#simpler asks like these are easier to answer

[asktotallyhuman]

Maybe you should go ask the Illager why she is the way she is... Or ask her Villager friends why she is different...

"Perhaps they can shed some light on this predicament."

[dead3ve]

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!fem!reader

Summary: After Peter fails English, the teacher pairs him with the English whiz of the class. They, however, are very shy. After several lessons with them, Peter has only just started to gain full sentences from them, but has been pining over them for much longer.

Warnings: Reader uses they/them pronouns. no use of y/n.

Peter was meant to be reading.

He wasn't. He was staring. Listening to their fingers clack on the laptop in front of them.

They turned to him suddenly, seeing the book disregarded underneath Peter's chest as he leaned his head on his hands to look at them.

"Did you finish reading?" They asked, eyes still on the screen of the laptop. They spoke quieter than usual because the pair were in the library. It was unnecessary to Peter; they were already very quiet.

Peter couldn't even find it in himself to lie to them. He opened his mouth to answer and then closed it and opened it again. He released a guilty, breathy chuckle as he shook his head.

"I got halfway; I think." Peter spoke with a laugh still. His neck was warm in embarrassment for being caught ogling the girl.

The girl smiled at him, not minding that he didn't read the work. They passed him their notes and took his book and circled where he was going wrong and provided tips for where he went wrong. They gave Peter their book, hoping he would understand having all the information in front of him. The text was a difficult read. Even for the girl when they were sat next to such a pretty boy.

Peter hadn't really comprehended anything from the girl's book.

There were pretty arrows in all different colors and words that had bubbles and clouds drawn around them. He hadn't even read the summary they had written on the next page. The swirl of their 's' and the curve of their 'o' had made him flustered and distracted.

The girl looked back up once they were ready to give Peter's book back.

"Here." They'd closed the pages over their thumb so Peter could take the book and find the page. Peter liked that. "Tell me what that's about, Peter." They'd asked softly.

"Hm?" Peter looked at them after taking his book back. He gave theirs back gently before he could fake an answer. "It's about people..." He began. Peter then trailed off and looked back down at his pages.

Peter had the same swirls of color and words over his book now. He smiled as he looked at the pages, turning a slight pink in the cheeks. They were somewhat simpler than their notes. They had made it easier for him to understand.

"Anything else, Peter?" The gentle voice interrupted his internal monologue of "I love you".

He looked up at them like a deer in headlights. Suddenly, he had to ask a very important and academic question, so the deer-like daze was broken and turned into a charming smile.

"I think this would be easier if we did it at my place." Peter spoke in a whisper. He lowered his head to meet theirs when they looked away after the flirty statement.

The girl went red. Heat was warming their face from Peter's gaze and smile. They crossed their legs and looked at their laptop. "If I look at Peter for one more second, I think I'll faint." They thought to themself.

Peter mistook it for something else. Something negative and hurtful.

"I didn't mean it like that." He spoke quickly. "I meant so we could do the work at my place." He had taken their hand by that point. Squeezing it in reassurance.

That had disappointed the girl.

"Oh." They released the small noise sadly. "Okay" they closed their laptop and rested their head on their hand that wasn't in Peter's grip. Their eyebrow had knitted together slightly.

Peter's other hand found their face and his thumb met the middle of their brow and softly smoothed it. He didn't think he had flirted that badly.

"If you want, we can ditch the English work and watch a movie." Peter leant down again to meet their gloomy eyes as he whispered to them. The next part was spoken as if it was only for them to hear, "I asked because I thought you liked me..." he was growing quieter in his admission and he broke eye contact with them, growing nervous.

"I do!" They admitted it too loudly, with urgency and surprise. People in the library gave them dirty looks. The silent girl had broken broken the silence. They admitted it quieter the second time, saying, "I like you..." The girl searched for his eyes desperately, "Do you like me, Peter?"

He flicked his head up so urgently, his neck must've hurt. "Yes!" He spoke with a smile drowning the word. Peter squeezed the hand he was holding.

Suddenly, he stood from the table and started to pack up his things, packing them without care, scrunching things into his bag.

The girl was confused. They'd both just told each other they had feelings for one another. Why was this his reaction?

Peter had moved to packing their things, this time with gentle hands. He knew where all of their pencils, pens and highlighters went in their pencil case. He closed their laptop and put it into their case. That was when he looked up at the girl.

"What movie will it be?" He asked. He hadn't realised why the girl had stopped. He was so innocently unaware of the gravity his admission had on the girl.

"You like me, Peter." They were telling themself rather than Peter. They needed the confirmation more. Someone as kind as him had fallen for someone as quiet as them. They needed Peter to show them.

At that, Peter realised his fault. He put down their laptop that was now safely in its flowery laptop case. Peter brought his left hand to their cheek and lightly dragged his thumb across their cheekbone. His right hand had caught their hand and brought their knuckles to his lips.

He then whispered into their hand "I do." He pressed his lips again to their hand Peter then went back to packing their bag. "What was the movie?"

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 12)

A/N: ik it took be forever to post this, pls dont crucify me. I also don't care if we have canon cregan; thats literally not my man

WORD COUNT: 1,078 words

masterlist

You gave him hope. You knew you did and perhaps you shouldn’t have. It would have been easier if you didn’t, but you think you… wanted to? Do you want to have dinner with him?

“Seven hells.” You grumble to Sȳndror after you’ve dismounted. “I suppose I have to eat with him.”

Well, you know you don’t have to. You didn’t even give him proper confirmation, but it’s much simpler to think of it as something you can’t avoid, you decide, making the walk back inside the castle.

“Draw my bath.” You say to Rose as you enter your chambers. “And you’ll need to select a proper evening gown for me today. I’ll be having my supper with Lord Stark.”

“You will?” Your handmaiden asks, looking at you as though you’ve grown a second head.

“I have just said it, haven’t I? Don’t look so bewildered.”

“My apologies.” She curtseys and runs off to start your bath.

When you walk over to the prepared tub, she begins to help you undress. “My apologies for my harsh tone. The situation is simply unusual for me.”

“You never need to apologize, princess. I understand fully.” She finishes undoing your dress and lets the garment drop before also helping you out of your shift.

“I brought him to meet Sȳndror today.” You say wistfully as you step into the perfectly hot bath. Rose always knows just how you like it.

“What prompted that?” She asks carefully, knowing that not even your closest friends have met the beast.

“He caught me watching him train. I wanted to frighten him.” You reply and she giggles.

“I would expect nothing less.” She says and begins to wash your body clean from the smell of dragon. “I also quite like watching the way the northernmen train.”

“There is something unique about the way they move.” You murmur thoughtfully.

“I would say there is something… primal in it.” Rose says with a giggle, clearly thinking about a different adjective in truth.

“Yes, it's very rough.” You muse.

“Did he get along with Sȳndror?” She asks, now running her fingers through your wet hair.

“He is not dead. So, I suppose the answer is yes.” You both giggle.

“Well, I am sure he is appreciative of the honour.”

“He doesn’t quite realize how much of an honour it is.”

“Lord Stark doesn’t know he is the first non-Targaryen you have brought to meet your dragon?” She gives you a slightly bewildered look.

“Of course not. He would be far too pleased with himself if he knew.” You roll your eyes and with your hair washed, you stand, Rose bringing you a robe.

“It is very gracious of you to allow him the meeting nonetheless.” 

“I am known to be gracious.” You reply with a cheeky smile and the both of you giggle.

“I am excited that you’ll be getting more wear out of your evening gowns.” Rose says as she throws open the doors of your closet. “This one could be most suitable.” She holds out a stormy grey dress and you scoff.

“There’s no way in the Seven Hells i’m wearing Stark colours.”

“But it would make him go positively insane.” Rose muses.

“I’ll have one of my black and red gowns.” You say, ignoring her. “The one with the sleeves that Baela adores.”

“Oh, that will be a splendid choice. Lord Stark has never seen you in a proper evening gown. This one will make for a strong start.” She admires the dress in the cupboard before fetching your small clothes.

When you’re dressed, you look nothing short of phenomenal. 

“He may faint from the sight of you.”

“I hope he does.” You murmur, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before strutting out of the room. “Come, Ser Robert. I will be suppering with Lord Stark.” You say to the surprised guard as you walk past him.

“You will dine… with your husband, princess?” He asks in a confused tone as he catches up with you.

“Well I just said that, did I not?” You shoot in a snarky tone.

He chuckles. “My apologies. I simply did not realize you enjoyed his company.”

“I am starting to think that I don’t enjoy your company. Perhaps I should get a new protector.” 

“Any man but I will be subpar and that is the second time you have threatened to replace me today, princess. Should I be worried?”

“Not worried. Perhaps just less irritating.” You smile.

“Anything to please her highness.” He responds playfully just before the two of you arrive at one of the smaller dining halls in the castle. The doors are thrust open for you, your protector waiting just outside as you walk in.

Cregan stands when he sees you and immediately makes his way over before bringing your hand up for a kiss. “Princess.” He murmurs, not wanting to seem too casual by using your name (even if you are his wife).

“Lord Stark.” Your formality makes him frown. His own formality also made him frown.

“That dress looks beautiful on you.” He says, wanting to make sure you know he’s complimenting you and not the gown. He couldn’t care less about a few pieces of fabric.

“You are also looking well.” You murmur in response, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before gliding out of his hold and to your seat. You can feel the ghostly touch of his lips on your hand and you see how he lingers for just a moment before sitting down himself.

“How was your ride today?” He asks as you start to plate your food.

“‘Twas as good as it can be. Sȳndror is restless these days. He doesn’t enjoy flying as high as he used to; I think the bite of chill in the air bothers him.”

“I hope that he can settle soon. It will get warmer… in a few months' time.” Cregan tries to help, but the discussion of the passage of time unnerves you. You don’t want to think about how in a few months, you will still be here.

“He isn’t used to being alone.” Neither are you.

“Then we will have to house your brothers for a visit. I know how important family is.” He sees it then, the little glimmer in your eyes at the suggestion. Your husband feels like he’s made you somewhat happy for the first time ever.

“I would like that.”

comment to be added to the taglist

[lululandd]

(unfair);

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

You were lounging on the sofa when you heard the door open. Simon carefully ducked under the frame, avoiding hitting his head as he had twice before.

“Hey.” He greets you in a tired voice, duffel dropped and forgotten by the shoe rack as he takes off his boots.

“Hey.” You replied as neutrally as you could. He shuffled into his room and you asked, “Chinese?”

“Fried rice please.”

“Pork?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t come out to get his food as it was delivered, in fact you think he fell asleep in the bath. You left the food on the table and continued watching your program.

You had a terrible dream of being trapped under a landslide, panic starts settling into your psyche as you begin to have trouble breathing. Opening your eyes, you had a moment of confusion as to when you had decided to turn the tv off and fall asleep. Unable to will your arm to grab your phone, you thought sleep paralysis had taken hold; but with a little look around reveals Simon lying on top of you.

“You’re heavy.” You hear yourself say.

His reply was immediate. “Yeah.” He wasn’t asleep.

The silence feels like it stretched on longer than it actually is. “You wanna say a thing or two about work?”

“Sucks.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. Go back to sleep, love.”

You hated this. He blurs the line between roommate and something significantly more. You try to ignore the painful thoughts, opting to let sleep overtake you again.

The alarm startled you awake this time. Disoriented and confused, you couldn’t remember when you moved to your bed from the sofa, but the heavy presence behind you answered the question.

“Stay.” he mumbled onto your skin as you tried to dislodge yourself from his hold.

“I got work, Simon.”

“And I just got home.”

“Is that how I’m supposed to call it in today? Sorry guv, can’t make it this mornin’ cos my roommate’s home from deployment. Cheers.” 

“Quit.” He murmured, into your hair this time, his hold fastening against your torso and getting very close to cupping your chest.

Time seems to slow down for Simon as you untangle yourself from his hold. It was borderline painful for him to feel your small fingers dig into his bigger ones as you set yourself free. He watched you in muted fascination as you go about the room to get ready, the elaborate way you clip your hair up before going in the bath, how your arse comes in and out of view as you washed your face in the tiny bathroom sink, the way you shyly go about the room to get dressed; as if Simon hasn’t seen it laid bare underneath him.

