bricks with a firm hand on each of your arms.

"Oberyn--Obr--fuck." You tried to protest but he was already gone.

He moved like his nickname implied, swift and silent, like a snake in the sand. He grabbed the hilt of his dagger and pulled it from his belt, his hand wrapped securely around it as he reached the two guards. They never stood a chance as the prince grabbed the taller one by the back of the helmet, jerked his head backwards, and wrapped his arm around the front of him to run the blade across his throat in a dramatic display of red. The horse whinnied and reared back, taking a few steps away from the group of men.

“Stop!” The other guard yelled, as his comrade fell to his knees and then face down, unmoving on the stone.

The command didn’t do any of good, as Oberyn rushed him before he could pull his long sword. The Prince raised his knee and kickied the long sword from his hand with a clang. Oberyn used the momentum and slammed him up against the brick stones, the man tried to scream and he drove the blade of his dagger into his open mouth, through the back of his head, pinning him against the bricks. Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling an involuntary noise of shock as you watched the man’s body twitch, resembling a butterfly pinned to a board in a Maester’s laboratory.

Oberyn leaned in, gripping the man’s hair as blood poured down his chin and he fought his body’s urge to close his mouth around the blade. Any screams he may have made were strangled around the steel as he looked at his attacker with horrified eyes.

“You can keep the dagger,” Oberyn said quietly, close to the man’s face, as he traced his finger down the detailed snake on the hilt. “I want Jaime and the queen to know I was here.”

He looked back at you, expecting to see horror on your face, disgust, regret, anything that would have you second guessing your decision to go with him now that you had seen such a thing. But you were a Lannister, and when he extended his hand to you, you took it willingly. He pulled you behind him only dropping your hand long enough to hoist himself up onto the horse and reach back down to lift you up as well.

You put your hands in the mane of the animal as one of his arms came around the front of your body and held your back tightly against his chest. He dug the heels of his boots into the haunches of the horse and it bolted, thundering hooves against the stone. It was no longer about being quiet. It was about being quick, and putting as much distance between the you and King’s landing as possible.

The two of you rode hard and fast through the streets of the city. People waking up for the day and starting to open up their homes and shops looked at you with curious speculation but you moved too swiftly for much else. Oberyn’s arm was a comforting weight along your stomach and you put one of your hands over it, leaning back into his chest to ground yourself against the jerking of the horse as it galloped.

The minute the docks came into view you felt like you could breathe again. Your chest ached from the anticipation of being unable to see your destination but it was the image of Ellaria standing tall at the edge of the ship that made you want to burst into tears. She looked absolutely stunning, in her burnt orange robes, soft dark leather bodice and matching riding trousers. She was a siren on the water, and she was waiting to call both of you home.

“Sails!” She yelled, over her shoulder to the men behind her and Oberyn’s captain nodded in agreement before moving to make sure everyone within earshot followed her orders.

Your body jerked as Oberyn steered the stallion up the ramp to the ship and jumped it over the edge onto the deck with a loud thud. He let the animal slow to a trot as its chest heaved from the exertion and it blew loud breaths through its nostrils. He pulled up on the leather reins and came to a stop just as the ship shoved off from the port and Ellaria picked up her robes and came running down off of the quarterdeck.

No sooner had Oberyn released you to slip from the saddle and to the ground did she have you gathered in her arms. Your hood fell and she put her hands in your hair and kissed you. “Thank the gods,” she breathed against your mouth and you smiled, a few tears of relief forming in the corners of your eyes.

Oberyn swung his leg and jumped down, handing the beast off to one of his men before turning a fond grin upon the two of you. “I do believe I told you so.”

“Not now,” she chastised him with a smile and a shake of her head but she kept her gaze on you. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Ellaria--” you swallowed hard and took her hands in yours and gripped them tightly. “I didn’t--I would never have left..”

“I know, I know, sweet girl,” she brushed your hair back from her face and nodded. “Oberyn knew. You’re safe.” She kissed you again and drew you into her body, resting her chin on your shoulder and looking at Oberyn standing behind you. “What have we done?” she asked with a smile, her tone saying full well that the consequences didn’t matter.

“With any luck,” he shrugged and rubbed his chin as a smirk overtook his face. “We started a war.”

--

You had no idea just how long you had been on the open water, the days all seemed to run together. The sun rose, the sun set, and as far as the eye could see was just blue water that blended with blue skies. Your fingers twisted idly in the chain of your mother’s necklace that sat nestled between your breasts inside of your bodice--the only worldly possession you had made sure to grab when fleeing the Red Keep. Your lovers had assured you that their first task in Dorne would be to buy you everything you needed, but none of that seemed to matter that much.

The whole feeling of getting further and further away from your old life in King’s Landing seemed surreal. The idea that you didn’t have to return to Casterly Rock didn’t feel like it could possibly be true, but it was. As you stood on the bow of the ship with your hands on the railing and the wind in your hair, you knew that it was true--there was no going back.

Solidly strong arms slid around your waist as sun kissed skin nosed your neck and you leaned back against the solid chest of Oberyn Martell. You had been so caught up in your thoughts, that you hadn’t heard his boots on the planks behind you.

“How is she?” you asked quietly and he spoke as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“She’s fine,” he heaved a sigh when you reached back to put your hand in his hair. “Finally asleep--hopefully she stays that way for a while.”

True to what she had told you in the brothel, as soon as the ship broke the waters of the open ocean, Ellaria had become almost violently sea sick. She had spent the majority of the trip with her entire body over the wooden rails, Oberyn and you taking turns holding her long, dark curls out of the way as she emptied her stomach until there was nothing left. She refused to eat, and when she finally caved and allowed even the smallest morsel to pass her lips, it wound up back in the water a few hours later.

“I feel awful for her.”

“It happens every time,” he said, trying to ease your concerns. “It is a small price to pay to see the world--her words, my dear, not mine.”

You nod and keep your eyes on the horizon as he moves your hair to the side. The action bares your neck to him and your eyes close slowly as you feel his lips start a trail at your shoulder.

“Did you ever send word to your family?” You asked finally, putting your hands over his on your abdomen.

“No,” he answered flatly. “I thought I’d let it be a surprise.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Your voice was chastising and it made him nip your neck and chuckle when you jumped.

“I’m a Prince of Dorne,” he continued. “You need to get used to that. You don’t need to ask permission anymore.” He kissed up to the shell of your ear and whispered. “What’s our rule?”

The action caused you to shiver and you squeezed his hand. “Don’t apologize.”

“Exactly. Most people spend their entire lives making excuses and apologies for the things they truly desire--we are not most people.” One of his hands slid up from your waist to cup your breast through your bodice as he licked a slow, wet line down the side of your throat.

“Oberyn…” you bit your lip and let out a shaky breath before briefly glancing over your shoulder to make sure none of his men had their attention on the two of you. “Stop--” you moved his hand from your breasts and back to your waist.

“As you wish,” he grinned against your skin and went back to resting his chin on your shoulder and looking out at the water. “But the second we get settled in our chambers in the palace--you and Ellaria are both mine.”

“Our chambers?” you asked, turning your head to smile at him and he hummed in agreement.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather sleep elsewhere?” he teased and chuckled as you shook your head. He was quiet for a few moments before he squeezed you gently, moving one of his arms to point across the horizon. “Look, my love.”

Your gaze followed his arm and your heart raced as the horizon broke to show that there was indeed land on the other side of the world. The smile that broke across your face was so wide that it almost hurt. Unlike the shore of King’s landing and Casterly Rock, there were no cliffs, no crags, no ragged edges to dull the beauty of the waves and darken the landscape. No, this was very different. The sandy beaches were warm and inviting, the foam from each crest of the waves broke against the shoreline and rolled back to let the sunlight sparkle off of the surface. You wanted to jump into the water, to feel the sand against your skin, to immerse yourself in what was to be your new home.

As if sensing your thoughts, Oberyn lowered his voice and spoke against your hair, “Welcome to Dorne, Lioness.”

--

[Next Chapter]

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[thewolfswriting]

The Dangers Of A Demon Chapter 3

Pairings: Demon Alpha!Dean x Katarina Morgan (Omega OC)

Word count: 2,009

Chapter Warnings: Profanity, Scent Marking, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Dub-con, Non-consensual claiming 18+ content just don’t read if you’re under the age of 18

Taglist: @charmed-asylum

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

With a snarl, Dean kicked the cabin door open so hard it bounced off the wall. Even though he told the Omega to shut up, she still screamed at him the whole way back. He kicked the door shut behind him before throwing her to the floor with a thud. With tears flowing down her face she crawled backward until her back pressed against the nightstand. The fear grew more within her when he picked up the knife from the floor.

"Did you really think you could fucking escape?! He yelled while taking a fistful of her hair and pointing the knife at her face "Where the hell do you think you were going?!"

"I was trying to get away from you!" She all but yelled eyeballing the sharp object that's uncomfortably close to her face.

"You're not going anywhere until I decide when I'm gonna kill you. Understand?!"

She sobbed "Y-yes."

"Good. Now, get back up on that fucking bed and stay there." He pointed towards the bed with the knife still in hand.

Not wanting to piss him off even more she didn't hesitate to do what she was told. His eyes had even stayed black the whole time.

Keeping his eyes on her Dean growled at the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket. She let out a sigh of relief once his attention wasn't directed towards her, but to the person he was currently on the phone with.

"What do you want Crowley?" Dean barked into the phone.

"Is it done?"

"I'm working on it."

"It's been 3 days Dean. You never drag out a kill. Get it done or I'll send someone who will."

"The job will get done but on my terms. Send anyone else and they'll be dead too!" Dean yelled the last sentence before hanging up not giving Crowley the chance to answer. If Crowley knew what was good for him, he would take what Dean said seriously.

"Who was that?" Katarina asked in a hushed tone like she was afraid he'd yell at her for asking.

At this point, the demon didn't care she heard the whole conversation "Don't worry about it."

---

"We still haven't found her sheriff." One of the deputies said with a tone of sympathy.

He had to be careful to not give it away that he's looking for Katarina and because of that, only two of his deputies know she's missing. The only evidence they found was her footprints in the snow that led to her mother's grave. But Dean was careful to make sure nothing else of hers was left behind the night he took her.

"Keep looking. I want my daughter found safe and alive." Sheriff Morgan sighed. So nobody grew suspicious he had to hide the fact he knows who has his Omega of a daughter. Even worse, he's hiding that those three Omega's that were missing are now dead. All for the sake of an attempt to keep his daughter safe

"I'll find you. I promise." He muttered while gazing at the picture of his daughter on his desk.

---

Dean returned to the cabin carrying a few logs of wood before he sat down on the stool to start a fire in the fireplace. Not one word did Dean had said to her since the situation that took place earlier that evening. Every time she heard the swing of Dean's ax hit the wood, she flinched thinking if he would kill her that way.

Katarina's shivering soon calmed down once the heat of the fire finally warmed the cabin. She buried her face against the blanket as she hugged it closer to her body and made a sound she's never made before. Realizing she just purred she sniffed the blanket. That's when it hit her. The blanket, the entire bed smells like Dean. She hoped with everything in her the Alpha across the room didn't hear the noise she once again just made. To her, that would be embarrassing given she's never had an Alpha touch her let alone have a heat yet. She only hoped having an Alpha this close to her wouldn't trigger her heat.

Relaxing enough she closed her eyes, finally falling asleep only minutes after.

---

It was hours later when she awoke covered in a sheet of her own sweat. She looked at the fireplace which was still burning. She removed her jacket from her shoulders and three the blanket off, thinking maybe she got too hot from the heat of the fire and all the other layers on her. But then she smelled it, her own scent thick in the air of the cabin. Then she felt it, a cramp in her lower belly striking through her. Oh, no. So much for hoping.

"You're in heat."

She jumped as Dean pulled her closer to him. Gripping her jaw he holds her head in place as he, with golden eyes ran his nose along the side of her neck and let his hands roam either side of her body "Y-you knew this would h-happen." She went stiff as he pressed his hips forward against her ass and could feel the hardness of his cock straining against the demon fabric of his jeans.

He chuckled at her words while bringing his hand to the front of her jeans and popped the button and sliding two fingers in the waistband. The arousal pooled in her panties as soon as his fingers came in contact against hot, slick flesh. She bit her lip to keep any type of noise in from the fingers on her virgin cunt.

"Oh, you're damn right I did." His eyes flashed golden "And from the way you smell right now, I'm guessing you've never had an Alpha touch you or even have a knot in you. Now, that's gonna change."

The only response he got was a whimper of pain as another cramp shot through her. She knew this day would come, she knew what to expect, but she didn't expect was her heat to come like this. Triggered by a demon who happens to be an Alpha.

"Gonna make you feel good, Omega."

Dean flipped her on her back and ripped her shirt over her head before claiming her mouth with his. He took the liberty of palming her breasts through her plain white bra before taking it in his hands and ripping it from her chest. The demon was quick to capture her wrists in his hands to prevent her from covering herself.

While squeezing her breasts in his hands his eyes divert to her chest "Fuck, these tits are perfect, 'mega." His thumbs grazed across her aching nipples "Fit just right in my hands."

The Omega closed her eyes as he then smoothed a hand down her stomach to drag her jeans and panties down her legs. Holding her breath he pried her legs open while laying down on his stomach and slinging her legs over his shoulders. Her eyes snapped open once she felt the stubble on his face drag along her inner thigh and his breath ghosting over her mound and his tongue swiping up her slit.

"What are you doing?" She tried to close her legs around Dean's head.

"What's it look like 'mega?" He chuckled against her "Your cunt is just begging to be touched."

The shade of red that washed over her face was just a confirmation of his statement. It didn't matter how much Katarina wanted to deny it, her pussy was drenched from her arousal.

The tip of his nose nudged her clit as his tongue delved between her folds and brushed against her opening. Shame washed over her when her hips involuntarily bucked against his face and whimpered in pleasure. Not once had she ever thought about having an Alpha's face between her legs.

Dean was moaning against her sex and her face turned a deeper shade of red when he pulled back and moaned things like "your taste is intoxicating". But he always leaned back in and continued his actions.

Two rough fingers circled her tight entrance. It was almost like Dean could read her thoughts about protesting as he snaked a hand up her body and wrapped it around her throat as a warning "Come on 'mega" He licked her clit once "Open up for me." Twice.

Finally, he slid his two thick digits inside her. In an attempt to open her up more, he scissored them inside her, earning a gasp from the slight stretch.

"Oh, fuck." The Omega whimpered as Dean curled his fingers at the spot deep inside her.

"Yeah, there we go." He mumbled before continuing his assault on her clit.

It wasn't long until she became a writhing, screaming mess, her orgasm flooding through her body.

"Dean, please stop." She whimpered as he continued to finger and lick her through her orgasm.

Pulling away from her, Dean sat up on his knees and flipped her over on her stomach "Face down, ass up. Now."

It was out of pure Omega instinct that she did what she was told and she hated herself for it because she knew what was coming. She tried to crawl away as Dean removed his clothes but he only grabbed her hips and pulled her back into place before positioning himself behind her.

Before she could turn her head to look behind her he shoved her face to the mattress "It's better you don't see this 'mega." He rutted between her folds and spread her slick over his cock.

She fisted the blanket with tears in her eyes as the head of his cock pushes against her quivering heat and that's when he felt the resistance. She didn't say a word. The only sound she made was a whimper of horror as he struggled to push the first inch inside her and beads of sweat started to form on his skin.

"Please wait! Dean, I can't. It hurts!" She wailed at him when he rutted in another two inches. She felt like he was splitting her in two.

He was starting to lose patience with her "Oh, I know it does. But you're gonna take my cock like the submissive Omega you are. You wanna know what happens if you don't?" He snarled at her.

"You'll hurt me?"

"That is right. Now shut the hell up and take it like a good little Omega!"

The hands that gripped her hips tightened to keep her still as he attempted to again push forward but stilled his movement when her walls gripped him. At that moment his patience might as well just disintegrated. Snarling he slammed himself completely inside her. The glass-shattering scream from Katarina's throat echoed throughout the cabin but was soon silenced the moment Dean leaned over and clamped a hand over her mouth.

By testing her he rocked his hips forward, eliciting a whimper of pain from the girl. Slightly he pulled out only to slam himself back into her. She sobbed into the blanket with each drag of his cock against her. At first, he went slow, but with each time she involuntarily clenched his thrusts became faster and harder.

She wondered how bad it would've gone if she had fought him on it. But then again, she didn't have to wonder. Even though he hurt her anyway, it could've been worse.

"Gonna knot you little 'mega." His voice was suddenly deeper.

The words she just heard didn't fully register until she felt it at the base of him and her eyes grew wide. His knot was starting to swell. As he still pounded into her he dragged her up against his chest. He pulled back only to snap his hips forward and with one hard thrust, he forced his knot inside her. As thick ropes of cum filled her womb he licked a line from her shoulder to her neck before sinking his teeth deep in her neck.

"My Omega." Was the last thing she heard before closing her eyes.

[kinkykinard]

Winter Winds

Fandom: Star Trek AOS. Pairing: Leonard McCoy X Reader. Word Count: 3567. Rating: All ages. Genre: gen, fluff. Summary: a winter storm keeps you stuck inside in spite of how terribly you’re feeling.�� Luckily for you, the town’s new doctor does house calls. Author’s Note: beta’d by @starshiphufflebadger.

You’ve tried everything.

Bed rest, fluids, homemade soup, over-the-counter cold medicines; heck, you’ve even tried sending up a prayer or two.  None of it has done anything to help the aching in your muscles and the congestion in your chest and your sinuses.  Whatever infection you’ve picked up is wreaking havoc on your body unchecked.

Climbing out of the hot, steamy shower you’ve spent the last half hour in in an attempt to clear your sinuses, you wrap a towel around yourself and pad into your bedroom, perching yourself on your bed.  You reach for the thermometer on your night stand, slide it under your tongue, and wait.  You pull it out again when it beeps and frown at the display.  Sighing, you reach for your phone, cursing softly under your breath as you glance outside at the heavy snowfall you know you’ll have to face to get to the town clinic.

You dial the familiar number for your doctor’s office, smiling a little at the familiarity of the voice on the other end of the line.

“Aspen Meadows Medical Clinic, Christine speaking, how may I help you?”

“Since when do you pick up the phone?”  You ask teasingly.  “I thought for sure you’d be up to your elbows in patients with this snow storm going on.”

Christine laughs softly.

“I don’t think anyone wants to chance the roads in this weather for anything short of imminent death.”

She’s probably right, of course, and you happen to agree.  Still, you feel awful and you know it would probably be best for you to see a doctor, so you gather your resolve and forge ahead.

“Well, I’m going to have to chance them, I think,” you explain.  “I’ve been sick for a week and I’m not getting any better.  I think it’s time I have it looked at.”

Christine makes a wordless noise of sympathy.  

“If you’re as sick as you sound, I don’t want you taking your chances out there.  You’re in luck, though; our new doctor does house calls.”

You frown for a moment.  You do remember Christine mentioning a new doctor recently, but the thought of having someone unfamiliar come into your home to examine you puts you on edge.  You’re not the biggest fan of doctors in the first place and the idea of having one over for a visit makes you uneasy.  

Christine seems to sense your discomfiture as the silence rings in the air and she jumps in to reassure you.

“He’s an excellent physician, and he’s very nice.  I think you’d like him.”

You know that Christine’s recommendations are almost always on the mark and that her praise is not freely given, so hearing such accolades from her reassures you that the doctor really must be something special.  Chewing your lip a moment in contemplation, you eventually agree.

“Alright,” you decide.  “Sure, send him over.  Just let me know when I can expect him.”

You hear a soft clacking noise in the background as Christine rifles through the bookings for the day on her computer.

“Dr. Medina has things covered here in the clinic, so he should be fine to head out shortly.  Just keep an eye out in the next half hour or so.”

“Thanks, Chris,” you murmur hoarsely, clearing your throat.  “You’re a lifesaver.”

She chuckles softly.

“I’ve always got your back, Y/N.  Now go take care of yourself, I’ve got some charting to finish up.  Text me later and tell me how it goes.”

You say your farewells and hang up, setting your phone aside and moving to make yourself somewhat more presentable.  You choose your newest, least-worn pair of pajamas and throw on a house coat over top before sliding your feet into slippers and padding out to the kitchen.

You move about your cozy little kitchen, watching the snowfall outside.  The sky is a bleak gray color and you feel chilled in spite of your heater being turned up almost all the way.  Hoping to shake the shivering, you put a kettle of water on for tea and sit yourself down at the counter as you wait for it to heat.

You glance at the clock as the minutes tick by, watching the minute hand approach the half hour mark Christine had indicated.  You steep your tea distractedly, pulling your house coat tighter around your shoulders as the chill continues to plague you.  Wrapping your fingers around your tea cup, you let the heat from the ceramic sink into your palms, easing your discomfort just the smallest bit.

A knock on the door startles you a minute or two later, causing you to slosh your tea, scalding your fingers a little bit.  You hiss as you wipe your hands off on your housecoat, making your way to the door.  A glance out the window reveals an unfamiliar blue pickup truck parked in the driveway behind your own vehicle and a set of footprints through the snow leading up to your porch.  A quick peek through the peephole shows a man clad in a thick winter jacket and trapper hat.  Stepping back, you unlock the door and pull it open, stepping aside to make room.  “Come in,” you insist, shivering as the biting winter wind sweeps a swirl of snowflakes in through the doorway.

He nods, flashing you a friendly smile as he moves inside.  You push the door closed in his wake and move into the living room as he kicks off his boots.  As he shakes the snow off of his coat, you take a moment to get a closer look at him.  He’s roguishly handsome, his skin ruddy from the cold, and looks nothing like most of the doctors you’re used to.  He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a plaid button down shirt - more lumberjack than physician.  He’s got a small, red duffel bag in one hand and it’s embroidered with the trademark snake and staff logo that everyone equates with medicine.  You smile as he steps in from the mudroom and meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, his deep voice warming you, instantly putting you at ease.  “I’m Dr. McCoy, and you must be Y/N.”  

He reaches out to shake your hand and you hiss a little as he grasps yours firmly, aggravating the minor burns from the tea you spilled a minute or two earlier.

“Are you alright?”  He asks, immediately loosening his grip as you recoil.

“Fine,” you reply.  “Just a silly kitchen accident, it’s no big deal.  It’s this flu or whatever that I called about.”

Dr. McCoy nods, gesturing for you to lead the way into the house.  

“I might as well take a look at everything while I’m here,” he offers.  “Really, it’s no trouble.”

He follows you over to the kitchen counter, eyeing the puddle of tea around your mug as you lean a hip against the granite near the sink.  He sets his duffel down and joins you, reaching out a hand to take yours.  His touch stings the raw spots a little but you bite back a wince as he inspects the small burns.  Pain aside, his touch is gentle and not at all unpleasant and you relax a little.

“You got lucky, they’re only first degree,” he explains after a moment.  “Nothing a little cooling won’t soothe.”

He reaches over with his free hand and turns on your cold water tap, carefully guiding your injured hand toward the stream.  You hiss as the water hits your sensitive, injured skin and the doctor murmurs a soft apology as he holds your hand under the faucet.  The pain starts to recede as the minutes tick by and just as you start to feel like you can’t handle much more of the cold, Dr. McCoy reaches out to turn off the tap.  He releases your hand and you reach for a hand towel, drying off as he picks up his bag once more.

“Now, let’s take a look at the rest of you,” he suggests.  

You suddenly feel a little bit shy at the thought of the pending exam and you feel your cheeks heat a little.  Straightening up, you gesture toward the hallway.

“Is the bedroom okay, or would the couch be better?”  You ask, unusure.  “I’ve never done this before…”

“Wherever you’re most comfortable,” the doctor replies with a smile, winking.  “The only thing for you to do is relax and let me do all the hard work.”

You chew on your lip for a moment and finally decide on the bedroom, figuring he’ll have more space to work without a coffee table in the way.  You turn and make your way toward your room, the doctor tracking close behind.  You feel the room around you spin a little bit as a sudden bout of dizziness plagues you and you grip a nearby door frame to prop yourself up.  You feel the doctor’s hand come to grip your elbow, gently supporting you.

“Are you alright?”

You nod weakly, taking a moment to steady yourself before straightening up and pulling away from his grasp.

“Fine, thanks; this congestion is just throwing my balance off.”

He makes a wordless noise of sympathy and gently urges you forward, following you into your bedroom.  As he sets his kit down and begins to unpack a few things, you slip out of your housecoat and hang it on a hook on the back of the door.  You climb up onto the bed, sitting propped up against the headboard and folding your hands idly in your lap.

Dr. McCoy joins you a moment later, perching on the edge of the bed and facing you, his stethoscope hung around his neck.  He flashes you a friendly smile and sweeps his gaze over you head to toe, taking in your overall condition.

“Seeing as you’ve just been drinking hot tea, I’m afraid we’ll have to take your temperature the hard way.”

Your heart skips uneasily at his words and you fear for what’s to come.  Thankfully your anxiety is relieved momentarily as he holds up a digital thermometer with a chuckle.  He reaches out and sweeps it across your forehead, glancing at the readout as you take a moment to shake off the thoughts of what you had assumed he’d meant by the hard way.

You’re snapped out of your reverie as he asks you some questions, reaching out to check your pulse at the same time.  His fingertips wrap easily around your wrist and you try not to ruminate too hard on the feeling of his touch as you describe the kinds of symptoms you’ve been experiencing.  If he notices that your heart rate is a little bit elevated then he doesn’t mention it, he just keeps his fingertips in place for a long minute as he finishes getting some background information.

You watch him as he works to check your ears and throat.  Moving on, he gently presses down over your sinuses.  The tenderness beneath his fingertips makes you wince a little and he stops immediately, giving you a respite from the discomfort.

“Doing alright?”  He asks.

You nod.

“Fine,” you rasp.  “I expected some discomfort, it’s no big deal.”

Dr. McCoy smiles.

“As long as you let me know if it’s too much,” he murmurs.  “Pushing you past the limits of your comfort isn’t my idea of fun, and it won’t change my clinical impression.”

You smile wryly.

“That’s more consideration than any other doctor has shown me in… probably ever.”

“Sounds like you’ve been seeing the wrong doctors, darlin’.”

The pet name sets butterflies aflutter in your stomach and your heart skips a little as he leans closer to touch you again.  His fingertips land along either side of your neck, gently prodding, eliciting tenderness from your sore and swollen lymph nodes.  You keep a slight wince in check as he presses on a particularly painful spot, but it doesn’t escape his notice.  He pulls away again moments later, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I thought we had a deal,” he teases gently.  “You were supposed to tell me if it was too much.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help smiling a bit.  

“And when it gets to be too much, you’ll know.”

He nods in acknowledgement and reaches for his stethoscope, slipping it on and pressing the disc to his palm to warm it for a few moments before reaching for you.  A wordless exchange of nods assures him of your consent and he reaches forward to slip the stethoscope beneath the neckline of your shirt, touching it to the skin over your heart.  You breathe as slowly and quietly as you can in hopes that you won’t trigger a coughing spell, and after a few moments of moving the disc around and listening carefully, Dr. McCoy pulls back, satisfied.

“Can you lean forward?"  He asks softly.

You comply with only a little bit of difficulty, the weakness in your muscles making it a bit challenging to prop yourself up.  The doctor puts a steadying hand on your shoulder, keeping you still and supported as he leans in closer to listen to your lungs.  As he moves the stethoscope around to different spots on your back, you become acutely aware of the scent of his cologne.  It’s faint thanks to your congestion, but still evident enough that you can pick out notes of cedar and cinnamon.  It’s a warm, pleasant scent and you miss it immediately when he finishes up and guides you back into a more comfortable position.

He meets your gaze, smiling apologetically as he hands his stethoscope around his neck and smoothes his palms over his thighs.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you’ve got pneumonia,” he explains.  “I’d need an x-ray to be sure, but given your history and symptoms, I’m going to treat it as such.”

You frown.

“Pneumonia?  Isn’t that really bad?”

The doctor shakes his head.

“Nothing a course of antibiotics and a little TLC won’t fix,” he assures you.  “And luckily for you I’ve got the medication on hand so you don’t have to try and battle this storm to get to a pharmacy.”

You smile gratefully and watch as he moves to stand and put his equipment away.  As he does, you shift and swing your legs over the side of the bed.  You stand and wait a moment for the dizziness to pass before moving to pick up your housecoat, slipping it back on as Dr. McCoy picks up his bag.  You lead the way out of the bedroom and back toward the living room, glancing out the window as you open your mouth to thank him.

The expression of gratitude dies on your lips as you get a look at what’s going on outside.

Since the two of you entered your bedroom for the exam, the snowfall has grown exponentially thicker.  You can scarcely see end of the front steps through the blizzard, let alone the driveway, and you frown at the thought of sending Dr. McCoy out in those conditions.  You turn to look at him as he comes up behind you.

“It’s not safe to drive in this,” you say worriedly.  “You should call Christine, let her know you’re going to wait out the storm.”

Dr. McCoy smiles.

“I don’t want to impose.  I’ll be fine if I take it slow.”

You shake your head.

“Nonsense.  I’m sure it won’t last all that long.  Make yourself at home, call the clinic, and I’ll get you something to drink.”

Dr. McCoy gently grasps your arm as you turn to make your way toward the kitchen.  He gestures to the sofa.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he asserts.  “You need to rest.  Have a seat, get comfortable, and I’ll make you some fresh tea.  Doctor’s orders.”

You feel your face heat but you nod, smiling gratefully.

“Thank you.  The least you can do is let me call Christine to let her know you’ll be a while, then.”

He nods, setting his bag down near the door and making his way to the kitchen.

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

As he busies himself with putting the kettle on to make you some fresh tea, you pull out your phone and call over to the clinic, letting Christine know what’s happening.  She has enough tact not to ask you how things went over the phone, but the second you hang up you feel your phone buzz and you roll your eyes at the message that pops up.

So what do you think of the new doc?

You shake your head a little, smiling wryly as you text back.

What, no “are you going to live” first?  I’m wounded.

Christine’s message follows moments later.

Don’t be so dramatic,  you’re going to be just fine, I’m sure.  Now spill.

You’re about to text back when Dr. McCoy appears behind you, startling you and causing you to fumble your phone.  You quickly slide it under a loose flap of your housecoat lest any incriminating texts come through while he’s in range.

“How do you take your tea?”  He asks.

“Honestly, I can’t taste anything right now anyway, so just plain tea is fine, thank you.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile and disappears back into the kitchen.  As he prepares your drinks, you shake out a blanket from where it’s been draped over the arm of the couch and tuck it in around yourself to fight off the chills wracking your body.  Dr. McCoy appears beside you as you settle in and sets two mugs down on the coffee table before quickly moving off again.  When he returns once more, he’s got his med kit in hand.  He takes a seat beside you, setting it on the floor and unzipping one of the pockets.  You watch as he pulls out a couple of medication bottles and shakes some tablets into a little plastic medication cup.  He holds it out to you.

“Clarithromycin and acetaminophen,” he explains.  “For the infection and the fever.”

You take the cup, tipping the tablets into your mouth before chasing them with a careful sip of the tea.  It’s hot enough to scald your tongue a little, but not so hot that it’s intolerable.  Setting the cup and your mug aside, you settle back into the couch cushions.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

You watch him as he picks up his mug and takes a sip of the tea, his gaze going to the window beside your fireplace.  The snow is still coming down in droves outside and the barely-there sunlight is fading as evening inches closer.  Your gaze lingers on his handsome features as you sit in a companionable silence and your heart skips a beat the longer you look at him.

He pulls his phone out a moment later, pulling open his weather app and cursing softly.  He catches himself, though, his cheeks flushing a little at the language he’s just used.

“Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly.  “Knee-jerk reaction to the weather report.  I really should get going before I get snowed in.”

You frown as you consider the dangers of the heavy snowfall on mountain roads.

“I’d be happy for you to stay the night,” you assure him.  “I’ve got lots of space and it’s better than the alternative.  I can’t bear the thought of you ending up in a ditch in this, or worse. And I’m sure there’s someone closer to town that can cover the clinic for you tomorrow, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He seems reluctant, but eventually concedes with a nod.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he says gratefully.  “It’ll be a relief not to have to navigate through the storm, and this way I can keep a close eye on you overnight.”

The thought of having his gentle hands on you again ignites a heat beneath your skin that has nothing to do with your fever.  You avert your gaze a little, unable to help the small smile that pulls at your lips.  You take a moment to compose yourself before meeting his eyes once more, flashing him a more neutral but friendly smile.

“Let me make dinner at least,” Dr. McCoy offers.  “To show my gratitude, and to give you a chance to get some proper rest.”

You consider fighting him on it for a moment, but the offer sounds far too tempting to turn down.  You nod at last, sagging back into the cushions with relief.

“That sounds lovely,” you agree.

The two of you spend the next little while chatting until you start to feel your energy wane.  Your fatigue doesn’t go unnoticed and Dr. McCoy eventually urges you to lie down for a nap while he gets a start on dinner.  He gently tucks the blanket in around you as you recline and gets one more quick reading of your temperature before he leaves you to rest.  As you listen to him moving around in the kitchen, you can’t help but smile.  What had started out as an awful day had drastically improved and it was far from over.  With Dr. McCoy for company, you know you’ll feel much better in no time.

As you close your eyes to rest, you make a mental note to send Christine a thank you text in the morning.

@star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @feelmyroarrrr @ababyinatrenchcoat @alluramc @medicatemedrmccoy @arrowsshootyouforwards @wonders-of-the-multiverse @devanshade @dolamrothianlady @startrekimagines @theonlyparadox @gaeilgerua @itsjaynebird @thevalesofanduin @elsa-lost-in-translation @thefanficfaerie @gryffindor9whovian @auduna-druitt @archangels-lollipop @bookcaseninja @supermoonpanda @bubblegum-star-trek  @the-space-goddess-16 @bkwrm523 @goingknowherewastaken @starmission @the-geeky-engineer @startled-seastar @sassmasterqueen @shewolf-2013 @this-obsession-o-mine @littlecarowrites @eyeofdionysus @nasanatmfers @galaxycharmed @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @kirkaholic123 @viioletdelights @ambie2020 @yallneedtrek @iwillwakeherinthemorning @haveyouseenmymind @sorryallonsy @reading-in-moonlight @mad-girl-without-a-box @itsrandombooklover @all-time-foes @kickingitwithkirk @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @annathewitch @kawaiiusagichansan @garnet-redtailedhero @djisfantastic @ever-faithful-sidekick @killerbumblebee @lurkch @resistance-is-futile81 @my-life-as-a-fangirl @chook007 @wrappedinsilence

[prosenkhans]

Kobe

And they were going to a youth basketball tournament. 