He knows its unhealthy, but he stays even when he knows it’s hurting you. The man has wasted money paying for his own flat and half of yours. The kitchen sink in his flat drips, his bedroom light flickers, and the front door creaks badly. He makes sure everything in your flat works though. Your dishwasher no longer makes squeaking noises, he tightens your wobbly ceiling fan, and religiously checks the locks on the doors and windows. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t tried to go and live on his own place only to come running back to yours even before the night is over.

Life seems to be simpler with you around, his thoughts easier to manage. There's something addicting about your presence, your warmth, and your smile that he would never admit aloud.

His heart dreads the day you would ask him to clarify his boundaries, and selfishly hopes it would never come.

[swappingforgood]

All in a days work. Pt 1

Do you ever feel like life would be better if you weren’t doing the thing you were doing? Or, of course, you would answer yes, we as humans are creatures who always want what we don’t have. What do I want? I want an easier life, a simpler life; I want to live. You see I’m what you might call the 1% of the social class.

I inherited my father’s company when I was 25, and I have been working for a long “hard-earned” 30 yes. Now, why would I, the wealthy CEO of a successful company, wish for anything different? Im bored. I didn’t get to live; I didn’t get to get hammered and wake up hungover on the streets or have work at a fast food job. I didn’t even get to come out as gay; I had to hide it and keep it on the down low and only sleep with guys who were too scared to speak up and ruin my status. I was miserable. Considering my age, my team decided to hire an intern. Cute kid, I will say; he got the looks, the nice bod, the adorable face. He didn’t know much, and he respected and admired me. Tsk, if he only knew I would rather be him. I would quit immediately if I had his body and go experiment and do everything I wanted to do. I got an email sent to me by an anonymous sender who simply went by “S” and told me that they can make my wish come true; I would just need to follow certain steps. 1. I would need to get the person I want to swap with to agree. 2. I would then need to swallow their DNA. 3. Have sex to make it permanent. After reading that email, my cock hiding in my fat pad immediately got hard, and I called my intern. “Hey Tanner, come here,” I said as he locked the door behind him. “Yes Sir?” He asked cutely as his voice cracked from the nerves. "Oh, please kid, call me Bruce; you’ve known me long enough. You see, you’ve been working very hard. I’m very proud of you,” I said as I approached him and cornered him with my larger body as I kneeled and put my hand on his crotch. “I wanna make you feel good, okay? You earned it,” I said with a grin as the young man moaned as I unzipped his pants and saw his young cock bounce out. I immediately wrapped my mouth around it and made sure to swirl my tongue around his head to make him whine before pulling back. “Hey kid, you ever wish you had my job?” I said as he looked at me with lust. “Yes b-Bruce. I would love to be you and have your job,” I grinned as I agreed before returning to his young cock. Enticing him until I hear him whimpering before feeling a hot load hitting my mouth, and then my vision went black. 

[yuurei20]

hi ! do we know whats considered easy / hard magic ? as in like what is considered beginner level magic and what is considered malleus draconia level magic

Hello hello, thank you so much for this question!

I went through the game and collected all examples of non-unique, non-artifact, non-flight-magic that I could find, and there was a lot! So much that this answer is going to be separated into four parts m(_ _)m Apologies for any inconvenience!

First are the magics that seem to be easier than others: Color-Change Magic, Fireworks, Flames, Ice, Levitation, Basic Construction, Cooking

Color-Change Magic:

Sebek describes color-change magic as being extremely basic, saying that is is one of the first things that human mages learn upon entering school.

Floyd calls it a "baby magic," and Vil tells Jade a story about using it to change the color of his and his father's clothing to avoid paparazzi shortly after he enrolled at NRC and before he was able to do more complex spells.

Cater asks Ace, Deuce and Grim to use color-change magic on their first day of school before they have attended a single class, apparently assuming that they would already know how to do it, but Deuce and Grim both struggle (as does Ace in a vignette).

Fireworks:

Grim is capable of creating an impressive fireworks display, as are Deuce and Ruggie, and none of the three are known for being particularly adept students or mages.

Flames:

Jamil talks about using fire magic when he was still "a literal child," and both Grim and Epel also use fire magic in the game.

Ice:

Deuce seems capable of using ice magic, despite still being a first-year student.

Levitation:

Deuce also seems fairly adept at levitation, and Kalim says that getting a parrot feather to float was the first magic he ever did.

Levitation might have been an early form of magic for Epel as well: he says that he was moving crates of apples with magic prior to enrolling at NRC.

Grim struggles with levitating chairs in a vignette, but this seems to be less of an issue with the magic itself and more a problem with precision (more on this later 👀).

Crowley recommends that the students eject Magicam Monsters via levitation during Halloween, so he may expect that they are all capable of using it.

Simple Construction:

Ace creates a surfboard with ease during the Stitch event, so simple construction projects may not be too high level.

Cooking:

Not known for being one of the more talented students at the school, Kalim still seems to be able to cook with magic.

Uncertain: Summoning, Wind and Attacks

Summoning:

Deuce has been summoning cauldrons since before enrolling at NRC. Ace attempts to mimic him in Book 3 but says, "summoning magic ain't my strongest suit," so it is possible that this is just a particular strength of Deuce's rather than an overall easier magic (or maybe a particular weakness for Ace?).

Wind:

Ace has been using wind magic since the prologue, but it is a little unclear if it is a simpler magic for beginners overall or if Ace just happens to be particularly adept at it. It is possible that Jamil is the only other person we have seen use wind magic.

Attacks:

Even the magic-school-dropout in Book 5 is capable of using magic for attacks, so basic "attack magic" seems to be a fairly simple ability.

But the attacks we see in the game tend to be vague! Are the characters using things like wind, water and fire and it just isn't being specified? Or is there something else going on?

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman - Part 1

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe : Military School

Summary : Ona has to leave Barcelona against her will because her mother decided to sent her to a school in Manchester.

Words : 4k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Monday, October 5; 6:45 AM - Home.

« Get up, Onii!!! »

I jump when a little bundle pounces on me, screaming. I groan into my pillow as he laughs in my ears before getting off my back. I turn over as quickly as possible to catch him before he runs away. The surprise rings in my ears even before his shrill scream, but I don't let go of him.

« Joan... » I begin in the calmest voice I can manage. « How many times have I asked you not to wake me up like this? »

« Mmmmmh... »he pretends to think. « I don't remember! »

« You'll see! »

A mix of cries and laughter fills the room as I attack him with tickles along her ribs. He tries to struggle, but I'm far too strong for him.

« St-stop », he says between laughs. « P-Please... Oniii! »

« Ona, let go of your little brother. He'll be late otherwise! » my mother reprimands me as she passes by my bedroom door.

« You're lucky this time! »

I release him and get out of bed to go to my closet. I sigh when I see that a large number of clothes are missing.

« Are you taking me to school this morning? »

I turn around to see my little brother watching me from the edge of the bed where he's sitting. He's so innocent. He makes me want to go back to when I was his age. Everything was simpler. It's rather ironic, considering he keeps telling me he wishes he were as big as I am. My many discussions about my departure don't seem to have sunk in, given his question. I'm afraid he'll hold it against me over time, as this isn't the first time I've left home. I approach him, crouching down to his level. His doe eyes and sad expression don't make it any easier to say what I need to, but I go ahead anyway.

« Joan... » We've already talked about this. You know it's not possible.

« But I don't want you to leave! » he raises his voice. « You just got back... »

I tense up when he lowers his head to hide his sorrow from me. I feel so guilty for causing him so much pain. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in all this mess. I gently stroke his cheek to encourage him to lift his head.

He makes a pout that could melt anyone's heart, mine first and foremost.

« I'm sorry, little heart... I'm really sorry for putting you through all this. You know that if I could stay, I would. You know that, right? »

« I don't want you to leave! » he shouts again. « Stay, please. »

Now he's crying, which only makes me feel worse. His tears bring tears to my own eyes. I hold him as tightly as I can and stroke his hair to soothe his sadness.

Joan is undeniably my weakness in all this. I feel so guilty about leaving again. I have to stay strong and hide my feelings to avoid making his reaction worse. If it were up to me, I would stay. I resent my mother for sending me to that damn school thousands of miles away. It cuts me off from the few loved ones I have left.

« When will you come back? »

« I have no idea », I shrug. « We'll see. Anyway, I'll call you regularly. »

« Promise? »

« Of course, if I'm allowed to, I will. »

« Is it very strict there? »

If there's one thing I don't like about kids, it's their curiosity. They just keep asking questions and can ask the same one ten times to get an answer. It's not so bad, but in my situation, it's annoying because I don't have the answers myself. He just reminds me why I've been stressed all week since the news broke.

« Well, you know what? » I change the subject. « If we hurry, I'll try to negotiate with Mom to take you to school before I leave. »

« Really? » He smiles with all his teeth.

« Of course! I just have to make sure I don't miss my flight. If we leave a bit earlier, I can drop you off before going to the airport. »

« YAY! »

I laugh at his excitement. I help him get dressed so he can quickly head downstairs. His departure allows me to clean up his mess and get myself ready more peacefully. Fifteen minutes later, I join him downstairs.

Dressed and with makeup on. I find him in the large dining room talking with his father and our mother. I don't bother to stop and head straight to the kitchen. I sit on a high chair behind the bar that faces the kitchen. I smile when I see a cup of hot chocolate and a freshly prepared pastry waiting for me.

« Good morning, Sam. »

« Oh, hi Ona. »

He moves to the counter so we can be face-to-face and chat while I enjoy my breakfast. I've had this habit since... well, since he started working here, to be honest. Samuel has been our cook for a few years now. We're almost the same age, give or take five years. His dishes are truly outstanding. I'll really miss them. They say the food in boarding schools isn't very good.

« So, you'll take me to school then? »

« What's this about now? » asks my mother, entering the room with Joan.

« I told him I'd drop him off if we leave a bit earlier. »

« Did you really have to tell him that? » she snaps.

« It's the last time I'll see him for a long time, you could make an effort. »

I maintain my gaze firmly. She eventually capitulates with a sigh. I suppress a smile that could change her mind. I always win when it comes to staring contests. I'm proud to have irritated her, but even more proud to have won.

« Fine, hurry up then. »

« Yay! »

My brother knows how to lighten the mood. I take a sip from my cup to hide my amusement as he dashes out of the kitchen, with my mother chasing after him, yelling to be careful on the stairs.

« Tough leaving, huh? » asks Sam.

« Not really. The hardest part is leaving Joan. Take care of him for me, please. »

« Don't worry about that. He'll be fine, unlike you », he says through gritted teeth.

« I'll be fine too », I assure him.

« I hope so. It would be nice to see you alive again », he jokes. 

I roll my eyes with a smirk. We've always had a good relationship. At first, I even thought he had a thing for me. I realized it was a mistake later when I found out he was dating this guy named Paolo. I had a good laugh. As a lesbian I was surprised that Samuel was gay too.

« Shall we go, Oni ? »

I turn to Joan, who has returned with his backpack on. The time for goodbyes has come. I smile at my brother and get up to put my empty cup in the sink. Then, I walk over to Sam and give him a tight hug.

"It's all going to be okay, you'll see," he reassures me.

"I'll try to call. Can you put Joan on when you get the chance?" I ask.

"Promise. I really hate goodbyes," he adds, pulling me back into his embrace.

I laugh, playfully tapping his shoulder when I notice his teary eyes. It's touching since I've never seen him cry. I leave before I end up in the same state. I miss Sofia, my governess, who has a day off today. I said goodbye to her yesterday, but it's not the same. She's a bit like my second mom. She always knew how to lend a listening ear when I needed it. I go up to my room to check that I haven't forgotten anything. I also stop by the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I'm sure everything's in order, I put on my jacket, grab my bag, and take one last look at my room. It's time to leave if I want to take Joan to school, so I head down the stairs without rushing.

Hector has put your suitcase in the trunk," my mother informs me as she waits. "Do you have your ticket? »

"Yeah," I reply, patting my pockets to double-check.

"A taxi will drop you off at the school."