Just think about that for a second. When we distill what actually happened yesterday to its essence, it was a group of parents and coaches bringing their young girls to an organized youth basketball game on a nondescript Sunday morning in January. There is nothing more vanilla than that. Then it ended. Just so suddenly.

I can online imagine the fear those 3 girls had in that chopper in its final moments, the bargaining that went on within the minds of those parents as that hillside emerged from the morning fog. I am not lucky, blessed, or even really deserving enough to know the joy of parenthood. However, even the least empathetic of individuals would be hard pressed to deny that Kobe was utterly in love with his family, and Gianna to her father. All the videos, the images, and interactions caught for celluloid and digital posterity, all of them showed a family deeply appreciative of one another. Beyond all things, that seems to drive this feeling of devastation further up my throat.

The level of tragedy is defined by the amount of potential lost within such an event. 

That fact that Gianna and her friends were 12 and 13 is more than enough to gut most people with a soul, however, the potential lost goes beyond even that. He seemed happy. Genuinely. Kobe seemed happy in what was in store for the rest of his life, his “second act”. The stone cold competitor with the icy scowl and bared teeth had transitioned into a statesman, an ever present and positive force within the game of basketball. Where once there were thorns, we now saw the pedals of the rose. Hugs and high fives. Congratulations and teachings. Puppets and children’s book. What we saw was a man secure in his legacy, and very much looking forward to the next chapter of his story.

But that story ended before the sequel could truly begin. As a group of people very much looking to see how the story would continue, we are left to wonder about what those potential chapters would have said. How would he have spoken during his Hall of Fame speech? Would he talk shit, or be humble? What number would be on his chest when his statue would be unveiled? Would he demand 2 to Shaq’s 1? Would we be lucky enough to be in the building when he and Gianna would sit courtside at a game? Would he still allow us to show him appreciation and stand an acknowledge the cheers? Would he be embarrassed by the continued adulation? Would we see him at UConn games, or maybe in an Oregon sweater? Would he be a leading voice in promotion of female athletics and the WNBA? Would he still allow us a peek in his mind, dissecting basketball games for public consumption? Would he write the stories that he wanted to tell? Would he make more art? Would he go on Kimmel and talk smack about the current stars of the game? Would he still smile and wave and take a selfie with us if we were oh so lucky to meet him? Would he continue to push us to be better? These are all questions in which we will never get an answer. 

The hero’s journey is not supposed to end like this. The hero fights the good fight, gives all he/she can give, and then ride off into the sunset. 

And I use the word here appropriately in this case. No, not a hero in the sense of how your parents and role models should hopefully provide the “hero” role in one’s life. No. Kobe Bryant was a hero in the sense that Superman is a hero to anyone that paid attention to his exploits. To my generation, a group of kids and adolescents that grew up watching him, Kobe is as much of a hero to us as Batman, Wolverine, and anyone else that wore a color coordinated uniform. He was an individual blessed with glorious purpose, a res on detra. And what made it better was that he was real. Real in the sense that we could actual see him be super, see him share his gifts, in real life, gallantry made flesh. What makes a superhero super anyway? Simple. Belief. We believe that when they dawn that cape, put on that cowl, they will be there to ensure everything is all-right. That everything gets the ending that we the masses so badly want. That they will come through when we need them the most. When Kobe put on that purple and gold tunic, he became our superhero. He gave us that belief, that sense of the universe being set right because he was our guy, and he would make it so. With him gone, it just doesn’t feel the same. 

I’ve been asked through the years on why Kobe holds such esteem in certain pockets of our culture. Every time someone asks me that question, I always think back to the quote from Norman Vincent Peale.

“Aim for the Moon, and you’ll still land among the stars.”

Within the fast majority of the collective consciousness of sports fan, there is one name that is always associated with Kobe Bryant. And that is Michael Jordan. Now I was lucky enough to have watched Jordan as a very young kid, fully appreciating the skill and special athlete I was observing. There is no denying of that. However, Kobe was different. Coming in during Jordan’s waning years, Jordan and Kobe never clashed at their individual apexes. A spry and almost cocky kid, you were drawn to him. He was just a few years older than I, and thus making him a huge part of those who would call themselves a millennial. While Jordan was seen as God upon high, the antecedent ruler of the NBA, Kobe quickly became the scrappy upstart. As the years went by, we were able to follow him on his hero’s journey, watching and developing into what he eventually became. A transcendent figure in basketball. And his game was so beautiful. The efficiency in his ability to score. The complete mastery of all phases of the game. His footwork was exquisite, it was art. His ability to hit the most impossible shots, and give you the faith he would make it. You had the sense watching him that no other human had ever played basketball as beautifully, skillfully,and as passionately as Kobe Bryant. You have to remember, Kobe played for 20 years. For most of my generation, that is more than half our lifetimes. We literally couldn’t imagine basketball without him in it. But why was his story so compelling? Simply put, Kobe was really the only one daring enough to challenge Jordan at his own game, the apprentice succeeding the master. He shot for the Moon, and had no qualms letting you know that’s what the hell he was doing. And I’ll say this. He touched down on those sands, stomped his feet, and pounded his chest, as to say “It’s mine now.”

The whole comparison debate and legacy really doesn’t hold much water. The game changes. Everything about the sport changes. The names change with each passing generation. However, Jordan and Kobe represent something quite different. While the pioneers and legends helped move the rocketship of basketball through the void of space, we can honestly say that Jordan was the first man to touch down on the Moon. He is the Neil Armstrong of basketball in a sense. All credit given. However, if he’s Neil, Kobe is Buzz Aldren. They are on that same rocket ship together. Jordan may have touched the sands of immortality first, but just like Aldren, Kobe followed him down that ladder and followed those footsteps to the same place. His legacy, his imprint, is right up there with the first. It is the sequence of history, with one’s value not diminishing the others’.  And just like Aldren’s actual footprints on the moon, Kobe’s legacy will be set eternally, looking down upon us from high.

But what will that legacy be? There is this silly debated, a national question of “who is the greatest Laker, Magic or Kobe?”. I always found the question silly. In short, the wrong adjective is being used. Magic, who is naturally gregarious, warm, and a welcoming personality became a leader and 5 time champion in his legendary career. Apparently you can’t be in Magic’s presence without wanting to hug him. He is the most beloved Laker. Beloved. Kobe, simply put, is the most revered. Revered. Kobe once said, “I always want to outwork my potential.” That was Kobe as a Laker. Sometimes cold, often surly, he was a driven kid that became a man obsessed with being the best. And it drove some people, competitors, and even teammates away at times. However, as a person who was privileged enough to watch his entire career, he did the one thing we can only ask for as fans. He lived up to his potential. As the world of athletics change into self branding, load management, and disconnected passion for the process of improving as a professional, Kobe stands as the shining example of someone who literally gave all he could to his craft. By blood, by sweat, and by tears.He dared to be great, unapologetically striving for perfection. He knew he was the best, and made sure that all his competitors and people watching were aware of that fact. He accepted the responsibility of the dawning the mantle, of being the standard bearer, the face of a sport. He certainly failed at times, but he never wavered in his journey. Often the most talented player in the room, his work ethic and drive was that of a player with a fraction of his gifts. And we loved him for that. You never felt cheated when you saw Kobe Bryant play. He squeezed every ounce of the potential within himself and left if on the hardwood floor for all of us to behold. He gave us championships, memories for the rest of our lives. He gave us that. He gave us himself, and we were so happy to see him walk off that court, thank him, and let him enjoy his next chapter. And now he wont.   

I can go on and on about this. I still don’t have the ability to eloquently describe all the thoughts and feelings about all this. I’ll just lastly state that we are lessened by the loss. Not just as Laker fans, or basketball enthusiasts. We are lessened as a generation when our hero’s depart with words left unwritten. We are lessened by all potential lost. But we go on. Jerry West, with tears in his eyes, said it best about his surrogate son.

“A singular word, Kobe, will resonate forever.” 

In a city that is defined by the brightness of its stars, the most brilliant of them all has dimmed from view, and future seems so much more caliginous than it did just a day before.

[pjdredful]

The AV Club

Chapter 7

 "So what are you going to do about that Tony guy?" I have no idea. I don't like the idea of taking him up on his offer to help me. It will be hard to trust him when he's been lying his pants off since day one. I shrug and rest my head against the warm glass of the window. I can tell that Mo is trying to keep my mind off the fact that we're almost to my house so I give the thought my full attention.

 "He says he can help me but how do I know he's not just trying to use me. Or that he even knows what he's talking about?" I shake my head more firmly. No. I don't want his help at all. "I think we should stick with what we know and my mom's journal. We're got a few years of research and the internet what more do we really need?"

 The underworld can't be that big and bad can it? I mean we can hold our own when we need to and maybe I'll learn how to control my…ability or whatever by myself. My gaze shifts to Lirae in the seat next to me who looks thoughtful before nodding. "Well I don't think we should trust the guy. What do we really know about him? Is he even a therapist for real or is that just a cover to get close to you?"  

Huh. Well now I feel really weirded out. It never even crossed my mind that he wasn't a real therapist. Not that I had plans to continue being his patient now and I never really told him anything in the first place but I still feel all kinds of violated. "I don't know. If he's not, he's really working the long game pretty hard. He's not the only therapist in the office and he sees other people."

 Mo pipes up from the driver's seat as we roll to a stop at a light a few blocks from my street. "Well if he's the real deal he'll have a digital footprint somewhere. I can spend some time digging around tonight." I nod my agreement at that. It's a good idea. Even if I never speak to him again it's good to know who's out there that knows about me and this stuff. "Not much else we can do other than follow him around for a few days but that'd be a little hard considering he knows what you look like and we all have school."

 The car lurches forward as the light turns green and I frown. Man. I was totally thinking about Nancy Drew'ing it and following him around. "I might actually have that covered." I give Lirae a raised brow and she shrugs lightly. "What? I know a guy who could do it for cheap." I roll my eyes and snort because Lirae always knows a person who can do something shady. Wait. That includes me too. Hm. Well that will teach me to throw stones from my crystal manse.  My stomach sinks a little when I see my dad's truck in the driveway. Mo parks at the curb, his engine idling roughly and loudly.

 "Dude you gotta get that shit fixed its embarrassing." Mo just flips Lirae off as she slides out of the car after me. The car could be held together with duct tape and prayers and only roll downhill but Mo would still love it. It's not actually that far off from my description and I make a mental note to ask Jo-lynn for the name of our mechanic. Just in case Mo needs it. I take the steps up to the porch heavily and sigh. I warm hand slips in to mine and I stop at the doormat. "Hey, it's gonna be okay Evie. You know that right?"

 I turn my back on the house, preferring not to look at it for the moment. Lirae tugs my hand lightly and moves to stand in front of me. Well. This is a much better view anyway. "Yeah I know. I'm still kind of butthurt but you're right, they love me." I tug Lirae closer and touch my forehead to hers. "Thanks for walking me to the door but you know nothing would have happened to me from the car to here, right?" Lirae gives me a slightly guilty look when I call her out on it. I've let it go for the past few days but ever since my beacon status became active and especially after that thing with the weird fox guy this morning I haven't been alone except to pee. And even then one of the boys or Lirae was standing just outside the door waiting for me. That could get old fast.

 Lirae leans in and kisses me, trapping my lip between her teeth playfully for a second. "Maybe I just wanted to scandalize your dad a little bit." Oh. Well. If that's the case then probably it's not so bad then. I chuckle and cup her face for another kiss. I'm thoroughly enjoying the softness of her full lips and the scent of her shampoo as her soft long curls blow around us in the wind. I'm enjoying it a little too much for Mo's liking because he honks the horn impatiently. Oops. Kinda forgot he was her ride home.

 We both turn to give him irritated looks but I take a step back with a sigh. "Guess we'll have to talk about that some more later."

 "We are definitely talking about that later. So tomorrow I'm gonna go see my guy about Tony. You should come with me." Probably I'd go anywhere she asked me to but I just nod and steal one last kiss. Lirae pulls away gives my hand one last squeeze before lightly bouncing down the stairs and jogging to the car. I watch them pull away before turning back to the house. I might as well get it over with. A few steps in the door I can hear hushed voices go silent and my step mom pokes her head out of the kitchen.

 "I thought I heard the door." She makes her way out of the kitchen toward me. Jo-lynn stops just short of hugging me and arranges a lock of my hair awkwardly as if it's the only gesture she thinks will be safe. "I'm glad you're back, are you hungry? I wasn't sure if you'd be back tonight but I made pesto tortellini and chicken…just in case." That's my favorite dish and she made it special for me. I feel like an utter pill for not realizing, or not wanting to realize how much she really cares about me before. I don't know I'm hugging her until Jo-lynn gives a surprised but pleased exclamation. "Oh, honey, if I had known you liked it that much I would have made it for you special before."

 The joke doesn't keep her from hugging me back, or stop her from sniffling just a little but it does make me clear my throat and step back a little. "I'm starving." My stomach gives a loud growl as proof and she chuckles, poking my belly with a finger.

 "You could use with some feeding. You're gone two days and you look like a stick. Come sit down and eat, your dad hasn't had dinner yet either." She leads me in to the kitchen where my dad is sitting at the table looking tired and busted as he's reaching over for the garlic bread. "Frank! You can't wait five minutes? Evie, honey go wash your hands. Honestly Frank I can't leave you alone for a second."

 My dad's shoulders sink and he leans back in his chair with a grunt. "I was just making sure it was warm." That is the worst excuse ever. I chuckle as I drop my bag on the floor and wash my hands in the kitchen sink. At least he doesn't sound angry, just playfully annoyed. "You don't hurry kiddo I'm eating your serving too." Well. I can't let that happen. It's pesto tortellini.

 "Dunno if you're fast enough old man." I steal his fork right out of his hand as I sit down at the table across from my stepmom at my dad's right side. He half chuckles at that and takes his fork back with a jerk. It’s familiar. Safe. And I am so freaking relieved about it. I really didn’t want to get into any deep discussions and I for sure don’t want to fight with them. Either of them. Maybe taking the weekend to stay at the clubhouse was the best thing I could have done. For all of us.

 "You hear the mouth on this kid?" Jo-lynn doesn't even bother to hide her happy grin as she watches us playing at the table.

 "Hm. You'd think she was a Rossi or something." We both give her identical mock offended stares before dissolving in to laughter. Jo-lynn piles a shallow pasta bowl high and my stomach growls again. Oh God. It smells so good. My dad holds out his hand expectantly when she's done placing a side of bread artfully on the plate but she passes it across to me. "What? You could use with skipping a meal everyone once in a while, if Evie doesn't eat, her stomach will keep us up all night."

 "Hey!" There's another round of chuckles but we settle down and dig in. I take a slow bite, savoring it before I just suck it all in to my face like a Hoover vacuum. Oh. God. It's so good. My eyes cross and I hum in appreciation the same time my dad does. Probably Jo-lynn could die of happiness right now the way she's looking at us. I'll say this for Jo, she is an amazing cook, and not so bad of a mom either.

 About halfway through my ENORMUS plate of tortellini my dad clears his throat and starts shifting in his seat. Uh oh. I knew it couldn't be so easy as joking fun times like we'd all just forget about the argument. I take a deep breath and lean back in my seat a little. Maybe if I keep chewing I won't have to do any talking. I think he might be just as uncomfortable as I am because my dad makes a frustrated grunting sound and scratches at his jaw. Jo-lynn watches him subtly for a second before smiling a bit at me.

 "Evie, your dad wants to tell you something. Go on Frank." The last is a little more direct and I stop my chewing and look at my dad. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here right now. I know the feeling.

 "It's just that um, I'm glad you're back kid. House wasn't the same without you."

 I put my fork down slowly and straighten my back. "You mean because you didn't get woken up by my nightmares or the police?" I don't say it with an attitude because I know that my life and my particular circumstances are no peach to deal with. It might hurt to hear him say it but I can't blame him for feeling that way. Even I feel that way about myself sometimes. My dad rests his forearms on the table and looks at me fully for the first time in I don't know how long.

 "I'm sorry I said those things, Peanut. I was just really mad because…well because I'm scared that I will lose you like I lost your mom." He hasn't called me Peanut since he put mom away. I look at my silverware, playing with my setting as I nod once.

 "That's a valid fear I guess." I hate to admit it but I could end up like my mom. It's kind of terrifying to think about so I try not to dwell on it but it keeps popping up in the back of my mind. If I had a Guardian it would be okay but the only one available is Tony and well. That's just not an option right now.

 "No damn it, no it is not. You're not your mom, Evie. You might look like her and you might have her great big heart but you've got my stubborn streak. You're stronger than she was, and you're stronger than I am now. We can do this, we can get you all the help you want and need. It doesn't…" He trails off and I look up at him struggling to articulate something difficult. "I don't have to make the same mistakes I did with your mother."

 I think my heart breaks a little hearing him admit that. Jo-lynn rests a hand on his arm reassuringly, letting him know she's here for him. Just like she always has been. Like she's always been here for both of us. "I think that you did the best you could then, Dad. And I think you're doing a pretty dang good job with what ya got going on right now. But..." He quirks his mouth in to a half grin and nods his head.

 "But probably I could still try harder." I nod at that accepting his implied apology and acknowledging that he could be more present in my life. I know he loves me, and I've never doubted that but he drifted after mom. I missed him and he's been here the entire time.  The sound of Jo-lynn blowing her nose and sniffling through tears makes us both shift uncomfortably. Look. We're a passionate people but we're not big on deep expressions of love here. “It’s not that I didn’t want you to have your mom’s stuff Evie. I just…I wasn’t ready for you to have it.”

 I lower my head a little and shrug at that. I want to be angry. I want to be really angry. I just don’t have it in me right now. “That doesn’t make it okay for me, Dad. There are things I need to know. That I haven’t been able to understand and no one can explain it to me better than mom could. Keeping things a secret from me isn’t helping me. Or any of us.” I know I have to get back to reading her journal. Especially since I pitched a fit about it and all. It’s just that maybe like my dad, I’m just not ready to read it yet. “Maybe probably I could have tried not to throw a tantrum about it though.” He gives me a slow grin that I return knowing that while we’re not one hundred percent okay right this second, we’re gonna be.

 "You two. Peas in a pod. Eat your dinner it's getting cold." She blows her nose again and I stab a tortellini ruthlessly and shove it in my mouth. Alright. That wasn't so bad. A little heartbreaking but not terrible. And my dad called me Peanut and wants to be there for me. There's just one problem. I'm eventually going to have to get around to telling him and Jo-lynn what's really happening. I chew meditatively for a few minutes before Jo-lynn composes herself enough to derail my thought train entirely. "Honey now that you've you know, come out, there are going to have to be some new rules about girls staying over."

 The tortellini gets stuck in my throat when I suck in a surprised breath and I have to cough a few times to clear it. Uh. Why are we talking about this? What's happening right now? I look at my dad in a panic as he continues to shovel food in to his mouth as if Jo-lynn didn't just refer to the idea of me getting down with a girl during a sleepover. He stops to slap a big beefy hand on my back a few times to unstick the tortellini in my throat then goes back to eating. I continue to stare at him until he looks at me.

 "Well don't look at me. You're never coming home knocked up, that's good enough for me."

 "Frank!" Oh God. Oh. My. God. I can’t handle this. Where is that earth rending portal to another universe when you need it? I tap the ground tentatively hopeful at my feet with the toe of my shoe. Nope. Still solid. Damn I'm stuck here. "This is serious, don't you care about your daughter's dating habits?" Oh well. I don't date so that's not really an issue is it? Although now maybe that will be changing since I have this unnamed…thing…with Lirae.

 My dad sighs and grunts before turning to look at me, fork in one hand, beer in the other. "Look kid, my advice to you is pretty much the same. No means no, and if someone doesn't like it ya kick 'em right in the crotchular area. Or you know maybe…" He makes a vague boob gesture then frowns as the idea fully hits him. "You know maybe we just don't do the whole dating thing at all until you're 35."

 My stepmom sighs and swats at his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Tsk. Frank. She's doesn't have to be a spinster because she's gay."

 "OKAY!" I clear my throat and push my plate away a little trying to interrupt the flow of this particular conversation. "How about we just say I don't do anything that you wouldn't allow me to do with a boy and leave it at that? Please?" Thank God none of my friends are here to see this. Orson would find my discomfort entirely too entertaining. My dad just shrugs, I think he's just relieved he's not likely to be a grandfather any time soon. Jo-lynn considers then gives me a slight nod.

 "You know you can talk to us about anything. Your father and I are not like our parents were. We're a little more hip with the times. You can tell us about girls…"

 "No! No, thank you. Um. That's great and I'm glad but I'm good. We don't need to do that. Like. Ever. Please." Please God let's not do that. My dad reaches over and pats Jo-lynn's arm lightly as if to say there there, we've done enough needling for one night.

 "Pass the bread please." And just like that we move on to something much more important. Food. Guess I didn't need that inter-dimensional rift to hell after all.

[goldbscurity]

So my last post here was on 12th Feb 2018.

Today is 14th Feb 2021, it's been 3 years.

Let me leave another digital footprint about where I've been, what's been happening, my life updates, and how many dark days I've successfully past to be here hahahaha

1. I'm 24. Well technically about to be 25 this year but hey, still 10 more months let me not think about becoming a quarter of decade first, ok?!

2. I've fucking graduated! Hahahaha yeah I have a BS now, B.Sc for sure. Bachelor of Science. On 2019. Finally huh? Twas some roller coaster of uni life. I kinda missing it now tho🙄

3. Currently working, on my second job!

Gotta say I'm lucky, blessed, whatever but clearly lucky enough to found a job right after I started looking for one, which is 2 months after the graduation ceremony. It wasn't a glamorous job at all, but I loved it. And I love my job now as well. I can say it's my life, my whole life😂😂 as maybe I can predict ever since I'm a child that I'll grow up into a workaholic kind of person lol #capricorn at its best quality ✨✨ And hey, I'm doing pretty great! Career ladder wise, salary ladder wise, I'm doing okay. Of course my current salary is far from my ideal salary if count based on my education background, my vision board and my stuck up personality, but anyway all good all great, considering I'm now living in the middle of a pandemic.

4. Yeah right, I should've mentioned this on the first update. It's pandemic year!!!! Corona now ru(i)ns the world, est.2020. Crazy, crazy year. People working from home, people got laid off, people got sick and dead, the world turns upside down. But let's be grateful that we all still alive and thriving and still have tomorrow to looking forward.

5. I'm still friends with my best friend, and I still like them as much as I like my dog or well I like them more and more every day ngl I love em and I feel lucky grateful to find em🥺🥺

6. I see the reason I started this tumblr initially was for me, a cold hearted, heartless, emotionless, denial-lover, avoidant person to LEARN to pour out my emotions for the sake of the mental health and to recover from...uhm, brokenheart hahah🙄 I see the last time I post here I said I've moved on but let me tell you that I still sometimes missed him and there was this never ending curiousity of what could've happened and what went wrong.

Now, 3 years later, let me tell you that I am now has been Ex-Free for a whole good year!!!!!!!! ✨✨✨✨ I think it's all started in the middle of 2019 and it continues til now.

I even met someone last year that I instantly feel connected (well, idk the other end I'm not responsible for their feelings) let's we all hope that this will end well, shall we? Because I really like him

See, it's a LOT OF WORK AND OBSTACLES I'VE OVERCAME to finally being an individual who recognises its own feelings and being okay with it. Proud of me💐

7. It's not all rainbows and sunshine, there were lots of bad days, especially those near my period days.

Called it PMDD, I now become very close with that bitch. Definitely has a strong effect on me, makes me 100x bitchier than usual. Not only that, but some times also kick me right at the gut and throw me into the deepest hole very near with borderline depression. But that's another story to tell. The last few months has been good tho, the symptoms is no longer worse maybe except this month lmao.

I started to think whenever I overworked myself, put myself in the middle of a very packed schedule with a messy sleeping pattern and unhealthy food, the symptoms will only getting worse. So I guess my homework is to balance it all out. No big deal..

8. Last but not least, I lost a couple of friends/aunties/grandpa this last 3 years.

Started in 2019, on April, suddenly a friend of mine from the secondary school died from lung cancer (may he rest in peace, we all really sorry for being such a jerk). Pretty shocking, kind of throw me off.

And then another friend suddenly got sick and he died on August, literally 2 weeks after we visited him in the hospital. Bone cancer. This one friend was closer to me, his house even just a couple metres away from mine. Last fun we had was when we were on a small reunion and he picked me up, and on the way home he told me and my other friend that his legs occasionally felt numb and weak. We joked that it was the age factor hahahah we had no idea that it was actually cancer. It was on May, if I'm not mistaken. We knew he had cancer by June/July. Consider him as a good friend, good human. Yeah anyway, his death literally surprised me and I was really really sad. Well, fella, I hope you both found a safe place in heaven and continuously play your music for God just like you did on your time on earth. We love you both, we will never forget you.

Lastly, my grandpa died on September 2020. Also two or three weeks after I visit him? Couldn't remember. Haven't paid a visit to his grave since it's pandemic season, I can only watch virtually the moment he was on the casket and buried. Hope you'll always watching us and guide us, grandpa!

Oh wait I hate to end my story with a sad shit, so...yeah just.......maybe........wish me luck with this...new person... I've found.... attractive..........cs I really...like him........hahahahhahahahahahahahahaha I'm soooo cheesy buh bye

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 27- Black Hole Sun

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Black Hole Sun

Everything hurts.

Her body’s heavy, muscles aching like she’s been running for hours and scintillating patterns dancing on the reverses of her eyelids until she forces them open. Whatever she’s laying on, it’s cold beneath her back; the ceiling’s a dark void stretching far above her head and the walls of this place, wherever it is, the same solid black, so dense she could reach her hand out and press it flat against the surface.

And then there is a light shining bright into her eyes and the light hurts, too, but it’s hard to move so instead she just turns her head to the side, away from it. That helps a little. Nine blinks, once and then again, as a figure wreathed in shadow coalesces out of the dark.

At first she thinks it’s Theron, implant on his forehead glimmering as the figure moves toward her, but no- the location of the hardware’s all wrong and so is the shape of the face, the contour of his bald head-

“Hello, Cipher.” Watcher X smiles wryly as he draws alongside her prone body. “I thought it was time we had a little chat.”

She twitches, forcing herself onto her side, away from his outstretched hand. “You’re dead. Leave me alone.”

Does anyone stay dead any more? The thought drifts vaguely in and out of her mind, bothering her less than it probably ought to. First Revan, then Valkorion and now this- it’s absurd, really. Or- wait. Am I dead?

(If there is such a place as hell, it would figure she’d be destined to share it with the rest of the monsters.)

“Quite,” he agrees. “You made very sure of that. Quick and professional. Though I must say-” with a shrug, he sits down beside the bed- no, not a bed: too sterile, too metal-smelling- in a chair that she’s completely certain wasn’t there until he gestured- “watching oneself die really is disconcerting.”

She swallows.

“And no, you aren’t dead.” She didn’t say that out loud. How did he- “Your body is sleeping. Recovering.”

It’s easier to move now, her muscles unlocking; she sits up on a too-familiar operating table, runs her fingers over an irregular stain on the rim nearest him. (Eleven years ago she focused on that stain for nearly an hour, trying not to scream or gnaw through her own lip, while wire by wire he laid the implant along her spine.) “I’ve gone insane, then. I killed you. I hallucinated you as a side effect of the Castellan restraints and I’m hallucinating you now.”

“Did you really?” Watcher X crosses one leg over the other with a knowing smile. “And you went to the Archive all on your own, and somehow you knew exactly the right search parameters to solve a problem you didn’t even have a name for.”

Rubbing her temples- dead or mad or neither, she’s got a ferocious headache- she narrows her eyes at him as she considers. It was so long ago. She barely remembered what query she’d entered to pull up that first recording of the Minister, but she must have figured out-

She must have-

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“You put yourself inside my head,” she scowls. “How?””

His smile widens. “You’re cleverer than that, Cipher. What do you think?”

“The implant, I assume. Straight shot to my nervous system.” At his approving nod she continues, tucking her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins. “But you’re not really Watcher X, are you? Not a ghost- a program? An AI?”

“Not precisely, but near enough that the difference isn’t important. The programming was somewhat rushed.” Hands pressed against the bridge of his nose, he looks at her over his steepled fingers. “It retains my personality, my knowledge base, but was meant to be an observation platform. You provided an ideal opportunity, but accelerated the timeline.”

“I really ought to have known better.”

He chuckles. “Yes, you ought to have. But you were very young, then.”

(She had been, hadn’t she? Scarcely twenty-two when Keeper sent her to Nar Shaddaa, she was so certain of things, so convinced of her own cleverness. She hadn’t trusted Watcher X, of course- he’d been imprisoned in Shadow Town for a lengthy list of very good reasons- but she’d thought he-)

“As I said,” he murmurs as she cuts the thought off abruptly and she crinkles her forehead in irritation- he needs to stop doing that, inside her head or not- “you were very young. But I’ve seen so very many interesting things though your eyes. You really do lead a fascinating life.”

She makes a face at him as he continues. Stars, if he’s seen everything she has- but then, Valkorion’s doing the same, isn’t he?

What an unpleasant thought.

“But my death threw rather a wrench into the works, to put in mildly, and this fragment is now all that remains of me.”

“If you think I’m sorry, think again.” If she’s asleep, why can’t she wake up? She shifts over, dangling her legs off the edge of the operating table. “Whatever assistance you claim to have provided, you’ve been silent for ten years and frankly I preferred it that way. Now tell me what it is that you want.”

“Right to the point. Efficient. A credit to your training.” He nods, lowering his hands into his lap. “I’ll be brief, then. Your new guest claims to want to help you, Cipher. Do not listen to him.”

She thinks she’s strong enough to stand. “I haven’t been.” Pushing herself up with both hands, she eases herself down until her feet touch something solid in the darkness. “Which hasn’t stopped him from trying to bore holes in my brain. But what do you care?”

“I know what it’s like to live with a bomb inside your head. There may come a day when you find yourself wishing it would go off.”

She shakes her head. “You, maybe. Not me.”

“As you say. Regardless, fragment or not, my continued existence is dependent on yours: if you die, I die. And if your consciousness is driven from your body, well-” a shrug, nonchalant- “I do not think its new occupant will permit me to remain.”

“I don’t plan on dying.”

“Neither did I.”

“Force, you’re a broken fucking holo. I’ll say it one more time-” half a turn and she’s facing him, arms folded across her chest- “what do you want from me?”

His smile is almost gentle, then, an uncanny thing. “I want you to survive. I can help you fight him.”

He doesn’t need to clarify who him means- she knows that perfectly well, and she suspects there is a reason he’s avoiding the name.

(It’s like the old game they used to play in school, crammed into a pitch-dark bathroom and chanting the rhyme toward the mirror in unison, where if the words were said in just the right way three times in a row- nothing ever came through, of course.

But rumor had it that in the Sith Academy, sometimes something did.)

“I can only fight so many wars at once,” she snaps. “I’m busy enough trying to keep his children from killing me, and he could have let Arcann do so at least once already. I’ve no choice but to tolerate him- for now, at least.”

“Like the Minister wanted to help? Like Hunter?”

Her lip curls. “Shut up.”

“As you wish. Your control block will help for the time being.” Snapping his fingers, he gestures away from her as a glowing outline forms on a far wall. “But he will keep trying until he finds a weakness he can exploit. I can- how did we used to say it?-” he considers for a moment- “run interference, but I thought it better that I make you aware of it first.”

“Now you decide to ask permission?”

Another shrug. ‘I’m strictly digital. His magics cannot hurt me, and his pursuit of me might give you some respite.”

“No.” She shakes her head immediately, not even allowing herself time to consider. “If you’re in here forever, so be it, but I won’t give you free rein of the place. I learned that lesson well enough the first time.”

Damn him. The implant has to stay- she and Lokin discussed it years ago and agreed there was too much risk of damaging her spinal cord to remove it, and even knowing what he’s done she’d rather risk a continued mental stowaway than permanent paralysis. But she trusted him once, more fool her, and now her head’s even more crowded than she’d thought.

“The offer remains. If you wish to reconsider-” another gesture, the outline broadening into a door- “I will be here. I will always be here.”

She takes a few steps toward it, her footprints leaving bright marks behind her on the ground. “Noted.”

“Then farewell for now, Cipher Nine.” His outline’s starting to fade as the door opens, a shadow against the growing light. “And don’t be too angry when you awaken. Your lover means well. But he doesn’t know what this place is to you.”

The brightness catches her, an irresistible pull forward even as she startles and tries to turn back toward him. “What do you-”

For a moment she is falling- or flying, she’s not sure which, weightless and graceful and haloed in the glow until she has to shut her eyes against it before it burns them out entirely. Someone’s calling her, somewhere far away.

Come on, Nine. Wake up. Please wake up.

She opens her eyes.

***

She opens her eyes.

For the first few seconds they won’t focus and all she can make out is a shape moving in front of her.

“It’s been two hours, and she’s still out.” Theron’s facing away from her, jacket off, shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows, pacing back and forth between her and a hovering holoprojector; his incessant motion makes if difficult to see past him to whomever he’s speaking to. She blinks, once and then again, as the room takes shape- industrial and sparse, ferrocrete walls and a corrugated metal roof. Too clean to be Dynamet. Where are they? “I don’t have a scanner here, but it’s not infection. None of the raks got that close to us, and I checked her skin once we got here. She was fine and then her nose started bleeding and then she just dropped-”

“Theron.” Lana glances past Theron as he moves out of the way, eyes meeting hers, and cuts in with one hand raised.

If he heard Lana he doesn’t show it, still pacing. “-and I can get her back to the ship, but if she doesn’t wake up I-”

“Theron.”