I half-listen to my mother's final instructions about my arrival at my new life. I look up when I realize she's wrapping up her verbose explanations, which I could have done without.

"Are you going to be okay?" she finally asks.

« Does it really matter to you?" I retort rhetorically, brushing past her to reach the entrance. She sighs behind me as I open the door. It's all her fault anyway. I look at the cobblestone driveway where the car is already prepared with Joan inside. I greet Hector, our driver, who is standing nearby. I descend the stairs and glance to my left at our garden where Marcus is. I give him a small nod. Asshole. He's my mother's boyfriend. He's not entirely to blame, but I've never been able to like him. I avoid looking back at the landing where my mother might play the model mom, waving me off as if I'm going on vacation. I've never liked formalities, so I head to the front seat of the car. Hector has long stopped making remarks about it. He settles in beside me and pulls into traffic once the gate opens. I watch the house recede in the rearview mirror. Here we go... We're on our way. Before starting my new life, we make a stop at Joan's school. Hector wishes him a good day as I step out to walk him to the gate. The hardest moment arrives... I crouch down to his level. He immediately wraps his little arms around me for a hug.

"I don't want you to go," he says softly.

"Look at me, Joan," I ask gently, lifting his chin. "It's going to be okay, alright? I'll come back, don't worry."

"Will you think about me a lot?"

"I'll do nothing else."

"Will you call me?"

"If I'm allowed, I will. I promised you, little one," I say, touching his nose with my finger. "Sam and Sofia will pass you the phone if it's me."

"I'll miss you."

He hugs me again, and I squeeze him as tightly as I can. I kiss his forehead before helping him with his backpack.

"I love you, Ona!"

"I love you too, sweetheart! Now, go play with your friends."

He runs off to join them. I wait until he looks back to wave at him with a smile. I make sure not to show any emotion so that at least one of us is reassured. I turn around when I'm no longer the center of his attention and settle back into the car. Hector starts driving towards the airport without saying a word. Everyone knows these are the toughest goodbyes for me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, handing me a tissue.

I hadn't even realized I was crying. I nod and smile gratefully as I take the tissue. The journey lasts half an hour to reach the airport. I have plenty of time to check in my luggage and go through security before the flight. Hector insisted on accompanying me the whole way, despite my repeated assurances that he didn't need to stay, though I appreciate his presence. Boarding time arrives quickly, and we head there after passing all the checks.

"We'll take care of Joan, don't worry," he tries to reassure me.

"Thank you."

"He's a big boy now, you know."

"Yes, he's grown up so much," I reply with a faint smile.

The intercom interrupts, announcing the boarding call. I turn to my driver, whom I've always appreciated. He's in his forties, but we've always had a special bond. He smiles tenderly, and we share a hug. I take the opportunity to thank him for everything before joining the line that has formed. I teased Sam about his state earlier, but I'm not much better at the moment. At the end of the line, I present my ticket to a hostess who tears off a portion. A security guard beside her checks my navy blue Eastpack once more, then they wish me a safe journey... "Safe journey," my ass, yeah. I move forward without a word for boarding. A second hostess welcomes me onto the plane and helps me find my seat number. Luck seems to be on my side for once. I have a window seat, and my neighbor who arrives shortly after me is an elderly lady. I'll have peace and quiet for the entire journey. I switch my phone to airplane mode. I put my headphone on. Music will help me sleep since I have two hours to kill. I start my music just as the intercom instructs us to fasten our seatbelts because takeoff is imminent. Indeed, a few minutes later, we're airborne. I watch our ascent through the window with a thoughtful expression. "Hasta la vista Barcelona... Hello Manchester !"

Monday, October 5th; 10:25 - Manchester Airport.

Damn it... Not only did I forget about the time difference, but I also forgot about the temperature change here! I'm finally in my taxi after taking some time to find my driver with his tiny sign. We're now stuck in monstrous traffic. The scenery is different from Barcelona. I'm going to miss my city more than I thought. I put my headphones back on just as my driver announced that we still have a way to go. He explained that the school is located away from the city center, but right now, we're stuck in the middle of it. We just need to manage to get out. Given the traffic jams, I have more time ahead of me. I could have done without it, considering how my imagination has come back in full force. I know nothing about the school she's sending me to. As if what I went through wasn't enough. Something like this had to happen to me again.

I hate having to listen to my mother and do everything she says. I'll be twenty in a few days and I still have to do as she pleases. If I hadn't messed up, I might already have a job by now. Now, here I am stuck on the other side of the Europe, with no one. Thanks, Mom, thanks a lot! My stress level shoots up again, though it had subsided thanks to my nap on the plane. I managed to catch up on my sleep. Nothing can change now. I'm here, and it will be difficult to turn back. The driver tries to make conversation, but he understands it's a lost cause. I can be a real wall when I want to be. He seems relieved to have finally arrived after forty-five minutes on the road. We would have certainly taken less time without the traffic jams. I get out of the car while the driver takes care of my suitcase. There are no buildings here, just a few houses around and even then. I didn't see any bus stops either, which I don't like too much.

The driver told me it was impossible for him to go any further. I understand why now, seeing what's in front of me. A huge, very impressive metal gate blocks the road. OK, what is this place? It's surrounded by an impenetrable high brown stone wall. It might have had its charm in another context. I feel like I'm standing in front of a prison entrance. I read the sign proudly standing above the gate: Camp Wiegman. What the hell is this mess? A camp? I wanted to ask the driver if he had the wrong place, but he was already gone. What an asshole! He better hope I don't run into him again next time! I groan in frustration and resign myself to dragging my feet and my suitcase towards the reception. A woman in her fifties is there, with glasses dangling on her nose. She looks up and smiles warmly at me. At least I'm not dealing with an old hag.

"Hello. You must be the new one, right?"

"I guess. Ona Batlle," I introduced myself.

"That's right," she said, looking at a sheet. "Come in, I'll notify them of your arrival!"

A door next to the large gray gate opens. I push it and roll my suitcase inside. Surprisingly, the taxi wasn't wrong after all. This place is huge from what I can see. I don't know where to look, it's quite... breathtaking. I don't dare move, not knowing where to go. The door is now closed behind me, preventing me from getting out. I wait a few minutes, and still, no one comes. The receptionist smiles at me every time I look at her. I guess someone will come to get me.

"Welcome to Camp Wiegman, Ona!"

I jump and turn toward the voice. A blonde woman stands before me. She has glasses and smile at me. I frown as I shake the hand she offers me. The only question that comes to mind is: Who is she?She must have understood.

"Excuse me, I haven't introduced myself! I’m Marina Wiegman, the director of this camp."

"Why does that name sound familiar?"

"I'm a friend of your parents" he explains.

"Oh."

I can't manage to say anything else. They've put me in a damn camp run by their friend. Great! This is getting worse and worse! This whole situation reeks of trouble.

"Follow me, I'll give you a quick tour of the place."

She orders me to leave my luggage, saying someone will take care of it. So, I leave my suitcase but keep my backpack. We walk down the large tree-lined avenue. It looks like a beautiful place... until you see what's hidden inside. I wasn't wrong. This place is gigantic! I can't see the end because of the buildings in front of us, but the horizon is already impressive. We take a left where I can see two fields in the distance surrounded by perfectly maintained grass. As we get closer, I spot a macadam field and a grass field, both fenced. Next to that, there’s a huge brand-new gymnasium. We don't go inside, but she indicates there are several rooms that I'll discover over time. We continue the tour in the first building on the left. It’s attached to the central building. This one houses the various classrooms, according to her. There’s another similar building just behind, connected by covered walkways. They don't seem big, only having one small floor each. One thing is for sure, the decoration is far from warm. Everything is as cold as the weather outside. It's raining, by the way. I already miss the sun I left behind in Barcelona. All the buildings are made of gray bricks. The only place that seems less gloomy is the new gymnasium. We exit through the back of the second building after a short passage and continue to the right. We pass the cafeteria, then the dormitories which are at the other end. She indicates that the staff dormitory is behind the student one. We complete our loop by returning to the central building. It’s the heart of the place and houses the administration. It looks very large. The upper floor must be her personal quarters. We continue inside where we are greeted by a hall before accessing the offices. We pass through a door with a sign indicating the secretariat. We walk down a long corridor with several doors labeled with names, most of them closed. We finally reach her office at the end. She invites me to sit on a chair, which I do without hesitation.

"I'm sorry I could only stop by briefly, but work keeps me very busy."

"No problem."

"Alright, let's get to the point. Did your mother explain anything to you?"

"Not really," I replied honestly. "Just that I'd be here for a long time."

"I see," she said. "I've been informed about your issues. Do I have your permission to share this information with the staff?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"As you wish. Do you know it's usually hard to get into this kind of camp?"

"Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I wouldn't be here," I retorted.

"Many applications were rejected this year. I shouldn't even be taking on another person in the middle of the year. You should see this as an opportunity! Your mother contacted me. I owed her a favor, so I reconsidered your application after someone left."

"I could have done without it," I muttered.

"We are a strict establishment," she continued, ignoring my comment. "We have clear rules that must not be broken under penalty of sanctions."

"Hmm."

"We are a half-university, half-military camp."

I sat up straight. Did I hear that correctly?! Military? This has to be a joke! She frowned as I laughed.

"What's so funny, Ona?"

"Military, seriously?" I laughed even harder.

"Military, indeed," she confirmed. "Well, it's a big word. You simply have the right to supervision and guidance by instructors alongside your classes. We are a special private educational institution."

"Didn't see that coming."

I hate her. There's no other word. Sending me to a place like this?! Does she want to turn me into a little soldier or what? If she thinks I'm going to go along with this, she's dreaming! I can already tell I'm going to have fun driving them crazy. They'll get so fed up with me that they'll send me back themselves.

"Since you're just starting, you'll be under the responsibility of an instructor for a while," she informed me. "This person is the one you should listen to first. They will help you adapt, guide you, and discipline you if necessary."

"Yeah, yeah."

I couldn’t care less about what she has to say now. I've been tuning out since she mentioned it's a military school. I did catch that all devices are banned in the camp except in the rooms. Phones included. Great! Well, at least I can use it in the room I'll have the pleasure of sharing with a roommate. It won't change much; I'll act as if I'm alone. I don't plan on staying here, so I'll make sure not to get attached. The best thing would be to leave as quickly as I arrived. She finishes by giving me my class assignment. Wait, they have classes here?! Surprising for this kind of school. She hands me a paper with my schedule and the names of my teachers. I don't even bother to glance at it. I don't know anyone anyway. Wiegman's monologue is interrupted by a noise at the door. A young girl enters after getting permission. She introduce herself as Lotte Wubben-Moy the adoptive daughter of the director Wiegman.

"Lotte will show you to your room in the dormitory. Once again, welcome, Ona. I hope I won't have to see you in my office anytime soon!"

"Yeah, thanks."

I leave the office, ignoring the hand Lotte extends. I wait for her in the hallway while she quickly says goodbye to her mother and closes the door. She leads the way since I don't know the place well yet.

"Your name is Ona, right?"

"Yeah."

"Did you have a good trip?"

"Don't bother trying to make conversation"

Her face falls at my harsh and curt tone. At least she understands not to talk to me. I'm furious with my mother. How could she send me to a military camp! I can't swallow it. It doesn’t even make sense! I now understand why she didn't give me any information about where she was sending me. She just handed me a ticket and said I was leaving home. If I had known, I wouldn't have even gotten on that damned plane. Then again, maybe I would have. She didn't give me much choice. It was either this or she would cut me off and throw me out on the street. That was clear. I don’t know if she would have actually done it, but I didn’t want to take the risk.