“-don’t know what else I can do besides-”

“Theron, would you stop?” Clapping her hands sharply together, Lana sighs at him as he finally stops pacing. “She’s awake.”

He startles and spins around abruptly, crouching down beside her cot (familiar, somehow, tucked back against a wall, the angles of the ceiling above pinging off a memory she can’t pin down) as she glances around the room and starts to try to sit up. She’s barely dressed, just her shirt and underclothes. What-

“Wait,” he says, “go slow. Are you dizzy at all?”

“No. I’m-”

I’m losing it, she doesn’t say. I’ve just spent the last Force knows how long talking to the AI living in my spine about the ghost living in my head. Never better.

“I’m fine.” As she says it Lana looks at her skeptically and Theron steadies her with one hand, helping her into a seated position; there’s a streak of dry blood across his forearm and a dark blotch on the front of his shirt. “I just fainted, I think. Give me a moment and I’ll be ready to go.”

“If you’re sure, Comman- Nine.” Lana sounds as doubtful as she looks, but does manage to catch herself on the title. “Another run-in with Valkorion?”

She nods and Theron looks at her sidelong, a flicker of surprise and something else she can’t quite read in his eyes. She should have told him sooner- no one else knew but Lana, even now, but he didn’t know that; she can feel the hurt radiating off him that she’d kept it hidden, just for a second, before he tamps it down and turns back toward Lana’s image.

But there wasn’t anything to be done for it. He’ll only worry that much more, and he worries enough already.

“Crisis averted.” He shrugs an apology at the holo. “Sorry for pulling you out of the meeting. I just wasn’t sure if-”

“It’s fine, Theron. You were right to call.” Rolling her shoulders backward until one cracks audibly, Lana stands up straighter. “Will you be heading back to Alderaan now, then?”

She nods. “As soon as we’re back to the ship from wherever this place is. We’ve got what we came for. If I hadn’t-” she gestures vaguely toward herself in lieu of words, wrinkles her nose in irritation at herself- “we’d have been gone already.”

“Let me know if I can assist. Oggurobb’s asking for more supplies again, so I’m sure I can twist his arm a bit if you need to co-opt some of the research equipment- metaphorically speaking, I mean.” Lana’s smile rather suggests a more literal approach. “But until I hear differently, I’ll plan for our usual update tomorrow.”

As she and Theron nod again, Lana waves and disconnects the call. She tries to push herself back up off the cot; her legs seem mostly steady, and with Theron’s hand still on her shoulder she manages to stand with minimal wobbling. “Was I really out for hours? I must’ve hit my head pretty hard on the way down, or-”

“You didn’t,” he says. “You were still right beside me. I caught you- well, you and the sample box, but then you seized, Nine, and I couldn’t get it to stop.”

She blinks. No wonder she’s still so fucking out of it, and- she wrinkles her nose. That would explain the acrid odor, as well. Lovely.  

“Finally I remembered I had a dose of sedative in my medkit. That helped, but…” Theron frowns. “Seriously? You tell me it’s nothing and next thing you’re-”

She takes a step forward, out of his reach. “It was nothing. Just the nosebleeds, that’s all it’s ever been. I’ve never had a seizure in my life.”

“Well, you have now.”

“Apparently.”

Behind her, he sighs. “Sorry. I’m not angry, I just-”

“I’d certainly hope you’re not,” she snaps, “given that it’s completely out of my control.”

“You know that wasn’t what I- oh, damn it-” She’s nearly to the doorway- out to the main area of the building by the look of the room beyond-  when he finally catches her hand in his and tries to hold her still. “I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up, okay? Or you weren’t going to wake up… well, you. ”

“But I did. And I’m fine now. Still me.”

Theron shakes his head at that, but if he had a clever reply he doesn’t say it. After a moment, he takes a deep breath. “Will you at least sit for a little while longer? We ended up with a big pack chasing us on the way here, and you might need to gun while I drive.”

“You can ride gunner, if you’re worried about my aim,” she says, pausing as he laces his fingers through hers; she’d have pulled away again if it was anyone else, but there’s a sweet affection in the gesture that stops her and makes her turn back toward him. “I’ll drive.”

“Nice try. You drive like a maniac at the best of times, let alone postictal. I’m driving.” He reaches up. At first she thinks it’s to trace along her cheekbone, one of his usual gestures when he’s trying to soothe her temper, but he stops at the neckline of her undershirt, at a scattering of droplets beneath one strap. “Once we get you cleaned up. I washed your armor, and I thought I’d gotten most of the blood off you while you were out, but it looks like I missed some.”

“It does have a tendency to get everywhere.” Though she doesn’t remember it being quite so bad- it must have started up again during the seizure.

Seizure. Shit. If it happens again, if she’s alone in the field-

It won’t. It can’t.

Shoving the thought aside, she turns back toward the main room. “Is there a refresher here, whatever we are?”

Theron nods. “No hot water, though. This place was decommissioned years ago. Honestly, I was a little surprised it still had power, but it was the closest quasi-secure building to the hospital that I had on my map. Before they shut it down, it was an-”

She steps through the doorway and the memory breaks on her like a sunrise and she knows this place, she knows it: a round table in the room’s center with her armor and their gear and the sample box laid out atop it, four chairs, a few empty shelves. Three more doors just like this one- two across the way, one to her left on the wall she’s passing through. An entrance corridor, further left. To the far right, the ‘fresher with its door standing open, once-white tile grimy with years of neglect but water beaded on the floor where he must have rinsed her things, drain in the back corner like every other ‘fresher in a prefab building like this one-

If she looks hard enough, she almost imagines her own bloody footprints, a lurid line across the threshold from tile to cold duracrete.

So that was what Watcher X meant.

-”old SIS safehouse,” he finishes.

(She knows.

It’s just that her room was opposite this one; she hadn’t placed it at first because she was used to seeing its reverse when she opened her eyes. The room Theron put her in, the cot she’d slept off the sedative on, had been Chance’s.

The one next to hers was Hunter’s.)

She inhales- one, two, three, four- and holds the breath in, filling her lungs, keeps counting and lets it out slowly, slowly, slowly. “I know. I’ve been here before.”

“You-” The catch in his voice is audible, and when she looks back over her shoulder at him he’s gone still and tense, jaw set and teeth clenched. “Oh, fuck me running. This place would still have been an active site back then.”

“Yes,” she says, and takes another few steps toward the open refresher door because the alternative is to keep moving away forever and she’s so, so tired of living that way. “Do you remember the night before we hit the Hoth fortress? You woke me up from a bad dream, and we spent the rest of the night talking about it?”

He nods.

Her bare feet leave marks in the dust as she crosses the threshold, turning fully around- as she does she could swear there’s a glint of glass from beneath the drain grate and stars, that’d figure after ten whole years; Republic cleaners always were shitty at their jobs- and raises her right arm out straight in front of her to chest height, palm upturned.

Theron blanches, presses one hand to his mouth. Clearly, he remembers.

“I didn’t know.” His voice is muffled behind his hand. “I promise you, I didn’t know. Let’s just go. The speeder’s right outside the entrance. If we run, the raks might not get scent of us until we’re already moving.”

“You couldn’t have known.” She lowers her arm. “There must be a dozen safehouses on Taris.”

“Fifteen,” he mutters. “Counting the decommissioned ones. But I should have-”

Forcing her pulse into regular time, her breathing to ease, she closes her eyes as a whisper starts to build in the back of her head. Oh, Cipher. Such a-

She pushes it away. No. They’re dead. Hunter’s dead, and Watcher X is dead, and Valkorion is dead, and her body is hers. She locked that door a long time ago and threw the key into the Void. She will not be a puppet. Not again.

No, she snarls, silent, and the voice goes quiet.

“You couldn’t have known, Theron,” she says again. “But you’re right. I ought to get cleaned up.”

Before he can stop her she presses two fingers against the panel to activate the water.

It’s as cold as she remembers, the stream fast and heavy, shocking her into alertness as it hits her skin.

“What are you-” Startled into motion by her audible gasp, Theron crosses the rest of the room in three steps and stands in the doorway, reaching his hand in to try to move hers off the panel as she keeps hers stubbornly in place. “Are you crazy? I told you, there isn’t hot water. You’ll freeze.”

Pulling her undershirt over her head, she looks down at the smear of blood running angled along her chest. She ought to clean her clothes, too, soiled with blood and worse; they’ll be back to the ship soon enough. What’s an hour’s discomfort, bare beneath her armor? She drops the shirt at her feet and unclasps her bra and slides her underpants down over her hips and lets them all sit in a heap beside her feet, water soaking into them. “I’m not crazy. You know I’m not.”

“Of course you aren’t. That wasn’t-” Alarm flashing across his face, he reaches toward the panel again- that wasn’t what he meant to say and she knows it as well as he does, but it still stings when the voices in her head are actually real.

(This time around, at least.

Or maybe she is crazy. Maybe all of them are. Given those options, she hopes the voices are real.)

“Please,” Theron says, trying to nudge her hand down with his. “That’s good enough, Nine. You can finish up shipboard.”

She doesn’t move. “It isn’t so bad once you’re used to it,” she says, teeth chattering, and watches the blood trickle down her body to disappear down the drain, “and I can always turn it off when I want to. Can’t I?”

He looks down, watching the water swirl around her feet, and then turns silently and walks out of her line of sight; she can hear his footsteps echo across the room. After a long moment, as the water starts to run clear as she rubs at her skin with one fisted hand, she can see him again, standing just outside the door with the cot’s fitted bedsheet held out toward her.

He just stands there, holding the impromptu towel, until she’s finished.

When she finally shuts the water off and the last drops fall from the nozzle overhead, Theron waits for her to move, waits for her to take the first steps out of the ‘fresher into the room, and when she does he wraps her up in the sheet, arms around her body, until she’s warm again.

“Come on.” He looks down at her, chin resting atop her sodden hair, her face nestled into his neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

This time, she nods.

“Okay.”

*** A change of title for this chapter, which stubbornly refused to go where it was meant to, and as this seemed like a natural pause point given the profound lack of writing time I've had recently I thought I'd let it go here.

Next: Scientific Methods (for real this time), in which we build a better rakghoul.

[frangipanidownunder]

9 for picture prompts!!

EclipsedSo, I wrote an eclipse story for @lunenn and it just happened to fit with the picture prompt of a tent on the cliff. This is pure fluff. And I’m not sorry.She’d been told to pack light but to include sturdy shoes.She sighed when she saw he’d dragged out the tent. It had languished in theshed for years and she was sure it had mildew and rips and all manner ofinsects hidden away. She wanted to tell him she was too old for this but he wasall childlike wonder and enthusiasm and she couldn’t deflate an excited Mulder.

              “Alldone, Scully?”

              Sheflicked on the flashlight and made an X overhead, the brightness leaving a hazylight trail behind her eyes. “Did you pack extra batteries, Mulder?”

              “Ipacked like an Indian Guide, Scully. Don’t you trust me?”

              Shecrossed her arms and smiled at him. “Where are we going, Mulder?”

              Hetapped the side of his nose.

She dropped her arms and shookher head. “Fine. It’s a surprise. But I know we’re going to see the eclipse.”

“See, we’ve still got thatunspoken communication, Scully. All these years – together and apart - and wecan still just zone in on each other’s thoughts.”

“Mulder, there was no way youwere going to be content to watch this event on the streets outside the HooverBuilding. I’m surprised you didn’t get Chuck Burks to construct you some kindof uber digital imaging…oh, Mulder, tell me we aren’t going to spend the weekwith Chuck Burks?”

He chuckled. “Your face, Scully. IfI could have a thought-o-graph of that expression, it would be up on my corkboardwith my I Want to Believe Poster and the original copy of The Lone Gunmen.”

Driving for days with Mulder had always been part of thedeal. They’d spent more hours inside rental cars than in their own apartments,back in the day. And during those years on the run, the safety of the car had beena way to block out the threats around them. Driving meant doing something,meant leaving behind the footprints they’d left at one town, meant movingforward.

And the years at the house, whereshe worked to forget and he slowly turned in on himself remembering, she’dmissed the road trips, the salty smell of his sunflower seeds, the unapologeticswigging of soda or downing of double caffeinated coffees to stay awake, thearguments over what radio station to listen to.

Now, he leant his arm on the openwindow, wearing his favourite sunglasses, shirt sleeves rolled up and shewatched as he flexed his jaw and mouthed the words to songs.

They drove. And she loved it.

              “Carbondale,Illinois,  Mulder?”

              “Thepoint of greatest duration, Scully.”

              Sheshook her head with a laugh. “You mean we can be in the dark for longer herethan anywhere else in the States?”

              Hesnorted. “We’ve been in the dark for 25 years, Scully. What’s two more minutes?”

              “It’spretty busy,” she said, watching people meandering along the street. “Do wehave a booking?”

              “Ibooked us a prime spot months ago.” He flashed her the grin that she loved somuch and she wondered how a man who’d been through so much pain could retain somuch gentle wonder at life.

              “A nice tripto the forest?”

              His handbrushed her thigh and he turned to her. “Better than that, Scully.”

The weather was perfect. The tent wasn’t so bad, set slightlyaway from other campers, and he’d even remembered to pack her a few novels soshe’d spent a couple of days just winding down. Mulder woke spring-coiled andready and if the sun could just move a little faster, he’d be happier. He’dchecked his phone a hundred times, he’d disappeared for ages at one point, onlyto come back with champagne and brie and strawberries.

              “I wantyou to remember this moment forever, Scully.”

              He puton his eclipse glasses and smiled up at the heavens.

First contact came and she felt a shiver through her body.Nature was a powerful reminder that life was shadows and sunlight and heat andcold and shooting flames and total darkness. And if you’re lucky, you get tospend it with Mulder. As partiality lengthened and the sky dimmed, theatmosphere changed. It was like the sliver of sun was hanging in the sky andwatching them. She felt small and she pressed herself to Mulder as totalityapproached and the world fell silent. He chinked her glass and she heard himsip his champagne. She couldn’t drink, her throat was dry with emotion and herskin broke out in gooseflesh. She felt the tears prick at her eyes and Mulderpulled her closer.

              “What doyou think, Scully? It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it? Me and you, twenty-five yearsof darkness and light and we get to see this together.” He suddenly knelt downand took both her hands in his.  “Scully,if I ask you to marry me, would you say yes this time?”

              In thedarkness, she could only make out a silhouette of him, kneeling in front ofher, silly glasses on his face, mouth half open in anticipation. So Mulder.

              “If Icould pull a Bailys Bead down and set it in a ring for you, I would Scully. But,perhaps my mother’s ring would be okay for now?” He pulled out a box from hispocket and opened it. In the gradually lightening sky, she could see the ring,proud in its setting.

              “Yes,”she whispered, her voice echoing in the still.

              Shedried the tears that had fallen once more and Mulder stood up, bending to kissher. A round of applause broke out and she turned around.  

She blinked, once, twice. There infront of her was William. And Chuck Burks. With the biggest camera set up she’dever seen.

              “How?”she looked at Mulder and then at William again. Then threw her arms around herson’s neck and hugged him tight. “It’s so good to see you.”

              When shelet him go, he stepped back, smiling. He fished into his jeans pocket andpulled out car keys. “Got my licence. Took my first road trip.”

              “WithChuck?”

              “He’s acool dude, Mom. And I couldn’t miss this surprise. Dad told me he was planningto eclipse every proposal he’d ever tried. And that he was certain you’d sayyes this time. It’s not every day you can say you saw a miracle unfolding.”

              “Theeclipse was pretty stunning,” she said.

              “I meantyou saying yes, Mom.”

              Muldererupted into laughter and she turned to him, taking off her glasses. His smile brightenedalong with the aura around him. Chuck clicked the shutter and a bright flasherupted.

              “I loveyou, Scully.”

              “Unspokencommunication, Mulder. I know.”

[nivalvixen]

Protection

Also on AO3

...

"You've got no idea who I am, do you?"

 The question isn't really a question, and the expression that accompanies the statement is far too smug considering the speaker is handcuffed.

 "You have no idea what I do for a living either, do you?"

 Again, it's not a question. The laugh that follows is sarcastic, mocking, and cold.

 "People hire me for protection. I can tell what you're thinking: scrawny and fragile, and not much else, right?"

 There's no response, but the silence is damning enough.

 "Now you're wondering what kind of protection, because I'm obviously not the muscular type. That means I'm probably not security nor a bodyguard, so you've got to ask: what kind of protection can someone like me provide?"

The silence that stretches out from this question is the type that gnaws at people's minds, their imaginations going wild and projecting him into something larger than life itself.

 He lets it linger a moment longer before continuing, "I'm the type of protection that you don't see, not until the last minute when I've got my knife against your throat."

 The words are a threat more than informative and one of his captors stalks forward to gag him. They're far more scared than they'll ever admit; they've got some of the best hackers in the country and they can find sweet fucking A on this guy. It's as though he never existed. They're all wondering who he works for - CIA, FBI, some sort of Black Ops division that's too secretive to have an acronym - but no one dares to ask.

 Considering this man killed four members of their team before they'd even had a chance to get near him - one shot was through a wall and into a busy and crowded restaurant, but their person was the only one harmed - they're afraid of the answer as much as the man himself.