We walk along the outside to reach the right side. We arrive at the dormitory I saw earlier. It's larger than the classroom building we visited before. It has three stories. We pass through wooden doors. I'm surprised by the interior. It's a bit cheerier than what I've seen so far since arriving. We're greeted in the hall by a large wooden staircase that leads in two opposite directions. We go up and take a right. Lotte explains that the dormitory is divided into two sections. We stop on the first floor where we reach a long corridor. There are two more floors, but they are for the first and second-year students. I'm surprised she still dares to talk to me after I so harshly rebuffed her. She stops her explanations when we stop in front of room 19. From what I've observed, the even-numbered rooms are on the right and the odd-numbered ones are opposite. She steps aside to let me enter first. The room is nothing special. It has the bare minimum. Two single beds dominate the middle of the room, each with a two-drawer nightstand next to it. A lamp and a clock radio sit on top. On the other side of the bed, two wardrobes face each other. The one at the far end is next to a window, the only source of natural light. Finally, there are two desks at the foot of each bed. There's just enough space to pass between each piece of furniture. I open the only other door next to the entrance to discover a bathroom that is also nothing special. Surprisingly, it’s rather modern. It has a shower, a small sink with an extended countertop, and a mirror above. There’s also a toilet and a laundry basket. I close the door and move into the room with white walls. There's no decoration, so it still feels rather cold, once again.

"Well, here you are," she breaks the silence. "Your suitcase is already here, as you can see. I'm going back to my room. If you need anything, come see me. I'm in room 3, first floor."

"I'll be fine, thanks."

She nods before closing the door behind her. I sigh, looking around the room. What am I doing here? I have to survive a year. A fucking year that I plan to cut short. They don’t know who I am, but they will soon. My name is going to be known to the staff very quickly. If I understood correctly, I'm free for the rest of the day. I pull out my iPod from my pocket and check my phone. I must have sent a message to my mother when I got off the plane. I'm relieved to see she hasn't replied. She would have faced my wrath, and this time, I’ll have trouble holding it back.

My suitcase is at the far end of the room, right under the window. I guess that’s my side. I check by opening the first wardrobe. I close it immediately upon finding it full and lie down on the bed at the back. I would have chosen this one if I had the choice. I like having the window on my side, even though I doubt it will be of much use given the weather outside. I grab my bag to get something to eat. I’m glad I thought to bring snacks. Given the time, I would have been starving until dinner since I didn't eat lunch. I then slip my headphones into my ears. I use this quiet time to gather myself, staring pensively at the ceiling. I still can’t believe where I am. A military camp. This is going to be interesting... depending on your point of view, of course!

[sinn-bee]

Hi I'm very fascinated by your dragon svsss au and I got a question if you're still open for them! It's regard SY!SQQ, bc in the first pic that you uploaded of the au he's noticeably more clothed than LQG and in the last comic you made the joke that he's wondering where his clothes are. Now to my question: is this different to how Shen Jiu used to dress because Shen Yuan had some modesty concerns from his former life or did he always cover up more? Or is Liu Qingge just unusually exposed in comparison to the other dragon Peak Lords? Anyway I hope you have a good day!

First of all sorry it took so long to answer your ask oTL (Got busy and distracted)

To answer your first question, SY!Sqq wears the same kind of clothing that SJ!Sqq did, he does feel kinda weird about being so exposed for a while but gets to learn Very Quickly that most everyone dresses like this. So yeah he has modesty concerns but learns to hide his embarrassment very quick because if everyone else is doing it, it isn’t as weird!

Lqg is more exposed than the other peak lords 😂 I’ll get back to that in a second.

SO. Some worldbuilding lore~

“Dragon fashion is designed to transition easily between forms and allow a tail to move freely, and dragons don’t care much about nudity or exposure-

Clothes expand at the waist and are slit at the sides to accommodate a larger, more serpentine form, and come off quickly and easily if you want to get really big.”

-excerpt taken from a dragon au fic my friend Corrin (/ partner in crime for making this au) wrote (it’s not posted yet, it’s Moshang, and it’s part of a zine coming soon)

Draconic peak lords, having ascended to full dragon hood, can shift between forms easily and so as mentioned above prefer to have less clothing that is easier to move around in. Normal draconic cultivators mimic those styles to some degree despite not being capable of shifting forms fully.

So less clothing = Shifts into other draconic forms more often. Lqg likes to hunt and travel and be in a draconic form a lot so he…doesn’t care much for clothing.

Yqy you’ll notice is very clothed and that’s because he just doesn’t ever shift to other draconic forms for sad reasons, and also to cover up as much of his scales as possible.

The other fun clothing headcannons (is it headcannons for an au??) I have are that the style and complexity of clothing also depends on the ranking of the peak and draconic hierarchy. Like Sqq has more jewelry and gems and Sqh has much simpler clothing and no gems. Lqg has gems because they’re a gift from Sqq.

The other reason for being so scantily clad is that draconic cultivation takes a Lot of time and effort, some more so than others, so people who have beaten their way to the top and ascended to dragonhood like to show off their scales and draconic features. Ahem Sj cough cough

Thank you so much for your curiosity! I like being able to infodump about my au especially since posting the comic and art for it takes a while 😅

[sophiacloud28]

Hello! May I ask for #20 "You didn't listen" with Donnie, please!

Thank you!

💜💜💜🫶

-Looks at Bay!Donnie- -Hears rattling- -Checks on Rise!Donnie-

... Hooookay. Bay!Donnie for here and I'll save Rise!Donnie for later. Aged-up Turtles, obviously and this could be considered an addition to something else, although it can very well stand on its own. Mentions of Blurple, but Donnie is the only turtle present.

One-shot, argument, Bayverse Donatello

You have one hell of a nasty habit.

The fact that it's familiar makes it easier to deal with, he supposes as he streaks through the Manhattan sky, jumping from building to building. It definitely makes it simpler to know why he's here instead of his brother despite the latter's insistence on dealing with you. He can see the argument coming from a mile away and both, no, all four of them agree that whatever has sent you skittering back to your apartment isn't worth the blowout Leo might cause.

So that's why Donnie's here. That's why, despite everything screaming at him that he should knock instead of breaking and entering, he steps inside, takes a breath, and listens.

Your apartment is quiet. Only the sound of a ticking clock can be heard, surprisingly soothing even if a bit foreboding. Only after a few seconds does he catch a sigh and the sound of a turning page, a sure tell that he's not alone and of where you are.

Your bedroom. Now he needs to knock. The fact that all he hears is the paperback getting dropped to the ground and a chair scraping across the floor is telling.

He calls your name. Multiple times. He's not surprised at the lack of answer. You're doing the exact same thing his brother does, after all. The only difference is that he has stakes in it, this time. Something, someone he doesn't want to lose.

"Didn't we agree to keep it to messages during the week?"

"You haven't responded."

"Then take a hint, Donatello."

"Donnie. And I have. It's why I'm here."

And it's standing right in front of him, glaring at him before passing him for the kitchen.

Ever the gracious host. Even angry, you're still trying to accommodate him. You are wonderful, and you're failing to see it.

"I'm not having this argument with you, Donnie."

"Then let's make it a debate, then."

"Are you seriously discussing semantics, right now? This is not a philosophical issue!"

"It doesn't have to be one to reside there."

Hell, it's the only reason why he's not stopping you from banging the cupboard door closed as you collect some food for him.

"For — For fuck sake, Donnie! I heard you both just –!"

"You didn't listen."

And it's the only reason he knows his mumble will get you to turn around.

"... What?"

"You heard us, but you didn't listen."

Before silence blankets the apartment. Heavy, nasty, and uncomfortable.

He watches you shift. Quietly grab the carafe for the coffee to pour into a mug that you fix up before handing it to him. He doesn't sip at it, just lets it sit in his hands as you shuffle your way to your living room with cookies and an empty look.

"I'm not mad at you, you know."

"You should be."

"And as Leo will tell you, I barely take his orders on my best days."

But he joins you as you sit, your snort a facsimile of your usually joyful one.

"What do you want, Donnie?"

"My brothers would like you home. Leo wants a chance to explain himself. I would like the same."

"I can't stay between you both."

"According to who?"

"It's not fair to either of you."

"And it's not fair of us to impose a choice. Besides, a relationship might be a far-flung thing that we don't have to worry about right now."

And, as your smile returns, if a little strained, he hopes the effort he's about to put in is worth just as much as the exquisite coffee he finally takes a sip of.

taglist: @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos, @thelaundrybitch, @luckycharms1701, @silverwatergalaxy

[starlightthemes]

THEME PACK: THE ARCHIVE

Styled after AO3, this pack includes a theme and matching pages, and was designed for writers and readers alike.

🖋️ Theme 11: Archive Of Your Own

Live preview | Static previews: index page, permalink | Code

Full-width posts in an AO3 work index page format

Sidebars with optional sections such as featured tags, updates, rules, progress bars, and more

Unlimited custom links (display on sidebar or in top navbar), plus several social links in the footer

Add a custom logo beside/replacing your avatar

Inbuilt tag filtering plugin by glenthemes

All fields editable directly in the Customize menu, no HTML required. See below the cut for a full guide

🖋️ Page 3: Archive Records

Preview | Code

A WIP page designed to resemble an AO3 work page

Add tags for ratings, warnings, fandoms, characters, and more, as well as statistics like start dates, word counts etc.

Spaces for summary, start and end notes, and the 'work' itself

🖋️ Page 4: Archivist

Preview | Code

A combined about/navigation page based on the AO3 profile page

Include user statistics or any data you'd like, plus a longer bio

Sidebar navigation with link sections - unlimited links and link groups

The theme and pages all include options for multiple color palettes (initially set to Default and Reversi), text styling (choice of Tumblr/Google fonts and casing options), and more. -

Each page includes instructions on how to edit it, and color/image variables have been gathered together to make customization easier. While not necessary, basic knowledge of HTML is helpful.

For help, check my codes guide, or feel free to send me an ask. Theme 11 customization guide and credits are under the cut.

Theme 11 customization

Regarding the simpler fields:

"Secondary title" refers to the title just above the posts, under the header and navigation. This defaults to "[Total posts] Works in [Username]" when the field is left empty.

"Filtered tags" takes a comma-separated list of tags, entered exactly as they'd be written in the Tumblr post editor but without the hashtag. E.g. the tags #politics, #red and blue, and #green would be entered as "politics, red and blue, green" (make sure there's spaces, and no comma after the last item!). The filtering plugin will then put a warning message over any posts with those tags, along with a button letting you show the post.

"[Section] title" act as the headers for the corresponding section, if provided. "Custom links title" defaults to "Pages" if nothing is entered, and is used when the custom links are displayed on the navbar.

"Featured tags" takes a comma-separated list of tags, in the same format as Filtered tags. This field will display links to those tags, along with the number of posts in that tag on your blog, in the left sidebar.

The Recent posts section displays the 5 most recently posted/reblogged posts on your entire blog, displaying in the left sidebar. If you enter a tag under "Recent posts tag", it'll instead display the 5 most recent posts in that tag on your blog. Only 1 tag is allowed.

Rules and FAQ

Both these sections work the same way. Each new item, a rule or a question, consists either of one statement, or a statement and some more text, usually as an answer or additional note. E.g. the screenshot below shows three rules, where the last one has more text in the dropdown.

To create an item, prefix it with <li> . To add more text, create a <li> item and add a [more] label underneath, then write your extra text after that. To illustrate, here's the Customize page code for the above:

Updates

This section is similar to Rules/FAQ, though it flips the order around. After each <li>, first list the date, then add the [label] marker, then add your actual update. Again, here's an example:

And here's the Customize page code that created that:

Toggles

This section displays checked/crossed-out items, and uses a simpler version of the formatting for the above sections. Use <li> for each new item, then add [on] or [off] at the end, depending on whether you want it checked or crossed off. Here's an example:

And here's the corresponding Customize code:

Progress bars

This section also uses <li> items, where each item has two parts: the text label, and the number(s) for the progress percentages, put inside square brackets like with the other sections. Here's an example (note how the top two use fraction values while the bottom one uses a percentage):

And here's the code that made these. In short, the format is <li> Text here [##/##], or <li> Text here [##%], where ## refers to any number.

Social links in footer

The footer links, aside from the email and personal website fields, take usernames or user IDs for various websites. Be sure to check you're not entering a username in a user ID field!

The Email address field takes a standard email in the format youremail@mailprovider.com and adds a link to let people mail that address.

The Personal website fields will generate a link in the footer's Follow section. Personal website name is the human-readable text label for the generated link, and Personal website URL is the URL that will open when the generated link is clicked. Make sure to add https:// to the start of the personal website URL so the generated link doesn't just redirect you to a different part of your blog.

Credits

Layout and design by Archive of Our Own

Style My Tooltips by malihu

Phosphor Icons

Expanded Tumblr localization and NPF photosets plugin by codematurgy

Custom audio posts by annasthms

Tag filtering by glenthemes

Palette toggle by eggdesign

Scroll to top by Fabian Lins

[silverofthunder]

☆ no more pretending ☆

Papa Emeritus II (Secondo) x GN Reader

🔞 MDNI 🔞

summary: It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed – just sex – but fate had another plans and things got a bit complicated.

content: 1.6k words, sex mentioned, hurt/comfort (kind of?), romance, just feelings, NSFW (kind of)

What can I say? Hmm, this is quite similar to my other fic called stay with me but I love this idea, setting, whatever this is, and I just had to write about this again.

It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed. Just sex – a mutual understanding that this would lead nowhere on emotional part. It was as easy as breathing. You loved how you two could just meet and tell what you needed with one look and then the next moment you were tangled together, exploring each other's bodies, every coherent thought leaving from your minds.

But of course fate decided to intervene and eventually it got complicated.

You noticed it when you were with someone else. Your thoughts drifted off to Secondo and how everything felt with him and you couldn't shake those thoughts away no matter how hard you tried. And then you just couldn't let anyone else touch you the way Secondo had done.

You got confused and frustrated, scared even. Secondo noticed the change in you soon but he didn't say anything. And you tried to continue like you had before.

However it didn't feel the same anymore, your heart aching for something else – something deeper. You tried to deny it, telling yourself that it would pass but slowly, surely, the ache just grew and being around Secondo became hard.

The only thing you could do was take a step back and keep your distance. You just couldn't let Secondo know how things had changed. There was no way he shared those feelings that had blossomed within you.

Days went by, turned to weeks and you did your best at avoiding Secondo. Not every meeting could be avoided but you tried to keep everything as short and quick as possible, professional, using every will power you had to keep yourself from breaking.

And eventually Secondo had had enough. After one meeting he stopped you from leaving the room, pinning you against the wall, eyes boring into you hard. Your heart hammered in your chest as he asked for an explanation.

The words were completely stuck in your throat and you just stared at him, silently pleading him not to do this.

"Please."

That word sounded so strange coming from Secondo yet it had so much emotion that your heart missed a beat. The look in Secondo’s eyes was almost... hurt and your breath hitched as his hands gently cupped your face.

"I miss you."

It was getting too much, all the bottled up emotions mixing and the tears threatened to come. You blinked rapidly as Secondo caressed your cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer. If you only had let yourself get lost in his eyes, you would have drowned immediately.

It was new, the way he was acting now. Your steamy couplings had always been so hurried that there hadn't been much talking or softness. It had been rough, bruises, nail scrapes and teeth marks on the skin as you had chased the highest pleasure. And when you had finished, you just had quickly put on some clothes and left to mind your own business.

You knew Secondo wasn't just collected, stoic or rough around the edges – you had seen his softer side whenever he was around children or his brothers. And he had always been kind to you. But this felt different.

You were so used to the less talking, more action thing that you were lost now that you had to use words to communicate. It was much easier to understand the language of bodies – it was simpler and the bodies knew how to respond to the other.

Secondo's fingers brushed close to your lips, making you gasp, and it would be so easy to just forget the words and just fall onto bed and become a tangled mess. Secondo was still waiting for you to say something, his latest words hanging in the air.

"I'm sorry," was all you got out eventually and then you broke free from Secondo’s hold. He didn't try to stop you and you left, hurrying to your quarters. As soon as you got inside, you leaned against the door, slid down to sit on the floor and finally let the tears fall free.

...

A week later there was a small festival held and you didn't feel like going there. You had barely slept as your mind had been racing due to all thoughts and your heart felt heavy in your chest. However, a conversation with Primo changed your mind and you attended the festival. It was nice for most part but it was hard seeing Secondo there, looking all handsome and fulfilling his duties like he was meant to do.

At some point Terzo had come to you, mumbling something about two idiots, and taken a hold of your hand and basically dragged you to one of Primo's greenhouses. You were left standing there completely dumbfounded until Secondo was also brought in.

Then there was a clicking sound of a lock and Copia's familiar voice heard from behind the door.

"It's about time you two speak and pull your head out of your asses."

Your and Secondo’s eyes met and you shifted, nervous. Secondo let out a sigh, stepping closer to you and you drew in a sharp breath. You couldn't help but notice how tired and tense he looked. Your heart ached and you almost reached out to touch him.

However, Secondo thought otherwise and closed the distance between you, stepping right into your personal space and cupping your face. You breathed in and out, slowly, trying to calm your now racing heart.

"I guess it's time for us to stop pretending," Secondo said, slowly running his fingertips along the side of your face. His voice was thick with emotion, eyes shining softly in the dim light.

"What?" you whispered, even though you had a good hunch of what Secondo was talking about. He slid his other hand down, stopping it onto your chest, right where your heart was.

"We both have been fools as we thought that there would never be any feelings involved. But there is, has always been," Secondo spoke, leaning closer to you. "At least on my part."

You blinked, not sure if you had heard right. It couldn't be...

"I..." you started but didn't know what to say. Secondo gave you the tiniest of smiles, brushing his thumb over your lips.

"I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner," he apologized. "But I've never been good at voicing my feelings."

You let out a light chuckle. That was something you both were equally bad at, or so it seemed. Slowly you moved your hand up, placing it onto Secondo’s chest. Butterflies were fluttering in the bottom of your stomach, your heart filling with warmth and a smile rose to your lips as a thought came to your mind.

"Perhaps you can show me how you feel."

Secondo's smile grew, the fondness and relief evident on his face.

"That I can certainly do," he said quietly and closed the gap between you, claiming your lips. The kiss was anything but hurried – there was gentleness, hesitation as if you could break if he was too rough. It was slow, giving you both time to taste each other, feel everything, convey all the feelings you had no words for now.

Secondo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close to him as he could and your hands grabbed his upper arms as he deepened the kiss. It felt like your knees could give out at any minute and you were lucky Secondo was holding you so tightly. Your heart was full, the ache now gone, replaced by the most beautiful warmth you had ever felt.

Something wet fell to your cheeks soon and you realized that you were crying. All the emotions were flooding out and you had to break the kiss so you could take a moment and breathe. Secondo was gently wiping your tears away, resting then his forehead against yours.

Silence fell between you, being comfortable this time. It was a lot to take in, this new closeness, the feelings you never thought would step in the picture. You slid your hands to Secondo's waist, breathing slowly in and out. Secondo placed a few kisses on your cheek, the sweet gesture making you smile and heart soar. It was scary to step into this new chapter in your relationship but you knew together you could learn to communicate differently, a better way.

"This is crazy," you eventually sighed, earning a small chuckle from Secondo. He pulled away, just a tiny bit so that he could look at you, affection shining in his eyes and at that moment you knew that you would never get tired of seeing that look.

"Well, I'm all in for this crazy ride," Secondo said smiling and your brows quirked up.

"Oh, are you sure?" you asked, teasing the man little. Secondo hummed, a grin passing his lips.

"As sure as I can be."

You brought your face closer to his, smiling.

"Good," you said and kissed him, short and sweet. When you pulled back, your expression changed more serious and you lowered your gaze, squeezing Secondo waist.

"I'm scared," you admitted quietly.

"I know," Secondo spoke softly, pressing a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug. "But I'm with you on every step of the way.”

You smiled against Secondo’s chest, wrapping your arms properly around him and listening his heartbeat, the sound of it strong and steady, calming.

Silence followed again and you just stood there in the middle of the greenhouse, embracing, for what felt like a small eternity. If that moment had been a part of a romance novel, there would have been many saccharine words used to describe it. Words that were so familiar to you on pages but didn’t sit well on your tongue yet.

But in time you knew that you would learn to speak of your love.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Collective Intelligence Institute

History is written by the winners, which is why Luddite is a slur meaning “technophobe” and not a badge of honor meaning, “Person who goes beyond asking what technology does, to asking who it does it for and who it does it to.”

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/07/full-stack-luddites/#subsidiarity

Luddites weren’t anti-machine activists, they were pro-worker advocates, who believed that the spoils of automation shouldn’t automatically be allocated to the bosses who skimmed the profits from their labor and spent them on machines that put them out of a job. There is no empirical right answer about who should benefit from automation, only social contestation, which includes all the things that desperate people whose access to food, shelter and comfort are threatened might do, such as smashing looms and torching factories.

The question of who should benefit from automation is always urgent, and it’s also always up for grabs. Automation can deepen and reinforce unfair arrangements, or it can upend them. No one came off a mountain with two stone tablets reading “Thy machines shall condemn labor to the scrapheap of the history while capital amasses more wealth and power.” We get to choose.

Capital’s greatest weapon in this battle is inevitabilism, sometimes called “capitalist realism,” summed up with Frederic Jameson’s famous quote “It’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism” (often misattributed to Žižek). A simpler formulation can be found in the doctrine of Margaret Thatcher: “There Is No Alternative,” or even Dante’s “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”

Hope — alternatives — lies in reviving our structural imagination, thinking through other ways of managing our collective future. Last May, Wired published a brilliant article that did just that, by Divya Siddarth, Danielle Allen and E. Glen Weyl:

https://www.wired.com/story/web3-blockchain-decentralization-governance/

That article, “The Web3 Decentralization Debate Is Focused on the Wrong Question,” set forth a taxonomy of decentralization, exploring ways that power could be distributed, checked, and shared. It went beyond blockchains and hyperspeculative, Ponzi-prone “mechanism design,” prompting me to subtitle my analysis “Not all who decentralize are bros”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/12/crypto-means-cryptography/#p2p-rides-again

That article was just one installment in a long, ongoing project by the authors. Now, Siddarth has teamed up with Saffron Huang to launch the Collective Intelligence project, “an incubator for new governance models for transformative technology.”

https://cip.org/whitepaper

The Collective Intelligence Project’s research focus is “collective intelligence capabilities: decision-making technologies, processes, and institutions that expand a group’s capacity to construct and cooperate towards shared goals.” That is, asking more than how automation works, but who it should work for.

Collective Intelligence institutions include “markets…nation-state democracy…global governance institutions and transnational corporations, standards-setting organizations and judicial courts, the decision structures of universities, startups, and nonprofits.” All of these institutions let two or more people collaborate, which is to say, it lets us do superhuman things — things that transcend the limitations of the lone individual.

Our institutions are failing us. Confidence in democracy is in decline, and democratic states have failed to coordinate to solve urgent crises, like the climate emergency. Markets are also failing us, “flatten[ing] complex values in favor of over-optimizing for cost, profit, or share price.”

Neither traditional voting systems nor speculative markets are up to the task of steering our emerging, transformative technologies — neither machine learning, nor bioengineering, nor labor automation. Hence the mission of CIP: “Humans created our current CI systems to help achieve collective goals. We can remake them.”

The plan to do this is in two phases:

Value elicitation: “ways to develop scalable processes for surfacing and combining group beliefs, goals, values, and preferences.” Think of tools like Pol.is, which Taiwan uses to identify ideas that have the broadest consensus, not just the most active engagement.

Remake technology institutions: “technology development beyond the existing options of non-profit, VC-funded startup, or academic project.” Practically, that’s developing tools and models for “decentralized governance and metagovernance, internet standards-setting,” and consortia.

The founders pose this as a solution to “The Transformative Technology Trilemma” — that is, the supposed need to trade off between participation, progress and safety.

This trilemma usually yields one of three unsatisfactory outcomes:

Capitalist Acceleration: “Sacrificing safety for progress while maintaining basic participation.” Think of private-sector geoengineering, CRISPR experimentation, or deployment of machine learning tools. AKA “bro shit.”

Authoritarian Technocracy: “Sacrificing participation for progress while maintaining basic safety.” Think of the vulnerable world hypothesis weirdos who advocate for universal, total surveillance to prevent “runaway AI,” or, of course, the Chinese technocratic system.

Shared Stagnation: “Sacrificing progress for participation while maintaining basic safety.” A drive for local control above transnational coordination, unwarranted skepticism of useful technologies (AKA “What the Luddites are unfairly accused of”).