 He seems to know this, watches silently from behind his gag, and smirks - as though he's assessing each one and knows how long they have left to live - when anyone makes eye contact for longer than two seconds. Very few do.

 ...

 The gag ruins his fun, really. He unlocked the handcuffs almost five minutes ago, but no one's noticed yet - mostly because they refuse to look at him - and Stiles is getting bored. There's a crackling sound, deep within his ear canal, and a voice talks to him calmly through his embedded ear piece.

 "I'll be there in three minutes, Stiles. You know what to do if you need me."

 Stiles wants to roll his eyes - of course he knows what to do; this isn't the first time he's been used as bait - but he refrains. Instead, he stares at one of his captors without blinking, barely stopping himself from laughing on his gag when they flinch back.

 Another crackling sound informs him that it's time and Stiles almost sighs in relief. He brings his hands out from behind his back and pulls the gag out of his mouth. The motion draws the attention of his captors, but there's no time for more than a confused expression from them before Stiles is out of his seat and attacking.

 A laugh escapes his mouth and Stiles breaks one captor's arm, grabs another's gun, shoots a captor in the chest, kicks out another's kneecap. They try their hardest, they really do, but they've never faced someone like him before. He makes his way through the room in a dance with fatal steps and maiming motions until all of his dance partners are on the floor, some broken, most bruised, all bleeding, and a few dead. He makes sure they're all dead before he leaves the room, humming under his breath.

 Stiles heads towards the noise he can hear further down the corridor. He grins broadly when he sees Derek fighting off three people at once, knives and all manner of sharp and pointy aimed at Derek, which is definitely the wrong direction. Stiles slides into the fray, knocking out one with an elbow to the face, stealing the knife out of another's hand, and in a moment, he's back-to-back with Derek, bloody and sweaty and grinning.

 "Took your time," Derek mutters as more people surround them.

 Stiles just laughs. He steps forward, the blade flashing in the dim light. He steps back almost in the same instant, and there's a soft gurgling noise as one person drops dead, their throat bleeding and Stiles' new knife coated red.

 The others retaliate in the same instant, eight rushing on two, and if anyone was standing back to watch, they could have been hypnotised by the way Stiles and Derek move together. They move with and around each other, flowing like water, dancing a dance that only they know the steps to. In a matter of minutes, they're the only two standing, both covered in spots of blood and breathing heavily.

 "Okay, Der?"

 Derek takes a moment to assess the damage and determines he's mostly bruised and scratched. "I'll live. You?"

 "Nothing that won't heal," Stiles replies easily, reaching down to grab a gun.

 The low shallow gasps that can be heard from some of Stiles' captors soon stops, and Derek watches as Stiles kills the last one - he's pretty sure the man's already dead, but they learnt the hard way to always double-tap. Stiles drops the gun by one of his captors, pulls off his blood-soaked gloves, and starts to rifle through the documents on a table - paper is harder to track, easier to destroy, and there's no digital footprint for their enemies to follow. Unless, of course, they stupidly kidnap their enemy and bring them to their HQ.

 "Ah, here it is," Stiles murmurs, then starts ripping up the paper and scattering it across the table. "Did you bring my lighter?"

 "Of course. There's probably an accelerant in the cupboard," Derek says, seeing the bucket and broom symbol on the door.

 "I knew there was a reason I kept you around," Stiles replies, grinning as he heads to the cupboard. He returns with a bottle of bleach and empties it onto the table.

 Derek throws Stiles' lighter to him, and the table's ablaze a moment later. They don't bother to watch the flames - the building's linked to the local fire department and they need to get out sooner rather than later - and they're out of the building before the automatic sprinklers are even turned on.

 Back in their hotel room, Stiles washes the blood off his body, wincing when the hot spray hits one of the fresher cuts on his body. Derek knocks on the bathroom door and opens it a moment later, steam billowing out around his figure.

 "I've let the client know they're safe," Derek says.

 Stiles smiles over at him and holds out a hand for him. Derek smiles and pulls his clothes off before he joins him under the spray of water. The water runs red beneath them and Stiles pulls Derek close to kiss him.

 "Thank you for coming for me, Der," Stiles murmurs against his lips.

 "Always will. You protect people, and I protect you," Derek says, pressing kisses to his shoulder, careful of one of the purpling bruises on Stiles' skin.

 They both know the lengths they'd go to save the other, and no matter what, they'd always protect each other.

 ...

The end.

Thanks for reading!

[avelyst]

Impulse

After a cold, snowy night in Marinette’s room, the last thing either hero expects are the new discoveries that follow. Things can only get more complicated from here. 

Chapter One

Marinette likes the winter. She likes the warm apparel, the foggy windows, the snow piled high in the streets. She likes to curl up in her blankets, sketching designs as the snow falls. And on particularly cold days, she likes watching the steam curl up from a fresh mug of hot chocolate, specially prepared by her father.

But even as someone that doesn’t mind the cold so much, there are some things Marinette just doesn’t like about the season.

One of them is roaming the rooftops of Paris in spandex, when the temperature rivals the freezer in her parents’ bakery.

And on a night like this – when her nose is pink and her face is nearly numb from the wind’s bite – she is reminded that, while she thoroughly loves this season, it is certainly not her favorite.

Marinette breathes into her cupped hands, shivering under the breathable material of her suit. She’ll have to look into finding fabric for a coat that allows flexibility and movement.

It’s been a long night. She didn’t want to patrol at all, originally. But lately there have been several akumas, and the crime rate has spiked exceptionally. The colder it gets, the more desperate people become – and standing on a ledge, overlooking the city lights and thick sheets of snow, Marinette can almost see why.

She imagines her bed, and the thick, cozy blankets waiting for her there. Just the image of it is enough to make her ache – or, that could also be the frostbite in her fingertips.

As she contemplates, Chat slips up behind her, nearly undetected. Nearly, because the crunch of snow gives him away.

“You look a little under the weather, My Lady.”

Marinette cradles her elbows, rubbing heat into them as she turns to meet Chat’s gaze. Her lips press into a thin line, and she dismisses his playful grin entirely.

“We should call it a night, I think. There will be a storm moving in,” she says, trembling.

His lips curve devilishly as he notes her shuddering, the clatter of her teeth.

“If you’re looking to warm up, I’m always at your dis-paw-sal, Bugaboo.”

Marinette shakes her head, turning her gaze toward the streets below so he won’t see her amused smile. His cheeky tone doesn’t mask the shiver the travels down his spine, and she imagines that he’s also probably colder than he lets on. Cats aren’t fond of the cold, and she’s fairly certain his suit is just as thin as hers.

“Go home, Chat. We’ll reschedule the patrol for a different night.”

He looks ready to protest, but she’s too impatient for his bravado or flirting, and she’s already hooking her yoyo onto a chimney in the distance, lunging off the roof.

She dashes across the buildings, leaping through the cold night toward the bakery. When she looks back over her shoulder, he’s already gone.

Good. Maybe the silly cat will be sensible.

Chat is not sensible.

He knows it’s cold. He can’t feel his face, or the snow that catches in his lashes and clings to his hair. But he doesn’t want to go home – not after the afternoon he spent grueling over studies for a Chinese exam and sheet music for his piano lessons. Nathalie had slapped a whole stack of it on his desk before exiting his room briskly, pulling the door shut behind her. And being the dutiful son he was, he’d gone over all of it.

It was all he could do not to transform and jump out the window before nightfall, before the actual patrol was scheduled. Sitting there, bent over the papers with heavy eyes, all he longed for was Chat Noir’s freedom.

Now he has it, and an impending winter storm isn’t going to take it away.

His mind wanders, and he recalls Ladybug’s cool, level gaze. The pink splotched across her face, pooling in her cheeks and collecting in the tip of her nose. The shake of her head at his joking tone, the small smile that threatened to curve her lips.

He wonders what she does when she goes home – when the cold closes in and she’s resigned to the confines of her house.

It’s probably warm, wherever she is. Saturated with her scent, undoubtedly.

Chat has to stop himself. The path those thoughts follow is a dangerous one to tread, and he’s worn his way through it so many times, he’s well-aware what lies at the end.

When he looks up, he recognizes his surroundings immediately. He’s circled this part of the city a few times in the span of an hour, his hair whipped back and tipped with frost, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides to urge heat into his fingers. He can make out the outline of the school, illuminated from the streetlights. A sign hangs over the bakery across the street from it, the light dim but familiar.

If he passes the bakery during the day, he can usually smell the baking bread, the fresh scent of cookies and pastries. But at this time of night, he can’t smell anything.

After a few seconds, his eyes settle on the balcony.

Marinette’s balcony.

He wonders what she is doing right now; probably holed up and attempting to keep warm – the second sensible girl he’s run across tonight.

After a few seconds of contemplation – and another chilling breeze in his hair – he shoots across, landing on the uneven shingles of the neighboring roof. Chat scales the side of the bakery, clawing his way over the railing of the balcony.

The plants are withered and dead, caked with snow and buried beneath the weight of it. He can see distinct footprints in the packed ivory, much smaller than his own, leading to a trap door that has been cleared.

Chat shakes the snow out of his hair, a shiver running across his limbs as a gust of wind hits his neck. The wind picks up, and he sways on his feet, struggling to suck in an icy breath. It’s a reminder of Ladybug’s warning about oncoming weather, and Adrien chastises himself for being reckless and ignoring it.

He tries to recall what he knows of Marinette. She’s shy and reserved, easily flustered and possibly clumsy. She’s hardly spoken a word to him without stumbling over herself, and she is fairly withdrawn from anyone aside from Alya.

No, that’s not entirely true. He remembers her run for class president, and her straight-forward confrontations with Chloe. In the past she’s been indifferent toward Chat, with a considerable amount of spice in her personality once the two of them spent more time together – albeit, as brief as it was.

So, there must be something more there, underneath the timid blue eyes and embarrassed smile.

Chat kneels next to the trap door, swiping at the fogged glass to glimpse into the room below. She might be asleep, and if she is, he doesn’t want to disturb her.

Warm light splashes onto her desk from a lamp, illuminating an array of sketches. Various designs are outlined in charcoal and colored pencil, a sketchbook open and forgotten underneath one of Marinette’s hands. Her hair spills over her slouched shoulders like dark ink, released from her usual pigtails. Her lashes cast dark shadows over her cheeks, lips parted in unconsciousness. It takes him a moment to recognize her lovely features, under the unusual lighting and without her signature hairstyle.

Someone has draped a blanket over her back, and a cooling cup of hot chocolate sits on her desk, nearly empty.

Chat crouches next to the trap door, uncertainty flashing through him. She looks so comfortable and cozy; the sight causes his numb hands to ache, down to the bone.

Ultimately it’s the wind, pressing and relentless, that urges Chat to drop down from the balcony and round the corner of the building – to her window.

He peers into her room, revealed in a new light from this angle. He can see her slumped form from here, warm and inviting. Chat raps on the glass, his luminescent, green eyes darting from her desk to the little door in her floor. Hopefully he won’t be alerting anyone else in the house to his presence.

He can only imagine her father’s reaction if he saw a strange, masked boy outside her window, lurking out in the cold. The thought is almost more intimidating than a possible akuma attack.

As though sensing his presence, Marinette startles, several papers fluttering from the desk onto the floor. He’s barely tapped on the glass again, and her eyes drift to the window, bleary and disoriented.

They stare at one another for several seconds as she seems to collect herself, registering the sight of him. The recognition surfaces in the furrow of her brow, her blue eyes rounding. Chat grins broadly as she pushes back out of her chair, crossing to the window.

Marinette fixes him with guarded eyes as she unlatches it, shoving it open. A rush of warm air tickles his face, and he unconsciously leans into it.

“Chat Noir?” she sighs groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

His smile is impish – daring.

Her pajamas look flannel, the top button open to glimpse a soft collarbone. A tinge of pink warms her face, undeniably inviting to a shivering cat, grasping anxiously at her window frame with frigid claws. Marinette’s hands fall away, and frustration flickers in her tired gaze. She seems to bridle it, schooling her features into nonchalance. The display of expression in that one moment is more than he’s experienced from her in over a month of fumbling for conversation as Adrien.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone. Do you have any idea what time it is?” she asks sharply.

Chat digs his digits into the structure, shifting his weight. Puffs of hot breath steam from his lips, curling into the air before dissipating between them. Marinette stares at him pointedly, unfazed by his visible shuddering.

“A hero’s responsibilities are never off the clock,” he quips.

She frowns at him, and his eyes follow the movement. The downturn of her lips, the slight knit of her brow. Her hair is disheveled from her nap, the impression of lines from notebook paper on her right cheek. And despite the button-down pajamas, she still manages to look resolute.

“I was patrolling,” he admits finally, “I was lost in thought, and it grew cold. When I saw the light from your window, I thought…”

The last part isn’t entirely a lie, he reasons. Her gaze is unwavering, but he can see the gears turning behind it.

“You thought you’d just come scratching at the door, and I’d let you in.” she says plainly.

“A storm is coming,” he adds.

He can’t read her expression, but he can see the way something shifts in her features. There’s a part of her he’s rarely seen – the part that thinks practically and evaluates a situation.

When she lets out a sigh, her fingers hooking in his collar – dragging him in over the threshold with surprising strength – he can sense the resolution there. A satisfied smile flits across his face at her consent.

Marinette has never considered herself a cat person.

She’s not especially fond of their self-entitled attitude, or their demanding need for attention. As she sits at her desk, her chair swiveled to face the boy perched on her chaise lounge, she’s reminded of the most distasteful similarities between her partner and the real animal.

Chat stretches out over the piece of furniture, rubbing his face into a pillow. He looks absolutely content, the dark flush in his cheeks receding as he acclimates to the temperature of the room.

The frost in his hair and on his suit melts, and she chastises him lightly for getting her things wet. But her irritation ebbs as she watches him stretch out, his chest rumbling with delighted purrs as he sinks into the cushion.

Marinette collects the papers from the floor to busy herself, arranging them into a neat stack. It’s quiet in the bedroom, snow falling hard and fast outside, a hushed consistency. The only sound between them is her quick, nervous breaths, and the deep vibration in Chat’s throat. She fingers a loose thread on her leg, suddenly self-conscious.

She’s comfortable with Chat – she knows Chat.

It’s not the first time she’s been unmasked with him, and it’s not like he seems to suspect anything. But this is the first time she’s been alone with him – really alone with him – as herself, and not Ladybug, with no civilian eyes or meticulously aimed lens to follow.

Chat holds no affection for Marinette – it’s Ladybug that he’s infatuated with. So she really has nothing to fret over.

And yet.

Those thoughts, those inward reassurances, do nothing to snuff the anxiety in her stomach from the proximity.

“I’m sure a very busy hero like yourself has important things to do,” she says in an even voice, “So whenever you’re feeling better, feel free to let yourself out.”

She tries to sound light, casual. But there’s a quiver in her voice, and she prays he doesn’t notice.

A pair of bright eyes consider her from beneath the pillow, slit with leisure.

“Are you so eager to be rid of me, Princess?”

“Oh, no! Of course not. But I’m sure Ladybug would worry about you,” she clears her throat, adding, “And my parents have a strict no-pet policy since we live above a bakery.”

A chuckle escapes Chat. The sound is low and warm, like the shift of sheets on skin. Instead of answering, she can see his gaze flit over her head, examining something on the wall behind her. After a few beats, he sits up on the chaise, and there’s something in his eyes. It races across his expression fleetingly – surprise, interest, and then genuine amusement. It unnerves her, the way the corners of his mouth lift.

“You’re a big fan of fashion…or one model in particular?”

Comprehension splutters through her, and Marinette’s face flushes. She twists around, eyes widening, her ears growing impossibly warm. Posters, magazine clippings, and various illustrations of Adrien Agreste adorn her wall, littering every open space that’s not occupied by her own designs. The meager light from her lamp casts shadows over the room, but it escaped her that Chat can see in the dark. Embarrassment crawls up her neck, blooming in her cheeks as she averts her eyes, pretending at indifference. She can feel Chat’s piercing gaze, settled on the back of her head as she glances guiltily toward the framed picture of Adrien on her desk.

“I’m a fan of Gabriel Agreste’s work,” she says feebly.

“And of his son.”

There’s that smirk. She can hear it in his voice.

“He’s a talented model,” she argues.

But there’s no denying the stutter that threatens to disable her explanations, or the darkening blush that pools in her face. And it too late, because Chat has already taken notice, and she can feel his attention on her. She expects him to tease, to haggle her for her juvenile crush.

Instead, there’s an underlying range of emotions that play out behind the eyeholes of his mask, and Marinette looks over her shoulder at him, pausing as she notices it. She’s barely recognized the uncertainty, the indecision in his eyes, before he’s risen to his feet, rocking back on his heels.

The energetic surety of his posture returns in that split second.

“It’s late for a school night,” he circles around her room, curiously inspecting the things on her dresser, “What are you doing up at this hour?”

Marinette turns back to her desk, tracing the outline of her latest work with gentle fingertips. Her eyes roam the discarded pencils and tools, the shavings and pieces of lead strewn across the surface. She really gets engrossed once a design sets into her mind.

The moment she returned from the patrol, she had enough time to let the transformation drop and settle down at her desk, before the papers in front of her started to become hazy. Between half-conscious sketching and dim lighting, she can’t remember when she drifted off.