The Institute’s goal is to chart a fourth path, which seeks out the best parts of all three outcomes, while leaving behind their flaws. This includes deliberative democracy tools like sortition and assemblies, backed by transparent machine learning tools that help surface broadly held views from within a community, not just the views held by the loudest participants.

This dovetails into creating new tech development institutions to replace the default, venture-backed startup for “societally-consequential, infrastructural projects,” including public benefit companies, focused research organizations, perpetual purpose trusts, co-ops, etc.

It’s a view I find compelling, personally, enough so that I have joined the organization as a volunteer advisor.

This vision resembles the watershed groups in Ruthanna Emrys’s spectacular “Half-Built Garden,” which was one of the most inspiring novels I read last year (a far better source of stfnal inspo than the technocratic fantasies of the “Golden Age”):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/26/aislands/#dead-ringers

And it revives the long-dormant, utterly necessary spirit of the Luddites, which you can learn a lot more about in Brian Merchant’s forthcoming, magesterial “Blood In the Machine: The Origins of the Rebellion Against Big Tech”:

https://www.littlebrown.com/titles/brian-merchant/blood-in-the-machine/9780316487740/

This week (Feb 8–17), I’ll be in Australia, touring my book Chokepoint Capitalism with my co-author, Rebecca Giblin. We’ll be in Brisbane tomorrow (Feb 8), and then we’re doing a remote event for NZ on Feb 9. Next are Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra. I hope to see you!

[Image ID: An old Ace Double paperback. The cover illustration has been replaced with an 18th century illustration depicting a giant Ned Ludd leading an army of Luddites who have just torched a factory. The cover text reads: 'The Luddites. Smashing looms was their tactic, not their goal.']

[e-rated-beardo]

Hey,

So, normally I am a really shy person on the internet, but you made this beautiful song Sky Clear Blue, and I just have to ask.

Do you have the notes for that song? And would you mind sharing them?

I have a guitar and I would love to attempt playing that lovely song.

Hello shy person on the internet! omg I got an ask about The Song! :D *sounds of angel-coded delight*

I don't have anything beyond Steph's lyrics written down, unfortunately - HOWEVER, I could absolutely scribble some down for whatever parts you're curious about, if you like!

If we're only talking guitar chords, it's a really nice and simple (comfy!) progression: alternating G and Cadd9 for most of the verses, one loop of G - Am - C - D in the lead-up to the chorus, and the chorus is C - G - Dsus - D. (The very final chord is a Dsus because ✨ambience✨ and open-endedness vibes and... ok that's not what I was supposed to be talking about here oops)

Caveat to the above: wherever there's a D chord, I alternate randomly between plain D and Dsus with no particular pattern, and I may have replaced some Cs with Cadd9 or vice versa here and there. Either of the two works; it's just easier to play Cadd9 between two Gs. 🙂

Technically I played the same-ish chords in the transposed a capella version, too, but simpler and on my mini guitar/guitarlele which is tuned differently so the result is a slightly off-key D - Gadd9 (verse) and G - D - A (chorus).

Before I go off waffling delightedly for WAY too long (omg someone asked me about an Art I've made I can talk for HOURS hello you're my new best friend)... Is there any part/voice/instrument in particular that you're curious about? Because, again, I could absolutely scribble down some sheet music for this (or maybe even wrangle GarageBand to output some for me; I think that's a feature it has??). I don't normally write stuff down much when I play because I find it easier to just noodle around and memorise and I don't tend to get too complex with arrangements, but I do read musical notation and guitar tabulature and I would be a completely normal amount of very excited to talk and write more about this as you can see SO. Yeah. Just hmu if you want more detail about guitar chords or notes or some other stuff; I'd be BEYOND thrilled to share.

Actual view of me reading and answering this ask ⬇️⬇️⬇️

beardo: *goes to town on ask*

(PS. I need to point out that I'm only responsible for the particulars of the arrangement, the physical singing/playing, and the time signature - Steph based her song upon another one, a recording of which she kindly sent me; it's got slightly different lyrics and a somewhat simpler chord progression, is in 4/4 time and gives sort of... cute country ballad vibes? I riffed off of the melody a bit and the rest... really, the arrangement did what the characters in my stories tend to do, and kind of just wrote itself.

Either way, I don't want anyone to imagine I came up with the melody or the overall shape of this song myself! I just kneaded it a bit and fought GarageBand to record it. 💜)

gonna tag @klikandtuna and @suzypfonne in case you fine humans want to listen in to continued talk about this song - you're both HIGHLY RESPONSIBLE for these amazing last 24 hours of my life and the existence of this piece of music after all

[noxer]

«Unmasked»

Okay, i'm gonna try. I hope this is not that bad. Uhh, Soundwave/Blaster, some sort of fluff, something about a border where masks don't matter anymore, so it doesn't matter whether the mask is off or not, so why bother taking it off at all?

/awkward curtsy/

______________________________

"Question: Blaster wants to see Soundwave's face?"

It wasn't a question Soundwave would have asked under normal circumstances, but he had to admit that their situation was never normal. It also definitely didn't get easier with the onset of... the truce (he can't bring himself to say the word "peace", and it's not even a matter of Decepticon pride, it's just... it was difficult to realize until now). An intimacy that oscillates on the border with invasive, an understanding that could usually be shared only with own reflection, this whole set of things that does not allow one to relate each other to the usual one-sided categories of “enemies”, “friends” or “lovers”. This is difficult, there is not enough intelligence and experience here, you need faith in your own actions, hope for a favorable outcome, everything that the third-in-command did not have the right to rely on.

However, this is not the only reason. The thing is, Soundwave basically never asks questions. He doesn't need it. He always knows the answer in advance, relying on his own espionage skills or slightly more straightforward telepathy. But he doesn't want to read Blaster's mind right now. Perhaps later, when he gives an answer, and Soundwave can understand how ready he is to lie to him.

In addition, direct questions are much simpler and more effective than trying to unravel other bot's hints, semi-gestures and EMF’s vibrations, small signals emanating from the body, like a special type of code. Soundwave is a master codebreaker, but even he makes mistakes, and this is not a situation where he wants to make a one.

That's why he asks.

Blaster turns his head towards him, looking interested with bright blue optics. An almost tangible curiosity emanates from his body, mixed with playfulness and something less understandable. The Autobot is intelligent, although not the type of intelligence that any Decepticon is accustomed to. There is no cunning in him, no ability to anticipate someone else's shot before it leaves a hole in your back, no tenacious paranoid attentiveness. However, Blaster was not so easily fooled. He has cracked his codes, exposed false broadcasts and lured data out of databases for centuries. The fool couldn't handle this. The fool would have died on the day of his appointment as an officer. Blaster was no fool. Emotions might cloud his vision at times, but at the same time they gave him insight that was only occasionally surpassed by his own uncanny empathy.

Soundwave doesn't know what Blaster will answer, but he already knows that the answer will not disappoint him.

“I don’t know,” the Autobot’s deep voice purrs with attractive vibrations, “Do you want me to see?”

Soundwave's spark ignites. As he had expected, the other person's answer was extremely... interesting.

Blaster knows him. He knows from so many facets, in some places, perhaps understanding more about him than Soundwave himself understood. This happens when your lives repeatedly find themselves in each other's hands in so many different ways. One secret more, one secret less, it wouldn't matter anymore, not for them. But still...

He moves closer, enough to touch another bot, feeling the static spark between the bright scarlet plates and his own fingers. Blaster's hand almost simultaneously touches his mask. And nothing more. Soundwave feels the warm weight, the texture of worn metal and the faint electricity, but that's about it. There is not a single attempt to open hidden locks or remove the mask. Just a gentle, comforting touch.

He would allow his face to be revealed. He would.

But he's glad he doesn't have to.

He's glad that his secrets can remain secrets without tarnishing what was between him and Blaster (whatever that was after all).

Soundwave leans closer to the palm, absorbing its soft warmth under the autobot's quiet laughter.

[riality-check]

even more daisy jones-adjacent things. parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. tw mentions of substance abuse, talks of blacking out. part 6. part 7.

ao3

It hits number five.

The song about losing, the song Steve helped write, the song with Steve's vocals, hits number five. It's the highest Corroded Coffin has ever gotten on a chart, and it's the highest Steve Harrington has, too.

They're ecstatic, Chrissy is smug, and the record company offers an album.

If, and only if, Steve Harrington continues to work with Corroded Coffin.

Eddie scared himself by saying "yes" first and scared himself even more by agreeing with Steve. But, he reasons, if they're going to be writing an album together, he needs to get the hell over himself.

Easier said than done, but Eddie has always had an "A for effort" kind of mindset.

He's always been the one writing most of the songs. He's always been the one with too many words in his head, always itching for a pen, always thinking in terms of guitar tabs and staff notation when Archie is feeling especially pretentious. Eddie has always done most of it, which has always worked. Jeff helps with lyrics because "I need to make sure you won't make me say anything stupid," Gareth has no interest beyond writing his own drum parts, and Archie, despite knowing the most formal music theory of any of them, doesn't care beyond cleaning it up.

But Eddie needs to write with someone now, and he realizes very quickly that he can't work with someone he hates, or, worse, barely knows.

"Let's play a game," he says, setting down his guitar and kicking his feet up on the couch. He and Steve have long since abandoned writing in the studio and instead decided that Steve's house - a little stucco bungalow with a pool and other cars always in the driveway - would make for a better venue.

Steve scowls when he sees Eddie's feet on the couch, but he stops humming to himself and starts paying attention. "What kind of game?"

"Truth or truth."

"Don't you mean truth or dare?"

"Nope," Eddie says. "Truth or truth. I ask a question, you answer it honestly, then I have to answer my own question. Then you ask, I answer, you answer. Rinse repeat, you get the drill."

"How do you win?" Steve asks, looking up at Eddie from where he sits on the floor.

"You win if you ask a question the other person refuses to answer."

"Sounds like I can just give up as soon as you ask."

"You could," Eddie admits. "But where's the fun in that?"

A tiny, barely-there smile pops up on Steve's face, and that's how Eddie knows he's starting to get somewhere.

Yeah. He's on edge around Steve. He thinks that anyone in his position would be. But Steve is admittedly impressive and mysterious and pretty, and all of that calls to Eddie's lesser instinct to push.

So, the game starts. They exhaust the run of the mill questions fairly quickly; Eddie learns that Steve's favorite color is sapphire, that he used to babysit and lifeguard, that he's from some podunk town in Indiana that he doesn't seem too keen on sharing more about. Eddie, in turn, says that his favorite color is ruby, that he used to work as a mechanic and thought about doing tattoos, that he's from a lot of different places all around Appalachia but the simpler answer is "born in West Virginia, raised in Kentucky."

"Shouldn't you make country music or something, then?" Steve asks.

"Folk's more applicable," Eddie says. "And I grew up listening to it, but I need to make something a little more... all-encompassing."

"I wouldn't say metal's very general."

"No, but when you listen to it, you can't think of anything else but the sound, can you?"

Steve considers for a moment, then nods wordlessly. "Your question."

Eddie thinks. He stares at Steve's twitchy hands, his exhausted face, his slumped posture. And he asks, in direct opposition to his better judgement, "When's the last time you slept?"

He watches, in real time, as Steve's face completely shutters.

But that only lasts an instant. The complete fall, the shut-down, lasts a fraction of a second before Steve completely shifts. He sits up taller, brushes his hair back from his forehead, and looks more alert, less fidgety.

He sobers up, right there in front of Eddie, or at least he pretends to.

"That's a boring question," he says. "Last night."

"You're supposed to answer honestly," Eddie reminds him.

"I am. I slept last night. Seven hours."

Eddie bites his tongue to stave off his instinctual, No, you didn't.

"You're supposed to answer your question now," Steve says once the silence has stretched too long.

"Same as you," Eddie says. "Last night."

Steve scoots closer toward the couch. There's a smug smile on his face, one that Eddie doesn't particularly like.

He thinks he might need a cigarette.

Then, Steve asks, "When's the last time you drank?"

Yeah. Eddie's definitely going to need a cigarette by the time this conversation ends.