“I’ve been working on a project,” she answers vaguely.

She’s hardly aware of his presence over her shoulder, the inquisitive eyes that sweep over the sketches under her hands, until she feels his breath stirring her hair.

“You’re very skilled,” he says.

His voice is silky and quiet, interest lacing his tone. He shifts behind her, his hand crossing over her shoulder to touch one of the drawings. Marinette grows still.

“This one – the lace is detailed. Delicate work, but it complements the neckline nicely.”

There’s a scent on his suit, on his hair as he leans over her. Has he always smelled like this? The cologne is familiar, but she can’t place it, and it’s unbearably distracting as his fingertip traces the drawing. Marinette’s eyes fall closed as she breathes it in, her head growing light. It could be that she’s still tired, still half-awake, and the light from the lamp is pleasant and homely…

“-mind, Princess?”

Her eyes snap open, “What?”

“Is there something else on your mind, Princess?”

There’s that amusement from before, rolling off of him as he laughs quietly. Marinette’s face burns.

“You know a lot about fashion,” she points out, “For a cat.”

Chat hums low in his throat, and the sound is almost as hypnotizing as his scent.

“A coat is only as good as its grooming,” he says.

“Going by how cold and miserable you looked out there, your grooming must be subpar,” she sniffs – and a waft of that sweet, musky smell assaults her senses.

The glee doesn’t leave his tone, and she’s starting to think he’s enjoying this.

“The whole point of spandex is that it’s flexible and breathable. If I wore a coat, it would only be a restraint during a fight.”

His hands find her shoulders, and her stomach dips at the unexpected touch. The chair swivels, and Marinette’s breath hitches uncertainly as she’s pulled around to face him. Chat leans into the space between them, palms resting on the back of her chair, his presence caging her in. An unfamiliar heat wedges in her abdomen as he eyes draw over her.

“Does my princess really think my grooming in sub-par?”

His pupils are blown, set against a vibrant shade of emerald. In the shadows of her bedroom they are incredibly bright, flecks of yellow and vivacious green, smoldering from behind the confines of the mask. She can’t remember his gaze being this intense before – or a time where she would have ever used the word ‘mesmerizing’ to describe any part of Chat.

“I’m not your princess,” she says softly.

The vivid, cat-like orbs crinkle as he smiles.

“Ah, yes. You already have a prince.”

His attention darts to the picture frame behind her, and she bristles at the hilarity in his tone. He’s entertained by this – by the childish notion of her interest in a boy. In someone unattainable. His ability to flip between being flirtatious and taunting is striking.

Who is he to joke about impossible relationships? Just over an hour before, he’d been practically fawning over Ladybug.

Marinette hackles with annoyance, her cheeks puffing indignantly.

“Better a prince than a pushy stray.”

The smirk slides from his lips, his expression hardening unexpectedly. He considers her carefully for a moment, as though deliberating.

“And what if your prince were a frog, hm? What then?”

Marinette’s heart lurches as he bows toward her, the cool tips of his hair grazing her cheeks.

“Would you still kiss a frog?”

This close, she can’t escape his scent, or the burn in his eyes. She’s still upset, still frustrated, she reminds herself desperately.

“At the end of the day,” she breathes, “A frog is still a prince underneath.”

Their noses almost touch, and Marinette can feel his breath on her face. She’s sucked into the unyielding slant of his eyes, the sharp curve of his jaw as it works.

When Chat breaks away, his hands falling from the chair, her heart is thrumming. Marinette watches him move to the ladder, climbing to the secluded nook where her bed is tucked away.

Frantic thoughts race across her mind, panic lodging in her throat. Countless scenarios surface in her imagination, unbidden and each one more ludicrous than the last.

“Wha- Where are you g-going?”

Chat peeks over the edge of the loft, his eyebrows raised.

“To take a nap – unless you have a better way to pass the time?”

Marinette reddens, glancing toward the window. The snow is still falling, and so is her sensibility.

[kadobeclothing]

‘Making the Cut’ Winner Jonny Cota – WWD

Amazon “Making the Cut” winner Jonny Cota may be the luckiest fashion designer in America, if not the world, right now. Not only does he have a $1 million prize, he’s got a global platform to launch his brand with one of the few retailers that’s come out ahead during the coronavirus, and arrives with a built-in fan base — all at a time when the future of showing and shopping fashion is very much up in the air. “How weird we’re all in this global pandemic and every designer is struggling and I would be in that same situation except right now I’m having the opportunity of the lifetime?” said Cota, a 15-year veteran of the Los Angeles fashion scene whose niche Goth leather brand Skingraft has been worn by Rihanna, Justin Bieber and Beyoncé.

Cota took top honors in the streamer’s first fashion competition show, starring Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn, after a runway showdown against Berlin-based Esther Perbandt, who has a similarly dark, but more elevated and conceptual aesthetic. (For finale judges Klum, Naomi Campbell, Joseph Altuzarra, Chiara Ferragni and Nicole Richie, it came down to which designer had the versatility to become the next global brand; for the record, Klum and Campbell voted for Perbandt.) Since the show wrapped shooting in September, Cota has been mentored by Christine Beauchamp, president of Amazon Fashion, who appears in the last two episodes of the series, during which designers had to prove their commercial chops by creating their own pop-up shops and presenting her with a business plan.

With guidance from her team on creating assets for the Amazon customer, including clean photography, clear size charts and product bullet points, Cota created the 20-look Jonny Cota Studio collection now available on the U.S. site, and rolling out internationally soon, with prices from $40 to $350. (Perbandt’s brand has been picked up by Amazon’s sister site, Shopbop.com.) Cota’s clothes are certainly cooler than anything you’d expect to see while shopping for Tide pods and toilet paper. Mostly genderless and in a black-and-white palette, they include a blanket poncho reminiscent of his past work, motocross-inspired denim, and a butterfly-print caftan. Like Christian Siriano, another designer born of TV, Cota is quick with a quip and he has a story to tell, which should serve him well (as should his preshow celebrity following). But there are plenty of winners of fashion competition shows, including of “Making the Cut’s” older sibling “Project Runway,” who have not become global brands. However, they were not backed by Amazon.

Jonny Cota Studio  Courtesy

The retail behemoth has been slow to the prestige fashion world, even though it sponsored the 2012 Met Gala, and Anna Wintour is friendly with Jeff Bezos, whom she cozied up to at the Tom Ford runway show in L.A. in February. In a deep dive into Amazon Fashion’s apparel offerings, a January report from Coresight and DataWeave found the bulk of what’s listed are non-branded, or “generic” products, and activewear is the top-selling category. But the online giant’s fashion currency has risen dramatically since the pandemic has left much of the rest of the retail landscape in shambles, with Sears, J.C. Penney, Neiman Marcus and other major chains struggling and some nearing bankruptcy. (By contrast, shares of Amazon are at a record high.)

“What will limit Amazon’s potential is the fact it’s becoming clear to brands that it is a predatory partner,” cautions retail futurist Doug Stephens. “The next thing you know, they are private-labeling what you just did, and using your data to do it, and selling to the customers you just acquired.” Still, sources say Amazon is preparing to expand its prestige fashion footprint further, has been working with the Council of Fashion Designers of America to help designers sell excess inventory, and could even step in with a new framework for a future New York Fashion Week. WWD broke the news in January that Amazon is readying its own digital storefront for luxury fashion, which could also open up a host of opportunities for content and commerce. Beauchamp would not comment on future initiatives.

A look from Esther Perbandt’s finale collection for “Making the Cut.”  Janice Yim/Amazon Studios

What those initiatives look like could depend in part on the success of “Making the Cut” and sales of Cota’s collection (the designer won two challenges during the series, and both looks sold out, though it’s not clear how many were produced). Amazon declined to share viewership numbers, or how much it has invested in launching Cota’s brand versus what he will get to invest in himself from the $1 million pot. But the marriage of content and commerce is a step forward for the platform, which has gradually been improving on its early QVC-like shopping segments with more slickly produced fashion entertainment programming and brand-building around personalities. In July 2019, Amazon exclusively launched Lady Gaga’s Haus Laboratories beauty line with Amazon Live previews and tutorials, and in September, it produced Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty runway show, bringing her lingerie collection to Prime Video members to watch and shop. Amazon has not revealed plans for a second season of “Making the Cut,” but is still casting as if it will have one. “I dreamt about what it could look like before the pandemic and I dream about what it could look like in the pandemic and after the pandemic,” said Klum of the show’s prospects, adding that the challenges could explore remote designing, for example. “The more constraints we have, the more creative we become. There are few things less inspiring than a blank canvas,” said Gunn, along with a pitch for the resiliency of fashion: “We all need clothes.” COVID-19 has put Amazon in the spotlight more than ever before — for better and for worse, as the retail giant, like its essential retail peers, has had difficulty keeping up with consumer demand and also has faced pushback from workers who have walked out demanding better safety protections in the warehouses where they continue to ship essential and not-so-essential merchandise to the quarantined millions. “Amazon in one way or another has become a hero to a lot of people who are depending on essential goods to be delivered to them,” said Cota, who got a call from the show’s casting director the same day in March 2019 that he closed his Skingraft store in downtown L.A. after the landlord doubled the rent. “I wouldn’t have jumped at the opportunity if it had happened a year, two years, or five years before. It was this moment where I had no idea what tomorrow looked like, no idea where the brand was going. There was no better time to say ‘yes’ to this opportunity.” A California native, Cota started out making costumes for a San Francisco vaudeville circus troupe (he himself was a stilt walker) before launching his fashion business in 2005 with a collection of leather jackets made from vintage remnants (hence the name, Skingraft). Earning a following for motocross jackets, drop-crotch pants and leather holster bags, he showed his collections, which have a high-end price point from $100 to more than $1,000, at both L.A. and New York fashion weeks. A retail pioneer, in 2009, he became one of the first to sell high-end clothing in downtown L.A. at the first of two storefronts he had before moving to his current space at Row DTLA. He also had a store in New York’s NoLIta in 2013. “I had a friend who cast ‘Project Runway’ for years, and I always said, nope, not for me,” said Cota, 37. “Specifically, a lot of other shows are heavily reliant on sewing. Even though we had to sew a lot on ‘Making the Cut,’ the fact it was a show about entrepreneurship and being a creative director, that spoke to me and my skill set.” Like many fashion brands, his has gone through several lives — initially wholesaling to speciality stores such as H. Lorenzo and Opening Ceremony; then taking on investment from venture capital group Innov8 (the partnership ended in 2016); then shifting to a direct-to-consumer model with see-now-buy-now collections of more accessible items, such as hoodies and T-shirts. When he got the casting call, he was at an inflection point. “I went [on the show] to get exposure for Skingraft, I went in there to help discover the next chapter of our company,” said Cota. “We were switching to an online model as a brand and we needed to reach a global audience. So I thought, get me through three, maybe four episodes. That will be enough exposure to give us a new opportunity.”

Skingraft’s fall 2016 collection.  WWD

Cota earned points on the show for his willingness to listen to judges’ critiques, to soften his aesthetic, incorporate color and print and more accessible shapes, including feminine dresses. He even agreed to change the name of his brand to Jonny Cota. To underscore his journey, he titled his final collection “Metamorphosis.” “I’m so proud of what I’ve accomplished with Skingraft, but even when I have spoken on social media, it has a tone, the tone is cool and unapproachable. That worked for what it was, but it was definitely an armor to hide behind. When first going on ‘Making the Cut,’ I started giving them Skingraft silhouette after Skingraft silhouette. And the judges could see right through it, that there was more there. Naomi Campbell dragging me through the coals after the couture challenge, and being like, this is derivative, this is boring, show me more. I thought it was the worst day and it turned out to be the best day. I had to do a lot of soul-searching, let go of a part of myself and my aesthetic.” Funnily enough, since the show started airing in March, Skingraft has seen a halo effect, to the tune of a 500 percent increase in sales from March to April: “Since the judges critiqued the name Skingraft, it’s made our fans come out in full force and it’s our best month in sales of our career.” While Cota initially planned on folding the Skingraft collection into the new Jonny Cota Studio collection, now he plans to keep them both going — and available, as soon as retail reopens, at his L.A. store. “Niche followings are so unique. Skingraft customers, they really cherish the all-black Goth-y side of Skingraft and they don’t want to let that go. At the same time, you can tell they are so proud of me and of themselves feeling like they were onto something before the rest of the world. We get a lot of messages like, ‘I’ve been going to your store for 10 years in DTLA and finally the world gets to see what I saw.’” Since the show wrapped, Cota has spent most of his time in Bali overseeing production of the collection (he’s long produced his clothing there). “Skingraft will always be the little Goth-y stepchild doing its thing, but the focus for the rest of the year will be on Jonny Cota and the Jonny Cota for Amazon collection.” (Whether his relationship with Amazon lasts beyond that is uncertain.) Even with the gloom and doom the pandemic has wrought on the fashion industry, Cota said he never really considered taking the $1 million and cashing out (and chances are, Amazon would have nixed that idea). “I know it will be a well-funded year and I’m going into this without caution and full steam ahead. I’m excited to invest the majority of the prize into the company. But also, Jonny Cota has been underpaid for the last three years. He always pays his team first. It’s time to have an adult salary for a change.” Someway, somehow, he’s feeling good about the next chapter. “The show launched from this moment of entertaining people at home while they are trying to stay safe…and we’re launching a brand that has never been more accessibly priced for me. The timing is perfect — let us entertain you, let us make you feel optimistic, offer you a piece of us at the most reasonable price we can, let’s get through this together and move forward together.”

Jonny Cota Studio  Courtesy

Jonny Cota Studio  Courtesy

Jonny Cota Studio  Courtesy

  Source link

source https://www.kadobeclothing.store/making-the-cut-winner-jonny-cota-wwd/

[blkwidowsweb]

A Conversation with the Team Behind the "Summer House Series" at Pier 31

Black Widow Sits down with the Team Behind the Summer House Series at Pier 31!

There are moments when you know it’s officially #SummertimeChi The Summer House Series at Pier 31 is definitely one of them.  People pack the Pier 31 cafe each and every Thursday after work to enjoy great music, positive people and the warm breeze against the beautiful Chicago Skyline.  I had a chance to sit down with the team behind the Summer House Series, Promoters Ronda Flowers and Robert “Koko” Walker, DJ Nick Non-Stop and DJ Torin Edmond to talk about Chicago Summers, the vision behind the Summer House Series and how they love to host one of the premier summer events in the City.  

Black Widow:  Can you each give me a little background of your history in the Chicago Music Scene specifically, the Chicago House Music Scene?

Ronda Flowers (Promoter, RFK Promotions):  I’ve been promoting since 1989, starting at the Edge of the Looking Glass.  Primarily on the Northside of Chicago until about 2003 or 2004.  I partnered with Koko 16 years ago. Prior to that, I had another promotions company called, Timeless Productions with my partner, Charles Matlock.  I was also the ambassador for Moet, Courvoisier, and Tanqueray which opened a lot of doors to the clubs on the Southside.  RFK Promotions does The Summer House Series at the Pier, I Live For Wednesdays at Renaissance Bronzeville, the House Club Tour and a bunch of other events.  We’ve been doing a lot around the city.  We’ve worked with DJs all around the city over the years.  I’ve been doing this for over 30 years.  

Nick Non-Stop (DJ, Owner-We Jam Academy): I’m Nick Nicholson also known as DJ Nick Non-Stop. I started around 1983 while in high school. I went to Mendel and was DJing some of the Mendel parties, The Bi-level. I produced the ORIGINAL "HouseNation" and the ORIGINAL "Jack My Body" house tracks. Both were imitated and reproduced and put out as if they were the originals in 85/86. That’s a long story!

Black Widow:  Oh wow! I had no idea!

Robert “Koko” Walker (DJ, Owner-Koko’s Music Room, Promoter-RFK Promotions):  I was there too when the confession came out! If you need a witness, I was there!!!

All: LAUGHTER

Nick Non-Stop:  The culprit will remain nameless. I was young and didn’t know the legal aspects of music. I was just a DJ playing around with music and sampling. I had no idea it would still be relevant. That’s my digital footprint when it comes to the house community.

Black Widow:  It seems there was a lot of that going around back then. I’ve heard about it in various documentaries.

Nick Non-Stop:  it was and it was one particular person who was notorious for stealing other people’s music…but getting back to your question,   I ran into Ronda and Koko when they were doing the Dating Game on Wednesdays.  Dave Sabat introduced us. I was a pest. I introduced myself to Ronda and gave her my CD. 

Ronda Flowers: Was I nice about it?

Nick Non-Stop:  Ummm…you took my CD and put it in your bra so I think that was a good thing! She didn’t throw it away so I guess that was a good thing!

ALL: LAUGHTER!

Black Widow:  That’s a safe space! Laughter

Nick Non-Stop:  I kept coming back and reintroducing myself. I was persistent and they eventually gave me a shot.  We’ve been running ever since.

Black Widow: You also have the DJ Academy right?

Nick Non-Stop: Yes! We have the academy that focuses on kids but we also have adults as well.  We will be doing a mentoring program on the west side. We are taking 20 at risk youth and putting them through an 8 week DJ apprentice program at no cost to them. We are going to teach them the art of DJing and how to set up a mobile DJ business.  We start that in June. 

Black Widow: I love this! People are always talking about transferring this knowledge to the next generation and this is a prime example of what Chicago DJs and artists are doing to give back.

Torin Edmond (DJ/Producer):  I started DJing in the 80s.  In the mid-90s, I worked with Steve Hurley and caught the bug on music production.  Working with him gave me the opportunity to work behind the board and work with big artists. I did a remix for Janet Jackson for the song, “Runaway” on “Design of a Decade” album.   It was me, Kelly G, Steve Maestro all in the studio.  From there, I DJ’d all around the city and I used to run into Ronda all the time.  I’ve known Ronda since the early 90s.  Around 99/2000, I joined Deep House Page as an administrator and eventually took it over with a partner when the original owner left. We worked with all the promoters in the city and threw Deep House Page parties in Chicago, NY, and NJ.  I linked back up with Ronda when they started the parties at Chant. That’s when we all really got to know each other and we’ve been working with each other ever since.

Robert “Koko” Walker:   Well I’m the new kid on the block. I wasn’t there in the 80s!

All: Collective Boo’s and Sighs!!!

Robert “Koko” Walker:    My mom and I had a speakeasy called the Loft Lounge and a friend of ours introduced me to Ronda.  I don’t think we liked each other the first time we met. [Laughter] but we eventually met again and said let’s give this a shot.  Fast forward over 15 years, we are still working together.  We just focus on supplying great nightlife. I’m more behind the scenes and work with putting the production together.  In addition to promotions with RFK, I also DJ and I’m a sound engineer that supplies many setups for other events happening around the city with my sound business, Koko’s Music Room.

Black Widow:  What made you decide to take it outdoors and have house music at the Pier and the Beach?

Ronda Flowers: Koko and I were doing parties at the Dating game when we were asked to do a Wednesday by the new owners at the beach.  They felt we were known for our Wednesday night events BUT 12 years ago before they got the beach, we were already at the beach.  So this is nothing new…

Robert “Koko” Walker: before there was even a deck! We were already at the beach.

Ronda Flowers:  We were at 31st then 39th, and then we got the call to come back to 31st with Nikki Hayes and Kim Williams as the new owners at Pier 31.

Robert “Koko” Walker:  Yeah we started the beach first over a decade ago.  I knew it was going to work because the first time we did the party we had 20 people and it was raining! I look at Ronda and said, “it can only go up from here"!

Black Widow:  What were some of the challenges in having an outdoor event?

Ronda Flowers:  The Weather

Robert “Koko” Walker:  After the event…we are out cleaning up garbage.  It’s hard because having all of that trash is the quickest way to get shut down. You know we are all grown; it shouldn’t be that difficult to pick up after yourself.  Find a garbage can and put the stuff in there. You help us and you help us to protect the event.

Ronda Flowers: Yeah it’s a challenge because people want to bring their own food and alcohol too instead of patronizing the business, which is something we really push as well.

Nick Non-Stop:   Yeah it’s nothing to buy a beer or some fries.

Ronda Flowers:  The reality is if the business can’t afford to pay us then we are gone.  No one can do events for free.   The event ends if we don’t have patrons supporting the venue.

Black Widow: That subject came up at the recent Silver Room/Chosen Few Discussion, this idea of us pouring into events that give something to us. You can’t get something for nothing all of the time.

Ronda Flowers:  People assume events should always stay free.  The Taste of Chicago used  to be free, Navy Pier used to be free, the Chosen Few used to be free and the list goes on…we aren’t used to paying unless it’s lollapalooza and others. It’s really unfortunate.    Buying a drink or a meal goes a long way in keeping this event going!

Black Widow:  When did you guys form this team and how did you come up with the name, “Summer House Series”?

Nick Non-Stop:  Yeah I think we joined with RFK 3 or 4 years ago?

Torin Edmond: Yep…about 3 or 4 years ago.  The Name Summer House Series came about after a brainstorming session. We kept going back and forth until it sounded right.  We wanted it to sound official! We knew we wanted summer because it was summer time. We knew we wanted house because it was a house music event and it was a weekly series so the name just came together.

Black Widow:  As a team, do you play different roles in the planning and execution of the event?

All: Collective Laughter

Nick Non-Stop:  We have undocumented roles! Laughter

Robert “Koko” Walker:  GREAT Question! Laughter

Nick Non-Stop:  We all work together and tap into our strengths. We all promote on our various networks. Collective promoting has been the key to the success of this event along with word of mouth.

Ronda Flowers:  The word of mouth goes along way because of the production. If it wasn’t a great production no one would have anything to talk about. 

Torin Edmond:   It’s diverse now to; it’s not just southsiders now.  We have people who come from all across the city.

Black Widow: When you talk about great production, what does that entail?

Ronda Flowers:  Sound, lights, talent, hospitality…

Torin Edmond:   Quality, the entertainment, the planning…all of it from beginning to end… its all quality

Robert “Koko” Walker:    The quality of the people too.

Black Widow: So what sets the Summer House Series apart from other outdoor events happening in the city?

Robert “Koko” Walker: Great Question!!  You can’t beat outdoors in the summertime.  Everyone loves to be outside and what better location than the beach?

Ronda Flowers:  There are others? [Laughter]

Nick Non-Stop:   Ours is consistent, it’s every Thursday after work.

Ronda Flowers:  I think what makes our event special is that it is after work.  You get the sunlight and the moonlight.

Nick Non-Stop:  … and you are home by 10:30! Laughter…folks gotta go to work in the morning.

Ronda Flowers:  I have to say the skyline at night in the background is just amazing. It gives it a different feel and vibe.

Robert “Koko” Walker:   It’s Thursday after work, its adult. It’s custom to our clientele.  It’s for grown folk.

Torin Edmond:   I think that’s important too. Our clientele is urban, professional, grown folks.  When you think about our crowd and networks, the audiences that we play for historically are people who know how to have a good time without tearing stuff up.   There are no incidences. People know we are going to have quality DJs who bring quality people.

Black Widow: So how do you manage that?  It’s such a popular event. How do you decide who’s playing each week with you guys?

Nick Non-Stop:  We each have a week.

Robert “Koko” Walker: Yeah, if it’s your week, you get to pick your guest!

Black Widow: That’s very democratic! Laughter

Ronda Flowers: I even get a week too and I share it sometimes!

Torin Edmond: I get calls starting in January asking if they can play with me! It’s tough…

Nick Non-Stop: it’s only so many days/weeks in the summer

Robert “Koko” Walker: and don’t let it rain…you just lost your week!

Black Widow:  You rarely see people who partner up where it works seamlessly. I think that also creates a certain vibe and energy from the beginning. It starts with the team.

Robert “Koko” Walker: It’s all a labor of love you know? We just love doing this event and watching people enjoy summertime at the beach.

Ronda Flowers: We have a nice team

Torin Edmond:   If it wasn’t working, Ronda would fire us! [Laughter]

Nick Non-Stop:  We do this because we truly love it and providing that experience for our people.   

Black Widow:  It’s something very positive in the city.  There are places that grown people can go and not worry about an incident.  We need more positive images of what happens in Chicago in the summer.

All:  Nods in Agreement

Black Widow: Well thank you for sitting down to talk with me today! I’m looking forward to my summer nights at the pier!

All: Thank you!

The Summer House Series begins Thursday, May 23 at Pier 31 from 5-10pm each and every Thursday. (Weather permitting)

Until next time, See ya on a dance floor

-Black Widow

[babbleuk]

Hybrid Cloud, IoT, Blockchain, AI/ML, Containers, and DevOps… Oh My!

When it rains it pours. It seems regarding Enterprise IT technology innovation,  it is common for multiple game-changing innovations to hit the street simultaneously. Yet, if ever the analogy of painting the car while its traveling down the highway is suitable, it’s this time. Certainly, you can take a wait and see approach with regard to adoption, but given the association of these innovations toward greater business agility, you’d run the risk of falling behind your competitors.

Let’s take a look at what each of these innovations mean for the enterprise and their associated impact to the business.

First, let’s explore the synergies of some of these innovations. Certainly, each innovation can and does have a certain value by themselves, however, when grouped they can provide powerful solutions to help drive growth and new business models.

Hybrid Cloud + IoT + AI/ML. IoT produces a lot of exhaust (data) that results in two primary outcomes: a) immediate analysis resulting in a directive to the IoT endpoint (the basis for many smartX initiatives) or b) collect and analyze looking for patterns. Either way, the public cloud going to offer the most economic solution for IoT services, data storage and the compute and services supporting machine learning algorithms.

IoT + Blockchain. Blockchains provide immutable entries stored in a distributed ledger. When combined with machine-driven entries, for example from an IoT sensor, we have non-refutable evidence. This is great for tracing chain of custody, not just law enforcement, but perishables, such as meat and plants.

Containers, DevOps and agile software development. These form the basis for delivering solutions like those above quickly and economically bringing allowing the value to be realized rapidly by the business.

There are businesses that are already using these technologies to deliver new and innovative solutions, many of which have been promoted in the press and at conferences. While these stories illustrate strong forward momentum, they also tend to foster a belief that these innovations have reached a sufficient level of maturity, such that the solution is not susceptible to lack of availability. This is far from the case. Indeed, these innovations are far from mainstream.

Let’s explore what adoption means to IT and the business for these various innovations.

Hybrid Cloud

I specifically chose hybrid cloud versus public cloud because it represents an even greater amount of complexity to enterprise IT than public cloud alone. It requires collaboration and integration between organizations and departments that have a common goal but very different approaches to achieving success.

First, cloud is about managing and delivering software services, whereas the data center is charged with delivering both infrastructure and software services. However, the complexity and overhead of managing and delivering reliable and available infrastructure overshadows the complexity of software services, resulting in the latter often receiving far less attention in most self-managed environments. When the complexity surrounding delivery of infrastructure is removed, the operations team can focus solely on delivery and consumption of software services.

Security is always an issue, but the maturation process surrounding delivery of cloud services by the top cloud service providers means that it is a constantly changing environment. With security in the cloud, there is no room for error or the applications could be compromised. This, in turn, requires that after each update to the security controls around a service the cloud team (architects, developers, operations, etc.) must educate themselves on the implications of the change and then assess how that change may affect their production environments. Any misunderstanding of these updates and the environment could become vulnerable.

Hybrid cloud also often means that the team must retain traditional data center skills while also adding skills related to the cloud service provider(s) of choice. This is an often overlooked aspect of assessing cloud costs. Moreover, highly-skilled cloud personnel are still difficult to attract and usually demand higher than market salaries. You could (and should) upskill your own staff, but you will want a few experts as part of the team on-the-job training for public cloud, as unsecured public cloud may lead to compromising situations for businesses.

Internet-of-Things (IoT)

The issue with IoT is that it is not one single thing, but a complex network of physical and mechanical components. In a world that has been moving to a high degree of virtualization, IoT represents a marked shift back toward data center skills with an emphasis on device configurations, disconnected states, limitations on size of data packets being exchanged, and low-memory code footprints. Anyone who was around during the early days of networking DOS PC’s will be able to relate to some of the constraints.

As with all things digital, security is a highly-complex topic with regard to IoT. There are so many layers within an IoT solution that welcomes compromise: the sensor, the network, the edge, the data endpoint, etc. As many of the devices participating in an IoT network may be resource constrained there’s only so much overhead that can be introduced for security before it impairs the purpose.

For many, however, when you say IoT they immediately only see the analytical aspects associated with all the data collected from the myriad of devices. Sure, analyzing the data obtained from the sensor mesh and the edge devices can yield an understanding of the way things worked in ways that were extremely difficult with the coarse-grained telemetry provided by these devices. For example, a manufacturing device that signaled issues with a low hum prior to the use of sensors that now reveal that in tandem with the hum, there’s also a rise in temperature and an increase in vibration. With a few short months of collecting data, there’s no need to even wait for the hum, the data will indicate the beginning of a problem.

Of course, the value discussed in the prior paragraph can only be expressed if you have the right skilled individuals across the entire information chain. Those able to modify or configure endpoint devices to participate in an IoT scenario, the cybersecurity and infosec experts to limit potential issues due to breach or misuse, and the data scientists capable of making sense of the volumes of data being collected. Of course, if you haven’t selected the public cloud as the endpoint for your data, you also then have the additional overhead of managing network connectivity and storage capacity management associated with rapidly growing volumes of data.

Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning (AI/ML)

If you can harness the power of machine learning and AI you gain insights into your business and industry in a way that was very difficult up until recently. While this is seemingly a simple statement, that one word “harness” is loaded with complexity. First, these technologies are most successful when operating against massive quantities of data.

The more data you have the more accurate the outcomes. This means that it is incumbent upon the business to a) find, aggregate, cleanse and store the data to support the effort, b) formulate a hypothesis, c) evaluate the output of multiple algorithms to determine which will best support the outcome you are seeking—e.g. predictive, trends, etc.—and d) create a model. This all equates to a lot of legs to get the job done. Once your model is complete and your hypothesis proven, the machine will do most of the work from there on out but getting there requires a lot of human knowledge engineering effort.

A point of caution, make business decisions using the outcome of your AI/ML models when you have not followed every one of these steps and then qualified the outcome of the model against the real world at least two times.

Blockchain

Touted as the technology that will “change the world,” yet outside of cryptocurrencies, blockchain is still trying to establish firm roots within the business world. There are many issues with blockchain adoption at the moment, the most prevalent one is velocity of change. There is no single standard blockchain technology.

There are multiple technologies each attempting to provide the foundation for trusted and validated transactional exchange without requiring a centralized party. Buying into a particular technology at this point in the maturity curve, will provide insight into the value of blockchain, but will require constant care and feeding as well as the potential need to migrate to a completely different network foundation at some point in the future. Hence, don’t bet the farm on the approach you choose today.

Additionally, there are still many outstanding non-technical issues that blockchain value is dependent upon, such as the legality of blockchain entries as a form of non-repudiation. That is, can a blockchain be used as evidence in a legal case to demonstrate intent and validation of agreed upon actions? There are also issues related to what effect use of a blockchain may have on various partnering contracts and credit agreements, especially for global companies with GDPR requirements.

Finally, is the value of the blockchain a large enough network to enforce consensus? Who should host these nodes? Are the public networks sufficient for business or is there a need for a private network shared among a community with common needs?

Containers, DevOps, & Agile SDLC

I’ve lumped these three innovation together because unlike the others, they are more technological in nature and carry elements of the “how” more so than the “what”. Still, there is a significant amount of attention being paid to these three topics that extend far outside the IT organization due to their association with enabling businesses to become more agile. To wit, I add my general disclaimer and word of caution, the technology is only an enabler, it’s what you do with it that might be valuable or may have an opposite effect.

Containers should be the least impactful of these three topics, as it’s simply another way to use compute resources. Containers are smaller and more lightweight than virtual machines but still facilitate a level of isolation between what is running in the container and what is running outside the container. The complexity arises from moving processes from bare metal and virtual machines into containers as containers leverage machine resources differently than the aforementioned platforms.

While it’s fairly simple to create a container, getting a group of containers to work together reliably can be fraught with challenges. This is why container management systems have become more and more complex over time. With the addition of Kubernetes, businesses effectively needs the knowledge of data center operations in a single team. Of course, public cloud service providers now offer managed container management systems that reduce the requirements on such a broad set of knowledge, but it’s still incumbent on operations to know how to configure and organize containers from a performance and security perspective.

DevOps and Agile Software Development Lifecycle (SDLC) really force the internal engineering teams to think and act differently if they are transitioning from traditional waterfall development practices. Many businesses have taken the first step of this transition by starting to adopt some Agile SDLC practices. However, because of the need for retraining, hiring, and support of this effort, the interim state many of these businesses are in have been called “wagile” meaning some combination of waterfall and agile.

As for DevOps, the metrics have been published regarding the business value of becoming a high-performing software delivery and operations organization. In this age of “software is eating the world” can your organization ignore DevOps and if not ignore take years to transition? You will hear stories from businesses that have adopted DevOps and Agile SDLC and made great strides in reducing latency, increasing the number of releases they can make in a given time period, and deploying new capabilities and functions to production at a much faster rate with fewer change failures. Many of these stories are real, but even in these businesses, you will still find pockets where there is no adoption and they still follow a waterfall SDLC that take ten months to get a single release into production.

Conclusion

Individually, each of these innovations requires trained resources, funding, and can be difficult to move beyond proof-of-concept to completely operationalized production outcomes. Taken in combination, on top of existing operational pressures, these innovations can rapidly overwhelm even the most adept enterprise IT organization. Even in cases where there is multi-modal IT and these innovations are occurring outside the path of traditional IT, existing IT knowledge and experience will be required to support. For example, if you want to analyze purchasing trends for the past five years, you will need to support of the teams responsible for your financial systems.

All this leads to the really big question, how should businesses go about absorbing these innovations? The pragmatic answer is of course introduce those innovations related to a specific business outcome. However, as stated, waiting to introduce some of these innovations could result in losing ground to competition. This means that you may want to introduce some proof-of-concept projects especially around AI/ML and Agile SDLC with IoT and Blockchain projects where they make sense for your business.

from Gigaom https://gigaom.com/2019/01/11/hybrid-cloud-iot-blockchain-ai-ml-containers-and-devops-oh-my/