"Two years ago," he says because if Steve won't be honest, he will. "August. Indianapolis. I was blacked out. I don't remember anything until halfway through the show the next day. Gareth says he thought about dragging my ass offstage because I was too far gone to tune my guitar until after the first three songs."

The smile melts off Steve's face the more Eddie talks. If Eddie were a better person, he wouldn't find such joy in that.

Eddie isn't a better person. Steve isn't, either.

"Eddie, I-"

"Answer your own question."

"A week ago," Steve says. "I was out celebrating Robin's birthday. Honest."

Eddie believes him. Really, he does. But he's a little bit vindictive, and because Steve shoved him, he has to shove back harder.

"What are you running from?" he asks.

Steve goes completely still. "What?"

Eddie doesn't bother explaining. He knows that if he brings up the way Steve is always a little not here, the way he's fidgety and always too warm, the way he always wears something with pockets that he sticks his hands in, that Steve won't say anything at all.

So, he says again, "What are you running from?"

"I'm not running from anything," Steve says.

"I think I win the game."

Steve scrubs a hand down his face. "Sure. Whatever. But answer your own question."

"Monsters," Eddie says because he's honest.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "You have no idea what monsters are, Eddie."

"Is that what you're running from?"

Steve stares at him again. Eddie watches his hands move in his pockets.

"I need a cigarette," he says, standing up. "You want one?"

Steve shakes his head. "I don't smoke. It stains my teeth."

Eddie walks outside before he pushes further, says something about the fact that Steve is doing way worse than cigarettes and cares more about his teeth than staying alive.

What the hell is he running from?

Eddie hates himself for wanting to find out.

[mychoombatheroomba]

The Crucible (Part 1)

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 49

The final test begins, and while Leon and the others are away, questions begin to pull at you.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Um. Breakfast?” You thought the answer was fairly obvious, given you were only a few feet from the mess hall doors. Still, Doc took the time to stop you and ask the question. 

The old man just shook his head. “No you’re not. I’m down an assistant today, need your help organizing. Just got a new shipment of supplies.” 

You wouldn’t be mad at that, actually. Anything to take your mind off the fact that you weren’t testing with the others . . . and you wouldn’t be mad that you likely wouldn’t have to eat the cardboard they passed off as food, either. Still . . . “Don’t think Reed will be okay with that,” you grumbled. 

“Well, Reed can kiss my ass.” Doc’s response was curt and made you smile, glad to know that yet another person on base shared your sentiment about the CIA agent. “Krauser already okayed it. Can’t pull you out of any drills proper, but I am gonna enlist you at mealtimes and in your off-hours. Need all the help I can get. My other assistants and I are gonna be rotating to shadow your squad up in the hills, in case something goes wrong.” 

“Like what?” you asked, because you couldn’t help but be curious about what it was you were missing out on. You couldn’t help but worry, just a bit. 

Doc just gave you a look. “Krauser makes good tests, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility that someone gets hurt in one of them.” 

That just pinched your brows together. “They’re not doing anything that crazy up there though, are they?” Your turn to ask an obvious question and get an obvious answer. 

“It’s Krauser.” 

“Fair point.” 

Doc chuckled, but his expression turned more reassuring soon after. “They’ll be tired by the end of it all, but no. Nothing too crazy.” 

Somehow, you didn’t quite believe him. 

⧫⧫⧫

Rifles rose slowly in the silence, the act of breathing itself coming to a halt. 

No noise. 

Not if they could help it. And as they were, on a gravel path and surrounded by woods on either side, standing still was the only way they really could manage that. 

Another shrill screech from up ahead, overpowering the sounds of birds waking up, and Leon felt an old dread shoot through his heart, and he worried that the beating of it was so loud that it could be heard by whatever was out there. 

Eyes up, gun up. Not that it would matter, really. It was loaded with blanks. That was what made Leon think it wasn’t actually a Licker waiting for them in those trees. Krauser and Hellman wouldn’t throw them against a BOW without arming them first, surely. 

Right? 

“What are you all waiting around for?” A familiar voice interrupted Leon’s thought process, and he felt himself relax as he looked to his side. Krauser stepped through the trees, wearing his usual warning-smile. “You’ve got places to be, soldiers. Only problem is . . .” another screech, and the Major’s crooked grin widened, “. . . you make a sound, you’re as good as dead.” 

The first test, then. 

“Move forward without drawing attention to yourselves,” Hellman said in simpler terms as he appeared at Krauser’s side. “Manage that, then your next challenge will be waiting for you.” 

Leon looked to his side, his gaze finding Valeria’s at once, a silent question shared between the two of them; how do you move ten people without making a sound? The answer was obvious enough; slowly. Still, it would be easier said than done, and likely not enough. They would move when the woods made noise to cover them, and if that was not enough . . . he had an idea in mind. So, Leon switched his rifle to one hand, and then bent down with as little noise as he could manage. He took a larger stone from the path, and nodded to Valeria as she did the same. Once they both were upright again, they gave a simultaneous signal with the hand, the group began advancing forward, heel to toe, trying to make as little noise as possible on the gravel path. 

They made it several feet amidst the shrieking and shrill cries echoing through the woods . . . but, of course, it wasn’t long before a footstep made noise, a rock slipping out from beneath a boot and skittering across the path. 

As soon as it happened, Leon held up a signal for them to halt, and just as Krauser opened his mouth to no doubt shout a reprimand, Leon hefted the stone in his hand. There was some noise as he threw it, but not nearly as much as when the rock impacted with a tree far off the path. It struck the bark hard, the sound scaring birds into flight. 

With the distraction, the group moved forward again on Leon’s command, stopping when the forest went quiet around them once more. With no words from Krauser suggesting otherwise, it seemed the plan worked. All that remained was to repeat it. So they moved, a group of ten moving carefully through the trees. It was as they moved, under the cover of well-timed distractions, that Leon almost broke the quiet with a huff of breath. An exasperated sigh as he looked through the trees and at last glimpsed what horror had been making the shrieking calls in the woods. Or, rather, lack of horror. After all, there were many things to be afraid of, but loudspeakers strapped to the trees were not on the list, as far as Leon was concerned. 

Leave it to Krauser to be good for a scare. 

So, as Valeria threw a stone of her own, creating another distraction, Leon glanced over at the man shadowing them, the one who, not so long ago, Leon had borne little but contempt for. 

The Major, many times in the past, had only looked annoyed or judgmental of Leon’s efforts. 

Now, Krauser just nodded his approval. 

A good start, then, but he knew . . .

⧫⧫⧫

“It’s not over yet,” your voice cut out across the training yard, but you weren’t sure the recruit you were speaking to believed you. After all, it was hard to believe that you could win a fight after your weapon had been taken from you. You also knew that fighting well in that moment was all the more important. “Keep your guard up,” you instructed. 

The recruit did as you ordered, looking from you to his opponent . . . to the agent watching from a distance. 

The agent who was otherwise occupied with his own set of recruits. Two who circled each other, following Reed’s instruction. The man never looked your way - not if he could help it. You couldn’t help but watch them too, because Reed never seemed to object when they went for blows to the face. He never seemed keen to discipline hits that, in basic training, would have gotten you a reprimand at best. 

Krauser had always believed in learning through the bruises you received, but still . . . 

The movement of the two recruits you were training snapped your attention back to them. “Come on, you know better,” you sighed, “bend your knees.” 

They obeyed, and blunted steel streaked through the air, traded blow for blow. 

“Keep your blade in front of you.” 

You wondered if Leon was fighting up at the test. 

“Switch hands more.” 

Was he doing well? 

“Smaller-” 

“Fuck!”

You looked just in time to see the recruit land, his feet finishing the arc through the air and the rest of him crashing into the dirt. Then came the cry of pain, the wide eyes of someone realizing something painful had just happened. The same young soldier who had helped you up after Reed kicked your ass not too long ago - Grayson. His opponent let go of the arm he’d used as leverage in an instant, realizing something had gone wrong. When the one on the ground tried to stand but yelped when he put weight on his arm, you felt something in you stir awake. 

When Reed made no move to stop or help, you were at the recruit’s side in a matter of moments. You ignored the apologies of his opponent, kneeling in the dust at Grayson's side.

“Can you move your arm?” you asked, but with the way it remained at the young man’s side, you doubted it. 

“No-”

“Then get yourself to the infirmary,” Reed commanded, his tone indifferent as ever. 

The tension of being left behind during the test had already put you in a bad mood, and here was the man responsible. One who had now just overseen the injury of another soldier. So, you didn’t reign in the gnashing remark that came from snarling lips. “You make a habit of getting your soldiers crippled?” you spat up as you helped Grayson to his feet. 

Reed’s shoulders rose and fell, almost imperceptibly. “I make a habit of making sure they’re capable fighters.” 

“Then don’t fucking let them break their bones before they even get to the front lines!” 

“Your Major has expressed that you be prepared-”

“Prepared for our own comrades to knock us out of the fight?”

“Prepared to show no mercy,” Reed hissed, stepping forward, more tense than you had ever seen him. “Take you, for example. If that Umbrella soldier had gone for your throat instead of your side, then you would be dead, and they would have one less enemy. But here you are.” His nostrils flared, and you swore you felt a thrum of pressure in your healed ribs as you stared him down, Grayson’s good arm still slung over your shoulder. “These men cannot afford to make the same mistake and let their enemies get back up.” 

Fury coiled in you, and if you hadn’t been holding on to the injured soldier at your side you might have struck. You might have gone for Reed’s throat then and there . . . but instead you just fixed him in a scathing glare. “But we aren’t the enemy,” you snarled, then turned on your heel, beginning to help Grayson towards the infirmary. 

The agent didn’t stop you, or even speak another word to you. He just issued his next order-

⧫⧫⧫

“Keep moving!” 

That was the best command Leon could give, one that was easier said than done. An obstacle course was something they’d done dozens of times now, even if this new one in the woods was set up differently than what they were used to. Even the cases of ammunition they now carried, they’d had to handle before. 

The hands reaching up for them, though . . . that was an added challenge. 

Krauser and Hellman wouldn’t release true bioweapons on them, but they would find ways to imitate the grasping hands and hungry teeth of the zombies of Raccoon City. The solution to that had been simple; anyone could become a bioweapon, and so the squad had been split, and Valeria’s half now walked just below Leon, their hands reaching up. 

The goal? 

For Leon’s men, it was to get through the course with at least one of the ammunition cases. For Valeria’s, it was to stop that from happening. And they certainly had the easier job of the two groups. 

Leon felt sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as he moved, taking the ammo case from Williams. There had been no reprieve since they started this morning, no real chance at a break. Now, the sun was beginning the second half of its arc in the sky and hunger and exhaustion were beginning to press in on him. 

Still, he had to press on. That was the only choice now, because it would be the only choice in the field. He knew that better than anyone. 

They were almost there. Almost to the end, if Valeria and her men had been doing everything they could to stop them from getting there. They’d been instructed to remain on the ground, to more accurately simulate the zombies that Leon’s report had spoken of in Raccoon City . . . but Valeria had never been one to play by the rules. So, Leon was hardly surprised when, even with how she and Dina felt about each other, Valeria shook her head and took a running jump, one of her men boosting her. 

Leon was sure she’d go for him. That she’d try to jump Leon to try and pull him down through the bars. He should have known better. He should have known that Valeria was more cunning than that. 

So, when Dina called out his name, nearly falling from the bars, Leon knew it was a ploy. He knew it was a distraction, in the back of his mind . . . but he moved anyway. 

The case nearly slipped from his grip as he lunged, his body caught awkwardly across the bars in a way he knew would leave bruises behind. Still, he caught Dina’s wrist just before the tall woman was yanked off the bars, holding on to her with one hand, and the case in the other . . . 

And fighting off the memories playing in his mind all the while. 

“Oh, fuck!” Williams cried, kicking her legs as Valeria tried to pull her down, and Leon grit his teeth. It was a test - a simulation. Still, he could think only of the last time he’d been in a position like this. When he hadn’t been strong enough, and the woman he’d been trying to save had slipped through his fingers . . . 

So, he strained with all his might, willing his arm to bend. Forcing himself to fight.

“The longer they hold you, the more likely you’ll get bit!” Krauser shouted a reminder, but Leon didn’t pay much attention.

His muscles had ached for days upon days, when Krauser started training him. He’d thought, at times, that he wouldn’t survive. That the feats the Major wanted him to carry out would never be possible. 

Now, he felt only awe at the strength he had as Dina freed herself from Valeria’s hold, and Leon lifted the woman with only one arm. 

Williams swore as she met Leon halfway, beginning to pull herself up . . . just in time for one of Valeria’s men to jump too, grasping the ammo case with both hands. In his distracted state, Leon’s eyes flashed as he realized he’d been played, and he and his half of the squad lost that portion of the test within a few feet of the end of it. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, helping Williams the rest of the way up all the same. 

Hellman watched from a distance, shaking his head. “You prioritized your team over the objective,” he accused. “Admirable, but it will cost your team a resupply.” That meant less ammo for whatever was to come . . . but honestly? Leon didn’t care. Not if his friend was safe, even if this was just a simulation of a dire situation. 

Krauser’s own thoughts on the matter were hidden behind a stern expression and an order to switch out, but Hellman’s disapproval was clear. Williams and Leon both seemed to share the same sentiment regarding that. 

“What a fucking-”

⧫⧫⧫

“- asshole.” 

As far as you were concerned, the word was a bit gentle when it came to describing Reed. Grayson could have called him infinitely worse, and you wouldn’t have blamed him, especially now that he was taking up the same position you’d been stuck in for weeks. 

When you’d dropped him off at the infirmary earlier, you’d been told by Doc to return to drills for the day. Now, though, dinner had come around and you’d returned to help as instructed. When you found out that Grayson had been sentenced to the sick bay because his arm had popped out of socket, you had felt a familiar rage in you.

Well, in truth, it had just been more gasoline to the fire that had been burning all day. 

Even if Reed hadn’t dealt the blow this time, another soldier was out of commission on his watch. And more than that . . .

“If that Umbrella soldier had gone for your throat instead of your side . . .” those words replayed in your mind over and over and over again. How could they not? How could you not fixate on that wounding remark? 

Especially when something about it just didn’t sit right with you . . .

“Asshole is putting it mildly,” Doc agreed, as he sifted through his supplies. Getting ready to switch out with his assistants in the mountains had him rushing to be ready - he hadn’t been expecting the injury he had to deal with today to be here rather than up with Krauser’s group. 

“You’re going to tell the Major, right?” you asked, because, frankly, you thought Krauser might kill Reed for this. You’d like to see that, you decided. 

“You bet your ass I will,” Doc nodded, shaking his head in a display of his frustration. “Bastard is gonna have the whole base crippled at this rate . . .” 

Yes, he would. 

Even Hellman had shown remorse about your injury, and about having to cut soldiers from the ranks, if Leon was to be believed. Reed, though, never seemed to care. To Reed, you were all disposable . . . 

But then, if he knew that Umbrella was responsible for your injury all those months ago . . . 

When had he read your file? 

Had it been after he was assigned here? Or after? Because if it was before . . . if Reed had known about your injury and still decided to strike you in the ribs anyway during the interrogation . . .

“Hey,” Doc pulled you from your thoughts, stepping closer. “I know I’m breaking my own rule here, but the kid’s gonna be stuck in the same boat you were.” He gave a sympathetic glance towards the bed where Grayson sat, and then looked back to you. “And sharing is caring and all that bullshit.” 

You knew what he meant, and you had to admit that some part of you felt better when you handed Grayson a slice of pizza - one of several that Doc had stocked you and his assistants with for the next few days. The recruit’s face lit up at the sight of food that wasn’t what they served in the mess hall, and the two of you ate in the quiet of the infirmary . . . and had some small amount of fun giving Reed scathing glares when he dropped off the opened mail the base received that day - one letter for Grayson that the agent had read and ensured was safe. 

Still, as much as offering Grayson company distracted you from the test you were missing out on . . . you couldn’t help the other questions that began to gnaw at you as Reed left. 

Questions like-

⧫⧫⧫

How the hell were they going to get through this? 

The goal was simple, really; get through the course, avoiding as many “casualties” as possible, and retrieve an ammunition case from inside the structure at the end. Eliminate the “targets” between them and their objective. And just like the entire rest of the day, from dawn to dusk and now continuing after dark, the problem was the course in front of them. 

There were flashes in the night sky, resounding booms and cracks of gunfire. Screams. 

None of it was real. That was what Leon had to remind himself. Like with the sounds of Lickers they’d played in the morning, none of this was real. Even so, that didn’t make it easier as he crawled on his belly, moving through mud and under razor wire with his nearly empty rifle in his hands. 

His squad was close, and that helped. It would have been better if you were there at his side, telling him to keep going . . . but he could practically hear your voice in his ear, even now. 

Tripwires were disabled, spats of mock-gunfire evaded, and Leon pushed his men on. “Come on,” he insisted, “we get to sleep a whole four hours after this,” he grinned, cracking the mud that had caked on his face. 

“Oh, what a relief!” Alejandro huffed at his side, but Leon could see the man’s smile when he looked over at him. 

It was those smiles that helped Leon to push forward, even as he heard Hellman’s voice call out a consequence for ducking into cover too late. “Garza's hit! You’re bleeding soldier!” 

Leon grimaced, because he knew what would come next. They’d been briefed on what to do if one of them was designated a casualty. The goal was to simulate evacuating the wounded from a battlefield, and Krauser and Hellman both had been adamant that whoever was pretending to be wounded play the part. Alejandro might have felt a bit ridiculous when he started screaming, but for Leon, the sound was plenty convincing. 

What was it that you told him your Captain used to say? If you can’t run, you crawl. If you can’t do that, you find someone to carry you. 

Leon gritted his teeth and finished the last segment of the course with Alejandro laying across his back, the added weight of another man pressing him further into the mud, making every inch all the more of a struggle. Still, he pressed on, right up until he and the others were up against the side of the building they needed to breach. The loss of the ammo case earlier had cost them a resupply, so after a quick ammo check, Leon ordered Williams to remain with Alejandro while he and Alenko went in to handle the targets. 

Gunfire still echoed through the night as he and Alenko stepped up to the door, looking first to each other and then reaching out.

⧫⧫⧫

There was a little click as the lock opened and you felt your heart lurch. 

This was stupid. This was so fucking stupid . . . but you’d been doing a lot of stupid things lately, hadn’t you? It wasn’t too late, you could just re-lock the door and go back to setting up triplines in the dark. You could . . . but you wouldn't. You’d come this far, and you had questions that needed answers.

You tried to take some relief in the irony of the situation. Reed and Hellman had taught you how to pick locks, and now that skill was being brought to bear against them. It was stupid, but it didn’t stop you from slinging your bag of springs and wires over your shoulder and reaching for the newly unlocked door. 

It didn’t stop you because the entire day - hell, since you met them through the bars of a jail cell - you had felt something wrong about the CIA agents sent to oversee training. Perhaps it was just paranoia. Perhaps it was the fact that Reed had broken your bones. Either way, you found yourself moving into a dark office that night; one you absolutely should not have been in. 

Reed’s office held few answers. You found no personal effects, really, just the pile of mail that the agent had sorted through before delivering it to the rest of the base, an small and empty box that he’d no doubt confiscated. 

You picked the secondary lock on his desk with nervous hands, eyes glancing around all the while, and for a few moments, you skimmed through the reports you found inside in the light pouring in from the streetlights outside. 

𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: (𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎)

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖: █.█.

𝙼𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 ███████ ██████, 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 ███████ 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝. 

The same report Krauser had given you - you’d almost memorized it, you’d read it so many times. You didn’t have such a luxury now - every second you spent in here was another second you were at risk of being court martialed. Still, you had to know. You had to know what they knew. 

You didn’t have much time to sift through it all and read each report. You could only skim, hoping that something would stick out as different . . . 

And your eyes widened in the dark when you found that something. 

████-████████ ███████ ███ █████████████ ████: 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙳𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 

𝙸𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 ███████ ████, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚂 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 ████████ ██████████████ ███████. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 ██████████ ███████ ████. 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 ████ 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

Your eyes narrowed at that. Even with the blacked out text, even with the information all but hidden, it didn’t take much for you to put it together. Umbrella, bioweapons . . . they’d chosen teachers who’d had experience with both. 

Krauser had pulled you from the snow in Finland. He’d seen the corpses of the bioweapons there . . . 

How were Reed and Hellman involved? 

⧫⧫⧫

The rifle knocked back into Leon’s shoulders, his eyes set in a hard at the targets in front of him. There were only blanks in the gun - in all their guns - but the simulated fire was real enough. He and Alenko had cleared the first two rooms of the mock-safe house, and now they were on the last one. He took up the ammunition case that was their objective, and they were home-free. The final hurdle, then the first night course would be done.                                     

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Never was. 

His rifle clicked empty, Alenko’s had run dry in the previous room. 

That, of course, was when he appeared. 

Leon turned just in time to see a shape in the doorway, all muscle and brutal strength. Alenko was knocked to the side with a kick, crashing into the wall. There was a knife in the Major’s hands, because of course there was. There always seemed to be. Leon knew what came next. 

Part of him wanted to stay. To fight. To test his blade against Krauser’s once more. 

But winning wasn’t the goal; escaping - surviving - was. 

They just had to get past Krauser, first. 

So, Leon looked to Alenko, seeing his comrade slinging his rifle over his shoulder quickly and drawing the practice blade strapped to his belt instead. Just as the Major moved forward, intent to take the ammo case from Leon and make the test an automatic failure. So, Leon threw himself back, avoiding a swing with Krauser’s knife, then slipping to the side to try and avoid the second . . . only for Krauser’s hand to close around his wrist, the one whose hand held the ammo case. Leon and Krauser both struck at the same time, Leon stepping in to aim a knee at the Major’s stomach, just as Krauser brought his knife down on Leon’s arm. Blunted metal still hurt as it dug into his skin, bruising him, nearly making him drop the case . . . but then Alenko was there, knocking into the Major’s side. 

Leon took the opportunity, wrenching the case away, just as Krauser turned to deal with his new attacker. 

He could have run, he supposed. He had the objective in hand, he had a way to go around his attacker. A way out. But it would mean leaving his friend behind, and that wouldn’t work for him. 

So, as Alenko occupied the Major’s attention for that split second, Leon wrenched his wrist free and turned. The ammo case swung through the air, and Leon hoped the Major didn’t mind a bit of pain, because that same case was crashing into the man’s arm a moment later. The older man growled in pain, and it was enough for Leon to push past, handing the case off to Alenko. 

They nearly made it out before Leon felt a hand grasp at his pack, pulling him backwards. 

"Should have run, rookie."

His eyes shot wide, nearly falling off his feet as Krauser yanked him back . . . but Leon’s now free hand was already closing around the handle of his own knife. He blocked with his rifle just in time as Krauser’s blade came up and around, aiming for his throat. Leon used the rifle’s mag to hook Krauser’s arm down and away, then turned as best he could. 

Krauser ducked under the stab of Leon’s knife but couldn’t avoid the push kick to his chest. The Major’s grip slipped as he was knocked down, and with that, Leon dashed out. He knew better than anyone that, sometimes, you didn’t need to defeat an opponent. You just needed to-

⧫⧫⧫

Get out.

You were gone from the offices in a flash, the reports returned to the desk you’d broken into, the locks back in place. Like you’d never been there. You hoped that's how it looked, at least. 

Your boots scraped against the dirt of the base, your mind a storm. You stepped between buildings, but as you moved from the offices towards the mess hall, the tripwires you set up were done so slowly. Your mind was not focused on the intricacies of setting up traps. No, it was elsewhere.  

Reed and Hellman. 

They’d had experience with bioweapons . . . or at least knew they existed before this. 

How? 

What had they done? What had they seen? How had they-

You didn’t have much time to question it before the sound of footsteps made you freeze in your tracks - too close to you. “Sergeant,” a cool, usually indifferent voice called out, and anxiety had to be wrestled down as you turned and found a man striding towards you. 

The very man whose office you’d just broken into. 

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